Author's Note:
Ok, I'm sorry for the lateness.
School is a bitch.
Anyway, this chapter is shorter than the others, but I hope you enjoy it anyway!
Darkness greeted them, the grating sound of the trapdoor echoing in the shadows.
A strange smell reached their noses, a mix of stale air and unwashed bodies.
Light's heart jumped in his throat. Was it the right place? Was he at the end of that horrible story? Did he find his son at last? Was he okay?
A thousand questions rolled inside his brain.
A click, and L's torchlight was lightening the darkness, showing an old, rusty, unstable-looking metal ladder leading down. They could clearly see the concrete floor at the end of it, but nothing more.
They looked at each other, L's eyes resolute and steady. That simple gaze seemed to anchor him, giving him the stability he needed. He squared his shoulders, clenched his jaw and, grasping firmly the ladder's edges, he started to climb down, trying to ignore the pieces of rust and old metal sticking to his skin. Going down, the air seemed to get colder and more humid.
The silence was deafening.
Light took a stuttering breath, the sound of his shoes clanking against the concrete almost startling him.
Behind him, the ladder shook, and L's white shirt reflected brightly the light of the torch, before he pointed it on the area around him. He exhaled, and leaned back a little when he felt L's chest almost touch his back, basking in the warmth for a second before he focused on the scene before him.
The room was almost as large as the warehouse above it, the floor bare and the walls painted a claustrophobic grey. There were two metal tables at one end, covered with black rolls of trash bags and ropes, tissues and plastic gloves- a few vials caught his attention, the syringes next to them making him shudder.
His eyes moved to the left, and focused on two chairs, situated one in front of the other, three meters of distance between them.
Wide sunken brown eyes were staring fearfully straight at him, their owner sitting in one of the chairs, his two thin body bound by ropes. He had probably struggled, judging by the state of his arms and clothes.
In a detached way, Light tore away his gaze. He didn't care about that boy, no matter how bad that sounded.
He cared about his son.
The boy on the other chair was as silent as the first, but unlike him he wasn't staring at Light. The delicate head was leaning forward, pale chin resting against a white pajamas-covered chest, breathing shallow and barely hearable in unconsciousness.
Light's heart skipped a beat, and he rushed forward, forgetting about the situation. Some part of him would later argue that he had been perfectly aware of L's ability to take care of anyone he might have missed in the room. But in that moment he didn't care.
He brushed white strands out of his son's face, one hand searching for something to cut the ropes with inside his pocket.
He was so worried. Near's skin was as pale as death itself and cold as ice, despite his burning forehead, and his breathing was horrible. He found the pocket knife he always took with him and made a swift job of the ropes, throwing them away, before carefully lifting his son's body in his arms.
He was lighter than he remembered, and he was shivering in his sleep, instinctually trying to burrow deeper in Light's embrace in order to better bask in that additional body warmth.
Light became distantly aware of the crackling intercom in his ear and the rushed voices behind him. Then a lean and strong hand clasped him around his forearm, guiding him towards the ladder and then up to the warehouse.
All Light could focus on was his son's body in his arms, the faint heartbeat he could feel against his chest, the shivers that wracked that slim frame and the coldness in his limbs.
He distantly wondered when he had wrapped his coat around Near, and if the numbness he felt was to be attributed to the December air hitting his body.
When hands seemed to reach for Near, he came back to himself, turning around and almost growling. He vaguely recognized Wammy's concerned face.
"Don't touch him" he snarled, pushing Near more firmly against his body.
Panic flittered in his mind. They couldn't take him. He had just found him, they couldn't take him away.
More voices, the sound of a car roaring away from the warehouse. Them warm hands were on his shoulders, guiding him towards another car and a low soothing voice started talking in his ear, telling him that all was okay.
Light got in the car. Focused on his son.
Nothing else mattered.
The ride back to the hotel was a blur in Light's memories.
He had sat there, in the warm car, with his son's cold body in his lap and L's warm presence against his side, a silent pillar of strength to lean on.
He remembered watching that pale face twitch in a grimace, and pale grey eyes flutter open briefly, almost too tired to move properly.
He remembered the sharp relief he had felt hearing that familiar voice, despite the crooked and raspy sound of it.
"Mother?" his son had whispered, grey orbs flickering around before settling down, apparently too tired to focus on his surroundings.
Light had barely registered the stiffening of the body against his side, his sole attention focused on reassuring his son.
"It's alright" he had murmured soothingly, running his fingers gently through white strands of hair. "You're safe. You can rest now."
His son had stared briefly into his eyes, before closing his own.
The car had kept on weaving through Tokyo's streets.
L's gut had never failed him.
Even in the most difficult cases, he always had this feeling, this gut intuition, that leads him to the right answers.
He always knew when a clue was important. His senses would tingle, warning him that that thing he had just read, heard, seen, was important.
When Wammy had said that thing about Near's photo, about the strange resemblance between the boy and L, the detective had almost dismissed the words, thinking them the insane rambling of an old man (yes, he knew he was unfair with Wammy – the man was bearable and fairly intelligent most of the time). But something inside him had told him to instead remember those words. It often meant that they would become relevant at a later date.
The results of the researches he had made about Light's new identity had also left him quite baffled. His records were clean, of course, and everything was in order, but around Near things seemed to be a little off. His birth hadn't been registered in any American hospital or similar, and his birth certificate had appeared out of thin air.
It wasn't also reported the name of the mother, and the space had been left blank for twelve years.
He had thought nothing of it. The bit about the hospital was a little strange, of course, but he supposed there were still people that preferred to give birth at home, so there was that. And maybe the mother hadn't wanted the baby, and had agreed to give birth to him only if Light took him away and didn't connect him with her in any way.
But those were suppositions.
There were various possible explanations, so he had let go. Besides, he trusted Light.
He knew the other wouldn't actually steal a baby or something.
Thinking about it, he had been surprised to hear that Light of all people had a son. The other had never expressed the wish of fatherhood.
Not that they had talked about that sort of things.
Being gay (L surely was – but who needs labels anyway? - and Light had had a son, so maybe he was bi?) wasn't favorable to parenthood. There was adoption, of course, but it was complicated and...
He was rambling.
Anyway, he had been surprised to hear that Light had a son.
But when he had seen Light again, he had seen a father worried sick for his son. There was love in those worried golden eyes. A lot of it.
For a few moments, watching Light work himself to the ground in order to find his son, he had entertained the idea of being jealous.
It had lasted the totality of 1.5 seconds before he had scoffed.
He couldn't be jealous of his ex-lover's son. That was just... absurd.
He had never liked kidnappings – the only cases of that type he took were the ones with important figures involved, those he thought worthy, not children – because they usually ended up badly. He was emotionally detached from his work, he had to be, but that didn't mean he wasn't human.
But when Light had ordered his help in his son's kidnapping, he had obliged.
In those two days he had often wondered about his motives.
Was it loyalty? He had loved Light (he still did, whispered a voice in a corner of his mind), maybe he felt responsible in some way for his kid?
Or there was a more obscure motivation, a rational one? Being Light a very bright and sharp man, any offspring of his might have the potential of being great as, or greater than, the father. So maybe he had felt the need to investigate in order to gain an asset, a possible successor worthy of his legacy.
L didn't know.
He didn't even think his motives mattered, like it didn't matter the problem of missing clarifications in Near's files.
He wanted to help Light find his son, and no matter the potential the kid might have, he wasn't going to take Near away from his father.
He wasn't that cruel.
So he had thought that he would be okay not knowing those things.
But what he had heard in the car, soon after Near's rescue...
It had opened the figurative can of worms.
Why had the child called Light 'mother'? Didn't he know that light was male?
Of course he knew. Near had lived with the man for twelve years, he was his father. Maybe the fever had confused the child? Being Light the only apparent parent figure in the kid's life, the man had probably had to fill in the motherly part of the equation, so maybe Near sometimes got confused...
No, that wasn't it.
It was difficult to confuse an obviously male father figure with a female one (one part of L's brain wondered if Light had ever cross-dressed... the rational part of his mind rapidly decided that it was not relevant and shut down the thought before L could get side-tracked...).
And Near seemed like a smart kid, judging by Light's and Beyond's descriptions (and Hell knew how hard it was to gain Beyond's respect).
So he didn't know what to think.
L shook his head, careful not to disturb Light's contemplation of Near.
No, there was something else going on.
A secret. One he was so going to figure out.
Near should have gone to the hospital. The kid was obviously sick, and L couldn't understand why Light had refused the option so vehemently.
That was suspicious.
Mikami, a doctor, had supported his decision.
Highly suspicious.
Beyond hadn't protested, he had just kept on cooing over his nephew's asleep form.
They all knew something. Not knowing was maddening.
In the end, despite Wammy's grandfatherly worry and L's advice, Light's decision had won (three against two, he hated democracy). Mikami had checked the boy's condition, diagnosed a light pneumonia and advised a warm bath and a lot of rest.
He and Beyond had then left to pick up some pills at the nearest pharmacy.
L was still uncomfortable with letting his twin brother walk away without supervision. Beyond was a murderer, after all. And he wasn't thinking about the other infractions the man had done in his travels.
L watched Light keenly, his thoughts concerned over the auburn-haired man. They had found Near, so Light wasn't worried sick anymore (unless over the pneumonia, of course), and the tiredness seemed to be catching up with him. He had deduced, judging by his looks and Mikami's concerned arguments, that it was more or less a fortnight that Light didn't sleep properly, and exhaustion was etched in every line of his body, from his tense shoulders to his slightly shuffling feet. But the man was nothing if not stubborn, and he was decided to bathe his son himself.
L considered. The other had protested vehemently against someone else touching his son. He had also mentioned distractedly that the kid had some kind of OCD, or something like that, he couldn't remember correctly. Maybe that was why he hadn't allowed Near to be touched. The kid would probably get distressed if he knew that a stranger had touched him. And Light didn't seem able to lie to his son at all.
So L helped a slightly stumbling Light towards the bathroom, trying to aid him without touching the added weight of the child's unconscious body.
Wammy had already filled the tub, and steam clung to the white tiles and cloaked the mirror, rendering it useless.
Near's clothes were quickly disposed of, the pile of dirty pajamas pushed in a forgotten corner to be picked up later. Near's usually flawless skin was otherwise marred by red bruises – rope burns, L's brain uselessly classified – on the small wrists and soft arms, and a couple of bruises had blossomed over the sides – nothing serious, Mikami had said -.
"If you want to wash him, you should take off your upper clothes" L offered in a low voice.
Light was still clothed in his wrinkled suit, the tie dangling haphazardly from his neck. If the man had to reach out inside the tub, he would get wet very quickly.
Light had just nodded, and after settling down Near gently in the tub (wetting his cuffs, of course), began to undress.
L tried not to stare. He really did. He knew that wasn't the right time to ogle the other man, with his son being sick and him being drop dead tired, but he couldn't help himself.
With more golden skin revealed, his desire to touch, to feel Light under his palms grew exponentially. His eyes seemed stuck on the sinuous line of strong shoulders, tonic arms and slim waist.
Then he saw it.
L froze, barely registering Light's movement towards the tub. Distant sounds of water being splashed around reached his ears, but he couldn't move. He was still frozen, the image of what he had seen stuck before his eyes.
Rationally, he knew there were more plausible explanations, but...
Could it be?
How could it possibly be true?
However...
He moved in autopilot, helping Light dry Near (still not touching the boy) and tuck him to bed. He bid the other goodnight, and retreated to the sitting room.
Three hours later, sitting in his chair, he still couldn't get the image of the scar on Light's belly out of his mind.