A/N: Awww, you guys?! Really!? I know I've become spoiled, but I got thirty reviews less than what I usually get for the last chapter! Is everybody on vacation? HAVE I LOST READERS?!?! Seriously, I wonder if it's something I did. Is the story going . . . . bad? HOMG! I've seen stories that go . . . bad. Oh, Lord, I hope mine hasn't!

D:

Le sigh. Oh well. At least I still like it, right? And thanks to everyone who DID review! Ugh. Maybe I'm just spoiled. Oh well. Whatevs, but I really appreciate everyone who's stuck with me! Sorry, sorry, I'm turning into one of those people who get butt hurt when things don't go their way. I'll chill now! XD

OOOOOOKKKKKKKKAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYY!

Here's the next chapter!

Beware! Plot the Plottypus rears its ugly head! (Ahahaha! Damn! I just came up with that! I LOVE IT! Imma use that shit from now on! . . . plottypus . . . LAWL! I crack myself UP!)

XD

The Art of Drowning

On the Sly

It was a quick, sharp prod to his side that made Light jerk awake.

"Ow!" he yelled, sitting up and blearily looking for the source of his annoyance. He just knew it was L, and Light had every intention of murdering the agitating man. So he was brought up short to see Greg Layfield smirking down at him. Light lazily flipped him off before burrowing back under the covers.

"Oi, Lightie. S'not very nice of ya to do that," chided Greg.

"G'way," said Light in response, his voice muffled by the pillow he had put over his head.

"I would, but I got to talk to ya. It's important," said Greg, sitting on the bed. Light had an overwhelming urge to viciously kick his uncle off.

"Don't wanna talk," he grumbled.

"Well how 'bout ya just listen then instead, eh?" suggested Greg.

Light didn't say anything. He just waited for his uncle to say his piece so that Light could get back to sleep.

"Eh? Ya hear me, Lightie? You'll listen to what I has to say, right?" asked Greg, poking Light once again in the side.

Light growled, throwing the pillow off his face. "What the hell do you think I'm doing?"

"Ignoring me," answered Greg immediately.

If only it was possible to ignore him!

"I'm listening, alright? Now get on with! I want to go back to sleep!" complained Light, glancing at the clock on the side table. He'd only been asleep for twenty minutes, if that.

"Tank told me 'bout that old man who wants to kill ya," Greg said in response.

Light hummed, too tired to really care if his uncle knew about psycho fucker or not. He supposed it didn't really matter either way now. He hadn't really wanted to tell Greg his motives for visiting him in the beginning, but now that Greg was here and apparently friends with Tank – the man who had been hired to kill him on Roger's behest – he figured Greg would have found out sooner or later.

"Light, I remember him. Roger Ruvie, right? Yer mum's adopted dad?" asked Greg.

Light perked up, feeling much more awake at the unexpected confession. "You remember him? From where?"

"Christmas," answered Greg with a careless shrug.

"Christmas?" repeated Light incredulously. Somehow linking psycho fucker and Christmas seemed wrong in Light's mind.

"Yeah. It was the Christmas yer mum was pregnant with ya. It's the only time I ever met him, but I remember that yer mum had to play peace keeper between him and yer dad. Charlie didn't like 'em, for some reason. Now that I think 'bout it, I remember a woman there too. She only came for a few hours Christmas day. That old man stayed for a few days. But anyhow, that musta been yer mum's sister. I don't think she liked him too much either," explained Greg, a thoughtful look on his face.

Light's mind slowly processed the information. So his father and Roger hadn't cared for one another? And supposedly his mother's sister didn't care for the man either. Light wondered if there was a connection between that and why Roger was after his blood, but he seriously doubted it was a case of Roger visiting the sins of the father upon the son. It had to be something more than petty hatred that led Roger to arrange for Light's death.

"Did ya ever figure out that thing I gave ya?" asked Greg suddenly, breaking Light away from his thoughts.

"Thing?" questioned Light, unsure as to what his uncle was referring to.

"Yeah, ya know. It was from yer dad?" prompted Greg.

From his . . . ? Light's eyes widened in realization. "I totally forgot about that. It's been in my duffel bag since you gave it to me."

"Guess I can't blame ya for fogetting. From what Tank's told me, you've had a pretty eventful couple of days," said Greg, and Light was mutely horrified and disgusted to see his that his uncle was scratching himself. It wouldn't have bothered Light overly if his uncle hadn't been sitting on his bed.

"I never got the chance to ask you, but what is it? I never even looked at it," asked Light, dutifully ignoring his uncle's crass behavior.

"Bunch of numbers is all I can tell. I don't know what it all means, but Charlie gave it to me a bit before 'e was murdered. Wanted me to keep it safe. Told me it was real important that I not let anyone get their hands on it. Think 'e wanted me to figure it out or something, but for the life of me, I don't know what it's all 'bout. That's why I gave it to ya. If yer half as smart as yer parents, then I'm sure whatever it is, you'll work it out. But whatever it ends up being, I got a sneaking suspicion that yer parents died for it."

"You think that my parents were killed because of it?" asked Light, his mind racing.

"I don't rightly know, Light. All I know is that right before they died, yer dad was acting all strange like. Yer mum, not so much, but she always had a good 'ead on her shoulders. Didn't freak out easily. But if I was a bettin' man, and believe me, Lightie, I am, then I'd bet it had something to do with all that secret military stuff yer parents were involved in. I'd bet they found out something someone didn't want them knowing, and they murdered 'em before they could do anything 'bout it."

Light silently mulled over Greg's words and the information he had received from Roger during their brief meeting. Spies. Roger had told him that his parents were British spies, heavily involved in MI-5.

But how did Roger know what his parents did in the military, if even his uncle, who had obviously been very close with his father if his father had trusted Greg with something so important, could only guess at what his brother and sister-in-law did?

No, there was a connection here. Whatever his parents had found out, whatever his father had entrusted to Greg, it had to have something to do with Roger. Why else would Roger know what his parents did? Granted, his mother could have told him, but that didn't explain why Roger was intent on killing Light. And maybe there was no connection at all, but Light's gut feeling didn't believe that for a moment.

And for the life of him, Light still didn't understand how Roger was connected to L, besides the obvious. How had Roger known about the relationship between L and himself? Did he make the connection after L had been taken to Whammy's? Or had he known before? And why did he want them apart? Did it have something to do with what Greg had given him?

Light couldn't even begin to guess, but one thing was certain. Whatever his father had given Greg and Greg gave to him in turn must be important, and if Light could figure out what Greg had tried and failed to uncover, then maybe it would help him find the answers he sought.

"Light?" asked Greg.

"Oh, sorry. I was lost in thought. This is just a lot to take in all at once," said Light.

"S'okay. I know it is, but Light, there's just one other thing I'm worried 'bout," started Greg hesitantly.

"What?"

"Well, it's about that guy that's with you. Ruu – something. Tank told me 'e was at that place that Roger runs. I know you know him and all, but don't ya think it's a bit strange that ya run into him at that place they train the genius kids at? I mean, Roger runs that place and all. 'E could be a spy," said Greg, his voice lowering conspiratorially.

Light stared. Fuck. What the hell could he say to that? He honestly hadn't thought about coming up with an excuse for L's presence at Whammy's. Wait, didn't Matt say that the orphanage has its own school? Yeah, the redhead had been skipping class, hadn't he?

That gave Light inspiration, and with the skills he had honed for years when the perfect facade had actually mattered to him, Light constructed an easy lie to feed his uncle. He schooled his face.

"His grandfather is a teacher there. Ryuuzaki's a friend from my college in Japan. My best friend, actually. And I knew that he was coming to England around the same time I was to visit his grandfather, I just didn't know his grandfather was a teacher at Whammy's," explained Light, the lie naturally spilling from his lip with ease.

"So you're saying it's just a big coincidence?" asked Greg skeptically.

"Yeah. Ryuuzaki's never even met Roger before. His grandfather only recently took up the post," said Light.

Greg nodded slowly. "Well, if yer sure you can trust 'im . . ."

"I'd trust his with my life," asserted Light firmly.

"But what's 'e gonna do 'bout his grandda?" asked Greg.

"Just let us worry about that. We'll come up with something," assured Light.

Greg smiled. "Well, if yer sure 'bout him, then okay. I'll trust yer judgement."

Light let out a mental sigh of relief. Well, that was one crisis averted. "Thanks, Greg. And I'll check out that thing you gave me, but first, please let me get some sleep."

Greg guffawed, punching Light's shoulder good naturedly. "Sure, little nephew."

And with that, Light was once again alone. However, sleep didn't come as easily as it had before.

"Shut up, Matt," growled Mello not even looking at the redhead.

Matt sighed. "I just don't think this is a good idea."

Mello narrowed his eyes, working the pick faster in his frustration. "He's not in there. We knocked and everything. So stop freaking out."

"What if he catches us? I had my video games taken away for a week last time. I can't go through that again, Mels!"

"Shut the hell up, Matt. Fuck, you piss me off. If you keep on wailing, then I'm sure someone will come along and hear us," gritted Mello, moving the metal pick slower, concentrating on moving the bit of metal just right.

Click.

"About fucking time," grumbled Mello, standing up. He tried the door, and it opened easily.

Mello turned to him with a triumphant grin. "Ha. Told you I could do it."

Matt rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Let's get this over with."

"You can't tell me that you don't want to know about that guy either," said Mello, his eyes roving over the room greedily, as if expecting some juicy secret to pop out.

Matt shrugged, looking over their surrounding also.

Matt and Mello had never been in these rooms before, but Matt wasn't surprised to see that they were spacious and inviting. That was all of Whammy's House, really. What was surprising was the vast amount of candy bowls that littered every available surface. Mello immediately honed in on a bowl containing nothing but chocolate pieces.

"Hell yes! Jackpot!" he exclaimed, stuffing his pockets with handful after handful.

Matt ignored his friend, and instead, he took his time to do what they had come to do – snoop.

A piece of paper caught his attention, and Matt curiously picked it up from where it lay on the coffee table. As his eyes scanned the words, he felt his heart quicken.

"Holy shit," he whispered, shocked.

Mello paused from where he had been picking at the brightly colored tin foil of a chocolate. "What is it, Matt?"

"It – It's L!" exclaimed Matt.

This immediately grabbed the blonde's attention. "What? Let me see that!"

Mello grabbed the paper out of his hands, reading quickly. "Wha – Roger had a heart attack?"

"Who cares!? Look who it's addressed to! It's written to L! And look at who wrote it," said Matt, gesturing at the signature on the bottom.

"L . . . and Watari. Fucking hell, Matt. Do you know what this means?" asked Mello, his eyes widening

"Erm, we got the wrong room?" guessed Matt.

"No, you moron! That guy – he's L!" grinned Mello.

"You think so?" asked Matt skeptically.

"We have all the evidence we need right here, dumbass!" replied Mello, shaking the letter in Matt's face.

"Damn. He's younger than I'd thought he'd be," said Matt.

"I can't believe we were with him all that time, and he didn't even tell us!" yelled Mello indigently.

"What are you two doing in here?" asked a quiet voice.

Both Matt and Mello jumped in surprise.

"Near!" shouted Mello, a nasty scowl crossing his face.

The boy in question merely twirled a lock of his hair in response, staring at the two with slightly widened eyes from the opened doorway. Matt wanted to hit himself. He should have closed the damn door.

"You've met L," said Near. It wasn't a question.

Matt and Mello shared a look. "Yeah, what of it?" asked Mello gruffly.

"I suppose these are his rooms, then. What are you doing in them?" continued the smaller boy, ignoring Mello's question. If Matt was Near, he suspected he might have felt a bit left out. Especially considering Near's rank.

"What does it look like?!" yelled Mello, crossing his arms defensively.

"It looks like you are stealing L's candy," replied Near blankly.

"Uh, we were just leaving, actually," muttered Matt. "Come on, Mello."

"No, wait! I -" started Mello, but Matt didn't give him enough time to argue. He threw the letter back down onto the coffee table, grabbed Mello by the arm, and pushed them past Near, but not before slamming the door.

Mello growled, shooting a venomous look at Near as they passed, but otherwise let Matt lead him away. Near regarded them silently as they made their way down the hall, twirling a lock of fine white hair.

"Fucking Near. He ruins everything!" yelled Mello, jerking his arm out of Matt's grip. The blond stalked ahead of Matt, heading in the direction of their shared room. Matt sighed. He hoped the other boy had a stash of chocolate somewhere. Matt wasn't up to dealing with Mello in a bad mood today.

Matt followed slowly after Mello, lost in his thoughts. He was mildly concerned about Roger, but truth be told, the first time the man took away his video games was the day that Matt decided he didn't like the old geezer much. What really occupied his thoughts was L.

Contrary to Mello, Matt didn't much care for L's job. Detective work didn't look like much fun to him, and he didn't understand why his best friend coveted the title of L so much. Mello just didn't have the tempermant, but Matt supposed that Mello only wanted to beat Near to it. That made much more sense than Mello actually wanting the position because he enjoyed the work.

And L . . . he was so different than what Matt had imagined. No one from Whammy's had ever met the man. The one time the children of Whammy's ever had contact with the detective was once through a computer screen, and even then, it wasn't for very long.

Matt had never expected L to be so young or physcially attractive. The brunet he had spent hours with playing video games was really L? Matt shook his head in amazement. Why hadn't L told them who he really was? Why all the secrecy? Pretending to be a relative of Roger's and all that?

Maybe L was testing them. Maybe the detective wanted to get to know them without his identity influencing how they acted around him. Yes, that must be it. That was the only explanation that Matt could come up with that made logical sense.

He opened the door to his room, letting out a small, inaudible sigh of relief when he caught sight of Mello munching on a chocolate bar. Thank God the blond had had some left.

Matt spotted his Gameboy Advance, and he eagarly took up the console, flopping onto his bed.

"So what do you think we should do?" asked Mello around a piece of chocolate.

"About what?" mumbled Matt, most of his focus on the game in front of him.

"L."

Matt shrugged. "I don't know."

"Guess we'll just have to wait. Fuck. I hate waiting, but I hope he hangs out with us again. Do you thing he will?" wondered Mello, looking up from his chocolate bar.

"Maybe" said Matt absently, his fingers rapidly hitting the 'A' button.

"Don't you think it's weird that Roger didn't know it was L, though? He was all, 'Ohh, I thought you were dead!'" said Mello, lowering his voice on the last bit in a poor imitation of the old man.

Matt made a noise of agreement. "Who knows. Maybe he really did think L was dead. I doubt he's the most communicative of people."

Mello just sighed and looked away. "Whatever. I just - really - fucking hate waiting."

Matt made no sign that he had heard the blonde's complaints. He was almost to the next level.

Mello glared. If there was one thing Mello hated more than Near, it was being ignored. "So when do you think he's going show up again?"

"You mean if he shows up again. This is L we're talking about here," answered Matt, glancing up from his game.

"No shit. Ugh. Fucking Near . . ." Mello sat up from where he had been reclining on his bed. "Hey! L didn't hang out with Near, did he?"

"Nope," said Matt, popping his lips.

Mello started laughing, and it brought a small smile to Matt's face. Because Mello always sounded slightly psychotic when he laughed.

" . . . Oh, and three of the glazed ones, please."

The clerk raised an eyebrow. "Is that all, sir?" she asked pointedly.

L bit his thumb, his eyes moving quickly over his large order. It might have been overkill, but he was hungry, and he could always save the rest for latter.

"Yes."

The clerk hit a few more buttons on the cash register. "That comes to 17 pounds exactly, sir."

L pulled out a wad of pounds before carefully counting out the correct amount. He gave the bored looking clerk a small smile before hefting the four boxes filled with doughnuts, small cakes, muffins, and cookies. He placed his burden on a table in the far corner of the room where he could easily see the door and through the large window to the street.

With a happy sigh, L opened a box. He breathed in the scent of freshly baked blueberry muffins deeply, and carefully chose the biggest one. One bite, and L had to stop himself from moaning in delight. Maybe it was the blueberries, but Japan had nothing on blueberry muffins baked in England.

A familiar figure on the street caught his eye, and L watched with renewed interest as the assassin, of all people, paused across the street from the bakery. L quirked his head, noticing that the store across from the bakery was the dry cleaners. Hadn't the assassin said something about picking up his dry cleaning?

But why was he just standing there? Why didn't he go in?

L took another bite of his blueberry muffin, his eyes never leaving the hulking figure across the street. Something didn't sit right with him about this scene, and L always trusted his instincts. Something was off about that man. L had felt it the moment he had met him.

It was another ten minutes and four doughnuts before someone approached him. L bit his thumb, scrutinizing the well dressed stranger shaking hands with the assassin. The man wore sunglasses, so L couldn't see his features, but something about the man struck him as familiar.

L leaned forward, and if they weren't so far away, he would have been able to read their lips. He cursed softly under his breath. That was one conversation he wanted to be privy to. The men turned and entered into the dry cleaning store. L waited a moment, but they did not immediately come out.

L jumped out of his chair, leaving his pastries behind.

He needed to get Light, and fast. It was time for them to leave.

A/N: Bwahahahaha! Plot! Yay Plot!

Okay you guys, y'all know the drill, SAY SOMETHING (preferably ANYTHING!) :P

Oh, and I have a new one-shot! Kira and the King of Pop. Check it out! It's about Kira and . . . Michael Jackson . . . :D