It was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness,
It was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity,
It was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness
It was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair
We were all going to Heaven
We were all going direct the other way.
-A tale of Two Cities, Charles Dickens

The situation was vague. Light had not even known that Watari was gone, but now that it was divulged he immediately surmised that it didn't matter as far as his own situation went. Even if he fought with L again and, hypothetically, killed him, he was still locked in this place and whatever people L had on his side would proceed to execute him. No, now was the time to cooperate, there was no other logical course of action. As such, Light intended to work for L's trust, just as L expected him to.

Watari spoke in soft, hushed tones that sounded more robotic through the computer's speakers than humanoid. The old man also would stop mid-sentence when apparently someone was watching him and resort to transmitting a digital beeping sound that made for Morse code to complete his thoughts. It took Light a moment to adjust to the scrambled messages, but he did so with perked attention. He listened intently behind L, who hadn't said a word to him nor made any indication that Light had to leave.

“The building was infiltrated-” A series of beeps, and straining to recall, Light made out, fifteen minutes ago, six men seen so far. There was a brief intermission before, “Intentions are unclear.”

“The building should be equipped with cameras?” L asked in a steeled voice.

The affirmative answer came in beeps: yes, followed by, “More than usual.”

“Won't they be cut?” Light asked helpfully. When the detective turned to look at him in the corner of his darkened ebony eyes, Light continued before L had the chance to send him away. “You'd have to be pretty stupid to infiltrate an Interpol meeting without any kind of defensive actions. We should assume that if these people were able to get passed security with firearms then they aren't complete idiots.”

L answered while his fingers sped across his keyboard. Already he was looking for contacts, anyone else in the area to consult that would provide him with multiple perspectives. “It's too early to assume anything at this point. We do not know who this is or what their intentions are, furthermore, security and cameras are generally doubled during these meetings. If there is any chance that I can get video footage now, I want it.”

He shrugged, still standing behind L as the detective made brisk communication with his older partner. Details continued to be vague, which in itself was a clue: it indicated that Watari was worried that he was being watched. Light was certain that this would always be a general precaution wherever the elderly man went, considering his highly confidential line of work. But that did not suggest that the terrorists were not observing the hostages, and L was right about one thing – nothing could be assumed, but all possibilities had to be examined thoroughly and with haste. If the old agent's identity of Watari was exposed, then the terrorists might specifically target him as the greatest threat and a connection to L.

Through the gritty feed that Watari's own cameras was providing, L and Light both tensed as they saw across the room a tall man, disguised in a suit, who clearly was wielding a silver object that could only be a handgun considering the distance that the Interpol officers were avoiding him. Apart from that, Light couldn't see any other of the supposed group, but Watari was keeping very still. With the limited visuals, however, Light conjectured that one man alone had not subdued this entire crowd.

“Where are the security guards, Watari?”

There was no answer for a moment, until a temperate voice finally responded, “I believe that these are the security guards.”

“That means,” Light started again, “that this was a planned operation.”

“That's been obvious for awhile,” L refuted sullenly. “What's more useful to know is precisely how long it has been planned. Ultimately, we need to ensure the safety of the maximum number of hostages possible and then assault, neutralize the threat and capture the leader, if they have one. Watari, will you be able to separate yourself from the hostages undetected?”

“Yes.”

“Then do so. If the cameras are cut then they won't be able to spot you, anyway. I know you're armed but I don't want you in a position where you have to kill anyone, let's avoid publicity. I should like to know what language the terrorists speak primarily, please find out if possible.”

“How long is the camera footage stored in computer memory? Because if-”

“Light-kun,” L interrupted without turning around. “If you are going to help me then sit down and make yourself useful. It's annoying to have you standing there telling me what to do, so you may use Monitor 9.”

His heart skipping a beat at this good luck, Light confirmed. “Monitor..?”

“The one to my left.”

Light found himself pausing for a moment in uncertainty, after L had so vehemently denied him the use of computers or Internet access. Why was he offering all of the sudden? After all, even if Light probably wouldn't be able to escape from going on the computer, and the gods knew what kind of security L had set up, he was certain that he would quickly be able to contact his father when the detective wasn't looking. It was a fragile balance that called for a level of trust that it was obvious L didn't have in him, as he had no reason to. Was he simply going to assume that Light wouldn't try anything that might worsen his situation in the long run?

Upon that pause, L shifted to look at him face-to-face, his face giving away no answers underneath unruly bangs of raven hair. “I feel that if Light-kun works with me, we'll do really well.”

When Light finally seated himself on his knees at the computer beside L, he felt a pang of reminiscence. For a few minutes it felt awkward, the an embarrassing caricature of the memory of when he and L had actually worked as partners to capture the third Kira, Higuchi. Light had forfeited his knowledge of the Death Note and they had remained lost for the entire summer and into the fall. It had been months of long days that they had... worked together, side by side. Obviously, those conditions were much different, even Light himself was different, and subsequently, L was also different.

But nothing would change the fact that he was still Light Yagami and Ryuuzaki was still L. And if he pushed his own feelings aside, Light could objectively deduce that there were few challenges that such a team could not conquer.

“It is well that war is so terrible, or we should get too fond of it.”
-Robert E. Lee

Working with L on a case like this made both he and Light more chatty than they had been for months. This stemmed from practicality – during the previous summer and fall, they had devised through trial and error their own system of partnership, and found that open communication was best between them concerning exactly what they were currently doing. It had always been a necessity for Light because even back then, it was always L who was actually in charge of the investigation and had the authority on what could and would be done, and that was certainly the case today as well. But L also valued Light's consistently creative thinking when he himself was stumped, so had always actively encouraged his free-reign deductive abilities. The system was habitual, but more importantly, it was effective and that was both of the genius's primary concern, so if that meant they had to talk, they would talk.

This did not mean that Light forgot about his anger, instead that he was willing to set it aside. This also wasn't a new predicament – there had been a generous handful of times that, even back when he had no recollections of being Kira, the detective had downright pissed him off. But back then, there was nothing really to be done for it, and keeping the peace was important when one was a mass-murder suspect literally handcuffed to the detective. Light wasn't acting cold, exactly, because that took effort and was counterproductive, but he tried to keep very professional. As the minutes ticked by, however, old habits made him more casual, at least, casual enough to let crude Japanese vernacular slip his lips.

“Damn ...”

“What's happening?” L probed, raising himself on his crouched knees to peer over Light's shoulder with a skinny finger grappling his lower lip. “You swore, so, something bad?”

“I was able to hack into the video cameras after all,” Light said, pointing to indicate to L the mainframe browser with the sixty-seven camera links, and then he pulled up video feed from one of the cameras in the meeting room. This brought a much more clear picture to the hostages, who had been ushered to the back of the room where men in ski masks brandished handguns. “It wasn't even difficult.”

“Ah.” L frowned into the computer screen, and when he spoke his voice was distant – proof that he was thinking rapidly. “Light-kun was swearing in disappointment, then?”

“I expected it to be a lot harder,” Light admitted. “Actually, I expected the camera lines to just be manually cut so hacking them would be impossible. But it's like they didn't even bother. Are these guys idiots?”

L continued to stare at the fuzzy picture of the hostages on the Monitor 9, or whatever number he had branded it. He leaned forward even more, extending vertebrae by vertebrae to get closer, his dark eyebrows furrowing in thoughtful displeasure. Light awkwardly shifted to the side a little as L's face advanced to just inches against the screen. After a few seconds the peculiar man retreated his face and hopped his feet toward Light's keyboard.

“What are-”

“I'm going to bring up the most relevant camera feeds on different monitors,” he explained, his waist landing in Light's lap as he hijacked the keyboard, already typing access codes into the system files. “That's why I have twenty computers in this room, you know.”

The adolescent glowered, trying very hard to ignore the damned detective practically laying on his legs and focus instead on the method L was using to connect to his other computers. When L typed several passwords he attempted to read by watching the keys that he typed, but L typed so quickly that it was hard to discern what keys he pressed in what order, not to mention the password was some long, nonsensical thing. But a minute later, computers around the room began to wake into life by displaying the gritty black-and-white camera feed from various locations of the building.

“I'm assigning you these three monitors,” L announced, waving a hand. “Keep specific watch on the hostages and tell me if you see one of them so much as speak to the terrorists. You should have a list of everyone invited to attend the Interpol meeting, correct?”

“Yeah, I have it. Names and faces.”

“Good, then please identify faces on the cameras and keep tabs on everyone. I'm going to be making direct audio contact with the Regierender Bürgermeister, so your silence would be appreciated.”

“Fine, but I would appreciate it if you move now. You're getting your blood on my lap.”

L raised his thin eyebrows, getting up and looking down at his white shirt. It was stained with various patches of thick red – a tribute to their earlier fistfight in which noses, lips, and gums had not been spared from wound. The detective pulled at his own shirt like it was a priority investigation over the hostage crisis, then glanced at Light's lap. “To be accurate, I was more probably getting your blood in your lap.”

“...That's digust-”

“Shh.” Evidently, it was time for Interpol again.

Light mused on the more pressing situation with his fingers curled under his chin. Watari was in Berlin, the largest city and capitol of Germany. It was an International Criminal Police Organization gathering, and Watari was representing L by acting as his mouthpiece. The ICPO meeting was presumably Kira related – but then again, the adolescent had been deprived of free access to world news, and definitely barricaded from whatever L had been doing over these months, so the topic could be any number of things. Light hadn't thought about it as much when he was dealing with L directly over the previous year, but in his first unpleasant introduction with the alleged 'greatest detective in the world', the media had been having a field day over it. He recalled a magazine article with the bold-faced title, “Super Sleuth L, Interpol's Shadowy Mastermind vs. Supernatural Telepathic Mass Murderer, Kira” and then he had merely associated L with the government.

So what did that mean? Did L actually work for Interpol, or did Interpol work for him? The spidery man had mass amounts of money and influence. Light remembered how he had brought the American FBI over to Japan for purposes of finding him by spying on the Japanese NPA, and built an expensive skyscraper for the team to use as its headquarters. What exactly was L's title, and what was the nature of his affiliation with the world policing agencies? Light wanted to know so badly, and when he watched L speaking German into his microphone by the computer, without stumbling his words once, and then receiving a husky answer in the same language made him feel oddly inferior. He hated the feeling, but there it was: a realization of how very little he knew about Ryuuzaki.

In all of those months of playing cat-and-mouse, of running for his life while trying to take L's, of playing at friendship and then at mortal enemies, to Light it had all been very personal. When they had interacted, it had felt like they were doing it on very close and dangerous terms. Now, it was unnerving to think that L, socially-dysfunctional son-of-a-bitch L, knew everything there was to know about Light, but Light really knew virtually nothing about him – not his history, the specifics of his occupation, and certainly not his real name. Thinking about it like that, he felt strangely depressed and alienated. Then again, those feelings had been reoccurring ever since he had been brought to this place for many reasons, but he wanted to at least think that he knew L.

This was Ryuuzaki, wasn't it? Or had he been imprisoned by a stranger?

“Light-kun?” L inquired, reverting to Japanese after he had exited communication. “You look grim. Are you okay?”

“I'm fine,” Light responded, shaking himself free of the useless thoughts. “You know, it's hard to type with handcuffs on.”

“Oh,” he said stupidly, pretending to miss the implications. “Yes, that must be hard for you. Please keep up the good work, though.”

Well, that wasn't anything new. It's not like complaining about handcuffs had been helpful back in the summer, and likewise today he was probably wasting his breath. Even if he did not know L, he realized, he knew Ryuuzaki – the persona that L had developed around him, a part of his personality that was familiar now as it had been established then, and at least right now, at this moment that mirrored the past, he could anticipate his enemy's way of thinking.

Attempting to shift his attentions away from these confusing thoughts, Light closed his eyes for a few seconds before reopening them to focus again on his work. He watched the prisoners carefully, comparing each one to the biography stats he had been given. Most were not big-name leaders, most were only police chiefs and directors and military figures from around the world. When he realized this, he felt a pang and scanned over the list again rapidly, wondering if perhaps he had missed his father, Soichiro Yagami's name. But unfortunately – or fortunately, when he thought about what that would mean – the name was absent.

“We have four bodies that appear dead,” L announced after going through the video camera feed in various hallways of the building. “They are security guards. It seems that ten guards, posted at various stations, are involved in the hostage situation, whereas the others were disposed of. Five more have been bound but are unmoving.”

“Ten? There's more than ten gunmen here.”

L sighed, nibbling at his thumbnail. The clicking against his teeth sounded over the computer's hum. “To be honest, I believe this was as simple as letting comrades in the back door once getting through the gates. A Trojan Horse scenario. Perhaps you know this from your father, but the greatest security in international affairs is secrecy. These meetings are not advertised, and generally because of that they have no reason to fear complications. Thus, security is not as high as if it were, say, a politicians meeting.”

“So our attackers somehow found out about this supposedly confidential meeting?”

“Yes.” L shifted, clenching his toes into wooden floorboards. He curled them, watching them with keen interest as though they were much more relevant to the investigation than his computer screen of data was. “My toenails have grown too long.”

And there it was – the mighty transition statement that would lead into announcing something that L was hesitant to say to whatever present company he was in (sans Matsuda, whom he freely batted away verbally and/or physically without a second thought). Light narrowed his eyes, already having a good idea what L was about to suggest.

“Watari, the Bundeswehr – the German military that I've been communicating with, and I all have reason to believe that the terrorists are militant European Kira supporters,” L finally admitted after clearing his throat. “For you to continue being of use, this is something that will be crucial for you to know. If you are going to be oppositional about this, please leave because I cannot deal with you right now.”

L wasn't exactly looking at him, in fact, he was looking at Light's feet like he had a fetish. But still, Light could feel those midnight orbs boring into him, tearing apart his facial expression and even the movement of heart beat in his chest. This really would be a concern of L's – even if the scenario was highly unlikely, L couldn't risk Light rebelling against him when Watari's life was on the line.

“L,” Light said at length. “Do not misinterpret me. I never endorsed terrorists. I judged them. The Kira I created would never approve of his name being tarnished like this.”

“Good,” L dismissed. “Then we're in agreement.”

All that we are is the result of what we have thought. The mind is everything. What we think we become.
-Guatama Buddha

As midnight ticked to one AM, L was confident about only two things. One was that if the situation became dangerous, Watari would be able to escape. Watari had managed to slip away from the crowd, thanks to almost thirty years of working as a secret agent. In case of emergency, L had already devised the route that he would want the old man to use, the quickest and safest, because losing the old man was a blow that L genuinely did not want to receive. The other thing L was confident about was that Light Yagami would not take this opportunity to betray him. He had proved his usefulness by speeding the investigation by at least 80 percent, and though L wasn't comfortable with letting him do what he wanted on the Internet, he was certain that not even Kira would try to hurt L unless he himself would benefit from it – and they both knew that he wouldn't.

For the past two hours, the pair had been working to both progress the situation as well as calm any immediate threat. As L kept helped to advise and direct the Berlin police, Light researched for a link between the people attending the meeting and a pro-Kira intermediate that possibly could have tipped the terrorists off.

“Okay, Ethan Farrell's daughter, Julia, is actively pro-Kira.”

“Farrell is from?”

“Canada. He's just a police chief, though.” Light spoke slowly as his eyes darted across and down a text block of information on his screen. “She's twenty years old, a member of the Kira is Justice organization at her university, and has marched for several parades.”

“Information source?”

“Her Facebook.”

“Ah. So Julia Farrell is a suspect, as there is a possibility that her father alerted her of the meeting in Berlin.”

Light shook his head, unsatisfied. “Julia lacks any criminal record, she's involved in other recreational activities, including volleyball and a cheer leading squad. This woman lacks motive, and intelligence. Look, she spelled 'Canada' with two n's.”

L shrugged. “As you are well aware, I don't easily dismiss suspects.”

“Don't be ridiculous,” Light said indignantly. “Not everyone who supports Kira wants to kill people. Rational people support him because they want terrorism to stop.”

The detective rubbed a hand against his temples, wishing Wammy was here to provide him with more coffee. “I do not wish to discuss this with you right now when there are more important things at stake.”

“That's not what I'm getting at,” he insisted, his earthy irises focused intensely on his computer screen. “I just mean, maybe these guys aren't Kira supporters in the first place. Maybe they have different motives. Think about it. You've had several strings of communication with their leader, Frederick Goddard already. Even if they've been brief, he never once mentioned Kira, he only talked about how the police would do best to cooperate. And we've looked up Goddard's profile, there's nothing to suggest that he's pro-Kira. The guy is just mafia scum.”

“The fallacy in that reasoning is that there are few reasons why else an Interpol meeting would be attacked,” L argued. “If they were after something petty like money, they would not threaten Interpol. This is too complex. It's also dangerous for them. It has every indication of being a political statement, so please proceed in looking for Kira connections. Also, be sure to inspect the backgrounds of those who were absent but invited to Berlin.”

The adolescent complied, and L stretched. His clock now read 3:05 AM, and his brain began to crave sustenance. L glanced at Light for a moment, who was working intently with a serious face that was eerily reminiscent of his father, Soichiro. L had high respect for Soichiro's dedication, but he didn't particularly want to think about how the man was probably still mourning his disappeared son, so he stood up and headed to the mini-fridge in the corner of the room. He deliberated momentarily over a chocolate ice-cream sandwich or banana cream pie, and chose the pie because the former choice would be messy without napkins and he didn't want to go to the kitchen and leave Light alone here.

On that thought, he decided to offer Light pie, even though he was 98 percent confident that Light would refuse (and that confidence was the reason he meant to offer in the first place). But just as he was about to call over, Light's voice sounded first.

“Wait...This name is familiar...” The realization dawned on him like a crack of lightning. “George Fletcher! Fletcher was invited to the Interpol meeting!”

“The Miami police chief,” L recalled the case Watari had entrusted Light with several weeks ago. The details whispered, and then bombarded him. January, a plane ride back from New York City, arrival in Miami, a late night. A beating and a murder.

“Then, he wasn't just beaten up,” Light concluded. “He knew the place and the date. Someone tortured him to find out.”

That 'someone' had to be David Castleton, the man Light had found overwhelming evidence against in the Fletcher case, right down to matching DNA in particles of hair at the murder scene and on the man's head. It was a crude, sloppy murder and Castleton was in custody and standing trial. The scenario was perfect, but the puzzle pieces felt like the wrong color. Castleton had been involved with some under-the-table drug business but there was no obvious conjunction point to Goddard and the German terrorists in Berlin. L didn't dismiss this, for he was certain that there was something but he knew that at the moment, pinpointing the specifics would be a waste of valuable time. In the morning, L would recommend that the American government transfer Castleton to Interpol custody, and from there they could gather more information, but until then he would have to make an assumption and proceed from there.

At 4:34, something else happened. L watched through video camera himself as one of the terrorists made a break for the exit and ran out of the building and into the crowds, throwing off his ski mask. The behavior was unexpected, as the visual feed on the monitors revealed no tension among the terrorists. However, the cameras only allowed visuals, so any speaking by word of mouth or handheld transceiver was lost. The young man was apprehended by the police, revealed himself to be by the name of Anton Rowley and then demanded a lawyer. L was certain that Rowley would be persuaded to be helpful before the end, but as far as he was concerned, the most interesting thing was that there was evidently dispute among the terrorists.

“L!” Light suddenly hissed. “One of the cameras just went dead!”

Awakened from his musings, L glanced to find Monitor 13 staring blankly back at him. The feed was gone, replaced with a 'user error'.

“They finally cut it manually,” Light explained. “I can't get back into it. I tried.”

The detective tensed, awaiting further damage. But there was nothing, the other cameras continued to run smoothly. A single camera had been cut in a small room, so neatly snuffed out of the picture that it was almost as though it were a game. As though Goddard knew perfectly well that he was being watched. As though...

As though... he wanted it?

A sudden anxiety surged through L and he grabbed his microphone. “Watari, I want you to abandon this building immediately.”

Truth, like the sun, submits to be obscured;
But like the sun, only for a time.
-Christian Nestell Bovée

The biggest problem was that one seemed to know where to go from there. The police didn't know what to do because the terrorists didn't seem to know what to do, and because of that, L was completely at a loss himself at what he should be doing. Hostage-takers had never been so meek in the history of hostage-taking. When Goddard would agree to speak through the German police chief via cellphone, he would tersely repeat that the police were to stay back or he would kill the hostages. It wasn't uncommon for terrorists in this situation to set such boundaries initially, but drowsily L looked at a clock that now read 6:58 in the morning. It was as though something was taking place inside the building, but it had been uneventful. There was only the issue of the blocked room to consider.

Watari was completely out of the area, and though that meant the older detective would be safe, this also denied L a direct link to the action. It was annoying, but L had assumed that keeping his proxy there wasn't worth the risk. Now as things were getting dull again, it seemed like an awful waste.

At eight o'clock in New York City's morning, Goddard began to demand money. His numbers were a ridiculous amount that he couldn't honestly think that the Berlin police would just give him. L still suspected ulterior motives, but as long as no one was being direct, he couldn't know for certain.

Light was getting more silent by the minute, until finally at 10:01, he spoke wearily.

“You know, I don't get you.”

L looked at the adolescent's face, hallow from exhaustion with dark circles watering down the usual intensity of his eyes. “Yagami-kun?”

“How come you're never bothered at all?”

The voice was crackled, slurred slightly and Light rubbed his fists into his eyes. It was almost the voice of a drunk man, but the real reason was obvious enough. The detective had many memories of working next to a tired Light Yagami, who in his long-since-past normal schedule would allow himself about eight hours of undisturbed sleep during the night. As an eighteen year old, L supposed that this habit was healthy, and he had long since recognized that his own body at twenty-five years of age could get by unscathed from these kind of nights. Light, on the other hand, wasn't expected to keep up. L hadn't forgotten what kind of toll it took on the teenager, though it had been months since he had a reminder.

“I don't understand what you mean,” L answered curiously.

Light's eyebrows fell downward, contorting his face into a frown. His gaze was still on the computer in front of him, his arms still wrapped loosely around his legs, but he yawned as he spoke next. “You're never bothered at all when you're gambling something, no matter how high the stakes are. It's like you really don't think you'll ever lose.”

L watched him for a few seconds before responding. “I do not make a gamble that I haven't already calculated my odds for.”

“Only if the odds are good, huh?” Light murmured. “You're always so calm, as though nothing matters to you.”

“There are things that matter to me,” L responded quietly.

“Is that right?” Light sighed through another yawn. His eyelashes fluttered for a moment, stubbornly trying to stay open. “You lie so often that if I didn't know you well, I wouldn't know you at all.”

“...You're tired, Light-kun. How about you go to sleep now?”

A third yawn, and then, “So, were you lying, Ryuuzaki?”

L didn't need to speak again. He kept silent and Light didn't seem to mind, nor notice. The words took more energy out of the sleep-deprived teenager, and Light's head rocked forward. Again he rubbed his eyes, and then made a mumbled noise that L could translate as tell me if something comes up, words he had uttered, or at least tried to, a hundred times over the time they had shared a handcuff. And again, under the warm sunshine that breathed through the windows, Light was Light and L was Ryuuzaki. At least, that's how it felt, a little.

“War does not determine who is right — only who is left.”
-Bertrand Russell

Now alone in consciousness, L's day went on slowly. Now that the criminals had been identified and the police had an open line of communication, there was not much left for L to do except sit back and supervise. The Berlin police were organizing a surprise assault to take place as soon as they could assure that the hostages would be safe. The fact that most of the meeting's attendees belong to some kind of policing force themselves was also fortunate, as they would be familiar with crisis protocol and would probably be able to take care of themselves.

L's level of excitement had dropped.

He was actually getting tired. L had not slept much the previous night, an accomplishment far from unfamiliar to him. But then, this last night he had hardly blinked his eyes because of the Interpol situation. Sleeping before the hostages were free and the criminal threat was distinguished wasn't something he planned on doing. It wouldn't have been a big issue, but the fact of the matter was, it was now about five o'clock in the evening, and he hadn't consumed any caffeine or sugar in more than six hours.

Which was unfamiliar to him.

L stifled a yawn and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, then looked down at the thing anchoring him to the ground and preventing him from reaching the mini-fridge. Light wasn't just asleep, he was deeply asleep and hardly stirred at all. L was sure that this was probably a good thing, and for all of his genius IQ points and scheming abilities, he hadn't yet plotted a way to get Light's heavy head off of his knee before the youth woke up. Light despised him, understandably, and the fact that his unconscious self had deemed his worst enemy's thigh a good pillow would make him furious when he woke up.

This position also meant that L had to sit, one leg spread straight on the ground and the other knee loosely upright. He couldn't alter between his favorite perched position and stretching into something else when he stopped being able to feel his feet from the strain. Shifting his weight too abruptly, or trying to manually reposition Light's head would lead to an 80 percent chance of shaking him awake, and there was a 97 percent chance that that would be an unpleasant scenario. Putting it off until later would be L's chosen course of action.

He was tired, cramped, hungry and impatient, but as he stared down at Light's relaxed face he was filled with a peculiar sensation. Peaceful, perhaps it was. Light always had appeared much younger to L when he was asleep, the frowns and calculations and anxiety completely dissipated in the mercy of closed eyes. He was a boy again, instead of the brilliant, bloodthirsty mastermind who had earned himself the death penalty a thousand times over and a sixty life sentences if he survived those. No, this was just Light Yagami, as he should have been.

Just like he was back then, when he proclaimed his purity, day after day when L kept them attached together by a chain. Someone who was noble, admittedly, more noble than L was. The gullible kind of nobility that one can't win with, just like his father. But that Light Yagami was manipulated and lead around like a puppet on strings, as was everyone else, and now this humanoid vessel belonged to Kira.

But L would be lying if he said he wasn't selfish. What L had wanted all along was for ...Light to be Kira... and to win.

Swallowing, and still feeling drowsy, L reached his fingertips to Light's forehead. Feeling stupid but as inquisitive as Pandora, he brushed golden-brown strands of loose hair to the side that had been clouding Light's closed eyelids. Eyelashes fluttered slightly and L tensed, but the adolescent stilled. Without that tousled hair in the way, L could more clearly examine Light's face. The lower lip still caked in dry blood and the blue-black darkening of bruises on his cheek from their fight before, the scratch from L's jagged fingernails. Well, it wasn't as if the young criminal hadn't deserved it – L hadn't looked in the mirror, but he undoubtedly carried the same battle scars.

BEEP BEEP.

“L, we need you now! There's an emergency! L!”

The sound of the urgency signal shook L awake like ten cups of coffee, and Light, too. Light jerked, eyes peeling open and foggy with confusion, before he lifted himself with a flushed face.

“What the hell-”

“Quiet!” L commanded hurriedly, diving forward for the microphone with one hand and the keyboard with the other and spoke with the German police director. “Mr. Winchecomb, what's wrong?”

The response began in frantic German before L had even finished his inquiry. “They have a bomb! The leader, Frederick Goddard, just sent a message that we have ten minutes to give him what he wants or he'll set it off.”

Damn it– “What does he want?”

“The message was that L knows what he wants,” Winchecomb cried out. “He must have realized that you would help us with the case, since L is the enemy of Kira.”

“It could be a bluff. Hold him off! Tell him we'll begin organizing whatever he's really after immediately.”

L took manual control of the video cameras, flicking through the screens and zooming in on faces, trying to locate any hint of hostility. The terrorists he could see looked completely apathetic, unconcerned that they, along with the hostages, were having their lives threatened. Did they know? Was Goddard really just pulling an impulsive bluff when it looked as though he were about to lose? But then, the man had done this with intentions, and surely he knew what he was getting himself into. He would be prepared.

“What's going on?” Light demanded, recovering himself by sensing the danger of the situation.

“Goddard is threatening to blow up the building.” The words came out automatically as L switched connection lines to Watari and language to English. “Watari, is the military charging or negotiating?”

“Hold on- ” A muffled pause, and then, “They haven't decided themselves. They're trying to stall him.”

“What do they want?” Light pressed, now sitting erect by his computer.

You, maybe, L thought. It would be logical that the motivation behind the militant Kira supporters was to win Kira's freedom, if they had figured out that their beloved homicidal maniac was in Interpol custody. After all, the message had supposedly been that L has what he wants, and the logical citizens of the world might have connected Kira's inactivity to L, his televised opposition. But then again, Light had had a point earlier. There was no shards of Kira in this situation. Goddard had not mentioned it. No one had - it was simply an assumption from all of the Kira protests and rallies taking place in Berlin, along with reports of violence connected with them.

“L! Goddard has cut lines, repeat, Goddard has cut lines!”

Cut lines? He had demanded something from L and was closing off communication? Was the man insane?

“I don't think he's going to wait the full ten minutes! ”

“Damn it! Just get away from there, Watari, as far as you can go!” L cursed, desperately changing lines again. “Winchecomb, get the bystanders back!”

“L, you have that piece of my Death Note, right? Use it!”

“Be quiet!”

“L, we want to charge the building. We're going to break for the hostages!”

“No! Tell everyone to get back! That won't help, you'll only agitate them!” L snarled into the microphone. “Get back!”

“There's some people running outside-”

BOOM.

The outside visual feed showed the explosion fuzzy, gritty, like something from an old war movie. It was shoddily done, L found himself realizing in a stunned sort of shock. The walls of one half of the building did not move, whereas the contents of the other erupted into rubble. The sound of screams and German curse words wailed through the microphone, somehow shrill enough to stand their own against the roar of a sound. Pieces of metal and concrete bulleted through the air in every direction.

And then, in short time lag of the satellite, the camera footage from inside the building that were announcing themselves on L's many monitors began to flick off, one by one, the picture dead and replaced by the red words, “USER ERROR”.

It was an error.

Only two cameras remained. There had been three planted outside by the Berlin police – apparently hit by flying rubble. But two cameras was more than enough to see the devastating damage. The once-building reduced to shards of the past. The bystanders on the street yelling and running. The bystanders who had been hit in the blast, dead or wounded.

Arnold Winchecomb had already found his voice, speaking in desperate, hushed tone. “L, my people had no way of knowing that one would have a bomb. It's not our fault. They... must have had it with them the whole time, right under our noses!”

L murmured back, softly. “This is a great tragedy, Mr. Winchecomb. Send aid for the people.”

“It's already been done, of course,” the man said quickly, as though not wanting to procure L's anger or blame. “Listen, though. You know we captured one of the terrorists – Anton Rowley.”

“Find out what his group was, what their precise motives were and if this will happen again.”

“And if he doesn't talk?”

“Find ways to make him talk.”

“...There will be issues. Germany doesn't usually-”

“This was an international murder and therefore Rowley belongs to Interpol, not Germany,” L said, his hands wrapped around his ankles and squeezing until he felt a painful throbbing. “Clean up Berlin, and report as much of the truth to the public as you can without causing a panic. You best defense will be stealing the secrecy of the terrorists.”

L exited audio communication, now gripping his own hair. Had he been careless? It was true that he hadn't slept in nearly forty-eight hours. He had less sugar stimulation than normal, too, because Watari was absent and he had to keep an eye on Light. Should Watari have detected that the terrorists had explosives, that they meant to destroy the building and everyone in it – including themselves? No, from where Watari was, the situation had every indication of a normal ransom-taking. L himself had been watching on video camera. Should Light have realized sooner that only one camera had been cut? No, that too was unreasonable. He had figured it out early enough, and in that time the notion of a bomb had been an unrealistic assumption, because theoretically, if the terrorists had a bomb they would let the police know straight away. The question wasn't about how they did it. It was about why.

The detective scratched his head, gripping on his own thick hair. Lingering on this would also be pointless. It wasn't as though he wouldn't follow through and solve this case. The casualties were unfortunate, but he would have to move on and unravel the greater plot. That was all there was to it.

“At least forty-one people died.”

The announcement came from Light, and L turned to him.

“Thirty-nine inside the building, and judging by the video cameras, the man and the woman who got their heads bashed in on Monitor 11 probably aren't going to make it.”

He was already frustrated, and Light's agitation wasn't helping things. “Very astute observation, Yagami-kun. This is the real world, outside of your disciplined, organized school life. Welcome to it.”

The expression on the adolescent's face was a mask, but something dangerous began to shine through. He had been holding a notebook, L realized, the one he had used to jot down notes. Light stood up, looking down at L, and then flung the book of papers into his lap before leaving, exiting the room and down the hallway.

L didn't know why he bothered, but he opened the notebook to see what Light had intended for his eyes. And though it was exactly what he expected to see, suddenly he was furious as he saw it was really there.

Frederick Goddard – heart attack

He slammed the notebook down on the floor, clenching his fists at the insult, and then went after Light.

Listen for the voice of God and follow it, and in time you will find your salvation.
Follow the teachings of God and receive his blessings,
And so it shall be that the seas shall again become bountiful
And the raging storms shall subside.
-Light Yagami's English classroom, 2004

The slim, silent figure of Light Yagami stood next to the bulletproof glass door that lead out into the small, sheltered balcony. His chained hands were raised to chest level, fingertips brushing against the glass that must have been icy as he stared out into the sunset, lost in his thoughts. When L saw him, he exhaled sharply and calmed himself. Problems were best dealt with when one had a clear head, and L was rarely one to act rashly.

“It's been a long day,” he commented tiredly, coming up behind the younger man. “It's cold out, but maybe some fresh air would be best, don't you think?”

Without waiting for a response, he reached into his pocket to retrieve a key, and abruptly unlocked the door. When it opened, a crisp breeze met them. The traditional balcony wasn't large, but it had a roof and a thick balustrade enclosing it. The protection kept most of the snow out, though the floor was still chilly to both men's bare feet. But the white powdery flakes that decorated the beams reflected the colors of the sunset like a mirror. More brilliant was the real thing, with an array of tones that could only exist in the stillness of winter, beams of pinks and oranges striking across the atmosphere.

It had been awhile since L had bothered to look and appreciate, but he needed something to do besides jam his hands into his pockets, totter on his feet, and wait for Light to make the first move.

“Already, so soon. Day after day, the problems increase,” Light expressed quietly, elbows on the railing and looking out to the sky. “When you think about it, it's amazing what humans will do simply because they can do it. The chaos of murder, rape, slavery, war. Day after day, the Earth is the battleground of hierarchy, where the strong exercise their dominance over those weaker, and for what purpose? Violence breeds violence, and the only force halting it is mere misfortune.

“The world is rotting. So soon after Kira, people again commit their crimes without punishment. There is no incentive for goodness. The roaches survived their punishment, now they are once again free to flaunt their faces and names over the ones they terrorize. And they know it, just like the innocent know it – it is rotting, and now who profits? The pure or the scum?”

“Tell me, Ryuuzaki,” Light said softly. “Tell me how you saved the world from unlawful revolution.”

“...I will not answer a flawed question.”

Irises of amber and ebony matched, picking the other apart.

“Ryuuzaki can't answer a question, he assumes the disfigurement lies in the very suggestion, rather than himself. But what if he, and all he stands for is nothing? The opposition he holds onto because he would rather maintain his own righteousness than alter the reality he lives in? Tell me how you saved the world, L!”

L did not speak. He rubbed a foot against his jean-clad leg idly.

“I wonder then if you believe in the teleology of human purpose,” Light continued, the golden rays of sunset beset upon his face. “The world rots, so if we are to embrace morality, what is the greatest evil of all?”

“Indifference,” L finally answered tiredly. “You are suggesting that I should have let you be, yet, the greatest evil of all is indifference to evil. Therefore my own immorality would lie in ever letting you go, where you could proceed in your murders.”

“Yes, indifference is the greatest evil of all,” Light concurred powerfully. “Then how should I have ever rejected my calling? How could I possibly not become Kira, when a divine tool literally fell into my hands? I didn't realize what it could do until I tried it on the Shinjuku Killer, Kurou Otoharada. He barricaded himself inside a children's nursery and took hostages, armed and dangerous. I had the means to save the kids, if I had not acted that day, they would probably be dead. Who deserves to walk the streets more? A convicted murderer, or eight preschool-age children? If I hadn't done anything, then I would be damned.”

L darkened, but chose his words as fairly as he could. “One accidental murder might be forgiven, as you had no way of knowing the validity of the notebook. But the moment you voluntarily wrote names in the Death Note while knowing full well that you were taking lives was the moment you were damned.”

“So we're damned either way!” Light proclaimed, his arms reaching toward the sky as he snapped his face upward, challenging the gods themselves. “I could've gotten rid of it, I even thought about it after I tested it. It is evil to have the power to kill people, I thought. The notebook is absolutely cursed. But what if I used it for good? And then – if I dared to use it, could I? Did I have what it would take? I thought I'd lose my mind to fear of it, and lose my soul to the Shinigami who owned it, and be taken away to hell. No, I should say, Ryuuzaki – I expected to be damned.”

For a second, Light's eyes cast downward at the snowy city below, a silent reminiscence. Then, he looked up again with conviction.

“But that's the reason why I realized, I was the only one who could do it.” His bronze hair flew in a gust of wind, it was as though the aura around him expanded until he himself was something divine. “I was the only one who could change the world, no matter what it did to me. I was ready to sacrifice the future I had worked my entire life to achieve. Nothing mattered except showing the world a god who will be justice to everything that was rotting.

“If everyone who is bad dies of a heart attack, people will catch on to the pattern. The world would know that Kira existed, they'd see that someone was finally passing righteous judgment on them. After that, nobody would commit crimes anymore. The world would start to become a better place.”

L found his voice, as though the madness of it all had left his throat dry. “It's not teleology you're describing, it is your own solipsism and arrogance detaching you from the social world. What you wanted to do was deprive humans of their law-given rights, claim to know a human by his name and face alone and assume the position of their God by casting judgment, all this before you had even completed high school. If your supporters knew what you really were, they would be shamed from the irony of it.”

“What's the shame?” Light challenged fiercely. “I was a role model student, the brightest in Japan. I was a perfect son and member of society, and I brought nothing but pride to my school and my family.”

“You had everything.” L felt an unexplainable force course through his veins, something so vivid that he wasn't sure he had ever in his life felt this way. Even if he had searched through the huge inventories of language that he had memorized, he was certain he wouldn't have been able to find a word to describe it. “Family, education, opportunity - everything a normal person could want. One day you could have shown patronage to justice by inheriting your father's job as police chief. The situation you face now, the hatred you have for me and undoubtedly your own pitiful existence, these are all self-inflicted, and I believe that you are intelligent enough to have awareness of this fact. The more you speak, the higher my assessment of your insanity is raised.”

Light's eyes narrowed he stepped forward to the detective, standing higher than the slouching man, close enough to hear a whisper. The rage on his face was not only self-righteousness, as always, it was a challenge. “Am I insane? Then tell me why..! Kira worked, L! I saw the truth!”

L stood up straight, untucking his hands from his pockets. At this height, his real height, he could look Light in the eyes.

He advanced toward Light, backing him against the railing. The surge to fight again was so strong that he wasn't sure it was safe for either of them to be so close to the other, but in a powerful magnetic force, all words of logic meant absolutely nothing. Light met his glare, seething, and L shot his hand forward to turn the other around by the shoulder. Light didn't want his back toward his enemy and so flung his fists, but L pushed his self against Light's back, so close that he couldn't be touched. He jerked him into the edge of the balcony with a hand gripping the nape of his neck, so that they both saw the city below, lights turned on in the dimming of the dusk sky.

“Is this your world, Kira?”

Light was shaking with what could only be fury, made more dangerous by the calm voice he used. “It's the world that's rotting because of you.”

“It's mortal.” L annunciated, close to Light's ear. “Chaos is a natural side effect of mortality, along with one other thing: fallibility. And you, Light, are nothing more than human. Perhaps you were raised with the expectation of perfection but you've made horrendous mistakes and evidently lack the deductive abilities to discern that you are capable of wrongdoing.”

“I lowered the crime rate, not you.”

“I'm aware of the results of your actions, more than you are in fact. The issue is not the result but the nature of the result, in which Kira – eighteen year old Light Yagami – was able to kill thousands of people with a shred of remorse. He destroyed lives without twitching a muscle in his face, being so caught up in his own entertainment he lost sight of the reality of it. What is the ultimate evil, Yagami-kun?”

Light turned himself around to face L, though the man's hand still constricted his neck.

“Indifference was the answer we agreed upon,” L continued. “You became indifferent to your own evil, so much that no one's loss would ever make you bat an eye. You claim to punish the wicked, yet inconsistently, you murdered innocent people.”

“Only people who were actively pursuing me.”

“Did they not have a right to stop you? Are you demeaning their duty to protect the sanctity of the law by pursuing those who tarnish it?”

“You're thinking about this so selfishly!” Light cried out, clearly disturbed. “Listen, I killed those people so Kira wouldn't be caught. If I hadn't, everything I did would be for nothing.”

“So Light Yagami's life has more value than anyone else's?”

“Not Light Yagami's. Kira's. Kira was the god-given remedy to everything in this world that was wrong. He is the hero of the people who were once victimized, he is the god of those who have pure hearts. Kira was everything and if I had allowed any mistake to go unchecked... well, that's why you were supposed to die, wasn't it, L?”

Before L could say anything, the vigilante continued.

“Don't tell me that I wasn't justified. It's me who was controlling everything behind Kira, without me he would never exist in the first place, and without me, he ceases to exist. This world is regressing back to normalcy because of what you removed and the catalyst you inhibited. I know your arguments, but I also know the results and I've seen that my dream could have been a reality – if not for you.

“No, Ryuuzaki. Do not tell me I was not justified. Because Kira is justice, and nothing, absolutely nothing you say to me will change that.”

It was there, in the sky-ridden balcony that towered above the reality, whirling in the proclamations of a revolution, that the world shattered.

That was when L realized that not only Light but he, too, was trying to justify something absurd. He cherished Kira, as much as he despised him, he admired Kira as much as he loathed him. He needed this person, this idea like black needed white to have any self-identity. Manifested within the nihilist's edict there was a salvation. In those words there was fallacy, but in that foolishness there was a passion almost more real. These words were the taste Light's idealism, and to suck out the dreams and the life itself that radiated with what could only be brilliance, the dangerous kind of brilliance that made survivors alive for the first time.

L wanted nothing more than to tear these words from Light's lips.

Absolutely wrong, absolutely misguided, so incredibly juvenile. But there, in the infinite perspicacity of the atmosphere, L saw that worshiping this young vigilante, Kira, was only a natural reaction to the artistry of heaven. Though it was in actuality a step backwards from enlightenment, all of the sudden L saw nirvana in the eyes of Lucifer. And L wanted it.

(For what is good without evil? Nothingness?)

Smoothly yanking his opposition's arms down by the chains he wore with one hand, L lunged his other hand onto Light's chin, cupping it in in place. He did not allow Light any time to react; he couldn't have allowed it. A short gasp was muffled as instantly as it sounded, ringing into the world of the deaf and the blind where all that matters is what can no longer be contained.

When L pressed his mouth against Light's with enough force to push his upper body back against the ledge, almost falling into the sky, L could only fathom that he was tasting a gospel. It was as though if he demanded hard enough, he could extract the shining world that the adolescent was so certain he could make. He could rip the utopia that sprouted from the seeds of his destruction, for here was the only place L was able to believe, doubtlessly, that it existed.

Light was completely frozen, wide-eyed in disbelief. L stared into those amber eyes as he kissed him, closer to those blazing orbs than he had ever been in the almost-year that they had been acquainted. And even then, it wasn't close enough. L pushed even further, plunging his tongue into the confusion. The young man who created Kira as the alleged hero of a promise did not blink, and neither did L. He would not miss even a millisecond, not when perhaps here there would be some kind of answer to everything.

But L and Kira were not friends. No action was forgiven.

When Light bit into L's lower lip, the delirium was broken along with a layer of skin. Hissing under his breath, L tightened his slender fingers into the younger man's jaw, forcing them to part. In this distraction, Light struggled with his arms until he had twisted them to liberty enough to send them upward through their collided chests, chain scraping between, until he had wrapped his fingers around L's throat. They constricted mercilessly.

“Nngh...!”

L was losing his breath, yet for reasons irrational he held on, tightening. Now it was different, as they glared. It was the very opposition of their companionship which fueled this like gasoline. The vow of hatred, the I-will-make-you-submit-to-me-or-you-will-die-resisting as hands and lips grew more violent.

It was only when the pain of oxygen deprivation hit his lungs that L came to his senses. The reality struck him like lightning, as though he had been flying too close to heaven, too high up for gravity to deliver him the essential gases that he required to sustain life. That he had lost himself in the warmth of idealism horrified him, and he wrenched himself free of Light by grabbing the teenager's shirt and hooking a foot behind his knee, Brazilian Capoeira style, to trip and throw him to the floor of the balcony.

What am I doing..?!

He stared into the darkness of the now sunless sky, his own fingers brushing against his wet lips. The thought of what he had done, how far he had wanted to take it, made the winter cold again. Had he really just become something opposite of what he knew he was? L's mind struggled for some kind of justification. He searched desperately in the city lights below him for a reason for everything, any kind of explanation as to why he would ever become that...

When he heard Light scramble to his feet behind him, it came to him: he had wanted to.

And in that simple repressed desire – for Kira, for Light, for Light to be Kira and Kira to be Light, to destroy and to dominate and, most terribly, to attach to this person as someone completely unforgivable, unforgettable, as the only other human on Earth who the world knew as anything but – there was only downfall, because idealism was merely the perception that fools follow until reality sends them crashing to consequence. That fate was Light's, it was supposed to be his crown of thorns, and L's role was simply a tool of criminal justice. L was logic, analysis and execution. L wasn't supposed to be that.

“There are things I do not understand,” L said, his voice scratching against his throat quietly. “Even though I know every meticulous detail about Light Yagami, I still do not comprehend why...”

L turned involuntarily toward the youth, who was already standing, muscles tensed and eyes radiating with dangerous fury. Light's teeth bared and his fists raised, every inch of his bruised skin and battered clothing towering with a willpower that was nothing less than raw, bloody hatred. Light did not even speak, he did not need to in order to convey his message.

There was blood in L's gums where the adolescent had pierced his skin. It tasted of mortality.

“...You are the only one who defeats me.”

The words were proof enough of their own painful accuracy. Certainly, L knew, he had long since claimed his victory, he had buried a vendetta with only the media reports for a tombstone, he had chained up a demon and forced its powers to what was good. But that meant nothing, in the end, it would always mean nothing. He himself had allowed it to become obsolete, involuntarily, and could only mourn his own helplessness. He had been defeated the day that he did not execute the criminal, and he would always have to bear the responsibility for it.

And knowing this, still, he still could hardly bear it when Light left him, storming away back inside the building, with words as harsh and jagged as ice leaving him:

“If you ever do that again, I will destroy you, no matter what it means for me.”

-

To Be Continued...