DESIDERATUM: Chapter 7
Disclaimer: Death Note isn't mine.
CLOCKWISE CONVICTIONS
Tick, tick. Tick, tick.
The large clock on the wall of the Kira Investigation Headquarters shyly announced the time as 1:34 in the morning, but that was the only noise in the room aside from the usual hum of computers and the occasional shuffling of papers. Aizawa, Mogi, and Ide had all left for home hours ago, leaving Matsuda who often spent the night anyway and Soichiro Yagami, who sat with a look of tight-lipped frustration. Soichiro was looking through various reports and statistics, as L had always told him to do, but his mind was clearly elsewhere.
"Chief, um... maybe it's time that you go home?" Matsuda suggested sheepishly, gulping a can of Coca-Cola and relishing the caffeine. "It's getting really late, I'm sure your wife is worried."
"They aren't back yet," Soichiro responded with a hardness in his eyes. His fingers were clamped into fists. "I haven't even received word from Light, and I made him promise him to call as soon as he could. Where, in heaven's name could they be?"
"But sir, when you gave permission to Light to find L and bring him back, he warned you that it might take awhile," the young cop tried to reason. "With L in his current line of thinking, it's really hard to tell. But Light-kun can bring him back if anyone can. Also, we have to remember that those two are geniuses, and they know how to take care of themselves."
"Know how to take care of themselves, Matsuda? I always had to force Ryuuzaki to eat vitamins everyday because all he eats is sweets, and when Light obsesses over some problem he won't eat at all unless I remind him," The older man scoffed, but his voice was very serious. "They're just boys. Just children. For the love of every god, why the hell did I let my son leave? He shouldn't have been risking his life on the Kira case in the first place! And why didn't we try harder to stop Ryuuzaki? I don't care if his IQ is a thousand, does he know anything about living on the streets? This situation is ludicrous, and irresponsibility on my part."
Matsuda seated himself at a chair next to Soichiro's at the table. He frowned as he was quiet for a moment, gathering his thoughts. The clock ticked. Then he said, "Sir, it's clear how much you love your son. And I think you might love Ryuuzaki as if he were your son, too. In a way all of us here always saw you as a sort of father, because you've always been our Chief but for more reasons than that, too. But I think you should go home now."
"Matsuda! I-"
"Wait, I'll tell you why," he said hurriedly. "You don't have to be here waiting, because L knows how to bypass all of the security in this building. He doesn't need anyone to let him in. And if Light is alone, he'll just go to your house. Sir, I think that you just want reassurance that they are okay. I remember the time that we locked Light in that cell for fifty days, L told you something. He said that worrying about it won't change the results. And if you keep worrying about it, then the rest of us that look up to you will worry about it too, Chief. Maybe we should have faith in them for a few more days?"
Soichiro's throat felt dry, and he hesitated. Then he lowered his head and sighed. "You're right, Matsuda. I'll do my best not to worry. Light really isn't so young anymore, is he?"
"No," Matsuda answered, smiling fondly. "He'll be nineteen in a few months, won't he?"
"Nineteen... Good heavens, how time goes by. It seems like just a few days ago that he still asked for rides on my shoulders." Soichiro stood up, setting down his coffee mug. "And I wonder how old L is? Do you think he still has family?"
Matsuda grinned in response, automatically going over to the coat rack on the wall to get his Chief's jacket. "I don't know. It's-"
BEEP, BEEP.
L's largest computer began to whirr as it awoke. The monitor's screen, which had previously been dark due to twenty-minute screensaver, shook alive to white. In large bold font, the words "RECEIVE MESSAGE" strung across the screen in proud declaration. Soichiro bounded over quickly, as if thinking it was perhaps the two boys. At the keyboard, he confirmed a direct connection.
The face of not the gangly, messy-haired Ryuuzaki filled the screen, but the stern, hardened Seijuro Tetsuya of Interpol instead. He wore a dark suit and tie, pressed and clean on his broad shoulders, and Soichiro was a little ashamed of his own currently ragged and tired appearance. But Tetsuya wasted no time with small talk. "Good evening, Yagami-san," he said. "I apologize for contacting you so late, but I've already left Japan and have been organizing stats with others working on the Kira case, and I'd just like to sort out a few things."
"Certainly," Soichiro answered with forced courtesy and a polite smile that he felt too tired for. "How can I help you?"
"We hope that our units can work together in the future, so I would just like some background information on everyone in your force," Tetsuya explained. "It's for security and investigative measures, as well as to employ all of our forces to their maximum abilities. Is that okay?"
"Yes, of course. The Japanese police force has full records of everyone involved. I'll send you the information directly from that database."
"Wonderful." Tetsuya paused. "Watari had been working with you directly, right? And L, too?"
Soichiro knew that he shouldn't hesitate, as he had been sworn to secrecy not to let L's physical appearance slip. However he was a man of principles and did not like to lie. "L talked to us daily through his computer. Of course, we never actually met him. And since Watari's death, we have not heard often from him. I believe he is doing his own personal investigation."
"Yes, of course." He was clearly disappointed under his mask of indifferent profession. "If only he would join us in the flesh. He knows we would be only too happy to give him a well-paying job. Anyway, was there anyone else working with you on the case?"
Soichiro gritted his teeth and decided it would be acceptable to tell the truth this time. Probably necessary, in fact, because if they hid this fact and Interpol found out anyway, they might assume that the Japanese police were hiding Kira. "Yes, my son is working on the case with us. His name is Light. You met him at the funeral."
"So I did. Has he really been working on the case directly from your headquarters?"
"..Yes."
Tetsuya frowned in confusion. "L was fine with revealing all the confidential secrets of the Kira case to an eighteen year old boy?"
"He's almost nineteen," Soichiro found himself saying. That made Matsuda smile, but the police chief felt as though he had just made some kind of slip. Hastily, he said, "Is there anything else I can do for you tonight? I was on my way home."
"No, no, I apologize for being so insensitive about differences in the time zones." The Interpol representative smiled wolfishly. "We'll be in touch, probably tomorrow. Good night."
There was a certain irony in having a fever, L thought. To touch the infected was like touching a puddle of steaming coffee. It was a heated feeling, and even in the chilly hotel room in Russia it wasn't a pleasant warmth. The scientific explanation for this phenomenon was that the body had, in its everlasting wisdom, raised the internal thermostat to a higher temperature in an effort to kill off bacteria. Light was burning in this fire, yet he was completely unaware. Light did not believe that he was burning at all.
In Light's eyes, he was freezing.
Of course, L was right and Light was wrong, but Light believed that he was cold anyway. His body was a dead log in the middle of a fierce Russian blizzard. The snow surrounded him, creeping its way into his skin, his bones, his organs. The only reason for this was perception. The body had raised its temperature, therefore a normally comfortable environment was drastically lower in heat than it had initially been. Light huddled himself in the blankets, clutching them as he lay limp aside from the occasional twist and turn, like an infant clutches on to his mother. (Not that L knew much about mothers, but this is what he imagined.)
"You aren't really cold, you know," L mentioned informatively. He had pulled up the chair from the small table and sat perched upon it, his arms around his knees while he watched his companion. "You are simply hypothermic. Your body is actually using your fever as a defense mechanism to speed up recovery and create an internally unbearable environment for the harmful pathogens."
"I'm fully aware of what the medical definition of a fever is." The adolescent's growl was muffled because his face was buried in one of the pillows, rendering the result rather pathetic. "It's useless to reprimand me."
"I'm simply suggesting that you stop complaining about being cold, because it is an untrue statement."
Light took a breath before he answered in a slow, scratchy drawl of forced patience, "Ryuuzaki, what you're saying is correct. But I disagree. I'm cold, I'm honest-to-God cold. It's my perception, so it's my reality."
"Light-kun is wasting his energy on frivolous philosophy," the investigator commented dryly.
"Ryuuzaki doesn't like philosophy?" the younger asked, sitting up slightly.
"No. It's completely pointless to say idealized things that aren't applicable to the real world," he answered easily. Looking at Light's eyes, he meant it, too. He certainly respected Kira, but the ideals were that of a child's. L refrained himself from adding, Kira may have noble intentions, but he's hypocritical and will never stop crime. He was not so optimistic about humanity as Light must be.
Light didn't bat an eye, he only said, "You're saying that the perception that I'm freezing isn't applicable?"
L quirked an eyebrow, keeping his face vacant of the sympathy he didn't feel. "Not a bit. It's merely a symptom of a fever, which in turn is a symptom of a hypothermic state, an infection. It's a fact that should be recognized but not lingered upon."
Light seemed to sink further into the mattress, as if giving up but not without a final, sighing retort: "You would've kicked me if I had said that to you when you were sick."
"Not true. I was far too exhausted to do such a thing, though I may have thought about it." L stepped off of his chair and stood up, removing his leering gaze from Light. He took his coat, which was laying in a pile on the floor, and slipped it on. "Anyway, I don't think you'll be able to consume anything now without regurgitating it, so I'm going out to go eat. I hope I can trust that you'll stay in the hotel this time, Light-kun? "
"What?" In a sudden, very much expected desperation, Light raised his eyes. It was clear that he was trying to keep his facial expression very neutral, but his shivering and trembling didn't allow for much acting. "Have you no shame, Ryuuzaki? Why are you leaving? It's... it's your fault that I'm sick!"
L chuckled a little under his breath as he pocketed the second room key from the counter. His prime suspect must be really out of his mind if he was actually trying to play a guilt card on him. As if he had ever given Light evidence that he would put conscience over what needed to be done! And L certainly had an errand in mind that didn't need to be known to Light. So he simply turned his head slightly back at the feverish adolescent and he smiled. "Yeah. I know."
Furious and frightened, Light tried to stand up when the door closed behind L. He couldn't let him leave. Having the detective out of his eyesight in unfamiliar territory put him in an extremely vulnerable position.
But unfortunately, he found that he could hardly walk. His ankles felt like jelly, his knees buckled and his brain threatened to shut down into the unconsciousness of passing out. Climbing back into the bed proved more than enough of a challenge as far as physical activity went.
He clutched the pillows, wanting to tear them to shreds with his fingers and wishing he had the energy to do it. He cursed L under infectious breath, he cursed Rem and her failure, he cursed Watari and the police and Misa and Ryuk and everyone... and then when the cursing had thoroughly exhausted him, the sleep took over.
The wind was howling. Everywhere in the snowy streets, icy white dust filled the air, blowing onto everything and everyone. The rapid crackling of colliding crystals hissed with a vengeance. Cars that sat still too long were taken prisoner to the moaning frost, and even the ones still rumbling pathetically against the storm began to pale in trepidation against the inevitable winter moaning.
L didn't know exactly why he was standing in the middle of this.
It had taken only a few minutes to call Tierry Morello (or as he preferred to be known 'Aiber'), who was residing in France, and alert him of his plans to visit. Talking in a hushed tone in a public phone booth had been incommodious, especially considering the distressingly loud wind outside the glass door. But ironically enough, speaking in simple code words on a public phone was an extremely safe method of forewarning Aiber that he was bringing Kira with him to Paris without Light finding out. The professional con-man still owed L a favor or two, even after his help in the downfall of Higuchi. So naturally, as L expected, he had agreed to privately incarcerate Light in Paris, if L was to go somewhere that he didn't want the mass-murderer to follow.
That place being, of course, Whammy's House. It was there, in the secret basement vaults underneath the complex, with the most modern of technologies, that L's official records were kept. His birth certificate, his finger prints, the only pictures of him. Being a casuistic investigator, L had vehemently rejected these and had wanted them entirely destroyed. Quillsh Whammy had put them there, opting to let them continue their meager existence, because if need ever came up for requiring the truth...
L required the truth.
But the strangest thing was that when he was around Light, he didn't need it quite as much. It was a peculiar situation, really. Certainly it had been ages since he had been as close to anyone other than Watari, and it was possible that he had simply adjusted to the brunette's constant presence. But Light brought out his competitive side that refused to give up on Kira. Light brought out the side that refused to be the loser, come what may. The side that was Justice, and would absolutely let the other know that before the end. In simple terms, L supposed that Light was a distraction.
And maybe that was why he was standing outside the large grocery store labeled Viadi in huge Russian letters. Upon coming to this realization, he opened the heavy doors, stepping inside and out of the storm. It was still chilly inside the place, but it was relieving to be out of the heaving winds.
L bought Light chicken noodle soup.
Not that it was a relevant piece of data whatsoever, but didn't Light say that it was good to eat when one was feverish? Also, of course, that wasn't even the reason that L was here. It was just convenient, because he wanted to buy a bag of marshmallows and chocolate bars. Of course. Even if he had wanted to buy Light the soup, that wasn't an illogical action either. Because if Light stayed sick, then he might die, and there was no way that L would let another Kira die before arrest and interrogation. If that happened, there would never be any answers to the mystery of the Death Note, and L wanted to be ready the moment a new Kira sprouted up.
And then he heard it.
Ding dong ding dong ding dong... The chiming of a bell. Just a small, high-pitched sound, but it was there. The bells were ringing. Here they were, in Russia, the bells, the truth...
L, in a sudden giddy fit, followed the noise to the entryway of the store. He was biting his thumb with fierce vigor, and he was not in his right mind. He knew he wasn't in his right mind, so he couldn't be insane, but it was as though the rows of groceries had become the spidery trees that surrounded the bell towers, and the voices of the impatient shoppers became the crying of young children. Mr. Whammy was with him, at least he was somewhere, and Lawliet wanted to hold his hand-
Dingdongdingdongding...
"Good afternoon, young man!" It was an old woman, wrinkled and thin, standing by the windows of the store behind the check-out lanes. She was wrapped in a brown coat, and her neck was coiled a long, purple scarf - a contrast for the dull, aged hue of her skin. Bright blue eyes looked up at him as she rang her little bell on the wooden stick. "Could you have a heart and donate any spare change?"
L blinked, shaking out of his fantasies. It was just a charity woman, standing next to a money bucket. Was it some holiday? Christmas wasn't until next month, and he couldn't think of any other major celebration in Moscow that would call for donations. He was a blunt person, so he regarded the old woman and asked a simple, "Why?"
She was undaunted. "It's the Kira collection. I'm an old and frail woman, you see, and I used to be afraid to walk the streets alone. Moscow has never been the most safe place to live. But ever since Kira, it's been different. The innocent and weak don't have to be afraid anymore... so in the springtime, I'm going to use this money to plant flowers in Kira's name."
Plant flowers? In Kira's name? L stared, didn't realize he was staring. His thumb was in his teeth, the pressure grinding into his skin until he finally noticed how painful it was. Did people really think that this eighteen year old boy was their savior? L positively believed that a world ruled by fear was an evil one. So why wasn't this woman afraid? He pulled out the finger and shoved the hand into his pocket, exiting the store with his purchases and not uttering another word to anyone. She and Light were the crazy ones, not he.
It was all going from bad to worse.
Light had a difficult time telling if he was asleep or awake. He lay in the bed, clasping cold fingers onto the thick comforters, but he never stopped trembling. Periodically he had to force himself to his feet and to the bathroom where he threw up a solution of chemicals and somewhat digested solids into the toilet. If he ever managed to fall asleep in the bed (or on the floor next to the toilet for all he knew) he was sure that he must have dreamed about emptying his insides even further, until he was certain that there was nothing left to retch.
And then he threw up again.
It wasn't supposed to be like this, he thought hollowly as he climbed back under the blankets, panting from even such minor movements. It might have been a nonsensical thought or it may have been rational, but all he could think as he exhaled painful, scratchy breaths was that he was going to die.
He thought he saw Ryuk's grinning face, and when he called out to it, he realized it was a hallucination. But the words don't expect to go to Heaven or Hell when you die rang as clear as bells in his ears.
"Light-kun?" L softly called as he entered the room, shutting the door with the click of the lock behind him. His tone was not soft because he was avoiding the disturbance of whatever slumber the sick adolescent had acquired. No, his tone was soft because L was bitter and was trying not to yell. Perhaps a little bit discouraged, perhaps a little bit spiteful. Maybe even vehement, no, downright livid. "Light-kun. I have chicken soup for you."
The teen wasn't answering, or moving, and with the thick blankets covering his slim figure it didn't look like he was breathing, either. L stepped over to him, pulling down the blankets to reveal Light's face. And what he saw was surprising to even the well experienced investigator: Light's lids slightly parted, revealing dull, colorless eyes. It was a visage of compressed wretchedness. L's fingers darted forward to the sweaty surface of his skin, drench in perspiration, and found that the forehead was burning like a torrid ember.
"Hey..." the weakest of moans whispered its way through Light's pale lips, a protest against being touched.
L removed his hand. The bitterness that submerged his thinking twisted painfully, and was prodded to distortion. He swallowed this, though it was far from dissipation. With a ghost of a smile he said, "Light-kun isn't dying, is he? This would be bad news. Checking you into a hospital risks getting your false identification exposed. It's your choice, though."
He tried to look into Light's eyes, to study them with the same mutual connection that they had always shared, but they were hazy and unfocused. The adolescent blinked slowly, before finally whispering, "Just aspirin."
L nodded, feeling a peculiar wrenching in his stomach. He went to the sink to get Light a glass of water, as well as a couple of the pills that Light had bought him earlier. Three aspirin hopefully wouldn't make the brunette throw up, though that seemed to be fairly inevitable (L deduced this from the sickly acidic smell in the bathroom). After this, he went back to the bed, awkwardly holding the cup in one hand and the pills in another. "Can you sit up?"
The adolescent struggled to obey, but his clumsiness lead L to winding the arm that cupped the pills around his back. He pulled him up himself, skillfully preventing the water from spilling. He then dropped the aspirin in one of Light's shaky hands, which in turn brought it to his mouth. Light didn't seem to be able to hold the glass of water on his own, so L put his hands on top of Light's to reinforce the grip.
"Drink it all, Light-kun. Dehydration will worsen the condition. It could be said that the water is more important than the aspirin, which is merely a pain-reliever..."
When the task was finally complete, Light fell back into the sheets, shivering uncontrollably.
L called the room services after this and he ordered another blanket to be brought up. No, make it three. Cheesecake, too.
"This is all your fault, Ryuuzaki," a quiet mumble sounded from the limp figure.
I know it is, L thought to himself. It was his fault that Light was sick by ninety-two percent, only ninety-two because being out in cold air, drinking foreign water and sleeping without blankets had something to do with it, too. But this was still a good thing. This still gave him time to think, and to plan, without worrying about his death. Whether he felt guilty about it or not... was frivolous philosophy.
The day passed, and the room was silent, though not literally so. The sounds of Light's incessant coughing and sneezing filled the room, as did L's television, or the ruffling of newspaper, or tapping of the keys on his laptop computer. But even so, the atmosphere was hushed. That night L fell asleep sitting on the chair next to the bed that was now established as Light's. And then the next morning, nothing had changed.
Light wouldn't eat, claiming that he wouldn't be able to keep anything down. L chewed thoughtfully on marshmallows, watching the blankets move up and down in accordance to the brunette's heavy breathing. Finally, L logged on to the internet. After doing a quick Google search on infection symptoms, he said, "Light-kun? Do you have nasal congestion?"
"...Huh?" came the feeble response.
"Nasal congestion. I know that you've been coughing, sneezing, vomiting, and your eyes have been watering with irritation. I'm trying to determine if you're suffering a cold or if it is influenza. Being as the symptoms seem much more severe, I'm leaning toward the second, though it also could be twenty-four hour gastroenteritis. If you aren't cured by noon, I don't think that can be the case anymore."
"Oh."
"I should really go buy a thermometer. If your temperature goes above forty degrees Celsius, then you have to be admitted into a hospital."
"No."
"Light-kun..." L gave him a sideways look. "Which is more detrimental? The possibility that they check your identification and find it to be fake, or losing your life?" When Light didn't answer, he lowered his voice. "It would matter to Kira."
"Stop that!" With enough energy to gasp out such a forceful line, Light must not have been quite to the point of medical emergency.
"Ah..." L had been checking a few websites on his laptop, and he refreshed the page to his e-mail account. A new message had entered his mail box, from none other than the Interpol president himself, Howard Dressler. He clicked it open:
L: In accordance to your wishes, we will be testing the thirteen day rule. The experiment takes place tomorrow, and I will tell you if the first criminal's life is terminated at that time. Also in accordance to your wishes, I will not tell you the names of the two criminals until after the experiment is complete. We... The rest dragged on into Dressler's ceaseless requests that L appear at Interpol, and work with them in the flesh, or please at least call Howard.
"What is it?" Light mumbled questioningly, watching the thoughtful detective with skepticism through blurry eyes.
L studied Light, and then shut his laptop without closing any browsers. A plan formed in his conniving brain. "Nothing that you need to worry about, since you're sick. I would prefer that Light-kun simply rest and concentrate on his recovery, if he doesn't want me to have him hospitalized."
That set the bait.
L switched off the lamp, indicating that it was time to go to bed and Light shouldn't argue. An argument would be useless. He wanted Light to act out instead.
Tick, tick, tick.
At 12:01 and fifty eight seconds, Anton Gates was pronounced dead. The whole ordeal had been thoroughly recorded with fourteen video cameras, capturing every angle of Gates and the man who was his killer. Thomas Lindstrom, a self-declared terrorist, wrote the name on a tiny scrap of the Death Note in a separate room where he did not hear or see anything. Or know anything. He was told to study a photograph of the man he did not know and copy down the letters of his name, and then in thirteen days he would have freedom. But now Anton Gates was a carcass, dead from heart attack.
"Jesus Christ," Diane Wittlinger declared with something between horror and morbid fascination. "The bastard is really dead. We recorded everything, Gates's heartbeat, blood pressure... that fucking heart attack. There's no reason why it should've happened. Came out of nowhere!"
"We need to confirm that no one except for us knew about Anton Gates or the experiment," Akiyama Takahashi stated levelly. "We have to be sure that it was linked to the Death Note only."
"Akiyama, I promise, no one knew except for us." Diane shifted her weight, but didn't take her eyes off of the monitor screen that offered a view from each of the cameras. "No one knew, I made sure of it in my department. Even if his name was on television in Florida ten years ago, it's entirely too coincidental that he should finally die the moment we choose to test it. And Lindstrom, no one even knows his name except for the people he killed, and they aren't talking."
"Fine." He was also lost in his thoughts, staring at the dead man on the monitor that security was beginning to unstrap from the execution chair. This 'Death Note' thing was real, absolutely real. Akiyama had never been so completely intrigued in his life, and he wanted to learn more. He would learn more.
Light awoke in a cold sweat. The visions from his dream, however, weren't leaving his head. He could still feel the hard leather that strapped him down to the chair in the execution chamber. He could still feel the glare of the cameras on him. The whole world was watching, every family was sitting at their television, watching Kira die. And then there was L, holding a syringe that contained chemicals intended to clog up his bloodstream and stop his heart. L was smiling, and said, "This is justice, Light-kun," as he stepped forward, the silver needle reflecting the dull light of the chamber...
But L wasn't anywhere. Light scanned the hotel room, and it was empty. A surge of relief filled him once he had convinced himself that he was still in a public hotel and not a prison, but just as quickly, that relief vanished. L was gone. No matter how deep in depression that bastard was in, he would never stop hunting Kira. He had made that quite obvious. And what better time to hunt than when one's prey is immobilized?
Desperately, Light scrambled out of the blankets and on to weak legs. The act of standing up brought a wave of dizziness to his head, and as he stepped he thought that he might faint. But after gritting his teeth, he made it over to the second bed, where L's laptop lay closed but not turned off. The adolescent recalled that the detective had read some e-mail last night, but just by his tone, Light knew it was something to do with the Kira case. And if L thought that Light wouldn't have the willpower to stand up and find out what it was, he was tragically mistaken.
In L's e-mail inbox was a letter from Interpol, freely labeled. Howard Dressler... that name sounded familiar. The president of Interpol, of course. Quickly Light clicked, and he scanned... L: In accordance to your wishes...
"Oh, no..." It came out in a choked whisper.
He had known that it was only a matter of time before the thirteen day rule was tested. He just thought... they'd wait until L... did what? Found his identity? Ludicrous. No, L was supposed to die on that day, and in that distraction the rule was supposed to have been forgotten about. None of the police wanted to kill criminals with it, and if the deceased was the only one... then, it should've been perfect. It should've been flawless. It should've been, but it didn't work out that way and now they were going to find out just who Kira was! They'd be coming for him, but he could hardly move, and L, L god damn it, it was all L's fault!
Feeling faint, Light stumbled over to his coat that hung on the wooden chair. Holding on to the frame for balance, he dug into the pocket. His hand touched the blade of the knife, slicing his finger slightly, but he felt so dizzy that he hardly noticed. He gripped the handle of the blade and pulled it out.
Light made it back to his bed, collapsing in it. His trembling hand still held the knife, and he hid it under his pillow.
L returned to the hotel after a phone call to Dressler. Dressler had confirmed to him that first criminal was dead, at exactly forty seconds after the second had written his name. This mean that the Death Note was legitimate. As an investigator, L was relieved. He had half expected to find a Kira that could murder simply with his mind, so it was reassuring that they needed this tool to go through with it.
Upon returning, he knew that Light had read the e-mail. The laptop was turned at a slightly different angle than when he had left. He had expected this. Now Light would undoubtedly be on the edge and therefore now was the time to move in for the kill: the confession. Light would never confess under normal circumstances, of this L was fairly certain. But circumstances were no longer typical.
"Light-kun," L greeted, approaching the bed. "Have you slept well? If you're feeling better, we should try to get you to eat the soup. Light-kun said himself that food provides the energy to become healthy again."
"I'm not feeling better," Light answered dully, rolling on his side to avoid confrontation with the detective.
"Ah." L pulled up his chair next to the bed, stepping onto it and lowering his weight into a crouch. "Would you like aspirin?"
"No." The voice wavered slightly. L's detective instincts sensed a masked paranoia. This was a very good start.
"Judging by the look on your face, the fever hasn't gone down. I'd say we're at a sixty percent chance of influenza. It would be responsible of me, for your father's sake, to take you to a hospital."
The adolescent spoke quickly, too quickly for normalcy. "I don't have influenza. I'm fine."
"You just contradicted yourself," L said, taking reign of the conversation and intending to lead it to the place where he wanted it to go. "But if you're feeling better, we are going back to Japan."
"What? Why?" Light couldn't hide the chaotic fear that distended in his eyes. "But what about-"
"My journey can wait. I wasn't in my right mind when we left, and I've recovered. Light-kun should be with his family now, with his father and mother and sister. It was negligent of me prioritize my personal desires before the necessity of the Kira case."
The trap was springing. L knew that Light knew, or else he wouldn't have said anything. Because Light had definitely read that e-mail, and they both knew the unspoken consequences. Interpol was working with the Japanese police and they were testing the thirteen day rule. This was the only rule that had granted Light his freedom, and upon returning he would have to be placed under surveillance during the trial period. And then when the rule was proven false, because L knew it was false, Light would be locked away again. Yes, this was bound to happen sooner or later anyway, but L had no genuine intention of returning to the Kira case in Japan yet at all. If this had been his plan he wouldn't have set up this plot, he would have just left and Light would have followed. All he wanted was the confession, the slip in words, the same thing that he had wanted for months upon months. And when Light just stared at him with wide-eyed fear, L prodded him along. "Light-kun looks reluctant... is there some reason why he doesn't want to go home?"
"Shut up, L."
The simple words grazed across L's patience like sandpaper. Light never called him 'L', it was always 'Ryuuzaki'. It was cocky and insulting for Light to call him anything else, because Light was not L's friend, he was Ryuuzaki's friend. They both knew that. "What was that, Light-kun? "
"I said, shut up!" Light snarled. "It's your fault, all of it is your fault! So don't you come here making demands from me, because I don't owe you anything!"
My fault! L couldn't explain it - he was suddenly furious. As was his way when he was angry, his voice became low and steady, something dangerous. "Throwing travel expenses aside, this is a bizarre thing to hear from someone like you. If blame is applicable, it's only on the one who got us both into this mess in the first place."
"And what are you implying?"
"Surely Kira knows exactly what I'm implying. He is, after all, a genius." L was suddenly filled with an astounding realization: he wanted to place blame. He wanted to place blame for Watari's death. A blame for not being human enough, a blame for not having a name. He wanted to place blame for this obsession with the same one that he wanted to blame. He knew that feelings like this were counterproductive, but right then, L did not give a damn. "It's Light-kun who started this whole mess with his dysfunctional ideals and murder weapon, because he can't see reality!"
Light flushed with untamed fury. His fingers were no longer resting limp on the blankets, they were in the air and curled into maddened fists. "You think that I'm the one who can't see reality? You're the one hiding behind ten feet of concrete at any given time! You may know everything about politics and economics and every goddamned country in existence, but that doesn't mean you know anything about people!"
"And you know about people?!" L was on his feet, the chair being kicked away behind him. "What would someone like you, who is nothing more than a righteous teenager, know about people?"
"I know that people like feeling righteous, if they are Kira or L or the followers! You said so yourself, you aren't much different than me. If you know anything about people, you would know that everybody likes believing in something!"
There was Light, on his damned pedestal. Like a poet who tried to - no, did captivate his audience, the longer he was able to recite. L loathed poetry and the people, like that old woman from the grocery store who put faith in such ultimately ineffective dogma. That woman, that idiotic woman who was going to plant flowers in Kira's name. Kira was just another murderer, because anyone who kills independently is a murderer. L believed this because the law was the only way to assure a mechanical order...
Mechanical...
"There's one difference between us though," Light continued. His passion had given him the energy to rise up on his knees, like a lion about to pounce. "I have faith in humanity. You don't. Just like I have faith in my name, Light Yagami... and you don't, Lawliet!"
Y-you... Lawliet...!
L hardly knew what was happening, except that he was glad he had very little self-pride or he might have dirtied his conscience by attacking a sick person. But as it was, he was on the bed, feeling the wrathful blow of Light's fist on his jaw. His own foot clobbered into Light's chest, hitting the younger male against the headboard of the bed. Light grabbed his ankle with one of his hands, ripping it away, and jumping forward to tackle L. L kicked again, throwing Light back a second time. The raven-haired male jumped and collided with his opponent, trying to knock the other down on his back and pin him. Light had one hand tangled in L's as he struggled for another punch, and the other hand was behind him pressing on the mattress, stabilizing his position.
Light was heaving painfully. The heat in his cheeks, L remembered, wasn't from anger alone. No, the brunette's body was exhausted and suffering with fever... but his eyes weren't. They glared up at L with pure, raw hatred. They were orbs of bloody hostility.
L leaned his weight forward as heavily as he could, and he gained ground. The feverish mass murderer didn't have much fight left in him. (And this was all L could think about... he had to win, he had to go for the pin, he had to be righteous, because if he wasn't, then he would have to think about things he did not want to think about.) Something in Light's expression flickered, and L tried to interpret - desperation? frustration? submission? fear? - but he didn't have the time. Didn't have the time because at that moment, the unexpected occurred.
Light slammed his upper body forward, his head meeting L's and his lips crashing against a second pair. It was ferocious and wild, his tongue thrusting into the detective's mouth which was unhinged in surprise. Defiantly despairing, a kiss of attempted dominance.
Alright, Light Yagami. The fight wasn't over.
L met Light's tongue with his own, rising up to meet the declaration. Soft skin crushed violently against the other, gnawing teeth met like a clash of swords. There was a warmth, a bloody and perspirating sort of warmth in Light's mouth, and L aimed to defeat. There was no doubt in his mind that he was kissing Kira in addition to Light, and there was no doubt in his mind that such a being was only destined for downfall. But the most invigorating part was that Light desired his downfall as well, and they fought on the battleground of obsession.
The raven-haired youth snatched at Light's wrists as their lips were locked, but he only found one. Taking it prisoner, he twisted it and leaned forward to bend it behind Light's own back and secure it in place. A hiss escaped through Light's mouth, though it was muffled by the warring discrepancy of tight-lipped osculation. He could feel the tension ripple in his opponent's slim muscles, and he conjectured that Light's other arm was moving. He opened his eyes which had somehow slid closed during the act, expecting another punch, but Light's hand went around his face. And L saw what needed to be seen:
A knife.
It really was no surprise that Light had managed to find himself a weapon during the times that he had been out of the hotel, though L had tried to avoid such a situation. As it was, the knife was behind his back. He could practically feel the cold tip of steel against his shirt, and he knew that even if Light was weaker due to illness, the adolescent could easily rip the blade through his skin, his muscle, sliding between bones. In such a case, L would probably die, if not from the first stab, from the second, third, fourth.
But in an act of faith, L kept kissing Light. Daring him. Kill me, Kira, for I am L. Kill me, you child, kill me if you think that you can. Challenges that he had uttered daily to Light. Confess to me, Light Yagami. I think you're afraid to do what you really should do. I think you're afraid of seeing the truth of what murder is. I want you to know the truth. And I want to know the truth, too.
Kill me so I'll know that I was alive.
Light was shaking.
Upon realizing this fact, L's harshness became sudden anguish. It was true that Light didn't want to stab anybody. This was true, and along with that so many other things were true too. Watari was dead because Light was shaking, 'Lawliet' was a mask because Light was shaking, it was all going to pieces now. So slowly, gently, L ran his free arm up along Light's, taking it in his fingers. He lead a cold wrist away from potential murder, taking care to never once touch the knife, not to give any indication that he knew. He stretched Light's arm up in the air, and pushed forward against his body...
As they both fell onto the mattress, Light let the knife slide out of his fingers behind the headboard of the bed. L saw this, and he heard the clunk of metal against the wall as the weapon fell, and then the floor, but he pretended that he did not. He pretended that nothing happened so that Light could pretend, too.
Because that wasn't a worthy ending to their saga.
They lingered a moment longer, and then just like that, the moment was over. It was over because Light turned his face away from the poisonous kiss and fell into a fit of painful coughing. He covered his face with his hands as he convulsed, as if trying to block out everything away from his wretchedness.
"Light-kun!" Immediately L slid off the bed, going to the table to grab Light's glass of water. He gave it to the adolescent and helped him drink, which mostly dissipated the coughing fit. L then pulled at the blankets of the bed, which had been reduced to a messy heap during the fight, and covered Light's shivering body. When that was done, Light lay down in silence. L again pulled down his sleeve and felt Light's forehead with his wrist, and for the first time, Light didn't protest. The surface was as deplorably hot as it had ever been, a burning mess of sweaty brown bangs and fiery skin. And for the first time, he almost regretted that it was his fault. "I'm sorry."
"Don't worry about it," Light answered automatically, and with his energy gone his voice was again a murmur.
L sighed and stood up, turning to look out the window. He gazed out of it with the same detached intensity that he gazed at his computer monitors, taking note of every detail. It wasn't snowing anymore. In fact, he could make out blue skies behind the gray clouds that dotted the atmosphere like ships in a great blue ocean. Maybe by tomorrow, it wouldn't be so cold, either.
"How did you know that my name was supposed to be 'Lawliet', Light?" L finally asked. He knew it was ironic that whereas Light at never denied his accusations, he had never flat out affirmed them either. But here it was L making the confession, he confessed the name and he confessed that it was a useless piece of data.
"Huh?" Light looked up at him. L was still facing the window, but he felt Light's eyes brush against his back. He could sense the uncertainty. "It was only a guess, because you reacted strongly when I read it out of the Death Note that day..."
"Ah. So I did."
They didn't speak again for the rest of the day. L had nothing to say as he helped Light swallow aspirin and drink more water, had nothing to say when he helped his companion to the toilet to vomit again. He couldn't give any explanation when he filled a bowl with warm water and washed Light's sweating face with a towel. He had no 'good-night' to offer when the sun had finally set. He simply lay staring at the back of Light's head, those long strands of disarrayed brown hair, realizing that he was reluctant to accept everything that he didn't understand. This was why the shock of the existence of Shinigami made him fall from his chair in fright. This was why he couldn't believe that he didn't have a name. No, the fact that names, simple words and sounds had the power to kill was also something he didn't want to accept.
He didn't like having beliefs like Light did. So he stared at him until he finally fell asleep, hating what he did not understand, and feeling crestfallen because of it.
The next day, L finally could get Light to eat the chicken noodle soup. He waited until Light was soundly asleep before he went back to the grocery store to buy some more. The day after that, Light didn't throw up a single time, and was even able to sit up and talk. Not that they talked about anything in particular. The day after that, Light was pacing restlessly around the room.
"You still have a fever," L commented, looking up from his laptop. "The most efficient way to reverse that fact is for you to relax."
"It's fine. I don't really want to wait here any longer, Ryuuzaki," Light answered, his hands pressed against the glass of the window as he stared outside. "It's too depressing to sit in one place too long with nothing to do. It reminds me of high school, when I didn't have to pay attention so I never did, and I would just..."
"Think about things," the raven-haired youth finished quietly. "It's too much time to think about things, isn't it, Light-kun?"
"Yeah. I guess it is."
"Light-kun?" L felt overcome with some emotion. All of the sudden his mind was racing with recollections, about how he was always picking the most challenging cases that Interpol requested of him so that he would obsess over them. Always dedicating every waking moment to trying to understand some criminal mind, because he didn't care to think about his own mind. Always feeling dead until the exhilarating moment when he had to fear for his life. "...Could you call me 'Lawliet'?"
Light turned around and met his eyes. There it was, that level of understanding that there were no words in English or Russian or Japanese or anything to describe. It was just there. We're not so different, you and I.
So L booked plane tickets to France for the next morning. Early that next day, they packed up their meager belongings and checked out of the hotel. They stood outside the airport on a white sidewalk, but no snow fell from the skies. There was nothing but clear blue skies, so clear it was almost tragic because it was destined to snow again tomorrow. L supposed that the philosopher would call him pessimistic, but he was nothing but practically minded.
"Ryuuzaki... Lawliet..." Light hesitated in ambivalence. L was the greatest detective in the world and he knew what was going through the brunette's mind: Kira, Interpol, the knife, the investigator, Misa, and the declaration of justice. He paused, and then his slender hand raised and rested with friendliness on L's shoulder. Then he smiled, a thing that radiated with warmth, even after everything and standing in the cold. "Let's leave Russia behind."
It would snow again... but they could run away from the snow, for a little while at least. Frivolous, pointless, useless, yes. But imperatively necessary. L nodded and he found that he was smiling a little, too. "Yeah. Let's leave Russia behind."
He wasn't friends with people. He did not make friends. People were full of lies and deceit - he knew this because he was also full of lies and deceit. He and Light hadn't exactly been friends, because that was a facade like everything else, and they both knew it, but...
Dasvidania, Russia.
For now maybe they could pretend a little, and exist in stride and similar rhythm. Their percussion would be the pounding drums of a heartbeat and the chiming of bells in the sky, and not the ticking of the clock. They had to pretend, otherwise how would they ever find the truth? And even if it was just a game, Light and Lawliet could act as friends. And that would be... nice.
Of course L knew that it was inevitable that somehow, someday soon they would part ways. He also knew better than to hope that it would be painless.
To Be Continued . . .
Author's Notes:
1. Sorry this took so long... I was before managing a chapter or two a week, but this passed week was ... surprisingly busy. Friends, parties, writing a few other fanfics, recovering from the emotional trauma that was the final anime episode of Death Note, oh my.
2. Light was indeed suffering from influenza. This can be transmitted through blood, feces and ...saliva. Hm, now how did this happen, Light-kun?
3. I apologize for the long length of this chapter. I charted out for sure what I wanted to accomplish in this episode and then... it took a long time. Sigh. Please take this opportunity to criticize me.
4. Dasvidania - 'good-bye' in Russian.
Thanks again to everyone who is keeping up with this strange fic, you are all wonderful. -Serria
