Chapter Text
By all logic, by everything I understood about people, we should never have worked, Sam and me. Where I thought mostly of the past, she dealt exclusively in the now. And if you ask me how we became inseparable, I couldn't begin to tell you.
"I'm Sam, Sam Nishimura. Wanna go dancing?"
They're fresh into their first year at uni. Sam has an undercut, a camera around her neck, and speaks with a confidence that draws attention no matter who she's speaking to. Lara is a mousy, posh London girl trying to hide the fact that she is. Her hair is constantly worn in a messy half-done braid that, during the busiest times of a semester, she's sometimes too lazy to take out to wash. She's close to breaking and switching to a pony-tail just for sake of ease. She's surrounded by books and notes with a pencil between her lips and she isn't sure what drew Sam to her in the first place, let alone what kept her around. She has half a dozen assignments due by Monday, she has twice as many readings to finish, and she doesn't know how to dance.
But Sam is magnetic. Maybe if Lara wasn't starting to give herself a migraine from keeping her neck craned down and her eyes glued to textbooks, she'd be able to say no, but she stumbles into the realization that she can't as she lets Sam's arm loop through her own and lets her lead them to a club just off campus.
Sam doesn't pressure her to break out of her comfort zone, but Lara finds it easier and easier to do with every night out they spend together. Lara lets Sam drag her anywhere as loud and colorful as Sam's heart desires, and Sam lets Lara drag her anywhere as ancient and dusty as Lara's heart desires in turn. From night clubs and campus bars in London, to rainy hikes in China, to sleeping under the stars the night before hiking Kilimanjaro, the threads of their lives become so tangled together that sometimes Lara can't tell where she ends and Sam begins.
Just like that, two people who should never even have met become friends forever. Until heaven falls.
***
A History of Archaeological Thought is flipped open three quarters of the way and staring Lara down from her desk disapprovingly, but she couldn't very well be bothered to focus on Bruce Trigger when another woman was sucking on her neck and begging Lara to fuck her. It didn't take much to get Lara from her desk to her bed, especially considering the woman doing it might be the one grading Lara's term paper. Of course she'd planned on ignoring the signs the TA was giving her all semester. Of course she'd planned on getting an A+ the proper way. It hadn't even occurred to her until now that it could make a difference, considering this woman wasn't her TA when they'd started sleeping together on and off last semester. Since she'd started her master's and gotten a position as the TA for Lara's course, Lara had planned on breaking things off - she was better than that, and she was sure she wasn't that desperate for a warm body to occupy the space in bed next to her when she needed it.
That was, until a party that Sam had brought Lara to last week. They were drunk, and an unlucky spin of the bottle landed them in a closet for 7 minutes in heaven, which Lara might have more accurately described as 7 minutes in hell if she'd been more sober. Lara has had a crush on Sam since their first year, and it had never bothered her too much when Sam would leave parties or bars with other people. It bothered her slightly when Sam had gotten into a more serious relationship, but it was short lived and her ex was an ass anyway. The catch, though, was that as of late, it was challenging for Lara not to replace the words "sure, I have a bit of a crush on Sam, who wouldn't?" with "to my horror, I think I'm in love with Sam - how could I not be?" if she had so much as a couple ounces of liquor in her.
That night, it was far more than a couple of ounces. Her memory of the party is foggy at best now. She remembers making everyone laugh with some comment about how 7 minutes is far more time than she needs, and remembers Sam blushing when she figured out that what Lara had meant by that wasn't what Sam had expected. She remembers asking Sam if she could kiss her, since they were already there and might as well do something with their time, and it wouldn't be anything serious anyway. She remembers Sam saying yes, remembers how Sam's breath hitched when Lara's lips met hers with more confidence than Sam had apparently expected. She remembers Sam's nails digging into the skin on her back. She remembers Sam asking her to touch her, just this once. She remembers her fingers venturing somewhere they shouldn't have, remembers how hard Sam was, remembers how intensely Sam pressed herself against her. She remembers Sam whispering her name and the hair on the back of her neck prickling up in response. She remembers making Sam come and having to muffle her moans in the crook of Lara's neck. She remembers being dizzy from how hot she was. Most torturously of all, she remembers how close she came to telling Sam she loves her, only to be mercifully interrupted by a knock on the closet door to signal that their time was up. Sam parted from her with a quiet gasp, a "holy shit," and a breathy almost-laugh. Lara was too drunk to read any anxiety or relief or earnestness in how Sam felt, so all it did was make her heart sink like a stone. She remembers her head spinning, remembers Sam taking her hand and opening the closet door, and going about the rest of the night like nothing had happened.
She walked into class that Monday morning hungover and drenched in shame. She spent the week unable to get Sam out of her head while Sam spent the week finding her next fling. If Lara had known better, she would have known that Sam was just as desperate for Lara as Lara was for her, and just as desperate to bury it because she was just as sure that Lara had acted on a silly impulse as Lara was sure Sam had. But Lara doesn't know better. By the end of the week, Lara is determined to find someone else to think about when nights are too quiet and her room feels too empty.
And here she is now, drowning every possible thought of Sam in the rush of making another woman say her name, of making another woman beg for her touch. It's easy - almost.
"Don't stop Lara." Her voice is laced with vocal fry and her breath is hot against Lara's neck. She comes hard for Lara; has to muffle her screams into Lara's shoulder when she does. Before she can even catch her breath, she pulls Lara in for a kiss and whispers against her lips. "Let me fuck you."
Lara is breathing heavily. She should say no - she's already scared enough that she might accidentally let Sam's name slip out. In the heat of the moment, though, Lara is determined that this is what she needs. She lets the other woman take the strap off of her and relaxes into the feeling of her fingers sinking into her. It feels good, and Lara is getting close. She almost could have forgotten about Sam, almost could have come without Sam's name forming on her lips, until her phone ringing interrupts them. She groans, places a hand on the other woman's wrist, and when she gets her bearings, Sam's name slips out.
"Seriously?"
Lara cringes at herself.
"It's Sam's ringtone. She's supposed to be on a date tonight and I told her to call if there was an emergency or if something went wrong. I should at least check."
The other woman's fingers are still inside her. She's pathetic for it, and she's foolish for it, but she answers.
"Lara?" Sam sounds like she's been crying.
"Sam, hi. What happened?"
There's a pause on the other end of the line. The other woman is still trying to move her fingers inside of Lara and she's scared she'll come while she's on the phone with Sam, which would be mortifying beyond reprieve. Lara grips the woman's wrist harder.
"I-" Another beat of hesitation, another excruciating moment for Lara. "Are you busy?"
Lara exhales. She looks at the woman in bed with her and wishes it wasn't so easy for her to get her out and off of her, but if Sam needs her then she would drop more than this and then some to be there.
"I'll be over in a flash."
Sam is a wreck when Lara gets to the bar she's waiting at. Stood up by the stupidest woman in the universe, an empty shot glass and a half-empty cosmo on the table in front of her, and a joint rolled up in her fingers that Lara doesn't necessarily disapprove of but wishes she would make a better effort of hiding. This week has been awkward. It's been torture, in fact, but the second Lara sees the state Sam is in, any of the hard shell she'd built around herself this week crumbles. She slides into the booth next to Sam, tucks her in under her arm and kisses her gently on the crown of her head. Sam leans into her like there's no reason she shouldn't, and Lara can almost forget about what happened on the weekend. After the last few sniffles dissipate, Sam finally speaks.
"I didn't wanna say anything when you got here because I really needed a hug, but you look like you just got out of bed or something."
Lara blushes, grateful that Sam can't see.
"I've been stress-reading all afternoon." Almost true, at least. She was until about an hour and a half ago.
"Trigger gettin' ya down?"
Lara laughs.
"There's no escaping him."
"Well, maybe there could be just for a little bit tonight?" Sam pulls back and not-so-subtly taps on the joint. Lara looks around and covers Sam's hand and the joint with her own, only pausing for a moment to consider how good Sam's hand feels in hers.
"Lets get you out of here and get ourselves back to your flat, and then we'll consider how desperate I am to forget about Bruce for a few hours."
"You know, I bet it'll loosen you up enough to actually start writing that paper."
"I don't think that's what I need, but if things get bad enough I might take you up on it."
"I'm just saying, if I was the one writing a paper titled 'The Sustainability of a Truly Objective Archaeology,' I think a little bit of light substance abuse couldn't hurt."
Before they get even halfway back to Sam's flat, they've already split the joint and Lara has spent every minute since info-dumping about the value of subjectivity and its inescapability when it comes to relativism. She'd be embarrassed, but Sam is a good listener and an incredibly adept conversationalist despite knowing very little on the subject. When that finally dies down and they've walked in silence for a bit, Sam breaks it.
"You really didn't have to crash your own hook-up just to come get me."
"How did you-"
"Your hair is only half up, you were still sweaty when you met me at the bar, and there's a massive hickey on your neck." She says it teasingly, but there's a barely-readable hint of something else to it. Lara can't tell what, but the blush creeps back up her neck and cheeks. "My point is, you're a terrible liar. And also, you can say no to me sometimes." Lara laughs, not because it's funny but because it's decidedly untrue.
"You know I'd come no matter what." She's trying to keep her tone from sounding too serious, but she's sure she fails. Sam squeezes her hand. They walk quietly again for a few beats until Lara is the one who breaks the silence. "Sam, about the other night-"
"It's no big deal, I know. We're good. And, oh my god, I'm so sorry."
If Lara knew better, she would know that Sam wants her to answer differently than she's about to. She would know that the thing she's hearing in Sam's voice underneath the thin casualness is a terrible mix of jealousy and shame. She would know that Sam wants her to say 'No, we're not good. I want to talk about it, I want to figure this out, I want to kiss you again, I want to touch you and make you say my name again, I want breathe you in like you're my oxygen while you do.' That's how Lara really feels, and if she knew better, she would know that how she really feels is what Sam is desperate to hear. But she doesn't know better.
"Right, good." She exhales, trying to steady herself. She squeezes Sam's hand back and pulls her in closer while they walk, summons a smile, and pushes any chance of knowing better far enough down that she can forget about how she really feels, at least for tonight.
"And Lara?" Lara braces until she feels Sam pinch her arm. "Your hook-up is lucky. You might be good enough for her to give you another shot. I know I would."
Lara tries desperately hard not to let the thought of Sam wanting her go to her head, but it's impossible. She has to bite her tongue when she's with other women to stop herself from saying Sam's name. She has to swallow her jealously over Sam being with anyone else for the rest of their time at uni. She has to study herself to sleep just to keep thoughts of Sam out of her head when things are too quiet.
It gets easier, as time goes on, but there's never a part of Lara that doesn't want Sam the way she did that night at the party. There's never a part of Lara that doesn't want to tell Sam she's in love with her.
***
Sam is sure that being on this boat together, finally free from any of the university stress or dealing with whatever they might have going on back in London, she and Lara might finally have a chance to figure things out. She just hopes to God that Lara wants to figure things out; that Sam hasn't been hallucinating the flirting or the long sappy looks or the way Lara gets goosebumps wherever Sam passingly touches her.
Propped up against the rigging, soaked from rescuing Alex from drowning, and bathing in the sunset to dry off, Lara looks like a sculpture crafted by Phidias, commissioned by Sam herself. She's beautiful, and Sam is in love with her. If this trip isn't their chance, she's not sure when it possibly could be.
"They broke the mold when they made you, Lara Croft."