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Chapter Text

Gustav had done a fair bit of wandering through the desert in his time as a volunteer. Wandering through the desert can mean both literally moving around in a dry climate, and, figuratively, it is sometimes a metaphor for thinking through something that is beyond a person's understanding. Sebald was doing both, in search of a well.

He would know he had found it when he heard a distant whistling noise, the stone structure housing the well had a thin gap near the top, and the wind was high that day, kicking sand and dry bits of plant fiber into the air.

His thoughts consumed him entirely as he watched the compass needle. The Baudelaires were safe, for now, and M had recovered from his poisoning in due time. It had been a blessed oversight of Olafs's that any herpetologist as clever and paranoid as M would have plenty of failsafes in place in the event he was poisoned. Just like Gustav had a few backup plans handy in case he was unfortunately drowned in brackish water or harpooned in the back near a moonlit pool.

In all reality, one plan strongly depended on the other to work- but that's how it had always been between the two of them. Monty relied on his dynamism- his mobility- his physical and tactical abilities. He relied on M's stability, his gentleness and his good standing in the scientific community. Monty did what was required of him- Gustav became what was required of him.

He missed his camera. This would be an ideal location for his next VFD film. A young man could come upon the ruins of an ancient city and find himself entrenched in an international conspiracy. An old woman could decide to disappear into the wilderness. He might decide to disappear into the wilderness. The plot didn't matter- only when there was a message desperately in need of conveying did he get to figuratively stretch his legs. Still, he loved it. Oh, how he loved taking his imagination as far as it would go to create these thinly-veiled vehicles for secret codes.

Nearly there. A high whistling noise came in on the breeze to his immediate right. He spun around and spotted the grey stone peaking out over a far dune.

It was only, he remarked aloud, that he didn't often have to directly worry for the lives of children, not before the Baudelaires.

He would never have had children of his own. It was too risky- the way the schism had rocked his sense of safety. M wanted them though- and badly. So badly indeed that when the two of them had first begun to cohabitate it was the only proper sticking point between them. He suspected the Baudelaires, at least Bertrand, were aware of M’s life-long ambition to become a father.

The Baudelaires were a compromise- and yet it seemed that no matter how much preparation M did- there was no protecting those children as long as Olaf lived. Along as he was around and Gustav wasn't- couldn't be- there would be no quiet place in the whole world. Maybe they could change that with Kit and Jacques’ help, but it felt like slim odds- though he would never be able to say so to Monty, who firmly believed this could still work. Gustav resolved to assist him, as only he could.

Out there in the sand- with the though in his mind that M would have gladly died protecting children that weren't his and were already doomed from the moment of their births, Gustav felt his eyes well up with tears.

There are two things in the world, primarily, that “well up”- wells, and the human eye when it encounters such debris as profound tragedy or flying sand.

He thought of a line from an excellent poem he once read to Monty- the book in one hand and his other gently carding through the curly hair at his temple.

“ What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man, You cannot say, or guess, for you know only A heap of broken images, where the sun beats, And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief, And the dry stone no sound of water.

He took a sip of the water he was carrying- lukewarm now, filtered water from home. It tasted sweet and stopped him crying after a moment. It was a tip he had read in a parenting book once- it's hard to drink and cry at the same time. And he needed to stay hydrated. M would meet him on the road ahead in- he checked his watch- about an hour, but anything could happen in that time- and he ought to be prepared.

As he reached the stone shelter, the sand dipped and slid around under his feet. Uneven layers had accumulated, pushed by the wind toward the low mosaic floor around the well’s opening.

He ducked inside the small chamber and nearly gasped. Firstly, it was enormously beautiful inside. Secondly, L leaned against the wall in the corner, wearing a dark grey linen suit and reading from “The Selected Works of T.S. Eliot.”

His head came up as Gustav entered. His dark eyes tracked every movement- even as he smiled and gently placed the book in an inside pocket of his jacket.

“Oh. Well.” Gustav said calmly. “I have heard of a mirage, but I didn't know they could be people. Thought they were a strictly hydrological type of concern.”

“As far as I'm aware, they are.” Lemony said- in such a Snickety way that Gustav instantly knew his eyes must not be fooling him.
He smiled back, and felt himself relax.
“You made it.” He sighed.

A million thoughts rattled through his brain, beginning with “How?” “Why?” and “Who knows about this?” and ending with “Nevermind, for now. There are more things on heaven and earth, Horatio.”

“And you!” Lemony pointed out.

The men shook hands. Lemony’s hand was warm and rough and solid, which was sort of unusual- he tended to run cold.

“and M?” Lemony added hopefully- nodding to Gustav’s obviously borrowed attire, as well as his general presence.

“and M.” Gustav confirmed, and knelt by the water to fill his flask from the well. His hair fell forward over his shoulders- slightly damp with sweat.

“Then- B? Either of them?” He hesitantly suggested.

Lemony’s face darkened.

“Afraid not.”

There was a long silence in which both the men and the ground felt themselves well up.

“The Baudelaires are safe- Kit and Jacques are looking after them. Lemony- we need your help. Olaf will do anything to get at their money.”

“O will do anything to hurt me.” Lemony said. “The moment I trip up and reveal myself to him- he will redouble his efforts to harm the Baudelaires just to spite me. In all probability- he or his associates will succeed in killing me this time. That is the real tragedy. I cannot help them without dooming them over again.”

“I believe you- that O hates you that much for what happened at the opera. What I do not believe is that he could possibly succeed against a united front. M, K, Dewey and Frank, Jacques and Jacqueline, yourself- the more the merrier!”

“Not you?” He arched an eyebrow.

“Lemony- I will do more harm than good.” Gustav took a shaky breath. Get scared later, he told himself. “I never wanted children. I don't deserve to share a gift and a burden I never asked for.”

“That may be true, but I'm afraid you are wanted.”

What a terrible thing to be confronted with.

“What can I say to that?”

“You must accept a gift and a burden you did not ask for, Gustav, or what has this all been for?”

“I did it for M, Lemony. Of course I did.”

“All of it?” The combined history of their organization hung between them, in all its nobility and treachery, heroism, and profound villainy.

“Well.” Gustav looked into the clear water and saw no answer. “No. Some of it came before him. Some of it was just… me.”

“I know. You’re a volunteer.”

Gustav turned and beckoned Lemony alongside. They walked in silence for some time until they came to a road. The road was long and winding, along it came a green utility vehicle. Its windows were open and it drove very fast. Gustav held his thumb out like a hitchhiker. It slowed. M’s head peeked out the window at them, trying to discern the face of the man who was not Gustav. His dark eyebrows shot up like exclamation points.

Eventually, the car came to a stop in front of them.
A ruckus came from inside as Monty tried opening the door and unlatching his seat belt simultaneously. Eventually he managed to extricate himself from the thing and scrambled over to them.

“Lemony?” He shouted unnecessarily, and grabbed the man about the shoulders.

“Yes. You see, I was lying low.”

“Lying is right! We thought you were dead!”

A moment’s pause.

“How good to see you!” Monty embraced his friend, who reluctantly indulged him.

Gustav smiled at him. Monty could forgive anything, instantly. It was baffling, and lovely, and occasionally heart wrenching.

Monty grinned back. “A success?” He asked.

Gustav handed him the flask, completely full.

“Wonderful! Though not surprising, I'm sure you found it instantly, you are terribly clever, aren't you?” He took Gustav’s hands and drew him in for a kiss. Instinctively, Gustav felt himself draw back. But it was only Lemony. He kissed Monty back, full, like the flask and deep, like the well. It felt good.

Suddenly, he was thirsty. It would be good to get home.

Chapter Text

One thing he certainly did feel self conscious of doing in front of Lemony was yammering on about the inconsequential. It was one of Gustav and Monty's private luxuries- whenever they could, they would talk of things that had absolutely no importance at all. If it had been only them, they might've rolled the windows up and done just that.

As it was, they left them down and let the enormous noise of the road carry them along the drive back to Monty’s house. Trees passed out the window for the first time. The air cooled. Gustav had the urge to stick his head out of the window like a dog- and given no reason why not, he did. He let the scent of eucalyptus and running water rush past him. His hair dried, slightly puffed up by the wind.

When he settled again, fully inside the car, Monty was smiling to himself at the wheel. He hummed something under his breath which sounded nice, though he couldn't carry a tune.
Gustav glanced over his shoulder to Lemony, who looked somewhat queasy in the back. His face had gone a bit green. He thought to offer him a peppermint from the glove compartment, but immediately reconsidered on remembering the Baudelaire’s allergy. Best not.

Gustav slept for some time, more relaxed on the move than he was anywhere else.
He was still running his hands through his hair to tame it when they came on the first verdant stretch of Monty’s drive. They (read:Gustav) had rigged an elaborate sprinkler system to keep the plants watered in their absence. The place looked great, thankfully. No sign of a fire. Intact and glorious yellow taxi out the front. Good deal.

Nevertheless, Gustav wouldn't be satisfied until he saw everyone in one piece, preferably at the same time. They rushed out of the car all at once, the three of them, then each seemed to think the better of it and formed an odd huddle about two feet away.

“Do the Baudelaires know who you are?” Monty asked innocently.
“Surely they've heard about you, but will they recognize you?” Gustav softened.

“I'm not sure. Nevertheless, I ought to let J and K know I am… yet living.” Lemony said blandly.

Monty seemed horrified. “Of course you should! I apologize. I had assumed they knew already.”

“I hope they do.” Was all Lemony mustered.

Monty barged right in with all the subtlety of a carnival barker. Gustav trailed after him, with their bags. The “assistant” role was second nature, by now. It was partly a cover-story, partly just an aspect of his personality. That’s what made it all so easy. It was nothing he didn’t want to be doing. Lemony brought up the rear, looking equally as queasy as on the ride over.

“Baudelaires! Kit? Jacques!” He called up the stairs, as if there were any doubt they had heard him enter. The screeching iguana clock chimed in.

“Uncle Monty?” Klaus’ voice came from the reptile room. Monty loved to show new people the door to the reptile room, so Gustav brought their bags to the bedroom first, then rejoined them- right as Monty swept the door open with a flourish.

“Hello!” Said Jacques and Monty, almost at the same time, before Jacques face dropped as he saw who was haunting the doorway. He called for his sister, who was playing a very complex version of patty cake with Sunny. Her head shot up at his tone of voice. When she saw him she blinked a few times in disbelief and stood- walking unsteadily toward him. When she got within reach, she pulled back and hit him hard in the arm, then embraced him tightly. Jacques watched on with a dawning smile.

“Not dead after all, then?” He said, sounding like he didn’t quite believe it.
Kit glared at Lemony.
“Well?” She demanded.

“I'm truly sorry. It was vital that I lay low for the safety of… some of you in this room.” Lemony got out.
“Right, because protecting B's children requires putting your only remaining loved ones through the wringer. Thanks for thinking of us.”
“I assure you I did. It really was the only way.”

Kit relaxed a little at that- exasperated- but was clearly holding back on the children’s account.

“Who's this?” Violet finally hazarded, watching on from the drafting table as the adults held their melodrama.

“This is our little brother-” Jacques began.

“I'm Lemony Snicket. I'm extremely glad to meet you, Baudelaires, and though you hardly know me, we have plenty to discuss. I am perhaps the only person who knows the whole story, more or less. I knew your parents very well.”

Klaus raised his eyebrows at this, and looked so much like Bertrand for a moment, and then looked to Jacques who just smiled in a sort of comforting way, though he looked like he didn't know quite what to say.

“You mean to say you knew them before we were born?” Klaus asked.

“Aowa!” Sunny said, meaning “That's hard to believe.”

“But why haven't we heard of you?” Violet asked.

Lemony nearly winced.

“Essentially, because of Olaf, though there's a lot more to the story.”

“Awoa...” said Sunny, meaning “that is not hard to believe.”

Kit looked as though she wanted to argue, but she let her brother have his moment.

“Many things to do with Olaf sound unbelievable at first,” Lemony pointed out “but if you let me explain a moment I hope I can allay your fears for now, reasonable as they are.”

The Baudelaires agreed- and- huddled around the work table in the reptile room- Lemony shared his angle on their tribulations, beginning with the mess about the sugar bowl- with limited interjections from his siblings- and ending with their uncle's attempted murder. Gustav filled in some blanks there, explaining the journey to the Whistling Well to retrieve the water that was key to the anti-venom. They ought to keep more than one dose on hand from now on, he explained. Thankfully, Olaf was sort of an opportunity-based poisoner. Horseradish and well water should do them, for now. Probably. There was no real way of knowing what plan the sinister duo might enact or whether they would use Olaf as an agent.

Lemony was fairly good at summarizing, but it still took them rather a long time to get through to the present, by which point it seemed to have occurred to Monty that he suddenly had one more guest for dinner than expected, because he suddenly lurched into caretaker mode.

“Baudelaires, what do we think of having pasta and salad tonight?” He said softly.
“Anything but puttanesca,” said Klaus, making his sister laugh.
Gustav decided he didn’t want to know.
“Alright then. Could we do a bolognese?” Monty asked him.
“Yes, that should be fine,” said Gustav, passing him on his way toward the kitchen, “But mind you there’s not much garlic left and we don’t have any bread to serve on the side. Also, I don’t think we have any salad dressing.”
“We must have salad dressing, somewhere. Are you sure?”
“No, not completely. You’re welcome to look, but the pasta will be done by the time you find it,” Gustav teased.

He began with the sauce, which he would make with tomato paste, and onion, and garlic, and ground beef and a few different random seasonings they had accumulated. When did they buy bay leaves? He threw in a pinch of sugar, as well, which they pointedly did Not keep in a bowl. He felt lucky to be able to garnish the finished dish with fresh basil from their garden. Meanwhile, Monty had built a beautiful salad, also full of garden veggies, yet the dressing had failed to materialize.

“Do we have any vinegar?” asked Gustav. Monty turned around, whisk in hand, homemade dressing already underway. He had beaten Gustav to the punch, the absolute villain. M cheekily twirled his mustache. Gustav rolled his eyes and retrieved a serving spoon from behind his partner.
“Well, don’t get a big head about it.” He said, smiling.
Monty lent in. As always, he smelled amazing. He wore some kind of woodsy aftershave, like a hickory campfire. His breath tickled the shell of Gustav’s ear as he whispered, “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Get off!” Gustav laughed. He gave Monty a gentle shove, and received one back in kind.
As he prepared to bring the pasta to the table, Monty’s hand came to rest on his upper back, affectionately rubbing his shoulder.

“Thank you.” M said.
“We did it together.” said Gustav, gently.
“Yes.” Said Monty. “Thank you.”

The dinner table was loud. With everybody being in a good mood about members of their family turning out to be alive, their combined chatter was the most noise Gustav remember hearing in this big house before- apart from the accursed screaming iguana clock M loved so much.

Gustav sat between M, who was preoccupied with the Baudelaires, and L, who was mostly quiet. After a moment, he turned to Gustav and said,

“You know, I actually have something of yours I meant to give back to you. That was my particular reason for meeting you at the well.”

“Zombies in the Snow? You still have the pages!” He said, adding to the noise by raising his voice in excitement. An incomplete screenplay was worse than useless, especially when the missing part was critical to the secret message. Lemony passed him an envelope. He grinned.

“Thank you! The complete collection of scripts is safe now. I consider them to be important records to keep track of, lest they fall into the wrong hands.”

“I completely understand.” L said, with a small smile. “I enjoyed that one especially.” He added.

“Really? It’s nice of you to say so.” Said Gustav, slipping the envelope into the inside pocket of his jacket. L tended to come through with something extraordinary like this- just every once in a while, and always when Gustav least expected it.

“Have you given any thought to what you might do if there is ever a diminished need for VFD to transmit codes via film?” Said Lemony, oblivious to Gustav’s gratitude.
L seemed concerned. Gustav thought for a moment.

“I might go on making films, just for fun.” He finally said. “I’m considering a sequel to “Ghosts in the Desert. Or perhaps ‘The Godfather, a Musical.” He waved his hands to illustrate the concept of a musical.
Lemony chuckled at that.
“I just-” He began, and faltered. “ I didn’t want to see you give up on something you care about.”
“That’s another thing about volunteers.” Gustav observed. “We don't tend to give up on the things we care about. No matter what the cost.”
A very complicated expression crossed L’s face. He glanced at the Baudelaires. All at once, it seemed to hit him that the children were, presently, safe. His shoulders visibly relaxed, some of the tension he carried leaving his body.

“Where did the survivor end up?” Whispered Snicket, disguised as a rather strange cough.
“We’re expecting him soon.” Said Gustav, with his facial expression alone.
Snicket’s eyebrows disappeared into his hair. Gustav smiled, almost smugly.