Okay, so I put off finishing this for a really long time for various reasons (such as yet another basketball injury, my awful semester, and The Hunger Games) but most importantly because I wasn't sure what to write. I kept flitting from one idea to the next, but none of them worked out really well, and by the time I did get my muse back, I got halfway through and then started throwing up uncontrollably for twelve hours. Hopefully that's not reflective of the quality of the writing. :)

This one-shot's fairly simple. Originally I had envisioned this as a rewrite of the final goodbye between Claire and Layton, but then it struck me that was kind of the cheap way out and besides, when I write something romantic, it comes out as laughable garbage, so I should probably write something I can post without being mocked. I actually quite prefer this version over my original plan. I think it's more effective. It also answers some questions about what happened to Claire after she got shot ten years into the future, besides what happened in-game.

Also, off-topic, but getting the 3DS on Sunday. I'm so excited it's ridiculous. Especially for Professor Layton vs Ace Attorney, even though we know squat about it except that it'll be made of awesome. I mean, Layton and Phoenix, in the same game, in 3D? It's like holding magic in your fingers.

Enough shameless fangirling. The final instalment awaits!

The Lady

"Ready?"

Sitting inside the dark time machine, her palms slick with sweat, her heart hammering painfully in her throat, she felt anything but ready. But she wasn't going to admit that she was nervous. Not now, when she was about to make history.

Claire swallowed, tried to reply, but she seemed to have lost her voice. The walls of the time machine were closing in on her, oppressive, terrible, like an inescapable prison. Claire hadn't realized that she was claustrophobic before now. She ignored it, thrust her hand into her pocket, closed her fingers around the watch that Hershel had given her so long ago, swallowed, and finally managed to call back in answer.

"Yes, Bill. Throw the switch."

She closed her eyes, preparing herself for what would come next. She had been determined not to panic, but as she sat there in the dark, a number of worst-case scenarios flashed through her mind. Would the atoms in her body rip themselves apart, then reassemble when she reached the designated time stream? Would she feel pain? Could she die? That was certainly a risk, but there was risk in all scientific experiments, wasn't there? She could do this.

Then Hershel's face flashed through her mind, and Claire knew that she couldn't.

She reached for the time machine's door, trying to open it, to climb out before Bill could throw the switch. Someone else could make history. Claire just wanted out.

But her fingers did not close around the cool metal of the time machine's door handle. Instead, she felt the sleek cloth of a lab coat beneath her fingertips, and the darkness in the time machine had been replaced with harsh, artificial light. Disoriented, Claire blinked, looked up, and found herself gazing into Dimitri's face.

Only he wasn't the Dimitri that she remembered. This Dimitri was older, graver, his face more lined than it had been when she had seen him last. His hair was longer, greyer, too, if that was even possible. His expression was one of utter disbelief as he reached out and touched her face, almost as if to make sure that she was real.

"Di-Dimitri?" Claire stammered, unable to make the connection. "What. . . What are you doing here? Bill said–"

And then Dimitri was hugging her tightly, his body heaving with sobs. Shocked, Claire stared at the empty space over his shoulder while she tried to understand what exactly was happening. Had she really gone into the future? And why was Dimitri acting like this if she had? Shouldn't he be rejoicing because the time machine worked? But he would already have known that the time machine worked, because this had to be the future, and when she went back to the present time, the first thing she would do was call him to let him know about their success.

It just didn't make any sense, and Claire was reduced to saying feebly, "Dimitri? What's wrong?"

Finally, Dimitri drew back so that she could see his tear-streaked face, but he didn't release her. It was as if he didn't want to let her go. No, Claire could see it in his eyes. He was afraid to let her go.

"I can't believe it," Dimitri whispered, raising his eyes to the ceiling in thanks. "It worked. The time machine worked." His eyes lowered to her again, drinking in her face with a mixture of awe, joy, and, jarringly, sorrow. "And you're here."

Claire gazed at him blankly as his last three words sank in. "Where. . . Where am I supposed to be?"

Dimitri brushed a stray strand of hair out of Claire's eyes, as if to distract them both from the simple, awful truth that he uttered next.

"You're supposed to be dead."

-X-X-X-

Life is cruel. Claire had just never realized how cruel it could be until she was sentenced to die.

It would have been kinder if she'd been killed right away. Better to die before she knew what was happening than to realize just how much she wanted to live.

Claire spent hours thinking about it. She couldn't help it. Not when she spent most of her last days struggling with the idea of death, not when she put her hand in her pocket and her fingers brushed against the watch that Hershel had given her so long ago. The one thing she had left of her old life. Of him.

Once, Claire had spent two whole hours just sitting there, staring at it. It didn't work for more than a minute anymore. Maybe going ahead in time had broken it. She didn't know. What she did know was that it was certainly ironic. She held time in her hands, all the time in the world, and all she had needed was three seconds to get out of that time machine. All those nine other victims needed was three minutes, and they would have lived, too.

But it was too late for them. For her.

Sometimes she would stand for what felt like hours, gazing out windows or at walls, her mind reconstructing what must have happened after she had reached out for the door handle. An earth-shattering explosion, flames shooting up the walls, dark smoke billowing out of the window, people screaming and running in the streets. Whenever Dimitri came across her in those states, he would bring her back to earth, reminding her with a softness that masked his fury, "It wasn't your fault, Claire."

The first few times, she argued with him, tried to make him understand that it all wasn't just Bill's fault. It was all their faults. They had tried to break the laws of nature, and as a result, innocents had died. The fact that it was Bill who had thrown the switch hadn't mattered, even if he'd done it to make himself rich. They had all had a hand in the destruction.

But Dimitri was adamant, and eventually, Claire stopped arguing with him. It was pointless; the man was in denial, still believed that the time machine could not only work, but that he could save her by solidifying her presence in the present. So that she wouldn't be forced back to her own time to die.

Claire knew there was nothing he could do. Deep down, she suspected he thought the same. She wished with all her heart, with every fibre of her being, that it wasn't the case. She regretted it, just as she regretted the deaths of those nine other people.

Just as she regretted not being able to say goodbye to Hershel.

-X-X-X-

Once Claire had realized what exactly had happened to her, she had wanted to find Hershel. Almost immediately after that, she had realized that doing so would be devastating for him. It wouldn't have been fair for her to contact him, not when she would only have to leave again. Claire had already witnessed the effect this knowledge had on Dimitri and herself. She didn't want to see how it would affect Hershel.

Still, she couldn't help but do some research on him. Claire became a woman obsessed, sitting in front of the computer for hours, sifting through pages and pages of information (and a couple of fan sites from his female students that had some disturbingly accurate information), but never learning much that she didn't already know. He was still very much the same man as he had been when Claire had left him for the last time; he was still teaching at Gressenheller, he loved tea and puzzles, that sort of thing. Occasionally, though, a gem of information would pop up. Like the fact that he had an adopted daughter named Flora, and his own nemesis named Don Paulo.

But it wasn't enough, and every time that she logged onto the computer, she knew she was just hurting herself. Every link she clicked cut at her heart, and every piece of information she came across triggered some sort of bittersweet memory. She shouldn't have to resort to this, but she had no other choice, and when she logged off, she vowed she wouldn't do it again.

But no matter how much it hurt, she couldn't stop herself. Before she knew it, she would be logging on again, opening old wounds, cutting new ones. Claire wasn't quite sure why she was subjecting herself to this. Perhaps she was addicted to it. Or, more likely, she was searching for something, some sign of what had become of him after her death. Not on the shallow levels covered on those sites, but on a deeper level, though she never found what she was looking for.

Finally unable to stand it any longer, Claire managed to talk herself into going to Gressenheller University, wearing layers and a scarf that hid half her face. It was partly to protect her from the cold, but mostly to prevent anyone from recognizing her. She wasn't sure what she was going to do when she got there, but she needed to see Hershel again, even just once.

Claire took extra care as she followed a student's directions to Hershel's classroom, constantly rearranging the scarf to cover as much of her face as possible. Finally, in the labyrinth of corridors, she found the correct room, its door standing wide open, and she lingered in the entrance, her eyes drinking in the scene.

First she saw the ridiculously attentive students, all of them taking careful notes, so unlike her own university classes. They seemed to be hanging on every word that Hershel spoke as he paced up and down the front of the room, his back to her. At the window, he turned, facing her direction now, and Claire could see that he hadn't changed much. His features were very much the same, and he carried a cup of tea as always, but he'd had a change in wardrobe. And then she saw the hat that he wore on his head. . .

Claire fled. Through a labyrinth of corridors, across the university grounds, down endless streets, she ran and ran until the pain made her halt in an unfamiliar part of London. She leaned against the doorframe of a bookstore, unable to move another inch. She stood there for a few minutes until her breathing evened out, until she regained the feeling in her legs, until the searing stitches in her side faded into tiny throbs of pain.

Even then she lingered there a moment longer, considering the matter. That top hat was unmistakably the one she had given him that day they had parted. He'd taken awfully good care of it, but even she could see that it was worn from years of constant wear. Claire remembered what she had told him when she had given it to him, her final gift to him before she had left for the lab: "No taking it off."

And he hadn't.

It was only then that Claire understood just how much her death must have meant to him. How much he still must love her. How much she still loved him.

And how damn much she missed their unwound future.

I love marking stories complete. It makes me feel like I actually accomplished something, which is a rare feeling for me because I rarely accomplish anything worthwhile.

Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed (especially those that went a bit deeper than the regular ones), favourited, and/or alerted this story. There were a lot more of you than I expected, which was a surprise, but a pleasant one. You guys are awesome.

I'm hoping to write some more Professor Layton fanfiction, either sooner or later. Although it will probably be vastly different than this – as in, more on the humorous side. Sometimes, Smart Aleckette needs to be a smart aleckette. Either way, keep an eye out? (Shameless plug, I know. Don't judge.)

Either way, I'm really pleased with how this turned out. My goal for this was to expand a little on each of these five characters, make people think a bit more about certain ones (Read: Bill) and based on the reaction I got, I feel as if I succeeded. Thanks for reading! :)

~S.A.