Chapter 12: Making Plans

After a brief eternity, Lara and Ben had parted. It would have been easy to stay lip locked and see what developed, but the uncertainty of the situation as well as the limitations of their fleshly shells had gotten in the way. Sooner or later, whatever Leathernecks from Bastard Squad had survived were going to come back, and it was best if Ben and Lara weren't there when that happened.

It was extremely difficult for Lara to stay awake right now as she helped Ben tinker and cannibalize from the various bikes littering the area. Every part of her—including parts she hadn't known existed until now—was sore and aching. Her skin was raw and sore from all of the flying dust and rocks from the chase, and the various blows she had taken over the last few days were making themselves very well known. Lara groaned. During the nail-gripping chase she had been able to ignore her pain and fatigue, but now that the rush of adrenaline was gone all her body wanted to do was shut down.

Shutting down, however, was not an option. They had to flee the area, find a place to refuel and plan—not to mention eat a decent meal—and to do that they had to somehow resurrect Ben's fallen motorcycle. Lara had suggested abandoning it and taking one of the fallen Leatherneck cycles, but Ben had given her a flat disbelieving look and a harsh 'no' that had almost removed the growing feelings she was having for him.

It was a bit frustrating and Lara had experienced a moment of totally irrational jealousy. I wish that he would give me as much attention as he gave that bike. She was on her third bike so far, having sacrificed one in the Polecat massacre and drowned the other in the Med, but she knew that with a biker it was different. To Lara, a bike was a tool to be used, but to them, their bikes were part of who they were, a crucial part of their identity. The care and affection they gave their machines was akin to that of Arabian cavalry, who fed and maintained their horses before making camp or tending wounded. A biker without a bike wasn't a biker.

Ben had gone over his sad looking machine with a look of pain that would have been humorous in any other circumstance. In truth, though, the vehicle was in a sorry state. Its forest of exhaust pipes and headers were riddled with bullet holes and set at odd angles from the destruction of his rocket booster. The front forks were bent from the jarring they had received on that horrid road and the rest of the bike looked, well, tired. Ben had said that he had cracked the oil pan during the chase, and had barely kept the engine from seizing. The two of them had been going from fallen bike to fallen bike hunting for oil, fuel hoses, washers, and a new back wheel. Ben's rear tire had shredded when the booster blew, and he had mangled the rim in his subsequent riding.

The two of them had been silent other than the occasional mechanical question and reply. After all, what was there to say? During and right after that toe-curling kiss—it made their embrace last night in the Rebar seem tame—they had experienced a very intense, intimate moment and she for one did not want to ruin it with awkward and $meaningless small talk. Instead, their tasks had a comfortable and companionable feeling to them that Lara $couldn't remember having felt for quite a while. It was something she could get used to.

Somehow, in the last hour Ben had performed a miracle and pronounced his bike ready to ride, but Lara remained dubious. It didn't look fixed. Admittedly, the back wheel had been replaced but the bike still looked like a wreck. Still, it was Ben's baby, and he pronounced it road worthy then she was willing to humour his delusion.

The sooner we get out of this place the better. The Leatherneck reinforcements, or at least a clean up crew, were overdue, and while they were armed, Lara didn't think that she and Ben were up to yet another stand up fight. They had been burning the candle from both ends and sheer exhaustion was going to be by far their worst enemy.

"So do you know where we're going?" Lara asked as Ben mounted his fragile machine. He had Betsy sheathed at the bike's side and she wore her pistols happily on her hips. The bike groaned ominously as Ben settled his weight onto it.

"A guy called Maury," Ben answered laconically. "He runs a bike shop about two hours north west of here."

Lara mounted her own bike and got ready to ride. "He'll help us? Can we trust him?"

"He was a good friend of Torque's." Ben said flatly. "He won't turn down a biker in need." He brought his leg down on the bike's starting lever. The bike wheezed, groaned and spat out a black cloud of smoke, but didn't start. Ben frowned, caressed the gas tank in an intimate manner that made Lara frown and whispered something under his breath. He kicked down on the starter again, and after a moment of indecision, the bike grudgingly coughed itself to a semblance of life. It was running very rough, but at least it was running, though Ben didn't look very happy about it.

Without any further conversation, he rode off in a cloud of smelly black exhaust, and Lara quickly followed, though she made sure to stay at his side where the air was cleaner.

Even though Ben had gotten his bike road worthy, it wasn't up to sprinting. Hell, it was barely up to running period. If their situation wasn't so shitty, he would have limped his bike along at maybe thirty of forty, but in the interest of not getting his ass blown off by Leathernecks he somehow managed to urge his tired bike up to an insane eighty. Driving at that speed was a full time job, keeping an eye on the gauges and trying to keep the wobbling bike from pitching over. Lady Grace was keeping a eye on the road, for which he was grateful, riding ahead to scout or falling back to check something over. Twice she had motioned them to pull over and hide, and both times a pair of Leathernecks roared past their position.

Ben was positive that the very thin line they were balancing on was going to break, but two and a half tense and weary hours later, he and Lady Grace pulled up in front of Maury's place. The place was a retired gas/service station, with an attached home for the operator on the second floor. It was old, dusty and windblown like everything else in this desert, with antique analogue pumps and an old, shattered neon sign that still bore signs of red and blue Chevron stripes. A stripped semi tractor sat in the lot, vying with the tumbleweeds for the best sun. The name of the place, 'Last Chance Auto and Gas' was spray painted on a piece of plywood hung over the door.

Ben mercifully shut his bike off, ending its misery for now, and put down his kickstand. Getting off the bike reminded him just how tired and sore he was. Once he got this bike under cover and into Maury's hands, he was going to find a nice dumpster and pass out. Then some kind of meal, even sawdust would do, and then finding out more about Fort Kennedy. Ben had spent enough time fucking around; it was time to start kicking ass and taking names. He had fifteen deaths to set to right, and hanging around here in the middle of nowhere was doing nothing towards that end.

Ben took off his shades and pushed open the dusty screen door. A wind chime attached to the door tinkled; it was the only sound in the room. "Maury?" Ben called out as he walked in, "where are you, you old bastard?" It was said with affection. Faded sunlight lit the room and filled it with dark shadows. Old motor part posters covered the wall, as well as an old calendar featuring a young woman draped over a motor bike. She didn't, Ben noted, even come close to holding a candle to Lady Grace. The whole place was covered in dust, and for a moment Ben wondered if the old guy was still around. Maury had never been in the best of health; if he had popped off odds were no one would notice for months. Ben hadn't been to see the grizzled old bastard in a couple of years. Anything could have happened.

Lady Grace came into the building behind him and gave the room a once over with her cool brown eyes. "Charming."

Ben grunted in reply and pounded his fist against the Formica countertop. "Maury!" He yelled, "you old cripple, get your ass out here!"

Lara shot Ben a startled look. "Ben," she chided him, "don't you think that's a bit rude?"

From the back, Ben heard machine parts clanking and a door slam. He gave a short laugh. "You think that's bad, you should hear Maury," he told Lara. "The guy has a worse mouth than Gunny."

Lara gave a very slight frown and raised her eyebrows. "How charming."

"Don't listen to a damn thing he says, honey," Maury called out in his gruff voice. The man hobbled into view a moment later. "I don't know who this Gunny person is, but I am a complete gentleman." He was looking ok, Ben thought, all thing considered. Maury must be in his -what?- late fifties. He was about five eight, maybe 190 lbs. He had long unruly salt and pepper hair with an uncut beard just a shade lighter. He walked smoothly with two canes, like he'd been doing it for years, and Ben knew that his pants hid the two prosthetic legs that the guy wore.

Ben snorted. "You don't even know what a gentleman is." He offered out his hand and mentally winced when the older man set down one of his canes and took it. The guy was a gimp, and as a result used his hands a lot more than normal. Besides that, he was a mechanic. His grip was harder than Torque's. Slowly, methodically, and completely on purpose, he crushed Ben's hand into hamburger. It was a modern test of manhood, however, and Ben didn't flinch.

Snatching his hand back and flexing it to see if he had any circulation left, he introduced Lady Grace. "Maury, this is Lara Croft." He smirked as she took the old guy's weathered and callused grip. For a moment, the two just stood there, staring at each other, and Ben winced as he saw the old guy's arm tightening with exertion. Ben looked at Lara, and saw that her arm was flexing as well. The two just stood there, faces calm, each trying to out vice the other, as they stared each other down.

After a long, quiet moment they both let their hands drop. Maury's eyes were lit with amusement. "Hell of a woman you got there, Ben." He leaned against the counter with both hands. "What can I do for you?"

"I don't got her, Maury," Ben corrected. "We're just riding together."

The old guy chuckled. "You got it for her that bad, huh?" He kept talking before Ben could protest. "What the hell brings you out my way? You and your boys don't come out this way very often." Maury leaned over the counter and looked outside. "Where is your gang, anyway? You on a honeymoon?" he asked the last bit with a smirk and a sparkle in his eyes.

Ben suddenly wasn't in the mood for small talk. "They're all dead Maury, Torque too." It was easier to say this time. It had happened a few days ago, and the reality of it seemed more concrete.

Maury frowned. "Damn." He looked of into space for a moment, then looked back at Ben's face. "I'm sorry Ben, for everything." Ben just shrugged. "You on the run? Need place to lay low?"

Ben nodded, happy he didn't have to explain any more. "My bike took a beating. I need you to fix it up."

Maury craned his neck to look outside as he gave Ben's machine a once over. He whistled. "That's one fucked up bike." He turned back to Ben. "What the hell did you do to it?"

Ben didn't say anything. Words didn't begin to cover it.

"I'll do what I can, Ben, but I think that bike has ridden its last ride." Ben grimaced. These were words he did not want to hear. Maury gave Ben a quick glance. "You look like shit, Ben," he glanced at Lara as well. "Both of you." He began to hobble into the back. "Come on and I'll give the two of you a place to crash."

With the word 'crash', the weight and pressure of the last three days hit Ben like a truck. Suddenly he could barely keep on his feet. However, there was one thing he had to clear up first. "Maury." Ben called out. The old man stopped and looked back. "I ain't got no money."

"Are you gonna get some payback?" Maury asked from the door. Ben nodded solemnly. "Then its on the house." He led the two of them up a fight of stairs to a small, neat living area. "What do you want to do first? Eat, sleep, or shower?"

It didn't take much thought. "Sleep."

Maury gestured with his cane. "Spare room's through that door." He looked at Lara as Ben stumbled off to the spare room. "What about you, honey?"

Ben frowned as he took his jacket off. As tempting as getting Lara into bed with him was, now just wasn't the time for it. When he finally did sleep with Lady Grace, he wanted to be conscious for it.

"Another bed, if you have one, or the couch." She said from behind him.

Ben slowly and painfully stripped off his pants and boots. He couldn't remember ever having been this tired. At least during all the crap that had happened last year, he'd either been knocked out or had passed out enough so that it didn't matter. He was still fighting with a stubborn sock that refused to leave his foot when his head hit the pillow, and then he remembered no more.