Yes. I am a total schmuck who writes one shots for new fandoms when I should be finishing the projects I have already. Blame my fiancé. He keeps making me watch new anime. Just be grateful y'all didn't end up with a Code Geass fic too.
Anyway. I'd never actually seen Death Note before, and while I don't think it's anywhere near as well constructed as FMA:B, or even Code Geass, it was quite riveting, and it gave my philosophical mind some nice material to work with. I told my fiancé I wanted to write something about the dichotomy between redemption and predestination, and this was the result.
I don't own Death Note. Or a Death Note.
"Aizawa, do you ever think you might be glad for your daughter to grow up in a world free of criminals?"
L blinked slowly at Matsuda's words, but he neither looked away from the monitors in front of him, nor removed the tiny fork he favored from his mouth. The young detective voiced thoughts like this not infrequently, and almost always in the form of questions to his colleagues. He felt guilty for his doubts, and so tried to project them onto others. What was the saying? Misery loves company.
L blinked once more, and sucked pensively on the fork, impervious by now to the harsh, shivering sensation of the tines grating against his teeth. No, that wasn't quite right. Misery did love company, no doubt about it, but that was only because misery, like every other emotion, was a human experience. And humans didn't just love company. They craved it. They needed it.
L's jaw slackened and his hand dropped, the fork adhering to his lower lip by virtue of its moisture and its residual coating of sugar. He reached up and grasped the handle of the utensil, placing it once more between his lips, and resumed sucking on the warm metal with increased vigor.
Kira was the exception. He neither craved company nor needed it. Then again, Kira did not think of himself as merely human...
L lurched suddenly sideways, his fork falling completely from his mouth. The boy in the seat beside him had swiveled to face the room, and the chain between them grew taut, upsetting L's balance.
"Mr. Matsuda." Light Yagami's eyes were wide and earnest, his face totally open. "Believe me when I tell you that we all understand your thoughts. Some of us may even sympathize with them."
Light's glance darted sideways to the man in the chair beside him. L half-lay, half-sat, leaning awkwardly against the arm of the chair in the position Light's sudden movement had jerked him into. His knees were drawn almost to his chin, and his head lolled backwards at an angle so he could just see Light's upside-down face. His wide eyes, both intense and vacant, betrayed no reaction to the boy's words. He merely studied him with an unblinking gaze, his mouth slightly open in an expression that managed to look both intrigued and utterly bored. Light looked away and continued speaking.
"Yes, Mr. Matsuda, we have all thought at some point or another that maybe the world would be better off if we allowed Kira to continue his work; we have acknowledged that fact many times."
He paused again but did not look at L, who remained fixed and unaware of any discomfort in his position.
"However," Light pressed on in a strong voice, "What Kira does is gravely evil. He is as much a criminal as any one of his victims; if he truly believed in justice, he would visit his own judgement upon himself!"
Matsuda, chastened, began to mumble an apology, but Light was no longer looking at him. He had turned to face L, his eyes bright with all the hope of a young boy wanting his teacher to praise him. L, upright once more, gazed intently at him, blinked once, then turned back to the monitor.
"That's interesting, Light," he said.
"I'm sorry. What is?"
"That in your attempt to show me that you are not Kira, you actually increased the chances of your being him."
A murmur rippled through the room, but if Light was irritated by the other man's insinuations, he gave no sign. He merely bowed his head and sighed.
"I suppose you mean that by saying that Kira should use his own power on himself, I am displaying the same judgement that he makes on others. Is that right, Ryuzaki?"
"Yes," L drawled thoughtfully. "We know by now that such absolute statements are characteristic of Kira."
"But thinking—or even saying out loud—that someone deserves to die is very different from actually killing them," Light countered. "And someone with a power like Kira's…Do you honestly believe that his death wouldn't be for the best?"
L tapped his lip twice with a pale, spidery finger. "That depends."
"It depends?" Light's brow furrowed. "You don't mean that you think Kira could ever change?"
L whipped around, his wide, cold stare boring into Light's incredulous frown.
"Very good." The hunched detective spoke rapidly, his voice low and intense. "You just reduced the chances of your being Kira by about one percent, and depending how you respond to this question, that percentage could go up to as much as fifteen: Do you, Light Yagami, think people can change?"
Light held L's gaze for one breathless moment, then hung his head slightly and turned away.
"I know what you want me to say, Ryuzaki: that people can change, that I believe in redemption." He lifted his head once more and looked resolutely forward. "But I have to tell the truth, even if it does mean that you'll continue to suspect me.
"I don't think that people change. Sometimes a good person will do something cruel, and sometimes a bad person will do something kind, but that doesn't alter who they are fundamentally. The good will always be good, and the evil will always be evil. Redemption is only a story to comfort the weak and the downtrodden."
L did not take his eyes off Light the entire time he was speaking, but as soon as he finished, the crouching man leaned back slightly and turned once more to face the monitors.
"That is where you and I differ."
Light laughed indulgently. "Don't tell me that you believe in redemption, Ryuzaki."
"That depends what you mean." The detective's speech was patient and measured, and only slightly impaired by the fact that he had his right thumb braced against his front teeth. "If you mean 'do I have faith in some deity or supernatural power which can cleanse men of their sins,' then the answer is no. However," L's hand fell away from his mouth, his eyes grew vacant, and he seemed to be seeing far beyond the bright screen in front of him, "If you mean, 'have I personally witnessed men and women acting well beyond the confines of their character, even atoning for the wrong they have done,' then yes, in that sense, I do believe in redemption."
With that, L returned his thumb to its previous position and began, with his cuffed left hand, to tap out a line of code on the keyboard in front of him as though he had just done nothing more interesting than inform them of his opinion on the weather.
"So," Light said, breaking the brief, amazed silence, "You believe that people have the ability to change themselves by their own actions."
"My experiences have led me to conclude that that is the case," L said impassively.
Light frowned. "What about those who don't want to change?"
"What indeed?" L intoned, and although his eyes remained fixed on a piece of video footage he had pulled up, Light felt them piercing him all the same.
He had failed the test. L had said "That is the difference between you and me," but Light knew it was also the difference between L and Kira.
Light returned to his work. He had been copying down the names of Kira's most recent victims, as well as their times and causes of death. He scribbled furiously until the burning itch in his cuffed right hand had eased.