I am not making any money with this. I do not own Lara Croft, Tomb Raider
etc.
Only to be archived at Fanfiction.net and 'Lara Croft's Tales of Beauty and Power'. All other sites email me first to gain permission.
============================================= The Last Revelation Part I: Night In Cairo by Heidi Ahlmen (siirma6@surfeu.fi) =============================================
After finding a towel Lara washed her face, enjoying the flowing yet greyish water that came out of the old faucet. Hoping the water would clear off her thoughts she drank from the faucet, despite what she'd learnt about water quality in Egypt. 'One can't have that bad luck twice'. Smiling for her own surprise, she remembered a certain trip to Sudan. She had drank from the faucet at the airport, and as a piece of cultural exchange, gotten some nasty diarrhoea. It had forced her to stay in the hotel as the other students from Boston had taken part in finding a grand treasure, an old king's grave in the thick jungle. It was probably the first and only time she'd ever gotten drunk enough to pass out. And whiskey had only made her feel more sick. The joke had been literally following her through the Chicago university years; 'what do you get if you take an English woman, Egyptian water, and too much whiskey? The Croft hangover'.
Now she could only smile at the memory. It seemed as if the raging skies of Egypt had set every memory, everything happening in her life to the right scale. It was as if she had lived for this moment only, the final moment of losing or winning. She was sorry to involve others in the process, but for once, she was selfish enough to not feel guilty.
And if Lara Croft failed now, at least she would pay for her grand mistake with her life.
Lara had no idea how long she had spent in a state of mind-swallowing comatose slumber on the sofa warpped in a bathrobe, but eventually she was awakened by a gentle shake. It was Jean. She sat up, shaking her head free from haze. She looked around. Jean had set up a table with two plates, spaghetti and some kind of sauce.
"Lara, come and eat."
"I'm tired, Jean," she said silently. It felt like in the middle of the night, the same overly calm atmosphere and silence.
"Lara, you have to eat, dear. You'll disappear out of sight soon. You have things to finish tomorrow."
Slightly annoyed at the fact that Jean-Yves felt it was necessary to remind her of that, Lara sat up slowly. Hating to admit it, she had to close her eyes for a second to stop the room from spinning.
"I'll eat tomorrow. I'll fix everything tomorrow. Tomorrow's going to be bloody fully organized for me, Jean."
"Lara Croft, if you refuse to eat for yourself, then at least, please, keep me company. I am a mere mortal in need of carbohydrates."
Lara smiled, a sudden wash of regret reaching her every cell. Jean's cool French wit was a continental version of her sharp, dry, British intellect. Once they had been inseparable. Undefeatable. Together. A long ago. And now she missed that feeling, comforting awareness of the fact that if you got in trouble, there would be someone who kept tabs on you. She wondered if Jean was feeling as sentimental as she was.
"Okay then. But let me sleep first."
Jean didn't agree to that, and simply grabbed her arm and pulled her up. She sat down at the table and ate reluctantly but obediently, ignoring the nameless sickness that had made her appetite vanish, and then concentrated on ripping her napkin to little shreds. Jean was still finishing his spaghetti when Lara thought about returning to the sofa. Then she thought again.
If he wasn't going to begin, then the quest fell to her.
"It's been a long time since we - - ," she searched for the appropriate word, "met like this, Jean."
He stopped twisting his last spoonful of spaghetti and looked at her, having a small epiphany. As attractive as she was, most men would have considered themselves lucky if Lara even once looked at them. Many men would also have been taken aback by her independence. Despite all the odds, here she was, sitting at a late night spaghetti table with him. He felt honored, in a way. But yet Jean-Yves DuCarmine knew that the true route to Lara's heart required someone who could see past of what she did and achieved, to who she was. And he did.
"Yes it has, Lara."
"Lara?"
Jean looked at her, his eyes asking what she meant.
Lara dropped her napkin and watched it slowly become soaked in the spaghetti sauce still left on her plate.
"You have never called me Lara. You've always used the H form."
"You know why?" Jean asked, tapping her mouth gently to the napkin, his eyes never leaving Lara's.
"Perhaps you could tell me," Lara said quietly, grimacing. She was in no state for mind-games.
"Because you like it," Jean-Yves stated, concentrating on his food again.
Lara sighed as old memories came. Must've been the fever. Must've been the headache, that was making her this emotional. Or maybe it was Set, trying to affect her through Jean and the whole situation.
Lara was about to say something, but she was interrupted by the knock on the door.
"My bags," she exclaimed in an apologetic tone, and hurried to the shady hallway. She opened the door, paid the porter and took the bags quickly to the bedroom, leaving Jean alone. After a moment of contemplation she decided to close the door as well.
Jean-Yves sat alone in the living room. Just sitting. In the same way he had sat years ago as she'd walked away the first time. Not in that melodramatical and oh-so-romantic way, of course. That would not suit Duchess Lara Croft. She needed a good, cleansing fight, anger hidden behind calm and thorny words.
Lara Croft never failed to amaze Jean-Yves with that utter, pure, righteous fire of her soul. She was rarely afraid, sad, puzzled or felt threatened. She was civilized, appreciative of all cultures but conscious of her own as well. And she definitely was not shy. After all, she had answered the door in her bathrobe. No a smart move in general in Egypt, but Lara defied ordinary rules in a strange way. It was as though culture gave her a leeway for the wonderful work she was doing trying to preserve it.
Jean was a Frenchman, proud of it, and he thought like one. He'd studied the compulsory classical literature and poetry emphasized in French schooling. In his opinion one couldn't describe Lara Croft better in any way that one wouldn't use to describe a dancing flame.
It was unnecessary to say she was to be left alone now.
Or not. After all, if you are going to save the everyone else's world, make sure you can save your own, too.
Why was it that no matter what the situation, Jean felt like she was always in control. He felt unsure, uncertain what to do. But this was his time. His moment to confront her.
In the meanwhile, Lara had changed into a black T-shirt and a pair of jeans. She had wandered to the balcony, invited by the flowing satin curtains. It was windy, as it had been for the last week.
Lara laughed mildly at the thought that a single human being was able to mess up the sky and everything. Who'd have thought. Bloody peculiar.
She heard the door open, not a tad surprised though. She'd known he'd follow. After all, it might be her last evening on Earth. Funny how the thought did not frighten her all that much.
Was it because she did not have much to lose? And was she already trying to accept the loss of the little she had?
Didn't accepting losing mean that there was no point in fighting? Fifty- fifty situations weren't good situations.
"I mean what I said, Larah, back then," Jean said, accentuating the H. "We could have made a lovely team, you and me."
Lara followed his moves silently, feeling like every unit of energy was leaving her body.
"I know you, Jean," she said sharply, but paused, somewhat startled by her own stiff tone. "But I also know myself. Neither of us would be willing to abandon a life career for a life together."
"Anything can be arranged. You could travel - I know I would have to cope with being worried about you all the time, but what's a man to do. I could still be situated in Alexandria.."
"Here we are, planning the future that is perhaps only twelve hours long." Lara laughed, then slammed a hand on her mouth. She hadn't meant to say it.
"Jean." Lara said, ignoring her own, demanding tone. A tone that called others off, but only because she didn't want to feel like she was losing control.
"Jean-Yves, being married is being married. You don't get married just for the sake of saying that you are married. If anyone worried about me, I would feel responsible for that person, too. I will not carry such a burden."
"Lara, I feel I am getting old."
Time to dig out the old clichéed 'you're a nice guy and everything' -speech, Lara thought, but was incapable of doing so.
"How does it feel like to be a heroine?" Jean-Yves asked, with a soft bitterness in his voice.
"Pardon me?"
"You're about to save the world. What if something happens to you?"
"Nice job with the simplification, Jean. If something happens this shall be the last time I ever see you. Do you really think I haven't thought about that?"
"You've surprised me with your thoughts or lack thereof such a great number of times I take nothing for granted from you, Lara."
"You make it sound as though I ought to be honored to hear that," Lara answered, crossing her arms on her chest. She was getting cold in the balcony.
"Jean, if I thought of dying tomorrow, then today would be wasted. You know what Mohammed said; live today, fight tomorrow. I would gladly talk this through, Jean, but it is getting late, and I have business tomorrow that will have to wait for this little affair of ours."
"Little affair? I am sorry if I am being overly emotional on this, archaeologist Lara Croft, but this used to be more than a little affair to you."
"Past is past, Jean. Leave me alone. Just leave me alone," Lara said, a bit annoyed, but mostly feeling as she would explode in tears, anger, relief, stress and other mixed feelings if Jean so much as just opened his mouth again.
"Lara, you don't look well. You look ill." Jean stood up and lowered a hand carefully on Lara's forehead.
"You are burning! Are you sure you have your malaria profylaxias in order?" he joked in a gentle tone.
"Always, Jean, always," Lara yawned silently, returning to the bedroom and letting herself fall onto the bed mattress.
"We need to get you to bed, Lara."
"Whatever." No objections. Not now. Saving the world was a much more prioritized problem than feeling awkward because of being fussed over.
"Lara, you have fever. You are sick. You need to take something - aspirin maybe."
Lara rubber he eyes with her bruised knucles and opened them.
"Nothing a good night's stressless sleep, sunny weather and a peaceful resting day won't cure."
Jean smiled at her.
"If this is the dry cool British wit you always hear of. Seriously, you take the bed, I will be happy on the sofa."
"Gladly."
Jean turned to leave. He had things to say to her, and was reluctant to keep quiet. But a strange defeat had washed over him.
"Jean?" Lara asked suddenly.
The archaeologist turned, and Lara scanned his whole figure, as if trying to memorize every single feature.
"Yes?"
"I have a million things in my head that need saying, a million voices in my head telling me what to do. And I will be gone tomorrow. Don't look for me. I am a selfish person. A very selfish one. I'm a real pain, Jean. If you look for me I lose. If I lose, I want to lose honestly, because I wasn't good enough. If I win, I want to be the one who comes to you."
"Have a good day tomorrow, Lara." Jean-Yves said silently, cursing his often lacking English. Not that it was the language's fault that he had no words for the situation.
"Good night, Jean. God, I feel like I should have something global and philosophical to say."
"You have said enough."
Jean left the room.
He sat down on the bed's unqconquered side an hour later, listening to a tomb raider's sleeping sounds. Lara Croft slept heavily, feverishly in the bed, hair hanging in sweaty locks around her face.
Jean-Yves was not a religious man, yet he mumbled a soft prayer under his breath for whatever god was protecting this woman, and left the room for the balcony.
Godspeed, Lara Croft. The end is drawing near.
Jean-Yves sat down on the balcony railing and stared out into the unnaturally restless night. The ancient minaret towers stood steady in the raging sandstrom. Tomorrow all this would perhaps be gone. Funny, he had always felt the old minarets were something that would stand an eternity.
Funny that the eternity perhaps wasn't any longer than this.
And he knew that the minute he left Lara, the endgame begun. She'd be alone.
And he'd be alone and fearful.
End of part I/V
~For additional information and insight concerning this story, check out the archive "Lara Croft's Tales Of Beauty And Power". I hope you've enjoyed the ride so far.
Heidi
All feedback to: siirma6@surfeu.fi
Only to be archived at Fanfiction.net and 'Lara Croft's Tales of Beauty and Power'. All other sites email me first to gain permission.
============================================= The Last Revelation Part I: Night In Cairo by Heidi Ahlmen (siirma6@surfeu.fi) =============================================
After finding a towel Lara washed her face, enjoying the flowing yet greyish water that came out of the old faucet. Hoping the water would clear off her thoughts she drank from the faucet, despite what she'd learnt about water quality in Egypt. 'One can't have that bad luck twice'. Smiling for her own surprise, she remembered a certain trip to Sudan. She had drank from the faucet at the airport, and as a piece of cultural exchange, gotten some nasty diarrhoea. It had forced her to stay in the hotel as the other students from Boston had taken part in finding a grand treasure, an old king's grave in the thick jungle. It was probably the first and only time she'd ever gotten drunk enough to pass out. And whiskey had only made her feel more sick. The joke had been literally following her through the Chicago university years; 'what do you get if you take an English woman, Egyptian water, and too much whiskey? The Croft hangover'.
Now she could only smile at the memory. It seemed as if the raging skies of Egypt had set every memory, everything happening in her life to the right scale. It was as if she had lived for this moment only, the final moment of losing or winning. She was sorry to involve others in the process, but for once, she was selfish enough to not feel guilty.
And if Lara Croft failed now, at least she would pay for her grand mistake with her life.
Lara had no idea how long she had spent in a state of mind-swallowing comatose slumber on the sofa warpped in a bathrobe, but eventually she was awakened by a gentle shake. It was Jean. She sat up, shaking her head free from haze. She looked around. Jean had set up a table with two plates, spaghetti and some kind of sauce.
"Lara, come and eat."
"I'm tired, Jean," she said silently. It felt like in the middle of the night, the same overly calm atmosphere and silence.
"Lara, you have to eat, dear. You'll disappear out of sight soon. You have things to finish tomorrow."
Slightly annoyed at the fact that Jean-Yves felt it was necessary to remind her of that, Lara sat up slowly. Hating to admit it, she had to close her eyes for a second to stop the room from spinning.
"I'll eat tomorrow. I'll fix everything tomorrow. Tomorrow's going to be bloody fully organized for me, Jean."
"Lara Croft, if you refuse to eat for yourself, then at least, please, keep me company. I am a mere mortal in need of carbohydrates."
Lara smiled, a sudden wash of regret reaching her every cell. Jean's cool French wit was a continental version of her sharp, dry, British intellect. Once they had been inseparable. Undefeatable. Together. A long ago. And now she missed that feeling, comforting awareness of the fact that if you got in trouble, there would be someone who kept tabs on you. She wondered if Jean was feeling as sentimental as she was.
"Okay then. But let me sleep first."
Jean didn't agree to that, and simply grabbed her arm and pulled her up. She sat down at the table and ate reluctantly but obediently, ignoring the nameless sickness that had made her appetite vanish, and then concentrated on ripping her napkin to little shreds. Jean was still finishing his spaghetti when Lara thought about returning to the sofa. Then she thought again.
If he wasn't going to begin, then the quest fell to her.
"It's been a long time since we - - ," she searched for the appropriate word, "met like this, Jean."
He stopped twisting his last spoonful of spaghetti and looked at her, having a small epiphany. As attractive as she was, most men would have considered themselves lucky if Lara even once looked at them. Many men would also have been taken aback by her independence. Despite all the odds, here she was, sitting at a late night spaghetti table with him. He felt honored, in a way. But yet Jean-Yves DuCarmine knew that the true route to Lara's heart required someone who could see past of what she did and achieved, to who she was. And he did.
"Yes it has, Lara."
"Lara?"
Jean looked at her, his eyes asking what she meant.
Lara dropped her napkin and watched it slowly become soaked in the spaghetti sauce still left on her plate.
"You have never called me Lara. You've always used the H form."
"You know why?" Jean asked, tapping her mouth gently to the napkin, his eyes never leaving Lara's.
"Perhaps you could tell me," Lara said quietly, grimacing. She was in no state for mind-games.
"Because you like it," Jean-Yves stated, concentrating on his food again.
Lara sighed as old memories came. Must've been the fever. Must've been the headache, that was making her this emotional. Or maybe it was Set, trying to affect her through Jean and the whole situation.
Lara was about to say something, but she was interrupted by the knock on the door.
"My bags," she exclaimed in an apologetic tone, and hurried to the shady hallway. She opened the door, paid the porter and took the bags quickly to the bedroom, leaving Jean alone. After a moment of contemplation she decided to close the door as well.
Jean-Yves sat alone in the living room. Just sitting. In the same way he had sat years ago as she'd walked away the first time. Not in that melodramatical and oh-so-romantic way, of course. That would not suit Duchess Lara Croft. She needed a good, cleansing fight, anger hidden behind calm and thorny words.
Lara Croft never failed to amaze Jean-Yves with that utter, pure, righteous fire of her soul. She was rarely afraid, sad, puzzled or felt threatened. She was civilized, appreciative of all cultures but conscious of her own as well. And she definitely was not shy. After all, she had answered the door in her bathrobe. No a smart move in general in Egypt, but Lara defied ordinary rules in a strange way. It was as though culture gave her a leeway for the wonderful work she was doing trying to preserve it.
Jean was a Frenchman, proud of it, and he thought like one. He'd studied the compulsory classical literature and poetry emphasized in French schooling. In his opinion one couldn't describe Lara Croft better in any way that one wouldn't use to describe a dancing flame.
It was unnecessary to say she was to be left alone now.
Or not. After all, if you are going to save the everyone else's world, make sure you can save your own, too.
Why was it that no matter what the situation, Jean felt like she was always in control. He felt unsure, uncertain what to do. But this was his time. His moment to confront her.
In the meanwhile, Lara had changed into a black T-shirt and a pair of jeans. She had wandered to the balcony, invited by the flowing satin curtains. It was windy, as it had been for the last week.
Lara laughed mildly at the thought that a single human being was able to mess up the sky and everything. Who'd have thought. Bloody peculiar.
She heard the door open, not a tad surprised though. She'd known he'd follow. After all, it might be her last evening on Earth. Funny how the thought did not frighten her all that much.
Was it because she did not have much to lose? And was she already trying to accept the loss of the little she had?
Didn't accepting losing mean that there was no point in fighting? Fifty- fifty situations weren't good situations.
"I mean what I said, Larah, back then," Jean said, accentuating the H. "We could have made a lovely team, you and me."
Lara followed his moves silently, feeling like every unit of energy was leaving her body.
"I know you, Jean," she said sharply, but paused, somewhat startled by her own stiff tone. "But I also know myself. Neither of us would be willing to abandon a life career for a life together."
"Anything can be arranged. You could travel - I know I would have to cope with being worried about you all the time, but what's a man to do. I could still be situated in Alexandria.."
"Here we are, planning the future that is perhaps only twelve hours long." Lara laughed, then slammed a hand on her mouth. She hadn't meant to say it.
"Jean." Lara said, ignoring her own, demanding tone. A tone that called others off, but only because she didn't want to feel like she was losing control.
"Jean-Yves, being married is being married. You don't get married just for the sake of saying that you are married. If anyone worried about me, I would feel responsible for that person, too. I will not carry such a burden."
"Lara, I feel I am getting old."
Time to dig out the old clichéed 'you're a nice guy and everything' -speech, Lara thought, but was incapable of doing so.
"How does it feel like to be a heroine?" Jean-Yves asked, with a soft bitterness in his voice.
"Pardon me?"
"You're about to save the world. What if something happens to you?"
"Nice job with the simplification, Jean. If something happens this shall be the last time I ever see you. Do you really think I haven't thought about that?"
"You've surprised me with your thoughts or lack thereof such a great number of times I take nothing for granted from you, Lara."
"You make it sound as though I ought to be honored to hear that," Lara answered, crossing her arms on her chest. She was getting cold in the balcony.
"Jean, if I thought of dying tomorrow, then today would be wasted. You know what Mohammed said; live today, fight tomorrow. I would gladly talk this through, Jean, but it is getting late, and I have business tomorrow that will have to wait for this little affair of ours."
"Little affair? I am sorry if I am being overly emotional on this, archaeologist Lara Croft, but this used to be more than a little affair to you."
"Past is past, Jean. Leave me alone. Just leave me alone," Lara said, a bit annoyed, but mostly feeling as she would explode in tears, anger, relief, stress and other mixed feelings if Jean so much as just opened his mouth again.
"Lara, you don't look well. You look ill." Jean stood up and lowered a hand carefully on Lara's forehead.
"You are burning! Are you sure you have your malaria profylaxias in order?" he joked in a gentle tone.
"Always, Jean, always," Lara yawned silently, returning to the bedroom and letting herself fall onto the bed mattress.
"We need to get you to bed, Lara."
"Whatever." No objections. Not now. Saving the world was a much more prioritized problem than feeling awkward because of being fussed over.
"Lara, you have fever. You are sick. You need to take something - aspirin maybe."
Lara rubber he eyes with her bruised knucles and opened them.
"Nothing a good night's stressless sleep, sunny weather and a peaceful resting day won't cure."
Jean smiled at her.
"If this is the dry cool British wit you always hear of. Seriously, you take the bed, I will be happy on the sofa."
"Gladly."
Jean turned to leave. He had things to say to her, and was reluctant to keep quiet. But a strange defeat had washed over him.
"Jean?" Lara asked suddenly.
The archaeologist turned, and Lara scanned his whole figure, as if trying to memorize every single feature.
"Yes?"
"I have a million things in my head that need saying, a million voices in my head telling me what to do. And I will be gone tomorrow. Don't look for me. I am a selfish person. A very selfish one. I'm a real pain, Jean. If you look for me I lose. If I lose, I want to lose honestly, because I wasn't good enough. If I win, I want to be the one who comes to you."
"Have a good day tomorrow, Lara." Jean-Yves said silently, cursing his often lacking English. Not that it was the language's fault that he had no words for the situation.
"Good night, Jean. God, I feel like I should have something global and philosophical to say."
"You have said enough."
Jean left the room.
He sat down on the bed's unqconquered side an hour later, listening to a tomb raider's sleeping sounds. Lara Croft slept heavily, feverishly in the bed, hair hanging in sweaty locks around her face.
Jean-Yves was not a religious man, yet he mumbled a soft prayer under his breath for whatever god was protecting this woman, and left the room for the balcony.
Godspeed, Lara Croft. The end is drawing near.
Jean-Yves sat down on the balcony railing and stared out into the unnaturally restless night. The ancient minaret towers stood steady in the raging sandstrom. Tomorrow all this would perhaps be gone. Funny, he had always felt the old minarets were something that would stand an eternity.
Funny that the eternity perhaps wasn't any longer than this.
And he knew that the minute he left Lara, the endgame begun. She'd be alone.
And he'd be alone and fearful.
End of part I/V
~For additional information and insight concerning this story, check out the archive "Lara Croft's Tales Of Beauty And Power". I hope you've enjoyed the ride so far.
Heidi
All feedback to: siirma6@surfeu.fi