MAIN CHARACTERS:  Roxton and Marguerite

SPOILERS:  Major spoiler for my story Stool of Penance.  Recommend that you read it first.  Don't think there are any episode spoilers.

DISCLAIMER:  I'm only playing with them, Sir Arthur and Mr. New Line.  Honest.  I'll put them back just the way they were.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:  This story has TWO endings!  They are equally valid, just written with a slightly different tone.  I couldn't choose between them, so I decided to post both.

With the change in posting rules at Fan Fiction net I have modified this story slightly so that I can rate it R.  It is a re-post.  Sorry about that.

"It has been touch and go for our lives," said Lord John, gravely, "and I could not think of a more rotten sort of death than to be outed by such filthy vermin.  I was sorry to fire my rifle, but, by Jove! there was no great choice."  The Lost World by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

Memory, at least, will never fail me, for so long as the breath of life is in me, every hour and every action of that period will stand out as hard and clear as do the first strange happenings of our childhood.  No new impressions could efface those which are so deeply cut.  The Lost World by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

**********

A diamond night, sharpened with
new life and ancient memories.

Tonight was his,
the essential thing.
Not yesterday
with tears
or tomorrow
with questions.
Just tonight.

..........

Challenger gracelessly plopped down beside Malone and Veronica, his long arms and legs flying out in several directions.  "Whew!  What a triumph!  I can't believe I actually did it!  Wasn't that wonderful?  I'm going to return with General Gengal and confer with Milady's alchemist colleagues.  They definitely have some secrets worth my time."  Challenger curtailed his self-congratulation when he took in Malone and Veronica's sober faces.  "So how is Bruiser coming along?  Is Marguerite over there with him?"

Malone looked across the glade to Marguerite's bent form.  In the firelight it was hard to be sure how she fared, but the dim white rectangle that was her blouse rocked from side to side.  She might be crying.

Veronica squeezed Malone's hand and whispered to him, "She's okay," and then answered Challenger for both of them.  "Bruiser didn't make it."

Challenger's satisfied smile collapsed.  "Oh no.  That is bad news.  Not a clean sweep after all.  I'm so sorry."  His eyes followed the direction of Malone's.  "How's Marguerite?"

Malone shook his head.  "Not so good."  Rolling to his knees, he climbed up to his feet.  "I think maybe you should talk to her.  She's been by herself for quite a while."  Taking advantage of a quick tug from Malone's offered arm, Veronica stood up as well then hand-in-hand the two of them took a few steps through the grass.  When Challenger didn't follow, Malone looked back.  "Professor?"

Challenger shook his head.  "I can't face Marguerite, Ned.  What would I say?  How am I to even live with her now?"

Somewhere along the line Malone had begun to slip into Roxton's patriarchal role.  He offered his best advice:  "I don't know, but you'll have to try."

Challenger sighed and rubbed his mouth with the back of a hand.  "You're right, of course, but I think I'll need some backup.  Wait here a minute, will you?"

"General Gengal, Marguerite still has a gun.  Perhaps you and your Lizards best wait here," Challenger said, holding up one hand to halt the small Lizard party.  "I'll talk to her first."  He handed the torch he carried to a Lizard, took a few steps forward, and spoke to the back of the silent, kneeling form.  "Marguerite?  It's George.  Can I talk to you?"

Marguerite didn't turn around.  "Talk away, George.  I'm listening."  Her voice had a giggly, happy sound.  That didn't bode well for Marguerite's mental state.  Marguerite bent over and whispered something to the dark shadow lying before her, something Challenger couldn't quite hear.

Challenger exchanged sad looks with Malone and Veronica.  He cleared his throat.  "I would have come sooner, but I just found out.  I'm sorry."  He swallowed.  This was even more difficult than he'd anticipated.  All he could see of Marguerite was the torchlight reflected off her white blouse, her brunette hair merged with the night.  "I'm sure Bruiser didn't suffer."

"Don't worry about it, George."  A pale oval of face appeared as Marguerite half turned to look at him.  Flickering torch-light glinted off the tears running down her face, but she seemed … yes, she was smiling.

How brave! Challenger thought.  We've all underestimated Marguerite.  But with her next words Challenger abruptly changed his mind – what seemed strength just might be insanity.

"But I guarantee you he's going to suffer.  A lot."  Marguerite jumped sideways as if she'd been poked in the ribs.  Her hand made a slapping motion behind her.  "Stop that!"

Seriously worried about Marguerite's mental state, Challenger took several more steps forward, followed closely by Malone and, further back, the Lizards.  The details of Marguerite's face sharpened, but her body blocked out most of Bruiser's corpse.  Malone stepped past Challenger.  The older man smiled in relief as the younger took the initiative.  Malone had become almost as adept as Roxton had been at handling Marguerite.  "We have to take Bruiser away now.  The General … the General wants to light the funeral pyre."

This time Marguerite laughed outright.  "Bruiser's going to have something to say about that, Ned."  A large shape arose between Marguerite and the dim coals of her dying fire.  It wasn't the wolf.  It had the broad shoulders and thick arms of a man.  Marguerite turned away from Challenger and Malone and put her hands on the man-shape's shoulders.  "John, be careful!  You shouldn't be sitting up yet!"

A resonant voice Challenger had thought never to hear again answered, "I'm fine, Marguerite."  Then a bit louder it boomed out, "Challenger?  Malone?  Could you give me a hand up?  Marguerite's absolutely determined to keep me flat on my back!"

The first to recover was the jungle-trained huntress, Veronica.  Very little surprised Veronica for long.  "Roxton!" she squealed.  She ran past Malone, went to her knees and squeezed past Marguerite to hug the man-shape.  "Oh God, Roxton, where have you been?  We thought you were dead."

Malone, perhaps not believing his own ears but certainly believing Veronica's, came next.  His grapple threatened to knock Roxton to the ground.  With both Malone and Veronica now crowding at Roxton's side, Marguerite was forced to move back.  "Hey, I was here first!"

Roxton chuckled at them all.  "Help me up, you two!  Where's Challenger?  I need to tell him that his four minutes weren't enough – Marguerite says I took more like five."

Between the three of them, Malone, Veronica and Marguerite, they had Roxton on his feet:  Malone and Veronica pulling on his arms and Marguerite saving Roxton's dignity with a last-second strategic save of the Lizard blanket that had been lying across his thighs.  Marguerite wailed, "Be careful of him!  He just died, you know!"

Challenger pushed through them all to embrace Roxton, his arms wrapping fiercely tight.  "You bloody bastard!" Challenger rasped.  He stepped back to hold Roxton at arm's length and inspect him.  "You were the wolf?  All this time you were the wolf?  And you didn't let us know?  You went through my sham of a cure and you didn't let me know?  If I'd had any idea …  You have a lot to make up for, Roxton!"

Marguerite thrust herself between the two men and squared off with Challenger.  "Get in line, George!  I'm taking him apart first!"  Everyone laughed, including Marguerite.  With all her sadness gone, she seemed human again, or at least as human as Marguerite ever got.

"How did you get past our sentries?" General Gengal demanded from the center of the glade.  In the excitement of Roxton's resurrection, the Lizards' undertaker detail had been forgotten.  The General's Lizards were lined up, swords drawn and arrows nocked, ready to bring down the new threat discovered in their midst – even though the nearly naked threat was patently unarmed.

Challenger bounded in the Lizards' direction.  "No, no, General!  May I present to you Lord John Richard Roxton, the true and loyal friend of His Imperial Majesty Tribune?"  Challenger wrapped an arm around the General's leather-clad shoulders and turned back to indicate the happy reunion.  "I swear.  It's truly the most wonderful thing I've ever seen!  He's risen from the dead!"

**********

Black lies outside of time
and pays truth only at midnight.

If it had been anyone
but him,
she would not
have cared and
said long gone.
And he would have,
she knew he would have,
if she'd asked.

..........

After things had finally calmed down, when Malone, Veronica and Challenger had all embraced and berated Roxton; after Challenger had scrutinized every inch of Roxton's skin and questioned him until Roxton's head spun; after General Gengal had demanded, and received, proof in the form of a short, shallow and bleeding cut on Roxton's hand that the Human no longer harbored the regeneration virus; after Milady had been introduced to Roxton and they'd embraced and congratulated each other as fellow resurrectees; and after the Lizard soldiers had hunted Roxton down a pair of breeches and cold dinner rations and lit Gorkal's lonely funeral pyre and built the campfires up again and re-posted fresh sentries – after all that, it had been late, and Roxton and Marguerite had lain down to sleep without any further chance for words, and although it was Roxton who'd been silent for two months, Marguerite spoke first.

"John, are you awake?"  Marguerite's whisper came from within the circle of Roxton's arms.  As the pleasant armful spoke, it twisted about to face him.  That put Marguerite's lips less than a breath away from Roxton's and her body even closer.  Through Marguerite's shirt, soft breasts pressed into Roxton's bare chest, their roundness shifting easily with every breath.  He could only suppose Marguerite had unfastened her camisole.  Of its own accord his investigating hand slipped within her half-unbuttoned blouse.  It found smooth, pliable softness, loose lace and an open invitation to further exploration.

Roxton had often slept within arm's reach of Marguerite, on the trail or on the run, but such proximity always strained his self-control.  And as the wolf he'd just spent two months watching Marguerite in every intimate privacy … and dreaming -- dreaming sweetly erotic fantasies that had been more precious than breath.

Roxton's hand took a survey of its newly conquered territory, the rounded slopes, the firmly flexible peaks and the deep valley in between.  Roxton's breath and sense left him altogether, and his body reacted apart from his mind and his mouth covered Marguerite's.  Both his hands moved to Marguerite's trim behind and pressed it as he surged against her, while his dreams merged with reality and he lost track of which was which.

Marguerite's hands held on tightly to Roxton's shoulders and her legs spread out.  She sucked his tongue.  Her pulse beat wildly against his chest.

It was all too much.  If one of them didn't stop, Malone, Veronica, Challenger and every Lizard on the plateau could be damned for all Roxton cared.  He'd have his Marguerite here, tonight, by this campfire, in front of them, and let them hide their eyes if they didn't want to watch.

Breathing fast, Roxton rolled away and onto his back.  Damn, these leather breeches were tight!  If he didn't take care, he'd burst a seam or hurt himself.  "I'm awake now, Marguerite.  Wuh-what is it?"

Marguerite closed the distance between them and began to slide a hand along his thigh.  He gently deflected her and quietly whispered, "No, love.  We'd better not."  So instead the hand went up Roxton's arm and massaged his head and neck, making him feel very much the wolf again.  She'd been doing exactly that same thing to him through a furry wolf coat only a few hours ago.

Minutes passed before Marguerite spoke.  Her voice sounded calmer than he would have expected.  "When you were Bruiser, did you dream?  The old woman, Jadna's mother, said I called you with my dreams."  There was a long pause.  Roxton had almost decided she'd finished when her whisper began again.  "After Bruiser … after you started sleeping in the tree house, I dreamed of you every night.  I dreamed …"

Roxton pushed himself up on an elbow and put a finger on Marguerite's lips.  He nodded to where Malone and Veronica's blond heads lay together not far away.  The two had been up and on the trail most of the night before and thankfully they'd slept through Roxton and Marguerite's little activity.  But Roxton had to know.  "You dreamt?" he asked softly.  She nodded.  "Let me guess – you dreamt about pistols, and … and target practice, right?"

Marguerite's smile arose like a luminescent plateau dawn.  Roxton could practically see it glow.  "Yes, you let me shoot my favorite gun."

A subdued version of Roxton's rumbling chuckle answered that.  "God, I wish we were alone.  I'd like to shoot it again."

Marguerite sighed.  "We aren't though."  She turned her head to look at the fire and their circle of sleeping friends.

Roxton pulled Marguerite's head back and bent his close.  "We will be.  I swear it.  Tomorrow."  He covered her lips with his and an adventuresome and eager tongue gave Marguerite further proof of his desire.

**********

Orange flames laddering the night
destroy death and blind bright regret.

She asks only tonight.
To please her,
he gives
his heat.
His passion.
His body
in hers.
He fills her soul again.

..........

"So just why were you here?" Malone asked, indicating the smoking lava field with the barrel of his rifle.  "If you weren't tracking Gorkal, what brought you to this particular bit of plateau?  It's not exactly what you'd call a happy hunting ground, even for a wolf."

Roxton raked a hand through the short bristly haircut Marguerite had given him this morning then tugged on his waistband.  Malone smiled.  Roxton had been tweaking his clothes quite a bit.  They must feel a little strange after running around barefoot and stark naked for two months.  Challenger had contributed a white undershirt, the Lizards had scrounged a pair of boots and socks out of the jumble of torn packs back at the camp, and Malone had offered his spare pistol.  With all that added to the tight black leather Lizard breeches, Roxton only lacked a hat to be fully clothed.

The General, Milady and Challenger were investigating Gorkal's dark lair for clues as to how and on what the monster had been dining the past few months.  Veronica with the Lizard soldiers checked in the rainforest for abnormal tracks.  Close by Roxton and Malone, Marguerite strolled, looking down into the crevice where Bruiser had nearly died, a frown on her face.  Roxton inclined his head in Marguerite's direction and whispered, "Not now.  I'll tell you about that later."

Malone nodded an understanding.  But as the two of them watched Marguerite, he remembered the details of their adventure here – the full moon and Bruiser's struggle to reach the lava-filled crevice.  Given Roxton's protective nature, suddenly it all made sense.  Malone put his hand on Roxton's shoulder and pulled him conspiratorially close.  "You were going to kill yourself, weren't you?  You thought you were a werewolf and you were going to dive into that lava pool."

"Malone!  I swear, man, if you tell her that, I'll eat your heart for lunch!"  Roxton's threatening growl sounded more wolf than human.

Malone grinned at the older man.  He hadn't realized how much he'd missed Roxton's granite solidity.  "Don't worry, your secret's safe with me.  But you should've let us …"

"And what secret is that, John?" Marguerite's voice asked from behind Roxton.

Roxton spun smoothly around.  His forced smile wouldn't have fooled a ten-year-old.  "Oh, uh, the secret of … the secret of why it takes you so long to get ready in the morning, Marguerite."

Marguerite folded her arms and gazed steadily at Roxton.  "John, you shouldn't lie.  You don't have the face for it."  Then aside to Malone, "Ned, if you want to live until tomorrow, you'll tell me this secret."

Scanning the rainforest that edged the barren lava field, Malone heartily wished for a savior, but Veronica didn't return.  "It's nothing really, Marguerite."  He tried to ignore Roxton's glower.  "We were comparing notes on the werewolf experience."

"Werewolf experience?"  Marguerite's eyes went round.  She looked at Roxton.  "You thought you were a werewolf, John?  Why … ?"  Marguerite stopped talking and looked towards the crevice.  Perhaps she too remembered the full moon that night, but Marguerite kept her thoughts inside her head, and only a frown escaped to indicate their direction.  She turned to Roxton.  "Where's Challenger got to?  He and Milady wanted to tell me something."

Roxton's hand and nod indicated the direction of Gorkal's foul lair, and without another word Marguerite left, her retreating steps applied forcefully to the innocent ground.

Malone closed with Roxton again.  Together they watched the departure of Marguerite's rigid back.  "I'm sorry, John.  She's awfully hard to lie to, you know."

"Down right scary, isn't she?"  Roxton's rueful smile accepted Malone's apology.

"Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?  I mean, apologize to her or whatever?"

"You've already done a lot, my friend, taking care of Marguerite when I couldn't.  But …"  Roxton's eyes narrowed into a speculative gleam, his hand rubbed his still smooth chin.  "… there is one thing.  Where do you think you and Veronica will be tonight?"

**********

Mottled jungle green, fed with lost time,
harsh as hunger, soft as sleep.

He tastes her, savors.
Lingers long.
Tongues soft folds,
the entries,
the curves.
Dines well
and waits.
Until she comes to him.

..........

"Damn the man," Marguerite muttered as she slapped a platter of cold smoked boar and sliced melon on the table in the great room.  "Challenger, why do I bother talking to you?  You're forever scaring the crap out of me."

Challenger, miles away with Malone, Veronica and the Lizard party, didn't hear.  And most likely wouldn't have answered even if he had.

For Marguerite, the morning had been so pleasant:  First, waking up to find Roxton's leashed passion pressed against her, an exciting hardness in the small of her back.  Then quietly watching with him as the early sun brought soft fire to the air.  After going with the Lizards to scatter Gorkal's ashes and saying Lizard prayers, she'd trimmed Roxton's hair to a cool short brush, and he'd leaned against her all the while and breathed quiet words about how beautiful she was and how much he longed to please her.  Roxton had felt warmly solid, and he'd smelled masculine and alive, and his hair had curled tightly around her fingers as though it too wanted to hold her close.

And Challenger had bloody smashed it all with his scientific facts.

Marguerite had tried to keep on a good-cheer face.  She was sure Roxton hadn't suspected the task that Challenger had set her:  To watch for relapse or deterioration.  "Don't worry," Milady had reassured Marguerite.  "It's just a precaution, but if you can find excuses to inspect Lord Roxton's body, it would be a good idea.  Just for the next day or so."

"Exactly how long?" Marguerite had demanded, wanting to know when this new torture would end.

Milady's scaly Lizard brow had wrinkled.  "Oh, I don't know.  Let's say – through tomorrow morning.  Yes, another day should be enough, wouldn't you say, Doctor Challenger?"  Milady had turned to where Challenger had stood just a moment ago, but he and General Gengal had already left Gorkal's lair.

A minute later Malone and Roxton had joined Marguerite, and there'd been no further chance for questions.  The two men had seemed blissfully unaware of her upset – or perhaps they were just ignoring her.

Marguerite wouldn't have worried so much, if it weren't for Roxton's beard.  Such a silly thing to worry about, his beard.  Especially since she'd always abhorred it.  But it normally grew so fast he always seemed to have five-day's growth, and its stiff bristles usually tickled when they kissed.  Tonight, a full twenty-four hours since Roxton's resurrection, he ought to have at least an eighth-inch of dark stubble, but although Roxton hadn't shaved today, he still had no beard.  Marguerite didn't like it, not at all.  It suggested that Roxton's body had other hidden and more critical failures.

Late in the afternoon Veronica had whispered in Marguerite's ear as they loaded a pack with water and journey bread, "What's wrong?  You look miserable.  Are you worried about the hike back to the tree house?  Ned said you two wanted to be alone, but we could come with you."

Marguerite had answered quickly.  "No!  Don't you dare!"  Looking into Veronica's innocent young face, Marguerite saw true concern.  "It's nothing.  Challenger and Milady say there's a remote chance Roxton might relapse.  I'm a little worried, that's all.  You know me -- a worry a day keeps the witch doctor in ju-ju beads."

Veronica studied Marguerite's tense smile.  "There's nothing they can do if …?"

Marguerite shook her head vigorously, sending her unbraided dark mane flying, and muttered a choked, "No, nothing."

Veronica's transparent face showed her own worry, but she didn't speak of it.  "Then the best thing you can do is to tell Roxton how you feel.  All of it.  The truth.  It's the only thing you can do."  Veronica pushed back Marguerite's loose hair from her face.  "If you don't, you'll regret it the rest of your life.  You know that now, don't you?"

"You make it sound so easy," Marguerite snapped but her anger flip-flopped as soon as she heard her own harsh words.  "No, I didn't mean that.  I'm sorry."  She put a hand on Veronica's arm.  "I'll try.  Believe me, I'll try.  And I wish you the greatest happiness with Ned.  He's a fine man.  It's been so nice watching you two get close."

Veronica laughed and looked to where Malone talked to Roxton and Challenger.  Seeing her eyes on him, Ned raised his eyebrows in question.  Veronica blew him a kiss.  He smiled.  "I owe it all to you, Marguerite, and watching you try to live without Roxton.  I didn't want that kind of regret in my life.  You've gone through Hell."

Hell would have been a more pleasant abode than where Marguerite had spent the last two months, but Marguerite had news for Veronica – her subterranean residence hadn't finished yet.  Roxton was only flesh-and-blood.  He wouldn't live forever.  If nothing else, Marguerite had absorbed that lesson.  Her only certainty with him was tonight, and as Veronica had counseled, Marguerite must use it wisely.

Marguerite went to the cupboards for their last bottle of Challenger's red melon brandy.  The next batch wouldn't be ready to drink for a several more weeks, but she felt sure the others would sympathize with her need to celebrate, to loosen up and forget.  Her heart kept whispering to her that she had nothing to remember Roxton, no pictures or drawings, nothing to hold against her heart and keep forever.  She needed that.  She needed tonight.  She wanted it, she wanted him.

But it had been a long, difficult day, and an interminable hike home and she'd already irretrievably disappointed Roxton.  In typical Roxton form, he'd been so impatient he'd wanted to find a safe place and stop along the way.  At one point he'd halted beneath a large tree and pointed at a wide, flat fork about ten feet off the ground.  "This looks good, don't you think, Marguerite?  Safe, comfy.  We spread your blanket up there, and it'd be as nice as Claridge's in London.  Fresh air, beautiful scenery, birdsong for our music.  It'd be our love nest.  What do you say?"

After her meeting with Milady and Challenger, Marguerite had lost the mood and all she could think was, What if you fall and hurt yourself?  What am I to do then?  She'd unthinkingly snapped, "You must be kidding, Roxton.  Out here?  In front of God and everybody?  I don't think so."  Ignoring his hurt look, she'd marched on.  He'd been distant ever since.

Marguerite needed to return to this morning's mood and the excitement and pleasure Roxton had offered.  She had to have it back.  Tonight was her everything.  The rest of her life in the next twelve hours.  She would please him.  She would tell him her heart.

**********

Flag red, waves, ocean blue and white:
England island-striped yesterday.  Gone.

Her hands ask
and find
him waiting.
He knows
her shape
and where he fits.
They move.

..........

Marguerite lifted her brandy in another toast.  "To us … no, I think this time to you, John.  To my hero, my shining knight."  When Roxton didn't lift his glass in return, she leaned over and clicked his with hers.  "To you, John."

Marguerite had transformed once again.  From the temptress of last night and this morning, in the afternoon she'd transmuted to a tight-mouthed spitfire, and tonight … Roxton didn't know what to call her tonight:  Maudlin?  Morose?  She seemed sad.  A unique Marguerite watched him across the table full of dirtied dishes.  He'd never seen her quite like this.

Not sure if Marguerite had been teasing him, Roxton laughed and shook his head.  "Me?  A hero?  You've mistaken me for someone else, Marguerite.  I only want to stay alive."

"No, you want everyone else to stay alive."  Marguerite looked into her goblet at the faint candlelight rainbowing through the rich red liquid.  Did her voice have just the slightest slur?  "You, Lord Roxton, you're our scapegoat, our sacrificial ram.  Whenever the plateau demands a blood sacrifice, you open your veins and give it."

She took a sip of brandy and Roxton tried to speak, but Marguerite wouldn't let him.  "No!  Don't you dare contradict me, John!  You've offered to die for me a dozen times."  Marguerite's beautiful eyes began to fill with tears.  "You're my hero.  You'll always be my hero."  She slipped from her chair and came to kneel by Roxton's.  Her arms went to his waist, her head to his chest.  She held on to him without further words.

Roxton stroked Marguerite's dark hair.  There'd been no sarcasm in her voice; she'd meant everything she'd said.  Two years ago, even one year ago, Roxton might have tried to joke Marguerite out of this, might have told her something silly like, I'm not as smart as Challenger so I make do with what I have.  Lightness wouldn't serve anymore.  She'd become too vulnerable, too patently in love.  That last thought made his heart skip a beat.  "What brought this on?" he asked softly.  "You've been unhappy all afternoon and now this paean.  I'm overwhelmed."

Marguerite sniffled into his chest.  "Nothing.  Just missed you."

"I don't believe you, Marguerite.  You're frightened."  He kissed her forehead and tried to remember the early part of the day and just when Marguerite's spirits had sunk.  "Was it Malone talking about werewolves?  He was just …"

"It wasn't Malone!  It wasn't anyone."

"Challenger then.  Challenger and Milady told you something that gave you a scare."  He considered the possibilities.  "Am I not out of the woods yet?"  He lifted her chin so he could look into her eyes, but they skipped away.  "That's it, isn't it?"  He pushed Marguerite back a little so she could clearly see his face, if she could only bring herself to look.  "Do you trust me, Marguerite?"

Marguerite's gaze snapped back to Roxton.  Her eyes searched his.  Her waiting tears overflowed and she let them fall unheeded.  Roxton forced himself to ignore them too.  "You've made me trust you, John.  Before there was you, I didn't trust anyone."

"Then trust me on this:  I am not going to die tonight."  To be honest, Roxton didn't know that for sure, but Marguerite didn't need more uncertainty, and he hung his faith on Challenger, who surely would have come with them if there'd been any real danger.  Even the heedless scientist wouldn't leave Marguerite to cope with that alone.  Roxton's finger traced through the tears running down Marguerite's cheek.  "Now tell me that you believe me."

"I … I believe."  The words came out reluctantly.  Marguerite said it only because he'd demanded.  But she had said it and perhaps now she breathed just a bit easier.

Roxton brought his fingers, wet with Marguerite's tears, to where he could see the shine.  "Look at that – I've made you cry some more.  That's all I seem to do lately.  I'm sorry."

Marguerite's tremulous smile came out.  "You should be.  I'm getting dehydrated here.  Hand me my brandy, would you please?"

"That's my girl!"  Roxton's laugh boomed as he pulled Marguerite up.  "Up you go now!  Here sit on my lap.  That's right."  He hugged her tight then reached for her brandy.  But as Roxton leaned to the side, his stick chair protested its double load with a series of pops.  That was followed by a gunshot-loud crack announcing critical structural failure.  The chair gave way, and chair, Roxton, and Marguerite collapsed in a muddled and giggling heap on the floor.