notes/warnings
+ mentions of sex (nothing graphic).
+ swearing, swearing, swearing. everyone loves the f-word.
+ mention of torture.
+ random slashing of minor characters for no good reason. namikawa/midou. yeah.
Machine
Rae looks at the death note, looks at L, and bursts into a fresh wave of hysterics.
"And y-you…you thought…th-th-that was….g-going to work?" it asks, howling with laughter.
"I thought it was worth a shot," L says grimly. But it has worked, in a way. The momentary satisfaction of possibly killing Rae has done much to combat his anger, and he feels his rationality come trickling back into his system.
He is L. Even grief-stricken and enraged, he did not attempt to take the life of any other human being.
"So," Rae says, still gasping. "I can't believe it. The great L is actually evil."
"Because I tried to kill you?" L asks, raising his eyebrows.
"Of course," Rae says haughtily.
"Yes," L says. "If that makes me evil, then I must be evil."
He's never claimed to be a good person. All he's ever claimed to be is himself. And he is still that, even…
Even without Matsuda.
His colleague. His back-up plan. His friend.
Fifty percent.
He pulls the window open and sits down beside it, knees drawn up to his chin, rain spattering his face.
He's still not sure how on earth he's meant to deal with this.
L plays with the handcuffs, snapping them open and shut. He still imagines them fastened securely around Matsuda's wrist and the table leg. Tethering the man to here and now. To life. To L. To safety.
It was such a small thing to do, so physically easy to release Matsuda from the shackles. The turn of a key. The slip of a lock. L wishes, absurdly, that he could go back in time and slap his own hand away.
Released too early. He keeps making the same mistake over and over again. This time, his mistake has cost someone else their life.
He swivels around on his chair absent-mindedly. He ought to get back to work. He probably ought to eat something, to.
He also ought to have assumed Matsuda couldn't be trusted.
Raye knocks briefly on the wall and then steps into the room.
"I've got news, L," he says, and his voice is rough and gravelly. He hasn't recovered either. L thinks maybe he isn't sleeping at night.
"Yes?" he asks, without looking up. He flips the key again, and watches the cuff slide open with a satisfying clack.
"Someone else has been shot."
L flinches a little at the words.
Someone else? Who are they targeting now? Wasn't Matsuda enough?
No, he remembers. They need me to show myself. This is going to go on until I either stop them, or show myself.
"Who was it?"
"Marnie Woodford," Raye tells him shakily. "She was the girl-"
"We saved in Japan last year," L finishes. "I'm aware of that, thank you."
"There's more. They left her body in front of the police station with a note stuck to it. I have a photograph of that note here."
Raye holds out a piece of paper. L takes it with two fingers and examines it carefully.
Detective L. Your people are suffering. If you wish to stop this, please reveal your face on international news. Please note: you have four days before the next one.
"So," L breathes, "they're finally making their demands."
Four days until the next one. Their third kill.
Four days will not be enough time.
He can't have another death on his conscience. Not another Matsuda. Not again. And he knows Eve is aware that Matsuda had companions. The next victim could be Raye, or Naomi.
Or Mail.
No, L thinks.
Then he has no option. He has to...he has to reveal himself. If he organises all the major networks and police squads, he should be able to...
He should be...
What are you doing, you stupid, stupid loser?
L jolts. His inner Near voice cuts sharply through the fog that's been surrounding him for the past eight days.
You don't want to throw yourself away over something like this, it chides. That would be completely illogical. Think!
What is he doing?
What is he thinking?
He's... he's L. The world-renowned fucking detective. He's not going to reveal himself. He's going to bring justice down on Eve's ugly head if it's the last thing he does. No matter what it costs him. He sacrificed Lind L Tailor and a lot of other people to get to Kira. He's not about to surrender over four deaths.
"What are you going to do?" Raye asks from the doorway.
He's been stupid. He let himself get caught up. That is the problem with unprofessional people. They make everyone else unprofessional, too. Matsuda was a mistake. No, liking Matsuda was a mistake.
Just a mistake. One he doesn't intend to make again. These people that work for him, they're just people. Like any other. Exactly as important as any other.
Nothing more.
He had forgotten that for a little while. But he trained himself to function without emotion for thirteen years. He's not about to put all of that on the backburner over something that's happened in the past two weeks.
He doesn't need them. He doesn't need anyone.
"I get it," Raye says, incorrectly. "You don't know what to do. L...I. I miss Matsuda, too, you know."
L stops.
That is incorrect, his Near voice informs him, but he already knows. Yes. His old clarity is back. The world makes perfect sense.
"T," he says, simply.
Raye's head jerks suddenly, and he stares at L with wide eyes.
"What?"
"T," L pronounces once more, calmly. "We should not call him Matsuda. He was T. Just T."
Raye scowls at him.
"I can't believe you -"
"Is Adam Creagh still in the building?" L enquires, smoothly cutting him off.
"What? Uh, yeah. He's in the cell downstairs."
L smiles beatifically.
"Excellent," he says. "Fetch Watari for me, please."
Raye looks aghast.
"You...you're not actually going to..."
"I am going to do my job," L says succinctly. "Which I have been neglecting for quite some time now. Please fetch Watari. Tell him to bring his gloves. I want to see what Adam Creagh has to say for himself."
The techniques Watari uses are small, intricate, and don't leave marks. Presently he's pushing splinters under Creagh's fingernails. The man howls loudly with every move.
"Please," L says softly into the microphone. "Just tell us who contracted you to kill Touta Matsuda. That's all we want to know."
"No fuckin' way," Creagh gasps. "I told you. I'll talk if you pay me. One million. The amount they were gonna pay. Nothing fuckin' less."
"This is horrible," Rae says, sounding surprisingly genuine. It doesn't seem to be able to look at Creagh, instead turning its godawful eyes to the blank wall behind L. "Why don't you just give him the money? Or kill him. Don't do this."
Torture probably isn't something the Shinigami are familiar with.
"I very much doubt the money will convince him to talk," L explains. "And besides, how would I know whether he was telling the truth? No, this is the only way."
"You're a monster."
L shrugs. This is what must be done.
You don't know where you are. You don't know who they are. All you're sure of, right now, is that you really, really fucking hurt.
It's happened again. Kira's henchmen have gotten their hands on you again.
Something burning hot is pressed against your upper arm. Pain screams through your nerves, and you can smell the flesh singe and burn.
"FUCKSHITFUCK NO!" you yell, because you can't help it. They've blindfolded you and shackled you to something. There's nothing else to focus on.
"I ask again," says the deep, obviously-synthesised voice above you, "where is L holding his next meeting?"
"I don't know," you pant. But you do know, and you're sure he knows that.
In exactly one week, L will be meeting with the Japanese police force in the basement of the old SPK building.
They shouldn't have told you all the details. Near was right. No one should ever tell you anything. It's dangerous just to keep you around.
The next press of burning metal lasts for thirty aching seconds. The pain roars around your mind, makes you stupid, oh god, you just want to tell them.
You're so weak.
Matt wouldn't tell them. He'd bite his own tongue off, first. Nothing damages Matt. He's indestructible. He takes everything as it comes. He'll never crash and burn the way you have.
He's the most beautiful thing in the world.
He'll be at that meeting. Maybe, if you focus on that, you can get through this. You know Near and L won't be far behind. You know, intellectually, they should arrive by the end of the day. If you think about Matt, and how you absolutely cannot endanger his safety, maybe you can get through this nightmare.
"Fuck you," you breathe. Your throat is dry and sore from screaming.
"Come on, fat boy," another computerised voice bleats. "I don't know why you're suffering through so much. Those people clearly don't even like you."
The second person is new. Usually it's only the one guy. Or at least, it's always the same single deep voice. He finds you anywhere, no matter what you do. He snatched you out of your own bed, in your tiny cramped apartment under Matt's triple-locked and guard-protected house. You don't know how he does it.
And still, occasionally, you get that niggling little feeling. Like all of this is scripted. Like it can't possibly be real.
"It's real all right," says the first voice, and you realise you must have said that last bit out loud.
"Who are you?" you mumble pathetically. "Why do you keep doing this? Why me?"
"Because you're so easy to break," he says nastily. The next press of the poker - you're sure it's a poker - is right above your eye. On the good side of your face.
"OH GODNOSTOOOOP!"
He keeps it there for what feels like an eternity, searing into your skin, unbearable pain, until you're begging them out loud, anything, anything, just stop.
"Then tell us," second voice commands. "C'mon, all we need is a time and a place. And then we'll take ya back home, how about that?"
Back home sounds good. You want to see Matt again. You want to be safe once more. You want a fucking bar of chocolate.
And then you remember.
They announced a date yesterday. The wedding is in six months time. Middle of summer. Jasmine is going to wear a yellow dress. The wedding cake is going to be filled with cherries.
Oh god. Everything hurts.
You can still recall, in perfect detail, the night you confessed to him. It must have been eighteen months ago, now. It was just before you started getting fat. It was the night after you'd been abducted and tortured for the very first time. You'd been so scared, and he'd held you. And he'd felt so strong and safe, so you'd just blurted it out.
'I love you.'
"You're lying!" first voice roars. "You said you'd do anything! Liar! Get the nails, Tyson."
The nails. You hate the nails.
He'd said 'that's okay'. That's what he'd said. He'd sounded so sad and sympathetic, like you'd just confessed you'd been diagnosed with cancer.
And that night, he'd fucked Jasmine against the wall, right outside your room.
Pretty Jasmine, with her round little hips and her platinum blonde hair, and her pale skin. With her mismatched eyes - one blue eye and one green - that you wish made her look ugly, but instead just make her look unique and amazing. You always feel like she's staring right through you.
You heard every thump, every scream. The sex went on for hours.
The message had been clear.
"Through his palms, Tyson. Right the way through, this time. The left one first. Maybe he'll think twice before you decimate his dominant hand."
What's the point of being strong? You're nothing. You're useless. The others probably aren't even coming. They'll just chance the time and place of every event you know about and get on with their lives.
Sometimes, you despise them. All of them. Except him.
The first tap of the hammer buries the nail halfway through your flesh. The pain is intolerable.
"Three in the afternoon," you choke out, hating yourself with every word. "God, stop."
You wish they'd keep going. You wish they'd just kill you.
There's a pause that drags on and on. You haven't given them enough information yet. They're waiting.
"One more nail, right the way through," deep voice growls.
If you can hold on a little longer, the others might come. But why should you? You hate Near. L hates you. Everyone expects you to let them down anyway.
"No," you say quickly, just reacting, not thinking. "No. It's the old SPK building."
"Well done," Tyson purrs. "And what date?"
"The twenty-fifth of this month."
"Good boy," the first voice says, and he always sounds a little disappointed. Like he wishes you'd hold up to the torture longer.
Well, you didn't. You just fulfilled everyone's predictions of you. Again.
Your captors leave. You hear the door slam and a car engine start up somewhere outside. They leave you tied to the wall, blind and incapacitated.
Broken and ashamed.
Yeah, you wish they'd just kill you.
It takes a long time for Creagh to finally talk, and when he does, it's barely a sentence. Only one important word, really.
But it's the word L's been waiting to here.
"W-wait. I think. I think I overheard. They call themselves...Yotsuba."
"Thank you," L says curtly. "Watari, please make arrangements to have Mr Creagh sent back to custody."
"As you wish, L."
It's unlikely that the man knows any more details, and quite frankly, it's all he needs.
"You're not going to be able to convict based on what a tortured man said," Rae informs him haughtily. L smiles.
"No. But now that I'm sure, all I need is evidence."
"So you're going to send in that Soichiro character?"
L leaves the cell and heads towards his own office. He has work to do, after all.
"No," he says simply. "I very much doubt he will be able to obtain more information than what Adam Creagh was able to glean. And they will be suspicious of his sudden change of mind, if nothing else."
He sticks his head into the communal office and give the others his instructions. Raye...R is to contact the local police. They need them on-side now that half the city is tapped. M is to try and work out some sort of code for disabling the bugs in the credit card machines. Adam had been fast to admit to the method used to find Matsuda, and had offered up details without any encourgement at all. Hopefully his information will be sufficient to create some sort of counter-virus. N is to investigate high-profile cat burglars - he needs a replacement for Wedy, after all - and he also wants her to get him a preliminary report on the stock market.
L has a plan. He might be able to thwart Yotsuba without even leaving the building. And by 'might', he means he has a forty-nine point two eight percent chance.
It doesn't do to be vague.
He reaches his own office and curls up in his chair. Delicately, he picks up his phone and dials Soichiro's number.
"L? What is it. No one's contacted me yet."
"And I doubt they will," L says. "They've already made a move. I think they're going to be extra careful about who they hire from now on."
"What? What move? I had heard rumours that they killed someone, but I didn't know -"
"That's not relevant right now," L interrupts. "I no longer require your cooperation in this case."
"I thought we had a deal," he says, and he sounds annoyed. "I thought you needed me."
"Circumstances have changed," L says brusquely. "Your services are no longer required."
He hangs up. No time to waste. He's wasted too much time as it is.
The thing is, a company has more weaknesses than an individual. A company needs things to run. Like money.
L doesn't need to leave the building to stop Yotsuba.
He can do it right here. From this chair.
All he needs is a little research.
N comes in a few hours later and hands him her stock market report. If she's at all surprised by the request, she doesn't show it.
She's always professional. He approves of that.
"You've...you've turned back into a robot," Rae says after she leaves. It sounds a little unnerved.
"I haven't been thinking straight," L tells it politely. "I let myself get too emotional. But that's sorted, now. I've remembered who I am. I apologise for attempting to use your death note on you. That was also a product of my troublesome emotions."
"I think I liked you better before," the Shinigami mutters. L smiles to himself. Rae liked him before because he was weak before, and the only chance Rae stands of beating him is if L is weakened.
His inner Near voice is never wrong. Much like the man himself.
L checks the calendar. Four days. His plan will take at least a week to work, but that's just the way it goes. It's still the best possible plan there is. L has analysed it from every angle.
He sets N's report down on the table and studies it intently. It's imperative not to make any mistakes. He needs to be absolutely certain.
He needs one hundred percent.
He's not going to turn Yotsuba in. They're going to turn themselves in. All he needs is to be slightly more clever than they are.
And he, L, is exactly twenty-one times more clever than they are.
Yotsuba has apparently forgotten that.
During his time as a detective, L has accumulated a lot of solved cases. And he's brought a lot of criminals to justice. Reprehensible murderers, enigmatic fraudsters, uncrackable paedophile rings, unscrupulous thieves, unfathomable rapists; all of them eventually fell to L's prowess.
Save one self-important little Japanese boy with a supernatural book and dysfunctional moral compass. Even so, L is certain that if he ever comes up against Light again, he'll win.
Ninety-nine point nine nine nine percent success rate.
Justice always prevails. He is the reality of those ridiculous comic book characters M used to talk about.
To date, he has successfully solved one thousand, eight hundred, and twenty-four cases.
And of all of those cases, not one of them - not even one - has been pro bono. L is an expensive option. The specialist. The last resort. Paying Wedy a few thousand a job is nothing. He could construct an identical base in every country in the world using just his yearly bank interest.
L is rich. Loaded.
And the one thing that every member of Yotsuba loves is money. So he's taking that hostage, the way they're attempting to take his conscience hostage.
We'll see who can hold out the longest, he thinks.
According to N's report, Yotsuba has three main competitors in the stock market. Yates Enterprises, Harvington's Fish Products, and Bullion Barn. All four seem to compete for the top position, which changes from one to the other on a daily basis.
L smiles. Perfect. Exactly what he wants.
He picks up the phone and dials.
"Hallo, is this Yates Enterprises? My name is Aaron Martingale, and I'd like to purchase shares in the company. Yes, that's right. Hmm. Let's say, ten million American dollars worth, and we'll go from there."
Yotsuba won't know what hit them.
For the next three days, L does exactly the same thing. He invests money in whichever of the other three companies happen to be top of the market. If Yotsuba is on top, he invests in the next best.
It's new and interesting, playing the stock market. It's not something he's ever done before.
The others seem to have returned to their old routines. R is still subdued, but he's working hard, so L doesn't chastise him about it. M is the same as he ever was, unhappy and brilliant, lazily hacking through Yotsuba's clever eftpos bugs and everything else in his way. N is perhaps not quite herself yet. She spent the better part of the past two days surreptitiously enquiring into the state of L's emotional health before she apparently believed his I'm quite fine, thank you.
He is. He's just fine. He feels better than he has in a long, long time. Sinuous and coiled, ready for anything.
The plan is to push all three rival companies well above Yotsuba. According to his own research, that will be enough to push shares down through the floor, and essentially crash the company.
It won't be easy. Yotsuba and its supporters are putting up a tremendous fight, and money is pouring into the corporation from all angles. Winning just might take all of the money L owns.
That's okay, too. He likes to be challenged. Things get boring when his cases are too simple. His mind is being driven in a new direction, widened in a new dimension. He needs to fine-tune his expertise to economics, and he needs to do it in under a week.
His current calculated chance of success is eighty-two point zero one percent.
"Who shall it be today?" he murmurs, surveying his computer screen carefully. "Bullion Barn is technically second, but Yates has been rising so rapidly over the past eight hours that I believe it may be the better option."
Yotsuba is in the top position again, but not by much. L's investments are definitely taking their toll.
"Go for Yates, then," Rae suggests irritably. "Or better yet, just get rid of Yotsuba."
The Shinigami has been grumpy and unpleasant for days, its smugness over Matsuda's death completely evaporated.
L is pleased by this. Perhaps it has given up. Perhaps he actually frightened it when he wrote its name in the death note so quickly and easily.
Perhaps it's plotting something else.
He cannot yet predict Rae well enough to place exact numerical values on the three possible outcomes, but the last reason is by far the most likely.
No matter. Whatever Rae dishes out, L can handle. He knows that now.
"I was thinking of Barn, myself," L muses. "The idea, after all, is to override Yotsuba. Only Barn can do that today."
"Then why did you ask me?" Rae snarls.
"I didn't," L says politely. "I was talking to myself. It's something humans do, you know. I spoke to myself a long time before you were ever around me."
"Fine!" the Shinigami says darkly. "Fine. You know, I don't understand you at all, Lawliet. Aren't you even the slightest bit upset that your little failsafe has failed?"
Yes, you always intended to use my emotions to manipulate me, didn't you, L thinks. I bet you didn't plan for this. You wanted me to go on being weak and dependent.
I would have been easy, then.
But I am L. And I am strong. And the only person I depend on is me.
"I regret that I made a mistake," L agrees out loud. "It is certainly inconvenient for me that he died. But, at the same time, I am now confident I will not be needing any failsafes, Shinigami."
"You're not even human," Rae declares, pointing at him accusingly. "You're...you're less human than I am."
"That would be impossible," L says smoothly. "Nothing in the world could ever be less human than you are."
"I'm going flying," Rae says, abruptly. "There's a stink in here, and I want to get away from it."
L is four point seven one percent certain that Shinigami do not possess a sense of smell.
"Is something wrong, Rae?" he asks in his most infuriating voice. "Is reaching the throne much more demanding than you imagined?"
The god of death takes a few steps and closes the gap between them, staring down at L with it's hellish red eyes.
L stares right back. Those eyes don't bother him the way they used to. They're just another thing. Another puzzle to be solved. Break Yotsuba, outstare Rae, eat cake, extract Mello from hell...
Mello.
L clamps down tightly on the wave of inconvenient emotion that momentarily threatens to unseat him.
He's stronger than that.
"One day," Rae announces. "One day, I'm going to watch you die."
"Yes," L says, barely paying attention. "I know."
It's hardly the most important thing in the world.
M comes to see him that evening.
"I've noticed something," he says immediately, without waiting for L to acknowledge him. He always gets straight to the point.
"What is it?" L asks. He takes a sip of his tea. It's hot and sweet and perfect. Barn toppled Yotsuba out of first position easily. It's been a good day.
"Well, I've been analysing the activities of similar stock, but also related investors," M replies in his usual monotone. "I've noticed something unusual."
He places his own laptop on the desk and opens it, pointing at the animated graph he's created.
"See, this is a record of the major investors over the past three days, since you started this project."
"I see," L says. "The yellow line represents my own movements."
"Yeah, that's your Aaron Martingale," M murmurs. "Most of the other investors either float to whoever is top of the market, or they stick with one particular corporation."
"Which makes sense," L tells him. "That is how people normally invest."
"Right," M agrees. "But look at the orange line."
L tilts his head.
"I thought the orange line was just a shadow effect of the yellow line?"
"Nope," M says, pointing at the legend. "That's a company called Nado Incorporated. They've made exactly the same choices as you have, every single day."
"Three times in a row could easily be chance," L says, rubbing the side of his head. "There's a fifteen point two zero percent likelihood that any two investors might seem to be synchronised for a short period of time. Of course, it would be interesting if they continued to make similar decisions."
"Perhaps, but that wasn't my point," M says bluntly. "I ran a background check on Nado Incorporated. It's a relatively new company, been around for a about a year and a half, but when I map their investments all the way back to the beginning..."
M pauses just long enough to hit a few buttons and bring up a new, much longer, graph.
"...I found this," he finishes.
L traces the screen with his finger, fascinated.
"Every single movement they've made seems to be a deliberate attempt to thwart Yotsuba," he says softly. "Every single day, supporting the most successful rival. This has been going on for over a year."
"I thought it might be relevant, anyway," M says, reaching for his cigarette. "You have an unknown ally."
"Yes, I think this bears keeping in mind," L tells him. "Thank you. You have done well. Please find me contact details for a Nado representative, in case we ever need them."
"Right," M says, gathering his laptop from the desk. He leaves a few seconds later, without wasting words on a goodbye.
L approves of that, too.
He presses his left hand to his mouth.
So Yotsuba, like me, has many enemies, he thinks. How interesting.
Surely this can be used to our advantage.
L works through the night, and the next morning comes. It's been four days. He wonders what Yotsuba will do. He wonders who they'll choose.
He doesn't have to wonder very long. R comes into his office around lunchtime, arms folded and fuming.
"Another death," he informs L angrily. "Two, in fact."
Two? They're getting cocky.
"Who was it?' L asks. "Anyone we know?"
"Not directly, no." R seems to be enraged by the simple question. "But that doesn't mean they deserved to die, either."
"Of course," L intones. "No one deserves to die."
"Their names were Adan and Felicia Amane," R informs him bitterly. "I'm sure you can guess why Yotsuba targeted them."
"Misa's parents," L says, surprised. Of course they'd be here. They have no reason to be in hell. Innocent people, murdered before their time. Twice now.
And both times, they died together, he notes, and thinks briefly of M.
"Yes," R says tersely, and shakes his head. "Those poor people."
"Indeed," L agrees. "And yet, in their death, they have helped us immensely."
The older man gapes at L.
"What? How?"
"By their tenuous connection to me," L explains. "First Woodford, now the Amane's. Yotsuba clearly has not located any other member of my staff, or indeed, any of my present contacts. That is an extremely useful thing to know."
R bristles.
"Murder isn't a statistic, you know," he growls. "Seriously, what's gotten into you? You were almost nice before, now you're back to being -"
"I do not pay you to comment on my personality," L says, a warning tone in his voice. "When you return to the office, please remind the others that they are not yet permitted to leave the building."
R is intelligent enough to recognise a dismissal when he hears one, L knows.
"Fine," he replies, irately. "You know you won't be able to stop M from going to church, right?"
"I have no intention of even attempting to do that," L says, and since he didn't make it clear enough the first time. "You may go, R."
The letter attached to Adan Amane's arm informs L that he has another four days before the next fatality.
It's nice that they're being so straightfoward about their murders. It makes planning easier. It should take another three days, maximum, to do what he wants to do.
He's barely one quarter of the way through his funds. His chances of succeeding have risen to eighty-five point seven five percent.
Nado Incorporated continues to make almost exactly the same investments as he does. According to M's background check, they have about half as much money as L does, and they always buy a relatively modest number of share.
But still, the pattern is fascinating. They're obviously clever, but they're not out to invest. They're out to break Yotsuba.
The enemy of my enemy is my friend.
If L believed that, he'd be dead by now.
Another two days, another twelve million dollars thrown at companies L doesn't actually care about, one way or another.
He should be getting close now.
The local police claim to have removed most of the bugs in the city, but L doesn't particularly trust their judgement. There were no physical devices inserted into the terminals, instead a virus was transmitted wirelessly to alter the destination of the reporting mechanism. M has worked out a counter-virus that could be broadcast to neutralise the bugs, but the panicked police are reluctant to trust it. Instead, they prefer to disrupt all signals across the city.
L is certain the store owners won't comply with such nonsense for very long. Still, this isn't a police case. No one has summoned him here. No one has asked for his help. This is between him and Yotsuba, and he cannot rely on anyone else.
He instructs M to go ahead and send his virus live. Without permission. L is no stranger to indulging in minor crimes to abort major crimes, after all.
When N comes in to his office with wet eyes and a sad little smile, he knows exactly what she's going to say. It's highly unlikely that Yotsuba has killed anyone outside of schedule, which means that...
"Wedy...Wedy's dead," she reports flatly. "She died in the early hours of this morning. She never woke up."
"I see," L says. "Thank you."
That's one less thing to worry about, then.
"I don't like this," Raye says for the eighth time in an hour. "If L doesn't get his act into gear, we're going to have another death on our hands. Maybe more than one."
"Honey," Naomi says in a warning tone of voice. "We've had this conversation before. If you're really worried, we can talk to L about it this evening. But right now, I need to focus."
L has assigned her the task of contacting international news networks, especially those in America. He has a message for Yotsuba. One that definitely doesn't involve revealing his face.
Dear Y. Call off the murderers, and I'll call off the investors. You have two days to respond. L.
She's presently multitasking six different emails and three different phone calls. She can't hold down a conversation with her huband at the same time.
"I don't understand why neither of you are concerned," Raye continues irritably, apparently ignoring her previous remark.
Naomi tears her attention away from her computer long enough to glare at him.
"Because we trust L," she says fiercely. "And because we're working hard to bring Yotsuba to justice."
"Because we don't care?" M suggests unhelpfully, from across the room.
"Oh, of course," Raye retorts, bristling. "Right. Sorry for caring about something other than research or a dead man."
Naomi shakes her head in disbelief.
Oh god. You did not just say that, Raye.
M is on his feet in seconds. He grabs Raye by the throat.
"What did you say, Penber?" he growls, dark and angry, eyes glittering.
Sometimes M scares her more than Light ever did. At least Light had been motivated by greed, not love. Greed, at least, is finite.
"Nothing," Raye gurgles.
M doesn't release him immediately.
"That's enough," Naomi says sharply, hoping to startle him into loosening his grip.
M is still regarding her husband like he's a piece of filth. Naomi gets up from her chair, although she's not really certain what she's going to do.
No one taunts M. Raye ought to know that. Really, he's just being stupid. Her hand closes over the boy's wrist.
"Please let my husband go," she says, loudly politely.
At that second the intercom buzzes. M releases Raye roughly and stalks back to his computer. Naomi isn't sure if was due to her request, or the distraction of the noise. She presses the 'communicate' button.
"What is it, L?" she asks, ignoring the way Raye is rubbing at his neck and gasping dramatically.
"I have a new task for R," L says calmly. "Is he there,"
"I'm here," Raye wheezes. "What is it?"
He still manages to sound unimpressed, despite his obvious temporary airway issues.
"I want you to be my contact," L informs him.
"For Yotsuba?"
"For Nado Incorporated."
Raye frowns.
"Who –"
"M has the documents and the contact details," L interrupts. "This company seems to be a very active investor in everything except Yotsuba. It would be beneficial to have them as allies."
"Hang on a second. I thought you said you could handle this by yourself. Why the sudden need for help? Have you run out of money?"
"Well, M's most recent report does suggest that Yotsuba is drawing funds from more sources than when we started," N tells him gently.
Of course, she isn't actually sure that those funds will be sufficient to overpower L, because none of them know for sure how much L is worth. But it certainly sounds like their boss is struggling.
Or he has something else planned for Nado.
"It would be beneficial if you could keep up with the intelligence we've gleaned," L chimes in. "I have made it available to you, after all."
Naomi grits her teeth. L's attitude is no better than Raye's. He's looking for a fight. Or maybe he's so socially inept he doesn't realise.
She really, really misses Matsuda. Now she's the only one who can keep the peace. And she's getting tired.
"Anything else?" Raye spits.
"That is all," L says, and ends the connection.
Her husband stands next to her, wringing his hands, eyes furious.
"I hate him," he says emphatically, to no one in particular.
For once in her life, Naomi really doesn't know what to say.
The Nado contact turns out to be a very pretty red-head with far too much makeup and not enough material in her shirt. She looks like an expensive prostitute, but she talks like a high-end diplomat.
"This is Nado enterprises," she chirps, as soon as she accepts Raye's video call. "My name is Angela. How may I direct your call?"
She has a slight Russian accent. Raye is willing to bet that Angela is not her real name.
"My name is Aaron Martingale," he says in his most pleasant voice. He is a professional, after all. "I'm an investor, like your corporation. It seems we have a common rival. I wanted to talk to someone about forming a…financial alliance."
"Ah, Mr Martingale," she says warmly. "My employers have been following your movements throughout the week. May I congratulate you on your sound choices of investment?"
"Thank you," Raye says courteously. She's good. She's very good.
"What interests us most," she continues, "is that you seem to be so very new. You only started, what, six days ago? There is no doubt you have considerable resources. Why did you choose this time to start… investing?"
He knows what she means. What is your current quarrel with Yotsuba?
He also knows that L will be silently observing the conversation from his own office, ready to terminate or salvage the conversation if Raye puts a foot wrong.
Which is fine. Raye's not going to make any mistakes. He's as good as the best of them, and L knows that. Or he ought to know that, by now.
"A myriad of reasons," he informs her. "Which I would be willing to discuss with your employers, should they be interested."
She laughs prettily.
"Right to the point, aren't you?" she comments. "Well, I'm afraid I can't help you. My employers have no real drive to join forces with anyone right now. And besides, I'm certain that compared to you, the contribution of this company would be meagre, at best."
Damnit. She's bailing out on me.
He refuses to fail in front of L.
"Wait," he says, although he has no idea what he's going to say after that.
She smiles widely.
"Of course, if you're lying to me - if you are not, in fact, Aaron Martingale, but instead the detective known as L – then my employers might be interested in some sort of accord."
She's got me, Raye realises.
"I'm not really sure what you're alluding to," he says calmly, and pretends to notice something across the room. "Would you mind holding for a moment."
"Of course," she tells him, as if she's anticipated he'd need to discuss things with someone else.
Raye switches off his microphone, and the intercom immediately buzzes.
"What do you want me to do?" he asks, not bothering to hide the dislike in his voice.
"Tell her you're me," he replies immediately. He's thought about this. Planned for this. Weighed this up and calculated all of the probabilities.
Bastard.
"Fine," he says briskly, and switches back to Angela.
"Where were we?" he asks, instantly calm and smiling once more.
"You were about to tell me you're L, I imagine," he says coolly. "Although I doubt you're the real L, but that's fine. You're an agent of his, and that's enough."
Fuck, she's really, really good.
"How –"
"We are aware that the group known as Yotsuba – our common enemy, I believe – is presently targeting L. That is fairly common knowledge, since notes to L have been found on two of the recent victims. It has only been over that time that Martingale has been active in the market. The natural conclusion is that Martingale is working for, and funded by, L."
"Right," Raye says weakly.
"And of course, if I were speaking with the real L, he wouldn't have needed to check with anyone before complying with my earlier request," she finishes sweetly.
"You're right, of course," he replies, recovering a little. "I guess I wasn't overly subtle. Does this mean we have some sort of accord?"
"I'll give you my bosses if you'll give me yours," she says playfully.
"My boss doesn't show his face," Raye warns her.
"As expected, then," she continues. "Does the detective have any objections to, say, six o'clock this evening? I'll hold while you ask him."
"What an intelligent woman," L comments dryly when Raye hits the intercom button.
"I hope they're paying her well," Naomi adds.
"That time is fine," L says. "They can contact me by this number."
"Right."
Raye gets Angela back on the line.
"We have a deal," he tells her.
Five forty-five finds L eating a parfait bigger than his head and waiting for the telephone to ring.
"I don't get it," Rae says blankly. "How are these people going to know that it's you? They're pretty trusting. We could be Yotsuba trying to get to them."
"Yes," L agrees. "And the considering how long they've been playing the stockmarket, Yotsuba must surely consider Nado as an established and potentially dangerous rival by now. I imagine it would take very little to tip them over into an out-and-out attack."
"And that's what you're planning to do?" Rae asks, reading him perfectly. L is a little impressed.
"Perhaps," he says thoughtfully. "It would be nice to force Yotsuba's hand. That would give us plenty of evidence against them."
"I don't know," the Shinigami tells him. "Obviously they managed to get through the flu-x virus court case unscathed."
"Unfortunately, I believe it was the justice system that let us down," L says primly. "We had only one man's word that Yotsuba was responsible, and so they simply set up a few lower employees to take the blame."
"So how are you going to stop them from doing that this time?"
L taps his forehead lightly.
"M has found me the direct line to the executives of Yotsuba. He's mapped out their entire building, the plumbing, the wiring, every single detail. This particular phone line is answerable only by the director of the board. No one else may touch it. You can imagine how such a thing might be necessary in a corrupt business."
"Right," Rae says, but he can tell it's not keeping up with him. That's fine. He hasn't given it much to go by.
"I have a plan to set them up to reveal themselves as murderers," he summarises. "But I need the help of Nado to do that."
Rae tilts its head and regards the ceiling. L takes another few bites of his dessert.
"Oh," the death god says suddenly, after less than three minutes of contemplation. "I see. Very clever."
"You're fairly impressive yourself, sometimes," L says around a mouthful of sugary goo.
"It would be easier to just use the death note, however."
"Spoke too soon," L says ruefully. The phone rings, a jaunty, silly-sounding tune that had obviously been selected by Matsuda.
For a split second, L's hand falters. Then he steels himself and picks up the handset.
"This is L," he says briskly. The videolink opens up a blank page.
So they're concealing their identities too. Fascinating.
He wonders how they expect him to trust them.
"Mr L. Thank you for your time."
The voice is soft, male, and obviously not filtered. It also tugs at the very edges of L's memory.
"Who are you?" he asks.
"I am the head executive of Nado," the voice tells him. "I have the only other existing executive with me as well."
You're expecting me to recognise you, aren't you, L thinks. That's why your voice isn't filtered. You've spoken to L before, so if I'm the real L, I'll recognise you.
"I've heard your voice before," he admits. "But I'm afraid I cannot put a face to it yet. Perhaps I'll be able to by the end of this conversation."
"L," says a second voice, louder and harsher than the first. "We want you to confirm the ultimate goal behind your investments."
"Yes, that's right," the head executive agrees silkily. "Do we perhaps have a common enemy?"
"I confess, I am presently attempting to unseat Yotsuba," L informs them. If they are Yotsuba, then they'll be attempting to tap the call right now. And M will pick up on that.
"As expected. That particular company has a nasty little way of dealing with people who have wronged it."
"You should be careful," the other executive adds.
"Thank you for the warning," L says. "But I am quite familiar with Yotsuba's ethics. What I am interested in is your cooperation in the matter of unseating them."
And by 'unseating', he means 'bringing to justice for multiple murders'. But everyone involved in this phone conversation already knows that.
"I'd also like you to confirm that there is no possibility this line has been tapped," he adds.
"That is confirmed," second voice says firmly. "Like Yotsuba, we also have…people who wish to disband us."
"Of course," L says, smiling a little.
You. I know your voice too.
A long time ago. Five…no, about six years ago.
Something to do with the Kira case.
His inner Near voice twirls a strand of hair around it's metaphorical fingers.
Do you realise how imprecise your thought processes have become, L?
He does. He's working on it.
He refuses to answer his inner Near voice, because he's afraid that might categorise him as 'mad'.
"As for your first request, set out your terms, and we'll decide if we have an accord," the head executive adds. He doesn't seem to ever have much emotion in his voice, whereas his deputy seems to be constantly bouncing between fear, anger, and determination.
It was the Yotsuba part of the Kira case, too. I remember.
Hold on, that means you must be…
"Reiji Namikawa," he says with certainty. "And probably Shingo Midou."
There is a pause, and L knows then that he is absolutely correct.
"Yes," Namikawa says softly.
The computer screen flickers, and suddenly he has visual of the two men. It's definitely them. They've barely changed. Namikawa is still tall and handsome, but he's cut his long hair off at the level of his chin. Midou still looks disturbingly like Light, and a little like Mail used to. He's obviously fidgeting underneath the desk.
"Is this not dangerous?" L questions. "For all you know, I could be Yotsuba. Now I know who you are."
Namikawa laughs.
"Yotsuba already knows who we are," Midou tells him. "There was a lot of bad blood around when we broke off from the company, believe me."
"And besides, none of the other executives could have guessed our identities so calmly," Namikawa adds. "Your response gives you away."
Confident, L notes.
"I see. In that case, why should I trust you? How can I know that you've really severed contact with Yotsuba? You could easily still be working for them. This might be an elaborate ploy."
"Yes," Namikawa replies, equally calm. "I have no proof, of course. I presume your own deductive powers have already told you the truth, or you would have ended the phone conversation long before now."
"Very well done," L concedes. "That is correct. You have not acted as Yotsuba would. You are presently only fourteen point eight nine percent likely to be involved with them."
"Right," Midou says, adjusting his glasses. "Can we get on with this, please?"
"There are a few things I need to know," L tells them. "First of all, my research shows that your base in the United States, a few hours' flight from Yotsuba's. Is that correct?"
"Yes."
"Good," L pronounces. "That will work for what I have planned."
There's a building half a block away that should suit them just fine.
"Also, you need to be aware that this plan involves some risk on your behalf. You are both in a position to be the perfect bait to drive Yotsuba to extreme measures. I need to know that you're prepared to place yourselves in danger before I initiate this plan."
"Danger?" Midou snaps.
"What are our chances of surviving this, L?" Namikawa asks slowly.
Ah. A man after my own heart.
"You have four point one zero percent chance of dying," L says honestly, sticking his thumb in his mouth. "And a five point four seven percent chance of being seriously injured."
"Those odds are acceptable," Namikawa says softly.
"What?" Midou snaps. "Four percent? That's not acceptable. What if…"
"It's all right," Namikawa interrupts softly, away from the microphone. "Risks must be taken to stop Yotsuba. And we both agreed their tactics were unbearable. It would not be right to let this chance go by."
"But…"
The head executive puts his hand gently on the other man's head, silencing him.
Ah, L thinks. That might be a problem, too.
"I need you to decide now whether you are going to comply," he tells them matter-of-factly. "My plan cannot go ahead without your help."
"We'll do it," Namikawa says. Midou stares at the desk.
"Excellent," L says. "We ought to do this tomorrow. Does that suit you?"
"Tomorrow?"
"That is fine."
"Excellent," L tells them. "Then listen closely. This is what I want you to do."
R is predictably ropeable.
"I can't believe you want us to fly to the States tonight. You haven't even been letting us leave the house!"
"To be fair, nothing happened to M when he went to church," N says helpfully, and L gives her a brief nod of appreciation.
R is quickly becoming troublesome. If he doesn't start cooperating soon, L may need to assign him some retraining.
He needs his team to stay reliable and predictable. Only then will things run as smoothly as they possibly can.
"We know that Yotsuba has not pinpointed our location," L adds. "We believe we have neutralised the bugs in the local businesses, but that is irrelevant. We'll be taking our own jets."
L owns two small aircraft that are stored on a private airfield just outside of town.
"We'll be travelling in two groups. You will travel with your wife and Watari, leaving in one hour. M and I will follow you in the early hours of the morning."
Sometimes, L will let M fly the plane. If he doesn't seem to be particularly suicidal.
R seems to be somewhat mollified by the fact that he's been grouped with his wife.
"Right, okay."
"This place on Acherton Street," N says. "What sort of building is it?"
"Small businesses on the lower floor, apartments on top," L tells her. "Our station is in the basement, this time."
Out of sight. He can't risk Yotsuba finding him.
"Right. So we set up there, and then I make the call?" she double-checks.
"Yes. Straight away, before I've even arrived."
"Done," N says, rubbing her hands together. "Well, I think that's everything."
"Right," R agrees. "We should go."
Takeshi Ooi triple locks the door before he grabs a flute of champagne from his full-sized office bar and settles into his luxury Ottoman 4000. It's been a long day. The shareholders are dropping like flies. Some rich dick called Aaron Martingale – who is almost definitely hired by L – keeps trying to screw them over.
He sets the glass aside and folds his hands on the desk, listening to his rings clink together. L is becoming a problem. The man has thwarted them twice now. Takeshi is getting sick of him. If he could locate L's base in London, this could be over tonight.
But no matter. When enough people start dying, the public outcry will be enough. L will be forced to show himself. All he needs to do is keep hiring the snipers.
And hoping his shareholders stick with the company. According to his team of analysts, there's a thirtysomething percent chance L will crash the company before enough deaths accumulate.
It's time to increase the deaths to one every two days. He makes a cryptic note of that on his gold-encased notepad, and takes another sip of his champagne.
His phone buzzes softly, briefly bathing his desk in blue light. He doesn't hesitate. Only a very select few have his extension, and none of them would call unless something important is going on.
"Yes?"
"Hi," says an unfamiliar and perky-sounding female voice, and he immediately bristles. "I was looking for Reiji Namikawa. Is he in?"
Takeshi clenches his fist so hard the glass cracks and cuts into his hand.
Namikawa. What is this, you bastard?
"I'm afraid Mr Namikawa isn't here," he says, steeling his voice. "You see, he's-"
"Oh, could you pass on a message?" she asks effervescently. "This is Melanie from Cook Capers. I'm supposed to be catering a meeting between him and some woman called Elle tomorrow morning, but I can't find the address. I don't know whether it's at Acherton Street or Acherton Avenue."
Takeshi is silent for a moment, processing everything she's said. And then he grins, broad and catlike.
He can't believe his good fortune.
"Yes," he says slowly. "I'll pass that message on. What time are you supposed to be catering?"
"Ten o'clock sharp," she says, sounding a little harried. "It's kind of important, but I realise I'm calling a little late. Have him call me first thing in the morning."
"Oh, I will," he tells her, and hangs up.
So, Nado is in cahoots with L, are they? And a meeting. Tomorrow. And now he knows the time and place.
He presses the intercom button.
"Eiichi, contact all of the snipers and tell them to regroup right outside this building, by nine am tomorrow.
"Yes sir."
Takeshi Ooi grins, and pours himself another glass.
It's shaping up to be an excellent night.
"So let me get this straight," N says, folding her arms. "We're trusting these ex-Yotsuba members to help us trap their old colleagues, is that right?"
"Why are we trusting them?" R demands.
"It is true that I still hold some suspicions this may be a trap," L agrees. "But either way, we're in very little danger. Namikawa and Midou do not know our exact location, and therefore we cannot be ambushed."
"That makes sense," N concedes. "I suppose, too, if they've complied willingly to these circumstances, then they're not likely to be trying to kill us."
"Or they would have asked for something that compromised us more," L finishes. "I believe you are correct."
"I don't know who to trust any more," R mutters. He checks his computer. "I've got confirmation from all of the local police units now. They'll be moving into position as we speak."
"Good," L says, and then adds. "Well done."
A little encouragement won't hurt R right now. The man just snorts and pretends to be focused on his monitor. L heads back into the observation room they've set up. M and Watari are at Nado enterprises, setting up taps in the room they've selected for the non-existant meeting.
As he watches, the screen flickers to life, showing him the lavish interior of an expensive meeting room. The room itself is huge - at least ten times the bredth of his own oversized office - the table is clearly antique, and all the seats are plush. He scans briefly. As Namikawa promised, there is a sheet of one-way glass separating this room from the next, with a near-invisible door set into it.
Good.
"Wow," Rae comments. "These people clearly have a lot of money."
M briefly passes by the camera, so close that L can count his freckles. He then moves to one side, fiddles with some wires, and then the speakers are crackling and they have audio as well.
"Any blind spots?" he asks boredly.
"None," L informs him. "Please check the audio and return to base."
M nods once and leaves again. Watari comes in with Midou and Namikawa, who clearly haven't killed him yet, which is always a good sign.
"Hey, is this room ready?" Midou asks nervously, surveying their handiwork. Or rather, surveying the absence of their handiwork. All of the electronics and wires have been completely hidden from sight.
L knows Yotsuba will have spies in Nado. They're clearly not particularly high-up, but there are always a certain number of underlings who can be bought and bribed.
Everything needs to be perfect. Yotsuba cannot get suspicious. And that means Nado's own employess cannot be suspicious.
"Yes," L tells him, via the speakers they've set up, and he almost jumps out of his skin.
"Well, I certainly don't notice anything out of the ordinary in here," Namikawa says to Watari. "You have done an excellent job."
"Thank you," Watari says, bowing. His face is completely concealed under his high-collared trench coat and low hat.
"I really don't like this," Midou says.
So negative and scared, L thinks, you're just like Raye.
But that's all right. You'll obviously do anything Reiji tells you to. Which means you can be predicted quite accurately.
"Midou?" L asks softly. "Can you verify that the police are in position?"
"Oh," he says. "Right. There are presently fifty-four officers from various local stations crammed into the next room, as well as six FBI agents in various positions. Oh, I think one of them wanted me to ask you to hurry up?"
L smiles.
"It's only nine forty-one," he says. "Namikawa? My men need to return to our base now. Are you ready?"
"I'm not sure," Midou says quickly. Namikawa's hand closes over his wrist.
"We'll be fine, L," he states, with a confident little smile.
They both have bulletproof vests on. Just in case.
"Excellent," L says. "Let's proceed, shall we?"
When the clock switches from 9:59am to 10:00am, a tall man with a hood pulled down over his face approaches the Nado building and is welcomed inside.
He is observed by twenty-two of the world's best snipers, all hidden in various ways in the ornamental garden outside.
They already know, from Yotsuba's intensive research, that that doorway is the only way to enter or leave the building.
None of them know that he is a heavily-armoured FBI agent, and not the detective known as L.
A few moments pass, and their gazes are drawn to the large windows on the fourth floor, and the shapes of three men gathered around a table. The men seem to be discussing something.
They await the word from Tristan, a young Nado employee who was contracted by Yotsuba months ago. He's too low down in the company to be of use very often, and he certainly wouldn't have been able to inform Ooi of the meeting, but he's useful for this.
Maybe he'll even get a pay raise.
"Everything is confirmed," his voice buzzes into their earpieces. "They're all there. In room 9A. Both executives seem to be behaving normally. That's all I know."
"Perfect," Takeshi Ooi's voice booms. "Gentlemen. Ladies. Move out."
Carefully and precisely, all twenty two of them swarm into the building.
What happens next is a rush of adrenaline, of genius, of madness. Twenty-two hitmen - every single one with the same three targets - clash with sixty law-enforcing authorities in a flurry of gunshot and smoke and limbs.
And all of it recorded, every second, every detail, on M's wonderful cameras.
Only Yotsuba knew of this meeting. Naomi's fake catering call was listened to by the chief of police. There is absolutely no reason for anyone else to attack Nado.
As a bonus, some of these thugs will probably talk. Eventually.
L leans forward in his chair and allows himself a tiny grin.
Exactly as planned.
He's not even excessively concerned when one of the snipers fires wild and hits Midou.
Raye doesn't actually remember getting to his feet. Nor does he remember stalking over to L, grabbing him by the collar, and dragging him out of his chair.
It's like he's been in shock. The whole scenario is nightmarish, like something from a horror movie. So many people just firing into the crowd.
So much blood.
L did this.
"What..." he says thickly, and has to try three times before he manages to swallow the bile in his throat. "What... WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?"
L stares at him with wide, innocent eyes.
"I've won," he informs Raye happily. "I've beaten them. No jury in the world will find them innocent after this."
"YOU'RE KILLING PEOPLE!"
"Honey..." Naomi says, but he can tell her heart's not in it by the way she hesitates.
L blinks sleepily.
"No one has been killed," he says firmly. "The police officers are completely armoured, including their faces. They may at worst sustain moderate injuries from close-range fire."
"WHAT ABOUT HIM?" Raye howls, pointing at the screen. Midou is bleeding profusely from a wound at the base of his neck. He staggers against Namikawa and slowly collapses to the ground. Namikawa dives and catches him.
He's yelling. Screaming for help. Somebody. Anybody.
"Both of the executives were aware of the risk before they agreed," L says calmly. "I even calculated the percentages for them."
"THAT'S NOT THE POINT!"
"Raye..."
"Not now, Naomi!" he snaps, trying not to yell at her. It's not her fault. It's not her fault.
"It would have been suspicious for him to wear armour on his face or neck," L says, still maddeningly unbothered. "The staff would have noticed, and Yotsuba has access to some of the staff."
Raye punches him. His fist connects with the centre of L's stomach, and L goes flying across the room.
"That was unnecessary," he says, sounding nothing more than a little winded.
"Fuck you," Raye says angrily, and starts walking towards the door. "I'm going to help them."
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees L signal to Watari. Five seconds later, he is pinned up against the wall.
"Fuck you," he rages. "Let me go! Let me go! They need help!"
On the screen, Namikawa has managed to drag Midou behind a desk. There's blood pouring everywhere. He doesn't seem to know what to do.
In the background, the fight still rages, on and on. The snipers won't fucking give up, and some of them are fucking brilliant.
"If you go in there now," L says, "you will certainly be killed, and that would be a waste. Do not throw away your life so easily, R."
"Raye?" Naomi says, and she sounds almost...frightened. "He's right. This fight is horrific, I know, but please don't go up there.
Bastard, Raye thinks. She's playing right into his hands, doesn't he realise?
Are we just going to leave these innocent people to die?
He slumps against the wall, and Watari releases him. Naomi comes and stands beside him, her shoulder pressed against his, just letting him be angry.
"This is sick," Raye says quietly, scrubbing at his temples. "Honey, we need to go up there."
"It won't do any good," she reminds him.
Raye turns his attention back to the screen. Midou will die soon if someone doesn't do something, Namikawa's in fucking pieces, and he knows the paramedics won't enter the building until all the snipers have been subdued. Which doesn't look like it's going to happen anytime soon.
He doesn't want to see this.
Thump.
Raye turns around at the sound of boots hitting the ground. Mail is on his feet. L is watching him curiously.
"Are you going to fuckin' stop me?" he demands, blue eyes glinting dangerously. "Well?"
L blinks, and then turns his attention back to the screen.
"No," he concedes. "Probably not."
"Good," Mail says darkly. "I'm going to fucking help them, then."
Raye watches him as he stomps out of the room.
Sometimes, just sometimes, he absolutely adores that kid.
M appears on the screen not three minutes later, and he walks across the room like there's not a raging battle going on. People just seem to get out of his way, unnerved by his dead eyes and pale, waxy skin.
Or maybe they just recognise the expression on his face. The one that says I have nothing to lose. Look out for me.
Hell, he even scares her sometimes, and Naomi's no pushover.
Miraculously, he makes it to Midou without being shot. He's unconscious with blood loss, cradled against his colleague's chest. He looks like he's already dead.
Namikawa stares up at M like he's the hand of god.
"Help me," he says softly. "I...I can't stop it...the bleeding."
From what L says, he's supposed to be eloquent, intelligent, and unfailingly sensible. Right now he looks like a child.
She doesn't understand why M is doing this. M cares for no-one. He never has, not even when they first met him.
She doesn't even think he cares for L.
He's trustworthy because he can be neither swayed nor bought. Nothing matters to him.
M kneels down, rips a piece of silk from Namikawa's jacket without asking permission, and presses it over the wound.
"He's still breathing," he says gruffly. "Still got a pulse. Don't fall apart yet."
"Okay," the executive replies, hands trembling. "I...okay. Just tell me what to do. And...thank you."
"We'll take him to the ambulance as soon as we can," M adds. "There's a bullet in there still. Got to get it out."
Namikaway pulls Midou closer, knuckles whitening.
"I'm sorry," he whispers. "I didn't think you'd get hurt."
L looks away from the screen at the same time Matt averts his eyes, and suddenly she realises.
Oh. He reminds you of that boy. The one you lost. Mello.
She bites her lip. M's life is so unyieldingly sad that she tries not to think about it too often.
Get them out of there safe then, boy, she thinks. I'm sure you know that not everything can be salvaged so easily.
Two days later, when they finally get back to London, Yotsuba's defeat is still all over the news. Ooi, Eichii, and all of the other executives are in custody, denied bail, charged with murder, attempted murder and several counts of fraud.
There is also talk of re-examining the attempted genocide case from last year.
Doubtlessly, they'll be out of L's hair for a very long time.
The others have been almost completely silent since the arrest of the snipers. L recognises that they're unhappy, but he has made all the right decisions, he's sure. He calculated and recalculated. Nothing could have been done any differently.
Midou is in hospital, but not yet conscious.
He's just a casualty. A statistic. Someone always gets hurt, and he is no more important than any other person. L knows this. It's a cold way of thinking, but someone has to be cold and logical.
And that someone is him. That's his job. To be unflappable, unfaltering, and unstoppable.
When R comes into his office, expression a strange mix of anguish and determination, it's hardly a surprise. In fact, L has already filled out most of the necessary paperwork.
And he's not even supposed to know yet. But he does, of course he does. Raye has always been an open book, and L prefers him that way.
"L?"
L pretends to have only just noticed him.
"Yes, R?"
The older man rubs at the bridge of his nose, frowning deeply, like he'd rather be anywhere other than here and now.
He is momentarily grateful that Rae's been quiet recently. Moments such as these are moderately more difficult when accompanied by the Shinigami's inappropriate comments and clever threats.
Raye stands where he is, fists snapping open and closed, for a good few minutes. Then he reaches into his jacket, retrieves a single sheaf of paper, and lets it flutter down to L's desk.
"My resignation," he blurts. "I can't do this any more."
"I see," L says, reaching for his own stack of paper. "In that case, we'll need you to sign this confidentiality agreement, stating that you will not discuss what you have learned on any of these cases. I also need you to re-sign a lease to allow you to continue to live with your wife here. And this form here authorises us to modify your personal computer and phone to prevent you from accessing our files. Oh, and I would also like you to sign this form, stating that you will not try to contact your wife when she is away from base unless you have my express permission that such contact will not endanger that particular mission."
R gapes at him, and then snorts.
"You knew. Why am I not surprised?"
"Because you are a very intelligent man," L states. "And I will be sad to lose you."
"No you won't," R says. "Because you don't. Feel. Anything. You are a machine. And that's why I'm quitting."
A machine?
Yes, I suppose I am. A well-oiled machine, methodical and clever. Indestructible.
Yes.
That's exactly what he wants to be.
Hospitals are generally unpleasant places. Blindingly white walls, little privacy, the stench of vomit and blood and urine and industrial-strength lavender floor cleaner. Harried nurses and the thrashing of the epileptic patient two doors down. Pushy doctors. Invasive procedures.
All of that, of course, is only for the poor. The very, very rich can hire a team of impeccably-trained surgeons and superbly compassionate nurses right into the comfort of their own mansion.
And so Shingo Midou wakes up in his own bed, groggy and aching, but oddly comfortable.
"You're alive," Namikawa says croakily.
Midou looks down.
"You have your fingers on my pulse," he points out. "You must have known I was alive. Damn, what happened to my voice?"
He's trying to talk normally, but what's coming out is barely a whisper.
"They had to operate on your throat," the other man replies. "The surgeon said you might suffer a bit of laryngeal damage. It should heal over time."
He strokes his thumb over Midou's lower lip. He seems more shaken than usual. Feeling bold, Midou puts a hand on the back of his head and pulls him down.
No one is watching them. Probably.
"It was bad, huh? Did we win?"
Namikawa smiles, finally.
"All that remains of Yotsuba is you and I," he says happily.
Midou grins back at him. Finally.
Things should be bearable now. They should be okay.
"Good," he says. "Did L saymfhg."
Namikawa pushes two fingers into his mouth.
"Shh," he says. "You talk too much."
Outside, the sun is high in the sky. The city is bustling. And some people, at least, are safe.
tbc
a/n:
+ I am sorry this took so ridiculously long to finish and publish. no more long involved plots for a little while, I promise. also, I have become incredibly sick of the word 'Yotsuba'.
+ thank you.
+ eventually, this fic will be a lot more soft and fluffy than it is right now.