Another paper hanky ripped out of the box with a fwip, the one after it popping obediently half-out of the box. Hillary sighed. He stood on the feeding end of the hanky chain; they were soaked in Lara's hands and deposited in the wastebasket on her other side. She blew her nose with an unladylike honk, tossed the hanky into the basket, and grabbed a fresh one.

It was unlike Lara to react to a lover leaving her in this manner. It was unusual to have a lover leave her, period - she usually did the leaving - but on the rare event, she tended more towards physical activity or a bender (or the former, followed by the latter) than towards a sob. Under other circumstances, Hillary might have been more sympathetic and kindly. But when you warn someone of the dangers posed by a hot stove, over and over, and that someone proceeds to hop up and plant her muscular bum right on the hot stove, it is rather hard to be sympathetic when she complains about the burn.

The two of them have an unusual relationship. He loves her more dearly than a brother would, but not as a lover would; he is not jealous of her lovers, but he does consider them all to be unworthy of her. If he cared to rank them, though, he thought as she yanked another tissue, Terry Sheridan would come in dead last.

There's no arguing with Lara when she wants something, and she wanted Terry. Understandable, in some ways; he was a handsome man, very charming, very capable, and there is no doubt in the minds of either Lara or Hillary that he loved Lara deeply. But Hillary knows that love is not always enough, and the depth of Terry's greed and ambition were greater than any love, Hillary was sure. It gave him no pleasure to be justified in his suspicions. He sighed and opened another box.

"I'm s.s.s.sorry." Lara wiped her eyes. "I just... thought he loved me."

"He did love you. He just happened to be a bastard. They're far from an endangered species."

"I was stupid, wasn't I?" Lara sniffed.

"Yes, you were."

Lara stopped sniffling and glared at Hillary. "You're a bastard, too, you know. You have no poetry in your soul."

Hillary was taken aback. "I do indeed have poetry, but I also have common sense. I find it useful."

Lara screwed up the current tissue and tossed it, dry, into the box. "One day, mark my words." She pulled off her button-down and tossed it onto the chair. "One day, you will do something equally stupid, and I will say 'Terry' and laugh, you twit." She stormed off towards the back yard in shirt-sleeves and shorts.

Hillary whistled as he picked up the shirt and carried it upstairs. She'll be back to herself again in no time.

xxxxxx

The house was filled with the clang of metal and the swoosh of displaced air falling back after being sliced through. Hillary was startled, and beginning to make the progression past startlement to exuberance. He actually had the upper hand in this brawl. Lara's preternatural agility and cunning almost always got the best of his greater reach and strength, but today, the swords danced weightlessly in his hands as he parried and thrust, and Lara was grudgingly giving ground. Her expression was becoming increasingly irate as she was pushed to the defensive.

As they crossed the doorway into the study, Bryce looked up from his current unnamable pile of project in response to the noise. The side of Lara's mouth quirked up, and she caught his thrust on crossed swords and said, in a voice too low for Bryce to hear, "Terry." And she laughed.

Seven years might just as well not have passed, as Hillary dropped his guard in surprise. She swept his feet, dropping him to the ground with a thud that made the desks shake, and swept a sword to his throat. She stopped with it resting gently across its windpipe. "I win," she said with a grin.

xxxxxx

Hillary showered and brooded. Had he truly fallen for Terry? He lathered his hair and thought about Bryce. Like Terry, he was charming. Unconventionally handsome where Terry was universally so, but handsome nonetheless. And in love - Hillary did not doubt that. But the negatives? Bryce was an emotional sink, pulling in emotion without yielding anything back. There was no affection in public, only stolen kisses and frantic sex in the dark. He was a boomerang; he would run, if held too close. So far, he had always come back, but the waiting without knowing if he would - ah, that was the indecision and fear that sent Lara to a chair with a box of tissues. Not knowing. Seeing someone who was both a lover and a stranger, and not knowing who he would choose to be the next time you met.

Hillary stood in the doorway of the study, toweling his hair dry, looking at the sharp jawline and intense stare of the stranger he loved. The intense stare was loving, enraptured - and directed at the pile of electronics in front of him. Hillary watched silently for uncountable minutes, and left as quietly as he had come in.

xxxxxx

He was awake as soon as Bryce's hand touched the doorknob. Old habits die hard; a mouse couldn't enter while he was sleeping without waking him up. He lay there, tense, sensing the soft footsteps approaching the bed; he lay awake as a lean body slipped under the covers next to him, and cool fingers touched his cheek. He shivered as thin lips touched his, stubble brushing his nose. The lips paused. "Wot?"

"You only kiss me in the dark."

A pause sat in the room like a third person, an unwelcome observer. Bryce finally evicted it. "You never visit my home." The lips withdrew, the mattress rose as a weight was lifted from it, and the soft footsteps retreated invisibly from the room.

xxxxxx

MI-6 agents were a rare and unwelcome sight at Croft Manor. Hillary offered them a seat and some tea, then gritted his teeth and hunted down Lara, knowing that he would be requested to offer them the door instead. He eventually persuaded her to meet with them. An icily polite conversation ensued. They attempted to ask for her help in the relevance of a statuette that they had found in a raid of a gunrunner's headquarters without actually admitting that they needed help. Lara attempted to tell them to have intercourse with themselves without actually using any common words for self-intercourse. Hillary tried to keep the temperature in the room above absolute zero. The statuette intrigued her, he could tell, and if she was going to take this job, she'd best not burn too many bridges. It was towards the end of this icy and uncomfortable conversation that Bryce came in from his trailer, unshaven and dressed in his normal layabout gear of slacks and an undershirt. He crossed in front of the impeccably suited MI-6 agents, bent down, and kissed Hillary throughly and with a great deal of tongue before continuing through to the kitchen with a "Mornin'" tossed behind. The agents coughed uncomfortably, and Lara hid her smile with a cup of tea.

Bloody hell, thought Hillary. Now I'll have to visit that trailer.