With a gun pressed into his back, Aiber had lead Light through a corridor and down a flight of stairs. He had opened the heavy oak door into the wine cellar, large and underground and empty except for the shelves of wine bottles themselves. When Light was down on the wooden floor, the con-man immediately retrieved another pair of cuffs from the pocket of his dark slacks and tethered his ankles together.

Light struggled to a sitting position as Aiber reached into his pocket for a cigar and a lighter. "Aiber-san, this is wrong! I'm not Kira! Kira has been killing, the killings continue and I haven't touched a Death Note since I examined the evidence from Higuchi. There is no conclusive proof against me. I know you aren't a bad man, Aiber, please think logically!"

Aiber inhaled his cigar, then removed it from his mouth with one hand, blowing out a smooth trail of smoke with a poised smile. "No, Light. I'm a bad man, a very bad man. And I bet you want to kill me right now, eh?"

That was not the kind of thing that was in Light's best interest to admit. "I don't want to kill anyone, all I want to do is clear my name and live in peace."

"Live in peace? You never wanted that." Aiber knelt down in front of Light, smirking brilliantly. He put the cigar back between his lips and nonchalantly held up his lighter, flicking the switch until a flame burned silently in front of Light's nose. Immediately, Light squirmed backwards, but Aiber's free hand grabbed his shirt collar and held him at the uncomfortably short distance from the fire. "You wanted adventure and excitement, didn't you, kiddo? Let's be honest. You were bored. Not that I blame you, you and I are really in the same boat. A mediocre life is a rotten waste, so why not spice things up a little? Just look at how pretty the fire is..."

The con-man moved the flame even closer to Light's face, so close that he felt the burning heat radiate onto his skin.

"But the rule among lawbreakers is, play with fire and you might get burned. You haven't anyone to blame but yourself." Aiber's smile widened but his eyes narrowed. The burning lighter went suddenly was shoved underneath the adolescent's chin.

"Aghh!" Light yelped, tossing his head up to escape the taste of Hell searing at his skin.

Aiber chuckled then, and flicked the lighter off. "Ah, I'm not that bad of a man. And I'm not about to spoil the goods for Snyder and his lads, they were quite thrilled about receiving the first Kira alive and in one piece."

Light resisted the urge to retch as he watched Aiber stand up and casually toss the lighter into the air, and then catch it again as though it were as innocent as a baseball. He grinned at the look on the young criminal's face, and set the incendiary device on one of the shelves.

"Don't worry, if you behave yourself with me, I'll be glad to return the treatment."

He went to the heavy door, where there was a light switch. His hand traveled to it, and he smiled for the last time at Light Yagami. "So how about you have a nap? You might not get such a nice opportunity to relax again."

The lights went out, the door closed, and the cellar was completely black.

Aiber was a man of business.

It wasn't as though he needed money, or favors, or allies. He already had millions of dollars in various accounts around the world. He had a beautiful French wife, who he loved dearly, and he had two young children that attended the finest boarding school in Paris. Aiber could have retired at any moment – in fact, he could have retired years ago and still lived a life of comfort and enjoyed an abundance of wealth. He would have been safer that way, despite the enemies he had made over the years, and his family would have been safer as well.

But somewhere along the road, the people you love become expendable in favor of adrenaline's addictive quality.

And there was still a profit to be made from lying.

Tierry Morello was born to a well-off family in Marseille. He was fluent in five languages by the time he entered university, and he doubled that amount by the day he left it. On the day that he brought Light Yagami over to his estate, he knew seventeen. The number of identities that he operated under was comparable in quantity to L, and many names had retired from the playing board after charges of fraud, thievery, kidnapping, murder accomplice, and other such unfavorable reputations. Tierry knew how to contact all of the key players in the underworld, from mafia to street gang, from terrorist to politician. The world was about interactive networks, and there were few who could navigate this web with as much ease as he.

His skills and knowledge earned him not only his freedom but his continued operation on the day he was finally tracked down by L for money laundering. His alliance with L was an exchange of favors – L would withhold the irrefutable evidence against him, and Tierry would act as Aiber, expert con-man, whenever the detective needed him.

“Meet Aiber. He takes in all aspects of social interaction and becomes close to his targets. He can drastically change his personality to meet any need and can expertly manipulate human emotion,” was how he had been introduced to the NPA in Tokyo. “He's a criminal, but not the type who would make himself public and get judged by Kira. Think of him as a professional of the underworld, if you may.”

Not even he had foreseen that he would have the opportunity to meet L face-to-face.

Everything in this world had a price on it, and L was no exception. If Aiber were to actually grace a short period of time with truthful words, then he would have been forced to admit that even at that time – to a man he was in debt to – he wondered who would pay the most handsomely for L's head. But backstabbing L was pointless, because L and Watari were pegs on a circuitry that was more powerful than Interpol and the underworld combined. It was ludicrous to take a business action that would inevitably result in losses, both financially and physically. Besides, at the time, L and the underworld, and Interpol too, had similar interests. Another proverb runs, “The enemy of my enemy is my friend.”

Kira was a pain in a lot of asses. It was no mystery that the only human who could track down this vigilante god was L. Interpol and the underworld knew this fact awfully damned well.

“Monsieur Morello.” It was heavily scrambled through a microphone and software, but there was an monotonous drone in the voice that labeled it as his part-time employer. “Have you located the package?”

“I've never failed you before, have I, my friend?” Aiber chuckled. “It's all taken care of.”

“Though I hope it is in safe condition.”

“Very safe, very secure. Come meet me for brandy, monsieur, and see for yourself. Your package is neatly wrapped and ready for postage.”

This reply was immediate: “On the contrary, airmail prices are too high these days. I've always thought so.”

Aiber hesitated, not quite discerning L's reasoning, and he replied in the same cryptography. “You don't have to worry about the financial situation, it's on my credit card and consequences will only affect my bank account.”

“I appreciate the high regard you hold me in, but those services-”

Whatever L had been about to say, it was lost on Aiber, because all of the sudden a deafening blaring howled through the rooms.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP

What the...?

“Gotta go,” he hastily dismissed his phone, hanging it up and standing to make some sense of what was going on.

But the thing about humans is, sometimes they are the most extraordinary when faced with danger. The rush of adrenaline fills them like a drug, and in Light's case, his most ingenious plans were composed when he knew the stakes were high. As such, gradually his mind began to clear, and everything was objective. Factors had to be calculated like any problem on an exam. When everything became a mathematical formula, and he was passioned by the will to endure, he was nothing less than brilliance incarnate.

Tick, tick.

He was still wearing his wristwatch.

He felt it with his fingers, the still smooth and glossy surface of the glass that guarded the numbers. His most treasured possession, because a piece of the Death Note was locked safely inside this machine that charted Time. Obviously, he could not kill Aiber that way. The only name he knew to call the criminal was an alias, and even if it wasn't, the man's death at this point wouldn't emancipate him from the problem.

Actually, Light realized, his graduation present held a tool that was, at this moment, even more useful.

Fumbling with the screw from behind, he was able to open the mechanism and he pulled out the pin. It was the same pin that he had used to prick his finger and write Higuchi's name in blood would find a new purpose.

He jammed the shim into the pawl of the steel and for a few minutes he tinkered with the mechanics. Handcuffs weren't unfamiliar to him – his father was a cop, after all, and he had been aiming for the same profession since childhood. And for Kira to know how the restrictive device worked (and unworked) had never seemed like a bad idea. Eventually, he finally picked release on the ratchet of cuff on his right hand. He winced and shuddered as his veins were liberated from the crushing sensation of the metal, but wasted no time in working off the restraints on his ankles. This device he completely removed after a few minutes of tinkering with the pawl on each side. The needle-thin pin was effective against the locks, efforts retarded only slightly by Light's shaking arms.

When the task was completed, Light secured his watch back in place and stood up, immediately traveling toward where the light switch was. He swallowed, and then flipped it on to awaken the bulbs that hung from the ceiling. The door itself was locked from the outside, as he had expected, and kicking at it would be as productive as attacking a wall.

Using the sharp steel of the open handcuff still dangling from his left wrist, he sliced a strip of fabric off of his shirt.

“Make one wrong move, Light, and you could get burned,” Ryuk had told him once, more out of amusement than friendly advice. At that time, he had created a sensitive incendiary contraption right in his bedroom desk in an effort to hide the Death Note. The Shinigami was right. One stupid move and everything would go up in flames.

But as always, it was better than the death penalty. This was no different. It had always been dangerous, but if he let that scare him off, he would never be able to bring Justice to the world. He took a deep breath and made his way to the shelf across from him, where bottles of wine were neatly lined up in rows. Grasping forward, his fingertips finally touched the prize he had been looking for – the silver lighter that Aiber had taunted him with not long ago.

Make one wrong move and you could get burned.

There were a number of ways to start a fire. All it was was an oxidation process, the result being intense heat and light. Combustion was a state of being that any proper fuel could ascend to. The ironic thing about it was that alcohol was a depressant. It slowed the central nervous system by releasing the neurotransmitter gamma-aminobutyric acid (GABA). Speed of mental functioning decreases, as does physical reflex. The resulting feeling is drowsiness, relaxation, a lethargic escape from reality – whatever that was. It is an escape from the ticking clocks.

Alcohol is also highly flammable.

The cloth was stuffed tight in the throat of a tall bottle. Light clicked down the switch of the lighter, and the small flame licked against the fabric, spreading its glory once it had accepted the sacrifice. He set the bottle down on the shelf farthest from the door, by the neat little row of other bottles, all full of their deceptive elixir. Then, covering his face, running to the wall in the opposite direction, the seconds before the burning of the cloth reached the catalyst-

BOOM.

Of course, with nothing aside from the alcohol's ethanol and the built-up pressure from the corked bottles in the surrounding area, the explosion itself wasn't phenomenal. What Light was counting on was that there was alcohol everywhere in the cellar to feed the fire, that there had been a noise that could be heard from outside of the cellar and the shelves were made of wood, and therefore were now burning. Aiber's estate was rich and full of technology designed specifically to keep the thrill-seeking con-man safe – as such, smoke detectors and a fire alarm must have been a necessity.

The flames were roaring across from him, and Light used one hand to lift his shirt over his mouth as meager protection against the smoke, and he grabbed an unspoilt bottle as meager protection against whoever opened the door to investigate. Of this, he had not a doubt, because the entire equation relied on one simple, albeit rotten law of the corrupt: The world is a network of business, and one should always seek to make a profit. Light knew, with a twisted feeling in his gut, that at this point he was worth quite a bit financially to Aiber if he was alive. And somehow, as he stood in front of the door, waiting for it to open when Aiber came to investigate the status of his twelve million Euro prize – somehow, a mad grin spread across his face.

There was the sound of a key entering the keyhole, and Light braced himself by raising the bottle he was holding into the air. Aiber had to die. Merely escaping wasn't good enough, Aiber had to die.

When the door was open, Light nearly jumped when he saw not the conniving criminal but a woman. Young, attractive and wide-eyed, small-bodied and a shocked look painted on her features. Aiber's wife, maybe? It was hard to think that outlaws like that bastard actually married.

“Mon dieu!” the woman whispered, raising a delicate hand to her mouth.

“Don't scream!” Light demanded hastily, his mind racing, weighing out the factors with the consequences.

But the woman's mouth opened and her pupils dilated in her fear.

Panicked, Light did the first wretched thing that came to mind – he swung the bottle he was holding through the air and sent it shattering into her blonde hair. There was an awful crashing sound, and there was blood, that had to be blood mixed in with the pool of red wine. The body fell to the ground in a heap (no, don't say body, she's alive for God's sake, she's alive, right?), hair tangling, clothes stained, limp...

Oh, God...

The flames were dancing behind him and smoke curled in a heavy fog. His feet pattered against the stairway out of the basement and across the carpet of the corridor, running away from the fiery Hell and the woman who was definitely only unconscious on the ground.

“Ha... ha, ha...”

In his right hand, he held the remnants of the bottle by the throat, glass shards protruding into a weapon that could pierce skin. In his left hand, the handcuff dangled from his wrist and he clutched the other open cuff. The pointed steel of the open end was as good as a knife.

Aiber, I'm gonna kill you with my bare hands. I'm going to cast judgment...!

The fire alarm was shrieking in consistent, perfectly periodical blares.

“What the... Gotta go.”

Aiber stood up from the leather couch, his eyes narrowing as he hung up the phone. His first thought was that Kal Snyder had opted not to go through the bother of paying him, and instead wanted to nab Kira for free. Subsequently, the mafia chief had started a fire in Aiber's estate and was using that distraction to steal the prize. Yet that was illogical, because security alarms hadn't gone off, only the fire alarm (when he had them installed, he specifically set them to separate tones for purposes of differentiation).

That meant that the alarm had to be attributed to someone, or something from inside the estate.

Excessive paranoia was also a waste of time, he reminded himself. Most likely, Colette had burned her toast again. That had happened more than once – yet paranoia in small doses is what kept a con-man alive (and thriving, for that matter).

He exited his office and began down the stairs toward the kitchen.

Crash.

It was the noise of something shattering, he discerned. Momentarily he pictured scenarios... Colette had burned her toast and then in surprise at the fire alarm, she knocked her glass on the floor. But Colette was cool-minded, that was not like her. Yet the security alarms remained absolutely silent...

...Merde.

“Oh, you fils de chienne,” Aiber growled as he rapidly reached the unhappy realization. “Ne me fais pas avaler ça...!”

Immediately, he darted in the direction of the cellar, through the long hallway. As he did, his hand traveled to his belt, where he felt the metal of his handgun at his fingertips-

But that hand was suddenly pierced by something sharp and metal, stabbing into it.

Aiber couldn't restrain himself from gasping at the unexpected agony, and he immediately pulled the hand in retreat, noticing that the steel had been jammed right through his palm. The blood gushed out everywhere, and his gaze lingered there only for a second until he looked up to see Kira, holding a broken bottle and the open handcuff, eyes wide at the damage he had done but his lips curved as though he had every intention of doing it again.

“Come on, kiddo. Put the bottle down,” Aiber said slowly, raising his hands in defeat. “You don't know how to kill. You don't want to know how to kill.”

“Are you crazy?!” Light's eyes were red, perhaps reflecting the blood or perhaps on their own accord. “Aren't I Kira, Aiber? Isn't that why I'm here?”

Aiber hesitated. “You've won, Light. I'll let you go. Just put the bottle down and head out the door. I won't follow you.”

Light's pale face froze. Features, still, in place. Then his narrowed eyes began to widen, and along with that, his lips curved upward.

“Let me go, Aiber? Yeah?” It was a grin on his face now, a grin that was wild and feral. “And no one will follow me, huh, Aiber?”

“You have my word, I promise,” Aiber said tersely.

“Ha... ha, ha! Hahaha!” Laughter erupted out of his throat, a painful and raw sound that was nothing short of madness. “The promise of a liar!”

The con-man's face was twisted, without a lie to offer.

“You won't stop following me. No one will.”

Those who oppose God are Lucifer. And Lucifer must be damned to hell, right next to the sinners.

“Light, put it down!” Aiber hastily said. “God, you're just a kid!”

God is a child.

“Y-you'd follow me.” Light's voice was coarse and unsteady. “You're trying to kill me. It's only self-defense, that's all.”

“We'll make a deal!” he hissed out, raising his hands higher.

“Don't move!” Light shrieked, thrusting the broken bottle forward toward the man's neck threateningly. “I'm serious!”

At that moment, Aiber had cast an analysis of who and what Light Yagami was, and constructed a theory as to what act would yield the best results. His face morphed. Aiber morphed. Delicately he put on a mask of helplessness, beseeching into the reluctant teenager's eyes. “I have a wife and children. They love me...”

“Shut up!”

“Ah, you have family too, right? Money, Light. The world is about money. Twenty-five million yen could appear in your father's bank account as early as tomorrow morning. With that money, he wouldn't have to work so hard, would he, Light? He wouldn't have to waste away at work, he would be at home for you and Sayu.”

Light was shaking, but with what emotion was unknown even to him.

“I'm right, aren't I? Soichiro was always at the police station working. No time to see his own son. I can change that. I can change anything you want to be changed, Light. I can get you what you want. So why would you kill me?”

Red eyes brimmed with something holy, something divine or perhaps maniacal.

“Why would I kill you, Aiber?” came the voice, twisted and out of control. “Because you deserve to die!”

When a wretched, harsh sound ripped out of his own throat, the detached and logically-minded part of Light Yagami knew that he was ready to kill this man. He was going to slit his throat with the glass shards, and he would run to safety before the criminal had even finished bleeding in his elimination. It was wild and barbaric but he was certain that he was capable of it, after all, how was killing a man with one's own hands any different than killing him from the safety of one's bedroom? They die all the same, and death is equal...

Yet as he advanced the weapon, he hesitated, his mouth twisting and tight when he stared at Aiber in his piercing blue eyes...

At that brief moment of questioning, Aiber's undamaged hand shot forward and grabbed Light's wrist, yanking it backwards and twisting. Light snarled and swung his other hand, the one with the knife of a handcuff-

Click.

“Gentlemen, let's value sophistication,” the unmistakable drawl of Lawliet sounded. Even though it was calm almost to the point of lazy, it was a siren in the war field and everything else became hushed. “Let's not squabble as though we've only fists and not brains at our disposal.”

The first rational thought that punctured Light's brain was you son of a bitch, you deserve to die even more. Judging by the forced look on Aiber's face, he was thinking the same thing. The con-man's eyes were no longer on him but were looking behind Light to where the gangly detective was likely standing – and the clicking sound was definitely the battle cry of a handgun. He was well familiar with that ominous noise. Because he knew all of this, he did not turn around, his wrist was still caught in the criminal's hand and he did not want to risk apprehension.

Surprisingly, L opted to solve the problem of this arrangement immediately. “Aiber-san, if you would be so kind as to release Light-kun?”

But Aiber was a man who took orders from no one without payment. Light grit his teeth as the hand constricted even more tightly around his wrist. “L?” he asked incredulously. “Are you daft, monsieur? What could you possibly be thinking?”

“Oh, as always, my thoughts are strictly confidential under protection of Interpol,” L chatted casually, lifting one foot to scratch his leg. “Thanks for the support in this particular case, but I will continue to travel with Light Yagami by my side. Please lower your weapon, too.”

Seeing that Aiber had been using his wounded hand to inconspicuously draw his own gun, Light thrust his left hand in that direction. Aiber chose to let the weapon clatter to the floor, but immediately disregarded L's other command and snatched Kira's dangerous limb. He did not even glance at his hostage as he addressed the detective with a unsettlingly cordial tone. “With all due respect, monsieur, the deal is already set. I signed a contract and I have every intention of holding up my end of the bargain, by delivering Kira to a group who very much wants to meet him.”

L shook his head, raven locks of hair brushing against his forehead. “You're too accustomed to bargaining with chips that don't belong to you. I don't hold this against you, that's why you are useful to me. Yet, to do what you want to do is useless. The theory that Light Yagami is Kira is still very indeterminate.”

“Don't be a fool,” Aiber remonstrated, and as he was speaking he began forcing Light's arm's closer together with the purpose of reapplying the handcuffs. “Your word is sufficient proof to anyone on both extremes of the world.”

“Unfortunately, Aiber-san has no proof of my word,” L answered mournfully. “I know you have video cameras installed in your house, but I've disabled them for my own security. I can't publicly endorse any statement until I'm certain, and Light Yagami's guilt is only at 54 percent chance right now.”

“Salaud,” the man remarked in disbelief. “You give me Kira and take him away, you break into my house with a gun, and you insult my way of business...”

“I am what I am. I will pay you for your efforts. I should hate to lose Aiber as a partner due to miscommunication.”

Then the man chuckled, a dark sound. With a heavy push of his arms he released Light to the point of shoving him backwards. “Not at all, L. By all means, take the boy. But I hope to expect more faithfulness in future business operations.”

L smiled and lowered his handgun from Aiber and down to Light's head. “I apologize for the inconvenience.”

“Now, if you'll please pardon me. See yourself out.” The con-man clutched his bleeding hand and stalked off.

The detective leaned down and promptly grabbed Light's arm to help him to his feet as soon as Aiber was out of sight. He pulled upward, but Light flipped around, made a fist, and punched L upside the chin. L's head tossed backwards as he blinked in surprise.

“Ow... Yagami-kun!”

“You son of a bitch!” he snarled, face flushed, the curses as jagged and sharp as the shards of glass he brandished. “Even by your own standards – the lowest, wretched thing...! Did you call this investigation?! Were you gonna see if I killed that bastard like Kira would?!”

L recovered, but as he turned his head back upright, he met again with Light's fist at his mouth. The bottom lip caught against a hard tooth, and it ripped.

The detective understood the concept of 'one for one' but apparently, drawing blood crossed the line. He raised the handgun that was still in his grasp and paraded it forward with vigor into the younger man's chest, a blank expression on his pale face. At the gesture, Light lowered his hands, looking poisonous.

“We have to leave now, Light-kun,” L said, deadpan.

Light's eyes flashed a dangerous crimson as his adversary uttered the command. His jaw tightened, and he pursed his lips as in a few brief seconds his mind weighed out the situation. After a moment, the fire in his expression cooled to ice, and he shrugged, collecting the pieces of his panicked self and stacking them back into reservation.

“Aiber's calling the police right now about the fire, is that so? In Paris that gives us about five minutes to get out of here, because neither of us wants to be here for questioning.”

“Yes,” L agreed. “Which is why-”

“Which is why I'm going to Aiber's office to get my phone and wallet. He took them from me. If my identification is there, I might as well let them take me into custody when he tells them I'm Kira.”

L didn't hesitate – Light knew he wouldn't, the repercussions were quite blatantly chaos if the French police confiscated Light's things. In particular, the cell phone was a problem, because there were NPA numbers on speed dial, right next to the fake ID with the name 'Raye Misora'. The alias and the Japanese National Police Agency together was a combination just asking for foreign relations to become aggravated, not to mention Aiber's possible claim of Light being Kira. L did not want to mess up the investigation he had accomplished thus far, contrarily he worked neatly and precisely.

The brunet broke off into a run in the direction that he remembered, and like his armed bodyguard, L sprinted after. The pair swiftly flew through the hallway, silent, not even their breaths making noise under the blaring of the ceaseless fire alarm.

Aiber was there in his office, phone in hand. When he saw them, he lifted his nose and slowly lowered the receiver.

“Ah... where did you put it?” Light asked, eyes darting around the room until they landed right on Aiber's desk. Carelessly he strode forward while L waited in the door frame, making the handgun visible. His emotions were contained on a neutral as he shoved his wallet back into his pocket after opening it briefly and checking for contents. Then his phone – he also opened this briefly as though he were checking for missed calls.

“We're seeing ourselves out now, Light-kun,” L annunciated sternly from behind.

Still facing Aiber, Light risked the smallest of smirks. The man saw it but said nothing, he simply watched as the two men turned to go.

“And adieu,” Aiber called as they made their way into the hallway, bitter resentment staining his well-spoken French.

Light clutched his phone as he and L very shamelessly ran through the grand estate, now holding their breaths from the smoke in the atmosphere. The building was burning, and as they ran through the night streets they hid their faces from any unwanted witnesses. The handcuff was still dangling off of Light's wrist like a picture-book convict, yet removing it would have to wait. If he opened his watch to retrieve the metal pin that he had used to pick the cuffs last time, L would see the piece of Death Note hidden away. Like fire, the double-edged sword offered to yield both salvation and downfall, and if Light wasn't careful, he would get burned.

Which didn't explain why it... didn't.

Mathematics and neuroscience were not enough on that day, weeks ago, when the question of humanity infected L's mind. Chemical reactions in the brain were not a satisfactory explanation as to what on earth emotion was. And numbers would not tell L what it meant to be alive, they only assured him that such a thing as 'life' was present. Before, embracing logic had been enough, it advised him to optimum strategy. The ability to keep impartial had made him the greatest detective in the world.

Subsequently, the decision to detain a suspect who was tailing him, waiting for the opportunity to move in for the murder, had been more than warranted. Especially since he was going to the place that had to remain strictly confidential... Wammy's House. A simple orphanage on the outside, and a haven for the most brilliant children in the world on the inside. No one could know about its association with L or Watari, and it was common sense that a prime mass murder suspect should never be exposed to such an institution.

Aiber was the most rational choice. If L had chosen any branch of the law, there would be Interpol to deal with. The con-man may not be trustworthy but L was fully capable of controlling him, bribery and blackmail were options that kept most of his underworld employees in line.

And yet, when the moment came down to it - it was suddenly more distressing to leave Light behind.

“I need something,” Light said in a detached tone as he locked the hotel door, examining the cuff that was still encircling his wrist. “A pin.”

“How did you get the other one off?” L asked with mild curiously as picked up the glass next to the sink and filled it to the brim with ice water. With expert balance, he made his way across the room toward the coffee maker that was plugged in and ready for service.

“It wasn't properly secured.”

“Ah...” the detective murmured. “How lucky.”

Again, they were quiet as Light went through his bag, a dangerously calm look etched on his angular face, looking for something to pick the lock. L opened the upper chamber of the machine and poured in the water, pressing the red button heat it up. Then he quite unabashedly turned to his younger companion and watched him, thumb pressed against his lower lip as Light searched in vain for something useful.

Finally, Light could take it no more. His face snapped upward and met L's gaze for glare.

“So what did you accomplish, L?”

The detective chose that moment to shift his attentions back to the coffee and ripped open the packet of coffee grounds, holding it delicately with two fingers and pouring the contents into the filter. “Waste all your time being mad, and you'll never see anything objectively.”

“Are you saying I shouldn't be mad?”

“Yes.” When Light's face darkened all the more, L innocently annotated, “From the day when you called Aiber back in Tokyo, he's been making plans to apprehend you. It shouldn't be a surprise to you, any seasoned con artist would be interested. We would have to confront this eventually. He was one of the reasons I had you use a false identification in the first place.”

“Is that so?” Light lashed out, striding forward. “What exactly did you accomplish? It wasn't about appeasing Aiber or making a statement to him. You were specifically trying to scare me, weren't you?”

“Did you deduce that? Why would I?”

“Because-” I'm Kira. “-you think I'm Kira. If that were true, you would assume that I've never actually faced immediate danger before and upon being confronted with it for the first time, I might lose my nerve and favor my life over my idealism.”

“If that were true, would you have you lost your nerve?”

Light 's eyes only narrowed into catlike slits. “If that were true, my convictions would have only hardened. If I am Kira I would be more resolved to judge criminals.”

“Then if you are Kira, you are doomed.”

L let his voice sigh with sadness, and a silence, thick as fog, filled the room. The only sound was the coffee machine, which was almost a haunting outlet to concentrate his own dull feelings. It began to whirr and growl passively. And Light simply stared at him with almond-shaped eyes that lacked comprehension and self reflection, which should have been assumed by the brightest student in Japan. The anger was there, burning golden in rich earthy irises, a fury pointedly narrowed down on L as if the fallacy of Kira was entirely his fault. A hasty assumption, as black and unforgiving as his pupils that L was the single obstacle that stood in opposition to his soaring ideals.

“Bang.”

The detective curled his fingers into the shape of a gun, pointed it at Light's chest and jerked it upward, as though his hand had been misplaced from the heavy launching of a speeding bullet.

The adolescent's anger was no longer restrained, he let it free with a snarl. “What the-”

“You're dead now, Light Yagami,” L stated.

“Do you amuse yourself?” Light sneered icily. “Is the only source of entertainment your sadistic voyeurism, where you get to watch on cameras when other people suffer because of your twisted investigations?”

“Do you amuse yourself?” L countered. “Is your only source of entertainment your masochistic crusades, where your actions lead to the conclusion that you're begging to die, since you so often stick your face deliberately before the metaphorical gun?”

“No, I don't want to die,” came the genuinely furious answer. “Do not confuse your desires with mine. I never had any pressing dream to be tortured until death by the mafia, that was entirely your plan!”

“Who would you sooner be tortured by? The government?”

“You fucking bastard.”

Light was usually well-mannered and conducted his behavior with discipline, so at the shamelessly crude language, L lowered his eyebrows into a darkened frown. “Do not blame me for the fact that you have enemies.”

“Why the hell shouldn't I?”

L did not have an instant response – he was passive by nature and not prone to extended arguments. The coffee machine was growling, and the agitated sound was assimilated into the back of L's throat. Words were beyond him – because they were beyond Light, who only saw his own reasoning which was retarded by his own childish immaturity. Children lacked the mental capacity to understand a lecture, it was instead simply a matter of obeying and disobeying. At this moment, Light spoke a single language, and L had every intention of accommodating.

Besides, he had eye-for-an-eye justice to collect, for being kicked in the face earlier.

He bounded forward, and before Light could even react, he let his fist fly. It rocketed forward and made contact with a crash into the adolescent's jaw.

The youth let out a grunt of pain but countered quickly by swinging his own fist into L's cheek, snapping his head to the side. The other fist, still dangling with a handcuff, hit right into the detective's stomach.

The blows caused L's body to spin to the side, and he took full advantage of that momentum by turning the full circle. His leg lifted as he came back around, knee lurching upward all the way until his foot was in the air. The heel of his foot soared through the air and slammed on the side of the brunet's head in a backspin kick.

“Nngh!” Light spared a brief half-second to recover before sending up his left fist above L's neck, twisting his body and positioning it for a more powerful uppercut.

L was fairly sure that no teeth had been knocked loose, but he tasted blood freely in his mouth now, from his gums, his lips or where ever. The metallic sensation on his tongue was almost sweet, and he found himself smiling. Ah – the end blade on the cuff had nicked his lower cheek, but sliced deeply enough so that blood also began to trickle down his neck.

“If you had any human decency, then the least you could do is apologize,” Light quipped. His left fist was raised again, apparently he recognized the very real threat of the sharp open-end of the handcuff and was very much not viewing this as a friendly wrestling match.

L also recognized the very real threat of the handcuff.

He coiled his back and turned, dropping his upper body onto the floor. His palms met with the carpet, and he loaded his weight, all of it, onto his two hands. For a split second, his legs were in the air, and then boom, he exploded. Both of his feet erupted in an upward diagonal and met with Light's chest. The smashing blow knocked Light's weight up and sent him crumpling backwards onto the bed right behind him – the bed they had fought over.

The recovery rate this time was much slower. Slow enough for L to pounce deftly onto the bed and land on Light's stomach, grab his wrists and yank them upward.

“Get off!” he raged, bucking up his hips violently to dislodge his adversary's weight.

L leaned his weight forward, focusing on keeping the murderer's shoulder's pinned to the mattress than the waist. He stretched Light's arms up to the point of where they could not bend, and then he slid his right hand up on the left wrist, favoring to seize it by the connecting cuff instead. The thing had dried blood on it, L could feel under his fingertips, the blood of both Aiber and himself. It only seemed appropriate that when L slid the chain through one of the metal bars on the headboard, that the blood be met with Light's other pale wrist as he clipped the cuff there.

“Thanks, you idiot,” Light snarled. “You'd better find me a god damned pin right now. This is-”

Settling back on the adolescent's stomach, L interrupted with a darkness in his voice. “Now are you amused, Kira? This is perhaps what it feels like to be arrested?”

“You say that, except you're the one who wants Light Yagami in handcuffs more than anyone,” Light controverted icily. “And after that, the lethal injection. That is of course only expanding upon a very shaky hypothesis that L would be so law-abiding. He might prefer to contact his friends in the criminal underworld-”

“Yagami-kun.”

The denial was a soft and brief, but L spoke it so firmly that Light stopped immediately to look at him through eyes laced with hatred.

L growled, grabbing the collar of Light's ripped and dirtied shirt. They locked eyes, onyx and amber, and very clearly he construed, “If you are Kira, and if I'm the one to capture you... you can rest assured that I will submit you to the authority of Interpol, not the revenge of the mafia. The irony in the latter does not amuse me, my brand of justice is not poetic but lawful.”

No, L was far from that kind of idealist – to the point of where such a notion was something that revolted him. Light's lips were parted and his eyelids had widened, pupils beginning to dilate.

L released the cloth and sat up, though his back was still hunched. “Anyway, I wasn't planning on taking you further than France. I'm going somewhere very secret next – the place I was raised once Watari found me, and you are still a Kira suspect. So I arranged for Aiber to keep an eye on you when I came to Paris. I deduced that he might try something behind my back, but the man is in my total control. However, I've found that you're more useful when you're in my eyesight, so I retracted the original plan.”

Light parted his lips, and then tightened them again. He stared, he blinked.

“That's the truth, Light-kun,” L said, somewhat defensively. “I don't often tell it, so I hate that you're giving me a look like you don't believe me on the occasion that I do. If I were going to lie, I would have told you something about how letting Aiber temporarily incarcerate you was for the greater good. I'm a pretty good liar.”

“Says the liar.”

“Huh...” Language was an interesting thing.

The youth was twisting this in his mind. “You wouldn't change your mind without a motive, and I know you don't trust anyone. Especially not me.”

“Yes,” L shrugged, lazily tilting his head. His eyes trailed aimlessly across the floor until they hit the glass window, and the lights of Paris outside.

“You're selfish, too.”

“I always did prefer to get what I wanted.”

“So as long as you're having a moment of honesty, why not just say you're still waiting for me to slip up until I'm at 100 percent guilt? You want to defeat Kira and you won't be satisfied with anything less.”

“I like being with Light-kun the best.” L smiled. “That's my conclusion.”

Light watched him silently with a look that was some hybrid of being uncomfortable and condescending. Then he glowered and inclined his head upward, frowning at the handcuff situation. He experimentally pulled at his arms, only succeeding in brightening the red rings of skin irritation around his wrists.

“So be a friend, and let me go.”

L gazed at him curiously. The free hand melted from its gun shape and lowered until it landed deftly, knuckles bent, on Light's collarbone. Light quirked an eyebrow as the hand almost gently slid upward until it was on his neck, absorbing vibrations every time Light breathed.

“It unsettles me that I stopped caring,” L admitted slowly, leaning his face closer toward Light's as though he were examining it like a piece of evidence. “The investigation is still in my head but I've discerned that it's merely habitual. This was what I wanted the most... is this what is feels like to have captured Kira?”

L rested a hand on the mattress by Light's head, and shifting his weight upward he lowered his face. The fingertips of his other hand brushed delicately against his forehead, clearing the adolescent's narrowed eyes of loose strands of uncombed chestnut hair. The hand swept aside and stopped on the side of Light's cheek. At this moment, the detective paused and studied his suspect, all golden-skinned and soft, an inherent immaturity that sharply contrasted with his grim, cool expression. Acting entirely on impulse, L lowered his mouth to the side of Light's lips, kissing at the warm skin.

There was no telling what exactly he was thinking, but in brisk response, Light turned to confront L face-to-face, and when their lips lined up, he immediately latched on. Light pulled his legs free of L's body and lifted his knees. He lifted his ankles and wrapped them around L's lower back, trying to force his body close into a fuller kiss. When L pressed his lips closer, Light seized the opportunity to lurch upward, and his tongue immersed into the older man's mouth with all the impudence that made up Kira.

L didn't close his eyes. Neither did Light. For a few seconds they stayed like that, glaring.

Then L retreated, breaking the kiss and earning an angry look form the brunet. There was blood on Light's lips, ruby beads that had fallen from the detective's wounds. It glistened in the dark room, and L frowned.

“Are you done now?” the young criminal taunted in a bored tone. “Interrogation somehow disappoints me.”

Slightly, L shook his head. He moved his knees to the mattress in between Light's legs and wrapped his arms around his thighs.

“No, Light-kun,” L murmured. “The next part is torture.”

“Torture?” he scoffed, craning his neck and lifting his head off of the pillow. He let out a small, reserved chuckle as though the notion did not bother him in the least. “How uncouth, Lawliet.”

Taking his time, the detective lazily used his hands to unclasp the buckle of his companion's belt. Say what he will, L felt Light squirm slightly in the anticipation. "The thing about torture, Light-kun, is that it's a parasite upon the mind. It eats away at rationality and logic, until there is nothing left but longing. It's the kind of longing you do not want, if you're trying to resist - you long for the agony to stop."

“Ha, ha!” Light laughed loudly as though he were unconcerned, but he was beyond uncomfortable and was very much trying to shift his body to the most strategic angle to knock L off of him.

L, who was still positioned on Light's knees, lowered his face to the boy's torso. His tongue met softly with the skin by Light's navel, working his way down. This movement made Light shudder violently, biting his lip as that tongue got closer to the waist of the boxers. When L reached this barrier, he used a hand to free his adversary's manhood underneath the elastic waistband. He held it by the length, squeezing slightly and running his thumb up toward the tip. Then he stopped and gazed up with wide-eyes at Light. “What do you think? Do you want me to stop yet?”

“I want you to stop toying around!” The command sounded more like an shriek uncharacteristic of the reserved boy, who flushed deeply when the words met the atmosphere.

Stop toying around.

As if a relationship between liars could be anything else – except maybe, at these heated times, that's exactly what it was. This kind of honesty, shrouded in these kinds of games. It was the kind of life that murderers and detectives had to lead, manipulating with the caliber of experts because nothing less was good enough if you wanted to succeed. And surely, success was the best way to be certain that one was more than just a functioning organism – perhaps that was why the bored go to such great lengths for an ultimately irrelevant victory. L realized, as he lowered his lips to the warm member, that he really didn't know what was what anymore.

Except that in his own groin, a heat had begun to spread.

Light spasmed sharply as L's tongue tightened around him, combined with the long fingers ceaselessly fondling. L could hear him pull furiously at the handcuffs, and felt his legs move, trying again to wrap tightly around L's back to bring him closer. He was hardening, and L pulled his face back, instead using both hands to tighten and stroke.

“I do not like what I don't understand,” L said quietly as he watched Light grimace, nearing orgasm. “I am inferring that these things, too, are a case that L is meant to solve.”

“I-I don't have any answers for you,” Light hissed out.

Sweat was trickling down the adolescent's flushed face, and the blood droplets were still there, forgotten about or pointedly ignored. L could see Light struggling, his eyes crushed closed and his lips tight, as though he were truly fighting to keep his mouth closed against torture.

Again, L felt a fire in himself, something wonderful and terrible but more than anything, words and questions were suddenly meaningless. The philosophical pondering that he despised, which filled his mind like a curse were swept away in one simple, human feeling.

One of his hands parted from Light's manhood and traveled around his pelvis, pulling down the boxers all together. His fingers slid underneath the adolescent, wanting something that his rationality wasn't there to complain against.

“Light-kun...”

“Just do it.”

Then, sensibility was gone. He worked his fingers gently, as gently as he could into his companion, but with a driving passion that was cryptic and and straightforward all at the same time. The human body – he knew it like he knew everything else, he felt it, and when the moment was ready he thrust himself into the only person left in the world that he really gave a damn about.

The only person...

The heat was incredible, so much that his normally steady breath came out in ragged shudders. His hand dug fingernails into Light's hipbone, angling it precisely, while the other hand continued to give to Light. Two bodies who never claimed to have anything in common were pulsing together rhythmically, together in perfectly harmonizing irony. It was overwhelming, what he suddenly felt, it was beyond words and beyond names, beyond Justice and beyond Time.

(Even if a meek voice in his head whispered that it wasn't really, this was only one brief moment of escape, this would never be eternity.)

“Ahh..!”

“Nnngh!”

It came like mercy, a white eruption of the indescribable. L's head inclined upward toward the heavens as their bodies found release they so desperately yearned for. There was the moment when now everything was golden and brilliant, complex and brilliant and no mathematical formula would ever be able to explain why, perhaps no philosopher either.

A dazed exhaustion filled L as he pulled out of Light, feeling weak in his knees. He pressed his hands against the mattress for balance, and then even that was too much. His eyes tried to focus on Light's face for a moment, at the sweaty hair that was once again in his almond eyes, and then he lowered himself on top of Light, resting his head on the panting chest.

He could hear a heartbeat.

The simple pounding was a lullaby to his ears. L's body, always tense and always thinking, was suddenly able to relax by Light's breathing. He rested there, not wanting to revert back to reality, not just yet.

Of course, it was Light who broke it.

“Now will you give me a hand with these cuffs? Oh - also, your coffee is overflowing.”

Perhaps he should have been angry right then, but any kind of frustration had temporarily dissipated. Actually, he was quite satisfied and even pleased with himself.

For more reasons than one.

Only in the safety of the sound of the running water and behind the locked door did he retrieve his cell phone, clicking it onto a silent mode as he opened it to see the glow of the screen. Scrolling through the photo gallery, he opened the picture of Aiber that he had stolen upon taking back his cell phone at the con man's estate, and opened a menu of options until he had attached it to a text message. Misa's number was briskly punched in, and with as much calm as a monk in meditation, Light typed a quick message:

REM

I hope you know this man?

The command was coded only to safeguard from the off-chance that Misa's phone was no longer in her hands. It was Aiber's death sentence under banner of the name of the Shinigami who had dared to let personal feelings cloud her better judgment. It was Justice at its finest, it was the most refined kind of righteousness. This example could be a warning to all other criminals who thought that they were safe, hiding in the shadows.

Light chuckled quietly under his breath as he proceeded to delete the phone's message history and photo gallery, and he stepped into the hot water, wet chestnut hair clumping on his forehead. It would have been stupid, he assured himself, to kill Aiber then and there. The Death Note made the job much more efficient and cleaner, harder to track.

This was practically on purpose.

And now everyone would know just how enduring Kira would be.

When he was clean, he dried himself off and slipped on a clean pair of boxers. He exited the bathroom to see L hunched over in a crouch on the bed, typing on his laptop and drinking the salvaged coffee from a mug. Light lay down quietly in the covers next to him, now more or less exhausted. Hugging the blankets to himself, he listened absentmindedly to the sound of plucking keys.

Before he fell asleep, something crossed his mind.

“Lawliet,” Light started, breaking through the silence.

“Hm?”

“Where did you get the gun from?”

“What do you mean?” L asked, seemingly surprised. He looked at Light curiously. “I've had it the whole time.”

“You...what?” Light turned to stare at him. “That's the same one from Tokyo..! How did you get it passed airport security?!”

L blinked as if he could not remember, then simply said, “I think you should go to sleep. Our plane to London leaves at 7:45 AM. And yes, Light-kun – I mean tomorrow.”

-To Be Continued. . .

1. What a flashy chapter. Fire, action, arguments and handcuff!sex. Writing is very fun.

2. French dictionary:
merde: shit
fils de chienne: son of a bitch
Ne me fais pas avaler ça: don't give me this crap
mon deiu: my God.
salaud: bastard

3. Also, I'd like to thank trustthehypocrite for making an awesome comic embodiment of Desideratum's chapter... something-or-other, the one when L kisses Light. XD Check it out in this link: http://distilledmymind.deviantart.com/art/Death-Note-Desideratum-pg-1-67525548