Author's note:

Trigger warning for suicide - both attempt(ed) and ideation.

I'm not a native english speaker, so forgive any mistakes.

Enjoy!

"So, 371 or 2384?" I slide my chair over to the U.S. Code, Title 18, in the right-hand corner of the desk and start flipping through it, being careful not to drop the phone, which I hold between my shoulder and my ear.

"If we can convince them of the reason for such acts, it's more likely to fall under 371, but given the aggravating circumstance, I suppose they could apply 2384," Isaak explains to me, as I quickly scroll through the paragraph on Conspiracy to Defraud the United States. "Jessica, are you sure you want to do it? We also have to apply two and three and... Yes, you have everything not to apply 1519 and the verdict might not be the death penalty, but... It's a big case... And a serious one. You might not—"

"I know," I stop him. "I'm sure of it. Don't you think it's time?"

A long silence follows, in which the only noise I hear is the pages being flipped and the fridge.

"I think it is," I reply in his place, leaning back and shifting my gaze to the ceiling. "Please keep checking everything that might apply and, when I get back to England, I'll give you all the documents. I have started to catalogue them, but I need a new system and..."

The amount of evidence is exhausting. All the work I've done… My life's work practically, because it was for me, but it's the right thing. I could have asked for an extension, but I can't remain stuck, waiting in vain for a sign from him.

"Yeah, that's fine... I can send you mine, if you want, so you can... Make my job easier." He chuckles slightly, to remove some of the tension he feels.

I agree, because after the woes I'm putting him through, the least I can do is to lighten his work load in some way, even just the slightest.

"Isaak—" I start, but a ringing coming from my room stops me completely.

I pull the phone away slightly, to make sure I'm not imagining it, and as much as it's the worst time to hear it, all I can do is rejoice at the idea that he hasn't forgotten me. Only when it stops do I manage to return to the call.

"Jessica?" Isaak calls my name.

"I have to go," I inform him. "I reassure you they won't hurt you."

I say goodbye to him and interrupt the call, tossing the phone on the desk afterwards. I don't move immediately, as I imagined I would, because I have always done so, but I stare at my reflection in the unlit computer screen.

If I reply, if I accept, if I meet him again... Could I continue with my plan? I put it off for so long, even though I could have put an end to it, just for the idea or hope that, since the last case, not much time would have passed.

A year and a half, though... That's how long it took him. In the past, he would even call me immediately, without even ascertaining the difficulty, breaking a condition of our contract, but now that it was clear it would be complicated from the start, he has waited a month.

Does he really need me that much, if he hasn't already found someone to replace me?

And in answer to that question, the phone starts ringing again and I rush to my room. I open the top drawer of my bedside table and sit on the bed. I almost want to not answer him and see if he is going to contact me a third time, but I have learnt that time is not something to play with, so I pick up.

"Dee."

I lose myself in his voice for a second, trying to imprint in my memory the timbre of his voice, the calmness I perceive and the feeling of emptiness that is finally filled. I really thought I would never hear it again...

"You..." I reply.

"I'm L," he lets me know, and I giggle.

"No, I know, but I wasn't sure what alias to use," I explain. "Did you add more to the collection...?"

So, you can do your part and add more distance between us.

"You can call me L for the time being. I'm sure your phone is protected enough not to allow tapping."

"You gave it to me," I remind him.

"Exactly."

I roll my eyes as a smile paints my lips. Modesty has never been his strong suit, but I like it, because it means he hasn't changed that much. It makes the time that separated us seem infinitesimal.

"I need your help with the Kira case," he reveals, though I was expecting it. "You've heard of it, I assume?"

"Who hasn't?"

"Right, but you never inform yourself about the cases I'm on."

"Guilty," I chant.

If a case he's working on for which he hasn't requested my help is still ongoing, I tend to stay away from it, because I don't want to see what I'm missing. It has always been difficult to do this – not because curiosity kills me, as I have learnt to live with it, but my work inevitably causes us to cross paths, even if only by name.

"Can you come to Japan, please?" he asks, finally.

"My Japanese is a bit rusty," I lie.

"I can translate."

I know I won't be able to change his mind, and I might as well not even try, because I want to return to our cycle of knowledge-and-foreignness that so characterises us and which I miss. Unfortunately for me, because he doesn't seem affected by it.

"You have perfect timing," I state, getting up and walking towards the fax machine in the living room. "I just finished a case, and they gave me a couple of weeks off. I'll try to get to Japan as soon as possible."

"Thanks. I'm sending you some of my notes now, so you can look them over on the plane. See you soon," he says and interrupts the call as the fax machine kicks in.

Along with his papers, there is also a plane ticket with an alias of mine that has been obsolete for years now. It is scheduled to leave in not even two hours.

"I hate him so much..." I whisper, shaking my head, but it's hard to suppress the smile on my lips, which marks the beginning of our period.

I write a quick note on a post-it, so I don't forget to edit the passenger list and delete the alias, and pick up Jessica's phone, dialling a number strictly for work-related matters.

I hold down key one, while I continue to observe the destination on the ticket.

"Ludovic Mason, Associate Deputy Director of the FBI and Head of the Department of Human Resources and Public Affairs. Who's speaking?"

"You could save yourself this rigmarole if you read the number on the display," I point out.

"What is it, Jessica? I'm working," he snaps annoyed.

"Oh, yes, sorry. I forgot that reading papers and throwing others in the bin is a lot of work."

"Jessica, speak or get off the line."

I giggle.

"This number is strictly for work-related calls."

I repeat his words in a mocking tone and hear him sigh.

That should be his catchphrase for how many times he tells me, and I should come up with one myself, to respond to the fact that, despite being for work, he still remains to entertain me, even when I tell him about the discount prices at the supermarket.

He actually hangs up on me, but later calls me back from his personal phone to ask for more information and to see if his favourite cleaning products are available as well.

"I'm going to Japan," I report to him.

"Oh." He pauses for such a long time that I think he's hung up on me, but I hear a door close in the distance, followed by the sound of chair wheels crawling across the floor. "Have you lost your mind?" He tries to keep his tone as calm as possible, only because otherwise he risks shouting.

"Don't be racist. It's a beautiful country."

"Jessica, Kira's there!" he reminds me. "They've already killed twelve of us, if you've already forgotten. We had a moment of silence a few minutes ago. I even sent an email."

"I only told you that to warn you that I'm leaving. It's already decided." I assume a serious tone. "I'm leaving in an hour and a half. You don't have to worry about anything. I won't meddle with Kira. I'm going to a..." I pause.

After so many years of knowing each other, it's absurd that I can't define who we are.

"Friend," I conclude, shaking my head. "I know what I'm doing. I know you'll never get used to it, but you should trust me. We've talked about this before."

Ludovic remains silent.

"What's more, I'm not even going to Kanto, to Tokyo, where they are rumoured to be, or even as an agent, so they shouldn't know about my arrival or my identity."

"I really wish you wouldn't go, but..." He sighs. "Please be careful. Be cautious. Take every precaution you can. All the ones I've pointed out to you."

As long as I am with L, it is more or less impossible to get killed. He knows how to do his job in the field of confidentiality and security, better than I do sometimes, because my face got in the paper once, but fortunately it didn't leave the state walls. And it was for something so stupid: for stopping a dog from attacking a little girl. I was caught on a security camera. At least, that Jessica from the interview is not related to Jessica Parker of the FBI.

I say goodbye, hearing another plea for caution from him, and end the call. I pack a small suitcase with the essentials. Before I leave, I also remember to take a face mask, a hat and sunglasses, to use as soon as I land. I cast a quick glance at the fax machine, feeling the urge to delete the history, so that the ticket and L's notes disappear, but I screwed up last time and also deleted all the documents that Ludovic had to reprint; so, I leave it alone. He already knows where I'm headed, anyway, and the papers don't bear the detective's name.

I am about to open the door, but my eyes end up on the picture of me, Ludovic and Denise in the frame on the shelf, stuck on the wall to the left of the door. I look like a fish out of water next to them... Of course, I was also an eighteen-year-old girl who wasn't even supposed to be there, but I honestly look like a stranger who decided to ruin their photo – the beautiful photo of a fantastic, intelligent, freshly-graduated woman with an engineering degree and the hardest-working, most caring man I've ever met, dressed in a suit and tie, as if he were going on a meeting with the President right afterwards, which was true. Only not the President of the United States, but his father.

Father... It would be too selfish of me to ask you not to become one for someone else, wouldn't it?

It takes me less time than expected to get to Washington-Dulles International Airport, partly because I have done some not-so-legal overtaking, but my position allows me not to be afraid of receiving an administrative penalty and wasting time that way.

After settling into my window seat – he is really spoiling me this time –, I take out his notes. The first page concerns two messages left by two prisoners killed by Kira, but I don't notice any analysis by the great detective.

He wants to test me... With so little? It's clear what they want to communicate, since it's the most basic method of doing so.

'L, do you know that Gods of Death love apples?'

And it's quite surreal. Sort of like this case as a whole.

However, I am not mentioned in the message. I don't know if I should be offended by that. Has L not communicated my participation? I can't even speculate, because I avoided this case like the plague, even when it took out a similar number that fills half of one of our units.

I do not have time to turn the paper over that someone kicks my seat. I look in front of me and try not to jump to the worst conclusions, because maybe it's just someone moving, since we haven't taken off yet.

They kick again.

I pinch my lower lip with my fingers. I'm starting to find it hard to convince myself.

Another kick, harder.

I sigh and tell myself not to think about it, as I return to the only kind of truthful declaration of affection I can expect from L.

The umpteenth kick doesn't make itself wait.

"Good God!" I exclaim, pulling myself up a little and turning around.

The worst of the worst appears before my eyes: two boys of not even thirteen years old. They look identical, almost as if they were twins: same black haircut pulled up with gel, same button nose, same brown eyes. The only differences are that the one on the right looks older and wears more casual clothes than the one on the left, who wears jeans and a blouse. There is no one by their side, and I would not be surprised if their parent decided to leave them for a while to take a break. I would have done that too.

"Stop it," I say to the one behind me.

'He did it!' He points to his brother, who grabs his finger and squeezes it hard enough to bend him in two from pain and make him utter several ows.

I roll my eyes and huff, returning to my seat.

"What are you doing?" the violent brother asks me, inserting his head between my seat and that of the passenger beside me, who has to move her arm, while I take the opportunity to raise mine and try to cover his eyes, but he stands up and watches from above, along with Brother A.

I fold the papers in two.

"It's none of your business," I reply in the most hostile tone possible, hoping to dissuade him from continuing to talk to me, but, sometimes, I forget that's just the signal to start the cascade of questions.

In fact, he starts asking me as many as he can, ranging from the generic to the incredibly personal, so much so that I don't understand whether it is curiosity or just a way of judging me. I tell him several times to sit down, sleep and leave me alone, but at that point he does not understand why I am so grumpy. Brother A is more bearable, since he keeps quiet.

I manage to have a moment of peace, when their mother comes back and tells them that we are about to take off, so they have to settle down in their seats. Shortly afterwards, the stewardess starts giving directions on how to fasten and unfasten the belt, and I look out of the window.

In that moment, a new feeling joins the frustration: excitement to see L, that is, I have reached the second stage of our cycle.