And...hello again! I apologize for my absence! But between full-time work and helping with my huge family, many of whom have annoying high-maintenance diseases...I have no time. Adding to the stress, I've been having trouble with my intestines for the past 2 months and my energy has been zapped, which for me is a HUGE set-back, because I typically have a ton of energy. I'm a powerhouse, so to put me down...this is major. Going to the gastroenterologist now, and hopefully will find something out soon. I haven't ate normal in weeks, and when I force myself to eat, it's not without consequences...both painful and embarrassing, at times. Needless to say, I haven't done a lot for myself lately, including writing. :[

This chapter isn't particularly chock full of new developments, but there is ONE little tidbit...and a change of emotion. I hope I conveyed that. We're going to have a bit of a break away from everyday London, but there will still be little hints to the mystery...if it's a mystery. I dunno, I'm feeling my writing and story have tanked. HAHA.

Anyway, without further ado...

Actually spending money on myself (3DS),
Kelsey

CHAPTER 31: AN UNSETTLING DISCOVERY

"I won't hear another word about it, you two."

Luke gave the Professor a daring glare, Flora delivering a similar expression, but with more grace. The news that they wouldn't be accompanying the Professor and Laura to the United States was not taken well. One might think it wasn't taken at all, the way the children looked.

"But I thought we were a team, Professor!" Luke whined. It was more a bit of guilt-inducing persuasion rather than a disappointed rebuttal. The boy wasn't going to let his mentor off easily, and surely not without feeling bad about it. "It's not a team when you get to go, and leave us here alone!"

"You won't be alone," the Professor struggled to say as the children pummeled him with more persuasive rhetoric. "Rosa will be here with you…"

"But what if Rosa falls asleep?"

"Yes, she falls asleep during the day!" Flora shot out triumphantly. That would be the point that'd make the Professor break, she thought. "What if we aren't being watched?"

"We might do something terrible." The boy crossed his arms, resolute to get his way, determined to go. "We have to come."

Sighing, the Professor lugged his suitcase to the front door. He gave them a dry look, unable to be persuaded. He understood their feelings, but couldn't help them. The situation didn't allow for it.

"No. And I know you'll do just fine with Rosa. Don't try to make me think for a moment that you'll cause her trouble. I know you better. Both of you."

Flora found it hopeless, and sorrowfully made her way to the bathroom to wash up for the evening as the Professor turned back towards his luggage and went over his checklist. Luke didn't move, and instead stared at him, his angry eyes boring holes into the Professor's brown jacket. It might have worked if he tried hard enough.

Then, his expression softened, understanding somehow sweeping over him.

"Professor, I understand why we can't go."

Layton turned around, a surprised grin stretched across his face. "Do you?"

"It's not safe, venturing out into the world like that. I understand. It's safer here, in London. Especially for Flora. I'm glad you were thinking of Flora and me. I…well, I wasn't. I was thinking of what I wanted to do, not of what is best. I'm…I'm sorry, Professor. I failed." His voice trailed off into a strained whimper. "I try to be a gentleman, but it's just too hard. There're things I want to do, I want to go and help too!" He tried to hide his tears as he stared at the carpet. He sensed the Professor kneel down in front of him on one knee, but he refused to look at him, even when the man's hand rested heavily on his small shoulder.

"Luke, no. You're just being a normal, young boy. It's only natural to want to go on new adventures. It means you're curious, and I'm actually very sorry that I can't take you. It's not that I don't want to take you. It's that I, well, I just can't." He put a hand on one of the boy's shoulders. "Luke, my boy. Some day, I'll take you to America and let you see it for fun, all in fun. This isn't going to be a trip for sights and thrills. It's for necessity, for work. And it could very well be dangerous—as a matter of fact, I know it is."

"How do you know?" the boy asked, an air of surprise lacing his voice.

"I've come across some new developments, and I just don't know what to expect. But this trip isn't for fun; it's all for—"

"—for the investigation," Luke finished, sighing miserably.

"…yes. It's not very exciting, you aren't missing out."

"But I like helping!"

"And you will. From London." He handed Luke a small treat from his pocket. It was one of Carbite's snacks, a piece of dried fruit. "I want you to do a bit of light espionage that I know suits you perfectly. Laura said you can take care of her feathered friends over at Petrolite. She says Carbite's taken a real liking to you." He looked over at the couch where the toucan had buried itself between throw pillows and underneath Luke's hat. Its large, colored beak poked out from under the cap like a psychedelic crescent-moon from behind a cloud.

The boy smiled, affection welling up inside of him. "I do love animals…"

"Laura'll give you a key to the court yard with the cages, you can enter from the back store room. No one will know you are there. You can take the bus a few times a week, it's not too far from here, and it's safe enough, but if you take Flora you must keep an eye out for each other. Additionally, you'll be keeping tabs on our friend Leopold from there."

"But…how?"

At that moment, Laura walked through the living room in a robe and a white towel over her head, her hair still damp from a shower. Her smirk declared she'd been listening, and had something to add to the conversation. "I've installed a little camera center in there for you!" she said gleefully. "You'll have live feed from all cameras in the company building. It originally had feed from cameras set up around the birds' cages. Rare birds are a target for thieves, you know. But, since the care of the birds has declined, so has care of security footage. It wasn't hard to switch live streaming of the cages to footage of the building interior instead, since the equipment was already set up. You just see what Leopold is doing, and we can talk about it daily when we call from the States. How about that?"

Luke smiled radiantly, his cheeks turning red with excitement. "It's the best job there is! I'll take good care of your birds, Laura! And the spying, well, I can do it, no problem! After all, I'm the best assistant there is! Number one!"

Laughing softly, Laura gave the boy the thumbs-up. "Right you are, right you are. Just don't overfeed the little fatties. Carbite's gained a bit of weight…" She walked into the master bedroom, closing the door behind her.

The Professor chuckled and turned back to his luggage, making sure he had everything before waking up early the next morning. That was all he needed: to forget something important, half a world away, he thought to himself sarcastically.

He had forgotten about the boy still behind him, now staring at the floor, then hesitantly back up at the Professor.

"Professor?" Luke asked stiffly. He ground the heel of his sock into the carpet, then switched to his toes.

"What is it, my boy?"

A pause. Layton almost turned around to see why the boy had stopped when he spoke again.

"You like Laura, don't you?"

Layton froze, the list in his hand becoming rigid, unmoving. "W…What do you mean, Luke?" He immediately felt that he had misinterpreted the question, and was being a bit overdramatic. It was an innocent question, simply asked…wasn't it?

"I mean…you like her, right?"

"She's an old student and an old friend. She treats you well, she's a hard worker. Yes, she has very likeable qualities. I assume that you and Flora feel the same." He turned to the boy and gave a rigid grimace that matched his grip on his packing list, attempting to hide his tension. He had to phrase his words carefully, and thanked a higher power that the words came easily. The vagueness of the question…it annoyed him more than trying to drum up an answer.

"Well, yes. I love Laura," Luke said without thought. His answer was innocent and pure. She was like a sister to him, a supportive helper, a loyal friend, a surrogate mother for the time being. "But...it's not the same for you, is it? It's a bit different, like…well, you know...it's like…well…"

Professor Layton fell silent, a bit aghast at the boy's audacity. But it wasn't the child's fault. He wanted an answer, but the man couldn't provide one. Layton didn't know what to say, he didn't know what to feel. "Hmm. I suppose I'm not sure what you mean, Luke. I—"

"You don't have to say any more, Professor," Luke chimed in, smiling with a new enthusiasm. "You'll figure it out sometime. Maybe I'm wrong. But it just seems like…well, you work well with Laura. You have good conversations, you build off each other's ideas. I've thought this for a while, but she's like…your missing puzzle piece! Ha ha!" The boy smiled so wide, his cheeks flooded into his eyes, squinching them shut. He bounded off without another word, and moments later could be heard talking silently to Flora in the hallway.

The Professor breathed in sharply, staring into the space where Luke had just stood. His throat was dry, its sides cleaving together. His mind felt numb, lost in a daze. His focus lost, he saw nothing but swirling maroon carpet, cream walls, and the dim lights, mixing into one point as he gaped, unable to move. Had Luke just spoken to him? Had he just been lectured by an adolescent, told something that even he couldn't figure out on his own? Did the boy's innocence, unadulterated pure innocence, help him to see things—simple things—that the Professor's educated mind couldn't? Was it really so complex because of the paradoxical fact that it was so…so simple, the answer staring at him in the face? His skeptical mind was unwilling to take in an easy truth. Something as easy and natural as admitting a feeling.

He suddenly felt very stupid and ashamed, two things that didn't come without damage of his ego.

Laura walked back into the living room, clothed in a pair of thin mint green pajama pants and matching long-sleeved shirt. It appeared two sizes too large. She glanced at Layton curiously as he was standing and looking at nothing but thin air.

"Hershel?"

He shuddered awake from his reverie, back to sense. "Yes?" he said airily, as if from far away. His eyes looked sad and lost.

"Are you…okay? You look like you saw a ghost."

"Oh, no, I just…"

"Are you finished packing? You should get some sleep. You look strange."

"Oh. Yes. I should—"

"But then again, you always look strange…"

"I—what?!" Her giggling was still as off-putting as always, and he responded with a cough and a series of blinks. He sat the paper list on top of his suitcase and rubbed his forehead; his thumb throbbed. He didn't realize he'd been handling the paper with a death grip. His brow was tense, his mind was fumbling for clarity. He didn't have time for this. It had to wait, this…whatever this feeling was. As he always told himself…

'Priorities…priorities…'

"Huh, if you're well," she interrupted gruffly, "I'll just let you be. Don't be acting like a mental patient. Good night."

"Laura, wait!" Then, he shook his head violently, remembering something. "No, there was something I've been meaning to talk to you about."

"Hmm?" She glanced at him awkwardly, her stomach sinking. "If it's not about the investigation, then I—"

"I have something to show you." He insisted that she listen closely instead of looking at him like some sort of freakish zoo spectacle. "Dean Delmona brought this to my attention, though I'd heard a rumor earlier in the week." He grabbed a newspaper from his mess of a pile and waved her over to join him. She walked over cautiously as he flipped through the pages. "Ah, here it is."

His finger stabbed into a short article, sized more like a blurb. It was within the depths of the newspaper, hidden between larger, more prominent articles. Laura looked over his arm at the little black words, the title above the little square attempting to shout louder than its neighbors (to not much avail; if the reader didn't have a good eye, they would have skimmed over the article completely). It read: 'Famous Archeologist, Found Dead in Home'.

Laura knit her eyebrows together, confused.

"Found dead?"

Layton nodded. "Indeed. It reads, 'Earl Chrispin, a renowned archaeologist who helped discover and unearth an ancient port city off of the Irish coast in 2001—buried under layers of rock and debris from centuries past—had been found dead in his home in Dublin. He was 67. An investigation is being conducted. Toxicology reports will take several weeks until results are acquired. The authorities suspect no foul play at this time.'"'

The Professor sighed, and turned towards Laura, who had remained quietly contemplative. "Earl was an acquaintance of mine. I didn't know him exceedingly well, but well enough to know that this is surprising and strange. He wasn't ill, and was in seemingly good physical and mental health."

"Well, sometimes things come up on a person, and at 67…well, he's not necessarily in his prime, Hershel."

"I suppose not… But the fact remains that it's surprising. And look at this." He skimmed through further pages, turning the paper towards her. A picture in the obituaries stood out, ominous although silent in its black and white world.

Laura gasped.

"It's…that's Arthur Thackman! We just spoke with him…not that long ago! Mere months ago." She pulled the page closer, the thin material crinkling in her quivering grip. "No details. 'Died at home.' I'm sorry, but that always sounds suspicious. Yes, just like the other man, the archaeologist…found dead at home."

"It's the go-to answer when something awry has gone on," the Professor noted. "Suicide, criminal activity. Or, perhaps the family just didn't want to give out information in case there were prying eyes."

"Maybe, but this is Arthur Thackman. Surely, we should have heard of something other than…this sorry excuse for an obituary…" She scoffed. "He was a well-known archaeologist back in his day, and not too bad with engineering. He just…took another path. No mention of anything archaeology, nothing. Just some simple sentences about his ex-wife and only son. Not even a funeral service? He was well-to-do, do you really think this small obituary is even justified?"

"Indeed, it is strange." He paused, looking at Laura's concerned expression. "What do you make of it?"

The girl paused, wondering if she should say anything. "Are they connected. Both of the deaths. That's my question. It's a stretch, but…that's all I want to know. Perhaps it's coincidence. I don't know, but…I have this feeling…"

"I must say, I agree. Seems your intuition is still spry." The girl couldn't help but smile at the praise, but Layton didn't seem to notice. His hand was to his chin, and he was thinking. "Stranger still, I was reading through news articles on the internet. Random news that makes it to the international scene," he continued.

Laura snorted. "You read things online?"

Cheeks flushed, he stammered for a bit, trying to find words. "I may be old-fashioned, but I'm not a complete stick in the mud," he said, puffing himself up indignantly. "I use it on occasion. Anyway, I found an article about some prominent families missing their caretakers. Read closer." He handed her a print out from his pocket, a folded up news article from a web source. She read it over quickly, her expression changing from bored to intrigued in a matter of seconds. She stared at the paper, gaping.

"Italian maids? Missing for over a month? It describes them as elderly. If I'd read this any other time, I'd not think another thing of it, but given the circumstances… You don't think—no, it's too coincidental, isn't it? But it's all at once, it makes one wonder—"

"I find it very odd that one of our recent correspondents is dead, and now, perhaps, are others—the maids, I'm referring to. Dean Delmona tells me that there are a couple of other archaeologists who recently have either gone missing, or have passed away; it's not only Earl. A couple of others died years ago, but a couple of older gentlemen passing away isn't anything to question, as morbid as that may sound. However, with this recent news… I don't find this to be coincidence."

Laura's eyes widened as she stared into the carpet, an epiphany lighting up her face. Then the color drained instantly, as if the revelation was as dreadful as it was enlightening. "It almost seems as if someone wanted these people gone."

"That sentiment darkens my thoughts as well. As for the maids missing, I wouldn't find it out of the realm of possibility that they are affiliated with, or are, the maids that Luke, Flora, and I had spoken with while in Italy. I would almost put money on it. It's rather odd, but until we have facts, I can't say for certain. It's only a hunch."

Laura stood silent for a moment, watching the Professor take his chin in his hand. How was he so complacent? She crossed her arms and rubbed her biceps slowly at first, then more furiously, as if she'd caught a chill. She shuddered and appeared frightened, something Layton found unusual. He looked over at her and gave a puzzled look.

"Should we inform Scotland Yard? This may be bigger than we think," she whispered, looking up at him with frantic eyes. "Everyone we've spoken with recently…they're dead. That's a lot more than a coincidence or a hunch. Perhaps I shouldn't have gotten so ingrained in this, I shouldn't have gotten you involved after all. Now there's death. And people missing."

"Laura, what's happened could have happened regardless of our involvement. There's no sense in—"

"No, I think it's because we contacted them," she mumbled, barely above a whisper. Her voice was faint, afraid. It threatened to break off like a dead branch in a storm as she continued. "I think we…brought it upon them. It's because we started meddling. I feel it. I know it. I can't prove it, but I just know."

"You never contacted Earl, Laura. He was found dead, and you never knew his name. Don't start blaming yourself." He wanted to comfort her by saying her intuition wasn't as sharp as his, but he knew this was both arrogant and false. He'd stick to the facts instead, he decided. "He never knew you."

"But he knew you. You knew him. And he's an archaeologist. Why archaeologists? Why are they all dying?"

"It means nothing at the moment. To assume is—"

"Assumption or not, my intuition is giving me a bad feeling about it!" she shouted, the branch holding on for another day. The color returned to her face as her anger rose. "Regardless, Hershel, what if it's us next? What if it's Leopold, and he's planning my death as we speak?"

"Laura, we can't connect anything to Leopold at the moment, it's too soon—"

"Hershel. Here's the time line. I start suspecting Leopold, of something, and then we start investigating. And then those we contact all just die? Don't you tell me 'too soon'. It's too soon for you to be going senile, that's what's 'too soon'!"

The Professor looked at her, somewhat incredulously, somewhat sympathetically, and even somewhat believing in her words (with the exception of the ones claiming him senile…). Her attitude was no longer smug or confident; she didn't make snarky sarcastic comments, she wasn't angry for anger's sake. She was worried, paranoid. But Layton knew she could be right, and yet he wasn't about to let her know that. "Laura, are you frightened?" he asked calmly.

"I…" She paused, looking down the feeble, folded spine of the newspaper slowly, thinking things over. She had no actual proof about anything, any of the theories running through her mind. Her fear was irrational, unfounded, but she felt it still, ethereal yet tangible. "I don't know."

"You have no reason to be. It is what it is. As strange as it seems, it could still just be…well, coincidence. I'm not convinced it is, but don't fear something that isn't there, Laura."

"You're right…I'm sorry." She turned away from him, feeling something similar to embarrassment mixed with stupidity. Extreme stupidity. "I don't usually respond to things that aren't fact, but…"

"It brings grief to reap worry from sown assumptions," he advised softly, smiling thoughtfully at her. "There's nothing proven." She looked at him briefly, nodding. "We need proof now, not irrational feelings."

"I think I'll go to bed now," she muttered slowly, her eyes closing as she began to walk away. Her back was now to the Professor, and it made her feel all the more calm. She didn't want to talk anymore, wanting only the respite of a cool bed and blank sleep. "I'm…spent."

"Laura."

Laura turned instinctively, after all her name was called, why wouldn't she? And she was met with a tight embrace, the Professor's arms wrapped tightly around her. She felt her face turn hot, half with embarrassment, half with surprise, and perhaps (she felt that she could have three halves, her feelings were so strong) half with wrath. Her eyes barely saw over his shoulder, her nose smashed into his arm. She couldn't help but breathe in his scent deeply, making her senses freeze. The white, cotton shirt reeked of that devil's mixture she'd come to hate to love: tea and some sort of fragrant wood. Perhaps pine, perhaps cedar. Regardless, it was peevish.

She was unsure what to say, how to respond. She hadn't been touched like that in a long time, squeezed so tightly. It was almost as if something eroded away inside, some sort of lock on her emotions. She quietly enjoyed it, finding it useless to oppose. Any arguments now would carry into their trip, and she couldn't afford that. So she justified her enjoyment with logic: accept it silently, evade an argument.

It only lasted a whole two seconds before Professor Layton spoke, and Laura reinforced her emotional battlements, mentally planting land mines.

"What the hell is this for?"

"I'm not much good for you, I know you feel that way. But I don't want you to feel scared and helpless. I won't let you feel that way again, I don't care what it takes."

"Again? I—"

"Whatever you need, I'll help see to it that you get it." He spoke so closely to her left ear that she shuddered, each sound wave cascading directly into her eardrum, reverberating continuously in her brain.

'Again? Again? "I won't let you feel that way again?". Again. Again….AGAIN.

'It happened once, it'll happen again, no matter what he says now.

'Once a liar, always a liar. Farce. Farce. Farce. Fake, lies. LIES. LIES.'

"Hershel, I—"

"The children adore you. I enjoy having your company around again. It takes nothing out of me to help you. I'm in your debt. It barely puts a dent in what I owe you, I—"

"And I think you need some sleep, Hershel." She forced her hands between the both of them and used them like a wedge to drive them apart. The Professor relinquished his grip and was now looking down at her, flustered. He now realized how small she really was as he saw straight over her head, her hair still damp from the shower. Her face was hard, her resolve harder.

"I…no, I'm serious though, Laura—"

"And…so am I. Get some sleep. Please. You're…just spouting off…I think you're tired." She hurried to the kitchen, never looking up at him, and began pouring herself a glass of water.

Just spouting off. The Professor turned off the living room lights, shadowing his shame in the darkness. Just spouting off. He felt like a dunce all of a sudden, even though the rush of feelings a moment ago felt so…warranted. He was so sure of himself, why did he now feel so humiliated?

Just spouting off.

He made a promise never to do that again.

In the darkness, he tucked himself into his makeshift bed on the couch, gently positioning himself around the slumbering Carbite, as he listened for Laura, still out in the kitchen. He'd much rather be in his own bed, with or without his female guest, he didn't care. But he would never admit it openly.

Her small feet padded across the tile flooring, socks catching on the living room carpet as she approached where he was. Layton pretended to be sleeping.

Laura stood there, quiet, her frame casting a small shadow across the floor as the kitchen light poured from the adjacent room. Then she collected the bird and sheltered him in her arms. The toucan barely fluffed at her touch, croaking pleasantly to himself as he returned to dreams. His caretaker sighed forlornly.

Finally, Laura resigned to her room, and quietly closed the door.

It was the last sound the Professor heard that night, and the first he heard in the morning. His eyes felt heavy, his vision blurred as he strained to see the clock, hoping Laura had woke up a bit too early and that he could go back to bed.

He knew better, as she grumpily sauntered to the couch, nudging him with her knuckles.

"Let's go."

The car was soon loaded with luggage and the two travelers, bundled up tight and sleepily squinting, despite the darkness of early morning. They waited for several minutes before the little Laytonmobile warmed up to their comfort. The two of them breathed into their gloved hands, rubbing them together frantically as snowflakes fell to their premature deaths outside, settling onto the heated car windows and instantly melting. Laura watched them all before her eyes, existing one second, and the next…disappeared. The Professor merely looked back and forth from his hands to the key in the ignition, a taciturn, stony frown engraved into his face. He'd nicked the nail of his index finger against his jacket zipper, a sensation made ten-thousand times worse by the cold—even despite the numbness in his chilled hands. Not a good way to start the morning.

"Do you think they'll be safe on their own until Rosa comes?" Laura asked, the only words she'd say for the rest of the drive. Layton just nodded, and finished his concurring by putting the vehicle in reverse. The girl rose her eyebrows and turned away. He'd know better than to get cheeky with her, she grumbled silently to herself.

The ride to the airport was silent and heavy. The baggage jostled and bumped around in the backseat as Laura looked out of her passenger window, her eyes fixed on the rush of scenery outside. The hum of the vehicle slurred with the sound of frozen snow nicking the glass as the Professor kept his hands steady on the wheel, occasionally glancing over at his travel partner. Her body made no movement, but her feelings buzzed all around one thought like spastic moths all fluttering about the same lamp post.

Layton pulled the car up to the curb once they had arrived at the airport. The sun hadn't made any sign of waking anytime soon, and the sky remained a dark, inky black. The two got out in the cold darkness and unloaded their bags onto the walk, tugging at their collars, pulling their coats closer, and hissing as they breathed in the sharp air. It pierced the lungs, and the interior of a building never looked so enticing. The Professor helped take the bags into the airport and told Laura to wait there for him as he parked the car in the lot for those on extensive travel. She did as told, and sat on the top of his hard-cased luggage, looking around at the few people as crazy as they were, waiting to board their planes on one of the coldest mornings in the history of London. At least, it seemed to be that way, the girl thought, humming to herself.

Minutes later the Professor entered through the automatic doors behind a group of bleary-eyed businessmen. He was warming his hands enthusiastically and smiling, despite his still weary eyes.

"You look a bit more awake than in the car," he said with a light laugh.

"And you look a bit more happy."

Layton shook his head, laughing softly. "Surely you've hit your cold hand just right against a zipper, or something similar in size? That hurts. Sends that tingling through your hand, eating at the wrist…"

She smiled sleepily. "Enough to make you act like a jerk?

"Well, I…I'm a bit tired…"

"Funny, you've only acted that way around me. Everyone else gets fake, glossy-eyed, perpetually smiling Hershel. I get bitter, grumpy Professor Crab."

"Professor…Crab… Yes, you're definitely more awake."

"Am I? I don't feel more awake. I suppose when I sit, that's when I feel tired again… Suppose I'll stand and move about. Shall we?"

They gathered their things and checked them in at the desk before waiting to board. Laura watched a large fountain in the middle of a fluorescent-lit area that could possibly be called a lobby. It might have been bustling if it weren't in the dead of morning. She didn't know, and honestly didn't care. Watching the water shoot up and descend was making her drift into slumber just as looking out of the window in the car had, but she couldn't fall asleep completely; her nerves were synapsing several thousand times a second.

There was just something about waking up in the dead of night (morning? It didn't matter), packing up, shipping out, and hanging around an airport that invigorated her spirits. The wait, the energy of the place, coming to life, travelers convening, diverging again. It was a trip before the trip, even without a rambunctious crowd of angry soon-to-be passengers.

The Professor seemed to be feeling something similar, she observed, as he too was looking lethargic, but alert. He glanced at her when she had looked to the side, monitoring a large woman with a toy poodle. The woman was making more commotion than the dog, but both looked ridiculous as an attendant calmly explained the rules about dogs aboard their airlines.

Laura rolled her eyes, later thankful that those two weren't on their plane.

Finally, after an hour of waiting and security checks, they rose into the sky, the dark blanket of night beginning to tear and bleed as a small strain of red and deep, burnt orange appeared at the edge of the world. The clouds fled, and the wind bounced the vessel gently, mild turbulence causing Laura to develop a small fit of giggles, mostly in response to the Professor's more-than-mild worry. It wasn't obvious to those around, but she knew better. The calm twinkle had left his eyes, she could read it, sense it, but he feigned it all with a half-hearted plaster smile. She offered him a sick bag, which he declined stanchly multiple times.

They sat side by side, quiet for a short while, staring straight ahead. Both must have thought the same thing—that one can't sit so stiffly for hours and hours—and they slowly became more comfortable, turning towards each other and laughing as a picky woman of obvious wealth struggled to open the mini-table on the back of the seat in front of her. She unintentionally allowed it to pop open and bonk her square on the nose. Layton looked at Laura and smiled.

"Are you laughing at that poor woman's pain, Hershel?" Laura hissed in surprise. She kept her voice low.

"Not in the slightest. I'm merely smiling at the free show she was putting on." He gave her a quick once over, deciding she looked cuter when dead tired. Maybe it was her vulnerability; he didn't know, and didn't have enough time to analyze. "Well, here we are. On our way. Are you excited?"

"I must admit, although I know we have an important purpose for going, I feel as if I've been released of some dark dread, and I can relax. Have fun." She stretched, remaining seated. "A fleeting bit of hope, but…"

Layton shared the sentiment. Last night had been foolish of him. He'd been brash, too bold. He picked up the pieces, and would try to mend them. He wasn't feeling apprehensive, he wasn't nervous. It was as if he'd known Laura his whole life, and she'd always been there, and they could talk talk talk until day's end without so much as a speculation into the other's intentions. Yet… he could tell Laura was keen to butcher any advance if she felt it was too emotionally driven.

He felt something then, something sad. It sort of burst inside of him, a small bottle of realization opening forcefully in his mind, like a champagne cork, with no one else around to celebrate the occasion. Things weren't the same, he had to get it through his system. He was helping a friend, solving a puzzle, putting a mystery to rest. No more.

No more.

'No more… That used to be enough, but…no more.'

His eyes stung as he tried to look at her from the side. Serene, she smiled and leaned back in her seat, her coat and jacket tucked neatly next to her in the chair. Maybe he was going senile, as she'd suggested the night before. He certainly didn't feel as lax and content as she looked.

"Certainly, Laura," he responded with a nod. "We wouldn't drag ourselves all to way to America and not have at least the tiniest bit of enjoyment."

"Hmm." The noise almost sounded like agreement, but by the smirk on Laura's face—round like a cherub, but a far cry from her actually being one—the Professor knew better. "And how are you going to enjoy it, Hershel?"

"Well, I…what meaning are you trying to convey…?"

"What meaning? I asked a simple question!"

"Well, it's a bit…your tone is…"

Laura snorted and struggled to stifle a loud laugh. "Your face! Ah ha! I'm going to start calling you Professor Beet." She snorted into her shirt sleeve. "No meaning. Just playing with you. Like you enjoy playing with me."

"No, no, you aren't going to start—"

"'Start'? No, it's already begun. You saw to that."

"I didn't see to anything, Laura, I…ahhrgh," he grunted, frustrated but secretly thrilled she wasn't incensed. He feared she'd carry on her disgust from yesterday, but he was now pleasantly surprised. "Listen, goodness, if you're talking about last night, I just—"

"Last night! Oh, no no no, you've been all googly eyes since I came back, so don't try getting out of this one! Because you certainly won't be. I know all of your weaknesses. It gives me a tremendous advantage over you."

"'Googly eyes'? 'Advantage'?! I have no idea what you're talking about." He turned his head away, his face still dark red. Sniggering quietly, Laura leaned forward to try and get a look at his face. Her mission was complete.

"Oh, you do know what I'm talking about. Don't play dumb with me. Hershel? Your hat isn't going to hide you now."

"This really is going to be a long ride, isn't it…" Like clockwork, he pulled the brim of his hat down, trying to cover his eyes.

"Indeed. Maybe you should just get a return flight as soon as we land." She shrugged. "You might not be able to handle this little escapade."

He had to stifle a laugh and quell the itch to roll his eyes, even though he could have from the concealed safety of his tilted hat. He resorted to restoring his top hat to its proper place and snapping his gaze back to the cocky student on his left. "Oh, you may be right. I should go back. It would go much more quickly, the investigation, if you were working alone. No distractions."

"Yes, actually. I won't argue with that."

"Interesting, as it was you that requested my help from the very beginning, was it not?" And…silence. "Hmm? What, is your tongue caught in your throat?"

Smiling to herself in the window, her reflection taunting her, Laura sighed.

"Fine. I'll leave you alone. But only if you promise to get me a souvenir."

"Shouldn't I be doing that for Flora and Luke…?"

"Yes, but you can always get one for your favorite student too, you know."

With an unsettling wink, she turned away and left the Professor to his own thoughts. Her own were already chastising her for being too comfortable with the situation.

Within the hour, she was slumbering away noiselessly. Professor Layton was too anxious for sleep, although his body desperately wanted it. He kept thinking of hypothetical situations that were too fantastical for reality, ones to solve their investigation, ones to solve his emotional dilemma with the sleeping girl beside him… A man of the real, suddenly he was daydreaming in fiction. It was foreign, but comforting. He had a long trip ahead, and didn't quite want to spend it sleeping.

But he looked to the side, and saw his partner quite peaceful. That was enough to curl his taut grin into a half-smile.

'Maybe she's not as unbreakable as she let's on… What a puzzle. As are the recent deaths… What is the correlation? Is there a connection? And there's still not enough information about this Leopold character. I'd like to meet him, but it would be strange, to suddenly request a meeting with him for no immediate purpose; I don't even know him. However, things just aren't adding up. I don't quite understand what Laura's bothered about, but with people missing and passing away, that is the strangest part. It doesn't make sense with that added in…What exactly does she suspect? I suppose I never really asked.'

He stared at the seat in front of him, but didn't actually see it. 'Why didn't I ever ask what exactly she suspects? She just mentioned that her employer is…odd… Yes, now that I think about it, this is quite all hypothetical. Do I usually jump at others' hypotheses?

'I suppose that's the case… And all things start out as mere hypotheses… I'll have to inquire further, though…

'And as for our next destination… Such a unique, unknown location. It's a bit random, to choose such an obscure place. Supposedly a prime place for drilling… Is that just a façade?

'Stabilnon… I wonder what secrets you are hiding…'

END.

As always, you are encouraged to bring to my attention any typos, formatting errors (oddly places hyphens, dashes, etc.), and discrepancies in chronology or facts... I'm trying to make this as legit as possible, but my mind and time don't always allow for such a thing. :)