Rating: PG
Disclaimer: The Lost World and all its characters belong to other people. No infringement of any rights is intended.
Summary: Remembering a date gives one of the explorers pause.
Timeframe: Late Season One, right before Barbarians at the Gate
Acknowledgements: Thanks to Jo for a much-appreciated encouraging email at just the right time, to Ryalin and CMS for perspective and insights, and to DNash as always for beta reading and editing above and beyond the call of friendship.
Dedication: This story is a very belated birthday present for Steph, who likes long-haired Roxton.
Spoilers: The Chosen One, Paradise Found, Time After Time, Tapestry

Today's the day. That was the thought that greeted Roxton as he opened his eyes. For a while he remained lying in bed, staring at the ceiling as it grew increasingly distinct in the lightening dawn. Finally he sat up, one-handedly pushing back his hair and scowling when the locks promptly flopped right back into his eyes. He brushed it back again, this time using both hands. He rested that way for a time, his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands.

Today is the day. He couldn't escape the thought. Sighing, he dropped his hands and got to his feet. Might as well get up and face it.

*****

"Good morning, John," Summerlee greeted the hunter as he emerged into the common room. "I've just finished brewing a pot of tea. Care for a cup?" He lifted the teapot invitingly, a genial smile on his face. Unnoticed by Roxton, his eyes did not entirely echo the smile, but instead swiftly took in the unusually preoccupied and grim demeanor of the expedition's hunter.

Roxton started slightly at the botanist's greeting; he hadn't seen Summerlee standing in the kitchen. He'd thought it was too early in the morning for others to be about. A quick glance outside showed the morning light was stronger and less slanted than he'd expected. I must have been dawdling, he realized. Belatedly remembering Summerlee's question, he mustered up a smile. "No thank you; I thought I'd get out and do some early hunting this morning..."

"Excellent!" Summerlee interrupted. "I've been meaning to ask you, John, if you'd try to bring back something in the aviosaur line the next time you went out hunting. I'd like to try and perfect my 'Bush Chicken Arthur.'" He chuckled a bit with shy pride even as he kept a close eye on the hunter. He saw Roxton shift uncomfortably, but chose not to acknowledge it. "I know it's hardly big game, but you have to admit the aviosaur family produces some tasty specimens."

"Not to mention you relish the look on Challenger's face every time we enjoy eating one," Marguerite's voice interjected unexpectedly, surprising both men. They turned to see the dark-haired woman entering the common room, fully dressed and ready for the day, an amused smile on her face. "What was it he said last time? 'I can't believe we're eating the missing link between dinosaurs and birds - just one of these in London would set the whole world on its ear!'" She snorted. "Of course, he says the same thing about everything in this place."

Summerlee was the first to recover from his surprise. "Good morning, Marguerite. You're looking lovely today. Tea?" He smiled warmly at her, all the while wondering silently why Marguerite was up and about so early.

Roxton was not so tactful. "What on earth are you doing up at this hour?"

Instead of snapping at him as he half expected, Marguerite merely gave him a cool look. "I'd hate to be thought predictable." She then turned to Summerlee, giving him a warm smile. "And I'd love a cup of tea, Arthur, particularly if I'm going to be spending the morning tramping around in the wilderness."

Summerlee's eyes widened a trifle behind his glasses as he took in the implications of her words. "Of course, my dear," he replied lightly, turning back to the tea things. He poured two cups of tea while keeping a speculative eye on the heiress.

"You're what?" Roxton sputtered. "What are you up to now? You know the rules - no one is supposed to go out alone!" He was so lost in indignation at Marguerite's words that he automatically accepted the cup of tea Summerlee handed him without so much as looking at the older man, much less offering him thanks.

Marguerite gave Roxton an ironic smile, remarkably keeping her temper. "Of course I know the rules. Why else would I be planning on spending the morning hunting with you? I assure you it wasn't my idea of how to start the day, but needs must and all that. You're just lucky that I am up early this morning. The least you could have done was tell me your plans last night, so I could have planned on being up this early." Her smile thinned and her eyes sparkled wickedly as she watched the stunned expression spread over Roxton's face. "I wouldn't have enjoyed being rousted out this morning at the last minute." She took the cup of tea Summerlee silently offered her with a grateful nod. "Thank you, Arthur."

"I didn't tell you because you're not going with me," Roxton blustered, severely off-balance at this entirely unexpected conversation.

Marguerite raised one eyebrow. "Oh? And who else were you planning on taking along? Veronica and Malone aren't due back until this afternoon. Summerlee certainly didn't sound as if he meant to go with you, and judging from the smell, Challenger's already at work in his lab." The heiress wrinkled her nose at the astringent chemical odor wafting upstairs - or maybe it was at the continued obtuseness of the British lord. "Or were you going to break your own rules?" she added sweetly.

Roxton opened his mouth to answer her, then shut it with a snap as he realized he didn't know what to say. He'd forgotten Malone and Veronica were off at the Zanga village, warning them about some strange woman and the parasite she carried. Even worse, he knew Marguerite had him dead to rights. He had been planning on breaking his own rules this once. He didn't want anyone else around him today. But there was no way he could say so to her. Nor could he refuse her company now, however much he wished he could. Hell. I'll just have to be extra careful, stay that much more on the alert. "All right," he conceded as gracefully as he could manage, given his unsettled state. His mood lightened a trifle as he remembered Summerlee's request. It's not as if bush chicken is all that dangerous to hunt. Lucky, that. "Let's get going. We've a lot of ground to cover, and I don't want to be all day about this."

"Without breakfast?" Summerlee protested, shaking his head. "I hardly think that's necessary, John. The aviosaurs we've seen have all been strictly diurnal. It's not as if only the early bird will catch the early bird." He chuckled a little at his own joke.

Roxton unbent enough to give him a half-smile in return. "I suppose a little breakfast couldn't hurt," he agreed.

"And no breakfast could hurt quite a lot - at least for the gentleman who made me miss mine for no good reason," Marguerite added pointedly, but smiled to take the sting out of the barb.

The elderly professor beamed at both of them. "I'll have eggs ready in a trice. John, if you'd be so good as to fetch down the skillet? I'm afraid my reach isn't quite what it used to be. And Marguerite, if you could set the table..."

Roxton sighed. "Of course." Reaching for the hanging skillet, he missed the assessing look Summerlee gave Marguerite, Marguerite's noticing it, and the inquisitive stare Marguerite gave Summerlee in return. By the time he turned back, Summerlee was energetically whisking eggs in a bowl and smiling gently at Marguerite, who was placidly laying out the flatware as if she hadn't a care in the world.

*****

The weather was perfect; not too hot, not too cool, with almost no breeze to carry a scent to unsuspecting prey. He'd set a brisk pace, but Marguerite hadn't complained at all, seemingly content with hurrying to the aviosaur's usual habitat. They'd had excellent luck so far; they'd already bagged three of the small, feathered, flightless dinosaurs, including one Roxton was pretty sure Challenger had never seen before. They'd have to wait to eat that one until after George had a chance to dissect it. Their luck continued to hold, too. There were no signs of other predators; other dinosaurs tended to avoid the cooler microclimate of the aviosaur's canyon habitat. They were close enough to another flock of the sociable creatures to hear them squeaking to each other as they foraged in the underbrush. Roxton should have been in his element.

He wasn't. He grew edgier with every minute that passed. Tension sang through his frame, tightening him up until he felt ready to shatter. It wasn't just him, either. Marguerite was increasingly wary, too, and Roxton had learned through hard experience to trust her instincts. He wanted nothing more than to bag a few more aviosaurs and get her back safely to the Treehouse. Today's the day. I should never have let her come with me...

A sudden rustle of nearby twigs caused hunter and heiress to spin around, weapons at the ready. A loud cheep heralded the appearance of a large aviosaur; on tiptoe, with its long neck stretched upwards to the utmost, it was almost knee-high to the explorers. It was clearly as startled by them as they were by it. For a moment they all froze, staring at each other. Then the aviosaur bristled, fluffing out its downy proto-feathers to make it look much larger than it actually was. It shrieked a loud warning call and ran back into the brush - or at least it tried to. With a half-exasperated snort that was nearly drowned out by the shrieking warning calls of its fellows, Marguerite fired her pistol. The feathered dinosaur dropped to the ground, spasmodically twitching its four limbs and long tail a few times before lying still.

Roxton could hear the rest of the aviosaurs scurrying away. Adrenaline still pounding through his veins, he rounded on Marguerite. "Oh, great work, Marguerite. Now we'll have to spend another hour tracking the flock before they'll settle down enough to let us get another shot."

Marguerite's eyes flashed with ire, but she kept her voice level and quiet. "What was I supposed to do? It had already given the alarm. Should I have let it get away, too?"

He knew it was true, but he didn't feel like being reasonable. "Maybe if you'd stop jumping at every shadow, we'd have better luck sneaking up on them."

"Me? Me jumping at every shadow! That's a laugh! You've been twitching at every sound for the last hour at least!" Marguerite glared at him belligerently, hands on her hips, expedition coat flaring behind her in much the same way the aviosaur had bristled at them moments before.

The comedy of the comparison brought him up short, deflecting him from his dark mood. The justice of her words kept him silent. Could it be true? Is Marguerite jumpy simply because she's picked up on my mood? Is she so tense because I've made her so? It's certainly possible; she's picked up on my moods before...

Unfortunately for Roxton, Marguerite wasn't inclined to interpret his silence favorably. "What's the matter, Lord Roxton, don't you trust me to keep you safe from a flock of long-tailed chickens?" She made no effort to keep her voice down, or to hide her fury.

And there it was, the chance he'd half been looking for all morning. She was furious. All he had to do was say yes, to express doubt in her ability. Ten to one she'd storm off and leave him alone, as he'd wanted from the start. She'd be at risk alone, but perhaps not as much as if she stayed with him. He took a deep breath...

...and let it out again in a huge sigh, the lie unsaid. He couldn't do it. No. Not this way. Not knowing what I know. Not today. I won't do that to her. He took another breath, willing himself to calm down, knowing if he couldn't control himself, he'd never be able to get Marguerite to cool off either. Pushing back his hat, he met her eyes, wanting to emphasize his sincerity. "Of course I trust you, Marguerite."

She looked surprised at his words. He didn't blame her. He was sometimes startled to realize how true that was. Oh, he'd keep a sharp eye on her where jewels were concerned, no doubt about it. But given a tight situation, he'd learned long ago to rely on this seemingly most unreliable of women, because his instincts told him she'd never let him down - and she never had. He first really noticed that urge to trust her in tight spots at Paradise, when Marguerite had to all appearances abandoned them in favor of the immortality and immorality of the fruit-eaters' lifestyle. Somehow he'd known she'd be back, that everything wasn't as it appeared to be - and he'd been right. He'd been right then, he'd been right ever since - and he'd be wrong to let her think otherwise now.

"Really?" Marguerite's voice broke into his momentary reverie, and he realized she was staring at him, one eyebrow raised. She still looked irritated, but not so angry that she'd abandon him.

"Really. And I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I have been jumpy; I shouldn't be surprised that you've been the same way." Seeing her expression sharpen with curiosity, he quickly sought a diversion. The last thing he wanted was Marguerite sensing a mystery and deciding to pry. "I guess I just woke up on the wrong side of the bed today."

"Hm." Marguerite considered him carefully, then shrugged. "Apology accepted, Lord Roxton, on one condition."

"What's that?" he asked warily. Trust in a dangerous situation was one thing, but he knew better than to make a blind promise to the mercenary heiress.