Higher. Faster. Further. More. It was something that Lara had read once. It was something that she could understand on a subconscious, almost innate level. The desire, the need to push herself to her limit, and beyond. The need to strive to be better than she was. To find answers in a handful of dust.
It was an itch in the soles of her feet, a sting in her palm, a buzzing in the back of her head. It was the crunch of snow beneath her boots, the sound of metal on stone. It was the breath in her lungs, ragged from exertion. It was water around her limbs and the shadow of a hulking ship's corpse jutting from the sea bed. It was the stillness in the air of a cave, a sensation of belonging that she only believed in when she was out in the world.
Never truly alone, Lara ran from the ghosts. The faces of her parents, the sound of Alex's voice or Roth's boisterous laugh. Mathias. They hounded her every step. She climbed until her fingers bled and they waited for her at the top of the mountain.
It wasn't just the ghosts that kept Lara company. She always had something of Sam's with her. On one expedition, Sam had recorded enough video to occupy Lara every night. Other times, she'd be on the radio in her ear, directing her on using film equipment. On another trip, she'd written personal notes and left them scattered throughout Lara's gear. On a fourth, she'd come along herself. But she could never keep up. No one could keep up. No one pushed themselves the way Lara pushed herself.
Thinking of Sam was often the only thing to quiet the ghosts or the demons in her head. If she allowed herself, she'd think that maybe she loved her in more ways than the words they'd shared. But saying it out loud made it real. Saying it out loud could invite disaster. Lara was not a superstitious woman, but she couldn't quite shake that feeling of impending doom.
She walked where dead men laid, their bones bleached in the sun or gray from centuries of dust. The mysteries they guarded were written in stone and structure, the answers paid for in blood and sweat. And it had to be her blood, and her sweat, and the more she bled the harder she pushed herself.
Home was the cranny in the side of a cliff. Home was under a jungle canopy. Home was a dusty sarcophagus deep in the desert. Home was…A trail of dirt through the front door, a concerned look in dark eyes.
Home was Sam pushing a Jaffa cake into her hand, and staring attentively as she asked. "So what did you find, this time?"