Work Text:
Quigley Quagmire hadn’t known it was his birthday till he’d seen the small note inscribing itself onto his palm, and he almost wished he hadn’t, for he hadn’t wanted to know.
It was simple — Crab Staples — and that alone intrigued him as to what it could possibly refer to. He sat alone in the center of the room of empty cages that had probably once contained wild and wonderful spectacles, and stared blankly at the French book he’d found tucked somewhere and opted to study to pass the time.
Sighing, Quigley shut the book and stood up unsteadily. This was the first birthday he was going to experience alone, and it took everything he had in him not to break down before he got to a place more safe to do so.
Not being able to see clearly in the room of cages might result in serious injury, and that would be a disaster, for he had minimal access to medical supplies.
Very nearly blinded by tears, Quigley managed to make it up the stairs and into the first bedroom along the hall. Crawling under the duvet and hugging his knees to himself, he rested his head against the wall behind him and finally let his mind wander.
“Quigley, you idiot, get out of bed!”
Duncan was awake first and already dressed, as he always was, and having successfully ushered Isadora into the bathroom, was now working on getting Quigley to wake up.
“You know they’re going to bring us blueberry pancakes, and I swear I’ll eat your share if you don’t get up this instant.”
Quigley finally opened one eye playfully, and then the other as he saw Duncan staring down at him with a look of exasperation on his face. Finally relenting, Quigley threw his arms around his brother and knew Isadora had joined them when he felt a second arm around his neck.
“Happy birthday!” they yelled simultaneously, knowing it’d wake their parents, and the Quagmire triplets’ laughter filled the room with a cheery warmth despite the day being amongst the coldest Winter had to offer.
Quigley found he was shaking when he opened his eyes, and everything was drenched with tears.
They thought he was dead.
Everyone thought so, and here he was, alone on his birthday, for all anyone knew non-existent.
His head began to pound after what felt like hours of the hurt worsening with each reminiscence, and yet the droplets running down his cheeks simply would not acquiesce. Everything was too quiet — the only sound reaching his ears was that of his ragged breathing.
And in a last, not so stupid moment of desperation, Quigley climbed out of the bed, grabbed the pen closest to him and shakily scribbled, “Is anyone there?”
Violet Baudelaire had never even entertained the notion of falling asleep in class, yet there she was, fighting a losing battle to keep her eyes open.
To add to the burden of countless sleepless nights running laps, Mr. Remora’s stories seemed to get more tedious each lesson, and she wrote such ideas on a note she hastily folded up and turned around to pass to Duncan. It took her a moment to realise he wasn’t there — Duncan and Isadora hadn’t felt up to coming to class today.
Although his presence was usually the only thing to keep her sane in this hell of a lesson, Violet understood — it was their first birthday without Quigley, and she couldn’t imagine how hard it must be.
With a deep sigh, Violet eyed the clock on the wall and realised that only ten minutes of the class had passed — there was an inordinate amount of this torture left. Carmelita insisted on poking her from behind with various objects, and her back was starting to become sore as the minutes wore on.
Her eyes drooping, Violet looked down at the notebook she was supposed to be taking notes in, and discreetly turned to the back to start sketching her idea for an invention that could help Sunny make the staples she was compelled to craft. Originally, she’d scribbled the basis onto her hand to develop later, but she needed to do something to keep herself awake.
As she lifted her pen, Violet suddenly sat up straight with a jolt. Looking around, she was relieved no one had noticed — her classmates were just as lethargic as she was.
Stunned, Violet stared wide-eyed at her hand, where obviously hastily scribbled letters were appearing one by one. As the small note completed itself, Violet read, smiling slightly, “Is anyone there?”
It was his birthday.
“Happy birthday!” Violet wrote, after a moment of puzzling over what to say. She found it quite ironic that this boy shared a birthday with her best friends.
“How did you know?” came his response, and Violet chuckled to herself.
She’d wished him a happy birthday.
He hadn’t expected any wishes today.
Suddenly, Quigley didn’t feel quite so lonely, and a momentary warmth spread through him that he hadn’t felt since the day his parents had returned home from their travels — since the last day he’d seen anyone he loved.
“Well, mine was last year, so I’d only start seeing these if it was yours :)” she answered, and Quigley sat up straight and began to dry his tears with the corner of the duvet.
That had been an idiotic question.
He didn’t blame himself for it, though, for his head hurt an unfathomable amount, and he raised a hand to his temples and massaged tiny circles into them till the pulsing calmed down enough for him to think clearly.
Feeling his breathing slow slightly, Quigley lowered his hand and saw another message appear, this time on his palm, scrawled in her already familiar handwriting, “I’m Violet, what’s your name?”
She would never believe him. His name wasn’t the most common — he’d never known anyone with it besides himself, so chances were if she’d ever heard of a Quigley, it’d be him.
Quigley Quagmire, died in a fire.
Still, he’d tell her anyway – he had to let someone know he was still breathing. Maybe she could help — maybe there was hope.
“Quigley.” He wrote slowly. Maybe she’d recognise it. Maybe, if she wasn’t in some far off corner of the globe…
The fading ache in his head replenished itself with full force as he realised his hope was futile.
He was alone.
His name made her blood run cold.
This was simply too much of a coincidence — the birthday had been strange enough, but that was actually plausible. Unless there was someone out there sharing uncanny characteristics with the Quagmires’ deceased brother, or some cruel person had decided to mess with her, this was just insane. Was it possible for your soulmate to be… dead?
She hoped it wasn’t.
Just as she was about to write back, Violet saw another word begin to form next to his name, and she watched wide-eyed, her heart rate quickening with every letter that appeared.
“Quigley Quagmire.”
Staring at the two names in shock, though she’d had the prospect of this possibility at the back of her mind, she involuntarily pushed her chair back and stood up, the pen still in her hand.
Not bothering to look back, Violet made for the door, her mind blocking out whatever Mr. Remora was shouting behind her.
There were a lot of thoughts spinning through her head that she couldn’t process, the most prominent being whether it was indeed possible to have a deceased soulmate, and what it meant if it wasn’t, as well as how on Earth she was going to break this news to Duncan and Isadora.
Klaus could help ease her mind. He always could, couldn’t he?
Reaching Ms. Bass’ classroom, Violet knocked tentatively on the door. Pushing it open, she said, thinking quickly, “May I borrow Klaus? Vice Principal Nero has asked to see us.”
It was an easy feat — anything attached to Nero was word in this school, and soon she and Klaus were walking down the corridor, heading for the Orphan Shack.
“What does he want this time?” Klaus groaned.
“Nothing. I needed to speak with you.”
“Well, either way, thanks for getting me out of that class. She made us measure each other’s eyebrows, and since Isadora wasn’t there… I’m sure you get the picture.”
Violet nodded, though she wasn’t really listening.
“Are you okay, Vi?”
“You’re not going to believe me.” Violet said in response as the Orphan Shack entered their line of vision.
“In fact, I’m not sure I believe it myself.”
“Of course I believe you, whatever it is.”
They sat down on a hay bale, avoiding the crabs as far as possible, and Violet lifted her sleeve.
“Take a look at that.”
Klaus followed the conversation, his eyes widening with every sentence he read.
“Are you sure it’s not someone—“
“Pulling my leg? I’m not sure of anything, Klaus, that’s why I brought you here!”
“Okay, okay, I’m sorry. This is just hard to process.”
“Believe me, I know! Is it possible for him to have… you know, passed?”
“Not as far as I know — I mean, I’ve never heard of a case like that…”
“Oh my gosh, I’ve left him hanging. I haven’t said anything for the past ten minutes or so, he must think I’ve—“ Violet began to gush, and Klaus put a hand on her knee.
“Calm down,” he said soothingly. “Maybe you should just tell him the truth.”
“What, that we thought he was dead? I hardly think that’d make things any better.”
“There’s a more gentle way to say it, Vi — and if he’s alive, we need to tell Duncan and Isadora. We weren’t able to give them a birthday gift, you know, but imagine how many times better this news would be.”
Violet took a deep breath. “You’re right.” she said finally.
“When am I not?” Klaus laughed, and sheepishly neutralised his expression when he saw she wasn’t in the mood for the joke.
“Stop stressing,” he said as she picked up the pen. “I’ll be right here the whole time.”
Quigley watched the clock on the wall as its minute hand ticked steadily into the eleventh minute since he’d last heard from her. Perhaps she’d gotten caught up doing something — other people still had lives, unlike him, sitting alone and legally dead in an abandoned house — but Quigley knew the other possibility was what plagued him.
Perhaps she had indeed recognised his name, and thought someone was playing a practical joke on her. Worse still, perhaps she was freaked out about the prospect of communicating with someone she perceived as deceased.
Quigley stared down at his wrist, his gaze almost boring holes as if concentrating on it harder would somehow miraculously accelerate the arrival of an answer.
Minutes seemed like hours when he was waiting for something this important, and Quigley’s shoulders relaxed in relief as he saw letters start to appear once more, though they seemed more haphazard than before, as if she was shaken up about something.
He hoped she was alright.
“I heard you’d passed in a fire… Sorry if that was insensitive — I spent two whole minutes pondering over how to word it.”
Quigley sighed, smiling slightly as her apology began to show itself.
“I survived. And you’re fine.” he wrote simply, and then begrudgingly decided to elaborate, for his distress refused to wane.
“I’m really sorry to have to burden you with this the first time we’ve spoken, but I’ve been alone for a very long time and I can’t get any help because—“
He stopped short as she began to write back in the middle of his message, and his eyes widened as her response unfolded itself.
“Do you know Duncan and Isadora?”
“Violet, that’s not a very smart question.” Klaus said tiredly. “How many Quigley Quagmires do you think there are that supposedly died in a fire?”
“I’m thinking on the spot, Klaus, shut up.”
“Do you know where they are?” he read, smiling. “Ask if he wants to speak to them.”
“It’s a bit early for—“
“Just do it.”
“Fine.”
“This might be an odd time, but I have something for you. For your birthday, I mean.”
She could almost sense his confusion and growing exasperation when he began to answer, “Uh, thank you, but what were you saying about Duncan and Isadora?” — but before he could finish writing his question out, Violet interrupted with, “Would you like to speak to them instead?”
There was a long moment of a message drought before the last few sentences on Violet’s arm smudged abruptly, as if they’d suddenly been struck by a large droplet of water.
This happened two or three times, though Violet’s arm was as dry as a bone, and, her eyes sad, she whispered to Klaus, “I think he’s crying.”
Feeling a tiny sensation on her left arm, which had yet to be imprinted with ink, Violet looked to it to see, “Please.”
“Okay.” She wrote back, and Klaus, who was already standing, took her hand and lifted her to her feet. She could see he was buzzing with excitement, and she had to admit she was too.
They were about to step out the door when she suddenly noticed one more note appear, “I know it’s stupid, but can you keep writing? I keep feeling as if if it stops, it’ll be forever.”
There was a pause, and then he added, in smaller writing, “I can’t be alone again.”
Violet thought this was equivalent to a whisper in a verbal conversation, and she looked at Klaus in consternation. “He needs help,” she said quietly. “We have to help him.”
“We will,” Klaus reassured her grimly. “Speaking to Duncan and Isadora will make a world of difference, I promise.” he said, putting a hand on her shoulder, as he knew she found comforting.
Violet wrote back simply, “It isn’t stupid.” And the two Baudelaires left the Orphan Shack.
As they walked, Violet inscribed small hearts onto the corners of her left palm at consistent intervals, and he filled them all in, as if to acknowledge that he’d received them.
She didn’t have to imagine what he looked like, for she knew he and Duncan were identical, and she imagined him sitting alone and afraid.
She hoped he’d be alright till they could find him.
Klaus knocked on the door, and heard Isadora say weakly, “We’re unwell. It’d be better you left us alone.”
“It’s us.” Violet said softly, and, after a moment, heard Duncan give them the go ahead to enter.
The two Quagmire triplets were sitting against the wall in a corner, looking very dishevelled. Duncan had his arms around Isadora, who had her head on his shoulder, and both their eyes were red, telling Violet and Klaus they’d been crying very recently.
“Hi.” Isadora said hoarsely, making a move to stand up, and Klaus gestured to her to stay put.
“We’re sorry today has been so miserable for you,” Violet said sympathetically. “but we have a gift for you, and we think it might make things a lot better.”
“You shouldn’t have gone out of your way—“ Duncan began, and Violet shut him down immediately, moving to crouch next to the distraught triplets. In one swift motion, she lifted her right sleeve, and Duncan and Isadora cast each other a quick glance in bewilderment.
“I know this seems like a terrible gift, but just read.” Klaus inputted, and Isadora nodded slowly.
Duncan’s eyes were already following the conversation, and his eyes widened with each word he read, filling steadily with tears.
“I think I’m dreaming.” He whispered, and Violet laughed through the tears that had formed in her own eyes. “I thought I was too, but—“
She was cut off by him throwing his arms around her, and Isadora shoving him because she hadn’t managed to finish reading yet.
Violet stuck her arm out so it was visible to her, and Isadora continued to read in stunned silence.
“I’ve been hoping I’d hear this ever since the day it happened.” Isadora choked suddenly, and Klaus came to her side to embrace her, beaming.
One of the factors that contributed to Klaus’ rare everyday happiness was Isadora’s.
Resting her head on Klaus’ shoulder, Isadora squeezed her eyes shut as if in pain as she reached Quigley’s last request, which was the exact same reaction Duncan had had when he’d gotten there.
“We will find you, Quigs,” she said softly, the determination in her voice manifesting through the distress. “I promise.”
“Do you want to talk to him?” Violet asked, as if she didn’t already know what their answer would be, and Isadora nodded so vigorously Violet thought she might give herself a headache, while Duncan, who had his head buried in her shoulder, was crying so much she knew he would give himself one.
She pressed the pen into his hand, and Klaus pressed one from his pocket into Isadora’s, squeezing her wrist comfortingly before letting go, and Violet held out her left arm and tried not to flinch as they began to write.
After just a few minutes, every inch of her arm was covered in writing, Isadora was crying, and Duncan was crying more, if that was possible. “We have to find him.” Duncan said quietly.
“I don’t think he’s doing well at all.” Isadora agreed, her increasing worry evident in her voice.
“Did he say where he is?” Violet asked tentatively. “I’m fully prepared to leave tonight. The only good thing about those dastardly violin recitals is that if we're careful, we could sneak out during one and no one would be any the wiser.”
“He says he’s in a house full of empty cages. He thinks it may have belonged to a herpetologist, because there seems to be a lot of reptile related decoration.”
“We know that house!” Klaus exclaimed. “It belonged to our Uncle Monty.”
“We know the address,” Violet said thoughtfully. “If we could gather some money, we could take the trolley there.”
“… Do you think Ms. Caliban would loan us some?” Duncan asked hopefully.
“I’m sure she would, if she knew how important this is.” Isadora answered.
“We can pay her back at first opportunity.” Violet said affirmatively, and all of a sudden Isadora seemed like she really wanted to get the boys out the room.
“Both of you go get us some fruit from the fruit bowl. This isn’t a journey we can undertake with an empty stomach.” she speculated, and Duncan and Klaus nodded, looking at each other quizzically.
He and Klaus had barely shut the door behind them when Isadora put her hands on Violet’s shoulders, shook them slightly, and said, “Your soulmate’s my brother!”
If only she’d known Violet would say the same words to her on Klaus’ fourteenth birthday.
“You guys okay?” Duncan asked worriedly as the five stepped off the trolley early the next morning.
The bitter cold stung their cheeks, and Violet swallowed hard in an attempt to dissolve the growing lump in her throat as her friend patted her hand comfortingly.
“I know it must be hard coming back here,” he said sympathetically. “but hopefully after today, the good memories of this place will be replenished.”
“I know they will,” Violet replied, smiling weakly. “but I think I’m also a tad nervous to meet him.” she admitted.
“You’re literally perfect for each other,” Isadora answered pointedly, laughing as she rolled her eyes. “and that’s not just my opinion — it’s indisputable fact.”
“Okay, fine.” Violet chuckled, her shoulders relaxing a little.
They approached the door, and Isadora hesitated, her hand hovering above the doorknob.
“We don’t have all day, ‘dora,” Duncan said impatiently. “I just want to see him.”
Before Isadora could open the door, however, it swung open, and the boy standing in the doorway gaped, his eyes filling with tears. Then before he could say a word, he lifted his hand and pinched himself.
“It’s us,” Duncan whispered. “We’re here.”
All three triplets had tears running down their cheeks by then, and they threw their arms around each other at precisely the same time, not bothering to move out of the doorway.
After what seemed like an eternity, the triplets released each other, and Duncan and Isadora moved out of the way to reveal Violet, who was standing shyly behind them.
“Hi.” She said quietly, smiling at him.
“Hi.” Quigley replied, beaming tearily, and the two embraced each other, the hug feeling perfectly right despite the fact that they’d never encountered one another before.
“Thank you,” Quigley said softly. “Thank you so much.”
“It’s a privilege to finally meet you,” Violet answered. “I’m looking forward to what’s to come.”
“As am I.” the eldest Quagmire triplet said, and as Violet and Quigley pulled away from each other’s clasp, they found themselves able to hope at last.