Wow, a really great response to this fic after only the first chapter! Thankyou so much, everyone who read, reviewed or both! I'm glad you all seem to be interested in the adventures of amnesiac-author!Light and Inspector Gadget-lookalike!L so far. :)
Thankyou to: fantasies4eva, Star Jinin, RandomTopic, SeraphChronoMage, Hime, Skyaze, AuraBlackWolf, Famirka, Sanzo4ever, NeoAddctee, -Red Angel-Blue Angel-, InkedButterfly, Kutsushita-Socks, Kazutaka-kun, Gabi Howard, SK100187, Poison's Ivy, Other, .L-, Vera-Sama, EmotionalBypass13, Bligy, Deus3xMachina, imfromjupiter, Scripta Lexicona, yellowrose87, anon, DarkBombayAngel, bookenworum, deathnoteno1fan-codegeasslover and ravensbbf!
So, yes! Moving swiftly on…
…to the most famous fictional detective of all!
II – Sherlock Holmes
Light was reading the book yet again when L showed up; still decked out in his stereotypical "detective" garb, he stood in the doorway with the accompanying doctor, folding his arms as Light looked up from his page.
"Light, the detective here says that you are to accompany him," the doctor said, seeming a little wary of his own words.
Light gracefully rose from his chair, looking coolly at L.
"That's right," he replied. "We'd already agreed that I would go with him."
The doctor gave a nod.
"Well, in that case, if you can just sign out at the desk on your way, you're free to go. You're already booked in for a check-up two weeks from now, so that's all you have to do."
Light gave a nod of his own, put on his coat, picked up his suitcase and tucked Death Note under his arm, crossing to the door.
"Okay, we can go," he said to L, who offered no reply but a lazy smile, gesturing to the open door, signalling for him to go first.
He didn't say anything, in fact, until they were outside the hospital, standing under the concrete canopy that overhung the doorway.
"I've ordered us a taxi," he said shortly, beginning to hunt in the pockets of his trench coat in search of something.
"Hm?" Light tilted his head, glancing at him sidelong. "That surprises me."
"Does it? I'm not so unkind as to make you walk, Light-kun – I knew you would have a suitcase."
"No, not that. I figured you'd have, like… a chauffeur or something."
L glanced back up at him, pausing in his – thus far – fruitless hunt.
"Is that so?" he asked, seeming amused. "Why did you get that impression?"
Light shrugged, not really having an answer.
"I don't know, I just… I…" He scowled, growing cross. "It was just a silly assumption. I don't know why I thought that, okay?"
L laughed softly, opening his coat and checking the inside pocket.
"How many detectives have chauffeur-driven cars, Light-kun?" he asked, the question rhetoric. "Even Sherlock Holmes, who had Watson as his assistant, wasn't driven around by him… Ah, there you are…"
He pulled out a packet of cigarettes and a silver lighter, offering the former to Light.
"No thankyou," Light replied in a hard voice.
He watched as L shrugged and took one out for himself with his teeth, lighting it up and giving a silent, smoky sigh of contentment.
"You smoke?" he went on.
L glanced at him.
"Obviously," he replied dryly. "Does that surprise you too?"
Light hesitated, then gave a small nod.
"I wouldn't have chalked you up as a smoker," he said.
L shrugged.
"That's because I didn't do it the first time you met me – so I have effectively shattered your first impression of me, haven't I?"
"Why didn't you?"
"I wouldn't smoke in a hospital, Light-kun. It would just be inviting doctors and nurses to lecture me."
"It's not healthy."
"I know."
"So why do you do it?"
L shrugged.
"If it wasn't this, it would be something else, wouldn't it? Sweets or alcohol or drugs… Sherlock Holmes took both cocaine and heroin, didn't he?"
"That's not an excuse!"
L smirked at him.
"Well, if only we were all as perfect as you, Yagami-sama."
"Don't insult me," Light bit out.
"You're right. I apologise." L glanced briefly at his cigarette. "But I'm still going to smoke this."
Light gave a snort of disgust.
"Go ahead, then," he muttered blackly.
L gave another little laugh.
"I like you, Light-kun," he said, leaning back against the wall.
"And don't say weird things to me," Light snapped.
L simply shot him a wry smile and said nothing else, redirecting his attention completely back to his cigarette; so Light distracted himself with the book again, opening it to the page he'd left off at.
As odd as it was, considering he had apparently written it, he couldn't say that he particularly liked it – but that said, it still kept him reading. It was well-crafted in that manner, so as to ensnare his attention even as it failed to properly stimulate his interest.
"I thought you said you had read it," L said absently.
"I'm reading it again," Light replied tersely, not looking up.
L gave a shrug.
"Well, that's a good thing," he murmured. "It will help for you to know the book as well as you can, considering you can't remember what your thought process was when you wrote it."
"Mm."
"Where are you?"
"Day after the third murder."
L nodded, more to himself, and was quiet again until the black taxi cab pulled up; helping Light with his suitcase and giving the driver an address.
"How do you know my address?" Light demanded as the car began to move and L leaned back into his seat.
L glanced at him oddly.
"I've done my research, Light-kun," he replied. "That's how you should always start."
"It makes you seem like a stalker," Light sulked.
"Oh, Light-kun, I am certain that there are far more interesting people in Japan to stalk than an amnesiac detective author," L sighed genially, drawing on the remains of his cigarette. "Though I must admit that you are an exceptionally amusing person to argue with…"
"I'm not here to amuse you!" Light said indignantly.
"No, you're here to help me solve this case," L agreed. "And incidentally, you're the one starting the arguments. You're a very defensive person."
"I am not!"
L grinned at him.
"See?"
Light scowled at him.
"Oh, shut up," he muttered eventually, going back to Death Note.
"Of course, I have a theory on why you're so defensive," L went on.
"I'm not listening anymore," Light said, his voice lilting like a little song.
L shrugged.
"A pity."
But he didn't speak to Light again, finishing his cigarette in thoughtful silence, gazing out of the window; Light looked up at him over the book, watching him for a long moment. He was so odd – his attire at once both suited him and looked all wrong on him, maybe because it looked completely out of place amidst contemporary "fashion", even that of detectives. It was like he was only wearing that outfit because he thought that was what detectives were supposed to wear.
Maybe he did. Maybe he'd grown up on those old pulp reprints as well, and had modelled himself after Sam Spade and Philip Marlowe.
But he didn't act like them. His behaviour was, on the contrary, more eccentric – friendly but somehow still guarded, with peculiar little nuances and an intelligence Light could sense about him, even though he hadn't truly displayed it. He got the impression that he could be ruthless and calculating – his mind carefully and tirelessly honed to the sharpness of a razor blade. His tongue, too, seemed sharp, even if he had been only mildly jesting with Light at this point.
Yes, he behaved more like Sherlock Holmes – perhaps that connection coming easily because L himself had already mentioned Holmes twice since leaving the hospital – whilst looking like Philip Marlowe.
It was… a bizarre combination – especially since it had been L himself too who had pointed out that there were vast differences between the eras of detective fiction. To then make a practice of merging the prototypes of Poe and Conan Doyle with the far later, more commodified variants created by the likes of Raymond Chandler and Dashiell Hammett seemed very hypocritical.
Somehow.
Light didn't think he had offended him, but L didn't talk again until they were at the door of Light's apartment, Light fishing his keys from his pocket with a melodic jingle.
"We can walk to your agent's office from here," the detective said, watching Light turn the key in the lock and push the door open.
"You want to see Mikami today?" Light asked, surprised.
"Only briefly."
"What help will he be?" Light went on, dragging his case into the hallway; he let L follow him in, pushing the front door shut behind him.
"Probably not much. But it's a good place to start."
"You keep saying that. It's like you have it all mapped out – how you should solve a case, with conveniently-numbered steps."
"Detective fiction is formulaic, isn't it?"
"Yes, but this isn't a detective story!"
"It's modelled after one, though." He nodded towards Death Note, winched safely under Light's arm again. "That one."
Light rolled his eyes, taking his case to his bedroom, L drifting after him as though a balloon on a string.
"You don't have to follow me, you know," Light said irritably, putting the suitcase on the bed and unzipping it.
"What else do you propose I do?"
"I don't know…" Light began taking things out of the case, not looking at him. "Honestly, I'm surprised you haven't pulled out a search warrant and started going through all of my cupboards…"
"I've already searched your apartment, Light-kun."
Light's head shot up.
"What?"
L gave a nonchalant shrug.
"I had to, once it became apparent that the murders were mirroring your book. The NPA did a search, too." He gave a little shake of his head. "Nothing was found, though."
"And what exactly were you looking for?" Light barbed, having stopped unpacking to fold his arms in irritation.
L blinked at him.
"Light-kun, I have to tell you… When it was first noticed that the murders correlated exactly with Death Note, you were a suspect. The prime suspect, in fact."
Light gave a snort.
"While I can see your point," he said sharply, "surely I wouldn't have been so idiotic as to mirror a string of murders after a book that I wrote."
"You'd be surprised at how idiotic some criminals are," L replied dryly.
"Even so," Light countered, ignoring him, "how could I have been the one responsible for the murders? I was in hospital all that time!"
"Well, that is partly why suspicion against you was dropped – but it was considered that the car crash and your subsequent three month admittance to hospital to recuperate was merely a clever cover-up."
"It's a perfectly solid alibi!"
"My point exactly."
"Oh, come on!" Light almost laughed. "That's ridiculous! Who… who would even think of that—?"
"You'd be surprised at how ingenious some criminals are," L cut in, allowing himself a very self-satisfied smile.
Light scowled at him and busied himself with unpacking again.
"Regardless," L went on, wandering over to Light's desk, "we don't have any suspects now."
"We?" Light glanced up at him again. "Are you actually affiliated with the NPA or ICPO or whatever?"
L shook his head.
"No, I'm a completely independent agent – but I know that neither of the organisations you mentioned have any suspects either. Still, I admit that it's hard to consider who would have a motive for killing those politicians…"
"What made you think that I had a motive?!"
"Light-kun, please don't be offended," L said wearily, sinking into the chair at Light's desk. "It's perfectly natural that we would think of you as a suspect, given that you have the closest connection to the inspiration source for the murders – whether you remember that connection or not. But suspicion against you has been completely dropped, which leaves us, understandably, back at Square One with no suspects whatsoever, however tenuous."
"Another politician, perhaps?" Light suggested.
L gave a nod.
"I believe the NPA taskforce are looking into it from that angle. It's a distinct possibility. Politics is a nasty business."
"Or maybe it's more of a corporate thing," Light went on thoughtfully. "You know, like a company threatening the politicians of certain parties to get them to invest or front their advertising campaigns or something."
L nodded again in agreement.
"Again, an excellent theory, and one well worth looking into. But…" He pointed to Death Note, lying on the sheets of Light's bed. "Neither of them explain the connection with that."
Light gave a hopeless shrug.
"I don't know," he admitted. "Maybe… maybe it's just a red herring, you know? Just something to decorate the murders, to throw off the authorities…"
"Mm. Well, if that's the case, it's worked so far, hasn't it?"
"But you remained convinced nonetheless that we're chasing some psychotic fan of my books."
"Light-kun," L sighed, "I really have no idea. I told you – you're my final hope. I wouldn't have troubled you with this, the very day you got out of hospital after such a traumatic experience, if I had any other option, but I'm at my limit. I truly am."
"And I've told you that I'll help you," Light replied, "but… honestly, L, I don't know how much of a help I'm going to be."
"Well, even if you turn out to be completely useless," L reasoned, amused again, "I'm sure I'll enjoy the company."
Teru Mikami's office was small and very, very neat – the kind of oppressive neatness that makes you afraid to touch anything for fear that you might move it a millimetre out of place and upset the balance of the self-absorbed universe that is that obsessively-organised space.
The agent himself was also extremely neat, almost implacably so; his hair was a glossy sheen of raven, like L's, but whilst longer it was also far neater, and although he also wore a tie like L, the knot of it was smaller, tighter, with clearly more time spent over it that morning before the mirror. He also wore glasses – thin and rectangular, perfectly complimenting the shape of his face.
In fact, everything about Teru Mikami seemed to both embody and demand complete perfection; but he seemed very pleased to see Light, his emotionless face suddenly coloured by a smile as he answered their knock and saw his favourite amnesia-afflicted author standing in the hall, L behind him, examining the ceiling with immense interest.
Mikami clasped his hands on the desk in front of him once he had Light and L sitting on the opposite side of it.
"I didn't think he'd have hunted you down already," he said, nodding towards L. "He came to see me last week."
"Did he tell you about the murders?"
Mikami nodded, smiling a little.
"Of course. Terrible business, but… great publicity, nonetheless."
"Great publicity?" Light repeated. "I thought all the printings of my books had been cancelled?! Not that I disagree with that having happened, but—"
Mikami interrupted him with a little laugh.
"Scandal sells," he said in faux-morose tones.
"I thought it was 'Sex sells'."
"Scandal sells even better. Believe me." Mikami smiled wryly at him. "There's only one thing worse than being talked about, and that's not being talked about. Famous words, and wise indeed."
Light arched an eyebrow.
"Oh?"
Mikami nodded.
"Oscar Wilde. From The Picture of Dorian Gray, I believe. But enough about his books – let's talk about yours. Your books are now not only notorious, but also hard to find – so naturally everybody wants them. Trust me, the sales of your next book are going to be huge."
"Mikami…" Light was shaking his head, wide-eyed. "There's not going to be another book. I don't remember—"
"But I have the first four chapters. You gave the hand-written manuscript to me for safe-keeping, the way you always do."
"But I…" Light rubbed frustratedly at his forehead. "I don't remember what should come next, so I can't write it, can I?"
"Well…" Mikami paused, albeit very briefly. "Then just write a new story. The fans love your Death God Detective character, Ryuk. Granted, this whole murder thing has become something of an inconvenience where the movie deal is concerned. A lot of the production companies agree that it would probably do well at the box office, but they're concerned that it might not even make it that far – that it might be pulled from production before its finished and scrapped because of the murder case. Misa Amane has agreed to front a campaign to get the deal finalised – after all, it would have been a huge stepping-stone in her career, but—"
"Mikami, please," Light interrupted wearily, "you're not listening to me. I don't think I can write anymore. When I reread my books… I have no sense of how I would have constructed them, I don't get any sense of familiarity from them… Hell, you know, I don't even like them!"
"But everyone else does," Mikami argued. "Light, they're a phenomenon, now more than ever. 'Kira' is the name on everybody's lips. There are authors who would kill for this kind of publicity!"
Kill…?
Light looked at L; the detective was regarding Mikami rather lazily, very obviously not really paying very much attention to what he was saying. Hadn't he heard him? Authors who would kill…?
That was something that they hadn't considered, wasn't it? Another author? But why would another author, so jealous of 'Kira', want to help his fame by…?
Unless… it had backfired. It was true that the murders had resulted in Light's books coming to a stop on the printing front and caused the movie deal to suffer equally, but both of those things had only made them even more famous than they had been before…
Mikami was shaking his head.
"Look, never mind," he sighed. "We'll worry about a new book once I've convinced them to start printing your old ones again…" He turned his attention to L. "Anyway, I presume this was your doing, detective. What can I do for you?"
"I want the manuscript," L replied calmly. "Well, plural. All of them. You have them, right?"
Mikami nodded, glancing again at Light.
"Are you okay with that, Light?"
Light nodded – actually, he kind of wanted to see them himself, mostly out of curiosity. He wanted to see these books that he'd allegedly written down on paper in his own handwriting, perhaps as proof that he'd written them.
"Alright." Mikami went into his desk drawer and took out a bunch of small metal keys; then rose and went to one of the big filing cabinets against the wall behind his desk.
"Everything you have," L reiterated. "Any notes, any scrapped chapters… I'm going to need all of it."
"Yes, yes…" Mikami unlocked the top drawer and took out a cardboard filing box, tightly closed with metal clamps. It wasn't really all that big, but it was obviously heavier than it looked, for Mikami slammed it down on the desk with quite a bit of force. "This is everything," the agent said, sinking back into his chair. "Light is unusual – he likes to submit the first draft of his books by hand. Most other writers use a word processor or typewriter. This is all three of the full first draft manuscripts for Ghosts of Dust, Poison Pen and Death Note, alongside the aforementioned first four chapters of his newest novel, plus a few notebooks containing plans and research notes."
L nodded and got up, picking up the box.
"Thankyou, Mikami. I'm sure this will be a great help."
He started towards the door; and Light rose too, nodding to Mikami before beginning to follow L.
"Who knows, Light," Mikami said from his desk, making him look at him again. "Maybe seeing all those books of yours written by your own pen will bring your memory back."
Light gave an absent nod.
"Maybe."
"And then you can write that fourth book and make me lots of money."
Light's smile soured.
"Bye, Mikami."
He shut the door behind him; L was waiting for him, still holding the box.
"More mercenary than he looks, hm?" the detective mused, of Mikami.
"Looks like it."
"Still, he has an excellent reputation as a literary agent. He obviously does his job well."
"Perhaps a little too well," Light muttered, glancing at the box. "Here, I'll take that."
L blinked, then shrugged and put the box into his outstretched arms; Light hadn't been expecting its weight and almost buckled beneath it, struggling to adjust his grip on it without dropping it. He looked incredulously at L, who had been holding it without any indication of a problem whatsoever despite the fact that he was physically smaller than Light himself.
"What?" L asked.
"Jeez, forget Mikami," Light snapped, beginning to walk. "You're stronger than you look."
L shrugged, falling into step alongside him.
"From you, I will take that as a compliment," he said.
"To be honest," L said, leaning against the doorframe, "I want to leave it here for today."
Light, kneeling on the floor of his living room, carefully taking the bound manuscripts out of the box, glanced up at him in surprise.
"It's only just gone midday," he replied, perplexed.
"I know, but I'm going to set you a little homework, and it's going to take you a while." L pointed to the manuscripts. "Read those. All of them. Every word that you wrote… I need you to read."
"L…!" Light shook his head incredulously. "Don't be ridiculous! That's asking me to read three books in less than—"
"I told you it would take a while." L wasn't smiling. "But this is important."
"L, look… I really don't think that this is going to help me get my memory back—"
"I know that. It doesn't matter. Maybe we don't need you to remember writing the books – but that doesn't change the fact that you did write them. So I need you to read those, Light-kun."
"L—"
"I'm leaving now. I'll be back tomorrow morning."
"I—no, no. Wait a second." Light scrambled to his feet and followed him to the door of the apartment. "I wasn't going to protest again… I just…"
"What, Light-kun?"
"Well, I… had a thought…"
"Another theory?"
"Sort of. It was… something Mikami said."
"I wouldn't take a great many things that Mikami says very seriously, Light-kun. He's clever, I think – but superficially so."
"It's got nothing to do with how smart or not smart Mikami is," Light snapped, growing impatient. "He didn't even realise that he said it."
"And what did he say?"
"He said… that some authors would kill to have this kind of publicity."
L frowned.
"As in… the kind of publicity that your books are getting right now?"
Light nodded.
"I don't think that he was implying anything," he went on. "I think it was just a thoughtless comment, but… it's something we didn't consider…"
"That it could be another author trying to sabotage you," L finished, clearly interested by Light's newest theory. "That's true… And it's a perfect motive which ties together both the book and the murders." He drifted into thoughtful silence for a few moments. "Alright, I'll have a look into that, Light-kun, since it's an excellent thought. You read those manuscripts like I asked."
"Oh, sure," Light said jokingly, opening the front door to let L out. "Steal my idea, Mr Real Detective."
L looked back at him from the corridor, apparently not seeing the humour.
"Light-kun," he replied expressionlessly, "I'd be rather more concerned about the murderer who stole your idea if I was you."
Fun fact: "Poly" is the Greek for "many" (as in Polytheism, etc), and ticks are little bloodsuckers. Do the math. :)
Hm, so… That Mikami. What to do with him, huh?
That said, it's fun to write him interacting with L, even if he's not as mad as he is in the canon. I often wish L had lived that long, just to have to deal with Mikami and his "Sakujo!!111!!11!1!!"-complex…
Soooo… oh noes, what will happen next?
I know. You don't. Har har har.
;)
RobinRocks xXx