Thanks:  Many, many thanks to CMS and Ariadne who spent incredible amounts of time making this a readable fic.

Spoilers:  Tribute, Unnatural Selection, Barbarians at the Gate, Under Pressure, Man of Vision, Out of the Blue, Brothers in Arms, Tapestry

Description:  Summerlee’s talked about new beginnings and second chances.  What happened in his past that caused him to feel the need to start over?  How does it contrast with some of the other explorers’ views on starting over?

Setting: The balcony at the treehouse, post-Tribute.

From the episode Tribute:

Nighttime at the treehouse, soft sounds of nighttime, crickets.

Marguerite standing on the balcony, Summerlee approaches carrying two glasses. “Nothing a little Amontillado won’t cure, I warrant.”

Marguerite is at the railing. “I never got used to the quiet. The night, the darkness.  Sometimes it’s almost…”

“Palpable?” Summerlee finishes for her as she hesitates.

“Yeah.” Marguerite smiles, takes a glass from the white haired professor.

“Sometimes you wonder if it will ever be daylight again.  Sometimes you pray it won’t.  So you lose yourself in flowers and trees.  Looking at life under a microscope instead of living it in the world.  Cowardly perhaps but much easier on the heart.”  Summerlee is both comforting and introspective as he speaks.

“You did a very brave thing today.” Marguerite offers a different view of the professor.

Summerlee dismisses her praise with an intake of breath. “Nature, nurture, my dear.”

“I don’t follow.”

“When we crashed on this blasted plateau, I left more than London behind.”

“Care to elaborate, Professor?”

“The people we were, or thought we were.  The things we did.  What do they matter here?  Marvelous opportunity, really.  How many people get a chance to recreate themselves? Here’s to new beginnings.”  Summerlee offers his glass in a toast.  They clink glasses.

“I’ll drink to that.”

They sip their drinks and look out over the jungle.

Closing credits and Lost World theme roll.

A few minutes later….

The two companions stared out over the jungle, the darkness increased by the overcast sky.  No moon, no stars disrupted that palpable darkness. 

As a sip of Amontillado warmed its way down her throat, Marguerite asked the question that troubled her.  “Don’t you think sometimes things are past the point where you can make amends?  Sometimes you have to pay for your mistakes?”

“Oh, I hope not, my dear Marguerite.  I hope not.”  Summerlee took another sip of the aromatic liquor.  “When something you’ve done or said in the past haunts you,” Summerlee spoke slowly, “the thought of putting it right may be all that lets you continue.” 

Marguerite considered the melancholy undercurrent of that remark and sought to offer comfort to the man who today had put his life on the line for her.  “Knowing you, Arthur, I’m sure you did your best.”

“I wonder.”  Summerlee’s mind drifted back two years.

***

London, 1917

In the halls of the impersonal government building the respected Professor Arthur Summerlee entered the office of the minister of munitions.

“Colonel Lord Churchill, you asked to see me?”  The elderly man’s mild voice drew the attention of the government official.

“I did, Professor.  However, I am a Colonel no longer.  When I took up my government post, I left the army.”  The portly man behind the desk gestured towards a chair, then glancing down, shuffled a few papers before looking up again.  “We have need, Professor, of a sacrificial lamb.”

“I beg your pardon, Lord Churchill?”  The scientist was perplexed and took advantage of the proffered chair.

“Your work, Professor Summerlee, and that of your colleagues is appreciated by your government.  Your evaluations of the ongoing research for the war effort are much respected.”  Churchill paused to light his cigar.  He eyed the elderly scientist.  Summerlee’s area of expertise was somewhat incongruous on the surface, but he had the ability to bring together the often irascible and uncooperative, however brilliant, minds of the leading experts of the day.  His reputation for impartiality and insightful evaluation was unquestioned. 

Churchill liked to form his own opinion of whom he would trust with sensitive missions.  Studying him unobtrusively a moment longer, he came to a decision.  “There is a need to sabotage one of our own projects.”  The government official watched for a reaction to this deliberately blunt announcement.

Astounded, Summerlee awaited clarification.  Churchill sat in silence briefly and regarded his cigar, deciding how much the scientist needed to know.  “We have urgent need to convince the Germans of the value of an operative.”  Churchill considered the cigar.  “A volunteer, an army officer, stands ready to do whatever needs to be done to disrupt the research.”

“And you want me to do what precisely, Lord Churchill?” 

“You are required to determine which of the ongoing studies could be abandoned.  Naturally, one must be selected that will not compromise the greater interests.”  The middle-aged man rose and paced to the window, studying the neighboring buildings as he spoke.  “However there must be sufficient evidence that this was promising research, that there was a reasonable prospect of success.  It is necessary that the Germans believe they have sabotaged an important project.”

Summerlee considered the assignment.  “These researchers have devoted their lives to the cause of science.”

“Victory will not be gained ‘simply by throwing masses of men on the western front’.  The army officer, who will be our scapegoat is aware that he risks disgrace,” Churchill gestured with his cigar, “perhaps worse if events go awry.  Our operative, having been forced into a very precarious balancing act with the Germans, risks even more.” 

Churchill reflected on his meeting with the operative at a recent social event organized by Lady Churchill.  Under the cover of an ostensibly casual encounter, the government minister had been able to assess the data provided regarding the exigencies of the situation and its potential use.  The agent’s charm had made the long conversation seem just a plausible social exchange. “An incredibly brave person.” Churchill concluded as tapped the ash from the cigar.

The minister’s meaning was clear.  Dedication to England’s cause came from many sources.  Summerlee considered what he was being asked to do.  The idea of subverting the cause of knowledge and scientific inquiry was repugnant.  Even more so, because it wasn’t his work he was being asked to sacrifice, but forcing the sacrifice from another.  This was an anathema to him.  To make that decision for someone else.  He studied the man wreathed in the cigar smoke that hung in the room.

“Very well, Lord Churchill, I will find an appropriate project.  My committee has been reviewing the various ongoing efforts to judge the progress that has been made.”

“You may use your colleagues for evaluating these projects, but because of the need for secrecy only you can determine which ones are most suitable for …dismantling.  Several must be selected so that our army officer can determine which one it will be feasible to derail.”  He paused for emphasis.  “This must be done in the strictest confidence.”  Having issued his orders Churchill returned his attention to the papers on his desk.

Summerlee stood and nodded stiffly.

***