(Author's Note: Wow writing for this fandom is hard. This is my first attempt, mostly because I've never trusted myself to do justice to the characters and the original series, but with such precious characters like Lemony and Bea, how could I not try?

And just so we're all on the same page, anything in the lovely italics is a flashback!

Standard disclaimers apply. I own nothing but my own imagination.)

Type. Just type. If you don't just start typing, nothing will happen. You'll have failed her.

Lemony laid his head on his desk. He'd spent so long staring at that bloody typewriter, and he had nothing to show for it. He'd thought if he could tell their story, if he could just...

But that wouldn't change what happened. That wouldn't bring back the little girl sitting alone at a table with the curliest brown hair he had ever seen. Lemony stared, puzzled. She didn't look like she was waiting for someone, it seemed as if there was an eleven year old girl just sitting alone at a restaurant. He wondered where her parents were. He wondered what she was doing here. He wondered why suddenly a waiter brought her two root beer floats.

"Well, don't just stand there staring, sit down," she instructed. Lemony felt his face getting hot. He hadn't meant to stare, he was just intrigued.

He sat across from the girl, and she pushed one of the floats toward him.

"I'm Beatrice."

Beatrice. Lemony poised his hands over his typewriter keys again, but still sat frozen.

Just start typing. You've got to write something. Do it for her.

All he wanted to do was write. Because if he could write about her children, maybe one day he could write about her; the girl who never should have been touched by VFD. How he wished she never would have been recruited, but then she never would have learned to be so observant, and she never would have noticed him in his journalism class, and she never would have remembered him at that restaurant, and he never would have met her. He didn't want to ever give up all those times they snuck out of their respective dorms at precisely ten o'clock, meeting halfway between the rock wall and the rose bushes. They never got to see each other during classes anymore, what with Beatrice being trained in acting and something that had to do with bats, and Lemony focusing on journalism and rhetoric, so they met when they could and drank root beer floats and were closer than any friends you can imagine.

It was particularly cool that night, and Lemony was shaking slightly, but it had nothing to do with the temperature.

Neither one said a word until they were in the safety of the street; they knew better. When the east gate closed behind them and they were far enough away to speak, Lemony took a deep breath, and spat,

"I have to talk to you." The smile fell from Beatrice's face and the seventeen year old girl looked at him worriedly.

"Is something wrong? Lemony, are you okay?" She tugged at her dark curls nervously.

"Yes, I'm okay," he started, but then changed his mind, "I mean, sort of. It's kind of a long story, and I just, I'm really scared that if I say this, you'll be upset, or you'll hate me, or... I don't know, but the point is..." She looked terrified. He hadn't meant to do that. "See, now you're worried, and there's really nothing to worry about, I swear, I'm just-"

"Lemony. Just tell me." He swallowed nervously.

"I think I might be in love with you."

Beatrice just stared. She didn't say a word, didn't move, barely even blinked, just stared at him deadpan.

"I'm sorry," Lemony sputtered, backing away. "I didn't mean to upset you, I just can't get you out of my head and knew if I didn't tell you I would regret it. I'm sorry."

Suddenly, Beatrice started laughing. She was actually laughing at him. He turned away, but she pulled him back towards her.

"You don't know how long I've wanted to hear you say that."

Lemony suddenly realized he was smiling. He had that stupid grin on his face he always used to get around her. That woman did things to him he couldn't even begin to understand. He used to just look at her, with her pretty blue eyes that absolutely lit up when she was happy, and her sweet, lopsided little grin, and her hair was always getting in his face. All he'd tried to do was kiss her, but her hair had other plans apparently.

"Sorry," she mumbled sheepishly, quickly pulling her thick, brown curls into a ponytail.

"Don't be sorry," Lemony laughed, and pressed his lips to hers.

If only he'd known then what he knew now. That nothing lasts forever. That his time with her was fleeting. That soon the world with all its cruelties and horrors would rip her away from him forever, and any kiss could be his last.

He pushed his chair back and stood up from his desk, leaving the paper in his typewriter blank. Staring around his tiny office, everything reminded him of her. Her pens that she always left on his desk by "accident" when really it was just an excuse to come talk to him again, the dusty window that she loved to tap on when he was working to pull him out of the dark office to a picnic or something, the chair that she dragged into his office with great difficulty. When she told him that morning that he needed a nice chair for the little space, he hadn't expected her to go out and find one.

No. Stop thinking about her. Stop letting her get in your head, she's gone.

Lemony sank down to the floor, finally giving up. He couldn't do it. He couldn't write about her children, he just couldn't. He was tired. She looked tired too. VFD had finally worn her down, and when Beatrice sat down across from him at their usual corner table in the little café, he couldn't help but notice that the spark was gone from her eyes. She looked tired.

He reached out and took her hand across the table.

"Hey, Lemony, we... I think we need to talk."

"Is everything okay?" He asked. She avoided his gaze, and that worried him.

"Look, we uh-you know how dangerous things are right now, and we just..." She squeezed her eyes shut, a few tears slipping through. "Lemony, I love you, but... Well you know what lengths our enemies will go through to get to us... and I'd never forgive myself if you got hurt, so-"

She stopped short. With all the threats and incidents as of late, he knew where this was going, but he wasn't going to let that happen. She was too important to him to let her go that easily.

"Beatrice wait-" He dug the ring out of his pocket, the one he'd been waiting to give her all evening. "Beatrice, I won't let this schism tear us apart. I'm in love with you, and I want you to be my wife."

He slid the ring on her finger. She was crying and shaking and staring down at her left hand.

"Beatrice-"

"No," she whispered. "Lemony, no. I can't. I just can't."

His heart sank into his stomach as his entire world crashed around him. His Beatrice.

"I'm sorry," she said, wiping the tears from her face and bolting out the door, and Lemony followed her, leaving a few dollars and their two, untouched root beer floats on the table.

"Beatrice wait!" He called after her. The hurt in her eyes when she turned around absolutely killed him.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Maybe someday, but now... I'm sorry." She kissed him gently, but Lemony was frozen. He was losing her.

"Goodbye, Lemony."

And just like that, she was gone, ducking into an alley and disappearing.

Lemony dried the tears from his face and stood up.

There's nothing you can do. She's gone.

As if to prove to himself that he could never have her and that she really wouldn't be with him now, even if she was alive, he dusted off an old book that he kept in the bottom drawer of his desk. Her book.

He was sure it was sent with the best of intentions, but when he'd seen the carrier pigeons at his window, holding what looked to be a large book, he paused. He wasn't expecting anything. He opened the window. Lemony slowly unwrapped the brown paper from the package and found he was correct. It was a book alright.

"My dearest Lemony," it began. Beatrice's handwriting covered 300 pages, telling him why she would not marry him. Did she think that would help? He read it three times over, soaking the pages with tears as he did so. And every time he got to the end, he felt that resounding pain in his chest.

"I love you, but you know now that I can never marry you, no matter how my heart wishes to believe otherwise. I will miss you desperately, but what else can I do? Give Kit my love, if you see her, and tell her that the Snickets will always be in my heart. Our families will always be close, Lemony, even if we have to be apart. I hope to see you soon, though I don't think I will. Good luck, and goodbye."

Lemony never saw her again. She thought him dead, and by the time she learned the truth, her fate had already been decided.

He sat back at his typewriter, adjusting the paper and fiddling with the mechanics for a minute while he tried to think. He tried to clear his mind, but nothing was working.

Then he remembered the letter he had tucked away in the very back of that book. That letter, the reason he was sitting at a desk right now trying to write the tragedies that made up these poor children's lives. He pulled it from the book. Maybe, just maybe...

"Lemony,

I wonder if you are even alive. I have heard rumors, but they don't carry much weight to me; they never will until I hear from you. People say you're in hiding. Hiding from what? From me? From VFD? From the things you've done? What are you hiding from that is so horrific that you couldn't send word to me?

I grieved over you! I thought you dead. I blamed myself, Lemony. I hope to god that you are alive, because if you are, it would mean that I could stop wondering every day of my life if I was the one who killed you. The obituary gave no cause of death. I was so scared. I pray you are still alive and I wonder if you still care. I wonder if you care enough to do one last favor for an old friend.

I am going to assume at this point that you are alive and will receive this letter. It is a dangerous assumption to make, and a dangerous letter to send, but this must be done. Lemony, you are not the only one I've heard rumors about. There are rumors about me too. Rumors that there are people who want to be rid of Bertrand and I; people who would start fires instead of put them out; people who have killed and will kill again. We cannot leave our home now. There would be too much suspicion, and Violet and Klause would ask questions if we tried. Besides, no matter where we go, no matter how far we run, VFD will find us. They don't take this lightly. I tried to get out, we all did. You, me and Bertrand, Kit, Jaques; the Snickets and the Baudelaires. We tried and we failed. We were never really out. We hid and we lied and still they found us. We are no longer people, but animals to be hunted down and captured-or slaughtered.

You know this, of course. You're obviously in hiding. I don't know where Jaques is. They already got Kit, dragged her back into this whole mess; I think she'd be better off if they'd just killed her. And now it's Bertrand and I.

They want us dead, Lemony, and I would be lying if I said I wasn't scared. I'm terrified. How many times have we faced death, the two of us, looked it straight in the eye and scoffed, and here I am, afraid after all these years. You always said I was the brave one, but I think we are both cowards. We don't really mean to give up our lives for noble deeds; we mean only to masquerade as heroes until our time has finally run out.

My time has run out. I may fear death, but I know better than to run from it this time. This is it for me. I only hope to hear back from you before it happens, because I have one final request.

Take care of my children. I have always said that you would make a wonderful father, and it's time to put that to the test. It rips me apart to think of how Violet and Klause will react when they find out what has happened to their father and I, and how my little Sunny will never really know her parents who loved her so much, and maybe it's selfish not to fight against my potential demise when I have children who need me, but I can take that if I know that you will be there to love them and care for them as your own. You always wanted children. Even when we were young, you, the youngest of your siblings, acted as a father to Kit and Jacques when your parents were killed. I knew one day you would raise wonderful children; for a while I even thought you might even raise mine, but not like this. Never like this.

I don't know when, and I don't know how, but I will get my children out of harm's way, and if you are even a fraction of the man I once thought you were, you'll find them that wretched day and tell them that their mother loved them very much. She loved them so much that she sent them away so they would be safe from the fate that awaited her. Tell them that you will care for them as their guardian. They may not fully accept this at first-they are still children-but in time they will come to love you. I know they will.

You are my only hope. You are the only person I can go to now. I wish you the best, and I pray that you will do this for me; one final noble act for a dying woman. You are my only hope.

Regards,

Beatrice"

Take care of her children. Well, he was going to do that in the only way he knew how, seeing as he was too late to do what she really wanted.

He began to type.

"For Beatrice,

Dearest, darling, dead."

(So there you have it. Reviews are so appreciated, especially having never written anything for ASOUE before. Constructive criticism would be awesome, as would any prompts and such.

Much love,

PrettyLittleMonster Xxx)