Detached here: Well the next few chapters of Detached Memories are in the works, you should have the next chapter before January rolls around. Hopefully…this little oneshot actually came from me while I was attempting to write Detached Memories.
L: Detached became distracted.
Detached: A little bit, yeah. –nods sheepishly- Well this came about from a desire on Watari's point of view mostly.
Special holiday appearance Watari: Hello everyone, and good day wherever you may be. Detached says Happy Holidays to you all.
Raito: And she doesn't own us. Time for story.
Special holiday appearance Watari: Not just yet, young man.
L: First off, Detached does not own us, as much as she would like to, and secondly, our authoress now has a beta.
Detached: Yes I do! She more or less named the story too, I'm no good with that sort of thing…anyway…her ff account is LawliPop so go and read her stuff. After mine o'course…
Raito: Now it's time for the story?
Special holiday appearance Watari: Yes, you may continue onward. I insert a note here; there is usage of my true name, so please shield your eyes if you do not wish to know.
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Quillish watched the two of them speak, voices lowered in whispers. Tonight had been a less…vigorous night for the two, and had resembled a lover's relationship more than their more recent nights had.
It had taken eighty-three days to get them to this point, for them to successfully maneuver around their equally forceful personalities and remove their differences enough to see that each of them wanted the same thing.
An equal.
A friend.
Quillish sighed, turning down the monitor. He knew, had known about their relationship, and yet purposely said nothing about it.
It was not that he didn't want to, because he did. The elder Yagami would most certainly have had a few choice words to say if he knew about this…unexpected development between the two young men.
But Quillish simply could not bring himself to reprimand his ward. L was a grown man, as much as his heart did not seem to want to accept that fact, and although L very well knew that Raito could become Kira once more, he continued this new facet of a relationship.
Quillish had thought that it would be a temporary thing at first. Raito was, after all, a teenager, and had been in confinement without the use of his hands for quite a while.
His first few attempts at reliving himself had been slightly humorous, his wariness merely spiking L's suspicious, which in turn made the brunette only tenser and wound up.
Eventually the tension was bound to burst. Or explode, as it was in their case.
And now it was finally relaxing, allowing other emotions to fall into place.
This made the older man worried. He knew just how…attached people of L and Raito's mental caliber could become.
He supposed it was due to the simple desire that they dove headfirst into anything they decided to accomplish, whether it was in memorizing the yearly additions to the Oxford dictionary, or in deciding to make oneself likeable, or even falling in love.
They gave it their all, or they gave nothing at all.
But still, Quillish felt as if he was losing the pale faced detective in some way. L had never shown any sort of emotion for anyone besides Quillish. Even the choosing of his heirs had been organized and methodical, as detached as possible. After the fiasco with the previous heirs, it was all L thought he could do.
But the detective had not always been so. He had always been difficult to approach, but he had never been as cold and unfeeling as Near currently was.
He checked the monitor; the two were no longer speaking, but they were still communicating, a silent and subtle speech, yet one that held a more profound meaning than words ever could have.
No, L had never been unemotional; he was just extremely good at suppressing himself.
Another fact that was slipping as the days passed.
Quillish sighed, placing his head in his hands. He really couldn't deny L this, not really. Especially if it made him happy.
"Raito-kun is my first friend."
And it did make him happy.
L rarely ever wanted anything anyway.
The last time he remembered L asking him for anything was…
The day he'd met him.
It was snowing; a relentless kind of snow, one that stuck to every surface it could, covering you within minutes. Quillish gave up trying to remove the snow and merely continued his walk along the snow-coated pathway, holding his hat firmly against his head as the wind attempted to bat it away.
The temperature inside the orphanage was warmer, but not by much. He brushed the snow off, the flakes falling like dust to the floor, where it took them several moments to melt.
The nun approached him then, and he spoke a few quick words with her, to which she nodded and brought him to another, the abbess he had spoken with over the phone. Her English was rather poor, and she was relieved when he began to speak in Russian.
She pulled him along through several rooms, the children looking up at him. Some held hope in their eyes, one that pained his heart. He wanted to help them, he always did, and the orphanage would get a generous donation whether he decided to take the boy with him or not.
But a donation was not what these children wanted. They wanted homes. They wanted families.
He forced himself to bite his tongue, so as not to smile, so as not to give them false hopes, his heart constricting painfully as he did so.
"He's right in here," the woman spoke in hurried Russian, stepping into another room.
The first thing Quillish realized was that this room was several degrees colder than the others.
Then he saw the boy.
The small child by himself, a book in hand, wrapped in a small thin blue blanket. A small black stuffed animal was tucked beneath his arm; with a cup of what Quillish supposed was hot chocolate beside him. The nun pointed towards the boy as if he was not the only child in the room, before making small beckoning noises to the boy. The boy ignored her even as the beckoning noises became louder.
Quillish stepped closer, until his shadow towered over the boy, before crouching down on his haunches.
The boy's eyes blinked, before slowly raising from the book to look at him.
Quillish was taken by surprise. He'd never seen eyes so dark, deep and thoughtfully contemplating. It was at that moment that he knew the other would come with him.
They talked for a bit, the boy's eyes lighting up as Quillish began to speak in different languages, the mere thought of knowledge making him give a slight smile.
Eventually however, the time came to leave. The snow was continuing to fall, and Quillish's driver had come to the door, wanting to leave before the roads became any worse. The small smile had fallen, and the boy appeared to retreat within himself.
Quillish held out his hand.
"Do you want to come with me?"
The boy blinked again before taking the hand, giving a small nod.
"I want to go with you."
That was the one and only time L had ever asked Quillish for anything directly. The next time was the next year, around Christmas.
His orphanage did not promote Santa Claus; in a house full of genius orphans, there was little hiding such a secret, and a number of children had memories concerning the holiday.
Instead, Quillish had a wish box.
It was something that one placed a single piece of paper within, either signed or unsigned, denoting a single thing one wished for. Children then received their item on Christmas.
But there were always the few that asked for something intangible, something that Quillish and Rodger could not grant.
I want my family back.
I want to see by brother.
I want a friend.
They would only ever get a few, and if they were signed, the pair would approach the children and ask if they would like a trip to visit their graves.
But some things could just not be granted.
When he became old enough, L went out on the yearly trip into the city with the other children. (This was only done with on Quillish's insistence, of course).
He had been thirteen, and it was less than a week before Christmas. Many children were out shopping with the small denominations they'd been given, usually for their friends.
L had been with Quillish, shopping in the bookstore as he picked up several items children wanted, while L browsed the shelves, picking out a few things for himself.
When they left with their purchases, they came across a sight.
The door chimed, signaling their departure from the store, when they heard a low growl, then a laugh, followed by a whimper.
They ran toward the noise, looking for the cause, and found a broken and bleeding stray dog, along with several lumps of fur quivering in a box as she attempted to stand, snarling at the redheaded boy who was reaching into the box.
Another one stepped in front of her as the redhead reached into it, picking up a ragged black lump, and began to twist in his grip, the small whine piecing through the air.
Quillish opened his mouth and began to yell at the boys, as he ran towards them, but L had already dropped his bag and had the redhead against the wall.
He went to throw the animal as the others ran, and as expected, L did let go to catch it, but not before slamming the boy's head against the wall.
It had resulted in a trip to the hospital and the police station, along with the local animal shelter as well. He had left L behind there, and spoke for him at the police station.
The boy had gotten off with a spilt lip, several bruised ribs and a minor concussion. Considering L, Quillish considered that rather generous.
Yet when Quillish returned, he had found a solemn looking teenager, not one that was pleased with the fact that he had just done a good deed.
"They would not even look at her," he whispered, his voice soft, "they said there are too many strays as it is. She is dead."
"And the puppies?"
"They will keep them and attempt to find them homes, but…"
"What?"
"The black one, the one the other held." Quillish nodded.
"He is being reprimanded as we speak."
"He is going to be crippled for his lifespan."
After that they went home, the others wanting to know what had happened, yet L refused to tell the story, sitting in his room for several days.
On Christmas, L came to Quillish and Rodger after the initial Christmas fervor had died down.
"I will be a detective," he stated simply, and Quillish had merely nodded to Rodger who left the room, returning with the crippled pup in tow.
"Then you'll need a sidekick."
That was the last year a request for a friend was put in the wish box.
Quillish sometimes wondered if giving L Sirius had been the correct thing to do, because after than L had become even more antisocial, even more reclusive, eventually fading from the children's minds entirely.
Yet every time he remembered that smile, the small one that touched L's eyes more than his face, he knew couldn't have possibly done anything else.
His gaze snapped back to the monitors, watching as L stepped out of the bed, pulling on his clothing, and leaning down to whisper to the brunette who mumbled in protest. Quillish noticed that the man was purposefully not chaining the brunette to the bed.
L then stepped into the kitchen and wandered around it aimlessly, pulling out the ingredients to make tea, and then staring at them intently.
Quillish couldn't help but laugh to himself, as he watched the detective attempt to stare down the tea. He stood, not wanting to trouble the man any longer than necessary.
"Ah, Watari."
"L," he nodded quickly, stepping over toward the stove.
"You are still awake."
"Yes, I was checking over the security footage, one of the cameras went out yesterday, so I wanted to make sure they were all running efficiently."
L's eyes averted slightly, glancing at his fingernails, and Quillish knew it was because he had left the brunette unchained, and was waiting for him to say something about it.
"I really have no say in your relationships, L, and what you choose is your choice," he said quietly, the other's eyes snapping up to meet his own once more, "but I do wish to ask you something."
There was a silence as L contemplated with the same eyes he had seen from years ago, before giving a slight nod.
"Is this what you really want? Does this make you happy?"
There was no time wasted in his answer, no poke or jibe at the fact that Quillish had asked one question instead of two, or an attempt to divert his answer.
The small smile had touched his face, his eyes lighting up with joy.
"Yes."