Disclaimer: Death Note no me owny.

:(

Rating: T, for language and shounen-ai themes. Some mild violence.

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At 0942, prisoner Yakatoshi was in his cell, pacing, according to a check done by day shift
guards. He was found collapsed at 0957 by the same set of guards, and pronounced dead on
the site of a heart attack. Yakatoshi’s criminal record included three counts of battery and
assault charges, two counts of vehicular manslaughter, and one count of third-degree
murder.

Light blinks slowly, his eyes roving uselessly across the page, his mind struggling to
comprehend the words he was trying to read.

Three counts of battery and assault . . .

Kira’s pattern has changed over the past two weeks or so. He has gone from killing
publicized criminals to private ones, those criminals whose records were never aired on
television and were not made available on the internet. It is infuriating. Who has enough
connections to the police to kill this anonymous criminal, whose trial had not been
publicized?

Collapsed at 0957 . . . pronounced dead of a heart attack . . .

If it is a family member of any of his task force members, they would have been able to
pinpoint a suspect by now, as their IQ or skills as a hacker would have made them an
obvious choice.

Two counts of vehicular manslaughter . . .

Then again, what if Light is just not being observant enough? What if, like he had told Teru,
his sympathy towards Kira’s cause is keeping him from being completely detached, the best
police officer he could be? Does Light subconsciously want Kira to win this?

In his cell at 0942, pacing, night shift observing him . . .

No, L would correct any mistakes Light made. If Light wasn’t good enough on his own, then
surely L would be able to make up for anything that he lacked. Light tried harder to read the
words, to search for a clue. Nothing became apparent. Teru had asked, hadn’t he, whether
Kira’s justice might be more pure than Light’s own? What if he were right? What if Light was
fighting a losing battle here?

One count of third-degree murder . . .

Light sighs a bit as he completely gives up reading the report. His tired eyes just won’t do it.
What if, as L had claimed all those years ago, Light was Kira? Or, rather, what if he had been
Kira? Light knew for a fact he wasn’t now, but what if . . .

What if . . .

Light shakes his head, his eyes still staring at the page. He can’t afford to think like this, not
when he has given the hypothesis much thought and analysis already.
L could have been right. I am sympathetic to Kira’s justice, or at least I was ten years ago.
And I was a good deal more impulsive. And there are certain things, certain memories and
emotions that don’t quite match up . . .

Like his excitement when he’d seen Lind L. Taylor collapse.

Like how Light remembers feeling panic when he met and spoke with Misora Naomi.

Like how he can’t remember what they talked about, only that she disappeared and the next
he heard of her was that she was dead. And how he hadn’t been concerned.

Like how I remember watching Raye Penber die.

Light doesn’t know what he was doing at the subway station that day, or why he stood inside
the train and watched as Raye Penber gasped his last breath. He doesn’t understand why
Penber would have looked at him with such intensity and . . . and hatred.

And realization. And understanding.

Light knows that all this matches up, all leads inevitably to L’s conclusion, but he can’t quite
bring himself to really admit it, because he does not remember.

There are huge gaps in his memory, and it frightens him, because it has not happened
before or since the time when he was under suspicion of being Kira.

He remembers feeling happiness, real joy and relief when he plucked the Death Note from
L’s fingers in the helicopter.

He remembers the tortured emotions, feeling conflicted, in the weeks following.

Light remembers how much it hurt to say I love you to L.

His fingers clench around the report he’s holding when he thinks that, and his eyes slide
unseeingly over towards L’s laptop. The paper between his fingers wrinkles and turns slightly
damp in his grip.

That bastard, he thinks. How dare L make Light question himself, when his motives have
never been anything besides justice-oriented? How dare L show up here, now, pretending as
though he doesn’t understand exactly why Light has trouble speaking to him, acting as
though he didn’t leave in the middle of a serious relationship without explanation; as though
he hadn’t just taken off, leaving Light feeling dirty and used, like their relationship was only
ever physical to L; like L only wanted Light for the sex, for the pleasure he brought and once
it was no longer convenient to him, L had just left.

Just gone, leaving Light with his empty words—I love you—mocking him when he tried to
sleep, feeling the rejection like a real, live creature in his chest, sucking the life from him,
hurting him every time he breathed, making him wonder why he wasn’t good enough, why L
didn’t want him—if he had ever truly wanted him—anymore.

Light’s jaw clenches as he tries to keep from grimacing. Somewhere in the back of his mind,
he knows that he ought to be focusing on the papers he’s scrunching in his hands, and he
knows that he’s still staring at L’s computer, but he cannot seem to stop this hypnotic,
circular train of thought he’s begun.
God, why had L done that? Was he really so heartless? Light can practically taste the
rejection and the hurt, long since buried, now coming up and nagging at him again,
reminding him again of his failure, of his inadequacy in the face of the world’s three greatest
detectives. He was not good enough then and he certainly isn’t now, now that he’s so much
older, so much more tired, thinner, sicker, more confused, angry, repressed.

A very small voice warns him that these are dangerous roads he’s traveling, dangerous
emotions he’s feeling, and that they are all showing in his eyes, for the world to see, for L to
see, but he can’t quite hear it over the roaring of his weakness in his ears, feeding his
despair, making him feel completely black, making this case seem hopeless and damn it if
Light doesn’t need sleep, he’s been six days without it now, and he can’t function anymore,
he doesn’t have complete control over himself anymore . . .

What if he had been Kira? Every bit of evidence makes sense, Light can see that now even if
he was too obstinate ten years ago to even consider it. L was right to accuse him, he was
right to make assumptions. Light had been the perfect suspect.

Was he still? Was it even possible?

No, Light would remember something like that.

Wouldn’t he?

Damn L. Damn everything he stands for, every bit of justice he is supposed to represent.
Light’s faith in L’s justice was shattered when he realized that L was only fair, only objective
when it suited him. L is opinionated and prone to bouts of anger and depression, L is not
impartial. L is not justice.

But he is the closest Light has ever seen, so he has tried to model his own system after L’s.
He seeks the guilty party based on an instinct born from catching too many criminals; he
sometimes quietly uses illegal means to gather information, and then covers it up later with
pretty lies. He consumes energy substitutions to keep himself from sleeping, to keep his
mind running when it needs so badly to rest, when it is begging him to rest.

And even as he does all this, Light tries to pretend that he has no idea what inspired him.

But he knows.

Oh god he knows, and it is killing him.

Light starts when he hears L’s computerized voice, mercifully cutting through his self-
destructive and miserable thoughts.

“Does Yagami-san have a question he needs me to answer?” L asks, and Light suddenly fully
realizes that he has been staring at L’s laptop for perhaps the past two minutes.

Blinking hard a few times, Light finally shakes his head. “I apologize,” he murmurs, then
stands. “I need to rest,” he tells the rest of his team, and notices their nods of approval. He
knows that, while they depend on his superhuman qualities, they also tend to worry.

“Of course, Yagami-kun,” Matsuda says sympathetically, and Light resists the urge to roll his
eyes. “You’ve been working really hard. We can handle things here.”

Light nods to him and looks at Watanbe.

“Watanbe-san, I trust you will call me in if anything important happens?” he asks, also
implying that Watanabe is once again in charge of the investigation.

His second-in-command nods stoically, barely looking up from the videos he is examining.
Light likes the fact that Watanabe rarely smiles, so Light hardly ever has to return the
gesture.

Light nods to the laptop, which he is still trying to resist thinking of as L, and heads for the
door. He hears Watari murmur a quiet goodbye, and Light smiles a little to him in return. He
appreciates Watari’s concern, actually, more than anyone else’s, because Watari has some
idea of the reason Light is driven to work so hard. Everyone else just assumes he is
obsessive.

Which he is. But that’s beside the point.

Light sighs as he gets in his car and drives to his nearby apartment. He isn’t making much
sense, even in his own mind. He should have gone home hours ago to get some sleep, but
he doesn’t like the idea of leaving L alone with his task force. Who knows what sort of
questions L will ask them when he is gone?
Well, there’s no helping it now. Light needs sleep, and he can’t control his workspace all the
time.

With a quiet groan, Light gets out of the car and heads up the steps to his apartment. Just a
few hours of sleep and he will be back at work to try to solve the mystery that has been
troubling him for well over a decade. If Light can finally put Kira to death, then he will finally
have his answer, he will finally know for certain that L is wrong, that Light must remember
wrong, that he must have just forgotten some things all those years ago.

Once Kira is gone, L will cease to plague him. Perhaps once Kira is good and dead, Light will
finally be able to get over L.

He hopes.

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L watches as Light climbs the stairs to his apartment. He has told the task force to carry on
with their work, and to alert him if they find anything. L tries to rationalize this, telling
himself that there are many bright men on the task force and that they should be able to
spot something suspicious without L watching their every move. He tries to tell himself that
what he is doing is for the case, and not just because he finds Light Yagami to be fascinating.

He tries, but ultimately, L just pushes aside the truth and watches Light anyway.

Light is exhausted. That rings clear in every shuffling step he takes, and no wonder. Light
never did have a talent for staying awake, and even if he has trained his body to work
without sleep, he will probably never develop the natural aptitude L has for it. L reflects for a
moment about the similarities between Light and himself now, but he is quickly distracted by
Light undressing clumsily next to his bed.

L averts his eyes for a moment, more for his own sake than for Light’s, as he can feel the
muscles in his stomach tighten, his mind traveling back a decade and remembering with
perfect clarity the last time he had seen Light in this state of undress. When he looks back,
Light is in his boxers and is sliding between the sheets in his bed, his eyes already slipping
shut, and this brings back memories too, and L unconsciously leans forward into the screen,
wishing just for a moment that they didn’t have ten years of silence between them and miles
of pavement and buildings now. If he were in the room with Light, he too would undress and
lie down next to him, perhaps only to sleep—L had always slept much easier with Light next
to him, Light’s easy breathing creating a soothing rhythm of sorts, making his mind relaxed
and calm. His warm body comforting against the coolness of unfamiliar sheets as L pressed
against him—

L shakes his head, darting back away from the computer screen. He cannot afford to do this,
not now. Perhaps his time with Light had been enjoyable, but he had effectively ended it,
and even if he wanted to, there was really no way of getting it back. Light’s behavior, and
the hard and sad look he had given L’s laptop just a few minutes earlier, just before he had
admitted to his exhaustion, confirms that.

L sighs, watching Light sleep as he also glances at the video feed of the rest of his apartment.
It is obvious that Light shares the place with someone else, although L cannot fathom why.
Surely Light, with his cold demeanor and forced apathy, is not close enough to anyone to call
them friend, to want to room with them. L supposes that it could be for purely economical
reasons. He has looked up Light’s roommate, Mikami Teru, and has found him to be of
impressive intellect, but otherwise more or less dull. A prosecuting attorney who works
closely with Light’s departments. Perhaps that is why Light doesn’t mind rooming with him.

As L glances at the feeds of the rest of Light’s apartment, his mind abruptly moves back to
the bedroom Light is sleeping in, and L’s head turns back to examine Light again. L suddenly
realizes why Light’s apartment seems intriguing to him.

There is only one bedroom. With only one bed.

L’s eyes widen of their own accord. No. Surely not. Light doesn’t trust anyone enough to
have a truthful conversation. How could he ever be unguarded enough to have a . . . a
relationship . . . with anyone?
Especially this Mikami Teru. L looks at his file with new distaste. He really does seem rather
unexciting. He isn’t nearly as good looking as Light is either, his grades aren’t quite of the
same caliber. He is . . . he is inferior.

L realizes where his thoughts are taking him, and he tries to reign himself in, but then
suddenly the door to Light’s apartment clicks open and who should walk in but Mikami Teru
himself, and then L forgets all about self-restraint and leans in close to the screen, staring.

He watches as Mikami removes his jacket and tie and hangs them up in the closet, and then
notices that Light’s coat is also there. He sets his briefcase on the table in the living area and
then immediately heads to the bedroom.

L, utterly ignoring the complete and almost humorous hypocrisy of the situation, thinks that
it is rather creepy how Mikami pauses at the side of the bed and stares at Light’s sleeping
form for a full five minutes. Mikami’s eyes take in every detail, lingering on the contours of
Light’s thin face, then moving down to the rest of his body before he leans over and presses
gentle lips to the side of Light’s neck. Light stirs a bit in his sleep as L clenches his hands,
grimacing so slightly at the display of affection and at the half-smile it provokes from Light
as he sleeps.

L’s fingers dig in deeper to his palms as he watches Mikami remove his clothing except for
his own boxers before climbing into bed next to Light. Mikami leaves the bedside lamp on, so
L can see perfectly well as Mikami strokes Light’s hair with fingers that barely touch at all,
and how Light moves unconsciously closer to Mikami, his deep sleep unbroken. Mikami
smiles and kisses Light again, this time on his throat, moving up to his lips, where he
presses a chaste kiss before pulling away slightly and laying down next to Light, curling up
against him and closing his own eyes.
It is at this point that L realize that his nails, bitten thought they are, have dug into his
palms so hard that he had drawn blood, and he pulls back from the computer screen as
Mikami’s breathing evens.

Not just roommates, then, L thinks as he finds bandages for his abused hands. Why is he so
upset by this? It isn’t as though he has any claim to Light. Light can kiss whomever he damn
well pleases. L doesn’t care. He hasn’t spoken to Light in ten years. Why should he care? He
doesn’t care. Even if Mikami is slightly creepy and not that good-looking and really not smart
enough to provide Light with stimulating conversation, and not dominant enough, by the
looks of it, to really challenge him, to put Light in his place when he needs it.

No. L doesn’t care about any of that.

At all.

Because that would be illogical and emotional and possessive and . . . L can’t be those things.
He gave up any claim he had to Light years ago.

But . . .

But now, watching the pair sleep . . .

L wants him back.

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L is pacing.

It isn’t a good sign.

He has muted the microphones he has placed in Light’s bedroom, and he is trying to interest
himself in anything in the room but the computer screen.

None of this is helping.

Because none of it changes the fact that Light is currently being kissed, fondled, touched,
examined, pleasured by Mikami Teru.

L thinks in a distant part of his brain that this must be Karma, and he must be paying now
for all the times he illegally installed surveillance. His eyes dart back to the screen and then
he forces himself to look away, to stare out the window, but it doesn’t help, the image of
Light straddling Mikami, kissing his throat is now burned into L’s corneas. With something
that sounds startlingly similar to a growl, L turns back around and, in a show of pure
willpower, shuts down the computer, something he has never done before.

Almost immediately, his cell phone rings. L glances at it. It is Watari’s number, and L
considers pressing the ignore button before sighing and realizing that, even if he did, Watari
would just come to the hotel to make sure he was alive and well.

“Yes?” he asks, his voice still holding an edge of irritation and edginess.

“Is something wrong?” Watari asks. He is whispering, which means he has left the
investigation room to find out if something has happened to L.

“Yes,” L repeats.
“Your computer is switched off.”
“I know,” L says tersely.

There is a pause, and then L hears the crackling that is Watari sighing over the phone. “Why
is your computer switched off?”

“I turned it off.”

“Why?”

L is silent. He has absolutely no excuse for this, this is an international case and he needs to
keep the lines of communication open at all times. “It was a mistake,” he finally says,
sounding younger than he has in years. “I am switching it back on now.”
“Very well,” Watari says. He sounds desperately confused, but L is much too ashamed of
installing illegal surveillance equipment into Light’s apartment, after Light has more or less
proved his innocence to L, to confess. Not to mention the fact that Watari cares about Light,
enough even to apologize to him on L’s behalf when he thought L wasn’t listening.

L hangs up the call without further explication and, with a growl, presses the glowing blue
button on his computer. It springs to life almost immediately, just in time for L to realize that
when he reboots the computer the sound comes back on, and he is subjected to breathy
moans for 4.8 agonizing seconds before he darts forward and shuts off the volume as well.

He mumbles a few obscenities under his breath, not daring to glance up at the computer for
another five minutes, when he is reasonably certain that they should be finished.

L is correct in his estimation—of course he is, he’s L—and all he sees is the less-than-inviting
sight of Light running his fingers down Mikami’s back as he lies next to him.

Without wanting to, L stares at the sight, feeling absolutely tormented, memories of Light
doing that to him, or the reverse, coming back to him so strongly that it is hard to believe
that it has been ten years since L has experienced that kind of intimacy.

His emotions made him afraid then. Now, all feels is anger. Frustration. A desire to have
Mikami Teru assassinated the moment he leaves Light’s bed.

L doesn’t pause to consider these emotions. He is much too caught up in Light’s own
expression. Because although Light’s hands are firm and affectionate on Mikami’s neck and
back, Light’s face shows nothing.

His eyes are dull, blank, not betraying for one moment the passion he was supposedly
feeling not two minutes ago. Mikami’s breathing is labored, his face drowsy and content, but
all L can discern on Light’s expression is apathy and distance.

What a change from the passionate, emotional, fervent teenager he’d once been. L
remembers how absolutely he used to be able to make Light lose his carefully crafted
control—how Light had loved it and hated him for it.

Mikami, apparently, has no such talent.

L realizes how basely smug he is feeling over this knowledge, but he makes no effort to stop
himself, because the fact remains that it is Mikami in that bed next to Light, being touched
by Light, not L.

Not L ever again.

For perhaps the first time, L truly feels what he has lost—no, what he gave up. Light, the
only person he’d ever found able to read him almost completely. Intelligent, determined,
idealistic, beautiful. All of those things and so much more.

Memories seem to bombard L as he stares at the screen, stares at Light’s blank eyes. He can
remember tiny details, things he’d thought he’d forgotten. Things like how Light always liked
things like fruit for breakfast, pears especially. Or exactly how Light’s eyes would close
halfway when L was playing with him and he was both pleasured and infuriated. How his
eyes seemed to positively flash like thunder when he was angry, how hard he would hit when
he believed that he was right.

He is so different now. He is . . . L searches for the right word . . . Light is a shell, almost a
mockery of what he used to be.

Suddenly, and so strongly that it actually hurts, L wants that teenage boy back. He wants to
change everything he said that has apparently hurt Light, and, most of all, he wants him.
Light. The real one, not this mask that everyone else gets to see.

L has leaned in so close to he screen that it actually startles him when Light sits up fully and
swings his legs over the side of the bed. Mikami murmurs something, and L figures that it is
safe to turn on the volume. Ignoring the pressing pain in his chest, L turns up the sound.

“-just going to take a shower,” Light is saying, his voice the same unemotional tenor L has
been hearing for the past week. Now, though, everything seems different, and L wants to
answer him, wants to reply or speak to him or just feel Light’s eyes on him. This desire
frightens him, but he does nothing to quench it.

“Hmmm,” Mikami murmurs, looking so god damned satisfied that L feels a sudden desire to
set the bed he’s currently lying on on fire.

Light ignores Mikami’s less than conscious response and instead pads softly into the shower.

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“Light?” Teru calls as Light rubs a towel over his hair. Light pauses and fastens the towel
around his waist, checking the mirror once to be certain that his expression is as apathetic as
he imagines it to be.

There is no trace of the pain he felt while showering, remembering a different set of hands
on him, and conversely remembering his anger and humiliation at those hands. He knows
that it is not fair to Teru, and Light even feels a small pang of guilt over it. Teru can never
know that he is, at best, a substitute for something Light will never have again. Light sighs,
pushing the thoughts away. He has been far too emotional these days, and while he knows
that this is all L’s fault, his is still irritable over it. He focuses hard, breathing to eliminate the
traces of regret from his features before looking in the mirror again. Light nods in
satisfaction at his own ennui and enters the bedroom.

Teru is bent over, examining their bedside table. He looks as though he started to get
dressed but was interrupted—he is shirtless and he has trousers on, but they are unbuttoned.
His pale fingers are splayed out on the nightstand as he turns his head as though to get a
better angle.

“What is it?” Light asks with a small smile. “The nightstand is suddenly a particular brand of
interesting to you?”
Teru straightens when he hears Light’s voice and he gestures for Light to come closer.
Seeing the apprehensive look on Teru’s face, Light moves cautiously, coming slowly to stand
next to him.

“What is it?” he asks again, and Teru crouches down.

“Look,” he says simply.

Light copies the gesture, also crouching and squinting. For a moment, Light doesn’t notice
anything out of the ordinary—he is just peering under the edge of the nightstand, after all.
And then, his body goes rigid and he falls back, landing hard on his ass.

“Shit,” he says.

Teru looks at him curiously. “So you don’t know who put this here?”

Light scrambles to his feet, jerking open the closet door furiously. He is livid, and he doesn’t
give a fuck if Teru can tell, if anyone can tell. He begins to dress, throwing on the clothes, his
body awake and alive with furious energy. “Oh, I know,” he snaps, not looking back at his
boyfriend.

Teru reaches down and dislodges the tiny camera from underneath the ledge of the
nightstand. “Does this have anything to do with your investigation?” he asks, examining the
mechanics of it.

For once, Light hates Teru’s calm voice, and he rubs a hand through his hair, making sure
that it is more or less dry. He is fully dressed now, and heads for the door. “Yes,” he snaps,
gathering his things.

Teru follows him out into the living room, settling onto the couch, watching Light as he
pauses, looking around for his cell phone. “Are you all right?” he asks at length, as Light
snatches up the mobile and then grabs the keys.

Light pauses at the door to look at him. Teru deserves some explanation before he takes off.
He takes a breath. “I’m a suspect in my own fucking case because L can’t leave well enough
alone, so apparently he’s decided that spying on me is a fantastic idea because it worked so
fucking well last time.” Teru stares at him with wide eyes, never having heard Light this
angry before. Light tries to breathe, but finds staying calm impossible.

“L?” he asks curiously.

“Yes, and there are probably hundreds of cameras all over the apartment, and possibly even
some in my car and god, who knows where else.” Light breathes again. “I’m really sorry
about this, Teru. I’m going to work it out right now.”

Teru nods, not entirely understanding. “I will probably head back to work,” he says haltingly.
“Will you call when everything has been worked out?”

Light stares at him for a moment, wondering if he should stay longer and explain—no, he
has no time. He needs to fix this. Now.

He nods and leaves.

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When Light arrives in his office, his task force is still busily working away, completely
unaware of the drama that is unfolding under their very noses. Light pauses in the doorway
to catch his breath, knowing that his eyes are still flashing furiously. He walks calmly to his
desk, but the officers notice that something is wrong, something is different.

All eyes are on him by the time he arrives at his desk, and may of them look startled. Light
is usually so collected. Now, with his face angry and set, he examines the rest of his team,
his eyes falling at last on L’s laptop.

Light has no room to feel pain or regret. He is too angry, but when he opens his mouth to
speak, his voice is calm. “I’m glad I have your attention,” he says, “because I have an
announcement I’d like to make.”

Their faces are so curious, their eyes trusting. Light almost hates to break their faith, but he
can’t afford to reconsider now. He takes a deep breath and then speaks. “In light of both
personal concerns and turmoil in my private life, as well as the suspicion surrounding my
person in the past regarding Kira, I regret to inform you all that I will be resigning from this
investigation.”

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A/N: Yeah, remember how I said last chapter that L was a total bastard? Well, Light is a total
bitch. So there. Yet how I love them both . . .

HOLY CRAP I LOVE THIS CHAPTER. I had such an awesome time writing this. Seriously.
That’s why it is being posted so soon after the last one—I just couldn’t stop!

And thank you guys so much for your reviews last chapter. I asked for constructive criticism
and questions and you guys delivered. I really appreciate people who are willing to take me
work serious and consider my writing analytically. I feel as though I’ve improved just this
chapter from all of your commentary.

Again, I would love it if people would point out parts they loved in particular, but also things
they weren’t too certain of.

Thanks again for reading!