Hey everyone! I know it took awhile for this chapter (writer's block!) but I just wanted to take a few sentences to say that I really appreciate all of your comments. Knowing I have a few people who enjoy this story, I'm really excited to continue with it, although there's only one or two more chapter left, (not sure if I should do an epilogue, should I?) Any-who, hope you enjoy the next chapter!

Chapter 3- Flaws

Claire jubilantly whistled along with the teakettle on the hot-plate while bacon and eggs simmered in a skillet on the stove. I had been almost three weeks since she had been given a second chance to rewrite her past, and only two days after what would have been the date of the horrid explosion. So far, everything was going perfectly. To think of how much I've changed for the better.

In the past week, not only had she been promoted in the laboratory, but she had seen the most amazing sight on television: A young boy had won a writing contest, and the paper had been so amazing, that he had been given the privilege to read it in front of the White House. The winner had been none other than a younger version of Clive Dove. And, the best part of the whole three weeks: Hershel had gotten the teaching job! Although he didn't start for another week, Claire planned to get him a present today.

"My," Hershel said as he walked into the kitchen. Claire smiled as he rewarded her hard work with a warm embrace and hug. "Claire, you have outdone yourself this morning. I would have been fine with just simple biscuits and tea."

"Just think of it as a way of congratulating you on your achievements, hm?"

He smiled as she handed him a steaming mug of Earl Grey, "Well, at least let me set the table."

"It's a deal, Professor Layton." She said, knowing she would be the first to call him that.

"I do like the sound of that," he said, fixing them both plates of food and setting them on the table, "I think it's quite… catchy, don't you agree?"

Claire happily walked home from work. Being the new president of the laboratory was quite tiring, but also slightly uplifting. She turned the corner, greeting a kind elderly couple as she walked by. She soon arrived at her destination: McClevenger's Fine Hats and Dress Wear.

The door's bell jingled as she walked in, signaling her arrival. Amidst the countless assortment of hats, suits, evening gowns, jewelry and dress shoes, a middle-aged man in a pair of spectacles, black trousers, and a white shirt with a pinstriped vest walked out. "Hello and good afternoon, Mrs. Claire. How may I assist you."

Claire smiled, "Hello, Oliver. I had spotted a hat in your window just the other day: a dark brown top hat with an orange ribbon just above the brim. Could I possibly take a look at it?"

Oliver McClevenger's face fell, "Oh, my. If only you had come just a few days earlier. A customer has already purchased the hat, Claire."

Claire stared at him, processing his words. "I-it's…already been bought?"

"I'm afraid so, my dear."

That's impossible! She thought frantically, it's his…well, will be his signature hat! "Are you sure you don't have another like it?"

Oliver shook his head, "I'm sorry, Claire. That was the only one. May I interest you in a different on, perhaps?"

"N-no, that's alright, Oliver, I was looking at that one specifically. Thank you for telling me though. Good day." Without another word, she turned away and left the shop. Walking home felt like a slow process. The hat was supposed to be the present. Sure, she had originally bought and given it to him on the day of the explosion, but she had decided to wait a few days. Now she cursed this decision. "Now what should I get him?" she asked herself out loud, and, with a sigh, did not bother to think of an answer.

"Claire?"

"…"

"Claire, have I… done something?"

Claire snapped out of her maybe-pushing-my-peas-around-my-plate-will-get-my-mind-off-today daze and said, "Hm?"

"You've been acting strange ever since you got back from work. Did something happen there? Did I do anything wrong?"

Blinking for a moment, she realized her non Claire-like glumness had been accidentally displaying itself throughout dinner. Forcing a smile, she said, "Oh, heh, no, Hershel. Just a bit tired from the new position at work is all." It was a half lie half truth.

"Well why don't you lie down then? I'll clear the dishes." He said, reaching over and placing his hand on top of hers. She nodded, and slowly rose from her chair. She went over to her room (they were at her house tonight), and flopped onto her bed. Just a she eased her eyelids shut, a loud doorbell made them snap open again.

Who could that be at this hour of night? She thought as she got up and went over to the door. Opening it, she was greeted by the mailman.

"Packages for Claire," he said, displaying both a pair of packages and a clipboard. "Please sign on the paper." Obliging to the request, the mailman handed her the delivery. "Have a good night, ma'am," and with that, he was off. Claire curiously looked at the labels:

Hershel Layton

Claire Foley

"Hershel, come here for a moment."

"What's this?" He asked, coming to her side. As Claire handed him the package, he just stared at it in bewilderment, "Who on earth delivers mail at 7:30 at night?" After inspecting it, he carefully tore the paper and opened the box. "Oh ,my. Claire, Take a look at this."

Claire took her eyes off her own package and gasped when she saw what Hershel held in his hand: A black top hat with a deep blue ribbon just above the brim.

"My, isn't this handsome. I wonder who could have sent it…wait, there's a note." Fishing around, he pulled a slip of paper from the box."

"What does it say?" Claire asked, her curiosity getting the best of her.

Hershel cleared his throat, and read aloud:

"Dear Hershel Layton,

Hello, you might be wondering who would send you a hat like this, and I do admit I would be surprised too. I don't think you remember me, since we haven't seen each other since our high-school graduation. This is Dimitri Allen, and I happen to work in the same laboratory as Claire."

Pausing, he made a face as if trying to remember something, then snapped his fingers. "Ah! Yes, he was my lab partner! Hm, I had wondered what happened to him." Claire couldn't say anything but stare in utter shock at the slip of paper in his hand.

He started again, "For the past few weeks, some of my colleagues and I have been working on an experiment some might call… impossible: a real working time machine. Now, you probably are slightly baffled by why I would be telling you this, and, trust me, this isn't just for show. A company has taken some interest in our project, and would like to see if our so called 'time machine' actually works. After making a few key modifications and running some small-scale test runs, we believe we are ready for the main presentation/ test run. For this, however, we need an actual living human being. Claire talks about you quite a lot at work, so I thought I might ask you if you were consider taking the job. The company is offering us quite a handsome sum of money, and of course you would get your fair share if all goes well. As for the hat…consider it a gift from an old lab partner. If you decide to take part in the experiment, please come to the laboratory on Saturday at around 4:00 p.m. for the experiment. You will, of course, have to sign a waver, but I think it is worth the glory this project will get. Hopefully you will think the same too.

Sincerely,

Dimitri Allen

Silence. Claire's head reeled. Things had plummeted from perfect to bad, and now, bad to worse.

Dimitri, you lunatic! She angrily thought, I already refused you, so what is the meaning of asking my… she thought of a more adult word, but only came up with: my boyfriend! What sort of revenge is this?

"My…" Hershel began, placing the letter on the coffee table and picking up the hat. "This is quite an impressive offer."

"Darling…y-you…aren't actually thinking of participating…are you?"

"Actually, I am. This money could be what buys us our house, Claire, isn't that our goal for now?"

"I…yes." She said, hanging her head. No matter how much she yearned to, she couldn't bring herself to deny him. She burned with anger towards this unthinkable act Dimitri had committed. Out of all the women employees at the laboratory (most of which thought him to be quite attractive and would have agreed to his offer at the drop of a pin), he had targeted her. She looked at him examining the hat…the hat that should have been her hat. "Are you going to wear it?"

Turning it around, he made a frown, "Hmm, I don't particularly care for top hats. I don't know."

"Try it on at least."

He sighed, "All right, for you." Taking off his red cap, he placed the new hat atop his head. Claire drew in a breath: he looked like the professor she had seen only a few weeks ago, just…with a different top hat.

Swallowing, she managed to croak out the line she had said about her own hat, "I-it suits you, it really does!"

He smiled, "you think?"

"The image of a true gentleman."

He smiled. "I suppose I'll be wearing it to the experiment, eh?"

Claire gave a painful nod. As much as I hate the idea of him meeting the same fate as me, I'll let everything run its course. Who knows: maybe this will change things for the better?

"Claire, have you opened your package yet?"

She looked down at the dull brown box still clutched tightly in her palms. "Oh, heh, I'd forgotten about this." She gave it a small shake, and then, turned around. After she ripped the paper and lifted the lid off the box, she felt her stomach sink.

"What is it?" Hershel asked, peering over her shoulder.

"I...i-its…" she couldn't manage to speak. What could this possibly mean? How…could he know?

In the box was the same hat she had worn while spying on Hershel and Luke as they prowled the streets of the city Clive had built, and, next to it, a single note:

Thank you for the rejection, Claire. After you denied my offer, I checked the machine and found a small and almost unnoticeable error. If I had not fixed it, the whole machine could have exploded, causing unimaginable devastation to the surrounding area.

"That bastard," she whispered, reading the last line as she clutched the paper so hard it made a small tear where each of her fingers where.

I promise, the past will not re-write itself.

The highest regards,

Dimitri Allen