A/N: Oh my God. I feel like the biggest bitch in existence. There I was last chapter, worrying that people would think I was sans life if I updated twice in one day, and then I disappear for two weeks! Damn! I really wouldn't be surprised if people just gave up on me altogether.

Buuut, if you haven't, I'M SORRY! THANKS FOR STICKING WITH ME! AND I'M TOTALLY BACK!

Okay, so, I'm actually sittng at a picnic table on the back deck of the Sandpiper Beacon Resort in Panama City, FL. (look it up, it's pretty badass!) Next to the loud and noisy Tiki Bar, but really, there is no internet anywhere else. The beach is literally two feet behind me, and the ocean another thirty beyond that. I can hear it right now! And ugh, I've been gone from home for two weeks! THAT'S WHY I HAVEN'T UPDATED!!! The first week involved an unexpected and impromptu trip to Chattanooga, TN to see a college buddy, and then when I got home, I left for Panama City, quite literally, just a few hours later! I CAN'T WAIT TO BE HOME! I'm leaving tomorrow morning, and over the past two weeks of craziness, I've been working on this chapter when I can. But seriously, I'm sorry you guys! I'll be home tomorrow, and then my life won't be so hectic again. YAY BORING!

Oh, and I got my nose pierced, rescued a kitten, and had a gigantic wave push me over and choke me to the point where I vomitted in the ocean. How embarrassing! And then my piercing started bleeding, and I jumped out before Jaws got me. Gack.

Le Sigh.

I digress! Here's what y'all have been waiting for!

The Art of Drowning

Red and Shades of Grey

"Where's my money, Lay - Wait a second, you ain't Layfield! Who the fuck are you?" demanded the man.

The two other men made a point of closing the door to the apartment, more than likely to discourage any of the neighbors from calling law enforcement.

"I - I -" stuttered Light, his eyes never leaving the gun. Icy fear gripped him, and for a moment Light felt as if he was being threatened by his father once again.

The man growled. "You tell that bloody little shi-"

"Tell me what?"

All eyes went to Greg, who was standing behind the three threatening figures.

"Shit! Where did you come from?" yelled one of the thugs, jumping at Greg's sudden appearance.

Greg shrugged. "The front door. Hey there Vince. How ya been?"

The large man with the gun growled. "I been wondering where my money is, Layfield. You were supposed to pay me a month ago."

Greg scratched the back of his head in mock embarrassment. "Ah, yeah, 'bout that. See, I need a bit more time -"

"How much more time, Layfield?" asked Vince, shoving the gun in Greg's face.

Greg moved his head, looking around the gun at the thug on the other end. "Well, probably 'bout another week or so."

"That's not good enough!" growled Vince.

Greg's lip quirked in a smile. "Well, that's when me money's coming in. I can't be of much use to ya in the meantimes."

"That's too bad, Layfield, because I need you to come up with my money now. Otherwise -" the man trailed off, bringing the gun back to Light's face and cocking it. " - Your little boy toy here will have to pay it for you."

Greg started, losing his casual demeanor. "Now wait just a bloody minute! 'E's got nothin' to do with all this!"

Light swallowed hard, his eyes darting between the cocked gun pointed at his face and his uncle.

"You're right. He's just in the wrong place at the wrong time," agreed Vince, putting the slightest of pressures on the trigger. Light's breathe caught.

Ryuk started laughing uproariously, and if Light didn't suspect that the slightest movement on his part would spur the man holding the gun into action, he would have turned and glared at the laughing specter.

Greg looked helplessly between the gun and Light, and Light could see the man's fists clenching in anger. Light's own stomach clenched, but in fear. He didn't know how he was going to get out of this one.

Greg gritted his teeth. "This is between me and you, Vince. If ya got a problem with me, then take it up with me, but leave the kid out of it."

Vince chuckled. "No can do, Layfield. Either you come up with my money real fast, or this kid's brains are gonna be decorating your walls."

Light grew cold, his ragged breath catching once again. He didn't doubt that the man really would pull the trigger, if only for his own sick amusement. Light glanced sideways at Ryuk, who was grinning wildly. It was obvious that the shinigami wouldn't be of any help, and Greg was surrounded on either side by the two other thugs. It didn't look like he'd be able to do anything either before Vince could shoot Light's face off.

"I can get you yer money tonight," growled Greg, his eyes narrowed to slits.

Vince smirked. "Oh can you now? Well, how about a deal then? You like deals, don't you? And games, I know you like those."

Vince, keeping the gun pointed at Light's face, took his other hand and reached into his coat pocket, bringing out a wicked long switch blade. He brought the blade to Light's cheek.

"I'll let you walk out of here to find me my money, but for every minute you're gone, I'll make a cut on pretty boy's face. Let's see how long it takes you before your boy toy's face is nothing but a bloodied clump. If your gone too long, I'll slit his throat and put a price on your head so big every two bit criminal from here to Germany will be after your ass," threatened Vince.

To emphasis his point, Vince dragged the knife across Light's cheek, leaving behind a long slash from the top of Light's cheek bone to his chin.

Light gasped in pain. The cut stung, and blood flowed freely down his face, dripping onto the collar of his shirt.

Vince brought the bloodied knife to his face, making a show of it by lightly licking away the blood from the tip of the knife.

"Deal?" grinned the man, his jagged teeth gleaming ruby.

The two men stared at each other in a silent battle of wills, each wondering who would say the first words or make the first move.

Light felt a sudden, dark twinge of anger at the unfairness of his situation. He didn't want to die at the hands of some lunatic after all he had survived through, all the sacrifices he had made. If only he had the -

He stopped that trail of thought immediately.

Light would never write in the notebook again. The risk of Kira gaining control was too great, and even his own life wasn't worth taking that chance.

Besides, he consoled himself with the fact that it wouldn't work anyhow. He didn't know Vince's full name, and the Death Note was wrapped in an old t-shirt and shoved at the bottom of his duffle in the guest bedroom. Any temptation he might face was pointless when faced with these facts.

Light felt the tension in the room heighten when Greg tensed, as if preparing himself. The two men moved slightly closer to his uncle in anticipation, and Vince drew the gun closer to Light's head, making him wince at the proximity.

Light drew a deep, silent breath, trying to shake away the panic that threatened to drown him. If only the gun wasn't pointed directly at his face, then maybe he could think clearly, find some way out of this predicament. If only his cheek didn't sting so badly, and his head wasn't so muddled. He was sure he figure out a way, and if only that damned gun -

And then all hell broke loose.

Greg launched himself at the gun, which twisted this way and that as Greg tried to wrestle it away from Vince. Light fell back, throwing himself behind the chair and out of the path of the gun. The two thugs moved to jump Greg from behind, but the front door was kicked open, and two resounding bangs had the men on the ground and bleeding.

Another bang and Vince was on the ground, blood oozing from a hole in his head. Light stared around the chair in numb disbelief at the corpse, distantly recognizing that splatters of blood, bone, and brain matter dotted the floor and walls.

Light heard a groan, and he snapped his head around to see who had made the noise. It was one of the men who had accompanied Vince. The man was clutching at a bleeding wound in his shoulder and gasping in pain.

Greg and the strange man turned simultaneously to the man, and Greg raised Vince's gun.

Light started, his arm stretching out to stop Greg. "No, don't -!"

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Light stared at the bleeding stump where the man's head had been, before slowly bringing his hand up to touch the splattered blood on his face that had sprayed him when the man's head was shot. The blood intermingled with his own wound to the point where Light wasn't sure who's blood was who's. His stomach rolled, and he choked, hastily wiping at the blood with the back of his hand and ignoring the painful twinges of the cut on his cheek.

Light looked down at his shirt. It was dotted with blood.

"Oh God . . ." whispered Light in horror, staring down at himself.

Greg took heaving breaths, the gun clenched in his hand as he glared at the bodies sprawled on the floor and the growing red puddle of blood seeping into the carpet and splattered on the walls.

"I'll never get tha' stain out," he grunted, wiping his brow.

"Probably not," agreed the man who had kicked the door open.

"Alright there?" asked Greg, looking at Light with honest concern, his eyes roving Light up and down in worry.

Light just stared at him, as if truly seeing the man for the first time, and deftly ignored his own state. This was no slob, no gambling drunk and perpetually naked prankster. No, Light was looking into the eyes of a killer. He was looking at someone who he had once dedicated his life to destroy. He was looking at his uncle - the man who had saved his life by taking the lives of others.

And his uncle looked the same as he ever did, if not a bit more angry than usual.

Light shook his head, feeling shaken and sick. "Y-Yeah. I'm fine."

He was anything but.

"Finally got rid of that nasty arsehole, huh?" grinned the mysterious man, who Light just remembered was still there.

Light took the other man in, noting his dark hair and tanned skin. The man had a gun clenched in his hand too, but instead of glaring at the bloody corpses like Greg was, he was regarding them with an almost smug satisfaction.

Greg grunted, satisfied that Light was fine for the moment. "Perfect timing as usual, Toledo. Ya could have gotten here sooner, though."

"Yeah, probably," agreed the man named Toledo, twirling his gun like some sort of American cowboy.

"Triple homicide. This'll bring 'em snooping, won't it? Best to get out of here then. I 'spect you got a place to go?" asked Greg.

Toledo nodded. "Yeah, 'course I do. I always do. And you owe me for saving your pathetic arse - again."

Greg sighed. "I'll buy ya a lap dance and a round of beer. Fair enough?"

Toledo chuckled. "Make that two lap dances, and I'll call us even."

"Bloody right. Fine, have it yer way. Now get out of here, ya bloody fool," growled Greg.

The man gave Greg a mock salute. "Aye, captain. See you topside!"

Light stared after the strange man, who shut the door firmly in his wake.

"Wh-What the hell just happened?" Light asked, too numb to really process the events of the past few minutes.

Greg sighed. "I was hoping to keep ya out of any of this, Light. But it looks like we'll have to cut our visit short, yeah?"

Light was about to respond, but the wail of sirens in the distant made him forget what he was about to say.

"Bloody fucking hell! Buggers are fast, yeah? Quick, grab yer shit!" yelled Greg, shoving Light towards the bedroom that he had been staying in.

Light stumbled, before catching himself on the doorframe. Pure adrenaline was the only thing keeping him going, otherwise he was sure he'd be a quivering mass huddled somewhere dark. He was fairly sure that any question of him developing a phobia of guns was moot - it was well and fully developed. He might even add knives to the list at this point.

Light shoved what he could into his duffle bag.

"Hurry up!" called his uncle.

Light frantically looked around the room, trying to make sure that he had everything, but Greg burst into the room and grabbed him by his upper arm, dragging him away.

"There's no time! If ya want to wait around and explain to those buggers why there's three dead men in the living room, then by all means, stay, but otherwise get yer arse moving!"

Greg pushed Light out of the apartment, but not before checking down the hall to see if anyone was around.

"Take the stairs, and meet me in the alley behind the building," Greg whispered.

"What are you going to do?" asked Light.

"I need to grab something, now go!" said Greg, pushing Light towards the exit sign at the end of the hallway.

Light adjusted his duffle, and shakily jogged the distance, pushing the door open roughly, practically falling down the stairs in his haste to leave the scene behind. The last thing he needed was to be taken into custody as an accessory to murder, not when he himself was supposed to be dead.

Light threw himself out the back door at the very bottom of the stairwell, and sure enough he was in an alley. A cat darted behind a trashcan in surprise at Light's abrupt entrance. He leaned against the wall, letting his head hit the rough bricks, and took gasping breaths to steady himself.

The sirens were getting closer, maybe only a few blocks away now. Light started when the back door slammed open, but was relieved to see Greg's red and sweaty face.

"Here, take this!" Greg shoved a small black bag into his hands.

"What-?" started Light, afraid of what it might contain.

"It was from yer dad. He gave it to me to keep safe. I don't know what or who from, but if anyone can figure it out, I reckon it's you," explained Greg, his words rushed.

"But-"

"I don't have many friends, Light, and the guy who saved us isn't one of them. If he knows yer face, then yer in trouble just like me. So get outta here! And don't come looking for me. Go to yer other relative, the one in England. I'll find ya when it's safe, yeah? Now go!" said Greg, pushing Light towards the mouth of the alley.

Light stumbled, took one last look at his uncle's pleading face, and nodded, running out into the night with a small black bag held tightly against his chest.

"We were contacted about another case," said Watari, pouring tea into the fine bone china cup belonging to a set that L was particularly fond of these days.

"Hmm, I'm sure. You know I am not interested in anything at the moment Watari. I am on holiday," murmured L, blowing softly on the tea to cool it.

Watari nodded. "Amazingly enough. I don't believe you've ever taken a holiday before, L."

"First time for everything," remarked L, turning the page of his book. Watari tried to peek at the title, but he couldn't make it out. It was written in Arabic.

"I really think you should take a look at this one, though," said Watari, gulping slightly.

"Hmm, no, I do not believe I will," said L casually.

"But - I just really think this case might interest you a great deal," continued Watari, rubbing his suddenly sweaty palms on his trousers.

L blinked his dark eyes, noticing Watari's strange behavior. "Watari? Are you 'beating around the bush,' as they call it?"

Watari blinked. "Erm, how very astute of you, L. Yes, I believe that is what I am doing."

L quirked his head. "This is unlike you. Something has you nervous about this case you persist in bringing up."

It wasn't a question, and Watari knew that as well as L did. The older man nodded.

L sighed. "What is it that is causing you to be so flighty, Watari?"

"There was a triple homicide on the other end of town last night," began Watari, his voice hesitant and stilted.

L furrowed his brow. "There is nothing untoward about that, Watari. Have we had past connections with the murder victims? Is that it?"

"No, well, we know of them. Vincent Corini was one of the victims, along with his two body guards Tony Gooch and Freddie Calhoun."

"Hmm, yes, I've heard of that man before. He dabbled in drugs and gambling if I'm not mistaken."

"Recently, he's moved on to human trafficking," added Watari.

"A step up in the world? Pity he won't be brought to justice by myself seeing as he was murdered," said L, sounding as if he truly didn't care one way or the other.

"Yes, pity," said Watari, absently fiddling with a loose string on his cuff. The action did not go unnoticed by L.

"I would suspect that many people would be out to murder the man, but why do you think I would be so interested in this case? You know I refrain from taking cases like these," said L, sipping at his cooled tea.

Watari took a deep breath before plowing on.

"Well, that's just the thing. The crime was committed at a small apartment, but the man who rented it was under an alias, so we have nothing on him but a rough description from the neighbors. Along with the blood found from the three victims, another person's blood was found. They cross-referenced the blood with the local hospitals to see if anything came up. As you know, sometimes the police get lucky if the suspect is a local, and they found a blood match with an umbilical chord they had frozen at a hospital in east London. Apparently some parents keep babies' umbilical chords for future uses in cancer treatments or something of the like, and the hospital records were extensive, but -"

"You're rambling, Watari," interrupted L.

Watari coughed. "Yes, well, the suspect . . ."

L swiveled in his chair when Watari went silent, his curiosity peaked, to fully face the older man.

"Who does the blood belong to?"

Watari sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Light Layfield."

Light cleaned his face up the best he could, but there was only so much he could do in a dirty dimly-lit bathroom of a train station. He was able to change clothes though, unceremoniously dumping the blood garments in the trash. That had been a relief. He closed his eyes briefly, but snapped them open once he saw the bloodied corpses in his mind's eye.

He shuddered.

Heaving his duffle onto his shoulder, Light made his way out of the bathroom. The lights were better out in the station proper, and Light sought the nearest seat before throwing himself down, laying his duffle to rest at his feet.

He checked his wristwatch. He had an hour until the train to Winchester arrived, another twenty on top of that before it departed.

Ryuk, ever his shadow, chuckled. "Told you we were going to have some fun tonight! You humans are so entertaining!"

In keeping with the illusion that his sanity was perfectly intact, Light refrained from yelling at the shinigami. Instead, he settled on an icy glare, which only served to amuse the death god more.

He looked away from the floating specter. It was late, and there weren't many people at the station. A couple of rough looking boys his age were horsing around near the ticket booth, the night guard eyeing them with ill hidden suspicion. An elderly man limped by Light, his cane clacking noisily. The man stared at Light before looking away and limping just a bit more quickly than before. Light scrunched his eyebrows in confusion at the odd behavior before realizing what the man must have noticed.

Light gently touched the raw cut on his face. With his luck, he'd have a nasty scar. He could almost see the humor in his disfigurement. It was only the beginning of his repentance for being Kira, he was sure. After taking such great pride in his appearance for so long, it was only justice that he would have a disfiguring scar.

His sins would be clear for all those to see.

He scooted down further into his seat, letting his head rest against the back of his chair. He double checked his wristwatch to make sure that his alarm would sound before he boarded the train, and then closed his eyes, ignoring any and all ghosts that tried to show their ugly, bloody faces.

He was tired, and he hadn't slept a wink all night. He needed a full night's sleep to function, otherwise it was like night of the living dead where he was concerned.

He crossed his arms, letting his head loll a bit to the side. It wasn't the most comfortable chair he'd ever sat in, but it would do.

"Do you have any apples?" asked Ryuk suddenly.

Light cracked an eye, annoyed. "No."

"Are you sure?" prodded the shinigami.

"Yes, I'm sure," whispered Light curtly, glancing around to see if anyone noticed him seemingly talking to himself.

Ryuk huffed before floating away.

Light glared after the annoying death god before shutting his eyes once more. However, to his dismay, although his body was physically exhausted, his brain was anything but. His thoughts drifted to the mysterious black bag that was shoved deep in his pocket. He still hadn't checked out the contents. He wanted to wait until later, but what had his father given to Greg, and why did Greg seem to believe that he could "figure it out?" Figure out what? He'd have to look in the bag to find out that answer.

And Greg. Light didn't know what to think about his uncle. Light had always prided himself on his ability to judge another's character. He had been positive that Greg, underneath all the filth and booze, was a good guy, and maybe he really was, but the way Greg had been able to kill that man . . . But was that really any different that what Light had done as Kira? It wasn't like Greg killed someone innocent.

But the look on that one guy's face before Greg literally blew his head off . . .

That man hadn't been some hardened picture of a criminal glaring out of a television screen. He'd been a frightened human being, staring up at his killer in a pool of his own blood, tears leaking from the corner of his eyes, his mouth open in a silent plea for mercy.

Light shivered at the memory.

Greg had been the one to kill the man, who Light knew had been anything but an innocent bystander, and yet if Greg was ever caught, he'd be charged for murder.

There had always been a part of Light, even after he had fully separated himself from his alter ego, that had secretly thought that maybe what Kira did wasn't all that bad in what he did. Surely his lofty goals of changing the world to a better place weren't really so evil? Light just didn't want to see Lawli die for Kira's beliefs, because Lawli was more important that saving the world in Light's eyes. And yet, a small part of Light continued to believe in Kira's ideals, the rightness of what Kira had done.

But now . . .

How many people had Kira killed that were like Greg? Murderers, but not? People who killed in self-defense? Those who's story was only partially known, and yet were still being judged? How many innocent people were dead because of him?

The dead man's frightened face flashed suddenly through his mind. Were all criminals that . . . human? Had Kira's victims felt that kind of fear in the grips of a heart attack that would end their life? Greg killed in defense, but the man was already down. On the other hand, it was safer to leave no witnesses, and the man could have found a way to turn the tables - maybe.

Light shook his head. He didn't know what to think. What was right? What was wrong?

Was their even a difference anymore?

Suddenly it wasn't so black and white anymore in Light's eyes. How could it be after everything that had just happened?

No, black and white had mixed and melded to the point that all Light could see now were shades of grey.

EDITED: 7-4-09

A/N: Okay people! There it is! And thank you all so much for sticking with me! I know I was obnoxiously late, but tomorrow I'll be home, and then I'll get started on the next installment!

Buuuut, what did ya think? Huh? Huh?! I loved writing this chapter. I was really trying for the macabre here. I haven't written much of that before, so it was an adventure, but I sure do love it, lol!

Sooo, SAY SOMETHING, peeps!

And I'll tell the ocean y'all said hello! XD :P