Tomb Raider 1. Chapter 1

**Title:** It's a Long and Arduous Road to Recovery  
**Author: **vendettadays  
**Fandom:** Tomb Raider (2013)  
**Characters:** Lara Croft, Sam Nishimura  
**Rating:** T  
**Summary:** It was a car crash that catalysed their recovery.

* * *

It was the call at 10 PM that chilled Sam's lungs and made her forget how to breathe. All she managed was a strangled 'I'm on my way' before she ended the call and ran out of her bedroom. She shoved her feet into the first pair of shoes she saw and left her flat. Her feet pounded down the stairs to the ground floor, waking everyone else in her building, but she was out of the building faster than all the time she had lived there.

The cold air bit at Sam's uncovered arms, as she left the warmth of the inside. It was the middle of October and London was sliding into the chill of winter, bypassing autumn altogether with strong gusts and breezes. She waved at a black taxi driving down the road towards her. She pulled open the door, rocking the taxi as she sat down heavily into the back seat and closing the door with a slam, all before the driver could pull up his handbrake.

'A&amp;E at the University College Hospital,' said Sam, interrupting the driver as he opened his mouth.

'Euston Road's blocked 'cause of an accident –'

'Just get me there fast and I'll give you an extra £20, please.'

Sam stared at the rear-view mirror that reflected the driver's eyes. The desperation must have been clear on her face, because he shrugged his shoulders and started to drive. Time seemed to elongate with every red light that the driver had to stop at. She bit her lip and clenched her phone tightly in her left hand, forcing down the swear words that rose up like panic every time the taxi slowed. It was not the driver's fault. He was already driving ten miles over the speed limit for her.

The taxi careened to a stop outside the automatic doors of the Accident &amp; Emergency Department of the hospital. Sam threw a handful of notes that she found in the back pocket of her jeans through the tiny hole in the partition. It was probably a lot more than the amount she had promised the driver, taxi fare and the extra £20 included, but it was only money. She exited the taxi and ran through the doors, past the rows of chairs in the waiting room and to the lady with her ginger hair tied in a bun, sitting behind the reception desk. Her mouth opened and words left her mouth before her mind could process them.

'I'm here for Lara Croft.'

The receptionist jumped in her seat and looked up from her computer monitor, startled by the bang that Sam made when her hands landed on the edge of the desk to stop her from colliding into it. The stern look on the nurse disappeared when she saw the worried frown that had taken permanent residence on Sam's eyebrows since she got the call.

'Can I have your name?'

'Sam Nishimura.' The edge of the desk cut into the palm of her hand and it hurt, but she needed to ground herself. 'I got a call that my… that Lara Croft was in an accident.'

'Have a seat and I'll call the doctor.'

Sam nodded, but did not sit down. The receptionist picked up the phone and dialled a number. There was urgency in her voice, as she relayed to the person on the other line that 'Lara Croft's next of kin has arrived, yes, tell Doctor Lam ASAP', which only made Sam grip the desk tighter and clench her jaw harder until her teeth ached. Six months had passed since the night she had stitched Lara's arm. In six months Lara could have changed and she must have changed, because there was something terribly wrong for Lara to list Sam as her next of kin.

'Please take a seat, Ms Nishimura. I'll call you when the doctor arrives.'

Sam let go of the desk reluctantly and walked to the row of chairs that faced reception. It was a Monday night, but the waiting room was full of people waiting to be seen by someone. She sat in an empty seat in a row closest to reception, in between a teenaged girl cradling her swollen hand and a man whose face was as pale as the walls of the room they were sitting in. There was an uncanny quietness about the waiting room of hospitals that prickled the back of Sam's neck and made her leg jitter on the spot.

She had not been sitting for more than five minutes when a woman in blue scrubs came through the double doors next to the reception desk. The receptionist turned to the woman in the scrubs, and said something that was inaudible to Sam, whilst gesturing at where she was sat. Sam got up and walked to them and her heart pounded with every step, as she repeated in her head: _please, do not let it be bad news._

The woman in the blue scrubs turned to face her, as Sam approached, and introduced herself as Doctor Lam. The tension in Sam's shouldered lessened, because Doctor Lam's expression was calm and not the controlled, neutral look that spoke of the worse.

'Ms Nishimura, if you could follow me, we can find somewhere a little more private to talk about Ms Croft.'

Sam followed the squelching of Doctor Lam's crocs against the linoleum floor. They went through the double doors and down the corridor, into another ward and waiting room with only two other people. Doctor Lam sat down and gestured for her to do the same. She tried to cover the splatter of light blue on her right forearm self-consciously, but the Doctor's eyes lingered on the marks that peaked out from under her fingers.

'Ms Croft has a broken tib and fib, which needs to be operated on as soon as she has been prepped for surgery,' said Doctor Lam. 'It's a simple procedure. We just need to fix some metal pins and plates to realign the broken bones.'

Surgery. Broken bones. All Sam did was nod, unable to force her throat to work, because Lara needed surgery and that any surgery no matter how simple the doctor made it sound, was still surgery.

'The accident was serious, but your partner has a very resilient body and with physiotherapy she will be able to make a full recovery.'

Sam nodded again and clenched her jaw at the assumption, but she did not bother to correct the Doctor. They were something, but they were nothing at the same time. She did not know what they were, not since that damn island and now, she was back in a hospital, repeating history by waiting in silence. The doctor left her alone with a promise that a nurse would come and get her when Lara was prepped for surgery.

She took her phone out from her back pocket, so that her fidgeting hands had something to do. She tapped at the screen with shaking fingers and opened her browser. The air in her lungs escaped with a shudder from her mouth when she searched what exactly a 'tib and fib' was.

* * *

Sam bit the knuckle of her index finger, as she paced the corridor outside the operating theatre. Ten steps away from the door and ten steps back. Any more and something bad might happen. There might be a complication. Or the surgeon might accidentally nick a nerve. She exhaled quickly and pushed the thought away, but her mind whirled like it did an hour ago when she searched how surgeries could go wrong. Lara would never be the same again.

Then there were the news articles online on the BBC and the Guardian. It was a stolen van driving at 50 miles per hour that collided into the taxi. It was Lara being in the wrong place at the wrong time. There were photos of the crushed taxi and pools of blood that Sam scrolled past quickly. Lara had to be cut out of the back of the taxi and she had been conscious throughout it all. Sam had switched her phone off when the urge to run grew too strong. So she paced her ten steps and did not think about what she would do if she lost Lara altogether.

* * *

Sam buried her face in her hands. The darkness behind her eyelids soothed her eyes, dry and bloodshot from tiredness. The back of her eyes throbbed and she wanted to see Lara. The earlier panic that had fuelled her had ebbed into a quiet anxiety, lingering like fingertips against the back of her neck and draining her strength. She had stopped pacing half an hour ago and was sitting in a chair next to the doors of the theatre.

A soft tap on her shoulder jolted her and she looked up to see a nurse staring down at her worriedly. He was holding a dirty, canvas holdall in one hand and a clipboard in the other.

'When the paramedics brought Lara in, she had a bag with her.' He paused and held out the clipboard at Sam. 'Can I get you to sign this form, so you can take her bag?'

Sam signed the form without reading it and handed the clipboard back. He smiled at her, a tight-lipped smile of comfort that did not reach her, and placed the bag on an empty chair. She pulled the ratty bag with its dirt and dust stains onto her lap. It was breaking apart, kept together by some clumsy string stitches at the seams. The zip was rusty and got stuck halfway when she tugged it open. There was a light, grey hoody on top of everything and she put it on, the length of the sleeves bunching at her wrists. The fabric was rough against her cold skin and she finally realised that it was October, past midnight, and she was only in a t-shirt and jeans with mismatched Converses on her feet.

The hoody smelt of dirt and old sweat and the wilderness, but it was a poor substitute for what Sam wanted. Whatever it was that she wanted. But it was the best she would get for now. She tucked her chin under the collar and took Lara's journal out. It was the same one from back then, almost two years ago, but its spine was cracked now and the corners blunted from repeated knocks. She untied the string that kept the journal together and opened it where the spine yielded easily to a deep crease, like it had been opened and closed on that page constantly.

A sob rose in Sam's chest and lodged itself in her throat. Stuck to the right-hand page with yellowing tape was a photo of her and Lara, surrounded by Lara's indecipherable writing and bloodstained fingerprints. They looked so young, dressed in their black graduation gowns with smiles that were genuine and free of tension. Lara's arm was thrown over Sam's shoulder, careless and carefree. Sam had forgotten that Lara used to do that. It was an action that belonged a world away from the Lara she knew now.

* * *

The operation was successful and Sam was able to breathe easier after hearing the news. She sat in a chair next to Lara's bed, her head resting on top of her left arm on the bed, as she waited for Lara to wake up. She counted the rise and fall of Lara's chest beneath the thin sheets and held onto Lara's cold fingers. Twenty minutes had passed with only the occasional slow flicker of Lara's eyes before she dozed off again. The nurse said that it was normal and that every patient was different when coming around after being under. It took time and Sam felt that everything to do with Lara only ever took time.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam flicked through the copy of the _Metro_ that she had picked up on her way to the hospital. Her thumb and forefinger danced at the side of the pages, smudging the ink onto her skin to the time of her bobbing knee. She peeked over the top of it, using it like a parapet instead of the reading material it was, before ducking back down to safety.

Lara's right leg was in a cast and propped up on top of pillows, as she at the chicken soup that Sam had brought for her. It was visiting hours and, other than the rustling of her newspaper and the clinking of Lara's spoon against her bowl, the shared ward was quiet beyond the confines of the curtain pulled around them. Sam shifted in her chair, her jeans squeaked against the plastic padding and she fiddled with her grubby paper.

There was so much she wanted to say to Lara now that she was awake. She looked at Lara, cleared her throat and the clinking stopped. Lara's face was clean and free of the grime from her last trip, but the cuts and bruises from the trip and the crash were indistinguishable to Sam. Lara wetted her lips, catching a drop of soup from the corner of her mouth with her tongue and Sam started, her eyes flitting away from Lara's lips to her eyes and then back down to the newspaper she was not reading. The words on the page were unfocused and her heart was beating uncomfortably fast, like it sometimes did on nights out when she had drunk too much alcohol on an empty stomach.

'Come stay at mine,' blurted Sam, puncturing the uneasy quiet that always settled between them these days. At least, when they were both conscious and awake to experience it. 'You know, when they discharge you tomorrow.'

'I still have my flat, so it's fine.'

A harsh sigh rose in Sam and she turned the page of her newspaper harder than needed, ripping through the flimsy paper with the nail of her thumb. It had not been a request. It was not a request. She gritted her teeth and closed her eyes, forcing herself to count to ten. When she opened her eyes again it was to a perturbed look upon Lara's face that was both unexpected and unfamiliar to her.

'You're not going to make it to the first floor in crutches, let alone the third floor where you actually live.' Sam stopped herself and took a deep breath to release the tension building up in her muscles. 'There's an elevator in my building, just stay for a few weeks, so you can let your leg heal.'

Sam glared at Lara with her arms crossed over her chest; their eyes engaged in a staring match. The loser was the first one to look away and Lara lost, turning her head down to the lukewarm bowl of soup in her hands.

'Okay,' whispered Lara. 'I promise I'll stay for a bit.'

* * *

The air was musty and there was a fine layer of dust on every surface of Lara's flat on Gower Street. Sam closed the door and weaved her way around the boxes to get to the windows, where she drew back the curtains, illuminating the dust motes that danced in the air. The flat was sparse and unlived in and was in dire need of renovation, but Lara spent so little time there that it acted more as storage than as a place to live. Other than the old sofa, that Sam had spent five weeks living on, everything that Lara owned was in boxes piled on top of other boxes in the living room. Lara wanted her books on myths and archaeology, her father's journals, and Roth's maps. It seemed that the more immediate things like underwear and clothes were not important to her. Sam was not even sure if Lara owned a winter coat and with the way the weather was heading, Lara was going to need one.

Sam sat on the floor, a tower of books to her right and a small pile of folded clothes to her left. There were more books than clothing, but at least she found a faded, green coat with a hood lined with fake black fur for Lara to wear. She dragged the next box towards her with a grunt and ripped off the tape. It was full of textbooks that Lara had collected over her three years at uni. She knelt on her knees and grabbed the first textbook out. A piece of paper with what appeared to be a dismembered limb on it caught her eyes, as it peeked out from under the cover of _Guns, Germs and Steel_. She pulled the paper out from the book and a smile tugged at the corner of her lips. It was a photo of her and Lara at a Halloween party in their first year. They had shredded their old school uniform for zombie costumes and had drenched themselves in red paint, stolen from the Art Society. Then there were the mannequin limbs that they had taken from the Drama Society room; Sam had the leg and Lara had the arm. It was a night that ended with a trip to A&amp;E, but it had been completely worth it.

She found inside each of Lara's old textbooks, tucked in between heavily highlighted pages and used as bookmarks, were more photos of her and Lara. There were photos from their trips to Bulgaria and Tanzania and candids from when they had lived together. Sam took every single one and placed them in a pile for her to take back to her flat. The photos were taken with an instant camera and without the negatives they were the only copies in the world to remind her that things were different before.

* * *

It was late afternoon by the time Lara was discharged from hospital. Sam had suggested that they take the Tube, but the sudden paleness on Lara's face changed her decision quickly. They took a taxi to Sam's flat where the smell of burnt rice welcomed them home, when she opened the door wide enough for Lara to swing her way into the hallway with her crutches.

'I moved your stuff into my room,' said Sam, gesturing to the door on the left. 'The bathroom is opposite my room, and right ahead is the living room and kitchen.'

Lara nodded and moved into the living room where the smell was strongest. An entire can of air freshener had not been able to dispel the smell of the burnt _okayu_ that she had tried to cook the day before. The fire alarm had gone off twice during her cooking and the bottom of the pan had become an irreversible black at the end, so she had settled for heating up a can of chicken soup for Lara instead. She had been halfway to the hospital before she had remembered that Lara did not eat meat when she could avoid it these days. But Lara had not complained about the soup or the smell. In fact, she had not said a word since they left the hospital.

Sam shrugged off her shoes and followed after Lara, dumping Lara's battered canvas bag into her room as she passed by. Four days had passed since the accident and she had thought that something would have changed between them. Nothing did and everything had stayed the same. There was so much she wanted to say to Lara, but the awkward silences that crept in between them quelled the words that she found.

'You can sleep in my room. I'll take the sofa.' Lara turned away from the window and opened her mouth to object, but Sam was getting better at this. 'You need the bed.'

'I'll be fine on the sofa.' But Lara was still as stubborn.

Sam pinched the bridge of her nose and walked away from Lara to the kitchen. It was like dealing with a teenager, but at least a teenager with a broken leg would have jumped at the chance to take the bed if the other option was a sofa. She started making tea and ran through the steps in her head, hoping that the monotony of it would calm her.

Water in the kettle first.

Then the mugs that hung on the mug tree that her Aunt had gifted her, because that was exactly what she wanted to receive for her 23rd birthday.

Next were the tea bags that lived in a glass jar in the cupboard next to the fridge.

Sam waited for the kettle to boil with her arms crossed against her chest and her foot tapping against her grey tiled floor. The water finished boiling and she poured it into the mugs, splashing a few drops onto the countertop and almost on herself.

She was getting the milk from the fridge when Lara shuffled in, using the doorframe for support and unwilling to look Sam in the eyes.

'I'll sleep in your bed.'

* * *

They ordered takeaway for dinner that night and had it delivered, because Sam didn't want to cook and Lara had shrugged when asked about food. So they ate vegetable chow mein and egg-fried rice out of the plastic containers, and watched the _X-Factor_ instead of the documentary on ancient civilisations.

It almost felt like they were back in uni as they ate dinner on the sofa, except with less talking, no laughter, and a deliberate six-inch gap between their respective thighs that felt far bigger than it was.

* * *

Sam dropped her phone onto the kitchen counter after hanging up. She closed her eyes and massaged her temples to ease the light throb that had started from the moment she answered the call. It was another thing on the endless list of things that she needed to deal with. Cold fingertips touched the frown between her eyebrows, smoothing the scrunched skin and shocking her into opening her eyes. She recoiled and stepped back instinctively from Lara, who lowered her outstretched hand and busied herself with making breakfast. She ignored the hurt that had flitted across Lara's face.

It was a casual touch that tingled the skin between her brows, but it was unexpected, and Sam's heart pounded furiously against her ribs. She had said a few weeks, but the weeks had grown into a month and even that was not enough to repair the awkwardness that had settled into their relationship in the past two years. It would have been easier if her mind and heart stopped their tug-of-war on her feelings, because it tired her to be so hot and cold towards Lara in a matter of moments. Sam suspected that her nightmares had a hand in it, but it was not like Lara had called her out on her shitty attitude.

'That was my grandma,' said Sam, interrupting the clinking of cereal being poured into two bowls. 'She's coming to visit me and I have to pick her up.'

'When is she coming?'

'Tomorrow morning.' Lara held a bowl of cereal, with her thumb against the rim and her fingers at the bottom, out to Sam. 'She'll be here for a week, but I don't have to spend all my free time with her.'

'Why?'

They lapsed into an uncomfortable silence, which neither of them wanted to break and one that Sam was less inclined to fill with her reason. She went to work when she needed to and went out shopping for food when they were out, but beside those two activities she had spent nearly all of her free time with Lara, not that they did anything together. It was an irrational fear, but one that gripped her whenever she couldn't find Lara. She did not doubt that Lara knew, but Lara was prone to breaking her promises these days.

'No reason.'

Sam ignored the sudden whiteness of Lara's knuckles as she held her spoon.

* * *

Sam stood on tiptoes to make herself taller and craned her head, to look over the crowd of people in front of her, as she searched for her grandmother in the arrival hall. Her grandmother's flight had landed an hour and half ago and she should have passed immigration by now. It would not have surprised Sam if her grandmother deliberately delayed her arrival by sitting in baggage reclaim just to annoy her. Her Grandma Sayuri was odd like that and Sam suspected that all the weird personality quirks and traits that she had where inherited from her grandmother. The genes must have skipped a generation, because her father and his five siblings were all lacked a sense of humour.

She considered getting another coffee when she saw Sayuri walk into the arrivals hall with an airport ground staff wheeling her suitcases. At 85-years-old, her grandmother still moved with an air of dignity around her and looked as regal as she was when she was younger, even with biker flames decorating the length of her walking stick.

* * *

'This looks good.' Sayuri held up a dark grey leather jacket and placed it in front of Sam. 'How about I buy this for you as a late birthday present?'

'It's okay, Grandma,' replied Sam. 'I don't need another leather jacket.'

'Are you sure you don't need another one?'

'Yes, I'm sure.' Sayuri huffed, but placed the jacket into the basket that Sam was holding.

Sam sighed and stifled a yawn. She had hoped to go home to sleep once she had picked up her grandmother, since she had woken at 4AM, but apparently, Sayuri wasn't susceptible to jet lag and had wanted to go straight to souvenir shopping.

('If I shop now, then I can spend more time with my favourite granddaughter.')

She followed after Sayuri quietly and tried not to think about how the bedside lamp in her room was on when she had got up this morning. It either meant that Lara had woken early or had not slept at all. It was more likely the latter over the former and she had hovered outside for fifteen minutes, debating with herself whether to go in and tell Lara that she was leaving for the airport. In the end, she had decided to leave without a word.

Sam nodded along as her grandmother talked about the ridiculous business venture that her Uncle Hiroki had got himself into, apparently it involved the Nishimura estate and its extensive herb garden. Then there was something about her Aunt Kumiko who had been telling her father at every family gathering they had about how smart her cousin Aya was for getting into the University of Tokyo to study medicine, and that having a doctor in the family was better than a filmmaker.

Sam yelped when Sayuri whacked her leg with her walking stick.

'Gran! What was that for?' said Sam loudly, bending down to rub her throbbing shin. She was surprised to find that they were no longer in the clothing department and had moved downstairs to the food hall.

'I asked you a question and you were not listening.'

'You didn't have to hit me though.'

'How is that girl?' repeated Sayuri, as she perused through the shelf to find the tea that Sam's Uncle Daisuke wanted.

Sam straightened up quickly and dropped her heavy basket full of her grandmother's shopping. When had it got so full?

'Lara's fine. She's –' She trailed off and sank into her thoughts again, because Lara was not fine at all and her grandmother deserved to know what her granddaughter was really thinking. 'She was in an accident. She broke her leg, but she's alive and not injured like she was back then.'

'I do not suppose that the western doctors here know how to treat her properly?' Sayuri plucked a tin of Earl Grey off the shelf and dropped it into another empty basket that Sam would have to carry. Sam winced as the tin dented, but her grandmother had said before that it was going to dent during the flight. So why prevent the inevitable?

'Grandma, you know the doctors do.'

'Well, I will have to gather the dry herbs she needs then.'

'Grandma,' whined Sam, as she bent down to pick up the baskets. 'You don't need to get it. She's not going to drink it.'

'Oh, she will.'

A shiver of revulsion went down Sam's back as she remembered having to drink the black, bitter soup as a child. Lara was never going to drink the herbal medicine that Sam would have to boil in a pot for her.

* * *

The lights were off when Sam got home, even the tiny gap between her bedroom door and the carpet was dark without the sliver of yellow light that stayed on most nights. She paused outside her room when she heard the restless whispers of bed sheets and she imagined Lara tossing and turning under the duvet. The muffled shuffling stopped when Sam placed her hand on the doorknob, unintentionally rattling the metal joints inside the door. Her entire body froze and her hand stilled before she let go quickly. For a moment, she had forgotten that her sliding in between the warm sheets to snuggle with Lara when she couldn't sleep was a thing of the past. She shook the image of their tangled legs and insistent kisses away, but Lara's breathy moans lingered in the back of her mind. She had forgotten that they didn't do that anymore. Not since that time six months ago when Lara, after crying her apologies over and over again, had left in the middle of the night.

Sam walked into the living room and closed the door behind her to add an extra layer of wood between herself and Lara. She swallowed and ripped her scarf off, dropping it on the floor along with her coat, as she moved into the kitchen. The air chilled the skin on her neck and chased away the phantom hands that had slid their way under her warm woollen scarf. She shut the door, another obstacle between them, and dropped into a chair heavily.

On the table was a pizza box with a note on top in Lara's messy scrawl, which told Sam to eat the leftovers if she wanted. She opened the box to find half a ham and pineapple pizza left. It was Sam's favourite. She didn't need to look in the bin to find the pieces of ham from the eaten half in there. She had come into the kitchen to shut away her urge to see Lara, but it wasn't working.

Sam buried her face into her hands. She wanted to see Lara, especially so since they had not seen each other for three days, but not now when her heart pounded from the memory of Lara's arching back and how her fingers yearned to touch the soft skin on the inside of Lara's thigh.

* * *

'Sam? Wake up.'

Sam groaned and tried to open her eyes, but her vision was bleary from the weak morning light that came in through the kitchen window. She lifted her head from where it was cushioned by her arms on the table; her neck was stiff and painful, and she winced as she moved a particularly tense muscle in her shoulder.

'Good morning.' Lara's hand hovered an inch above Sam's shoulder, but Lara pulled it away when Sam turned to look at it. 'Why were you sleeping here?'

'I fell asleep accidently.' It was the truth, but she left out the reasons why. 'You know what my Grandma's like: a total party girl when it comes to shopping.'

Lara smiled for the sake of it. 'Can we talk?'

'What about?' asked Sam cautiously. She stood up from her chair and it sounded like every joint in her body popped when she stretched her tired back. 'I have to be at work in an hour.'

It was too late to have a quick shower, not if she wanted to be on time and avoid being flayed by her manager. It was getting close to the holiday season and the photography studio was booked up with shoots. It was boring work, filming couples staring lovingly into each other's eyes so that it could be edited into a film overlaid with cheesy music, but it was regular money. Even if it wasn't what she wanted to do.

'I was thinking about moving back to my flat.' Sam's heart sank and she paused on her way out of the kitchen. 'Don't want to impose–'

'Can we talk about this when I get back from work?' She turned and saw the crack in Lara's calm expression.

'Sure,' said Lara with a nod, but it was the twitch in her clenched jaw that had given her away.

* * *

Sam had stalled for time as best she could, but there were only so many times she could tidy her work desk. Any other day, she would have left the studio the moment the clock hit 5PM and she would have been out in the dark November afternoon by 5:01. It had been her manager, who had told her leave so that he could lock up, that had decided the matter for her in the end. If Lara wanted to move out then she would have to accept it. It wasn't like she had been the best roommate in the world and Lara had put up with her behaviour longer than the old Lara would have.

When Sam got home she switched on the hallway light and stood in the doorway, confused as to why the lights were off and how quiet it was. Lara's left boot was missing from the shoe rack by the door, which meant one thing to her.

Her bedroom door was open and she poked her head inside. The bed was made and Lara's pyjamas were folded neatly on top of the pillow. On her desk were Lara's journals and books, kept open with pens and used as weights to stop the giant map underneath it from curling up. She opened the wardrobe and Lara's clothes were hanging inside, pushed over to the left side so that there was room for Sam's clothes, but Lara was missing and that meant that she had left without telling anyone again.

She called Lara's phone, but the ringing coming from in between the sofa cushions was not what she needed. She went into the kitchen to find a tepid mug of tea, without milk, on the kitchen counter, next to a half-filled out crossword puzzle and a copy of _Mythology: Timeless Tales of Gods and Heroes_ bookmarked with their graduation photo. But Lara was missing and the thought made Sam nauseous.

Her chest felt tight and she gasped, her breaths coming in short, sharp bursts. She sat down on the sofa arm and closed her eyes, forcing herself to take deep breaths through her nose. It was not helping. The world behind her eyes was spinning in dizzying spirals. This was what happened last time. She had called, but the tone kept ringing. She had lived on that uncomfortable sofa in Lara's flat for a month, waking up each morning hoping that Lara would walk through the door. But Lara never did. So she had gone back to her own flat and tried to forget about the worry that flooded her whenever her thoughts turned to Lara. It had been hard for the first few months, but it got easier and easier to the point that she had almost forgotten who Lara Croft was until that call from the hospital.

The sound of keys being pushed into a lock pulled Sam from her memories and she opened her eyes. Lara hobbled into the hallway; her boot was on her left foot and there was a plastic bag hanging on the handle of her crutch.

'We were out of milk, so I went out to buy –'

'Where were you?' said Sam loudly from the living room.

'I went out to get milk.' Lara took off her boot and moved into the living room.

'Why didn't you tell me?'

'Sam, it's just milk and I don't have to tell you whenever I want to go out.' Lara crossed her arms over her chest and straightened her posture, so that Sam had to look up at her. 'And it's not like you tell me when you go somewhere.'

'That's not what I mean,' said Sam, grinding out the words past the lump in her throat. This wasn't how Sam wanted to talk, but they stood facing each other and she realised that this was the first time, in a month, that she had looked Lara in the eyes properly. 'You know that's not what I meant!'

'Then tell me. I need you to spell it out to me, because I can't read you mind!' Lara sighed wearily and stared at Sam, holding her gaze with more emotion than she had seen since they started living together. 'What do you mean, Sam?'

Anger rose from her stomach and settled deep within her chest at the sight of Lara's upturned chin and challenging gaze. This was the Lara Croft she knew, not the cowering individual with the pitiful expression that Sam had been living with. 'You want me to spell it out? Fine!'

'I had to find out of from Mr Choudhary, your _neighbour_, that you'd left and that there was no way for me to know if you were dead or alive. Then, one night, I get a call from the hospital that you were in a crash, that it was so bad that they had to cut the frame just to get you out, and that I might have to live with our last conversation being what happened before you left. So tell me Lara, why is it so hard to just tell me when you're leaving?'

Sam's fist shook by her side when she finished and she swallowed the sobs that clogged the inside of her chest, but she couldn't stop the tears that had managed to escape. She wanted to run with each second that passed with no answer from Lara.

'I don't know,' whispered Lara, finally. 'I really don't know.'

Sam scoffed, releasing the breath that had been crackling within her lungs like electricity. She wanted a reason, any reason other than the one that Lara had given. She shook her head and stared at Lara in disbelief. She wanted to laugh at the inadequacy of Lara's answer, because how could she not know?

'Fine.' Sam pushed herself off the sofa's arm and walked to the door briskly.

She needed to be away from Lara, anywhere else where she could calm the shaking in her limbs and the rage in her heart. Her grandmother would know what to do and she did not owe a single explanation to Lara about where she was going.

* * *

Sam walked from her flat to her grandmother's hotel on Upper Woburn Place. It would have taken her thirty minutes on a good day, but today with the pace she had it took twenty. She ignored the concierge who tried to stop her when she entered the hotel and went to the elevator. Sayuri had not been expecting her tonight, but she opened her door without question and let Sam in.

In her grandmother's hotel room, she let out all the thoughts and feelings that she had wanted to say to Lara. She paced the room with gesticulating arms, automatic ten steps back and forth, as Sayuri watched from where she was sat on the sofa. When she had finished she sat next to her grandmother who had not spoken a single word during her rant.

'What do you want?'

'I-I want Lara back,' said Sam to her lap to hide her tears. 'I want to fix her, but I don't know how. I thought that if she lived with me, it would make it easier, but it only made it worse. It's like all I can feel, whenever I look at her or talk to her, is anger.'

'My dear,' whispered Sayuri. She held Sam's hand gently in hers. The splashes of light blue were bright and alien and against her grandmother's creased and paper-thin skin. 'You cannot fix someone when you haven't fixed yourself.'

The wind was taken from Sam as she realised the enormity of her grandmother's words. She had never thought that she needed to be fixed, because in her mind, Lara was always the broken one, not her. But something inside her told her that her grandmother was right. The odd looks that Lara had been giving her; the bursts of frustration that welled into anger, and the taste of lightning in her mouth were not who she was. The grave expression upon her grandmother's face confirmed her thoughts. How had her grandmother known before she did?

Sam hugged Sayuri and felt like the fourteen year-old girl who had cried about having to spend her summers on the Nishimura estate in Japan.

'Thank you, Grandma,' said Sam, as she rubbed her tears away with the back of her hand.

She needed to go home now. She needed to get home before Lara left in retaliation, because that was what Sam had done. But Sayuri took a square parcel about the size of her hand from a bag on the coffee table and handed it to Sam. It was wrapped in grey paper and tied neatly with string.

'This is for your friend.'

'She's not going to –' Sayuri frowned at her and she shut her mouth quickly with a click of her teeth like the chastised child she felt. She wanted to leave, but she stayed out of respect for her grandmother.

Sam untied the string and unfolded the paper to reveal a mixture of dried herbs. The earthy smell of the herbal medicine wafted into the air. There was no way that Lara would ever drink this. Sayuri picked up a short, thick root and held it up to Sam's eyes.

'This is to relieve the pain in the bone, so the cold will not bite as much when the injury grows old.'

Next was the small handful of dried white pods, which was good for circulation according to Sayuri. Her grandmother went through every single ingredient in the parcel, explaining its properties and usage for Sam to commit to memory.

'I had to ask the doctors in Chinatown to pack exactly what I wanted,' said Sayuri, who packed and tied the parcel of medicine with deft hands that belied their age. 'You know how different our medicines are to theirs.'

She did not know. They all looked and smelt the same to her, but she listened intently even though she knew that by the time she got home she would have forgotten everything.

Sayuri stood up with the help of her walking stick and handed her the bag of herbal medicine. She ushered Sam to the door, knowing how anxious she was to leave.

'I will send more to you when I get home.'

Sam hugged Sayuri again and kissed her cheek, but before she could walk too far down the corridor her grandmother called to her.

'Remember to tell that girl what you have told me.'

* * *

Sam got home as quickly as she could. She found Lara on the sofa, staring into nothing with her hands clenched in tight fists on top of her knees. She sat down next to Lara and placed the bag of medicine on the floor by her feet. She hesitated, torn between shaking Lara out of her flashback and leaving her alone so that it would run its course. The incident from six months ago had not been forgotten, even if the bruises had faded away.

'Lara?'

Her hand shook as she touched Lara's arm, because the last time she did that was almost a month ago when Lara was out cold and lying on a hospital bed. It was always easier when Lara was unconscious.

'Sweetie, can you hear me?'

Lara blinked and tears trailed their way down her cheeks where they gathered in heavy droplets along her jaw. Sam's palm was warm against Lara's cool skin and her fingertips rested gently on the three-inch long and raised scar on the inside of Lara's left forearm. The only evidence of the knife wound that Sam had stitched up.

She expected Lara to flinch away from her touch, to take her crutches and hobble away from her. She did not expect Lara to uncurl her fingers to hold her hand tightly, almost desperately. It was a gesture that reminded her of what they were and what they had become. She had missed the way Lara's skin felt against hers.

'I think we need to see someone,' said Sam.


End file.
