L is dead. Kira is dead. Mello, Matt, Watari. Everyone. I am alone. I have won, and my friends are gone. I don't feel the victory. I only feel the satisfaction at their killer's death. Light Yagami is dead. The second L. The real Kira. The man who brought the world to its knees.
Of course, it's time to move on to the next case. I should never dwell on the past, good or no. It's what L would have done, and I am L's successor. It is what I have to do. For the time being, I am in Japan. There could still be something interesting here. They did produce the most powerful serial killing group in the world thus far. Maybe the police have now moved onto something else entertaining.
"Gevanni," I call. Gevanni is smart, and a good asset to my team. He is also loyal. L once said that it's never good to work alone. That is why he had Watari. I think Gevanni will do just fine as my right hand.
He comes to where I sit starting on a new structure of paper swans. I've been fiddling with the small pieces of paper and folding them into birds for five hours and twenty-seven minutes, now. We are in L's headquarters where they investigated the Kira case.
"Yes, Hikaru," he responds, using my new alias. I chose it because it is a fairly common, but not so that it would be obvious, Japanese name from the year I was born.
"Would you put wiretaps on the police's radio-feed and a few cameras in the station, please," I ask, "I would like to know if anything new is going on."
"Yes, sir," he says and turns to walk out.
"There is no need to call me 'sir', Gevanni. My name is just fine. My fake one, at least," I say to him calmly. Although I like respect, I don't want to be indifferent to my friends. L did not usually show this to us or Watari. I think he was just closed off as usual, even though that's not what he really felt.
I place another small swan atop the other. But what do I know? I'm not him.
The pain has since been numb when we first heard of L's and Watari's deaths. With every passing, it's made it even more so. I'm calm, for the most part.
However, here, in L's headquarters. His strange habits leaving small details in every inch of the place. The voice modulators, forgotten candy wrappers, deep indents in chair cushions where he sat crouched on his feet. For a moment, the bandage rips, and a swell of sharp emotion pierces through me. I try to calm myself, again. To feel the gentle numbness.
I see Mello's face, Matt's. I see L. Watari. I see paper birds toppling to the ground. The numb feeling is gone. Only the hole in my chest remains. They collapse with all of the grace of a real swan. I hear a sound. The sound is coming from me. A different kind of pain is burning me from the inside out. It's a broken sound. The sound of someone falling. Falling, falling. The swans fall. Everything is white. Clean. It's all falling. The darkness within me takes the clean whiteness away. The birds are falling. Falling, falling.
I quietly sob. No one is around. There are no cameras. I'm alone. That is good. I shouldn't be reacting like this if I want to truly succeed L. Who could trust someone who breaks like this to be the greatest detective in the world. It's good that no one sees me.
Suddenly, there are footsteps to my right. I freeze. No, I'm not alone. Someone is here, and since the only people who could possibly come into this building are part of the old KPA, Matsuda and the other Japanese policemen who worked on the Kira case, or dead, I do not know who else it could be. My team is back in the US, besides Giovanni. Matsuda and the others are working back in their old jobs. That doesn't necessarily exclude them, but the chances are unlikely. Even if they were here, what could their business be? Their reactions to my behavior would not likely be these calm steady footsteps, either.
Who could it be? I do not look up.
A broom makes a sweep in front of me. It gathers the paper swans into a pile.
A broom? The thought occurs to me without warning. It's a thought I wouldn't dare have. How could I? It's impossible. The idea is absolutely ridiculous. It's even more ludicrous because it's exactly what I want. What I want more than anything. It's something I can never have. Power no one should ever have. So how could it be? But it's there...
Finally, my curiosity takes over. I lift my head.
I see a face I haven't seen for far too long, and I know I was right. Watari. Watari is alive. He stands over me with broom in-hand. Ready to clean up my mess. Suddenly I feel like kid again, more of a child than usual that is, when my eyes are swollen from crying and everything around me is in ruins, but Watari simply cleans up what I wrecked, puts it away, and comforts me until I fall asleep in his arms. He stands over me, now, with that expression of patience he always had when we were children in his orphanage, the look he gives when he is waiting for us to decide.
When he built the Wammy's Home for Orphans, he always gave each child an option. He told them, when they came into the house for the first time, that if they wanted to stay, they could stay. If they wanted to leave, they could. That they would always be welcomed back. He refused to put any of them in the house against their will. Orphanages always turned into prisons when run by people indifferent to the child's wants. So he gave everyone old enough the decision. And almost every child picked him. He wears that expression now. The expression he has when he's waiting for me to decide. Do I accept him? Do I accept he's even alive?
I look into his eyes. Is it really him? I rise from the ground, not breaking eye-contact. I search for anything in his face that seems off, but all I can see is the man who raised me, who was dead and, now, somehow isn't. For the moment, I don't care how to deduce this. I wrap my arms around his waist in a hug. Oh, Watari, how I have missed you. He returns the hug, bending over slightly to reduce the hight-difference. He is warm. I hear his heart thrum softly and regularly underneath the suit. He's alive, and he's here.