Back when I first finished The Unwound Future, I did two things: One, I cried my eyes out, and two, I got an idea for a little series of one-shots/drabbles that focussed on the explosion of the time machine. Mostly because I love the Layton/Claire relationship, but also because the five main characters involved are so dynamic and it would be interesting to write about the same tragic event from different points of view. Hence, the idea was born, but I was too lazy to act on it.

Now that I've finished writing my one exam with a week of nothing to do ahead, however, I've decided that, rather than work on my other fics, I might as well start this. As mentioned in the summary, it is a five-shot, with each one focussing on a different character. In order, they are Layton, Bill, Dimitri, Clive, and Claire. And yes, there will be Layton/Claire. Significant amounts of it, actually. The goal is to finish before school resumes, but with my track record, that's unlikely to happen. Still, might as well give it a shot, huh?

Disclaimer: "Any society that needs disclaimers has too many lawyers." Eric Pepke.

The Gentleman

Hershel Layton was very pleased with himself. Very pleased indeed.

He knew he wasn't acting much like a gentleman, but he couldn't help but feel a rush of pride every time he thought about his latest accomplishment. He had been hired on to Gressenheller University as a professor just a few days ago, and it wasn't every day that one was appointed to the staff of one of the most prestigious institutions in the country at the age of just twenty-seven. The novelty hadn't worn off just yet, and he wondered if it ever would.

He wouldn't start teaching until the new term began, but Layton still felt very optimistic about the whole thing. It was difficult to keep a silly grin off his face as he stood in the kitchen, making himself a cup of tea as he reflected on the past couple of years. It felt as if his whole life had been slowly but surely building itself up to this point, and he had never felt more content. He had his tea, a much-coveted position at Gressenheller, and–

"Hershel, could you come in here for a minute?"

Claire.

Layton turned to see her standing behind him, in the doorway leading to the dining room. She was carrying a tall back wrapped with red ribbon, smiling sweetly at him. He couldn't help but smile back at her. She had that sort of effect on people, a warm feeling that enveloped everyone who spoke to her. They had been seeing each other for over a year and a half now, and he still couldn't believe that she had chosen him.

"Of course, Claire," Layton said, abandoning his tea (after all, a gentleman always had to pput a lady's needs in front of his own) and followed her into the dining room.

"Take a seat," Claire insisted, nodding to one of the chairs at the dining room table.

Obediently, Layton sat down. Claire placed the box on the table between them and sat down, toying with the ribbon. Her eyes sparkled behind her glasses as she said, "Here you go."

Layton gave the box a bemused look. "What's this?"

"Open it and see," Claire said teasingly.

Slowly, hesitantly, Layton reached up and untied the ribbon. It fluttered to the table as Layton took the box and opened it, lifting the lid to reveal a tall, dark top hat. He gazed at it, somewhat surprised. It must have been about a foot and a half tall, with an orange trim around its brim.

"A... hat?" he said, uncertain what to make of it.

Claire giggled. "For the newly appointed professor," she told him, her smile radiant.

"Th-Thank you," Layton stammered, setting the lid of the box aside. He wasn't quite sure what to do with the hat. Wear it, he supposed, but he didn't think it really suited him at all.

Claire, sensing his hesitation, stood up and reached over, removing his red cap and setting it on the table. Taking the top hat, she said, "You're a fully-fledged member of the academic community now, so you've got to look the part."

Taking great care, Claire placed the top hat on his head. She took a step back as Layton sat, shell shocked, in his seat, surveying him critically. Then she smiled and let out a small trickle of laughter. "Very dashing, Hershel," she complimented him. "The picture of a true gentleman."

"A... true gentleman?" echoed Layton. He wanted to protest. He wasn't a true gentleman. Although he strove to be one, he wasn't even close to being one yet. He reached up to remove the hat, but Claire's fingers gently closed around his wrist, stopping him.

"No, leave it on," she told him softly. "It suits you. So no taking it off."

Slowly, Layton lowered his hands. When had she gotten such a high opinion of him? He didn't feel as if he deserved her, let alone the hat that now sat perched on his head, an alien thing that he felt would fall off any second.

Claire glanced at the clock. "Oh, I didn't realize how late it was," she said, pulling a face. She crossed the room to grab her white lab coat. Slipping into it, she explained, "We're running a very important experiment today at the lab. Let's continue this celebration over dinner tonight."

Layton, feeling as if his hat was in danger of tipping over, readjusted it. Ah, yes, dinner, he thought, feeling his face redden slightly. He had a very important errand to run before their celebratory dinner tonight, something he had been meaning to do once his appointment as a professor at Gressenheller was confirmed.

"Oh, and promise me you'll wear the hat?" asked Claire, shouldering her bag and heading for the door. "I know it's not your usual style, but keep an open mind." She stopped at the door, turned, and smiled at him. "After all, isn't that what a gentleman does?"

"Um... I suppose so," Layton replied.

Claire's smile widened, and then she was turning to leave, closing the door behind her.

Layton gazed at the closed door for a moment, raising his hand instinctively to his hat. He had half a mind to take it off, but he remembered what Claire had asked him, and, with a ridiculous smile plastered on his face, he lowered his hand.

Yes, Claire was exactly right. A gentleman must always keep an open mind.

The kettle whistled in the kitchen, and, startled, Layton jumped, his hat almost falling off his head. He quickly reached up to keep it on and got to his feet, because gentlemen also didn't let their kettle catch fire and burn their homes to the ground.

-X-X-X-

An hour later, Layton stood at a jewellery store counter at the closest mall, inspecting an array of rings. He felt rather self-conscious in the small store – the only other customers were women, and they kept casting amused glances at his top hat. The only reason that Layton hadn't taken the hat off yet was because Claire hadn't wanted him too. Not that he hated the hat, he just wasn't used to it yet.

Layton tried to keep his thoughts from straying up to the top hat on his head and focussed on the task at hand. There was only one problem – he didn't really know what he was looking for besides the obvious. This ring selection was a tricky business, and he had never realized just how much thought one should put into it. How expensive was too expensive? Was this one too flashy? Not flashy enough?

Claire herself, when they had discussed it a few weeks ago, said that she hadn't really cared. But that had been back when they had merely speculated on the possibility of his getting the position at Gressenheller, when everything was a matter of what-ifs and hypothetical situations, a safe distance away from the present, not yet cemented in reality. With startling rapidity, the very things they had spent so much time speaking about had suddenly become much more real with this appointment to Gressenheller, and Layton, true to the promise he had made to himself when he had first sent in his resume, was now here, feeling completely lost.

"May I help you?"

Layton gave a start and turned around. An elderly saleswoman stood behind him, hands folded, head tilted slightly to one side as she contemplated this strange man in the top hat. His face reddened even more.

"Um, I was just looking..." he mumbled.

The saleswoman gave him a small, knowing smile. "Engagement ring?" she guessed.

Layton felt his face go even redder. Had it been that obvious?

"Well, I can help you, if you want," the saleswoman told him. "I can tell you have no idea what you're doing."

"I... I don't, not really," Layton admitted, somewhat glad for the help.

"Have you discussed it with your fiancée-to-be at all?" asked the saleswoman, moving up to the counter and inspecting the rings there. "Any particular style or setting?"

"She doesn't have any real preferences," Layton answered sheepishly.

"Does she wear jewellery very often?" the saleswoman inquired.

Layton shook his head, and his hat tipped precariously until he pushed it back into place on his head.

The saleswoman pursed her lips, surveying the line of rings. Then she circled the counter and, opening it from the back, drew out a simple golden ring, its sole diamond cut in a small square.

"Nice and simple, but elegant at the same time," the saleswoman said, holding it up so that the diamond sparkled in the light. "One of our cheaper selections. Although you look as if you could afford it."

"What?" Layton said, confused. Then he remembered his top hat. "Oh. Um, actually–"

"Let me guess," the saleswoman interrupted him. "Your fiancée-to-be...?"

"Claire," he supplied.

"Claire," repeated the saleswoman, tasting the name. "Yes, well, Claire bought that hat for you, didn't she?"

Layton nodded, smiling in spite of himself at the memory.

Five minutes later, the ring encased in a dark blue box, Layton tipped his hat to the saleswoman. "Thank you very much, Miss," he said.

The saleswoman smiled. "No trouble at all. Claire is a lucky lady indeed," she told him.

But not as lucky as I, thought Layton.

As he exited the jewellery store and entered the mall proper, the box clutched tightly in his hand, Layton saw a small group of people grouped around the window for the nearby electronics store. At first he wasn't sure what the reason for the commotion was, but from where he stood, he could see the multitude of televisions in the window. All of the screens showed the same scene – a smoking, burning street, full of emergency vehicles and panicked civilians. The BBC logo was displayed in the corner, and Layton, curious, made his way over to the window.

The group was watching the news in silence, their eyes huge. The televisions were muted, but all the same, Layton gathered that some sort of fire or explosion had taken place in London. The reporter covering the story was grim-faced, and the statistics were rolling along the bottom of the screen. Ten people found dead so far, twelve injured. The names of the dead who hadn't been too badly burned to identify crossed the screen. The first two were complete strangers.

The third's name, however, was horribly familiar.

Claire Barker.

Layton stared at the television screen, not quite comprehending what he had seen. They couldn't mean Claire. He had seen her a mere hour ago, made plans for dinner, received the very hat on his head from her. Instinctively, he touched it to make sure that it was indeed still there. It was.

No, they must be speaking of a different Claire.

Yet Layton felt a horrible feeling settle in the pit of his stomach, one of fear and dread and denial. He pushed his way to the front of the line, his eyes fixed on the television screen. The onlookers allowed him to pass, as if they sensed that something was wrong. He gazed desperately up at the reporter on screen before they cut to a view of the street itself.

Layton felt his heart momentarily stop beating. Indeed, the whole world seemed to stop, freezing in place in front of his very eyes. The street was terribly familiar to him, even in its blackened, destroyed state. It was the street where Claire and her partners had rented out lab space for their research, the building that was being engulfed in flames their building. And the names of the dead continued to roll on and on in the bottom part of the screen, unfeeling, uncaring, like some cruel joke.

"No," Layton whispered, and he didn't notice that his grip on the box was tightening painfully. "No. No! No!"

He turned and ran out of the crowd, away from the stark and tragic truth that leered down at him from the cold, emotionless television screens in the window. Before he knew it, he had run out of the mall. Several blocks over, a plume of smoke rose above the London buildings, indicating the spot where the accident had occurred, smoke scorching his nose.

Layton collapsed to his knees, gazing desperately up at the smoke. People passed him by, giving him odd looks or else ignoring him completely. He ignored them as well. This couldn't be happening. It couldn't. Claire was not dead. She could not be dead. It was a mistake, a horrible mistake, that was all.

Layton pulled himself to his feet and began to run like a madman toward the scene of the accident. He supposed that he was, in a sense, a madman, and not a gentleman at all. A madman running toward the truth, and yet who wanted to run as far away from it as possible. A madman who knew in his heart that everything he held dear had just been taken away from him, and yet who desperately wanted to be contradicted.

But Layton didn't know what else to do, and so he kept running, still tightly clutching the box that had held his and Claire's destroyed future hopes and dreams in his hand.