notes/warnings
+ I was trying to avoid recycling any of the manga/anime titles, but I cannot think of a single word that describes this chapter better.
+ warnings for swearing and unhappy people. same old.
+ also, more of L being naked.
Love
Dawn comes, eventually. Sunlight bleeds through the curtains, painting the room in ugly, washed-out pastels. Raye has not yet woken, and Mail knows from experience that sleep is the only peace he'll feel for a very long time.
Maybe forever.
Mail wants to grieve forever, but he figures other people don't always feel the same way. And quite honestly, he can't imagine anyone even considering the possibility of grieving forever if they didn't have someone as amazing as Mello to grieve over in the first place.
Almost automatically, Mail reaches into his pocket and retrieves the drawing. The paper is starting to tear along the creases, and the simple pencil linework is starting to become irreversibly discoloured. He ought to get it laminated, or framed, or something. But he wants to carry it around with him for as long as he can. He wants Mello close.
Matsuda's artistic skills are crap, of course. The shape of the face is wrong. And Mail is pretty sure Mello never had a haircut that was that lopsided.
He's not really sure, though. He can't really remember.
Oh, doll. What am I going to do? What will happen in a hundred years? A thousand years? What if I forget your name?
What if I can't even remember who I'm mourning for?
The very thought makes Mail despise himself. He cannot forget. He must not forget. This is his purpose, to remember. He grips the picture with both hands, his scrawny fingers framing the yellowed edges of the page. Mello deserves all of his attention, all the time.
And the eyes. The eyes really stand out, cold and confident and fiery. Mail is, like, eighty-nine percent sure the eyes are right. Or semi-right. He thinks maybe they looked different, on the last day. When Mello touched his forearm, and Mail did nothing at all. He likes to imagine Mello looked a little softer in that moment.
But he doesn't really know. He'll never know. Because…he cannot remember.
Mail kisses the picture, and then sets it in front of him. His lips are cracked and sloughing. Mello would call them disgusting.
Would you be proud of me, doll? Would you be even a little bit impressed that I managed to pull myself together and take control? And be L?
No. Mello would just demand to know why Mail was pitiful and broken in the first place. He'd never understand.
But he'd be glad Mail shot Takada. That would make him happy. It might even make him smile. It might even make him touch Mail's arm again, or pull him into a brief hug, or ruffle his hair, or…
But no.
Mello will never come back.
And he'd never hug Mail, anyway. That's just ridiculous. Mello saves what precious little affection he can muster for those who most deserve it. Like L. And, well, chocolate in general. Mello doesn't give two shits about him, and that's how it should be.
But I did it. I did it for you.
I finally did something for you.
It's your day off, and you have nowhere to go. Nothing to do. You and Dwayne raid a sweet shop and then you go cruising around the outskirts of town in his ancient, beat-up truck.
Dwayne drives, and you eat fudge, and the wind blows your fringe out of your face. And Halle sends you a politely concerned text message indicating that she thinks your life might be better if you just gave up and quit your job.
"Hot chicks at two o'clock," Dwayne announces, punching the horn. "Whee-woo! Check out those puppies!"
The women look both disgusted and insulted, and you don't blame them.
"Girls are people too, you know, dick. Don't treat them like objects."
"Oh, drop the gentleman act, lardass," Dwayne says loudly. "It's not like you ever get laid."
You universally hate all attractive people, anyway. Unless they're Matt, of course. Everyone else just reminds you of what you want to be. What you aren't.
Jasmine sends you a message. Some random crap about building a new vegetable garden so that Gemma can experience the miracle of life. Dwayne doesn't stop being a misogynistic fuckwad, and most of the chocolate is cheap and leaves an unpleasant aftertaste on your tongue. And you're one stupid mistake away from losing contact with Matt forever.
And you really can't explain why you feel so good, right now.
But you do.
It's just one of those good days.
When L finally wakes, the sun is high in the sky, he's jammed up against a giant made entirely of fire, bones, and razor blades, and he feels inexplicably comfortable, and at peace. His Shinigami looks interesting from this angle – softer, even – and he feels well rested and utterly…
Naomi Penber is dead.
Reality comes flooding back, and L's stomach plummets, his happy mood smashed into a thousand jagged pieces.
Naomi is gone, stolen from him, vanished. He got Naomi killed. Raye loathes him. And Rae is…
Rae is asleep, L realises with mounting horror. Its eye sockets appear to be completely empty, it is lying in an awkward sort of position, and it doesn't respond when he waves one hand in front of its face.
You're not supposed to be able to sleep! L thinks. He remembers that conversation. Shinigami don't sleep, they recharge. It takes a matter of seconds. And Rae has….well. Rae has been ill for a few days, now. Getting slow and heavy, brown eyes, smaller wings.
Smaller wings. They've practically shrunk away to nothing, and that's new. That's new since last night, even. L doesn't remember much except for the feeling of consuming, desperate loss and his Shinigami wrapped around him like the world's most comforting and least warm blanket. But he does remember that Rae's wings were much larger than they are right now.
Can you fly at all, my friend?
"Shut up," Rae mutters, clutching at the pillowcase. "Shut up, you don't know anything. Stupid kid."
A few seconds later it rolls over and relaxes, without showing any inclination of rousing.
Dreaming.
L gnaws on his thumbnail, hard enough to hurt. This wasn't supposed to happen. Out of all the people in the world, he ought to be able to save Rae. He ought to be able to save the one he…
Yes. He admitted that last night, didn't he?
Is it true?
Am I really that far gone?
He's not actually sure. He loves Naomi and Matsuda and Mail and Mello and possibly Raye Penber as well. But the heavy affection he feels for Rae is laced with exciting and want and some bizarre desire to be the only important person in Rae's universe.
Oh god. Okay. He's not going to think about that. It doesn't matter whether he is in love with his Shinigami. All that matters is that he stops whatever parasite-like influence is sapping its powers and health.
It's not like they'll ever be together, anyway. Rae will leave, and Rae will go and become king and never think of him again. Rae doesn't care, so anything L feels ends with him.
But.
That time in the car. That was amazing. Pushed up against the wall and wanting more from Rae's hands than he's ever even wanted from his own and fuck, Naomi is dead, he shouldn't be thinking of these things.
He used to have so much control over his own thoughts, his own feelings. Now he's just old and obsolete; a messy bundle of errant emotion.
When he saw those brown eyes finally reappear, he felt a rush like nothing else. Not even the best cherry-cream-filled triple-decker caramel mudcake could compare. And even though he knew it meant Rae was hurting again, he was still selfish and oh god, he got Naomi killed. It's real. It actually happened. Any second now he's going to hear Raye screaming from downstairs and he'll have to face reality and–
Wait.
L wracks his brain; analyses date and assembles facts; on the verge of some sort of monstrous epiphany.
A few days ago, brown-eyed Rae appeared for the first time in several weeks. And it was when the two of them were together, and touching each other.
And…the second time L ever saw those eyes was that night he got drunk, when Rae had its fingers all over him. And the first time was when L was talking killing his mother, an act which had earned him Rae's unexpected approval. And…when Rae was able to control the eyes by getting angry, it always got angry at him. The trouble started around the same time that they became almost-friends and his Shinigami stopped raging at him, and started raging at other facets of its life.
Dear god.
He should have known. He ought to have recognised this sooner. Worthless, worthless detective he turned out to be.
It's me.
I'm the trigger.
You were safe when you disliked me, and you were harmed when we became closer.
The theory isn't one hundred percent certain, of course. More like ninety-seven percent. But enough. There are no other consistent factors involved in Rae's intermittent debilitation. It looked after him last night, and now it's goddamn unconscious.
If Rae keeps progressing at this rate, it will die very soon. That's the only logical progression of this illness.
Die, or go back to hell. L can no longer ignore that possibility.
And just like that, everything changes. Naomi is dead, Mail killed someone, Matsuda is gone, Light is probably coming back, and he failed what was possibly the second-most important case of his career. But that doesn't matter.
Because today, L is going to save someone. He's going to save the one person he cares about the most. And then, maybe, he'll be able to feel okay.
Rae sits in its chair, in the room, high up off the ground. The window looks the same as ever; huge, poorly-painted and dusty in the corners. The glass itself is spotless, though, and the view is near-panoramic; sprawling urban landscape, packed with building and citizens. A thousand shades of grey; drab, colourless, boring…
…single glittering thing on the ground.
The whole world pirouettes around it; all that matters, everything.
And the boy is there, sketched out in Rae's peripheral vision. Baseless and struggling, a nothing-person. Smart, though. Intellectual. Rae knows these things automatically, even though they always have the same conversation.
It strikes Rae, suddenly, that the boy might get along well with L. But even that's not a good enough reason to turn and look. One has to hang on to the precious things in the world, lest they disappear.
So shiny. So perfect.
A crown, maybe. Or some sort of weapon. Some sort of heroic thing, waiting.
The boy shifts, ever so slightly. What Rae can see of him changes. And…is it just a trick of the light, or does he resemble L?
"Don't look out the window."
Don't. Don't, don't, don't.
Hand on Rae's shoulder. Nothing-hand, no-one's hand. Stupid boy, trying to make Rae fail. Some sort of L-proxy.
"Fuck you," Rae says. "You're not even really him. You're…you're just a shadow."
Fork in the road.
The words appear unbidden in Rae's psyche, and then disappear. And the boy vanishes too, like he was never there. And it's just Rae and the glittering thing, and Rae feels like he's missed something hugely important.
But that cannot be. Rae doesn't make mistakes.
It's two in the afternoon, and none of the others are awake yet. Mail feels strangely peaceful. He smokes an entire packet of cigarettes, one after the other, and says a few prayers asking for Mello's comfort and health.
Then he spends a good forty minutes or so just staring at the picture.
Back when he was alive, he used to imagine that Mello would eventually settle down with some blazing-hot girl – or guy, possibly – and only write off his car every second or third week and possibly get a cat.
And even now, sometimes Mail likes to pretend that maybe Mello already has all of that, because he's so incredible that even hell couldn't hold him down for long.
Oh please, just be safe. Just be okay. Wherever you are, doll, just. Just be okay.
Mail would sacrifice anything. He'd suffer a thousand hells. He'd bleed to death on cold bitumen for the rest of eternity. He'd trade places with Mello in an instant, if it meant Mello's happiness was guaranteed.
Even if it wasn't guaranteed. Even if there was just a chance.
But there isn't. And there is nothing Mail can do about it.
Mello is imprisoned in hell for the rest of forever, and here's fucking Raye howling and gnashing his teeth over a woman who is only dead, not gone.
It's not fair. The world has never been fair to Mello, and Mail hates that.
His phone vibrates in his pocket. Mail snatches at it, irritably.
"What is it, L?"
He really thought the skeleton might be able to keep L occupied for more than half a fuckin' day. Especially since they both seem to kind of adore each other.
Some people don't know how lucky they are, damnit.
"I need you to do something for me," L says, so softly Mail has to strain to hear him at all. "I am sorry to ask so much of you, but it needs to be done. And it must be kept a secret from Raye Penber, no matter what."
Secrets from Raye? And it's not even a day since his wife was murdered? What the fuck?
Working in this place is never boring, that's for sure.
Mello would have loved it here.
"Fine," Mail replies, flippantly. "What do you need me to do?"
L tells him, succinctly and in whispered tones. Mail doesn't argue, but in the privacy of the empty office, he rolls his eyes and kicks sharply against the leg of the desk.
This is the worst fuckin' plan he's ever heard.
Mail agrees to everything, and L is once again impeccably relieved that he has such a talented hacker on staff. Rae still hasn't roused. L theorises that it is still grappling with its imaginary boy.
Twenty minutes. Mail needs twenty minutes grace. Rae ought to sleep for that long. L crawls back into bed, slowly, carefully, and hooks one arm through Rae's ribcage, like he did last night. Like they belong together.
Stop thinking like that!
It doesn't matter any more.
L lets his eyes fall closed, and drinks in this feeling of being secure. Of being with someone.
Because he cannot undo what he is about to do. And he will never have this opportunity again.
The room.
The chair.
The window.
The thing, the sparkling thing.
The boy.
The choice.
Don't.
The room.
The chair.
The window.
The thing.
The boy.
The choice.
Don't!
Don't what?
Shut up.
The room, the chair, the window, the thing – so pretty, in a world full of ugliness – the boy, the choice.
Fuck off and leave me alone!
The room the chair the window the thing the boy the choice the goddamnit it wasn't my fault!
Theroomthechairthewindowthe...
Rae wakes – abruptly and inelegantly - to a small, quiet room with barred windows and no special things and no generic boys.
It was a dream.
Of course.
L is curled up at Rae's side, thumb in mouth, completely asleep. He looks gaunt and fragile. Someone needs to make him eat, and soon.
He shouldn't be doing this job.
He smells abhorrent. He sentenced his mother to death. He was fighting crime before most of his peers learned proper hand-eye coordination. The world is wringing him out like a cheap sponge, and nobody cares.
I did it for people like you.
For the weak, and the frightened, and the defenseless, and the exhausted.
It wasn't like that.
Rae sits up, and realises that everything is wrong. Its wings have completely evaporated. It feels heavy and sluggish. It feels human, and oh god, this is awful. It feels powerless, like it's going to struggle to protect anything. And that won't do at all. And it fell asleep. It fell asleep, dear god, what if something had happened to L?
L moans faintly and rubs at his eyes.
"Time is it?" he mumbles.
"Mid afternoon," Rae replies, trying to force itself to calm down.
Everything is fine. This can't be permanent. If Ryuk is to be believed, it's not even detrimental to my ascension to the throne. And anyway, I can fight it. I am clever. I am strong. I will find a way. I always do.
L leans forward sleepily and touches his lips to Rae's sixth rib, bringing Rae sharply back to here and now. They're on a bed together, and L is fucking in mourning. Now is not the right time.
It never seems to be the right time.
Rae pulls L's fingers from its sternum, one by one.
"How are you feeling?"
"Not great," L replies, with a watery little smile. "You?"
"I wasn't the one who was a veritable mess last night," Rae snaps. "Hand out of my chest cavity, please."
"Sorry."
"It's okay."
It's really not okay. Rae doesn't even have a nervous system, and it really shouldn't be this fixated on L's stupid, blunt, dirty, creepy fingers.
"I should go and do things," L says, muzzily. "I need to go and see Mail. And…and Watari. What should I do first?"
"What do you need?" Rae asks, because L still hasn't eaten, and he really ought to think about something other than a case he's already closed.
There is a time for thinking about justice, and then there is-
Wait, what?
No, that isn't right.
L rolls onto his stomach and chews on his thumbnail.
"I don't know. What do I need?" he asks, quizzically.
Rae smacks one palm against its skull.
"Okay, fine. If you're going to pretend to be a child, I'm going to treat you like one. Food first, then a shower. Then you can go and find Watari."
"Shower first. Then food," L bargains, obnoxiously.
It occurs to Rae that maybe L needs to be babied and mollycoddled and instructed. Such things might even be a normal part of L's grieving process. He certainly seemed to want someone to take control for him when Matsuda died. And when he died.
You should have come to me. I would have protected you.
It's not my fault you made the wrong decisions in your life.
"You are being contrary," Rae says, heavily. "Fine. But you had better actually wash yourself this time."
L manages another tiny smile, and gets to his feet. His hair is even messier than usual, and his clothes are ridiculously rumpled and skewed, and he looks like sleep personified. L hesitates and turns to Rae.
"Are you going to come with me?"
Rae sighs.
"Of course."
"Are you going to watch?"
"Are you going to perhaps stop flirting with people while you are grieving and vulnerable?" Rae grumbles.
The word 'flirting' is loaded with implications that ought to clash horribly with the concept of L. And L's beaten-up, worn-out shirt is slipping down one shoulder, and Rae is going to be able to see a heck of a lot more skin once they get into the bathroom.
It's okay, still. Rae deserves to see L. Rae will find some other way to defeat this illness, because despising L is unacceptable.
You belong to me, now.
"You are probably right," L murmurs. "And…thank you. Thank you for taking such good care of me last night."
And L is still L. He's still too skinny, and ugly, and wrong. And this is weird. At best it's weird. But it makes sense, if one applies the theory that L is a good person who got misguided along the way. It's no surprise he's finally turning to Rae. That he likes Rae.
"You are welcome," Rae replies, and actually means it. "And...I'm always right."
You just haven't realized that yet.
But you will.
And when you do, everything will be fine. And you will be happy.
L reaches into his pocket and surreptitiously presses the 'send' button on his phone. Rae slept longer than expected.
Good.
The more time Mail has to prepare, the more credible the situation will seem. And L cannot afford any mistakes. He only has one opportunity to get this right.
L is really going to miss being with Rae. He's going to miss feeling safe and he's going to miss the occasional affection and he's really going to miss having someone as smart as him to talk to and solve cases with. But that isn't important.
What he wants has never been important.
Rae walks beside him, matching him pace for pace, not quite touching his side.
L stares at his Shinigami.
"You cannot even hover above the level of the floor?" he asks, quietly. "I am sorry."
"That isn't for you to worry about right now," Rae informs him.
Everything is for me to worry about, L thinks. You underestimate me.
But that's good. You underestimate me, and you don't know that I know your trigger. That makes everything easy. That enables me to protect you.
"If you say so," L replies, keeping his voice distracted, moderately concerned, and a little glum.
He can lie just as well as Light, when he needs to. He can pretend.
They walk the rest of the way in silence. L closes the bathroom door and takes his time removing his clothes. Five minutes. Mail will call in five minutes. For maximum believability, he ought to still be showering at that time.
Rae watches him intently, and L feels a little self-conscious, despite himself. He's been naked in front of the most evil man in the world. Rae shouldn't affect him at all.
But that's not the point, is it? It's not just the concept of being unclothed, it's Rae. It's the fact that someone he cares about - someone he maybe even wanted a future with - is looking at him.
And L isn't naïve enough to hope that Rae might want him back just as hard. Rae defends him because it has to. And, yes, okay, clearly it cares for him a little, but L doubts its capacity to actually fall in love. It isn't Rem, after all.
So. He's in this alone, anyway. It was always inevitable that Rae would eventually leave him. It was only ever a question of when.
And today, that question will be answered, once and for all.
As soon as possible.
L sets his phone on the counter before stepping into the shower. The water feels warm against his aching back. The spray is sharp, drumming against his skin like a brutal sort of massage. Rae follows him, and pushes the soap into his hands.
"Get clean, and hurry up about it," it orders, bossily. "I'm not nursing you if you catch a cold."
L smirks.
"You definitely would."
Rae growls at him and moves back outside the cubicle. It can still see him through the colourless glass door, of course.
L is hardly the most attractive person in the world.
And yet, Rae still pinned him against the door of his car.
L shakes his head vigorously. This isn't helping. This is stupid. He is too exhausted from grief and work to properly control his emotions. Once this is done, he should get Naomi to talk him through…
Naomi is dead.
And sooner or later, L will have to face Raye. Raye, who will point and accuse and announce to the world, again and again, that L is responsible.
Raye, who must be horribly alone, empty inside, drowning in misery. This is far from over. Naomi will not be resuscitated just because L manages to save someone else.
L rubs the soap into his hair. He does what he has to do, and he will never stop working. Not ever. And maybe, if he saves a hundred thousand people, Naomi's death will not be in vain.
All his life, he's tried to protect people. Ever since that boy, crying on the baseball field, destroyed for the temerity of being smarter than L.
L had his own mother sentenced to death because he was angry. But all of that aside, he'd still…he'd still wanted to fix his boy. His first friend. And L had tried. L had reasoned with him and comforted him and punched him in the stomach in an effort to knock some sense back into him.
And when that hadn't worked, L had gotten desperate. He'd stolen his mother's bible; the enormous, comprehensive reference book that she'd compiled over many years. It contained patterns, designs, and formulae so complicated that even L himself could neither understand nor remember them.
L had taken the entire thing to school, and dumped it in front of his boy.
'I need you to memorise this text.'
'What? It's almost as tall as I am. And these days, I can't even do simple multiplication without using a calculator. You know that.'
'Please,' L had begged. 'This is important. This is really, really important. Your father was killed by an explosive, wasn't he? You need to know this.'
'I'll never remember all of this. Never.'
'Please try. Do it for me.'
L had sneaked the text to school for three days in a row, shoving it at his miserable friend at every possible opportunity.
He's never been good at dealing with the bereaved.
On the fourth day, his mother was arrested. She torched their hotel room to the ground before the police managed to restrain her. Everything was lost, including her book.
And L never saw that boy again.
But after that, his methods grew better, or at least, less futile. He learned the limits of the minds of others. He learned to manipulate and lie, instead of pleading. And what he is about to pull off today is no less than a work of art.
L's phone vibrates briefly and tumbles to the floor. Rae picks it up and examines it.
"Mail," it announces. "Will I tell him to call back later?"
L shuts off the water, his expression almost painfully neutral.
"No, give me the phone," he instructs. "It may be important."
"You're all wet," Rae protests, and holds the phone to L's ear instead.
Ah. Even better. You will be certain to hear everything.
"Mail. What is it?"
"L," Mail greets curtly. "Look, I was thinking. I don't think I should delete Naomi's emails just yet. I think we ought to give her husband a chance to look through them first."
For a fraction of a second, L's eyes widen. Rae frowns at him and leans in closer.
"No," L says loudly. "That is not okay. I told you to permanently delete her inbox last night. You need to do it right now."
"Now?" Rae echoes. "Why is it so important?"
"It's important to a concurrent case," L tells it, briskly. "Mail. I want this task undertaken immediately. Right now. Without excuse or delay. Do you understand?"
"Okay, seriously, why is this important?" Rae asks, sounding a little cranky. "She's dead, L. It doesn't matter."
"There are things Raye Penber ought not see," L snaps. "Mail!"
"I still think this is a bad-"
"Mail!"
L sounds veritably frantic, now, and that ought to be enough to pique Rae's curiosity. His Shinigami is far from stupid, after all.
Sure enough, Rae eyes him for the briefest of moments and then heads for the door.
"Where are you going?" L asks, quickly.
"To find out what the fuck is going on," Rae returns.
"Stop!" L yells, alarmed. "I want you to wait here with me. Mail. Mail. Delete those emails right now!"
Rae does not stop. Rae disappears down the hallway.
Just as expected.
"The skeleton is on its way?" Mail queries softly.
"Yes," L replies.
Then he hangs up the phone and chases after Rae, shouting and gesticulating in a most convincing manner.
For someone who doesn't have any gastrointestinal system to speak of, Rae feels strangely nauseated.
L has a secret.
L said something to Naomi. Something he doesn't want anyone else to know. And even now, L is doing everything he can to prevent Rae from finding out.
You shouldn't have secrets from me. You're mine.
You're mine.
You're…
Aren't you?
The notion that L might have had romantic relations with Naomi is ridiculous to conceive. Rae has been with L almost constantly. They didn't have any time alone together, and Naomi certainly never gave any indication…
But it doesn't have to be mutual, does it? If L had feelings for her, and confessed, and dear god no, no, no, no.
It is a stupid concept, infantile and mad. Nobody in their right mind would fall for someone like Naomi when they had someone like Rae.
Unless.
Unless L can sense…
No, but he can't. Clearly he can't.
It's impossible. Rae can't lose to that scrawny, washed-out little woman. It's impossible. L is a sure thing. L has to be a sure thing.
So why does Rae feel so fucking awful about this, then?
"Look, it's nothing," L pants, thundering down the stairs, right on Rae's heels. "It's just private, that's all. Can't you stop? Can't you offer me some respect at this time?"
"I'd respect you if you'd tell me what the fuck was going on!" Rae spits.
I looked after you. You have to choose me.
You have to choose me anyway. She's dead!
That's right. Naomi is no contest now. Even if L does, it's only a matter of time. And he'll learn that Rae is better than anyone else he's ever met. He'll learn in time. He's already learning now.
Rae has to move at maximum speed just to stay ahead of L. It reaches the bottom of the stairs and turns sharply towards Mail's office.
"Wait!" L howls, and he sounds insane, like he's becoming completely unraveled.
This is bad. This is so bad.
You're mine you're mine you're mine you're mine.
I did it.
And you are mine.
When Raye wakes, the world is as bleak and unkind as ever, the empty spot in his bed worse than torture, worse than screaming, painful death.
And Raye is frightened of death. Really, really fucking frightened.
And his stupid, stupid, uncaring colleagues are having a yelling match in the next room. Raye scratches at his stubble and lumbers towards the door, almost automatically. He hopes something bad has happened. He wants something bad to have happened to them. Not because he hates them – and he does hate them – but because he wants something else to do. Five minutes break from the consuming, mindless misery that haunts him.
Naomi's been dead barely a day, and he's already desperate for some escape. He's as selfish as the rest of them.
He jogs down the hall – because the noise seems to be getting louder and more urgent by the second – and finds L, Mail, and Rae all grappling with each other in front of Mail's gigantic computer. The Shinigami has one hand wrapped around each of the humans, and seems to be trying to prevent them from reaching the keyboard. Mail is standing gormlessly, and L is hollering and flailing and what the fuck is going on?
Don't you even know she's dead?
Have you forgotten that quickly?
"Penber," Rae says, suddenly. "Quickly! Go to the computer and access Naomi's email account."
What the fuck is wrong with you?
"What?" Raye croaks. "What are you doing?"
You have no respect.
She died for you, for all of you, and you don't even care!
"It's important," Rae assures him. "Just do it!"
"Don't listen to him," L gasps. "Stay where you are!"
"L and Naomi were hiding something," Rae tells him. "Did you know that?"
Raye blinks at it.
L and Naomi were….what?
Hiding?
Not from me! My wife wouldn't keep any secrets from me.
"Hiding what?" Raye asks, filled with a vague and awful sense of dread.
It can't be. Not after all this time. Not after she's already dead. The two of you can't have.
Please.
"It's nothing!" L says emphatically. "Mail! Just do what I told you to do before."
"You won't tell me what was in those messages," Mail drawls. "I'm not sure that I approve of deleting them without Raye seeing."
L hasn't told Mail, either. This can't be happening. It's too impossibly bad. This is a dream. This has to be a dream. Or a hallucination. Something.
"They don't concern Raye!" L snarls.
"See what I mean?" Rae asks. "I..I'm not even sure what is going on, but you need to look. I can't hold them back forever. Please, this is our only chance."
The Shinigami is panicked. The Shinigami is scared, and Raye regards it with momentary disgust.
What are you so upset about? It's MY WIFE who was…
But no, that isn't fair, is it? Rae cares for L. Rae cares for L, and oh god.
They were…they were having an affair, weren't they? Or thinking about it? Or doing it already.
Then.
Then…the child.
Might not even be his.
A vague sense of relief hits him seconds before a powerful wave of guilt. If the baby were not his, that would be one less thing to mourn for. One less forever of sorrow and loneliness stretched out on the horizon, and oh god they were sleeping together she loved him no no NO!
Raye dives for the computer.
"Think about this," L begs, with almost comical dismay.
"I will kill you," Raye whispers, a promise, now. He will kill L for everything.
But first, he needs to know the truth.
The screens indicates that Mail has already logged in to his wife's account, and Raye is struck by just how close L had come to destroying all the evidence. No one might ever have known.
Sick, sick bastard. If he had truly loved her, reciprocated or not, he wouldn't be so concerned with this now. He'd be throwing himself at the floor, hating himself with every fibre of his being for what he'd done. He'd be thinking only of Naomi, and not himself.
But that's L, isn't it? L is selfish. And evil.
Essentially, he is Light.
And there, damningly there, scattered amongst the last few messages Naomi ever sent, are several from L. No subject, and dated back several weeks before she left for the mission that claimed her life.
"Please, Raye," L murmurs. "Please try to understand."
I'll see you burn in hell, Raye thinks, viciously. How dare you speak to me? How dare you speak to anyone?
"Start at the beginning," Rae prompts. "There. The second one from the bottom of the page."
Raye clicks 'open', and holds his fucking breath.
Whatever horrors he is about to uncover, his life may never be the same.
'L, I am worried about the Shinigami. We have no reason to believe it won't try to kill you, either during or after the five years.'
The messages are short, and lack both formality and personal touch. But L knows they are the best that Mail could create in a meager thirty minutes.
Raye sucks in an unsteady breath, eyes a little wider than usual. It's not the sentiment he was expecting.
"What five years?" Raye mutters, and scrolls down to L's reply.
'N. Everything is fine. Please do not worry any further about this matter.'
"That's a cagey message," Rae notes, sounding confused. "So, were you sleeping with her or not?"
Raye opens the next email quickly.
'L, this isn't the time to be a hero. There is no way to protect yourself against a god of death. Please be very careful. And please, do worry.'
'N. Once more I assure you that everything is fine.'
"I don't get it," Raye admits. "Why…why is this a secret."
"No reason!" L says, quickly. "This is a pointless activity, I assure you."
"If there isn't any reason for secrecy, then why wouldn't you tell me what you and Naomi were discussing?" Rae asks, sounding genuinely wounded.
"I'll keep going," Rays assures it.
L hadn't expected Raye to get involved in this. It is unfortunate, for his own mental health, but L cannot remedy that now. And if anything, his presence makes the situation even more believable.
Things are going well.
'Do you have a way to defend yourself against something immortal, L?'
'Yes.'
Mail frowns.
"Wait, is this about some sort of weapon?" he asks. "Huh. Okay. That makes more sense."
"A weapon against the Shinigami?" Rae says derisively. "There's no such thing, and L knows it. He's bluffing her."
'Then, I want you to tell me. You owe me that much, after keeping such secrets from all of us. And if anything is to happen to you during this case, one of us should be equipped with enough knowledge to protect the others.'
Raye hesitates, fingers hovering above the keys.
"She was always thinking of everyone else," he says, distantly. "Even when it was her who was in danger."
"Please stop," L urges, secure in the knowledge that Raye will never comply. Not until every last secret is uncovered.
Sure enough, Raye ignores him and clicks at the next message.
'N, this is classified information. You may never discuss this with me, or anyone else. Rae doesn't know what I know, and it must be kept that way.'
'I understand.'
"What the fuck?" Rae growls. "This is a secret from me? Specifically, from me?"
Doubt is good. Rae ought to doubt him. He is L, after all. He is inherently a very bad person, as Rae is about to learn.
L stops fighting, and stares straight ahead with a dignified sort of expression.
Rae shakes him.
"What the hell is going on, L?" it demands. "What is this supposed to mean?"
There is still concern and affection in its voice, like it wants to help him. Like it is wounded and trying to understand.
"We'll find out," Raye says, thickly, his fingers guiding the mouse erratically around the screen.
'N, I have found a way to kill Rae. It will take some groundwork, but it is definitely achievable.'
Rae actually laughs, short, high, and hysterical.
"What is this? Kill me? Kill me? This is a joke, right?"
L stays silent.
"Naomi didn't reply to that one," Raye says, gruffly. "I can't say I blame her."
"You're L! You don't kill people for no good reason! And you certainly wouldn't kill me," Rae babbles. "What is this? This isn't real. This isn't you."
So you finally decided I'm not evil, L thinks, bitterly. I am almost sorry to have to change your mind.
But I'm not sorry, because you'll be safe.
I love you, and you'll be safe, and that's all anyone can ask for.
L realises with a lurch that maybe he finally understands how Rem felt about Misa. Maybe even how she felt about him.
L regards the floor, and nothing else. Rae is truly frightened now, and it is a difficult thing to witness.
'N, you must not tell anyone of this. Not even your husband. If I can convince Rae that I care for it, then it should start to care for me. If a Shinigami has feelings for a human, they will almost inevitably die for that human. And Rae's affections are physically obvious. This will not be a difficult task for me. I've studied its behaviour for many years. I know how to behave to make it like me.'
'You're actually going to lure this thing to its death? I'm not sure I can approve of that.'
Rae releases both L and Mail, and starts to edge away.
"No," it says, in horror, in denial. "No. Fuck you. No."
Too hurt and shocked to even raise its voice. L has judged it to perfection.
'I do what I have to do to keep people safe. Shinigami are not people. Any god of death would kill a human without thinking twice. I will do the same, just once, and buy our safety. It is a necessary sacrifice.'
'I suppose. But still, please be careful. And only do as much harm as is absolutely necessary.'
L frowns at the last line. Naomi would not be so easily convinced. But it doesn't matter, Rae doesn't care what Naomi had to say. Rae is in fucking pieces.
"You," Rae hisses. "How. How did you…?"
"Your weaknesses were fairly obvious from early on," L says, sounding as put-out as possible. After all, he's just had his supposedly brilliant plan absolutely quashed.
"You wouldn't do this," Rae blathers, voice high and frenzied. "We were friends. We are friends. What the fuck?"
"As far as I am concerned," L says coldly, "all Shinigami are murderers. But yes, winning you over was laughably easy."
"You are horrid," Raye says accusingly. "You…this thing looked after you."
"Please don't project Naomi onto the Shinigami," L requests. "This thing is a monster, Raye. You and I were both killed by Shinigami in the first world. We need to think of the public."
"I'm not a monster!" Rae wails. "You're. You. You're. You've been trying to kill me, you lied to me, you…you…"
"Mail," L says, calmly. "The only person you ever cared about was murdered by something very much like Rae. And now you have removed my primary method of eliminating Rae. Are you proud of yourself?"
"Eliminating?" Raye asks, sounding gobsmacked.
"Primary method?" Rae manages.
"Fuck you," Mail replies, his voice laced with venom and darkness. "Fuck you. I was trying to look after Raye. Fuck. You."
"It's okay," L tells him, primly. "I have other plans. I may still be successful."
"You will never be successful," Rae chokes. "Never, ever, ever, ever. Damn you!"
And when L finally raises his head, he sees that his Shinigami has red eyes. Blood red, murder red. Functional red.
You will be okay.
Nothing bad can ever happen to you.
Rae turns and flees from the room, moving fifty times faster than it did five minutes ago, wings back to regular size. Cowering and upset and healthy and safe.
Mail punches L in the mouth. Just for effect. Just as instructed.
"I can't believe you did that, L," Raye says softly.
"A Shinigami murdered your wife," L reminds him. "Twice."
Raye does not speak again.
tbc
a/n:
+ thank you for reading.
+ next update is probably about two weeks away. sorry, everyone, but real life is being demanding and stupid again.