Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Sycamore couldn't take his eyes off of Layton the entire time they were in the emergency room. Whatever drug he was given, the doctor assured them that he would be all right. That was not to say that he would walk away unscathed. The drug had some side effects he would be experiencing. There would be lose of memory of the events after ingesting the drug and he would be sluggish for a couple of days when he woke up. As for other effects, they wanted to they keep him in the hospital for a couple of days for observation just in case.

While the doctors were examining Layton in a separate area, Sycamore sat with Flora out in the waiting room. The room itself was all painted in white with uncomfortable, hard chairs that was nearly as bad as the one in Layton's office. Nurses and doctors hurriedly strode, checking patients from bed to bed, bringing items here and there as most of the people from the incident were brought to that hospital.

Ascot and Clive were taken to another hospital but promised to check on them later after they were cleared. He doubted that Clive would be allowed out early though. Ascot was probably giving his attending physicians grief. He was never one to sit still when worried.

Alone now, both Sycamore and Flora sat, wearily; waiting for Layton to be brought to a private room. His clothes were handed to the young lady who accepted it. There were heavy bags under her eyes from lack of sleep and slowly building panic. She worried her lip as she sat, clenching and unclenching her delicate hands on the clothes she held.

"Don't do that." Sycamore suddenly said. His voice hoarse. "Your lips will come away bleeding if you keep biting like that."

She turned to the man, startled enough that she almost dropped Layton's clothes. The pocketwatch tumbled out of the waistcoat pocket, unnoticed by Flora. She stopped biting her lip. But only for a moment before doing it once more. A habit that she seemed to have developed as a child. He sighed and leaned against the backrest, wincing when he breathed in too deeply. He shouldn't be one to talk though. He didn't look any better. But he came away with the least damage between Clive and Ascot and him. He had bruises on his body, though no broken ribs, strangle marks around his neck and a bloody, split lip. 

Despite almost being killed, it was all still pretty good.

He looked disheveled with blood on his clothes and face yet he didn't care. Flora glanced at the older man sitting beside her, taking note of the damage. He looked calm enough on the outside but his hands were trembling. Earlier he refused to be treated, arguing that Layton needed it more than he. But was forced to with a pointed look from Flora before he agreed. After some of the tests, he sat in a place where he could still see where Layton lay. Flora couldn't decide what she thought of the man. She didn't know him well enough to judge but so far from what she'd seen, he was good man.

She pulled out a handkerchief from her pocket and reached out to wipe the blood off his face. It made him wince and withdraw but she clicked her tongue, gently cupping his face with one hand while the other continued to do what she had set out to do.

"Hold still please." She said, gently. "It wouldn't do to be seen so unkempt." She scolded, gently. "Gentlemen should always be tidy."

He rewarded her with a quiet laugh but hissed soon after. It hurt to even laugh.

"Hershel is the gentleman not I." He said, repeating what Ascot told him once.

She her brows furrowed. "But you are courting him, are you not?" His stunned silence seemed to confirm something to her for she nodded once and continued her gentle ministrations. "Then you must always look presentable."

He smiled at her wryly and allowed her to continue to clean the blood off. She was more or less successful after a few more minutes and despite feeling like he'd been run over by a truck, he looked more or less saner than he did earlier that evening. Flora smiled when she saw her handiwork.

"There." She said. Quite pleased with herself. "You look more handsome now, despite the... you know." She gestured to the bruises.

He chuckled and Flora smiled shyly at him, her cheeks turning pink in embarrassment. They had only been in each other's company for a few hours but he decided her liked her. Layton had often talked about her with pride whenever they went out however he never had the honour of meeting her.

"I'm... pleased you think so." He replied, not quite certain what he should say.

They lapsed into a comfortable silence and it was only after a while that Sycamore noticed the pocketwatch that fell by his feet. He bent over and picked it up. He turned the item in his hands, to examine it further. It was a solid gold pocket watch. The only jewelry that Layton allowed himself to wear.

He touched the lid, embedded with a simple design of a stag surrounded by forest and an elegant border. There was a motto on it, but it was worn enough that he couldn't make out what was written. It seemed to be the crest of its first intended owner. He pressed down on the button at the top and the lid opened. It was a beautiful watch certainly. But for whatever reason, his mind didn't register that its hands didn't move until after a few more minutes of admiring it.

Concerned that he broke it, he placed it in his pocket and resolved to repair it himself later, once he had seen for himself that Layton was settled into a room and Flora was with someone, at least. Capable as they girl was, he didn't want to take any chances. There might still be escaped Targent agents hanging about, ready to pounce in their most vulnerable moment. No amount of training could prepare anyone at such a surprise.

At that, Emmy appeared with Raymond following closely behind.

"How is he?" Emmy asked as she approached.

"They're still examining him." Flora replied. "But they said they'll bring him out soon to a room and keep him for a couple of days just in case. " She paused. "How are Clive and Professor Ascot?"

Emmy smirked. "Clive's all right or as all right as he can be considering his arm will be wrapped up in a sling for several weeks." She shook her head. "I haven't heard anyone curse that much in years. The kid curses like a sailor." She chuckled. "Professor Ascot though... I'm more concerned about his doctor and nurses going mad. They'll let him out later if not sooner. Or have him carted off somewhere, it really depends which one comes first." Then to Sycamore. "You don't look any better though."

Sycamore gave her a sideways glance and shrugged. "I just need a change of clothes." He replied. He pointed at his face. "These... don't bother me too much."

"Whatever possessed you to go at a game like that with Bronev?" Emmy scowled. "You risked quite a lot with that game of yours, had you lost. You weren't even sure if he'd keep his end of the deal. "

"He wouldn't." He admitted. Then: "I didn't lose." Sycamore stated.

"You could've." She shot back. "That was reckless!"

He sighed, tiredly. "I saw you outside." He said. "Needed to buy time or Bronev would've seen you. Knowing him, he was most probably aware you were coming for him."

The doors opened and Layton was being transferred to a more private room. All of them stood up and followed. Sycamore had a look at Layton as he lay still under the covers with an IV attached to his hand but he was breathing in a slow steady rhythm that was comforting to see. If one didn't know any better, one would assume that he was merely sleeping not drugged.

Flora reached out and gently brushed a stray lock of hair from Layton's face before settling on the chair by his bedside. Sycamore watched her with a smile, reminded of his own daughter. She was still a small child when she was killed. Just barely five years old with her mother's face and hair but her eyes were all his. Red and gleaming with mischievousness and wondrous curiosity that only children had. Had she lived, he was certain that she would've liked being friends with Flora and Luke.

He mentally scolded himself. This wasn't the time for those thoughts. He had to look after Layton and his daughter. She needed to rest at least. It wouldn't do to have her stay up all night.

"I'll look after him tonight. You need some rest."

Flora scowled at him. "You're the one that needs to rest." She protested and poked his cheek making him wince. She then smiled gently as if in apology for the hurt and to reassure him. "Don't worry. I won't be alone."

"But Targent might-"

Emmy grinned. "No worries, Professor Sycamore." She said. "Inspector Grosky's guarding outside." She paused. "He's one tenacious fellow, you know that."

"I'm... not quite reassured." He said, slowly.

"She's with me." She added. That seemed to do the trick. "Go get some sleep. I'll stay with Flora tonight." She said and after a moment: "I'll call you if anything happens."

He was exhausted. The adrenaline was starting to wear off. He had hoped to stay long enough. And he opened his mouth to protest some more but Raymond was all ready helping him to his feet. He glanced at the ladies in the room and smiled before nodding. Emmy would keep them safe. And Flora might look like a frail girl but judging from what transpired tonight, woe be to any man who tries to hurt her or her loved ones. He admired them for their strength for they were strong, indeed. And he was thankful for that.

He looked down at Layton sleeping peacefully. He wanted to touch his face and run his fingers through his hair; and he moved his hand to do just that but stopped midway and clenched his hand to a fist to keep them still. It was a foolish thing to do. He placed his hand back to his side and turned to the door and striding out with Raymond closely following behind.

Flora had seen the move and for a few minutes, mulled over it. She glanced up at Emmy who shook her head.

"They said it's complicated." She replied to the unasked question. "These two... Not an ounce of common sense between the two of them."

Flora sighed. "I'll say."

And with a look exchanged with Emmy, ran out to follow Sycamore out the door.

"Professor Sycamore!"

Sycamore stopped. He was just about to step into the car but was surprised that Flora had gone after him. For a few heartbeats he thought something had happened and Layton had taken a turn for the worse in those few minutes it took for him to leave the room. Flora noticed the sudden change in Sycamore's stance and walked slowly toward him, half afraid she'd startle him and he'd panic.

"Miss Reinhold? What happened?" He held her delicate hands in his.

"Yes. I mean, no. I-" Then she shook her head trying to collect whatever courage she could muster to say what needed to be said.

"Yes?" He urged, expectantly.

She took a deep breath and exhaled. She gripped his hands back tightly and with much determination. Sycamore was taken aback, quickly deducing that there was nothing wrong with Layton but she just needed to tell him something very important.

"My father, Hershel, is an odd fellow." She began. "He is intelligent about many different topics but on matters of the heart he tends to push people away. He's afraid to lose loved ones like how he lost Miss Claire. But despite all that, please understand he loves you."

Stunned, he could only stutter: "H-how would you know?"

Flora smiled. "We just know these things." She replied. "Just... Please, I hope you understand."

She let his hands go and turned to run back into the hospital. He stood there for several moments before Raymond politely cleared his throat. His face was blank but there was a twinkle in his old eyes that Sycamore knew he was quite, quite amused. He sighed and entered the car. Raymond closed the door and rode as well, driving with a poorly concealed smile on his lips.

The city lights blinked in and out as they drove pass the roads. It was half past two early morning and while everything seemed quiet, there were a few shops and bars that were still open. Some people were wandering about in their party clothes. Sycamore watched the events from his car as they drove. His mind in turmoil.

"Master," Raymond called, snapping him from his confused thoughts. "if I may be so bold as to give you advice?"

"Yes, of course."

"Perhaps, it's time to once more reconsider your relationship with Master Layton." He said.

Sycamore scowled. "Not you too." He muttered. "I get enough of that from Ascot... He already rejected me." He paused. "Perhaps we're better off as friends..." He added wistfully.

"I have been by your side since you were a child. Ever since Mistress Rachel entrusted you to my care before she passed. I've seen you grow up and love and grieve. You look at Master Layton with the same eyes you once gazed at your late wife, Lady Sycamore. So I ask: Will you truly be content to remain as friends?"

"I was rejected." He said once more, there was some bitterness in it but he also understood in a way. Then: "I-I'm afraid to push." He admitted.

"With all due respect, Master. Lady Sycamore also rejected you. Several times in fact, before your suit was accepted. You persevered. Can you not do the same for him?"

"There's nothing similar about then and now, Raymond! Surely you understand that!" He begged, desperately.

Raymond raised a bushy eyebrow at him. "And why is that?" He inquired.

"He... He still loves Miss Folley." He replied, defeated.

Beautiful, young and perfect Claire Folley who held Layton's heart. And what was he? He was just one man. He was far from perfect. He wasn't sure if he truly could make Layton happy. He wasn't even convinced if he made his family happy when they still lived.

"And you still love Lady Sycamore." Raymond stated matter-of-factly. "But just because you do, doesn't mean you love him less. I may not know much about Master Layton but I'm convinced he is the same."

"Raymond, I..."

The car stopped when the lights changed from yellow to red. Raymond lifted his head to look at the younger man with wise, kind, old eyes through the mirror. Sycamore could not turn away, suddenly feeling like the child he once was. Ashamed and apologetic.

"Desmond," Raymond began. "Those we love that have passed will never return. We never forget them. We never stop loving them either. But I doubt the dead would want you to stop your time and stand still for them. So for us who are left behind, they wish us to live. And love. For their sake as well as your own."

The lights changed once more and again, the car moved in silence.

"His daughter certainly gave you her blessings." The old valet said, cheerfully. "Surely that must count."

Sycamore smiled lopsidedly. "I'm... not quite certain to be honest."

He took out the gold pocketwatch from where he hid it, fingers touching its cool surface, tracing the patterns. Claire Folley had good tastes and even though it was not made by her hands, he knew that she chose this gift with great care. Stachenscarfen's antique shop a bit hard to find between the other shops. He could only imagine how she scoured through several shops for the perfect present. And judging from how Layton took great care of it, it meant a lot.

It was the last present she ever gave him after all.

Sycamore looked up from the watch to the rear view mirror just as the car pulled up the front door.

"Raymond, I'll need my tools." He said.

Raymond who had seen the watch cradled in his hands as he stepped out of the car, smiled and bowed.

"As you wish."

He paused on a step, hesitating. Then glanced at his butler earnestly. He was more guardian than a butler though. More like family.

"Thank you, Raymond." He said. "Truly."

With a pleased smile, Raymond bowed. "It is always a pleasure, Master."

It was Ascot's loud, laughing voice that woke him. And the first thought that entered his mind as the fog slowly cleared from his mind and eyes was that he's probably going to wake up with some strange drawing on his face just like he did when they were still schoolboys, with his friend spending the night at his house.

The second thought that entered his mind was wondering what sort of drink he had to merit a hangover that horrible. His alcohol tolerance had gone up since he started attending parties as Ghishavel. He still didn't enjoy drinking though, he preferred his tea any day.

His throat was parched and he needed water or tea to ease the throbbing in his head. A dry cough escaped him which he tried to stop but failed miserably. Each cough brought forth more throbbing in his poor head. Almost as if someone was using a pneumatic drill on it.

"Hershel? Are you awake?"

He turned his head, sluggishly to the direction of the voice. Squinting his eyes at the sudden onslaught of light flooding from the open windows, he groaned pitifully as he rose to sit; the whole room suddenly fell silent.

"Whatever we drank last night, Randall." He croaked. "I swear I'll never try it again. I'll stick to tea, thank you very much."

Someone, he was sure it was Flora, sprang into action and handed him a cup of something warm. From the scent of it, it was his favorite cup of Earl Gray tea. He hummed in appreciation as thanks. The warm liquid was welcome and it eased the tension in his bones. Ascot watched as he drank it, his brow creased and a dour look on his countenance.

"I should hope so for everyone's sakes." Ascot remarked, grimly. "You've been asleep for almost two days."

He almost dropped his cup and coughed, the last mouthful of tea going in the wrong way. Flora patted his back while Asccot rescued the cup from his slack hands. Eyes wide in utter shock, he stared at his friend only to realize that he wasn't in his own room. He glanced around, his mind finally grasping that that he was in the hospital.

The walls were painted a pale blue hue and white drapes hung on the windows, gently fluttering in the breeze that entered. There was an IV needle stuck in the back of his hand. He wasn't even sure how he could've missed that. Flora worried her lip, very much concerned. She took his hand, the one without the needle, in hers. His hands were cold.

"Are you all right, father?" She asked, hesitantly.

Like a broken dam, memories played back in his mind's eye. But not everything. He remembered getting dressed and flirting with Bronev yet after that, he couldn't recall what came after. Even how he ended up in a hospital bed.

"W-what happened?" He asked.

"You were drugged." Emmy replied, gravely. "By Bronev." She added after a moment's hesitation.

Ascot gritted his teeth. "That no good son of a-!" He muttered. Cursing his name and shaking his fists at the memory. He shook his head and let out a loud sigh, plopping on the chair by the bed. "Good thing Desmond was there. Distracted him long enough for Emmy and her Yarder friends to get in." he paused. "I didn't know you worked in the Yard, Emmy."

Emmy grinned as she folded her arms on her chest. "Lots of things you don't know about me, Mr. Ascot. I serve as a liaison between the Professor and the Yard. Though, I have to admit, Clive was a surprise. I thought he was just some Targent thug out to get the Professor."

"Is everyone all right?" Layton asked, worried and turned to Flora. "You're unhurt, my dear?"

Flora smiled, gently patting his hands. "I'm well." She said. "I was just concerned. You haven't woken up and I thought..." She took a trembling breath then shook her head as she let it out. "But you're fine now. I'm just glad."

"My apologies, my girl. I truly am sorry." He whispered. He really was. "I would've spared you all this but because of my foolishness, you got caught up in it as well."

"You couldn't help yourself." Flora said, sagely. "It's just who you are. I wouldn't wish you to be any different."

Layton smiled, lopsidedly. "How is it that you've become so wise?"

Flora shook her head, smiling and overflowing with relief before she turned away to take the cup from Ascot's hands.

"Where is Leon Bronev?" Layton inquired.

Emmy brushed hair off her face then folded her arms on her bosom. "He's in a different hospital, handcuffed to the bed and watched twenty-four seven." She replied. "He'll be facing a whole lot of criminal charges once he's fit to stand in the docks. Murder and abduction being the least of them."

"Who would've thought Desmond was related to Bronev." Ascot wondered, almost carelessly to the room. "Desmond might act like an arse sometimes, but he's the good kind."

Layton felt the blood freeze in his veins. His fists closed tightly around the covers of the bed. He remembered seeing him as he swept into the ballroom, confronting Bronev. It was what he was trying to avoid. He didn't want Sycamore to be caught up in it anymore.

"W-where is Desmond? Is he all right?" He asked, hoarsely.

"How much do you remember?" Emmy asked.

He shook his head. "I confess, not much." He replied. "I remember Desmond entering the ballroom and-"

Another memory flashed in his mind. Sycamore on the floor by his feet, fighting off Bronev as he squeezed his throat, tearing the breath and life out of the man. Then his panic as he willed himself to move his leg and drop it on the older man's back, albeit weakly to make Bronev let go of Sycamore's throat.

He took deep breaths, striving to keep the slow building dread from showing in his face. The look that Sycamore gave him before he passed out was apologetic and full of sorrow, resigned to his fate. He was prepared to die.

"Hershel?"

Layton glanced at Ascot. While he tried not to show it, there was clearly distress in his eyes and Ascot was no fool. He knew what was causing it.

"Y-yes?"

Ascot smiled. "He's okay, Hersh." He said. Then he shrugged. "He's just a bit busy. He's taken over your classes while you're here recovering." He paused, as he wiped his glasses clean with the edge of his shirt, chuckling. "He can't believe the amount of paperwork you've left to grade and has taken it upon himself to clear it before you get back."

"So you don't need to worry about him." Emmy added, smiling as she glanced at the door. "Had you woken up a few minutes ago, you would've seen him. He was just here. He promised to be back later."

"He was being strangled, Emmy." Layton remarked. "That's a cause for concern, is it not?" He snapped. It wasn't her fault and he really didn't think she warranted a sarcastic remark from him but the words flew out of his mouth before he could stop them.

"Of course." She agreed. Thankfully, she understood that he really didn't mean to snap at her. "However he doesn't want you to trouble yourself over him." Emmy replied then smiled. "Oh, the both of you, going around in circles. It's almost laughable."

Ascot grinned. "It is, isn't it?" He agreed, cheerfully.

Layton sighed and ran his palm on his face. "I'm relieved that you find my predicament entertaining."

There was no real heat in his comment. And he was slightly comforted to hear that Sycamore was doing well. However, no amount of reassurances could really ease the anxiousness that continued to claw in his chest until he saw with his own eyes, that the other man was well.

He leaned back against the pillows of the hospital bed and listened to the cheerful chattering of his friends, allowing the sounds to wash over him. He laughed at their antics as they conversed, Ascot being so animated exaggerated in his usual fashion, gesturing with his hands and arms, Emmy making a wry comment every now and then and Flora laughing at both of them until tears fell from her eyes.

He took quick look once more around the room. There were get well cards the other table by the window and balloons too. A couple of puzzles from well wishers. A bouquet of lavender flowers in the vase. Then noticed the folded red suit on his bedside table. He stretched out an arm to get his waistcoat.

But stopped.

"Have any of you seen my pocketwatch?" He suddenly cut in.

"It's in your waistcoat pocket." Flora answered.

"I see."

Something about the tone of his voice made her look up, startled. He noticed it immediately and smiled at her, placing the waistcoat back to where he took it and leaning against the pillows once more.

"It's not there is it?" Flora asked, fearfully.

"No need to concern yourself, my dear." He reassured her. "I'm fairly certain it's just in the hotel. I'll ask the Duke if his men had seen it once I'm out and about again."

"O-okay..."

He missed it. The cool smooth surface and its weight in his hands. He wanted to believe that it wasn't lost. Claire's pocketwatch wasn't gone. But the thought would not take root. And for some reason, missing it, also reminded him of Sycamore's absence. The dread in his heart doubled tenfold. He was not a superstitious man by any means. Far from it, really. But his missing pocketwatch felt like an omen in itself. He closed his eyes, feeling his body yearn for the respite it so dearly craved. The stress finally caught up with him.

I'll ask once I'm well again.

Flora had not the heart to tell him that it would never be found in the hotel.

"You can go in now, Professor Sycamore."

Sycamore, glanced up from the pocketwatch in his black-gloved hand, Layton's pocketwatch which was now ticking, fixed and polished. He rose from his seat and thanked Inspector Chellmey before entering the room. There was another officer inside who tipped his hat at him when he appeared. He wanted some privacy but that was not possible. After all, the man who lay on the hospital bed was no ordinary criminal.

Leon Bronev sat, his hand handcuffed to the bed and watched him with oddly calm eyes.

"So you came." Bronev observed. "I didn't think you would."

"You called for me." Sycamore stated, keeping his distance. "I was curious."

Bronev's lips quirked, though it was without humour.

"So it's come to this." Bronev remarked. "I had never expected it to end this way. All because of one man." He paused. "You are well?"

"As well as I can be." He replied, simply.

He tried not to fidget as Bronev turned his full attention on him. Gaze roaming to the damage he had caused before looking at the windows that would never open. Not anymore.

"How is Layton?"

"Why do you care?" He asked back. "You tried to kill him."

There was nothing baleful with the way the other man stared at him. In the light of the afternoon sun, Sycamore suddenly realized how old and tired he seemed. There were more wrinkles on his face and his hands were bony. Almost skeletal. He appeared to be like a man who had finally given up living. It was sadly pitiful. With the madness gone from his eyes, he looked lost.

"I did." He said then coughed. "I did, didn't I?"

"Yes."

Bronev looked down at his hands. "I loved Rachel."

"You killed her." He stated, not coldly.

"I did." He said once more. "I loved her and yet I killed her still." His eyes went wide in slow building shock as if he just realized what he had done. "I loved her and yet I put my hands around her neck and squeezed." He took a deep shuddering breath. "What have I been reduced to?"

"A murderer."

"I would have married her, you know." Bronev said. "But she took you away. You were my heir, Targent was yours when I was gone. It must be punished."

"She saw what Targent was doing to us. She wanted to protect us." Sycamore explained, trying to keep his voice low but his hands were shaking with fury. Did he truly not understand?!

"Once we found the Azran Legacies we could've-!"

Sycamore scowled. "Do you honestly believe that?" He asked, stunned. "There were many things you could've done! You could've run away with her. With us. She gave you a choice." He said, bitterly. "And yet you chose Targent!"

Each word struck a chord in the older man and granted him no quarter. All the accusations washing over him like waves. The horror of what he had done, once more in the forefront of his mind. His skeletal hands shook with the weight of the burden he was suddenly aware he carried. They felt as if they were holding Rachel's neck in his hands once more.

"What kind of life would that had been?" Bronev demanded, desperately. "You don't understand! They would've chased us all over the world! I had no choice!" He sobbed.

Sycamore had no answer to that. In the beginning, as a child, the choice was made for him. But as time went on and he grew to adulthood, his turn finally came. He was placed in the same position. He chose, and paid the price. The burden of the deaths of his family and of Claire was his. Because he chose what his Uncle did not.

Sometimes he wondered if it had been worth it. Only the certainty that his wife didn't want anything to do with Targent kept him from truly regretting it.

Bronev seemed to gather himself up. He made a wretched sight and Sycamore saw the same desolate look that gazed back at him those dark times. Once upon a time, Leon Bronev was a good man. Wistfully, Sycamore wondered where had that good man gone?

"Do you love him?" He asked.

"Yes." Of that Sycamore was quite certain. His hand tightened around the pocketwatch he held in his hand.

Leon Bronev hummed. "Very well." He said. "Take him away and keep him safe. Do what I could not."

"I fully intend to, if he will have me." He said.

"Hm. Then we are done."

Leon Bronev turned away. Sycamore was clearly dismissed and the younger man watched him for a few more moments before turning away. His uncle would not last much longer in this world. He could not forgive this man who took many precious people yet in the far recesses of his mind, he also hoped that perhaps the old man could join Rachel one day.

For like he, he also loved. Twisted though Bronev's love turned out to be.

"Desmond."

He stopped, his hand on the doorknob.

"Lay flowers on her grave for me." He said.

"I will cover it with red roses." Sycamore agreed and stepped out.

"She loved red roses... They were her favorite." He heard him murmuring, wistfully, before the door closed behind him.

Outside, Inspector Chellmey shot him an apologetic look.

"Sorry to call you out here, Professor Sycamore. But he was insistent." He said. "Wouldn't talk unless he saw you first."

Sycamore nodded. "I know." He replied. "I think you'll have to ask him everything you can. And soon." He started to walk away.

"The doctors say he'll live." He remarked.

"No, he won't." He said as his steps took him farther and farther away from the room. "Not for very long anyway."

Raymond opened the car door for him as soon as he stepped out of the hospital's front doors. He didn't need to tell Raymond they were to go next. Safely within the car, Sycamore once more examined the pocketwatch that sat comfortably in the palm of his hand.

Last time he saw Layton, he was still asleep. He was concerned, of course and had gone for a brief visit before going to work that morning, bringing with him some breakfast for him and the ladies. He could've asked for a few days off. The three of them were excused from working. After what had happened, Dean Delmona was more than a little surprised to see him working. But he couldn't sit still. Instead, he asked to take over Layton's load while he recovered.

It had only been two days since.

He turned up his overcoat's collar, self-consciously, more to shield his neck from prying eyes than the cold, once he stepped out the car. He didn't want them to see the strangle bruises on his neck. The marks had turned purple-bluish. He didn't want Layton to see it.

It wouldn't do to be seen so unkempt. His daughter had said. This counted as that, did it not?

"Doubting yourself again, Master?" Raymond asked.

"No." He said, determined. "I will present my suit this time, properly. So my intentions are clear."

"And then?"

"Then..." He crossed his legs and leaned back. "It's up to Layton whether he wants me or not." He paused. "I will not begrudge him if he refuses."

"You do not seem very confident."

Sycamore laughed wryly. "Raymond, I'll be frank. I'm absolutely terrified." he confessed.

Raymond hummed, cheerfully at that.

Layton's mood did not improve after a short nap. Despite reassurances that Sycamore was all right and that he was well, he could not help the dread that seeped into his skin. It was not the first time that day that he entertained the thought of escaping though the open window (Our room's on the third floor. His mind remarked.) and going to the university even if he was just in his pyjamas, (Scandal! His mind supplied again unhelpfully.) just to be certain the other man really was all right.

He trusted Ascot but sometimes, seeing was believing.

He did his best not to reveal it. He was a gentleman after all but as the day wore on, his disquiet seemed to show on his countenance. Ascot and Emmy did their best to fill the silent gaps between conversations, trying to cheer him up.

"Hey, Hersh." Ascot began. "Look, it'll be fine. We'll find it. I'll even drag Desmond in to help!"

The door opened, quietly.

"I don't think dragging me anywhere is going to work, Ascot."

Everyone in the room turned, swiftly at the sound of the voice. Layton couldn't stop the relieved smile that appeared on his face when Sycamore stepped through the door, holding a large paperbag. The scent of fish and chips reached their noses. Ascot's mouth watered.

"Desmond!!! You're a godsend!!"  He shouted, jumping up and down like an excited schoolboy and threw his arms around the man.

Sycamore scowled. "Ascot, calm yourself." He said. "This is hardly appropriate."

"But you have food!" He declared.

Sycamore raised his eyebrows. "You sound like you haven't eaten in days." He remarked, skeptical then smirked. "Do you have a bottomless pit for a stomach?"

Ascot looked affronted. Hands akimbo he glared at Sycamore. "You're cruel! That isn't for us?"

Sycamore crossed the room to Layton's bedside. "Not for you. This is for Layton and the ladies. I didn't even know you were still here." He shot back. "Can you believe the long lines to that new fish and chip place? It goes twice around the block!" He complained.

Ascot perked up even more at that. "Oooh!! You got the good ones!" Then very sweetly: "May I have some? Please?"

"I could be..." He rubbed his chin with a finger, smirking. "persuaded to share."

Emmy took his burden from him, laughing quietly at Ascot's desperation. He looked a bit like he was trying to solve a puzzle with that determined look on his face.

"Name your price!"

The grin that stretched on Sycamore's lips made him swallow hard. It did not bode well. This was payback for all those times he teased the other man, he was certain of it! Were the fish and chips from that shop worth it? He inhaled the scent which Emmy so helpfully and not very discreetly blew at his face. It was most positively and utterly divine! Yes, it was very worth it! He whined, laying half his body across Layton's bed, by his feet. He flopped his arms about like a fish, making Flora giggle.

"Help me, Hersh~!" He whined, pitifully. "I can't take it anymore!"

Sycamore huffed, settling on the chair, Ascot vacated. "Oh, that's a low blow, coming from you, Ascot." He teased. "Asking an injured man for help. I thought better of you." He clicked his tongue shaking his head in disapproval.

Ascot groaned looked up from where he lay at Layton, shooting him his most pathetic, wretched 'I want it' look he could muster. Sycamore shook his head.

"Can you believe this?" He addressed no one in particular. "Randall Ascot, undone by fish and chips?" He pulled at his gloves' fingertips to release his hands from them and tucking them into his overcoat's pocket.

"But they're good ones, you have to admit!" Ascot stated, cheerfully.

Long suffering, Sycamore sighed, heavily. "Oh, fine. You can have my share."

Ascot gleefully stood, watching Emmy as she brought four carton boxes. It was quite warm. Steam puffed out when one of the boxes were opened. Layton was quietly laughing at their antics. It was obviously done to get his spirits up and it lifted his mood up, greatly. Especially now that the man he wanted to see sat by his bedside with a small smile.

Sycamore sat close enough that if Layton wished, he could lift his hand to rest his hand on his cheek. To assure himself that he truly was here alive and safe. Sycamore noticed his staring and turned to him, with that tender look his face. He reached out to tuck a stray lock of dark hair behind Layton's ear.

"Hullo, Hershel." Sycamore greeted.

Layton smiled at him, but his lips were trembling. The warmth of Sycamore's touch remained.

"Hello..."

Sycamore withdrew. "Well then, are you famished? Shall we eat?" He asked. "It's not much though but I'll take you out for dinner when the doctors clear you."

Layton nodded, weakly. Emmy handed him his share of the food, placing it on the bed table for Layton to be able to eat. Layton was not particularly hungry though. He wondered if it was because he was in the hospital. But he thought he could eat a few bites. It was a gift after all. He took a bite, tasting it and found that he liked it a great deal. He glanced around his friends who also shared his opinion of the food. Only Sycamore didn't eat, content to watch them instead.

Layton found his mood lifting as the hours passed. While they ate, he regaled them with stories of whatever shenanigans the students and other professors were up to the past two days. He told them that Dean Delmona had lost his toupee and that Dr. Shrader's latest research had received a sudden boost with the discovery of the Ambrosia Stone, Triton surveyed. It sent them in a laughing fit as he described his encounter with young miss Rosetta Stone who was bold enough to make advances at him and him trying his best to escape her.

"Only two days and you've gotten yourself a handful!" Ascot guffawed. "Maybe she fancies you."

Sycamore huffed and turned his nose up in the air.

"If that it so, then I must decline. I don't feel the same way about her." He stated, haughtily.

"Who do you fancy then?"

The question caught everyone off guard, especially since the query came from Layton himself. While Layton was aware of Sycamore's feelings before, some part of him still wondered if it had changed after their ordeal. Feelings and then acting on them were two entirely different matters after all. He cared for Sycamore. It was true. However some part of him still felt some hesitance. But he wasn't quite certain what would cause it. Layton didn't look up from his food. Opting instead to continue eating, savouring each bite. He glanced up for a moment and gave Sycamore a smile, almost reminiscent of Ghishavel's Cheshire cat smile but without the mask, it was all Layton. Sycamore couldn't decide if it was dangerous or alluring or both.

Sycamore smirked. "Must you ask that still?" He answered with his own inquiry.

He raised his eyebrows. "Would I, if I knew?"

Sycamore clicked his tongue, grinning. "So curious are you? Can you not guess?"

Layton picked at his food. "Come now, Desmond." He said. Sycamore was delighted to hear his name from the man's lips, turning his grin more smug. "I would never ask or take a guess if I was certain of the answer." He glanced at him sideways. "So I ask again, who do you fancy?"

Sycamore's fingers tightened around the watch in his pocket.

"You, of course." He answered, truthfully. "Else I would not be trying to get into your good graces, hoping that my suit would be favourable."

Layton's face flushed a faint pink at that, refusing, once more, to look at the other man. Ascot couldn't stop the full blown grin on his face, Flora was blushing and Emmy shook her head, hiding her laughter behind a hand.

"I can't decide if you're only teasing me or just bold." Layton remarked.

Sycamore raised his hands in surrender. "No teasing this time, I assure you." He said. "I'm telling the truth. I know you value the truth more than anything else so I shall be honest."

He took a breath and let out an exhale.

"I am very much in love with you." He said, seriously. "And if it pleases you, I will court you, properly this time."

Layton's mouth hung open for a few moments, very ungentlemanly of him without a doubt, but the words, while he had heard them before, was still unexpected. For this time, Sycamore said it, and not accidentally like before. He felt his face warm up. Then he scowled. To court him? Good gracious! What a preposterous idea!

"Desmond, I'm a man."

"I'm well aware of that." He replied. "Physically, you lack the soft bits most women and some men have." Gesturing to his form.

"Desmond!" Scandalized. Someone, Layton was sure was Ascot, was snickering.

"What would you have me do then?" Sycamore asked, curiously. "Just roll you in the hay and be done with it?"

"No need to be so crass about it."

"It's not what I want, Hershel." Sycamore said. "I'm looking for a more long-term relationship. Should it bother me that you and I are men? Frankly, I don't give a damn whether you're male or female. You are you. I fell in love with you. If you suddenly turned into a woman the next day, nothing would change." he paused. "Except you'll have the soft bits." he added to lift the suddenly heaviness of the conversation.

He smiled at him kindly. "We don't live in the Victorian era, Hershel. We won't get thrown to the gallows for that."

Layton looked away. "It doesn't bother you that I was... Well... Ghishavel?" He asked, hesitantly. For that was what was bothering him, more than anything else.

"Does it bother you that I am a Bronev?" He asked back.

Layton was silent.

"I will no longer hide." Sycamore said. "Today, I was told to take you away and keep you safe, to do what they could not do for someone they loved. Another told me to persevere. I will confess that I have no idea how to do all that, except that I would."

He paused.

"All I ask is for a chance." He said, earnestly.

"If it doesn't work out?" Layton asked, softly.

"Then we'll part as friends if you so wish it." He replied. "I will not begrudge you for that."

Sycamore smiled at him, once more in that tender way that Layton had started to search for since it first fell on him. There was a warmth in his chest and he felt like he might burst. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, to the man that so sincerely confessed to him. But they were interrupted by a knock on the door. And his doctor and nurse appeared to check on him, stopping whatever it was he was supposed to say.

The room fell silent as the doctor and nurses checked his temperature and his blood pressure. The only things the broke the silence was when they asked how he was and how he was feeling. Sycamore listened with interest as the doctor explained what the other man would be experiencing in the coming days. And when they left, Sycamore also rose.

"Where are you going?" Ascot suddenly asked. Even Layton looked surprised.

Sycamore pulled at the ends of his gloves to put them on. Distracted for a moment, Layton realized that Sycamore was no longer wearing his wedding ring.

"Back to Gressenheller." He replied. "I have one afternoon class left to teach."

"Oh."

Sycamore turned to Layton smiling.

"I'll visit again after that if you don't mind." He said.

"Of course."

He was about to leave but stopped suddenly recalling what he almost forgot. He fumbled for an item in his pocket then took it out.

"I have something for you."

"What-?"

Sycamore took his hand, the one without the IV, and placed the pocketwatch in his palm. Layton gasped, once more feeling the familiar cool weight of the item. He thought he would never see it again.

"I'm sorry." Sycamore said, softly. "I dropped it while we were in the waiting room and I think I broke it." He paused. "It stopped ticking so I took it home to repair it. It's working perfectly fine now. I wound it up and now it's synced to the clock in Gressenheller."

"What-?" He asked dumbfounded.

He pressed the top button and the top lid opened automatically. And sure enough the hands on the clock's face moved, the gears within it turned seamlessly with a gentle humming that only well oiled machines had.

"You'll forgive me for my clumsiness, I hope?"

Layton looked wildly, up just in time to see the ends of Sycamore's overcoat disappear as the door closed behind him.

"Hersh?!" Ascot called, eyes wide. "Is it really...?"

Layton's hands trembled as everyone crowded around his bed to see with their own eyes, the repaired pocketwatch. With the movement of the second hand, came a collective gasp. Ascot's eyes couldn't possibly grow any larger at the sight. And the grin on Emmy's mouth couldn't get any wider.

"I-it's really moving!" Flora exclaimed, excitedly.

"It really is..." Layton whispered in awe.

The hands continued to move reassuringly. The sound of the ticking clock and soft humming of the gears comforted him. It reminded him that once upon a time, Claire's heart beat just like that. For a few more moments, he wondered, not for the first time, if Claire wanted him to do something and move on.

Sycamore contemplated whether or not it was a good thing to visit so soon. His last class ended rather late with him trying to finish the rest of the paperwork needed to be done while doing his best to help a student with his papers. He didn't need to stay longer. He promised that he would call on Layton again later however, some part of him was once more starting to lose his nerve.

The pocketwatch was Layton's most prized possession. The last remnant of Claire. If his repairs on it were unsatisfactory or it suddenly broke down again, it would be his fault. And he wasn't certain if Layton would ever forgive him if it came to that.

The velvet box that contained the cufflinks he bought for Layton sat on his desk. If everything went well, perhaps he would be able to present this gift to him. He turned to the picture of his family on sitting on his desk and picked it up, a sad smile on his countenance as he gently touched the glass; the only thing separating his fingertips and the photograph within. In it, a smiling raven haired lady with bright green eyes stood beside a beaming little girl waving to the camera.

"Dearest, is this really all right?" He whispered, calling the lady with that fond nickname. "Would it be all right with you if I love him too?"

A knock on the door was the only signal he had before Raymond opened the door and stepped in. He bowed to his master.

"Master, if you do not leave now, you would not make it within visiting hours."

He placed the photograph back on the desk and straightened his tie.

"Of course."

He swept out the office. Raymond glanced around the room one last time before bowing to the photograph and closing the door behind him, following Sycamore across the hallway.

"Enter." Layton called after a knock.

Sycamore entered the dimly lit room. There was a small night light in the farther corner. It wasn't advisable but the moon was full that night and it cast a pale light in the room. And Layton sat, with the pocketwatch still cradled in his hands, playing with its golden chain with his elegant fingers. Sycamore had to shake himself else he'd get distracted by his fingers.

"Were you resting?" Sycamore asked. Not the best intro but it was the only thing that came out when he opened his mouth. "I can return another day if you are."

Layton shook his head. "No. I just turned the lights down a bit."

Sycamore took off his overcoat, hanging it on the coat stand by the door. With the room, this dimly lit, he hoped Layton wouldn't see the strangle bruises on his neck. A moment later, he sat down on the chair by his bedside.

"Where are Miss Reinhold and the others?" He asked, curious.

"I sent them home two hours ago." Layton replied. "After what happened, they needed to sleep on a proper bed. They've looked after me enough."

"Hmm. If I'd known, I'd come by earlier instead of dallying with paperwork." He remarked. "I wouldn't want you to be alone, especially after all that."

Layton gave him a faint smile. "Is that what we're calling it now?" He asked.

"I suppose so." He answered, shrugging his shoulders. He paused. "While I'm relieved that everything went well, it's still not something I'd like to recall with fondness, you understand."

"Yes."

"You were almost killed." Sycamore said, grimly.

"You as well." Layton said back. "Ascot told me what you did. At least the ones I don't remember. You had a wager with Bronev." He frowned. "That was dangerous."

"It was." Sycamore agreed. "But it needed to be done."

"If you had failed?"

Sycamore shrugged. "Then I would've taken you away with me, put you and your daughter somewhere safe and finished Targent off myself."

"There's no safe place from Targent, you know that." Layton said wistfully.

"True." Sycamore agreed much to his sorrow. "But it would've given me enough time to at least take them down. I wouldn't let them touch you. We've already lost far too much."

Layton hummed in accord. Then looked up at Sycamore. The moonlight filtered in from the window, giving him a view of the bruises on his neck. He gasped at the damage and lifted his hand up to touch it. From where he sat, the bruises looked like an ugly butterfly. The markings of Bronev's hands imprinted on skin.

Sycamore immediately regretted taking off his overcoat. Especially when he saw the sad look on Layton's face. He didn't move away though. Layton gently touched the bruises with a hand, fingers caressing the abused skin, trailing warmth at their wake. It made the other man shiver. But not from pain.

"Are you all right?" Layton whispered.

"I'm fine." He said.

"You had the doctors take a look at it?" He leaned against his pillows once more.

"Yes. They had me go through some tests to be certain nothing was broken." A wry smile. "My voice is a little hoarse. But that could be because I kept shouting at one of your students to stop. He stood on the table in the middle of class and belted out a power ballad out of nowhere." He winced at the memory. "It wasn't even good."

Layton chuckled. "The boy with the long, wild hair and sunglasses?"

"Yes."

"That would be Sammy Thunder." He said, shaking his head in disbelief. "He's been trying to woo Rosetta for the past few weeks." He rubbed his forehead, wearily. "Let's just say it's not working out well for the young man."

"I doubt it would. He doesn't exactly have the best singing voice." He added, irritably.

"You're being kind." A slight quirk on his lips.

Sycamore's eyebrow raised high. "Kind?" Sycamore huffed. "I almost threw chalk at him! But someone hurled a book instead, knocking him and his guitar off the table." He shrugged. "Luckily he wasn't injured too badly and you will be pleased to know that despite the almost riot it caused, I was able to stop it."

Layton laughed quietly. His shoulders shook with mirth. Sycamore was pleased. This was what he wanted to see. Layton, smiling and laughing. At least he no longer looked sickly pale. Something glinted and he glanced down at the pocketwatch, its lid open so he could see the hands as it moved.

"Is it working well?" He asked.

Layton stopped laughing and twisted pocketwatch's golden chain around his fingers.

"Yes." He said, smiling. "How were you able to repair it?"

Sycamore frowned in thought. "There was an oddly shaped cog inside." He replied.

"Did you... replace it?" Layton asked, slowly.

"Not quite. It couldn't be removed, however, I had to attach another much smaller cog to make it work." He replied. Then regretfully: "My apologies. I had a feeling you wouldn't want any of its parts changed. I'm truly sorry."

"It's all right." He said, smiling as his lips trembled. "That you got it to work at all is a miracle in itself."

Sycamore's eyebrows rose high, surprised. Layton saw this and chuckled then shook his head.

"Oh, Desmond." He began in that affectionate tone. "When Claire gave it to me before she died, never once did its hands move."

"Wha-?" He frowned. "B-but you were always looking at it, checking for time."

Layton shook his head. "Force of habit, I suppose." He explained. "After her death, I kept glancing at the watch. You understand why, I'm certain. And I've done it so many times, it became a habit I couldn't break out off."

Layton glanced out the window.

"I took it to every watchmaker I could find in London and outside when I travelled. I kept some vain hope that maybe if the hands moved, I'd find her safe and well again." He sighed. "It was all futile. We both know that nothing can bring the dead back to life."

"Is that what you wish for? For her to return?" Sycamore asked.

"Sometimes." He answered, honestly. "Whenever I passed by the places we used to go, I miss her. Whenever, I do things that remind me of her. And those nights when it's cold... nothing could ever substitute for her scent and warmth and her laughter."

He sighed.

"I wanted it all back. I wanted her to be alive again."

"I'm sorry." Sycamore whispered. He bowed his head.

"It's not your fault." Layton said. When Sycamore didn't say anything, Layton turned to him, scowling. "No matter what anyone says, it's not your fault." He said, forcefully. "If you had accepted Bronev's invitation, who knows what else would've happened? The man was mad with grief."

"You know about Rachel then?"

"I know that he loved her with everything he had." Layton said. "And that he killed her himself for disobeying the organization's rules and taking you away." He paused. "It doesn't excuse everything he's done; all the killing and abductions... But I do understand that he loved her."

The gold chain twisted around his fingers like a snake.

"I don't want to admit it, and I'm ashamed of it, but I loathe Leon Bronev. He was the one who took the only woman I ever loved."

"I understand it well."

They sat in silence. Outside the room, the sounds of doctors and nurses' footfalls echoed across the hallways. Announcements on the speakers and whispered gossips or discussions amongst the nurses in the station.

"Earlier," Layton began. "you asked me if it bothered me that you are a Bronev."

Sycamore nodded.

"You're not a Bronev." Sycamore opened his mouth but Layton stopped him with a finger on his lips to hush him. "You may share blood with him, however, you and other people shaped who you are today. Rachel, your wife, your daughter, Raymond... So, I know, that I..."

He shook his head, taking a deep breath.

"Does this mean, I may continue to court you?"

"No."

Sycamore's face fell.

"I see..." Very quietly.

Layton suddenly appalled at the misunderstanding, shook his head. "No. You don't understand... I-!"

The other man shook his head, interrupting whatever it was the Layton wanted to say. "You don't need to explain. It's all right."

Layton sighed, frustrated. He was terrible at this. Words only got in the way. And if he opened his mouth again, he was quite certain it would be misunderstood. Instead, he allowed his body to do the talking. Just as he had done before, he grasped Sycamore's tie and pulled, forcefully, making the other man gasp at the suddenness, and sent him sprawling on the bed. He opened his mouth to protest but was silenced immediately by Layton's lips on his.

It was far from being romantic.

Far from the first kiss they shared in that long ago party.

Their noses bumped and one of them grunted in pain at the impact. The wound on Sycamore's lip, opened up again and the metallic taste of blood seeped into their kiss. Sycamore grasped Layton's face with both hands, unwilling to let go until both needed air back into their lungs.

"You won me."

"Huh?" Sycamore, dumbfounded.

"During your game with Bronev. You won me."

When it did not seem to register, Layton sighed.

"I mean..." Layton began, breathlessly. "You don't have to court me. Not anymore. Be my lover and I'll be yours."

"And Claire?"

"I will always love her as you would always love your wife." He whispered, Sycamore laid his forehead on Layton's. "I'm not trying to replace your wife and you're not replacing Claire. But just because that's how it is doesn't mean we couldn't love again. Or that I love you less. I'm not searching for a replacement for Claire." He repeated.

Sycamore closed his eyes, tightly. The words that Raymond spoke, rang true it seemed. That man could read people better than anyone he ever knew.

"I love you." Layton said, fervently.

Sycamore' breath hitched. The words he wanted to hear for quite a while, finally coming out of the other man's lips. He felt like he might just burst from joy. 

"I want you. I'm quite certain of that now. Especially after all this..." He gestured vaguely. Then very hesitantly: "Would that... be all right?"

Sycamore let out a half-hysterical, breathless laugh, settling on the bed beside Layton. Layton laid his head on Sycamore's shoulder. His thoughts seemed to be going several places at once. He was quite prepared for a long courtship and for rejection, steeling his heart to it, really. But this was quite, quite sudden. And also a very welcome surprise.

"Of course." He replied, incredulous. "Must you still ask that?"

Layton huffed. "I wanted to be certain." He paused. "I was rather daft, wasn't I?" He asked.

"You were." Sycamore agreed. At Layton's slightly affronted look  he added cheerfully: "But then so was I." Then he shook his head in disbelief. "I can scarcely believe this. Ascot's going to have a field day once he finds out."

"You can always challenge him to a duel if it gets too much." He teased.

Sycamore groaned. "There's still the matter of our pending little competition." He muttered then with a leer: "Does this mean you'll be cheering for me then?" He asked.

"Am I not supposed to have a match with you after Randall?"

"Yes but before that?"

"I could be... persuaded." He replied with the Cheshire cat grin.

"And that boon?"

"You want your boon now?" Incredulous. "My word, Professor Sycamore! How impatient you are!" He remarked, chuckling.

"Am I now?"

There were things he wanted to do to persuade the other man to bestow him that promised favour. Still, such matters shouldn't be done in a place like the hospital. Most certainly not while recovering from an experience as what they went through but then, Sycamore mused, it would be recovery as well, wouldn't it? There was nothing wrong with that. At the moment though he was quite happy. The delight within his chest overflowed. His feelings shouted for joy. 

Finally! He thought. Finally...

The pocketwatch's gears hummed, silently.

Its hands moved with that comforting sound that mimicked the beating of hearts.

END