Author's note:  Marguerite’s thoughts after Summerlee goes over the falls.  And an idea why she pushed Roxton away in season two. 

Thanks to Monica, rann and CMS, the first of whom taught me how to structure this, and the others who would not let me get away with the worst of my excesses.  Thanks also to Barbara who encouraged me unconditionally.

An acknowledgement to Gerald Manley Hopkins, from whom I stole a line from one of the most poignant poems I know.

Margaret, are you grieving

Over Goldengrove unleaving
 

It was mostly a silent trek back to the tree house.  Veronica had repeatedly warned them that this part of the jungle was particularly dangerous and all five explorers were tired, the loss of Summerlee painfully raw.  As many times as they had seen others die, as many times as they themselves had been in peril, this was the first time they had lost one of their own.  And for it to be Summerlee, a wise and gentle creature, was particularly sobering.   It was from this as well as their fatigue that their footsteps were heavy.  Steadily they moved on Veronica leading the way through territory only she knew, Ned trying to match her steps, and Roxton as usual protecting the rear.  

Wearily, Marguerite brushed her hair off her damp cheek.  Would that she could brush her thoughts away with such ease, she thought, her eyes looking over her companions.  Such an odd group they had been when they first in South America.  Conditions were dismal, difficult, with nasty river creatures, rough ground, heat, bugs,  the danger of head hunters.  Distrust among them.  Maybe even fear.

Then they had met Veronica and settled in the treehouse.  Physical conditions were better but they were still a group of wary strangers, too often suspicious of each other’s motivations.  It was so typical of her life to be amongst people and hold herself apart, to refuse to let down her guard or allow herself to swerve from her purpose.   And then, after a while, they had learned to respect each other, appreciate each other and for a brief time, such a very brief time, it had felt as if she were living in a family.

Marguerite’s attention was suddenly diverted.  A noise up ahead. Instantly Veronica’s knife was out.  Having lost his gun in the battle, Malone also drew his knife and attempted to move forward to shield Veronica.  Nothing.  Before Veronica could stop him, Ned kicked a rock into the mass of leaves and trunks.  A shrieking monkey jumped out, angry at being disturbed after having found a succulent bush.  Veronica laughed.  “Hey, Malone, those are some are lightning reflexes you’ve got there.  Next time I’ll let you take the lead.” 

Ned flushed but met her teasing.  “I’ll just take you up on that.”

“Damned young fool”, Marguerite heard Roxton mutter behind her.  “He’ll get himself killed one day showing off like that.” 

Veronica and Ned were so young, Marguerite thought as they walked on, so untouched by the harshness of the life she herself had known.  She was even grateful for their company, even though she missed annoying Ned, the little puppy, who so clearly couldn’t fight back.  Now it was just fun teasing him.  But heaven help her if she didn’t succeed in curbing his curiosity.   Or worse, should his plateau journals ever be published.  It was taking longer to reach an understanding with Veronica.  It annoyed her at times, the way the others treated Veronica, the golden child, admiring her, praising her, forgiving her mistakes as they never forgave Marguerite’s own.   But then, Veronica rarely made a step wrong, at least not that the others could see.  Whereas they were only too quick to find fault with her own actions.  What a thing it was, to have others believe the best of you.  It was something that she herself had now ceased to expect from life.  Indeed, she more often did her best to push others away in case they got too close to her secrets.   Marguerite had had few close friends and very few of those were women; hers was a lifestyle more easily adapted to interactions with men, seducing them, playing them, using them.  But living with Veronica was growing on her now, making her long for a friend to confide in as she had confided in Adrienne.  Wondering what it might have been like to have a sister.

And how nauseatingly cute it was, watching Ned and Veronica stumble around each other.  As good as theatre it was, seeing them duck and weave in their courting dance.

Roxton’s voice called out from behind her, “Let’s keep moving, people, we need to get to the treehouse by nightfall.”  With a tired sigh, Marguerite pulled up the dregs of her energy.

“Hmm yes, of course,” Challenger’s tone was distracted, off to one side instead of ahead of her.    Roxton was impatient to keep moving on. But Challenger had stopped and was examining the leaves of a plant along the route.

“What is it now, Challenger?”.  Roxton is more abrupt than usual, he must be tired, thought Marguerite, distracted from her thoughts.  Maybe falling down a canyon and almost drowning tires a man.

“Just a moment, Roxton, this is an unusual type of ficus, almost a combination of two different species.  Summerlee would have been fascinated to find this.” 

And Roxton was forced to remain, waiting impatiently while Challenger took out his knife and cut a small branch to try to propagate back at the tree house.

Challenger, thought Marguerite.  A genius.  And no one’s opinion of his abilities was greater than his own.  What fun it was to tease him, to push him, to make him justify his ideas.  It did him good, to be held to account.  But of course, many of his inventions had proven very useful.

“All right George, that’s enough now” came the gravelly tones again.  Roxton had clearly come to the end of his patience.  But it was happening less these days as they all learned and adapted to each other.

The roar of a T-rex made Marguerite start and look off in its direction.  Clearly too far away to worry Veronica who didn’t give it a glance.  Distracted by looking to see if she could spot anything, Marguerite would have stumbled into a bush had not a large hand grabbed her to guide her around it.  Roxton to the rescue once again.  She shook the hand off, quickly, letting him know she was quite capable of handling it herself. 

Yes, there was Roxton... Roxton, who annoyed and infuriated and fought with her, who made her want to take him down a peg or twenty for his arrogance.  Who had taken upon himself the role of protector of the party and risked himself foolishly time and again for them.    Roxton, who she prayed would never know her feeling of desolation when she thought him dead from the fall off the broken bridge.

Challenger, carrying the branch came into her line of vision.  The branch, a symbol of the botanist.  It was Arthur Summerlee who had affected her the most of the group.  Summerlee delusional from the bee venom, had thought she was his wife, needing her to be kind and gentle, grateful and trusting her in a way she wasn’t used to.  He had prevented the others from jumping on her when she became the self-destructive. Marguerite Krux, he had refused to let Dieter shoot her, and destroyed the airplane’s radio rather than let her risk being T-Rex food.   Summerlee who had been unfailingly gentle and understanding and accepting of her.  She had pushed him, as she pushed them all, she had been rude and imperious, and all the time Summerlee had been kind and affectionate to her.  He had accepted her for whatever she was.  And encouraged her to be more.

And now Summerlee was gone.  Numb at first, she had refused to believe it.  But now the ice was melting, and she was starting to feel and to remember.  She had lost other people before, peers, friends, colleagues in arms like Adrienne, but it had not hurt this much because while they were friends, she rarely let anyone get too close.  But never before had there been someone who was so accepting of her, defending her, someone to whom she could have confided her hopes and her fears without fear of judgment or rejection.

The relationship had not always been smooth.  She had been angry at Summerlee when he had disparaged her interest in precious stones before the ill-fated attempt to leave through Jacoba’s caves and disappointed when he had interrupted her and Roxton on the balcony  after Osric had almost killed them, interrupted Roxton as he was saying he would always be there to set her straight as she listened with stars in her eyes like another young woman on another balcony.  She had allowed hope to come into her heart at that moment, but now she was glad that Summerlee had interrupted, that nothing had happened between her and Roxton.                      

Summerlee’s loss had left a hole in her heart that she had never imagined, and Marguerite silently vowed never again to let anyone close enough to hurt her like this.  Not Veronica, nor Ned, nor Challenger.  And, heaven help her, especially not John Roxton.  The brief glimpses of What Might Have Been, that was all they ever could be, glimpses into a world she could never let herself enter.  She was thankful now that all they had shared was a brief attraction that was easily put from her mind.  No, there is nothing more, she willfully told herself.  There can be nothing more.  And yet she found her heart aching even more at the thought. She remembered the sharp despair when she had thought Roxton dead after his fall.  Summerlee was now gone.  She couldn’t afford to lose another who mattered to her.  And so there would be no one who would.  That door was firmly closed.

And then she caught a brief flash of green scales as a lizard dashed by in front of her and she remembered Tribune’s words.

"Save your tears Marguerite. They say it's a way off the Plateau." 

 “Are you serious?” 

That was Ned, always the irrepressible questioner.

“No one has ever returned to confirm the legend but...”

“Well, that would be a grand joke if Summerlee got home before us,” joked Roxton, his voice rough, covering his sadness.

Ah, Tribune, she thought, these tears are not for Summerlee alone.    But I shall miss him dearly.

It is the blight man was born for,

                It is Margaret you mourn for.