If there was any question as to what L had done when Light was unknowingly disproving his alibi, it was initially completely gone from Light's mind in a matter of days, when what could have been coincidence or another of Ryuzaki's unpredictable moods became, more and more clearly, deliberate avoidance.
Ryuzaki was, quite successfully, doing everything he could to avoid ever being in a room alone with Light, undoubtedly not wanting to give him the chance to confront him without having to resort to some attempt at public shaming. It wasn't as if the idea of forcing him to admit his transgressions in front of the already so dwindled task force wasn't a little appealing to Light, if only for the fact that that would probably have his father and Matsuda at the ends of their ropes as well—but there was a limit to how much Light himself should theoretically be willing to tolerate, and if he seemed too intent to stick around it'd start to raise questions.
Not to mention there was the ever-present possibility that L would disappear into hiding with the Death Note, as Light had worried initially, if he lost the rest of his task force. There would be few benefits to staying in this specific location alone, and plenty of risk in investigating from a place whose location was known by close to half a dozen people who were no longer loyal to him.
Pushing things too quickly was dangerous. Light knew he had to quell the first stirrings of impatience every time he felt them, that now more than ever he had to pull back and avoid unnecessary risk. He would watch L bury himself, deeper and deeper with every passing day. Without proof one way or another of the thirteen day rule's validity, they'd still have no grounds to suspect Light, at the very least, and even if Misa were to screw up, as was certainly possible the more time L bought for himself, Rem would step in to save her.
There was no sense in losing his composure now when his victory was still guaranteed.
Or so it seemed. The days were stiflingly uneventful; if Misa was one thing it was obedient and as her killings slowed to a crawl, just like Light had ordered, it left each twenty-four hours feeling longer than the ones prior. Like the slow decay of L's remaining life, in the minds of the others, had a half life of its own. The closer the end came, the longer the wait. Light bore the waiting with the knowledge that they were standing, precarious, over an inevitable drop. If L had written another name, he would tell the task force before the thirteenth day came—that seemed like the most obvious of facts. That he had written it, equally obvious. Light was convinced. Light did not waver.
Until he did.
A distinct melancholy settled over headquarters as day thirteen drew nearer, like the silence that fills the air around a funeral altar. Matsuda and Soichiro spoke in whispers when they thought no one paid them any mind, nothing but hushed voices and concerned looks on drawn faces. L still drifted around the building and disappeared from the task force's sight for long intervals, reluctant, or perhaps unmotivated, to stay at his desk for more than half an hour at a time. Light both appreciated and began to resent the lack of the handcuffs; he had no desire to be dragged around the building while L sulked, but were they still tethered, it would give the detective no chance to avoid a one-on-one confrontation.
"Will I die of a heart attack when time runs out, or is the cause of death something different?" L asked aloud one day, eyes fixed downwards into his untouched cup of coffee. Rem, unfailingly present in the corner of the room, slowly shrugged her shoulders. Her expression was as blank as ever.
"Who knows? I've never seen a human die from not writing in the notebook." Light's gaze darkened, slightly, and he momentarily met her eyes - a warning. Watch what you say.
Rem, whether she took the hint or not, continued, though Light could see in his peripheral vision that she was looking at him, not L.
"Anyone who wouldn't write another human's name in order to stay alive would probably take their own life out of guilt, rather than wait around to die."
"I see," said L, quietly rising from his seat and shuffling towards the elevator. Light turned to watch his receding back. L's shoulders were hunched like he was shrinking into himself, becoming smaller, smaller. He looked very young like that, Light thought. That ease of movement, that relaxation that had made him so certain L had thought himself untangled from his fate had disappeared in the time since, and Light, despite everything, found himself unable to clear his mind of doubt.
If he could just talk to Rem alone, he could settle everything, but there wasn't a single room in headquarters without surveillance, save for the bedroom he and L had once shared, and even if they weren't listened in on, just the act of going off alone with the Shinigami would immediately look suspicious. He couldn't ask her to leave the building with him for the same reason, and he couldn't talk to her in front of the rest of the team. What she'd said about anyone who couldn't kill another person not being able to last the thirteen days implied she knew something, but an implication wasn't enough for Light to move forward. No, with even the possibility that L had truly gone without writing another name, if Light was going to assume he'd have to assume the worst.
The worst?
When did L dying as soon as was possible become the worst case scenario? No, that should be the best case scenario.
But either way. Best case. Worst case. It didn't matter. If L had done it, he'd have to act. If he hadn't, he'd be dead soon enough. All Light had to do was be cautious, take things slowly. If he tried to force things, or if he let himself get too careless trying to get more information, it could end up being his downfall. He couldn't get antsy.
He tried to work off his nervousness by pretending to be fully invested in the case, and made it through the twelfth day and the beginning of the thirteenth on five cups of coffee and nothing else. He felt faint, but that, at least, was distracting. That no one was paying enough attention to Light to question it came as no surprise.
It started to rain on day thirteen, when it was getting late in the evening and Light had sat down to finally indulge in the takeout Matsuda had gone out to get. He was very careful to make sure he didn't eat like he was starving, matching his pace to his father's and Matsuda's perfectly.
When Matsuda, despite surely knowing it was futile, looked up to ask Ryuzaki if he wanted anything, it was just in time for the detective to retreat into the elevator. Not unusual on its own, but what was unusual, what Light noticed the moment he looked up, was that Rem was following after him. He hadn't heard L ask her to follow him, but he'd been distracted by dinner and the fuss that came along with Matsuda bringing it and hadn't been paying nearly enough attention.
He stood to follow as soon as he'd eaten as much as he cared to, getting as far as the elevator before remembering that he had no idea where L had disappeared to.
Recalling his repeated insistence that he had been going to see Watari, Light pushed the button for the floor that held the security office. That L had been lying once didn't mean he had been every time, and if he had to guess where he'd decide to go in his last few hours, by Watari's side didn't seem like an unlikely place to find him. At least.
His key card couldn't unlock Watari's office, but the little light of the lock blinked green at Light's first knock. He opened the door, let himself in—and L wasn't there.
Watari, alone in the office, turned in his chair.
"Yagami-san." The old man seemed utterly unsurprised to see him, and Light found himself grateful for the fact that he'd likely only minimally need to explain himself.
"I'm looking for Ryuzaki," Light said, and Watari gave an understanding nod. "He didn't come down here?"
"He's gone up to the roof." Watari looked to his monitors, pointing to one camera feed showing a small, rather claustrophobic stairwell off a larger one. "More specifically, the last place I saw him on the cameras was here, which only opens to the roof. Take the elevator to the highest floor and take the stairs the rest of the way, Yagami-san. Your key should open all the doors without trouble."
"Thank you."
Light turned to leave, nearly out the door before Watari spoke again.
"Yagami-san, please get him to come inside," he said, unmistakably sad. Light turned to look—Watari was looking down, hands folded in his lap. "With the weather today, if he stays out in the rain for too long, he's bound to catch a cold."
Light paused, unsure what to say. Some part of him was moved, he supposed, by what was so clearly the sorrow of a grieving parent, grandparent, guardian—whatever, exactly, Watari was. He hadn't slipped so far that he couldn't yet still picture his father sitting there instead, sitting there soaking in the knowledge that Light himself was approaching the end of his life...
But his pity when it came to L was minimal by necessity.
"We can't have that," Watari added, and Light nodded.
"I'll bring him inside," he assured him, and left to find his way to the roof.
It took a while to find the right way up, the layout of the building rather impractically difficult to navigate to anyone other than, presumably, L and Watari themselves. Light hoped that he might pass by Rem on the way, through some happy accident, and have at least a second alone with her to exchange a word or two without inciting suspicion. No such luck. By the time he reached the final door, he was still yet to see her.
L was alone on the roof when Light opened the door, standing there looking a little like a stray cat out in the rain, already soaked from head to toe. Light watched him for a moment from under the overhang, shielded from the rain himself. It was difficult to see him, with the rain and the darkness both, but Light could make out his figure well enough.
Rem must have gone back already, then. Damn.
L's back was to Light, his head turned upwards towards the sky as the rain poured down upon him, and he seemed to have his hands in his pockets. He made for a rather sad looking sight that way—less like a regular stray cat caught in the rain, Light thought, and more like a drowned one.
"What are you doing out here, Ryuzaki?" Light called out to him, and L turned, head cocked to one side. He raised one hand to his ear, the other staying in his pocket, and mouthed what Light thought might have been "what did you say?"
Light cupped his hand around his mouth and tried again, louder this time, "What are you doing out here, Ryuzaki?"
L shook his head and gestured to his ear again. Light sighed, braced himself, and walked out into the downpour.
"What are you doing, Ryuzaki?" he asked for the third time once he was by the detective's side, already getting cold in the somewhat brisk November night. L stared at him from under wet black hair that hung down over his face, not saying a word. Light sighed again, finding in himself the long-suffering but well-meaning friend, and put on a mask of concern. "You're soaked, you must be freezing. Come inside. Come on."
"It won't be for a few more hours," L said quietly, looking up at the overcast sky. "Just after three in the morning, tonight. That would be thirteen full days since I wrote that name. Can I ask you a favor, Light-kun?"
"Of course." If for no other reason than because Light was curious what that favor would be, at a time like this... And more so because he would never be expected to say anything but yes. He might have finally gotten him alone, but he could wait to let L say whatever he needed to say before he tried to breach the subject of writing another name... He'd have to.
"I'd like you to be there, then. You, your father, Matsuda-san. All three of you. No matter what happens, don't avert your eyes when that hour comes." There was a sudden intensity to L's voice, and in his eyes when his gaze met Light's. He put one hand on Light's shoulder, the other never leaving the pocket of his jeans. "Do you understand?"
"Yes, but—" Light began, but L cut him off in an instant.
"Can you promise me that?"
"Yes." Light removed L's hand from his shoulder, holding his gaze for a moment before L turned away, walking towards the edge of the roof. Light followed him, staying a few paces back from the other man's rather precarious position.
I could push him. It would look like an accident. Or a suicide. Just like Rem told the task force—anyone who wouldn't take another life would take their own out of guilt. No one would doubt it.
But a "suicide" wouldn't give Light the alibi he was looking for, and it would mean cutting this short when the moment had already almost arrived... it would be a waste.
And something about the idea of standing right there, pushing him, watching him fall—he'd do it if it was the best option, or the only option, but something about that, specifically, came with a touch of unease in a way that the numerous other deaths he'd pictured for L didn't. It wasn't necessary and it wasn't even practical. It didn't matter.
"Ryuzaki—"
"I was hoping the sky would be clear tonight," L interrupted, looking up at the unmoving clouds, then down over the edge. "But even like this, the city lights are rather beautiful at night. I've never noticed before."
He turned, then, walking past Light to the door that lead down to the stairwell. Light followed him, relieved to be out of the rain again. His eyes strained a bit to get used to the bright fluorescent lights inside, and he had to squint to see clearly as they descended the narrow stairs. Light tried to start speaking several times, but L didn't respond to any of it. Not until he decided to start talking himself, utterly indifferent to Light's presence.
"It's late for a church to be holding a service," the detective remarked aimlessly, looking down at his feet.
"What are you talking about, Ryuzaki?"
"The bells," he said, as if that would explain everything. "I wonder what they were for. A wedding? Or..."
"I didn't hear any bells," said Light.
L stopped. He stared at Light for what felt like an eternity, and thought he had not even the slightest clue how old the detective was, in that moment, Light thought he looked far older than whatever his age truly was.
And yet, somehow—still with that childish, pitiable look that he'd had on the roof, like some poor sick thing one would want to take inside and keep warm.
"No, I suppose I didn't either," he said. He was gone surprisingly quickly, then, not bothering to allow Light to match his pace, and as Light returned to his room to change and dry off, he found that his doubt had tipped the scale. Suddenly, that he'd been reading too much into L's behavior the day he thought he'd written another name seemed like the more likely option, that tonight would truly bring L's final hours.
Sat on the edge of his bed drying his hair with a towel, he pictured L's face as he'd asked Light to stay with him in his mind, and wondered what sort of funeral the world's greatest detective would have.
While Light found himself too tired to keep his eyes focused on his computer screen by midnight, as was typical, the anticipation of what exactly would happen when that critical moment came was far too much to allow him any restful sleep when he headed up to his bedroom for a nap. When his alarm began insistently beeping at ten minutes to three, he couldn't tell if he'd even slept at all. If he had, it had been both dreamless and restless. Still, he got himself up out of bed quickly; there was no time to waste, and a slow start could mean missing everything.
There was an unsettling stillness down in the main room, like stepping into a wax museum. Matsuda and Soichiro sat silent at the coffee table, while L was curled up in his computer chair, staring up at the monitors. They all showed exactly the same thing; a white counter on a black screen, ticking down days, hours, minutes, seconds. Zero days. Zero hours. Twenty-three minutes. Fifty-eight seconds, fifty-seven seconds, fifty-six, fifty-five...
"Watari synced it up to match precisely with the moment I finished writing Kosuke Gōto's name," L explained, despite having given no acknowledgment that he'd seen or heard Light come down the stairs. "Whatever happens will happen when this timer reaches zero."
It was only then that he swiveled his chair to face Light at the bottom of the stairs, expression surprisingly soft. "I was starting to think you weren't going to come downstairs in time, Yagami-kun."
"I promised I'd be here with you," Light said, and took his usual seat at L's right.
Maybe for the last time. I hope he doesn't expect me to hold his hand.
"You did," said L, and then he said no more. He seemed intent to spend those last twenty-three minutes in silence while his three teammates stared at him and each other, though Matsuda at least tried to start up a conversation about the case. Neither Yagami was able to really get into it, and L didn't even bother speaking. With five minutes on the timer, the conversation finally fizzled out into complete silence. Light watched L, wondered what on Earth the man could be thinking. He looked at Rem, tried desperately to read her—to no avail, as always.
He looked to his father, who looked pale and so very tired. He looked to Matsuda, who looked like he was already in mourning.
He looked to the timer as it counted out its last four minutes. They were the longest four minutes of Light Yagami's life.
Ten seconds.
Light held his breath and turned to look at L.
Five seconds.
Four.
Three.
Two.
One.
L met his eyes, and nothing happened.
Light thought he might have felt his heart stop.
Why is he still alive?
"Ryuzaki!" Matsuda stood up from his seat with a jolt, approaching L at his chair like he had to see him up close just to make sure he didn't just look alive from a distance. Soichiro stood as well, though kept his space. Their movements may as well have been in slow motion to Light, sluggish and blurry as he tried to keep his composure, to not lose his cool now—
"You're still alive," he heard himself say. How? How? How?
"It appears I am," L said nonchalantly. Light's eyes flashed to Matsuda, to Soichiro, back to L. What the hell is going on?
"So the thirteen day rule was a fake?" Matsuda asked. L dragged his eyes slowly off Light, or maybe it just looked like he did it slowly. Light couldn't tell. He put his hands in his pockets to stop them shaking.
"It's been thirteen days since Kosuke Gōto died, and I'm still alive, so that would be the only possible explanation." L may have been talking about the damn weather for how uncaring he seemed—did he know he was going to happen? How? This doesn't make any sense. "Meaning..."
"Confining Light and Amane was meaningless," Soichiro said gravely. Light could have screamed. No, no, no, this can't be happening. How? Just what did that that bastard pull?
"Yes. More importantly," L said, looking across the room. "It would mean the Shinigami was manipulated."
The Shinigami. Rem. Rem. Did Rem betray me? Did L convince her to when he was alone with her? She must have. If I lose because of her—
Light turned to Rem as well, anger in his eyes, but desperation, too—trying to communicate with his eyes alone that she had to do something. She looked at him, then at L, and for a single, tense moment, all was silent.
Light could see his life flash before his eyes. Everything he'd worked for, everything he'd wanted, lost because of this idiot Shinigami...
And then she, obligingly, spoke.
"No," Rem said, her voice booming compared to the quiet anticipation of the moment prior. "The rule is real. I do not care about your cases or your agendas, but the only way to avoid death is by writing another human's name in the Death Note."
Light's shoulders sagged with relief, unseen while Rem's display captured the attention of the others. He quickly commanded his composure once more, and by the time L cast a glance in his direction, he was sure his expression of rapt interest—touched with the slightest bit of confusion—looked genuine enough.
"Do not try and paint me as a liar to hide that you've committed what you humans call crimes." Rem quickly met Light's eyes, and for once, he felt he could understand what she was trying to convey perfectly. That should be enough, her eyes said.
Yes, Rem. That should be more than enough.
"Ryuzaki," he began after an appropriately long pause, but L had turned his back on what was left of the task force, looking at the monitor. 00d 00h 00m 00s. Light couldn't see his eyes through the curtain of his bangs.
"Did you write in the notebook again?" Soichiro asked, voice low, almost pained. That quiet disappointment vanished when L ignored him, too, and Light watched as his father grabbed the back of L's chair and swung him around to face him. "Look at me, Ryuzaki!"
"You can ask Watari, I haven't come to retrieve the notebook." L turned his head towards Light, not Soichiro, still looking down with eyes hidden.
Does he expect me to cover for him? How funny.
"Then how..." Matsuda began, voice shaking like he was on the verge of tears. When Light cut in, he imitated that—a tremor in his voice, sorrow and betrayal in his eyes. As things should be. As they would have been if he'd never touched the notebook.
"You tore out a page of it, didn't you?" Light said, and three pairs of eyes were on him in an instant. "You tore a page out and you wrote someone's name on that. On the roof earlier, you had something in your pocket you didn't want to take your hand off of, and a few days ago—once, when you went down the hall, you said you were with Watari, but I was with him that time. You weren't. I didn't want to believe it—"
Too much? No, not too much. L looked a shade paler than usual.
"—but even the day you took the notebook to Watari, you asked Rem if tearing pieces out would damage it. You've wanted to know as long as we've had it whether you could use a piece of it the same way. That's how you're still alive, and you were going to let them believe it was because the rule was fake."
Perfect in his mask of the hurt friend, Light reached to try and grab whatever was in L's pocket. A sudden flash of rage—and was that fear?—in the detective's eyes, he smacked Light's hand away, only for Soichiro to roughly grab him by the arm.
"Light," Soichiro said with a nod, and Light turned out the left pocket of L's jeans. Sure enough, he pulled out a folded up page that unmistakably came from the Death Note, slightly wrinkled like it had been wet.
From the rain. He probably kept his hand in his pocket like that because he didn't want it to get damaged.
"Who was it?" Matsuda choked out. "Of all the people who died since then, who was it you killed?"
Light fought back the urge to smirk as he unfolded the piece of paper. The side of it that had been folded inwards had more writing on it than he'd expected, which only made maintaining his expression harder, but he kept it together, made sure there would be nothing for anyone to see on his face but terror.
I wonder if this is how Ryuk felt when he first met me. I'm almost proud.
"None of them," he said, and L looked away again, tugging his arm out of Soichiro's grip.
"Read it, Light." Light glanced to his father, grim as some creature carved from stone, and nodded.
"Tomohito Shino, hanging. November 10th, 2006. Proceeds to his execution without complications. Tells the person who leads him to the gallows to "go to hell" and spits at their feet before the execution takes place. Dies twelve minutes after the drop." Matsuda made a strange strangled noise, and Light kept speaking. "Humphrey Kerr, gunshot wound. November 15th, 2006. When offered, requests a slice of strawberry shortcake with his last meal. Proceeds to his execution without complications on the 15th. Does not die during the initial volley and is given a coup de grâce, from which he dies immediately. Jezebel McVicar, cardiac arrest. November 17th, 2006. Requests her execution be filmed and the footage be sent to the person who was responsible for her arrest, but has this request denied. Proceeds to her execution without complications. Dies four minutes after the first injection. Kunio Mitsuji—"
"How many are there?" Matsuda was definitely close to crying out of anger now, as much as he was clearly trying to hide it. Light looked to him with a well-put-on grimace.
"Just this one," he said, and with a lingering look at L, who still wouldn't look at him, he read off the last name. "Kunio Mitsuji, suicide. Hangs himself in his cell at the latest possible opportunity before his scheduled execution."
"I had to know if it was possible," L murmured, barely audible. "I had to know the constraints of the killer notebook fully to be able to—"
"To be able to what?" Soichiro looked angrier than Light could ever remember seeing him, and he nearly recoiled on pure instinct. "This is murder, Ryuzaki!"
"They were death row inmates. I guaranteed their executions took place when they were supposed to, with some minor adjustments to confirm the notebook was working. They would have died at the same time either way." L's expression was unchanging, inscrutable. "I'm equally a murderer by doing that as their executioners would be for doing their jobs. These are all criminals I've caught. Heinous ones. You wouldn't even know Jezebel McVicar by name, and even after her death, I can't tell you what she was responsible for."
"That's no excuse, Ryuzaki! You wrote their names into the notebook with the intention of killing them," Soichiro shouted, but L was entirely unmoved. "That's murder, whether they were death row inmates or innocent people. And what about Kunio Mitsuji? You wrote his cause of death as suicide."
"I had to know if it would be possible. Don't you see how crucial this information is to the case? I know that missing pieces function the same as the notebook. That drastically affects how we have to assess what circumstances Kira would have been able to kill in. I have direct experience as to the notebook's ability to manipulate time of death and people's actions before their death, and the possible causes of death. Yes, Kunio Mitsuji hung himself—so perhaps he, and he alone, died a few hours earlier than he might have naturally if I'd let him be hung in the gallows instead—but as he brutally murdered twelve kindergarten girls, I won't be losing very much sleep over that. This would have had to have been tested either way."
Light found himself, suddenly and acutely, reminded of the fake message from "Kira" L had recorded from his script, months ago now. That same cold authority. A shiver ran down his spine.
"If that was all it was, you would have told us," Matsuda said, and Light thought he looked dangerously close to reaching for his gun. "But you were going to let us think you'd proven the rule was fake."
"It is fake," L insisted, but Matsuda was shaking his head. "We needed to be able to move forward understanding that. It was the only way you would see—"
"You're the one who won't see. Why can't you just admit you're wrong about me?!" Forget just being an actor, Light thought he could win an award as Best Actor for his expressions now alone. He wanted to smile, to laugh, desperately, but he didn't let his act break for a second. No, Matsuda and his father would see him so hurt, so sorrowful. They'd never think it was an act. "I know I was your prime suspect for a long time, and even I believed, for a while, that I could have been Kira—but there's more than enough evidence now to prove I couldn't have been. You can't just write this off as being fake because you don't want to believe you were wrong! You'd rather try and solve the case by framing me than by going after the actual killer?"
"Framing you? No, that's not the right way to put it... There was too much potential for foul play here, so I had to be prepared. You would have lost your alibi whether I died or not. The outcome would have been the same. The ruleis fake."
Light hadn't noticed his father move to his side, but a steady hand on his shoulder interrupted him composing his next retort.
"Light, let's go. It's over," Soichiro said, eyes fixed on Ryuzaki with distinct disgust. "Ryuzaki, I cannot keep working with you under these conditions. I'm taking my son home, and we won't be returning."
"I was about to tell you to do exactly that." L turned in his chair again, facing away from them. "Please don't. The same for you, Matsuda-san. You won't be let in. You won't be able to reach me through any of the usual ways. Clearly our differences of opinion are too great for this to continue. My previous statements about involving the police still apply, I'm sure you understand."
Sobered, Soichiro lead Light towards the elevator, Matsuda walking along with them. Light cast a glance at L over his shoulder and so gladly cast an unseen smirk at the detective's back before he forced himself to put on a somber face once more, turning his eyes forward.
The elevator door opened a moment before they reached it. Light first noticed the unmistakable black notebook—then that it was Watari's hands it was in as he stepped out to meet them.
"Chief Yagami," he said, bowing his head respectfully and holding the Death Note out. Light yearned to reach for it, but held himself back. "Considering the circumstances, I thought that you might prefer to take this for safekeeping."
"Just what do you think you're doing, Watari?" L snapped from his desk. He went ignored.
"I'm sure we can trust that you won't be tempted to use it," Watari continued, and Soichiro gave a solemn nod, taking the notebook and gripping it tight to his chest.
With the notebook locked in his father's briefcase in the car on the way out of headquarters, Light sat still the slightest bit dazed in the passenger seat questioning what his next course of action would be. He realized no one, least of all his father, would think it strange that Rem was following them rather than staying with L, and he smiled to no one but his reflection in the window.
The lights of headquarters slowly disappeared behind them as they drove into the night. Light watched Rem's pale figure flying beside the car, the city lights L had called beautiful blurring behind her. He did not sleep.
