Act Four, Part Three: The End

"That, Beatrice, is how I will love you even as the world goes on its wicked way."

-Lemony Snicket, The Beatrice Letters

To be fair, the party was lovely.

From her view inside her inventing room, Violet could see the ampitheatre littered with props of various sizes, a familiar accordion among them. The stage itself was decorated with a seaside backdrop, layers of cut-out waves colliding until they met the equally blue skyline. The front of the stage was covered in heaps of sand and rocks. A small table was set centerstage, waiting.

There were several large crowds gathered throughout the yard, forming in bright clusters around tables of food and carbonated beverages. Neophytes, jittery with pre-production nerves, ran in dizzying circles around relaxed adults. Every few minutes, swells of laughter would rise from the yard and press insistently against the windows, reminding Violet where she was.

"Are you ready to go outside yet?" She called over her shoulder. Count Olaf sighed heavily, frustrated. He was standing in the doorway when she turned, his broad shoulders slumped and defeated. On his face was a look of annoyance, his brow furrowed, his bottom lip protruding in the barest indication of a pout.

"I feel stupid." He muttered, tugging at the collar of his new shirt.

"Well you don't look stupid." Violet smiled at him, crossing the room to bump their hips playfully. She slid a hand up his chest, regarding the white buttondown he was wearing fondly.

Olaf grumbled, "I look like I'm trying too hard. Like I have to look nice in order to be nice. Something like that."

Violet twirled a button around her finger, feeling a surge of affection so strong she lost her breath for a moment. "Don't think about it that way then. Think of it as doing your wife a service. Because, uh," Violet grinned, running both hands down his front, feeling the buttons tug at her fingers. "because you look sexier than a pig eating bacon. Something like that."

Count Olaf smirked, shaking his head. "Violet Baudelaire, you know just what to say to make me swoon." He muttered sarcastically, "You're so unbelievably smooth."

"Shut it." Violet grinned. "Just wear the shirt, okay? Please? It looks fantastic. You look like a hot waiter."

That made the Count laugh, surprised. "A hot waiter?" He repeated, eyeing the red marks he had made on her neck earlier that afternoon and wondering if they would be visible to the party outside. "Where do you come up with this stuff?"

"All I know," Violet said, voice faux-annoyed and strong. "is that you're keeping that shirt on. At least until later."

Her husband looked further surprised as he slid his hands up her sides until he was cradling her face. "How absolutely bold of you, Violet." He smirked, voice low and quiet.

She shrugged, a smug little smile on her face. Leaning onto practiced tiptoes, she tilted her head and kissed her husband, insistent. Count Olaf felt her fingers hook into the belt loops of his black pants and a thought came to him.

"From this angle," he muttered against her lips, "I can see the hickeys I left on your neck. So be careful with that dress. With your luck, you'll get a neophyte asking about the ones on your thighs."

Violet blushed a lovely petal color, grinning. "I'll be careful."

"Or maybe don't. We can give that author friend of ours a scare."

Violet laughed, unhooking her fingers from her husband's belt loops. She gave him one last kiss before stepping away. "We need to get downstairs, you scoundrel. Make an appearance."

Count Olaf groaned, slumping further against the doorway. "But I don't know how to make pleasantries. I'm more likely to steal their wallets or antivenin or whatever it is you bring to a housewarming party surrounded by VFD members."

Violet grabbed his hand, leading him down the two flights of stairs. "Just smile. Everything's yours to steal if you'll just smile."

"Ah yes, you're right." Count Olaf joked in return. "I've heard it's the best disguise."

Violet giggled as they tumbled down the last steps and into the kitchen, the noise spooking Seth Sallis who had been crouching by the back door. His posture was anxious and wary, dark eyes narrowed and suspicious.

"What's wrong, S?" Violet asked. The boy glanced between the couple and the unknown threat outside. From under his shirt he tugged free a bowl-shaped hat.

"I stole Lemony's hat. Don't tell him I'm here."

Before either of them could respond, a voice called, "I heard that, Sassy!" and Lemony Snicket sprang from his hiding place in the front room. He lunged towards Seth, who let out a delighted scream and flung himself into the backyard. Violet and Olaf followed quickly behind.

They were greeted with a swell of cheers, familiar faces joyful and fond. Violet found Olaf's hand and squeezed it reassuringly. Lemony broke free from the crowd, still absent of his hat, grinning.

"In the ampitheatre," he said breathlessly. His round face was slightly red from exertion but his dark eyes were happy and unrestrained. "You'll soon find the neophytes halfheartedly performing Lewis Carroll's The Walrus and the Carpenter. Laszlo is acting as all the oysters. It's quite endearing."

"That won't end well." Olaf joked blandly, making Lemony smile.

"He's quite prepared, I'm sure. Over there," said the author, pointing. "Are the various concessions. We've got latkes and coconut cake and root beer floats of course. I'm fairly certain Hector brought Mexican cuisine. Other guests also brought various foods but I haven't had a chance to test them. Those grapes are from the Swinster Pharmacy, though, so I would avoid them. I don't trust the that place. It's too mysterious. Speaking of mysteries, that reminds me…" Lemony grabbed Violet by the shoulders and began pushing her towards the heartless home. "You have guests. I sent them to your inventing room. You must have just missed them."

The look Violet sent her husband was a mixture of excitement, apprehension, and fear.

"Good luck, orphan." He called, voice not as joking as he had intended.

"And you," Lemony tugged on Olaf's arm, leading him towards the ampitheatre. On their way he swiped two root beer floats from a nearby table. "There's someone here to speak with you as well. Don't ruin it."

"Who would want to talk to me civilly, Snicket?" But even as he asked, Olaf knew who it was. The conversation between Lemony and himself in the stairwell of the burning Hotel Denouement had intrigued the author and Olaf knew he wouldn't leave him alone until things were settled.

Lemony led him towards the front row of seats, the exact same ones used for both The Marvelous Marriage and The Rebellious Reunion. When she came into view, all Count Olaf could mutter was, "Kit…"

She looked well-rested and bright-eyed, her blonde hair unpinned and tumbling over her shoulders. She smiled and stood when they met eyes, an easy smile on her lips. In that moment, Olaf wondered at how she had managed to stay so beautiful after everything that had happened to her.

"Hey there, Countie." Kit teased.

"This is where I take my leave." Lemony said distantly, handing each of them a root beer float. With that, the author walked away.

Kit and Olaf stood in awkward silence for a moment, before Olaf sighed heavily and reached out, pulling Kit close in a hug she welcomed.

"I was so worried. The hotel. I thought… You made it." He muttered into her shoulder. She smelled the same, he realized distantly. Still Kit Snicket.

"I'm glad you made it out, too." She said, voice a bit wobbly. When they pulled away her eyes were particularly shiny behind her horn-rimmed glasses. "I mean I saw the mobile hot air balloon home. But I couldn't have been sure. You know."

Olaf nodded and gestured to the chairs. They sat quickly, Kit wincing a bit in the process. It was only then that Olaf noticed the lack of a prominent swelling in her stomach. He wondered, very briefly, at the fate of the child.

The silence stretched resolutely. It seemed they were both trying to decide what to bring up first. For a reason he couldn't have explained, Count Olaf desperately wanted to say, "I still have a pair of your smashed glasses. Do you want them back?"

On stage, Julie Feint was dressed as a walrus, heaving herself around in a large gray suit. A mask covered most of her face, featuring tusks that protruded to her knees. Her blonde hair stuck out in tufts from a large tophat.

"The time has come," she recited, throwing her hands in the air. Beside her, Laszlo, dressed as an oyster shell, paused. Standing next to Laszlo was Lisa Matmos who acted as the carpenter, dressed in three different colors of plaid shirts, and dark pants. "to talk of many things! Of shoes-"

"And ships, and sealing wax," Kit recited before she could stop herself.

"Of cabbages, and kings!" Olaf called, earning a smile from Julie and a small giggle from Laszlo.

The tension the two adults felt previously had been shattered, replaced with an easy familiarity.

"I suppose," Kit said eventually, after they had both finished half of their root beer floats and an intermission had begun, "I owe you an apology. I had no clue why those officers had wanted to speak with you at the Hotel Denouement. I knew there would be a trial but I didn't know until later that evening that it was for you. One of them must have recognized that I would know you because they grabbed me from the lobby, said they were looking for you, and then pushed me outside. Where you were waiting, with Violet. They asked if it was you, if you were the one going on trial- if you were Count Olaf- and I just froze." Kit sighed and shook her head, a bitter twist to her mouth. When they met eyes, hers were remorseful. "I wouldn't have sent them your way if I had known they'd separate you two. I'm sorry for that."

Count Olaf waved a hand, dismissing the apology. "If we were going to sit here apologizing for every misdeed we've done each other we'd be here all night."

Kit laughed, still a bit bitter. "You're too right."

"So, uh," Olaf muttered, glancing significantly at Kit's stomach. "You birthed your kid?"

That caused a genuine smile to spread on Kit's face. Her pink cheeks dimpled. "Yes, Olaf, I birthed my kid. Nearly immediately after getting to the city. She's with her dad around here somewhere. Her- We named her Beatrice."

A hot bolt of disgust singed straight to the Count's stomach, tasting awfully similar to copper. The name, as well as disgusted, made him undeniably sad. He thought, then, about all the next-generation volunteers who would be traipsing through the quiet world with hand-me-down names. If they continued at this rate, how many Lemonys would there be? He debated the number of Ikes and Hectors and Geraldines. He wondered if the name Gustav would be too old and bypassed.

"That's, uh," Olaf muttered, staring without seeing at the young neophytes changing the backdrop on stage. He knew Kit was studying his reaction, but was unsure about how he should be reacting. Violet's advice from earlier echoed in his head. The thought of his wife quelled the disgust in his stomach somewhat. Following her advice, Olaf forced a veritable smile and said, "That's…Well, hopefully she'll be just as…" he paused, wracking his brain for a positive word to describe the late Beatrice Baudelaire. They had an obviously complicated history. The feeling of poison darts in his hands resurrected itself in his mind. "brave as her namesake."

Because, if there was one thing Count Olaf didn't doubt, it was the bravery of Beatrice Baudelaire. He had seen it in her eldest daughter every day he had known her.

Kit's face softened. She reached out to pat his hand, which was sticky from the dribbling root beer float. "Thank you, Olaf. Really. That means a lot."

He hesitated, again unsure of a proper response. Kit saved him from having to say anything though, because she suddenly straightened and waved a hand, gesturing. Olaf looked up to see Dewey Denouement heading their way, a bundle of purple cloth swaddled in his spindly arms.

"Hello dearest," Kit said cheerfully, reaching for Beatrice.

"Hello," Dewey responded, before quipping, "Oh, you were talking to our daughter."

He carefully handed the bundle to Kit, who grinned down at the child. The young Beatrice's face was wrinkled, her eyes closed. A small patch of dark hair grew on the very top of her head. Olaf looked away quickly, the sight making him oddly uneasy.

"Glad to see you made it." Dewey told him casually, as if he hadn't just brought up the destruction of his hotel.

"Just barely." Olaf muttered. He nodded towards Kit. "Had to risk my neck saving that younger brother of hers. Again."

The couple before him laughed good-naturedly. Olaf wondered how much longer he had to sit, watching Kit and Dewey fawn over Beatrice, before he appeased his author friend.

He was just about to make an excuse, Violet's name on his lips, but then Kit said, "Do you want to hold her?" and his arms were suddenly full of a newborn.

"Do you remember," Olaf said, holding his arms awkwardly still as Beatrice dozed. "that poem written by an associate of ours? This Be the Verse?"

Kit smiled, "Kind of. Man hands on sorrow to man. Something like that."

Count Olaf looked down at Beatrice with an odd twist to his mouth and recited, "'Man hands on misery to man, it deepens like a coastal shelf. Get out as early as you can and don't have any kids yourself.'"

Kit shook her head. Olaf couldn't tell if she was annoyed or fond when she said, "You obviously haven't changed your mind about children."

The Count shook his head, "Definitely haven't."

Dewey cleared his throat awkwardly, going to reach for his daughter, when he was interrupted by a young man who came to stand expectantly near the Count. The young man was tall and rather handsome with dark hair and eyes the color of emeralds. He smiled amiably, revealing straight teeth. "Count Olaf, sorry to bother you. My name is Quigley Quagmire, and I've been looking for Violet. Your adoptive mother sent me this way to ask you. Do you happen to know where she is?"

Olaf hesitated, scowling. A surge of possessiveness ran through him. He had the wild urge to banish the boy from the party. Instead, he merely eyed Quigley and said, "She's inside, probably in her inventing room. If you head up the front staircase, it's the closest tower door."

Quigley nodded, beaming. "Thank you very much. I'll head that way."

With Quigley Quagmire on his way to see Violet, Kit Snicket's child in his arms, and a forgotten root beer float at his side, Count Olaf wondered how differently his life could have gone and felt oddly relieved for what he didn't have.

Violet cried. She wouldn't have been ashamed to admit it, had anyone asked. At the sight of Klaus examining the meager bookshelf and Sunny fiddling with a broken whisk in one of the wooden crates, Violet hurried towards them both and swept them into her arms.

"You're safe, you made it, you're safe." She clutched them too tightly in her arms and let herself cry joyous, relieved tears.

"Hey now, Violet," Klaus muttered his voice similarly thick with emotion, his lips brushing the top of her head. "This was supposed to be a happy occasion."

"As opposed to a sad one?" She joked, earning a small smile from both Klaus and Sunny.

Violet remembered, just before the Hotel Denouement collapsed, when Lemony was frantically trying to find his sister. He had shouted at her, "You're not even looking for your siblings, Violet, let me find mine!"

The accusation it implied, of her uncaring whether her siblings survived, had stuck with her. The guilt she felt had vanished as soon as she saw them safe.

They spent the next half hour drilling each other with questions. "How did you escape the hotel? How did you get here? Where are you staying?"

To which Klaus replied in a similarly straight forward way, "Kit Snicket. Kit Snicket-" and Sunny piped up, "Kit!"

"So Kit has been helping you all along." Violet muttered, feeling grateful. Sunny nodded, patting her stomach. "Baby. Beatrice."

"We all escaped the hotel, got into the city, and Kit went into labor. She delivered a girl. They, uh, they named her after our mother."

The surprised expression on Violet's face would have been comical in a different situation, she was sure. "Is she here? Is Kit here?"

Klaus nodded, peering out the large window of her inventing room. "Yes, she's… Ah, she's sitting there. The front row near the ampitheatre. She's speaking with your husband."

A tiny smile came to Violet as she joined Klaus, peering out onto the party. She spotted Count Olaf sitting closely near Kit, who suddenly placed Beatrice into his arms. Both Olaf and Dewey looked severely uncomfortable.

"I should go save him, he hates children... Uh. Obviously." Violet pulled a face and shook her head. She didn't want to discuss Olaf's known hatred of children.

"That reminds me, Violet," Klaus started, his eyes darting around behind his glasses. He avoided looking directly at her. "I suppose I owe you an apology. I acted absolutely reprehensibly when you told me you had taken your marriage to Count Olaf seriously. I shouldn't-"

"Reprehensive?" Sunny asked, her tiny brow furrowed in confusion.

"It means to be worthy of condemnation." At the blank looks his sisters were giving him, Klaus rephrased, "Very strong disapproval. Anyway, I shouldn't have turned away from you when you were trying to tell me about your life with Count Olaf. I didn't want to accept it. I didn't want to hear that you were happy with him. I acted very poorly, Violet. I'm sorry."

Violet hugged her brother tightly, appreciating his apology more than she could express. "It's alright. I knew it would be a difficult idea for you to accept. But I'm glad you've come around. Thank you."

Klaus nodded, reaching to squeeze his sister's hand affectionately. "We've missed you, Violet."

Sunny nodded fervently in agreement.

"And the Baudelaire orphans are back together." Violet grinned, raising their hands in a victorious cheer. Sunny giggled, high pitched and delighted.

"Oh, I can't wait for you guys to stay over." She gushed. "You can stay for days or weeks or years. I mean, Olaf won't like it exactly, but we'll work something out."

Klaus frowned as if he hadn't before considered staying with Count Olaf for an extended period of time. "Yeah," he said, although it was a bit weak. "We'll work something out."

A knock sounded from across the room, and all three orphans turned to see Quigley Quagmire leaning hesitantly into the doorway. He cleared his throat and said, "Didn't mean to interrupt."

"Quigley!" Sunny called, clapping her hands.

"Oh, you weren't really interrupting. Violet, this is Quigley Quagmire. His siblings, Duncan and Isadora, became friends with us while Sunny and I were at Prufrock Preparatory School."

Quigley crossed the room and held his hand out for Violet to shake. "It's nice to finally meet you, Violet. I've heard quite a bit about you."

His hand was warm and steady in hers, and his eyes seemed welcoming and honest.

"It's nice to meet you too." For lack of a better response, Violet resorted to the age-old comeback, "You've heard good things, I'm sure?"

Quigley nodded, smiling. "Oh, definitely. Only good things. Wonderful things."

Klaus flinched a bit at that, glancing around nervously. "I think we should go back downstairs. We've been up here long enough."

"Oh. Alright, yeah, we probably should." Violet said, and the four orphans hurried down two flights of stairs and into the backyard.

They immediately sought the ampitheatre where Violet found her husband staring with growing panic down at Beatrice. Kit Snicket greeted them fondly, "Violet! Meet Beatrice."

Count Olaf looked up at his wife, obviously distressed. Violet rushed to get the child out of his arms.

"Hello, Beatrice." She said, peering with mixed emotions at Kit Snicket's firstborn.

"You'll have to babysit as often as possible, Violet." Kit said. She stood, moving to take the child from Violet, who released her readily. The inventor didn't have an appropriate response. She couldn't imagine being a good babysitter, despite her experience with Sunny.

On stage, Julie stood surrounded by several oyster shells while Lisa fiddled with the hem of her shirt.

"I weep for you," called Julie, whose expression was wilted, mourning. Beside her, acting as the narrator, Seth lilted, "the Walrus said."

Julie took out a large handkerchief and passed it across her eyes, continuing with, "I deeply sympathize."

Seth waved a hand towards Julie, saying, "With sobs and tears he sorted out those of the largest size, holding his pocket handkerchief before his streaming eyes."

Julie began shuffling around, pretending to cry for the eaten oysters as she sorted through the empty shells, lining them up largest to smallest. She struggled to scoot Laszlo to the top of the line as the biggest oyster shell. The boy caught eyes with Violet causing him to giggle as he was shoved across the stage.

"Laszlo!" Seth hissed, glancing nervously at the crowd of enamored adults.

"Sorry!" the youngest neophyte snickered.

"O oysters!" called Lisa, running over to smack a hand over Laszlo's tiny mouth.

"Said the carpenter," Seth said.

Julie picked at the oysters, tossing them around. "You've had a pleasant run. Shall we be trotting home again?"

Seth took it from there, ending the poem with a flourish, "But answer came there none- And this was scarcely odd, because they'd eaten every one!"

The adults cheered as the neophytes stood to take their bows. The mask slid free from Lisa's face as she did, clattering to the stage. Laszlo picked it up with a hurry and shoved it onto Seth's face, who pushed it away, embarrassed.

"Quite the show." Lemony said, nudging his way through the crowd. "Marvelous show. I quite liked the part where they ate all the oysters and Laszlo had to pretend to be hollow."

The author patted his sister on his way through the crowd, coming to stand before Violet and Olaf. He seemed anxious, the lilt of his normally-contrite voice giving him away.

"There was a bit of trouble a few minutes ago, but it's been sorted out. A certain ship, The Prospero, left port at Damocles Dock three hours ahead of schedule. That ship at this time is being used to transfer neophytes to their respective, or sometimes unrespective, chaperones. Many members of our organization are hurrying to check on the ship as we speak. As you can see, this explains the sudden lack of partiers attending this party."

Startled, Violet scanned the backyard for remaining VFD members, but all she saw were picked-over concessions and several remaining root beer floats losing carbonation.

"I've been so busy I didn't get a chance to meet them." Violet frowned, feeling discouraged. She had wanted to make a good first impression but she hadn't even had the chance.

"You'll be able to meet them soon enough, Violet. Olaf, Hector said he'd examine your mobile hot air balloon home at the nearest convenience. Widdershins and Hal and Sally Sebald all send their well-wishes, I'm sure. R also sent her, uh, most delighted congratulations about your conviction."

Count Olaf crossed his arms and snorted, rolling his shiny eyes in exaggeration. "The Duchess was probably the one who decided my original conviction. She's always hated me."

"You've always hated each other." Lemony corrected, pointing towards the Count as if reprimanding him.

"Same thing." Olaf grumbled, turning away to look towards the stage where the neophytes were sorting their props. "You mess up someone's Verbal Fridge Dialogue one too many times during training and suddenly you're a disgustingly evil no-good cad with a distinct lack of morals and hygiene. I get it. She's a sour old bat anyway."

"You sound upset." Violet raised her eyebrows at him, worming her way between his crossed arms so they could link up like a chain.

Olaf shrugged, his eyes far away. "It was a long time ago. Our reunion won't be pretty, I'm sure."

"Well she's not here now. You don't have to worry about it yet."

Olaf frowned, his expression confused but fond as if he couldn't decide if his wife was joking or not. "I don't think that's the way worry works, orphan."

Count Olaf glanced up to see Kit Snicket standing near the very edge of the stage, cradling Beatrice in steady arms. The neophytes were gathered around, peering down at the baby with interest. Lisa and Julie were chattering away excitedly while Laszlo was petting the small amount of hair at the very top of her head with a patient expression. His hands, so small when the adults considered him, looked overly large against the soft, paper-pale skin of Beatrice's head.

The Count looked away, the same guilty disgust heavy in his stomach. Violet caught his eye then, hers gentle and inquisitive. She had been watching him, undoubtedly wondering at his thoughts. He shook his head just the slightest, feeling his own expression soften. He hoped she would take the hint, that they would discuss his complex past with Kit Snicket later.

She nodded and Olaf felt her hand slide up his back, comforting. He reached out and tucked her into his side, her other arm coming to wrap around his front. The rest of the party dropped from view then, faded like watercolors into the background until it was only the two of them, hanging secluded in their own privacy, tacitly bouncing emotions back and forth.

"You're absurdly important to me, V." Olaf whispered into the top of her head.

"I know." Violet said, pulling away slightly to look into his eyes.

He placed a hand on her flushed cheek, thumbing at the sun spots there. Without preamble, Violet leaned onto the tips of her toes and pressed their mouths together. Olaf tightened his hold around her waist, feeling vulnerable and invincible all at once. He wondered, very distantly, why love felt like that. Why he felt as if he was defenseless, but safe and welcome. He wondered why love felt like coming home. Olaf made a mental note to ask the author later.

Violet was grinning when they parted. Olaf saw Quigley Quagmire double-take across the party. His expression was wounded, as if he had just been orphaned a second time. Beside him, Klaus grimaced and began speaking slowly, placating.

He heard Quigley say, "Married? And you didn't tell me?"

Olaf smiled smugly.

"Marry me again," the Count joked loudly, taking his wife's hands and pulling her towards the stage.

"What?" She asked through laughter.

"Snicket," He called once they were center stage. At the startled responses of two siblings, he clarified, "The author."

"What do you want, you fiend?" Lemony called from where he had been examining the remaining concessions.

"Marry us again, I want it to happen a second time!"

"Considering the first time was barely legal and you merely wanted Violet's considerable fortune, I think that may be what's best. But as you well know, I am not a priest or a minister or any various religious authority with the power to validate a marriage, especially if you're already technically and legally married."

"Lemony Snicket: party pooper." Olaf grumbled, kicking around a spare oyster shell. Lemony merely laughed, whatever retort he had been about to hurl dying on his tongue.

The party wound down rather quickly after that. Root beer floats lost their fizz. Stars began to peek in clusters from the fading sky. The moon was hanging heavy overhead before they knew it, one more guest to join the disbanding party.

Dewey walked Kit and Beatrice to their car, a bright yellow taxi that had seen better days, after they had said their respective goodbyes. Klaus and Sunny weren't far behind, coming to say their goodbyes as Violet and Olaf stood on the stoop of the heartless home.

"We'll see you soon, Violet." Klaus said, hugging his both his sisters fiercely.

"Promise?" Violet said, trying to force the lump that had suddenly risen in her throat. "You promise we'll talk soon?"

"Absolutely." Klaus promised, voice sure. Violet realized then how much older he seemed. He had done well without her. It was a bittersweet realization.

He handed Sunny over to Violet, who began to spin, muttering, "We need a date, Sunny, just the two of us..."

Olaf looked down at Klaus with a mixture of apprehension and disdain. Klaus extended a hand, a pained expression on his face.

"I hope we can, er, learn to tolerate each other."

Olaf shook Klaus's hand, resisting the urge to wipe it off on his pants once it was through. He muttered, voice light and dramatic, "I suppose I could learn to tolerate your company, orphan."

Klaus scowled, instantly offended. "Orphan? Really, you're going to-"

"Klaus," Violet cut in quickly, seeing her husband's wide-eyed look of alarm. "He means it affectionately, I promise. It's endearing."

Klaus shook his head, his cheeks pink. Olaf stood back as if Klaus might lunge for him. He looked supremely uncomfortable.

With awkwardly repeated goodbyes towards their sister, Klaus and Sunny joined Kit, Dewey and Beatrice in the taxi. Quigley waved towards the couple and followed Violet's siblings into the automobile.

"I'm stupid; that was stupid." Olaf muttered fiercely as the taxi door slammed shut. Violet merely ran a hand up his back, soothingly. She knew they would discuss it later.

That only left Lemony Snicket, who was sauntering towards them, his hands behind his back. "The neophytes," He began through a sigh, "will be picked up individually over the course of several nights beginning tomorrow. If you hear people in your homes attempting to drag these children away by their ankles, do not panic. It's tradition."

Olaf nodded, his shiny eyes reimagining the past. "I remember my induction night. There will be a long black car. They shouldn't- they've been instructed not to scream."

That last part gave Violet goosebumps for a reason she couldn't have explained. She remembered the very last line of a song Lemony had played for them a few times, The Little Snicket Lad.

"When we drive away in secret, you'll be a volunteer…" She muttered, letting the rest hang. Lemony smiled, proud that she had remembered. He finished for her, "So don't scream when we take you- the world is quiet here."

It was only then that Olaf noticed the author's new typewriter, which was on the ground its lid firmly shut to keep the brittle keys from snapping.

"Are you leaving us, author?" Olaf asked. Lemony swayed, a grin spreading slowly across his round face.

"I'm going to be encroaching on my sister for a few days. I want to pester her with questions about her engagement and make her nervous when I hold her new offspring. I'd also like to get to know your siblings, Violet." Lemony tilted his head, dark eyes suddenly alight with an idea. "It was them you began this battle for in the first place, after all."

Violet grinned, her eyes going from Lemony to the taxi then to Olaf, who was watching her carefully. She drummed her fingers against his back. "You're very right."

"I suppose that leaves one last thing," Lemony left his typewriter on the lawn and climbed the two front steps until he was standing directly before the couple, his hands still clutched behind his back. "It belongs to you, of course, but I couldn't help but get it started…"

From behind his back he withdrew a familiar maroon book, the porch lights causing the golden title to glitter.

"I Will Love You As…" Violet took the heavy book from Lemony and she and Olaf flipped through the first few pages, the handwriting swapping every five pages or so until a new couple joined the long lineage of VFD's lovers. Each entry started with an initial and one more person scrawling, "I will love you as…" and adding their own examples.

"I will love you as a scapegoat loves to be believed by the most gullible of authority figures," Olaf laughed quietly, pointing to a foreign scrawl.

"If you would turn to the most recent entries," Lemony said, voice bold, "you will find my gift."

Olaf flipped to the middle of the book, where typewritten pages gave way to blank ones and backtracked until Lemony stopped him.

On the first two pages were separate collections of photographs, time-worn and fading. Pictures of Violet- in her youth, with her siblings, growing older- covered the entire first page. The next page was compiled of pictures of the Count, clipped from various newspapers and theatrical performances or taken from Lemony's own studies. Their names were cast in gold lettering on the tops of the pages, similar in color and intricacy to the title of the book.

"It's fantastic." Violet said, running her fingers gently over the gold letters.

"Keep going..." was all Lemony said in response.

Olaf flipped the page again and both their eyes were drawn to the top of the next page, where the words, "I have been told that the wedding was both lovely and unlovely." were typed carefully.

The typewritten words continued onto the next page, then the next, and the next, all filled with so many words and stained with so much ink.

"You wrote down our story?" Olaf asked, tearing his eyes away from the pages to meet Lemony's gaze. The author smiled, an affectionate and tight-lipped smile, as if he were trying to subdue a powerful emotion.

"Of course I did. I finished it with a small description of last night's party. The rest," he waved a hand towards them, "is up to you two."

Violet set the book fully in Olaf's hands, who took it eagerly, and went to hug Lemony. She muttered into his shoulder, "Thank you so, so much."

"Now don't get all teary and gross on me, Violet. You let me stay with the two of you for a very long time. It was the least I could do."

Violet nodded and stepped away, and both the inventor and the author looked over to see Olaf staring with hungry eyes at the book. His lips were quivering, mouthing the words he was reading.

"You've mentioned everything." He stated suddenly, impressed. "You've got our bet, the skylight, The Rebellious Reunion, the sugar bowl. All of it. And I'm not even done reading."

Lemony looked quite pleased with himself. "I happen to be very good at compiling evidence."

"Obviously." Olaf snorted, amused. He shut the book carefully and handed it to Violet.

Without warning, Olaf leapt from the stoop and grabbed Lemony's arm in a vicious twirl. The two spun for a moment, Lemony snatching his bowl-shaped hat to keep it in place. They blurred for a moment, Lemony yelling wordlessly while Violet laughed from the stoop.

"Thank you, Snicket." Olaf said breathlessly, once the two had stopped spinning.

"You're welcome, you deeply eccentric actor. Remind me to come to you if I ever feel the need to be violently ill." Lemony grumbled, but it was through a smile as he adjusted his jacket and fiddled with his hat.

From inside, they could hear a crash and multitudes of giggles. Seth's voice came to them, dimmed by distance, "I told you it wouldn't work!"

Lemony smiled and shook his head as Violet turned to peek through the windows. Despite the noises, the neophytes were out of sight.

"I'll leave you to your brood of neophytes." Lemony said, picking up his typewriter. He began to walk away before turning and saying, "Tell Sassy he'll be a valuable asset to our organization."

"Will do." The Count said, returning to his spot next to Violet on the stoop. He wrapped his arm around her waist after they waved to their author friend once more. The taxi door shut succinctly behind Lemony Snicket. They backed away into the miscreant-made forest lining the long driveway, and with one last farewell honk, turned and left. Their headlights flickered through the trees, and, eventually, the sound of tires on the road faded.

Violet let out a long-held sigh and turned towards her husband to further press their bodies together.

"What an evening." She muttered quietly into his chest.

"What a story." Olaf returned, shiny eyes glancing significantly at the book clutched in her hands.

Violet grinned at that. "Yes, what a story. We've made, uh, a lot of progress haven't we?"

Olaf rolled his eyes and ducked suddenly, knocking Violet off her feet. She gave a startled yelp and clutched the book even tighter against her. He hefted her into his arms with a little push and spun, twirling just once.

"We've made a lot of progress, Violet Baudelaire." He said quietly. Olaf's eyes were soft and sincere, his thin lips a genuine smile rarely-seen.

From inside they heard another crash, followed by more giggles, louder this time.

"I suppose we should check on the brats." Olaf sighed, glancing towards their red front door.

"You know, for neophytes," Violet joked, "they aren't making the world very quiet."

Count Olaf laughed at that, shaking his head. "You're ridiculous."

"But you love me." Violet quipped. She had meant for it to be teasing, but her husband's face turned more serious then, took on a private, intimate quality.

"That I do." He said, very quietly.

Violet turned her head away to kiss his hand on her shoulder, for lack of a better spot. "And I love you. Now take me inside, handsome husband. I'm worried they're in my inventing room."

"Wow, you have your own inventing room?" Olaf asked, crossing the stoop with his wife still in his arms.

"I do," Violet said, as if they were old friends newly reunited. "My husband made it for me."

Olaf swung open the door and carried her inside, exactly as he had done when first entering their heartless home. "He must really like you then."

"That he does." Violet grinned as Olaf set her back onto her feet.

Count Olaf closed the door to their heartless home, shutting out the night.

"Whatever, orphan."

And the world, fortunately, continued.

Violet's quote, "Just smile. Everything's yours to steal if you'll just smile." is from The Gothic Archies song "Smile! No One Cares How You Feel."

Lewis Carroll's The Walrus and The Carpenter was mentioned in The Grim Grotto. My use of it has little to do with that and more do to with my adoration of Lewis Carroll.

The poem Olaf quotes to Kit, This Be The Verse, is also the one he recites in The End. It is written by Philip Larkin.

The scenario that Lemony mentions, The Prospero leaving from Damocles Dock three hours ahead of schedule, may sound familiar because it was mentioned in The Unauthorized Autobiography.

Alright, now to the sentimental ramblings. I want thank everyone who stuck with me throughout the years (Years!) and left such kind reviews. On my bad days, I liked to read all of them over and it made me much less upset, so thank you, thank you.

I started writing this in my sophomore year of high school and it was a goal of mine to finish this before heading off to college. How insane is that? Again, the limitless patience of my readers has astounded me.

When I read over and compare the first Act to the last, it's startlingly apparent to me how my skills as a writer have grown and changed. All for the best, I hope.

Ah. I'm getting sentimental. Again, thank you to anyone and everyone. My appreciation is limitless.

Please let me know what you think!