Chapter Text
10th August, 2004, Kira’s Headquarters in Tokyo.
It was nearly eleven PM when the agents chose to dine together in the relaxation area. Since it was late, Watari invited everyone to stay at the HQ overnight, but Aizawa went home, to avoid yet another fight with his wife.
Light put his chopsticks on the plate, and got up to put it on the tray which Watari had brought in. Halfway through the movement, he recalled, with a sigh of annoyance, that he was still handcuffed to the sullen detective next to him, reclutantly sipping his barley coffee.
That day they had argued again, and only thanks to Matsuda's intervention had they not ended up in brawl. Nathalie, who they’d agreed to keep calling by that name, had left them one week before; Ryuzaki had seized that opportunity to stop the investigations that she had set in motion, and had returned to managing the third Kira as he had done in the previous two months: that is, not doing shit.
Progress had stalled; Ryuzaki had stopped gathering victim data to seek quicker and more efficient methods, compared to the one Nathalie had provided.
The detective was bored, it was clear as day, and Light wondered if the abstinence from sweets and coffee had made him extremely impatient; still, Light couldn't stand him slacking off, nor that sudden surrender. It was wrong to have so many people’s safety reliant on such a selfish dickhead.
They had worked until so late because they had spent hours examining various alternative solutions to the widespread collection and storage of data ordered by Nathalie. Which, of course, Ryuzaki had rejected one by one.
Light had had enough.
Exasperated, he had started yelling at his roommate, but in the end, Matsuda and his father had told them to stop, and Watari had proposed bringing dinner to everyone in the relaxation area.
Light was furious with that lazy ass detective, but he vowed not to punch him again, since the last time they had scared Misa to death and had risked blowing out the stitches in Nathalie's shoulder – and, well… yes, that hadn’t made him look good. Like… at all. He could be excused for losing his temper once, but that shouldn’t happen again. What would they think about him, then?
Therefore, Light had thought of challenging Ryuzaki to tennis again, like that day at university, which now seemed to belong to another life, to another Light. Would Ryuzaki have been satisfied with just a direct confrontation with him? Very well. He would be willing to do anything, as long as that naughty, overgrown child would get his ass back to work.
Their days now passed slowly, all the same, between monitoring the deaths and increasingly frequent visits to Misa's apartment; Ryuzaki seemed to find it funny, pissing off the girl by attending their every "date". Perhaps, at that moment, that represented his only entertainment. Not that Light really cared about those dates anyway.
Not that Light cared about things in general.
He was always the best at everything he did, and without even putting so much effort, as if his entire life had been a game with an extremely low difficulty level. Nothing seemed capable of piquing his curiosity. Or at least, that was the case until Kira appeared. And then Ryuzaki. Such sharp minds had been like a breath of fresh air to Light's boring life. They were stimulating, intriguing, and capable of displacing the boy who always believed he was three steps ahead of everyone. Maybe that was why he was so angry with Ryuzaki for letting himself go like that.
That bastard detective just wanted to sit there doing nothing, dragging the case on. Did he find it funny? To be handcuffed to him day and night? How could he manage that self-inflicted torture without batting an eye? Maybe Misa was right, and he truly was a freak.
The weight on Light’s wrist was heavier and heavier every day. Not because of the bruises that the handcuffs caused them — they had started bandaging the area to avoid getting it severely wounded— but for what they meant.
Light wanted to go out. He needed to go out.
Ryuzaki never opened the curtains in their bedroom, and, in the HQ work room, there were no windows. Light didn't know if Ryuzaki had designed that place to look like a prison, to keep him in jail even then; nevertheless, that was the end result.
He needed some fresh air. To see the sun. To feel a bit of breeze against his skin, grounding him into reality, reminding him that he was alive, after all.
Not that he'd ever cared about such things. He wasn't weak. But well, he'd been a prisoner for fifty days, and he was being kept prisoner still. It was just normal to feel a bit... Off.
Soon he would stop feeling suffocating while getting on the elevator or closed in his bedroom. He would look at his father in the eyes without feeling a hole in his stomach. It was just his atavistic instinct, his animal part reacting to everything that had happened. But Light was no animal. He wasn't an average guy either. He was Light Yagami, first in anything he put his mind to.
Well, first... whenever Ryuzaki wasn't involved.
And, at the moment, Ryuzaki wasn't involved in solving the Kira case.
So he could put himself to work on his terms and beat Ryuzaki in his own field.
It sounded perfect.
“Do you at least intend to get up from your chair?” he asked his roommate, without hiding a note of irritation in his voice.
The detective turned to look at him with wide, expressionless eyes, the spoon dangling from his lips.
“Are you in a hurry, Light?” he teased, stretching his toes.
***
After bringing dinner to the relaxing area, Quillish headed towards K's apartment to water her flowers; he wanted the girl to find everything in order when she returned. If she ever returned.
Filling a clean teapot with water from the sink, he couldn’t help but think back at how K had teased him, asking why he had turned from the distant and intransigent director of the "Wammy Lager", as she called him, into the docile and helpful Alfred the Butler. Her words.
Well, he would continue to prevaricate; he didn't believe she was yet in a psychological state to hear the truth. To find out L's reaction upon discovering that she had jumped from a building with their child in her womb.
It had crushed him. Crushed him with guilt. And Qullish knew K, she would have taken that guilt upon her own shoulders, ten times heavier, a hundred times heavier, and it would have crushed her even more. So that he would be left with not one, but two of his kids face down in the dirt.
How desperate had L been in mourning his child. Or rather, his little girl. Indeed, to throw them off the scent, those at Hogson had provided the autopsy of a woman pregnant with a girl bearing the Huntington's gene. Maybe they believed that, that way, Qullish would not notice the boy who had been given up for adoption at one of the orphanages secretly affiliated with him, three months later.
To be fair, having dedicated his life to inventions, teaching, and Wammy’s House, Quillish found it relaxing to do everyday chores. In fact, he quite enjoyed playing the part of the gentle butler, only to see the confused expression on the faces of his collaborators when he decided to take action.
He poured the water from the teapot into all the vases in the apartment.
K had always had a real fixation for flowers (strictly not cut): she had taken care of those in the garden of Wammy's House with obsessive attention, she had even gone so far as to obtain what was necessary to prune the cherry tree on the bank of the river north of the academy. It was her favorite tree, the one towards which she used to run away every night, taking little L with her. Even her apartments were always full of flowers; as a matter of fact, after her discharge, K had requested Quillish to get plants instead of new clothes, adding to the orchids from Bjarne’s parents and Burton’s visit.
She had confessed that this obsession had proved useful; Bjarne had created a simple secret code using the flowers she had gifted him for his apartment.
Bjarne had been an extraordinary creature; and Quillish, in his life, had only had to deal with extraordinary people, but in a different sense: other brilliant inventors like him, researchers known throughout the world, luminaries, and then many, many child prodigies. Bjarne was not part of any of these categories: true, he had studied as a lawyer, he was very intelligent and cultured, he loved reading and exploring different fields, but he was extremely... ordinary. No one would have thought he was destined for great things. Yet, Bjarne had been an extraordinary person, capable of bringing light where there was only darkness and sadness.
Quillish really hoped K would bring him justice. It was just as right for him as it was for her.
***
10th August 2004, K’s apartment, Concord.
I'm glad to see you again. Remind me to thank Chris. He’s the best.
I really needed to see you, to talk to you a bit, to spend some more time together. There’s a lot I have to tell you, you know? Yeah, you’re right, it’s my fault. I closed myself off. I didn’t want to think. That’s why now we have so much to catch up on.
Well… at least, I have many things to tell you. I don’t know about you, but I’d be curious to hear from you, you know?
If only… I mean, if such a thing were possible. Wouldn’t it be great? I’ve always hoped to find a way to speak to my parents, and now… I’ll just have to investigate more on this. Don’t worry, if there’s a solution, I’ll find it.
In the meantime, I’ll talk to your urn.
And, well… by the way…
Look, I don’t want to sound like a dick, but… I think that this urn doesn't suit you at all. Do they really make them all that dull? Yeah, yeah, ok, I appreciate that it’s blue, like the sea you adored so much. And, if I squint my eyes, I might think that these golden lines there, on the base and on the neck, could be the reflections of the sun on the waves. I think it's an image that fits you like a glove. But, sorry if I tell you, I find it a bit… cold.
Like… death in Christianity is so solemn, but… it looks cold. Distant. The dead wear elegant clothes, they have elegant pictures on their tombstones, the cemeteries are so serious, it’s all so quiet. I don’t know, it makes it… it makes everything so… far away.
Well, enough sulking! Sorry for that. Come on, maybe when all this is over I'll take pottery lessons and make you a new urn. Hey, don’t laugh, I’m not that bad at crafts! Wha- ok, now you’re being mean for no reason…
Everything is fine at work, don't worry.
Yeah, ok, I know you worry all the time, but maybe try worrying less.
J says he's working on a lead that he won't tell me about, that little shithead. But you know, he's really done a great job in recent months. Both him, and Q, and Roger. Your cousin is also doing very well. You know, they also live here, in this hotel. We are all under escort. Roger is right next door, Chris is down the hall, we're all on this floor. Shall I take you to the window to see the view?
...
How light you are. It's amazing, I can pick you up and carry you around. I remember when you lifted me off the couch while I was pregnant and I fell asleep in front of the TV, you would take me to my room and tuck me in. My room, ha! You insisted on getting a three-room apartment to have a guest room. In this economy! You fool. And you never wanted a cent from me! And to think that, to be fair, that extra room had finally become my room.
Well… of course you couldn’t have any guests… You weren’t free. Because of me. Could you ever forgive me? For dragging you into this? For stealing from you the peace of your final years?
You should have travelled. You should have done many things. You should have stayed with your family and friends and enjoyed every second, because no one in the world deserved it more than you. No one deserved to live more than you.
...
I hope J doesn't just pop in to talk about work while I'm with you. He wouldn't understand. No one from Wammy's House would probably understand, L especially.
They wanted us to be agnostic, following the one and only Religion of Logic, but I never bought it.
Well, great, just as I thought… the hyper-religious Irish jokes. I’m not a Catholic, you idiot! Nor a Jew, for that matter. My parents didn’t force religion on me.
Look, that's not the reason why. It's for the coma. The one from when I was a child. You know, the white light thing, and all that. I... I never told anyone, not even you, but... well, it happened to me too. I can't tell you why or how, but I think I heard something. This is why I then decided to specialize in paranormal, you know? I mean, don't get me wrong, it's not that I wanted to be a Ghostbuster, or… but I was interested in approaching the question of life after death in a... technical and rational way. Which is pretty much the only approach they taught me to use.
I don’t think I’d have ended up like this if my father hadn't died. He had the soul of a poet, you know. He filtered everything he saw through poetry, and always managed to make me look at the world through colored lenses. But then my mother arrived and gave me an objective and analytical image of reality. They were the typical opposites that attract each other, the two of them… I often think about it, you know? But, somehow, it’s like you were more my father's son than our mother's; you too, like him, loved surrounding yourself with beauty, and you, like him, loved making people smile.
I hope you have met, wherever you are. I think he would like you very much. I’m sure he would have taken you in, if my mother hadn’t put you up for adoption. I know you had a great life with Anne and Phil, but… sometimes I like to wonder what it would’ve been like to grow up with you as my brother from birth. We would have fought. We would have messed with each other a lot. We would have been like cat and dog. It would have been great.
But it was great nonetheless. At least… for me. I hope you had fun, too.
I know it was hard. Even before Hayer. But… I’m glad I met you. I’m glad I shared some steps along the way with you. It made the journey better. For real.
Aaaaargh.
Shit.
It's cool here.
No, don't worry, it was just a gust of wind on my back, I shivered and...
Oh yeah, you didn't see the tattoo.
Look, it's still fresh, and it's just the lines. Three hours at the tattoo artist to get them done, and next week I have to go back for the color. Do you like it? It's a cherry branch. It starts from here down, it covers my entire back diagonally and ends on my scar on my right shoulder. So now, instead of having that ugly cut, I will have a flowering branch. There’s some petals here to cover the other scar as well, the one from the bullet.
I decided I didn’t want to look at my scars and think that it was a fair price I paid for my sins. My life is a nightmare just as it is. I don’t need reminders. I don’t need a memento of my pain to feel more of it. I don’t need it to burden me with more guilt. With more self-hatred. I have enough of all of it on my own.
So I will turn all this shit into something nice. I am also thinking about getting laser on my burn spot. Or, I don’t know, do something to make it permanently less visible. So that finally L will look at me without feeling guilty. He'll look at me for who I am, and not as a sin he has to atone for.
But anyway.
You see? These six flowers that have broken off from the branch and are falling are the people I’ve lost: here is you, here is our mother, my father, my uncle, and the smaller ones are A and B. Yeah, I know… We had some highs and lows at Wammy’s, but A was a nice guy. B was… well… I think nobody was truly shocked to find out what he had become, but… we still grew up together. He was still someone who could understand me. And I feel sorry for not trying harder with him. If we had… I don’t know, tried harder to understand him, maybe…
Well, enough of that.
I know, the cherry tree is the flower we used to refer to L in code. Because of his Japanese origins, yes, and because that old tree by the river was his favorite place. And mine too.
But I thought this tattoo might be a good idea. First, because with all the hurt I've had to endure and will still have to endure between color and touch-ups, maybe this way I'll stop hurting myself. I’ll stop hitting things just to make my guilt more bearable. But also, for what cherry blossoms mean: the shining but ephemeral beauty of life, its delicacy and fragility. I don't know if you noticed, but for every fallen flower there is a bud: after all, the fall of the cherry blossoms is not the end; it is necessary for the fruit, the seed, and so on to be born. That kind of thing.
I mean, I thought it might be cool.
Except, now I have to move in slow motion to avoid straining my back and I have to apply cream and I can't wear normal clothes. J is making my life miserable, he picks on me all the time, because it's against Wammy's House rules to get tattoos (you know, for the anonymity and disguise thing), and then because I don't move as fast as before. I told him that rather than running around the offices like an idiot, it's better to get one’s brain moving, but you know how he is, being a dick is his favorite pastime.
I hate that guy.
…
Ok, no, I only find him mildly annoying.
I miss you, you know? It may seem obvious, but that's it. You were my own blood, you were all that remained of my family. You had features so similar to mine, to those of our mother, and it was as if you shone bright, like my father.
I've always wanted to see them in you, somehow. You know, it’s like everything in my existence is a surrogate for something else: Roger was a surrogate father, L became a surrogate problematic friend with benefits in that subspecies of surrogate relationship we had. Even my piano drawn on the wooden board was a substitute.
But you... you were real.
You truly were my brother, you truly were my blood, and above all you truly cared about me as your sister. Subconsciously, I was so desperately looking for human contact, affection, a hug, that when I found all this in you, for me it was like... like waking up from a hibernation, more or less.
It's true, our brother/sister relationship was never like all the others, but simply because we didn't live under the same roof. There wasn’t a chance for tensions, jealousies and clashes to arise. I don't know where I heard that you appreciate your relatives more when you don't see them. Maybe this really is the secret of our friendship.
I hope what I said doesn't make you sad. I mean, I know you were worried about me being alone if you died before me, but I think I'll be fine. You'll see. Roger apparently has become a softie over the years, and I'm sure I can count on him on every occasion. I love him, I really do. And not just because he risked losing his life all these years just to protect us. But because... he's a good person. I'm really proud of him, not because he's smart or because he turned into an excellent policeman, but because he turned into a good person. He was a self-centered narcissist, and now he's a good person. Someone to be proud of.
You know, the tattoo... the flowers that are still attached to the branch are not random: each one represents a person who left me something important. For instance, Roger's flower is here, can you see it? Yours would have been here, on this twig, where there is the bud left by your flower that fell. And here, to this side, there’s L, further down there’s Watari, those small ones are Tara, Q, E, F and yeah, J too.
And that bud that hasn't bloomed yet... is your nephew. I mean, I know, I haven’t even seen him yet, he hasn't left me anything... yet. But he strongly influenced my life and my choices, and, even though I didn’t want a child in this way, I… I’ve always tried to do everything I could, so that he could be proud of me one day. Because I know he will find out that he is L’s son—and mine. He is as intelligent as his father, I feel it.
I would like… that things were… different.
I've actually been thinking about the future lately. Strange, right? I think about what I would like to do with my life when all this is over. I mean, if we get out of the Kira case alive and if they don't throw me in prison for the PPE case. And, you know, I was thinking that… I’ve learned to appreciate Roger as a person and also as a father, so maybe there’s a chance that the same will happen with Nate. I could give us a chance, maybe. I don't know, I'll see.
And then… L.
Hmm... I know you were curious to see what would happen when he recognized me. I guess you've seen it, haven't you? It's... not that simple. I mean, besides the fact that he’s still angry with me – rightly so I’d say... he would… still bang me.
There, now you're laughing. Look, this is serious! And that's a problem, because if he gets carried away by hormones like when he was seventeen, he'll end up doing some shit. For sure.
And I'm sure Light is onto something. I think it was inevitable; Light is not blind, and he’s not stupid. Of course, the other cops are unlikely to get it, given that after all this time they keep denying the evidence regarding Light and Misa. You know... the boy has a different personality now. It's obvious; so obvious that I don't understand how his father doesn't notice.
I just hope that L doesn’t get caught in his net. I mean… what if he lowered his guard? What if… he likes the boy for real? You know, the day you… I mean… that day… L called him his ‘first, true, dear friend’, and it pissed me off. It’s what sold me. Sold us. And, well, let’s not talk about my guilt; what I meant to say, is that L called Light his friend. And he never called anyone else his friend. I’m just… scared that somehow he meant it. That… in the end… I lost him.
But to be fair, I can’t hate Light, right now. I still think he’s fake as hell but… not a mass murderer, at least. For now. And I hope you’re not angry with him, at the moment, even if he is the one who actually killed you. Well, that was stupid. It’s Hayer’s fault, of course you're not mad at a clueless teenage prisoner!
If you were there, I'm sure you could save them. Light and Misa. Misa is... an orphan, like me. Her parents were killed by a thief, just like that, without any explanation. And to make things worse, there are rumors that she was often attacked by fans, that she was stalked and that she had to deal with several perverts. I think it's obvious from the way she spoke to L when he held her captive: she didn't cry, she didn't scream, she wasn't shaking with fear, she wasn't even paralyzed with terror; she… somehow she kept on acting the role of the idol victim, almost as if it were a role-play in bed. I was horrified, because I thought it wasn't the first time she had been forcibly taken by strangers, probably raped and who knows what else; this is not how a twenty-year-old girl should react, tied and blindfolded!
I can't even imagine what her life must have been like, but in any case, I doubt it was pleasant. I wouldn’t be surprised if she clung with all her might to the idea of divine justice striking down the guilty when society doesn't, and if that made her fall in love with Kira, in the person of Light. Or rather: she has an almost childish crush on Light, really strange for someone her age.
To me, it’s almost as if Misa saw in Light the ideal of a boy she’s never had... kind, polite, serious, almost chivalrous and above all not obsessed with sex. Which is kind of uncommon for someone his age, so maybe that is why he’s hiding it?... I haven't yet understood if Light isn't interested in sex, or he isn't interested in people.
But anyway, as I was saying… For Kira, Misa seems to feel an absolute devotion, a love that leads to martyrdom, as if she wanted to completely abandon herself to their will and cancel herself to achieve a greater destiny.
I thought about it while watching and re-watching the images of her arrest and imprisonment, before the change of personality. You know, she didn't put on resistance when they took her. Despite the torture (sooner or later L will have to deal with me for this!), she never wavered; she was ready to die before she could betray Kira.
And well... I think that if you were there with us, things would be very different. Maybe you could save Misa from the chasm that has dug itself inside her, and that she has tried to fill with her devotion to the god of distorted justice... like you saved me. And maybe you could bring back the light that is in Light.
Funny play on words, don't you think? He's called Light, but perhaps Glimmer would be more appropriate: his is a dimmed light, basically suffocated by boredom. Do you know that his name is written with the kanji of “moon”? I find this bizarre to say the least, given that the moon itself does not give light.
Yes, yes, I know... my sentimental side has been coming out lately. But after all, I am my father's daughter, right? I too, like him, like to see a bit of poetry in the world; it's just that, for a long time, I didn't want to look beyond my nose. Everything was grey when you weren't there.
It's good to talk to you. Really. About the case, about what's on my mind, about everything. It helps me. I just wish I could be of help to others, too.
I mean, I know that Misa and Light are guilty and should be put in prison for life. I will be on the front row when that happens. But I wish at least Misa could free herself from her inner demons, and Light could find meaning in his existence; because, right now, the two of them are already dead inside. They would never understand the atrocities they have committed, if they don’t come to terms with who they really are.
But unfortunately, I'm not like you; I can barely stand on my legs. And I think it’s so selfish that I've started to take my life seriously only now that you're gone. You were my safety net, emotionally speaking at least, and now I have to find the strength to carry on on my own.
But I am grateful for everything you have given me over the years. If I manage to do something good for the people around me, I will only owe it to you.
…
I think it's time to go. J wanted to meet for dinner, so we’ll go to his apartment, and I have to try and put cream on my tattoo first.
I'm sorry I have to leave you here, but I'd like to chat a little bit more as soon as I get back. Maybe about funnier stuff, eh?
Don’t worry. I know… it's true, lately I've kept on moving forward because I was repressing my feelings, as if I were a robot. But I'm out of that phase now.
Don't worry about me. You have always tried to transmit your light and strength to me. I won't leave them locked in a drawer like relics. I will make them shine, and I will make you shine with them.
I love you, big brother.
I… I will miss you. With my every living breath.