Disclaimer: Yes, you know it by heart now. These characters (except Sinnia) aren't mine. And I am still terribly poor.
Rating: G
Spoilers: None
Time frame: Third year
Family Ties
by Colorado
Veronica awoke with a start. She sat upright in bed, every muscle tense, her sharply honed instincts telling her something was out of the ordinary. She quickly looked around the room. Her clothes were neatly draped over a chair where she had set them; her parents' photo was on the nightstand.
But something was different. She listened intently. No voices drifted over from the living area, no pots and pans were banging in breakfast preparation. Only silence.
She was alone in the tree house.
With a laugh, she tossed back the covers. This was the day she'd long been waiting for.
Veronica walked effortlessly into the living area without bothering to get dressed. She often had spent her early mornings this way, a habit she quickly broke when she invited the Challenger Expedition to live with her. It was one of many things she missed about living alone. But today she would enjoy all of them.
She made a light breakfast of fruit and bread, basking in the peaceful silence and remembering the previous morning.
"Are you sure you'll be OK?" Ned had asked her anxiously. If it had been anyone else, Veronica would've quickly shown him she was well skilled in being OK. But looking into Ned's blue eyes and their unmasked concern, she could only nod.
"I'll be fine," she replied. Ned and Challenger had planned for weeks to go to Shadow Mountain to observe meteorological conditions. On the day they were scheduled to leave, Summerlee had good news for Marguerite. The raven-haired heiress had experienced certain physical difficulties after being bit by a spider months earlier. Summerlee was able to help her with all of them, except her inability to become pregnant.
"Not that I want to have a baby," Marguerite had stammered to the group, blushing furiously. "But should that day come, I want to be able to."
Veronica had almost burst out laughing, not at her friend's heartfelt explanation, but at Lord John Roxton's facial expression. It alternated between seriousness, happiness, and sheepishness.
Summerlee and Sinnia, the Zanga medicine woman, had consulted on Marguerite's condition. Then, yesterday morning, Summerlee reached a breakthrough in creating an herbal cure that required he and Marguerite to go to the Zanga village at once. Of course, Roxton wanted to accompany them. They left shortly before Challenger and Malone were set to go.
"Why don't you catch up with Roxton and Marguerite? I'm sure Assai would be thrilled to see you," Malone suggested. "Or change your mind and come with us."
"Ned, you and Challenger need to get going. I'll be fine," she assured him.
And so she sat alone in the kitchen, her tree house entirely hers for the first time in two years.
Something sparkling caught her eye on a nearby chair. She walked over and pulled out an egg-size sapphire from the cushion.
"Marguerite," she said half amused half annoyed. The heiress who had funded the expedition was constantly on the lookout for precious gems. Veronica knew many different types of people on the plateau, but none as self-centered as Marguerite had been when they first met.
"My dear, you have to understand," Summerlee tried to explain after Marguerite had helped herself to Veronica's father's silk robe. "Marguerite grew up alone, abandoned by her parents. She will always consider her self-preservation first."
"But I grew up alone, too!" she exclaimed. Summerlee had looked at her over the rims of his glasses and stroked his woolly beard.
"Yes, but you know your parents loved you. From what I've gathered, Marguerite has no such foundation."
Dear Summerlee. If she had known either of her grandfathers, she hoped they would've been like Arthur Summerlee. His kindness made her feel safe and protected.
Veronica tossed the gem high into the air and easily caught it. She turned and walked to Marguerite's bedroom. The older woman had changed over the past two years, and Veronica could now call her a friend. She was an Englishwoman, like her mother was. The expedition's origins were the same as her parents'—that alone made them closer to her than nearly anyone else on the Plateau.
She placed the stone on the bed and remembered Roxton and Marguerite's departure the day before. Marguerite looked scared but determined as she put on her hat.
"Here goes nothing," she said with a forced smile. The two women embraced. Then Marguerite joined a serious Roxton in the elevator.
"Good luck!" was all Veronica could think of to say.
Veronica went to her room and got dressed. She laughed at herself—she could hardly remember the last time the whole day stretched before her without Roxton wanting to hunt or Challenger needing help with an experiment. It reminded her of Family Sundays.
"I haven't thought of that in years," she said wistfully and hugged her pillow. Her parents insisted that Sundays be set aside for family activities. After a Bible lesson in the morning, the three would play games or go for leisurely walks or have a picnic. But after her parents disappeared, Veronica rarely played games. Her life became about survival.
Veronica looked at her parents' photo with a frown. Had she seen this image so many times that it was becoming her memory of them? At times she could barely remember their voices. The vow she made as a child to find them was still strong, and yet….
She lingered in her room and thumbed through her painting collection. The one she had painted of Roxton when the group first moved in was one of her favorites. She had sketched him unaware one day as he cleaned his prized guns. He had looked over at the watering hole, and she quickly captured the expression that flitted across his face. It was a look of hope, desire, and gentleness. Moments later Marguerite had walked into view.
Veronica had found the Englishman attractive, but the brother-sister relationship they had developed was deeper than anything else could be. They shared the same sense of adventure, the same levelheaded survival mechanisms, and the same views on loyalty. She trusted Roxton with her life.
She gathered up her painting supplies and went into the living area. She turned around, looking for her favorite brush and then remembered she had left it in the lab.
Challenger's lab was quiet for once and unusually clean. How many times did she sneak down these same stairs to watch her father work? Challenger was like her father in his dedication to scholarship, but Tom Layton had a relaxed air about him. He would always greet her with a hearty laugh and open arms.
Challenger intrigued her. He was a genius by anyone's standards, and his absorption in his work reminded her of her father. She didn't mind Challenger using her father's lab—she only wished it was her daddy she saw at the microscope.
Veronica took her gear to a nearby hill that rose abruptly above the jungle floor. The golden grasses covering its slopes rolled like waves on the inland seas. Flecks of red kissed the tips of the grain and gave off a perfume like no other. From the hilltop she could see Shadow Mountain in one direction, smoke from Zanga cooking fires in the other. She set up her easel and began to paint.
The early afternoon folded into a purple-and-rose sunset. Veronica painted with a passion, her strokes both polished and rapid. She stepped back and looked at her work with a critical eye. With the warm feeling of accomplishment, she carefully gathered up her supplies and headed home.
Veronica decided to cook only raptor meat for dinner. She sat at the table and missed Marguerite and Roxton's alternating bickering and looks of love. She missed Challenger launching into an explanation of the solar system or his new theory of the Plateau. She missed Summerlee's pearls of wisdom that kept everyone centered. And she missed Ned.
She had almost kissed him when they first met. His enthusiasm, kindness, and honesty impressed her most, along with his boyish good looks. Once the expedition's way home was blocked and she asked them to stay with her, the implications of having such an attractive man in her home hit her like a strong north wind. Her relationship with Danu was singular; she didn't know much about living with people, let alone a handsome bachelor.
Two years later, their relationship had gone forward, backward, and in circles. He had said he loved her one night and kissed her with a passion that left her weak in the knees. But what now? He was the culmination of everything good that was in both her parents. She wished she could talk to her mom. Abigail Layton was strong, adventurous, and very protective of her only child. Veronica remembered her slate-blue eyes and soft brown hair. She had a way of talking that made Veronica want to curl up in her lap and never leave.
Veronica stood and put her plate in the basin without rinsing it. She went to the balcony and hugged her arms. The sun had set and the night birds were singing.
"They'll be home soon," she whispered, then went to paint some more.
Veronica awoke to silence the next morning but didn't greet it happily. She somberly got dressed, combed her blonde locks, and made her bed. She had spent the night tossing and turning, dreaming of her parents and Ned and the others. She woke up decidedly grouchy.
Here it was, her time alone in her home, and she wasn't enjoying herself. She poured herself a glass of water. Why do I feel like this? she thought. They are coming back, maybe even today. A knot formed in her stomach. She had thought the same thing while waiting for her parents to return.
"Enough of this," she scolded herself. Looking at her most recent canvas, she decided to work on it all day. Chores could wait, work could wait. She felt driven to finish the picture.
It was nearly dark again when she put down her brush. It was done. She looked at it from every angle. Yes, it was her very best work. Veronica realized the late hour and felt unexpected tears. The silence was deafening.
Suddenly the elevator whirred to life. Instincts kicked in, and she grabbed her knives. She crouched behind a chair as the elevator reached the top. Out stepped Ned and Challenger.
"Ned!" she cried and launched across the room at him. He caught her in his arms, taken back by her strong embrace. "What are you doing back so early?"
"Well, the weather didn't cooperate with us," he laughed. "We got soaked to the bone."
"All that planning, and we didn't collect any new scientific data," Challenger grumbled. Veronica laughed and hugged him, too. "Well, what's this for?" he asked.
"I missed you!" she said happily. The elevator motor began again, this time delivering Roxton, Marguerite, and Summerlee. Veronica and the others stared at the new arrivals with baited breath.
"We won't know anything right away," Marguerite began slowly.
"But everything looks extremely promising!" beamed Summerlee. "Very, very promising indeed."
Veronica embraced the heiress tightly. "Marguerite, I am so happy for you!"
"I'm starving! Any dinner left?" Roxton inquired, tossing his backpack on a chair.
"Have you made dinner yet, my dear?" asked Summerlee.
"What have you been up to, Veronica?" Marguerite asked.
"This is what I've been doing," she exclaimed and turned her latest painting to face them.
"Veronica, that's marvelous," Challenger said, leaning forward.
"It's wonderful," Roxton commented.
"Veronica, I'm touched," said Marguerite softly.
The painting featured the six of them sitting in the tree house as if they had posed for it. Marguerite and Veronica sat in chairs. Behind Marguerite stood Roxton. He held his rifle in the crook of his arm, his other hand on Marguerite's shoulder. Behind Veronica stood Malone. He had both his hands on Veronica's shoulders. To one side was Summerlee and to the other was Challenger.
"I felt like we needed a family portrait," Veronica quietly said.
"It's perfect," Malone said, gazing at her in admiration.
"We need to put it in a place of honor!" exclaimed Challenger.
"What about over here, George?"
"I think it would like nice by the door."
Veronica stepped back and watched her family laugh and argue. They were home at last.