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Paradox Lost
~*~*~*~*~*~*

More phone calls were made in the morning, both to and from the household. Layton fielded them all while sitting in his home office, his coat hanging on the nearby rack while he wrapped fresh bandages over the scrapes on one arm, sleeve rolled up to give him better access to the injury. He balanced the phone on one shoulder, head tilted to keep it in place while he spoke. Almost as soon as he was done with one call, he would have to deal with another.

"If you send a courier, I'll be able to send the lesson plans to the university and a substitute to review the curriculum with my students. ...No, I do apologize, but I'm in recovery... yes, that was my car that was in the crash. No, I'm all right, just minor injuries, surface injuries... one of my charges was more seriously injured and I'm needed here to keep an eye on him."

With that conversation done, another was soon on the way and Layton winced at hearing the phone ring just as he was carefully tugging the sleeve of his orange shirt down over the wrappings.

"No, Inspector Chelmey, I'd rather you hold off on investigating until I am present to see to the condition of my car. ...Alright; take as many photos as you like, but I will be having repairs done to her once I've arrived. I need my car. ...No, I'm not pressing any charges, I suspect a slipped brake line, something that may have been jarred loose while driving. There's no need to indict some innocent soul over an accident."

When he finally got Chelmey off the phone and finished wrapping another layer of fresh gauze over his other arm, the phone rang again and Layton considered pulling the phone cord out before sighing and picking it up to deal with another caller.

"Pardon? Oh, the young man's name?" The doctor was calling about Penford, wanting his name to put to his records because there hadn't been a chance to ask him and they had called him 'Johnny Everyman' for a short time. Layton cast about helplessly, searching his office for a suitable name to hide Penford's identity. "Lu... Lucas." he finally said, feeling himself deflate a bit at having to resort to a lie again, "Lucas... Triton." There, a name that had no connection at all to Penford and still sounded similar enough that it could pass for real. "He's recovering well, yes. ...Oh, no, sir, I'm perfectly all right myself. Thank you for your concern." He hung up, hung his head for a moment, then lifted the phone from the cradle to call the mechanic that he'd hired the previous day to collect the wrecked car and take it in for repair.

Layton would have to go there himself and see to it that the Laytonmobile was well into being repaired before Chelmey arrived to render his own verdict on what had caused the crash.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Luke sat in the den with a cup of tea in one hand, his notepad in the other, and a frown on his face. He had spent much of his night after dinner working on creating a new formula to try and plan out what the changes in the speed of the historical events would ultimately do to the Professor and himself. Not much luck there; he'd fallen asleep with the notepad resting over his heart and when he awoke, several more pages of his notes had vanished while several others displayed double handwriting when they were blank before. It was disconcerting and frustrating him further was his own memory growing hazier, puzzles and their solutions slipping away like sand through his fingers.

It also didn't help that Young Luke was sitting on Hershel again after a rowdy tussle over the fact that one of the boy's jumpers was found missing and he immediately blamed Hershel for it. Something about admitting he was a thief of sorts in his own time had put the young Layton in the spotlight right off the bat. Flora had looked between him and the boys expectantly, and Luke set his tea and pad aside to deal with the matter at hand.

"Alright, you! Off the twerp!" he declared, pulling his young self off the future Professor rather bodily, "What part of 'Don't break the future' didn't quite make it into your brain?"

"Oi! The Professor paid good money for the clothes he got for me!" Young Luke yelled back, face red with anger and frustration, "Doesn't it mean anything that this stupid bloke just stole a jumper from me?! Especially if I'm going to be you one day?!" Luke covered his face with one hand, exerting every bit of control he had to keep from snapping, from exploding at the two boys.

"You have plenty of jumpers, Luke, the loss of one is not the end of the world." he finally managed to get out in a rather calm and even tone, emotion reigned in to the point that he sounded almost cold, "So just leave the matter be; it doesn't matter. The Professor will buy you more if you need it, and you can't accuse Hershel of theft without evidence. Can you prove he took your jumper?" Young Luke's cheeks puffed with childish fury, but he managed to also pull in his emotions, though with less control as his elder self.

"N-no...." he bit out reluctantly, shooting a glare at Hershel. The young Layton just looked away, scowling but saying nothing else so as to keep from incriminating himself.

"Then there's no point in spoiling for a fight." Luke lectured and sighed, kneeling to lay his hands on the boy's shoulders, "I've learned that material things can be replaced, so I shouldn't waste my tears or blood on them. What truly matters are the people that are close to my heart. They can't be so quickly forgotten or ever replaced, so it's best to save your strength for helping and protecting them." He managed a small smile, albeit a little sad. "One should be ready and willing to help those who are less fortunate than themselves...."

"Because that's what a gentleman does." both Young Luke and Hershel recited in unison and then looked at one another in surprise. Flora giggled behind her hands at the sight, and the two boys quickly broke eye contact with equally annoyed huffs. Luke just hung his head in exasperation.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

The afternoon was spent indoors, sitting together in the den in quiet repose. Young Luke sat on the floor, Indian-fashion, his eyes glued to the telly in awe at the nature programme currently airing. Something about animals again, from what Layton could see of it. The Professor himself relaxed into a soft padded chair, mindful of his sore limbs. He'd already sent the courier with his lesson plans and decided to take the time to recover a little more before heading out into the world, or at least the local mechanic. The workman had already promised to keep his car safely out of sight until Layton could arrive to see the damages for himself before the repairs could be started, for insurance purposes, of course. Layton kept his eyes somewhat closed, open just enough to let him watch over his wards, and it gave him a content, almost sleepy appearance.

Flora also watched the telly with Young Luke, but she sat on the sofa properly, smiling at the animals she found cute on the programme. At the tea table just before her, Hershel sat on the floor as well, focused on working out a puzzle in one of the books that Penford had in his satchel. Layton watched with some interest as his younger self would lift his head from the puzzle to give Young Luke the odd look now and again. Almost as if he was contemplating the other boy. Then he would sense the Professor watching him and quickly bring his eyes back down to the puzzle. Young Luke was completely oblivious, lips moving to form silent words as if to translate the language of the animals on the screen. That left Penford himself, the future Luke; where was he?

Just as Layton thought that, Luke entered the den from the entrance near the stairs, a little paler than usual and his hand drifting from his injured side. He gave the Professor a quick smile, staving off the concerned questions Layton was about to ask, and went to sit in another chair, close to Hershel. Now they were all together, like a temporally inconsistent extended family, and Professor Layton felt the strangest light feeling, a quiet contentment and joy that he hadn't felt before. Was this what it was meant to feel like, to be part of a family that loved one another wholly?

One hand clenched, just out of sight of the others, as if to grab those emotions tight and hide them from his face. A gentleman shouldn't be overly expressive, should be cool and calm and collected, and this was rushing against that shield, wanting to get out and explode somehow. He managed to quell it for now, burying it deep for later. He shouldn't get too worked up over the emotions, not while there's still a few last loose ends to wrap up legally and the mystery of why both Luke and Hershel were in this time period.

Well, Hershel being here was no real mystery. Layton could remember -faintly of course because of the way the Time-Binder was working- hitching a ride into the future by jumping onto Luke just as he made the trip forward. No, the deepest mystery here was why Luke had come from the future to the past. He spent most of his time following Layton around, but was also very protective of Hershel. Luke didn't appear to have changed much compared to how Young Luke behaved, save for his tendency to speak in riddles when Layton pressed him subtly for information. It was very much like he wanted to say why he was there, but had convinced himself not to divulge his mission details, so the cryptic speeches were all he could manage to get out.

"I don't like this puzzle." Hershel grumbled, getting up from the floor to squirm into place at Luke's side. The workbook was rolled up in his hand, and the boy managed to fit himself in just under the elder Penford's arm, resting comfortably against his left side. He unrolled the thin workbook as Luke gave him a small wry grin.

"Oh? And why not?" he questioned. Hershel pointed at the pictures in the puzzle he'd been working on, scowling.

"There's a pistol in it. I don't like guns." he returned almost bitterly, "It's like the one the creepy old man used back home." Luke sighed, patting him on the shoulder comfortingly. They were both reminded of the black rifle on the Layton Estate, the very one that was melted down to become the black rapier that was always at Luke's side in his own time.

"Well it's gone now, Hershel. Don't worry about it." the young scientist told him and took the book in his own hands, flipping through the pages, "Let's find another puzzle for you." He smiled as Hershel leaned in to poke his fingers into the book, stopping on a puzzle that caught his eye. "This one?" Luke asked with an amused tone, "It's a very old puzzle, dated back to the days when Africa was wild and filled with faces as dark as night, decked in gold and furs. That's also where this puzzle was first discovered."

"Mm." Hershel muttered a small sound, recognizing that his mentor had said something but more interested in the puzzle itself. "Pale as moonlight, veiled with mist, stars and secrets bow in bliss. Serene as the calmest lake, mystery washes in the wake. To this land, a rarity. Answer now, the identity." he read aloud and frowned, looking up at Luke. "I don't understand this. Does it want me to say what possesses all these qualities?" he asked. Luke blinked and read the puzzle himself, nodding slowly.

"It's one of those 'What is this?' puzzles. I tried solving it myself; see, this workbook has one of those thinking stamps embedded in this page." he replied, moving his hand to tap on a dark square set in the top left corner of the page, "Future technology... it scans the answer and then responds with colored light if it is correct or not. So far, I've never been right."

Hershel frowned again, looking a little troubled. "Has anyone solved it?" he asked and Luke shook his head, "It's really that hard?"

"In my time, there is nothing conceivable that possesses all those qualities and is considered 'correct'." the elder Penford returned and gave him a wry grin, "The picarat score on it fell drastically for me. I doubt I'll earn anything now."

Hershel gave the puzzle a suspicious look, then closed the book and hugged it to his chest, settling back to watch the telly while curled next to his mentor. Luke was grateful that something else had taken priority in the boy's mind. The less he pondered over Luke's reasons for following Layton around, the less likely the Professor would glean extra information and insight from his past self.

"Oh! Professor! I found a puzzle!" Young Luke exclaimed happily, scrambling from his seat on the floor to run to his own mentor. Hershel sat up in surprise, watching him go with wide eyes before looking back at the telly in confusion. He didn't see a puzzle anywhere; where had the other boy found one? He looked to Luke for an explanation, but he looked just as surprised.

"I didn't see it." he whispered, a worried expression on his face, "Why didn't I see it?"

Layton noticed the concerned look on Luke's face, but couldn't act on it. Young Luke was at his side, scribbling down the puzzle on a piece of paper so he could see it as well. Watching the boy write out the conditions of the puzzle, that same feeling from before began making itself known again in Layton. The Professor blinked, seeing the small boy in a new light, a sense of awe settling over him as the full impact of what he had done in the past few days finally reached him.

He wanted to say something, wanted to call out to Young Luke and share what he'd done, share in the joy that he was feeling... but he held back, fingers digging into the arms of his chair in his effort to contain himself. Why? Why couldn't he bring himself to say anything?

Gripping his chair so tightly irritated the sore muscles of his arms, and Layton sighed in faint frustration, lifting his hands to rub gently at the bound injuries. Young Luke finished writing and turned to hold up the puzzle with a bright smile, eager to share it with him. The Professor managed a smile at the boy, thanking him quietly as he took the paper in hand.

"Well, now, let's have a look." he remarked, pausing as a new-old memory filtered in and settled in place. He remembered sharing a puzzle with his own mentor, curled against his good side and feeling warm and comforted by the proximity. It wasn't very gentlemanly, but he hadn't cared at the time, more concerned with giving and receiving affection the only way he knew how back then. With the way Young Luke was looking over at Hershel and Penford with a faint longing in his expression, Layton could easily guess that he might want to do the same. And again, he held back, some inner voice quailing against such contact. It was improper, not the way a gentleman behaved, and Layton felt a bit of regret and hurt for both himself and the little boy in the blue jumper as he lowered his arms to block any attempt on Young Luke's part to emulate Hershel. He focused his gaze on the puzzle, not wanting to catch the flinch of rejection in the boy's eyes but seeing it anyway.

"Now, this puzzle seems to...." Layton began, but Young Luke pulled away, wandering off as if in disinterest.

"If it's all right with you, Professor, I think I'll head to bed early. I'm not feeling up to working on a puzzle myself." the boy announced dully and made his way to the stairs, "Penford, I really don't want to ask you this because you're hurt and everything, but could you make supper for everyone?"

Luke lifted his head, gaze refocusing after a moment, as though he'd been distracted by his own thoughts or memories, and nodded in agreement. Flora pouted, cheeks red with indignation.

"I can help make supper, too, Luke!" she told the little boy, hands clenched up into little fists that she shook in ladylike outrage, "Why don't you ever ask me to cook?!"

"Because we actually want to eat." Hershel pointed out dryly and stuck his tongue out when the girl turned her indignant look on him, her cheeks puffed.

"Oooh! How mean!" she returned, and Luke carefully stood up, pulling away from Hershel -much to the young Layton's surprise- before heading to the kitchen, one hand lifting to his head as if to stave off a migraine.

Layton watched the two Lukes leave the den, feeling rather dejected with the way things had turned out. That warm and loving feeling from earlier had dissipated now, replaced by a chill and distant one. And as he rubbed his thumb lightly against the paper that Young Luke had written the puzzle on for him, the Professor couldn't help but accept the knowledge that it had been entirely his fault.