notes/warnings
+ so, this chapter is about two months late. I don't have any excuses for this, and I won't insult you all by making any, either. I owe an apology to all of you who have waited, and especially to those of you who have sent me PMs and comments and I haven't responded. I'm not abandoning this fic, and I haven't stopped plotting it or thinking about it, but I am having a really hard time actually getting it down on paper, and that may or may not change. it might be two months til the next update. I can't really say. but short of me actually dying or getting amnesia or going blind or something, I will finish this fic. thank you for bearing with me through all this rubbish and false promises. I appreciate every single one of you.
+ usual warnings for languages.
Revelations
Jas pauses, midway through tugging the last pumpkin free from the vine. She rubs one hand across her grubby forehead, the dirt dissolving in its wake.
"Fuck," she mutters, emphatically.
L manages to find a lead on the kidnapping case. A single footprint in the snow. It's not much to go on, but it's a start.
He's cross-referencing the shoe type when someone knocks three times on his door. Raye. It must be Raye. Watari only ever knocks twice, and Mail and Rae don't bother knocking at all.
L wonders if he has come to resign. Or if Rae has finally convinced him to hurt L. The latter is unlikely, though. In this situation, in his own headquarters, L has too much support and too much power. It would be better to wait until L leaves on a case, and then follow him. And since Rae is tremendously clever, it will select an ideal case, where L's death can be blamed on one of the suspects.
But the Shinigami still needs him to write in the notebook. Probably. Maybe. L isn't sure what it wants any more, and he misses that closeness, those days when he and Rae seemed to be almost perfectly synchronized in their thoughts.
"Yes?"
There is no need for him to be rude to Raye. He only hates Shinigami, after all.
"Hi," Raye says, pushing the door aside with an awkward sort of gesture. His expression is vague, his movements uncomfortable, and his hair is pressed flat against his head like he's recently been wearing a hat.
Which is strange, because he hasn't left the building at all today. But people grieve in mysterious ways, and it isn't L's place to judge.
"What do you want?" L asks, gently.
Raye clasps his hands together and stares at them.
"I want," he says slowly. "I want to work with you again."
L blinks. This is…not what he expected at all.
"I thought you were working with Rae?"
Raye finally makes eye contact.
"I'm done with that," he says, firmly. "Don't get me wrong. I don't fucking approve of what you did. But…Rae is a god of death. And. I want to start working amongst the living again. Is that okay with you?"
L suspects that there's more to Rae's reasoning than that. Perhaps Rae, in its defensive and volatile state, has inadvertently offended him. Or perhaps he's finally acknowledging Naomi's long-standing distrust of the Shinigami.
Or perhaps this is all part of Rae's plan.
Even if this is according to Rae's designs, there is nothing L can do about it. He cannot – and will not – fight his Shinigami.
But Raye wants to work with him, however temporarily, and that's. That's something. It's lonely, only working with Mail. Three people, at least, is enough to be a proper team.
A proper team.
"It's fine with me," he says, softly, and grins.
"Uuuuuuncle!" Gemma yells, joyfully running across the lawn to throw herself at the lower part of your legs.
"Hey," you tell her, awkwardly. You haven't seen her in months. It's a miracle that you're seeing her today.
It's a miracle that you haven't fucked up yet. But you've been careful. So careful. You've been writing things down and checking and double-checking everything you do, and it's all paid off.
Today, you are allowed to visit the Jeevases.
Under supervision, of course.
Gemma is so different, now. She's vertical instead of horizontal, and she's got a full head of strawberry-blonde hair and she's capable of running and hugging and words. You've been with her for about eight seconds, and you're already so so amazed by everything she does.
"Sorry," Jasmine says, ambling into view. "She thinks everyone is 'aunty' or 'uncle' at the minute. We're trying to teach her not to indiscriminately trust people, but it's hard."
No child should be taught to fear strangers at such a young age. You fervently hope that by the time Gemma has grown up, Kira will be behind bars and she won't be forced into the same horrible, exhausting, soul-sapping detective work as her parents.
"She can call me whatever she wants," you mumble, patting the top of her head.
Halle is standing a few feet behind you, sunglasses in place, gun in her pocket, radio in her hand. As competent as ever.
"It's been a while," Jasmine says to her, warmly. Jasmine is wearing an orange sundress, and carrying a basket of vegetables. Probably freshly-picked. Probably home-grown. Jasmine is wonderful and perfect and wholesome like that, after all.
You still fucking hate her.
"I miss our conversations," Halle says briskly, "but I'm working today. Please act like I'm not here. It will be easiest for everyone."
You're not sure why L goes to all this trouble to keep you happy. Maybe he thinks that if you get too upset, you'd go running to Kira with his name and Near's name and the details of all the staff on the Kira case.
But you wouldn't. You never would. You'd never do anything to hurt this family.
You hope.
You're not exactly fucking reliable, though. Sometimes you do things and you have no idea why you did them.
And sooner or later, you're going to mess up and lose all of this, too.
"Sure," Jasmine replies, and turns back to you. "Matt's cooking dinner. Or…possibly burning dinner, actually. Would you like to come inside?"
"Of course," you tell her, honestly. You always want to be where Matt is, even if he doesn't care. Even if he marries a thousand Jasmines, you'll still be there, waiting, just in case he needs you.
He never needs you. Nobody needs you. You're useless.
Gemma is still clinging to your legs.
"Why are you fat?" she asks, curiously.
"Why are you short?" you retort, because she's a child and you're not allowed to swear at her.
Gemma grins.
"You are my favourite!" she declares, and takes your hand.
It's like the best compliment in the universe.
They get news of another kidnapping, this time in Cardiff. Katie Hardie, nine-and-a-half months old. So far, every victim has been under two years of age. They're taking babies, the sick bastards.
"That's twelve, now," L notes. "Mail, I want you to trawl all of the local foster-homes and shelters. See if they've had any children go missing."
"Right," Mail replies, unenthusiastically. "It's not likely, though, is it? I mean, all of these kids have been taken from rich-ass families."
"And yet there haven't been any ransom demands," L muses. "Please do it, anyway. And contact the local child protection authorities. See if they have any suggestions."
"Sure," Mail says, with a shrug. "Okay."
"And Raye," L continues, and then stops for a moment. "Raye Penber. You and I will go to Cardiff and speak with the Hardie family. They've agreed to let us search for evidence around their property."
"That's fine," Raye manages.
It's weird, knowing something so important and not being able to discuss it. He can see now what he missed before. The way L calls him by his full name, like he has to remind himself he's not talking to his Rae.
Raye wants to ask him about it. About whether he hurts, and whether he regrets anything.
Mail can attest to the truth, though. Mail is a witness. If L really wanted to, he could reverse the damage he's done in a heartbeat. Raye wants to tell him he should, because it's pointless all of them being alone, when L doesn't have to be.
But then the Shinigami would be damaged. It's such a ridiculous fucking situation. Raye has to keep this secret. No matter what.
He can't be on Rae's side any more. He made his damn decision, and he's sticking with it.
Naomi would be so proud of him.
Throughout the entire witness interview, Gwyn Hardie barely looks at them.
"Of course there are people out there who don't like us," she says, condescendingly. "Zachary has many business rivals, as do all successful men. I can have the maid make you a list, if you'd like."
"That would be helpful," L tells her, reaching for his own tea. It tastes insipid and bland. He only managed to add four sugars before the sugar-pot was snatched away from him.
"What of their character?" Raye asks. "Do any of your husbands' rivals stand out as being the sort of person who might attempt this level of sabotage?"
Gwyn neatly cuts the crusts from her sandwich.
"It's your job to figure that out, right?" she says, simply.
"What about Mr Vayn?" Daniela Spoon asks, wringing the hem of her dress between her hands. "He's always hated children. And your family. It would be just like him to hire thugs to break into…"
She trails off in the face of Gwyn's fierce glower.
"I'm sorry. It wasn't my place to speak," she says, carefully, and turns to Raye. "Please, Mr Brown, please do everything you can to find little Katie. She's such a sweet, sweet baby, and I can't stand the thought of anything happening to her."
"Everyone is upset," Gwyn snaps. "If you are going to be hysterical, please go upstairs until you calm down."
Daniela is – was – the live-in nanny. Nineteen years old, new to the country, apparently excellent with children of all ages. She was home the night that Katie was abducted. Gwyn and Zachary were both out attending a business function.
The kidnapper broke in through the front door. Inexpertly. They bashed the lock with a blunt object, didn't bother trying to disarm the alarm system, ran to the nursery, seized the child, and left again.
They've probably attempted to break into other houses and failed, L muses. Of course, those incidents were never reported as kidnappings because people probably assumed they were intending to commit robbery instead.
So the perpetrator is fast, but not particularly skilled. And so far, all crimes have occurred either within Wales itself, or close to the border.
But that's not the most interesting thing.
"I'm fine!" Daniela insists, tearfully, more to Raye than anyone else.
Raye is handsome and charming. People trust him. People respect him. People want to talk to him. He's very useful during cases like this one.
L will always look more or less like a socially-inept waif. No disguise can hide that. Come to think of it, if someone really wanted to track him and didn't allow themselves to be distracted by appearances, they could probable profile him and corner him.
Maybe Buzz will do that. Maybe Buzz will try to steal his identity.
Or maybe Light will use it to defeat him in the end. Light knows what he's like. Light lived with him, in the same fucking room, and L will never be safe from him.
"We all love Katie very much, Mr Brown," Daniela continues. "If there's anything I can do to help – anything at all – please, just let me know."
Gwyn calmly selects another sandwich from the plate, and delicately pops it into her mouth.
"So, now we know the motive," L comments, once they get back to the car.
"Yeah," Raye agrees. "I think it might be an inside job."
L raises an eyebrow at him.
"You think Gwyn and Zachary Hardie would have damaged their own property? To what intent and purpose?"
"If they did it? It's got to be publicity," Raye tells him.
In his mind, it makes perfect sense. Rich people always want to be famous. Fame boosts wealth. A short stint in the public eye, and they'll be able to make a lot of extra, investable cash from talk-shows and articles in trashy-magazines.
"And if it's not them," he adds, "then it's the nanny. Nobody cares that much about someone else's kid."
L stares at him.
"I cared about Grace," he says, his voice absolutely emotionless, and Raye flinches.
"Of course you did," he mutters. He's still not reconciled with the concept of L being such a good person. Geeze. "I did too. But the way Daniela was crying all over me, it was like she had something to prove."
"She seemed to be genuinely upset," L counters. "And besides, we know there is a serial kidnapper operating in the area. Why would you presume this case is unrelated?"
Raye sighs. Moral or not, L is still an enormous fucking dick about everything.
"Fine. What motive are you talking about, then?"
"The nanny," L says, infuriatingly.
"But you just said that-"
"So far, all of the victims' families had either a nanny, a live-in tutor, or some other sort of long-term babysitter," L elucidates. "I think our kidnapper is targeting children who are primarily raised by a person other than their parents."
"Maybe," Raye says, reluctantly. "But that still doesn't tell us much. Do they hate rich people? Childcare workers? Undisciplined children?"
"After seeing the Hardies, I think we can be reasonably sure they're going after parents who don't care about their children," L says, thoughtfully. "It's not something I'd considered before. Can you please find me the police-interview transcripts from the other eleven cases?"
Raye sighs and drags his computer into his lap. L could at least pretend to care about his opinion, sometimes. There's only three of them now. It's not like they have any sort of proper hierarchy.
But it's nice, in a way. It's nice that L hasn't changed. That he's the same reasonably good-hearted arrogant genius prick that Naomi worked with, that Naomi looked up to. Because if L hasn't changed and Mail hasn't changed, then maybe one day Raye can go back to being completely normal, too.
They get back to base, and Mail is still working, and Raye and L sort through the rest of the police reports and share the last of Raye's Syrupy Fruity Honey Puffs.
"You have excellent taste in cereals," L informs him, cheerfully.
"I know," Raye replies.
The evidence is starting to pile up. The transcripts indicate that six of the eleven families demonstrated 'lower than usual' interest in their child. It's definitely a trend.
So what are you doing with these children, then? L wonders. Killing them? Finding better homes? Raising them yourself?
A motive isn't enough. They still have no kidnapper, and no suspects. No fingerprints or skin cells or anything. The perpetrator is clearly knowledgeable enough to wear gloves and cover their hair and skin, even if they aren't capable of disabling an alarm system.
"It could be a group of people," L muses, out loud. "If they're keeping all these children for themselves, they definitely aren't working alone."
"Right," Raye agrees, chewing on his lip. "God, I hope those kids are okay. I hope this bastard doesn't get the chance to kidnap anyone else."
All they have is the single footprint. A cheap type of sneaker-shoe that is sold in half a dozen different retail stores around Wales. Barely useful at all.
But stopping criminals is what L does. What he has to do. What started with his mother and escalated with Beyond Birthday and climaxed disastrously in the Kira case and extended beyond death, into the second world. This is what he does. And now, he's doing it with Mail and Raye.
"We won't let them kidnap anyone else," he says, with certainty.
It's not as good as working with Rae, but it's something.
At nine-thirty, Mail kicks the back of L's chair.
"So, there's this privately-owned adoption company who have pictures of some baby that looks an awful lot like Katie Hardie. And, you know, other pictures that resemble the other kidnapped kids."
L immediately gets to his feet, and practically drapes himself over Mail's shoulder, peering at the computer screen.
A few years ago, L would have never been so emotionally invested in such a small-scale case. He's lacking in self-confidence, now, desperate to prove himself however he can. He's been dragged so low, by Kira, by the second world, by Rae, by everything. Mail feels bad for him.
L deserves better. Just like Mello.
"That is almost definitely Katie," L says, voice low and intense. "We'd need facial recognition software to be certain, of course."
"And look," Mail continues. "There's this little introduction on the main page that's filled with…well…"
Crap. Crap about how sad it is when babies aren't wanted and how this organization is dedicated to finding only supportive, loving homes.
Oh, check that. Supportive, loving, heteronormative, two-parent homes.
Fuck that shit. Mail's parents left him on a fucking hill, and nobody batted an eyelid. Now people are forcibly rehoming kids because their parents are a little bit distracted and busy.
"Mail," L says, his ribs digging into Mail's shoulder. "Can you find me the real-life location of the site administrator?"
"Yeah," Mail says, slowly. "It might take a few hours, but I think I can do that."
"Excellent," L replies, sounding positively cheerful, and goes back to his chair.
Raye wakes up and Naomi is still dead. He's halfway through boiling the kettle when L calls him, and tells him they've identified the kidnappers. An entire organization, occupying a modified day-care center. All of the victims are presumed to be still alive.
"We're sending the local police to handle it," L continues. "No need for us to get involved. Thank you for your help with this case."
Raye doesn't answer for a moment. The kids are. The kids are all safe. The kids will all be reunited with….with their vaguely-invested parents. It's still not perfect. Nobody has the right to judge other people the way Kira did, the way these kidnappers did, but damn, he wishes more people appreciated their families.
People should appreciate what they have, before…
Before it's too late.
Raye will probably never be a parent. He'll never have that joy in his life.
"Amy," he says, suddenly.
"What?" L asks, sounding momentarily confused.
"Amy," he repeats. "That was the name we'd picked out. That Naomi and I had picked out. Amy for a girl, and Connor for a boy."
"Those are good names," L tells him, sympathetically. "I am sorry for your loss."
Raye wonders how he got L so wrong, how he was so easily misled by Rae's words. L is a jerk, but he's not heartless. He's not a monster.
"It was your loss, too," Raye says, soberly.
The next few weeks are relatively quiet. L takes on a handful of smaller cases, and Raye alternates between helping him, sparring with Watari, and brushing up on a few obscure foreign languages.
He has no idea how he's going to explain his current situation to the Shinigami. He needs a plausible, reasonable lie. Ideally, one that isn't going to further frighten it, or convince it that L is manipulating people in order to hurt it.
It would be easy, of course, to tell Rae the truth. Easy for Raye. Probably easy for Mail, too. Then there would be no more lies, no more animosity, no more division of workload.
But Rae…Rae would be hurt. Permanently hurt. It might even die. Raye wonders what sort of sad, sad existence it must lead, to have to choose between being permanently debilitated and never being loved at all.
Can he use the same lie he used on L, that he needs to work amongst the living? That he's reached some indefinable level of recovery, and this is the inevitable progression of his career?
If he says that, Rae will try to change his mind. It will remind him of all the reasons – all the false reasons – that L is evil. And he will have no comebacks. He will have to ignore it, be thought a fool, or make an enemy of it himself.
And that's not really fair either. The Shinigami is stuck with them, all alone, without support from any of its own kind. Raye doesn't want to isolate it further.
So, what can he say? Does he need to pretend to have fallen for Mail? To have fallen for L? Would that work? Can he profess that he loves case-solving more than anything else, that he couldn't bear to stop? Maybe then he could return to Rae's service when it comes back, and swear his allegiance to L was only temporary.
But it will still be mistrustful of him. And whatever lie he chooses, he needs to be strong enough to stick with it. He needs to be strong, for everyone's sake. Strong like Naomi was. Strong like Raye isn't.
A month passes, and Raye still doesn't know what he needs to do, and Rae still doesn't come back.
L's next case is a substantial one. A big-scale heirloom thief operating in the United States. They've already lifted several priceless artifacts from several different museums and storage facilities, and they always manage to disappear from the scene of crime without leaving a scrap of evidence.
It's a big job. A huge job. L is grateful for it.
Occasionally, L catches himself daydreaming. Catches himself imagining a world where Rae is undamaged by him, where the two of them can exist as partners forever, fight crime forever. Be together forever.
He wants. He wants so much, sometimes. He wants, but he can't have. He's burned his bridges, and he's proud of that.
He's chosen to be a good man rather than a happy man, and he is proud of that, too.
The new case is all-consuming. Even Raye is regularly missing sleep just to help sort through the data. L regards the sheaf of paper in his hand. It's a list of all personnel present around the time the items were stolen. One name draws his eye, just for a second. A security guard who saw nothing and heard nothing, even as a multimillion dollar pendant was snatched from just three feet behind her.
Her name is Yu. Kira Yu.
And L knows. He knows it's a legitimate name, especially in English-speaking societies. It's not a big deal. It means nothing. And still he feels like Light left that name there, just for him. A warning. The first nail in the second coffin.
Here I am.
Takada came back, and there's no reason in the world to presume that Light won't. L will work hard and do all he can and save as many people as he can, but one day, Light will step out of the shadows and systematically destroy him.
If Rae supports Light, it will be easy. Light will know, through his own malevolent powers of observation, that L is in love with Rae. And Light will use that knowledge to torment him and break him and ultimately destroy him.
But not manipulate him. Never manipulate him. L will be a thorn in Light's side until the day he dies. He'll be the spanner in Light's perfect works, and maybe that will be enough. Maybe that will inspire somebody younger and stronger to overpower and outsmart Light, just like it did in the first world.
L hopes so. But he can't hope for much for himself. All he can do is be the very best detective he can be, and patiently wait for the world to come crashing down on his head.
Besides, L thinks, glancing around the room, things are a little different, now. He has Mail, and he has Raye. And that's two people in the world who are on his side, and not on Light's.
That's two more people than last time.
"Could this possibly be an inside job?" Raye asks, curiously.
"We have no reason to rule that out," L tells him. "Why?"
"It's just…I've noticed that several of the security guards – at several different locations – seem to be have a history of attending the New Washington College," Raye replies. "And now they're all working in different museums. It's a bit suspicious, right?"
L smiles at him, liquid and slow and human, and Raye can't help but smile back.
"Yes," L says. "That is distinctly suspicious. Well done. Now we need to find out if there's any record of these people socializing together. Can you please get me all available phone and internet records?"
"Yeah, no problem."
"Fuck!" Mail says, from the other end of the office. Raye turns his head.
"Is something wrong?" L asks.
"Is this case publically known?" Mail asks.
"Of course," Raye answers. An ordinary person would know that. It's been all over the news for the past few nights. National heirlooms are a big deal.
Wait. Does this mean that Raye is ordinary, now?
"Right," Mail says, businesslike. "Any information you might need from online files, get it as quickly as you can. The data-deleting hacker is back."
"Huh," L says, thumbing his lip. "Interesting."
Not only did several of the guards go to the same university, they were also part of the same co-ed fraternity. The same co-ed fraternity who just happened to all have keys to one particular high-security storage facility in Michigan.
L orders the various state police institutions to recall and detain as many of the security guard witnesses-cum-suspects as possible. Many of them will have already fled the country, or stolen new identities. It's a messy case, inelegant, not ideal.
L and Raye fly out to Michigan, and crack open the storage container. All of the artifacts are there.
"But why?" Raye says, carefully picking up a Ming-dynasty vase. "What was the point of all of this?"
"I don't know," L tells him, quietly.
But they have conclusive evidence, and they have suspects, and even without a motive, that's enough. Things progress quickly after that. Yu confesses in the middle of her second police interview. Some of her counterparts are caught and arrested, and others are never found. The stolen goods are returned to their various museums.
When asked why, all of the thieves give only one reason: because we could.
It's a frustrating week; the data hacker wipes three prominent United Kingdom news websites, Mail doesn't get any closer to uncovering his identity, and the local store is out of Syrupy Fruity Honey Puffs.
And the five years is almost up. Three-and-a-half weeks to go.
L still hasn't used the notebook.
Inevitably, Buzz phones the very next day. L takes the call without leaving the office. There is no reason for him to keep this a secret. Mail and Raye are the only team he has left, and he'd rather they know about Buzz, just in case.
Just in case Buzz turns out to be Light.
"Patch him through," he tells the Grint Street receptionist. Then he turns to the others. "This is the detective who has been corresponding with me recently," he explains. "I do not know if he can be trusted, but I can tell you that he is definitely operating in competition with us."
"Got it," Raye replies.
Mail doesn't say anything at all, just keeps typing at his computer. Which is fine. L is used to being ignored by Mail.
"You did a good job with the artifact thief," Buzz purrs, his voice as filtered and condescending as ever. "Congratulations. I'm impressed."
"That wasn't me," L deadpans. "You seem to be consistently confusing me for the detective L. I'm starting to think you're not particularly intelligent at all, Buzz."
"My apologies," Buzz says, promptly. "Although any other detective would take such a mistake as a compliment."
"Your compliments are exasperating," L informs him. "And also, you're-"
"His name is Buzz?"
Mail has abandoned his computer, and at some point gotten to his feet. L regards him with confusion.
"One moment," he says, and covers the phone. "Mail? Does the name mean something to you?"
Mail never worked with any detectives before he died. It's unlikely that he ever knew Buzz in a professional capacity. If he has personal information on Buzz, that could be very useful.
"Give me the phone," Mail grits.
L considers this.
"You must promise me you'll be careful," he cautions. "We cannot let any informat-"
Mail leans over and snatches the phone from his fingers, without waiting for L to finish.
"What the fuck happened?" he snarls.
Thinking quickly, L reaches for the phone cradle, and puts the call on speakerphone.
"Who is this?" Buzz asks, sounding mildly perplexed.
"How did you die?" Mail asks, unhelpfully. "You weren't supposed to fuckin' die."
"Who is this?" Buzz repeats. "And why do you think you know me?"
"No," Mail says, sounding almost hysterical. "No, the question is, why are you using this handle? What happened to your old identity?"
There is silence from the other end of the phone.
"The only person who knew that about me," Buzz pronounces slowly, "wouldn't be capable of making a phone call right now. Which means you must be…Matt."
Mail tenses.
Don't confirm that, L thinks. Don't confirm that, whatever you do. Please.
"Near," Mail returns, voice dripping with disgust. "Fuck. You."
L freezes in place.
Near.
Near.
Not Light. Near.
That name means something. Yes, Raye remembers now. Near was the man who finally brought down Kira.
"It's not Near any more," Near replies, courteously. "My new name is Buzz. My old identity was earned and seized by another detective."
L leans forward in his chair, eye fixed intently on Mail and the phone. Raye can't ask any questions. He can't give anything away to this new person. There's still a chance that Near – or whoever he is – might wish L ill.
That's the one thing Raye hates about this job. Everyone is an enemy.
"He killed you?" Mail snarls. "That's pretty fuckin' careless."
"He did not kill me," Near replies. "The new Near does not kill. He values human life even more than L himself. He waits for an insane amount of evidence before he acts, and he does not partner with legal institutions that implement any sort of death penalty."
Raye takes a deep breath. This Near person…isn't Near, he's Buzz, and there's a new Near. Who hopefully isn't in the second world yet, because the last thing Raye needs is another person complicating this already confusing situation.
Also, hopefully Near isn't geographically close, because then he'll be near but not Near and who the fuck named this person, anyway?
"So he works slowly," L clarifies, Mail glares at him, like he loathes the interruption.
"Not at all," not-Near…Buzz murmurs. "He is incredible. Faster and more thorough than even myself. Although I admit I am somewhat biased towards a man who disguises himself behind a Transformers mask."
"So how did you die?" Mail presses.
"Cardiac failure," Nearbuzz confirms. "Not suspicious cardiac failure, either. My heart was never good. You ought to know that."
"Fuck," Mail says, and then hands the phone back to L. He looks ever paler than usual, like this is all too much for him.
L switches the handset volume back to regular. Whatever he's about to say is obviously secret.
"Prove your identity," he says, quietly. "Tell me my real name."
There is silence for a moment. Even Mail doesn't know L's real name. He told Raye as much, once. They've…they've talked about a lot of things, actually. If Mail were more mentally stable, Raye would probably consider him a friend.
"I think it is best that we work separately from now on," L says into the phone. "I will give you the number of a direct line to me. For now, we tell nobody of each other's identities."
"Thank fuck for that," Mail breathes.
L ends the call, and regards Mail carefully.
"You knew him from his second-preference handle?" he asks.
"We were friends, a long long time ago," Mail growls. "I'm not fuckin' proud of it, okay?"
"Okay," L says, and turns to Raye. "Did you follow everything, Raye?"
"No," Raye replies, honestly. L nods.
"There is one more person in this world who knows my identity and real name," he says, succinctly. "Other than that, nothing has changed."
"Right," Raye agrees.
It's kind of a weird day.
It's sort of a relief, knowing that Near is around. Knowing that when Light finally shows up and murders L, there will be someone to hold him responsible. Someone to stop him, again, and send him screaming back to the very depths of hell.
New-Near, though. New-Near is a mystery, and therefore potentially a danger. No matter what Near thinks, there's a chance he could be one of Kira's old supporters. He must have had some sort of vendetta against Near, to deliberately target him and claim his identity.
Although L has to admit that the not-killing-people characteristic makes new-Near less likely to be one of Light's many protégés and fanatics. Perhaps he is just another brave, dedicated new detective. The sort that L had always hoped to raise, and prior to that, always hoped to be.
The rest of the day passes in companionable silence. Mail seems to be relatively calm, despite his earlier distress. L can imagine that hearing from Near – from Mello's unintentional tormentor and eternal rival – must have been severely unpleasant for him. And yet, Mail didn't really give anything away.
Sometimes, L is so proud of him.
L revealed himself to Near, in a roundabout way. Nobody, save Mello, Near, L's own mother, and presumably the entire population of Shinigami, knows L's real name. Buzz knew, and therefore, Buzz must be Near. The conversation was relatively safe.
And now, they must focusing on catching a data hacker. A person – or persons – who seem to delight in removing large amounts of information from news websites, the databases of newsroom computers, and government-based public information websites. Online vandals, essentially. The strange thing is, they don't seem to target or support any particular news company. L wonders if they are trying to make some sort of infantile protest against the press in general. Or against society in general.
He wonders what sort of ridiculous name Matsuda would have given them, if he were still alive. He wonders what theories Naomi would have, if she were still by his side.
"Hello, L," someone says from the door. L hesitates, schooling himself, his fingers hovering over the keyboard.
Rae.
"Oh, you're back," he says, flippantly, without looking around. "And you sound cheerful. Does this mean you think I'm about to drop dead?"
"What are you working on?" Rae asks, ignoring the question. There's a strange, saccharine quality to its voice that L doesn't like. Maybe it actually has made plans to kill him.
"The news hacker," Raye replies. "Uh. Welcome back, Rae."
"Why are you helping L?" Rae asks, and Raye flinches.
"Look," he burbles. "I know what I said, but I couldn't actually leave. I tried. But I just. I'm not ready to be on my own, yet."
"Why do you need his help, L?" Rae continues, and okay, this is definitely leading somewhere. L wishes he'd had the forethought to wear his bulletproof vest.
"Raye is still a part of my team," L replies, as pettily has he can manage.
"Wouldn't it be easier just to ask Naomi to help?"
Is that a threat? L wonders. Are you implying that I'll be with Naomi, soon?
"Naomi is dead," L points out, still carefully not looking at Rae. Even though he wants to look. He wants confirmation that his Shinigami is safe.
"Is that actually a problem, though?" Rae asks. "I mean, she did manage to send you a whole lot of emails that were all only created the day after she died, right?"
L does not move. He stays statue-still, his heart drumming syncopatedly at the inside of his chest.
No, he thinks, blindly, stupidly. No.
"I've just been at an intensive computer-hacking course," Rae continues, and suddenly it is right upon L, dragging him violently out of his seat, so angry, so angry. "What the fuck is going on, L?"
tbc
a/n
+ no estimated time of next update. sorry guys.
+ I have not the spoons to reply at length to every comment and PM sitting in my inbox, but I will do the best I can starting today.
+ thank you for reading.