"Women do not have friends- they have only rivals."
-Edmond Godinet

3. Temporary Alliance

Cool air washed over Lara's face. She blinked, brushing the strands of hair that had fallen in her eyes to the side. There was music playing- German, she guessed, though the radio was too quiet to tell. The countryside rushing past was unfamiliar, but an overhead sign that indicated Nurnberg - 500 m caught her eye.

Now fully awake and highly disoriented, she reached for her guns and found them missing from her legs, along with her holsters. She turned to face the driver, head spinning as she did so.

Her anger wavered for a moment. Kurtis, alive and well, was leisurely gripping the steering wheel with one hand while the other cradled a cigarette out the open window. She glared as Kurtis turned to look at her with the beginnings of a smile on his face. No, not a smile, she noted with growing irritation. A smirk.

"Where are my guns?" she demanded, ignoring the nausea that was growing worse from the motion of the car. "And where are you taking me?"

He took a final drag on the cigarette and flicked it out the window. "Away from Prague."

Lara shifted in her seat and felt a tug on her leg. Looking down, she saw a rope tied around her ankle and secured to the metal frame of the seat. "Well, that partnership certainly lasted." She slumped back in defeat and drew the blanket lying over her lap up around her shoulders, a small comfort that eased how powerless she felt.

"Your guns are in the back," Kurtis said, pointing a thumb toward the rear of the vehicle. "You'll get them once we've had a chat."

Lara turned to look behind the seat and, true to his words, saw her H&Ks lying neatly in the jumbled leather of her holsters. There wasn't another seat to be found in the vehicle other than the ones they were currently in. Instead, the space was occupied by a motorbike that had been lashed haphazardly to the floor, the rear wheel still jutting out through open cargo doors that were tied shut around it. It didn't fit by any stretch of the imagination, but Kurtis seemed like he couldn't care less whether it destroyed the interior of the SUV or not. "How…resourceful."

He shrugged, his face betraying nothing. His features then twisted into a grimace as he gasped sharply and grabbed the steering wheel with his free hand, the other reaching out to catch her wrist in a tight grip. Though it wasn't nearly tight enough to cause pain, Lara still found her arm burning at his touch. Her head swam and she struggled to ignore it.

Finally Kurtis sat up straight in his seat, as if nothing had happened. She noted his hand still on her forearm and frowned. "You're injured, aren't you? How badly?" she asked, less out of concern for his health so much as her own well-being if he managed to pass out while driving.

"Flesh wound," he mumbled. Lara eyed his stomach where, from chest to navel, blood stained both shirts he wore. It looked like anything but a flesh wound. Still, he was able to stay upright and the pain seemed to have passed, and he finally released his grip on her arm.

Lara, on the other hand, was finally beginning to feel every injury she had sustained over the past week. Her muscles all ached and there were cuts and bruises in places she hadn't even known she'd been hit. She winced and turned away from Kurtis, unwilling to let him see her face twisting in pain. Between the agonizing discomfort and the hypnotic countryside rushing by, she managed to fall into an uneasy sleep.

It was somewhere near the Western border of Germany that the fuel light went on.

Kurtis cursed and floored the pedal, hoping to cover as much distance as he could on whatever amount of petrol was left- not a lot, he realized a scant 30 minutes later, as the vehicle's engine died and the SUV gradually slowed to a stop on the shoulder of the highway. He put it in park and sighed, surveying the countryside around them in resignation.

A glance at Lara showed her still sleeping soundly. Fresh bruises had shown up all down her arms, but otherwise she seemed fine.

Kurtis, on the other hand, lifted his shirts to find his wound bleeding yet again.

He opened the door and stepped out. The front of both shirts were soaked in blood and he stripped out of them eagerly, wincing as the cold air bit at his skin. Angling the side-mirror, he examined his wound and the torn and bloodied skin around it. It still gaped somewhat, and though the damage to the internal organs and arteries had been mended, his inability to sit still and focus on healing for an extended period of time was making it impossible to close the wound. Not to mention his source of regenerative energy kept waking up.

Reaching into the back of the SUV, he retrieved his battered duffel bag. Inside lay the only other article of clothing he carried with him, a wrinkled green t-shirt left over from his days with the Legion. Though the rest of his uniform had gone missing in the five years since he'd left, the shirt had managed to stick with him and at that moment he had never been more grateful for it.

Below the shirt was a first aid kit and he opened it briefly to snatch a roll of gauze from inside. Too stubborn to attempt to sew his wound- as that would mean losing his control over the pain and likely blacking out –he instead wrapped several layers of gauze around his torso and tucked the loose ends under. A sloppy job, no question, but he was counting on reaching Paris within the next few hours. He'd be able to sew it there, in the comfort of a warm room where he could pass out at regular intervals as needed until it was finished.

He slipped into the shirt and pulled it carefully over his stomach, then slammed the doors that still hung open and crossed around the rear of the SUV. He untangled the ropes and bungee cords holding the cargo doors closed and opened them wide. His bike still lay on its side on the floor, heavily weighing down the back wheels. No wonder my gas mileage was shit.

Kurtis took a few steps back and raised a hand. He focused on the space around the bike in his mind and lifted his hand further toward the sky. The bike merely jostled; grunting, he lifted both hands, a corner of his mind focused on the road behind for any oncoming traffic that might see him. It seemed clear for several miles around. Bracing with his left leg, he gave a mental pull. Finally the bike moved, screeching as the engine dragged against the floor of the SUV. He winced at the sound, but kept the pull going until the bike came to rest on the ground outside. He gave the stand an angry kick and scowled at the bike; the paint on the fuel tank was now more scratched up than ever.

He then crawled into the vacated space and retrieved Lara's holsters and guns, stuffed them roughly into his duffel bag before strapping it to the front of his motorcycle. Assured that they were fully secure, he then crossed to the left side of the SUV and opened the door.

Lara's face was now worryingly pale, and she appeared to have gone from sleeping to full lack of consciousness. Maybe I overdid it a bit.Kurtis undid the seatbelt and pushed it away from her chest, then lifted her easily into his arms. She seemed so vulnerable asleep, a total contrast to how violent he knew she was capable of being while awake. Curiosity burned in him to know what she had witnessed in the subterranean chambers, but he didn't yet dare question her on it; at least, not until they reached a place he could restrain her if needed.

Their reunion could have been different, had he not glimpsed her taking Karel's hand.

He was positive she would murder him if she knew he'd tapped into her mind. But he had needed to know what she had discovered down there, to know what had happened to his father, to see justice served before he died alone in the dark. In the end, the only thing he'd discovered was the order's true enemy and nothing more, as whatever she had witnessed when her mind connected to Karel's was a mystery to him still.

Still, the fact that Karel was no doubt dead gave him some peace, and it had been entirely luck that she had followed the Chirugai and collapsed near him when she did. Five more minutes and he may have been dead.

He gently sat Lara on the bike and took the spot in front of her, pulling her arms around his sides and tying them together at the wrists. It wasn't the most secure position for a passenger, but under the circumstances it would have to do. Turning the key and pushing down the kickstart with his heel, he smiled as the engine roared to life. He pushed off with both feet and gripped the throttle.

They quickly gained speed, coasting down the highway at a far quicker rate than had been possible in the overburdened SUV. At the rate they were going, they would reach Paris by nightfall.

X

Hours later, Kurtis woke up.

Suddenly aware of dampness around his midsection, he tried to sit up and examine the wound he knew had broken open. Last Kurtis could recall he had paused on a backroad intending to heal further…and had blacked out.

He tried again to pull himself into a sitting position, but couldn't move whatsoever. Ropes had been tied around his wrists and ankles and he could see that he'd been left in what appeared to be an old, dirty bathtub. Water poured over his lower half, falling gently from the showerhead, and the chain had been torn from the plug to prevent him from prising it out of the drain with his foot. The tepid water rose higher by the minute, covering more and more of his injured stomach. He could see a wisp of blood trailing through the water to his torso and all at once the pain came flooding back.

He spotted the line of green stitches across his belly and the rosy pink scar now forming around them, but it did nothing to ease the agony. Nothing was making sense to him, most of the disorientation no doubt a byproduct of his exhaustion.

Who had sewn his wound up? And where was Lara?

Swallowing, Kurtis tried to call for her. His voice came out as a muffled grunt. Biting down, he realized there was a ball of cloth stuffed into his mouth and a strip of duct tape to keep it shut. Bound and gagged.

"Finally woke up, did you?"

Gaze drifting to door, he could only glare in reply.

"You're drugged, in case you're wondering why you feel so hung-over. You'll thank me for it later." Lara stepped into the washroom, her steps heavy against the wooden floor, and seated herself on the edge of the bathtub. She drew a finger through the water and cast a glance toward Kurtis. "Frigid."

Bit like someone I know. Having given up trying to reply, he let his head drop back and watched her in sullen silence. There was a look of smug triumph on her face. She was showered and at least marginally more rested, the fire back in her eyes. Her guns were now strapped firmly to her legs over the clothes she had worn to Prague.

"You would have screamed from the pain," she continued, "and I couldn't have that, not where others can hear." Reaching out, she tore the duct tape off with a single movement, and he squeezed his eyes tightly closed, willing himself not to cry out as half his facial hair was ripped away with it. She pulled the cloth gag from his mouth, careful to keep her fingers out of reach of his teeth. "Feeling nauseous?"

"Just need to sleep it off," he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. He clenched his teeth to keep from shivering. "What exactly did I do to deserve this, besides pulling your ass out of the fire multiple times?"

"Nearly killing me ranks quite high on the list." Not missing a beat, she held out both of her bare arms, now littered with fresh scars and bandages over still-bleeding wounds. Her bare abdomen was not yet bandaged, and there he saw the beginnings of a scar much like the one on his own stomach. Kurtis was speechless. He had been pacing the rate at which he used her energy to heal, hoping to avoid this very situation. A pang of guilt made him look away from her, but he was far too stubborn to apologize for it.

"I won't beg," he said quietly, his tone defiant despite the situation. "This isn't the worst bind I've been in."

"It's not me you'll want to be begging." She tugged on her gloves nonchalantly. "At least one team of gendarmes, possibly two, are en route as we speak."

"For what?"

"They've been informed of your role in the Monstrum murders."

"What role?" His tone was somewhat higher than intended.

"How you smuggled false passports into France to pass on to me?" She smiled. "They even have a record of you using them at the German-Czech border."

The blood drained from his face.

"Is this a bit overkill?" she continued, her affect flat once more. "Perhaps. But I've been jerked around by far too many people in just the last week alone to put up with a two-faced man I just met wounding me repeatedly for his own benefit. I am tired of being manipulated and used."

"Gotta be honest, Lara, so am I."

"You're one to talk," she snapped, "considering you would have dropped me the instant I gave you the information you wanted. It was foolish on either of our parts to think our partnership extended beyond the walls of the Strahov. We're even. I saved your life, however unwillingly, and you saved mine."

He laughed bitterly. "Saved my life? If I don't die of sepsis or hypothermia first."

"You survived one life threatening wound, I'm sure you'll do fine."

"And how are you going to get anywhere in France without my help? Your face is plastered on every TV screen and newspaper from here to Belarus."

She paused. He could see on her face that the answer was I don't know. "I plan to lay low. It shouldn't be long until the authorities find whatever is left of the Strahov and piece together what happened."

He laughed again, bitterly. "Oh, Croft, you almost seem like you believe yourself."

Ignoring his words, she stood, glancing down to ensure her gear was in order, and then stepped to the door. "Thank you for your help, Kurtis," she said quietly. He could almost hear regret in her tone. "I hope you got what you wanted in the end."

"Lara-"

"Your weapons are buried outside. You can dig for them when you get free. I don't expect nor hope for us to meet again."

Kurtis watched helplessly as she pulled the door closed and locked it behind her. Unable to physically locate his Chirugai, Kurtis couldn't summon it to his hands, and had no mental strength left to deal with the handcuffs. He adjusted his position, attempting to turn off the water with his foot. It grazed the tap, but could get no further. By then the water was around his shoulders, nearly overflowing the edge of the tub. From outside he heard the roar of an engine and yelled in rage. She was taking his bike.

Minutes later he heard shouts downstairs, the door slamming into the wall as it was kicked in. The gendarmes had finally arrived.

Despite it all, a laugh escaped him, and he laid back to wait.