R&R

Note: This ficlet follows on directly from the events of Rise of the Tomb Raider. Contains game spoilers.

Sofia raised her cup. "I am glad I did not shoot you, Lara."

Lara chuckled as she lifted her own cup. "I'm glad you didn't shoot me."

The brunette was still smiling to herself as she took a sip. Sofia was always so straight-faced, it was unclear whether the toast was meant jokingly or with complete sincerity.

Lara's throat constricted the second after swallowing the samogon. Her eyes watered reflexively, and she started to cough.

"Wow, that's strong."

"Our Winters are long and harsh," Sofia responded simply.

"Well, that's certainly a drink born of its environment."

The archaeologist continued to splutter. She dared another sip in the hope it would calm the spasms in her throat. Instead it felt like her tongue and oesophagus were being doused with paint stripper.

"Holy shit," she gasped. "And that's coming from an ex-barmaid."

That produced a wholly unambiguous grin from the Remnant.

"Lara Croft. Defeats two armies almost singlehandedly. Then is defeated herself by a drink even our children consume."

"Now, now," Lara replied, wiping her eyes against the back of her sleeve. "Greek Fire has nothing on this. Next time I'm just chucking bottles of this stuff at Trinity."

Both women laughed.

They sat side by side on a bench in front of Sofia's cabin. A few days earlier they had occupied the same spot while Lara relayed the final moments of Jacob's life to his daughter.

Now they watched dusk deepen into night over the Valley.

Lara closed her eyes for a moment and just listened.

Insects. A bird back late to its roost. The crackle of cooking fires and the murmurs of men and women around them. Otherwise, quiet.

So different to London.

She would miss it.

Sofia spoke her thoughts for her. "You leave tomorrow?"

"Yes. I'm finished here."

Oaths had been fulfilled days earlier; their official parting made. Yet, Lara had lingered while Jonah got his strength back. It had given her time to delve deeper into the Valley's mysteries. Centuries of secrets layered upon centuries, as distinct to her as a core sample to a geologist. It was incredible. Now, though, it was time to go home.

Sofia leaned over with her bottle and topped up Lara's drink.

"Are you sure you wish to linger so long?" the redhead murmured. "I heard Nadia is looking for you."

Lara straightened in her seat. "Oh, God. Nadia. She's lovely, but just so – "

"Exhausting."

"Yes. Exactly that. A human puppy dog. You can't hate her, but her exuberance… She just never seems to wind down."

"She has always been like that. I recall once, when she was a child, even my father becoming exasperated with her. Ivan was so apologetic."

Lara laughed. She liked this side of Sofia – a little looser, a lot less intimidating. Maybe it was the alcohol. Or perhaps it was the exhaustion of her new leadership role among her people.

The redhead looked incredibly tired. She could set an impassive mask over her features, but her eyes showed through, and they always gave away her true emotional state.

"Thank you for your hospitality, Sofia," Lara remarked. "Well, eventually."

The Remnant frowned. "I regret my earlier actions."

"Don't. I'm used to people trying to kill me."

When Lara's joke didn't soften Sofia's scowl, the archaeologist added, "Seriously, I do understand. I would be the same if I were in your position."

That did it. With a sigh, all stiffness went out of Sofia. She curled forward so that her elbows rested on knees. She addressed the dirt between her boots.

"I do not know how my father did it. He spent so much time teaching me, preparing me to lead, because we both knew this day was coming. But right now it does not feel like it was nearly enough. So many unanswered questions."

She turned her head to the archaeologist. "There is never enough time, is there?"

"No." A single gunshot from the study. "No there isn't."

Their mood was veering towards jagged melancholy. Lara tried to steer the ship away.

"Another toast. To daughters left with the secrets of their fathers."

She held out her cup to Sofia.

Pottery chinked as her companion responded with a wry smile. "And their intimidating legacies."

Sofia drank without flinching. She smacked her lips, and swirled the remaining liquid around in her cup, before asking, "What is your next step, Lara?"

It was the Englishwoman's turn to sigh.

"I suppose I try figure out what Trinity's next move is; learn what or who they're going after, and stop them."

"And what about five years from now?"

"Five years? Is this a job interview?" Lara quipped.

"Please entertain my curiosity."

"Alright. I – " She felt her cheer vanish, as if suddenly sucked down a plughole. "I don't know. I try not to think about it."

"Because you think you will be dead?"

"Dead is probably what I will be. But no. It's the alternative that frightens me. What's after all this? If I accomplish the impossible and destroy Trinity, what then? What's waiting for me when it's finally all done? Maybe – "

Lara's eyebrows climbed. This chat with Sofia was proving more enlightening than any of her sessions with Ana's bought-off psychiatrist.

"Maybe that's why I've dedicated my life to looking backwards. Mysteries of the past I can solve. That's much easier than trying to decipher the future."

Sofia set her cup on the ground. "Is there a place in your future for love?"

"Love?" Lara stared at her companion. "I didn't take you for a romantic, Sofia. Or a philosopher. Booze always have this effect on you?"

Sofia shook her head. "My father felt such love. For God, for our people, for my mother, for me. So many different kinds of love. I know he viewed it – loving others – as a weakness, but I believe it was exactly that which kept him human. Unlike the Deathless Ones."

It was an interesting, if idealistic, theory.

As Lara began to prod at the idea, Sofia continued, insistent. "Perhaps that is true immortality. By expressing our love, and allowing ourselves to receive it, we live on – in the memories and hearts of others."

Lara guffawed, "I think perhaps you're more like your fath– "

Sofia's lips crashed into hers.

Lara's reflex response was to jolt backwards, but her companion had already seized her cheeks, preventing withdrawal.

It wasn't a bad kiss by any means.

Just… surprising.

And it shocked Lara how quickly her body reacted. When Sofia finally broke from the embrace, adrenalin had prickled the archaeologist's skin and turned her heartbeat into a hum between her ears.

Flustered, she was incapable of verbal response. The only thing that came to mind was a dry deflecting comment about the assertive courtship rituals of Remnant women.

Yet even if her tongue would cooperate, she couldn't say that to Sofia. She liked her too much.

She didn't want to hurt the redhead just when she had scraped together the courage to batter through her stoic shell. From the moment they met, Lara had realised that Sofia was someone who hid her emotions – whether out of self-defence, or because she could not afford to show any vulnerability with so many turned to her for protection.

While Lara was still trying to puzzle out a diplomatic response, Sofia plucked the brunette's drink away. Then she squeezed Lara's empty fingers in her own.

"Do not distance yourself from others, Lara. No matter how much you hurt, or they hurt. Or even how much you fear the prospect of hurt. Use your heart. Allow yourself to feel happiness, however briefly it arises. Not from this…" she cocked her head towards the battered Valley, "but from living, breathing people. Otherwise I worry about what you may become."

Lara looked down at the women's entwined digits. Their hands were the same. Exactly the same.

The archaeologist lifted her eyes.

"Sofia…"

"My father believed you are extraordinary. I believe that too. But you are not invulnerable. Take care of yourself."

Sofia initiated a new kiss, far gentler than the first.

A small part of Lara demanded resistance after the first ambush. The rest of her, though, was content to run with it. To actually encourage the kiss while her consciousness wailed its ambivalence.

If she didn't think too deeply – if she just let her body feel – she could admit that it had been so incredibly long since she last experienced any form of physical intimacy. Since anyone touched her bare skin with such tenderness.

It sent her as drunkenly off-kilter as if she had chugged back on a whole pitcher of the Remnants' home brew.

Eventually, Sofia withdrew, releasing her grip on her companion at the same time.

"I am going to bed," she declared.

Back to business, the redhead stood. Lara watched her retreat to the modest wood and stone cottage behind them.

At the doorway, Sofia leaned momentarily against the frame. She glanced over her shoulder.

"You may join me for your last night, if you wish."

Then she entered the house, and closed the door.

Lara remained seated.

With the setting of the sun, the temperature had dropped. No longer bracing, it was becoming bitterly cold. Steam puffed from between Lara's lips as she tried to steady her breathing. She had started trembling too, but she didn't really feel it.

It could have been the moonshine. Or perhaps Sofia had inherited some variation of Jacob's healing touch. Either way, Lara was largely indifferent to the chill.

She gazed out over the village.

Somewhere down there, Jonah was being tended to by Sofia's people. She could picture him cheerfully sharing recipes over a venison dinner.

Beyond the settlement, firelight gave way to darkness. There, in the blackness of the forest and the ruins of Kitezh, sprawled dozens and dozens of bodies she was responsible for.

Far beyond that was an island where the situation repeated. Lost among the bone and ash in that hellish place lay what remained of Roth, Grim and Alex. Again, her responsibility.

Pripyat.

Mexico.

Death, destruction and misery shadowing her everywhere.

Even home.

She thought of Sam in that London prison, her face contorted with anguish and acid hatred.

And she thought of Sofia. Waiting right behind her. Alive in her cabin. Deliciously warm. Free of loathing.

Offering a single evening of respite. If the archaeologist would accept it.

If she would accept it.

Slowly, Lara got to her feet.