Sternschnuppe
by Linnea
Disclaimer: The characters from "Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's The Lost World" are owned by Telescene, NewLine Television, The Over the Hill Gang, Coote/Hayes, etc. No profit is being made from this story. No infringement upon copyrighted material is intended
Summary: Entry for the 7th TLW Fix Fanfix Challenge
Category: M/R romance
A/N: Thank you Eva and Pam for the motivation, ongoing support and constructive critism. This story would not have been finished without you, you truly are stars yourselves (
Sternschnuppe
Present time
It was already several hours into the night as Lord John Roxton ever so slowly moved to free his arms from the tangle of sheets, covers and most importantly the delicate womanly form so close beside him, to reach out and pull a spare blanket from beneath the sturdy frame of his bed.
Already the dark jungle night had sent yet another chilly draft through the window of his sleeping quarters, not so much disturbing the impervious hunter but causing him to turn his awareness to the dark-haired lady. Still sleeping soundly, she wrinkled her nose and pressed herself closer to him, wanting to escape the unfriendly breeze.
Careful to keep his movements to a minimum, Roxton swiftly unfolded the tightly-knitted woolen fabric with a few tugs and spread it over Marguerite's back, gently pulling it up to her shoulders and tucking the remains in beside her arms.
Stifling a deep yawn, John settled back into his previous position, both of his long, strong arms resuming their hold on Marguerite and drawing her lithe body near to him. Determined to stay awake during this precious time, Roxton's thoughts wandered, remembering back to the night Marguerite had appeared at his doorframe for the first time.
Past time
He woke up slowly. In the dim moonlight the contours of his room seemed unfamiliar and vaguely threatening. What had roused him from his sleep? He sat up in his bed, a feeling of dread nagging at him. He looked around, but didn't see anything suspicious. He couldn't hear any noises that were cause for concern. What was it? And then he knew.
He hadn't seen her at first, not until his pupils had adjusted to the dim surroundings. Even then he had nearly missed her, crouched down next to the frame of his door, her slim body easily hidden behind a wall of darkness. If it hadn't been for Marguerite's locket he would have looked right past her. But he had noticed the moonlight reflecting and shimmering on the golden, heart-shaped medallion.
Bewildered, he got up and crossed the room to kneel down beside her on the plank floor. Although she didn't flinch away from him, the hiccuping woman, clad in a white, ankle-length nightgown, was not the Marguerite he knew. Desperation radiated off her person, clinging to her like heavy chain-mail pulling her into the abyss of her nightmares.
At first she didn't react when he hesistantly reached out to touch her arm, didn't seem to be aware of his presence. Her body was cold to his skin, and she was a bundle of tremors, her eyes roaming uncontrollably through the room.
But then she abruptly turned her head, giving him but a second to catch a glance of her loneliness. Though banned deeply into a corner of her heart, that sense of isolation subconsciously continued to spread throughout her body, gradually but inevitably drowning every other emotion.
He then carefully framed her head with his hands, his right fingers brushing away the the loose curls partly hiding her face to lift her face into his view, while his left thumb lighty moved over her wet cheek.
What he saw didn't leave much to his imagination. She was trapped between her emotions, fighting against an invisible darkness that demanded that she keep her feelings enclosed in its iron cage.
Escaping the self-destructive strain for but a moment she whispered, barely audible, "I can't stay alone any longer...no more, John, please...no more. Make it stop!!"
Utterly exhausted from betraying her deep emotional distress, Marguerite suddenly collapsed and melted into Roxton's embrace, clutching tightly at the back of his shirt. Instantly he rushed back to his bed and lay down with her, cradling her limp body on top of his own.
Gently pillowing her head on his chest, Roxton pulled his blanket over her shoulders, cocooning Marguerite inside a nest of love and security while she helplessly soaked the texture of his shirt with her silent tears.
The reassuring drumming of John's heartbeat calmed the quivering trembles roaming inside her body, all the while being aware of his hushed murmurs of comfort, guiding her safely through this night of agony. As he continued to tenderly stroke her back, Maguerite's tensed muscles began to relax and her breathing evened out; eventually she eased into deep sleep.
As the faintest touch of dawn painted the jungle's horizon, Roxton had awakened to find he was on his own. Marguerite had gone, leaving Roxton wondering whether his imagination had played a trick on him and if by any chance the intense, emotion-filled night he remembered had really taken place. But finding a single, dark, curly strand of hair on his sheets cleared away all doubt.
After geeting up and dressing, John hurried upstairs for breakfast, greeting Marguerite with his usual attentive manner as the group little by little came together at the breakfast table. Seeing the greyish shade of her eyes shine with fresh brightness in response to his greeting, Roxton knew yet another layer had been added to the complexity of their relationship.
This proved to be the first of many times Marguerite and Roxton's nights were spent together, but during daylight their behavior remained unchanged. The unusual pair continued to bicker and have arguments over trivial houseold chores and ill-timed adventures just as often as they engaged in mutual teasing and flirting. Regardless, their exchanges were frequently followed by a playful kiss or a tender caress.
But on those days when light vanished and her demons reapproached, Roxton remained Marguerite's safety net.
Now that he had become her confidante, he knew well how to read her signs, picking up on them almost instinctively. This skill, honed and used to avoid such deadly encounters as a raptor or vicious tribe, proved to be essential in making Marguerite feel safe.
He knew how to interpret the subtle weakness of her posture when she got up from the dinnertable to take her last cup of coffee to the balcony along with one of Malone's journals. A mist-like fog seemed to cover her eyes as she sat there and, instead of reading, watched him cleaning his Webleys, never meeting his face fully but undoubtedtly gazing straight through him.
Her voice, which earlier had been loud and clear when she had commanded him to set the table for Veronica's cooking, changed into a muffled, whisper- like sound as she announced that she was retiring for the night.
Even the small, angry red marks on the inside of her arms, left by her fingernails as she willed herself to resist the shadow's pull, didn't go unnoticed by the experienced hunter.
Keeping close attention to these signals, he never once questioned the times she suddenly appeared at his doorway, always shaking and trembling with terror. He refused to judge her actions when she crawled into his bed to bury her face in the crook of his neck, seeking comfort from that one person who offered it unconditionally.
He would hold her then, cradling her into his arms, rocking her in slow motion like a newborn and pressing his lips against her temple as she was overcome by the tremors that were shaking her body.
On nights like these she was confronting her demons, fighting them for a peaceful mind. And, despite the tears and outward helplessness, with John's help she was winning the battle.
He would allow nothing to prevent her from having the treasure of a peaceful night's rest, especially when, in the midst of solitude overcoming her, she had been so desperate to spend time settled in with him...and not since she, troubled and vulnerable, trusted him to guard her as she slept.
And while doing so, the everlasting strength of his love seeped from his heart into hers, replacing the hardened pieces in its shell, bringing warmth into corners that had been dark, empty, and cold for so many years, and finally bursting the bands of steel that threatened to crush her heart to dust.
This way, the hours between dusk and dawn became a refuge for her.
It didn't take long for the inwardly fragile woman to learn to share her pain with John. While on some nights it was still only tears that were released, many others were spent with Marguerite revealing the facets of her sorrow and bit by bit letting go of them as John continued to hold her tightly in his embrace, nurturing her by giving her all the deep love she so craved.
As time went on, Roxton began to know the real Marguerite behind the facade, an amiable, adorable, caring woman with an infectious laugh who loved to dream and let her imagination run wild in an almost child-like naivety, free from the burden of her past.
The nights once spent with fear were now made into joyous moments.
Often she would come to his room with a smile on her face and fruits in her hands, persuading him to having a late night picnic while she told him about visits to her favorite operas, lightly whirling around to the imaginary music, her nightgown swaying in rhythm like a fairy enjoying the first morning dew, causing John to fall in love with her all over again.
Present
Yawning one more time, John tenderly kissed Marguerite's temple before leaning back into his pillow, relishing these memories while knowing the night would end sooner than he preferred.
Awakened by Roxton's stirring, Marguerite's brow creased as she snuggled closer to him, mumuring, "Wha' time 'sit?"
Slighty dismayed at having interrupted her sleeping, Roxton brushed the crown of her dark curls, whispering, "Go back to sleep Sternschnuppe, it's still early, just go back to sleep." His eyes settling once more on the enchanting features of his love's face, the only answer he received was a faint murmur.
Moments later though, the inquiring sound of Marguerite's curious voice pulled him from his thoughts.
"What was it you just called me John? Me, a Shooting Star? Why, John?" her tone now being more puzzled than amused over the German expression.
Roxton didn't rush his reply as his free hand moved to stroke the softness of her cheek and his gaze momentarily became lost in the greyish-blue pools between the dark lashes of her eyes.
But as he did, tears began collecting in his eyes. "This term was impressed on my mind shortly before my brother lost his life. Our safari group was making camp one evening when a group of shooting stars rushed over our heads. I'll never forget the wonder of this exceptional experience, and how it brought a few minutes of peace and contentment. William called out, Sternschnuppe, and back then that's what I wanted to be, free and rushing about the sky with unlimited horizons."
"You, my love, are just as special and precious as a shooting star. A lifetime can be spent watching the sky without ever finding one. No matter how determined one is, fate doesn't succumb to rules. It takes luck, more luck than any human being, including me, possibly deserves, to be in the right place and at the right time. Only then does one have the chance to find what one's been looking for. The small sparkle is easily missed by the human eye, effortlessly swallowed by the night's darkness, while there's so much importance laying in that one moment."
"But if one does find his personal shooting star it has the power to change his life forever, and that's exactly what you did for me, Marguerite. The moment we met, I knew you had turned my life upside down. You've brought so much joy into my existence, changing me to treasure each moment with both of us together, abundant love you've set free inside of me, just by being yourself, the first thing I think of in the morning and the last to remember before falling asleep. Without you there would be nothing but emptiness, ignorance instead of compassion, loneliness despite a crowded room, and pain, deep nagging ache instead of the warmth of your love."
Having revealed these last words Roxton choked, trying to keep from falling into the panic his last thoughts had provoked in himself. But Marguerite caught him, supporting him as he pulled her to himself in a desperate motion, hugging her close with both of his arms tightly around her stomach while his face buried itself in the soft valley between her breasts as he pleaded,
"Sternschnuppe, don't ever leave me ... my Sternschnuppe!"
This time it was Marguerite's turn to console Roxton as he faced his hidden demons.
The End
by Linnea
Disclaimer: The characters from "Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's The Lost World" are owned by Telescene, NewLine Television, The Over the Hill Gang, Coote/Hayes, etc. No profit is being made from this story. No infringement upon copyrighted material is intended
Summary: Entry for the 7th TLW Fix Fanfix Challenge
Category: M/R romance
A/N: Thank you Eva and Pam for the motivation, ongoing support and constructive critism. This story would not have been finished without you, you truly are stars yourselves (
Sternschnuppe
Present time
It was already several hours into the night as Lord John Roxton ever so slowly moved to free his arms from the tangle of sheets, covers and most importantly the delicate womanly form so close beside him, to reach out and pull a spare blanket from beneath the sturdy frame of his bed.
Already the dark jungle night had sent yet another chilly draft through the window of his sleeping quarters, not so much disturbing the impervious hunter but causing him to turn his awareness to the dark-haired lady. Still sleeping soundly, she wrinkled her nose and pressed herself closer to him, wanting to escape the unfriendly breeze.
Careful to keep his movements to a minimum, Roxton swiftly unfolded the tightly-knitted woolen fabric with a few tugs and spread it over Marguerite's back, gently pulling it up to her shoulders and tucking the remains in beside her arms.
Stifling a deep yawn, John settled back into his previous position, both of his long, strong arms resuming their hold on Marguerite and drawing her lithe body near to him. Determined to stay awake during this precious time, Roxton's thoughts wandered, remembering back to the night Marguerite had appeared at his doorframe for the first time.
Past time
He woke up slowly. In the dim moonlight the contours of his room seemed unfamiliar and vaguely threatening. What had roused him from his sleep? He sat up in his bed, a feeling of dread nagging at him. He looked around, but didn't see anything suspicious. He couldn't hear any noises that were cause for concern. What was it? And then he knew.
He hadn't seen her at first, not until his pupils had adjusted to the dim surroundings. Even then he had nearly missed her, crouched down next to the frame of his door, her slim body easily hidden behind a wall of darkness. If it hadn't been for Marguerite's locket he would have looked right past her. But he had noticed the moonlight reflecting and shimmering on the golden, heart-shaped medallion.
Bewildered, he got up and crossed the room to kneel down beside her on the plank floor. Although she didn't flinch away from him, the hiccuping woman, clad in a white, ankle-length nightgown, was not the Marguerite he knew. Desperation radiated off her person, clinging to her like heavy chain-mail pulling her into the abyss of her nightmares.
At first she didn't react when he hesistantly reached out to touch her arm, didn't seem to be aware of his presence. Her body was cold to his skin, and she was a bundle of tremors, her eyes roaming uncontrollably through the room.
But then she abruptly turned her head, giving him but a second to catch a glance of her loneliness. Though banned deeply into a corner of her heart, that sense of isolation subconsciously continued to spread throughout her body, gradually but inevitably drowning every other emotion.
He then carefully framed her head with his hands, his right fingers brushing away the the loose curls partly hiding her face to lift her face into his view, while his left thumb lighty moved over her wet cheek.
What he saw didn't leave much to his imagination. She was trapped between her emotions, fighting against an invisible darkness that demanded that she keep her feelings enclosed in its iron cage.
Escaping the self-destructive strain for but a moment she whispered, barely audible, "I can't stay alone any longer...no more, John, please...no more. Make it stop!!"
Utterly exhausted from betraying her deep emotional distress, Marguerite suddenly collapsed and melted into Roxton's embrace, clutching tightly at the back of his shirt. Instantly he rushed back to his bed and lay down with her, cradling her limp body on top of his own.
Gently pillowing her head on his chest, Roxton pulled his blanket over her shoulders, cocooning Marguerite inside a nest of love and security while she helplessly soaked the texture of his shirt with her silent tears.
The reassuring drumming of John's heartbeat calmed the quivering trembles roaming inside her body, all the while being aware of his hushed murmurs of comfort, guiding her safely through this night of agony. As he continued to tenderly stroke her back, Maguerite's tensed muscles began to relax and her breathing evened out; eventually she eased into deep sleep.
As the faintest touch of dawn painted the jungle's horizon, Roxton had awakened to find he was on his own. Marguerite had gone, leaving Roxton wondering whether his imagination had played a trick on him and if by any chance the intense, emotion-filled night he remembered had really taken place. But finding a single, dark, curly strand of hair on his sheets cleared away all doubt.
After geeting up and dressing, John hurried upstairs for breakfast, greeting Marguerite with his usual attentive manner as the group little by little came together at the breakfast table. Seeing the greyish shade of her eyes shine with fresh brightness in response to his greeting, Roxton knew yet another layer had been added to the complexity of their relationship.
This proved to be the first of many times Marguerite and Roxton's nights were spent together, but during daylight their behavior remained unchanged. The unusual pair continued to bicker and have arguments over trivial houseold chores and ill-timed adventures just as often as they engaged in mutual teasing and flirting. Regardless, their exchanges were frequently followed by a playful kiss or a tender caress.
But on those days when light vanished and her demons reapproached, Roxton remained Marguerite's safety net.
Now that he had become her confidante, he knew well how to read her signs, picking up on them almost instinctively. This skill, honed and used to avoid such deadly encounters as a raptor or vicious tribe, proved to be essential in making Marguerite feel safe.
He knew how to interpret the subtle weakness of her posture when she got up from the dinnertable to take her last cup of coffee to the balcony along with one of Malone's journals. A mist-like fog seemed to cover her eyes as she sat there and, instead of reading, watched him cleaning his Webleys, never meeting his face fully but undoubtedtly gazing straight through him.
Her voice, which earlier had been loud and clear when she had commanded him to set the table for Veronica's cooking, changed into a muffled, whisper- like sound as she announced that she was retiring for the night.
Even the small, angry red marks on the inside of her arms, left by her fingernails as she willed herself to resist the shadow's pull, didn't go unnoticed by the experienced hunter.
Keeping close attention to these signals, he never once questioned the times she suddenly appeared at his doorway, always shaking and trembling with terror. He refused to judge her actions when she crawled into his bed to bury her face in the crook of his neck, seeking comfort from that one person who offered it unconditionally.
He would hold her then, cradling her into his arms, rocking her in slow motion like a newborn and pressing his lips against her temple as she was overcome by the tremors that were shaking her body.
On nights like these she was confronting her demons, fighting them for a peaceful mind. And, despite the tears and outward helplessness, with John's help she was winning the battle.
He would allow nothing to prevent her from having the treasure of a peaceful night's rest, especially when, in the midst of solitude overcoming her, she had been so desperate to spend time settled in with him...and not since she, troubled and vulnerable, trusted him to guard her as she slept.
And while doing so, the everlasting strength of his love seeped from his heart into hers, replacing the hardened pieces in its shell, bringing warmth into corners that had been dark, empty, and cold for so many years, and finally bursting the bands of steel that threatened to crush her heart to dust.
This way, the hours between dusk and dawn became a refuge for her.
It didn't take long for the inwardly fragile woman to learn to share her pain with John. While on some nights it was still only tears that were released, many others were spent with Marguerite revealing the facets of her sorrow and bit by bit letting go of them as John continued to hold her tightly in his embrace, nurturing her by giving her all the deep love she so craved.
As time went on, Roxton began to know the real Marguerite behind the facade, an amiable, adorable, caring woman with an infectious laugh who loved to dream and let her imagination run wild in an almost child-like naivety, free from the burden of her past.
The nights once spent with fear were now made into joyous moments.
Often she would come to his room with a smile on her face and fruits in her hands, persuading him to having a late night picnic while she told him about visits to her favorite operas, lightly whirling around to the imaginary music, her nightgown swaying in rhythm like a fairy enjoying the first morning dew, causing John to fall in love with her all over again.
Present
Yawning one more time, John tenderly kissed Marguerite's temple before leaning back into his pillow, relishing these memories while knowing the night would end sooner than he preferred.
Awakened by Roxton's stirring, Marguerite's brow creased as she snuggled closer to him, mumuring, "Wha' time 'sit?"
Slighty dismayed at having interrupted her sleeping, Roxton brushed the crown of her dark curls, whispering, "Go back to sleep Sternschnuppe, it's still early, just go back to sleep." His eyes settling once more on the enchanting features of his love's face, the only answer he received was a faint murmur.
Moments later though, the inquiring sound of Marguerite's curious voice pulled him from his thoughts.
"What was it you just called me John? Me, a Shooting Star? Why, John?" her tone now being more puzzled than amused over the German expression.
Roxton didn't rush his reply as his free hand moved to stroke the softness of her cheek and his gaze momentarily became lost in the greyish-blue pools between the dark lashes of her eyes.
But as he did, tears began collecting in his eyes. "This term was impressed on my mind shortly before my brother lost his life. Our safari group was making camp one evening when a group of shooting stars rushed over our heads. I'll never forget the wonder of this exceptional experience, and how it brought a few minutes of peace and contentment. William called out, Sternschnuppe, and back then that's what I wanted to be, free and rushing about the sky with unlimited horizons."
"You, my love, are just as special and precious as a shooting star. A lifetime can be spent watching the sky without ever finding one. No matter how determined one is, fate doesn't succumb to rules. It takes luck, more luck than any human being, including me, possibly deserves, to be in the right place and at the right time. Only then does one have the chance to find what one's been looking for. The small sparkle is easily missed by the human eye, effortlessly swallowed by the night's darkness, while there's so much importance laying in that one moment."
"But if one does find his personal shooting star it has the power to change his life forever, and that's exactly what you did for me, Marguerite. The moment we met, I knew you had turned my life upside down. You've brought so much joy into my existence, changing me to treasure each moment with both of us together, abundant love you've set free inside of me, just by being yourself, the first thing I think of in the morning and the last to remember before falling asleep. Without you there would be nothing but emptiness, ignorance instead of compassion, loneliness despite a crowded room, and pain, deep nagging ache instead of the warmth of your love."
Having revealed these last words Roxton choked, trying to keep from falling into the panic his last thoughts had provoked in himself. But Marguerite caught him, supporting him as he pulled her to himself in a desperate motion, hugging her close with both of his arms tightly around her stomach while his face buried itself in the soft valley between her breasts as he pleaded,
"Sternschnuppe, don't ever leave me ... my Sternschnuppe!"
This time it was Marguerite's turn to console Roxton as he faced his hidden demons.
The End