BETWEEN THE BLACK AND WHITE: Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Death Note isn't mine. Justice is, though.

Convicts and Martyrs

"And differing judgments serve but to declare

That truth lies somewhere, if we knew but where."

-William Cowper

"L, I had been preparing myself for anything in regards to the Kira case," Victoria Thatcher, an ex-FBI agent who moved on to become a defense secretory in Interpol said. L had chosen to contact her not only because she was astute, but because she was once a good friend of the innocent Kira victim, Raye Penbar, and thus passionate about her cause. She had correctly been chosen to be one of Kira's interrogators, however, therein lay the problem: "But I did not expect the killer to be an eighty pound pop-idol, who is undistinguished in intelligence and has zero criminal record."

The detective observed the American woman through the video feed on his monitor thoughtfully. She wouldn't share the same luxury of seeing a face on her end, and L's voice would be scrambled through the microphone software. "If you don't think that Misa Amane is Kira, by all means put her back on the streets. However, the results speak for themselves, don't they?"

Thatcher nodded curtly. "I can't argue with you there. The murders have completely stopped since her arrest. The issue I have is my own bias that she does not fit the profile, and furthermore she has incessantly denied all charges. Actually, our psycho-analyst specialists are also concerned because the behavior that Amane is displaying seems... genuine."

As planned, then. It seems as though she really did relinquish her Kira memories. "She is an actress, Ms. Thatcher," L reasoned mildly. "Though I had best inform you that during my investigation, I did consider the possibility of sub-conscious murder."

"Sub-conscious?" She scoffed. "That's ridiculous, the murders were way too calculated."

"The case is already ridiculous. Natural laws and physics have already betrayed us once in trying to explain the process of the heart-attack murders." Though he had been vague before about the absolute truth is Misa's guilt to hide Light, here he spoke with sincere distaste. He paused, raising his thumbnail to his mouth and clicking it against his front teeth in irritation. "I do not like my inability to understand supernatural phenomenon, but I'm 95 percent confident that Amane's confinement will conclude the reign of Kira, and as such I'm moving on to other cases."

Thatched frowned, looking as though she wanted to argue this resolution, but eventually sighed. "Alright, L. Now Interpol has to decide if, when, and how we will explain Kira's capture to the public. Thanks to Kira, morale in most governing institutions fell like rain, and everyone could really use this achievement to raise confidence. But we're also reluctant to announce the guilt of a celebrity at risk of sounding like some flaky teen's magazine, no one will believe us..."

"What you do at this point doesn't concern me," L said simply. "I'm fully aware that Interpol wants me to make a public statement, but that spotlight doesn't suit me. I'm moving on. Have a good afternoon, Mrs. Thatcher."

The monitor flickered off, and the irate woman's face dissolved.

L released a sigh, lowering his palms to his knees as he crouched on the floor of his penthouse's living room. He had made this larger area his office, giving Watari the official study room, and as such there were twenty computers scattered around the wood floor. With a natural distaste for chairs and tables, this suited him, as well as the seemingly orderless pattern to the computer equipment on the mahogany floorboards, interrupted in monotony only by several large, exotic potted plants. There were a number of eccentricities he had concerning his 'home' (for lack of better word). Such as his habit of keeping the whole facility dark, lit only by the neon city lights that immersed through the window and the back-lit screens of the computers, or the requirement that every room L frequented must contain a mini-fridge.

And 'every room' wasn't to be taken lightly. L technically owned the entire building under one of his aliases, though he rented out the bottom floors to normal people in an effort of maintaining an inconspicuous appearance. However, the top three floors were claimed for Watari and himself. He preferred to have plenty of space and privacy, and this was also the reason that the penthouse stretched high above its surrounding New York City skyscrapers.

Though the amount of free space was slightly reduced now, L surmised, as company had increased. His eyes traveled over to the screen of Monitor 17, which recorded the video feed of one of the bedrooms in his own penthouse. Through the grainy video camera picture L silently observed Light, who was still unconscious and lay loosely sprawled on the bed. They had only reached their destination a few hours ago, and after Watari had promptly installed the appropriate security, they deposited him to wait until the sleeping drug wore off.

"Lawliet?"

Watari stepped into the room with a platter of chocolate caramel-filled truffles. He navigated through the maze of computer monitors, and upon reaching his partner, set the tray down on the wooden floor. "How did it go, Lawliet?"

L frowned, his eyes flickering toward Watari and then back to the computer screen. His hand crept forward as though it had a mind of its own to the sweet confectioneries, and brought one back to his mouth. "They aren't satisfied, as expected, especially since Misa has again lost all recollections of being a mass-murderer. But I'm not here to solve their political problems. I've apprehended Kira, but it's their job to clean up the aftermath."

"Indeed." The old man hesitated, looking down on L with fogged eyes. L did not return his gaze, but he could feel the eyes resting on the back of his head in contemplation. Finally, Watari spoke his thoughts. "As your guardian, I feel obligated to again express my sincere disapproval of the current situation."

"What situation?" L asked, as if oblivious, though they both knew that he understood full well.

"Light Yagami should not be here." He gazed at the detective without a smile on his wrinkled face. "I understand your conclusions about avoiding the government and keeping them away from the murder notebooks, however, your proposal is extremely risky."

"You would choose to execute him?"

Watari sighed, and gently explained. "I'm not here to make the choices. I'm here to keep you alive. I'm not questioning what punishment best suits a criminal like himself, but I am questioning your motives."

"They're childish." L placidly responded while chewing a truffle. "Now you know, so you don't have to speculate."

"At least make him give up his memories, like Misa did."

Now it was L who hesitated. He knit his brows and frowned, making out the steady up and down rising of Light's chest through Monitor 17. When they had locked him in this room, they had removed his blindfold and now it seemed to L as though the adolescent were scowling with his eyes closed. Previously when the detective had observed Light in his sleep, he noticed that the teen looked much younger, much more innocent, like the eighteen year old boy that he was. However today it was as though even in the sanctity of his dreams, Kira had not forgotten about his defeat, and he grimaced through closed lids in defiance against the drug.

That defiance, L admitted to himself, was what made Light who he was.

"I have no intention of forcing the Kira out of him," L finally said out loud because he knew that Watari would persist until he explained. "I want Light to submit to me freely and to admit his sins unprompted. He can't escape from justice here, and he will have to realize that real righteousness isn't merciful and it isn't temporary, and, most of all, applies to him."

"He can't escape from justice here, you say, but what if he escapes from here?" Watari pressed on.

"He won't," came the stubborn reply. "And if he tries, he's aware that the consequences aren't imperceptible."

The old man sighed again, rubbing his temples as if his partner had caused the fiercest of headaches. "All right, Lawliet. I'm going to go contact the American military, they've been sending me messages all day in regards to what we know about Kira's murder abilities."

"Don't tell them anything," L commanded, even though Watari was fully aware of their resolutions. He took another truffle, rolling it around in his fingertips as the old man retreated from the room. Just as he was about to turn the corner into the hallway, L suddenly said, "Watari, please continue to call me 'Ryuuzaki', and nothing else."

Watari paused for a second and nodded, and L knew that the minor modification of their regular interactions was displeasing to him. But just a week ago, that was the name that could have sent L to his grave and brought Kira to victory. The Death Notes were destroyed now, but Kira was still breathing, stirring on the bed and beginning to wake from his drug-induced sleep.

"The martyr cannot be dishonored. Every lash inflicted is a tongue of fame; every prison a more illustrious abode." -Ralph Waldo Emerson

Day 1:

Everything that composed the body of Light Yagami was aching ferociously. There was a horrid, god-awful burning pain in his head, as though some highly acidic chemical was swimming around his brain and eating away at tender tissue. His limbs were sore, his ribs were sore, and when he opened his eyes his first thought was that he must have been struck and beaten, and that was why he had been unconscious in the first place.

When he opened his eyes, the confusion only multiplied. The place he was in almost looked like an upper-class hotel room with its mahogany floorboards and sideboards along cream colored walls, and he was laying on a double-sized bed with thick maroon blankets. However, that muddled explanation didn't fit, because otherwise the room was suspiciously empty. There was one closed door that presumably lead out to the hallway, and one door to a bathroom. A small desk against the wall (void of any items), and a tiny window, that was all, nothing...

And then, Light realized that his hands were still cuffed behind his back.

And then, he noticed one other thing in the room that he had previously missed: a video camera, embedded in the corner of the ceiling. It stared down at him with a small red light with an unrelenting harshness.

It was the mechanical embodiment of L.

"Hah..." came out the smallest of breaths.

The memories that had been previously feeble in his drowsy drug-addled head came pouring back. Light sat up with a start, gaping at the video camera as an almost surreal panic submerged within him. He tugged at the bindings around his wrists despite his logical mind assuring him that such an action as useless. Unpleasant memories of the agonizing tension that had built up when he had been restrained like this the last time for fifty-three days straight filled him, and suddenly, he was furious.

You think this is funny, don't you, you bastard? You're trying to make Kira your trophy.

Light slid off of the bed, his head aching even more with blood rushing to his head as he stood up. He strode to the door at a fast pace, where he lifted a foot into the air to twist the handle. It was locked, as expected, and if he knew L then there was more to this barrier than a switch of metal. He kicked at it with the palm of his bare foot, not entirely out of frustration but to also investigate its quality. It hardly vibrated, proof that it was extremely thick and of a high density.

Oh God, how I wish Rem had killed you.

He held back a scowl as he stood there in silence for a moment. This message was clear enough. L had every intention of discouraging Light from even thinking about trying to escape. He supposed that he couldn't have expected anything less, though L wasn't going to expect anything less from him than an effort at just that. As he should. Light had every intention of making it out of this place, and if he ever denied it to his enemy, they would both know it was a lie. If he could manage to keep his patience and maintain a level-head, opportunity would arise. L was meticulous and he would be a thorough captor, but like anyone else he was a human capable of making mistakes and that was what Light would wait for.

Gotta stay calm...

"L?" he asked out loud warily, looking straight at the camera and attempting to keep his expression cool. "Are you there?"

The reply was not instant, and for a moment Light figured that the room had not been equipped with an intercom system in addition to the cameras. But after a minute, there was a quiet clicking noise, and the voice was heard through a loudspeaker. "Rest assured that I've not left you unattended, if that's what you're thinking."

"What's going on?" Light cut straight to the point, he was in no mood to engage in agitating smalltalk with his gloating enemy. "What's Interpol doing, and the NPA? You never told me my exact situation."

"No. I didn't."

The adolescent waited for L to expand on this particular topic. No further words were offered, and Light shifted his weight to calm his furious energy. He took a breath and spoke steadily . "I told you that I was completely willing to work with you on your cases, because I also want to punish criminals. So what happens now?"

This time, the answer was swift: "But you are also a criminal, guilty of nothing less than mass murder. You're a vigilante terrorist and a serial killer, do you deny that?"

Light glared, and he knew that L was throwing bait at him. But his pride wouldn't allow that statement to go unrequited. "I was never a terrorist. Kira is the opposite of that. Some people died, but it had to be done if the world was ever going to change!"

L must have been studying him intently, because even through the camera lens, the adolescent could feel his probing onyx eyes. The delay in spoken response was almost more angering than any previous accusation. Then, the detective said, "August 19, 1995: Oklahoma City bombing by Timothy McVeigh. He also draws attention to his righteous cause, and he takes 168 human lives."

His temper was beginning to flare into something unruly. "That's not the same kind of cause!"

"December 21, 1988. Pan Am Flight 103 bombing over Scotland, 270 killed."

Light tightened his lips as he scowled. L was trying to get a rise out of him, trying to lure out Kira for his own satisfactions.

"August 7, 1998. U.S. embassy bombings in Kenya and Tanzania, 224 killed. And on June 23, 1985, Air India Flight 182 bombing over the Atlantic Ocean - 329 killed."

With a try at a collected tone of voice, Light seethed, "Those are the kind of terrorist acts that Kira is-- was trying to prevent. Ever since Kira, such acts of terrorism experienced a significant decrease, you can check your statistics about that."

The voice, slightly muffled through its microphone, continued as though it had not heard a rebuttal. "From sometime in June, 2003 to November 10, 2004, the Kira Massacre. 6,795 confirmed deaths traced directly to him, an indirect additional at least 4,000 from the Second and Third Kiras who acted upon Light Yagami's orders. Countless more deaths unconfirmed."

Light snarled against this shallow line of thinking, pulling violently at his arms and ignoring the stinging throb in his wrists that followed as the cuffs pinched at his skin. "That's not the same at all!"

"I think it is, Light-kun," came the brisk reply. "You asked what happens now, and the answer is for you, nothing yet, not until I'm ready for you. Why don't you reflect a little on the things that you've done? I don't think you've ever thought about it before."

And then there was another clicking noise, and the hum of the intercom was silence. The conversation was over. Light was left fuming and immobilized, sure of his convictions to strangle the detective as soon as the opportune moment arose.

"Cynics regarded everybody as equally corrupt ... Idealists regarded everybody as equally corrupt, except themselves." -Robert Anton Wilson

Day 5:

For the next several days, L felt like a secretary. He usually referred calls from intelligence agencies to Watari, as he thoroughly believed that entangling alliances with any association should be avoided in order to maintain a bias-free outlook in his profession. However, the world of governing powers had gone nothing less than chaotic since Kira's imprisonment, which was ironic - who would have thought that the terrorist threat to democratic values would have caused even more of a ruckus after it had been silenced?

The Japanese Ministry of Justice had been one judicial organization that was quite displeased upon finding out that Kira really was from Japan. There had not been any public announcement yet concerning Kira's capture (Interpol Japan had been particularly insistent on not making any rash decisions concerning this issue). L was certain that such information would be kept strictly confidential for awhile yet, as no one knew how best to approach the public. Would it be better to keep it entirely secret and let people assume that Kira had died out? Or make the government look better and more capable by broadcasting such a thing? But what to do when they had to announce Misa Amane's name? There were already a number of Kira supporters, and finding out that the sugary pop idol was the terrorist would undoubtedly conjure up more sympathies, which was the last thing that any agency wanted.

Now that L was here in the United States, he also had to be certain to keep his own position secure. If the United States Department of Justice found out that he was hiding the real Kira, well, talking his way out of that one would be difficult and annoying. The U.S. National Security Division was already incessantly bothering him with revealing more information about his Kira observations. They didn't buy the 'supernatural and subconscious' excuse that L had offered in Misa's defense, and were certain that Kira used some kind of Weapon of Mass Destruction during his/her reign, and they definitely wanted a piece of the cake.

Weapon of Mass Destruction. What a charming way to put it.

L had burned all three murder notebooks, but not before scanning and recording every page of every book that had any kind of text on it. The notebook that L associated with Light had rules written in English, and he took special observation of those. It was unknown how many of the rules were accurate, but also irrelevant at this point. L wasn't sure if it were dangerous keeping such data on computer disk, were it to fall in the wrong hands...

"What about the possibility of more than one Kira, L?" Deputy Attorney General Thomas Maddison spoke through Monitor 12, clad in military garb and a grim expression. "We have on tape the files from Japan when a second Kira asked to meet a first Kira and received a response, via tapes from the television station Sakura TV."

The detective resisted an annoyed sigh. "The first Kira was my investigation unit in the NPA. I've considered the possibility that there might be two Kiras, as the second spoke outright on television of this. However, Misa Amane was secretly detained, and the murders stopped. There are a number of explanations that we don't understand, pick your favorite, Mr. Maddison. Meanwhile, no one is dying anymore, so my obligations to this case had diminished."

"And what if they start dying again?" the man demanded.

"Then I'll start working again," L answered coolly. "I'm not going to hunt down weapons of mass destruction for the United States, or Japan, or the UK, or anyone else."

Maddison's expression darkened as though L had uttered a blasphemy. "I know that L doesn't claim citizenship to any country, but those are bold words. The United States doesn't want such a power to fall into the wrong hands again, and if such a thing exists it seems like you are the one who might be hiding them."

L narrowed his eyes. "It was the Japanese NPA who took Amane into custody, if you want to ask Japan for permission to interrogate them then be my guest. I'm using my own judgment when I refrain from releasing details, and judging by the international conflict that has already arose from this issue I believe I've made a wise decision. I hope that all of Interpol's foreign divisions can be civil and work together, but I'm not paid to mediate. Good day, Attorney General."

"Wait, L-"

The detective flicked the signal off and cut communications. He wasn't prone to getting headaches, but all of this wild interaction was maddening. L ran a hand through his raven locks of hair, which were particularly untidy today, and frowned when he caught on a snag. He should probably comb it sometime this week.

His attention turned toward the strawberry-frosted vanilla cake that sat off to his side and plunged a fork into it, capturing a chunk of moist pastry and shoving it into his mouth. After swallowing, his eyes darted toward Monitor 17, where he could see that Light was sitting on the floor with his knees up, resting his back against the wall. His gaze was upward toward the ceiling, though it didn't seem to be focused on anything.

This whole mess is entirely your fault, Light-kun. I hope you're content that you've forced me to play janitor to every international tie that you broke.

"Ryuuzaki?" Watari called from down the hallway, which was where his study was. "Soichiro Yagami has sent me at least fifteen e-mails."

"About Light?" L inquired, though he knew the obvious answer.

"He wants to... hire you to find him. Mr. Aizawa has also contacted me and says that the poor man is near having a breakdown with anxiety."

Every international and social tie, Light-kun.

L glowered and set down his fork, his appetite quickly dissipating. He glared at Light again, who seemed to be quietly lost in some fantasy (or malicious calculation, more like), and felt tempted to just publicly announce his guilt to the world and the existence of Death Notes. Then everyone would stop whining. Interpol would have its true culprit and its knowledge of WMDs, Soichiro could know the truth about his mass-murdering son's whereabouts and the public would realize that they had been placing their faith in some egotistical adolescent boy.

An idealistic teenager whose god complex gave him the right to guiltlessly take human life. The problem and the answer; the easier way out.

"But I'm not going to let you go, Light-kun," L said with soft obstinance as he stood up and gave one last look at the monitors before retreating into the hallway. More than a year of his life had been dedicated to capturing Kira, and he didn't want to give him up now.

"Evil often triumphs, but never conquers." -Joseph Roux

Day 12:

Light did not like these circumstances. He did not like being at the mercy of his worst enemy, he did not like being shut in a room and he did not like that it was empty and void of life except for himself. The only person he saw was Watari, who entered the room once a day with both a tray of food and a loaded handgun (the old man had threatened to kill him once if he acted suspiciously, and since that day they had not spoken). Leading to another annoyance - no one had offered to take off the handcuffs, so he awkwardly ate without his hands, trying not to get long strands of hair in the food. It was humiliating, but he had to remind himself that he had bigger problems to deal with. He had been half tempted to grab on to some pride and not eat at all, but he definitely needed the sustenance to think at full power. He would have to bear the shame for now, if it meant escaping later.

'Escape' was a notion that he clung to fiercely. His imprisonment was a problem like any other, and every problem had an answer. In his mind, he graphed off a loose course of action. First, he would have to determine just where on Earth he was - a piece of information that L had made sure to keep from him. This was the most vital because it would affect his list of secondary possibilities. Either way, a corresponding step would be much more specific: the layout of the building that they were in. If he had to get creative with his break-out, then he had to know what staircase to take or even vent to crawl through, just like in the movies.

There was also the irritating factor of his hands being bound, and that would somehow have to be dealt with when the time came. The steel pulled mercilessly at his arms and over the days had tensed up his shoulders to something beyond mere discomfort, but he tried to ignore the pain in favor of the practical inconveniences they caused. His fingers were also still broken, but at least they had been taped and were healing.

Light sighed loudly, if only to hear the sound of his breath break the monotonous silence that this room offered. Pressing his back against the wall for balance, he stood up on his feet. He walked over to the window, which was the best clue and source of entertainment that it seemed like he was going to get. And it was a clue. He was on some extremely high floor of a building, so high that it dwarfed even the surrounding skyscrapers. That lead to a few observations and questions. This must have been a home to L, living normally in society. L was wealthy enough to build an entire sixty-story headquarters in Tokyo just for the Kira case, so it was possible that he owned this whole building, too. But it wasn't built for military purposes like the one in Tokyo. Light deduced this because he was sure that L would have put him in some prison cell if that was the case.

The most important piece of data though was that when Light strained his eyes downward through the small window, he could see the streets far below:

The cars drove on the right side of the street. Not the left.

Not only did this confirm that they weren't in anywhere in Japan, that also cut out India, Great Britain and Australia. The last two countries were more noteworthy because Light still had a hypothesis that they were in an English speaking country, though he had been drugged during the journey and had little hard evidence to base this on. But Watari and L spoke English naturally, possibly as first languages, so wouldn't it make sense that they lived in such a country?

Somehow, though, he would uncover more information. He wouldn't give up. If L thought that he was going to break him, he had another thing coming. After all, with or without the Death Note, he was still Kira. Kira was a God, an abstract concept that he could cling onto without doubt. The entity existed, it was his most cherished traits and willpower.

And whatever game this was, he would endure. Light Yagami was a mastermind and in all of his life, he had never grown accustomed to losing. All he had to do was watch, pay attention, and keep his patience - and his sanity.

"Meanwhile, Time is flying — flying, never to return." -Publius Vergilius Maro Virgil

Day 36:

The days were passing. Somehow, the days were passing. The scientist Albert Einstein once hypothesized that time was relative - and certainly this seemed to be apparent between the two antagonists. L's days were spent communicating with literally over a hundred individuals or agencies, half of which being unhappy with him in some way. For the detective, a day might pass and he would curse the moment that his eyelids began to droop, curse sleeping because it was a waste of valuable time. Light Yagami, on the other hand, was completely isolated with only the company of his own increasingly frantic thoughts.

Light didn't have a certain calender date in his head - that had been messed up when he had been imprisoned in a dark cell for an unknown variable of time. All he knew was that this marked the thirty-sixth day of waking up in this room. Outside of his small window, white snow was beginning to fall. Not only did that assure him that it was the month of December, but that was another valuable hint: somewhere in the Northern hemisphere, somewhere probably not near an ocean... and he crossed out more locations off of his mental geographical map. This small consolation was embraced fiercely, lest Light dwell too deeply on his mistakes in the past. Not the mistake of being Kira - never that - but the stupid god damned mistake of being caught by L.

L was meticulously aware of the date, the hour, the minute and the second at any given moment, and in any country considering time zones. His geographical map was much more elaborately pegged than his younger adversary's. It marked the positions of a thousand chess pieces, from the President of Interpol to military generals to eighty-four political leaders to Soichiro Yagami, and even Aiber and Wedy - the only other people to know that Light Yagami was Kira, and in L's custody (and even that felt dangerous). Everything was so delicately placed, and L intended to slowly back out of the spotlight as to not cause the pathetic balance to crumble.

Yet every so often in this uneven divider, their eyes would meet. Light's amber irises, sometimes dazed as if in disbelief to his situation and sometimes violent toward the same thing, would flicker up at the camera in his room. L would be passing by the computer monitors and stop to linger at Monitor 17, catching the gaze. Their expressions would seem to lock for a moment, as if completely aware of an attention from the other that they could not prove.

Neither spoke.

They didn't need words.

You are a homicidal maniac.

A God who stands up for the weak.

You are ignorant of the real world around you.

You are blind to what's been accomplished.

No matter how oppositional you are-

No matter how forcefully you disagree-

It's still me who is Justice.

"It is well, when one is judging a friend, to remember that he is judging you with the same God-like and superior impartiality." -Enock Arnold Bennett

Day 50:

It was night and Light had been asleep when the unexpected happened: something. He was leaning against the wall with his legs against his chest and his face resting against his knees, an almost subconsciously defensive position. The electronic beep at the door had not woken him, but the footsteps coming toward him had. When his eyelids parted, he blinked to ensure that the image wasn't his mind's fabrication.

Watari was standing right in front of him. His handgun was aimed right at Light's skull, and a withered old finger nestled into the trigger. The expression on the elderly man's face was unconcealed disapproval, as though he were looking down on some infected pest. There had been a time when Watari had treated the adolescent like a distant grandson, but now Light's eyes widened with shock and he froze, wondering dumbly if Watari actually intended to shoot him. The old man only cleared his throat and said, "Stand up. I'm taking you to see L."

He stared in confusion for a second, feeling to weak to move. The barrel of the dreaded weapon didn't leave his direction, so he gulped and quickly scrambled to his feet. Watari nodded toward the door, indicating that Light was to walk in front of him.

Don't be paranoid, this is a good thing, he told himself to relax the uneasy apprehension he felt. He finally had the opportunity to take in a larger portion of his surroundings.

The hallways were dark, lit dimly by orange-gold bulbs that passively danced across the mahogany wood and cream walls. It was a long hallway, Light realized, with a number of doors and passageways on either side. So L was wealthy, big damned deal, it was almost as though he were flaunting it. The lavish surroundings only served to add fuel to Light's resentment of the detective.

They turned through a passageway into a room where the entire furthermost wall was a window. The city, whatever city it was, was lit up with night life, and those lights splashed through the glass and onto the walls. A multitude of computers were scattered across the floor.

In the center of the mess was God's opposition himself, crouched on the floor. L's dark eyes glittered underneath equally dark hair. His hands were rested calmly on his knees and he glanced in Light's direction with a casual indifference. Next to him was a wooden board game, nineteen lines long and nineteen lines wide, and two piles of black and white stones.

"Been awhile, Kira," the droning voice greeted placidly.

"Yeah, too long, L."

L looked completely impervious by Light's hardly concealed sneer. The detective's charcoal eyes scoped his body, looking up and down in careful scrutiny. Giving away no secrets, he asked, "Want to play Go?"

Light tightened his lips, remembering the Japanese variant of chess that they often used to play when he had discarded his memories and they were taking breaks from the Kira case. At the time they had been somewhat equally matched, but also at that time, Light hadn't been at his full potential. With his memories and experiences now, he was confident that he could overtake the detective.

But now, as Kira against L, it was like their tennis matches. It was only a pretext to get what they wanted. In Light's case: "I can only play you if you uncuff my arms."

The detective gave him a mildly bemused look. "Will you be able to play if I have them cuffed in front of you, instead?"

The adolescent scowled. "What exactly do you think I'm going to try?"

"Killing me," was the brisk answer. "Like you tried before."

Can't argue there. He shrugged, and Watari stepped behind him. Light held back a grimace as he felt the gun jab into his back threateningly as the old man unlocked one of the cuffs.

The grimace could not be held back, however, as Light's newly freed arms fell to his side. Everything that had gone numb and beyond pain in his back before had been released in an agonizing reminder when mercy had been achieved. Blood rushed through his wrists, torment submerged his shoulder blades and his lips parted with the intention of releasing an involuntary cry of anguish.

But L was still watching him with his dark-as-nothingness irises, completely unreadable but Light knew what he was thinking.

So he bit his lip and smirked right into the bastard's face as Watari cuffed his wrists back together in front of him. Maniacal, maybe, and oh God, how it hurt to bend his elbows. But he was Kira, and he wasn't going to allow his nemesis to observe his human weakness.

He sat down at the other end of the Go board, right on the floor opposite from L. He did not advert his eyes.

"What color do you prefer?"

L's question was not polite, Light knew, it was in its own way a taunt to the obvious. They had played Go many times, they had played chess, they had played reversi, cards and checkers and xiangqi and chaturanga.

Light was always white. L was always black.

A hand still shaking from elongated restraint crept forward to the pile of pale pebbles. There was another mockery: the pile was on Light's right side, the side that corresponded with his broken fingers. If you stay on that color, the detective was saying, you will be hurt. Didn't matter. It didn't matter what indirect threats L threw at him, it didn't matter that Light couldn't feel his hands and only the stinging pain in his arms. They each pinched a pebble between their fingers, and with no further ado, the game of Go began.

"How did the self-reflecting go?" L asked as he laid down a piece. He was the type of player to hardly ever actually look at the board. He knew where the pieces were, it was ingrained to his memory after every turn he took. Instead he would watch his opponent, staring, as though he could extract more answers from facial expressions.

Light hesitated, forcing his initial agitation to calm. The detective was testing his reactions again, keeping his distance in case his prisoner were to snap with rage and simultaneously daring him to. He had already concluded that blowing up, as satisfying it would at first be for his pride, would not be beneficial, so with minimal aggression and maximum seriousness, he answered, "It went well. I'm one hundred percent reformed, and ready to be introduced back into normal society under minimal surveillance."

L's lips curved ever-so-slightly into a smile. So slight it might be missed by someone who didn't know him as well as Light did.

That was good. Facetious enough to make his actual position clear, and calm enough to let L know that he wasn't going to act rashly.

"That's nice to hear," the detective responded, tilting his head as he played a black pebble that began to close in around Light's white pair. "For my efforts at rehabilitation, Light-kun might be gracious enough to offer me a confession."

He couldn't allow L to distract him or frustrate him, he reminded himself as he played an offensive white Cut between a string of black. "A confession to being Kira?" Light inquired breezily.

"No. A confession to being wrong."

L set a final black stone around the white pair. Captured. The two ashen pieces were removed from the board.

Light tightened his lips, his eyes narrowing on their own accord. L watched him with an amused expression, as though he had just cracked a joke at a cocktail party. The adolescent wanted his nemesis to just dare engage him in a battle of ethical rhetoric, but, like throwing a tantrum, that wouldn't accomplish much. He sighed out loud. "I imagine that Interpol doesn't think you're too righteous if you're hiding Kira from them. Did you give them Misa? What's their current position?"

"Your confinement should serve as a warning of what I'm willing to do concerning your punishment," L stated monotonously, ignoring the questions. "Please remember that I place a high value on keeping the world safe from Kira, and because of that I am very serious in dealing with you. You are constantly being monitored for suspicious behavior, as I'm certain you guessed."

The black group stood consecutively next to two white groups, liberties on both sides.

"How much does the UN know? And the NPA?" Light pressed on, laying down a white piece that connected his two groups. He looked up briefly from the board to meet L's eyes. "My father, what did you tell him? Can I talk to him? If I'm arrested, I should at least get one phone call."

Light didn't actually expect the detective to affirm this request, he just wanted to test the reaction. As previously concluded, L gave him a blank look that held no emotion - the answer was in his black piece disconnecting a would-be string of white. "I'm surprised that you're bothering to ask such forward things."

"What I'm asking, L-" Every time he said that name, he sneered. "-is my situation, which you have only vaguely informed me of."

The raven-haired man looked mildly curious, or possibly annoyed. After a moment, he yielded. "Light Yagami is Kira, it is confirmed. Your situation is this: Interpol knows everything. Currently you have disappeared off the radar, however, were you to show up on the streets again, every police station associated with Interpol has your picture and stats and knows to instantly arrest you. You might show benevolence to me for giving you this chance at redemption, though I would advise not even bothering to try to leave this building - if you escape this, things will only be worse for you."

Light felt as though he had been stabbed in the spine by a dagger of ice as his anxiety was confirmed well-founded. He swallowed, trying to keep his own face blank. "And my father?"

"What would you say to him?" L inquired, deadpan. "When he knows that the mass murderer he has been risking his life to capture is none other than his own deceitful son?"

Caught without an answer, Light flushed. What would he say to his father if he had the chance? He had always imagined one day telling him the truth - the day at the dawning of the new world, when everyone could see that Kira's judgments were the necessary sacrifice. But if he couldn't escape L, that day wasn't coming anymore. The history books would call Kira nothing but a murderer - Light Yagami, and his name would be a dishonor and taboo among those who used to care about him.

It was aggravating that L had gotten to him. Even more aggravating because of its miserable accuracy.

"Concerning your situation, that's all you need to know. I hope that you don't bother trying to outwit this security, because that will decrease the quality of your circumstances. Significantly." Threats over, the menacing look on L's face disappeared. "I don't want that, Light-kun. I'd like us to be able to work together."

"Me, too," Light answered through gritted teeth. "So what happens now?"

"You must have imagined what it is like to be a private investigator," L began, inserting a thumbnail into his mouth, which he quietly sucked on. "I have many identities, some of which I share with people affiliated with me. However, the three most successful detectives - L, Danuve, and Erald Coil - all belong exclusively to me. They are in high demand, and each of them receives numerous requests daily from various people or organizations. They will either come through my e-mail accounts, or Watari will deliver them personally."

And you pick whichever cases look like the most fun.

Light glanced behind at Watari, who was still passively standing next to him with the gun. "Does Watari-san act as a proxy to all three?"

Captured. A group of four black pieces was removed from the Go board.

That put Light in the lead.

"Under different aliases," Watari responded. "I'm generally contacted through e-mail or telephone, and on unusual occasions I make personal appearances."

"You will read through the files that I give you, take notes and make hypotheses. I will let you know details and stats of cases and employers, as well as what detective we are acting as. If you want research, request it through Watari or myself because I'm not going to allow you to use a computer."

He could only have expected as much, and he was well aware that arguing wasn't going to change things. "Fine."

L watched him with dark eyes unblinking. His hands rested on his knees, not touching the game board or the pebbles.

"As it is, I have a murder case file for you to look through. I understand that forensics is only mildly familiar to you, though you have some background with helping your father on his police cases. But someone of your intellectual caliber is certain to catch on soon enough." L mildly contemplated the board where his black pieces were outnumbered. He seemed thoroughly unperplexed, as if he had a master plan yet to unfold.

Light didn't answer. He waited for L to make his next move.

"When you're finished, please give me your insight." And then, L stood up. Now that was cocky, during an unfinished Go game. He was on his feet, and as such he was looking down upon his opponent through his charcoal-black eyes. "We will play again another time, but for now I have more pressing matters at hand. Watari, could you escort Light back to his room?"

The adolescent couldn't hold back his glare at the cowardice of the act, running away from a game... but then, with a start, he realized. L might have very well planned the game precisely like this, just to make one point very clear: if Light ever thought that he had a chance at winning... the reality of his imprisonment would be made apparent.

Game boards did not counteract handcuffs.

You really are a bastard, aren't you?

The old man grabbed his arm and helped to haul him to his feet, and Light didn't bother pulling away in acrimony. He allowed Watari to lead him toward the hallway.

"Are your arms okay, Light-kun?" L suddenly asked, a thoroughly uncommunicative expression on his face.

Light stopped, and angled his head slightly to look behind at the detective, now standing in the shadows of the room. That inquiry must have been another masked threat, not only to show that even if L wasn't planning on torturing Light, he could still hurt him, and furthermore L was the one in a position of power. The honest response would be that no, his arms hurt like bloody hell, but that was not what he said. He caught L's eyes in a sharp gaze, all while offering the tiniest of roguish smiles:

"I understand why you're worried, Ryuuzaki. You don't want to get sued for cruel punishment, and since we're in the United States, that's illegal."

L's eyes widened slightly in genuine surprise - if Light hadn't known what expression he was looking for, he might have missed it. And then, as quickly as it came it was gone, switched off into deadpanned indifference.

It was too late though, Light chuckled softly under his breath as he was brought back to his room. It had been a toss-up between a few countries, and before, he had not known for sure.

Now he did.

-To Be Continued. . .

Author's Notes:

1. This update came so late because I kept changing it... I didn't like a lot of the things I was writing, so I Death Note'd them. But no, I'm not abandoning this as of yet, nor am I abandoning Desideratum or Pandora's Mischief. I've just been very critical of plot lines lately, so haven't posted as often as I previously did. Sorry for whatever elongated suspension I may be causing some of you!

2. Light's memory is hazy at the beginning and his body aches - side-effects of Zolpidem, the sleeping drug.

3. Go, xiangqi and chaturanga: old games, originating in the East (China, India, etc) that are essentially strategic games like our chess. 'Reversi' is the original name of the game 'othello'.

4. Go is also known as Weiqi in China, where it came from. It was brought over to Japan and is known as "Igo" or "Go". Like chess, there are two players with either black or white pieces and they take turns trying to capture each other's pawns by surrounding them with their own.

Thanks for reading. :-) Hopefully a chapter 4 will come sooner than 3 did. -Serria