A/N) This is written for my friend Danielle, not much to say really other than I hope you enjoy it :D
Quickfiree or Quick-fire was a type of arson sometimes employed in blood feuds in medieval Scandinavia and Iceland. In committing quickfire, a group of attackers would set fire to the home of an opponent, sometimes by quickly and surreptitiously piling wood, brush and other combustible materials against the exterior of a dwelling and set it on fire. Typically the attackers would surround the house to prevent the escape of its inhabitants, although women, the elderly and small children were sometimes allowed to leave – Wikipedia.
Survival of the fittest. It was the theory of evolution; how people evolved to ensure that they survived for thousands more years.
The small, dark haired child considered this as his lungs filled with smoke. He was suffocating and the flames were drawing nearer. Perhaps humans should evolve so that they could survive such circumstances? His body twitched a little, his grey orbs squeezing closed. The gas made them itch like crazy. A small, ashy hand rubbing at his closed eyes, smearing soot across his face. His mother and father hadn't had the ability to breath smoke…he opened one orb, staring in dismay at his mother's ashen face, grey behind the dirt. The left side of her body had been charred black and her jaw was fixed in an open scream of pain.
Shaking his head, the six year old looked for his father and brother, spying the older man lying crumpled against the wall. He was still breathing, his intelligent grey eyes fixed on his youngest son. "Law…liet…" he coughed a little as he tried to speak. "I guess…I couldn't get us out of this one…" he cut of as the boy in question started a choking fit of his own, pain flashing across his face.
"But…you have to get out…" he continued once the spasms had passed. "T-take your brother…and leave…" he lifted one shaking hand to point towards the bedroom window. "If you jump at an angle of 48 degrees…to land on the extension…there's a 34 per cent chance you'll both live. You…you have to take those odds, Lawliet."
The boy stared at his father, his mouth slightly open. "Where is he…?" he finally wheezed, his small voice rasping as the man moved his hand to indicate the tiny child curled up under the bed. The boy's face was ashen and his small chest was rising and falling erratically.
"Take him…Lawliet…please…" the flames burned hotter and the roof above them groaned ominously. There was a resounding crash from downstairs indicating that something had caved in. Fear twisted the six year olds face as he dragged his stiff body towards the toddler under the bed. He lifted the boy into his arms, turning to look for his father for guidance. His eyes widened in horror as, with a sudden crash, the floor gave way, dropping the man into the burning abyss below.
"No!" Lawliet screamed in horror, lurching forwards in a desperate attempt to save his father, and yet it was hopeless. The man's body was lying broken and burning on the floor beneath, his skin blackening beneath the flames. "No…" the boy croaked. "No…no…no…!" he stood there, unable to comprehend the death of both of his parents before the tiny body in his arms twisting in a spasm of choking. Determination overtook the young boy's mind and he turned, making his way over to the window. He placed the child onto the bed before lifting a chair from the floor and swinging it hard against the glass. It shattered immediately and Lawliet wasted no time in retrieving the tiny boy from the bed and clambering onto the desk below the shattered window. Carefully, his stepped onto the windowsill, his clouded grey orbs calculating the angle and distance to land on the glass conservatory to his left. Closing his eyes, and sending a pleading prayer up to the heavens, the boy leapt into the cold night air, escaping the burning furnace that had originally been his home.
They crashed through the glass roof, sharp shards slicing deep into his flesh as he slammed into the hard ground, all of the air taken out of his lungs. He'd dropped his brother…where was he…? His pained orbs searched the darkness for some sign of the tiny boy but he found nothing. A sharp pain was twisting down the right side of his body and glass shards stuck out from his flesh. Lawliet struggled to breath, attempting to sit up but finding that his limbs didn't want to respond.
Panic overtook his mind, and with a final ear-splitting scream of agony and despair the six year old lost consciousness.
L woke with a gasp in the hour before dawn, fear gripping his limbs rendering him unable to move. He lay naked, bathed in sweat, the sheets haven been flung from his bed as the torturous dreams preyed on his mind. He closed his eyes, shivering as the cool night air whispered over his damp body. He had dreamed of that fateful day that his life had been so tragically altered. His brother's face filled his mind, a wide grin stretching his lively cheeks, chocolate smeared around his lips. He was laughing, a sound so delightful that the ghost of it still rang in the detective's ears, even now, fifteen years later. He reached out, picking up the child and kissing his forehead, ruffling his dark brown locks. Sparkling blue eyes smiled up at him before suddenly they clouded over, his tiny face contorting into a twist of pain, his rosebud lips parting in fear and confusion –
The hallucination ended, broken as L's mind regained control once again. He now lay wide awake, the ability to move had been returned to him. He sat up, swinging his long legs over the side and staggering to his feet, pressing a hand against the wall to steady himself more than once. This was why he didn't sleep, the nightmares came every time, and they affected him for days after. He stumbled into the bathroom, splashing water onto his face in an attempt to wash away the tortured memories. The first rays of sunlight began to sneak through the window, and the twenty-one year old lifted his head to stare at himself in the mirror. He was paler than usual, the dark circles beneath his eyes emphasized more than usual. His body was still drenched in cold sweat and his dark grey orbs had that haunted look in them. Helplessly, he looked away, getting into the shower. The hot water warmed his body, calming the shaking in his hands, his wet locks falling forwards to cover his frightened gaze.
Today was the day…the day that he met his most potent successors, the first two letters. He could not afford to let them see his vulnerability. As if it were a drug, the water washed away his dreams and replaced them with an odd determination. As the towel dried his damp skin, L went over his schedule for the day. He would start the morning with a cup of coffee with six…no, seven sugar cubes, quickly followed by a gorgeous slice of that delicious chocolate cake Watari had made yesterday. He'd add some chocolate syrup and a few strawberries with a sprinkling of sugar. He slipped his boxers on, followed by a pair of jeans. He'd have to make sure that he had enough lollipops with him, so that if he felt the need to offer his successors one, it wouldn't affect his supplies for the rest of the day. A white shirt slid over his head, and he pulled his arms through the sleeves before using the towel to vigorously dry his hair.
"I'll get Watari to make them jam sandwiches for lunch…" he mumbled to himself and he lifted his head, dropping the towel to the floor. He stared at himself in the mirror, nodding in appreciation. Yes, he looked a little better now. Turning to leave the bathroom, the young detective found himself wondering if he would have time for two slices of that chocolate cake before they left. Watari did hate him eating in the car.