Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note in any way shape or form.

A/N: Thanks for the reviews! I've been a little caught up with school and life and all those silly thing that keep teens busy but here you go.

And so our story continues. What fate lies ahead for our heroes? Or villains. :D

r e d

4. man in black

A sticky heat settles over the city as Misa chirps into the phone, reminding him not to forget. Forget? Forget what? Oh, yes, how could he forget? This Gregorio of hers graciously provided them with two tickets to tonight's screening of Twisted, only the newest horror-romance film, of course.

Misa-Misa reminds him that it's the only time he has for her anyway. The bitterness in her voice is evident but he doesn't care for it, not anymore.

'Great. Just fucking great.' He doesn't vocalize his thoughts as he snaps the phone shut and pushes past the shuffling people, to the elevator.

"Light-kun!" An eager Matsuda grins at him and he regrets it when the door slides close. Really, the man could break his face with a smile like that. If only.

"Matsuda-san," he replies without the same vigor, "good morning." He wishes he bought a cup of coffee or even an iPod. At least, besides the two of them, the elevator is empty. No obliged formalities without curious onlookers.

A silence falls between them, filling in the cracks. Light finds a sudden interest in the lights that travel up the numbers of the floors. Matsuda's smile falters slightly. Maybe there is hope.

Matsuda coughs once, then twice.

Or not.

"Doughnut?" He tries again to rekindle the conversation, holding the pink box out. A truce. "There's cinnamon." He adds, nodding somberly, as if it changes everything.

Suddenly, Light feels very nauseous. His fingers clutch the handle of his suitcase tighter. "I'm allergic to cinnamon." 'It's my favourite, actually. But I'm not in a particularly good mood so if you would kindly get the fuck out of my face'.

"Oh. I thought--"

"Well you thought wrong then." He would've regretted the words if he were back in the time where every uttered word could change the game in more ways than one. But times change and so do people.

Or it's just time. The people are just forced into the flow.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know." Matsuda seems to pick up on the tension but the fool, of course, can't seem to keep the words from coming. They seem to be crammed into his mouth and he can't help but spew them out like water from a busted pipe. Anyone he comes across becomes a bottle to pour himself into. And there aren't many bottles than care to hold much, if any. "I mean, back when we were doing the Kira investigation with Ryuzaki, you always ate the cinnamon ones. So I thought…."

Light sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes momentarily. Snapping at Matsuda already. It's not going to be an easy day. He opens his mouth, to say something that's not quite an apology for his rudeness.

But the elevator comes to a sudden halt and the lights go out. There's no emergency light. Only darkness. A suffocating shroud.

"Not the elevator too!" It's a rare thing when Matsuda's words of wisdom voice the thoughts of those around him. The moment is cut short when he swings his arm blindly, hitting Light across the face with his suitcase, catching him right in the nose.

"Augh!" Light falls backward and hits his head off the mirrored back wall. He feels like his head has split in two. There are white splotches of light like after a camera takes a picture. "Matsuda I'm going to kill you." It's a hoarse whisper, more pain than a promise of it. His face is throbbing and something warm and wet trickles down his lips. It tastes sharp and metallic and raw.

Matsuda is oddly silent. Light opens his eyes but the dull pain makes his eyes water so he settles on closing them. He hears shuffling, movement. Then a small thud of knees hitting the carpeted floor. "Matsuda?"

There is no spoken reply. Hands grasp his shoulders. He can feel their chill through the suit and shirt. He opens his mouth, to protest against the numb feeling spreading through him. And suddenly, he feels soft lips against his own and tastes his own blood as a hungry tongue forces entry into his mouth. But that's not all. There's a slight hint of…smoke. Cigarette smoke. And something sweet – cake? It's all too familiar. Fingers, spider-like, pull the tie off. Unbuttoning. The lips stop moving – he feels them curving, smiling against his own – then they pull back. (Without thinking, he leans forward. More. More.) He gasps; the fingers dig painfully into his shoulders. Teeth, sharp, nip at his neck. Then lips press against the jugular and begin to suck slowly, then faster. He thrusts involuntarily, hips bucking, but the fingers, digging, hold him back. The mouth on his neck stops abruptly. He feels the hot breath on his skin for a few moments.

"Heaven won't take us, hell can't take us. Where to go, Light?"

English. With a British accent.

Then nothing.

He wakes up to stark white lights and dull throbbing in more than one place. Big desk. Shiny floor. He's in his office, on the loveseat the secretary bought in a week ago, his suit a makeshift blanket. He tries to sit up but the room spins and hands push him back down. They are warm. Not the ones from before.

"It's alright, Yagami-san." The voice is soft, gentle, female. "You took a nasty bump to the head but you're going to be fine. I'm the new office nurse. Wow, the head man my first patient – I'm still trying to figure out if it's a good or bad thing." She winks a friendly wink.

"You're not Japanese," he says, noting her accent and authentic-looking blonde hair.

She laughs a laugh that doesn't suit the room. Loud. Bright. Real. "Yes, I used to live in Canada but moved here five years ago. My boyfriend tells me I speak like a native but you can never be sure with him."

"Can I get pills or something for this headache?"

"Ah, yeah, sure. I'm going to step out for a bit and get some, alright?"

He feels like a child being tended to. "Okay. Hurry." He adds, placing his fingers on his temple and feeling the bandage.

The door opens and a nervous-looking Matsuda pops his head in. When he sees Light is awake, he tries to shut the door but Lara already has her hand on the knob and pulls it open wider. "Matsuda-san, there you are." Her voice is still soft and unnervingly soothing but there a slight accusing edge to it.

"Y-yeah," he smiles, unsure. "How are you doing, Light-kun?" He calls over Lara's shoulder.

"Great. Considering I feel like my head is going to explode."

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to panic but you know, it was dark and, and…" He looks at Lara for support.

She chuckles lightly, shaking her head, and pushes past him into the hall. "Let the man rest while I show where the painkillers are, okay?" They leave the room, the door shutting loudly behind them.

"Sorry!" Matsuda yells from the hall.

Light sighs for what feels like the hundredth time and lies in the rare moment of silence he has. Except his mind is racing, back and forth, reliving those two or three moments over and over again like Misa's pop cd's on loop. Cold hands, smiling lips against his own. He'd recognize them anywhere, even now when they are only part of sleeping moments and dreams he wishes he could stop holding on to. Maybe it was just another dream, he muses grimly. A bonk of the head could do wonders to a person's mind after all. But the sweet cigarette-smoke lingers in his mouth like an aftermath of a battle, slowly clearing but there still the same.

And he's pretty sure that's something he's not going to share with Lara, the office nurse, anytime soon.

As he drifts out into an uneasy sea of sleep, he doesn't realize said office nurse has left his shirt unbuttoned. The skin of his neck, red and marked for the world to see.

Knock, knock.

Silence.

Knock, knock.

Sigh. "Come in. It's open."

She enters the room, stumbling slightly on the carpet that's caught in the door. He steadies her, grabbing her arm before she falls face first (he pretends he doesn't feel her breath quicken at his contact or the third button undone on her blouse). He half-smiles. It's all he can muster after the short nap and the throbbing that has yet to leave him, despite the three painkillers.

"I'm sorry, sir," she sees his unusually unkempt hair, sticking up every which way over the patch of bandage on his forehead, "Matsuda-san told me you weren't feeling well, after the…accident." She says the word quickly like a dirty secret.

Stacy or Lucy or something like that, her name. Another foreign secretary with the accent that borders somewhere between somewhat cute and fucking irritating. Since day once she's had a girlish crush on him or at least giving him enough signals to believe so. And like the proper gentleman he is, he ignores said signals and instead gives his own signals. The 'I have a girlfriend, thanks' signal.

She leans forward suddenly, overtly glossy lips to close too his face, to say something –

The buzzer goes off. Beep! Cue the lobby secretary. Her high-pitched voice crackles through the static, "Mr. Yagami, someone here to see you by the name of Lawliet."

A/N: Just a note – "spoken"; 'thought'.

Yeah, the chapters are getting longer – a good sign, perhaps?

Love it? Hate it? Can't decide? Let me know – all it takes is the purple button!

Cheers,

elomelo