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A Lost World Roxton/Marguerite Fanfic
"I think I'm going to turn in."
Roxton turned from his place by the balcony to face the yawning reporter. "It's been quite a day," he agreed, bringing the cup of coffee back up to his lips. "Finished your entry for the evening?"
Ned nodded slowly and the hunter couldn't help but chuckle. The boy was practically dead on his feet. Taking pity, he waved him away. "Goodnight Malone."
Ned gave a small smile and made his way further inside. Within seconds the exhausted shuffle of boots on the treehouse floor was hushed. It was just Lord John Roxton and the night.
Grabbing a chair from the kitchen table, Roxton set it next to the open flap in the dining room. It was the coolest there. He carelessly sunk into it, crossing one leg to rest on the knee of the other and sighed. His burning skin sure appreciated the breeze. It wove its way into his shirt sleeves, and it wasn't long before his arms were peppered with welcome goosebumps. He countered the slight chill with another long sip of coffee and was soon quite comfortable.
Cupping the mug in his palms, John inhaled the chilly night air. It was evenings like this that made him rethink his view of the plateau. Without the roaring of hungry raptors and victorious screams of the Trog hunting parties it could almost be called beautiful. The lure of danger however threatened to break the stillness and on instinct, Roxton turned to the counter where his rifle lay ready. Based on experience, it was always best to have the weapon within reach. Besides, as long as he was awake, the duty fell to him to be the lookout. Satisfied that he was sufficiently prepared, John returned his attention to the stars.
But when his gaze moved back, he was not met with the inky darkness of the plateau. Instead, his eyes were greeted with soft violet silk.
Despite the welcome breeze, he felt his flesh grow warm and then prickle with a sudden attack of nerves. He gaped silently; his tongue hopelessly tied in knots. Maybe it was best that way. Words always seemed to shatter even the best of his dreams.
Swallowing his astonishment, he brought himself up from the chair. The fluttering cloth moved silently to accommodate his closeness, tentatively embracing him with its velvet-like softness. The woman that wore it stirred faintly, her dark waves brushing his already hyper-sensitive skin.
With lowered lashes she stepped closer. The wood of the balcony floor swallowed her footsteps and in the silence, all Roxton could hear was the frantic rush of blood in his ears. The cotton of his shirt melted with her lavender-colored cloth and when she placed a finger on his chest, the air his lungs had held rushed out in one quick release, leaving him breathlessly dizzy. The rest of her hand followed. He audibly gulped. She seemed unaffected and continued her study quietly.
Forcing his fingers to break from their sudden paralysis, he brushed at her chin with his thumb, coaxing her to raise her head. She simply dropped it lower. No longer satisfied in remaining still, Roxton edged closer and, trapped in his dream, bent down. His mouth found her lips in a chaste kiss. He hoped that it conveyed more than just the disillusioned touch of a dreaming man. He dared not do more. Even though he had yet to speak, he knew that like all his other dreams before, if he pushed too hard, too fast, the woman he held captive in his arms would slip away just as quickly as she had appeared.
Finally, her eyes discovered his. She reached for him timidly as if unsure how welcome her touch would be. They caught each other at the railing, just as his lids began to drop. With her hand in his, he collapsed into his long forgotten balcony chair.
"Roxton? Roxton, wake up."
With a leisurely stretch, Lord John Roxton awoke. Veronica's smiling face was next to his chair. "Good morning," the blonde said, her eyes twinkling in amusement. His hazy brain only permitted him to nod in agreement.
We thought our watchdog might want breakfast," another female voice replied. Quickly growing alert, Roxton twisted and saw Marguerite placing a bowl of fruit on the table. "Well, are you coming? Some of us are starving."
A well rested Malone entered seconds later with a journal, greeting everyone with his normal exuberance. His eyes widened a bit at Roxton. "Did you stay out here all night?" the young writer asked, not even bothering to cover his surprise. Before the lord could reply, footsteps coming from the laboratory caught everyone's attention. Challenger emerged mumbling incoherently. Realizing he had stumbled upon the entire party, his face lit up with relief. "I think we might end up returning some of the boxes Roxton and Malone just moved up to the treehouse," He stopped to kiss Veronica's cheek, a gesture which she returned with a smile. "It looks like a few of samples have radioactive properties that could interfere with my equipment."
A chorus of groans quickly followed the announcement and when Veronica announced that breakfast was ready, they all happily ignored the coming chore and sat down to eat. Roxton's uncharacteristic silence in the conversation wasn't mentioned, but it was far from unnoticed. His friends left him alone to his coffee and as he wasn't required to contribute anything, Roxton took the advantage to examine Marguerite quite closely.
She seemed like herself. Her sarcastic replies to Ned's probing were just as prompt as before and at a second mentioning of the dreaded lab work, she huffed and complained like usual. Catching him staring at her, she rose an inquisitive, annoyed eyebrow. Marguerite was definitely Marguerite.
The encounter they had shared at the balcony had only happened in his mind. It had been a dream. Nothing more than a dream.
He was so absorbed in his thoughts that the abandonment of his fellow housemates and the lowering of the elevator went unnoticed. It wasn't until a hand touched his shoulder that he was brought from his reverie.
He felt his lips twist into an all-familiar smirk as she came to sit next to him.
"Tell me Marguerite. Do you favor violet?"
Her smile was all the answer he needed.