Disclaimer: The Maiden of Autumn owns nothing.

Two months later…

"Hey, Light!"

Light smiled as he turned around, placing his helmet onto his head and regarding the familiar form of Matsuda Touta warmly.

Matsuda returned Light's smile, thought there was a tint of nervousness to it- there always was, right before heading out into the battlefield and trenches. "Hello, Matsuda," Light replied, grabbing his rifle up by the straps and slinging it over his shoulder, adjusting his helmet more comfortably onto his head as he did so.

The straps hung down and swayed as he walked, brushing against his chin in an annoying way, but a close call with some gas in his 2nd battle had taught him not to fasten the strap. He'd had to take the time to undo the clasp, which had been hard with horribly shaking fingers, and he'd almost not gotten his gas mask on in time.

It had been a close call, and ever since then, he'd had a terrible fear of fastening on his helmet so that he could not get it off if the need arose- and it no doubt would.

"You ready, Light?" Mastuda enquired, leaning comfortably against a pole that supported Light's tent, Mastuda's weight making the white construct lean slightly to one side. He was sure it wouldn't fall, though- he had quickly learned how to set up a tent so that it wouldn't collapse, no matter the weather, come torrents of rain or lashing winds.

Light nodded, checking to make sure his mask was secured firmly to his belt within easy access, that he had his rounds of ammunition, and a few cigarettes- though he hated the nasty, acrid taste and the way they burned and clogged his lungs, he did have one occasionally. Sometimes, there were nights that he couldn't afford to fall asleep, and the burn of the cigarettes cleared his head and kept him awake. And there were other men that enjoyed cigarettes far more than he did, and would be willing to trade different things for them. Trade was a useful commodity and way of life in the camp- something Light had learned quickly, among other things.

Once he was sure that he had everything, Light looked up, quirking an eyebrow a Matsuda. "You keep leaning on that like you are," Light told Mastuda, elbowing him playfully in the ribs as he walked by, "and the whole thing will fall over."

Chuckling, Matsuda stood up straight and followed after Light, easily catching up and striding along at the other Japanese man's side. "I doubt that," Matsuda said laughingly, grinning at Light good-naturedly, glad for the teasing that was able to take his mind off of what they were heading off to do. "You can put up a tent better than anyone here."

There was always a feeling of mixed excitement and fear before heading out to the trench fields, because it was horrible out there, terrible with the death and constant explosions and gunfire, but exciting, because any moment could be the last, and the adrenalin it brought with it was absolutely thrilling.

At least, to the new recruits. To the older ones like Light and Matsuda, who had been through more than a few experiences, it was more of a feeling of fear, because they knew exactly what was going on, and it wasn't something anyone went to do willingly.

"Ah, I don't know," Light said playfully, stopping to peruse his tent. "Even my brilliant construction might not hold up under your weight."

"Hey!" Matsuda cried with indignance, and laughing, Light started jogging off to the truck that was in the distance, engine already running and ready to take them out to the trenches.

With a last glance back at the rows of white tents, Matsuda shook his head and raced off after the still-laughing Light, heart pounding furiously.

No matter how much he hated the camps…. He only hoped that he would be able to come back to them.

"This is the life, huh, Yagami?" Matsuda asked, smiling grimly at Light as dirt rained down onto them from a grenade that had been tossed at the trench they were currently situated in. Luckily, the throw had fallen short and it had exploded on the ground just on the edge of their trench, harmlessly going off and sending a rain of fine dirt down upon them. It was hot from the heat and caused little prickles of irritation on what little skin was exposed to it, but it was better than having the grenade actually land in their trench.

"Whatever you say, Touta!" Light shouted back, and then blinked as a pebble bounced off of his helmet and rolled to the ground in front of them. Mastuda stared at it for a moment before he laughed at the surprised look on Light's face.

Even in this situation, grenades and dirt and pebbles falling down about their heads, there was still room for humor. In this dismal, death-drenched land, any bit of humor, whether it be morbid or not was grasped at and taken advantage of, for cheerfulness was hard to come by in this harsh land.

It was the reason that, rather than getting angry or irritated, Light simply shook his head, rolling his eyes. "Really?" Light sighed, glaring up at the edge of the trench as the rain of dirt came to a slow cessation. He leant over and picked up the pebble, palming it a few times before tossing it back, over his shoulder.

Matsuda's eyes followed the trajectory of the pebble, noting the silence that had followed in the wake of the thrown grenade. It was eerily quiet, and nerves on edge, Mastuda shifted to his knees, butt of his gun clutched firmly in his hand. "What do you think's going on up there?" Matsuda asked, raising his eyes up, though he made no attempt to peer over the edge.

"Don't know," Light said, shrugging. Though he honestly didn't care- or want to look over the edge to see. He'd seen more than one man's body drop back, headless, into a trench after poking it up to take a gander at what was going on. He'd made no attempt to do so since the first time of seeing that- you learned quickly out here, or you died.

And luckily, Light had always been an exceptionally fast learner.

Another bomb exploded just outside their trench, breaking the silence and Light smiled ferally over at Matsuda, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. "You want to stick your head over and see what's going on?" Light shouted over the sound of the explosive, grinning.

Matsuda only rolled his eyes and tugged his helmet lower over his face, attempting to better protect his eye from the dust and debris stirred up. He couldn't afford to chance his eyes blurring up- it would leave him at a disadvantage, and those kinds of things out in the middle of the trenches boded ill for the one afflicted. "No, thanks!" Matsuda yelled back, shuffling down even further to shield his eyes. "Though if you want to, be my guest, Lightbulb!"

"Advance!" The called command reverberated throughout the trenches, and Light and Matsuda froze, looking back to see the man running by that was calling out the command. His face was tense and frightened, yet he trudged on, sloshing through the filthy muck that was accumulated rainwater, filth, and blood at the bottom of the trenches.

Tearing his gaze away from the messenger, Light tilted his head back to look at Matsuda, a nervous, flighty grin settling onto his lips. No matter how many trenches he jumped, he'd never get over the fear of having to heave himself over the trench, vulnerable for the time it took to get on his feet and sprint forwards, dodging enemy fire and having to face the chance that the first trench they came upon was occupied by enemy soldiers. Light still had nightmares about the first time that happened, his first instance of hand-to-hand combat against two soldiers. He had survived, but only thanks to Mastuda tumbling down the trench after Light just in time to throw one off balance and distract the other, allowing Light to pull out his knife and stab the other in the throat with it.

"Guess we'll get to see what's going on either way, won't we?" Light asked, reliving that first memory over again and Mastuda nodded jerkily, fear slashing though him sharply.

The sound of gunfire and yells and screams and the general din of the battlefield never let up even as both men hesitantly stood up with the rest of those in that trench, grip tightening on guns and helmets readjusted.

"Good luck," Matsuda said, and Light nodded.

"You as well, Matsuda."

Ad then, there was no more time for talking, because as a group, they and the rest of the men rushed out of the trench, their only objective to reach the next trench that was 40 feet in front of them, clear it of enemy soldiers and situate themselves safely into it.

Light raced alongside Matsuda, ignoring the men that fell to the ground on either side of them, paying no attention to the way they clasped their stomachs or clutched their legs or arms or simply fell limply to the ground, blood spraying from the back of their heads.

There was simply no time to pay attention to that, focused as Light was on getting to the next trench, the thing that signified safety. Get to the trench, and he would be safe. It was the only thought on his mind, and he almost had a heart attack as a soldier clad in enemy uniform stepped in front of him, hate twisting his face and gun raised, finger about to pull the trigger and shoot Matsuda.

Light was able to react to this; quickly, he raised his own gun and shot the man, bracing himself as he forced his finger to constrict around the trigger. He blinked as blood splattered onto his face, the impact of the bullet hitting the man right in the fleshy stomach, sending blood spreading out in a gruesome arc.

Oh God oh God oh God-

"C'mon, Light, keep moving!" Matsuda urged, seeing Light just standing there, staring dumbly at the enemy soldier. He grabbed Light's shoulder and shook it while simultaneously pushing him forwards. It served to break Light out of his stupor and he shook his head, forcing his legs to move, to carry him forwards.

He stumbled for a moment but quickly righted himself, running jerkily over the mounds of dirt and pitted earth, destroyed and torn up from constant bombardment and heavy boots plowing it up. Another soldier stumbled in front of them, making Matsuda jerk to a stop with a curse and Light to hastily raise his gun, but then they recognized the familiar uniform of an ally.

The man was wild-eyed, crazily looking around and clutching an arm that was twisted in a sickening way. A stream of saliva dribbled down his lips as his eyes locked onto Mastuda and Light, and he stepped forwards, yelling something that they couldn't understand.

But they understood what was wrong with him. The man was pain-crazed, a condition that happened quite often out here, in the fields. The shock of a massive injury combined with the panic and feel of pain settling in drove men to a craze, made them stupid and likely to get killed.

And even before Light's eyes, as the man ran towards them, gibbering something, a bullet tore through his chest, sending him flying forwards and Light and Mastuda had to dodge the body as it came at them. The man crumpled to the ground a few inches in front of them, a gaping hole in his chest where his heart had once been.

"Shit," Matsuda swore, both at the delay, (the less people there were to hide in, the better the chance of getting shot, so it was always desired to get to the trenches and off no-man's land first) and at an Allied man dying in front of them.

"He-" Light gasped, but then shook his head, forcing away the shock and fear that was thrumming in his veins, threatening to make him freeze up. Move. They needed to move, and they needed to move now, to get to the trenches and safety.

Keep moving keep moving we have to- Oh God, just keep going please please please-

Grabbing the front of Matsuda's uniform, Light started running, dragging him along, feeling the need to keep moving because they were sitting ducks just standing there. Matsuda stumbled at first, almost slipping on the blood from the man's body, but then he gained his bearings and shook Light off, nodding in thanks as they both stated moving once more.

Smoke from bombs and grenades and dust that had been stirred up made the air hazy, hard to breathe and hard to see through. Light squinted in front of him, trying desperately to see where they were headed. Through the haze, he could barely make out the figures of other men running- he assumed they were Allied troops, because they were running in the same direction he and Matsuda were.

The trench was just ahead, and he could already see a few Allied men leaping over the side, guns and knives raised, ready to oust the enemy and take the trench over. Light longed with all of his heart to be there, to be out of this deadly no-man's-land and not be vulnerable.

He longed for this so much, that it was a harsh shock when something careened into him, knocking him to the ground and falling on top of him, forcing the breath out of his lungs.

"I'm…sorry…" the soldier whispered faintly, wincing as Light struggled to get free out from the weight pinning him to the ground. He clawed at the ground, attempting to get free, and finally, in desperation, reached up to push the strangely-still soldier off of him.

Wet hotness seeped into his gloves as he reached up, however and he froze, eyes traveling from the ground to his fingers, seeing a dark, thick liquid staining the brown leather of his gloves an even darker color.

"Oh," Light breathed, realization striking like a bullet to the chest. He froze, not knowing what to do, heart hammering in his ears, the sound horridly reminiscent of an automatic gun.

More gently now, he shifted his grip so that he was not touching the wounded soldier in his injury and gently pushed upwards, relieving some of the weight. The soldier groaned in pain as Light did this, but he forced himself to ignore the sound, working on shifting and sliding to his knees, resting the soldier's torso in his lap so Light could assess the injury for himself.

His eyes flicked down, meeting light blue ones, bleary with pain, and then traveled down, eventually coming to a stop on the solder's stomach, where there was a gaping hole seeping hot blood. It was grotesque, and yet Light could not tear his eyes away, not until a hand wrapped around his shoulder, tugging him down to ear level with the soldier's mouth.

"Is it bad?" the soldier whispered fearfully, and in that moment, the veneer of the hardened soldier the boy was trying to pass off crumbled. Light's heart clenched as he realized the boy couldn't have been any older than he was.

A sudden thump behind him made him crane his neck to see that Mastuda had dived down behind him. Consternation was in his eyes as Mastuda rose to his knees, looking around with keen eyes. Light felt relief settle in his stomach as he knew that his friend had his back and he returned his gaze to the soldier's stomach, breathing deeply in an effort to stay calm as he tried to gauge how bad the wound was.

The sharp, acrid smell of intestinal acid reached Light's nose, as he breathed in, though and at that moment he knew for certain the bullet buried in the boy's gut had ruptured his intestines. It was a fatal wound, Light knew. It was not the first time he had heard tell of such injuries, and he knew the boy would not make it.

He twisted his neck to meet Matsuda's eyes, which were gazing over his shoulder at the young soldier's wound, and when he met familiar brown eyes, he saw silent resignation written in them.

A sharp tug brought his attention back to the soldier and he looked down once more.

"Answer me," the boy said, a trembling note of fear creeping into his thin, wavering voice, drawing Light's attention back to him. "Is it bad?" There was a hopeful glint within his eyes, a desperate need for Light to tell him that it would be alright.

Swallowing, Light attempted to calm himself down, to come up with a logical answer, to muster up the courage to tell the boy the lie he needed to hear. He was just parting his lips to speak as another spray of gunfire pelted the ground near them. Kneeling behind him, Matsuda cursed, reminding Light of their true predicament and at that moment, with absolute certainty, Light knew there was only one thing he could do. It would be cruel to leave the boy alone here, suffering, and Light could not justify the act of sacrificing his own life simply to ease the pain of the boy's last hour.

He was a sitting target out here, and once the dust and smoke cleared, it would take only a matter of seconds for the enemy forces to take advantage of that.

Swallowing tightly, Light locked eyes with the boy cradled in his arms and nodded. "Yes," Light choked out, shifting the boy to his left arm so he could fumble for his knife, secured to his belt at his side. "You'll be alright, just hold on until help gets here, alright?" Light told the boy, feeling his stomach roil in self-disgust as he saw the boy's eyes lighten with newfound hope, even as he winced when Light shifted a bit to get a better hold on his knife.

The boy nodded in relief, and Light swallowed he said, with forced semi-levity, "Hey, close your eyes. This close to the ground, something could fly up and get into them."

Wholeheartedly believing the care that Light injected into his voice, the soldier nodded and his eyes slid shut in what Light knew would be the last time.

Light let out a shaky breath, face twisted in anguish before he swung the knife straight down, lodging it with accurate precision in the boy's breast. There was a small splatter of blood that stained Light's forehead dirty red as the knife struck the boy in the chest, piercing his heart and killing him instantly.

The tension seeped out of the boy's body, dirty, pain-tensed face relaxing as his body went limp in light's arms. Heart twisting, Light wrenched the knife out of the boy's chest, letting it hang loosely in his fingers as he slumped backwards onto his thighs, staring unseeingly at the boy's face in shock.

It was not the first time that Light had killed- but it was the first time it had been like this, so close to home and almost personal, despite the fact that Light had never met the boy before. The boy had not been an enemy, though- just another child in a war that they had been unwillingly sucked into, and with a jolt, Light realized that their positions could have been reversed.

It could have been him, in the soldier's place.

A choked, desperate gasp tore out of his throat at the thought and he let the body tumble from his arms, stomach roiling turbulently, threatening to make him sick. His stomach heaved and throat closed up as he stumbled to his feet, letting the knife fall from his loose fingers to the ground below, sparing it no more thought. He didn't want to- it had blood on it, and the thought was enough to make him heave in disgust once again.

"Light! Light!" The sound of his name made him jerk his head up, meeting serious, concerned brown eyes. He felt the weight of a hand upon his shoulder, and then there was yelling in his ear as that hand was once more pushing him forwards.

"I know, Light," Matsuda shouted through the sound of gunfire that was slowly starting to filter into Light's ears again, invading and dispelling the stupor he had been in. "It's bad, but don't think of it, forget it, at least until later! You gotta move Light, so come on!"

Matsuda's words, coupled with a harsh shove broke through the last of his daze and he shook his head, forcing his feet to move once more. His eyes burned with the smoke and dirt clogging the air and he felt for Matsuda's hand like a lifeline, blindly fumbling up to his shoulder and grasping the glove-covered fingers as he stumbled along after his friend.

"We're almost there, Light!" he heard Matsuda say, over the sounds of chaos as death and his boots thudding on the ground like a battle drum and his heart still relentlessly ticking down and so much noise so much I can't take it what did I do what do I do oh God no no no-

"Just a few more-" And then, there was a jarring explosion, a sharp cry, and his lifeline was severed, dragging him down along to the ground as Matsuda fell.

Light tumbled, his grasp on Matsuda's hand broken and he laid there in shock for a moment, his eyes wide and -no no no what happened Matsuda Matsuda Matsuda what-

Heaving himself to his knees, he had enough presence of mind to do a mental check, making sure that nothing was hurt on himself before raising his head, amber eyes flicking over to the side. They widened as Light saw Matsuda a few feet away, curled up on his side, facing Light. His face was twisted in anguish, and as Light's eyes traveled down his friend's body, mentally scanning for any sign as to what was wrong, his heart almost stopped at what he saw.

No, no anyone but Matsuda please don't let it be as bad as it looks-

Gasping, Light rose shakily to his feet and stumbled towards Matsuda, ignoring the pelting of bullets around him as he neared the fallen man.

"Oh, God, Matsuda," Light choked out, dropping to his knees beside his friend. With trembling hands, he reached out half-heartedly for Matsuda's mangled leg before stopping himself, snatching his hand back. Bullets rained around them, making Light duck in reflex, regarding Matsuda from underneath his lashes.

The sound of the explosions only added to the chaos, and the sounds of the dying and wounded screaming in the background only served to make Matsuda even more fearful in the wake of what had just happened.

"Light- it hurts," Matsuda whimpered, eerily childlike in the face of the pain wracking his body. His eyes were clenched shut as he attempted to drown out the awful noises of the background.

Swallowing hard, Light tried to offers some sort of reassurance, some empty lie- because his leg looks like ground sausage- No, no, no, don't think that Light!- to calm Matsuda down. But no lies issued forth, the false words getting caught in his throat as he gazed into the scared brown eyes of the man that he regarded as his closest friend.

Licking his lips, Light tried again after a few moments. "I know, Matsuda, I know," Light got out, desperately trying to think of something to do- because it can't be Matsuda, no, no, please don't let him die let him live please come on Light think of something to do damnit-!

"What happened?" Matsuda whispered, wincing as a grenade exploded somewhere behind them, the loud sound hurting his ears. It was a futile attempt to distract himself from the pain searing his leg, threatening to consume it- maybe, if he could recreate the scene, it would force him to focus on something else.

"I think it was a shrapnel bomb," Light rasped, his throat a bit hoarse from the acrid smoke that pervaded the battlefield and from yelling earlier.

A shrapnel bomb…? Maybe…

Matsuda remembered running for the next trench next to Light, and then a bright flash of light, falling, and then Light was suddenly next to him, a horrified, haunted look on his handsome face. And now, there was a pain that was slowly building in his leg, in the upper section, and a creeping numbness starting in his toes and slowly making its way up through his calf.

And he was scared-terrified- at the fact that he couldn't move his leg or force it to move worried him, scared him more than he thought was possible.

Struggling, he attempted to sit up and see what had become of his leg, but Light pushed him down, frantically trying to prevent Matsuda from seeing the mangled mess that was now his limb. He couldn't let Matsuda see that- it would put him into shock, at the least, make him panic and thrash and hurt himself more.

"No, no, no," Light chanted, trying to stay calm even as he watched blood stream from Matsuda's leg, and he almost gagged upon seeing a large, gleaming shard of shrapnel sticking out grotesquely from the muscle. It quivered horribly in time to Matsuda's heartbeat, blood trickling out from around the edges of the wound.

"Just- just stay there, alright? Don't move, okay?" Light asked frantically, mind reeling and stuttering, half-formed thoughts flashing through it, over and over like a broken record.

Can't let him see, oh God, don't look don't look, it's not that bad is it- oh, Jesus Christ, how the hell did this happen how could I let it happen no no no-

"Is it bad?" Matsuda fearfully asked, brown eyes gazing up at Light with absolute fear and uncertainty in them.

The sight tore at Light's heart and he shifted closer, drawing Matsuda up and clutching his closer, silently offering comfort and some slight protection from the bullets that pelted the ground around them, whizzing by Light's ears and burying onto the hot, dry dirt underneath them.

Light raised a shaking hand up and brushed Matsuda's grimy hair away from his forehead and out of his eyes. He almost choked as he saw that there was dried blood on it from the other soldier- the boy- that had died earlier from a gunshot wound to the stomach.

That boy had asked the same question that Matsuda had- and he had lied, saying that no, it wasn't so bad, because it was what the poor boy had needed. And it had worked- Light had prevented him from hours of suffering, allowing the boy to die instantly in peace.

But Mastuda wasn't fatally wounded, nor was he some strange, dying boy that Light had chanced upon. This was Matsuda Touta, a second-generation Japanese immigrant like Light was, engaged to be married after he returned home to a Miss Merrie Kenwood. This was his friend, and he couldn't- wouldn't- lie to him.

"Yeah," Light choked, unable to lie to his friend. Unable to meet Mastuda's scared, frightened eyes, he looked up, relief surging though him upon seeing the familiar uniforms of American and Allied troops surging around them. His heart leaped momentarily at the sight of the reinforcements, knowing that the influx of soldiers meant that this battle, for them at least, was over.

But as Mastuda shifted in his arms, his attention jerked back to his friend, and he went back to preventing Mastuda from getting a good look at his wound, as he was trying to do. "It's bad. Just don't look, okay? Whatever you do, don't look," Light quietly ordered Matsuda, and the Japanese man nodded as best as he could, his face bleaching unnaturally white at Light's words.

He was grateful for the truth, though- he didn't know if he could have handled it had he seen the lie so obvious in Light's amber eyes. If nothing else, at least he could say Light was honest up until the very end.

His next words were horrible, he knew, taking advantage of that honesty that he found so endearing in Light. "Am I going to die?" Matsuda whispered, clutching onto Light's hand desperately, searching his face for any sign of closure or reassurance.

No, no, no, not Matsuda-!

"No!" Light said fiercely, dimly noting that the gunfire was starting to ebb around them, the sounds of gunshots sounding farther away and slowly letting up. His hands went white under Matsuda's painful grip but he ignored it, thankful for the strength that Matsuda possessed- someone with such strength, with such a strong grip could not be dying, could they?

"You are not going to die! We'll… You're going to the hospital, alright? We'll get you there!" Light said with conviction. There was a hard glint to his eyes that Matsuda found comforting- because Light never lied, not that he knew, and if Light said that he was going to be okay, then it would be okay.

"Stretcher-bearers! Bearers coming!"

Light's head snapped up as the call went out. The gunfire had long ceased, and the hospital aide, deeming it safe, now made their way onto the field, heeding the desperate calls for help. Beneath him, Matsuda craned his neck upwards, trying to see what was going on.

"Stretcher-bearers…" Light whispered, a fierce glint coming to his eyes as he saw the familiar white stretchers. He glanced down at Matsuda, giving him a brief, hopeful smile, forcing conviction into his eyes. "See? They're coming. Hold on, Matsuda, alright? Just hold on, okay?"

Searching Light's eyes and seeing the determination within them, Matsuda nodded. Taking this as a reassuring sign, Light carefully let Matsuda's torso onto the ground, standing up. He ripped his helmet off and waved it in the air, trying desperately to call the attention of anyone, any of the stretcher-bearers that were just making their way onto the field.

Luckily, two men noticed Light, and they ran over, stretcher held between them. "What happened?" one of the men asked as they lifted Matsuda carefully, his usually healthy golden-toned skin going a pale white as he blanched from the pain of having his leg jostled. He let out no sound of pain, however, and Light was somewhat proud of him for that- for holding himself together and coherent, even in the wake of the pain Light knew Mastuda had to be suffering from.

"Shrapnel bomb," Light replied raspily, watching like a hawk as they situated Mastuda onto the stretcher so that he would not fall off. His throat burned from the smoke he had inhaled, as well as the dry particles of dust that had gotten caught in his parched throat as he added, "At least, I think…"

The men nodded sympathetically as they hoisted the stretcher up, balancing it expertly between them. Matsuda's hands clenched onto the metal sides of the stretcher, face strained and knuckles going white. The man looked at Light, and one of them asked, as he gestured with his chin, "Do you want to come?"

Matsuda looked up hopefully at Light, a silent plead in his eyes. Unable to simply leave his friend alone, and not wanting to he nodded firmly. "Yes. I'm coming."

Because if I leave you now, there might be a chance that I'd never see you again.

It was not a thought that was voiced, but it hung there, silent in the dirty air as Mastuda met Light's eyes.

The men nodded and began a careful, practiced jog across the battlefield and to the ambulance that was awaiting them. The horses harnessed to the wagon tossed their heads at the ruckus that surrounded them, the smell that pervaded the air making them uneasy. They didn't attempt to bolt, though, even as the men bearing Matsuda came to a swift halt at the wagon, sifting their grip to lift Matsuda inside and set him down next to the other injured men they had collected.

Without waiting to be asked, Light placed a hand on the back of the wagon and used it as leverage to jump up, kneeling at Mastuda's side. He reached out for Mastuda's hand and the injured man took it with relief, squeezing Light's hand in an attempt to channel the pain somewhere else. Light said nothing about the discomfort as his own hand turned white, and a few minutes later, a whip was cracked and the ambulance rolled away, heading away from the trenches on the outskirts of Paris and into the city itself, where the hospital was.

Orderlies streamed out the moment the ambulance came to a halt in the front of the large building, coming around the back of the wagon to carry the stretchers inside.

Light jumped out, along with a few other soldiers that had accompanied their injured friends. He waited anxiously as Matsuda's stretcher was lifted and followed as they carried him away from the wagon and into the hospital.

The moment he stepped in, Light's eyes widened in mixed disbelief and confusion.

This hospital, statute especially for soldiers injured on the field of battle, was something Light had never been in before. He had been quite lucky in his injuries- a few cuts and scrapes that nothing a dousing of alcohol and some clean bandages could not take care of.

But this… it was nothing like he had seen. It was clean chaos- the only way he could describe it. The walls, bedsheets and curtains were all a pristine, gleaming white, such a drastic change from the muddled gray, brown, and greens of the camps the soldiers were quartered at, in the outskirts of Paris.

And yet, it was simply chaotic. Female nurses and male orderlies were rushing around, papers, bandages, and medicine packets clutched tightly in their hands, faces drawn taut in worry. There were soldiers scattered throughout the room, the only smudges of color besides the crimson red of blood from the wounded being carried in. They were helping to carry the stretchers or standing at bedsides of the wounded and fallen, faces altering between grief and relief.

Someone bumped into him, jerking him out of his daze and he realized that Mastuda's stretcher was still being carried, way down to the end of the hall, where a doctor, recognizable in the long white coat worn over dark clothing was talking to a female nurse.

"Doctor!" one of the men carrying Matsuda's stretcher called, gaining the man's attention. "This man requires immediate attention!"

Nodding shortly, the aged doctor brushed off the nurse at his side and with short, clipped strides, made his way to the stretcher. Light followed closely, eyebrows furrowed in worry at Matsuda's silence. His friend had been uncharacteristically quiet, and glancing down, he could see the red pooling under his leg, staining the cloth covering the stretcher a horrid red. His brown eyes were glazed and face a worrying ashen grey.

"Hm," the doctor huffed, eyebrows rising as he glanced cursorily at Matsuda's leg. He reached out and with a clawlike, spindly finger, plucked at the cloth of Matsuda's uniform trousers, eliciting a pained gasp from him.

"What the hell?!" Light hissed, reaching over to slap the doctor's hand away, leveling an angry glare upon the man that he was coming to dislike a bit more each second. "Can't you see he's injured?! Be careful!"

The doctor recoiled momentarily, before his eyes narrowed and he turned away, gesturing to the orderlies. "The femur is shattered, and the shrapnel shredded the muscle. The leg is unrecoverable. Bring him," the doctor said in a clipped tone, already rolling the sleeves of his coat up.

Unrecoverable.

Light froze and Mastuda's eyes cleared enough to show the utter fear that passed through them at the words.

Unrecoverable meant unrecoverable. Unrecoverable limbs were useless.

And useless things were always disposed of.

It was a blatant sentence for Matsuda, an almost discreetly blunt way of telling him that the leg would have to be amputated. The utter casualness of the life-altering words was cruel, in which there was no way to break it to Matsuda gently.

No," Matsuda whispered, brown eyes locked firmly upon the retreating back of the surgeon, disbelief lacing his voice before he recovered. "No!" Matsuda cried with more strength, a tiny bit of color flooding into his cheeks as he attempted to sit up, face flushing with the exertion and pain it caused him. But the orderlies ignored him, straightening up to lift the stretcher once more. One not holding the stretcher reached out to push Mastuda back down upon it, so that he would not fall off in his struggling.

"Stop!" Light barked, pushing the orderly away from Matsuda, making the man gasp and stumble back. Light paid him no attention, however, turning his anger upon the doctor who had stopped to see what the disruption was, irritation and impatience written upon his face.

"Heartless bastard!" Light yelled after the surgeon, lunging for the elderly man, rage making him grit his teeth and red to briefly flash across his vision. However, before he could get around the stretcher and shake some compassion into the man, his arms were grabbed, making him come to a sharp halt. However, Light had never been one to give up easily and he twisted, face warping into a mask of rage.

"Matsuda!" Light yelled, shaking off the restraining hands and lurching towards his friend, whose dirty face was pale with shock and stricken with terror as his stretcher was borne away. For the doctor to be so callous in his words was something that inspired an utter loathing of the surgeon in him. He wanted to get to Matsuda to comfort him, or the surgeon, to strangle him or just hurt him in some way for being such a bastard.

"Light!" Matsuda cried, fear making the whites of his eyes shine large and bright. He was unable to sit up, as mangled as his leg was, but he reached out to Light- for comfort, for security, and Light attempted to reach his friend, but he was restrained by men in white, who were stronger and better-fed than he was, just getting off the front lines.

"Stop that struggling now," one of the burly men said, his beard-scruffed face frowning at Light with disapproval. He jerked Light's dirty, uniform-clad arms behind his back, wrinkling his nose as he caught a whiff of Light's odor, the smell of death and blood and trench filth and mud.

"No! Let me go! That's my friend, you bastards!" Light screamed, struggling and twisting futilely. He saw, out of the corner of his eye as Matsuda was carted away, bastard of a surgeon right behind him, already reaching into his pockets for something.

"Oh, for the love of-" the orderly started to curse, but was cut off as Light maliciously stamped on his foot, grinding the heel of his boot into the orderlies' foot. "Get a nurse with a sedative," the man hissed, jerking Light to the side harshly amidst his struggles. "The lunatic's not going to-"

"You do that, and you will be out of that uniform and onto the streets so fast, your head will spin," a calm voice interrupted, cutting through the chaos and making all in the vicinity still. It was a pleasantly deep voice, almost apathetic, but Light could detect a subtle hint of anger lacing it.

"Doctor L!" the man grasping Light's arm choked out, struggling to get Light to stop fighting. "He's attempting to-"

"To follow and comfort his friend?" the new man interrupted abruptly, and Light could hear light footsteps upon the wooden floor as the man drew nearer. He could sense the anger in the voice more now, as well as the authority backing it. "I see nothing wrong with that, orderly. Now, release the young man, or I will have you for insubordination. You might be an orderly, but you are still enlisted in the army and are therefore under my superior command." The voice was hard and filled with authority- the voice of a man accustomed to issuing orders and having them fulfilled at once.

Still, the man talking seemed to be on Light's side, and he felt a rush of gratitude towards this "Doctor L."

The large man holding Light's arm hesitated for a moment, but then he released Light's arm angrily and stalked off, his companion following quickly after him. Light had to resist the urge to spit a curse after him, and almost ran in the direction Matsuda had been taken before remembering the man that had intervened on his behalf.

Grateful, Light turned to the man who had spoken with the intention of thanking him, but was a bit surprised and underwhelmed at what he saw. The shock of the sight that met him wholly diverted his attention from Mastuda, forgetting his friend in favor of examining the enigma that had suddenly appeared.

To tell the truth, he had been expecting a tall, broad-shouldered man, straight-backed and proud, brimming with authority.

But what he got was an odd-looking man, dressed in dark clothes underneath a blood-splattered white doctor's coat. He was extremely thin, with paper-pale skin that only seemed more bleached -white and stark in contrast with his obsidian-black eyes. They were rimmed with thick, tired-looking black circles that bespoke many sleepless nights, and spikey, flyaway, inky hair that spilled onto his shoulders and fell into his eyes in sharp jags of bangs. That combined with his slouch made him a very unimpressive figure- and Light would have been skeptical of his title of a doctor if not for the sharp, intelligent glint in his exhausted eyes, or the way he held himself with authority despite his slouch.

Seeing Light's inquisitive glance, the man's pale lips quirked up in a slight smile, a bit self-depreciating, if Light read it correctly. "I think I know the path your thoughts are taking- I am not a very impressive sight, am I?"

The voice was the same as the one that had spoken, leaving no doubt whatsoever that this was indeed the man that had forced those men to let him go and made them leave. Hearing the voice paired with the man actually helped cement the man's doctoral status in Light's mind, and Light quickly shook his head, not wanting to offend the doctor. "No- well, yes," Light said, unable to lie in the face of those all-knowing eyes. They were quite remarkable, with the way they stared straight through him- he was unable to tell an untruth when those intelligent eyes were boring into him. "You don't look much like a doctor."

The doctor's smile twisted into something that was both unhappy and rueful. It was one Light recognized- the same smile was present on his lips when he talked of anything unpleasant, which was quite a lot of the time nowadays. "Months of watching young men die while you stand around able to do nothing will do that to you, I'm afraid."

Light flinched under the harsh words, though he was sure that the doctor hadn't meant anything by them- his tone was matter-of-fact, though there was a bitter bite to them, directed mostly at the speaker himself.

"But you've not come here to listen to a doctor's ramblings, have you?" the doctor asked, his black eyes flicking down to the clipboard he was holding, skimming over the numerous names listed there. "You were quite adamant about that young man not going alone- I found that quite commendable, especially in a place such as this."

Sighing, the doctor ripped off a piece of paper, and plucked out a pen from behind his ear- funny, Light hadn't seen it, buried as it was behind a mass of feathery, inky tresses. He grasped it oddly gracefully in between forefinger and thumb, writing something down on it before holding it out to Light, stuck in-between his middle and ring finger. "Show this to anyone who wants to stop you- it gives you permission to stay here with your young friend."

A bit cautiously, Light took the proffered paper, scanning over it quickly. It simply said, Here with permission- L.

"L?" Light asked, looking up curiously at the pale man, brows furrowed.

The man nodded, replacing the pen behind his ear and tucking the pen back behind his ear. "Yes. I am L. Doctor L, or 'Doc' for short, if you wish," he told Light, a small spark of mirth lighting his eyes, even though his face remained apathetic. "I'm the head doctor here-or anywhere, really. I'm well-known; that note will get you where you need to go uncontested, Mr…?"

L trailed off, looking at Light expectantly. He jerked, realizing that he had rudely not given his name. Stupid, he berated himself. Be impolite to the man that just prevented you from being tossed out on your ass and lets you stay with Matsuda!

"Light Yagami," Light said, about to hold out his hand, before glancing down and seeing the filth that littered it. Instead, Light quickly dropped it, ashamed of how dirty he was.

He was surprised, though, when L intercepted his hand and grasped it, filth and all, and shook it. It was an odd grip, as he held Light's hand between forefinger and thumb, but his grip was firm and earnest. "Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Yagami," L told him, the hint of a small smile on his pale lips.

Light blinked, shocked at the doctor's actions, at which the smile only grew a bit wider. "I've been up to my elbows in men's guts before; a little dirt won't bother me. Though, you'll have to excuse me," L continued, releasing Light's hand and wiping his now dirty fingers on his jacket. "Can't perform operations with filthy hands."

Light returned L's smile, compelled to do so in reaction to this odd doctor's kind actions. It was not fear of Light's filth that had the doctor holding his hand with such an odd grip- it was forethought for his future patients. "I understand."

At that moment, the door burst open and another nurse dressed in white flew in, her face worried and tense.

"Doctor L! There's an amputation- he's losing blood, the surgeon doesn't know what to do! Please, come quickly!" she gasped, face a mask of worry.

L whipped around, his eyes narrowing and face and demeanor become more intent. Light stepped back, taken aback by the sudden change from relaxed to serious. "If that bastard had listened to me and had his materials ready," L snarled, insinuating that he knew exactly which surgeon the nurse was talking about and jumping into action, L ran for the door, rolling the sleeves of his white coat up as he did so, continuing, "we wouldn't be having this problem!"

Not knowing what else to do, Light hastily followed, running after the doctor and bypassing the startled nurse that was holding the door open. The door slammed shut and the nurse followed after them, quickly catching up.

"Tell me!" L barked at the nurse, taking a sharp left and striding through a door. He wiped his hands on his black pants that Light could see now were oddly stiff for the cotton cloth they appeared to be made of- and then realization made him jerk as it dawned upon him that it was dried blood making the doctor's pants so stiff.

"The soldier's leg up to his thigh had to be amputated- a piece of metal shattered the femur, and it's unrecoverable. The surgeon removed the leg without complication, but then he lost grip of the femoral artery, and blood started going everywhere."

"Shit!" L hissed as he took another left, slamming open the door to a room and coming to ana, and Light could see over the shorter man's shoulders the figure of a man lying on the operating table- and it was a horrific shock to see that it was Matsuda lying there.

"Matsuda!" Light cried, lurching forwards.

His sudden outburst drew the attention of both the nurse and doctor with him, and those at his friend's side. When the surgeon currently working on Matsuda looked up, his gaze drawn by Light's cry, his eyes fell onto L's slouched form and his eyes narrowed, bloodied hands clenching as he worked frantically at Matsuda's side. "What the hell are you doing?! I will not have you interfere!" the surgeon said angrily.

L ignored the surgeon, going over to the pan of water at the bedside and washing his hands, before turning to the infuriated surgeon. "It was one of your nurses that came to get me," L said, his voice calm but Light could see that his body's stance all but radiated anger. The surgeon bristled, and L turned to the nurse that had accompanied them. "Remove him, please," L directed, pointing at the surgeon.

Light watched all of this, frozen in shock, so he jerked when L turned to him, fixing piercing eyes on him. "This is the man from before- your friend, correct?"

Horrified, all Light could do was nod his head.

"Good," L said, ignoring the struggles of the surgeon as he was hauled away, moving around to take the surgeon's place and taking the forceps he had been holding from the assisting nurse. "Thank you," he murmured to the woman, and she nodded before going back to cleaning the blood from the stump that was all that was left of Matsuda's leg.

L bent over Matsuda's stump, lowering his forceps, and he did something that Light was thankful he couldn't see. He held the forceps to the side, handing it to the nurse. "Hold the femoral artery," L ordered. "Keep it tight and don't allow it to slip again- the bumbling idiot almost made this man lose his life when he lost grip of it before."

The nurse nodded, swiftly taking the forceps, his hand squeezing tight around the handles and the two men quickly switched places. L wiped his hands off and then he looked up to Light. "I'll need your help with this," L told him, a deadly seriousness making his black eyes flat and intense.

Help? Oh, God- Light felt that he was about to puke at the sight of the blood spurting out of Matsuda's leg, seeing the gleaming white circle of his friend's exposed thigh bone, the muscles surrounding it, and the miniscule vessels leaking blood. He saw it all distantly, feeling himself go lightheaded at scene before him.

What he had seen before in the midst of battle, in the trenches somehow paled in comparison to what he was seeing now, because it was his fucking friend here, his friend's goddamn leg cut away and-

Oh, God!

Light stumbled backward and bent over, his hand clutching at his mouth and closing his eyes to block out the sight, shaking his head in a futile attempt to get rid of the image. There was a moaned protest, and dimly, Light was shocked to realize that it had been issued from his own mouth, a long, drawn out "No." It would have disturbed him more if he wasn't already so from the sight of his friend's bloody stump bared before him to see.

The thought made him start hyperventilating, and just as Light felt a scream start to build in his throat, threatening to issue forth, a sharp "smack" sounded a second before a knifelike pain shot through his cheek.

Light's head snapped back to the side and he rocked backwards, tears coming to his eyes in an involuntary reflex, and gasping, Light clutched his cheek. The pain cut through his muddled thoughts, though, and momentarily distracted him from Matsuda's situation, making him flick his eyes up to see who had slapped him, and his eyes meet black ones, only an inch or two away from his own.

L stared straight into Light's panicked amber eyes, his obsidian eyes serious and calm, and when he spoke, the low, soothing voice made some of Light's panic ebb away. "You need to calm down, Mr. Yagami, and help me unless you wish for your friend to bleed out on my operating table. Can you do that?"

A sudden wave of guilt speared through Light, and ashamed of his breakdown and weakness, he nodded. Standing up, he took a deep breath and let his gaze return to Matsuda, forcing himself to ignore the blood this time- he was just another soldier, not his friend lying on the table with his leg cut off, just another random boy that Light couldn't care about- and calmed himself.

"Yes," Light said, his voice wavering only the slightest. "What do you need me to do?"

L started at him for a moment, his eyes flicking over Light, assessing him, his mental state to see if he truly was calm, and then nodded shortly before going around to the side of Matsuda's missing leg.

Plucking a pair of large tweezers off the metal tray set off to the side, L beckoned for Light to come over to stand by him. "Usually I would not ask a soldier to do this, but we're short of hands," L said as Light came to stand by him, desperately trying to ignore the bloody stump. "It's not much- just hand me what I need when I tell you from that tray, hold the tweezers when I hand them to you, and for the love of God, don't let them slip," L ordered, and Light automatically nodded.

He watched, grossly fascinated as L reached around the nurse's hand that held the forceps with his tweezers and poked the bloody wetness of the exposed muscle. "There are major arteries in the leg muscle that need to be tied off," L explained offhandedly, his whole attention focused solely on the task before him. "I'll grab them with my tweezers and try to extend them out somewhat so I can tie them off. I could just sew the skin over the stump, but he would die of internal bleeding within the hour." A few seconds of silence passed, the only sounds in the room wet squelching from L's questing probe of the thigh muscle and the three men's breathing- Light's somewhat harsh and fast, while L's was quiet and steady, along with the nurse's.

"There," L suddenly said. "Nurse, hand me the thread- Mr. Yagami, hold these and remember what I said," L told him as the nurse deftly reached back without losing her grip on the forceps and passed the thread to L, while Light took ahold of the tweezers.

Looking down at them, Light could see a tiny strand of red clutched in between the thin metal of the tweezers.

It was hard to imagine that this was the deciding factor of Matsuda's-No, no, no, just some random soldier, goddammit don't allow yourself to think of him as your friend right here right now fuck it all!- life, whether or not Light could keep ahold of the tweezers and cut off the supply of blood to the open artery, preventing it from leaking the precious red liquid everywhere.

The thought, though, that he held a man's life in his hands made him grip the tweezers harder, his knuckles becoming white with the effort. Light watched as L deftly cut a small piece of thread off the roll with a jerk of his teeth and quickly reached around to tie it around the small tubule held between the tweezers' tongs, tying it off.

"Light, relax," L murmured, placing a bloody hand on Light's own, urging him to let go of the tweezers. He didn't acknowledge L's use of his first name instead of the more formal address, but instead just unclenched his fingers. L caught the tweezers swiftly, handing Light the roll of thread instead. "You did well," L said quietly, already reaching into the stump once more to fish out another vessel. "Just a few more to go," L said reassuringly, before pulling out another artery and handing it off to Light.

L was right, as Light was more than happy to admit. There were only a few more arteries to be tied off before L handed the tweezers, devoid of a vessel this time, off to Light and took the thread from him, cutting off another piece. The nurse seemed to know what L was going to do and stretched out the femoral artery a little bit more, enough so that L could wrap a piece of thread around it and tightly tie it off.

"Release," L ordered, and the nurse did so, backing away and placing the forceps on the tray. Without L having to ask, the nurse picked up a large needle and thick black thread, holding it ready as L carefully released the artery and wiped his hands off on his slacks. He then reached out and took hold of the outer layer of skin on the top of Mastuda's severed leg and the bottom, gently stretching them together, his brows furrowed in concentration.

His eyes flicked up to Light. "I need you to hold these together so I can sew it shut. Can I trust you to do this?"

Trust. It was such a big word, here in this situation with Matsuda's life hanging on whether he could do what L asked of him. Matsuda… Light's eyes trailed up to his friend's face, and Light remembered the way his friend's face was usually pulled into a welcoming smile, his brown eyes sparkling and white teeth sparkling happily against his olive skin.

This person on the operating table was nothing like Matsuda- this pale-faced, tensed-up mockery of Matsuda. He wanted Mastuda back- wanted his admittedly stupid happiness, his merry talk of his fiancée back in America, and his buoyant personality that made war-ravaged France not so desolate and depressing.

Swallowing, determined to get a grip on himself so he could help get Matsuda the hell off this operating table and back to normal, Light nodded and reached out. His hands trembled as he took hold of the skin and held it together, feeling the strain of resistance as the resilient skin threatened to pull back into place.

"Good," L murmured, holding his hand out without taking his eyes off of Matsuda's thigh, the needle and thread being placed immediately into his hand. "Just hold it there and keep it steady," L told him, threading the needle expertly and placing the roll between his teeth to keep it out of his way.

And then, he set the needle to skin, and with fast, quick movements Light couldn't help but admire, L proceeded to sew up the amputation site, making the two pieces of skin come together in a neat- if not grotesque- line.

L cut the thread with a jerk of his teeth, one-handedly handed both needle and thread to the attending nurse, and then stepped back. He wiped his hands off on his pants as the nurse moved in and wiped the blood from the area, washing it off and applying antiseptic and gauze to help trap any blood that was still leaking a bit.

And Light had to admit- when L turned back to him after cleaning his hands, he was expecting some sort of grand fanfare, some flourish proclaiming the miracle L had just worked, that Light had just witnessed being performed in front of his eyes. Because L had just taken a raw, bloody stump that was all that was left of Matsuda's leg, and turned it into the neat, skin-covered appendage it was now.

But instead, L just raised his eyes to meet Light's, a small, reassuring smile on his lips and a weary, if not satisfied gleam in his eye, and simply said, "Done."