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seriously-sensitive

Apr 7, 2025

☆Chapter 5. - in the public eye☆

| Lara Croft × journalist!reader |

wc. 8.7k

for ao3, click the title

~ critical thinking masterlist

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☆ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ:

Just when you thought the whole ordeal with the article was finally done for, your planned press meeting goes quite different than expected. Suddenly you're not the one in control anymore as your office is turned into a interrogation room and the things thrown at your head make your stomach turn. It's on you to tell Lara about the leak to the public and after that is behind you, it's on you to try and keep your funder for your magazine. Not even a month into knowing Lara and it's all falling apart right in your hands.

notes.

Sooo yeah it's been a month... I am truly sorry over half of this has been sitting in my drafts pretty much finished but I couldn't get myself to write the rest. Anyways. This one is where the drama really gets started so enjoy as you are spiraling deeper and come around to realize just how much you need Lara right now.

warnings. Angst, leak to the press, interrogation style interview, incorrect representation of the Press and Press interviews (I did my best w the research guys), regret, anxiety, consequence of your own actions, invasive press / journalists, self hatred / negative self talk, loss of control, vomiting, light self harm (nails digging into skin)

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☆ꜱᴛᴀʀᴛ:

Yesterdays Hangover felt like someone hit you with a bus and then reversed over your limp body a couple of times for good measure. Wine and Gin really isn’t the best combination on an mostly empty stomach. But of course you’re not really having your brightest ideas in the haste of the moment, even if you should have known that no amount of liquor could save you from your thoughts; if anything it made it worse. Even sleeping was a hassle as your head spun and you felt like throwing up for most of the night. Luckily it didn’t come to that though.

You had Sunday to recover from this stupid action of yours, doing so by rotting in bed till noon before ordering some food to your apartment door and showering in the evening once you felt like the alcohol level in your blood dropped to a manageable percentage.

This morning the ache in your body was far more bearable and the knowledge of todays press meeting put a pep in your step right away. As nervous as you are, it was such a good opportunity to get in touch with your viewer base and maybe even reach a new audience before the announcement of your magazine. An opportunity you honestly couldn’t wait for. That’s like a huge milestone in your career path; one you didn’t even dare to dream about.

So you’re sitting in the conference room of your office. Eli in the seat next to you and the press manager, Mrs. Banks, that you had been in contact with the last couple of weeks, opposite of you. A few different journalist with notebooks and pens are seated on either side of her, preparing their last few thoughts and questions before the interview starts. Most of them are connected to pretty main stream magazines and websites; some more sophisticated than others.. You’re lucky you two, as the company-head, had time before the meeting to look over your own notes and answers that you compiled with Eli just in case. And with the way the mixed audience is eyeing the pair of you, all too eager too tear you apart with questions, writing down any slip up and misuse of phrases, you’re happy you did. It’s really not often that you invite other companies to interview your own, especially not rivals in the field.

Eli clears his throat with a fist in front of his mouth as the silence becomes uncomfortably tense between you, feeling more and more like you are in an interrogation room and not your own office with mutuals. “We’re so honored to have you all here today. It’s quite the rarity to get us for an interview in person, normally we say anything we have to say in our articles.” Your friend does the usual but charming introduction. “So use this opportunity wisely. A special thanks to you Mrs. Banks for the organization of todays meeting and getting us all together. As always it’s much appreciated.” He nods towards the middle aged woman with a friendly smile before eyeing you from the side to hint that you continue.

“Thank you for that little introduction Eli.” You put on your most dazzling smile when addressing the small crowd. “I know there was quite the demand for us to officially take stand to many different topics in the past and I am excited to hear about your questions for us and the company today. So why don’t we start with some of the more central questions before we get into the details.” You suggest, folding your hands in front of you and placing them on the table. You can sense that Eli is nervous, he sits unnaturally straight in his chair, body tense and hands balling into fists underneath the table. None of it shows on his face though; he wears a charming, collected and friendly mask towards your guests. He silently nods at your words before looking back to the press manager for her approval.

“How has your company evolved from it’s beginning three years ago?” The first journalist, sitting to the right of Mrs. Banks, asks, holding his pen and paper ready. With a quick glance towards Eli you take the lead. “Well, we’ve had to establish ourselves and our companies standing in this field, first and foremost. It’s a very broadly ranging industry and we were certainly not the first culture focused journalist firm here in London.” Your tone is casual yet collected as you smile towards the few people, hands clasping at each other. You’re looking for the right phrasing to describe your immense rise to popularity because of your personal and brutal way of writing. “we’ve pride ourselves in the very honest and researched journalism we do. It’s important to us that the details and somewhat unflattering facts about the industries most respected don’t go missing in the praise..” “That's right. The company has always had a focus on the more hidden and unorthodox side of journalism. I’ve studied investigative journalism for five years and it’s proven to be more than helpful in our work.” Eli chimes in.

“And would you say that this honesty also reflects your own personal standings?” A young woman, around your own age from a gossip magazine asks, looking back at you expectingly. The other people write their notes down hastily before also coming back to looking at you. You eye the microphone that’s placed on the table for recording and documenting this meeting so every Press-Company that’s present has the same amount of info and there’s no unfair advantages. There’s a sudden uncertainty about the interview as you watch the eager young woman piercing you with her gaze, you try to push it down; stay professional, in your element while you respond.

“Well it’s definitely a big part. Especially in my works history, I’ve been very open about using my personal beliefs for more convincing and.. real articles.” You pause for a second. “That’s what grew our audience in the first place and sets us apart from most competitors. People crave for realness and personal connection. And since I've already had a lot of experience in that field of critical writing from my own studies and former work, it was a good fit.” You answer the question honestly, licking your lips as you can sense your nerves.

“And are these personal beliefs a representation for your companies values or are you simply talking about your own when describing these motivations?” The man who asked the original question follows up. As far as you know he is from a magazine called ‘insights’, specializing in the inner workings and structure of companies.

Eli takes this question. “It’s definitely a core value of the company to have a real connection to our audience, that’s why we work based off of reader reception. The themes that get received the best in form of comments, reads and likes get picked up further. Of course our own interests and themes that we deem important are also beeing represented in our work but that is done in a way that considers the reader more than the industry.” Nicely said Eli. You smile proudly and nod in agreement, watching his form begin to relax slowly as he settles in. “Absolutely. It’s never only about me or any other writer. Here it’s about reaching an audience that understands and shows interests in issues that are far greater than what is beeing talked about in the mainstream media.” You add, your excitement about the theme of your work showing through your switching tone.

“We know from your many articles that you’ve had quite a lot of criticism for the British archeological movement and you’ve been very vocal about it since your time at university, some of your first releases beeing about it. How does your audience receive this ongoing theme?” An older journalist from a British culture magazine asks.

“First I’d like to make a little correction. I’ve had lot’s of criticism for private British archeology, which in my opinion should be outlawed, especially considering our countries role in the cultural exploitation of many different nations.” You correct the question before answering. “And yes, that was and still is a big focus of my work and of this company as well, it’s been very positively received by our audience. It’s something not a lot of British media shines light on in the way we do.”

“How did this fascination came to be? What motivated you to target these people?” The young woman asks. You can see your friends forehead furrow confusion at the questions phrasing. “With ‘these people’, are you referring to anyone in particular?” you asks sighing under your breath, already knowing what’s to come. “Yes actually. What motivates you to keep targeting the Croft family? Is it a personal vendetta?” She asks, interest and hostility glistening in her eyes. It makes you uncomfortable how much she reminds you of yourself.

“No; there is no personal vendetta against the Croft family. They are simply a big, if not the biggest representatives of privately funded archeology. Their legacy is build on blood and exploitation, they’ve brought over or kept their findings for centuries and they keep doing it. It’s a generational curse that this is all they’re known and highly regarded for. Even their royal status relied on expeditions during the British colonization of other countries. It’s not a personal thing, it’s a cultural thing. And since Richard Croft was so proud of his work and got showered in praise for his genius, I felt it was necessary and the best entry point to this kind of criticism. And we’ve build or audience on that. Our readers are people that are as shocked and angry at our history as me. They understand the impact of continuing to exploit cultures to this day and they understand that it is a picture far bigger than a single families doings.” Eli indiscreetly places a firm hand on your leg to stop your heated rambling, reminding your of your place and the fact that you are beeing recorded.

“And as you probably also know, she and we as a company have written numerous amounts of articles talking about these exact issues. Addressing more themes than this. I understand that it is fascinating and maybe even shocking to some that a small company like our own dares to criticize someone seemingly so much bigger than us, but in a way that is what we stand for.” He reconnects your points with the actual point of the meeting.

“Very well. Still I beg to believe why you decided to write your newest article about his daughter. Miss Croft was never a theme of yours before and since the death of Mr. Croft, the talk about him or his family history has been entirely disregarded.” She just can’t stop digging. “Did his death impact your company in any way?” another journalist wants to know. Fuck- of course this is what she’s getting at.. Good thing you and Eli prepared a relatively plausible explanation as to why the article came to be.

“We thought it would be best to let it rest for a while, we criticize people but we’re not insensitive to them. It was a decision made out of respect for a man that died too soon, completely disregarding our standing to him.” Eli explains professionally. “So what made you change your mind all of a sudden? Has it been enough time? Were you ready to move on to the next generation of the Croft family?” “It wouldn’t have to have been that way if Miss Croft decided to not pick up her fathers work.” You reply plainly, leaning back in your chair, hands clasped in your lap.

“Talking about Miss Croft. She was the one who invited you to the annual Event hosted at Croft Manor, right?” “That is correct. I was as surprised as you must have been.” You comment. “So why is it that not even a month after you’re releasing an article about her. Had this meeting any impact on that decision?” You still, looking at the interestedly looking peoples faces, uncertainty and straining nerves painting your features. “Not necessarily, what are you getting at?” You question, eyebrows pulling together, Eli hits you with his foot at that question.

“Well a source of ours revealed that you two have been seen looking rather close.” Your heart stops for a moment before it rushes an unhealthy amount of blood to your head, making your ears buzz with it and the room suddenly spin. Is she bluffing? You can’t tell. The devious but collected smile makes you even more dizzy. What fucking source, the Press wasn’t there was it? And even if they were, where could they possibly have gathered that.. You remember your quite obvious flirting. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. You try to conceal your panic as you look over to Eli for help, he looks as pale as you probably do, all the color of his cheeks drained at the unexpected situation.

The room is eerily quiet as you try to gather your thoughts enough to come up with a response but every second that passes makes you look more guilty. Everyone is looking at you, pens ready to write anything down that leaves your mouth now, tension so tightly spun it could snap from a single soundwave. You swallow heavily sitting back up and digging your nails into your hands underneath the table. Fucking focus.

“We did have a conversation at the Event, that is correct. We talked about my work, I was curious about her reasoning for inviting me.” “And what was that?” You swallow again the image of Lara between your legs, grinning up at you comes flashing back for a second. Fuck. “She liked my work. Thought it was honest and it gave her a new point of view of her own.” “And still you wrote an article about her three weeks later, bashing her for said work and her familial connections.” “She still does it, even if she had a change of heart.” “You said you talked about your work at the Event. Is it possible that you decided there, together, that you were going to write this article. Rekindle the hype around your renowned work and simultaneously helping Miss croft earn her standing in the industry. Having her look just as big as her father, worthy of getting criticized by you, that surely made her look good to her fathers followers.” Your shocked and honestly offended at her words.

“Let’s leave the speculations out of todays meeting, alright?” Eli tries and regain some control over the degenerated situation, leaning towards the eager journalists. “It’s fine. Something like that is so absurd I don’t think anyone can consider it more than a fantasy.” You stop your coworker, getting angry at the woman before you. She has the nerve to come here and not only disrespect you personally with her speculations, but also your work. “I know you desperately want to find something that your audience will enjoy reading Mrs. Yang, but you won’t find it here. Not in that way anyways.” Your words are sharp and cold, losing a bit of your professionalism. This is surreal.

“And why was there no lawsuit that followed. You went pretty deep into her personal life, any normal person of Miss Crofts standing would file a lawsuit the second such an article is released.” God can she stop asking questions that remind you of the insane things you did. “That is not for me to speculate. I can’t say why she didn’t sue.” That’s more or less the truth. She doesn’t look satisfied, that fire from the excitement of her interrogation burning in her eyes. “Is there a personal, intimate relationship between you and Miss Croft?” Your heart is pounding against your chest, sweat gathering on your forehead, breath dim. You’re on record, get yourself together. “I don’t think it’s necessary to discu-“ You interrupt your friend that still tries to just change topics. “No. There is not.” The tone of your voice is cold as you stare her down, stone-faced.

“So the pictures we received are just two women having a conversation about work.” You hate how good she is at this. You know that she knows something just not the extend of it and its driving you crazy. You don’t say anything; can’t. Your mouth feels dry and the room is so stuffy… you can’t breathe. God you need some air. “Is this just what your research looks like or are you simply fabricating these personal beliefs in order to attract a larger audience?” You huff at her words, speechless at her audacity. Eli is also at a loss for words, leaning back in his chair, mouth agape. “Or was the article revenge for a much more personal issue? Is that the honesty to your readers you talked about? Bashing a rich individual and her family just to forget all that criticism in private. Are those the personal believes you pride yourself with?” Mrs. Yang just keeps going, throwing accusation after accusation at your head in your own goddamn office. You can’t fucking breathe, your hands are clammy and nails claw into your skin. Fuck why- Why did you get yourself into this.

Finally Mrs. Banks steps in by getting up form her chair and slapping her hands on the table. “That is enough Mrs. Yang! We are having a civil press meeting not a cross investigation. Your magazine was invited here to shine light onto the personal side of the business not to speculate about their personal life.” The woman leans back in her chair, arms crossed like a bratty child that got denied a new toy. Your press manager looks back at you with reassurance. “You don’t have to answer that. I think we’re done for today, I apologize if we didn’t get to all the questions you had prepared but this is enough.” She ends the meeting for good.

The other three journalists look moderately disappointed, also too invested in the drama involving you and the youngest Croft. There is always space for some drama even in the driest magazines, journalists love dichotomy and you just handed them that on a silver fucking platter. At you own fucking press meeting. The nails dig deeper until you can see red coming from the small half moon-shaped indents. The room is spinning, hot, too god damn quiet and stuffy. People keep looking at your strained face, panic mirrored in your eyes, face pointing towards the table. “Lets go everyone, this meeting is done.” Your savior repeats herself and shoos the nosey people out of the room.

With a last hostile look and scary superior smile, Mrs. Yang gets up abruptly from her chair, grabbing your purse and notes before storming out the door without another word. The rest follows a lot slower but eventually makes it out of the room as well, leaving you three alone. Eli places a gentle, comforting hand on your shoulder as he notices the state of you; ragged breathing, pale face, cramping jaw and blank eyes. “Hey it’s over. Just breathe.” He says quietly, thumb softly rubbing your shoulder in an attempt to get you back to reality. You take a deep, heavy breath, loosening the grip of your hands and releasing your clanged jaw. You still feel like the air is too thin but you have to get it together. You have to strategize.

“Well that was a disaster.” Eli tries to joke but it comes out a lot more earnest than something he’d just wipe off. Mrs. Banks agrees with a dissatisfied hum. “I apologize, I should have intruded earlier. I’m not one to forbid a journalist to speak freely but I should have known in what direction this was headed.” She apologizes honestly, real sympathy mirrored in her eyes as she looks down at you. “None of that was even remotely true.. I-“ You try and find your voice, sounding pressed and scratchy through your tight throat. “I don’t care if even one thing she said was correct it’s none of my business what you do in private but I must warn you, if she truly did receive images and has credible sources, you’ll be made into the cover page. There will be a leak to the public and I’m afraid that even a lawsuit won’t stop that wave of events. If there’s one thing people love more than honesty, it’s gossip.” She informs you, patting your shoulder in a comforting manor. “Take the day off. Tomorrow you’ll know more.” With that she also grabs her purse and says her goodbye, leaving you, the two irresponsible owners of this company, behind.

“Well fuck.” Eli curses as the door falls shut, sighing heavily as he leans back and runs his hand over his face in exhaustion. “Damn right.” You comment, looking at the bloodied back of your hands.

You’re numb, unable to process what happened mere minutes ago and even less able to understand what that means for you and the company. And Lara. Why in gods name did you do it, that was the stupidest thing you’ve done in your entire goddamn life. Never have you hated yourself for something more than this. Your face buries itself in your hands, groaning into them at the incoming thoughts of self hatred and regret. “I’m so fucking stupid. FUCK-” You curse against your skin, dry sobs escaping you involuntarily as your bodies belated reaction to the panic sets in. “Fuck Eli I fucked up.” You look over at your best friend with big eyes, head hanging low, frustration tearing at your features.

“Let’s think about this rationally. How high is the probability that they have actual footage, like images?” He asks into the quiet, now mostly empty room. “I- I don’t know. It’s not impossible, we we’re sitting at the bar and had a chat before.. you know what.” You try and collect yourself in favor of your almost collected colleague that is actually doing something to figure out what to do and doesn’t just uselessly panic. “How intimate are we talking when you say ‘chatting’..?” Eli digs deeper, speaking against the white office wall in thought. “Ehhm. I- Maybe moderately.. I don’t think if they caught the worst moment that it’s easy to explain as ‘work’” You admit. “And what would that worst moment be?? I’m trying to help us here at least be honest with me.” He reprimands you, his own nerves showing. “Okay fuck, sorry. Ehm, I was flirting pretty heavily.. Eh quiet a bit of physical touch, leaning in, things like that.” You try recalling the details of your interaction to the best ability of your hazy mind.

“God damn it..” He curses quietly and pinches the bridge of his nose. “So we’ll say in worst case scenario they have photos of that interaction, slap it onto the cover and state all their theories in the connecting article.” Eli gets even paler if that’s possible. “We’re fucked-” “We’re fucked.” You repeat his words. “Any fucking possible outcome is going to cause a huge commotion in our audience, possibly ruining us. You say you worked together, we’re fucked. You say you were just researching, first of all unbelievable, it makes you look like an awful person and we’re fucked. You tell the truth, at least you’re honest but our reputation and credibility is gone, so.. we’re fucked.” Your best friend summarizes your outcome. He sounds like he can’t really believe it either, mild panic now also reaching his formerly collected voice.

For a few minutes you just sit in silence, shell shocked at the result of something that was supposed to boost your audience reception. The bleak white walls that enclose the dim room seem to close in on you as you pull your legs towards your chest in an attempt to comfort the pain that is ripping through your chest and stomach at the news. Eli’s still staring at the wall though it looks more like he’s in a different universe, sitting completely still with his hands clasped together on his lap.

“You should tell her.” He finally breaks the ringing silence with words that only make your stomach turn more. How could you possibly explain this to her after everything that happened last week, you’re probably the last person she wants to talk to and than you once again only mean bad news. You bury your face in your knees with a pain induced moan. “I can’t Eli. Not yet.” “This is also going to damage her. It’s not just about us and our company anymore. I realize that we have equal responsibility of what happened but you have to tell her.” You know he’s right; you can’t keep pretending that this doesn’t mean so much more than a simple deal breaker for your company. This could now not only cost you everything, but Lara as well. For you it’s less about reputation and more about credibility, you’ve been out to the public for years; but Lara. You don’t want to imagine the reaction of her funders that consist of mostly old white men. “I know I’ve proven time and time again that I am a selfish bitch that apparently doesn’t care about others feelings, but this time I really can’t.” Eli sighs, crossing his arms in front of his chest at your pathetic words.

“Do you want her to find out from her face on the cover of some gossip magazine or do you want to tell her? That’s the absolute least you can do now. And that way you could at least prove to her that you are actually thinking about someone else than yourself for once.” “Ouch.” You mumble against your knees. “I thought we were hating on you here.” He teases, letting some light into the situation. “I know you’re right, okay. I know it’s the only right thing to do but I don’t think I can.” “Why not?! You’ve slept with that woman twice now and you can’t fucking call her??” he looks genuinely shocked and annoyed with you now.

“That’s the problem. This whole thing would be a whole lot easier if I didn’t.”

…

You end up spending a lot longer at the office than you intend to. Informing your employees about a possible leak, the possible reaction of our audience and how they should react slash behave in these cases. For now it’s silence; see what they have on you, how they portrait it and how the readers will react. Anything that was said today is in theory. After that was done, which was a challenge in itself, Eli and you sat back down to reconnect your story, prepare and compare your responses to what happened and why. At this time anything the press says is a speculation but if it comes to what you dread, you’ll have to be honest. At least that way you’ll keep one of the promises to your audience.

When there is seemingly nothing more to do but worry, you decide to call it a day and go home, though Eli doesn’t let you leave without reminding you that he insists that you call Lara today and warn her. This is probably the main cause for your stomach ache; knowing you’ll have to bear the bad news to her after leaving so abruptly and even telling her that your biggest worry was a lawsuit. You realize now just how bad that sounded. And it’s been haunting you since then, leaving you anxiety ridden and self deprecating. That alone would have sufficed of things Lara could hate you for but now this. Out of all things this. It’s painful how one single stupid decision has pushed you down this path, and you’ve just kept the ball rolling.

For half an hour you’ve been staring at your phone now, unable to press the little call icon next to Lara’s number. Heart racing so hard you can hear it in your head, palms sweaty and mouth dry. Just get it behind you, you’ll regret it even more if you don’t do it. You pick up the phone from your coffee table, clammy hands holding the device in a tight grip. The ringing in your ear gets louder as your shaky finger gets closer to the dial button but before you can stop yourself again your fingertip hits the icon quickly, the ringing in your head beeing replaced by the one from the phone. It’s excruciating to listen to the beeping of the line as it waits to connect to the other persons, every passing second making your chest feel tighter and getting you closer to hang up.

After the third ring the phone is picked up, deafening silence meeting your overstimulated mind. “Lara?” You ask into the device, voice sounding absurdly shaky and rough. “It’s me.” “I could tell..” Her dry words cut through the tension. “Is everything okay? You sound awful.” The other woman sounds suspicious yet worried as she analyzes your tone. “No.. not really. It’s- We’ve, no I’ve-“ You struggle to find the words to explain what has happened adequately. “just spit it out, jesus.” She comments on your stuttering. “There was a leak. Of us. To the press.” Silence.

Your heart is beating painfully hard in you chest as you wait for a reaction from her. Any reaction. Just something, anything that you can try and interpret. Shit this is torture. “Lara-?” You ask again, voice not louder than a pathetic whisper. “Who?” Her voice is sharp and pressed. “I- I don’t know.. shit we don’t even know if she was just bluffing.” “Who?! How did you even find out about this?” Now she just sounds irritated. “We’ve had a press meeting today, for broadening our audience, there were different representatives of four magazines. They were supposed to ask about the company-“ The panic and helplessness is crawling back up your throat. “What magazines?” “I-I’m not sure. One was from insight, one from.. somewhere with archeology.. a- a woman from a pretty big gossip magazine and a man from British culture.” “fuck.” “what? What?!” “That’s a pretty big funder of our expeditions..” Her pressed words sound exhausted, you can hear the heavy sigh coming from her side of the phone.

“Lara- I’m sorry I didn’t know there was press around, really-“ Your tone is panicked and high as you try and signal her just how bad you feel for this. “It’s fine..” Her unexpected answer comes eerily calm as she sighs heavily. “What was leaked exactly?” “We’re not sure.. She- she said something about pictures from the Event and threw some wild theories around about the article, and us and-“ “Okay, just.. shut up for a moment. I need to think.” You swallow hard at her hard words, trying to get yourself together. “Pictures are bad. Real fucking bad.” “I know.” “There’s no denying pictures.” “I know!” “This is bad.” “I know-“

“Will you be quiet please!” she sounds panicked as well now, breath becoming heavy and irregular. “FUCK!” your body jerks a the sudden scream, phone almost falling out of your hand. “I’m sorry-“ You repeat smally. “There’s so many fucking people that aren’t supposed to know I’m a lesbian! So many fucking important people.” “Lara- I’m sorry I never wanted this to happen, I never wanted this to hurt you, I swear..” You keep sounding more and more pathetic, tears crawling their way up your tight throat, chest and stomach pains only increasing. “fuck..” The woman curses faintly, voice sounding completely exhausted before a thick silence falls between you again.

“Thank you for telling me.” With these cold words she hangs up.

What. The fuck. You let your phone fall to the couch before falling back yourself, exhausted, hiding away in the palms of your hands as silent tears fall from your eyes at the loss of control. This is awful. There is no actual out of this, you’re going to have to go through it, if you like it or not. This is the consequences of your own actions, as hard as that reality is to digest. Currently that digesting isn’t going too well; the more you think, the worse your stomach feels, the spiraling regret and self hatred translating to intense nausea. So much that you suddenly have to jump up and run to the bathroom, bending over the toilet as your last meal resurfaces. The burn of your stomach acids hurt in your throat, the taste is awful enough to make you retch again, nothing but liquid left in your hurting intestines.

The desperation at the situation and the pain brings new tears to your eyes, sobbing still leaning against the toilet bowl. There’s no more fight in you, you’re exhausted, tired and in pain as your body shakes and nose runs. The longer you cry the more tired you get, eyes falling shut as your breathing regulates again and your thoughts finally leave you some room. Before you know it you’ve dosed off into blissful oblivion, leaning against the cool porcelain of the toilet and tiled floor.

…

The usual alarm that wakes you up in the morning is blaring through the dark and quiet room the next morning, making your headache from last night immediately come back to you. You have no idea how you ended up in your bed though you are eternally grateful you didn’t spend your whole night on the uncomfortable bathroom floor. You already miss the glorious unawareness of beeing asleep, you feel like beeing unconscious is currently the best option for your life. Than again you do actually have a lot of responsibility. With a painful groan you grab for your phone that’s placed on the charging station next to your bed. It’s still relatively early and yet you have multiple missed calls from unknown numbers, friends and Eli. He even texted you, urging you to call him back. What a great start to this hell of a day.

With a sigh you sit up and dial the number while rubbing the sleep out your eyes and hopefully relieving some of the headache with a massage of your forehead. “What is it?” You ask tiredly as he picks up the phone. “I’m going to say this as your colleague and friend; stay home today.” “What? Why?” You’re confused, hate the thought of leaving him alone in this mess. “There’re at least five different news agencies in front of our office, they might be at your door too and I promise the second you step outside their will be questions thrown at your head. You’ll basically look guilty either way so I’m advising- no, ordering you to stay home. This disaster is not about me, I’ll just say I don’t and didn’t know anything and figure out how to get rid of them but I’m certain they won’t let you get off the hook.” He rambles off the mornings events in a frensy.

“Great.” You comment with another groan and take a deep breath gathering your thoughts at the situation. “Why is their even that much media interested we’re good journalists but we’re not famous.” “We aren’t, but Lara is.” Right.. That poor woman, look what you’ve done to her. “God damn it-“ “Yeah.” “And you really don’t want me to come in? I feel like I should be their, it’s unfair to leave you alone in this. I mean it’s my controversy.” “Work from home if you can and we’ll stay in touch but please avoid going out, we can’t afford anymore pictures and wild stories hitting the net.” “So she wasn’t bluffing.” “No, I fear she wasn’t dear. I’ve got to get going. I’ll call once I’ve got things settled in the office.” “Thank you Eli. I mean it.” “I know.”

He hangs up, leaving you in the mostly dark room that suddenly feels much more like a prison than your home. You jump at the overwhelming need to know what was actually published; what they said, who published it and how the publics reaction is. It’s probably not the best thing for your mental health, but you feel like it’s your responsibility. So you get out of bed, quickly throw on a sweater and head to the living room where your laptop resides on the coffee table. You open it up, ignoring the pile of e-mails you received and head straight to the search bar, looking up your and Lara’s name.

Immediately a string of articles and pictures pop up and to your horror it’s exactly what you dreaded. A picture of you sitting at the bar with Lara, leaning over to her, the look in your eyes alone could have easily given you away but then there was you god damn leg that you couldn’t keep to yourself. You’re lucky it only shows the start of your mischievous flirting attempt, your foot resting against Lara’s leg seductively. And she, well she looks like she’s enjoying herself as well; heavy lids and that cocky, flirty smile on her lips. In conclusion it’s pretty fucking obvious what’s going on between you. And for people that are slower to recognize it, the titles and headlines name it pretty fucking well.

‘Popular journalist sighted getting quite close to the new Lady Croft at the annual Croft manor event.”, “Sparks of destruction – what’s going on between the writer and the subject?’ ‘people left speechless – is this the honesty she promised?’, ‘Insight talks about a companies responsibilities to their audience.’, ‘Lara Croft; lesbian, opportunist or both?’. “Jesus-“ You slam your laptop shut at the overwhelming amount of articles. What the actual fuck is wrong with people. You groan into your hands before running them through your messy hair.

Your head feels like it’s going to explode, deep, painful pulsing and throbbing right behind your eyes and temples. It’s probably for the better of everyone if you start the day somewhat normally before going back to your panic mode, so you decide to take a painkiller pill before going to the bathroom. The face that looks back at you from the mirror is washed out, pale and tired. You look horrible. Not even your skin care, brushed teeth and a ponytail can fix the state of you but at least you feel more like a capable human and not a depressed teenager. A quick breakfast of oats is everything you can stomach while scrolling through your e-mails. Most of them are requests for any statement on the matter or some sort of other question. You ignore all of them, forwarding them to Eli so he’ll be up to date with who’s nosy and who isn’t.

When your bowl is empty and your e-mails are sifted through, you decide to finally change out of your pajamas and hoodie into something more work appropriate. Even if you’re not going into the office, you want to at least feel like you’re there and helping. A pair of suit pants and a knit sweater later, you’re back on the couch, laptop on your lap as you read through the absurd articles that make the painkiller you took effectively useless. It’s insane with what people in gossip journalism will come up to make people sound worse than they are. You were too scared to look onto your own website yet; don’t want to know the response of your readers, too scared of what that will mean for you and the company.

Your phone rings through the room, making you jump at the sudden loud noise. The screen tells you it’s your best friend and not a maniac trying to get an interview over the phone with you. “Hey Eli, what’s up?” You ask into the receiver, probably sounding just as exhausted and worried as you are. “Were you on our website yet?” It’s as if he can read your mind. “No.. I was too scared till now. I am reading through these articles though and damn.. they really got creative.” “You could say that.. Well anyway, you should. It’s pretty fucking bad; people arguing with each other over what it all means, you know. Some are on your side but most just feel betrayed and lied to. It’s like a war zone in these comments.” He recaps the state of your audience. ”Christ..” You comment dryly, leaning back in your seat. “I think it’ll be best to deactivate the comments, especially on the last article. I just thought I’d ask for your opinion first.” “I don’t know Eli.. It’s aways the guilty people that try and silence their audience.” You consider, unsure of what’s the best reaction to getting called out by your own audience.

“Woman; you are guilty in this case. Even if it’s not what they think it is, you still slept with her.” “Alright, alright. Do it if it helps keep the masses calm.” You buckle. “Thank you, I also thought about completely deleting the article but I think that goes a little far. You did actually mean the things you said in there.” “Very good thinking bud. If I come forward and explain all this as honestly as possible, I don’t want to remove any evidence.” “Got it ma’am. How is it going with the articles though. Anything ground breaking?” He inquires curiously as you hear him typing away in the background. “It’s pretty similar content wise but there are more images than we thought. We have the one that made the title but theirs one of our first interaction running into each other and one of us leaving together. Who ever made these must have followed us around for a while..” You recall and summarize what you’ve seen and theorized over the last couple of hours. “Creepy-“ He comments, the typing pausing ass his attention is fully back on you. “Very.. and worst of all, neither of us noticed anything.” “I’m going to be honest with you, you were never the most observant person, especially in busy places. But Lara, the woman that’s going on illegal and secret expeditions every year, that’s a surprise.” You think back to the night of the event for a moment, mentally going through the hours of the evening. “Now that you say that, she even noticed someone in the hallway when we were, you know.. making out. But we didn’t see them, just went into another room.” “God you’re lucky that that didn’t end up on the cover page. At least here there’s some room for speculation.” He jokes half heartedly at your words.

“Sorry dear but I have to get back to these messes here. Our employees are great but all over the place right now.. Maybe try and find out who was at the Event and prepare your speech for when you’re going public.” “Alright Eli. I’m sorry I can’t bee there with you.” “You’re okay, just remember the zoom call tomorrow for the magazine. I doubt that will go seamlessly after todays events..” God the magazine. The one thing that you were looking forward to the last couple of months. “Right.. Talk to you tonight then. We’ll need to go over our notes and stuff.” You tell him somberly, fidgeting with the hem of your sweater. “Talk to you soon.” With that he hangs up.

Great. You only have the whole rest of the day to contemplate your failure and research your own controversy. At least you can try and be helpful now, research always was your strong suit.

…

Only when the dim sunlight has disappeared completely behind the Londoner fog and it’s grey clouds, you felt drained enough to shut your laptop off for the day. The call with Eli had been long and exhausting and all your research bared embarrassingly little fruit. You had even asked Lara via e-mail for the guestlist but the people that had connections to the press all checked out by Lara’s calculations. So you’re basically clueless to the possible source of the leak. Not your biggest accomplishment you must say. The day had been just as bleakyou’re your colleague; sorting through e-mails, calls and in person reporters costs nerves and patience that ran low from the get go and the handling of the continuously imploding reader base was a challenge of it’s own. To summarize, you two had been through hell and back and still needed to continue. This mess of a day had only been the beginning and with the meeting for the magazine approaching hourly, you had no choice but to stay on the call a little longer after your regroup and talk about it. Go over strategies; what to say, what not to say, how to react. Your former plan of this whole week was blown to shreds the second Mrs. Yang started talking on Monday and now you had to build something out of nothing in less than 24 hours.

That’s what brings you here. Now. Still sitting in your living room; makeup and hair done, notes beside you, blazer over a lowcut white shirt on and a blazing headache. You didn’t sleep more than a couple of hours tonight, it all just kept you up and running even if you wanted nothing more than to fall into sweet unconsciousness. But rather than sleep you dove back into the ever expanding internet search of your scandal and anything remotely related. It took at least three layers of concealer and color corrector to cover up your eyebags. The zoom call starts in ten minutes. You haven’t had breakfast though it’s already 11, you didn’t think you’d stomach it, and you’ve been going over your planned dialogue religiously, even going as far as to practice your facial expressions in the mirror. There is a good chance that you are loosing it.

You’re willing to do anything that makes you appear like you have this under control and are dealing with it accordingly, nothing but a little bump on your way to print media. You know it’s naïve to think that everything will go well and as planned after the days you’ve had, but you like to copy Eli’s overly positive thinking sometimes, even in the most desperate situations. Though that means leaving a bit of your realism behind for blind delusion. On occasion that helps calm you down at least a little bit.

Today even your strongest delusions don’t seem to do the trick as your t-shirt is drenched with sweat even before the call has started, you feel nauseous and your hearts is actively fighting against the confinement of your chest. Eli’s face is on your screen right next to yours as you prepare the call for the meeting with the print agency. You’re lucky that it’s just one person this time that you have to go up against and not a whole group that is willing to force you in a corner. Still, Mister Dixon was a looming presence of his own, no crowd needed. You’ve done your research on the man in your sleepless night as well; a traditional man, short grey hair and piercing eyes, he’s been in the print world for decades, has a wife and kids, lives in Liverpool and is horrendously critical of young journalist agencies trying to make it as multi-media companies.

Nothing you could use for your advantage, not that you thought about manipulating him into going forward with the funding. Initially he was very intrigued by your themes and implementations, happy even that we, as a company build in the online world, was willing and eager to move into the dying media of magazines. But after your little scandal you’re very unsure of how his reception of your ideas might have changed. You’ll find out soon enough, just as you mind has been going off, Eli is ready to invite Mister Dixion to the meeting. A new window popping up on your laptop, making your own and Eli’s face shrink to the bottom of the screen.

A balding, white haired man looks back at you with a concentrated expression as he tunes the last features on his computer. He’s in an office with dark wooden bookshelves behind him, a plush looking desk chair supporting his back as he’s bend forward to look at the screen closer. “Good morning Mister Dixion. It’s so good to see you again. I hope everything is fine with the technical things today.” Eli makes the introduction after he’s reassured himself that the older man can in fact hear him. “Yes, it’s good to see you too. Everything looks good on my end. Why don’t we start right away I have some business to attend to here in Liverpool.” He moves the meeting forward right away, settling back in his seat. You swallow heavily before raising your voice. “ We’re very excited to finally make some concrete plans for our own magazine and can’t wait to move along in that process along you. It’s a big step.” Don’t bring it up if he doesn’t. You need to keep telling yourself that as every fiber in your bones wants to beg him to still fund you even with the stupid, stupid mistake you made.

“Let’s cut to the chase here. I’ve heard about your little.. misstep. It’s a tragedy that this needed to come out before the announcement of our collaboration but other than that it’s none of my business. I think it ads a certain charm to your little company, even if I do think it’s naïve to leave you young folk to your own devices, I admit it’ll definitely get people reading. That said.. I don’t think I can fund you.” He brushes off your attempts to charm him and soften the blow.

“Excuse me Sir, but you just said it’ll get an audience. Why won’t you fund us anymore?” Eli asks confused and irritated. “Well it’s as simple as bad publicity. I can’t announce a cooperation for your next big process in the midst of a controversy. That won’t look good for my company. I say we push it back, let the crowd settle and come back to this talk when it’s a more appropriate time. I believe you have enough on your plate already.” He smiles a sickly smug grin as he folds his hands in front of his chest in a finishing gesture. To him this conversation is done.

“So what? We’ll just wait it out?” You ask, your tone mirroring your dissatisfaction with how this meeting went. “That is exactly it Miss. Now, will you both excuse me I think we’re done here.” With another superior smile he hangs up the call, disappearing from your screen and leaving a baffled looking pair behind. “What- the hell..” you mumble at the surreal situation. “It could have gone a lot worse, right..” Eli tries his usual positivity ‘it could always be worse’ mindset.

“I guess...” You comment, laying your throbbing forehead into your palm and sighing. “What about the press meeting tomorrow, we planned on announcing there; and well, we don’t have anything to announce except that I am a failure that needs to finally talk to the other woman she pulled into this.” Your melancholia is once again taking you over, the drained feeling returning into your skin at the loss of adrenaline. “Well why don’t you do that while I try and move the Press around. It’s long overdue that you two really talk to each other anyways and what better time than when both your careers are falling apart.” He teases as he scribbles down some notes.

You look at him with a painfully thankful expression, you can’t even describe how much you adore him for helping you through this the way he does. “Hey don’t get sentimental with me. We have shit to do.” A bright smirk adorns his features as he looks back up at you. “Go on and prep for talking to the press. Talk to Lara and please try and get some rest; I don’t need you to fall into a psychosis on top of this.”

“I’ll try. Thank you.” You tell him earnestly. “As always huh?” He jokes but then responds with a bright smile before also hanging up the video call, leaving you staring back at your own bleak face on the screen of your laptop.

#lara croft x reader #tomb raider #fanfiction #writing #f/f

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