Disclaimer/Author's Note: I do not own ASOUE and am making no profit from this story.

Takes place after The End and The Beatrice Letters, and has spoilers for both. This is the first chaptered fic I've ever written. It's really not that different to my normal one-shots, it just turned out far too long to write all at once.

I hope it's not too obvious what Lemony's actually supposed to be saying.

The Perils Of Island Life

Part 1 – Under The Weather

"Are you certain you want to come with me?" Lemony asked for the third time, unrolling one of the lifejackets and inspecting it for mildew. "This will be a dangerous journey. I'm not even sure how we're going to land without wrecking ourselves."

"That's exactly why I do want to come," Beatrice said. "I don't want to have to hunt you down again only to find out you drowned." She regretted the words at once. That was too likely a possibility to be glib about. He should have reprimanded her for it somehow, but he just nodded in acknowledgement. Either he was used to her morbid humour or he thought she was simply being practical.

"At least this way," she said in a more gentle tone, lowering her suitcase into the boat, "whatever happens will happen to both of us."

"Hmm." Lemony rolled up the lifejacket again, apparently satisfied with its condition. "But you realise, whatever we find on the island will be more useful to me than to you. I need to go there to finish the story, but that won't tell us where the Baudelaires are now. And if something goes wrong… are you sure you want to take that risk?" He stood up, the boat rocking beneath him, and looked her in the eyes. A rare gesture. His voice was very soft. "I want you to find your family. I don't want to put you in danger."

Beatrice looked down at her shoes. He had a point. She'd be tagging along on his mission, really, when it might be better to stay behind and continue her own investigations. If they crashed together, it would all be over. She'd never see Violet, or Klaus, or Sunny again.

But she'd probably never find them by herself, either. And she had no intention of losing track of the one person who could help her. She looked up again, and tried to smile. "We don't know what we'll find. Everything washes up there, you said so yourself. And do you have any idea how hard it was, finding a bat sitter in this town?"

"I'd imagine it was quite difficult," he said, as deadpan as ever. She hadn't really expected him to return the smile. Not really. "Baticeering is something of a dying profession." He looked up at the sky as if suspecting rain, although there were only one or two clouds on the horizon. "I think we have all the supplies we're going to need, so if you're sure…"

"I'm sure."

"Then we should go now while it's still light. Do you need me to help you down?" He held his arms out as if to demonstrate, about half the distance he'd need to reach her.

Beatrice stepped forward, watching, and he flinched. No, that was too strong a word, it was barely a blink, but he'd definitely tensed up as she got near him. Nothing anyone would notice who wasn't looking for it. Probably even he hadn't noticed.

She shook her head. "I can manage." She sat down, swinging her legs over the edge of the jetty.

It was Beatrice's turn to row again. She didn't really mind. When she wasn't rowing, apart from checking their rather outdated navigational instruments every so often to make sure they were still going in the right direction, there was nothing to occupy her mind but the waves. They'd lost all sight of land on the first day, and now it was hard to imagine there was anything more to the world than a circle of water. She'd tried reading, of course, but that made her seasick.

Her arms were aching, though, and she wondered how long it would be before it was Lemony's turn again. He was scribbling in his commonplace book, which he could do for about half an hour at a time before getting sick himself. He always sat the same way, curled up close to the prow, as far from her end as possible. Hardly ever speaking, unless it was to ask her a question. Which he did now, lowering his pen and frowning distractedly.

"Definitely white beans? That's what she told you?"

"I remember that salad." Beatrice pulled back on the oars a bit too hard, flicking water over herself and losing her rhythm for a few seconds. "Sunny made it once on my birthday." She blinked. Some of the water had gone into her eyes and made them sting. "I think it's your turn to row."

"Yes, you're right." He got up, wobbling slightly, and they switched positions. They must have done that close to a hundred times by now, Beatrice thought as she sat down, although maybe it just felt like that. The point was…

Well, there wasn't really a point. It was just an observation. But…

The point was that this was the smallest boat that would hold them and all their supplies, and they'd switched position any number of times, and in all that time he hadn't touched her once. Not even brushing against her arm. Not even stumbling into her accidentally when a big wave hit them. If she leaned toward him he'd probably go over the side.

If she mentioned it he'd have no idea what she was talking about.

It was starting to upset her a little. No. Not upset. It was starting to irritate her, the way any character trait could become irritating when two people were confined to a small, boring space. This was why she preferred to be rowing, because there was less opportunity for her to fixate on pointless, irrelevant, unimportant things.

There was no reason for him to treat her as anything more than an associate, she hadn't expected that. They barely knew each other. He'd called her "Miss Baudelaire" for weeks when they first met, until it started to feel strange somehow and they'd reverted to first names. And he'd helped her as much as she'd hoped he would, and he was, as far as she could tell, as noble a person as she'd been told. And she'd known he was unsociable. She didn't take that personally at all. But if it made him this uncomfortable to be around her… if he hated it this much he could have told her that he didn't want her to come.

A drop of water hit the back of her hand. She jumped and wiped it away at once, praying he hadn't noticed, and then realised her eyes were dry. Another drop hit the boards between her feet.

"I think it's raining," she said.

Lemony looked up and gasped. "It's worse than that," he said, pointing behind her.

She turned. Thick, black clouds were forming on the horizon.

"How long do you think it's going to last?" Beatrice shouted. She could barely hear herself over the rain, amplified as it was by the tarpaulin they'd managed to stretch over the top of the boat before the storm hit them. It was already leaking in places. The best that could be said for it was that they weren't as cold or wet as they would have been without it.

"I've no idea," Lemony shouted back. At least she assumed that was what he'd said. It could also have been another year but even he wasn't that pessimistic.

She closed her eyes. It didn't really improve things. She hadn't been able to see much anyway with her face pressed against the boards, and it wasn't as if she could pretend she was lying in bed, unless it was a hard, splintery bed that threw her around a lot.

Lemony said something that sounded like bring a goat. She couldn't think why they'd need to do that, unless it was to distract sharks – big ones, with hundreds of jagged teeth, moving through the water only inches from her face… or, maybe, what he'd said was that they should have rented a bigger boat. She needed to calm down. It was just rain. Just rain.

There was a crack, and a thump, and everything went blinding white. The boat seemed to fling itself into the air, tumbling Beatrice down towards the prow. She screamed, and heard Lemony scream with her.

They crashed together as the boat smacked down into the water again. Waves swept over them, pouring in at the sides, and Lemony grabbed her arm, yelling something she couldn't decipher. Even in her panic, she had time to be surprised. He was shivering. His hand was cold, but it was warmer than everything else she could feel. She wriggled closer to him. Thunder boomed overhead, and he gripped even tighter.

"You're hurting my arm," she called. In the dim light she could just make out his shape. He seemed to know that she'd spoken, because his mouth was moving in response although she couldn't hear the words, but not what she'd said because he didn't let go, and then the lightning struck again and another wave crashed over them and she decided she didn't mind that her hand was going numb.

She caught one phrase, or part of it. It sounded like I'm sure that the beans were different. "No way," she muttered, shaking her head, even though she knew he couldn't see or hear her. "You can't possibly still be researching me."

Another roar of thunder, another wave. The boat span, sending them sliding across the floor, clinging together. Frigid water soaked through Beatrice's jacket, chilling her skin.

Above you, Lemony was shouting. Beatrice, above you!

She looked up. They'd ended up wedged beneath the seat, and she could see the dark shape of something sticking over the edge. She reached up and pulled it down. A flashlight. "You mean this?" she asked, handing it to him. "I don't think it'll do much good."

He shook his head. "I – " he began, and then a wave bigger than all the rest smashed into them. The boat lurched sideways, nearly tipping them out. Beatrice clutched the edge of the seat, shrieking, flailing for balance as she slipped toward the freezing water.

She felt Lemony's arm round her waist, dragging her back, pulling her to him. His whole body trembled from fear or cold or both, and his breath against her ear was rapid and shuddery. She clung to him with one hand, bracing herself against the underside of the seat with the other.

They gave up on trying to speak after that.

Just when Beatrice had started to think it would never end, that the noise and the cold and the pelting rain would go on forever, there was the worst noise yet. A crashing, crunching, splintering sound, as the wood beneath her jolted and twisted, slamming her hard into the side of the boat. The wind dropped a little just then, so she heard her own gasp as the air was knocked out of her, and then Lemony's choking sobs.

"We're breaking up!" he wailed. "We're going to drown… we'll never survive this…"

Beatrice lay on her back, panting. There was a hole in the tarpaulin, just above her, and she stared through it at the swirling grey clouds. "I think we have survived it," she said slowly. "We've stopped moving. I think we're there."