Chapter 19

The three kilometer walk back to Lara's estate took them over half an hour to complete - largely due to Max's injured leg. He had implored Lara to run on ahead, to stop any other intruders and because of the fact that she was scaring the hell out of him. She remained with him, stating that anything that might have been done to her home had already happened - but there was more, Max thought, as his arm was wrapped around Lara for their walk, he thought that she was honestly concerned about him.

Lara's near-new Impreza was totaled, even if they could have gotten the engine started one of the rear wheels was now facing the sky and the fuel tank had ruptured - it would have not moved an inch. Inoperable also was the car's cellular phone, so they could not call for help. Max usually wore one on his belt, but there had been precious little time to prepare for their latest adventure.

Max swore to himself to sleep in his clothing until his time with Lara was up.

Several cars had passed them in the early morning hours. Each time, the story was the same. A car, seeing pedestrians where there should be none, slowed to see if they could be of service. Upon seeing a bloodied, heavily armed couple in their undergarments, they sped away quickly, probably to phone the Police.

As much as Lara would have welcomed the ride home, she much preferred the walk to explaining herself to the local Constabulary. They tended to have less of a sense of humor than Lara, and were charged by the township that employed them to keep their upper-class community quiet and safe - two adjectives that rarely applied to Lara Croft.

In addition to the blinding anger at herself for falling for Elder's little trap, she felt somewhat ashamed for her display in front of Max. Typically, anyone who saw Lara that livid was not around to remember it - thoughts of Natla's goons filled her head.

Max was starting to get some color back in his cheeks as his body replaced the blood that spilled next to Lara's Sixty-Thousand-Pound-Paper-Weight. Her trunk-mounted first aid kit was nowhere to be found after the impact, so some of her large T-shirt had been donated for a tourniquet and dressing.

Once they got home, she would use a little more advanced measures on Max.

"So, what do we do?"

"Don't try to talk, just keep walking."

"Nah, gotta keep from going into shock."

"Sounds like we're writing a positively dreadful poem."

They both got a little smile from that.

"Hey, I've got two little pieces of info that might make a littler silver lining out of this night."

"What?"

"Well, first I'm glad that we took your car, not mine; and I think all are glad that I wasn't wearing my boxers that say 'If You Lived Here, You'd Be Home Now' on the front."

"Careful, I might laugh so much that I drop you..."

"Okay. What's out next move?"

"Assuming Elder got the other pieces?"

"I think that would be safe."

"Then we push our time-table forward and leave for Russia in the morning."

"As in a few hours from now?"

"Correct."

"I guess you've finally got a good excuse to leave the gimp behind and go the rest alone."

"No."

"No what?"

"No, you're coming with me."

"Why the change of heart, am I growing on you?"

"Like a tumor."

"Hey, speaking of...you don't happen to have a smokey-treat hidden away in those holsters, do you?"

"Afraid not."

"I hate my life..."

With arms around each other, the motley couple continued their march into the night.