Soichiro pulls himself from the overstuffed armchair reluctantly, his back protesting all the way. Things at work have been… tough lately, and his body is surely suffering for it. However, this is one of the precious nights he can spend at home with his family, relishing the pleasant atmosphere before everything changes once again, so he bears his pains with a smile and goes after his child, who is currently charging around the house with excitement that does not bode well with the lateness of the hour.

He hears baby Sayu gurgle contentedly behind him as he makes his way out of the living room door, so he pauses and listens as Sachiko continues to talk to her in hushed tones, her voice a little higher as voices often are when one is speaking to a baby. The television can be heard in the background, one of the chat shows that Sachiko has become so fond of in her time away from work.

The simplicity of this home is what makes it so comfortable and pleasant to be in.

"Light, where are you?" Soichiro calls as he reaches the foot of the staircase, and before long he can hear the soft thump of tiny footsteps along the landing. His son's face peeks from around the corner, staring down the stairs with a gaze that is beginning to develop intensity – or maybe it was always like that, Soichiro has been away from his family for so long he can't quite remember.

Of course he has, that little pocket of guilt deep in his stomach reminds him of this during his every waking moment (he doesn't need it when he sleeps, because then he dreams).

"I'm brushing my teeth!" A distorted voice comes from above, and Soichiro chuckles at the sight. Light is holding a toothbrush in his mouth in an awkward, childish grip and the bottom half of his face is covered almost completely in white foam. He stands there for a bit longer, looking down at Soichiro and brushing his teeth slowly and distractedly. Then his lips quirk up in delight and he waves down at his father.

"I'm bigger than you." To demonstrate this even further, Light holds onto the wall with one small, pudgy hand and stands on his tiptoes, cackling all the while. Soichiro pretends to look upset at this, but then a sly grin crosses his face.

Light doesn't miss it – Light doesn't seem to be missing anything, according to his first school report – quite the contrary, actually. The cackling turns into giggling and he stands properly, gripping onto his toothbrush with both hands, waiting for his father's next move. Dark hair falls into his eyes as he peers down, his bowl cut growing out once again.

Still smiling, Soichiro places one foot on the bottom of the step. Light's giggles grow louder and toothpaste begins to run down his chin a little, but he pays no mind to it because his father is getting closer still, slowly but steadily ascending the stairs - Light can hear the squeaks of his feet against the recently uncarpeted wood over his own nervous giggles.

Soichiro barely gets halfway up the stairs when his son all-out squeals and tears away – and so he runs too, clomping up the stairs, past the piles of boxes on the landing and into the bathroom. Light barely has time to spit his toothpaste into the sink and leave the toothbrush abandoned there too (he wouldn't normally have made such a mess, but it's a worthy sacrifice in this game) before he is grabbed and held up in the air in his father's arms, laughing properly now and thrashing around as he is tickled on his stomach.

The aging man holding him pulls a flannel from beside the sink and uses it to wipe his mouth (and chin, and neck), before tickling him more. Perhaps if it were someone else, Light would have scowled and demanded to be put down, but this is his father and despite the fact that they don't see each other very often, Light has concluded that he rather loves the man, so it is alright to be tickled by him. Thus, he giggles on and lets himself be carried into his room (narrowly missing more boxes on the way) and put down onto his bed.

The bedroom looks a bit bare now, with everything packed up into boxes except for what his mother calls "the essentials", which includes some clothes folded neatly by his bed, a hairbrush on the bedside table and his book-bag which rests at the foot of the bed. The room looks larger now, but much less like home, with no pictures on the walls and none of his books or figurines on the shelves.

However, such thoughts only stay with him for a while, because his father begins to tuck him into bed and he realises that it's time to go to sleep.

"No!" He cries out, and then clamps a hand over his mouth, sitting up and as shocked as his dad seems to be by the sudden outburst. After staring intently at his quilt cover for a while, he looks up again, face serious and solemn. "Will you still be here when I wake up?"

Judging by the long silence and the guilty look his father has, the answer is a no. Light shuffles onto his knees, clamping his arms around Soichiro's neck. The man's arms come up to rub comforting circles on his back, and he snuggles into the warmth.

"I don't want you to go," come the mumbled words, muffled by the jumper his face is buried in. "I want you to stay here – with me!"

A few moments pass, Light nearly falling asleep in his father's arms (and the man supposes he could just wait for him to fall asleep and then leave, but his son would barely trust him after that) before Soichiro sighs and pats him on the back one last time.

"How about," He begins, pulling his son away a little to look into his eyes and putting on an apologetic smile, "I tell you a bedtime story? I know you're a big boy now and are far too old for such things, but I promise to make it super exciting, so you won't get bored." Adding in the last part had been necessary, otherwise Light would have protested all night about how being four meant he was too old for night-lights and bedtime stories – even though he enjoys the stories thoroughly and has never once complained when his parents have "accidentally" left the landing light on.

"Alright." Says Light, already allowing himself to be tucked into bed once more. The quilt cover is pulled up to his chin (and he doesn't like lying in bed this way, he'll have to sort everything out again when his father leaves) and a hand runs through his hair, messing up the fringe. His father sits on the end of the bed, and Light kicks his feet a little to see just how far away they are from his father. Quite far – he'll make sure to be a bit bigger when he next sees his dad properly.

Soichiro begins the story in a hushed tone, choosing his words carefully.

"This is a true story, Light. Isn't that exciting?" Upon receiving a nod of encouragement, he continues. "When I was younger, and when you were still waiting to be born, I went on a police mission to arrest some nasty people. These people were very nasty, and were hurting other people so that they could take their money and their things. Once I got to the place with all of these nasty people in, something terrible happened!" Soichiro pauses for effect, looking down at his son who seems to be interested in the story, at least. He smiles down at him for a moment, before launching back into the narration. "You see, although I was on this mission with a team of police officers, I had managed to get lost. I was scared, but I continued to try and do my job until suddenly, loads of those bad people jumped out at me! There were hundreds, no – thousands of them and-"

"Dad!" Light giggles quietly, looking disbelievingly up at his father.

"Alright, maybe a bit less. Anyway, there I was, fighting all twenty of them, when-"

"Dad."

"There I was, trying to fight all five of them-"

"That's better."

"-When suddenly there was this loud noise, and before I knew it there were two of us fighting these nasty men! Then, when it looked like things were getting dangerous, the person on my side gave me directions to a way out – and when I looked at him, I noticed that he was the type of person you would normally think quite little of, yet he helped me! I was able to leave safely enough and get back-up to help the man and arrest all of the nasty people. All in all, it went rather well, don't you think?"

Light doesn't answer, his eyes drooping slightly with fatigue. He fiddles with the material of his quilt cover for a moment, before sleepily asking:

"What happened to the man – the one who helped you out?"

Soichiro smiles. "He turned out to be one of the nasty men too, but when he saw all of his friends trying to fight me at once, he had a change of heart and helped me. Although he was still arrested, he came out of prison a year ago. Do you know what he does now?"

Light shakes his head whilst simultaneously letting out a huge yawn, one hand covering his mouth lazily.

"Now, he's training to become a journalist – so maybe, one day, you'll be reading a newspaper and you'll see an article written by him."

Soichiro feels a warm, happy feeling in his stomach when his son perks up a little, all the fatigue leaving his form for a moment.

"That's so cool!" Light exclaims. "Are all the other nasty people nice now, too?"

Soichiro straightens up a little, and fixes light with a firm look before choosing how to answer. He hadn't thought that Light would ask that kind of question, but the boy is incredibly bright. Actually, he should have seen it coming. Before answering, he looks over at the clock to see how much time he has until Light really has to go to sleep. Normally it takes a while to get him to go to sleep anyway, but tonight has certainly been more effort than usual – not that the police officer minds, but he has his son's wellbeing to take care of.

"No, Light, they are not."

At the look of confusion on Light's face, Soichiro sighs and runs his hand through the small boy's hair again, ignoring how he reaches up to smooth it all out once more after.

"Light, you can't change people just because you want them to be different. You can try and help them, but they have to make that choice. Maybe one day they'll be nice people, maybe they won't – but it's not up to us to make them change. Do you understand?"

A look of confusion passes over the small boy's face for a moment – but Light is a smart boy, and Soichiro is under no illusion about what he will or will not get (or so he thinks), and eventually he nods, his face set in a not-quite smile that looks a little too old for his baby fat and wide eyes. Soichiro forces a grin, not wishing to tarnish his son's black and white view on life just yet (or ever, if he were to have the choice) and ruffles the boy's hair. Light reaches up and brushes his fringe back into place, an action he doesn't even think about after years of doing it.

"Goodnight, son,"

"Goodnight, Dad,"

Soichiro flicks off the light switch on his way out, but leaves the bedroom door slightly ajar before making his way back downstairs. Once in the living room, he sits down next to Sachiko and awkwardly wraps his arm around her. She stiffens, but doesn't pull away, continuing to coo over the happily gurgling Sayu in her lap. They sit like this for a while, until, finally:

"How many more times do we have to move, Soichiro? Our children are growing up, how many more times do we have to leave our home because your job has put us in danger?" There is no anger present in her voice (although there once was), just a tiredness expressed through more than simply her words.

Soichiro sighs.

"I don't know."

For such a bright child, the young Light Yagami certainly has simplistic goals for himself. However, when asked what he wanted to be when he was older by his second year teacher, "I want to live in Hokkaido and work in a book store and maybe have a cat too" simply was not enough of an answer. After all, when a child shows such promise and potential (winning tennis matches against older children, doing math work set for several grades above him and currently reading his way through the hardest books in the school library), surely his teachers should do everything in their power to make sure he goes far.

A bookstore would have never been enough for him anyway, the teacher is sure of it.

Light is reading an English copy of "The Borrowers" (trying to get his head around English sentence structure is proving to be a great challenge) when his teacher approaches him, looking like a predatory animal with a sleazy grin pasted across his face. Something about that grin makes Light feel apprehensive, but he crushes the emotion as soon as it arises, not wanting to make a fuss over nothing. His teacher is carrying a pile of books, clutching them close to his chest. Some of them have worn spines, but some look immaculate, perhaps only recently brought.

The teacher – Kakutama Sensei – pulls up a chair designed for the pupils and sits down opposite Light, still grinning at him all the while. Light wonders why he doesn't sit down on the comfy teacher's chair, it is his after all, and his butt would probably fit on it a lot nicer. However, he deems this unimportant and tosses the thought away as the man begins to speak to him.

"Hello Light, did you finish your class work?"

Light thinks that seeing as he got up and handed his work to the teacher about fifteen minutes ago, the man probably knows the answer. So he just stares at the balding man questioningly, not understanding why he should answer and not really wanting to anyway.

The man waits for a while, and when it becomes clear he is not going to get an answer (somehow, even at the mere age of seven, Light manages to have an intimidating gaze) he clears his throat and tries again, this time going straight to the point (straight in for the kill).

"So, Light, have you given any more thought about what you want to be when you're older?" He tilts his head to the side, giving a grin that he knows is always encouraging with his students.

Light visibly sinks back into his chair.

"Well," the boy begins after a while, dragging out the word in an almost guilty manner, "I haven't, really. I'm quite sure I've got it all figured out."

Light senses that the conversation is going to take a while, so he slips his bookmark into his copy of "The Borrowers" and sets it down on the table, resisting the urge to sigh in exasperation. Talking to his teacher is so difficult, because the man always seems to want something and it's up to Light to figure out what it is. The figuring out isn't the hard part, but the rule against attacking members of staff certainly makes it a trying experience.

"Why do you ask, sir?" Light keeps his eyes trained on the book in his hands, thumbing through the off-white pages. The book has lost its new smell, but he's almost done with it, and tonight he will probably put it back in its place on the bookshelf and select something fresh to read once more (three more books to go until he drags his mother out to the shops with him again).

The middle-aged man seems to think about this for a while, perhaps coming up with the right way to phrase his answer. Light raises his eyes and watches as the man adjusts his tie and runs a hand through his hair (messing up the comb-over). Seemingly satisfied with his answer, he opens his mouth once again to speak.

"You've never thought of doing anything more?"

"More, sir?"

Kakutama shifts a little in his chair, but continues surprisingly fast - with the air of someone rehearsing a performance.

"Yes, Light. You are an incredibly bright boy – perhaps it would do you some good to broaden your horizons when it comes to deciding upon your future. I know Mummy stays at home and looks after you and little Sayu, she said so at parents evening, but what does Daddy do for his job?"

It is against the rules to attack members of staff.

"My father is a police officer." Light tells him, straightening up in his chair with both pride and anger.

The man's eyes brighten.

At the end of the discussion, Kakutama leaves the books he had been carrying with Light, telling him that they would be good for research upon future careers that he should (not could, should) consider. The bell for lunch time goes and Light takes his story book outside to read, trying to squash down the strange empty feeling in his stomach.

He needed new reading material anyway.

"Fifteen, love!" calls the umpire, sat proudly upon his seat next to the tennis court. Light smiles, his adolescent face flushed ever so slightly with exertion. Strands of dark hair stick to his cheeks and he distractedly brushes them off, despite knowing that they'll only re-attach themselves soon. His gaze flicks up to the stands where his mother and sister are sat, making eye contact with Sayu briefly before turning his attention back to the game just in time.

His opponent serves, and before he knows it, he's stepping to the side to hit the ball back. The other boy is certainly playing more aggressively now – this round is his last chance to try and win the game, the final game, the final chance to win the trophy. Light wonders if this new, aggressive tactic will do the boy more harm than good – he's huffing and puffing already, running back and forth across the court whilst Light barely has to exert himself at all.

Deciding to milk it, he begins making his returns harder and harder to hit, watching in concealed delight as the boy has to run harder, faster, just to keep up with him. This boy's parents must be so disappointed; Light thinks bitterly – both of his parents, sat up on the stands gazing down as their son tries harder and harder to fight someone who barely seems to be putting in any effort. Suddenly, a surge of anger powers through him and he hits the ball harder so it falls just out of the teenager's reach. The boy, whatever his name is, stumbles and very nearly trips before catching himself and looking over at his own parents, frustration evident upon his sweating face.

Light, always composed, flicks his gaze up to his mother and offers her a tight-lipped smile.

"Thirty, love!"

It's a warm, summery day. Light is almost certain that after this game, no matter who wins (although it will undoubtedly be him), his mother will offer to take them out for ice-cream. Sayu will cheer and babble about what flavour she wants, and while she is busy, Light will turn to his mother and thank her in the polite tone he reserves for adults and those he generally distances himself from. She'll look across at him proudly (she used to look down on him, but now he's grown taller) and tell him that it's her pleasure, and then they'll eat ice-cream and Light will fake a smile whilst wishing he wasn't eating such disgusting junk at all.

Light focuses his mind back on the game, fixes his opponent with a blank gaze, and serves.

The other boy tries to copy his playing tactics, and Light chuckles at that in his head as he jogs nonchalantly over to hit the ball back. He hits it lightly, and his opponent goes rushing forward to try and hit it. How stupid, to try and beat Light at his own tactic – didn't the boy realise, didn't he even think that maybe he had something a little more than that up his sleeve?

The ball goes sailing back in Light's direction, his opponent hitting it hard enough in his despair that Light barely has to move to hit it back.

It's a dark sort of humour that causes Light to mock his opponent so. Perhaps if he were a few years younger and a lot less proud, he would have registered the exact feeling to cause his actions to be jealousy, but he crushed that sort of pointless emotion a long time ago, maybe. Either way, Light is winning and the other boy is going to lose, so it doesn't really matter if Soichiro is there or not, because his opponent's father isn't going to think very much of his own son in a few moments.

After a few minutes of heated (at least, on one side) back and forth, Light hits the ball softer than usual, and his nameless opponent doesn't expect it. Light does, however, he's been planning this tactic for the past few minutes, and it really is a shame that the other player could not have predicted it.

The game is over quicker than Light would have liked.

"Forty, love!"

The crowd erupts into applause, and somewhere in the sea of people, Light can see his sister jumping and clapping, squealing something that he has no chance of hearing over the noise of the spectators or the hearty boastings of his tennis coach. After bowing to his opponent for what he hopes is the last time, he stays out on the court, speaking to coaches and their colleagues until he feels their expectations have been met, and then he gets his things and slips into the changing room to shower.

Once he is done in the shower and dressed in normal weekend attire, he looks around to make sure the changing room is completely empty before sitting down and placing his head in his slightly pruned hands. Fatigue hits him, unexpected and unwelcome as he contemplates the match. His head hurts - a gentle throbbing all the more noticeable due to his sudden awareness of how he is feeling.

What a complete and utter disappointment. Light sighs in exasperation – Isn't this what the other boy is supposed to be feeling? After all, he was the one who lost – the one who wasn't good enough, who didn't even come close. He was the boy who worked so hard to get into the finals – and then along came Light and blew him out of the water.

Sure, it hadn't been a challenging game, like final games were supposed to be – and no, Light doesn't really feel as if he's won anything, but…

He's the winner nonetheless.

Light pulls himself up and trudges over to the exit of the changing room, pulling the door shut behind him as he goes off in search of his family. Shaking his head, he decides that perhaps he shouldn't be so pessimistic about everything. Maybe next year he'll play tennis against someone better, someone who will really make him sweat.

Light approaches Sayu and his mother, sat on a bench together near the car park, where they had said they would wait for him.

"Well, done, sweetie." His mother congratulates, and goes to hug him before being beaten to it by a nine year-old Sayu, who flings her arms around his neck before squealing about how well he played.

"You didn't even look like you were trying!" She exclaims, her eyes wide with childish happiness. Light grins at her, partly because she is charismatic and generally evokes such a response from people and half because he wasn't really trying at all. It doesn't seem like such a big deal now, though, the disappointment already pushed into the back of his mind from his positive thinking. There could always be someone better next time.

After all, who can tell their own future?

"So," starts his mother, standing from the bench with a warm, kindly smile stretching across her face. "As a celebration treat, who wants to go for ice-cream?"

Oh.

It's just another day, really.

Light leans back in his uncomfortable classroom seat, resisting the urge to get up and just leave. The room around him buzzes with the excited chatter of high school students looking forward to their weekend, speaking of parties and sleepovers and shopping trips and "Ugh, why does homework have to get in the way of everything?"

Light is not involved in any of these conversations – the others have learnt not to bother most of the time, and even if they didn't there would still be little chance of him actually giving in to their wishes. So he stares out of the window, hand cramping slightly under the weight of his head, which is resting in his palm - the picture of apathy. Tonight he has cram class, an activity he puts up with for pretence alone. Some girls in his current class are going to be there, and Light will smile and flirt mildly with each of them, ignoring all of their excited squeals once the deed is done.

Light will help them when they are struggling, and praise them for their efforts. Light will allow them to latch on to his arms and giggle, but only for a moment, because he's "had a fun time and everything, but I have to get home". And then he'll do exactly that, because he has no real friends to hang around with on a Friday night (or any other night, for that matter).

Maybe he shouldn't call his house home yet – he's only been living there for a year or so, and it's not like he really feels safe or comfortable there. It is the place he goes, in-between school and cram class and the one extra-curricular activity he is taking to ensure his place in university. Chess club might not be an exhilarating experience, but it practically seals Light's place in To-Oh, and he needs to get to that university. He needs out, somewhere new where he isn't himself, where his recent apathy is replaced by energy once more.

Usually, he can talk himself out of what must just be bouts of teenage angst, but this time…

…It's just taking a little bit longer, that's all. All people his age must feel this way from time to time – and hey, maybe everyone else just putting on a front like he is – after all, not all of them are as lucky as him. Some of them don't even know what they want from their future yet, which must be absolutely terrifying and not at all liberating, in his completely honest opinion. Light should feel proud, really, with his whole life planned out in front of him, from what courses he wants to do in university to what kind of outfit he's going to wear to his first formal dinner with the NPA.

After all, following in his father's footsteps is exactly what such a smart, respectable son as Light would do.

Yet somehow, despite how beneficial a job with the NPA would be, despite how much everyone wants it, he just can't find the energy to feel excited. Perhaps he is being stupid, clinging onto a long-since discarded childhood dream like he is, but Light still dreams back to the days when he truly believed that he could just live in a house in Hokkaido with a bookstore and maybe a cat. However, that ridiculous dream is buried now, and Light doubts that he would even enjoy such a lifestyle anymore. He's become too used to busy Tokyo, and living in such a peaceful manner now would only become boring.

Light physically shakes his head, causing some other students to peer quizzically in his direction. The stares are ignored, and soon enough, Light is left once again to gaze listlessly down at his open textbook. Pages two-hundred and ninety-three and two-hundred and ninety-four lie out on the desk, just some of the well-worn pages used by generations of high school students before him.

It's important that he concentrates. Sure, there are things Light would rather do with his life – but zoning out at school isn't going to do anything to help that, especially when there are hundreds of other people more than willing to take his place as one of Japan's brightest students. Nodding to himself, he tries to concentrate more on his textbook, tries to straighten out the blurring words he's already read quite a few times.

Suddenly, something flickers in the corner of his eye, and he turns instinctively to look at it – only to find that his pupils have become unused to the bright sunlight since he has been staring at his book. He flinches, turns his head the other way and rubs at his eyes desperately, trying to stop the pain burning at his retinas.

"Yagami!" a sharp voice calls from the front of the room, where the teacher stands, clearly bemused. "Just what do you think you are doing?"

Light doesn't answer immediately, too caught up in the pain in his eyes, the giggles of his classmates and the embarrassment. Feeling himself flushing, he murmurs a half-hearted apology, and gets, in return, a lecture.

"You won't stay in that top spot for long if you don't keep your act together, young man! Exams are coming up, and don't think there aren't other students studying harder than you, because it will be your undoing!"

At this, Light has to hold back a scoff. Mumbling the apology again, along with a promise to concentrate harder, he gathers his things up along with the rest of the class just before the bell goes for the end of the day. Before he can begin mind-heckling the teacher for not realising just how smart he really is, two shadows, long and crookedly-shaped due to the sunlight pouring through the blinds, appear in his line of sight. Glancing up, he instantly makes eye contact with the two boys he usually walks home with. He forces a smile, one that says "I'm just tired, that's all"; then stands and slings his bag over his shoulder.

In all honesty, he had been hoping he could avoid those two for one day, and just walk home in peace, maybe even check out what caused the flicker in the corner of his vision. However, with no such luck, he follows them out of the door, listening somewhat sadly (although he doesn't know why) to their idle chatter as they leave the classroom.

At the school gate, Light turns around briefly, eyes scanning the ground for any sight of what could have seemingly fallen from the sky. It wasn't a bird, he knows what it's like when birds fly past the window, and that wasn't it, not at all. One of his acquaintances notices he's stopped, and grabs him by the arm to drag him outside and down the street.

"Come on Light! It's the weekend; don't you want to leave already?"

After glancing back in vain a few more times, Light shrugs and keeps on walking.

It's probably nothing, anyway.

Light's fingers are blue, and if he were to remove his steel-toed boots then his toes would probably be revealed to be the same colour. Snow lines the streets of Tokyo, the streets he has been wandering since what seems like forever (looking for something, but for the life of him he can't remember what), and it seems almost surreal, to have such a beautiful and pure substance lacing the unspeakable truth in white.

Light's feet pound against the ground, leaving sickening crunches in their wake. Perhaps, if this were a different time then Light would look back apologetically, but now is neither the time nor place for that, and apologies would only be met with a silence far more nauseating than the crunching.

Against his will – almost as if he is being forced by some higher power – he glances down briefly, but it is enough to see a woman, lying beneath a thickening blanket of snow, gazing up at him (through him) with glassy, unseeing eyes.

This woman is (was) someone's daughter, perhaps someone's lover, or sister – a woman with real hopes and dreams. Light thinks of Sayu, so young and naïve, and realises with yet another pang of nausea that perhaps, somewhere else, his baby sister lays beneath a blanket of snow, beneath somebody's steel-toed boots.

He tears his gaze away from the woman (although he doesn't remember ever looking back down at her to begin with) and gags, screwing his eyes shut and leaning over the nameless body, willing himself not to vomit. When he regains some self-control, Light opens his eyes and stares listlessly down at his boots, hating himself for wallowing in self-pity when there are others, literally surrounding him, who have it so much worse.

And then, when he is sure nothing could get any more terrifying, he lifts his right foot up to discover the snapped wrist of the woman beneath him, the bone (probably made brittle from the cold) snapped cleanly in half and somehow poking out from a rip in the woman's greying skin. There is no blood, the fractured bone being the only gory detail, but still Light cries out in horror, and before he knows it his legs seem to crumble beneath him - he crashes down into the crispy white snow and all who lie beneath it, flailing desperately in an attempt to escape.

He slips on ice as he tries to regain his balance and eventually, after what feels like eternity of struggling, any remaining energy leaks out from him and he falls back among the bodies, feeling the cold of the snow seep into him, numbing him from the inside out. Soon, more people will come walking along, searching for things that they can never hope to comprehend, and they will step on him as he lays sprawled among the corpses and frozen body fluids. He too shall crunch alarmingly, and if the living people are lucky, they won't look down.

Overwhelmed with fatigue, Light lets his head roll back to hit the ground with a crack, and then all he can see is the sky.

Light doesn't register that he's woken up until he finds himself gasping for air on his bathroom floor, reaching weakly up to the sink to try and get some water. He's hot, so very hot, and not in the good way – the dizziness he feels is overwhelming and he just needs some air. Something is crawling on his skin, tracing shapes over his bare, sweat laced back, sending sparks and tickles down his torso and he can't find the energy to flick it away. In the most undignified manner possible, he crashes down onto the cool tiles and remains there until he can catch his breath.

Once he can no longer feel the ground moving underneath him, strangely reminiscent of the bodies in his dream (a dream that is already fading from his memories, leaving only frustration and paranoia in its wake), he sits up and grasps onto the sink to pull himself into a standing position. Not even bothering with a glass, he cups his hands together under the tap and brings the water to his chapped lips, relishing the feel of the water cascading down his sore throat. Once done, he habitually runs a hand through his hair, taking in yet more deep breaths to calm himself. It feels strange, being all alone in his very own apartment.

He loathes admitting it, but the Kira case is most certainly getting to him.

Never before has he ever had such a nightmare – but then again, never before have seemingly healthy people dropped dead due to heart attacks, all over the world! Perhaps the circumstances are not as bad as they were portrayed in the dream (the weather is bright and summery and the streets are not yet lined with corpses), but things are still terrifying.

Light can feel it sometimes, when the news reports speak of nothing but death, when social networking sites are being removed from the internet, when celebrities (Misa Amane, "modelMisa-Misafounddeadinherapartmentthismorning,causeofdeathisunknownbutdoctorsthinkshecouldhavehadaheartattack") are going to into hiding to avoid being slaughtered like animals – the sort of feeling like the walls are closing in on him, in on the whole world, and he is powerless to stop it.

The world has descended into chaos – conspiracy theories are arising to explain the deaths, people are talking about them being a pandemic, protesting and insisting that people should be evacuated – but to where? Nowhere is safe, nobody is safe. As if to prove a point, Kira is even killing people in tiny, sparsely populated islands, as if to prove the point that there is nowhere to run and hide.

There is no sanctuary.

Kira is not a virus, Kira is not the government, Kira is not from outer space. Kira is a cold-blooded murderer and nobody, not even L, can catch him.

And with that, Light abandons all hope of trying to get back to sleep and decides to get ready for work.

Even if nothing else goes right at all today (which is becoming more and more likely as time goes on), the coffee Matsuda has made for Light is lovely. As the youngest member of the newly-formed Kira task force, it would traditionally be Light's job to make the drinks and whatnot, but currently Light is engaging in a shouting match.

With a laptop.

And so Matsuda makes the coffee.

Light has been running on autopilot up until now, behaving politely and doing his work like a nice little rookie police officer, but then Lhad to go and say something condescending to his father in that stupid distorted voice of his, and now Light is standing in front of "The Laptop", shouting about God knows what, and wishing that he could just shut up so that his throat and head would stop hurting.

"How are we even supposed to trustyou, L? While we're here, risking our lives every day, you hide away in some secret location, ordering us around through a laptop!" Light pauses, taking in a furious gulp of air as his throat protests in vain. "How can you say that my father is worrying too much? How can you imply – and don't say you didn't, because I knowyou did- that he is being cowardly, when you're too afraid to even show your face? L, if you want to criticise us, how about you come and play the game properly?"

And with that, Light steps back, signalling that he is done with his rant, and sips his coffee, allowing the liquid to soothe his throat before croaking out an unnecessary "I'm sorry," to the task force – unnecessary because there is an outburst like this almost daily, from different members (mostly Aizawa, actually), and they are all more than used to it.

"Light-kun," sighs L, an odd sound due to the voice distortion software he uses, "This is not a game."

Light feels the other detectives behind him tense as they prepare to hold him back from lashing out – at what, he doesn't know, because no matter what he hits now, L's smug, hidden face will remain untarnished- but he's too frazzled, both physically and mentally, to fight, so instead he pulls up a chair and flops down into it, burying his face into his face into his hands and willing his frazzled nerves to calm down.

"I know," he mumbles into his hands, and when L doesn't reply for about a minute he thinks that maybe the detective he used to idolize hasn't heard him. The rest of the detectives have fallen into silence, and when Light finally turns around to face them he notices that his father and Ukita are looking at him with concern.

He wants to reassure them like he used to be able to do so well, but he can't. It's been five years since Kira began killing, and in that time Light has lost everything – his charm, his energy, and at one point, his girlfriend. No, they hadn't been serious, but the death of Misa had really, reallyshaken Light. And in all that time, in five years, L hasn't come out of the shadows.

Light growls, and just when he is about to launch into another inarticulate rant, L speaks.

L speaks, and Light listens immediately, and he hates himself for it.

"Light-kun is childish. As I have said many, many times before, I know this because I too am childish – and I hate to lose. Now, I understand that Light-kun is upset with the situation we are in, but I must point out that he has not analysed all of the facts, which is something all detectives should be able to do, is it not?"

"Now you wait a moment, you bastard-"

"Light-kun will be quiet whilst I am addressing him! Is it too much to ask him for the same respect he has been shown in his previous ranting?" The strange voice pauses for a moment, possibly out of shock – L has never spoken this way to a member of the task force before.

"Now," continues the laptop, eventually, "I understand that Light-kun - no, that the entiretaskforce is upset with the situation we are in – but lashing out at one another will do us no good! L may not be so widely awed at anymore due to my inability to catch Kira, but I am certain that I still deserve to be treated with respect by my own taskforce! Despite the fact that Kira has not yet been apprehended, we have made significant headway on this case, and Light-kun, I direct this question to you specifically: do you really think you could have made such progress on your own?"

Somewhere behind the floundering Light, Matsuda drops his plastic cup of coffee onto the carpet, and nobody but he even notices, far too focused on the scene happening in front of them.

L sighs again, making the speakers crackle unpleasantly. "Admittedly, I could not have come this far alone, either, and I am truly thankful for the help I have received in this case. I still firmly believe that we are going to catch Kira, but since the loss of Ide, things have been far too tense. Something must change. I have been making preparations for the past three years, just in case circumstances such as these were to arise, and it seems that today they will be put to the test. We can no longer continue to work like this."

A picture of a skyscraper flashes onto the laptop screen - new, elegant, and most importantly - flashy.

"This is, with your consent, our new task force headquarters. If you wish to relocate here, I will have Watari help you with your things and drive you in order to get to work as soon as possible. I was hoping to save this for when it was reallynecessary, but if not working with me face-to-face is truly going to impair the quality of our work, then so be it."

Slowly, but surely, the task force gathers around the laptop – first Matsuda, ignoring his coffee for the far more interesting skyscraper, then Aizawa, then Mogi, and eventually, Ukita and Soichiro join the group. The only one not participating in the awed discussion is Light, who remains seated in his chair, staring listlessly at the backs of the other police officers.

"Is Light-kun unhappy with this arrangement? I had the impression that this is what he wanted."

Upon hearing the voice address Light, the task force parts and everyone looks down at Light warily. Guilt wells up in his chest – since when did he behave so selfishly? Trying in vain to brush the feeling of inadequacy inside of him away, he stands and looks straight into the camera, moulding his expression into one of confidence.

He remembers when he first joined the taskforce – young, naïve and completely sure of himself – but it has been years since that day, and the smug grins don't come naturally anymore.

"I apologise, L, and I look forward to meeting you."

"Likewise."

Light could answer to that, but getting the last word doesn't seem all that important, not today.

Watari must be exhausted by the time they arrive at the new headquarters, but he says nothing about it as he explains the entrance codes to the taskforce, and shows them how to enter them into an expensive looking alarm system before they enter. He pushes in front of him an almost full shopping trolley full of electrical equipment, and if it had been any other situation, Light would have laughed.

"Normally, you would be asked to remove any metal you have on you at this time, but due to the fact that we are transporting mostly electrical and metal equipment, I am going to override this function for today."

The command is unspoken, but the taskforce understands. They avert their eyes from Watari and the keypad he is currently pressing buttons on, looking anywhere but at each other.

Tension is buzzing in the air between them – Matsuda fiddles non-stop with his tie, and occasionally he rubs his fingers over a stain on his shirt. There isn't much he can do about it, really, and the rubbing will probably just make the mark worse, but Light says nothing on the matter. Pointing it out will only offend and embarrass Matsuda, and Light can taste how close he is coming to being in the taskforces bad books.

So he remains silent, and the atmosphere gets thicker by the second.

After a few minutes of button-pushing on Watari's part, a large door swishes open to reveal what can only be described as a chamber, generously decorated with technological and electrical equipment from floor to ceiling, items ranging from printers and fax machines to things that Light has no name for. Exactly opposite the entrance (where the taskforce are all still standing) are two ridiculously large LCD television screens, one of them showing the news and one of them showing the recordings of security cameras around the building, and underneath the screens, sits a man.

If he can even be called that.

Upon noticing his company, the spectre-like figure spins around in his swivel chair (seeming incredibly small, all alone in such a big room with so much equipment towering over him), cocks his head to one side, and waves.

The taskforce remain rooted in their spot, staring confusedly at the man in the chair as he flaps his arms excitedly at them from his swivel chair. His knees are drawn up against his torso in what seems to be an upright foetal position, and his bare toes wriggle against the fabric of his seat.

"Hello!" he calls to the men across the room, his voice laced ever so slightly with an accent that Light can't quite distinguish. When none of the men reply, he peeks up properly from behind his knees, and, for all of his funny looks, the comical vibe around him vanishes.

"Do come in," he says, voice lower this time.

It is Light's father who makes the first move. Stepping forward with an air of forced nonchalance, he holds out his identification for the strange man to see.

"Soichiro Yagami, NPA."

The other detectives eventually follow suit, including Light, who moves to stand next to his father. They stand in a group, holding out their arms to the man in the swivel chair, brandishing their identification like a shield. The man nods slightly, as if to himself, and his thin, pale lips quirk up into a tight smile.

"Bang."

Despite the smile on the man's lips, the word contains no emotion whatsoever.

"If I were Kira, you would all be dead by now. The fact that you all show your identification so willingly-"

"-Are you Kira?"

The man stops speaking, and the hint of a smile falls from his face in an instant. He reminds Light of himself, with the façades he creates. However, when he turns his gaze to Light (the appalling dark circles almost cover them, but Light thinks he can see faint hints of crow's feet around his bulging eyes), it is with a glare that Light knowsis true.

"Do you honestly think I could be Kira, Light-kun? Or are you simply trying to create a petty squabble – five minutes into our first meeting, might I add – because of your general distaste to this situation and myself?" The man shakes his head, the glare never leaving his gaze even though he loses eye contact with Light. He then stands, ambles over to where the group is stood, and picks Light's empty hand up from his side, holding it in a limp grip with his thumb and finger.

"I am L," he says, waving Light's hand around in a half-hearted imitation of a handshake, "and it is a pleasure to meet you, Light-kun."

"Would Light-kun please pass me the notepad?"

It is L who breaks the heavy silence that has been hanging over the room since they began working properly. As expected, the taskforce turn to stare at the two men, who are reluctantly seated next to one another.

After a moment of deliberative silence, Light wordlessly reaches across the desk for the notepad and hands it to the other detective with a nod.

"Thank you, Light-kun."

"Sure."

"Perhaps, in another life, Light-kun would make an excellent personal assistant," notes L, after Light hands the fourth cup of coffee in as many hours to his father, whilst balancing an impressive stack of paper with the other hand.

Light does not take the comment as politely as his model rookie detective role might suggest, swearing sweetly at L and tapping him around the head with a rolled up newspaper. The taskforce, used to these antics after two weeks of working together, do nothing to stop him. Instead, they snicker quietly from their places in the room, dressed in casual clothing now instead of the anal dress suits they had worn for the first few days of their partnership.

Light settles down in his seat next to L (it still pisses him off a little, to have to sit next to the person who annoys him most just because they're the smartest – it feels too much like the seating plans in his old classes) and opens up a fresh Microsoft Word document in order to catalogue a potential lead. Out of the corner of his eye he glimpses L turn to peer at him before going back to his own work, chewing on an unfortunate pencil all the while. They remain like this for some time, the only sounds in the room being the occasional shuffling of papers as the taskforce works quietly for once.

L finishes a graph and spins around once in his swivel chair, eyeing the clock as it comes into his line of sight. The time is half past six in the evening, and in approximately half an hour the taskforce will begin to pack up and leave. Aizawa is usually out of the door first, and then Ukita and Mogi, who carpool, then Matsuda, and eventually Light and his father will pack up too, at around eight.

Light never says goodbye when he leaves, always searching for a different way to phrase it, whether it is a "see you later," or a "take care," an interesting character trait that L wishes he could explore deeper. However, his relationship with Light is capricious at best currently, so any deep talks would have to wait until later.

Not that L is expecting that much more of a later – since the taskforce has grouped together things are moving at a much faster pace, and it is only a matter of time before they stumble across something substantial, and then…

They will face Kira. L can't envision how, but he knows that eventually they will come to battle head to head with Kira, and their elusive, omnipotent rival will be unveiled as nothing more than a-

"-L, you're zoning out again." At the sudden voice, L jumps a little in his swivel chair before turning around to face Light, who is peering at him with very slightly bloodshot eyes.

Light certainly looks tired, which makes the next words that come out of him mouth seem very hypocritical.

"You should get more sleep!"

L rolls his eyes.

"People who live in glass houses should not throw stones, Light-kun."

"At least I tryto sleep! I'm willing to bet that you just stay in here all night, playing computer games and guzzling sweets to your heart's content!"

He knows too much.

L toys with his pencil for a while. Tooth marks mar the entirety of it, leaving it relatively useless for anyone wanted something comfortable (and hygienic) to write with. However, there are more important matters to address at the moment.

Great, now he has to pretend to be tactful.

"Why isn't Light-kun getting enough sleep?" He asks innocently, eyes on his pencil.

"It's nothing," Light says, almost immediately. "I just keep waking up in the night, I don't know why."

Light knows too much, thinks L. And despite the fact that L has heard a lot about Light, about how he is smart and athletic and beautiful, it's far too mundane information for him.

Light knows too much, and L knows too little, and all the laters in the world probably couldn't change that.

When the team finally does strike gold, Light isn't there.

It's Matsuda who finds the lead, strangely enough, noticing that previously completely innocent people are suddenly committing crimes and dying shortly after. The incidents are all concentrated in the same area of Tokyo, and finding a connection between the deceased could possibly lead them even closer toward Kira. Of course, it had been established long ago that Kira was in the Kanto region when L had taunted him out of hiding on live television.

Now, at this point in time, L would turn to Light and the two would begin to somewhat reluctantly think through the problem together. After all this time (the taskforce has been working together for almost three months, time truly has flown) L no longer harbours any sore feelings toward Light, and Light himself seems to be warming up to the situation, if somewhat slowly.

At least, that was what L had thought.

He is becoming increasingly wrong around Light, and he doesn'tlikeit.

It is noon, and Light has not called in with an explanation of his tardiness, and his father has no idea where he could be, other than at his apartment. L doesn't want to waste time and effort by sending someone to check in on the man, after all, he isa man and surely must have his own reasons for not coming in.

Still, for the rest of the day (that Light spends elsewhere), L can't push a feeling of vague worry out of his mind.

His alarm clock is ruined.

It's the first thing Light notices when he creeps out of his protective quilt shell for the first time all day. Springs and glass cover his floor, the face of the clock cracked and distorted from where it hit the wall (from where he threw it at the wall), almost frightening in the eerie dimness of his bedroom.

He sighs, ashamed of himself, before stepping clumsily around the mess and going to fetch a dustpan and brush.

How could he be so stupid? The least he could have done was call into work sick, that way he wouldn't have left the taskforce and his – already rather stressed – father wondering where he was. What can he say tomorrow, when everybody asks where he was?

"Hiding under my fucking covers all day…" he mumbles to himself as he sweeps up the mess on the floor.

Perhaps he should go in now – it's nine in the evening and nobody else in the taskforce will be there but L, but Light needs to apologise, needs some sort of solid ground to walk on when he goes in tomorrow. While he's waiting for the tube he'll call his father and let him know all is well – not the most sensitive plan of action, but just about all Light can manage at the moment.

He finishes the sweeping up and goes to turn the shower on.

L is halfway through his sixth packet of gummy worms when the entrance door buzzes obnoxiously. The shock sends him jumping into the air, his sweets scattering all around the room. Having received his fair share of drunken civilians asking for entrance into his bat cave, he ignores the door and gets up to retrieve his fallen comrades.

However, before he can pick up all of the worms, the door buzzes again and L supposes he better have a look on the CCTV to make sure it isn't somebody important. He peers up at the giant LCD screen displaying the security footage of the building, and then cocks his head to one side, honestly taken by surprise at what he sees.

The buzzing continues as L enters the codes required to open the door ("I'm coming, I'm coming!") until eventually he is able to pull the door open and get a proper look at his guest.

"Light-kun looks awful," he glares, but softens a little when Light does not retaliate in his usual prissy manner. "Are you sick?"

Light hesitates, shakes his head no. "I'm sorry I didn't come in today, did it affect anything much?"

"Well," L begins, and the corners of his lips turn up despite himself, "Why doesn't Light-kun come in now? There is something I think he would benefit greatly from knowing." Not waiting for an answer, L grabs Light by the wrist and pulls him into the warmth, slamming the door shut behind him. Light stumbles in, clearly shocked by L's strange behaviour, but doesn't have time to question it before he is dragged into the room properly, and shoved in the general direction of his computer chair. He sits down and watches as L flicks expertly through paperwork, taking note of how exaggerated his bulging eyes are under the unforgiving light of the computer monitor.

Finally, L seems to find what he is looking for, and holds it out to Light eagerly with his thumb and forefinger. Light takes the paper gingerly, and looks at what has been scrawled on it, seemingly by a child.

"Is this your handwriting?" He asks, skimming over the page.

"Never mind that – I did this after the team left today, readit!"

Light, subdued, does as he is told and reads the paper properly, feeling L's depthless eyes watching him like a hawk.

Eventually, after reading and rereading the paper, Light looks up at L with and incredulous expression.

L thinks he looks better now, a bit more alive. His hair is still slightly mussed and his skin is dull with dark circles slowly making themselves at home underneath his eyes – but he looks awake now, like for the first time in a while he is actually motivated to do something, rather than just doing his "duty".

"How did you figure this out?" He asks, fingering the paper absent-mindedly.

"If I'm honest," L begins, "It was Matsuda who made the original discovery. I ran with it from there, and soon enough came to this conclusion: the deceased are connected because they allwent to your High School."

Light, who has already read this information on the paper, sits and stares blankly at L for a while.

"You know, this sort of raises the chances that Light-kun could be Kira…"

"What?" Light stands clumsily, almost but not quite tipping his chair over. "L, I am notKira!"

Silence reigns over the room for a while, oppressive and suffocating. Eventually, after what seems like an eternity to both men, L speaks, his voice low and lilted very slightly with something like guilt.

"I apologise, Light-kun – I was only trying to make a joke, I didn't realise you would be so offended – you know, the chances of you actually being Kira are very low due to the different between the schedule of Kira's killings and your daily schedule, as well as this although you fit the profile somewhat with your misanthropy and strong sense of justice, you are more intelligent than-"

"-You apologised?" Light bends, wincing almost imperceptibly, and picks up his chair with some effort. He sets it down and sits on it once more, running a hand through his (for once imperfect) auburn locks of hair.

L shrugs. "I am not afraid to apologise when I am wrong, Light-kun." He spins around once in his swivel chair, a carefree action rather contrasting of the situation, and when he faces Light again the younger man is holding his head in his hands.

"Then I suppose," Comes a voice from Light's hands, "I should apologise too, for being so rude to you."

Normally L would milk this kind of an apology, but Light looks so drained and small, curled into himself protectively. For the first time since he first saw Light , L can see unwelcome black roots at the top of his head, peeking out amongst the tawny hue of his hair.

"It's quite alright, Light-kun, these are stressful times." He reaches out, wanting to comfort the younger man but not quite knowing how to, but gives up and lets it fall down to smack against the denim of his jeans. Luckily, Light shortly raises his head and straightens his crumpled clothes.

"Should we get to work, then? The next train to my area doesn't come for another hour or so, so you may as well make good use of me." He smiles, and it reminds L of the young, enthusiastic rookie detective he used to speak to via webcam not so long ago.

"Something is bothering Light-kun," he blurts suddenly, and then fights the urge to cover his mouth, shocked at his own outburst.

"It's nothing, really." The answer is blunt and callous and when L turns his head to look at Light once more the man is turning on his computer dispassionately, his face almost as blank as L's own.

"Light-kun," he growls, wanting to shake the detective next to him out of his stupor, "will tell me what is going on. This is no longer simply personal, as it is affecting the quality of your work and now your attendance. As the leader of this team, I demand that you-"

"-No. If you're going to keep questioning me about this then I'm going to go and wait for my train at the station. See you, L." Light stands, making a beeline to the door, and before he can stop himself, L is on his feet, reaching out and clutching his long, pale fingers around one of Light's wrists.

"I am worried about you!" he spits, his grip tightening to a point where he is quite sure it's painful for Light. "Please tell me."

The auburn-haired man stays still in his spot.

"We aren't friends, L," he says, "what makes you think you can delve into my personal matters like this? You, this whole situation – it's all so nonsensical!" Light spins around suddenly, fuelled by anger.

"Let go of me!" he cries, shaking his arm, but L holds tight – partly because he still hasn't gotten a satisfactory answer and partly because he has no idea what else to do.

Light tries pushing him in the chest with his free hand, but the detective remains planted in his spot.

"Something is bothering Light-kun." He says it quietly, peering up to look into the eyes of Light, who is suddenly stood overwhelmingly close, his warm, pleasant-smelling breath fanning against L's cheeks.

"Something is bothering Light-kun, and I would like to know what it is."

"So you can hold it against me?" Light's voice is harsh and dry like sandpaper, and his eyebrows are knotted together.

"So I can help you, Light, I-"

"I don't need your help, what made you think-"

Lips.

Two pairs of lightly chapped lips bump together, and before either knows what they are doing the accidental kiss deepens, L lets go of Light's wrist in favour of his waist, and Light's hands travel towards the other detective's charcoal puff of hair.

The kiss is new sensory stimulation for Light, who is revelling in the feeling of security that comes with L's arms around him, and the way the other's lips trace delicate patterns against his own. He shouldn't be doing this, this is a mistake, but he's so frazzled, and the way L's fingers twitch against his lower back is a lovely distraction. Eventually, however, their shared hunger for power kicks in and they both extend their tongues, about to request entrance into the other's mouth – but their tongues touch, and the spell is broken.

Light is the first to pull away, his eyes wide with shock. L stares up at him silently, his cheeks flushed with pink.

"I have to go." Light announces. "My train – I'll miss my train if I don't go now, I'm sorry," he runs another hand through his hair and turns on his heel, walking past a long-forgotten gummy worm on the way to the door.

"I'll be back tomorrow." He calls over his shoulder, and then the door opens, shuts, and L is by himself once more.

The moment they discover exactly where Kira is is rather anti-climatic in comparison to the three weeks that lead up to it.

The day after the kiss, Light returned to work (as promised) and gave his apologies to the other team members for not being there at a crucial point in the investigation. He was forgiven immediately.

Not wanting to interrogate him himself, partly out of embarrassment over the kiss and partly out of kindness, L gave Soichiro Yagami the task of questioning Light on the deceased and what could connect them more specifically than just their high school. Having been a rather withdrawn student (several times he said things about his isolation that evoked strange looks from the other taskforce members) Light initially had trouble coming up with a connection between the students.

The team (or rather, Light) tried many things to try and counteract this; looking through past yearbooks to encourage memories to surface, meeting with past teachers, even hypnotism to try and remember, but all of these efforts were in vain.

Just as the team had begun to give up hope, Light created an account on a social-networking site and used it to send an email to an old classmate, asking them about the deceased. The classmate had been callous at first, upset about the death of their old classmates and angry at Light for disturbing them after such a long time of no contact. Unperturbed, Light had (sparingly, with the reluctant help of L) offered information on the case, and the classmate told him all they knew.

A lot of this information was useless, but one part had stood out.

The deceased were connected because they all used to bully one person in high school.

Anami Ryouta.

The name instantly stood out to Light, who tutored the boy in math at one point during his final year at high school. He was always getting picked on (and always moaning about it during his tutoring sessions), by most people, but there were a few who stood out as really bullying him. Ryouta had also been in the same cram class with Light, and Light remembered watching him being bullied, by one person in particular.

Light had only known him as "Sudou", never bothering to learn his first name – he was an annoying person at best and not someone Light wished to associate with -heck, at one point Light had thought the world would be better if Sudou just died.

Ugh, he didn't meanit. Or maybe he did at the time, despite the strong belief engrained in him through his father that everybody deserved a second chance, perhaps he had wanted Sudou to die anyway.

How would Light have turned out, if it weren't for all of this Kira business? Would he have been a monster?

Nonetheless, Sudou had died, along with three other men, and that had led the team right to Ryouta.

"So why did he make them commit crimes before they died? That doesn't seem like a very Kira-ish thing to do!" Matsuda chirps, returning from the coffee machine with several fresh mugs of the wonderful stuff balanced on a tray. The team has long since established that Kira can control his victims before they die (as well as kill just by seeing someone's face, but this was a rather late development).

"It is likely that he wanted to make them look bad, literally, before they died – perhaps when he was in high school he told authority figures about his troubles and they did not believe him or neglected to act upon his requests, leading him to want to 'prove' himself right now."

"Surely he knows he isn't doing himself any favours?" Light begins, pausing to thank Matsuda for the coffee, "I mean, he knows that the only reason any of them committed those crimes is because he made them, not because they were actually bad enough to. He isn't just kidding others, he's kidding himself."

L nods in Light's direction, but doesn't look him in the eyes.

"Yes," he says, plopping sugar cubes into his own coffee, "this leads me to believe that something has happened to affect his psyche in a way that it no longer matters to him how he gets what he wants, or even if he is caught or not. If we look at this chart," here, L points a remote up at one of the large LCD screens and a chart pops up, "we can see that his rate of killing has increased dramatically. It frustrates me to know that we may only catch Kira because he has given up on staying hidden, but he must be stopped at any cost, especially since more people than ever are dying now."

L spins around in his swivel chair to face the rest of the taskforce.

"Everybody, we have Kira's name and home address, let's bring him in."

Ukita is the first to fall.

Through the speakers in his headset, Light hears something like white noise as Ukita releases shallow, shaking breaths into his microphone, and feels something tasteless that he knows should be strong like bile build up in the back of his throat, thick and suffocating like he's swallowed petrol oil. When Ukita grunts pitifully, Light sucks in a hesitant breath through his nose, feeling it pierce through his brain like two freshly sterilized needles.

"Everyone," he hears L say from far away in the seat next to him, "I urge you to keep your faces covered with the protective masks you have, and please do not rush into the building as Ukita did, I believe Kira has some way of monitoring those who enter the premises. Proceed with caution."

Somewhere in the midst of his overload of sensory information, Light finds the will to be annoyed at L's lack of emotion on the matter, but when he chances a glance at the detective through his seemingly crinoline-enforced puffy eyes, he sees faint, downward pointing lines around the man's mouth as he carefully pours tea from a flask into a dainty china cup. The facial expression is gone when he takes the cup to his lips, hitting it against his teeth with a cringe-worthy clink.

They look so mundane and harmless, sat in a car in the car park of what is just another boring block of flats. If it weren't for the headsets they are wearing, nothing would ever give them away for what they really are. L's hand does not shake around his teacup, whilst Light's own hands sweat almost imperceptibly where they are folded together in his lap as he glares sullenly out of the window, looking every bit the moody young man he should be.

Somewhere nearby the block of flats they are parked outside of, Light's father is preparing to enter a room which most likely contains Kira - a stunt with staggeringly high chances of failure, seeing as nobody has any ideas as to how Kira kills.

And Kira is already panicking - the realisation hits Light like a tidal wave, smothering him so literally that he struggles to keep his breathing steady as to not alert the detective beside him.

Kira is already panicking, and will most likely kill anyone he perceives to be a threat as soon as he can.

Light thinks of Ryouta Anami, holed up in flat 34c like a trapped animal waiting to be put onto the chopping block - a trapped animal with the power to kill anyone who may threaten its meaningless existence.

The car, despite its clearly luxurious brand that Light never bothered to pay attention to, is far too dark and far too stuffy, embedding pain deep inside his skull and releasing it from there in nauseating waves.

Any moment now and Soichiro will announce that everybody is ready to storm the building. L, always stoic, always calculating, will give them the go-ahead without hesitation, and the men will march toward their potential death without complaint.

Hours seem to pass inside the car, with Light becoming more and more on edge with every shuffling sound or grunt the team emits as they put on their protective gear. Soon enough the time will come when it won't just be a grunt or a mumble Light hears, but his father's always steady voice.

He doesn't want the last thing his father ever says to him to be about Kira.

Gritting his teeth and crossing one leg over the other, Light leans back in the car, trying to project a vibe of indifference but failing miserably and knowing it. L offers him tea, perhaps out of kindness, but the thought of a sweet, hot drink cascading down his throat makes him feel nauseous and disgusting, so he declines. L looks at him strangely and for a moment Light thinks about how the man is actually rather attractive, all smooth angles and soft hair and straight white teeth even though he eats so much sugar and Light wants to reach out and not feel frazzled again-

"-We're ready when you are, Ryuuzaki."

L has them calling him Ryuuzaki for this mission, seeing as they're out in the open where his identity could be easily established, but that isn't important at the moment.

"Go ahead."

Pleasantries aren't necessary at the moment, they aren't they aren'tthey-

"Good luck, Dad."

Silence.

"Thank you, Light - I'll see you soon."

The message is unspoken, but painfully obvious to everyone who is listening.

L and Light sit in silence for several minutes, listening intently to the sound of steel-toed boots clattering like tap dancers up the stairs of the block of flats, but it isn't long (could never be long enough, even if Kira is killing innocents as the policemen run) before the boots stop and Light can feel deep in the pit of his stomach how close they are to the door of flat 34c, and as the deafening banging against said door begins Light thinks of Misa and the time they tried to make a smoothie in the kitchen only to forget the lid to the blender and end up with violent splashes of lurid pink painting the walls, and the bangbangbangingtheir neighbours did against their own wall to indicate that they were squealing far too loudly-

But now Misa is dead because of Kira and all she wanted was a fruit smoothie and-

Pale, tapering fingers wrap themselves slowly around one of Light's hands, cool and smooth in contrast to his own clamminess - silent comfort for the man who can't afford to make a sound lest he distract the team from their ultimate goal. L's thumb rubs up and down on the back of Light's hand, and when he looks up to find an answer in the detective's all-seeing eyes, he sees the man staring with great interest at the dashboard.

A good place to stare, all things considered.

Staring at the dashboard, Light thinks of Kira and Misa and his father and L's fingers on his own, and when the door to flat 34c hits the ground with and almighty crash,just for a second, he can't think of anything at all.

"Anami Ryouta, come out with your hands up!"

Above the painfully tinny sound of Mogi and Aizawa shouting orders at Ryouta, there is the sound of boots hitting tiles, then boots hitting carpet, then doors swinging open, and it's obvious that the man refuses to co-operate because the officers are searching the house for him, and when they eventually find him Light knows it because of the eerie silence that follows the opening of a door. Like everything else this night, the quiet does not last long because it's broken by a voice that Light doesn't quite recognise but knows that he should.

"Come any closer and I'll write your names down - Soichiro Yagami, Kanzou Mogi, Shuichi Aizawa and Touta Matsuda - that's all I need to kill you!"

"He is bluffing," comes the calm, if slightly rushed voice of L, "We know for a fact that Kira needs a name anda face to kill, and he hasn't seen any of your faces yet so you are perfectly safe. I need you to figure out for me what he means by write your names down."

"It's pretty obvious from here, Ryuuzaki – he's got a notebook in his hands, I think that's what he's been killing people with – this is insane!"

Light hears Matsuda's verdict on the matter and looks over at L, unabashedly afraid this time, but L hasn't got time now to be giving him a pep talk so he swallows the sticky goo of fear that lines his throat and focuses on the task at hand.

"Come any closer and I will kill you, I mean it!"

"Everyone, pay no attention to these threats – please seize the notebook and apprehend Ryouta!"

The sound of scuffling is heard when the team try to pry the notebook away from Ryouta, who strangely doesn't seem to put up much of a fight, instead choosing to screech and scream, causing both L and Light to raise one hand each to their ears protectively as the deafening noise continues. If Ryouta's neighbours weren't aware that something strange was happening before then they certainly are now.

Relief floods like opium through Light's veins to hear the handcuffs snap around the loud man's wrists.

"Could someone please put a headset on Ryouta?" L requests, and Light knows this is where he comes in. There's a scratchy noise as one of the officers (most likely Matsuda) pulls off his own headset, hopefully being careful about keeping his mask in place, and sets it on Ryouta's head.

"Ryouta," Light begins, starting the routine he's rehearsed in his mind many times, "Do you recognise my voice?"

"Vaguely," Comes the defeated tone of Kira, "I couldn't put a name to it, though…" he trails off, giggles to himself half-heartedly. "Who are you?"

"My name is Light Yagami. We went to high school together, remember?" It pains Light to be so civil to Kira, but the team needs answers and this is his chance to truly prove himself.

Already knowing the answer to his question due to Ryouta's involuntary gasp of shock, Light decides to question him about the notebook.

"What does your notebook do, Ryo-"

Suddenly, a noise far more disturbing than the shrieks of a serial killer shatters Light's eardrums, and despite the awful sound quality of their headsets, Light can recognise the voice that is screaming.

"Dad!" he shouts, all previous composure gone in an instant, "Are you alright? What's going on, somebody tell me what's going on!" L, who is still holding onto his hand, gives it a quick squeeze.

"It's… a monster!" breathes Soichiro, and this is the first time Light has ever heard his father sound so afraid.

"Chief, I think you're getting a bit tired, I can't see anything."

"Mogi ,do you really not see it? Here," a flapping noise, and both L and Light can only guess that Soichiro has handed the notebook over to Mogi. Their suspicions are confirmed when moments later Mogi lets out a surprised yelp too, and a dull noise hints that he has possibly fallen to the ground.

"It really is… a monster! It seems only people who have touched the notebook can see it!"

"What? Let me see!"

"Matsuda, move!"

In the midst of the chaos, nobody but L and Light notice the dull sound of something heavy hitting the floor. But when the unmistakable sounds of shallow breathing and hollow coughing flood through the headset speakers, everything goes almost silent once more as every police officer listens to, and some watch, the ending of Ryouta Anami's life. When the man's final breath escapes through his lips, everything remains quiet for a while – a sort of post-apocalyptic quiet, the sound of something ending.

And then, somebody else coughs – once, twice, several times, and as a painful wheeze erupts through the speakers in Light's headset, he remains paralysed in his seat, staring almost blindly at the dashboard as L takes one of his hands in both of his own.

"Chief!"

In the waiting room of the Aiku Hospital's Cardiology department there are a total of 46 and a half tiles on the ceiling, two of which seem to be slightly loose. The floors are tiled too, a plain pale green colour, slightly marred with the dirty footprints of the taskforce, who fill about half of the chairs in the waiting room, looking intimidating in their black armour-like outfits, holding their headsets in their laps.

Light sits next to Mogi, who offers his words of support as if on cue every twenty minutes, and L sits next to Light, hating the feel of the scratchy chair fabric against his feet but putting up with it so he doesn't get kicked out of the waiting room. He let go of Light's hand as they exited the car in the hospital car park, and although he is quite sure a few taskforce members have seen his act of kindness, he is reluctant to take hold of the younger man's hand again in front of so many people.

Instead, he fiddles quietly with a toy car on a coffee table in front of him. The toy is intended for children and if this were any other time then the taskforce would look at him disapprovingly, but perhaps after dealing with so much stress today they have come to realise that such acts are frivolous. What does it matter that L is playing with a toy car, when Soichiro Yagami is having his heart operated on down the corridor? Which is the bigger injustice?

Anami Ryouta is dead, they pronounced him so in the ambulance, apparently. Another apparently is that the "monster" Soichiro and Mogi saw was a Shinigami – aGodofDeath – and "he" admitted to killing Ryouta before literally "taking off".

L doesn't like relying on apparently, but Mogi is a trustworthy source, and the news reports on the tiny 1990's television above the receptionist's desk state that nobody has died of a heart attack for about three hours.

It has been three hours since Anami Ryouta was apprehended. Needless to say, L put his reasoning ability to good use and decided that fuck it, they've caught Kira.

Ukita is currently in the morgue of the hospital, and both Mogi and Aizawa made sure he was put as far away from Ryouta as possible.

Soichiro Yagami has been in the ER for two hours and fourteen minutes. In this time, L has watched Light go from a near-catatonic state, to hysterical, to a sort of tired quiet. It's three o'clock in the morning so perhaps if it weren't for the situation then the younger detective would be dozing off right now.

L decides that a good way to get away from the scratchy chair fabric for a while and wake his brain up a little bit is to get everyone coffee. So he walks back and forth to the hospital's pitiful excuse of a coffee machine, making coffee the way he has memorised everyone to take it and handing it around. If not the drink itself, the thought is appreciated and each detective takes the coffee with a thank you. L takes his seat on the dreaded chair once more, bracing himself for what could be a long night of waiting.

Then he un-braces himself, because a doctor walks up to the group, seemingly from nowhere, and tells them that Soichiro will be fine.

"Nobody can see him yet, I'm afraid, because he's still recovering from the surgery. However, as soon as you can see him somebody will let you know."

Matsuda is the first to crack a smile – a shaky, nervous kind of thing but a smile all the same, and L thinks that it's probably a good trait to be able to smile after such a stressful day. Heck, stressful doesn't even begin to describe what the day has been like for everyone. Even L, who adopted his usual detached manner for this mission, found it to be incredibly mentally and emotionally taxing. However, once Matsuda smiles the rest of the taskforce lightens up, with the exception of Light, who excuses himself to the bathroom.

It's been an incredibly hard day for everyone, and this case is something that most people would take a long while to recover from. Light has probably gone to the bathroom to get some privacy, so L should leave him be.

The problem with L is that no matter what he shoulddo, he just does whatever he wants anyway.

Nobody notices him slip away in the direction of the bathroom.

The moment L opens the bathroom door he can smell it – the putrid stench of vomit, snaking up his nose like, well, a snake.

"Light?" he calls, stepping reluctantly further in. His feet tingle and seize up where they smack against the chipped tile flooring, which has become cold as ice without people walking on it a lot. In one of the cubicles he hears a faint retching sound, and goes to investigate.

Eventually, he finds the only locked door in the otherwise empty bathroom and knocks on it twice.

"Light?" he asks again, voice softer this time, "can I come in?"

L stands outside the door for a total of three minutes before deciding that he isn't going to get an answer, so he holds his breath, enters the next cubicle, and hopes with all his might that it is actually Lightin that cubicle and not some stranger. Using a piece of toilet roll to try and maintain as much hygiene as possible, he puts the lid of the toilet in his cubicle down and then stands on it. From here he can see just over the top of the board that separates his cubicle from Light's, but not enough to peer down just yet.

Sighing, he raises one foot in a mock of his signature crouch and places it on the toilet roll dispenser.

"Please don't break," he mumbles, pressing all of his weight onto it for a moment as he pulls himself up to see over the board.

It's definitely Light in the bathroom, and he has definitelybeen sick.

"Hello!" he says, leaning over the board to wave at Light, who stares up at him with a look of dizzy disbelief for a moment before turning his attentions back to the toilet. L decides he doesn't like being ignored for a germ-harbouring toilet, so he swings one leg over the board and then the other, and then jumps into the cubicle, being quite careful not to crush his friend in the process. He succeeds, as the fully intact Light looks up at him, scowls, and:

"Piss off," he blurts out before retching into the toilet again. L takes this chance to get a good look at him. Light is skinny now, rather than just slender, and his hair is brittle at the ends. L can see signs of dry skin around his cheeks as he turns his head to wipe his mouth on some tissue, and notices the bags under his eyes that aren't quite so different to his own.

"Light-kun has been under a lot of stress recently," he says, reaching out awkwardly to pat the detective on the back.

"So has everybody else on the team, but you don't see them reacting like this, do you?"

L's arm stills on around Light's shoulder blade.

"What is the matter, Light-kun?"

Light says nothing, but wipes his mouth one last time before flushing the toilet and moving to lean on the board separating him from the cubicle next door. L's hand drops to his jeans once more.

Eventually, after about five minutes of pure, condensed awkward silence, Light shifts over to L's side of the cubicle, sitting so close to the man that he's practically leaning on him.

"I shouldn't be feeling like this," he says, staring straight ahead with a resolve L knows will break if he interrupts, "everyone else has gone through the exact same things as me and you don't see them acting this way! Matsuda's always so cheerful, and Mogi's so strong and at least Aizawa has the guts to get angry when something bad happens… I just can't seem to shake things off the same way they can, you know?"

L nods.

"I guess I've always been pretty low anyway - flat and bored with life, but it got worse after Misa died. We weren't even serious, but she was a large chunk of my life for a little while and I liked her as a person, and then she just died like that, after so many weeks of having to hide carefully and stay out of the spotlight, we were just beginning to think she might actually be alright and then one day I just got this call and she'd died."

L nods.

"I just feel hopeless, L. It's all I've felt since I can remember and it's driving me insane."

L nods.

"Stop nodding at me. Are you even listening? For someone who wanted to know what was up so much you don't seem to be listening."

"I am listening to Light-kun: he feels hopeless for several good reasons and has been under a great deal of stress lately. I'm not a very good person at dealing with emotions, but my studies in psychology have taught me that people cope in different ways. However, as cliché as it sounds, bottling it all up really does nothing to help you."

Shrugging, Light continued.

"When I was about seven I told my teacher that when I was older I wanted to live in Hokkaido, I think I was going to own a bookstore and have a cat, too – but he said that I wouldn't be happy with that and tried to get me to like other things," he pauses, brushes his hands together as if he is wiping dirt from them, "that was the first time I knew that I wasn't good enough as just me – I had to do what other people did, and preferably better than them, to get by." He sighs, leans on L just a tiny bit.

"I just don't want to be weak; I don't want to fail anyone."

"Light-kun will fail himself if he goes on like this."

Light scoffs, brushes some long hairs out of his eyes and turns to face L.

"You're very different now than you were when we first met."

"I was very on edge when we first met."

"What about now?"

L shifts, trying to make his poor bottom feel better on the uncomfortable bathroom flooring. "I am less on edge, because I don't feel paranoid about the people I work with anymore."

"That's good."

"Yes," Shifting closer to the warmth of Light on the bathroom floor, L wonders, and then he decides that he's done with wondering. "…Light?"

"Yes?"

The hug is not perfect, because they are on a hospital bathroom floor and they both sort of smell bad from sweating and (in Light's case) throwing up, and Light's father is still unwell and L is still a lonely orphan, just a bit bigger now, but nonetheless, to each of them the other's arms is a sanctuary in this moment, and it wouldn't matter if they were on a bathroom floor or in a kitchen sink or cuddled up in a bed with hot chocolate and an endless amount of rented movies.

When L takes Light by the shoulders (far too skinny, boy needs some cake) and pulls him into a hug, they are safe.

When Soichiro wakes up, the first thing he sees is a pair of big, black eyes peering down on him, and he screams, because he thinks it is the Shinigami.

However, when his eyes focus (as well as they can without his glasses, anyway) he sees that it is not in fact a Shinigami, but L, who is still leaning over him with a wide-eyed look on his face and absolutely no regards to personal boundaries whatsoever.

Not much has changed, then.

"Good afternoon, Yagami-san!" He chirps, quietly enough that Soichiro doesn't become alarmed or get a headache, but loud enough to be deemed as socially unacceptable.

"Hello, L," Murmurs Soichiro, trying to look around the man but ultimately failing, much to his displeasure.

"You know, if we had not already captured Kira, you would be late for work right now. As it stands, however, Kira is out of the way, so I will let you off of your tardiness just this once." With that, L disappears out of the room, looking truly like a spectre with the way he glides.

An amused, haughty scoff from beside him tells Soichiro that his son is in the room, and when he turns his head to the side to see him properly he notices his wife and daughter, fast asleep on two chairs beside him. Light himself curls up on a chair as well, and if that isn't enough to tell Soichiro that his son has been camping out in the hospital for days, the stubble on the young man's chin certainly is.

"How are you feeling, Dad?"

"I'll be alright, son, you know me. What about yourself, and the team, is everything alright?"

"Yes Dad, you shouldn't be so worried about that. Ukita's funeral has been scheduled for a week's time, because the doctors think you might be able to go as long as you come back here straight away." Light stands slowly, joints popping as he does, and Soichiro thinks of L.

"Oh," he starts, suddenly hit by a realisation, "Why did Kira suddenly speed up his killings? That was the one thing I never understood."

"He had cancer," Light states simply. "According to the autopsy, he would have only had a few months left to live anyway. Now, enough of this," he says, straightening the covers and fluffing Soichiro's pillow, "get some rest. I'll be going away to do some work with L for a few months, and I'm leaving in three weeks, so while I'm here we need to make the most of our time together, okay? Quit thinking about the case and think of stuff we can do instead." And with that, he switches off a bedside lamp that Soichiro didn't realise was on in the first place, curls up on the chair, and Soichiro falls asleep watching the rise and fall of his son's chest.

He feels proud.

They go to Hokkaido one weekend, L and Light, and stay in a log cabin like the ones you see on Christmas cards just without the snow and Light eats a sickeningly sweet ice-cream that L buys for him but then pushes him into a swimming pool later as revenge and they play chess in a library, and play on the swings in a playground and even try fishing but get laughed at by the locals because they're not in the right place to catch fish at all, and then late at night L looks at Light with an expression that says "guess what" and then he reaches towards his silk pajama pants and Light grins and.

Well, much like future career options to a seven year-old boy, or taunts to a lonely teenager where killer notebooks are apparently likely to fall...

Some things are better left unsaid.

AN: Gahh, if that didn't take forever to write. Um, thank you for reading, and a big thank you to my beta reader, the Amazing Amelia, for encouraging me to write this and helping me along the way. I put my heart and soul into this fic, so any and all constructive criticism/comments/flames are appreciated. Thank you all so much!