Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note.

3

December 15, 2003

Should he still be doing heavy lifting at his age?

Mizuki wouldn't lie, she was worried about the elderly gentleman that was installing the lift in her home. She didn't want him to get hurt. She fidgeted with her hands for a few seconds before wheeling towards him.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" She softly asked, her tone perfectly polite.

"Don't worry about me, dear," He answered with a kind smile.

She gave him a dubious look before slowly returning to the kitchen to continue studying. She didn't know what to expect from the entrance exams, so she wanted to be prepared for anything. She could do it. She knew that much; she was too stubborn to do anything but her best. She opened the chemistry book and started studying. There was so much that one could do with the table of elements.

Bombs, something that Doctor Stone talked about. I suppose that's why I remember it so well. I always did have an easier time of learning when being entertained. Potassium nitrate, sulfur, charcoal, and sugar. Such simple ingredients, yet they lead to catastrophic damage. At least I know what to do when in need of explosives.

She felt it again. The feeling of being observed. She peered from under her thick lashes and noticed that the old man was taking a short break. He was observing her. She'd feel creeped out by it if she weren't under the impression that he was also handpicked to be inside her home. She tapped her pen against the wood table and contemplated her situation.

She was under a strange type of house arrest, yet able to move freely if her whereabouts were known. Perhaps she was a little off with the house arrest idea. She let out a silent sigh and went back to her studies. There wasn't anything she could do about her situation. She'd ignore it for the time being, and try to remain as inconspicuous as possible. She didn't need attention on her person, and she didn't need it in her environment. She finished a few of the element problems and cracked her neck. She decided on a break. She turned on the small, old TV that Mogi had moved into the kitchen for her. He caught onto her fondness for the news. She was able to listen to several different sources to get a scope of the differences in information. That had been difficult, and she hadn't missed it. She was lying, she did miss it. She shook her head of such thoughts and turned to Sakura TV. It was a special about the live broadcast from L challenging Kira. Her eyes widened slightly as she watched Lind L. Tailor die from a heart attack.

That's…impossible. Nothing had been given to him, and judging from the reactions of the people behind the scenes working the cameras and teleprompter they hadn't known that would happen. How does someone capture a murder that's able to kill remotely? I can't figure it out. Damn.

"Chibana-San?" The elderly voice brought her out of her stressed-out thoughts.

"Yes?" She quietly answered.

"Is something the matter?" The old man who installed her lift asked.

"I wasn't able to see this broadcast live," She admitted, "it's horrible, really."

And telling. Kira killed Tailor because their morals and actions were questioned and judged. That sounds suspiciously like borderline Narcissism or at least sociopathic behaviour. I don't like that; it leaves too little room to move around and capture Akira. At least I have the area they're in. Kanto, that's where I'll be for the entrance exams.

"I see," The old man quietly said, "I have finished installing the lift, I shall take my leave."

"Did you get paid already?" She asked and he paused for a few seconds, "I just want to make sure you get paid for your time and efforts, it would be a trifle discourteous to not do so."

"I have already received the payment from your insurance company," He answered, a kind smile peeking through his well-groomed moustache, "please have a wonderful day, Chibana-San."

"You as well," She returned.

She gave a small incline of her head and he left her house. It felt oddly empty without someone else inside. She turned off the TV, she wasn't about to waste electricity, and slowly wheeled towards the lift. It was simple to use, she backed up her wheelchair into the anchors and pressed a bottom that was on the wall. She slowly went up the stairs and she made a strange face. She didn't like it.

It wasn't that the old man had done a shoddy job. No, she just didn't like the feeling that she was cementing the fact that her legs would never work again. She looked down at them and a frustrated expression appeared on her face. She shouldn't get too caught up in something she couldn't change. She needed to move forward. Yet, it was difficult to do so. Twenty years of being able to walk, and she was unable to do so anymore. She didn't know the right term for that. Depression was probably close to what she was feeling.

"Who lives like this?" She muttered as she looked at the messy rooms with a disgusted face.

She sighed and reached into the small basket attached to her wheelchair and pulled out her cleaning gloves. She had a lot of work to do. She wheeled into the first room and was a little relieved to see a western bed instead of a futon. She would've had difficulty getting up from the ground and into her wheelchair if it had been a futon. She cracked her neck and started with all the linens and clothing on the entire floor. She wasn't taking a chance with them having bugs in them. She was glad that the mattresses were protected by a plastic cover, meaning she didn't have to order new ones.

She quietly hummed when she was cleaning, she didn't have to worry about Mogi asking for the song, so she was free to. Boku No Sensou had been a strange anime opening, but she had loved the visuals accompanying the score that she had grown fond of it. It hadn't taken her that long to do so either. She usually found herself humming anime soundtracks, it just happened that she was inclined to hum Attack on Titan most of the time. The soundtracks sometimes had English lyrics instead of the usual Japanese.

The study doesn't look like it's been used in a while. I wonder why. It's in the central part of the house and gets good airflow. How odd.

She looked at a few of the books on the old rickety bookshelves that were built into the walls. Old volumes, some in English to her surpass, stood out to her. She brought an arm up and gently pulled a book out. Hunchback of Notre Dame Victor Hugo was on the cover in golden lettering. She brushed a fingertip against it before putting it back. She'd need to read some of the books. She looked at the other titles; Les Misérables, Little Mermaid, Frankenstein, Dracula, and The Odyssey. Old classics of all things. She didn't even know where someone could find such books in Japan. She wondered if there was a speciality store for such things. She sighed and pulled herself from that contemplation. She needed to clean the room, it needed it.

Mogi came back to the house around eight at night. He noticed the smell of cooking food and went to investigate. Mizuki sat at the stove and kept a keen eye on the food she was cooking. Two bowls of rice covered with cooked eggs sat next to a chopping board and he wondered what she was making. She looked up from the pan of oil in front of her and gave him a small smile.

"Welcome home," She greeted, and he was surprised at such a normal greeting, "I'm making Katsudon for dinner."

He sat down at the table and wondered where or when she had learned to cook. The reports he had read said she could barely cook rice without burning it. While using a rice cooker! She turned her attention back to the frying pork and lifted it out. She seemed pleased by the colour and placed it on a cutting board. She was quick with her cuts and soon he had a bowl placed in front of him.

"Itadakimasu," He quietly said as he picked up his chopsticks.

It was delicious. He stared at her in surprise as she watched the news with her own bowl in front of her. Her eyes were completely focused on a news story about criminal deaths. He contemplated asking her to make lunch the following day but wasn't going to push his luck. She finished her dinner before him, eating without even thinking. He decided to pose a question that had been given to him, well, it had been a list of them. He had been waiting for the perfect opportunity to ask.

"What are your thoughts on the Kira case?" He questioned as he remembered the first one.

"It's difficult," She said as she placed her chopsticks down and faced him with a thoughtful expression on her face, "Kira kills supernaturally, and during a specific time frame. I suppose with the number of people who can use that time frame and those that live in the Kanto region. It truly makes the case difficult."

That…that wasn't what he asked at all. Sure, she gave him a partial answer, but the rest was her speculation. He gave a slight nod as he wondered how she had gotten close to what his team had figured out. This was someone who was sitting at home studying and watching the news. There was no outside influence beside his own, and he would refuse to let on that he was a part of the case until ordered to do so.

"It actually feels familiar," She quietly admitted, and she gained a soft faraway look, "like it's part of an old story that I just can't seem to remember. I suppose I'll have to get used to that sensation."

He inwardly winced at that. She was looking at him, but at the same time looking through him. She had her hands in her lap and he noticed the unnatural stillness of them. She fidgeted a lot, but now it seemed like she had stopped completely. He looked at the circles under her eyes and noted the slight downturn of her lips.

She looked tired.

He didn't say anything else as she did clean up before heading up the stairs. He gathered she had cleaned up the rooms. If she found any of the cameras that had been placed inside them, then she stayed quiet about it. Sometimes he thought she knew what was going on. He looked back at the TV before turning to face one of the cameras that was pointed down at the table. He decided to leave her alone for the rest of the night.

Mizuki sighed as she looked at the pyjamas that she had cleaned. Her clothing didn't really fit her anymore. Her lack of appetite was starting to show how loose things were. She went into the bathroom to change. She was under the impression that the cameras inside turned off when she was undressed. She didn't want to think about the possibility that they weren't. She pulled the blue long-sleeved shirt over her head and spared a glance at her reflection in the mirror. Her head tilted down as she clenched her jaw.

It's wrong. I hate it. I feel like a failure every time I see my face.

Her hands clenched at her forearms and she didn't even notice when her fingernails had started to dig into her skin. Eventually, she broke through the fragile skin and blood slowly began to seep past her fingers. She hated feeling this way. She let her forehead rest again on the cool countertop and looked down at the useless legs she now possessed. She couldn't even twitch her toes. She felt like screaming or throwing a tantrum. But, what would that solve? It wouldn't give her back her ability to walk.

She let out a shuddering breath and paused when she noticed the small wet spots appearing on her jeans. She was crying? She brought a slightly bloody finger up to her face and wiped at the wetness there. She was. She stared at the small spot on her finger that was slightly clean. When…when was the last time, she cried?

Was it when…no I didn't cry during his funeral. I can remember that much, I had just stared at the grave the entire time. She thought I had been an unfeeling bitch, maybe she was right. I am unfeeling, but I'm also selfish. I…I will admit to that.

Him. Him had been her late husband, though not with this version of herself. She could barely picture his face, he had olive-toned skin and a bright smile that showed precious dimples. Yet, the true features she couldn't recall. What colour were his eyes? Brown? Blue? She didn't know.

She sighed quietly and tried to calm down. To rationalise her feelings, but she was having difficulty doing so. She washed her hands and looked down at the small crescent-shaped cuts on her arms. She would need to bandage those up. She set about doing so, the act letting her mind silence, if only for a moment. She finished and looked back towards her reflection. She looked tired, but that's not what caught her eye. She brought her hand up to where her neck connected with her shoulder. There was a scar there, one that could only be caused by a gun. An entrance point, and when she felt the other side she found the exit point. It was next to a major artery, she would've bled out if she'd been shot there. Her eyes widened slightly.

She did bleed out. She quickly changed into her pyjamas and ignored that revelation. She..she couldn't deal with that knowledge. Not while she was trying to move past the loss of mobility. She struggled to get into the bed but eventually got under the covers. She laid there for a while, cursing herself for not taking her insomnia medicine. She could hear Mogi moving around downstairs and her neighbours fighting. Apparently, the husband was a no-good drunk that had been caught cheating with a girl in her late teens. She felt slightly disgusted by that fact. It was ingrained in her to feel that way. Teenagers were children, as much as they heated to be seen that way, they shouldn't have to be preyed on by adults.

She sighed quietly and pulled the pillow around to cover both of her ears. It muffled the sound but didn't quite stop it. She closed her eyes and tried to force her thoughts to quiet down. That only made them increase in volume. She listened for all the noise to stop in the house and sighed quietly. It seemed like she wasn't going to get any sleep. She sat up in her bed and rubbed at her eyes. She was tired, but she was too restless.

Great. What do I do now? It's not like I can just boot up my computer and stream some Murder She Wrote.

She liked that show. She knew she did. She paused for a few seconds before struggling into her wheelchair. She frowned as she quietly rolled into the study and closed the door behind her. She felt her skin crawl as the sensation of eyes on her person appeared. She ignored it to the best of her abilities and wheeled up to one of the bookshelves to find something to read. She wanted science fiction, not just fantasy.

Dune will have to do.

She pulled out the older book and looked at the bold title. She smiled slightly and quietly went back to her room. She could read while propped up against some pillows. She found what took the most time was her struggle in getting into the bed. She huffed in annoyance and slowly sat up in the bed. Her legs slowly moved with her struggle and she narrowed her eyes at them. That wasn't her moving them, but her momentum. She had the physically move them. She crossed them and ran a hand through her hair before opening the book.

She was slowly drawn into the world of Dune. The Atreides, Mau'dib, Arrakis, and the voice. She read slowly, very aware of the camera behind her. Whoever she was being watched by seemed to suffer from insomnia as well. It was an odd sense of camaraderie that filled her.

I shouldn't get too familiar with whoever's watching me. That would be careless. I must be a suspect in this Kira case for all the cameras. They even got the rooms I had yet to clean, that takes skill. These people are good. That worries me. I can't move around like I want to. They could bug my clothes and I'd never know.

She paused in her reading to rub at her eyes before continuing. She was starting to relax with the familiar story, barely even registering that it was in English. Everything around her had been in Japanese, and she hadn't batted an eye. She tucked her long hair behind her ear to stop it from falling into her face. She didn't notice when the sun came up a few hours into her reading. She did look up when she heard Mogi moving around.

December 16, 2003

Mogi looked at Mizuki as he made breakfast. She was making him some lunch, and he felt his eyebrow slightly twitch at the sight of the cloth she was going to use to keep the lid on the box. He hadn't had an obento since high school. He usually settled for the convenience store bentos. He felt his mouth watering at the sight of the pan-fried drumsticks and flavoured rice.

"When did you learn to cook?" He asked and she stared at him for a few seconds before shrugging, "You wouldn't tell me if you knew."

"A good magician never reveals their secrets," She stated as she finished a slightly spicy, yet sweet sauce and added it onto the chicken.

Thank god for the internet. I don't think I would've survived if my go-to hadn't been cooking or baking videos. Maybe I should bake something after I finish studying. I haven't truly baked in years.

She finished the obento and closed the lids. She tied the bright pink cloth and showed the small frog pattern on it. Mogi accepted the food without showing what he was thinking. She was slightly disappointed that her teasing of him hadn't brought about a reaction. She would have to up her antics. She was used to being a little sibling, he had yet to experience anything.

He ate his breakfast quickly and she sent him a slightly annoyed look when he ruffled her hair before heading to work. Maybe he knew how to deal with a younger sibling, the fact that they really weren't was none-withstanding. She turned on the TV and propped her elbow on the table. She stared down at the tamagoyaki Mogi had made for breakfast.

"I should make muffins," She muttered, "Hmm maybe a cake."

She talked to herself more than she liked to admit. Sometimes she needed to hear it out loud before confirmation. It helped her. She was also a very good listener. She turned her attention to the TV as the news came on.

"Kira has struck again," A male newscaster reported, and she tilted her head in thought, "we have found five more criminals dead in their cells this morning, all from heart attacks."

She tuned out when he started to list off names. She had no clue who those people were. She tilted her head in confusion for a few seconds before she tapped her fingers against the table. It felt like Kira was getting information from an outside source.

"Ah," She quietly said as it hit her, "Kira has access to the police."

She knew that due to the fact those murderer criminals hadn't been announced on the news any time recently. She wanted to know how Kira did it. It had to be a supernatural element, and she was sure shield heard of something similar before. An anime perhaps? She frowned in thought as she gathered up her now empty plate and started to do the dishes.

Once everything was cleaned and put away, she started rooting through the cupboards for baking ingredients. She had everything to make Pistachio Baklava. Of all desserts, she wasn't expecting that one. She became slightly nervous as she started on the dough. In her opinion, Filo dough was temperamental, and she usually struggled with getting it to the right thinness. She took a deep breath and calmed herself before allowing her thoughts to fill her head.

I never really gave it much thought before, but why Japan of all places? It makes no sense that an American woman of European descent is suddenly forced into Japan. Especially during a crisis such as this one. I wonder if the virus will happen in this timeline. The Kira murders never happened from what I can recall.

She finished the first layer of the Baklava and paused for a few seconds to look at the still on TV. It was now playing a super sentai episode and she found herself shaking her head. It was something she would've loved as a child. Which would have brought the wrath of her mother down upon her. She went to place the next layer on and turned her questioning inward. She wanted to know more about herself.

I had a husband who died, and I wasn't sad about it. Why was that? Her eyes widened slightly as the sensation of knuckles hitting her face appeared. He…he was abusive? Why was I in that relationship? I didn't even like him? Arranged marriage. Right. Mother wanted grandchildren and to shut me up. She was so old fashion, thinking I had to live the way she did. Father was oddly supportive of my future endeavours. He came to all my graduations, he brought me irises.

She smiled at that small memory of a dark-haired man with sad wine-coloured eyes. She had looked more like him than her mother. She spoke like her grandmother, who had died when she was only seven. This version of herself had lost everyone in one go. She had been out of the region, visiting a friend in Osaka, and a man had killed her family.

Finally, something with this version of me that I can work with. All right, dead family so that means no one can call me out on any strange behaviour. That friend…we stopped talking after the funeral. I'm safe on that end as well. This works out in my favour. Oh, that's a good punch.

She got distracted by the TV and she looked down at the nearly complete dessert in front of her. She put the last layer on and brushed it with the remaining butter. She grabbed a knife and cut it into diamond-shaped pieces. It went into the oven and she started to prepare the sugar syrup.

I don't even remember grabbing a lemon at the grocery store. Maybe it was Mogi. She felt a small smile slip onto her face at the older man who was pretending to be her brother. He may be pretending, but it's hard not to see him as an older brother figure. He's quiet, yet he cares more than he likes to admit. He's also pretty close to my sense of humour. I hope our friendly rapport continues after he has to inform me we aren't truly related by blood.

She heard the doorbell ring and she put the syrup on a lower heat before wheeling to answer the door. She was somewhat surprised at the sight of the old man from the previous day. Did he forget something? He didn't have a reason to be at her house. She was instantly on guard.

"May I help you?" She asked and he gave her a small smile in response.

"I apologise for showing up today," He said, and she stopped herself from relaxing, "the company had something addressed to you delivered to us."

"Oh, how strange," She said as he held out an envelope.

She accepted it and he gave her a small bow before taking his leave. She'd ask who he was, but she had the distinct feeling she'd soon find out. She didn't like that. She went to study after making sure her baklava was finished.