The first time it happened, I blamed it on the airplane food. Airplane food was notoriously nasty. Vigorously processed, stuffed in an unventilated cupboard, and then put into a microwave to be reheated. The Victorians ate better than that. This was practically medieval.
Then, the second time it happened, I labelled it as stress. Needless to say, I was very fucking stressed out. Both my lover and best friend had died within the space of two weeks and I fucking knew who was responsible but couldn't say anything. Not to mention, the same mystical serial killer who'd murdered them was probably targeting me as well - which, despite the advantage I had against him, was a very unsettling thought.
However, after visiting the bathroom for the third time during the flight to throw up my empty stomach, I could no longer deny that something was seriously wrong. As I returned to my designated seat, I began to ponder the list of possibilities.
1. I'd caught food poisoning.
Not a chance. I hadn't eaten any eggs or raw meats in the past week. In fact, I'd barely eaten anything at all. It wouldn't make sense.
2. I had a serious gastric infection.
Hm. Unlikely, but still possible. But if it was bad enough to make me vomit this many times, surely I'd be showing other symptoms?
The last thought that came to my mind (as it does with all paranoid females, regardless of the circumstance) was that I was pregnant. In response to that, I audibly scoffed, drawing the attention of several passengers trying to sleep. There was no way I could be pregnant. I was well protected against it, and I'd made sure of that long before I'd even met L. Getting knocked up just wasn't a possibility.
Still, the longer I thought on it, the more things seemed to make sense. I'd had other symptoms - symptoms that didn't fit into the criteria of other illnesses - and, as I listed them, the more the worry started to set in.
The vomiting? Easy. Morning sickness.
The tenderness in my chest? A rise in progesterone levels.
Fatigue? Well, that one could've been caused by the fact I hadn't been sleeping much... or the depression that was slowly crushing my soul.
Being constantly hungry despite a lack of appetite? I'd just assumed I was missing L and wanted a way to comfort myself.
But no, I realised. Oh no. I was eating for two.
Fuck.
I remained catatonic for the rest of the flight, thankfully not requiring another embarrassing trip to the bathroom. For the remaining hours, I sat and reasoned with myself that I was overthinking; that this was just the result of stress and poor sleep.
It didn't make sense. I'd been fitted with a contraceptive IUD over three years ago and I'd gotten it for a reason - it was one of the most effective examples of female birth control out there. I barely ever got my period, maybe once or twice every year. The chances of getting pregnant with that were slim to none... but apparently not slim enough.
I tried not to dwell on it too much until I knew for sure (the key word being: tried). As soon as we touched down at JFK and my feet were planted on US soil, I marched through the airport to the closest pharmacy and bought a stack of pregnancy tests. The cashier gave me the most incredulous look as he scanned them through and honestly, I couldn't blame him. My thoughts raced a mile a minute and I shakily slid the cash over the counter and collected my tests in a bag.
Sitting alone in that bathroom stall was an incredibly lonely experience, made worse by the knowledge that I wouldn't technically be alone if this test came back positive. Unable to sit still, I fiddled and paced as the test marinated on the side of the toilet, my thoughts coming too erratically to streamline them into one conscious notion.
When the time was up, I crept towards the toilet and took a quick glance, then another. At first, I assumed it was a negative (strangely enough, the emotion that followed wasn't one of overwhelming relief) but, peering closer, there was a faint second line sitting beside the first. Small as it was, I wasn't sure if my eyes were playing tricks on me. I flicked it, held it up to the light, but the result didn't seem to get any clearer.
What the hell? Was that a yes or no?
Frustrated, I took another, and then a third for good measure. Those came back with a similar result, except some lines were darker and much more distinct. Much to my own dread, there was no way to deny that these tests were presenting a very steady supply of positives.
In that moment, my brain went silent. No thoughts, no panic. Just quiet acceptance of the fact laid out before me. Slowly, thoughts started to trickle in and I began to consider just what this meant...
I was immediately sick again.
It was a little known fact that Christmastime in New York was the equivalent of Hell on Earth.
For tourists, it probably seemed like the opposite. Sure, it was beautiful and magical to witness the glittering lights in Times Square, or the huge spruce tree at Rockerfeller Center. It was like Saint Nick himself had exploded over the city and sent nauseatingly saccharine festivity seeping into the pores of the street.
But for the locals, it was a bloodbath. Even just trying to get home after a hard day at work became a scene out of The Hunger Games. As such, the airport I'd landed at was rammed full like a pack of sardines as tourists from across the globe eagerly scrambled to sacrifice their soul to maximalist consumerism. I moved like a ghost through the crowd, not distinguishable enough for others to notice and, frankly, too numb to care that I was being bumped and shoved from all angles. Nevertheless, by the time I managed to claw myself out of the horde, my body was flooded with a sense of overwhelming relief.
Now it was just a case of getting home. St Mary's was situated on the outer border of Staten Island, so getting a taxi was out of the question with the amount of cash I had in my purse. Thankfully, as I peered down the long stretch of road that formed the pick-up point, a familiar face greeted me. I wasn't sure if it was the hormones or the sudden wave of grief that hit when I remembered just what (or, rather, who) had brought me home, but I felt compelled to wrap my arms around Jason in a tight embrace. The man stumbled back and slowly - cautiously, like I was a wild animal - returned the hug.
"Woah, kid! That's one hell of a greeting, especially from you."
Not dignifying him with a response, I kept my face buried in his chest. He reeked of cigarettes - and usually I'd be retching in disgust - but, in this instance, it was weirdly comforting. He smelled of the closest thing I had to home.
"You look terrible," the man said and I muttered a quiet fuck you as I pulled away. Unfazed, Jason began to lead me towards his car.
"How was your flight?" he pestered, opening the door for me. The strain in his tone told me he felt awkward, and I didn't have the energy to force a conversation neither of us wanted to have.
"Can we not do this right now?" I asked as I settled in my seat. "I'm not in the mood for small talk."
Mercifully, the man agreed and the rest of the journey home passed by in silence, save for the dulcet tones of the jazz station Jason insisted on listening to. Usually, I'd make a fuss and switch the radio over to something a little more stirring, but I felt I needed something soothing. The past few days had not been kind to my blood pressure.
As we made our way out of the hustle and bustle of the city and crossed into the Island onto St Mary's property, I took a moment to take in the familiar sights that were once my playgrounds. High iron gates connected to even higher walls, obstructing any outsider's view of the structure that lay within. Tall gable roofs and deep red bricks made up an intimidating façade (or, at least, that's how it appeared when I first arrived all those years ago) and green fields stretched to each edge of the perimeter. Off to one side sat a little chapel that housed a depiction of our matron saint and her holy son on the cross. Once, I'd considered that place beautiful (if not an annoyance because of how much I despised attending Mass). In that moment, it just seemed morbid to witness the ultimate display of martyrdom now that I'd seen death in its purest - and cruellest - form. I turned my head away before the thoughts got too much.
A handful of younger kids ran up to Jason's car as we approached, all happy and smiley to see their director. Many shoved papers in his face as we exited the vehicle, eager for some praise or valued feedback. To his credit, Jason made sure to acknowledge each and every one before ushering me inside.
It had been almost two years since I'd last stepped foot in the orphanage but you wouldn't think it because of the way all eyes were suddenly pinned on me, widening in recognition. Some of the older kids offered greetings that were pleasant enough, and some whispered or intentionally dodged my path. I wasn't offended at the coldness. After all, many kids here were old enough to remember what I did. Clearly, my infamy had stuck.
Leading me through winding corridors, Jason welcomed me into his office and motioned for me to sit. Looking around, I noted how his office, like the building itself, hadn't changed at all. I'd always considered his office to be like a time capsule, decorated with old records, books, and memorabilia - most of which was older than I was. Littering the walls were pictures of old faculty members and students from as early as '63. I never had an official graduation from the institution but Chris had. Peering closer at the one dated June 1999, I saw Chris' face smiling back at me and my heart panged with pain.
"I know you don't appreciate sugar-coating so I'll get straight to it," Jason's voice cut through the silence as he got settled in his own chair, pulling out a small stack of papers. "The results of Chris' autopsy will take a couple weeks I'd garner. Until then, unfortunately, what happened to him is all hearsay."
"Hearsay, my ass," I hissed, plopping myself in the chair opposite. "Kira was the one who killed him. I know it was."
"And I believe you," my director soothed, lowering his voice as he leaned across the table. "But you can't go around announcing that. At best, you'll just sound crazy. At worst, you'll incite a mob who's dead set on defending their beloved hero. America has become very pro-Kira since you've been away."
Oh, I was painfully aware of that. I'd seen the posters on the sides of buildings, the profane graffiti smeared across walls - all calling out in reverence for 'true justice', singing the praises of a murderer. Even the papers had forsaken an unbiased approach in favour of spreading pro-Kira propaganda. It was dystopian, and I hated to see how many people supported the bastard who'd caused us all so much grief.
The most miserable thing about it were the areas that were once home to some of Manhattan's seediest folk (grounds that I'd once called my own turf) were desolate. Sure, to some, that was a good thing. But, when looking at the bigger picture, it only managed to evoke a sense of sadness in me. Whilst growing up there, I'd seen kids my age who were in the exact same boat as I was - doing the unimaginable in order to survive. I wondered where they were now. Had they managed to get off the streets or did they become just another statistic for Kira to check off his hitlist?
I think Jason noticed the mournful gaze that drew across my eyes like a mist and quickly steered the conversation into more tepid waters.
"Anyway, to get us back on track, I'm obliged to inform you that Chris updated his will not too long ago, way back when you guys first joined the case. The solicitor has already gone through it with me. Turns out he left behind some money for you."
I blinked away the sadness in my eyes in favour of a more touched expression. "He did?"
Nodding, Jason slid a small collection of papers across the desk which highlighted all of the physical and monetary assets that were left in my name. Scanning through the list, the emotion I felt gave way to shock as I realised how well Chris had done for himself (and how well hidden he'd kept it too). Jason looked at my expression and chuckled.
"Are you really surprised? He was always more savvy with money than you were."
"I'll choose to ignore that," I grumbled, flipping through the pages. "I knew he had a fortune stashed somewhere but I didn't realise how far that stretched. How much did he have in total?"
"Well, he inherited about $75K from his dad when he turned eighteen and invested that to get a 42% return across various stocks. Add that to all the money he earned for the jobs he'd taken over the years and he ended up with nearly $800k in the bank."
I gave a low whistle, impressed, and Jason concurred.
"Most of it's going to you, non-surprisingly," he added. "You were the closest thing Chris had to true family and he really cherished you. He loved you a lot."
Giving pause, I allowed that comment to sink in and digest, trying not to dwell on the searing pain it evoked in me. For the first time, I managed to conjure up the image of Chris without immediately breaking out into loud sobs (huzzah - progress) but that didn't mean it didn't hurt.
"Don't, Jace..." I said gently, feeling his words slowly chip away at the paper-thin resolve I'd been working at building back up.
"Sorry, kid," he murmured, shooting me an apologetic gaze and clearing his throat to diffuse the tension, swiftly adding: "The remainder is being divided up between St Mary's, a selection of charities, and the lovely creature who birthed him."
"Huh, I didn't even know his mom was still alive," I commented, watching Jason's expression grow sour as he nodded.
"Unfortunately, she's still with us. When daddy dearest passed away, the old bat moved to Colorado after taking a pay out to surrender the rights to her eleven year old son," the man said sardonically, lips curling in clear distaste. "Honestly, I think the only reason Chris gave her what he did was so she wouldn't have the right to contest the will."
I sensed he didn't want to get into that can of worms - which was fine because neither did I. Chris' mother never came across as a particularly nice woman from what little my friend had shared of his past, and I didn't have a good track record with mothers either.
"You've also been given the deeds to an apartment he purchased up in Caroll Gardens."
"Seriously?" I balked, flipping to another page and staring in disbelief as I saw that yep, the guy wasn't lying. "Holy shit. Since when did he have his own place?"
"It's one he's been paying off since he was your age; meant for it to be a sort of safe house if or when he needed it. You can sell it or move in - that's up to you. It's fully paid off but needs a hell of a lot of renovation. Nice view of the Hudson but the place itself is a dump."
"I'd have to go see it first, I guess," I said, feeling very overwhelmed with gratitude that I'd never be able to express to my friend now that he was gone. I knew Chris cared about me but I'd never have guessed he cared this much. Fuck, I really missed him.
Jason opened his mouth to say something else and I raised a hand to silence him.
"Sorry, Jace. I think this is a bit much for me right now."
"God, no, I'm sorry," he said, scolding himself. "You've had a long flight and a hard couple of days. I should've let you settle first. You're free to head up to bed and get some sleep if you want. Your dorm is still the same one it was when you were living here - do you remember?"
Nodding, my gaze vacant, I thanked the man for his time - earning me a look of surprise - and peeled myself out of my chair and slumped through the hallways that smelled of old books and must. Up the staircases, floorboards creaking beneath my weight, I found my old bedroom (thankfully not in the same condition I'd left it in because younger Agent was apparently happy living in squalor). Clothes still on and shoes just barely kicked off my feet, I collapsed onto the bed, springs squeaking as they adjusted under me, and exhaustion finally caught up with me. The weight of the last few days, that rollercoaster of grief I'd found myself strapped into, finally rolled to a stop and I let sleep whisk me away.
The next few days were slow, uneventful, and teeming with emotion. Being back at St Mary's invited difficult memories and I felt more isolated than ever. Most of the kids here were strangers to me - acquaintances at best - and I didn't want to burden Jason with my life's woes when he was so busy. With no one around to pour my heart out to, the emotions bubbled up inside me, kept locked under a mask of total indifference.
I spent the majority of my days in bed, getting my ass kicked by morning sickness, and sleeping away the depression that plagued me. The rest of the time, I floated about the place like a partially deflated balloon. Not exactly dead but definitely on its way there. I felt detached from everything around me. Stuck in the Twilight Zone, almost. The routine I'd grown so accustomed to over the last year was abolished, and I forced myself to forget the faces of the men I'd been interacting with daily up until this point. Although I knew what happened wasn't any of their faults, my feelings towards them remained bittersweet. I couldn't help but feel betrayed - even if that betrayal was done in ignorance.
But, damn, what I wouldn't have given to see one of Matsuda's smiles or joke around with Mogi. They were good guys. Blindsided, sure, but truly good. I hoped to God that they'd stay safe as they sat, unknowingly, in the clutches of a monster.
A week after I'd arrived back in my own country, I was back on the road again. As per his wishes, Chris' funeral would take place in his home state of Indiana, buried in the family plot not far from his childhood home. A couple of older kids who'd known Chris at the orphanage - as well as some ex-students and faculty - attended alongside Jason and I to pay their respects. Many domestic flights were being cancelled due to bad weather, so we chose to drive instead, starting our road trip the night before and arriving just before lunch (I was actually happy with the mode of travel, given how poorly my body had dealt with my last trip aboard a plane).
Soon after arriving, we came to find that Chris' mother was unable to attend due to 'sickness' (at which, Jason made a very tongue in cheek comment about the unfortunate timing) but I did have the privilege of meeting some of his more distant cousins. Looking around, seeing those familiar features in the faces of his family, made me ache like nothing else. I regretted the way I'd left us. Sure, we'd made up over text but what good was that when the last expression I remember seeing plastered on my friend's face was disdain and disappointment. Our friendship - that tight bond - was so special to me and always would be. I should have treated it like fine glass: precious and fragile as it was. Maybe then I'd have approached the situation differently and maybe Chris wouldn't be rotting in a casket six foot under my feet.
The service was beautiful. Despite the horrible snowfall pouring down in neighbouring states, the skies in Indiana were clear and the sun shone down on us. A couple of Chris' cousins gave a few words, as did Jason, on the behalf of Chris' old classmates and educators. I chose to keep the words I had for Chris private, taking a few minutes beside his grave to whisper my last goodbye and thank him for everything. I'd never believed in ghosts or spirits or anything supernatural (not before I met a Shinigami anyway) but it was comforting to think that he could hear me.
Pulling myself away from his headstone was like torture. Knowing this was the closest I'd ever be to my friend again, realising that he'd soon be nothing more than bones in a box, brought back the intense grief I'd been trying so hard to suppress. Somehow, I managed to hold it together in front of Chris' family, but did spill a few tears into Jason's shoulder as I threw myself into his arms, latching onto him like a python.
When the time came for the wake to start, I chose not to stay long. There were glasses of booze being passed around and it made my stomach drop, recalling that Chris had met his end with his lips around the rim of a beer can. Jason, thankfully, shared similar sentiments and we started driving back in the early evening.
To distract myself from my thoughts during the journey, I decided to do something I hadn't done in a while and read. My copy of Pietr-le-Letton had sat untouched in my bag ever since I left Japan. Part of me had wanted to leave it behind at headquarters, the memory of its last owner and what it symbolised being too much for me in my time of mourning. But when I recalled L telling me I should read it on what would've been our journey home, I knew I couldn't leave without it. Still, as fresh as that memory was in my mind, even just looking at the cover made me ache so it had been shoved in a bag and forgotten about until now.
Before I even got through the first chapter, however, I noticed something was amiss when the pages began to stick. It was a brand new copy so there was no reason for it to be in such bad shape. Had I spilled something on it that caused the pages to mesh together?
Thinking that I'd somehow damaged the last gift I'd received from L, an immense wave of guilt washed over me and I wanted nothing more than to whack my own head against the dashboard for being such a careless idiot.
Dragging my thumb against the fore edge of the book, that sadness morphed into bewilderment as I realised that the pages weren't just weirdly firm or sticky - they were actually glued together, forming one solid block of paper. There was no way this wasn't done deliberately. Even if grief was making me act out of character, I knew for a fact I hadn't gone out of my way to meticulously glue over a hundred pages together.
The who I could guess. After all, there was only one person who even knew I owned this novel. The why was the question I was stuck on. Why would he have done something like this? He was a weirdo for sure, but this seemed extreme, even for him.
I thumbed through the unstuck pages - uncaringly spoiling the book's mystery in favour of unravelling my own - until, roughly halfway through, I found the first page to have been glued down. When I pressed down on the middle of the paper, it bent inwards as though it was hollowed out. As though there was something underneath it...
Carefully, I peeled back the top corner of the page, cringing slightly as the papers split in two with a sharp tearing sound. I don't know what I expected to find, really, but I was still shocked to discover the hidden contents either way.
There, embedded in a small square cut-out within the block of text, was a USB stick and a folded scrap of paper.
Hands trembling, I picked up the note and unfolded it, heart plummeting down to my feet as I recognised whose messy handwriting it was. It took me a minute to find the courage to actually read the note and, even then, I couldn't stop myself from shaking, trying to hold back tears, as I read what would be L's final correspondence with me.
I am writing this on the 26th October 2007, following the death of Kyosuke Higuchi.
If I die within the next few days, then take this as testament that Light Yagami is Kira and Misa Amane is the second.
If my death does occur, proceed with extreme caution and do not attempt to confront either one of them. I have made a copy of all investigative data in the event of a complete data deletion. I entrust it to you, Agent. Please deliver it - in person - to the director at Wammy's House in Winchester, England. No one else must know that you have this; please keep it a secret.
Once you have read and understood the instructions of this note, burn it. It is crucial that no one else sees it.
- L
p.s. I have opened two bank accounts under an alias assigned to you and added a percentage of what I earned for works conducted as Coil and Deneuve. Details are below. Everything in that account is yours. Please make good use of it.
Dropping my gaze to the end of the page, I saw that, indeed, a series of account numbers and coordinates had been left for me, but that wasn't my biggest concern in that moment. No, the thing that got to me was the sheer significance of the data laid out before me. Data that I'd tossed in a bag and ignored for weeks. The remnants of our case had been in my hands this entire time and I never even knew.
A sickly mix of misery, excitement, and disbelief scrambled my brain, rendering me unable and unsure of how to react. All I could do was sit and stare, re-reading L's final words over and over, hearing his voice recite them to me, echoing in the cavern of my mind.
He was a genius. Damn it, the crazy bastard, but he really was! He knew what was coming and planned for it - that brilliant man of mine with all of his stupid, risky plans. All that data, all those months of hard work... it wasn't lost. It was sitting right here in my lap.
Oh shit... I was definitely gonna throw up again.
"Pull over," I said sternly, and Jason looked across at me with a frown.
"We're on the highway—"
"Fucking do it!"
Clearly seeing my distress, the man jerked the car to the side and slammed on the brakes. Before all four tyres had even fully locked up, I threw open the passenger door and gracefully hurled my guts onto the concrete.
"Agent, what the hell?" Jason yelled, jumping across the car to snatch my hair away from my face (what a gentleman). Cars brayed on their horns as they flew by but it all went unnoticed by me as I painted the floor with my insides. His hand rubbed my back as I threw up the final remnants, and I heaved in deep breaths before settling back in my seat.
"Sorry. I'm okay," I lied, cringing at the bitter taste settling in my mouth. "Can I have some water?"
Passing over a bottle, the man assessed me with narrowed eyes as I took long swigs from it, relishing the feel of something cold and hydrating to banish the bitter taste in my mouth. When I noticed the look Jason was throwing me, I simply screwed the lid back on the bottle and did my best to look natural as I handed it back to him. Unfortunately, this man had practically raised me so he knew better than to trust me anytime I said I was 'okay'.
"Kiddo, what's going on?"
Unwilling to speak, I cleared my throat and gestured to the road ahead, hoping it would distract him from his question.
"We're on the highway. You should really drive on."
The man did as advised, but, sadly, it didn't save me from his interrogation. Since the car was now in motion, jumping ship wasn't really an option. I was trapped with him.
"Are you ill?" he offered, and I closed my eyes, wishing the ground would swallow me whole.
"No, I'm not ill."
"Then what is it? And don't try to bullshit me. You've got a tell when you lie."
"Well, if you're already convinced that I'm going to lie to you, then why should I bother? What do you want me to say?"
"The truth!"
"Fine," I growled, feeling another bout of bile rise in my throat as the words fought to stay unspoken.
I knew I had to tell him at some point, but it felt like losing - like an admission of failure. When I first started my education at St Mary's, Jason had been vehemently against it. The orphanage had a prestigious reputation for producing bright minds and top earners. A random straggly kid from the street had no place there. Sure, he'd warmed to me as I got older and proved myself worthy, but the sting of his judgement never truly left my mind. I didn't want that stigma to creep back into his tone when I told him the truth.
Still, it had to be done. Better to bite the bullet and get it over with.
So, preparing myself for the disappointment I was surely going to face, I answered, "I'm pregnant, Jason."
A loud scoff was Jason's first reaction (and, honestly, yeah, I would too) but my expression remained serious. Brown eyes locked onto mine, searching for any hint of joking or amusement. When none were found and he realised I was deadly serious, Jason heaved a sigh, knuckles whitening as he gripped the steering wheel. The silence that followed was almost tangible, thick with emotion that I couldn't discern. By the time Jason was finished pondering where he'd gone wrong with me, I too was drowning in a sea of shame and contemplating the best way to abandon the car.
The tuck and roll method surely wouldn't hurt that bad at 100 kilometres per hour, would it?
"It's not Chris' kid, is it?" was the first thing Jace came out with. I instantly recoiled.
"Hell no!"
"Then who's the dad?"
"Seriously? Does it matter?" I moaned, feeling weirdly embarrassed, like a teen caught out by her dad. "Can't we please just go home and talk about this in the morning?"
"Oh no, you're not avoiding this conversation, little lady. This is some seriously deep shit you've landed yourself in, so you'd best believe we're talking about it."
Feeling thoroughly scolded, I sank a little in my seat and looked down at my shoes, forever engraining a wrinkle on my forehead with the way in which I was frowning.
Upon seeing I'd conceded, Jason nodded, satisfied.
"Good girl," he praised. "First things first: how long have you known?"
"Ever since I got back home."
"And you're positive it's not just a fluke?"
"I took three tests. It's unlikely they're all wrong," I said, sounding mildly irritated that he was questioning my intelligence. "Plus I've been puking my guts up daily for about a week now."
"Well then, I guess there's only one question for you. What do you want to do about it?"
Wasn't that the million dollar question, I thought sardonically. What did I want to do?
It had been a hard few days, trying to process the deaths of two of the most important men in my life and escaping the clutches of a crazy sociopathic killer. Finding out I was pregnant was just the icing on the cake. Although I understood what that meant, I hadn't truly thought about how I'd go about it. Everything would need to change if I wanted to provide a good life for this kid. No more travelling the world, no more putting my life aside to focus on a case. They'd become my top priority and I'd need to bend over backwards to ensure they'd be kept safe. But maybe that was what I needed - a constant figure in my life; some stability.
Briefly, I'd entertained the thought of what could've been had L still been alive. Selfishly, I liked to think he'd have risen to the occasion and we'd have navigated the unchartered waters of parenthood together. Even if he wasn't the most hands-on or affectionate person, I knew L would've never let me struggle. The fact he'd made sure I'd be secure financially in the event of his death was testament to that. Sure, adapting to a baby would've been hard for him but I knew he'd have made a good parent in the long run.
But L would never get that chance. I was on my own in this - and that realisation was terrifying.
Kira was on a war path and there was no one left to stand in his way. The world's governments had crumbled, the police forces had given in. Kira reigned supreme and his word was law. As intelligent as I was, I recognised that Light would always be smarter. I couldn't outmanoeuvre him, not with the knowledge and resources he had on his side. The best I could do if I wanted to bring him down was stay hidden and formulate a plan from the safety of the shadows. But to do all that with a baby?
I had a target on my back and Light had already proven he'd go to extreme lengths to hurt me. Would he draw the line at harming children, even if he knew this one belonged to both me and L?
I knew I didn't have the heart to get rid of it, so adoption would be my only other option. Would it be kinder to surrender it to a family who could give it a better life than I could? That being said, there was a chance it wouldn't even land with a family and might end up like I did - abandoned in a broken system surrounded by people who preferred to line their pockets than help the kids in their care. It was a fate I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. Even if being with me put their life at risk, at least I know I'd never do anything to hurt them. How could I turn them out into the world, knowing how cruel it was to orphaned children?
That thought alone had sparked a flame of maternal rage inside of me, and I knew then that this was my sign to stop running away from my problems. It didn't solve anything and only made me feel isolated. I originally thought that, by travelling with L, I'd finally start facing my problems head on and take control of my own life. That shipped had sailed without me, but this kid was half of him as it was half of me. Their existence alone was a living reminder that the love I'd shared with L was genuine and real. I didn't want to let go of the final piece I had of that man just because I was scared of losing them. If I stuck with that mindset, then I'd grow old having nothing and no one. And what kind of life was that?
Sure, I didn't come across as 'mother of the year' material - but who could say whether I was or wasn't without letting me try? I'd do my best for this baby, that much was for certain. I'd give them everything I never had growing up. They'd have my love and, hopefully, I'd be loved back. And even that, honestly, would be more than I deserved.
"I think I'm keeping it," I answered, determination shining in my eyes and a ghost of a smile tugging at my lips. For a moment, Jason looked proud of my newfound maturity but quickly slipped back into a mask of sternness as he nodded to show his approval.
"Alright, okay. Good for you, kiddo. Have you considered your options?"
"Yes."
"All of them?"
"Yes," I repeated firmly. "When you're ten thousand feet in the air with death hanging over your shoulder and a little life brewing in your uterus, there's not much you can do other than think."
"Hey, don't get pissy with me - I have to ask!" he said in his defence. "A baby isn't an experiment, Agent. You'll be signed up for this for life. Your entire world is going to tilt on its axis. Are you sure you're ready for that kind of change?"
"My life has already changed, Jason, and I don't think I want the old one back. I didn't..." I trailed off, looking down onto the long stretch of highway ahead. "I didn't like who I was back then. I want to do better. Be better."
I didn't miss the way Jason's face fell at my choice of wording and he seemed prepared to word vomit at me again, so I intercepted swiftly, adding:
"And no, before you say it, I don't want this baby to be my 'fresh start'. But I do want them to be a part of it. Besides, I think I'm happy."
The mention of happiness seemed to break down the final layers of his resistance and the man broke out into a small smile. There was no trace of mockery or condescension behind it, so I smiled back gratefully.
"If you're sure," Jason said, "then I'll do whatever I can to support you."
It felt like a hugging moment, but he was driving, both of us were exhausted, and there was a faint scent of bile in the air, so I settled for a smile and shoulder bump. The sentiment quickly died as, for the remainder of the ride, he insisted on referring to me exclusively as mama.
Back at the orphanage, after catching up on sleep with a hefty twelve hour nap, my curiosity got the better of me and I decided to peek at the content of L's USB.
Plugging it into my laptop, I was shocked to see it wasn't password protected but then, scrolling through one of the many documents it presented, I realised there wasn't really any need because what the actual fuck was this?
Pages upon pages of gibberish words, made up of numbers and various different alphabets. I recognised some (Greek, Cyrillic, and - oh, cool! - Arabic) but that didn't make understanding L's nonsense any easier. Obviously, unless he'd developed a habit of smashing his keyboard prior to his death, this was code. I was crap at understanding code, so this was like a nightmare for me. Regardless, I gave it my best shot and, by dinner time, I'd actually managed to figure some of it out.
Admittedly, it did seem a little too obvious for a man of L's calibre. At least, it did at first. In hindsight, I should've known not to doubt him because the code I'd managed to deduce with relative ease very quickly stopped making sense as I progressed through the documents. Only then did I admit I was way out of my depth. Clearly, this wasn't something I was meant to solve. L's words rang in my ears. Maybe there was someone at Wammy's intelligent enough to figure it out. And who better to ask about our sister orphanage than the esteemed leader of our own house of undesirables.
"I need to go to Winchester," I announced before I even fully burst through the door into Jason's office.
Head buried in his newspaper, the man didn't acknowledge me, taking a leisurely sip of his coffee as he continued to make me wait. Knowing the urgency of the situation - and body buzzing with pregnancy hormones - it didn't take long for me to snap.
"Dude!"
"Good morning to you too, Agent," he said after a moment's pause. "Manners cost nothing, y'know."
"I need to go to Winchester. Can you help me out?" I paused and begrudgingly forced out a strained "Please."
Flipping his paper shut, the man looked to me with a shit-eating grin as he booted up his computer.
"Certainly, my wayward child. Thank you for asking nicely. Headed to Wammy's, I'm guessing?"
"Yeah. I've got something to deliver to the director... from L."
His smile wavered slightly and he peered at me over the top of his monitor.
"Agent, how close were you and L exactly?"
Despite the skill I usually had with a poker face, my emotions were instantly plastered across my cheeks as I flushed a dark red. Images of longing glances and heated kisses in the dark flashed in my mind, and I balled my hands at my side to stop them from drifting towards the small bump just beginning to show beneath my shirt.
"I know what you're really asking, and the answer is: mind your own business."
"Agent—"
"Fine, yes, but look: I don't want this baby to be treated like the second coming of Christ, and I don't want to be treated like the Virgin Mary either. Please don't project your egomania onto my unborn kid. It shouldn't matter who its dad is."
"Jesus, do you think so little of me?" he grumbled, narrowing his eyes at me. "I know I'm a bit of a pusher but that's only because I want my kids to reach their full potential. Anyway, that's not why I'm asking."
"Why then?" I snapped back accusingly, and Jason leaned forward until his arms rested on his desk and he was staring up at me with a startling severity in his eyes.
"L had many enemies. His family had enemies too, as does Wammy's itself. There are countless people still hunting him - including the guy you're now running from too. Lord knows what they'd do to those dear to L."
I hadn't thought about that really. Light, obviously, was on my radar, but I'd forgotten that L had been a detective for many years prior to the Kira case. He'd put away many terrible people with equally terrible connections. Naturally, there were going to be some nasty folk tracing his every step. Now he was gone, who would they direct their anger onto? Jason raised a good point.
"So keep that information in this room, yeah?" he continued. "Don't even say anything to anyone at the orphanage."
"You don't trust the kids over there?" I questioned.
"They've had kids go off the deep end before. Better to be safe than sorry," he said with a casual shrug, giving the keyboard an aggressive jab before leaning back in his chair. "Right. I've booked you a flight to Gatwick for Friday. Please take care of yourself."
With a gracious nod, I thanked him and left him to his business.
After another hellishly long flight, I landed at Gatwick airport in the early hours of Saturday morning. Battling my way through border control with my single rucksack, a sense of deja vu hit me as I was battered (once again) by a sea of tourists visiting London for the holiday season. It was no better than New York, really - just less bright.
As soon as I could, I jumped into a cab and sped out of England's capital, relieved to see that Winchester was thankfully quieter than its hectic neighbouring city. In fact, compared to London, it was almost like stepping into a different world. Grey skies lingered overhead as we drove past old red-bricked buildings, thatched cottages, and long stretches of woodland. Winter had dug its claws deep into the earth, meaning the trees were bare and the land was covered in a thin layer of frost; I imagined it would've been more picturesque in spring or summer.
When the cab pulled up alongside Wammy's House - a sizeable structure made up of cream bricks and tall windows - I felt a wave of apprehension, stuck in awe at the monumental minds that lived behind its walls. It didn't give off the same vibe as St Mary's did. This place felt... colder.
Well, that being said, this was the same establishment that robbed children of their names and put so much pressure on a kid that he ended up taking his own life. So, yeah, this place giving me the heebie-jeebies made a lot of sense.
Approaching the gate, I buzzed the intercom and waited, feeling a shiver run down my spine from the cold. After a few moments, an older lady's voice came through the machine.
"Hello?"
"Hi there. I need to speak with Roger."
The receptionist seemed to bristle at my lack of formality but still responded with a cool, even tone.
"Is MrRuvie expecting you?" she asked, emphasising the name of the man I was here to see as though to rub in my apparent disrespectfulness.
"Not sure, but he'll want to speak to me either way."
The line crackled with what I assume was a sigh but, thankfully, I wasn't turned away.
"I'll see if he's available. May I take your name?"
I gave my newly fashioned alias - Katherine Murphy - and the intercom fizzled out, leaving me to tremble as the wind picked up, fingertips steadily going numb. A minute later, there was a loud buzz and the gates creaked open to permit me entry. Warily, I walked through the gates up to the front door, where an aged man stood waiting, extending his hand towards me.
"Hello there. Miss Murphy, was it?" he asked with a pleasant smile.
Nodding, I took his hand and shook it. "And I'm assuming that means you're Roger?"
"That's right. Please, come inside. It's far too cold out here."
He didn't need to tell me twice; I was shaking like a leaf and couldn't have moved any quicker to get inside. Blessedly, the house's interior was cloaked in warmth that wrapped around me like a hug. The man extended his hand for my jacket so I shed it, grateful to finally feel my fingers again, and took in my surroundings.
St Mary's was an old building, sure, but Wammy's must've been a pre-war establishment. It looked decades older. The floorboards creaked with each step like the house itself was groaning, and there was a faint scent of must circulating around.
Aged as it might've been, the building itself was bursting with life. The sound of children playing danced across the halls, footfalls echoing overhead. An eighties rock anthem spilled out from a bedroom somewhere, being played on - if the tinny sound quality gave any indication - an older radio. I bobbed my head to the beat absentmindedly, more focused on giving Roger my full attention as he directed me around the house.
Leading me upstairs, we passed classrooms full of children aged from five to eighteen, all engrossed with their teachers' presentations, paying us no mind. It felt weird to think that a younger version of L would've walked the same halls I was currently trapezing down. These were the classrooms he'd have sat and studied in, building up the bank of knowledge that made him into a billionaire and international enigma. It was surreal and sad at the same time.
With the impromptu tour now concluded, I was guided into Roger's office and seated opposite his desk. The man gave a sigh as he took his own seat and looked across at me with a tired but friendly smile.
"You've just missed lunch unfortunately, but I'm happy to bring you anything to eat or drink."
I shook my head. "I'm okay, thanks."
"Very well. Let's get to it then. My secretary informed me you wouldn't give her any details about the reason behind your visit. But I believe I know why you're here so I can appreciate the discretion."
Not expecting that, I frowned. "You do?"
"Well, I suspect I know. The gentleman running our sister orphanage in New York informed me that two of his older students were assisting L on his latest case. Am I right in assuming you're one of them?"
With a solemn nod, I confirmed and asked, "I'm guessing you know what happened to him?"
Roger's smile fell and he sighed for the second time, adopting a much more sombre countenance.
"Indeed. In the event that L passed away, there were actions in place that would ensure we were made aware immediately."
He seemed to remember something then, face slipping into a frown as he asked, "One thing I have noticed since his passing is that the Japanese task force has not paused their investigation. I was wondering if you could give me any insight as to what's been happening over there."
I winced at the mention of the task force, and swallowed back the rush of emotion that threatened to break past the floodgates. The unbridled rage I felt towards a certain someone was the hardest one to keep in check, and it seeped into my tone as spiteful bitterness when I spoke.
"For the sake of credibility, the task force decided to continue to act as though L is still living. That way, they can continue the investigation without any resistance or interference from the Japanese police or Interpol."
"I see," Roger mused, brows furrowed. "It's not a bad tactic, I suppose, though it is in poor taste. How is their investigation progressing?"
"I'm not sure. Not well, I imagine. On the night that L and Wammy died, there was a major data deletion and everything we worked on was lost. Very few pieces of information remain but they're in the custody of the task force. By the time I left, they were still in the process of rebuilding the database that we'd lost."
Eyes twinkling with intrigue, Roger's expression contorted back into one of friendliness, voice hopeful when he next spoke.
"I suppose there's no chance of asking if you happen to have a copy of those notes?"
"Not my own, but I do have this."
Reaching into my rucksack, I handed over the USB and sat patiently as Roger plugged it in and scrolled though page upon page of garbled nonsense.
"My goodness..." he said quietly. Although masked impressively, the concern in his eyes was very noticeable. "These are...?"
"L's personal notes. It's three hundred and sixteen pages long," I explained, "written in a complicated cipher."
"How complicated exactly?" the man queried, glancing over at me.
"Well, cracking codes was never really my strong suit," I replied with a shrug, "but I did give it my best shot. At one point, I thought I had it but then it switched up and stopped making sense."
The man nodded slowly, eyes glazed over in focus as he read through each line, possibly trying to decode the cypher himself.
"L seems to have alternated the code every few paragraphs or so," I continued to say, "Clearly didn't want to make it easy to translate if it ever fell into the wrong hands. However, that also made it really difficult for us too. Even if you put your best cryptanalyst to work this, I feel like it could take years to decipher in its entirety."
"Given its complexity, I'm afraid I might not have another choice," the Wammy's director said as he sat back, relenting. "There's no pattern to what he has written, so even a computer would struggle to deconstruct the code in its entirety. L has written this so masterfully that only a human would be able to reveal the contents of these documents - one who possesses not only the brains to understand, but the patience."
I inclined my head towards him, saying, "It's not a total loss. L seemed to have faith in your students' abilities. He wouldn't have asked me to deliver it to you otherwise."
Grinning fondly, the man nodded his head in agreement. He looked at me then - really looked at me - in the same way Jason had as though wondering what my connection with L was, where this familiarity with him had stemmed from. The world would never know, sadly. That secret had died with L and I intended to keep it that way. Let him wonder.
"We have a boy here who is set to inherit L's title," Roger told me after a beat had passed. "He is greatly interested in conducting his own investigation into the Kira homicides."
Almost immediately, I could see where this was headed and forced a polite smile despite the alarm bells that began to ring inside my head.
"If you don't mind, would you be willing to speak with him? I'm sure it would come as a great comfort and he'd appreciate any insight you may have to share."
I wanted to. So badly. The carrot was dangled in front of my face but I knew that, if I accepted this offer now, I'd never be able to fully pull away from the investigation.
I did feel bad about it. These poor kids had lost their source of inspiration, their mentor. It made sense they'd want to avenge him - but at what cost? They didn't realise how much danger they were getting themselves into. L had been so careful, but Light Yagami was not a fair player and the odds were tipped in his favour.
Even if I gave them a heads up about Light and his notebook, who was to say they'd be able to use that information to get tangible proof? Light was already very good at covering his tracks. If a team approached him with an accusation, he'd just become more meticulous at hiding his crimes until the possibility of attaining evidence became impossible. The best thing to do was let them use L's notes to uncover the truth for themselves, base their investigation off that, and wait for Light to grow cocky and slip up - as he had done multiple times in the past.
"No. I'm sorry, but I'm retired from this case now. People close to me have died and I just want to put it behind me. If I spoke about it now, I'd only get dragged back in. I wouldn't be able to stop. And I can't afford that right now."
As advised by Jason, I didn't mention the reason why I was so adamant about leaving the case in my past. I hoped Roger would just see my grief-stricken face and assume it was solely pain that was tying me down.
"Maybe in a few years, I'll be ready, but not now. I'm sorry."
"Not at all, I understand. The monster behind this investigation has ruined many lives. Yours has not gone untouched," he said, nodding solemnly before gesturing to the USB. "Thank you for delivering this."
"It's the least I can do," I responded with a small hint of guilt still lingering in my tone. "I'm sorry I can't be of more help, but Kira has taken so much from me. I don't have anything else to give."
"Not to worry, dear," the man soothed as he stood, heading towards the door. "Come. Let me show you out."
After offering me yet another drink before I left (one reason to love the British), Roger walked me down to the main foyer.
"I'll get your coat," he offered, and I smiled politely, awkwardly dawdling around the room as I waited for him to return.
I'll admit, I was nosier than I probably should've been as a strange woman in a world renowned establishment. I started opening random doors and peeking into the adjoining rooms, checking out their contents and interiors before moving on. Inside one of these rooms dotted along the hall, a young boy knelt on the floor, crouched over a jigsaw puzzle, his back to me. The kid was small, pasty, with hair so blonde that it was basically white.
Peering closer, I noticed the puzzle was completely blank and must've been near two-hundred pieces but the kid was tackling it like a champ. Not surprising for a Wammy's kid. As I was admiring his technique, the boy looked over at me. I reddened, embarrassed to have been caught staring, and was about to move away before I saw it.
Although he looked nothing like him, in that one moment, the boy reminded me of L in a way. Dark, perceptive eyes peered across at me and a stand-offish exterior made him seem mean and unapproachable. But behind it all, there was a hint of genius - a curiosity that was as insatiable as a sponge. Must have been something in the water here that turned everyone into the dark, brooding type. I mean, really, this was just uncanny.
When I realised I was still staring like a weirdo, I flashed the boy a small smile before exiting the room and closing the door behind me. Roger returned with my jacket soon after and I quickly followed him out the door, not noticing the dark eyes that watched my retreating form through a nearby window.
A/N
[ not beta read yet - we die like men ]
Alright, alright. I know a lot of people don't like the pregnancy trope (myself included - it's an *eye roll* kind of moment) HOWEVER I have two good reasons for doing this.
1) Agent has literally no one left. No one. This means she has nothing left to lose, ergo I see no reason why she wouldn't 100% go and shoot Light in the face. She wouldn't fear the consequences of doing so because she has nothing (and no one) to keep her going. But discovering she's pregnant means she not only has to keep herself alive, she also has to stay away from Light in order to protect her child.
2) this baby will not be a device I use to give Agent a character arc/more depth. I am planning to make [character name pending] their own character (with their own book) further down the line AND they will also play a large role in GWNoN also.
Again, I totally get why it's an annoying trope in fanfics but I can promise that neither of those things will be the case in my fanfic. Agent is my favourite OC and I wouldn't dream of reducing her character to just solely a mother. So I'm really hoping y'all stick with me with this one - TRUST THE PROCESS YALL.
Anywho we have one more filler chapter before we get back to the action, which will take place after the canon 7 year skip. Can't wait to get back to business. We've also properly met Jason for the first time after alluding to him many, many chapters ago - thoughts on him?
Also fun fact for the people who are interested: I figured Agent would've conceived around late September/early October (around the time Aizawa leaves the task force), meaning she would've been roughly 5 weeks pregnant when L died. This is cruelly ironic of me and you're all going to hate me as it's usually around the 5 week mark that a foetus' heart starts beating. So - in the cruel, cruel way the universe (aka my mind) works - L's heart would've stopped when his baby's began. Feel free to send me death threats in the comments, I deserve them :)