Restless

by Susan Zell

Missing Scene for "The Outlaw"

TITLE:  Restless

AUTHOR: Susan Zell

DISCLAIMER:  All characters from "Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's The Lost World" series are the property of John Landis, Telescene, Coote/Hayes, DirecTV, New Line Television, Space, Action Adventure Network, Goodman/Rosen Productions, and Richmel Productions. (Though some of these have come and gone and new ones have risen to take their place. Forgive any omissions.) No profit has been made by this venture. I've only borrowed the explorers to tell a long Lost Tale.

SUMMARY:  Missing Scene from "The Outlaw." Basically it's another epilogue to their epilogue, dealing with Roxton's injury and Marguerite's thoughts on "The Kiss".

SPOILERS: The Outlaw

RATINGS: PG

TYPE: Pure Hurt/Comfort (I admit it freely!), Romance.

WARNINGS: Hardly any.

NOTES: The story takes up just after the end of the epilogue.

COMMENTS: I guess I like things tied up in neat little packages. I wanted to know Marguerite and Roxton's thoughts on all that happened between them. I wanted Roxton to feel some ill effects from being shot in the chest. The man has the constitution of a horse, sure, but his quick recovery and subsequent bounding about the village seemed a little too pat, even for me. Some people call if PWP (plot what plot), some call it necessary. You be the judge. Enjoy.

RESTLESS

By Susan Zell

            Still riding high on their narrow escape from the little English village, the explorers followed the path back down the mountain. Their joyful banter back and forth filled the air. It felt good to be alive, more so for Marguerite and Roxton since it was their necks that had been in the noose no more than an hour or so ago.

           

            Marguerite Krux was deliriously happy. She had accomplished much this outing and was reaping the rewards with heartfelt bliss. For the first time in over a year, her fellow explorers had trusted her. She planned their escape and they had felt confident in her ability to pull it off. She had saved Roxton's life and he had repaid her the favor in spades. It was like she had turned a corner in her life. Her step was light and bouncy, despite the fact that she should be tired after such a long and frightening venture. The cape on her new attire flew out behind her. It offered her a new found sense of freedom. She was a new person.

            However, as they paraded on, something kept niggling at the back of her mind. She looked at their small party and wondering what it was that was bothering her. There was some little warning bell going off in her head but she couldn't tell why. Every thing seemed all right. Her eyes cast over her friends one by one. Challenger was doing his best to amaze Ned with theories and plausibility factors on the disappearing village. Veronica was on point, keeping an ever-watchful eye out for danger. And Roxton…

            Roxton was red faced and flushed and very, very silent, trudging along behind the cheery bunch, barely holding up the rear. Marguerite had thought him fine, his incredible constitution seeing him through the rigors of their adventure, and his body well on the way to recovery. She had been wrong. Whatever adrenaline high he had been feeding off throughout the day had suddenly worn off.

            Now her fear came fresh again. He looked absolutely wretched. Why didn't the man say anything? 

            "Challenger! Stop! We need to rest!" She immediately dropped back to Roxton who stumbled just as she approached. She caught him and nearly stumbled herself as she took his full weight for a moment. Then he straightened with a mumbled apology. He drew in a deep breath and tried a small smile. When he saw that it did little to ease her worry, he let it drop, too tired to hold it.

            "I just need a moment. It's been a helluva day."

            Challenger came up quickly. "What's wrong?"

            "Roxton was shot back at the village. He needs to rest."

            Challenger was taken by surprise. "What? When did this happen?" He stepped up to Roxton and proceeded to look him over. He didn't remember seeing the hunter take a bullet during their escape. But then he noticed the blood stain hidden under the rigging of his pistol holsters.

            "It was yesterday," Marguerite explained hurriedly. "He tried to escape. Edgar Grey shot him."

            Roxton, feeling a little weak in the knees, motioned that he wanted to sit down. He didn't want to fall over on his face in front of them. There would be no end to all the fussing. "I'm fine. Just a little tired and since there's no one chasing us for a change, just let me catch my breath." Challenger and Marguerite eased him to the ground.

            "I tried my best to help him," Marguerite told the professor.

            Roxton grabbed her hand and squeezed it. "And you did. You saved my life. I would have bled to death." He stared at her with wonder-filled eyes for a moment, reliving the time when he awoke to see her kneeling beside him, a vision of beauty and every inch the woman of his dreams.. He commented to the others though he wasn't looking at them. "Quite a Florence Nightingale. Cauterized the wound and everything."

            "Grey was kind enough to provide a hot cauldron and an iron rod." Marguerite's voice dropped to a whisper at the memory. She never wanted to do anything like that ever again. The smell, the smoke, the pain she caused. She turned away, her throat tightening.

            Ned winced, knowing how painful Roxton's treatment must have been. "What is with you and red hot pokers lately?" Not two months ago, Roxton had taken a searing poker to the arm by a demented voodoo priestess.

Roxton chuckled and shrugged and then winced when it pulled at his shoulder.

"Look, why don't we make camp here?" Ned offered. "It's not a bad little clearing."

            Challenger nodded. "Good idea, Ned. The rest will do us all some good. And I know it's been awhile since any of us have eaten."

            "I'll get some firewood," Veronica offered. She would also look to see if she could find some willow bark. It would help bring down a fever and from the look of it Roxton had a slight one. She rose fluidly and disappeared into the brush.

            The group quickly fell apart to conduct the duties of setting up camp before Roxton could even object. Deep down, however, he was grateful. He didn't think he could get back up again all of a sudden.

            Challenger helped Roxton slip off the holster rig. "Here, I want to take a look at the wound."

            Roxton protested even though he was grateful for the removal of the rig. It had been pressing on the wound incessantly. "Really, Challenger. It's all right. Marguerite did a fine job."

            "I'm sure she did. Just humor an old man, will you?"

            Roxton relented, wincing as Challenger pulled back the bloody shirt. He looked down at the wound, seeing it clearly for the first time. It was morbidly fascinating to him. "See, the bullet went in here and came out between the ribs under here." He lifted his arm slightly to show the exit wound beneath it. "Damn lucky actually."

            "Indeed."

They were angry, blackish wounds, seared by the heat of the iron. Around them the flesh was red and inflamed. There was still some blood drying against his skin. Roxton had been extremely fortunate that the bullet had gone through. He hated the thought that they might have had to dig it out if it hadn't.

"You're sure it didn't chip off any bone?" Challenger inquired.

Marguerite looked at the professor and then at Roxton with much alarm. "What?"

Roxton regarded him wearily. "What a way to cheer a fellow up, George."

"I'm just asking." He probed the area gently.

Roxton allowed it for a moment till he felt he was going to be ill then he pushed Challenger's hands aside. "It didn't. I'd have felt it by now if there was." He breathed in and out roughly.

Challenger sat back on his heels. The examination proved Roxton's point. There had been no sign of any other damage. But the man's flesh seemed warm. He held a hand to Roxton's forehead. "You're running a bit of a fever, old boy."

"After my day, I'm entitled," Roxton answered wearily.

"Does that mean an infection?" Marguerite asked worriedly. She had thought that the cauterization would have taken care of all that.

"No, my dear. It's a low-grade fever, more brought on by his exertions and the blood loss. What he needs now is rest and lots of water."

Marguerite pulled one of the canteens closer and opened it for Roxton. The bedraggled adventurer took a long swig from it, and then another. He hadn't realized how thirsty he was.

Challenger patted Roxton's knee. "You just sit here and rest. Marguerite will take fine care of you while we get the camp in order."

Instinctually, Roxton wanted to help but for once he relented. He really was too tired to even think about it. Marguerite settled herself behind him and suddenly he didn't want to go anywhere. She leaned herself back against the trunk of a nearby tree and coaxed him down against her, his head resting back against her shoulder. Her new vest was made of soft, green velvet and it cushioned his head well, luring him to relax further.

"This is nice," he murmured, his eyes closing.

"Why didn't you say anything, John?" she inquired quietly.

"Didn't I?"

"No. You were too busy playing the strong, willful man."

"I come from a long line of strong, willful men. It's not my fault."

            She was silent for a time. Finally, she gathered up her courage to ask, "Does it hurt very much?"

            "Hardly at all lying here like this." It was a lie actually. It hurt like the devil. The pain from the burns were radiating outward, while the passage dug by the bullet blazed a path deep into his shoulder. He tried to relax and let his body rest. There was time finally to just let go. There was no more danger, at least for now.

            Roxton didn't say anything else for a while and Marguerite was relieved when she realized he had finally drifted off to sleep. She leaned her head back and fought the rush of fresh tears that threatened. This constant fear for his health was an overwhelming thing. It was far worse suddenly than it had ever been before. Was it because they had confessed their feelings toward each other in some small way finally? Did Roxton even remember it? He had been pretty out of it at the time. Maybe he thought it was just part of his dream. That thought pained her suddenly more than she expected it to.

The long night as she had watched over him lying so still on the cot ate away at her. She had coaxed one of the deputies to undo the handcuffs so Roxton could rest more comfortably and she could work on the wounds more easily. She had been furious when they had almost refused. The barbarians! What danger was he to them, half dead and unconscious from their brutality…and hers.

She shuddered. That night she had been so completely drained. She hadn't slept at all, instead just sitting there next to him, stroking his hair and praying.

            Praying. There was something she hadn't done in a very long time. She never thought it would help. It certainly hadn't done so when she was young and in the convent. Despite what the nuns insisted, Marguerite found praying to be blatantly ineffectual. Her wretched life was a monument to that fact.

            Until today. She closed her eyes and let the small tears flow. Thank you, she said silently to whatever higher power had listened to her for a change. Thank you.

Casting her gaze upward she watched the high clouds drift by in their sea of blue. It surprised her every day that despite the brutality of the plateau such beauty and majesty existed all around them. She rarely took the time to appreciate it. She tried to remind herself to do it more often from now on.

            She didn't remember falling asleep but she must have since Challenger was suddenly beside her again, gently squeezing her shoulder. It took her by surprise to see the camp already in order and a fire blazing merrily in the center.

            "Let's get the two of you to nicer accommodations, shall we?" declared the professor.

            Ned came over and helped rouse Roxton. The adventurer opened his eyes and blinked owlishly at his friend.

"We're going to move you closer to the fire. Come on." Ned grabbed Roxton's good arm and helped the man to his feet. Roxton swayed for a moment and Ned just let him adjust, keeping a tight hold on him. The adventurer finally nodded, drawing in a deep breath and following Ned to a nice bed of soft ferns and warm blankets. Their little camp was almost civilized.

            Suppressing a yawn, Roxton eased himself down. He hadn't realized he was this beat. His dazed brain maintained it was from the excessive blood loss. Had it been only yesterday he had been shot? It seemed like days ago. He closed his eyes again, perfectly willing to let sleep claim him once more. Unfortunately, Challenger squatted beside him and began poking at him.

            "Here, John. I've prepared a salve for the wounds. It will help stave off infection." He pulled aside Roxton's shirt so he could get at the injuries. He made Roxton sit up so he could tug it off the rest of the way. Roxton shivered. When had it gotten so cold? He was leaning back against somebody.

            Veronica came over also. "We should go ahead and bandage it. Keep it clean for tonight." She had a roll of gauze in her hand. She glanced over her shoulder. "Ned, bring over that tea."

            Here it comes, Roxton lamented silently. All the fussing. He just wanted to go back to sleep. His head felt like it was immersed in a fog. He totally lacked any concentration, barely holding onto a single thought, before it skittered away like quicksilver. If only they would leave him alone, he could get himself together and they could continue on home. Though at the moment he couldn't quite remember where that was. Somewhere up high, he thought. It wasn't safe to stay out in the open like this. Was it? He couldn't remember. Where was Marguerite?

            Challenger, with hands like a bloody ditch digger, smeared the salve over his bullet holes. The flare of new pain swelled over Roxton and clarity suddenly came in an instant.

            "Sweet Jesus, Challenger!" His breath hitched at the professor's burly attempt at playing nursemaid. Marguerite had done a better job.

            "Sorry," came the swift response, but the touch was no gentler. "There," he said finally, wiping his hands on the ground. "Veronica, if you would be so kind to bandage him up."

            The lithe young woman scooted closer and pressed clean bandages over the wounds. They stuck there easily due to the salve and she quickly began wrapping the rest of the material around his chest and shoulder. At least her touch was a bit less rough than Challenger's.

            Roxton endured it stoically. The less he fought them, the quicker he could get back to sleep. He realized that he was still leaning against somebody, his body too weary to even hold himself upright. It was probably Ned.

            Eventually, after being swathed in way too many bandages, Veronica declared the job done.

            Thank God, Roxton sighed. Where the hell was Marguerite? His burning eyes looked for her but didn't find her.

            He wanted to ask but had no time as he found something shoved into his hand. It was a cup of warm liquid. Ned was kneeling in front of him, holding his hand around Roxton's and the cup. He's probably afraid I'll drop it. The writer wouldn't be far wrong on that assumption. Roxton barely had the strength to lift it suddenly to his lips.

How did Ned get around in front of me? And who was holding me up now?  The thoughts clattered around in his head, but he couldn't think of any answers to them. Wearily, Roxton drank the warm liquid. It felt good going down, temperate and fairly sweet for a change. There was something in it that he couldn't quite tie down. Honey, maybe?

            When he had finished it, his head was fairly spinning, his eyes barely able to stay open. Finally they let him lay back down. He tried to ask again about Marguerite, but no one answered him and then it was a moot point. He was sound asleep.

            Marguerite eased herself out from behind him, gently easing his head down onto the soft bed of ferns. He mumbled something and she placed her hand on his forehead, soothing it with tender brushes of her fingers. He quieted and his breathing deepened.

The poor man was absolutely exhausted. She felt bad keeping him up they way they did to administer their rough and ready first aide, but everyone felt it important to do so. She was relieved actually. She had no idea whether anything she had done for him in the cell had been right. Never before did she hold someone's life so precious in her hand. It had terrified her beyond compare. She was glad to turn the medical duties over to Challenger and the rest. They always knew what to do.

Roxton shivered slightly despite the fact that his skin was warm and they were in close proximity to the blazing fire. She quickly attributed it to the light fever he was running. Untying her cloak, given to her by the outlaw, she laid it over Roxton, pulling it up close around him.

She rubbed a hand over her eyes and then stretched out sore, abused muscles. They were all indications of how fatigued she was also. She too needed to rest. Her own blanket beckoned just a few feet away. However, she wasn't ready to leave him alone just yet. She lay down beside him, much like she had in the cell, offering her own body heat.

Smiling, she recalled a distant memory when together they had shared a tent on a cold night in the mountains. Roxton had immediately suggested that they share body heat to stay warm. How transparent he was then. How willing she had been too. They had kissed that night until something distracted them. Something always distracted them. She recalled her frustration.

But this time, even with all that was going on, it had finally happened. They had kissed, tenderly, lovingly, and deeply. Her heart pounded at the memory. She had no idea what it meant for their future, or even if they had one in this godforsaken place, but she found she liked the possibility.

It terrified her also. Perhaps in the end it meant little in the grand scheme of things. A momentary weakness on their part brought on by desperate circumstances or just a fever induced hallucination for Roxton. But it didn't matter. It had happened. Marguerite knew that. What lay before them now because of it was another matter, one that didn't need to be addressed at this very moment. Right now she just wanted to lie next to him, listen to him breath, touch his warm skin, and take simple pleasure that he was alive. They both were, perhaps for the first time in their tortured lives.

****

            "Should we wake them for dinner?" Ned asked, turning the spit over the fire. He bobbed his chin toward the two sleeping figures.

            Challenger shook his head. "Let them be. I think they need the rest more than they need sustenance. They can have a hearty breakfast in the morning. We'll take our time going home and give John a chance to get his strength back."

            "Is he going to be okay?" Ned asked.

            "Oh yes, he's a hard man to keep down, and Marguerite, amazingly enough, did a very effective job treating the injury. I'm quite impressed."

            "Who'd have thought that," the young reporter responded with a chuckle. "I'm just glad she didn't have to practice her medical skills on one of us."

            "It is just me," Veronica noted, "or do they seen…different?

            Both Challenger and Ned looked dumbfounded at her.

            "In what way?" Challenger inquired.

            The young woman shrugged. "I don't know. They seem …sort of…"

            "Less angry with each other?" offered Ned helpfully.

            "Yeah, I guess that's part of it." Veronica propped her chin in her hand, studiously observing them. "Marguerite is actually…agreeable." She shook her head in frustration unable to find the words to describe her feelings on the matter.

            "Well, you don't go through what they did and not face a few hard truths about yourselves," Challenger informed them.

            "I guess you're right." Veronica's gaze tracked once more toward the silent couple. She could just barely see Marguerite's pale arm draped over Roxton, holding him. Comforting him maybe? It seemed surprising and oddly out of place for the narcissistic woman.

            Roxton tossed fitfully from time to time as if searching for something. It was surprising to Veronica since she had infused the tea earlier with enough willow bark and valerian to let him sleep peacefully through the night. Whatever it was he was searching for, she hoped he found it soon so he could rest.

****

            It was well into the night when Roxton woke, startled by something lost in his troubled dreams which he now couldn't remember. He opened his eyes and stared into the darkness around him. There was a soft glow off to his right and his ears picked up the steady crackling of the nearby fire. He didn't hear any voices so he assumed the others were already asleep or on watch.

            He felt surprisingly good, considering. His body had settled for a slight, pleasant numbness that he was in no hurry to test by trying to move. Breathing in deeply a moment, he yawned. God, he was still tired.

            A soft voice spoke beside him and he realized abruptly that someone was lying against him, the heat from their body washing over him.

            Marguerite.

            "Are you all right?" she inquired anxiously.

            A warm rush flowed through Roxton. Marguerite had not left his side. To wake and find her lying beside him was the best medicine he could think of. He had always imagined it would be exactly like this. He had dreamed of it often.

            He smiled at her and lifted his right hand to brush a tendril of displaced hair from her face. She looked radiant, rumpled and sleepy. Positively, she was the most beautiful woman he had ever known.

            "I'm fine, Marguerite. You don't have to worry anymore. It's over. Just rest."

            She obeyed his deep, quiet voice without question and her long lashes lowered over her soft, gray eyes. Unconsciously, she nestled closer to him.

            He stayed that way for a long time, just watching her sleep, reveling in the fact that she was with him, touching him, her sweet scent surrounding him. He kept his hand along her cheek, marveling at her soft skin, pale against his darker flesh.

Finally, he too drifted away into a peaceful slumber, his dreams again filled with the one woman he cherished above all other things. No longer was he restless. He had found what he was searching for.

The End.