L's eyes roll upward under his closed eyelids as he thinks, quiet and focused and asleep to all the world.
What to do. How to find it.
His long fingers trail absently along the hairless skin of his flat stomach as he thinks, tracing the bony edge of the iliac crest and the tight aponeurosis at the abdominal sheath.
And what is to be done with Light?
He will keep him close for the time being. Light, himself, prefers this.
He can't risk taking too long to find the third notebook; depending on where it is, it might fall into someone else's hands. Perhaps it has already. While the notion of death Gods is, to say the least, disturbing to L, he is nevertheless undeniably curious as to how the notebooks work. He has decided, however, with absolute certainty, that they are far too dangerous to keep for observation and definitely too dangerous to test.
Yes: destroying them was the right choice.
His breath comes quiet and moist against the fabric beneath, coyly muffled with so much more consideration than Light has shown him in the torment of frustration.
Bitterly smiling and bitterly ending,
Bitterly rising and bitter descending,
If I had the doorway, if I had a shot,
How tightly I'd tie your whole world in a knot;
Delicate lips parted, he exhales with careful silence against the slender length of his forearm. He is almost too tired for it, wading between sleep and dim alertness, wrist moving softly, long lashes batting over closed eyes and quiet, quiet, quiet;
It's poison, it's death in a box, it's disaster,
How fast can you take it, as I can go faster;
Inaudible inspiration and rigid hold of breath and expiration, and inspiration, and quiet, quiet;
And inaudible inspiration at last to the silent scream gaping tight and helpless before, exhausted, he exhales in melancholy relief, spent and nearly unconscious.
And what is to be done with Light?
Light awakens the next morning to find a partly-collapsed pillow barrier dividing the mattress between his side and L's, which topples further when a slight tug at the chain loosens the foundation.
"You were kicking me," L mumbles when Light inquires about it, half asleep and mostly unconscious, "a lot."
"Oh," comes the response, simple and innocent.
"Who or what is Rem?" L asks suddenly, face still turned to the wall, "do you remember anything about that?"
It has occurred to L that when he and the death Goddess spoke in Light's cell, at one point he woke up and called out that single syllable, as if in question.
"Pardon?"
"Rem. Does that word mean anything to you?"
Silence.
L turns to face Light, who is staring back absently and then shakes his head.
"No, I'm sorry."
"I see."
Even though L was entirely terrified at the time, he can still remember that Light called out the word as if calling a person. Rem must be someone, not just something. And the fact that Light cannot remember a name he once knew must mean it is somehow associated with the notebooks L destroyed.
Misa became a shinigami after she died.
Then if Light were to die—
"Ryuuzaki," comes a soft voice from across the pillow barrier,
"Yeah?"
"I'd like to use the restroom."
"Let's go, then."
To be continued…