Weakness Chapter 1: The Shadow Inside, a tomb raider fanfic

Weakness

Athena02

Athena_o2@hotmail.com

Author's note: This is just a tiny little scene that kept begging to be written. I might add it into a larger work I'm thinking about starting, but we'll have to see…

~~~~~

Winston Jeeves' shoulders slumped as he sighed heavily to himself, watching as a lithe figure dressed entirely in black racing leathers swung onto the motorcycle waiting on the gravel drive. Kickstarting it in one smooth motion, the figure roared down the drive, peeling through the iron gates and turning out of sight with a screech of tires on wet pavement.

Shuffling away from where he had been peering through the window, the butler's thoughts were in a turmoil, worry snaking through his insides. He may only be her servant, but he could not deny that he felt somewhat protective of her.

But did she really feel that she needed to take the Triple?, he lamented inwardly as he slowly made his way up the stairs.

          She'd been distant and withdrawn since returning from her latest expedition a week ago. He'd certainly seen similar moods before—when she'd come back from a particularly close call or betrayal—but never anything like this. He let her have the space she clearly wanted, but kept a paternal eye on her. He knew that she was not the type to discuss what was bothering her, what she had seen, but watching her run like a madwoman on her assault course, pummeling the bags in her gym, battered his very soul as he ached to know what could affect her that much.

          He sighed again. She was certainly reckless, but even more so on the Triple. He just prayed that she made it back home in one piece, and with fewer demons flitting around her head.

          ~~~~~

          Lara Croft gritted her teeth as her hand crushed the throttle of her Triumph Speed Triple against the handlebars as if she could will the already redlining bike to go even faster. The green English countryside whirled by her in a smear of green and grey, but she only had eyes for the road ahead, narrowing her focus to the asphalt as it raced up to her in an effort to clear her mind.

          It didn't work, and the images continued playing in her head with a vengeance.

          She had crouched behind the altar of the small church as soon as she'd heard the shouting in the streets. Peering around the corner of the stone, her Berettas gripped tightly, she could see the yelling figures through the gaping hole in the building's bombed-out front. One of the soldiers held the baby by the foot, laughing as he tossed it to his comrade. From the limp way it flew through the air, Lara could tell that it was dead. The soldiers laughed when another one of their friends failed to catch their macabre ball, his rifle getting in the way of his hands. The small body landed in the ashen mud with a sickening splat.

          With an inward snarl, Lara banished the image from her head, trying to focus on anything else. She'd seen death before; she'd certainly killed. She made no noble pretense about her deadly actions, she did what she had to do to survive. She'd accepted the fact that she dealt out death to those who would try to bring it to her, but she was certainly not a murderer.

          But she couldn't understand why the same events were playing in her head, over and over again. Why there was a sickening feeling in the depths of her stomach. Why she felt so numb, empty inside.

          Angry with herself, she bent into the wind, driving ever forward. The pack on her back shifted slightly, and she could feel the metal of the small statue poking her in the back, a reminder of the price she'd paid and the debt she still carried.

          ~~~~~

          The bartender's deep brown eyes met Lara's as soon as she stepped into the dimly bar, yet he said nothing, only nodding to her as she sat down on one of the bar stools. He remained silent as he placed a glass of scotch in front of her before moving on to a group of college-age men holding a boisterous conversation at the other end of the bar. She took a sip of the scotch, barely tasting the alcohol as it slid down her throat.

          She was contemplating the merits of getting absolutely smashed when the taste of the scotch turned to iron as the images flooded back into her brain.

          A horrible shriek rent the air as soon as the body hit the mud, so chilling that Lara felt as if the very marrow of her bones had instantly frozen. A woman ran up the soldiers, slamming into one of them and pummeling him futilely with her fists. His companions laughed again, dragging her off of him. She screamed at them, hysterically cursing at them as tears ran down her dirt-streaked face.

          Lara felt a ball of dark inevitability ball up in her stomach. She slowly stood up from behind the altar, Berettas gripped tightly in her hands as she crept towards the tableau in the street. The soldiers in the street in front of her didn't notice the figure stalking closer, too busy roughly tossing the remnants of the woman's clothing to the ground.

          She crouched behind the last row of pews, taking aim at the laughing soldier who was pushing the woman to the ground. She would have to make this quick: the area was crawling with militia soldiers who would do the exact thing to her if they caught her.

          A tiny part of Lara whispered to give up on playing the hero and just grab what she'd come for. Shooting these men would make her job harder, narrowing the odds. But there were some things she couldn't just stand by and watch.

          Her fingers tightened on the triggers, her leg muscles gathering for the burst of power that would send her racing into the street like some kind of avenging seraphim…

          …when three more soldiers came running up, laughing as they joined in the macabre scene.

          She sank back into the shadowy rubble of the church, her stomach clenched in disgusted horror as she turned away.

          Ten minutes later, the statue in her backpack, she was making her way out of the church. She did everything she could, but her eyes were still drawn to the blood soaked, motionless body lying in the street.

          She shook her head, snarling inwardly to herself to get moving before the militia caught up to her.

          "Hey….you awake there?"

          The vision suddenly cleared from Lara's mind, her eyes snapping into focus. The bartender was waving his hand in front of her face, corners of his lips turned up in a ghost of a smile.

          "I'm closing up now," he said, studying her.

          "Good," she replied absentmindedly, eyes following him as he locked the door, turning the sign in the window before returning to the bar to toss a handful of empty bottles in the bin.

          Lara just studied him as he moved around. He was tall, square-jawed with a slight bump on his nose for evidence that it had been broken once or twice in the past. His brown hair was short, with a slight wave to it. He was built solidly, the play of muscles in his arms and shoulders visible as he wiped down the bar.

          Lara's eyes flicked away as he looked at her, studying the pictures on the wall. The young man in them wore a goalkeeper's uniform in most of them, looking intense as he stood or dove upon the football pitch. She looked back at the man: the same, yet different.

          How things change….

          The man gave the bar one last swipe with a cloth before her stood across from Lara, planting his hands on the teak surface and looking straight at her.

          "I haven't seen you in a while," his voice was warm but solemn.

          "I've been busy," she answered, "Out of the country a lot"

          "You were at the auction today?" he called out, coming out from behind the bar to stand beside her.

          "Yes." Despite all her mental barriers, a dark cloud appeared on her features, her tone bitter. "Another three-quarters of a million pounds richer."

          "But it wasn't worth it, whatever happened." He put a firm hand on her shoulder, looking into her eyes, reading the pain and weariness there.

          But there was no judgment, no condemnation in his own eyes. Maddox may be able to read her soul, but he knew not to judge it.

          She closed her eyes as he leaned over to kiss her, the heat and life of him seeping into from her lips to the numb emptiness in her soul.

          They didn't say anything as they made their way upstairs. Lara pushed away the hurt, the numbness, focusing only on each moment as it happened.

          ~~~~~