A/N: This is the fic I wrote for the guidebook for the Death Note tarot deck. Each author was assigned a suit, and each suit in the deck had a theme to go with it, but we had no guidance beyond that. Since my suit was Swords and the theme was "investigation," I wrote my piece as a series of vignettes about L's involvement in the Kira case, corresponding to the meaning of the Swords cards ace to ten.
One.
The screen went dark.
L leaned back, satisfied. Somewhere in the Kanto region, he knew, Kira's screen had gone dark as well—and somewhere in America, the remains of the killer Lind L. Tailor were being transported to a morgue. Sobering as Kira's demonstration of power had been, the price of that knowledge had left no tarnish on L's conscience. Live by the sword, die by the sword. He made his choice. The justice system had condemned Tailor to death for his crimes long ago; L had only made use of his sentence. Someday, Kira's fate would be the same.
Someday soon.
I know where you are, Kira. This is only the beginning.
Triumphant, L pressed the button to call Watari.
Two.
Kurou Otoharada. Lee Tamihan. Neal Robertson.
L scrolled through the database of victims, soaking in what information he could retain. Case details were threads to him, knotted but linear, waiting for a suitable mind to unravel and follow them. This time, however, there were far too many, a Gordian knot even he lacked the sword to sever. The opacity frustrated him. It intrigued him, too.
"You can run the case from here," Watari said.
"Kira is in Japan."
"All the more reason not to go. He's looking for you now, L. The last thing you should do is make yourself easier to find."
L ran his thumb along his lip, indecisive. He had guided agents from a safe distance before, but those cases had been different, simpler. Physical evidence could be searched for even without his help. A murder weapon that might not physically exist, on the other hand—that was something else. "I'll keep that in mind."
"You haven't made a decision, then?"
"Not yet. Soon." L watched the names trail past. "Soon."
Three.
L stared bleakly at his silent screen, the FBI chief's farewell echoing in his ears. Twelve agents lost. The loss was new to him, unfamiliar and unwelcome. He had made use of agents and officers before, dozens of times, but until today, not one had ever died. Not on his watch. For all the victims he'd been too slow to save, he had never lost a pawn.
Now, he'd lost twelve.
"L?"
"Yes, Watari?"
"The Task Force knows about the agents. They want to know what's going on."
Reluctant, L worried his lip. "Tell them the truth."
"Is that wise?"
"It's unavoidable." I should have kept an eye on them. I failed. "If they've spoken to the FBI, they know I brought the agents here. Refusing to fall on my sword will only make the situation worse."
"I understand. And L?"
"Hm?"
"I'm sorry."
The connection went dead. L stared at the screen a moment longer, then turned away to pace.
Four.
Tokyo stretched out below him, its windows and neon signs flickering against the dark. Mesmerized, L watched them from the hotel window, his thumb resting against his lips. From this distance, the city looked peaceful, but L knew it wouldn't last. His solitude was a mere respite, the eye of Kira's storm. Soon, the rain would fall on him again.
"I'm heading out," said Watari. "You should take a break."
"I am."
"No, you're stewing. The Task Force won't get here for several hours. If you're sensible, you'll lie down while you can."
"I'll consider it."
Watari's footsteps receded, but L remained, watching his hollow-eyed reflection with weary calm. A short nap wouldn't hurt, I suppose. Until Kira laid down his sword, this lull was the best L could hope for. He would be foolish not to use it while he could.
The storm can wait.
Five.
"This needs to end, Ryuzaki. Today."
L looked up, surprised. "Oh?"
"It's been four days," Chief Yagami continued. "Criminals have died before my family could have possibly known they existed. At this point, you're wasting police time."
"The evidence is inconclusive."
"Hogwash. You sent the FBI to investigate us and found nothing. Now you're still doing it. I've kept silent for fear of my own bias, but this is clearly a fruitless lead. Enough is enough."
L's lips thinned, and he stared sourly at the monitor. Head of the investigation or not, he remained an outsider, and an untrustworthy one at that. Given the choice between himself and Chief Yagami, he had no doubt where the Task Force's loyalties lay. They aren't the sharpest swords in the armory, but blunt weapons are better than none. Kira had no shortage of weapons. L couldn't afford to have none.
He wet his lip, resigned. "All right."
"You'll remove the cameras?"
"Yes."
What else could he do?
Six.
"I am L."
Light Yagami froze, stunned, but L's expression never changed. Ignoring the assembled crowd, he studied Light with grim, appraising eyes. Found you. Kira looked older in person than on a screen, aged up by his suit and mien, but his wide-eyed reaction betrayed the truth. The man L had been hunting, measuring swords against, was little more than a boy.
Light smiled.
"If you are L," he said, extending a hand, "you have my full respect and admiration."
L shook his hand in silence, caught off guard by the swift recovery. No, not a boy. A seasoned killer. All Kira needed to destroy him was a face and a name—and L had just handed him both. He was bare now, vulnerable, his comfortable anonymity cast off like old clothes. The challenge should have excited him. It didn't.
Too late now.
Releasing Light's hand, L slouched back toward his seat.
Seven.
"We've drawn a crowd," Light remarked.
"Apparently. Does it bother you?"
Light's serve flew over the net in answer, and L lunged for it, grunting. Though Light Yagami's competitive prime was far more recent than L's, the detective had thus far held his own. His racket cut the air like a sword—parry, riposte, flèche—and Kira answered him in kind. For all their feigned friendship, L knew his opponent wasn't fooled. This was no casual pick-up match; it was a duel.
L intended to win.
His volley whistled down the line, and Kira lunged for it in vain. For an instant, the boy's mouth thinned in anger. Then he straightened, flashing a crocodile smile.
"You really want to see me sweat, don't you?" he asked. "I thought we were friends."
"We are, Light." A lie served; a lie returned. "We are."
Eight.
L perched atop a desk chair, watching the monitors with unease. Light Yagami lay crumpled on the floor of his cell, lethargic and miserable, but the detective felt no pity. Even caged and bound, Kira remained a threat, a sword of Damocles poised to fall above L's head. His rational mind welcomed the challenge. His emotions wanted nothing more than to jump out of the way.
Light Yagami is in handcuffs. Why am I the one who feels trapped?
"It's been over a week since the killings began again," said Watari. "You can't leave him there forever."
"The Task Force follows my orders."
"Their loyalty belongs to Chief Yagami, not you. If you don't release them soon—"
"I know."
The old man's steps receded, but L's eyes never left Kira. Putting his thumb to his mouth, the detective settled in to wait.
Nine.
Tokyo stretched out below him, but the view brought L no peace. Perched near the edge of the roof, he fingered the grayish bruises that ringed his wrist, but the handcuff that had left them was gone. For the first time in months, he was truly alone.
The Task Force hadn't noticed a change, but L had, had seen it from the moment Light grabbed the notebook and screamed. Now Higuchi was dead, and Light freed—two events L could not, dared not ascribe to coincidence alone. Light's omnipresence had been a double-edged sword: a constant threat, but a reassurance all the same. So long as L could watch Kira's every movement, he had convinced himself he was secure. Now the illusion was gone. It didn't take a man of L's genius to know which victim Kira would come for next.
A raindrop landed on L's hand, and he glanced up at the clouds.
The storm is here.
Ten.
The end came quickly.
L had seen it coming—had suspected, had known—yet the pain still caught him unawares, driving a fiery sword through his heart and lungs. Gasping once, he toppled like a statue, bracing himself for a hard landing that never came.
Arms. Under me. Someone.
Light.
L couldn't speak, couldn't breathe, but his eyes worked perfectly well. Choking back his horror, he stared up at the boy's expression: a mocking smirk of confession more terrible than words. It was the proof L had needed, confirmation at the last—but now, it was far too late.
I lost.
Kira's face glitched and blurred above him, and L's eyes began to close. The world faded to a murmur, to static, to silence.
The screen went dark.