I'm writing this under some duress. I think that's the best place to start.

When I first met SS, I hadn't read Ms. Romanenko's book. The UK release of the (fictional, I am obliged to say by my publishers) book had been stymied with obnoxious business complications I'm not privy to. For those unfamiliar, it entails SS's excursion to an Alaskan base, a politically-destabalising weapon, and more of SS's past that I'm sure he'd care to detail. That was in 2005. But I met him in 2006, after a short rendezvous with a few of his associates, and at a place I had not expected to make any sort of business dealings.

SS has proven, in the years since, to be one of the strongest, most intelligent men I've ever met. One of the few people who's ever reminded me of my father, with a presence that made a room, any room, gravitate towards him, and with no degree of discomfort with that fact.

I wish I knew that everything was okay. But I don't, and the purpose of this document isn't really scholarly, as my writings have traditionally been. There is remarkably little to be gleaned of an archaelogical bent in it.

My name is Lara Croft, and I sincerely hope this is not his last Testament.

I miss him very, very much.

-

There was a groping of a completely disinteresting manner at her tit.

The blonde was fumbling, and tiresomely boorish. He was a bit of a ponce, truth be told, and not very bright. She thought a sort of roll about with him might rekindle something, that she was jumping to conclusions, but after he began that awful dirty talk, she began to think better of it.

"Come on, then, off with these." Roaming hands bungled behind her back, sleuthing for a clasp that would undo her gown. She began to push his hands away.

"No, actually, I'd rather we return to-"

"It's alright, just a little snog-"

"Excuse me?" She laughed, snorted a moment in a fashion completely unladylike, then brushed a loose strand out of her hair out of her face. "That's quite enough. I'm afraid I've made a mistake."

"What? Lara, I-" And he backed off, looking genuinely surprised. That was the shame of it. That he could be interesting and fun, but so often was too, too... something. It must have been the asti spumante.

"I'm sorry, I think we should return to the ball now. This is just all a bit much, and I think I must still be jetlagged or something." When Francis opened his mouth to speak, so Lara too did to continue, if only to make sure of leaving him absolutely no chance to protest. "Bit of wine, bit of adventure, and I'm scrambled. Sorry about this. Got to be going, thank you though." She checked her gown with her hands. All zippers, earings, buttons intact. "Maybe we can talk a bit later?" Handbag was yanked free from his beneath his coat. She could hear the chatter of beyond the guest bedroom, down the hall. "Try the Marionberry Mascarpone cake, yes? Fantastic stuff. Winston's own." And she closed the door behind her.

"Phew."

Lara stood in a hall of the visitor's wing of her estate, hall lined with a dozen or so guest bedrooms with (mostly) open doors leading to plush, warmly-lit rooms. From the main ballroom, laughter pattered and champagne flutes tinkled and voices tumbled over one another in a cascade of good will. She felt relieved, and began for an adjacently vacant room to use their water closet when she realized she'd left her heels. She began to laugh, realized the it might appear unseemly, and stifled it. She tittered all the way back to the throng of people.

Overhead the cacophonous room were chandeliers ornate with light and gold, and bathed each face and facet of glass. Every broach and every cufflink sparkled under their attention. Candelabras mounted on columns giving the room its warm colouring glittered in brass highlights. A velvet banner with her family crest hung off the central wall, and she felt welcomed and overjoyed at the turnout.

People chattered amongst each other in tuxedos and evening gowns, waitstaff darting about. Dinner had ended only half an hour earlier and the gathering had not dimmed in the least. Her publishers had already given their speech, her butler already welcomed her back to the UK to great applause, and now everyone had adjourned to their current affair: examining the artifacts she had brought back from South Africa. Many of them had none of the characteristics associated with the region, and although she had been excited for the adventure, the exploration, the solitude, she also felt vaguely disappointed that it had concluded.

She also felt a clawing at a more... base urge. The time away was always exciting, but once back in her native land, she felt a need for something more human that digging about ancient stone and clay. Francis might have been able to-

"Excuse me? Miss Croft?"

"Mm?" Lara came about and glanced behind her, then turned to face the gentleman.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. I just wanted to thank you for inviting me."

"Oh, you're welcome of course. I don't think I could possibly have done without you." She smiled broadly, trying to mask her inquisitive examination of him. Barest hint of stubble, clear eyes, maybe twenty five, hundred and eighty centimetres perhaps. She couldn't tell. His glasses were wireframes, and looked new.

"You're not sure who I am, are you?" He looked amused. Good sign.

"Afraid not, I'm sorry. I can barely recall putting on my shoes, as you can see."

"I was invited by a partner of your publishers, at Eton. I was auditing a class there as an overseas student years ago." He pressed the glasses up his nose, and sipped at his champagne. The minor wrinkling of his nose did nothing to hide his unfamiliarity with white wines.

"You went to Eton? Really?"

"MIT, actually. They let me audit a few courses for a semester here as part of an exchange program. It helped I, uh, have family here." Before Lara could relieve herself of the man's company, hopefully to go out to the gardens and allow some of the air to clear her head a bit, he continued. "Your father has quite the reputation there."

"My father?"

"Yeah. Even as an American, I was impressed. Everyone thinks very highly of him. One of the professors I spoke with was one of his classmates, so I heard a lot. When a friend mentioned some months ago you were publishing again and they needed a date, I couldn't resist."

"Thank you. It's nice hearing he's not forgotten in his students." She smiled more genuinely now, and extended one hand. "I never caught your name."

"Hal. Hal Danziger." Gently, he shook her hand. Strangely, Lara thought she smelled cigarettes on him briefly, but as soon as she recognized the smell, it was gone. "I have to admit, I actually wasn't sure I'd enjoy myself, but I went to school primarily for technology because anthropology scared me to death.

This is has been really educational."

Lara stole a flute off a passing tray, nodding thanks and continuing. "You can't mean that. A lot of it's boring to most. I'm flattered, but-"

"Habari yako?"

Lara shrugged. "Nzuri. But there's so few people who- wait." She looked at him, bemused and interested. "You speak swahili?"

"Sure. I picked up a few bits and pieces off the net and from a friend I worked with last year, and obviously I'm not fluent, but yeah. This stuff is really interesting." His tic of pressing his glasses up the ridge of his nose began to appear ritualised. "I've also, ah, got a bit more of a personal motive for attending. I hope you're not offended."

From one end of the room, a few men laughed uproariously, catching both of their attention, and she replied after they had quieted. "No, it's quite alright."

Hal raised an eyebrow and looked slightly ill-at-ease. "I came here to see if I could persuade you into hearing out a little bit of a business venture?" Before Lara could object: "I know this isn't the right setting for that sorta thing, but I just wanted to know if you'd hear us out. It's a bit of a pet project, but we're not a business, and we don't need..." He struggled for a moment for polite terminology. "Financial assistance? We just want a little of your thoughts is all. "

"Well, my schedule's free for the forseeable future, and I'd much rather spend my time having a bit of lunch with you than watching my book get trashed by Le Monde, so how is 'maybe'?"

"Better than nothing." And Hal's face lit up. Somehow, it made Lara feel good to see the younger man appear a bit more at peace with himself.

"Do you mind if I inquire about this project's name?"

He paused, and as if making it up on the spot, smiled a beam of elation. "Philanthropy."