Archive of Our Own ^beta

It's an unusually warm night for the middle of Fall; while it doesn't carry the blistering and unforgiving heat of Summer, it holds the warmth that's present enough to make one weary. The City itself holds an almost stifling stillness to it, though perhaps that has less to do with the seasons and temperatures and more with the fact that the time is

3:45AM.

It's something Lemony finds himself thinking on-and-off as he steals another glance towards the clock. He isn't sure whether he finds himself more surprised that this diner is still open so late or that he's still awake at this hour, but he instead opts to focus on a different point entirely. He can't remember if he's been here for the past hour or the past five minutes--time tends to shift different when one's tired, he notes to himself--but he can't bring himself to leave. He isn't sure if it's pride or sheer stubbornness that makes him stay, but as his focus shifts in and out on the counter itself, he's too tired to argue with himself.

"This is a late hour for you, Snicket."

Lemony's attention is drawn from the counter with a jolt as he brings his gaze to the source of the voice. Standing beside him now is a waiter, walking behind and beginning to clean the counter absentmindedly, as if it's now routine enough to barely acknowledge. His eyes look tired, betraying the fluid motion of how he carries himself in the late hour. Lemony supposes, however, that such a thing is common regarding those who work late shifts. Finally, however, he says, "I'm waiting for someone."

This is both a truth and a lie; there is indeed someone Lemony finds himself waiting to talk to, but this meeting was not arranged. In fact, he's almost certain he wouldn't be this determined to talk to someone he didn't consider close enough to call an associate at the steadily approaching hour of 4AM if that someone wasn't--

"--Bertrand?" He doesn't catch the waiter's full question, though it finishes his train of thought. The confusion is enough to take him out of it for a moment, however. "With all due respect, I thought you didn't consider yourself on speaking terms with them. Why is it now that you're considering it?"

Lemony tries to speak, but he feels himself run cold as the question starts to fully settle. Bertrand has always been someone he's known more of rather than someone he's truly known, and he'd be lying if he said that it wasn't starting to frustrate him. As far as he was concerned, Bertrand was everything that he wasn't: the perfect apprentice, the perfect friend, the perfect volunteer, it didn't matter. Bertrand was perfect, and Lemony was not; it may have never been said exactly, but he had heard it implied enough to grow a feeling of disdain towards them. They always knew just what to say, they knew how to dance around someone's worries, they knew how to keep a room well lit in the figurative sense, they knew how to make Beatrice laugh--

"Snicket?"

Lemony finds his surroundings return to him with another jolt, embarrassment slowly beginning to enter his already preoccupied mind. He hadn't meant for the waiter to get involved with this; deep down he knows that this meeting is founded on petty wants, but that isn't enough to properly dissuade him from seeking it. His gaze averts from the waiter's as he avoids the posed question by asking, "Can I expect to see him at this hour, or should I come by another time?"

"Oh, he came by not too long ago," the waiter answers, "I have a feeling he'll be staying later than usual tonight."

That explains why Lemony never saw them walk in; they were already present in the diner to begin with. "Is he keeping you awake?" Lemony asks, his tone much more incredulous than he had hoped it would be. He had wanted to keep his thoughts at least somewhat reserved.

"He's keeping me company," the waiter corrects him, his tone so matter of fact that Lemony considers it best to silence himself then. "If you ask me, he's maybe the only thing that makes me look forward to shifts like this."

"Does he always come in during nights?" Lemony asks, quickly stealing a glance of his surroundings. While Bertrand isn't exactly known for having an appearance one would call distinct, he isn't impossible to miss if one wants to find him; rather, it's easy for him to keep himself hidden, but that doesn't mean he won't reveal himself.

"He stops by throughout the day whenever he has the chance," the waiter answers. "He's also one of the few who tip. I've tried telling him to keep some for himself, but it's a losing fight."

Lemony simply nods in response; despite the qualms he has towards them, he has to consider that respectable. "Can you tell me where they're staying?"

"Well, that depends," the waiter responds, and there's something to his tone that fills with Lemony with a dread he can't quite place. "If you're looking to cause them trouble, Snicket, I'm going to have to kindly ask you to leave."

"Oh, no no no, it's not like that--!" Lemony quickly clears his throat, attempting to calm his nerves somewhat. The waiter's tension subdues slightly at his words, and it's enough to give Lemony the final push. "I don't intend to be long," he starts, half expecting his words to prove false in a setting like this even with the late hour, "but there's something I need to talk to them about."

The waiter is silent for a good moment, filling Lemony with a brief sense of unease before he spots his gaze drift to the farthest corner of the diner, and it's when the waiter points that he finally spots them. They sit alone at one of the booths tucked close to the hall leading to the one-way exit, stirring their tea almost absentmindedly as more of a means to focus on something rather than to add something. "We'll be closing in the next half hour," the waiter says, cutting Lemony's train of thought to a halt before it has the chance to properly distract him. "It's 4AM now. Take as much time as you need, but try to keep yourself aware."

"Thank you, Larry," Lemony speaks in a breath, handing the waiter his typical tip as he stands from his seat. "I hope the rest of the night is kind to you," he adds, earning a small smile from the waiter before the two of them part in different directions within the diner. The diner is, for the most part, empty, barely kept illuminated by the faint lights dimmed with inevitable age. Amidst the ambience now devoid of conversation, Lemony can catch the faint hints of something playing on the jukebox; an old song he hasn't heard in quite some time, he realizes then, which he admits comes as one of the more pleasant shocks of the evening.

Momentarily lost in the song, he almost passes the table Bertrand sits at completely. Their eyes are closed, lost in their own thought as they set down the spoon used to stir their tea. Their food is largely untouched, saved for parts of the appetizer, and it's as they're about to finally start drinking their tea that their eyes open to meet Lemony's gaze. He tries to read their expression, but finds almost no indication of surprise at the sight of him. Had they been expecting him, or were they just that good at keeping themselves composed?

"Can I help you?" he asks, his voice as polite as ever. It feels like it's beckoning for Lemony to come forward, almost like it's challenging him, mocking him; like he'll reach out to shake their hand, only to be greeted by thin air as they step aside and leave him be. He doesn't have the time or energy to try and rationalize this thought, however, as suddenly the why behind this meeting comes back to him in a heavy string of waves.

"Yes, actually," Lemony admits, trying to keep his tone light despite himself. "I've been waiting for you for a while," he adds, somewhat aware that the statement is less of a truth and more of a petty comment.

There's a small shock on Bertrand's face before a form of confusion overtakes it as he says, "I've been here for the past half hour, I'm surprised you didn't see me." Of course he didn't see them, Lemony thinks, he's not as perceptive as them; they should know that by now, they must've heard that as often as he has by now. Surely if he wants to actually insult him, he should know that he needs to try harder--

"Have you not gotten your order yet?" Bertrand asks, and Lemony would almost call their tone one of concern if he wasn't so mad that the conversation seemed to keep shifting.

"I didn't order anything," Lemony answers rather curtly, but the words he intends to speak are cut silent when he catches Bertrand's posture straighten. It's a shift from the seemingly lax sort of behavior they had before, and there's something about it paired with the serious glint in their eyes that makes Lemony realize something he's surprised he even had to learn, in hindsight: Bertrand is very intimidating when he wants to be. They aren't a good volunteer because they do what they're told; they're a good volunteer because they're easy to overlook, easy to underestimate, and they seem to know that very well.

"Sit down," Bertrand says, and it almost comes across as a curt demand before he clears his throat and adds, "Please." There's that politeness again, beckoning for him to come forward from a distance, but it's less out of posing a challenge and more out of respectful hesitance. It's not a politeness as a hidden means to analyze, Lemony realizes then, but a politeness that can only come across as vulnerably earnest.

Lemony doesn't refuse to accept it. Yet as he finally takes a seat across from Bertrand, he finds himself almost apprehensive to be caught in his gaze. In hindsight, he's not sure how he expected this talk to go, but he hadn't quite expected to find himself so speechless, never mind sitting so still. This is also perhaps the closest he's ever been to Bertrand, at least in the physical sense; he knows he's tried to keep himself distant from him, but there's something truly ridiculous about the notion now. He looks...tired. Strange, how it's only now that Lemony could even consider that to be a word fitting for him.

"Stop me if I'm pressing too far," Bertrand begins, sliding his plate closer to Lemony without once taking his gaze off of him, "but what exactly brought you here? I never pictured you as the sort to be awake at this hour."

"I could ask you the same thing," Lemony replies, almost considering sliding the plate back towards Bertrand before he notices their eyes briefly flick from the plate back to him, as if insisting to let himself eat. It's an act that comes as a small shock, as well as one he finds impossible to argue against as the hunger he hadn't realized he'd been fighting to hide reveals itself. Without a word against it, Lemony slowly begins to eat what's left on Bertrand's plate as he resumes, "It's a fortunate surprise I managed to see you here."

There's a warm, almost relieved smile on Bertrand's face as they allow themselves to drink their tea. "Well," they begin, setting their cup down as they give the diner a quick glance, "I suppose there are a few reasons. It's a good spot for a meeting, if an emergency calls for it; quiet enough, but not so much that it draws suspicion, you know?" Lemony nods, to which Bertrand continues, "I think that's the same reason why it's an easy place to just...think, I suppose." Their focus returns to their tea, but they don't move to drink it. "It's easier to think about plans, think about what I could do better, how I could be better..."

"What have you done wrong?" Lemony can't help himself from asking.

"What have I done right?" Bertrand asks, and there's something about his tone that haunts Lemony then. There's a beat of silence before their gaze meets his again, and with a breath they continue, "Has anyone ever told you how bold you are?" Their gaze shifts away from him briefly, and he feels as if the weight of their words have stolen the breath he was holding. "Has anyone ever told you how straight to the point you are? How determined you are? How..." The final question is left unfinished, but it's perhaps the loudest one Lemony hears: How perfect you are?

"It seems..." Lemony starts carefully, "It seems I could ask you the very same." There's a small, selfish part of Lemony that wants to hate him, and yet...and yet he finds he aches at the thought now. Sitting before him now, Lemony finds himself forced to confront then, is not VFD's golden volunteer, or B as he was painted out to be. Instead, sitting before him is Bertrand, someone who carries much of the same weight as him, if not more. For the first time since he's known of Bertrand, the organization's spotlight is off of him, and the lack of the blinding light paints a picture all too real.

"Sometimes..." A sigh leaves Bertrand as he lets himself admit, "Sometimes I'm terrified that...that I'm not even a person in the organization's eyes. I feel like--I don't think anyone even knows me, but I don't know if I want them to. I'm scared that...that--"

Bertrand can't finish his sentence, but Lemony finds he doesn't have to. Carefully, Lemony takes one of his hands in his and asks, "That they won't like who they see?" There's a shock that comes to Bertrand at his words, as if he hadn't expected it to be possible for such a fear to be understood. The words he tries to speak refuse to leave him, instead simply nodding as he gives Lemony's hand a quick squeeze. "It's...a lonely feeling," Lemony says. "It's not always easy to talk yourself out of it, but that doesn't necessarily mean that the fear is true, exactly."

"...I know," Bertrand lets himself admit after a pause. He lets go of Lemony's hand as he adds, "It's hard to imagine otherwise, sometimes."

"It's a common thought to have with that feeling," Lemony muses. "Beatrice talks a lot about you, however."

Bertrand jolts at his words, a shock coming across him that Lemony can only pin as the bashfulness only caused by pining. "She does?" he asks, a small surge of hope hidden beneath the initial disbelief of the question itself.

Despite himself, Lemony finds he smiles as he says, "I think she admires you more than you realize." The bashful sort of shock that Bertrand feels only seems to grow, and something about it presses Lemony to continue, "I have to admit, I regret that I wasn't able to pay the best of my full attention this afternoon. She was trying to recall a joke you told her this morning--"

"Alright, you have to be lying, that was--" Bertrand is interrupted by his own flustered laughter, and perhaps for the first time in the evening, Lemony feels himself properly relax. The warmth of Bertrand's smile is something radiant, even as he chastises himself, "You have to be lying to me, that was one of the worst jokes I've ever--" A small groan leaves Bertrand as he buries his head in his hands for a brief moment, but even still Lemony can tell he's smiling despite himself.

And yet there's something about it that hurts him then. Even despite his cold demeanor towards them prior, Bertrand is nothing but patient and kind towards him, truly and completely. He understands now, at least he thinks he does, how someone could be drawn to someone like them. He thinks he knows why Beatrice loves them now.

"Are you alright?"

There's a shock that comes to Lemony then, his attention returning to Bertrand as he feels their hand in his again. "I don't think I've properly apologized for my brashness towards you," Lemony says in a breath. He almost can't bring himself to speak the words any louder, he's almost certain there'd be tears in his eyes from the weight of it all if he tried.

"I can't exactly blame you," Bertrand reassures him. "The organization hasn't exactly painted us out in the kindest matter."

"That still doesn't excuse--" Lemony cuts himself off with a sigh. While he doesn't forgive himself, at least not quite yet, Bertrand still forgives him. And so, he says, "Thank you. I don't think I can thank you enough for patience with me."

There's a warm smile on Bertrand's face at his words, giving his hand a gentle squeeze before they carefully release it. "I know the circumstances haven't been the most ideal," they admit, and Lemony finds himself fighting to hold back a laugh regarding their understatement, "but it's an honor to have had the chance to finally talk to you properly, Mr. Snicket."

"You don't have to be so formal with me," Lemony says, almost taken aback by the sheer weight of the trust in his words as he adds, "You don't have to call me L, either. You can call me Lemony."

There's a small sort of surprise that passes Bertrand briefly, but it's overtaken by a smile as he replies, "Of course, Lem." Oh, Lemony thinks, he could get used to that; he wants to get used to that. He can tell there's another sentence in the back of Bertrand's mind that cuts itself short when he catches a quick glance towards the clock.

4:25AM.

"Do you have a way to get home?" Bertrand asks, setting aside a tip for the waiter as he stands, "They'll be closing this place soon, I can give you a ride if you need it."

"If it's alright," Lemony answers as he follows suit. It's strange, he thinks amidst the silence, how accomplished he feels despite the curveballs the night threw him. In a way, he still doesn't exactly know Bertrand, but he thinks he finally understands him. "Before we go..."

Bertrand's pace slows as he turns to Lemony, hand loosely holding the exit door's handle as he wordlessly allows him to continue. "Thank you for your time," Lemony says, truly and wholly, "I hope the rest of the night is kind to you, Bertrand."

Bertrand smiles as if he's seen the sunrise. "I could say the same to you, Lemony."

And with that, the two exit.