Old Places, New Beginnings [Beatrice x Bertrand]

The Beginning

Beatrice leaned down, putting her hand in the water. She watched as the trail rippled the still surface.
Bertrand put his hand on her back and looked at the water too. They didn't speak for a while, but their thoughts seemed to fill their minds enough. It was a nice day. Despite the heartbreak of the past week, they both felt completely at peace.
The salty air. The vastness of the sea. Their closeness to one another.
"Maybe one day we'll come back. Maybe it'll be different," said Bertrand.
"No," said Beatrice quietly.
"You don't think it'll be different?"
"It's not that, it's just..." Beatrice paused, and took her hand out of the water. She looked up at Bertrand. "I don't think we'll ever come back."
Bertrand nodded. "I get the same feeling. Though it'll change, I'm sure." He laughed, a little sadly, and helped Beatrice up. "It's heartbreaking!" he said. "But I don't feel heartbroken."
"What do you feel?" she asked.
"I feel hopeful. I'm sure it'll change, but we'll never get to see it. Whether we come back or not, it'll change. We're always in the middle of a story, whether we know it or not."
Beatrice nodded. "Me too. But how do you think our lives will go from here?"
Bertrand shrugged and grinned.
Beatrice watched him for a few seconds, watching his expression soften. She felt herself smiling back.
The weather was warm, they could feel the sun on their backs. Beatrice stood up. "I'm so glad you're here with me."
"Beatrice," said Bertrand simply, and ran his hand along her hair, brushing a strand out of the way.
Bertrand ran his thumb over Beatrice's hand as he held it. It was a dance, almost, but without music or direction. And, oh, what an easy dance it was.
They kissed.
A couple of hours later, they saw land. They shared a grin and prepared to get off, neither speaking, both excited.
The boat bumped against some large rock, knocking Beatrice and Bertrand to one side. But it was exciting, if a little disorientating.
"Woah!" exclaimed Bertrand. "I didn't expect it to be this bumpy." Then, without another word, he stepped off the boat and into the water.
"Bertrand?!"
Beatrice saw him wince as he pushed the boat to the shore, when Beatrice got off shortly after. "It's cold!" he said, grabbing a blanket from the boat and wrapping it around himself. "The water on the coastal shelf was so warm, I wasn't expecting that."
Beatrice laughed and hugged him, getting her own clothes wet in the process.
Finally, they hit land. Then, they needed to go to Mulctuary Money Management to retrieve their estate.
---
When they arrived at the bank, they saw something they did not expect.
"Is that--?" whispered Beatrice.
"Arthur Poe, yes, I think," replied Bertrand. He walked over to him and reached his hand forward in a half-wave. But Mr. Poe disappeared through a hallway without noticing them. Bertrand shrugged. "Ah, I wonder what he's doing here anyway. I haven't seen him in ages."
"Neither have I," replied Beatrice.
The bank had many people in it, and after spending days with no one but each other, it was a little overwhelming. The room had a complicated smell, various perfume and the odd cleanliness that banks always seem to have. Someone nearly walked into Bertrand.
Beatrice and Bertrand moved closer to one another, trying to take up as little space as possible.
They awkwardly made their way to the reception desk, noticing the newly-polished floors.
Three or four people stood in front of them, none of whom they knew. It was funny, thought Beatrice. They were waiting for The Rest of Their Lives to begin for so long, and now they were finally back, they were doing something completely mundane.
The line got shorter, and finally Beatrice and Bertrand were in front.
The receptionist was wearing a pinstripe suit, and looked at the two of them courteously. "Welcome to Mulctuary Money Management,"
"Thank you," said Beatrice. "We're here to withdraw some money - I'm Beatrice Baudelaire, and this is my husband, Bertrand Baudelaire."
The receptionist looked at a list and clicked a little on a large, tired looking computer. "I see, please follow me."
Then he stood up and led the Baudelaires to a quiet and boring office filled with file cabinets, and a telephone in the center.
The nameplate on the desk read. "Arthur Poe: Junior Money Manager"
Beatrice and Bertrand shared a grin as the receptionist told them to wait for the executor of their estate, then left.
"Junior Money Manager, huh?" said Bertrand. "That's a change. I wonder what led him here."
Just then, the door opened and Mr. Poe walked into the room. He wasn't looking at Beatrice and Bertrand, he sat on his desk and started working, though not before clearing his throat.
Mr. Poe didn't look at them. He sorted through several papers, making marks Beatrice and Bertrand didn't understand and signed his name several times.
"Arthur," said Beatrice, smiling.
Mr. Poe looked up, a little surprised to see you there. He showed his surprise with a cough. "Oh, hello, Beatrice, Bertrand, I hope you two are well?"
"Thank you, you too," Beatrice said. "We were told you were the executor of our estate?"
Mr. Poe opened his mouth to answer, but just then he got a phone call. "Poe here. What? What? I understand. I agree. Arthur Poe."
Bertrand waited patiently.
"P-O-E. You're welcome." Mr. Poe hung up. "Yes, Miss Baudelaire and Mr-"
"Mrs. Baudelaire," corrected Beatrice.
Mr. Poe nodded and looked at the Baudelaires. "Oh, really? Congratulations! You know, you're a lucky man, Bert."
"We're here to withdraw some money I've inherited," explained Beatrice, cutting off Mr. Poe.
Mr. Poe took out some documents from his desk. He frowned, and looked from the papers to the Baudelaires. "It says here that you two have been missing for months..."
"We've been away," said Bertrand, deciding the whole story would take too long to explain. "But we're back, and we're planning on staying."
Mr. Poe's frown grew as he took out another paper and coughed a few times in surprise. "Egad, you're dead!"
"What?"
"See? Right here's your obituary." He flipped the paper around for Beatrice and Bertrand to see.
Mr. and Mrs. Baudelaire have not been seen in months since they went on vacation. It is safe to say they died on a cruise. They were actors together, starring in famous plays such as "One Last Warning to Those Who Stand in my Way" by Al Funcoot. We will all mourn this tragic loss.
"I see," said Beatrice, not knowing how to respond. "Can this be fixed?"
"Oh, yes! Of course, it's really very simple. I just need you two to show some valid identification, and then we'll have it for you."
They did.
Mr. Poe looked at Bertrand's license, and then at Beatrice's. "Yes, yes, that should be good. There's a problem, however. There's a charming young man, your next of kin, who has been working so hard dealing with your deaths. He'll be shocked to hear otherwise."
Beatrice felt her heart drop to the floor. She felt she knew who the 'charming young man was', and judging by the look on her husband's face, he did as well. But she had to ask anyway. If it were someone else, anyone else other than who she had in mind, they could work it out.
"Who?" she asked, dreading the answer.
"Why, his name is Count Olaf. He told me you were very close."
Beatrice did not bother to explain how wrong this was.
Instead, she just asked "What can we do about that?"
"You'll have to go to an appointment. Let me call this Count Olaf and see what time works for him."
Beatrice and Bertrand waited for a moment while Mr. Poe dialed the number. They could hear the dial ring for several moments.
"He's not answering," explained Mr. Poe, unnecessarily and apologetically. After a couple more seconds, he hung up. "Well," said Mr. Poe, taking out his own papers. "I'm free on the... 12th. Come back here then and we can sort everything out."
"The 12th? That's almost two weeks!" exclaimed Beatrice. "What are we supposed to do till then?"
Mr. Poe coughed.
Bertrand and Beatrice left Mulctuary Money Management half amused, half annoyed, and another third half worried.
"I can't believe it. I just can't believe it," snapped Beatrice as they walked out of the bank.
Bertrand nodded sadly. "I can't either."
"He knew we were alive! What was he even trying to do?"
"I have no idea. That's awful, especially with the baby coming."
"Right!" cried Beatrice, and put a hand up to her hair in frustration. She paced around outside, Bertrand walking beside her in concern. "You know what? I'm going to go over and give O. a piece of my mind."
"Beatrice, we can't."
"Why not?"
"It won't help-" Bertrand paused and took Beatrice's hand soothingly. "You know it won't, B. Besides, we just got back. We wouldn't want to provoke anyone so soon."
Beatrice sighed. He was right, of course, but it didn't feel right to just sit and wait for an appointment to change things. But then she remembered that she didn't have to just do nothing. "Did we take any books on inheritance?"
Bertrand looked at the ground in thought, still holding Beatrice's hand. "I don't know, I can check, though."
Beatrice nodded appreciatively.
A few hours later, they found that they did not have many books on inheritance. They reviewed what they could, but it was getting late.
"Here," said Beatrice. "We can tie the boat to that tree, and..." she trailed off.
"Stay for the night," finished Bertrand. "Good idea, B. I'll unpack our food."
Beatrice picked up the rope and uncoiled it, stepping through the cold water to tie it to a tree.
When Beatrice came back, to her surprise, on the boat sat Bertrand. With a few candles and a blanket laid out on the beach. The gray evening looked cozy rather than uninviting with him.
Bertrand smiled, making Beatrice smile back. He was so sweet. She ran over and sat beside him.
It was cheesy, but it was wonderful. Before Beatrice arrived at the blanket, he stood up to meet her and took her hand, walking her to a comfortable position. He sat down, and Beatrice sat beside him. Berrtand kissed her hand as he let it go.
"How did you manage to get all this in two minutes?" Beatrice said, half laughing.
"I ran," said Bertrand, and now Beatrice could see he was out of breath.
"It's like how it was when we first met. Do you remember?"
"Of course," said Bertrand. "There was music and lights. The food was so good. I remember, during our meal, I couldn't stop looking at you and at Lem..." he trailed off.
"I know," said Beatrice sadly, taking a bite of chocolate croissant. "It won't be just us, soon, though."
They continued eating, and suddenly Bertrand smiled. "Arthur was right."
"What?"
"I am lucky."
"I wouldn't call it luck," Beatrice said, then paused. "I hope we'll get the house before the baby's born, at least. As pretty as it is here, it's no place for a child's first days."
Bertrand nodded in agreement. "Do you still have that violin?"
"I think so, why?" "On the boat?"
"B..."
"B! Come on, it'll be like the first time. I still remember it."
"You're too sweet," said Beatrice and got out a small violin from the boat. She laid down on the blanket as Bertrand began to play it.
"It's a nice tune," she said, looking up at the sky. "What's it called?"
"I'm making it up," Bertrand replied.
Beatrice made a noise in acknowledgement. Then she shifted a little and kept listening to the music, looking from the sky to her husband and back. She didn't remember falling asleep, but she did. It had been a long day.