HERSHEL. April 1945.

I'm just waiting for you to wake up. This was never meant to happen, I keep telling myself. No one deserves this, especially not you. I would never have imagined anything of this magnitude keeping things at bay for us. Just not long ago everything was okay, I was going to make things right finally—I was readier than ever to take your hand and kneel before you, perhaps as nervous as the schoolboy I was six years ago when we first met but strong as I am now after all this time. The greatest dream we have together will finally be within our reach.

And then things went wrong, everything seemed to crumble down within a few moments. But you're strong, Claire. With that you made me so. I just know that it will be worth it, and I will wait, and wait more, if I have to. I feel detached from the rest of the world, having stayed next to you at this hospital for the past two days. I've grown worried because you aren't showing signs of waking up anytime soon. But just let me hold your hand through this; let me be here to watch over you . . . The moment you open your eyes, I will make sure to welcome you with the warmest embrace, the sweetest smile, as you have always done for me.

Claire, my dear, it's difficult, all this waiting. Everything around us is falling to uncertainty and I can only hope for the best. Even the fate of this ring in my hand remains unclear. But know that I will not lose my faith in us, that I will find us the time that we may live in peace and beauty, no matter what. I shall present to you this ring someday, if not soon. That will not stop me from trying. One day you will not only wear this fine ring on your finger, but also lay in this love I offer to you with all that I am.

I will be right here with you. We will make it through this.

I slung her arm over my shoulder as she moved cautiously along the living room, taking care not to hurt her already sprained foot. She had grazes all over which had enough time to heal in a week, and all other minor injuries were accounted for except for her sprain. The only way she'll be able to walk for now, according to Dimitri, was with support, crutches or otherwise … in this case, me. I let her rest on her couch while I, with her permission, entered the bedroom to set her things in the wardrobe.

She sat quietly there, almost blankly. As soon as I was done I returned to living room and sat next to her, only to fall as silent as she was. We ended up staring at one another for a while, just aimlessly getting lost in our surroundings, and in each other. At this moment everything seemed okay once again, just the two of us still connected amidst fear, connected in what I could only describe as hope, and love.

A few minutes passed and she decided to change in her room. I helped her walk to the door. When I returned to the couch I reached for my satchel to get that one little token. More than a week has passed since I bought it, and since I have planned to use it, but I never got to. I struggled to decide what the right time was to give it to her, but everything still seemed like it needed time to fall into place. The quaint velvet box rested on my palm, waiting to be opened before her. It could be tomorrow, the following week—who knows? I pocketed the box and strolled to the balcony.

I gazed upon town, still peaceful as ever, mostly unaware of the explosion back at the laboratory. It just seemed right that they didn't know, for this peace was too precious to be broken by tragedies. Today was a good day, I thought, not only because of the sunlight, trees, and melodious street chatter, but because Claire was back on her feet after days of recovery. She had healed so much within the time, and I will hope she will continue to.

Today . . . It was a good day. What could possibly make it better?

Ah, perhaps. Perhaps . . . I held the little box in my hand once again. I breathed in as much of the fresh spring air as I could. I breathed with the intention of capturing the strength of the universe, hopefully, in this fickle human soul that I have. I wanted that strength, or if I had any strength to begin with, I wanted all of it to surface. It seemed to have worked, but when the moment came that I was in her presence once again, I knew it would fade bit by bit, for she had always made me weak, in every good way that there was.

It was the beginning of a long evening yet to come. We were busy setting up a small and relatively discreet portion of the university grounds, which could have been so cold and dreary if this wasn't the occasion—if the seats decorating the pavilion weren't clothed in brilliant turquoise, if the old pillars weren't laced with daisies and satin ribbons, or if the path wasn't lined with the outdoor lights all shining. But all of it was so, and it was anything but cold and dreary. Most of the school might already be taking the night off to the town to get their share of leisure. Today has not been so leisurely to me, unfortunately, but I was not looking for it, anyway. This was something of greater importance, and it has been for a long time. Tonight was the one time I would be able to make this night happen, and it will, no matter what it took.

I had heard it come out of her very lips—"Yes . . . yes, Hershel," words that made my heart leap with joy and excitement. The way she said it rang in my ears like a peaceful melody, a prayer answered and a wish come true indeed.

We were both in tears in a matter of seconds. She clung to me and embraced me so tight, and I let her tears fall onto me. I wept, in happiness and relief, in slight disbelief, and also in bewilderment. I kissed her forehead gently and placed the dainty ring on her finger. "Yes," she said once again, as she pressed her lips against mine. And we kissed, standing there and then, in a moment of magic, of timelessness. We were together, and somehow, I was sure we will always be.

I remembered seeing her earlier today, before we left for the lab for another one of her tests. She had told me before about the first one she had a week ago, which was all too distressing that she fell down during it. I made sure to keep her calm by the time I dropped her off the lab. It was understandable how she was still a bit anxious, fortunately not as bad as before. We embraced before parting, not knowing how much I would eventually miss her in the hours to come . . . until now, just waiting for her to be here.

"Hershel. You look awfully . . . un-gentlemanly." Clark Triton interrupted. He pointed to my attire and laughed. "I'm kidding, of course you don't. But you don't have to be Professor Layton all the time." I looked down to my teaching uniform, which I had forgotten to change out of even after classes had ended. "Go get something more fitting, now, will you?" He added, telling me that my new suit was waiting in my office for me.

I grinned along with him. "I will, sir. But let me keep the hat, please," I said, tipping the top hat Claire had given me as a present for my admission to the Gressenheller faculty.

Clark nodded. "Oh, you better keep that hat on, Hershel." We looked around, scanning the garden His young boy Luke, who was just done playing near the trees, trod along the grass and towards him. Clark quickly picked the little one up despite his protests.

"And you, young man, you wait right here. I'll just get something to clean you up with." My friend put a finger to his lips and whispered something to him, after which he put the boy down. Luke meekly walked to the pavilion steps and sat on one of them. He began fidgeting as he waited. Clark turned back to me and smirked. "I'll say Uncle Hershel should do the same thing."

I smiled to acknowledge him, as he walked off to those who are supposed to attend to our dinner. Luke stared at me with his eyes growing more quietly impatient. I sat next to him for a while, telling him to wait just a little longer, and to hopefully help make it less tedious, handed him the small Rubik's cube I always had in my coat in case I needed just a simple puzzle to keep me busy. I moved it a few times before giving it to him, who immediately tinkered on it with his little hands.

"I'll be back, Luke. Enjoy your little puzzle . . . I'll see you later."

"Thank you, 'fessor," he replied, smiling and waving goodbye.

"You're welcome." I smiled back at him, before heading back to the office to get my evening suit. The sun has completely set, and the lights lined along the garden glowed even brighter . . . as did the stars above, which I imagine were always guiding Claire and me to one another. I thought of her story during the time machine launch, how she deemed it was so beautiful despite being so painful, spreading her so thinly across the flow of time. It was surreal, she said. I was there in the grassy field with her, that exact moment. She described the blinding daylight, how clear and fresh everything around her was, were it not for the scattered machinery shrapnel. She said I ran to her and held her close as soon as I got to her. I had held her in my arms right before she faded back . . .

Knowing that was enough to give way to tears, difficult to hold back for it was about her. And to me it has always been that way. I thought of how even through leaps in time I was there for her. It wasn't a coincidence, was it? Claire had felt it, and brought it along with the hints of fresh dew underneath the soot in her hair. I may not have been there to truly feel it, but being so close to her for the eight days she was in her hospital bed was enough for that sensation to reach out to me.

She and I, have we always been this close? Perhaps we have been intertwined long before all of this happened. Now, we were closer than ever, and will be even closer. I will see you once again soon. I know tonight was just the beginning of another adventure for us, filled with puzzles and tricks along the way for sure like it always had been. Through this we will find our place in the heart of the universe, and soon as husband and wife, together even in the most baffling adversity.

** A/N: I'm sorry for the terribly long hiatus. I'm still continuing this 3 xoxo It's just that this story is close to my heart.