And our name shall be forgotten in time, and no man shall have our works in remembrance, and our life shall pass away as the trace of a cloud, and shall be dispersed as a mist, that is driven away with the beams of the sun, and overcome with the heat thereof. For our time is a very shadow that passeth away; and after our end there is no returning: for it is fast sealed, so that no man cometh again.
Apocrypha, Book of Wisdom 2:4-5
Chapter Seven
South-Southeast
.X.
Twice, as he walked, Light caught his right hand holding his left shoulder, fingertips grazing the tip of the still-burning scar on his back. Twice he wrenched it away so hard the joints in his elbow cracked, stuffing both hands in the pockets of his jacket and hunching a trace more moodily.
It was probably a lot more foolish than it felt to be outside, alone and without protection. The whole world knew he was Kira, after all. But he wanted to walk. It was snowing fairly bitterly, so the streets were, for the most part, bare; he had his collar up and the brim of his hat down, menacing enough so that the occasional stranded passerby could sense the danger in him and keep out of his way, discreet enough so as not to be approached by any idiots looking for trouble.
Not, precisely, that those were common to be found anymore. Assaults, particularly in the daytime, no matter how deserted it was, were practically nonexistent in Japan. Most crimes that Kira found himself judging these days were domestic; crimes of passion. These, while usually the more brutal, were the crimes that he'd expected from the beginning to be the most difficult to eradicate. It was safe to assume that violence would never fully be purged from this generation: humans mimicked what they'd always seen, after all. Their children, perhaps, or their children's children would be the first truly peaceful people, under their leader's guidance.
But that was for the future. Today, Light was in the prime of his youth and already leading the globe towards Eden; he most literally had the weight of the world on his shoulders, and he could not—despite his conduct over the past six days, involving the termination of many a career in his office—be agitated.
This, however, could not and would never change the fact that, while a god in the eyes of the world, Light was still human with a human capacity for anger. And while he knew that he was unmatched in detaching his emotions from his work ethic, he also knew when to admit that a limit had been reached.
This, obviously, was such an instance.
Six days and he hadn't seen L—hadn't verified that he was alive from the effects of his stupid escapade and hadn't bothered to feed him, honestly not trusting himself not to kick the bastard's chest in until the life was crushed from within it. And that, frankly, was not a death that Lawliet deserved—he would die slowly, now, every microbody within him crying out in agony. Images of the pale spider body broken on the concrete kept rotating through Light's mind on a red haze. L would die mercilessly, and soon.
Releasing a steamy breath that lied about his level of calm, Light kicked the snow off his boots as he leaned against the steps to a mountainous suburban home. It took a keycard entry to open the ornate iron gates, and he was met at the door by a surprised-looking butler who bowed deeply and ushered him inside.
"—most unexpected, my lord, the mistress didn't inform—far too cold out there, let me take your—ah," he was quite young for someone in such a high position, really, but wisely stopped his babbling at Light's pointed eyebrow-raise. "Of course, I will let her know right away. Um…" and he was gone like a shot. No one dawdled when in the same room with Kira.
Chuckling mildly, Light hung his own coat and made his way into the parlor room to wait. It was amazing how much more efficient people became when placed in direct contact with the people who paid their salaries.
"Light!" was the only warning he received before being placed on the better end of a chokehold hug and obtaining a lapful of female.
All response was efficiently squeezed out of him for several seconds. "Hey there, little sis," he managed when Sayu released him, absolutely vibrating with pleasure.
Sayu was twenty-one now, and the absolute image of beauty. Their family had been blessed with looks on top of brains both in generous portions, and Light was proud of the woman his sister had become. Though not politically-minded enough to be of much aid in the Kira regime, she was sharp and supportive, more than worthy of being his sibling. She did, however, live under another name to avoid needless publicity, which was understandable.
She gave him a critical once-over as she launched into chattering. "What are you doing here? You could have called, you know… oh my god, it's got to be freezing out there! You're dripping wet—did you seriously walk here? Are you insane?! You're going to get yourself assassinated or pneumonia or something else embarrassing, here—" she crossed the room to find a thick wool blanket, forcibly draping it over his shoulders before he had time to protest.
Watching her mother him had a tangible effect. He grinned at her ceaseless chatter, and felt himself relax slowly by degrees. It had been a most unexpected turnabout, but sometime over the last few years, he'd begun to need his only remaining family more than he'd ever thought he would.
Later, after she'd warmed him up to a satisfactory level and sent the butler for hot chocolate or something equally cliché, the whirlwind actually paused long enough for the most powerful man in the world to get a word in edgewise. "You look like you're doing well."
Sayu laughed. "Jeez, Light… well's an understatement. You really went overboard here, you know," she said it as she always had, gesturing around at the home and easy living that he provided for her. Their family had never been poor, but there was no doubt that she'd never expected, as a child, to have a small squadron of personal servants at her beckoning. Her house was expansive without being overwhelmingly massive (like his sometimes was) and tastefully decorated, though he noticed that every time he visited, she'd noticeably changed the look and feel of the place.
He just smiled. "How's Hasayama?"
"Grouchy as usual. He's at work today," she said. Her boyfriend was… less than enthusiastic about living with Kira's sister, and went out of his way not to touch the money that Light provided for him. Light, personally, wouldn't have had it any other way; any other man he would suspect of simply using Sayu to live free and eat well. Hasayama, while admittedly stubborn, was a good man. "Oh, you should have heard him after you left last time, Light—he kept…"
He didn't doubt that the pair loved each other well enough… but he also knew from security reports that his sister kept a small photo of Touta Matsuda in the drawer under her desk.
Listening to his sister talk about her life had an almost Zen effect on him. She worked part time as a fashion consultant, more to avoid boredom than anything else, and volunteered at a children's mission house in Shinjuku. He was constantly relieved that she had the tenacity to life a normal life, even with the hellish security measures that had to be taken to hide the fact that she was related to Kira. If that were ever found out, she would be targeted by extremists within an hour and would have to go into hiding for months, years—possibly forever.
Light felt his gaze drop slightly, leaning into the blanket as another faint chill ghosted over him. He would avoid that at all costs.
"And… have you heard from mother?"
Sayu paused, though she tried not to let the cheer fall from her voice. "Yes," she said, smiling into her hot chocolate. "I called her a few nights ago, actually. She's… doing okay."
Somehow, Light doubted it. Sachiko had never forgiven him, for Soichiro, for Kira, for… anything. She didn't believe in what he stood for, and hadn't quite forgiven Sayu for standing by him. But Sayu understood—she knew that their father had died a noble death, for the betterment of the world under Kira. Sachiko… was another necessary loss.
"That's good," he murmured. He had offered his mother everything he'd given Sayu, and would continue to do so though she'd never accept or even speak to him. Perhaps someday she would understand…
They fell to silence after a while, Sayu peering at him pointedly. Light didn't visit often, and she obviously suspected something to be amiss. It wasn't really, but he didn't know how to say aloud that he'd just felt like seeing her.
"Sayu..." he set his half-drained mug on the delicate-looking end table beside the loveseat. She tilted her head slightly, ready to go into caring-sibling mode at a moment's notice if necessary. He was, admittedly, a little annoyed at how easy she was to read.
"Yes?"
He folded his arms, leveling his gaze so that he looked less agitated than he felt. "Am I doing the right thing?"
There was a not-unexpected pause. He'd never asked her anything like that… never asked anyone, never showed any doubts. And despite the overwhelming sense of responsibility and power he displayed, the two of them rarely talked about his role as Kira.
Sayu set her mug down in the same fashion, folding her legs beneath her. She looked equal parts uncomfortable and contemplative, and he wondered if she'd ever really thought about it.
"I think you are," was the eventual response. "I didn't at first. When you first told us it had been you all along, I didn't know what to think. It was scary," she admitted. And it had been—Sachiko had gone into panic and rage, threatening to call the police and the media and anyone else she could think of, and Sayu had disappeared for two weeks, presumably staying with friends and adjusting to the idea that her brother was the world-renowned supernatural killer.
During that time, Light had silenced his mother. The words still kept her silent today.
"But when you think about it, no one's ever managed to do what you've done because there was no other way to do it. I know it hasn't been easy for you, Light." Her eyes softened on him, reading into him as only she could. "It must be hell, actually. But I do think you're doing the right thing. You're saving the world."
Light released a breath, smiling at her fondly. He knew all that, he knew he was right… but it was still good to hear her say it. "Thanks."
"Although," Sayu scooted a little closer to him, nudging his knee with a familiar grin, "I'd know for sure if I could figure out how you do it. You could teach me..."
He just smirked, pushing at her lightly. "That, little sister, is the world's most valuable secret. You couldn't afford it."
"Hmph. Maybe you are just an evil dictator…"
"Maybe. Want to hear my evil laugh?"
It was a good three hours later, laughing and talking about vague, unimportant things, Light decided he needed to get home and back to work. Sayu promptly called the butler to arrange a car, absolutely refusing to let him outside in the snow again.
"By the way," she said after releasing him from another breath-defying embrace, "what have you got Misa-Misa doing over there in that big house of yours? I haven't heard from her in weeks. Bring her next time, okay?"
"I will," said Light, placing a kiss on his sister's cheek. "Though I don't know when I'll be able to get away again."
She nodded with only a mild pout by comparison, drawing the blanket tighter around her shoulders as the butler opened the door for him. "I know. Just… take care of yourself."
"You too. My best to Hasayama..." he added with a faint smirk.
Sayu laughed. "Your best is a hell of a lot, Light."
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Omit's headache admittedly wasn't as vicious as she'd expected it to be, but it was still far from pleasant, and the eight-thirty sunlight creeping over her half-closed blinds was a phenomena unbidden. She grumbled, rolling over onto the side that would face her bedroom door and counted down the seconds—because it was not, unfortunately, the sunlight that had awakened her.
Four heavy bootfalls later, Mello opened the door and aimed a .25 caliber pistol at her face.
"'mornin' sunshine," she said by way of greeting, waving a little with the set of two miniature throwing knives she had positioned to fly into his guts. The two of them, and Matt, had a strange ritual in place, constantly attempting to catch each other off-guard—though she'd never realty figured out whether it was really a training exercise rather than a vicious little power play. Between the three of them, she lost more often, but she was improving.
Tucking the gun back into his belt, Mello nodded at her faintly. She chose to interpret this as commendation on an assault well avoided. "Kitchen. Near's called a meeting."
"Sure thing," she said, yawning and waving him off with one hand and stashing the blades with another. "I'm on it. Double time." He gave her a dubious glower and left, and Omit burrowed her face into the pillow. Three hours of sleep, mild hangover, grumpy Mello… yes, life was normal.
She tumbled out of bed a few seconds later—Near really would make her suffer if she made him wait too long—and chanced a look at herself in the wall mirror. Her short pink hair was a wreck, the kohl on her eyes smudged beyond repair, and the clothes she'd slept in were a wrinkled homage to the aroma of alcohol.
"Perfect," she declared, and padded out into the hall, wondering if she'd have time to eat before the numbers started flying.
As she rounded the corner from her room, a small line of sleekness grazed against her ankles. "Morning, Peruvi," she cooed to her gray tiger cat, leaning to stroke him in greeting. He was almost three years old and she'd had him since he was a kitten, which made her his rightful owner, yes… but ever since Near and his team had taken to occupying the apartment that had once been hers, Peruvi had latched onto the young genius-child with a powerful, undaunted affection rarely seen in the feline race. He adored Near, for whatever reason.
She wasn't, fortunately, the last to arrive, but it was close. Matt slid in behind her, flipping one of the kitchen chairs backward and draping himself over it. Mello looked at him with a muted distaste, eyeing the cigarette lodged behind his ear in contempt. He was forever on Matt's ass about his incessant smoking, but never said a word to Omit about hers. Omit found this very telling.
Near was hunched oddly over the far end of the table, scribbling on a sheet of well-covered paper filled with a mix of numbers, equations and doodles. He looked, as usual, closer to twelve than sixteen, defying the very reasoning behind age and intellect. Omit had always thought the kid was a damn weirdo, but she respected him hugely for that monolith mind. Still… she rested her chin on her hands, sorely hoping that this was worth not sleeping for. Peruvi leapt onto her lap and settled there.
He spoke after a few expectant moment of scribbling silence, just as she was starting to get hungry and annoyed.
"The chance has risen from fourteen to eighty-seven percent that L is alive."
Well. That would wake a fellow up.
"What?" Matt echoed her thoughts, raising an eyebrow in what resembled disbelief. Mello frowned, and Omit blinked. "How'd you come to that? I didn't even know you were investigating his death." That wasn't exactly true, as there'd always been a chance that the detective had survived and they'd discussed it before, but not in any real depth. Omit had rather forgotten about it.
Still trained on his doodles with one hand, Near distributed a copy of a data sheet to each of them, and continued as they attempted to untangle the miniscule coding. "Last night, following a lead from an informant in Japan, I was able to contact Kira directly. His behavior concerning certain subjects lead to this conclusion."
"No shit?" Omit forewent the paper in favor of staring at him owlishly. "You actually talked to him? How?"
Near ignored her, instead producing a pencil-sized digital recorder, setting it on the table and pressing play.
The sound quality was crap at best, an incessant buzzing nearly drowning out the words—but not enough so as that the conversation didn't have all three of them listening in rapt attention. They'd heard the voice of Kira on every TV and radio for miles, but it had never seemed as real as it did through that phone line.
"Jesus," Omit whistled, willing her eyes back to their normal circumference. "That's really him. How you find him, Near?"
"And why couldn't you include us in this little chat?" That was from Mello, eyes narrowing in distrust. Of all of them, he seemed to like Near the least anyway, and he didn't appreciate being excluded.
Near finally looked up, meeting Mello's eyes with his usual dull, grey-eyed gaze. "The lead was unstable. I did not expect for it to produce results, and was quite surprised when it did."
Mello scowled. "We're supposed to be a team, aren't we?" he made the word team sound like a curse, ice-blue eyes hard in annoyance. "Not very conducive to the solo routine. You hiding anything else from us?"
"Yes," Near deadpanned, emotionless, "lots. Mello-san might consider sanctioning his comments during informative reports, to ensure promptness and efficiency."
Mello opened his mouth, but Matt interrupted. "What about this conversation makes you think that L is alive? No one's heard from him in almost ten years…"
The blank charcoal gaze swiveled onto him. "By claiming to be the L that Yagami-san once knew, I tested his conviction that his murder of L had been successful." The pen he held was still trailing aimless lines, blacking out equations already dismissed in his mind. "As the conversation progressed, Yagami-san grew more and more disturbed. This doubt on his part indicates that he cannot be fully certain that L is dead."
He started doodling circles, eyes still trained on Matt, but clearly not seeing him. The blank, thinking-mode stare had taken a while to get used to.
"I suspect that Yagami-san attempted to kill L using the Death Note, but was never able to fully confirm his death."
"Okay," said Omit, running her fingers through her hair and tugging distractedly, "from what I know of the Death Note, you need a person's real name. Say Kira found L's name and used it, but never actually saw him die... it would naturally make him paranoid. But that qualifies as human error… surely not eighty-seven percent worth."
This process was new to her, though… evil notebooks and death gods. But watching Kira's powers firsthand all these years had opened the world's eyes to a whole to way of thinking, and Omit was only recently removed from the world.
"That is true, Omit-san," replied Near, eyes finally returning back to his scribblings. "All the details we have regarding the day L died are unclear. Naturally, L's own personal record did not extend to this event."
"Then your conclusion is based on…?"
Near blinked slowly, scratches finally ceasing as he twirled the pen deftly through his fingers. "All information on Yagami-san," he said after a while, "attests to his personality being extremely thorough. I find it difficult to believe that he would allow his murder of L to take place in a manner that he could not personally affirm its success. Therefore…"
He placed the pen down, fishing around in his pockets and retrieving a pair of dice, rolling them around in his palm. "A second option is that Yagami-san knows for a fact that L is alive."
"There's no way," came Mello's input, irritation put aside in favor of reason. "Even if he couldn't kill him at the time, with all the power that Kira has now he could have L killed even without his Death Note. He'd never let him live this long." That was certainly true… once, the name of L was so influential that he could have several major world leaders assassinated with a phone call, but his death had been made very public, and the power had fallen to the man who had beaten him.
Near let the die fall onto the table—a two and a four.
"You have each read the handwritten account of the Kira case left behind by L." Apparently, L had taken to writing a failsafe during any case in which his life was placed into direct danger, a gift of sorts to his successors. Without these records, all data in the Kira files truly would have been lost that day. "You will notice that L stressed the tenacity of Yagami-san's personality. He mentioned repeatedly that Yagami-san was highly competitive by nature and viewed L as an opponent during the course of their relationship."
He picked the dice up and rolled again, over and over. Six, ten, three, another six… "This is parallel to the observations that we have made of Kira during his political rule. I do not find it impossible that Yagami-san, upon producing the winning hand to triumph over L, would prefer his opponent alive to witness the magnitude of his defeat. It is possible that L became Yagami-san's prisoner."
There was a long moment of silence punctuated only with the small plastic clatter of the dice. Omit's stomach rumbled.
"But… all this time?" Said Matt, who'd moved the cigarette from his ear to his lips and was gnawing on it in thought. "I think it does sound possible that he'd want to mess with him a little at the time if he thought he could get away with it. But that's been… what, eight or nine years ago? The odds that he'd still be alive—"
"Are quite slim, yes. That is where we come to my impersonation over the phone last night."
He reached with one hand to replay the recording. They listened in silence.
"Enough. What do you hope to gain by trying to convince me that you're L?"
"Things are not as they were. Kira has obtained his dream, and he lives in the open. It is only appropriate that L should neither run nor hide."
"Then show yourself."
"I intend to."
Near gave no indication that he was even listening. "Regardless," he said when they'd finished, rolling and rerolling the dice with mechanical precision, "I feel that this evidence is enough to warrant further investigation. I propose that, for a time, we temporarily abandon all other case files and focus on Japan." With that, his eyes raised under the blocky strands of his stark-white hair to slide onto Mello. "Do my teammates agree?"
Mello scowled powerfully, fingers tightening on his arms where the crossed over his chest. Matt saved them all another carefully disguised bitching. "I think it's worth checking out. I don't see how, though. Everything Kira does is locked down and sealed up. We've been trying to infiltrate him for a while now."
"That is true," said Near as he rolled a twelve. "However, you will recall I mentioned the informant that aided me in breaching Yagami-san's personal telephone line. This informant has indicated that they will contact us again."
Omit frowned. "It could easily be a trap, Near. Kira himself could have set this up, trying to get to you."
"It is possible." He proceeded, then, to roll three twelves in a row. "But I do not think so."
She sighed, sensing she'd be getting nothing more concrete than that. "Then what do you propose we do in the meantime?"
Straightening just slightly, Near pocketed the dice and uncurled himself from the chair in what looked like a series of painful maneuvers. "We will be relocating," he said evenly, in the tone that served to remind that, though the youngest of them all, he was the leader of this odd little group. "I have made arrangement for a new headquarters in Japan, just south of Tokyo."
" Japan?" Despite the severity of the situation, Omit found herself grinning; she'd never been, though, like most of the world, had learned a good deal of the language in order to keep up with the Kira pandemonium.
"Yes. I wonder," he added, voice rising to just a hint above monotone, "whether Mello-san might be so kind as to allow us use of the private plane with which he has been investigating alone."
Matt raised an eyebrow in the blonde's direction, concern glittering in his features. "You've been sneaking off to Japan, Mello? Do you have any idea how damn dangerous that is?" Mello said nothing, only glared bullets at Near and gave a short, curt nod.
Near stood from his seat and smiled; if smile was the appropriate phrasing, it really constituted as more an intentional tightening of facial muscles, and it only served to piss Mello off further. "Very well… I should like to arrive there by tomorrow evening. Please prepare."
"Near?" Said Omit just as he was ready to turn and shuffle out. He looked at her blankly, and she raised the no-longer-comfortable gray cat from her lap. "We can take Peru, right?"
There was a faint twitch in the line of Near's lips, bordering on imperceptible but to those who knew him best. There was, obviously, no reason to bring the animal along; it could potentially cause disruption and distraction, might place the focus of the investigation in jeopardy, was all-around a bad idea…
"Yes," he said dully, and slunk from the room like an inverted shadow fleeing the dawn. Omit couldn't help but giggle, giving her now disgruntled pet a squeeze before letting him bound off. Matt shook his head at her as he lit up, and Mello simply rose to pack his things.
Tokyo it was, then.
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It was late when he got home, the sky dark and frigid on his cheeks on the short walk from the limo to the door. The heavily-armed guards at his gate looked at him blankly, confused that he hadn't bothered to tell them where he was going. They looked as if they, too, wanted to tell him the danger in his actions, but he shut them up with a look.
His mood was so far lightened, though, that he actively went searching for Misa to tell her hello. He found her in his office, examining a row of books.
"Good evening, miss," he purred, slipping his arms around her waist and nuzzling the side of her throat. She sighed and leaned back against him, hands falling from the crucifix at her throat to rest on his wrists.
"Hi," she said in response, tilting her head to let him kiss the base of her neck. He'd been rather pleasantly surprised to discover that Misa was a natural blonde; she had the aesthetic of a goddess, if not the mentality.
"I went to see Sayu," he told her, combing his fingers through her hair. "She says hello. Hasn't heard from you in a while."
"Oh… yes, I meant to call her," Misa murmured. "I've just been busy…"
He snorted inwardly—what in the world did she have to be busy with?—but nodded, turning her by the shoulders and letting her back fall against the bookshelf, surprising her with a deep, powerful kiss. She melted, arms easily sliding around his shoulders. Easy—she was so easy, Misa was, so easy to manipulate it was as if she had strings attached to her digits. It was convenient, it was right for his "queen" to worship him so completely.
But still he hated her for it.
He spoke to her, quiet little nothing-words as his fingers traced her arms, throat, cupped her breasts in a way that made her body shift like water on steel. Light couldn't hate completely—sometimes he loved her, loved the way she needed him, the way she sounded when he fucked her—
Mostly, though, the two extremes mixed fluidly; love and hate like twin serpents slithering in his veins, dominating over everything he felt.
He spotted Ryuk, out of the corner of his eye, poking his head and feathery torso through the wall on the opposite side of the room; the shinigami rolled his blood-crimson eyes and vanished without a word, as this was not a human event that entertained him very much. He chuckled in his mind as he bent to slide an arm beneath Misa, lifting her onto his chest and letting her wrap her legs around his waist, carrying her from the office. They had separate rooms, of course—he'd claimed that his late work would keep her awake, though in all honesty she probably slept less than he did.
Tonight, Misa, and everything that he loved about her. Tomorrow, he would take care of L.
If Misa noticed his scar, she never said a word.
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Oh. My. GOD.
-smacks self repeatedly in face with brick-
I've been working on this fic for almost three months now, and I just, last night while trying to fix my dying stereo, noticed the UBERLARGE, POINTY-TOOTHED SPEAR-WIELDING PLOTHOLE jumping up and down on top of it. The case files? Y'know, the ones causing problems because we're all WHO EES DIS?? WHAT EES HIS NAME? The original plot device causing the storyline to begin to move? Mikami is the one who discovered them, remember?
Mikami has Shinigami eyes.
HOW FREAKIN' DUMB AM I?
Motherload of stupid. I've reworked this every which way in my head, and I can't think of any way to reconfigure the plot in order for it to make sense. So I now submit a formal, humble apology to each and every one of you for being such a brainless wiener.
I feel like discontinuing the story because that was so dumb.
The only bare semblance of a half-assed explanation I can come up with is that, since this fic is pretty well AU anyhow, I could hypothetically reconfigure the dynamics so that possessors of the Eyes can't see a person's name through a photograph. That, however, burns at my pride because it is so half-assed… so unless you're willing to take that as an excuse, a large gaping plothole it will remain.
I am so, so sorry.
-picks up brick, proceeds-
