I'm feeling nice. I got off my butt and made another update. The trade-off is that this is a smaller entry. Either way, enjoy!

And now I must write yet another research paper and another essay.

I cream over comments. I'll whore myself out for them and undergo self-degradation. LAUGH AT MY ATTEMPTS AT HUMOR! HAHAHA

I need therapy.


Sam missed Lara.

It had been about a week since the semester's start and Lara had been working nearly every day to make up for the time she'd lost to her shoulder injury. In the time that Lara spent at school and at work, which was usually from eight in the morning until eleven in the evening, Sam was left completely alone with her thoughts in their new apartment. Alone was the keyword; it was what Sam was and how Sam felt. Sam knew it was a matter of time before Lara's shoulder would be well enough to support acrobatics again, at which point Sam would never get to see her roommate.

Why was it that Lara had become so unreachable?

Sam sighed as she scrolled through job listings in the area. Lara was living life as usual, and she herself had no clue how she was going to pay bills and feed herself. The money she had in reserve was finite–she was well aware of that fact. She knew she'd have a couple of months at best before she was completely broke. Nonetheless, Sam wasn't impressed with any of the job listings she had seen.

She had no clue where Lara got the idea of making fifteen pounds an hour because most of the jobs she saw were for minimum wage, maybe a little more. She had at least been hoping to find a retail job in fashion or tech where she could earn sales commission, but the only retail listing she saw was for furniture sales. How the hell was she going to sell a bunch of couches? Video and sound equipment, those were her two areas of expertise.

Sam sighed. Maybe she'd been in over her head to think she wouldn't have to subsist off of ramen and be the American collegiate stereotype.

Nope, we're not exuding that energy today, Sam told herself, and she shook her head to clear it. She glanced at the time on her phone to see that it was almost half past three. If Lara wasn't working–which, she probably was–then she'd be home by four. Sam wondered if the two of them would actually talk if Lara did come home.

Ever since Lara had blown up on an older couple on the Tube the other day, she had become noticeably reclusive. Of course, Sam knew why this was the case: the older couple had been outwardly expressing homophobic sentiment, and Lara, who was doubtlessly questioning her sexuality, was triggered by the experience. That much Sam understood.

What Sam didn't understand was why Lara reacted so viscerally. Lara's reaction was one of repressed anger. Sam frowned. She was puzzled by where Lara's wrath was coming from. She had countless theories, sure, but no concrete evidence to support any of them.

Hitchens' Razor.

Sam let out a frustrated sigh. Everything would be so much easier for the two of them if Lara would just develop the guts to communicate. Sam consistently gave Lara opportunities to voice her feelings, and Lara never took her up on that. Lara, whom Sam had let herself trust enough to go back to New York with her, could not–or did not–trust Sam enough to confide in her.

That hurt.

Sam missed Lara.

Sam just wanted things to be normal between the two of them again, but what normal was there to be had? Sam knew the feelings Lara had towards her. Lara may not be aware of that fact, but Sam knew. Sam also knew that feelings don't disappear overnight, especially not ones that develop from a close bond of friendship. There was no normal to be had anymore: their friendship was dying. Their friendship was dying, and all Sam could do was leave it to fate.

But if Lara couldn't talk to Sam, then there was nothing to be done but let the friendship die. Sam knew enough about psychology to know that pursuing a relationship with someone who couldn't express themselves freely was a red flag personified. Sam couldn't make the leap of faith for Lara. The ball was in Lara's court and it had to remain there.

Speaking of red flags and relationships, would it be a good idea to date Lara knowing the wrath she was predisposed to displaying? What if the two of them argued and Lara displayed the same wrath to Sam as on the Tube the other day?

And to think, at one point Sam had thought that she would be the toxic one.

Sam's phone rang. She pulled it out of her pocket and glanced down at the caller ID to see that Naomi was calling. With a frown, she answered.

"Hey, kid, how you been? You settling in okay?"

"Things have been great," Naomi replied. Her voice, at least, sounded neutral–relaxed. "Uncle got me a sick new gaming setup and a modded controller!"

"Well that's good," Sam said, "so there's nothing going on?"

"Well," Naomi continued, "I overheard Uncle on the phone last night. I think dad's getting lawyers involved."

"It's probably just posturing on dad's part," Sam said, getting to her feet and striding into the common area of the apartment as she spoke, "he knows a legal battle would attract media attention. It wouldn't be a good look for the CEO of the 'Network of Family Values.'"

"What if it isn't posturing?"

"In that case, Uncle has far more money to fund legal battles with than Hisao."

"Sam-"

"It'll be okay, I promise," Sam said in the most reassuring tone she could muster. The sounds of the front door being opened told Sam that Lara was home.

"You keep promising that," Naomi accused.

"And have things been the worst that they could be, all things considered?"

"...No," Naomi admitted.

"So then all you can do right now is just keep moving, kid. Now, I love you but I gotta go. I'll talk to you later, okay?"

"Okay."

"Everything alright?" Lara asked, emerging into the living room as Sam hung up the phone. Sam blinked in surprise.

"Yeah, my dad might just take my uncle to court over my sister, but other than that she's doing great it seems," Sam said, turning to face Lara, who determinedly avoided eye contact. Lara nodded in understanding and, while still avoiding eye contact, made her way into the kitchen. Sam felt the spine-bristling sensation of irritation creep into her psyche. She took a breath to keep the feeling at bay before continuing, "What about you? Everything alright with you?"

"Yeah," Lara said as she retrieved a box of Jaffa Cakes from a bin atop the fridge, "of course."

"So why aren't you looking at me?"

Lara froze in place, the box of Jaffa Cakes in her hand only halfway out of the bin. Sam could see Lara working her jaw as she tried to concoct a response. Lara's eyes still avoided Sam's.

"Because I'm tired," was what Lara went with at length.

"Because you're tired," Sam repeated while shaking her head, "lord help you when you're able to do gymnastics again." Lara blinked in reproach and shot a narrow-eyed glare in Sam's direction, the anger of her gaze burning into the depths of Sam's eyes.

But at least Lara was looking at her.

"You taking the piss?" Lara demanded.

"Maybe I am," Sam fired back, crossing her arms across her chest.

"What is your problem?!" Anger crept into Lara's voice, which had increased in volume.

"My problem?" Sam raised a brow at Lara and laughed. It was an ugly sound, like a witch cackling over a cauldron. "My problem is that you have a problem that you're not telling me about! You've been angry, withdrawn-"

"SAM!" Lara roared. Sam blanched and froze at the sudden harshness of the sound. If Lara was a lion, then Sam was a cub, cowering as the Queen of the Pride showed her teeth at last. Nothing about the situation was like Lara. Lara had never raised her voice at Sam in that way before. As for Sam? She hadn't been screamed at like that since before she had left home to study at UCL. Before Sam could snap out of her shocked state, Lara stormed past her and into her room. The snap of Lara slamming her door brought Sam out of her trance, and with it came the awareness of the physical barrier that now existed between the two of them.

What happened so suddenly to the kind, supportive Lara Croft she knew? Sam's heart sank, and she felt a dull, aching emptiness on the inside that she hadn't felt in a long time. For some reason, for all the psychological knowledge she possessed, she could not name the feeling or where it came from.

Forlorn and despondent, Sam shuffled into her room and quietly slid the door shut behind her. She was exhausted. She needed a nap.

She flopped herself down onto her bed and closed her eyes. As she drifted into sleep, her mind took her on a journey of days long past. The first stop was a memory of Antonia wrapping a scarf around her head before she would be allowed to go out and play in the snow. She remembered Antonia affectionately referring to her as 'mama's little snow bunny.' She then remembered the first meal she had cooked on her own under her mom's supervision.

After all, it wasn't that fact that Sam had an impeccable palate while stoned that made her a good chef. Her mom had taught her to cook; that's why she was so good at it. Then her mom stopped cooking with her.

Abandonment. That's what she was feeling. She hadn't felt it so intensely since she was ten years old.


Yay parallels!

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