Note: Thanks to the readers/reviewers for reading and reviewing. :)

Just for reference, the story begins when L is ten and A is six. BB is one year older than A, though he doesn't come in until the next chapter. I don't know the actual age differences -- if there even are any -- but this is what it'll be.

And so, it begins.


"Love Lies Bleeding"
Adam vs. Eve

--x--

Back off, I'll take you on!
Headstrong to take on anyone.
I know that you are wrong.
Headstrong, we're headstrong.
Back off, I'll take you on!
Headstrong to take on anyone.
I know that you are wrong,
And this is not where you belong.

- Headstrong, Trapt

--x--

In the beginning, Quillsh Wammy had an orphanage.

Initially, it was a place where gifted children could be nurtured and cultivated to become something extraordinary. The first, and greatest, success was a boy named L, who had always been innately exceptional. He was a model for the other gifted minds of the institution; everyone seemed to benefit from the outer rays of his brilliance. There were only good intentions when Wammy's House was established.

Like the Garden of Eden.

He was so brilliant, that L. Naturally, the orphanage began to gravitate around him -- the way the solar system revolves around the brilliance of the sun. All of the children were gifted, of course, but none were so greatly endowed as he had been. And, gradually, L's sheer brilliance began to eclipse the relatively dimmer shine of the other gifted children.

In the future, L would become the very purpose of the orphanage.

In actuality, however, there were at least two extraordinary children. Two. There was even a third extraordinary child later, but for now, we examine the two. The two who existed in the beginning, when Wammy's House was established upon good intentions.

Like Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden.


A Warm Welcome

--x--

"You... kidnapped me."

"Yes."

"..."

"Miss A, welcome to Wammy's House."

And that was the end of that. Mr. Wammy stood up promptly from the side of the bed and exited the room, henceforth to be known as her room. There was no further explanation; it was not a difficult concept. Wammy had tranquilized the child, taking her from a large asylum in Massachusetts to a little orphanage in England. She was no longer "Patient Number 625000"; she was now merely "Orphan A."

There would be no turning back. And that was the end of that.

--x--

L was, as per usual, loitering around the kitchen. The cooks and other kitchen personnel were quite used to the boy's presence (and constant cravings), so they were going about their business as usual, one or two of them baking a cake for the sweet-toothed child. He was perched somewhat precariously on a high kitchen stool in that gargoyle way of his: knees up to the chest, hands on knees, face leaned forward, and spine curved atrociously. But he was happy this way, and people let it be. At the moment, he was happier than usual, anticipating his upcoming piece of cake.

Until some insane person kicked his stool and sent him sprawling over the kitchen floor.

The kitchen staff were oblivious to the assault; L occasionally fell off of stools by himself, so no one bothered to turn and check. L, of course, was not oblivious, and his first instinct was to push off the floor immediately and hand-stand-kick the attacker. However, as he gazed up at the other person, his mind registered the choppy black hair, three-foot stature, and glaring grey eyes. The edges of his mouth curved upward into a smile and he said, "Hello, A."

She glared at him, wordless.

L hopped up onto his feet and slouched, idly shoving his hands into his jean pockets. "I see you're--"

"Didn't I tell you," she began with impatience, "specifically, that I did not want to leave the asylum?"

"True. You did."

"And yet, here I am."

"That is also true."

She waited for him to explain. She waited.

"WHY?!" the six-year-old exploded.

"Oh. We kidnapped you."

The girl went very quiet. However, she gazed at him with this sort of menacing look -- this look that bespoke of desires to strangle the boy before her.

L did not notice, or perhaps did not care to notice, this menacing look. He said, plainly, "Welcome to Wammy's House, A. Though, because you are new, I must inform you of my philosophy. I have always believed that 'an eye for an eye' is the fairest way to settle things."

She stared at him witheringly and seethed, "L, we are not speaking of philosophies. Stop avoiding the--"

She never finished her rant. It was interrupted when L suddenly dropped to the floor and pulled her legs out from under her, causing the girl to fall backwards with arms flailing wildly. Shocked, A simply lay on the floor, a vertigo spiralling around her head. L eventually extended a hand, a peace offering, and she stared at it dizzily. But she did not accept.

And then the brawling began.

-x-

In summation, A's first lesson at Wammy's House was: "Do not hit L, for he will surely hit you back."

Similarly, L's first lesson of proper social interaction was: "Do not hit girls, for they will claw you in the face."


Feel the Love

--x--

The nurse, an impatient and burly woman with bleach-blonde hair and a scolding voice, bustled around the infirmary in search of bandages. She was barking at the two of them about something. Something about manners, "children these days," violence on TV... well, they didn't really know what she was barking about. They weren't listening.

They were sitting on two adjacent infirmary beds, staring each other down, and waging a silent war.

Her legs kicked rhythmically over the edge of the bed... threatening to kick just a little too close.
His legs were crouched tightly near his body... ready to lunge.

She fingered a lock of hair that had been so viciously pulled before.
He pushed his thumb against his lips, which remained unbearably cake-less.

She glowered with squinted eyes.
He stared with eyes wide open.

The nurse was still babbling, oblivious to all else around her. "--so absolutely rude! I can understand that little boys are naturally quite hostile, but a girl! Young lady, I'll have you know that--"

"English girls are expected to acquire a certain grace," he muttered.
"American girls are expected to acquire a certain courage," she shot back.

"Americans are obnoxious," he stated.
"The English are snobs," she retorted.

"The English have good taste. In cake," was his answer.
"Americans have better taste. In pie," was her rebuttal.

Eventually, the nurse finished her meaningless bustling/scolding and slapped some bandages on their arms. She sent them away, muttering something like, "Begone, you impossible children," and pushed them out the door. And then, oh, L had the audacity to smile at A, as though this whole affair amused him. So A, being A, fumed silently. This was only the beginning.

"L."

"A."

And they parted.

--x--

For the record, it was L that sought out A every morning during that first week of her stay. Every morning, after breakfast, A was accosted in the dining hall by L, who insisted that he had some trivial task that he needed "help" with. A was bothered by this -- L's very presence irritated her -- but she never declined.

"A, would you like to help me unscramble these words?"
("I challenge you.")

"Sure, L, I'll help."
("Bring it.")

For some reason, he also insisted that she call him "Danuve" everywhere except in their own rooms, where they were absolutely alone. Incidentally, they were now sitting in L's room, lounging on the cool hardwood floor and waging another unspoken war.

In other words, they were playing an intense round of Connect Four. (1)

A was red; L was black. It was her move, and she stared at the board with a magnitude of concentration unfitting for a plastic game. But what of L? Well, she was absolutely certain that he was trying to psyche her out.

Across the vertical wall of the game, L was hunched over in his usual position, examining one of his own black chips. He apparently found it very fascinating, because he gave the thing a great deal of attention. He first rubbed it tentatively between his thumb and forefinger, then switched to the other hand and traced its circular outline with his pinky. After a while, he placed it on the floor and rolled it a couple inches away, before stopping it with his foot and leaving it wedged there between his toes. He rubbed it between the phalanges of his foot for good measure.

It was appalling.

But no, A could take it. She had witnessed things far more appalling than this "L" -- things that had strained her nerves with far more agony than that chip wedged disgustingly between his toes... so she would not give in. She would not be psyched out. With resolute determination, A carefully slid a red chip above one of the black pieces on the board.

Your move.

L examined the board for a few moments. Then, to A's horror, he used that dirty chip from his foot and slid it in the spot beside A's chip. Beside it. Contaminating it. Perhaps the feeling of utter perturbation showed on her face, because L suddenly asked, "What's wrong, A?"

("Giving up already?")

She pursed her lips and steeled herself against this unspoken taunt. No. She would not give in. This was just another one of his ploys. "...Nothing, L. I just... felt nauseous for a second... But I'm fine, really."

("Nice try, jerk.")

-x-

By nightfall, the two children had burned through six rounds of Connect Four, three rounds of solitaire, eight games of "Guess Who?", twelve rounds of Jenga, and thirty-four games of Tic-Tac-Toe Extreme (which was actually just normal tic-tac-toe, except that it was played on the computer, where they wouldn't waste piles of paper).

The score was as follows:
A - 29 wins
L - 34 wins

Clearly, today was supposed to be "game" day. L won, as usual. Yesterday had been "puzzles and word searches" day, the one before that had been "scavenger hunt" day, and the one before that... well, you get the picture. Themes. L never announced the theme of the day beforehand, but it was always quite obvious as soon as the challenge had begun.

That was rule number two of Wammy's House: "Never state the obvious. Only stupid people do that, and stupidity is the ultimate weakness."

--x--

They were still on L's laptop, continuing their repetitive games of Tic Tac Toe Extreme. The room was dark in accordance with the time of day, 9:00 p.m., and the only source of light was the glare from the bright laptop screen. It was L's turn (he was X, she was O) when the laptop suddenly blacked out.

A was, for some inexplicable reason, terrified by this. She half-expected white letters to flash on the screen, and loudspeakers to declare...

The screen quickly recovered. When it did, there was only a stark white background with a single, gothic "W" floating in the center. A's momentary panic attack subsided, and she thought... No. She didn't want to think about it.

Meanwhile, L had grabbed a nearby computer microphone and began speaking into it. "Yes, Watari?"

"L, there is a new case in Nova Scotia about the disappearance of a fisherman's family. Will you review the case?"

"What is so unique about this?"

"Sources say that the fisherman had been a prominent member of a mysterious cult. It has been speculated that this cult is also responsible for other disappearances of members along the Atlantic coast in the U.S., Ireland, Portugal, and Morocco."

"Hm. I will look into it."

There was a little "click" noise as the connection closed and the laptop reverted back to the Tic Tac Toe game. There was also a little box in the corner which announced that "1 new file has been received." L turned to A and said, "We will have to resume our game at another time."

But the game was already forgotten, for A was now pondering the recent talk of cases and disappearances. "What did he mean by 'review the case?'" she murmured. Realization dawned slowly. Her eyes peered upward at L and she asked, for the first time, "L, who are you?"

L smiled.

"I am a detective. This is all I can tell you now. When you are older, you will understand."

Suddenly, she felt as though she were looking at him for the first time.

He had said "when you are older" as though he were so much older than she -- and yes, in terms of children's years, he was. He must have been about ten or eleven, at least four years her senior. But in the back of A's mind, she knew that four years was actually a very short time. What really divided them was their achievements and life experience. Before her stood an accomplished, ten-year-old Detective L, whereas she was merely Orphan A. For the first time, she realized that they were truly not equals.

"Oh," was all she said.

-x-

"Is the evaluation concluded, L?" the electronic voice asked.

"The data collected so far is sufficient. I will analyze everything and have the results ready by tomorrow."

"And what of the fisherman's family?"

"I am looking into it."

L had allowed her to stay in his room. She had nowhere else to go, really, so all she did was sit and watch him read over the files. He forbade her from looking at the files herself (confidential information, he called it), so she simply lay on the floor in a daze. It was about 10:30 p.m., so the computer clock said, and she felt her eyelids flutter indecisively between sleep and wakefulness.

At some point, she was vaguely aware that someone had picked her up and plunked her down somewhere. It was somewhere soft, likely a bed, with a cover pulled haphazardly over her body and her head resting slanted on the pillow.


Upon Awakening

--x--

A was not aware that she had been sleeping until she woke.

While unconscious, her arm had reached out and brushed the top of the nightstand, where the tinkle of a bell woke her. Blinking into consciousness, she saw that there was a dreamcatcher -- her dreamcatcher, made by her father from the insane asylum -- lying on the nightstand. It had a little bell below the many tassles of feathers, serving as her alarm this morning. Someone must have placed it there while she was asleep.

Eyes gazing lazily around, she saw that she was still in L's room, but L was nowhere to be found. As she sat up in the bed, a crinkling noise alerted her to a piece of paper placed conspicuously on top of the covers.

Grasping the paper and rubbing her bleary eyes, she read the scrawling print of the note.

-

Miss A,

You will find a folder in your room which contains the results of your evaluation. I congratulate you, for you have proved yourself a viable candidate. I believe that you have the most potential of any of the children in this orphanage. Your IQ test has revealed a score of 173, which is truly outstanding. I have high expectations of you.

Your alias is Alternate. "A," as we have called you thus far, is for short. Your alias is also indicative of your ranking in the House. You must keep your true identity confidential.

L

-

Her first thought was, "When have I ever taken an IQ test?"

She tried to think back over the course of the week, between all of the games and scavenger hunts and other nonsense, when it suddenly struck her. All of it was part of a test. L had probably slipped her the IQ thing on either the "puzzle" day or the "random challenges" day without telling her. This entire week of pretend challenges was simply a guise for some kind of evaluation.

What were they evaluating her for?

Who was L?

A sat there with the paper in her hands, mulling over questions she had no answers for. Later, when she tried to seek out Mr. Wammy or L, she discovered that they were nowhere to be found. When asking a passerby in the hallway, some older child who seemed familiar with the orphanage, the boy eyed her strangely.

"L? You mean the L? He doesn't live here anymore. I don't even know what he looks like."

-x-

The third, possibly most important lesson that Wammy's House had to offer was: "People are not as they seem. Always suspect an ulterior motive."


(1) Connect Four: a common children's game (one of my personal favorites as a kid). It's basically a game with a "board" that stands up vertically and has holes in it for pieces to slide into. It's like tic-tac-toe, except that it's red pieces versus black pieces, rather than X's and O's, and you need to get four of your own chips in a row to win.


From the Author: There. The first real chapter. Sorry the narration is a bit cold; the perspectives in later chapters will switch between A and B -- but whenever L is around, it suddenly goes third-person. To set the mood. :)

-x-

Okay, so I have this theory. You see, I've never been a fan of romantic/passionate/gushy love, and really, I don't think it suits the Wammy kids. In my eyes, there are many different types of "love"...

L, the quirky and unconventional genius, is the "adversary love" type. The object of affection is a rival to the bitter end -- for you see, the rivalry itself is an acknowledgement of the other person and a reason to draw closer. (-cough- Light -cough-) He dislikes outsiders who interrupt the rivalry. (Matsuda??)

A, the moody but headstrong girl, is the "fierce love" type. There's little indication of actual feelings, but the object of affection is always kept close, and she will defend him with an absolute, unconditional loyalty. She dislikes those who antagonize her.

BB, the crazy-adorable maniac, is the "obsessive love" type. He is lovable in general, but suffocating in particular. When he discovers his object of affection, he pursues him/her with total abandon. He dislikes subtlety.

Look at them. They're just... not compatible. But isn't this what makes things interesting? xD Reviews are most gratefully accepted. :)