Not A Game

Summary: Marguerite is separated from the others, and unless she can begin to grasp what they have shown her about being a family, she will never find her way home.

Disclaimer: The Lost World does not belong to me. *sigh* It belongs to New Line Television, The Over the Hill Gang, et al, …

Originally Posted July 2002 – Revised May 2013

Chapter 1 It Was Fate

The slender brunette stopped as she detected a hint of wood smoke on the breeze that wafted across her path. Warily, Marguerite moved toward its origin, her soft-soled boots making no sound as she slowly and carefully placed each foot. For the moment she left her bow untouched, and kept a hand on the hilt of her knife instead.

It was still quite early; the sun had only been up for about an hour. She'd planned to travel several miles in this direction before making a mid-morning stop. By then she should be in the territory of a headhunting tribe, and she would lay low until she was sure they weren't out and about. I shouldn't be close enough to the headhunters' territory yet for one of their groups to be the source of the wood smoke. But it could be slavers, lizard men, plateau natives, villagers who are descendants of who-knows-what nation from any one of a dozen time periods… or… it could be her former companions.

She shunted that thought away; not only was it unwelcome, it was unlikely after so long. Whoever's fire it is, it pays to know who's moving around, and where to watch for them. I don't fancy having to either fight or con my way out of danger this morning, so a little extra caution is in order. I should be safe enough if I can stay in the shadows.

Her clothing from off-plateau had grown threadbare months ago, and she'd adopted a style similar to Veronica's abbreviated animal skin clothing - only more moderate in length. The coloring of the mottled hide skirt, tunic, and boots were good camouflage in the jungle, and with her long thick dark hair there was no color to distinguish her from the tree trunks and shadows around her, if she chose to stand still or to rest motionless above ground on a tree limb.

Stillness is a good way to avoid danger. That's one lesson about surviving in the jungle that I didn't need to learn from John. Even thinking his name caused her stomach to clench, and she silently cursed her wayward thoughts. I need to stay focused on the present, she sternly reminded herself.

She didn't have to veer very far from her planned route to find the source of the smoke. When she spotted the camp in the small clearing ahead and to the right, she stopped abruptly in the shadows and bushes a good twenty feet from the site. Bloody marvelous! Could this day get any better?! It was her former housemates after all.

They were the last people she wanted to meet, and naturally, when she least expected it, there they were – well, at least, it was the younger three; Veronica, Ned, …. and Roxton.

She was taken aback at the way it hurt, seeing them again.

Until this moment, she'd thought that she'd succeeded in hardening her heart against the memories and the pain. But to her chagrin she found that the ache was as bad, if not worse, than the day it had happened.

I miss them, she realized, lips thinning as she suppressed the urge to cry out her anguish at the sight of the trio. This is absurd! How did I ever let my guard down so badly in the first place - and why the devil can I still feel like this when I know it's completely nonsensical?!

It was appalling to find that she still mourned them, regardless of the harsh reminder they'd given her about trusting others. Even worse, despite knowing better, her heart apparently continued to yearn for their companionship, for their friendship… for the family she'd foolishly, stupidly, almost believed she'd found.

So, doltish as it was to indulge such ludicrous weakness – not to mention the danger inherent in the rapidly mounting odds as each additional second added to the risk that she would be discovered by one of the two highly-skilled hunters – she lingered, keenly studying the trio, hungry to take in everything about them.

Ned Malone was nearest to her, facing partially away; his clean-cut profile seemed so young, though there was strength there, too, after their years on the plateau. He was apparently still boyishly good-humored – a trait she recalled resenting deeply first thing in the mornings – because his chuckle and softly-pitched pleasant tone were easily audible at this distance. It looked like he'd finally made his feelings known to Veronica. They were obviously and openly in love, exchanging glances and light physical contact quite casually as they sat side-by-side at the small campfire finishing breakfast, preparing their weapons, and talking in low voices.

Ned and Veronica both looked to be in good health, sun-bronzed as usual, no sign of recent injuries. Veronica still wore her customary loin-cloth skirt and halter top, and had her knives tucked into their usual sheaths at her waist. She was also armed with Marguerite's old rifle, handling it quite as naturally now as if she'd been doing it all her life instead of only for a few seasons. She was almost facing Marguerite's position, but her attention was on Ned, not on the jungle around them, which was another testimony to the couple's changed relationship.

John's back was to Marguerite, and of course Lord John Roxton was fully armed, shoulder holsters, rifle, another gun belt strapped around his trim hips, belt knife. He had that same disgustingly-battered hat set back in a rakish manner on his head. He held up a pistol and squinted through the gun barrel into the sunlight, making sure the passage was clear and ready for action. To do this, he had to turn a little more toward Marguerite. He looked . . . too bloody good for my peace of mind! Although she knew she'd later regret the indulgence, she stared avidly to examine each familiar feature. His dark hair had grown longish again, curling in the tropic heat. Ned made a teasing comment – the actual words didn't register in Marguerite's mind – and the British lord smiled that same achingly familiar, charmingly lopsided grin. Yet to her critical eyes, he seemed a little on the gaunt side, the humor didn't reach his quiet hazel-green eyes, and there were wrinkles about his face that she didn't remember seeing before. Lines of care, of worry… She realized what she was doing, and grimly stopped herself. Lord Roxton's emotional well-being is none of my concern.

She could see they were nearly ready to break camp. They must be heading home, because their packs were far from full, and their clothes already showed the dirt of long days on the trail. Relieved, the watcher decided it was best to remain where she was. The tree house is the other direction from where I'm standing; they won't come this way. Safest to just stay put until they leave.

Since moving away might draw unwanted attention, and necessity required her to keep a wary eye on them anyway, Marguerite wryly indulged her weaker nature; she feasted her eyes on every little detail as the trio finished breakfast and began to repack their kits. She watched them quietly, unable to keep from smiling a little at sight of their familiar movements around the camp site, and the sound of their casual, friendly morning banter as they cleaned their plates with a minimum of water from Veronica's water skin.

John glanced around suddenly, his piercing green eyes darkening into hazel-brown as he scanned the surrounding jungle in the direction of the shadows that so precariously hid Marguerite from them.

She had to steel herself to remain immobile instead of taking an instinctive step back. He would notice any sudden movement. But she did lower her head a trifle so that she watched him from beneath her dark lashes instead of directly. Shouldn't have stared, shouldn't have looked directly at them for so long, she scolded herself. She'd learned early in life about the maxim that if a watcher stared directly at their prey it could give them away; she'd experienced it for herself long before she'd found herself stuck in this lost world, long before Roxton and Veronica had warned the explorers that skilled hunters and trackers developed a sixth sense about such things.

Roxton's gaze swept the area once, then again, more slowly this time, as he rose to his feet.

"What is it?" Veronica asked, rising, too, one hand resting on the hilt of a knife in readiness. Ned stood as well, following the huntress's lead by unbuttoning his pistol's holster.

The hunter keenly examined the perimeter a third time before he turned to his concerned companions, shaking his head. "I just had a feeling," he shrugged, mentally shaking off his disappointment at having seen nothing out of the ordinary. For a moment there I hoped… but I can't dwell on false hopes. "We should get moving. Challenger will be expecting us."

Suppressing her panic, the vulnerable watcher seized the moment to swiftly unfurl the plaited whip coiled at her hip. One smooth motion of her arm, and its length sailed noiselessly up and over a branch high above, dropping back down over the other side. She caught the descending end, and held still again, her gray eyes never leaving the taller man in the small clearing ahead of her. He won't let it go; I know he won't let it go… Wait for it now… Steady… Steady…

Roxton paused and looked in her direction again, sensing the movement and that same presence again. His brow creased. The jungle was constantly in motion, still he was almost positive . . .

Veronica and Ned both reached for their weapons as he tensed for the second time in as many minutes. "Raptors?" Ned asked softly.

"No." He shook his head slowly, once again searching the shadows. I know it's improbable, but I won't be able to leave here until I'm positive. He took one step towards the edge of the small clearing.

Marguerite, heart pounding, edged her foot into the loop she had braided into the handle of her whip, which now rested on the ground. She wrapped the dangling end around her hand with a smooth twist of her wrist. No, no, no! Stay there! Don't come any closer! I can't talk to you – I won't!

"It's…" He continued to search the wooded terrain with narrowed eyes, hesitant to put his feeling into words. Is it real this time, or only another trick of my imagination? "Marguerite."

Veronica instinctively moved toward him, but then froze as a lifetime of training and practical experience kicked in: Never move without a plan. Life can be endangered by one thoughtless act. She stood poised to react as her sky blue eyes dissected their surroundings with a mixture of dread and eagerness.

Ned caught his breath sharply, torn between hope and skepticism, too. He resisted the urge to follow the example of the hunters and instead watched them, knowing that if there was anything to see, one or both of them would spot it. How often had they played out this scenario in the last months? They had deluded themselves far too often to allow themselves to hope too quickly – especially poor Roxton, who wanted, needed, so badly to find some sign of her.

Although he was all too well aware that his companions were unconvinced, Roxton couldn't write it off. Not as long as there was the faintest chance that he was right. "I feel her," the hunter didn't look away from the shadows, reaching out mentally for the elusive presence and afraid he would lose it if he wasn't careful. "I haven't felt her so strongly… in months." The assurance in his voice strengthened as a shiver ran down his spine. His brow furrowed as he sought some physical sign to affirm his growing conviction that this time it wasn't mere wishful thinking. "She's nearby. I'm sure of it!"

Knowing what their friend had gone through, and having seen the connection between the older couple so many times through the years, neither Malone nor Veronica questioned his statement any further. If there was even a remote possibility, they had to try, for Roxton's peace of mind, if nothing else. "Marguerite?" Veronica called out tentatively, anxiously. "Marguerite! Come out! Talk to us! Please!"

Ned's sharp blue eyes examined the perimeter, too. "Do you see her? Hear anything?"

"I can't spot her," Roxton growled in frustration, "But I know she's here!"

A familiar prickle at the back of the huntress's neck made her shiver in recognition. He could be right! That's the same feeling I used to have when she was glaring angrily at me and obviously wishing me in Hades! "Marguerite!" Veronica shouted, more urgently this time. She turned in a complete circle in order to scan the shadows the jungle, now as positive as Roxton that their friend was nearby. "We're sorry! We were wrong! Please, Marguerite, come back to us!" She caught a glimpse of movement and took a hasty step forward. In her excitement, she slipped on a piece of leftover firewood and fell even as she saw that what had caught her eye had only been a falling twig.

Roxton and Ned both moved instinctively to steady or catch her, though neither man was close enough to keep Veronica from hitting the ground

This is it – NOW! The moment the hunter's attention was diverted, the dark-haired beauty pulled sharply, hand-over-hand, up the doubled whip. Each yank lifted her higher and higher, and she re-coiled the whip as she went, with the automatic ease of much practice.

She'd discovered this combination of hand-over-hand climbing and pulling action on a rope hung over a high beam – in this case, using a whip over a branch – back in her youth, when clandestinely entering and exiting buildings. She'd used it often during her days as a thief, and had honed it to perfection as a triple agent during the war. With her foot in a loop, and the combined hand and pulley action, she could shoot up into the air with incredible speed. It had saved her from discovery too many times to count, first helping her elude school administrators, teachers or fellow-students, then aiding in her evasion of police, civilian and military guards, and foreign intelligence agents. She'd even escaped assassins a time or two with this highly skilled trick. She could only hope it would be as effective today, against trackers of Roxton and Veronica's caliber.

By the time the men had helped Veronica to her feet again, Marguerite was swinging onto a branch far above the ground, safely out of sight in the heavy jungle canopy.

Roxton, when he turned back to the shadows after making certain his companion was all right, instantly realized there was a difference. Something he had seen before was not there now. Something paler than the tree trunks… it had been – there! Almost against that tree trunk! But it was gone now.

He strode quickly toward that location, keeping his eyes trained on it so he could go directly to the right place. Veronica and Ned followed, alertly monitoring the tropical undergrowth and mostly-virgin groundcover around the tree to which Roxton led them. After almost five years on the plateau, even Ned was a better-than-average tracker and could discern the faint trail where someone had approached, and then stopped. "Those aren't Marguerite's boot prints," he said in disappointment.

"No, they're not her European boot prints. But it's her size." Roxton said, gaze still on the ground as he read the signs. He ignored the possibility that anyone else could have made the faint tracks; it had to be Marguerite. "And I can still feel her. She's not leaving much of a trail. She's really improved," he couldn't help but admire the new skill evidenced by the fact that she'd hardly left a mark behind.

"But where did the tracks disappear to?" Veronica asked, also following the minimal sign left by their unseen watcher. There were a few tell-tale hints of incoming tracks, but she couldn't locate anything outgoing. "There's nothing else! The trail just ends." There were no rocks or fallen logs nearby that Marguerite could have jumped to, no way to have hidden her trail. She looked up, eyes searching the thick foliage above their heads.

Having expected this, Marguerite had already climbed higher and softly pressed herself to the massive trunk, flattening against it. She crouched on the large, stable limb two above the one she'd originally mounted, and peered guardedly down between locks of her quickly-loosened hair. She could barely see through the dense leaves, so she should be safe from their searching eyes here, as long as she was perfectly motionless.

Roxton looked upwards, too, and shook his head. "It's too far to the nearest branch. She couldn't have gotten up there." Nonetheless, he scanned the branches, just as Veronica did, hoping against hope to see the dark-haired beauty clinging to a tree limb above them. Nothing. Yet I still feel as if she's close enough to touch! He huffed impatiently and turned in a circle again, seeking a hint of any path she might have taken. Coming up empty, he tossed caution to the winds and shouted to the surrounding jungle, as Veronica had done minutes earlier: "Marguerite! Marguerite!"

The trio on the ground waited, poised to move in any direction, listening in vain for a response.

Silence reigned for a long moment, and then the normal jungle cacophony, quieted by his unexpected shouting, resumed. He cocked his head and concentrated, searching for some anomaly in the animal or bird noises that might indicate which direction she had fled. But there was no sound of any alarmed jungle denizens.

The handsome nobleman took off his hat and ran a hand through his hair, cursing under his breath. "I don't know where she's gone, but I know she was here. She must have covered her tracks somehow." He slapped his hat against his leg in discouragement. "It's been so long!"

"We don't really know it was her," Ned pointed out reluctantly. "If it was Marguerite, why would she run from us?"

Expression crumpling, Veronica turned toward Ned, who opened his arms to embrace her as she moaned, "Face it - we betrayed her! She'll never give us another chance to hurt her like that! And can you blame her?" Tears streamed down her cheeks as she sheltered against the younger man's lean body. "Oh, Ned, I miss her so much! How I wish we could make that awful day go away!" she sobbed.

"I know Veronica, me too." Ned met John's eyes over the blonde's bowed head, his own grief and regret evident on his fair countenance even as he tenderly patted Veronica's back. "We were all wrong, terribly wrong. I wish I could see her and tell her how sorry - " Ned's voice broke, and he hastily cleared his throat, trying to be strong for Veronica and Roxton. "But if those tracks are hers, she's gone now. Most likely it wasn't her, any more than it was her the other times we thought we'd found some sign of her. Come on; let's finish getting the camp cleaned up." He turned her and gently guided her back toward the camp clearing, whispering soothing words to her as they went.

John Roxton stood in place a moment longer, trying to puzzle out the mystery of where she could have gone. "Marguerite," he said, quietly, open pain in his cultured voice, "Marguerite, if you can hear me, forgive me! I'm so sorry. I know I failed you, and I can't forgive myself, not without knowing you're all right. Please, please… forgive me and come home."

No reply. Regardless of how intently he strained to listen for the faintest whisper, the only sounds were the normal chatter of jungle creatures and the rustling of wind through the foliage.

His broad shoulders slumped in defeat, and Lord Roxton turned toward the campsite with a heavy sigh.

High overhead, Marguerite impatiently wiped away tears. Crying - again?! Over them?! She cursed herself for her own weakness, for permitting herself to be affected by their emotions. Let them be sorry! They should be sorry!

After knowing me for over four years, turning all my goals and priorities upside down, and worming their way into my heart, making themselves out to be my friends – no, to be my family! - my true love! - all that rot about honor, trusting one another - how everyone deserved a second chance - after all I went through, struggling to trust them, to learn to be one of them, adopting their stupid principles - when I'd finally begun to believe, to hope for a future – Lies. When it came right down to it, it was all lies. I should have known better.

She was the one who was supposed to be the thief, the con artist, the manipulator who cared only for herself, the skeptic who knew the real score, the one with the heart of ice . . . But they had managed to completely fool her.

Marguerite swallowed hard, feeling once again the jagged, tearing pain in her chest as the memories seethed just beneath the surface. It was almost as if she really had a broken heart, broken by the people she had wrongfully believed cared for her.

Well, no one will ever wound me like that again. I'll never allow anyone this kind of power over me again. This daft heart of mine is re-buried for good this time, right along with anything I ever felt for these supposedly-idealistic, two-faced explorers.

So why in the world was she still weeping over this unexpected encounter? Why can't I simply be angry with them, as they deserve for their betrayal? How can I be so foolish that my heart feels broken anew? Why am I longing for the safety of John's embrace? After all, he turned out to be just like every other man, exactly as I initially expected. He broke his promises to always be there for me, to never let me go, to always stand by me no matter what. When push came to shove, he threw me to the wolves for the good of the party, just as he first said he would. The others did the same.

Yet despite these things, she had to fight a ludicrously strong impulse to call out to them, to accept their pitiful apologies and try again. I must be going insane!

Refusing to yield to the madness, she defiantly wiped away her own tears and stayed on her perch, craning her neck to see through the heavy foliage so she could watch them break camp. The trio moved slowly, their gaze often lingering on their surroundings, clearly still hoping to see some sign of her. With so many pauses, it took a long time to finish, but eventually they could delay no longer. As Ned reluctantly pointed out to his companions, Challenger was waiting for them back at the tree house, and they were still a couple days away from home.

With one last longing look beyond the clearing, Veronica took point, Ned a few steps behind, and John Roxton brought up the rear, rifle cradled in his arm, at the ready.

Marguerite waited until a good hour had passed with no sign of their return, carefully monitoring for any disturbance in the normal activity of the birds and insects, and doing her best not to allow her thoughts to drift toward the others. She repeatedly scolded herself when she realized her mind had wandered back to the confidence with which Veronica had turned to Ned, or the openly affectionate way Ned's hand had stroked Veronica's hair...or the achingly familiar warmth that had stirred in her at the sound of John's voice. Stop that! Focus on making certain that they're gone! To her relief – no, that's absolutely NOT regret! – all the signs continued to indicate that she was alone.

Finally deciding enough time had passed, she stood slowly, balanced easily on the broad tree limb, and stretched thoroughly to work out the kinks of squatting motionless for so long. Then, after one more thorough scan for any sign of surveillance, she began to descend, resolutely instructing herself to erase the departed explorers from her mind. I have my own life to lead now, and it's time to get on with it. She grimly reminded herself that there was no going back. The past can never be reclaimed. I've seen it time and again. You'd think I'd have learned that lesson long ago.

No, she definitely didn't want to risk any chance of bumping into them. Instead of continuing toward her destination today, she would leave this foray for another time, and head back towards her home. No need to tempt fate, she concluded humorlessly. Fate always seems to win.