Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note nor any of the characters contained therein.
Summary: Christmas Eve, Wammy drops L, 15, at Wammy House and goes back out into a storm. Newcomer Near has yet to speak, Mello is up to mischief, and a Christmas surprise may be in the offing. Rated T for language.
Tinsel by Morning
"There's nothing for it – I'm going back out."
"I am fairly certain that is an unwise idea."
"Thank you for your concern, but I'll be fine. A little snow never hurt anyone."
"Actually, in the first expedition to –"
"L, please." Watari's voice was hushed. "I couldn't face the others without tinsel for the tree." His eyes twinkled as he winked.
"Mm. Yes, 'tinsel' is clearly pre-eminent in the minds of children on Christmas morning." L's eyes were narrowed behind the strands of black hair now dampened with melted snow. "A bit of forethought on your part would have prevented your need to take care of this now."
"You don't say. Well, thank you for pointing that out."
L ducked his head at Watari's rejoinder. "Roger will want to see you before you go."
Watari chuckled, his voice warm in the cold hallway. "He will almost certainly barricade the door if I dare to greet him and then depart. No no, I will speak to him as soon as I return. It won't be long."
"Surely you don't expect me to tell him you've gone back out?" L kept his hands jammed in his pockets.
"Tell him the truth – that I've dropped you off and shall return shortly." Watari, still smiling, reached out to gently tousle L's hair, earning a deeper glare from the teen. "You didn't used to mind when I did that."
"I am no longer a child." L pouted, turning his hunched form to walk slowly away down the hallway.
"Ah yes, 15 years old and fully adult, of course." Watari sighed. "You worry too much."
"On the contrary, I worry exactly enough." L didn't look behind him as he moved to the row of coathooks and unwound his scarf, which made the hair touching his shoulders fluff up with static.
"See you soon then." The door closing punctuated Watari's sentence, and L glared at the large wooden slab as if it were to blame.
L knew that Roger would not be pleased by the news that his "Quills" had gone off into a snowstorm just to finish up some Christmas shopping. Granted, they had been rather busy in the past two months, so odds were that Watari had not had time to do much shopping. L was fairly certain that Roger did most of that anyway, but Roger could hardly get something for himself, and after the debacle three years ago, Watari promised he'd never let Roger get L his gift again. It's just a day, L thought; he needn't have rushed back out on my account – I can wait.
Shuffling quietly past the door to Roger's office, L made his way back toward the stairs to head up to his room. He was rarely here anymore, but they kept his room for him as is, and he even considered sleeping for awhile.
"Where the hell is he?"
L sighed, not turning around. "He dropped me off and said he'd be back soon, Roger."
Grumbling unintelligibly under his breath, Roger hastened to the entry door, clutching his cardigan around him. He opened the door and peered out, a few errant snowflakes drifting in, and grumbled more loudly though his words were still indistinct. L moved quietly down the hall away from him with the express goal of raiding the kitchen. The sound of the front door shutting again hung in the air for a moment.
"Don't think you can just wander off!" Roger's slippered feet clapped along the hardwood floor to catch up to L. "What took the two of you so damn long?"
L did not alter his pace. "Watari will no doubt fill you in on everything you need to know when he returns."
"Don't put me off like that, you . . ."
Smiling crookedly, L tilted his head to look Roger in the eye. "Yes?" He wondered if Roger would call him the same name he'd used once while complaining about L to Watari. Though it had surprised him at the time, L found it rather amusing now.
Roger grimaced, looking away as he walked next to L. "Fine then. I'll let him tell me." Roger sighed as they entered the kitchen. "I don't see why you insist on calling him that here, by the way – Watari is not his name."
"I am well aware of that." L looked under the ceramic cake keeper, sad to discover that it was empty. "However, while Watari may be his official alias, and thus associated with his job, it has also become a familiar way of addressing him for me. Were I to call him 'Mr. Wammy' again, that would feel too formal, yet calling him 'Quills' as you do would be quite inappropriate. I would say that my name for him splits the difference between the formal and the familiar quite well." L felt he was explaining himself adequately enough but noticed that Roger was still scowling at him. "Why isn't there any cake?"
"We finished it after dinner. Had you gotten here earlier, you could have had some."
L's face had a stricken look to it for a moment, then his eyes narrowed. "Impossible. You knew we were returning – if the others finished the cake, then there wasn't enough for me to have anyway. Where have you hidden it?"
Roger set his jaw. "Oh no – I'm not having you eat through everything we've been baking before Christmas even gets here. If you wanted cake, you should have gotten some on your way back."
"That . . . that was not possible! After the detour we took coming back from the safe house, we . . ." L trailed off, averting his eyes, a lock of dark hair coming to rest on his nose. "Nevermind. Is there anything I can eat here?"
"Aside from your hidden stash, you mean?" Roger smirked. "There's some ham leftover from dinner –"
"No, something I can eat." L obstinately emphasized, watching Roger lean against the counter.
"There are crackers and jam. And I made eggnog if you'd like some."
"I am not especially fond of eggnog." L wrinkled his nose. "Not sweet enough, and it has an unpleasant aftertaste."
"Psh – had you not sampled the batch I made for Quills and myself – what was it, three years ago? – you'd have a different opinion of it, I expect."
"Meh. It muddled my thinking as well." L shot a dark look at Roger. "I cannot comprehend why anyone would voluntarily drink something like whisky, let alone ruin a potentially pleasant beverage with it."
Roger snorted. "No accounting for taste."
"Clearly."
"And it served you right for taking without asking. You never did tell us why you were wandering around so late at night . . ."
"I don't suppose the Christmas cookies are ready, are they?" L interrupted Roger's train of thought.
"Not until tomorrow, same as the pudding."
"Hm. Which one are you doing, the plum or the sticky toffee?" L licked his lips involuntarily.
Roger gave a long-suffering sigh. "There have literally been fights over which one everyone wants, so I am making both this year. But don't think for a second that I'll be doing that every year!" Roger hastily added in response to L's wide eyes and slackened jaw. "I may do a completely different pudding next year – perhaps something with cranberries . . ."
L's lip curled in disgust. "Cranberries are sour."
"Tart, actually." Roger rolled his eyes. "Incidentally, the eggnog I made was for the children, so it's completely innocent of any alcohol, and the carafe to the left in the refrigerator has more sugar and a touch of molasses. If you don't want it, I'm sure someone else will be happy to have it by morning."
Surprise caused L to rear back slightly, his hair swinging briefly out of his face. "You . . . made a special batch for me?"
"Well," Roger glanced away, lips pursed, "I made a batch for everyone, but I separated some of it to sweeten it more to your tastes."
A smile stretched L's face. "I believe that counts as making a special batch."
"Believe what you like." Roger huffed, turning to exit the kitchen.
L watched him move past the butcher's island toward the door. "Thank you, Roger." Raking some of the hair out of his eyes, L met Roger's gaze as he turned. "That was quite thoughtful of you." L pivoted to face the fridge, still smiling, now amused at Roger's stunned expression. He heard Roger pad back out into the hallway.
"You're welcome." Roger's voice wafted back to L.
For a few seconds, L considered whether to pour a glass of the eggnog. Shifting his eyes back and forth, he decided that was unnecessary and took an experimental swig from the glass carafe. Swallowing, L regarded the yellow liquid with surprise. It was almost sweet enough to qualify as syrup, and yet he was fully expected to drink it as a beverage. L grinned, heedless of the eggnog mustache he now sported, and gulped more of it as he made his way out of the kitchen and upstairs to his room.
Pounding. Why is there pounding. This is not the time to interrupt my – wha? L startled himself awake, shocked by the fact that he had been asleep at all, and then realized that the pounding was real. Someone was at his door.
Regarding his clothes, which he had apparently slept in, with distaste, L pushed off the bed, gave the empty carafe a sullen glance, and moved to open his door.
"What is –"
"He isn't back." Roger's face was white.
"That's . . ." L's eyes darted to the clock, "impossible."
Roger scowled. "Well, it obviously is possible since he isn't here! I need you to tell me everything about the case you just finished." Roger pushed past L into his room.
L sighed, shutting the door. "Everything will take too long. I will summarize." He noticed Roger looking at the carafe. "I am curious as to what exactly you put in that eggnog to get me to sleep so soundly. It's after dawn."
"What I put in it?" Roger seated himself in L's chair. "Cream. Eggs. An ungodly amount of sugar. A pinch of nutmeg."
"Any sedatives?"
Roger chortled hollowly. "I wouldn't waste those on you – you're probably immune."
"Well, there must be –"
"Dairy products, when consumed in large quantities, can have a sedative effect."
"I see."
"Stop dithering and tell me what happened." Roger's voice was especially gruff this morning, and the bags under his eyes were quite pronounced. L wondered if the man had gotten any sleep at all.
"I am not dithering. I am collecting my thoughts." L perched on his bed, hands on his bent knees directly in front of his chest. "We were finishing up a missing persons case in connection with the robberies in Lisbon – you recall, the one that concluded with the murder-suicide that turned out to have been staged?"
"Yes yes, I recall."
"Well, that case led us to what looked like another murder-suicide, which also turned out to be staged murders by a third party. Perhaps more disquietingly, this led us to yet another missing persons case, this time involving some acquaintances of Watari's."
"Bloody – he knows them?" Roger leaned forward.
"Mm. 'Friends of friends' is how he put it. A rather inexact term, if you ask –"
"Well, what the hell is he doing, then? I thought he'd just left his shopping 'til the last minute, the berk . . .'
"To be honest, I had thought that as well." L blinked as Roger met his eyes in shock. "We had resolved to investigate further after returning here, as our staying away at Christmastime again would likely not have been received well."
"That's an understatement!" Roger ran a hand over his face. "So he didn't tell you where he was off to, and you didn't suss out that he was still working the case – oi." Some color was returning to Roger's face, albeit in red splotches on his cheeks. "If 'The Great L' couldn't figure it out, then what hope would the rest of us have . . ."
L's eyes narrowed. "Snapping at me for failing to divine Watari's intentions will not resolve this. He could potentially be in danger, which you no doubt already realize, given the fact that you haven't slept at all." L swallowed, his throat dry, not sure whether he was more angry at Roger, or Watari, or himself. "You do realize that I have to go out after him, don't you."
"Absolutely not." Roger sat up ramrod straight. "No one else leaves this house until tomorrow. I'll alert the Chief Constable."
"The – that old man cannot do what I could do!" L felt his face flush.
"You couldn't do what you could do last night when he left – and careful who you call old, you whelp." Roger's eyes flashed. "The Constable's a few years younger than me, and I'm a few younger than 'Watari' – we get around well enough when we need to, and we were damn well fine on our own before you came along."
L gripped his knees, dropping his eyes behind the black curtain of his hair. "If I am unwelcome here, I would be happy to remove myself from the premises permanently."
"Not that again." Roger seemed to hold his own forehead as though it was on the verge of splitting open. "My point is that we need to keep everyone here together and safe. That includes you. I won't have you go haring off into the snow to try and catch up to him – he's got a good six hours' start on you. You can investigate from here – after this morning's activities."
"You . . . do not actually expect me to participate in the gift exchange while Watari is missing, do you?"
"Actually, I fully expect you to play his role."
"What?" L's mouth hung open. "You cannot possibly demand that I –"
"I can and I do. He is not here. You are."
"That's – no, absolutely not." L was shaking his head as if the motion would expel the idea from his brain.
"Do you think he would want the children here to be afraid for him? To know that he is imperiled?" Roger's face was red now. "Do you think he would want any one of us to be endangered? You will damn well do this – not for me, not even for them if you don't care about them, but for him. You can investigate afterwards."
"Why can't you do it?" L hated the meek sound of his voice.
"I already have my role to play." Roger stood and headed for the door. "I'll bring the suit up. You might want to take a shower before I get back."
L waited until he heard the door close and Roger's steps move away down the hallway.
"Fucking hell."
L stood and walked toward his bathroom, peeling off his clothes as he went, leaving an untidy trail.
"This is going to be awful," he muttered.
The room seemed absurdly warm, considering the icy white exterior visible just outside the arcadia door facing the backyard. The sheer volume of the shrieking and laughing somehow always managed to surprise him year to year, as if his mind sought to deaden the sounds even after they had ceased. It was too hot, too loud, and too bright, and no one was fooled by his ungainly form and incredibly itchy attire, yet L did as he was asked. As was traditional at Wammy's House, the eldest children went first, and L was chagrined to note that he hadn't even reached the halfway point yet.
"I'll spare you any attempt at witty repartee." The boy with the sandy brown hair smiled sympathetically, his blue eyes twinkling as he accepted what was handed to him and stepped away.
"Thank you, Aleister. Merry Christmas." L exhaled as he looked down to rummage in the bag.
"Nice beard, henh henh henh – don't I get to sit on your lap?"
L glared at the dark-haired 13-year old. "Merry Christmas," he muttered, shoving a gift roughly toward Beyond's midsection as the younger boy continued to laugh.
Struggling to contain his anger and frustration, L focused on the task itself, menial and demeaning though it was. He put all of his effort into being polite – smiling was out of the question – as he handed out gift after gift to smiling and often snickering orphans. He occasionally eyed Roger making his way around the room, herding the children, tidying up, and replenishing treats as the children opened their gifts. Roger's green elf costume was certainly not dignified, but L thought his own attire was far worse. The red velvet hung off of him as though it clothed a hat rack, and the white faux fur trim made his hair stand out from static. The wig had been too awful to contemplate so he hadn't worn it, but he couldn't talk Roger out of the beard, which now hung about his neck as if it were a cravat. L's overwhelming hatred of the Santa outfit kept his mind off of Watari's circumstances for the most part as he worked.
"You look silly."
"I am aware of that, Linda. Merry Christmas," L said, handing the young girl a gift and watching her skip off. He was gratified to see that he was finally nearing the end of the ritual and rubbed one booted foot against the other in anticipation of being freed from his duty.
"You're not Wammy."
"Obviously. Merry –"
"Is it something good? If it sucks, I'm just gonna break it anyway."
His lips curled up on one side as he tilted his head to regard the blond 5-year-old. "Do you want the truth?"
The boy stood a little straighter. "Yeah!"
L leaned very close to whisper into the boy's ear. "I have no fucking clue what it is, so if it does suck, I will help you break it."
The blond boy's eyes got very wide, and as L pulled back and handed the gift to him, the 5-year-old's smile nearly split his face. "Awesome."
"Merry Christmas, Mello."
As the last child slowly approached, L forgot his zeal to be done with handing out gifts and watched, concern furrowing his brow. He couldn't quite place what was wrong with this one – albinism notwithstanding, the boy never spoke, and never looked anyone in the eye, not even Watari. Granted, the child was only 3, but most children began speaking well before that. L had overheard Watari and Roger discussing whether the boy might be autistic, but they were waiting him out, trusting that he would find a way to connect with the others in his own way. The white-haired boy in the white footie pajamas stopped at L's feet, plopping down to sit with one knee up, still staring at the floor.
L crouched down in a most un-Santa-like position to get closer to the boy's level. "Hello, Near," he said in as calming a voice as he could muster. "I will give you your present if you solve a puzzle for me."
The boy's head jerked but he did not meet L's eye. After a moment, he raised his head just enough to stare in the approximate direction of L's false beard.
"An ornament that was on the tree yesterday is missing now. Can you tell me which one it was?" L knew it was a longshot, trying to get Near to speak, but the boy had shown quite a bit of interest in solving puzzles and had an excellent eye for detail. Thus it was with some disappointment that L watched as Near got up and ambled away, leaving the room entirely. L stood, frowning, not daring to meet Roger's eye across the room. He decided that he would bring Near's gift to his own room so that none of the other children would claim it.
"Merry Christmas, everyone."
"Merry Christmas!" shouted the handful of children who weren't wrapped up in playing with their gifts or still snickering at him.
L turned, dragging the bag behind him, and headed for the stairs.
"Where do you think you're going?" Roger's harsh whisper was abruptly at his ear. "You have to lead everyone in singing Christmas Carols now!"
L spun to face him. "If you insist on my doing that, I promise to sing as off-key as I possibly can until the paint is peeling from the walls." Eyes flashing, L doffed the cap from his head, rubbing his scalp through his unruly hair, which still crackled with static. "You are perfectly capable of doing that yourself. I need to focus on something I'm actually good at – or do you not want your 'Quills' found?"
"You –" Roger looked for a moment like he wanted to hit L. "Fine. Get to it, then. Keep me apprised of your progress." Roger turned on his heel and walked back to stand near the tree where L had been. "Alright everyone, it's time to sing carols!"
L smirked at the mix of exultations and groans. Climbing the stairs, it took all of his willpower to not strip off the appalling red outfit in its entirety before reaching his room. L wondered if it had been specifically designed with torture in mind and made a mental note to ask Watari when he returned. Sighing, L opened his door and entered his room. The door was barely closed when the Santa suit hit the floor. L took a moment to scratch himself in various places that still itched from having worn the outfit for almost two hours. Taking a deep breath, satisfied that he had scratched enough without drawing blood, L pulled on his favorite jeans and a clean white shirt before perching himself in his chair in front of his computer.
The Chief Constable, as L had suspected, had been of little use. Several phone conversations with the man had told him only that Watari's car had been spotted going into town late last night but no one had seen him or his car since, and nothing further had been brought to light regarding the third missing persons case. L knew that Watari could take care of himself, but he still worried that something could have caught him off guard. He felt stymied, trapped with no useful information in an enormous house beset by unnecessary festivities.
L had snuck downstairs only once, to snag some cookies for himself, and he would have been tempted to go back for more if he didn't know that he would be roped into yet another pointless activity. He needed more sugar, he needed more caffeine, but more than that, he needed to stay focused. He knew Watari would have understood this – a bitter irony that the person who could most be of help to him was the one who needed his help. Roughly forcing the hair out of his eyes yet again, L stared at the file before him, hoping there might be some clue he'd overlooked in the case they'd been working that could point him in his mentor's direction.
A soft knock at his door interrupted his thoughts, and he grimaced. It didn't sound like Roger's knock, but he doubted Roger would be above sending one of the children up in his stead to try and 'guilt' L into coming downstairs. L stepped down from his chair, slouching over to open his door, a refusal already forming on his lips.
"I'm sorry, I cannot –" L blinked twice and looked down. A white ball of fluff tilted, a pale face rising, eyes almost meeting his. Before he could speak, he noticed what the boy was holding up.
L crouched down. "Hello Near. I see you've found the missing ornament. Well done." He smiled, suddenly understanding the urge to tousle someone's hair, though he resisted doing so. He noticed that the boy's hair was slightly damp, and when he looked down at the broken ornament Near was holding, he saw that a small amount of blood was pooling in the boy's hand. "You may give that to me if you like."
Near deposited the sharp bits of broken glass star into L's hand and busied himself with staring at the blood in his hand.
"Come inside, Near. I'll fix your hand and get your present." L stood slowly and backed away from the door, unsure if the boy would come in or run away. He watched as Near meandered in and plopped down on the floor, apparently content to wait. L placed the remains of the ornament on the edge of his desk and went into his bathroom to retrieve some first aid supplies, wondering why no one had been watching closely enough to see a white-haired toddler exit out the back hall into the snow to retrieve an object L knew had been thrown in the trash. He silently cursed himself for trying to get Near to speak, hoping that the child hadn't managed to get an infection in the process.
Bandages and anti-bacterial in hand, L re-entered his bedroom to see Near standing on his chair like a prairie dog, looking at the file he'd left open. Careful not to startle him, L padded closer to see what he was doing. "Let me clean your hand, Near. Then I'll –"
"That man's face is wrong."
L started. Though he couldn't rule out the possibility that Near had spoken before, in secret or out of earshot of everyone else, to hear the boy speak a complete sentence the first time out was jarring. L chose to behave as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened. "What is wrong about the man's face, Near?"
Near pointed with his unbloodied hand. "The scar is wrong."
L leaned forward to look at the photo. The man who had died in the first staged murder-suicide appeared in one photo with his wife, a faint diagonal scar on his left cheek, but in the next photo, of the crime scene, the dead man who lay sprawled in a pool of blood did in fact have a slightly different scar – it was longer by perhaps half a centimeter, and one end of it arced in a somewhat different direction than the scar of the living man in the first photo. The men otherwise looked identical, and it irked L to think that he had overlooked such a thing.
"Very good, Near. That information will help me. May I clean your hand now?"
Near sat in the chair with a faint thud and offered up his hand to L, still staring at the open file, though less intently now. As L cleaned out the small v-shaped wound, he decided that he wouldn't mention to Roger that Near had seen some rather graphic photos of a murder. Applying some ointment, L placed a bandage over the cut and tossed the bits of paper in the direction of the wastebasket.
"Would you like your gift now?"
Near nodded, gaze still averted, and slid down off the chair to stand in the middle of the floor.
L walked over to the bag and reached in, pulling out the last gift, his fingers brushing against something else. Peering into the bag, he grasped a tiny object that had been taped to the bottom. From the feel of it, L knew it was a key of some kind – the wrapping around it was marked "L." Not wanting to expend any thought on it yet, he slipped it into his pocket and turned to the pajama-clad toddler. "Here you are, Near. Merry Christmas."
Taking the gift in both hands, Near plopped down on the floor again and began tearing the bright green paper off of the box. L sighed. He'd been willing enough to indulge the boy, particularly since he'd gone to the trouble of finding the missing ornament and pointing out a clue in their case, but he wasn't prepared to babysit for an extended period. Still, he waited to see what Near would do.
The box finally open, Near pulled out the toy inside – it was a robot, squarish in shape and a bit primitive, but cute enough for a child, L supposed. Near seemed to like it, something almost like a smile forming on his lips. He then did something completely aberrant and looked up, meeting L's eyes directly. "Thank you, L."
L goggled at him. "You are welcome, Near." The moment was over quickly as the boy climbed to his feet, taking the robot with him to the door but leaving the wrapping and box behind, to L's annoyance and amusement. L walked behind him and opened the door, watching the small boy make his way down the hallway toward the stairs. He then closed the door and picked up the phone and hit redial.
"It's me again. I – no, he has not contacted me. Please listen. I have reason to believe that the dead man from the first scene is an imposter. We need to get an APB out with the following description . . ."
Willingly helping to clear the dinner plates, L ignored the key in his pocket and the gnawing feeling in his gut. He had never felt quite so keenly the need to take action on his mentor's behalf, yet even without Roger nagging him not to leave, he knew that running off to try and find him at this point would not net him any useful results. In addition to the Chief Constable and his officers working the scene of the most recent staged murder-suicide – which they had found shortly after L had contacted them that afternoon with the information that the man presumed to be at the first scene had faked his own death and was likely the culprit – L had set one of Watari's operatives, an old war-buddy, on the trail as well. He had only to wait for results, but the waiting was wearing L down.
"You're worried."
"Hm?" Gripping a half-empty bowl of mashed potatoes in one hand and a stack of gravy-smeared plates in the other, L turned to regard Aleister, who was picking up spent silverware by the fistful.
"Whatever's happened with Wammy, you're clearly concerned for him." Aleister's tone was offhand, and not unkind.
"I am merely preoccupied with a case, which of course I cannot dis—"
"Please." Aleister waved a serving spoon in supplication. "I won't ask for the explanation, nor will I discuss this with anyone else, but the combination of Roger's and your agitation with Wammy's absence leaves but one conclusion – that he is . . . at risk."
"Aleister . . ." L's eyes roved around the otherwise empty dining hall. "Though my 'agitation' can be explained by his absence, it is more accurately ascribed to my having to pitch in where I am not accustomed to doing so. It does not mean that there is any danger."
Aleister chuckled darkly. "There is always danger. Yet we somehow go on. What better way to light the darkness than with hope?"
Meeting his eyes, L wondered why the boy who spoke of hope seemed so sad, but he smiled softly and nodded. "Yes. I am hopeful, but . . . it is maddening not to be able to do anything useful."
"Careful," Aleister's smile was crooked, "Say that too loud, and Roger will find more use for you than you would like."
Eyes narrowed, L's hunch became more pronounced. "I expect that he would regret inducing me to begin a new career as a saboteur."
Laughing lightly, Aleister nudged L with an elbow. "Do let me know if that happens so I might seek shelter from the results of your new vocation."
"You need not worry – I would not harm you." L's voice was warm as he walked toward the kitchen, hair tickling his nose again.
"I appreciate that." Aleister's voice sounded bemused as he followed him.
Two kitchen staff members worked busily to clean up the dishes and put food away as Roger bustled around them to check on his puddings and oversee their activity. "Oh no no – don't use that bowl, it takes up too much room! Use the blue one – I'll get the covered plate down for the meat . . ."
L set the bowl of potatoes down on the counter and brought the dishes over to the sink, face blank. "Roger, the Chief Constable said that he wanted a word with you. I believe he is likely to be calling you in approximately . . . two and a half minutes, though his estimation regarding timing is not as precise as I would prefer."
"What?" Roger looked thunderstruck. "Why the bloody hell are you just telling me this now?"
"I apologize. I felt it was an inappropriate subject to broach at the dinner table."
Roger's face had reddened as he glowered at L, who merely stared at him. Apparently not trusting himself to speak, Roger left the kitchen, heading out and down the hall toward his office.
Setting the silverware in the sink, Aleister glanced back at L, eyebrow raised. "Why didn't you tell him earlier?"
"Oh, there isn't likely to be an incoming call for him. I just thought Sally and Kurt could use a bit more peace and quiet as they worked."
The two aproned workers and Aleister turned to face L as one, mouths open in surprise. Aleister laughed. "Beginning your new career already, I see."
Sally shook her head, turning back to put the leftovers away. "You'll be in a right bit of trouble if he finds out, you know."
"I feel certain you'll keep my secret." L tilted his head to peer out through his hair at her, noting the grin she was having trouble suppressing. Glancing over at Kurt, who was still busy washing, he saw the man was smirking and decided he'd made the right choice, consequences be damned. L walked back out into the dining hall, scanning for any dishes still left behind. His hair was tickling his nose again, and he rubbed it in annoyance.
"You should just cut it, you know."
"Hm?" L turned just as Aleister approached, eyes widening as the younger boy moved his hair out of his eyes, his fingers combing it to the side, lightly brushing his forehead. "I . . . do not especially care what I look like."
"Really? I had no idea," Aleister said drily. "Your appearance notwithstanding, I should think you would prefer to be able to see without significant impediment." He stepped back, one hand loosely perched on his hip. "That's a bit better, for now. But honestly, I think you should trim it back somewhat so that it at least annoys you less frequently."
"I'll take that under advisement."
"I'm delighted to hear it." Aleister turned and began gathering cloth napkins, seeming to pointedly avoid looking into the eyes he had just exposed.
L spotted a few more serving dishes and moved to gather them, his thoughts turning back to Watari. He knew the man would be upset, since he had known the most recent two victims, and L didn't even consider the possibility that Watari wouldn't know what had happened to them as the likelihood of that was too low. He had trouble estimating the odds of Watari's survival – he had insufficient information to make a suitably accurate assessment – but he hoped the operative he'd sent would report back with something helpful. More than that, he hoped that his mentor, his friend, was safe and well on his way back to Wammy House.
It wouldn't do to re-enter the dining hall just yet, not while Roger was still grousing about place-settings and checking and re-checking his puddings as they cooled, but L knew better than to try and slip away upstairs again. If there was any news, it would find him wherever he was in the house, though he loathed the bustle of excited children milling around him. He fingered the key in his pocket as he perched on the couch opposite the tree, its lights now the primary illumination in the normally much brighter room. There would have been a certain peacefulness about the scene, had he been deaf. L had already tried two of the likely places where the key might fit and had been wrong, so he mulled over where to try next as a way of keeping his mind off the case.
"Hey!"
There was suddenly a blond child in his lap. L wondered how the hell Mello had managed to wedge himself between his knees and chest so quickly without his noticing the boy's approach and decided that Aleister had had a point about his hair obscuring his vision. "Yes, Mello?"
"It didn't suck." Mello sounded disappointed, and L noticed a red Game Boy jutting from his pocket.
"Is that not a good thing?"
"Sure it's good, but – I wanted to break something." The boy scowled, punching L's chest lightly.
"Hm. Well, I can't do anything about that, but I suppose I can put a word in to get you something more breakable next year."
"Ugh – a whole year? That's forever!"
L found himself chuckling. "Forever is much longer, to the point of being literally immeasurable by definition, but . . . I think I see your point." Tilting his head, he regarded the boy thoughtfully. "If you promise not to break any of the other children's gifts, I will find something else for you to break later."
"I – hey! I wasn't gonna –"
"Mhm." L raised an eyebrow and the blond boy blushed. "Do we have a deal?"
Mello huffed, punching L one more time. "Yeah, OK."
"Excellent. Now get down so I can go find you something."
"Fine. You still smell like the basement."
As Mello ran off, L wondered for a moment why he would smell like the basement and then remembered that that was where the Santa suit was stored. L stepped down from the couch, already looking forward to the shower he would take later. As he exited the room, it occurred to him that he had not tried the key in any of the hidden locations in the basement – he'd ruled them out as too obvious, but he was not sure who had given him the key, Watari or Roger. If it had been Roger, he might not have picked as unusual a spot as Watari would have . . . Also, the basement was handily where much of the Christmas ornamentation was kept, and L felt certain that he could find something among the unused decorations that Mello could happily break.
He moved down the hall, secure in the knowledge that Roger was busy overseeing things in the dining area, and approached the door to the basement, just opposite Roger's office. Keying in the password, L unlatched the door and descended in darkness, his hand following the smooth wall as the door he'd pulled to shut behind him.
Rounding the corner at the base of the stairs, L flicked the light switch and moved forward into the storage area. The safe on the other side of the stairs was far too obvious, so L didn't even consider approaching it. On his way past the clutter and toward the back wall, L passed a Santa marionette with exaggerated features and grimaced. He remembered it from his childhood but thought it was strange that he still disliked the look of the thing. Coming to rest at last in front of what looked like an ancient mortuary wall or, less gloomily, a wall of lockers, L sighed and began examining the doors, seeking one that was less dusty than the others. He went down the row methodically, and stopped in front of a spot where the dust had been disturbed slightly around the keyhole. Taking the key from his pocket, he inserted it in the lock.
To his complete lack of surprise, the door opened, creaking slightly. Inside, he beheld a small box wrapped in candy cane patterned paper with a blue bow. He removed the gift, carefully reclosing the door and removing the key so as not to disturb any more dust, and shook it next to his ear. No sound. L decided to open it where he was, in the chilled silence of the basement, away from prying eyes. He undid the paper easily, keeping it all in one piece, and lifted the lid. Moving aside some cotton wadding he saw . . . yet another key. L's frown faded as he stared at it – he knew exactly where this key would fit.
Now smiling, L tucked both keys into his front pocket and the paper into his back pocket, replacing the Santa marionette he grabbed from the shelf with the now empty box as he went by. Despite the more obvious hiding places that had been used, L was now certain that Watari had been the one to set this up, and he opened the door at the top of the basement steps with an eagerness he hadn't felt in some time.
Standing in the hall, he saw light seeping from Roger's now closed office door and breathed a sigh of relief that he'd missed the man. L decided he'd keep his word to someone else first before running off to find his gift, and walked softly down the hall, slipping past the door of the busy kitchen and moving past the sitting room toward the library. A puff of white approached and passed him, and L was gratified to see that Near was still clutching his robot as he ambled along.
"This isn't over! Come back here you little –" Mello's face registered shock as he came to a halt in front of L.
Noting that the boy was rubbing his arm, L narrowed his eyes. "You weren't trying to break his toy, were you?"
"No!" Mello blushed. "No way – we had a deal!"
"Indeed we did. And I saw that his toy was still intact, so technically I suppose you didn't violate our agreement."
"I always keep my promises!" The blond boy stomped a foot, staring L indignantly in the face.
"See that you do. As do I." L held out the Christmas monstrosity, its strings tangled, the face a grinning rictus under its dusty red cap.
"Ew!"
"Exactly." L smiled. "Would you like to do this by hand, or shall we find tools?"
Mello's face twisted into one of the most evil expressions he'd ever seen manifest on a young child. "I'll be right back." He yanked the marionette out of L's hands and ran off down the back hall. L straightened up a bit, shaking his head with amusement.
"What are you doing back here? We need you in the kitchen!"
L turned to face Roger. "I . . . What do you mean?"
"What do I – are you trying to be funny?" Roger fumed. "I've been getting your favorite course ready, and you're back here goofing off. Aleister's been trying to gather the children, and we need one more person to bring things out to the dining hall."
"You've been in the kitchen this whole time."
"Of course I have! Pudding doesn't just happen, you know."
L's eyes flew wide and he ran past Roger, much to the man's consternation, back past the kitchen and all the way to Roger's office, where the light was still spilling from beneath the door. Not hesitating, L flung the door open.
" . . . to be alright."
Gaping at the back of the man crouched on the floor, L found himself unable to speak for a moment.
"Ah, there you are. I trust the festivities went well enough without me?" Watari's face was weary as he stood, his still-damp coat in a heap on the floor behind him.
"The Santa suit was horrifically itchy."
Watari chuckled. "Did you not wear anything beneath it?"
"Just . . . my boxers."
"A set of long johns or exercise clothes would have gone a long way to mitigating that, my boy."
L had no response to that. "I was worried about you."
"Were you? I hadn't guessed, considering you roused poor Chauncey from his family's celebration to come out looking for me." Watari inclined his head, seeming to suppress a 'tsk' noise. "I have been known to take care of myself occasionally."
"I know. But I am glad that you are back."
"As am I."
"And the case?"
Watari sighed, mostly suppressing a look of anguish. "Solved, though I'm afraid I was too late to help Crispin and Andrea."
"So the man we thought was dead has been taken into custody?"
"Yes. Your information was quite timely, in fact. I do think that perhaps the Chief Constable is more deserving of your trust than you think."
"Mm. Maybe." L dropped his eyes, considering whether to mention Near's role, and noticed some movement behind Watari. "What is –"
A small hand appeared at the edge of Watari's coat and as L stared, he found his stare returned from beneath a reddish fringe.
"You needn't worry," Watari directed his comment to the child peering out from behind him, "He is a friend. As I said, you are safe here."
"Who . . . is he?" L finally asked.
"His name is . . . we shall be calling him Matt." Watari reached down to tousle Matt's hair, and L almost felt envious now at the affectionate gesture.
Taking two steps forward and dropping to a crouch, L looked the boy in the eye. "Hello Matt. Welcome to Wammy House."
The house was finally quieting down, the younger children now being shuttled off to bed, though Mello continued to evade capture to stalk and peer at the newest addition to the family. Matt, for his part, seemed oblivious, content to huddle in Wammy's coat in the shelter of the tree as they prepared a room for him.
L did not know how different his own arrival at Wammy House might have been had it immediately followed his parents' deaths. He'd had time to adjust, if one could call it that, while living with his grandmother, until she too had passed away. He wondered if Matt had seen it happen, watched helpless as blood had leaked from his parents' dying bodies. He hoped not. There were certain things that could not be unseen, things that imprinted themselves permanently on the mind, warping it despite all efforts to mitigate the damage.
"Psst."
L looked over his shoulder, eyebrow raised, to see Aleister inclining his head toward the stairs. With one last glance at Matt, L followed, stopping next to the banister. "Yes?"
"I had a thought . . ."
"You? Never."
"Stop that." Aleister blushed. "This being little Matt's first Christmas here, it occurred to me that it seemed a trifle harsh for him to go without a present."
"Hm. I am not sure that his mind is on such things at the moment."
"I expect not, considering . . ." Pain flitted across Aleister's face. "But he's one of us now, and I should think a little welcoming gesture might help him feel more secure, don't you?"
"I suppose." L felt such a gesture had dubious merit but didn't want to tell the younger teen that. "What do you propose?"
Smiling conspiratorially, Aleister looked around and then ducked to grab something tucked behind the stairs. "You recall my initial efforts to learn to swim, yes?"
"I do. They did not meet with much success."
"Indeed. Before it was determined that it was more than my eyes that were bothering me and that I was, in fact, allergic to chlorine, Wammy purchased something he had hoped would help me." He held up the box, wrapped in red and white striped paper. "I never used them."
"I'm not sure that's an ideal gift for a child."
Aleister tossed his hair in annoyance. "It's the best I could do on short notice. I don't suppose you have something you're willing to part with that he might like better?"
L thought for a moment, pressing a thumb to his lips. "Not really, no. I doubt he'd be interested in one of my old computers."
"Then shall we give this a go?"
"One moment." L moved to the back of the Christmas tree, gathering a handful of candy canes and snagging a ribbon to tie them all together with a bow. "There. Even if he does not appreciate the content of the gift, he should at least enjoy its decorations."
"Tsk." Aleister shook his head as L affixed the candy to the box. "You will develop diabetes one day, you do know that?"
L gave him a half-smile. "Then here's to the journey."
The two teens re-entered the room and saw Matt, still curled up and dozing. Just as they were about to back away and let him sleep, his eyes flew open and he stared from one to the other.
L dropped to a crouch, holding the gift out to the boy. "Merry Christmas, Matt." He felt strange saying it to the boy – the name was brand new to him, and the idea of any merriment occurring on the same day one's parents died seemed impossible – but the boy didn't blink, reaching out to accept it. L and Aleister looked on as he took the candy canes in his fist and then ripped the wrapping off to stare at the box. Matt clumsily opened one end of the box and immediately extracted its contents, trying unsuccessfully to put them on one-handed.
"Here then, let me help with that." Aleister knelt down and moved to help Matt, pulling the strap gently.
The red-haired boy swung his head around, looking at the lights of the tree and outside and back to the two teens hovering next to him. "Whoa."
"You like them?" L could not keep his eyebrows from rising.
"Yeah!" Matt hopped up, still wearing the goggles. "Thanks!" He threw his arms around L, almost knocking him backwards with the force of his hug, and L was too stunned to respond. Pulling back, Matt then hugged Aleister just as forcefully and promptly scampered off down the hallway, candy canes gripped in one hand.
"That . . . went surprisingly well." L blinked.
"See? Hope – it does wonders." Aleister stood shakily.
A great burst of yelling seemed to erupt from the direction of the garage and the two teens listened, multi-colored lights lending their faces a patchwork glow, trying to pick out the voices. "Roger . . ." L named one.
"Beyond . . ." Aleister named another.
As the third voice rose again, L's eyes widened. "Mello!" He sprinted down the back hall to the garage. Twisting the doorknob, he vaulted down the five steps into the garage to find three people of ascending size and age all shouting at each other, scorch marks, reddish shards, and tangled strings on the ground between them.
"It was an antique, and you had no business being down in the –"
"It was ugly and I'm not sorry! I don't care if it was an –"
"Do you feel smarter, shouting at small children, Roger? Do you feel stronger? Do you –"
"STOP YELLING AT ONCE." L found all three of them staring his way at last. He turned to Roger. "I took the marionette from the basement, and I gave it to Mello with explicit instructions to destroy it."
"You – what?!" Roger looked even angrier now.
"Mello," L turned to the blond boy, "I am very sorry that I got you into trouble for doing as I asked. It is quite late now, however, and I think you should go to bed."
"Aww, but –"
"Now please." L wondered where he was getting this authoritarian streak as he watched Mello literally drag his feet past him and up the stairs into the house, where he noted Aleister watching the entire proceeding, arms folded and eyebrow raised. He turned back to address the third person. "Beyond, I'd like to thank you for looking after Mello. I am certain that you would not endanger him by, say, encouraging him to set fire to things in close proximity to flammable liquids."
"Henh henh henh, of course not – safety is always my top priority." Beyond waggled his eyebrows.
"Excellent. I think you should go back inside now."
"Oh, you do, do you? Maybe I like it out here. Maybe I'd –"
"Regardless, it would be to your advantage to leave."
Beyond reared back, grin still stretching his face. "Are you threatening me? Please say yes."
"Come now Beyond, there are a fair few things I've not bent your ear about yet," Aleister put in. "If you wait too long, I'll be asleep before you, and then you'll just have to wait until morning."
L watched Beyond roll his eyes but saw that the fight had gone out of him. He couldn't quite understand how two boys as different as Aleister and Beyond had become such fast friends, but he was glad – they seemed to balance each other, though it appeared to L that Beyond needed far more balancing than Aleister.
As he walked past, Beyond shoulder-checked L, still snickering. "Guess you're not gonna tuck me in."
L sighed, waiting until he heard the door close behind them, and met Roger's eye. "I apologize."
Roger, still fuming, seemed unable to speak. After a few moments of silence, interrupted only by the sounds of breathing, Roger swallowed. "Do you think that excuses your behavior?"
"Of course not. I sought to distract Mello by giving him something unimportant to destroy, and –"
"Unimportant? That was a gift to me as a child! It was one of the last things my mother ever gave to me! I loved it!"
"Incorrect."
"What?!" Roger's fists clenched.
"You hated that toy." L replied blandly. "You wanted to love it because your mother gave it to you, but the toy itself was awful, and you hated the sight of it. Not to mention that you terrorized me with it as a child . . ."
"Right, that's it . . ." Roger approached L and grabbed his skinny arm, grip surprisingly strong. "You destroyed it, and enlisted a small boy to help you, because you hated it. You don't know or care how I might have actually felt about the thing."
"The way you refer to it – as 'the thing,' for example – indicates that my assessment is accurate."
"How would you feel if I destroyed something you loved?" Roger's eyes were brimming, L finally noticed.
"Everything I loved has been destroyed." L's voice was hesitant. "And what I love now, you would not destroy."
"And what is that?"
"Watari."
Roger's grip on him loosened and slipped away, and the man seemed unsteady. Not wanting him to fall onto concrete, L reached out and put his hand on the older man's shoulder. "I am sorry, Roger. I should not have destroyed something of yours, whatever your feelings for it were." L watched him sigh, rubbing his face with one palm, and wondered if he'd been too hard on the man. He recalled the relief on Roger's face as he'd clasped Watari in greeting earlier, the sheer volume of worry he'd been suppressing finally letting go.
"Everything alright here?"
They turned to regard Watari standing at the top of the steps, smiling softly. L wondered how he'd managed to open the door without either of them hearing it.
"We're fine, Quills." Roger nodded, moving past L to the side of the stairs. "I just need to fetch the dustpan."
"Did something meet with a bad end?" Watari's glanced at the mess on the ground.
Roger looked Watari in the eye, weight seeming to lift from his shoulders. "Nothing important." He took up the broom and dustpan and walked back over toward the pile of debris, glancing briefly at L. "I think it might be your bedtime as well."
L looked down, pulling the second of the keys from his pocket. "I suppose it can wait until morning."
Watari smiled. "Nonsense – go ahead. It won't take you long, I'm sure."
Permission granted, L scanned the contents of the large garage, darting forward to walk along the row of cars until he came to the right one: a 1962 Alpha Romeo Touring Spider. He fitted the key to the lock on its tiny trunk and opened it with a smooth motion. Smirking, he reached in and extracted the wrapped gift. "I can't begin to imagine what this is," L said drily, gripping it by its handle and swinging it through the air, the paper rattling around the flat round end.
"Given the fate of your last one, it seemed appropriate to replace it."
"You do realize that I won't be participating in any more competitions, don't you?" L shut the trunk with a thud, tossing the key to Watari over Roger's head.
"There is such a thing as playing tennis for fun, L."
"Mm. If you say so." L stopped at the bottom of the steps as Roger dumped the remains of the broken toy into the bin. "Thank you, " L said, looking from man to man, "both of you." Impulsively, L hugged Roger, who jumped at his touch, and then Watari. He entered the house, wrapped racket resting against his shoulder and then stopped, head tilting, staring back at Watari. "By the way, where is the tinsel you went out to get?"
"Sadly, I was unable to procure any. I could just nip back out and –"
"Absolutely not!" Roger interjected. "And don't even joke about it!"
L smiled, leaving the two men to bicker amiably behind him, and made his way up to his room. He liked Wammy House most just after midnight, when most everyone had gone to bed but him. The creaks of the old building seemed a language all its own, and it felt as though L might know its many secrets if he could only learn the words.
Closing his door behind him and setting the racket next to it, L noticed something entirely unexpected: a tea cozy in the shape of an owl propped on his pillow. Concerned that someone had managed to pick his locks and wondering what sort of prank this might be, he approached and lifted it gingerly – only to behold a perfect cupcake with white icing and a candied strawberry in the center. A small card protruded from beneath the plate it sat on, and L extracted it carefully.
"Thought you could use a pick-me-up. More stashed in my room, if you've a mind. Cheers, A."
L stuck a finger in the icing and popped it in his mouth and closed his eyes, savoring the sweetness. It seemed that Aleister had learned some of Beyond's lock-picking techniques. Perching on the bed, he devoured the cupcake, leaving the strawberry for last, then licking the plate, his fingers, and his lips. He considered sneaking over to Aleister's room for more cupcakes, but decided to wait until morning. The day had been full enough, and L thought perhaps it was best after all to save some things for which to hope until the next day.
Author's Note: I know, I know, I don't do fluff. Well sue me, it's coming up on Christmas, and I thought I'd do something cute for once. I really should be finishing my Christmas cards and wrapping gifts, but, well . . .
I figured that a 15-year-old L would be a bit different than he was some ten years later, so I made him a bit grumpier and less in control. I also decided to have his hair hanging in his face a bit more, since he'd be between the "I will use my big eyes to get my way by being cute" stage and the "I will stare at you in the creepiest way possible to get you to confess" stage, and thus might have allowed his hair to get even more unruly and long. ^_^ Regarding the name Roger called L . . . if you've read my other fic, Turn of the 8th Day, you already know what it is.
The origin stuff for Mello, Matt, and Near came about nearly by accident (heh, "nearly"), and I surprised myself by doing a lot more development for A than B. I may have to do more with those two at some point. For a bit of one-shot fluff, this ended up with a whole bunch of plot and character development (oops?). I did leave the case information vague on purpose, though, just because I wanted the reader to share some of L's frustration with not knowing everything that was going on. This was going to be a rated K fic, but . . . I'm not taking out a couple of cusswords just to drop the rating because, well, they amused me. Hope this story amused you too.
Merry Christmas all!