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After 'Trapped': Time to Recalculate
By Pam
Challenger was still somewhat disoriented from being tumbled about by the dual explosions that day, and the younger members of the tree house family adjusted their pace through the jungle to accommodate him.
Roxton and Marguerite were also still a little groggy, after being exposed to the coal gas and the decreasing supply of oxygen in the cave, so Veronica took point and Finn brought up the rear as they made their way home.
Finn regaled the couple ahead of her with a humorous account of Challenger's behavior since she and Veronica had stumbled across the professor in his amnesia-induced wanderings. Poor George went nearly as red as his hair as Finn dryly recounted the scientist asking if the two blonde plateau girls were his wives, before he had finally decided they were his daughters instead.
John and Marguerite were hard pressed not to collapse in laughter at her wry recitation of George's egotistical assumptions about himself, before his memory had returned. The hunter teased, "Really, George, you can't be content with being the world's greatest scientist, you have to be a writer, a singer, a dancer, an author, and the world's greatest fisherman, too?!"
A smile played about Veronica's lips as she listened to George's embarrassed, stammering, self-conscious explanations in defense of his reasoning about his possible occupations, each one "perfectly logical" to his way of thinking, even now.
The good natured teasing continued all the way back to the tree house, where Veronica thoroughly checked George's two goose-egg-sized bumps, while Roxton and Marguerite made a light dinner and Finn set the table. As soon as George had eaten an acceptable amount of fruit and vegetables, Veronica and Finn managed to convince the beloved scientist that he should allow his "daughters" to send him off to bed, so he could get his much needed rest.
He went, protesting all the way that he really felt just fine. But he let them tuck him into his bed, rather liking being fussed over like this.
It rather made him realize how much he missed Jessie, his long- suffering wife. He fell asleep thinking about how much she would like their "children" here on the plateau.
Only when they saw that he was safely asleep did the two young ladies turn their attention to Roxton and Marguerite, who were nearly done cleaning up after the meal. The two young ladies joined the older pair in the kitchen, asking for more detail about their adventures while trapped in the cave.
They were startled by Roxton's account, for even though he played it down, it was clear that it had been a near-death experience for the couple.
Marguerite contributed little to the story, refraining from commenting most of the time. But she did chime in to make it clear that it was John who had figured out how to save their lives. She told the spell- bound younger members of the "family" how he had figured out how to slow the influx of gas, and stayed alert to the additional cracks, making the necessary repairs with mud from the edge of the water in the pit. And her account of how he finally provided for their actual escape from the cave by exploding the gas ( while protecting them from the fireball by submerging themselves in the water at the bottom of the cave's pit ) had both girls exclaiming over both the danger and the success of the move.
Marguerite's generous praise pleased the handsome Lord, and the admiration of the other two women made him flush as he shrugged off their accolades. But the way the heiress was avoiding his eyes as they finished washing the dishes troubled him.
Veronica saw the way his dark eyes followed Marguerite's movements, and the way the older woman wouldn't look at him, and realized more had happened than either John or Marguerite were saying.
Marguerite's movements were increasingly distracted, until she finally just put down the last dish without finishing, and walked away, going out to the balcony in the dusky twilight.
The hunter wasted no time in following her, oblivious to the interest their actions had generated in the two younger women.
Veronica picked up the neglected dish, and finished washing it, then handed it to Finn to dry. Finn took it automatically, straining to watch the older couple in the fading light as Roxton reached Marguerite's side. "What do you think happened, Vee?" she asked curiously.
"I don't know, but we should give them some privacy," Veronica decided, correctly recognizing the familiar defensive posture of the mysterious dark haired beauty as the tall hunter bent his head to speak to her.
Veronica started out of the kitchen, heading toward the stairs, but paused and turned back as Finn didn't follow her lead. "Finn!"
"What?"
"Time for bed," Veronica said firmly to the younger girl.
"What, now? I'm not tired," replied the girl from the future, eyes still on the couple on the balcony.
Veronica sighed. When she was younger, she had often wished for sisters, but at the moment she was having trouble remembering why.
First she got Marguerite with all her moodiness, and now she had this . . . pesky, incredibly naïve younger bundle of energy and curiosity to deal with!
"Finn, you did all that flipping and tumbling, helped with George's experiment, took a nice long hike in the jungle, and it's getting late. You MUST be tired."
"Nope. Not tired," Finn shrugged.
"Leave them alone."
"I'm not bothering them, Vee," the younger blonde turned to glare at her. "I just want to see what they do next. They're fun to watch. Maybe they're going to have another fight!"
Veronica lost patience. "Go to bed," she hissed, "Or I'm going to break your crossbow into tiny little pieces and bury every one of them!"
Finn's eyes widened. Veronica respected weapons too highly to make idle threats about such things. She meant it! She really wanted Finn to leave Lord Roxton and Marguerite to themselves!
Veronica was waiting pointedly, so Finn reluctantly preceded her down the stairs to their bedrooms. "Spoil sport!" she muttered, but didn't dare disobey the irate jungle beauty's mandate. Her cross bow was like her right arm, and she didn't want to risk losing it.
Neither John nor Marguerite noticed the by-play in the kitchen.
She hadn't responded to his question about what was wrong, and refused to even glance over at him. Her arms were wrapped around herself, and she was very tense.
Was she mad about something?
John searched his memory of the walk home. Had he said, or done, something that could have upset his lady? He didn't think so.
He finally leaned forward on the rail beside her, and studied her profile.
Her lovely mouth was tight, turned down a bit at the corners, and her green eyes shimmered with unshed tears.
No, not mad . . . grieving yet again.
"Marguerite," he whispered tenderly, intuitively knowing what was hurting her. "It's what I said, isn't it?"
They both remembered clearly what he had said in that cave. She swallowed hard, gave him a fleeting look - just long enough to glimpse the pained regret in his own dark eyes - then faced the jungle again.
She nodded slowly. "You were right," she told him huskily. "You have put up with everything I've thrown at you. I have been full of contradictions, deceptions, mixed signals, and . . . secrets. But you have been faithful to me, in spite of everything. And I have taken everything you've given to me, and haven't given anything back - "
"Whoa! Hold it right there, my dear," John interrupted, taking hold of her shoulders and turning her to face him. He gently tilted her chin up, making her meet his concerned brown eyes. "I was angry. You know I didn't really mean all of that."
"You said you did mean it! And people often say what they truly mean, when they are angry," she whispered forlornly. "You know it was the truth, John. Even Tribune could see that I'm cold . . . and . . . empty . . ."
John winced. "No, you're not. You're just as I've said from the very beginning. Remember what I told you the very first night we arrived at this tree house? I said you were a woman of fire and steel, remember? Fire isn't cold."
"Besides, if you're going to quote my words today, remember what else I said. I told you I've seen your anger and your sadness and your laughter, amongst other things, remember? You aren't empty or cold, Marguerite. I was just angry at not being able to get us out of there, and I lashed out at you, saying things I knew would hurt you. I didn't mean them at all."
He caressed her cheek gently, anxiously watching to see if his words eased her grief, but saw that the sad tears still shimmered in her green- gray eyes. So he went on, "And you don't just take from me, either. You've given me plenty in return."
His beautiful lady wrinkled her nose, and jeered with lip curled in self-disgust, "I've called you names, endangered your life, led you on then walked away more times than I can remember -"
"Defended my shooting my brother as accidental, stood up for me when I was facing Rice, believed in me and trusted me with your life more times than I can count - including today! - you've saved my life at least a dozen times, kept me company on late night watches, brightened my days with your smiles, kept me on my toes with your schemes and games, kept me angry enough sometimes to give me just the adrenaline push I needed to overcome the odds . . ." He stroked her cheek again, tenderly. "You've let me see the real you over and over, Marguerite. I think that's where the mixed signals come in."
Her brow furrowed in puzzlement.
So he elaborated, "In the cave, you said you have no emotions, just calculated responses and . . . what was it? Oh yes, poor imitations of feelings you once knew how to express. I believe that's how you put it. But I've seen your feelings. You've shown tenderness for Summerlee, affection for Veronica, respect for Challenger, worry over Ned's absence, patience with Finn . . . And you've shown compassion for others, and love for me. All of those are gifts, Marguerite, given when your emotions, the real you, sneak past those calculated responses of yours, the ones you've cultivated over the years in order to protect yourself and to survive alone."
He had her full attention now, and the sheen of tears was lessening as she considered his words. She was studying his open expression as he spoke, drinking it all in alertly.
Roxton kissed her cheek gently, and smiled. "Do you remember what else I told you today in that cave?"
Marguerite moistened her lips, a soft light of wonder in her eyes as she nodded; she remembered, and was grateful for his astonishing words, though she didn't believe them.
"It was true, Marguerite. You're a better person than you let yourself believe, you know." He grinned down at her, though his eyes were perfectly sincere. "And you really do deserve much more than you allow yourself to have, as I told you. So here's what we're going to do."
He drew her into his arms, looping them about her slender waist and leaning back against the rail, pleased that she accepted the embrace, and that she still listened, albeit a little warily.
He chose his words carefully. "You've got these . . . calculated responses . . . cultivated out of necessity during the past. But you're not a triple agent any more, or an international jewel thief wanted on five continents, -"
"Technically," she was compelled to point out dryly, "I believe there's quite a healthy contingent that would disagree about whether I'm still wanted on at least a couple of those continents."
John paused, then nodded. "We can deal with, er . . . healthy contingents . . . some other time, my dear. Right now it's YOU we're dealing with. And you're not alone in your struggle to survive any longer. You have Challenger, Veronica, Ned, Finn, and me to help you make it. You don't need to protect yourself with those carefully calculated responses of yours any longer. So . . ." he grinned down at her again, boyishly, noting that her green-gray eyes were no longer tear-filled at all. "I propose that we start working on recalculating those responses - or, if you will, un-calculating your responses and helping you stop suppressing those emotions that are ACHING for release," he teased, "So you can keep on telling me you love me - without the 'buts' that make up the mixed signals. What do you say, my dear? Shall we try it?"
Marguerite regarded him with doubt - doubt of John as well as of herself. "That could take a really long time, John. I've spent most of my life learning those calculated responses. I'm bound to forget, and let you down, over and over."
He understood. "You're more than worth as long as it takes," he assured her, and saw the flash of pain she automatically suppressed. He knew she was remembering how he had told her she wasn't worth his effort. He had told her that he was giving up on her, and that they were through. He really had done a lot of damage when he had vented his temper on her like that today.
"Marguerite," he said softly, drawing her eyes again. "Calculated response moment. Don't hold it in. Let's work on it together. Don't just push the emotions away. Think it through. Didn't I let you down when I said those things to you today, in anger?"
"Yes," she admitted huskily, "But I deserved it. I was being a jerk."
"Maybe. But you didn't get mad back. You didn't tell me off. You just withdrew. Later, when I said I was sorry I lost my temper, and even right now, you didn't tell me I hurt you or argue about it. You just kept it all inside, trying to handle the emotions on your own. But you're not alone. You don't have to respond alone any longer."
Marguerite studied his handsome face thoughtfully. "You want me to talk to you about . . . my feelings?"
"Exactly," he nodded enthusiastically.
She was clearly still doubtful. "How will that change anything?" she asked.
Roxton rubbed her back gently, and said softly, "Do you remember when you leaned on my shoulder, and held my arm . . . and reached for my hand?" She had been trembling so badly, so afraid he would reject her, despite his apology and his declaration that he would give his last breath for her. But she had reached out to him, her need for contact with him, for his comfort, stronger than her habitual self-sufficiency. "Didn't it make a difference when I held your hand in response?"
Marguerite blushed. "You know it did," she whispered. When he had squeezed her hand back, it had meant the world to her, easing her fear and loneliness.
"But nothing was changed," he pointed out. "We were still trapped with no way of escape."
"Everything was changed -" she started to retort, then stopped. "Oh, I see." She had still been frightened, confused, and hurting. But she had been immeasurably comforted because she wasn't alone. And there had been hope again, because John was holding her hand back, not rejecting her.
"Right," he nodded wisely. "So when these little moments occur, when I see you responding in the old ways, then I propose pointing it out. Then we can talk it through together. It will help you realize when you're doing it, and we can work on changing the responses you've built up to survive the war and life alone as the Vienna Black Widow and the mysterious Miss Krux."
She smiled at his teasing references to her reputation.
"What do you say? Are you willing to try?"
It was a more than generous offer from this gentle, patient man.
Marguerite lifted a hand to his cheek. This man's love, so nearly lost today, was a precious thing, unlike anything she had ever experienced before. He just wouldn't quit!
He hadn't quit today, either, while they had been trapped in that tomb.
Even when logic had dictated that there was no hope, when he had tried everything possible . . . John had never quit.
And he wasn't going to quit on Marguerite. Not now, . . . Maybe not ever!
Thank God!
Not only was he willing to keep her secrets safe, and to wait for her to be comfortable with revealing them to him, but he was willing to talk her through her confusing morass of emotions. What had she ever done to deserve such generous love from this incredible man?
"I'll try," she promised solemnly. "Because you deserve much better than what I am, Lord Roxton, and if you're truly determined to stick with me, then I'll try to be a better person, for you." Her green-gray eyes met his with determination to try, if not with confidence in her success.
"That's my girl," he beamed, but added seriously, "One of these days, Marguerite, you're going to find out that you're not the bad person you think you are. You're one very special lady, and we're going to rediscover her, one step at a time. Okay?"
"If YOU say so, Lord Roxton, " she replied airily, though his belief in her made her blush again, "Then who am I to argue?"
He chuckled, and tugged her closer. "Hold onto that thought, my dear. I'm sure you're going to argue plenty as we go on from here. But that's okay. I like you feisty. And I'm tough. I can take it. Now," he smoothed her dark hair as he felt her begin to relax wearily against his broad chest. "How about a little practice. Care to answer a question?"
Cautiously, Marguerite nodded.
"Why were you so spooked in the cave? I don't think I've ever seen you so rattled," he watched her closely, curiosity clear in his warm brown eyes. "Even before I lost my temper you were jumpy, and afterwards you were . . ." he paused for lack of a good description.
"Afterwards, I was totally paranoid," she admitted with a sigh. "I don't know what it was, John. But from the moment I saw those Celtic runes, and read them . . . Abandon all hope, ye who enter here . . . I just had this really strong feeling that I was going to die beyond that door, very unpleasantly. I couldn't shake it. Especially after we found the tomb, and the woman with the same birth mark as mine. " She shivered at the strong memory, then shook it off and confessed a little shyly, "Although it was better when you were with me, close like this."
She sighed, and rested her head against his shoulder, eyes drifting closed. "I always feel safer near you. There's just something about you, Lord Roxton . . ."
He kissed the top of her head, arms tightening reassuringly about her. "Maybe I should see you to your room, so we can get some rest," he suggested, seeing how weary she was.
"Mm. Rest sounds lovely," she murmured.
She didn't object when he scooped her gently into his arms and carried her down to her bedroom. She really was so tired . . . "John?"
"Yes?" He settled her gently on her bed, and proceeded to pull off her boots for her. She'd had such a long, strenuous day, and the gas in the cave had affected Marguerite much more than it had his stronger constitution. And not only had the coal gas depleted her energy, but her emotions had sent her through a wringer today as well.
He remembered his alarm as he'd realized how much trouble she was having just catching a breath as they descended into the water pit in the cave. And yet she had let him lead her down, where the gas was even more deeply gathered, trusting him despite her fear and fragile control.
She didn't even open her eyes, completely pliant as he removed her gun belt and knife sheath from her slim waist. "I love you." It was just a faint whisper of sound, but he heard her.
John set her boots against the wall, put her weapons over the back of her chair, then sat beside her on the bed. The whispered words had been her last conscious thought.
"Goodnight, my love," he whispered. "Sleep well. Pleasant dreams." He kissed her forehead, then tugged off his own boots and stretched out beside her.
He didn't want her to wake up alone in the morning, with any time to re-establish those walls she habitually kept around her heart. She had told him she loved him, and she had accepted his idea for helping her to re- learn expressing her true feelings. He had no intention of letting her take a step backwards if she woke alone and uncertain. So he wouldn't give her time to be alone just yet; he would stay with her until he was more certain that she wasn't going to try to back away again.
She really was amazing, having come so far already. What she had needed to do and be for most of her life to protect herself and to stay alive, all alone, would have been impossible for most people. And now, finding herself here with the other explorers these past three years, no longer alone, she had faced a genuine struggle to find some balance between the old, cold hard realities of her life and the new desire to belong to this little "family".
He had partially understood the struggle Marguerite was going through, at least subconsciously, but he had fully realized it today when she had denied having emotions, and had used that phrase - "calculated responses" - along with her sad, bitter self-evaluation of the "poor imitations of feelings I once knew how to express".
Well, now he would be able to help her change those calculated responses, and find ways to free her to be the charming woman he knew her to be, the who had so much love to give.
Marguerite stirred a little, brow creasing as something troubled her dreams. He drew her close, and smiled as her brow smoothed. She curled up against him, as she had in the cave, and relaxed again, comforted by his warmth and strength.
Lord John Roxton relaxed as well, and closed his own eyes.
All in all . . . to quote one of Marguerite's favorite sayings . . . Could this day get any better? |
