Tunes in Profile:

Cumbersome

Hey You

Prologue: Falling Through Thin Ice

-Secondary: Hephaestion

Pale fingers busied themselves with peeling thin, black plastic away from a chocolate truffle as bony knees took over the job of controlling the steering wheel above them. Ever-vigilant, ink-black eyes continuously switched focus between the treat being stripped of its wrapper, and the road behind it. L took his time, peeling and turning, until he could discard the wrapper in the seat beside him and pop the candy in his mouth whole just as he came upon his turn. With perfect timing, chocolate-smudged fingers reassumed their duty of controlling the vehicle and gripped the wheel in an underhanded left turn off the main road.

Trees overhead on either side turned this driveway into a sort of cement grotto, their foliage canopy overhead giving one the impression of driving through a hidden cave. During the day, sunlight would flicker and strobe through certain, small spots in the covering; but at night, it was as black as pitch but for the headlights of his car. One of the principal reasons L had purchased this property – the surrounding woods of the estate kept his home out of sight from the main road.

He kept his speed under 25 km, given the obscenely late hour of his arrival, and used the extra time to enjoy another truffle from the bag sitting open in the center console. Again, he steered the Mercedes with his knees while his hands removed the wrapper and tossed it into the passenger seat. This one, he carefully bit in half, and then licked at the liquid center a few times before tossing back the other half.

"Open gate door." He droned around the melted mass of chocolate in his mouth when the entrance came into view. A soft chime from the car's speakers indicated a recognized command, followed by the sound of a heavy metal lock being disengaged. L braked, and waited as a concrete, computer controlled entry gate slid to one side to disappear behind the matching wall it was attached to.

L pulled the car forward, the sound of the gate closing behind him coming through the open sunroof. He resumed his previous speed, and turned the headlights off – able to see the white of the road without them.

The distance from the entrance to the house was much longer than from the main road to the entrance, so L had plenty of time to shove three more truffles into his mouth before concrete turned into the slate-colored cobblestone of a circular driveway. He parked the S-Class alongside a wine red Acura SUV already parked in front of the house, and shut the car off. Grabbing the bag of truffles, he then stepped out – his eyes fixed on the Acura as he closed his own door and pressed the locking symbol on his electronic key.

Normally, the SUV would be parked in the garage; L couldn't recall a time ever when the car was left out, and especially at almost two 'o clock in the morning. He shuffled toward it, and stopped to peer into the passenger side window – cupping his hands around his face to block the glare of the driveway lighting overhead, truffle bag still clutched in one of them.

There was nothing out of the ordinary that he could see – the interior looked pristine and unused just as it always did. He stepped back, and then walked around the vehicle in a once over to see if maybe there was some damage from an accident that he was meant to see. But there was nothing – not even a scratch of the paint.

L turned, and looked to the two-story country home looming above him – a rectangular structure of pale grey-blue brick and stone. All was dark, but for the entry lights left on for his sake, which usually meant everyone was already asleep. He looked back at the car – wondering at its deviation a moment more before leaving it and heading for the front door.

Three short steps led into a covered veranda with stone cherub statues in its corners and several different kinds of now quiet wind chimes hanging from its roof. L waved the same remote he used for his car at a digital panel next to the door, and waited for the display to read 'Unlocked' in blue before pushing down on the doorhandle. He closed it quietly behind him, and re-enabled the security system using another panel by the door that corresponded to the same one outside.

In the foyer, L stepped out of his sneakers and dropped his truffle bag on the table next to several objects left by others; the electronic key to the Acura outside, outgoing mail, a child's handheld Kindle. Nothing worth wasting time on, when L had other things in mind. Pivoting on his bare feet, he moved from the entrance hall to the kitchen, only glancing into the darkened living area on his way to make sure it was empty.

Dark wooden flooring under his feet turned into the cold, green marbling of the kitchen – its cherry cabinets an odd match against the black granite countertops. On one such countertop, L spotted a glass cake dome in the dim light given off by small fixtures set in the wall above it. He couldn't tell what, exactly, was in it; but it made no difference when that cake platter was reserved for only the kind of dessert he would eat, so he grabbed a fork on his way to commandeer it.

He took it upstairs – platter and all – to his private office where he did his work when he was home, balancing the cake in one hand and a cup of cold coffee from the refrigerator in the other as he silently moved up the steps.

The study was one of the largest rooms in the house, only outdone by the master bedroom and the living room – neither of which he spent very much time in these days. If he was home, he was usually locked away in his office – hard at work at whatever such thing had caught his fancy, and almost impossible to pull away unless for very good reason.

L made straight for the centerpiece of the room – an oversized desk on which sat his laptop and several piles of paperwork. Careful not to spill anything, he set first the cup and saucer and then the cake platter on the glass-covered cherry wood, next to his computer. And as quickly as he could, he retraced his steps back to close the door gently.

A moment later, his reason for doing so exploded into excited life just as he turned the knob for lights to half intensity.

"Hephaestion." L greeted back, his deep tone contrasting sharply against the light, sing-song chirping suddenly coming from a large, covered cage set on a pedestal a few feet from his desk. The sound of his voice only intensified the high-pitched noise – its musical calls demanding attention from him. L complied, pulling the shroud from the cage and opening the door to stick his hand in.

A Violet Masked Lovebird wasted no time in dropping from its wooden perch and onto L's long fingers – its tiny feet curling around them as he pulled the bird from its cage. Hephaestion was almost all a dark lavender color, except for the black dusting on his head and the pale cobalt of his tail. He was a small bird – resembling that of a miniature parrot that could fit in the palm of one's hand.

But Hephaestion wasn't a hand bird; he was a hair bird. And as soon as L cleared him from his cage and brought his hand up, Hephaestion took flight – winging his way above L to lower himself in the mess of raven's feathers on his head. L looked upward, as if he could see the bird, and waited for him to settle down in the center of that black jungle before returning to his desk.

First with one foot, and then the other; L stepped into his chair and lowered himself into an oddly angled crouch. Cake was first, and he ignored everything else as he removed the dome from the platter, brandished the fork that had been inside, and dug into the Red-Velvet cake with butter cream icing. Hephaestion watched from above, making little jumps toward the back of his nest as L leaned forward into his cake.

Over half of it had already been eaten, by whom L already knew, so it took him no time at all to finish it off. He saved the cherries that had been on top for last – four for him and one for Hephaestion who flew down to the tabletop on his whistle to take it from his pale fingertips.

"Seed is for the birds, Phaestion." He told the bird when it finished, watching as its little head turned to look up at him – black beady eyes regarding him from this angle and that angle.

The tiniest semblance of a smile L gave him before moving to clean his mess and push the platter to one corner of the desk free of paper. Next, he opened his laptop and pressed the power button before taking a sip of his coffee, which he placed to the left of his computer. All that remained was to wait for his laptop to boot, and he'd be ready to work the night through.

And just as his owner had work to do, so did Hephaestion. The lovebird made little hops toward the closest pile of paperwork behind L's laptop, his tiny feet clicking against the hard glass, and stretched his head up to grab the topmost piece of paper with his beak. L would work, and Hephaestion would shred for his nest, even though his mate Xander was thousands of miles away.

In Japan. Seemingly a world away – distant and out of reach. Stupid bird. What good was a nest if it couldn't be shared because the other half of you was so far away it hurt?

L inspected the paper he chose, making sure it was nothing important, and then returned his attention to his computer as it finally finished loading. Almost immediately, an instant message window popped up in bright white with bold, black text.

Xander has started nesting.

L smiled at the message as his fingers keyed out a fast reply. Phaestion, too. He's shredding a release form. Why are you up so late?

. . . waiting on you, came the reply a few seconds later. Georgi called me today.

Regarding? L asked, playfully pulling at Hephaestion's paper as he waited. The bird chirped loudly at him, and snatched the paper back.

I don't know. I was in a meeting with the Commissioner and I didn't pick it up. She left a message that said she wanted to speak with me at my earliest convenience.

She wanted to talk to you about your visit, most likely. To discuss and plan ahead. You know how excited she gets with you. L typed back.

I don't know, Ryu. She sounded funny. Have you spoken to her?

Dilated eyes narrowed at the screen as L keyed his message. No, my plane landed a few hours ago and I just got in. Define 'funny', please.

A reply didn't come immediately, so L watched Phaestion pick at his paper until he caught movement on his screen. Funny as in 'I've figured you out' funny.

L read the message, and then re-read it again, scratching behind his ear as he did so. Nonsense. L typed shortly, still reading the previous entry.

That's what my reason tells me – that I'm paranoid and overreacting. But L . . .
. . . you should hear the message. There's just something . . . off about it.

L typed the words 'Don't bother, you are paranoid'; but his finger hovered over the 'Enter' key as the Acura outside flashed in his mind. It was so unusual . . . so not routine. He erased the text, and input new text. Send it, please.

Just a moment . . .

As he waited, L watched Hephaestion discard his paper, having tired of it, and hop to the far left of the desk to go for a packet of folded stationary sitting on top of a pile of pictures from the current case he was working on. It looked important, though he didn't at all recall having put it there, so he plucked it from the bird's mouth and unfolded it to make sure it was shred-material. Hephaestion followed it, ready to start work on it as soon as L gave it back.

Movement in his peripheral vision indicated the response he'd been waiting for, and his lovebird called to him for the return of its nest material; but L ignored them both – his eyes fastened on the paper in his hands. He recognized it immediately . . . he didn't need to read it to know exactly, word for word, what it said. It was, now, a matter of who else had read the letter and left it there and how they'd come across it, and a contemplation of that 'who' that sent heart-tightening fear into his chest as he stared at the carefully – perfectly – handwritten words of passion that were meant for no eyes but the darkest depths of his own.

L slammed the lid of his laptop down with more force than he'd meant to, and Hephaestion bolted in a flutter of violet wings to the security of his cage – his chirping strangely absent. L barely noticed, so loud was the buzzing of his own quickened heartbeat in his ears. His cheeks felt hot, burning really; but the rest of him was cold – that frozen numbness that came with the sudden, choking realization that the worst possible scenario one feared was finally upon them.

The reasonable course of action, L knew, was to sit there and calm down. But he didn't want to sit anymore – he was dizzy from sitting, all of a sudden. So he unfolded his legs and stood; the letter clutched tightly in his skeletal fingers. And once he stood, there was nothing else preventing him from half-running his way to the door and then out into the hallway, almost tripping over his jeans that were too baggy around his ankles.

He navigated his way through the dark hallway, around the corner, and to the entrance of the master bedroom; even though later on when questioned he would never be able to explain to anyone how he did so. The door was open, as were the curtains around the window, and L could see in the moonlight three people huddled together under the sheets of the oversized bed. He stopped several feet from the foot of the bed and stared at them, his eyes fixed and unblinking and intense.

A part of him that he'd spent years keeping separate from another, equally precious part of him because neither of them he could bring himself to give up. Now, he would have to. She wouldn't tolerate it. He knew that. He'd be forced to choose – to relinquish one or the other completely. Something L couldn't imagine doing, much less make a decision on. And his children . . .

His children.

His fear intensified when he thought of how it would go with them, a feeling similar to as if a serpent had coiled itself around his heart and squeezed.

He barely had time for them, so busy he was with all the other facets of his life. He was stretched so thin, like the last bit of paint being rolled onto a wall, all because he just had to have his cake and eat it to. He had to have every little thing, and could never leave well-enough alone. A sometimes problematic trait of his personality that Watari had constantly warned him about, and worked to control.

L had the urge to call the old man now – to seek his advice on how to handle the situation. But just as quick as it had entered his mind, L pushed it away. He was 32 years old . . . capable of handling his own problems . . . and possibly overreacting. Hopefully, overreacting. Maybe it had been one of the children who'd gotten into his personal correspondence and just left the letter there because he or she had thought it the right thing to do. Maybe–

A head popped up, its mop of ebony hair mussed and unruly from laying on the pillow, and turned toward L so he could see his own dark eyes set in a tiny version of his pallid face. A vision that calmed him almost immediately, and brought all his racing thoughts to a blissful standstill. He stuffed the letter in one of the back pockets of his jeans, and advanced.

The boy watched him closely, his gaze following L as he approached and moved around the foot of the bed to stand beside it. He brought a finger to his lips in a shushing gesture, before lightly pulling back the sheet and grabbing the boy under the arms to lift him into his embrace. The warmth of skinny little arms went about his neck, just as legs curled themselves around L's slender waist to hook at the small of his back.

He carried his son down the hallway and into a doorway just before his office on the same side.

"Can you sleep on your own?" L whispered before turning down the covers and lowering him into his own bed. The boy nodded, shoved a thumb in his mouth, and rolled over onto his side – his legs momentarily flailing against the constriction of pajamas before becoming still. He was gone, even before L drew the covers over him and pressed his lips to his forehead in a goodnight kiss.

He closed the door behind him, and retraced his steps back to the master for his youngest. She was still sleeping, nuzzled against her mother under the sheets, and it took some effort to detach her and lift her into his arms without waking either of them. She, too, had L's coloring; but instead of blown black, her eyes were a steel-blue color. A combination L suspected would end up becoming more grey as she got older.

Her room was the other way – all the way at the end of the hall in one corner of the house. L nudged the door open all the way with a foot, walked as slow as the emotion bubbling inside him would allow, and turned the covers down on her bed that they'd set against the far wall because she had a habit of rolling right out it – always to her left. She didn't stir, even when L leaned over to deposit her tiny form on the mattress and pull the bedclothes over her. He hovered, brushing sable hair away from her face, and kissed a fat cheek.

That door was closed too, and now both children were tucked away safely in their beds – their young minds and small hearts protected from anything that would sully them.

Temporarily, at least.

L lingered outside the doorway of the master bedroom – Georgiana's bedroom, really – his hands curled around the frame as he gingerly peeked around the corner and into the bedroom like some kind of coward skulking about with terrible things on his conscience.

Through the years, he'd haunted this very spot more times than he could count – lonely and desolated and so guilty that he'd wanted to throw himself into her and tearfully beg forgiveness from the woman half of him loved. An easy friend. A loving wife. A lover so talented that she could sometimes make him forget the other half of himself – the half that thought of another with fiery hair and chocolate eyes when he stared down at her beneath him.

The letter recalled itself to his mind with that thought, while the thing itself seemed to burn in the pocket of his jeans. He reached behind him to pull it from the fabric and unfold it with unsteady hands. It was dated for almost two weeks ago, but he'd only received it one week ago.

And damn it all, why hadn't he been more careful with the situation? Why had he asked that they be written in English? Why had he thought it charming to see his first name at the top of the first page – a fancily penned L – instead of dangerous? Why had he let himself become delighted at the way it was signed – In longing to be alone with you – instead of dismissing it as a liability?

L pulled the papers apart, and turned over the last page in his left hand to actually look at the signature – Light – in bold, sweeping strokes. Why had he let the boy sign his damned name? The rest of it he might have been able to explain away as perhaps belonging to a case he was working on, or something written for a friend; because it was really just erotic daydreaming and thoughts of affection put to paper. But with names?

No . . . that wasn't true. Georgi wasn't stupid, and there were too many references to his physical appearance – dark, wicked eyes; skin as pure as the first snow of winter – for it to be considered anything else but what it was, a love letter to a married man from his best friend.

And L couldn't even begin to know what kind of emotion she must have experienced when reading it. Maybe if it had been someone she didn't know . . . another woman, perhaps. But not Yagami Light. Someone she had a great affection for, and whom had a great affection for her. Someone who came to visit her home several times a year. Someone who doted on her children and whom her children loved. Someone she spent time with in her own right, because they were good friends with a lot in common – smart and warm and so beautiful that people often mistakenly assumed that it was she and Light who were husband and wife when they went out together.

It was an ultimate violation of trust. A betrayal so total and thorough that it would saturate and taint every aspect of her life. That she'd even had the clarity of mind to put the letter on his desk where he would undoubtedly see it and know she had found it and read it, L could only wonder at. Just as he wondered at the Acura situation outside.

Had she planned to leave him, or been so confused that she hadn't known what to do with herself? Or had she known that he would pick up on the oddity, and put two and two together, and know that it had been her to read it, and know that she wanted to discuss it?

And Light. Why would she call him, and not her husband? Had she wanted to face L in person, and simply be rid of Light with a phone call? Or was it that she, in a way, could believe that he would do something like this and therefore needed no explanation; but couldn't believe that Yagami Light would be just as despicable?

L looked down at the sheets of paper in his hand again, and found himself amazed that such a simple, harmless little thing could bring the walls tumbling down around him. It was really just paper with words written on it; but with its ability to destroy lives . . . it might as well have been a piece of–

"L . . ."

It wasn't a question. And why would it be? She'd caught him hanging around the doorway late at night more than once, watching and waiting in the darkness for her to awaken and beckon him over the threshold like a child awaiting permission to enter his parent's room.

But she wasn't beckoning to him when he folded the letter and looked up to meet her eyes – she wasn't even looking at him. She pushed the sheets aside and struggled to sit up, her left hand supporting the pronounced swelling of her belly as she flung bare legs over the side of the bed closest to him.

Another son. Probably his last, now.

Hastily, she tugged down the sheer material of her gown that had bunched around her waist, as if it disgusted her to have his nightmarish eyes on her now. Did she think him some kind of sexually deviant fiend now that she knew his secret – an incubus who would force himself upon her? The worst sort of man who would do unspeakable things to her?

As she did so, L caught a brief flash of silver as moonlight reflected off the wedding ring on her left hand. Was it a good sign that she hadn't taken it off? He looked down to his own – a simple band of white gold encircling palely-dressed bone that he often, obsessively twisted around his finger when he worked – and it made him lament years of infidelity in the span of a second. Would she scream at him and demand to know why he wore it if it meant nothing to him?

What was he supposed to tell her? That he just hadn't been able to give the boy up? That no, he didn't think about it when he was sitting in his seat on his flight, or when he was driving home or to some random destination, or when he sat at her dinner table, or when he made love to her, or when he found himself in-between Light's pale thighs, or when he spent time with the children, or when he worked, or whatever else he did that gave him time to think about things he should have been thinking about instead of just tasting the moment and leaving it at that because it was convenient and because he just couldn't have one or the other, he had to have them both?

L would only understand much later why she'd never asked any of those things.

Staring down at his feet, L observed himself step over the threshold and then turn in place to close the door softly behind him. And it wasn't until the door was almost shut that L raised his head – wide eyes watching as his last chance for escape disappeared with the space between door and frame.

Hephaestion (He-fy-shton) - Longtime friend and lover of King Alexander the Great. One of the rare cases of true love between erastes and eromenos, even given Alexander's kingship. He bestowed an insane amount of favor on Hephaestion – making him a part of the royal family by marriage to his wife's sister, keeping him always as his second-in-command, referring to him as himself or an alter ego of himself, giving him one of the most extravagant and expensive funerals in history, and even attempting to deify him post-mortem. Known eternally as Divine Hero.

Xander (Zan-der)- short for Alexander.

**When lovebirds are ready to mate, they will often shred paper and prepare a nest (usually in a box or secluded area). Even if there is no mate available, males will sometimes still perform the nesting behaviour. Are known to mate with either sex, and sometimes inanimate objects.

Kindle - a handheld device for electronic books.