AN: I haven't read Book the Twelfth yet, so if Quigley's actually dead or something I'm sorry. A long description of the five year gap and how exactly the Quagmires got off the balloon was originally in here, but I thought it just bogged down the story, so you'll just have to use your imagination. And I hate the overuse of apostrophes as much as you probably do, but hey.

VIOLET'S WEDDING

She wore a white veil over her face, a white dress that nearly reached the floor and delicate white shoes. The shoes pinched slightly, and felt too small, but Violet Baudelaire did not care. It was her wedding day, and she felt beautiful.

It is, of course, customary for the bride's father to walk them down the aisle, but Violet's father had been dead for five years. Instead it was left to her brother to fulfil this tradition. Klaus had grown considerably in the five odd years with the whole Olaf affair and now he towered over his older sister in a smart tuxedo.

Now six years old, Sunny Baudelaire was acting as her sister's bridesmaid. She wore a pretty dark blue dress, made of silk. Usually Sunny carried a small bag full of essential ingredients, just in case she had an idea for a new recipe when she was away from the kitchen but for accompanying her sister down the aisle she had decided to leave it at the side of the church. It wasn't as if it was going to run off.

Violet reached the alter and her husband-to-be turned to meet her.

They had met three years ago, in a scrapyard. He shared the same passion for inventing that she did and it seemed that they had been made for each other. He was her exact double, in habits, likes and dislikes, opinions. His name was Nikolas Smith, he was a year older than her and he had black eyes and sandy hair streaked with brown. Violet Smith. She had voiced the name to herself many times and had to admit she preferred Violet Baudelaire. Still, an unsavoury name change was a small price to pay to be with someone like Nikolas for the rest of her life.

Standing next to him at the alter, her head made an involuntary glance backwards at the guests sitting in the pews. Her eyes rested on Quigley for just a moment. He was glassy eyed, staring blankly at her. He was a mess; his eyes were bloodshot and he badly needed a shave. It only took a moment for the tiny metaphorical splinter inside her to stab at her with sudden feelings of pity and desire and overall regret. She stiffened her resolve, turning back to face the priest.

Nikolas and Violet had not prepared any special vows; they had agreed that the traditional ones would suffice.

"Do you, Nikolas Thaniel Smith, take Violet Madeline Baudelaire to be your lawful wedded wife?"

"I do." Try as she might, Violet could not detect any note of hesitation in his voice.

"And do you, Violet Madeline Baudelaire, take Nikolas Thaniel Smith to be your lawful wedded husband?"

"I do." The metaphorical splinter stabbed at her again, just once before disappearing completely.

"I now pronounce you man and wife. You may now kiss the bride." the priest said. How sexist, Violet thought, as Nikolas took hold of her hand and kissed her gently on the lips, it should be husband and wife, and you may now kiss each other.

They had rented a country house for the reception and after the initial crisp, clean wedding feeling of sipping champagne and the bride and groom's first dance had passed the atmosphere dropped to more of a party feel. Klaus was supposed to be looking after Sunny but Violet had seen him waltzing drunkenly with Isadora to some old 80s pop. It didn't really matter; there wasn't much harm that could come to her and Sunny knew how to look after herself anyway.

Violet's wedding dress was beginning to feel hot and cumbersome and she could feel the sweat on her skin. She left Nikolas to go into the bathroom to splash water onto her face. She did this without remembering she was wearing mascara and it ran rather spectacularly, leaving her resembling a panda. Cursing, she fumbled in her bag for emergency cotton wool – she wasn't used to wearing makeup. She was halfway through rectifying one eye when the door opened.

She turned distractedly to see Quigley and stopped in surprise.

"This is the ladies. You shouldn't be in here."

He said nothing, only staring at her with that same blank stare as he had had in the church.

"Really… what if someone came in?" Violet said, faking cheerfulness. She was painfully aware that her voice was strangely high, but Quigley didn't seem to notice.

"I can't believe you wen' an' married that fuckin' asshole." he said, his words slurring badly. Violet could smell the alcohol on his breath from ten feet away. She clenched her jaw slightly. "I really think you ought to go."

To her horror, Quigley started to cry, noisily. "You're some kind o'… some kind o' angel… and you settle' for that base piece o' shit…" He stumbled forwards, grabbing onto a basin for support. "I fuckin' love you, Violet. I fuckin' love you and that jus' ain't enough for you, jus' 'cause I don't know what elec-thingys are and stuff…" He dropped to the floor, slumped between the pipes under the sinks, his eyes and nose streaming.

Violet didn't let herself look at him, but stepped over him and went through the door, trying not to let anyone see her one black eye until she reached the other bathroom. Once she had fixed her other eye she went back into the party with a purposeful air.

She pulled Nikolas away from where he was talking to a group of his friends and whispered to him that she really wanted to go. He nodded, got out his cell phone and quickly called a cab. They sat near the door, Violet always scanning her surroundings for any sign of Quigley, but there was none.

They had planned to start their honeymoon in Paris the day after but Violet was adamant that they leave as soon as possible. She wanted to get far, far away from Quigley as fast as possible, to try and erase him from her mind. They managed to get tickets on an earlier flight to France and arrived there in the early hours of the morning. The hotel, predictably, was not as good as the brochure had promised but Violet didn't care and Nikolas didn't seem to either.

Appropriately, the main room of the suite featured a large double bed predominantly. There was a moment of awkwardness when they both dropped their bags on the floor and looked at each other.

"This is it then, I suppose." Violet said, slightly nervously. Nikolas nodded. They had never slept together before – Nikolas was a firm believer in no sex before marriage. Now he took her hand in his and kissed her gently. It was as if they were at the alter all over again, but this time he didn't then pull away and there was no audience to clap. Instead he pulled her tightly against his body and Violet pushed her head against in, breathing in his smell as he fumbled with her clothes, concentrating on pushing the image of Quigley on the floor right to the back of her mind.

Violet woke up alone in the bed with the strange feeling that the room had changed. She frowned, looking about her. Harsh French daylight hit the previous night's discarded clothes, making them seem unromantic and mundane. Violet pulled the sheets around her body, shivering slightly. One of the windows was wide open, letting in a chill breeze.

The door to the bathroom opened and Nikolas came out. Violet's face broke into a smile that faded as soon as she saw the strange expression on his face. A smile that looked completely forced. It was only when he started to talk that Violet realised that something was terribly, horribly wrong.

"I'm so, so sorry, Violet. I never knew… I never knew how lovely you would be. If there was some way to change things, I swear… I swear I would make things different…"

There was a large walk-in closet in the room, and it was at this moment that is slowly slid open and someone emerged that Violet thought she would never see again. Someone with one long eyebrow. Someone holding a pistol.

She screamed and, snatching the sheets around her leapt from the bed and headed for the window, but the sheets were too long and tangled up in her legs. She fell onto the floor. Nikolas was looking down, his thumb and forefinger pressing against his temples.

"Three years, Nikolas! Three years!"

She thought she saw him mouth the words "so sorry" once more. The figure with the one eyebrow and the pistol stepped away from the closet and came closer. Violet turned her head into the floor, not wanting him to see her tears.

One single shot rang out, then everything was silent.