Etched 7a
Title: Etched
Summary: It was a brief fling that lasted much longer than it was supposed to. One a student and part-time forensic artist, the other the greatest detective in the world. When it ended, both were sure they'd never meet again. But fate had other plans. AU.
Pairing: L/Light
Rating: R
Chapter 6b
Chapter Seven
Interrogations and Games
Cake was a beautiful thing.
L had suspected this before - many times throughout his life, in fact - but this particular morning he found himself appreciating the dessert's finer qualities anew. Not only did it taste good, smell good, look good, and was practically soaked in ten kinds of sugar, but it also had the ability to pull Mello's attention away from L's recent sexual activities like a fish on a line.
"Is that chocolate?"
Or at least when it contained a certain key ingredient.
Mello had been pestering L unflaggingly for information, a stubborn gleam in his eye and a mischievous smile on his face while Matt and Near looked on with amused and indifferent expressions, respectively, when the persistent interrogation was thankfully interrupted by Watari's timely entrance from the kitchen, several slices of cake in hand.
"It is indeed chocolate," Watari answered with his usual infinite calm and a quiet twitch of his moustache. "And before you ask, one of these is indeed for you."
This was why Watari was irreplaceable by L's side - not his limitless wealth, not his proficiency with more types of firearms than could be found in an American redneck gun store, not his formidable training in espionage or his shady contacts among the world's more covert intelligence agencies. It was his ability to walk in the room with cake at exactly the right moment.
A grin spread across Mello's face, the kind that could only be put there by the prospect of chocolate or good sex.
"All right, fucking excellent," he declared in approval of the general situation as he jumped up to snag the biggest piece from Watari, apparently channeling the Ninja Turtles in his enthusiasm, though L doubted even Raphael had ever been quite that profane, not even over a slice of Lombardi's best - the word 'fuck 'was generally frowned upon in a comic book aimed at young people. It was unlikely to have made it past the censors.
But amphibian ninjitsu language tangents aside - Mello was distracted, at least for the moment, and L could finally let up on his poor gnawed upon thumb, which had been bearing the brunt of his quiet irritation.
And since Mello's attention had been diverted to something besides whomever L had slept with last night, there was a seventy-five percent chance L would be able to remove the security tapes before it occurred to Mello to check them. Seventy-nine, if Watari brought out another slice of cake for the blond. And while L didn't fear Mello's reaction to finding out Light was the person who had just yesterday been fucked on that sofa Mello was currently lounging on, chomping down on his cake with a single-minded intensity, it certainly made things much smoother in general if he didn't discover it. L was all for avoiding tedious conflict when it could reasonably be done.
Also, now that his successors were present and no longer occupied, at least for now, with sticking their too-intelligent noses into L's business (once the leader had been taken out, the rest of the nosy coalition had pretty much dissolved, Matt settling against a wall to watch Mello with indulgent amusement, Near shuffling over to the coffee table to begin sorting stray candy wrappers - productivity had hit all time lows among them, it seemed), this would be the ideal time to discuss which cases they would be taking on next. Get to work dealing out justice, and all that.
L admitted he had been a little lax in his duty the past week. All right, a lot lax.
Most of the actual detective work since the Wilson smuggling/murder case had been accomplished by his successors, under his distracted supervision, and since then L had mostly been assigning them boring, routine cases that half the children at Wammy's under the age of ten could have solved. Boredom was running rampant among his minions, as evidenced by the growing stack of bright wrappers in front of Near and the smoking cigarette in between Matt's teeth.
L supposed he hadn't been a very diligent lead detective if his underlings had clearly become resigned to their fate of hanging out in the hotel suite, waiting for L to kick back into his usual crime-solving gear.
But considering there hadn't really been any interesting criminal activities surfacing for a while, he found it very hard to care. And in any case, he felt even he deserved a bit of a holiday every so often. It was only fair, really. Healthy, even. Wasn't Watari always going on about how L needed to take care of his body better? Sex was a bodily need; L was fulfilling it.
It had pulled him away from work for a bit, but L was confident that, while he wasn't quite finished with Light yet, his period of work-inhibiting distraction had successfully run itself out. It was the nature of things.
To prove his own point, L plucked up the stack of cases Watari had rather expressively set beside him as he handed him his cake and began flipping through it, in the unconcerned manner of someone browsing through the paper over morning tea.
There, see? He could work just fine - no distraction problems at all.
But still nothing interesting had surfaced lately, it seemed - criminally, at least. The French had sent him some sort of jewel heist the media was making a big to-do about, which L could tell without even reading all the case notes had been done by the night guard. Painfully obvious, really. The standards of law enforcement were slipping if they needed L for such cases.
Some sort of political scandal was going down in a small South American country L wasn't sure he had ever heard of, involving people L knew he had never heard of. He tossed the file in the garbage, wondering why they thought he'd be interested in investigating where a greasy politician stuck his reproductive organs. Not engaging at all.
Oh, this was mildly interesting. The American FBI had sent him a case about a rogue hacker who had been slipping into their database, apparently changing random words in highly classified files to considerably naughtier ones and sprinkling in a liberal dose of offensive phrases - an odd mixture of extremely juvenile humor and extremely advanced hacking skills L found intriguing. It made for an amusing scenario to imagine: a stern, square-jawed agent sitting down and ripping off his too-dark sunglasses to review a top secret document, only to find the words "I jizzed earlier all over that chair you're sitting in - sorry about that" staring back at him.
It seemed the Americans weren't finding it quite as funny.
L might have considered taking that case - if only because such creative skullduggery deserved recognition - had he not suspected the culprit was currently sitting in the room with him, fiddling with some piece of palm-sized technology he had just pulled from his pocket that was most likely a game of some sort.
Matt always had used rather unique outlets for his boredom. And L supposed that, since he and his recent distraction were the cause of Matt's current boredom, he ought to do something to clear the situation up. It was only reasonable.
"Matt," he said idly, flicking to the next manila file of an unsolved case, "the Americans are getting peeved."
"Are they?" Matt returned, very innocently and not looking up from his game. "More than usual, you mean?"
"Mm," L hummed. "They'd also like to know the meaning of the word 'baps', as in the phrase, 'That suit makes your baps look great, sir.'"
"Odd. I wonder where they picked up that word."
"Baps are tits, L," Mello said through a mouthful of cake, with an assurance usually only found from divine revelation or the bottom of a vodka bottle.
"Yes, it is very odd," L stated pleasantly to Matt, cutting himself a bite of his own cake with his fork and ignoring Mello's helpful intrusion. "And while I believe it is commendable to promote cultural understanding between two countries, I'll have to ask you do it in less legally problematic ways."
Matt's reply was lost as Mello's chocolate-addled brain caught up with the conversation.
"Oh, Matty! Are you hacking the FBI again? You haven't done that since we were - what, twelve? - and the only thing you could think to say was 'You're an arseface!' over and over. At least you've gotten more creative."
L frowned, having formerly been unaware of his third successor's early foray into the world of insulting hacking. He glanced at Matt, who seemed unconcerned by the admission, and decided the past was better left where it was and took another bite of cake.
"You know, L," Mello said casually, licking at chocolate stained teeth and settling comfortably against the sofa's striped pillows, "we've been pretty patient with you the past week or so. All the boring cases, all the days we've come here and had nothing to do, all the times I've graciously allowed these two fuckwads to bunk up at my place, only to find it was pointless and you once again hadn't gotten laid."
L was trying very hard to listen. Really, he was.
"We understand how distracted you get when you haven't fucked for a while," Mello continued offhandedly, ignorant of L's growing distraction. "It's just how you get. This time it was a little longer than usual, but we put up with it."
The only problem was, L had just realized that the sofa Mello was currently reclined against with confident abandon was the same couch on which, only the night before, an entirely different person had been sprawled, lazy assurance in his eyes and smile as he stared up at L, his hands reaching up to pull L down, his legs sliding apart to make room for their bodies to mold together-
"L? Are you even listening to what I'm saying?"
The memory of Light vanished like smoke and all that was left was Mello staring at him with brash annoyance.
"Yes, I'm listening Mello. Please continue."
Mello shared a glance with Matt across the room, engaging in a silent communication they had perfected when they were six. After a moment, Matt laughed, took a drag of nicotine then returned to the game in his hands, and Mello grinned proudly as if he'd said something incredibly witty.
L supposed it was possible he had - he had never quite figured out their silent code.
"The thing is," Mello continued as though he hadn't just been involved in telepathic repartee, "you're usually back to normal after you fuck something. And since you're clearly still zoning out, you either didn't actually get any action last night or whoever it was you fucked was just that good. Either way, you've got to start spilling with the details. You owe it to us after the last week."
Matt glanced over briefly from his game in apparent agreement.
L just pulled his legs in closer to his body and began drawing circles on his knee with a long, crooked finger.
"No," he decided primly, not looking up from the patterns he was tracing. "It's none of your business. I admit I have been somewhat distracted, but that time has passed now. We will currently be returning to our usual level of work, so I expect you all to apply your best effort."
His eyes rolled upwards to find Mello grinning at him in frightening determination.
"Right," the blond said, sharing another one of those speaking glances with Matt. "I suppose we'll just have to check the security tapes then. I'd bet you haven't wiped them yet."
Oh bugger.
L was about to speak, using his authority as L to stop Mello from taking a step towards the security computers (not that he expected it to actually work), when another voice beat him to it.
"That won't be of any use, Mello."
L was a little startled at the dry monotone - though of course he didn't show it - having forgotten Near was in the room. The boy was frighteningly easy to overlook, something L had no doubt he purposely cultivated.
…And he was currently seated directly in front of the security computers.
Double bugger.
"Whaddya mean, 'won't be of any use'?" Mello snapped, striding over to hover behind the curly white head.
"I mean," Near answered calmly, "that the all footage from last night and this morning has already been cleared. The tapes start back up about ten minutes before we arrive, and all that is on that section of footage is L sitting as he is now, although without the cake."
"Ah, fuck it," Mello groaned. "Guess he wiped 'em. You're a paranoid bastard, L."
"Justifiably, considering you were about to encroach upon my privacy," L returned unconcernedly, acting like the wiped tapes were not a new revelation to him when really his mind was buzzing in surprise. Had Watari taken care of it? That seemed likely, except for the fact that he would have informed L of it earlier.
L scooped up yet another bite of cake, chewing slowly and savoring the rich taste as he considered the situation.
Perhaps Near had wiped them during the time he had been sitting at the computers unnoticed. He certainly had the time and means, though L could see no clear motivation for him to do so. If anything, it seemed more likely he would find it enjoyable, in his own passive-aggressive way, to observe Mello find out his ex-boyfriend had recently spread his legs for L. He was more likely to sit back and watch matters unfold than to interfere in such a situation.
But for whatever reason, L was glad he didn't have to deal with Mello's dramatic reaction to the revelation.
He shoved another scoop of cake into his mouth, pushed it to the side to talk around it, and decided it was time to return to productivity. "Luckily for you, Mello," he began importantly, "I'm willing to overlook this blatant infringement of my human rights-"
Mello snorted then, no doubt remembering all the times L had, without a care, walked all over a suspect's so-defined 'human rights', but L ignored him and continued right over the top.
"-because we have more important things to discuss at the moment. For instance, our work. Near - have you finished the counterfeiting case I assigned you?"
Near, curled up in the swivel chair in front of the security computers like an overgrown kitten, nodded.
"Very good," L said, glad at least one of his underlings had accomplished something the past week, because it really seemed all they had done was hang around the hotel room and irritate him. "Mello, I will be sending you and Near to France to deal with this." He flung the jewel robbery file at Mello, who caught it deftly without spilling any of the papers, an incredulous expression already beginning to spread across his face. "Watari will book you a flight for tonight, and I expect you to report back every evening. Matt, you will be remaining here-"
"Hold on a fucking minute!"
Ah, and there it was. L had been waiting for that, Mello's angry outburst. He was only surprised it hadn't contained more profanity, and perhaps some threats against his continued existence.
"You can't honestly expect me to work alone with the albino! I'll go out of my bloody mind! Fuck that, L, no way. Besides, I can't leave Japan right now - you know I'm still forming contacts, I can't just up and leave."
L heaved a weary sigh, as Mello crossed his arms like a stubborn child refusing to share his toys. He had been expecting resistance; that didn't make it any more enjoyable to deal with.
"Mello," he said, trying to project all of his authority as L into his voice. "You are both adults. You have been working together for three years-"
"Matt's always with me though!"
"-and while you haven't worked exclusively with Near yet, I believe it is a vital part of your training to learn how to work with someone you don't get along with on a personal level. It will be good for you." Dear lord, he was beginning to sound like Watari. 'It will be good for you' - a favorite catchphrase of the fatherish type figure, and L was slightly horrified to hear it wander out of his own mouth.
"In any case," he continued smoothly, trying to ignore the parental slip, "perhaps this will give you the opportunity to create some different insults. 'Albino' and 'sheep' were rather commendable when you were seven, but I think they have lost any of their original sting. In fact, they've almost become terms of endearment by this point. I was unaware you were harboring a secret crush on your coworker, Mello."
Fwip.
A thin, deadly blade embedded itself in the cushion between L's feet, reminding him in a rather blunt manner of the eclectic, unorthodox training his successors had received.
Two spindly fingers tugged the knife out of the firm padding, and L said casually, "Your aim has gotten much better, Mello. A year ago you would have taken out one of my toes. I hope you realize, however, that the repairs for your outburst will be taken out of your pay."
"Yeah, yeah," Mello said, sounding a bit more cheerful than before and just as casual as L. "It was worth it. I've been wanting to do that all week."
L twirled the blade fluidly between his fingers, watching the light catch the cold metal and dance along to the tip. "I had no idea I inspired such violence in you. Please accept my sincerest apologies."
"I would, if I didn't know it would be complete bullshit."
"You will, despite this wounding mistrust in my sincerity, still be going to France."
"Dammit L, aren't you listening? I can't go, unless you want me to waste all the work I've done the past two months with the yakuza. Why don't you send Matt instead? He's the one with nothing to do, remember? 'Baps', and all - ringing any bells?"
L carefully set the knife down on his chair's armrest.
This was actually a reasonable suggestion, if not for two simple facts: it really would be good for Mello to learn how to work with Near, and having Mello out of Japan for a short while would make things much smoother for L's plans concerning a certain recent ex-boyfriend of the blond's. And that was what was really important at the moment.
"It will do no damage for you to spend a week in France," L said calmly, beginning to feel a little like King David from the Bible, sending Uriah off to his death. He doubted, however, that Light would appreciate being compared to Bathsheba - and honestly, it wasn't as if L was trying to kill Mello, or that he had moved in on Light while he was still involved with Mello, so the parallel was not very fitting.
And L would rather avoid divine retribution, if it could at all be helped - or Watari retribution, as was more applicable in this particular example - so he decided to toss the whole analogy out the window. Metaphorically, of course.
"This case hardly seems involved enough to require two people and a week," Near's quiet monotone put in, from where he'd meandered over unnoticed to scan the case file. "There is no need to apportion that amount of time and effort for a case as simple as this."
Mello snatched the file out of pale hands and ran his eyes over it quickly.
"Much as I hate to admit this, Near is right, for once. This case is a fucking cinch, L."
One day, L would train his successors so they obeyed his word without question. (He doubted David had to deal with this amount of insubordination.) Until that day, he would have to make do with heavy-handed threats and forced authority.
"And yet, you will do it anyway," he said decisively. "Otherwise you will find yourself without any cases at all, and without any opportunity to prove yourself worthy of inheriting the title of L."
"Dude, you realize that threat lost any real power over them after about the five-hundredth time they heard it, right?"
Apparently, since Matt had no interest in taking over L's role, he thought that gave him the right to undermine L's authority.
"Watari!" L shouted, giving up all attempts at maintaining dignity and maturity. "Matt is smoking in the building!"
"All right, all right, I get it, I get it," Matt said, hastily snuffing out his smoke and tucking it away for later. "You're L, all must obey your whims. Tough luck, Mels - I'll see ya in week."
"Matt," Mello groaned. "Don't abandon me!"
Matt flashed him a grin almost as bright as the game in his hand. "It'll be good for you," he said, echoing L's earlier assurance. "Besides, you're going to France - the land of world class wine and prostitutes. You'll feel right at home."
"Ah, whatever - enough with the whore jokes already. I got plenty of that from Light. You know he asked me once if I was a prostitute? Little bastard was completely serious, too." Despite Mello's harsh words, his tone was easy and relaxed and maybe the smallest bit fond, showing no bitterness towards his recent ex. L supposed this was a good thing, generally speaking.
Matt somehow managed to chuckle and roll his eyes while not taking them from his game, but L was more focused on sliding his own eyes over to Near, to see if he betrayed any sign of knowing who had been in L's bed (and on the sofa, in his shower, against the walls, on the table) last night.
Nothing.
But then, that was to be expected. Near seemed to be under the impression there was a constant game of poker going on everywhere and manipulated his expression accordingly - an attitude of which L generally approved, when not used against him.
At that moment, Watari appeared from the kitchen, looking dignified despite the pink apron he had tied around his waist.
"You called, sir?" he asked. Oh, that was right - L had called.
"Ah, yes. The problem has been resolved, however, so I all I need is for you to book two seats on the next flight to France. Directly next to each other, if it can be managed."
"L," Mello growled warningly, while Matt gave a quick bark of laughter.
"Very well," Watari agreed with a nod, ignoring the doggish sounds coming from two of his charges. "And which case will you be working on, sir?"
L drew a case file from the stack and dangled it from two fingers.
"This one. And Matt will be assisting me with any technical matters, as punishment for his recent torment of the hard-working people of the FBI."
Mello practiced his file-snatching skills once again by grabbing the folder out of L's pinched grasp.
"What?" he yelled in disbelief, as his eyes tossed over the contents. "Why do you get the fun cases? A serial killer who murders musicians with their instruments? And it's in Japan, just a little south of here? No fucking fair, L!"
L allowed a small grin to pull up his lips as he stared up at the increasingly angry blond standing above him.
"You forget, Mello. I am L. And while I have agreed to take you three on and train you in the art of detective investigation, you are still the young Padawan learners, and I am the Jedi master - Yoda, if you will. I am in charge of deciding which cases I solve, and which cases you solve."
And deciding which people I sleep with, he added mentally for his own benefit.
Mello exchanged one of those glances with Matt across the room.
"…Did L just make a Star Wars reference?"
"I believe he did, Mels. A pretty blatant one. He even called himself Yoda."
"Does he realize he's just setting himself up for ridicule?"
"You know, I don't think he'd consider it an insult to be compared to a green little creature that talks strangely and sits like a frog."
"All he's missing is the coloring."
"And the short size."
"And the badass Jedi skills."
"Well yes, there is that."
L stared down at his empty plate of vanished cake, wishing it still held something, if only so he could fling a forkful at his abusive successors. Well no - that would be a waste of perfectly good cake.
He wished it would have another slice of cake and a bit of spinach on the side - far enough away that there was no danger of it contaminating his food. Or maybe some cooked cabbage; that would make a satisfying splat as it latched on to their faces.
He could always ask Watari to give him some; he wondered if he'd even be the slightest bit fazed by L asking for vegetables. Probably not.
L tuned out his successors, two of which were still making unflattering comparisons between him and a certain syntax-challenged Jedi, the other watching the exchange with unreadable eyes. He pulled his phone from his pocket (his once L phone, now exclusively Light phone) and studied it carefully, as though it could answer the question currently on his mind: if and when Light would call.
But L really shouldn't be spending his time in this distracted manner (again). A new case awaited him, and it was time to return to work.
+
Two young men relaxed in a quiet booth, knife-sharp suits and elegant lines, the image of Japanese business pride - radiating proficiency, assurance, and charisma as they exchanged soft words over bitter coffee, the generation's potential resting easily on their shoulders.
Young Tokyo - Japan's elite.
And Light was in his element, in a game of smooth charm and muted subtlety and veiled words - like a blade wrapped in silk - and he could feel the beginning trills of quiet anticipation stirring in his blood.
"Any word from Germany?"
The other man shook his head, taking a slow sip of his own steaming drink.
"Not yet. Shouldn't be long, though. I'd guess it will probably hit the news within days."
This was just the preliminaries, the first bold step into a new game, but already Light could tell it was going to be exhilarating.
"Good. And you covered your tracks? You'll be useless to me if your credibility is brought into question."
"It's been taken care of, Yagami-kun. No one will see any connections but the ones you want them to."
Mikami had been an unexpected find. Efficient, obedient, diligent - zealous, even. It would be interesting to see what happened to his calm assurance as the game gradually progressed, the pressure building stronger. Would he snap, or would he adapt? Either way, Light had his own bases covered.
"Have the funds been transferred without problem?"
A sharp nod answered him. "There's nothing to worry about. Like I said, it's all been taken care of."
Coffee swirled around the edges of the cup, and Light watched its graceful dance.
"Perhaps. Unless there's a hitch with the piece itself."
"That's your department."
Light nodded, not taking his attention from his gently churning drink as he rocked the cup around, clasped in supple fingers.
"Yes. That's my department."
Light's voice was cool and confident, and Mikami's mouth quirked into a reassuring smile across the smooth table.
"You should be proud, you know. The painting was a masterpiece."
And Light's favorite smirk made its first appearance of the meeting, curling his lips into a mix of anticipation and satisfaction and cunning revealed - the smile of a plan falling into place. His eyes, steady and assured, left his coffee to meet the other man's.
"Not quite a masterpiece, Mikami-san. Almost - but not quite."
And Mikami's own grin jumped to his lips in answer.
"No. Not quite."
Chapter 7b
Summary: It was a brief fling that lasted much longer than it was supposed to. One a student and part-time forensic artist, the other the greatest detective in the world. When it ended, both were sure they'd never meet again. But fate had other plans. AU.
Pairing: L/Light
Rating: R
Chapter 6b
Chapter Seven
Interrogations and Games
Cake was a beautiful thing.
L had suspected this before - many times throughout his life, in fact - but this particular morning he found himself appreciating the dessert's finer qualities anew. Not only did it taste good, smell good, look good, and was practically soaked in ten kinds of sugar, but it also had the ability to pull Mello's attention away from L's recent sexual activities like a fish on a line.
"Is that chocolate?"
Or at least when it contained a certain key ingredient.
Mello had been pestering L unflaggingly for information, a stubborn gleam in his eye and a mischievous smile on his face while Matt and Near looked on with amused and indifferent expressions, respectively, when the persistent interrogation was thankfully interrupted by Watari's timely entrance from the kitchen, several slices of cake in hand.
"It is indeed chocolate," Watari answered with his usual infinite calm and a quiet twitch of his moustache. "And before you ask, one of these is indeed for you."
This was why Watari was irreplaceable by L's side - not his limitless wealth, not his proficiency with more types of firearms than could be found in an American redneck gun store, not his formidable training in espionage or his shady contacts among the world's more covert intelligence agencies. It was his ability to walk in the room with cake at exactly the right moment.
A grin spread across Mello's face, the kind that could only be put there by the prospect of chocolate or good sex.
"All right, fucking excellent," he declared in approval of the general situation as he jumped up to snag the biggest piece from Watari, apparently channeling the Ninja Turtles in his enthusiasm, though L doubted even Raphael had ever been quite that profane, not even over a slice of Lombardi's best - the word 'fuck 'was generally frowned upon in a comic book aimed at young people. It was unlikely to have made it past the censors.
But amphibian ninjitsu language tangents aside - Mello was distracted, at least for the moment, and L could finally let up on his poor gnawed upon thumb, which had been bearing the brunt of his quiet irritation.
And since Mello's attention had been diverted to something besides whomever L had slept with last night, there was a seventy-five percent chance L would be able to remove the security tapes before it occurred to Mello to check them. Seventy-nine, if Watari brought out another slice of cake for the blond. And while L didn't fear Mello's reaction to finding out Light was the person who had just yesterday been fucked on that sofa Mello was currently lounging on, chomping down on his cake with a single-minded intensity, it certainly made things much smoother in general if he didn't discover it. L was all for avoiding tedious conflict when it could reasonably be done.
Also, now that his successors were present and no longer occupied, at least for now, with sticking their too-intelligent noses into L's business (once the leader had been taken out, the rest of the nosy coalition had pretty much dissolved, Matt settling against a wall to watch Mello with indulgent amusement, Near shuffling over to the coffee table to begin sorting stray candy wrappers - productivity had hit all time lows among them, it seemed), this would be the ideal time to discuss which cases they would be taking on next. Get to work dealing out justice, and all that.
L admitted he had been a little lax in his duty the past week. All right, a lot lax.
Most of the actual detective work since the Wilson smuggling/murder case had been accomplished by his successors, under his distracted supervision, and since then L had mostly been assigning them boring, routine cases that half the children at Wammy's under the age of ten could have solved. Boredom was running rampant among his minions, as evidenced by the growing stack of bright wrappers in front of Near and the smoking cigarette in between Matt's teeth.
L supposed he hadn't been a very diligent lead detective if his underlings had clearly become resigned to their fate of hanging out in the hotel suite, waiting for L to kick back into his usual crime-solving gear.
But considering there hadn't really been any interesting criminal activities surfacing for a while, he found it very hard to care. And in any case, he felt even he deserved a bit of a holiday every so often. It was only fair, really. Healthy, even. Wasn't Watari always going on about how L needed to take care of his body better? Sex was a bodily need; L was fulfilling it.
It had pulled him away from work for a bit, but L was confident that, while he wasn't quite finished with Light yet, his period of work-inhibiting distraction had successfully run itself out. It was the nature of things.
To prove his own point, L plucked up the stack of cases Watari had rather expressively set beside him as he handed him his cake and began flipping through it, in the unconcerned manner of someone browsing through the paper over morning tea.
There, see? He could work just fine - no distraction problems at all.
But still nothing interesting had surfaced lately, it seemed - criminally, at least. The French had sent him some sort of jewel heist the media was making a big to-do about, which L could tell without even reading all the case notes had been done by the night guard. Painfully obvious, really. The standards of law enforcement were slipping if they needed L for such cases.
Some sort of political scandal was going down in a small South American country L wasn't sure he had ever heard of, involving people L knew he had never heard of. He tossed the file in the garbage, wondering why they thought he'd be interested in investigating where a greasy politician stuck his reproductive organs. Not engaging at all.
Oh, this was mildly interesting. The American FBI had sent him a case about a rogue hacker who had been slipping into their database, apparently changing random words in highly classified files to considerably naughtier ones and sprinkling in a liberal dose of offensive phrases - an odd mixture of extremely juvenile humor and extremely advanced hacking skills L found intriguing. It made for an amusing scenario to imagine: a stern, square-jawed agent sitting down and ripping off his too-dark sunglasses to review a top secret document, only to find the words "I jizzed earlier all over that chair you're sitting in - sorry about that" staring back at him.
It seemed the Americans weren't finding it quite as funny.
L might have considered taking that case - if only because such creative skullduggery deserved recognition - had he not suspected the culprit was currently sitting in the room with him, fiddling with some piece of palm-sized technology he had just pulled from his pocket that was most likely a game of some sort.
Matt always had used rather unique outlets for his boredom. And L supposed that, since he and his recent distraction were the cause of Matt's current boredom, he ought to do something to clear the situation up. It was only reasonable.
"Matt," he said idly, flicking to the next manila file of an unsolved case, "the Americans are getting peeved."
"Are they?" Matt returned, very innocently and not looking up from his game. "More than usual, you mean?"
"Mm," L hummed. "They'd also like to know the meaning of the word 'baps', as in the phrase, 'That suit makes your baps look great, sir.'"
"Odd. I wonder where they picked up that word."
"Baps are tits, L," Mello said through a mouthful of cake, with an assurance usually only found from divine revelation or the bottom of a vodka bottle.
"Yes, it is very odd," L stated pleasantly to Matt, cutting himself a bite of his own cake with his fork and ignoring Mello's helpful intrusion. "And while I believe it is commendable to promote cultural understanding between two countries, I'll have to ask you do it in less legally problematic ways."
Matt's reply was lost as Mello's chocolate-addled brain caught up with the conversation.
"Oh, Matty! Are you hacking the FBI again? You haven't done that since we were - what, twelve? - and the only thing you could think to say was 'You're an arseface!' over and over. At least you've gotten more creative."
L frowned, having formerly been unaware of his third successor's early foray into the world of insulting hacking. He glanced at Matt, who seemed unconcerned by the admission, and decided the past was better left where it was and took another bite of cake.
"You know, L," Mello said casually, licking at chocolate stained teeth and settling comfortably against the sofa's striped pillows, "we've been pretty patient with you the past week or so. All the boring cases, all the days we've come here and had nothing to do, all the times I've graciously allowed these two fuckwads to bunk up at my place, only to find it was pointless and you once again hadn't gotten laid."
L was trying very hard to listen. Really, he was.
"We understand how distracted you get when you haven't fucked for a while," Mello continued offhandedly, ignorant of L's growing distraction. "It's just how you get. This time it was a little longer than usual, but we put up with it."
The only problem was, L had just realized that the sofa Mello was currently reclined against with confident abandon was the same couch on which, only the night before, an entirely different person had been sprawled, lazy assurance in his eyes and smile as he stared up at L, his hands reaching up to pull L down, his legs sliding apart to make room for their bodies to mold together-
"L? Are you even listening to what I'm saying?"
The memory of Light vanished like smoke and all that was left was Mello staring at him with brash annoyance.
"Yes, I'm listening Mello. Please continue."
Mello shared a glance with Matt across the room, engaging in a silent communication they had perfected when they were six. After a moment, Matt laughed, took a drag of nicotine then returned to the game in his hands, and Mello grinned proudly as if he'd said something incredibly witty.
L supposed it was possible he had - he had never quite figured out their silent code.
"The thing is," Mello continued as though he hadn't just been involved in telepathic repartee, "you're usually back to normal after you fuck something. And since you're clearly still zoning out, you either didn't actually get any action last night or whoever it was you fucked was just that good. Either way, you've got to start spilling with the details. You owe it to us after the last week."
Matt glanced over briefly from his game in apparent agreement.
L just pulled his legs in closer to his body and began drawing circles on his knee with a long, crooked finger.
"No," he decided primly, not looking up from the patterns he was tracing. "It's none of your business. I admit I have been somewhat distracted, but that time has passed now. We will currently be returning to our usual level of work, so I expect you all to apply your best effort."
His eyes rolled upwards to find Mello grinning at him in frightening determination.
"Right," the blond said, sharing another one of those speaking glances with Matt. "I suppose we'll just have to check the security tapes then. I'd bet you haven't wiped them yet."
Oh bugger.
L was about to speak, using his authority as L to stop Mello from taking a step towards the security computers (not that he expected it to actually work), when another voice beat him to it.
"That won't be of any use, Mello."
L was a little startled at the dry monotone - though of course he didn't show it - having forgotten Near was in the room. The boy was frighteningly easy to overlook, something L had no doubt he purposely cultivated.
…And he was currently seated directly in front of the security computers.
Double bugger.
"Whaddya mean, 'won't be of any use'?" Mello snapped, striding over to hover behind the curly white head.
"I mean," Near answered calmly, "that the all footage from last night and this morning has already been cleared. The tapes start back up about ten minutes before we arrive, and all that is on that section of footage is L sitting as he is now, although without the cake."
"Ah, fuck it," Mello groaned. "Guess he wiped 'em. You're a paranoid bastard, L."
"Justifiably, considering you were about to encroach upon my privacy," L returned unconcernedly, acting like the wiped tapes were not a new revelation to him when really his mind was buzzing in surprise. Had Watari taken care of it? That seemed likely, except for the fact that he would have informed L of it earlier.
L scooped up yet another bite of cake, chewing slowly and savoring the rich taste as he considered the situation.
Perhaps Near had wiped them during the time he had been sitting at the computers unnoticed. He certainly had the time and means, though L could see no clear motivation for him to do so. If anything, it seemed more likely he would find it enjoyable, in his own passive-aggressive way, to observe Mello find out his ex-boyfriend had recently spread his legs for L. He was more likely to sit back and watch matters unfold than to interfere in such a situation.
But for whatever reason, L was glad he didn't have to deal with Mello's dramatic reaction to the revelation.
He shoved another scoop of cake into his mouth, pushed it to the side to talk around it, and decided it was time to return to productivity. "Luckily for you, Mello," he began importantly, "I'm willing to overlook this blatant infringement of my human rights-"
Mello snorted then, no doubt remembering all the times L had, without a care, walked all over a suspect's so-defined 'human rights', but L ignored him and continued right over the top.
"-because we have more important things to discuss at the moment. For instance, our work. Near - have you finished the counterfeiting case I assigned you?"
Near, curled up in the swivel chair in front of the security computers like an overgrown kitten, nodded.
"Very good," L said, glad at least one of his underlings had accomplished something the past week, because it really seemed all they had done was hang around the hotel room and irritate him. "Mello, I will be sending you and Near to France to deal with this." He flung the jewel robbery file at Mello, who caught it deftly without spilling any of the papers, an incredulous expression already beginning to spread across his face. "Watari will book you a flight for tonight, and I expect you to report back every evening. Matt, you will be remaining here-"
"Hold on a fucking minute!"
Ah, and there it was. L had been waiting for that, Mello's angry outburst. He was only surprised it hadn't contained more profanity, and perhaps some threats against his continued existence.
"You can't honestly expect me to work alone with the albino! I'll go out of my bloody mind! Fuck that, L, no way. Besides, I can't leave Japan right now - you know I'm still forming contacts, I can't just up and leave."
L heaved a weary sigh, as Mello crossed his arms like a stubborn child refusing to share his toys. He had been expecting resistance; that didn't make it any more enjoyable to deal with.
"Mello," he said, trying to project all of his authority as L into his voice. "You are both adults. You have been working together for three years-"
"Matt's always with me though!"
"-and while you haven't worked exclusively with Near yet, I believe it is a vital part of your training to learn how to work with someone you don't get along with on a personal level. It will be good for you." Dear lord, he was beginning to sound like Watari. 'It will be good for you' - a favorite catchphrase of the fatherish type figure, and L was slightly horrified to hear it wander out of his own mouth.
"In any case," he continued smoothly, trying to ignore the parental slip, "perhaps this will give you the opportunity to create some different insults. 'Albino' and 'sheep' were rather commendable when you were seven, but I think they have lost any of their original sting. In fact, they've almost become terms of endearment by this point. I was unaware you were harboring a secret crush on your coworker, Mello."
Fwip.
A thin, deadly blade embedded itself in the cushion between L's feet, reminding him in a rather blunt manner of the eclectic, unorthodox training his successors had received.
Two spindly fingers tugged the knife out of the firm padding, and L said casually, "Your aim has gotten much better, Mello. A year ago you would have taken out one of my toes. I hope you realize, however, that the repairs for your outburst will be taken out of your pay."
"Yeah, yeah," Mello said, sounding a bit more cheerful than before and just as casual as L. "It was worth it. I've been wanting to do that all week."
L twirled the blade fluidly between his fingers, watching the light catch the cold metal and dance along to the tip. "I had no idea I inspired such violence in you. Please accept my sincerest apologies."
"I would, if I didn't know it would be complete bullshit."
"You will, despite this wounding mistrust in my sincerity, still be going to France."
"Dammit L, aren't you listening? I can't go, unless you want me to waste all the work I've done the past two months with the yakuza. Why don't you send Matt instead? He's the one with nothing to do, remember? 'Baps', and all - ringing any bells?"
L carefully set the knife down on his chair's armrest.
This was actually a reasonable suggestion, if not for two simple facts: it really would be good for Mello to learn how to work with Near, and having Mello out of Japan for a short while would make things much smoother for L's plans concerning a certain recent ex-boyfriend of the blond's. And that was what was really important at the moment.
"It will do no damage for you to spend a week in France," L said calmly, beginning to feel a little like King David from the Bible, sending Uriah off to his death. He doubted, however, that Light would appreciate being compared to Bathsheba - and honestly, it wasn't as if L was trying to kill Mello, or that he had moved in on Light while he was still involved with Mello, so the parallel was not very fitting.
And L would rather avoid divine retribution, if it could at all be helped - or Watari retribution, as was more applicable in this particular example - so he decided to toss the whole analogy out the window. Metaphorically, of course.
"This case hardly seems involved enough to require two people and a week," Near's quiet monotone put in, from where he'd meandered over unnoticed to scan the case file. "There is no need to apportion that amount of time and effort for a case as simple as this."
Mello snatched the file out of pale hands and ran his eyes over it quickly.
"Much as I hate to admit this, Near is right, for once. This case is a fucking cinch, L."
One day, L would train his successors so they obeyed his word without question. (He doubted David had to deal with this amount of insubordination.) Until that day, he would have to make do with heavy-handed threats and forced authority.
"And yet, you will do it anyway," he said decisively. "Otherwise you will find yourself without any cases at all, and without any opportunity to prove yourself worthy of inheriting the title of L."
"Dude, you realize that threat lost any real power over them after about the five-hundredth time they heard it, right?"
Apparently, since Matt had no interest in taking over L's role, he thought that gave him the right to undermine L's authority.
"Watari!" L shouted, giving up all attempts at maintaining dignity and maturity. "Matt is smoking in the building!"
"All right, all right, I get it, I get it," Matt said, hastily snuffing out his smoke and tucking it away for later. "You're L, all must obey your whims. Tough luck, Mels - I'll see ya in week."
"Matt," Mello groaned. "Don't abandon me!"
Matt flashed him a grin almost as bright as the game in his hand. "It'll be good for you," he said, echoing L's earlier assurance. "Besides, you're going to France - the land of world class wine and prostitutes. You'll feel right at home."
"Ah, whatever - enough with the whore jokes already. I got plenty of that from Light. You know he asked me once if I was a prostitute? Little bastard was completely serious, too." Despite Mello's harsh words, his tone was easy and relaxed and maybe the smallest bit fond, showing no bitterness towards his recent ex. L supposed this was a good thing, generally speaking.
Matt somehow managed to chuckle and roll his eyes while not taking them from his game, but L was more focused on sliding his own eyes over to Near, to see if he betrayed any sign of knowing who had been in L's bed (and on the sofa, in his shower, against the walls, on the table) last night.
Nothing.
But then, that was to be expected. Near seemed to be under the impression there was a constant game of poker going on everywhere and manipulated his expression accordingly - an attitude of which L generally approved, when not used against him.
At that moment, Watari appeared from the kitchen, looking dignified despite the pink apron he had tied around his waist.
"You called, sir?" he asked. Oh, that was right - L had called.
"Ah, yes. The problem has been resolved, however, so I all I need is for you to book two seats on the next flight to France. Directly next to each other, if it can be managed."
"L," Mello growled warningly, while Matt gave a quick bark of laughter.
"Very well," Watari agreed with a nod, ignoring the doggish sounds coming from two of his charges. "And which case will you be working on, sir?"
L drew a case file from the stack and dangled it from two fingers.
"This one. And Matt will be assisting me with any technical matters, as punishment for his recent torment of the hard-working people of the FBI."
Mello practiced his file-snatching skills once again by grabbing the folder out of L's pinched grasp.
"What?" he yelled in disbelief, as his eyes tossed over the contents. "Why do you get the fun cases? A serial killer who murders musicians with their instruments? And it's in Japan, just a little south of here? No fucking fair, L!"
L allowed a small grin to pull up his lips as he stared up at the increasingly angry blond standing above him.
"You forget, Mello. I am L. And while I have agreed to take you three on and train you in the art of detective investigation, you are still the young Padawan learners, and I am the Jedi master - Yoda, if you will. I am in charge of deciding which cases I solve, and which cases you solve."
And deciding which people I sleep with, he added mentally for his own benefit.
Mello exchanged one of those glances with Matt across the room.
"…Did L just make a Star Wars reference?"
"I believe he did, Mels. A pretty blatant one. He even called himself Yoda."
"Does he realize he's just setting himself up for ridicule?"
"You know, I don't think he'd consider it an insult to be compared to a green little creature that talks strangely and sits like a frog."
"All he's missing is the coloring."
"And the short size."
"And the badass Jedi skills."
"Well yes, there is that."
L stared down at his empty plate of vanished cake, wishing it still held something, if only so he could fling a forkful at his abusive successors. Well no - that would be a waste of perfectly good cake.
He wished it would have another slice of cake and a bit of spinach on the side - far enough away that there was no danger of it contaminating his food. Or maybe some cooked cabbage; that would make a satisfying splat as it latched on to their faces.
He could always ask Watari to give him some; he wondered if he'd even be the slightest bit fazed by L asking for vegetables. Probably not.
L tuned out his successors, two of which were still making unflattering comparisons between him and a certain syntax-challenged Jedi, the other watching the exchange with unreadable eyes. He pulled his phone from his pocket (his once L phone, now exclusively Light phone) and studied it carefully, as though it could answer the question currently on his mind: if and when Light would call.
But L really shouldn't be spending his time in this distracted manner (again). A new case awaited him, and it was time to return to work.
+
Two young men relaxed in a quiet booth, knife-sharp suits and elegant lines, the image of Japanese business pride - radiating proficiency, assurance, and charisma as they exchanged soft words over bitter coffee, the generation's potential resting easily on their shoulders.
Young Tokyo - Japan's elite.
And Light was in his element, in a game of smooth charm and muted subtlety and veiled words - like a blade wrapped in silk - and he could feel the beginning trills of quiet anticipation stirring in his blood.
"Any word from Germany?"
The other man shook his head, taking a slow sip of his own steaming drink.
"Not yet. Shouldn't be long, though. I'd guess it will probably hit the news within days."
This was just the preliminaries, the first bold step into a new game, but already Light could tell it was going to be exhilarating.
"Good. And you covered your tracks? You'll be useless to me if your credibility is brought into question."
"It's been taken care of, Yagami-kun. No one will see any connections but the ones you want them to."
Mikami had been an unexpected find. Efficient, obedient, diligent - zealous, even. It would be interesting to see what happened to his calm assurance as the game gradually progressed, the pressure building stronger. Would he snap, or would he adapt? Either way, Light had his own bases covered.
"Have the funds been transferred without problem?"
A sharp nod answered him. "There's nothing to worry about. Like I said, it's all been taken care of."
Coffee swirled around the edges of the cup, and Light watched its graceful dance.
"Perhaps. Unless there's a hitch with the piece itself."
"That's your department."
Light nodded, not taking his attention from his gently churning drink as he rocked the cup around, clasped in supple fingers.
"Yes. That's my department."
Light's voice was cool and confident, and Mikami's mouth quirked into a reassuring smile across the smooth table.
"You should be proud, you know. The painting was a masterpiece."
And Light's favorite smirk made its first appearance of the meeting, curling his lips into a mix of anticipation and satisfaction and cunning revealed - the smile of a plan falling into place. His eyes, steady and assured, left his coffee to meet the other man's.
"Not quite a masterpiece, Mikami-san. Almost - but not quite."
And Mikami's own grin jumped to his lips in answer.
"No. Not quite."
Chapter 7b