And Time was running out.

In early morning paranoia, Light presumed that L's back massage the night before had been another effort to relax him. No, it was not a friendly effort to alleviate his stress. It was definitely a passive-aggressive attack in its own way - L may be hiding his King but he was sure as hell still moving pawns across the chess board. If Light let L distract him, he would never be able to build a sufficient retaliation against the Interpol threat. And then, without doing anything in particular while still searching for the truth about his lost name, L would win.

Without glancing at the clock, Light presumed it wasn't later than five in the morning. The adolescent grit his teeth. L was curled impishly right next to him, and somehow in the night one of his arms had become entwined with Light's. L's raven black hair was sprawled messily around the pillow, an image that reflected his haphazardly placed limbs and twisted back. The only reason that Light could tell he was asleep was because of how much older he looked, breathing steady and eyelashes gently closed. The childish immaturity that otherwise radiated off of him when those eyes were open was dormant, leaving the truth of his age vulnerable and exposed.

Another truth was vulnerable and about to be exposed, and this one more unsettling: in a few days, the investigation would know that Kira did not have to kill every thirteen days. Not unless Light could kill the second criminal, but what were the chances of that? Sure, he could call Misa and tell her to target old convicts, captured ten, twenty years ago that the world might have forgotten about. But even if on the off chance that she did strike the right name, it would have to be done at the right time. If the criminal died three days early, that wouldn't exactly disprove anything. Of course, he could tell Misa to write details of the death in the notebook - namely, the date that they were supposed to die. That could work, but there was the problem that writing each name would take three times longer if she did that. If they were just going to randomly guess and check convicts that Interpol didn't think Kira would kill, Misa would only have time to judge a third of them - thus decreasing chances altogether.

Furthermore, Light realized with a scowl, someone like L would easily be able to draw a conclusion from old, lesser known criminals suddenly being targeted. That would mean that Kira was panicking, and therefore he knew about the thirteen day test. No one but Light and the investigation team knew that, and Light was, after all, the prime suspect. L would be only too happy to use evidence like that to have him arrested, so such a tactic would induce an undesired result.

Damn it...

Was there some way, any way at all to find the identity of the criminal? Light bit his lip, thinking rapidly. Interpol would not have even put that data in their computers if they were smart - which they undoubtedly were. It would be entirely a matter of eye witnesses. He could get in contact with an Interpol agent and blackmail him into exposing the name... but if the system as as tight-knit as he imagined, such a tactic would also have witnesses and surveillance, and that would be essentially gift-wrapping evidence that 'thirteen days' was false. ICPO’s President Howard Dressler had been asked personally by L to not reveal the information even to him... could Dressler be persuaded otherwise? If Light took L's laptop, and hacked into his e-mail, could he write something convincing enough to undo that fact? Suppose L needed to know the identity of the second criminal for investigative purposes...

(L wouldn't have to know. Light could kill him first. The method didn't matter.)

But L would have thought of such a thing and made the appropriate preparations. L could not be manipulated in the same way that the NPA could, Misa could, or even the Shinigami Rem could. L knew he was Kira, and he also had no intention of losing - 'heroic intentions' or not.

Though, L had mentioned at the beginning of this journey that he never told Interpol who his prime suspects were. If Interpol didn't know Light Yagami's name... Not that this was trustworthy. L was a liar by nature. But there would be the chance that Interpol didn't know anything, and they were only following orders. When the second criminal didn't die, Light being Kira was possible. What would happen? If L intended to return to headquarters in Japan, he would probably be locked up again, or at least handcuffed to L. The judgments wouldn't stop unless Misa was also captured, but then again, if Light was the first Kira, Misa was definitely the second. She would certainly be apprehended...

That's the scenario that must be avoided. Light could only feign innocence as long as there was a Kira still active.

"Light-kun?" the sleepy voice of L sounded, interrupting his thoughts.

"What?" he snapped, trying to sound gentle, but it was a pathetic attempt.

L's dark eyelashes parted slightly, revealing eyes of the same charcoal shade. He paused for a moment, as if taking in Light's image, and then he said, "You should call Yagami-san. He's worried about you."

"Yes, I'm sure," Light responded with irritation. "And about you, too."

The detective's eyes were still clouded with the fog of sleep, but his voice was too detached - meaning that he was interested. "Is that so?"

"Well, yeah. That's the only reason he agreed to let me go after you." The adolescent was not in the mood for L's facetious tactics, using him with an ulterior goal in mind. "If you want to contact him so badly, how about we just go home now?"

There was a taunting hesitation as L responded. "Are you sure that you want to go back to Tokyo just yet?"

Bastard. No, as things were now, returning to Japan was a risk. Any move that he made was a risk, and at the same time, doing nothing was a risk, too. He was backed into a corner, stuck in the shadows without any answers to grasp at. Light stood up and rummaged in his bag for a sweatshirt. "I'm going to go call my father… or do you want to talk, too?"

"I'm still tired," L lied, rolling over in the blankets for extra effect.

Of course, when Light exited the hotel room with the excuse of wanting privacy with his father, it wasn't Soichiro that he called on his cell phone. Personal obligations could not take priority over Kira’s reign - in fact, such a thing was possibly detrimental. He left the hotel entirely, walking out into a still-dark street that was lit by the golden lights of Paris. Even at this hour it was full of life, and hiding in a crowd he would shroud himself to achieve the only secrecy that he could.

"Light! Light!" a girl's soprano shrieked into his ear from the cell phone's speaker. It reminded Light of an excited songbird, an obnoxious chirping mix between despair and enthusiasm. "Misa has missed you so very much! She's so happy, so happy that you finally called her!"

"Misa, quiet," Light hissed, automatically his eyes flickered around the street for anyone who might overhear. "I'm not in a secure position, and I don't have much time. The instructions that I'm about to give you are extremely important. Please listen carefully!"

Even though he couldn't see her face, he could tell that blonde model was absolutely beaming. She seemed to hold back an vivacious giggle as she inhaled sharply in anticipation. "Of course. Your Misa is ready to do anything at all that you want her to do, so long as she can see her Light again very soon."

"Yes," he agreed blandly, making a promise that he wasn't sure if he could keep - though inwardly, underneath her powdered face and curled lashes, Misa probably already knew that. "Interpol is testing the thirteen day rule on the Death Notes, the one that granted us freedom. In just a few days, the criminal that they had write the name will be scheduled to die."

"But he won't!" Misa interrupted, as if Light wasn't fully aware of this already.

He took a breath to keep his patience. "No, Misa. He won't die. It-"

"Yes he will," the girl interrupted defiantly, apparently having changed her mind. "Misa will kill him. Even if we don't know who it is, Misa won't stop to sleep or eat. She'll just keep writing down names for Light, write down everyone in the whole wide world."

"No." Light might have shouted, but even at this early hour, Paris was alive with life. The last thing that he wanted was to draw attention to himself. "Listen to me, Misa. I need you to leave Japan. Keep on judging criminals, but get away. Mogi-san is your manager still, so tell him that you're going to go visit family in America. Tell him you're mourning the fact that I'm gone, so you're taking a vacation as a distraction. Once in America, keep on the move. As a celebrity that should be fine, right? If you could somehow get false identification..."

"I-it's fine, I can work something out," Misa answered nervously. "But how will I see you again? How will you find me?"

"Keep this cell phone, or get a new one with the same number. Never answer it though, not unless you receive a text message with a password - it will be the name of your Shinigami, and that will be from me. After you receive the text, I'll call and you can pick it up."

There was something like a whimper on the other end, and then a pause. Misa gulped loudly, and then she took a breath of forced confidence and said, "Okay! Okay, Light! We can do this. We're going to work everything out. Misa will do her very best with the judgments, and when Light is okay, he will join her. We'll be Kira together, okay? We'll make the world a better place. We'll stop all of the criminals, no matter what, and never will there be another girl like Misa who has to watch her parents get murdered."

"Yes, we can do this, but we'll have to be careful. Don't do anything rash," Light confirmed, putting some warmth into his voice. Then, as if at the crack of a whip, his voice was its usual calculating tone: "And one more thing, Misa. If you do get captured or you feel like you might, immediately give up ownership of the notebook to get rid of your memories. If you are able, hide the notebook in the same place I buried it back in Tokyo. Talk to Ryuk beforehand, just as a precaution."

"Oh," she answered thoughtfully. "That's the only way to keep me safe, right Light? Then if I get captured, I'll be innocent so they'll have to let me go."

Not exactly. "Yes, Misa. That's the only way to ensure that they don't hurt you." That's the only way to ensure that you don't sell me out.

He hung up the phone, sighing quietly, and immediately cleared his recent calls history. The more logical thing to do would be to tell Misa to give up her memories now and bury the notebook somewhere that only Light would know. Then, if he ever got out of this mess with L, he could return to Tokyo and retrieve it. However, especially with Interpol so personally involved now, doing judgments himself would be difficult. That would be a forfeit, just like L was forfeiting. If criminals weren't being judged, that meant that Kira was backing away.

And that was something that the Justice of the new world would never do.

Light's eyes flickered up toward the camera, as if he were able to see L through the machine. He shook his head slightly, not to answer the question but instead to wake up from a dormant state of elongated inactivity. "I'm okay. Still alive. It's hard to eat with my hands cuffed, and I don't really have an appetite, so I guess it’s possible that I‘m thinner."

"Ah... I'm sorry about that," L said easily, though the professional in him didn't exactly feel sorry at all. Even so, he smiled in jest: "If you confess you're Kira, I'll take them off."

"Are you joking?" Light asked incredulously. "I'm not Kira at all. I told you that."

"We'll see," the detective answered, meaning to end the conversation and observe Misa for awhile.

But Light, who must have sensed this closure, quickly said, "Wait, Ryuuzaki!"

"Hm?"

"It's... well, it's kind of boring right here,” the youth admitted. He forced himself upward to a sitting position, as best he could without the use of his arms or legs to balance him. “Nothing moves and nothing changes. How long has it been, anyway?"

"Twenty-five days.” L didn’t intend to sound rude, but he only felt it fair to add, “And I'm afraid that I'm still not ready to let you out, not tomorrow, not the next day either."

"I understand. But are you busy?"

L quirked an eyebrow. "Busy? I'm working, if that's what you mean, by monitoring you and Misa. It's night right now and everyone else is asleep."

"Oh. Then will you talk with me, Ryuuzaki?" Light was looking with a childish hopefulness at the camera, so childish - just like Kira. But there was no malice in his eyes, just mere curiosity and intrigue.

L was surprised. "About what?"

"It doesn't matter. Anything. If you aren't busy..."

So the conversation began. A conversation about nothing of substance, really. Several times L tried to slip him up into saying something that Kira might say, but it was easily evaded. Light talked about his family, his school, being on the tennis team. L couldn't exactly tell his prime suspect anything personal about himself, but he commented where he could. And it was… nice. It was more entertaining for both of them than just waiting, anyway.

But for a reason unknown to him, he felt that it wasn't time to give up Light Yagami quite yet. Even at risk of L's own life.

Especially at risk of L's own life.

So Light and L played the roles of tourist and tour guide respectively. While spending days touring the Louvre, Paroisse de la Madeleine, the Eiffel Tower, Château de Bagatelle, all while outwardly acting friendly and benevolent - L was watching Light fastidiously. There wasn't a doubt in his punctilious mind that the teenager was scheming, running through every possible outcome and scenario. However, what he did doubt was that Light had reached a satisfactory conclusion. The irritated way in which he tapped his foot, or paranoid flicker of his bloodshot eyes supported this theory as concrete evidence. Not for the first time on their trip, the detective regretted that he had not brought along the six foot long handcuff that the pair was so familiar with, if for no other purpose than keeping a habitual eye on Light. As it was, in the moments that they were separated, for whatever reason, L assumed that Light was plotting something or other. The only justification he had for allowing this behavior was that unless the youth had friends in very high places, there was nothing that he could do. The thirteen day trial was strictly confidential, and no amount of blackmail or bribery would change that.

L had composed his results with strict attention to detail in his behavior. He did it, even without always actively ruminating the matter. Light’s wisest choice would be to continue traveling with L. If he left, he would have to get back to Japan and if he was alone, there was a seventy percent chance that he would end up having to explain a false identification (a feat not even Light could accomplish without L). If he went anywhere else he would be a sitting lamb among merciless variants of cultures and languages that he might not comprehend. Then there was the problem of him not having any currency of any kind - he was currently living off of L's finances. If he called anyone at the NPA for money, again, he would have to explain ‘Ray Misora’, and with Interpol so close by that would be deleterious to his freedom.

And the truth was, L preferred that Light was with him. Not just because he was accustomed to furthering Kira investigation, but because he was investigating something else, too. Whatever that other thing was, around Light he felt as though he were approaching the recondite truth.

At the eastern end of Champs-Élysées was one of the most famous - or perhaps infamous - squares in Paris: Place de la Concorde. Built in 1755, it was a historical triumph. Fountains and statues decorated stone ground, and overlooking them was the grand Hôtel de Crillon, where Queen Marie Antoinette often spent her afternoons (a place still in operation). In the center of the crowded square was a grand monument: a giant Egyptian obelisk, which towered into the air in jubilation for the ancient pharaoh Ramses II. Back a few hundred years ago, there once stood a weapon as bloody as the Death Note next to this very obelisk: a guillotine.

L brought Light here to 'tour' for a reason.

"Maximilien Robespierre." The name rode out of L's mouth in the quiet, controlled tone that suggested a lack of emotion to all who did not know him. He did not look at his companion, because he did not need to. He already felt the flickering chocolate eyes of Light Yagami on his back. "He was austere in his moral code, so rigorous in fact that he earned himself the nickname of 'The Incorruptible'. He was a man who was one hundred percent devoted to his revolution, in fact, he was a leader of it."

Light's tone didn't falter in the least, it was just as controlled - acted, with delicate amusement that masked hidden hostility. "It sounds like you're answering a question that I didn't ask."

"No." L turned his head slightly around his shoulders, looking at the adolescent out of the corners of strained ebony eyes. "It's my question and nothing more than mere curiosity: Have you heard of this man?"

"Heard of Robespierre?" Light let out a aerial laugh at that, an air of sophisticated snobbery that he probably deserved. "Just because I'm not fluent in French doesn't mean that I'm not familiar with one of the most epic events in all of history - the French Revolution. Robespierre was a key player."

"Ah, pardon me." Thoughtfully, he exchanged glances with the vigilante. Even standing there in Paris with his impeccable ability to absorb the atmosphere around him and magnify it into something twisted, if astounding, Light could not look French. Light could not look like he fit into this world that he had never once explored, not any closer than his fingertips on the pages of some textbook. "Perhaps I'm reminiscing, so please indulge me. Robespierre was a lawyer. A judge, in fact. A criminal judge, as appointed by the bishop of Arras, and he was also quite beloved. A writer, a journalist, even a philosopher."

Light could not look French. But to L, the comparison was crystal clear.

"You hate philosophy," came the answer, almost smug as it regarded the detective with acrimony. "Robespierre was known for his virtue. He was an inspiration to the people, and this is how he eventually landed himself in a seat of power. France was rotting at that time, under the useless King Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette, neither of which gave a damn about anyone other than the nobles. The middle-class bourgeoisie had no rights, and those in poverty died cold and hungry."

"Aha," L said, almost triumphantly. He might as well have been pointing a finger at Light with the accusation that his tone wielded. "I hypothesized that you'd have liked Robespierre."

Light's smirk twitched ever so slightly, and he offered a hasty reply. "I never said that I liked him. Philosophers of the Enlightenment era wrote that if a particular government is not sufficiently doing its job, a duty in which human beings entrust in the system in exchange for their natural rights, then the people had a divine right to overthrow it. He was a follower of this doctrine."

"A divine right?"

"Certainly," Light said vigorously. "And even in your distaste for philosophy, these ideas of John Locke, Jean-James Rousseau and the others have been adapted right into the constitutions of various governing institutions. And do you disagree with that, Lawliet?"

"Do I disagree with revolution?" L asked to clarify.

"Yes." His irises were like hardened amber as they displayed their convictions, a confidence in his position and a strength of steel in his voice.

L found convictions to be foolish. He shook his head slightly. "I can only find it justified if it is successful. I told you once that I disliked philosophy because I find it inapplicable to the real world. The revolutionary ideals of Robespierre, Danton, all the rest - what did it matter?"

"It mattered for everything," Light said fiercely. "They were the hope of the people. It was something for those living the most wretched of lives to look to. When they were dying in the streets, at least they could look up at the sky without disconsolation. These frivolous philosophers, as you've called them, were fighting to bring justice to a world of hallow depression."

L nodded in acknowledgement of this point. He turned his back to Light again and instead looked up at the Obélisque de Luxor, standing like its own beacon of hope as it rose up through a seemingly infinite atmosphere. But the atmosphere was not infinite, it was an eggshell that surrounded the Earth. If Light flew too high into the sky, he would soon enough run out of oxygen. And by the Obelisk was once a guillotine. "People were dying in the streets before the Revolution, huh..."

The retort was a little slow, because the vigilante who knew him so well had already understood what angle his opponent in rhetoric was going to take. "Yes, Lawliet. Things were miserable enough to make them want to revolt. You can't deny that."

"I'm not denying it, but I'm calling it irrelevant." At that, L snapped his narrowed eyes back to Light with a calm ferociousness. "They, who loved their dreams and revolution so much, what happened to them? They beheaded their King and Queen, destroyed their existing government and were left in complete chaos. The beloved idealist, Maximilien Robespierre, became their leader. He lead as perhaps the most influential actor in the new make-shift committees. However, that period in history is what scholars call the 'Reign of Terror'."

Uneasiness sparked through the arrogance in Light's eyes. "Yes, that did happen. But their intentions were noble, isn't that the most important thing?"

"Yes, it's important - to a child." L emphasized this insult without twitching a muscle in his face. He was calm, blank, and yet full of his own fury. "To everything else, no, intentions do not count for anything. Numbers and statistics are what ultimately run this world. Robespierre ended up sending agents to murder anyone who might stand in the way of his reign. And he murdered more than opposition, too. It was a massacre. His paranoia and even insanity left his Justice bloodstained."

Light didn't answer. He regarded L coolly.

L continued. "He was an intelligent young man who inspired all of France. Poverty-stricken Paris greatly desired such a muse. However, when they woke up from the dream, they saw their idealist as a mass-murdering tyrant. They had him arrested. Robespierre was given no trial. They rode him straight to the guillotine, where he was decapitated just like the previous leaders."

The adolescent named Kira cut in, "And I don't blame the people. He fell prey to corruption. He was a murdering tyrant. His rule was also a demolition of the contract between the people and the government, so he had to go. The ideals themselves are still unmarred and the same. It's a question of whether or not those carrying out the ideals can hold true to the end."

"Right here, Light-kun," L said quietly, but with a steady emphasis and strength. A crooked finger pointed at the Egyptian obelisk. Light stopped talking and looked at his enemy in confusion, and after a moment the enemy explained. "Only a couple of yards away from where you stand, the Incorruptible was dragged to the guillotine of Place de la Concorde, then called Place de la Révolution. Sources say he was frightened, but I wonder if he gave up his ideals even then. Regardless, at the guillotine the blade came crashing down and none of that even mattered anymore. A few yards away from you, Light-kun, Robespierre was executed."

A startled look glimmered across his young face as he realized exactly what point L was trying to make. That was quickly masked. Light Yagami did not like to lose a battle of rhetoric. He was very still in how he stood, though L could see that his fingers were clenched into fists. L smiled and was about to turn away, but then Light said, "The idealism mattered in the end. If it hadn't been there, the Revolution would not have happened."

"You condone one of the most bloody events in history?"

"It's not the blood that I condone," Kira said. "It's the passion. If the Revolution would have not happened, then the world would have remained in a state of hopelessness. Even if the events themselves backfired, they chose a chance at integrity over emptiness. They chose against indifference to evil. Even if they died, they were more alive because of it."

Something in those words left L without retaliation. They were more alive because of it.

L and Kira were hallow entities without their passion. Are we more alive because of it, too? Are we more alive because we choose to... stand up against the perceived evil of the other?

"It's just a pity that the French Revolution didn't have a pure enough leader," Light said off-handedly.

The moment broken, L looked at him in antagonism. Not since Watari's death had he suddenly felt a conviction so strong to put that egotistical vigilante in handcuffs.

But at the same time, a part of him wondered with a morbid need about the things that Light had said. Foolish, definitely... but what was it about people like Light Yagami or Maximilien Robespierre that made others stray from the path of rationality to dreams that in the long run could only crumble?

L didn't have that charm. He didn't claim to stand on a pedestal. But between the pair of them, L was the one who was void, empty of passion and lacking a name to proudly call his own.

“Light-kun, it’s been thirty-four days now.”

“Thank you,” came the quiet answer. Light was sitting up, but leaning his back against the wall of his cell. He turned to the camera with unsophisticated hopefulness. “Have the criminals started dying yet?”

They had, but as part of this interrogation, L wasn’t going to let Light know that. Instead of giving any kind of confirmation, he said, “Light-kun? I’m wondering if you’ve ever been out of Japan.”

Light gave the video camera a sideways glance. “Why are you asking me? I’m sure you have extensive files of me dating back to my birth.”

That wasn’t exactly true - the earlier years weren’t what L would call ‘extensive’, per se. Regardless. “I was asking you because I thought you might like to have another conversation.”

The adolescent blinked, and then he smiled at that, visibly brightened due to this distraction from his agonizingly monotonous days. As they chatted again, Light couldn’t see it, but L was smiling too.

The plan had been risky. Light knew it had been risky. He had been risking his life for his cause ever since he decided to use the Death Note to purge the world of evil. He was highly intelligent, and he knew damned well that he was walking on thin ice. One wrong step and everything would shatter.

It was dangerous when he decided to accept L's challenge on television that night. It was dangerous when he decided to draw out the detective. It was an elaborate scenario, risky, but it was meticulously planned out. First, he had hacked into the police database to discover precisely what they thought Kira could do - and then the next day, he broke their rules. L had only to assume, and rightfully so that he was connected to the NPA, just as Light had wanted him to assume. The detective, who was either a dog of Interpol or Interpol was his dog, sent American FBI agents to spy on the police force and those closest to them.

Light hadn't just killed Ray Penbar. He killed all twelve agents.

The angry FBI leader had publicly blamed L for this loss, and the Japanese NPA soon found out. Distrust in L accumulated, and those who were still willing to risk their lives to capture Kira demanded that he showed himself in person. L complied.

That was Light's first victory.

Then, when Misa had been captured and it was only a matter of days before L had Light arrested too, Light made the preemptive move - he turned himself in for long-term investigation. He went as far as giving up his memories and set up the scenario where he and L would work together to catch a third Kira. When his fingers touched the Death Note the next time, the memories came flooding back. Light knew that L was going to test the thirteen day rule. That too was part of the plan, so Rem would be pressured to kill him in an effort to protect Misa. A detail that had been left unconsidered was that L would have no name.

That ruined everything. Because now he had his territory pulled from under his feet and he was in Paris. And the experiment was reaching its climax. Tick, tick, bang. In a few hours, it could be the beginning of the end.

L had suggested that they return to the hotel room, and Light knew damned well why. A penetrating ebony gaze bore into his back, watching him with the utmost caution. When they navigated silently through hallways of the Sofitel le Faubourg, the only sounds in the trembling silence was the shy ticking of Light's wristwatch. Tick, tick, it sounded like a time bomb. This might have been the calm before the storm if anything at all had been calm - but either way, a storm was ineluctably coming.

"Light-kun looks weary," L commented as they tread across the carpeted hallway that provided the winded trail to their hotel room. "He should perhaps go to bed early tonight. It's possible that he still has traces of influenza..."

In a few hours, the fake rule that protected Light and Misa would be ripped to shreds, like a fawn tossed into a cage of starving wolves. Light should have returned that favor and protected the fawn in turn, but there was nothing he could do. Was it a limit to his intellect? Or was the situation just out of his control? Fuck that. Light needed this control in the way that he needed to breath, he couldn't live without one or the other.

The consequences of this failure would be severe.

No, there was still time, right? A few hours. Interpol would allow for a period of leeway concerning when the second criminal had his heart attack, so maybe even up to an extra hour could be allowed. He could still find the name of the second criminal. Somehow. He would take the chance and e-mail President Dressler, pretending to be L, tell him that there had been a change of plans. He would kill the real L and flee Paris.

Wait. Was he an idiot? That wouldn't work. L had told Dressler not to tell him anything for a reason.

Damn him… Light wasn’t sure he had ever despised anyone as much as he despised him. It’s all his fucking fault… if only he had died on that day, none of this would have happened!

"Don’t worry about me," he said out loud and shook his head, keeping his voice steady as best he could. But even he could hear the fragments of abhorrence like glass shards infiltrating his tone.

There was silence as L unlocked the hotel door. It swung open, and the detective motioned at Light to go in first. When he had entered, L followed and slammed the door behind. The lock was clicked to the side for added security - though Light felt as though he had a greater intention of keeping his suspect in as opposed to keeping thieves out.

The investigator stared at the adolescent through looming, cryptic eyes. He was still, slouched like a stone gargoyle on one of Paris's Catholic churches. His expression was equally blank and uncommunicative, but somehow that was the greatest offense. L then strode forward across the room and stopped at the window. His gaze was now at the nighttime city. The golden neon lights from outside the glass were the only things lighting up the hotel room, everything else was as shadowy as the detective himself. When L finally spoke, he did not turn his head. "If you want, Light-kun, I could tell you who the second criminal is. You do seem so curious, and I'm forfeiting the Kira case for now so why should I mind?"

The first reaction was that he could not believe that L was being so blunt, after these passed days when they had made an unspoken pact to not speak of Kira. Light's heart skipped a few beats, and he felt the color draining from his face. Slowly, and forcing his voice to stay composed he said, "I don't know what you mean, Lawliet."

"But if I did that, then you would be the only one who knew. And when he dies, then Kira could only be one person."

The brunet didn't have a coherent thought. Something in this frenzied paranoia had intoxicated him like an alcohol. He felt jittery as he turned back toward L, whose normally dark eyes were suddenly more striking than ever. Striking and judgmental and alive. "Lawliet. Even now, it's you who won't give it up. No matter how much you say that you want to find your name more than anything, it's me that you want, to prove that I'm Kira and have me executed, right?"

L's head cocked to the side. "You're correct... I want my name, and I want you, Light-kun."

"Heh." Light exhaled a anxious huff of a chuckle. "If only Lawliet would trust me."

"That would be nice for you, wouldn't it?" Lawliet said, his empty face smirking without moving a muscle. "Unfortunately for you, this is not a luxury people like us can afford."

"What do you mean, 'people like us'?" Light demanded, an unruly temper rising.

"Liars. Liars like us."

Light's eyes widened, irises twitching and pupils shrinking. Then a second later, that was gone, and the demon restrained by a brittle prison broke free. Light was snarling. "Stop comparing yourself to me, Lawliet. I never lie unless it can be justified. The reasons that you and I do what we do are completely different, so don't throw that insult around so easily."

"Justified, huh?" There was a note of sarcasm in his tone. "That's what I thought. I still do. But comparing and conjecturing is what I do, and between the pair of us, I see one vital difference: you are entirely foolish. That's the reason that you're mad now - that foolishness is catching up with you.”

Light flushed in outrage, his tone tottering through calm reservations. "I haven't done anything wrong."

"And now you're afraid for your life," L continued callously. "You're more unsettled than you've ever been in your life. It's true that there is some difference in you and I. However, there is one comparison that I've conjectured between the two of us that not even you could deny. There are things that you and I long for. I came to this conclusion earlier: we both desire to feel something."

There was a fierce silence following this claim. Light had had his fist clenched, ready to meet with L's jaw with enough force to shatter his teeth. He was seething, shaking, loathing and there was something in those words that made everything both multiply and divide until he wasn't sure what was what anymore.

"You asked me why we are here in Paris a few days ago. That would be the answer." L hesitated. "I want to feel something, Light-kun. It's you who radiates with passion and intensity, and that is a trait I find both imprudent and admirable. That's how I knew you were Kira..."

"Stop. Stop it, L." Light couldn't explain the panic that he was feeling, built up in these passed couple of days because the walls were closing in around him. And their conductor was Lawliet, and the guillotine was mocking him like it mocked Robespierre. And now at the zenith of things, he could not contain it any longer.

"We could kill each other at any time, right?" Lawliet gave a crooked smile. "And since we are fully aware that we can die, we know that we are alive. If I’m alive, then I can feel things. This is the answer that I have come up with. And perhaps that is the real reason why I let you accompany me."

You could die. And when you die, there will be no heaven or hell for you. There will be nothingness.

You don't want nothingness, right? You also want to feel something.

...Anything...

Light approached Lawliet, who stood there returning his stare. For another moment, Light had no way of knowing what would happen next, but it would be something. His fists clenched, fingers digging sharply into his palms because he everything was crumbling out of his control. He hated that and he hated what it would mean. A change in strategy and altering tactics produced the same result: Light might die. He had to feel, he had to know that his skin still worked and that his body wasn't a corpse. He was still alive, he knew he was still alive because Lawliet was standing right before him.

A mutual variable to become the deciding factor. Still alive...

And then they lunged at each other like fierce predators. Fingers dug into skin, fists into stomachs, and the way they shoved and pulled Light foggily thought that perhaps it was another fight. He aggressively clasped onto the hem of Lawliet's shirt.

"What you want, Light..." L hissed in a low voice. "Is not always simple. You have to face the consequences of your actions."

That challenge crossed any line of common sense that there might have been. It instigated an angry energy that pulsed in his hands, tearing off that ragged white shirt and revealing the slim body of the detective. It was a body that Light had seen before - after a long enough time of standing no more than five feet away from each other, self-consciousness dissipates. But tonight, there was something different about it. It was an accusation and a challenge in mortal flesh. Fair skin that pulled firmly against a thin torso which was deceptive because of tight muscles intertwining between as abs chiseled like a statue - it was another way that L tried to lead people to underestimate him. Light had already learned from numerous wrestling matches that he was strong, and a skilled martial artist. However, never before did this man look quite so threatening.

Lawliet's eyes were like jet black glass, both reflecting the dim moonlight and casting a shadow all of their own. The dark eyelashes and circles that surrounded them weren't giving off the clueless, sleep-deprived impression anymore - now they served to intensify the whiteness of his eyeballs in harsh contrast. The expression that had once seemed naive was only blank now because it gave the impression of total control, absolute detachment of any troublesome feeling of uncertainty. Lawliet was still slouching like he often did, however, that too was now delusive, and tonight it was suddenly a position of arrogance, like a mocking smirk.

Liars like us. You haven't told the truth once in your life, have you Light?

"The thing that you want, Light..." Lawliet's baritone voice murmured. "To this I say..." Slender hands now grabbed Light's white dress shirt, both on either side and separated by the vertical line of buttons. "One for one."

"Nnh," Light growled as Lawliet's hands forced apart, ripping the buttons on his shirt apart in one swift motion. His own chest was exposed, and he grit his teeth because never had anyone ever done that to him. No, in all of his relationships he had been the one holding the cards - but L wasn't he greatest enemy for nothing. So he seized the other man's wrists to prevent them from acquiring any advantage. Almost sarcastically, Lawliet smiled and halted his hands, and Light seethed with a vengeance. "The choices that you've made have consequences, too."

Lawliet raised his hands slightly, twisting them subtly, and then slammed then downward to free his wrists from the grasp. Then suddenly it was as though he were standing up straight and looking Light in the eye - because really, they were the same height, and the expression on his face said more clearly than words, I know that already. Spindly, clever fingers rose to wrap around the vigilante's throat.

And then it was a battle.

Light lunged forward, his lips crushing against Lawliet's like a tiger with bared fangs. His fingernails relentlessly clawed into the ashen back of the other, running down a bony spine. Lawliet responded by pulling Light's neck forward, forcing his mouth closer. They were locked there in a furious, bruising kiss, a battle as bloody as rhetoric debate among philosophers. Light dared to take a step forward, and as part of the chain reaction the raven-haired man had to step backwards. Light took another determined step, until finally they were at the wall next to the bed, and he slammed Lawliet into it viciously.

Lawliet tensed to recover, constricting his half-bitten fingernails, scraping them into the back of Light's bare neck, drawing blood for all Light knew. And then, the most offensive thing - he thrust his pelvis forward, meeting with the brunet's in a crack of hips. Light exhaled sharply in the kiss as that unwanted - or was it wanted? - feeling of warmth began to submerge into his groin, lead on all the more by the heat from Lawliet. This soon accelerated into a maddening throbbing. Light could feel the rough edges of the fingernails run down on his back, pressing him closer into the grinding below, and a trickle of perspiration fell from his brow.

With a hiss, Light retreated half of a step to regain composure, but that moment of uncertainty was all that Lawliet needed to brutally grab his shoulders and shove him backwards with a turbulent strength. Light lost his balance and stumbled, but the king-sized bed was right behind him. His shoulder blades smashed against the mattress, and without taking a moment to catch his breath he instantly he sat up again for fear of being at a disadvantage around him. Lawliet immediately followed on the bed, and instead of capturing his mouth again, his lips latched on to Light's neck.

"Hah…!"

It took Light a moment to realize that Lawliet was more or less sitting on top of him. His knees were on the mattress on either side of his own legs, tightly pinning his limbs in place. Lawliet's arms were tangled in his own, and they were both roughly pulling each other closer with ruthlessly desperate hunger. It was as though if they embraced tightly enough they could shatter their physical puppets of bodies and crush their very souls together in this obsessive dance. Again, Light felt a famished heat in his groin as Lawliet was grinding their hips together, painfully and yet more, more, he trembled because he needed more.

In this burning sensation, he felt himself tighten with frustration. His throbbing member was screaming for freedom under the confines of the clothing, and he gasped out loud. That combined with the sucking on his sensitive neck made him squirm with uncomfortable, aching fury. It was so infuriating, slashing his logical mind to shreds, and he intended to make Lawliet also suffer. Though he had never done this with a man before, he had versatile hands and he would make use of them. He trailed one set of fingers around in front of his enemy, tracing the curves of his muscles. There, there was the hem of his jeans, he felt them even if he did not see, and skillfully he unsnapped the button at the top. With his other hand still on the man's back, he felt the man hold his breath and then nip at his neck more roughly in a sense of retaliation. Teeth were biting at his skin, but Light wasn't done yet - he slipped his hand under the denim material, feeling the silk of the boxers. He didn't pass that second barrier, but he could feel Lawliet's warm member already. Delicately, he outlined it, feeling its angry curve, and then he unleashed his aggression: he clasped it at the head, and then began to stroke mercilessly.

"Ahh.." Lawliet gasped out loud, a quiet, reserved sound. But he was the detective who rose up to challenges and made his own dares. There was nothing in him that had any intention of being submissive, and Light knew that very well. In fact, he had been counting on it. Because in a counterattack, one of Lawliet's own pallid hands darted around to Light's stomach, and then the other one joined in to unbuckle his belt and rip open the obtrusive khaki pants. Then, one of the hands was gone again, holding up Light by the back, clutching onto his skin. The hand that lingered cupped around Light's groin, tightening and holding but not yet moving, building up a fiery thirst that begged to be quenched.

Not that Light would ever, ever beg for anything from Lawliet. "Heh... You bastard," he instead hissed under his breath. He was trembling under the other's hold and he knew it.

Lawliet lifted his lips off of Light's neck, and he shuddered once for Light was increasing the friction on his own member. He tossed his head and his fervent charcoal eyes met with Light's irises of melted amber. "Ah... Light... the thing, the thing you want most..."

"Yes?" He flinched and grit his teeth as Lawliet palmed him forcefully.

"Confess it to me!"

Light could have said a number of things, he realized in hazy comprehension. Those feelings of passion, shattering a dead depression that otherwise submerged the philosophical like an empty ocean of midnight. I want to rid the world of crime. I want to be Kira. I want to kill you. I want you to bring me to orgasm, damn you, I want...

..to feel all of these things...

"I don't know," he could only say, clenching his teeth together when Lawliet's thumb slid up onto his length. And it was true. With his head flushing with passion, he didn't know, he couldn't think straight, all rationality was twisted into the growing storm, a screaming wind and rain of sweat. "I don't know!"

Then Lawliet was also stroking, and neither of them spoke again, they were in an existence where words no longer made sense. The roar of trumpets, the pounding of drums, the whole symphony accelerated into resonant vibrato. Hands clasped and clawed, a forte as everything was louder. The two opposite melodies, the left and the right, were playing in a perfect harmony, conducting a rush of blood and perspiration and such an uncontrollable heat in the war dance of flames. They built up into a climax, each following a rapid rhythm, neither slowing down and neither giving in. It was relentless, unyielding, hateful, loving, agonizing ecstasy. A flooded windstorm of emotions, the entwining of the obsessive nature of the physical and the mental.

I need you. I need you, God Damn It All, I need you. I need you to be my bloodthirsty enemy and my dearest friend. I need you for your cruelty and your understanding. I need you to make me alive and I need you to kill me. I need...

I want...

"Aagh!"

And then, finally in an explosion of emotion, the white bliss that had been bottled and shackled found its freedom. A wave of exhausted satisfaction overcame Light, making him sigh in his panting, and he fell back onto the bed, with Lawliet right beside him.

For a few minutes, or maybe it was more than just a few, neither of them spoke. They listened quietly as the symphony slowed, the rainstorm calmed and the breathing became more gentle. A steady in-and-out, taming the heartbeats that had previously gone wild. It was an undetermined amount of time when finally they recognized something beyond the immediate act.

"Thank you, Light-kun," Lawliet said quietly, even meekly, with all of his inner, brutal strength now resting again as he curled up next to his friend.

Light stared up at the ceiling, blinking back the sleepy feeling that he now felt and not really looking at anything. "You're welcome, I suppose," he mumbled in return. "Actually, you surprised me. I didn't think you'd... you know..."

"Know how to manipulate your body in that way?" he answered bluntly, now with his usual, arrogantly droning voice. "I told you that I had kissed five people. But I did not tell you anything else, now did I?"

Liars like us.

The mass murderer was lost in his own confusion. He couldn't place into words why this event had just happened. It was a product of bitter hatred as much as it was of the need for distraction. No, did such occurrences need a single reason to explain why? Did they always need to be explained? So many things in nature were attributed to a billion, uncountable mysteries, even the Death Note itself, the thing he thought he needed the most, was something he didn't understand.

The only thing that he knew was that it made him feel alive, and like an alcohol it shook his logic and grasped into his longing.

No. No, that in itself was the reason, wasn't it? Light Yagami had lived a dead life, wandering in foggy surrealism. He didn't understand it back then in school, didn't understand why, when he had a perfect life, was he an empty shell. Wake up! Challenge yourself. Take the most difficult classes, even then they don't offer a challenge, but try anyway. It was a hopeless void that he had despised, but what could he have done? The world was rotting. The crimes were on television, keeping his father working late at the office, and everyone else was indifferent. Light wasn't indifferent, he was just hollow, floating by his own existence and nothing challenged that. That was his depression.

And then Ryuk came. The Shinigami dropped his notebook, and suddenly, everything clicked on. I can do this. I can make a difference. I don't have to be dead anymore. It was passion that brought life to his eyes, and his potential was released. He had a purpose for being alive. The purpose, though, it didn't, it couldn't outweigh the feeling. I am here, and I am real...

"I know what the thing I want the most is now, Lawliet," Light said out loud without turning toward the man he knew was right next to him.

The eyes were on him, studying his face and waiting for the response.

"I want to be alive."

When you die, don't expect to go to Heaven or Hell. There is no Heaven or Hell, Light. There is Nothingness, that's where you'll go when you die. Ryuk was still grinning, constantly grinning at his own cleverness. As if the truth of organic compounds and the souls that humanity placed so much value in was entirely his own game, just like his game of dropping the Death Note. The Shinigami laughed at him, so long ago when they first met. You can use the notebook however you please, but in the end, I'm gonna be the one to write your name down.

...I don't want to be Nothingness.

"We're very similar, Light-kun," Lawliet said with soft conviction, and somehow he seemed closer than before. "I also want to be alive. We've lived our lives accordingly, haven't we?"

It's what makes a human. The wants, the desires.

A desideratum in life.

The clock still ticks, even if one stubbornly turns away from it. And at that moment, at the tick, tick, ticking thin hand of the contraption that dared to measure something as infallible as Time itself, it ticked away what should have been the last second of life for Thomas Lindstrom. He should have convulsed in the execution chair that he was strapped down to, he should have writhed in agony and foamed at the mouth, and then he too should have gone to the Nothingness that the Death Note promised for him. But instead Thomas Lindstrom sat there, confused, quite relieved, and most definitely alive.

Just the way that all of the key players in this game had already known that he would be.

-To Be Continued. . .

1. 'Cantata' - a musical piece with vocal composition (singing) and instrumental accompaniment. Compare to the earlier 'sonata' - there is a theme now of Light and L talking.

2. 'Desideratum' - something considered necessary or highly valuable, something strongly wanted. \

3. Yes, I compared the French Revolution to Death Note, let it be made clear that I'm a loser. The French Revolution (1789-1799) was one of the most grand events in history. Enlightenment philosophy (figures such as Edmund Burke, Immanuel Kant, John Locke, Jean-Jacques Rousseau, etc.) gave the middle class the confidence to demand democracy, citizenship, and inalienable rights from a King and Queen more interested in socializing with the nobles (compare the middle-class to Light Yagami). The peasants, who were more interested in staying alive and getting more food (the nobles had lavish parties when the lower-class was starving) followed along, inspired by the middle class (think Misa Amane). Eventually the monarchy was overthrown and sent to the guillotine. France became a republic... and then, inevitably, things became chaotic once again. Figures such as Robespierre and Danton aimed for more power, leading to a violent dictatorship. Anyone who publicly opposed this new government was murdered (Lind L. Taylor?).