A/N: This is actually three years old. I wrote this for a friend I think. It's an AU but disclosing what sort would give away the story.
X
"Tell, me my dear, what is on your mind?"
Claire looked up from her notebook, wearing a bland expression. She eyed me as she took a sip of tea.
"I tell you everything you ask of me, dear."
She set the cup down. "I shouldn't," she said curtly before taking a bite out of her scone and scribbling in her notebook.
"Do you still feel guilty about Flora?" I asked cautiously. Her pencil lead snapped and flew across the right side of the room. She took her cup, swallowing hard, uncomfortably hard. I had opened a door I shouldn't have.
"Pardon, that was ungentlemanly of me."
"It was," she said stiffly. Her eyes misted and her lower lip twisted. She resisted breaking her cool. Claire looked at her wristwatch, hopeful. I looked at my pocketwatch. Five more minutes until tea time was over. I dreaded the end of it and she graciously waited for it. These past few months, our marriage had been strained. Teatime, it seemed, was the only time we could talk for the past three years. She was busy with her art and I was only faintly busy with being a professor at London University. I had more time than her, avoiding loneliness by helping others in investigations, but that had done nothing to fill the aching hole in my heart.
We were sitting at a cozy table, so close physically, but emotionally she was far off, preferring her pencils and paper over my company. Not that we didn't talk- far from it. But I wasn't content with our conversations. It was always about ime/i, and no matter the subject- my family, my day, my work- I felt scrutinized.
I wanted to talk to her. I wanted to know how her day was- and most of all, I wanted to comfort her about Flora. Our adopted daughter had been kidnapped two months ago by a fellow named Paolo, who after three days... had tired of her, and buried her. As women tend to do, Claire blamed herself for the loss.
I had been in the limbo of guilt also, but forced myself to snap out of it. Truthfully it was my fault for not being able to rescue her in time, but it wouldn't do no good to dwell on it. I tried to be there for Claire in the present, but all of my efforts only pushed her further away.
I overheard her talking to her friends once, wearing their white coats just like hers, likewise clutching pieces of paper to their chest. She told them she was very close to dropping me altogether.
They supported her. "Hang in there. I know you're close."
"Well, it's time."
There was a time when she gave me her hand for me to kiss. Now she said just that and left me staring at her backside, her curls carrying more bounce than her steps.
I had nothing else to do after our tea time. As I reached for my wallet I noticed she had already paid the bill. The receipt was lying next to the plate of scones. I wasn't too surprised; this was also a regularity. I think I hoped for the day she would let me pay the bill instead- or at least for the day she forgot, a half-victory.
I passed by a flurry of curious fellows on the way home. Some were quiet; some mumbled to themselves. One man I came across sitting on my stoop was catatonic, lips parted. I bent down to talk to him, but wasn't granted the time, a police officer nudged me along, promising he would take care of him.
The door shut at my back, I sighed.
"Professor! You're back!"
"Ah, how did you get inside Luke?" I chuckled.
"The spare key buried in the flowerbed."
"Is that so?" I sat down beside him. "I haven't seen you in some time, Luke. Has school been keeping you?"
"Yes." He pouted, prompting me to pat his head. "What about you, Professor? Have you gone on any travels? Oh! Oh! Any new puzzles?"
"Unfortunately, no. I've been busy in tedious matters as well."
"Mrs. Layton still isn't..." Luke's smile deflated.
"She is still bottling things up. I've tried, but..."
"It's not her fault. No one ever expects their kid to... iI/i never imagined Flora would..."
Luke was afraid to utter that word: that little word that was so incredibly heavy.
"Well, on a lighter subject, I do have a puzzle for you. Have you heard of this one? Mice are famous for their ability to multiply at breakneck speeds..."
I purposely picked a brainteaser focused on animals for Luke, hoping it would clean the atmosphere. Oddly, the boy wasn't paying attention, dazing off into space with an intensity in his eyes.
"Say, Professor, do you think Claire would open up to me?"
The interruption threw me off. I blinked, testing the idea in my head. Yes, it was quite some time since Claire had seen Luke. I had been so focused on comforting her myself that I had forgotten.
"Perhaps, we'll try next week, won't we? Now then, about that puzzle, have you been listening?"
X
"Good afternoon, Hershel," Claire greeted stiffly, pulling out a chair.
I raised a hand in alarm. "Wait, Claire! Luke is sitting there."
She looked down slowly. It was odd how she didn't jump in surprise and apologize profusely. Rather, she forced an apology and sat in the next seat, reluctantly closer to me.
"Good afternoon," Luke chirped, though she paid no attention to the boy. I furrowed my brow. Was there really no hope for my wife?
No. I shouldn't think that. I looked her straight in the eye, determined. Somehow I felt this was my last chance.
"Hershel, I don't plan to stay long today."
"I'm sorry to hear that, Claire," I said smoothly. Something was hanging thickly over us- more than usual.
"After today, I won't be seeing you anymore. I'm leaving this place. I have a new job elsewhere."
"Where?"
She shook her head. "I don't want you to know. I'm sorry, but it's over, Hershel. Thank you for your concern, but we can't keep doing this."
"Why are you so rude to the professor? He's only looking out for you!" Luke fumed.
"It's time," she said hurriedly, but as professionally as she could, and stood up.
I came to my feet and grabbed her shoulders. Her eyes widened as if she were afraid of ime/i.
"Please- Claire, don't do this. Don't give up on me. On us."
"Leave me alone!" she screamed, wriggling in my arms. "Just please... leave me alone...leave me alone."
She fell to her feet, a crying mess.
"Claire." I sighed, still holding her. "What happened to Flora wasn't your fault."
"How do you know? You weren't there. You never were. You didn't know her... Stop- Stop pushing yourself into my life... Just stop. Please..."
Tall men, even taller than my top hatted figure, pulled us apart.
"Are you okay, Miss?"
She nodded slowly as they helped her to her feet and escorted her out. I wondered: Where had I gone wrong?
X
A man filled in for teatime the next week. He said he had seen me sitting there, looking heartbroken through the window, and felt compelled to talk to me. Like Claire and her friends, he was wearing a white coat and carried papers. The only difference aside from his gender was that he wrote in thick black ink. He was confident he wasn't making any mistakes.
He was a sloppy man. I had to teach him how to properly sip his tea and how to chew with his mouth closed.
As I brushed muffin crumbs from his papers, scolding him, something caught my eye:
Subject: Hershel Clark
Notes: Schizophrenic, tends to pull his therapist into his world. Caution is advised. Do not talk about your personal life when in the facility in case he overhears. He also seems to have an imaginary friend he calls "Luke."
It was no concern of mine.