...Apparently, he wasn't dead.
Yet.
He didn't know exactly how long he'd been here, but it seemed to him that it hadn't been very long. It seemed almost corny to him, because he'd already had what he believed should have been his last thought... but maybe not.
It was sort of confusing, not to mention annoying.
His second time dying, and not even he knew quite what was going on.
The heart attack that had killed him the first time didn't leave him here, somewhere in what was probably purgatory - the first time, he'd just gone straight into cold, unfeeling death. But for the moment he had lost consciousness, yet wasn't dead and still seemed perfectly capable of carrying on thought.
And strangely, only one thought seemed to come to mind.
...But really?
Shakespeare?
Of course it was Hamlet. Death, death, and more death was all the play was really about, but in the strangest ways it reminded him of the Kira case...
Indeed; he'd sent Near that message so many months ago with only a portion of a line, knowing that his successor would be smart enough to catch the very subtle clue within it.
"To be or not to be..."
It was only mentioned once, in one of the few conversations he'd ever had with the residents at Wammy's House. He'd been connected to them via the standard laptop; they'd been asking questions, and he'd been answering them. Most of them were things like, "Have you been to...?" and, "What made you do...?" Not many stood out in his mind, although he had perhaps scarred them with an unorthodox response to the question "What are you afraid of?"
However: neither Near nor Mello had spoken a single word that L could recall. They were listening, certainly, but they did so with a hostile look in their eyes. It set them apart from the others, and it was why he'd eventually chosen them as his top two successors.
Matt, who became third, didn't speak much; however, he did ask a question. Just one, and it seemed rather out-of-character compared to what L had seen and heard of him from beforehand.
"What's your favorite Shakespeare play?"
Some of the other children had snickered at that, but L definitely answered the question.
"'To be or not to be'," he began, "'that is the question'..."
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles
And, by opposing, end them. To die, to sleep
No more – and by a sleep to say we end
The heartache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to – 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished. To die, to sleep
To sleep, perchance to dream. Ay, there's the rub,
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause. There's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life.
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
Th' oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of th' unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? Who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscovered country from whose bourn
No traveler returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all,
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pitch and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action.—Soft you now!
The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons
Be all my sins remembered.
Everyone was quiet by the end of his short speech. Some of the children looked almost dumbfounded, and a few appeared rather skeptical.
Matt just nodded his head. "Hamlet, Act III, Scene i... Nice." He turned back to his GameBoy without another word.
"So... why Hamlet?" one girl asked.
On his end of the connection, L smirked. "Because," he replied, "I find myself facing the prince Hamlet's problems every day."
Shouldn't these children know these things by now? he wondered silently. Then again, it was probably one thing to hear about him from teachers and quite another to hear about him directly from the great detective himself.
"But you're not a prince!" one boy shouted.
"No, but I do face difficult choices. In my profession," L explained, "I am constantly forced to make nearly impossible decisions and prioritize what is important to me."
"You prioritize the law, right?" someone asked.
"Perhaps," he allowed, "but how many laws do you think I follow when working on certain cases?"
"All of them?"
"...Almost none of them, actually. It is not that I don't follow some of the rules - like traffic signals, for example - but the problem with many investigative offices is that they are restricted to the law. When a particularly difficult case comes up, they call me because they know that no matter what it takes, I solve the case. It's one of the advantages to my position... It can also be a nightmare."
"What's so bad about it?"
"...Because it means that I often send people to die."
Nobody spoke. The room was completely silent as they all stared at the laptop with wide eyes.
Matt was no longer playing his GameBoy, Mello was no longer eating his chocolate bar, and Near was no longer concentrating on his toys.
All of them had the same look in their eyes now.
"Do not get me wrong," L continued softly. "I know that it's necessary, and that it is a task that needs to be done. But that doesn't make it easier... That being said, whoever should take this position after me must be very strong... No, they have to be more than strong: they must be the best. Be the smartest, be the strongest, be firm in their beliefs. I cautiously add that perhaps at your best, some of you will beat me. That's fine. If that happens..."
He trailed off.
"What if that happens?" one small child asked.
L paused and responded generically, but he didn't tell them what was really running through his head.
If that happens, then you have become a monster.
At some point later, he realized why Near, Mello, and later Matt had had that very nasty gleam in their eyes.
It was because they knew. They knew not who he was, where he was, or even what his name was. But they did know one thing that was infinitely important.
They knew he was downright lying.
When L had been asked what he was most afraid of, he'd admitted it was monsters. Especially lying monsters. He'd also admitted that he himself was a lying monster. Most of the children heard that and, rationally speaking, knew that while L might lie, he wouldn't do that to them. When the conversation had moved on to his explaination on Hamlet, being strong, and sending people to die for their crimes, the children had all unconciously been assuring themselves that L was their idol and that he was being honest - he hated to have people die at his order. L understood human nature, and he was 99.9% sure that was what those children had been thinking.
However.
Near, Mello, and Matt each saw through it.
The three of them knew: they hadn't forgotten the earlier lesson just because it was applying to someone they believed in and idolized. They were smart enough to remove the rose-colored glasses. It seemed silly, that they were the only three that had the correct mentality on the situation, but L had knew enough about human nature to say confidently that they were three in a million - they completely trusted absolutely no one in the world, and they especially didn't trust him.
L never met any of them in person as himself except for Mello, who was able to figure him out. Never once, as L or as a stranger with an alias, had Mello not been analyzing him over and questioning everything he said.
"Hey L," he'd asked. "Why'd you lie that one time when you said you didn't like to send criminals to the chair?"
L glanced at him, frowning slightly at Mello's blunt choice of words. "...Would you rather hear another lie," he asked in reply, "or hear the truth?"
But Mello already knew the truth. So did Near and Matt.
Just because L didn't regret the deaths of those evil didn't mean he reveled in them either.
But feeling indifferent still made him a monster.
A lying, emotionless monster.
And now, all he could do was remember, barely consciously, what Shakespeare had written.
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all...
It was true: conscience really did do terrible things to one's professional life when it became involved. L himself could testify to that, because the only case that directly involved him personally was the Kira case - and that didn't turn out very well for him.
But.
L had entirely forgotten that Hamlet, before his death, really did find an answer to his question.
Let be.
Human nature couldn't be changed. Repressed, perhaps, but never completely overridden. After his first death, L had begun to see that, but he never had really let that take root in his mind. He still acted logically and detached, but it wasn't quite the same. Seeing Light had done it. For the first time in his life, L wanted to kill someone with his bare hands - and was completely willing to do it, too. He'd let his complete rage take over, and finally he understood the concept of revenge and why it felt so damn good.
And he'd learned something else.
When Mido had said L was his friend.
"You consider this a friend?"
"He's more of a friend than you ever were."
The doctor could have denied it. He could have simply said, "No," and Light wouldn't have even attempted to kill him for the final time.
But he didn't. He'd openly said so while staring his potential murderer straight in the eye.
...
Did conscience really make men cowards?
...
Let be.
But it was too late to worry about that.
Whatever will happen will happen...
Mido won't bring me back a second time.
The last real thought of comfort L could remember was that Shakespeare was right.
To die,
To sleep;
To sleep,
Perchance to dream.
And then the dream swallowed him whole, and he knew no more.