A/N: I just want to say thank you to everyone who has read, reviewed, alerted, and faved this fic. When I started this I in no way expected this kind of feedback from you guys, so thank you! It really means a lot to me.
FOR ANYONE WHO WANTS INFO ON THE MAIN CHARACTERS READ THE REVIEW RESPONSES HERE:
Maddie: Honestly, the original two main characters here were BB and Light. However, I changed it because I felt we'd be seeing more of L than B, which (given this chapter and all that's coming) I still feel is true. We're heading into a lot more L, Light interaction; things just took some time because they only just met. It's the nature of the AU I suppose. But thank you for your input, I understand where you're coming from, and really, if I could label this under more than one character, we'd be seeing the tag "Light/L/BB/Mello."
Sango: You and everybody else are vying for some BB/Mello. However, B likes to play with his food. He did it with Light (which you guys have seen) and now he's doing it with Mello. Remember, good things come to those who wait. ; )
To the both of you, thanks for reading and sharing your comments, they're truly helpful (as is everyone who reviews)!
Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note and I'm not making any money off of this work.
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Chapter 14
Pink skin decorated the flesh surrounding his neck.
"What brand has he left on you?"
L's words expanded over Light's mind as he stared in the mirror. A towel hung low around his hips while droplets of water clung to the tips of his hair, desperate not to fall to the floor. The bathroom was warm, filled with the fog of scalding water, though the shower had been off for a few minutes already. The room was stifling. Yet Light felt chilled, frost crystals spreading over his insides and rejecting the heat of the room.
The skin surrounding the jagged scar was tan, smooth, a contrast to the rugged pucker of the injury's milky, pink tone. Hesitantly, Light ran his fingers over the damaged skin, flashes of pain, screams, and the blunt force of B's whisper raping his ear shot through his mind as his fingers traced over the healed gore. Memories attached to ugly imperfection.
No matter how much the scar healed - countless layers of new skin growing over each other, reconnecting the severed tissues - no matter the maintenance, the attempts to obscure the blemish, the mark would never fully fade. It still hung there, polluting the rest of his flawless skin with its marred appearance. It nestled itself nicely beneath the collar of his shirt, cowering from the daylight. Even in the dead of the night, the mark would hide amongst the shadows, blending in. No one ever knew it was there unless they felt it through the darkness, touched it with their own hands.
Only in the mirror, when the lighting was brighter than a searching spotlight, could Light clearly see the scar Beyond had left behind.
It was a scar that would never heal, a mark that wouldn't fade. A brand he could hide, but never ignore.
3B
He'd acted unreasonable. Breaking and entering into Light Yagami's hotel room, physically assaulting him, yelling at him, L knew he'd crossed a line. But knowing Beyond had been that close, and seeing him get away. It struck a chord on L's pride the detective just wasn't used to. It struck a chord and snapped the string, lamb intestines zinging backwards in a rapid curl, whipping against L's mind in a painful lash of failure. L did not tolerate failure. Failure was unacceptable. Yet, when it came to Beyond Birthday, failure seemed to be crawling all over the place.
He'd failed the boy while he was at Wammy's. Every child that walked though the threshold of Wammy's House's large, ornate oak doors he had failed. But that was a matter of safety, L reasoned. The kid's safety more than his own. If he never visited them, if he never saw them, then they couldn't be traced through him. Those children where his legacy. Not to say he ignored the school full of prodigies completely, that would be idiotic. There had been moments of contact though the Gothic Computer Letterhead every now and then, question and answer sessions, relaying information, and of course the yearly announcement of his top five candidates.
Bur for one child, that hadn't been enough.
Like all children, Beyond required attention, constant attention, L's constant attention. But L had denied him and B hadn't taken the rejection too well.
Contrary to popular belief, L was not an emotionless automaton. In fact, he thrived off his feelings, his passion. Without his emotions, which were so intrinsically tied to his gut instinct, L wouldn't be as successful as he was. Unlike the rest of humanity however, L controlled his emotions, he didn't let them control him.
Or so he'd thought.
The equation was simple when Beyond had been the sole variable. That was when the equation had been nothing more and a simple Y equals M times X plus Beyond. Now there was a Light Yagami in the computation, completely screwing the calculations over without so much as a by your leave, presenting a giant, winding theorem of mixed astrophysics and biochemistry. Never mind that L had a doctorate in both fields, it was the time investment that bothered him. And the feelings. There wasn't a letter in the alphabet that could adequately represent those in any equation, be it scientific or mathematical.
Emotions were easy when the equations were simple, when all there was was a burning drive, a fervent desire to capture, apprehend, defeat, a thirst to win. Channeling everything towards one goal was how he functioned. His modus operandi. There had never been anything other than the case, because that was always the next question. What's the next case? What crimes occurred today? What new terrorist plot had the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam hatched this week? L had always been focused on the crime. So what the fuck was he supposed to do when something new moved into the picture?
Something intelligent, charismatic, an individual with a sense of justice that pointed more that North, it pointed straight towards the fucking clouds. It was problematic in L's eyes, especially when coupled with an IQ exceeding the two hundreds, it was a recipe for vigilantism.
…and perhaps something a little more intimate.
No.
That was bad, that was unprofessional. The odd twisting in his stomach, the clenching sensation that flew through his throat whenever he so much as thought about the younger male, it was bad. Negative. Dangerous. Wildly unprofessional. Sadly, L's libido didn't seem to share the same sentiments. The Detective was now fairly certain that the connection between his brain and (previously inactive) sexuality had been severed, possibly due to some form of head trauma he had forgotten as a result of amnesia. He'd need to have Watari schedule a CAT Scan to check for brain damage.
Such was the only viable explination L was willing to accept in order to explain his current… predicament. Mainly the tightening of his pants every time he saw Light Yagami. He was the greatest detective in the world and he would not fall victim to the wit, charm, and unnecessary attractiveness of the man currently under his employment.
There had to be a chunk of his frontal lobe missing because this was wrong. This was unprofessional. This was bad.
The words, trite and mundane, circled around L's head like tea cups at Disney Land, a whirlwind of irritating thrill. The thoughts were taunting, exciting portions of L's mind that had been collecting dust for years. It was these parts of L's psyche that ignited in anticipation as a ping came onto the computer screen, alerting the Detective to an incoming call from one certain Asian.
A twinge went through L's lower half and he cursed at the screen.
Yes, he was screwed.
"I was supposed to call you," L said, blankly switching on his headset.
"Yeah well you took too long," Light Yagami snapped, the tone of his voice causing a brief flare of defiance to run down L's face.
"Oh, was Light sitting by the phone all night waiting for me to call?" L chirped sweetly. Mocking was good, a ruffled Light Yagami was one he'd be less inclined to engage in phone sex with. And it gave L a sense of control, something he'd been greatly lacking in these past few days. At least by his standards.
A sigh huffed slowly through L's receiver. "Yes, I was here all by myself, alone, waiting for your deep, sensual, voice to come across the line. Oh L, I've just been missing you so deeply… "
L blinked. That was just unfair. "I do not appreciate your lack of professionalism Mr. Yagami." And yes, I am a hypocrite, L added in thought, scowling despite the tiny amount of amusement that tugged at the corner of his brain.
"Oh, I'm the unprofessional one?" Light snapped, quickly abandoning the faux sex kitten tone. "You're pouting over the fact that I called you first and I'm unprofessional?"
L's scowl transformed back into his trademark look of blasé innocence, knowing the expression would further Light's irritation if only the boy could see it. "As your employer I have every right to dictate who will be calling who."
"That is ridiculous L!" Light exclaimed loudly, just barely keeping himself from shouting over the phone. "And this not what I called you to talk about!"
L's head tilted curiously. Clearly there was something bothering Light. L could hear it in the slight pitch of the Yagami youth's voice, it was higher than usual, frayed, if only slightly. The man was doing a good job of hiding his discontent, but L could hear it. And honestly, he didn't much care for it.
"No," L agreed, smirking into his microphone. "You called to hear my deep, sensual voice. Is it not pleasing you?"
Silence came over the line and L claimed his victory.
"…god you are such a child…"
L perked up, mentally congratulating himself as Light's more common tone of exasperation fell over the line and selected a cookie from the plate Watari had brought out for him minutes earlier. "I rather think I'm very mature for my age actually," L replied while nibbling on the frosting coated dough. "Now, seeing as how I already have you on the line why don't you do what I hired you to do and ha -"
"I already did," Light interrupted smoothly.
L froze at the interruption, staring at the computer screen over wafts of pink frosting. He honestly didn't know whether to feel rejoiced or annoyed. He was so used to having to tell people what to do that when someone did something of their own accord, and they did it right, L was flummoxed. His faith in the human race was less than stellar, but considering his line of work, who could blame him.
"You hacked the police database?" L questioned rather curtly.
Light seemed to sense the Detective's surprise as a small chuckle filtered through the connection. "Yes, that's why I called you. The police have already cleaned up the entire crime scene; reports have labeled the death as a murder made to look like a suicide."
"Send me to reports," L demanded. "I refuse to look through tampered police documents again."
"Still annoyed about that?"
"You wasted my time," The detective deadpanned.
"And made a point. Either way, I just sent the reports over to you. Cross my heart I left them exactly as I found them."
Licking remnants of frosting from his finger tips L ignored the taunt and opened his email, brining the reports onto the multiple computer screens that hung before him. "I'm surprised they recorded it as a murder, normally if someone hangs themselves its automatically termed a suicide and no further investigation occurs."
Light nodded from his end of the line. "Yeah, I thought so too. But then again, B was rather obvious about things."
L's eyes narrowed as he read over the details, one in particular sticking out. "They only dusted the gun for prints."
"Did you expect them to do anything else with it?" Light asked pointedly.
"Well they could have shot themselves, they'd certainly be doing the world a favor," L commented brusquely, opening up an attachment that showed a picture of the firearm they'd found in the woman's hand.
Smooth laughter, different from the biting chuckle Light usually displayed, caught L off guard. The sound reminded him of caramel and coffee, like everything else about Light. It was down to earth yet tinged with the sweetness of a gourmet candy. And L found that the sound was causing a certain… reaction… to occur somewhere beneath his waist line. Silently L thanked the gods for baggy jeans.
Gaining controlling his mirth, Light finally spoke. "They're not all incompetent L."
"Light is only saying that because his father is a police man," L grumbled. "Therefore his opinion is biased. However, at the very least, they could have taken the gun apart."
"They're waiting for the prints to run," Light explained. "Not that they'll find anything other than the victim's on there, but still, unlike you they actually follow an orderly protocol."
L ignored the jab. He was efficient, who cared if his mind tended to jump around, the connections he made between thoughts were logical to him and that was all that mattered.
His thumb nail found its way between his teeth and L began to think, leaving Light to listen to the silence of L's thoughts. The gun was important. L already had images of the body, a coroner's report, and crime scene pictures. Compared to the damage B had inflicted on his victims last time around, the scene was relatively tame. Not even a drop of blood. Which left the gun.
The gun was the clue, the focal point of B's entire production. Why else would it be there? The victim was hung, the bruising around the neck and the abrasions littered over the victim's chin pointed towards strangulation. The coroner even stated the woman had died of asphyxiation. Though there appeared to be a series of scratches running down the length if the deceased's throat. L glanced over the photos filed with the report, zooming in on the victim's hands. The nails were tattered, once a long violent shade of purple, they were now chipped, decorating the woman's blue tinged fingers. She had struggled, L concluded, making careful note of the rope burns that curled around the victim's hand. Looking back at the photo of the neck, L's mind highlighted the deep red gashes on the victim's throat and placed their cause as the victim's own finger nails.
"L?" Light's voice carefully turned the Detective's attention back to their conversation. "Was the kid Beyond kidnapped blonde?"
L paused, the question seemingly random. "Why do you need to know?"
"The victim's hair," the younger male pointed out. "It's not naturally blonde. It was dyed, and samples of the victim's scalp tissue say it was done postmortem. Why would Beyond dye the girl's hair?"
The color of Mello's hair wasn't incredibly important, and given that nearly two percent of the world's population possessed blonde locks, it would do little to betray Wammy's House to Light. But L still had to marvel at the other man's brilliance. "Tell me what you're thinking," L demanded, leaning forward in anticipation. It was perhaps these moments where he was most attracted to Light.
The man was fishing for clues to L's identity.
"Rei wasn't a natural blonde either," Light commented. "She dyed it for Sayu's wedding actually. But honestly, the fact didn't stand out to me when she was murdered. This last killing, it's ripe with patterns, one of which is the blonde hair. Most serial killer's victims all share a commonality. In LA B killed people whose names were alliterations, much like his own. These two victims though, they have nothing in common. So it seems Beyond gave them a commonality, a trait they could share. Blonde hair. To force the pattern however, deliberately manipulate the dead body, eight times out of ten the killer's sending a message that way. Beyond's applying the noticeable characteristic of the child he kidnapped to those he's murdering, reminding you that he still has this child and he's going to kill them."
The thought was a grim one, but the truth of it was there. Mello was blonde, as were the victims. It was almost elementary in its simplicity, but that's what made the message so prominent. It was designed to hit like a wrecking ball, filled with dynamite and set to explode a second after the pain of having your bones crushed, pulverized your mind. The anger L felt, however, contained ten times the volatile power.
On some level he was blaming himself. But that was a level he'd buried deep into the core of his emotional being. Those were feelings that could only seep out from between the tight bars of their confines. Self loathing was something left to the darkness of a solitary bedroom, when L was alone without even the comfort of a flickering computer screen to ease the guilt. On the surface, in the here and now, he was mentally shredding Beyond Birthday to pieces. The man was audacious, a plague of arbitrary violence and hidden meanings that drove a spike straight through L's capacity for reasonable thought.
He was the best detective in the world. He never solved a case twice. He never lost a criminal. He'd never risk one of his kids.
L took a breath, his sudden silence no doubt spurring the sharpened cogs of Light's brain into action. Reaching for another cookie L channeled the loss, the anger, and the tiniest bit of guilt into his next statement. "They don't mention the girl's clothing."
Light didn't miss a beat. "Clothing is usually bagged and examined separately, the report is still pending."
Pink frosting and pure sugar were lost to the deep hole that was L's mouth. "Did they not find anything in them?"
"Nothing out of the ordinary."
There was nothing ordinary about the case though and L couldn't help the nagging feeling stretching through his gut. "What was she wearing?"
"A tee-shirt, jeans, and a pair of heels. All designer."
Just like you, L thought absently, one side of his brain focusing on the details of the case while the other half wondered off with abandon. The only thing L had ever seen Light in was designer, where the label stitched into the collar more expensive than the suit itself. And if he recalled correctly, Light slept in designer sheets, silk pooling over his…
And now we're going to stop there… Although the Detective had to admit, Light made for a wonderful distraction from the anger, annoyance, and sheer confusion Beyond had been flinging at them.
A loud banging suddenly rocked through the hotel room and L swore he saw the TV monitors shake as Matt barged into the room. Adroitly the screen displaying L's phone line flickered to black and L spun to face his successors. Three boxes were teetered precariously in the pink haired teen's arms, blocking the sounds of mutinous grumbling and a rainbow of language. Near followed after Matt; he too carried a load of large, baby blue boxes, though the petite boy was more dignified in his entrance than his predecessor had been.
L winced as Matt practically threw the boxes onto the table. Shifting his keyboard and microphone aside L muted the conversation with Light, keeping the other man on the line so he could listen but not comment. The move was bound to drive the uncompromising man batty. Pushing the slightly vindictive thoughts aside, L pulled one of the large boxes towards him. His toes were twitching in excitement, for the scents of chocolate, vanilla, and red velvet, all tousled together and emitting fresh warmth, could only mean one thing.
Cupcakes.
L's eyes lit up as he opened the Trophy Cupcake box, hand diving forward and gently extracting a small, chocolate cake from within, careful not to disturb the mound of glittering, butter cream frosting that had so generously been whipped atop the baked good. For a cupcake, it was rather large, and L handled the sweet as if it were a newborn baby.
"You know they do catering?" Matt fumed. "As in you can order and they'll deliver?"
Actually, L hadn't known that. All he knew was that he'd booked the hotel he now occupied after discovering the existence of a cupcake shop less than a block from the resort's front entrance. He'd eaten Watari's last cake after returning from Light's own hotel room and so had declared a state of emergency. Cupcake retrieval had fallen to Matt and Near.
"I don't smell cinnamon," L commented, sniffing the air in a vain attempt to pick up the elusive scent.
"They only sell the Snikerdoodle cupcake on Fridays," Near said flatly. Already the boy was placing himself in his chosen corner, pulling the Transformers themed backpack off his shoulders and taking a set of green army men out of its pockets.
The Detective deflated slightly, pouting as he lovingly pulled the paper liner from his cake. "Oh, I was rather looking forward to trying that flavor."
Matt could only stare, once more not even daring to believe this was the man he'd looked up to as a child. There's been a time he'd considered L to be cool. Back when his mind had painted the elder genius as an enigma from the shadows, dressed like Sherlock Holmes and smoking illicit substances. This version of L, with cupcakes and sprinkles and cookies, this was so not cool.
L swiped his finger over the top of his cupcake, covering the thin appendage in frosting and an obscene amount of sprinkles. Noticing Matt's stare, L shoved his hand in the teen's face. "Would you like a lick?"
Dear god I hope he's just fucking with me. Matt's lips parted, but no sound came out. Not that his response would have been intelligible.
The Detective took the boy's stringing silence as a no and placed his finger into his own mouth, wide eyed stare still fixed on Matt. "If you're not going to eat a cupcake than you should get to work, like Near."
Matt glanced over at the white haired kid stretched out in the corner of the room on his stomach, sockless feet kicking through the air while an armada of army men marched before his face. He turned back to L but the raven haired man was already locked into his computer screens.
Rolling his eyes, Matt settled onto the couch, crossing his legs and switching on his laptop. Immediately L's emails assaulted the screen, popping across the monitor like large bubbles filled with gore and horrific detail.
"You got access to the case files?" Matt glimpsed up at the back of L's head.
"Yes," L returned, beginning to demolish another cupcake. "I'd like you to review the images of the body, tell me what sticks out most to you."
Matt complied with the demand easily, pulling up the numerous images, from the Police files and comparing them with those that had been taken at the actual crime scene. Unhurriedly removing chocolate frosting from his the top of his cupcake with his tongue, L swiveled around in his chair and carefully appraised the boy. The photographs were already seared into the Detective's memory, now he just needed someone to bounce ideas off of. Seeing as Light wasn't in a position to readily respond to L's theories, which, L hated to admit, was the ideal scenario, he'd settle for seeing how well his potential successor kept up.
The jerking of Matt's head snared L's eyes and the Detective tilted his head, awaiting input.
"The same impressions were made on the first victim…" Matt pulled up the first case file, placing the image of victim one's back alongside victim two's. "It's the same imprint, it's the same weapon." He glanced up for confirmation and L nodded.
"The same impressions were made on the first victim," L stated dully. "At first I thought it was just B's way of telling me it really was him killing these people. He'd done something similar in LA."
Serial Killers were painfully redundant in L's opinion. But for Beyond to keep applying the same tricks over and over again, L thought it strange. The murderer had already thrown a note through Near's bedroom window, the paper essentially screaming "Look at me, I'm Beyond Birthday!" Then he signed the note left at the first crime scene with a gothic B, after which, the same initial had been left on the backs of the first and second victims. There seemed to be very little thought behind the actions, and what thoughts there was were haphazard. It was all nonsensical. There had to be a reason behind it, Beyond always had a reason. He always had a plan.
Beyond fancied himself an architect. He didn't just commit crimes, he orchestrated them. He planned out every insignificant detail of the act. Taking a meticulous amount of time stringing the web together, catching the fly he already decided on two weeks prior and making the sweetest jam out of that poor sod. It was a work of art to him, and he savored it, drew it out and persevered the moment, enjoying it to its fullest.
"And what about now?" Matt prompted.
"Now I'm not so sure." L drew his knees closer to his chest, resting his chin on his jean clad kneecaps. "There's no reason for him to do this twice considering we know that it's him killing these people." As we have all along…
So what was the point of all the fucking Bs? On the letter, on the crown, on the bodies of his victims. It was like the unsolvable riddle left behind by The Riddler, one Batman put so much effort into he didn't even notice when the purple masked man stole the moon.
Or maybe that was it… Needle in a haystack. The Bs were a distraction, the sheer number of them all jumbled together, it was designed to pull L away from the real point of everything. So what was that? And what Bs did L have to follow to understand the truth?
Quickly, L scooped his cell phone from the table and began punching buttons.
"I find it interesting the bruise wasn't in your forensic report." The text bleeped off the screen and L snapped the phone shut.
Light had only mentioned the pattern in passing earlier. He'd been more intent on the significance of Mello's hair color. Which, to L, really wasn't too significant. He'd known the meaning of that from the start, hence he hadn't thought about it. So was Light trying to draw my attention from the bruises? Or was he pulling me from the gun? Though there is no possibly way Light could have deduced I was thinking about the gun, unless of course he hacked into my computer…
Paranoia had L turning from his successors and back to his monitors, pulling the wireless keyboard into his lap. He ran scans over every file on the hard drive, searching for crumpled traces of code, remnants of any type of hack. But there was nothing there. Not any trace of prying eyes.
The cell phone buzzed in L's hands and he flipped it open.
Light's reply flashed over the screen. "I figured you'd notice it on your own and that it was simply B marking his kill."
L'd been expecting a response along those lines. He just hated how innocent Light sounded. Snapping the phone shut L returned to his conversation with Matt. "I have been looking into what could have caused the impressions on our victim's backs while you two were looking into the carpet fiber, but so far my list of potential weapons is still too broad. It's hardly a subject to broach if I have no weapon. Without the weapon those marks are meaningless."
"And it didn't occur to you to ask for help?" Matt glanced at L over the top of his laptop, watching the Detective devour another cupcake.
"I agree with Matt," said Near, though his focus was still on the army men. "Clearly the bruises are of some significance, you should have shared the information with us."
L glanced down at his hands, the communication device vibrating happily in his palm.
"You're not very good at working with other people are you?"
Fighting the urge to scowl L furiously typed a response with minimal pouting. "I've worked with people before!"
To his successors he informed, "I'd already had Watari compare it to any tool associated with fibers and carpentry, he came up with nothing."
Light, however, wasted no time in sending another barb at L, payback for being cut from the conversation at large. "There's a difference between ordering people around and working with them."
"He managed to crosscheck everything that fast?" Matt asked, raising both brows as he glanced around the room for Watari. The man was nowhere to be found.
"Well he's remarkably efficient," said L. "Though I don't like having him do work like that, it infringes on his time to make me cake."
The cell phone lit up once more.
"Because cake is always more important than identifying a potential murder weapon."
L's lips pursed. "I am glad to see Mr. Yagami shares my sentiments."
It was then that Near decided to fully delve into the conversation with a topic of his own. "What concerns me is that B showed up in the first place," the young boy commented. The army men had now marched their way towards the center of the room and were preparing the scale the couch Matt sat on.
"Really?" L returned, biting his nail, more interested in the next words his cell would reveal than Near's concern. "I honestly don't care if Bs getting intel from someone close to us. He's proven that if he knows what we're doing, he will show. Anticipating his offense against us is our best avenue at the moment, as long as we ensure he doesn't escape next time."
Near stared at his mentor blankly, and though completely emotionless, the look was oddly accusatory. "No one should have known we were going to Unnatural Flooring, and I highly doubt Beyond randomly decided to go back to the murder scene."
"What if he forgot something?" Matt suggested.
L's cell phone buzzed not even a minute later. "We swept the room, there was nothing out of the ordinary left behind. Aside from the body of course."
L relayed the information back to his wards. "The entire building was swept, as I'm sure you two well remember, you were the ones who did the sweeping after all. Nothing was found, and according to you and , Matt, B didn't take anything."
"Are you saying…?"
Near nodded at the pink haired teenager, dramatically stating, "Beyond is getting information from someone on the inside."
"Yes," L affirmed. "And as I said, I don't really care."
Near, however, didn't seem to be hearing L's words. "I think Yagami's the mole."
L glanced at the boy sharply, wide owl eyes rapidly becoming narrowed slits. But Near wasn't looking at him, nor anything else in particular. Instead, the albino child lay calmly across the floor, battlements of plastic army figures marching in fastidious rows over the carpet. He was utterly undisturbed for someone who had just accused another of treachery. Not that L thought any different. If there was one person who would be giving everything away it would by Light. The other man just looked like an individual that knew how to juggle. Light Yagami was probably the type who went through high school with three different girlfriends and a male lover on the side, none of who knew about the others. Charm and intelligence always made for the best double agents.
L didn't just suspect Light of informing Beyond of the investigation's movements, he was banking on it.
"I'd like to hear your reasoning for such allegations Near," L said dryly. "That is if you're willing to share."
Near blinked, but gave nothing away. He was here to be tested by L, so he let the Detective proctor his loaded exam. "Why else would Yagami have been there at that point in time?"
"To save my ass?" Matt ventured. "He put up a good fight, was a pretty good shot. It honestly didn't seem like he was holding back against Beyond. The only reason those bullets didn't hit was because B's fucking inhuman."
L tilted his head to the side. He remembered reviewing Light's ballistics reports before Beyond had escaped. The boy wasn't a good shot, he was perfect. Which meant Light was more than capable of faking a miss, especially when going against a martial artist as skilled as Beyond. It was no stretch of L's imagination that allowed him to suspect that was precisely what Light had done. The very idea made his heart flutter just a bit. It seemed a perfect con, one L could truly appreciate. Such a plot would also allow L to spend more time with Light, reviewing his behavior... alone…
Fuck.
L was getting tired of trying to push those thoughts aside. Light was interesting. Before, when he was just a file, several pieces of paper stapled together, he'd merely been a potential tool. Now, when L had him standing right in front of him, insulting and criticizing every move the Detective made… It was motivating. It was fun. And the fact that Beyond knew Light personally, was potentially working with the charismatic twenty year old, it was a bonus sweeter than frosting. And it matched perfectly with the caramel flavor L's fantasies attributed to Light.
"He'd be protecting his cover," Near supplied, breaking though the barrage of L's slightly inappropriate thoughts.
"Obscuring the fact that he is indeed working in tandem with Beyond." Matt shook his head, glancing back down at his computer screen where the colorful blocks of tetris rained, crime scene photos and reports minimized. "I don't see it Near. Or at the very least, I don't see L letting him get away with it so easily."
I suppose it's good to know one of my potential candidates understand how I work, L thought idly. That or Near understands what I'm doing and this is his way of saying he doesn't agree with my methods. The detective slurped the frosting from a Red Velvet cake, the sixth cup cake he'd eaten in the span of minutes, and spun a lazy circle in his chair. "How is Light getting the information?"
"You're giving it to him."
L stopped spinning. "Are you suggesting I'm sabotaging my own investigation?"
Matt covertly glanced over the top of his computer screen, eyes moving back and forth between Near and L while his fingers rotated colored boxes down the screen and eliminated rows of blocks. He honestly didn't see this conversation ending well.
"No," Near replied steadily. "That would be ridiculous. But you could have him assisting you outside of us."
L swerved away from the white ball of fluff spread over his hotel room floor. So Near got points for that. The petite boy saw right through the charade, not that Light had helped in that regard. Bursting in to save Matt the way he had, at exactly the time Matt needed to be saved from the fiend known as Beyond Birthday. Apparently L hadn't been giving his successors enough credit. Matt was probably onto everything too, but unlike Near, he had no desire to push the subject. L had a sneaking suspicion that the former red head liked L's newest, auburn haired intrigue.
"Hmm…" L hummed, glancing over the TV monitors and out the window. Just because they were onto him didn't mean he had to confirm their suspicions. "That's not a bad idea…"
3B
Giovanni stood several feet away from his boss, practically on the other end of the hallway, watching as the other FBI agent proceeded to pick her way into the apartment of one of the agency's best criminal psychologists. Grimly leaning against the wall he shook his head.
"What are the five most hated words an FBI agent can hear?" Giovanni asked curtly, eye brows raised.
Naomi Misora glanced over her shoulder, glaring at the unfortunate subordinate of hers that had drawn the short straw.
"Do you have a warrant?"
"Light works for me," Naomi huffed, jamming another pick into the dead bolt.
"Oh, because that makes everything okay."
Naomi ignored the sardonic man in favor of pushing the apartment door open, a victorious smile lining her face. "Come on Gi, the sooner we turn the place over the faster you can get home to that red headed bimbo you've been bedding."
Giovanni rolled his eyes but complied nonetheless. He'd been working under Naomi Misora for three years, and in that time he'd come to see why she was so despised by the upper brass. Misora was one of these agents that took initiative, most of the time moving outside of protocol, because god forbid an agent take shortcuts through bureaucracy to catch a murderer. But more than that, she was successful, solving through more cases than some of the male agents who'd practically been born into the FBI. She was one of those rare agents that had a sense, the keen ability to detect when something was off, when a seemingly flawless puzzle piece didn't quite fit with the rest of the picture. She just knew when something didn't add up.
And then she had to pick at it.
There was no doubt in Giovanni's mind that when Misora picked at something, it was usually because something else lay beneath the surface, something rotten. Yet, Giovanni was having a difficult time placing such skeletons in Light Yagami's closet. The kid was a genius and his worth ethic was, well, Giovanni couldn't find any way to describe it as other than Asian. It made working a case with both him and Misora nearly unbearable. Giovanni had been born into an American family, meaning he suffered from the typical American tradition of procrastination. Naomi and Light, they insulted him for it. Yagami was an upstanding citizen, a model of perfection. And he was a good guy, wound a little tight, but nothing to suggest a budding serial killer. So why the hell was Naomi intent on breaking into Light's apartment.
Giovanni figured he might as well ask.
But the woman didn't answer in favor of entering the apartment.
Following Naomi's swish of black hair through the threshold, Giovanni silently shut the door behind him and stared. The place was ridiculously clean. Light had been in England for about a week and yet not a speck of dust had deigned to land on any of the apartment's finely, polished surfaces. Not a cobweb or ounce of grime could be found anywhere in the tiny, living space. One probably could have eaten off the toilet. The kitchen, though more of an alcove set in the apartment's right corner, was a mass of spotless, stainless steel. Appliances sparkled as if they'd been newly purchased while clear, plastic containers were set against the counter wall, each bearing a label marking the containers contents and expiration date. There was no dining room, but a nice coffee table was set up in the center of what appeared to be the sitting area, framed by two large book cases and a computer desk. There was no TV. But the computer monitor, that Giovanni had to admit, was flashy.
"Check the computer files," Naomi commanded, already making her way towards the bedroom. "E-mails, documents, programs, look through it all."
"For what?" Giovanni asked, obediently taking a seat before the desk.
"Anything that'll tell me why the hell he decided to quit."
Remnants of OCD were scattered, or more accurately, delicately laid out, across the desk. A stack of sticky notes were positioned to the left of the flat screen monitor, directly beside it was a steel cup holding five different types of black pens. A stack of blank notebook paper sat to the far right, lying in front of an Epson printer/scanner hybrid. A series of drawers fell beneath the table top, Giovanni decided to start there.
Meanwhile, Naomi rummaged through Light's closet. There were no skeletons inside, just a series of finely pressed suites, dress shirts, and some rather nice cashmere sweaters. It was a good sign the closet wasn't empty, or that the apartment hadn't been cleaned out. It meant Light would be coming back at some point in time. Light was a man of few possessions and those he did have were important to him, remnants of a family he'd left behind. Plus, the man liked his clothes; Light would rather jump in front of a burning oil tanker before leaving his precious lover, Hugo Boss, behind.
Turning from the assortment of designer labels she fell to her knees, whipping the bed sheets up to reveal the empty foot of space separating the bed from the floor. She scowled, there wasn't even so much as a dust mite.
Running a hand through her hair she barged into the bathroom. It was even more cramp than the kitchen and even cleaner. But, aside from the basic toiletries, there was nothing there. Unless the twenty year old had been exchanging secret messages via toilet paper scraps, nothing pointed towards what Light was doing.
Quietly she opened the medicine cabinet, eyes roaming over the array of plastic bottles, each fastidiously labeled according to its contents, just like the kitchen. The woman shook her head; it was startling, the difference between Light Yagami's apartment and his office. Yagami's office, for lack of better description, was a voracious, paper sucking pit. Naomi couldn't recall a time when the floor wasn't covered in crumpled scraps of garbage. Loose pages of notes made up the wall décor, each filled with a diminutive scribble of writing. Sticky notes color coded the pages, connecting them to files which were constantly scattered across the desk, overwhelming the government issued computer Light used. Pictures spread themselves over the rest of the desk space, scrawled over with circled observations and messily clipped to typed pages of analysis. To connect the boy's office she'd so often visited while stepping over piles of styrofoam coffee cups with this spotless apartment, it played a cruel number on Naomi's mind.
Already, the woman was connecting the dots between those two discrepancies. She may not have been as savvy a profiler as Light, but she knew a few things, enough to conclude that Light really enjoyed his job. It was a difficult task, separating Obsessive Compulsives from there compulsions, but she knew it was possible, to distract the human mind, alleviate the need for order and control. Light Yagami's distraction was the criminal mind. On so many late nights she'd seen him thrive on that vibe, the call to open and dissect motive from the corpses some sick bastard had left behind. Just like her, he felt the jazz, heard the tiny whisper enticing them both towards the bloodshed. Society's social norms and a government sanctioned paycheck really were the only things demanding they grab a mop and clean the mess up. Doing so allayed the boredom.
Which as precisely why Naomi worried. Because they had that in common, and the pull was stronger in Light than it was in her. He was the prodigy. For Light Yagami to simply leave, come home one night and decide staying wasn't worth it anymore, that slammed against the warning bells mounted to the forefront of Naomi's brain. The only logical reason she could devise, amplifying why Light would fly across the pond, was because he'd found something better. He'd uncovered a new substance, a new drug that could fill the void better than any criminal mind ever could.
It wasn't a conclusion that boded well for the world.
She ran a hand through her hair, pushing the lengthy, black locks out of her face as she moved back into the living room. Standing in the center of the flat she turned in a circle, eyes slowly ravaging the apartment space, seeking out that one imperfection that would give it all away.
"Does Raye have an opinion about your newest conspiracy theory?" Giovanni asked humerously. The computer mouse clicked steadily beneath his forefinger, hunting through the hard drive.
Naomi didn't answer.
"Oh that's nice, lying to your husband, defiantly the recipe for a long lasting marriage."
"Shut up." The female agent rolled her eyes, crossing the room to stand directly behind Giovanni.
"I just don't understand this, Naomi, that's all. If Light wanted to quit then that's completely up to him. He followed protocol to the letter. Really it's not any of our business."
"It's not completely up to him Gi. Light is one of the most talented criminal psychologists I've ever met, probably one of the best in the world. He already knows Beyond, knows how the psychopath thinks. He doesn't need closure. It's a waste of talent for him to run off and play vigilante." She leaned against the back of Giovanni's chair, watching as the man delved deeper into the heart of the computer.
There'd been a time L had said something similar to her. Quitting was a waste of talent. Though the Detective hadn't been quite so polite about it. Instead he'd commented that her marriage was a waste of money as it had a ninety-seven percent chance of failure due to the fact that Naomi was more committed to justice than her fiancé. L had then gone on to say she should leave Raye so the FBI didn't have to suffer from further idiocy. Really, the man was quite the charmer.
"Hey, I won't argue Light wasn't bright, his intelligence made for some rather trite puns. But ultimately, it was his decision."
"Not when he's planning something…" Naomi leaned forward, eyes narrowing onto the computer screen.
"What makes you think he is?"
Naomi ignored the question, as she had been for most of the night. "His letter of resignation, open that up," she directed, pointing towards a document listed near the bottom of the screen.
A few click of the mouse and Giovanni had the letter splayed across the monitor. An eyebrow quirked as he checked the modification date. "He'd been planning his resignation," Gi announced, briefly glancing up at Naomi. "The document was created the day he joined the FBI."
"Why would he have planned to resign? Is there anything else on here?"
"No," Giovanni said. "Only other stuff I found was the cases he worked on and emails between him, coworkers, and his sister. Looks like the girl travels a lot, last email marked her as being in Harihari, New Zealand."
"Yeah, he said he was going to London for her wedding." Misora's eyes narrowed further and she stepped to the side, swiftly pulling open the desk drawers.
"I already checked through those," Giovanni informed, swiveling the chair out of the woman's way. "Nothing but take-out receipts."
She pulled the second drawer open and stopped. "The depths are off."
"What?"
Naomi looked over the desk and grinned, delighted at the cup of ball point pens set off to the side of the computer monitor. "The depths of these two drawers are off, even though, from the outside they appear to be the same size. They're not." Kneeling to the floor she peered underneath the top drawer. Her elation only grew. A small hole peeked out at her from the underside of the top drawer. Finally she was getting somewhere.
"Pass me the Papermate ball point pen," Naomi instructed.
Giovanni complied without hesitation. She made quick work of the thing, dexterously disassembling the pen as if it were a firearm and carefully extracting the ink cartage. With one sharp jab she ran the cartage through the hole in the bottom of the desk and the false bottom popped off.
Giovanni stared in open shock as the plywood was removed from the interior of the drawer. "How the hell did you know that would work?"
"Light only uses mechanical pencils," Naomi explained. "He hates getting ink stains on his hands. So he wouldn't use them at home. However, an ink cartage is the perfect key to a false bottom. It's the only thing he would have used a pen for."
"Yeah, one that could have blown up," Gi remarked, eyes wide as he took in the rest of the drawers contents. A bag of gasoline was set on the bottom of the hidden space, a series of electrical wires surrounding the pouch, set to erupt in flames if the drawer was ever forced open.
Misora didn't comment. She plucked a faded, white envelope from the back of the drawer, the only object inside. What were you hiding Light? Gently she turned the paper over, Giovanni anxiously watching as she opened the already torn envelop, pulling out a severely well read letter. Unfurling the single sheet of paper Naomi began to read.
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A/N: Damn was L a bastard to write this time around. I feel like I never get him right… :/
But we're heading for answers. I absolutely promise everything is about to be revealed.
Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed!