Everyone and their mothers have probably written this before, but I couldn't find it, so I wrote it too.
Breakfall
But if of ships I now should sing,
what ship would come to me?
--J.R.R. Tolkien
...
"Yagami Light," whispered the master detective, as his eyes closed for the last time.
It was sad, but fitting, that the killer's expression would be the last thing he saw. The wicked smirk would doubtless be gone in moments as Light wrapped himself again in the facade of innocence that had protected him for so long, but the world was receding without L's permission and there wasn't time for anything more.
He had been right.
And he had lost.
Darkness swallowed him. He wasn't sure that being right was consolation enough. Dead or not, it still hurt to lose. He twisted, trying to free himself from the arms that were wrapped around him.
"It's too late for that," murmured a gentle voice at his back.
Stilling, he looked around and up -- much too far up. It wasn't Light, which was lucky: a physical confrontation, after all that had passed between them, would be futile and unsatisfying now. Instead, L's white-haired point man, looking older than he had ever appeared, met his eyes with an expression both kindly and sorrowful.
"Watari."
"You don't have to struggle anymore."
Leaning back against the elderly man's chest, L blinked and scratched one ankle with his foot. He wasn't sure where they were, except that they were both gone, but somehow both together. He sifted through his memories, and found them intact. Was this what happened after death?
The question, it seemed, answered itself.
"The death angels must stay behind," he said slowly. "The white one killed from a distance, and she isn't here now. It would seem that their total concern is with the living. That's ironic."
"Are you still?" asked Watari. "Concerned about the living?"
L looked up again. He hadn't been this small since... well, since he was eight years, seven weeks, and three days old, snitching sugar cubes from the kitchens at Wammy's House. (It had been, he recalled, a good age to go on with. Watari had rapped his fingers then, but he was sure he'd had a growth spurt that day, over his morning cereal.)
Still, he remembered everything. And he had known Watari all his life.
"Are you?"
Watari bowed his head. After a moment, L nodded in understanding. He rocked forward slightly, hanging onto the other's wrists, fascinated by the contrasting textures of their hands: his own child-small and slender, Watari's strong and very worn. Beyond them, all he could focus on was his feet, blessedly free of shoes. He couldn't be sure whether they were standing on anything.
In the world of the living, Kira was still at large. They had done all they could; others would pick up the battle where they had let it go, and take guidance from the work they had left behind. Now, more than ever, it was clear to L that their last, greatest foe could not escape for good.
Wriggling his foot against a surface he could not define, he stepped slowly forward.
Watari's fingers shook a little against his shoulder. "What will happen to us now?" he asked, his mild voice sounding sad and lost. "Here, where even the shinigami cannot come...."
"I don't know," said L meditatively. Reaching up again, he took Watari's hand, about sixty percent certain that there would be a place for them to go. A reassuring smile tugged at his lips. "But I'm thinking; and perhaps there will be cake."
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