Disclaimer: Death Note and its characters and settings belong to Tsugumi Ohba and Takeshi Obata. This story is written for entertainment only, and not for any profit.
A/N: This is a first for me, writing a fanfic without having read the whole of the story beforehand. Therefore, if you take the time to review, please don't mention anything that could be considered as spoilers after volume seven.
This contains spoilers for up to chapter 58. You have been warned.
Speaking of reviews, I as everyone here greatly appreciate them. But what I appreciate even more if constructive criticism. If you who reads this have the time, I would greatly appreciate it if you told me your likes and dislikes of this story.
Many many thanks to my friend Ursamater for betaing.
I'm going to shut up now and let you get on with your reading.
The sum of his parts
L was sharper than he looked.
This was something the investigation team realized very quickly. When Yagami Soichiro first laid eyes on the greatest detective alive, he reminded him of a drug addict with his hunched and malnourished frame, and his wide staring eyes, surrounded by dark shadows. He looked like he neither slept nor ate.
But eat he did, even if he hardly slept. He would sort through the information they gathered with a keen eye, or bring facts into light that the team had discarded as irrelevant, all the while chewing or munching or drinking something sweet. It never stopped; there was always something in his mouth. If not sweets, then the tip of his own thumb was between his front teeth.
Hardly anything about him matched his reputation. Not only his looks and his obsession with sweets, but the way he acted as well. How he sat in his chair or on the couch, his knees drawn up tightly against his chest, toes gripping the edge of his seat or twiddling restlessly. How he held things with the tips of his index-finger and thumb, sometimes upside-down.
But when he spoke, even though his voice was low and lazy, his intellect shone through.
It didn't take long for Yagami Soichiro to forget his previous expectances. Really, the world's greatest detective known as L couldn't have been any other way.
L was older than he appeared.
He couldn't help but to be a bit amused as he took his seat for the entrance exam, even thought he had finished with universities some ten years earlier. No-one had questioned his presence during the few times they noticed it. False papers had taken care of registration without problem, and after that it was like no-one wanted to see him.
He knew full well that he seemed odd amongst the rest of the students. While they strode into the room focused on the task at hand, he sauntered in, shoulders hunched and shoe-laces trailing.
Getting into his seat, he observed the other students that filed in. No-one spared him as much as a glance. Then i he /i came in, and L smiled slightly around the tip of his thumb.
The exam just started when someone finally did noticed him. The examiners eyes fixed on him.
"Student 162, please sit properly."
L paid him no mind, his knees drawn up against his chest and bare toes curled around the edge of the desk in front of him. He watched.
In front of him, i he /i turned around and looked over his shoulder, obviously wondering about who it was that had already gotten the attention of the examiner. Cold, sharp eyes met wide, dark ones. L had to hold back a curious grin.
'Is it you? Am I right?'
L was stronger than he looked.
This was something Yagami Light experienced one day.
The loose clothing L wore didn't do much to hide the sharp angles of his skinny body. He essentially looked like he was made of skin and bones, all pointy elbows and knees. Muscles were something that seemed to be lacking as well as body-fat.
Yet he packed one hell of a punch, Light realized. Or rather; kick.
He had started it, thrown the first punch, and should have expected retaliation. But he didn't think that a man who - while having a powerful brain - seemed to have such a fragile frame to be capable of it.
But the bare foot lashed out, hitting his face and sending him reeling back. A split second later, he felt the yank of the chain that bound them together halt his momentum. It didn't yield one bit, and Light thought that he might as well have been chained to a cliff.
L longed for more than he had realized.
His body was young, despite his abuse with high levels of sugar and lack of sleep, but his soul was old. And lonely.
His rightful paranoia had driven him into seclusion, always communicating with people through a computer-screen, his face hidden by the simple letter L. Only one person knew his real name, but never used it. Only one person knew his face.
Until that day, when necessity forced him to reveal his face - but never his name - to a select few. In a small way, the seclusion ended that day. Still keeping his appearance away from the world, he could now at least look eye to eye with the people he worked with
Then the addition of Yagami Light arrived to the team, and he in some ways hid himself less. He still very rarely left the rooms in the hotel, but despite knowing the dangers of it, he started to connect with the young man. He dreaded it, Light was his prime suspect after all, but he still longed for it. Even with all his quirks, L was only human, and humans need contact.
He wanted Light to be Kira, because he hated being wrong. But at the same time, he wished that Light was as innocent as he claimed to be, for Light was his first and only friend.
The day came. Many pieces of the puzzle that had occupied his brain for so long were revealed. The Death Note, the existence of Death Gods, the means by which Kira killed. Still the evidence pointed away from Light, despite what L's gut told him. There was something so different about Light now.
Then it happened.
"Watari?!" L called into the microphone, calling for the only one who knew his name. A second later, the computers bleeped and a message covered the screens. All data deletion.
Watari was dead; L knew it even if it hadn't been confirmed. His mind in overdrive, he waited. Bringing up the small spoon that rested in his coffee-cup to his lips, he felt a tingle in his chest that spread out to his left arm. He knew what it was.
Someone asked him what was wrong. Yagami, Soichiro he noted.
"Everyone, the reape-" He didn't get further than that. The spoon fell from numb fingers as the first pang came, making him curl up on himself more than he already was in his crouched position on the chair.
Then he fell. Strong arms caught him in a vice grip. They called his name, the assumed name he had given them. But he only vaguely heard them. Eyes glazing over from pain and the agonizing realization that he was dying, stared up at Yagami Light. Yagami Light, who was staring right back, a look of gloating and accomplishment on his face.
'So… I… I wasn't wrong… But… I…'
His eyes closed, never to be opened again.
In life, the man known as L was far more than he appeared. Now he was nothing.