notes/warnings
+ pairings: I think the matt/mello is probably obvious enough to warn for it, now. also, there's raye/naomi, of course. others to come.
+ again, there really aren't many OCs in this. if they're a significant character, then they're probably from the actual series somewhere.
+ warning for storyline probably being retarded. this chapter is actually the first half of a hugely long chapter I uploaded and then decided that 10000+ words was ridiculous, so it may seem kind of unfinished. I'll add the second half in a few days.
+ the racial views of people in this fic in no way reflect my own.
Clash
The shot echoes through the air, a single crack that cuts through the heavy silence like a knife. L drops the pen, and almost falls over.
He shakes his head. Clarity comes rushing back. He snatches the notebook from the ground and slips it back into place in the holster under his shirt.
No, he won't. And he never would have.
Rae materialises, eyes glowing blood red, flames burning so fiercely they engulf most of the Shinigami's torso. L has never seen it livid before, but he doesn't really care.
He's fascinated by the noises outside. A second shot rings, and someone lets out a string of swearwords so loudly he can make out every syllable, even through the thick metal walls. L wonders if they've run into university security guards, or if they're honestly stupid enough to think that they can frighten him into coming out.
"You were going to write it," Rae says vindictively, over the gunfire and shouting. L tilts his head and listens intently.
Bang.
"Beretta M, 1951," L says thoughtfully. "Interesting. Not many of those still in circulation."
"You just made that up," Rae fumes. "No one can tell the make of a pistol just by listening to the shot."
L shakes his head.
"It's just logic," he tells the Shinigami. "Every model of gun has a slightly different chamber, so the echo of the bullet changes minutely."
"Whatever. What are you going to do now?"
"Even I can't pick every firearm in existence, of course," L says sadly. "One of my colleagues owns exactly that model, so I can recognise it fairly easily."
"So, can you tell the make and model of a gun by the exit wounds the bullet leaves in you?" Rae asks maliciously. "Maybe you should go outside and find out."
"Sick of me already?" L asks.
It's been quiet outside for almost a minute. Too long. Something else has happened.
L's phone rings. The screen flashes blue. N.
"Calling in mid flight?" L asks.
"Hardly," she says brightly. "You okay?"
His heart sinks.
"You haven't left yet?"
"We're here," she says unhelpfully, but L picks up the smile in her voice.
"What do you mean?"
"You can come out of the shelter," she tells him. "It's safe."
L snaps the phone shut so fast he almost catches a finger in it. By his calculations, they should be midway over the ocean. Interesting.
"How?" Rae wonders out loud. L ignores him and drops to his stomach on the floor. There aren't any windows, but there's a crack under the door. N hadn't used any of the code words to indicate she'd been forced to make the call, but better to be careful, of course.
He sees one of the armed security guards lying motionless on the ground, and nothing else. A moment later, R steps into view and grins down at the bottom of the door broadly, such a welcome sight. L gets up, fiddles with the rather complicated lock, slams the door open, and goes outside.
The place is deserted, save three men lying on the ground, and a fourth handcuffed to a tree. And N and R right there, beaming at him, three hours earlier than they possibly could have arrived, according to their flight schedule.
"What happened?" L asks, fascinated. He's moving towards them so fast he's almost running, so relieved to have some company that isn't Rae.
N makes a face, the sort that indicates she'd rather not talk about it.
"Matsuda stole a plane," she says, simply.
L slants a significant look at Rae, who is ignoring him.
Ha.
There's no real damage been done to the buildings. The security guards are not entirely motionless. N and R were shooting to injure, not kill. And they're both excellent shots.
"The police are on their way here. They're going to charge these four with being accessories to terrorism. The others got away," N says, never one to waste words.
"I see."
They get a lead, and suddenly the police are happy to help them out again. Both predictable and convenient.
L scratches his head. They must have ambushed them, he thinks. A perfect plan. N probably squatted down behind the corner of the building, and R probably hid in the hedge he can see a little further away. The guards probably didn't suspect a thing until it was too late. Bang. The injured will go into custody, and the rest ran for cover, facilitating L's escape.
Very well done.
"I think two of the guys on the ground are going to need medical treatment," R says.
"That's not so important right now," L says. "Where is M?"
"With Mats...with T. In a car that's parked about a block away. We couldn't risk him getting hurt."
L exhales hard. They're here. He's here. M's here. They have time.
"Take me to him now."
"He's delirious," R says, falling into step with them. "He keeps talking to someone called Mel."
If he notices L's grimace, he's kind enough not to say anything.
"I've contacted the major hospitals in the area," N says, equally kind. "We're to go there next."
"I agree with this plan," L says.
"Are you just going to leave those men there?" Rae demands. "They'll get away. You don't know how long it's going to take for the police to arrive."
L doesn't answer the Shinigami, of course. There's a service station parking lot up ahead, with a sprinkling of cars inside.
"The white Sedan on the left," N whispers. "T's taking you to the pathology centre, and then straight back to base."
L shakes his head.
"No. T and M go back to base. I've contacted Watari, he's booking us an observation room as we speak. He'll contact you with the details. When you're finished, I'll meet you there."
R shares a mystified look with N. L smiles. The hard part is over. He's contacted the necessary journalists, and tomorrow's paper will be out in under twelve hours.
They can knock this case over in a day, no problem at all.
Marnie Woodford sits up in bed, groaning. She's been on the night shift, her first day back since her illness, and she's only had three hours of sleep. She snatches her phone violently.
Philip. Fuck.
"What do you want?"
"What is wrong with you, woman?" her brother snarls. "I expect you to answer the phone when I call you!"
She sighs.
"I've been working. What's wrong."
"Do you have any idea how much I've sacrificed for you?" he rages. "Look in the fucking paper."
She gets up. It's easier than arguing with him, even over the phone. He's such a bull-headed fool, her brother. She doesn't know the finer details of what he does for a living, but she's fairly sure there's something pretty illegal going on with his laboratory. If anything happens, it will reflect badly on her.
Her flatmate is up, drinking coffee with a very pretty woman she's never seen before. Like every other morning.
"Paper, David," she demands croakily, ignoring whore number three thousand and six. He passes it to her without a word.
"Page twelve, hurry up!" Philip's still yelling in her ear.
She hears a car pull up outside. The neighbours must be having someone over. She turns to page twelve and reads.
"There's an article about me and my miraculous recovery," she says boredly. "So what?"
"I told you it was to be kept a secret," he howls. "And not to bring it to anyone's attention. Do you have any idea how much trouble we're in?"
"Trouble? Philip, if this is going to jeopardise my job, then I don't want to kn-"
"It's going to jeopardise your whole fucking life, Marnie!" he rants. "You're at home right now?"
"Yes! I told you-"
"You need to get out of there."
Marnie pauses.
"What?"
There's a knock at the door, heavy and rhythmical.
"I'll get it," David says brightly, shooting a saccharine smile at his latest girl. She's a brunette, and annoyingly thin.
"I mean there are people out to get you," Philip tells her frantically.
"What? What people? What are you talking about?"
He's never sounded so frightened before. He's been uneasy ever since he gave her whatever-it-was that got her better, but he's never sounded scared. Something's wrong.
"I don't know his name," Philip says. "We did some work for him. Confidential. I...he'll know we breached it. Marnie!"
"What do you want me to do?" she asks. Her heart is thudding in her chest. What the fuck has he gotten himself into?
"Leave. Leave right now, go to the airport, and get on a plane."
"You want me to go back to Sydney?" she asks, incredulously.
"Anywhere, I don't really care," he says, and he sounds like he's begging now. "Just get out of Japan."
"But what..."
Marnie trails off. There's a dull thud from the direction of the front door, followed by a distinct click. Without even thinking, she reaches for her holster, and then realises she's still in her pyjamas. She takes a step towards the door.
"David?"
Four very un-David-like men walk into the room, followed by four more. Marnie gasps and steps back.
"Oh god."
They've all got masks on. They're all heavily armed. Whoever it is that Philip's pissed off, they mean business.
"Listen," she says desperately, holding out her hands. "I'm not a part of anything my brother does. I'm just a police officer."
The front four calmly take aim at her, and she grinds to a halt.
"What is this?" she whispers.
"Marnie Woodford?" asks the one furthest to the left. She nods wordlessly. She's having trouble swallowing.
"You're in breach of our client's confidentiality agreement," says the one next to him.
"I don't know your client," she says, her voice trembling. "I don't know anyone. Please, just leave me alone. I just. I just want to go back to sleep."
"You can't just break into someone's house like this," says the brunette woman, coming to stand beside her, and Marnie is suddenly infinitely grateful for her presence. "It's illegal."
"You get down on the ground," the first man growls. "Hands behind your head."
"Don't you dare shoot her," Marnie snaps. "Who are you working for? What's going on. Does this have anything to do with flu-x."
"Where are you from, girly?" another man from the back asks. "Australia, is it? They've got no morals down there."
Marnie gapes.
"You're insulting my country?" she asks, dumbfounded.
"This will be so much easier when people like her are gone," another man mutters. "They're filth."
"Obviously," the first says. "That's why they all need to be...cleaned up."
Marnie stands where she is, shaking violently.
I'm going to die.
"If you're going to shoot me," says brunette, cowering on the ground, "then can't I at least know who you are? I'm Japanese! Why don't you just shoot the filth?"
Marnie glares at her. Geeze, David can pick 'em.
"Don't get me wrong," says the first man. "It pains me to have to kill an honest Japanese woman. If only you'd kept better company, you'd be fine."
He takes aim at her head.
"The last words you'll ever hear," he tells her. "We work for a little overseas company called Yotsuba. We're making the world a better place."
"You're also all under arrest," says the man in the middle at the back. His voice is absolutely flat, almost bored. Marnie stares at him curiously. The others instantly, as one, turn their guns on him.
"Who are you? Where is Deiko?" one of them demands.
"You've also got fake guns," says the man who had called her 'filth', and his voice sounds much more pleasant. "But we don't."
"I have no idea what is going on," Marnie confessed, staring between them. "Am I going to die or not?"
Brunette gets up off the floor gracefully.
"It's all right," she says gently. "Marnie. I'm sorry we had to do this to you. This is an ambush."
She has a pistol in her left hand.
"I'd say this is just about over, wouldn't you?" she asks them brightly, and then laughs.
Sometimes, Marnie thinks she just should have stayed in Sydney.
"According to our most recent reports, people are starting to recover already," Watari tells L happily. "You've done an excellent job, of course."
L stares at him expectantly.
"It's a pity we can't move on until M starts improving," he adds. "I know you get bored hanging around after a case is closed."
L continues to stare at him.
"And of course, it will be beneficial to know why the Yotsuba group wanted to commit genocide."
L tilts his head slightly. Watari's a bit slow on the uptake, sometimes.
"But I suspect the core goal was simply to demand large amounts of money in ransom from other countries, and that they simply employed racial extremists because it was convenient."
Stare.
"Such a nasty business," says Watari, and L wonders if he's doing this just to torture him. "Er, did you want something?"
"I've been gone for nearly twenty-four hours," L says calmly.
"Oh," Watari says, suddenly understanding. "Yes. Of course. Right away."
"Make sure there is at least three pounds of icing on top," L calls after him, happier already.
L spends the next three hours eating, and trying to ignore Rae hovering around him.
"You would have done it. You wanted to. You wanted to do the right thing."
"I did do the right thing, Shinigami."
T comes and gets him when M wakes up properly, and L ignores the urge to run all the way to the makeshift hospital room.
He's staring at the ceiling when they arrive, and he doesn't look at them until L crouches down beside the bed.
"How are you?" he asks. "Feeling better?"
"Feel the same," M says with a shrug. His voice is hoarse and unpleasant. His hair is stuck to his forehead with sweat. They've taken off his shirt, and L can't ignore how his torso resembles Rae's, skin stretched tight over his bones, ugly black tattoo right over his heart.
Absurdly, L wants to touch him. As if that will help.
"You'll feel better in the morning," he says. "It usually only takes eight hours to work completely."
"I don't ever feel better," M tells him, but then he seems to consider that prospect. "Will I be allowed to smoke again in the morning?"
"Yes," L tells him. "You should try and eat something, too."
"No," he says, so stubborn. Still a child. L puts his fingers on the top of M's head. As he predicted, it doesn't make any difference at all.
M doesn't want L, and L can't give him who he wants. He hates feeling powerless.
"I will leave you in peace," he says finally.
T hesitates in the doorway, and L has the notion he's going to say something stupid a good three seconds before he actually does.
"Who's Mel?" he asks. "Was she your girlfriend?"
M's expression is so venomous Matsuda actually takes a step backwards.
"Don't ever say that name again," he snaps.
"But you-"
"Ever. Or I swear to fucking god, I will shoot you through the heart."
He means it. L knows he means it.
"Come on, T, time to go," he says without emotion, and drags Matsuda back out into the hall.
"Rae?"
The Shinigami is stretched out on the bottom bunk, apparently asleep. L drops one leg over the side of his bed and kicks it.
"Rae!"
"Why would I want to talk to you?" Rae asks darkly. "Go back to sleep."
"Shinigami are gods, am I correct?"
Rae opens one crimson eye suspiciously.
"Yes, of course."
"So are you familiar with the workings of hell?"
Rae opens the other eye and rolls over reluctantly.
"I've had some experience, I suppose."
"How are people judged?"
He needs to know.
"What?"
"On what criteria are people judged?" L asks. "It's not a difficult question."
"It's a stupid question," Rae tells him. "People go to hell because they're categorically evil and deserve to suffer."
His voice is singsong, like he's quoting a textbook.
"A friend of mine is in hell," L says quietly. "He wasn't evil."
"Then you've misjudged him," the Shinigami tells him. It seems to be warming to the conversation now that it's clear L is suffering. Of course.
"Perhaps," L says. "Is there any way to reverse the process?"
"You want to bust someone out of hell?" Rae asks, sounding greatly amused.
"Would it even be possible?"
Rae seems to consider this, cupping one bony hand under its chin.
"I wouldn't worry about it," it says finally. "At the rate you're going, you'll be right there with him in no time."
"What do you mean?"
"Whoever's doing that judging, they know you have the note," it says smugly. "They also know you aren't using it. Therefore, you're standing by while crimes are committed. That makes you an accessory. I wonder how many times it will happen before the five years is up? Ten thousand? One hundred thousand? Yeah, you're going to hell, L."
L rolls his eyes. Why does he even bother.
"Goodnight, Rae."
"Sweet dreams, L."
As soon as M is better, L drags them all back to their base in London. It's his favourite, the best-equipped and the best-hidden. There are no new cases in the works, and they could all do with a little more training.
Or a lot more, in some people's case.
The thing is, L would like to be able to say that he keeps T around because he's spontaneous, and therefore unpredictable to anyone who might be analysing their actions. Because he does things that are stupid and unnecessary and abrupt, and occasionally saves all of them because of it. Because he's the one who isn't brilliant, so he thinks like ordinary people think, a window into the world of non-geniuses. Of course, R isn't a genius either, but he's certainly smarter than an average person.
However, there's another reason L keeps Matsuda around, one so ridiculous and childish and small that he can't ever tell any of the others.
Because he was the one to kill Kira.
More than anything else, Matsuda makes L feel safe.
A month drags by, and then another.
"I can't believe there's still nothing happening," T wails. "How much longer can this go on?"
"You should be happy," L says, even though he himself isn't pleased with the long stretch of unemployment. "Perhaps the hell filter is actually working."
T brightens.
"Perhaps we've actually made a difference."
"Maybe," L says. "Is Watari still training you in combat?"
"Yes! Everything hurts."
L goes back to his computer screen.
"Good. You're doing well, then."
"Huh?" T sounds shocked. "But, I. Um. Thanks."
He leaves in under sixty seconds from the time L starts to ignore him. L's pleased at how much he's improved.
As soon as he's gone, Rae picks up the newspaper again.
"Serial rapist in Vancouver," the Shinigami says matter-of-factly. "They've got him in custody, but there's not a lot of evidence."
"That case doesn't interest me," L tells it. "The police can probably handle it on their own."
If he remembers correctly, Yagami's working in Vancouver. L's never been sure whether to get in touch with him or not. He probably doesn't wish to be reminded of his son.
"You don't need to be interested," Rae says irritably. "All you need is five seconds and a pen. His name is James Lightfoot."
"I'm not murdering anyone," L says blithely, for the eighth time since breakfast.
There's a case in France. Blackmail. L's not sure it's up to his calibre, but then again, his team needs something to do other than train. He's been testing them with puzzles and mock cases during the day, and they've been sparring with each other at night. T and N are perfect partners in the ring, almost completely equally matched. R is better than both of them. Even Watari's improving.
M doesn't spar, despite having made a full recovery. L doesn't ask him to, either.
Rae's sitting next to him.
It doesn't hunch like L, like the other Shinigami. It sits straight-backed and proud. L wonders what being heir to the king means. Is there a title, like 'prince'?
Probably not. Rae would have bragged about it.
"Pedophile ring in Birmingham," Rae says, right next to his ear. "Michael Lenny, George Dempsey, Hal Lumbridge, and Mischa Blake all in custody."
"Then they'll be brought to justice anyway," L mouths carefully. The others are too close by for him to speak normally.
"Something like this happened last year, and they walked away with three years each," Rae says darkly.
L knows. It was a terrible precedent to set, but there are other precedents. Every case is different.
"If you like, I'll get the others together and we can help find some more evidence on those men," he offers softly.
"How? By getting those poor terrified kids to speak? You gonna have Watari torture them?"
L flinches, and thinks how dare you before getting his emotions back under control.
"No," he says, voice still quiet. "I do things the right way."
"The coward's way," Rae tells him.
They go to Greece a few days later, on the heels of what the government reports to be 'an amazing fraudster'. L really only agreed to it after N shouted at him for ten minutes and told him they had to do something.
L recognises a woman at the airport. He's met her on a previous case, the girlfriend of a mafia boss. She's hidden well, scarf around her head, big sunglasses, big trench coat. L picks out at least ten ordinary-looking people around her that are clearly body-guards. They follow her every movement. They're all hiding guns in different places, and L admires one slightly plump woman who's hidden a pistol most effectively in her armpit.
They can't challenge them here, of course, they'd all be shot in an instant. And it's never a good idea to mention the mafia to M, just like it's not a good idea to eat chocolate around M.
She goes only by the name of Sascha, but L knows from past research that her last name is Dakis. He also knows that she is ninety-six percent certain to be the person responsible for the latest spate of mafia kidnappings and tortures. She's power-mad and ruthless, poisonous. She sent hitmen after him, the last time he met her. Two of them almost succeeded.
The world would be better off without her.
Unconsciously, L touches the notebook strapped to his chest.
Rae swoops on him.
"Use it," it suggests, voice excited and friendly. Rae changes tone like the very best sort of conman, whatever is most likely to work. "No one will know. It's just one death."
Random heart attacks happen all the time. L is perfectly aware of that. He's also aware that - based on the direction she's headed and the luggage in her hands - she's arriving, and not departing. Meaning he'll finally be in the same city as her again.
Maybe this time he'll find enough evidence.
L feels slightly better.
"She'll never talk," Rae tells him with certainty. "Better just to finish it off. You could do it tonight, when you are all alone in the hotel room."
L can't answer the Shinigami, of course. It's far too crowded.
"Never," he says, a single quiet word, lost in the bustle.
He doesn't miss the way Rae's eyes burn bright red, the way its flames cackle and spit.
Sorry, Shinigami, he thinks. You'll have to do better than that.
L likes luxury hotel beds. They're soft under his feet, and big enough to accommodate him when he flails around nine hundred times in his sleep. They're comfortable, and L doesn't even mind when they get filled up with cake crumbs.
He takes off his belt and stretches. It's four am. There haven't been any leads on Dakis, and they solved the fraudster problem within three hours of arriving. L hadn't even needed to help, M had worked it out.
Smart kid.
He crawls into bed and rolls onto his back, curling his toes happily. He needs to sleep lying down occasionally, or his back starts to cramp. He'd rather perch on the end of the bed - the position in which he's most at ease - but he can't combat his own physiological needs.
L rolls over and closes his eyes. He's never had any trouble falling asleep once he gives himself permission, and he drifts off in a matter of seconds.
An indeterminate amount of time later, he wakes up with a start, a sharp, sudden pain in his ribs.
He stares at the clock. 4.07am. He stares at Rae, who smiles and waves.
L glares, but he's already feeling uneasy.
"Good night," he says with finality, and turns over, his back to the skeletal monster in the room.
He closes his eyes.
He's barely blacked out when Rae pokes him again.
tbc
to my reviewers: thank you! :D