For PF and TCS. Missing you much.

The cemetery was large but well-kept in spite of its size. The rows of hydrangea buses that lined the path were cut back so that not a single leaf or petal would fall upon the cobblestone walkway. Had they not been so well trimmed, the man in the tall top hat walking between them might not have seen that someone was already standing before the grave that he was there to visit.

There was something strikingly familiar about this figure, a man in a long white coat and a matching fedora. Perhaps it was that his hair was shorter now, or that he was even slimmer than he already was, but it took a moment before the Professor finally recognized him.

"Dimitri?"

The man stiffened and turned around abruptly, seemingly shaken out of a deep train of thought. He relaxed slightly as their eyes met. The corner of his mouth turned up in a subtle smile.

"Hello, Hershel," he said. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised to cross paths with you here today."

"Likewise." He stepped forward to meet him, extending his hand. "It's been a while."

Dimitri shook his hand and nodded once. "Nearly ten years, right? Since just after..."

Hershel tipped his hat and took a light step back. "Pardon me for intruding. I sincerely hope I didn't disturb you."

"Ah, I've been standing here for too long anyway," Dimitri said, dismissing him with a wave. "It's probably time for me to leave. Eat something, get out of the cold..."

"Would you care to join me for lunch? I know a nice cafe down the road from here."

"Oh, no, I wouldn't want to keep you from your time here. You've only just arrived—"

"Nonsense, really," he insisted. "I'll stop by on the way home. Besides…" he added, setting his small bundle of tea roses and sweet peas in front of the headstone next to the present bouquet of deep red roses, "...it's what she would want."

A smirk formed across Dimitri's face. "I can't argue with that."

And so the pair began to make their way back down the winding cobblestone path. They were largely silent, only murmuring about the wind and weather, until they reached the cemetery gates. Finally, as they crossed the street onto the next block, Hershel was the one to start chipping away at the block of ice hovering between them.

"How have you been?"

Dimitri shrugged, his steely blue eyes fixed on something far ahead of them. "As well as one can be, I suppose, between work and readjusting to life on the outside. Really can't complain."

"Oh? Where are you working?"

"Another lab." To head off the next question that he could sense was inbound, Dimitri quickly added, "Not as a researcher this time. I'm on the board of ethics, reviewing pending tests to make sure that what happened to her—er, to all of us—never happens again."

"That's very admirable," remarked Hershel, but Dimitri shrugged it off.

"It's the least I can do, I figure. That's what I should have been doing all along, instead of wasting a decade with some rubbish plot and then losing another as a consequence." He scowled. His hands seemed to sink further into his pockets.

"Well," said Hershel slowly and thoughtfully, "what matters now is that you make the most of the next decade. Perhaps in ten years' time you'll look back on it fondly."

"Hmph. Always the optimist…"

Tucked between a bookstore and a tiny grocer's sat the cafe. As the door opened, a bell chimed and the warm, sweet atmosphere from inside bled out into the cold air around them.

"Claire and I used to come here often when our morning classes were over on the days she didn't work at the lab," Hershel commented as they stepped inside, taking in the details of the room. His gaze swept past scattered tables that lined windows and spread out into the floor, small groups or individuals filling the seats. The walls were dark stained wood, and decorated with posters of musicians from various decades. His faint smile subsided as more details came to view. Fewer and fewer familiarities remained, the differences becoming more striking with each passing glance... "Of course, back then it was under different management. But I suppose everything changes as time goes on."

"Change is inevitable..." Dimitri agreed, more absent than not as they filed into the queue. They fell into silence once more as each studied the menu.

The line shuffled forward. They placed their orders- only a black coffee and a cup of Earl Grey, as the few pastries and sandwiches that were offered were outrageously overpriced- and found a table adjoining the window. Most of their fellow patrons seemed to be avoiding anywhere near the cold exterior, but, if Hershel and Dimitri could agree upon anything, a little draft was a small price to pay for a good view of the street.

Dimitri was the one to break the silence this time. "So how about you? Solve any more grand conspiracies?"

"Ah, just some puzzles and small mysteries," Hershel said, settling back in his seat. "I've been busy enough with the kids and teaching—"

"Kids?" Dimitri's gaze flashed to Hershel's left hand, which was devoid of the ring he was expecting. "Have you found someone—?"

"Oh, goodness, no!"

Dimitri chuckled. "You say that as though it's so outlandish."

Eager for a change of subject, Hershel pretended not to hear the last comment and continued, hoping that his face wasn't as red as it felt. "Ah, well, they're all adopted. Actually, you've met Flora."

"Incredibly briefly. The brunette, no?"

"Yes. She's grown now, but Katrielle and Alfendi are still with me. Al's in secondary school now, and Kat will be turning 7 soon."

"Ah. Fatherhood is treating you well, then?"

"More or less," said Hershel. His hand reflexively reached to massage his temple. "When I'm not picking up Al from the police station for trespassing on crime scenes, that is."

Dimitri snorted. "A troublemaker! I like him already."

Hershel simply shook his head. "I don't know where he picked up his morbid fascination for murder…" He trailed off, gazing out the window. Just beyond the glass, endless foot traffic trickled by, but what caught his eye was a child being lead hand-in-hand by his parents down the sidewalk. Hershel's voice was considerably quieter when he spoke again. "He lost his family ten years ago during the siege on London."

"Clive's attack?"

Hershel nodded solemnly.

"I see…"

They were thankfully spared from any immediate continuation on this topic when a waitress arrived with their orders. Hershel tipped his hat in thanks. Dimitri, whose arms were folded in front of him on the table, merely nodded.

Still too hot to drink, their drinks sat patiently in front of them. Steam rose to fill the air where words should be. It took a minute of watching the dancing vapor before Dimitri finally found them.

"You know," he started slowly, "we both owe you for connecting us with that lawyer friend of yours, but especially Clive. His sentence is very light considering what the alternative could have been."

"I'm glad it worked out," said Hershel sincerely, offering a small smile. "There's been enough hurt already."

Dimitri raised his mug in a barely enunciated toast. "You can say that again."

Hershel hummed thoughtfully. He ventured a sip of his tea, which had now cooled some from being piping hot. "Have you been by to see Clive?"

"Yes, just once. A few weeks ago, actually. You?"

"Not recently. We did write a few times a while back. How is he?"

Dimitri shrugged. "Ah, fine. He's still trying to make sense of everything, but he's anxious to start his life again." His fingers drummed against the rim of his mug. "It should be relatively soon now. He only had a few more years than me if memory serves."

"That's right," Hershel confirmed. "Well, I just hope that his readjustment to society is smooth and painless."

"And free of more terrible coping mechanisms, right?"

"Yes, I suppose so."

A devilish smile crossed Dimitri's face. "Speaking of—"

"Oh dear..."

"—have you ever been to a karaoke bar before?"

This gave Hershel pause. "I can't say that I have."

"Why?" asked Dimitri, raising an eyebrow. "Is such a humble establishment below the revered and proper Hershel Layton?"

"I said nothing of the sort! I just… well, I suppose I've never been invited before."

"Hmm, shame. It's great fun. Or, at the very least, it's a nice alternative to spending Friday night in your apartment, depressed, drunk, and alone."

"Hypothetically speaking...?"

Dimitri chuckled cryptically.

"Still," offered Hershel, "it doesn't sound to be too terrible of a coping mechanism as they come."

"Fair enough. I mean, what's the harm in drinking a little too much and singing a little too loud in a room of people who couldn't care less because they're also drunk off their-" A loud crash drowned out the next word as a tray clattered to the floor nearby.

Perhaps it was the light from the window, but there seemed to be a twinkle in Hershel's eye as he said, "It sounds like a good fit for you."

"It is. It's… a nice escape. I'm bolder than I might have thought myself to be ages ago, but—" He raised his mug. "—perhaps some of that can be attributed to the drinking."

"There's certainly far worse things to have to be blaming on intoxication."

"True. Cliched to death as it is, when I'm on stage, everything else disappears, everything but the music. I wish I'd discovered it sooner, to be honest." He had to chuckle in spite of himself. "Then maybe I'd be some famous musician instead." Taking a sip of his coffee, he added, "While we're on the subject, how did you cope all those years? After her, that is. I think you're the only one of us who didn't turn to some convoluted scheme of revenge."

Slightly abashed, Hershel adjusted his top hat, pulling the brim down a tad. "Ha, well, to be entirely honest with you, I didn't. Not really. It hit me hard because… well, Claire wasn't the first person that I've lost."

"Really?" Dimitri set his mug down. "Another girlfriend before her?"

Hershel shook his head. "My best friend in high school, Randall. We were—oh goodness, how long ago was that now? We were seventeen—or perhaps eighteen? We—whilst being young and foolish—we walked right into a dangerous place that… only I walked back out of."

"That's tragic." As though realizing too late how irreverent that came out, Dimitri added, "Er, must have been rough for you."

"It was." After a long sip of tea, he added, "Although, as it would happen, several years ago I learned that he is alive after all, but that's a story for another day. Since I didn't know at the time of losing Claire, another loss—"

"It was just salt in the wound, wasn't it?"

As if struck by a draft, or perhaps, more likely, a flashback, Hershel shuddered.

"More like being stabbed a second time, and then pouring salt in both."

Dimitri let out a low whistle. "If I were you, I would have hit the bottle hard after that." He took another long sip of his coffee. "Which brings us back to the question."

"Ah, yes. After my search for answers on her death was, ah, cut short, I was getting busier with work anyhow. Being a new professor has its way of piling so much work on you that you don't have time to think of anything else."

"But what about after you clocked out?" pressed Dimitri, leaning forward in his seat. "Coming home to an empty house every night, didn't it sink in then?"

"Well, we never co-habituated, but…" He fiddled with his mug before sighing, his shoulders slumped forward. "Honestly, yes. The silence was smothering. I missed our afternoons and evenings together. I missed walking her back to her flat, the last little wave as she closed the door…" Musing to himself more than anything else, he murmured, "Perhaps that's the reason why I started sleeping overnight in my office."

Dimitri seemed to ponder this a moment, then shook his head and chortled.

"What's so funny?" asked Hershel.

"Ah, just marveling over the fact that your equivalent of rock-bottom is becoming a workaholic."

"Don't mistake that for a virtue, Dimitri. I may have functioned, but I was a sad shell of a man. I could hardly keep on the mask every day, much less form any meaningful relationships with anyone for fear of loving and losing again. It was such a dreary, lonesome existence, being so closed-off."

A draft leaked through the door as another patron exited. The chime of the bell and the rush of noise from the street nearly covered up Dimitri's next words, his voice suddenly low and hoarse.

"The kind of loneliness that eats away at your soul, right?"

"Why—" Hershel blinked. "Yes, exactly." He shot a questioning look across the table.

"I know it all too well," Dimitri murmured. His stare was transfixed upon his ever-distorted reflection in the bottom of his mug. "After her… well, she was the best friend I had. And in the few years that followed the explosion, I really had nothing. A few relationships sure, but nothing deep. I simply didn't connect with anyone as well as I did with her. That's why, when the opportunity presented itself to bring her back—"

"You did everything you could to make that a reality."

Dimitri looked up. "Wouldn't you have? That one purpose became my life's only goal. I had to believe that it would work, because if it didn't… what would I have?" He sighed bitterly. "Wasted time, dead dreams, an eon more of loneliness."

"Surely, you don't know that's how it would have been. You may have met someone else, someone better. You still may now."

"I wasn't so optimistic at the time." Considering this a moment, Dimitri laughed and added, "Or now. I suppose, as you put it, I didn't want to risk loving and losing again. Which is why I was so fixated on her. I was willing to risk it for her because I already had once. And, as you know, lost." He punctuated this with a sigh.

A young couple at a table near them stood to leave, their own conversation merely a part of the ambient buzz of the room. The little bit of tea that remained in his cup was rapidly cooling. Hershel drank the last of it, contemplating his next question carefully.

"Can I ask you something?" he asked as he set his cup aside.

"Shoot."

"If you did manage to bring her back—for good, that is—were you planning on trying to win her over?"

A hesitation. Dimitri's hand moved to the back of his neck. "Would you hate me if I said yes?"

"Of course not."

"Figures," he scoffed, the obligatory eye-roll following. "You're just like her. Your soul hate anything, can it?"

Hershel shook his head. "You give me too much credit. There are plenty of things which I hold in high disdain, but that is far from unforgivable."

"I'd like to hear you say that had I succeeded in wooing her," Dimitri teased.

"Oh, please."

"You say that as if I were joking."

"You say that as if you had a chance."

In one tense moment, neither of them spoke, the air between them seeming to crackle with static. This tension quickly dissolved into quiet laughter on both of their parts.

"Oh, listen to us, bickering like someone half our age," chuckled Hershel.

Dimitri scoffed, running his hand through his hair. "Now, you're making me feel old, talking like that."

"I hate to break this to you, Dimitri, but ah..."

Once again, there was nothing they could do to stop themselves from cracking up. It was muffled in the slightest, but their laughter did not stand out much above the din of the rest of the cafe. As it subsided, Dimitri downed the last of his coffee and stood.

"Ah, well, I don't want to hold you up anymore. Thanks for letting me cry on your shoulder for a bit."

Hershel rose as well, pushing his chair back under the table. "Oh, it's no trouble in the least." He extended his hand to Dimitri, who took it, and smiled perhaps the most genuine smile he'd ever offered him. "And likewise."

In those few moments between the table and the door, the atmosphere of the cafe seemed to increase in warmth and comfort ten-fold, making the prospect of walking back out in the unforgiving cold even more dreadful. But it is a fact of life that everything must end eventually, delightful conversations between, ah, friends, included.

"Oh, before I forget—" Dimitri paused before the door. He rifled through his pocket until he found what he was looking for—a slightly-crumpled business card. He held it out to Hershel, who took it, smoothed it out, and placed it in his own pocket.

"Ah, thank you. I'm ashamed to say that I don't have anything on me, but I believe you can find my office number through the university." The bell above the door chimed as he pulled it open. He stepped back and motioned for Dimitri to go first.

"I'll look into it," he assured him. "Let me know if you ever need to escape on a weekend. I think I know a couple of songs that would suit your voice." As he stepped out the door, he held it open for Hershel to follow.

"Thank you, but I have a reputation to uphold."

"If that's your excuse then I'm officially allowed to call you a coward."

Hershel only shook his head, not bothering to pretend he wasn't smiling.

"Take care of yourself, Dimitri."

"No promises," he quipped, but his smirk seemed to soften ever so slightly as he added, "You too, Hershel."

A tip of their hats and a shake of their hands as they reached the sidewalk, and they parted ways, turning their collars to the wind. And yet, cold as it was, each carried with him just a little bit of warmth. Perhaps a lingering memory of the cafe. Perhaps not. Had Hershel's coat not been so thick, he might have noticed the light weight pressing on his shoulder, like a reassuring hand. Had the sidewalk not been so full of lively conversation already, Dimitri might have noticed the voice in his ear that seemed to whisper thank you…

Even so, she was with them for the rest of the day.

A/N: I meant to have this done in time for Unwound Future's 10th Anniversary, but that obviously didn't happen. I'm just glad I finished this. This idea had been sitting in my brain for a while. Sorry for any inconsistencies with the LMJ timeline! Still kinda behind, I did my best to guesstimate, so I hope you understand. And I swear, one of these days I will write (and finish and PUBLISH) a happy story about Claire. Anyway, God bless, hope you enjoyed ^^