Connections

Matt finally called L around 10:30 that night. L had been staring into the depths of his teacup where nothing but sugar and cold tea slurry swirled.

"I've got what you wanted," Matt said.

L sat up straight, grateful for the distraction. He set the cup down and slammed his laptop closed so he could not see the photos of Light's Mercedes any longer.

Roger must have sent the spoiled thing to a biohazard cleaning service once the police finished examining it, but he had not told any of them. While Matt waited for his searches to finish, he found the invoice and pictures in Roger's neglected email and sent them to L. Apparently the car was clean, waiting to be picked up and paid for.

L could not ride in that car ever again. The photos declared that it was back to normal except some gouges in the interior, but his memories kept superimposing Light's blood all over the black leather and even the windscreen. A phantom scent of rust and meat lingered in his sitting room. No wonder he still was not hungry.

"What did you find?" L asked after he slurped the cold sugar just to get the memory of blood out of his mouth.

"The name Near's flying under. He is already on his way back, but he has a layover in Frankfurt in a few hours and another in Zurich after that. I'll email you the itinerary."

L frowned. He had hoped that Near would inadvertently give them a little more time.

"And did any of Light's-?"

"Yep," Matt interrupted. "There's a Sayu Yagami on the flight too. Same itinerary."

"Just Sayu," L repeated, biting down on his thumb while he thought.

It was strange that Yagami Soichiro would not be the one to come. Why would the Yagamis send just the daughter? How would Light react to her? It was probably only a matter of time until his parents came.

He had an ever-shrinking window to work with if he wanted to honor Light's request, but he could not be careless. Light's wishes, and any goodwill that could be salvaged, were not worth compromising his health.

L would not contribute to yet another death even if Light wanted it.

"Then I have another request," L said.

Matt said nothing while L climbed off his sofa and loaded his tea tray back up. When Matt did speak, it was with a confused little laugh.

"Who are you, and what you have you done with L? Stop being considerate. It's going to make me think well of you or something."

L almost smiled. Almost. Levity was very hard-won right now.

He edged out his door and set the tray on the floor so he could lock his suite behind him. It was hard to pick it back up with one hand, but he was not about to tuck his phone against his ear. He was still achy and weak from all those days he had neglected himself.

"Then get access to Light's records at the hospital. I want his prognosis or treatment plan. Notes from the counselor. Anything you can find," L said rather than acknowledging Matt's comment aloud.

"Are you going to tell me what this is all about?" Matt asked, his friendly tone failing him now.

L weighed the tray in his hand as he walked. He asked for assistance or favors easily enough from Aiber or Wedy or even foreign police agencies, trusting that his reputation would smooth the way. He was more used to giving the Wammy House operatives orders without explanation. It was mostly his work they supported, after all.

Even Wammy had often tolerated it.

L could well imagine Light's reaction to being ordered around if he had the spirit he had so briefly possessed when they first met. It would not be pretty. To think, L had perversely wanted the challenge of making Light into what he needed, but then L lost all control once Light basically gave himself into L's possession.

"Light wants to be released before his family arrives, but Sayu getting here so soon complicates things. I need to know when he'll be stable enough to move," L said, gripping the tea tray more tightly.

L heard clicking on Matt's end for a long moment.

"Two problems. One: this is a terrible idea, especially if he has MRSA," Matt said quietly.

"I won't move him if he does," L replied.

"Good. Two: I doubt the files you want are stored anywhere but locally. You might need to get them on-site," Matt continued.

"Then I'll visit tomorrow if you can give me or Wedy something that will get access," L said.

"Wedy's here?" Matt's voice perked up.

"She's leaving within a few hours," L said.

Her family had a company jet that she could use with some wheedling given their business contacts in the UK, but she was still going to ask for considerable "travel expenses" because L wanted her there on short notice. It certainly was not because Winchester was not far from Mayfair's shopping. Aiber lived across the Channel and asked for nothing but reimbursement for travel and any gear he needed. They had very different priorities.

"Right! Hope she remembers peanut butter M&M's and Oreos," Matt said.

L was looking forward to Ghirardelli squares himself, not that he would tell Matt or Wedy that.

"I'll have more tasks later once I know Light's status," L said instead.

"You're lucky I'll stay up late. Bye," Matt said in a rush before hanging up.

L shoved the phone back in his pocket to free up that hand. He had been ignoring it during their conversation, but his back did more than ache. Even carrying the meager weight of his tray made little stabs like needles travel up his spine.

Once he got to the kitchen, he would find the pressure points to relieve the pain. After a few more days of sleep, meals, and moving around, he would be fine. Shiatsu had always worked in the past.

There were more important tasks that he needed to focus on right now. He might have to contact the facility where he had recuperated after the accident with Mello. His back pain itself had given him this idea, although he was not going for his own sake.

This whole project was not an area where L excelled. He delighted more in figuring out how things had already happened, not spinning lengthy scenarios out of whole cloth and choosing the best agents to make the lies reality. That was where Mr. Wammy had aided him.

If only L had tried to do all this sooner, he might have had Light's help instead. L needed to visit him tomorrow. Hopefully he had not been barred from coming back.

It was both easier and harder to talk to Dr. Martin now.

Light's primary psychologist had come yesterday afternoon as soon as he was able, for Light had seldom been forthcoming or even cooperative during his sessions. Dr. Martin must have sensed that something had changed and altered his schedule to meet with Light. In an effort to prove that he was of sound mind, Light answered his questions rather than glaring into a corner or deflecting the inquiry.

It was easier to talk to him because Light had a reason to do so now, but his medication made him want to talk too much. That made it harder because he had to be careful what he said. It mortified him to think of what he had so casually told Matt the first time he visited.

In some ways, Light's dialogue with Dr. Martin was like his first real talk with L in Aoyama. Back then, Light had been so drunk he could barely walk or think straight, but he had been as chatty then as he let himself be now.

This definitely ran counter to his training. Counterintelligence training like L had demonstrated demanded that Light obfuscate the truth with a mix of partial truths, outright lies, and misdirection. Light knew how to do it even around the lowered inhibitions that the medication inflicted on him, but the truth was useful once he saw how he could manipulate it.

He just had to convince Dr. Martin that his suicide attempt was an isolated, unplanned incident and that he had no desire to actually die.

So Light admitted that he had decided to kill himself after a violent argument with his supervisor because Light had feared losing his job. He also said that he had not made any suicide attempts before. He had been drinking when he did not normally drink at all. He had seized on the tools at hand rather than planning meticulously. He had grown increasingly desperate because he did not want to survive what he was doing to himself.

Most of all, he emphasized that he had done it because he did not know what else to do. Light did not know how to make the depression and hopelessness go away. He did not want to die, but he did not know how else to escape.

It had been mortifying to say all that, but it was necessary if he wanted to get out of the hospital.

Dr. Martin had been very pleased yesterday with his cooperation, but that morning brought more difficult questions that Light was less prepared for.

Rather than asking about Light himself, Dr. Martin asked about Light's visitors. Because it was probably another point in his favor that he had visitors at all and had not barred them from visiting, Light lied and said they were his friends from work. He did not consider them friends after Near's foolishness and the utter awkwardness of L, but Matt might be an acquaintance.

He felt guilty though when he glanced down at the MP3 player lying in his hand. Was that really the behavior of an acquaintance?

For that matter, was L's job offer truly nothing more?

"And the one who was here yesterday? Is he a coworker too?" Dr. Martin asked, making him look back up from his musings.

"The one you made leave? No, he's my supervisor," Light said flatly. "We didn't argue this time. He only brought bad news."

"What was the news?" Dr. Martin asked, unrepentant about asking for private details while his pen scratched away taking notes.

Light cast about for an answer. If he said that his family might be coming and he wanted them not to see him like this, then Dr. Martin would ask why he was ashamed or why he feared disappointing them. He would ask if Light still thought suicide was his best course of action. Light did not want to discuss that because he was unsure how he felt even now despite his words.

If Light said instead that one of his coworkers had gone behind his back to sabotage his job, then the conversation might revolve around Light's hopelessness about his job prospects and his pessimism about the future. The best lies had an element of truth, so Light could spin Near's betrayal into that kind of story if he wanted.

Which one would make him sound the most clear-headed? Which argument would go further toward regaining his freedom? Or would it be better if he did not answer the question directly at all?

Thinking about L yesterday only brought one thing to mind.

"His father died," Light said softly.

He did not mean to call Wammy that until it came out, but L did behave like an entitled child around him. In return, Wammy had treated L with a depthless forbearance that made Light think of his own father. His father never turned away from Light no matter how much Light tried to pull away from him. Light took his father's patience for granted just as L had taken Wammy's presence for granted.

The L that Light had seen yesterday was still in his funeral clothes days after the fact, and the bloodshot eyes that looked so strange were probably evidence of tears.

L had been crying.

Light could hardly imagine it. He had given L so little credit for humanity or anything resembling empathy or emotions, yet L had apologized to Light and then made a herculean effort to treat him better yesterday. He had not needed to tell Light about Near. He had not needed to acknowledge Light's plea for help.

If Wammy's unexpected death had so altered L's behavior, what kind of hell would Light put his father through by killing himself?

"Lucian?" Dr. Martin asked.

Light looked up, unsure what the man had said in the last minute or more. Something about the doctor's eyes looked satisfied, like Light had done something right. He might even be smiling behind his mask.

For the life of him, Light could not figure out what pleased him just then.

"I asked if you knew him," Dr. Martin said evenly.

Light nodded. "You could have called him my boss, but he was also my friend."

Dr. Martin's satisfied expression shifted into a scowl and he glanced at his papers where Light's employer was probably listed.

"You don't mean Quillsh Wammy, do you?" At Light's confirmation, he continued, "I'm sorry you had to hear it like that. I saw the article last week, but I didn't make the connection with you."

"It was the same day…" Light trailed off and just lifted his arms a little. He had not meant to say all this, but his words were like a spigot he could not shut off. "I don't know if I had anything to do with it."

That was another thing he had not considered until today. He had strayed far from whatever Dr. Martin had originally asked him, but this conversation was revealing far too much. The medication made his emotions weirdly dull until Dr. Martin poked at him, and then they swirled out of control.

"I want to take a walk," Light said, glancing over into the corner of the room. "I need to get out of this bed. I'm trapped here."

"That's going to be difficult with your injuries, but I can get a nurse to walk you down the hall if they keep it clear."

Light must have made an affirmative noise, for the man continued, "Thank you for talking to me, Lucian. If you can't reach me, you can ask for the on-call psychologist too."

"I know," Light said.

He could not look back at the man until he left, but he did not care what impression he gave Dr. Martin right now.

True to his word, two nurses swathed in protective equipment came in and painstakingly helped him climb out of the bed so he could go walking. He needed a robe over his shoulders just so his teeth did not chatter from the cold. It was hard to be aware of his fever when he was kept under blankets all the time, but he was freezing without them. His arms prickled when he tried to let them hang at his sides without touching them. They felt unnaturally heavy, and he tried to ignore the sense of wrongness coming from his left arm. Once he demonstrated he could still walk on his own, for they could not risk contaminating his wounds by aiding him, they let him leave.

In thin slippers, he shuffled with pathetic baby steps down the empty hall toward a stairwell while one nurse pushed his IV pole. He did not care if anyone else saw him in this deplorable state. He needed to move and get out of that prison even if only for a few minutes.

He stared longingly out the window in the stairwell door because it was the nearest thing to a window to the outside, to the sight of anything outside this dreary limbo.

They only let him walk around for a few minutes before they ushered him back into his little room. By then Light's legs ached, but he had something else to look forward to.

Visiting hours started in only an hour. Perhaps L might still return.

Light could not believe he was actually longing to see the other man. He closed his eyes and started his audiobook back up in the hopes that time would pass more quickly.

Near answered his mobile when it rang almost as soon as he turned it on. When he saw the caller, he answered in Greek, near-certain that Sayu had no knowledge of the language.

"Are you in Zurich?" L asked without preamble, switching to the same language.

"Yes. I am sorry I did not think to call before I returned," Near confirmed, apologizing almost out of habit. Of course L would know where he was.

Beside him, Sayu yawned, practically weaving on her feet. He felt no better, but he tried not to show it. His nose and lungs ached from all the dry air on the plane, and he had a headache after so many snatches of sleep between drink services and turbulence and everything else that had woken him up. The layover in Frankfurt had been so long and boring during the early hours of the morning when little was open that he was hard-pressed to be polite.

"What are your plans after this?" L asked.

"I have no plans," Near replied. "This was not my intent. Without knowing the situation there, I can plan nothing except to take Lucian's sister to see him. I told her that I would."

He was careful not to say her name and tip her off to who they were discussing. She looked content to see what amenities were available around their arrival gate, so he refocused on his conversation.

"Lucian has asked for help being released, so he may not be in the hospital when you get here," L said. "Why is only she there?"

"Because her parents will likely follow next week. I could not speak to all of them before I left. Her mother was insistent."

"Where is she going to stay?" L asked.

Near's mouth went dry. He reached to twirl a piece of his hair rather than searching for the robot toy that was still safe in its pocket. He only meant to glance at Sayu out of an absurd need to see that she was still there, but she was watching him.

She smiled, oblivious, and extended a finger to point across the concourse.

"I'm going to get something to drink. Want to come?" she whispered, obviously trying not to interrupt his phone call.

Near nodded and picked up his bag. The concourse was bright from all the windows, and he had no idea what she was pointing at until he could dig out his sunglasses.

"I do not know. I… had not given that any thought," he managed once they started walking and his jaw unlocked. "I do not think she would like a hotel because she says her English is poor."

"I'll get Roger to find her an empty room and tell the children," L said on a strange note.

Near was unsure what was off about L. He was even more surprised that L was speaking to him after the volatile nature of their last conversation.

"Are you sure?" Near asked.

"It will be a school soon enough," L said dully. "If Lucian is supposedly here to teach, we can pretend that it is true."

Near waited before he said the next part. It was for L's peace of mind.

"I told them as little as I could," he said. "It was not my intent to compromise anyone out of spite."

Now it was L's turn to be quiet for several moments before he said, "I may need your help with Lucian when you get back."

"Of course. Just let me know what you need," Near said.

He closed the phone against his chest but slowed to a halt with it under his chin. He could not see anymore to know where he was going.