The fluorescents were still too goddamn bright.

Light raised his good hand to shield his eyes, blinking away the dark spots now dancing in his vision. Though he'd already been awake, the sudden snap from pitch darkness to light had caught him by surprise. Damn it, Near. The detective had been attentive and sympathetic to Light when he returned from calling for help, but the moment the rest of his team arrived, he'd turned his attention to other things. Though Light had hoped for a few more days away from his cell, Near had washed his hands of him, shipping him back to headquarters with Gevanni the day after Christmas while the rest of the team remained in London to "sort things out." Logically, Light couldn't argue with Near's reasoning—his mangled thumb had required surgery to repair, and the few doctors Near trusted not to ask too many questions were in the United States—but emotionally, it stung.

He could have told Gevanni to fix the lighting, at least. He could have done that much.

Gevanni had tried to help, at least. Light couldn't fault him for that. The first two days, the agent had been a frequent visitor, dutifully bringing Light his meals and reading aloud from The Lord of the Rings to make up for Light's inability to turn pages himself. It was kindly meant, but it hadn't helped. Gevanni's discomfort at being alone with him was far too obvious to be reassuring, and his frequent expression of pity only reminded Light what he had lost. When he had finally given the agent permission to leave him alone, Gevanni's clear relief had been one more dagger in the heart of Light's pride. Roger would have stuck around no matter what I said, and probably lectured me besides. But Roger was gone, and Light was alone. He had all the time in the world to hate himself for that.

I did what you asked of me, Roger. What the hell am I supposed to do now?

As if in answer, the outer door clanged.

The prisoner sat up with a sigh, his fingers tracing the stitches on his cheek. A few moments later, the inner door swung ajar, and Light's appetite curdled.

Lidner.

"Happy New Year," she said, shifting his breakfast tray back to both hands as she entered. "Sleep well?"

"I thought you were still in London."

"Well, I'm not. Our plane came in yesterday." She held up the tray and arched an eyebrow. "Everything's back to normal now.

So it seems. Light had expected nothing less, yet the news hurt. He's been back since yesterday and didn't bother to let me know. He could understand Near not wanting to see him, but the detective could still have sent a message, at least checked whether Light was okay. The fact that he hadn't spoke volumes. He cared when I was an ally, but I'm no use to him now. Out of sight, out of mind.

Lidner watched him, frowning. "Is something wrong?"

"I'm fine."

"You used to be a better liar."

"It's not a lie."

"If you insist." She slid his breakfast through the meal slot. "Careful. The oatmeal might still be hot."

Light stared blankly at the tray on the floor, then shook his head. "I'm not hungry."

"Too bad, because my orders are not to leave until you eat. Be reasonable. Your body needs to heal."

My body isn't doing anyone any good, least of all me. "I'll eat later."

"You'll eat now. If I have to sit here and harass you until you do, so be it. I have nowhere else I need to be."

"Near's paying you to annoy me, now?"

She shrugged. "Every job has its perks."

Light glared at her. "Look. I know you hate me, but I told you I'd keep Near alive, and I did. I fucking did. Just this once, can't you leave me alone?"

"No."

Of course not. Angrily, he flung himself back down on the pillow and turned to face the wall. Lidner sighed.

"I thought you would appreciate some company," she said.

"Not yours."

"According to Gevanni, you didn't much care for his, either. He's concerned about you, Yagami. We all are."

Light snorted, but said nothing.

"Is that so hard to believe?" she asked.

"From you? Definitely. I'll believe Ryuk had my best interests at heart before I believe it of you."

Light heard a soft thump outside the bars and turned his head to look. Lidner had seated herself cross-legged on the floor, staring up at him. I wish she would stop looking at me like that. When the SPK had arrived to find him huddled beside the radiator, battered, bloodstained, and sitting in his own filth, even Lidner hadn't been able to hide a look of pity. At the time, he'd found that almost gratifying, but now it began to grate. Then again, if I had a mirror, I'd probably look at myself the same. Maybe Ryuk's way really would have been kinder.

Lidner was still watching. "You're being childish, Yagami."

"I've had a rough week. I'm entitled."

"You can talk about it, you know. I won't comment."

Light snorted derision. "I'll pass."

"That's your call."

He turned his face back to the wall, letting silence swallow them both. She isn't calling me Kira. Half of him hoped it was a peace offering; the other half suspected a trap. Not that it matters, I suppose. I'm already in a cage. It doesn't get more trapped than that.

"The funeral," he said at last. "You went?"

She nodded. "He would have been pleased at the turnout, I think. According to Near, everyone currently at Wammy's was there, plus a number of past students, old coworkers, friends of Quillsh Wammy—"

"No family?"

"Not that I saw. The ceremony was lovely, though. There's an old Jewish custom that at the graveside, each mourner throws a shovelful of dirt into the grave to help with the burial. The rabbi said it's one of the greatest acts of charity a person can perform—doing a loved one a favor they can't do for themselves, knowing they'll never be able to repay you. I'd never really thought of it like that." Her voice was hushed, thoughtful. "We each took a turn. Except Near. He took two."

No family. Something twisted painfully in Light's gut, leaving a hollow void where his stomach had been. I never asked him about his family or his background—or himself, really. The only person here who cared about me, and I never even asked. He should have been used to sudden reversals by now, inured to unfinished business and loss, but he wasn't. If anything, they hurt worse.

"I didn't know Roger was Jewish," he said.

"That's not the point. The second shovel was for you. I thought you'd want to know."

"Roger's dead. I highly doubt he knew the difference." Light shook his head. "I should have been there."

"No, you shouldn't. The last place you should be showing your face is a chapel packed with past and present Wammy's students, especially in your present state. You stand out enough as it is, and with those bandages..." She trailed off. "That's not what you meant."

No, it isn't. Light said nothing, his lip pinched between his teeth. Lidner sighed.

"I'm sorry, Yagami. I didn't—"

"Didn't what? Didn't think I was capable of remorse? Is that it?"

She didn't flinch. "I don't doubt you're capable. I just think it's misplaced."

"Janus would agree with you on that."

"Yagami—"

"Kira," he corrected. "Remember? I'm Kira. That's what you call me in your head. The only person who didn't was Roger, and he's dead." He curled in on himself. "Leave me the hell alone."

"No."

Fury colored his cheeks, and he sat up to glare at her. "What the hell do you want from me? Details? You want to hear about how she shocked me with that goddamn collar while listing off the names of people I killed? You want to hear about how she stuffed a gag in my mouth so I'd stop begging her to stop? How I could smell when my skin started burning? How I passed out and woke up in a puddle of my own vomit? Is that what you want to hear?"

"Is that everyone, Kira, or did I miss a few?"

Sudden moisture stung Light's eyes, tears of pain and rage and loss, humiliating him as they fell. Gritting his teeth, he wiped them away with his good hand, avoiding the long, half-healed gash across his cheek. "She put a knife to my throat and told me exactly what she did to Roger—every cut, every stab, how much it bled, how deep, where. Told me she'd love to do the same to me, but it wasn't how I had to die. Do you have any idea what it's like to hear that and not be able to speak? To answer? Because I know someone who does, and I saved his fucking life, and this is the thanks I got. So take your concern and piss off, Lidner, because I'm not touching that food unless you tase me, and I've had enough of that, I've had enough, I don't want to be useful anymore, I've had enough..." He was babbling now, words tumbling helplessly, his good hand clamped over his eyes in a pathetic attempt to hide his face. "Leave me alone. Please, just leave me alone."

The door to his cell swung open.

Oh, no.

He curled in on himself, flinching away from whatever force Lidner would use to subdue him, but no pain came. Looking up, he saw her standing over him, the tray once more in her hands.

"I'm not going to hurt you," she said. "I just want you to eat."

"Fuck off."

"If you won't do it for me, do it for Near. He's worried sick about you."

Light grimaced. "Not worried enough to check on me himself."

"We arrived after your lights-out time. Once you've had breakfast, he's asked me to bring you upstairs."

Oh. "You could have mentioned that," he muttered, glancing at the tray in her hands. "How much do I have to eat?"

"Use your best judgment. It's your stomach, not mine."

Wordlessly, he accepted the tray, starting into the oatmeal without enthusiasm. Though he didn't look up, he could feel Lidner's hawkish eyes boring into his skull.

"Near says you had a chance to kill him," she said. "After you stabbed Janus."

Light tensed, but forced himself to keep eating. "I suppose I did."

"Why didn't you?"

"I made you a promise."

Lidner snorted, her eyebrows rising. "You expect me to believe that?"

"Not really." He studied his spoon a moment, thinking. "If I'd killed Near and you had caught me, I'd have either died at your hands or at the hands of Near's successor. Given my injuries, the fact I was stranded in an unfamiliar country, and the fact there was likely already a manhunt underway for me, the odds of my successfully escaping were negligible. Life in a cell isn't much of a life, but it's still better than dying. I simply played the odds."

"That's awfully clear thinking for someone who was recently tortured."

Light shrugged. "I am a genius."

"That may be, but I've seen you in pain before. Level-headed isn't the word I'd use to describe you." She cocked her head. "You must have had some reason."

If only I did. Light had had no reason—none that he could articulate. Only the sudden, fleeting impression of a five-year-old, strapped into a sinking car. "I don't know," he said reluctantly, after a pause. "I wish I could give a reason, but I can't. I wanted to run for it, I really did. But when I looked at him, all I could think was that he didn't deserve to die. Even after he imprisoned me, even after he tortured me, when I saw him strapped down with that goddamn holly on his head—"

"You couldn't do it."

Light nodded. "And now I'm here. That'll teach me to be sentimental, I suppose."

He smiled ruefully, but Lidner didn't return the expression. "The first few months after you arrived," she began softly, "Near had someone watching the cameras around the clock. Your stunt with the watch shook him up more than he wanted to admit, and even with you injured and bedridden, he was half-afraid you'd find a way out. I asked him any number of times why he didn't just gas you and eliminate the threat, but he insisted he couldn't. Even now, I don't understand why."

Neither do I. Hairs rose beneath the bandage on his neck, but Light went on eating, letting the recitation wash over him like cold water.

"For the first few weeks, Near didn't let me watch the cameras alone. He didn't trust me, not after I spied on him for Mello. Once you finally recovered enough that Roger could move out of the basement and we could activate the sensors, Near told me I could have a chance. He showed me where to find the override button in case you tried something stupid the sensors wouldn't stop, then left me alone for the night. You didn't try anything stupid, of course—you were asleep and strapped to the bunk—but I sat there for an hour with my finger on the button, trying to decide whether Near would thank me for ending your life."

The prisoner looked up sharply. "You what?"

"I'm not proud of it. I told myself you deserved death, after everything you'd done, and that we'd all breathe easier with you gone. But in the end, I couldn't do it. I took my finger off the button and just watched you sleep."

"You suddenly realized it was the same reasoning I used, huh?"

"Actually, no. I suddenly realized if I did it, Near would fire me. That's the only reason I stopped." She shrugged. "As I said, I'm not proud."

A cold prickle ran down Light's spine. "Is there a point to this story?"

"The button was a fake. Near was testing me. He never asked me why I didn't do it, just told me he was glad I hadn't. And after that, he trusted me." Lidner held his eyes, her expression solemn. "I don't like you, Yagami, and I certainly don't forgive you. But I do trust you. Just thought you ought to know that."

For a long moment, Light could do nothing but stare at her. Then he sighed. "Well, that's a start."

"It is." She held out her left hand for him to shake. "Halle Bullock, former CIA."

Her real name. A symbolic gesture, at this point, but still a welcome one. He pressed her hand firmly, a slight smile on his face. "Light Yagami, former NPA. Pleased to meet you."

"Likewise."

Releasing her hand, Light glanced at his half-eaten breakfast a moment, then slid the tray off his lap. "You'll have to help me with the shackles. I can't do it with one hand."

"No need." She gestured at the open cell door. "Just follow me."

The rooms were laid out like an apartment, lacking only a kitchen to be complete. To one side of the vestibule, a small but cozy bedroom stood ajar, the twin bed far more inviting than Light's own. On the other side, another door was shut, presumably hiding an office of some sort. The living room was sparsely furnished, but it held a television, armchair, and loveseat, with a small kitchen table and two chairs tucked against the back wall. Near sat twirling his hair on one of the chairs, frowning at something in his hands. When he saw Light enter, his face lit up almost hopefully, only to fall back into its usual, cautious blankness.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, shoving the object in his hands back into a pocket.

Light shrugged. "I'm not terminal. The stitches come out tomorrow, the cast in about five weeks. All things considered, I'm feeling pretty good."

"I'm glad to hear it. Come sit."

Light obliged, his eyes still soaking up the room. "How was London?"

"It took some clever thinking to cover up your role in things, but we managed. The Janus case is officially closed. L's perfect record is intact." Near gestured to a bottle and two plastic flutes on the table. "I thought that probably deserved a celebration."

"What's this?"

"Champagne, obviously. I told Rester it was traditional. He likes tradition."

Light raised an eyebrow. "Are you even old enough to drink this?"

"Technically, no. But there's no point in being L if I can't break rules once in a while."

"Another perk of being L's successor rather than a fake, I suppose."

"I don't know about that. Seems to me you broke more than a few rules yourself." Ever so carefully, Near pulled out the cork and poured, then slid one glass toward Light. "Happy New Year. I was going to wake you at midnight and do this properly, but Gevanni thought you needed the sleep."

"He was probably right." Light's left hand closed around the flute. New Year's Day. January first. I'm supposed to be dead. An odd mixture of anxiety and triumph filled him at the thought, and he raised his glass in toast. "To Roger. He ought to be here for this."

"To Roger."

They sipped in unison, the bubbles tickling Light's throat and his memory alike. Two years ago, I was toasting to victory. Now I'm toasting to loss. Making a face, he set his glass back down, drinking in his surroundings instead. "So this is where you sleep, huh? It's nice."

"It was Roger's, actually. But I think—I've been thinking it should be yours."

Light blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"He didn't designate anything here in his will, but I'm sure he would want it to go to you. The rooms will have to be modified some, of course—a door with a keypad, security mesh for the windows, that sort of thing—but you'd have more privacy up here, not to mention more space. I thought you might prefer it to our current arrangement." Near cocked his head. "Is something wrong?"

Stunned, Light fumbled for words, his eyes darting around the room that Near had just called his. A space of my own. The idea was almost foreign to him. My own rooms, my own furniture, my own things... "No," he said hoarsely. "Nothing's wrong. I just—if you keep me here, won't someone question who I am?"

"Highly unlikely. Rester will be filling in as my new Watari, but on paper, these are Watari's rooms. The government won't pry into your real identity, and letting you live here as a decoy protects Rester as well. It'll take about a month to get everything ready, but once I do, there should be no problem."

A month. Two years after the warehouse, almost to the day. "Sounds like you have it all figured out."

"Almost. Though there will be conditions, of course."

Light grimaced. "If you try to put another collar on me, so help me—"

"No collars, no. But when you leave the room, I'll expect you to wear this."

Something metallic clicked against wood, and Light turned to see what it was. A familiar, stainless steel timepiece lay atop the table, its hands still marking Tokyo time around the dial. Either that's the same one Dad gave me for graduation, or Near dropped several thousand dollars on a replacement... Speechless, Light picked it up, fighting the urge to tug the crown to check if it were really his.

"Yes, it's the same one," said Near, a note of amusement in his tone. "I made a few alterations to it, though. Well, unmade an alteration of yours, to be more accurate, and added one of my own. I didn't think you'd mind."

"No. No, I don't." Light ran his thumb over the steel band, relishing the familiar texture. He took out the hidden drawer and put in a tracking chip instead, but it's the same watch. Dad's watch. I wonder if he'd even want me to have it back. A hard lump formed in the prisoner's throat, and it took him a moment to find his voice again. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. Other conditions. If I allow you outside this room for any reason, your curfew will be ten p.m. unless I specifically say otherwise. You may not touch any computers, phones, or other communicative devices without both supervision and my prior permission. If you violate any conditions, attempt to escape, or otherwise make me regret this in any way, I can and will return you to the basement for however long I deem necessary. Also, unless there's a specific case in progress I've asked your help on, you'll be expected to stay in here at all times. This may be closer to house arrest than prison, but it's still a life sentence."

"Understood. Anything else?"

"Something has to be done about the notebook."

Light looked up, a tight knot forming in his chest. "Destroy it, you mean?"

"If you want me to, I will, but I'd rather you keep your memories—which presents a problem. I can't let you have access to the notebook, obviously, but if I take it away from you without permission, you'll automatically lose possession after a certain period of time. However, if you're the one to designate the storage place for it..." Near trailed off, raising an eyebrow meaningfully.

Oh, of course.

"Leave it in the cell," said Light. "That's as secure a place to keep it as any."

"I thought you might say that."

The prisoner looked down at the watch in his hand, his mind struggling to absorb his new situation. I'm getting out. He'd grow sick of this room too, soon enough—he had no illusions about that—but it was a definite step up, and the rest of Near's offer mattered to him more. He wants me as a teammate, not a prisoner. He wants me to help him be L. Part of Light would always chafe at living in Near's shadow, bound to serve the man who'd replaced him, but he'd learned to adjust his expectations. There would be no more glory for Kira, but he wouldn't languish in oblivion either. Of all the investigators in the world, I'm the one Near trusts. It wasn't much, that knowledge, but it was something. It was enough.

I'm still alive.

Cracking a smile, Near raised his glass. "To a new year," he said. "May it be better than the last."

"That wouldn't take much."

"Indeed."

Grinning, Light set the watch aside and raised his glass instead. "Kanpai, Nate-kun."

"Kanpai, Light."

And as the champagne slid down Light Yagami's throat, he felt something more than the alcohol warm him. Not humiliation, not rage, but something all but forgotten, a feeling he hadn't had in a very long time:

I'm home.