A/N: I absolutely love The Mystery of Edwin Drood, as well as Alice/Victor, which wasn't actually featured in the play or anything, but I can see it. Or maybe it was just that I love Alice and can't write anything other than romance, so I just found the best guy and stuck her with him... I have another, longer Alice/Victor fic that's been in the works for a while, but who knows when that will be finished. Actually, I suppose this fic could be considered a prologue for the next one.

Disclaimer: Charles Dickens technically owns The Mystery of Edwin Drood, but I believe Rupert Holmes is actually the one who owns Alice and Victor from the Broadway version.

x . x . x

He watched her out of the corner of his eye as she argued with William over some trivial matter or another. As hard as he tried not to stare, there was something about her that drew his gaze and held it, and it wasn't just the fact that she was shouting at the top of her lungs.

Maybe it was her flashing grey-blue eyes, and the way they could glare heatedly or stare calmly. Maybe it was the way her lips could curve into a gentle smile or a harsh smirk, depending on her mood and who she was talking to. It might've been her short, chin-length hair, or her perfect soprano voice, or her noticeable height difference when compared to himself, or any other of her physical features.

But he thought it more likely that it was her personality that intrigued him – the way she could switch from Alice Nutting to Edwin Drood in an instant without difficulty, how she put on an arrogant front for everyone when he was sure there was more underneath, why she fought and argued with such passion that could lead her almost to the point of tears sometimes. There was something there, something about her, and Victor Grinstead was determined to find out what it was.