A/N: Sorry about the later updates. I might have to make them an every two week update. I got a new job and have to get a new car, so I've been working a bunch and been so tired I go right to bed. So until I get back into a rhythm, the updates will be slower, but I will do my best to keep them consistent. Love you all!

*L's POV*

The next few days went by un-seemingly. They were all just one big day, a blur to me. Light came and gone for work or therapy. Even went out drinking. I remembered hearing something about it in the background while I continued working. I wasn't sure if he ever actually left or not.

I was far too focused on this case. On my own case. Where the hell was I supposed to find this person? There was no trace. Nothing. Nowhere. I wasn't sure how that was possible when once something goes online, it is there forever. But in this case, it just wasn't. And it was driving me crazy.

I jumped as my laptop was slammed down in front of me. I looked up to see a disappointed looking Light.

"Can you please pay attention to me?" he asked in a hurt voice. I was taken aback by the words. I didn't know that I had been that absent. I had tried to answer him when he spoke to me, but maybe it had all been in my head. "I've been trying to explain something to you. Please listen."

"Of course." My voice was rusty with disuse. How long had I been sitting here? I had only stopped when Light had made me and only ate when he placed something beside me. I just really wanted to find this Kira.

"I got a call. I need to go to a crime scene. Would you like to come?" Light stood in his uniform, his arms folded over his chest. My face slid into a look of dislike, and Light rolled his eyes exaggeratedly. "You have been sitting here for over a week, you are going outside."

"A week?" I asked in disbelief. There was no way.

"And I talked to our chief and he said that you can come. Let's go. We have quite a drive and I need to be there soon."

"Why me?" I questioned, staggering to my feet as Light pulled me off of the bed.

"You need to get out. I bragged about you. You're a PI. You're coming with me." Light began pushing me towards the door. "It's been snowing, you need to wear something warm."

"You have to let me get dressed then," I said, trying to turn back to our bedroom.

Light paused and I turned around to see him with his hand to his head. I reached out and took his face in my hands, giving him a concerned look. His eyes were a bit glassy, but he gave me a smile. "Don't worry," he said dismissively. It's just a migraine. I'll take some medicine before we head out."

"I thought you had stopped getting them," I muttered, my eyes wandering over his face.

"I always seem to get them after my therapy sessions. I think it's just the sharing. I'm still not used to it. I don't think it's anything to worry over," Light pushed, taking my wrists to lower my hands from his cheeks. "Hurry and get ready, love." He placed a deep kiss to my forehead before heading for the stairs.

Now that he pointed it out, the migraines were almost always related to his therapy sessions. But that wasn't unusual. There were many cases of patients suffering from intense migraines after talk sessions. They were more present in EMDR sessions, but I wasn't sure which Light's therapist was practicing. It didn't really matter anyways. But I was still worried over him.

I had stayed back by the edge of the police tape while Light was near the new body that they had found. Blue flashed around us from the multiple police cars, drowned out by the weak winter light, and there was chatter from radios as different people had passed. I felt like there was someone staring at me, even though they were more focused on their work than on me.

The only one who had stayed by me was Adam. And he wasn't as bad as Light had made him out to be. He was a bit talkative, but I could ignore him easily enough. And this had to be just the tip of the iceberg with Adam.

And the coldness of the air was cutting. There wasn't much snow falling closer to the city, but the bitter chill drilled down to the bone. Our breath hung deadly in the air and everyone's noses were red. I huddled closely to myself to save as much body warmth as I could, my fingers frozen in my jacket pockets.

I frowned, trying not to worry as I watched Light examine the corpse, every movement too controlled and inadequately flamboyant. He seemed diminished, and the subtle wrongness was off putting. He was going through the motions, like the hands of a clock, but it was all just wrong.

"Is he alright?" Adam asked from beside me. "Barely said a word when he got here, ignored everyone and he looks..." Adam's shoulders shifted uncomfortably and I could see his face settle into one of genuine concern.

"I don't know," I got out, which was sadly the truth. "He's been getting bad migraines." I kept my voice low, unsure of why I didn't want Light to somehow overhear me.

"He seems..." Adam trailed off, his lips pursed. "It's just that he... Looked like this, you know, before?"

"Before?" I asked, feeling as if the conversation had turned down some strange tangent. "Before what?"

"Before he cleaned up," Adam replied, quick and quiet. "He didn't explain it well, but we all knew he was on something. You can spot the signs of withdrawals a mile away. Whatever he was on, it was some hard stuff. He used to turn up at crime scenes and be all –" He gestured weakly at where Light was still crouched, looking thoughtfully at the victim's face. "Not right. I swear, he was the most high-functioning addict I'd ever seen. You had to look close to realise what was wrong at first, but it was like this – like someone trying too hard not to be drunk, you know?"

"Too self-aware," I nodded, sickness twisting in my gut. "But he's not using. I know what to look for and I'm his roommate. There is no way he could have gotten anything past me. This is something different.

Adam snorted with self-derision. "He's clever. More than clever. He's good at hiding it."

"I know," I mumbled, straightening up a bit as a cold wind blew. "I still don't think that he's using. I just wish I knew what this was."

Over by the body, Light straightened up, and I saw him sway. It was faint, quickly hidden by tight muscles, but it was enough to make my stomach go cold. With half an ear, I listened to someone call orders to the police, instructing them to take control of the scene. They were parked up at an old industrial estate, and I watched the police officers spread out, looking for clues across the vast sprawl of land.

Soon Adam was called to go over to the body as Light came back to the car, apparently concentrating on where he was putting his feet. This close, I could see a faint gleam of sweat at Light's hairline, despite the chill of the day. His eyes were pinched at the corners, and his pale skin had taken on an unhealthy tinge. When he spoke his voice was softer than usual, not decisive, but something pointed: a straight answer.

"Carbon monoxide poisoning. Landlord panicked, made it look like a rape gone wrong. Sexual abuse conducted with an object, I imagine. Do what you want with that," Light said to the chief who had come to stand beside me as well, though he was more focused on Light than me.

"Aren't you going to tell me how it happened?" the chief questioned. I wasn't sure how Light normally acted at crime scene, but this was so out of character that it sent a chill up my spine. "I can't just arrest him because you say so."

Light blinked, but it was too slow. I stepped a tad closer, trying to check his pupils without him noticing me. Not that it worked. Light just gave me a disapproving look before he answered.

"Carbon monoxide poisoning is obvious. She's pink. Add that to the fact that there are no signs of a struggle suggests that she was moved here, and abused, post-mortem. She lived in the low rent flats over there." He gestured to one of the tower blocks dominating the skyline. "Ex council properties now privately owned and rented out cheap. Who would want to hide carbon monoxide poisoning? A landlord that was shit at maintenance."

The chef nodded and walked away, giving ordered to other people who were standing around. Adam had wandered back over now. Light had said that Adam was like a puppy that followed him around, and that's exactly how Adam looked.

I frowned as I noticed a gentle, steady tremor running through the younger man's frame. It was subtle, not the ravages of a fever, but something else. Adam folded his arms over his chest, his voice dropping to a quiet whisper as he spoke.

"What's wrong with you?"

A tight sound came from Light's throat and a two of his fingers went to his right temple. "Why must you talk to loud?" Light asked, his eyes clenched shut as both of his hands went to his face as if to block it from the sound of Adam's voice.

"Leave it," I ordered firmly, taking one of Light's wrists and pulling him to look at me. "You need to tell me what's wrong so that I can help."

This time the sway was more obvious, and Light's weight pressed against me, leaning forward like he knew I could hold him up if necessary. The fan of his lashes did not part, but after a few moments his lips moved, framing whispered words that I had to cock my head to hear.

"My head is failing."

He opened his eyes then, veins making road-maps across the whites, but it was his pupils that caught my attention. The right one looked normal for the amount of light around, but the left was significantly larger, and when I carefully shielded Light's eye with his hand, the dilation was far too sluggish.

"Have you hit your head?" I demanded, guilt turning my stomach. I should have been more present the last week. I had slipped back into my old ways, and I couldn't' do that anymore. Not with Light. "Should I call an ambulance?"

"No!" Light said so loudly that he flinched at the sound of his own voice, rocking back and forth on his feet as if the noise had been something physical.

"I think that-"

"Please stop," Light muttered, interrupting Adam, one hand curling in the collar of my jacket as if he was trying to anchor himself. "Please make him leave."

"Me?" Adam questioned, shock in his voice. "Ok. Let me know how you're doing later. Hope you feel better, man." Adam gave a sigh and moved off towards a police cruiser.

I reached up a hand, wiping some sweat from Light's brow only to recoil as he whimpered in distress. I needed to get him back home. Somewhere out of the cold, somewhere that was dark and where I could give him the medical attention that he needed.

I lead him back to the car, fighting against myself. A large part of me wanted to forget going home. I wanted to take him to a hospital, somewhere where there were scans, painkiller and emergency equipment. Seeing Light like this made my thoughts jump to causes for the pain, like brain injury, aneurysm, or stroke. Was there something in his skull, some flaw killing him in front of me?

"Don't go," Light said softly, his hand reaching out to clasp mine once more until he climbed into the car. I let him lean, loose-limbed and drained against me while I propped myself uncomfortably against the closed door. A rough growl erupted from the engine, making Light jerk, and his spare hand flew to his ears as he murmured, "Tastes like petrol."

"Don't worry," I whispered, swallowing as he turned his face into the dark, hollow curve of my neck. "I'm here. We'll fix this."

By the way that Light pressed himself closer to me when the car started off, the engine must not have been a purr, but a roar.

"Did you take something?" I asked in as soft a voice as I could. "If you did, you need to tell me." My lips were close enough to brush Light's ear, but my voice was tense and so full of concern, it couldn't have been much of a comfort.

He did answer eventually, as if he had to take everything that I had said an put it together like a puzzle. "I took Paracetamol and Codeine, recommended dose." It was a whisper that vibrated against my neck. "It's not working."

I relaxed slightly, relieved. At least he hadn't overdosed on anything. My hand skimmed, in what I hoped was a soothing way, up and down his arm, as he somehow huddled closer to me. He fairly quickly fell asleep and I could only hope that the pain was absent while he slept.

I did my best to focus back on my two biggest cases, but my mind kept returning to Light. This was more than a migraine. This was more than what some over the counter anti-inflammatory drug could fix.

We arrived back home, and I gently shook Light awake, trying to shift his weight slightly so the ache in my back from leaning up against the car's door would ease a bit. Light grumbled, staying in the same position he had been. The car came to a stop and I opened the door, carefully getting out, Light now holding himself up. I outstretched my hand to him, but he just looked at it angrily.

"Va te faire foutre," he spat.

My eyes widened as I stared at him. I was more shocked at the language rather than the insult he gave me. "That was French. Can you speak French?"

"Un petit peu." A little bit. That was my answer.

He never told me he knew French. But I was more interested in the fact that that was what he was speaking at the moment, even through I was speaking English. "And you can understand me?"

"Évidemment." Obviously. It was a harsh reply.

My head was having difficulties wrapping around what was happening, but it was interesting nonetheless. What was happening in his brain that made it so he was speaking French? And somehow, I could speak English and he seemed to be able to translate it perfectly to French.

I took his hand and pulled him from the car, closing the door after him. He winced, a groan of misery in his throat. "Coup de feu," he whined, hand tightly gripping mine. I had shut the door too hard. It was going to be difficult to get anything done if even the slightest sound caused him to recoil.

The whole ordeal of getting from the car to the flat was unpleasant. His muscles were working, but only in an approximation of their normal manner. It was as if he had forgotten how long his legs were, so each step either fell short or jarred him.

My arm was wrapped around his waist, helping him up the stairs with a steady patience that I was afraid would eventually run thin. When we reached the room, I eased him down on the bed, afraid I'd break him like spun glass. Light sat on the edge of the mattress, his elbows on his knees and his shaking fingers pressed to his temples.

I knelt down in front of him, my hands on his knees. "Is there anything that I can do to help? At all?"

"Rest," he managed, weakly pulling the scarf from around his neck and tossing it to the floor. I helped him shrug from his coat. He tugged at his shirt and then the rest of his clothing. "Dark," he breathed, lowering his head into his hands when he fully removed his most restricting garments.

"I won't turn on the lights," I assured him as I did my best to get him to lie down.

"Everything that touches me hurts."

My hands paused momentarily at his voice. It had cracked and tears were glistening on his cheeks. I bit the inside of my cheek, unsure of what to do. I pulled up the sheet and carefully placed it over him, afraid that any more weight would seem too smothering. Light stifled a rough cry of pain, and grabbed another pillow, placing it over his eyes.

"I feel like I'm going to throw up," he mumbled, his voice muffled by the pillow. I went over to the desk where a trash can was and returned to the bed, placing it within reaching distance for Light.

"Try to sleep. I'm going to see if I can find you any medicine," I said as softly as I could. I didn't receive a reply, but I was sure that his own voice would just make his head hurt more than it already was.

I left the room and leaned up against the wall, running a hand through my hair as I exhaled deeply. I had no idea what to do. I have never heard of anything like this. Even migraines did not result in symptoms this extreme. Characteristically, a migraine described an acute, recurrent head-ache accompanied by nausea, vomiting, visual disturbance and disorientation, although many other symptoms were also indicated. Sometimes they occurred in "storms" affecting a patient four or five times in a month before vanishing for years. The cause was not well-documented, and neither was the treatment.

Sensitivity to light and sound, fine. Nausea and sometimes fainting, fine, but to not be able to have anything touch you was different. And then in the car he had mentioned that it tasted like petrol. Could he actually taste that? And French? When the hell did he learn French?

Synaesthesia, allodynia, aphasia... They could have been possible answers, but to have all of them at the same time struck me as odd. Maybe a blood clot to the brain? No. He was far too young, even if people with migraines were considered at risk.

Minimising the amount of sensory input was probably the best way of helping him. If I kept the room dark and quiet, that would probably be for the best. And if he could rest, maybe this was just something Light could sleep off. The human body was prone to odd episodes of unexplainable phenomenons.

I pushed myself up off of the wall and made my way downstairs to the bathroom. I opened the doors under the sink and searched through items for medicine. He could take another dose of codeine right now, but I almost wished I had something that was stronger. Maybe the best thing I could offer was basic medical training and a comforting presence. I could always call a doctor if things became much worse.

Creeping back up the stairs and to the bedroom door, I eased the handle down, hearing the metal slide free of the catch before I nudged my way inside. The hinges stayed silent, and though the room was very dark, there was still enough light for me to make out Light's form on the bed, outlined by the drape of the sheet.

He was lying on his back, a pillow pressed over his brow and covering his eyes. In the frail illumination of the room, he looked monotone, bleached of colour and washed out. Even the usually pink flesh of his lips was pallid, parted as they were around every steady breath. Sleeping then. His body was too lax for anything else, his bare shoulders rolled back into the mattress and his fingers motionless at his side.

It was chilling in a way to see someone who had once been a god among men reduced to nothing more than a broken man. It just reminded me that we were all human and everyone had a breaking point.

With the greatest amount of care possible, I reached out and flicked on the bedside lamp, hoping that the additional glow would not disturb Light. The idea of allydonia as a symptom – a confusion of the pain response where even the slightest touch could register as agony, came back. If I could, I would do as much as I could by sight.

I knelt down beside the bed, watching the pulse throbbing in the hollow of Light's jaw, counting off the beats. It did not take long to conclude Light's pulse rate was high, and venular distortion also suggested that his blood pressure was up. There were no obvious signs of shivers or sweats, and I cautiously reached out, hovering my palm over Light's exposed sternum. It was inaccurate as hell, but I was still comforted by the normal level of heat radiating away from Light's body.

I flicked off the bedside lamp and carefully walked around to my side of the bed and grabbed my laptop. I sat beside Light and turned my computer on, making sure the sound and the brightness were as low as possible. Hopefully with Light being asleep, the whirl of the fan wouldn't bother him too much. I would give him the medicine when he woke.

For now, I needed to research.