Chapter Text
There are many things that have been debated for centuries, by many numbers of people. Some of those things might be considered more morally important to question than others, but they’re all unmistakably timeless, and therefore must not have a definitive answer, since they keep being questioned.
For example, does a new week start on Sunday, or Monday?
The Quagmire triplets hadn’t really considered this question in any particular depth before. However, on this particular, rather rainy Sunday morning, barely past nine in the morning in Jacquelyn’s kitchen, they felt like they’d answered it unequivocally for anyone across history who’d ever taken time to ponder it. Their lives, certainly not as miserable at 16 as they had been at 13, were completely changed in a sentence of words, and they realised Sunday was, had to be, the start of a new week. It was a completely clean slate.
A Rainy, Autumnal Sunday Morning.
Duncan grimaced at the sound of heavy rain beating against the windows as he manouvered into the quiet kitchen. He wouldn't be able to visit Mr Higgs' beehive next door today if this weather kept up, and Quigley was most likely to be in a mood all morning because he couldn't go to the Sunday market (which was always miserable if the weather was bad, but he tried to insist they go anyway).
Duncan squeezed past Isadora, who was leant in the doorframe, talking in a quiet voice with Jacquelyn. He murmured out a good morning, and beelined for the table, too tired to stay upright for much longer. Jacquelyn seemed to have been waiting for Duncan to come downstairs to say something, since she shifted her voice slightly louder in that way she did which always commanded a room the second he sat down.
“We’re going out today,” Jacquelyn smiled at the Quagmires over her mug, though she had a darkness in her eye that suggested she was anxious about something. Duncan tried to hide his frown as he leant his head in his hands, sitting next to Quigley, who’d paused scarfing down his jam toast to listen to Jacquelyn. Isadora, who was half asleep in the kitchen doorway, tilted her head in her signature way to show she was listening. They were all wondering why they'd ever go out in this weather. “Meeting some, uh, old friends.”
Isadora looked suddenly more awake, like she’d been splashed with cold water. “What?" She looked at Jacquelyn like she was insane. "But it’s way too dangerous to even be in a 500 mile radius of a volunteer, you said that, Jackie.” Isadora spat the word 'volunteer' out like venom. V.F.D was a bit of a sore topic in their household, even when it wasn't said aloud.
Duncan nodded in agreement, face pulled down in a frown as he tried to push back memories best left untampered (but which always begged to be unpacked when this was brought up), and Quigley was looking pretty franticly between Jacquelyn and Isadora, his long hair whipping with the movement, probably concerned that Isadora would start yelling when it was barely ten past nine in the morning.
Jacquelyn still had that anxious look in her eye, but she seemed less casual now, and more alert, realising that her phrasing had only upset the kids. Her eyes were wide as she shook her blonde head quickly. “I didn’t mean to scare you. They’re not volunteers,” She sounded anxious as well as looked it now and the Quagmires hated it. Jackie was never like this. “Um… I don't think so, anyway. I found out the location of some missing persons… They’re alive but they need a place to stay. I- I thought they could stay with us for a while, since we have a couple spare rooms here. We're picking them up today.”
Duncan, who was trying to discreetly steal Quigley’s coffee, pulled his eyebrows together in confusion. Jacquelyn was acting weird, and he couldn’t help thinking the worst-case thoughts that came to him.
Olaf? Carmelita? Esme? Olaf’s hench-people?
He threw them away. Jacquelyn would never put them in danger. She loved them more than anything.
He sipped some of the dark coffee, hoping to melt away the tension he was feeling rise in him. Their lives were pretty-near-perfect here, and had been for almost a year. Why were they changing now? He didn’t want 'missing persons' staying here, V.F.D-affiliated or otherwise. It was probably selfish and cruel of him to think, but he was sure his siblings were thinking the same. Triplet telepathy, and all. He snuck another drink of Quigley's coffee, and waited impatiently for Jacquelyn to tell them who was moving in, if she even knew who they were.
Quigley went to pick up his mug, also looking concerned, and when his hand closed around air instead of porcelain, he swivelled around to look at Duncan and yelped as he saw his brother drinking his coffee. Duncan thought he looked absolutely ridiculous like this, angry but still half-asleep and with very messy hair. He chortled into the mug as he drank again, unbothered.
“Hey!" Quigley yelled, "You lazy shit! You can’t walk the five steps it takes to get over to the coffee maker?” He took the mug back quickly, his deft hands plucking it while Duncan laughed, and he pulled on his messy hair just to extra-piss him off before jumping out from the bench before Quigley could attack him in retaliation. As they stuck their tongues out at each other and Duncan stalked his way over to the stove, the room felt significantly less stuffy and infinitely more familiar. Jacquelyn even laughed, some of her anxiousness seemingly lifting off her life smoke before she set her mug down on the counter behind her and continued talking, her voice more confident now that the room was relaxed.
Duncan began fiddling with the moka pot, and he put the kettle on, before reaching into the coffee grounds just as Jacquelyn blurted out, “I won't dance around it anymore. I’m... too excited,” her smile crinkled her eyes, "you must remember the Baudelaires? Klaus, Violet, Sunny?" Duncan inhaled sharply, dropping the spoonful of coffee he was manoeuvring into the coffee pot. Isadora made a little noise of surprise and Quigley choked on his toast just as he shoved it into his mouth, smearing strawberry jam all over his lip in the process. He fell into a fit of coughs as he recovered, sounding not unfamiliar from a banker the kids hadn’t seen in years.
Duncan hadn't heard those names for a long time now. They had talked about them quite a lot when they first got on the Hot Air Mobile Home, but when they started their new life, with Jacquelyn, he didn't really want to think about their past at all, even the one good bit that had come from it all. Which was, of course, meeting the Baudelaires, so they went somewhat forgotten.
He'd kinda assumed they were dead. He kinda hadn't felt that bothered by that for a very long time. Maybe that was why he felt less excited, and more something-else as he heard this. Was he nervous?
Jacquelyn looked anxious again, her bright smile faltering. “Is everything okay? Did I just surprise you, or are you upset? I thought the Baudelaires were your good friends.” As she spoke, she quickly started for the broom that was stood against the far wall next to Isadora, and she locked eyes with Isadora as she grabbed it, her face questioning.
Isadora simply shook her head, her eyes very wide. "If the Baudelaires are close, the Quagmires won't feel morose." It was a habit of Isadora's to speak in couplets when she didn't know what to say or if she was nervous. Or both. She, of course, wrote poetry an awful lot, but very rarely couplets, except for in these circumstances. Duncan suspected they reminded her too much of the past.
Duncan didn't know how much he agreed with Isadora's sentiment. He wasn't morose, per-say, but he certainly didn't feel like jumping up and down in joy. He had liked the Baudelaires when they'd known them, but that was years ago. How much could people change in a few years? What if they were with V.F.D, and this was all a ploy to get the Quagmires back involved? What if they could remember nothing about each other, and they didn't click anymore? He also just really, really didn't want things to change. He needed this life they'd built to stay the way it was.
Duncan was pretty sure no one else was sharing this opinion. Jacquelyn looked relieved, and she was smiling again whilst she swept up the spilt coffee. Quigley was grinning despite the toast crumbs and jam that were on his face and dressing gown. Isadora was beaming to herself, her hair partially hiding her shy smile. Duncan got back to making his coffee after he and Jacquelyn swept the mess at his feet, trying not to make it obvious that he was blocking out the excited chatter of the day ahead and the reunion of old friends. He scolded himself for being so weird and moody, but kept at it anyway without even really knowing why, eventually slipping out of the kitchen, coffee forgotten, just as Quigley declared that they needed to get going right away, to which Jacquelyn replied, "Their train doesn’t get in for a few more hours, Pip. We could go to the market on the way down, though, if you’d like to make a day of it." Quigley said something chirpy in response, though Duncan didn't hear it, already at the foot of the staircase, and Jacquelyn and Isadora broke into bright, carefree laughter. Duncan, his mind running so fast and so loudly that even he couldn't catch each thought, booked it up the stairs to his room.
Two hours later, or something like that, Duncan was trying to convince himself he wasn't still grumpy; but he was so tense that it was impossible not to know that he definitely was. He was lying on his stomach on his bed, though he wasn't very casual, rather he was taut, and he was trying to focus long enough to write more of his story on beekeeping (this wasn't a topic he was particularly enthralled with, but the main newspaper in town had lots of advice and information forums on those kind of domestic subjects, and he'd been hoping to get any of his work published, so he was writing about it anyway) but his thoughts kept drifting back to the Baudelaires. On how, from today, they'd be living with them. He frowned when he noticed he'd written the words 'Klaus Baudelaire' mid sentence, erasing them bitterly with the end of his pencil.
To pull him out of his spiral of thoughts was the rather rambunctious laughter of Quigley, who was already dressed for going out and had clearly decided to annoy Duncan instead of whatever he had been doing before. Before Duncan could even scowl at him, and tell him to 'get lost!', Quigley was throwing himself across the room and onto his bed, Duncan letting out a winded Oof! as Quigley elbowed him in the back. He sat up and attempted to push him off the bed, swearing, but Quigley just laughed more obnoxiously and started pushing and hitting him too, which quickly developed into a wrestling match. Quigley settled for the 'kicking wildly in any direction' technique, to which in response Duncan just huffed, annoyed, and gave up, untangling himself and starting for the door. Getting evicted from his own bloody bedroom; it was a wonder he still put up with his brother at all.
"Wait!" Quigley gasped out, between laughs, "Why aren't you dressed?! We're going in, like, fifteen minutes, 'cause Zia Jackie said we can go to the Sunday market on the way down." Quigley flopped over onto his stomach on Duncan's bed, kicking his feet gently and resting his head in his arms as he outwardly judged Duncan, who was very much still in his pajamas. Duncan scowled in response, his patience strung out to the point of a snap.
"I'm not going. I need to finish this story for Tuesday, and I can't get that done if I spend all of today... gallivanting around town with you idiots." Quigley's mouth dropped open in offence, and he raised an eyebrow, whether in questioning of his tone or dislike for what Duncan was saying, he didn't know. Duncan quickly added, hoping to get Quigley off his case (and his bed), "I'll just see the Baudelaires later, you know, when you bring them home."
He was begging his voice not to sound venomous, but clearly he failed, as Quigley was looking almost amused now as he stared Duncan down. Duncan tried to stand his ground, arms crossed protectively across his chest and chin raised, but he eventually caved with a groan as Quigley also refused to back down from their makeshift staring contest. He had the nerve to pat Duncan's bed, as if to say, 'please, take a seat.' Duncan rolled his eyes but threw himself down on the bed anyway. He tensed his jaw.
"Alllrright. Wha's going on?" Quigley drawled, and threw his long hair out of his face with an absentminded flick of his head. Duncan simply shrugged, just wanting his brother to leave. He started fiddling with his commonplace book, refusing to look up from his hands.
When Quigley didn't say anymore, just waited in silence for Duncan to respond, Duncan sighed, exasperatedly, and murmured, "get lost, pulce. I thought you had to go now, anyway."
In an undignified response, Quigley threw his head into Duncan's lap, on top of his commonplace book, and he raised his eyebrows in defiance. Duncan smacked his arm, but felt his patience running so thin he was seriously considering just giving in and telling Quigley what was bothering him, so he'd leave. He had an acute ability to do this to Duncan every single time he wanted to be left alone.
"Get. Out."
"Not until you tell me what's wrong."
"Fuck off and die."
"Nope!" Quigley stuck his tongue out at him. Duncan huffed wearily.
He was quiet for a moment, before he decided to just tell him. Quigley would probably stay here all day, even if he missed getting to meet the Baudelaires at the train station, if it meant annoying Duncan to no end. "...Fine. I just... I guess I just don't want things to change. Doesn't even matter who's moving in, I still wouldn't want them to. Like, why does everything have to change now? And why are you guys all acting like this is the best thing to ever happen to us? We hardly know the Baudelaires. What if we don't get along that well anymore, or they mess up the dynamic, or, shit, Quigley, what if they were recruited to V.F.D? This just feels like too much at once, I guess. It also feels like a... mistake." He ranted, and Quigley looked pretty shocked, but was clearly trying to hide it. He gulped. Duncan added on, as an afterthought, "No offence to them, though, I guess. I did like them when we were at Prufrock."
Quigley looked away from Duncan, focusing on the still-spinning record player on the far side of the room. It was playing one of his Françoise Hardy records, which he loved even if he couldn't understand a word of the lyrics. Quigley hummed a little, and spoke. "Why didn't you say anything? Earlier? Instead of moping up here, alone, like an idiot for the past two hours."
"Shut up. I couldn't, anyway, 'cause you guys were all acting like lovesick idiots or something, about to be reunited with your husbands after the War. I would've just ruined your good moods." He sniffed, and shoved Quigley, who was becoming a dead weight on his legs, and they were starting to go numb. Quigley sat up, but didn't leave. He flicked his hair again.
"If they're with V.F.D, you know Zia Jackie'll chuck them out, right? She wouldn't let them stay, even if they're just kids, or they're our friends. She has zero patience for that shit anymore." Quigley punched his arm, lightly, to get him to pay attention to him. Duncan did, though he was still light-heartedly glaring. "And things won't change that much. We'll still tease Izzy when she comes home from a date with Nic, and I'll still leave fake spiders in the shower before you go in so you shit yourself and scream like a little girl, and we'll still do Friday pizza night, like we always do."
Duncan couldn't help smiling a little despite himself. He sighed, flicking through his commonplace book again. Quigley continued, shifting a little so he could sit more comfortably. "Like, literally, the only difference will be some kids will be living on the third floor." He shrugged as he said this, like it really was no big deal, and Duncan laughed under his breath, feeling weirdly comforted. "'N' you never know, maybe you will end up getting along well with them. You won't know until you at least try."
Duncan, who wasn't expecting Quigley's weird pep talk to actually work on him, was starting to feel a little, (only very, very little), excited for their new housemates to arrive. He did still need to write his article for Tuesday, though, or Mrs Frasier would probably have his head.
"Maybe you'll manage to befriend Sunny, at least." Quigley laughed loudly at his own joke just as Isadora came speed-walking to Duncan's door. She made a quizzical face seeing them laughing and chatting on Duncan's bed and guffawed, saying, "What the hell are you two doing? Trauma bonding? Get a move on, we need to go." She then noticed Duncan's pajamas and sighed, annoyed. "Seriously, Duncan? Why are you still not dressed?"
Duncan rolled his eyes. "I need to stay home and finish my article. I'll just see you guys later."
"What?!" Isadora exclaimed, her brows furrowed.
"What d'ya mean, 'what?!' ? Am I speaking Russian to you people? I need to finish this piece or Mrs Frasier will actually have me hung, drawn and quartered. She's terrifying, honestly." He pretended to shiver, earning a barking laugh from Quigley, who'd met her once and never recovered from her harsh face and voice.
"But we're seeing the Baudelaires. For the first time in years. You really don't mind not being there for that?"
"I don't care, Izzy. I'll see them in, like, an hour anyway when you bring them home. Plus, it's raining, and I don't want to get wet." He smiled reassuringly at Isadora, then Quigley, who was looking less concerned, since he knew Duncan really was telling the truth now. "You guys should get going. I'll see you later."
"He's right, tiger, stand down!" Isadora rolled her eyes at Quigley, crossing her arms and huffing again childishly. Quigley jumped up from the bed. "Let's go before zietta starts yelling."
Isadora begrudgingly nodded, casting one last slightly concerned (and pissed off) look at Duncan, before heading back out of the doorframe and down the staircase. Quigley saluted Duncan before twirling out of the room in a flourish. Duncan laughed loudly at his retreating figure, and Quigley's middle finger appeared in the door, before jumping out of frame when Jacquelyn yelled something from downstairs. Duncan laughed a little longer to himself, flopping back onto his bed.
He looked over at his olive commonplace book, and the pile of notes and drawings he had as references which were now messily strewn from Quigley's visit, and sighed loudly. At least if he didn't feel like seeing their new guests, he could just beg off to write. Maybe next time Mrs Frasier offers him a forum in the paper, he should go for a topic a little more riveting, one he actually knows stuff about.
Maybe, he thought, already getting to his feet, he should get dressed too. Just so he was in an appropriate state for visitors, of course. (He had no idea why he spent more time that afternoon trying to choose his nicest fitting shirt than writing his story for the paper.)