Notes – Set sometime after the third game, with heavy spoilers for that game. This is something I've wanted to write for a while, focusing on why I don't feel that Clive x OC pairings work out very well, personally. This fic isn't an attack on any individual and nor am I trying to say that people shouldn't write fics about their OCs being paired with Clive, as everyone should be free to write whatever they like. All that this story is are my thoughts about why an OC (or at least, the generic "pretty girl who takes pity on him" sort of OC) may not work out in a relationship with Clive. If you are a fan of Clive x OC pairings, I'd recommend not reading this fic, as I don't want to offend anyone. But if you're like me and aren't very keen on all the Mary-Sues, then perhaps you might like this one. Also, to further reduce the chance of offending anyone I've used an OC loosely based on myself. Which is kind of awkward, since as much as he's my favourite character I'm not attracted to Clive, but oh well.
After the near destruction of London on that day that would not be soon forgotten, it was impossible to hide the whole story of the giant fortress and what had caused its creation from the media. Some of the more absurd details could be glossed over, but for the most part people wanted to know the answers behind the mechanical contraption that had climbed up out of the ground and took the lives of many.
The short answer, the one that a certain political group led by Bill Hawks wanted everyone to believe, was that this was the work of a "bad guy" who had kidnapped the Prime Minister and in his madness tried to destroy the city.
But that didn't stop the questions. The press demanded to know why exactly this crazed person had done what he had done and what it was about Bill Hawks that he hated so much.
To make matters worse, there were a great many witnesses to the event now drifting about, few of whom refrained from telling their stories. All the people who had been held in the underground copy of London did not keep quiet. And while, to his credit, Hershel Layton did not actually tell the full story to anyone, other people who had been involved did not feel such a need not to let the world know of all the crimes – committed by both Clive and Bill.
So over time, in bits and pieces, the full story of Bill Hawks started to become public knowledge.
His supporters tried hard to discredit it as a conspiracy theory, and some people believed them, but there were enough mixed beliefs from the potential voters for Mr. Hawks to not be able to guarantee his next term in office.
And where there were never any before, supporters of Clive Dove began to emerge.
It wasn't a huge following, because what sane person would support a mad man who had killed many, but it was sizeable enough to get some media notice and put worry among the average citizens of London. Because the sort of person who felt the need to support the work of a murderer like Clive must be quite radical themselves.
A young girl called Sam, a mousy little thing who had recently moved to London from up north, felt that saying all of Clive's supporters were maniacs was a bit unfair. Sure, there were plenty of them who would egg buildings where Bill was due to appear or graffiti messages about "bringing the truth to light" all over London, but there were also a lot of normal people, who just felt there might have been some truth to all those horrible things the Prime Minister had done that had been covered up over the years.
She liked to think of herself among the latter part of Clive's supporters.
Even the label "Clive's supporters" seemed wrong to her, however. She did not know Clive as a person. Anything she knew about him had been through the newspapers, most of which focused heavily upon the heinous crimes that he had committed. So she couldn't say that she supported him so much as she believed the negative press about Bill and didn't think he was fit to run the country.
And yet, at the same time…
Sam would look at photos of Clive Dove in the papers, a sullen creature, now watching the world from behind bars, and see a boy who looked about the same age as her. Having come from a rather sheltered rural country life, Sam could never imagine doing all of the things that Clive had done at the age he was. She could never imagine hating the world as much as he did. So she almost felt that she was drawn in by the mystery behind him, like it seemed many other young girls were. Clive had quite a lot of female followers.
Maybe that was part of the reason why she'd come to London. After spending her whole life shut away from anything important happening in the world, she sort of wanted to see what life was like in the political heart of the country.
Largely it was disappointingly similar to the rural life – get a job, find somewhere to live, and make enough money to get by. At least in the city there were more job opportunities and marginally more places to live than there had been back home. But after months of living in a flat, eating meals consisting almost entirely of canned soup and other things that didn't involve too much cooking, one does begin to wonder why one's bothering.
There were no means for Sam to find out anything more about the subject of Bill Hawks and Clive Dove than what was presented in the newspapers or debated on the radio. She liked listening to talk shows where occasionally one of Clive's supporters would phone in to voice their opinions; but they were, for the most part, discredited by the presenters and tended to present their views badly. If only someone who knew how to compose a believable argument would take the stand. Would Clive himself know what to say if he was here? Did he even realise what debate he'd started, for that matter?
Whether he did or didn't, Sam had no doubt that he knew about his supporters. Because one of the reasons that it was impossible to get a chance to talk to Clive was because everyone else was trying to as well. People wanted to know what he had to say, both those in favour of and against him. But it was public knowledge that Clive did not accept visits from more than a handful of people – an old couple, Cogg and Spring, as well as a man called Shipley, who had all apparently helped him during his life, and also he was rumoured to receive visits from Professor Layton himself. The first three all received protection from the police in regards to their privacy, so the press did not get any information out of them, and Layton was known for being silent on the subject. In general, that man was getting in the newspapers for enough reasons of his own, regardless, when it came to solving the many mysteries that he did.
For the most part, there was no direct line to Clive. And even his followers had been hard enough to find. A group known for being so violently opposed to the Prime Minister does not directly advertise where they're having their coffee mornings. It took a long time to track even a small band of followers to a broken down warehouse, where Sam had soon discovered that this sort of thing was not for her. The group mostly consisted of crazed youths who wanted to damage public property more than support a movement and rather confused girls who had no idea why they were really there in the first place but just felt inside themselves that Clive was a good person.
It was the girls who annoyed Sam the most. She could pass off the junkies as being just mental, but she could not understand why reasonable young ladies would tell themselves so convincingly that deep down inside Clive was a pure, misguided soul who would definitely do the right thing if only he had someone like them to stand by him and support him. They seemed to casually overlook the bit about him going on a rampage that killed many innocent people.
How could they be so dumb?
She didn't even want to consider that maybe, just maybe, she was actually jealous of them for feeling the same way that she did. Not that she found Clive attractive, because she didn't, but if she did then it was rather annoying to see that there was nothing unique about that desire – because so many others wanted exactly the same thing that she did. Only she didn't, because she definitely didn't like Clive and that was final.
He was just an intriguing guy who knew truths that she wanted to know, and that was all there was to it.
Needless to say, Sam didn't last long in that group. Eventually deciding not to go to the meetings anymore, because she couldn't stand listening to crazed men rage on about setting fire to whatever building they felt it was important to set fire to and equally crazed girls swooning about how they could fix Clive with their love.
And so it was back to just living in a flat, having a minimum wage job, and just getting by without any meaning to life.
If not meaning, at least she managed to find enough to do to keep her occupied. She liked visiting the parks, specifically one Roundabout Park, near Gildon Bridge.
It was at said Gildon Bridge that she regularly encountered a plump man with a moustache called Barton, who went there quite often to fish. People said that he was a policeman and his work was apparently very important, but Sam saw him fishing off the bridge so often that she wondered if he ever turned up to work at all. Regardless of if he did or he didn't, he was a pleasant enough fellow, who was always willing to talk, so she'd often find herself stopping for a chat as she past by.
On one such day, he happened to be listening to what looked like a portable radio he had brought with him.
"The Inspector says that I need to keep up with what's going on in the world," Barton told her, referring as he often would to this mysterious man in charge of his work, "So I figured why not bring out the radio so I can work while on my days off too?"
"If you say so," Sam laughed. It looked more like he just wanted to listen to the radio to her. As the announcer made way for a familiar talk show, she then added, "Oh, can you turn this up?"
"You like this show? I thought it was just a bunch of crazies rambling on about how they want to bring down the Prime Minister. You're not… one of these crazies who want to kill the Prime Minister, are you?" he said, in the tone of someone who really didn't want to have to arrest a political radical on his day off.
"N-no, of course not! I just think that… what they have to say is interesting, that's all," she murmured, hoping that sounded convincing enough.
There was a pause in which they both listened to a call-in shouting at an amused radio presenter, then Barton commented, "I really don't think they get what that guy was trying to do."
"Be a twisted psycho who tried to destroy London, if you ask most people," confirmed Sam. She had past off Barton as having the same view on the subject as Bill's supporters, seeing as he was in the police force.
"No, I think he had his motives right, even if he went about it in a really disgusting and harmful way. No one doubts that he's mad, but maybe he was more right about the Prime Minister than a lot of people realise," Barton replied.
"You really think so?" Sam asked, slightly shocked.
"Not on the record, no. None of us are allowed to believe very much on the record. But after everything we saw, the Inspector and myself don't think he was… um, nearly as much of a bad apple as Bill Hawks is anyway," answered Barton.
This was about the only thing he could have said that could have furthered her disbelief.
"So you've actually met him?" she gaped.
"Not just met him, I was one of the people running around that underground London trying to stop him," Barton said, proudly. The realisation hit and he added, in a more timid tone, "I probably shouldn't have told you that. The Inspector won't be happy with me…"
Sam was quick on the up-take; "I promise I won't tell anyone anything. Just… you need to let me know more about him."
"You are one of those crazy types, aren't you?" Barton cautiously enquired.
"No, I'm really not. But I believe that Bill Hawks was doing horrible things and that Clive was trying to stop him. No one seems to know anything; even the people who support Clive are clueless. And I don't want to support him at all, I just want to know why he did what he did to the Prime Minister," Sam babbled, a little too fast for someone trying to prove that they weren't crazy.
"I think you're asking the wrong person, Miss," mumbled Barton, clearly nervous, "I'm just a humble policeman. It's the Inspector who has all the real political opinions and knows all the facts."
"Then can I talk to the Inspector?" Sam pleaded.
"Of course not! He'd give me the boot if he knew that I've told you even as much as I have. The Inspector is also a very busy man, what with all those crimes he has to solve and making sure none of those reporters sneak into try to get information out of Mr. Dove, so he doesn't have time to just have a chat," huffed Barton.
"Your Inspector deals with who does and doesn't get to speak to Clive?" checked Sam, face splitting into a grin.
"Yes, but you can get any ideas right out of your head! The only people allowed to talk to him are his three friends and the Professor. He doesn't want to see anyone else," Barton replied.
"That's a shame…" Sam sighed, shoulders drooping, "I thought that I'd finally get a chance to talk to him."
"A lot of girls want to talk to him," observed Barton.
"I'm not like one of those stupid bimbos who want to save him with their love, I swear," protested Sam.
"No, I wouldn't say you are a bimbo, Miss. But all the same he doesn't want to have any visitors," Barton confirmed.
"Not even visitors who know what time of day you can catch a Thames Kingfin?" Sam checked.
"Are you trying to bribe an officer off duty?" Barton gasped.
"Of course not, I'd never do that," replied Sam, suddenly realising saying anything that could potentially get her arrested was a very bad idea right now.
"I thought not," Barton scolded, "Though, he does always look very lonely, you know. I never really talk to him much, don't have a lot to say to him, but it's a bad situation for a lad that age to be in. So it's a shame he doesn't get more company than he does."
"Are you implying…?" Sam asked, leaving the end of the sentence hanging for Barton to fill in the blank with whatever it was he was implying.
"I'm saying that he's usually available on Tuesday afternoons, just before the Professor goes to talk to him. So if you really, really want to talk to him and promise that you're not crazy, then I could try to sneak you in. As long as you don't tell the Inspector," Barton answered, uncertainly.
"I'm not crazy and I won't tell the Inspector, promise," Sam agreed. She didn't even know anything about the Inspector, not even his name, so that part at least wouldn't be hard.
"Very well then, I'll see what I can do," Barton assured her, "Though I can't be sure that he'll even talk to you, but if you want to give it a try then by all means."
"Thank you so much, Barton!" Sam squealed, unable to hide her glee.
"You're welcome. Now, about that Thames Kingfin…"
The rest of the week seemed to go by rather quickly and apparently with a few successful fishing trips by Barton, before the next Tuesday came around and Sam was being escorted through the prison.
Considering everything she'd heard about the tight security in the place, it involved a lot less sneaking around than she had expected. But then, for all anyone knew, she might be coming to visit any prisoner in here, not specifically one that she shouldn't be seeing.
Barton walked ahead, with a confidence that suggested his Inspector was dealing with other matters today and therefore he wasn't at any risk of being caught doing something he shouldn't. It was only when he led her through to the screened room that he began to look a little nervous.
He told Sam to wait on the seat, and then disappeared for a few minutes. As he came back to rejoin her, two officers walked through a door on the opposite side of the screen, escorting the one person Sam had wanted to see the most during all her time in London…
…Clive Dove.
The papers hadn't even shown the half of how weary and haggard he looked. And as he was led to his seat, his eyes widened in shock.
"You're not Professor Layton," he growled at Sam, then glared at Barton for an explanation.
"Th-the Professor will be along later, like he always is," Barton squeaked, "But this girl wanted to talk to-"
"And what makes her different from any of the other people who want to talk to me?" Clive cut in, "Why would you let her in here? I bet Chelmey didn't clear this! I don't want to have to justify my actions to strangers!"
"You don't have to justify anything to me," Sam assured him quickly, "I don't care about what was running through your head when you tried to level London, I just want to know if what people are saying you've said about Bill Hawks is true."
There was a moment in which Clive seemed to observe her. She felt very nervous under his scrutiny, but at the same time couldn't help but pay attention to how intense his eyes looked, how, even as ragged as he was, there was something almost charming about his appearance, and how… how… she could almost see what all those deluded girls found appealing about him.
Breaking the silence, Clive commented, "You're a Geordie, aren't you."
He smirked in a belittling manner.
"A Northumbrian, actually," she heard herself say.
"What's the difference?" he snorted.
"A… a whole lot of class!" Sam assured him.
"I'll bet," he dismissed, "So what does anyone that far up the country care about what I think of Bill Hawks?"
"What you did affected all of England," Sam informed, surprised that she even had to, "Everyone cares about it, even if it's just so far as to think you deserve to stay here for the rest of your life."
"I know," Clive replied, "But I'm still not seeing why I should tell you anything."
"Because there are people out there who think they understand what you were trying to do, but they really don't get you at all. If only you could take a stand and let them know exactly what it was that Bill Hawks has done to hurt the country, using the right words, then maybe more people might understand you," she protested.
Still grinning, Clive hummed, "And who would relay my words to them while I sit here in a cell? Do you think you could do it?"
"Well… I think that… that I have a better grasp on what you were trying to do than the rest of those girls do…" she mumbled.
"Why do you think that? What makes you think you know anything about me at all? What makes you better than any of the other girls? Were your parents brutally murdered by the stupidity of politicians and scientists? I can rather imagine not," Clive chided.
Trying hard to keep calm, Sam offered, "If you could tell me, then maybe I could understand…"
"Again, why should I tell you instead of any of the other girls who want to help me?" repeated Clive.
"Because they're only doing it because they fancy you! I really believe in what you stand for!" yelled Sam.
Raising an eyebrow, Clive checked, "Are you sure you're not just doing this because you fancy me? Do you really care about what Bill Hawks has done or did you just see my picture in the papers and thought that such a pretty guy could do no wrong?"
"I… I… I don't! I swear that I don't…!" Sam cried.
"What did you think about Bill Hawks before that, then?" asked Clive.
"N-not very much… He was just the Prime Minister; I didn't care much either way. But you made me see what a horrible person he is," sniffed Sam.
"I'm not the first person whose spoke against him, you know. But I guess you didn't listen to any of the others because they were all old and stuffy. You just want to listen to me because maybe I'll like you one day if you do. Well I'm sorry, but you're wasting your time. I've done my piece and don't want to entertain stupid girls with false hopes now that it's over. If you really, truly believe that Bill Hawks is bad, then protest against him in your own way. You and all those others could do to stop regarding me like some kind of god that can fix all your problems," said Clive.
"I don't think you're a god at all! Talking to you has only showed me what a foul person you truly are!" snapped Sam.
"Yes, I am a terrible person who has done unforgiveable things. What's your point?" asked Clive.
Sam hesitated; "My point… my point is that you went to those lengths because you believed that Bill was a monster who needed to be stopped. And people have started to listen to you because of what you did. You can't just give up now, if stopping him meant that much to you."
After hearing this, Clive looked suddenly more distant than he had done at any point during the conversation so far.
"My work was my life to me. After finding out there were people to blame for what happened that day, there was nothing else I could devote my life to but to bring them to justice. And I was wrong. A man who really matters showed me that. A man who understood my pain, even if he hated me for what I did. He's the person I choose to talk to about this, not some Geordie rat off the streets," Clive replied.
"So you're giving up on putting a stop to Bill? If he really did kill your family then the world should know that he's a murderer!" Sam growled.
"No. My situation is not yours to choose who should know about it. What I did was wrong and I want no further part in trying to protest against Bill Hawks. Regardless of how I feel about him, my priority is to make up to society for my mistakes," Clive told her.
"And you could make up for your mistakes by letting people know about the monster who killed people then hushed it up for his own gain!" argued Sam.
"If you hate him so much then do it yourself, you stupid girl! As I've been saying all along that you should do! You might have overlooked this in your infatuation, but I killed far more people than he did during my rampage. But I guess its okay that I did it, because you think I'm pretty, right?" said Clive, his tone laced with disgust.
He thought she was just like one of those girls who went to protest meetings even though they knew nothing about him… He really thought that.
And then the quite horrible realisation hit that, actually, maybe she was one of those girls after all.
What had she cared about politics before seeing a boy like Clive arrested? Would she have been concerned about the rumours of the crimes Bill had committed if the person who had been at the core of them was not as attractive Clive? Or would she have just past it off as another political scandal that she had no interest in and gone back to her everyday country life?
A young girl like her, travelling half way across the country just because she believed that she could do something to help a boy who she had never met before?
That was just stupid.
And she was stupid for thinking that it had been anything deeper than what any other girl felt in regards to Clive. He was really just a bitter young man who didn't deserve the attention he got from anyone at all.
She vaguely heard Clive prompting her to speak, but realised that she was sobbing too loudly to make out what he was saying.
In this sudden rush of overwhelming emotions, Sam pulled herself up from the chair, almost smashing into Barton, who she'd quite forgotten was there, and then dashed to get away from the room.
All that she wanted right now was to put as much distance between her and the boy who had called her out for what she really was as she possibly could.
By the time she'd reached the front desk the need to breathe, combined with how difficult crying loudly made it to do so, caught up with her and she bent over double, letting the emotions subside enough to allow air to get through.
"Miss, please wait up- …Oh, you've stopped running," she heard Barton say. She nodded, still trying to get her breath back, so Barton offered, "You should take a seat here, give yourself a moment."
Without objection, Sam stumbled over to one of the chairs in the waiting room and sat down; ignoring the stares she was getting from the woman behind the desk and other people waiting to go through to visit inmates. It appeared that Barton wasn't too concerned about them either, as he sat on a chair next to her.
"I'm… I'm sorry…" she choked out, wiping her tears away.
"No, I'm sorry. It was a bad idea to bring you to talk to him in the first place," Barton replied, "I thought that if maybe he could talk to someone who believed in him, and you seemed pretty sensible…"
Lifting up her face, looking at him through red eyes, Sam commented, "I think he had a better judge on my character than that…"
"There's a nasty way to put things and a nice way. I guess you shouldn't expect a guy who tried to destroy London to use the nice way," replied Barton.
"Yeah…" mumbled Sam.
"He's right though," Barton continued, "Not about you being stupid, as most folks who are honest will admit to having liked the wrong person at some point, but about how you shouldn't rely on him. Maybe you are one of those people who protest against Bill Hawks, and I won't think less of you if you are, but you can't blindly believe that one man will solve your problems. If the Prime Minister really has hushed up all these crimes he's committed then the truth will out, as they say."
"Y-you're right," Sam agreed, feeling herself calming down a bit now, "It might have taken a pretty face to get me to notice, but that doesn't mean I don't think what Bill Hawks did was wrong. I can… I can still help…"
"That's the spirit," replied Barton, then he looked up from where they were sat, "Oh, it looks like the Professor is here for his meeting with Clive now. This is going to be an interesting afternoon… Would you excuse me?"
Sam nodded; "By all means."
She watched the portly policeman go over to greet the famed Professor Layton, who looked over at her curiously before being told everything was fine and led away by Barton. Great, as well as looking like an idiot in front of Clive, one of London's biggest celebrities had just seen her with her face all red and puffy from crying.
She found that she wasn't upset about that. In fact, she thought it was pretty funny.
When you've hit the bottom of the barrel and scraped the truth from around the edges, there's only one place you could go from there…
It was a little more than a week later when Sam thought that she had had composed her speech well enough to make her actual final appearance among the small rally of Clive's supporters that she had once attended.
Somehow they let her take the stage. Perhaps there was nothing else scheduled that day and they figured that a good pep-talk was better than nothing. She'd not mentioned to any of them about her meeting with Clive and doubted that they would have believed her even if she had anyway.
"Clive Dove is a terrible person who took the lives of many," Sam opened her speech with.
"I thought you were one of us!" someone from the audience protested.
"Maybe I am one of you. Or one of some of you, anyway. Because I believe that the Prime Minister is a also a vile man who is not fit to rule a country, like I would hope that most of you do too," she countered, before going on, "But that doesn't change that what Clive did was wrong. Perhaps you think that the people who were crushed in his rampage were necessary sacrifices for a greater good, but would you think the same if you spoke to their families? It's no wonder people hate what we stand for, because what we stand for is a murderer. But Bill Hawks murdered people too. People who have families. Families like Clive, who thought that revenge was the only answer. Who's to say that surviving victims of Clive's rampage won't repeat his actions in years to come? We need to stop standing up for the Clives of the world, who think that violence is the only answer, and instead stand up for showing the world that everything bad that Bill Hawks has done isn't a lie. Because that's the important part, not Clive. If any of you really believe in making a better London, then perhaps you'll see that setting bus stops on fire in Clive's name is the wrong way to do it," she paused, "Though I suspect that most of you will probably ignore this anyway. But I've said my part and this will be the last I have to do with these meetings. Good day to you all."
As she left the stage, Sam received the expected level of jeers and half-formed arguments of people trying to justify what they were doing when put on the spot. But they didn't faze her, as she finally knew what she felt was right.
And among the crowd of maddened junkies and deluded girls, there were a few people, people like Sam, who had come here because they weren't sure what they believed but were too scared to speak up, who heard what she was saying. In their minds, the seed of doubt about their belief in Clive, as opposed to their beliefs in a London free from Bill's rule, were planted.
Sam didn't stay to see the end of the meeting, as she had much better things to do that afternoon. Such as taking a detour towards Gildon Bridge, where she found Barton fishing once again.
"No Thames Kingfin at this time of day or even in this part of the river," she called, joining him.
"But there's good fishing here all the same," replied Barton, "Hello, Miss."
"Hello to you too," said Sam, looking out across the river.
"You seem in much better spirits today," he noted.
"I am, all thanks to you. I'm sorry about what happened at the prison… But I've learned from my mistakes because of what you said. And what Clive said…" she informed.
"Glad to hear it," Barton said, checking his line for any signs of fish.
"And, um, I went to talk with some protestors, like you said. About how we shouldn't worship Clive," Sam began.
Nodding, before he cast his line out again, Barton checked, "How did it go?"
"Well-"
"Excuse me?"
Both of them turned around to see a tall and gangly girl hovering behind them. She radiated an air of feeling awkward about intruding upon their conversation. Or about intruding upon anyone's conversations anywhere for that matter.
"Yes, Miss?" Barton offered.
"Actually, I wanted to talk to the girl. Um, I'm sorry, I don't know your name…" she mumbled.
"The name's Sam," Sam replied, "And its okay, you can talk to me if you like."
"Um, you see… I-I was at the meeting you just spoke at and I wanted to know more about what you said," the girl told her, "So I followed you here. I, eh, don't think that I was the only one who did either…"
Raising their heads a little further, Sam and Barton both caught sight of a few other people, all trying hard not to be seen. Sam had to admit that she didn't recognise their faces from the meetings, but they all looked as if they tried hard not to be noticed as much as possible anyway. Beyond that similarity, the selection of people who had apparently stalked her all the way here couldn't look any more different from each other in terms of shape and size if they tried. It wasn't just girls either, some of the boys who she might have otherwise past off as junkies had followed as well.
"We don't want to egg statues or anything," promised a particularly spotty boy, stepping forward, "We just want to know if everything the newspapers keep saying about Bill Hawks covering stuff up is true."
"As they say, the truth will out," Sam replied, briefly smiling at Barton, for stealing that phrase from him, "If Bill Hawks has anything to hide then I don't think it would be impossible to find out about it, especially not now."
"But we can't ask Clive about what he knows…" whispered an actually quite attractive looking lady, who Sam would definitely have past off as girl-who-is-just-confused-by-her-feelings-for-Clive before today.
"We don't need to," Sam assured her, "I meant what I said back there – we shouldn't rely on Clive. He's far from the only person who has been hurt by the Prime Minister's actions and I'm sure that if we looked hard enough we could find reliable information."
"Do you really think we can? Do you think we can make a difference?" the first girl asked.
"Only you know if you can make a difference," answered Sam, mentally kicking herself for how corny that sounded as she said it, "But if all of you believe in this, then I don't see why we couldn't help each other."
"So you'll arrange for us to meet somewhere?" the spotty boy enquired.
"Well, I didn't say that…" mumbled Sam.
"I'll let you get on," Barton laughed, "It seems you've got a lot of work with your new political movement to get on with."
"You're not going to arrest us for this, are you?" Sam checked.
"Wouldn't dream of it. As long as you promise you aren't crazy," Barton joked.
"I… can't make any guarantees, but I'll try not to be," she answered, "But the good man is right, we've got a lot to be getting on with, some come on, the lot of you. My flat is pretty small, but it should be a good enough place for a first meeting, providing the landlord doesn't catch us."
The merry band of mismatched supporters of a London free of men like Bill Hawks and Clive Dove went on their way, leaving Barton to get on with his fishing, chuckling over some of the things he sees that he could never tell the Inspector about.
There were only a few of them, but they believed in the truth and that was enough to make a start.
What they didn't believe in, was Clive. Sam now knew that she had followed him blindly because she had misguided feelings for him, just like many of the other girls, but now she knew for definite that he wasn't the perfect person that deep down inside she wanted to believe that he was. And she could help build a better England without his help, thank you very much.
And maybe if other people stopped worshipping him, they could too.
Or at least, she very much hoped so.