The idea for this fic was random, and will most likely only last 3 - 4 short chapters. I do not own Death Note or any of it's characters, however L's parents are characters I have created out of my own head. In this fanfiction, Watari and his wife are around 46 years. I apologize early for my lack of knowledge and dialect of the British, and I didn't want to try using different dialect in the respect that I would probably butcher this fic terribly... As well as my lack of knowledge in child birth. Trust me, I've googled, bare with me. *Unedited, mistakes most likely. Reviews and thoughts are welcomed and appreciated. - Makitog

The Cost of Beginning

The young woman moved across the length of sidewalk and onto the gritty pavement of the street in pain. Soft lamp light washed over her, illuminating drawn and tired features she wore on an anxious face. Her raven hair was dulled due to so many years of improper care toward her body, and now she was paying the price. Her hand moved to the bottom of her enlarged stomach barely hidden under the baggy pull over she was left with to wear. The woman's breath came out in shaky puffs in the cooled air. Paying the price was an understatement at the time; rather it would pay the price.

Her hand ran up to the top of the bump as she felt another stab of pain in her back. "Hold off baby, please," she said to no one but herself and the unborn child she had been preparing for in the last eight months. This child—she wasn't ready and neither was it. She'd had no time between the shelters and running from simple crimes to plan out a suitable place to have her baby, had no apartment to return to at night. Because of her appearance and poverty she had failed to hold a job, much to her disappointment, even though she had come to terms with that fact years ago.

The woman gave a sharp gasp as the pain returned to her, and she finally stepped onto the other side of the street. With such pain she had found that walking helped it to subside, but tonight it only seemed to worsen with the steps she took. She looked around with wide dark grey eyes, searching for someone who looked suitable to ask for help. Years of the streets had left her wary and paranoid. She felt unease creep into the blood of her veins as children ran past her in costumes carrying flimsy bags of sweets and candy. Of all nights she should have found the task of choosing a temporary savior easy, however it seemed the more options she had available made the choice more difficult.

She blew out a slow stream of air through pursed lips as the reality of her situation settled in. Anthony and Becca were on the other side of the city. The woman cursed herself. If she hadn't left her usual whereabouts on the whim of wanting the delicious creamy pasta with fresh buns and butter the south side of Winchester had to offer, she may have avoided this predicament. She had thought that nothing could go wrong—she was due in a single month's time, December 25th a friend of hers whom had been a doctor in his days told her. This trip was supposed to be uneventful.

Unfortunately the baby had differed. Now left walking on the lively streets with a wet crotch and pain that only seemed to increase as time went on, she felt doomed.

The pregnant girl finally zeroed in on a couple taking a stroll. The woman, rather a humble looking creature with a consistent hint at a smile, had been laughing at a marry comment her husband had made. The man had an arm around hers as they walked, and he seemed plenty content looking over the children that rushed around them to dart up people's walkways. Although the pained girl was unsure, terrified and partially petrified, the fact that she suddenly let out a cry of pain defogged her mind.

"Help!" she choked out, voice rough from the chilled air. Her shaky legs moved on their own accord while approaching the middle aged couple whose attention was now on her. "Please—my baby, help us," she cried out before gasping in pain once again. Both hands clutched her lower stomach as the woman came toward her carefully.

"Dear, are you alright? What happened, is it time? What's your name?" she asked as she stepped away from her husband and put an arm around the woman before looking over to her husband with an almost pleading look.

The pregnant woman closed her eyes for a moment and nodded. "Yes, please help me, the baby—my baby, it's not supposed to come yet, he's coming," the woman panted as the pain increased once again. She felt dizzy as the woman said something to the man, and before she knew it he had put an arm around her waist to help urge her onward.

The couple walked down the sidewalk and the woman vaguely registered that they were talking to her. The man's voice was kind and warm like his wife's. "You are a very lucky woman to choose us to aid you, we only left our home moments ago before you came up to us."

"Is there any way we can reach your husband?" the woman asked as they entered the small home.

The pregnant woman inhaled slowly while trying to calm her breathing. Her frantic mind seemed to halt as the aroma of the home registered. It smelt of fresh bread and pastries and hot sugar; candy apples, the pregnant woman deducted in her mind. She had eaten them at a homeless shelter once when she was much younger. The memory of biting into the fresh treat brought her back to happier moments, moments where she had been cared for.

Her female saviour had led her to the bedroom and shooed her husband to fetch a basin of warm water and sheets. The girl swallowed and stared at her, gladly taking a seat and laying back on the bed. It felt so good to lie down. She tilted her head back against the pillow that she was propped up against and closed her eyes. She suddenly became aware of the voice and hands tending to her. "What was that?"

The woman, who had just introduced herself as Rosie, had pulled her pull over off without her noticing. She was left in her undergarments and sweat pants still. "Dear I asked your name again, as well as where your husband can be contacted." Rosie looked over the pull over and turned away to fold it and place it on the side table. "Are you alright? You look stunned, love."

The woman shook her head once in response before letting out a gasp of pain. It seemed her contractions had reached a new level of intensity. "Clementine," she panted out as she found herself spreading her legs and trying to relieve the pain. "My husband—I-I'm sorry, I don't… He's not... He's busy," she told her before gripping the sheets.

Rosie's eyes softened while her own husband came back into the room with the water basin and blankets draped across his arms. "Oh," she answered the girl as she set the warm water aside and began placing towels underneath and around her. "I understand—" She was interrupted by a moan of pain. "This must be your first child, you're awfully young. Do you have any friends or family we can contact instead? I'm sure they're worrying about you," she went on with slight cheer.

Clementine exhaled slowly and blinked. "No," she answered her in a more steady tone. She would not put names of the wanted, Becca and Anthony, into the ears of potential good-doers. "I do not. I'm from the streets." She couldn't help but look away as she said that. She was waiting for the disgust and wrinkled nose, to be sent out of the door as she realized a scrawny homeless woman would be spilling fluids all over what appeared to be her own bed.

However, the husband spoke in place of yelling words Clementine thought would come. "That's unfortunate, Clementine, however I am glad your child can be brought into the world somewhere safer than an alleyway."

Clementine visibly relaxed against the soft, warm sheets while she heard Rosie once again shoo the man away. It seemed she had chosen her saviors well. She shut the door tight and looked to the girl. She gave a sigh as Clementine suddenly let out a scream. "Come dear; I'm going to remove your bottoms and we'll see how you're going along. I don't have any children of my own, but I've delivered a few babes before. I'm a nurse."

Clementine closed her eyes and nodded. "T-Thank you." She felt comforted at the thought of someone who knew what they were doing; much safer than taking a drug and having her child in an abandoned apartment or around a fire.

"May I ask how far you are along?" Rosie asked as she pulled the girl's lower half of clothing off and set them on the floor. She bent her knees and spread her legs while Rosie peeked around with warm hands.

The soon-to-be mother gave a yell as a strong contraction hit her, and suddenly she began panicking. She realized at once the number of weeks she had been carrying the child. "T-Thirty five," she said breathlessly as she felt emotions bubble up. Reality reminded her that she wasn't supposed to have him yet. She swallowed the lump in her throat and shook her head quickly and closed her legs as if that would stop everything. "H-He's not ready! He can't come, he's not ready!" she shouted suddenly.

Rosie gave a frown and stepped back, repositioning her legs gently. "Shhh… Clementine please calm down. Your body is ready and he's on his way very soon. I want you to take a deep breath and get ready for everything."

Clementine gave a yelp as a painful contraction came. "I don't want to, you need to help him, he can't come now!" she yelled as her mind fogged and maternal instincts seemed to twist; she was concerned for her child, yet in the wrong way it seemed. All she could do in this world, her single purpose she knew of so far, was to protect this baby. She did not want to fail.

Rosie came to her side and brushed her dampened hair back, thumb brushing across her cheek. "Just breathe for me. Think of something happy and soothing, love."

"I can't! I know nothing!"

"What about the father of this child?" Rosie asked quietly, her voice nearly silent under the other woman's laboured pants.

Clementine seemed to stop breathing for a second, her mouth closing as she swallowed. The father of her baby…