Chapter Fourteen: The Feast

They took the steep incline away from the cave's mouth carefully, even though Richard was getting much better at walking in his boot. The camp had moved on after Richard's speech and many people had begun their daily tasks, feeling bolstered in their contributions to the group's welfare. But just under the surface, past the tentative optimism, there was a persisting sadness that kept the mood balanced. Not too carefree, but not too macabre. Most everyone rested somewhere in the middle.

Camille guided Richard to the little V of logs that framed the camp's primary fire pit. It was here that most of the camp's meals were prepared by the group cooks. At the moment, it was still too early to begin meal preparation, so the fire was inactive. Several feet away, however, the secondary fire was ablaze and a work group was preparing a load of laundry to be boiled.

After depositing Richard onto one of the logs, Camille left him and scurried away to the people at the secondary fire. She knelt down beside the woman who was stoking the fire and shared something with her in hushed tones. The other woman glanced up at Richard while she listened to Camille's plan. Presently, she nodded, apparently giving Camille permission for something and then Camille left to head back into the cave. When she emerged again, she walked very carefully with something concealed behind her back, knelt by the fire again, and carefully positioned something down in the embers of the fire (behind the laundry pot so it was out of Richard's view).

She walked back up to him with a proud smile on her face. "It will just be a moment."

"Am I supposed to guess?" he asked, both amused and intrigued by her behavior.

"No," she said and took a seat beside him. "It's better if you're surprised."

"I don't like surprises."

"You'll like this one."

He gave her a look, which she answered by swaying into him, bumping their shoulders together, and his spirits lifted even more.

Another work crew approached them, carrying bundles of palm branches. "Sorry to interrupt, Inspector," one of them said, bowing her head in meek modesty, as if intruding upon an intimate moment. "We were going to use this space to weave more bowls and make more rope for the barricade."

Richard responded with an "Oh," and moved to get up, but Camille stayed him with a hand on his shoulder and answered for them, saying, "Not a problem. Please, have a seat. We'll help!"

Richard gave her a look of slight surprise but settled down by her side again anyway, happy to comply. The others spread out and descended upon the logs, causing Richard and Camille to have to huddle closer to one another to make room, their hips, thighs, and shoulders pressed against one another. It reminded Richard of the night time, when they would get close enough to share warmth and breath and perhaps a few unspoken secrets. Apart from their first hug, which Richard would now admit was more demonstrative than his usual public behavior, nightfall was, in fact, the only time in which they engaged in very close, bodily contact. It was one thing to indulge in that sort of nearness under the cover of darkness and away from prying eyes, but feeling Camille's body so pressed against his now, and in full view of the camp, surrounded by many friends and acquaintances, he felt a little scandalous. The Englishman cleared his throat nervously and tried to inch away from Camille by the tiniest degree. It didn't help matters when she seemed to notice his discomfort and dropped a hand to his thigh for a little squeeze.

The palm branches were distributed amongst them, and everyone began tearing at the leaves. One woman instructed the group on how to weave the leaves into a bowled structure. Then the stalks of the branches were splintered into several sturdy strips, useful for tying. Richard was impressed. He couldn't tell if this was knowledge that had just been invented to satisfy the needs of their current plight, or if this was a skill these people already seemed to posses. But they certainly seemed very adept at it now. He followed along, listening closely to the instruction, his hands eventually falling into a rhythm.

Conversation began to bubble up amongst the group, everyone carefully avoiding the subject of Trevor and making an effort to keep the conversation light. Camille joined in easily, and Richard silently marveled once again at her skill for personal interaction. It was a gift he had always lacked. For the most part, he didn't know how to relate to people unless he was interviewing them for an inquiry. Polite chit-chat was never his strong suit. He was happy to stay quiet and let Camille dominate the conversation as the ambassador from his area of the bench.

This didn't last long, however, because when one member of the group mentioned needing to combine some of these ropes for a new laundry line, Camille shot up with a gasp and said, "I almost forgot!"

His curiosity piqued, Richard watched her scurry over to the laundry station again and bend to retrieve the item she had left in the embers. She yanked her hand away instinctually when it burned her and asked to borrow one of the cloths from the laundry pile. She bundled it up as a sort of oven mitt and then grabbed for the thing again, turning her back to Richard swiftly to conceal the item from him. Clever girl; she could tell that his eyes were on her.

She fussed with something out of view for a little while, seeming to pull something from her pocket, then in a carefully executed twist, she turned to face him again in the same moment that she moved the thing behind her back. He tried to sneak a glimpse, but she was too quick. She smirked coyly and approached him.

"Now do I guess?" he asked once she was near enough.

"No," she replied. "Close your eyes."

Acutely aware of the many pairs of eyes on the two of them in that moment, Richard worked very hard not to smile at her. He pinched his lips together and closed his eyes with a slightly petulant sigh. He held out his hands expectantly, but nothing came to them. He was starting to grow suspicious after a while until he began to notice something: a very distinct, very beautiful, once familiar fragrance began to flood his senses in happy reunion. He knew that smell. He knew that smell like he knew his own name.

In a rush, Richard was opening his eyes and looking down at the steaming cup being held under his nose. "I-….wha-…how did you?" he stammered, hands coming up slowly, reverently, to take the tin cup into his hands, nestled in the warm cloth. He sniffed in the fragrance of the tea indulgently, his eyes fluttering shut under its spell. "How did you manage...?" he started again, still incapable of forming a single complete sentence. "Where did this come from?" There. That one worked.

Camille was giggling at his reaction, along with several others around the group. "In the food pantry at the school, they had a box of PG Tips and I pocketed a few bags while you were on lookout."

"PG Tips? A few bags?!" he repeated, gob smacked. "You have more?"

She nodded, laughing again at his childlike wonder. "Four teabags."

His eyes widened comically at the revelation. She might as well have told him she knew the location of the Holy Grail. "Four teabags," he repeated in a trance, looking down into the rich, earthy goodness in his hands. Then, unable to stop himself, his mind calculated what she had just said. "The school pantry…that was six days ago!" To think that Camille had hidden this treasure in her pocket, right under his nose for nearly a whole week was mind boggling to him.

Her mirth dropped as her expression steeled into something else. "Oui. Six days. Are you complaining?" she challenged.

Richard was shaking his head adamantly before the words were even out of her mouth completely. "No no. Not at all. Not complaining, simply observing," he answered hastily, quite mindful that there were still three teabags in his potential future and that he ought to behave if he wanted a chance of getting them. She held all the proverbial cards at the moment and it certainly wouldn't do to have her feeling insulted. "Six days," he said, in a much lighter tone, jutting his lip out and nodding his head. "Huh, that's really…something."

A smile crept back onto her face as she watched him scramble to salvage his good standing. Sometimes, he read just like a book. She finally laughed and said, "Just drink, you silly man." At this command, the other women in the group all nodded and voiced various agreements.

Richard didn't have to be told twice. He dipped his head and took in another indulgent sniff, letting the fragrance leap and play all along his olfactory nerves, in no rush. With heavily-lidded eyes, he slowly, sacredly, lifted the cup to his lips for a chaste kiss, sipping in the warm liquid with languid speed. He groaned as the old sensation slipped down his throat once again. Somewhere, off in the distance, he was aware that people were laughing at him, but he gave no care.

"Sorry ladies, it's no use. He isn't with us anymore," he heard Camille state, which was rewarded by another round of chuckles.

He stayed in the bliss of that cup of tea, ignoring all other life around him, only vaguely aware when Fidel and Dwayne approached with more bundles of branches and to collect what ropes had already been completed.

"Is that what I think it is?" Dwayne asked in amazement.

Camille told him about the pantry and how she had snagged a few bags for Richard.

"Oh wow," Fidel chuckled, watching as the chief marinated in his moment.

A few other people came and went, and Richard took no notice of them. At some point, the bowl he had been working on (and had consequently abandoned) was taken from his lap and presumably continued by someone else. He nursed that cup for as long as possible, bitterly wounded by the necessity of drinking it before it cooled down fully. When he tipped the cup against his lips in the final gulp, he jutted his tongue out obscenely to lick away the last drops from the inside of the cup. He heard a very French snort from his side.

When he rejoined the land of the conscious, he looked around to notice that the branches had all been stripped and the final leaves were transforming into bowls. Somehow, he had missed the whole project. Ronnie and Holden had come over to help gather up the residual stalks from the branches and bundle them for future use in some other project. A few feet away, Dwayne and Fidel were experimenting with the best method of tying the sharpened branches together to create the first stage of the barricade. Beside him, Camille was sitting with a soft smile, finishing her last bowl.

"Welcome back," she said, eliciting a few chuckles from all around.

Richard shook his head at her in wonder, like the heavens had sent him an angel. "Thank you," he said profoundly.

She laughed again and shook her head. "Here," she said, plopping another set of leaves in his lap and taking the cup from his hands. "Make yourself useful again."

"I would hang on to the bag," he said hastily, feeling the absence left by the cup as soon as she removed it from him. "We could maybe get another cup or two out of it."

Camille nodded, looking down into the cup. "Did you want another one now?"

Yes. Always yes. He obviously wanted another one now. Silly question. But he somehow managed to keep himself from immediately saying so. "No," he said with a great deal of effort. "No, we shouldn't get ahead of ourselves. Once is fine for now."

"You sure?" Camille grinned, tempting him by wafting the cup, with the soaked teabag still inside, underneath his nose.

He pushed her away. "Quite sure. Every man must know how to restrain himself when the time comes."

"Hmm, speaking of restraint," Catherine's voice rose from somewhere to his other side. When did she get there? "I notice you've been sleeping with my daughter."

Richard choked, sputtering forward in a fit, gagging on nothing in particular. The vein on his forehead bulged and his face was dyed a deep red, in part due to the coughing fit, in part due to the mortification from the woman's frank accusation. Once again, he was aware of the suppressed giggles happening all around him.

Camille patted and rubbed his back soothingly, encouraging him to recover. "Maman, don't tease him," she chastised, though her voice remained a little fond.

"I don't tease, darling!" Catherine defended, but there was satisfied validation in her tone. "You know I approve."

Richard sat up, a hand over his heart while he worked to settle his reaction. He couldn't help but feel slightly unnerved when Catherine reached up to tenderly correct his hair that had been mussed in his retching.

But Catherine seemed to be having good fun. "I always knew he would figure it out eventually. All it took was the end of the world."

The hint of playful derision in that comment was impossible to miss, and Richard felt himself blushing more deeply. "Yes, well…" he said, reaching up to pat down the tie he wasn't wearing. He looked up and noticed the gleeful, knowing expression that was passing between Fidel and Dwayne a few yards away. It was the same look that was also passing between Ronnie and Holden much nearer. The other people scattered around were all suppressing smiles too, though doing a much better job at it. He looked over to Camille for rescue.

She reached for his hand sympathetically, giving it an encouraging squeeze as she shot to her mother, "Assez! Vous allez lui faire peur."

To which Catherine replied, "Où ira-t-il? Un homme ne peut pas quitter son coeur."

Richard suddenly felt like the only soul on the island who couldn't understand French.

"Richard? Do you need a drink of water?" Camille asked, a bit hinting.

Relieved for the escape, Richard nodded. "Yes. I think that'd be good."

He rose from the log and Camille helped him up the incline towards the mouth of the cave. A subdued chorus of laughter erupted behind them as they made their retreat. Richard almost turned to look over his shoulder, but Camille stopped him. "Ignore it," she said, pulling him along.

They made it into the cave and Camille led him to the water station. While the responsible leader in him felt guilty having another drink, he had to also admit that a bit of water would actually be useful right now. His throat was very dry and scratchy from the coughing fit. Such a pity, after that lovely cup of tea. Camille handed him a small portion of water, just enough for a swallow, and watched him as he drank.

"It is a little strange, no?" she ventured after a while.

"That your mother enjoys my discomfort? No. I'd say it's a family trait, in fact," Richard replied.

"No, I mean…" She shrugged a little meekly, her eyes searching around the cave for the words she wanted to use. "People talk about us like we're a couple. The whole camp thinks of us as one. We act like one. We spend every night in each other's arms…"

Richard looked away from her when she said that, unable to restrain the heat he felt return to his cheeks at the truthfulness of those words. Falling asleep with Camille in his arms had quickly become his favorite part of life. And he had hoped that he could simply go on enjoying it without ever being confronted about it or having to supply an answer for it. Now that the other shoe was dropping, he felt embarrassed at the prospect of vocalizing exactly how much those nights meant to him. These felt like dangerous (yet serene) waters indeed, and he wasn't exactly sure how he had let himself drift into them for so long. Anxiety started to build in his chest.

Camille cocked her head a little to the side, studying his reactions with interest. "And yet…we've never spoken of a relationship. Never so much as kissed."

That thought made his heart jolt. "You want me to kiss you, is that it?" It came out a lot more smart-aleck than he had intended, but inwardly, his organs were doing summersaults and he couldn't quite measure his responses. Still, he was proud of himself for not sputtering or stammering the question at least, suggesting he was capable of some composure after all.

"I'm saying I think we should have an honest conversation soon, don't you? Decide what we want this to be."

Richard nodded a little, contemplatively, looking down at his now empty cup. "So…" he said hesitantly, trying to discern if there was a subtext to her words he should be noticing, "…you don't want me to-"

"If you want to kiss me, Richard," she said frankly, moving closer to him just enough to get his eye line to return to her. She held his gaze for several exaggerated seconds, securing his undivided attention for what she had to say next. "Don't be afraid to," she concluded resolutely.

And with those words, Camille Bordey appeared to slow down time. Richard searched her expression seriously, on the hunt for any twitch that might contradict her words. But all he saw was steely confidence, a hint of challenge, and a look of eager invitation. They stared at one another for a long moment after that, something new formulating between them: understanding, agreement, something explicit that hadn't been there before. Finally, there were no games, there wasn't innuendo or suggestion; she had said it plainly, and he had gotten the message.

As they stood there in silence, watching each other accept this new, shared understanding, one of the children of the camp approached them. It was Lukas, one of Ronnie's sons. "Mr. Poole, I have a plan for how to beat the aliens," the boy declared.

Richard didn't break eye contact with Camille, but slowly nodded. "I will keep that in mind, Sergeant Bordey," he said seriously. "Thank you for telling me."

"Of course, sir," she replied, the barest hint of a smile at her mouth. Knowing their conversation couldn't continue just yet, she turned to leave, and her smile grew as she heard Richard say to the boy, "Technically, they're not aliens."


He kissed her that night, shrouded once again in the comforting security of nightfall. As they were settling themselves into their mossy little nest, Richard propped himself up on his elbow and carefully spread the blanket out to cover both of them, tucking the edge under her shoulder, as was his custom. Then, before he lay down onto his back, he hovered over her a while longer, letting his hand come up to close around her cheek in the darkness. She stilled at his touch, knowing, waiting. He drew a thumb over her cheekbone tenderly, contemplating. She had told him not to be afraid, and so before he could talk himself out of it, he dipped his head and finally gave her the kiss that had been on his mind for years.

The contact was startling at first, and they both demonstrated a certain amount of timidity at the start. He pecked at her mouth in one, two, three tiny kisses, which she returned just as chastely. Then he felt her hand reach up to his cheek, pulling him down to her mouth again and holding him there longer. He sighed against her cheek and felt his shoulders relax as she began to work at his lips.

They were slow, and lazy, and indulgent. He would be lying if he said the quiet moan she released when he opened his mouth some time into the kiss didn't inspire a surge of confidence in him. He deepened the kiss as a shiver rattled up his spine, scooping his arm beneath her shoulders and pulling her against him, while his other hand searched out her hip. Her own hands snaked up his chest and landed somewhere around his neck. Her mouth teased and delighted him, birthing within him a version of himself he had never met before, but who he somehow knew existed all along. The taste and the feel of her along his tongue were more thrilling than he had thought to expect, and he dove into her hungrily, enticing more sounds from deep within her and letting a few of his own escape.

It was the most incredible feeling in the world, not specifically the kiss (although that was certainly breathtaking), but the mere fact that this woman wanted it, from him. This incredible woman was giving this moment to him freely, and even more astonishing: she was enjoying it. Richard felt lightheaded by the time the kiss concluded, and he wasn't quite certain if it was from ecstasy or oxygen deprivation.

He looked down at her in the darkness and suddenly realized that she was petting him, soft strokes across his cheek and sometimes down his neck. He already wanted to kiss her again, but something in him thought it wouldn't be prudent. Even without any light, he could sense that she was smiling at him.

"What?" he whispered, and then he could hear the smile grow wider.

He felt one of her fingers come up to tenderly swipe over his lips as she said, "You kiss like a Frenchman."

"Oh god," was Richard's reaction, and he dipped his forehead down into the slope of her shoulder. Camille let out a laugh that clipped through the recesses of the cave and Richard instinctually threw a hand up to clasp over her mouth.

"Shhhh" he told her, a smile on his lips despite himself. "People are sleeping," he chided, feeling her hushed giggles vibrate against his hand. Well, there was obviously only one thing to do. He moved his lips just below her ear and started nibbling, dropping wet kisses to her throat.

Camille moaned against his hand, and then it was Richard who was the one chuckling. "Shhh," he said again into her ear. "That's no better."

Camille reached up and removed his hand from her mouth. "And what are you going to do about it?" she whispered at him.

Obviously, he kissed her squarely on the mouth again after that, swallowing all of her noises, and thriving off of every single one, like a starving man at a feast.


Author's (Really Long) Note: For those of us who ship Richard/Camille, I know you've been waiting a long time to see some actual action between these two goofballs. So hopefully you enjoyed this chapter. I won't lie, it was easily one of the very first things I wrote for this whole story, so I was excited to finally reach this moment in the narrative. I hope you found it fulfilling. I want to hear your thoughts!

In case you didn't look it up on your own, here are the English translations to the French dialogue in this chapter (at least according to Google. I don't actually know how to speak French, so I have no idea if this is accurate. If you do, and you have a correction I should make, please don't hesitate to speak up).

Camille: Enough! You'll scare him away.
Catherine: Where will he go? A man cannot leave his heart.

Another fun little tidbit about this chapter is the reference to PG Tips. It's personally my favorite brand of tea, and it has also appeared briefly on the show. A box of PG Tips tea was among the gifts Richard's parents sent to him for his birthday in episode 105 "Spot the Difference." In the very last scene, when Camille and the gang find Richard asleep in his chair, a box of PG Tips can be found on the table beside him, right next to the new tie, pair of socks, and various other little gifts from his parents.

So, it's canon that Richard drinks PG Tips (which makes me really excited as it's something we have in common), but the fact that his parents had to ship it to him from the UK suggests that it's pretty hard to come by on the island. That fact kind of makes it hard to believe that a primary school cafeteria would have a whole BOX of them, which sort of shoots holes in my using them in this story. But whatever, I just pretend that the school had an English teacher on staff that insisted on that particular brand.