A/N: Special thanks to ImmaGummyBear, who recently left me very inspiring reviews on my Wedy and Aiber tributes, and to everyone else who has expressed support for this precious and underrated pairing. This is for all of you!
Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note.
Here's to Him
Wedy has her nose pressed up against the cool glass. There it is, twinkling in the distance: the red and orange tip of the Tokyo Tower blazing away in the night. It's more beautiful than it was yesterday because now the world is rid of one more monster – partially thanks to her, burglaress extraordinaire. Of course, she'll never say this out loud, because it's romantic and silly and kind of conceited.
"It's not," says a husky voice, and Wedy automatically thinks Aiber has somehow read her mind. When she whips around, though, she is surprised to see the con man's normally easygoing face marked with scorn.
Her heart flutters when she suddenly registers the fact that Aiber has snuck into her suite without alerting her. Her eyes fly to the door. It's wide open, and Wedy relaxes a smidgen.
"It's not what?" Wedy snaps, shoving her sunglasses back down on her nose.
"The real thing," Aiber answers quietly. He turns his gaze toward the window. "That is but a pale imitation of la dame de fer."
Wedy doesn't even get a chance to ask what the hell that means when Aiber continues: "Don't do that."
"Don't do what?" Wedy demands, frustrated again by Aiber's evasiveness.
"You have such beautiful eyes, ma chérie."
Wedy is dismayed to find her cheeks growing warm.
"Aiber," she scolds the honey-tongued Frenchman, stalking away from the window, "what has gotten into you?"
"Nothing. Yet," he replies, and a generous bottle of sparkling wine materializes from behind his back. "I just thought you'd be in the mood for some, ah, bubbly. My treat. We deserve it."
It is the well-placed "ah" that does it; also, she knows that everything he says is premeditated, and he probably thinks his usage of American slang for "champagne" will win her over. A smile tugs at her glossed mouth before Wedy can stop herself. She hesitates, and Aiber plops himself down into one of the loveseats situated in front of the computer station that L and Watari have provided for her. Aiber looks comfortable and content now, as though there is no other place on Earth he would rather be. He pats the seat beside him.
Wedy sits down.
"I don't suppose you have two glasses stuffed under your shirt, too?" she asks haughtily. From behind the safety of her aviators, she steals a peek at Aiber. The only thing that could possibly be hiding beneath that half-buttoned pinstripe shirt is the Frenchman's toned physique. She involuntarily swallows.
"No, I was hoping we could just do it the old-fashioned way: chug it straight from the bottle."
Wedy arches a thin brow at him. "Ladies don't chug."
"Ladies don't smoke, either. Nor do they ride bikes, spy on men, break into houses…"
Aiber's suave grin somehow turns that entire statement into a compliment, and pride flares up inside the woman, but at the same times, so does caution, because Aiber is certainly the most charming man she has ever encountered in all her twenty-nine years (everything from his rakish golden mane to the sprinkling of stubble on his chin screams charmer).
"Okay, okay, you've made your point," she retorts. She grinds her dying cigarette into the ashtray next to her computer and gestures for the bottle. "Let me do the honors."
"Bossy. I like that."
Wedy sniffs to cover up for the blush creeping across her face. The lighting in her suite is low, as she prefers it, but she has the odd sensation that Aiber can see everything with those piercing ice-blue eyes as he hands her the champagne.
She wraps her manicured fingers around the neck of the bottle and brings the whole thing down firmly against the table like a hammer. The bottom hits the wooden surface with a cheery thud and the cork pops out from the force of the carbonated wine. Aiber snatches the cork from the air before it can hit him square in the forehead.
"You did that on purpose," he accuses her.
She smiles cattily. "So what if I did?" She takes a sip, and her taste buds tingle. According to the label, it's a dry rose champagne, Bollinger's 2002 Grande Année Rosé. She's not much of a drinker, but she can tell that it's expensive. Everything under this roof – the fruits of Watari's hospitality – is expensive.
Aiber looks scandalized. "Mon Dieu, where are your manners?"
"Excuse me?"
Mystified, Wedy passes the plump bottle on to Aiber, who holds it up like a trophy. "It is customary to first toast the one responsible for tonight's festivities. So, to you, L." The Frenchman nods in the direction of the surveillance camera.
"I doubt he saw that. He's too busy with that thing downstairs," Wedy points out, thinking of the new, not-so-human addition to the Japanese Task Force. Neither of them can actually see the supposed monster that's occupying their headquarters, but they don't mind. Their work here is done, and Kira is gone. They're not in danger anymore. All that's left to do is celebrate and pack up after they collect their money.
"Ah, well, it's the principle of the matter," Aiber explains, and he takes a long swig of the champagne.
From there, they take turns making toasts. The second one goes to Watari, who reportedly blew out the tires of Higuchi's Ferrari from a helicopter. Wedy finds that incredibly cool for an old man. The third goes to L again, for flying that helicopter. Aiber thinks it's simply hilarious.
"To the Chief," Wedy declares, knocking back another, "for being one stubborn son of a gun. You should've seen his face when I tried to give him my spare Beretta. It was like I was handing him a live grenade or something."
"I don't blame him," Aiber says somberly. "Mais oui, he's a true gentleman."
"Nah, he's just following the law," Wedy says fondly and maybe a teeny bit contemptuously.
The two exchange looks and immediately burst out laughing.
"To Chief Yagami, for being a man of the law," Aiber affirms, downing a few gulps accordingly.
A brief silence settles over the room as Wedy waits for Aiber to gather his thoughts for the next toast. Watching him think is interesting; it's no secret that the con artist has a brilliant mind and an imagination to match. Right now, he sort of reminds her of their employer, slumped forward with his elbows on his knees and a vaguely smoldering calculation in his eyes that should be threatening but isn't. Not noticeably, anyway.
In truth, it's the type of calculation that can dissect you on the spot: from your words, your motives, and from your motives, your personality, and from that, you. This is how Aiber knows how to put his targets at ease, how to earn their trust, and this is how he knows precisely how to swindle them for all their worth. He is a magician with words and roles. It's a necessary skill for professionals of his caliber.
(And coupled with his blood-stirring voice and ruggedly handsome European looks, damn was he a fine specimen.)
"Enjoying the view?"
"You wish," Wedy answers without missing a beat.
"Non, mon amour, you were definitely checking me out," Aiber drawls with a sly wink. "It's alright, though. I won't tell."
Wedy sputters indignantly. "Cut out the smooth-talking," she orders waspishly. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were trying to flirt with me. And I don't think your wife would appreciate that very much."
There is a pause.
"Did you go through my things, thief?"
"I found a ring, if that's what you're really asking, con man."
Aiber gives a throaty chuckle, and Wedy can't tell whether he's faking or not. "Wedy, that's a prop. I bring it with me everywhere I go to ward off vixens like yourself."
"And why would you want to do that, if you're not married?" Wedy asks incredulously.
"If I didn't know any better," Aiber intones, "I'd think you were a touch jealous."
She's taken aback by his bold accusation, and in hindsight, Wedy would realize that Aiber had effectively deflected the question, and that he had never actually denied he was married. She would also eventually realize that the con man was probably being honest about the ring too; just because it functioned as a prop didn't mean it couldn't also be the real thing. Clever, hiding the truth in what seems like lies.
But now, in this very moment, none of that occurs to her.
"Me, jealous? Hmph. Don't flatter yourself."
Aiber only shakes his head and sets the bottle of champagne down beside Wedy's ashtray. He fishes out a lighter from his pocket and offers it to Wedy, who reluctantly takes it and lights up. "Trust me, Wedy, I'm not as arrogant as you're making me out to be. In fact, I have no reason to ever be that arrogant."
"Oh?"
"Would you like to hear a story, mon amie?"
"Depends," Wedy says, surprised by the turn of events and Aiber's amiable gesture. "Does it have a happy ending?"
Aiber shrugs. "Would you consider where I am today a happy ending?"
It takes Wedy a few seconds to figure out what he means. "Yes," she replies, "because anything is better than being in jail." She pauses, curiosity rising up inside her. "So, how'd you meet him?"
"He saved my life."
Wedy's eyebrows disappear underneath her bangs. "Intense."
"Yeah, and I can't thank him enough for that," Aiber murmurs. "It was a con gone wrong. I was young, naive. I tried to scam someone who was way out of my league: a Brazilian investor with millions in assets and thugs in his pockets."
"That sounds like something out of a bad movie," Wedy remarks, blowing a perfect smoke ring to complete the picture.
"It gets worse," Aiber says darkly. His voice drops, low and solemn. "Turned out Deneuve, our L, was carrying an investigation of his own before I came along. He used to play the stock market too, did you know that? That's how he made his fortune, when he was just un petit garçon."
Something in Wedy's stomach twists. Envy?
"He never told me anything of that sort."
Aiber catches her peeved tone. "I'm sure he's told you many things that he hasn't told me, Wedy. Let me finish, d'accord?"
Wedy concedes, allowing Aiber to slip into reminiscence once more.
"I had no idea what I was getting myself into. At that time, I was a freelancer, so I didn't dare ask too many questions about my employer. All that mattered was that I follow instructions, get in there and do what I did best. Big mistake." Aiber clicks his tongue as though he's reprimanding his past self. "The corporate world is very cut-throat, Wedy, no matter where you are. Very cut-throat."
"That's not news, Aiber."
"Right," the con man amends, smiling. "Just look at Yotsuba."
"Yeah, or what's left of them. So, then what happened?"
"I approached him at an outdoor concert with an exclusive offer of insider trading for a company that didn't actually exist. He told me that it was the second time that year someone tried this trick on him, and warned me to watch my back. Later that night, I got jumped on the way back to my hotel. As you already know, I've always despised guns. Any weapon, actually. So I was unarmed."
Wedy bites down on her cigarette. Hard.
"Fortunately for me, the police arrived on the scene rather quickly. Suspiciously quickly, in fact. It didn't take long for the thugs to sing like birds, and my target was arrested. However, I refused to give up my fool of an employer, and I was thrown in jail as well. Obviously, they weren't impressed with my honor-among-thieves code. And then..."
Aiber stops and takes a hearty sip from the 2002 Bollinger.
"...to Deneuve," the Frenchman announces cheerfully, "for posting my bail and clearing my name with God-knows-what and evidence from God-knows-where."
"To Deneuve," Wedy agrees, spitting out her smoke to accept the bottle from Aiber. "To the one person we can actually trust."
"Trust," Aiber echoes. "That's a big word. What about you, thief? What's your story?"
Wedy gives him a conspiratorial smile. "Sorry. That's between me and L."
Disappointment flitters across the con man's face, but it comes and goes so quickly Wedy thinks she may have imagined it. It is now replaced by an expression of intrigue. Aiber fixes her with a laser gaze and Wedy rises to the challenge, sliding her sunglasses over her head and staring resolutely back into Aiber's bright blue eyes.
"Oh, come on, ma chérie, not even a little hint?"
"Nope. My lips are sealed."
Aiber scrutinizes her closely. "You're embarrassed about it, aren't you?"
"What – how –?"
"Lucky guess."
Aiber is right. Wedy is still smarting about how L snared her after nine whole years of evading the detective's grasp. It wasn't fair, though – she slipped up just that one time at the bank (and it had been a local bank, for God's sake, to throw L off track) where she hadn't anticipated a security system worthy of the CIA itself.
She'd managed to bypass everything from the fingerprint scanner (using basic Scotch tape to lift the previous print) to the twenty-digit password at the door (memorized from a prior visit over the shoulder of an unsuspecting guard). Unbeknownst to her, the vaults were further protected by floor tiles programmed to measure that particular guard's weight after hours of operation, and when they failed to recognize hers the moment she stepped foot inside, the entire bank went into lockdown mode –
– until L hijacked it to offer her the deal of a lifetime.
Freedom and a payroll beyond her wildest dreams for her loyalty. It was a no-brainer. But still, it left her ego slightly bruised.
"It couldn't have been that bad," Aiber cajoles her.
Wedy frowns at her fellow crook. "It was," she says crossly. Then she gives a sigh, feeling like an ungrateful bitch. "But I gotta admit, it was also the best thing that had ever happened to me."
"You must've led a very strange life, then."
"More like deprived." Wedy instantly slaps a hand over her mouth.
"Ah." She can hear the gears churning in Aiber's head. "So you were one of those, huh? Goodie-two-shoes by day, daredevil by night? It's always the quiet ones, isn't it?" Aiber smirks suggestively.
Wedy snorts. "I'm far from quiet," she says mock-sweetly.
"I can imagine."
"Ugh. Do you always have to get the last word?"
In response, Aiber grins and nudges the wine bottle toward her. There's barely any remaining. "I think it's time for you to do the honors again, mon amour."
"Fine."
For a moment, Wedy mulls over what to say. What should she say about the man who played cat and mouse with her for almost a decade, providing her with endless entertainment? What can she say about L, who they always went the extra mile for out of their own free will, who held both of their fates in the palm of his hands but never once flaunted it? L is their ally, their benefactor, and in a weird way, their friend. There are not enough words in the English language to honor him.
Then it comes to her.
It's perfect.
"Here's to him," she utters softly, glancing at the Frenchman for approval, "notre raison d'étre."
Our reason for existence.
Aiber nods, clearly pleased.
A/N: "Waiber" (as dubbed by the awesome ImmaGummyBear) would've made a kickass couple if Light hadn't KILLED them. And how did he, exactly, anyway? After all this time, it still remains a mystery.
The bit about L playing the stock market is inspired by Ohba and Obata's "L File No. 15: The Wammy's House" (link to albums on my profile).
Sorry boys and girls, no hanky panky here, just unresolved sexual tension. I hope you still liked it, though!
Reviews are much appreciated :)