A/N: The second version of the Auction-series. This is the twisted-version. If the other part is in the happy universe, this belongs to the everything went to hell world. Lara's background at Yamatai is similar to "In Another World" fic but maybe a notch less horrible, and Lara never openly joins Trinity neither did she ever make the connection to Kitezh, so she never traveled to the Valley and the events of ROTR didn't happen. Everything else will be explained in the fic. I don't usually post any soundtracks but if you are interested, this was written by listening to the "Requiem for a Dream" by 32Stiches. This will potentially have more or less a complete story-line as sequential one-shots when the sequel to "The Prophet of the Old Realm" is finished (btw the sequel will finally start in a week's time!)
Thank you to Chikinaa at AO3 for the comment and discussion that gave an idea to this version as well! And thank you to fanfic. addicted01 for requests to clarify a few things in the draft! However, this fic has not been throughoutly beta'd, and I'm too tired to spend anymore time to polish it further. Hope you still enjoy it! :3
Warnings for canon-type violence, slavery, restraints, (non-explicit) past torture and past human experimentation, you get the picture.
It's the only decision that she doesn't second-guess in recent memory.
And here she is, sitting amongst the lowest of the lows the mankind has to offer, in a posh medium-sized auction hall that is kept as a close secret apart from the selected few. She refrains from drawing attention to herself and pulling the collar of the dark blue turtleneck under her blazer.
Never show emotions with Trinity, only pay back in kind with action. She hates covering her scars like a weakling, but she is here not against Trinity but the other buyers, many of whom have considerably more power and prestige than her in this new world that they live in.
If only she hadn't lost the Silver Key and the Box to Amaru.
She looks upwards from her place in the middle row to the front stage as the broker and the finely dressed Trinity officials are going through the last whispers, the crowd all nearly present. And there among the ancient – stolen – vases and one-of-a-kind artifacts sits the undying Prophet, shackled, head bowed in tattered clothes, and more broken than the other objects to be bought.
Something in her stomach lurches at the memory of Yamatai but she keeps it down like she has become exceptional at doing for years.
And he, Jacob, she has dug the name up, is the only thing she's interested in this auction today. And she'll buy him, even if she has to drag him from the cold hands of the highest bidder, well then, that's just another challenge. Yet, at the same time, it's all just part of the balancing act she has teeter-tottered on since Amaru had spared her life in remaking the world, out of mercy after having her father killed or out of pity after she had lost everything at Yamatai, she hasn't bothered to find out. It all leads to the same end result anyway.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I'm honored to say that the auction is about to begin. All items are authorized by Trinity, and all down payments are to be made in gold or diamonds after the auction. We have secret buyers on the line, and we retain the right to anonymity. – First item, a carved English Oak sculpture picturing the Virgin Mary from the thirteenth century."
Lara lets the items pass and the looters around her whisper and cough at suitable intervals, exchanging estimations of the values of the items based on the gold-trimmed marketing brochure. She keeps her eyes on the Prophet but withholds showing any signs of interest. Yet, Trinity knows anyway. Had known from the moment the listing had been first teased that she'll buy him.
She isn't sure yet if they'll let her, but they have permitted her in this selected group of people. There is the danger that it's just to tempt her and her inherited obsession with immortality myths, but she'll find a way. Maybe Amaru can give the audience if she needs it. They are at war, there is no mistake. But they are also people with history, with links in their past to tie their fates together in this mess of a world, and through that, the war is never open.
After Yamatai and Peru, she has worked on the sidelines, trying to make sense of the changes Amaru had made with the Key and how she could dethrone Trinity from running the world. And she is allowed to do that. Maybe they are amused by her, maybe they leave it up to God, or maybe there is a speck of humanity somewhere. She doesn't believe in the last option though, she had lost all faith in those auxiliary things in the hands of Solarii and the pits of Yamatai.
The Prophet flinches awake, not that many would notice, their eyes blazing over the seventeenth-century painting that should be on the wall of a museum.
They probably haven't let him sleep at all. She can guess and she has found leads on her searches about what they have done to him. What Trinity would do for an immortal enemy that can feel pain. And she knows what these people would do to a worthless heretic, someone with no identity to take out your sadistic perversions on. A human trophy with no value.
Still, she keeps her coldness, letting item after item be tapped to the one with the most money. Her muscles ache from sitting still for so long with her reconstructed body that is still a network of scars and more extensive injuries after Yamatai.
And finally, it's Jacob's turn. There is no open fight left in him. Likewise, there are no open hoots or shouts from this restrained audience, but she can spot the few upturned corners of the mouth, and she feels sick, her fingers anxious to have her climbing axes to hold – to use and wield. They must have all watched the promotional video of his tied-down body being viciously mutilated and him coming back to life the next day. It was all as much for humiliating the Prophet and proving his immortality to the buyers as much as giving a clear demonstration of how Trinity treats those who have chosen to be against them. At least the time constraint prevents them from doing the demonstration here under the cold, derisive faces.
"We are starting off at two-hundred pounds," the broker states emotionlessly and it's all an open jab against the man, the disinterested silence, the price, a message to say how worthless he is. And Lara has been on the receiving end of it at Yamatai when she had been deemed too broken by the Solarii members and they had left her to die alone. She raises the auction number sign before the broker has even finished.
And the hall is silent again, a few heads turning curtly in her direction. She pays them no mind: her money already has its target.
Jacob doesn't raise his head at her offer despite the small clench in his jaw.
So, there is still fight left in him to keep his pride. She squeezes the handle of the sign a little tighter in her fingers as the game got more gainful.
And there is a bid against her, and another.
It's not purely to laugh at the expense of the young woman in the audience but because Jacob is an immortal Prophet, one-of-a-kind in the eyes of many – of those who do not have a history in killing the undying like her. The Divine Source is naturally not part of the sale but the property of someone from the Trinity's High Council. However, that only makes the Prophet's immortality more luring as he cannot kill himself to escape his fate.
She raises the sign again at fifteen-thousand pounds with very little remorse.
And again. And again.
One by one, the bidders give up as the price goes up, a few try to extort her to spend more money but are forced to give up at the fear of actually having to pay the sum. Trinity will not allow for unpaid purchases: you pay, even if it's with your or your loved ones' life.
Yet, three older men continue to bid against her.
"One-point-five million pounds, ladies and gentlemen."
She bids again, with no emotion or apprehension on her face, and she even lets a small, cold smile appear on her lips. She'll win, or they'll die and she'll win – she has become quite good at that game.
Two of the men give up five and ten million respectively, but the older man in the suit and round glasses keeps going, giving her a single glance.
She bids again.
She may only have a fraction of the money of these people, but she no longer has the Manor as it was sold by her Uncle during her captivity at Yamatai and she has very little to spend on. War is expensive, but she'll most likely be the last Croft anyway, so why not use her family fortune to the penny to take these bastards down with her.
And she bids again.
At sixty million, an uncontrollable, unforgiving chuckle escapes her. Time to end this madness. And she does what none of these people here would dare to do no matter their money and influence, she stands up and turns to stare at her opponent, expression lax except for the right eyebrow that she raises a half-an-inch.
And they know, not that they'd ever admit it, but they know about her, have heard the whispers that she was spared by the annihilation, that she has been let in here despite the Trinity soldiers that she has killed in spades and all the operations that she has stopped. And thus, they will most likely also know of her father's obsession with immortality myths.
She will buy that man.
And no one is there to notice how the Prophet in question has raised his gaze to look at the silenced hall and the woman standing unfazed in the middle of the condemnation.
The man, Castiglione, has the audacity to bid for seventy million, disregarding her stance. She smiles at that and raises her sign not breaking her stare towards the man for a second.
"I can do this all day," she confesses aloud, breaking the sacred auction-hall silence. There is no way her steady voice could have gone unheard by anyone in this room.
The man bids again but refuses to meet her gaze this time.
She raises her sign again – one-hundred million pounds–, "Actually, I'd refrain from bidding any more. Given that the Joséphine de Beauharnais' tiara you sold twenty minutes ago was a fake," she says, lilting the last word when the man is raising his sign the next time.
A silent uproar circles the room at her words, officials rising from their seats, people looking at her like she was the heretic, and guns are grasped at the sides of the room, not yet brought out by the undercover soldiers but ready to be used to strike if needed. She only tilts her head in disinterest, before turning to address the broker by putting her noble background to the only good use that she has discovered for it.
"Jean-Andre Didier was one of the great Pierre-François Drais' apprentices. And the style of the tiara is from the 18th century, but given that the bridge of Didier's home city was lost in a fire in 1798 and the village has been told to have remained in isolation for years, it would be very unlikely that the headpiece would have made it to the general's promotion ball. Not the least because Didier had lost his sight five years earlier due to smallpox according to the letters of the local monastery discovered in the excavation conducted in 1985. This would, unfortunately, make the origin and the alleged history of the headpiece very unlikely," she apologizes, bowing minimally at sympathy.
"That is absolute bilge", Castiglione argues back, clearly ready to call the soldiers after her.
Doesn't he know that they won't take her life?
"We have the honor of having Dr. Adewale here with us today," she continues with only a hint of cold sweetness, turning her head slightly to the back row, "–an expert in Neoclassicism and the respected advisor of Trinity's High Council. Unfortunately, I saw him being kept from arriving in time, so he was robbed of the opportunity to get to know the artifacts himself. But I would be honored to be proven wrong by him – if you allow the delay that I'm sorry to bring upon this event."
And they will allow it. Because it's another member of Trinity's High Council who has bought the artifact via a secret buyer: his wife had wanted the headpiece for their daughter's wedding. She knows all that; finding out the facts has always been her obsession.
"I..."
She watches without a blink, sitting back calmly in her seat when Dr. Adewale is called to the front after a few moments of frantic whispering. This time she notices Jacob's eyes on her, his gaze piercing yet inscrutable. She gives him a minimal, reassuring turn of lips that he doesn't react to in any way.
She watches similarly in silence when Dr. Adewale scrutinizes the headpiece and after a few minutes, nods the broker to come to him, and a minute of quiet whispering later, the superintendent.
She keeps the smile off her face this time but lets the victorious coldness of another destroyed notable career rise into her eyes. It doesn't take three minutes when Castiglione is dragged out of the hall, panicked, unresponded cries echoing from the hallway in his wake.
She nods her thanks to the doctor as he walks back to his seat. Credit when it's due. Her instincts had been right but nothing would have stopped the man from lying and selling her to the wolves. Or maybe she had been wrong, but everyone here is afraid of the people they are dealing with, and Dr. Adewale will have an easier time sacrificing an innocent man than taking the risk of letting a Trinity official's beloved daughter get married in a fake headpiece.
And now she has done Trinity another favor in their eyes, helped them clean their ranks, and saved a high-ranking member a huge chunk of money. She'll get there, as an executioner and a savior at the same time.
"We were at..." the broker starts, and he doesn't even have to fight for attention as everyone here has learned to listen to Trinity with unceasing attention. "Ten million with the last legitimate bid. Gentlemen, will you wish to raise your bids."
Both men turn to glance at her. She knows that theoretically, she is outnumbered, her future bids open to the people around her, but a theory is just theory.
"Please," she offers with tactfully raised brows.
But as she hoped, they do not. They don't dare to bid against her, worried for the 1 % chance that she might have something on them too – everyone in this room has lethal skeletons in their closet – and she will buy the Prophet. And they don't dare to call her out for bad sportsmanship because that would draw the officials' attention, create the suspicion that maybe there is something they are afraid of.
She nods courteously for the broker to continue.
"Ten million pounds, ladies and gentlemen. Ten million pounds going once. Ten million pounds going twice. Item seventy-six, sold, for buyer eighty-three."
"So, you have bought the slave?"
She raises an unamused, aristocratic eyebrow at the clerk in the windowless storage room in the basement.
"One million pounds as down payment, please."
She opens her suitcase full of karats and gives the man enough of an estimation for the worth of the whole ten million to evaluate. Paying in full will save her one meeting with these people. She can feel the Prophet following her actions all the while from where he is tethered down like a beast. There is nothing that speaks of his attentiveness except her instincts, and she trusts those, trusts them more than anything else in this world.
She is paid in cash that she eyes for authenticity for the exceeding part of the diamonds, Trinity deciding the rules of the game.
"You are aware that the item comes with a resale clause, Lady Croft? Any changes to the item's ownership will need to be approved by Trinity."
She gives a minimal nod.
They release Jacob from being chained to the wall from the collar around his neck and give her the keys for the binds.
"You were?" she asks the clerk, leaving the question hanging in the air.
"Charlie, Miss."
"Good," she replies before placing a hand on the Prophet's shackled wrist, letting one finger brush extremely gently against his gaunt arm, and guiding him away from these people and to her car.
The man tries to keep his fidgeting as unnoticeable as possible when she keeps him still to open the car door. He has no chance of escaping from the car park under a Trinity-owned building, but she knows that when one's brain is pushed to the survivor-mode, the illogical sometimes starts to seem like the only viable option.
But she keeps her cool, making sure that he doesn't hit his head when she helps him to the front seat. She pulls a penknife out of her pocket and before drawing out the blade, "I'm going to cut your hands free; it'll make it easier for you to grasp things."
Jacob is visibly rigid when she uses the blade to cut off the leather that constricts his hands to fists, being extremely careful not to harm him in the process. Trinity will take note through the security cameras, but they've known that she wasn't like the other buyers, so what does it matter. Jacob doesn't say anything when his systematically scarred hands come to view, but he is not stupid and can probably take note of how she isn't simply removing the mitts for later use but slashing them to shreds.
At least she hopes so. The more there is left of the man, the better use he can be to her.
She doesn't unlock the padlock holding the cuffs together though, it's too big of a risk when he sits on the front seat. Instead, she gives him the seat belt to buckle up with his still limited movements.
Immediately when she makes it to the driver's seat, she takes the water bottle out of her bag, drinks a few gulps, and extends the open bottle for him to take. To her sadness, he is thirsty enough to take it without further misgiving. She continues by taking an energy bar and eating a bite before holding it for him to take once he has finished his fill.
"It's a little over an hour's drive to where I live. We can stay there for the time being," she explains in a calm tone, eyeing that Jacob hears her. And this time as well, her instincts are very clear that he is listening to her very, very carefully despite no outward signs. "I'm Lara by the way."
They don't talk during the drive. Jacob sits still as a rock beside her, no doubt taking in the scenery around them that is probably the first one that he gets to see since Trinity's surprise attack to Siberia, and one that is getting greener as they exit the high-class neighborhood. And she hopes that it will only get better as the spring comes into full bloom. She even opens the windows an inch to bring in the fresh air, but that's not fully Samaritan as she graves for the feeling of freedom as well.
But nothing is ever easy with Trinity and once the traffic eases up, she notices that a Black SUV is indeed following them. Her arms tense a fraction of an inch and something in her breathing must change because she notices Jacob eye her from the corner of his eye.
"We are being followed," she states, already thinking through their options on this quieter piece of road and with the car that is closing in on them – fast. He may be immortal, but she isn't. She can survive well on her own, but looking after Jacob can make things trickier, and it's been a long time when she has had other people to keep alive - and she has always been rubbish at that from the start.
So much blood.
"Do you know how steering a car works?" she asks, not too keen to let the Prophet in the helm when the trust between them is so new and fragile but they don't have a choice. She can see the apprehensive question in Jacob's eyes, but they have no time for that based on the rearview mirror, so she moves to guide his bound hands to grab the side of the steering wheel. "Upwards when left, downwards when right. For straight - keep it leveled. If we are to hit something, tell me to break," she lists in haste, not bothering to leave him time to get used to the change before already letting go of the wheel and pulling the sun visor down to reveal the pistol strapped behind it.
The SUV hits their car, trying to pit them off the lane and forcing her to put her foot hard on the gas and seize the wheel to help Jacob. For such a malnourished physique, he still harbors a surprising amount of strength which is of great help but something that she cannot let herself forget when they get away from this fight. Not managing what they are after, the SUV drops the contact and tries to advance to their side. She leaves the steering to Jacob again and takes the safety off on her pistol.
To her misfortune, the SUV's windows are bullet-proof. And before she knows it, she is breaking down out of instinct to lessen the contact when the attackers push them off the road with a fast hit to the front corner. She pushes Jacob back into his seat to righten his pose and lessen the possibility of injuries. But her effort to try and correct the car with her free hand is less successful and they shoot well off the road and hit a tree.
Luckily the car had been a five-star crash-test winner when it had been new which lessens the impact, but the sound from the exploding airbags is still ringing in her ears and burning her face when she tries to force herself to react, "Move, Lara, move," she murmurs to herself, never letting go of the pistol and already reaching for the knife hidden between the seat and the door.
And it's not a moment too late, because a man with a gun is already on Jacob's door and she shoots him through their cheaper, non-bullet-proof window, not bothering with the broken glass that is the least of their problems at the moment. Before the man has even hit the ground, she is turning around when they open her door, ready to yank her out. She hits the knife through the man's upper chest and follows the attack with her elbow, pushing the dying man out of her way to leap off the car.
She shoots the other guys with a more controlled aim and immediately runs to search every body for a phone and unlock them with the still pulsing fingertips before running back to the driver's seat. "Are you okay?" she affirms from Jacob while not taking her eyes – or prays – off the key in the lock that is making a clicking noise but fails to start the engine. She nods at his simple and curt confirmation, before trying again with the ignition – uselessly.
It seems that even a Prophet onboard doesn't manage to increase her standing in the eyes of divine powers.
"Shit. I guess we are switching cars," she states and gives each phone a slide to keep them from locking-over again. She could cut the fingers on the go, but she doubts that would help her with gaining Jacob's trust and she can make this work.
She can make anything work.
She helps Jacob unstrap his seatbelt and walk to the SUV before dropping herself on the ground to check the underside of the car for bombs. With Trinity it's never just one enemy to be prepared for: internal power struggle has been her blessing more times than she wants to count. After the check, she runs back to her car to tap the phones again, grabbing them with her in a blanket from the backseat, the suitcase with the excess diamonds, and her weapons before dumping them unceremoniously onto the SUV's backseat and running to check the engine bay and the boot. All clear, she flicks the safety back on her pistol and balances to fit all four phones in her hands when she sits behind the wheel.
The key is remarkably still in the lock, saving her from the trouble of having to find it.
She doesn't miss Jacob's gaze on her when she has to pull the seat over a foot forward with her smaller build. Nor does she miss the way he eyes how the four men that she just killed lie on the ground around their crashed car. He doesn't say anything though, and she can guess that he has far too much to be shocked by her actions. She could try to explain, ease the building of trust, but it's just another thing that she has never been good at either, and he probably judges her more by her actions than words anyway. She wouldn't trust anyone either.
She gets back onto the road without a spare thought, her attention on the phones.
"Say if I'm about to drive onto something," she instructs, her eyes only momentary away from the phones that she is trying to keep alive and check for any specks of information that could be of use.
The first two phones have nothing and when she rings to the only number on the call log, another phone in the bundle rings, making her chuck the useless phones out of the window.
The third phone however has four numbers in it, and after a quick glance that they are still on the road, she gestures to Jacob to stay silent as she presses the call button and increases the volume.
"What!?", - "Did you get them?", - "Hello?".
She closes the call at the last, more apprehensive response, and lets that phone fly out of the window as well. The last phone is as useless as the two first ones, but her mind is replaying the man's voice. "A Spanish accent, wasn't it?" she asks Jacob to see if he would confirm her interpretation in an elementary effort to include him.
He nods at her minimally before she chucks the fourth phone away and presses the window to close.
"Narciso? That bastard didn't even bid." But he fits into the picture. "They weren't carrying the insignia," she elucidates, referring to their hitmen, already trying to think how she could use the situation to her advantage.
"Are you in condition to walk half a mile?" she checks. "It's better if we can leave this car a little further away."
She gets another nod, not an eager one, but she takes it with relief, because so far, she has gotten nothing but intentionally given compliance.
When she parks in a secluded parking lot, she gets out of the car to strap the holder onto her thigh and covers it by tying her blazer around her waist. She hands Jacob the dark-gray blanket from the backseat, and he seems to get her idea immediately with a ghost of a bitter smile as he moves to give her better access to drape it on his shoulders and cover his shackles. Most of the population still lives in relative ignorance but she doesn't want anyone to call the authorities because they'd most likely be corrupt. Trinity might let her make her moves as long as they cannot openly prosecute her for anything. She prays that Jacob trusts her or distrusts everyone around them enough to obey her quietly as she leads them past the few civilians on the streets and finally to her apartment building.
She can sense him get nervous once the elevator doors box them into the small space, but she lives on the eighth floor and she cannot bear to put him walk up there with joint ankles and a fatigued body. Luckily, it's not a long ride.
"This is where I live", she welcomes him into the cramped place once she opens the door and checks the old-fashioned markers that she hasn't had uninvited visitors during her absence. It's very much like her place during her Uni years, but she has had to upsize to have one bedroom more. And even then, every place is full of stuff like a fire inspector's nightmare. She had had to fit a Manor's worth of salvageable stuff in here. "It's not really meant for two people but desperate times and all that," she says feeling an unexpected need to explain. She has always been a chaotic mess, it's an inherited quality.
Jacob simply stands still near the door, eyeing the place intently.
"I think we should start from your binds. Okay?" she offers and carefully leads him to sit on the thick, woven exercise mat that covers most of the floor space.
There is a moment of reservation in Jacob before he offers his hands to her. She gets the large padlock open easily but notes with a sinking feeling that the iron around his wrist is solid. Her eyes fly to the three-inch metal collar on his neck, "May I?" she stops before moving her hand closer. It's no mistake that the permission is only given based on his lack of choice.
She can feel the anger that appears on her face as she rotates the strong band with soft fingers so as not to strangle him in the slightest. And on closer inspection, she can see the burn marks on his neck where he has caught fire during the welding. She can fit her pinky under the band but it's clear that the collar is meant to remind of the ownership. She leans back, her eyes moving rapidly as she jogs her brain, "We'll think of something to get that off," she assures either way before moving to uncuff Jacob's ankles. "Anything else?" she asks, her fingers still on the keys when she eyes the cowering, humiliated man in front of her.
She wonders if that was what she looked like after Yamatai.
She lets Jacob find the right words in peace.
"Chastity," he is forced to give her.
Bastards, she sighs in her head. Based on his averted and the tiny movement of his hands, she can guess that he means more metal which is the only upside in the situation. Although, she wouldn't be surprised in the slightest if they have tried to chemically or physically castrate him only to have their effects hampered by the Divine Source. But what can you expect from sadistic zealots who think that taking away man's sexual pleasure is the greatest of all punishments. She forces herself to stay unaffected, not add to his mortification – she is beyond tired of shitty people, "Front or back lock?"
"Front."
She gets up at that, "Come, I'll show you where the bathroom is," and gives him the keys. She fetches an empty plastic bag and leads him past the small kitchen on the side of the living room and into the toilet slash bathroom. "Toilet. It flushes from the button on top. Shower, hot and cold, water pressure, if you want. Taps, hot and cold. Towels to dry up. I bought some spare clothes if you want, I'm not sure if they are the exact right fit but we can work on the details later. Okay?" she pushes on, showing how everything worked in a modern space. She doesn't know that much about his past, but she can guess that an isolated Valley in Siberia hasn't had all the modern comforts. After deeming that it's safe to leave him on his own, she goes to change her own clothes out of the hideous business attire, opting for cargo pants and a jumper.
He takes about twenty minutes to find her in the kitchen. But as she expected he hasn't dared to make himself vulnerable and showered, and she can guess that most of his time was spent on trying to collect himself and assess the situation. He does however come back with the plastic bag making her embrace the small victory they have managed. "We can throw it to hell tomorrow," she simply comments before carrying take-out boxes of food on the carpet. "Whatever appeals to your appetite. I'm not a cook. I eat to survive. But we can always order more. And the fridge is full of preserved items at any time." She eyes his guarded posture for a moment before carrying water and two mugs on the austere setting and sitting on the floor, "However, I do suggest taking it slowly. After malnourishment, the brain is typically hungrier than the body can manage."
His glance lingers on her longer after that, and she ignores the lurch that her stomach gives over him potentially guessing how she is speaking from her own experience.
They eat in silence that she refrains from breaking too often to give him time to adjust.
After lunch she gives him a better tour around the kitchen appliances, stressing that he can always ask her for help if he is apprehensive about anything. Everything must be new to him here.
"Do you want to rest?" she offers after thinking back to her experiences. Sleeping around a stranger in an unfamiliar place – let alone after an attempt on their lives earlier today – must have pulled his already fatigued mind through the floor.
And as she expected, he shakes his head, unwilling to let himself relax.
"Is there anything I can do to make you feel more bearable?" she continues.
He doesn't answer her right away, no doubt fearful that it is just a test - there are people in Trinity who excel at those.
She waits for his answer with sympathy, "Take your time. It's not a one-time deal if you want to share something later on."
She can see the request in how his muscles tense.
"Anything," she stresses with somber eyes.
Jacob looks silently downwards for a long time before he utters quietly, "A prayer rope," and moves his eyes just the tiniest bit to prepare for her reaction.
It takes her a second to comprehend the request because it's so far from what she would think of, but he is a Prophet. "We can find one to buy ...but I might have a rosary here somewhere," she ponders and gets up to check the bedroom that is now one big storage, "Feel free to follow if you want."
To her happy surprise, he does appear in the doorway when she is battling through dozens and dozens of large cardboard boxes stacked on top of one another. "I used to have a much bigger place, but I lost it," she explains to him, eyeing the texts on the boxes. Library - no? Her mother's belongings - no?
He doesn't ask her 'How?' but she has a funny feeling in her stomach that he will when they get acquainted enough.
She finally finds an age-old rosary among one miscellaneous box and battles to reorganize the boxes so that she can make it back to the door. He receives the rosary with a trembling hand and deep bow of the head that is half relief, half gratitude.
She graves for a shower to wash the auction hall from her skin, but she fears that Jacob will disappear in the meantime. So, she dives into her research, the leads she acquired today, the new people to put on her hitlist.
Jacob watches her for a while clearly trying to find his footing and place in this unfamiliar setting and getting used to the partial freedom he finally has. In the end, he settles to sit by the wall, his eyes half-closed and his hand working through the rosary over and over again.
The praying seems to bring him a hint of peace.
And Lara makes no motion as Jacob's eyes slip closed from exhaustion and he nods off his back and head leaning against the wall. The small surface wounds from the car window are barely visible on his skin anymore, he has good reflexes, she makes a mental note for later, pleasantly surprised even if unnerved as he is much more powerful than she had prepared for.
One victory at a time, she thinks. However, there is a wave of sadness that rolls over her without warning. Yamatai and everything following it have been something she has just pushed through, but to see someone else on the same spot brings those feelings back again out of her control. She swallows repeatedly to push them down again, to be in control, but the anxiety stays; sometimes it feels like the only emotion she is consciously in touch with anymore, the other feelings appearing like imprints that aren't fully hers. Moreover, she knows that they'll have to deal with his emotional cracks, too, which must be much more volatile, rawer, than hers. One move at a time, she repeats in her head, and glances at the rosary Jacob is still squeezing in his hand even while asleep.
When Jacob wakes up from his nap, Lara gives no reaction other than a brief, warm smile to fortify her status as a non-threat.
After the initial confusion and panic of the real and the present, Jacob seems more alert and responsive to the situation than upon arrival.
She continues her work with the books and the laptop, urging the man to inspect the place if he wishes to do so. They should eat again to get his weight up but there is something more urgent to get out of the to-do list.
"Did they insert anything into your skin?" she has to ask even at the danger of freaking him out. It's uneasy to her too, unfamiliar to have another person in her home, her space, her life, and try to get their trust. The people aspect just has never been her strong point. And she needs him to work with her; she has spent ten million of her shrinking funds on this card against Trinity.
And as expected, Jacob turns visibly anxious – ready to flee – by her words, but he forces himself to nod in the end.
She keeps herself seated but cranes her neck slightly to urge him on. As a result, Jacob extends his left arm, and with no movement from her to get closer, he taps a small area of skin a couple of inches above the manacle.
"I have anesthetics," she comments as neutrally as possible, "They will temporarily numb the skin so that you wouldn't feel the pain of the removal."
He pulls his hand closer to his body – minimally – but the effect is clear.
"What does it achieve?" he asks, referring to the object without meeting her gaze.
With Trinity, it could be anything. "Most likely it measures your bodily reactions, body temperature, mood, hormone levels, et cetera. But it can probably also track your location. The removal would take that information away from them."
Trinity already knows where she lives so it's not an acute threat to them, which is why she didn't want to start cutting him open immediately upon arrival. But the chip is a weapon against them, a violation of his privacy, and a potential problem in the long term when they want to stay under Trinity's radar.
She gets up ever so carefully and retrieves her large "first-aid" kit that she usually uses to sew herself together hours or even days after the incident.
She calmly showcases to him how the surface analgesia works by putting a small amount on her own skin and after the unavoidable wait, takes the scalpel, never pointing it towards him, and cuts herself a small wound. She glances at him to let him see how her eyes bear no pain before she wipes the blood, and tapes the wound together. She even injects a tiny amount of the anesthetic into her arm to show that the substance is safe.
With mutual bated breaths, he lets her operate his arm, weighing her each action from the surface analgesia to pulling the small chip out. It might be the crisscross of scars on his arm because she doesn't think twice about pulling out the stitching kit and gauze. "I can heal it," he interrupts her flatly, "Not today, but later… once I have my energy."
She tries to read his gaze for a moment, "There is no point letting it bleed needlessly."
Something in her confused argument seems to affect him because Jacob opens and closes his mouth minutely, before extending his arm again for her to work with, his head bowed and gaze averted tensely, leaving her even more baffled.
She decides to leave the stitches out but tapes the wound securely to help it heal until he can finish the process.
She cleans after her and takes a picture of the chip with a pocket camera before asking Jacob if he wanted to destroy the chip by himself. However, he simply nods to her to have the satisfaction of crushing the small equipment under her foot.
They set to eat again, and she is silently happy that Jacob seems a tiny bit less anxious to eat his food.
Halfway through, he breaks his silence not lifting his gaze from his meal, "What is it that you need me for?"
She doesn't miss the underlying anxiety in his words. "Trinity," she offers tiredly, getting lost somewhere even if she isn't sure where. "I want to end their rule. Gone."
He lifts his head to weigh her for a long time with an inscrutable gaze and she doesn't cower, she has nothing to hide.
"And that plan involves me," he replies to her with resigned acceptance which is most likely a more placating version of questioning her loyalties after buying a tortured human with money from an auction.
"You know about Trinity's past. And that is very, very hard to find information on. You know about the Divine Source and what it can and cannot do."
"Information can do very little in the long run. What will you benefit from grains of facts?"
"Truth," she amends easily but with a heavy weight behind her words.
"Truth," he repeats bitterly. "And the Divine Source."
"I'm not after immortality," she retorts, making him smile wryly.
"Then you would be the first," he states back, making her happy that her gut had been right of the fight left in him.
"I've lost my parents to it. My friends. My health. My future. The world," she lists numbly. "My experiences with the undying and the immortal are from the killing side – bringing an end," she clarifies because she doesn't doubt that Trinity has been very adamant on the killing aspect against him. "I hope I can give that to you too, if that is what you wish."
"An ending..." he repeats roughly, but she can hear the long-gone wistfulness in his tone, "Why?"
"Because it's hell to be trapped in a place where you don't want to be in."
He looks at her for a long time at her words and she meets his gaze, eyes hardened in numbed sadness.
"And I think that our goal is mutual. To get the Divine Source away from Trinity and destroy it. You are not obligated to help if you don't want to after what you've been through. You can stay here for the time being. But that's what I'm going to do."
"Why Trinity?"
"Amaru, Dr. Dominguez, is the leader of Trinity's High Council," she starts, letting her life story pour out on the relevant parts: her parents' deaths, the pits of Yamatai and losing her friends, Peru and failing to save the world from Amaru's rule, the hundreds of millions of people who had been killed before the end of the solar eclipse and how she had been spared. It's not secret knowledge, hasn't been for years, but she doesn't know if her web of relations to Trinity is making her unreliable in Jacob's eyes. However, if there is one thing she knows, it's the need for answers after something tragic. He listens intently to her throughout her story. "I'm not going to make it to heaven, but I can take as many as I can to hell with me. That's the difference I can make in this world."
There is a long silence, and she looks at the night sky outside. Freedom – what's left of it – what had ever been left of it for her.
"You seem awfully certain," Jacob eventually breaks the silence quietly.
"Of what?"
"Of being damned already," he replies.
She snorts softly. "If you knew the blood I have in my hands, you would be certain of it too," she replies and moves to put the empty take-out cartons in the trash.
Yet, he manages to freeze her with his words, "And the blood in my hands."
"You're the Prophet, a man of God," she smiles self-deprecatingly. "That comparison is horsefeathers."
"I've led people to war. Destroyed the minds of men to make undying soldiers. Failed to protect those who put their faith in me," he lists lifelessly, a bit too accustomed to his past mistakes to Lara's liking.
"Yet, you still pray," she argues back nodding towards the rosary that has not once left his hand after receiving it.
"Faith," he hums as if not fully certain what to think of the subject anymore. "What else is there?"
"There doesn't have to be anything," she replies lifelessly, trying to chastise herself and abide by her feelings on not to torment the man anymore today with her skewed outlook.
He gives a ghost of a chuckle at her at that and looks back at the rosary that he moves between his fingers. "Maybe."
The sadness is palpable but it's not due to her words, or his, it's due to everything, the world.
She offers him sleeping pills and painkillers before going to bed but he refuses the extra chemicals after Trinity's experiments. She takes both though, needing her nightly respite. And she'll still be a tightly wrung wire, quick to wake up if he tries anything.
In the end, neither one of them sleeps on the bed: he doesn't trust his sleeping to be peaceful enough not to fall down and Lara refrains from sleeping higher than his position on the floor. It's small steps to build trust and abstaining from making herself threatening not to invoke distressing memories.
"What do you need to sleep?" she asks after carrying another blanket and a pillow for him. Even when bone-tired - and especially then - sleep can be a horror on its own, and every bit of comfort can help. "What is the farthest away from your captivity?"
"Nature," he gives her while sitting on the mat, too conscious of the vulnerable position to lie down.
She opens the barred ventilation window like she always does and lets the fresh spring air into the room before moving to pick another blanket so that he won't fall ill with the lower temperature.
And there is another thing that is the furthest from her captivity and she would bet more than ten million pounds that it is from his own, too. So, when she climbs under her own quilted blanket, she extends her hand towards his curled-up form. Not taking his hand into hers like possessing but placing her fingers into his, letting him decide and take hold if he wants. They are both tense for a long time but neither one of them makes the move to break the contact, and eventually sleep claims them like that.
One small victory at a time.