Interlude by Numair's Daine

Disclaimer: All owned by Core and Eidos. All hail Jeremy and Adrian!

Rating: PG-13

Summary: En route to Prague, Lara's thoughts on that mysterious stranger…

***

Prague – 15km.

Lara Croft sighed and rubbed her eyes tiredly. She was sore and aching all over. A bullet wound in her thigh still bled sluggishly, but she knew from long experience that she could ignore it for as long as need be. Her anger at Bouchard and his hitman had evaporated, leaving her running on the last dregs of her energy reserves. Keeping an eye on the snow-covered road, she reached for her backpack on the passenger seat of the rental car and extracted a chocolate bar. Some generic supermarket brand, but she'd found it in one of the Louvre offices, and beggars couldn't be choosers.

The car was black, like her mood, and smelled faintly of wet dog fur. Such was the life of a multi-millionaire on the run. Lara watched the first of many snowflakes drift onto the windshield and felt the bleak press of depression edge into her mind. Wonderful.

In the past twenty-four hours, she'd been chased by police dogs, shot at by police and security guards alike, knocked out, betrayed… She'd walked in on the eighteenth – or was that nineteenth, including Carvier? – Monstrum crime scene, and been disarmed by a complete stranger with magical powers. All in a day's work.

Lara's brow creased as she remembered the strange series of encounters with that stranger. He'd first shown up at the Café Metro, but when she'd tried to approach him for information, he'd waved her away without looking up. Not ten minutes later, he'd crossed her path again as he made a huge show of leaving on his motorbike. Too much of a show, Lara realised now. It had to have been him she'd seen later on, lying gasping and choking on the bank of the Seine, her clothes singed almost into nothing by the explosion at Rennes' pawnshop. She'd glimpsed a figure walking away, almost as if he'd been waiting to see if she'd survive.

And then she'd run into him at the Louvre. He'd managed to creep up behind her and disarm her with no trouble at all. Though that had been a disadvantage when Eckhardt's men started crawling out of the woodwork, she couldn't fault him for it. Nothing built respect faster in Lara's eyes than practicality and caution around a potential foe. Plus, she'd always had a soft spot for men with bikes…

Prague – 5km. Almost there.

She remembered how it had felt. The rush of adrenaline as she dodged that strange weapon, almost like an elaborate throwing star. The wariness as she moved backwards, Desert Ranger held in a two-handed shooting stance, sweeping the entire room with her gaze for a potential foe. Shock and amazement as the cool metal of his pistol met the side of her neck. The weapon couldn't have come from that far back and sweep round like it did… unless it were magic. She'd been careless. Ah, well. You learn something new every day.

Then there'd been the frantic moments of forming and discarding ideas for escape. Was his leg far enough round that she could kick it out from under him? No. Could she drop to the floor, removing his target and taking him by surprise? Probably not. This man was no amateur.

She had felt a cool hand on her shoulder, smoothing slowly down her arm, sending shivers through her and banishing all logical thought. She had bitten her lip, eyes half-closed, hating this unexpected loss of self-control. What was wrong with her? She was Lara Croft. She did not go all quivery over a strange man like this.

Her alarm and her arousal had grown as he gently took the gun from her left hand, tossing it out of reach with a flick of his wrist and letting his fingers softly brush her empty palm. His hand moved up her side, caressing the bare skin between the hem of her shirt and the waistband of her combat pants, moving around across her navel. Lara had thought her knees would give way beneath her in that instant. It was one of her most sensitive points, and she bit her lip so hard she almost drew blood to keep from crying out. He had pulled her back against him so that he could reach her right holster from the left hand side, and he drew out her stun-gun to toss it out of reach with the other.

He drew back a little, and her heart calmed somewhat. Her mind returned to her at his next action – removing the Obscura painting she'd faced hell and high water to find from her backpack. Damnit. Lara felt anger begin to boil inside her. What did he think he was playing at?

Screw this. She'd rather die fighting than show submissiveness. Embarrassed at how out of control she had gotten, Lara whirled in his arms, not caring about the gun held to her jugular. She suppressed a gasp as she recognised him as the man from the ghetto, but seeing him face to face triggered something within her yet again. His eyes were curious, but held that same hard edge she usually saw when looking at her own face in the mirror. He was like her. He knew how hard things could get, and that was a rare quality. And he was very handsome, in a unique kind of way. The fact that he held a gun to her throat suddenly seemed irrelevant as those cold, curious eyes showed a tint of something else – desire. Lara knew it when she saw it, because she saw it often. But no one had inspired this kind of lust in her for over ten years. Her heartbeat leapt again. Their faces were just inches away from each other.

He angled his head a little, moving closer still, and for one breathless moment Lara thought he was going to kiss her. But then he stepped back, gun still pointed in her direction, a tinge of teasing amusement in his eyes. Though a little disappointed, she was mostly intrigued. There was nothing Lara Croft loved more than a challenge.

He continued to back up, gun still trained on her. A movement beside her caught her eye. His odd weapon, glowing with orange light, dislodged itself from the wood next to her head and flew back to him. Her interest roused, Lara watched with analytical eyes. She almost asked him about it, but before she could speak, in came the bad guys, and the stranger sprinted off. She'd had to abandon her weapons as she tore after him, knowing an important piece of her puzzle was leaving with him.

During the chase that followed, the stranger had shown some kind of telekinetic power, moving a huge circular statue without touching it. What was this guy? He always managed to keep one step ahead of her, but waited for her to almost catch up before setting off again, as if he were toying with her. Resolved to catch up with him and recover her painting, she'd sprinted around a corner and found him lying prone on the ground. Was he dead? Overcome with irrational fear, she'd checked his pulse, to find it steady and strong. Unconscious, then.

Her concern had been her second mistake of the night, and she'd joined him in his oblivion. When she woke up, he was gone.

Frustrated with herself, Lara slammed down her arm on the steering wheel, inadvertently catching the horn and drawing a startled look from the old woman in the mini that was overtaking her. Idiot. Get a grip on yourself. Remember what happened last time you let yourself fall in love? The man in question, Alex West, had been a fellow tomb raider. She'd thought she could trust him, and Lara didn't give her trust – or her love – easily. He'd sold out to the enemy, stolen the prayer wheels she'd spent nearly a week securing, and hardly even apologised.

Men. They're all the same. Turning off the road towards Vasiley's place, Lara let her anger build to wash away her confusion. She had a job to do, a painting to find and her name to clear. She pulled to a stop at the entrance to Vasiley's square and got out. The frigid air bit into her skin, and she shivered. "Another cold, dark city. Great."

***

Sorry, had to link in to the movie there… :) Like? I like you too. Review. *grin* Don't like? Constructive criticism only. *brandishes Von Croy's walking stick*