A/N: Reviewers, you are amazing. A* for effort. Collect your winnings and pass go.

L and Light scenes are set about two or three weeks after the events of the last one. More wangst. It won't last.

Chapter 14: How I Made My Millions

I was stronger

I was better

Picked you out

Now don't say a word

No, don't yell out

Never mind

Let you out

Led you back

Stay on

Sit down

Let it fall

~ Radiohead

In Switzerland, of all places, Mello had been chatted up by some guy in a club. This was standard practice because Mello had a sort of androgynous, slightly fragile, extremely dangerous way about him. He was a bit like a bright flame that was burning out too quickly, and people were attracted to that. Matt watched, smiling, and followed them when Mello agreed to go 'outside' with the slimy gent. You'd think that would have been the end of it, except the slimy gent turned out to be part of a crime syndicate. He was in Geneva on business to deposit some twenty million dollars into his Swiss bank account. It just came up in conversation while Mello held a gun barrel against the roof of the man's mouth.

Upshot was, Mello and Matt were hired as runners. Within weeks, their brilliance had been noticed and they became much valued members, developing and exacting heists so perfectly that it made even the most experienced heads spin. The first month that Mello and Matt worked with the group, they brought in triple what the gang normally did. A great talent of theirs was leaving absolutely no tracks which, coupled with their 100% success rate in blackmailed victim compliance, tied their crimes up with a nice little bow. It was like taking candy from a maternity ward's worth of babies. They were frightening. Mello and Matt. Teenage boys frightening hardened criminals.

The family business was literally a family business, and the two boys were dragged in and treated like sons with strange clothes. In truth, the kindness probably had more to do with their golden abilities than genuine affection but nevertheless, to two orphans, they'd take what they could get. Mello thought that he'd found his calling. Matt still wondered whether he should be a programmer working on the next Grand Auto Theft game. Then Astraea really cracked down and ruined everything.

Mello had been in the room when it happened; a greasy, stinking basement with nicotine stained paper peeling from the damp walls like dripping flesh. They were watching TV and playing a bit of pool while Mello went over the particulars of the up and coming job to them. They were laughing at something when the five burly gang enforcers dropped dead, leaving Mello alone in the quiet. He remained spread upon the couch like a king observing a sudden execution. Mello had stopped, mid-bite of chocolate as the men, his friends, fell to the ground.

He paused. Seconds passed. He was alive. He stood up slowly, stepped over Al's body to calmly turn off the television before silently climbing the stairs. In the house, Mello walked past the kitchen where the gang's matriarch and her daughter-in-law lay sprawled out on the black and white tiled floor. A baby was crying. It's mother was dead. The kids had stopped playing outside. They lay silent on the grass like they'd been dropped from the sky. The boss and his brothers by blood and arms, all dead in the living room. Mello waded through the eerie stillness. No birdsong. No noise. None except the quiet tinnitus of Matt's stereo upstairs. Mello put his hand on the stair rail and something within him snapped. He bolted for Matt's office expecting to find what he dreaded most in the world, and burst the door open. It hit the wall with a dank thud and swung back a little while Mello stood in the doorway.

Matt spun around on his computer chair as Mello stood staring, dumbfounded, thankful, so close to loss that he could almost hear it whisper in his ear: Not now, but soon. Then you'll be alone.

Matt's hand was still poised over a keyboard in the middle of remotely hacking into a police server with the ease of five fingers. A fat cigarette stub resting on an ashtray. Smoke rising. The screen a map of digits. "What's happened?" he asked. His voice was low, as if he already knew.

Mello took him in with his eyes and offered a silent prayer for the gangly limbs, the mop of blood-red hair, the questioning navy blue eyes. Still alive. He half-walked, half-ran, dropping to his knees at Matt's feet. "Everyone's dead, Matty."

Matt looked blank. Nothing in his face but resolve. "We're getting out of here," he replied, curving a reassuring hand over Mello's blonde skull.

Matt packed their things, stuffing them into a hold-all like weeds in a bucket while Mello stood against the wall in his track suit, thumbing the cross of his rosary in silence while he questioned in his mind. Where are you?

"We'll take the Peugeot. Less obvious," Matt said. So businesslike. He was like a different person, but then, he'd been expecting this, hadn't he? He said that it wouldn't last.

"But, the Ducatti," Mello said, pathetically. Like a spoiled child.

"We'll get you another Ducatti. We'll take the car and we'll dump it in Bristol."

"Matt."

"Mell, grab some of your stuff. We're going," Matt replied, zipping up the bag impatiently.

"The baby's downstairs. It's alive,"

"We'll phone the police once we get a fair distance. Take Gerry's phone for the call and break the safe. We need money."

"Matt."

Blue eyes met. Matt was going to drill this into Mello's head with cold, bare facts. "Mello. We're alive. They're not. Get the stuff and let's go."

So they got to Bristol and it felt like the apocalypse was at their heels. A day later they were in Cornwall; the end of the land. Twisted trees, contorted by the Atlantic, branches like open palms to the skies. They paid a small fishing boat to take them to Brittany, smuggling them out the country. It was very dangerous. Chances were that they'd all be killed. But they weren't. They carved their lives back from Astraea.

But it had been in Geneva, all those months ago, that Mello had burned the letter. As soon as he'd committed the contents to memory, he'd grabbed Matt's glowing cigarette and set the paper and envelope alight from the corners, watching them flash like a solar flare and curl into a flower of ashes. Refusing to tell Matt what was in the letter caused quite a sore point between them which hadn't quite healed. Especially now. Especially since things between them had become a bit more complicated. There was nothing like a near-death experience to make people fall in love like idiots, and Matt and Mello were complete and utter idiots.

Mello had all but disregarded the letter as the two boys sped across Europe on a stolen Ducatti. The moment was in Rome, in a dismal flat. Matt was sleeping in skinny jeans and the air was cold and stank of smoke. Mello slipped into his leathers and left on his motorbike. He rode for hours, in circles maybe before, somewhere in one of the cubes of Roman gridded streets within sight of Vatican City, he pulled over at a phonebox. The phone rang for what seemed like forever. He pulled the receiver away from his ear and was just about to replace it and his stupid, stupid thoughts down and out of his mind.

Someone picked up.

Mello hesitantly drew the phone back. His breathing was the only thing he could hear. Long seconds passed.

"Mihael?"

Mello breathed and closed his eyes. His mouth was closeted within the cup of the phone, his own breathing reflected back upon him and warmed his face in the chill air. He gripped onto his rosary with his free hand as he replied, "Is it really you?"

L couldn't tell whether it was the room or his vision which was tinged with an apathetic, blue-ish mist. He'd thought idly a few times throughout the day that maybe he should mention it to Light, but then Light would have already noticed it and was obviously unconcerned. Unless... unless it was only L who could see it. He had begun to mention it to Light earlier that morning. L was barely holding his own against gravity and Light was stalking around the bathroom in that mechanic way of his. L had tried to speak, but it was in so clumsy a fashion that in the end he didn't see the point in continuing in trying to make himself understood. Light had seen the struggle, the hesitant grasping at words in the air. He'd walked over and brushed his lips over the hollow of L's cheek and across his cheekbone. L suspected that Light preferred him when he was quiet anyway.

When he first noticed the mysterious underwater cast to the room, it was because he'd been looking at Light. He glanced back at the watch on his wrist, and back at Light.

"The copper in your hair isn't as bright as I remember it," he said mournfully.

Over the months he had wasted a great deal of time considering the many qualities of Light Yagami, his hair included. It was so different to his own, which was a rather flat black in his own rather disinterested opinion, but which Light had, on one occasion when he was in one of his more amorous moods, likened to a "crow-black sea". Whether it was intended as a compliment, an insult, or was just an instance of Light being temporarily seized with the soul of poetry, L didn't really put much thought into. Mostly because he wasn't in the least concerned with such vanities.

However, he was interested in Light's hair, composed as it was of millions of silken strands which varied in colour from a deep bronze to a golden blonde. A true 'crowning glory' which men and women spend thousands over the course of their lives in trying to achieve. Light was born, no, crafted with this beauty and, since he was generally blessed in all things, he took it for granted. L didn't. Light's hair, in the florescence of the office, could burn a brilliant deep copper. L hadn't been constructing his sentences as thoughtfully as he usually did. The checking point between his brain and his mouth had shut up shop. Involuntary exclamations such as musings about a certain person's hair colour were an increasingly regular occurrence and cut a jagged line through conversations. Light seemed surprised by these outbursts at first. A fine eyebrow would rise and amber eyes widen at this L who, so unfocused and dreamlike, blurted out such sensitive declarations with the innocent simplicity of a child. However, in the last few days Light no longer questioned L's strange, detached observations. In fact, more often than not, they inspired a sudden rush of affection and he would place a kind but dismissive hand over L's before reverting back to the topic in hand. The night before, apparently particularly struck by L's words (although what was said, L couldn't recall), Light swept some threads of hair from L's forehead and placed the softest of kisses above his eye. The corners of his lips upturned in a semblance of a gentle smile. To L, the remembrance of the kiss was a bruise in his memory.

'One man, Pygmalion, shocked at the vices Nature has given only too often, chose to live alone. To have no woman in his bed. But meanwhile he made, with marvelous art, a statue, and gave it greater beauty than any girl could have, and fell in love with his own workmanship.

'The best art, they say, is that which conceals art.'

The copper has gone because of the blue, L thought. Blue cancels out orange. But then there is no colour really. It's all just white light. Light. Instinctively L turned again towards the straight-backed boy next to him. Light's keen eyes were staring intensely at a mass of data on his computer screen while madly twirling a pen between his fingers like an enthusiastic cheerleader with a baton. L couldn't make out what it was he was reading. The screen looked blurred.

Light must have sensed L's attention and by turning to face him was met with L's haunted, staring eyes. Instinctively Light hunched his shoulders protectively, curving his spine, leaning on his elbows, and sighed. "Are you alright?" he enquired, softly.

Despite his hushed tone, the room was as silent as a monastery and other task force eyes turned at the sound of the whisper. Light flashed a weak smile their way while leaning closer towards L in an attempt to keep their conversation more private. He noted some regret that their working hours were no longer accompanied by the tapping of computer keyboards which used to act as some cover. Some weeks before, perhaps months before all this, L had acquiesced to Light's growing fury over the annoying noise keeping him awake at night. He had ordered 'silent keyboards for all the computers, not just the laptop he used in their bedroom, partly as an irritated jab at Light, partly because he could, and partly because he didn't like to see Light upset by something he could fix without much effort. The novelty of seeing him overtired and in a temper had worn off. L slept at night now. Slept most of the time actually. It was Light who stayed up into the early hours on the laptop.

"I... yes," L replied.

"You were staring."

"Was I?" said L, tilting his head to one side, utterly bemused.

"It's ok, I just wondered if you needed something," Light soothed. His voice was a balm to L who felt anxiety like a pang of hunger in his core. He didn't know why and pondered the words for a moment. The pause seemed to alarm Light and he hastily added on the subtext as a prompt, "Cake or tea or something?"

"No, I'm..." L's voice and black velvet eyes drifted as if lost in thought.

Light had, without discussion, taken over the role of Watari in terms of keeping L supplied with enough cake and tea (which often went untouched and left to go cold) to feed an army. Sometimes during the day, Matsuda would help out, running to the kitchen to cut slices of cake, but that was all Light would trust him with. He feared breakages and ugly, clumsy-looking sundaes which L would pout at. Light protested that he was hardly inconvenienced by the regular trips to the kitchen to prepare tea or coffee for L. After all, he had precious opportunity now for exercise. Watari had had a daily order and delivery with several local bakeries, so Light sent Matsuda around with payment every week. So, in essence, little had changed since Watari had been seen so irregularly by the task force anyway. Only L missed him, when he remembered him at all. At first, Light had started ordering in different teas and preparing them himself, referring to his being a member of a tea club at high school and saying how calming it was to prepare tea properly. He even went so far with this new pursuit as to order in some fine, porcelain senchawan bowls which he presented to L as a gift. He despaired when he realised that any prized subtly in flavour was massacred by the amount of sugar L added. He was weaning him off it.

As Light leaned closer, he brought L's focus back to him by resting his tapering fingers around L's wrist, below the watch. His finger rested on a jutting bone. "You're allowed to sleep, you know. We've been over this."

"I'm fine," L replied with a slightly dazed expression. His eyes studied Light's hand on his arm, noting the contrast of Light's even golden colour against the stark, ghostly whiteness of his own skin. A blue vein was popping, throbbing under Light's fingertip

"No. No, you're not," Light said, resolutely, removing his hand and standing up. "Ryuzaki is taking a break. That's ok with everyone, isn't it?" Light announced to the rest of the task force.

"Yes, Ryuzaki. That sounds like a good idea. You'll feel better after a rest," Soichiro encouraged. Matsuda nodded approvingly while Aizawa simply glanced over, briefly. But L felt alright now. Why was everyone trying to get rid of him? He'd been working. It wasn't as if he was just sitting here. He turned towards his computer monitor, noticing the blank white screen and the cursor flashing impatiently, still awaiting imput after... how many hours? He felt hands grip his wrists and - "At least let's just get out of this room," Light whispered, close in the shell of his ear.

L looked up in alarm. Light's face looked like kindness itself with a flash of urgency in his eyes and with a face and demeanour that could charm birds from the trees. L knew better than most what lay underneath. Underneath there were bloody fibres and bones stained with marrow. It would look the same as anyone else's, but it was beautiful because it was Light. Within that mass, the synapses flickered with evil electric hope and furious intent. Light was powered by thoughts that L could only imagine. They were ugly, those thoughts. People would be surprised. Or maybe they'd think them beautiful too because they were Light's? They'd think them glorious, like Misa had. People make excuses for perfection. This perfect contradiction. This was all L had, and for moment he was seized with fear.

"I don't need to go," he said.

"Ryuzaki, come on," Light urged. A hand snaked around L's back, running over vertebrae, making him shiver. L automatically obeyed, registering some flare of irritation that his own body was apparently not accepting orders from his brain and was choosing to do what Light wanted. He was just like everyone and everything else.

"I'll work on the laptop upstairs, Dad. It's the only way to make sure that he gets some sleep. I'll be back later," Light said to Soichiro as he guided L past.

L's skin prickled at being spoken about like a baby. This whole situation was ridiculous. A mass murderer was essentially running his own investigation. The 'World's Greatest Detective' being told what to do and looked after by a serial killer? Because that's what Light was, wasn't he?

Light.

Murderer.

The blue mist was no different in the corridor. L's eyes turned to the ceiling to inspect the florescent lights to see if they were the cause. The doors slid shut behind them, like a breath. He noticed that the feeling under his feet was warm and soft and something triggered in his brain. It's the carpet, you idiot. You're in your room. That was quick. Walking was quick and painless when Light was leading.

Oh, there's the box with the tea bowls Light gave me. Light could be so kind, he thought. You'd never think that it was all a lie. Like a child, he loved how the blossoming flower decoration on the bowls changed colour when hot water was poured in. He and Light had both smiled as Light rotated the bowl so they could admire it from every angle like a secret.

"There," Light said with accomplished finality, adding some pressure on L's shoulders. In effect, he forced L to sit on the edge of the bed - a mannequin being articulated into the desired shape and position of the artist. Noticing L's gaze on the tea bowl box, Light placed a hand on the crook of L's neck, faint pressure upon taut tendons, the strings of a violin. "Shall we have some tea?" Light asked.

L didn't answer, and apparently it wasn't necessary for him to since Light had already made his way over to the box, unlocking the brass closure and exposing the bone-white porcelain lying on a black silk bed. He took two bowls and disappeared into the small kitchen. Moments later L heard the sound of water filling a kettle, drawers opening and closing. Each sound registered in his brain like delayed flash cards. He stood and walked the window. One of his hands reached across his chest and gripped his shoulder, but it was no comfort. When Light reappeared some minutes later, setting the tray down on a small desk, his eyes met L's from across the room. The sun was dying. L's hair was coloured by that intense blue twilight. Funny how in that near darkness, Light seemed to disappear while L would gain colour and presence. After a few moments, Light started towards the lamp on the desk.

"Don't," L said firmly. It was the most decisive tone he'd taken on for weeks. Then softly, barely a whisper, "Kill me in the dark."

If Light heard him or not, he didn't acknowledge it. He turned his eyes to the bowls on the tray, already poured, and began stirring one. L saw a mercurial flash of a silver spoon catching whatever was left of the gloaming as the silhouette drew closer. He reached out a claw-like hand, fingers grasping Light's shirt. Light held out one bowl for L.

"Here," Light said.

Take it back and we'll forget this happened.

"See if I've got the sugar right this time."

No, then.

L stared at Light for a few moments more before his grasp loosened and he reached for the proffered cup.

"There should be a sugar plantation in Hawaii named after you. You must keep them in business," Light said with a forced cheeriness before sipping his own tea nonchalantly. L's eyes remained cold when he looked up from the bowl and the glossy, swirling liquid.

"So you're here to make sure that I sleep?" L said, darkly.

"It'll do you good," Light replied, taking another sip.

"You made sure that I slept while you buried Watari. Haven't I slept enough?"

"You know that you couldn't have gone to the funeral."

"What was it like?" L said sadly, staring at the tea again.

"I don't know. I stayed with you."

L's eyes snapped up. It was nearly dark now but Light could see that his eyes were wide, bright, and sharp. He glanced back at the untouched cup in L's hands.

"You... stayed?"

Light ignored the question he didn't feel the need to answer and turned his gaze to the window. "Dad said that it was quick and simple. Just as your regulations state: In the event of a task force member's death - no fuss, dealt with as quickly as possible. It won't have attracted any attention."

"There's something I need to do. I need to speak to someone," L said urgently, overcome with a dazed panic in remembering something he should have done long ago.

"Maybe tomorrow," Light said softly, rubbing tiny circles into L's arm with his thumb. "You could visit the grave one day. I'd like to go and pay my respects too."

"There's no point," L stated flatly. His body noticeably stiffened as his resolve crumbled. He lifted the bowl of cooling tea to his mouth for emphasis, draining it in one go.

"It might give you..."

"If you say the word 'closure' I will beat your head in with this fucking thing," L said with a shocking abruptness. His words stunned both Light and himself into frozen mockeries of themselves, staring at each other and trying to work out what happened. L's hand grew weak and he dropped the bowl to the floor. He stood there, hands at his sides staring at the ghost of fallen porcelain in the dimness. Light eventually reached down and picked it up, running a finger along the rim to check for chips and cracks.

"L," Light said softly, looking into disbelieving eyes. As their eyes locked, L snapped his eyelids shut, grinding the heel of his hand into his forehead as he turned and he strode towards the bed.

"No. Not L. I'm Ryuzaki to you. Or Rue, or... Who's L, anyway? It's not me." The last few words were muffled against the pillow as he curled in upon himself like a dying leaf. Light placed the two empty bowls on the table before easing down to sit on the bed, staring at L's back and the painfully thin, glass-like shoulders which protruded through his t-shirt as he tensed. Light instinctively placed a hand on the small of his back, a patch of skin exposed above the faded indigo of his jeans. "I'm fine now. I've had my tea. You can go back downstairs and work because I'm resting," L said, edged in sarcasm. He flinched against Light's touch.

"I was going to stay with you for a while. I don't want to leave you like this. Do you want me to go?"

"Yes, I... No. No, I need you to stay," L faltered. His voice was the essence of defeat. His shoulders unlocked and his body was no longer a twisted spring, "I don't think I'll wake up again."

Light unfolded a blanket from the end of the bed and climbed beside L, curving himself along the man's back like an echo while draping the blanket over, reaching forwards to tuck one corner under L's chin. L grasped the hand and held it desperately as if fighting some terrible fear, and that this hand was the only thing grounding him. Light eased back into the pillow, smiling to himself as he pressed his forehead into the broad plains of L's back. He breathed in the clean scent of cotton which rose and fell with shallow breaths as his fingers gently raking through black lacquered hair.

In the kitchen, in the unassuming blue and white capsules, in the Codeine bottle in which it did not belong, was the powder which Light had calmly poured into L's tea and masked with sugar.

"L? L, wake up."

Wake up, child.

"L?"

Are you still in bed?

"Come on, L."

Come on, don't you know you've kept him waiting?

Pay attention.

Open your eyes.

We are of the going water and the gone. We are of water in the holy land of water.

Can you not see that little light up there?

"Where?"

There

"Where?"

Over here

"L, wake up."

"Light?"

"You were dreaming."

"Was I?"

"I've never seen you dream before."

"Oh."

"It was thrilling."

"Was it?"

"No, not really. What were you dreaming about?"

"No. That's mine."

"Oh. Ok then," Light said, pulling away.

"Where are you going?" L said, trying to catch Light's arm, but his hand didn't seem capable of gripping anything and it flopped miserably back onto the bed. He couldn't open his eyes. They were too heavy and full of grit.

"We're having a meeting. I thought you'd like to join us," Light said, gazing down upon L.

"Ah."

"Do you want me to postpone it?" he said, frostily.

"What?"

"The meeting. Shall I postpone it? You should be there."

"Ah. Yes. Postpone."

"I'll run you a bath."

"Oh God."

"Don't 'Oh God' me. It'll wake you up."

"No it won't."

"Come on, sit up."

"Ugh," L moaned as Light dragged him into a sitting position, or what should have been a sitting position if L had any bones at all. He leaned heavily against Light, his face falling into the white shirt underneath Light's black suit.

"You're still tired?" Light said, curving over to see L's face.

"Hmmm..." L said into Light's chest.

"Do you want me to stay?"

"Yes."

Always

"He's not ready yet. He said he'll be down after lunch," Light said to the questioning faces around the table as he entered the office.

"This is ridiculous. He's put it off twice already. So, what? Are we supposed to sit here?" Aizawa mumbled moodily. "Listen, when he deigns to appear, give me a call. Until then, I'm going home to see my daughter."

"Aizawa, sit down," Soichiro said, quietly.

"It's a Saturday, Chief. This is my day off so I can see my kid and I came here especially because we were led to believe that L would be holding a meeting. It's never going to happen."

"There's a few things we can discuss before he arrives," Light said, sitting down and straightening his tie.

"I thought L was leading this investigation?"

"Ryuzaki is ill but he is still leading this investigation. If you want to leave, Aizawa-san, then please do. I'll explain to him that the case was interfering with your plans."

"Light!" Soichiro reprimanded, "Aizawa-san. Please accept my apologies. This is a difficult time. Light, apologise." Light lifted his head to his father, his expression was blank and unyielding. "Light?" said Soichiro, crestfallen. Light looked away, practically rolling his eyes with boredom.

"While Ryuzaki is ill, he has appointed me to head the team in his stead. But, as I say, he'll be down later," he said.

"Well I'm not waiting," Aizawa stated.

"Governments and authorities across the world have paid L huge sums to 'deign' them with his attention for a few minutes, and you can't be bothered to wait a couple of hours for him?" Light snapped, his eyes flashing like daggers.

"Light, that's enough," Soichiro said. He sounded defeated.

"I don't know why you're being so protective of him," Aizawa attacked Light, his voice raised, "You of all people. Wasn't it L who had you locked up in solitary for over a month? He thinks that you're Kira for God's sake!"

"If you remember, Aizawa, I volunteered. That's what it took. Ryuzaki had to explore every avenue to be assured of my innocence."

"Oh, I bet he did."

"That's enough!" Soichiro slammed his hand down upon the table and stood, "Aizawa, go home to your family until Monday. If anything happens, we'll call you."

"Chief," Aizawa bowed his head, glared at Light, and left the room in frosty silence.

"So," Light began, unnervingly unflustered and looking back over his notes like a newsreader, "the murders at the gala appear to have been instrumented by Misa Amane. The hypothesis is that she had, in her possession, pieces of a book of death similar, if not the same, as that which was in the possession of Yoshi Hashimoto. If the names of an individual are written on such paper, it causes the death of that person. Of course, we cannot test this theory. It is morally abhorrent. I certainly cannot sanction such an order."

"Ryuzaki will. It'll be like that Lind L. wotzit guy. He'll get someone on death row to test it on," Matsuda chirped.

"I will oppose that measure," Light said.

"But Light, how will we find out otherwise?"

"The taking of life is a last resort. I hope that more evidence will make itself available so we don't have to take that action."

'What evidence?"

"It is my theory that Hashimoto's Book of Death survived the fire. I feel that Hashimoto either lived long enough to put some distance between himself and the church, or that after our team was forced to leave, the book was taken from the site by person or persons unknown."

"That's unlikely, Light. The fire was very intense and spread rapidly. Anyone in that building would have been overcome by smoke within seconds."

"Not necessarily. I believe that the fire was orchestrated. In any case, the paper showed no fingerprints other than Misa Amane's, my own, and my father's from when we found them on her body. The paper lists the names of all those who were killed at the Tokyo gala festival at which Amane was due to perform. There were also names listed which we have confirmed as people who died of natural causes around the fourth of November. These names include one which I believe to be the birth name of the man we knew as 'Aiber'. Watari-san's name, which, if the theory of a Book of Death is correct, would be 'Quillish Wammy'. I can find no photographs or information relating to 'Quillish Wammy' and I have not yet been able to verify his identity through L. There is the possibility that L will choose not to verify it, in which case, officially, we only have the list of the gala victims to go on. I've printed out scans of the sheets found on Misa Amane. The handwriting is undoubtedly hers. As you can see, with the gala death victims, she specifies the mode of death after each name, drawing a symbol which matches self-inflicted injuries found on the bodies. It seems that this would be an effort to replicate Astraea's murders. It does not take a leap of imagination to consider the idea that paper such as that found on Misa Amane, or a so-called Book of Death, is in Astraea's possession."

"This is how they do it?" Soichiro asked.

"Indeed. I suggest that the Hashimoto book has been placed on the black market, portioned out, and sold off. However, if this were the case then the cost would be enormous, well beyond the funds of Misa Amane. Therefore, Amane either came into the possession of this paper through other means at a previous date, or she was given this by another party."

"But why?"

Light inclined his head as if to say, 'Matsuda, I cannot believe that someone as stupid as you has reached adulthood.'

"You're suggesting that Amane received the papers in return for sexual favours?" Soichiro said.

"If that is so, then it was before she was apprehended by L. I cannot say that I ever had any idea that she was involved with anyone in the underworld, but then, this wouldn't have been difficult to hide as I saw her on very few occasions."

"I thought that you were her boyfriend, Light," Matsuda mumbled, sadly.

"Unfortunately she developed an infatuation which was entirely one-sided," Light answered before continuing, "The other option is that she was given this paper by someone involved with Astraea. As you are aware, Ryuzaki suspects an operative of that organisation is working within Japan. This might explain Amane's death by heart attack as it is unlikely that Astraea would approve that a mockery of their 'judgements' being undertaken. The number of people with access to this Book of Death, or pieces thereof, must be very limited as Amane's death occured within forty minutes of the events first being broadcast and confined to Japanese news stations."

"So whoever killed Amane did so from within Japan," Soichiro said.

"Probably. It would mean that whoever killed Misa Amane knew her personally, or knew of her and her ability and possession of this paper. They knew that she must have been the one responsible for the gala deaths. The conclusion is that Misa Amane has, at some point, met with Astraea."

"But how?"

"As we know, V was the agent who was watching Amane and is now deceased also. V did, however, leave a record of all of Amane's movements which is very thorough. I can see no opportunity which Amane might have had to communicate with Astraea or anyone else who could be suspected. Amane's phone records show nothing suspicious. Matsuda, your records, while not quite as detailed, do not suggest that she was at any time out of your sight. There is the problem."

After the meeting, Light set up the chess board in the office and began to compete against himself while Matsuda and Soichiro continued their informal discussion about Light's revelations. Light's eyes kept, completely of their own accord, flicking up to the seat opposite him, to where L should be sitting. Assured that he'd tied everyone in the appropriate knots, he was going to spend some time to tie himself in some.

Ryuk had not returned, which meant that Light had Rem's personal Death Note after all, as Ryuk suggested that night, and not Misa's Death Note. This had the benefit of not being followed by a shinigami with an apple fixation, but it meant that there was yet another Death Note in the world which was in the hands of another. Two Death Notes gone AWOL. What joy.

Light was at least the owner of one of those missing Death Notes, the one he took from Hashimoto, but that didn't stop someone else using it. If Light didn't retrieve that missing Death Note within the next year or so, he would lose his ownership. He was sure that he'd find it shortly.

Now, Misa's Death Note, the one he'd planted under the tree for her - that was missing. She did definitely own it at some point because Light had seen Ryuk. Ryuk had been Misa's shinigami. There was no sign of it at her apartment. Light checked her bank accounts and interrogated her friends and family with no success. So where was the Death Note and who owned it? Who was Ryuk possessing now?

Light's eyes fluttered up to thin air again. Yes, L's seat was still empty. His head ached. His arms ached. He stood and walked out of the room like a robot while his father and Matsuda watched him leave.

"Ryuzaki?"

"Here, Light-kun," a soft voice answered. Light shut the bedroom door and started pulling impatiently at his tie. He followed the sound of the voice. The bed was all wrinkled folds like a sand dune. Empty. L was in the bathroom.

"There you are." Light breathed. L was in the bath, his arms around his knees, looking straight ahead to nowhere. He didn't even look up when Light came into the room, not even now that Light approached him. His dark hair was now startlingly black like a brush stroke of ink. It was heavy with the water which dripped in ribbons down his back.

Light managed to pull off his tie and folded it as he took a seat on the edge of the bath. He could feel the chill rising from the water. He dipped his finger into the clear water. "What are you doing?!" Light shouted, jumping up, horrified.

"I'm in the bath," L replied innocently, his voice shaking involuntarily.

"Yes, I can see that, but it's freezing cold. Here," Light said, putting his arms around L, lifting him, and forcing him to stand.

"Light?" came the low tones of Soichiro from outside the door.

"Oh for fuck's sake," Light exhaled. "I'll be out in a minute, Dad," he shouted, while helping L to step out of the bath. The water was dripping on the tiles around and now Light's jacket cuffs were sodden. Light looked at L's downturned face. "I don't believe you!" he whispered, while taking off his jacket, draping it over L's shoulders.

"Where's Ryuzaki?" Soichiro called.

"He'll be out in a minute," Light cooed towards the bathroom door before turning his attention back to the sopping wet and shivering L. "What the are you trying to do to me?" he asked, rubbing his hands up and down L's arms, trying to warm the life back into him. He grabbed for a towel which was within reach and started stroking it over L's dripping hair.

"I'm not doing anything, Light," L said beneath the veil the towel had created around his head.

"This is you not doing anything?" Light started steering L over to a large mat below the sink, making him sit down before he fell down. "Stay there," he commanded, grabbing a fistful of towels from the towel rail and wrapping them around L's trembling form. His tone softened as he truly realised the state of L's condition, "Your lips are blue."

"Sorry."

"What were you thinking? Wait, I'll get rid of my father. Just stay right there," Light said. He stood up and pointing forcibly to the spot as if L was a mischievous puppy, before fleeing the room, closing the door behind him. He found Soichiro was standing awkwardly in the bedroom. "Hi, Dad! Anything wrong?" he asked, impossibly cheerful.

"I thought I'd check on Ryuzaki," Soichiro said.

"He's in the bathroom."

"What's he doing?"

"He's in the bath."

Soichiro looked Light up and down with concern. "And you were in there?"

"In the bath?"

"In the room."

"Well, yes. Clearly. I had to, uh, wash my face."

"And you're comfortable with that? Being in the same room as a naked man in the bath?"

"Well, there was a flannel," Light panicked. "It's only like the public baths, Dad."

"Can I speak to him."

"He's in the bath," Light repeated.

"I'll wait."

"Right. Urgh, I'll go and tell him," Light said, in as pleasant a manner as he could muster. He ran back into the bathroom and closed the door again, rushing back to kneel in front of L, who, small mercies, was still sitting on the bath mat. He looked like he was meditating.

"Ryuzaki, please, please get up," Light begged.

"What is it, Light?"

"My dad's outside and he wants to speak to you."

"Oh."

"So? Get up."

"Light?" Sochiro called. He was right outside the door.

"Oh fuckfuckfuck. Ryuzaki, please, if you can pull yourself together and do this one thing for me I'll – "

"Love me forever?"

"Yes, yes, whatever. Just please be L for me?"

"I'll try," L said, allowing Light to help him stand.

"Thank you, thank you! Put this on," he said, stripping the mass of towels and his rag of a jacket from L's damp form and handing him a dressing gown.

"This is yours," L commented inanely. Staring at the dressing gown.

"It's a dressing gown. Yours is the same. Just put it on," Light said, articulating L's arms into the sleeves.

"Is he outside?"

"Yes. God, yes," Light said, tying the belt of the robe.

"Kiss me."

"What?"

"Kiss me or I won't go," L demanded. He was resolute.

"Ryuzaki, not the time. Really not."

"Then I'm afraid that I can't help you."

"Light? Ryuzaki? Are you all right?" Sochiro barked.

"Ryuzaki, my father is outside and he's very, very angry and not used to waiting for a bus, never mind you."

"How is that my concern?" L asked. Light looked into his eyes and knew that this could go on forever. He gave up.

"Fine," Light said, turning back to the door, opening it wide. "There. Dad, Ryuzaki."

Soichiro was standing by the unmade bed. His eyes flew from Light to Ryuzaki who stood wrapped in a over-large dressing gown, in the centre of a rug, with towels and what looked like Light's jacket at his feet. Light marched over to the bed defensively and began making it up roughly, in some vain display of good housekeeping in a brothel.

"Ryuzaki, are you all right?" Soichiro took one step towards L.

"I'm sorry, Yagami-san. Light wouldn't kiss me, so I'm not playing."

"What?" Soichiro boomed.

"Ryuzaki, what?" Light spluttered.

"I'm sorry."

"Ryu …. Dad, ignore him, he's tired still. I found him in a bath of cold water," Light said desperately.

"Light," Soichiro said, turning towards his son.

"Yes, Dad?"

"I want to speak with you."

"He wants to speak with you, Light," L repeated like a drowned parrot from the bathroom.

"Dad – "

"Are you... Is there something you want to say?" Soichiro asked. He looked taller suddenly, or Light was shorter. Oh yes, he was still leaning across the bed. Light pulled himself upright.

"No," he said, fervently

"Is there something you want to say, Light?" L echoed.

"Shut UP, Ryuzaki. No, Dad. There's nothing I have to say. There's nothing going on."

"He's lying, Yagami-san."

"Ryuzaki!" Light shouted as he stormed towards L.

"Are you going to hit me, Light?" L said, completely unmoved with Light's fist held above him about to strike.

"Wh … No. No, of course not," Light said, caught off guard by those dark eyes. "Why are you doing this to me?" he whispered. L smiled. Light scowled before spinning back, striding towards his father. "Dad, there's nothing going on. Let's talk outside." Soichiro allowed himself to be led out of the room which, at that moment, ranked as the second ring of Hell. Light closed the door and L's staccato laughter behind it. "Dad, I'm sorry. He's not well. I just didn't want you to have him hospitalised."

"Light, you have to leave the investigation."

"No, listen to me."

"Light, I've seen you fall apart in this building. I've let it happen. Let me try to prevent any more damage."

"What 'damage'?"

"You're leaving the case. You're going home and you're going back to university. That's an end to it."

"Don't take this away from me, Dad."

Soichiro stroked a heavy hand down Light's hair and left him standing there in the hallway. Light stared at where his father had been, long after he had disappeared from view. Eventually, he turned and went back into the bedroom because he didn't know where else to go.

"What happened?' L said from the doorway of the bathroom. Apparently his curiosity could only make him travel a few steps at most.

Light pressed his forehead against the bedroom door after he closed it. "What do you think happened?"

"He's taking you home to mummy."

"You wanted this?" Light said, astounded, turning to face L.

"Part of me does, yes."

"Why?"

"Because you're a murderer," L said, plainly and without emotion.

"Shut up!" Light shouted. He wanted to kill him. He wanted to tear him apart

L childishly held up one hand to hide his smile. "Heee!"

"I'm not a murderer."

"Yes you are. I should know, you murdered me."

"What the fuck are you talking about? I'm not sure if you've noticed this, but you're still alive. I'm the one who has kept you alive. If it was up to you, you'd probably be in the basement being eaten by stray dogs," Light said, and he believed it.

"You know," L replied, more to himself than Light.

"Look, all I know is that you're a basket case but, God help me, I can't let them throw you into a mental hospital. Did you know that? That's what they want to do. They think you're mad."

"Mad as birds," L agreed, dispassionately. Light stared at him from across the room.

"L," he said walking towards him in a few strides and taking him in his arms. L's face was cold against his. He was bloodless. Light pressed his face into damp hair. "Please, come back to me."

"You're keeping me away."

"How?"

"You know."

"Tell me what to do."

"Light can work that much out for himself. Go home with daddy and Ryuzaki will be strapped to a bed in a hospital somewhere in the countryside with thick walls where no one can hear him and -"

"No." Light said. He didn't understand why he was speaking like this. He was speaking like -

"Daddy says so," L mumbled, he pressed his face into Light's shoulder.

"I'm eighteen. I can do what I want." The idea dawned upon Light, a desperate idea. He pulled away to see L's face, cupping it in one hand. "We'll sack him. Yes? We'll sack him. Get a new investigation team. Or we'll work alone. Start again," he said, willing L to agree.

"Oh, Light-kun. Surely you can do better than that?"

"No. No, tell me what to do!" Light told him, desperately pawing at the side of L's head as if trying to find something inside.

"I have to phone someone, Light-kun," L said, blandly.

"What?"

"I have to contact someone or they'll think that I'm dead."

"Why?"

"Watar –" L broke off, taking a breath, "He used to contact them regularly. Otherwise they worry."

"Who worries?"

"What, why, who? It's none of your business. Are we having that meeting later?" L said. Distant memories of conversations were flooding back. His eyes had cleared, they were shining liquid.

"No, we had it," Light explained.

"Oh, I missed it again. Never mind, I'm sure you handled it very well. Sterling work in leading everyone in circles."

"I didn't. Listen to me."

"Light-kun, please let me go. I really have to go and make a phone call before my mind clouds over again. I have a feeling that it'll happen shortly," L said, trying to pull himself out of Light's hold, but Light wouldn't let him.

"You can't. You're not in any state to speak to anyone."

"I suppose that you have hacked all my systems by now. My, you are a piece of work, aren't you? Magnificent really."

"How can you say that?" Light said, brokenly. He felt so defeated. He must look defeated. Whatever conviction he had was seeping into L.

"Because, Light Yagami, I know you who you are. Ha. 'I love my murderer'. How stupid those lines always sounded. So deeply sentimental. And yet here I am understanding every word and being a fool while the world is burning all around us. And it's your fault, Light. I could stop you, but I can't. I wish you'd kill me, if only to stop me empathising with Victorian spinsters from Yorkshire."

Light's eyes turned cruel as he looked at L. His grip on him strengthened. "Stop it."

"Kiss me, you heartless bastard. Stop me," L said. Light's eyes widened, trying to decipher whether it was a challenge, a demand, an accusation, or sarcasm. Maybe it was all of those things. His fingers twisted in L's black hair, he pressed his face into it, feeling it's cool dampness against his skin, breathing in its scent, kissing where the strands emerged from that beautiful skull and its precious cargo. "Stop fucking my hair, Kira," L sighed, irritated. Light moved on the order, not even noticing what L had called him. He transferred his kisses to L's mouth, which remained completely passive. Shocked by the total lack of reaction, he left the cold lips, gliding over the smooth angle of his jaw. He felt L's words breeze against his cheek. "There was a time, not too long ago, when you wouldn't have hesitated. But that was then."

"Shut up, L," Light said, because that, that was a challenge and he would be damned if he'd let that go by. He clawed at L's dressing gown robe, tugging the sides apart like a kimono. He was momentarily distracted by L being so flawless; his taut skin taking on some ethereal ugly beauty which Light had often admired in some distant way in the past, perhaps because he was so unlike him in every way, and yet so like him. Light thought then that he was mad to ever leave him, even for a moment. He should never be out of his arms.

L shook Light back to himself with his words. "Did you think I'd let you win so easily?" L was a grinning skull, and Light should have pushed him away because he didn't know this person. He wasn't L or Ryuzaki. No, no one he'd seen before. But instead he reached around the nape of this man's neck, wrapping himself in the roots of him. Drawing him close like he was life and death and anything with any meaning. He closed his eyes and soon there was nothing but the game and absolutely no love.

When Light woke, there was no trace of L. No shed dressing gown on the floor. He traced L's steps. There were no signs of the wet footprints he'd left in the bathroom. There was still a tub full of icy water. Light gazed it, and left it there. In the mirror, he looked like he could sleep for a week and still look like shit.

He searched for L on the camera feeds. Nowhere. He felt some overwhelming panic that L had been taken while Light slept in some vengeful act of his father's and he would never find him again. No, he'd travel to Hades to get him back, wouldn't he? And his father would never do that. He could deal with his father.

He threw on as few clothes as was decent and took to searching where he knew the camera couldn't see. He should check on the Death Note, but no, he was sure of one thing, and that was that the Death Note would be safe where it was, burning a hole in the floor. He wanted it in his hands.

The office was empty. Everyone had long left. Perhaps his father had trundled home with a drawn face and wondering whether he'd ever get any grandchildren from Light.

You should have known that I'd only ever let you down.

Light walked into Watari's suite and, tiny as it was, at first he didn't see L sitting in the armchair. He was wrapped in Light's dressing gown, but a flash of stonewashed denim weave grazing L's foot showed that he'd made some effort to dress himself. So L sat in Watari's chair, thoughtfully nipping the side of his thumb with lupine teeth. A phone in one hand, Watari's suit laid across his lap, and a child's scarf loosely looped around his neck like a noose.

"I wondered where you were," Light said from the doorway.

"You've been here before," L countered.

"Yes, just after. Matsuda was looking for tea." Light tried to make a joke of it.

"Ah. After," L repeated, because 'after' was the word. 'After' was the turning point and everything which had passed was defined by either being before or after that moment when he had failed and died with Watari on the floor of some innocuous building in Tokyo. No, worse than failing, he'd given his consent.

"Are you ok?" Light asked, nervously.

"Ok?" L thought the word over and bit down hard upon his thumb.

"I'll make you something," Light said, making towards Watari's meagre kitchen.

"No. Thank you."

"When's the last time you ate something?" Light asked, stopping in his tracks.

"You should know better than I would. I seem to forget a lot of things."

"Do you have a headache?" Light was determined to pull L out of this. He would kill him with kindness.

"Hmmm..." L mumbled, as if just realising that his head felt like a warzone.

"So, you're dehydrated and you need to eat something. You're all bones."

"Heh."

"Come on," Light put a tender hand on L's arm.

"The paper," L said, suddenly. "The paper that Amane-san had. Where is it?"

"It's in the safe," Light replied. L's silence was excruciating. "Do you want to see it?" he asked, accusingly.

"No, I believe that it's in the safe."

You don't believe me. You believe that it's in the safe, Light thought."Do you want to make sure?" he said, his eyes narrowing.

"What reason would there be for it not to be there?" L threw the question up to the ether.

"I want you to come back with me. It's cold in here."

"It's cold everywhere. Haven't you noticed?" L remarked.

Light approached L and knelt in front of him. "I'm going to tell you something. You won't believe me, but I want you to know. I love you. Do you believe me? Do you believe that?"

"I suppose that you must do," L agreed, emotionlessly.

"I want you to believe it. It's important," Light said, more forcefully. It suddenly seemed the most important thing that L believe him because Light was a selfish bastard now. He wanted L to know for his own sake, not L's. Now, in the room of a man, a good man that he'd killed. No, Misa had killed him. No, Kira had killed him for justice. No, he'd killed him for L. "More than anything," he added. He didn't know how to truly communicate what he felt for him, and how confused it was, all wrapped up with hatred.

L stretched out lazily. "Really? As much as all that?"

"Yes."

"Oh, aren't I the lucky one? What a catch."

"We're leaving," Light said, standing up again. He didn't like this room. More than anywhere else, here he felt like eyes were watching and disapproving. "I like your scarf, by the way."

"Oh, this?"

"So it is yours?"

"It was," L affirmed, extracting himself from the chair and robotically replacing the pieces back in their positions in the room; putting the phone back into its cradle, laying the suit back upon the chair, smoothing it out with a tenderness he'd never shown to Light. Lastly, he pulled the scarf from his neck and inspected it. There was a tiny piece of handsewn patchwork which covered one spot where the wool had worn too thin. He threw it at Light who caught it with one hand.

L called back as he stalked out of the room. "I want it burned."

A/N

Notes:

"Crow-black sea" is from the opening of Under Milk Wood by Dylan Thomas. I think the line is something like, "sloe-black, slow, crow-black fishing boat-bobbing sea". Also, "Mad as birds" is from "Love in the Asylum", which is also by Dylan Thomas.

More Greek Mythology/Ovid's Metamorphoses quotes. This time it's Pygmalion and Galatea which I tweaked a bit. Sorry, Ovid, it just wasn't gay enough.

I have no idea if Light was in the 'Tea Club' at school but I see absolutely no reason why he shouldn't have been. He's a very cultured boy and making tea is a useful skill to have, completely inkeeping with being a sociopath.

Ode to Kate Bush. Amazing, totally scary biscuits song, "Waking the Witch", has been ransacked and stuffed into the section when L's dreaming. Hell yeah a DN fanfic needs weird stuff and Latin which makes no sense. I can't remember if I threw some Latin in there as well actually, and I'm too lazy to look. Sorry.

Cheap Wuthering Heights reference because why not? L's using a mashed up Heathcliff quote somewhere up there.