Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note nor any of the characters contained therein.

Summary: L is almost 17, investigating a serial murder case near Toronto University. Undercover as a student prodigy, L will have to find a balance between education, investigation, and (ye gods) a social life. Rated M for language/nudity/gore. Some spoilers for Death Note: Another Note.

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The Worst Feeling Ever

Chapter 24: Surface to Air

The on-hold music was starting to become irksome. I cannot believe it's playing "Des Mots qui Sonnent" L thought; I tried to block that song out the last time I was in Canada, to no avail. If I am to be forced to listen to Celine Dion, they could at least play her version of "Calling You" – that would seem fitting enough, considering . . . Shaking his head, he forced himself to think of his persona, and his script.

"Homicide, Devall speaking."

"Mais oui, Monsieur Devall? Je m'appelle –"

"English please."

L deliberately sighed into the phone. "If you insist. My name is Roussel. I am with the ICPO. I am contacting you regarding a Monsieur Miller, though we both know that this . . . is not his name. There is information I must share with you, but this is not the time. There are connections we must make, prealablement, quelle dommage. I believe you understand me, yes?" He hoped that his Parisian accent was heavy enough.

"I have no way of confirming your identity, sir, so I cannot confirm or deny –"

"And I am not asking you to do so. Suffice to say that I know you have this man in custody, yes? This is good. I have been authorized to tell you two things: one, since the apple does not fall far from the tree, a new apple tree's roots may link with that of the elder, if indeed it takes root at all, and two, though you can keep a cat in a pen, this cat, it cannot use a pen to write you a message."

"What . . . the hell is that all supposed to mean?"

"Exactement. This line, it is not secure. When I contact you again, you will understand. Au revoir, Monsieur Devall."

L hung up on the detective before he could respond, pocketing his phone and turning to wash his hands in the tiny metal sink. In order to grow something strong, he thought, one must bury the seed deep enough. He smiled. A noose was forming, most of it woven by Coil himself. With enough encouragement, Devall would grow the tree from which it, and Coil, would hang.

As he dried his hands, vibration teased his thigh. L extracted his phone and flipped it open.

"Yes?"

"I wanted to let you know that the police have found the evidence."

"Excellent news, Watari." L spoke softly, starting the water running again to cover his voice. "Did you hear anything else of import on the police band?"

"Nothing that would surprise you. They found the blood first, then the clothing and ID. They've ordered a search for the body, and as I understand it, Officer Harnett brought this directly to the attention of Detective Devall, so I would imagine he will take on the case as you anticipated."

"That is good to hear. Hopefully Devall's natural disinclination to share information unnecessarily will allow him to put these pieces together independent of Coil. And after all, this would be a local case only – a missing student, not necessarily connected to the high-profile serial murder case, though Devall's opinion on that will likely change once he receives my tape, which should be soon. I take it everything else has been implemented?"

"Yes, of course."

"Good. I should return to –"

"Please remind me: when the ICPO calls back, what should L's informal opinion of Roussel be?"

"Indifference of course, but a general respect for the work he's done, enough to warrant my recommendation of him. Perhaps an undercurrent of dislike for his arrogant attitude."

"The usual, then." Watari's tone was dry.

"Mm. Yes."

"Understood. See you in a few days."

"Indeed."

L shut his phone again and turned off the water. His movements were limited at the moment, but he had plenty of time in which to think and plan. He was actually looking forward to it.

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And so it begins, the undertow's spin, taking us down, down, down and below. My message unsent, though my words would be bent by fools unwilling to know. No light gets in here, but I do not need it to see. And oh, I see. I see the three, so soon to be . . . one. But is it done? No indeed. By trapping me now, I have already been freed.

Which was the puppy and which was the pawn? They left me so little to truly go on. Perhaps it does not matter, though I wonder at the boast – if there are more in the litter, there will be more to roast. Not my fight anymore, no, but intriguing just the same to see how many pieces are still in the game. The hound may yet stumble much more off his mark, and at least I can say I provided the spark. But there are more games to play, and more lives to pay, and I hope – I hope! – to see much more someday. The desperate warnings of a dying fool are not enough to undermine my rule. Should they push the knife into my heart and twist it twice, should the shame of it outlive me, I cannot know, but cheek by cheek and "Like a dog!" is how, one day, I may go. So nice of the poisonous boy to tell me so.

Time, time, it turns on a dime, and to stop what I'm doing would be the greater crime. The hound has forgotten, his son unbegotten, but he knew – my father, he knew – the hound's seed buried in hallowed ground, my unborn brother's identity never to be found. I wonder if he purged that too – defiling the file, it is the hound's style. Yet they could unearth her, the fallen angel, the damning proof still rotting within her. Such orchards as these, bursting with ardent fruit, ripe for the taking, ripe for remaking, new messages yet to be spoken. Delicious truth for a too-sweet tooth and a system that's long been broken.

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The leather was marshmallow-soft. The air was dry and, at the moment, not filled with unpleasant smells or the sounds of complaining. He sighed. Two days until my birthday. The thought drifted in like an untethered balloon, and L smiled. I met my goal of solving the case before turning seventeen, though a case I 'solved' but cannot claim among my successes hardly seems useful. However, at the rate things are progressing, Coil should be utterly under my control by Christmas. L allowed his smile to widen. He didn't have to be "L" here, and being more emotionally demonstrative fit his current alias. He didn't have to think at his clearest either, though he still wanted to tuck his feet under him in his usual perched position. Suppressing the urge to scratch at his auburn wig, he adjusted his thick horn-rimmed glasses instead, continuing to stare out the window though blue contacts. As the sun rose to greet the nose of the plane, the clouds became limned with the colors of sherbet – orange and strawberry. L's mouth watered.

"May I get you something, young man?"

Turning, L faced the smiling flight attendant, beaming back at her. "The clouds, they look like cotton candy." He surmised that his light Parisian accent was passable enough when she nodded back at him.

"Yes, they're really pretty right now. Would you like a soda?"

"Orange soda, please."

"Ooooh . . ." The pretty brunette rummaged in her cart. "Sorry, we don't have that."

L frowned deeply and then widened his eyes. "Do you have root beer? Or cream soda?"

"Let's see . . . yes, we do!" Her face dimpled as she pulled out a pink can emblazoned with the words "Soda Mousse!" and filled a plastic tumbler with ice.

"Mmmm . . . thank you." L watched her place the cold soda can on the tray in front of him with the cup of ice and a napkin. Taking note of her position and the fact that her hands were occupied, he impulsively reached toward the soda before she could pull back, his hand brushing the point where her breasts strained against the fabric of her blouse.

"Hey!" she said, quickly moving back. "That's not appropriate."

L looked at her, his face now blank. "I miss Maman. She died. I am flying back to France to be with Papa. He has to take care of me now. I like soda. Orange soda is the best. Do you have candy?"

A realization seemed to dawn in the flight attendant's eyes, and her frown dissipated. "OK, sweetie. I'm sorry about your Mom. We don't usually carry candy, but I'll see what I can find for you. Does that sound good?"

"Yes!" L grinned, hoping to appear gleeful.

"OK then. My name's Cherie. I'll be right back." She dragged her cart back up the aisle, past a few people in dark suits and one older couple who were already asleep.

Behaving as though I am mentally challenged in some way is actually quite liberating, L thought, in that it allows me to get away with doing things I might not otherwise be able to do. I may have to explore the possibilities of this more. As long as I do not pull a face muscle while making these ridiculous expressions.

As much as L loathed public air travel, he was happy to have gotten his favorite seat – the left side window seat at the back of First Class. There was no one behind him to peer over at him or kick the seat, and he could easily view the entire front of the cabin. He was quite close to the First Class bathrooms as well, which was handy when he needed to make a quick unobserved phone call.

He'd already made a couple of those. L supposed that the background noise from the plane would have added to the distortion when he'd spoken to the head of the ICPO as L regarding his newly created alias – Watari had forwarded him that call not long after they'd spoken. He was actually getting used to using a French accent after speaking to Devall, though he intended his next contact with the detective to be computer-based, using standard ICPO procedure. In a few hours, he'd use his laptop as Roussel to conference in the ICPO and ask if Devall knew an Ezekiel Penn or an Auguste Merrivale but would refuse to answer any questions. Wondering idly how long he'd make use of the Roussel alias after having put this much effort into gaining credibility for it, he stared out the window again. As long as I need it and no longer, he thought.

L had initially considered exposing Coil as a fraud and a murderer to the world – he felt that the man deserved that and worse for what he had done, and had allowed – but once he'd had time to consider his options, he'd decided that it would be more to his advantage to have Coil arrested under a false name for murdering Maulty and his student alias. This will severely limit Coil's ability to act as Coil, L thought, yet will still allow me to utilize the Coil name in his place. If he resists this, I will threaten to leak information regarding his whereabouts to certain criminals he has "caught" with evidence he falsified – such people are less likely to be as forgiving as I am. As I whittle away his resources and allies, I will continue to use Coil's name as one of my aliases, gradually phasing it out over time while favoring my identity as L. This is better than he deserves. It was he who started this war, not I.

Eyes drifting to the window again, L recalled the message he'd recorded for Devall on cassette. It was a low-tech method of communication, but he'd decided that it best fit the situation he'd invented for his former alias, Ezekiel Penn. There would be no follow-up message. Devall would never hear from the student again and would be further inclined to conclude that he'd met with foul play, considering the evidence planted on the riverbank and the barely-suppressed panic L had injected into his voice while recording the message. In a day or so, the tape would arrive in the Toronto police station, and possibly up to a day after that, it would reach Devall. The nonexistent second tape would have been received by Roussel, which L would reference when communicating with Devall again as that alias when the time came. I will eventually tell Devall, as Roussel, that I had spoken to Ezekiel Penn when I 'noticed him sneaking around', L thought, and that I gave Penn the means to contact me in an emergency, making it more plausible that Penn would send Roussel a copy. Even if the tape does not reach Devall, it will still work to my advantage even if Coil finds it – any actions he takes in response will throw suspicion on him, particularly since I can send another copy of Penn's message to Devall as Roussel if need be. Whether Devall believes what Penn said about the man meeting Coil's description is true or not, their interactions will further entrap Coil. Considering how highly he values it, Coil will place his reputation above even himself, I think.

Geoff's role was the tricky part, L knew. He was relying on the grad student to do as he asked, including delivering his message and not revealing Ezekiel Penn's "secret identity" as Roussel. L was 88% certain that Geoff would follow his instructions and pass along his message to Coil in private. Coil might be fooled into thinking that Willette had actually killed L, since Willette had seemed to believe so, but whether he did or not, Coil would still spend some time wondering and might even insist on interrogating Willette about it. If Geoff did not proceed as he'd agreed, L had a few back-up plans for how to deal with that, none of them pleasant – L hoped he didn't have to resort to any of them. Even if Geoff intended to deliberately sabotage his efforts to stop Coil, L knew he would still succeed. Sipping his cream soda, he wondered how Janine would be affected by all of this.

The thought surprised him. L had matched up Geoff and Janine precisely to get them 'out of his hair,' as the saying went. His actions had been completely practical. And yet . . . I wonder how circumstances might have varied had I anticipated her kiss that day and given a more measured response. L pictured Janine approaching him more assertively, as Danielle had. Then he began to imagine himself with both girls, pinning him between them, their hands and mouths upon him, heated breaths and pounding hearts . . .

"Well, this is the best I could do, hon." Cherie's voice chirped next to him, startling him out of his reverie. "It's not candy, but it's sweet."

L's body jerked, and he looked at the items she placed on the tray, which was thankfully concealing him from the waist down. "Mmm, cheesecake. And cookies. And pudding au chocolat!" Tilting his head toward her, he gave Cherie the most guileless grin he could muster. "Merci beaucoup!"

"You're welcome." She smiled down at him, but kept her distance. "If you need anything else, you just press this orange button, OK?" Cherie pointed above him, next to the reading lights and airjets.

"OK!" L turned his attention to the confections before him, waiting until he saw that the flight attendant had returned to the front of the cabin. Containing his thoughts was not working as well as he wanted, and he concluded that he would need to take action. After a moment's reflection, L grabbed the container of chocolate pudding and slid out of his seat, heading toward the restroom.

This may not count as the 'mile high club' since I am by myself, L thought, locking the bathroom door, but this will certainly make the trip go more . . . smoothly.

He set the cup on the sink and shakily undid his pants. Why do I need this so much? L wondered, frowning. It was not like this before I had sex. My . . . impulses were less intrusive. I must investigate the possibility that intercourse can trigger an irreversible hormonal cascade resulting in altered behavior and increased sexual need . . .

L stared down, eyes to eye with his erection, now open to the air as he perched on the toilet, his pants crumpled on top of his shoes on the floor. Is this all I really have to show for this miserable failure of an investigation? A more rampant, and thus inconvenient, sex drive? L swallowed, closing his eyes. He knew he was trivializing what he'd accomplished, what he'd learned, but it felt small, as if he would never know enough, never do enough. One murderer had been stopped, and soon another would be. These were good things. He was now fully in charge, giving orders rather than taking them from Watari. Despite the pain of the transition, L knew that this was a good thing too.

He expected his approach to new cases to be altered as well. My logic seemed sound at the time, he thought, but I should not have delayed my announcement. To win, I must always strike first. Having seen what Coil was willing to do, merely for the sake of his reputation and position, L was resolved to do whatever was necessary to solve a case without committing a crime as bad or worse to ensure success – lies and theft were one matter, but to commit actual murder to prevent another murder was unacceptable. Such an act would negate the victory and be unforgivable.

L reopened his eyes, neck bent. He sighed. "Go away," he muttered. If not even a sober evaluation of what he'd learned from his failures on this case could affect his state of arousal, then, "I have no choice."

Reaching for the pudding cup, he peeled back the foil lid, licking it once and discarding it. Bringing the cup to eye level, L stuck a finger in it and popped it in his mouth. "Mmm . . ." He found himself salivating from more than one kind of hunger. It's quite cold, he thought. This should be an interesting test of my physical reactions.

Dipping two fingers in, he scooped out a fair amount of the silky substance, toes curling as his hand descended. He hissed in response to the chill of the pudding as he slid it over his member, feeling it pulse under his ministrations. His mind's eye spun him an image of Janine wearing a cupless black leather corset with thigh-high fishnets and stiletto boots and nothing else, her pink nipples erect, tying a naked Danielle spread-eagled to a four-poster bed. L blinked. Perhaps Danielle was correct in regard to my having 'kinks' after all, L thought, breathing hard. But I am doing this . . . for research. To understand my own physical responses, and human sexuality in general. It is knowledge worth having and may prove useful in my future assessments of the behavior of others.

Continuing to stroke himself with one hand, L slurped some of the remaining pudding out of the cup with his tongue, picturing the two girls, picturing himself with them, not caring about the mess he was making. He had more work ahead of him and a renewed determination – his plan to contain Coil was fully in motion, and he had cases waiting for him to solve, including an intriguing one in Paris. For once, he would allow himself this reprieve, this decadent indulgence, because he knew that his focus would have to be laser sharp in the days to come.

There would be no birthday party for him at Wammy House, not even in secret. L had already told Watari that he would not return to the orphanage unless absolutely necessary, which meant that he would not be there at Christmastime either. Celebrations were frivolous to him and took too much time. Though he realized that Watari would need to return there for his own purposes, L refused to bend on this issue. His independence from any base of operations would make him that much harder to pin down, and if in the unlikely event he was pinned down, he could not afford to draw attention to those still at the orphanage. Everyone's safer; everyone wins. As to any friends, L had concluded that he had none – adopted siblings, perhaps, assistants, and enemies. Nothing more. He found it something of a relief.

As L was climaxing 30,000 feet above the Atlantic ocean, he was too far up to see the glittering surf, the chop and slosh of a sea that would gladly swallow him as it had so many others. Back on shore, Watari and Aleister were helping Beyond into clothing, preparing for their own journey overseas. A young man with dark hair was disembarking in Los Angeles, and a middle-aged Slavic man boarded his own flight to Calgary. Detective Devall was introducing Geoff Thornapple to a blue-eyed older blond man as Janine Noh sat tense and confused, waiting with Mr. and Mrs. Thornapple inside the police station. Danielle Thompson, distracted from reading once more, fingered the one last knot she couldn't get out of her favorite pink bra. Winifred Maulty, grey hair pulled back from a weathered face, was meeting willowy Antonia Fragaria for the first time, their grief the only thing they had in common. Officers Harnett and Drummond walked glumly toward their desks, relieved that one case was closed, angered that they had lost one of their own in the process, and curious about the new murder case Devall was so interested in. Claude Willette paced, caged and grinning, hoping he lived to see Coil suffer, at his hand or another's. Everyone was moving, some together, some apart, every action in tandem for a symphony of consequences not one of them could see coming.

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Author's Note: It may amuse you to know that I had originally planned to end this with L on the airplane (plus a final word to mirror the opening). However, I realized that I wasn't satisfied by leaving things vague with regard to Coil, since L's conflict with him was almost as important as L's confrontation with Watari. I therefore ended up adding a good bit more to the past few chapters, as well as this one and the next. Some things may still be vague by the end of this, but I feel I've set the character trajectories a bit better than I had before. For anyone who gets the reference/partial quote in Willette's rant, I will fax you a cookie. ^_^

FYI regarding the French: I'm hella-rusty on the language, but "Je m'appelle" means 'My name is', "prealablement" means 'preliminarily', and "quelle dommage" means 'what a shame'. Even when taking on a new persona, L can't seem to resist annoying people.

Thanks for reading!