Ruminations of a Butler
Disclaimer: I do not own Winston, nor any part of the Tomb Raider franchise.
Winston knows that what the spouses of the Crofts- three, now, whom he has seen in residence- go through. He knows their anxiety every time his charges leave with a full backpack and unstained clothing, and he knows their mixed relief and outrage when they return with bandages, burns, and clothing in shreds. He knows the pain at each grunt of hard landing, each gunshot and gasp. They learn to dread the sound of the grapple, knowing it means soaring over a two hundred foot drop more often than not.
He knows because he feels that too.
He knows they love the looks on a Croft's face when they're given new boots or gloves or guns as gifts, but hate knowing that at the same time they're going to be using them in the field, and that having chosen boots without the right amount of flex could be a death sentence. Or gloves that catch on old stone, or are too slippery to grip properly.
He knows the heart-clenching nausea when, as Crofts do, they scream upon leaping recklessly off a cliff into water.
Winston knows.
Author's Note: This is a side story to a fic I'm working on that hasn't been published yet, but I think it works well as a standalone too.
Winston knows that what the spouses of the Crofts- three, now, whom he has seen in residence- go through. He knows their anxiety every time his charges leave with a full backpack and unstained clothing, and he knows their mixed relief and outrage when they return with bandages, burns, and clothing in shreds. He knows the pain at each grunt of hard landing, each gunshot and gasp. They learn to dread the sound of the grapple, knowing it means soaring over a two hundred foot drop more often than not.
He knows because he feels that too.
He knows they love the looks on a Croft's face when they're given new boots or gloves or guns as gifts, but hate knowing that at the same time they're going to be using them in the field, and that having chosen boots without the right amount of flex could be a death sentence. Or gloves that catch on old stone, or are too slippery to grip properly.
He knows the heart-clenching nausea when, as Crofts do, they scream upon leaping recklessly off a cliff into water.
Winston knows.
Author's Note: This is a side story to a fic I'm working on that hasn't been published yet, but I think it works well as a standalone too.