ESCAPING CONVICTIONS

The plane was rumbling through the atmosphere, and even though L had graciously given Light the window seat, he was content. To think that he had been very near dying a few days ago was far-off and as distant as the snowy ground far below them. Even the clouds, which when standing on a street or even in the upper level of a tall building were high and ominous, were remote entities now. The dark-haired youth could have been completely satisfied, except now he was having second thoughts about giving Light the better seat.

"How are you feeling, Light-kun?" L asked, craning his head to stare at his companion. "Are you going to vomit again?"

"Thanks for reminding me," Light answered with unhappy disgust, putting a hand over his mouth.

L didn't really see the problem. Light wasn't the first or the last person in the world to have a fear of flying combined with the remnants of influenza. Airplanes were a well established institution, and they already made all necessary preparations. So L, softening his voice slightly in hopes that it would sound comforting (not his style), said, "It's all right. These airlines invest in motion sickness bags for a reason. You shouldn't be so shy to use one, because that would demean their purpose, as well as render the investment a waste of money."

"Hey, Lawliet?" Despite L's encouragement, Light's face twisted as if submerged with a new wave of illness.

A small smile tugged involuntarily at L's lips at the sound of that name, especially when it was spoken from those particular vocal chords. "Yes, Light-kun?"

"Shut up."

Akiyama Takahashi had been charged with the responsibility of direct communication with the Japanese police, because of everyone at his own Interpol building, he spoke Japanese the most fluently. That was the official excuse anyway - as far as Akiyama was concerned, he was the one now in charge of the Kira investigation. He wasn't the head of ICPO’s fusion task force for nothing - he was damned capable and he knew it, and he intended to prove to Howard Dressler that real people were better investigators than mysterious computer programs like L.

"Good afternoon, Yagami-san," he said, speaking into the monitor after the direct connection was accepted. "At least, it should be afternoon in Tokyo by my reckoning."

"Yes, it's two in the afternoon," the tired old cop said. Akiyama had heard that Soichiro had had a heart attack once already, but as a result from stress from the Kira case instead of Kira himself. Personally, the man seemed like a blundering idiot to him, and this was no great surprise. "I don't know where you are, but good afternoon as well, Mr. Tetsuya."

"Wonderful," the Interpol representative said, and thank God, the damned obligatory small talk was over now. It wasn't pleasantries that would deliver him the killer. "On to business. I read through all of the police files that you sent. All of the members of your unit seem to check out clean. You've already had one officer directly die during investigation, correct?"

The older man raised thick eyelids at the statement, and his dark eyes flickered with something - probably regret. "Yes. It was during the Sakura TV incident. He died of a heart attack when he tried to enter the building."

"Right." Akiyama paged through notes he had taken, stapled together in a thick report. He had a very vague report of what had happened between the cops and L, as well as some not-so-vague statistics. "Was this before you all acquired fake identifications?"

"No, L made us get them from the start."

"Then, please excuse me, your investigation is clearly not as secure as you think it is. Are you sure that you're in a private building? Kira obviously knew the real name of Hirokazu Ukita." It was a little exasperating. He could understand why L must not have a lot of faith in this circus of fools that was the Japanese unit.

Soichiro Yagami narrowed his eyes, a crease resulting in his aged face. It seemed as though he had taken offense at the blunt comment. "We've taken all of the necessary precautions. L himself had no way of knowing that Ukita-san would die, if Kira needs a name and a face."

"Hm. In which case, I'm going to have to agree with the theory that Kira is definitely connected to the Japanese police somehow, just like L suggested in the first reports that he sent us. It seems that someone in the agency, or who is very close to the agency, must be Kira. This would explain why he knew Ukita's real name." Akiyama felt a headache coming on, but he clicked his pen and began to write.

"That's not it!" Soichiro insisted. "L investigated the possibility of a second Kira, one that can kill with only a face!"

The Interpol representative froze, and slowly looked up from his notepad. "Are you fucking kidding me?" he asked harshly, not bothering to exert the effort it would take to censor himself.

The man was glaring at him through the computer screen, not appreciating his foul language. "These were L's deductions. We have yet to find any concrete evidence, but L believes-"

"God damn it!" Akiyama snarled, slamming his fist down on the counter beside his computer. Could this be bad for him? He had shown his face out in public on a number of occasions. If Kira had run across him somewhere, especially when he was in Japan, he might have noticed that he had been using the false name of 'Seijuro Tetsuya'. His own days could be numbered, all because of these idiot cops! He took a breath. "All right, Yagami-san. Thank you for telling me this. But please understand my concern. Even if there is a second Kira, the fact of the matter is that one of the killers is connected to you. L expressed concern directly to us, when he requested permission to use the FBI to investigate you all privately. How else would Kira have been able to access police databases?"

"I... I suppose he could be a hacker," Soichiro suggested pathetically.

In his abhorrence, Akiyama was almost overcome with the urge to take his handgun out of his belt and shoot the old man between the eyes. Unfortunately, that wouldn't accomplish much aside from destroy his computer monitor. "Even so. I'm supervising over here, and I'd like to also investigate the police and everyone connected to you. I'd also like to speak to each of your members personally: Shuichi Aizawa, Hideki Ide, Kanzo Mogi and Tota Matsuda. Oh, and your son, Light. If you would please arrange it?"

The old cop's eyes suddenly widened, and a vein bulged in his forehead. "Light can't be Kira," he said with fierce conviction.

Shaking his head in exasperation, Akiyama answered, "At this point, I'm assuming that anyone connected to your unit could indeed be Kira. And honestly, I'm curious as to why your son was deemed trustworthy enough by L to engage in such a supposedly secret operation. You said before that he was smart. Hell, let me talk to him right now, because with the people that I've been dealing with up until now, that would be a damned nice change."

Again, Soichiro was looking murderous. "My son is not Kira! He was already investigated once by L, and it was determined that such a thing was impossible. It's true that L's suspicions are why Light was initially working with us, but they've been cleared."

That was a reasonable explanation, he had to admit. He had been guessing that this was the case, ever since he met the boy. "Fine, then. I want to talk to him, anyway. He might know better than anyone what L is looking for in a Kira. Is he at school right now?"

A pained expression filled the man's features. "He... Well, yes, I suppose. He's not currently in the investigation unit, he's taking a break from it to concentrate on his studies."

That was peculiar. "Either way, I'd like you to set up communication. His cell phone number would suffice. I..." And then Akiyama hesitated. "Yagami-san, what condition rendered suspicion of your son unfounded?"

Soichiro paused. "I'm not sure how much information L wants leaked out of our own unit-"

"Yagami-san," he growled in a voice that was dangerously low. "Please do not fuck with me. L practically works for us, and in all the time that you've been allowed to privately investigate, nothing, nothing has come up. This mass murderer is still on the loose! I am not saying that your son is Kira, what I am saying is that I need to know everything that I can to capture the bastard!"

"Thirteen days," the old man said. There was something in his face that made it clear that things between he and the Interpol agent were now at a mutual hatred. "Light was cleared because Kira needs to kill every thirteen days or he will die."

That would fit puzzle-piece perfect if Thomas Lindstrom didn’t die at the end of the trial period. A highly intelligent boy, the son of the police chief, and already once investigated by L? Admittedly, even if the thirteen day rule was false, it wasn’t conclusive. But this was a lead and damned if Akiyama wasn’t going to take full advantage of it.

The intercom voice that shook into Light's slumber was foreign - an English speaker with an established British accent, so prim that it was almost robotic. He breathed out with a soft groan when it had finished its announcement and meant to sleep again, only to be interrupted three seconds later by the same voice speaking French. And then Russian... and then what sounded to his sleepy ears like Spanish. At that point, however, he had settled back into sweet dozing, and he stopped fully registering it.

"Light-kun, how uncouth of you to fall asleep after the intercom just told you to get the hell off their plane," the drawling voice of L - or Lawliet, rather, filled his ears. Long, skeletal fingers touched his shoulder, brushing on top of the Russian coat he had been using as a blanket.

"Mmm..." Light curled into the thick cloth even more tightly. "That's not exactly how she said it..."

"That's how I would translate it. I believe between the two of us, I alone am the one who is self-sufficient among a multi-linguistic community." L spoke critically, with a hint of suppressed amusement. "I know that you are only about seventy-five percent healthy, but you can rest again in the hotel."

"I knew the English," the younger insisted, but he opened his eyes and yawned. His head was still muddled, but it was indescribably marvelous to know that the plane was safely on the ground and they had completely stopped moving. "Why didn't she say it in Japanese, I wonder?"

"Are you really asking that?" L had already zipped up his bag, as well as Light's, and he stood up to wait for an opening in the rapid trail of people moving through the aisles. "No one cares about Japanese except for Japan. We're far away from Japan now, Light-kun. We're a thirty-five minute ride on the train rails out of Paris, France."

"Paris!" Light repeated, feeling much more awake now. He stood up, ignoring the annoying feeling of blood rushing to his head, and followed L down the aisles between the seats of the plane. As they walked, at a much quicker pace than their last plane ride, the brunette spoke. "I can't believe that we're in Paris. It‘s one of the most significant cities in the world, as far as history goes."

"You shouldn't believe that we're in Paris, because we're not yet," L commented, glancing backwards to make sure that Light wasn't lost in the pushing and shoving of the ferocious crowd. "I told you that. We're going to take the train to actually get into the city. I reserved a hotel already, so since you've never been to Europe, please just follow me closely."

"Oh, right." Light concentrated on following his companion. They exited the tunnel that connected the plane to the airport, and they trod through the congested lobby area.

Lawliet spoke again, but this time in English. "Also, my name is François Ames. I am French and I do not speak Japanese."

Light laughed out loud. He also switched to English, but didn't even bother trying to hide his Japanese accent - on the contrary, he flaunted it teasingly. "François, you said? I suppose you have the identification for that, too. Why do you always have to pretend to be native, wherever we go? Why can't you just be a foreigner, like me, instead of acting like you were born here?"

L didn't answer right away, he just lead Light through the lobby and weaved through gaggles of tourists and other obstacles. When they were out of the docking bay, L spoke, though he didn't look at his companion. "Because I was born here. My original birth certificate is French."

The teenager's eyes bulged in disbelief. He couldn't avoid the sore feeling that suddenly clenched his throat, trying to ignore the fact that a few weeks ago he would have given an arm and a leg for that kind of personal information. Was this another test? That wasn't what he wanted to think about right now. "Why are you telling me that? If it's even true..."

L shrugged, and then he did look at Light. There was a slight smile on his face, crookedly garnishing his expression. "It's true. I'm eighty percent indifferent as to whether or not you know that. Fifteen percent of me felt like revealing that to you."

Light's jaw tightened, just for a moment, as he realized the unspoken words: my name can't kill me anyhow, so my actual identity is useless. When L looked away, he noticed how rigid his movements had become, in stiff defense of that insecurity. Maybe this was why they were in France. L was looking for his identity, so shouldn’t he go to the place he was born? The brunette was overcome with the urge to break the following silence. "Is your ethnicity French, too?"

"That would be telling," he answered with a smirk, but visibly brightened.

They continued walking. They reached customs, and underwent the tedious trials of convincing security of their innocent traveling intentions. Using careful English, Light said that he was just a tourist, and yes, his name was Ray Misora and he was from New York City. When that was finished, he walked through a metal detector to find L already waiting for him on the other side.

They navigated through the vast airport, down hallways and elevators. L went through the money exchange to take out a thick stack of Euros, the currency of this area. The gangly youth stopped at a vending machine to purchase a bag of cheap, artificially-flavored strawberry cookies, offering one to Light (who denied), and then they were on their way to the train rails.

"Hey, François..."

"You can all me 'Lawliet' anyhow," L said with his mouth full of pink cookie crumbs. He swallowed, only to stuff another one into his mouth as a replacement. "I don't mind if you still do."

The words were extremely detached, as if he was entirely apathetic to the whole issue. Discreetly, Light verified: "You sure? Even in public?"

"If you want to." And what that really meant, Light could tell, was that I want you to.

In circumstances where a pair like them had the opportunity to actually say what they meant, what would they say? Light wondered briefly if that room would be silent, the only sound the ticking of his wristwatch. Honesty was a dangerous virtue.

The train ride was enough to distract him from such somber thoughts. They ran into the car to claim seats, side by side. They fought briefly for the window seat when L claimed that it was his turn, however Light shoved forward anyway and said that since he had never been to France before, it was fair that he was closest to the window. (And then L claimed that he too had never been to France, but Light was sitting and told him to say what he wanted, there was no way in hell he was moving now, and besides, L was lying his ass off.)

Paris was an alluring place. It wasn't like many parts in Tokyo, where buildings were erected for purposes of practicality with the most modern of technology. Instead, here in the heart of France, there were the things that existed purely for the sake of beauty. In fact, it seemed like every work of construction was created with a sense of art in mind - a sort of disregard to perhaps issues like economics and logic, there were things that didn't make sense at all in a critical eye. But likewise, if one gazed through the eyes of a romantic, everything was beautiful.

Lawliet caught Light's attention, only after jabbing him in the ribs. "Parlez-vous français?"

The brunette resisted the urge to roll his eyes, and instead answered swiftly, "Oui."

This clearly wasn't the answer that the detective was expecting, because he blinked with genuine surprise. "Je ne te crois pas. Tu comprends?"

Grinning cheekily, Light responded, "Ah... oui?"

L huffed in annoyance, turning his head away as if he suddenly was the more mature one between the pair. "Light-kun is a liar, as expected."

"'He whose slate is clean, let him cast the first stone,'" Light quoted in retort a biblical passage that he had learned in his English class. "Seventy percent of what you say to me isn't true. Besides, you know perfectly well that I don't speak French. You know what classes I took in school better than I do. You were simply being arrogant by flaunting the fact."

"I was not being arrogant," the raven-haired youth insisted. "I should think that it would be arrogant to assume that one is not knowledgeable, instead of politely inquiring. Also, I only lie to you about sixty-two percent of the time, please do not be dramatic."

The train came to a halt, and again they underwent the chaos of maneuvering through aisles, congested with people wearing the gaudy, flashy colors of tourism as well as dark, ominous business suits. Even with the tremendous amount of people, the grand French streets seemed unclogged and inviting.

“Bienvenue a Paris, Light-kun,” L murmured in his ear. “That means ’welcome to Paris’, since you don’t speak French.”

“Ah, thank you for that,” he said sarcastically. They walked on further out to the street and Light inquired, "What hotel are we going to?"

"The Sofitel Le Faubourg," came the answer. "I've stayed there before. Don't worry, they have good cheesecake."

He snorted. "Well... good, all my anxiety has been put to rest."

"You should be excited instead of being anxious, you know. Anyway, it's quite a few blocks away from here. If you have yet to deduce this, Paris is an intimidating size. I'll call a taxi."

It seemed like a shame to hide inside a vehicle while having experiencing the opportunity of a lifetime. Light shook his head. "What if we just walked?"

The detective quirked an eyebrow in skepticism. "It'd take us approximately two hours to walk. I don't know if you'll be able to handle that journey, considering your current state of health."

"I won't die. If we get tired, then we can call a taxi." When L still looked doubtful, Light turned away and added, with a mock sympathetic note to his voice, “Well, if you’re too tired for walking, you could just say so, Lawliet.”

The element of competition lead to the quick response: "It's only you who I was worried about. We‘ll walk, and don‘t whine to me if you tire out."

Paris had a particular smell, Light noted. However, it was hard to identify in words. It could have been the baskets of roses that littered sidewalks, even though the air was chilly that aroma filled the atmosphere. It could have been the gentle smells of breads from shops with open windows. It could have been the people, walking from here to there and going somewhere else right after. It could have been the faint smell of gasoline from the cars and the buses, but even that smelled different from the vehicle exhaust in Tokyo.

“Kira nous sauvera tous!” a voice suddenly shrieked.

The hair on Light’s neck lifted as he turned to see a group of young people, college students perhaps, standing on the other side of the road with looks of determination. They stood in the crowd, brandishing large white signs. On these signs in large, black print were phrases such as “Kira est un héro”, or “La justice régnera!”, and then perhaps the most obvious one to a non-French speaker, “Kira!”. Backed up by their passionate yelling, it was clear that they were engaging in a pro-Kira rally.

L turned his gaze to the students with their signs as well. He narrowed his eyes, and then glanced at Light. Almost defensively, he grabbed the younger male’s arm roughly, and pulled him along. “It’s all in French anyway, so you don‘t understand,” he muttered, as if that changed everything.

The brunette was about to ask, and what does ‘Kira’ translate to in Japanese?, but the urge to not touch that issue was far more overpowering. He already had enough of a problem with Interpol testing the thirteen-day rule, the last thing he needed was to be openly battling the most conniving detective in the world. If he pushed his luck, L’s insecurities about not having a proper name might dissipate and Light would be in handcuffs before he could say “au revoir”.

Even so, it was a warm, much-needed comfort that some people all around the world were truly beginning to understand Kira.

"Light-kun, are you hungry?" L asked, interrupting his thoughts - probably on purpose.

"No," he answered.

L pressed on. "You've lost weight, since you were so sick. Your physical defense will decrease by fifty-four percent if you don't eat something soon. I don't mean to imply that Paris is a dangerous city, but there are occasional occurrences of muggings, especially to those who are clearly tourists."

Ignoring the remark that was probably meant to be a cheap shot, Light raised an eyebrow. "How about you just tell me if you're hungry instead of creating an elaborate scenario?"

"I was only looking out for Light-kun's well-being."

"No. Lawliet? Just tell me what you want."

The detective frowned, almost uncomfortably. Then, he grabbed one of Light’s hands and yanked forward, turning to walk again. “I know where there’s cake.”

The Le Templier de Montmartre was a cafe, albeit an upper-class one, with wooden chairs and small, round tables lined up neatly outside the entrance. A chalk-board menu declared what must have been the days specials right by the door in French that Light could not understand. He was, however, familiar with both Latin and English, making some words such as 'salade', 'chocolat' or even the declaration of 'Restaurant', which declared itself on a cloth draped above the windows, quite recognizable. All in all, it was a comfortable place, with tiled bricks on the walls and warm colors that invited guests of all ethnicities and languages.

"What are you hungry for?" L inquired when they had stepped inside the establishment, which, though not busy, was starting to acquire a dinnertime crowd.

"I don't know," Light shrugged without much enthusiasm. "I’m not very hungry. Some kind of soup, and a Diet Coke."

"Soup?" L exhaled as though his companion had just tried to convince him that the universe was centered around the Earth instead of the sun. "You should eat something more substantial than that. Also, I refuse to order any soft drink with aspartame posing as sugar."

"I'm not hungry for anything else. And I don't want to eat snails, or something else weird."

The detective sighed, giving Light a rather sympathetic look, as though he pitied him. "And for dessert?"

"None. I don't care for heavy sugar. Even if we are pretending that you haven't yet learned my eating habits from a year of spying on me, as well as having me handcuffed to you for months, you might have deduced that when I told you to order me a diet soda."

"Are you weight conscious like Misa?" It was an accusation more venomous than anything Kira related.

Light rolled his eyes. "No. Regular soda is too sweet for my liking. Diet pop tastes crisper to me, and I prefer it."

L gave him such a look that Light half expected him to say that his Kira suspicion points had just gone up... but he didn't. Light didn't initiate saying that word either. It seemed to be a mutual agreement between them to avoid that issue. Instead, the lanky male turned to the cashier.

“Bonjour!” the cashier, a pretty French girl with blonde curls said. She was looking directly at Light, smiling sweetly, but L cleared his throat to get her attention and said,

"Bonjour. Comme hors-d'œuvre, je prendrai fondant au chocolat amer... Aussie, je voudrais le crème de petits pois..."

At least, Light assumed that the words were polite. Ever since the incident with the Russian news reporters and the false criminal, he had become a little reluctant to make any hasty conclusions when it came to languages that he did not know.

A few minutes later, they received their food. L had apparently ordered chocolate cake for himself, which reeked of sugar and frosting, and a pea soup for Light. Some brown, bubbling drink was splashing in a glass on the tray, and whether or not it was a diet soda was still unknown. If it stayed true to L's sugary threats, he might have been irritated, but his mood was lifted because it was a really nice day. They went outside on the patio, claiming a wooden table and its two chairs. It was probably winter in France, but there wasn't much of any snow at all. The grass along the streets was still defiantly green, even in the chilled air. The sun was out, only a handful of clouds to rebel against the radiating warmth.

"So... Lawliet..." The name still felt somewhat foreign in Light's mouth. The way that L had pronounced it, it almost sounded like a Romanized 'low-light', which was eerily similar to his own name. It was almost funny, except Light didn't know whether to be amused or to be afraid.

"So, Light Yagami," L asked in a sarcastic mimic of his own unsure voice. He certainly wasn't hesitating to bring the fork to his mouth, and was unperplexed about sticking out his tongue to lick away soggy crumbs that missed their target on his lips.

"What are we doing here in France, anyway?" Light finally asked, a bitter little chuckle finding its way out of his throat. "I was thinking about last year, or maybe closer to two years ago, when all I cared about was school, and trying to find some way to dissipate boredom. And suddenly, in a dramatic turn of events, I'm in Paris."

"That's why you did it, huh?" L turned his dark irises curiously to Light, without turning his face from the direction of the cake platter. And then, as if catching himself in perhaps an honest slip, he quickly added, "Joined us on the Kira case, that is. Worked with us as hard as you did."

Light took a breath, trying to find some composure that his face wasn't void of but that he didn't have, anyway. Then he said, "When you feel like you're wasting away, it's nice to find something to do that's beneficial to humanity. You feel like you have a reason to exist."

"Of course. Punishing crime, a criminal that is, that might be beneficial. It's true, isn't it." It was a murmured sentence, genuinely cloaked in broadness. It was uncertain and awkward. "Anyway, Light-kun shouldn't worry about that now. He should concentrate on ridding himself of the last of his sickness."

Light blinked, and then nodded quickly. "It’s my code of ethics that keeps me worrying.”

L stabbed his fork in his dilapidated cake, looking as though something was bothering him. He pushed the silverware forward, successfully netting a piece of the saccharine dessert. His attention seemed entirely preoccupied in studying the moist chocolate pastry, as he very carefully seemed to avoid releasing too many of his fingerprints on the utensil that he held with only a thumb and forefinger. Then, cautiously, he said, "Light?"

Light turned his head to the detective in inquiry. "Wha - ugh!"

With the speed of a coiled snake biting, L had taken advantage of Light's open mouth to plunge his fork inward. Still without even facing his companion, he reached his other hand over to close the youth's unhinged jaw, and then slid the fork out empty of the cake it once held.

The chocolate burned sweetly on his tongue, but his lack of desire for sweets wasn't outweighed by the shock of what his enemy had just done. "Goddamnit, don't do that!"

Oblivious to Light's startled flushing, L spoke in a particularly detached tone. "We're here because we're having an adventure in France. I won't ask your opinion because I do not care, and in this case my opinion doesn't matter either. I do not feel like doing detective work right now, especially not about the Kira case, and in our current positions the whole issue is irrelevant. Are you willing to play along with me, or do I have you force-feed you cake?"

It was all so ludicrous, so damned ludicrous that Light was suddenly laughing out loud. Neither of their opinions, their views on justice mattered. They were just here. They wouldn't be saying it. They would conveniently ignore that truth. I'm Kira, you idiot. And you're still L. At any moment, one of us might be dead. And oh God, it was funny, the way they were closing the door to reality. They were trying to escape the inevitable, and what is more entertaining than that?

L's eyes now looked a little less dark, and his mouth curved upward a little into a smile. "It's better when we're laughing, don't you think?"

That made him laugh even harder, until he was shaking his head in a sort of defeat as opposed to disagreement. He managed to choke out, "It is, isn't it?"

“Good. Then we’ve reached an understanding.”

Light grinned, gaining composure of himself. He lifted the soda glass, and raised it in salute. “Cheers, Lawliet.”

“Ah. Yes.” But the man was suddenly adverting his gaze, as if by not looking at his companion, he was an invisible entity.

The carbonated liquid met Light’s lips, high dosage of one hundred percent sugar and all. “You bastard,” he growled, slamming the glass back down on the table. “This is not diet.”