A/N: looks sheepish Hello... This is my first new chapter in over a year, so I owe all my readers an apology for the insanely long wait. Thanks for the patience and poking. I hope you can still remember what was happening in the story. Last chapter Lara tried and failed to escape, and had to watch her boyfriend having his hand chopped off as punishment - funny that none of you seemed to be overly concerned about that... poor old Daniel). So the brief moment of passion that she and Kurtis shared seems to be history. For now, at least. ;)

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Chapter 13: Cabin Fever

The next morning Kurtis and Paul visited me. I had barely slept, too haunted by ghastly images of Daniel's torture to be able to rest my mind. And then there was the guilt, coiled like a viper in the pit of my already throbbing stomach. If I did manage to get out of this situation alive, I didn't see how either Daniel or Winston could ever look me in the eye again. I tried to tell myself over and over that I wasn't to blame, that it was Gunderson's men who had brought this down on all of us, but I couldn't shake off the sick, cold feeling that if it weren't for me, my friends would be safe and happy.

I had been lying on my back staring blankly at the ceiling for some time, but when I heard the door to my room open, I quickly turned over and pretended to be asleep. If there was any chance I could be left alone, it was worth a try.

I was out of luck, again. A hand reached over and shook my shoulder, sending a twinge of pain through my bandaged upper arm.

"Get up," Kurtis said.

I squeezed my eyes closed, trying to summon the energy necessary to move and face my enemy yet again. He took the hesitation to mean that I was either still asleep or being difficult, and started to drag me towards the edge of the bed. I sat up quickly, struggling.

"Get off me," I hissed, slapping his arms away. He backed off, but only by a single step. I looked up to see Paul standing behind him, looking grim. Both men were armed, gunmetal gleaming dangerously in their shoulder holsters.

"Are we going somewhere?" I asked, slowly getting to my feet. I was still dressed in my clothes from the night before, the vest and combats streaked with blood from my arm wound.

Kurtis laughed coldly, without a trace of humour. "No. You're not going anywhere again, not until we get to Egypt." He beckoned to Paul to hand him something. I saw a length of rope, and sank even deeper into despair.

"Move to the end of the bed and give me your arms," Kurtis ordered.

"Can I at least use the bathroom first?" I replied, glaring at him.

He stared back, eyes cool and blank. "Not unless you want me to come with you."

I decided to concede the point this time. I didn't particularly need to use the toilet, but I could have done with a wash. Hate pouring from my eyes, I reluctantly walked to the foot of the bed and waited.

"Now sit down, and try to make yourself comfortable."

I sat cross-legged on the end of the bed and held out my arms. Kurtis placed my hands between the bars of the highly polished brass bedstead, and then set to work twining the rope around my wrists.

"Is this really necessary?" I said. "I'm not going to try anything again." I glanced up at him and spoke quietly. "I won't risk my friends' lives any further. You have my word."

"No choice," Kurtis replied, twisting the cord tightly around the metal bars. "Our orders were… painfully clear." There was something veiled in that remark, a hint of resentment towards his boss. I wondered if he had been punished for trying to intervene the night before. He had spoken out against Gunderson's order to torture Daniel. I looked over at Paul. His normally casual manner was gone, and he seemed silent and severe. Maybe he, too, had received some harsh words after behaving in such a friendly manner towards me.

"How long until we reach Egypt?" I asked sullenly, wincing as Kurtis pulled a knot tight around my wrists, crushing them against the brass bar between them. He didn't answer, seemingly distracted by his task. He paused for a moment, staring at my forearms, and when I followed his gaze I saw what he had noticed there – faint bruises, the impressions that his fingers had left on my flesh the night before when he had pinned me down on his bed. My face reddened with the rush of shame – and other feelings – that the memory unleashed.

"We dock in Alexandria in two more days," Paul said, and my attention snapped back.

"And then what?"

Kurtis straightened up and made brief eye contact with Paul, but decided to ignore my question. I was tired of being kept in the dark.

"I want to know," I said. "Where we're going, and what we're looking for. I should be prepared."

He thought about it for a moment before speaking. "Later," he said at last.

"You're just leaving me here like this?" I asked in exasperation as they turned to leave the room.

"That's right," Kurtis replied, and the door clicked shut behind him.

He was back a few hours later, with food and water for me. Despite my awkward position I had managed to fall into a light sleep, curled up on my side around where my hands poked out, still tethered to the bedpost. I maneuvered myself upright, flexing my numbed fingers, and looked at the tray he was holding out.

"I don't want it," I said wearily.

"Why not?"

"I'm not hungry." I didn't want to tell him that my stomach was still so sore from Gunderson's punch that I could barely hold food down.

"No?" He set the tray down beside me on the bed and went to fetch the chair from the dressing table. He placed it opposite me and sat down, leaning forward to untie my hands. "Too bad, you have to eat."

"Can't you just crawl off and die somewhere?" I asked, exhaustion creeping into my voice. I clenched and unclenched my fists several times as the blood started to flow back down my arms – and with it, the pain. I glanced at the tray. The dry-looking sandwiches didn't appeal to me, but the bottle of water did. I twisted off the cap and took a deep drink while Kurtis sat staring at me.

"So are you going to tell me about this 'mission' or not?" I said once I had slaked my thirst.

He sat back, propping one foot on the brass bedstead. "Once we dock in Alexandria, we head down to Cairo, and from there to a site on land owned by El-Aziz. He's been keeping very quiet about the dig he's doing there, even when he was trying to impress you, but we know he's excavating a series of tombs that once formed part of a temple that we want to get into."

"A temple to who?"

"The goddess Sekhmet."

"Sekhmet… So we're going to Memphis?" The city that had in ancient times been the beating heart of Egypt was also the seat of worship of the Triad of Memphis – Sekhmet, Ptah and their son Nefertum.

"What was once Memphis, yeah. You been there before?"

"Yes." My heart was sinking slowly into my stomach. Our destination was only a short distance south of Cairo, mere miles from the Great Pyramid at Giza where I had almost lost my life. When I thought of being near that place again, it was as though the blood chilled in my veins. "What are we looking for?"

"Anything we can get our hands on," Kurtis replied, oblivious to my growing dread. "But in particular some kind of staff that was used by Sekhmet's head priest. That's what our employer wants the most, and it'll probably be hidden in the deepest part."

"Deepest meaning the most difficult to reach, I suppose?"

"Right."

"How much do you know about Sekhmet?"

"Very little," he conceded with a shrug. "Ancient history isn't exactly my strongest subject."

"So you don't know that she was a war goddess, the punisher of men, and bringer of plague and pestilence?"

"Sounds like a riot. What's your point?"

"My point is that she won't let us into the heart of her temple easily. There are bound to be traps and dangers like you can't even imagine."

"Well then we'd better stay on our toes. Lucky for both of us that you're an expert in doing just that."

An expert? Did he have any idea what had happened to me the last time I visited Egypt? For months after returning to England I could hardly stand to be in the dark, crushed by claustrophobia and the waking nightmares it brought. Last year's adventures in Paris and Prague had taken me one step away from my fears, but when I pictured myself standing at the mouth of an Egyptian tomb, looking into that stale and ancient darkness so close to the shadow of the pyramids, I felt paralysed once more.

"What about this staff?" I said, trying not to dwell on the fear. "What do you know about it?"

"Again, very little. It's been buried down there for thousands of years, so no one knows much beyond rumour. It might not even exist, but I hope for our sakes that it does."

"And what does your employer want with it?"

"It's not my job to ask those questions. But one thing I do know – before you get too hung up on the plague and pestilence – this staff is supposed to have healing properties."

I looked out of the window at the sea and thought about this for a while, chewing on my lip in silence. It was possible that he was telling me the truth; Sekhmet's priests were the medicine men of their time, expert surgeons and healers. Their patron goddess could grant men protection from disease as well as wielding it as a weapon against them. Since a lot of today's wealth lay in the pharmaceutical industry, it was plausible that Gunderson's employer came from such a background. But there was more wealth in the weapons trade, and owning a plague would be just as valuable to men in power as owning the cure. I had been naive in the past, and learnt from too many gross errors of judgment to believe now that any good would come of unearthing this staff.

"You're making a big mistake," I murmured, still staring out at the grey waves rolling by.

"We know what we're doing."

"How reassuring." I looked at him, struck yet again by how different he had become. "Is this what you were trained for, Kurtis? Kidnap, torture or whatever else you're told to do, without ever questioning it?" I was angry now, and wanted to get underneath his cold shell with my venom. "Your father would have been so proud."

I saw a twitch of rage in his features, and for a split second it seemed he might lash out, but he held himself back. "You don't know anything about me, Lara."

"I know you're Lux Veritatis," I said.

"I am," he replied evenly. "But that doesn't really mean anything any more."

"It must have meant something once," I went on. "And it meant something in Prague. When you were trying to bring Eckhardt to justice for what he did to your father."

"Yes. But that's over now. And sooner or later everything goes back to normal. You went back home, got nice and cosy again, got yourself a boyfriend. And I went back to work."

"I didn't go back to normal," I argued. "I wasn't the same after what happened with Eckhardt and Karel. When I went home, I made changes in my life. I suppose I don't forget as easily as you do."

"I don't know what you're trying to do here Lara," he said. "But if you're trying to seek out the little bit of good in my soul, then you may as well save your breath. This is who I've been for a very long time, and I'm not about to change."

"You're such an idiot. Don't you realise that this isn't just a job? Whoever Gunderson is working for isn't sending us to Egypt so that he can make the world a nicer place. They're after some kind of war, just like Eckhardt, just like every other maniac I've met over the years. People like that need to be stopped."

"So I'm working for the bad guys?" he asked, an eyebrow cocked in amusement. "Let me tell you something, Croft. This world is full of bad guys. And everybody works for them. Police, armies, banks, governments. Every bastard is just looking for an advantage over every other bastard. And as much as you want to, you'll never really make a difference. People will always hate each other and kill each other. Haven't you killed more than your fair share?"

"Go to hell," I muttered.

"No, tell me. How many people have you killed, doing what you thought was right?As I recall you killed a man just last night, while he slept. Did you stop to think about whether he had a wife or children before you slit his throat? When people do what they think is right, all they're really looking for is self-preservation. People don't want to save the world. They want to save themselves."

I narrowed my eyes at him, refusing to show how his words had shaken me. "I never claimed to be an angel, Kurtis. I know better than anyone that the world isn't all black and white. But I least I know the difference between a good career move and a suicidal one."

"Right," he said. He took a pack of cigarettes from a pocket in his combats, and tapped it against his palm. "So last night was a good career move?" His voice was hushed, and I knew he wasn't just referring to my escape attempt.

He held my gaze as he took out a lighter and held the flame to his cigarette. After a moment my shame forced me to look away. I heard him pull his chair closer to the foot of the bed, and smelt the smoke on him as he leaned towards my ear.

"Did you screw me because you thought I might help you get away?" His voice was soft and slow. "Or was it because you could see the good, caring person deep down inside me?"

"Neither," I replied, looking him straight in the eye. "I saw something I wanted, and I took it. I've always been impulsive," I went on with a slight shrug. "Don't flatter yourself that it was anything more complicated than that."

He smiled a little. "You should have killed me when you had the chance."

"Believe me, I won't make the same mistake again," I replied bitterly.

We could fire words back and forth all day and never admit the truth of the matter, which was that despite the overwhelming insanity of it, we had wanted each other. The only honesty we had shown one another was last night, in his bed.

I shook my head to dislodge the memory. I couldn't look into those unblinking eyes for another moment while we were both picturing the night before.

Kurtis took a long drag on his cigarette before speaking again. "So, are you gonna eat that?" He gestured at the plate beside me.

"No."

"Suit yourself." He placed the cigarette between his lips and moved forward to tie my hands again. Reflexively I tried to pull away, but he gripped my wrists tightly and started to bind the rope back around them. His handling of me was rougher than earlier, perhaps as punishment for my mentioning his father, but I no longer cared about the pain. Once he had finished, Kurtis took the untouched food and left without another word.

I spent the rest of the voyage that way, locked in my room with my misery. The confinement made me restless, and so did the dread. It grew within me like a storm cloud on the horizon, darkening with every mile that dropped away between the ship and its destination. I was no longer granted sight of Daniel or Winston. Instead I had to rely on the word of my captors that they were still alive. And beneath all my fears, memories were stirring of primal things that I had never wanted unearthed. Destiny was drawing me to Sekhmet, waiting for me to uncover her secrets, and she mine.