A THOUSAND APOLOGIES MY LOVELIES! I cannot begin to tell you how terribly sorry and disheartened I was when my Terry/Lara muse informed me that it would be taking an extended vacation. To all my lovely reviewers: you are wonderful! Thank you for your encouragement! ;)
Random Battle-cry – Random m'dear, you may have something to do with the time it's taken for me to update;) Your stories are irresistibly delicious, frighteningly addictive, and wonderfully full of ERIK! And your vocabulary is quite unique – 'snerk' –what a word ;) Brrrrrrrrava!
ModestySparrow9 – aren't you just a gem! My story, addictive? I should certainly hope so:D And do, by all means, tell your friends ;)
ITALIAN BELLA – THANK YOU!
Darlian – who is it that ambushed our lovely protagonists? Who indeed:D We shall see ;)
Weapon of Choice – yes, Gerard Butler shouldn't be killed at all, not ever. Who among his fans thinks otherwise? This way please, my Punjab is at the ready.
godarvi, Joel Boon, aranel abeille – sorry to keep you waiting!
Shauniwritesit – deepest apologies to leave you hanging on that cliff. 'Twas horrible of me, I know. Went on a cruise in the meantime though, and met a lovely young man hailing from Amsterdam! (A sailor he was, what a sweetheart). Ah, you Dutch, you can be such dearies :D Do continue your lovely manner by dropping a review! Je bent een topperje! Your encouragement is wonderful!
Now, please read on, my lovely wee sausages :D
"Lara".
The name hovered in a thick fog, seeming so far away that I began to wonder if I'd even heard correctly.
"Lara".
Again, through an odd, dense mist I heard it, and this time the voice seemed terribly familiar…where had I heard it before?
"What are yo -"
A new voice made an entrance in my pounding head, this one known as well, its clipped British tones pulling me out of whatever haze I was floating through.
"Lara!"
I tried opening my eyes. Blackness. Panic. Why was it so dark!
"Stop it, can't you see she's aslee - "
The British voice again, sharp, annoyed, trying to be hushed, but failing miserably. Concentrate. I focused on every part of my body, beginning with my toes right up to the tips of my ears and the pads of my fingers. Neck, sore, but everything intact. Good. But why couldn't I see anything! I was sure my eyes were open…
"I'm aware of the state she's in, thank you. But she's got to come out of it!"
"I hardly think you're the one who should wake her up, and that's certainly not the proper method -"
"After a concussion like that, you shouldn't have let her even close her eyes!"
"I know I'm good sir, but I'm not that good. I don't even know how long you were out before we found you -"
Concussion? I didn't have a concussion, what a ludicrous notion. I wasn't susceptible to stupid weaknesses like concussions.
"Buddy, I don't care what you think of me or my methods -"
"I really don't see why you are concerned; you shouldn't even be out of bed!"
"Treating me like a baby, don't be ridiculous - "
The voices warred on, adding to the already booming tattoo of clamor in my head. If only I could slip back into sleep…but hadn't they just said I shouldn't? The Scottish voice, (that's what the accent was), the Scottish voice had said I shouldn't close my eyes, that voice which sounded so uncannily like –
"Terry?"
"You're not helping here, you might as well go back and rest." Again came the clipped British tones of one who is not getting their way.
"I don't need rest!" The Scottish voice, which I was now sure belonged to Terry, was irritated and rising in volume, adding to my headache. However, the owners of the two voices didn't seem to have noticed anything, showing no acknowledgment that they had heard me. Had I even said anything? The voices fought on, making the throbbing in my head almost unbearable.
"Your shoulder - "
"Will heal!"
"Now really - "
Maybe they hadn't heard me. I licked my lips, to try again. "Terry."
"Sod off".
My befuddled brain failed to register that this last comment was directed not at me, but at the irritated Brit on the other side of my bed. However, all I could think of was how incredibly rude and brash it was -how dare anyone tell me to 'sod off'? I'd teach the idiot who'd said it. Nothing that couldn't be mended with a sharp backhand. I concentrated on lifting my arm to deal the necessary punishment, which, in hindsight, must have looked absolutely pathetic if anyone knew what I'd had in mind. Needless to say, my arm didn't go very far, feeling unusually heavy and foreign to the rest of my body. A pair of large, cold hands closed about mine.
"Lara! God, finally!"
Yes, Terry's voice. I smiled, forgetting my disciplinary intentions.
"Terry. You said I had a concussion -" The words were slow, feeling thick and awkward in my mouth.
"Yeah, yeah you must've".
"You're yelling about being treated like a baby -"
"Yeah well, so would you".
"And my head feels like there's a bloody tribal war going on inside." It was becoming easier to speak, my tongue moving more like it was supposed to.
"I'd think so, after being hit -"
"And you've asked me how I feel?"
"Well, yeah - "
"What kind of sodding question is that! I can't bloody see!"
"Oh splendid, she's just fine!"
A new pair of hands touched my head, and there came a blinding flash of light. Squinting, I saw the vague outline of my bedroom, complete with Hilary setting aside the bandage that had covered my eyes on a table. I blinked. There were four Hilarys. Shutting my eyes, I tried to remember why I was here.
"What…what…?" I was at a loss, my thoughts tumbling and tripping over each other. Terry raised a hand to my forehead, his cool palm feeling blissful as he stroked damp hair out of my eyes.
"Just take it slow Croft".
I opened my eyes again, trying to focus. Terry's face swam in and out of view, his bright green eyes gazing intently into my own. I wanted to know everything - why I was in such a helpless state, how I'd gotten here, why Terry had a bandage on his left shoulder, and why I couldn't seem to keep my eyes open. My eyelids drooped, despite my efforts to stay alert.
"What…" I tried again. "Tell me what happened, ok?" My request was soft, so quiet that I barely heard it myself. Hilary, looking slightly put out that his medical advice had been ignored, muttered something to Terry, and left the room. Terry launched into an explanation that was completely lost on me, his soothing tone coaxing my eyes closed, weaving a relaxing net of sound around my bed. The natural lilt of his Scottish voice almost created a song as he spoke. Despite all my efforts to do otherwise, I felt my eyelids close as his fingers stroked my cheek lightly.
A/N: Yes yes, I know - not much happening.Of course, we can't have any fighting with interesting weapons or smashing of expensive furniture when our two main characters are in their respective states. But don't despair! Please do drop a review in the box dearies! Your comments and suggestions would be much appreciated!
