Chapter Three: Return to Me
Challenger cleared up the day's experiments, the rumble of the elevator informing his of his perfect timing. He had been working on a cure for the common cold, one of his various ongoing projects. Though he enjoyed discovering and explaining the plateau's many phenomena, he never forgot his duty to mankind. Now that the explorers had found a comfortable balance with the jungle around them and no longer struggled to eke out an existence, he could devote more time to humanity's problems, rather than those of his own survival. Challenger was just careful to ensure that a solution to one of humanity's many problems would also help the expedition. Their lives weren't that comfortable yet.
Marguerite and Ned's voices floated down to him from the common room and he went to join them. "Oh, hello George," Marguerite greeted him as he emerged from the lab. "Experiments go well?"
"As well as can be expected. I'm working on a cure for the common cold. We've got cough suppressants, fever reducers and such but I've been trying to combine them. Unfortunately, they appear to have some minor side effects when mixed."
"What kind of side effects?" Ned inquired curiously.
"Er...well, let's just say that it's not ready for testing anytime soon."
"Perhaps it would just be better to treat the symptoms as they occur. After all, each ailment is different, as are dosages for each person. If you mixed them then you wouldn't be able to adapt them for individuals," Marguerite objected.
"Maybe you're right, Marguerite, but it would be a useful thing to have about the house. Many can't afford to call a doctor when they fall ill, nor can they diagnose their affliction themselves. Such a drug would be priceless for folk like that."
"That's always presuming we get back to London."
"We will, Marguerite, we will. I have no doubt of that," he said, repeating the familiar litany. Surveying the room, the scientist noted the absence of Marguerite's shadow. "Where is the girl?"
"I'm in here, Professor," a voice called from the kitchen. He looked to Marguerite, who merely shrugged.
"She offered to cook dinner, saying that it was kind of fun. Can you believe that?" Challenger chuckled at the disgusted expression on the lovely heiress's face.
Ned laughed openly. "I'd better go help her. Although I have faith in her abilities after this morning's demonstration, she doesn't know where anything is." Still laughing, he headed for the kitchen.
Marguerite frowned at his back. "Better him than me," she scoffed. Challenger only smiled, knowing Marguerite's haughty heiress act was only that--an act. In retrospect however, he realized it probably was better that Ned played assistant chef than the dark-haired woman beside him. Though breakfast was wonderful this morning, one meal couldn't compensate for the rest of her calamitous cooking.
"So how did the day go? Did the girl remember anything?"
"The 'day' went well enough. Just as I told you, laundry, swim, and a dangerous plant, you know the drill."
"Dangerous plant?"
"Elaine almost picked a blood flower."
"A blood flower? I thought we had gotten rid of the blasted things. Wait a moment...'Elaine'?" Challenger looked perplexed.
"Well, I wasn't going to keep calling her 'girl' all the time," Marguerite retorted dryly.
"She's remembered? Where are her parents? Does she know a way off the plateau?"
"Sorry to disappoint you, but she doesn't remember anything. I just got tired of calling her 'girl'."
Challenger sighed. "Marguerite, you can't just give people names. She's not a pet, you know."
"I didn't just 'give' her a name," she replied venomously, grey-green eyes narrowing. "Elaine is her name. Would you have kept calling her 'girl', like some kind of dog? 'Here, girl'? Elaine is a perfectly nice name, and you'd better get used to using it, Challenger."
Quickly realizing his mistake, the scientist back-pedalled fast. "Of course it is. And it was considerate of you to think of it, Marguerite."
"Of course it was, George." She smiled at him and patted his shoulder fondly. He could hear her laughter as she strolled over to the kitchen. Jessie, my love, he thought, I once refused to have children. Now I know why. And when we all return to London, I'll leave you to deal with this particular "daughter."
"Would you please find me the pepper, Mr. Malone?" the girl asked politely. Though reticent with him this morning, she had somehow overcome her apprehension in a matter of hours. She was now hovering over some raptor meat, adding pinches of this and dashes of that as it grilled over their "stove".
"Sure thing. And please, just Ned, or Malone if you must." He opened one of the cupboards and handed her the requested spice. "What are you making?"
"I'm not sure, really." At his look of alarm, she merely laughed.
"Oh, ye of little faith. Trust me," she added with a mischievous grin. Ned decided that she had been spending far too much time with Marguerite and hoped to remedy that in the future before the girl picked up more of the heiress's habits.
As if the thought had summoned her, Marguerite appeared in the kitchen doorway, smiling. "What's on the menu for tonight, Elaine?"
"I just told Mr--Ned here that I'm not really sure. You should have seen the look on his face when I told him to trust me!"
"I can imagine," Marguerite replied dryly, turning her gaze on Ned. He felt his ears go red. The woman was so damn unsettling!
Calming himself, another thought popped into his mind. "Elaine?"
"Yes?" the girl replied, not looking up from her work.
"You've remembered?" Ned paused, wondering how the girl could take the loss and recovery of her memory so calmly. "If you don't mind, I'd like to ask a few questions--"
"Always the reporter," Marguerite interrupted coolly.
"Can't help it, all part of the job."
Elaine broke in before Marguerite had a chance to continue the banter. "I'm sorry, Ned. I didn't remember my name until Marguerite called me. And it wasn't remembering so much as a...a feeling. I don't know anything else."
"That's all right. I'm sure you'll remember everything soon," he said comfortingly. Elaine smiled at his words, but Ned was preoccupied with other thoughts. After Marguerite called her? How could Marguerite know the girl's name? He paused for a moment in thought. She's been acting very strangely recently. And Veronica last night…she knew something, I can feel it. Before he could come to any conclusions, however, Elaine was requesting a platter for the meat.
Ten minutes later, they gathered around the table, the savoury scent of the awaiting dinner tempting. Ned's mind was elsewhere, however. "Where are they? They should have been home by now. Maybe something happened to them," he suggested worriedly. Ned didn't say whom he was talking about; he didn't need to.
"Oh, I'm sure they'll be home soon. Roxton and Veronica are very capable. They probably just found more meat than they could carry home," Challenger said reasonably.
"I hate to say this, but I agree with Challenger. We should wait, just for a bit. Tramping around in the jungle after dark is safer for them than us," Marguerite concurred. Logically, Ned agreed with them, but that didn't keep him from worrying. He knew Veronica to be more than capable of handling herself in the jungle, even after dark, but his thoughts kept wandering to the dozens of times that tardiness had meant capture--or worse.
Though dinner was delicious, Ned couldn't focus on the food. After a few compliments to the chef, he and Marguerite drifted into silence. Challenger attempted to draw them into conversation, finally settling for lecturing Elaine about his theories on the plateau. After supper had been cleared away, the four of them sat at the table in silence, each lost in his or her own thoughts. At familiar rumble of the elevator Ned sighed in relief, never realizing three others released their breaths simultaneously.
A bedraggled-looking Roxton staggered in, half-carrying a pale, bloody Veronica. Ned was beside her in an instant, taking her into his arms even as Marguerite helped Roxton up. Oh God, if anything happens to her... "What the hell happened?" he demanded, his voice harsh with worry.
"Boar and raptors. Veronica got the female, but we didn't realize she had a mate," Roxton told him weakly. "I was cleaning the sow when the boar came up from behind us. She barely had enough time to get a shot off. It got to her before I could...and then the blood...it attracted every bloody raptor in the area...it was all I could do to get her home..." his voice broke.
"Hush, John," Marguerite told him gently. "It wasn't your fault. Come on, we've got to get you into bed before you collapse. George, help Ned with Veronica. Elaine, the med kit's in the bottom shelf of the cabinet on the far right," she ordered crisply. Everyone burst into action.
Ned's heart twisted at the sight of Veronica, her beautiful face flecked with blood. Her right calf was bleeding profusely from a wicked-looking gash, and he could see other slashes across her back and abdomen. Her clothes were bloody shreds, and as he held her a bright crimson stain spread across his white shirt. "Oh, Veronica," he cried softly as he carried her to her room. How could such a simple trip go so wrong? Damn this plateau! Gently laying her down on the bed, he turned to find Challenger beside him. "What can I do?"
"I need the kit, some hot water, and some cloths." Ned dashed for the door and almost ran into Elaine, carrying the desired materials. She handed them to him and then ran down the hall.
"Where do you want them?"
"That table over there should do fine." Challenger got to work quickly, cleaning the wounds gently. Ned could scarcely breathe at the sight of her injuries. Besides the gash on her knee, there were two severe raptor slashes on her back, and Veronica sported numerous bruises and scratches as well. She moaned once before falling completely unconscious, and Ned's heart broke at the sound.
Applying antiseptic was a painful process and he could only hope that Veronica would remain unconscious for the duration of her treatment. She didn't stir when Challenger sewed the wounds shut, and Ned sent a silent prayer of thanks to whoever was listening. But when the blood kept oozing out, it was all he could do to keep from crying out. Challenger sat back heavily.
"Well? How is she?" Ned asked anxiously.
Challenger's response was hesitant. "She's lost a lot of blood, Ned."
"So? How is she, Challenger?" he demanded, gut-wrenching fear adding an edge to his voice.
"Veronica's very weak, Ned. She's lost too much blood, and that leg wound is in great danger of becoming infected. If the bleeding doesn't stop...there's...there's nothing we can do but watch and pray." Challenger could no longer keep even a pretence of professionalism and something in Ned broke as he took in the scientist's tear-streaked face.
"NO!" Ned heard a male voice scream in agony. "No! Liar!" It was only after he found himself struggling to free himself from Challenger's grasp did he realize the voice had been his. And then he screamed again, a desperate cry of denial and soul-deep anguish, before collapsing at Veronica's side, weeping as if broken, praying to any and every god, knowing that if she left him, the light of his world would go with her.
Marguerite swore her heart had stopped when she saw Roxton stumble in, Veronica in his arms. Dammit, will this plateau never stop? God, John, please be all right. She'd breathed a sigh of relief when it seemed he was still cognizant enough to explain the situation. He was certainly in much better shape than Veronica. Veronica. Far more used to handling crisis situations than the others could suspect, she'd issued orders immediately, knowing that it would galvanize them into action.
With her help, John had been able to limp to his room and on to his bed. "Clothes come off. Now."
He managed a half-smile. "So eager to undress me, Marguerite?"
"You wish." Still, she was grateful for his quip. If John could still joke, then he couldn't be too badly off. She began to unbutton his blood-soaked shirt, silently praying that the blood wasn't his. His clothes hung in tatters, the strips having been used to binding Veronica's wounds, and blood was everywhere, making it near impossible to discern if he was wounded or not. Gently peeling it away, she gasped in horror. Three oozing lacerations striped his chest while smaller gashes bloodied his side, clear evidence of the raptors' cruelty. "Oh, John," she whispered, holding back tears. "Why didn't you say anything?"
"Veronica." John hissed in pain and Marguerite closed her eyes for a moment. I won't cry. I won't. Be strong, Marguerite. John needs you now. John needs you. She opened her eyes and managed a weak smile for him.
"Not very good a protector if you can't even keep yourself in one piece, Roxton," she told him, her voice breaking at the last. Marguerite opened her mouth to call Challenger, but was interrupted.
"He can't, Marguerite. Miss Layton--she needs him more than Lord Roxton does." Elaine had slipped into the room, carrying the extra bandages and medicines.
"What? Get him in here now, dammit!"
"No, Marguerite." At the sound of John's voice, she spun and knelt beside him.
Marguerite tried to get him to relax, but the stubborn man refused. "Hush, John, save your strength."
"No...Challenger must see to Veronica. I'll be fine. Trust me, Marguerite."
"Always, John." She could no longer keep the tears from her eyes or voice. "Always."
"Drink this, Lord Roxton." Elaine held a strange brew to his lips. How she had appeared unnoticed again Marguerite didn't know, but considering her state it was hardly surprising. She doubted she'd notice the devil's arrival at this point.
"What is that?"
"It will make him sleep. There's no painkiller strong enough to allow us to work. He'll hinder us, otherwise."
"'Us'?"
"If those wounds aren't treated, he could bleed to death." Elaine's voice was matter-of-fact, but her eyes showed the pain Marguerite's sharp words were causing.
"She's right, Marguerite. Do what you need to. I trust you," John whispered, ending any arguments from her.
"How many times do I need to tell you to be quiet, John? You just can't listen to a woman, can you?"
"Only you, love." Marguerite knew he kept the banter up as her bulwark against panic. Roxton, always the protector. She nodded and took the cup from Elaine.
"Did Challenger make this?"
"Not exactly."
"What the hell do you mean, not exactly?" Fear made Marguerite's voice shrill.
"I made it. Look, we haven't time for this. He needs medical treatment, now." Marguerite was about to give the girl a serious dressing-down when Ned's agonized cry split the air. Her head snapped up. Oh God, not Veronica. Not Veronica! "She's still alive. You would know if she weren't." Marguerite heard the truth of the statement and wondered where Elaine had learned that. "Please, Marguerite, trust me."
"Trust a child with Roxton's life?"
"Marguerite," John called. "Look at me, Marguerite." Unable to defy his gentle command, she met his green-brown eyes, eyes so full of trust in her that her heart broke. "I trust her. You need to try. I won't take Challenger from Veronica. Please, Marguerite. I--" he broke off with a hiss of pain. Elaine said nothing, simply handing her the cup.
Marguerite looked at it. Trust. To think, such a simple thing will either save or destroy everything. She held the cup to his lips and he sipped it slowly. Marguerite watched him anxiously as his breath evened and he fell into a deep sleep. She breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you," she told Elaine sincerely.
"We're not out of the woods yet, Marguerite," Elaine reminded her gently, passing her the bottle of antiseptic and a cloth. Marguerite said nothing, cleansing the wounds as gently and quickly as possible. Finally finished, she wiped an errant tear from her face. A hand touched her shoulder, and Marguerite saw Elaine had found the needle and thread. "Do you want to or shall I?"
Forcing down the bile that rose in her throat at the thought, Marguerite took the needle. John trusts you. "I will." Taking a deep breath, she began stitching. Her stomach rose at the thought of what she was doing, but she continued resolutely. John trusts you. With Elaine's help, she sewed the wounds shut. Wiping away the excess blood with a damp cloth, she sat back on the bed, holding John's hand.
The girl quietly tidied up the room, then touched Marguerite's shoulder gently. "I'll go check on Miss Layton," Elaine whispered, but Marguerite saw only Lord John Roxton, the man who had won the dubious prize of her heart and soul through sheer perseverance, infinite patience, and--dare she believe--the truest love she would ever know. Return to me, my love. I can't live without you, you know, and it's all your fault.
Elaine headed down the hall, heading for Veronica's room. She could hear Challenger working furiously in the lab, no doubt trying to find a miracle cure. This group of explorers touched something in her heart. She had seen instantly that they were a family--seen it in the way they teased, worked, and wept together. The Professor considered the four younger explorers his surrogate children, while they regarded him as another father figure and each other as siblings. Ned and Miss Layton were quite obviously in love, as were Lord Roxton and Marguerite.
Marguerite. Elaine knew that she should be frightened to death, having lost her memory and staying with strangers, yet she felt at home. Perhaps I am home, she thought. After all, Marguerite knew my name when I didn't know it myself. But if I'm home, then why don't the others know me? Why would Marguerite lie to me? Why do I feel like I'm missing something important? But there were more important things at stake than her memory, as Ned's distressed voice reminded her.
Elaine slipped into Miss Layton's room and knelt at her beside, opposite the reporter. "Please don't leave me, Veronica," Ned begged the blonde's still form, so intent upon her face he didn't notice Elaine's presence. "Please, Veronica. I...dammit, I love you. Please don't leave me. How can I write--how can I live without you?" Ned's words grew readily less coherent. Eventually he simply hung his head, holding Veronica's hand between his as if in prayer. A light touch was all Elaine needed to ensure that he would not wake. I'm sorry, Ned.
Placing one hand over Veronica's heart and grasping her pendant with her other hand, Elaine closed her eyes. I don't even know what I'm doing, other than the fact that this is somehow extremely dangerous. As for why I'm risking myself, that's easier, but no less mysterious. Marguerite loves you, Miss Layton, she told the sleeping woman silently, and I do this for her--and for your Ned, and for this love that binds your family together. It is the least I can do for you all.
Elaine focused her attention inward. All was silent for a moment, and then the pain and the fire blazed up from inside of her, filling her world with light. It poured into Veronica, the woman's dire need ripping Elaine's strength from her body faster than she had thought possible. In her mind's eye Elaine watched in alarm as her sapphire blue streamed through Veronica's body, pooling around her wounds and growing in intensity until the light was nearly blinding.
It was not enough. In one last, desperate effort, Elaine released the last bit of energy she had reserved, but though Veronica soaked it up instantly, there was no discernable change in her condition.
Suddenly Elaine was wracked with pain. Her eyes flew open, breaking the trance. She could just see the fading blue aura surrounding Veronica. Forgive me, Marguerite. I failed you. And now Veronica will pay the price. Elaine's last pain-filled thoughts echoed through her mind before the light overwhelmed her and she knew only darkness.
