Heart to heart - Sam

Note: This is Part 9 of an alternate universe story – starting with Surprise! – that branches off from flashback events in Can't Go Home / Easier to Run. It theorises what would happen if Lara was actively exploring her sexuality before Yamatai and how it affects her friendship with Sam.

For such a goodie-goodie, Lara had a surprisingly strong constitution. Her bloody Croftstitution again. Or her work as a barmaid. Either way, getting her drunk required gallons of booze. It was challenging even Sam's conditioning.

The girls had already had several back-to-back shots in the kitchen, alternating the spirits for maximum effect. Vodka, Jäger, tequila, schnapps, even some shitty budget ouzo they'd bought in Greece and forgotten about at the back of the cupboard.

Afterwards, with a selection of bottles in their arms, they'd staggered through to the lounge.

The two friends sat side-by-side on the couch, half-heartedly playing drinking games while The Twilight Saga marathoned on Sky Movies.

Even drunk, it was hard to keep Lara from dark thoughts.

While she was mixing Malibu and Coke with a decidedly heavy hand, the brunette muttered, "Did I just make a huge mistake?"

Sam didn't miss a beat. "I think you made the smartest decision of your life."

"It's just… I thought – "

"You didn't seriously think she was the One?"

"I don't know. I don't know what I thought..." Then Lara started smiling over the lip of her drink at a private joke.

Sam jabbed her in the shoulder. "What's so funny? Spill it, Croft."

"I don't know what I thought… apart from God, the sex is incredible."

And that was a prime indicator sober Lara had left the building – the shy English girl never talked about her physical appetites.

Suddenly she sat up straight. White-faced, she addressed the room, "What if I never find anyone else like her?"

"I would say that's a great thing."

Lara swung her head towards her friend. "I'm serious. Intellectually, sexually, I've never connected with anyone like that before."

Sam put her drink down. "And how long have you been dating? You plan to see the world. There are literally thousands of lovely women out there who would trade their soul to be with someone like you, Lara. That perfect person for you exists, I promise; probably somewhere you least expect it."

"You think so?"

"I know so. And, best of all, none of them will be as big a bitch as Amanda."

Lara laughed at that – a bark that gave away just how far gone she was.

Her goofy grin held, but Sam could see the jubilance fading in her eyes. She was sinking back into the Swamp of Sorrows.

Lara confirmed the change by slumping back in her seat. She began to muse again, "I don't believe in karma. I don't believe in most things. But sometimes I wonder if it's real. I mean, what could I have possibly done, in this life or a past one, that I'm never allowed to be happy for more than a few seconds?"

Because tragedy actually makes you more beautiful.

Sam could never say that though, so she settled for a physical demonstration of support. She reached out and cupped Lara's cheek even as her friend looked perilously close to tears again.

The English girl sighed, "My parents. Amanda… Why do I lose everyone that I care about?"

"You'll never lose me," Sam murmured. "Heh, even if you wanted to."

Lara cocked her head. "Now why would I ever want that?"

The way she said it – the sudden surge of surety; the way her eyes sparked and smouldered golden – Sam felt her heartbeat jitter. Reflexively, her gaze dipped to Lara's plump lips.

God, she was crushing on her best friend.

And was Lara flirting with her?

Forget it, Sam. You're drunk and you're imagining things. She's drunk too.

Still, the American girl withdrew her hand, trying to hide the tremble in her fingers. She busied herself topping up the pair's drinks.

The evening was starting to fragment. Gaps opened up between moments of clarity, like a deck of cards splayed out on the table.

Lara didn't seem to be coping much better. She'd progressed to swigging straight out of a whisky bottle. Booze gave her the memory of a goldfish, and in her mournful state, she kept cycling around to the same points. So she was back to questioning the loss in her life.

Sam decided to short circuit the process. She grinned, "I'm not going anywhere, Lara."

"Yeah, but you're – you're not – I can never – "

"Never what?"

All the slurring, wincing and fumbling for words ceased. Lara looked at her companion and responded simply. "– have you."

Holy crap. Was she being serious?

With the sober, socially acceptable barriers removed, was that really what she'd been thinking all along?

Sam swallowed.

Well, there was one way to find out.

Sam clambered into Lara's lap and straddled her. "Are you so sure about that?"

The film student's action wasn't crossing a line; it was a full cartwheel across it. Sam recognised that fact.

So did Lara. She tensed and tried to push her friend off her. "Stop it. I can't handle being teased right now."

"Who's teasing?"

Sam brushed away Lara's hands, and placed her own palms on her companion's shoulders. Then she began circling her hips, lifting herself up and down in a simulation of the obvious.

Lara seemed captivated by the motion – particularly the gap that opened and closed between their pelvises. She flushed bright red. Eventually she managed to make eye contact with Sam. "You are teasing me."

"I'm just giving you that cheer-up lap dance you refused earlier."

"Oh, God." Lara covered her face in her hands. But she was smiling behind her fingers. In the end, looking simultaneously goofy and groggy, she was able to sit back and enjoy the show.

Sam, meanwhile, was getting a kick out of providing that same show – especially the way Lara's mouth hung slack and her eyes grew increasingly heavy-lidded.

Sam leaned back. With her hips thrust forward and her chest pointed to the ceiling, she sang her invitation. "Make it rain, Lara, make it rain."

The English girl mock-hunted for her purse. "Make it rain? I'm an Archaeology student. Would you accept a Costa gift card?"

While her friend was chuckling, Sam did what she always did.

Seize the moment.

She leaned in a pressed her lips to Lara's.

For a heartbeat, Lara pressed back; her mouth opening to transform the kiss into something more.

Then she pulled away, wide-eyed. "Sam…"

The American girl placed her palm over Lara's mouth, catching the inevitable rebuff. "Don't. I wanted that. Truly. And I think you did too."

Lara pried Sam's fingers from her face. "For the longest time…" Filter-free, she wasn't even trying to deny it anymore. "But," she added with a deepening frown, "we're drunk."

"Very."

"So we can't."

"Getting drunk was the only way I could work up the courage."

"Neither of us is thinking straight."

"Heh. No. No, we aren't." Sam pecked at Lara's lips once more. "But I don't see the problem."

"I do." Lara shook her head. She slurred, "This would change everything between us. I can't risk losing you. It already hurts too much."

"You could never lose me, I swear. And it doesn't have to hurt."

Sam leaned in. She ran her nose along Lara's jaw, tracing the bone up to her ear.

God, she smelt amazing.

"Mmmm," the filmmaker purred. "For one night, don't worry about it. Just let me help you feel good; help you feel appreciated the way you should be." She tongued the soft flesh of Lara's lobule, and then redirected her suckling to the side of the brunette's neck.

The English girl shuddered.

Time to seal the deal. Sam released her mouthful of flesh and whispered, "I'm yours, Lara. In every way. I always have been."

After that, well, things got really choppy.

Moments stood out though like Sam had already edited together a highlights reel.

The way the two girls smiled at each other in the aftermath of their first proper kiss – initiated with nose-bumping clumsiness.

How natural it felt reaching into Lara's pants. Finding her so ready was just a bonus.

Going to third base with her best friend there on the couch.

The deliciously soft, shiver-triggering feeling of her roommate's lips as they kissed a trail down her body.

The dual sensations of her fingers raking through Lara's hair, and her bare back against the lounge rug.

Crying out and arching up into the breathless young woman poised over her.

Straining to kiss the brunette in the floaty aftermath.

The light in Lara's irises when Sam finally confessed, "I love you so much."

The next time Sam opened her eyes, she was instantly blinded by daylight.

Even though she was lying on her side, facing away from the window, she grimaced and covered her face.

God, she felt rough.

Then the question needled her. Where was she? This wasn't her bedroom.

Fuck, it was Lara's.

Confirming it, an arm draped over her ribs from behind, and drew her back against the front of another body. A woman's body.

A flash of memory and then the gut-twisting realisation: Sam knew exactly what those juicy breasts pressing into her felt like. Specifically, in her hands. And between her lips.

The film student clasped a hand over her mouth to stifle her yelp.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

She'd lost her gay virginity to her best friend.

She was a living breathing lesbian cliché.

She glanced over her shoulder. Lara was snuggled there, fast asleep, angelically beautiful as always – and clothed in a vest, thank God.

What had Sam done?

Her heart pumped skittering anxiety through her limbs as her brain dredged up the answer.

You made yourself Lara's drunken rebound.

The thoughts battered her in quick succession.

You are selfish, Sam.

She was miserable, and you manipulated her.

You took advantage of her – treating her like she was a tied-up pony, just waiting to be ridden.

Sam suddenly felt unbearably hot and claustrophobic under the covers. In Lara's embrace.

She couldn't stay. She couldn't.

It sickened her to draw on her ninja-level one night stand skills, but that was what she needed just then. She gently lifted her companion's arm and slipped off the side of the mattress.

Ensuring she hadn't left any incriminating evidence – apparently she had discarded all her clothes before reaching the bedroom – she crept out the door.

She couldn't risk the hiss of a shower, so she simply tugged on the thickest, fluffiest, frumpiest pyjamas in her wardrobe. Then she wandered through to the kitchen, and slumped over the kitchen table like she was waiting to be flogged.

She deserved it, to be honest.

Eyes clenched shut, she whimpered, "I'm in love with her. I told her. And I slept with her."

On the living room floor.

And, from what she could remember at least, it had been incredible.

Life-altering, orientation-changing amazing…

But Lara was right – they shouldn't have. Sam had simple ignored her friend's objections and forced her feelings on her. When Lara had no willpower to resist; no shield to raise.

Like it or not, Sam had forever altered the nature of their relationship. There was no denying it.

She had let her infantile possessiveness get the better of her, and wrecked everything.

It had all been a huge mistake…

But then another part of her argued back: No, it wasn't.

The words echoed in her skull: You're in love with her. You told her. And you slept with her.

A third time – the most important bit: You're in love with her.

She knew that now.

When it came to relationships, hook-ups, whatever, it had been wrong for so long she could recognise when it felt right.

You're in love with her.

As she repeated it, a smile settled on her lips. She wasn't being selfish – a spoiled child refusing to share her toys. She loved Lara. She'd gone about it totally the wrong way but that didn't mean her feelings were invalid.

Lara wasn't Sam's moon. She was her sun.

Lara was… standing in the entrance to the kitchen.

Sam jumped; and then she cringed.

Here it comes.

She may have looked like an angel in her sleep but awake, and in her tatty tartan robe, Lara could have done with an exorcist and a splash of holy water.

Her face was white; her lips almost as pale. There had always been a touch of the Mediterranean to her tone. Just then, though, the shadowed portions of her skin seemed to tinted actual olive green.

Her eyes were bloodshot. Well, one of them was. Her left eye seemed to be pasted shut.

As for her hair, Sam had joked in the past that the young British aristocrat was part Highland cow. In that moment, the way she was lumbering around, with her shaggy locks everywhere, there seemed to truth to that quip about her bloodline.

"Goddamn you, Sam," the English girl growled.

The film student felt her gut turn to lead, and then crash through her intestines. It had actually happened. She had ruined everything.

She started to gasp an apology. "La – "

"This is your fault."

"Babe, I can – "

"No!" Lara shut her flatmate down as she lurched into the space.

Sam could feel the tears and the hyperventilation welling within her. Her body was simply skin stretched over a massive bubble of emotion about to explode.

Terrified it would pop, she sat frozen as Lara collapsed into a chair opposite her.

"I feel so shite," the English girl proclaimed. Then she folded over the table, smacking her cheek against the surface. She clutched her abdomen and groaned into the wood. "I want to die. Why did I let you convince me last night was a good idea?"

"What?!"

Sam couldn't help it. She meant the question internally, for herself – this wasn't the tirade she expected from her friend at all – but her surprise vented in a yell.

Lara lifted her head and winced her response, "How was last night supposed to make me feel better?" When Sam didn't reply immediately, the archaeology student flopped limp over the table once more. "I'm never drinking again."

Sam swallowed. Her breathing was still too shallow to truly calm her, but she no longer felt about to burst into tears. Lara's loathing was entirely centred on her hangover. Evidently. Nothing she had said or done since entering the kitchen referred to their R-rated exploits of the previous night.

Sam decided to test the friendship waters with a wisecrack.

She leaned over the table and whispered, "Maybe Amanda put a voodoo hex on you or something?"

"Hyynnn," Lara grimaced.

Sam gaped at her best friend. She had anticipated fury or overpowering awkwardness; not this. This was like engaging with an already half-suffocated fish hauled up onto the shore.

Conscious she could trigger a fresh bout of thrashing at any second, Sam gently prodded the trout. "Babe," she murmured, "What do you remember about last night?"

"The last thing?"

"Anything."

"Not much."

Oh my God.

Sam jerked back in her chair at the same instant Lara pushed herself up onto her elbows.

The English girl muttered, "I remember gulping Teacher's straight out the bottle." She dry heaved once, swallowed and whimpered. "Christ."

"And after that?" Sam probed.

Lara blinked. She frowned as she started ransacking her memory. "I dunno, some…" Alertness flashed in her pupils, and her cheeks reddened. "Some… weird dreams." Her gaze broke from Sam's and she fidgeted in her seat. "I had some weird dreams."

Suddenly Lara was on her feet. She shoved back her chair. "Um, I'm going to make tea. You want?"

"No thanks."

Sam stared while her bff struggled with the mundane task. Lara's hands were shaking too much to open the box of PG Tips, and she dropped it on the counter twice. She seemed almost frantic about it; doing her darndest not to engage with her companion throughout the activity.

Sam blew out her cheeks. She felt oddly conflicted. Lara's memory loss – or feigned memory loss – was the film student's Get Out of Jail Free card. If she played it, all the anxiety she had already grappled with that morning could be forgotten.

She and Lara could carry on as they always had: simply as best mates. With no spiked romantic landmines to stumble over and blow things apart.

But with the card in her hands, did she really want to play it? A part of her insisted that what happened wasn't a mistake. Events had aligned over the past few months to create a runway to this exact moment.

Sam stood. She rounded the counter so that she was right at Lara's right elbow. Impossible to ignore.

The archaeology student had finally brewed her cup of tea. She raised the mug to her lips.

Sam sucked in a breath. "Lara?"

Mid-sip, the English girl turned to her. The friends' pupils locked.

This is it, Sam. You may not be a Croft but you damn well can do this.

The wannabe filmmaker restarted, "Listen, there's something I – "

A shudder ran through Lara. Her eyes shot wide with desperation. An instant later she slammed her mug on the kitchen island and fled.

Sam followed the horrible retching sounds.

She found the English girl on her knees in the bathroom, hunched over the toilet. In between bouts of vomiting the archaeology student managed to wail, "I'm dying."

Feeling just a tad guilty, Sam crossed her arms. She sighed, "Lara Croft, you are not dying."

Face contorted with misery, Lara spat into the toilet bowl. Then she spat a second time, "I hate you."

Sam knelt down next to her friend as a fresh round of retching began. She tenderly drew the brunette's hair away from her face.

"Well, I love you, sweetie."

Author's note: This was going to be the final chapter in this particular AU storyline, but I've decided to add an epilogue.