Okay, folks, so I've come up with YET ANOTHER Death Note story!! I apologize to all who are reading my other DN fanfic (or THAT one of my DN fanfics...), Seizonsha no Fukushuu. I will try and update in the next week. Meantime, I hope this is an okay substitute! My muse returned from his vacation to Angel Falls, Venezuela and this is what he brought with him.

Thanks so much to Madeline Cullen and BlueHarpy for helping out with the overall development! It helped a TON!!

I do not own Death Note. If I did, I'd be supremely happy... But I do own Benign Birthday; she is entirely my creation.

A mind is a terrible thing to waste.

A great mind is an even grosser waste.

But a truly brilliant mind, perhaps the rarest occurrence of all—such high levels of abounding creativity and cleverness is not often found—is the most disgusting waste imaginable.

And yet, Beyond Birthday (otherwise known as B), one of the most brilliant minds the world had ever seen, sought to waste his own.

This wasn't some wanton whim, a selfish and overly dramatic desire to end his life in a way that would be noticed (though, indeed, it would have been duly noted); rather, Beyond's motives were arabesque and admirable in his own weird way—for he was weird in the truest sense of the term. No, his aspiration was simply to outdo, outsmart, out-think the great L, the world's number one detective.

B was L's first successor. B was L's Backup. B was L's shadow.

Or hidden in his shadow—either seems appropriate.

But I… I was hidden in B's shadow. Always the brilliant one of the Birthday siblings, Beyond was easily able to succeed at whatever he set his mind to doing. His tragic flaw was the pride that spurred him to attempt to "beat" L in a deadly battle of wits. My own goal was never to surpass anyone specific (though we all—those of us from Wammy's House, that is—wished to do better than our fellow classmates, we never felt any real or deep animosity toward anyone in particular for doing well); rather, I only wanted the same thing that every Wammy's child wanted: to be noticed by L.

And finally, I was noticed—a grand and glorious incident, indeed! Not every child gained the approval of the world's greatest and most famous detective. The difference between L's recognition of my brother and me lies in how he noticed us. Beyond stood in the spotlight for his intelligence; my own limelight was downplayed on L's stage, at least, publically. Very few knew of our relationship, and my more childish side would like to point out that it is largely because of my name. To be in love with someone called Ben would be a blow to any self-respecting heterosexual male's pride. But the aversion to my name would likely be placing more blame on the name that I share with my brother, after what happened with the Los Angeles BB Murder Case.

As aforementioned, to think that L would remain mum about me because of my name is a ridiculous notion and far from the truth, for in point of fact, it has more to do with protecting us both (more me than him) than with some silly name.

Perhaps I should introduce myself. I've been rambling atrociously all this time without letting you know my own name. It should not matter now; not only do I bear a new name, but it is supremely difficult to find someone whose face you do not know and whose true name is not registered anywhere. Very well; I shall tell you. You may call me Benign Birthday.

I grew up in the Wammy's House orphanage, too young to realize why my parents had abandoned me, and B was only just old enough to know where to take us. I was two; he was five. It was a cold March night, and I only remember my brother awakening me, bundling me in his old, worn coat (which was a hand-me-down from our father, and much too big for either of us), and carrying me outside into the rain. I cried, hating the feeling of being forced out of a warm bed, only to be exposed to the cruel elements that pounded down on us like water from monumental buckets from the heavens. He ran, and I clung to his neck, spooked by his manner. I'd never seen B like that before, so shaken and so anxious to flee our home.

But through the rain he ran, until we reached a bench in the park several blocks away. Under the cover of night—and a large shade tree—we waited, only partially shielded from the rain.

The little girl cried piteously in the rain and the damp. Beyond listened as the bells in the square rang out the hour: two-thirty AM. His red eyes narrowed slightly, and he turned back to his kid sister, Benign, to kneel by her side.

"Ben… Benny…"

Her response was in the form of a large sniff and quieter sobs, so as to better hear him through the pouring rain.

"Benny, I'll take care of you. It's all right. Shh…" He picked up the girl in his arms, cradling her to his chest and wrapping the threadbare, adult-sized coat around her more tightly, despite the futility of the action.

"I want my Blankie…"

Of course. Benign never went anywhere without her precious yellow blanket—Blankie. Beyond nodded and tenderly—if clumsily—kissed her forehead, tugging a section of the coat up to her fist. "Here, pretend this is Blankie, okay?"

"O-okay…" She sniffed and cuddled closer into his arms and latched her fingers onto the fabric of the coat. "It smells funny."

"This is only for a little while, Ben," he said softly. "Blankie's gone to heaven. I'll get you a new blanket soon." Of course, it was a lie. They only had a little money from Beyond's sock drawer, and they'd need it to buy food.

His thoughts were interrupted by his sister's cry. "But my Blankie…!"

Beyond swallowed against the tears of fear and rage that threatened to spill over. Even now, he couldn't purge the horrific images from his mind…

Blood…

Destruction…

Chaos…

Overwhelming stillness. Calm. A disgusting and perverse calm.

The thought of Benign's fit over her lost Blankie seemed incredibly trivial, but he forced himself to consider things from her point of view. She'd not seen the bloodbath; she'd not seen their slaughtered parents. She was cold, wet, and afraid, and wanting the only method of comfort she knew. Of course she would cry about it!

"Blankie is safe and happy, now," he crooned, chafing his sister's body in effort to warm her with one long, pale hand. "Safe and happy…" Like their parents…

But would they end up in heaven? Was there even a heaven…?

Beyond did not know. But what he did know was that they couldn't forsake the shelter of the tree until the rain lessened. And then, they would make the long trek to the church building where he'd seen children playing before… If that wasn't a place where they'd be taken in, surely there he could find help.

My memory here is hazy, but I do recall Beyond cradling me close and whispering in my ear that everything would be okay, and not to worry; he was there to care for me. I trusted him, and must've fallen asleep, for the next thing I knew, we were standing before a large iron gate before a church. The rain had slackened into a lazy shower, and I remember feeling so utterly cold and weak. We must have been taken into the church, which is not a church, but rather, an orphanage.

The Wammy's House.

My next clear memory is of an old, kindly face peering down at me. This man, I learned, was called Quillish Wammy, the founder and headmaster of the orphanage-cum-academy (a place at which I now realize I had no right to be; I am not, nor was I ever, especially intelligent and was likely taken in only because of my brother). As I was too young to remember my real parents, I viewed Mr. Wammy as my father, and I would imagine that many others in the orphanage viewed him similarly. He was a sweet soul, and always tender to every child in his care.

My brother, however, had changed from the playful, loving boy he had once been, into a cold and aloof child that I no longer recognized. True, his love for me never died, nor did he lose his protective streak with which he carefully guarded me throughout my childhood and adolescent years. But Beyond had changed. We remained relatively close despite his new demeanor.

The years passed quietly. I was six when he arrived.

The boy was seven years old and scruffy-looking with his baggy clothing and tousled black hair, which made him seem unapproachable in a pitying sort of way. He was the sort of boy one might glance at and say with a charitable sigh, "Poor thing…!" but never carry out any action after passing him by. Why would one desire to linger around such a dirty, untidy little boy, especially considering his eyes…

His eyes. Those round, black-as-sin orbs that seemed to stare dumbly at everything and everyone alike. Nothing could escape his blank stare, so everyone merely looked away, and eventually, ignored the boy completely.

I first took him for a dumb deaf-mute, for he never acknowledged anyone with a word, nor did he speak much of anything. But I was quickly contradicted on the assumption of his stupidity after Mr. Wammy gave him the aptitude test that would allow him to stay at the orphanage—he was easily the brightest orphan in the House, even brighter than Beyond and another boy called A, and I hated him for it. That phase did not last long; B has often told me that I am too kind to hold a grudge. I am not sure about kindness, but whatever the reason, he is correct in that I am unable to remain angry with someone for long. But B, too, was resentful as I set out to gain the friendship of the newcomer, who was christened L.

"Hello, my name is Ben."

Two black pits where eyes should have been stared back at the young girl, taking in her waist-length, silky black hair to her sharp, blue-green eyes, to her faded grey jumper and skirt, all the way down to her baggy socks—the elastic had long since been destroyed, for they had fallen carelessly about her ankles in strange bundles.

The boy spoke nothing.

"When someone says their name, it's papa eticut to say your name back." Her informative tone in conjunction with her mispronounced wording amused the boy.

"Do you mean 'proper etiquette?'"

Her eyes grew large and horrified at the thought of having been mistaken by the boy. She'd never been mistaken before! "That's what I said!"

With a bare smirk, the boy returned to his book, which he held in a peculiar fashion: by the top instead of by supporting the bottom. He said nothing more, and after Ben finally grew tired of asking questions to what might as well have been a statue, she hung her head and left, frustrated. The bedroom she shared with her brother, Beyond, was her refuge to which she retreated. (Not that she was technically allowed to share a room with a boy, no matter what her tie to him was. She was assigned her own room, but Beyond always let her in every night to sleep cuddled up beside him.)

"Be-e-e-e-e," she whined as she opened the door, "I don't like the new boy. He's mean."

Beyond, sitting on the corner of his mattress, set aside his book and regarded her. "He's that way to everyone, Ben."

"But he shouldn't be!" She hopped onto the bed and sat beside her adored older brother, peering up at him in hopes of obtaining an answer to this strange dilemma.

"Perhaps something bad has happened to him that made him angry or sad," Beyond suggested quietly. "Wait a while and talk to him again. Maybe he's not as mean as you think."

He only knew to say this through personal experience. B had been through trauma that had scarred him… many of the orphans had been. It wasn't too far-fetched.

But innocent, adorable little Ben hadn't yet thought of something like that. "Oh… I see! How much is 'a while?'"

At her impatience, B had to smile a little. "Wait a day or two, okay?"

She nodded and crawled off his bed to find some form of entertainment. "Okay. Thank you, B!"

"You're welcome."

Needless to say, no progress was made, and I eventually abandoned the attempt—that is, no progress was made until four years after L had returned to the orphanage, having left at the age of twelve to travel the world with Mr. Wammy as the great detective L and his assistant and intermediary, Watari.

By that time, I was fifteen; L would've been sixteen, and Beyond, eighteen. B had long since been named L's second Backup, after A—he was second runner-up for the legacy of L's name, should something happen to him.

I remember that well. He had scoffed at the idea of becoming an heir to a famous detective's title, leery of anyone who had spurned his little sister, but nonetheless began to copy L exactly in order to be a proper backup. At first, it began as a mocking, satirical sort of gesture, but the more he heard from L, the more he realized that he didn't quite measure up. Failure was a new concept to Beyond Birthday, and he was going to overcome the odds, narrow the gap between himself and L, no matter what it took. It became a manic obsession, and I watched in horror as my brother succumbed to the façade he'd modeled after his superior. I am not entirely sure what spurred this transformation; perhaps it was the jeering and joking at his appearance, for B had never been a particularly beautiful child—not in the normal sense, anyway. No, his dark brown, almost black hair was thick and unruly; he'd long since given up fixing it. His red eyes were considered to be eerie and intimidating, especially because his smiles were few and far between. His high intelligence also was a barrier; far surpassing the others made them feel resentful and disdainful toward him. I wonder now if he might have felt some kind of strained kinship with L in that they were both ridiculed for their untidy and unnerving appearances.

I digress. It was my fifteenth birthday when L returned, and I recall very vividly the events that played out that day.

Birthdays were not overly celebrated in the Wammy's House; one would receive a token of some kind from Mr. Wammy to celebrate a tenth or sixteenth birthday, and perhaps gifts from close friends, and a cake was always made to commemorate the day, but that was the end of it. No organized games or events transpired; the celebrations were always quiet.

Benign was no exception. Her gifts numbered three: a small set of rubber bands and colorful hair clips from her four-year-old admirer and friend, Kayla; a box of chocolate-covered cherries from her closest friend, Nina; and a silver bracelet with a ruby charm from her older brother, Beyond—ruby for her birth month, July.

This was perfectly adequate, in her opinion. Birthdays weren't amazing celebrations to make a fuss over. At lunch, when her strawberry-flavored birthday sheet cake was served as dessert for the orphanage, everyone sang for her, and Benign smiled in that customary self-conscious way, being unaccustomed to so much attention at once. The laughter sounded throughout the room when she blew out all the candles at once—and a bit of melted wax onto the nose of Beyond, who was standing just opposite her. Chuckling, Benign seated herself and took a dainty bite of her cake.

The room gradually grew still, and wide-eyed stares swiveled to the back of the lunch room. Benign turned in her seat to see a familiar figure standing there.

It just had to be him. That wild hair, baggy attire, pale skin, and staring eyes couldn't belong to anyone else. It was L.

"Happy birthday, Ben," he said softly, strolling barefoot toward her table. "May I have a slice of cake?"

She blinked in surprise and nodded wordlessly. "Of course."

L perched beside Benign on the bench, curling his toes over the edge of the wooden seat as he poked a fork at his cake experimentally.

A few moments of awkward silence ensued, and the students had all returned to their typical volume level. Beyond stared guardedly at L, who was oblivious to this—oblivious, or he just chose to ignore it. Benign cleared her throat and turned to the boy beside her. "Excuse me, L…"

He made a soft grunting sound and mumbled something before turning to her with expectant eyes. "Mm, hm… m'yes?"

Benign paused and lowered her voice. She was not ignoring her brother's increasingly angry stares at L. "You addressed me as 'Ben' earlier. May I ask why?"

"Mm, yes, ask away."

There followed a pregnant pause.

"Okay… why?"

L's lips curled upward just slightly as though amused with himself, but the expression of levity disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. "That is your name, is it not?"

"You've hardly said four words to me before, and yet, you call me by my nickname, which is a sign of familiarity."

"Actually, it was five words."

Benign's gaze narrowed.

"Mm, if I recall, I asked you, 'Do you mean 'proper etiquette.' That is five words." He paused and shoveled another huge bite of cake in his mouth. "Mmf, hm, but as to your question…" He swallowed. "Would you rather I call you 'Benign?'"

She blinked her confusion and stopped to compose a decent reply. "Not necessarily… I was merely…"

"Mm, wondering that I actually acknowledge your existence?"

"It could be phrased that way, yes…"

L's head swiveled back to her (he'd been staring at the far wall), and he raised his index finger to his lips in a thoughtful manner. "I have always acknowledged your existence."

"You didn't seem to." Benign felt a little warm, suddenly, and turned to look down at her half-eaten portion of cake.

"Ah. I can be easily misunderstood." With that, he stood, plate and fork in hand, and helped himself to another massive portion of the confection. "I wish you the happiest of birthdays, Ben." And he left, leaving a very confused Benign and a very disgruntled B.

That night, Benign spent her evening in her textbooks. She'd long ceased going to her brother's room at every whim—not only did she have her own studies to attend to, but Beyond had enough work as L's Backup. It had been weeks since she'd even spoken to him for more than a few minutes at a time. They both just seemed to be so busy…

A knock sounded on her door. With a sigh, she rose to her feet and opened the door a crack to see who it was.

L's dark eyes cornered to the sliver of Benign visible through the door. "Good evening."

Benign opened the door, smiling slightly to hide her confusion. "Good night, it seems. It's almost ten."

"Oh, yes," he said thoughtfully, turning a few degrees to look at the ceiling. "Did I disturb your studies?"

She gave a tilt of her head and said diplomatically, "I needed a break from them anyway."

Silence followed, and Benign finally spoke again. "Is there something you wanted me for?"

He seemed to return to earth at this statement, as evidenced by his gaze zeroing in on Benign's face. "Mm, yes, actually. I realized that I had given you no birthday present." He pulled his hand from behind his back to produce a single daisy, obviously picked from the lawn, if the excessively long stem, ridiculous amount of leaves, and specks of dirt at its base were any indication.

Benign's eyes widened and she stared at the daisy, delicately held between his forefinger and thumb. Was this really coming from L, the boy who'd not said more than five words to her before? Confusion was imminent. A heavy silence stretched between them, and she simply stood there, dumbfounded.

L blinked, and his arm lowered slightly. "Of course, you are under no obligation to accept…"

His calm, smooth voice, so much deeper than she'd expected, shook her from her dazed state. "Um, thank you, L. I'm just… surprised…" She reached out and took the daisy from his hand, smiling a little nervously. His eyes seemed somehow alive just then, as though excited that she had accepted his token. "Would you like to stay and talk…? I could fetch us some tea, if you'd like…"

He seemed to retreat at this and shoved his hands into his pockets. "Mm, no, thank you. Good night, Ben." Without further ado, he shuffled down the hall, leaving Benign to ponder that simple—yet expressive—gift.

The following morning, when L left once again, he peered up at the orphanage from the tinted window of the 1940s Mercedes Benz in which he traveled. On the sill of a room on the third floor, he saw a single daisy in a red plastic cup.

For my following birthday, I received a lovely blue-green tourmaline pendant on a fine gold chain from an anonymous person, though I strongly suspected L was behind it. His returns to the orphanage grew more frequent, and the excuse was always to discuss the title and position of L-the-detective with my brother. But at least once on each of these visits, L would come to visit me at night for the purpose of presenting me with a small souvenir from some far-off land.

Beyond grew more and more resentful of L as the months dragged on, and yet, he grew to be more and more like him after each visit. It grew to the point where I found my brother going days at a time without having slept a minute with naught but strawberry jam for sustenance. But it seemed odd that while L performing such strange actions as sitting strangely, eating only sugary foods, and using only the tips of his fingers to hold objects, was entirely natural. L could not be any other way.

These actions, though copied to the T by Beyond, were torturously alien and abominable, making him seem even stranger than L himself—which was saying something. Beyond was not meant to change his mannerisms in such ways. Beyond was too original for that, and I loved him for it… until I no longer recognized my brother.

But I was more worried about the growing wall around Beyond that shut out everyone—including me.

A seventeen-year-old Benign cried softly into her pillow, using it to muffle her sounds and soak up her tears. Today had been one of the worst days she'd ever had: it had started with a bad hair day and had escalated slowly into a nightmare. She tripped three times over nothing in the halls; she incorrectly answered an easy question during class and had been laughed at (which, had she not been already upset at herself, would have amused her); she'd incorrectly copied the homework from a previous class and had a wrong assignment to hand into the teacher… It would have merely been "one of those days" had it not been for L's arrival. He sat beside her at dinner, as was his wont whenever he was at the orphanage, and B had been furious. That was the catalyst.

Minutes prior…

After dinner, Benign went not to her room, but to her brother's, to address his anger. "B…?" she asked softly as she knocked on the door.

"What?" came the cool reply.

"May I talk to you?"

No immediate response followed, and Benign was about to return to her room in defeat when he opened the door. There stood Beyond, twenty-year-old Beyond, who should've been on his own by this point in time. His crimson eyes glared down at her, and for the first time, Benign was a little afraid of him. "Beyond, may I come inside?"

He grunted and stepped aside to allow her entrance and closed the door behind her. She sat on the edge of his mattress and stared as he squatted on his desk chair. "Why are you sitting like that?" she asked quietly.

He did not answer.

Benign didn't press the issue, but decided to pursue her true objective. "Why were you so angry at dinnertime?"

"Do you think I like having my sister stolen from me by some halfwit lunatic who can't even talk to someone without making an ass of himself? I can't believe you're willing to spend time with that arrogant jerk in the first place! He may be a good detective, but as a human being, he's an utter failure." Beyond's voice grew dark and his eyes glinted. "You stay away from L."

"He's not stealing me! All we do is talk… He's not even interested."

He scoffed. "Not interested, my foot. He gives you gifts at every chance. He sits with you at every meal. He visits you late at night. He gave you a damn necklace with a tourmaline pendant! Do you know how rare a good tourmaline is?!" Inwardly, B was incredibly hurt by the way Benign wore that necklace more often than the silver bracelet he'd given her.

It was then that Benign realized it—he was envious of the attention L received from her. But she had no idea…! She always sat across from Beyond, and he always quietly stared at his strawberry jam that he shoveled into his mouth like a maniac. But then… it wasn't jealousy, was it?

Protective. He was trying to protect her. But… L wasn't someone she needed to be protected from, right? Then again, that was probably Beyond being the illogical older brother.

Benign drew in a shuddering breath as she gazed across the room at Beyond. "B… I… didn't know… for the past few years… I thought… you didn't…"

She couldn't finish. The words stuck in her throat.

I thought you didn't want to be with me…

B glared at her. "A true sister would've noticed."

Tears brimming in her eyes, Benign stood silently and turned to leave, but a suitcase in the corner of the room caught her eye. It was half-packed with a plethora of black, long-sleeved shirts and plain blue jeans, jars of jam, a notepad, pens and pencils, and a few other miscellaneous items. Benign started. "Are… are you… leaving, B…?"

"Tonight. I'm not coming back. I'm not going to play lackey to that bastard any longer."

"But… what about… B… I need you!"

"Fine way of showing it, you've got," he snapped. "Don't follow me, Benign. I'm leaving… forever."

Tears now fell freely down her pale cheeks, and Benign drew in a shuddering gasp. Such hatred in his voice, and in his stare…! Who was this strange creature standing before her? Unrecognizable… a stranger… and yet, so familiar…

Confused, torn, and hurt, Benign ran down the hall to her own room…

Back to the present…

A knock sounded on her door, but Benign didn't exactly feel like talking to anyone, especially when she was in such a messy state. She always looked horrible after crying, all red and blotchy, with swollen eyes and runny nose to boot. Maybe if I don't make a sound, they'll go away, she thought privately, and lay there, stock still. "Ben…?"

That soft voice could only belong to one person. Reluctantly, Benign choked out a watery-sounding "One moment" and slogged across the room to retrieve a kerchief from her sock drawer, which she tied around her face like a veil or a bandana, before opening the door.

L stood there scratching his ankle with his opposite foot. "Mm, you have been crying," he observed softly, expression strangely unreadable.

Benign shook her head stupidly in contradiction of his statement. "No, I haven't," she croaked, sniffing.

L stepped past her and closed the door before reaching up to pull the kerchief down to her neck, revealing her tear-stained face; Benign made no move to stop him. "Shall I list the telltale signs of your weeping, or will you explain the cause of your tears?" He pulled one hand from his pocket to gesture for her to sit on her bed; she did so.

"Ih… it's Beyond," she blubbered as she wiped the back of her hand across her eyes. A black trail of mascara marked her hand's path and she sighed at the sight of the makeup on her knuckles. "I don't know what to do about him anymore… Ever since A died… and tonight, he… and he said… and the suitcase…"

L stared down at the twisting hands in her lap and slowly moved to crouch beside her on the mattress. "Tell me what happened."

"It doesn't matter; he's right about that!" she cried, flopping over and curling into a ball around her pillow, into which her face buried itself as her sobbing resumed.

A gentle hand lay then on her back, and she twitched, but didn't move, otherwise. L began to rub carefully up and down in what he hoped was a consolatory manner. "What is he right about?"

"I'm… a… horrible sister!"

"I'm sure you're not, Ben." His voice was soft and careful as he spoke. "You mentioned a suitcase. Is your brother leaving?"

"Uh-huh!"

Of course, he already had deduced that Beyond was leaving. In fact, he'd predicted it. Benign didn't need to know that. She just needed to know that someone was there for her.

"You should calm down," he finally said gently. "You will give yourself a headache."

"Too late…" But her sobs quieted into heavy breathing and her grip on the pillow lessened.

"Do you need something?"

She shook her head and stared at the far wall.

"Very well. I should go." L stood, listening carefully to any hint of a noise of an indication of something, but Benign did not move. So L turned and bent down over her to plant a soft kiss on her cheek. His nimble fingers ran once, twice through her dark hair, and he paused. "Good night, Benign."

To shorten what has become a very lengthy missive, L and I began to see each other much more often, and on my eighteenth birthday, a request was made for my presence during his travels. Of course, I agreed. How could I refuse?

I was nineteen when he offered me a silver ring which held one diamond flanked by two tiny rubies—he'd seen the bracelet Beyond had given me years ago and was trying to find something to match it, I think. L's attentiveness to such detail never ceased to bring me joy. In another year, we were officially man and wife.

But in my twenty-first year, it happened.

A journalist named Believe Bridesmaid was killed in Beverly Hills. After a single death, L had taken up the case—such an unprecedented happenstance! L always only took up cases involving ten victims at the least or a million or more dollars. Not this time.

Benign sat on the hotel's plush carpet beside Lawliet—who remained as scruffy and unkempt as ever, even after marriage—and glanced at his computer. "What's this one about?"

Lawliet remained silent for a few moments before sighing quietly and closing the lid of his laptop. His head swiveled to her… She should have realized the gravity of the situation from his expression, but it wasn't until he'd kissed her cheek sweetly and gathered her into his arms that she stopped. "Ben… what I am about to say is going to hurt."

"What is it, Lawliet? Please… tell me…"

"I have reason to believe that your brother, Beyond… is the murderer… and that he will strike again."

My tears, were, of course, inevitable.

I have often wondered why someone as scathingly brilliant as L Lawliet would have the remotest desire to associate with me, for I am not especially bright. I have a better-than-average memory, and can recall minute details or scenes from my very early childhood, but I am not clever. I know also that my body is not an especially wonderful specimen of the female anatomy. I have never understood Lawliet's attraction to me. He tells me that it is because of my kindness—I was the only child at Wammy's who made a genuine attempt to communicate with him or even acknowledged him before his departure as L—and due to my sensitivity. The latter trait, I concluded after a week of research, satisfies his desire to be needed as a human being—caused mainly by my desire to be comforted when upset, which happens more frequently than I could easily admit—and his male instinct to want to protect. Admittedly, the reason sounds faintly sexist when placed in that light, but I do not complain—I love Lawliet and he is a spectacular listener to any story I may have for a less-than-cheerful mood (and the stories of my cheerful moods, too).

After this particular revelation, I cried for hours and afterwards was upset for months, long after the case ended. I will never comprehend why or how Lawliet and Watari both tolerated me, much less cared for me so assiduously.

My own story in the Los Angeles BB Murder Case is nonexistent until the end. Following my prolonged sobbing into Lawliet's shoulder at the onslaught of the entire tragedy, I silently endured every staggering twist and turn that Beyond threw at my husband and his newest agent, Naomi Misora (whom I envied for her intelligence, perception, bravery, and beauty—that is, until she kicked Lawliet to the bottom of a subway stair, whereupon I grew very angry with her).

But after Beyond Birthday was imprisoned, I left the hotel to visit him.

The young woman approached the room, escorted by no less than five guards. The orders from L himself had been to allow the woman to talk privately with the heavily bandaged criminal, the freak who had been placed in solitary confinement not a day ago—he'd only just arrived from the hospital.

Benign Lawliet sat at the desk in the interrogation room, heart fluttering in her chest. What if he didn't forgive her for her relationship with L? What if he still viewed her as inattentive and a poor excuse for a sister? Was he even remotely recognizable as the old Beyond, her kind and gentle older brother…?

A loud, grating screech pierced her ears as the door opened, and a nearly mummified figure was pushed in on a wheelchair. Two holes appeared in the bandaging on his face, one for his eyes, and one for his mouth—the former seemed unnecessary as his eyes were probably destroyed. His hands and feet were bound into mitten-like wads; even his hair was gone—burned off his scalp completely. The guard nodded to Benign and hesitantly left, unsure about the orders of leaving a criminal alone with such a frail and weak-looking young woman.

"B…?" Benign's voice was soft, tentative, uncertain, made almost inaudible in the stifling silence.

The faint beginnings of a low moan came from Beyond's throat, and he slowly opened his mouth. "Benny… your… name… changed…"

Overwhelmed with tears, Benign sniffed and nodded, pulling a tissue from a pocket pack out of her purse. "Yeah. Over a year, now. He got me a ring to match your bracelet," she said hopefully, praying that he was feeling something resembling alacrity toward her, despite his inability to express his feelings properly. She held out her arm to display the jewelry for him. "I wear it every day. The bracelet. Well, the ring, too…"

"Huh…" A laugh, some kind of representation of amusement and cynicism. "The tourmaline… looked… better… on you…"

Benign gave a sniff and a strained—but genuine—smile. "I wear the necklace only sometimes. I like silver better." The following pause stretched to be a full minute, and all the while, tears fell from Benign's eyes down to the table. This was the brother she'd grown up with, the brother who cared for her happiness more than his own skewed desires for a perfect life for her. "B… I miss you. Where have you been?"

A shuddering breath, and a long pause. Moisture seeped into the bandage beneath his left eye, but that could've been in pain or perhaps fluid secreted from his healing body. "I'm… sorry, Ben… for… what I… said… that night…"

"I'm sorry for being a bad sister," she whispered.

"N-no… I'm sorry… for not… being… a brother… at all…"

Beyond and I finally made our peace. I made monthly visits—frequenter, if such was manageable—until he died of a heart attack on January 21, 2004.

My brother was very probably one of the kindest men I have ever known, if the years under L's thumb are not to be counted. The more I spoke to him in prison, the closer we grew, and the more I came to realize how much I loved him.

Is it too much of a stretch to say that I loved my brother more than I love my husband? I loved him in a very different way, mind you, but the bond we shared, my brother and I, was… indescribably intimate. The felicity and understanding that existed between us is likely matched by only a minute fraction of the entire history of close siblings.

I miss Beyond Birthday terribly, and am further saddened by the realizations that I am the only one who truly knew him (even L does not know the true B), and that he was unjustly killed by someone who possesses not an ounce of the courage, intellect, wit, charm, and compassion that Beyond had without trying.

Dwelling on the past is a useless waste of one's time.

The need to repeat to oneself the gravity of that truth is an even grosser waste of time.

But to forget is the worst crime of all, and I shall never, ever forget my brother.

In pace requiescat.

Mother of pearl, this thing was ten pages on MS Word! And over 7,000 words?! Wow...

THIS IS A ONE-SHOT AND WILL NOT BE CONTINUED.

However, reviews are REALLY appreciated!! C'mon, it's not that hard. If nothing else, leave a little smiley and say "I read it." That'd be awesome.