storypaint (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
storypaint) wrote2009-01-07 03:04 pm
storypaint) wrote2009-01-07 03:04 pm
We Take Slow Steps Toward Dying (Layton/Claire)
Title: We Take Slow Steps Toward Dying
Length: 448 words
Prompt: Professor Layton (Anon) Fan Meme: What I'd love to see is a piece of fanfiction from Layton's POV of something so sad it will make me sob for hours and meme it into history.
Pairing: Layton/Claire
Other: Layton 3 spoilers
Excerpt: He came to visit her every year, but only once a year. It did not do to dwell on the past, after all.
He came to visit her every year, but only once a year. It did not do to dwell on the past, after all.
The funeral had been small, he remembered. Just him and a few colleagues. They were all colleagues, not friends. How that cheerful, vibrant woman hadn't had any real friends, he didn't understand. He'd fallen hard for her the moment they'd met. How had others missed the cheer of her smile?
"I don't get out much," she had told him, blushing, smiling. Maybe that was why.
He'd thrown the earth onto the coffin.
*
He came to visit her only once a year, and he didn't take Luke with him. There was something much too private about this mourning. Luke had never met Claire. And it wasn't that he thought Luke would be disrespectful; the boy knew better than that.
But Layton had loved her, once, long ago.
There was nothing puzzling about that.
*
Once a year he bought flowers. She'd loved orchids and roses, red and white. She'd always been surprised when he'd brought them for her, even though he always did, every Friday. He was a predictable man but she was constantly finding something new in every situation. It was her scientist's mind, full of wonder.
She could have cured cancer, changed time, moved space, harnessed the sun. She had all of that in her, and more.
Maybe Layton was a little biased, but he believed it.
*
Once a year in the summer sun he lay orchids on her grave. He crouched down beside it and talked a while, telling her about his newest puzzles, because she'd always been so thrilled to hear them. She had been pretty good at solving them, as well. He'd brought her flowers; she'd brought him puzzles, like clockwork every Friday.
He didn't tell her vapid things about missing her or loving her. The fact that his ring finger was still bare was proof enough of that. Besides, he suspected, she would tell him to cheer up already and enjoy his life. He did the best he could to work around the hole she'd left.
After a while, he stood again, wincing at his aching knees. When he was younger, he would sit and talk for hours, knowing how useless it was. But the passion of youth was slipping away from him, the memories of her face and her voice. Would she even recognize him now? He'd never solved mysteries when they'd dated, never exercised his swordsmanship, never taken care of children.
It was probably silly to go back every year, with the world so changed.
*
He did anyway.
Length: 448 words
Prompt: Professor Layton (Anon) Fan Meme: What I'd love to see is a piece of fanfiction from Layton's POV of something so sad it will make me sob for hours and meme it into history.
Pairing: Layton/Claire
Other: Layton 3 spoilers
Excerpt: He came to visit her every year, but only once a year. It did not do to dwell on the past, after all.
He came to visit her every year, but only once a year. It did not do to dwell on the past, after all.
The funeral had been small, he remembered. Just him and a few colleagues. They were all colleagues, not friends. How that cheerful, vibrant woman hadn't had any real friends, he didn't understand. He'd fallen hard for her the moment they'd met. How had others missed the cheer of her smile?
"I don't get out much," she had told him, blushing, smiling. Maybe that was why.
He'd thrown the earth onto the coffin.
*
He came to visit her only once a year, and he didn't take Luke with him. There was something much too private about this mourning. Luke had never met Claire. And it wasn't that he thought Luke would be disrespectful; the boy knew better than that.
But Layton had loved her, once, long ago.
There was nothing puzzling about that.
*
Once a year he bought flowers. She'd loved orchids and roses, red and white. She'd always been surprised when he'd brought them for her, even though he always did, every Friday. He was a predictable man but she was constantly finding something new in every situation. It was her scientist's mind, full of wonder.
She could have cured cancer, changed time, moved space, harnessed the sun. She had all of that in her, and more.
Maybe Layton was a little biased, but he believed it.
*
Once a year in the summer sun he lay orchids on her grave. He crouched down beside it and talked a while, telling her about his newest puzzles, because she'd always been so thrilled to hear them. She had been pretty good at solving them, as well. He'd brought her flowers; she'd brought him puzzles, like clockwork every Friday.
He didn't tell her vapid things about missing her or loving her. The fact that his ring finger was still bare was proof enough of that. Besides, he suspected, she would tell him to cheer up already and enjoy his life. He did the best he could to work around the hole she'd left.
After a while, he stood again, wincing at his aching knees. When he was younger, he would sit and talk for hours, knowing how useless it was. But the passion of youth was slipping away from him, the memories of her face and her voice. Would she even recognize him now? He'd never solved mysteries when they'd dated, never exercised his swordsmanship, never taken care of children.
It was probably silly to go back every year, with the world so changed.
*
He did anyway.