Disclaimer: I don't own any of it (darn it!). It all belongs to Newline and Coote-Hayes. Just taking these characters and borrowing them for a while, and making sure to return them safe and sound where I found them.
Author's notes: For anyone wondering what is taking so long with my other stories, this is partly why. I heard this wonderful Luthor Vandross song, and this story popped into my head. My muse refused to return to the other stuff until I wrote this, expounded on my ideas, and polished it. And yes, it's pretty angsty, so just in case, you were warned! In takes place in the future and features a character death. Please, please, PLEASE, read and review!! Especially review. J
"Dance
With My Father"
Anna Jessica Roxton turned another page in the scarred, leather-bound book and continued reading. Her hazel-green eyes scanned the carefully printed words, committing every nuance of writing to memory. She had to make sure that she didn't overlook a single, even insignificant, detail, or this enterprise she was bound on would be an utter failure.
She reached up, as was her habit, and found a tendril of hair that had escaped her braid. She twirled the dark curl around her finger, twisting and untwisting, every once in a while looking up to stare at the ceiling while she mulled over certain passages.
Just as she had reached about midway into the book, she heard the light footsteps that she knew belonged to her mother. She was startled. Marguerite was not supposed to be back from trading until later in the day! Anna quickly closed the book and shoved it between the cushion of her chair, before picking up her discarded blouse and the dangling needle and thread. She started to sew, making a little face. She might have her mother's skill with a needle, but she certainly had her father's impatience at the tediousness of the task.
Marguerite rounded the corner of the stairs and paused, watching Anna work. Her daughter's slender fingers fairly flew as she repaired the damaged article of clothing. However, the expression on her face told Marguerite that Anna would rather be doing just about anything other than sewing. She allowed a tiny smile to creep onto her face. She'd seen that expression countless times before. Anna was so much like Roxton…Her smile faded as that painful thought intruded. It was almost that day again…
Anna raised her head and caught the look on her mother's face. Marguerite was never good around this time, even now, so many years later. She laid her sewing down and stood up, crossing the small distance to hug her mother. Marguerite returned the embrace, sighing as she noted that Anna was now as tall as she was. Where had the time gone?
"Mother, are you all right?" Anna asked, pulling away to search her mother's eyes with her own. In spite of the few lines at the corners, Marguerite's silvery green eyes were as lovely as ever. Marguerite summoned up a perfunctory smile for her daughter and nodded.
"I'm fine, love," she said. "It's just…it's almost that time again, you know? I'm feeling…unsettled."
"I know, Mother. Uncle Ned says that he and Aunt Veronica are almost done. When are you leaving?"
"We want to have the memorial in place just one day early. We'll leave tomorrow; it's only an hour's walk. Are you absolutely sure that you don't want to come?"
Anna averted her eyes. "I'm sure, Mother. I want you three to have your own time there. I'm old enough to go on my own." While partly the truth, this wasn't the whole truth. Anna hated lying to her mother, but she knew perfectly well that Marguerite wouldn't let her try what she wanted to do. Convincing Uncle George to go along with it had been hard enough. And she needed her mother away before they started. She looked back at Marguerite.
"I can't believe it's been so long already, Mother. Sometimes it feels like it was just yesterday."
"Ten years already, Anna. Ten long years." Marguerite sighed and looked at her daughter. "Ten years…since your father died."
Back when I was a child, before life removed all the
innocence
My father would lift me high and dance with my mother and me and then
Spin me around 'til I fell asleep
Then up the stairs he would carry me
And I knew for sure I was loved
Anna nodded, and Marguerite reached out and touched her cheek before moving away in the direction of the balcony. Anna watched her go, and sat down again to let herself remember.
She remembered times when the rain made it necessary to stay inside, and she would quickly get bored. So her father would set up the phonograph. As the music started, he would bow gravely to Anna, and she would curtsy back just as solemnly. Then he would run forward and scoop his daughter into his arms, twirling her around the floor to the music. She would shriek with laughter as he spun her, her head thrown back and her unruly curls streaming out behind her.
He taught her to waltz and to foxtrot, as well as a variety of other dances. When she had been very small, he would place her on his feet and they would dance together that way. She would smile up at him as he carefully moved around the floor. Even when she got older he would occasionally pick her up when the faster music played, and they would accompany their waltzes with the sound of their laughter.
Their antics always drew Marguerite, who would pretend to scowl at them just before Roxton grabbed her around her slender waist and drew her into the dance with them. Anna had adored dancing with her parents, laughing and twirling until she would yawn and rest her head on her father's shoulder, with Marguerite's free hand warm on her back. She often fell asleep as they were dancing, and Roxton would gently carry her up the stairs and lay her in her bed, drawing her blanket carefully over her. His tender hand smoothing back her tangled curls and the gentle kiss he always dropped on her forehead made Anna's world safe and secure. She knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that her father and mother loved her. She was safe, and warm, and loved.
If I could get another chance, another walk, another dance
with him
I'd play a song that would never, ever end
How I'd love, love, love
To dance with my father again
After Roxton's death, Anna would often sit by the phonograph and play the songs they danced to, over and over, until a few wore out. She would lay her head against the table leg and desperately pretend it was her father's shoulder. Marguerite would find her there, asleep against the table, with dried tear tracks on her face. Rather than disturb her daughter, Marguerite would bring down Anna's pillow and blanket and cover her. Even in her sleep Anna knew the difference between Marguerite's touch and the one that she would never feel again, and her heart broke. In her dreams she and Roxton danced and danced until all the songs they knew were done, then her father held her until the morning light cruelly woke her to another day without him.
When I and my mother would
disagree
To get my way, I would run from her to him
He'd make me laugh just to comfort me
Then finally make me do just what my mama said
Later that night when I was asleep
He left a dollar under my sheet
Never dreamed that he would be gone from me
Roxton had often said that Marguerite and Anna were exactly alike, temper-wise, which meant that the occupants of the tree house were treated to awesome displays of temper from both mother and daughter. Anna would sometimes disagree quite vocally with Marguerite's decisions for her, as much for pure stubbornness as for times when she felt another choice was the better one. If she particularly disagreed with Marguerite, Anna would run to her father and plead her case, well aware that she was Roxton's petted favorite. He would cuddle her in his arms and speak gently to her, sometimes amusing her with stories, sometimes causing her to giggle madly as he tickled her.
In the end, and Anna was never sure exactly how he managed to do it, he always brought Anna around to Marguerite's point of view. He would point out that firstly, Marguerite was Anna's mother and loved her; secondly, Marguerite was only ever looking out for Anna's well being; and thirdly, it would be best for all concerned if she obeyed her mother. Anna could never find fault with his logic, or with his implied threat of punishment, and in the end, she did what her mother told her.
If the argument had been especially heated between mother and daughter, Roxton would make a peace offering. Sometimes it was a special breakfast for Anna, or the promise of a special outing; sometimes it was a treat left by her bedside table or a toy left on her pillow. Marguerite never begrudged Roxton's actions; she was well aware of what worked with her daughter, as well as the fact that Roxton did the same thing to her, with much the same results. She would only give him a look, which he would return with a sheepish shrug.
In spite of the constant awareness of the danger of the world surrounding them, Anna had never really allowed herself to think of Roxton dying. Her father was larger than life, strong, bold, warm, caring, and brave. And he loved Marguerite and Anna enough to make Anna believe that nothing would keep him away from them.
Anna abruptly stood and walked to the balcony. Little had changed in the great tree house since the arrival of the explorers. Additions had been built for the Roxton family and for the two Malone children, and Challenger had added to his lab (finally putting in a window), but the main room, kitchen, and balcony had been left alone. Anna reached out and leaned on the edge of the railing, gazing down into the jungle without really seeing it. She remembered that day so very vividly, that horrible day her world had crashed around her…
She had been playing in the yard at the base of the treehouse. She looked up at the sound of approaching footsteps, while still managing to deftly keep her necklace away from Arthur's curious two-year-old hands. She swiftly pulled out the small crossbow her Aunt Finn had made her. It was most likely the hunting group, and the electric fence was on, but it never hurt to be careful. She called to Malone and Finn, who were finishing tending to the garden.
"Aunt Finn! Uncle Ned! I think they're back!"
She scrambled to her feet and waited, keeping her crossbow trained on the gate. She glimpsed her Uncle George, and turned her head to yell to the two adults, a smile on her face.
"It's Uncle George! They're back a little early."
She turned back to see her Uncle George open the gate and walk through, and her smile abruptly faltered and froze on her face. Challenger and Veronica were carrying a litter. Their faces were drained and so very sad. Her heart started to pound furiously as she turned to her mother. Marguerite was holding Roxton's hand, but it was so still, so limp. Challenger and Veronica gently laid the litter down, and Marguerite released the hand she was holding and stood up. Anna stared with growing horror at the blood that liberally covered her mother's clothes, at the stillness that lay over her father, at the expressions on the faces of the three adults. The crossbow dropped from her suddenly nerveless fingers.
"No," she whispered. Her hands flew to her mouth as her eyes began to burn with tears. She started to take small, halting steps towards Roxton, her hand outstretched.
"No, no, no, no, NO!" The whispers grew gradually louder, until she shrieked the last word and started to run to the form on the ground.
Anna's shriek brought Finn and Malone running. Finn skidded to a halt, taking in the situation, and quickly picked up little Arthur. Malone took one look at the scene before him. Veronica was standing, her hands fisted at her side, tears rolling silently down her cheeks. Challenger held his loose fist at his mouth, his brow furrowed. And Marguerite was reaching out for her daughter. Malone stared at the body of his best friend, and felt a great weight settle in his chest. Roxton couldn't be dead. He couldn't. That vibrant life could not be snuffed out, not now! Malone glanced over and saw that Finn was holding his son, then he swiftly walked over to his wife and pulled Veronica to him.
Marguerite caught Anna just before she reached her father.
"DADDY! DADDY!!" Anna screamed. She struggled against Marguerite's grip, twisting and pulling in her mother's arms.
"NO! Let me go! I have to go see him! DAADDYYY!!"
She pummeled Marguerite with her fists. Even at eight years old she was strong. Her blows would leave bruises on her mother, and the hands she raked down Marguerite's arms left red welts on the fair flesh. She screamed as the tears poured down her cheeks, screamed even as Marguerite slowly brought her under control. She screamed for her father until her throat was raw and only whimpers escaped her lips. She collapsed to the ground, bringing Marguerite down with her.
"Daddy," she cried, one arm still reaching for the man now forever out of her grasp. Suddenly she threw her arms around her mother and held on for dear life, her slender body shaking with sobs.
Veronica could not stand this. She turned her head into Malone's shoulder as she cried. Her husband held her, his own tears making a pathway down his face. George Challenger stood, both hands over his face now, his shoulders bowed with immense grief. Finn closed her eyes briefly and stroked Arthur's fine blond hair before carrying him over to his parents.
Marguerite gently rocked her daughter in her arms. She laid her head on Anna's, rubbing the girl's back and making soothing noises. Hers was not the moment to grieve. She'd had that all the way back to the treehouse. Now, it was time to be there as Anna cried for her father. Even so, a few errant tears slipped from her eyes and lost themselves in Anna's tumbled curls.
"Daddy, oh, Daddy," Anna moaned, and clutched Marguerite even more tightly to her.
* * * * * *
Anna shook herself out of her reverie, taking a deep breath to hold back the tears she could feel hovering on the surface. She could never think of that moment without pain. She rubbed her arms at the sudden chill that had nothing to do with the temperature, and headed back inside. After making sure that Marguerite was nowhere in sight, she surreptitiously pulled the book from its hiding place and continued reading.
If I could steal one final glance, one final step, one final
dance with him
I'd play a song that would never, ever end
'Cause I'd love, love, love
To dance with my father again
Had her mother seen the cover of the book, she would have had a good inkling of why Anna was reading it. The book was an account of Challenger's experiment with the transporter, the experiment that had resulted in the arrival of Finn. Challenger had not only detailed all of his observations of the phenomena, but his theories as well. Anna was doing her best to imprint every scrap of information into her head, because she was trying to do the impossible. Challenger had argued that it was a crazy notion, a foolish idea that she should not even dare to think of. He begged Anna to consider her mother and the rest of their tree house family, and tried his best to point out that it hadn't worked as he'd thought anyway. Anna's streak of stubbornness had persevered, and Challenger had grudgingly agreed to help her. She knew he was only concerned, but he had never listened at night to Marguerite, either. He had never heard the deep, muffled sobs that had torn at Anna's heart as Marguerite tried to conceal her pain, wasn't aware of just how much of the night Marguerite spent pacing, or muttering, or simply sitting and staring at nothing, willing the nightmares and loneliness away. Anna remembered one particular time four years after her father'death…
Sometimes I'd listen outside her door
And I'd hear how my mother cried for him
I pray for her even more than me
I pray for her even more than me
They'd just come back from a frustrating trading trip, where even Marguerite's legendary ability to make a deal had not secured them all of the supplies they had needed. The stress of the day had only worsened when a hunting pair of raptors had crossed their path, and after they had been killed, Ned had thoughtlessly said, "That was close! Roxton would've-"
He had broken off his words, never finishing his thought, after he'd caught a glimpse of how white Marguerite's face had gone. He had apologized profusely for his slip of the tongue, but the stiff line of Marguerite's back and the blistering pace she had set for home spoke volumes about her pain. Upon reaching the main room of the tree house, Marguerite had excused herself to her room and slammed the door shut.
Anna had crept close to the closed door and placed her ear against it. She could hear Marguerite slam around a few things, venting her frustration, before all sound stopped for a moment. Then the deep sobs had started. Anna had listened, her brow furrowed in pain as she listened to her mother weep. There was only one thing that made Marguerite cry that hard. Anna knew perfectly well that Marguerite was crying for her loss, for her love, for the life that had been shattered. She was crying for Roxton.
After an interminable time, the sobbing stopped, and Anna heard water splash in the basin. Marguerite was washing her face, trying to hide the evidence of her grief. Anna's mouth tightened. Her mother was closing herself off, and everyone was worried. Anna was determined to put a stop to it. She waited by the door until Marguerite opened it.
Marguerite saw Anna and stopped in surprise and discomfort. From the expression on Anna's face, she had heard some of the crying. Marguerite ducked her head and tried to sidle past her daughter, but Anna was having none of that.
She forced Marguerite to stop. Even though she tried to hide it, Anna could see the fresh tear tracks on her face.
"Mother, please," she said. "You never talk about it. Never. I need to know about Daddy. I need to know-"
"How he died?" snapped Marguerite. It had been a long, trying day, and being only a few days away from the anniversary of Roxton's death put Marguerite's hackles up. "You know the how, Anna, would you like to hear the intimate details?" She pushed on, ignoring the shocked look on her daughter's face at her tone.
"Do you want to know what he looked like when that arrow pierced his chest, Anna? How it threw him back and he didn't even have time to yell in shock? Do you want to know how I felt when I saw the blood pouring out of the wound, bright frothy blood that meant the arrow had punctured his lung? Do you want to know how fast I got to him, how hard I held my hand over his chest to try and stop the bleeding? Do you want to know how white he'd gone?"
Anna stared at her mother with wide, horrified eyes, tears rolling down her face. This wasn't what she had meant to do by stopping her mother in the hallway. Marguerite had her by the arms in a grip of steel, and even if she wanted to, Anna didn't have the power to move. Marguerite continued, her haunted eyes locked on a spot inches to the side of Anna's face, her own tears falling unheeded on her cheeks.
"Do you want to hear how he still tried to soothe me, even though he knew he was dying? Do you want to hear how I begged with him, pleaded with him to stay, not to leave, to fight and stay with us? Do you want to hear how I told him I loved him, over and over and over until I couldn't speak for sobbing? Do you want to know that it took both Veronica and George to pull me away from him? Do you want to know how cold his hand was-"
"NO!" Anna cried out in a choked voice. The tears poured down her face, and she dropped her head and began to cry in earnest.
Marguerite was shaken out of her monologue by the cry from her daughter. She looked down at Anna, at the dark head bowed in grief and tears, at the slender shoulders in her hands, shoulders that shook with sobs. Marguerite drew in a breath, sickened at what she had been doing to Anna.
"Oh, God, Anna," she cried. "Oh, dear God."
She released Anna's arms and pulled her daughter close, wrapping her arms around Anna and carefully stroking her hair.
"Oh, my baby girl, I'm so sorry. I'm so very sorry. I didn't mean to do that." She kissed Anna's head and continued smoothing her hair.
Anna held her mother tightly, her heart aching inside. Not for herself, but for the bone-deep, soul-shattering heartbreak and loss she could see in her mother's eyes, at the raw pain and grief that still laced her mother's voice. She missed her father, but she knew it was nothing like how much her mother missed him. She closed her eyes and prayed to God that one day her mother might feel whole again.
I know I'm praying for much too much
But could you send back the only man she loved
I know you don't do it usually
But dear Lord she's dying
To dance with my father again
Anna read until the sunset colored the clouds outside in red and gold glory. She closed the book and took a deep breath. She was as ready as she would ever be. All that was left was to pack up the necessary supplies and get a night's rest before she and Challenger set out the next day. Of course, they would have to be very careful and avoid the other inhabitants of the tree house. Luckily for Anna's peace of mind, her Uncle Ned and Aunt Veronica had elected to take Arthur and Abigail with them to visit Roxton's grave. Finn, of course, had gone back to the future a few years ago; otherwise her curiosity might have been Anna's undoing.
After years of hearing her mother grieve for her father, two things had happened to start Anna upon her present course. The first had been the discovery of the journal of Challenger's. The information contained in its pages had started her thinking. The second event had been the maturing of certain powers related to being the daughter of a Chosen One. Though most of her abilities were far weaker than Marguerite's, Anna did have one thing that Marguerite did not. She could, to some extent, manipulate reality around her. It was very small, but it might be enough for what she wanted to do.
She had carefully thought through her idea, weighing all the facts and possible solutions, before presenting it to her Uncle George. Anna knew that he appreciated a sound argument, even for something as far-fetched as what she was proposing.
After an hour spent outlining everything she had thought of and what she planned to do, a startled Challenger had interrupted her.
"Anna, are you crazy?" he had exclaimed. "You can't be seriously thinking what I think you're thinking! It'll never work. There's too much uncertainty, and we aren't sure of the exact extent of the phenomena. We can't be sure that the actions in the past have a bearing on the present, and-"
"Uncle George, I'm going to do it. With or without your help. I just had hoped that you would try to make sure it does work. But I can't stand Mother's pain anymore. I can't stand anyone's pain anymore. I think it will work. I'm sure I can make it work. One thing is certain, Uncle George. I'm going to go back and change things. I'm going to bring my father back to my mother."
"Anna," Challenger had said, grasping the young woman's hands and holding them tightly, "this isn't right. It's not the order of things. It could fail miserably. And child, I'm not about to let you do this!"
Anna had wrenched her hands away and said in a tight voice, "Uncle George, I'm not going to think that's it's going to fail. It will not. I won't let it. And you can't do anything. I'm not a child anymore, Uncle George. I haven't been a child for ten years. Now will you help me or not?"
Her eyes dared him to consider the impossible being made real. Challenger had understood that Anna was too determined and stubborn to be derailed, and if he went to Marguerite, not only would Anna despise him, she would probably find a way to do it anyway, without his guidance. He sighed and accepted the inevitable.
They had planned and mapped out every detail for a few weeks. Now, for better or worse, they were ready.
The next morning Anna waited anxiously for Marguerite and the rest of the group to get going. According to Challenger, there was an optimum time to attempt going back, and if the group didn't leave soon, Anna and Challenger would not make it to the cave in time. She watched Marguerite pack her knapsack and check the gun in its holster, and watched Malone make sure his children were ready. Veronica finished tying the cloth around the memorial they had made.
It was really quite lovely, Anna thought. Veronica had painstakingly carved their likenesses into a carefully treated slab of wood and had coated it with a substance that Challenger had come up with that resembled thin plaster. They were all smiling out at whomever would see the monument, even Abigail, who had been born after Roxton's death. They planned to put the sculpture at the head of Roxton's grave.
Finally they were all ready. The Malone family, with the exception of Veronica, went down in the elevator. Marguerite turned to Anna and hugged her tightly.
"I'll say hello to your father for you," she whispered into her daughter's ear. "I'll make sure he knows you're coming by later."
"Thank you," Anna said softly. Wishing she could have told her mother what she planned to do, she instead opted to hug her very tightly. Marguerite sensed something and drew back to gaze into Anna's eyes. Anna just smiled. Marguerite's eyes narrowed slightly. She knew that smile. Anna wasn't telling her something. However, they did need to go, so Marguerite vowed to get the truth out of her daughter as soon as they got back. She and Veronica each picked up one corner of the bundled sculpture and headed into the elevator.
Anna rushed to the window and watched Marguerite and Veronica lead the group away. When she was sure that they were gone, she turned to Challenger and raised one eyebrow. He sighed and went to retrieve their packs from his room. Anna turned to the painting of her father that hung in the main room, her eyes searching his features. When Challenger returned, she took her pack and left the note she had written on the table. Whether she was successful or not, the note would explain everything. She only hoped her mother wouldn't be too furious with her.
She and Challenger rode the elevator down in silence and headed out. Anna was wearing a hat and her favorite blue blouse, along with a pair of pants. She knew her physical resemblance to her mother was strong, and in case she was seen in the past, she wanted anyone seeing her to think it was Marguerite. Challenger shook his head as Anna scouted ahead. From the back, with the hat and the dark curls tumbling nearly to her waist, Challenger could almost believe that he was walking with Marguerite herself. Of course, he thought wryly, Marguerite would be complaining much more about the trail than Anna was.
When they finally reached the entrance to the cave, Challenger broke the silence.
"Anna, are you absolutely sure about this? We can still turn around and go back."
"I'm sure, Uncle George. I'm as sure about doing this as anything in my life. Please, don't worry. It will be fine, really it will." She stepped closer to him and smiled up at him, then turned and disappeared into the cave. Challenger sighed and cast his eyes heavenwards.
"Dear Lord," he said softly, "keep her safe. Because if something happens to her, there's no force on earth or in heaven that will keep me safe from Marguerite."
With that, he shifted his own pack and, taking a deep breath, headed in the cave after Anna.
They set up the equipment quickly and efficiently, making minor adjustments here and there according to Challenger's journal and their own notes. Finally they were finished. They stepped back and reviewed their handiwork. It was ready.
Anna checked the gun at her hip, making sure that it was fully loaded, and then shrugged off her pack. She and Challenger had agreed that the less she took with her the better. That was the reason for the intense perusal of Challenger's journal, as well as the hours they had spent going over pertinent facts and what Anna's course of action would be. Everything she needed she would have to have in her head. She watched the play of light for a moment, then turned and hugged Challenger.
Challenger held her to him tightly, resting his chin on her hair. He loved this girl as much as if she was his own, and he was deathly afraid that something would happen to her on this, to his mind, foolhardy endeavor. He knew that Anna was a highly intelligent girl with great motivation, and he hoped that those two things would be enough. He pulled away and put his hands on her shoulders.
"You be careful, young lady, and make sure that you don't do anything foolish!" he said sternly. His expression softened and he gazed almost pleadingly at the daughter of one of his dearest friends. "Come back to us, Anna, please."
Anna smiled and kissed his cheek. "I will, Uncle George, I will. Don't worry. I'll make this work."
With that, Anna picked up her hat and placed it firmly on her head. She stood and concentrated her power on making sure that the portal would take her where she wanted to go, and not where it wanted to go. In her mind's eye she pictured the river where the attack had taken place, exactly as it had been those ten years ago. She concentrated until she thought she saw a faint image in the light. This was it! She took a deep breath.
"I'm coming, Daddy. I'm coming to bring you home."
With that, Anna let out her breath in a rush and stepped forward into the light.
Every night I fall asleep and this is all I ever dream
The End (for now?)