A/N: Hello everyone, this is my first ASOUE fic EVER…so be gentle. Hope you'll enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Constructive criticism is accepted, and reviews of any kind are welcome, except for flames; if I indeed receive one, I won't take it personally or get offended, I would simply take it as someone trying to be idiotic and/or immature. In all, I would rather appreciate your reviews. By the way I would like to thank KarlaBob too for being my editor, thanks. That's the author's entire note.
Now the disclaimer,
Disclaimer: Egocentric theorem doesn't owns anything related to ASOUE, it belongs to Daniel Handler/Lemony Snicket, I wish I did though. However, I do own the plot and any random character there might appear.
Summary: Even though Olaf is long to be gone, and the Quagmires and Baudelaires are far from little children, life has not been easy for them. Slowly struggling through everyday and learning to live; secrets, tragedies and lies surround this pair of siblings. Could things be any different? Slightly AU R&R
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VERACITY FOR ALL DEEDS
Memory: 1) the power or ability of remembering past experiences. 2) The part of the mind where knowledge is stored. 3) Something remembered
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Chapter I
The dark cold sky roamed above a small lonely room in a well hidden hotel. A tall man sat gazing sadly at the stars, longing for thing to be different, for so meany things to be different.
The room he was in was small, but large enough to keep a single bed, and small wretched desk along a plain looking chair. It was poorly lighted, considering the sole source of illumination was a miserable lamp lying over the desk, giving the place an even gloomier atmosphere.
He had nothing but his suitcase, a dark green commonplace notebook, an unopened letter that had remained so for quite some time, and finally an old photograph…of what never was, and what never will be. The young journalist sighed, removing his gaze from the vast dim sky, resting them instead on an old photograph.
Duncan Quagmire's dark eyes saddened. The lovely girl on the photograph, now a beautiful young woman, was kilometers away from him, but as much as he wanted it to be, that wasn't really the problem. The person in the photograph, taken too long go when times seemed lighter and things weren't as complicated between them, was no other than Violet Baudelaire. She was exactly the problem; what troubled Duncan in his sleep and kept him awake, and yet again the most wonderful thing that ever happened to him.
Duncan looked away almost reluctant. Things were simply too painful to think about them over and over again, but he couldn't help but to look at the picture and imagine how nothing could have been different.
It was too late now, or was it? Duncan closed his eyes, not wanting to think about it, he couldn't say he hadn't tried but, Violet…with Violet it was simply another story. Duncan shook his head, trying to erase any remaining thoughts about Violet, to find himself unsuccessful. He sat on the worn-out chair and sighed again, resting his head on the nearby desk tiredly.
Why Violet? I offered you the world, I gave it up for you and it still wasn't enough. I was there for you every time you fought, I listened to your woes, I held you in my arms and comforted you, and you ran back to him. I've never understood what's so special about him. Is it about good looks? I've got them, too. For God's sake, we look exactly the same. Or was it because he is sweet? You know, I can be sweet too. Was he caring, intelligent or gentle? Because I am that too, what is it that I don't have? What can I do to be a better man?
Duncan opened his eyes warily, as if fearing her standing there, watching him in despair. He looked over the desk, his hand still resting in it, his gaze stopping at the unopened letter. An uncomfortable knot rested on his throat.
It was Violet's letter. He knew, he feared, what the letter had to reveal. Who know, things were simply, too unexpected between them, what if she suddenly stopped corresponding with him or worse, what if she found out about his feelings and plans and stop to talk to him again? The knot in his throat tightened, getting dry.
He recently received Isadora's, Sunny's, Klaus's and even Quigley's letters and read them through immediately, and even though Violet's arrived around a week before, he hadn't dared to even touch it ever since. He sent happy greetings for all of them except her. What was he supposed to write if hadn't even picked up the letter? They all were written, of course, by the 'happy go good' Duncan, which meant they did not contain anything sad or miserable reflected in them, unlike his actual mood, but cheerful anecdotes and exiting tales of his missions and experiences.
Duncan moved his arm slowly and picked the letter gently from the cold desk, raising his head from its cold surface. He held the letter with both hands, and stared at it hard as if he could read through it, or as if the elegant envelope would open itself. This was quite a ritual by now, considering he had been doing this for quite a while and still not been able to even get to open it.
Duncan's heartbeat quickened and he looked away to the old photo. Even though the photo had no more than five or four years, it seemed old. And in a way it was, considering it was taken in peaceful times, happy times, with no more Olaf, no murders, and no fires… but themselves enjoying the boastful summer.
But that had been long ago, or it at least it seemed to him. He ran a finger over the photo's handsome mahogany frame. Violet is probably having a good time.
Just because you're not there does not mean she won't have a good time, Duncan. She is probably having a great time with her siblings, with no Olaf and everything; Quigley is there, Isadora is too. You're what has changed, not time, you're the one risking your life, you're the one helping V.F.D, you're the one suffering for her love.
Duncan placed the photograph down facing the desk, not allowing memories to flood in. He couldn't blame the Baudelaires for trying to live a simple and quiet life, or his siblings for staying with them. After all, he was the one who decided on leaving.
You could have stayed and live happily ever after. A deep voice that always daunted him played in his mind.
"I couldn't, it was too painful" Duncan said to no one in particular, replying his own comment.
You left, and that wasn't an honorable thing, I'm sure she was worried. The voice once again said.
"She has Quigley, besides, I needed to help the volunteers," Duncan hissed, reassuring himself that it was in fact, true.
The volunteers, what an excuse, you're a coward, feared facing the truth, you did not fight for her. A hole formed in the pit of his stomach, and was consuming him with intensity.
"I wasn't about to ruin the only thing that brought happiness to her life after a lot of suffering," he said, his voice hollow, trying as hard as he could to stay true to what he actually believed.
And that is worth your suffering? The voice asked fiercely. Duncan hesitated for a moment,
"Every single bit," was all he could muster to himself, finding his own voice distant.
You never got to tell her how you really felt. This time the voice softened, Duncan closed his eyes, feeling how his eyes warmed.
"She should have known," was the last thing Duncan said to himself before returning his attention to the letter in his hands.
He gave a deep breath, trying to forget the short conversation he had with himself, and opened the elegant envelope that held Violet's letter. He looked at the fine cursive handwriting of the older Baudelaire and passed his thumb through her name, as if by doing this, he could feel her presence, or at least reassure himself that at least she missed him.
Dear Duncan:
If you're reading this, the letter has reached you as expected. I hope you're great and even though it might be hard to believe, I want you to know that we really miss you.
I know it is not much considering we're so far apart; sometimes, I even get to think we're worlds apart, and sometimes it really feels like it. Things here are good, Sunny's cooking skills have developed even more since the last time you've visited, and she is doing quite well at school. She always says, 'I want to be an excellent cook, so when I'm old enough, I'll join V.F.D like Duncan!'
Duncan smiled briefly at this.
Klaus is happy too. He spends most of his time reading and studying, and when he isn't he is either eating or doing something with Isadora, which I don't find surprising given his state, if you get what I mean.
At this, Duncan actually chuckled quite a bit.
He has worked quite a lot, and is actually planning to start the project we once dreamed to have 'Baudelaires and Quagmire Inc.' (remember back at Prufrock Prep?). As for Quigley and me, well, we're fine. Quigley is quite happy with his cartography work and I'm home working once in a while in my inventions. You should see the latest; it's amazing, I really want to know your opinion about it.
You wouldn't believe I am having quite a hard time writing this to you, few scrap works lay on the floor crumpled right now; after all, you're a very dear and special person to me, I can't find other words to describe it.
I want to tell you that we really miss you back here, and wait patiently for your next visit. We're launching a party soon, and as always expect you to come. We're inviting some friends and everything. It won't be a huge gathering but it's soon to be Christmas and we really want you here. So, we really hope for your attendance.
I don't have more to say but, be careful and don't do anything stupid. Even if it is for the good of humanity, I don't think we could face losing you.
Hoping you're fine,
Violet Baudelaire
Duncan slumped in the chair after reading the letter a few times, just to realize she didn't mentioned anything about herself actually missing him, but mere generalizations, and to see she had quite put an emphasis on we. Duncan sighed, looking at the crackled ceiling.
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Violet Baudelaire walked around the house humming softly, deep in thought. It has been a few weeks…what if something happened?
Violet grimaced; she should really get a grip on herself. Worrying over Duncan every time his replies delayed was stupid. But what if he is held captive by the other part of the schism? Or worse, what if he was…dead?
Violet shook her head violently. Duncan is strong and clever; it is simply absurd to think such a thing. Violet scolded herself. It had been a week, but maybe the letter hadn't reached him. She should have used the VFD telegram device, at least that way she would be certain that the letter reached its destiny.
Violet looked at the horizon from her window and brushed her hands against her skin, embracing herself, and shuddered. It was cold, very cold. Suddenly, she felt someone else's arms embrace her slender figure, strong arms wrapping around her waist.
"Quigley," she whispered, leaning her light body against his tall frame, and giving him a quick peck on his thin lips.
"Having fun looking at the beautiful cold scenery?" he asked casually holding her close, enjoying their intimate moment.
"More like freezing, while watching the amazingly cold scenery," Violet replied, trembling slightly when a cold breeze passed through the open window, sending shivers through her skin.
"Well then, my arms will keep you warm," Quigley whispered in her ear, securing his arms against her figure. Violet smiled. She felt safe around Quigley, and that made her happy. And for some more minutes, they stayed like that, enjoying the moment, while watching the climate do its wonders on nature.
"Would you guys get a room?" a voice interrupted behind them in a disgusted tune.
Violet giggled and disentangled herself from Quigley's arms, gaining a slight pout from the young man.
"You're just bitter because you don't have a boyfriend," Quigley replied with smirk in revenge of her intrusion. He knew he picked a nerve when he saw his sister's face screw up into a frown.
"It's not like I need one," Isadora Quagmire replied nonchalantly, entertaining herself by closing the open window, which kept letting in the icy gushing wind inside.
"Well, you need one," Quigley said with a loop-sided smirk, having fun on teasing his now annoyed sister.
"What makes you think I need one?" Isadora asked, fire emerging from her dark eyes, looking about ready to kill. Violet shivered at the fierce stare, but Quigley didn't even seem to flinch. He was somewhat used to it.
"Well," Quigley started, savoring the moment, "you'll be less annoying if you had your thoughts focused on someone else," he finished, nodding to himself in approval. Violet looked at Isadora, who rolled her eyes.
"Is that all?" she asked, snickering. Quigley looked at her strangely…
"Well yeah," he said, "You should ask Klaus, I'm sure he won't mind taking you out. Besides, he's pretty lonely too, you're quite similar," Quigley added, not noticing the effect it had in Isadora.
"DON'T!" she exclaimed, raising one finger pointing at her brother, her cheeks in fire and her eyes becoming wider than before.
Violet smiled at the scene. Quigley gave her a quizzical look, not understating his sister's behavior. With that, Isadora left in a rush, her dark hair frizzling behind her.
"What's her problem?" he asked Violet, turning to face her, the quizzical look still in his face. How cute. Violet thought.
"Klaus is her problem," she whispered to one in particular, smiling to herself.
"What did you say?" Quigley questioned anxiously, looking at her, expectant, waiting for her to reveal him the mystery.
"Nothing dear," Violet replied, kissing him lightly on the lips, leaving him startled and confused, but not before hearing him mumble. "All women are crazy"
Violet rolled her eyes and smiled.
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Duncan rested his head on the cold surface of the desk, he didn't knew how long he has been like that staring into space, trying to erase all of his feelings….and if he had luck, his memories.
He didn't want to think more about it, to suffer more from it. Sometimes he thought of giving up, but it was simply impossible, his love for her couldn't vanish, even if he wished for it more than anything else. And he went again into contradicting himself once more. He loved her more than anything in the world, but wanted to get rid of the feeling in order to stop the pain. The mere thought of her brought happiness, and yet again ache.
Soft footsteps could be heard from afar, walking slowly through the short and lonely corridor, getting nearer every second. The noise came to a halt, stopping suddenly in front of his door, he knew. The soft knock on the door echoed through the room, making the sound appear forceful, or aggravated.
"In," Duncan's voice croaked, knowing exactly who was behind the door.
The doorknob clicked faintly and the door swung open to reveal a beautiful young woman. Duncan turned his head to see her, still with a lost expression, and said nothing. The woman grimaced. They were both around the same age; she was probably older by only a few months. She was slender and tall, shorter than Duncan, although it was by a mere couple of inches. Her blonde hair was tied in a high ponytail, as always. Her cheeks had a kind of permanent blush. Her eyes were almond shaped and of a very light color, either blue or green, he couldn't tell in the darkness of the room. Her skin was rather pale, emphasizing her pink lips. She was normally of good demeanor, and imposing; she couldn't help but to be somewhat bossy and tended to intrude in others people's affairs. 'I can't help but to worry about everyone around me' she constantly found herself saying.
"Mr. Snicket said we have to meet him now," she said slowly, her voice dropping slightly, after a slight pause of seeing Duncan.
He nodded in acknowledgment, lifting his head from the desk, and closing his eyes.
Eileen Pangbourn grimaced and scanned the room, looking for a reason for his partner's foul mood. Her eyes narrowed at the sight of the old photograph and the carefully opened letter. Her distressed expression changed immediately after shifting her sight to Duncan's miserable frame.
"She wrote again," Eileen said, which probably was supposed to sound like a question, a curt edge in her voice.
Duncan simply nodded and got up slowly from the derelict chair. Eileen's face contracted, her body dense, and got out a huff.
"I'm tired of seeing you like this every single time she writes," she said apprehensively, looking at him severely.
Duncan's face remained unexpressive as he said, "Come'n, Mr. Snicket is waiting."
Eileen's face softened, and before he could walk out from her reach, she put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I'm worried about you," she said quietly, her eyes searching his for any reaction. Duncan's unexpressive frame changed abruptly to one of seriousness.
"There's no time for this," he said, avoiding her eyes by looking at the floor.
Eileen gave him a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder before letting go, closing her eyes for a moment, retaining herself from saying anything more about the matter, or something she would regret later on. Duncan scanned the room with critical eye, as if checking for any inconsistence, before leaving, Eileen followed suit, closing the door with a small 'click' behind her.
The moon was still in the horizon; and it seemed as if the sun had no intention to come out for a while. It was probably around 4:00 o'clock in the morning, so there was time for whatever Mr. Snicket had planned to them to do.
It had not been an easy task the recent days, between running away from the authorities without being exposed and trying the best to not be spotted by anyone of the schism.
Duncan and Eileen walked in a hurry, trying their best to pass undetected. They passed a few rooms and turned to the lobby of the small hotel. Duncan looked at the exit; a black taxi was leaving the place. Duncan shrugged it off and returned his attention to the almost empty lobby, where a mysterious figure rested in an armchair, reading the newspaper upside down. Duncan's insides twisted with panic. The person in the armchair had no glass retainer. Eileen grabbed Duncan's coated arm and dragged him calmly out of the lobby into a dark hallway.
"They're here," Duncan hissed, looking around for something out of place.
"I know," Eileen replied, trying to sound calm.
"Do you think they've taken him?" Duncan asked, dreading for the answer, a knot forming in his throat.
This was not supposed to happen; they were supposed to get Mr. Snicket out of here, and not be caught. We weren't careful enough. He thought with fear.
"It can't be, I just talked with him," Eileen replied, this time fighting her anxiousness.
Then out of nowhere a voice interrupted, "Here you are!"
Duncan and Eileen froze in their tracks. They were trapped.
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"I held you to my heart dearly, just to feel the absent space you left in my heart after you leaving"
Cheers,
Egocentric theorem
