Strawberries

Summary: A love for something can be traced to childhood. L couldn't disapprove. One-shot, Watari and L.

One-shot
A Full Peck

Sitting alone in one corner, seven year old L crouched over a small stack of building blocks, piling them carefully over each other. Some of the children would often wonder curiously over, intrigued by the various shapes he'd build from the blocks. However, L would merely stare them down, discouraging them from coming closer. Within moments, he was left completely alone in his corner, collecting the blocks and starting anew. With a determined glint in his dark eyes, he meticulously piled the blocks, starting with a stable base and moving up, creating various nooks and crannies. In a matter of seconds, L had built an entire castle, with a moat and yard included. With energy, he continued to pile them, giving the structure impressive height until the last block was used.

With a slight tilt of satisfaction on his lips, he observed the construction. Despite themselves, the children crowded around him, astounded by the castle he'd built from the few six dozen blocks laying about. The man who brought him in, founder of the Wammy House, pushed through the sea of children, kind eyes on the boy standing beside his creation. Shooing the impressed and tittering orphans away with a gentle smile and a movement of withered hands, he stood alone beside the boy he'd picked up from the house of Lawliet. With messy black hair and bottomless eyes, plus a tendency to shy from physical contact and curious habits… the boy was an oddity among prodigies. If he was honest, Quillish was not entirely sure he would fit in, surrounded by geniuses. However, Lord Lawliet had died and the boy had been left with a sizable fortune he could not inherit until he was twenty. Having gotten wind of this, he'd swooped in to help, having been an old friend of the deceased.

Since his arrival at the orphanage, L had yet to speak.

Looking up to stare the older man in the eyes, L allowed him to peruse his creation, before turning to observe it as well, dark eyes keen. Humming ever so softly, he prodded the side walls. With a dissatisfied huff, he gave it a swift kick, contemplating the fall of the entire building, like the unraveling of a house of cards. Quillish gave a startled cry, stepping back as the toppled blocks fell at his feet. Without thinking, he blurted, "Why did you destroy it?"

"Weakness," the boy replied, staring forlornly at the fallen blocks. His response gave no room for further explanation, but as his first word, Quillish took it very seriously, turning it over in his mind. The boy slouched forward, almost as if wrapping himself in a tight ball and stuck his thumb into his mouth, chewing his nail feverishly. It was then Quillish understood and felt his heart crumble, wavering when he knew what the child could not express. Falling to his knees before the child, he reached out, but withdrew his hand when the boy flinched. Knowing physical touch would not comfort him, Quillish smiled softly and said.

"Then we must rebuild it, hm?" Black eyes turned, spearing him with intellect and shrewd light. For the first time, he noticed a spark of curiosity in their depths, as the boy turned his body to face him fully. Slouching though he was, he stood almost a head taller than his peers and was able to look Quillish straight into his visage. Now able to look into those dark orbs, he notices slivers of cobalt blue in them, surrounding the deeper black of the pupil in a shower of icy azure. Smiling benevolently, he nodded serenely at the boy. "With care, so we may avoid all of those pesky weaknesses."

Leaning down to pick up a single, rectangle shaped piece, he showed it to L, tapping it with his pinkie. "There is no harm to starting all over again."

The ghost of a smile flitted over the boy's lips as he reached for the block, bringing it close to his chest as he continued to chew, though more softly, on his thumb. Beaming gently at the triumph, Quillish sat down next to the boy, helping him pull the blocks into order and setting them to rights in preparation for the next structure.

"Focus on the placing of the blocks, take care to leave no gaps between them," he instructed carefully. "The most important part is the base."

L, sitting cross legged beside him, nodded seriously. "Understood."

It took weeks just for two words, but Quillish found that with proper incentive, the boy could truly wax eloquent on a subject. Having realized this boy was like none other, Quillish gave him free reign over his entire library. Unlike most, the boy retained every word he read, and even managed to give hearty, in depth opinions about it all.

And what shoulder, and what art, could twist the sinews of thy heart? And when thy heart began to beat, what dread hand, and what dread feet?

However, unlike those first words he spoke, they were said in monotone. In a voice that lacked emotion and attention, he merely recited what he'd seen and what he derived by logical thinking. It was heartening to see him interact with others, but he was still an outcast, envied by his peers and detested by those who could not hope to catch up. Some admired him, but most gave way to the darker emotions of humanity. By hook or by crook, the boy didn't seem to care much for what those around him thought, but it bothered Quillish he could be so distant to others. A child should not be so cold and so unaffected by his surroundings. Fearing for his development, he thought about crafting a master plan to get him to open up to the children around him.

At least, he thought about articulating such a masterpiece until he noticed the boy, perched in his seat, still refused to eat dinner. In the dining hall, he sat in his designated spot among his companions, moving the food on his plate with his fork. Unlike the children around him, L did not wolf down his food, barely swallowing between mouthfuls. Instead, he skillfully handed out everything on his plate by placing it on the plates of others, completely uninterested in his food. Making it like some sort of game, Quillish observed the smallest of smiles on his face; L seemed to take the slightest of pleasures in seeing how much he could divest on others before he was caught. Those around him complained loudly, but did not seem to mind, instead taking great joy in trying to catch his pale hands. Methodically, he snuck bits off of his plate, gleefully awaiting openings in the guard of the kids around him.

Once the meal was over, the children ran out in a veritable stampede, heading for the game room. Free from their afternoon lessons in figures, they headed out in a rush, open in their cheer for an hour away from their studies. Staying inside, L merely toyed with the food still on his plate, pushing it around. Quillish stood at the door, thoughtful as he contemplated a way to render the boy more sociable.

L mulishly finished the rest of his lunch, making a face at the acid taste of the fish they'd served. Spotting his drink, sweet tea, he brought it towards him and drank it greedily, willing the left-over aroma of it on his tongue. An idea struck and Quillish vanished through the door, heading for the kitchen.

No need for bowl or silver spoon, sugar or spice or cream, has the wild berry plucked in June, beside the trickling stream.

L looked up, surprised that Quillish had joined him instead of haunting the door, as usual. The older man smiled as he sat next to him, allowing the distance between them to wane. Used to the older man's invasion of his personal space, L thought nothing of it. "L… have you ever eaten a strawberry?" asked he, cocking his head to the side. Quillish smiled his usual smile, his eyes closing into a happy curl of lashes as he huffed in amusement at L's curiosity.

Utterly feline in his quest for knowledge, being presented with a perplexing question, he put his fork down. Inquisitive eyes turned to him, as a thumb was raised and placed dutifully between baby teeth, keen mind aflutter with the implications of the question. Deciding that honest was the best course of action to unravel the plan he could see behind Quillish's kind face.

"I have not," he replied truthfully, shaking his head slightly.

"Would you like to?" Quillish posed next, showing him an entire bushel of them in a bowl. Wide eyes zeroed in on the prize Quillish held with two hands. The small fruits gleamed, freshly picked and carefully washed by the cooks. Since they depended on the natural defenses of the fruits, the strawberries were densely coated with natural wax, now washed away under the running water of the kitchen sink. Offering the bowl to him, Quillish set it on the table, sitting back to watch as curious fingers tapped the edge of the bowl, then delved into its numerous contents, withdrawing a single strawberry. Holding it between thumb and forefinger, he studied it carefully. Quillish smiled, crossing his arms as he watched the stare down between boy and fruit. Like some sort of Mexican standoff, the boy observed it with an interested gaze, bringing it close to sniff.

Before Quillish could open his mouth to encourage him, L took a small bite from the tip of the strawberry, holding it from the small green leaves on the other end. A pregnant silence followed as he chewed, and his eyes widened significantly as the tart yet sweet taste exploded in his mouth. With bright eyes, he continued to eat the strawberry with gusto, though in small bites, drawing out the flavor. The older man beamed with another triumph, steepling his hands together over his lap. The boy turned to regard him when only the leaves of the fruit were left, gaze alight with joy.

"The rest…?"

"You may eat as many as you like, L." He announced with grinning authority, a tone of fatherly satisfaction coloring his smooth tenor voice. Pleased by the permission, L turned to the bowl, but stopped short of reaching for another strawberry.

Turning in his chair to crouch facing Quillish, he gazed solemnly at the older man.

"You have my gratitude," he said formally, graciously, and Quillish inclined his head in return. But the boy was not done, and his entire body quivered with emotion. Almost clumsily, he leapt from his seat, wrapping his arms over the older man's shoulders and his legs around his waist, holding him close. At the sudden invasion of his personal space, the man gasped but recovered quickly, enveloping the boy in a fierce embrace. Ensconced in his arms, L shook ever so slightly, burrowing his head in the warmth of Quillish's neck.

"Thank you," he said, this time with more feeling… and the elderly man believed it.

Many years later, Amane Misa watched with vain disgust as L ate a strawberry short cake with a relish, enjoying every bite, even as he ate with his mouth open. When he remembered to close it, it seemed to Misa he did it for the sole purpose of not letting a single crumb escape.

"Why do you like strawberries so much?" she asked with disdain, earning a sharp, reproving glance from Light at L's side.

The dark haired detective raised his head to study her instead of staring voraciously at the cake on his plate. He glanced up at the ceiling, chewing softly on the long end of the fork between thumb and forefinger.

"Strawberries that in gardens grow, are plump and juicy fine, but sweeter far as wise men know, spring from the woodland vine." He recited delicately, letting go of the fork to speak in a voice neither she nor Light had ever heard. Like a dedicated orator, he'd fluctuated and lulled with a smile as delicate as a blossom in the wind. It was gone in a moment and he shrugged with a single shoulder, stuffing his mouth with cake and chewing blissfully. Misa rolled her eyes, but behind the screens of the cameras around the room, Watari smiled.

When the soul lies down in that grass,
The world is too full to talk about.
Ideas, language, even the phrase each other
Doesn't make any sense.

THE END.

Words: 2,097
Prompt: Fruit Basket
Creation Date: January 13

I adore L, and though I tire of his replacements and hated his death… I do not doubt he had as many fans as he had quirks. GOD, do I love that man.

Quillish Wammy, better known as Watari, took him in as a child… and I think he had a hand in L's love for sweets. And possibly bad poetry…

The first verse is by Sir William Blake (The Tyger), the second and third by Robert Graves (A Ballad of Nursery Rhyme), and the last verse is by the genius Rumi (Out Beyond Ideas). I admit I exploited them to give class (HAR HAR) and because of what's in between the lines. I think the genius of others oft-times give us the power to communicate what we cannot.

I dare to dream, do I not? Review and give me feedback, I'd very much appreciate and would love to converse about what you thought!