Haha, don't worry. It's not as sad as the last chapter….

Eating only the green M&M's,

Kelsey

CHAPTER 21: GIFT RECEIPT

Present Day

Outdoor Patio at Dilliam's Ice Cream Parlor, downtown London

"Ten years." Laura stirred her tea in its cup, metal spoon tinkling against the sides of the porcelain multiple times. Her eyes burnt into the tired man in front of her. "Ten years, Professor."

"Laurie…" Professor Layton growled. "Please call me by my first name."

"You want me to be close by calling you by your first name, yet you don't feel close enough to keep me by your side. And for ten years…Hershel." She chided him with her eyes. "That's a long time to think. A whole decade!"

He emptied his cup and sat back in his seat. Cars and trucks rolled past the small patio, leaving fumes behind. Sighing, he looked at the curb as the waitress came by with more tea. "It is."

"Hm?"

"It's a long time to think, indeed. A long time to recollect, reposition, reform opinions…"

She placed her cup on the dish. "I must be honest, I never did much care for tea."

"How did you move on?" He asked the question, but didn't want to hear the answer. It was painful enough having to face the girl in front of him once more, the girl he thought he would never see again.

"Move on? Whatever do you mean? Oh, you mean get over you? Well, I met more men. Ones who swore to never leave me. Ones who promised quite a bit of dowry, to be frank." She smiled mischievously at Layton's face, drained of color and complemented with dour eyes.

"I see."

"Ha ha ha! You're quite the gullible man, aren't you, Hershel? Aren't you supposed to be clever?"

"You've become quite sarcastic, Laurie…"

"I've always been sarcastic. I just rarely showed it."

"Not towards me. You've sharpened your blades, it seems, over these past ten years."

"Oh, sure I did. What else does one do after…well, what else can one do for ten long years, but cling to shreds of sanity, and feed tirelessly on the stupidity of others? But I've gotten bored," came the low mumbling of a voice from one once willing to spar, willing to engage in a battle of wits. The joy was dead. Anything clever, or at least mimicking wit, was only meant to cause pain, meant to draw mental blood. The Professor could taste it, her bitterness. Her eyes were devoid of any mirth, any energy, instead replaced with a vengeful spirit.

Layton sighed. "Bored?"

"Oh yes. Well, continuing on, my parents forced me to be courted after my first year of college. I never let them on about us, Hershel, so don't worry. For a while I could get out of any romantic ventures, but eventually I had to give in. Unless I wanted my education to end. So I saw a Michael, two Johns, a Quincy, a Seamus, and a Leonard—all in one summer!—before making my parents feel like they would never get a sum out of me. They wanted me to find some rich man, you see. But…I made myself undesirable, as they described it. What they didn't know was that I had been saving up to pay them off, equivalent to whatever those pretty boys were going to pacify them with." Folding her arms and leaning them on the table, she smiled, genuinely. "Impressed?"

"I'm sure those fine men weren't horrible."

"They weren't my type. Expected me to be an idiot, which they soon found out I wasn't. I have no qualms about staying home, cooking, cleaning, whatever it is that women typically do. But I don't want my husband thinking I'm so dull that I can't figure out he's shooting the breeze and more with Mary down the street after his work is over. So. 'Fine' is hardly the way to describe them."

The Professor let out a low chuckle. "I suppose I should trust your judgment better than any."

"That you should. I take it you kept your nose out of…how did you call it all those years ago, the educational 'scene'?"

"Indeed. I assumed you did quite the same! I never heard any more about your engineering pursuits—"

"You're a liar."

He looked at her quizzically, taken aback. "I beg your pardon?"

"Do I look stupid? You immediately became a full blown professor at Gressenheller. It was in all the papers. World famous Layton, Gressenheller's youngest professor ever. You moved back to London. You got your career. You got to continue life as you knew it."

"Well, that—"

"That…is the truth. Hee hee. Thought you'd slip one over on me, did you?" she laughed.

Layton adjusted his hat. "I never went back to Grissom's though. I…couldn't."

"Fair enough. But congratulations. I'm sure it's much better than assistant professor at some stuffy girl's college, going back and forth between University and whatnot."

"In some ways, yes. Others, well, no," he muttered, unwilling to go into his own personal history for the past ten years. He felt as if none of it mattered at the moment. Time was somehow at a standstill, as if he wanted to believe that the girl in front of him never left, as if times were pleasant once again. However, her sullen face told him otherwise, no matter how much he wanted to straighten things out. "But, as for yourself? Continue."

"Oh what a bother, why do you care? I kept my distance! Purposefully! I never wanted to see your face again. I still don't. I wanted to make myself believe you were a dream that I had woken up from a long time ago, and the dregs of sleep were merely still trying to cling to my subconscious. Needless to say, I rarely visited London."

Layton looked into his tea cup, deciding that its contents had gotten too cold to enjoy. "Look, you weren't…the only one suffering, although perhaps my sufferings weren't anywhere near the level of yours."

"Maybe, maybe not. Not that I care." She stopped suddenly, glancing at a clock on the side of a building. The Professor knit his eyebrows, curiosity piqued. "If I may make a request…"

He looked at her, interested further. "Anything."

"We should leave now. Take this somewhere else. Do you have a flat?"

"Well, yes, but, what is—" Laura put a finger to her lips, cutting him short.

"Short explanation: I'm being heavily monitored. This was originally supposed to be recorded."

"What?"

"But I disabled that little feature. Idiots didn't know I've taught myself a thing or two about electronics." She smiled as she pointed to a little device that appeared at first glance to be a watch.

Layton gripped the arms of his chair, indignant. "Now see here, what is the meaning of this? Monitored? A recording?"

"Relax, or this will be for naught." She grabbed the large envelope that had been sitting on the table in front of her, and placed a payment on the table. "This is actually my establishment, but I still pay."

"Your establishment? You own this shop?"

"Down to the last bite of ice cream." She smiled. "Do you enjoy it as much as that place on the beach?"

"I didn't actually eat any ice cream but—"

"Now then, show me to your flat, and don't bring this up again until we're safe from prying eyes," she interrupted, obviously not interested in his answers. "Oh, and lose the hat for the walk."

He furrowed his brow. "I can't do that," he said sulkily.

"Oh? It's not like it's the original one, the one I got you," she said sarcastically. "Did you get too upset about that, and buy another? The coloring is different."

"That's a story for later. Quickly, is it really necessary?"

"It is. If you value your life, you'll do it. Losing faith in my judgment so soon, are we?"

Disgruntled, he removed his hat, growling under his breath. "If it's really required…"

"Although, with that choice of jacket, perhaps you won't be mistaken for the famous Hershel Layton anyway. You look like an old woman. And with that grimace, a cantankerous one at that. A shadow of the cheerful genius professor, solving puzzles wherever he goes!"

He glanced down his front, shocked. "It's….Rosa's gardening jacket…"

"Oh, so she's still cleaning up your slop? Wow, I'll be sure to harass you some more later. For now, less talk, more walk." She popped open an umbrella and handed it to him. "Walk home as you normally would. I'll follow behind closely."

"What in the world…?" The Professor hid himself under the umbrella as much as possible, scowling as he made the trek back home. "It's not even raining!"

"It will be," she hissed, a couple of metres behind. "Can't you predict even imminent weather? Now shut it and get a move on, old man—or should I say old woman!—if you know what's good for you."

Sure enough, small droplets of water started to scatter across the sidewalk, pelting the umbrella loudly. He rolled his eyes, uncharacteristically perturbed.

'This had better have a decent explanation! Especially the bit about being an 'old man'!'

END.

Well, he is kinda old now. 37-38 ish. Lolz. OLD.