LuLlabies of Boys
(Disclaimer: Death Note and all related properties belong to Tsugumi Ohba and Takeshi Obata.)
One: Girl
September 12th, 1993. Autumn had blown in, bringing a chill in the air and a change to the scenery. The leaves had changed to quite beautiful colors in the yard at Wammy House, but currently it was night time and storming rather severely, hiding its splendor.
Quillsh was sitting at his desk, his office warm with light and all around cozy. He even had a fire going. He heard a rummaging from the library next to the office, and a moment later, a gawky thing appeared from the doorway, carrying a copy of War and Peace.
"Good evening, Watari," Lawliet greeted in his seemingly constantly deepening voice. The boy, now fourteen, had grown into a tall stick of a boy. He'd exchanged his too-big clothes from his childhood for slightly better fitting ones, including a white top with three-quarter sleeves and baggy jeans that didn't require being rolled up. He still seldom wore shoes, though he did have quite a few pairs now, stacked side by side in his closet according to color and use, just like the rest of his clothes. The boy was pale still, seemingly paler by the dark eyes and dark hair, but there was something surprisingly handsome about him. Maybe Wammy was biased, but he did see something striking about the hunched adolescent. Perhaps it was just the fact that no one else looked like him. He was like a rare piece of art.
"Find what you were looking for in there?"
Lawliet shrugged, holding up the book. "Tolstoy," He shrugged, referring to the author. "I've already read it English, but I'm delighted to see you found it in its original Russian and French."
"Consider it an early birthday present," Wammy replied, getting up from his seat. "You're welcome."
Lawliet smiled at him, but only for a moment, since his nose was already in the book. The boy generally wasn't a fan of fiction, but he did enjoy it occasionally, and War and Peace was his favorite, probably because it was realistic. Wammy himself had never been a big fan of Tolstoy.
"It's been quiet, has it not?" Lawliet asked, taking a seat in the armchair over by the fire, holding the book with his thumbs and index fingers. He never took his eyes off the pages. "I don't believe that Daneuve, Eraldo Coil, or L has had a crime to solve in weeks. I'm growing rather bored."
"You were saying that two months ago when you were packed down with cases," Wammy replied with a smirk, retrieving a tray containing some freshly poured coffee from the kitchen on the other side of his office (as requested, since L would have had it no other way). He made sure to place a bowl full of sugar cubes and a piece of strawberry cake on the tray as well.
"That is because you accepted cases I didn't care about," Lawliet replied jadedly and not without the slight bit of irritation. "I want cases that are interesting and challenging. Cases that I can get involved in. These run of the mill cases are ridiculous. The money is good, but I don't care about that."
"Well, I'll let you choose them from now on."
Lawliet nodded, dropping a rather ridiculous amount of sugar cubes into his coffee. "If you say so," Lawliet replied, though Wammy knew that Lawliet had been taking on a couple of cases without his partner's consent for months now. He figured he'd let Lawliet just continue to assume it was a secret (though he probably already knew he knew. The boy was ridiculously perceptive).
Quillsh opened his newspaper, reading while sipping at his drink, trying to ignore the horrid sound of Lawliet's slurping (the coffee was so thick with that sugar), when an article caught his attention. "Huh, it appears the young Mr. Altair was killed last week."
"Is this supposed to be of some concern to me?" Lawliet asked dully. "Murders happen all the time. There isn't always a mystery to it."
Quillsh shrugged, not too pleased at the mouth on the young boy. He had gotten far too snippy. It must have been the hormones. Well, what he had to say next, he knew that ought to put those hormones in their place. "If it's the same Mr. Altair, I do believe he would be Cosette's older brother. I believe the family that adopted her was Altair."
Lawliet's eyes were ripped from the page, something that never happened.
Quillsh gave a slight glance in the direction of the boy but remained nonchalant. He'd baited the hook, and the fish had seen it. All he had to do was wait for the bite.
After a moment…
"You are… referring to Miss Cosette from the orphanage seven years ago?"
Hook, line, sinker.
"Why, yes," Quillsh replied, lowering the paper with a grin. "How surprising that you even remember such a thing!" It wasn't surprising at all.
Lawliet's eyes were as wide as saucers. The boy actually could express shock, go figure.
Quillsh finally looked at Lawliet. "Why does it matter?"
The boy looked even more surprised that Wammy had asked. "But… of course it…" He finally realized that his emotion had gotten the better of him and calmed himself appropriately. "Never mind."
The boy looked so disappointed that Wammy decided to throw him a bone. "I suppose I should drive over there and offer my condolences tomorrow. You may come if you like."
"Y… yes, I suppose I might as well…" Lawliet mumbled, hiding behind his book once again. "You're always telling me to get out of the house anyways."
"Yes."
-
The next afternoon, Wammy and Lawliet crawled into the car and made the drive across town to Cosette's home.
The Altair family was very well-known (and prestigious at that). Mr. Altair was the successor of a large business run by his family for centuries and was its current proprietor. With the power came the money, and so came the exquisite things. His son had been known to be quite a partier and a bit of a troublemaker, so when he wound up dead, it wasn't that surprising. His mother had still locked herself in her room out of misery nonetheless.
All of this was known before they'd left that morning. The paper had stated everything. Lawliet mentioned that he'd researched it a bit himself and found that some of Mr. Altair's deals may not have been as clean as they seemed. He suspected some sort of shady business had been going down.
The house itself was practically a castle with stone walls and a black iron-barred gate with roses snaking their way around them from the well kept bushes behind it. Quillsh was somewhat impressed, but Lawliet didn't seem to care in the slightest. Why would he? He didn't much care about whether he had the finer things in life or not, as long as he had something to stimulate him.
After talking through the com system at the gate, the two of them were let inside.
"I appreciate you taking the time to come out," Mr. Altair, a dark-haired, handsome older man said, shaking Quillsh's hand with both of his. "You've been very kind to keep in touch with us over the years, to check in on Cosette."
Lawliet turned sharply, looking offended that he hadn't been told of such a thing, as if it was any of his business. His mind soon carried him off to other things though, and he turned away, no longer caring.
"I want to make sure that everyone is taken care of," Quillsh replied. "I'm so sorry to hear about your son."
"It is a shame and tragedy," Altair replied, and his blue-gray eyes were brimming with tears.
The front door clicked shut behind the three of them. "I'm home."
Altair, Wammy, and Lawliet all turned at the sound of the voice. There before them in the doorway was a young woman, dressed in school uniform. By her red curls and sharp blue eyes, they knew who she was immediately.
"Wh…" She started, meeting eyes with Quillsh and then Lawliet.
"Cosette, darling," Altair said, "I don't know if you remember, but this is Mr. Quillsh Wammy from the orphanage. He heard about George and came by to give his condolences."
"Oh…" She replied, expression unreadable. "Well… thank you for your kindness during this difficult time."
Lawliet was counting her freckles, Quillsh just knew it.
"Do come and have some tea with me, Mr. Wammy. I know it took you a long time to drive here. Ah, young man, would you like to--"
"Don't mind him," Quillsh replied, following after the man. A moment later, they had rounded the corner and were gone.
Lawliet's eyes had followed them out of the room, but now that they had left, they returned to the girl in the doorway. Her loafers, her socks, her plaid skirt, her blouse, her tie, her lips, her freckles, her bangs…
"Lawliet," She said, her voice stern, still unreadable.
A slight smile crept onto his pale lips. "You remember me."
"You're pretty recognizable," She said, passing him while removing her bag from her shoulder.
He wasn't sure if she was complimenting or insulting him, so he said nothing, following along behind her. She didn't necessarily seem pleased that he was trailing after her, but she didn't tell him to stop.
Up the stairs and down the hall was her room. It was surprisingly practical, considering the Altair family was so blessed with money. There were pictures in frames on her desk and white lace curtains that matched the bedspread and a tall bookshelf packed with encyclopedias and old classics. On her dresser, there was a vial of fancy perfume, along with a red bag of what looked to be makeup. The closet door was open very slightly, showing a vast amount of modest clothes on hangers.
"So, why did you come along with Mr. Wammy? Are you still his little pet, Lawliet?" She asked, removing the ribbon from her hair, sending scarlet curls tumbling around her shoulders.
"I suppose you could say that," Lawliet replied with a shrug. "I heard about your brother."
"It is a shame," Cosette said, though she didn't sound all that upset, "but it's his own fault for hanging around with the wrong crowd. I can just about guarantee that it was one of his little friends."
"Mm," Lawliet replied, staring at a painted portrait on the wall of her when she was (estimated) eight years old. "I understand your feelings. It must be hard to be around all of this grief when a part of you had expected it and grown used to the idea."
"I… suppose," She said, eyeing him. "So… you haven't changed much, have you?"
"I guess not," Lawliet shrugged, turning his coal black eyes back to her, "but it has only been seven short years."
"Well, I'm not that same little girl you knew," She said, almost defensively, blue eyes alight.
"I never said that you were."
She pulled her gaze away, walking to the window and peeking out. "I don't know why you and Mr. Wammy would care at all about George. Neither of you met him, and neither of you have spoken to me since I was a child."
"Well, honestly I was no more than curious to see you. You were the only other person my age that I ever really talked to."
"I only spoke to you because you were the only one who could speak to me," She replied cruelly, though he wasn't offended in the slightest.
"It's good to see you speak English perfectly well now."
"I do indeed."
She shifted from one foot to the other, looking as though she was glowing with the sunlight pouring into the window. He could tell that he was making her feel awkward, though the feeling was something he'd grown used to when talking with anyone.
After a moment, she exhaled a breath that she had been apparently holding. "So, you came to see me, did you?" She looked back at him, expression now readable. She was displeased.
Lawliet's finger lingered on his lip, though he didn't stick it in his mouth. "Yes."
She cocked an eyebrow, but the rest of her was completely still. "So, is this what you expected to see? Are you happy now?"
He didn't reply, looking as though he was thinking about it.
Her face dropped from accusation to frustration. "I don't know why you got it in your head that we're friends or something like that. We're not."
"No, I suppose not," Lawliet muttered, turning his vision towards the floor where he twiddled his toes. "I'd say you were rather afraid of me and obviously not fond of me."
"If you were aware of that, then why did you come here?" She asked, dropping her hands to her side.
"Because I wanted to," Lawliet replied simply.
She rolled her eyes. "That figures."
-
Cosette shooed him away, and he spent about an hour wandering the house, coming back long enough to eventually be shooed away again once or twice while she was working on her homework. Even when he offered to assist her, he was sent away. Now he found himself in a large den staring at a picture hanging above the fireplace. A painted portrait (obviously recent) of Cosette and her family. Mr. Altair looked much different with a smile on his face, and Mrs. Altair was quite lovely herself, except for a rather long nose. George, who looked to be only a year or two older than Cosette was extremely handsome with slicked black hair and pretty, only slightly yellowed teeth. All three of them with dull, blue-gray eyes… and then there was Cosette, a rose among lilies. She was so obviously not one of them with her dramatically red hair and striking ice-blue eyes. The artist had misplaced a freckle or two, but it was nearly perfect.
"Do you like it?"
The voice made him jump. He'd gotten lost in the portrait and dropped his guard, a mistake he didn't intend to make again. "Ah, yes…" He said, turning.
It was Mr. Altair, looking a bit more composed than he had earlier. "We have a portrait painted every year to hang over our fireplace. This was painted just three weeks ago."
"It's very nice," Lawliet replied, though he didn't have much of a passion for artwork (unless autopsy photos counted, and they probably didn't).
"I didn't catch your name, young man."
"Ah… It's Christopher," He replied without missing a beat. He knew that Quillsh had been careful not to mention Lawliet's name (as they had both learned to do rather quickly in the crime solving business). "I'm Mr. Wammy's nephew."
"Oh, I see," Mr. Altair said, eyeing him for a moment. Lawliet felt his eyes tracing his facial features for resemblance patterns.
"-on his wife's side," He added quickly.
The man nodded, believing him. Sometimes, humans were so easy to lie to.
"Mr. Wammy has been looking for you for, Mr. Christopher," Mr. Altair said.
"Oh, I suppose I should be on my way then," Lawliet nodded, starting towards the door. Altair stopped him by grabbing his wrist, and Lawliet tensed, but he found the man only wishing to shake his hand.
"Thank you for taking the time to come out," Altair said. "It's nice to know that there are people who care about our situation who aren't just out for the money they can get from a photo. Please, you and Mr. Wammy, come back anytime you wish. You are welcome here."
Lawliet felt a twinge of guilt. He didn't care what happened to their family at all. He had only wished to see her, and despite her remarkable beauty, it wasn't anything he hadn't expected.
"Yes, of course," He lied. "These tragedies do take their toll, and I know I would like a soft place to fall."
"You're very intelligent for your age," He smiled.
"I know."
He released the man's hand and sauntered away, wiping his hand on his jeans.