A/N: This was inspired by a post from the Brazilian wiki in which it is discussed the identities of the people in the photograph Lemony has with him in the clocktower and in the one aunt Josephine hides in her album.
Life on the lam was inconvenient and uncomfortable in many ways. One of the things Lemony Snicket learned early on was that he could not keep a lot of personal belongings. There was a great chance that he could lose anything he carried with himself, that it would have to be left behind or that it would be destroyed.
So, he learned to always pack lightly. Any important documents or piece of evidence, he quickly sent to a trusted person to keep. His clothes could be discarded or replaced at any moment. Other items that were part of a daily life could as well. All that was important could be carried on his hands while running: a typewriter, if times were good, or a notebook, if they weren't; his spyglass, more of an old souvenir from better times than an useful tool; a book, any book, because even on the lam there was always time to read; and the old framed photograph.
That particular photograph was once a part of a much bigger collection, and it showed three people who were once a part of a much bigger organization. Most of the photographs of the collection were lost or destroyed, and most of the people portrayed in them were long gone. Lemony could barely look at the three people on his picture without weeping, he couldn't imagine how it would feel to look at all of them now.
On the left side, a young man held a young woman. The man smiled brightly, a reflection of his bright personality and the cheerful mood he had back then, especially on that day. The woman didn't look as cheerful, but she also smiled, and anyone who knew her could see in her eyes how happy she was.
On the right side was another young man. He seemed to be much taller than the other two, which was due to the fact he did not stand on their side as the photograph was taken. Lemony would know, he was there when it was taken. In fact, he was the third man.
He had never been a fan of having his picture taken. That day was no exception, his friends had to drag him. As everyone posed, he was the only one who would move nervously, and as a result, his image on the photograph was blurred, his face almost impossible to recognize. Kit had scolded him, saying he would regret not having something to properly remember the occasion. She had been right.
That day had been a happy occasion for their organization, one of the last ones they had, but despite it, Lemony Snicket had not been in a good mood. He had been very mad at the two people near him on the photograph, and refused to stand near them or to join the embrace they shared. The reason escaped his mind, it wasn't something important.
These two people were now gone, and due to several misunderstandings, one unreliable newspaper, and the evil schemes of one wicked man, Lemony had not been able to say goodbye. He had been out of their lives for a long time when the fire happened, and he received the news too late to do anything to prevent the children from being tangled in the web of lies, conspiracies, and crime that was the lives of their parents and of himself.
Lemony kept the photograph because it was the only one left of the three of them. He would never again see Bertrand's bright smile, or Beatrice's eyes shining with happiness. He would never see them again. He would never have another chance to hold them, or to capture a better moment in a picture.
He tried not to think about his regrets often. He had a duty, a story to tell, and he had to stay alive and as safe as he could until he was finished. He had no time to think of his mistakes or of everything he had lost.
(Which was, well, everything.)
But the framed photograph was always on his desk, or whatever served as his desk, unless it was unsafe to take it out of his bag. And he couldn't prevent his eyes from going back to it, to the faces of the two people who meant the world for him and that left too early, that suffered a fate they didn't deserve. If he didn't go back to his writings right away, he could spend hours looking at it, remembering, regretting, and very often crying.