Second Chances

by Spades 44

Crime doesn't stop just because you're dead. Set in the afterlife. L catches bad guys, eats cake, falls in love, and is haunted by a giant evil skeleton. Very, very slow meandering romance. Naomi/Raye. Matt/Mello. L/someone familiar.

21. Brown

notes/warnings

+ my apologies for this being so very late.

+ I think I should just make swearing a permanent warning for this fic.

+ do I need to warn for injury? it's not exactly gory or detailed, but it is there. consider yourself warned.

music: any day now, by missy higgins.

---

Brown

Raye and Watari spend the night driving around the city, looking for Holland. Mail hacks into all of the public and airline transport systems, searching for suspicious movements.

"He will travel, now," L informs them with certainty. "He was almost caught. He needs to move interstate, at the very least. It is more likely that he will flee the country."

"Are we going to tell the police what we found at his work?" Naomi asks cautiously. "They are going to want the search the place, you know."

"I had Watari take care of everything," L replies simply. "There will be no…untoward evidence for them to find."

"So those kids don't ever get a proper funeral or anything?" Naomi enquires sharply, raising her voice a little.

L glares at her.

"It is more important to prevent public panic," he says curtly. "And to protect future victims."

"Even so, I wish we knew what happened to Gregor," she mutters, shaking her head. "This whole thing is just…sick."

L has not removed his sunglasses. He doesn't have time to deal with his own injury. He has two computer screens in front of him, and he's working in tandem with Mail. Naomi is supposed to be liasing with police.

Rae is screaming at him, but that's nothing that he cannot handle.

He doesn't just want justice any more, not this time. He wants Holland to pay. His heart drums against his chest, and his pulse roars inside his ears. Fury coarses through his veins, buzzing at his fingertips, driving him forward, making him invincible.

Thump, thump, thump.

He remembers this feeling. He remembers what it did to him. What he became.

Right now, he's the most dangerous man in the world.

But he's hiding it well. Of course.

Mail slams his palm against the desk.

"Bernard Holland boarded a flight to Washington half an hour ago," he announces, matter-of-factly. "He didn't even use a particularly realistic fake ID. He must be in an incredible hurry."

"Just him? No child?" Naomi probes.

L seizes his mobile from the coffee table, and swiftly dials Watari.

"Get back to base," he orders. "We're taking the jet."

---

"I'm serious. This guy actually thought he could replicate his gorgon by having it bite the children."

Raye is tired, hungry, pissed off, and desperately in need of a shower. He's been chasing worms and monsters around the city all day, the main suspect has escaped, and they haven't managed to save a single child. Now he's stuck on a goddamn plane headed to the United States, in order to capture and confront a murderer who will quite possibly kill them all.

Sometimes he really hates his boss.

"I can't believe you actually saw this thing," he tells Naomi. "Anyway, biting to make babies? Isn't that vampire lore?"

"You're telling me," she replies, taking a sip of her iced tea. "Of course, we don't know whether Holland is just delusional, or if gorgons really do reproduce that way. Either way, we know they haven't had any success yet."

"Such reproduction would be evolutionarily unsound," L comments from his recliner.

"Which might explain why there aren't more gorgons running around the place," Raye says thoughtfully.

He isn't the only one who's exhausted by this case. Naomi keeps nodding off mid-conversation, and Mail's typing speed has decreased by at least two keystrokes per minute.

Even L's own behaviour is strange. It seems to be almost physical, as if he's moving differently. Or maybe it's the fact that he's wearing sunglasses indoors. Or the way he seems to be gripping objects more tightly than usual. Raye cannot precisely define the change, but it bothers him all the same.

L is their rock. He is not supposed to be emotionally altered by cases.

"If they are immortal, why would they reproduce at all?" Mail asks.

"Supernatural is not the same as immortal," L tells him calmly. His voice is almost excessively fragile, as if he's trying to conceal some other emotion. "If any of the presently published literature on mythical creatures is correct, gorgons are quite mortal. They seem to have very few natural defences other than their eyes."

"And apparently, moving really fuckin' fast."

"Yes, that too."

Naomi props her chin in her hand, possibly because she doesn't have the strength to hold it up unassisted any longer.

"Well, I'm a good shot, if I do say so myself, and Raye is an excellent shot, but there's no way either of us are going to be able to hit this thing if it's moving."

"It will need to stop moving if Holland intends for it to make eye contact with people," L counters. He rubs vigorously at the left side of his face. "And there is an eighty-nine percent chance that his present plans consist of exactly that."

"So we bait it and then kill it?" Raye asks, still flushing a little from Naomi's comment. "You're going to sacrifice more innocent children?"

"Even if we're prepared to do that," Mail monotones, "we're gonna have to find the bastard first. According to my software, Holland will beat us to the United States by approximately fifty-two minutes, even if we maintain maximum speed for the rest of the journey."

"Yes," L says softly. Our plan must first involve drawing Holland out of hiding, and then incapacitating him and destroying his monster. All of this must occur as soon as possible."

"Do we have to kill the monster?" Naomi asks. "I mean, we don't even know that it's done anything wrong."

Raye stares at his wife in horror.

"It turns people to stone," he sputters. "Even…look, even if it doesn't have the inclination to do that on its own, if we leave it in peace, some other nutter will just find it and we'll have this whole damn catastrophe happening all over again."

"So now we're killing potentially innocent creatures because they might be used as weapons?" she argues hotly.

"It is likely that we will have to kill the creature," L says with finality. "If it seems to be excessively benevolent, and does not try to obstruct Holland's capture, we may be able to find a facility that will allow us to examine its behaviour and determine whether it truly is a threat to society. However, such a scenario is unlikely to occur."

"I just think that it's barbaric. Not to mention wasteful. How can we be sure the gorgon cannot be used harmoniously, to benefit society?"

"Really," Raye scoffs. "I'm more concerned about the children than the thing that's killing them, to be honest. Anyway, what is your great plan, L?"

"Simple," L replies. "Children are not the only thing Holland wishes to find. We know that he has an ego the size of Li-... the size of a small planet. Which means he would love to defeat the man who is fronting this entire investigation."

"Wouldn't that be...you?" Raye asks, frowning.

"Precisely. By my estimation, Holland would be unable to resist an opportunity to expose me to the world. If he hears on national news that L is saying he confronted Holland at his workplace in Brisbane, Holland will realise he knows my face. Doubtlessly, he will attempt to blackmail me by threatening to show my face to the world. The only way he can blackmail me and remain anonymous is to broadcast his message to the entire world. Therefore, there will subsequently be a ninety-two percent chance that he will approach either a national newspaper, or an international radio station or television channel. There are only five buildings that fit these criteria in Washington."

"Wow," Raye says, both dazed and impressed. "That's...wow. So all we need to do is divide ourselves and the Washington police up between those five buildings, and we'll be all set."

"I am drafting my press release as we speak," L says. "The Washington police are prepared to cooperate with us."

"That is the worst plan I've ever heard," Naomi snaps. Raye blinks at her.

"Why?"

"Why? Because no matter what happens, Holland is going to be in a position where he both has a vendetta against you, and knows what you look like. There is no death penalty in the American legal system. Even if he is arrested and put into solitary confinement, he will still be given the opportunity to speak to prison guards, solicitors, visitors, and probably other people too. I know Mail's profile suggests Holland can sketch pretty well. L, he'll end you."

"Yeah, that's right," Raye agrees slowly. "We can't do that."

"We need to apprehend Holland as soon as possible, by whatever means possible," L tells them sternly.

Jesus Christ, he's back to this shit again?

"We're not sacrificing you!" Naomi informs him. She sounds absolutely scandalised.

"Sacrifice is part of being a detective," L tells them primly. "We all ought to be prepared to put our lives on the line."

"You're not sacrificing my wife!" Raye bellows. "Or anyone else, for that matter!"

"Eh, I've told him that he can sacrifice me any time he wants," Mail says casually.

"You shut up!" Raye yells at him. "You're not even mentally stable!"

Mail actually stops typing and turns to glower at him. It occurs to Raye that maybe no-one has ever actually said that to his face before.

"I don't need you to protect me," Naomi informs him coldly. "And you need to think of another plan, L. We've invested our lives in you. You aren't throwing this away so easily."

"You will listen to me," L says quietly. "You will listen to me, unless you choose to leave. You can leave whenever you like, Naomi Penber."

Raye holds his breath. If...if Naomi chose to leave, they could be free of all this. They could have a normal life, with him working a day job and her at home with the kids and cats and gingham tablecloths and home-cooked meals, and...

"I'm not leaving," Naomi barks. "And you aren't...holy fuck!"

"Hypocrite," Mail murmurs, still staring at both of them intently. Raye ignores him in favour of trying to work out what the hell is bothering his wife so much.

She's pointing at L's face, and her outstretched finger is trembling in the air. There's the tiniest drop of blood on his left cheek, in the same place he'd been rubbing, earlier. The red stain contrasts starkly against his pale skin.

"Blood?" Raye asks, immediately concerned. "Are you injured, L?"

"Please pay that no mind," L says politely, swiping at the offending mark. "You both have work to do."

Naomi's face is so white that it's verging on green.

"Take off your glasses," she demands.

"Glasses?" Raye queries. He isn't really sure where she's going with this, or what's happened to L.

"I said," L enunciates, "please return to your research, N."

Naomi gets to her feet, and strides over to where L sits, her high-heeled boots clicking briskly across the floor. Her face is tired and pale, but her expression is impossibly intimidating.

Then again, Mail is intimidating most of the time, and he's so tired and pale he's practically dead.

And there's another odd thing. Raye isn't particularly scared of him today. In fact, today he's feeling brave enough that he'd quite like to call the little brat out on being eternally depressed, lazy, and bothersome. It's always bothered Raye just how much Mail gets away with. He wouldn't mind having that fight.

Their whole group has been a little fucked up by Holland.

When something is wrong with the foundations, something is wrong with the whole building, Raye thinks sagely.

And right now, their foundation is...

"Holy fuck, is he bleeding from his eye?" Raye demands.

---

"Holland shoved your glasses into your face," Naomi breathes. "Hell. I didn't even think of that at the time."

L doesn't flinch away from her, even though she is standing within an arm's reach of him. She won't try to grab him.

He's sixty-seven percent certain.

"That is irrelevant right now," he assures her.

It isn't. It is definitely not irrelevant. His world is flat and slightly fuzzy around the edges. He is impaired. The depth of penetration of the glass shard is thirteen millimetres.

Too far. The damage is permanent.

And he's angry. Oh god, he is angry.

Thump, thump, thump.

The plan is risky, he cannot deny that. But he is furious, and he's lost an eye, and he'll make whatever decisions he damn well needs to make to win.

Because he's L, that's why.

Naomi raises her right hand, like she wants to just yank the glasses off him. L brandishes his forearm across his face, an obvious warning.

Rae is standing on the opposite side of the room, glaring at him with the most absolute and exquisite hatred L has ever witnessed. The Shinigami's eyes are beyond terrible; death and torture and heart-attacks and utter, utter disgust.

It has finished screaming about how it is going to kill him. Now it seems to be simply waiting for the opportunity.

L isn't sure whether he appreciates the silence. No one else seems to miss Grace the way he does.

He explained about the gorgon, but Rae has refused to offer any sort of helpful advice, and L thinks maybe it downright just doesn't believe him.

"For the love of god," Naomi says, sounding both panicked and disgusted. "There's glass in your eye."

"That is not important right now."

"Can you even see out of it?" she demands.

"I assure you my vision will not impair the remainder of this mission, or any future missions," L hisses.

Why can she not just do as he says?

Thump.

Why do they always, always have to fight him? He has lost his eye and he is sacrificing his reputation and Grace is dead and no matter what, a monster is going to kill him in the end. Surely his own employees could at least pretend to comply with his wishes.

He hates them. He hates all of them. So angry.

His rage is interfering with his deductive powers.

"Shit!" Raye exclaims. "Shit, you need help. I'll go and swap with Watari. I can pilot this aircraft. I will-"

"We do not need Watari," L says icily. "Please return to your work."

"It's going to cause more damage if you leave it in there," Naomi argues. "I shouldn't have to tell you this."

"And if it gets infected, it's going to spread to your-"

"N," L spits. "R. That is enough!"

He wants to kick someone in the face.

Thump, thump.

He needs the roar to stop. He cannot think.

"No!" Naomi says obstinately, folding her arms. "Geeze, L. Let us help you. We're all in this together."

He has had enough.

"If you cannot bear to work with me and not interfere with my person, then please do go and see Watari, and inform him of your joint resignation."

Naomi gapes at him, and he realises uncomfortably that her eyes are damp and glistening. He has threatened her with the same thing two times in as many minutes.

Perhaps he is simply getting old.

"Fuck you," she says darkly.

"That's twice," Mail informs her, voice blank and indifferent. L despises the fact that Raye's comment has actually managed to bother the young man. No-one should ever make Mail's life more difficult than it already is. No matter what.

L watches as Naomi mouths the words 'holy shit' at her husband before she beats a slow and uncomfortable retreat back to her seat. L turns his head so he appears to be looking at his laptop screen once more, but behind his sunglasses, he keeps a close eye on both of the Penbers.

"I hope your eye hurts," Rae says vindictively, without actually glancing in his direction.

L deletes a few choice words and adds several more, editing his press release so that it sounds more convincingly like something written by a genius-who-isn't-quite-as-smart-as-Holland.

Which is practically the truth, really.

Someone grabs a handful of his hair and hauls him bodily off his feet and backwards until the back of his chair is crushing against his cervical spine, and he's staring at the ceiling.

It is not an entirely unexpected situation.

"You. Man. Get the butler guy," Mail orders gruffly.

He does not release his painfully tight grip on L's hair, and L does not resist. Raye and Naomi are staring at them with wide eyes and identical expressions of shock.

"Er...right," Raye replies. He seems happy for an excuse to leave the room.

He doesn't want his eye treated and he doesn't want to be pushed into submission, ignored, demoted, not even for a moment.

He wants to snap Mail's fucking neck and he could - his arms are not pinned down and he has a longer reach than the younger man - but he can't because this is his fucking baby and L has to protect him until one of them is dead.

Because he did such a good job of protecting Matsuda and Grace, didn't he?

He wants to go. He wants to leave his team and the whole stupid concept of not fighting alone and take down Holland alone even if it kills him. He's the edge of a knife - so dangerous, so very dangerous - and he's not sure exactly how much he trusts himself any more.

Mail hangs over him, as flat and lifeless-looking as everything else L can see. He reeks of cigarettes and body odour, and the bones in his hand are digging into L's scalp.

"Don't you fucking leave me," Mail says, and the expression on his waxy face is both crazed and terrified. "Don't you dare die as well."

L hesitates for a moment, because he's about to promise something of which there is no certainty. But he has always been good at lying, and that is never going to change.

"Okay," he says softly.

Do you not have any idea what I am becoming, my son?

You ought to be begging me to sacrifice myself.

Because there's a part of his plan that he does not intend to share. Holland is impeccably smart and unimaginably evil. And now someone L cared for is dead, and L is impossibly angry.

It's the Shyster all over again.

He knows. He knows right now. He's going to kill Holland the first chance he gets, evidence or not, and nothing is going to stop him.

---

"What bothers me the most," Rae pronounces damningly, "is the fact that you don't care. You haven't even grieved for her. I...no, I'm wasting my time, aren't I? I'll just kill you when we're done. You probably won't even understand why."

It is speaking as if it genuinely believes that he is irreversibly corrupt and irrevocably evil. Perhaps it does.

"When I'm king," it adds softly, "the first thing I'll do is get rid of people like you."

It's eyes are burning cherry red, burning up with hatred. With loathing. With pity, maybe.

All for him.

You have every right to blame me, L thinks. She was in my charge.

But he can't handle that, can he? He can never handle being the bad guy, being the one who did the wrong thing and screwed up someone else's life. He always pretends it would have happened anyway.

Watari steps into the cabin, and proceeds to politely and methodically extract all of the glass from L's eye, while Mail holds him still.

Perhaps L ought to have killed Holland using the note. Has he been wrong, to always disregard Rae's advice solely on the basis that it was Rae's advice? Has he missed the most important opportunity in the world, because he was and is too weak to trust himself with such a powerful weapon?

Would it have been worth it, to save Grace?

"I'm sorry," he mutters, and he knows the Shinigami can hear him.

It just doesn't care.

---

Watari surveys the damage, cleans up the blood, and places some antibiotic drops inside L's eyelids. He then performs a series of standardised vision tests.

"I already know," L says irritably, when he hears the old man catch his breath. "It is beyond repair."

"Hell," Naomi whispers.

"But he's not going to die," Mail asks quickly. "Right?"

"He will certainly live," Watari murmurs, and touches the top of L's head. "Reconstructive surgery, perhaps?"

L blinks at him.

"My retina is not damaged?"

Watari seems to be the very picture of serenity, but L can see the way his fingertips are twitching, tiny involuntary movements. He is worried.

"Everything is...damaged, L."

"Exactly as I estimated," L says with a businesslike nod that just makes Mail tug harder on his hair. "I have been successfully impaired."

Thump.

"Prosthetics are improving every day," Naomi says doubtfully.

"I have already done my research into this, thank you," L replies curtly. "Do you honestly think it takes me half an hour to compile a press release? Not all parts of the eye can be replaced, not even with experimental surgery. There is nothing that can be done. And now, we must proceed with the plan."

"What, the plan that involves you never being able to leave base again?" Naomi demands.

"I no longer have powers of depth perception," L reasons. He accepts a soft gauze eye-patch from his handler and ties it over his own head.

He cannot help thinking about what Grace would say if she were still alive right now. She might call him a pirate.

He's never wanted to be a pirate in his life.

"Right, which means you are now somehow completely incapable of ever solving another case again, so it's okay to throw your career down the toilet with this one?"

L glares at her with his good eye. Watari goes to relieve Raye of his temporary pilot duties.

"We must stop Holland at all costs," L says simply. "No matter what."

Naomi rolls her eyes and hits her head against her open palm. Mail releases his grip on L's hair, slouches across the room, and folds back into his previous position against the wall.

"This debate is over," L says succinctly.

"This is because you still see Holland as a newer version of Light," Naomi says accusingly.

"Why am I not surprised?" her husband mutters, plopping himself down next to Mail. "Ugh. I hate flying planes. I can never seem to get a good handle on the steering."

"You are incorrect," L informs Naomi untruthfully.

"She's not incorrect," Raye says smugly.

"And I'm not unstable," Mail snaps. L hesitates, gazing at the younger man.

Do you honestly not know? Can you not see yourself, Matt?

How could you not know?

"Please," L requests softly. "Please, not now, M."

"Do you think I'm-"

"Ssh."

"Don't you be shushing anybody," Naomi scolds. "I don't like this plan and I'm not about to accept it. We need to modify it."

"My word is final," L declares.

"What, so you just hired me for my good looks? Because I was certain you actually wanted a fellow detective. With independent opinions."

"That is true in certain circumstances," L agrees, his patience rapidly wearing thin. "However, right now all I need is a reliable employee."

"I'm not unstable!" Mail protests again, oblivious to the rest of the argument.

"You're being ridiculous," Naomi says with finality.

"I am being decisive," L counters loudly. Raising his voice makes his throat hurt, but he ignores that too.

"You," Naomi sputters, "are a-"

"You have a fucking right to grieve for the people you love, don't you?" Mail screams.

"Don't bother, kid," Rae replies distantly. "This guy isn't even capable of caring for another human being. Or anything else, for that matter. I feel sorry for you."

"Is he going to have another meltdown and try to set things on fire?" Raye hisses. "Because that will end badly for all of us."

Mail gets to his feet and punches Raye in the eye.

"Don't you fuckin' dare-"

"Ow! Hey!"

"Boys!" Naomi says sharply. "Stop it! Stop it! This isn't helping! L wants to sacrifice his entire identity, and we're all just going to...I said stop!"

Mail is attempting to kill her husband, and Raye is attempting to survive being strangled by someone who probably weighs as much as one of his legs.

L stares at the three of them, blinking rapidly.

"Setting fire to things," he echoes, voice hollow.

He hasn't been thinking this through properly. He's missed that perfect, elusive balance of emotion and logic - quite spectacularly - yet again.

"Yeah, try and catch up," Raye gasps. "He's moved on to choking people now."

"You've never had to be alone. You've always been with your wife, you prick!"

"Yeah, and at least she loves me back!"

Silence descends rapidly. Mail's hands drop limply to his sides, and he gets to his feet and shuffles away from Raye. His eyes are dead, broken apart, shattered.

We can protect all of these children. We can.

"I can't believe you just said that," Naomi snarls at Raye.

Mail keeps moving until his back hits the wall, and then he curls up, almost reflexively, into a ball.

"The library," L muses.

"Jesus, what have you done?"

"What have I done?" Raye protests. "Honey, he was trying to kill me."

We can pull Holland out of hiding with an even bigger drawcard than myself, L realises dreamily.

Everyone else.

Mail pulls the crucifix from his neck and hurls it against the wall. It bounces back into his lap.

"I don't care," he says quietly. "I don't care if he never speaks to me again. I just want him back."

Because he'll go where the children are.

"It's okay," Naomi says awkwardly. "Raye didn't mean it."

"Never mind any of that," L interrupts briskly. "All of you, stop arguing. We are going to protect the residents of Washington, and we are going to have Holland arrested."

"For the last time," Naomi says exasperatedly. "We are not sacrificing you!"

"For the first time," L replies steadily. "We will not have to."

This finally seems to earn him the silent, dedicated attention he's been seeking. He pulls himself back into a squat and smiles.

"Listen," he says softly. "This is what I need you all to do."

He's found a solution, and it hasn't quelled his rage one bit.

---

The first thing Bernard Holland needs is a base. Because he needs to give his creature a damn good scolding, and remind it of where it belongs. Then, he needs to locate a paediatric clinic and get himself a list of suitable candidates.

And then, well, he'll start working tirelessly towards making this world - his world - a better place once more. Oh, L and the big-cheese police officials will eventually track him here, but he knows he's a difficult person to find, and Washington is a big, big city.

Still, those ridiculous police officers found his base, and they called him by name. He'll be a wanted man before long.

Time to up the ante, so to speak. He needs to attempt conversion on many children at once. Now is the time for volume, not discretion. Soon he will reveal himself as god, and as commander of a mighty army. It will not matter who opposes him.

He will crush them all.

Besides, his sister has always been particularly accommodating, and he knows from recent emails that she has a nice, big, mostly-disused investment property on the west side of town. It will take L and his crew a while to locate it.

Perfect.

He purchases a car without any problems at all, and drives safely to his destination without needing to use his creature on anyone.

Excellent. The non-believers haven't raised the alarm.

He has his laptop in his bag, and sets it up on the dusty kitchen counter. A few minutes of searching finds him not one, but three suitable medical institutions, totalling no less than two hundred and eight eligible children.

Gorgons reproduce by biting other creatures using their hair-worms. He made his creature detail the exact procedure. All he needs now are the hosts.

These children will be cherished. They will be raised up and canonised and revered. They will be his beloved angels, his heavenly battalion, his glorious right-hand men. And those children that perished, perished for their Lord God. He shall see that they are bountifully rewarded.

Because it doesn't always work, this biting thing. Often times, the host simply dies. And his gorgon seems to be particularly unsuccessful at breeding.

His gorgon. The cursed newspapers are calling it an 'ungodly creature'. Perhaps it was, before it met him. Now it is divine.

"All of these children are sufficiently convinced of the existence of monsters," he announces. "Is there anything else I can do to make them more likely to survive?"

He needs to speak aloud, as it does not know what he is thinking. But he can read its mind, and though its thoughts are often slow and half-formed, he can always make sense of its intentions.

This gorgon was meant for him.

Don't know.

"You always say that, damnit," Holland snarls. "Answer me. What do you look for in potential offspring?"

Don't know.

"I will hurt you if you say that again," Holland threatens, voice low and angry. "Believe me. I will."

It fights him, sometimes. It is obstinate and annoying. He will kill it off, once his army is large.

Don't know! Never have.

"What, you've never tried to create others of your kind?"

No.

Holland folds his arms crossly. It cannot lie to him.

"Well, what about your parents? How did they make you? Have you had brothers or sisters?"

The gorgon pauses for a long time. Even its hair - ever coiling and squirming - seems to still.

No others. Only me.

"Curse you," Holland breathes, and slams his fist down on the counter. "Curse you. If this is true, then how did you know how to reproduce?"

Old mistress.

Ah, yes. Someone had controlled the gorgon at some point before it had come to him. Holland doesn't know who, or why, or for how long. What he does know is that she seemed to be a witch of considerable power and knowledge, who taught his creature a lot of important things.

"Well, she hasn't been wrong about anything so far," he concedes gruffly. He goes back to ignoring it, and it returns to its usual internal monologue, which has recently changed from hate you, hate you, hate you to this.

Not ungodly why ungodly close to god close to god not ungodly.

He hides the car, locks the doors, and checks all of the windows. Then, finally, he feels safe enough to send his creature from his side, so that it can steal the relevant medical files. After it leaves, he settles onto one of the luxurious couches and allows himself to relax.

After a while, he decides to switch on the television.

"...in light of the recent serial killer that is suspected to have relocated to Washington in the past few hours, the authorities have gathered all members of the Washington public together, for their own protection."

Holland sits up rapidly, scarcely able to believe his blessed ears.

Everyone. Together. The whole city. The police. L's taskforce, surely. All together. In one place. And, better yet, no one seems to be wearing sunglasses or any sort of protective eyewear.

It's almost too good to be true.

---

Packing an entire city's worth of parents and children into one building is a difficult task, but it's made easier by the combined fear and respect of the citizens involved. More recent cases have made L a fairly popular crime-fighter in the United States, and the police are grateful to have him on board and eager to follow his instruction.

No one questions the patch over his eye. Mostly because it's half-hidden under his sunglasses anyway. Watari has updated his prototype models and carefully removed all sharp edges. No-one else should sustain any glasses-related injuries.

"You know, I'm not overly happy about this," Minnie grumbles, folding her arms over her chest. She is the head librarian at the Tracking Library. She's also the only person L's ever seen working here.

Surely she can't be running the place all on her own.

"Sorry," L says, feeling as if some sort of token apology is expected. "It is for the greater good, however."

"It's still my library."

"It's a government-funded building, isn't it?" Raye asks curiously. Minnie - L thinks her real name is Jasmine - rolls her eyes.

"You are obstructing me from doing my job," she says curtly, pointing one finger in their general direction. "Apparently I can't stop you from filling my workplace up with half the population of the city, but don't expect me to like it."

"I understand," L murmurs. "Now please, go back inside. Believe me when I tell you that it is not safe to be out here."

He and his team are positioned close to the library's entrance. The steadily-growing crowd of evacuees – comprising mostly of frightened parents and irritable children – stops a few feet short of where they stand. The people closest to the entrance are keeping their backs turned, as instructed. There are also a few dozen officers present, working as crowd-control and backup.

Everyone ought to be safe.

"I still don't understand why you think this will work," Naomi complains, for the sixth time. "Why do you say that monsters cannot enter the tracking library?"

"Because it is true," L says, with a tiny smile. Rae is floating silently around outside, stopping every few minutes to glare at him with its godawful eyes.

"How could you possibly know that?"

"It is classified information," L replies vaguely. "None of you are even supposed to know. Please do not speak of it so loudly."

"So it's a government secret?" Raye asks excitedly, jostling his wife. L is keeping Raye and Mail on opposite sides of the doorway. He's a little concerned for Mail's psychological health after their fight.

"Yes," Minnie hisses, because apparently she doesn't understand the phrase 'it is not safe to be out here'. "So shut up."

Raye flinches a little.

"All right, all right."

L raises his eyebrows. So she knows the restrictions of the library as well. Which means it really is a government secret, or...or she's met a Shinigami too. And she's covering for him.

She meets his bemused expression with a lopsided grin, and wanders off to fuss at the citizens inside.

L checks his watch.

"The news story ran exactly one and a half hours ago," he announces blandly. "Holland ought to arrive very soon. Mail, please put on your glasses."

The younger man is leaning against the doorjamb, looking listless and beaten. L would sacrifice his own life in an instance, if he thought it could make Mail happy again.

"Don' want to."

"Dying won't help your case, you know."

Mail shrugs.

"Maybe if I'm turned to stone, I'll just stay dead and won't go anywhere," he replies vaguely.

The thought sends an involuntary shudder down L's spine.

No, no. That isn't possible. Grace is somewhere else right now, with her parents.

And Matsuda.

"You will not," L says, injecting as much confidence as possible into his voice. "You'll just be dead somewhere else, with no one to look after you."

Mail pulls his glasses on and goes back to slouching unhappily. They probably remind him of the goggles that he discarded years ago, alongside the rest of his identity.

He breaks L's heart.

L himself is no better, his whole body gearing up for murder, for some warped idea of justice. No, not justice. Revenge.

Holland is going to die.

Jasmine is also staring at Mail, and by the way his lip curls, L thinks he's staring straight back.

He did try and burn down the Tracking Library, after all. Really, it's Jasmine who ought to glare and snarl, but instead she has a morose, almost pitying expression on her face.

Like she knows.

She leaves, eventually. L checks the tiny handheld computer in his pocket. Watari's visual is online.

For such a large-scale evacuation, certain procedures must be in place to ensure the safety and security of everyone involved.

Holland ought to not think it strange that the grounds surrounding the library have been sanctioned off for a few kilometres in every direction. Nor should he be suspicious of the fact that there is only one entry point, through which vehicles and pedestrians alike must pass one-at-a-time.

He will be in disguise, of course, probably unrecognisable. But Watari has a new kind of audio tap, better than ever before, and Holland is hardly going to suspect there is one inserted into every single parking permit card that is handed out.

A plain-clothes police officer is working with Watari, making note of which licence plate goes with which tap.

It will not be solid evidence, but it will be something.

The only question remains as to how soon he will show up. Theoretically, they may be waiting for a few days, even. But there is a sixty-five percent chance that Holland will act quickly. He knows L knows his name. He'll be panicking. He'll be pulling out the big guns.

It's been long enough.

"Raye," he says softly. "It's time."

The rest of them move away from the doorway, out of sight.

There is nothing left to do but wait.

---

In order to control a gorgon, two rules must be considered. One, the creature cannot be more than one and a half metric kilometres from where he is, or it will be automatically freed. And two, he must always want to control it.

If L has had contact with the officers – or detectives, or whatever they were – who broke into his place of work, then he possibly has some idea as to the latter rule. But it's unlikely that he's been able to estimate the former. Holland has always been careful to vary the distance between himself and the scene of crime.

Besides, L knows he's here, and L is frightened. Frightened enough that he's rounding up all the citizens and trying to guard them with police. Obviously he's not expecting to Holland show up, right here.

The man on the gate doesn't even question whether or not he has a child, but Holland spins him some story about his wife and twins already waiting inside the library, just in case.

So easy.

Holland pulls over a little out of the way. The parking grounds around the library don't seem to be particularly patrolled or well-monitored.

"I wonder if L knows his evacuation made the news?" he says jovially. "Surely he wouldn't want me to know about this place."

Hope they catch you.

"Then they'd kill you," Holland counters. "Do you want to die, all alone?"

It stares right at him, with this hollow, accusing expression on its face.

The third rule is that a gorgon cannot harm someone who is controlling it. He can look right into its wide, childlike eyes without being turned to stone.

"You ought to be thanking me, really," he continues happily.

Hate you. You're just like…

It doesn't finish, just stares at the cheap carpet on the passenger-side floor. Holland smiles, and lowers his chair until he can comfortably hunch out of view of anyone looking through the window. He's already worked out which route it ought to take.

What have I done?

"Exactly what you've been told," Holland informs it, ignoring its horrified tone. "Now, off you go. The names of the children are Susan Lane, Rhea Cramb, and Bourke McIver. You've been studying the photographs?"

Yes.

"Good. Then go."

It disappears from the seat in a flurry of grey. Holland leans back against the plush headrest of his hired car. Everything is falling into place beautifully. Ever since that gorgon came to him – chose him, even, or no, was gifted to him – his life has been amazing, and he knows exactly where he ought to be.

The only way for a god to move is upward.

---

L actually sees the gorgon when it reaches the front of the building, stares at Raye, and then attempts to get through the entrance.

It bounces off the empty air as if the doors are closed and it is completely material.

"Fascinating," L murmurs, touching his mouth.

He is squatting off to one side of the archway, next to Mail. Naomi is deeper into the building, liasing with the police officers. All three of them are positioned so that they are not visible from outside the library, instead viewing the gorgon's actions through a tiny camera mounted on the door.

The creature lifts its head and frowns. Then it moves away from the entrance and touches the wall of the library curiously.

It's already tested all the other walls, L thinks. That's why it had to come here. It cannot just pass straight through.

Holland did not recognise his face when L confronted him in Paddington, which means that the gorgon cannot relay pictures to him. He'll need to come and see for himself, when he realises there's a problem.

And what he will find is Raye.

After another seven minutes of unsuccessfully attempting to enter the library, the gorgon disappears.

"All right," he says softly. "Everyone get ready. Holland ought to be here soon."

Naomi taps the side of her head in salute. Mail stares resolutely at his computer screen. L still hates the way they both look so very two-dimensional.

He's never been disabled before.

"R," he says over the intercom. "You ready?"

"Oh my god, I actually saw that thing," he replies shakily. "I thought it was going to eat me."

"Yeah," a nasty voice says in the background. "You should see what's standing right behind you, then."

L flinches a little. If there's one nice thing about this particular mission, it's the fact that he's gotten to spend a few hours without having to deal with his Shinigami. It has become nothing more than a reminder of all things Grace.

And now he's not sure whether it might be correct in its judgement of him, all along.

"Are you all right?" he asks.

"What? Oh, yeah. I'm a professional, after all," Raye babbles. "It's just, you know. I've never even seen a death god. I'm not used to this weird crap."

He sounds positively terrified. Well, that's fine. Holland will be expecting L to be scared. After all, he thinks he's god.

Sometimes, L wonders how Light must have felt, seeing L standing dripping and defeated, out in the rain, ready to die. He thinks it must have felt amazing, like orgasm, like winning the fucking lotto. To be a criminal, and to kill – but first, to break – the greatest form of justice that ever lived.

Because back then, L was convinced he was justice. Just like he was convinced he'd never lose, until that day, until he heard those bells.

Everything is different now. He touches the gun strapped to his belt. It is hard, and cold, and reassuring. The setting is inopportune. In order to shoot Holland, he'll have to give Holland a chance to shoot him.

And that's okay, too. Maybe it's time.

---

When Holland arrives, he is absolutely, psychotically, screamingly outraged. He's confused, he suspects he's been had, and he wants answers right now.

Of course, he's hiding all of that behind a fragile veneer of a jovial stride and a too-kindly smile, but even with one eye, L can see the lie.

Raye has his mobile phone pressed to his ear and plunges immediately into the conversation he's been rehearsing. L doesn't employ him for nothing, after all.

"What do you mean, Agent B?" he says, demanding and authoritative and uneasy all at once. "I told you to enforce a block on all media. People's lives are at sta… Don't you dare interrupt me. I am L. You will do as I say. Shut down all media broadcasts and get me another two hundred plain-clothes officers, please."

"The monster isn't with him yet," Mail murmurs. He's right next to L, shoulder-to-shoulder, and L can feel how small and thin he has become.

"Excuse me, sir," Holland says, looking like a termite that has just discovered a particularly tasty block of wood. "Is it still okay to go inside? My wife, Mary-"

"That's fine," Raye replies haughtily, waving in the general direction of the library, phone still pressed to his ear.

Holland hesitates.

"Ah," he says simply. "So the entrance isn't closed off yet?"

Raye rolls his eyes and snaps his mobile closed.

"Look, we're in the middle of an important investigation," he huffs. "There is a very dangerous man out there somewhere, and we don't want him getting inside."

"Steve, right?" Holland says, and there's a forced tremor in his voice. But there's tension in his hands and he stands with his legs too close together and his breathing is uneven and he's blindingly furious. He's drawing attention to himself. He's giving up hiding. If the whole city is together, he only needs the one gorgon to win.

They have the evidence on record already. The conversation in his car was odd. Not enough, though. Not quite.

Holland walks up to the arch and sticks his arm through the doorway. There is, of course, no resistance.

He stands there for a moment, frowning, trying to understand. L can all but hear his blood pressure rising.

He touches the gun.

Not yet.

The senior police sergeant approaches him. His last name is Jenkins, and L chose him because he has one stunning advantage over everyone else in the force. He is blind to anything more than three feet away from him.

"Please, sir," Jenkins says firmly. "Come inside quickly."

Holland hesitates theatrically.

"How do you know it's safer inside?" he queries.

"Because-"

"For the love of god, get inside," Minnie says hysterically. "Come inside so we can get the shield down. And don't look behind you!"

Holland tilts his head, stepping forward so that his whole body is in the doorway.

"Shield?"

"It's an anti-monster device," Jenkins explains. "Problem is, we have to turn it off in this archway every time another citizen comes in. Quickly now. We don't know when he'll send the monster."

"Oh," Holland says, a distinctive glint in his eye. "I see. And what about poor L out there?"

"We don't really know," Minnie says vaguely. "He works alone. I think he thinks that Steve will attack him first? Oh, how I hope he's not hurt."

"I didn't ask you to join in," L mutters. He hates enthusiastic amateurs. They always have a way of messing everything up.

With one obvious exception, of course.

"I see," Holland repeats, and the act drops away, sloughs from him like skin from a snake. "I see. How…clever."

He does not move from where he stands.

"You need to move along right now," Raye orders from behind him. "We can't shut the shield with you standing there!"

Holland grins at him malevolently.

Hallo, Light, L thinks with a shudder.

"So, L, is it?" he asks, voice low and dangerous, because he knows he's won. "L for…Lance?"

"It's coming," Mail warns.

Raye tilts his head, acting as if the sunglasses are impairing his vision a little.

"Hold on," he says. "You're…wait. Hold on. No one let this man into the build-"

"Ha! You're so concerned with your own protection you don't even recognise me, heathen!" Holland roars, and he snatches the glasses from Raye's face.

"You-"

"No, you listen to me," Holland says darkly. "For too long, I've run from your empty-headed police, and your idiot detective underlings, and your Satan-worshipping colleagues. But now, I think, it's time to stop messing around. Don't you agree?"

"This man is Steve," Raye howls, slapping one hand over his eyes. "Agents K, X, and Y! Stop him. Get him out of the entrance."

"I'm not Steve," Holland pronounces delicately. "I'm god. And you are not going to stop me."

The gorgon is back, right by his side, but still distinctly outside the building.

"Go," Holland orders. "Kill them all."

It has a shotgun in one hand. Obviously intended for those few agents who have the forethought to hide their eyes.

The gorgon bumps into the empty archway again, stares at it, and then shrugs.

Holland gapes, mouth hanging open, sweat dribbling from his forehead, eyes bulging.

"I said get inside!" he howls. He produces a handgun from his own flowing sleeves and points it straight at Raye.

"Oh, sorry," L says loudly. "I forgot to mention that the shield is up all the time. It's just impenetrable to non-humans. Heh."

"You!" Holland says, his gun moving briskly from Raye, to L, and back again, over and over. "Let me go, or I'll kill your boss."

L nods in the general direction of his own sawn-off rifle, already directed towards Holland's heart.

"I won't shoot if you don't," he says amiably.

"You won't do that," Holland says to Raye. "You'll want to inflict your own special brand of justice. I know you, L. I've read about you."

"I'm not really L," Raye says sweetly. "Just an agent. By the way, I've already agreed to sacrifice my life rather than allow myself to be used as a hostage."

Holland looks trapped. He looks like his brain is about to explode. He looks crazy, hysterical, psychotic and murderous.

According to Matsuda, that was the way Light had looked when he was caught, too.

"You're under arrest," Jenkins tells him nervously. "For eighteen counts of murder and nine counts of kidnapping."

"So where is the legendary L?" Holland sneers. "Couldn't even be bothered to show up, huh?"

"No," L says breezily. "But he still beat you."

"Not necessarily," Holland tells him. "None of the police officers can turn around, for fear of my helper standing right outside the doorway. Now, scruffy, if I have a gun aimed at you, and you have a gun aimed at me, who shoots first?"

Naomi reaches for her own weapon.

"One more move and I'll kill him right now," Holland warns.

"Fuck," Mail whispers. "What do we do now?"

L glossed over this part of the plan. For obvious reasons. It doesn't matter if he shoots first. His willpower and superb reaction time means that he'll shoot even if he's already fatally wounded.

He takes the safety catch off his rifle.

He's angrier than Holland is.

---

The sudden buzz of his phone is an unwelcome distraction. Mail takes it from his jeans pocket and answers. L does not let his gaze waver from Holland's hands, not even for a moment.

"Yes?"

The person on the other end speaks for a few moments, and L starts to feel the tension, the anger, drain out of him. He's tired. He's tired and he's hungry and his head hurts and he's lost an eye and he wants safety and rest for a little while. He wants to kill Holland so this can be over. He wants to die - maybe, a little - so he can finally sleep.

"I understand," Mail says boredly, and closes the phone.

"What is it?" L asks. Holland is trying to stare him down with the horrendous manic glint in his bulging eyes.

But L is used to Rae. Outstaring Holland is child's play.

Everything still hangs in the balance. He hasn't fired, but he wants to, he was going to, until…

"What is it?" he asks briskly.

"They found Gregor."

"Oh no," Naomi mutters.

"Where?" L snaps.

"Outside a local police station, still tied to a chair and blindfolded," Mail replies. "He's been there a while, they just took their time identifying him."

"He is…alive?" L asks, surprised.

"Affirmative. And physically healthy, apparently."

But…if he is alive, then that means.

L glances briefly at the gorgon still standing outside the archway. It is pressed up against the invisible wall that prevents its passage. It curls its grey lips in something not unlike a smile.

You tried to…

I understand.

But he looks away for too long, and Holland fires, and all he hears is the shot and then Mail is on top of him, pressing him into the ground and backwards into the wall.

"Are you hurt?" L gasps.

"No. You?"

"No."

He doesn't think he is. He presses his forehead against the floor and breathes, one hand still wrapped around his gun. When he looks up, Holland is screaming and Raye is hitting him in the face, the pendant dangling from Raye's free hand. The monster disappears from the door and police officers swarm around Holland, and L's missed his chance. He cannot shoot. Nobody dies.

He's run out of anger.

Safe.

He feels half-dead from exhaustion and sugar withdrawal.

"You can't do this to me!" Holland screams. "I am god! Creature! Save me!"

Mail releases L, and L misses the small amount of warmth that the younger man's body still manages to generate. Raye pushes his way through the throng of police and hands the pendant to L. Minnie appears, and L really wishes she would just fuck off.

He's not even processing properly any more. Maybe that glass shard penetrated deeper than he estimated.

"How does it work?" he wonders. "I was not controlling the monster last time I held this."

Unless it was responding to some sort of subconscious desire for Gregor to be safe. But that is unlikely, he certainly could not hear its thoughts, which Holland seemed to be able to do.

Silently, L gets to his feet and shuffles through the archway. The gorgon is standing halfway across the grounds, examining something carefully.

It takes L a moment to realise that something is Rae.

"What do you want?" Rae asks sulkily. "Can you actually see me?"

The gorgon says nothing. Not even a warble as a reply. It seems to be trying to calculate something. L moves closer to them. The short green grass feels wonderful beneath his bare feet.

It can see him, and he can see it, L thinks. Two supernatural creatures. I suppose gorgons cannot turn Shinigami to stone, then.

What a pity.

"I've read about these things before," Minnie says obnoxiously, from right behind him. "You have to want to control the beast for it to work."

"Well?" Rae asks. "You may have talents, but you're not exactly a god. I doubt you've come to challenge me. What do you want, peon?"

The gorgon still stares. If L had to assign a gender to it, he thinks it might be male.

Then again, why would creatures that reproduce by biting other species show any sort of sexual dimorphism? Clearly he is anthropomorphising the gorgon a little too much.

"What is it looking at?" Naomi wonders, and L realises belatedly that his whole team has followed him out here. Obviously Holland has already been subdued.

"I don't know," L lies.

"Maybe it's made an invisible friend?" Minnie jokes.

"You have no right to be here," Mail tells her. "Go back to your library, lady."

"Seriously, what is your problem?" Rae asks. "Don't you know you're about to be put down? Don't think I'm going to save you. They can't even see me. Although…look, if I could save you from L, I probably would. I know what he's like."

Slowly, almost trancelike, the gorgon holds out one hand.

"Is it communicating with something?" Raye wonders. "Because that is a fucking creepy thought."

Rae tilts its head.

"You want me to save you from him, huh?"

The Shinigami holds out its own bony hand, stopping just short of the gorgon's.

"Look, in a few years I'll be king," it says uncertainly. "You saved a child. I could…take you into my care, if you want."

It's missing Grace. That's all.

The gorgon reacts like it's been slapped. Its face contorts into the most ferocious snarl L has ever seen, and every single worm on its head rears up and bares teeth violently. It shrieks something indecipherable and backs away, as if Rae is both dangerous and disgusting.

You don't care much for death gods either, huh? L thinks. He's starting to like this gorgon. Me neither.

Well, except for one.

He wishes he knew where she went. It's been a long time since he heard from her.

"Are you going to try and possess it?" Naomi asks.

"What a weird thing you are," Rae notes dismissively, and skulks off to amuse itself somewhere else.

"Look, this might not make a lot of sense," the librarian says softly, "but, I'm sorry."

"What the fuck are you sorry for?" Mail says bitingly.

"Hm. I really should go back inside and help," she replies, and turns on her heel without another word.

"Stupid bint."

"Do we have to have name calling?" Naomi asks, rubbing her head. "Seriously, L, just possess the thing and kill it, so we can go home."

The gorgon zooms across the gardens, and comes to rest right in front of L.

"Yes," L muses. "That was my plan, wasn't it? Perhaps I was too rash."

"You're going to let it go?" Naomi asks, sounding mostly surprised and maybe a little admiring.

He knows the risks. He knows that someone else might come across this gorgon one day. But he cannot go around locking up good people – or good anything – just because they might go bad one day.

The world needs good people, right now.

Yes. He was too rash.

"Promise me," L says sternly, "that you will never again let anyone gain control of you. No matter what."

The creature shakes its head fiercely. In the low afternoon light, it looks like a discoloured human.

"If it happens again, I may be forced to kill you," L continues. "And please, rest assured that I will."

The gorgon flashes him another smile. It's quite pretty, really.

L hands over the pendant without preamble. The gorgon clutches at it reverently and gives another broken, unintelligible warble, before whirling off across the grounds and out of sight.

"Are you sure you did the right thing?" Raye asks, nudging him.

"No," L replies honestly.

---

The Penbers insist on staying for a little while to help sort out the mess in the library. There are citizens to be reassured, and lost children to be accounted for, and a whole lot of books strewn all over the aisles.

That's the thing about the Tracking Library. Plenty of books available to the public, but only the librarian can access the hell records.

L has the vague feeling there's something huge and suspicious going on here, but he chalks it up to low blood sugar. He certainly doesn't trust his own judgement right now.

He squats in one corner, away from the crowd, enjoying has last few Rae-free moments.

"L?"

He raises his head just a little.

"Mail." The younger man is so gaunt and dead-eyed that L doesn't even want to look at him. "What is it?"

He has a rosary bead between his fingers. L thinks it might be going mouldy, but it's hard to tell in the harsh fluorescent lighting. With only one functioning eye.

Mail crouches down beside L.

"I hate him," he says hoarsely.

L blinks at him.

"Do you?"

"No!"

L rocks back on his heels, a little uncertain about where the conversation is going.

"Then why-"

"I want my life back," Mail says explosively. "God, I hate this. I hate everything. I hate praying all the time to something I don't even fuckin' believe in. I hate working all day, every day. I hate that I hate my video games. I hate that I want to die! Isn't this enough? Haven't I felt enough?"

He finishes abruptly, panting hard. His confessions cost him dearly. L understands that much.

Haven't I felt enough?

The correct answer, of course, is yes. It is the social responsibility of every person to comfort the miserable, and bring normalcy to the grief-stricken.

"Have you felt enough?" L asks softly, because he's terrible when it comes to social responsibility, but he knows Mail.

"I want my life back," Mail says again, burying his face in his knees. "He didn't have to die, L. And…and he tried to leave me behind. He was going to leave me behind. Again!"

"He is your life," L surmises, staring straight ahead. There is dust on the windowsill.

"I can't rest," Mail chokes. "I can't."

"Then this will never end," L says, pushing the worry from his own voice. "Mail. Matt."

"Don't call me that!"

"It was who you were, when you were with him," L reasons. "Mail, then. What are you going to do? You cannot carry on this way indefinitely."

"I wish there was someone I could bargain with," the younger man mutters. "I'd give anything. I'd suffer forever. I'd lose him forever, just for one more moment."

"That sounds utterly pointless," L informs him.

I will get him back.

"I want to try something," Mail admits. "I…I want to try and do what other people do. I want to try grieving like a normal person. And then I…I want to…I want to move…"

"You have been worn out," L tells him gently, touching his shoulder. "It's all right. The things you feel, they are…acceptable. And human."

Mail snorts and wipes his eyes.

"What would you know about being human?" he asks weakly.

L tries not to grimace.

He's only joking, after all.

---

"Well," Naomi Penber says brightly. "That's everything, I think."

"The library is back to the way it was," Raye Penber agrees earnestly.

Quillsh Wammy bows politely. Mail Jeevas stares sombrely at the floor.

And L Lawliet stares at her as if he can read her name and title off her face. As if he can see his favourite successor trapped inside her eyes.

"Thank you," she says graciously. "Please, have a safe trip home."

The others turn to leave without hesitation or complaint, but the great detective himself lingers a little longer.

"There's something about you," he deduces quietly. "You are not normal. You have become a part of this place."

The world is full of humans. They build up, and breed, and cover the worlds like insects. They are tiny and powerless, compared to her. She judges them without pity, without remorse. She tortures anyone who might be evil. She is their god.

And yet, this human. He is…beyond anything he should be. Stupendous. She almost wishes she could get to know him.

"Yes," she agrees, honestly. "I have. And you…don't you ever stop."

L frowns at her.

"What do you mean?"

The queen smiles to herself.

"If I were trying to bed you, I'd tell you that you are unique. Impossible to replicate. Your life is precious, because you cannot be replaced."

Even her power has a limit. She cannot build someone like L Lawliet, not in any fake reality, not with any amount of warping of time and space. Oh, she can make a horribly distorted version, like the bitchy, vindictive lookalike in Mihael's hell. But nothing like the real L. He is a fixed point, and he is right here.

And she hopes she gets the chance to explain that to him, one day. Because she hopes that perhaps he will come to forgive her for what she has done. What she had to do.

He is a spectacular human. She'd fall for him, right alongside his pretty heir, if he were in her jurisdiction for even one day. Anyone could fall for him. He's human to the core.

Well…almost anyone.

She hopes, when he realises what she has done to him, that he will accept that she had no other choice.

She oughtn't care what he thinks, but she does.

"Have you actually managed to persuade someone to have intercourse with you using that line?" L asks sceptically.

She laughs and holds out her hand.

"Sorry. Sometimes I go a little stir crazy in here."

L stares at her some more, ignores her offered hand, and then leaves abruptly. She lets herself watch him leave for only a few seconds, before she turns away and retrieves her pistol from the filing cabinet under her desk.

There's something else she has to do.

---

The gorgon whips through city after city, moving almost too quickly to be seen, and definitely too quickly to be believed.

But Jas, she can move fast too. Fast enough to catch a gorgon in a matter of minutes.

He stops when he sees her, and smiles wanly.

Old mistress.

She grins back. He has earned that much, after all.

"You've done very well," she replies warmly.

He shakes his head so fast his own worms slap him in the face.

No. Master, bad. Old master, very bad. Bad!

He used to be so articulate, and so very good-looking. He used to hate the fact that his eyes didn't work perfectly on their own.

So she took away his words, and his looks, and made him live with those eyes every day. No glasses, no reprieve.

She is hell. Bringer of all things.

"And yet, you have learned from them," she tells him. "Finally. You have learned."

No more gods, he thinks pitifully. No more. Please.

"No more gods, then. Just you."

Just me?

She folds her arms.

"Didn't you ever wonder how I could understand you without possessing you? Or why I can look into your eyes directly and remain unharmed?"

Yes.

She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. This little expose, which she knows off by heart, is the very best part of her job.

"I am the god of hell," she says calmly. "That is why. When you were alive, when you were human, you were evil. So when you died, you were placed in hell. But I gave you one chance to prove yourself today, and you were successful. You are about to be released."

He stares at her, slack-jawed and lost.

Human again?

He sounds as though he doesn't dare to dwell on that thought. As if it's too amazing to ever possibly be true.

"Yes. Human again."

The gorgon giggles to himself.

Such a good story. Wish it were true. You. Hell. Ha.

She smiles sweetly and levels the pistol right at his chest, savouring the shock in his eyes. It will be the last time she sees him, after all.

Wait!

"No waiting," she says happily. "This is how it works."

No!

"Teru Mikami," she says softly. "Do better this time."

Bang.

---

They go back to London. It seems to be the thing to do. Solve case, arrest criminal, sustain damage, go home.

Eat cake.

Only this time, L forgoes the last step. He needs sugar – perhaps more desperately than he ever has before – but he doesn't actually want any of the twelve thousand, seven hundred and four cakes that comprise Watari's culinary arsenal, and he doesn't want anything from the bakeries.

He doesn't really want to eat at all.

"It was a good outcome, wasn't it?" Naomi points out, obviously noticing his mood.

L shrugs.

"We defeated Holland, and you were scared that we wouldn't be able to do that," she continues earnestly.

"Yes, I understand what you are saying," L replies irritably. "Can you please find something else to do, preferably in a different room?"

She clicks her tongue.

"L, we saved people toda-"

"Not everyone," he says abruptly.

"There are always casualties," she continues, unabashed. "We're dealing with evil fucking bastards, most of the time. Just because we are trying to stop them doesn't make us suddenly responsible for the people they hurt."

L ignores her, swivelling his chair so he's sitting a little more obliquely, just to prove his point.

She sighs.

"How is your eye?"

"I do not imagine the status of my eye has changed from Watari's in-flight assessment, nor is it ever likely to change," he replies curtly. "It is two am in the morning, and I would like to sleep, please."

Naomi stares at him thoughtfully, as if she'd like to say something else and is trying to hold herself back. She is the closest thing he has to a true friend, and one of the few people that he considers to be a near-equal to himself, but he is tired of her voice.

He is tired of everything.

"You look after yourself," she orders softly, and leaves.

Once L hears her footsteps reach the end of the hallway, he gets to his feet and locks the door, before collapsing back into his favourite chair.

The green one. Grace didn't like green. He remembers.

He fidgets and gets up again. He moves across the room, and comes to rest in front of the enormous, one-way-glass, floor-to-ceiling window.

London city looks small and dark, stretched out endlessly beneath him. The silence seems to last forever.

"Would you hurry up and say it?" he asks finally, without looking behind him.

Rae is standing in the opposite corner, bony hands clenched into fists, glaring at him with absolute loathing. It has been doing the exact same thing for several hours now.

"What?" it demands hatefully.

"I do not believe, after everything that has happened, that you have no scathing criticism of my actions," L explains.

Rae puffs up its chest furiously.

"Well," it snarls. "It seems that once again, the great L has presumed incorrectly. I have nothing to say to you, I promise. I don't ever really want to speak to you again."

L taps his chest.

"And this?"

Disbelief flits briefly across the Shinigami's fearsome eyes.

"You really are confused as to which of us is evil," it spits darkly. "Do you think I…you know what, you were right. You can't be trusted with that death note. Give it back. I'll forfeit…"

"You will forfeit being king?" L asks curiously. He releases the notebook from the holster under his shirt and holds it out. "Honestly? Then here, take it."

"I just might," Rae growls, but it hesitates all the same, fingers hovering an inch away from the glossy black leather cover.

"No," L says decisively. "No, I do not believe you would. Not in ordinary circumstances, anyway. But people – and perhaps all creatures – can change when they become angry."

"I am no ape! I can control myself," Rae informs him. The 'unlike certain other people in this room' is heavily implied.

And rightly so. He raises his chin delicately, and regards the towering skeleton in the half-light of the room.

Skellington! His name is Boney!

Its not as if there will be any consequences for telling Rae. And he's…hell, he's got one eye and faux Kiras keep turning up all over the place, and he's pretty much defeated anyway. Watari keeps hinting about him 'settling down'. Mail seems like he might even be gearing up to take his place, probably in conjunction with Naomi.

Raye will be happy if he retires, too.

The point is, he thinks it might be time he actually told someone else about the worst thing he ever did.

And he wants to be judged harshly. Who better than his number one critic, after all?

"The last time I got angry, I had someone killed," he says, without preamble.

"You tried to kill me."

L touches his lower lip.

"That wasn't what I meant. I was…angry when Matsuda died, yes, but not to the same extent. The last time I was truly, completely, unendingly angry, I wanted to set the world on fire."

"You know, if I didn't know it was impossible, I'd say you'd been spending too much time with Mello."

L sighs.

"Please stop trying to derail me."

"No."

"Fine."

L winds a strand of hair around his index finger, and then realises what he's doing, and snatches his hand away.

"I was six years old," he continues, relaxing into a more comfortable crouch. "I killed someone. It was completely my fault. No one else could possibly have taken responsibility for instigating her death except me."

"A murderer at six, huh?" Rae says with a feral smirk. "Huh. Maybe I do want to hear this story."

"Yes," L says calmly. "I think you ought to."

The Shinigami flops down onto the corner of his bed and crosses its legs.

"So, who was she?"

"Her name was Emma Wakefield," L tells it, and he is shocked by how horrible her name tastes on his tongue, even now, even after so long. He'd have rather said 'Light Yagami', to be honest.

"Oh yeah?"

"Anyway, what happened was-"

"Oh no, please tell me more about her, first," Rae implores sweetly. "I want to know the woman you slaughtered."

"Fine. Available data on her private life is fairly limited," L elaborates obligingly. "She was born here in England, although I couldn't tell you the names of her parents. Her school years were probably unremarkable. She graduated from Oxford University with a Masters in Physics and Engineering. Dux. Described as 'the most brilliant mind academia has ever known'."

"And you killed her," Rae snorts. "Talk about contributing to the world."

"She married her mentor, a Professor James, I believe," L ploughs on. "Their marriage broke down less than a year later, when he found out that on top of her successful career as a bomb technician, she was moonlighting as a cat-burglar."

He sucks in an unsteady breath.

"Any kids?"

"Yes. One son."

"You killed a single mother?"

"Do you want to hear this story or not?" L asks wearily, and the Shinigami falls silent. "She apparently became bored of thieving rather quickly, and went looking for bigger and better thrills. She rapidly became the most elusive and feared murderer the world had ever seen."

"Wait," Rae interrupts quickly. "This woman, are you talking about the Shyster?"

"That was what they called her, yes. The Shyster."

"Your first case."

"Yes, that is correct."

He wants watermelon. This story would be much more bearable with watermelon.

"Okay, right."

"That is all the background information that I can recall," L whispers. "When I was six years old, I spent a year in Japan, attending Nanryo Junior School. It was a fairly pleasant place to live, if I recall correctly. The Shyster apparently thought so, too."

"You're seriously going to tell me you were a fucking detective at six years old?" Rae asks in disbelief. "No wonder you're so messed up."

"I was no detective," L assures it. "I was no genius, either. Or, more accurately, I was intelligent enough. Second best in my class."

"Second?"

L curls his toes.

"There was this boy in my class," he says softly. "I do not even remember his name, but he was my…my superior. He bettered me in every subject, in every social setting, in every sport. He was completely, utterly brilliant. His teachers wanted his parents to ascend him to junior high-school level studies, but they refused. He was…the star of the school."

"I bet that hurt," Rae says delightedly. "So, let me guess. He was Wakefield's son?"

"I am finishing this story," L says tersely. "Initially I disliked him immensely, but he was strangely resilient to the rivalry that teacher and others students attempted to implement. He declared me his best friend two weeks after I met him, and I was glad to have someone of similar intellect to converse with. I had never really cared for anyone my own age before, but. Well. Strictly speaking, I adored him."

"Huh."

And L…L had very quickly moved past his own dislike and jealousy, and…god. He is a thousand times more dangerous when he cares for someone than when he is simply enraged.

Who ever put Mello in hell had better watch their back.

But that boy, that boy. L wishes he could remember his name. That boy destroyed him for the very first time.

Ordinary children don't turn into unshowered, barefoot, sugar-guzzling, emotionally-stunted, psychopathically logical supergeniuses. Something needs to go wrong.

Tears in the dust. So fragile, so few. He'd been so excited to have a friend, and so hopeful, and so ready to ignore all of the crap that made up the rest of his life and…

…and then it had happened. She had happened. Again.

"One day, I came to school to find him standing on the empty baseball field, crying. The…the Shyster had murdered his father."

"So, she wasn't his mother, then?"

"No," L confirms, and leans forward to rest his chin on his knees. "I do not know exactly why – although over the past few years I have perhaps gained some greater insight into the devastating effect that grief can have over people – but from that day on, he was broken."

"Another Jeevas?"

"Oh no," L replies bitterly. "It was…worse than that, in a way. He wept and sulked and recovered his old emotional stability relatively quickly, but it was as if she had annihilated his mind. He…from that day on, he neither exceeded nor equalled me. He became ordinary, even impaired. He began struggling with equations he had previously been able to solve half-asleep. He began failing every other examination. He became…a nobody."

L swallows the bile rising in his throat. He hates thinking about that boy.

"He had always wanted to work for the police. To think that there could have been a detective in the world even greater than myself right now…had she not, had the Shyster chosen someone else," he says heatedly. "And what is worse, is that he didn't even care. We actually got into a fistfight over it, because I desperately wanted to make him become who he was before. But he…would not change. Or perhaps he could not. Because of her."

"I'm sorry your dad got killed."

"It's okay. I'm okay."

"Don't you think that Shyster lady ought to pay for what she did?"

"What? Oh. I don't know. I guess the police will figure it out."

"I see. She fucked up your boyfriend, so you killed her?"

"I had never known I could feel such powerful emotion," L explains. "You have no idea…I felt evil. I was out of control, my whole world tinted red, the consequences of my actions seemed almost imaginary. That night, that very night, after he refused…I helped the local police set a trap. Three months later, Emma Wakefield was sentenced to the electric chair. I watched it happen."

He looks his Shinigami right in the eye.

"I did not feel any remorse," he states quietly. "I was angry for what she had done, and I was glad when she died. There. Now you know."

"Pfft," Rae says flippantly. "Do you think I give a damn about your melodramatic bullshit?"

L cocks his head.

"I thought you might appreciate more evidence with which to proclaim me a terrible human being," he says delicately.

After all, isn't that how Rae has been trying to break him? Because for all its facades, all it really wants is for him to use the note.

Right?

Right?

He doesn't know. He is no longer certain that he can even read ordinary people, let alone a Shinigami king. He wants to sleep, and he wants these horrible, awful memories to leave him, and he wants…

He wants.

He just wants.

"Like I care," Rae sneers. "So a brilliant serial killer was brought down by a six-year-old orphan. Big deal."

"Oh," L breathes. "Oh, but I wasn't."

"You weren't?"

"No. Not until they put her on the chair."

A few seconds of dead silence pass, while Rae processes this information.

"You…what? She was your mother?"

"Of course she was," L replies wanly. "Did you think I found her out of sheer tactical genius? No, no, I had come to Japan with her. She trusted me. I was her ally, her protégé. I always knew where she was, and what she was doing. After all, she wanted me to grow up to be just like her."

He slams his fist against the glass pain.

"But I hated what she did," he growls. "The more I saw of it, the more I hated it. All that moving around, different schools, different faces, different victims. I wanted to turn her over. She…she did it for me. She did it for me. Because I wanted to beat him. Because I wanted to be the best. She thought that was more important to me than…"

He chokes and stumbles over his own words, completely and utterly lost.

"Because I wanted to beat him, she murdered his father. How…how is the world supposed to contend with a mind like that? And what she did to him. I was…I wasn't supposed to stay to see the execution. But I wanted to see her in pieces. In pieces."

He swallows again. His throat is scratchy and dry. He needs tea. Or maybe juice. He needs to stop.

"So they took me to Watari," he finishes, with a sad little smile. "And they called me a genius and placed me in an orphanage, and changed some of the official details about Wakefield's capture, and that was that."

He pushes his face against the cold glass, and waits for Rae's scathing reply.

The room remains silent.

"So that's…that's why you should take the note back," he concludes. "I had her murdered. Not out of justice, not out of love, or loyalty, or good ethics. I had her killed because she made me angry. You were right. I am a monster. I hope you're happy."

He shambles back to his feet, exhausted and completely spent. He thinks maybe if he has a really hot shower, it might make the concept of sleep far more plausible. And maybe he needs a brownie as well, if he can find one. And then he ought to go and sit with Mail for a while.

"You idiot!" Rae yells finally, sounding significantly distressed. "You…what are you saying? You dobbed in your own mother."

"Yes. It was-"

"That's the most awesome thing I've ever heard!" Rae howls, and L feels its words like a physical blow, like a jolt of electricity. "How come you never do things like that any more? How did you get to be so far off track?"

"But I was ang-"

"Yeah, I get it. But you still did the right thing."

L looks over his shoulder in confusion. The room is different. Something is off, something has changed.

"I…did?"

"Of course. Jeeze. You'd have to operating under a pretty strict moral code to be able to arrest someone you loved for committing crimes, however heinous," the Shinigami informs him. "I can't believe…I feel like I don't even know you."

L regards his feet.

"I thought you, of all people, would judge me."

"I am judging you! Do more of that."

"Getting ridiculously angry and killing people?"

"If you're going to put away murderers like her, then yes," Rae replies firmly. "You shouldn't need me to tell you this, you know."

L turns around to face it then, and he knows there's a tiny, uncertain, stupid smile on his face. Because this was not the reaction he was expecting and he doesn't quite know what to make of the world, and…

What?

Rae's eyes. They are the colour of chocolate. Brown. Not red. Brown.

L cannot stop staring at them.

It's a trick of the light. It's his own damaged vision. It has to be. People cannot just change the pigmentation of their iris at will.

Shinigami are not people.

"What's your problem now?" Rae demands.

"Are your eyes different?" L demands weakly. "They seem different."

"No, asshole. That's because your eyes are fucked up."

"Of course."

But the death god rubs one hand over its face as soon as it thinks L isn't looking, and when it is finished, he sees the same fire-death-burning red that has always been there.

Except…they had been brown.

He doesn't go down to Mail. He doesn't even make it to the bathroom. He crawls into bed, mind swimming with the woman who named him, and the man named 'James Lawliet' that he'd never known, and that boy, and Grace, and Holland, and Light, and the gorgon, and a million other things.

And yet, he sleeps a little better than usual, and he cannot fully ascertain why.

---

tbc

---

a/n:

+ I was sorely tempted to post this in two bits, but there's no nice place to break it up, and besides, I feel like I'm mooching for reviews if I post too many chapters. so here you are, fourteen thousand words. sorry it is so ridiculously late.

+ I feel I should warn for the fact that the next bit may also take a long time to go up. I haven't even started it yet, and I just know it's going to be horrible to write because there's a new plot and I'm not even quite sure of the details. (I am really not intelligent enough to be writing L-based fic, augh). so, my apologies if next chapter takes a while, it will hopefully still be up before christmas.

+ thank you for reading.