Title: So Hide Your Eyes
Rating: PG-13 / R, depending
Pairings/Characters: Light/Sayu, implied Light/Misa and Soichiro/Sachiko; Sachiko, Light, Sayu; mentions of Soichiro, Misa, Matsuda, and Aizawa.
Warnings: Um, the pairing? XD; Incest. (While used here, I do not condone real life incest.) Some AU, I think, since I tweaked the events and storyline a bit.
Word Count: 8,642
Author's Note: A gift!fic for Sari, and for the LiveJournal Community DN Contest. Second-person from Sachiko's point-of-view.

Enjoy! Have a Merry Christmas!

You thought your life was perfect.

Well, to be fair, it was up until recently. But now your husband—that moral and upright man that you love with all your heart—is working even later hours at the police station, and you can't help but feel he values his job more than his own family; if you're lucky, he's home for dinner once every two weeks. (Admittedly, your anniversary is next Wednesday and you're wondering if he even remembers.)

You hoped to find solace in your children.

You thought that your son—your brilliant, charming, perfect son—would be able to give you the comfort that you needed. But he's just started college and has been busy as of late, coming and going as he pleases. He stays cooped up in his room for the most part; he says that he's studying, but each time you've brought him a snack his room has been dimly lit at the most.

"My lamp and monitor give me all the light I need," Light tells you with a smile each time you reproach him about it, "Don't worry about it, Mom." And there's no way you can deny the sincerity of his smile, so you let your son ease his way out of the contention. Again. You're not quite convinced he's telling the truth, but as long as he continues getting good marks (you're certain that he will) you will give him that bit of leeway.

Your daughter is no better; she's become just as reclusive—if not more—than her brother, and this bothers you. She has always been a bubbly girl, chatting with you and telling you some of the finer points of her day (these finer points usually involve how much she hates Algebra and how she wishes a boy named Noriyuki in her Science class would notice her), but now it feels like she's avoiding you. You brushed it off at first—rationalized it by saying that she's an adolescent—but now you cannot help but wonder if she's hiding something. She's began isolating herself from everyone in her life—family, in particular.

You find yourself thinking that perhaps she has a boyfriend that no one knows about, but dismiss this almost as quickly as it comes into your head; if she had a boyfriend, she would probably be spending more time outside the house than inside her room.

Your daughter is no straight-A student like Light; she is average at best, and maybe Math has become so painful that she is actually failing the class. But then wouldn't she be going to her brother for help instead of shying away from everyone all together?—well, you can't say everyone since Soichiro is hardly ever home, but…

You leave the thought at the back of your head as your son enters the kitchen and asks you if everything is okay. It takes you a moment to realize that you're holding your cutting knife mid-air over tomatoes, and you laugh a bit, shake your head, and tell him that you were just thinking.

"Are mothers allowed to daydream?" Light asks jokingly. You purse your lips and he chuckles, reaching for an apple.

"I'm going to be done with dinner soon," you inform him, as if the diced tomatoes were not enough evidence, "You'll ruin your appetite."

Light shrugs. "Just a snack, Mom," he says innocently. "It won't ruin my appetite. Promise."

You click your tongue in disapproval and are about to ask him if he skipped lunch again (he hasn't been eating much, and you think it's because he's been studying too hard) when your daughter pokes her head into the kitchen.

"Um, can you bring my dinner up to my room, Mom?"—her eyes are locked onto you, as if her life depends on it and she can't look anywhere else—"I'm, uh, kind of busy."

"You're not having dinner with us, Sayu?" Light asks her. He tosses the apple into the air and deftly catches it in the palm of his other hand.

"Busy," Sayu says quickly, apologetically. She doesn't look directly at him, doesn't even bother acknowledging his presence with a glance. You start to ask her what she's so busy doing when she dashes back up the stairs, more than likely to her room.

"I wonder what's gotten into her," you murmur, frowning.

But Light doesn't seem to hear you; he's staring at the far end of the kitchen where Sayu had been just been standing. You can't see his face, but for some reason you still feel unsettled.

You turn away for a second to put the knife and cutting board into the sink. "She hasn't been herself for…" you start to say, but you trail off when you realize that your son has already left the room, the apple forgotten on the countertop.

Things go from bad to worse in a short amount of time.

Your husband's sporadic visits home have become even more sporadic now. With his involvement in the Kira case, he's all but a stranger in his home now. In fact, you've finally stopped fixing his side of the bed; there's no point in pretending that the pillows pressed against your back are actually your husband as you sleep.

You busy yourself with worrying about other things—like how your son has acquired himself a girlfriend, and how your daughter never seems to leave her room. Light's girlfriend, Misa, is a pretty, petite little thing; she's a renowned model, and has even taken up acting, but… You find it strange that Light would be involved with a girl so unlike himself. Misa is outgoing and cheerful, more talkative than any girl Light has dated in the past. You've grown fond of Misa and her lively personality, but you are unsure as to whether your son feels the same way.

Light looks more annoyed than happy with having Misa as his girlfriend. His expression is often strained, like there's something forcing him to keep Misa in his life. This bothers you because you've always taught him that toying with people's emotions is wrong—but, then again, perhaps he doesn't have the heart to break up with her. In any case, Light cleverly evades the subject each time you try bringing it up with him, so you're left helplessly fluttering over the idea that Light is using his girlfriend for some sort of personal gain with no means to stop it. There are times when you find that your son's intelligence is more hurtful than helpful.

As for Sayu, you have no idea what is going on with her. You have labored over her awkward behavior for weeks, and you still have no idea what could possibly be causing it. You mentioned it to Soichiro the last time you delivered him a change of clothes, but naturally he rationalized it.

"Sayu's a teenager now, Sachi," he told you, pacifying you like you were a baby instead of a mother, "She's not going to tell you everything anymore. Just give her some time. She'll come around."

So you did just that—you gave her some time. But now it's hard to remember that your daughter even lives there; she's a stranger like her father now. You've tried talking to her; you've asked her about her day, how school is going, if she has any plans with her friends. But your daughter who looks pale and wan and sickly only gives you the most humdrum of answers. "I'm okay." "School is okay." "We don't have any plans."

It's gotten so bad that you even searched her room when she and Light were at school. Terrible as it sounds, you had actually been half-hoping to find something—pills, drugs, even condoms—so you could justify her condition. But you found nothing. You even looked through her diary, but she hadn't written in it for over a month and her last entry was too happy to give you any leads as to what may have happened since then.

You eventually confided in Light because you couldn't keep it to yourself anymore. You felt terrible having to talk to your son about it because he had enough on his mind already, what with school and his personal life. But there was no use in pretending that you were fine—that everything was fine—because it wasn't. You needed to get it off your chest, and without Soichiro, you could only talk to your son. You hoped that Light—with his charismatic personality and comforting presence—would be able to help Sayu.

But Light hadn't taken it as well as you had initially hoped. Your son had been impassive as you told him about Sayu's unusual behavior. He had nodded at all the appropriate times, offered the occasional, "Go on," and "Is there more?" when you had paused, but you were troubled by his reaction. At the end, Light hadn't even volunteered to help Sayu; he had just sat back, took a deep breath, furrowed his eyebrows, and began thinking.

You had both sat like that for a few minutes: Light sitting at his desk, mulling over something, and you watching him with trepidation. And just as you got up to walk towards the door, you had noticed a subtle change in Light's body language. His eyes widened just the slightest bit—if you weren't his mother, you probably would not have notice—and his jaw clenched and unclenched in a fraction of a second. The way he had turned to look at you had been unsettling, like he knew something that you didn't. But you hadn't pressed the subject. You'd just told him not to think about it too much.

And now here you are biting your nails as you mindlessly dust some furniture and think about taking Sayu to a psychiatrist. It's a drastic measure, but you're not sure what to do because no one else in the house seems to care and all the weight is on your shoulders and—

"Mom?"

You turn towards the doorway perhaps a little too sharply because your son takes a cautious step back and holds his hands up in concession, silently telling you It's just me. You sigh and put a hand on your chest. "I didn't hear you come in. Sorry, dear," you apologize, blinking to clear your head. "You're back early."

"Yeah… Misa had an acting audition she had to get to," Light explains. "We ended our date a little early." He shrugs like it isn't a big deal, and you bite your tongue.

"Is everything okay? You seem a little…jumpy."

"No, Light," you tell him, quite frankly, because there's no point in lying, "I'm worried about your sister."

His eyes cut away from you—you could have sworn they flickered to a scarlet to match the color of his dress shirt—for a brief moment. When he meets your gaze again, his eyes are calm and clear with intent.

"I know," he mutters. "It's gotten worse."

"There's not much I can do," you say. "I'm…considering taking her to a psychiatrist."

Your son narrows his eyes and stiffens. "This is a last resort," he says grimly. It's not a question, but you nod anyway because you can't think of a sufficient answer.

"Let me try and talk to her," Light offers after a pause. There's a peculiar resolve to his voice that you just can't place, but you're not going to tell him no. "Maybe I can talk some sense into my little sister." He smiles reassuringly, pats your shoulder, and takes to the staircase. His back is rigid, like he's uncomfortable with having to do this all by himself, but before you can offer to go with him, he's already disappeared down the hall.

You tap your foot apprehensively against the bottom step of the staircase. You're gnawing on your lower lip and wondering if you should go upstairs to check on your children. They've been talking (presumably) for a good hour-and-a-half, and you think that that should be enough time. But you could be wrong. What if Light hasn't quite broken through? What if Sayu still refuses to talk? What if all that time, they've just been sitting there in silence?

You can't be sure if you don't ask…

"Light?" There's a tentative edge to your voice. "Sayu? It's time. For dinner."

You count how many seconds pass as you twist your fingers. When you reach thirteen, Light appears at the top of the staircase wearing a brilliant smile; he nods once and the tension that had kept your stomach knotted together for weeks finally loosens and you can breathe.

Sayu appears behind him, and while she still looks a little nervous, there is finally some life to her eyes and color in her complexion. Light puts his hand against her back and coaxes her forward gently—lightheartedly threatens to push her down the stairs if she doesn't get a move on—and Sayu laughs. After hearing nothing but a lifeless monotone to her voice for so long, the sound of your daughter's laughter makes you laugh, makes you smile. You look up at Light, and the smile he was wearing before has turned into something of a smirk. You don't let this or the sudden (red?) flash in his eyes bother you because your son is perfect and brilliant and made the impossible possible by coaxing Sayu out of whatever delirium was plaguing her.

Maybe now life will finally be back in order.

"Hey, Mom?"

Your daughter is standing in front of you with a bag of chips (she opens the bag before you warn her about spilling crumbs). You make a point of vacuuming the general area where she had opened the bag before responding.

"Yes, Sayu?"

"Did onii-chan go out?" She gestures to the Algebra tucked into the crook of her arm. "He was supposed to help me with my Algebra."

"He went out with Misa," you tell her, now vacuuming around her. "He should be back soon."

"Oh." There is clear disappointment in her voice. "Right. Okay." She moves past you into the living room. "I'll just have to wait, I guess," she mutters to herself.

You switch off the vacuum and put a cold hand to your forehead. You know you should be happy now that your daughter is back to her normal, spirited self but you're not. Light told you that Sayu's "depression," as he had so aptly put it, had been due to her struggling in school.

"She was afraid to tell you," Light had explained after dinner that night. "so I got the truth out of her with some gentle prodding. It's nothing to worry about. I'll do my best to help her."

You had objected then, because how would he be able to keep up his own grades when he was helping Sayu on an almost regular basis? But Light had just smiled cryptically and told you that he could manage it.

"You know there is little that I can't manage," he had said.

You hadn't argued, but now you wish that you had. There was nothing visibly wrong, of course—Light's grades were still flawless, Sayu was happier, and they both seemed to be enjoying themselves. But that was where the problem began. They had been spending an awful lot of time together. On most days when Light was home, Sayu was in her brother's room straight after dinner until she went to bed. It was like all the time and energy Light was not spending on school, studying, Misa, (and wherever else he was during the day) he was spending with Sayu.

This had not bothered you initially; at first, you had been overjoyed at the fact that your children were spending time together. When Light had started college, you had been afraid that a rift would develop between them. Then he had offered to tutor Sayu, and you had been sure it was the perfect way for them to stay close.

But this has become the least of your worries because now that Light has started his tutoring session with Sayu, you have been seeing changes in both of your children. There have been times when you noticed Sayu looking at her brother (perhaps) longer than she should; even her casual glances seem to hold a hidden message, almost like she's captivated with him.

You don't want to believe that your daughter is actually—and you have to bite your tongue and swallow painfully as you settle on the word—attracted to her brother, but all the signs are pointing in the right (or wrong, for the sake of argument) direction. It would explain why Sayu has suddenly done a one-eighty and become thoroughly engrossed with her brother instead of shying away from him like before. It would explain why she has started taking more care into her appearance, even when she's at home. It would explain why Light has been acting so smug and self-assured. It would explain why they've been spending so much time together (so what have they really been doing all that time?).

It would explain why Sayu is sitting on the couch watching television mechanically, eyes unfocused, fingers drumming impatiently against her Algebra book. The chips are sitting forgotten next to her, like they were a front—which they probably were, now that you think about it—for the bigger picture.

You and Sayu hear the doorbell ring at the exact same time. By now, you know better than to suspect that your husband is home, so you watch anxiously as Sayu jumps to her feet, chimes an "I'll get it!" and runs to answer the door. You turn the vacuum back on as you see your son enter from your peripheral vision; you can't make out his face clearly, but you're certain that he's wearing that same self-satisfied smirk.

You begin vacuuming the area again in a feeble attempt to get any dirt that you may have missed the first time.

Never in your life had you imagined that you would resort to spying on your children. You hated when your mother invaded your own private space when you had been a girl, and now you're doing that doubly for your children. But there is no way around this—you need to know what is going on with your children.

So here you are, standing with your ear pressed against the door to Light's room. It's closed (and presumably locked, all things considered), and for the past few minutes you haven't heard much noise, save for the scratching of pencil against paper and the flipping of pages. You want to believe that it is as innocent as that—that Light really is in there helping Sayu with her homework—but you're Light's mother, and you know what clever schemes your son is capable of (and now you hate yourself for making your perfect son seem like a criminal).

"You understand that much, don't you?" Light's voice is calm and controlled, like he's reading course descriptions out of a college catalog.

Sayu hesitates. "Yeah, but not…"—there's more page flipping—"…that stuff."

"Ah, well…"

The scratching of pencil on paper resumes, and you take a quiet breath of relief. Okay, maybe you were overreacting. Maybe they are (and always have been) working on homework and not…

You justify it by telling yourself that you're a mother, and as such you have a habit of reading into your children's actions a little too critically. You block out the small voice at the back of your head that's yelling You're missing—

"But you look better in the red one, Light."

—the bigger picture.

Your stomach knots painfully and you have to pull your hand away from the door to keep from making any noise because you're suddenly shaking. (In passing, you find it bitterly ironic that just a second ago you were actually relieved.) You're not sure exactly where the conversation has gone—weren't they just talking about homework? You have no idea what a textbook and pencil have to do with "the red one," which you are going to assume is a shirt. You are unnerved by the way Sayu said it—not in a sister-to-brother well-something-looks-decent-on-you-for-once sort of way, but in an it complements you undertone that you would only expect Misa to use. What's more, why is she calling him Light instead of onii-chan? You've never heard her speak to him like this before.

"Oh, is that so?" Light's voice is suddenly silky and evocative. You can imagine that smirk plastered onto his face and that red flash in his eyes that makes him look like a criminal. You hear quick but measured strides, followed by a distinctly girlish giggle that can only belong to your daughter. Light chuckles once—a low, husky sound that makes your mouth go dry—and then immediately shushes her.

You move away from the door and into the master bedroom, your palms clammy and cold and your heart hammering erratically against your chest. This is more proof than you wanted, and now you wish that you hadn't ventured up here to investigate. Perhaps it would've been easier to live in a world of blissful ignorance where you had no idea that your children—that your perfect boy and cheerful girl—were involved in some sort of a (you can't let yourself think the actual word because that would make it truer than it already was) relationship. You don't know how you went wrong with raising them. This is not how it is supposed to be: brothers and sisters don't feel this way about each other. Your children are committing a grave sin, and what if…what if Kira were to find out? There is no doubt in your mind that Kira would not tolerate such iniquity. Now you have to run the risk of losing both your children because somehow, someway they are involved with one another?

You lean back against the wall because it's hard for you to support your own weight. (You're partially disgusted at yourself because the idea registered quicker than you thought—like you subconsciously knew that something like this was going to happen.) For a moment you consider telling Soichiro, but no, that would only exacerbate things. Soichiro would never believe you—who in their right mind would ever believe you?—and he would probably tell you to go see a therapist. Things like this never happened, and you realize that maybe that was why Light suddenly seemed so smug. He was probably sure of himself and their cleverly crafted pretense; no one would ever believe that your flawless son would ever do something so unthinkable.

You hear the door to Light's room open and you quickly push yourself off the wall. You're sick to your stomach and there's a hollow feeling in your chest, but you ignore it (the story of your life) and open the closet door, pretending to rearrange some of your husband's clothing.

Sayu dances down the hall, her cheeks flushed and eyes bright, and says, "I wonder what's for dinner." Light is right behind her, his back straight, arms folded confidently over his chest, each step careful and defined as he walks towards the staircase.

And of course, he's wearing a red dress shirt.

Eventually (and you never thought you would be happy to see your son leave) Light decides to get an apartment with Misa. This comes as an immense relief to you—"Are you sure, dear?" you ask. "Do you really want to leave so soon?"—although you don't show it. But Light doesn't take no for an answer, says that it's time he live on his own because he doesn't want to burden you with more work now that Sayu is older.

You give Sayu a dubious glance when Light reveals his news. (You have not told anyone about their relationship—how can you when no one will believe you?—but have taken subtle but effective measures to keep them away from each other; now your cause is only being helped.) She's smiling, congratulating him, but you can tell it's strained by the way the corner of her mouth quivers.

Naturally, Light plays the part smoothly and effectively. He dismisses himself by saying he's going to pack, and Sayu silently curls up on the couch in front of the television to watch a soap opera. You're relieved, worried, and confused at the same time. Relieved that this will hopefully put an end to their taboo relationship, worried about how Sayu is going to take this, and confused as to why Light has decided to move out in the first place.

But somehow things work out. You're not certain how, but they do.

You're watching Light inspect the walls of his room—well, his former room to be fair—to make sure he didn't scratch any paint while clearing his things out. Sayu has just gone to put the last box in the car, and even Soichiro has managed to take some time off to help settle Light into his new place.

You're not sure if Light has reasoned with Sayu (or hopefully ended things with her), but whatever the case, your daughter is not moping around the house like you expected her to. She appears to be a bit crestfallen, but this is understandable (you're rationalizing it by telling yourself it's because her brother is leaving and not the unthinkable), and you give her the benefit of the doubt.

You hope that Light has finally come to his senses and realized the severity of their actions—maybe that's why he's decided to leave, so he doesn't spark unnecessary tension. You're still not sure what happened between your children in the first place, but maybe it had something to do with your daughter's naïveté, and Light's… You leave the thought unfinished because you have no justification for your son: he's intelligent, he knows right from wrong, he has a girlfriend…

Still, you're wondering if you've done the right thing by keeping their relationship a secret.

You had originally kept it to yourself because you were afraid that your husband may not believe you, but then you realized there were so many other things that could go wrong. Your husband is working long hours, and you wouldn't be able to live with yourself if you gave him more stress (or worse, taking into account his fragile health). Your family already seems to be crumbling, and this would just devastate all your efforts to make everything normal. And most importantly (you've thought about this long and hard), what if word got out? Light and Sayu are still your children and you will not let them be put in danger. You can't imagine ruining your son's life—he has so much potential, and such a long, healthy life ahead of him.

"Everything looks fine," Light finally says.

You nod once, and pretend that you don't find the irony in his choice of words.

So this is how life progresses.

Time passes by quickly but comfortably. Before you know it, Light informs you that he has joined the police agency and is now working with Soichiro on the Kira case. You're worried (not because of what happened in the past) for the right reason this time—for his safety. But Light tells you that he'll be careful, that this is actually a good thing because now he'll be able to keep an eye on Soichiro to make sure he doesn't overwork. Around the same time, Sayu graduates high school with grades better than you could have imagined (better than average, but not quite perfect), and begins college soon after. And with Soichiro home more often, life seems to be back in order. Finally.

Right now you're setting tea on the coffee in the family room and listening to your son and husband go on about Kira. You admonish them gently, tell them not to talk about Kira when they should be relaxing.

Light purses his lips and Misa giggles, rests her head against his shoulder while smiling up at him fondly; the scene is incredibly picturesque. There's the sound of a key turning in a key lock, and your stomach churns uncomfortably (force of habit, you tell yourself) as your daughter enters.

(It occurs to you then that Light and Sayu have not seen each other face-to-face since the Christmas before last, and even then you had kept Sayu busy in the kitchen and had made sure Misa was always with Light…)

Sayu's gaze settles on Light, and the look in her eyes tells you this was a big mistake. "Onii-chan,"—her delight is evident, even without the smile—"Misa-san…" Here her voice wavers just the slightest bit, like she's been disheartened.

You welcome her back home in what you think is a hospitable tone, and look at your son askance. He's sipping his tea with cool indifference, looking at the rim of the cup rather than at his sister; you're praying that his nonchalance is genuine and not a pretense.

Sayu goes on to approach the police officer (Matsuda, the one with the puppy eyes and once shaggy hair) sitting next to your husband. He is visibly taken with your daughter—she's eighteen now, and prettier than you could have ever wished for—and while this would have infuriated you to no end had the circumstances been different, you're actually hoping that your daughter flirts back with him. Sayu has never officially had a boyfriend (to the best of your knowledge), and you want her to find one to keep her mind off…

Your husband's gaze falls upon you suddenly, expectantly; it takes you a minute, but you vaguely recall him saying something about—no, ruling out the idea of Sayu marrying a police officer. You respond accordingly, blurting out, "That's right. There is no way our daughter is marrying an officer." Luckily, your hasty response sounds valid.

You look at Light (the act is casual enough not to seem suspicious—is this where your son gets his nonchalance from?), and while his face is still convincingly impassive, his fingernails are digging into the palms of his hands and a muscle in his jaw tenses for a split second. His eyes flash and zero in on Matsuda, and suddenly he's glaring, and for a moment the blasé façade is no where to be seen.

The metal tray you were just holding falls to the floor with a loud bang; fortunately for you and in all likelihood, everyone thinks it has to do with Matsuda calling you Mom rather than the cold look on your son's face.

(No, Light! Your thoughts are desperate and haphazard and jittery. Why? Didn't you end everything?)

You tune back in unsteadily. Sayu has just said something and everyone is laughing. Misa makes a slapstick remark about how immature Matsuda is, and Light reaches for his teacup and a spoon. He stirs the contents with infinite grace for someone who is doing something so prosaic.

"Yes," Light murmurs smoothly, smirk ready and confident. "Sayu is much more mature."

And you don't have to look at your daughter to know that she's smiling brighter than ever.

Sleep does nothing to ease your mind either.

You dream that night—well, have a nightmare, really, that leaves you sick to your stomach and drenched in a cold sweat.

Your children are talking about something (their voices are too quiet for you to understand anything) in Light's old room (you find this bit rather odd, considering this is your son at twenty-three and your daughter at eighteen), and you're watching them from the other side of the door (you won't get in to how unusual it is for the door to be open).

You call their names once, softly, trying not to be intrusive, but they don't seem to hear you. Then, suddenly, like it's some sort of counteraction, and before you have any idea what's going on, your son has your daughter pressed against the wall. His eyes are narrowed, dangerous, and though you don't want to admit it, disgustingly evocative. You call your daughter's name, louder this time, and you're not sure if she's responding to you or to Light's antics, but she's giggling, and your son smirks smugly, like he's won some kind of sick victory in a contest you never knew existed.

You take a reluctant step into the room, bent on interfering even if it means having to slap your children, when Sayu suddenly asks her brother, clearly and loud enough for you to hear, "Isn't this wrong?"

Yes! your mind screams. YES, IT IS WRONG!

But you can't get the words out because you've suddenly lost your voice, so all you can do is mentally scream at your children. You know that moving forward is inevitable (you haven't tried, but your subconscious is telling you that it's useless), and that all you can do is stand and shake uncontrollably.

"Do you want it to be wrong?" Light asks her, soft as a sigh, but the desire in his usually stoic voice is uncouth and clear, and his eyes, God, his eyes are that frightening scarlet and this time they won't flicker back, and…

You watch in horror as his mouth descends upon hers, and while you've been expecting her to all this time, it still comes as a shock when your daughter responds and her fingers reach up and twist in his hair like it's an instinct, like they've done this so many times before that there's no need for formalities or shyness. The thought of this not being the first time makes you rock on your feet and you have to cling to the door frame to keep from collapsing because now your worst fears have just become a sick reality.

His lips are on her jaw line now, slowly but confidently moving toward the column of her neck, and she's chanting his name, "Light, Light, Light…" like it's a mantra, like he's a deity instead of her brother.

Light chuckles a hoarse, arrogant sort of laugh that makes your blood boil. One of his hands moves off the wall and his fingertips brush against her neck and run down the length of her arm before he seizes her waist and—your mind is screaming at you to look away but you can't for the life of you—pulls her hips to his, so that every inch of her is pressed against him in all the wrong ways. Sayu manages to gasp his name once, louder now, before he crushes his mouth back onto hers hungrily and needily. Her hands leave his hair disheveled and are fumbling with the buttons of his shirt now (of course it's red, why didn't you notice it before?), and you can tell by the way their bodies are moving and touching what they're implicating and what they both want and just how badly they both want it.

You've already sunk to your knees and you have your forehead pressed against the door hopelessly, trying to cry but failing miserably.

He pulls his mouth away from hers, and she's panting as she finishes the last of the buttons. "Tell me, Sayu," Light's voice is husky with need, but his smirk has become a grin showing each of his immaculately white teeth, "Tell me what you want."

"Light,"—she's breathing his name more than saying it, her nails raking across his abdomen—"Light."

Your breath catches in your throat and you want to scream and call your children heathens for wanting each other like this and you feel like driving a knife through your eyes and hitting your head against the wall until you lose consciousness, but your body can't move. You try saying something but your voice hasn't come back, so you do the only thing that you can—

"I want you to say it, Sayu."

—and bite down on your lower lip.

The coppery taste of blood fills your mouth and suddenly it's completely and utterly dark; for a moment you think you've lost consciousness, but then your daughter is hovering over you and shouting, "No, stop, Mom! You're hurting yourself!"

It takes you a long moment to realize that you're in your room, in your bed, and that it was just a nightmare. Sayu helps you sit up, and you put your fingers to your lips and they come back tinged with blood; you must have bit down on your lip to wake yourself up.

"Mom, what's wrong?" Sayu is blinking fretfully and pressing the sleeve of her bathrobe to wipe the sweat away from your forehead. "Did you have a bad dream?"

You look at her in silence because you don't know what to say.

"Do…Do you want me to call Dad? Or even onii—"

"No," you say, a little too sharply because Sayu immediately falls silent. You smile ruefully despite the uncomfortable throbbing in your lower lip. "It was just a nightmare, Sayu. You don't have to worry."

"Is there anything I can do?" She awkwardly tries to fluff your pillow while trying to clean your lip with her sleeve at the same time, and you gently push her hands away and ask her to get you a glass of milk and some gauze. Sayu nods and leaves all too eagerly, and you rest your head against the headboard with the edge of the blanket pressed against your lip.

The fact that it was all a dream does not comfort you like it should; now that your worst fear has surfaced, there's no way you can lock it back up and pretend everything's okay. This could actually happen, you realize (or maybe had happened, but you can't bear to consider that right now), and you would be powerless to stop it. You look at right side of the bed, where your husband should be sleeping, and wish that he was there to comfort you, to tell you that it was all under control, even if that was just a feeble lie.

"Sachiko, where is Sayu?"

You're on the phone with your husband, and you're concerned both because it's not like him to call from work, and because of the urgency in his voice.

"I…don't know," you tell him uncertainly. "She mentioned going to the library to study but,"—you glance at the clock—"it's 11:30, and that's late for her." You feel guilty for not having noticed your daughter had been out for so long, but the emptiness in the house had been so refreshing; you had a break from thinking about that nightmare…

The sharp breath Soichiro takes reels you back to reality and makes you shift uncomfortably on your feet. You don't want to ask, but you're obliged to, so you find yourself saying, "Is something wrong…with Sayu?"

He sighs uneasily, like he's torn between telling you and keeping it all a secret.

"Sayu's been kidnapped."

Your leg is shaking and you're twisting your hands together like there's some invisible towel that needs to be wrung. You've just gotten off the phone with one of the officers—Aizawa, you think he said—who's told you that Sayu is on her way home. You don't know how long it's been since you found out about her kidnapping because you've been too immersed in guilt to bother looking at the calendar. You know that the kidnapping has something loosely to do with the Kira case, but you still feel responsible. What if the reason Sayu had left to study at the library was because of how you were acting? You remember the way you had looked at her that morning—like she was some sort of abomination instead of your daughter—as fragments of that vile nightmare plagued your thoughts.

To make it worse, when Soichiro had told you that Sayu had been kidnapped, the first thought to pass through your head was What if Light's taken her somewhere? (At that time the thought hadn't sounded absurd or foolish, it had sounded plausible.) You may not know your son as well as you used to, but you know he's not a criminal: he's working to stop Kira, not add to the mess surrounding the case.

There are three quick raps to the door followed the doorbell—it's the secret knock Aizawa had warned you about, and you shuffle over to the door quickly and throw it open.

Your husband is standing there, looking tired but unscathed, and he smiles at you weakly, apologetically. You throw your arms around his neck and pull yourself close to him, kiss his cheek, and say, "Thank God you're okay," before asking him, "Where's Sayu?" He plants a kiss on your head, tells you that Light is bringing her in through the back door as a precaution. A little shiver chases through you and he pats your back soothingly, assures you that everything is fine and that Sayu is just shell-shocked more than anything.

Of course, that was not why you were shivering.

You hear the backdoor open, and sure enough Sayu comes limping in with Light supporting her. You watch, trying to make your expression look concerned in that motherly sort of way instead of fidgety. He guides her toward the couch, one hand on her elbow and the other on the small of her back. ("Easy, Sayu," he murmurs.) She sits down (collapses, more like) heavily onto the couch and curls there, burying herself into the cushions like she wants to hide. You get a good look at your daughter then; there are circles under her eyes and her face is pale and sickly.

"We need to see a doctor," you finally say. You look at Light, who's kneeling next to Sayu, watching her sleep with an unreadable expression.

"It's too dangerous to go out right now, Sachi," Soichiro whispers, squeezing your arm protectively. "We have the house under police protection, but…"

"The doctor can make a house call," Light remarks suddenly. "We should probably get Sayu checked out, just in case." He stands up, asks you for the number of the family doctor. You don't know what to make of his attitude—he's acting so warm and brotherly—and you deflect any further conversation with him by saying you'll make the call, that he and Soichiro should just rest for awhile.

You're walking to the phonebook when Sayu abruptly stirs. Soichiro is at her side instantly, asking her if anything is wrong. But she says nothing; she's sitting up straight, looking around for…something?

"Light…" she says fearfully, and if you were holding the phonebook, it would probably have fallen out of your clumsy hands. "Are you still here?"

Your son steps out of the kitchen with a glass of water that he offers to Sayu, smiling strangely, "Yes, Sayu. Your brother is still here."

"Look, sweetie, isn't it a beautiful day?"

Sayu doesn't respond and you're not expecting her to. What your husband called shell-shock has turned into some kind of trauma, and the ordeal has left Sayu almost completely unresponsive in a wheelchair. Soichiro has relocated you and Sayu to a remote cabin in the countryside of Japan—you convinced him to, because how else could Sayu possibly hope to recover? Plus, Light is clearly able to handle things on his own, and then there's the obvious…

You comb your daughter's soft hair with your fingers, hoping to get some sort of response out of her. You're bitterly amused that your cheerful girl has become withdrawn from the world yet again, like there's some sort of curse on your family. It's not fair to you. It's most certainly not fair to her. You wish that Kira and his megalomaniacal plans would just die, so you can have your husband back and put this stupid, dangerous case to rest once and for all.

The sound of tires and the purr of a car engine make you glance around fretfully. You start wheeling Sayu back indoors when the car comes to a sudden stop in front of the cabin. You recognize the car—it's one of those incognito police cars you've seen the officers use—and you're surprised to see Aizawa, Matsuda, and finally your son clamber out of the car.

You glance down at Sayu, but she just shifts wordlessly, and you begin moving towards the group slowly; there's no point in deflecting. Aizawa and Matsuda make no move to meet you, but Light brushes past them and strides forward to meet you. You can't see his face, and the way he's walking towards you—shakily, without his usual poise and grace—is disconcerting.

You meet each other halfway. You're startled at how drawn and ashen your son looks; there's no luster in his eyes, no light sparking them whatsoever—his expression is as dead as Sayu's.

"Mom…"

"Light, dear, sweetheart…" You move away from Sayu and towards your son, for once not thinking about any of his possible ulterior motives. "What's wrong? Is everything okay? What happened?"—you look around at the pain-stricken faces of Aizawa and Matsuda—"Where is your…" Your voice cuts off with a choke, and you realize more quickly than you want to the horrible, terrible, awful truth without having to hear it.

"Mom," Light looks away, but his bloodshot eyes betray him, "Dad's been…"

"No," you say, because it can't be true—you won't let it be true, "No, Light. No, no, no, no!" You're feeling delirious and hysterical and you can't stop blubbering no like a broken record. Your son is looking at you, silently imploring you with Please don't make it harder than it already is…

"No, he has to be… No." You're being incoherent now. "He was just—the other day, Light, and then…but… There is no way—!" You shudder and look at Light, but now he's looking at Sayu, and your daughter, oh, please, God, no, your daughter has her hand pressed against her mouth and her eyes are filled with tears. She looks at her brother, a pained expression framing her once blank face (and you wish you could find a twinge of relief in your daughter showing some emotion).

Is he gone? she's asking with her eyes.

Light nods once, heavily, gravely, and before you know it, someone's screaming an ear-splitting, agonized scream that makes your head throb and your legs feel limp. Your son is shushing you (you, why you?—shouldn't he be shushing whoever's screaming?), and you realize brokenly that you are the person that is screaming. Your eyes are blurred with tears, but you can tell by the voices that Aizawa and Matusda are huddled around you, murmuring words of comfort, telling you how your husband died valiantly, how he was the strongest man they've ever known, how much he cared for the innocent…

You don't look for your son, because of course he's gone to (help? console? check on?) Sayu.

Yagami Soichiro
2009-11-11 ~ 1955-07-12

You kept the engraving on your husband's headstone simple—you're sure that's what he would've wanted; your name has been carved next to his, painted in red (it's the traditional color, not a personal preference), a sign that you're waiting to follow him even in death.

The memorial service was a small one; counting your immediate family, Misa, Matsuda, Aizawa, and a couple other officers who worked with your husband were the only ones who came. But you liked it that way—you did not want a service packed with people who would suffocate you, pretending to feel sorry for you.

Most of the sparse crowd has already left—Misa left just a few minutes ago, and only because Light insisted she not be late for her audition on his account. Light is standing next to you, clad in a black suit with a respectably white dress shirt, and his face has never looked so wan; his eyes are listless and emotionless, and you're wondering what is going through his head as he stares at his father's gravestone. (Is he as angry as you? Does he want to kill Kira just as much as you do?)

His hands are resting delicately on the handrims of Sayu's wheelchair. (Light offered to push her wheelchair for you, and what was the use in saying no? Does it even matter any more?) Your daughter has become the slightest bit more receptive to the world around her now that she's found out about Soichiro (you know that two wrongs don't make a right…), but for the most part she's still invalid. You dressed her in a simple black dress this morning, told her that today was her father's burial; Sayu had just stared at you, asking you why to a question whose answer you would never know.

You didn't cry at the service—you haven't cried since you found out—because there's no point in crying anymore. Soichiro is gone, and no amount of denial or mourning can bring him back. But you're at an impasse now because what's the point of anything anymore? Your life is like a haywire rollercoaster, and you're the unlucky passenger whose stuck on the stomach-churning, mind-numbing ride headed straight for Hell. (Who's to say you're life isn't at risk, and before you know it you die?) You look at your children—your perfect but inwardly, profoundly flawed son, and a daughter whose happiness seems to come and go in a flash—and wonder what is to become of them. How is Light coping with Sayu's trauma?—does he even care, or is he just going to watch her wither away like a fragile flower? And Sayu… What could possibly be going through her head? Does she still harbor those unmentionable, unthinkable, unforgivable feelings?

The wind picks up and ruffles your hair. You wrap your arms around yourself in a feeble attempt to shield yourself from the cold. Light notices, apparently, because he offers you his jacket. "No, dear," you shake your head, tell him to keep it (because God knows your son getting pneumonia is not on your agenda). But he splays it across Sayu's lap instead, and there's a flicker of subtle resignation in her eyes.

"We should get going," Light remarks. "It's getting cold."

"Can you bring the car around, dear?" you hear yourself ask. "I'd…like a minute or two. Alone."

"Of course," he murmurs considerately. Then, turning to Sayu, "I'll get you situated in the car."

You're aware of how long a walk it is back to the car, that you're leaving them alone, that you should be doing something to stop them, but you're not. (There's no point in trying—you can't control their actions, just suffocate them with your looming presence, and how helpful is that going to be, really?) You're looking at your husband's tombstone, running your fingers delicately over where his name has been etched into stone, and wondering how life would have been if your husband hadn't been a police officer, if he hadn't joined the Kira investigation—no, if Kira didn't exist at all.

And your children… Your eyes follow Light as he carefully, patiently pushes Sayu to the car. You can't tell if he's trying to make small talk with her, but there's something oddly peaceful about they way they're together—perhaps as brother and sister, you'll never truly know—and you let yourself drift off for a moment.

You try to wrap your thoughts around how it would have been if Light and Sayu weren't brother and sister, if she was just an ordinary girl your son had started dating, and you realize suddenly that Sayu is exactly the type of girl you have always (inwardly) wished Light would date—demure, mature, sensible. This puts things in perspective now, and you're not sure why because things aren't any more clearer or easier to justify, but…

So with a strange, almost nostalgic feeling in your chest, you go back to watching your children—because at the end of the day, they're just that: your children.

(Right now you don't know that the next time you will see your son looking so peaceful is in a morgue—and of course, his white shirt will be stained red with blood.)