I noticed quite a lack of Beatrice and Bertrand fanfiction and I decided to try my luck at one. They are one of my favorite ships of the series even though they are cannon. This was originally intended to be a one shot,but after writing this I think it would be nice to make this story multiple chapters. So, let me know what you think and I hope you enjoy!
Beatrice sighed and mindlessly watched various colors and shapes flicker and dart across the screen of her small black box television. The shock and denial finally faded away allowing depression to settle into her entire being. It had clouded her mind and dulled her senses to a point that the young woman could not even remember when she had been sleeping or awake. It all seemed like one bad dream and sometimes she still believed that she would wake up in his arms and it would be alright again.
She changed her position on the beat up old sofa her and Lemony bought earlier that month at a garage sale across town. Lemony. In an instant all the memories came flooding back in one painful collage. Lemony clicking away at his typewriter, the sounds of his fingers pressing the keys with a little too much force and the small chime it made when he reached the end of his line. Lemony sitting in the middle of their living room in a sea of unfinished manuscripts. The face Lemony made when he stroked the wrong key, and how she loved the way his brow furrowed and the way he bit his lower lip. She recalled all the nights where she begged him to come to bed, and fondly remembered him shaking his blonde locks in the no gesture as he continued to tap away at the keys. She even more fondly remembered the nights when he flicked off his green glass desk lamp and retired to bed with her. Beatrice could still hear his voice saying " Bea, I'm alright. Maybe another cup of coffee?" He liked it black with so much sugar that not all of it would be able to dissolve into the rich black liquid.
He would say " Thanks Bea, I love you." That's all she needed, and that was all that mattered. Sure, an up-and-coming freelance writer didn't make a lot of money and her engagement ring was a plain band of sterling silver, but money didn't matter as long as they had eachother. That's how they spent their days, with Lemony writing story after story Beatrice devouring book after book. They would occasionally stop at the library and stationery store to pick up what was necessary for their daily routines. Every weekend, the two would return home with a stack of paper and six or seven novels. It was perfect, it was bliss.
Beatrice blinked as her vision began to blur. How long had she been staring at a dark screen? She rolled over to lay on her back causing the springs of the beat sofa to creak and groan under her weight. The sound sent another rush of memories spiraling through her head. It reminded her of the night she and Lemony spent on the couch about a week ago with their pulses racing and bodies pressed together. It was a night of passion that ended with the promise that he would be home within a few days. Yet, where was he? How could he lie to her? Her tears had been locked behind a dam in her mind. Throughout this whole ordeal she had not cried once, because she knew she needed to stay strong for Kit and Jacques sake. Lemony was as close with his two siblings as he was to Beatrice herself, and the death of their brother had hit them hard; especially Kit. Finally two days after the funeral, the dam burst and sent hot tears streaming down her cheeks. Burying her face in a throw pillow, Beatrice sobbed loudly and with enough force to send her chest heaving and leave her gasping for breath.
Finally after hours of weeping and choking on her own tears, Beatrice lifted her face from her pillow to find that the sun was setting and bathing her small three and a half room apartment in an inky blue light. She sighed as if the weight of the world was lifted off of her chest, crying did make someone feel better even if it was only for a little while. A feeling of shame washed over her as she accessed the state of her apartment. There were bottles, dishes, and dirty clothes strewn across the floor and the entire apartment was in a state of disarray. It would have to wait until tomorrow.
Beatrice padded to the bathroom to examine her appearance. To her surprise she found that it wasn't as bad as she thought it would be. It was obvious that she had been crying and living on her couch for the past how many days, she'd lost count. Otherwise, she would be confident enough to stop and pick up a few snacks at a gas station a few towns over. Peeling off her t-shirt and pajama pants she stepped into the shower. Just as Beatrice began to relax under the jets of mildly scalding water, she heard what sounded like a knocking at the front door. Shrugging it off, she went back to the task of distinguishing the shampoo from the conditioner in the steam filled air. The knocking became louder and more insistent, forcing Beatrice to vacate the shower and search for clothes.
" Just a Minute!" She cried whilst she frantically rummaged through drawers searching for something decent to wear. Naturally, she assumed that it was Kit Snicket paying her an overdue visit and normally she wouldn't care what she looked like, but she felt that she needed to put on a facade of normalcy. She wanted to be Kit's rock just like Kit was her's even when their world was falling apart. By now it was close to eleven, and she wondered why she would be visiting at such a late hour. She finally settled on a pair of shorts and another t-shirt with a literary satire printed across the chest. Skidding across the hardwood floor Beatrice reached the door within seconds. Without checking the peephole she inched the door open and was surprised to find it was not Kit calling on her at such an hour.
Behind the door stood the bespeckled yet handsome figure of Bertrand Baudelaire smiling with a gentle concern that was riddled across his dark features. In his left hand he held a bottle of wine and in his right a copy of "A Tale of Two Cities". Bertrand had been one of Beatrice's closest friends in school and in the secret organization called the VFD which their circle of friends were all involved in. It was obvious that Bertrand had no romantic interest in anyone but Beatrice Dumonte. Obvious that is, to everyone except Beatrice. Despite the struggle to make his feelings for her known, he still remained one of Beatrice's closest and most trusted friends.
" Beatrice, do you mind if I..." He said uncertainly, knowing that he caught her at a bad time. He couldn't resist drinking in her appearance. Even when she was an absolute mess, she was beautiful. His eyes followed the curve of her hips downward to her left hand where Lemony's ring sat dully on her finger. It hurt more than anything else in the world they day they announced their engagement, and deep down Bertrand still hoped she would choose him instead. He could give her so much more, including a proper engagement ring. The sickeningly large fortune he inherited from his late parents would make it possible, although it embarrassed him to have money whilst all his friends struggled to make ends meet. Their pride stopped them from asking for the money that he would lend them in a heartbeat.
" Of course." She breathed in reply, jarring him from his thoughts. Beatrice pushed open the door wider allowing him to step into her apartment. " I know it's a mess." Bertrand saw that it was indeed a mess. It wasn't the state of the apartment that bothered him as much as Beatrice letting it get to this point. He had known her since they were twelve and she was one of the most organized and clean people he knew. This would never have gotten to this point if she wasn't stricken with grief. It hurt him to see her this way.
Bertrand sat on the couch, still uncertain of his intentions. He came here to comfort a friend after the loss of her fiance, but it seemed to be something much different if you are secretly in love with her. He told himself that he wasn't trying to take advantage of this series of unfortunate events to get what he'd always wanted, but it sometimes seemed that way. It made him feel as if he had indirectly caused the death of Lemony Snicket and that his life had become the plot of a soap opera.
Barely any words were spoken between them, and none were needed. Being in eachothers presence was enough. They stayed up until the wee hours of the morning drinking wine and reading of Lucie Manette and Sydney Carton from over Beatrice's shoulder. By the time the sun had made a reappearance, Beatrice's face was stained with a new set of tears brought on by Sydney's death. No matter how many times she read it, the book always seemed to leave her in tears. Bertrand thought she was beautiful when she cried, but he'd rather see her smile which in his opinion was even more beauteous. Soon she was asleep on the couch beside him and he stroked her dark hair back behind her ear in a way you might do to a lover instead of a friend.
Rising from the couch, he couldn't help but think back to the book. If only Beatrice loved him the way Lucie loved Charles and Sydney, he would be the happiest man alive. Perhaps she did, or perhaps she will. Although for right now he was perfectly content to be by her side, and to care for her as much as she'd let him. After All, what else are friends for?
I intend to have this story reign true to its mature rating in the chapters to come. So review/follow/favorite for updates on this story and let me know if you think this is worth becoming a full length story
- DaringDauntless
xoxoxo