---beta'd by the lovely odakota_rose, to whom this fic is dedicated ---

[I'm sure it's a breach of etiquette to ask someone to work on something intended for them, but I'm certain she'll forgive me…]

Where I Follow

Chapter 1

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'Trouble, he will find you no matter where you go, oh, oh

No matter if you're fast, no matter if you're slow, oh, oh…'

- Lenka, Trouble is a Friend.

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It was a beautiful day on the Plateau. No storms on the horizon, no unusual phenomena ready to cause chaos, instead they were graced with clear blue skies and warm sun. The usual jungle cacophony was quieter today, and there was a lazy atmosphere that suggested predators and prey alike had decided to take the day off and spend some quality time doing nothing in particular.

Of course, not everyone could manage to maintain peace and quiet that well.

"We're lost."

"We're not lost," Roxton said confidently. The hunter was leading the way back to the treehouse, although he was being dogged every second by the doubt and mockery of his dark-haired companion.

"We're lo-ost," she repeated in an irritating sing-song voice.

"We are not lost, Marguerite. You may be, but have no fear, my superior tracking skills will lead us home."

"Superior! There are few tasks at which you are my equal, and as for superior…" she cocked her head to one side, pretending to give the matter serious thought, 'Well, your arrogance exceeds mine, I'll give you that."

"And being a shrew is one of your finer talents," he muttered under his breath as Marguerite continued her tirade.

"To keep going this way is pointless when the right way is in the opposite direction!" she insisted. "Why men are incapable of admitting they have no idea where they're going, why they can't just stop and ask for directions is- beyond me…" she trailed off, taking in the sight of a group of men headed in their direction. "Oh, look. Why don't we stop and see if they have any idea where we are?" she said.

"For the last time, I know where we are!"

Marguerite ignored this exasperated comment in favor of examining the strangers. She couldn't put a name to them, despite searching her memories from past experiences as well as Veronica's stories. They were a fairly homogenous looking group, brown-skinned and dark-haired, wearing rough brown tunics that only just covered their knees. "Bland, boring, functional- just barely decent," she noted with disdain. "Do you suppose they use Veronica's tailor?"

Her steps slowed as the men suddenly brandished weapons in a business-like manner, wielding a variety of swords and spears and clubs in their direction, looking like they were spoiling for a fight. Great, who'd we piss off now?

"Still think we should make enquiries with those fellows over there?" Roxton asked lightly, nonetheless betraying his anxiety by the firm grip he took on her arm to keep her in place, though it wasn't necessary. She had lost her desire to make their acquaintance.

"No need. The natives look preoccupied, we shouldn't inconvenience them."

"Good idea. They obviously don't believe in Veronica's minimalist attitude toward weapons," he said, pulling her back the way they had come. "I vote we don't wait around to determine whether they match her proficiency."

She looked over her shoulder, noted the threatening way the oncoming horde shook their weapons and then gave up all dignity and started running, Roxton keeping pace beside her. "Pity it took some primitives with clubs and spears to convince you to listen to me, Roxton," she couldn't help sniping at him as they ran through the jungle. "If you had just admitted I was right half an hour ago, we wouldn't be in this mess."

"Whose brilliant idea was it to slip off and go gem-hunting instead of heading straight back to the treehouse with the others?" he shot back.

"So let me get this straight, the rest of you can go off hunting for exotic trophies or foraging for rare plants-" Marguerite paused for a moment as she nearly lost her footing and reached up to keep her hat firmly on her head, then picked up without missing a beat, "- searching for missing parents or measuring scientific phenomena, and that's all good and well, but the moment I want to do something in my own interests, that's suddenly out of line?"

Roxton heaved a sigh of exasperation. "Why don't you save your breath, Marguerite?" He quickly glanced behind them and noted with relief that they were outpacing their pursuers. Perhaps luck was on their side for a change.

"Just admit that you're-" she began on a note of triumph, then abruptly let out a strangled shriek of surprise as men appeared right in front of her, dropping down from the trees all around them. They had walked- nay, run right into an ambush. "Of course, it would be our luck to run into savages with tactical training."

Marguerite whipped up her rifle but the press of bodies all around her prevented her from being able to lift it and fire. One of their attackers wrestled it out of her grasp and others held her arms pinned behind her back. "Roxton!" she called out, then gasped despite herself as she saw him receive a few brutal blows to the head, knocking him unconscious. He was bundled off immediately, while the men holding her had a brief discussion amongst themselves.

"Would it make a difference if I told you I wasn't with him?" she tried with a winning smile. They looked at her. "Never seen him before in my life. Really."

One of the natives took firm hold of her chin and stared at her thoughtfully, then nodded and gave an order to the rest, who began shoving her along. Marguerite sighed, but didn't see any other option except to go where she was bidden. She could, of course, dig in her heels like a stubborn mule and refuse to budge but that was hardly likely to work.

"Some days it just doesn't pay to get out of bed," she grumbled. Someone spoke sharply, then emphasized the command with the point of his spear. "Ow! Alright already, I'm going, I'm going!" she glared at him, then turned her head dismissively, shrugging out of his grip, making a point to jab him with her elbows, and then strode off quickly after the men bearing Roxton.

Behind her, a few men began to rant heatedly and she smirked. If she was going to be a prisoner, she was certainly not going to be a model of decorum or a paragon of sweetness and light. She didn't even try to be like that with people she liked- tolerated, rather, Marguerite hastily corrected herself- never mind brutes that abducted her.

As their conversation turned to more interesting channels, she slowed down a little in order to eavesdrop. Her mysterious linguistic abilities had surfaced, allowing her to understand their tongue, and she carefully kept her expression weary and resentful to keep from betraying her knowledge. At least she could find out why they were being taken prisoner, and hopefully figure out a way to avoid ending up dead.

She focused on Roxton as she walked, glaring at his unconscious figure. The least you could do is wake up and help me figure out how to escape instead of expecting me to rescue you. Make me do all the work, why don't you. Typical!

If she focused on her irritation, she could ignore the slowly simmering fear that lurked at the back of her mind. They would get out of this, one way or another. They always did.

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A/N: My first TLW fic, please be kind. Reviews are much appreciated. :D