It was hard to pinpoint exactly where the first case was. Fifty prisoners died in fifty countries at the exact same time. The deaths after that followed a random pattern nearly impossible to trace. It was a thorny, elegant, bitch of a puzzle. This Kira was better than the first two. This Kira was cleverer than he or Light, if such a thing were possible. This Kira had no dramatic flair. A picture was drawn of a meticulous killer, someone just doing their job, as if they were an accountant or a doctor or a baker. He was reminded terribly of Light, when he had first seen him, if that Light had no personality or flair for the dramatic.
"A new death," Light said.
"Of course. Kira is killing on the hour today."
"This one is…different."
Light turned the computer. A boy with dark hair peer back at him. It was a gut punch. Kira had never killed children. Kira had never killed the innocent who didn't directly oppose him. The boy was twelve. He lived in a town called Lubbock in Texas that was entirely unremarkable. His name was Benjamin Lawton. He had dark hair and large eyes. He was entirely unremarkable.
He sat for some infinite amount of time. Benjamin stared at him and he stared back. Light talked from time to time but nothing made it through but the cadence of his voice. He didn't realize Light had put a hand on his shoulder until it was gone and he found he didn't care. He only came back when a package of Panda cookies, the kind with strawberry filling, was put into his hands. He blinked at it owlishly and opened the box. The first panda was playing tennis. He smiled and help it up.
"Look," he said.
Light barely glanced at it. The crease between his brows was back. He really would get wrinkles if he wasn't careful.
"You didn't move for three hours. I was worried."
It struck him that the old Light either wouldn't have cared or would have tipped him out of his chair in a fit of anger at being ignored. He wondered when he began to think of the Old Light and the New Light and where the separation had happened.
"We should go to Texas," he said. He was still holding the panda for Light's inspection.
"Why?"
He looked at Light, his own mask shattering. Light would never ask why when he knew exactly why. He wouldn't even argue. He'd agree. He'd be making plans and guesses of his own. The itch in his brain was back because something was off something was wrong with—
"Light."
The voice rang through the room like a bell and he felt sick. It was the same. It came from everywhere and nowhere. He put his hand in his hands.
"What's wrong?"
Light was at his side, arms around him. No. That was wrong. He was being supported. He felt weak and limp. His eyes fluttered and the room went dark to the sound of Light's wordless cry of fear.
When he awoke, he was on the bed. Light was next to him on the computer. It was dark outside and inside for that matter. The only light came from the laptop. He rolled over to glance at the boy next to him. Light looked like a mannequin in the blue glow. The thought that Light didn't exist when he wasn't looking at him sent a thrill of something he couldn't quite identify through him.
Light, most likely alerted by the sound of his shifting on the blankets turned to him. He put a hand on his head and ran it through his dark, maelstrom of hair.
"You're going to work yourself to death."
"Hm. Perhaps."
Light sighed. He closed the computer and the light was gone. Light still ran his fingers through his hair, as if he were a beloved cat. He shut his eyes. He was tired. He felt like he had run a marathon.
"Any news?"
"Four more dead, Hong Kong, Johannesburg, and two in San Quentin."
"It's overcrowded, famously so."
"I know. But they stopped. No deaths in the past two hours."
"We should reassemble the task force."
He wasn't sure if his words were audible. His brain felt like it was turning to mush. He didn't like it. If he didn't have his intelligence he was nothing but an asshole made of eccentricities. Light stopped running his fingers through his hair. He felt rather than saw him lie next to him. An arm looped around his waist. New Light was far touchier than Old Light, but that one at least made a certain degree of sense.
"We shouldn't. I don't want to involve them. They…the last case was hard. It nearly killed my father, and this one would kill him and I doubt the others would make it out unscathed."
"Since when do you care?"
The question hung precariously between them. He could almost feel Light's innocent eyes on him and it felt like old times for just a little bit. They had woken up like this a few times, back in headquarters, back when they had the chain. Both had blushed heavily and avoided eye contact which was hard given their circumstances until things felt normal again.
"Why wouldn't I?"
"You didn't before. I don't know if you cared about anyone. Your father, actually, yes. And perhaps your sister. But the others? They slowed you down or got in your way. They were annoyances. We talked about it."
They had. Another intimacy echoed here. The late-night talks when Light had been drowsy from work and he had begun to perfect the art of sleeping with another. They had talked then, mostly about the case, mostly about their coworkers. It had made him sure Light was Kira. He wondered why they didn't kiss back then.
The silence was deafening. The hand shifted, unable to decide if it still wanted to hold him or not. It was something of a metaphor for them, he thought.
"People change."
"Hm. Not in my experience."
"You're being difficult."
"You're being a liar."
He felt Light's sigh. A soft wash of breath over his face. He wanted to bask in it, like a lizard under a heat lamp. It smelt of coffee, which was not especially pleasant, and Light, which was. Light pulled him close and tucked him under his chin. He responded, because he always did. A pale, thin arm snaked around Light and held him as if he were the only real thing in the world.
"The boy, Benjamin Lawton, is getting to you."
"Hm."
It was not agreement, because Light was not right, but it wasn't disagreement either. A kiss pressed against the crown of his head.
"We'll solve it. We always do."
"Yes."
Light tilted his head up and kissed him. He knew by the second kiss where this was going, where is always went, and wondered when they had stopped fighting. When Light had become so reasonable and perfect.
When they were done, Light slept cheek pressed to his pale chest. Moonlight filled the room. Despite the near fight and the fainting and the deaths, it had been a good day. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, it grumbled that it was always a good day and that it was monotonous. Tired of it all, he ignored it, held Light close, and drifted into a deep sleep.
When he woke, he was covered in cold sweat and Light had curled away from him. The image of red eyes seared his eyes.
Interlude I
Greyness abounded and hot sand choked him. He struggled through it, his mind nothing but whirring gears, completely lost and completely empty. The only thing he could remember outside of the grey nothingness was a pair of large, liquid, dark grey eyes.
Whatever his reason for being there, he clearly had not thought it out. He was in a suit. He was wearing dress shoes, the kind that slipped and filled with sand which, in turn, filled his feet with tiny cuts. Whatever the sand was, it was terrible. It felt more like ground bits of glass than anything else. It occurred to him that he shouldn't breathe the stuff in. It occurred to him that things like that hardly mattered anymore.
He walked till exhaustion and then kept going. He didn't know what he was going to, he just knew that he had to get there. There was something bitterly annoying about the whole damn situation. Something like rage and embarrassment and grief and a choking, wild madness filled him every time he tried to remember anything that had happened before the grey, so he stopped.
When he reached the small circle of huts, exhaustion had already torn through him and rendered him small and pale and paper thin. He chose the only uninhabited hut. Two creatures peered at him from the other doorways, but he ignored them. He ignored the food on the table and the water in the bucket, though hunger and thirst ate at him like wolves. He fell onto the bed, winced, removed the offending book that had dug into his ribs, and fell into the kind of sleep that only happens in fairytales, deep and living and dreamless.
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
Thanks for all your kind reviews and favorites! They keep me going!
Please let me know if the Interlude is confusing and I'll try to make it better. Also, I finally outlined this thing so I like 80% know where I'm going.