A/N: Entry for Fictober 2018, day 6.

Prompt: "I heard enough, this ends now."


"What have you done?"

The words were said in a cold tone Beatrice had never heard from her friend. It gave her shivers. She blinked.

"I don't know what you are talking about, O."

Olaf seemed to tighten his hold on the harpoon gun, that for now was low on his side.

"Yes, you do. Confess it."

Beatrice kept her posture, and managed with some effort to keep the guilt from her face. She should not have stayed in the theater until so late. There was no one in the empty building to hear her if she screamed.

"No, I don't." She said, voice calm and strangely sweet. "But you can tell me, and we can talk about it."

"Do you think I am stupid, Beatrice Baudelaire?" He said, taking two steps towards her. She took one step back.

"I am only doing my job. If you don't like it, you can talk to the director-"

"This is not about this stupid play!" He shouted. Beatrice took another step back. "Stop playing dumb. Aren't you so smart with your poems and your books? Act like it!"

Beatrice swallowed.

"I only did my job." She said, voice lowered.

"Your job? That's your job now?" Olaf laughed a humorless laugh. "I thought you were only a mediocre actress and wanna-be writer. That's really new."

"I am a volunteer." She said, serious.

"Oh, yes, a volunteer firefighter." He answered, sarcastic. "Please explain to me, how does assassination help with fighting fires?"

For a moment, Beatrice didn't know what to say. She had a motivation for her action, an excuse, of course, but confronted with the reality that it had indeed been an assassination made her feel lost. Before she could find her words again, Olaf asked another question.

"Why? What was it for, Beatrice? Was it for money?"

"You know well I have no money!" Beatrice said, her voice cracking.

"No, I don't. I don't know anything about you anymore." He said, disappointment louder than anger in his voice for a moment. "What was it, then? Was it for another of Snicket's plots?"

"He has nothing to do with it!"

"Then why?"

"I told you. It was my job."

"If it was your job, then why didn't you tell me? Why didn't anyone tell me? I am a volunteer too, right?"

"You wouldn't have understood-"

"You really think I am stupid. You all do." He shook his head.

Beatrice felt her eyes tearing. She had known all along that it would hurt him. It had hurt him enough to lose his parents, she didn't want him to go through the pain of finding out who had done it, and especially, why.

"O, please-"

"Shut up!"

"It needed to be done-"

"'It needed to be done'? Are you telling me that my parents needed to die? That I needed to be taken in by awful guardians? That you needed to lie to me all this time?!"

Beatrice's tears started falling. How could she explain the situation in which she was put that day, that she didn't have a choice, that she still had nightmares about it?

"My parents were volunteers. They had been serving this organization since before we were born. How did it 'needed to be done'?"

How could she explain now that there had been proofs that Olaf's parents planned to betray the organization, and had they gone through with it, many terrible things would have happened?

"You don't know the whole story, O." She said, not bothering to wipe her tears.

"Shut up! I heard enough." He shouted, closing the distance between them with a few steps. Beatrice walked back as much as she could, but soon her back touched a wall. "This ends now."

Olaf raised the harpoon gun until the sharp tip of a harpoon touched Beatrice's neck. Looking into his eyes, Beatrice was sure that he would pull the trigger. All she saw in them was hatred and hurt. It hurt her, because she and Olaf used to be friends, and because she knew that this was happening only because of her. It was all her fault. She should not have lied. She should not have kept the truth from him.

It felt like they spent an eternity like that, bodies almost touching, the gun pointed to Beatrice. In comparison, what happened next was really fast. The door opened. Someone pulled Olaf away from Beatrice. She heard the sound of someone falling to the floor, followed by grunts and punches. The harpoon gun fell to the ground.

In an ironic twist of fate, it fired. The harpoon went up, hit the ceiling, and fell down inches from where Beatrice stood.

Olaf stood up, a line of blood dripping from his mouth. Beatrice pressed her back against the wall, trying to stay as far away from him as possible. Another man stood up, keeping himself between the two. Beatrice's heart leaped when she recognized him.

"Leave her alone!"

"Protecting your girlfriend, Snicket?" Olaf said, and laughed. "How gentlemanly of you. I don't think she needs it, though. Beatrice can easily take down a man. Or a woman."

Lemony took a step back to approach her, but kept his eyes on Olaf. Beatrice closed the distance between them and held her boyfriend's hand.

"But you certainly already know it." Olaf continued. "Aren't you the perfect murder couple?"

Beatrice lowered her eyes, hit by guilt again, but Lemony seemed to not be affected by his words.

"You will pay for what you did, Beatrice Baudelaire," Olaf said, retreating. "Both you and your four-eyed partner. And if you don't take care, you will go down with her, Snicket."

With those words, he left. Beatrice almost collapsed in her boyfriend's arms.

"Are you alright?" He asked, worried.

Beatrice nodded, even if it was clear she wasn't. The confrontation had exhausted her.

"He didn't hurt me. Thanks to you." She looked at the fallen harpoon. Just some inches to the side, and it would have hit her. She could have died, or have been badly injured.

"I will take you home." He offered.

Beatrice could see he had many questions to ask her, and she had many things to tell him and their other associates, especially Bertrand, who could have to face a similar situation soon. Still, for now she just wanted to go home and have some tea, and maybe cuddle with Lemony if he accepted to stay over for the night.

She didn't think she deserved to have survived this incident, but she believed that fate had only spared her because she still had more battles to fight.