"Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing."
Shakespeare, Macbeth

L hunched over his computer, which was sprawled on the table with a mess of wires, equipment, confidential police files and strawberry cheesecake, basked only in the clicking sound of pressed keys and the ringing of Greensleaves on the piano absorbed through the wall from down the hallway. This wasn't the first real case that he had been assigned to on his own, in fact, for the passed few months Wammy had been arranging them for the prodigy exclusively. It was obvious among the orphans who had won the race – actually, it had always been obvious to everyone except perhaps Beyond Birthday, who had been unusually silent and isolated over this period. L himself honestly did not mind, but was also not surprised when the second-best finally entered the quiet, dark room, silently shutting the door behind him.

“I killed a squirrel, L.”

He supposed that this was B's way of saying 'hello'. The boy was like a cat, L thought dryly, killing small animals, ripping them to shreds and then bragging about it later. Roger never caught B doing this and assumed that the bloodied animal carcasses were the work of a fox. As for L, he assumed that there was a 97 percent chance that the younger orphan was only doing this to get attention, and to give him the said attention would only encourage him. However, at the gruesome thought, he couldn't help but say,

“Why would you do such a thing, Ryuuzaki?”

Stepping very quietly, B pulled up the spare chair and sat next to L, his chin resting on his palms.“To see what would happen. You could call it science. Dissection.”

L sighed, looking up from the file he was reading and gazing levelly at his parasite. “...That kind of behavior will decrease your chances of being chosen for the job that I know you want.”

“Ah, ha, haha... who cares?” the youth asked crassly, reaching forward to the china plate that held the last bit of the cheesecake, and plucking it without utensils from the dish and into his mouth. He spoke with his mouth full. “Killing squirrels isn't illegal.”

“It is cruel. It is evil.”

It was a rare occasion that this youth ever sounded angry, but for a moment it was released. “What do you know?”

“More than you, evidently.”

He closed his mouth, quiet again for a moment. L saw him swallow before he opened it again. “...Yes, it's so, isn't it? After all, I'm only 'B'. I know what 'B' actually stands for.”

A pause.

L looked away and back to his computer screen. “It stands for your name. Your real one.”

“It stands for Backup.”

The words were cold, freezing everything that touched the zephyr of breath. The anger and the hurt rang across the dark room with the haunting vibration of a gong. L felt it, this intangible but pained force pressing against his own chest, and though he stared at the screen the text suddenly seemed foreign to him.

“So I won't be the best detective,” B continued, calm again, as if he had never been upset in the first place. “I will never be better than you like this.”

“Ryuuzaki,” L said slowly, the alias of the younger coming out in a firm tone. “It is useless to look at it in those terms. If you want to be a detective, no one is stopping you. You are very smart, and I'm certain that finding an employer will not be difficult.”

“It's not about being a detective!” B said, standing up suddenly and kicking the chair back from behind. He pounced forward, turning L's swivel chair around and grabbing his shirt, pulling him upward. The knuckles were so tight that they were white, and the face that looked like a mirror image of L from a distance looked completely different close up. “What I want is...”

L was still, not reacting right away as B held him. Instead he watched his doppelganger's face, struggle with emotion while fighting to keep still and passive like his host did. B's eyes glinted a crimson color, and his pale lips parted, mouth working slightly as he seemed too overcome with a thousand words to pick the best in a sentence. Finally, L wrapped his own hands around B's, gently unwinding them from himself.

“I'm leaving, you know,” B declared then, releasing L. “I've packed a bag and I'm going away. I'm going wherever I want to go.”

A ragged thumbnail found its way into L's mouth, and he bit at it. “You're only sixteen.”

“Yes,” B smirked. “Are you going to try to stop me?”

“..No.”

He knew that this was not what B wanted to hear, but it was exactly what he wanted to say. B nodded shortly, shoving his entire thumb into his mouth in an effort to mimic L. Let it gag him, he thought moodily.

“Good,” B then declared. “Because I wouldn't have listened anyway.”

“Then it's good for me, that I didn't waste my time.”

The computer behind him began to whirr, and L turned back to check the new e-mail message. There was a long wait to be had with dial-up Internet connection, and as the new information was slowly animating, he was forced to look behind at the youth again, who still lingered.

“Then...” B finally said. “I'm going.”

“Okay.”

“...Are you going to ...say good-bye?”

“Good-bye, Ryuuzaki.”

B looked kicked at this careless tone, his eyes widened and then they narrowed. For a moment, in the glow of the computer monitor, he looked murderous and L automatically flexed his muscles in case B was looking to pick a fight. However, this was another area in which L surpassed the Backup, and though a wrestling match here and now would have been annoying, they both were already aware of what the result would be.

But nonetheless, B stepped forward, shaky hands raising. This time, the red in his eyes was not from peculiar iris color, but from the stinging rings of tears. This did surprise L, for though B had an unruly tendency to show emotion off and on, one thing he had never done was cried. But his voice was dangerously steady as he announced,

“One day, Lawliet, I will beat you. I will be the best, and everyone will notice me...!”

The hands shot forward, wrapping tightly around L's neck. L startled, positioning his knees to kick him away while he tried to pry off the hands with his fingers. B, however, leaned his entire body weight forward, between L's legs – chest against chest, waist against waist, nose against nose. Again, L saw that haunting face up close, the Asian ethnicity, the hair that was a shade darker than his own. The tears that had begun to fall, from fury or sadness or frustration, who but B would ever know?

And then B's lips were against his own, pressing forward with what felt to L like raw hatred. His movements caught L unguarded and he couldn't fight the tongue that like a needle shot like poison into his own mouth, perhaps in a different consistency but with a equivalent purpose. B was aggressive, moving L's head with his thin fingers to bite into him. L did not struggle, he did not respond, but in his mind he felt that the boy was desperately trying to suck a victory out of the challenge that had evaded him for so long, that had left him in the shadows.

When L felt blood begin to bead from his lower lip, which was pierced by teeth, he tightened his fist. It plummeted with a crash into B's unguarded stomach, throwing him back and causing him to break his kiss. B backed up, panting as he wiped loose saliva from his lips with the back of his hand.

“I do not have time to play games with you, Beyond,” L said at last, purposefully hardening his tone. He held up his case file, dangling it between a thumb and a forefinger, shoved closely to the face of the other. “If you seek enlightenment, then look at what I'm doing. Two masked men with guns entered a children's nursery. They asked for ransom, killing three youths immediately to invoke the element of urgency. Then they fled the scene, and escaped pursuit. Now I am trying to find these murderers and bring them to justice.”

B didn't answer. He stared.

“You come to me with concerns of overcoming me and taking this position, yet I believe that you could not care less about what it is I'm doing right now, or why. You have your eyes set on one thing, and that is acknowledgment. If that is all you have to say, I don't care. Quit wasting my time and leave.”

B obeyed, for once in his life, probably for L's blatant honesty. He turned and walked to the door, his steps silent against the carpet. His hand turned the doorknob and he opened it, sending a stream of light flashing into the dark room, and he stood in silhouette. L also turned back to his computer screen, suppressing the shiver that was vibrating in his spinal cord.

“I wanted to be you...” The words weren't much louder than a whisper. L's keen ears picked up on the sound anyway, though he pretended to ignore again – after all, everyone at Wammy's House knew that already, even the smallest children. Then the door closed, dismissing both light and B until L was empty and alone again.

For a long time, he sat still. He stared at what was in front of him without being able to read it. The problems were impossible to solve because suddenly he was filled with a feeling he could not define. That was the last time he would ever see Beyond Birthday in the flesh, but the madness of B was still in his mouth. He could taste it, and when he swallowed it submerged inside of him. L could, perhaps, ignore it forever, but parasites are never gone until extermination.

What he hadn't thought about that day was that B also had the taste of L passed his own lips, and that to him it was also a disease which he would never forget.

“Nothing is more gratifying to the mind of man than power or dominance.” -Joseph Addison

The buzzing of world news on the television screen lurked into L's ears with the itchy feeling of ants crawling on skin. Flashes of news reporters entered his brain from the furthermost corners of his eyes. Though he had been watching passively while he sat in the middle of his fortress of computers, actively using three of the twenty, he was primarily focused on the sound of Light's footsteps coming toward him, and the sight of his forcefully blank face that made the adolescent seem even more grim than if he simply showed his emotion honestly.

Of course, it wasn't like Light Yagami to do anything honestly.

“Light-kun,” L announced, paging through a stack of files that marked the purpose of his summoning the prisoner. “This is a rape-murder that was just reported yesterday, involving three victims from the Las Vegas area of Nevada.”

“Three victims? What, they were all found at the same time?”

“Do not interrupt me. No. The bodies of Haily Newman and Kristen Robancho were a year ago and five months ago respectively, but the newest body, Stephanie Dommer, was discovered by police just yesterday morning. The first two were initially treated as unrelated murders, however, considering that all three bodies share a similar profile and method of murder, we are now looking at a serial killer.”

L handed a manila folder of papers that had been faxed over to Light, who curled his arms upward at the elbows to carry them – the best he could do out here with his wrists chained. His lips curled slightly as he accepted the package in a way that was difficult to interpret. A smirk, a false half-smile, or perhaps simple acknowledgment that was habitual courtesy stemming from the way that he was raised. It was his eyes that were more revealing: a frozen-earth cold kind of brown, eyeballs reflecting too perfectly the wintry white snow from outside the window.

This masked agitation wasn't new, actually Light had been particularly edgy for days now. Before, his attitude was generally a calm and almost lazy caricature, as though he was completely apathetic to the situation and accepted it as the best he was going to get after his mass murdering enterprise. Now lately, Light had reverted back to frigid moodiness, ever since the time that they had played draughts. Even without being the best detective in the world, L could deduce that it wasn't just the fact that he had lost. He had been offended, and not being in a position to complain, was resorting to speaking only when he had something snide to say and scowling.

L was aware that it only made about 5 percent sense to purposefully heckle the brunette (the five percent was the satisfaction that he got out of it, next to the 95 percent that was making things unnecessarily heated between them.) Then there was the fact that when Light was around...

“Those files have the police's list of suspects to date, as well as additional lists of the people closest to each victim and the ones that they had contact with in the weeks before their deaths. What you'll be looking for is common ground, some kind of connection between all three.”

Light looked bored. “Obviously. Is that all?”

The teenager had the unfortunate ability to radiate everything in his soul that he wanted made known to the world, as though he were some divine being shining on a pedestal. Therefore, L felt as though he was absorbing Light's bad mood, and felt irritation in turn with the young criminal. The problem was that even after these months of confinement, he refused to genuinely submit to L's authority, though he pretended to, and the result was two alpha wolves stalking around the same territory.

Incidentally, some of the irritation that Light was bringing out in him came from his own self.

“That is all.” L proceeded to revert his attention back to his own work, but in another burst of cataclysm he knew that he wouldn't be able to focus until he heard Light's footsteps exit into the hallway. He waited, counting, but the sound of dismissal was lacking, and finally he turned back to see Light still standing there.

Not that Light was looking at him. His frosty irises were snapped elsewhere, landing sharply on the television screen where the news program was still playing, and in his slender fingers he had found the remote control. The slab of black plastic and buttons pointed at the machine, increasing the volume until it was ringing in L's ears.

“Where is Kira?” the well-dressed announcer asked in brisk, professional tone, holding her microphone like schoolchildren hold flashlights when telling ghost stories. “This question has been haunting the world for months, with victim rate decreasing into the level that researchers are branding as 'normal'. The mystery of who and what exactly Kira was raises further inquiries-”

“Leave it, Yagami-kun,” L commanded. “You have work to do.”

But Light did not move, not because he did not notice L. He seemed even more enchanted after what was apparently only L's request than before.

“There has been no public statement from Interpol nor the detective known only as 'L' about resolution to the case. All that we know is that the person – or thing – dubbed the Supernatural Killer has ceased in activity. Around the world there have been crowds of protesters, both supporting and against Kira, to almost uncontrollable lengths. Today I am here in Japan, where last year L made an announcement via television the original Kira resides.”

Light exhaled quietly, studying the screen with a ferocious intensity.

“You know, I didn't expect you to actually fall for that one,” L commented carelessly, chewing on a fingernail. “I did already analyze Kira as someone incredibly immature, but you played along more perfectly than I had hoped for.”

“Shut up,” Light snapped, throwing him a cutting glare before turning back.

“You killed Lind L. Taylor so quickly,” L taunted, remembering the script he had written for the death row criminal to read while posing under his alias. “How... evil.”

“He said he was going to go after me. That was only self-defense. I never condoned killing anyone because they disagreed with me, so quit trying to make me out as the bad guy here.”

“But Yagami-kun is the bad guy.”

“You never had any problem with letting him speak in the first place!” Light hissed. “If you knew he was going to die then it's your fault as much as mine.”

“I have with me Mikami Teru, a graduating law student and member of a pro-Kira group centered here in Tokyo.” Next to the reporter was a young, dark-haired man with black framed glasses and a business suit. “Mr. Teru, what is it about Kira that you are drawn to?”

“The pure execution of justice,” the man answered briskly, straightening his tie. “Kira is successfully accomplishing what the government has failed, and that's to protect the innocent and punish the wicked. When we look at the decreased crime rate, this isn't even an argument, it is a fact.”

“Mr. Teru, I find it ironic that you are such an avid supporter of vigilante justice when you are a law student.”

“It should not be ironic. Kira is not opposing the law, he is encouraging it by sentencing those who break it where our law enforcement has been lax. I value order, Ms. Kensington, and that is what Kira offers.”

“What about the chance that some alleged criminals are, in fact, innocent? Or the chance at redemption?”

“I do not believe that Kira has made any mistakes in his judgments.”

“Kira's groupies are as cruel as he is,” L decided coolly, turning around fully to gaze at Light through his own darkened eyes. “Look at what you've done to the world.”

Light murmured, repeating softly. “Look what I've done.” Then he chuckled under his breath, something that sounded like jagged ice where frost lingered instead of humor. “So people haven't forgotten so quickly.”

The detective rested his hands on his knees, speaking in an identical dangerously soft tone. “No, the terrorist who held the world ransom will be fresh in everyone's memory for awhile yet.”

“The people out there, Kira challenged a revolution into their hearts,” Light said steadily, pointing behind at the television with a long finger. “These people have dared to think outside of what is social conformity and look somewhere where a truer answer to their troubles might lie.”

“There are reasons why these things have become socially conformed. Your conscience has been retarded by years of arrogance, and evidently you've lost the ability to discern this.”

“There are reasons why these people worship me!”

At that moment, L's cynicism overtook his patience and he stood up. If he had indeed been an alpha male wolf his fangs would have been bared, but as it was he crunched his teeth down on the lollipop he had been sucking on. “Do you still think you're a god? All you are is a teenage schoolboy in handcuffs. You are a mortal who will only find freedom in his own death.”

Light's glare was like hot irons, burning through not only the ice of his expression but the overlying aura of winter. “Sure, you got me, L. But Kira is something that not even you could lock up. Look at that!”

“Ah, your loyal followers,” he shrugged in return. “They will forget about you the moment more exciting news comes along, such is the attention span of the world. After all, Kira is dead, who will be there to redeem their faith?”

L knew that his words must have stung Light by suggesting that the 'righteous' cause he had thrown his life away for was ultimately a waste of time. As such, the teenager's face shifted from anger to raw frustration. His fists were clenched, and if he hadn't had his hands full of papers L concluded that there was a forty percent chance that he might have, at this moment, punched him. “What the hell do you know, you egotistic-”

“Mr. Yagami.”

Watari stood in the doorway, his withered voice booming above the ruckus and reducing the two young men to surprised silence. The old man strode forward, grabbing Light's arm and turning him toward himself.

“You are to conduct your behavior with the utmost humility and respect. I do not want to witness any more impudent remarks out of you, or God help me.”

The sentence ended there with an open-ended threat, and L couldn't help but recognize the twisted feeling in his stomach that Watari's reprimands were definitely not going to improve Light's callous mood. As expected, the teenager's heated fury cooled into arctic hatred as he nodded.

“Enough of this nonsense,” Watari went on, seizing the remote and turning off the television. “You are going back to work.”

With that, Light was pulled toward the door. The proud youth would have none of that, though, and he jerked ahead of the old man and stomped away quite willingly to his room. This was a teenage temper tantrum at its finest.

L exhaled the stale breath he had been holding and turned his gaze toward Monitor 17. Though his nerves were still calming, he was drawn to Light in the dangerous way that flies were drawn to honey. On the screen he saw Watari standing at the door as the youth slammed his papers down on the desk, and then turned coldly back to the old man as he proceeded to give, what looked like, a lecture.

The detective decided against turning on the volume, and instead licked at his candy for the motivation to go back to his own work.

Watari returned a few minutes later, and though L did not look, he knew that the old man would be bearing a tray of much needed coffee and sugar cubes. He approached him from behind, setting the tray on the ground beside him before clearing his throat.

“Ryuuzaki, I will be leaving for the airport at about four in the morning tomorrow...”

L pretended to be reading over a report. “Yes, I know.”

The older detective sighed. L imagined he was rubbing the bridge of his nose under his glasses, that was what he usually did upon exasperation. Then he crouched down, something that probably ceased being good for his back years ago, and poured the detective a cup of the coffee, and then one for himself. He sat on the ground, losing his prim and proper normal posture and instead reflecting something reminiscent of his past years as an ambitious young inventor and detective.

"Thanks, Watari."

He would be leaving early, and he wouldn't arrive in Germany for about sixteen hours. The normal flight, straight from New York City would not take nearly so long, but L and Watari specifically arranged their flights to be roundabout for security reasons and to avoid tails.

L reached to the bowl of sugar cubes and filled his hand with them, balancing them on top of his steaming coffee before dropping them one by one into the liquid. He thought a moment, and then took a sip. When it wasn't sip enough he frowned, looking down into the drink, then removed the lollipop from his mouth and stuck what was left of it into the cup. When the coffee was satisfactory, he spoke.

"Addressing Interpol in person will be a good thing, I think. They trust you more than me, you know, since they actually see you."

Watari chuckled at that. "No, no human, especially not politicians, trusts another human. I only represent you."

"Aren't I human?"

"You're a ghost for all the world knows."

The words, for whatever reason, sent a chill through the detective. He quickly gulped a mouthful of the sweetened hot drink. "That's true, isn't it."

What he wanted to say was not all the world. It had been... odd, to say the least, showing his face with the title of 'L' simultaneously for the first time with the Japanese National Police Agency. It was unusual to work with comrades so close to him, it was atypical to talk to people face-to-face. He had been in Tokyo with the police for almost a year, so perhaps it was understandable that he had eventually... adjusted. What it was, and what it had become - a number of things, he supposed. Dangerous, inconvenient, efficient. And nice, sometimes, nice. Regardless, that chapter had concluded. The enterprise of the Kira investigation was finished, and the shackles of cooperation were gone. L was far from emotionally distraught, after all, he had brought the gem of it all back with him.

When L's eyes darted almost of their own will toward Monitor 17, Watari noticed.

"It's not too late to arrange a place to keep him while I'm away."

"That's unnecessary."

"Ryuuzaki, now is not the time to make silly mistakes."

L look at him pointedly. "Is me making a silly mistake a major concern of yours?"

With the kind of gentle strength that it seemed only someone with sixty years under his belt could muster, Watari sipped his own cup of coffee. "I have the utmost confidence in your abilities. I also have the utmost confidence in his."

"If something happens, I will take responsibility for my actions. There, are you happy now?" L challenged, feeling particularly immature.

"I'm not insinuating that you aren't being careful," Watari said, standing up. "I raised you to be meticulous. My concern is that your attitude toward him is not completely professional."

L did not answer. Unlike with Light, winning an argument with Watari did not involve getting in the last word, contrarily, it was about finding something more important to do. Not that the work he had been doing was terribly important, but these things were all about perception.

Watari sighed again. "Well then, take care."

“We are ne'er like angels till our passion dies.” -Thomas Dekker

A day went by, and another. Another.

Isolation was nothing new for L. He preferred minimal distractions when he was working, even when it came to his proxy and partner, Quillsh Wammy. Despite their association, L and Watari ordinarily spent more time apart than together, as the professional side to their relationship did not require close contact, in fact, demanded that it remain minimal as Watari acted as L's field agent. It wasn't as though he did not genuinely enjoy his companion's company, it was simply that he was completely indifferent to the seclusion that he had been made accustomed to his whole life. His ability to lurk in the shadows undetected was what had made him the top three detectives in the world (and then some), and inevitably, with that kind of power and responsibility came seclusion - the stony law against getting close to anyone who might become your downfall.

Breaking that rule once was probably far too many.

Not that he saw much of Light over the next few days, at least not in the flesh. Instead, the brunette spent most of his time in his room, managing to appear legitimately busy over Monitor 17. L was clearly being avoided, and stubbornly he decided that if Light was going to act like he was seven then he was free to, as long as he did his work. Let the cat mope around, for L certainly wasn't going to feed it. And when Light decided to give it up, then they could play games again.

Or when he ran out of ways to look busy.

“Eric Johnson is the killer,” Light declared, standing in the door frame.

L did not turn his eyes away from Monitor 11 where he was watching a recording of Lisa Hallet's testimony for the third time. “Do you know that, or are you guessing?”

“I know it.”

The steel in the youth's tone made L sigh in apprehension. He tapped a few keys on his keyboard to pause the video file, and then looked to Light behind him. A notebook of papers was in his hands, and the detective eyed it and held out his hand. “Is that your irrefutable evidence?”

There was no movement besides the simple raising of his arms into the air, offering the package with his feet planted and no indication that he had any intention of moving. When L raised his eyebrows, he said, “You'll have to come get it. Watari says he'll shoot me on sight if I go into this room without being escorted by him.”

“Please don't be childish, Yagami-kun. I'm not going to exert the effort to stand up and walk to you.”

“It's ludicrous to suggest that exercising caution in dangerous territory is an indicator of social immaturity.”

“Yagami-kun, it's ludicrous to deny the request of the one in control of your custody.”

“You're requesting me to commit suicide.” Light shrugged and dangled the paper in his hands. “I would sooner procure your wrath than terminate what's left of my life.”

“Those factors have a positive – not a negative – correlation, you know, so consider them accordingly.” L answered with a mostly repressed growl of exasperation. “You're wasting my time. Either be serious about punishing crime, or don't, it's your choice.”

Light's arms fell back down in front of him. A sharp glint hardened in his irises, infection a previously indifferent expression into something grim. With tightened jaw and narrowed eyelids, he strode forward until he planted his files into the outstretched hand of the detective.

L took the notebook in his pinched fingers. Inside the thin cardboard casing, Light had scribed pages of notes in handwriting that was still neat and disciplined, despite the handicap he faced with the handcuffs. Upon immediate glance, L noticed that instead of cutting and taping pictures and exerts from the hard copies of the case files Watari had given him, Light had made reference notes. Testimonies of the three suspects, accounts of witnesses, forensics data, even records of a car hijacking... it went on for at least fifty notebook pages in, until finally, the youth and scribbled in the middle of the page 'ERIC JOHNSON'.

It was thorough, and nothing that did not meet with L's expectations. But it was ultimately incomplete.

“Insufficient evidence,” he finally declared, setting the notebook down on the ground.

“What?”

“No sensible jury will convict the man with this. You're using an account of a four year old child, you're rejecting a very plausible alibi and one of your points is 'personality'.” The darkening of Light's face was more than obvious, but L knew that this was an issue they would have to address eventually, so it might as well be today.

“Johnson raped and murdered a thirteen year old girl in 1998. And you're telling me that my claim of 'personality' is unfounded?”

“He was tried back then and found not guilty, Yagami-kun. According to the United States' Constitution, the court cannot use that against him.”

“He was guilty then and he is guilty now,” Light proclaimed. “And if you allow him to go free he will be guilty again. How is it so impossible to accept?”

L's eyes met with Light's. With a calm strength he responded. “I have no doubt that he's guilty. You do not need to prove this to me. If you want him convicted, convince the jury instead, because Johnson will be innocent until proven guilty.”

The tenor voice elevated in ferocity. “Are you kidding? It could take months to find enough evidence to make it obvious to a crew of idiots that there's no way this bastard is innocent! This is a completely inefficient use of my time! ”

“I spent a year on you, Yagami-kun. I knew by instinct that you were guilty just a month into my investigation. By that reasoning I should have arrested you immediately.”

While the detective reached his fork in the direction of the red velvet cake he had been picking passively at, Light's eyes became dangerously fiery. The fork stopped halfway to its destination and retreated when pale hands clenched into fists. He set the fork down.

“You could have, huh?” Light murmured, slow at first but then accelerating like an outlet for his frustrations. “Any time you felt like it, you could've arrested me. Because you're L, and you control Interpol.”

“In a way,” L answered, because it was a bit more complicated than that.

“Then you do it! Tell the state of Nevada that Johnson is the murderer! You know it's true,everyone knows it's true! They'll accept your word without another thought!”

L felt himself callous, and he stood up on his feet so that he was not looking up at Light. “I'm not going to do that. I don't make public judgments until I have substantial proof, this is why Light-kun was free for as long as he was.”

“People like you are the reason that the world is rotting! You could do something to stop evil, but you won't – because it doesn't entertain you enough!”

The youth was shouting in his face, but L was not about to retreat a step. “I value justice through the law. To use my influence to rid someone of their law-given right to trial is a sacrifice to my own ethics.”

“Suddenly you're concerned about ethics?! Throughout the entire Kira investigation you were making the most unethical advances, which includes involuntary incarceration and arrest without trial in the case of Misa Amane-”

Firmly, L chose to start speaking before Light could conclude. “That was a matter of international security and it was urgent, and is not applicable to your current case.”

“Ethics should be applicable to everything. You were willing to do whatever it takes to capture me, and how is killing for justice worse than killing for sick pleasure?”

“Because you were a vigilante and a rebel. Johnson only tried to hide from the system, but you challenged it altogether.”

Suddenly, Light reached forward and grabbed the collar of L's shirt, twisting it in his hands and pulling forward. It was an aggressive move, and L's initial instinct was to uppercut the youth in the jaw. However, he deduced that with his hands bound, he was in no proper position to make a successful strike. Light rarely acted without expectations of some kind of success, so for L to make an effort at unnecessary retaliation was a waste of energy.

“I challenged only the inefficiency. The justice system was fallible and imperfect, and people were suffering for it!” Light snarled. “Day after day, people were suffering for it! Eric Johnson is guilty!”

L felt himself bristle, seeing the face of Kira before him. He hooked his hands around Light's, wrapping them around the palms. Constricting the grip, he forced the young criminal's hands to loosen. “Do not talk about people suffering when you caused so much of it.”

“That's what I've been talking about this whole time!” he snapped, slamming his elbows downward to free them of L's grip, while simultaneously twisting his fingers to control L's hands. “People suffering is the reason that Kira exists!”

“Existed,” L corrected tartly. “How much suffering did you dissipate by triggering chaos in a preordained judicial system, Kira? A vigilante stands for revolution, not for peace.”

“Yes, how much suffering did I dissipate by lowering the crime rate by a consistent 44 percent worldwide and rising?”

Getting annoyed, L used one hand to snatch the short length of chain in between the cuffs and yank down to detach Light from his shirt, upsetting the youth's balance in the process. “In the end, all humans value the authority of stable law over the authority of idealistic terrorists. When in a year, Kira is only a name in a textbook, you will see it is so.”

“God, let go!” Light growled, in reference to the detective clutching his handcuffs. L had twisted the short coil of chains around his hand and reduced the length to nothing, pinning the rings around Light's wrists together. When he had pulled downward, the youth had been forced to bend over, almost as though he were bowing to his captor. He tugged violently at his hands, but L did not loosen up. “In the end, people value their lives, and that's what Kira promised them by disposing of murderers!”

“Kira is a petulant child who promises nothing except to dissipate some boredom for us all,” L answered plainly. “But for what my word is worth, I compliment you on a job well done.”

“Let go!” Following the words was the sole of Light's bare foot, pushing into L's stomach. The move was probably not meant to be aggressive as much as a practical maneuver to knock L back and wrench his hands free – at least, more free than they currently were. Nonetheless, frustration at his adversary's words powered the kick and a mildly surprised L was knocked a few steps back and released his hold.

The adolescent's facial features widened when he seemed to realize that the movement defied the vow of subservience he had sworn to L. Then it stiffened again – he was passed regretting any action he took. “You deserved it,” he stated decidedly to excuse the behavior.

The action itself might have been forgivable but the words themselves were thoroughly out of place. L took advantage of the space between them by dropping his upper body and slamming his hands against the floorboards. In response to the movement, like a set of scales, L's right foot sprung up into the air and collided in a high front kick underneath Light's jaw.

“You do not have the right to judge what other people do and do not deserve,” L said firmly.

Light started immediately. “Kira is-”

“There must be trials by law, where everyone has a chance to explain themselves and a chance at redemption. Just how many guiltless people have you slaughtered, Kira? How many people who could rehabilitate and enter society as productive law-abiding citizens?”

Light recovered quickly, and his hands flew into the air, curled into fists. It was obvious that Light was at a disadvantage because normally in a fist fight, one hand should be used for offense and one chambered for defense and recoiling punches. But no one would call Light easily daunted. His knuckles flew forward and slammed into L's stomach. “That bullshit is all nice words, but you can talk all day and you'll never solve the problem!”

L doubled forward from the blow, but he took advantage of the placement and he again grabbed the chain between Light's wrists that was jammed into his gut. With one hand he pulled, jeopardizing the stability of Light's position. The other hand again clashed against the floor. Again, his leg blasted into the air, but now it made impact with the right side of Light's ribcage. With his hands preoccupied, the youth could not block the blow. The force of the kick knocked his feet off-balance, and when L pulled on the chain again, his body flipped and fell – landing on his back on the floor.

“There is a fallacy in your reasoning that you are consistently ignoring,” L remarked, looking down at the eighteen-year-old. “The same amount of crime will exist in your ideal world, even if it is concentrated into a single evil entity – the Killer.”

The English pronunciation of 'Kira', in which the name was originally constructed from, invoked a murderous expression from the teenager. He made his rage quite clear when his foot shot out at the detective's knee, snapping into it dangerously and sending L tumbling down right beside him.

“It's so easy for someone like you to complain when you're safely off the ground twenty stories in a concrete fortress,” he snarled. “But between the two of us, which one actually made the streets safer for innocent people?”

L felt his upper lip curl back slightly, the lust for battle inherent in every young man hissing out in a competitive snatch for the most pride. “Perhaps you charmed your cancer into the crime rate for a temporary submission, but...”

Light tried to dodge before the blow came, but L grabbed his shoulders and drove him close. There was a moment of flailing on Light's part as L shifted his legs and then drove his uninjured knee up into Light's unprotected stomach.

“...when it comes down to it, it's always an eye for an eye!” L finished through gritted teeth.

The brunette recoiled, clutching his abused gut for a brief second. He took a breath and then it was as though he had never felt better. The knuckles of his rocketing hands rammed into L's nose, leaving a pretty immediate trail of blood spattering down behind.

“You say that but you claim to not understand Kira!” Light spat, not finished yet. He swung his knuckles for another blow. “An eye for an eye!”

L caught his wrists by turning his head, body sideways, and latching on as they jetted into nothingness. He pulled, and Light resisted, and through their struggles they glared daggers at one another. They were both fuming and the air practically tasted of bitter smoke, emitting from two heated bodies. When blood from his nose began to reach his lip, reminding him of the damage, L leaned back with Light's wrist and twisted his arm, making his opponent awkward in his position on his knees.

Light squatted to accommodate and spare the jolting pain of limbs turned the wrong way and leaned sideways to reduce the pressure. That moment of instability was what L was waiting for – he forced Light's arms upward above his head and pounced forward, tackling Light on the chest and ramming him down into the floorboards. He exhaled in a pant as he tried to overpower the younger male's kicking and arching, but just to taunt he leaned his face as close as he could to Light's.

“You've been moping, but if you really got what you deserved-” He spoke through clenched teeth as Light writhed violently underneath him. “-then you would be blind.”

The words seemed to give Light the mad exhilaration he needed to lift a thigh and plunge his kneecap into L's ribs in a bout of flexibility that was usually uncommon for him. The hit tossed L's leverage, and Light freed half of his body. Planting his foot on the ground he sprung up from under L, managing to punch the detective again and slam his own weight on L.

Light didn't have two hands to use freely but he took advantage of the chain in between the cuffs, sinking it roughly into L's neck to keep him down as he spread his body on top with the effort of taking the pin. L saw the fury resonating in his face, and blood oozing out of his lower lip where his teeth must've caught it during the scuffle.

“You say you're a genius but you're already blind to what I was trying to do!” Light declared. “If only you'd open your eyes a little-”

A hardened palm found its way under Light's jaw, muffling the words with a pained oof! while L maneuvered out from underneath. He liberated his chest before his legs, which Light had seen fit to disable by wrapping his own around L's thighs.

“That kind of idealism is a waste of time, why don't you take a look at reality for a change and stop deluding yourself!”

An elbow nestled itself fiercely in Light's chest.

“Why don't you start taking a look at the facts you're trying so hard to ignore!”

Light punched, again, a thud sounding against L's skull.

“What – I could say the same about you, Yagami-kun!”

Then, they were quite literally beyond words, with an enormous oversupply of testosterone between the pair of them. At the back of his mind, L was fully aware that this aggression had been regressed in both of them for far too long, and because of a mutual desire to keep the peace for separate reasons they had both let it bottle up into this bruising result. In retrospect, these minutes of release were healthy for their one-of-a-kind relationship, when both parties were so adjusted to deceiving the other that the honesty was adrenaline in their veins, pumping throughout their muscles to make the other give in. The grievances of their bodies against each other was habitually familiar, acquainted to one another during months of both companionship and antagonism, even when - especially when - their knuckles were pounding into the other's skin.

The fists were flying until it stopped mattering what exactly they were fighting over.

L had managed to roll on top of Light, pin him down sloppily by the throat and raise a hand to hit him across the face when suddenly–

BEEP. BEEP.

The urgent digital sound projected from a computer, whirring like a siren. L froze without even blinking, and under him Light slowly lowered the hands that had been shielding his head from attack. The detective took a moment to breathe, breathe his way back into reality, until he calmed the adrenaline from the wrestling and was fully able to discern what was going on. The process took less than a second, and he made the deduction:

Something was wrong.

He scrambled off of Light and on to his feet, running across the floor at phenomenal speed and sinking his way on a pillow in front of the monitor that emitted the sound. It was Wammy's distress signal, which he only used in cases of emergencies. It was 18:00, he should be at one of the Interpol meetings. Which meant...

L and Watari, as an institution, had access to the finest technology in the world. But even so L was painfully aware that his older partner was in Berlin, and to receive this radio waves by satellite would still provide for a lapse when every second was crucial. When L pulled up a browser in e-mail format, he was directly connected to the video cameras – on in front, one in back – attached directly on to Watari's large black coat. Theoretically, L would be able to see more than the proxy himself if he was approached at any direction, but then again, there was the time lapse to account for.

“What's going on?” Light asked, approaching cautiously from behind.

He raised a hand in a hushing motion and continued to watch the screen, holding his own breath to keep sound in. It was quiet on the monitor as he loaded the split screens of the Berlin Interrelations Center, fuzzy, and then L saw people. He immediately took hold of his mouse and zoomed in on the faces – nicely dressed Interpol members, wearing black suits, dress shirts and ... terrified expressions on their faces.

“Testing connection,” a scrambled, computerized version of Watari's voice gruffed, sounding strained even under the disguise.

“Confirmed,” L answered into his microphone.

“There's a crisis. An undetermined number of men broke passed security and are holding this meeting hostage. They are armed, and they are hostile.”

“Man is the only creature that refuses to be what he is.” -Albert Camus

Armonia Jastin Beyondllemason strode on his long, bony legs across the gray dirt of the Shinigami realm. His decorated feet would land with a soft crunch under the fog as they collided with the ground, crushing all the old bones and dry things that littered the area. The sky was dark, lit only by an eerie green light that marked the time in this place at about dusk, in equivalence to the human world, and after a long day of gambling, this glimmering death god had no care to glance at what he destroyed along his journey. If one could call it a journey, anyway. He did what he did every night after the lazy Shinigami dispatched to sleep or eat (both things unnecessary for gods). Armonia Jastin Beyondllemason wandered the dead world for junk, for anything that might appear as waste from the other worlds. It was particularly gems that he was interested in, which he adorned flauntingly upon his dull-hued body, and they glittered as a rainbow of color in the lifeless grays of the realm. This earned him his nickname of Jastin the Jeweled Skeleton.

Sometimes, other Shinigami would find them, and they would gamble for the winnings. But not many of his fellows were interested in wandering so far out into the fog as Jastin was, some were too lazy to even stand up in a day. But this kept Jastin busy, who still had a mild interest for exploring. In these junk areas, one could find human garbage. Old, rotting fruit which somehow grew into old, rotting fruit trees. Clothes, money, other useless things that on occasion amused the Shinigami enough to keep, or at least snicker and gossip over.

Jastin's skull head turned slightly in a creaking of bones as he moved his gaze toward a putrid odor. There was a puddle of some greasy black liquid, looking as foul as it smelled. Waste, waste. It had been awhile since Jastin had bothered to look into the Dimensional Spheres and observe the human world, but he had a vague recollection of men and women putting this stuff into their tanks to make them run, or however it worked. Oil, maybe? Gasoline? Whatever.

Ugly. Jastin wanted something colorful. He craved it more than the preservation of any other vital function in his peculiar being. He would sooner have something beautiful than waste his time hunting for lifespans when he already (probably) had plenty of time stored up.

The Shinigami crept further, passing the stale old things. Clocks, which he didn't know how to read, televisions, which didn't work for whatever reasons, glass shards, shreds of fabrics, and bones, always bones. Bones that almost felt like dust when they were stomped – could be an old lazy Death God for all Jastin knew, or for all he cared, which was nothing.

“Hmm...” The green in the sky was fading, turning into a more encompassing midnight black. With less light to reflect against his gems, Jastin was becoming duller. What an annoying time.

He stepped forward, turning the corner around a large rock which did for a landmark in this place, when suddenly, suddenly he saw them. There they were! Two perfectly red jewels, glowing beautifully in the distance, cutting the way through the fog.

Jastin set out at a run, a victorious rumble of laughter exiting through his mouth. This was the moment when he knew he existed, this was the greatest. Where would he put these new red jewels? Time would be needed to examine them, and choose the perfect place. And why not, he had all the time in the world.

“They're mine! I found... what?” Upon getting closer, Jastin realized these were not jewels, they were a pair of eyes. More than that, they were attached to a body, and more specifically, on a pale face. The skeletal god scratched the top of his skull as he peered down at the body. “Hey, you're not what I was hoping for.”

The thin, naked creature watched Jastin with a blank expression. “That's what they always say,” it answered in a voice that wasn't as deep as the other Shinigami. In fact, it was very soft and light.

“When you hide here, you can't really blame the mistakes,” he reprimanded, still rather disappointed. He hunched over slightly to better get a look at the being, sitting down with its skinny legs curled upright. Its eyes were as bright as ever, even though the clouds were darkening by the second. Jastin frowned. “Don't you know? There's a big group of us down that way-” here, he raised the bones of his finger, pointing from where had had come from. “-so if you come, you can gamble with us.”

The creature just watched Jastin for a moment, blinking those wide, ruby eyes. Watching it like that, Jastin wondered if it would be willing to gamble those lovely eyes, even though they were not gems he had a desire for them.

“Gambling with the Shinigami, how grand,” the being muttered, still with face like a statue. “Maybe the gods are laughing at me.”

“Hey, I wasn't laughing,” Jastin argued, confused. “You coming or what?”

But then this creature, it was the one who started laughing. It clutched its legs tighter, its whole back vibrating as the howls of laughter escaped its mouth. “Isn't it funny!” it shrieked.

A realization dawned upon the Jeweled Skeleton. “Oh, I get it. You're not a Shinigami, are you?”

The laughter died down into little chuckles, falling haphazardly out of his mouth. “I can't see your name, I can't see your number.”

Jastin scratched his head again, unsure. “Well, I don't have those things. I thought you were the same, though you're pretty ugly for a Shinigami. What are you then? Garbage from another world? I don't think you'll last long in this place.”

“I don't know why I'm here at all. Maybe there really are shards of a Death God in me after all.”

“That doesn't make sense. You're a human, aren't you?”

“What is my identity? The human is dead..!” The red eyes glinted, irises rolling slowly over to where they hooked on the jeweled skeleton, catching his face in a way that Jastin could only think was unsettling. “But maybe I'm here because the seeds of something else were planted... I suppose... before I even had a birthday...”

-

To Be Continued. . .