Narroch: Yikes, has it really been over a month since our last update?! :o Sorry! It's mostly been my fault since I have been traveling.
RR: Mostly? It was entirely your fault, dear.
(It really was her fault, you know. Not that that's anything new…)
My gosh, guys – the reviews! Only three chapters has already taken us well over triple digits! Even Poison Apple didn't have such a fantastic initial response! Thankyou all so much – we're very glad you like The Monster You Made! I know you shouldn't measure the merit of a story by the review count – because, as we all know, some really good stories have hardly any reviews and some truly godawful ones have way more than they deserve (though I should hope that neither PA nor TMYM quite fall into the latter category…) – but nonetheless, your overwhelming response makes us very happy indeed. Thankyou!
:)
(It's actually kind of interesting, since, so far, most of this fic has been L and Light in a bedroom throwing verbal abuse at one another…)
Narroch: I'm curious… Did anyone pull off any epic pranks on April Fools day? Or is saran-wrapping the toilet just too immature for you guys? (cause I totally did that XD)
A special shout-out and thankyou to the following reviewers! We love getting feedback, so thanks a lot for all the help guys! Here's to you: Gabi Howard, ravensbff, Jungle John, Pseudo Hanyou, Inikus, Holly Lawliet, Kutsushita-Socks, Sanzo4ever, heitone, merichuel, Shii Sora, Lawliet's Angel, Star Jinin, zoningout, Synonymous Brian, jesus-of-suburbia2o2o, -Red Angel-Blue Angel-, TheRoseByAnyOtherName, Lady Psychic, BriFMAluver, incandescentglow, Faerylark, NX-Loveless-XN, HereIGoAgain, bookenworum, MattTheGamer, zeppelin13, elibellyboy, Albinokatzchen, Scripta Lexicona, larsa7, Dragonist, Neko-chwan, Layalas, rain angst, Shooboosha, Little Ryuu, Shakuhachi Jade, Black-Dranzer-1119, ?, Deus3xMachina, JazzySatinDoll, MythsAndDreams, shinobi of the sound, Tamouri, Guardian of Courage, sugargrazed, 4udball, Perdue, Bluegrass Elf, Seidene Asche and Plate Captain!
We both hope that you enjoy chapter four! Guess what… It's got a lot of L in it.
The Monster You Made – IV
L wasn't much of a laborer.
Sure, he could stay awake for an entire week, solve complex problems that would make think-tanks' heads spin, pull clues to unsolvable cases seemingly from thin air and had a nearly suicidal work ethic. But beyond his abstract mental gymnastics, he was a sedentary creature to the extreme. He could grow roots in his chair from how little he moved by choice; and when forced to get up, irritated that his deliberations had to be interrupted by such base corporal activity, his stance reflected his disdain, slouched and sloppy since he couldn't be bothered with the effort of good posture.
Though he held the title of "World's Greatest" in one aspect of his life, it did not bleed over to all parts; for certain, he was not the world's most incredible workman. He was the kind of person to buy things, not make them. Anything that didn't involve solving cases, or adding more knowledge to his extensive mental library, was better acquired through the convenience of his copious resources. This gave him more time to focus on the more important aspects of life; for example, forcing an evil notebook-wielding murderer to confess.
And so, for all his inhuman intelligence, L didn't have a clue how to drive a nail through a plank of wood; he had never once even gripped a hammer. He'd never really seen anyone do it; had never been inclined towards that area of practical knowledge. While growing up in the orphanage, Watari hadn't required anything beyond the mental realm, so L had never felt the personal satisfaction of a child sitting in a treehouse created by his own hands. He'd never climbed the fence that he helped erect – holding a bucket of nails, carrying the other end of heavy rough boards. He'd never come into the house after a long, hot summer's day – sticky and stinking, globs of house paint splattered about his face and hair, splinters pricking his fingers. The sense of ownership, the proud ache of hard work, the joy of pulling a solid form out of a jumble of parts, the intimate act of creating; he had experienced none of it (and he was rather certain that the crumbly sugar cube towers he assembled didn't really count).
But, despite his obvious lack of craftsmanship know-how and the absence of the skills and drive required to carry out any form of construction, L had managed to build a wall. And not just any wall – it was a huge, ominous, looming barricade of bitter gray bricks and concrete, meant to impress, intimidate. The wall was so long he could not even visualize the end of it, let alone see its edge with his own dark eyes; it so high that it broke through the clouds, punctured the stratosphere and divided the stars. Its surface was smooth – almost slippery – and barbed wire spiraled out at its base like gothic frills on a masochist's skirt.
Starting as a little child, he had built it up by himself, with no prompting from Watari. In his training – grooming,Watari had called it – he had been exposed to the atrocities of mankind at a young age (perhaps too young); and though Watari was certain the child's astounding intellect would allow him to sift through the blood and separate out the patterns without losing himself in it, L was still deeply affected by what he learned. The vast cruelty humans were capable of, eons of death and suffering, and he was expected to fight it by himself with nothing more than his bare hands and quick wit. It had frightened him, and his compassion had been overwhelmed; he did not have enough to go around, humanity's collective hurt was far too deep for him to touch without feeling it.
So, instead, he began to lay bricks. Stone by stone, year by year, he retreated into himself until he had became half a person, far more mechanical and efficient without vulnerable emotions pinned to his sleeve. Impenetrable, icy and flat: Wearing a mask of the same mortar that held together the fortification in his heart – only the most horrific crimes and the highest body count would lure him into action. Behind the huge gray barricade (gray because the subtle, equal mixture of black and white was too dead to be a color – only an indecisive tone), he tucked all the articles that could pry his attention away from his objective. Pity was not an option; and to administer pity upon himself was even worse.
Inside could overcome him.
So the real L, the World's Greatest, the gothic letter on a screen, made certain the wall still remained, even if it sometimes made it unbearably lonely for his empathetic half. The wall. The wall that he had built. So he'd be protected. So nothing could hurt him. The wall that ensured his steadfast success with unfeeling efficiency.
(Did it really have to be so high?)
"Why does Kira kill?"
L directed the seemingly-random question at no-one in particular, stating it towards the ceiling in a half-murmur. But, since Light was the only other person in the room, and because L never did anything by chance, the statement snapped his attention to the detective immediately. Though the question swung heavily towards the rhetorical, and was a rather obvious trap, Light couldn't stop his brain as it churned out several explanations in response, a few of them constituting the fact that L was a particularly annoying bastard the world would be better off without. He remained silent though, feigning disinterest, and returned his attention to the television screen and the bland news report it displayed.
"I wouldn't know."
He could feel L's gaze fall on him, a prickling weight crawling across his scalp and down his spine, but continued to ignore it, focusing on the grainy images. They both knew he was Kira, and it was only his simple insistence to the contrary that was keeping him from the hangman's noose. He had already been victim to L's temper tantrum at his continued denial—
But anything else meant death.
They both knew that as well, so L let the contradiction slide, didn't jump on Light for lying so blatantly.
"Perhaps, if I tried to see the world through Kira's eyes, do you think it would lead me to understand his methods any better? We know the what, when, where, how, and who—"
"Ryuzaki!" Light interrupted with a disapproving frown.
"We suspect who," L seamlessly corrected, though it was obvious from the roll in his eyes that the amendment was more sarcastic than sincere; "but the final missing piece is the why."
He tilted his head, finally looking Light in the eyes.
"I have my own theories, but without Kira's input, we will never have a complete picture of this case."
"Well, guess away, if that will entertain you. But don't expect me to help with altering your mindset to match Kira's, because I'm not him," Light grumbled, annoyed by the very idea of the conversation. L was just going to take Kira's ideals, his ideals, analyze and dissect every one and then rub them in his face to try and get a reaction.
L gave a calculated shrug.
"Though, regardless of my current suspicion, you yourself once admitted to having a similar train of thought as Kira."
Light masked the internal grimace and merely juggled a shrug in return. Of course L would bring that up; his time spent carrying only half his memories, when he had nothing to rely on but intuition, and spouted self-accusing things all the time…
"Do as you wish," he conceded grudgingly.
L tilted his head with the ghost of a smirk before settling deeper into his seat.
"As horrifying as these events are, if you disregard the rather supernatural method of murder, mass killings of this kind are certainly not very peculiar to the present era. Kira is not the first ruthless conqueror of the world, and I severely doubt he will be the last."
"So you're saying that Kira's appearance was inevitable?" Light asked, begrudgingly intrigued by the admission.
"I wouldn't go that far, but his actions do follow the pattern of our species," L said, leaning forward to grip his knees, fixing Light with a conversational look once he fully gained the man's attention. It was strange; Light had expected him to be much more combative. L began again, voice low and smooth, flowing unhindered like a calm river.
"Many years ago, a friend showed me a very thin book – only 10 or 15 pages long – that purported to be a capsule history of the world. It was a chronological list of all the important events in recorded history. Can you guess how it read?" L paused, looking at Light for an answer, but continued on before he could give one. "Of course – it was one war after another, interrupted every now and then by a few nonviolent events, such as the birth of Jesus and the invention of the printing press." L bowed his head, absently wriggling his toes as the statement sunk in. "What kind of species are we if the most important events in the brief history of humankind are situations in which people kill one another en masse? Moreover, to display such a chilling acceptance of violence that at times seems utterly absurd and mindless… On a broader scale, we humans have shown ourselves to be a particularly aggressive species. No other vertebrate so consistently and wantonly kill and torture members of their own kind."
L murmured it all down towards the floor, as if completely uninterested by what he was saying; but Light nodded in mute agreement, aware that he was being led along but too fascinated to disengage him. L plodded on, still seemingly unaffected by what he was saying:
"Scientists, philosophers, and other serious thinkers are not in complete agreement about whether this homicidal aggression is an inborn, instinctive phenomenon or whether such behavior must be learned. Evolutionary psychologists underscore the point that nearly all organisms have also evolved strong inhibitory mechanisms that enable them to suppress aggression when it is in their best interests to do so. Violence is an optional strategy and it is far from inevitable; in fact, it can be virtually eliminated within a culture. So it is a gross oversimplification to imply that humans are pre-programmed to behave aggressively, that criminals and their crimes are a given in any society."
"But that is why Kira kills selectively."
"Culling the herd, so to speak?" L smiled as he said it, and Light realized his mistake too late; he was slipping into L's pace. Of course L wanted him to defend Kira's methods. Light could feel his irritation beginning to blossom, promising him that the conversation was not going to end well if he was this agitated this early.
"Yes, I suppose that is an accurate depiction of his actions," L went on, his voice bland, bored. "Though he has no way of knowing who deserves to die, whether anyone deserves to die. He is after all, just one person." L looked up and pinned Light with his eyes, silently replacing the 'he' with 'you'.
"No matter how intelligent he is, he is not omnipotent. He can't make any judgment without the bias of his own personal history interfering."
"If that's your argument, then you could apply that to any judicial system in place. The judge and jury are not impartial deciding factors either."
"Yes, but in those systems there is complete transparency. Anyone can appeal, and everyone can see exactly how the judgment is passed. It reduces those biases until only the law, the law that everyone has agreed on, is the one thing that remains for sentencing. Kira has no such checks and balances, striking from the shadows and warping the process with his own twisted morals."
L paused again, waiting for Light's reply but, after a few awkward seconds, it became obvious that he wasn't biting. However, L was undaunted, filling in Kira's answers for him when he refused to speak.
"Certainly, Kira has done some horrific things," the detective continued dutifully, "but if you look at society now, you can't deny the stunning drop in crime rate. Before the Death Note came to Earth, I looked about and saw a world full of international, interracial, and intertribal hatred and disgust, of senseless slaughter, of terrorism, of diseases being manufactured as weapons, of enough nuclear warheads floating around to destroy the world's population many times over… It is no wonder Kira feels justified in his quest."
"Then why are you trying to stop him? If he is fighting against all those evils—"
"Just because I can understand why doesn't mean it is the correct viewpoint," L interrupted coldly. "Kira is effective, but his method bears too much collateral, causes more damage than it resolves."
Light wanted to push, wanted L to define his vague umbrella term collateral. He was certain it would amount to nothing more than petty hurt feelings, or a different brand of morality flavoring his argument; nothing substantial, nothing that could possibly topple the mountain of data that supported the reduced crime rate of his regime. But he was already flirting with the fine line between innocent Socratic inquiry and dangerous Kira-rhetorical questioning; it wasn't a good idea to overstep it.
L seemed to read his thought because a smirk saddled his face, riding high and mighty as Light's glowering resentment trotted grumbling below.
"Yes, Light-kun, I can understand the sensuous appeal that Kira's ability exudes, why people would clamber around his cause. In a complex and apathetic society like ours, extreme aggressive behavior may be the most dramatic way for an oppressed minority to attract the attention of the powerful majority. No-one can deny that, over the years, the effects of riots served to alert a large number of decent but apathetic people to the plight of ethnic and racial minorities. No one can doubt that bloodshed has led to increased attempts at reforms in all levels of society," L sighed, the first sign of any discomfort he had shown yet, though it more likely stemmed from boredom rather than any true distress due to the grisly subject matter.
"So you're defending Kira's methods?" Light asked, more than a little incredulous.
"No, I am simply ironing out your creased facts. There is a place for murder in humanity, but are such outcomes worth the dreadful price in human lives? I cannot answer that question, and neither can Kira," L continued, his voice pacing around Light, even though he himself stayed still. "But what I can say is that violence almost never ends simply with a rectification of the conditions that brought it about. Killing someone who murders won't stop future murders. Violence breeds violence, not only in the simple sense of the victim striking back against his or her enemy, but also in the infinitely more complex and insidious sense of the attackers seeking to justify their violence by exaggerating the evil they see in their enemies and thereby increasing the probability that they will attack again, and again, and again…"
Light was tense, though he tried his best to not let it show, pushing the rigidity down, forcing himself to relax even though his fight-or-flight mentality was prodding him to do something (but, with L, retreat was never an option, so it was really more of a 'I'm-going-to-beat-the-snot-out-of-this-bastard' instinct he had to resist). At the very least he wanted to argue, to dispute Kira and society and the true nature of humans, on an even setting. But with his own supposed lack of involvement with Kira containing his words and actions to the tip-toeing of eggshells, he couldn't respond in the way he wanted to.
In the way L wanted him too, no doubt. If he took up L's invitation to a debate, it would be a long and, probably, highly-satisfying conversation – but with an execution tacked on at the end of it.
Light couldn't defend Kira without admitting he was Kira; and the verbal immobility was driving him mad.
His stony silence urged L on.
"Victim-blaming. It is a form of dissonance reduction, distancing the victim from his humanity. It makes it easier to hurt, to kill them. Kira has mastered this technique; along with dehumanizing the criminals he murders, he is also completely removed from the act. His conscious is left intact, and he remains ever surer of himself and the "good" he is doing, since all he encounters is the slow decline in criminals forced under through fear. He keeps his hands clean, literally and morally. But that's a huge problem in of itself; Kira is physically absent. There is nothing left for the victims of his judgments, the loved ones of criminals, the falsely accused, the innocent people killed just because they were in the way… There is nothing for them to retaliate against. The injustice is internalized and Kira's rampage killings become just the pathological tip of an enormous iceberg: the poisonous social atmosphere pervading all levels of the world. It is suppressed now, out of fear of judgment, but eventually it is going to burst out somewhere. Humanity's tolerance is hydraulic and when it finally breaks… Even Kira won't be able to do anything in the face of that explosion."
It sounded like a threat, like condescension, but also, somehow… a warning? Light stared as L went on; he wasn't sure when it had happened, but their gazes had become magnetized, and Light didn't know what would happen if he tried to pry away.
"Kira ignores this because he sees what he wants, and nothing else," L said, his voice almost hypnotic. "But the more he suppresses and kills, the more he adds to the pressure cooker the situation has become. We must search for alternative solutions; a less aggressive form of instrumental behavior to redress social ills without producing an irreconcilable cycle of conflict."
And that sounded like an invitation, not to Light, but directly to Kira. To give up his Death Note, help L change the world through more mundane means, perhaps even avoid the electrical chair he had been promised…
"L, I don't understand… Are you—?"
L cut him off, his manner clipped and unapologetic:
"Violence cannot be turned on and off like a faucet, Light-kun. People only need an example, a leader, and their rage will come streaming out."
(Light listened to L type – as he had for months and months.
It was an everyday sound, a rhythmic but mundane melody, and one he had come to associate with L, like it was his own personal brand of Bach or Beethoven; but now, in the aftermath of that conversation, in which L had served hardball after hardball straight at him, he listened and felt as though L's icy hand had sunk through the flesh of his back and taken hold of his spine.
He sat on the bed, the TV still on but quiet; quiet enough, anyway, and he looked across the hotel room towards the window, observing the clouds that dragged themselves across the dull sky like dying soldiers in No Man's Land and listening to L as he conducted his flat, colorless symphony.
He was trapped. It was more apparent, more real, than ever before. After all, the chain at his wrist might be a physical restriction, binding him to L, but somehow it had always remained symbolic too, purely metaphoric of L's clutches around him.
Clutches Light had always deemed himself capable of – eventually – breaking free from.
But now… He saw. This was the end of the line – the last stop on the track. He was here at what might as well have been the very End of the Earth, alone with L, and only L.
He still didn't know what L's motives for upping and leaving with him were; whether L had been trying to save himself or save Light or had really just been sick of it all…
But he knew that he wasn't safe. Whatever L's reasons for this, Light Yagami wasn't safe with him. L seemed intent on making that much clear. At the same time he was trying to trick him into letting his guard down, he was also warning him that he should keep it up at all times.
Because L wasn't his friend. It was all pretending, all make-believe, all a game.
And the game had become Russian Roulette, and neither of them knew where the bullet was hidden—
Oh, Light had thought he'd known all along, being the one to load the gun and begin the bet; but L was smiling as he handed him the gun, and he found that he didn't know after all.
He was afraid, and L fucking well knew it.)
"Are you ready, Misa?"
Misa glanced upwards, regarding Mogi in the tall mirror she'd been examining her reflection in.
"Just a second," she replied, taking out her lipstick.
Mogi, still her faux-manager, nodded and left the room, going back next door. Misa watched him go, uncapping her lipstick as she did so. She ran another layer of ruby over her lips, inspecting it as she put the makeup away again. She was usually meticulous about how she looked, but today it was especially important.
Her outfit was entirely black, as though she was in mourning – a flouncy little Gothic dress with puffy sleeves and lace and black velvet ribbon décor, opaque black thigh-high stockings with silky black bows, chunky metal-studded, high-heeled ankle boots and black lace fingerless gloves ending just over her wrists. The choker around her pale throat was black velvet too, with an ornate Gothic-styled cross decorated with black and crimson glass jewels hanging from it, cold against her collarbone – it matched her earrings and the pearl-beaded rosary she'd chosen with utmost care, to correlate with both her outfit and her makeup. She'd pulled her blonde hair into full bunches, tied with flowing black ribbon, and to crown her outfit completely, she wore a tiny black top hat, clipped into her hair as a decoration, embellished with black silk roses and a little loop of similarly-ebony netting.
She was sure that what she was going to say would be more well-remembered than her outfit – but still, it was in Misa Amane to make a perfect impression. To appeal to her audience's eyes as well as their hearts.
Mogi leaned back in and she turned to him with a nod.
"Okay, I'm ready," she said, and she went to the door; he held it open for her as she stepped past him, out into the small adjacent room; straight into a sea of flashing lights and questions.
She was used to it, though. She kept her cool. She smiled, posed for the flurry of flashes, and then went to the small table Mogi had had set up for her, sitting down and adjusting the frothy layers of her skirt so that it gave the perfect effect; made her look like she was daintily perched on a pillowy cloud of black lace. Mogi came and stood next to her, his expression as stoic as always.
He, too, had no idea as to why she had demanded a press conference, but in his usual deferential manner, he had not questioned it. He wasn't suited for the competitive gaudy world of celebrities and he didn't have it in him to be a true handler. He was just too nice.
"Miss Amane!" cried the pushiest of the journalists, holding out his recording device towards her. "What's the reason for this?"
"What are you going to announce?" asked another, trying to elbow him out of the way.
"A movie?"
"A record deal?!"
Misa smiled calmly. They were such animals in these situations – dog eat dog, truly. She could use their ruthlessness to her advantage; indeed, that was her plan.
She knew that L thought her an idiot, but he had no idea what he was up against.
Not now, when she had nothing left to lose.
Misa stood up, placing her hands on the table and leaning over it, demanding authority with the definitive body language.
"It's more important than any of those things," she replied.
But then she paused, glancing again at Mogi. He might stop her – he was, after all, a detective on the Kira taskforce, and only posing as her manager. She couldn't afford to have him ruin her plan. She turned to him with her sweetest smile.
"Actually, before I begin… Mochi, I'm very thirsty. Can you please go and get me a latte?"
"Oh… I… Of course, Miss Amane." Mogi seemed perplexed by this request, since she did not normally ask him to run errands for her; but he nodded and began to leave, blindly taking the bait. He really was too nice…
"Miss Amane!" The journalists were beginning to get antsy, still pushing at one another in an effort to be the closest to her. "Don't leave us in such suspense!"
"Of course," Misa replied, satisfied as she watched Mogi leave the room, the door swinging closed behind him. "Everyone, what I have to say… involves Kira."
The hush that fell throughout the room like an implosion delighted her; if she hadn't had power over them before, she certainly did now.
"Kira? What about Kira?"
"You know who Kira is?"
"You met Kira?"
"You are Kira?"
Misa gave a grim smile. Okay, now that she had their attention, she was going to have to be careful. It wasn't herself or Light she wanted to land in trouble here – it was L. After all, she had no idea where Light was. If she gave away his identity, there was no guarantee whatsoever that he would be safe.
But she knew that thousands of people supported Kira, even if they were not vocal in polite society about it. It was not an option for her to be able to find Light herself this time – but if she was not alone, if there was an anonymous army that would help her search for Kira, help her save him from L…
She understood that a lot of Kira's supporters would be normal, everyday people – they, the voiceless masses, were exactly the kind of people Kira appealed to, after all. So she also understood that most of those whose sympathy she might stir would probably be unable to help her. But she was willing to gamble nonetheless on the fact that there had to be people higher up, people who had the means of finding L, who would also want to have their savior released.
"I am not Kira," Misa said firmly, "nor have I, regretfully, ever met him. I do not know his identity. But I am a supporter of his cause. Several years ago, a burglar killed my parents. The trial went on for months and there was speculation that he would even escape a jail sentence. It seemed like nobody cared that justice hadn't been served to my parents' murderer – as if nobody cared about the pain I felt, knowing that he might not be punished for what he did. But then Kira judged him for his crime, and since that day I have been dedicated to Kira's regime. He is an ally to the weak – to people like me, who have suffered in silence because of the evil deeds of other people."
Silence again – her words had cast a spell over them. She glanced at the door. Of course, Mogi wouldn't be back so soon from getting a latte, but she knew he wasn't stupid. It was possible that he hadn't ever left and was listening outside.
But there was no movement at all.
"So I am not ashamed to ally myself with Kira," she went on; tossing her head a little to make her bunches swing and give exactly the right dramatic effect. "He helped me as no-one else did – or could have. And as Kira helped me, I now wish to help him. As I understand it, Kira has at this point been taken captive in an unorthodox fashion by L. That is, L has imprisoned Kira without the NPA or ICPO's knowledge and simply disappeared with him. To me, this is unacceptable, and I am sure I am not the only one who thinks so. To Kira's supporters, and even those who are against us and wish to see him caught, we can all agree that L cannot be allowed to behave in this way. So I, Misa Amane, am standing against him, because I believe that he is wrong."
There was still silence as she finished speaking again. She wasn't surprised. She was completely certain that this was absolutely the opposite of what they'd been expecting her to say. But for all their speechlessness, she knew that they were each internally processing the best way to make headline news out of this. She wasn't the most famous icon in all of Japan, but she was popular enough, having been in a few small movies, on the covers of various fashion magazines and, most recently, Yotsuba Group's spokesperson – she was more than enough of a celebrity for something like this to be big news.
And perhaps it had been reckless. She didn't care. She was still seething at the nerve of L – and reasoned that this was merely paying him back in kind. After all, he was flaunting his power as L, the world's greatest detective, to get his own way.
So she was going to use her power as Misa Amane, famous model and actress, to get hers.
He had provoked her. This was his own fault.
She thought it best to leave them hanging for now; she was sure they were on the verge of bombarding her with questions again. She gave a polite little bow and walked away towards the door.
"Miss Amane!" the first journalist called after her, breaking the spell she had cast over them all. "Wh-what's the meaning of this?!"
"Isn't it true that you were questioned about having connections with Kira prior to your being hired as spokesgirl by Yotsuba Group?"
"Would you like to meet Kira?"
"Have you considered becoming a public figure to front Kira's regime?"
"Miss Amane!" A young female journalist with glasses shoved her way to the front, almost catching Misa up. "How is it that you know about Kira's being captured by L?"
"The press conference is over," Misa replied coolly, looking over her shoulder at her. "I'm not answering anymore questions at the moment."
She flounced out of the room, very pleased with herself; she could hear the journalists clamoring about and squabbling loudly as the door closed.
"Misa!" Mogi was hurrying towards her, clutching her latte in a pink paper cup. "What's the matter?"
"Nothing's the matter, Mochi," Misa replied, taking the beverage as a satisfied smile stretched her full red lips. "I'm just done with the conference. Oh, and thankyou for the latte."
Mogi seemed perfectly baffled by this announcement, but after a while gave a shrug.
"Shall we go, then?"
Misa nodded, smiling prettily at him.
"Yes, let's go," she said, starting to walk, her skirt of her dress bouncing to match the gleeful little skip in her step. "My work here is done."
Light slammed into the floor with stunning intensity.
L had literally jumped him, pouncing from behind and toppling him off the bed. He was still on top of him, pinning one of Light's arms behind his back while grinding his face into the carpet with bruising force. The bland noise of the television still droned on, Misa's "press conference" descending into complete chaos as the reporters each tried to sum up her message and pitch it in a different way; it was obvious that no one had planned for the bomb she had innocently dropped on all their heads.
Light, enraged, yelled and struggled under L's weight, fighting against the hand that was now tangled in his hair pressing his skull down. But when L shifted and Light felt the stony blunt weight of his knee settle across the back of his neck, he knew L had become truly dangerous. He could easily kill him in that position, pressing against the thin vertebrae there, the breakable tubing that held too many important wires… Light stilled, panting in pain, and growled through the carpet;
"L, get off me! That fucking hurts!"
"No. Not this time, Kira."
"I'm not—" Light choked on the words as L leaned forward, pinpointing his body weight onto Light's neck. Pain drilled tight corkscrews of agony through his spine and his face felt like it was being crushed completely flat. He couldn't stop the high-pitched keening sound it forced from his throat, unable to even groan properly with his trachea being crushed.
"Don't deny it anymore, Light-kun," L hissed. "Not when your partner just openly declared your guilt on national television."
"Sh-she didn't say anything!" Light wished he could articulate beyond that, but it was hard enough just talking; his voice was splintered under the pressure.
"She did. She said I took Kira into custody – and who else do I find but Light Yagami under my guard?" The detective gave a particularly enthusiastic twist on the captured arm to emphasize his point. Light whined at the extra pain and his legs scrabbled for purchase, anything to get L off of him.
"Does L… always torture… his suspects?" Light managed to grind out.
"Torture?" L paused, sounding sincerely surprised. "It is obvious that you have never read anything by Amnesty International, because this…" He leaned down, voice cold and sharp as steel. "This is nothing. Besides, Light-kun is no longer merely a suspect."
For the first time since being practically kidnapped by the detective, Light felt true terror rise up within him, the kind that becomes you when faced with the brink of death, with nowhere to turn and nowhere to go but the abyss below; he felt it clamber over his lungs and seize them with needle-like claws. The dreadful truth dawned on him with a sickly alien glow; L was going to kill him. There was nothing to stop him, because he was right, and since Misa had practically blasted away any residual doubt, even Light's own denial was null.
L had promised the world that he would give them Kira's head and Light didn't doubt L's ability to get his own hands dirty and deliver on such a promise when he finally gained that elusive one hundred per cent certainty.
He was cornered.
"L, please…" Light gasped out, barely daring to struggle now. "Don't do this…!"
The knee pressed down hard; hard enough to stop Light's breath, hard enough that he could actually feel the discs in his neck bulging out, threatening to tear under the compression. He flailed, legs kicking out, his one free arms thumping and pulling ineffectually against the ground, while his pinned arm strained painfully against L's grasp, doing anything he possibly could to get even an inch of leeway across his flattened neck, anything to get air—
"Kira," L said emotionlessly, "this is merely punishment for your crimes against the world, for the countless murders you have committed…"
Light's lungs began to burn, his head throbbed with a rapid urgent pulse, and black-spocked fuzz was building up over his vision. The radicular pain that razored over his spine, as L bore down with his full weight, was at the very breaking point. The connections were straining, weakening, trembling under the tension; any extra nudge and his neck would snap completely.
It was the end.
He was going to die in an anonymous hotel room, crushed by his one equal – his one enemy.
But…
The end didn't come.
After a few torturous seconds where the world continued to darken and spin, miraculously, the pressure suddenly lessened, just enough for Light to snatch a gulp of air; just enough to keep him from passing out. And after a few more drawn out seconds, L's grip loosened completely and he drew his hands away as if Light were contagious. He crawled off the coughing man, leaning back against the bed with his knees curled up to his chest. Light stayed on the floor, content to gasp where he was as long as his body could frantically pay its way out of its oxygen debt.
Eventually, with his voice sounding like wet gravel, he croaked out a single question:
"Why?"
The rest of it – Why didn't you kill me? – hung silent in the room. Light finally looked up, pain flickering through his neck in protest, and stared at L. And he couldn't do anything but stare – not when L was curled up, gazing with a horrified and confused expression at his palms.
"I don't know, Light." He looked up from his hands, his face still holding the foreign emotions. "…I just don't know."
Narroch: Whee! What fun! The tension is rising.
RR: I… well… That's… certainly one way of putting it, I suppose…
Narroch: Huh... Wonder why L stopped. Killing Kira was what he always wanted right? RIGHT?!?
RR: And as for Misa… on one hand, you know, it was kind of a smart move. On the other… well, let's just say that she didn't entirely think it through. O.o Clearly it didn't occur to her that everyone who knew that the person L had disappeared with was Light Yagami would be forced to come to the conclusion, based on her information, that Light was Kira – L included.
Still, she tried. I don't think Light will appreciate her efforts much, though… O.o
You know, I don't usually get the urge to put little comments on the text in – that's really more Narroch's thing (sometimes I get my drafts back from her with 'witty' little captions all over it in bold). Of course, they never make it to the posted version of the chapter, but although I restrained myself regardless, this chapter really made me want to write 'ALL HAIL BRITANNIA!' after the line 'Kira is not the first ruthless conqueror of the world, and I severely doubt he will be the last'; and write 'Wild One Hundred Per Cent Certainty appeared!' after "…when he finally gained that elusive one hundred per cent certainty".
But that would have just been inappropriate.
Narroch: Thanks for reading! Leave us a review, and see you all next chapter. :)
- RobinRocks and Narroch
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