Yo.
Dedicated in entirety to Sociially-Diisoriiented, and beta credit to Skylara. Also, thank you to my acquaintance Nica, who had agreed to correct and upload these sonofabitches for me (mostly because she somehow decided to get in and steal all of my passwords to prove a point). *laughs* Sorry about this shitty chapter in any case, and have fun.
Ja ne!
UK.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Knowing
8 November 2004
Harry watched him work.
Harry didn't understand a goddamn thing that he was doing, but whatever it was, it seemed to be rather tedious. It was repetitive, and it didn't look like Ryuzaki was getting anywhere, entering in seemingly random number and letter combinations on various screens.
Ryuzaki's expression was different from the blank almost-enthusiasm in the Jaguar, but his concentration on the computer screen that was all alone in the middle of the white room was just as intense. It was freezing in here, as the walls were all made out of plated steel that coated the room in a chequered pattern, and the floor was also made out of steel, but in an elongated pattern almost like a hardwood floor. Harry wondered briefly why it was so sterile and institution-like in this area, with nothing but a computer and its motherboard in the centre of the room. Couldn't they have put the computer on a desk, put a rug on the floor, made it a little homier or warm in here?
Harry shivered.
Ryuzaki was on the floor, his right leg up to his chest and the other at an awkward angle. He was typing steadily on the computer, his long and bony fingers looking more like an extension of the Macintosh than a body part, and his slightly damp hair was falling into his unblinking eyes. Immediately after the two of them had let Watari's ashes go, he had disappeared into a private suite and locked himself into the loo. Harry had wandered around aimlessly as he listened to the shower run, wondering and worrying about Ryuzaki for the hour he had been in there.
As soon as Ryuzaki had come out of the bathroom, in fresh clothing that looked identical to his usual preference, he had immediately gone to a wooden door and entered in a code, opening the door to the cold room.
Harry clutched the cloak to his form and began looking around from his own spot on the floor. Satisfied that there were no cameras except the disabled one on Ryuzaki's Mac, he pulled out his wand and said an incantation out loud, pleased when a warm wind began blowing out of his wand. He directed most of the current in Ryuzaki's direction, in an attempt to dry his hair so he wouldn't get ill. When he was content with the temperature in the room, he stood up, needing to stretch his legs.
Ryuzaki seemed to not even notice what was going on around him, as he was concentrating as if the slightest misstep would cause the apocalypse (for all Harry knew, this was the truth). Harry sighed, and then jumped when the detective said in a dull monotone, "This will take a few more hours. Feel free to explore the compound to your liking, and I will find you when I am finished. Please do not show your wand to others, although I doubt you will run into anyone. If you do, please inform them that you are Watari-H, and if it is two young boys, one with blond hair and the other with red, please tell them both that their chocolate and computer privileges respectively are suspended for a month."
Ryuzaki was speaking strangely. Harry watched the back of his body, his brain trying to work out what was going on. Usually, regardless of the situation, Ryuzaki was so dialect-neutral that it was hard to place an authenticity on him, although anyone with any accent experience could place the odd mixture of Russian, Japanese, and English occasionally in his speech. However, during that paragraph spoken in a monotonous tone, he had sounded...different. Ryuzaki had had a definitive accent, however diluted.
Russian.
Which meant that Ryuzaki made a conscious effort every single day to wipe any trace of nationality from his words even if sometimes he slipped, and he had somehow forgotten to hide it in his technology-based solitude (because Harry somehow knew that Ryuzaki was speaking on auto-pilot, and that to Ryuzaki, Harry Potter just didn't exist at that moment).
"Okay," Harry managed to choke out, his brain working fast and yet slow at the same time. From what Harry had concluded from Ryuzaki's reluctant and heavily guarded stories from his past, he had been born in Japan and had spent nearly five years there, learning English there. And hadn't he only been in Russia for, like, three years? It didn't make sense that Ryuzaki would...wouldn't he be more inclined to speak with a Japanese accent?
Harry left the room. He felt a stab of irritation in his chest, because Ryuzaki knew everything about Harry and yet Harry knew nothing about Ryuzaki. Harry wanted to know everything about the man that had stolen his heart, and it was distressing to be reminded of how much Harry didn't know. Yes, Harry knew some things, and he knew that it wasn't easy for Ryuzaki to look back when he was so used to looking solely into the present and future, but still.
As Harry walked towards the door leading to the exit, very much curious about the place he was currently in, he made sure his wand was stashed in his arm holster and grabbed a piece of pie while he was at it. After all, someone somewhere had put a full buffet table full of various sweets in the kitchenette, and Harry figured he could carry a piece around with him. He hadn't eaten in ages, with everything that had happened in the past day, and pie was about as good as it was going to get unless he ran into a cook.
This time, he paid close attention to where he was going, taking in all of his surroundings. It really was fantastic, completely lavish with style and elegance. It wasn't at all like Hogwarts, with all of its stone and tapestries and grandeur, and instead it was like an upscale Victorian set-up but very minor and classy about it. Harry blinked to himself, not knowing how to explain it even to himself, so he just continued to wander, memorising the layout to the best of his (shitty) ability.
He found two kitchens, which seemed really pointless to Harry although he understood what it was about. He bypassed the first kitchen, which was more for decorating food and getting buffets ready for eating, and went straight to the refrigerator, putting his half-eaten piece of pie on the centre island. It was one of those massive fridges that the Americans bought instead of the normal, English ones, probably because of all the children and teen-agers that lived here. However, when he opened it up, he gave a half-hearted smile when he took in all of the eating possibilities.
Jackpot, Harry thought, and then laughed out loud to himself.
He began raiding the place, and he ended up making a massive ham and turkey sandwich that would've made Ryuzaki blanch, complete with lettuce and tomato and bacon and pickles and three types of cheese and dear Merlin it looked delicious. As he fried the bacon and bustled around for tea and crisps, eating bits of scraps as he worked, he contemplated what he was going to do once Ryuzaki was done doing...whatever in the hell he was doing.
He was going to test the thirteen-day rule immediately, because it couldn't have been mere coincidence that Rem had decided to act right after Ryuzaki had proclaimed that he was going to do it himself. There was something fishy about that, and if the others in the investigation team weren't such idiots (with the utmost respect for some of them, Matsuda not included) they would've noticed the connection.
And Raito...that kid was a goddamned genius, so it made absolutely no sense that he wasn't agreeing with Harry on this one unless he had something to hide. It was so obvious that the thirteen-day rule had caused Rem to take action, and honestly it was obvious that Raito was hiding something by saying that it was pointless. By having a criminal scheduled to die via the death penalty, the risk was minimal, and besides, going on blind faith that something was correct was foolish. They had to test the Death Note in every way humanly possible, because only then they would have the answers they were looking for. The entire case heeded upon that fact.
The thirteen-day rule had to be tested, since Rem had acted because of it.
Harry put the bacon on the sandwich and finished it with the top piece of bread, taking the plate his odd breakfast was on to the island. He sat in one of the three barstools and immediately dug in, letting out a moan when the delicious array of tastes hit his tongue. He forced himself not to scarf it down like a ravenous beast, but it had been more than a day since he had eaten last, and it was hard not to.
He was a little over halfway done when he heard footsteps coming into the kitchen behind him. Despite wanting to turn around hastily and demand a name, which was his first impulse, he made sure to stay calm, eating just as slowly as before without looking back. He picked up a crisp absently, popping it into his mouth and chewing, but his appetite had waned quite a bit.
For a long moment, not a word was spoken, but then Harry said lightly, "It seems like so long ago now, but a few years back, I knew this man. He was...around the same age as Mr. Wammy was, and they had some similarities. I mean, they were quite different at the same time, but he was uncommonly kind and stern in regards to his charges just like Mr. Wammy, and the man I knew was a good man. He was the best man I'd ever known." Harry laughed softly and continued, "He was a manipulative sonofabitch, and he spent most of his time keeping the truth from me, and he was a master of his art in bad ways as well as good, but he was an uncommonly good man. He was the father I never had, the grandfather I always wanted, the oddball friend that I constantly needed, the teacher that made sure I was in line and on task. He kept me from losing it, and he made me hate him so badly that I wanted to just scream endlessly. He was my rock, my shelter, and gave me a home where I felt as if I belonged. I loved him as much as I hated him sometimes, but he was everything. He gave me something to live for, and even though his actions caused so much damage in the end, he really did give me an existence."
He laid his temple on his knuckles and then said with a bittersweet air, "When he died, I thought my entire life had fallen with him. It took a long time for me to get over that, and without the help of my friends and the family that had all but adopted me, I probably would've spiralled out of control." He took a drink of the now-lukewarm tea, breathed in the sharp fumes, and then said, "I'm not going to let L fall. I will never be what Mr. Wammy was to him, and I'm not even sure what that was. But I will be there for him whether he wants me to be there or not. L is important, not just as an international detective that is considered the best across the globe, but as a person. He might be a pain in the arse sometimes, and he likes to kick people, and he spends more time being insufferable than not, but L is worth fighting for and I will fight with him until I'm either dead or severely maimed. I know we'll avenge Mr. Wammy's death, even if it's the last thing we ever do, because L won't give up and I won't give up on him."
There was a pause while the wizard finished the last bite of his sandwich, and then Harry asked, "Did any of that make any sense at all, or was it so overly sappy and sugary that it got eaten by L himself?"
Roger laughed. It was a different kind-of laugh than Watari's had been, and instead of grandfatherly and kind it was more nasally and loud, with all of his teeth showing. Harry snorted in amusement, grinning like a loon.
"Yes," Roger's British lilt finally chuckled out. "It did. This person must've been very important to you, H, and it's nice to see that you have some common ground with L. Not many people do."
Harry raised an eyebrow and scratched his head. "Well, sir, I'm not sure about that. I couldn't imagine how it is for him because I had an overwhelming support system when Professor Dumbledore died and L...well..."
"Doesn't," Roger answered simply.
Harry nodded once (because it was true, no matter how hard it was to admit that), stood up, gathered another teacup, and asked as he was returning to his seat, "Were you and Mr. Wammy close?"
Roger poured himself a cup of tea from the elaborate teapot and took a small sip, his eyes fuzzy as they stared absent-mindedly at the island. His round glasses, smaller than Harry's own and a shiny copper, slipped even further down his nose, but he didn't bother pushing them back up. Eventually, Roger said, "Not many people know this, but Quillish was married once. Her name was Eleanor, and she was my sister."
Harry sighed and closed his eyes.
"They got married when they were both twenty, and I had never seen two people so completely smitten with each other. Very much in love, they were. He was well-off because of his infamous inventions, and she revelled in the fact that he worked from their home, which happens to be the very building we are sitting in at this moment although extensions have been added. They were married for thirty-three years before she died in a car accident."
Although Harry didn't want to know, he couldn't help but ask, "Were there children?"
Roger frowned heavily, his wrinkles deepening. "Yes, there was. A boy. We don't talk about him, or at least, we didn't. He's gone too; killed in '68 when he was thirteen by a bunch of thugs in London, and Ellie couldn't have any more children, so he was all there was." Roger pulled out a billfold from one of the inside pockets of his suit jacket, and pulled out a picture that was old and tearing at the corners. "This is him. Benjamin." Roger let out another loud, nasally laugh. "A spoilt brat if I've ever seen one, and I've seen a lot of 'em in this damned orphanage. Looked just like Quillish when he was a tramp of a teen-ager, but he had Ellie's skin and all of her stubbornness."
Watari, Harry was a bit surprised to admit, was actually quite a good-looking man when he had been younger. His hair was a deep, rich brown that was styled as was customary in the sixties, all slicked back with curls. His eyes were that same greyish colour that had been lighter, but oddly similar, to Ryuzaki's own, and his golden skin was creased with mirth as he hugged two people in both his arms. He had on a spiffy suit that was fitted on his sturdy body very well, even though the tie was rather hideous.
The woman had hair the colour of honey, falling in curls around her heart-shaped face that was pink with laughter. She looked nothing like Roger except for their shared brown eyes and fair skin that looked as if it burnt easily, and was rather beautiful if Harry was being honest. She looked like she was meant to be by Watari's side, in her cute little old-fashioned blouse and skirt, her curvy form wrapped securely by Watari's strong arms.
The kid looked to be about twelve or thirteen, which meant this was taken rather close to when the boy had died. Harry blinked at the pouting boy, who seemed irritated that his parents were being so happy-go-lucky and hugging him tightly when all he probably wanted to do was go roll around in the dirt with his friends. He did look remarkably like Watari, with the same dark curly hair and grey eyes and broad shoulders. Harry wondered what the boy had been like when he had been alive, but then quickly decided that he was probably better off not knowing.
"What a beautiful family," Harry ultimately said. What else could he say?
Roger smiled and said, "Yes, they were. That boy was a brat, though. Quillish and Ellie spoilt him rotten, gave him whatever he wanted and more. I couldn't even stand it."
Harry snickered and said, "You don't like kids, do you?"
"Hate 'em," Roger affirmed, nodding rather forcefully, and Harry laughed harder.
"Why in the hell are you running this place, then? It's an orphanage full of genius children, and usually the smart ones are bigger handfuls than the average ones, which is saying a lot," Harry asked after he had calmed himself down somewhat.
Roger smiled and shrugged, finally pushing his glasses up his nose. "Do you want the whole truth and nothing but, or do you want the condensed truth that is easier on the ears?"
Harry raised an eyebrow again and took a sip of his tea, green eyes rolling up to the ceiling. After he thought about that, he said, "The whole truth and nothing but."
Roger shrugged again, laced his fingers together, and said, "Well, it was a combination of reasons. Ellie died, and not even a year later Quillish stumbled upon L in Russia. Quillish was an inventor, and like any inventor, he wanted to create a copy of L's genius, a backup; a line of L's that could continue on through the years. Quillish needed someone that had no real...future, and someone he trusted enough to keep the secret and the goal alive within an orphanage. Someone like me, with no wife or children or real drive to do anything but study and learn. And honestly, that brat L reminded Quillish so much of Benny that it was borderline unhealthy. I understand where he was coming from, because while Benny was as dumb as a box of rocks compared to L, they still have similar perspectives about how life should be handled, how humanity should be dealt with, how justice is the most important thing that could be achieved. It was unhealthy, like I said, but this was Quillish's fortune, his life, and Quillish needed something to live for. L had incredible talent, has incredible talent, and not only did Quillish feel a kinship towards the kid because of his dead son, but he was an inventor."
Roger turned his head to glance at Harry, who was speechless as he absorbed the old man's words. Roger said in a tone of finality, "Quillish adopted that kid because he was like Benny. He created these orphanages because he wanted to mass-produce Benny. However...that changed. He continued adding children to the House because he wanted to mass-produce L, because L's existence had saved countless lives, put criminals into prison, and because that Russian brat had brought the thugs that had killed Benny to justice. Quillish originally brought that kid to be the replacement. People think the heirs are the copies of L, but in reality, L was the first copy and in a way always has been. It's not a pleasant thought, and it makes Quillish sound horrible, but that's the truth and nothing but."
Harry gaped like a fish, trying to put his chaotic thoughts into words, and Roger smiled at the clear horror in Harry's eyes. Almost absently, Roger added, "Quillish loved L, more than anything in the world, and L is his own person, completely independent. Quillish knew that. It just took him a few years to stop looking into the past so he could focus on what was right in front of him. Quillish loved L, like a son and a grandfather and all of those other things that you felt for that Dumbledore fellow, and you should know that."
Harry bit his lower lip as his eyebrows scrunched together, his entire body oddly tense. He cleared his throat and said in a slightly hoarse tone, "I know that he loved L. I could see it in his eyes. But it's hard to imagine that this place was founded for...that."
Roger drained his cup of tea and then stood up, placing a knobbly hand on Harry's shoulder. Softly, he said, "Everyone has dark moments in their pasts. I know I do, and I'm sure you do as well. Quillish Wammy was human, and he made mistakes, but what came out of it was worth it in the end. These genius orphans will grow up and be let loose to do great things for the world, and some of them will inherit L's detective codes and continue his astonishing legacy. Quillish died knowing that he had helped the world through his inventions and by unleashing the full potential of L upon the world, and because of that, he died a hero in my eyes."
Then Roger turned on his heel and left Harry at the island counter, absorbing Roger's words, wondering if Ryuzaki felt the same way or if he even knew.
He probably did, but for Harry's sake, he hoped he didn't.
Then, suddenly, Harry had a brilliant idea.
L pressed the entre key and immediately put his aching head in his palms.
For a long moment, he just sat there, letting the knee that had been pressed against his chest for hours on end fall to the ground with a light thump. He could feel his heart beating steadily against his ribs, proving that he was alive and breathing.
Now that the L programme was finally shut off and reset just in case L had to set off the timer in the future, they could return to the complex, but for the moment he was content to just sit in the middle of the steel floor, his stinging eyes closed. He wasn't sure if it was because he hadn't slept in a while even though his healing body yearned for it, or because of the episode in the hospital, or because he had spent the last four-ish hours staring into a computer screen without blinking as much as he needed to, but his eyes felt as if they were on fire regardless. His fingers felt stiff, as only they could feel after typing for a long period of time, and his back was sore from staying so still for so long.
They needed to go back, to solve this case as quickly as possible so Wammy didn't die in vain. L needed this like he needed oxygen to breathe, like he needed water in his body to survive. L needed to avenge Wammy, and he needed to do it now.
But he couldn't even get up off the floor, so he could go track down Harry on foot. He couldn't even lift his fingers to type in a command to find active movement in the House, in order to find Harry via the surveillance cameras that had been shut off because of L's arrival. He couldn't even grasp the cell phone that was lying beside the speakers, so he could call Harry and demand that they get going.
L held his breath, counting the seconds that went by.
His mind flickered between what he had done in the Kira Investigation, what he could've done differently to avoid the outcome that had happened. If he had stayed in the shadows, Wammy would still be alive. If he had kept Wammy behind the scenes while he had actively showed his face to the team, Wammy would still be alive. If he had made Wammy seem as if he was just a butler instead of Watari himself, Wammy would still be alive.
If he hadn't gotten involved in the damned case in the first place, Wammy would still be alive. He wouldn't have met Harry, but Wammy would still be alive.
L knew that he would've taken the case. Not only because there were more than ten victims and that he would get paid roughly two hundred billion dollars from various countries to complete the case, but also because of certain individuals that deserved to rot in prison dying swiftly before their time. Some people, like Kira, needed the death penalty to prove to them that they weren't gods, that they weren't immortal. However, some people deserved to be put into solitary confinement until they all but rotted into their padded cells.
L shuddered as he exhaled, half out of cold and half because he was sickened with himself for thinking such a thing (even though it was so, so, so true).
There was only one man that really, honestly deserved such a fate, and L tried to forget that man's face. For the most part, he was successful, but when L was in moods such as the one he was in at that moment, that face popped up without accord.
A face that had been frozen in a scream when death had claimed him before his time.
L heard the door open behind him, and again L shuddered against his will. He wrapped his arms around himself, around his chest, in some sort-of attempt to quell the pain there, and a second pair of arms, warm-warm-warm, joined his.
They sat there in silence, together in the steel room that held the L programme, until Harry stood up and carried him out in a way that L had never imagined himself being carried, kicking the door shut behind him. L wrapped his arms around Harry's neck, his long and stiff fingers burying themselves in Harry's silky hair, his lips pressed against the slightly rough skin of Harry's jaw. He inhaled the scent of Harry's skin, so musky and male and simply Harry, and shuddered again, not willing to let go of Harry even as the two of them lay down upon the bed.
He felt Harry's words against his cheek and he felt the tingling of the magic pouring inside of him, and the pain eased off. He almost wanted to tell Harry to stop, because Hermione had warned that his body might not be able to handle all of the magic, but he couldn't even open his mouth in fear of what might come out instead. He felt the pain in his chest lessen, still there but so much easier to handle and live with, and he knew that his recovery had already been lessened by half at least.
Hermione was going to have Harry's head for this, even if he hadn't healed it completely.
L could feel the magic in his blood, electrifying it, and he felt stronger by the minute even though he felt as if he was bursting at the seams because of it all. Wrapped in Harry's arms, he could almost feel Harry's mind working, and L said against Harry's rough neck, "Tell me."
Silence, then: "Our current plan of action, if both of our suspicions are right about Raito being Kira, then the case will be solved in about fifteen days, correct?"
"Ninety-eight per-cent correct, yes," L stated, his lips brushing against the stubble-covered skin, "Because even though I know that we're right, there is still the slightest possibility that Raito is not Kira, as reluctant as I am to admit that."
There was another pause, and then Harry said, "I'm going to cut that down into five days tops, if you'll trust me on this."
L's eyes narrowed, and he pulled back to look Harry straight in the face. "How?" he asked.
Harry smiled, very sweetly, and then began talking.
By the time they had exhausted Harry's idea into perfection, L stated very calmly, "I've created a monster out of you."
Harry laughed, and then said, "I love you for it."
As the sun rose over the horizon, they stared into each other's eyes with intent.
He felt strong as he pushed his body to straddle Harry's waist, and his heartbeat was steady and regular. He could smell sugar and pastries in the air as his fingers unbuttoned Harry's dark blue long-sleeve and ran down the expanse of Harry's perfect, scarred form. He could hear the ticking of a clock as he pressed his lips against the rough column of Harry's throat, his fingers swiftly and calmly unbuttoning his jean trousers. He could see the flush on Harry's face and taste the sweat on Harry's body and L felt pride as he touched the man's body so thoroughly that Harry's body arched and twitched desperately. L heard Harry gasp for air as if all the oxygen in the world was gone, and L was overwhelmed by the satisfaction and power he experienced at the knowledge that the strongest wizard in existence was consumed just like L had been, that Harry was at the mercy of what L wanted.
And L wanted...he wanted...
L felt the sweat on his own body chill as he stripped off his own clothes and Harry's trousers, bypassing the blue button-up and the cloak that Harry still wore. He felt Harry's desperation as he grasped his wand and said words that L could not understand but could feel in his body. He felt breathless as fingers pushed inside and turned him into a being that couldn't think or see or feel anything but the fire and the longing that rushed through his veins.
L felt in control as he finally lowered himself down, his chest burning with the exercise that it probably wasn't ready for and his back popping loudly when he threw his head back with abandon. L felt in control as he clenched his rough fingernails into Harry's chest, his knees digging into Harry's black cloak that billowed underneath them. L felt in control as Harry's hands clenched L's hips without caring if L would bruise, because Harry was consumed by L, inside L, and L felt something right then that he simply had to tell Harry, and Harry had to know.
L breathed, "Harry, I..."
Harry's emerald green eyes were blazing into L's charcoal grey ones, and in a gentle voice that contrasted completely with the raw need surrounding them, Harry whispered, "I know."
L Lawliet's entire world exploded.
Helloooooo weirdos!
*grins* This chapter in completion is dedicated to System of a Down, who decided to listen to my prayers (considering I pray to them...ladies and gentlebots, I worship System of a Down's legacy...) and get back together! *flails like a loon* Seriously, though, they're back together! It's like they really heard me and decided to save my life for the second time! Hurrah! *cheers* I swear, this very-well-composed male author shrieked like a little girl and then sobbed like a baby, and I am not lying. (pathetic, but oh-so worth it)
Hmm. This fiction is drawing to a close. This sucks...but it's okay, because SOAD IS BACK TOGETHER! *is committed* By the way, the person who gave me their e-mail address so I could e-mail them about the amazingness of cyberpunk-ness, FFdotNet in its hormonal bitchiness cut it out because it was a link. My e-mail is UchidaKarasu (at) hotmail (dot) com, so e-mail me, how about that? XD
Ja, losers!
Karasu out.
