Title: Dégénération, #1 from Point de Suture
Rating: T
Characters: L, Light, Misa and others
Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note nor Ms Farmer's lyrics.
Warnings: genderswap (girl!L and girl!Light)
A/N: First in a series of double genderswap fics in an album by Mylene Farmer called Point de Suture. One down, nine more to go. Also, Sunmoonandspoon said that she would like me to write something dark and unromantic, with Light and L. Ok, well, she didn't want the Light+L bit: I just threw that in for my own pleasure. I also took some liberties with the incarceration timeline. Enjoy!
Sexy trauma
Sexy coma
Sexy trauma
Coma t'es sexe, t'es styx,
Test statique
Coma t'es sexe, t'es styx,
Extatique
Coma t'es sexe, t'es styx,
Test, test statique
Coma t'es sexe, t'es styx,
Esthétique
Mylene Farmer, "Dégénération"
If L had a dime for each for the fifty-three days that she kept Light a prisoner in her quarters, she would be a rich woman.
Then again, she is already a rich woman. Ask Watari. He knows. Matsuda whispers to Aizawa one evening that the Interpol must pay the detective a handsome fee for each case she solves, because otherwise, how can she live in so much luxury, and get away with everything?
On the other hand, Light, being moderately well-off and much better-looking than L, does a pretty good job of it, too.
She's so level-headed, that Light, clad in black, her hands and feet found and she still manages to pull off this look as sexy. It's a different kind of sexy, though, thinks L as she watches the younger woman through the blurry lenses of the camera (she'll have to take this matter up with Watari sometime – they could've afforded better ones), and is awed at how calm and composed Light can be on the verge of execution.
"Ryuuzaki," Light speaks up and L harks. "What's going on? Talk to me. How many people have died since I've been incarcerated?" Her face is relaxed, cinnamon eyes narrow and unreadable, secretive and determined that she will prove her innocence and wrench an apology from L.
Well, we'll just see about that.
L reaches for the speaker, momentarily torn away from a luscious bowl of peaches and cream (something about that reminds her of Light's complexion), and answers:
Light nods, her luxuriant chestnut hair falling over her eyes, and once again, L feels like she's been locked out of her own house.
Misa is indignant and quite a handful to deal with. She sometimes throws a colorful string of curses at the camera, curses that make the other members of the task force blush and L's lips press in a grim line, and at other times, she begs and pleads with "Mr. Stalker" to let her have a fresh change of clothes. She even sings sometimes, the vibration from her high voice making her golden ponytails sway in the air, and in L's eyes, she becomes a tragic Lolita, stripped off her dignity and vivacity, and getting off-handed answers when she asks after Light's well-being.
But perhaps, Light is the most tragic Lolita of all. Even with her dignity intact.
"Light." L's voice is not mechanic when she addresses the girl in the cell. It has been hard, even for her, to keep watch over three people at the same time (even though Mr Yagami doesn't need much watching; he's content to pace in his own confinement like an angry bull restrained in a china shop). "How are you holding up?"
"Not too bad," Light sighs, her eyes grim. She isn't looking at L. She seems lost in her own thoughts, actually, focused on something very intently (but what?). L wants to ask her, even opens her mouth to do so, but the brown-haired girl gets there first.
"Where's my dad?" she wants to know.
"He's in a holding cell, much like yours," L informs her, pausing to sip some toffee-sweetened tea. "Don't worry about him. He's fine."
"What's he saying?" Light ignores L, gets straight to the point. And she's still not looking at her.
L pauses. She could dismiss Light's question. She could lie. "He won't leave without you."
In the emptiness of her cell, Light makes a nod so slight that it would've been missed by anyone else. (L has been blessed with a hawk's eyes). And she looks satisfied.
The sky is cloudy today. L rarely looks out of the window. Sometimes, she feels like she can't even remember what the sun looks like, even though she hung out with Light just the other day at Todai. She stares at the surveillance monitor. There are three images on the screen – Light, Misa and Chief Yagami. Needless to say, her sole focus (as sole as it can get) is on Light Yagami and a thought crosses her mind if the girl misses the open sky above her head, and fresh air.
L is fine in the solitude of her hotel room but she reckons that Light prefers the outdoors, despite how prim and proper she is.
She is not the conventional Japanese woman. She is not like Misa, demure and submissive (who cares about the bubbliness?), needs to be told what to do. She might keep a low profile but it's pretty obvious that she has initiative.
She's too smart not to.
And L is amazed at the girl's resilience. Any ordinary individual would've cracked under the pressure and begged to confess but Light stands her ground without degeneration.
L thinks of Light in the sunshine, and then in the rain, black clothes soaked through, water droplets falling delicately from her brown locks, and her mind drifts back to Lolita.
"Mr Stalker."
It's Misa's weary voice, of course, because neither Light or Chief Yagami would call L "Mr Stalker" (Ms Stalker would be more likely). L looks at the screen, dark eyes bored. "What is it, Miss Amane?" she asks, even though she has no wish to know. With dull aggression, L stabs at her banana sundae, scooping some of the yellow mush into her mouth. She can almost imagine Light regarding her with distaste and calling her a baby.
"I need a fresh change of clothes."
"I see." But L doesn't care. She doesn't care for the dark silk lace dresses and the long black gloves and the platform heels that would look so much better on Light.
If Light could ever sacrifice some of her dignity for it. L has a feeling she won't.
"Could you send someone to get them for me?" Misa asks, her voice sweet and pleading. "You must already know where I live...please?"
"I'm afraid those clothes won't be necessary for you under these circumstances," L replies a little coldly and she sees the model's jaw clench on the screen.
"You -!" she seethes, huffing. "I knew you were a pervert!"
It couldn't be farther from the truth. And it couldn't be closer to the truth.
It's raining today. Just the second time since the third day of Light's incarceration. A part of L wishes that she didn't have to go this far, even if black and handcuffs suit Light in an odd way (frills and laces would complete the picture).
But a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.
In his cell, Mr Yagami sits anxiously on his chair, leaning forward like a bereaved father, except his is a fate worse. He functions well enough. Replies politely when L addresses him, finishes the meals that Watari brings him, though his appetite has diminished considerably.
L says, "There have been no killing today, either" and Mr Yagami's shoulders sag. She actually feels sorry for him.
And Misa says, "Where is Light? Are you holding her here, too?"
"You needn't concern yourself with that, Miss Amane. Now, are you sure you don't remember anything about being the second Kira?"
And Light is ever so tranquil, ever so young and fresh, even when she can't shower as regularly or go through some kind of enormous, carefully executed beauty routine everyday to look sharp and stunning.
Le noir est une bonne couleur pour toi, Light.
L sighs. It is not a sigh of exasperation. She holds the microphone to herself. "Still no killings today, Light," she informs the girl, watching her reaction closely.
Light does not look surprised. She does not look alarmed. She just remarks, "Then it won't be long before I'm convicted as Kira, will it?"
Disconcertion settles over L like a fog. Light sounds almost resigned...no, it can't be that she's given up hope. L knows in her gut that the younger woman thought over this carefully before she agreed.
She says nothing. She doesn't know what to say.
It is late at night. L can hear Matsuda and Aizawa snoring softly on the couch behind her and she is glad to be on her own now, without the two men breathing down her neck and disapproving her actions. You're going too far, Ryuuzaki, Aizawa's eyes tell her even though he outwardly supports her actions and keeps an open mind about Light being Kira.
Three AM and L's reading Lolita. She's reading it without even reading, letting her mind form mental pictures of the characters interacting and she stills on the image of a stepfather who harbours an unholy passion for his stepdaughter.
Humbert, you are truly a devil.
"Ryuuzaki." Light's voice drifts up to her like fragrance from a perfume bottle and L sits up straight, closing the book between her thumb and index finger. She inches towards the microphone and her voice is husky when she speaks. (It's because she had too much blueberry ice cream today. Nothing else.)
"Yes, Light?"
"What are you up to?"
This takes back the detective. She almost blinks, because Light, for all the friend talk that they have, has never taken an interest in her. Always the case, sometimes her father and on Misa's lucky days, the model. But never her.
"I'm..." she pauses, wondering if it is wise to have a non-work-related conversation with your prime suspect, but now, just this one time, she decides to throw caution to the wind, just like when she decided to show her face to Light and tell her who she was. "I'm reading."
A slight nod. "What're you reading?" She must want to know, being tied 24/7 with nothing to entertain her except worries about Kira.
L is hesitant when she replies. "Lolita."
A smirk. But no surprise. (Why?) "Really now?" Light's voice is ledged with amusement.
The detective nods. "Do you know the book?"
"I read it when I was sixteen," and she shrugs like it's nothing, still managing to make the movement graceful.
"Did you, then?" Despite her hesitation, L is intrigued. Light is so...so proper that it seems hardly likely she'd want to pass her time reading sordid novels.
And conversely, not unlikely at all.
"What did you think of it?" L reaches down a pale, slender finger and traces it over the edge of her ice cream bowl, the blueberry cool creaminess brushing againt the tip. She raises her finger to her mouth and sucks thoughfully.
"I thought it was all right," says Light with another shrug. "I kind of hated that guy."
"Humbert?"
"Yeah."
"Why is that?"
A huff of impatience. The incarceration must be finally getting to her. "Well, why do you think?"
No need to be snippy.
"Humbert is rather villainous," L allows, carefully watching Light's reaction.
"Villainous?" the other woman echoes. "He was a bastard."
L pauses. Is this enough to tell if Light's Kira or not? Anyone would hate Humbert. Even Misa-Misa with her Gothic Lolita dresses and purple nailpolish.
"That's true," she agrees.
"What do you think of it?" This time, Light is looking up at the camera and there's something in her eyes that cold and calculating and L's guard is back on full swing.
"I think it's brilliant." And she pads over for some more ice cream.
Something has changed. Light is no longer calm in her cell. Her eyes are wide and innocent (oh, the perfect Lolita) and she's screaming, "Let me out of here, Ryuuzaki. I am not Kira, I swear!"
L is confused. Just minutes before, the girl was sitting so still, getting in no one's way (how could she with her feet cuffed like that?) and L asked, "Are you all right in there? You don't look too good."
Of course, that was a lie. Light has always looked good, especially now when her hair has grown during this time and falls in thick tresses around her face. "Yeah," she replied. "I know I don't. But it doesn't matter. All this useless pride – I suppose I'll have to discard it."
And then, in mere instants, her eyes blinked and she looked up in confusion, as though a fog had been lifted. And she is panicking.
Je me fous de tes détresses.
L doesn't understand. She doesn't understand at all.
Fifty days. How many hours and weeks is that? She knows that it's roughly two months but details, details.
Matsuda is breaking down. "I can't take this anymore, Ryuuzaki!" he says, throwing his hands up in frustration. "When are you going to tell Light that Kira's started killing again?"
And Aizawa is standing near the coffee table, arms folded, eyes saying, You're taking this too far, Ryuuzaki.
L ignores them. Her head feels as if it's being pounded on with stones. She's read the papers, watched the news, even told the chief. She only needs to figure out what her move should be.
Especially when Misa says, "I'm a supporter of Kira. I'm grateful that he punished the murdurer of my parents." How vocal she is now when two months ago, she wouldn't say a word.
And Light keeps saying "Let me out! I am not Kira! The only explanation I can think of is that he framed me!"
Now why would you think that Kira is a man?
"Look into my eyes, Ryuuzaki!" Light challenges the older woman fiercely, almost baring her teeth, perfect, pearly and white. "Do these look like the eyes of someone who's lying?"
L is dumbfounded. It all makes sense and then it doesn't. She should let them go, her common sense tells her. She should let them go and look for an alternative, a more effective way to get what she wants. Everyone is breaking down, degenerating. Misa's whinier than usual, Mr Yagami hasn't washed in days and Light sleeps fitfully.
But L procrastinates, delays what should be done.
Because, despite it all, perhaps when Light is lying on her side, distraught and broken, she is most beautiful.
1. Le noir est une bonne couleur pour toi, Light: Black is a good colour for you, Light.
2. Je me fous de tes détresses: I don't give a damn about your distress (first line of "Optimistique-moi" by Mylene Farmer)
A/N: I read somewhere that L is probably part-French and hence, there's a good chance that he speaks fluent French and some of his thoughts would be in that language, too. I usually avoid pre or during Yotsuba fics but lately, I've been inspired to write about that time from a genderswitched perspective. I've always thought of L as some cute furry woodland creature (come on, admit it) but this is the first time I've written him (or rather, her) as 'dark'.
The epitath translation is:
Sexy coma, sexy trauma
Coma you're sex, you're styx
Static test
Coma you're sex, you're styx
Ecastatic
Coma you're sex, you're styx
Static test, test
Coma you're sex, you're styx
Aesthetic
Ok, these are crummy translations but I did my best! I just wanted to show what a pervert L is for thinking that trauma is sexy ;).
Feel free to drop me a comment.