Forfeit
A/N – I had originally drafted parts of the second scene below during Light's talk with his psychologist… but wouldn't you rather hear Light talk to L instead?
They haven't been in the same room for almost a year of real-time!
Matt startled awake when the exterior door to his workspace opened, letting a whole lot of unwelcome daylight into his office as well. He scrubbed his face with his sleeve, hoping he had not been drooling onto his shoulder since the last time L had bothered him into waking.
He had been up most of the night doing random tasks for L and had not felt like trying to find his bed. L would just call and wake him up if he was not in his office. It was not the first time he had fallen asleep in his computer chair, after all.
Voices followed that invasion of sunlight.
"He said a thumb drive would be easy enough to hide for a few minutes," came L's voice followed by the unmistakable click of high heels on tile.
"What if it's only in hard copy?" a woman replied.
Matt rocketed out of his chair, stubbed a boot against his desk, and caught himself terribly noisily against the doorframe. He jerked his goggles down over his eyes and shoved his trapped hair out of the way.
Around the corner, L raised a barely-visible eyebrow at his antics. Matt got his legs untangled and made it out of his office, so he could see his visitors.
Wedy was taller than L right now in her gray heels with the wickedly sharp points. How she had made it across the yard without sinking into the grass or catching them on the flagstones was a mystery. Even though it had to be morning, she wore a darker gray suit jacket and skirt with a filmy scarf tucked in around her collar. That was way too dressed up for this early. She pulled off sunglasses that glittered with diamonds, if Matt was any judge of Wedy's tastes, and she smiled.
"Matt?" Wedy asked, her voice suffused with mirth. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine, just exhausted cuz he kept me up all night," Matt said, inclining his head toward L. He crossed his arms and slouched against the wall.
Wedy made an unladylike snigger and Matt realized his error.
"You know what I mean," he said, his face going hot with embarrassment. Fortunately it was still dim in the entryway as the outer door swung shut.
"Oh, I do," Wedy said with a little laugh. "I fly all night and only have time to drop my things off, but he says we've got to start work now!"
L glanced at the watch on his wrist and scrubbed at his already-messy hair.
"I need to get started in the next two hours. We don't have a lot of time to coordinate," he grumbled.
"I left as soon as I could. You just want me to lift some records, right?" Wedy asked, looking a bit disdainful at her expertise going to waste.
"You need scrubs or something that won't stand out so much first," L dodged her question in a deadpan, glancing up and down her outfit as if Wedy was a department store mannequin.
Wedy rolled her eyes.
"Breakfast, then scrubs. I only had a few hours to sleep on the plane," she said, spinning on one heel and opening the door.
"I'll come with you. I don't remember when I last ate," Matt said.
He pushed off the wall, so he could follow her but immediately regretted it when the sunlight outside struck like a blow. Wedy did not help. From her sunglasses to her rings to the earrings, she glittered in the rare sunlight. Matt could hardly look at her when his eyes were still used to the dark in his office. He could definitely follow the scent of her perfume though.
"I can fix that. I brought Oreos with my driver, and I have more snacks at the hotel," Wedy said over her shoulder as she pushed her sunglasses back through her loose blond hair.
"Yes! Peanut butter? Candy Cane? Red Velvet?" Matt asked, hurrying to catch up with her.
"Pumpkin spice! I saved them from fall. They never expire… Matt?" She glanced back, but Matt had staggered to a halt.
"Pumpkins are vegetables, Wedy."
"I'm joking," she said. "I have a couple—"
"You can come inside," L said from some distance back where he was lagging behind them.
Wedy stopped and gave L a disbelieving look, all amusement snuffed out.
"You don't have to do that. I hear they serve an excellent breakfast at my hotel," she said. "My treat if you want to join us."
Even Matt was surprised. L had not let any of his outside agents come to Wammy House in the past. If he needed to see them face to face, he met them at a hotel in town or several hours away to hide their location. Matt had been tasked a few times with making sure none of those outside agents made an attempt to follow or track L after the meetings. It was strange enough to see Wedy here in person, and now L was inviting her inside?
"It's all right," L said although he made no effort to pretend that it was. "Get tea or food from inside to save time, then we can do further planning from Matt's workspace if that's convenient," he finished with a glance at Matt.
Was L asking permission to use his space with other people in it? Last night must not have been a fluke. L was just weirdly solicitous right now.
"If Wedy's okay with it, sure," Matt said. "All we need is in there."
Wedy sighed, but it was a lot more subdued than her behavior earlier.
"I trust you have the layout of this facility already? I also need the names of department heads, shift schedules, and…" Wedy started, ticking things off with her red painted nails.
"I've already got most of that," Matt interrupted. "That's what we worked on all night."
"Good. This shouldn't be difficult," she said.
"This is only the first part," L said now that he had caught up with them. "I can't finalize the second until I see those records."
"I'd better have time for a nap while you decide," Wedy said on a yawn. "Let me tell my driver to go, so he doesn't sit outside gathering attention."
"Don't forget the cookies," Matt whispered, and Wedy gave him a wink as she sauntered off on those impossible heels.
Once she exited the main gate, Matt glanced sidelong at L, who gave every impression of being bored with the proceedings despite the tension in his shoulders.
"So what else is she stealing?" Matt asked.
"Nothing yet. It isn't all up to me," L replied, but the answer was useless to Matt.
He turned and went inside the house before Matt could ask any more.
Lunchtime came with no visitors, but Light was too distracted to care for several minutes after the hospital staff left. They took away most of the equipment that had surrounded his bed.
They also left his right arm exposed after it was hidden from him for so long. The blotches were fading now that he could move a few fingers without making himself nauseated. Only a comparatively thin band of gauze covered the sutures that remained, so aside from the tape around the catheter leading to his antibiotics, he could see everything.
He was healed… in a manner of speaking.
Still-red scarring began inches below his elbow where he had trapped it between the paring knife and his steering wheel. The scar disappeared soon under the gauze; the knife had gone deep here, and the bump of sutures marked where he had damaged one yesterday during L's visit. On the other side of the gauze, the red path resurfaced between the bones in his forearm and traced an arc toward his thumb, ending in a messy slash where the blade had buried itself in the mound under his thumb. With the blade between his knees, he had not had much control over where it went.
He folded his arm up slowly, wary of pinching the catheter for too long, and brushed the side of his throat. His fingers lacked much of their former sensitivity, but they found no more bandages or stitches, broken or otherwise. A smooth line of skin betrayed the presence of another scar.
Now that the bandages no longer hid them, his scars would tell everyone why he was here. They would be there forever to bear witness to what he had done.
Only a few days ago, finding a gun had been his first priority once he had his hands back. Then he could finish what he had started, and the scars would not matter.
There were guns at Wammy House.
Light lowered his arm and touched his MP3 player to resume the book he had been listening to before his sutures were taken out. Ivanhoe was a lot more comprehensible when he was not fighting exhaustion and his own rusty English. He had no idea how Matt had remembered him trying to read this so many weeks ago.
The cup containing his usual liquefied lunch sat on the tray beside his bed, but he had asked the nurse to leave it. He did not want any help feeding himself right now. He might even ask for real food again if he could hold a utensil.
Light tilted his head to get the hair out of his eyes while he reached for his meal. Now that he had gotten someone to clean his hair properly after his little walk, it was long enough to tickle where it brushed his cheeks. He let his fingertips rest against the cup and pulled it closer with friction alone because there was no condensation to make it slippery. When he tried to close his hand around it and lift it, his thumb had no strength. His fingers could not stay curled enough to grip it either. He reached past it instead and used his wrist to edge it closer.
Success! Now it was on the edge of the tray table, but it was not close enough for him to lean over and drink it without disturbing his left arm. He tried dragging the tray table closer, but its wheels stuck just enough to thwart him.
He could barely push the call button for the nurse, but he was cross enough now to punish himself for his hubris.
After his appointment with Dr. Martin, a nurse checked on him periodically rather than staying by his door. With his suicide watch ended, no one saw his feeble attempts to feed himself and tried to help him.
Success on two fronts. Now if only he could actually eat his meal.
As if summoned by his thoughts, a nurse appeared in his doorway when he looked up. He sat up straight, suddenly enervated, and forgot all about his food. He paused his book so he could hear her.
"Mr. Nakimura?" she started. "You have a visitor, but he's not allowed to come—"
"Please send him back," Light interrupted.
"Err, it's Ryu from yesterday. You can have him barred from visits—" she tried again. L must have given the half-name that Light had called him yesterday.
"Yesterday was a misunderstanding," Light said. "I want to talk to him."
After she left, Light glanced around quickly. Dr. Martin was not the only person to whom he had to prove himself. Would anything he did make a better impression on L?
In the end, he only had time to comb his hair out of his eyes before the nurse led a familiar figure with scarecrow hair to the door.
It was L.
The relief that rushed through him at the sight of L made Light clamp his lips shut in case some inkling of his medicated thoughts made their way out of his mouth. L must have asked the nurse something, for she exchanged a few sentences with him before heading back down the hall. For the first time, Light would have privacy for a visit.
L was back in his loose jeans and white shirt under his jacket, his hair its usual untidy mess. Light was glad to see it for the first time. L looked a lot better than he had the last time Light had laid eyes on him even if he had been dressed well.
L lingered in the doorway, looking almost reluctant to enter. He scuffed one shoe against the back of his leg, his hands deep in his pockets.
An unfamiliar tock tock of high heels made Light glance out the window for a moment. Behind L, a blond nurse carrying a stack of charts walked purposefully down the hall. So many other nurses wore soft shoes, and Light must have seen everyone who worked here at some point. Odd that he did not recognize her.
L paid her no mind.
"They didn't ask me to wear a mask," L said by way of greeting. "This must mean good news."
Light lifted his hand so he could wrap the earbud cords around his fingers and tug them from both ears.
"If not having MRSA is good news, then it is. They found an antibiotic that it responded to in the lab," Light said.
He did not mention that this antibiotic stung as if bee venom was being pumped throughout his body. He hoped it would fade with time, but it was going to be a sleepless night if it did not. A sleepless night back in his sterile little room at Wammy House would still be better than good rest in a hospital. He never thought he would long to be back in there.
Now that he finally had L here, he did not know where to start. Did L have a plan already? Of course he did; this was L. Did Light have a plan beyond convincing Dr. Martin not to recommend him for further inpatient treatment?
"Come in," Light said, for L was still hovering inside the door, which gave them no privacy to discuss anything.
L's eyes darted to Light's exposed arm when he did step inside, so Light showed it to him. L walked closer and stopped not far from the bed.
"They took out the stitches and most of the sutures now that it's less risky," Light said.
He felt more than a little absurd showing off the ruin he had made of his own limb, but L needed to see that the injuries would not keep him from leaving. His left arm was hopeless. There was no helping that unless they finally amput—
Light's attention shifted violently away from that thought.
Why was L not saying anything? This was so awkward. They were not friends. Small talk did not come naturally because it was unnecessary. They only spoke to each other about work. Light did not know how to talk discreetly about a plan he did not know. L would help, wouldn't he? He had nodded to show he acknowledged Light's request yesterday.
L still fixated on the scar running up Light's arm. Light withdrew it and let it rest on the bed, so L could not see the scar anymore. Now he felt exposed and vulnerable, as if he had taken his clothes off in L's presence.
"Light-kun," L started, his eyes still downcast when he switched to Japanese for privacy. "Why do you want my help?"
Light was surprised that L was not using his false name. He had no time to respond before L continued.
"Getting out of here. Why do you want my help getting out of here?" L asked.
L's eyes, when he lifted them to Light's, were unreadable. The whites of his eyes were still pink, the broken blood vessels making them almost painful to look at, but in no other way did L look weak today.
Then why was he asking questions? Light could not believe this. He had waited over an entire day just for L to ask for reasons? Was the man daft?
"Do you have any idea what this is like?" Light asked. He dropped his voice to a whisper so no one outside could hear even if he was speaking Japanese. "I'm trapped and can't leave, and thanks to Near, my family will probably come and demand to know what I've done. I have no privacy here and nothing to do except be watched."
He could hardly get his thoughts in order, so quickly did the reasons surface, but L did not look pleased when he spoke.
"You look feverish, and your arm is still infected even if it's not MRSA," L said, but he looked almost sad for a moment.
"I can't do what you're asking of me," L finished quietly, as if talking to a child.
Light clenched his teeth in helpless frustration. L was his only hope for actually getting out of here without risking involuntary psychiatric treatment.
"Why not?" Light blurted out.
Even as he spoke, he sensed that he was playing into L's hand. This felt staged all of a sudden.
"You didn't answer my question, and you're asking me to put your life at risk. I don't think getting you out of here is what's best for you," L said.
L's eyes were back to being unfeeling, like chips of black glass. His words sounded concerned, but his eyes evinced no warmth, no sympathy.
"I'll be the judge of that," Light snapped.
"You proved that you cannot discern what's best for you," L countered with a glance at Light's still-bound left arm.
That bastard.
L made a near-imperceptible movement as he shifted on his feet, as if he meant to dodge something. Did L expect Light to hit him for that?
Well, Light had broken his nose the last time L had implied that he was a failure, and his shoulders had tensed, as if they were making decisions on their own. Light opened his mouth and just as quickly closed it before he could say something he would regret. He forced himself to breathe and relax. If this was a test, he would not win by losing control of himself.
L was worse than Dr. Martin at aiming for his weak points, but Light already knew that L would be merciless, hadn't he? L would hold nothing back. The man had spent weeks training him for this sort of thing, after all.
"What are you going to do after this?" L asked without giving him a moment's reprieve.
"That's not your business."
"It is if you're asking me to break the law and be an accomplice to your suicide," L said without hesitation.
Despite L's words, he still let nothing show. It was like arguing with a machine, and it was about as affirming or satisfying.
"I already said you got the wrong idea," Light bit out.
"So tell me, Light-kun, what you're going to do after this," L repeated. "Don't dodge the question this time."
Light pulled back from unconsciously leaning toward L and fell back against his pillow. The ceiling tiles were much safer; he could not look at L anymore. Light could not meet that disinterested gaze and spar with L about this topic again. Maybe this was a game; maybe it was not. It would not have been the first time L argued with him about suicide just to eviscerate Light and then look pleased about it while he ate dessert.
Light was a fool to put his trust in L, someone already broken beyond repair. L had no qualifications to recommend him for anything but investigative work. Light had never been reaching out for L's rescue in those nightmares, not really, but rather than learning his lesson, he had grabbed for L in real life. Light had just made an even bigger wreck of his life this time before he asked for help.
L was not his fucking savior. Why had Light let L get so involved in his life?
"I can't think that far ahead," Light said, hardly able to remember what L was bothering him about.
"Then why are you so afraid of seeing your family?"
"You're not a psychiatrist, remember? Don't try to psychoanalyze me," Light spit out.
L scowled when Light glanced over at him, brows drawn down and his mouth pursed. He remembered Light's eavesdropping on one of his and Wammy's last conversations.
"So let a professional do that," L said, his ire looking real and not faked. "I can't cut your therapy short by taking you out of here, not if it's helping."
"What are you going on about?" Light asked, unable to figure out how to win this conversation.
"You can't run away from me this time to win an argument, so you are fighting. That is already an improvement, Light-kun," L said.
Light craned his head upright, but that only let L pin him with that black gaze. Somehow L stood well within his personal space, his hand even resting on the tray table. How had L gotten so close without him noticing? This L was a different person from the meek one that Light had begged for help.
But L was not done.
"You have walked out on me numerous times rather than challenge me for what you wanted. Don't think that I've forgotten," the person wearing L's face said, his eyes bright with fury. "You left the building when you disliked my suggestion to get you out of the agency, you took the train away when I lied about your job description..."
L's thumb and index finger encircled Light's wrist in one swift motion and shoved those livid scars into Light's sight.
"And you let me explain nothing the day you did this."
L was actually breathing hard, his eyes intense but unreadable.
"Keep fighting me, Light-kun. Don't give up so easily."
Light gasped with either surprise or pain. L let Light's scarred wrist fall back to the bed.
It had been a serious gamble, grabbing him like that when he was still healing, but L needed to shake him out of this defeatist torpor to show Light that he was healing even if he hated this environment.
This whole conversation was a minefield.
Light's pain shifted to stifled rage, nothing like that cold disinterest that he had shown L so many times during their past arguments before he simply walked away. Light right now was a dormant volcano, not an ice sculpture. He trembled with the effort to contain his fury.
He would fight now. L had backed him into a corner by denying him the only thing Light wanted anymore: freedom. It was what Light wanted to do with freedom that frightened L.
L dragged the nearby plastic chair to him and crouched in it while Light struggled to find words. L needed his wits.
"You lied about my job?" Light hissed through his teeth.
"You knew I did; you called me a liar that day," L said. This was the most important part of what L had said? He was almost disappointed.
Light sat back upright, giving L back his full attention. Light's cheeks were still reddish with fever, but he looked more like himself again, not like that listless person that had so frustrated L.
No, he was starting to look like someone else entirely, someone L had never met. L had not seen this mask before if it was a mask at all.
"That job was the foundation of our entire relationship," Light snarled, barely keeping his voice low enough not to carry. His lips pulled back from his teeth when he spoke. "How did you think we could work together when you lied about something so fundamental?"
L did not think Light would go for a killing blow so quickly, but he should have known better. Interacting with Light was always so bad for his pride.
"I never did," L managed. He crossed his arms over his knees, so he could hunch behind them. "I told you that I had made a mistake from the start."
Did Light even notice that L was not evading his questions this time?
"What 'mistake?'" Light said as if it was a dirty word. "Hiring me? Interviewing me? Chasing me down in Aoyama so you could delight in my humiliation?"
"Thinking that I could replace Mr. Wammy," L said, not looking away from Light even if it was unnerving to look right at him.
L did not back away or make any effort to block an attack. As much as it shamed L to revisit one of his failed projects, one more life ruined because of his actions, this was the only opportunity that L had ever gotten to rectify a mistake.
He would never have tried to fix it either if Light had not asked him for help. Light himself had dragged L out of his stupor after Mr. Wammy's death.
The problem was that L could not fix the situation.
Light stopped baring his teeth at Mr. Wammy's name. The rage drained out of him until his shoulders rounded with weariness. He looked down into his lap. No, he was looking down at his arms.
"What was the point of any of this," Light said, his despair not even making the words a question. "Was I a game to you? Why did you even come back?" His words trailed off until they were little more than a whisper.
"Because I don't know how to begin to fix this," L said. He ducked until his mouth was hidden behind his arms.
Light glanced at him out of the corner of his eye.
"Fix what," he deadpanned in that barely audible voice.
"Us. Our working relationship. I made a mistake when I hired you, but I won't make it again," L said.
Light's brow crinkled as he lifted his head. He did not speak, his mouth slanted downward in defeat. He was curious at L's words but not hopeful.
"I shouldn't have tried to do it on my own," L paused to try to make sure he used the right words with Light this time.
Light sat up the rest of the way, his lips parted and his eyebrows drawn together in confusion.
"Please help us work together, Light, because I cannot."