Warnings: Spoilers for the entire series actually.
Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note.
A/N: Okay, so this is a raped topic, I know. BUT, I really wanted to write about it. I hope that you enjoy this, despite the fact that it is completely ripped off. (Heh... If one can use those kind of words.) Please keep in mind that I am not from an English-speaking country and that my writing therefore can get a little unsteady. Thanks for reading and don't be afraid of reviewing if you find the story worth it.
"Reunion"
Pain.
Hard, striking pain.
Waves of pain, spreading like burning battalions through his chest, out in his arms. Contractions, deep inside his ribcage.
A pain stronger than he had ever felt before.
The stair felt hard against his back and his whole body ached as tremors evoked by woe shot through him. Tears filled his eyes and he was unable to stop them. His breathing came in small gasps and he knew that soon it would deduce completely.
He felt alone.
More alone than he had done in years.
Ever since he found the Death Note, he had been accompanied by Ryuk at all times and had therefore never felt like he was completely on his own.
Now, however, the genius could no longer feel the presence of the Death God and truth to be told, he was rather happy about it.
He did not want the bastard to see him right now. Not like this, sprawled out on his back like an idiot. A broken man, drenched in his own blood. Caught at last, by the ghosts of his past. They had finally tracked him down, and now he could literally see the wicked smiles on their faces. Feel their joy as they watched him suffer in silence, waiting for the last time he would draw his breath.
All the convicted criminals...
Higuchi...
Takada...
That bastard Mello...
All of them were watching him now, waiting for him to join them in death. Taking pleasure in his affliction.
Hell if he needed the mocking Shinigami to see him at this pathetic state as well.
Well, he reminded himself, hand grasping the fabric of his shirt right above his chest, Ryuk was the reason he was in this position after all. He remembered the Death God's words the first time they met and recalled how he had told him about the rules.
"I will be the one who'll write down your name in a notebook. That is the deal made between the Shinigami and the first human to posses the notebook within the human world."
He had always known Ryuk would write his name in the Death Note, but he had not imagined that the Shinigami would betray him like this.
Scowling a little, he cursed how things had turned out and for a moment, he pictured Near's face. Or, he thought with a dripping irony, perhaps calling the bastard by his real name would be more suitable. Congratulations Nate River, you won at last.
Somewhere in his dulled mind, a faint whisper told him that Near was not the true winner of the battle. No, that was—
Gasp.
It was getting hard to breathe and dots were dancing upon his retina.
His vision was by now blurry and the occasional intakes of air was not nearly enough to fill his lungs, let alone fill up his oxygen supply.
His eyes were unbelievingly wide. Wide with both fear and awe.
He was dying.
He knew this and yet, he could not help this feeling of amazement growing inside of him. It hurt like hell and he felt like he was about to break. Go insane.
Still, he could not refrain from admiring the process he was going through. It all seemed to fit so well. Every little part of it seemed so rehearsed, so perfect.
Pieces of a delicate puzzle, slowly but surely, and with the greatest perfection he had ever witnessed, put together in the exact right way. All in one go.
Whoever said death was not beautiful was wrong.
It occurred to him that death had perfection written in very line. Every little prospect of dying was beautiful, matched. It all made sense. Therefore, he managed to think as a pain stronger than he had ever imagined pain could be, rode him, there was absolutely no way one could dodge it either. Something so intertwined had no weak points, no room for escape.
His mind was getting foggy, but the feelings that erupted inside of him felt more real than any feeling had ever done. His senses seemed to be at full alert and he felt even the faintest gust of wind against his skin. Feeling how tears welled up in his eyes, he suddenly realized how much real emotion he had been lacking the past seven years. Being Kira had definitely taken it's toll on him. He did not regret what he had done and he did not feel sorry for the people he'd killed. It had all been necessary. Had he not done that, the world would still have been a rotten place. Nor did he see his life flash before his eyes. All he saw was the beauty of death surrounding him, taking over his senses.
He blinked.
Suddenly it was as if there was someone else with him in the warehouse, and the loneliness he had been feeling earlier was abruptly punctuated. It was strange really, this feeling of someone watching him. It was so strong, so urgent, to the point where he forgot about the fact that he was dying. Collecting every last bit of willpower, he forced his gaze to stay focused and let it sweep across the room. At first, he saw nothing and for a moment he thought it had all just been a fantasy. A embryo made by his imagination.
Then, just as he was about to let the shadows have their way with him, he found himself gazing into a pair of bottomless, onyx eyes.
For a breathtaking second, the pain was completely forgotten and all he could do was to stare.
Those eyes.
Black pools of knowledge. Pools of mystery and mist.
Eyes that spoke of countless sleepless nights and days of hard work.
The eyes of a genius, rimmed with the sharp, dark color of the bags underneath them.
He would have recognized that gaze anywhere and over the past seven years he had never been able to forget it, or even let it rest in the back of his mind. Ever since that infamous day he had seen them close for what was both the very first and last time, they had haunted him, like a specter, never leaving him alone. Raven, unruly hair, framing a face paler than the moon, a lanky, crouched figure, bare feet and a deadpanned stare.
L.
The detective was right there. Standing in front of him, gazing at him with those expressionless eyes of his.
He hadn't changed at all.
Hah, he thought, as if anyone could change in death. L was dead. And so was he. At least soon he was.
The look in his nemesis' eyes was not one of anger, nor was it one of pain. He simply stood there, watching Light. How many times had he not cursed that all knowing, piercing gaze?
Flashbacks from occurrences several years ago suddenly leaped at him and he remembered things he thought he had forgotten with an almost frightening clarity. Small episodes from the time they had been cuffed together came soaring to his memory.
The smell of newly brewed coffee at six o clock in the morning. L's monotone voice telling him that he was Kira for what was probably the hundredth time. Their fights, in which he had received painful kicks to the chest and in return had provided the black haired insomniac with a bunch of fists directed at his face. He remembered Misa screaming and L's befuddled look the first time he had punched him. Watari and his father's stern faces, Matsuda's surprise and the way Aizawa rolled his eyes at their "stupidity".
How had he been able to forget all that?
L was watching him. Dressed in his trademark white sweater and baggy jeans, hair disheveled and back slightly crooked.
The sight evoked a deeper pain inside of the brunet. A pain he was not at all familiar with. Locked up guilt came crashing at him with full force. Guilt he never even knew he'd been carrying. He wanted to scream, to lash out at the detective, but he could not find the ability to move. Things were happening much faster than he would have liked them too and there was nothing he could do to stop them.
As his eyes fluttered close, he realized just how badly he had lost.
L's gaze never left his own.
Not even when darkness took him.
-Fin.