This has two parts: Information and the fic itself. For slightly easier accessibility, I will put both in this post itself.
Some information first:
Summary: Julius Bell knows a lot of things, and what he doesn’t know, he learns. Right? (For the Wednesday prompt ‘Favourite Bell Sibling’ of the Victoriocity Appreciation Week 2021. Takes place after ‘SMS Brandenburg’, shortly before Lunae lumen ipsum.)
Fandoms: Victoriocity(Podcast)
Rating: General Audiences
Relationships: Gen
Word count: 666 words(okay....)
Characters: Julius Bell, Septimus Bell, Augusta Bell, Aurelia Bell, Commodus Bell, Tiberius Bell, past implied Julius Bell/Dr. Emeline Tilvane, Dr. Emeline Tilvane(mentioned), John Balmoral(mentioned), Michael Monkfish | The Narrator(mentioned).
Additional Tags: Family feud: the Victorian drama, just kidding, I have no idea what the game is, so that reference is nonsensical at best, Septimus being a sweeties for n minutes straight(?), Julius being way too salty for a man of his size, Aurelia being my crush(is that cause of Beth Eyre, I think it’s also cause of Beth Eyre), The Bells being.....the Bells, I’m waaaaay too late with this, so have two fics!, ayyy, can’t really think of much else, author regrets everything, no beta we quarrel like the Bells, here you go
@victoriocity-appreciation for the Favourite Bell Sibling.
Part 5 of Love, Actually.
This was the information. For the rest of the fic, it’s all under the cut.
Fic:
In his position, Julius Bell had to know a lot of things. What he didn’t know, he had to learn, and what he knew, he had to hide. He’d come to understand, from brilliant inventor and trusted friend(he wasn’t ashamed to admit he’d hoped for more, but those times were long past) Dr. Emeline Tilvane, that they’d only resolved a small piece of the puzzle, that there was a lot more to the spy racket than they’d unearthed so far. Presently, however, this was not the only thing bothering him.
“You must understand, Julius, I cannot do this!”
He frowned. “Whyever not? It’s only a few men.”
“Yes,” Commodus gruffed, “And I need them all.” With that, Commodus, his brother, whom for the most part he tolerated, began to walk out, dashing all of Julius’ hopes with each retreating footstep.
“I will have them back by tomorrow, I promise.”
“It’s already the eleventh hour.”
It was at this point that Septimus decided to grace them with his presence. “Will you stop fighting? It is late, and some of us have early owuhs!”
“He’s right, Julius, can’t this wait till the morning?” Aurelia, who was a socialite, a planner of the highest order, the Bells almost never got to see, despite her schedule keeping being impeccable, had chosen NOW to visit?
“No, it most certainly cannot! This is a matter of national security!”
“It’s always a matter of national security with you, isn’t it? Never a good scoop, just an inane chatter surrounding it,” Augusta grumbled.
“Well-” He faltered. They would never really understand, would they? It wasn’t much use defending himself to them anyway, because they’d just offer up stranger and stranger critique by the passing word. “I have a source.”
This caught Augusta’s interest, while the others rolled their eyes. “Who is it?”
“I’m afraid I cannot tell you that.”
“Why?” Tiberius, who was sitting in the corner, probably writing some terrible poetry, limerick or haiku again, asked.
“Well, that could be because I do not actually know who it is, just that they’ve been sending notes all around the city to my contacts, and gauging their responses.”
Septimus sighed, then frowned. “There was a man at St. Bernadine’s who’d been shot in the leg, but left wight the day after, would ‘your contact’ have had anything to do with that?”
Julius pulled him aside and asked, “Would this man happen to be registered, in records as John Balmoral, by any chance?”
“He most coitanly was!”
“Oh, then yes, I suppose so, why?”
Septimus was not someone he’d generally disagreed too much with, though they’d still had their fair share of arguments leading with one either throwing something at the other, or chasing him around with a scalpel. Right then, Septimus almost looked comical, eyes bulging out of his head, eyebrows waggling about every which way.
“He was placed under obsoivation! And, he was shot in the leg! Couldn’t your contact have waited a few moi days?”
He simply shrugged. “I had nothing to do with that. Balmoral made his choice. I simply pushed him in the right direction.”
“Which was what, exactly?”
If he was being honest, even he had no idea. Apart from a small test, just to understand their reactions a bit better (Fleet and Ms. Entwhistle being the more inaccurate of the two in their assumption, as that interaction had become somewhat common knowledge due to Michael Monkfish’s incessant narration), he wasn’t entirely sure why he’d sent the notes out in the first place.
A new worry began to grow in its stead.
What if his contact went rogue, sending more notes all around Even Greater London? What then? He hated the conclusion he’d come up with, but he knew he would be better of admitting it while he still could. Before it was too late.
He shook his head, and sighed, looking at his brother, whose anger began to melt into genuine worry. “I don’t know, Septimus. I don’t know.”
