Professor, Professor

A Fragile Butterfly

why. do. I. keep. writing. for. this. fandom. oh my goodness. nevertheless, these ideas are coming at me so late and I've recently gained the motivation to start working on the 20+ drafts I have for this fandom. yes, 20+. I've been writing for the past many years for this ship, so I'm not surprised. anyway, who wants to see a flustered Prof and one badass Lucy?

—

The Reconstruction Machine breaks--well, needs repairs is the more apt term to say--the day that he needs it for a case, much to his dismay. Not that the machine wasn't ever going to break, but it was his most prized asset and kept him from going outside to the real world. To prevent any more incidents, any more Forbodiums. He is lucky that the evidence isn't far away and is just locked up for this particular case, but the witness he needs to speak to is in the hospital and by no means, can leave.

It's not necessarily the first time that he had gone out to a expedition for a case, but it is jarring that he doesn't have to worry for just himself. Lucy is in tow, following with the bright eyes that shouldn't see jarring messes and problems--like himself.

She didn't quite share that perspective, however.

"Ee, Prof, I'm much more useful if I'm with you, right? Keep notes, give you an ear to listen, perhaps give deductions?" Lucy reasons, already pulling on an orange scarf that matched the colour of her trusty cap the moment he tried to dissuade her from coming with him to the hospital. He frowns, faltering at her drive to even go. It wasn't going to necessarily be fun, just talking to a child that had apparently seen the suspect poison their victim and his statement could prove valuable to the case.

"Yes, well..." He scratches the back of his head, trying to come up with some sort of argument. It was reminiscent to possessive thinking, to which he shakes away. "It won't even be interesting. You could get hurt."

"Doesn't mean I won't follow ya. I'm not some fragile butterfly. And at a 'ospital Prof? I'm even more safe there, innit?" She responds, as though he was the one in the conversation being the unreasonable. He makes no effort to move, to which she shakes her head at. She crosses her arms, clearly refusing to take no for an answer, no matter how much he was beating around the bush for it. "Come on Prof, how can I be a stunning Inspector like ya if you're gonna keep me in these four walls?"

She had, undeniably, a point. One day, she wasn't going to just be a Detective Constable. She would be Inspector Lucy Baker. She'd undeniably follow his steps, perhaps not even using the Reconstruction Machine or would have to be the one to go to the witness just like they were doing now. If he remained within his thought to keep her at bay, she would miss important knowledge and he'd be remiss to not give her at least a couple opportunities to work.

To keep you safe goes unsaid, though he was tempted. Instead, he opts for, "Alright. Fine. Come along, Lucy."

----

St. Bart's hospital is as dreary as he remembers it when he was first brought out to the real world after Forbodium. He passes through corridors of rooms that held individuals with their colouring all wrong, most muted like silent films. Grey from the drugs, grey from the dreary four walls that held them captive to help them. It doesn't take long before they make it to the room where the child was, multiple things attached to him and merely stared at them. He didn't seem no older than eight, dark curls grown out and blue piercing eyes looking at them.

"Inspector Layton and DC Baker. It is a pleasure." The young nurse smiles to them, in one of those unnerving ways that made you want to avert your gaze. She looked to be in her late thirties, though still young enough to easily pass to be in her mid-twenties. She wore the standard scrubs, her name tag clear as day to show her name was indeed Nancy Coolridge, RN. "I'm Benedict's RN, Nancy."