Well, shall I give you a break from the last ungodly long chapter? Okay. :] Here's a shorter one.

A quick note background note, since I don't believe I've mentioned it: the name of the college that Laura attends is called Grissom's College for Women. This indeed is a FICTIONAL school; I made it up! Don't go searching for it! In this universe, Grissom's is the female counterpart to the all-famous Gressenheller University mentioned in the video games. That is to say, Grissom's is completely affiliated with Gressenheller, but is its own entity, its own school, and is STRICTLY for young women. THESE PLACES DO EXIST. I GRADUATED FROM THE TOP US WOMEN'S COLLEGE. Well, so I was always told. Hee hee hee. What is "top" anyway?

Additionally, Grissom's is NOT located in London as Gressenheller is; rather, it is a short distance away (around a 30 minutes' drive). Let us recall that Layton is a visiting, assistant professor from the main university. I have placed him amidst a rabid, estrogen-based fan group that craves men. In a bad way. I am a cruel brat.

Anyway, just so you know, since the names will be mentioned briefly in this chapter. I didn't want confusion. I failed to mention them earlier, and I have to make up for it with a cruddy intro note. FAILURE. FAILURE. FAILURE.

...I really hate how the layout is on FF...

Merry Christmas!

-Kelsey

CHAPTER 9: CIRCUS AT MIDNIGHT

The Professor had accidentally stepped in a puddle on his way back to the Miller home and felt rather silly entering the mansion in a dampened sock and loafer. Silly and uncomfortable. Even more silly and uncomfortable being greeted by none other than the princess of the place and her court, but that was ignorable. Barely.

"And now we are complete, Layton, come join us!" The Headmaster waved him over, his face a bright red. "This is a bit of brandy from the Millers' personal stock. It's quite lovely." He poured a small glass and offered it to the Professor, who quickly turned it down.

"At this hour, Morris? Surely you must be getting home soon? If you don't mind, I'd rather have the tea everyone was talking about earlier."

"Ah yes, I've already downed three glasses of this stuff." He thrust a half spilled tea cup containing a deep red liquid. It almost matched his cheeks. "Sour, a little bitter on the finish. A bit like cranberries."

Layton tried a sip. "My, this is wonderful. Hmm, it's reminiscent of a tea I had back in my college days, but much less sweet. Hmm, actually, I know just the person who'd love this brew. What's the recipe?"

Millie grabbed a pencil and paper and began jotting down the recipe. "Oh, I'll get it for you, Professor. This is one of my favorites as well!" She sipped at a cup of her own, obviously not enjoying the taste. "Very bitter notes near the end, right?" She coughed twice, too slow to cover her mouth properly.

"Quite. You might share this with your classmate, Laura. She likes teas of this sort. However, she prefers them cold." He could tell Millie's expression changed at the mention of Laura's name, and he inwardly felt some sort of gratification from causing it.

'Oh dear, that's not very kind of me…'

The Headmaster pulled Layton aside by the arm of his jacket. "Speaking of Laura, I have some news about her for you." He made sure there were no followers from the 'Layton Legion' and continued with a large grin. "That girl is a right genius, if you haven't figured it out. Here, right in our school!"

The Professor made a waving motion, signaling him to keep his voice much quieter. The drink was beginning to alter the Headmaster's sense of hearing. "If you are able, you might want to be a tad bit quieter, Headmaster. Anyway, she seems to have several secrets I only just became aware of this afternoon. I admit, I don't know much about her."

"Well, she's terrifically advanced in mathematics, and excels in engineering. Quite the logical mind as well, able to function like a machine, that one. You might watch your back, Layton. You might find yourself usurped." he chuckled.

"She enjoys such subjects much more than my course, surely." He sipped his tea, smiling over the rim.

The Headmaster cleared his throat, checking for listeners-on. "Well, it seems she'll be taking engineering courses at the main University in London. Also seems that someone high up found out about it, and is granting her that scholarship I was telling you about weeks ago, the one typically dedicated to a Gressenheller student."

The Professor coughed. "The QwiqLogiq one? I thought that was reserved to someone who discovered some sort of an advance in engineering, and wouldn't she have had to have competed in the logic competition held last year as well? There were so many criteria and stipulations, she's merely a freshman! And, it provides a free ride, that scholarship. Aren't there others who are qualified?"

"Turns out, she did compete, as a high school student. She wasn't given any recognition then because she wasn't of age; indeed, she was too young. But the judges knew she won, beat the college students at their own game, so to speak. And as far as the advance goes, you know those new shovels the boys at the excavation site in Dublin use?"

"You don't say…"

"She helped work on the hydraulics system. Quite spry, that one. Why she's continuing on at Grissom's is beyond me, I'm sure she'd have companies wanting her brains, they should be lined up left and right, at this rate!"

Layton shook his head. "She's not of the personality to take advantage of her skills, or let others do it either."

"Well I know, she's humble. She's a good girl, she has good parents. I know her parents." He shook his head. "But she dampers herself too much. She's suffering inside, somehow."

The Professor looked at the Headmaster with interest. "Suffering, Headmaster? That's quite an extreme term."

"Well, if you haven't noticed, she's a bit…off. One might say strange. I think some of that academic brain has taken up most of the social portion. Not that it matters. She'll find her niche in the world soon enough. What am I babbling on about?"

"I think your drink has caught up with you, Headmaster," Layton laughed. "So, as the recipient, she'll need to attend the award ceremony next month. Are you attending?"

"Ah yes, keen you are! But that is where you come in." He downed the rest of his glass in one gulp, laughing at the end of his poison. He eyed the inside of the empty cup, squarely staring down the dregs latching to the sides. "Shame!"

"Meaning? You aren't attending?"

"Well, turns out you're our most esteemed staff member! Looks as though your colleagues really see you as something quite more than an assistant professor, and as a real asset to Grissom's, as well as Gressenheller. You'll be receiving a hefty award as well. Not as much money involved for you as it is with Laura, but…" He laughed loudly, his tall frame quivering with delight. "Was I supposed to tell you about that yet? I'm not so sure…" Layton smiled.

"You're too kind, but do I really deserve such an award?"

"You do! After all, you'll be up for full-time professor soon anyway. Gressenheller would love to take you on as head of the archaeology department, you know that. You're too modest!"

"Sure but…"

"No buts! You keep this all in that big brain of yours, Hershel, and I'll get back to you about it on Monday, when I have a clearer head….I say, maybe I should call my wife to collect me. It's all a bit fuzzy. I say, what is my phone number?"

The Professor ended the evening with making sure the Headmaster made it to his wife's car, amid several thank you's and apologies from Mrs. Ginlade ("What a rascal he is! Idiotic husband of mine! Thank you so much, Hershel, dear."). He wished the Miller family goodbye, to the disappointment of Millie and her friends, but much to the relief of himself. He was left to his thoughts again. A dangerous place, for it had many pathways, and no exit most of the time.

He found his car parked near the Miller's curb. Wiping the dew off of the side windows, he got inside and turned the key, starting up the familiar sputtering and hissing of the engine that accompanied the whir and whine of the muffler.

"Homeward, Laytonmobile."

He drove down the dark street, the streetlights leaving temporary jagged patterns across the dashboard as he drove by each one. The Headmaster's words stuck like glue to the inside of his ears.

'She's suffering inside, somehow.'

"I really don't know…if that was the brandy or not," he whispered, stopping at a red traffic light. "Why would he use the word 'suffering'? Surely…

'…he can't be referring to her relationship with those girls. It's hardly anything worth calling real suffering, although it's troublesome, and quiet shameful.'

All he could think of was the look in his student's eyes when she was alone, quiet, and then how she'd change while speaking. It was almost instantaneous, and he was certain she didn't notice it. It was the same when he briefly caught her playing piano, as if it was the only way she knew how to communicate, pounding on black and white keys in a gray world. And then that expression, almost like fear, a deer in the headlights.

'No, I don't play.'

"What a stupid comment, really," he grumbled, tapping on the steering wheel. "Obviously, there was sound coming out, she was playing the notes. That's playing!"

He arrived at his house, only a neighborhood away from the Miller's. It was a large, old home, owned by Grissom's College, and allowed for his use to live in while visiting from Gressenheller. It made matters more smooth, given Gressenheller was 30 minutes away, deep in the heart of London. He parked his car and walked up the walk past a large front pond and a quiet weeping willow. Its branches hung sadly, trying to brush the pond's dark glassy surface.

The front porch groaned in protest against his footfalls, as did the door against his turn on the handle, but both allowed him entrance. It really was an old house. The upper half of the walls in the front room were covered in an emerald green, fabric wallpaper, a dark stain on the wooden wainscoting of the bottom portion. The most of the walls were lined with bookshelves, and two older looking arm chairs with padding sat in the middle on top of an antique rug. The rest of the house was as creaky as the porch and front door. Layton thought it was really charming, and quite a steal to live in for free.

He sighed, tossing his coat and hat into an arm chair. He felt bothered, yet there was a giddiness to it. He wasn't sure if it was the honest joy at having such a bright student in his care, or rather his own award for his efforts, since the former was somehow making him frustrated without even being there.

'Why is there such an animosity between her and seemingly everyone else?' He didn't know why he cared, really. Was it his fostering instinct, the one that helped him strive to help all those willing to learn from him? One of his flock was being snubbed, tossed from the nest, and he didn't like it. It was actually the first time he really had to deal with something so tricky. Maybe it was just women, he thought. Perhaps they weren't so simple to figure out after all, as he'd been warned.

Or maybe it was because it was a puzzle. The whole thing. A giant, messy puzzle that was deeper than he thought. Was he being too objective about the whole thing? Maybe Laura had a point on disliking 'subjective' matters…

He changed into pajamas and washed up for bed, continuing to think up until around 12 o'clock.

"Sunday already," he grunted, trying to find some peace in closing his eyes, face against his cool pillow. "It'll all start back up tomorrow. I really wonder what she thinks about, coming to school and having such a reputation." Surely it was the huge mental gap between her and her classmates that was causing the rift, but it still didn't warrant the behavior she put up with. He started feeling pity, the more he thought about it.

'Quite reminds me of myself… Maybe that's why I like the spark that lights up when she realizes she can talk about things other than inanities like make-up, money, and other such poppycock. Are girls really so petty? No wonder she's so lonely. I quite…understand.

It's unfortunate, but it's a puzzle that needs solving.'

He laughed to himself, turning over in his bed, and pulled the blankets closer to his chin, mentally repressing a few emotional anomalies that he wouldn't even allow for discussion in his own mind.