Jacques Snicket knew better than to trust someone like Olivia Caliban. Despite all the invaluable help she gave in his research, he knew well the sort of person she was. He knew she chose no sides and was loyal to no one. He knew how dangerous someone like that could be.
So why was he waking up with the first rays of sun entering her caravan, undressed on an unfamiliar bed? His head hurt, and even though he felt he was asking himself the wrong question, he couldn't figure why.
He saw the abandoned bottles near the door. They had been washed. It was likely they were not all from last night, but the headache was so strong that they could as well be. Jacques usually didn't drink more than a glass, no matter the occasion.
He lied back again. Maybe he hadn't done what he thought he had, maybe he had just passed out drunk, and Olivia took him there to make him more comfortable. But that did not explain why he was undressed, surrounded by the strangely comforting scent of her cheap perfume. It did not explain why there was this guilt in the back of his head, clearly separated from the hangover but blending so well. It did not explain the flashes he could remember from last night if he made an effort.
He most definitely had done it.
He half groaned.
Jacques couldn't remember a time in all his life when he had felt romantic or sexual attraction towards a woman. He rarely felt romantic or sexual attraction towards anyone, if he was honest. It's not like he had time for such things. But it had never, ever been for a woman, not even in his silly dreams of youth, and not even right now. Hence the guilt.
Plenty of people had sex without feelings or attraction, for plenty of reasons, some more noble-sounding than others. Jacques knew that, but it didn't make him feel better. He was not that sort of people, not that there was anything inherently wrong with being that sort of people. It just wasn't who he was.
It was not like Olivia had any sort of feelings for him, anyway, maybe not even attraction. She simply liked pleasing people, and that was all there was to it. She probably received others on that same bed all the time, and she probably could do it easily and feel nothing about it.
(Strangely, to him, thinking of it made him feel nothing. No urge to get away from those sheets, no disgust, no pang of jealousy or possessiveness or hurt. It truly meant nothing.)
(It didn't make him feel better.)
He couldn't picture Olivia being the one to start it, though. He was sure he must have said something that showed her an opening, that made her believe it would please him.
(Did it please him? Did she please him?)
Jacques couldn't really think of what it was. He came to her Carnival to ask some questions concerning his research, because despite her unusual conditions Olivia was one of the best librarians left around, and her willingness to help everyone who came to her regardless of alignment only made her more knowledgeable on the moves of the firestarters. He followed her to her caravan for some wine, like always, and some talk. Olivia was a pleasant company, and Jacques never had money to spare, so those conversations were a sort of payment. Whatever he let slip of information could be of use to her when helping someone else.
Jacques was always careful not to say anything that could put him or his allies in danger, but it turned out Olivia was interested in more than VFD's drama.
That evening he talked about the new guardians of the Baudelaire children (whose identities she told him earlier). He had had the displeasure of meeting Esmé before, and he used to be good friends with Jerome Squalor before he married that bitch. Back when things were simple.
It all made sense to Jacques now. That was what made him drink so much, which made him whine more and more until he got himself to such a pitiful state that Olivia consoled him the way she knew best. And that was the reason for his guilt, not the drinking or the sex, but the fact that he let himself show such a weakness to someone.
It must have been such a scene, Jacques Snicket losing his composure over a man, a married man. He hoped that wouldn't end up being an information Olivia would see fit to share with someone. But with her, he could never know.
"Do you drink coffee?"
He was so distracted in his thoughts, he didn't see Olivia entering the caravan, carrying a tray.
"I have tea too, but not as strong as you like it." She continued. Her voice was quiet, likely in respect to his hangover.
"Coffee is good." He said.
She handed him a small cup, and then a plate with some bread.
"I folded your clothes. Thought you wouldn't want to leave with them all messy."
Instead of saying anything, Jacques only nodded and bit the bread. It was old, but still better than what he usually ate in the city these days.
Olivia took a seat on the floor, for the lack of anywhere else besides the bed.
"You don't need to leave yet." She said. "You are tired. You can rest here for a few days."
Jacques shook his head. He could barely look at her now, he couldn't stand the idea of staying for longer than he had to.
"I have business to attend to. And you may get visitors any time. Visitors I may not want to meet."
Olivia sighed. She knew he was right.
"You're a good man, Jacques Snicket. Try not to get yourself killed out there." She stood up, and took the empty cup and plate from him.
Jacques wished to say something, but the clear feeling that she now pitied him after whatever he said last night made it too hard.
"I will try to." He whispered after she closed the door behind herself.