A/N: Wow. It's been awhile, huh? Thanks for all the amazing reviews! OMG OVER 2,000! ARGH! AMAZING! They inspired me to pick this back up once I took a gander at them. Things have been really hard in the real world for this author. I'm currently homeless (thank you my bitch aunt), crashing on friends couches, trying to work, trying to finish this semester, trying to find a place/roommate, and trying to find somewhere with an internet connection (woohoo go public libraries!) I find that when I'm down in the dumps and my life is shit, I tend to turn to writing as a sort of therapy, so here's to hoping my life gets better! (for me!) and here's to hoping it stays shit (for you!).
Ha.
Anyway, I hope ya'll like the next installment. Keep in mind I have no beta. I tend to lose those, so forgive my mistakes! It's my free day today, so I took the time to reread the story, go over my old notes, write new ones, and hunker down to write this chapter. :) Considering I'm homeless, expect many many more updates very soon. :')
The Art of Drowning
Plans and Surprises
"And you've put it on the bed, you say?"
"Yes. It's as plain as day. He shouldn't miss it."
"Good," said Roger, sighing in relief. It was a stupid plan, but it was the best he could come up with on such short notice, not to mention the extra complication of being as incapacitated as he currently was. Roger glared ruefully at the tubes in his arm.
"Thank you, my friend. I shall be in contact with you soon," said Roger, once it was apparent that the other man had nothing else to add. He ended his call and sat back further into the starched white hospital pillows.
Who would have the resources or the intel to kidnap L straight from Whammy's? Nobody Roger was aware of, and hopefully nobody that Quillish would know of either, but either way, the ransom note would have to do.
His next step was to procure L's dental records. He had a body to plant, and the only thing he wanted recognizable was the teeth.
His mind drifted off to the issue of who would take the place of L. Near, as of now, was the only canidate that Roger would even consider. He nodded to himself. Yes, Near would have to do. It would take another few months – maybe even close to a year - before the new detective L would be as fully operational as the original, but at least the difficult stage had already been passed. L had already gained the trust of all the world's leading nations, and with that trust, the power to influence and ultimately control them.
Roger chuckled softly to himself.
"I'm glad you're finding your humor again, old boy!" announced Quillish upon entering the hospital room. The man had two coffees in his hand.
Roger surpressed his agitation at the old coot's intrusion. "I was thinking about a good joke I heard the other day from one of the children."
Quillish smiled. "Ah, laughter is truly the panacea for all of life's troubles."
"Indeed," agreed Roger, taking the offered coffee.
"So, how are you feeling this morning, my friend?" asked Quillish, blowing into his cup, mustache twitching.
Roger refrained from sneering in disgust. He hated Quillish's damn mustasche. It was always twitching. Whether from ill concealed good spirits, nerves, or anger, the man's infernal mustasche would never stay still.
"As well as can be expected. I'm looking forward to returning home," said Roger. He scowled to himself as the realization that Whammy was probably going to be around the orphanage a lot more now that L was dead. Ah, well, all for the greater good. Roger supposed he could suffer the man's company for a few months. Long enough to get Near trained. After that, he'd have a better idea on the other man's usefullness. He smiled at the thought of finally being able to kill the old bastard.
"Ah, yes, as am I. L hasn't contacted me yet. I must admit to being worried about him. He's been . . . down in the dumps, you could say, and I didn't part with us on the best of terms," admitted Quillish, his mustasche once again twitching. With worry, no doubt. Roger wondered if he could perhaps pay one of the children to shave it off in the man's sleep. He shook the ridiculous thought away immediately.
"What in heavens name did you do to upset him?" asked Roger, morbidly curious as to why the famous detective and his most trusted confidant were at sorts.
"I drugged him," sighed Quillish.
Roger's brow furrowed. "Drugged him?"
Quillish nodded. "Yes, I do it every once in a while. He doesn't sleep. You know that, and it has been an inordinately long time since he has partaken in anything but an hour of rest, at most, within the past month or so."
"Ah," said Roger in understanding. No wonder that flea bitten second rate assassin had been able to kill L – who was fully able and trained to easily incapacitate someone of the assassin's skill. L had been drugged. Roger caught himself before he could laugh. Quillish had inadvertantly murdered his ward. He would make a special point of telling the old dodger that before Roger killed him.
Wait, this played in perfectly with the fake ransom note. Quillish would come to the conclusion that if he hadn't of drugged L, then L would have been able to fight off his kidnappers. The old man would be beside himself, wallowing in guilt. Roger's mood was suddenly elevated beyond anything he'd felt since coming to this damned hospital.
It was then that the doctor entered.
"And how are you feeling this morning, Mr. Ruvie?" asked Dr. Langley, looking through his chart at the foot of his bed.
"Much better than I was," said Roger, smiling sweetly at the shapely young doctor. Yes, his mood was much better, and it was getting even more better with every glance at Dr. Langley slithe form.
"Good, good," she murmured, her head bent over the chart.
"Do you know when he'll be able to leave?" asked Quillish.
The doctor looked up. "I want to keep him one more night for observation." The pretty blonde doctor then addressed Roger. "We should have you out in the morning if everything goes well."
Roger smiled genially. "That sounds wonderful, my dear. I must say, I'm not one to enjoy hospital stays, but this go around has been much more pleasurable. I can only assume it's because I have been left in your very capable hands."
Doctor Langley smiled. "Well thank you for the compliment, Mr. Ruvie." She turned to look at Quillish. "My, my, he's a charmer."
"Yes, the dear fellow is rather charming, isn't he? Must be the pain medication," laughed Quillish.
The doctor laughed. "You two make a sweet couple. Just let the nurse know if you need anything." She shut the door behind her as she left.
Quillish blinked. "Did she just imply that we -"
"Yes, Quillish. She's obviously daft. Just ignore her," gritted out Roger, his good mood abruptly ruined with the assumptions of some air headed doctor. Where the devil did that woman get off implying that he was a shirt lifter? With Quillish Whammy, no less?
The youth of today. What a waste.
Light sat across from L at the small table infront of the window. The detective had his laptop out and was currently pecking the keys with lightning speed – ensuring that everything he did financially and otherwise would not come to the attention of Roger or Watari. He had been contacting all of the world leaders, governmental agencies, banks, and underground contacts he had accumulated over the years for the past three hours, changing passwords and key phrases that would identify him to those authorities, explaining to some about a hacker that had breached his security, others he told that his identity had been compromised and he was going underground until it was taken care of, some of an extended holiday or a case that involved his full attention, and all he warned of a man who may contact them pretending to be the real L or Watari.
Light, meanwhile, was busy studying the well worn piece of paper he had found in the small draw string black bag that Greg had shoved into his hands the night his uncle and that other man had killed those three men. Greg was right, it was a bunch of numbers. Some sort of code, and it was taking Light more time than he thought necessary to break. Whoever had come up with it – most assuredly one of his parents – had known their way around a code.
He glanced up from the paper. L's face was bathed in the soft glow of his computer screen. His eyes moved frantically back and forth – reading something, no doubt. The chicken pecking started up again soon after.
Light sighed, leaning back into his chair. He glanced at the heavily curtained window of their motel room. He wouldn't have even been able to tell it was daytime if he didn't see the crack of light where the curtains met. He'd have to go get more food for tonight. Light shot L an assessing look, trying to weigh the chances of getting the man away from his laptop and to the small diner he had seen earlier when he had gone and gotten snacks. With that look on L's face? Slim to none and slim left town.
More snacks from the gas station down the road, then.
Light stood up from the table, barely giving the sheet of numbered paper another glance, and flopped onto the bed. Really, the room was so small that Light didn't have to step to the bed. Just stand up and fall in it's direction.
"Is Light-kun tired?" asked L, never taking his eyes off the computer.
Light cut his eyes, but didn't move his head. "You could say that."
"Perhaps if Light-kun hadn't expended so much energy in the bathroom this morning, he wouldn't be so tired," said L – airily, if that was even possible.
Light's eye twitched. "Are you still mad about that?"
"I'm not the least bit angry that Light-kun decided to hole himself up in the bathroom for an hour after he was done showering. Merely curious."
"Annoyed because I wouldn't come out, more like, but I told you I was attending to some hygenic needs that I didn't want you to be privy to. I can't stand for people to watch me cut my toenails," said Light, not all together lying. He had clipped his toe nails, after all. It just a hadn't taken forty minutes. No, that forty minutes had been dedicated to silently freaking the fuck out over losing the Death Note. The last twenty had been for his nails.
"I wasn't aware that "clipping my toenails" was the new slang for masturbation, Light-kun," said L.
Light sat up abruptly, his jaw slackened in righteous indignation. "I wasn't masturbating! Is that what you think I was doing?"
"Hmm," replied L.
"Argh!" Light threw a pillow over his head, partly in frustration, partly to hide his blush, and mostly to suffocate himself.
"I can only assume by your reaction that I am correct," continued L.
Fuck suffocating himself. He'd suffocate Lawli.
Light threw the pillow off his face. "I wasn't masturbating. I was clipping my toenails. And cleaning out my ears. And there was a blackhead on my shoulder that I took care of, an ingrown hair on my upper thigh, and I even clipped my nose hair, if you must know."
L's typing paused. "You clip your nose hair?"
Light's eyes narrowed in anger. Well, it was better than L thinking that Light had been masturbating. That was embarrassing on so many more levels than clipping his nose hair.
"If someone hadn't of kicked me in the nose, maybe it wouldn't have taken as long as it did. It's hard to manuever around swollen and bruised," said Light pointedly.
"Hmm," said L. It was obviously one of the detective's favorite things to say. It could imply a number of things, and it was hard to argue against without digging yourself a deeper hole. So Light left it alone and turned the telly on, flipping through the channels trying to find the news station. He supposed there was no better place to look to see if people were mysteriously dropping dead around England.
His thoughts turned morose.
How would he ever tell L? After all that they had been through? Surely L would believe that Light kept the Death Note on him because he was planning to become Kira once again. Not that he was, but the detective was so suspicious, and L had a bad habit of jumping to the wrong conclusions. He didn't want to lose this new trust and understanding that had formed between them in the wake of Light revealing his true identity. He didn't want to lose Lawli, not for anything. So how was he going to bring it up?
His eyes sought the other man, still working with a diligence Light was well familiar with, and he felt his eyes prick. He blinked rapidly. Why was he always so goddamn emotional? Ever since he'd found out Lawli was L (and alive), his emotions had been haywire. Ugh, L was right. He was like a menopausal woman. Light thought back to the psychology classes he had attended once upon a time. Obviously, there was something subconcious going on – or something. Probably never properly dealt with the grief of losing his friend the first time around. An angry little boy tearing through police files flashed through his mind. Nope. Didn't deal with that well, and now all that bullshit's been dug back up, even if Lawli is safe and sound not three feet away. And surely the guilt of being subjected to Kira's – his alternate ego for all intents and purposes – deadly machinations wasn't exaclty healthy, per se, for his emotional health. And now he had to figure out how to tell L that he'd up and lost the bloody Death Note.
L hissed in anger at his computer before the typing picked up speed, if that was even possible.
Light's gut twisted. Well, maybe Light wouldn't tell him. For now, at least. Yeah, now was not a good time if the look on L's face was anything to go by.
"I've booked a flight to Japan for next week," said L, sounding sullen.
"Good. I'm looking forward to getting back to Japan. I sort of miss headquarters," admitted Light, shooting L sideways glances.
"I can't say the same, but it is truthfully the safest place for us to be, and you already wrote Watari that blasted note," said L, a hint of bitterness creeping into his voice.
"It was the only thing I could think of," said Light, turning his head to look at L. The detective's fists were clenched, and the skin around his eyes were tightened.
"I would rather avoid Watari all together, but if there is a chance that he is not in league with Roger, then I would prefer him by my side. I'm just not looking forward to the interrogation," said L.
"Well, at least he'll bring tea and scones," said Light, hoping to cheer the detective up.
L stiffened. "What?"
"Erm," Light hesitated, when L turned his full, unblinking gaze onto him, "I told the boys to tell him to bring tea and scones? So he'd know it was really you? Because you tell him that a lot?"
L slammed his laptop shut. "You told him to come armed to the teeth and prepared to kill."
"I – what? I did?"
"Tea and scones is a code phrase between Watari and myself. It means for him to come armed and prepared to kill if need be."
Light blinked. "So all those times that you were telling him -"
"Yes."
There was a pregnant pause.
"So you're telling me that he was ready to kill people practically all the time?"
"Yes, Light-kun," sighed L, seemingly letting go of his frustrations and climbing over Light's body to the other side of the bed. The close contact, however brief, made Light blush, and horribly inappropriate thoughts pushed themselves to the forefront of his brain. Ugh, maybe he did need to go spend an hour or so in the bathroom again - this time for completely different reasons.
"Oh. Well, at least he won't have any doubts," said Light, his eyes once again riveted to the television screen. He prayed his blush wasn't noticed.
"Most probably not."
"So why are you so upset?" asked Light, feeling his face cool as he turned the conversation to L's feelings.
"Besides Watari? I have to take public air transportation. I hate it, and I want my plane back," grumbled L.
Light laughed softly. "You're spoiled."
"Too right," agreed L.
They sat in silence for over an hour, each lost in their own thoughts, and none of them paying attention to the telly. Eventually, Light fell asleep.
L stared unblinkingly at the sleeping form of Light. His chest rose and fell with each breath, his eyes would move behind its lids, indicating a dream, and he would sigh softly from time to time.
L gently traced the edges of Light's eyes. He loved Light's eyes. No matter how schooled the man's face was, his eyes spoke volumes.
Soon hunger found L, and he rustled through the grocery bag Light had brought in that morning. He was surprised to see a candy bar he had missed earlier. He grinned. What a nice surprise. He was expecting to be disappointed. His eyes lifted to the sleeping figure on the bed. Light had a tendancy to not disappoint L. Always had.
Always had . . .
L pulled the wrapper, taking a bite of his chocolate bar.
Light Layfield and Yagami Raito and Kira - the three people who made him feel more than he ever had in his life. They were one and the same – all of them taking the form of the beautiful man sleeping now. Not surprising. It would have been surprising, though, if there really were that many people out there that could get under L's skin. L smiled. Light had a way of getting under his skin, and L wouldn't have it any other way. It was like L normally existed in a muted world, and when Light was there, everything was sharp, vivid and clear, and he felt so much more. He chuckled at the thought. Light brought the proverbial light to his world.
L took another bite of his chocolate bar, sitting down at his laptop once more. As he waited for it to boot, his eyes found the paper Light had been stressing over all day. He picked it up with two fingers, narrowing his eyes at the sequence of numbers. He tucked the paper into his pocket, planning on bringing it out later and looking over it himself. He sat and tried to do something useful on his computer, but his eyes inevitably found their way back to the man on the bed and so did his thoughts.
Light was more than a brother, more than a friend, more than a rival, more than suspect, more than an obsession, more than anything L could put into words, and if it had been anyone else other than Light, L would have been scared of the depth of his feelings, but it had never been anyone other than Light.
It had aways been Light . . . and it always would be.
The next morning found Light rubbing grit from his eyes. This was the first sign that today was going to be an all around bad day.
The second sign was that there was absolutely no sign of L anywhere in the room – not the detective, not his bag, not his laptop.
And the third sign that today was going to be an all around bad day was when Tank opened the door to his motel room carrying coffee and whistling Dixie.
A/N: Oh, God, there goes Quiet again with the cliffhangers. Somebody stop her! Cackle cackle cackle! Go ahead a say something if ya want.