Hi readers, this is my first Death Note fanfic. I hope you'll enjoy it. Anyway, as this fanfic contains an OC as a main character, I've decided to give a brief rundown on the character. Here goes.
Marie Baintois is a cryptographer and translator, formerly from Wammy's, who excels at languages. She is half-French, hence her name. This fic takes place during Near's investigation to find Kira, and Marie is drafted in, mid-way through the investigation, by Near (who she knows from Wammy's) to help.
She is 5"5, with hazel eyes and dark blonde curly hair.
If you want to know any more about her, please PM me and I'll add it. Now, if you're still reading, enjoy the story…
…...
It is ten thirty nine when Rester finally speaks. 'It's a blizzard out there,' he sighs, his eyes narrowing as he takes in the snowy scene. The cars aren't moving, the roads are sheets of ice. The few people outside huddle around as if the sky is falling. It's like the world has frozen as the temperature has dropped. 'Looks like we'll all be staying here tonight.'
Near nods blankly, the rest of the team murmurs their approval, and the rooms fall silent again. It isn't the first time they've stayed over; far from it. The nights have been filled with so much work that time seems to have blurred recently. So much so that they've all got clean clothes, toiletries and other supplies they might need already with them.
When Gevanni finally decides to get a shower, it is nearly a quarter past midnight. He begins his nightly ritual of checking on everyone else in the building. It is a strange habit he had not acquired before working with the SPK; but now he cannot rest without knowing everyone else is okay. Or as close to okay as they could be.
Near's already gone to bed; Rester's firm presence outside the genius' bedroom door assures him of that. Halle's retired to her room too, but from the pronounced clacking of her laptop keyboard from behind the door, Gevanni knows she's still awake. Marie is chatting on the phone in fluent French when he passes her slightly open door. He doesn't even attempt eavesdropping; not only would it be rude, but his French is so appalling he wouldn't have a clue what she was saying.
Forty seven minutes past midnight and Gevanni heads to the kitchenette for some coffee. Halle is asleep now, he guesses, as the keyboard has ceased clacking and there's no chink of light from under the door. Rester's still awake of course, still guarding the door. He gives Gevanni a curt nod as he passes; an acknowledgement of his presence, nothing more, nothing less. Marie's no longer on the phone, but still awake, the light is still blazing from her room.
He drinks the coffee slowly, hoping to warm up; he's only wearing his checked pyjama bottoms and the few water droplet dripping from his hair are chilling the bare skin of his torso. His hair is curling at the ends as it dries; he roughly pushes a hand through it as he takes another sip of his coffee. It hasn't done anything close to warming him up. He can feel the goosebumps rising on his skin as he stands up and begins to pad back to his room.
But then Rester stops him with a trunk-like arm as he tries to walk down the hall, and when Gevanni looks up to him in confusion, all the giant man does is point across the hall towards the one room with the light still on; peeking out from under the closed door.
If Gevanni has learnt just one thing about Marie, it is that she never sleeps with the door fully closed. Lights off, door slightly open; that is how it is. He wonders briefly whether it's creepy for him to know this, but decides that meticulous analysis is his forte so it isn't that unusual. Tonight the door is closed. Which inevitably means something is wrong.
The young man knocks briskly on the door, but pushes it open and enters the room before any response is given from its occupant. It's not to be rude; just that he's concerned, and manners are not top of his list of priorities when he's concerned.
'Marie?' he ventures, finding the girl at her laptop. Well, he calls her a girl, but really she is not. Still, he decides that nineteen years old doesn't qualify for being called a woman. She doesn't look up in response to his greeting. Her eyes are focused on the screen, but her fingers lie unmoving on the keyboard, perfectly still. Too still. Gevanni has to listen to her breathing just to steady his own nerves.
'Marie,' he says again, crouching down next to her chair so he can see her face. She turns to face him, an apologetic smile on her lips. Her normally bright hazel eyes are red and puffy, her cheeks stained with tears, and Gevanni can feel his chest tightening just looking at her. '
'What's wrong?' he asks, wondering if she'll even want to tell him. What right does he have to ask?
She closes her laptop, and Gevanni notices her bitten nails as her fingertips tap along her desk.
'My little brother,' she begins shakily, 'I've just found out…he's got cancer.'
His heart skips a beat. He knows how much her brother means to her. The daily French phone conversations have been proof of it. If he remembers correctly, Jérémie is four years younger than Marie. Fifteen then. Then there is the cruel irony of it all. From what Marie has told him, along with Near's own admissions, at Wammy's, Jérémie is a scientific genius; more likely to be finding a cure for cancer than suffering from it. But he supposes fate is cruel, and ironic or not, he wouldn't wish that upon anyone.
What can he say? There are no words designed for moments like these. She may be young, but Marie is too perceptive; she'd see through any of his struggles to find the words, just to end up saying the wrong thing anyway. And yet, Gevanni realises something. Marie needs him. It is odd; he cannot ever remember someone really needing him, and certainly not where the SPK is concerned. Near has Rester for the moments he needs support, and Halle is too fiercely independent to need anyone. And the idea of Rester needing support himself is almost laughable.
But now Marie needs him, and the words just won't come, so he settles for wrapping the girl in a tight hold against his chilled skin. He doesn't care that the tears on her face are now tainting his skin, only succeeding in making him colder. He doesn't mind that trying to hold her as she sits on a chair is quite uncomfortable from his crouch on the floor. He decides there are more important things to think about than his own comforts. And Marie doesn't seem to mind; even as water drips onto her pyjamas from his hair as he holds her.
'Sorry, my hair is still wet.'
It is a brief statement; pointless maybe, and Gevanni is not sure what makes him say it. But as he feels Marie's fingertips gently rake through his hair, he realises that pointless as it may be, that one statement is probably going to do more good than anything else he could've said.
She pulls back slightly from his hold, so now he can better see her face. From the looks of it, she's stopped crying. Still though, her fingers do not leave his hair. And Gevanni has to admit, he doesn't mind one bit.
'I'm going to go visit him soon,' she says quietly, 'When the snow's died down. He said if I even attempted to go in this weather, he'd kill me.' A weak smile graces her features, as her eyes lock with Gevanni's own blue eyes. 'I'm sure he'll be okay. He told me not to worry; they're coming up with new drugs and new treatments all the time.'
The man nods, 'He's right. Might even come up with some himself, if he's as smart as it seems.' He smiles a small but genuine smile. 'I suppose genius runs in your family.'
She is about to protest; her cheeks flood scarlet and she brings up her hands to cover her face, but he cuts her off before she can say anything. 'Anyway, if you need anyone to go with you…I mean, I don't want to intrude but, if you want, I…'
Her smile grows. She has never heard him stutter, and it's quite endearing. 'That would be lovely, thank you Stephen. I'm sure Jérémie would like to meet you anyway. He always complains that he's never met you guys.' She stands up from her chair, and it is only at this point that the observant man that is Gevanni realises that all her pyjamas consist of is a tank top and shorts. And he knows it's probably wrong to be thinking, especially at a time like this, but the girl does have a rather…well-endowed figure.
He busies himself with thinking about how Marie is the only one who calls him Stephen. To everyone else, he's Gevanni, but to Marie, he's always Stephen. He likes it; Stephen is his real name after all, and it makes him feel a little more like himself.
And he doesn't know whether it's the fact that he feels more like himself, and so a little more confident, and a little more forward, or whether he just wants to do whatever he can to make her feel better; or even if it's a combination of the two, but the words leave his mouth before he can even think about stopping them.
'Do you want me to stay?'
She nods shyly as she moves to her bed, Gevanni following behind. They sit in the bed together, and he resumes his hold around her; her fingertips settling on his arms as he pulls the duvet around them both.
'Thank you again, Stephen,' she whispers and he murmurs back that he doesn't mind, he's just glad she's okay, and anytime she might need him, he'll be there.
'Stephen?'
He glances down at her. 'What is it?'
He feels her press her fingertips lightly to his arm. 'Have you been working out?'
He laughs gently, and he can feel her laughing too. Well, it isn't what he expected. But it is what it is. And they are what they are.