A/N: The last chapter was written in a hurry, so I've gone back and fixed/changed a lot of things! I'm a lot more satisfied with it, now.
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When L woke the next morning, it was with a feeling of vertigo. He blinked in the dim lighting and clenched his fists in the unfamiliar sheets, throwing them back so that he could sit up and rub his eyes in alarm. He couldn't make out many of the features of his room, considering the only available light was watery and grey, filtering in through a very narrow, horizontal window situated towards the ceiling on the far left wall. Mentally fumbling to recall where he was, he felt along the edge of his mattress in search of a bedside table. He confirmed the existence of one when his wrist connected with the edge of the tabletop, and he drew back with a pained wince. Reaching out again, he sought for a lamp and upon finding one turned it on, shedding some more light on the room around him.
L's mouth thinned into a hard line. He picked out his duffel bag, lying lopsidedly on the ottoman at the end of the bed. He relaxed a bit and forced air through his lungs, mind working to recall the name of his new foster mother.
Samantha.
Yes, he was in Millstone. This wasn't Rochester. His room in Rochester had been a dingy closet; this was much too spacious to be the same.
L bent his legs, bringing them to his chest. He then wrapped his arms around them and allowed his head to drop until his forehead rested comfortably against the caps of his knees. He breathed evenly until the bewilderment of not knowing where he was ebbed into his normal, day-to-day uncertainty. He lifted his head just slightly and eyed the window that he had not noticed the night before, perhaps because it had been dark out. Now, he could see blades of yellowed grass poking up along the bottom of it. Not much sunlight made it in, but the quality of the light that did suggested that it was because of a cloudy sky.
He hated moving homes. He hated it with a passion. He felt that he would never escape the vertigo of the first morning, the inevitable perplexity of unfamiliarity.
L remained motionless for another small amount of time before unfolding himself and crawling to the end of his bed, where he unzipped his bag and began unpacking. He gathered together his wash kit and a small, red notebook, before swinging his legs over the side of the bed with a long and strained sigh. He stood and made his way across the room, grimacing when he stepped from the plush green rug and onto the cool of the painted foundation.
He flipped the light switch at the door and illuminated his quarters a bit more, then twisted the brass doorknob and let himself out into the basement. The air was cold, and he shivered as he crossed the small distance between his room and the bathroom. Above him, he heard voices moving about the kitchen. He glanced briefly up at the banister high above his head, but was unable to really see into any of the rooms beyond them. He drew his wash kit and planner closer to his chest and looked back down, ignoring the vocalizations on the floor above.
Dropping his kit on the countertop beside the bathroom sink, L stared boredly at his reflection and took four quick, staccato breaths inward. On the fourth, he held his breath for ten counts, and then slowly exhaled for twelve. He did this twice, and then for a minute and a half took deep, filling gasps. His shoulders shook every now and then as he struggled against the urge to cough, which would have interrupted his breathing exercises.
All effort was for naught when his composure broke. Trying to keep his mouth closed and covered, L heaved through a coughing fit that left him short for oxygen. He closed his eyes and turned his back to the sink, sliding down until he was sitting. He reached up, without standing, and retrieved the supplies he'd brought with him. He took the booklet first and leafed through the pages, all scribbled over and noted on, until he reached his newest page.
He then unlatched his wash kit and rifled through it, bringing out a thermometer and several smaller, orange-colored medical boxes. He shoved the glass end of the thermometer under his tongue and, while waiting for the reading, readied his inhaler and drew an array of prescribed steroid capsules from the smaller containers. He was pushing the few pills about the palm of his hand when a creaking noise sounded from beyond the bathroom door, causing L to glance up in curiosity. The sink was situated directly across from the door, giving L optimal view of Samantha as she stepped further into the basement after descending the stairs. She noticed him fairly quickly and made her way over to join him, kneeling over the threshold of the bathroom door.
"Are you okay?" She pursed her lips and fixed L with a look of concern. "Did something happen?"
L shook his head and looked away from her, loosening his lips so that the thermometer tumbled from his mouth and landed crookedly in the palm of his free hand.
"I'm fine," He cleared his throat, words clipped. He observed the thermometer's reading and sighed, finding his notebook and recording the numbers there. The newest addition to a long and continuous list of other temperature readings. L frowned. His temperature was a bit higher than it had been the past few days.
He shoved the booklet away and tossed the steroid capsules to the back of his throat, swallowing hard. He glanced apathetically at Samantha, who still watched him with no small amount of intent.
"This is a morning for me." He stated gruffly. Samantha looked confused for a moment, and then made an 'oh' with her mouth and nodded in understanding.
There was pity there, in her expression, in her movements. L bristled.
"So, hey, breakfast is up in the kitchen. Near and I've been waiting for you to wake up before digging in. If you feel up to it, anyway." The added afterthought was insulting; though L was sure she had harbored good intentions.
"Yeah, I… feel up to it." L coughed lowly and closed his eyes, rubbing at his throat. He then pushed against the cabinet, helping himself up. Samantha stood, too, and then gestured towards his belongings with a smile.
"Do you need help getting that back to your room, or anything?"
"No," L shook his head and stooped to gather his things, then breezily passed Samantha on his way back to his bedroom. The young woman blinked in bewilderment and turned, following slowly. She was unsure of how to approach her newest addition to the family.
L stopped by his bed and allowed his wash kit and planner to fall onto his mattress. Ignoring Samantha, who materialized in his doorway, he dug his favorite red sweater from his duffel bag and pulled it on over his baggy sleeping tee. The pale red of the lived-in cover up complimented his beige, flannel pants and khaki socks.
"Ah, I'm sorry it's so cold down here." Samantha smiled apologetically, pointing at his sweatshirt. L didn't reply, only sighed. He absently remembered his long drive with Mr. Fredrick the day before, and how he had smart mouthed the officer for trying to talk to him so much. He considered doing the same to his new foster mother.
"So," Samantha bit her lip and stepped backward, out of the room. "Hungry? I've made food."
L turned and briskly left his room, passing Samantha again with a curt, "I heard you the first time."
Samantha blinked in surprise, and then followed L up the stairs. She worried idly how well L and Near would kick off, and watched apprehensively as the teen in front of her mount the stairs.
L made it to the top stair and stepped up onto the hardwood floor of the living room, immediately pivoting on his heel and observing the kitchen from the corner of his eye. Across the space that overlooked the basement, he saw a boy seated at the kitchen countertop, perched on a tall barstool.
Samantha joined L at the top of the staircase and whistled, catching Near's attention. The boy looked over his shoulder and blinked at L, watching from a distance as the newer member of the household followed Samantha through the foyer and into the kitchen.
"Near, this is L," Samantha grinned and reached back to pat L's shoulder. L grimaced and ducked away from the contact - a movement gone unnoticed by the woman.
"And this is Near." As Samantha left L and passed Near on her way to the stovetop beyond the kitchen sick, she ruffled Near's curly, white hair affectionately. Unaffected, Near's gaze remained strictly limited to L's person.
L himself looked Near up and down, not sure what to say and quite frankly not worried about saying anything at all. Quickly disinterested, L's lips flattened into a line and he paced forward to slide into a barstool beside the other foster kid of the house.
"Do you have coffee?" L inquired loudly, staring across the kitchen workspace at Samantha, who was at the time looking severely disappointed that Near and L had not struck up some sort of conversation.
"I do, actually," Samantha set down the spatula she'd been holding and reached instead for a half-full coffee pot. "Do you take creamer or sugar?" L nodded and accepted the mug of coffee and additives she handed him.
He diluted the black coffee with copious amounts of creamer, and disregarded Samantha's surprised gawking when he spooned five heaping piles of sugar into the liquid. He stirred the solution for a moment before taking a sip, humming with satisfaction at the sweet concoction.
"My last home didn't allow me coffee," He sighed, mostly talking to himself. Samantha swept by to retrieve the cream and sugar, appearing a bit more at ease after L had spoken for the first time.
"I wonder why," Droned Near, from where he sat slumped beside L. L glanced over and narrowed his eyes critically, gauging the boy again.
"Do you make a habit of speaking your mind?" L leaned against the tabletop, taking another drink of sugary coffee. Near replicated L's position, though L couldn't determine whether it was out of mockery or not.
"Where was your last home?" Near tilted his chin upwards, ignoring L's question. L let loose a small, slow sigh. He pursed his lips.
"Rochester."
"Why'd they move you all the way up here?" Near twisted his neck to peer questioningly at Samantha, who offered a minute smile. When no answer was given there, Near faced L again.
"I don't know. No reason." L had tired of the conversation rather swiftly. Near's eyebrows knit together. He promptly leaned forward even further.
"You can't not know," He protested. "Samantha is special-case."
L looked up at Samantha, who had looked back down the food she was dishing onto plates. She didn't engage in the conversation.
"Special-case," L mumbled.
"Yeah, really out of the way. So what's wrong with you?" Near sat back now, still staring. L understood, for the most part. She did live really out of the way, most of the foster homes he had been to had locations in the city - and only a handful of others had been more suburban. Still, L resented the last question Near had shot his way.
"Nothing's wrong with me, what's wrong with you?" He directed a light glare in the boy's direction. Near stiffened for a moment at the harsh tone, and then returned L's glare full-force.
"I'm under Government intervention," He stated matter-of-factly. "I can't stay with my parents because it's considered an 'abusive' household. I don't have any other family to stay with, so I keep getting kicked around these houses until courts decide whether or not to permanently separate my biological parents and me."
Taken aback, L's face fell. His gaze flickered over Near's figure again, noticing in more detail a large, yellowing bruise that stretched around the boy's lower leg. He had seen it there before, but it hadn't meant anything. Under further examination, he found other, more subtle contusions on areas where skin showed.
He would have been able to understand a more typical situation, a situation like his own, a situation that involved sudden parental deaths. He wouldn't very well comprehend, however, a happenstance in which he would have to live with the fact that his parents were still alive but despised him.
"I have CVID," L finally lamented, breaking the short and uncomfortable silence that had engulfed the room. He took note of Near's lost expression and explained himself. "It's an immunodeficiency. When I was five I caught pneumonia and it took me a really long time to heal." L cleared his throat, the memories of his entire, short-lived childhood still too clear for comfort. "And then when they thought I had, I caught it again only a couple months later."
L sat a bit straighter, and then realized that both Samantha and Near were watching him expectantly. He frowned.
"It took me a few years to shake the worst of it off. And it's still not all the way gone, really, it's kind of chronic." He reached up and touched his chest. "I'm on a lot of medications to repair my lungs from past sicknesses, and I'm on a lot of medications to back up my immune system in general, because it's really hard for my body to prevent and fight off illnesses. I was moved out here because the air is cleaner. There's less germs for me to breathe in."
"So, AIDS?" Near was the first to respond. L reacted with an intense sneer, deeply annoyed at the question he'd been asked so many times before.
"No. CIVD. It's different, it's genetic and it's not contagious. I was born with it, and I'll probably die from it, someday." His voice was grating and defensive, and Near backed off. Samantha cleared her throat from where she stood and held up two plates.
"So, who's hungry? I'm thinking that we could have breakfast and then drive to town; I've got some stuff to get from the grocery store for dinner later." She rounded the center kitchen island and set the plated before Near and L. L looked down at the masterfully crafted omelet and hashed potatoes, suddenly feeling unhealthily hungry.
"Can we stop by the bookstore?" Near was already shoving a forkful of egg into his mouth, promptly staring at Samantha, who smiled and nodded.
"I've got to be back by two o'clock, but it's only ten now so we should be okay. Maybe we could all take a trip to West Plains and go to the bigger bookstore out there, and hit up a café for lunch. West Plains is about fifteen minutes away, it's the closest of the bigger towns around these parts - it's got a theatre and a hospital, pretty much everything we don't." The last statement was directed kindly at L, who wasn't paying attention.
L retreated back into himself, already fed up with the people who shared this house with him. He'd talked more than he had planned to, and promised himself now that he would now make up for his socializing by keeping silent vigil for the rest of the day.
"By the way, Sammi," Near swallowed and set his fork down for a moment. Samantha looked up expectantly. "What I said before about being kicked around to different houses, I didn't mean it like that. I really love it here."
"I didn't think anything of it," Samantha promised with an affectionate smile. "I love having you."
L felt sick, after witnessing the exchange. He felt sick and out of place, isolated and alone in a room hosting three people. He pulled farther into himself and copied Near by dropping his fork, only because he felt like he would toss up anything he continued to eat. He breathed in unsteadily and when the wetness of his congested chest caused him discomfort, he nearly broke down.
He wanted to go home.
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A/N2: Oh my gosh, so I've got past readers following this? This is so amazing, so much thanks to anyone sticking with this a second time! SoShi Love left a review about changes, so I'll address those here for anyone reading this a second time. The storyline will remain almost identical to the first; I'll only be making a few smaller changes. Those include:
1) The building of relationships. I want to be able to work more with the development of interactions between L and the other characters. Though my goal is to eventually establish the same, close friendships of the original fic, I do not want another case in which he and Near are instant-brothers, or him and Light instant-lovers.
2) Near's overall demeanor. I felt like in my first attempt at this story, he was very out of character and peppy. I'm going for a more accurate, apathetic Near, this time around.
3) When I bring the main antagonist into the story, my plan is to make him much more disturbed and maybe a bit more violent than I did in the original story.
I hope that these changes don't overly affect your view of the story; I've thought them over and decided that they'd mostly improve the quality of it all. Ciao!
Please, please review. I appreciate the follows and favorites but reviews are just so motivating. C: Thanks to everyone reading this!
