Lara's up early, emptying pistols into targets on the shooting range. She uses circular targets, tin cans, anything to convince herself she's not a killer.

The taste of bile in her mouth says that she still isn't fond of killing, and that comforts her somewhat. She's been practising for about a half hour, and she's learned a few things. The first thing is that she honestly prefers 1911 pistols, even if all she can find lying around for practice is an AMT Hardballer, hardly her preference. She remembers when she took her guns in for repairs there was a bald man there who looked oddly out of place (wearing what looked like an Armani suit in a sea of orange and camo), who extolled the virtues of the weapon.

Some people had interesting tastes, she thought, as she gave the weapon another shot. The main problem was, the thing was noisy and she had a hard time aiming it; the weapon's flaws became more noticeable the more she used it.

She began setting it down and switching over to an old hunting rifle, a Winchester. Lara load0s it, works the lever action, and fires. There's an appreciable kick, but she's used to it, despite her small frame. She gets the feeling it'd probably knock Sam clean over.

Lara nearly jumps when she feels hands on her back. She whips the rifle around, shaking.

It's only Sam. Who is wearing Hello Kitty pajamas, messy hair, a pink bra, and a look of terror on her face.

"Lara! Please! Don't shoot! It's me! Friiieeeend!"

The Toy Story reference makes her laugh and eases her up as she puts down the gun. She winces as it discharges into a wall.

"Note to self, get Winston to fix that…"

Lara sees Sam quivering and pulls her tight.

"Oh Sam, I'm sorry…"

Sam gets a look of indignation on her face and begins slapping Lara.

"Lara! Alison! Croft! What! Are! You! Doing!? You owe me ice cream now. And more."

Sam squeezes Lara's ribs, clinging tightly.

"Lara, you scared me! A lot!"

Lara keeps holding Sam, watching her tremble gently. This always hurts, watching Sam tremble and shake. If Lara can't sleep, she watches Sam sleeping. Every twitch and moan for help in her sleep makes her blood run cold. She feels guilt, not simply for scaring her, but for everything Sam has had to endure…and everything she will endure.

So she gives her the only medicine she knows.

First she says sorry.

Then she kisses her.

Leading her back to the house, Sam yawns and pats her on the shoulder.

"Lara, I want to have breakfast. Can we?"

Lara's stomach growled. She had skipped breakfast, and even if it was getting on it was about time for it anyway.

English breakfast was something Sam had no problem adjusting to. A party girl with a love of junk food would have no problem with what essentially boiled down to the average McDonalds breakfast—America learned its love of fried meat from its "father", after all. The only exception was tea.

"This is Lara Croft, people," Sam muttered, "a refugee from a world where the word frappucino doesn't exist."

"But Sam, isn't there anything better than English Breakfast tea? Except maybe Orange Pekoe or Earl Grey."

"I'm not Captain Picard!"

Despite her grumblings, Lara finds herself making instant coffee—something Sam drinks down even at its hottest.

"Mmm…that takes me back to college! Hey, Lara, think we could have this with a recreation of that moment where we took each other's laundry by mistake?"

Lara giggled.

"I was wondering why suddenly none of my tops fit."

Sam blushed and whined.

"What, Sam?! I'm not that much taller than you."

"No, but you're stilling rubbing in the fact you've got a chest bigger than a tanuki's balls."

They finished eating their eggs about twenty minutes later, and got to thinking about the sword.

"You know, one thing I don't get, Sam. Why is this sword just turning up now? And why would pieces end up in the hands of people like Jack the Ripper's family? If it really is Excalibur…"

"Whoa. Hang on. THE Excalibur?"

"Says so in my father's journal. Apparently everything we know about King Arthur is a fairy tale. Turns out he was just some guy with what amounts to a highly advanced alien weapon."

Sam gives Lara an odd look.

"You know…I remember my dad ended up with a hunk of strange metal a while ago. He gave it to the Louvre, thinking it might be an important piece, but what was stranger is that it went missing. Someone ran off with it in Paris, and it was never seen again. What was weirder is that it never actually left Paris. No one on the black market with it. It never seems to have left, but it's not in his collection. And also, someone was looking for it a while ago. One Apollyon Helios. Greek guy. Apparently a big art fan. The metal was gold, and glowed brightly in sunlight…Y'know, it was small, too. Only big enough for maybe a sword hilt."

Lara started to grin.

"Ever want to go to Paris, Sam?"

"I've seen London, I'll see France—"

Lara kisses Sam.

"You can finish that rhyme in the hotel. We fly tonight."

Sam's smile was blinding.