v. amaryllis

"I'll see that, and I'll raise you two. I miss the way you used to fuck me."

Sharp, abrupt snap of a card on a table.

"B, there are people recording our conversations."

"I'm not ashamed, Lawliet. Never have been, never will be. If you said 'fuck me in this closet'—"

"Please stop."

"Alright, alright. I'll be good."

The passing of cards back and forth for a time, along with the stacking of chips.

"Why did we do that for so long?"

"Why did we stop?"

"B, you stopped."

"Ah. Yeah. I guess it was the way you looked at me, after Astrid. I don't really miss the fucking though. I miss the way you used to touch my hair, tell me that poem."

"Mm. Call."

"It never really did anything for you, did it?"

"Full house."

"Straight flush."

"Guess that's it then."

"Well?"

A beat.

"Guess not. But I'm here, aren't I?"

"Yeah. Well it's better to know, now."

– DECEMBER 5 1983 13:20–

Light is gentle when he towels us off, wraps the thick terry cloth around my shoulders. I keep expecting more bluntness, more hard edges and brutal truths, but he's very different from all the dealers I've watched, brought in, shot at. There's something else behind his movements. He strides to the cabinet in the corner of the room, takes out a glass decanter.

"Scotch?"

"No thank you." I arrange myself on the couch, dressed in nothing but a towel at the waist. This isn't quite how I expected this connection to be made, but I suppose I should have seen part of it coming.

"Sugar?" He asks part flirtation and part anger, and I smirk at the clumsy drug slang.

"No, not for me. I don't partake. Though I will take tea, with sugar. The real kind."

This seems to please him immensely—I almost see relief on his lips, which I tuck away into the category of evidence (or something like it). He puts a kettle on and sits gingerly next to me. Still wrung out from the conversation with Mail and Mihael, I slump my head into his lap. He seems amused, and cards his fingers through my half-damp hair. I would have thought he'd be talking business by this point, but he seems content for the moment.

"You don't partake either, I presume?"

"That's quite the assumption." a smile plays on his lips, some kind of strange pride or disdain.

"It's not an assumption; I can tell."

"You're not wrong," the kettle has started to sing, and he slides out from underneath me. He brings over two cups of Earl Grey, and a pot of sugar. I nod in thanks, and start to layer spoon after spoon into the tea.

"Looks like your addiction lies in other places."

"Touche," I sip at the warm liquid. This man, drug lord or murderer though he might be, is the most interesting person I've met in a long time. Possibly one of the only people I've deliberately found interesting, "So, why don't you dip into it? Your own vices as well?"

"Only smoking, really. And that's barely a vice."

"Do you want a smoke?" He nods, so I step off the couch and slide them out of my jacket pocket. The matches in my pocket are reasonably dry, despite my sprint through the rain. I light one up for him to hold his lips to. And simply because they're there, I kiss his nicotine-flavored lips after the first drag. He laughs, and the edge of it is not kind. It's the laugh of a madman, and it feels all too familiar.

"To be honest, I think you were avoiding the question." I say through the first bloom of smoke.

"That's fair. I could ask the same question of you." He's eyeing the barely-healing burn scars on my chest.

I hesitate through a sudden rush of memories, and then speak. "I had a friend who used to use. Well, still does, in fact. And it fucked him up, big time. Then another friend who lost a son to a hit-and-run from someone high out of his mind." I'm too keyed up thinking about B to come up with a lie. He flashes me a glance that's guarded, as if daring to hope that I'm not lying (not this time, my friend).

"Jesus. And you still deal in it?"

"Mm. You know what they say about keeping your enemies close."

He cracks a bitter half-smile, "My father was killed in a hit-and-run."

"Driving under the influence?"

"Heroin. From the big city."

"A pair of hypocrites we are," I take a drag and lean my head against the caramel-lily scent of his shoulder. For a fleeting instant, I think, dying here would not be so bad.

"Sometimes, you can have a bigger impact from the inside." he says softly. Is that… honesty? I know enough not to press the issue right now, but I feel one step closer to unraveling the knotted vines of his story. But for now, I need to turn away from the soft angle. There might be time for that later. So, what kind of monster are you, Light Yagami?I wonder before sitting up straight.

"Should I go to Eraserhead's to talk business, or are we free to talk here?"

"You should probably go to see him. Keeps up appearances. But I want to hear everything you're going to tell him."

"Seeing as we're already in bed with each other, I don't see why not."

"Did I say you could stay the night?"

"Did I ask?" I arch my eyebrow in a way that I almost hope is threatening. It doesn't seem to phase him, "I'll tell you about my contacts, but I want to know more about where you stand here. I know that you handle the chemistry of your operation, and call the shots. Eraserhead's just a pretty face." I'm going out on a limb here with the chemistry, but I get the sense that the drugs they're dealing have a bit of an extra kick. Some of it good, some of it deadly, but I won't learn about the latter without a little more digging.

He regards me like he's sizing me up. I keep my face blank, pleasant, "All right. But before this conversation goes any further, I need to tell you something."

I incline my head, taking a sip of the tea.

"Don't take this personally, but I suspect that you might be a detective."

I raise an eyebrow. Well well. He certainly is clever. And goes for the jugular.This makes things quite interesting. "You must think very highly of my ability to disguise myself, given my reputation."

"It's a small chance, I know. But I thought you should know."

"One percent, perhaps." I smile enigmatically.

"Something like that. I'm surprised you're not more offended."

I take a drag of my cigarette, "I respect the police."

"That, I can really respect. Now, if you still want to ask me something, you can go ahead. Can't promise any answers though."

"Alright, I won't press you for now, but at least tell me where you stand with Mikami."

"He manages the contacts, essentially. But I call the shots. Is it that obvious?"

"Not at all. You found me."

"What are you talking about?" the way he says it is so perfectly honest. Ah, so the lying kind of monster. Mm. Well, that's going to be a nuisance.It's obvious he's been moving in on me since the first day I got in to town. I decide not to let this one slide, even though it's potentially better if he thinks I'm less intelligent.

"Don't deny it. No florist who frequently goes hunting wildflowers carelessly goes for belladonna and lives to tell of it."

"There aren't a lot of strangers in town who know about wild poisons." he smirks. It takes one to know one.

"Yes, your cleverness is to your credit."

"As is yours. And I did know roughly of the appearance of Rue Ryuzaki from Teru's description. We've been looking to ah, scale up our operation for a while. He knows of the big names, but his connections only go so far." Interesting. I hadn't expected this to be a net of his making. How convenient that we've woven in to each other's lies.

"And Amane's?"

He shakes his head, "She's only into the empty-headed club scene. To be honest, I'm probably going to cut ties with her. I have bigger fish to fry."

"I can put you in touch with Eraldo Coil," I smile at the way his eyes widen and narrow greedily. Thierry Morello is one of the bigger drug lords in town, and almost no one knows he's in mine and B's pocket. Not even the police.

"That is exactly the kind of distributor I'm looking for."

"Perfect, we'll make a deal," I scrawl Morello's number down on a notepad that's at the edge of the table.

"God, you are much easier to deal with than Misa."

"You're a lot prettier than my usual conquests. It helps that you have a brain in you. I can tell we're going to make great partners" I make a lopsided smile because B's underworld sex life is a bit of a legend. Light doesn't say anything, but I can tell from the way his mouth turns up that it plays in to his vanity. Perfect. The trust game is going well. I finish up my cigarette and slump into his side. It's been a long day.

"I should head out though, in all seriousness. Shouldn't keep Mikami waiting, even if his boss knows why."

"You're kidding, right? Your clothes are soaked."

"Mm, it's not that far to M and M's.Can get a change there. Besides, my brothers might worry."

"Call them. You can stay, I was kidding earlier."

"As was I."

"Rue, this is practicality talking. I can even take the couch if it's too much, but—"

"Do you want me to?" it comes out as more surprised than I meant it, but I honestly believed that the seduction had been an act. He seems surprised at himself, but doesn't back down. He doesn't say anything, but his eyes tell me what I need to know.

"I'll stay."

"You should sleep then, you look like you're going to fall over and the marks under your eyes look like they could be permanent."

"They might as well be. I'm afraid I'm not a very good bed-mate, Light. Insomniac, really."

"I'll manage."

I leave a terse message on the diner's answering machine that essentially amounts to 'I'm not dead', and adjourn to Light's bedroom. It's stark and clean, with a queen-sized bed. The sheets are white and the duvet is black. I practically fall on to it. Sleeping next to drug dealers, yet. And here I thought sleeping next to B was the most dangerous I'd go. Strange bedfellows.

He brings a glass of water to the bedside, sets it down with the air of routine. I keep my eyes up while his weight dips onto the mattress. He lays down carefully, almost uncertain for the first time this evening. I roll over and throw his arm overtop of me, for once, eager for sleep.

It's when I'm just starting to slip into it that I realize my nightmares might reveal more than I want him to know. By then it's too late and—

— my nose fills with the smell of blood and roses. Good god, not this, not this, anything but this. I think and my feet step forward in Astrid's pretty wood-and-lace house in the bad end of town. I can hear a sound like laughter, a sound like tears, and I pull open the glass doorknob of the bathroom.

Corpse in the bathtub. Roses on the floor, B clinging to roses, curled up on the bathmat. Laughing with tears on his face. So this is what it's come to.

"B, you should get up," I hunker down to him, blunt as always. I'm good at keeping my head. Astrid is, was, the one who had a sense of kindness, "We need to call an ambulance."

"What good will that do, she's gone." his voice chokes up a bit, "dead over that kid, and you were goddamn right about it being the end of her, Lawliet. Why couldn't you be wrong for once in your goddamn life."

I sit down on the floor next to him, tense as he crawls into my lap. I never know what to expect when B touches me, but I wouldn't put fucking me next to Astrid's corpse past him. And I'm not sure I'd put it past me either, my brain is buzzing with ten thousand things I'd rather shut up and I can't feel anything from any of them. I'm the usual empty. But the touch is enough for B to fade to human, and he starts crying, softly, into the white of my shirt.

"That kid, Lawliet. That goddamn kid." I wonder, fleetingly, if he's really talking about Max.

How did we get like this? I ask even in my dream, and the answer lies in so many awful things, so much forcing back of poison down our throats to spit it back in a Sisyphean attempt to force justice on to the world. Astrid believed in the silver lining, in a legacy, in a cleaner, more honest world. Astrid believed in good intentions and an ends justifying the means.

Astrid is dead.

"You know what I saw, right before she died?" B's voice is sharp through my reverie, nervous pitch.

"What?"

"Like the night before, I went out, came back to see her, and I, I—" his voice dies in his throat frantically. I'm still numbed out so I ask the obvious question.

"B, are you high?"

"I could see numbers, Lawliet, I can see yours too. Astrid Fanshaw. February eighth nineteen-eighty two. And I knew I couldn't stop her, knew it, knew it, knew it." he's gone on it. This might be the death of him, I think, but I don't say anything. His throat rasps like there's a scream trapped there and I just grip his fingers tight like I always have.

"We need to call an ambulance."

"Fuck it." B shoves his mouth to mine, "That's what she would have said, doing things right, and I'm fucking done with all of it."

That's when it all breaks for me, the emptiness swallows me inside out and comes out crumbling black like dried blood. I force his body off of mine, curl up can't think can't breathe can't breathe, and B is crying softly, crying like I wish I could. All that's coming out are accusations instead of tears.

"You let her alone, you led her on, came clean for her, B, you said you loved her, what the hell was it all for?" He's crawling back to me like he did the first time we met, child murderer and me the almost-monster shirking from all I could become.

"I loved you, I love you, I've always—"

"Shut up, shut up—"

— and I'm screaming it from the throat up, it's not the dream anymore, Light is white-knuckled on my wrist. I breathe out for a while. Shit. That was worse than usual. Light, to his credit, just grips my arm. Doesn't touch any further than that. I'm not sure if he's too scared, or knows from experience. At this point, I'm just taking what I can get from him. There's oxygen coming in and out. That'll have to be enough.

"I'm okay," I hear myself say. Light shakes his head, reaches a hand to hover over my back, and I'm this close to giving in to the desire to curl into his lap. This must be what B felt like, I think absently, and almost wish I had been kinder. I think it's the first time I've wished something like that. I lean into his hand, nevertheless, and he traces circles on to my spine.

It's always the beautiful things that have to burn, I think.

"I'm okay." I say it to myself this time. He nods.

"My sister saw my father get run down. She still doesn't sleep well."

I nod slowly, "The memories don't really go away."

"Seems like you've seen a lot of awful things."

I reach for a pack of cigarettes, light one, "Yes."

"It all comes from people," he says suddenly, and his voice burns venomous in the half-moonlight, "Not evil, but rotten. Careless and ignorant, they just… throw their minds away."

"Yes." I say it like a lie, hear it like the truth that it is. I tap the ash off my cigarette and try to ignore it, "Are we part of that, then? The source of that poison? Snakes in the grass?"

"People should know better than to give in to temptation."

Then what is it I am doing, right now? I wonder. I don't ask though, just gently pass the cigarette to him, which he takes. We smoke it in turn, having nothing to say to one another, having already said and seen too much.

It's damnable how comfortable it is.

The next morning, I slip out of Light's bed with a quick note (and a mental note that he sleeps he sleeps deeply past fifteen minutes of REM). I don't dig while he's asleep though. He doesn't trust me yet; but he will soon.

From there, I go through the routine of people that need to be dealt with. Mikami's address is mercifully the closest. The meeting is short and predictable, a few exchanged words and the barest implication that I'm working with someone higher up than him. He seems to have a fear of Light that verges on the godlike. In any case, he's subtle, and I'm only able to narrow their drug storage down to six possible locations in town, which is too many to frequent without being suspicious. Strictly speaking, partners are supposed to trust each other.

When I can't put it off any longer, I take the long walk back to M and M's. The lunch rush is just tapering off, so I head in back through the kitchen, grabbing Mihael's motorcycle keys as I go. Mail is flipping burgers with his mouth drawn in a tense line. His face makes a complicated expression when he sees me.

"Hey."

"Hey. Are there any cinnamon buns from breakfast?" I haven't eaten much since this morning.

"Yeah. Let me get them for you." That's a surprise. I suppose Mihael might have spoken with him. He hands them to me in a takeout box with a small container of icing, "Take the booth in the corner. Mell will want to talk to you. I'll join when I get out."

"Mm. I've got news on the drug world, too."

"Good. Better, yet. B deserves justice."

"We'll see what the judge says." I say a little petulantly. I'm not sure why I'm bitter about it, but the thought he doesn't echoes in my mind, and I think it's Light's voice speaking it. Strange.

So I'm seated on the red pleather and letting the cinnamon roll over my tongue when Mihael sidles over, Mail at his side. Mihael looks at me, utterly serious.

"I called Beyond." he shadows his eyes when he says it. I cringe at the childhood name, but keep my features even, "He's at an asylum now."

"Mm." I look away, "That's good."

"What's going to happen?"

"What do you mean?" I say through a mouthful of pastry, "I'll go back to being a detective in a month or so. B might be acquitted, might not, either way he's in some form of jail, asylum, for a good decade. The city isn't kind to addicts."

"Jesus, it's just. First Astrid, and now Beyond? Fuck, it's barely been a year." Mihael 's fingers tangle and shake an impatient staccato. Emotional.

"There's more than a little cause and effect there."

Mihael looks at me desperate a moment, "Please just. Tell me you're not next.

"Really, there's no time for this sentimentality—"

"Please, L." he half-whispers it, and I can't deny him that.

"Do you want me to say everything's okay?"

"No, not if it's not."

"I don't believe you."

Mihael breathes in, almost glares and screams in the old way he used to, but Mail stops him with an arm. Gives him a look. Gives me a look, and not an unkind one. He understands. Surprising.

"Look, I'm not okay. But I will be. I'm keeping busy," I give Mail a half-grateful look, which surprises the both of us momentarily.

"Okay, okay." Mihael nods, swallowing. Mail touches his hand, just gently, not enough to attract any obtrusive stares.

"The case is engrossing. I think this town is rubbing off on me. B left a good reputation for this sort of thing."

"That's…good to hear," Mihael hesitates a moment before he asks, "You've been seeing Light, haven't you."

I half-smile, "Glad to see your instincts haven't dulled a bit, Mello. Keep this between us, but that's all business."

"No shit?" Mihael raises his eybrows, while Mail simply cocks his head, "I had him pegged as very straightlaced, very straight. He loathes the dealers in this town."

"Mm. That might be a front." Or this might be a front,I think, and file that information for later observation. For now, I'm itching to get out of Mihael's lens and out for a smoke, "I should go."

"Wait." Mihael stares at me, long and hard for a moment. "It's not like you to stay over with someone. Even if it's for business. In fact, it might even be bad for business."

"Mm. He did ask."

"And you said yes?"

"It seemed like the right course of action." I try to play it off, which would work on anyone except Mihael, who knows me too well.

"Just. Be careful, L. Take it from another narc—getting involved for a case is messy."

"It's nothing like that. But it seems to have worked out for you." I glance over at Mail, whose lips twist back at me, "Don't worry. I won't be making the same mistake."

I sweep out of the diner before either of them can reply to that. The noon sun is high, and I've got people to see who I don't give a damn about, for a puzzle that needs its letters neatly filled in to tell a story. That's always seemed more important. As I rev the bike's engines, I wonder for the first time if I could be wrong about that.

vi. rhododendrons

"So you're back again."

"Not too much longer now. Please be quiet."

"You think he might talk again today?"

"Maybe."

Silence for some time. Then, deliberate, rhythmic tapping against the glass, more purposeful than before. It slows down.

"I miss you."

"You bastard."

"Is that what it takes to get you to speak, Light?"

"Rue you—that's not even your name, is it, L."

"No, it isn't."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"I thought you should know. Should I leave?"

"No."

Some silence passes. Uncomfortable shuffling of heavy boots.

"I wish I hadn't met you."

"Do you?"

Silence.

"No, of course not."

"I suppose that's enough."

The scratch of a chair being pushed back.

"You'll be back?"

"Oh yes, I'll see it through to the end."

– DECEMBER 5 1983 17:02 –

I fall in to a bit of a routine, for week or so. I make calls. I call Misora, I tell her we've got someone on the inside. I call Morello and set up the distribution. He may be a crook and an honest-to-goodness drug man, but he's got his finger in every operation north of Texas. He's a useful man to know, and that's why B and I created him. I'd rather not give him up to Misora unless we have a real reason to. So I let Light feed the coke to him, keeping a close eye on their supply when I find it in a yellow warehouse north of town.

In the evenings I get closer to Light. I'm trying my damndest to unravel his subtle routine, but there's a piece of the puzzle I'm missing, and I have a good feeling it's behind locked doors. But I keep subtle behind barbed conversations, and bring armfuls of wildflowers to Sachiko's Blossoms at closing time when I want to threaten and endear him in equal measure. He starts to trust me. I can see it in the way he smells the flowers, one by one, and gives a thin-lipped smile.

I'm just starting to get comfortable with the logistics when Morello's leggy blonde thief strides into M and M's. She's sucking on a cigarette stained with her red lipstick, and does a double take when she sees me. I motion her over.

"Nice try, but I've met him before. You're not Ryuzaki," her voice is smooth, seductive even, but it just serves to remind me of Light.

I shrug my shoulders, "I took over the name. So what can Ryuzaki do for you, Wedy?"

"You're Rue's handler, aren't you? You look just like him. So do you fuck like him?"

I grimace, "that's not what you're here for, is it?"

"Ryuzaki's a good fuck."

"I know."

"Ooh, kinky–"

"But I'm rather on the one side of that fence," I try for B's lopsided smile, and she pouts back, "I'd sooner talk business today. Does Aiber need something?"

"I came to check up, 'Ryuzaki'. And to express...concerns over us getting involved with Eraserhead."

"What kind of concerns?" I catch the threat in her voice, try and modulate a similar tone to mine.

"He's too cocky. The ambitious type. Smooth– removed. Aiber likes his style, and his source is gold; but I don't like the way he threw away that pop star," she breathes out a gust of nicotine, "I'm not sure he'll be the best partner. Now I like Aiber, but he trusts too easily. And we're in a good position right now. I don't want any newbies screwing it up."

"I'm offended that you think my judge of character is so poor."

"You're a cop. You've got a good judge of character, and that's the problem. I need to know whether you're with us on this. Or we might have to cut you out."

Well well. Look who's getting big for their britches,"Wedy, I'd rather deal with you than anyone else on the market. But don't forget who put you where you are."

"I haven't forgotten her," she taps her manicured figures on the table.

"Wrong. All the moves you made; directed by Astrid, were decided through me. Don't try me. I can break you just as fast as I made you." I say it slow and lethal, like it's not an empty threat. The matter would have been simple enough with B, Astrid, and Nate working under me, but the former aren't options anymore, and I doubt the FBI would lend me Nate for this. But I see the doubt shift under her veneer, so I let up on her, "Keep your head together. I'm concerned about his ambition too, which is why I'm handing his suppliers over to you. Win-win."

She sighs, bites at the red of her lips, "Look, I know his supply is the real deal. Possibly the best. But I want to know that we're coming out on top of this."

Watch your own ambition, I think, but bare my teeth in an imitation B's leer, "I'll be taking him out within two weeks, tops. Think you can get to know his people by then?"

"Of course," she wrinkles her nose, flips her hair back in a display of hubris, "you're making the right choice, Ryuzaki."

I smirk as if my corruption is all according to plan, making mental notes to call Naomi, see what she can do about this shit. This complicates matters. Morello was a nobody when we met him, but now his threats might actually hold more weight than mine. And it's dangerous for someone of his kind to hold that kind of power.

As soon as Merrie sweeps out of the diner, I sidle in to the phone booth and dial Naomi.

"Ryuzaki, I'm a little knee-deep in it right now."

"Can't say I'm going to make that any better, Misora. What's happening?"

"I really can't tell you, as long as you're off the force, but we really could use your thoughts on this right now."

"Mm. Does it have to do with Coil?"

"Damn, you are good. We need you."

Not good enough, or I would have seen this coming, I think, "You've been able to keep pace with me before, I'm sure you'll manage. What's been happening?"

"Looks like B's absence is shaking things up in certain circles—and Coil has taken territory. It's not a gang war, L, but it could become one."

"Must be bad for you to slip up."

"Sorry, sorry. Anyways, Aizawa has us working nights to see if we can dig up anything to make it stick to him. But he's good. It's like he knows all the loopholes."

He does,I think bitterly. It had been B's idea to take up with Morello, thinking him trustworthy, practical, not too ambitious. And B was the best at keeping him on a tight leash. I'm not sure I'm up for the job of doing the same.

"Try 4537 West Jackson. It won't help you get anything on Coil, but it will slow him down, if I remember who he works with."

"Thanks, Ryuzaki," she exhales, "How did you—"

"Best not to look that gift horse in the mouth."

"Right."

"Oh and if you get a minute, look into that model, Misa Amane, for me."

"What about her?"

"Got a tip she might be dealing."

"Really? All the magazines are saying she's the darling of the anti-drug movement. I mean, she lost her parents to addiction."

"Mm." You keep up your appearance well, Light, I think, "Keep tabs on her for me. She was acting strangely, wasn't she?"

"Bad breakup, I heard."

"Where do you read this shit, Naomi?"

"Roommate. Anyways, trashy magazines tell lies, so I'll see if I can make 25 hours a day between you and Aizawa. Take care of yourself, Ryuzaki."

"You do that."

I hang up the phone and breathe out. This should slow Morello down a bit, but it might draw attention to me. I run my fingers through my hair and scrawl it all down in my notebook. The pages are starting to fill with old newspaper clippings, a convincing web of connections to the small town deals. This is proving to be a bigger case than I had thought, but the excitement in it is fading to a dull ache. I find myself wishing for B's company, or worse yet, Light's.

I feel like the worst is yet to come, though.

As it turns out, it rears its ugly head a day later. I'm sipping a coffee over newspaper clippings and a sketch of Light's apartment late into the evening when the door jingles open.

"We're closed, sorry mate." Mail drawls from the counter. The man has a heavy-set jaw, is wearing an expensive suit that looks like it's been worn two days too long.

"I'm looking for that son-of-a-bitch Ryuzaki."

"There's no one here called that, mate. Get lost."

"He's here. I know he's here." When he turns I can see the crazed, desperate look in his eye. His hand reaches for his jacket pocket.

Mail knows to get down before it happens. An explosive ricochet off the tile, cheap plaster and glass scatter over him. I hear a sharp gasp from Mihael in the back, but hopefully he'll keep his head.

"Where is he?" the man is half-whispering at this point, like he doesn't quite know what he did. He probably doesn't, I think bitterly from my view in the corner booth.

Higuchi.I recognize him, and he turns and twitches as he surveys the empty diner. Second-rate middleman who B and I were planning to take out as soon as he made contact with Coil. That was before the murders, of course.

"Sir." Miheal's voice is cool and lethal, the same one he used to use on the streets, "I'm going to ask you respectfully once, to get the fuck out of my establishment."

"Where. Is. Ryuzaki." he growls, madness in his eyes and that's it, I have to get between him and Mihael.

Even if it costs me my life.

"Higuchi." I slide out of the corner booth, keeping a cool eye, "How can I help you?"

"Ryuzaki, you bastard." his hands are twitching, but I incline my head in an imitation of B's lethal glare, and he hesitates.

"I don't think you want to get involved, Kyosuke Higuchi," I say it slow and measured, and I can see him weighing the possibilities, "Just walk away and you can keep your head. Stick around and you'll end up with jail time or a body bag."

"You cost me everything." I hear the desperation in his voice then, and I hope that Mail's got a clear shot, something, anything. I'm running out of time.

Higuchi lurches forward.

I actually hear the safety switch off, and for a gunshot of a second, I think this is it, that I'm going to be shot right here and now.

The bang reverberates against the slam of the door—I can't contain the gasp as the bullet grazes my thigh, blood everywhere, but in a moment I know it hasn't hit an artery. That I'm safe. I look up, chest heaving, and Light's gorgeous body is splayed overtop of Higuchi's, pinning him to the tile. The man's stunned, barely struggling at this point, but Light is white-knuckled and feral, giving him no quarter. He lands an impressive punch to the back of Higuchi's head, knocking him out with a ninety-seven percent chance of concussion.

He's breathing hard and we both catch each other's eye for a moment. It's a moment of camaraderie. I know he's sticking his neck out just by being here. He still needs me, but perhaps not quite this much.

It worries me.

Light stands to full height and gives Higuchi a look that practically spits on him, letting out the smallest hint of a laugh that makes the hairs on my arms stand up. Then he's by my side, eyes wide and panicked. There's nothing false in them.

"I'm fine," I wave a blood-covered hand, "just a few stitches."

It was close though, close by inches.

"I'll get the police, shit, shit." Mihael is white-faced, but I hold up the arm that isn't staunching the blood flow.

"Clean this up. I wasn't here, alright?"

"Got it."

Mail looks like he wants to protest, but Mihael gives him a look. I'm limping upstairs and it doesn't even feel unnatural that Light follows me up. I don't question it. My notebook is stowed under the mattress and I could use an extra pair of hands to help bind the gash. And he steadies me as I keep my footing, trying not to drip blood on the wood of the stairwell.

In the dimly lit bathroom I strip off the bloody denim carefully, sit heavily on the white of the countertop. The blood oozes into the sink.

"Can you get me the peroxide, and that blue kit in the cabinet?"

Light nods, apparently not trusting himself to speak. I set to work doing a quick wash on the graze, the skin underneath raw, pulpy purples and whites. I'll need to stitch it up, but thankfully it will be a neat job. Light brings over the kit, and I regard him intently for a moment.

"Your timing couldn't have been better. How did you know?"

"Teru tipped me off that he was going out for blood. I cut ties with him after you connected me with Coil."

"Guess it cost him."

"Bastard probably deserved it." Light says it venomously as I reach for the hydrogen peroxide, douse a towel. The bleeding is slowing, but it will still be safer to close it off once it's clean.

"He'll get jail time. Not as much as if I came clean about this, but I have my reasons." I wince visibly as the chemical burns into the wound. My heart is starting to pick up from the blood loss, but I've still got my wits about me.

"Here, let me."

"Thanks." I say, and the gratitude feels unfamiliar under my tongue. He's gentle as he cleans the edges. Chemist's hands, I think, and shudder slightly. I fumble open the kit and reach for the needle.

"Do you know how to...?"

I nod, "Hasn't been the first time I've had to stitch myself up, but every time I wish it's the last." Guiding the flesh into alignment, I allow myself a slight gasp as I thread the needle through the first layer of skin. Light winces backwards, his pretty cheekbones contorting with disgust. Seems he's kept the literal blood off his hands up until this point. I motion to my thigh and he keeps at the blood with the towel. It's soaked now.

"You'll need to bind that." his voice has a slight shake in it.

"I know." I say it mildly, "I'll be fine."

His fingers find the edge of my shoulder blade, and he twists his eyes away as the black thread weaves in and out.

"So you contacted Higuchi too. Did you have to seduce him?" I half-joke to keep my mind off the stitching.

"Someone else to get to him," he says grimly, "She was smarter than Misa, at least."

"Was?"

"Got caught in a fire."

"Ah." He rubs his hands just gently over my arm, and I catch his eye.

"How many have there been, like me?" I wonder, and unfortunately, I say it out loud.

"None."

I smirk bitterly, "How many of them have you told that to?"

"All of them, of course."

"I should have known. You're really quite good at this."

"You're the only one that's noticed. Most people take it for granted, with the good looks." it slips out and he seems surprised. I'm surprised too.

"I didn't get where I am being naïve. Still, I want to trust you."

"I could say the same. I might still not trust you, but I think you're the only person I've met in this business who I can think of as a friend," He half-laughs bitterly, "perhaps the only person I've ever thought of that way."

"I don't think you're lying." is all I can manage to say.

He seems to sense the tension in the truth of his statement, so he looks down, watching me connect neat lines in the fabric of my skin. His elegant fingers are gripping my arm tightly. I can feel his pulse racing. In its beat I think about the webs he's woven, the skillful positioning behind faces like Amane, like Mikami. He's without a doubt the most talented case I've ever gone up against, the most intelligent person I've ever met. And yet, there's still a gentle grounding to him, an implacable sense of what I would almost call justice.

I look him in the eye, suddenly deadly serious, "What are you doing with all of this, Light? You're going to get your mother and sister hurt if you keep up like this—"

"Look Rue, I don't need your advice."

"Take it from someone who knows. This is the kind of world you should get out of as soon as you can," I crack a cynical grin, thinking of B, "It's rotten through and through, and the payoff isn't worth it."

"Haven't you ever wanted to do something about that?" He's looking at me strange, intense now.

I shake my head, the blood loss, or Light's presence making me slightly dizzy, "My entire life has been that, Light. Trust me when I say it gets you nowhere."

"If we could just make it all stop, we could."

"I knew someone who thought she could fix things. It killed her."

"Not fix things. Stop them. Some things aren't worth fixing."

"Mm," There's that poisoner's gaze talking, and he's looking at me like for a fleeting moment he wants me to know something deeply, "What do you mean?"

He shakes his head, once. "I don't know."

I laugh, short and bitter, "I don't think there's a damn thing you believe you don't know."

He doesn't say anything to that. He simply drops his head on my shoulder and watches while I cinch the last edges of the wound shut.