I am twenty one years old the first time I speak with the fourth set of children who will replace me when I die. I suppose it should be a surreal experience, considering that this is entire process is really no more than reincarnation in its strictest, most orderly, least religious form; no, not even that; this is a call to customer service when a previously magnificent computer breaks down, a hurried shipping of a new, hopefully better machine, and the complete trashing of the former one.
(Sometimes I feel guilty for putting Watari in such a terrible light with my depreciating metaphors, portraying him as an uncaring inventor turned guardian, concerned only with supplying the world with a tool for weeding out those labeled as the most inhuman creatures, but are actually some of the most emotion ridden beings on the planet.)
This parenthetical comment aside, the session is no more jarring than the last was, and I observe the group of potential successors calmly through my version of a one way mirror.
(For at the time, I have no idea that these are really the ones who will replace me, I really am going to die, I am, I truly am, and in less than half a decade, half a decade, not even a full decade, just in case it hasn't quite sunk in yet.)
Their formation is not an unfamiliar one; there are three layers:
First are the eager ones who idolize me in the way one idolizes a celebrity. They are always the most inquisitive, and while I patiently answer each and every one of their questions, I rule them all out at once.
In the middle are the quiet ones who are intelligent, as everyone in Wammy's house is, but in a placid, lazy way that leaves them not really trying to be as good as I am. They are near the laptop because they enjoy the aura of excitement and newness, so they too get bumped down the list because being L is too lonely and they will lose every bit of sanity they have left.
The ones in the back are the ones I pay attention to. They do not try to join this swarming, babbling mass, but instead learn from them in the way that a scientist learns from his experiments. They pledge, whether consciously or unconsciously, do their best to be the best, always the best, in a way that is simultaneously obnoxious and respectable. They rarely ask a question or are in the company of another, preferring to listen discreetly and multitask.
This time, they are two boys, one of whom is a stick-like blonde who stands by the window and gnaws at a bar of chocolate almost viciously, and the other a small, curled up, white mass who lets his hands lazily wander from his hair to his toys and to his hair again. The two couldn't be more different.
The former's entire stance is domineering and driven, his eyes sharp and calculating. They are steady and wandering, dismissive and condemning. With the way he snaps squares of chocolate off deliberately, it is clear that he likes to be in control, and that he holds himself over almost everybody. This adverb is important, as the people who share his lofty cloud also occupy a large portion of his thoughts.
One of these is a redhead in the middle category who stands out because of his unusual attire of enormous goggles and gloves. Aside from this, he is not particularly noteworthy. His intelligence simmers quietly and shines through in the way that he interacts with others; he is friendly and comes across as shy, when in reality he is simply too smart to show his real personality. It is this real personality, which I have not yet been privileged enough to see, that must explain the blonde's fondness for him.
The other is the little pale boy. The blonde is constantly glancing over at him, gauging his reactions—though more often than not, they are indiscernible—and glaring murderously at swiftly completed jigsaws, and every once in a while, becoming grudgingly impressed by the ease with which the Rubik's cubes are solved.
His emotions are volatile, which is an immediate warning signal; L should not have emotions, let alone ones that are volatile. He is a ticking time bomb, and if he explodes, the whole world will be holding their breath to see whether his is the apocalypse or the sun itself.
In conclusion, he would be too dangerous to carry the burden of L.
I turn my attention to the second candidate. He is crouched with his knee pressed to his chest and shoulders hunched in on his thin frame in a way that is eerily reminiscent of myself. He screams invisibility in every which direction, through his choices in attire and posture and reticence. He does not seem to care for the approval of those around him in the way that the tall blonde does, does not even seem to care in the way that a normal person does.
He pays me no attention for the half of the discussion, but when he does glance up from his puzzles, his gaze seems to pierce through the lens of the camera and meet mine. I stare back curiously at this pair of black orbs, so like mine, yet utterly different; I quickly decide that the second is the case. They are almost deviously observant, far too much so to be set in such a face; he is a cheater, but I cannot denounce him on this trait without being dubbed a hypocrite.
He is only sharp where it helps him to be so; he is quietly selfish and lethargic and proud. He is a flickering flame that is entirely too dependent on the weather: in the case of a rainfall, he will die out; if it is arid and dry, he will burn out of control.
In conclusion, he would be too dangerous to carry the burden of L.
Then I blink, and realize that I have stumbled upon the embodiments of Ying and Yang. One black on the outside and white within, the other the first's perfect complement. Two puzzle pieces that match on every single edge. The two sides of a Möbius strip. Whatever metaphor I feel like using is irrelevant; what is important is that I never considered that L could be two people.
The question and answer session lasts but another half hour, and when I have wrapped up, Watari notices my small victorious smile before I do. "Have you made a decision already?" he asks, not sounding surprised as much as curious.
I nod and begin sifting through the pile of manila folders at my desk. "The two boys in the back," I answer warmly. For a moment, I almost feel a faint plucking at my heartstrings, but such a thing is preposterous and I am certainly mistaken; I must be careful not to confuse excitement in their potential for affection.
"Ah, Near and Mello." Watari nods. "I'd expected as much. Have you determined their order yet?"
"There is no order" is my correction. "I would like them to work together as L." I find Near's (Nate River's) file first and begin scanning over his records.
"Together?" Watari sounds as astonished as if I'd suggested that the children take part in a battle to the death for my role. He shakes his head slowly. "I understand how you could be mislead to think that they will offset each other, but I assure you that once you observe them interacting, you will change your mind."
Mello's (Mihael Keehl's) file comes soon after. "I most certainly will not change my mind." I am perfectly aware that I come across as a petulant and stubborn child.
Watari knows me better than to push me on the subject, what with my nature that rather resembles quicksand, but he still attempts to put in a bit of advice before completely abandoning ship. "If you'll at least be open to the possibility of—"
"I've made my decision."
He sighs, a weary, fake sound that makes me look up sharply; it is, after all, common knowledge that I am a suicidal cat. "You're an adult now, so I will trust that you have good reasoning behind all your choices."
I know what Watari is doing. This is manipulation, manipulation without any ill intentions, but manipulation all the same. We both know that impeccable judgment isn't something I have recently acquired, but he sounds as if he is insinuating that if I do not explain myself, I will be no better than a foolish adolescent. I know what he is doing, but I fall for the trap all the same.
"They may act it, but I doubt that they have any real animosity towards each other," I explain, averting my gaze to papers that I lift gingerly and don't pay a great deal of attention to; a face-to-face meeting will be far more informative than a list of grades ever could be. "Jealousy, or a competitive streak, or perhaps even romantic feelings"—Watari splutters a great deal at this last suggestion, and I pick out something along the lines of "but Near is only nine!" in the jumbled mess—"however whatever it is, I doubt that there is real enmity underneath it all."
Watari appears disgruntled at the insinuation that the boys will grow up to be not only the same person, but also lovers, and leaves me to inspect the files with a sulkily muttered farewell of "I'll return in a few hours." Naturally, I take this to mean "You may roam around the orphanage as you please while I'm gone for the next few hours" and take off barely a minute after him.
Because, of course, unbeknownst to the students at Wammy's House, I was directly above their little playroom the entire time; I enjoy being crafty like that.
I amble downstairs and begin my search for Mello first. "Excuse me," I call softly, padding up behind a girl sketching wildlife from next to a window: Linda. I'd seen her murmur things to Matt several times, which gives me hope that she will know Matt's and, through him, Mello's whereabouts.
Linda jerks, her pencil digging a hard line into the paper, but seems to relax when she sees me. It is a rather refreshing reaction, considering the general public's tendency to become only more set on edge when they take in my unusual appearance. This is one of the reasons I feel comfortable at Wammy's; it is the only place where oddity is the norm.
"Would you happen to know where I could find Mello?" I question, slipping my hands into my pockets.
"Umm," She scrubs at the offending mark with a nub of an eraser, "probably in Matt's room. Matt just got a new game for his Game Boy," she says by way of explanation with a little shrug.
She flicks eraser shavings off her paper, then turns and looks at me more closely. "You're too old to be an orphan," she notes a bit suspiciously. "Do you work here?"
I smile faintly. "Something like that. Thank you for the information." I wave politely and slouch off towards he boys' dormitories.
Even if I hadn't known the number for Matt's (Mail Jeevas') bedroom, it wouldn't have been difficult to locate.
"Grahh!" echoes the battle cry through the partially open door of this aforementioned room.
I place a hand on the doorframe and peer through the gap, and watch as Mello launches himself at Matt's back while the latter holds his electronic device to the sky in one gloved hand. They remain upright for one impressive second, but then Matt's knees buckle and they tumble to the floor with a tremendous thump, proceeding to wrestle and spew an extraordinary amount of curses for only being eleven years old.
Though the boys are around the same height, Mello is considerably thinner and Matt quickly pins his thrashing form to the ground. "If you broke my Game Boy, I swear to God, Mel, I'll–"
This rather amusingly ominous threat breaks off suddenly as its speaker jerks his head towards the entrance and cocks it to the side curiously. Massive, unblinking bug eyes stare back at me. "Hello," he greets, making Mello pause mid-kick and swivel his head around as best as he can to size up and possibly intimidate the intruder.
Considering that it is I who is the intruder, this second reflexive action doesn't take effect. Instead, Mello wiggles out from under his suddenly calm assailant, then scrambles to his feet and quickly yanks his long fingers through his shoulder length hair. "What is it?" he drawls, placing his hands on his hips, the pale skin contrasting sharply with the low slung black fabric. The pinpoints of his pupils sweep across my body like the red dots of laser sights before settling critically on my own. "Are you a teacher?"
I don't smile at him the way I did at Linda, but instead am careful to keep my expression blank. I know that nothing like a smile could earn his trust; he wouldn't have been one of my successors if it did.
"May I come in?" I inquire, not bothering to respond to his question; if he is as intelligent as I suspect, he will determine my true identity soon enough.
Mello begins to give me the evil eye, his fierceness shining through the endearing slipping of his top off one of his skinny shoulders, but Matt immediately nullifies this expression with his chirped acquiescence of "Sure!"
Mello's jaw drops at this astonishing act of treachery from his best friend, and he whips his head around to stare in a picture perfect expression of incredulity. "What?" he hisses, but is ignored.
Matt happily crawls to the other side of the room and retrieves his battered Game Boy, grinning when he sees that not only is it still operational, but the game has not been turned off. "It's called Super Mario Brothers Deluxe. I saved up for weeks and weeks and Roger finally let me buy it. It came in the mail last night," he chatters happily as I slip inside and seat myself on the floor next to him, drawing my knees to my chest and leaning against the side of the bed contentedly.
"Roger put it in the playroom's storage closet, because he said I had to get a good night's rest for the meeting with L." Here his voice lowers and he glances up at me slyly through the colored plastic of his goggles. "But I couldn't wait, so I picked the lock to the closet and played it for two whole–ow!" Mello's sharp elbow has connected with his ribs. "What was that for?!"
"Get us in trouble, why don't you?" Mello whispers loudly into Matt's ear, nearly pressing his mouth to his erythrismal locks. "You tell him and he'll tell Roger and Roger'll tell Wammy, so shut up!"
Matt scoffs. "He won't tell." He doesn't even try to keep his response quiet. "Right?" Matt looks up at me knowingly and grins. I am so surprised that my lips part in a ghost of a gasp. Has this child, who I hadn't even considered naming one of my successors, already deduced who I am?
Seeing my reaction, he seems to become even more confident in his assumption. "I won't tell anyone." His whispering skills are far superior to Mello's, and his incensed friend strikes up a protest as if on cue—"What did you say to him? Tell me! I'm your best friend! And I'm older!"—but Matt simply ignores him and begins to show me how to control the animated plumber on the screen.
The silent treatment doesn't appear effective on Mello at first, and I start wonder whether Matt knows his friend as well as he seems to, but then, slowly, it begins to work. Mello sulks and grumbles for no more than minute before he realizes that I have fully captivated his redheaded companion, and that moping several feet off will not in any way recapture his attention. Not only that, but if the way he sidles up to me is any indication, he also astoundingly seems to have realized the same thing that Matt has. I decide that I will later ask them what gave me away, both to deter a security breach and to get a glimpse into the workings of their minds.
But for now, I have someone else to visit.
Author's Note: Thanks, betas, Scaity and chibi-hime123!!
Oh man. Long chapter. L's visit to Wammy's will be continued in chapter 15.
It's late and I still haven't finished studying for my Calculus final, or preparing my Halloween costume for school tomorrow, so I'd better keep this short and sweet.
Love you all, love your reviews, thank you for staying with me thus far, and goodnight. :D