A/N: I love you guys! :D Hope you like this…

Revised 19/07/08

Kurtis stirred and dragged himself into consciousness. Instead of the sunlit room he expected, his eyes opened on darkness, and he frowned, trying to work out what had woken him. It was only when he gave up and rolled over, attempting to slide back into slumber, that he realised the spot Lara had occupied on the bed was empty.

Snapped into full awareness, Kurtis sat up, remembering the strange expression that had crossed her face when he'd mentioned Egypt. Something was wrong, there – he suspected it was this that had roused her at four in the morning. Where would she go? After a moment's contemplation, he recalled her approving smile upon her discovery of the empty room with its punching bag earlier on. He would have bet his life that she'd headed down there.

Less than five minutes later, Kurtis was dressed and slipping silently through the lobby towards the gym, ignoring the appreciative glance the night clerk threw his way. As he threaded his way through the machines in the barely-lit gym, faint music grew louder, and he tracked it to its source – the combat room. Intending to just walk in and initiate conversation, he instead pulled up short at the glass partition separating the room from the rest of the gym and stepped back into the shadows. Lara's bitter expression, her simple, raw emotion, discouraged him from going any further.

She circled the punching bag, scowling viciously. Her hands were balled into fists, held ready in the fighting stance she had adopted, but she merely orbited the bag, almost prowling, making no move to hit out at her 'foe'. Her mind clearly wasn't in the present right at that moment, memories he couldn't begin to guess at distracting her from her purpose.

When Lara finally made her move, Kurtis' concern and bewilderment rapidly turned to admiration. Against the four thugs in the crevasse she had been forced into defensive manoeuvres, but here her fluid, practiced punches and kicks seemed almost to be choreographed, an unusual and graceful dance.

Watching her frustrated blows, punctuated by feminine grunts of exertion, Kurtis got the sense that she was, subconsciously, trying to goad the punching bag into hitting back, into giving her a challenge. Perhaps she wasn't; perhaps his own intrigue and growing feelings for her influenced his thoughts, but whatever the reason, Kurtis found himself pushing soundlessly through the glass door as Lara kicked out so violently that the bag fell from its hook in the ceiling. He saw her lips move in a muttered curse, but it was lost in the music that still played.

Careful to keep movement to a minimum whilst in her line of sight, Kurtis dodged around behind her as she stalked towards the fallen bag, and brushed her shoulder with one hand, moving in the opposite direction as she whirled with a gasp, so that they circled each other.

Recognition, then irritation and something unrecognisable flickered through her eyes as they followed him. Kurtis knew she was pissed off not at him, but at herself for being caught out. He also noticed that her shields were back up – her expression belied none of the bitterness and frustration she had exhibited earlier.

Without uttering a word, Kurtis raised his eyebrows at her, dropping into a combat stance to mirror her own. Understanding his intent, she tensed, nodded, the cool intelligence in her deep, liquid brown eyes intensifying as she watched him for preliminary signs of striking.

The adrenaline surging through him as much triggered by his impending interaction with Lara as by his readiness to attack, Kurtis followed her catlike prowl with his eyes, stalking her as she stalked him. Even before the first strike, a curious tension had built between them: competitive, expectant, sexual.

Waiting for his moment, Kurtis watched her lithe form for sudden tension in a shoulder or hip, any indication that she would use a particular limb to strike first. Come on, he thought, and lunged.

Immediately, Lara was blocking, countering with a drop into a crouch, sweeping a taut leg out to knock his from under him. If she could show off, so could he – Kurtis dove over the attack, transferring his weight to his hands in a controlled forward roll, back to his feet, and upright again. He hit out with a blow to the face, ready to pull up short if it looked as if he would connect too hard, but Lara deflected the blow with her forearm, and in the same heartbeat was swinging a punch at him.

Kurtis was fast coming to realise it took more than brute strength to overcome this woman – she was observant, quick-witted and packed quite a punch herself. He almost regretted the amount of concentration he had to put in, however – he would have loved to watch the fire burn in her eyes as she fought. They traded blow after blow, occasionally reminding each other that they possessed more in the way of skill than simple punches and kicks.

Kurtis hit out again. Instead of ducking, as he had expected, Lara dodged the blow and used the split-second he required to recover to her advantage, stepping in closer to him and around to his back, knocking his legs out from under him in the process. Toppling, Kurtis turned in midair and grabbed hold of her ankles, unbalancing her and catching her by surprise. She landed gracefully, but not before he heard a startled gasp torn from her lungs. That small sound was enough to send a new bolt of energy through him, and before she could recover he was on his knees, grabbing her left arm and pushing it in, twisted, close to her back in an arm-lock.

"I win." He breathed the words over her skin, the first words either of them had uttered to each other since his entrance.

Without warning, she swept her right arm up to the side of his head, and he caught the glint of metal a millisecond before he felt the press of the pistol at his temple. "No, you don't."

Stalemate – although Kurtis was fairly sure she'd take the broken arm in order to pull the trigger, should he be an enemy. He released her arm, and she dropped the gun back into its holster, rising to her feet. "I'm impressed," he told her, working out a tiny ache in his wrist as she rolled back her shoulder, checking for injury.

She looked up, met his eyes, and he had to struggle to keep his own expressionless. Hers were only just beginning to shrug off the residues of determination and genuine pleasure at the competition, and shone with a warmth he was unaccustomed to. She shook her head, and when she spoke, her voice emerged an octave lower than usual, husky. "No – if I hadn't have been armed, I'd have been beaten." Shrugging, she flipped her hair back out of her eyes. "Can't fight and win if you get your arm broken half way through." She held his gaze for another second, as if about to say something more, but then headed for the water dispenser against the wall. Kurtis wondered what, despite his best efforts, his own eyes had told her.

Reluctant to spoil the atmosphere between them, he refrained from questioning her about her insomnia. Instead, they discussed combat techniques on the way back to their room, and the conversation continued, hopping from one topic to another, until the sun stole over the horizon. Watching it, they were both reminded of their busy day ahead, and their lack of sleep, and let out simultaneous yawns.

Grinning, Lara shook her head. "I think I'm going to try and get a couple of hours of rest."

Nodding agreement, Kurtis ran a hand through his hair – something he always did when weary – and lay back on the bed, careful to stay on his own side. Lara followed suit, but kept herself raised up on one elbow, watching him. Self-conscious, Kurtis returned her stare. "What?"

She seemed to shake herself out of a trance, and cast her eyes down, as if embarrassed to be caught looking. "Nothing." She hesitated, and then leaned over towards him. Pleasantly surprised, Kurtis enjoyed the graze of her lips against his forehead, and reached out for her as she pulled away. All other emotions were lost as their lips met, only a trembling urgency remained, and Kurtis let Lara push him down into a lying position once more, breath catching as she leaned her torso over his, full breasts pressing against him. His tongue slipped tentatively into her mouth, gaining confidence as she responded to him. He felt her heart pound against his chest, and tightened his arms around her, pulling her body in line with his and holding tight. For so long, he'd been afraid of this loss of control around her, but now that she had initiated it, he relished her closeness – the feel of her hands stroking through his hair; her lips against his, one moment soft, the next almost bruisingly rough; her legs entwined with his and her gentle, involuntary sigh as he moved his mouth from hers, down her neck, nipping briefly at the soft flesh at her collarbone.

She whispered his name against his lips, and the English pronunciation made it sound almost like a term of endearment. Fearful of consequences and yet almost out of his mind with desire, he held onto the last threads of his control with grim determination.

Finally, she drew back slightly, and Kurtis watched her with a mixture of affection and trepidation. Her eyes were still closed, lips parted a little, breathing shaky and rapid, although calming. She looked as if she were fighting some inner battle for composure, and was altogether unsure of whether she would win.

When she opened her eyes and looked at him, whatever she saw seemed to calm her and force the warring emotions within her to reach some kind of conclusion. She smiled.

Lara winced as a ray of morning sunshine hit her closed eyelids, and stuck her head under the covers to escape it, groaning a soft protest. Kurtis' chuckle as he moved from the window to a chair roused her, and she sat up with a resigned sigh. "Bastard," she told him, not without affection.

Kurtis drained his coffee cup and set it back on the shelf. "That's not what you were saying last night," he told her, clearly amused.

Lara's eyebrows shot up. "Ah, so you're one of those." The cool sarcasm was back in her voice, she realised with a tiny pang of regret. She had enjoyed the easiness between then, but she couldn't let him get away with that one.

"One of what?" If Kurtis felt the same small snippet of sorrow, he concealed it well. Lara pushed away unwanted disappointment and met his eyes with her usual challenging stare.

"A gloater." She saw the surprise dart across his face before he managed to throw his neutral façade back up, and knew she'd taken him too seriously – he'd been teasing. Bugger. Ah, well; what was done, was done. Before he could reply, she had extracted an outfit from her bag and was heading for the shower.

Closing the door behind her, she faced the mirror and the self-judgement her reflection held for her. Despite only getting four hours of sleep, she felt physically fine, but her reflected image appeared more rejuvenated than she felt. It was a weariness of the soul, not the body, that kept her from feeling a hundred per cent. She was tired of keeping Kurtis out, of holding herself back, of running from her past. But she knew with dead certainty that she wasn't quite ready to halt, turn in her tracks, and face her demons. And until she did – until Kurtis knew the whole story – she wasn't about to fully share herself with him.

Speaking of which… how long had it been? Years. Her last lover, Terry Sheridan, was now incarcerated in a Kazakhstan prison for more crimes than she'd care to recount. His sudden switch to the dark side had deeply wounded her, and as much as she resented the Scot for having any influence in her life, Lara found herself reluctant to dive into a serious relationship without taking the time to scope Kurtis out.

Damn you, Terry. Scowling, Lara stepped under the warm gush of water.

As much as she feared such intimate contact with a certain Mr. Trent, she also craved it – desperately. The night before, when she had drawn back from him to make her decision on more neutral ground, she had almost ruled in his favour, pulling back from the path of no return with only marginal control. Lara bit her lip, closing her eyes as if that would discourage the memories that had nibbled at her brain since she had woken up. Typically, it invited them to the forefront of her mind instead, and she abandoned her task of unbraiding her hair in favour of staring into space, the sluice of hot water seeming to transform itself into Kurtis' sure touch, his hands skimming down her body…

Stop it, stop it, STOP IT! Furious with herself, Lara viciously tugged out the rest of the plaiting in her braid and began to wash her hair, counting to ten over and over in her head to distract herself from thoughts that were altogether too pleasurable. Every time her mind wandered to cobalt eyes or large yet surprisingly gentle hands, she busied herself with some new task, determined to get over this silly schoolgirl crush.

When she emerged from the bathroom, her blow-dried hair hanging loose down her back, she carefully avoided acknowledging Kurtis' almost-subtle perusal, slinging down yesterday's clothes on top of her luggage and rebraiding her chestnut locks with deft, practised movements. All the same, she felt his eyes on her back like concentrated beams of sunlight, and closed her eyes, barely noticing she had done it. When she did, she snapped them back open defiantly, refusing to give him the slightest positive feedback.

It was only when the bathroom door clicked shut as Kurtis headed for the shower that she let herself relax.

Kurtis closed the bathroom door, and began to undress, face creased into a frown. It wasn't that Lara had quietly restrained them both from advancing any further the night before that bothered him. It was her attitude this morning.

In a way, he understood. He wasn't feeling at his most comfortable, either. And as soon as the heady pleasure had faded, he'd been glad things hadn't gone any further.

Well, perhaps 'glad' wasn't the term. If Lara had marched up to him as soon as he went back into the room and began to tear away his clothing, he would have responded in kind without even thinking about it. He still craved her touch more than that of anyone he had ever been involved with before. But half the fun was in resisting it, and he suspected Lara enjoyed their oh-so-witty repartee just as much. And the rest of his doubt came from that underlying fear that things would go wrong, or that they would go too right.

Bizarre.

Kurtis finished his shower and dressed quickly, realising that out of force of habit he'd neglected to bring a shirt into the bathroom. Well, if she can run around with her hair all loose and sexy, I can go out there without a shirt. Steeling himself, Kurtis took a breath and opened the door.

Lara was sat on the unmade bed, back against the headboard, legs curled beneath her. She looked up from the book she was reading to watch him cross the room, and hiked an eyebrow at him with a small smile. Kurtis had no idea if the truce was brought on by his state of undress, but he welcomed it nonetheless. Slipping on his shirt, he poured himself another cup of coffee and went back to translating the directions to the second tomb from the photos Lara had taken.

"Could you have gotten out of the arena, like you got me out?" He looked up, into a face that appeared curious and serious at the same time.

His hand involuntarily strayed to the recently-healed wound at his abdomen at the memory as he realised what had caused her to bring up the subject. "I'm not sure."

"Did you try?" At his negative response, she tilted her head to the side, studying him. "Why?"

"A Lux Veritatis warrior can't choose his battles." He said it with such irony that Lara knew he was quoting someone.

"Oh? Who says?" she prodded, drawing the topic away from his scar. As much as he may have convinced himself it didn't matter, she knew it was a sore spot for him in more ways than one. She longed to show him it didn't matter to her, with her eyes, her hands, her lips… She dropped her eyes for a second, afraid the emotion in them would betray her.

"My father did." Not a less painful subject, then. But when she looked up, she saw some kind of acceptance in his face, and knew he'd come to terms with it – revenge kick aside, of course. Lucky him.

"Did you get on?" She should drop it, she knew, but parents were something she hadn't had for a long time, and she missed it, in some ways.

Kurtis smiled wryly. "Where it counted. On everything else, I liked to have my own opinion."

"Why am I not surprised?"

"How about your father?"

Lara snorted. "I don't have a father. Haven't since I was twenty-one."

Kurtis winced. "Sorry," he apologised softly. "Did he go down fighting?"

Lara fought to keep a straight face, envisioning Lord Henshingly Croft, a portly man who had a wine glass perpetually nestled in one hand. She lost the battle for composure and grinned. "He wouldn't know a weapon if it hit him in the face. Very eminent aristocrat; very limited brain power," she explained, amusement lacing her voice. "Lives down in Kent now, with Mother Dearest. They disowned me for having an attitude, and after I inherited Croft Manor from well-wishing distant relatives, they moved out of Surrey altogether." She shrugged. "Suits me fine."

Kurtis shook his head, smiled. "I should have known."

"Hmm…" Shaking her head back at him, she returned to her book. Clearly, she didn't want to talk about it.

"Ready to go?"

She looked up again, half-smiled. "I thought you'd never ask."

Isn't it about time Karel made an appearance…? I think so, don't you?