"I'm telling you, you are never going to experience chafing quite like this again."

"Will you stop bringing up chafing? It's the eighth time in the past half an hour you have complained about the state of your wrists and it is getting onto my last nerve."

"I'm just saying." Light scowled and held up both his hands in surrender. The chain jangled between them, scraping the old floorboards beneath.

That night, between sleep and playing word association, the pair had scratched escape plans into the wood using rusty nails from the corner of the room. None of the plans had proven fruitful thus far, seeing as their room was too high up, the roof too steep to escape down without possible death and their location too isolated from the rest of the building to summon assistance.

L was absolutely certain that he was losing his mind chained to Light in an attic. It was impossible to imagine that he would ever link himself to someone like this of his own free will. Who else seriously argued that when playing word association, 'penguin' was a suitable answer to 'genocide'? He had complained then that he was hungry and tired and both were affecting his ability to think. Excuses, excuses. L's blood sugar level average was through the floor, and he was certain that much of his irritation and lethargy had stemmed from the withdrawal symptoms that resulted.

Either way, both men were feeling particularly useless, and though refusing to verbalize their defeat, were unsure of how to proceed.

Not to mention the chafing.

"If there's not someone telling you you've been a bad boy, handcuffs are absolutely not worth it," Light muttered.

L fixed him with a dead, dark-eyed stare. "You've been a bad boy."

"Ugh, get out," Light grumbled in response.

"Believe me, if I could, I would."

"Ah, yes, you've been really useful so far." The sarcasm in his voice practically poisoned the air. "Anyway, you can stop with the judgmental glare, L. Are you honestly telling me that you have never… experimented?"

"That is none of your business."

"Sounds like Elisabeth is… well, boring, for a start. Or at the very least, vanilla," Light snickered. "Funny, she seems like she'd be repressed to start with, but when you, you know–"

"I hope that you don't."

"I'll leave that to you and the ball-buster," Light snickered. L did not respond. "Or should I? You're kidding, aren't you? You have…?"

"I am not in any position to discuss my private life with you, Light," L replied firmly, indicating that was the end of the conversation.

This was an indication that was very effectively ignored. The chain that linked them served as a reminder that as of the time that they were connected, very few topics had not become conversation fodder. If it was true, and the genius had not actually consummated his relationship with the technopath, it would explain a great many things, including why she was so insecure about his strange association with Claire.

"Please tell me that you two have–"

"Of course we have!" L snapped, adding a curt, "If you must know."

"So what? You're saying that you just haven't recently?" And bang, nail on the head, there it was. "God. How long have you been going dry? A few weeks?" Rolling eyes. "More?"

"There hasn't been much opportunity. Now, for goodness' sake, change the subject, will you? This is boring." Well, this was certainly the closest to embarrassment he had ever seen the detective, excepting their collective viewing of the incriminating video involving him and Claire (or, most likely, considering recent revelations, possessed-Claire).

"If we survive this, you've got shit to see to," Light muttered.

"As always, I treasure your advice," L said dryly.

A moment of silence was appreciated. Until Light broke it.

"No, but seriously? More than a few weeks? What sort of underwear does she buy, an iron chastity belt?" he joked disbelievingly. "I know for certain this isn't your doing. It's got to be her."

"I'm not going to make her."

"Yeah, that goes without saying, but is she okay? When you two got together, you were…"

"People grow distant, Light. Now shut up. As touching as this discussion is, it can probably wait until another time when I am less likely to put your head through a window."

"L."

"I said I don't want to discuss it –"

"No, L, listen!" Light hissed.

He was gesturing down to the floorboards and the pair watched the grains with fascination. Beneath their feet, they could hear scratching and mumbling unlike the unnerving groaning and muttering they had heard before. The talk below them had intent. They made eye contact simultaneously and moved away from each other until the chain between them was taut and could be used as a weapon against anyone trying to come up through the trapdoor.

A clunk signaled something being unlocked. A padlock? Seconds later, the trapdoor was inched open and the chain was wrapped around the key-bearer's throat.

"What the fuck?" he croaked.

"B?" L said, startled.

Immediately, the chain was loosened and B dropped onto Matt and Mello, who were waiting on the steps beneath him. Following a yelp and loud complaint, B was pushed back up the ladder.

"Jesus, that's the thanks I get," B grumbled. "Remind me not to volunteer for the rescue party next time."

"What's going on?"

"We've all been put into difficult positions, though some of us managed to get by without the handcuffs," B pointed out. "I'm sure you've plenty to tell us, but we need to get you out of here first. No way of knowing who's possessed and who isn't."

"That, and you both smell like mothballs," Matt called from the base of the ladder.

Hastily, they all descended, only minor trouble caused by the presence of the handcuffs. Once out in the corridor, it was simply a case of finding the exit. It wasn't a problem for non-patients to leave without a patient in tow. That didn't stop L hesitating in the reception area to direct a wry comment at the doctor he recognized as Mason.

"May I point out the obvious? Your hospital seems to have a particularly severe security issue."

XXX

The Zapped common room had never been so abuzz, with each available member pinning their findings on the walls and drawing links in Sharpie. It appeared from the memory stick that Rebecca had given Tom that Mikami's control extended far beyond what they had originally imagined. A number of prisoners classified dead under unusual circumstances or released well before their time after committing seriously violent acts over the past few months had been due to Mikami's intervention. Near predicted that they had been used by him to form an almost army, knowing that they owed their liberty to him.

It was unfortunate that the rest of the Zapped could not be found through the information on the USB, but some could be discovered once Mikami was stopped. If they knew his endgame and motivations, it would be far easier to take him down.

With L and Light on hand, the team was stronger than it had been, and they had uncovered the locations of Chuy Salazar and John Bane. They had last been spotted at a factory on the outskirts of Winchester, on the relatively quiet industrial estate. Another car recognizable as Mikami's, as noted on the surveillance cameras, had pulled up an hour after their arrival, and though no one had actually gotten out of the car to be visible on camera, it was safe to assume that it was Mikami in the car. If Claire's story held true and she had hurt Mikami escaping him, he most likely would not want his wounds recorded.

Tom entered the room briskly, mobile phone in hand. He would have expected his parents to phone him by now with news of Rebecca's arrival, or to give his mother the appropriate opportunity to yell at him for his behaviour. He may have been twenty-two years old, but she still took delight in making him feel like he was no more than twelve again.

It was Watari who noticed his discomfort. He patted the younger man's shoulder reassuringly.

"You know, Tom, if you need a break, you can take one. You're still recovering from your last flight," he insisted. "You took a bit of a fall."

"It's fine, don't worry about it."

"I still don't get it," Light muttered. "Mikami put the Zapped into nigh unescapable circumstances tailored for each of us, and then keeps Claire hostage in his house? Gives her privileges to go out. Tracks her, but doesn't give her a bodyguard. Doesn't add up to me."

"You're saying she's involved somehow?" Near murmured. "Interesting."

"No," Tom said firmly. "That's how this whole thing started. When we started turning on each other, we caused problems. We can't afford to doubt one another. We need to turn all of our resources against Mikami – I know he's the one behind all of this!"

"Tom."

"Have any of you taken the time to speak to her yet? Then you'd see what that bastard's done to her. No one would dare to fake that. L, you're the one who brought her to the orphanage in the first place. You might try taking a little fucking responsibility for once," he snapped.

"Take a break," Watari encouraged him, hand still on the young man's shoulder. He relaxed a little and shrugged him off.

"Fine. I'll take some painkillers and have a sleep, but when I get back, I'm not resting until we have a plan."

"I'll go speak to Claire, determine if she's telling the truth or not," L sighed. "Even if she can go show me lies, I think I'll be able to see through them."

Heading down the corridor to the infirmary, L had an odd sense of déjà vu. This was the second time that he had encountered the unstable woman in a psychiatrically unsure and medical setting in a very short space of time. The words had fallen off his tongue with ease; however, the truth was that he wasn't certain of anything when it came to Claire. If she was lying to him and she was working alongside Mikami, his judgment had failed him severely in bringing her to Wammy's House.

She wasn't in the bed, instead sitting by the window, wrapped in a white dressing gown. When he walked into the room, she did not turn her head. It gave him time to account for each visible bruise, scratch and blemish she wore like scars of war. Which in a way, he supposed they were.

"Claire?"

Thunder rolled. "You're back."

"Yes. Light and I were brought back this morning."

Did he mistake the disgust in her voice? An underlying fury was only made known by her subdued tone – so angry that she could not bring herself to raise her voice to more than a few cool decibels.

"Are you hurt?" she asked, like she already knew the answer.

"Raw wrists, but apart from that, not much damage was done. I hear the case was not the same for you."

"You heard right."

"You're very calm about it. If what I heard about your ordeal is correct," L pointed out.

This time, she turned to look at him. A chink in her armor, a slight mist in one eye, appeared.

"Tell me," she said, "what you would have me do. Break down and make myself completely useless? Barely be able to recount what happened? If there are pieces of me left–"

A pause.

"Have they found Elisabeth yet?"

"No," he admitted, surprised by her line of questioning. "We haven't."

"That must be upsetting for you," she replied. "To have something taken from you like that. Did it ever occur to you that whatever Mikami did to me, he's doing to Elisabeth right now?"

L found himself taking a step forward, his expression stony. "You can't say that."

"I can. What if it's true?"

"It won't be true," L told her. Anger rippled through him.

"Why not?"

"Because she's not his."

"My body wasn't his either," she snarled, finally standing. "And he took it anyway! And if you're stupid enough to think that fucking someone means that they're somehow your possession, you're as bad as he is!" They were nose to nose now. "And you put me right into his tracks! And you let them all turn on me, so he thought he could pick on me! The outsider! You all hated me, and he knew! He wanted to take a broken thing and turn into fucking dust!"

Her hand was raised in a fist as if to hit him with all of her strength. Instead, her fist fell limply on his chest and her shoulders began to tremble. Head bowed, everything that had been taken from her became a fully-blown realization that she was permanently changed. The almost silent cry that shook her entire frame was the kind of cry that did not seek attention; it persisted only because there was no earthly way for her to stop.

A dam had been broken. L felt a tinge of an unfamiliar sentiment: shame. Shame that he had claimed the audacity to think for a moment that she had been deceiving them all about her experiences. Unable to offer any verbalization of comfort, he settled for sacrificing his own boundary and embracing the weeping girl. She returned the embrace with no expectation of any other kind of affection, or even for the affection to last longer than a few seconds. This was not the touch of the woman who had assaulted him in his study. This was chaste and platonic. A dare he say it, friend?

To release her was to acknowledge her forgiveness. Despite his professionalism telling him in a detached manner to return to the common room and assist in the search for the others, L sat down on the bed. Initially hesitant and extremely wary of his gender, Claire eventually conceded to sit beside him. It was wordless and they did not touch. Somehow, L could sense resolve strengthening in her, as if being believed on its own had granted her a new resilience.

He didn't want to be noticed looking at her marks. Still unaddressed, it seemed nearly sacrilegious to gaze upon them with abandonment and wonder at what point and how Mikami had given them to her. Still, they were simultaneously impossible to ignore.

She did not move. Perhaps she knew – obviously,she knew – that he was studying the blemishes. And she let him.

After another few minutes, he stood, with at least moderate knowledge of how physically broken she was. So she hadn't been lying. So Mikami was a monster, and had to be stopped. He did no good just standing there in the infirmary.

"I'd like to be of use," she said.

"I supposed that you would."

"I'm going to."

"Is there anything I can say to dissuade you of that opinion?"

"No."