Those Who Stand For Nothing Fall For Anything Chapter 25: I Believe In Nothing But It's My Nothing, a death note fanfic

Chapter Twenty Four

I Know I Believe In Nothing But It Is My Nothing

There's a patch of blue over Tokyo in the distance, breaking up the grey sky. I think it's significant. I've brought blue skies for everyone in that city and beyond, but at a great personal cost. None of it's for me, never for me, as I knew it would be. There's always a price. This could be hell and maybe it is, because I know that I'd make the best out of hell and fit right in. I exchange my freedom for a better world for others, and while I look back on indulgent moments in my life fondly, I don't regret that there are so few of them, because it's right. I feel so little most of the time I wonder whether I force everything out because it makes living easier. God help me if I turn into L and content myself with what's easier.

Then it starts to rain - one of those light drizzles which weighs leaves down over time and makes everything look plastic - and this convinces me to have a shower and go through my routine with a clear mind. The house is drowning in the unearthly quiet of the early morning, apart from when L moves in the bed occasionally. He sighs in his sleep as I put on my socks, but I try not to look at him for too long. Somewhere, I imagine tiny, bloody hands scrabbling their way out of Kiyomi. I hope that by the time I get there that it'll be over and everything will be clean and pale-skinned, like a courier just delivered the baby we ordered. When I switch my phone back on, there's five missed calls from my mother-in-law, six from my mother, one from Sayu and then some angry text messages, again from Sayu. I skip the familial voicemails and find a message from one of my secretaries to tell me that Finance has died in a car crash overnight. Ok. There'll be a funeral later in the week at the earliest and I have a suit for that. There needed to be a reshuffle anyway and it's not like it's a surprise; every time I saw him he told me about his heart complaint.

I open the front door to catch a glimpse of my security guard open and step out of the passenger side of the car in the driveway. They're silently efficient now, after months of reworking and reprogramming them. It might have been easier to pull them all in for a meeting at the start, but it's better to find level ground through practice. They don't speak to me, ever. I wonder if they gossip about my unusual patterns of life and laugh amongst themselves about how I'm L's bitch. People who inspire envy usually receive that kind of childish slaughter when they're not present. I have to be more careful. I must make them friends of mine. I must buy them dinner and talk to them about sports and cars. I must remember their names.

To start with, I smile at the guard and he seems taken aback by my sudden friendliness. His eyes dart away from me as I open the door wider to step outside. This might not be as easy as I thought.

"Bye then."

L disappears into the kitchen. Always fucking naked. I consider just leaving, but close the door and follow him instead.

"Kiyomi's in labour," I tell him from the doorway. He looks up at me for an elongated second, like I've told him that there's been a horrendous catastrophe which has left thousands dead. Then he goes back to the coffee filter.

"Already?" he asks, but I don't reply. I don't know if he thinks Kiyomi's gestation period was supposed to be like an elephant's. "Do you want me to drive you there?"

"No. Security are outside."

He peeks through the blinds and smiles to himself sourly. "Oh, so they are. Well, congratu -"

"Finance has gone and killed himself. Could you write a press statement when you get to work as a matter of urgency?"

"How did he die?" he asks after another second's pause before he spoons coffee into the machine. I'm glad that he accepted this sideswipe in conversation. I think of Finance dead in a car somewhere. Probably in the morgue now waiting for an autopsy by some bored pathologist who's drinking coffee on the sterile metal bed of a table before he sharpens his knives and saws. I used to think of L dying in a car crash. I wanted something violent to rip him from the world, and it was beautiful in my head.

"Car crash."

"Well, that saves me one problem. I heard yesterday that he was going to defect."

"Finance?"

"Hmmm. I was going to speak to him today and talk him out of it. It was over your bill," he says, looking up in his calmness to barely focus on me after what sounds like an accusation. Finance is dead because he didn't agree with me. He's dead because he'd rather betray me, and Fate wouldn't let that happen.

"I thought he supported it," I murmur. I did, truly. He was one of those who mentioned it the most, though always in an interested, approving way. That should have been a warning sign to me, and L obviously thinks that. He smiles again to himself as the machine percolates water through coffee and growls into some frenzy of duty.

"Don't trust people. I'll see you later, maybe. Do you think you'll be free for lunch? There's a new pâtisserie chef in... you know where the Giger Bar was years ago? Near there. He's got rave reviews and he's actually done an apprenticeship with one of those Roux people, so he might be good. I like Tokyo a lot less since all the best chefs died or left the country."

No, he never did find a replacement.

"I don't know yet. I'll call you," I say, already on my way out. As I open the front door and see my security guard still standing there, waiting, L's voices carries loudly behind me to see me out.

"Send my love to Kiyomi. Tell her that I've been looking after you."

This wasn't going to ever be a charming first meeting with my son, because I feel like a disharmonious chord fighting against the orchestra even before I get to the hospital. I'm dazed but annoyed, aggrieved, wondering how I got to this point in life with no injury and no real reason to see the inside of a hospital in a non-work capacity until now. My priorities are set and all this must come before work because apparently things like this come before my country, that much I know. Other people don't have important work to do like I do though, and they don't have the dedication to their job, like I do. They'll use any excuse they can for a day off, and that's just one of the ways in which I differ from other people.

Now that I'm here, I'm escorted up the steps of the hospital and past the journalists outside. They've been camping out there for weeks, I think, because they've been waiting for this moment. All these frustrated art photographers and novelists who can't shit a story or a good photo out, so they embellish real stories where art and talent is not necessary instead. The trick I use so I don't laugh at them is to look at the steps and avoid all eye contact. Although I told myself that I should smile and look like a thrilled father when this moment arrived, I just can't bring myself to do it. I can't stand the thought of seeing photographs of myself looking like a idiot on the front pages, so instead I try to look proud and set apart. If you think a certain way, chances are that you'll look that way, and I am set apart. People shout questions at me. They ask me how Kiyomi is, do I have a boy or girl? What's their name? Who am I wearing? I don't answer any of these questions. My guards form a moving wall around me, pushing microphones away so I can pass through unimpeded.

Once in the hospital lobby, I pause for a moment, and people stop in their tracks to stare at me. Patients sit in their chairs with their injuries waiting for treatment, nurses and doctors clutch clipboards to their chests, and I look up to the glass dome above me, just to take myself out of here and get my thoughts together. I must prepare myself for how I must act, but I can't help but think that this is the worst thing that has ever happened to me, and I did it to myself.

Then I'm in an elevator, and what has been happening to me lately happens again: I find myself in a place with no recollection of getting there. Nothing major, just a few steps and a few seconds. There are missing slices of my life, like I dematerialise and rematerialise somewhere else, but I don't put much thought into it. I think that my brain must switch off temporarily due to boredom. So, I'm in an elevator because apparently there's a need for speed, but I can think of nothing but sex. Locked in a cage in a place of sickness with three men. It's presumed that I'm so eager to see my wife and child that I can't take the stairs. The stairs are a security hazard, I'm told.

I walk towards Kiyomi's room and see her sister and mother in the distance. Still everyone looks at me, judging me, or just shocked at this happy twist of fate which has allowed them to breathe the same air as someone as important and well known as me. I walk past my in-laws without a glance in their direction, which must shock them into silence. Then I'm alone in Kiyomi's room while my guards wait outside. I see the expanse of white laminated tiles first, the faint smell of bleach burns my nostrils, and Kiyomi is sitting up in a white bed looking only slightly deflated, which disappoints me. In all other ways though, she looks like how she was when I first saw her. Painted and powdered and sweet-smelling and inviting you in for consideration. She looks up at me and smiles. A little way away from her, I see the cot by the window. A brutal, communist looking thing, like a pig trough on a stand, padded out with cheap, easy to wash white blankets.

"Well done," I tell Kiyomi. Her smile almost completely obliterates her face until she picks up her nail file again to concentrate on that. I almost laugh at her.

Instead, I approach the cot slowly until the pink, balding head covered in wispy hairs comes into view, and the screwed up, dissatisfied face. He looks like he's been in a bath for so long that he's disfigured and swollen. The crown of his head looks soft and I see a pulse beating strongly under the skin, but I see him and I feel nothing. After almost expecting instant cup-of-soup love, it didn't happen. My life is unchanged. Or, if anything, I've lost something. I've forfeited something which as as yet unfathomable for this boy, and I feel the expectation already from him, from Kiyomi, from everyone, but I feel no connection to this bundle of splayed limps. I feel pity for it when I should love it and be amazed by the tiny hands which I created. He might as well belong to someone else.

"How did it go?" I ask him, then look to Kiyomi a little too late.

"I had all the drugs," she smiles dimly.

"Good."

"What do you think?"

"He looks ok," I say. It's all as I imagined it would be: disinterest on everyone's part. I leave the cot to sit next to Kiyomi on a very unstable-looking folding chair. I tug my trousers up from the knee to avoid unnecessary wear.

"Sachiko said that he has your eyes," Kiyomi tells me amiably. I don't know if he does; I haven't seen them and I don't really care, but Kiyomi's relief to be physically her own again is almost something I can touch. "Isn't that such a cliché, standard thing to say? I don't see it, myself. All babies look the same - like little old men. Where were you? I told everyone not to bother you until the morning but they said you should be here. I thought they'd never leave, and even now they've only gone home to get changed."

"I was asleep."

"I said that you would be. No point you being here. I told them I didn't want anyone, but no one listens to me."

"Do you feel better?"

"Much better, thank you," she says. Her nail file scrapes against her ridges, and I wonder what her stitches must look like under these blankets and nightdresses. A mocking smile of a stitched line, I conclude. "They said that I can go home in a day or so. Are the press outside?"

"Yes."

"I don't know what to wear when I leave."

"White and blue."

"You think?"

"A dress. Maybe broderie anglaise or a floral pattern"

"Light, I'm not dressing like a mother."

"A mother they'd like to fuck," I grin slightly at her for a second, then look back at the cot.

"Would you?" she asks. The light catches on the gloss on her lips and on her teeth, the room seems oddly foggy and bright, and she looks out of focus. She complained to me a few weeks ago that people were treating her like a child, speaking to her like a child, and that I was the only one who treated her normally. 'When you said that I was an incubator, you were only saying what people are thinking but don't realise that they are. I'm still a person. I'm the same as I always was under all this,' she said. I brush her comment aside.

"You need to confuse them with opposites. A mix of innocence and prettiness so they're conflicted by that and that they want to fuck you, but you're unfuckable, if you get my drift."

"Because I'm with you."

"Mmm," I hum quickly and turn my cufflink until it's straight with the edges of my shirt cuff. "It's more complicated than that, but it's partly true."

It's quiet then. She lays her hands flat on the covers over her legs and I look again towards the cot, expecting some wailing which doesn't come. Being pulled out by doctors must be a tiring experience.

"Light, are you happy?" Kiyomi asks me.

"With you? Yes," I reply, and she smiles again in her prideful way, taking it as a confirmation of our compatibility instead of what I actually mean. "You've done well. We should name him."

"I think he looks like a Rei."

"No, Kiyomi."

"You decide then, with Rei as a middle name," she says, picking up a bottle of clear nail polish from a table beside her (perfect choice). Rei of fucking Light. It's going to happen. No, it's not.

"No -"

"Yes, but make it quick," she interrupts dismissively, striking long strokes along her nails like she's lighting matches. "The nurses are all looking at me like I'm a terrible mother because I haven't decided yet. It's not that important, is it? Haven't I done enough?"

I have to come up with something quickly or I'll be stuck with Rei.

"Akira," I say as a snap decision.

"Akira?"

"What's wrong with that?"

"That's far too common. Kira, maybe..."

"As in shiny? Glittery, sparkly, what? Fuck's sake, Kiyomi."

"No, as in 'light'. We'll use the character for light, not moon, like you, because that's silly. Kira. I like it." Yes, but you're an idiot. The idea of sort of naming my child after me horrifies and appeals to me. It suggests a lack of imagination but bags of dubious good humour, and I'm not sure how I feel about that. She's pulled out her phone and is searching for something on there. By this point though, I've lost all interest.

"He'll get bullied at school. As long as you're ok with him being bullied."

"Ha! It means 'dark' in another language. Oh, shut up, Light. You weren't bullied, so why should Kira? It's settled. God, I can't wait to get out of here. You know, the doctor said that I've lost weight. I think once this stomach problem has gone down, I should have dropped a dress size from what I was before I was pregnant. I mean he was nearly 8lbs."

"Oh. Is that normal?"

"I don't think so, but it's good, isn't it? I have to have some clothes taken in, but I'm really happy."

"I meant, is his weight normal?"

"Yes! Stop worrying! He's downright thuggish, if you ask me. Imagine giving birth to that. It wasn't fun, let me tell you." Well, technically, she didn't give birth to him because they cut her open. None of woman born. "Hello, Light? Earth to Light," she waves her hand at me. I must have drifted off, but then, I don't want to be here. I want to be at L's kitchen counter while he tells me how much rentboys charge for different things. "Anyway, Naomi and my sister are so jealous, you should see them"

"Because you've dropped a dress size?"

"That and because I'm a mother. It's not the same for men. I've accomplished everything which was expected of me, so now I can do what I want. We can have a life, Light."

She looks so earnest and desperate. My brain swims in its liquid-filled membrane. "I thought we had one."

"I mean holidays. And I could do more work with the charity, diversify, business, do a master's degree, like I wanted, anything. Or, I was thinking of running for Finance's constituency. You've heard about him, right?"

I snap back. My horror must be clear, because her face becomes guarded and resolute.

"Politics? Kiyomi, you can't go into politics." Sometimes you have to take a firm hand when people get carried away. This is such a terrible idea that I don't know whether she's joking. I'm not gullible, I just miss the joke sometimes.

"Why not?" she asks.

"You have to be a mother."

"I can be a mother and have a career! Lots of women do it, and very well, actually, because we're more capable. It's male oppression which says that we can't, and it's all lies. I thought you'd be proud of me."

"You ca-"

I'm cut off by the screaming issuing from Sayu's mouth as she runs in the room, followed by Touta and my mother. I don't think they notice Kiyomi or me, they all rush to the cot to gaze at the new addition to the Yagami line, like they won't have enough opportunity to see him over years. There's very little to look at there; just 8lbs of a sleeping baby. If they put him in a room of babies, I wouldn't be able to pick him out of the crowd. My father comes in last, sees that the area around the cot is blocked to him, so peers over the top from his height, sees what he sees, then stands behind me. All this I see out of the corner of my eye, because I'm still staring at the changing, lying expressions on Kiyomi's face.

"HELLOOOOOOO! OH MY GOD HE'S SO CUTE! Touta, look!" Sayu screeches. I half want her to wake the baby up so I can see his eyes and whether there's any truth in my mother's reports. Touta nods his head in agreement with Sayu's statement of cuteness.

"Yeah, look at his little fingers!"

"Doesn't he look like Light?"

My father's hand sits heavy on my shoulder and I turn to him like he's a stranger. It's the first time anyone's dared to touch me this morning.

"Congratulations, you two," he says. His voice is deep from pride and a sleepless night. He used to sound like that when he came home from work late and my mother would wake me up so I could tell him what my grades were, which was annoying, repetitious, and quite insulting after a while.

"Thanks, Soichiro. How does it feel to be a grandfather?" Kiyomi asks him, beaming and maybe flirting, I don't know now. I stand up and my father's hand falls away from my shoulder..

"We'll talk later," I tell Kiyomi. Of course, this attracts everyone's attention.

"You're leaving?" she asks.

"I have to get to work."

"Light, you can't work today!" Sayu says accusingly. Unfortunately, I've never listened to her.

"My Head of Finance died overnight."

"I heard about an accident," my mother says. "He died? Light, I'm so sorry."

"Thanks, it's a real tragedy. I need to get into work to pass my sympathy on to his family."

"Was he married?"

"I presume so."

"That's nice of you and all, but so what?" Sayu asks me.

"So, I have to go in and officiate."

"Officiate?" she repeats after me. This is a new word to her, I can tell. Kiyomi pats me on the arm so I don't have to explain my job to my sister.

"Alright, darling. Call around later, if you can."

"Kiyomi!" Sayu shouts, hushing herself on the last syllable.

"The world doesn't stop for babies, Sayu. Light has to carry on working to make the world a better place for me and Kira."

That's the best excuse I've ever heard. I wish I'd thought of that. Can't stop, I have to make the world a better place for the children. I'll be late home tonight; I'm staying at L's so I can make the world a better place for the children. No, that doesn't really work.

"You're calling him Kira?" my mother asks. Oh yeah, and then there's that.

"Glittery?" Touta says. His eyes are wild with confusion and he looks back at the baby as if it might all suddenly make sense then. Kiyomi sighs and I sigh for a different reason. My watch says that I'm fifteen minutes late for work.

"No, as in 'light', "Kiyomi explains. " After his father."

"Oh! That's really sweet," Sayu tells us. "Isn't that sweet, Touta."

"Kira kira. Shiny shiny? Yeah."

"No. Light," Kiyomi says aggressively. What have I done wrong?

"What?"

"NO! Kira is... oh, forget it," she despairs, pulling a magazine from a pile beside her. We're on the cover. What a surprise. A break in the clouds blinds me with unadulterated white hot light for a second, then disappears again, leaving me with a view of the world which is bleached and faded.

"Well, I think that's a lovely name, Light," my mother says, smiling insipidly from the gathering around my son. My son. He's not mine though, he belongs to everyone and that's why I enabled his existence. People can watch him grow up from a distance as the son of Japan and try to replicate this perfect family using whatever they have to hand. Obviously they won't be as successful as me, but they can try. This is what they should aim for. I don't mean to congratulate myself for a job well done, but it's amazing what I can do when I put my mind to it. When we learned that Kiyomi was pregnant, I asked for the exact date of conception so I could try to remember that particular occasion. Kiyomi must have come into my room, and left pregnant, more or less. That's interesting to me. But their estimate wasn't and still isn't exact. Once I'd made my mind up, I let Kiyomi deal with the particulars, and I would appear for duty when the app on her phone said that I should. I quite liked how clinical it was. It felt like I was being called out to inseminate a prize-winning cow, and I suppose that's how it was, really. She was full of folic acid and I kept imagining that I could taste something metallic on her. By taking 0.4 mg of folic acid a day, the risk of spina bifida in the foetus is significantly reduced. It also reduces the risk of having a baby born with a cleft lip and palate, congenital heart disease, and the risk of premature labour. She also took iodine supplements because she's not terribly fond of fish. Iodine is essential for brain development of the foetus, which was a great concern to me. Her diet was overhauled by a nutritionist, cutting out a lot of food that she did like, such as liver, shark, soft cheese and licorice. She also cut out eggs altogether, just to be safe. What irritated me about that is that she made such a big deal of it and that my chef would make meals for both of us according to her diet. But now the result of those months is here, though no doubt the insane restrictions will continue. I'm overwhelmed by the feelings I apparently should feel, but don't. I suspect now that all fathers lie when they talk about the wonder of fatherhood, or else it's something which changes you gradually into a gibbering wreck of blind pride and devotion. That won't happen to me.

"Kiyomi chose it. The name," I say, determined that everyone knows that this naming game is nothing to do with me. I'm ignored because Sayu is the loudest and most in need of attention. She falls all over herself at the contents of the cot.

"Aghhh, is he waking up? Helloooo Kira! He's waking up! No he's not. He's gone back to sleep again."

"Sayu, stop it," Dad tells her gruffly. "I agree, it's nice name."

"That's definitely settled then," Kiyomi says with finality, looking to me with a business-like expression. "Press release?"

"Not just for that, no."

I pick up my briefcase, button my jacket again and kiss her cheek quickly. I want to leave before my in-laws come in. They're probably outside gossiping to each other about how Kiyomi married below her status. New money. The don't think of me as a self-made man like everyone else does; I'm 'new money' and I heard old Mrs Takada actually refer to me as such in a whisper when introducing me to one of her friends. I was 'Kiyomi's boy' and 'new money' who 'is in politics'. I was only in Foreign at the time, but still.

Maybe my in-laws are something I can talk about to my guards to win their empathy. As long as I speak about it in a way which avoids any hint of criticism and discord. Even before I've left the room, my own family are talking about me.

"I thought he'd be a bit more excited."

"Your brother was never very demonstrative, Sayu."

My relief at leaving is instantaneous. I find that I can smile and answer press questions on the way back to my car, but I wish that I'd worn another suit. I should have gone back to the Kantei first to change into something more appropriate and less fitted to give a sense of casual excitement. Even my sister questioned my level of excitement, and it's because of my choice of suit.

A woman tries to get close enough to me to give me an Akita Inu dog figurine. At first, I don't really know why and pass her off as a nut in a good humoured way as I take her offering, then I remember that it's common to give these things to new parents as a good luck and health charm. She tells me that she bought it months ago for the birth of my baby, and wished me joy and all that shit. The statuette is glass and not wholly offensive to the eyes, since the dog is sitting down so you can't see his arsehole, but I dislike dogs unless they're used in real art and in an ironic way. I'm also given flowers from various women and children. A man pats me on the back as I walk past, and I want to ask them all why they're not in work and why their children aren't at school.

The glass dog sits next to me on the back seat, and after five minutes of thinking about it in the car, I decide that a baby won't change my life. That phone call in the middle of the night wasn't life altering and I am still myself after seeing him. I'm not sinking into quicksand and nothing has changed. By the time I get to the office, he's become a generic baby and I can't think of anything unique about him. Maybe there'll never be anything unique about him, and my pride is slightly hurt at the thought. I'd like to think that I'd pass on something, but it'd be easier if I didn't. All I can hope for is that he's studious and quiet.

I miss lunch somehow. I rushed straight into my office and stayed there. My secretary gave a pile of congratulatory messages, cards, and yet more good luck charms, some of which smell awful, and I think that the less I'm seen today, the sooner this monumental occasional will dim in people's minds and I can avoid saying the same thing to people who stop me. My stomach groans and I looked up from my desk and to the clock on the wall to see that lunch is practically over. L didn't phone me to arrange a meeting, but then I did say that I'd call him. I didn't want to waste my time watching him gaze at dessert trollies anyway. I've completed a lot of work from further down on my priority list - some things which I've been leaving until such a time - and I've read Mikami's latest report. I've accomplished a lot.

The coffee my secretary brings me is bitter, burnt, unpleasantly smoky and horrible. It's also fairtrade, sustainable and from an independent business, so I advise all of my subordinates to go there. They also supply the Club, and I always have my coffee from there now. I must support local business. I must lower business rates for independents at some point, but it's not high on my list. If I give somewhere, I have to take from somewhere else. This is what people don't understand. They all think that the particular axe they're grinding is the most pressing concern and should the priority of the government, but I don't have a bottomless well of money in the treasury. I'd rather conserve and save. I prefer countrywide austerity to spending beyond our means and borrowing. When The Lady took over from the last government, they said: 'Good luck, there's no money left.' They were a lesson in how the country shouldn't be run, but The Lady favoured taking from public services and raising taxes which hit the lower classes, which is sure to result in civil unrest. I prefer to raise taxes for the rich and large companies. I have no desire to be their friend and it seems like common sense to me. I've been warned that this policy could drive the rich out of the country, but that doesn't bother me either. Each to his means. A strong economy will keep the country stable and I will force people who can afford to contribute, to do so. I might have to review this. I should encourage philanthropic acts, not penalise them for being successful, but rich people never want to part with their money. I hate the bastards. Unfortunately, they're usually better educated and more bearable. I look upon the lower classes as idiot children who never stood a chance, and I want to make sure that doesn't continue. I'm a harsh father.

So after a ten minute lunch, I take a shortcut through PR to meet Watari, catching sight of my reflection in the mirrored corridor. My suit is tighter across the shoulders. Imperceptible to others, no doubt, but I see it and my concern that swimming would have this effect has proven to be well-founded. I must speak with my personal trainer. He's taken so many steroids that there's nothing but testosterone and androstenedione in his skull, and he doesn't understand why I don't want to gain muscle mass because he's a fucking idiot with massive tits. I'm very fortunate; I have excellent genes and I'm thankful to my parents for putting so much thought into their partners before they bred. Why would I ruin what I already have to have a head which is too small for my body? Yes, he's a fucking idiot. I bet that he votes for some racist minor party and pulls trucks in his spare time.

I drift through PR at quite a pace because my life circles around meetings, like I'm in a video game and each meeting is a level I must pass. My reward is sleep. Wherever I walk, there is a sudden silence and if I stand still for any length of time people start approaching me, so I try never to do that. There is always a feeling of stillness and the eternal to me, I'd like to think, but ultimately, I'm always moving somewhere. I rush through into the safety of the stairwell and am just turning the curve in the staircase when the door opens again. I automatically prepare to rush so I can avoid whoever it is, but slow to a stop when I hear someone who's not unwanted.

"Always running somewhere, aren't you?" a familiar voice calls up to me from the bottom step. I look over the plastic banister which I normally don't touch because they're so unhygienic.

"Hi," I say awkwardly, looking down on L with half a flight of stairs separating us. He also looks awkward, but smiles up at me with his asymmetric grin. He looks more perfect in his imperfection to me after the day I've had so far. He's a sort of rolling tide you can't trust or rely on. The only reason I haven't drowned yet is because I've read him correctly and because he likes me enough not to sweep the air from me completely.

"I saw you walk through the department. I mean, I heard all the office girls squeal, so I knew that it must be you."

"I have a meeting with Watari. I was just cutting through, otherwise I would have called in."

"It's ok, you don't have to explain yourself to me," he says, looking at his feet, which he shuffles almost shyly. I don't know what changed in the hours since I last saw him, but something must have happened to make him so unsure of me and of himself. "I only followed you because I thought: 'He'll take the stairs. He's here for the stairs.' And you were. I have to get my kicks from somewhere. Mine is but a small life."

"It gets pretty sedentary in this place."

"Yeah? Can't say that I noticed. Sorry to hold you up. You go."

I feel my body lurch forwards to obey him, because I do have places to go.

"I can see you at four if you get rid of Mihael," I tell him, taking a few slow steps down instead, while he takes a few steps up. I lean over the banister and feel him take hold of my wrist. I try to draw away again, but he pulls back my jacket to see the cufflink on my shirt. They're not his. His head tilts to one side, offset with a bitter smile, like he was expecting it. "I wear different ones sometimes," I say defensively.

"These go better with your suit." He strokes down my jacket cuff again. "It was nice of you to ever wear my plastic offering. I'll get you some platinum ones, like these. They are platinum, aren't they? Very swish."

"I don't need platinum anything. I like the ones you gave me as they are."

"Still, I think you'd prefer platinum."

"I... er."

"You have to go."

"Yeah."

"Are you a father?" he asks. I nod. "Congratulations," he says quietly. No one communicates disappointment quite like he does, so much that you feel guilty for nothing. "Really, Light. I'm very happy for you."

"Thanks."

"You look nice. Not that I notice those things either, but you look the same as the first time I saw you, and I remember that you looked very appealing then in a snakey sort of way. You must have done."

"It's a different suit."

"Oh, yeah. I know that," he laughs awkwardly again. What's wrong with him?

"Why are you acting like this?"

"I can be pleasant sometimes. Ok, go, you little shit. Why can't you take a compliment like everyone else instead of making out like I have a problem, Jesus Chri..." his voice trails off as he walks back into his department and the door cushions itself to a close. I smile.

And later – it's nearly three – I'm walking away from a quick talk with Mikami. He's given me a card from Naomi and himself (they signed their names individually to show that they're individually happy for me) and invited me for dinner one night at a French restaurant in Roppongi. I gave him some work to do. I smile at people as I walk and don't stop or even slow down until L walks up beside me, slightly out of breath.

"Hello again," he says. "Y'know, here's a thing. When I see you walking, I hear music."

"What music?"

"I don't know, but it's got a hell of a drum beat. I like your suit, did I tell you that already? You look very... Summery."

"It's air force blue. Vivienne Westwood."

"Well, thank you, Vivienne!" he laughs, raising an eyebrow. We sneak a glance at each other and I smile at my feet for a second.

"Calm down."

"I'm calm, Prime Minister, just a little nervous. I need to talk to you about something."

"I haven't got time unless someone else has died," I whisper after checking behind me.

"But I've been a terrible person," he tells me, and I laugh at the idea that that's something new and which could be remedied. "I shouted at your Press Secretary," he continues. "Swore at him like a naval officer. I would suggest that I should be reprimanded like any other employee."

"Maybe later," I say, approaching my office. My secretary is enjoying her role as Head of the secretarial department of my office, but the truth is that I only gave her the promotion because she's the oldest and she's the only one who doesn't chew gum on the job. She stands up, which she always does like she's in the army, but follows it up with a message.

"Prime Minister, your father called. He'd like to speak to you this afternoon."

"Ok," I answer, opening the door to my office.

"Prime Minister, what you don't want is to be accused of being overly close with a subordinate," L states. I hold the door handle and stare at him, wanting to put a hand on my hip for whatever trick he's going to try to pull. "You know how dangerous favouritism is and all you've done to avoid it. I couldn't live with myself knowing that you treat me differently because you value me above all others."

"I really haven't got the time right now, L. I told you that I'll see you at four."

"This is the most depressing moment of my life." He turns to my secretary who's still standing like a fool. "You, what do you think about this?"

"Me? I... I don't -"

"L, get in here," I say, opening the door wider for him to follow me inside. He closes the door behind me and self-satisfaction pours from him like sweat. "You just humiliated me in front of my secretary.

"Yes, but it was with love," he smiles at me, drawing up to me like a stalking, ravenous animal.

"I don't think you'll ever learn."

"Teach me."

"Even if I had all the time in the world, I couldn't. As it is, I have a lot of work to do and then I have to get back to the hospital."

"I didn't hear from you. It hurt me here," he says laughingly and dramatically places a hand over his heart. "Did you have a working lunch?"

"Yes."

"We have working lunches and you're not usually worried about them overrunning."

"Our working lunches are a little different."

"I'll say. I hope so, anyway. So, what's baby Yagami like?" he asks. I turn around to look at whatever memos, cards and gifts have been sent to me while I was out of the office and occupy myself with slitting letters open.

"He's... a baby."

"It's worrying me that you're not talking about him."

"I don't have anything to say. He's a baby, L."

"You should be proud. Shouldn't you be proud? I thought you might be. I thought you'd change."

"Why?"

"I don't know."

"I'm no different from how I was last night."

"They all say that," he says as a fact. Who says that?

"And maybe they mean it. I do. There weren't any complications and it couldn't have gone more smoothly. Oh, but they'll be released from hospital soon."

"Ah."

"I'm sure we'll find some way to get around things."

"Hmmm. Have you named him yet?"

"Yeah. Kira. Don't," I tell him, putting up a hand before he starts, because his amusement is instant and brimming. I write the character on the back of an envelope and hand it to him. "Written like this."

"Very egocentric."

"No it isn't. They're not the same characters or anything, L. Kiyomi chose it. Akira's so common and -"

"It's a nice name," he nods to himself before handing the envelope back to me. "Kira Yagami sounds good, I'll send out another press release later on. I don't suppose you know the weight, do you? An editor asked me for the time of birth, name and weight,"

"I don't know exactly. A little under 8lbs. I don't know the time, I'm sorry."

"Right. Thanks. Well, don't let me keep you. You go back to being a little professional velociraptor. And don't worry about four o'clock. If you can't make it, you can't make it."

"What do you mean?"

"I came here for sex or something like it. No. Actually, I just wanted to talk to you, but I can see that you have things on your mind."

"L." I grab his arm and pull him back.

"Will I see you later? At my place, I mean."

"Do you remember when you'd turn up at my office and -"

"Yes. But will you be coming over later?"

"Of course. You can drive. I need to see Kiyomi, but I'll be back here for seven."

He smiles again, but his smiles aren't something you can trust as a sign that everything's ok. If anything, I often take them as a sign of the opposite. I feel things collapsing around me. I'm someone with baggage now, and I don't care about my baggage and complete life because it's nothing. It's a reminder of what I should be and what I'm not. It's a hole of perpetual sadness to me now and a weight around my neck. If Kira and Kiyomi died it would be a solution and I'd probably bleed the public sympathy for all it's worth. I'd be glad.

"You don't look so different," he says, pushing my hair from my eyes.

"I'm not."

"You change. All of sudden sometimes. I was just checking."

"I don't know why you'd think I'd change; it's not a shock to me. I've been expecting it for a while now."

"Light, I know you and I know you'll change. Maybe not today or for years, perhaps, but you won't be able to stop it."

I laugh, turning my head to the side, but my laughter sounds empty and poisonous. I slip my wedding ring on and off my finger. "I'm not going to change. I'm not about happy about this. I went there to see him and you know what I thought? My first thought was this is the worst thing I've ever done. Who'd bring an innocent into this? I saw him and I... I think it's evil, what I've done. Because there's no reason for it."

"It's not ev-"

"Anyway, do you want to go for drink somewhere at four? The club? We should talk about Finance and... I'm not really sure what to do."

"About what?"

"We should look at houses. I hate your house and you hate your house. Get some property brochures, ok? But no shit, and nowhere too far from Tokyo."

"Ok," he says after a moment. I'm fucking this up so badly. School boy fucking errors - no smooth transition from one topic to another. Now his eyes are drifting over my collar and I feel so self-conscious that my skin is crawling. "Where were you when I was seventeen?" he asks.

"I was ten and I was probably at school."

"Ugh."

"Do you think that if you'd found me earlier then you could have spared me years of tragedy? Because you wouldn't. You would have been arrested."

"I wouldn't have known when you were ten, would I? I wouldn't even have known to make a mental note to check back on you when you were over the age of consent and capable of even slightly intelligent conversation. You would have been some little boy and that's all. No, I just wish that I'd met you earlier. Before this place did things to you and things aren't... the way they are."

"I think we met at the right time."

"It might have been different though."

"In what way?" I ask, and he doesn't seem to know how to answer me. The force of pushing thoughts to the back of my head or squeezing them to death gives me a headache. The waiting stretches out until neither of us can bear it any longer and he walks over to my tea maker, which I only use when I'm in the most dire need and my secretaries have gone home.

"I'll make you some tea," he says. Well I wasn't thinking that he was going to throw it out of the window. "Empires are built on it. Meetings be damned, we're having a cup of tea."

"Do you think I'm weird? For not... I'm glad everything's ok, but -"

"No. Underneath all your artificiality, you're the most real person I've ever met. I think if people were honest, they'd agree with you. I don't think being a parent can be all it's said to be."

He says that so matter-of-factly that I feel immediately better about my own lack of emotion. It's not that they're not there, it's that they're not the right ones, or they centre around the wrong things and people, sometimes. I scratch behind my ear and sit on the edge of my desk to watch him watch the water in the clear pot bubble and boil and a click, pour it, and slowly stir two cups.

"Did you interview your serial killer?" I ask.

"The other day? Yes. Let's not talk about it if you'll make it unpleasant."

"I'm not going to make it unpleasant. What was he like? Did you see death in his eyes?" I laugh.

"He was dead behind the eyes. Have you ever met a serial killer?"

"No."

"You must have, you just don't know it," he says, handing me a cup and stands opposite me again. "Probability would say that we might have passed them on the street and not known, talked to them and not known. You know why they're so fascinating to me, Light?"

"They're living the dream?"

"Sort of." He holds a square of his chocolate bar out towards me, and after I shake my head, he dunks it into his tea and speaks with his mouth full. "It's because, to be a serial killer, they have to be pretty good at what they do. It's like a career to them and there's no real emotion in it. It's the realisation of all their philosophies with no civilised restraint, because they are the most important thing in their world and rules don't apply to them. People are objects to be used and discarded. It shows a degree of intelligence, cunning and understanding of human nature to make themselves appear socially acceptable. People have an idea of what a serial killer is like - Ed Gein or Albert Fish, that sort of face - but they come in all forms. People defend them, not because they don't believe that they could be a murderer, but because they can't believe that they didn't realise and that they liked them, had a beer with them, invited them over to their house. No one likes to be fooled. Do you fancy a change in career, Light?"

"You think that I'd make a good serial killer?"

"Yes, you'd be the best, I think. Maybe uncatchable."

"I can't quite take that as a compliment... So, what was he like?"

"Who?"

"The serial killer."

"Oh, he was very nice in a psychotic sort of way, but there's no need for him to pretend now, so he's just gone woohoo."

"I see."

"You mean, you don't mind that I'm still indulging my hobbies?"

"Why should I mind?"

"Oh," he nods for a second. "And how was Bethlehem? Did you like the myrrh that one of the kings brought you?"

"L, it's alright. I don't mind."

"You don't? Am I still drunk?"

"You're always going to want to fraternise with abhorrent people. As long as it's for your own perverted satisfaction and not to defend them in court, it's fine by me."

"This must be bliss. Are you sure I'm not drunk?"

"I don't know, how much did you drink last night?"

"Only a glass of red with you."

"This morning?"

"I never drink in the morning, Light. Not on a work day."

"I'd say you weren't drunk then."

"If life was always like this I wouldn't have to drink. So, are you going to discipline me or not?"

"Not."

"Are you forcing me to bring out the big guns?" he asks provocatively. His cup chinks against the button on his sleeve cuff.

"That's not necessary; I know it well."

"That's a terrible joke, Light. Really offensive. Your sense of humour is so immature, when you do have one. But further to your comment, you've only experienced my gun during friendly fire."

I laugh and it's so unexpected that it's more of a bursting flood of laughter. What's nearly as unexpected is that L kisses me suddenly, and it's all unprepared and shocked mouths as far as I can tell. That and chocolate, so he must quickly regret it.

"I'm sorry," he says.

"Don't apologise. I like it when you do that. I just need a bit more warning sometimes."

"No." He swipes his thumb at the corner of my mouth. "I got chocolate on your face."

I breathe out another laugh and push his hand away, then I jump up as a reflex to seeing my fucking dad standing in the doorway. Fucking fuck!

"Dad!"

"The door was open. Your secretary told me that you were expecting me," he says. Oh God, what did he see? Why can't anyone fucking knock? Why do I bother having a door if everyone feels like they can just walk on in? That 'my door is always open' line is just a line, no one actually means it. There's no room for subtlety in life when it's full of cretins who believe open door policies. No, I need to calm down. He didn't see anything. I can make this into nothing.

"But... ok."

"Your mother wanted me to drop these off for Kira."

He holds up a paper bag, so I walk over to him to take it. I suppose that I should, but I really should do what I want. This is nothing. This is nothing. Not yet.

"Babygros?" I ask, looking inside. "God, we're up to our necks in these things already. Could you tell her thanks but we're ok for them now?"

"Yagami-san, it's nice to see you again," L says, bowing in my father's direction as I walk back past him. "I'm -"

"I remember you, Lawliet-san."

"Once seen, never forgotten," I say to ease the tension. Dad just doesn't like L and that doesn't matter. At most, he must have only seen me pushing L's hand away. Me sitting on a desk and having a cup of tea with my work colleague and friend to celebrate the birth of my son. Yes. I want to crack his head open and see what he saw. Without knowing, all I can do is act like nothing happened. I want to tell him when my mother's in the room, because her almost drug induced coma of a personality will smooth everything out. Nothing matters. I should work hard and do what makes me happy, she'd say. I shouldn't think of my mother like that because she's my mother. It's not a flaw in her exactly. It's made life easier for me than it could have been. The point is that I could construct things so they'd understand and not care about what I do with my life, just be thankful that I'm here. I need L; he's necessary. I've been waiting for him my whole life.

"I'm Light's PR," L explains to him.

"He's a good friend," I add, like this needs annotation notes. "L, I'll call around your office later and we'll discuss things in more detail."

"Discuss what in more detail?"

"Disciplinary action," I explain, making L smile and bow his head to both of us before leaving quickly. Then I'm left with my father and a void and a bag of babygros. "Are you ok, Dad?"

I sit on the desk again like that's something I do now, so at least that won't be questioned. I'm listening and I'm open to questions as long as they're the right questions which are delivered in a respectful way. Kiyomi said that she thinks my dad's attractive for an older man. I have no idea about that. Maybe he's the sort of man that women fantasise about fucking on an empty train without a word being said between them, I don't know. I don't understand women and I don't want to to that pointless degree, but Kiyomi likes Nancy Friday and I read the blurb to one of her books once. It left me even more confused. When women start talking about sexual liberation, my eyes glaze over. Anyway, I don't know what my father is. He's just thick and solid like a tree with fucked eyes and salt and pepper hair.

"I didn't know he was your PR. I thought he was a lawyer," he says. He's blocking me in until he computes fully, and that will never happen. I realise then that I've never been told off by him or my mother about anything, but that it looks like I'm going to be told off now, at this age.

"He's a barrister. The best in the country. He has his own firm, but he works for me as well. We're very lucky to have him. He worked for The Lady, you know that. You know him from a case a few years ago, don't you?"

"He wanted some confidential reports and evidence."

"I heard."

"A bullet cap from forensics."

"Well, I'm sure he had his reasons for asking. I'm sorry, Dad. I'm a bit busy this afternoon but -"

"He doesn't have a good reputation in the force, Light."

"The force doesn't have a good reputation," I smile antagonistically, and see the anger rush to his face. I'm the one who should feel angry. People barge into my rooms all ready to judge me. There's a reason I keep doors closed. Nobody has access but they try to bulldoze in anyway. "He's a state counsel. Is there anything else? I have to be somewhere in... oh, now."

"What did I see then, Light?"

I hear nothing but white noise after he speaks, but then my reliable feeling of blankness with an undercurrent of pure rage saves me again.

"I don't know. What did you see, Dad?" I ask.

And that's it. I can tell that whatever he saw, he won't press the issue. He reaches into his pocket and draws two tickets from his wallet.

"Um... I wondered if you wanted to come with me to a motor rally on Saturday."

"A motor rally? Ha, well, no, thanks. I think it's a waste of natural resources and glamorises dangerous driving, so I can't be seen to support that. And the security issues would be more trouble than they're worth, anyway. We could do golf sometime. Some neutral. You should stay at my place in the country. Someone should use it."

"I think you should spend more time with your family. At a time like this you need family around you."

"At a time like this? Yeah, it'd be nice, but I really don't have the time. I'll check my diary and maybe we can work something out."

"We need to have a talk about responsibility and what it is to be a father, Light. I remember when you were born and I -"

"Well done for remembering, Dad, but you know who I am. I think I know about responsibility."

"Now's the time to start pulling away from your friends to concentrate on family. Having Kira in your life will be a big shock to you. Your priorities change."

"Don't be so patronising."

"I'm not pat-"

"Excuse me," I say so I can check a text message which has just dinged timely into life on my phone. The Finance Department want to know where I am. I have to give them a pep talk and assign someone to take over duties until someone else is assigned. "I really have to go," I explain to my dad's stoic face, pushing myself way from the desk. He better get out of my way.

"You need to know what to expect," he tells me, unmoving.

"Look, you don't have to tell me. Kiyomi's had a baby. There is a baby. Your take on parenting was not to be there much. It didn't affect me, Dad. It instilled a work ethic in me and I'm grateful. It didn't have the same effect on Sayu, but that's Sayu. So, there's a baby but it's not going to radically change my life. Now, I really have to go."

I walk around him so I can reach the door. I find it odd that he hasn't thought to ask me about my office. He probably thinks it came with the job. Sometimes I forget about it, myself. Sometimes I think the whole world is one big box like this.

"Light... my son."

Honest to God, I think he needs to say that to remind himself that I am his son sometimes. It lost all effect on me decades ago.

"Is this because of L?" I ask him. Maybe we should have this out and then later we can decide that I was just tired and not thinking properly.

"What? No."

"Because he's my friend and you don't like that. Would you choose different friends for me?"

"I'd reconsider having him as your PR because, from what I know of him, he's not trustworthy."

"You met him once and I'm sorry that you got a bad impression of him, but I do trust him. Please, please, don't come in here unannounced and tell me who my friends should be and how I should act and that I should go to motor rallies."

"I only want to give you some advice -"

"Did I ask for your advice, Dad? I'm sorry, I have to go."

And I don't see L at four. He sends me a text message to cancel while I'm sorting out the fucking catastrophe which turns out to be Finance, but he doesn't give a reason. The whole Finance department are basically dancing a tap dance routine, so it's no wonder their Head died, and I'm not overly concerned about L cancelling at the time.

Once it's over though and I do become concerned, having thought about how he gave no explanation, I call L's office. He's not there and Mihael cautiously dodges the subject with a pretence of ignorance. L picks me up at seven and we don't talk about it. We don't talk about the hospital, we don't talk about my father. On Thursday, Kiyomi and Kira are released from hospital.

After Questions, Watari asks if he can speak to me. He's the sort of man who fumbles his way to the point, like a driver without any form of navigation and road signs, and this takes time I don't have. But, to save procrastinating in favour of an alloted space of time for a meeting which I also don't have time for, I stand in the Kantei office lobby and listen to him ramble on. I hope that there is a point to this, though I don't expect that it's as important as he thinks. It's about Finance and the Shadow's Deputy, who died yesterday. I despised him. He was a good speaker, when given the opportunity, but his views were xenophobic and his policy ideas unrealistic. Because he was a good speaker though, there was a worry that he would take over as leader of the opposition. These two deaths are nothing to write home about, but it has an unfortunate consequence which I'm hearing all about from Watari at this very moment. I'm currently trying to convince him that the 'curse' isn't back because there is no such thing, only natural causes, murders and accidents. We both shut up when L sidles up. Fuck, he's wearing Dior. I try not to look at him beyond a welcoming shallow bow.

"How are you, Watari?" L asks. "You're looking well. I hope you don't mind if I steal the Prime Minister from you."

"We can talk later. Five, maybe?" I suggest to Watari. I don't think I can take any more in one sitting.

"No, no, it's alright. It wasn't anything important," he says, bowing to both of us. I watch him go and wonder if he'll ever retire.

"What was that all about?" L asks me.

"Stupid old fool thinks that the curse is back."

"Well, I have to say, it did cross my mind."

"L, I thought you were more sensible than that."

"I said that it crossed my mind. It crossed and passed. Two in less than a week though. Not good."

"It's a pain in the arse. Two deaths means two funerals."

"I like funerals," he leans in to tell me in confidence.

"I do too. Anyway, try to damp down all this curse shit, will you? Before the press start that up again."

"I'm on it, don't worry."

"Shall we?" I ask, opening a door to the empty reception waiting room. We step inside and I shut the door behind me. "Look, now Kiyomi's out of hospital, we need to think of alternatives."

"For what, pray?"

"Be serious. I won't be able to stay at yours for a while at least, so I was thinking of hotels," I say, waving an ever so bored hand. "Meetings."

"How cheap. Legal meetings, maybe."

"Yes, just make it official. Wednesday's a good day for me. In the afternoon."

"Does this mean that I won't see you apart from on Wednesdays?"

"No, but we cant afford anything too risky. It's more difficult now Kiyomi's back, but it's only for a couple of months."

"I wish the curse went after politician's wives as well."

"You want her dead?"

"Don't you?"

"Yes," I say without thinking. It's a dream of mine, but it wouldn't solve everything. L would have to piss off and come back with a different face, a vagina, a dress, and a name like Mitsuko. However, he finds my answer amusing.

"You shouldn't, Light. She's your wife and the mother of your child."

"I know, I.. I don't want her to die. Stop fucking confusing me," I say, slapping his arm grumpily when he laughs.

"It's ok. I don't want her dead either, it'd just be easier for us, that's all. But then you'd have sole ownership of Kira and I don't want a baby in my house."

"L, he's not a car."

"Did I say ownership? I meant custody. Sorry."

"I have a meeting now. So, I'll leave the hotel thing with you. Book a conference suite with an adjoining bedroom because you need to stay in Tokyo overnight. Make sure that you tell them that."

"Well I wasn't going to book the honeymoon suite."

"Maybe I should arrange this, if you're going to be stupid about it."

"No, no, leave it with me."

"Official, L. Put it on expenses."

"I can do official. I've done official before. I've booked conference suites in hotels before. I used to have legal meetings with The Lady all the time."

"Ok," I say, only slightly appeased.

"Ok," he smiles. Job done, I leave him and the room and to go back into the now deserted lobby. I'm just beginning to climb the stairs when he shouts after me: "So I'm not to mention that we'll be fucking there then?" causing me to spin around and nearly lose my balance. I grab hold of the railing to stop me falling while he laughs at me from the doorway. He practically doubles over from laughing and I really, really want to go back into that reception, lock the door, fuck him, kill him, and bury him under the begonias. "I'm sorry," he says, "it's just your face. Don't worry about it, really. I promise that I'll order coffee and not champagne and strawberries."

I've taken to phoning his office now during work hours instead of his phone. Something stationary and somewhere he should be, no excuses. It's the only way to keep proper tabs on him, because my mind still drifts back to the day when he wasn't in his office and I never asked him about it. It angers me that he feels that his work hours are loose enough that he can do anything he fucking pleases. Ultimately, I'm responsible for him, and I think the state deserve their money's worth. The truth is, I have every reason in the world to be suspicious of him, and he's not where he should be. When I phone his office at five, Mihael says that he's at the House for a meeting. I have to go back to the Kantei anyway, I've decided, so I cancel Watari and phone House reception. What do you know? He hasn't checked in. I can't take my eyes off him for a fucking minute. I drive through the tiers of the Kantei car park, see L's car, park a little distance away between two sedans, and wait. I'm determined to stay there for as long as it takes. He uses this car park whenever he's in town because of the free parking, even if he's not on official business, because he's a greedy, shitfaced little fuck.

I wait for an hour and try to do some work while I wait, but I have to keep checking the door to this floor so I don't miss his reappearance, so it's a wasted hour. When he does turn up, he's with Stephen. I feel sick with anger, but the saving grace of this is the incomparable high of being right. They walk past my car, I wind down my window slightly so their sound will carry to my ears, and L laughs in that not really amused way he does, because he turns his face away from Stephen as he laughs. Stephen clasps his hand on L's shoulder and L physically leans to one side from the weight of it. I don't need to hear their conversation but I can't ignore the opportunity.

"I switched to decaff so it's not really a problem anymore," L tells him. Stephen's in a permanent state of hilarity, like he's on nitrous oxide. He's wearing... God know's what. Thrift store chic? Some black sweater and black trousers like he thinks he's Johnny fucking Cash. I can't see his shoes over the car bonnet, but I'm sure they're shit. He's had a haircut and is obviously trying desperately to look attractive.

"You have a noble head," he says. Fuck's sake, why doesn't somebody kill him for the sake of humanity? Maybe I should. I don't know why I haven't.

"Well, thank you!" L replies. You fucking bastard.

"So, how are you really?"

"I'm fine, I wasn't lying. And you? Were you lying?"

"No, I'm still good... I like your hair." L had a haircut last week. He also went to the dentist's to have a filling and was in such a foul mood that I kept out of his way all day, but Stephen doesn't compliment him on his fillings, does he? No. He doesn't have to put up with that. Never trust people who don't put any effort into their hair but still tumble out of bed looking like they're in a shampoo advert. It's not natural or fair.

"Thanks. I was born with it."

"Ha!"

"No, really. I was born with a full head of hair and it never fell out like with other babies."

"That's special," Stephen simpers.

"I wouldn't say that," L says.

Flattery with L is tried and tested, and if you pitch it right, chances are you'll wake up the next morning in his bed. I know Stephen's game. Why not punt for L again? He's rich and has a lot of equity security, Stephen's homeless and living with a friend of mine. God, I hate the marrow of his bones.

"I was wondering if you wanted to go for a drink sometime?"

"I don't think that's a good idea, Stephen."

"Are you seeing someone?"

"Sort of."

"Oh."

"Doomed, of course."

"Of course."

"It always is," L laughs, again swimming in fake as he leans on his car. I can just about see them through the interior of the car next to me, and all I see is someone who can be bought for the right price and someone else who has empty pockets. I look at them like I'm a sniper. Stephen shuffles on the spot and looks at the floor. It's all very sweet and disgusting.

"I've been waiting for you," he says.

"You shouldn't."

"Well, whoever he is, I hope he's worth it."

"He is. I'm not."

"I never understood why you don't like yourself."

"Are you kidding me? I love myself."

"Yeah," Stephen says, nudging L's shoulder. "Well, I guess it's about time I picked up the last of my things."

"No rush. Whenever, as I said. Between seven and ten, Monday to Saturday, but not Fridays. Or Saturdays, actually. Or Tuesdays. Let me know. Hey, let me give you a lift," he offers, opening his car door. Oh that is fucking it! No one ever gives lifts to exes. It gives them completely the wrong idea.

"Will you come in for a coffee? Naomi has decaff."

"I can't. I-"

"No, then. No lift if you won't have a coffee," Stephen smirks.

"Ok, I'll have a coffee. Just get in the car and stop being so bloody annoying."

"You really like me, don't you."

"No."

"Yeah, you do."

"No, I don't."

"How can you not like me. I'm a likeable guy."

"You're like a lemur. I like lemurs when I see them in a zoo for five minutes, but I don't want one in my house."

"Oh," Stephen sighs, holding the passenger side door open.

"No, that's not true. You're not a lemur," L sighs. Honestly, I could shoot them. I could drive into them and keep crushing them and say that it was an accident, then go back home, sleep peacefully for eight hours and answer any questions in the morning.

"So, you do like me still?" Stephen asks.

"You're ok when you're not asking me if I like you or not."

"You like me."

"Get in the car and shut the fuck up."

I've heard enough anyway. Same old boring conversations with the same wreathes of creamy flattery which L accepts willingly. Once Stephen gets in and shuts the door, I start my car and I drive past L, who watches my car go.

And nothing is said of it. I expect a message but I don't get one. No explanation.

Punishment is for ordinary people. I'm above that. When I realise what I'm thinking of doing, and that if anyone else did it I'd think it was abhorrent, but this is my conclusion: I'm above that. Why should I be constrained by the same laws as other people? I'm God, he told me because he knew. It was that obvious that not even he could ignore it. B told me once that I love to be hated and I hate to be loved and I love to be feared, just like L. And L's love and hate is necessary to me. I am an unyielding, sadistic, mercurial cunt who would cut your throat to drink your blood. I am the emotionless pestilence and the saviour - the one true justice. I am the ram's head knocking down your door. I desire attention and only attention to feed on and to be consumed by. I despise authority because I am the authority. I am effortlessly right and superior. I don't feel the things you feel, I don't see things the way you see them. There are no pastel colours and no rainbows. All flowers are dying, all people are already dead. I am not human.

More silence on both sides over the weekend. I've seen Kira's eyes and they're his eyes, not mine. Someone could have swapped him since the last time I saw him and I wouldn't know the difference. He cries; I found that out on the first night. I've since had my bedroom and home office soundproofed.

I haven't even started work yet, but I'm in the building and on my way to my office. People are dribbling in, still half-asleep, but they perk up when they see me like I am the sun, their reason for living, the giver of life. I feel sick all of the time. I've forgotten what it feels like not to have this heavy weight in the very core of me.

It was a standard, easy start to the day, like breaking in a pair of shoes you've already worn a few times, but I hear Kiyomi's clipping heels on the wooden floors before I hear her voice, but she doesn't know that. I continue walking. Distance isn't something she likes unless it's on her terms, and distance and isolation was imposed on her during her confinement, so she's taken to following me around a lot since she got back. I don't care anymore. I'm looking forward to and dreading my meeting with L this afternoon, and that takes up a lot of my thoughts. A friend of Touta's - a civil servant from the same department who's been recently reallocated and has a very prominent Adam's apple - holds the door open for me.

"Light, wait!"

"Mrs Yagami!" the man says, "Let me get that for you. We don't see you much in the offices. You're like a breath of fresh air." Oh shit, he shouldn't have said that.

"You mean because I'm female? Or because I'm an attractive female?" she asks. Every time I see her now, my eyes are immediately drawn to her stomach steadily deflating over the days. She still looks presentable though, in a strange way.

"Uh... Well, -" he stutters.

"You didn't open the door for that woman a minute ago, but you did for me. Don't you think that's a bit inconsistent?"

"I didn't see her."

"Yes, you did. Is it because of who I'm married to?"

"I really didn't mean anything by it."

"What do you think, Light?"

"Don't bring me into this. I think you can fight your own battles," I say, and leave. Because I leave, she leaves, but only after telling the poor bastard that she can open doors for herself, thank you very much. Women never complain when I hold the open for them, but I'm good looking, and he's not - that's the difference. When I hold the door open for someone: the elderly, the infirm, the pregnant, people carrying heavy loads, or just women because we're still brought up to think that it's polite and that they're at a disadvantage because they're women, even the burly feminist dykes, it puts a smile on their faces, probably all day. Because they recognise that I'm lowering myself. I noticed this when I was about fifteen.

"Light, what do you think of these?"

"What?" I say, but it sounds like more of a lazy snap. She points at her feet and the stilettos with steel heels that she's wearing. I see them and think of knives = B = L. Everything leads to the same place. "Yeah, they're fine." I carry on walking and she tries to keep up. Part of me wants to slow down for her, the other part of me wants to run just to make her run. "Was that a lesson in equality or do you just not like him?"

"A bit of both. I wanted to check that we're still ok for tonight."

"Oh, that. What are you going to wear?" I ask. I stop at the door to my department because I don't want her to come in with me. It'll be difficult to get her out of my office once she's there. She crowds me, smiles and watches her hands spread over my chest, disturbing the straight drop of my tie. "Um... Kiyomi?"

"Yes?"

"What are you doing?"

"I'm admiring my husband."

"Someone needs a lesson in equality and respect," I say. The elevator doors open and we both look towards the people starting to herd out before she turns back to me laughing.

"Red," she says. "I was going to wear red."

"That's a bad colour."

"It suits me. In a non-political context, it's my favourite colour."

"I didn't know that."

"Now you do. Did you hear Kira screaming in the night?"

"No."

"Like a demon."

"Was he ok?"

"Babies scream, Light. Usually over nothing," she tells me. Babies scream over nothing, and I don't think that ever changes, even when the babies become adults.

"I know," I say, grabbing her hands to stop her from this entitled molestation.

"You only see him when he's asleep," she says teasingly. "I'm getting very fond of him, but then he starts screaming and I'm so thankful that we hired a nanny."

"I'm thankful that my room is pretty much soundproof."

"I'm sleeping in your room from now on then."

"That kind of defeats the object of having separate rooms. Anyway, I'm told that they grow out of that in about thirty-odd years."

She laughs again and strokes her hand along the length of my tie. I notice L outside the elevator, but I don't know whether he's there for that or if he was on his way to see me. Within my closed mouth, I run my tongue along my teeth and it settles against a squeaky clean, flossed, minty molar. Kiyomi sees me staring at something and turns around to find out what it is. "Oh, there's Lawliet!" she says, waves at him, and turns back to back to whisper conspiratorially. "Here's a mission for you. You make sure he comes to this concert tonight and I'll invite Stephen."

"I don't think -"

"Never mind, I'll do it. Lawliet!" she calls out, but he's already leaving, rounds the corner and is out of sight. Kiyomi has probably never experienced people willfully ignoring her, and she's stuck to the spot, completely mystified. "Oh, that's strange."

"It's nine o'clock, Kiyomi. He probably has work to do."

"He's a funny man. He was at Naomi's the other day and he didn't even say goodbye when he left."

"Why was he at Naomi's?" I ask. Coffee. No. Sex, then coffee. Sickly smiles, sweet decaff, and a reward from a whore. A fucking whore.

She turns back to me, raises one shoulder and tilts her head to a rest upon it for a second while she looks at me like I'm an idiot. I want to tell her that I'm not, but I am. I'm being fucked over by a disgrace of a man. I wonder, if I tell her calmly enough, maybe she'll accept it as a fact of life and pat me on the back and tell me how we all make mistakes. All great men make mistakes. Instead, every word she says is like a slap, like a paramedic trying to keep someone conscious.

"Stephen, Light, come on. They were having a 'coffee', apparently, but Stephen couldn't stop smiling." Oh God. I look at the floor, partly so my hair hides my eyes from her. She reads and misreads me, but tries to speak comfortingly to me all the same to bring me round to her way of thinking. "Hey, I hate matchmaking as much as you do, but I like Stephen and I want him to stay. If Lawliet will make him stay, then those two need some professional help. Lawliet's your friend, I know, but he made a mistake. Help me out a little bit? Just this one thing."

"Kiyomi, Stephen's... I think Stephen's still in the CIA working under cover -"

"So?"

"Only he's really bad at it... Hold on, what do you mean, 'so'? That doesn't shock you?"

"No, not really. You suspect everyone and you've never liked him, but he's my friend and I'd know if he was still with the CIA."

"People don't tend to advertise that they work for a secret service, Kiyomi. He shouldn't get too close to us. He's already got far too close to us."

"Stephen's not spying on us, don't be silly. Are you still worried about that Wedy woman? Listen, he's really good with Kira, and if he has a reason to stay then he can't be with the CIA, can he? Give him an aide job or something."

He's good with Kira? I know Kiyomi will hand Kira to anyone like he's a gift to the future just for a chance to to talk to someone without being distracted and burdened with him. She is Kiyomi first, a wife second and barely a mother, but I don't want Stephen anywhere near anything of mine. He's invading and permeating everything slowly, touched everything that belongs to me, and it's only a matter of time before he gets to me.

"I don't have aide jobs for your friends. Besides, he'd be terribly under-qualified."

"Security, then."

"No. I have to go. I'm late."

"Lunch?"

"I have a meeting."

Yes, I have a meeting with L at the hotel. I wonder which of us will snap first. Maybe he'll stand by a window and confess to me that he spoke to Stephen, they had coffee, and then he left. He loves me. I'll believe him and gratefully forget all these bloodstained thoughts in my mind. How can I be hurt by what he decides to give himself up to? It never used to bother me. 'Stephen couldn't stop smiling'. I want to...

Kiyomi sighs and makes quite the costume drama out of it. "I'll just have to go shopping instead."

"Great. Yeah," I say, opening the door.

"So red's ok then?"

"What?"

"Red. Tonight."

"Whatever you want. It's not important."

"Mmmm... you're so -"

"If you say that I'm 'so tight' or some shit, I'll smack you in the fucking face."

Looking down into his violent eyes, I'm torn between hitting him or laughing, so I roll off him and laugh to myself. As soon as I'm on my back and he's clear of me, he sits up and stands in his clammy tackiness. I don't see him walk into the bathroom, I only hear the light switch and the dull running of shower water. I don't know if he came. I don't if he came because I wasn't paying attention. It looks like he did, it seemed like he did, but I should have made sure.

My laugh settles into disturbed but steady breathing. I know then that I'm going to kill him. If not today, then one day. I've planned it out in my mind so many times that it should just be like revisiting a dream with a script. I'm going to kill him and that won't be difficult. I'll sit next to his cooling body and relish the silence that only death can bring, then I'll book this suite for a few more days and move his body to the locked bathroom, come here for an hour at a time, and slowly dismember him to scatter chunks of him throughout Tokyo from my briefcase. I could bring an overnight bag one time for larger pieces. In rubbish bins, wrapped in plastic. Dump joints in the lake and bury pieces in the woods around his house for animals to gnaw on. Put his head and hands under my floorboards. I'll forget about him until I ever need to move, and then he'll come with me. Him and what I've done. No one will ever know. No one would ever think I'm responsible because I don't have a killer's face and I have no motive. I don't know what happened to my Head of PR, but I know that he was asking for it. I warned him. Everyone warned him.

He comes back into the room eventually, though it doesn't seem like much time has passed, and the whiteness of his legs makes them look stupidly long. There's little shadow, just flanks, like a narrow, elongated rectangle from the side. My face presses into the pillow as he smiles at me in the mirror, then he holds his finger out towards his reflection like a gun. "Bang," he says, and holds his hand like that, pointing at himself, like he didn't mean to do it. My eyes widen, I can feel my face open for my shock, but then I smile slightly and he climbs back into bed and sits beside me, slightly damp still, ignoring his dripping hair while he checks his phone.

"I called by your office on Friday afternoon and Mihael said you'd gone out," I say, watching him closely.

"For lunch, yeah," he answers calmly. Well, he fell right into that one. Let's see how much deeper he can get himself buried.

"He said you had a doctor's appointment."

"Not a doctor. I had to see a osteopath."

"You've hurt your back?"

"I must have."

"You didn't mention it."

"I didn't have a chance to. It's not important."

"Where does it hurt?"

"Here," he says, pressing the base of his spine from what I can tell. Considering what he's just done, that osteopath must be a miracle worker, or else L's on some fucking amazing painkillers.

"What did he do?"

"Manipulated it a bit. Did osteopath things."

"Maybe you should see a doctor and have it checked out properly."

"I don't need to, it's much better now," he tells me. His finger drags along the screen and he checks the traffic report.

Then I'm in the bathroom, not sure of how I got here. My mind is still lost in a haze of methodical murder with good sense trying to break through and tell me that it's not really possible, I'm overreacting, I should trust him, I should leave him, no, it's ok, kill him. What excuse would I give for why the bathroom must be kept closed? This would be so easy if there wasn't a fucking body. As I clean him from myself in the shower, I realise that I can't do it. I don't want to, but I should get a gun and kill him and then put the gun in my own mouth if I ever do. I was so ashamed that I had to put an end to both of us, that's what they'll think. My son will have this hanging over him, always. What I did, trying to understand it when he's too young to comprehend a reason why his father chose not to watch him grow up and help him with his homework. But all there is is that: he gets a job, he might get married, he might have my grandchildren and I'll die in retirement, then the same thing will happen to him. That's all there is. Maybe he'll understand one day. End things before they turn to shit.

Back in the bedroom, leaving my wet footprints in the bathroom mat, I think my thoughts are so powerful that they colour the air, but L still lies there, waiting. I never thought at that inquiry that it would lead to this. I don't want to die. I don't want him to die.

My intention is to start putting my clothes on in front of the mirror. My hair is still damp and drips transparent holes onto my shirt as I carry it, but I'm too desperate to get out of here. L watches me from the bed and his face is so white that he looks dead already. He's holding my phone, offers it to me, and I take it without saying a word. On the screen is a photo of Kiyomi and Kira which Kiyomi took last night. It should be obvious that she took it herself and not me, and she set it as my phone wallpaper as a joke. Well, I took it as a joke. I wipe my phone of everything every day, but I haven't yet. On the one day I should have.

"Kiyomi -"

"Are you leaving? You only just got here," he interrupts me angrily, pointing at the folded trousers over my arm. If only he wouldn't say a thing. If only he'd let me be respectable and leave, then he could leave, and we can both keep breathing a little longer. Anything would be better than this. I don't want to see him again. I want to leave, send him his dismissal, keep away from him, block his calls, never hear or see him again, laugh off his accusations in the press, maybe have another baby to prove it false. He'll get bored and leave; leave the country, leave my life. The end. I'll be a proud father at a wedding thirty years from now. I'll have children who share my blood sitting on my knee. They wouldn't be living if it wasn't for me making this decision and for taking the path in life I knew I should take, despite L. Despite L. To spite him. I'll die surrounded by people who love me and he'll die alone. He'll die first and maybe I'll hear of it and I'll hardly remember him enough to feel anything. This vision of the future makes me bored and cold inside. I need an alibi. I never thought L would get in the way of my life. No, my life is in the way of him.

"I got here forty minutes ago," I say, putting on my shirt quickly. My dressing routine has gone to shit.

"Where have you got to be?"

"Ahhh, it's a charity thing. People with mental health problems putting on an opera to raise money."

"God. Being Prime Minister must be terrible."

"It's a traditional opera too. You could come, if you want. Kiyomi wants you to come." I stop then. He watches me, waiting, questioning me in his mind, coming to conclusions, spotting a weakness, not understanding but determined to understand me to the death. "L?"

"Yes?"

My eyes feel full of water that's just reabsorbed when I go back to my cufflinks. Fucking L cufflinks. Cheap shit cufflinks and I wear them now without even thinking. I try to imagine a time when there's no need to call him because he won't be there to answer, and it hurts me so much that I can hardly breathe.

I look at him in the mirror. "Stephen's going to be there. Kiyomi wants you to..."

"What does she want me to do?"

"She wants you to come with us. You could talk to Stephen, it wouldn't be so bad."

"Ha. No, I don't think so."

"Maybe he'll feel up your leg."

"My leg's been felt, thanks. And I don't think Stephen will join you."

"Oh?"

"I'd be very surprised if he did, put it that way. No, I'm tired. Mentally ill people singing at me and then wanting my money is not the answer. Send my apologies to Kiyomi."

"Ok."

"So, will I see you tomorrow?"

"Lunch tomorrow?" I ask, literally throwing on my trousers. I find a charity pin in the pocket which I should wear but it's fucking ugly. "Yeah."

"No, I meant -"

"Fuck," I hiss suddenly. A drop of blood builds on my thumb and I shake my hand to distract myself from the echoes of the unexpected needle-like pain. "Stabbed myself in the fucking thumb with this pin. Fuck these charity pins. Sorry, what were you saying?"

"Nothing. How's Kiyomi?"

"She seems ok," I say, shrugging my shoulders. "Why?"

"Just asking. Would you rather that I didn't mention your wife? Shall we pretend that you're not married with a baby and that this isn't what it is? Am I kidding myself, Light?"

My eyes narrow in the glass and my hands drop to my sides. It's so dark in here that I'm lit only by a streak of daylight from the parting in the curtains, but aside from that, there's the softness and tiredness of a late night after a fine day. The sort of day with exhausting sun and clouds and a kissing breeze which leaves you with the feeling like nothing bad has ever happened and never could happen – that they're just stories. And you're content with yourself and complete and you go to sleep feeling that way. That you're happy and want nothing more than you already have. I could be happy now, I think, but he won't let me. There's a break in the wires somewhere. Electricity is tripping and jumping instead of joining us because we're not earthed like we should be.

"This isn't about Kiyomi. Do you want me to stay here until you're bored and you decide to leave? I have to leave. Not because I want to, but because I have to."

"Yeah, yeah, my heart bleeds for you." He waves his hand and lies back into his grave to descend into some reverie while crows caw outside above the faint buzz of traffic. "I just didn't picture myself at this age, meeting someone for sex in a hotel room."

"I didn't hear you complain before, but then, you were too busy having sex in a hotel room."

"Fuck you," he says, using the words like a battering ram against my head.

"Let's not do this. I don't have the time for it."

"I know that you don't have the fucking time."

"Do you want me to cancel?"

"And disappoint all those people?" he asks, his face vibrant with rage. "Yes."

"You're really not giving me a reason to. Don't think you can bully me into doing what you want anymore. Those days are well and truly over."

"I didn't think that I ever had that power."

"Give me a break. News Bulletin! You've been a manipulative bastard to me since day one."

"Yet you still keep coming back for more, don't you, Light," he sneers at me, but it settles back into sadness quickly. Good. I'm glad that he's sad. "Do you need to talk about anything?"

"No."

"Ask me. I saw your car. You know that I didn't go to the osteopath."

"No, you were with Stephen. You could have spun that lie, L. You could have made it believable; only I saw you."

"Yes, and you see things. So, are you back to stalking me?" he asks. "I'd only like to know so I could try and make things more interesting for you next time."

"Ha. You'd like to think that I'm stalking you."

"Really? Do you have someone more important to stalk? Like that billboard of yourself?"

"Piss off."

"Or something nicer, maybe. Perhaps a Venus flytrap."

"If I wanted to stalk someone more important and nicer than you I could hop down to Death Row and find someone there."

"Oooooh. Can we stop for a minute? I want to cry," he says, then rubs his forehead roughly like it's irritating him. I have no choice but to wear these cufflinks. As soon as I get back to the office, I'm changing them. I'll put them in an ashtray. "He's thinking of going back to the States."

"So he can rejoin the CIA? I'm so pleased for him."

"He never left the CIA," he tells me. Well, that must have been embarrassing for him. I look at him in the mirror, then I laugh, so he continues. "But it's not what you're thinking. He blames himself, even though it's not his fault, but I couldn't tell him that."

"Sounds like you had a nice chat. How does it feel to be used?"

"You want me to say that I feel like an idiot? I don't. I knew something wasn't right and I moved him in because of that. A liar knows another liar. I suppose that it is quite funny though."

"Yes, it is." I look back at myself in the mirror, framed like a portrait, and create a neat knot with my tie. "Did you fuck him?"

"Wouldn't you like to know."

"Yes, I would, actually."

"Well that's tough because that's something I'm going to keep to myself. Or not grant you with an answer, whichever you'd rather think."

"You didn't then," I smile into the mirror. "Not for want of trying though, I bet."

"Yeah, Light, I'd love to. It's all I think about."

"But you try to make do with me until he's free? I understand."

"You help pass the time," he agrees bitterly.

"Oh, well I wouldn't want to hold you up. I wouldn't want to get in your way either. You should go wherever you want, L."

"You are such a bastard today," he says, amazed at my reaction, because he probably thinks that he deserves an award for service to the state.

"And every day. Did you like your bill, L? And this is the thanks I get. You know, I... I really wonder what I'm doing all this for. I look at you and I don't know what I was thinking."

"Snap out of it. I'm trying my best for you."

"Sure you are. I'm tired of lies. Everywhere I look there's lies."

"Then we'll have no more of them," he says. Anyone else would believe the solicitude and ardency in his face and voice, but I don't. I can't. I rub my hair again with a towel.

"Fucking liars everywhere."

"Light."

"And you're the worst of them, L. You're the worst," I say loudly, but my face returns to the same barren state by the time I turn back to the mirror. I use my fingers like a comb to polish my hair into a smooth helmet with a side parting, like L's, I realise. I look like a completely different person. "Just fuck him, will you? Maybe then he'll leave me alone. Do your best."

"Hey, I'm sorry, but what's this all about? Nothing happened, ok? I didn't mention that I saw him because -"

"Stop," I shut him down quickly, turning to glare at him until he's silent. He's hurt and tender, but only because I won't listen to his shit, so I look back at my reflection and calm myself with a wipe of a finger across my forehead.

"I'm not lying to you, Light."

"Do you mind if I don't believe you?"

"No. I don't mind," he breathes out sadly after a moment, then pours himself a glass of water which he holds and contemplates in his lap. "We need to talk about -"

"About you and your fantasies?"

"Let me fucking finish! About the Wedy investigation."

"What about it?" I ask, turning to look at him again. He smiles, an astringent laceration from my attention.

"Oh, will you cancel now?"

"It depends. He said something to you?"

"I said that I didn't trust him. I always felt that he was hiding things from me. Distrust makes for a terrible situation and it ruined our relationship, that's what we decided. Absolutely nothing to do with you, was it? Surprise, surprise, he felt the same about me, so we confessed our deepest, darkest secrets," he says dreamily, leaning on the upturned palm of his hand. "Well, I made some up."

"What did he say?"

"Cancel."

"I can't."

"Then this will have to wait, like me."

"Am I a suspect or not?" I ask, but he does nothing but smile at me until my hands become stone-like and stiff and built for killing, so much so that I try to hide them. "Tell me."

"How did you kill her?"

"I... I didn't. They still think that I did?"

"You can tell me," he whispers lasciviously. "I'd love you all the more for it."

"I didn't kill her. L, are you are playing with me? Do they really think that I killed her?"

"I don't know," he replies lazily, letting his head droop to one side. "I hear bits and pieces, but to be honest, Stephen was rather preoccupied."

"L!" I shout at him, on top of him now, but he was prepared for it and holds my forearms away from him like I'm shackled. My mouth trembles with expelling air and anger as I search his eyes for something - for anything - but there's nothing there; just black holes in the centre of wide, round whites and the darkest grey ring of smouldering carbon. I hate him so much that he'll draw out each torture for me. That he gets some prurient satisfaction from it.

"You're not a suspect," he says. I hold my breath until the relief comes, but it's transitory. He could be lying to me again. My head falls onto his chest anyway and I breathe in warm air from here, willing myself to accept it as truth. He kisses the top of my head and I think that no one could be that cruel to give lies and take truth from someone like this. No one could treat someone they're supposed to love like a yo-yo. Then he speaks into my hair. I try to pull myself away from what he says, but he holds me there, forcing me to listen, and it's like he knows every thought in my head.

"You know, if you killed me then you'd have to get rid of my body. There'd be evidence from you all over me like a road map to your door. You'd have to cut me up in the bath all by yourself. It's the only way you'd even have a chance of -"

"Stop it, you crazy fuck," I shout, managing to push myself away from him, and his eyes widen with pleasure and shock.

"I thought you liked that kind of thing," he says, biting his lip as he presses his face against the pillow, which he holds almost like a lover. "I can smell you here." You bastard, you bastard.

I turn back to the mirror and rush at stuffing my shirt into my trousers and putting on my belt. I don't want anything but to get out of here, even if I look a mess when I do. I just need to get out of this room. But suddenly he's standing behind me and I see only a portion of his face in our reflection.

"You've killed in your mind," he tells me. "You're a murderer in all ways but one. You might as well do it for real."

"No."

"You're so close, Light. You should let yourself go."

"Shut up."

"Maybe I am sleeping with him. In Naomi's house, but she hasn't told you because it's still none of your business as far as everyone else is concerned. Why would you care what I was doing? We're just friends, aren't we. But, between us, you don't get anything for nothing, so maybe I slept with him for you, or maybe I did because I wanted to. I don't know anymore. Maybe I didn't at all. What do you think?"

"I think that you did. Because you wanted to."

"Then you'd be wrong," he says, then sits on the edge of the bed, nonchalantly drinking water while he watches me. "He asked me to move to New York with him."

"So, are you going?"

"You know that I'm not going."

"You're very good at getting on planes with no notice, L."

"And you're very good at getting your wife knocked up, but I..." He stops himself, which is just as well. I relax back to easy dressing and put on my shoes.

"Anything else?" I ask.

"No, just that the investigation is closed. Deep vein thrombosis aggravated heart attack was found to be the cause of death."

"So all that for nothing."

"You have a real talent in how ungrateful you are, or how you don't ever feel relief when you should. They still think that it was someone in the government but they can't prove it, and word from above has said that any further investigation isn't worth potentially damaging relations with you. G8 and everything."

"Couldn't they have worked that out sooner?"

"They believe that a senator was assassinated by your government, Light."

"Well, I didn't. No one in my government did. But they think that and they'll just let it go anyway?"

"For the greater good, yes."

"For financial reasons. They think I've committed murder but they'll let it go because it might affect trade? You know, Stephen could have just asked me instead of spying on me for months via you."

"Actually, it was Mikami they suspected, but on your orders. Apparently I was just a coincidence. When the Bureau found out, they asked Stephen to work on the case from my house, to bring him closer to the suspects. And I knew it. I knew it. I gave you to him because you deserve every punishment that can be handed out."

"Thanks."

"And so he is more interesting than you thought. Do you see why I liked him now? And then there's America. America's on the table for me. He thinks a new start would be good for both of us. He's probably right."

"Maybe you should go."

"Maybe I should."

"For the opportunity."

"Hmmm. But I've invested so much time into you, and now you're falling. That wouldn't be the actions of a loving creator, would it? To abandon you. But I don't know, New York might be a nice change. Maybe we should both move on like we were before you -"

"Shut up, L. I'm telling you!"

"I'm thinking about it, and in the meantime he's fucking my brains out until I don't need to think any more. Unique way of convincing someone, isn't it?" he says, then sprints to the door to stop me leaving. I'd leave without my briefcase and jacket now; I don't give a shit, I need to leave. "No, no, no, I booked you for two hours and I will get my two hours. Cancel."

"No."

"I'll call Stephen then. Shame to let this room go to waste. I could go again. Same thing, different face, eh?" His expression changes immediately to one I've seen countless times. His head hits the back of the door softly as he purrs and hums with closed eyes. "Mmmm... Stephen."

"You fucking -"

"And then I'll call Kiyomi. I might call her now, actually. Let her know what her husband's been up to for... oh, five years nearly."

And he's not joking. He walks to the bed, picks up his phone, scans, and dials.

"Give me that!" I demand, reaching towards the phone, but he steps out of my way easily with it pressed to his ear.

"It's ringing. Oooh, the tension."

"L, put the phone down."

"Cancel."

"No."

"Oh well," he says, shrugging his shoulders.

"You can't do this every time you don't get what you want!"

"Can't I?" he asks. "Oh, hello. I'm Mr Lawliet, I'd like to speak to Mrs Yagami, if she's available. Yeah, thanks, I'll hold," he says to whoever's on the line. My mouth has fallen open. "I'm on hold," he tells me cheerfully, putting his hand over the phone. "You know what wicked whispers I heard the other day? There was me trying to get information out of Stephen for you, for you! And I fucking hate it, Light, because of all people, he shouldn't be treated like that, but I was doing it anyway. And Kiyomi came around to talk to Naomi about how you're getting on so much better since Kira was born. How she thought that you were having an affair but you're not anymore."

"I never said that I was or I wasn't!"

"But you've done something to make her think that you aren't when you should be doing the exact fucking opposite! I saw you today -" he spits at me, his face curling into a the very picture of anger and betrayal. But it's not true! I haven't done anything to encourage Kiyomi.

"I haven't -"

Again, with alarming speed, his entire demeanour changes to that of a pleasant man I've never met and speaks into the phone. "Yes, sorry, I'm still here. No, I don't mind waiting."

While he's distracted, I lunge for the phone and grab it, end the call, and throw it to the other side of the room. Instead of retrieving the phone, L rushes at me, taking me by the waist and running me backwards into a wall. I push him away and punch him as hard as I can, but it barely seems to register on him, so I punch him again, waiting and hoping for some reaction, but he simply rubs his jawbone and laughs at me.

"Light, you're so predictable. You need some new moves. Stephen's got some, you should ask him." My madness is overwhelming then. I just want some admission, a sorry, the truth, but I get nothing but scorn, lies and threats. I push him until he hits the edge of the bed and falls onto it and twists with me on top of him like a rabid thing. I've split his lip, and that shocks me to a certain stillness which he follows up on. I think that we could probably fuck again now and it'd all be forgotten, maybe. Written off as a bit of necessary intensity. I'll tell him that I love him and then I'll be late, but tonight I'll still be walking down a carpet which matches Kiyomi's dress. "I think this is hurting you more than it is me," he tells me. His chest moves up and down with a stressed regularity and tempo. I want it to stop.

"You think so?"

"I know so."

"Go to fucking America!"

"I might just do that. Be careful what you wish for. You wouldn't have a clue what to do if I left. You'd be a stranger to yourself again."

"I was fine!"

"Yeah, ok, you were fine, whatever you say. Just some asexual twat who thought of nothing but clothes and money and making a name for himself, because you're selfish, Light. You try to excuse it with all these great ideals, but it's all for yourself. You want people to see what you are, but you know what? If they saw the real picture, they wouldn't like what they saw. Sex was just a currency for you depending on the exchange rate and greater men than you have died without anyone remembering their names. You would have been just like them if it wasn't for me."

"Shut up, L! You don't know what you're talking about."

"Are you going to do something or what?" Yes, gouge your eyes out for how they're looking at me. I see something dark manifest through the wall out of the corner of my eye, but I'm used to it now. I see things. Maybe everyone does but they don't talk about it, they just accept it, like I should. And when I see that darkness, it's always a sign to tell me that I'm making the right decision. I see that now. "No?" L asks me. "You're such a disappointment sometimes. All the fucking time."

A second passes, and now my hands are around his throat. I scramble on top of him and sit on his thighs, pinching my knees tight either side of his hips to hold him still. My hands squeeze around his throat until I can feel through the thin skin down to the fragile cartilage, and I see how simple this is, how it's always been this simple. All these opportunities I've had, and I've held myself back for sentiments which might not even be there and for laws that don't apply to me. This man is the definition of emptiness. I convinced myself that I love him, but at most I just admired him, and like every hero he was bound to fail in my eyes. My torque-like hands tighten and his neck strains and swells, and I close my eyes. He grapples with me desperately, but in his panic he can't get a grip or do anything apart from hit and slap and hold on. His legs try to kick but can't, a balled up fist hits my head, glances off, and I hardly feel it. I hear him rasp out my name twice, creaking with agony and the nearness of death - it leaks from him unwillingly as I force it from him - and I knew that he'd die perfectly. My hands are the strongest of hands and I wish someone had chopped them off when I was born. And in this moment there is nothing beautiful in the world.

I push him down into the mattress but he still struggles, so I pull the corner of the pillow from under his head and he gasps at the sudden rush of air until it's cut off from him again. I put all my weight on the pillow and his face beneath all that whiteness. He's not even a person anymore. I have made a decision and I control fate.

I was only distracted for a second. I just took my eyes off the road for a second.

A/N Grim, innit? Desde-bloody-mona. I'm really sorry. I'll try to update again soon so you're not left hanging. Reviews are always the bee's knees, even (especially) if they're a capslock keyboard smash of anger or something. Thank you if you've left a review and I haven't or can't reply. They're my crack, whatever they contain, and even though I'm crap at writing them myself, please send me one if you can, because I feel like if I haven't lost you already then I'm going to lose you now. P.S. Sorry that this chapter is so very long. "Light... my son," is for tumblr people, but especially PickettFence here on ffn, and you should really read her fics because she's amazing and her writing is beautiful. I'm so bad at reviewing I'M SO SORRY LOOK AT THAT!