Chapter Text
If an evil person declares himself good, and becomes good, never doing harm again; does this absolve him of his crimes?
L traced his thumb against his lip, conscious of the slight jangle of the cuff linking his wrist to that of Light Yagami. The office was cold. Behind them, low conversations strained against the silence—desperate, willfully ignoring the one thought lurking in the shadows.
L did not participate in such deliberate avoidance. The book lay heavily on his mind, carving its existence into every section of his brain, repainting memory after memory as they emerged from his subconscious and played again.
Death Note. Eerie white font, as if scratched into tar with a sharpened claw. The uncanny coldness of the cover as he held it in his already clammy hands. The wave of nausea tightening his throat when he saw it. The Shinigami.
Shinigami. L wanted to say he couldn’t believe it, but that would be a gruesome lie. He couldn’t believe it when, eons ago, the Second Kira had spoken the word on live television. He remembered the moment that shattered his brain, his meticulously crafted understanding of the world.
That moment had saved him. When the arched figure of the Shinigami exposed itself to L’s eyes, the shock that ripped through him only held him for a second.
It was that second, he thought, that was the diverging point of his and Light Yagami’s intertwined fate. If that second has lasted two, or one-point-five, or one-point-zero-zero-one; L knew, quite simply, that he would have lost. Everyone would have lost.
Most of all, Light Yagami would have lost. It would have been Kira’s victory, after all, not his.
“You should stop thinking about it,” Light Yagami said next to him. He slid into his chair, maneuvering his end of the chain around the armrest. “I know—“ he continued when L turned to look at him, “—you knew I would say that. And I know saying it won’t stop you.”
L murmured through his thumb: “Then why say it?”
“Because you look awful.” Light clicked his mouse; his monitor lit up, casting his face blue. “I didn’t think your eye bags could get any worse.”
“Perhaps Light Yagami’s predictive abilities have a weakness.”
Light laughed as he typed. “I’ve seen you after an all-nighter. Three in a row, once.” He shot a glance at L.
In response, L reached in front of him and swiped his finger across the top of a neat slice of cake. The frosting’s dye smeared red across an underlying white crumb coating. L stared at it.
Never before had L been thrown off course. Every case, every criminal of his past—they were challenging, yes, but straightforward. Solvable. Each piece of a puzzle connecting to the next and the next, until his brain could fill in the rest all at once.
Kira. Light Yagami, maybe, definitely. Formerly. L had built his puzzle, filled in the gaps as he went. He knew, underneath his pretentious probabilities and outside of his gathered evidence, that Light Yagami and Kira were one and the same. But that moment, watching Light break down in his cell—the puzzle had shattered into two separate, intertwining ones. Puzzle one: Light Yagami is Kira. Puzzle two: Light Yagami was Kira. The real challenge was knitting the two halves back together, so the resolving puzzle could outfit itself in L’s mind.
A hand grasped his arm and tore L out of his thoughts. The hand yanked him sideways. The wheels on his chair squeaked as they rolled over the chain links coiling on the floor.
L, finger still poised with its top knuckle covered in frosting, stared Light Yagami straight in the eyes. Light’s eyes flashed with anger, but behind it there was a warmth—one that, L absolutely, one-hundred-percent positively knew, was thoroughly nonexistent in Kira–Light-Yagami.
“I’m worried about you,” Light said. There was a firmness to his voice, an authoritative timbre. “You need rest.”
“My thinking capacity is still intact,” L said, because he knew that Light Yagami was a practical person. “There are still aspects of the case to solve—”
“Which,” Light said, tightening his hold on L’s arm, “will be solved in time. I’m not talking about that.”
Light softened then, both in expression and in grip. This Light, L thought, was harder to predict than Kira-Light. Partly because this Light was new, and L was still piecing the subtler details together. But also because this Light was driven less by pure calculation and more prone to being led by his emotions—and emotion, while simple enough itself, can nudge someone’s actions slightly off course.
L could see Light’s intentions easily. Prophesy his next move and the ones that would inevitably follow. Clearly understand each and every thought, just as Light understood L’s. But it was how Light felt about his own decisions, his own actions, his own calculations and perceptions—this was the part of Light that L could never predict with perfect precision. He frequently found himself just shy of the mark.
Of course, it was Matsuda who spoke in Light’s favor. “Ryuzaki, Light only has your well-being in mind,” he said. He was simple enough to be utterly right. “We’re all doing our best to solve the rest of the case.” And simple enough to be slightly wrong. “But we made a huge breakthrough! That’s good at least, right?”
Maybe, L thought as he suctioned the frosting off his finger. But he was keenly aware that the tiniest slip-up could spiral into disaster.
If an evil person forgets he has done evil, and, without a remnant of guilt on his conscience, continues living life as a good person—does this forgive him in the eyes of God?
The Death Note was sealed tight, locked in a safe, and tucked away in the highest-security vault they had. L claimed it was too dangerous for anyone else to touch. This was not untrue; too many people knowing the full existence of the Shinigami and the lethal potential of the notebook could lead to unnecessary conflict. But his deepest reasoning, one which L might never expose to Light, but which Light definitely had uncovered anyway, was quite obvious.
Light Yagami must never touch the Death Note. For as long as L lived, he would not allow it. Would put his life on the line to prevent it—because if he didn’t, his life would already be over.
The hand on L’s arm slipped away with a clink as Light stood, resolute. He rolled L’s chair back over the chain. Without hesitation, Light marched away from the desk and towards the stairs. L watched the chain grow taut, before finally it launched him off his chair and onto his cold, bare feet. And L let Light Yagami win this round.
-
In their shared bedroom, Light dragged L over to the side of the bed before doubling back to close the door. He stood in front of it for a moment, sighing briefly and running a hand through his hair. L watched him, calculating if it was worth resisting Light’s will. His mind spun around the answer: No. Light Yagami was hardly ever wrong. The bed had a tantalizing quality to it.
“Come on, Ryuzaki,” Light said as he guided L by the shoulder. L felt briefly like a kid being put to bed by an exasperated parent. He tensed, his mind spinning now around the fraying loose ends of the Kira case.
Misa was still suspect. She claimed innocence, but so did Light, and it was highly likely that neither of them knew the truth. Or, at least, that Light knew; somehow, L was sure Misa had some awareness back. L had Misa detained, confined to her floor indefinitely. He could not let her escape, or reveal anything to Light. If Misa had been Second Kira, had forgotten and then remembered, and had been working in tangent with Kira, and Light Yagami was—was—Kira; it was likely that she would want Light Yagami to remember, too.
There was no solid proof against either of them. L had weighed the chances, rated the probabilities, drawn a plausible conclusion. But he would not accost someone without hard evidence.
Would preventing disaster cost him true closure of the Kira case? It was against L’s principles to put others in danger unwittingly. He knew what Light Yagami would be capable of if handed the Death Note, regardless of circumstance.
The gentle hand on his shoulder turned abruptly forceful, and L toppled onto the mattress. This is fine, he thought. Light Yagami is still Light Yagami. So long as L kept it that way, the Kira case was no more. Maybe unsolved, but inactive.
“Sleep,” Light Yagami ordered. And, to avoid being hypocrite, laid down on the mattress beside L. The light leaking through the narrow blinds was dim. Evening had set in. It was early enough to be early, but late enough to be not-too-early for bedtime.
L lay still on his back, eyes tracing a pattern along the ceiling tiles high above their heads. Their room was echoingly large. In his sleep-drawn mind, L pictured the pointed arches of a cathedral.
“Sleep,” Light ordered once more. L closed his eyes. Delicately painted angels danced across his vision. Every single one of them looked like the man lying next to him. L wondered where he was in this iconography.
The angels chased him into slumber.
-
L had never felt such cognitive dissonance.
The chains were released. Amazingly, L didn’t feel the danger of it; perhaps his brain acknowledged that there was little danger at all, for now. Several loose strings had been resolved in silence: the supposed thirteen-day murder desideratum, the status of Misa’s captivity. The second was done fairly quickly, to unanimous assent. She would be taken care of, but in a facility far from headquarters.
The first was done without Light’s knowledge. L wasn’t one for secrets, but the others were—but he knew that Light would eventually piece it together without need of a clue. L also knew that Light would protest the callous use of a man under predestined execution for the sake of evidence.
L was also not one for truths. Light did not know of the cryptic rules scrawled on the notebook. L refused to let Light Yagami interact with the notebook beyond glancing at it. Light was undoubtedly suspicious. But Light undoubtedly understood L’s ulterior motives.
“Feels good to be out of those chains,” Light said. “I don’t think I’ll ever be wearing a metal bracelet again.”
What about a leather watch? L wanted to say. He was too careful, sometimes, but Light Yagami had worn it as long as L had known him. Possibly there was some use for it. L would deal with that later.
“Are you implying you hate my company?” L mused. He found himself rubbing his wrist, and came to awareness of Light doing the same. He stopped. The phantom feeling of metal on skin continued.
Light laughed. “Of course not. But it’ll be nice to have some privacy.”
Privacy. The thought had no business causing so much distress. L had no business monitoring Light’s every move.
Untrue. His mind teetered back and forth. The puzzle was still disfigured. I can’t be negligent. But he couldn’t let his fears run amuck.
He may have been willing to part with the chains, but he was unwilling to part with Light Yagami. This Light Yagami.
“Maybe we should celebrate,” Light suggested, as if to prove his point. I don’t dislike you. I trust you. L didn’t need Light to imply the obvious. “We can go out into public without raising any eyebrows.”
“I think L might draw stares regardless,” Matsuda chimed in behind them. He wrapped the chain up like a wire being sent to storage. His face visibly heated. “Uh. No offense, of course.”
L waved his hand. It was truth.
Light stepped closer and closed his sleeve around his wrist. L felt his phantom cuff throb again. Saw the phantom chain laid out in the space between them.
“How about it? Get some food somewhere. Take a break,” Light continued. “The killings completely ceased two weeks ago. There’s still work to do,” he said before L could begin to protest. He knew him too well. “But for once, we have time.”
Time. What was time but a measure of change? The Death Note’s existence was a forever ticking clock. The ever-present lurk of the gaunt Shinigami was a conditional fixture.
Returning ownership of the notebook will remove all memory of the Death Note and its effects, it—she?—had revealed. You will no longer see me, and any occurrences resulting from the Death Note will be wiped from your mind.
Relinquishing the Death note.
Out of the question.
This L knew immediately, and plainly. The Death Note was the joint of the two Kira puzzles. To remove that would be pointless.
More pressingly, Light Yagami would still retain awareness of its existence. He had not touched the notebook. He would not be released from knowledge of its existence. Of his years of muddled memory.
And L would be back at square one. And L would be a failure of a detective—unimportant in regard to public status, more important in regard to self esteem.
“A dessert bar would be nice,” L mused.
Light laughed again, and L decided he liked that sound. Kira–Light-Yagami never sounded like that. Free-hearted.
“How about ice cream?”
L nodded. Light smiled.
If time was change, then it was moving forward at an incredible pace.
L followed Light out the door, and did not question whether it would be his last time doing so. This Light Yagami would let him live.