Prologue:

"I mean it isth justh not sthcientifically possthible for sthuch an animal to existh." A lisped voice nearly sent spittle across the table and upon her face. She didn't withdraw though, the young woman in khaki shorts with faux leather double holsters, tall white socks, thick brown combat boots, fingerless gloves and a very tight -yet padded- teal sweater. Actually it could have been plastic for all she knew, what ever kind of material it was shined and drew attention directly to her torso- which is exactly what most of these fans were lined up for, well almost most. The unfortunate young man with plastic lens-less glasses and depressing ache nearly whistled through his teeth, "Are you listhening?"

"Yes of course dear, but it's all rather moot I should think, my books aren't fiction." She replied with a wink, smiling her best British smile with her best British accent but behind her slightly red circle sun glasses and in front of her tightly braided brown hair, Lady Lara Croft was thinking something entirely different. She wanted nothing more than to toss the cheap table aside, roll beneath it and through the convention crowds out the white exit door. The chatter of people, the wide wall length windows showing only streets and slowly passing cars, the grey blue carpet and the smell of far too many bodies tightly packed together; her fingers twitched, itching, and she gripped them slightly harder in her faux leather gloves.

Of course, she couldn't; these were her fans and the whole of her career as a writer had suffered since her latest book was banned by the Egyptian government, and being considered for banning in the United Kingdom due to excessive gun use. It didn't help she was on a number of watch lists for suspected involvement in a string of murders throughout the European Union. Monstrum, they called the serial killer, but how could she have convinced them it was not her but an ancient being born of humans and 'angels'? There wasn't enough evidence to clear her, but certainly not enough to convict her thus off she popped with a slap on the wrist and slap dab into the blacklist of most of her old stomping grounds. One of her 'agents', a silly worrisome man by the name of Jonathan, suggested she tried to get it pushed in America, freedom of speech being more peculiar across the pond and controversial figures seen as quite the 'in' thing to be.

She desperately needed the finances and travel was… restricted now, especially after she'd raised even further suspicion by seemingly allowing her ancestral home, Abbingdon Estate, to be blown up and burned down. So there she was. Sitting at a little table, with a little pile of her old books, signing covers and listening to the stricken young man speak about how impossible her books were, though she knew they weren't- she had been there. She could handle the 'controversial figure' chasing fans with their probing questions and insinuations, the belligerent Crytozoologist skeptics who sometimes plagued her little signings and she could even tolerate the fans who wanted pictures with roaming hands but what she could not handle were the hours.

Hours sitting at a little table with a little chair, being polite to all these strangers… who she depended upon to buy her books, bolster her reputation and fund a large amount of the reconstruction. Why on earth her 'agent' had begged and pleaded for her to wear this silly and inaccurate getup from some of her earlier days she had no idea- some kind of iconic symbolism of some such rot. To her though, it was all mere show and tell, and the real world was outside. High in those mountains, or deep beneath the earth, yes… she had been to America before and wanted nothing more than to explore her glorious country once again. But first, she had to deal with the dwindling line of fans.

Five hours she sat at that table for this convention, selling over two hundred books, signing twice as many again, taking god knows how many pictures, and this spittle fellow was the second to last in line. If she could only get him to bugger off, she could sign her last book and be done with everything. But manners were manners, so she waited patiently as the small fellow continued to prattle about inaccuracies in the fossil record and animals unable to support their own weight or some such. She had already signed his book, and his poster, and his little action figure but he still wouldn't leave; he wanted to discuss things, which Lara was happy to do, just not after seventeen hours. She was at the limits of patience and worse, there was another person behind him.

He waited just as impatiently as she, and just as polite to wait his turn none the less. She tried to spy a good look at him, wondering if he would be the chatty type, but the spittle prattler kept moving into her line of sight to make sure she was paying attention. It was somewhat annoying. She had of course gotten a bare bones tactical glimpse of him, which was a part of her training: a tall young man, broad in the shoulders, muscled in the arms with long brown hair. He wore a blue short sleeve shirt, a dark colored pair of cargo pants, and an odd hat. The hat was most notable because it was olive green, one of those bush hats stereotypical of Australian outback online shopping outlets, but it was bent and dipped in an odd way… like a fedora.

Lara didn't usually hash out as much detail about her individual fans like this, but the spittle prattler was driving her to distraction and her hungry mind was keen to keep her awake and focused on something other than the fading carpet, drab walls and ceiling she had stared at for the last hundred hours. Luckily her time was almost up, and in just a few minutes she would be allowed to clock out, and move on. This would of course mean 'Indy' the last in line would only get a quick book sign and maybe a single question before she had to slip away though; she pitied him, waiting patiently, not interrupting, very polite and decent of him. Especially in contrast to the spittle prattler who had been blabbering on for the last thirty minutes. Ten of which 'Indy' had cleared his throat numerous times, all of which were ignored by the spittle prattler.

Finally 'Indy' had given up and gone silent, patiently waiting his turn. In fact if this kept up, Lara wouldn't be able to see him at all and he WAS last in line… Lara cleared her own throat just as the spittle prattler was in the middle of explaining how she must have hallucinated because of the high altitude. "Sorry deary, wonderful chat, but you are rather holding up the line." She pointed out. To which Spittle prattler puffed up, turning red as his acne turned white and Lara sighed inwardly. He was about to launch into a tirade about her not appreciating her fans and so on, she had heard it before. And so he did; his voice raising into octaves that would shame a soprano as he prattled high pitched about how many hours he waited in line, how she was discourteous and lofty and so forth, ignoring that she- and the person behind him- had waited just as long.

Lara had had quite enough by this time, and with a bow of her head, the two figures standing on either side of he table stepped forward. Nondescript people with con lanyards and badges around their necks and con shirts, her 'private security' though they were simple volunteers. What happened next was a lot of fussing, an uncalled for scuffle, and then spittle prattler was being carried out by his arms. The silly display had put Lara right out of her impatient mood and into an irritated mood. Seeing as she no longer had a security escort, she was free then, to leave. Of course, 'Indy' stepped forward as she was packing away her few remaining books. Lara smiled politely but didn't slow down her ready making to leave.

"Ah, Lady Croft, I, Ah…" he began.

Wonderful another stuttering shy fan, it would take him minutes to work up the courage to speak to her. Minutes she didn't have. "Sorry deary, hate to snuff the lantern, but my time is up. You're a bit late and I don't intend to be, so can't stay for a chat; can I sign your book for you?"

"I-I, Oh, I wouldn't- um, I see, you'll, ah…" he tried to say and handed her a few books on the corner of her table which she took and placed in her bag.

He was helping her pack?

"I see you don't have a book with you, sorry love, but I've got to go you see, terrible sorry. Here, have a free one on me." She said, smiling brightly, more for the closeness of her escape then any happiness to see him. It shut him up all the same; she got a good look at him now, he was very pale with a short brown goatee trimmed to a scraggly point on his chin yet running up his jaw line like one Abe Lincoln. He had dark brown eyes and the faint whisper of scars about him, and artists' hands. He was also pudgy. Lara waited a split second as he stared at her with open mouth, giving him an opportunity to at least say something… but he only stared, and then looked away, shy until the end. Lara didn't drop her smile, though she was sad it had to end like this.

It had been such a nice convention.

She gathered her bag, moving around the table, cheerfully, "Alright then-"

"Wait!" he said suddenly, Lara paused, looking at him with interest. "I-I, do have your book, all, all of them… but, I, wanted to give you something."

He pulled out a tiny vial with a cork, half full of a silver sand of some kind.

"What's this then?" Lara smiled appreciatively, halting her packing.

"It's Moon dust." He hid his eyes behind his odd hat.

"Moon dust? Really? A very rare item; I've never been myself."

"I know, I…" he paused.

Lara watched him, still holding her smile.

"I've… read all your books." He finished quietly with a sigh. She raised her eyebrows slightly in confusion, waiting for him to go on, but he only turned his head. "You can have it tested, it's genuine- the truth… well that's, all I wanted to give you."

Then he walked away, she watched him go, smiling at him sympathetically.

"So that's it then? You waited in line ten hours to hand me a vial of moon dust? What game are you playing at…" she called, he paused with shoulders sagged further, head bowing but he didn't turn. "…Kitty."

Now he turned- eyes narrow.

"Or should I call you Mr. Wilde?" Lara leaned on the table, looking over her red shades and smiling her wolfish smile. "A bit too formal though, I should think."

"You… you-" he came back, eyes wide.

"Remember everything? Of course I do. It was almost like a dream. Almost." Lara scoffed, leaning nonchalantly, "Perhaps you wouldn't know, but before I sat through all this again I made a few calls. It seems Jonathan was already bribed and serving out his rehab sentence in the clinic his anonymous benefactor stipulated he attend. And a certain pop star has been arrested along with a very well known fugitive, the coast guard caught them transporting some illegal animals and housing them on their own personal island. Why, even the police have already been and arrested some men outside impersonating officers- bit of a struggle but the fakes were ambushed, wouldn't you know?"

Kitty shrugged apologetically, "I-"

"Ah ah! I'm not done! It seems this someone did more. I also learned that my mansion has been completed, despite my surprise," Lara held up a hand quieting hand, then bopped her forehead, "Silly me, forgetting I set the time frame much earlier, and misreading my bank book, what with the few extra millions or so actually in there."

Kitty smiled again, shrugging. "I-"

"And someone sent Interpol a whole crate of evidence, including a wire tap between an informant and Yakuza boss, something about a deal to steal artifacts and assassinate someone; Kuroyama was busted along with three other yakuza heads in a meeting at, oh, the 'Izo K'. Seems he won't be getting out of jail any time soon, not with all the evidence that mysteriously appeared on their doorstep." Lara crossed her arms behind her back, eyebrows lifted very charmingly. "and a certain someone suddenly had a great deal of pull with Interpol then, getting them, to speak with the Egyptian government about releasing all blocks on my book. And here you are, telling me, this little vial is all you wanted to give me hmmm?"

Kitty sagged his shoulders, "It was, the least I could do… I felt your presence, holding me, that's what kept me together… so I gave you everything you wanted."

"Erasing yourself, our time together, and everything we did?" she smiled at him amused. "And you just thought you'd, humbly walk away, one last noble gesture?"

"Well I-I, don't deserve, didn't want you to, and you might not have forgiven, or-" he came around the table all apologetic humility, complete with face burning.

Lara caught him up, stopping him still with her fingers on his lips.

They stood in silence for a moment. He looked into her eyes, and she into his. "Enough games… nothing has changed, and you're going to have to re-earn my trust. You're coming home with me, tonight, and you're going to help me move all the heavy things back into their safe places, including my artifacts. Then I'm going to make you the greatest tomb raiding assistant that ever walked this earth, and together we're going to prove a certain theory of mine. Do you understand?"

Kitty starred; slowly, his eyes watered, but he nodded all the same.

"Good. Oh and you're also going to help me write my latest book." She instructed him in a crisp, upstanding tone, "My first work of fiction…"

"Mhas mhat?" Kitty said around her fingers.

Lara smirked; "The Game: Around the World in Eight Days."

Together, Lara and Kitty shared an honest laugh; it was one of the more memorably wonderful moments of her adventuring career.