notes/warnings
+ swearing
+ tweaking of the death note rules. which is the least of this fic's problems, really.
Backwards
L wakes up to sunshine, and the smell of Watari's blueberry waffles, and a giant, smirking monster leering at him malevolently.
He pushes himself onto the balls of his feet. Red-eyed Rae is back.
"Hallo," he says softly, both bewildered and relieved. "I see you are better."
His Shinigami is safe, then. He feels as if an enormous weight has been lifted from his shoulders. One less thing to do. One less person to save.
Today must be a good day, he supposes.
"Correct," Rae says dismissively, and goes back to typing on his computer. "Faux-Kira killed seventeen people while you slept."
L wipes the grime from his good eye, and smiles.
"As expected, then. How did you fix yourself? Will you be able to do it again, if need be?"
Rae looks at him with such intense, confident dislike that L feels mildly ill.
"Oh, don't worry about me," it says brightly. "Nothing will be going wrong with me again. I've worked it out. I promise."
"That's good," L says, a little subdued by its sarcasm.
Something has happened, he thinks. You said you would watch over me. Did you leave? Have you been talking to someone?
Have you learned something?
"You finally became angry enough?" he queries.
"You know, I find it interesting that you're theorising about gods of death while people are dying out there," Rae says damningly. "Why am I not surprised?"
Ah.
To be who you were before, you must be…who you were before. Yes, that makes sense. The personality begets the power.
This is what it takes to keep you safe.
"I understand," L says quietly, heavily, and goes downstairs to find the rest of his team.
L finds himself speaking solely to fill the silence.
"We now have confirmation that faux-Kira is also in possession of the Shinigami eyes," he says distractedly, shuffling fast so that he can keep pace with Naomi. "That is useful to know."
"Yes," she replies curtly. "Probably."
"It means that we cannot approach this woman with our faces covered, no matter how skilfully, because she will instantaneously know that we are disguised, and be suspicious of us."
A mask that hides the face also hides the name, and will therefore be obvious to faux-Kira. If they wish to get close to her, the only remaining option is for one of them to offer up their own identity.
And place themselves at the mercy of this new Kira. An intolerable sacrifice. But what else can be done? Attack faux-Kira without any secrecy or finesse at all? Such a tactic is unlikely to have a favourable outcome.
"Of course."
"Naomi," L says directly. "What do you know of the women who were closely affiliated with the original Kira? Did Light…mention anyone, when you spoke to him?"
"Don't ask me about that," she says coldly.
"But-"
"To be frank, L, I'm not sure why you're here," Naomi continues unkindly. "I've been up all night trying to make heads or tails of this death note situation, I'm tired, I need sleep, and I really don't feel like conversing with you. And don't tell me you just happened to be going in this direction, because I know that all of the rooms in this part of the building are living quarters. You have no business being here right now."
L regards the floor. He already feels as if he's had Rae ripped out from under him, and he still doesn't really understand why. And there's no guarantee that faux-Kira isn't original Kira, and Rem is dead, and maybe he's earned the right to say what he means, too. Just occasionally.
"I need your support, N," he says quietly. "I cannot…I cannot…"
Naomi glares at him pointedly.
"Damn you," she hisses. "I'm here, aren't I? God knows you can't do all of this on your own, no one can. But you've been concealing this thing from all of us for years, and that's pretty fucking hard to take, you know?"
"You gave the note back," he says simply. "You indicated that you trusted me."
"You still lied to us."
"What would you have done?" L asks her gravely. "In my situation, N, what would you have chosen to do?"
She rubs at her face, and in that moment, L is shocked by how old she appears to have become.
"It was never my choice to make," she tells him sadly. "I have no answer for you."
"I did it to protect people," L explains. "Whether what I did was right or not, that was my reasoning."
Naomi walks towards him, expression guarded, eyes low. She lifts the hem of his shirt and presses her palm to the notebook.
"Such a small thing," she says, shaking her head. "Is this your plan, L? To carry this damned temptation with you forever?"
L hesitates. He must presume that Rae is no longer his friend or ally, which means that it is likely to tell the others the truth about its motives without regard for his safety and employee retention. Which means that perhaps it is in his best interests to tell Naomi the truth. Now.
But not the others. Not yet.
"No," he says carefully. "One more year. That is all."
"Oh?"
"My Shinigami operates under conditions. It has five years with me. Then it will leave, and take the note with it."
Any other person would probably have demonstrated relief at that statement, but Naomi is nothing if not astute.
"Why?" she asks, frowning.
"That is its challenge. It has five years within which to break me. If it succeeds, it ascends the Shinigami throne."
"Whoa, hold on," Naomi says, pressing her palm to her forehead. "These death gods have some sort of government? This thing is some sort of prince? What do you mean, break you?"
L smiles sadly.
"I believe it is because I am the person least likely to use the note, so I am the greatest challenge."
Naomi's hand drops away from his chest, and he automatically tugs his shirt back into place. She leans against the wall.
"L, are you telling me this thing is trying to make you kill people?"
"Yes. That is what it does."
"And that's why you've been so exhausted all the time," she concludes. "I can't believe you didn't tell us, L. I can't believe you didn't tell me."
"I told you why I made that decision."
"But you've been suffering," she says hotly. "All this time. We could have helped you."
"Could you? How?"
She pinches the bridge of her nose. This whole argument is pointless, and they both know it.
"I don't know, exactly, but I'm sure I could have done something."
"I did not need help. I need all of you to be safe!" he snaps, because this is getting ridiculous. She's already admitted she wouldn't trust herself with the note. Surely she can see things from his point of view.
"So we are your weakness," she says softly. "Geeze. Does that thing know this?"
"Thirty four percent likelihood," he says guardedly.
Of course it knows. But there's little point in worrying Naomi with that.
"I'll take that as a 'yes'."
Damn. First he was captured by a couple of amateur thugs, now he's having trouble lying to his own staff. What the hell is wrong with him?
"It is already convinced that I will use the notebook," he admits. "As such, it has stopped trying to psychologically browbeat me into complying."
"Oh. That's always good," she says sarcastically.
He is not about to explain to her that Rae initially tortured and despised him, then lauded him with insults and misgivings, then became his greatest ally and possibly more of a source of comfort than he ever cared to admit to himself, and has now volleyed right back into the misgivings again.
He's certainly not going to tell her that he's actually bothered by this.
"Yes, it is good."
"So do you think you'll use it?"
Ah. Yes. The million-dollar question.
"I tend to be fairly adept at learning from other people's mistakes," he assures her. "I believe the answer to your question is 'never'."
Naomi reaches out and ruffles his hair.
"Good answer," she says, with a tiny, worried smile.
There is no point in being angry at L. For one, he has all the social capacity of a soup spoon, and probably doesn't care how she feels about him on a personal level. And it would be idiotic to mistrust him on a professional level, because he's still the best Kira-fighting weapon in this world.
He just better not lay down his life to win, this time. Naomi isn't sure what she'd do without him.
As far as rank goes, of course, she ought to succeed him and become the new L. The problem is that she's not really sure she'd be able to stand up to Raye's constant nagging and negativity without L's calm, unwavering support. She estimates that if anything happened to her boss, she'd eventually be forced to choose between her husband and her happiness.
No one should have to make that choice. Damn Raye for putting her in this position.
And damn L, and his nobility, and his death note, and his stupid habit of suffering in silence. He breaks her fucking heart, and lately he's been doing that on a daily basis. She wishes she could make him be honest, at least with her. She would still protect the others from whatever they should not know. He needs someone else. He needs at least one more person.
Maybe it's not nobility. Maybe it's that wretched stubbornness. She isn't the protégé he wanted, so he doesn't trust her. Maybe he needs Mello, or that other kid. Near. Maybe he is simply an intellectual snob.
Maybe that doesn't matter in the slightest. Maybe he's earned the right to be a snob. And maybe if he saves some arbitrary, predetermined number of people, he'll finally relax and let himself be happy.
"All right," she says. "We're done here, right? You still don't have any other business on this floor."
He's hovering, and she is in desperate need of a shower. Unlike some geniuses she could name, she needs to be clean at least once a day to avoid feeling like a giant walking talking ball of grit and filth.
L stops, and she realises that he's staring past her, to the abandoned, locked room at the other end of the hall.
No one has been into that room in years.
"I did not come down here with the intention of speaking to you," he admits. "I wanted to research the faux-Kira case."
"Mail?" she suggests, because she's just realised what he is going to do, and as useful as it will be, it's going to hurt.
"He doesn't know that much. Mello went to great lengths to protect him from the original Kira case."
Naomi tips her head thoughtfully.
"Mello must have loved him, at least a little."
"That doesn't really matter now," he replies. He pushes past her, hands shoved deep into his pockets, moving as if in a trance. There is a distinct line on the floor, just past her room, where the carpet is dramatically less worn. Nobody goes here.
L stops for a moment, and turns back to her.
"I've never really looked at his Kira files before," he says, in a small voice. "I don't know if they will be legible."
He never used to speak of the case that killed him. Naomi thinks he was probably happier when he could pretend that it had never happened.
All of them are dead. None of them can deny that it happened.
"Are they likely to be sufficiently detailed?" she asks cautiously.
"I don't know. I will find out."
He unlocks the door without any ceremony at all, the key dangling from his thin fingers. Sometimes Naomi worries he might just break in half.
Matsuda's room is dim and dusty, and only haphazardly tidy. Even Watari has not ventured beyond the threshold of the door. And there are remnants of their old colleague everywhere; the flowery duvet cover, the poster of some ridiculously-proportioned blonde model on the wall, the overflowing drawers, the dead cactus by the window. He was always so desperate to be trendy. There are photographs of various members of their team pinned to the wardrobe. There are more of L than anyone else, and Naomi thinks L probably would have been better off not knowing that particular fact.
Her boss does not hesitate. He makes a beeline for the filing cabinet.
"Enjoy your shower, N," he says lightly. "Please come and see me when you are rested and ready for work."
She touches the door. It smells undefinably like Matsuda in here, even after all this time.
"That can wait," she says decisively. "I'll help you, first."
This is not something L should do alone.
L is weaker now than ever before, heavy with terror and love, running from himself, running from everything. Being slowly deconstructed by those around him because he is no longer fit for his job.
This will be easy. It's always easy, when one knows all the rules.
I did it before, and I'll do it again.
"Misa Amane," Naomi says sadly. "You know, I feel sorry for this girl."
She has a tattered notebook open in her lap, and her index finger rests on an atrociously amateur sketch of Amane, surrounded by scribbled facts and dates. And inexplicably, tiny stars and balloons. And cherries.
Matsuda always did have the attention span of a pikelet. Even now, L does not approve of his blatant lack of professionalism as a detective. He does, however, approve of the cherries.
"She made her choices," L says simply.
He forgave Misa – he did that for Rem – but he'd be quite happy to never, ever see her again. He has no doubt that she would strike him down in an instant if she could, for her beloved Light. The thought makes his skin crawl.
"We should go to the Tracking Library," Naomi says softly. "We need to find out which of Light's old associates are in hell. I mean, I would presume all of them, but one shouldn't really guess at such important details."
"I know that Light himself is listed," L says quietly. "And Rem – the death god I befriended – confirmed that Miss Amane is also there."
"We could send Raye to get an exhaustive list," Naomi muses. "He could probably benefit from time away from this place."
Judging by the acidity of her tone, things are not going well between the two of them. L does not comment. It is not his place. Their private lives have nothing to do with him. He sticks carefully to the subject at hand.
"We ought to do that," he agrees. "Any prominent Kira-followers who are both dead and not in hell should be considered as suspects. However, Kira also had a lot of admirers who never did anything to actively support him. We cannot rule out the possibility of faux-Kira being a hitherto unknown person. Not yet."
"Right."
L goes back to his own stack of papers. He hates the doodles, and the offhanded comments, and the overall messiness. He doesn't want to be reminded of Matsuda. He flips through a scrawled dossier of the known rules of the death note – a document that he copied and kept for himself a long time before Matsuda's death – and three fairly decent-looking drawings of Teru Mikami, Near, and Kiyomi Takada, and a page filled entirely with the words 'I don't know that he was totally wrong' over and over again.
L dearly wishes he'd never met Matsuda. At the same time, he would rather like the man by his side right now. Preferably with a gun.
Light can't come back. There is no escape from hell, and people in hell cannot interact with people here, in the second world.
Can they? Rem had been a little vague about the whole concept. Hell is many different places.
But surely not.
"Kiyomi Takada," he murmurs, pushing the more detrimental thoughts from his head. "Female, worshipped Light, and we don't yet know whether or not she went to hell."
"A candidate, certainly," Naomi agrees. "Matsuda's artistic ability obviously improved over time, because some of these drawings aren't bad. We should be able to recognise these people if they turn up. Is this Misa, when she was younger?"
L snatches the sheaf of paper from her fingers and examines it. The bored blonde staring back at him is definitely not Amane.
"Mello," he says softly. "I didn't think we had any pictures of him."
"Oh," Naomi says, voice low and sympathetic. "I'm sorry."
L tucks the sketch into his pocket. He'd never bothered to explain to Matsuda about Mail and Mello. Matsuda had always been the 'normal' one in the group, and looking back, L and the others had often tried to protect him from things that were excessively taxing or strange.
"This is of no further use to us," he says. "It belongs to Mail, now."
Naomi smiles wanly.
"I'm glad you call us by name, you know. It's a gesture of respect, really."
He has no reply to that. He doesn't do it out of respect. He does it because…because he barely noticed himself doing it. They are all evolving into their names, the more he knows them, the longer he works with them. Matsuda did it straight away. The others, he managed to keep at arm's length for a good deal longer.
That is the problem of working in a team. When you spend time with people on a regular basis, you begin to feel for them. And then you become attached to them. And then they can be used against you.
"I agree with your earlier suggestion," L muses. "We need to send Raye to Washington."
"Oh really?"
Naomi starts, and then regains her composure almost immediately, but the tension does not leave the set of her shoulders, and the wariness does not leave her eyes.
"Hello," she says briskly. "You can walk through walls, I take it?"
Rae smirks unpleasantly.
"Of course. Have you actually made progress on the case, or are you just sifting through pretty pictures, L?"
It almost hurts to look at his Shinigami. The thing is practically oozing malice. L doesn't know exactly what has happened to it, but clearly there will be consequences for him.
"These are Matsuda's notes," L says, maybe a little defensively. Brown eyes or red, Rae brings out the worst in him. "We are looking into people who were significant at the end of the original Kira case."
"Great. I've got actual information," it says scathingly. "Ryuk slipped up again. I now know that his present human is both female and Japanese."
"Death gods have their uses, don't they," Naomi says grimly. "Did you give this Ryuk any information on us, Shinigami?"
"Of course not," Rae says, haughtily. "I'm trying to protect people, unlike someone else in this room."
So that's your new game, is it? Disgrace me from my team-mates. Obliterate their trust in me.
What good will that do you? None at all, as far as me using the note. Which means…
The change between red-eyed Rae and brown-eyed Rae is centred in behaviour, not ideals. Only 'behaviour' isn't quite right, either. It is still solving cases.
"L protects a lot of people," Naomi says harshly. "You would do well to show him some respect."
"Oh," Rae says innocently. "Oh. Did he not tell you how he deliberately let Grace die? After all, he knew Holland's name and face long before she was murdered. Had you even thought about that, Naomi Penber?"
Naomi's eyes slide to him, and then back to the Shinigami.
"I'm not listening to your poisonous words," she declares. "I have faith in my employer."
"Oh, and there was the part where he deliberately tried to kill me. And I believe he tried to kill the night he got drunk, too, but he was thwarted by his own physical inadequacies."
"Is any of this true, L?" Naomi whispers, uncertainly.
"Yes," he admits. "I was grieving. I do not claim to be a perfect person, or even a particularly good one."
He can see the disappointment on her face. Rae knows exactly what to say. If it wants, it can topple him from his position of trust in a matter of days. And there will be nothing he can do to stop it.
It knows the worst of him.
"He lets a lot of people die, Naomi," Rae says gently. "He's not the man you think he is."
"Shut up!" she says hotly, tugging on her hair. "Go and haunt someone else!"
The Shinigami holds up its hands.
"Whoa, okay. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you. I thought someone like you might want to know, that's all."
Naomi stays as she is, eyes closed and face scrunched, as if she's in physical pain. L reaches for her.
"Are you all right, N…Naomi?"
"Damnit, L," she grits. "When are you going to learn to start telling the truth?"
"I don't know," he answers honestly. "I spent a lot of time teaching myself how to lie."
He lets her press her face into his shoulder, some semblance of comfort, and ignores the shadow hovering over both of them.
Naomi knows he tried to kill someone. Him. He does not kill. And she is his deputy. He needs her to believe in him.
It is not until much later that he realises something else.
Ryuk must have come back last night. Which means Ryuk has something to do with Rae's eyes.
Raye doesn't ask her to go with him, and she doesn't offer. She's sick of him shooting not-particularly-covert, vindictive glares in L's general direction. Clearly their boss has enough on his plate right now, without dealing with misdirected anger from his own employees.
L must have been pretty stressed, to try to kill someone. She can't…she doesn't even want to think about it. She is pretending it never happened.
Damn this evil fucking Shinigami. It has no right to their lives, and it has no right to L. People cannot simply be used as tests.
"Found something," Mail deadpans. "Kira fan-site."
"Aren't there roughly four thousand of those in existence?" Naomi asks. "Is this one special?"
"Dunno, but I've never seen one actively trying to recruit before."
"Huh. Surely faux-Kira wouldn't be so obvious."
Although L did say that she was likely neither as intelligent nor as manipulative as the original Kira. Small mercies.
She hears a door slam, a few footsteps, and then her husband storms through the room, a small brown suitcase in one hand.
"M," he says gruffly, without stopping.
"R," Mail replies distantly, and then, in a rare display of humanity, he adds. "Take care."
Raye looks at her and then looks away, his expression wretched, obviously conflicted as to what he wants to say. She gets up from her seat and follows him to the atrium.
"I agree with Mail," she says, choosing the most neutral ground she can think of. "Please be careful. The more people see your face, the more you are at risk."
"Is that why he's sending me?" Raye asks bitterly. "Because I'm the most expendable?"
"No, because you are the most charming," she replies honestly. "The librarian has a reputation for refusing to look up more than a handful of people per customer. We have a lot of requests."
"Charming. Right. And it just so happens that removing me from the picture leaves you and L here together with nothing but a psychopath and a giant skeleton to keep an eye on you."
Naomi glares at him.
"We're both quite competent adults, Raye. I doubt everything is going to fall apart just because you aren't here to babysit."
"That's not what I meant, and you know it," he growls. "With me gone, L can have you all to himself."
"Oh, come on," she says, uncertain as to whether she's more amused or insulted. "You can't be serious."
"Have you seen the two of you together?" he rages, waving his arms in the air. "You practically act like his wife as it is."
She feels like she's been slapped in the face.
This…this is what you think of me, even after all this time?
Even after everything she's done for him? Raye is the man to whom she devoted her life, her being, her very existence.
And yes, she knows this lifestyle isn't exactly what he wants. And maybe she spends a lot of time working. And maybe most of their conversations revolve around work. And maybe she's been ignoring this sort-of illness in favour of focusing on work. And maybe she thinks about work all the time. And maybe…
Good grief. No wonder he's been feeling neglected.
"It's not him," she says shakily. "It's the job. Raye, it's the job!"
"I know it's the damn job!" he roars. "It's him, and this place, and this job, and this…this world! I'm sick of all of it. But you love it. More than you love me!"
She shakes her head, violently enough that it makes her dizzy.
"It's different. You're my husband."
It is different. She will protect and defend him to the death. He is the one who has her heart.
L is just…everything else. That's all.
"You know," Raye says sadly, "I wish I could believe you."
"I love you," she spits, and that's not something she's said out loud for months. "Why doesn't that count for anything?"
Raye looks taken aback. He pushes a hand into his hair, visibly frustrated.
"It's not…you can't…don't judge me like that!"
"Why not? You've obviously judged me."
Her husband looks like he's valiantly holding back the urge to hit something, like he's too angry and confused to express himself sufficiently with words.
"See, this is exactly what I mean. This place drives people crazy. Anyone who's not a socially inept genius goes mad after a while. Look at you and me, we're fighting over nothing!"
"I know!" she replies emphatically.
The situation quickly devolves to the two of them standing there, silently staring at each other. She realises suddenly that they're both utterly, utterly exhausted.
This case isn't good for anyone's health.
And neither is that damn Shinigami.
"This," Raye says weakly, and then shrugs. "This is stupid."
No resolution. Just an admission. They don't discuss these things, really, because they can never agree.
"Be careful out there," she says gently.
"Yeah," he says, staring at his suitcase as if he's never seen it before. "You…you too. I'll call. If I'm not. If there's time."
"Yeah," she says. "You do that."
Nothing like status quo.
The terrifying thing is, if he throws himself into a case - utterly, headfirst, just like this - then he can almost forget about Mello.
Almost.
Mail thinks he probably knew that all along. It is what's been holding him back, since the very beginning, since the day he died.
Because heaven forbid he lose sight of what is important.
As if L hasn't fucked with his life enough already, without going and bringing up Mel and what he'd want, as if L actually knew him. As if L actually cared about him.
And damn L if he's not right, if he's not making Mail deal with all of the issues that he pushed aside years ago in his bid to be as inhuman as possible. How would L like it if someone turned his world on its head, huh?
Of course, the skeleton is probably pretty bothersome. Mail would be pissed if he had to deal with being haunted by the same species that had killed him in the first place.
Well, no, that's a lie. He's not actually bothered by bodyguards at all. But then, it's not him that matters.
He hasn't prayed in a while. A few days, actually. He desperately hopes that Mello isn't any worse off for that.
"What are you working on?" L asks politely, from somewhere over his shoulder.
"Fuck off," Mail replies automatically, and then adds. "I think I know who's hosting the site for Kira-chick."
L tilts his head, birdlike and delicate.
"You have managed to hack into their service provider?"
"Are you kidding? This site is a virtual fortress. Clearly fake-Kira has good taste, and money, to boot."
"But so far, she has proven to lack both cunning and initiative," L says quickly. "We ought to not have too much trouble capturing her."
There is a single, miniscule, cobweb-stricken corner of Mail's brain still reserved for social observations on People Who Are Not Mello. And right now, it notes this; L is really fucking scared.
Personally, Mail thinks he has more to worry about than Kira-chick. But what does he know?
"The point is, I recognise the signature on this website. See the Ouroboros watermark with the noose overlay? A girl at fuckin' Wammy's used to use that exact design in all of her work. She was a master hacker. Better than me."
"Do you know her name?"
A lot of the Wammy's kids knew each other's real names. At the end, Mello and Near were even granted the special privilege of knowing L's true moniker.
It wasn't something Mello had shared with him, of course.
"Kathleen something," he mutters. "I can't remember the rest. But that's not going to be important. Her internet handle was Roper."
"The contact email address for the moderator contains the phrase 'roperportal'," L notes. "Combined with the similar watermark, there is a good chance that we are dealing with the exact same person. What did you know of her views on the original Kira?"
"Not sure. But politically, she was very anti-war. It's possible she was a supporter."
"Which means that she could be helping faux-Kira, or even be faux-Kira herself, rather than just hired help," L says thoughtfully. "How long would it take you to dredge up some useful details on this woman, M?"
"How long?" Mail snorts. "A million fuckin' years. She taught me everything I know. Wouldn't even attempt to hack her, it would be a waste of time."
"Then this information isn't really useful right now. We need to reach this Roper in person, somehow."
He touches Mail on the shoulder, and slouches off to go and eat cake, or talk to gods, or whatever it is he's doing these days. And Mail usually isn't one for bad ideas – those had always been solely Mello's domain – but he's trying to be Mello right now, and he can feel a doozy coming on.
He's almost proud of himself, actually.
"I could," he ventures, and then pauses to reconsider.
L turns on his toes, with ballerina-like grace, and treats him to a scrutinizing, one-eyed stare.
"You could?"
"Well, theoretically, this girl might meet up with me, if I identified myself," Mail suggests. "I mean, she was my old mentor. She doesn't know my real name, either."
"But she will, if she has the eyes," L warns. "Is there some other form of contact we can use? Could you call her?"
"We could trace a phone conversation," Mail muses. "With your equipment and Watari's skill. Huh. We could get this girl's address."
"Faux-Kira is presently killing a tremendous number of people right now," L says. "This might be the best lead we have, M. But it will require you to engage a girl you barely know in believable conversation for at least four minutes. Do you think you're up to that?"
I dunno. Probably not. But…
But I'm not doing this for me.
Or for you.
"I'll email her now," he replies, finally. "I'll arrange a phone call as soon as possible. I guess we'll find out whether I'm up to this or not."
"That's my boy," L says ruefully. "Oh. I have something for you."
Mail gazes at him steadily. If the something isn't 'cigarettes', then he isn't interested. And L ought to know that. And the small, white sheaf of paper that L pulls from his pocket doesn't look particularly cylindrical.
Maybe L wants him to roll his own?
He takes the sheet wordlessly, and a second later it floats to the floor, shock numbing his fingertips, consuming him.
Mello.
It's a sketch, it's just a sketch, a rough copy of the one that Linda made for the original Kira, but it's Mello, and it's here, and Mail has barely been able to remember.
He snatches the paper from the floor like his life depends on it.
Those eyes.
I always wanted you to look at me, more than in passing, I wanted you to notice.
But you never did.
The eyes, and the straight-edge bob that Mello used to sport, and the sarcastic, cruel little smile, and this…this picture is treasure. It is gold and diamonds. He would give his last breath for something like this.
He stares at L, throat swollen, eyes huge, unable to speak, unable to put this into words.
"You're welcome," L says warmly.
"I take it you're looking for a loophole?"
L sort of doesn't want to reply. Some childish, perverse part of him wants to believe that if he ignores red-eyed Rae for long enough, it will revert back to the Rae he liked. Which is selfish, of course, because Rae's brown-eyed self was becoming increasingly debilitated and damaged.
He would love to know how Ryuk managed to change his Shinigami so drastically in such a short period of time. Because despite what Rae's insistence, L suspects that those brown eyes might make another re-appearance yet. And since he plans to dispense of faux-Kira over the next few weeks, he can presume that Ryuk won't be around to help them.
"I am trying to catch a serial killer, actually," he replies, with dignity. He is re-reading the rules of the death note, and trying to focus on faux-Kira's motives, and not on Matsuda's overly loopy and excessively illustrated handwriting.
He had disregarded this information for such a long time, believing that the second world would be safe from such things. And he had not bothered to look at Matsuda's notes even when Rae showed up, because he had been so absolutely convinced he would never use the note.
But now he needs to memorise this information. No-one will manipulate him with false rules and false logic.
Not again.
"Very slowly, I note," Rae says nastily. "Not too concerned, then, that innocent people might be suffering along with the guilty?"
"I do not make the same distinction that you make," L tells it, calmly. "I do not support the mass killing of the guilty, either."
"Yeah, but that's not down to your own code of ethics," the Shinigami says knowingly. "That's just you trying to make yourself seem like a better person than Light."
"I am a better person than Light."
"I'm sure you once told me he was very similar to you, until he was corrupted by the note. Now you're saying that practically anyone can be corrupted by the note. How does that make him worse than you, exactly?"
"Because I have not used the note," L whispers. "Because I fear becoming what he became."
It is more than that. Whatever he might have been initially, Light became a remorseless monster, and stayed that way for the rest of his life. He killed people, he destroyed people, and he didn't give a damn.
And he did it all out of greed.
L can never forgive that.
"I get it. So this is actually about you being evil, deep down. And while you think you're protecting people from another Kira, what you're doing is actually worse. Because you do nothing."
"I see. Perhaps you and I ought to refrain from conversation, unless what we have to say is directly relevant to the case."
"And you always change the subject when you're losing an argument. Have you noticed that?" Rae says infuriatingly.
"I will now ignore you unless you are divulging useful information, Shinigami."
L is painfully aware of just how immature Rae makes him. They sound like small children, fighting over a favourite toy. Instead of an adult and a god, arguing about ethics and death and the fate of the world.
He ought to be ashamed.
"Actually," Rae says, voice suddenly silky smooth. "I do have some information for you. It regards the rules of the death note. All rules do not apply to all notes. Some have special conditions."
"Is this true of any of the notes belonging to the Shinigami Ryuk?" L asks warily. It is baiting him, of course. He does not expect to make any relevant conclusions based on this conversation.
"No. But it is true of the note you've got under your shirt."
"Oh," L says brightly. "Let me guess. There is a rule that if a human possesses the note and does not use it, that human will die. Hm, no. You would know that even that might not be enough to sway me. So perhaps that human would murder everyone around them, then die. Yes. Is that it?"
"I love the way you have fights all by yourself," Rae says scathingly. "No. It's the twenty-three day rule that is different. Or should I say, absent."
L carefully examines the page in front of him.
"So a death can occur more than twenty-three days after being written in the note?"
"Yes."
"Over what time period will the note function, then?" he asks, curious in spite of himself.
"Infinitely," Rae says broadly. "That note can kill anyone, at any point in the future. Quite useful for when I'm locked out of it for five years, say. But you can use that function, too."
"I will not," L says staunchly. "Why is it different?"
"Because I'm heir to the throne, genius."
"But as a Shinigami, surely you would not need so much time. Surely you'd be happy to kill someone at any point in their life, if you have already judged them deserving. Am I correct?"
"Of course," Rae tells him cheerily. "And by that very fact, I can time someone's death to an event, even if I don't know when that event will take place."
L freezes with the enormity of what Rae has just revealed.
"So," he chokes. "When you are king, you will simply write the names of every human in the world, with the condition 'when they commit a significant crime'. You won't need to worry about anything else."
"Now you're getting the picture," Rae leers. "It will be easy. Everything will be so easy once I'm king, L."
Death should never be easy.
L consoles himself with the thought that he will not use the note, no matter what, and Rae will never be king.
Never.
No matter what.
tbc
a/n:
+ so, tell me, would you guys prefer more frequent, shorter updates (eg chapters like this where nothing really happens but six thousand words pass), or would you prefer me to wait a couple of weeks and give larger, more epic chapters? I've been doing the former, but am worried that such behaviour might be seen as review-whoring, which wasn't the intention.
+ thank you!
+ stuff will happen soon, I promise. and I haven't forgotten about mel, it's just that his situation is kind of stagnant right now. but he will have bits. soon!