This rewritten chapter has more character background and some minor changes. I took off Chapter one so I can rewrite it, so do not be concerned if it's not here right now.

I don't own anything except this story and this AU. And thanks for reading!

"A misunderstanding, was it?"

Clive sneered. What a bundle of joy.

"Yes, sir. It won't happen again."

The man still doesn't look very pleased – or convinced.

"I promise."

"Well, I would hope not. I don't want or plan to see you here ever again."

Before Clive could even respond, the man's harsh voice spoke out again, "Now, hurry along, boy."

With a simple nod and a shallow sigh, Clive found himself scurrying away from the much larger man, knowing there would be no hope of the interview, with or without that stupid intervention. But it was all the same. For his entire life, Clive was always changing his passion for one reason alone – someone always got the better of him and pushed him around.

The sad thing was that Clive loved writing. Always had, always would. Journalism was, perhaps, not for him, but he loved to report. He loved to tell stories – not particularly the stories of real people, but he liked having voices heard.

And it seemed that his writing – or, journalism, at least – was in danger of failing thanks to this interview falling apart.

He couldn't catch a break, could he?

Well, there was no sense wallowing in self-pity. He did that too often. He needed a new hobby.

…It wasn't a time for sad, stupid jokes. He loved to report stories. He loved to exploit the adventures of people that couldn't tell them. They were oftentimes the kind of stories you'd only find in fiction.

In his moment of thinking, Clive had only served to depress himself even more. If his career was in jeopardy, he should've been doing something to try to fix it. But he just… couldn't anymore.

He knew it wasn't working anymore. Not like how he had planned it. Any try at fixing it might only break it more.

When he looked up to see where his feet had carried him, he found himself at… the library.

Wow. Great going, Clive. The stupid voices in your head that you honestly call "thoughts" brought you here. To the library. "Oh, I'm going to lose my job and then Luke and I will be out on the streets, but let's just read the rest of the day away anyway!"

Despite the rude thoughts in his head, Clive knew why he was here. He had learned to ignore those thoughts a long time ago. As he walked slowly towards the section, a smile slowly began to grace his features.

It was there.

Clive pulled it out, faded spine and all.

It was his favorite book.

It was full of difficult puzzles, awful tragedies, seemingly unsolvable mysteries, moments of love, revenge, and terror, shocking plot twists and most importantly, time travel. The last piece of the story all generated from that one point. The book was too good, and whenever Clive read it, he felt like he was being transferred to another world. The only sad part was that Clive didn't own it.

Or, at least, he no longer did. He did have it a while ago, but Luke had spilled juice all over it. And then Clive was forced to get rid of the book – it was too ruined, and if he put it back on the shelf, it could ruin the other five of Layton's books.

Despite the fact that the book was faded due to all the times it had been read by billions of people, Clive still knew both the title and author. The Unwound Future by Hershel Layton.

The critically acclaimed author had created a series about a mystery solving college professor and his young, self-proclaimed apprentice. All the books were praised for their emotional endings and plot twists. The Unwound Future was the last book in the series, and when it had come out, Clive had been so excited he finished it so fast, by the time it was over, Clive felt he had no idea what to do.

That was back when his parents were alive, and when he told them about his emotional turmoil, they had laughed, and told him that Layton might come out with another book or series, and so there was no need to worry.

Clive smiled fondly at the memory. Besides the fact that the series was hauntingly captivating and written incredibly well, Clive also liked the books for the characters that resembled people he knew in real life.

…But then he sighed. Alas, as of late, the book was not one of the first things on his mind like it usually was. Whenever he was sad, Clive would read it. But now, his problems created too much stress that he couldn't even think to check the book out and read it to calm himself down – he had no time to do that anymore.

All he had time to do in between writing for the paper was thinking about his problems. The usual; how his interest in his once certain career was crashing down fast, how his little brother had some sort of strange depression, how he was probably going to get a second job, and, of course, how he was going to take care of his little brother….

Ever since his parents died, Clive knew he had to take action – he was old enough to live and take care of Luke on his own, and he certainly didn't want Luke to be put in the orphanage, and since then, he had been taking care of Luke… With the help of Emmy, the daughter of a friend of his mother's. Emmy had known Clive when they were younger, and she was already the babysitter of Luke's close friend, Flora, so they had known each other.

And Clive was certainly thankful for that.

So, as he whistled on his way to the receptionist's desk to check out the book –

THUD!

He was suddenly on the ground, and very confused.

What even happened?

When he looked up, laying somewhat on top of him, was a blonde girl, who had obviously suffered a nasty tumble.

Her face flushed in embarrassment, and she quickly got up, and mumbled something almost inaudible. Clive assumed it was most likely a sorry.

When it was his turn to get up, he noticed that books had spilled around the area in which they had fallen. After finding and securing that his book was okay, he began to help her pick up her books. He grabbed the last one, the one closest to him, and stared at it to see if he could figure out what book it was.

But it seemed that the book had layers of dust upon it, and so Clive blew it away to see that it was a story of some fabled hero of some sort.

"Here you are, miss –"

Instantly, she interrupted him. "Amelia."

For whatever reason, it was obvious she absolutely despised being called miss. With a smile, Clive handed the book to her, "Amelia."

When she took the book out of his hand, her gaze fell to the floor, "I'm terribly sorry for falling on you."

Clive shook his head, "Oh, it's not a problem," he started, "I'm just glad I was there to break your fall."

But Clive was still curious, "If you don't mind me asking, why were you in such a rush?"

"If you must know, I was reading under the shelf, and when I realized I was in your way, I um… got up."

She eventually trailed off enough, with her voice becoming less and less audible as each word passed.

"You know, you didn't have to move, miss – "

"Amelia," she almost snapped.

"Amelia, you know you didn't have to move, right? I would have noticed you."

"I know, but…"

When she stopped speaking, Clive interjected, "Or perhaps you just wanted to bump into me?"

Before he started on a joking ramble about fate, her head whipped up, her bangs flying up to highlight how wide her usually calm brown eyes were.

"If you'll excuse me, mister –"

"Clive," he corrected, with a wink.

Her glare softened just a tad, but she still rolled her eyes, "Clive, I have somewhere to be."

He waved as she passed, and even though she seemed to be happier, she still let out a groan of frustration.

As he watched her leave, Clive had an idea.

He sorted out what was a clean notebook from his bag, and began to slowly write what had happened to him today.

It had certainly been fascinating… and enlightening.