"Ryuuzaki, please sit down. If you fall off your chair, I'm not going to catch you."

"Nonsense, Light-kun. I am not about to fall. It's called 'doing the wave,' and I'm sure you'd find this experience more invigorating if you were to take part in it the next time it came around."

Light rolled his eyes, and the stadium claxons blared the start of the fourth inning. He shifted in his plastic chair and rolled his shoulders. The place was too crowded, too noisy. They were right behind home plate; Light supposed that most people found the spot an ideal vantage point, but he'd never liked the netting that blocked the view. There was popcorn sticking to the soles of his shoes, which added to the complaint list he'd started after the National Anthem. Not to mention he was squeezed between two people he'd rather not associate with. One was L. The other was a large, sweaty man sloshing beer down his front.

L was looking at him from the corner of his rimmed eyes. "Is there a problem, Light-kun?"

Light didn't waste time searching for a civil response. "Why are we here, Ryuuzaki?" The inquiry was flat; Light didn't expect L's reply to be satisfying.

"To see the Red Sox play the Yankees, of course," came L's answer as he turned back to the playing field.

Light sighed in exasperation. "I know that. But why couldn't we have gone to see them play in Yankee Stadium instead? Why here?" He was aware that he was whining. He knew it didn't matter which stadium one attended – baseball was baseball and fans were fans – but maybe it was the way L had been patronizing him since the first pitch that made Light want to complain.

"Baseball is baseball wherever you go, Light," L volunteered as if reading his mind, and Light gritted his teeth. "But to answer your question, we are in Fenway Park because I am a Red Sox fan. There is nothing wrong with a change in atmosphere. I find that staring across at the Green Monster helps me to think."

Light rolled his eyes. L was allowing the sport far too much pull in his intellectual mind. For a perfectly logical detective to refer to a wall as a monster…. Ridiculous. Light watched L pop a cracker jack absently into his mouth, and he shivered. Cheap snacks, roaring crowds… It was nothing but a raucous pastime. He didn't like it.

L pointed at the field. "Look, Light-kun. Derek Jeter is on deck."

Light's response was terse. "So?"

This time, it was L's sigh that carried over the yells of the crowd. "You are wearing a Yankees hat, Light. It is only natural that I would expect you to cheer for your team's star player."

"I hardly think it appropriate for me to jump up and down right now, Ryuuzaki."

Light folded his arms over his chest. To tell the truth, Light didn't know much about American baseball. When L had informed him that they'd be going to a game, he had schooled himself on batting averages, world records, and team statistics in order to learn. He'd memorized things quickly – especially the foreign names. The Baltimore Orioles. The Tampa Bay Devil Rays. The Chicago White Sox. He'd needed a favorite team, so he'd scrolled through their information and picked the team that seemed most fitting for his personality – the New York Yankees. They had a good record, fantastic players, and were always at the top of the charts. It was only later that he'd learned about the notorious rivalry between the Yankees and the Boston Red Sox.

L liked the Red Sox, and Light had chosen the Yankees. It was almost too perfect. Light tried to hide his smirk beneath the rim of his hat.

Their rivalry was undeniable.

"I hope Jeter hits a two-run homer so the others can score," Light mused, keen to scan L for any hint of irritation.

"I don't think so, Light-kun," L said cheerfully. "You see, Curt Schilling is pitching this inning. He's quite good, and I'd say the chances of Derek Jeter hitting even a single at this at-bat is only four percent."

Light tried not to snarl. He folded his arms across his chest.

"You know, Light-kun," L continued, as Jeter took a swing and missed, "I must admit I can see why you are a Yankees fan."

Light wasn't sure he wanted to have this conversation. "What's that supposed to mean, Ryuuzaki?"

"It merely means that I think the image is befitting." When Light raised an eyebrow in puzzlement, L inserted another cracker jack into his mouth. "The Yankees are a classy organization, if I may use such terminology to describe a sport. They are clean cut, professional, and they like to wear pinstripes. Much the same as you in many ways, Light."

Light blinked, hardly remembering to pay attention to the man with the beer on his other side. Was L giving him… a compliment? He stared at the Yankees players in the dug out. They were lined up calmly on the bench, watching the events on the diamond with expressions of cool calculation. Their pinstriped uniforms and short-cropped hair made them look polished.

Light glanced again at L beside him. Tufts of ebony poked out from beneath his Red Sox cap at all angles, and he crouched on the tiny stadium seat with a thumb in his mouth, cracker jacks forgotten as the game's intensity piqued for a moment. Light moved his eyes to the field and examined the Red Sox players. Some had their pant legs rolled up to sport their socks; some had their shirts tucked in neatly while others appeared wrinkled and sloppy. Light fixed his gaze on their left fielder, Manny Ramirez. His hair was in long, swinging dreadlocks. Apparently Boston lacked rules that dictated acceptable hair length. Something was… different about them. Over all, the Red Sox looked like a team, but they somehow managed to appear less unified than the Yankees.

"The Red Sox are an appropriate team for you as well, Ryuuzaki," Light said finally, unsure whether he meant it as a genuine compliment or another of his empty flatteries. He was being honest, at least. L was just as scruffy and hectic as his favorite team.

He wasn't sure whether L had heard him. "While you were busy scrutinizing the players, Light-kun, Alex Rodriguez struck out. It is my team's turn at bat again."

Light tried to ignore the almost obscene way that L leaned forward in his chair with his eyes glazed.

"The score is seven to three, Ryuuzaki. I hardly think the Red Sox will have a chance to catch up."

L didn't look fazed. "What makes you so confident about a win for the Yankees, Light-kun, if I may ask?"

Light – feeling the edges of victory creeping up to nudge him – dropped his rival's pseudonym and faced the scoreboard. "It's a matter of simple statistics, L. The Yankees have won more games this season. The team's mean batting average is .338, and the last twelve games they've played have been straight wins."

A frown had settled over L's brow. "Yes," he mused, chewing his thumb rather worriedly. "And you now have Johnny Damon in your ranks."

"I'm sorry that your best players have a tendency to switch allegiances," Light delivered neutrally. He wasn't sorry at all. He was quite pleased with himself and the turn of events.

L remained silent for a while, ignoring the man at the plate in favor of a cotton candy advertisement on the billboard over right field.

"I'm impressed, Light-kun," L said at last. "I had no idea that your knowledge of baseball was so extensive. But if you aren't careful, I will assume that this superior attitude and lurch toward the domineering team is reason to believe that you are Kira."

Light's smile vanished quicker than a fastball into the catcher's mitt. "I hardly think my being a Yankees fan is reason to accuse me of being Kira, Ryuuzaki."

"Perhaps you are right," the detective murmured, rising to his feet to hail a man with a box that was selling something in the aisles. "Would you like a Fenway frank?"

"A what?" Light was annoyed. Mere seconds after accusing him of being Kira, and L was already preoccupied with food. "What are you going on about, Ryuuzaki?"

But L already had something long and ketchup-drenched in his grasp, and he was talking to the man while he handed over payment. "I'd like a coke as well, please. Looking at the coke bottles has made me thirsty." Light raised his eyes to the giant, classic coke bottles that L had referred to. They loomed above the stadium's lighting like an omen. Advertisement at its most domineering. "Thank you." When L sat down, Light reared away from the item that was thrust into his personal space.

"Ryuuzaki, what on earth is that, and don't tell me that you're going to eat it."

"Don't be ridiculous. This is a Fenway frank, Light, a simple hot dog, delicious and nutritious and quite a tradition here. Much like the team's mascot, or calling the high wall the Green Monster."

Light stared at him, simultaneously fascinated and disgusted.

"I would be grateful if you would help me eat the frank. They are rather long, and I have already eaten two boxes of cracker jacks and a stick of cotton candy."

Light fixed his eyes back on the pitcher and rested his chin on his hands. "No."

L watched him for a moment, then shrugged and retracted the proffered hot dog. "Whatever you prefer."

Light preferred to win the game. Now he was frustrated; he did not appreciate L talking about hot dogs and Kira in the same two minutes, or the crowd booing whenever the Yankees were at bat. The audience did the wave again, and he felt dizzy watching reams of people shifting and undulating like serpents.

Jason Varitek hit a triple and forced a home run, as if to mock him.

"If you take into account the number of times the Yankees have won the World Series compared to the Red Sox," Light speculated to distract himself, nauseated by the manner in which L was consuming his Fenway frank, "then I really don't see how you can have any faith in Boston at all." L munched away at his meal. There was ketchup all over his mouth. "I mean, it was only recently that you finally won a World Series, right? And that was the first time in decades."

L swallowed to give himself leave to speak. "That is true, Light-kun. However, one must remember to take into account the curse that the Red Sox were under at the time."

Light jerked around to meet L's eye. The suggestion was utterly ludicrous. "A curse, Ryuuzaki?"

"The Curse of the Bambino."

Light blinked. Then he wanted to laugh. He wanted to throw his head back, remove himself from the crowds and the cheers, and erupt into a long, seductive explosion of irony. This was his rival. This was L, Red Sox fan and greatest detective in the world, and he believed in curses on baseball teams.

But Light didn't laugh. He arranged his face into a careful look of concern and said, "Curses don't exist, Ryuuzaki. I hardly think the Red Sox were thwarted because of something like that."

But L wasn't ready to back down. "On the contrary, Light-kun," he responded sternly, void eyes piercing as if he'd known Light was tempted to chortle, "There was a curse. I don't see why you find it so unlikely. In case you have forgotten, we know that Shinigami are real." Light bit his tongue. "Why is a curse so far off from a God of Death?"

"If curses existed, why would anyone waste their power casting bad luck on a baseball team, of all things? It sounds like you're making excuses for Boston's lack of victories."

L's frank was gone, and now he sat crouched with both hands clamped on his knees. "A valid point, Light, but you are making me angry and it is time for the next inning."

Light let the conversation sit. It was thrilling to have L frowning beneath his baseball hat, mad at him. He waited a while longer to savor the sensation before trying a soothing whisper. "Don't get upset with me, Ryuuzaki. All this debate is part of good sportsmanship."

"The Yankees – or rather, their fans… they have never been good sports about anything involving the Boston/New York rivalry, Yagami-kun."

Light hadn't missed the reversion into last-name territory. "I don't think that's fair."

"I do not wish to engage in an argument about it."

"I didn't mean to sound like I was arguing, Ryuuzaki. Would you like me to buy you another box of cracker jacks?"

For a moment, Light thought L would consider the offer, but L hardened his expression and shook his head. "I would advise you not to patronize me further. It will not work and I do not like your efforts."

Light didn't answer, and they both fell silent. The bud of triumph was blooming in Light's chest. He had successfully riled his most hated enemy; he had asserted his dominance and the dominance of America's greatest baseball team. It was absolutely absurd that such discordance had come from talking about opposing sports teams, but Light still sat elated. He thought about buying a packet of peanuts at the seventh inning stretch.

There rang the crack of a bat and Fenway Park erupted into cheers. Light almost cursed.

"The score is tied now, Light. Seven to seven."

Light was determined not to fall into the trap. "That hardly affects my game face, Ryuuzaki."

"You do not feel the least bit of panic?"

"Not at all."

"Then you are Kira." L's tone was final.

"Don't be ridiculous!"

Celebratory music blared out over the speakers, and the man next to Light sloshed beer over the shoulder of the boy in front of him. Light settled back into his hard chair while L twitched his toes and monitored the pitcher's mound.

"L." Light didn't know what possessed him to keep up their conversation. The detective only tried his patience, but something gnawed at Light and he had to ask a question. "Who do you really think will win the game? Be honest."

"Honestly? I don't know, Light. We will have to wait to find out." L shifted and scratched beneath his baseball cap.

Light leaned his head back and closed his eyes, something heavy like uncertainty settling over part of his brain. "Are you sure you don't know?"

L's voice sounded quiet, and it took him a moment to answer. "How can I, Light?" Light frowned, eyes still shut again the stadium glare. "The best we can do is to have faith in our players, and accept the final score like professionals."

It sounded… prophetic. Light cracked open a lid. "You don't care if you lose?"

L only hesitated an instant. "I always care. But I know the value of a game well played and a skillful opponent. One cannot fight against every current."

Light closed his eyes again, content to listen to the piff of ball into mitt. L was weak, and though he was a good sportsman that played by the rules, he would fail. Maybe the Yankees would win this game and then go on to sweep the World Series as a compliment to Kira's personal victory.

"Light?"

"Yes?"

"If the Red Sox lose this game, they'll have many other chances to make a come back before the season's out." It was as if L were reading Light's mind for the second time that night.

Light tried not to bark a laugh. "I suppose that's true." But Light already knew that he would win the game that counted. A bat cracked over the hubbub of the crowd.

L interrupted his thoughts one last time. "Light?"

"What, Ryuuzaki?"

"Are you sure you don't want to try a Fenway frank?"

Light grinned then, a genuine smile that he rarely allowed himself. "I'll pass."

A/N: All right – we all know this isn't my best work. Just a bit of fun, because being in London makes me miss my favorite sport. I tried to do this story justice without going into too much technical detail, though. (How many anime fans actually know anything about baseball?) I'll admit my scenario isn't plausible, but I got the idea and it wouldn't leave.

And to answer the question I know some people will ask me: I side with the Red Sox. I was born and bred an hour outside of Boston. I go to college there. My cousin played pro ball; when I was a kid he signed with the Sox for a few years. Naturally I've always been a fan. :P