Ficlet Seven: Shadow
Note: Sequel to 'Echo', follows DIRECTLY on.
Author's Note: So, this isn't the story I promised Kokoro-kun and LittleBrick—namely L's first meeting with Mello. There is a very good reason for this, namely: "WHAT STORY?" I have, in all honesty, no idea what I'm doing for that one. (But Mello is in this story, because he's fun, and he must have been a hell of a kid, and Kokoro-kun, I found the cutest picture…) B is, too, which I honestly didn't expect. He just appeared. Also, this popped into my head about five seconds after I submitted 'Echo', and needed writing.
Disclaimer: More Things Le'letha Doesn't Own, Part LXXXVIII (At Least): Death Note… anyone within… Another Note… anyone within that… sign language… airports… Emergency Lollipops (really)… leopards… Skittles… the United States… England… anything…
ON WITH THE SHOW!
What had begun as a weekend trip to the States had turned into a two-week stay in and around another orphanage.
Mr. Wammy paused outside the upstairs playroom door and considered knocking, not wanting to interrupt his charge's work. He had made the mistake, ten days ago, of opening the door unannounced and calling out to L directly.
L had snapped at him to 'get out and don't bother us again', and turned to comforting the little boy he was working with. Thus, his current hesitation. L, annoyed, was a rare but threatening creature.
His internal debate was interrupted by his young charge's voice from inside. "It's open, Mr. Wammy. Come in."
He edged open the door, stepping into an almost completely dark and certainly completely cluttered room, and almost instantly regretted it, as one foot made contact with something that skittered out of sight among the other objects scattered around the room.
"I'm not intruding?" he inquired softly.
"No," L replied. "He's asleep. Please close the door—and do not turn the lights on; they will burn my eyes as well."
Watari snatched his hand away from the light switch and cursed L's night vision and predictive powers alternately. Aloud, he covered his annoyance with an inquiry about the child's health.
If he squinted, he could almost make out L's customary too-large white shirt and pale skin—more tennis, Watari prescribed, and made a mental note—amid the gloom as the teen mulled the question over. "Better," he said finally. "Yes, it is taking awhile. Please take into account that I am working with a completely new language here."
Definitely cursing the predictive powers. It was creepy the way he answered questions that hadn't been asked. "L, you've learnt spoken languages in less time than this."
"Yes, but spoken languages follow logic; I am learning my way through the mind of a child who does not think in the same way as most people," the teenaged detective pointed out from wherever he was.
"True. You know, I can't even see you. Admittedly this is nothing new, but we are in the same room. Can you come over here to talk to me, or has the sheer amount of things on the floor defeated even your memory?"
L's voice was annoyingly placid—Watari knew he did it on purpose. "No, I cannot. It is unrelated to the state of the carpet. Near is asleep on my lap. I do not think he will react well to being awoken."
"Accepted." Watari wished he could see that. For L to have abandoned his normal crouch in a place not Wammy's House—where he was relatively comfortable—was a rare incidence, and only emphasized the amount of interest he was showing in this little boy. "But to return to the original topic—you can communicate with him?"
"Mr. Wammy," —that was annoyance—"I could communicate with Near within hours of meeting him. It is agreeing on a common language that has consumed my time."
He had long since gotten over not understanding a lot of what the brilliant little boy was saying. It was better now than when he'd been confronted with an eight-year-old smart enough to turn him inside out and fry him. "Sorry?"
"We have agreed on a basic sign language that we can use to communicate while traveling. Mr. Wammy, Near has not left this place for a very long time. He has, as far as I have been able to determine due to the room for interpretation integral to his language, very little memory of anything else. Bringing him successfully to England will be problematic at best."
As best as possible for not being able to move, Quillsh Wammy made himself comfortable. L was in a lecturing mood. Being cut off from all but his most important cases had deprived him of anyone to boss around and impress with his intelligence.
Perhaps hearing the movement—or maybe he could see—L continued, "You are fully aware how much I dislike the noise and close proximity of other people involved in any form of travel. Near is even more underexposed than I am. He will be extremely frightened. Until now, he has only been able to articulate his thoughts in the form of toys."
Watari couldn't help it. He interrupted. "Can he speak?"
"Can but won't; has had no need to," L replied promptly in staccato form. He'd been waiting for that question, so it didn't impede his lecture. "We have been working together to construct a sign language that can be used between us without the use of physical media. You are aware of the state of this room. Everything was required for a relatively simple discussion. The sign language is rudimentary at best, but evolving gradually."
"Can I learn it?"
L stifled the urge to be defensive. "Not easily."
"He's going to be afraid, you said," Mr. Wammy repeated, already planning the logistics of the trip in his head. So, L's dislike of crowds and too-loud noises, multiplied by a factor of…ten, why not…and a child…
"Yes. However, he trusts me."
"So you'll stay with him and talk to him to distract him."
"Essentially," L said happily.
The little one was going to be a nervous wreck by the time they got back. "The fewer flights we change the better, then?"
"Yes. Once we're on the plane, he should be fine, since the amount of stimulation, when compared with moving through an airport, will be decreased."
He could make it two flights minimum—three airports, including Heathrow… "If you have a date when you two will be ready to go, I can prepare our trip back," he suggested. There were a thousand and one things that needed doing, and he was surprised L hadn't already tired of this and gone back to his cases.
L picked this moment to be annoying again. "We are prepared. I was waiting for you."
Deep breath…don't snap at him…he either thinks it's funny or gets annoyed…either way, he wins…
Waiting for their plane to come into the New York airport, Watari allowed himself a moment to relax. The trip, so far, had gone fairly smoothly. L had spent a large amount of time talking to the boy beforehand in the hotel, fingers flickering, hands gesturing, and occasionally reverting to a skeleton supply of toys. The little one—Near, he reminded himself, although he still had no idea why L had dubbed him that—had replied in the same style.
Near hadn't even looked at him once.
But he hadn't broken down and started crying, either, and that was always a plus with small children.
At the moment, they were in a private lounge, with the door locked. The boy was curled up in a chair (that, honestly, dwarfed him) playing with a handful of tiny figures that had been part of their carry-on luggage. In the very next chair over, L was sucking on an Emergency Lollipop—they didn't melt, they didn't go bad, and several could be kept in various pockets; Watari wanted to find the man who had invented them and shake his hand—and looking in the direction of the window, mentally a million miles away. In total—the teen was likely to be thinking about several things at once.
So far, Watari had figured out maybe five signs they used on a regular basis, beyond the basics like "me" (double tap to the center of the chest—touching the other for "you"). Some of it appeared to be based off American Sign Language—now when had L learned that? A bit more seemed to come from the British version, which was totally different. Most, however, had been dredged up out of their respective heads. One common gesture in a sequence had eluded him until he matched it with L's explanation back in North Dakota—it added up to L, I'm scared; L, I'm scared.
It deeply amused him that L appeared to be enjoying 'mommying' the boy, distaste for touch seemingly abandoned. And they were interacting, that was good, agreeing on additions to their vocabulary—Near had invented something for 'lollipop' earlier, making L smile. The isolated space of the small lounge was apparently a low enough level of stimulation for the child; anywhere else, he'd either kept his eyes closed or buried them in L's shirt.
L had ended up carrying the boy everywhere. It didn't seem to be bothering him—after all, he was frequently jumped on and demanded to be held back at the House by…oh.
Oh, this was going to be fun. Had L, the isolated orphan child, even heard of sibling rivalry?
As the black car covered the last few meters to Wammy's House, Watari checked the auxiliary rearview mirror for what felt like the thousandth time. Quite apart from his normal surveillance to assure that they weren't being followed, he'd angled a second mirror to keep an eye on the children in the backseat.
L was occupying most of the bench, sprawled on his stomach and typing furiously at a laptop, bare feet hovering around the window. (Watari had resisted the urge to tell him off for getting footprints on the glass, simply because the little detective probably wouldn't have noticed and definitely wouldn't care.) The battery had beeped at him a while back, and he'd glared at it balefully before connecting it to something on the floor. The beeping had stopped. The typing had not.
Near had dealt with the overload of input from the constantly changing landscape outside by keeping his eyes closed, tightly clutching the ragged leopard he'd replaced a robot with, probably because it was easier to squeeze. Being three years old, he'd fallen asleep at some point.
He stopped the car completely before turning around and calling softly, "L… L, we're back."
For a moment, there was no response, and then L snapped out of whatever trance state he'd been in to commune with the computer, shoveled his hair out of his eyes, and looked at his guardian patronizingly, as if to say that yes, he knew that.
"No," Watari retorted, leveling a finger at the look in general. The look was transferred exclusively to the offending digit, and the man retracted it almost immediately.
Attempting to regain his dignity, Watari continued, "The child is, since he will not look at me, still your responsibility. I called Roger earlier, and he has prepared a room in the south hall for Near. Take him inside."
"'m going," L agreed, shutting off his laptop and grabbing a handful of Skittles at the same time.
"We're going inside," L murmured softly to Near, even though he was fairly sure the pale boy was asleep. "Just inside." Well accustomed by now to carrying the little one, he set off up the stairs. It wouldn't be long before their arrival was noticed—had probably already been noticed, depending on how much the others were paying attention to the security cameras—and he'd really like to get Near somewhere quiet where he could accustom himself to his new location before he was forced to interact with anyone.
They wouldn't let him stay inside himself here.
"L!"
It wasn't who he'd been expecting, but it was someone much more welcome, albeit louder.
"L, you're back! Who's that?"
"Good afternoon, Mello," L solemnly greeted the little blond boy clinging to one leg of his ratty jeans. "I am glad to see you again. Please do not wake him up."
"Why not? I didn't know someone new was coming. Where'd you go? Why'd you bring back a kid?"
L kept moving, Mello in tow. "I did not fully expect to find him. Roger was told. His name is Near. And it is rude to wake people up if it is unnecessary."
"Oh." Mello thought about this for maybe three steps. "What if it's funny?"
"That too," L granted with perfect gravity.
Wordlessly, Mello tugged on his fistful of denim, reaching up with his other hand in a habitual demand to be picked up and held.
"My hands are full, Mello," L pointed out.
"But—" the blond retorted, renewing his plea. "L, c'mon! Please? Put him down! I want—"
L considered the situation. It would be awkward to hold two children at once, especially since Mello, at five, was at the far end of the 'growing out of toddler-hood' phase. Rearranging his grip might awaken Near, which he did not wish to happen, and almost definitely cause Near's toy leopard to fall from where it was wedged between the two of them, which would probably cause problems later. However, denying Mello something he wanted was a bad idea, because the blond still believed that volume was a reasonable route to success.
It could be argued that such was an even more pressing reason to deny him his request, but L had always been somewhat fond of him.
"I must bring Near to his room first, and then I will carry you, if you still wish it," L told him firmly. "It would be extremely difficult to carry both of you at once, especially as one is still asleep."
Mello's face settled into what was, definitely, a pout.
And Near chose that moment to wake up, stirring against L's shoulder and renewing his grip on the shirt with one hand. With the other, he sleepily asked, L, where-me?
"I cannot reply in kind, Near, but we are at the school I promised you."
"Hey!" Mello piped up. "I didn't hear anything. What'd he say? Doesn't he talk?"
"At the moment," L filled him in, "Near does not like to use spoken words. We have been using a basic sign language. He asked where we were."
"Oh. How do I say hello?"
Actually, it had never been an issue. "You could wave."
Mello did so, with childish dignity, and L was pleased to see that Near actually paid attention. Sort of. "Now how do I tell him to walk on his own so you can carry me instead?" So much for dignity.
"You don't," L told him sharply. "For one thing, the vocabulary doesn't cover it. For another, Mello, be patient."
"'m trying," Mello muttered. "'s not working out."
L, Near tapped the elder's skin for attention, what-this? Pointing languidly at Mello.
"He wants to know your name, Mello."
How-called? It was a standard question, asking for a new sign for a new thing or idea. And now, apparently, a person.
"I'll show you both in a minute…" L trailed off, and had to force himself not to stop moving defensively, spine tingling.
He traced the feeling instantly to a staircase they were passing, and, more exactly, to the dark-haired boy at the top of the stairs, who was leaning—no, crouched—over the rail, staring at them.
L didn't even think about pulling Near closer, or changing direction slightly so that he was between B's stare and Mello. He was surprised to find that his lips had curled back in a primitive snarl.
He was loath to admit it even to himself, but his doppelganger disturbed him.
He knew the precise instant B's attention shifted from L to the little boys surrounding him, because protective instincts he didn't know he had went into overdrive.
B he could deal with. B looking at the little ones with that glare, full of resentment and jealousy and loathing, he didn't want to.
Black met red for a confrontational second, and they were past—B made no effort to follow, and L was glad.
"He only acts like that when you're around," Mello said, somewhat subdued. "I don't know why."
L thought frantically for a second, abbreviating the complicated struggle going on between the two of them. "He thinks he owns me, Mello," he said with a sigh. "He doesn't like to see me paying attention to anyone else."
"But you pay attention to everyone!" Mello protested, still tugging on L's jeans intermittently, as if repetition would change the fact that L simply didn't have that many hands. "It's what you do!"
L scared? L scared? Near asked.
He answered both at once, shaking his head for Near and replying to Mello aloud. "Yes, but please don't tell him that. He'll figure it out eventually." Hopefully before he runs off, or we'll have problems. Next to L, who really, really didn't count, B was the oldest child currently at the orphanage, part of the original generation inhabiting Wammy's House—a grand total of three; he'd been one of two found to give a young L some sort of socialization. With one child dead and the remaining two at odds, it could conclusively be labeled 'failed'. It was only a matter of time before he tired of the place.
"L, please?"
"Mello, repeating a request continuously will not change my answer," L tried not to snap.
The blond shot him a stare to beat all kicked-puppy stares before deciding to blame Near, and eyeballing him hostilely instead.
"This room has been newly cleaned out," L observed, opening a door he remembered as being previously unused.
"Good, it's his, puttimdown, L!"
L glared remonstratively at Mello, then sat down on the bed and attempted to engage Near in conversation, or, at least, listening.
How-called? Near asked again, reminding him.
"Mello," L requested, "give me your hand, and I'll show you how to tell Near your name."
"He's heard you say it," Mello snapped back, tucking his hands into his armpits. "I don't want to talk to him."
"Mello."
"Oh, all right," the blond sighed, and extended one hand with the attitude that he was doing everyone in the room a favor.
"Thank you." Near, this-M-E-L-L-O. The letters they used came from American Sign Language, and L pretended not to see Mello taking note of the unfamiliar shapes L moved his fingers into.
Introductions complete, L briefly explained—or, rather, refreshed, as they'd gone over this before—that this was going to be Near's room.
Near nodded and closed his eyes, cutting himself off, whereupon Mello judged the silent dialogue over and leapt at L for a hug. L caught him in midair to prevent bodily damage.
"You're not carrying any sugar," Mello observed, and it was true. "Let's go find some."
Dark eyes popped back open as L stood up, again with a child in his arms.
L go?! L no-go! Near signed wildly and repeatedly, eyes wide and terrified.
"I'll come back," L reassured him—Near did not look reassured. "I promise, Near."
Near clung to the battered leopard and closed his eyes tightly again. L-L-L-L-L back no-go L me-me-me-me L scared…
Sighing, L put Mello back down, creating a grand total of two tantrum-throwing children in the room. Postponing dealing with Mello temporarily, he turned to comforting the more fragile of the two.
"Near, I'm coming back—" he accompanied his words with the appropriate gestures "really, I am. We're just leaving for a few minutes, because I'm hungry."
…lollipop…Near signed in between the other panicked gestures.
"Exactly."
L no-go.
"Just for now."
L come back.
"Right." And, aside, "Mello, hush."
L come back yes.
L repeated the gesture verbatim.
Yes-yes-yes, Near said, and returned to crushing his leopard.
Disaster averted, L dealt with the next one by speaking nine words, namely, "Come on, Mello, let's go find something to eat," picking the blond child up, and leaving quietly, closing the door behind him.
"Don't go back," Mello grumbled mutinously, voice slightly muffled by L's shirt and his own scowl.
"I promised I would, Mello, and he can't just be left alone."
"You'll still talk to me?"
"Of course."
"But you'll be busy."
"I'm always busy."
"'spose," Mello agreed reluctantly, and had to be placated with chocolate.
"L?" he said with his mouth full.
L gave him an inquisitive look.
"I don't like him."
L sighed.
Author's Extra Note: Yes, I do think this is how the rivalry started—fighting over L personally before they even began fighting over their respective rights to inherit. (Also, they just cheese each other off.) My mother used to use basic sign language at the daycare she ran for several years, and I've picked up the general buzz that baby-sign is enjoying a revival. Of course, I may be wrong, and I may in fact be picking up epsilon-rays from the planet Barcelona (laughs) but I sort of doubt it.
Side Note: Near says, in the Death Note bonus chapter, that he never met, saw, or spoke to L. THE BRAT IS LYING. FLAT-OUT LYING. I have logical proof. Namely, if he never saw L, how did he know how to make the mask, or that little finger puppet—that, by the way, he keeps? L, as we all know, was darn paranoid about pictures and other people knowing what he looked like. I hate having holes kicked in my theories and stories, so I'm kicking back. (Also, I just like pictures and/or stories of L, Mello, Matt, and Near pretending to be the most dysfunctional family since the Addams clan went off the air.) I did, however, appreciate the ratification of the theory that L picked his successors for the ability to be evil bastards. (In my book, that's a technical term.)
Also: Anyone else think we need a series totally devoted to the Wammy's House kids, including L, B, and the mysterious A? I mean, come on—there's so much we aren't told, and they are So Much Fun! Based on how much fanfiction there is on the topic, I think if we got every fan to contribute a dollar (or equivalent), we could pay the author, artist, and assorted people associated with publishing and still have money to burn. Three or four manga volumes, that's all I ask.
OK, I'm done ranting. Thanks.