Miles is well-acquainted with the meaning of pear-shaped, but any day he gets dragged off by the guys shooting at them is usually a bad one. He knows the cavalry will arrive eventually -- he hopes -- but the job has to get done, too, and is it really so much to hope for both?

He's looking a little worse for the wear, panting and with a contusion on his cheek and a bloodied lip, but he could look a lot worse. He'd just sort of stared when Lara burst into the room and taken out that guard, and he blinks his eyes back into focus, focusing on her. God, the woman's a damned force of nature.

"I could do without the fast-penta hangover, but on the other hand, I haven't got any broken bones, so I'll take it." He eyes the crowbar and a cracked laugh escapes his throat. A crowbar, of all things. Anyone else would have stolen a stunner, but Lara Croft used a crowbar. "Couldn't find a bow and quiver?"