Title: His Lady
Author: Evelyn Benton
Rating: Young Adults
Date: 8/1/03 - 8/2/03; 7/31/04
Genre: General, Romance
Fandom: Tomb Raider (Lara/Hillary)
Archive: Stellar Phenomena, LaraAndHillary dot net and fan fiction dot net; all others, please ask.
Disclaimer: Paramount and Core Design Ltd. own Tomb Raider; I own this non-profit fan fiction; no copyright infringement is intended.
Author's Note: We know very little about Hillary, so I borrowed the last name of Lara's butler in the game, and I guessed at Hillary's age. In addition, I used as many canon facts as possible (as provided in the movie, novelizations, and games). Many thanks to Fay for being a fantastic and generous beta reader.
Spoilers: Tomb Raider movies 1 and 2, and the novelizations of both movies.
Summary: As he reflects upon the events in Tomb Raider 2: The Cradle of Life, Hillary recalls how he became Lady Lara Croft's butler, personal assistant, and dear friend.

Hillary Winston lay stretched out in his bed wearing his night clothes, his winkle-free blue robe tied properly. Even as he was supposedly relaxing, rigidly propped up against his pillows, Hillary was still the stiff and proper English butler. A cup of tea sat cold and forgotten beside a small plate of scones on his nightstand. Through the window, the dark clouds gave the afternoon a midnight appearance, but the frequent lightning flashes and booms of thunder served as a reminder of the storm's intrusion into what was, only moments earlier, a beautiful afternoon.

In one hand he held a journal, bound of the finest leather available (a gift from Lady Croft, who settled for nothing shy of the best), and in his other hand he held a pen. The pen hovered idly above the paper as Hillary lay lost in thought.

The last few days had been more eventful than most days, and yet he was having trouble putting into words his thoughts and feelings regarding the actions that had taken place.

Finally, he wrote.

28 July, 2003

I have survived yet another of Lara's adventures, and this one only involved my enduring several worry-filled sleepless nights in Bryce's trailer waiting for Lara to call and update us on her progress, being held hostage in Africa, watching my life flash before my eyes as Bryce attempted to fly a helicopter, and, most importantly, nearly losing my life as a perfectly content bachelor. There is no force in the universe more terrifying than a surprise wedding in which the groom must wear make-up.

Despite the sleepless nights and surprise wedding, I am a lucky survivor of this mission. Lara, however, did not exactly survive it. While she may have walked away with relatively minor injuries, she has once again exited a romance with a broken heart.

Looking back, I cannot help wondering if I had somehow hexed Lara into this situation by asking her as she left on her mission if she could kill Terry Sheridan if necessary. As fate would have it, she had to do just that. I made no secret of my feelings toward Sheridan, and I will most certainly not miss his presence on this Earth now, but I do feel for Lara.

As her assistant and friend, I see her more than anyone else, perhaps even more than Bryce. I am the one who always cleans up her messes, be it a dropped cup of tea or a shattered heart. I am also the one who has to find the mess that must be cleaned. When Lara went with Reiss in exchange for the lives of Bryce and myself, I was angry at her because that was not the time for her to start behaving emotionally. Upon reflection of my words, I now realize that I was in error. Lara has always behaved emotionally. The difference is that I am only just now realizing that I have always been the only who is able to see it.

Hillary sat his journal and pen down on the bed beside him. He reached over and picked up his tea. He took a sip of the cold beverage, grimacing at the taste.

His mind wandered to his last encounter with cold tea.

Hillary's uncle, Jeeves Winston, sat down next to his nephew for a quiet afternoon break with the boy. Jeeves wore his butler's uniform, and Hillary stiffly wore a suit and tie, his typical uniform. Jeeves had just finished pouring their tea when the sound of a screaming girl could be heard.

Jeeves was instantly on his feet and heading in search of the little girl whose lungs were capable of making such a racket. Hillary, whose body language and personality reflected the maturity beyond his mere ten years of age, quickly followed his uncle.

In the main hall of Croft Manor, little Lara Croft was in the middle of a temper tantrum as she stood firmly against the front door, blocking the giant monstrosity with her tiny little body of four years.

She and her father had just returned from an excavation in Egypt, and after only a few hours back at the manor, her father had some business to attend to. Lara, however, did not want him to leave her. The twosome had steadily busied themselves for the last two and a half years since Lara's mother had passed away, and, as her father was unaware, this was the first time her father had attempted to leave his little girl alone.

"But Jeeves will be here," her father, Lord Richard Croft, reminded her.

Lara's tantrum was promoted to a full-fledged sulking.

"That's right, Lady Lara," Jeeves sweetly told her as he approached her and knelt to her level. "You know Jeeves likes having adventures with Lady Lara," he told her, smiling pleasantly. Normally, Lara enjoyed her time with Jeeves--as long as her father was somewhere in the manor. This time was different because her father was going to leave her, just as her mother had left her.

"No!" she cried out, flopping into a sitting position on the floor before the door.

Hillary watched with barely-restrained amusement from a few feet away. Although he had lived in the manor with his Uncle Jeeves for most of his life after his parents had died, Hillary had very few encounters with the little Lady Croft. She was a hand-full, he knew, from what he had heard his uncle and Lord Croft say about her. Her fiery personality seemed to have only been fuelled by her mother's death. No one could really reach the complicated child. Hillary excused her behaviour as simply the tantrums of a spoiled Lady.

However, seeing the pain in the little girl's eyes nearly broke Hillary's heart. Her giant hazel eyes were wide in fear that she would be left alone without a father either.

Hillary had no experience with children other than his school peers, and he especially had no experience with Lara outside of seeing her in passing somewhere on the manor grounds.

"Lady Lara?" Hillary asked, taking both Lord Croft and Jeeves by surprise. Normally the boy stayed out of the Crofts' affairs and quietly assisted his uncle with chores.

Lara eyed the boy with suspicion. She was not certain if she liked him yet. She had never talked to him, despite having been around him for all of her young life.

Though Lara did not verbally respond, Hillary decided to continue speaking. "Perhaps you'd like to go on an adventure with me?" he asked.

Lara's fun-loving eyes brightened slightly, and one could practically see the wheels and gears turning in her mind as she thought over the proposition.

"There's supposedly a ghost outside, just beyond the stables," Hillary told her. "I'm too scared to go alone, so maybe we could work together."

Lara had forgotten that she was in the middle of a tantrum. "Daddy?" she asked, looking up at her father with overwhelmingly sweet eyes.

Lord Croft played along with the plot and sighed dramatically. "Well, it is dangerous, Lara," he said, a twinkle in his eye.

"I'll be good," she said, her age apparent in her voice. The little monster of a girl now seemed small and harmless again, instead of large and ominous as she had when she was in the middle of a tantrum.

"If you give me your word, then who am I to argue with the word of a Croft," her father said, gesturing toward Hillary.

Lara took off and took her place by Hillary's side. Hillary stood there awkwardly, not realizing that he actually had to follow through with his plan. Lara looked up expectantly. "Ahem?" she cleared her throat.

"Off you go," Jeeves ordered, shooing the young ones away.

Lara grabbed Hillary's crisp dark blue tie, and using it as a lead, dragged the older boy behind her as she ran for the back door of the manor.

"I apologize for that, Lord Croft. The boy will be disciplined and told--"

"Quite alright, Jeeves," Lord Croft interrupted. The servants were never supposed to interact with the family in such a familial way, but because Lord Croft and his family had always considered Jeeves as one of their own, he saw no reason not to allow Lara and Hillary to play.

Especially if Hillary was able to keep Lara under control…

Later that night, much past Lara's bedtime, Hillary and Lara came dragging into the manor. Hillary was more exhausted than the four year old bundle of energy called Lady Croft. They exchanged their goodnights, and Hillary returned to the kitchen table for his tea. He took a sip of the beverage, completely forgetting it had long since become cold.

Hillary chuckled quietly at the memory. He was still struggling to keep Lara under control, and he was still more exhausted than she was after their adventures.

He returned his cold tea to its place on his nightstand. Hillary's hand dropped and pulled open the drawer. He reached in and retrieved a small, shiny black object.

"I brought you a present," seven-year-old Lara happily announced as she bounced toward Hillary. The fourteen-year-old young man was now in training to succeed his uncle as butler to the Crofts, and he was hard at work washing all of the cars as per his uncle's instructions.

"Lady Lara, I must finishing washing the cars before--"

"Don't call me that!" Lara exclaimed. Lady Croft had been her mother, Lara had always insisted, so everyone called her Lady Lara when her title absolutely had to be used. She had finally trained crusty Hillary into calling her Lara, but he still called her by her title when he was being more rigid than usual.

"Lara," Hillary softly began, setting down the sponge he was using to clean the vehicle. "I have to work. Can't this wait until after I've finished my jobs?"

Lara thought for a moment. "Don't you work for Jeeves?" she asked. He nodded in affirmation. "And he works for Daddy?" Hillary once again nodded. "And me?" Hillary, not liking where this could be going, nodded reluctantly. "So that means you have to listen to me." For seven-years-old, the girl was too bright for everyone's good.

"Now, do you want your present or not?"

Hillary permitted the girl a small smile. "Oh, alright! Lady Croft once again has her way with things."

Lara held out her left hand, her fingers covering up an item in her palm. She unfolded her fingers, revealing a glossy black rock she had retrieved from the bottom of a stream that ran alongside Mount Everest.

"It's a good luck charm," she told him.

"Is that so?"

Hillary was startled when he heard a large clap of thunder outside. He closed his eyes a moment and listened to the sound of the heavy rain being blown against his bedroom window.

Twelve-year-old Lady Lara Croft stood solemnly dressed in black as the cold rain beat down on her like needles. She was there with the mistress of Wimbledon High School for Girls, who stood next to her with an umbrella over her own head.

The workers had long since finished setting up her father's memorial grave, a marker to serve as a reminder that he was gone, lost to Lara, forever. Now, only she and the school's mistress stood before her father's empty grave in front of Croft Manor.

Behind her, at a proper distance, nineteen-year-old Hillary stood quietly with Jeeves, paying their respects from afar. Gone was Lara's youthful body from a year ago when had left for the school, and in its place was a slightly chubbier version. Her exotic, angular features seemed out of proportion and awkward, and the slump of her shoulders caused by the weight of the world that she carried only made her look that much more different.

Hillary saw the woman Lara came with whisper something to her. Lara nodded once, and the woman left her for the limo she had arrived in.

Lara stood there, dripping wet and not caring. She had left her father for school, at his insistence. He had wanted Lara to go to school to become more well-rounded, something that the tutor she had from ages three through eleven could not teach her.

Hillary walked down the steps in front of the manor and approached Lara, extending his umbrella to cover her as well.

"I'm sorry." It sounded cliché and worthless to his own ears.

"All things must die," Lara responded. He saw something in her eyes that he had never seen before: unshed tears. Lady Lara Croft simply did not cry, and she never showed weakness. Since the temper tantrum that bonded the two together as friends, he had only seen Lara become stronger and stronger. Now, Hillary feared Lara was becoming too strong.

"I must go," she said, turning away from Hillary and facing the limo.

"Lara," he said, walking around in front of her. "Someone gave me this," he said, reaching into his coat pocket and retrieving an object. "It's a good luck charm, she said, but I've discovered she was mistaken," Hillary explained, taking Lara's hand and sliding the object into her gloved palm. "It's a friendship stone. Whenever you feel lonely, hold this stone and think of your family and friends, and they'll be with you in spirit."

Lara opened her palm and saw the stone she had given Hillary a few years before. Hillary was certain a tear had just escaped her eye, but in the rain, it was impossible to tell for sure. She turned her eyes away, unwilling and unable to look at him. "Thank you," she choked out. "Goodbye, Hilly," she said, stepping past him and running through the rain toward the limo.

As per her late father's request, eighteen-year-old Lara attended finishing school in Switzerland. After that, she decided it was time to do what she needed to do, and that involved joining the military in Special Operations.

Lara continued to write home to Jeeves, and to Hillary, keeping them up-to-date with the goings-on in her life, as they kept her apprised of the few occurrences around the manor. Lord Croft's will stated that Jeeves was to remain employed by the Crofts, if he wished to continue working. For Lara, Jeeves agreed to stay on, taking care of the manor and going about life as usual as if there was someone else still living in the manor who needed his meticulous attention to detail.

Hillary stayed with his uncle to keep the grey, aging man company. Jeeves had never married or had children, so Hillary took it upon himself, as both a duty and an honour, to tend to the man who had taken him under his wing so lovingly.

Hillary unknowingly began to follow in his uncle's footsteps, giving up his youthful life for living alone and serving another. Even though Lara was not in the manor, he still felt her presence there. Sacrificing his youth and the chance of a life and family of his own was not a burden as long as there was a possibility of Lara returning to the cold, empty manor.

A few more years passed, and Hillary still had not seen Lara since a brief, and awkwardly memorable, visit following her father's memorial.

Then, as Lara had so bluntly pointed out, all things must die. Jeeves Winston passed away, leaving Hillary alone in the enormous mansion.

As the rain still poured outside his window, Hillary, for the first time, questioned his unconscious decision to follow in Jeeves' footsteps. He did not regret becoming a butler or working for Lara. However, in retrospect, Hillary did have some regret with regards to never having a life of his own.

He had truly followed in his uncle's footsteps, albeit unintentionally, and he was now becoming his uncle with each passing year. In time, he would be a lonely, grey old man without any blood relatives. Hillary considered this a moment and then he realized that he was already that man, alone and damned to a life of solitude. His family name would die with him.

Hillary was left with the question of if his unspoken affection for Lara could sustain him in the way open love and a family sustained the rest of the world. Sacrificing his youth in the hope of a " someday" that could never realistically happen now seemed like a romantic notion only a young fool could concoct.

Despite all of this, Hillary could not bring himself to even consider leaving Lara. He could never leave her.

Hillary had almost finished packing when a curious sound caught his attention. He moved to his window and peered out from behind the curtain at the motorcycle that was flying up the long driveway at a dangerously high speed.

Then he noticed the long braid flapping about in the breeze behind the driver.

If she continued at that speed, his making the journey through the mansion and to the front door would prove pointless, as she could easily have made it up the stairs to his room before he even left to greet her.

Hillary continued packing.

"Hillary!" she called out, her voice echoing off the walls. Her voice was more mature, and more articulate, than when they had last spoken in person. "Hillary!"

Hillary stepped outside of his bedroom. "Lara," he solemnly greeted.

She had just walked up the stairs when she heard his voice, and she immediately charged in his direction.

Lara gracefully skidded to a halt in front of him. "Hilly," she said, her eyes filled with the same sorrow they had been filled with when her father had died. "I'm so sorry. I came as soon as I could."

"I know," he responded crisply, ever the proper gentleman. "It was very kind of you to come so soon." He permitted a small smile. "You are looking well, Lara."

It was the truth, but an exaggerated one. Lara had grown out of an awkward twelve-year-old into a gorgeous twenty-something woman, with all of the right features and curves (not that Hillary would ever ogle Lady Croft). She was well tanned and toned, each muscle visible without taking away from her femininity, and of course she still had her long silky hair.

However, she was bruised and exhausted, as evident by the dark circles around her eyes. Her military training was obviously intense, but it seemed to have been good for her. She held her shoulders in a firm, confident manner that exuded character, not cockiness. Lara had finally grown into a woman who was her own woman--not quite a prim-and-proper Lady, yet no longer a tomboy.

He would have to work on her about becoming a proper Lady. Perhaps he would even one day see her in a dress before he, too, died, but that was highly unlikely.

Lara, taken off guard by being genuinely complimented for the first time in years, smiled slightly, her full lips barely curling upward. Something over Hillary's shoulder caught her attention. "What's this?" she inquired, changing the subject to address the suitcases on his bed.

"I'll be out in a few hours," he stated, turning around to resume his packing. She moved to stand in front of the window.

"Why? Do you want to leave?" She almost dreaded his answer. Had living alone, without a life of his own, become too much for her friend?

"My services are no longer needed here," he logically responded.

Lara did not like the sound of that. "But I need you, here, to take care of the manor. And me." That caught Hillary's attention. "I'm coming home in a few weeks, and I'd like the company."

"And someone to cook for you," Hillary joked, his face indicating his good humour so subtly that it would have gone unnoticed to anyone else.

Lara laughed, and nodded fiercely. "Yes, and to cook for me. So, are you staying?" she asked, her outstretched hand offering to him once again the rock that had been a constant in their friendship.

How could he say no?

A few weeks later, as promised, Lara returned to the manor. Hillary, who had prepared a giant homecoming feast in her honour, sat at the dining room table waiting for her to come back from the errand she had to run earlier…four hours earlier.

Hillary made his way through the manor to the front door. He looked out the window to the side, and there was Lara giving some man a tour of the grounds. And what was that monstrosity, that beat-up, silver…

Lara pointed toward the front door where Hillary was watching. She waved, drawing his attention from the trailer that was now parked to the front side of the manor. The man next to Lara waved awkwardly. Hillary stood up, straightened his suit, and nodded visibly before walking away from the window.

"Hillary, meet Bryce Turing," Lara said as she and the man entered the front door. Hillary was standing to the side, looking more like a statue than a butler or a friend.

"Hello," Bryce greeted, walking toward Hillary with his hand stretched out in greeting. Hillary shook the man's proffered hand.

"A pleasure."

Bryce lost interest in Hillary quite quickly. He walked into the main hall of Croft Manor, Lara and Hillary trailing side-by-side behind him. "Blimey," he uttered, looking up and around at the humble home of his buddy Lara. "Now I know how those hillbillies on that Yank television show feel," he mumbled to himself as he turned around slowly, melodramatically taking in everything in sight.

"You can live in the house, you know," Lara told him from where she stood some distance away.

"I'm afraid I'll breathe on something wrong and break it," Bryce admitted. "Besides, you know me, free spirit and all."

"Right."

Hillary cleared his throat. Who was this man and why was he moving in? "Lara?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. Bryce is a friend of mine I met on leave a few weeks ago. He's a bloody genius," Lara explained to Hillary. "He's got some really fun toys." Hillary raised an eyebrow at Lara's enthusiasm. "Like SIMON," she added.

"Why would I want to let you have SIMON when I can get a bundle off of him elsewhere?" Bryce demanded to know.

Hillary stood, still not understanding who, or what, this strange man was doing in Croft Manor, and exactly what kind of toy SIMON was.

Bryce remembered Hillary's presence. "You'll back me up on this. You know Lara…she'll beat the shite out of my poor robot once he's finished. Tell her to leave SIMON out of this."

"I'd much rather leave you out of this," Hillary deadpanned. Bryce looked up at him, half astonished at the prim-and-proper butler's wry wit, and half disappointed that he did not have a sidekick with whom he could gang up against Lara.

Lara rolled her eyes. "I can see you two will get along splendidly."

Hillary was washing the dishes from Lara's re-heated homecoming feast when Bryce came scampering into the kitchen with his empty plate. He sat the dish down on the counter for Hillary.

"So, what's between you and Lara, mate?" he asked.

"You are nosey," Hillary responded, not taking the bait.

"Oh, c'mon, Hil," Bryce said, roughly patting Hillary on the back a few times. Hillary shot the annoying young man a look. "You can tell me. I heard you call her 'Lara,' and don't you stuffy white-shirt butler types have to call your bosses, I don't know--Mistress, Lady Croft, my Lady…" Hillary blushed at the words "my Lady," but he hoped Bryce would be too caught up in his ramble to notice.

"Lara's family has been very kind to mine. My uncle worked for the Crofts, and now I work for Lara."

Bryce sighed. "I get it," he understandingly stated. "I'll try to let her down gently when she decides to put the moves on me. I'll tell her, "No, Lara, no. You are Hillary's, and I won't usurp a mate's lady."

"If not for the inappropriateness of your comment, it would have been very comforting to know, sir," Hillary dryly responded to Bryce's retreating form.

Hillary would never admit it, but Bryce's assurance had been a tremendous comfort for him.

A quiet knock on Hillary's door returned his thoughts to the present. Before he could get out of bed to go to the door, his visitor opened the door and peeked inside.

"Lara!" Hillary chided in response to seeing her wet hair that was draped over her shoulders. "Don't tell me you went riding in the storm!"

Lara opened the door a little more and propped herself against the doorframe. "I was riding when the storm broke out, and I didn't have enough time to get back without getting soaked. Stop being such a mother hen," she ordered.

Hillary huffed as he brought himself to his feet. "Well, I'll run you a warm bath so you don't catch your death--"

"Been there, done that," Lara commented, stretching out her arms to model the clean, dry black pull-over shirt and black Capri pants she wore. "But I can think of something else that'll warm me right up," she said with a twinkle in her eye.

Hillary raised an eyebrow, a slight smirk appearing on his lips. "If you think you can handle me this time…"

"Maybe you can!" Hillary huffed out between ragged breaths as he ducked Lara's swing. The two were once again sparring with kenzai staves, but this time, Hillary was practicing without the protective padded suit. He simply wore a navy blue t-shirt that clung to the muscles in his arms and his chest, and a pair of loose-fitting, black trousers. Lara had promised to go easy on him since she was no longer in a foul mood and out for blood as she had been during their last sparring session before her mission with Terry Sheridan.

Both Lara and Hillary were oddly quiet as they sparred. Hillary's thoughts and emotions were plagued with the regretful notion of "what if." Lara, however, had other issues on her mind.

Lara chuckled as she easily dodged Hillary's forward attack aimed at her head. She thwacked him on his arm, making him pause and utter a small "ow!" She waited patiently for his comeback, and when it came, it was a full assault. Normally their sparing required more of her attention than most of their joint exercises--about 90 of her attention, or so. But Hillary was steadily improving, forcing her to think quickly and act swiftly.

Every move he made against her was effectively blocked, and no sooner had she blocked his attack had he started a new, unpredictable one. Hillary's stave finally impacted Lara's abdomen. He smiled proudly for finally getting in a punch, but stopped smiling as he remembered their last sparring match when he had momentarily gotten a little too cocky.

Lara, still in shock that he had one-upped her, reacted without thinking. As she swung the stave swiftly at Hillary's head, he ducked. He reached behind her and knocked her knees out from under her, sending her to the floor of her study with an audible "umph!" It was obvious she was still not back to her old self. She was too distracted, thus making their sparring more complex than usual. Lara looked up and came face to face with Hillary's stave, which hovered a few inches from her forehead.

"My apologies," he said, as an afterthought adding slowly and very articulately, "my Lady."

Lara blushed, something Lady Lara Croft, Tomb Raider extraordinaire, never, ever, under any circumstances did.

She huffed. "I thought you'd forgotten about that," Lara said, flustered. She lay still on the floor; her hand flopped over her eyes in an attempt to hide her embarrassment. Hillary pulled back his stave, and stood it up on the floor beside him.

He smiled like a Cheshire cat. "No. Not a chance."

A few weeks after her father's memorial, Lara was finally able to take a break from her schooling long enough to return home and meet with her father's lawyers. She was a twelve-year-old girl, and she did not exactly understand why it was so important that she listen to the lawyers read her father's will and discuss executing his final wishes.

Before she had returned home, however, Lara met a boy. His name was Christopher, and he was fifteen. He had come to pick up his sister at the school she and Lara attended, and Lara immediately took a liking to the boy's striking, rugged good looks. He was a distraction from the pain she felt upon losing her father, and becoming wrapped up in her obsession over him was a welcomed relief.

Lara had wandered all over the manor looking for Hillary, and then she finally found him tending to the horses in the stable. While it was not his responsibility to care for the horses, Hillary enjoyed spending time with them, especially after his best friend, the young Lady of the manor, had moved out to attend school. Whether it was brushing them or going for a ride, Hillary found it to be a quiet, relaxing experience.

"Hilly," she said coolly. He stopped brushing Arrow, the stallion with a coat as dark as an endless night, and gave his full attention to Lara.

"I want you to teach me how to kiss," she said matter-of-factly.

Hillary choked. When he finally regained his composure, he swallowed, visibly terrified. "I…I beg, I beg your pardon, La--Lara?"

"Teach me to snog," she reiterated.

Hillary dropped the brush he had been brushing Arrow with to the ground, and took a few steps back to sit on a small stool a couple feet away.

Lara approached him and sat on the ground next to him. "I know you're probably good at this," she stated, clearly trying to charm him into tutoring her. "See, there's this boy," she began casually. Hillary sat perfectly still, so still that it appeared his heart had long ago stopped beating. "Christopher," Lara said, almost dreamily. "He's perfect." Lara looked up at Hillary. "Please," she begged, pursing her lips a little for added drama.

Hillary knew better than to look down at the girl who was starting to become a woman. If she already knew about her powers of controlling men, there would be no stopping her once she became a grown woman. She would be a force so strong that no man could resist her charm.

It was absolutely improper for him to give kissing lessons to his young friend, but since it was a completely innocent favour for a friend, he could let it pass just this once.

No--what was he thinking? Hillary weighed his options. He could, of course, give into temptation and kiss his best friend, or he could do the honourable thing…and run, far, far away, at a rapid speed, and without looking back.

When had kissing Lara ever become an issue? She was a child. His best friend. His employer. A young woman with the most beautiful eyes and full lips…

Hillary considered himself a proper young man who never battled the typical hormonal challenges that face most adolescents. He was nineteen, and he had far more mature things on his mind than kissing a rather attractive girl.

In the end, Hillary came to the perfect conclusion, one that would satisfy all involved.

As long as they were not caught, they would be fine.

"Fine," Hillary surrendered. He did not have much experience in the kissing department either, despite his nineteen years of age. He had only kissed one girl, and that was one time a few years prior.

"Excellent!" Lara cheered. "Now, you'll have to sit down here with me," she explained, scooting back to sit in a small stack of hay. Hillary made a face. "Oh, come on you old stiff!" she remarked.

Hillary joined her in the hay, sitting awkwardly straight as she slouched comfortably.

"So, what's first?" she asked.

'First?' Hillary mentally repeated. Hillary thought about it for a minute. She was not asking for kissing lessons! That cunning Lara Croft was asking for make-out lessons!

He thought for a moment about how he could outline the steps of the kissing process to make things simple. Perhaps a five step guide--

Hillary's thoughts were interrupted when Lara Croft boldly grabbed his head with both her hands and planted her plump lips against his. Countless sirens went off in Hillary's head, and he could practically hear that bloody robot recite, "Danger, Hillary Winston, danger!" in his head.

But it was rather nice.

Not that he was enjoying it, of course.

Lara continued their kiss for a few moments and then broke away from him as suddenly as she had latched onto him. "So, that's it?" she asked disbelievingly. Hillary, still stunned, could only nod. "That was a bore," she complained. "I did all the work just to impress you…well, not you, but the boy." Lara reflected upon the kiss for a moment, going over all the nuances of it in an attempt to figure out where it had gone wrong. Hillary still sat there shocked, but he finally managed to blink his eyes at least.

"You didn't kiss me back," Lara pointed out. She was right. "How am I supposed to learn when you won't teach me?"

She had him there.

"Lara," Hillary finally managed to creak out, "kissing is not just about the act," he explained. Lara was not following him. "It's about showing affection for someone you care about."

"Yeah, right," Lara uttered before grabbing Hillary and kissing him once more. Hillary began to enjoy it, perhaps a little too much as evident by the sensations that were awakening various parts of his body. He started to kiss her back, savouring every second of it.

She was only twelve years old, and it was far too early for her to have such a mature outlook on love. Yet, in the middle of a display of hormones, Lara had an epiphany.

Lara began to realize things about Hillary that she had never noticed before. He was male, not the genderless best friend he had been. He was attractive without being vain. He had absolutely nothing to give her except his friendship, loyalty, and total devotion. Hillary had been her friend since childhood, and he was still there. He could have easily spent his free time with friends his own age away from the manor, but he was always there, either with Lara when she was home or for Lara when she was away at school. She ran a hand through Hillary's hair as she held him to her with her other hand. Lara had completely forgotten about Christopher as she tightened her grip on the young man whom she would never again see as simply her friend.

A throat being cleared made Hillary shove Lara away from him. He jumped to his feet to find Jeeves looking down at the two with an unreadable expression.

Hillary jerked his head back to look at Lara, and then to look at Jeeves once again. "I…um…" He directed his attention to the girl on the ground. "My apologies, Lara, er…my Lara…er…my Lady. Lady Croft," he repeated, more composed.

Lara sighed as she watched Hillary practically run out of the stable. One day, Lara silently vowed, she would kiss him, he would kiss her back, and he would stay.

"'My Lara,'" Lara quoted, snickering at Hillary's slip of the tongue. "That was a Freudian slip if I ever heard one," she accused. Hillary remained quiet, and red-faced, as he waited for Lara to stop teasing him.

Lara, still lying on the floor with her hand draped over her eyes, laughed aloud at the memory. Changing the subject some, she commented, "I'm not sure what's funnier: my asking you for snogging lessons, or the fact that I actually thought you were experienced!"

Hillary took mock offence at this. "I'll have you know I had plenty of experience before that impromptu lesson of yours," he assured her.

"With whom?" she inquired, her voice hopefully devoid of any signs of jealousy. She finally stood and reclaimed her kenzai stave.

"Jayne McAllister," he stated proudly.

Lara erupted into laughter. "This just gets more humorous. Skinny Jayney McAllister?" she asked, wiping a tear from her eye.

"And she wasn't that skinny," Hillary insisted. "She had a very nice shape," he said awkwardly.

"You would know about shapes, wouldn't you?" Lara shot back with a wink. During their last sparring match before her mission with Sheridan, Hillary had mentioned her shape, albeit innocently with regards to being in good shape health-wise, and she was not about to let him forget it since it apparently flustered him so.

Hillary once again took a fighting stance with his stave as Lara broke hers over her knee, giving her two smaller weapons. The two returned to their match, meeting one another blow-for-blow.

"How are you feeling?" Hillary asked her, swinging the stave at her knees. Lara jumped up in the air, completely clearing the stick.

"Fine," she automatically answered.

"I wish things had ended differently."

"With an apocalypse?"

"Not those things." Hillary shook his head at her nonchalant behaviour. "I mean without doing what you had to do."

Lara's sparring suddenly became more aggressive as the fire in her eyes ignited a sudden burst of strength. The next thing Hillary knew, Lara had him pinned against the wall, and her staves were shoved through the fine wood on either side of his head.

"I do what has to be done. It's not always pretty, so if you can't take it, don't ask about it," she barked in his face before turning on her heel and stalking a few steps away.

Hillary eyed the staves on either side of his head before walking away from the wall to stand a little closer to Lara.

"It's not always pretty," he told her, "and that's precisely why I must ask you about it."

Lara, her back still facing him, nodded in understanding. Hillary was being Hillary, the over-protective mother hen he had always been for her, and more. He was without label. He was not simply a butler, assistant, or a friend--he was beyond words.

It was no secret that Hillary never liked any of her lovers, but his feelings for Sheridan surpassed any distain he may have felt toward the others. While Hillary would never celebrate Lara's broken heart, she would not have been surprised if he had popped a few champagne corks when she wasn't looking.

"I did what was necessary," she repeated. Lara turned to look at him, her hands on her hips. "I'll live."

With that, she briskly walked out of the study.

After about forty-five minutes of tidying up after his sparring match with Lara, Hillary finally returned to his bedroom. He was about to shut the door behind him when he heard a loud crash.

He stepped out of the room, listening in case there were intruders. When he heard nothing else, he assumed Lara had dropped, or thrown, a breakable. Then he heard a loud "bugger" coming from Lara's bath chamber.

Not bothering with formalities, Hillary opened the door and peeked inside. Lara, naked and dripping wet, sat on the marble edge of her shower stall, her expression blank. Blood was gushing from her hand, and broken glass covered most of the floor to her side from where she had punched the glass shower stall.

"My God," Hillary breathed, rushing to her side. He turned off the running shower, grabbed a towel and draped it over her shoulders. Swiftly, he retrieved a hand towel and knelt down on the floor in front of her. He carefully wrapped her bleeding hand in the towel, trying to stop the bleeding as best as possible. Lara leaned forward into Hillary's muscular frame, burying her face in his shoulder.

"I could have disarmed him," she said, her face still blank and oblivious to her injury. "I could have disarmed him, and I could have talked him out of taking the box out of the cavern," Lara insisted.

"No, you did what was necessary," Hillary reminded her. He lifted up the towel to get a glance at her injury, but he could not tell the severity of it for all the blood that still gushed from the wound. She would no doubt need to see Doctor Johnston once again.

"We keep saying that, but it's not true. There's always a choice to be made. I should have acted, not reacted. I didn't have to pull the trigger."

Hillary did not know what to do. Once again, Lara was in pain, and it was the type of pain that no one could ever comprehend or get past to reach her, except him. Regardless, each time was a new experience, and he never knew how to go about helping her.

He reached up and put a comforting hand on her shoulder, rubbing it for a few seconds, and then patting it. It was weird, as neither he nor Lara were very physical people. They seldom expressed their feelings through touch, and doing so now was odd, but it was unnoticed to Lara.

Lara slid off of the wet marble and into Hillary's arms. He held her tightly, giving her a sense of security and stability that she seldom felt in her life.

She lay there the rest of the night, her eyes staring blankly at the floor.

Hillary sat patiently on the cold floor, his Lady cradled in his arms. He kept his firm grip on her wrapped hand to make certain the bleeding had stopped. He placed a kiss in her wet raven hair. He did not have to say anything, for his presence and silent support were all she needed.

Hillary, who had accompanied Doctor Johnston to the door, shut the door behind the good doctor. He then returned to cleaning up the breakfast table.

Lara had not come downstairs all morning, leaving Hillary and Bryce to eat their morning meal alone. When Doctor Johnston came to see about her hand, Hillary escorted the man to Lara's room, but he did not see her. While he was concerned about Lara's welfare, Hillary knew better than to press the issue with her. He would wait for her to come to him, and knowing Lara, that could take some time. If nothing else, Hillary had patience, particularly where Lara was concerned.

A few hours later, Hillary was enjoying a bit of quiet reading time alone in Lara's study. He was lost in his reading when something whacked the back of his head.

Lara, with a bandaged hand, stood there holding a kenzai stave in her good hand. Her face was brighter than it had been in the last few days, and she almost seemed like her old self again. "Rematch?" she asked.

Hillary closed his book and stood. "Are you sure that's wise?" Hillary did not want Lara to pretend things were back to normal for the sake of appearances, and he most certainly did not want her to return to her regular physical activities before her hand had time to fully heal.

Lara rolled her eyes at his protectiveness. "Well, if you don't take me on now, you might not ever have a chance of coming close to beating me."

Hillary pulled off his jacket, removed his tie, and unbuttoned the top few buttons of his shirt, winking at Lara as he did so. Lara, rolling her eyes once again, offered him a stave, and he took it from her.

Then they sparred.

Things were returning to normal now that he had once again picked up the pieces of his Lady's broken heart.

END