((A.N :: Well, here's chapter 2 now. It's not as good, (pfft!) granted. But I'm in the middle of exams and all I can think is 'German, Graphics, Music, Modern Studies....etc.' Boredom has melted my mental-thesaurus. - You know, that little triceratops that thumps around in my head and works the controls....))

The repetitive, revenant 'dong' of the Old Grandfather Clock echoed around Croft Manor.

'....Dong'

10 o'clock.

'....Dong'

11.

'....DONG!'

The twelfth awoke Hillary slowly. 12 o'clock..?! The room was engulfed in darkness. Perhaps it was midnight? But then, why could he hear birds outside so clearly?

And WHY was he in the sitting room chair?!

And then he looked down towards his chest. The previous night came flooding back to him. The 'conversation'. Lara's evident desperation.

She still lay across him, sleeping soundly, like a child. His arms still embraced her with an almost equal need. He gazed at Lara, contemplating life without her. Life without Lara, Hillary thought, was simply unthinkable. The world revolved around her.

And on she slept.

He further contemplated, this time whether to slip back into the state that Lara was currently in, but his instinctive urges to clean, tidy and generally take charge of the household took over.

Now, Nicholas was faced with a small problem. How would he slide out from beneath Lara, without disturbing her?

His apparent conundrum was about to be methodically solved. A warm, dry tickle began to menace the back of his throat. He tried swallowing to counteract the itch, but to no avail. A jerk and a resounding cough eventually rectified the distraught Hillary's throat as he watched Lara stir, and gently raise her head from her butler's chest.

"Damn."

He smiled meekly at her, and blinked apologetically.

A minute and tired giggle released itself from Lara, as she turned her head towards the blinding sun slicing it's way through the sitting room curtains.

"Umm...what time is it, Hil?"

He looked over towards the mahogany clock set upon the mantelpiece beside them. His smile dissolved to a harlequin grin.

"It's nearly time for bed, I would say. Late afternoon."

Lara's quiet giggle crescendoed as she sat up from her human cushion, leaving Hillary his ability to move round to a comfortable seating position, akin to hers.

"How are you for dinner, Lady?"

She nodded in reply, as she watched him stand up from the chair.

As he started in the direction of the kitchen, she called after him. He spun round swiftly, to find Lara standing immediately in front of him.

"Hil, last night really meant a lot to me. Thank you. You mean the world to me, I want you to know that."

He nodded, blushing, as she raised her five-foot-six body up onto it's tiptoes and again wrapped her arms around his six-foot-three frame. Again, in his gentile manner, he reverentially imitated. As they embraced, she pulled her face from his shoulder in a way she had done only a few hours ago, and was lost in the copious velvet browns and greens of his eyes.

He too gazed helplessly into hers.

"You mean everything to me too, Lara. More than everything." He flashed a deep, almost angelic smile.

"You mean more to me."

Hillary sighed, beaten. "You were always competitive."

Lara tightened her hold on him and grinned that brazen grin that had taken a special place in Hillary's heart over the years. That grin meant she was happy. And when Lara was happy; Nicholas was ecstatic. Everything was right with the World, and everything in it.

"And you were always there. I just want to say thank you. I don't say that enough, do I?"

This left an opening to chalk one up on Lara.

"No. You don't." Hillary looked on mischievously, as they both broke down into fits of laughter.

The hilarity faded after a short while, as did their grip on each other. They now stood, loosely hand in hand.

Nicholas startled out of his reverie as his eyes' battle with the second- hand of the mantelpiece clock lost.

"It's getting late, Lara, perhaps it would be a good idea to ready that dinner. Christian will be perishing of hunger..."

Lara sighed. Always thinking of others. But who was out to watch over Hillary?

"Yes. We don't want Bryce malnourished - that's the last thing we need... I need his robots."

Another pacific laugh.

Hillary delicately placed a hand on Lara's shoulder, widened his eyes and cocked his head slightly to the side, like a puppy.

Again, she shivered involuntarily, but it wasn't unpleasant this time.

"You're absolutely correct. Plus, I don't want to have to clean up his remains. Too often have I had to do that with intruders here."

His smiled tenderly, reluctantly removed his hand and made his way out, through to the kitchens, leaving Lara rooted where she was.

Her steady breathing had quickly disintegrated, to a wavering collection of brief, Morse Coded sighs.

What was wrong with her?

She was lost in a part of herself she had never visited before as she watched the only constant in her life stroll purposefully through the doors.

"Bye." She said, as he disappeared from sight.

But then, she had visited 'that part of herself' before... with the irredeemable guidance of one Terry Sheridan.

"Ah. FINALLY decided on getting your lazy damned backside up from the couch to make me some food."

"Oh, DO be quiet, Christian." Hillary dragged his concentration reluctantly from the chopping board he was so eloquently and efficiently chopping, slicing and shredding various kinds of vegetables on.

Bryce was standing, arms propping his lank frame up against the wide, antique oak door-trim, his facial expression; pure ambivalence, with a sharp injection of a smirk.

"Sleep okay?"

Hillary placed his carrot-chopping knife neatly down on the wide expanse of worktop - a half-mile of polished wood fitted neatly into the space of one large tiled hall of cupboards, fridges and various effulgent displays of cutlery and foodstuffs.

Hillary's 'special place'. Ergo, the most brilliant room in the house. Lara's room aside, of course.

He purposefully and indignantly strode across the extent of black and white mosaic flooring (personally crafted by the butler) to the meat-cabinet and uplifted a large leg of lamb, along with the accompanying 'lamb-knife'.

As he made his way back to the chopping board, he raised his chin a little, in the sort of gesture that would insist that Bryce should either put up with his stubbornness or leave. But, Christian Bryce, being Christian Bryce, decided that 'put up or shut up' wasn't an option.

"So...did ya?"

Nicholas persevered in hacking the meat from the bone in the most gentlemanly way possible.

Without looking up, and without blinking, Hillary replied with a rather curt, "Yes. Thank you."

Another grin tore itself through the lower half of Bryce's face.

"What about Lara?"

"I don't know. You should ask her. Now go away. I'm busy."

"Where is she, Hil?"

"Sitting room."

Bryce's face smugly split even further, as he watched Hillary chopping wildly for a second, then he turned on his heels and waltzed toward the sitting room.

The knife's blade sliced and diced with renewed vigour. Smashing its way through a variety of foods... and despite Nicholas' expertise in the kitchen; it managed to slice his finger quite deeply. He threw the knife down agitatedly and leaned aggressively on the counter, licking his bleeding fingertip.

"Shit."

For the first time, he had lost his concentration completely. Something he had never done before.

But then, Nicholas HAD lost his concentration like that before...just twenty minutes earlier... with one Lara Croft.