"Ouch!" Violet cried out as pain shot up her right leg. Her head jerked forward and her eyes widened as she realized that a crimson liquid was spewing from her foot. She quickly capped her mouth with her fingers when she realized how loud her cry had been; she could not risk the others hearing her. This was only the second, and, sadly, the final, late night excursion that she and Quigley had embarked upon, and she was not willing to let it all crumble just because she had been foolish enough to leave her boots behind. Her companion turned rapidly, concern washing over his features at her outburst.
"What's wrong? What happened? Are you-" Quigley broke off, his mouth agape when he saw that his friend was injured. "Here, let me help you." He held out his hand to her, and she took it gratefully. Suddenly, in a swift motion, Quigley swept Violet into his arms and began carrying her toward a nearby outcropping.
"Quigley!" Violet shrieked incredulously. "What are you…" She trailed off when she saw the shy grin that was fairly splitting his cheeks in half. She chuckled softly and laid her head against his chest as she allowed him to carry her.
Once they were near enough to the ledge, he slowly, carefully set her on the ground. Realizing it was rather rough terrain, Quigley took her into his arms once more and set her on a nearby rock. Scrambling to remove his plaid sweater, he blushed a deep rose when he noticed Violet watching him. He folded his favorite piece of clothing and set it on the earth; then, he returned to the rock and lifted the suddenly bashful Violet. Placing her on the makeshift cushion, he grimaced when he remembered the wound on the girl's foot. He got to his knees before her and took her petite, white foot in his calloused hand.
He examined the gash for a moment, and then said to her, in a playfully mature tone, "Well, Ms. Baudelaire, I'm delighted to inform you that this injury is merely a surface wound. You should be able to walk momentarily, but, as your current physician, I prescribe remaining on this lovely ledge with a dashing boy for a few moments so that the bleeding can stop." Reaching into his pocket, Quigley withdrew a slightly yellowed handkerchief; a deep scarlet, curly cursive Q was embroidered in one corner. Violet cocked her head slightly, as if deep in thought. Suddenly, she pulled her foot from his grip and glared at him with sharp questioning.
"Quigley…where did you get that handkerchief?"
"I…from my pocket of course," he replied shakily.
"Quigley…was that your mother's handkerchief?' Violet asked, her voice quivering just a bit.
Quigley lowered his head, shamed by her allegation. He began to fiddle with the cloth, twisting it around and around with his fingers.
"I…yes." He replied; there was no way in this world he would lie to someone as wonderful as Violet.
Violet sat for a moment, honestly a bit dumbfounded by his candor.
"Why...why would you use it to clean up my blood? It's your mother's!" Violet lost herself at this point, her voice rising higher and higher with each word. "It's the last thing you have left of her, right? Everything else was destroyed with your home, right? So why would you-"
"Stop!" Quigley interjected, his voice trembling violently. His hands shook as he brought them to his face and pressed them against his eyes. He choked out, "I-I know. I know it's the last thing…but…" He paused. "But…she's gone now, Violet." He brought his hands away, and the tears streamed freely down his cheeks now that their dam was removed. "They're both gone; my mother and my father. And my brother and sister…" He sniffed. "I can't say for Duncan and Isadora. I can only hope they are okay. But you, Violet, you're here, and you're alive, and I know…" He trailed off.
Violet looked at him with that puzzled expression again, her eyes filled with tears upon seeing her dear friend so shaken. Carefully, Violet scooted herself so that she was right in front of him; she looked up into his handsome features and whispered, "What do you know, Quigley?"
Looking down into her compassionate eyes, Quigley choked on a sob. Taking her delicate hand in his, Quigley gazed straight into her eyes and murmured, "I know how I feel about you, Violet. I know that you are the most intelligent, creative, lovely, caring, and beautiful girl I have ever met. I know that I would create a map that led me straight to your heart, to your happiness, if I could. I know that I would sail around the world, if it meant I was sailing to you. I know-"
His words were cut off as Violet's lips touched his. It was a soft kiss: delicate, like Violet's fingers. It was only for a moment, but for the passionate youths it felt as though it was a lifetime gone too quickly. When she pulled away, he followed her, hungry for more of her affection, but one look into her tear-filled eyes and he knew that was the last of it. He leaned back on his palms and sighed as his cursory glance swept the landscape below them.
There was a sudden scuffling and a feminine grunt as Violet got to her feet behind him. He turned slightly and got a fleeting glance of her tear-stained face before she stood upright. After studying him for a moment, she offered him her hand, but he politely refused as he remarked, "Violet, there is no plausible way that you can return safely to the cave without properly bandaging your foot. Let me help you, please."
Violet scrunched her nose at him disdainfully and retorted, "Not with your mother's handkerchief, Quigley. I can't let you do that."
He sighed, walked to her, and replied, "But I want to, Violet. You don't understand it, for you lost your beloveds so recently, and you still have Klaus and Sunny by your side, but please, Violet, please allow me to." He bent to his knees, removed the embroidered piece from his pocket, and pleaded with her. "Violet, as of now, I have no one left. My parents are gone, my siblings are missing, and you and your brother and sister are the only friends I have in this world. This handkerchief is simply an object, Violet. Yes, it was hers. Yes, it is all I have left of her, but this simple object cannot compare to the years of memories I have stored in my heart. I don't need a material item when I have that. I have my fill of my family in my mind, and I can see them over and over again in my own private theatre. Clinging to worldly object such as this will not help me to step forward, and, as a colleague of our parents' says, 'He who hesitates, is lost.' So I refuse to hesitate when it comes to moving forward, for, aside from this handkerchief and the clothes on my back, it is all I have to my name: the ability to grow and move forward."
He stopped as he realized two things: one, this was becoming a long, pointless, rambling lecture; two, Violet had crossed to the mossy rock and was now seated with her foot poised, ready for him to aid her. Tears still perched in her eyes as she smiled at him, accepting his heart-filled gesture. Quigley returned the expression and made quick work of her injured appendage. Once she was fixed up, Quigley offered her his arm; she accepted, chuckling softly. They strolled together, arm in arm, orphan and orphan, toward the slope that eventually led to the foreboding cave where their enemies and allies slumbered.
Had they known what lay ahead, they might have stayed on that cliff side; they might have waited for the parties in the cave to depart so they could escape together and live a fortunate life, at last. They might have started a family together and named their children after those who they were most fond of. They might have found themselves a homely mansion where they could eat and sleep and walk forward together, leaving their charred, bitter pasts behind them.
However, this is not a story of "might haves." This is a chronicle of the actual events in the actual lives of the actual Baudelaire orphans, and in this actual account it is my sad duty to record what actually happened. What actually happened was that Violet Baudelaire and Quigley Quagmire inserted themselves among the sleeping figures, as if nothing had happened at all, and both orphans slowly drifted into a dreamless sleep, all too unaware of the unfortunate events to come.