Hey all. Here's my first fanfic, so please, be kind, or if not, be constructive :D This particular story is a songfic, the song being Every Time We Say Goodbye. This version was sung by Natalie Cole, and originally made by Cole Porter.
Disclaimers: I obviously do not own Professor Layton. If I did, I would be wearing a silk top hat, learning how to fence, and going on adventures with Luke, Professor, Flora, Emmy... yup, I love my virtual life.
I also don't own the song. If I did, I wouldn't be so tone-deaf.
PS: If you haven't noticed already, there's going to be quite a bit of SPOILERS, I think, for THE UNWOUND FUTURE. So unless you don't care, or you're just looking for a story to read around the campfire...
DON'T READ THIS YET.
"I believe that imagination is stronger than knowledge.
Myth more potent than history.
Dreams are more powerful than facts.
Hope always triumphs over experience.
Laughter is the cure for grief.
Love is stronger than death.
~Robert Fulghum
The Gentleman
Hershel sat down on his bed, not bothering to put his coat or hat on the rack when he came in. He held his face in his hands. For the first time in his life, he could not think. He did not want to think. To think would make him remember. To remember would bring back memories. Painful memories. These memories would make him regret. Regret that he didn't listen to himself. Regret that he couldn't run fast enough. Regret that he couldn't stop her from going to work today. Regret that he couldn't save her. All kinds of regrets, each one bringing the pain of a sharp knife, its cuts still fresh and bleeding.
Out of all of the sorrows that he carried in his heart, there was one that would haunt him for the rest of his life.
He didn't tell her how much he loved her before she left.
Every time we say goodbye...
He can only sit down on the bed and feel the empty spot where his heart used to be. 'How ironic, Hershel remarked, that the happiest hour that I've had on earth would become the most painful day I'll ever have in my life.' When the clock struck noon, he was given a gift by his beloved, a simple brown top hat with a red band. That was the most joyful moment of his life.
... I die a little.
"Very dashing, Hershel," she had said to him, smiling happily as she placed the hat on his brow. "The picture of a true gentleman," she said proudly. "Oh, don't take it off!" she said, gently chiding him as he tried to remove it; it was slipping from his head. "It suits you, it really does! So, no taking it off." Then, after remembering that she had a meeting with her colleagues in thirty minutes, apologized to him by giving him a kiss, no more than a peck on the cheek, really, and promising a to be home early for dinner. With that, she set off for work and left him with a smile that slowly stretched from ear to ear.
Every time we say goodbye, I wonder why a little.
Dread coursed through him when he heard the explosion.
'She isn't there,' he thought immediately. 'She's fine Hershel. Nothing to be worried about; she's nowhere near there, she's fine'—
—'No she's not,' said a small, persistent voice in the back of his mind. 'She's not "fine," Hershel, don't act like a fool. After all, you know where the laboratory is...' the voice drawled on, sending a chill down his spine.
'...You know where the explosion is... and you know where she is ... so it's safe to assume that she's'— "No..." he said out loud."She's not... she isn't..." He could not finish the sentence; his voice broke. He took a deep breath. "...she's fine. Besides, I'm going to give her this." He pulled out of his pocket a small, velvet box. "...and give her the biggest lecture she ever had in her life!" He tried to laugh, but came out a nervous chuckle.
His neck prickled with unease as he went to the university. His heart plummeted to his stomach when he heard the students talking about it in class. "...It was in the laboratory, wasn't it?" said one of them. He froze, dropping the piece of chalk he was holding.
No... it can't be...
Why the Gods above me, who must be in the know.
"...Yeah," the other one replied, "it was pretty big, I hear. Nearly the entire place was trashed and set fire to the buildings nearby."
His mind was roaring at him. Telling him to get out of there, to save her, to make sure she's alright— "...Yeah," said another, laughing solemnly. "I heard it's still smoking over there..."
—But he couldn't move. For the life of him, he could not move.
"...and you know what they say," the same student continued. "Where there's smoke, there's fire."
Think so little of me...
He remembered running. Running faster than he ever had in his life. His heart was hammering so hard and so painfully in his chest that it felt like it was about to burst. His legs slowly turning to lead, his arms about to fall off as he used one hand to manoeuvre screaming people out of the way and the other to hold on to his hat.
His beloved top hat. The gift she gave him mere hours ago.
No...
...They allow you to go.
He stopped running when his legs could no longer support him, and even then he walked. Walked as fast as he could to her. The only one he had ever loved.
No...!
When you're near, there's such an air of spring about it.
His legs burned with sheer agony, but he kept walking as his mind searched for possibilities. Countless, numerous, possibilities that grew more and more desperate with each thought to convince himself that she was still alive. After all, he was a puzzle master, wasn't he? Yes, he was a puzzle master, taught by the best of the best, Andrew Schrader! "Every puzzle has an answer..." wasn't that what he always said? So, if he thought hard enough, he would get the answer, and she would live...
Right...?
I can hear a lark somewhere, begin to sing about it.
'...Hershel...' the little voice said. Hershel grimaced, and braced himself for the scathing remark he knew was coming.
'...You know that this is hopeless, right...?' The voice grew softer as it spoke, and Hershel blinked in surprise. It was strange, but did the voice sound... sad?
'...Hershel, she... she may already be... gone...'
It was almost as if... as if it was... sorry for him...?
No!
There's no love song finer...
He saw the smoke and stopped dead in his tracks. He saw the black smoke that slowly rose to the heavens, destroying its purity. It told the tale of fire that stole the lives of ten people and changed the future of countless more. He wouldn't know it until ten years later, but that explosion destroyed the future of one boy. That one boy, who had lost everything to the inferno, will one day plot to destroy the monster that did this.
This was the same boy whom he saw running towards the fire that took his parents.
But how strange the change...
He grabbed the small child without thinking. He had never felt so numb. He could feel the blood drain out his face as he saw the swirling smoke that touched the sky and put those who breathe it drift off into eternal sleep. His jaw clenched when he came near enough to see the ever growing blaze that devours all who dare touch it, scorching those foolish enough to come near it with the heat of its flames. It was only by chance that he managed to snap out of it and grab the boy before he was out of reach.
'...Wha...' he thought blankly, as a feeling of hopelessness started to fill him. He knew without a doubt that nearly no one in the buildings near the laboratory survived the explosion. 'What in the world is a child doing here...? Doesn't he know what happened...? Doesn't he know it's dangerous...?'
...From major to minor...
"Let me go!" the little one screamed, punching, kicking, shoving Hershel as hard as he could. "Let me go! They're still in there! I have to get them! I have to save them!"
He vaguely remembered grabbing the boy by the shoulders and slapping him on the face. The boy looked at him in confusion, momentarily forgetting where he was."Don't you understand?" he said to the grieving child. "If you go in there, you'll die too!" The boy looked at him uncomprehendingly. Then, a look of horror crept onto his face as he realised he was alone in the world, and he howled...
...Every time we say goodbye.
At the back of his mind, a tiny, hopeful, part of Hershel still said that she'll be home for dinner at six, just a bit later than usual. She was always a bit later than usual. He would see her rush in the house, her hair a mess as her arms flail about, trying to hold onto books while catching flying pieces of paper. She would drop everything on the couch and apologize franticly to him, while he would only smile at her and tell her it's alright. Then, he would give her the scolding of her life, and after dinner, he would show her the ring and finally propose to her. She would squeal in delight, and tackle him to the ground, laughing, and say yes, over and over again...
When you're near, there's such an air of spring about it...
...The sound of sirens brought him back to reality. The boy no longer fought to get away from him. Instead, he had grabbed hold of his jacket, and sobbed. "No! " The boy cried as he wept, knowing the truth but not accepting it."It can't be! Please, no! No, no, no!" he wailed, "Please, don't go! Come back! Come back! Please!" Hershel wrapped his arms around the boy as he fell on his knees, crying on his jacket, begging for his parents to come back to him.
Then it hit him. It finally hit him, what his mind had been telling him and what his heart refused to accept. It hit him faster than a bolt of lightning and with the force of a sledgehammer. His hands were shaking with the sudden clarity that showed him the truth, the awful truth. He knew he would only be deluding himself otherwise; he had known this ever since he heard the explosion...
That no matter what he did, she was never coming back.
NO!
I can hear a lark somewhere, begin to sing about it.
That afternoon underneath the dull grey sky passed in a blur. He vaguely remembers handing over the grieving boy to an inspector, and heading back to the university. He recalls talking to his mentor and driving back home. He opens the door, fumbling with the keys and just remembering to close the door behind him. He drops his trunk near the couch, looks up to see the old grandfather clock on the wall. It was 6:00. Suddenly, he remembered that she should be home by now.
"She's late again..." Hershel said softly and smiled, shaking his head. He put his trunk on the floor in the living room near the couch, and waited for her come running in the house in a panic, her arms fumbling with her books and trying to blow the hair out of her face. His smile faded. A sense of loneliness and great sorrow threatened to overwhelm him as he remembered. He pushed the feeling away, gritting his teeth as tears began to form, but he refused to let them fall. "It isn't proper," he said quietly."A true gentleman would keep his composure at all times."
He nearly laughed at himself—at the moment, he didn't even care.
So, he gave himself something to do, a puzzle, to prevent himself from thinking of her, and made his way upstairs.
There's no love song finer...
He held on the doorknob of the room. He couldn't seem to open the door and go in, fearing that something inside would remind him on how pathetic, how dense, he is for not making sure she was okay. How pitiful, how foolish of him, to have ever hoped that she would come back. "Come on, Hershel," he sighed, exasperated." It's only a room. " He turned the doorknob and opened the door. He staggered back in shock.
He was wrong.
He was wrong about everything today.
'This used to her room too,' he thought, berating himself for being so stupid, so forgetful. Another thing to haunt him in the weeks to come.
Her sweet, agonizing scent, that of orange and a hint of vanilla, wafted its way towards Hershel. It made him remember all the little things about her; the way she would go on and on excitedly about the smallest things. The way she teased him relentlessly about his obsession with tea, all the while secretly drinking it in her cup. The way she would eat her food, just managing to gobble it up faster than a starving wolf. The way she would quietly make some witty remark about anything that would make him laugh.
But how strange the change...
Hershel sat down on his bed, not bothering to take his coat or his hat off.
"Our bed," he corrected himself absently. Then, he remembered, and a sense of sadness and frustration engulfed him. Was it going to be this way forever...?
He held his face in his hands. For the first time in his life, he could not think. He did not want to think.
To think would make him remember. To remember would bring back memories. Painful memories of the woman he loved. These memories would make him regret. Regret, regret, regret...
Then he remembered the way she smiled. The way she laughed, like the soft tinkling of bells, filling the air with joy. He remembered her sense of humour, the way she would try, and fail, to keep herself from laughing by rolling on the floor, clutching at her sides. The way she would look at him with such love and affection that it was all he could do not to melt on the spot. He remembered how they danced together in their room, his face flaming a bright shade of red when she fell on him. He remembered how beautifully she would play the flute, and how they would make duets together, the very air seeming to come alive and dance to their melody.
...From major to minor...
Hershel removed his hat, and gazed at it. "So, no taking it off," she had declared to him, hours ago. Her last words to him. There was a nagging feeling at the back of his head; he had forgotten something again. He searched his muddled mind for clues, but found nothing. Sighing in exasperation, he stood up to look around the room. He spotted a picture sitting near the window. He walked over and picked it up.
It was an old picture of both of them together, his face an impossible shade of red while she was hugging him, laughing while her face was a mixture of surprise and embarrassment. They were both caught in the act of kissing by a friend of hers, he remembered, smiling ruefully as he shook his head. That was the first time we kissed and said those fateful words...
I love you.
Every time...
The nagging feeling became stronger. He put the picture down and gazed at the simple brown top hat in his hands.
He looked outside the window of his room, and saw that it was snowing. They would have gotten married on Christmas, he remembered suddenly, because she loved the snow. She had always loved the snow.
...We say...
A thought came to him, and the truth of it nearly drove him to his knees while he was falling. Falling into the empty abyss called sadness. He'll keep falling, he knew, until he would never escape that dark, despairing void where happiness is but a half remembered dream. That empty, yawning, chasm will haunt him for the rest of his life, reminding him of his one unforgivable sin...
For he had remembered what he forgotten to do today, and out of all the mistakes he made in his life, he would never, ever, forgive himself for this for as long as he lives.
After all, what kind of gentleman forgets to tell his beloved that he loves her?
...Goodbye...
At that moment, the tears that he tried so vainly to hold back flowed at last. He fell back on his bed and cried. He cried and cried, mourning the loss of his love, his knees to his chest as he wailed softly into his hat. He lost track of time in the room that held so many memories of them together...
Eventually, he fell asleep on the bed, all the while hugging his beloved hat and saying her name, over and over again, as if it would bring her back.
"...Claire... "
...Goodbye