Kanto Regional General Hospital, Room 1312— The walls were a light green color, the paint faded and peeling away. To the north of the room was a large bay window with white curtains held back by strings that cinched at the waist of the curtains, bunching them together. The ceiling was patterned tiles, alternating pink and green. They formed diamond shapes within squares within larger squares.
For the past 24 hours, Light had been reintroduced to the truth dose by little dose, just like the anesthetic the doctors pumped into him. One bit of numbing, horrifying truth at a time that he would take silently in his immobile body and listlessly on his blank face.
I lost.
I was pink. Lost was green. Light's eyes moved steadily over the tiles on the ceiling, rhythmically repeating the two words in his mind and coordinating them with their respective color until the meaning unhinged from the words. Pink, green, pink, green. I, lost, I, lost.
His eyes reached one end of the ceiling and immediately swiveled up to start again at the other end.
Pink, green. I, lost. Pink, green. I—
"He just woke up this morning, which proves that he is of strong health. He also has an incredible will to live. That having been said, however, we cannot determine how mentally well he is, so do be gentle and be sure to not raise your voice at any point."
Light heard the muffled voice of his personal nurse on the other side of the door but pretended not to.
"He may be sleeping, in which case you are welcome to wait until he awakes, considering you do nothing to disturb him."
The door opened and Light's mother stepped in. She instantly broke her promise to stay quiet by letting out a loud cry of anguish, bursting into tears as if she had been supressing them for a long time. She let out a sob and buried her face in her hands. "Light… Light…" The name was incoherent from the choking noises in her throat.
"Miss, please…" The nurse attempted to silence her in a quiet, reasonable voice but she continued crying, clearly overcome by waves of sadness.
Light lay in his bed stiffly, completely motionless lest the darting of eyes back and forth as he continued his obsessive mantra. He didn't bother closing his eyes. Nor did he bother acknowleding his mother's presence.
Eventually, the nurse guided Light's weeping mother gently outside, closing the door shut behind her with a click.
At the same time as the door closed shut, Light's eyes stilled, and closed.
The instant Light's breathing became sedative and regular, a hand reached out from under his bed. It was a spidery hand with long elegant fingers, the veins jutting out visibly from under tightly stretched alabaster skin. Another hand, identical, reached out, and a head with a shock of black hair popped out, followed by a torso.
The man under Light's bed crawled out soundlessly, his deep set onyx eyes sweeping his surroundings. His eyes went to the barred window, half dead plant in the corner, and finally rested on the door that had just been shut.
He couldn't leave from there, it had been locked and set with alarms, as had all the doors belonging to hospitalized criminals and ex-convicts. A jump from a window so high up wouldn't be possible either.
He stood up and dusted off his dark blue jeans. His eyes gravitated towards Light's sleeping form. The man took a few steps until he was standing directly over top of Light. One pale hand pushed back Light's slightly damp bangs while the other strayed to the heart monitor. A slender finger rested lightly on the plug.
The ghost of a smile graced his ethereal features.
"Sayonara, Light-kun."
L's new headquarters were not so much bare and dark as they were perfumed with an overwhelming smell. Near took care not to show his surprise on his face as he analyzed the smell. It was a mix of something fruity and processed. It also smelled nauseatingly sweet.
He was not successful, however, in entirely hiding his reaction and upon smelling the stench, stopped right in his tracks, causing Mello, who had been walking behind him, to run right into him.
Near stumbled forwards and would have fallen had Lester not caught him at the last minute. He could see out of his peripheral vision Mello's black boots walk right past him, his black fur trimmed coat swishing behind.
Near's stomach clenched but he ignored this as he gently stepped out of Lester's grip and brushed down his faded blue pajama pants.
"I hope you don't mind the dim lighting," L said from a distance. He'd suddenly switched to English. After all these years of conversing in a multitude of languages, his British accent had faded apparently, but this was understandable for a polyglot. "The light provided by these computers, however, will suffice plenty."
The room Near was standing in and struggling to see properly suddenly flooded with light as bluish glows emanated from the computers surrounding them. Near's eyes swept over the highly advanced technology, modern British furniture, and clean swept floors.
"The case I'm currently working on is the series of thefts that have been centered around the Hokkaido region—specifically, the city of Sapporo. My conclusions are drawing to a close—Near, Mello, as my rightful successors, I will let you take the reins on ending this case."
A series of thefts? A mediocre crime case that could have been taken care of easily by the Japanese police. Near thought…
"L, is there something about this case that particularly interested you?" Near spoke in English as well. He thought he knew why L had switched languages.
L's back was to them; they did not see this facial expression as he paused before continuing, "No, Near. I see myself as an ally of justice whose duty is to stop crime."
Near was quiet in his contemplation. His entire countenace was clouded. "If you will please excuse me… I must use the restroom."
Without turning around, L said "Down the hall to your left. The sink is rather faulty at the moment; my apologies."
Near slinked away. He did not have to use the restroom, obviously. He wasn't sure where he was going but he needed to get a grip on his new surroundings. Maybe the faulty sink would be worth investigating.
Near took his time down a flight of carpeted stairs. There was no lighting save some pale light filtering through an opaque window so that the only thing visible was his own looming shadow. Near stopped at the end of the stairs, resting a hand against the wall, and his shadow mirrored the action so that they touched. He could see a door up ahead, left slightly ajar, a bluish glow seeping through the crack.
Frowning slightly, Near went up to the door and hesitated only slightly before pushing it open soundlessly and letting himself in.
He was in Mello's room.
He could tell from the strewn chocolate wrappers littering the floor, not to mention the rich scent of fine dark chocolate that pervaded the room. His eyes immediately zeroed in on Mello's cluttered desk, piled with haphazardly dispersed documents and a single laptop, tiny japanese characters sprinting across the screen.
Near walked over to the desk and scanned what he could see of the documents. He dared not touch them. A wrinkled paper in the far corner that looked as if it had been held too many times to count read, in cryptic Russian letters, The Last Will and Testament of Mi—before the rest was obscured by another document lying on top of it. A large manila folder lying smack in the middle surrounded by loose leaf paper had Wammy's House – Complete Records written on it in someone's scrawled English. There was half a page of English writing lying close by. Near could tell by the placement that it had come out of the folder and was about to be read by its owner.
Wammy's House? Near's home for most of his life. Intrigued, Near leaned across the table and read as far as he could see.
Page 288. Alex Abernathy (November (24-29?) 1986 – April 13, 1999). Height… weight… blood type… Near went down the list of tedious statistics, assessing that for the time being, it was trivial information but on the off chance that it came handy in the future, memorized it. Then he reached the bottom of the half page and saw something interesting.
Cause of death: Suicide.
Details: Encountered armed rapist, who fired weapon. Died on impact from bullet. Location: Outskirts of London, near Winchester, England.
Naer's fingers, which had been twirling a lock of silvery white hair, fell limply to his side and stilled. The intelligence of this Alex Abernathy was startingly. His suicide had obviously been planned and designed for the purpose of making it look like a tragic accident and have no one figure out that it was—a suicide. That much was deliberate and it should have fooled anybody who didn't know the details. So what were the details? Had Alex Abernathy provoked the rapist into doing it? Paid the criminal to do it and make it seem like he was the antagonist? Then, only someone who possessed superior intelligence and a deep understanding of Alex Abernathy's personality and life would be able to deduct, from this seemingly innocent accident, that this was a carefully crafted suicide. But… who…?
Near's eyes gravitated towards Mello's laptop andwalked closer, squinting slightly at the top of the screen to read the words on it.
"—I try, the more bored I'll get and the lazier the writing will be. To put it in terms Holden Caufield (one of history's most famous literary bullshitters) might use, detailing what Beyond Birthday—"
Near stopped reading suddenly, his spine tingling all over. He felt a terrible coldness wash down his body. He forced himself to turn around slowly.
He met L's unsmiling face merely inches away from his own.
Near took an inadvertent step back, his heart knocking. "I apologize, I was wrong to intrude on Mello's room and invade his privacy without his or your permission."
"That is not my concern." L said simply. "Follow me."
Near's eyes darted around the room as he followed L. Then he noticed a square washed photograph lying at the edge of Mello's bed.
Near gasped quietly and ran across, taking it waveringly in two hands. He studied it, noting that the colors had faded away but the yellow of Mello's hair and the blue of his eyes were still as vibrant as they'd always been. Only the sharp edges of Mello's victorious smile expression was faded, leaving him with a faded smile, a milder expression that looked almost human… Without the hardened eyes and twisted smirk, Mello was a beautiful 15 year old boy.
No… even with the pained and manipulative expressions, Mello was still beautiful…
Near turned the photo around with lowered eyes and traced his own slanted cursive: Dear Mello. The black ink had smudged slightly. Where had Mello gone with this photo? It was typical of him to believe he could protect it better than anything else could.
"Near?"
Near set the photo down. "Yes, I'm coming."
L led Near up a couple of flights of stairs to a surpringly brightly lit place. Near blinked at the white fluorescence a couple of times before he registered: they were in the kitchen.
L walked over to the counter and started pouring hot water into two porcelain cups. "Near, do you have a preference for either Earl Grey or Chai?"
"No," Near murmured absentmindedly.
"Milk? Sugar?"
"If you please…"
L set two cups of steaming tea on the table, as well as a small pitcher of milk and a tin box filled with sugar cubes.
Neither of them touched their cups.
L regarded Near with those fathomless black eyes. "I trust you know why I am speaking in English."
"Yes, I have an idea."
"I also understand that you do not trust me, and are even looking into this matter. Most likely with the three agents employed under your name."
Near cocked his head slightly. Was L guilt-tripping him?
"Incidentally, I'd like you to do me a favor. Listen to this story: A man murders three people out of malice. He is caught, convicted of first degree murder, and sentenced to prison. He escapes. What can you deduct of this man, thus far, Near?"
"He possesses a high calibre of intelligence. He is childish. The fact that committed three murders, all out of malice, shows a lack of remorse. In conclusion, he is a socipath."
"Another story," L said immediately, speaking the moment Near had closed his mouth. He seemed to be rather worked up. "A man deliberately kills three people moments before their death. He is caught, convicted of first degree murder, and sentenced to prison. He escapes. Near?"
"He possesses a high calibre of intelligence. His killings were out of either unbridled altruism or self interest. Most likely the latter, because no human being is capable of the former. As such, he is childish. He wishes to win at his own make believe game."
L's eyes flashed momentarily, but said nothing.
Near picked up his porcelain cup and raised it up his lips, letting them touch the hot tea, but did not ingest any of it. Then he placed it back down. "How have I done you a favor?"
"You have validated my purpose. What can you tell me about the ethics involved in entering somone's room without their permission, and going as far as reading their confidential documents?"
"I will not be presumptuous enough to credit myself knowledgeable on the subject. But I cannot say differently of you, L." Near spoke in his usual monotone, but there was a layer of ice beneath it and his lips had tightened at the corners.
L's eyebrow quirked upwards. His eyes flashed briefly upwards, to the space right above Near's head. It happened so quickly, like L didn't want Near to notice. But Near noticed. His eyes widened and his slowly pivoted around to face the blank wall behind him. Upon finding nothing there, he turned around again, eyes round and pupils so enlargened it gave the appearance that his eyes were as black as L's.
For the first time since Near had met him face to face, L smiled. It was not so much a display of emotion as a practiced contortion of the face. Yet there was also an emotion in his eyes… was that disappointment? Fear?
Near stared back.
L made no response except to walk over to the fridge. Near took this as an indication that their conversation was over. He walked over to the door and shut it behind him carelessly, letting it unhinge a bit.
The sound of the fridge opening. A scuffling as various food items and containers and jars were shuffled around. The dull thud of the fridge shutting. Then the whisper of a grunt as someone strained to open something like a feather touch strum on a guitar from which the deepest vibrato emanated from its stomach, the gentle touching of glass on wood, the friction of metal against glass...
Near stopped, every hair on his body prickling. He could hear the droning whir of the fridge keenly and see every individual dust mite float through the air aimlessly.
Soundlessly, he walked back the couple of steps back to the kitchen. The door was still slightly ajar, just as Near had meant it to be. He peered through the crack.
L was sitting at the kitchen table, unscrewing the lid off of a jar filled with something red and glutinous looking. The glossy label on the jar read All Natural Strawberry Jam. Near watched unmovingly as L scooped a handful of the red stuff with his hand and ate it, then repeated, and repeated, and repeated. He took the jar in both hands and slurped straight from it. Then he wiped his mouth with his sleeve and turned his head slightly to where Near's gray eye was staring at him through the gap. L's mouth was twisted into that strange smile again.
Their eyes locked.
On a Saturday evening, Aizawa was at home watching TV with his daughter while his wife cooked dinner for the family.
"And there are actually a lot of guys who have asked me out, but none of them are gentlemen. They're all slobs!" Miyoku, his daughter, was laughingly saying. Her brown eyes sparkled with mirth.
Aizawa laughed genially along. Then his expression became serious. "Mimi, I do not want you getting involved with any boy until university, or high school at the very most. Understood?"
Miyoku pouted. "Daaad," she whined. "You don't have to say that… it's not like I'd go out with any of those guys…"
Aizawa smiled tenderly down at his daughter and gave her a one arm squeeze. He'd had many more nights like this where he was able to spend time with family ever since the Kira case had been closed. Though it still bothered him everytime he thought of how they'd been betrayed by Light and all the personal losses that had happened along the way, he couldn't help but feel glad that his family was still alive and well and he could enjoy their presence and love now more than ever before.
"Huh?" He felt the small vibration in his pocket that indicated he's gotten a new message. He took out his phone and flipped it open.
One new message from Fukimura Seita.
Fukimura Seita was the new Director of Japanese Police, installed into the position a mere 2 days after Takimura had died at the hands of Kira. Frowning, Aizawa opened the message and read it quickly.
Aizawa-san, Just received note from KRG Hospital that Yagami Light's surgery was successful and recovery soon to be complete. As a result, please note that the UN ICJ has scheduled the first day of his trial for the 3rd of March at the Peace Palace. Please also note your attendance is mandatory as the presence of every certified member of INTERPOL has been requested for the exceptionality of this case. Flight and board will be paid by the Japanese Government. Reply to let me know you have read this message. –Fukimura
Aizawa snapped shut his phone with a grim countenance. So it was finally going to happen. Light's trial…
"Dad?" Miyoku was looking up at her father with wide, brown eyes. "Something wrong?"
Aizawa's expression cleared. He smiled down at his daughter. "No, nothing at all. Why don't we go help your mother set the table?"
I'll worry about Light's trial another time, he decided.
