It all started in a mission.
Beatrice was disguised as a waitress, wearing a dress that was tight on the top and had a long, fluffy shirt, all black. Her long and dark hair was tied in a bun and giving her a serious and professional look. She kept her expression neutral except when she sent a glance at her partner.
Bertrand, the partner in question, sat on a table with a small group of men and women. He didn't have his glasses, which he shouldn't need during this mission anyway, and a pair of colored lenses made his blue eyes brown. He had stage makeup on to make him look older, creating wrinkles he still didn't have. He was very formally dressed.
His company was rude and unpleasant. It took a lot of effort for Bertrand not to visibly frown at how they treated their waiter. But he needed to fit in or his disguise would be ruined.
Beatrice approached the table carrying a tray, and placed in front of Bertrand a sugar bowl. Then she proceeded to give each person at the table a cup, and then a teapot on its center.
"We didn't ask for this!" A woman loudly complained.
"It's on the house," Beatrice said in her most pleasant tone, and left before anyone else could question her further.
You fake little snake, Bertrand thought, smiling to himself. He had a brilliant actress as a partner.
"What a stupid girl." The same woman complained.
"Don't bother, Edith." The man sitting beside her said. "Where were we?"
Bertrand cleared his throat. He raised his hand to adjust his glasses, but remembered just in time he wasn't wearing them. He instead slid it over his hair, and spoke.
"My zoo has an interest in those captive lions." He said, easily using his fake accent.
"Oh, right, the lions." The man said, pouring some tea for himself. "I'm afraid this is a discussion you must have with Justice Martì herself."
"Justice Martì is a very strict boss." The woman said, smiling in a way someone would smile after seeing a person they disliked tripping on a banana peel, if they were the sort of person to smile at other people's misfortune.
Bertrand poured some tea for himself. He didn't feel like drinking it, but he needed to busy his hands with something.
"Could you please pass me the sugar?" The man asked.
The man sitting beside Bertrand reached out his hand to the sugar bowl, but Bertrand was faster to grab it. He had his hand covering the lid. His abrupt movement attracted the eyes of everyone on the table to him.
He knew the mission was over.
"I'm sorry, ladies and gentlemen." He said, keeping his fake accent, but raising his voice above what was acceptable in a restaurant like that. "I am afraid this has turned into such a sad occasion. Send my regards to the high judge." With those words, he stood up, still holding the sugar bowl.
Three tables to the left, Beatrice heard the key phrase "sad occasion". She dropped the tray full of dishes that she carried and ran to Bertrand's table, stopping behind the man who asked for sugar.
"He's a volunteer!" The man screamed, standing up from his chair.
His associates followed, each taking a different weapon from his pockets or purses, with the exception of the man sitting beside Bertrand, who just grabbed a fork from the table.
Bertrand smiled, his eyes not on one of them but on Beatrice. "My occupation is not important."
As he uttered the last syllable, Beatrice pulled the table sheet, sending dishes, cups and cutlery flying.
That was enough to distract most of them. However, as Bertrand ran to the front door, trying to avoid tables and waiters, the man with the fork followed him. At the first chance, he pushed Bertrand into a table, where he fell right into a bowl of soup.
J will kill me, he thought.
The man and woman who were talking to Bertrand before cornered Beatrice near the back wall of the restaurant.
"B! I could use some help!" Bertrand shouted as the man pointed the fork at him. He had never been stabbed with that particular utensil and wasn't looking forward to it.
"I am a little busy right now, B!" She shouted back.
The woman near her laughed. "Your boyfriend can't save you." She pointed a big knife at Beatrice, and the man pointed a slightly smaller but still big one.
Beatrice frowned.
"First of all, he is not my boyfriend." She said. She supposed those two expected her to keep walking back, away from their knives. So, she moved forward instead.
She tried to grab the man's hand. The blade hit her arm a couple of times, making her want to scream in pain. Those were minor injuries, she told herself, even as she felt the blood dripping. As long as she didn't faint from blood loss or lose her arm, she could still fight.
The man showed her a sinister smile right when she managed to hold his arm at an iron grip. She moved quickly, turning around and keeping the man's body in front of her, narrowly escaping the woman trying to stab her back. Beatrice held the man in front of her as a shield.
"Second of all", she said, almost breathless, "I don't need him to save me. I save me."
"Really?" The woman asked. "How do you intend to do so?"
"You don't want to hurt your friend," Beatrice said.
The woman smiled darkly, an expression that here means that that was the wrong thing to say.
The woman threw the knife in Beatrice's direction. Beatrice pulled the man with her to the floor to avoid it.
She couldn't keep the shock from her face. That was close.
The man was just as shocked.
"Edith!"
"Sorry, darling. I just think the boss will love to hang this volunteer's head on her wall."
Meanwhile, Bertrand ran from the man with the fork. He had bumped into tables and waiters, getting dirtier and dirtier with food. A leaf of lettuce was stuck to his hair. The man almost hit the fork on his eye. He called Beatrice a couple more times, but noticed she was not able to help him yet.
Beatrice managed to take the man's knife from him, but he escaped from her grip. She held the weapon defensively in front of her.
"You wouldn't kill us." The woman said in a mocking tone. "You volunteers are too good for it."
Beatrice felt her heart sinking at the reminder that she wasn't that good. She could and would kill them if she had to. But she didn't want to.
"I will let you know," she said, taking a small step forward, knife still raised, "that was I the captain of my soccer team."
The two people tilted their heads in confusion. Beatrice kicked the teapot, that rested on the floor after mostly surviving the fall from the table, towards the woman. Partly due to the impact and partly due to the surprise, she lost her balance and fell back.
Beatrice's kick was perfect, but her outfit was not appropriate for the activity. One of her shoes went flying, and she heard something in her dress being ripped. Oh well. That disguise didn't even look that good.
She ran to where she had last heard Bertrand, almost limping with only one heel. Finding the fork man, she kicked her shoe right into his head.
Bertrand, half leaning on a now abandoned table, didn't look as relieved as he should. He tried to mouth something to Beatrice, but she couldn't understand it. He grabbed the centerpiece and threw it at Beatrice. She ducked, and heard a loud sound as it hit the man who she fought earlier.
"Good hit." She said.
"I think we should go." He said, getting up and grabbing her hand with the one that wasn't holding the sugar bowl.
They ran towards the exit as fast as they could, before any of their enemies could recover or any angry manager could ask them to pay for the damage.
Once outside the restaurant, it was easier to blend in with the crowd. Beatrice started laughing. Bertrand frowned at her.
"That was close." He said.
"It was, wasn't it?" Beatrice agreed.
"I think they went that way!" They heard someone shout.
Beatrice grabbed Bertrand's hand. "I know where we can hide." She whispered to him.
She took him running to a small alley, and then another, and then up a fire escape. It got less and less crowded as they went but they seemed to lose their enemies at some point.
Beatrice took one of the hairpins from her bun and picked open the lock to an apartment.
"Where are we?" Bertrand asked.
"In a safe place," Beatrice replied. "I need bandages and you need… a shower." She made a dramatic face at him. "J will kill you."
"I know."
He followed her into the small apartment. Bertrand had never been there before but he supposed it belonged either to Beatrice or to someone she trusted. It had simple furniture and it wasn't too dirty or messy, but not clean either.
It didn't look like anyone lived there.
"What did you find out?" Beatrice asked, taking a seat on an ugly couch.
"Not much," Bertrand admitted. "They said I had to talk to… the judge."
"Only that?" Beatrice asked. He nodded. "Then why did you blow your cover? Why do you still have the sugar bowl?"
Bertrand looked at the object he still held, despite it being mostly useless.
"I… don't know." He said, his skin reddening a little.
Beatrice gave him an unbelieving look. Bertrand showed an awkward smile.
If he hadn't blown his cover, those people would still have found the recorder inside that sugar bowl, and would have figured Beatrice was a volunteer. They would have attacked her first.
Bertrand didn't tell her that. He had messed up in the end, by blowing his cover without a plan. And Beatrice didn't like people risking themselves for her.
As for the sugar bowl, it was just habit. He hadn't given it much thought.
"That will scar," Bertrand said, noticing for the first time the big cuts on her arm.
"I have other scars." She replied, dismissively. She hadn't paid a lot of attention to the wounds, as she had been busy trying to knock those people down and then getting herself and her partner to safety.
Beatrice liked the thrill of the fight. A little too much for her own sake. It made her good at it, but not without bruises and scars. However, things were feeling rougher to her recently.
Part of the reason Beatrice and Bertrand worked so well together was that they had balance. Beatrice was bolder, Bertrand was more cautious. He knew when to retreat and plan, she knew when to act. Alone he had little results to show, and she risked herself too much, was too impulsive. Together they were just right.
Bertrand looked at Beatrice in worry.
"I will get the first aid kit." She said, standing up and walking with a suspicious certainty.
"Whose place is this?" Bertrand asked.
"I have no idea." She replied, returning with the first aid kit.
Bertrand knew she was lying, and she knew he knew, but he didn't push it.
"Let me take care of this." He said instead, kneeling near her and taking the kit from her hands.
"You need a shower." She said, moving both her arm and her face away from him. "What did you fall into, salmon soup?"
Bertrand sniffed his own arm.
"That's… quite likely."
Beatrice chuckled.
"You are not touching me smelling like this."
He raised his eyebrows for a moment. There was not a lot of touching involved in bandaging some wounds. He almost said that, but he felt like that would make things awkward. She may not act like one, but Beatrice is a lady, he joked to himself. And he did stink.
He stood up and took off his coat and raised it so Beatrice could see the damage.
"Do you think it can be saved?"
Beatrice shook her head.
"You better buy J a new one."
"I don't have money for such expensive clothes!" He protested. "Not with an actor's salary."
Beatrice chuckled more.
"Get a loan."
Bertrand pretended to consider her suggestion.
"Or, I could marry you. Double the salary."
Beatrice blushed slightly. Bertrand instantly regretted his words. He was trying to be funny, not to make her remember about her recent failed engagement.
She said she was over it, but he had the feeling it was a lie.
"Yeah, then maybe we could pay for it in… ten years?" She said playfully. Bertrand felt some relief at that reaction.
"Or I could try washing it and see what happens." Bertrand shrugged, before placing the coat over a chair.
Beatrice watched him from her place on the couch. Bertrand's sense of humor was a gift. It was easy getting into a good mood around him. So many times during their years of friendship he showed he always knew just what to say to make her feel better.
He turned back to her, and she saw he had his shirt unbuttoned.
"What are you doing?" She asked, surprised.
"It's dirty too." He replied, taking the shirt off and giving her a funny look.
Beatrice opened her mouth for a funny remark but closed it without saying a word. They got changed near each other all the time during missions or performances. But they had both been fired from the theater about one month before. Apparently, Bertrand had been busy during this month.
"You've been training." She finally commented.
Bertrand tilted his head. She pointed at his abdomen. He instinctively tried to cover himself with his arms.
"Yes. Ah. Things have been harder. I thought it would be good."
"It's always good." Beatrice nodded. "Will you take off your pants too?"
"Why? Do you want me to?"
"They're dirty as well, silly."
"Ah." He looked down. "That depends. Does your mysterious friend have a shower?"
Beatrice pointed to a door.
"There is a small bedroom and a small bathroom. I think you can find some clothes for you in the closet."
He frowned at her.
"A man lives here?"
"No one lives here." She said, and that was true. "It's a place for emergencies. Free for any volunteer to use in case of need. There is food in the kitchen as well."
"Why did I never hear about this place before?"
Beatrice shrugged.
"When does anyone tell us anything in this organization?"
"Fair," Bertrand said, before kneeling near her again. "Let me see this arm."
"No," Beatrice said, pulling her arm away. "It will hurt."
"Beatrice Baudelaire, you got unarmed in a knife fight, but you are afraid of a little sting?"
"Maybe?"
Bertrand could see the glint in her eyes that she had when she was having fun. Beatrice was never afraid of pain. She wasn't afraid of anything.
He loved that in her. Bertrand was afraid of many things, too many things. He wanted to be more like her.
"Show me this arm." He said, softly pulling it towards him. She let him this time.
"I hate you, Bertrand Markson." She jokingly said as he started cleaning her wound.
He found out it wasn't as deep as the bleeding made him believe, which probably explained her playful behavior. If it had been as serious as he had thought, she would have been a little more worried, right?
Beatrice loved how careful he was when he took care of her. His movements were delicate, despite his hands being anything but. He had bandaged her wounds many times since when they were kids and the worst that happened was her getting her knees scraped playing soccer. She came to associate Bertrand's touch with comfort and healing.
He soon finished with the bandages.
"Will you also give me a kiss to get better?" Beatrice joked.
"Bandages and alcohol are more effective than kisses."
"But kisses feel good."
Bertrand looked up at her and thought for a moment. It was a very short moment for his standards. He sat up and slowly approached his face to his partner's.
Beatrice's eyes widened. She was sure he was going to kiss her lips, and though there was enough time for her to stop him, she didn't want to.
They had kissed before. On stage, of course. Still, it was no big deal. Of course, they always acted professionally and respected the fact that Beatrice was in a serious relationship. But they weren't on stage right now, and Beatrice's relationship had been over for a while, and she wondered if Bertrand's lips would be as delicate as his touch. That was a strange thought to have about a friend.
Bertrand kissed her cheek. Where Beatrice came from, that was half a greeting. Where Beatrice came from, this was a casual greeting. It should not surprise her, he had no reason to kiss her lips, not even as part of a joke. But at that moment where it seemed he would she got curious about it. So, without thinking twice, maybe without thinking even once, she closed the small distance between their lips.
Bertrand had to hold the couch's arm or else he would fall back in shock. He was not sure of where this came from, but he was not complaining.
That was no stage kiss. That was the real thing and Bertrand felt his heart beating faster because he was not sure of what to do. He had never kissed for real before. He only knew how to pretend.
Beatrice was satisfied with her choice. His lips were as delicate as his touch and it felt amazing. She got a little too excited, and at the moment she pulled away, she realized that she should have thought better about it.
Bertrand blinked at her, stunned. An apology died in her throat. The last thing she wanted was to make things awkward with one of the closest friends she still had around. She couldn't read his face, couldn't know if he was mad or uncomfortable or anything, something she really wasn't used to when it came to him.
He needed some moments to form a coherent thought again. When he did, what came to his mind was probably the dumbest possible thing.
"I need to get rid of these lenses."
Beatrice looked away from him.
"Yeah, you better do it."
Bertrand stood up and did it, putting them in his pocket to throw away later. He felt the atmosphere getting tense. He wanted to ask Beatrice why she did that, but he didn't know how to word the question. He didn't want it to sound like he hated it but he also didn't want it to sound like he loved it. He never had to think so much about what to say when it came to Beatrice, and he was hating every second of it.
Beatrice never had to think at all about what to say when it came to Bertrand, and now she was frustrated.
"Your lips are soft." She finally decided to say. It felt like the dumbest possible thing.
"Thanks?" He half asked, not looking at her.
"Someone will be very lucky to kiss those lips every day. If you are into it." She said, her voice uncharacteristically high. She felt she was just making things worse, and told herself to shut up.
"If I'm into… kissing?" Bertrand asked, confused. Maybe his brain was still working slowly due to the surprise, or maybe Beatrice really was making less sense than usual. It was weird.
Beatrice stood up from the couch and walked to the opposite direction of him.
"You should take your shower. I will look for a snack."
Bertrand finally looked at her, and crossed his arms. Something in that sentence seemed to break the spell.
"I would be proud of myself for making Beatrice Baudelaire embarrassed," he paused, studying her face, "but I think you did the hard work yourself."
"I'm not embarrassed." She argued, looking at him. Now, that she knew how to deal with. Light teasing. Just like it had always been.
"You sound embarrassed."
"What even would I be embarrassed about?"
Bertrand hesitated.
"You are embarrassed!" Beatrice said in a triumphant tone.
"You kissed me, you should be embarrassed," Bertrand said.
"You kissed me, you should be embarrassed." Beatrice countered.
"There's nothing embarrassing about kissing you. You are wonderful."
Beatrice was caught off-guard by the compliment.
"As a friend!" Bertrand quickly added.
"You kissed me as a friend?" Beatrice asked. It didn't feel like it.
"Yes- No! I kissed you because you kissed me. Why did you kiss me?" There. Bertrand asked it. He truly needed to know. He felt like he wouldn't be able to sleep at night if he didn't know.
Beatrice did not know how to answer it.
"Why, why would I not? You are single, I am single, you are handsome-"
"I'm not!" He interrupted her.
"You think I'm wonderful." She gave a proud smile. "Why not?"
Bertrand looked to the side, looking deep in thought. He was taking it seriously. That felt nice. Way too nice.
"You're… we're…" He was at a loss for words. Beatrice and he had always been friends. He never considered looking at her as anything but a friend.
But she was wonderful. She was funny and intelligent and they worked well together. She knew all of his secrets and accepted them. He felt at ease with her. She always knew what to say.
And now he was thinking too much just because of a kiss.
"It was just a kiss," Beatrice said, as if reading his mind. "It doesn't have to be anything else if you don't want to."
She was calmer now but she hated herself for making things awkward. Bertrand was a good guy. He made her feel safe and he made her laugh. He never left her no matter how hard she was to be near. He was handsome. He was her partner.
And now she was thinking too much.
"And what if I want?" He asked, voice low.
Why not?, both asked themselves.
"That depends on how much you want," Beatrice said, trying to sound cool.
Everything, he thought.
"How much do you want?" Bertrand asked.
Everything, she thought.
Bertrand pinned Beatrice against the wall of the bathroom. Well, she pulled him to do so. It still counted. Her hands were very daring as they explored his undressed body. He never knew this side of her. Was she like this with her previous lover? They were not even seen together back then. No one could have guessed.
"Think less and kiss me more." She gently said.
"I'm thinking of the best way to do this." He explained.
"Making love is not about thinking, silly." She giggled. "It's about feeling."
He smiled.
"You may have forgotten you have way more experience in this than I do."
"You will get the hang of it. Now shut up and kiss me."
At first, no one noticed something changed between them. They had always spent a lot of time together. They had always been close.
Bertrand liked to think he was being more openly affectionate to Beatrice.
Beatrice was torn. She didn't want to keep their relationship a secret. She was tired of secrets, especially when they were things that harmed no one. Bertrand made her happy, and she didn't want to hide her happiness.
Yet, it had been only one month. One month since she had broken up her engagement. People would talk. They didn't know the reasons she had for doing so, or for how long she those reasons had been piling up. How dare she not mourn for long enough a living man that she herself had wanted out of her life? How dare she feel relief at the end of a relationship that brought her much joy, yes, but also much more pain? How dare she move on with her life, instead of being miserable forever?
She wasn't one to care too much about what other people thought of her, but this time she worried because it wasn't just random people. It was her friends, people she cared about, the only family she had. They were also his family. And Bertrand's family. Now that she thought about it, maybe she needed a different social circle.
Bertrand deserved better. He deserved someone who could be open and proud to be with him. Beatrice wished she was this person. For his sake, she decided from the start that when it came to it and someone asked about this relationship, she would not lie. That was the least she could do.
Weeks passed and Beatrice started to notice the looks they got from their friends, while Bertrand remained oblivious.
Meanwhile, their last mess of a mission had repercussions too. Someone else volunteered to talk to the judge (since Bertrand could not be blamed if he lost his composure in front of her and that would not be good for anyone). That got them both out of the case. Beatrice had been fired from her acting job not too long before that, and Bertrand resigned right after it, so they were both unemployed. The lack of occupation didn't do any of them good.
One afternoon, as Beatrice was reading in one of the rooms of Dark Avenue's headquarters, Bertrand came with a solution.
"Volatile Fungus Deportation? What is this?" Beatrice asked.
"It is a project," Bertrand said.
"I realized that." Beatrice playfully hit his shoulder. "What exactly is it about?"
"Cultivating a species of fungus."
"A volatile one?" Beatrice half asked. "What does this have to do with us?"
"Nothing yet," Bertrand said, almost unable to contain his excitement. "But they need people to do research work before the project can move forward. We have free time, I think we could give it a shot."
"We don't know anything about mycology." Beatrice pointed.
"What about botany? You used to do wonderful things in the mountain headquarters' greenhouse."
"I was ten!"
"There are books about it. We just need to study a bit."
"A bit?" Beatrice asked unbelievingly. "This sounds way beyond our skills."
"It is a chance for us to learn new skills!"
Bertrand was really bad at hiding how excited he was. Beatrice wasn't sure of why he wanted so much to do this, but she liked seeing him like that.
"What would we be researching?"
"Poisons and antidotes."
She raised an eyebrow.
"Are you interested in poisons now?"
He looked away, and leaned back on the couch they were sitting.
"I am interested in the future."
"What do you mean?"
He took a few moments to answer.
"Do you remember when you were really young, and your biggest worry was waiting for dessert?"
Beatrice frowned, not really understanding where this was going.
"I guess. That would have been a long time ago."
"Exactly! There seems to always be so much going on. Don't you miss it? Not having to worry if you are being followed, or if your tea has been poisoned, or if your waiter is an enemy in disguise?"
"What does this have to do with the volatile fungus?" Beatrice asked, purposefully avoiding the question.
"This is the first time in many years that we have an actual chance of defeating our enemies. This is big. I want to do what I can to help."
She nodded, and her hand found his on the couch.
"I will consider the idea." She said, softly.
He smiled.
"Our children will leave in a much better world than we do."
Beatrice raised an eyebrow.
"Children? Do you want to have children, B?"
"Yes." Bertrand hesitated. "I mean, when the time is right. Do you want to have children, Beatrice?"
"I… never thought about it. I don't know."
He nodded.
"I will have to wait until you figure it, then."
She gave him a confused look.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, you are my girlfriend," Bertrand said, blushing.
Beatrice felt her face heating as well. It was the first time he used that word. It felt silly. A label was just a label.
But it was still nice.
"Do you think we will be together for that long?" She asked in a low voice.
Bertrand once again hesitated.
"What would be the point of getting into a relationship if I didn't believe it was meant to last?" As she said nothing, he continued. "I mean, if it's not meant to be, if it doesn't work, then it doesn't. But as things are right now, I can see myself being by your side for the rest of my life."
Beatrice was still speechless. She didn't know what she was supposed to answer to that. Not too long ago, she was making promises of forever to someone else, and look at how that ended. She couldn't help but feel that making plans, admitting to herself that this was serious would ruin everything.
Bertrand pulled his hand away from hers.
"I'm sorry. I didn't want to… I didn't want you to feel like I am pressuring you. I would never make any plans without asking how you feel. I-" He was so visibly nervous that it seemed like he could run away from the room at any second, or faint.
"I know you wouldn't, B." She said, grabbing his hand again. "I was just surprised, that is all. Would you want to marry me?"
"Of course!" He said, enthusiastically. "When the right time comes, of course."
"How would we know it's the right time?" Beatrice asked.
"Would you want to marry me?" He asked instead. Bertrand felt almost surprised at the possibility. It was one thing for him to think about it, but to know she maybe felt the same…
It was Beatrice's turn to hesitate.
"If you asked me, I would."
"There is a 'but' there somewhere, isn't there?" He asked, lightly squeezing her hand.
"It's just strange to think about it. But if I think about it, I can see myself being by your side for the rest of my life." She giggled, and it was sincere. "I don't even remember what my life was like before I met you."
Bertrand smiled.
"That's because you were five."
"I love you," Beatrice said.
Bertrand blinked a few times. It was the first time Beatrice used that word with him.
It wasn't a coincidence. Beatrice said it because at that moment she realized that it was true. She did love him.
He leaned down, and placed a soft kiss on her lips.
"I love you too."
They heard the sound of someone loudly huffing, and got only a glimpse of red hair and long skirts before the door closed with a bang.
"Kit," Bertrand mumbled.
"Excuse me. I have to settle this." Beatrice said, standing up and rushing after the other woman.
She found Kit in the library just down the corridor.
"We need to talk."
"I have nothing to talk with you." Kit said, pretending to check a shelf, keeping her back to Beatrice.
Bertrand waited outside, being able to hear but not to see the women.
"You don't get to treat me this way without even hearing me!" Beatrice didn't want things to be like this. The last thing she wanted was to fight a friend, but it was because she did care about Kit that she couldn't accept this.
"What are you going to say? That it is not what it seems? That you are not with Bertrand? I heard it and I saw it, Beatrice!" Kit said, still not looking at Beatrice.
Bertrand held his breath.
"No," Beatrice said, calmly. "I am with him. It is as you saw."
Kit turned to her, cold anger visible on her face.
"I am doing nothing wrong." She continued. "It is my life."
"'Nothing wrong'? Your wedding date hasn't even come yet!" Kit said, indignant.
"I broke up the engagement, Kit. Everyone knows that! Must I spend the rest of my life mourning a relationship that didn't work?"
"You owed him a bit more of decency. You should have-"
"What? Written a 30 days notice? I wanted it to work as well, Kit. I tried. Until the last minute, I tried. But it wasn't meant to be."
Kit shook her head.
"Do you know how much he is hurting?"
"Not as much as he would if I pretended not was wrong. He deserves better than to live a lie. I deserve better than to live a lie."
"So are you going to pretend you fell out of love and then fell in love with someone else in less than one month?"
Against her best wishes, Beatrice felt her eyes getting teary. She knew the accusation would come but it still hurt.
"We can't control our feelings, Kit."
"You're disgusting, Beatrice."
"I never cheated! I have only been with B for two weeks!"
"And you're already talking of marriage and children?"
"Why not? We're adults. What I do with my life from now on is not of your business!"
"Save your lies for someone who believes them, Beatrice! I am not stupid."
Beatrice shook her head. She didn't want it to be like this.
"Don't. Don't you dare to show me these fake tears." Kit said, coldly.
"Sorry for bothering you, Ms. Snicket," Beatrice said, turning away to leave the room.
She needed to get away from there.
Bertrand caught her arm before she disappeared into another corridor.
"B… I'm sorry." He said.
"It's not your fault. None of this is." Beatrice said, wiping her tears. She felt pitiful, crying over someone who didn't even care about her anymore, and in front of him.
Bertrand was shocked by the sight. Beatrice very rarely cried. Ever since she was little. He was at a loss of what to do.
"I don't want to stay here anymore." She whispered.
For years the headquarters were her home. And even before there, she had always lived in the safety of VFD's walls. She had no family to go to. She had no one.
"You don't need to stay if you don't want to," Bertrand said, understanding.
He had also lived there for a long time. He once had a home somewhere else, but he couldn't go back.
"Where would I go?" She asked.
"Anywhere. You're a free woman, Beatrice."
"Would you come with me?" She asked in a low voice.
He nodded.
Putting together the money they had saved from their theatrical work, they managed to rent a place that was closer to the labs where the botanical research of the Volatile Fungus Deportation was taking place.
It was a relief for Beatrice that there were very few familiar faces working there. Between studying and working on the research, she had little time to think of unpleasant matters.
Bertrand wouldn't tell her, but he too felt a personal relief in leaving headquarters. He didn't have any troubles with anyone in particular, but sharing a living space with so many volunteers sometimes felt suffocating.
They had separate rooms in their new house, though it made no difference. To anyone looking they were still a young man and a young woman living together. Anyone who hadn't realized they were together before now knew.
After a couple of weeks of studies and testing with different species of plants, a hybrid of horseradish and apple tree thrived, just for a little bit. Someone suggested they took that specimen to a safe place, somewhere with a controlled environment, where it could stay away from their enemies and other treacheries.
The organization just happened to have a place, a starting colony that fit that. The problem was its remote location. Not many people were willing to leave the city for who knew how long, not when so much was going on.
Beatrice volunteered.
"Why?" Bertrand asked her when they were back in their apartment.
"You know why." She simply said.
"You can't simply run away from your problems."
"Yes, I can."
"You shouldn't." Bertrand corrected himself.
"It's just a mission. I just have to plant the tree, and I am free to come back." She sighed. "I need this, B. I need some fresh air. I feel like everyone looks at me and judges- I know they do not, not all of them, but that's how I feel. I hate it."
Bertrand considered her words. Even with him, with how close they were, Beatrice was still not someone who made herself vulnerable like that, so he knew never to take it lightly when she did.
"Maybe it's not from them you need a break." He suggested.
"No," Beatrice said, softly and firmly at the same time. "You make me happy. I won't give up on us."
"You are willing to go on a mission to the middle of nowhere for who knows who long-" He said, losing his words for a moment. "You are a big city girl, Beatrice. I don't see this being worth it."
She gave a sad smile.
"Everything is so stressing right now. There are more than a few people that I would like to avoid. Sometimes I think about just… going back home." Her eyes suddenly lit up with an idea. "Come with me."
"To your home?"
"On the mission! It will be best if there are two of us anyway." She said. Noticing his hesitation, she added in a teasing tone. "Unless you are scared."
"I'm not scared." He quickly said.
"It's your choice. Take a look at the description and-"
"I will go." He said before he could change his mind. "Someone has to keep you out of trouble."
Beatrice smiled.
"No one is better at it than you."
The ship left in two weeks. They were advised to only take the necessary with them. Still, Bertrand used the time to think of all the supplies they could possibly need. Beatrice spent a lot of time with the tree, taking care of it, and sometimes when no one was looking even talking to it. She knew it was silly and that the tree would never answer her, but it also wouldn't judge her or say anything that would hurt her.
The date of the trip came quickly. The two of them met in the harbor. Bertrand had two suitcases, Beatrice had one backpack, a long rope rolled around her shoulder, and the tree, already prepared for the trip.
"Are you ready?" Beatrice asked.
"Yes," Bertrand replied. "Who are we going to meet?"
"No one." Beatrice tilted her head. "It's only the two of us. Didn't you read the description?"
"I- No," Bertrand confessed. "Is there anything I should know?"
Beatrice thought for a moment. There was a lot he should know, but she was a little afraid of how he would react. Bertrand realized something in that same moment.
"Can you sail?"
"Enough for this mission," Beatrice said. She decided that some things could wait. There was one thing that couldn't, though. "You do know we can only come back in a certain time of the year, right?"
"Decision day." He answered. "Yes."
"You will be stuck with me until then." She said in a teasing tone.
"I think I can deal with it."
She smiled. "Follow me. Let's get our boat."
Their boat was a small one called "The Hanks". Bertrand gave it an incredulous look.
"Will it be able to take us there?"
"It will do what it has to do."
The start of the trip was calm and with no major happenings. They talked a bit. Beatrice really could sail. The sea was calm and the day was beautiful. Bertrand was enjoying that.
Until he saw some dark clouds on the horizon.
"Bea… the meteorological conditions were checked for this mission, right?"
Beatrice bit her lower lip. There was no procrastinating this.
"Yes. There should be a storm coming any moment now."
"Can this thing handle a storm?" He asked, fear starting to show in his voice.
"Probably not."
"What did I get myself into?"
"A planned shipwreck?" She gave him a sheepish look. "It's the only way to get there. We need that storm."
"This doesn't sound safe. There are a lot of other places where we can end up after the storm."
"As long as we are together, we can make it." She took the rope. "I will tie the tree to my back. You hold us from behind."
"That's the plan?" He asked unbelievingly. "The only thing holding us is this rope?"
"And your arms. I trust them."
Thunder cracked.
"Give me that rope!" Bertrand exclaimed.
He helped her tie the tree to herself, but let she do the knot. Beatrice knew some complex knots, and this was the best time to put them to use. Then, as she planned, he held from behind, securing both her and the tree. Hopefully.
The storm didn't take long to reach them. Bertrand was terrified. He tried to remind himself that this had probably been carefully planned and that volunteers went to that Island all the time. Still, it was of little help as the waves rocked the little boat and the wind kept trying to pull him away from Beatrice.
Like all storms, it eventually ended, but not without a big amount of swallowed and inhaled water. The boat didn't survive the trip. The tree lost some leaves and branches. Bertrand thought he was going to die. Beatrice, despite everything, had some fun.
They ended up not very far from each other on a coastal shelf, the tree still safely attached to Beatrice's back. The Island waited in front of them.
It was a beautiful place. A lot of experimental technology was being developed there. As a living place, it didn't lack any of the comforts one would have in the city. There were air conditioning and heating systems that didn't require electricity. Filters and a creative plumbing system could get drinking water from the sea. Talented chefs prepared amazing meals using seafood and the few plants that grew there, as well as others supplies that were sent from time to time. Yet eating there one quickly forgot there were limited ingredients.
But the best of all was that it was far away from the villains and their treachery and from the schism and all troubles going on. It was a sanctuary like no other. One could get used to it.
Beatrice and Bertrand were welcomed there, and after planting the tree, they quickly learned how to participate in that community. One islander had been studying fertilizers and developed one that could drastically accelerate the growth of the tree. Beatrice spent a lot of time with him, learning about it, and sharing with him what she knew about the hybrid. Bertrand joined a group of volunteers that was working on how to make an easy access between the Island and Aquatics Anwhistle, the main laboratory of Volatile Fungus Deportation.
They shared a small tent with one couple bed. It seemed like a natural step to take, after shipwrecking together. Beatrice wouldn't stop making comments about how Bertrand's arms saved the day. Bertrand learned to enjoy the teasing, but he never really saw himself as particularly strong. If anything saved the day, it was his fear of losing Beatrice in the storm.
The change of air did them both good. As Beatrice had expected, her insecurities lowered, and no one there seemed to see her relationship with Bertrand in any negative light. What she didn't expect was to see Bertrand also becoming more and more relaxed towards everything. He used to always seem afraid or worried. Now for the first time in years, he seemed calm. She guessed being away from the schism and from his family did that.
There was another change Beatrice noticed in herself, one that was a lot more private. At that point, it was more of a possibility than a reality. Though nothing about it was inherently bad, she was frightened. She decided to not give it much thought until she had a confirmation, but it didn't work much. She still thought of it every waking moment.
The peace they felt in that place blinded them to the feelings that fermented in the minds of the other volunteers in the Island.
One month and a half living in the Island, and Beatrice noticed her clothes were a bit tighter than they should be. She did the math for what felt like the millionth time. There was really a change, and she couldn't try to deny it for any longer. She was not unhappy, on the contrary. She knew that a beautiful new stage of her life was about to begin. She was only afraid of having to do it alone.
She didn't tell Bertrand right away. She needed time to plan her words. She needed time to gather her courage as well. But she couldn't take too long. It would only make everything worse. Beatrice went to sleep that night promising to herself that she would do it the next morning. As if trying to procrastinate a little longer, she slept in.
Bertrand didn't have the heart to wake her up. He didn't know what was going on, but he noticed she seemed anxious about something, so she deserved the extra sleep.
At breakfast, a fellow volunteer gave him a bottle. Instead of any liquid, it contained rolled paper and a familiar ring. Bertrand gave his associate an inquisitive look.
"It's either for you or Baudelaire." He explained.
Bertrand couldn't imagine anyone sending him a letter, so he imagined it should be for Beatrice. He wondered for a moment why they thought it was for one of them, but then he noticed the small letter B carved on the cork.
As Beatrice was still sleeping, he carried the bottle with him as he went to tend to the tree. It was growing well and fast. The fertilizer did wonders.
Curiosity got the best of him and he decided to open the bottle. He wouldn't read it if it was for Beatrice, but he couldn't know for sure it was for her unless he did it.
Against his guesses, it was actually for him. His name was written on the back of the letter in a familiar handwriting. Together with it was a cut from a newspaper and, of course, the ring, that had seemed familiar before. Now that he could see it closely, he saw the R engraved on it. He frowned.
"Dear Bertrand,
I'm sending you this letter in hopes you don't hate me too much. I know I made a mistake and I regret it deeply. I beg you to give me a chance, to at least read this letter.
I know I have been too harsh on Beatrice, and treated her unfairly. I knew even then that what I accused her of was not true, as I know her character, and yours as well. I was jealous, maybe. Of seeing her happy, while my brother was having a much harder time moving on. It's irrational, I know. His suffering is not her fault. He would be furious at me for entertaining such a notion.
In truth, I wish you both all the best, together or otherwise. You two have always been my good friends, and that should always come first.
I hoped to say this to you and Beatrice in person, if you would agree to see me, but another situation arose that made me write this letter. You may have seen the newspaper I have sent together with this letter, or you may have heard it from someone else.
My brother is dead. We all knew this was coming, after so long without hearing from him, and considering all the troubles in which he got involved. But still, the news hit me hard, enough that I can't keep the item I sent with this letter anymore.
I am sure you know this ring. After Beatrice gave it back to him on the occasion of their breakup, he gave it to me, saying he couldn't stand to look at it. I kept it but now that he is gone, I can't stand to look at it either. I know it may seem a strange choice to give it to you now, but it feels right. I know my brother wished for Beatrice's happiness, and you are the one who is giving it to her. Maybe you can one day give this ring back to her, and maybe this time she will keep it. But if for one reason you don't consider it appropriate to keep it, feel free to give it to someone else. I trust your judgment.
Best wishes,
Kit Snicket"
That was an unexpected turn of events. Bertrand had never been close to Kit's brother, but he still felt the loss. Too many good people lost their lives in that fight. He didn't want to be the one to give the news to Beatrice, but he had to.
He didn't bother reading the newspaper cut. Whatever details it reported, true or false, didn't matter. Instead, he focused on the ring. It was indeed a strange choice. He couldn't understand why Kit wanted him from of all people to have it. He should give it to Beatrice, but maybe she too couldn't stand looking at it. She broke up the engagement for a reason (though Bertrand never learned what it was). Maybe it didn't matter anymore, now that her ex-fianceé was dead, but maybe that made the ring an even more painful reminder.
He sighed. Everything was so unfair.
When Bertrand returned to the tent, Beatrice was up. She was intending to go looking for him, but kept procrastinating it. If she found him she would have to keep her word to herself and tell him, and when she told him she had no idea of how he would react to it, and that maybe would be the end of them. She didn't want to lose him.
"I have something to tell you." They both said almost at the same time.
"You first," Beatrice said, feeling a little relief.
"No, please, you first," Bertrand said, sitting down on their shared bed. The ring and the letter felt very heavy inside his pocket.
"Alright." She whispered, sitting on his side. She had to tell him already. He had to know. "B, I'm pregnant."
He looked at her in shock. That was the most surprising turn of events. But she hadn't told everything yet.
"It's not yours." She mumbled. That was the worst part, the part that worried her so much. But he deserved to know the truth. She wouldn't be able to live with herself if she hid it from him.
"What?" He asked, unsure if he heard it right. Unsure if he understood it right.
"The timing," Beatrice explained. "It is at least one month too old to be yours."
"Are you sure?" He asked, frowning.
She nodded, feeling her eyes getting teary. The last thing she wanted was to hurt him. She loved him.
Bertrand didn't know how to feel. Part of him felt a bit hurt, but he knew he had nothing to feel hurt about. He had always known about Beatrice's past. Unpredicted things like this happened.
"What will you do?" He asked.
"This seems like a lovely place to raise a child." She said in a quiet voice.
"Indeed." He nodded. The ring still felt heavy. "He… he's dead, you know. Kit sent a letter-"
"I knew it."
"About the letter?"
"That he was gone." She shook her head. "It was clear this would happen."
She wasn't sure she could hold the tears back for much longer. This was too much.
He took the ring from his pocket.
"Kit gave me this. I think she wants you to have it back. She is sorry for the things she said to you."
Beatrice took the ring in her hands, and was flooded by memories. The tears fell.
"I'm sorry, Bea. You don't need to keep it if you don't want to."
"It's alright." She shook her head. "I guess I should keep it. So at least I will have something to show the baby one day."
Bertrand gave a small, sad smile.
"Bea…" He started, hesitant. "When you think about the future. About your life, with the baby. Am I there?"
In truth, Beatrice hadn't thought a lot about the future yet, as it scared her so much. But she had an answer for that.
"If you wish. I hope you are."
"Marry me." He blurted out.
She blinked. "What?"
"Marry me. Let's be a family."
Beatrice laughed. It was as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Bertrand felt the same relief hearing the sound.
She looked again at the ring. It witnessed not one, but two proposals to her. It made her sad, but it was an incredible story to tell someday. She had the man she loved with her, and a part of the man she once loved growing in the baby inside of her. The loss hurt, would always hurt, but that was a beautiful ending.
"I do."
"Can you give me that piece of wood, love?"
Beatrice stood up and reached for the piece of wood he pointed to. It was a little more difficult to do even simple things like that as her belly grew, but it would take a lot more than some pains to stop her.
She felt the suspicious eyes of the other islanders on her as she walked. They kept watching but offered no help. She felt bitterly their betrayal.
Bertrand tried to pretend he didn't notice them. Instead, he focused on the boat.
"Have you thought of a name yet?" He asked, taking the wood.
"For the boat?" Beatrice asked, truly confused for a moment.
"For the baby." He explained, smiling.
"Ah, right." She said, settling down so she could watch him work. "I was thinking about it. I think it's a girl. I like the name Violet. After my grandmother."
"It's a beautiful name. What if it's a boy?"
"It's not a boy."
"What if?"
"I didn't think yet."
"Do you think the shape is right?" He walked to the side so she could see how the boat was going. She nodded. "Why don't you name him after his father?"
Beatrice's eyes went to the ring on her hand, as they always did when he was mentioned.
"Lemony Baudelaire. Doesn't sound too bad." She said.
"Who said we are using your surname?" He asked with a teasing smile.
"I know we are." She said.
Bertrand walked to her and kissed her lips. "You know way too much."
Beatrice playfully shrugged.
The perfect sanctuary turned out to not be so safe as it had seemed. As disagreements kept coming up about how the community should stand in VFD's fight, Beatrice and Bertrand saw themselves being banished from it. They came to the conclusion that raising a child in such an isolated place was not as good of an idea as it initially seemed. The child would come to know danger and treacheries no matter how hard they tried to shelter them from it. It was better to teach them how to defend themself and fight back without losing their character. It was harder too, but they had done all sorts of hard things together before.
Decision day was approaching and their boat was almost ready. Bertrand had an idea of what to name it, but he wanted to only tell Beatrice when they were to leave. There was probably still time to add a couple more of entries to the commonplace book.
The future was uncertain but one thing they knew: whatever came, they would face it together.