.
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.
-T.S. Eliot, "The Hollow Men"
1
In this valley of dying stars
November 5th, 2007
L's hair is still wet, and the chain is gone. There aren't any bells, but the feeling of them is there, thick and ringing and heavy under L's skin.
If he tests the notebook, Light will die.
The order has already been given, anyway. All that's left to do is wait. The investigation team is outraged, as usual, and L really does not want to deal with this right now. Light is gone. It's just Kira, now. L shoves sweets into his mouth even though he can feel them creeping back up his throat.
The power flickers, and this was—this was not unexpected, but Watari isn't answering, and is Watari—the Shinigami, where is the Shinigami—
There is a pain in his chest, then, and L can't—he can't—
Kira.
Six Years Later
The first thing L is aware of is that his fingers hurt. The feeling is somewhere between burning and swelling, like the blood in his fingertips has suddenly decided it can't stay, boiling through his veins as it fights to evacuate. The pain travels up his arms and meets in his chest before spreading out to the rest of his body. L is panting, struggling for breath as sweat streams down his face and into his open mouth. The pain is so great it overshadows his awareness of anything else, taking residence somewhere behind his eyes like hazy wildfire. Eventually, L lets himself be swept away.
The second thing L is aware of is that the pain has stopped, and he is both stark naked and unbearably cold. He struggles to move his limbs, managing to pull himself into a tight, shivering ball before collapsing bonelessly back to the ground. L takes in several deep breaths, trying to get his bearing, but his head is spinning and his most recent memory does not match up with his current circumstances. He constructs an immediate hierarchy of needs: he needs to know where he is, he needs a cell phone, and he needs to be out of this mind-numbing cold. The first step towards achieving these goals is definitely sitting up, but sitting up proves to be more of a challenge than he'd like.
L finally pushes himself into a sitting position and promptly loses the contents of his stomach. There isn't much, but what does come out is black and thick and rotten, and L dry heaves for several long minutes before he can breathe without retching. Tears are streaming from his eyes and he's not sure why, not sure what's going on or why he's alive or how he's ended up wherever he is. The tears are freezing on his face, crusting along his eyelashes. L realizes that he needs to find shelter before hypothermia sets in.
Step one: establish surroundings. He's in a recently trimmed grassy area. There is a streetlight in his line of sight and he decides to move in that direction. Moving is easier said than done, though, and L half-crawls, half-staggers to the light, tripping and literally rolling downhill for the last several meters. L lies flat on his back in the dirt, catching his breath and staring upward. He can only pick out a few stars in the night sky, probably the result of near-by light pollution. He deducts that he is most likely in or near a city or other densely-populated area. The streetlight he landed beside is one of two, and the other is flickering and faint, illuminating a dirty parking lot with a single car in it.
L clutches the concrete base of the streetlight and pulls himself up. His head is finally clearing, and he feels slightly more like himself. It takes longer than it should, but he makes it to the car without falling down again, so that's a step in the right direction. The car is tiny and rusted, of uncertain make and model due to an assortment of mismatched parts, and at least twenty years old judging from the shape and condition. The passenger door is unlocked and L is so relieved he almost cries again. He stumbles in and pulls the door closed behind him, immediately searching for something to warm up with. There is an opaque white rain poncho in the glove box and a thick woolen scarf underneath the front seat, and L promptly puts both on. He wraps the scarf around his head and tucks his entire body into the poncho for maximum body heat retention.
L wakes up to a throbbing headache, a bright light, and the firm stare of a uniformed police officer.
"Sir, is this your vehicle?"
L shakes his head.
The officer pulls him roughly out of the car, and L goes limp, dropping to the ground. He chews on his thumb. This is an admittedly unpleasant situation, but all will be resolved once he makes it to a police station and can contact Whammy's House. L notices a hysterical girl beside another officer and realizes she must be the owner of the car he'd broken into.
The officer is saying something, but L isn't certain what. L interrupts him.
"I apologize, Officer. It was very cold last night. I suppose you will have to arrest me now."
L takes the scarf off his head and lays it beside the car. He does not say anything else, and eventually the man gives up on his lecture and cuffs L. The girl does not ask for her poncho back, and L enjoys a warm, sleepy car ride to the police station.
As L is checked in, he realizes that everyone has been speaking Japanese, and when he asks, the lady taking his information confirms that he is in Tokyo. He gives the name Rue Ryuzaki—a habit he just can't seem to quit—and gives blatantly false answers to all of the questions he's asked. He waits in a holding cell by himself until a man comes to inform him that if he'd like to make his phone call now is the time.
The first number he tries is the private emergency number that should reach both Watari and the establishment. It is disconnected. He tries every number he knows connected with Whammy's House, but none of the calls go through. At this point L is beginning to feel slightly panicked. Except for the Kira Task Force, no one unconnected to Whammy's House can connect his face to his identity, and if L is piecing his last moments together correctly, the investigation team believes he is dead.
"Time's up."
L does not resist as he is taken to a larger holding cell, this one occupied by several other men, with one questionable person wearing a trashbag. L looks down at his poncho outfit and realizes he probably fits into the trashbag category.
"They'll probably keep you here for 48 hours," the man tells him, "and then they'll let you go. I don't think charges are being pressed."
L ignores the man and lies down on a bench. There are no beds, just benches, and a toilet on one wall. L has not had to spend much time in holding cells before but to his knowledge, this one is pretty run-of-the-mill. He wants to sit in his normal position but that feels like a poor idea when he is wearing nothing but a poncho that barely reaches his knees. No one is speaking, everyone too occupied with themselves, and L does not interrupt the quiet of the cell.
L has just reached the trance-like state of thought that he finds most efficient for working his way out of a difficult situation when his alias is announced. He sits up.
"Rue Ryuzaki, please come with me."
L follows obediently as he is taken into a new room—an interrogation room. An uncertain feeling grows heavy in the pit of his stomach as he is cuffed to the table. He keeps his face blank as he waits, keenly aware of the cameras in the uppermost corners of the room.
No one comes to interrogate him, though, and after what feels like several hours the same officer comes back and frees L from the table.
"What is going on?" L demands. "I think I need to speak to my lawyer."
The officer ignores him, pulling the cuffs tight as he restrains L's arms behind his back.
"Excuse me. I said I need to speak with my lawyer."
The officer shakes his head. "You can take that up with L. I don't know what you've done, but you're being moved into his custody. You're out of my jurisdiction now."
A mixture of relief and apprehension floods through L. Best case scenario, his calls were registered but unanswered for security reasons, and he will be escorted to Whammy's House or another safe base. Worst case scenario—most likely scenario—Light is now functioning as L, and has somehow managed to take out or take over the establishment entirely, and is sending agents to pick L up and murder him again. L needs to know what year it is, and he needs to know now.
"What is the date?"
How has he not already figured this out? Are his deductive abilities failing him? L can't think. He vaguely notices that he is hyperventilating. His ears are ringing.
The world stops spinning and L realizes that he is now in the floor of the hallway, and the officer is crouched down beside him, eyes crinkled and worried.
"There you are," the man says. "Look at you, all pale and scrawny. Are you even eighteen yet? If you're still a minor we might be able to keep you in our custody."
L shakes his head, regaining control. "I just need to know what the date is, please."
"It's November 5th."
"What year?"
The officer gives L a strange look. "2013."
L died six years ago. He died six years ago, and now he is back, and how has this happened, why is he here? A growing sense of dread overtakes L as he realizes that he died without ever seeing the system deleted—if Watari had died without deleting everything, if Light had managed to hack his way into L's system, he could have found Whammy's House and taken out L's successors long before they were ready. It's the only explanation that makes sense, because no security concern could keep Watari from answering a distress call from L, not six years after his disappearance, not when L was the only person beside Watari himself who knew the number—L is hyperventilating again, but he can't stop. Maybe there's a way out of this alive but he can't find it, he can't find it, and Light is going to kill him again, L is going to lose again, and why is this happening at all?
The officer is patting L's back now, and L slowly comes back to himself.
"I'm sorry," L apologizes. "That was not the answer I was expecting."
He stands up. If Light is going to kill him then L is going to face his death bravely. Again. Maybe there will be a chance for escape. Maybe Light has forgotten about being Kira again. Maybe.
L watches as his mugshot is deleted and his file is handed over to an agent with an L-badge. The agent guides him into a sleek black SUV, blindfolds him, and attaches the cuffs around his wrists to a metal bar in the seat.
They drive for almost an hour, taking a disorienting series of turns that L struggles to keep straight in his mind. When the car stops, L has only a very vague idea of his location and has yet to formulate a viable escape plan. He considers making a run for it when the door opens, but he hasn't eaten since he woke up the first time, in the grass, and he's still fairly unstable. It's probably better to scope out the situation before making an escape attempt that will almost certainly fail and result in increased security measures.
He's led into an elevator, and it makes pleasant dinging noises fourteen times, indicating he is on the fourteenth floor of an unexpectedly tall building. The building smells familiar, and L realizes with a jolt that he may have actually been taken back to his own headquarters. It stinks of dramatic irony, and Light has always been overly fond of dramatics.
L shuffles his feet as he waits for something to happen. Soon enough, he hears sharp, clipped footsteps—almost certainly men's dress shoes—and the blindfold is roughly ripped from his face. Light's eyes are wide, shocked and soft.
"It's really you. I mean, I saw the mugshot, but I didn't think… It's really you. L. L. How did this—how are you here?"
I'm still wearing this poncho, L thinks, inanely.
"We can get you some clothes, L. Answer my question."
He didn't mean to say that out loud. L is lost, drowning, unconnected. "I don't—I don't know."
"You should be dead. You were dead."
"Yes," L agrees. "I was dead."
It doesn't make sense. Nothing makes sense. Shinigamis and killer notebooks and rising from the dead.
"And now you're alive."
L doesn't say anything. His head hurts. He's hungry.
L realizes with a start that Light is hugging him. He stiffens up immediately, but Light doesn't let go. Slowly, he relaxes into Light's hold.
"There's black stuff all over your legs, L, and you stink. You need a shower."
L doesn't know how he feels, but a shower sounds nice. And then maybe some cake. And coffee, and strawberries. And then sleep, again. Sleep for a long time, in a bed, and under blankets. Clothes again, too, and not this poncho.
Light takes L to a bathroom and the agent from before undoes L's handcuffs. L struggles out of the poncho and one of his wrists is promptly handcuffed to a metal safety rail.
Light catches L eyeing the handcuff and laughs a little awkwardly, running a hand through his hair. He looks the same as he did before, only broader and taller and older. His hair is still shiny.
"No offense, L, but I'm not just going to let you take off now that you're here."
L nods. He expected as much. Had expected worse, actually, and is still expecting it at any moment. He feels like he's floating, suspended in a bubble of make-believe here with Light, like the real world will intrude at any moment. He's waiting for other shoe to drop, holding out for the thud of the headsman's axe.
Light rolls up his sleeves, turns on the water, and lathers his hands up with shampoo.
"I'll get your hair," he announces. "You clean yourself off. That black stuff is all over you. What did you do, roll in the dirt?"
"Ah," L says. "That would be the vomit."
Light's brow quirks.
"I was rather nauseous when I first woke up," L explains.
Light grimaces. "That's disgusting."
"Yes," L agrees. He puts body wash on a loofah. Of course Light would have a loofah.
Light massages the shampoo into L's scalp, and L hums in appreciation. This feels nice. Like the Light before they caught Higuchi, still sharp and childish and petty, but without the edge of condescension that came afterwards. That Light had been eager and strangely gentle, and he had also washed L's hair in the shower while making pointed remarks about L's poor hygiene.
Eventually, L is clean again, and he is sorry to see the shower go. Light dries him off and mutters about L being useless. L closes his eyes and enjoys the soft sensation of Light's hands and attention.
"Light-kun."
Light looks up, paused over L's legs. "What?"
L doesn't say anything.
Light lets L loose from the safety rail and guides him into an adjoining room, keeping a firm hold on L's wrist. The room is large and nicely decorated, an enormous bed taking up the majority of the open space, and L realizes that they must be in one of Light's personal rooms. Light gives L sweatpants, a sweatshirt, and clean underwear. L has never been so grateful for underwear in his life, and he rewards Light with a smile. Light raises an eyebrow.
"What are you doing with your face?"
L is a little out of practice, maybe. He puts on his clothes. They are soft and warm and perfect and oh god, he never wants to be cold again. L is never taking these sweatpants off.
Light handcuffs L to the bedframe and L sinks into his familiar crouch. The position feels safe and natural and L wraps his free arm around his legs, resting his head on top of his knees. Light digs through his drawers, clearly searching for something. After a little while, he makes a pleased noise, holding something in his hands, and is that—
"You kept it?"
Light flushes bright red. "I mean, I didn't throw it out, obviously."
L laughs, momentarily delighted, and holds out his right wrist. Light chains them together and L feels like no time has passed at all, like he hasn't been dead for six years, like this is just Light again. L doesn't even want to know about Kira. He will have to gather intelligence soon, will have to stop Light at some point, but not right now. Not just this moment.
The handcuff on his left wrist clicks off, and Light leaves it hanging limply from the bedframe. The same agent from before comes into the room, drops off a tray of food, and leaves without acknowledging either of them.
L literally launches himself at it, but Light holds him back.
"Rice first, then cake."
L growls. He's surprised at himself but he stands by his decisions.
"Rice first. You need something with substance. Then you can have cake. It's strawberry, I know that's your favorite."
L puts nine sugar cubes in his coffee and twice as many in his rice. He wolfs down his cake with his hands, just digging out handfuls and shoving them into his mouth. Light watches the massacre with unmasked repulsion and makes L wash his face in the bathroom when he is done.
"You're like an animal, L. You need table manners. This is something we're going to work on."
L ignores Light.
"I would like to sleep now."
Light's eyebrows shoot up. He's always had such expressive eyebrows, which only goes to show why plucking them out is an absolute necessity in L's line of work.
"In the bed?"
L nods fervently.
Light looks skeptical but changes into a sleep shirt and pants anyway. They lay down, Light straight and soldier-like on his side of the bed, sheet pulled neatly up to his chest. L cocoons himself in the comforter. It's not even fully dark yet, and the last struggling rays of sunlight are spread across the ceiling. L curls into himself, knees to chest, chin to knees. There's a feeling in the back of his throat, like a hiccup, and he tries to swallow it down.
There's an empty space in the room where Watari should be, and L feels like he will walk in any moment with a tray of sugar and case files. L tries to avoid thinking about it, but now that his brain is running again he can't shut it off. Light is still alive, and that means his successors are not, and Watari is not. Six years. L is underwater, he's drowning, his lungs are burning. He wants to go home but he has nowhere to go. A lifetime of hotels and orphanages and headquarters.
The room is blurry and L puts his hands to his eyes. He can't breathe. A choked sob escapes him and he pulls the comforter over his head.
A moment passes before the comforter lifts up and there is Light.
"L, I…" Light trails off, looking away. His jaw is clenched.
L can't. He can't. He hides his face in the pillow but the damage is already done. Light turns L over and pulls him into his chest, and L is reminded of quiet nights, Light's golden skin, the copper of his hair and the gentle rhythm of his breathing. Maybe, L had thought. Maybe. But then there was Higuchi, and it wasn't maybe anymore.
L digs his face into the front of Light's shirt, and Light's arms hover tentatively for a moment before they come down around L's back. L takes a deep, shuddering breath. Things will be okay. They're not okay now, but they will be, and L will be able to breathe again. But Light is all he has and if he gives Light up—gives Kira up—he will have nothing left. L can't think about that, he can't—not right now. Not right now. Light's hands are rubbing slow circles on L's back.
L doesn't need this, he doesn't need Light. He will be fine alone, like he's always been. Light's fingers are combing through his hair, though, and it just. It just feels nice. And L can be on his own later. When Light is done.
"Where were you?" Light whispers. "How did you come back? When?"
"Ah. Today, I think. In the morning. It was dark."
L has only brief flashes of memory from his early life, before Watari. There was a moment, at an orphanage in France—it was snowing, and his hands were wrapped around his feet. L hadn't understood, yet, that he was alone. He'd been waiting.
"And you broke into someone's car? And slept in it?"
L nods.
"How did you—how—what do you remember?"
L shakes his head. His hair catches in the button of Light's shirt, and Light untangles it with shaking fingers.
"I just woke up. I don't know how I got there, I don't know—it hurt."
Light tenses, fingers clutching L's shirt. "Was there a Shinigami? Did you see anything strange?"
"No, nothing, it was just, I woke up. In the grass. I didn't have any clothes. I had to steal a poncho. There was a man in jail with me who was wearing a trashbag, and no one would sit by us." He's rambling but he can't stop. L has to keep going until everything ends again.
"Why did it hurt? Was it the cold?"
"No, my fingers, my fingers hurt. And then the rest of me. For a long time. And then I woke up again, and I threw up on myself, and I fell down a hill and broke into a car and a policeman woke me up with his flashlight in my eyes even though it was already morning." L is breathing too fast, he knows, but he can't get any air. Black dots are starting to crowd his vision. There's a catch in his lungs that's been there since he woke, a faint wave of hysteria that washes over whenever L stops holding it back. L needs to be alone, needs to put himself back together, but he's not sure he can. He has to, though. Has to get back up, like he has before.
Light's body is pressed against his and Light's hands are on his back and in his hair and L can't right now, he can't. He should be angry at Light—he should be angry—but he doesn't have the energy for hate right now. He's grateful for his shower and his sweatpants and his cake, and Light is still beautiful, and it's not fair that someone like Light should look the way he does. L brings his mouth up to Light's and Light responds almost desperately, his fingers slipping underneath L's shirt and running up his spine.
Light reaches for the nightstand, digging around in the top drawer.
After Higuchi, Light wouldn't, he didn't want to—he wouldn't touch L anymore, and L had never had anyone before Light. And now, L is soft and spread apart, his shell broken away, and he doesn't know how to build up his wall of percentages and oddities when everything is swirling around him like this. He's never—he'd always been on top, before, and now he feels invaded and defenseless and Light is taking up his airspace, filling in L's breathing room. L's hands scrabble across Light's back, feeling his dips and hollows, and Light's hands are gripping L's thighs, and his mouth is on L's neck, and L can't think, can't breathe, can't do anything else.
Light reaches between them, and L's eyes are fluttering shut, and he feels too full and not full enough and too full all over again. His skin is burning and Light's breath runs across him in bursts.
He comes with a soft, startled moan, hot liquid shooting onto his own stomach, and Light follows almost immediately. Sweat drips from Light's hair and nose, running down his neck, and L reaches up to wipe it away as Light collapses on top of him, still breathing heavily.
Light's cheek is beside L's, and he's still inside, and L doesn't know how he feels about this. His heart is racing, pulse fluttery and uneven. After Light catches his breath, he pulls out of L and grabs a handful of tissues off the nightstand. He cleans L up without a word, wiping between L's thighs like this sudden intimacy is nothing unexpected, nothing to be remarked upon. He still doesn't say anything as he curls around L from behind, leaving their shirts strung along on the chain and the rest of their clothing wherever it landed.
As L's breathing finally evens out, Light runs a hand along L's face, feeling the incline of his jaw, the sharp point of his nose, the hollows beneath his eyes. His breath teases the curve of L's ear.
Sometimes L thinks of himself as a series of snapshots, a person documented through the lenses of cheap disposable cameras and developed behind locked doors. His life is summed up by fading pictures of forgotten churches and quiet English countryside, people hanging onto the edges and letting their ratty trainers block the scenery. This moment is a double exposure, L's face now illuminated by his final moments: Light's triumphant smirk, L's spoon clattering to the floor.
"I missed you," Light whispers. "When you were gone."
L doesn't answer.
"It wasn't what I thought it would be. It got—I got bored. I am bored. I thought it was… I thought that—" He cuts off, and his hand is digging into L's side. Light takes a deep breath and lets it out, hot and shaky into the back of L's hair. "It wasn't the same. Without you."
L still doesn't answer, and there's a moment that he's not thinking of, won't think of, when Light—and the chain was there—and Light was in the shower, and he was waiting for L, and he was laughing about something L said, and he was holding his hands out, he was waiting—and L was waiting, not then, but before that, for a long time. As a child, and after that, too.
Light's breaths are slow and even, and the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest is warm against L's back, and L, L can think about this in the morning. He can do what he has to do, but just not yet. Later.
AN:
First of all, thank you so much for reading! I've been thinking about this story for a long time, and I'm really excited to share it. Please tell me what you thought!
A better summary for this story is:
"L comes back to life exactly six years after his death. Light finds him, but he can't take care of himself, much less a prisoner, and the world is going to shit. L and Light solve cases, quit caring, and drink coffee on Parisian balconies. They also sleep together in a number of violent and emotionally compromising ways, sometimes while vehemently denying it. But if L can come back to life, so can anyone, and soon enough B is the monster under the bed, Mello is...somewhere, and Near and Matt are both in over their heads. A mostly L-centric story with bits and pieces of everyone else."
WARNING: This story contains a variety of adult activities, bad language, and far too many murderous diatribes from Light. Please be warned that you will find references to the following throughout the story (either implied, attempted, or explicit): rape/sexual assualt, suicide, drug and alcohol abuse, abuse of the more general kind, and potentially other unsettling topics.
LEMONS: This chapter has a very blurry/vague sex scene, but there are real ones in the next few chapters, and they will be scattered throughout the story.
UPDATES: Every 1-2 weeks. Dates posted on my profile the Monday after I post.
I've changed the details of what happens after L's death, clearly, and you'll get more back story in upcoming chapters, but do let me know if you think anything is too confusing. I'm planning for a lot of give and take in Light and L's relationship, and an awkward amount of plot in the middle of feelings and stuff. Maybe this fandom is too dead for another long story but I'm writing it anyway.
If you want to be my beta send me a PM. I will literally love you forever if you do, you have no idea.
-M