Hero

Someone had taken a picture of him, on that awful day.

Hershel sees it two days after the explosion. He's on the bus, making his way to Gressenheller for the second day of class, after he missed teaching the first day, when he sees a crumpled newspaper on the floor, torn and mud-stained where thirty feet had stepped upon it.

His heart stops when he sees the front page.

It's him. Him, and that little boy, and the small crowd that'd gathered around them, and the smoking husk of a building ahead of them.

He remembers now—the smoke's stench, the red sky, the way the boy sobbed into his coat, and the feeling of him being pulled out of Hershel's arms by paramedics.

"You're a hero, y'know," someone had said, slapping Hershel's shoulder with a thud that made his knees almost give way. "He'd have died without you, for certain."

Hershel's breath catches in his throat.

He's not a hero.

He'd shouted. He'd shook the boy, for trying to do what he'd wanted to do, for wanting to run to his death to save her…

He can't breathe…

He doesn't teach that day, or for the rest of the term.


Rated

"Clive, dear; your professor's in the paper again!"

Clive forces himself to keep from leaping from his seat and tearing the paper from Spring's hand. "Oh, is he?" he says instead, smiling pleasantly. "What did he do this time?"

"Got himself tenure, he did," Spring chuckles, "and an award as well. Seems the students at Gressenheller love him. He's the most highly rated prof they've ever had."

Clive peers over Spring's shoulder. The professor's smiling face stares back, along with the faces of a crowd of other scholars.

"Tell me, dearie," says Spring, looking over her shoulder towards Clive. "Why're you so interested in him? Are you thinking of taking up archeology?" She laughs. "Somehow, I can't see you rolling in the dirt. But I'd rest easy knowing Professor Layton was your teacher. He sounds like quite the gentleman."

"Perhaps," says Clive, shrugging. "I haven't decided yet."

It's impossible to explain to Spring why he's kept tabs on the professor for all these years, impossible to explain the horrible combination of admiration, gratitude, and resentment he feels when he sees that name in the paper.

Hershel Layton. A constant, living reminder of Clive's darkest moment. His reason to pursue justice.


Test

The young man's eyes narrow as he stares down at the row of cards. He taps the cards silently; Hershel can see the cogs in his brain turning as he works out a solution. Finally, the boy turns toward him, a reproachful look in his eyes. "The puzzle is flawed, professor."

"Is it?" Hershel watches him closely. "In what way?"

In what way would the Future Luke respond to a conundrum like this?

"There's no way to solve it, given the conditions set out." The boy crosses his arms. "There's nowhere the spade could be."

"You're correct." Hershel turns the cards over. A club, two hearts, and a diamond reveal themselves. "There was no spade. Do you know why?"

It takes the young man no time at all to respond. "You never specified if there would be a card from each suit."

As if he knew all along.

Would Luke be able to plan so many steps ahead?

"Precisely," he says. "And that was the real test, wasn't it? After all, your puzzle also lacked the same specification."

A satisfied expression spreads across the boy's face. "You truly are Professor Layton."

Hershel envies his self-assuredness. His test's results were inconclusive.


Gray

The crash, this time, is devastating.

It always happens this way. A spiral, twisting and turning, carrying him up to heaven; an obsession, something to work towards, to live for. Then, it crashes down, funneling towards the earth, and he hits the ground with crushing force.

It's the same as always, just… a thousand times worse. The weight of the guilt, of the knowledge of what he's done, of the impossibility of atoning, and, worse, that all this was for nothing, and Bill Hawks still walks free—it's too much. His bones are shattered, his life, spent; rising and walking is something he can't even dream of.

But that's alright.

It's what he deserves.

It's justice, after all.

"Clive."

That voice… it's like a hand reaching into the water, pulling him out of the deep, into the clear air.

"I… thought you might like to talk."

Why is he doing this? Clive doesn't deserve anything.

"If you're interested, I'm here."

If he could, he'd wrench himself away from the professor's saving grasp, but he doesn't have the strength.

"You… you shouldn't have come," he finally manages.

"I wanted to."

A lie.

But… it would be nice, if it were the truth.


Teamwork

"Clive, my boy. Your filing system is certainly… esoteric."

"Perhaps." Clive shrugs. "But I'm sure you'll learn to decipher it."

His nonchalance is almost infuriating—especially considering how much time Hershel has wasted searching for things that, before Clive's cleaning rampage, had been right where Hershel wanted them. "Perhaps," he says mildly, "but it would save me time if you would explain it to me."

"But it's a puzzle, professor."

It's astounding how Clive, who is completely thrown by any minor hitch in any of his plans, can be so cheeky when it comes to Hershel's routine being disrupted. "Yes. One puzzle that I'd rather not solve." Hershel pulls a book from where Clive had placed it, setting it emphatically on his desk, ignoring Clive's frown. "I don't know where anything is, now."

"It was so messy, though." Clive puts the book back. He sighs. "I'm trying to be helpful."

"Are you?"

"Well..." Clive pauses, then reluctantly gives an acquiescing nod. "Yes, but I'm also trying to be difficult."

"Thank you for your honesty, Clive." It's difficult to hide his smile, so Hershel doesn't bother. "Now. Will you explain the trick behind this puzzle?"

Clive smiles. "It would be my honour."


A/N I started writing from this same prompt list for a couple of romantic pairings recently, and I feel like it gave me a lot of good ideas for how those pairings relate to and interact with each other. Recently I thought, why restrict it to romance? Clive and Layton are one of my favourite brotps ever, and I've been wanting to write more about them, so I thought I would start another challenge for them as well (so many WIPs… :'D)

Notes:

1: These are non-chronological, but each individual chapter's drabbles are organized chronologically.

2: These are related to my "Justice or Mercy" stories, but some minor details may be different. If you've read those, though, these will be in a similar vein.

3: These will be part of the same story as my Clive/Flora challenge "Misery Tangled With Flowers," but you don't need to read it. They have a few "story arcs" in common, but I think these should be able to stand on their own well enough without you having to read the other challenge as well.

4: Like "Misery Tangled With Flowers," this is rated a cautious T because of mental health issues. It's G-rated in all other respects. I'll try to warn in the chapter notes if anything especially delicate comes up, as well as in the story's tags.

Thanks so much for reading; I really appreciate your time.