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The two of swords signifies that you are caught between two choices. While you weigh the pros and cons, be mindful that you are not simply trying to dodge the question or delay the inevitable.
Light doesn’t know how they got into this position.
He fights to keep a pleasant, neutral expression as L fills the shot glasses again. It’s their… sixth round? Maybe seventh. The links of the handcuffs rattle as he and L clink the shot glasses together and drain them once again.
He doesn’t remember who started it. L had suggested a drink or two to wind down for the night, and suddenly they were in a silent competition. Neither of them is willing to admit defeat first. They make eye contact, and L pours them another round.
Light wonders what game he’s playing. L never does anything without a reason, but it could be that the detective just wants to engage in some “lighthearted bonding” as he sometimes does. Or it could be an attempt to get him to reveal himself as Kira. Will his percentage go up if he outlasts L, he wonders? Light rolls his eyes.
Light stands up and downs the shot. “Let’s go sit on the roof,” he says, and it’s not really a suggestion. He’s just starting to become pleasantly dizzy and the room is a little too warm. The city lights and cool breeze will be good for him.
L stares at him for a fraction of a second too long, his face slightly flushed and his eyes just a tad unfocused, before he, too, downs his shot and stands. “Alright,” he agrees. If he’s surprised that Light was the one to call their competition to an end, he doesn’t say anything about it.
They meander down the hall, both swaying a bit, though they’re both making a solid effort to keep it together.
Their arms, the ones with the handcuffs, are linked now, and Light isn’t sure who initiated that. It’s helping him stay upright though, so he doesn’t bother to pull away. And anyway, if L falls, he’ll take Light down with him. Might as well help keep the detective standing as well.
They make it to the roof without incident, and Light drags them to sit as close to the railing as possible. He doesn’t do anything stupid like climbing over, but he sits so he can look past the edge. Their linked arms make it so L sits directly next to him, their legs pressed together. Now that they’re settled, Light feels a lot more stable. The world around him is still hazy, but he isn’t in danger of toppling over. As he suspected, the cool night breeze clears his head just a bit.
L takes a swig directly out of the bottle (The bottle? Had he had it the whole time?) and grimaced at the burn before offering it to Light. It’s no longer a challenge, merely a tipsy politeness, but Light accepts it and takes a drink as well.
“Does Light always like to find the tallest place to sit when he’s drunk?” L asks. His tone is probing, but for once it seems to come from genuine curiosity rather than a desire to get into his head and discover all his secrets. Maybe that’s why Light gives him an actual answer.
“It’s not about being drunk,” Light says, peering down at the cars so far below, “I just like being so high up. All those people down there, living lives that we don’t know anything about. It really puts things into perspective.”
There is something L could say here, something about Kira looking down on the rest of humanity. They can both hear it, but to Light’s surprise, what L says instead is, “I also enjoy sitting so high up.”
If Light had his memories of being Kira, he might be tempted to say something biting about high horses and the hypocrisy of L accusing Kira of looking down on humanity.
But he doesn’t, so he isn't.
The pair sits together in silence for several minutes, passing the bottle back and forth occasionally, quietly enjoying the pleasant unreality of the alcohol which is slowly working its way through their bloodstreams. It is late, but neither of them sleeps much anyway.
“What do you think of the trolley problem?” Light asks abruptly. He speaks without thinking, surprising himself, but he finds himself genuinely interested in what L's response will be.
L blinks at him as he processes the question. Then his lips twist into a small smile, all loose and amused. “Ethics, Light? I should have known you would be an introspective drunk.”
Light rolls his eyes. “That’s twice you’ve accused me of being drunk as if you haven't had exactly as much as I have.”
“I’ll have you know I have an excellent tolerance for alcohol,” L retorts and childishly pokes him in the arm for emphasis.
Light eyes the offending hand and, as quickly as his dulled reflexes will allow, uses his own hand to shove L in the ribs, sending the detective sprawling. Thankfully, they had set the bottle down at some point, so it stays unharmed.
“Ow.” L remains laying on his back, unmoving and staring up at the stars while Light peers curiously at him. He remembers something one of his acquaintances in high school had once said, about how you’re not truly drunk until you deny being drunk.
Light is just beginning to get concerned for the detective when he speaks. “A year ago, I would have pulled the lever without hesitation. I don’t like the idea, but I’m not one to argue that one life is worth more than five.”
“But now?” Light prompts.
“But now I have spent months battling against Kira, who I know would also pull the lever.”
“That sounds about right,” Light agrees. “Taking action to save five lives by sacrificing the life of one other. That’s got Kira written all over it.” Although, one could argue that because Kira kills only villains, the trolley problem doesn’t apply. He doesn’t voice that thought though, just as he never voices the thoughts that come a little too close to agreeing with Kira. “So you wouldn’t pull the lever?”
L makes a discontented noise. “Inaction in this case is despicable. I couldn’t allow five people to die without trying to save them.”
Light hums thoughtfully. “We already know you and Kira are similar. I don’t think it’s a moral failing on your part if you both agree that you should pull the lever. Most people do.” He huffs in slight amusement. “In fact, I’d argue that you’ve both been the pinnacles of utilitarianism this whole time.”
L turns over slightly to scowl at Light, but the effect is ruined by his unfocused eyes. “Light is cruel, comparing a man to a serial killer while his defenses are down.”
He doesn’t bother to stifle his snort. “You’ll have to forgive me if I’m not overly sympathetic,” he says with a meaningful shake of his arm, causing the handcuffs to jangle.
“What would you do?” L asks, still pouting.
“I’d pull the lever,” he answers simply. It might increase his percentage, but Light knows in his bones that he could never allow his inaction to condemn five innocents to death. Even if it meant personally causing the death of someone else.
Predictably, L isn’t satisfied by that answer. “Have you heard of the other variations? There’s one without a lever, where you have to throw a man in front of the trolley in order to derail it and stop it from hitting the other five people.”
The evening has been blessedly free from Kira accusations, but Light can sense that they are heading into dangerous territory. ‘Would you kill him? ’ lingers in the air between them, unasked.
‘Yes,’ whispers the part of his mind that he tries to keep under lock and key. The part that sounds too much like Kira.
Maybe a drinking contest with L was a bad idea.
Light brushes off his non-question, and L lets him.
When Light suggests that they head to bed, L takes his offered hand to help him stand up. They stumble their way back to their shared suite, and the idle conversation they make as they get ready for bed doesn’t feel stilted or awkward. They’re both still very drunk and more than willing to laugh at each other as they struggle with basic tasks.
Still, L is distracted, toying with a thought like a dog gnawing at a bone. Light has fallen into a heavy sleep by now, and L turns to look at him.
Light would pull the lever, would condemn a person to death to save the lives of those further down the line, but L thinks he sees a different solution now.
L knows that in the event of his death, his heirs will take over. He doesn’t plan on dying, but if that’s what it takes to rid the world of Kira, well.
‘You could throw the man onto the tracks to derail the trolley’, he thought, looking contemplatively at Light, ‘or you could throw yourself.’