A/N: You're going to hate me after this chapter, I just know it… grin But it had to be done, I swear… things were just getting too teddy-bear-like!

Revised 01/10/05

An hour later, they were striding across the dusty plain on the outskirts of the city. Kurtis held his translated directions in one hand and consulted them frequently, appearing more and more agitated as they neared their destination.

"Kurtis, what?" Lara asked finally, exasperated.

"The Sleeper was exhumed in Anatolia. I have a nasty feeling that whoever came up with that bright idea stopped off where we're headed, too."

Lara stared at him. "Nice of you to share that little gem of information with me," she said with heavy sarcasm. "Are you sure?"

Kurtis hesitated. "Despite the fact that my informant on that one was a Strahov sanitarium inmate, I'm fairly sure."

"Forgive me if I hold on to my disbelief for a while longer," the brunette told him dryly. All the same, she quickened her pace.

Finally, they reached a sinkhole in the middle of the almost-desert. Footprints in the sandy earth confirmed Kurtis' worst fears, and he cursed fluently, dropping and hanging by both hands into the underground passage and falling into a crouch to lessen the impact of his landing. The shaft of sunlight was blocked out as Lara followed suit, landing with a grunt by his side.

Chirugai in hand, conscious of Lara's warmth at his back, Kurtis moved down the subterranean passageway, slowing his pace when the walls turned from rough-hewn rock into smooth, carved out structures with the same style of carvings that had been in the first tomb. Distracted by reading the ancient eulogies, Kurtis was not one hundred per cent focused on the possibility that there might be enemies up ahead. Lara brushed past him, .45 held in both hands at shoulder height, and he hurried to catch up.

The passageway ended in a cavern much like the one in Istanbul. Empty but for the rectangular sarcophagus in the centre, it still managed to teem with culture due to the plethora of elaborate etchings on every surface. Whilst Lara kept her back to the wall, pacing the huge room in her search for hostile objects or people, Kurtis strode towards the coffin with single-minded intent.

Wait… Lara's eyes widened as she took in some unfamiliar niches in the wall, almost level with Kurtis… "Kurtis, freeze!" she yelled, darting forwards and toppling him with an unexpected tackle. Above them, as they thudded to the ground, sharp wooden spikes thrust inwards with enough force to skewer them like so much meat.

Feeling too shocked and stupid to savour Lara's closeness, Kurtis remained prone even as she cautiously sat up. "One thing I learned from Werner – disrespect is the route to carelessness," she told him ironically, remembering the words so long ago spoken with that unmistakeable German inflection.

Carefully, she got to her feet, avoiding triggering the trap a second time and ready to dive to the side at a moment's notice. To be on the safe side, she rolled a pebble from their position to the foot of the sarcophagus, but no hidden traps revealed themselves. As they drew closer to their goal, the obvious became apparent – the tiny Box of Rahil they sought was absent from its groove in the stone.

While Kurtis was vocal in his frustration, Lara only sighed and got out her camera. "Back to square one." It wasn't until she turned to get a shot of the keystone above the entryway that she expressed any sentiment. "Bugger."

Kurtis was engrossed in translating the carvings on the huge stone coffin. He didn't look up, only muttered, "You can say that again."

"No, Kurtis – look." Her voice was cold and steel-hard, and he frowned, followed her gaze.

"What the fuck?" Instantly, his Boran X was out of its holster and pointed towards the lone figure stood at the entrance to the tomb.

"Bullets won't do any good, you know," Joachim Karel informed them casually. Before their eyes, he transformed, pale flesh moulding into new features. A mouth set in a grim line, with no hint of the smile that could appear if provoked. Tendrils of hair fell into striking blue eyes.

Kurtis' face. Lara sighed. "That's a somewhat limited repertoire you have there," she said, masking her inner turmoil with defiance.

"I choose what's effective," came the reply, still in Karel's smooth English tone. Faux-Kurtis winked at her. "Face it, Ms. Croft. You couldn't shoot me, even if it had any effect."

Lara gritted her teeth and said nothing. Her aim did not waver, but both she and Kurtis knew she could not stomach firing at Karel, not while he wore Kurtis' visage. Kurtis, for his part, felt strangely detached from the situation. "Never hurts to get in some target practice." The Boran X fired once, and a neat, round hole appeared as if by magic between Karel's stolen eyes.

Surely a bullet to the brain has to stop him for a little while… Lara's hopes were abruptly crushed as the injury seemed to close in on itself, leaving smooth, unblemished skin. Of course not. Silly of me to even think it. "Where's the box?" she asked, before he could begin to gloat.

"None of your business. Where's Rosha?"

"Ah, well, that would be none of yours." She traded glances with Kurtis, who shrugged. He was out of bright ideas, too. They had to face the truth: without Periapt Shards or the Box of Rahil, they were utterly defenceless against this hybrid. As Karel began to advance, the germ of an idea nagged at the back of her mind, but whether it would work was a different story.

Kurtis began to move to meet him, but Lara grabbed his arm and dragged him back. "I do not want to have to play pick-a-Kurtis. Stay here," she ordered. To her surprise, he did, and she wondered if he had caught her train of thought.

A sinister green glow began to pulse through Karel's skin, and Lara drew in a sharp breath. Oh, wonderful. Pick us off from a distance, why don't you? Her only hope now was to stall his attack. "It was you stood outside last night," she stated, remembering the gaunt man who had set off alarm bells in her head. "You changed just enough that I wouldn't recognise you…"

"And knew exactly where you were all night," he finished, smiling a little. "But where's the fun in finishing you off while you still had a goal?"

Lara paused in her mental calculation of how long it would take for him to reach the spot she had in mind. "The earthquake in Istanbul," she began, and was again interrupted.

"No minor feat, even for one of my race, I think you'll agree," he confirmed proudly.

"And the lives of the people who happened to live above the tomb were inconsequential, I suppose?" Come on, just a few steps more… Beside her, Kurtis tensed slightly, and she knew he had grasped her plan.

"Inconsequential. I like that word. Very descriptive. Very apt–" He stepped onto the tile level with the wooden spikes, and they slammed in from either side, running him cleanly through the neck, chest and abdomen. With the utter shock and pain of the unsuspecting, he screamed in agony, and lost his grip on Kurtis' form. Veins and blonde hair made their reappearance, and the green fire faltered for a second.

"Let's get out of here." Kurtis right behind her, Lara ran around the outskirts of the tomb as Karel summoned all of his strength to hurl bolts of green energy their way. One grazed Lara's thigh, and she stumbled with the sudden flare of agony and weakness. Kurtis' hands at her waist steadied her, and they put on a final burst of speed to dive into the tunnel.

"You still have Rosha?" Kurtis asked, boosting her up out of the sinkhole and pulling himself out after her.

Her response was to pull the tiny box out of her backpack. He reached for it, their brush with disaster inflaming a sense of cataclysm, but she dropped it back into its resting place before he could take it. "Come on. He'll be out of that in five minutes, maybe less."

As she set off in the direction they'd come, following their footprints, Lara knew she was being paranoid. Kurtis was Kurtis, after all. Yet Karel's reminder of his abilities had struck deep, re-awakening the tiny voice inside that warned her to trust no one. Behind her, she heard his sigh, and knew there would be repercussions from this. Right now, she didn't care. The only thing she wanted was to be away from this place, and the horror it contained.

The room was quiet. Kurtis studied the batch of photographs Lara had taken in the Tomb of Rahil, intent on translating the inscriptions. Lara stood out on the balcony, staring out at the skyline as it gradually pinkened with the setting sun.

Face it, Ms. Croft. You couldn't shoot me, even if it had any effect. Karel's words replayed over and over in her head, the truth in them biting at her with sharp, venomous teeth. He had been right. Kurtis made her weak. A hesitation could cost her her life, but the thought of putting a bullet through Kurtis in error…

Enough. I have to cool this. That was, if it wasn't already cooled to the point of freezing. On the journey home, Kurtis had barely spoken, and Lara had been too lost in her own contemplation to say anything. She had a feeling she wouldn't have to do much to stall their budding relationship, fragile as it was. But that could wait a while. For now, they had to figure out their next move. She returned to the room and threw herself into the desk chair where she had been sat with a pad of paper, equal measures doodling and setting out her thoughts. "Anything?"

Kurtis glanced up from his translation. He was half-sat, half-laid on the bed, photographs strewn around him, and as he looked up, he shook a few strands of hair impatiently away from his eyes. The gesture was so idiosyncratic, so Kurtis, that sorrow slammed into Lara's chest, mingling with the attraction that resided there and sending bittersweet waves of emotion through her. She blinked and forced herself to listen to his words. "It's mostly just directions to Rosha, and the same legend behind it as was in the first tomb. I think we're out of luck with the ancient signposts."

Lara nodded. She had expected this. "And with no contemporary sources as to Rahil's location, we're wasting our time here. I'm betting Karel took it to Cappadocia, since that's the place everything seems to centre on. I think we need to move on." Her last sentence mocked her, and she leafed through her sheets of diagrams and flow charts to distract herself from acknowledging the double entendre.

"And if he's kept it in the area…?"

"He hasn't. Trust me." As soon as the words fell from her lips, she regretted the phrasing. Kurtis immediately leapt on it.

"Why? You obviously don't trust me."

Ouch. Lara pushed away the sting of guilt and met his eyes. Instead of the apology she knew she should give, defensive words formed instead. "I can think of a few instances where trust has nearly gotten me killed."

"I couldn't leave you!" Werner's hand outstretched, offering salvation, as the earth shook. A brief moment of imbalance as she hung with one hand, beginning to reach up to take his. Werner's back turning as he hurried out of the danger zone. Pain. Blackness.

Shrugging out of the memory, Lara began to pace. Kurtis' cutting words could not have hurt more if they were razor blades. "So suddenly you're shying away from life on the edge, because of this incident you won't tell me about? A little cowardly, don't you think? Or maybe I'm wrong. Maybe a cold, heartless bitch is all you've ever been." His voice was contemptuous, and inflamed her anger. She looked back at him, ready to retaliate with strong words, but the lack of scorn in his eyes killed them on her lips.

"I can't do this. I thought I could, but I can't." That's pathetic, Lara. Get a grip. Self-loathing kicked in, and she turned it on him. "If it takes being cold and heartless to keep me alive, that's the path I have to take. If Karel gets hold of this, the world is fucked. And the only way he gets it is if I die. Are you seeing my logic, or are you just too American for that?"

Kurtis stood, obstructed her path so that she was forced to stop pacing. His face only inches from her own, he stared into her eyes, his own hard and sarcastic. "Here I thought we were in this together. Shouldn't that be, 'the only way he gets it is if we die?'" He paused, but before she could retaliate he continued. "No. That would be too much to ask, wouldn't it? God forbid that Lara Croft get close to anyone."

"Ah, so now we get down to it," Lara replied, voice calm and cool. "Your argument with me isn't just a business issue, is it?"

"Get over yourself." Kurtis moved past her, to stare out at the sunset as she had done.

"You know what? I'm not a team player. I've always been a loner, and that's the way I work best. It just so happens I need your expertise on this one, but that's all I need." She paused, glared at his back. "Screw this. I'll be back later."

As she opened the door, she heard his quiet, controlled voice throw one last parting shot at her. "Sure, that's all you need, but is it all you want?"

His only answer was the slam of the door.

Taking the stairs down to the lobby two at a time, Lara winced as she realised she'd left the keys to the car on the dresser. There was no way she was going back for them, back into the room that radiated anger and pain, so it appeared she was stuck in the area until her tormented mind had calmed.

Fine. These boots were made for walkin'. She couldn't stay in the gym – if Kurtis found her there, it would be all too easy to reconcile with him, if they'd even been united in the first place. Venturing out into the twilight, she set a course down the main street, in the opposite direction to that she and Kurtis had wandered the night before, on their arrival. This was decidedly the seedier side of town, and Lara passed many stores of a questionable nature as she headed out of the commercial area, barely registering the jeering propositions of the local scum. Her mind was caught up in quiet agony, self-loathing, and a lust for vengeance.

Once she figured out how to stop him once and for all, Karel was going to wish he'd never been born. In the meantime, however, she had more private matters to deal with. Kurtis had accused her of being a 'cold, heartless bitch', a coward, and distanced. In return, she'd thrown at him… not a hell of a lot. In a way, she regretted that. He could be so irritating, and on more than one occasion she'd had to suppress the urge to slug him in the face. Yet, she realised, neither of them had really had the heart to argue. Despite his accusations, those captivating eyes of his had never been as harsh as his words.

Sure, that's all you need, but is it all you want? He damn well already knew the answer to that one. Frustrated, Lara kicked out at a stone, which skittered a good few metresbefore stopping. "What am I supposed to do?" she asked aloud, but the air around her held no answers. With a sigh, Lara took stock of her surroundings, and froze. Her musings had pushed into the background her senses of time and distance, and she stood on the edge of a vast desert, the air cool with the onset of night. "Shit." Turning, she saw the lights of the city wink at her, and then looked back at the silent expanse of sand that reminded her of so much.

Closing her eyes, Lara forced her mind past the numbing exhaustion and thirst of her days alone, stumbling and crawling through the sands of Egypt in search of civilisation. Instead, she concentrated on her months with the shaman and her tribe, her days as 'El Hawa', protective Desert Wind of the nomads of North Africa. There were many happy memories to draw on – her initiation into the tribe, the day-to-day tasks she carried out gratefully, glad to bury the memories of her old life… but into her mind flashed the one recollection that hurt her the most. Her tribe lay about their camp, bloodied and blank-eyed, having been taken unawares by marauders whilst Lara rode off alone to check the surrounding area for threats.

Her throat contracting painfully, frustration welling uncontrollably within her chest, Lara took a shaky breath and screamed defiance into the wild landscape, over and over again. At first, her cries were wordless, but as she continued to rant, the dialect of the tribe came to her lips, spoken for the first time since that day. She cursed gods and monsters, humans and animals, herself, everything she could think of, before dropping to her knees in the sand silently, her throat raw and scratchy. You've lost it, Croft. Gone completely over the edge. It was so tempting to just walk into the desert and disappear forever, casting aside her commitments, her worries, her fears.

Yet something – perhaps her pride, bred into her by the nurses and nannies of the English aristocracy – forced her to turn, slump-shouldered, and begin the trek back to town. She had barely gone two steps before a smooth, cultured voice jerked her into full awareness.

"That was impressive, I must say. Especially the part about me. I had no idea anyone could be that creative with forms of torture."

Joachim Karel stood, arms folded, in front of her, flanked by six of his followers. There was no way she could escape from him, not this time.

Uh-oh… Right, hit the little purple-y button to express your shock and outrage (or, alternatively, your "This sucks!" comments), and I will update as soon as I can from the safety(?) of the hotel room as Kurtis waits for Lara to return… :p