A/N: I know, it's been ages… but we're now nearing the end of my little adventure. I can see three, maybe four chapters more, and then that's it. This chapter has no point whatsoever, but I thought it'd be nice to have a little conversation.
Revised 01/10/05
Concentrate… Kurtis snapped back into his own body with a sharp shock and the usual nauseating sensation of unbalance. Something was different this time, though. It took a second for him to realise that a pair of hands on his shoulders were steadying him. "Take a break," Lara instructed in a tone that would brook no argument.
He shook her off, furious with himself. "I can't keep it going. I have twenty-four hours to get this right, and I can't keep it going." He hit out at the wall, needing to vent his frustration on something, but Lara intercepted his arm and pushed him into a chair.
"You need to rest. You'll wear yourself out and then you'll be good for nothing." He couldn't fault the advice – he was already so exhausted it was an effort to initiate Farsee at all. But his failure still stung.
"I take it this is your first time at saving the world, then." Lara took a seat a few feet away on the bed, and watched him carefully. She was concerned for his well-being, but she was damned if she was going to tell him that. It was clear that he hadn't been sleeping any more than she had, and she had heard him pacing the balcony the past two nights as she had been busy attempting to wear a track in the carpeting with her own footsteps.
He glared defensively at her question. "If I need a shrink, I'll hire one."
She ignored his tone, and instead began to reminisce aloud. "I remember my first time, back in ninety-six. I'd done small stuff before – been to Cambodia with Werner for an artefact, defeated a demon on an island off the coast of Ireland, killed Bigfoot…" She smiled, almost wistfully, as Kurtis listened in silence. "And I thought that'd be the most risky job I ever took on. My field experience was mostly negotiating for artefacts, or going off to remote places to find them… until I had a run in with Natla Technologies. When I found out the artefact in question would pretty much turn the human race into alien, fireball-shooting, winged, pod-laying…" She shook her head, unable to put a name to the monstrosities she had seen. "I realised it fell to me to stop it. Not a good feeling. I overworked myself so much that I fell asleep on an enemy yacht – very risky, since the enemy were still on board at the time, and they'd taken my weapons a few hours before." She sighed. "And I drove my Harley into the sea."
"You did what?" Kurtis jerked his head up and stared at her, utterly incredulous.
"It was that, or become a giant meatball with a head and arms attached. But I wasn't pleased." She shrugged. "Prefer Norton Streetfighters nowadays, though. Every time I look at a Harley, it seems to accuse me." Her eyes gleamed with subtle humour, and Kurtis couldn't help but smile back.
"Should have known it wasn't me you were eyeing up that day near the Metro," he replied ironically.
Lara strove to keep a deadpan face, but as her facial muscles screamed protest she was forced to give in to the grin that fought its way onto her face. "It was fifty-fifty," she confessed. "Bikes are one of my secret weaknesses. Gorgeous men on bikes, even more so, but most of them that I've encountered are complete idiots not even worth looking at."
"And your other secret weaknesses?" Kurtis asked, encouraged by her implication that she found him attractive. Over the past couple of days, their talk had been completely business, and Lara had barely spoken when the general topic of conversation between the four of them had become non-cataclysmic.
She tipped her head to one side, considering. "Guns, knives, shiny trinkets and such. Challenges. Adrenaline. And you?"
"Bikes, guns, rock music, intelligent conversation… a good argument…"
Lara grinned. "I can't deny that one has its attractions every now and again."
"I seem to have picked up a new weakness lately. She drives me nuts half the time, but I just can't help myself."
A jolt of warmth ran through Lara's bones, and she responded with a sideways look that was not quite as disapproving as she meant it to be. "Drives you nuts? You're already criminally insane," she told him lightly.
"Why, thank you." He got up, moved around the bed to the nightstand to extract the Box of Rahil from its draw – anything to provide a distraction. However playful her words, he had decided that if she wanted him, she was more than capable of making a move herself – but right now her mere presence was making that resolution hard to keep. "You do realise you're just as crazy as I am, if not more?"
"Yes," Lara answered, with a touch of satisfaction. She hesitated, looked up at him. "We're a good team, you and I," she admitted quietly.
Kurtis set down Rahil and sat beside her. "Getting sentimental in your old age?" he goaded gently.
She narrowed her eyes at him in warning. "Oh, shut up," she advised, and kissed him.
He responded tentatively at first, and Lara felt a prickle of guilt invade her brain at the way she had held him at arm's length – a prickle that dissipated as he overcame the hesitation and pulled her closer, into a kiss that left all others wanting. The lips that formed sarcastic retorts with such ease teased hers skilfully; the tongue that could be so sharp reached gently for her own.
Quite a while later, Lara sat up, carefully easing out of Kurtis' still-sleeping arms. This is probably the last chance he'll give himself to rest, she thought, glancing at the clock and blanching at the time it showed. Three a.m. Eleven hours to world destruction, and here I am sitting in bed. Suddenly restless, she slid out from under the covers and dressed quickly, fervently wishing for her huge gymnasium at Croft Manor. With the hour of the eclipse drawing ever closer, she couldn't justify the risk of going out for a run – Karel's spies could be close. Instead, she stepped out onto the balcony and began a variety of complex stretching routines. By the time Kurtis stepped up behind her, her nervous tension was partially abated.
"Is that humanly possible?" he asked, fascinated.
Lara lowered the leg she had been holding almost parallel to her body, foot above her head, and shrugged. "When I was a little girl, Daddy Dearest wanted me to take ballet. I kicked and screamed for days – I wanted to do gymnastics instead – but he wouldn't give in."
"Somehow I can't see you backing down either," Kurtis said dryly, lighting a cigarette and ignoring her frown.
"Oh, I didn't," Lara agreed. "As a compromise, I took both, so it's fairly easy for me. Dropped ballet as soon as his back was turned, though," she added. Arching her back in a final stretch, she sighed. "You're supposed to be asleep."
"Ten hours, fourteen minutes to go." His answer elicited a wince from her. "I'm going to start training again," he continued.
"No, you're not. You can do that on the way, and not before." Her only answer was silence, and when Lara turned to face him, she realised he'd slipped straight into Farsee again. With a surge of irritation, she began a silent count inside her head, and when he rocked backwards once more, eyes snapping open, she folded her arms. "Three minutes, seventeen seconds. Less than usual, is my guess."
"Shut up," he muttered, bracing himself for a second attempt.
"You know," Lara said contemplatively, ignoring the fact that he'd left his body once again, "obstinacy isn't an attractive feature, but lack of common sense is even worse. How long is it going to take you to realise that five minutes is your limit, and until the angel is called no amount of practice is going to help you?"
A few seconds later, he was back. "Seven minutes is my limit," he corrected.
Lara snorted. "I'm sure that extra two minutes will make all the difference," she shot back sarcastically. "If you're determined to cripple yourself, at least wait until the world is saved. For now, you have your end of a bargain to fulfil."
He knew exactly what she meant, but feigned ignorance. "How'd you figure that one?"
"We tied. You got your prize, but I didn't get mine." Lara wasn't at all sure she wanted this discussion, but going into a deadly situation without clarification of it would be unquestionably worse.
"You wanted to talk about empty declarations of love, right?" Kurtis stepped away from her, his voice cool. "I can't say I know anything about those."
"And yet twice in the last four days you've told me you love me," Lara responded quietly, and waited for the reply with the beginnings of an anxious knot forming in her stomach.
Kurtis was silent for a long moment. When he spoke, it was with obvious reluctance, even awkwardness. "I don't exaggerate, and I don't lie. I do regret letting you know, but I can't change that."
The relief of his admission sent tension flooding from Lara's muscles, and as much as she hated it, for a few seconds she felt unbearably weak and vulnerable. However, she wasn't about to rush into his arms and declare undying devotion. "The last man who told me he loved me," she said with an effort, "turned mercenary, betrayed his friends, his country, and me."
"The last man who told you he loved you was clearly a prat, to use one of your terms," Kurtis replied without hesitation. Lara glanced up at him, and away again, thrown by his eyes boring into her face. "I guess what you have to ask yourself is, am I?"
That's the million-dollar question. Lara drew in a breath. "Love doesn't really give a damn what the answer is." She wouldn't stand for an abstract reply like that, and she knew without looking at him that Kurtis wouldn't, either. She was going to have to say three little clichéd words that pissed her off most before he'd back down. May as well get it over with.
"André, bleedin' hell, mate!" Bryce's exclamation banished all thoughts of sentimentality from the atmosphere. "Lara!"
A flick of her ponytail, and Lara had left the balcony, all business. Kurtis followed, and sucked in a breath at André's countenance. "What happened?"
André smiled weakly despite a split lip, regarding them through one eye – the other bruised and swollen shut. "Don't worry, the explosives are set."
"Welcome party?" Lara asked, reaching for one of the vials of André's own healing elixir.
"I can't drink that. It may heal you, but it poisons my kind," he replied. "I heal quickly, don't worry about me." He winced as Lara produced her battered first aid kit and began to clean various scrapes to his face. "But yes, I ran into a group of men on my way back. None of them lived to tell the tale, but their absence will rouse suspicion in Karel's mind."
"If I were him, I'd be pretty paranoid too," Bryce agreed. "Some good news, though – Phillips' theory will give us enough energy to open the boxes."
"Good." Lara smiled, restlessness on the rise again. "Now get packed up. We move out in four hours."
Tune in next week for the big showdown! Or, um, at least, part one of the big showdown… Cliffhangers? Moi?