So. . . this is my first fic. I've read a lot of really great ones, so I hope that this one has at least a little potential. I'm still learning as I go along, so if you see a major issue with this one-chapter story, just let me know. Nicely please, no flames. I hope you like it so read and review. I was a little sad when I went on the site and realized that this couple only had about twenty stories. I simply attribute it to the lack of publicity that this game has. I look forward to writing a lot more in the future.

Quite obviously, I do not own The Layton Brothers: Mystery Room and this story is not for profit in any way, shape, or form. If I did, Alfendi and Lucy would be together and there would be no need for all this fluffy stuff.

Al yawned slowly, then reached for the door. Friday meant leaving work early, all the paperwork was over. Time for relaxing, time for himself, without a single thing to bother him. What a great day.

He had actually almost left the building, with the intention of taking advantage of the weekend ahead of him, when he remembered his case files. The important ones Hilda had been yelling at him to finish, were still on his desk. Stupid. It wouldn't do to get her angrier than she already was with him, so he made his way back towards the stairs.

He took it back, what a horrible day.

He was a few steps from his office when he realized that his office door was open. Someone was going through his stuff, and they picked a heck of a day to do it. He groaned and took a book out of his pocket. A little something to bother the burglar with, worked better than nothing.

But when he stuck his head in, he saw only Lucy, who was leaning up against his desk. And she didn't seem to look her best, with a bottle in one hand and a case file in the other. She was about to fall forward.

A bottle? Why would she have something like that on her at work?

Come to think of it, hadn't he left a bottle in his desk drawer of some alcohol Justin had given him, stuff he had tried to refuse? Was she, drinking?

"Lucy?" he called out to her, only to have her spin on her heels with a terrified look.

She obviously couldn't control the way she was acting, and stumbled across the room away from him, finally falling flat on her face. Tears welled up in her eyes, something he couldn't bear, and he found himself kneeling beside her. He wrapped his arms around her gently and cradled her while she cried.

"Why, Prof, why does it hurt so much? What did I ever do to it that made it hurt me?" she wailed into his shirt. No one stayed late on Friday, so no one ran into the room at her noise. She sobbed even louder and clung to the back of his shirt. "I wanted. . . I just wanted to be the perfect helper, a person someone like you could count on." She held on tighter, "You're always getting me out of messes, cleaning up after me. And yet you never bother me about it. I mean, Potty Prof does, but he's not you. You're you."

Al patted her slowly on the back. "It's ok, I'm here," he murmured into her ear. He always felt terrible when she broke up over something. She was too sensitive, too sensitive for her own good sometimes.

"But you're not the real you, Prof," Lucy looked up at him for the first time, completely red in the face and still sobbing. "Hilda told me, that you changed that day that you woke up after almost dying, that this part of you weren't there before. This nice you, the you that I like, just isn't. It weren't real, Prof. You're not real. YOU'RE NOT REAL!"

She shoved him away and fell back into her chair, pushing it away from him as much as possible. She still was a little drunk, so her movements were less than smooth, but she moved to a corner of the room and curled into a ball on the chair. Al looked at her for a moment, still slightly pained, but when he walked towards her she looked up and pulled her legs closer.

"Stay away from me!" she shrieked. "You, you fake! You're a character out of a story book, an imagination to keep the real you away. Everyone knows that people like you don't exist, they can't exist. People aren't that nice." She turned away from him slowly and quietly, a far-off look in her eye. "No one's that nice."

He knew she might hate him later, but he just couldn't bring himself to leave her the way she was. If he hadn't left the bottle in his room, she never would've been in this state. His carelessness had been the reason for this, but still. . .

"I know that, Lucy," he came behind her and wrapped his arms around her again, this time so tight he knew she'd never be able to escape. His red hair fell over his face and he grinned. "So don't worry your pretty little head about it. HE may be an imagination, but I'm not. Idiot." He pulled her chair close, arms still wrapped around her from behind. "So don't say stupid things that you have no basis for. I will always be here with you and so will he, whether you like it or not."

"Potty Prof?" she looked up and he knew that he really was in trouble this time. He kissed her.

She tried to push him off, which he expected, so he pushed her lower into the seat. Gradually, she stopped struggling and began to kiss him back, letting him taste the strong alcohol on her breath. What kind of girl, he wondered, would just pick up a bottle of an unknown substance and drink it? One who loves fun? One full of sheer and utter stupidity? Or a very desperate one?

He pulled away and met her gaze, breathing in and out slowly as his hair lost its red hue. Crap. If she didn't like that, he could get written up for sexual assault. Her next action, though, stopped him. Gently, she raised her hand and brushed the tips of her fingers against his lips. And smiled. "I won't worry about it, Potty Prof, or Fake Prof. I don't care." She leaned in for another kiss.

Lucy was drunk. He shouldn't be taking advantage of this moment, of this opportunity, but now, he didn't care. He was about to lean in towards her, to meet her halfway, when he stopped and put his hand to her mouth. "Say it," he whispered hoarsely, "Say that this means something to you, even if you don't comprehend it. Say you love me, and mean it."

"I. . . I love you, Prof. A lot." She looked down, as if she was ashamed of letting those words take over her. "Is it ok, I mean," she stammered, "to say I love you? To say I love my boss? Isn't that wrong?" She began to cry again.

Al grabbed her hands to stop them from rubbing her eyes and brought them to his lips. "Not if I love you too, and mean it. Your hands feel these words that I'm saying, so they can't be a lie. They just can't. I love you now, I loved you before now, and I always will love you. So anything you want to say, say it, because I won't care. We've both said the same thing, and you can't take it back." He leaned in and kissed her again briefly before she could turn away.

This time, she wasn't surprised, but she kissed him harder than he expected. He pulled away and saw a little fire in her bright eyes. "Better keep to what you said, Prof. Both of you." She smiled and stood up, but fell over again.

Al smiled back and caught her in his arms. He sat down and whispered into her ear. "One more thing. What hurt more, your fall or you hitting the ground? Just curious."

Lucy sighed, but whispered back so softly he almost didn't catch it. "It wasn't the ground that hurt, Prof. It was my heart. I fell for you so bad I don't ever want to get up again." That was the answer he was looking for.

"Ok," he said, and lifted her up so that her feet could no longer touch the ground. He dropped her onto the only couch in his office and smiled down at her. "Don't get up, then. Just rest. When you wake up, I'll still be here. Now go to sleep." He brushed her hair back gently and pulled her chair up to the couch to sit down. "Go to sleep, sweetheart."

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Lucy Baker yawned and opened her eyes slowly to let in the bright morning sun that was slowly creeping in through the window. It wasn't long before she realized that she was still in the Al's office, on his couch, and Al was. . .

"Prof! Prof! I'm so sorry. Please, oh please, forgive my nap. I didn't intend to stay so long and . . ." Al was fast asleep, lightly dozing against the back of her chair. For a second, she was sure he hadn't heard her, but he stirred and opened his eyes, looking right at her. Crap. Her head hurt something crazy, and she had no idea what she was still doing in the Prof's office, or for that matter what she was going to say to him.

"Good morning, Lucy," Al grinned, completely composed. He, wasn't angry? "Did you have a good rest, are you feeling better?" He looked so concerned she almost felt tempted to laugh at him. Almost.

"What do you mean, Prof? Why aren't you upset? I slept in your office, I probably messed something up. Why aren't you angry?" she looked down.

"You, you mean you don't remember what happened?" Al looked confused for a second, then something dawned on his face. "Well, you weren't quite yourself so you may not remember. Never mind. Just continue sleeping." A strange look appeared in his eyes.

Then it hit her. What she had found in his drawers, what she had done. What she had said.

"I'm so sorry, Prof," she got down on her hands and knees in front of him. "I didn't mean to go poking through your stuff like I did, I didn't mean to be a bother, I didn't mean to say all those-."

"You didn't mean it," Al whispered, looking at his desk. "What you said was just the liquor, not you?"

"No. I just meant, I just meant that. . ." she stopped. What more could she say. He had poured his heart out to her because he thought she felt the same. Did she feel the same?

It was now or never. "I meant everything I said, Prof. Every word." She placed a hand on his desk. "It wasn't the alcohol, it was me." Al looked up, then tentatively placed a hand on her face. She leaned in and kissed him, this time without anything bringing her in besides herself. He kissed her back, and for the first time, she felt complete, as if nothing could keep her away from the moment any longer except-

"Oh no," she pulled away. Al looked confused again, so she said, "It were such a cheesy thing I said to you, weren't it? That I fell for you and didn't want to get up again. That were really bad."

Al smiled, and leaned in. "Well, it was. But even if it was cheesy, it was endearing because you meant it. And that's all that matters, Lucy."

Tell me what you think. Opinions count, within nice terms of course. Review!