Chapter Two

Poisoned Kiss

L had brushed against Death.

He knew this without a doubt now. Were he the dramatic sort, he would have claimed to have felt its icy fingertips reaching for his skin, its musky, stilled breath already sneaking into his lungs. Death's presence had been oppressive, unavoidable, and in every glance of Kira's knowing eyes – and melodrama aside, L knew it had almost claimed him.

The realization of his impending death had come several nights before, the night after his twenty-fifth birthday. He had known at that time that he was going to die at Kira's hand, and soon.

No – at Light's hand.

The chilled night air had brought him enough clarity at least to confirm his suspicions about Light – confirm his hopes, his fears. Light was Kira, the original Kira, and he was likely going to succeed in killing L. L had felt reasonably certain of it – ninety-five percent likelihood, he had figured with a resigned sort of detachment.

And, for the first time, he had thought maybe it wouldn't be such a dreadful way to go. At the hands of his first true rival, his first true equal. His first true friend.

L lied a lot, more than anyone but Watari and Light himself probably suspected, but that hadn't been a lie. Not…exactly a lie.

Light was what he'd imagined a friend would be, though he doubted most friendships had to worry about the issue of who would kill whom first. Most friendships didn't have to worry about supernatural notebooks and silent Shinigami and deadly skirmishes over the fate of the world. Most friendships weren't between international super-detectives and boys who, before out of their teens, had killed more people than a major natural disaster.

Maybe Light wasn't his friend. Maybe L didn't have enough experience with normal relationships to tell. Maybe there wasn't a word for what Light was.

But whatever Light was to L, he was definitely his first.

And L, caught in a sort of suspended melancholy brought by the heaviness of his impending, inescapable fate, had decided that if he had to die, then to die by Light's hand wouldn't be the worst way to do it.

But he hadn't died. Misa had died. And L was glad.

And no, he wouldn't revise that statement to make it more diplomatic or socially acceptable – if one them had to die, he was glad it had been Misa. Because for some reason, those two possible deaths seemed undeniably related in his mind, mutually exclusive. He had no proof but his well-honed instincts, but he felt fairly confident that, had Misa's heart not stopped, his would have. Both could not have continued beating. And while it was vaguely unfortunate Misa had died, L wouldn't deny he was glad it hadn't been him. His passive resignation had left him now, gone once Death's shadow had vanished from his shoulder, and he was as determined as ever to bring Kira to justice now.

He just couldn't understand why Misa had died in the first place. It made no sense, logically.

If the Shinigami Rem was telling the truth, and L was inclined to believe it was, then Misa's death had not been by Kira's hand, not even orchestrated by Kira's will. It had just been…a coincidence.

L did not believe in coincidences, as a general rule. Not when they involved Kira.

And even if it had been a coincidence, just a random killing by a random Shinigami as Rem claimed, it raised the question of why Shinigami killed humans at all. Perhaps if L understood that, he could discern a logical explanation for why Misa had been chosen as a victim.

Unfortunately, at first glance there seemed to be much about Shinigami that defied logic and the very laws of nature themselves. And L did not like that.

However, if there was one thing L had learned during his twenty-five years of life, it was that logic was always present, if not necessarily immediately apparent. Even the most psychotic and apparently unpredictable of criminals followed their own sort of logic; there was always a reason for their actions that could be dissected. Whether it was a chemical imbalance in the brain, a traumatic childhood experience, a moment of rationality-impeding passion or something else, there was always a reason for why they acted as they did, and there was always a logic and pattern to their behavior, even if that logic was twisted and warped by their own madness.

It just meant L had to use a different, new set of rules in order to understand it. And he felt sure Shinigami could be understood the same way.

When he had first been confronted with the possibility of Shinigami, it had been alarming – he admitted to that. It wasn't the Shinigami themselves he was alarmed by, it was the idea that they could exist. The existence of Shinigami was not something that fit with the laws of nature, and for L, who had spent his life making order and sense and logic of things, it had been disturbing.

But just at first. Because upon further consideration, L had realized Shinigami did fit with the laws of nature – just not the laws of nature as L had currently understood them. Like the early physicists, L's understanding of the universe had been expanded, the laws expounded upon, and all it had required was a slight rearranging of his mindset in order to understand.

However, he still didn't understand the details of their existence – such as why they killed, which was the applicable puzzle at the moment.

For instance, the primary reason – not the only reason, but the primary one – animals killed was for survival, either food or defense. For humans, the reasons were more varied, and more psychological than instinctual, though they were equally explainable. And L felt that if he were to understand the logic behind why Shinigami killed, Misa's death wouldn't be so apparently inexplicable nor would it be such an unimaginable coincidence.

Unfortunately, the only Shinigami available for L to interrogate was being annoyingly tightlipped about the matter. About a lot of matters, actually. Why a Shinigami would give a human its killing power, what the trade for Shinigami eyes entailed, why Shinigami killed in the first place – these were all questions concerning which he was still very much in the dark.

L had grown accustomed to the evasive answers, to the I don't know and the that's only something I can tell the owner of the Death Note, but he felt Rem was being even more taciturn now than before Misa's death. There had been a moment, immediately following Misa's death-collapse, when Rem's tongue had been looser, giving him answers with an almost stunned air, but now the Shinigami had clamped up even tighter than before. L wondered why.

He wondered why it seemed that the Shinigami was almost waiting for something, waiting for something to happen before it knew what to do next – but what exactly it was waiting for, L couldn't tell.

Instruction, maybe? Instruction from Kira?

Instruction from Light, currently bound and asleep (or doing a very good impression of it) in the well-remembered cell from before?

That could make sense.

If Rem did happen to be under Kira's direction – though why a god of death would agree to subject itself under a human was another matter L did not yet understand – and if Misa's death had been an unexpected, disrupting wrench thrown in the plans, then it made sense that Rem wouldn't be sure what to do without further instruction from Kira. And if Light was Kira, as L's gut told him he was, then there would currently be no opportunity for Rem to visit him and get new instructions without being caught by the cameras.

In that case, it was pointless to continue throwing questions at the Shinigami until it had time to confer with Kira. L felt reasonably confident in his interrogation skills, but Rem was considerably stubborn and uncommunicative and there wasn't much L could do about that, besides relentless questioning – after all, there seemed to be no way to physically persuade a Shinigami though tactics of questionable ethics, nor did there seem to be anything that could be used as positive incentive.

In short, Shinigami couldn't be tortured or bribed, and L found it annoying.

Humans, however, could. They could also be handcuffed and stuck in a cage and watched, as Light was currently proving so helpfully.

But even that had its limits. L had barely managed to send the protesting, protective father of the suspect home, with the false assurance that Light's imprisonment was more a precaution than actual suspicion of guilt and that he would likely be released in the morning. And L could already predict that Yagami Soichiro would show up early in the morning – only a few hours away now – with tired, worried eyes and no sleep, ready to resume his demands for L to listen to reason and let his innocent son out.

L did not appreciate being told to listen to reason, as if he were some sort of illogical being with no use for rationality. L was always seeking out reason, even if it didn't appear that way to those more blind than he, whose instincts were dulled and easily fooled.

It was the way L worked, guided by his instincts, and it was how he had always worked – and he felt his successful history spoke rather favorably for his methods. There were times when his instincts, his gut, whispered to him that this is the truth, this is the culprit, and when that happened all that remained was for his brain to find the logical explanation for why it was so. The reason was always there, he just needed to prove it.

The evidence of Light's guilt was there, L just needed to find it. Then they would see that L was listening to reason, thank you very much – it just wasn't apparent yet.

Though, he doubted Soichiro would really appreciate that fact when it was his son L had proved to be an international mass murderer. But that wasn't L's concern.

L's concern at the moment lay with finding the evidence of Light's guilt – which was why he was currently standing, at three o'clock in the morning, outside Light's cell, watching the quiet rise and fall of his chest in sleep.

In a way, they were back where they had started in the Kira case.

Yes, they now knew how Kira carried out his supernatural killings, and while that was a rather large chunk of the answer, L felt no closer to catching Kira. He was where he had started – suspecting Light but with no way to prove it.

Actually, that wasn't entirely true.

If the killings had started back up again once Misa and Light were released from surveillance, then L would have had reasonable cause to test the thirteen-day rule – which, if proven wrong and combined with the resumed Kira murders, would have been sufficient to warrant more drastic measures against Light and Misa. But that hadn't happened. The killings hadn't begun again. Instead, Misa had died, leaving them all in something of a flurry of uncertainty – and L had reacted by locking Light back up, having found a reasonable excuse to do so again.

The problem was, even if L tested the thirteen-day rule now and proved it wrong, without the Kira killings resuming after Higuchi's death, it wouldn't be enough to prove Light's guilt satisfactorily. It would be a definite hit to Light's credibility, but just alone it wouldn't be enough to solidly prove that Higuchi hadn't actually been Kira all along – despite how obviously false that idea was.

As it was, even if L released Light now, Light was too clever to begin killing again right away, when he knew it would just bring suspicion to him once more and give reason for L to test the thirteen-day rule.

Silently, L gnawed at his thumb and watched Light shift on his blanket-less bench that served as a bed, hands still cuffed awkwardly and probably rather uncomfortably, and he furrowed his brow in thought as circles of questions churned through his brain.

He had slipped away to Light's cell, tonight, shuffling quietly through the dark, empty halls of the skyscraper, hoping to find answers from Light's sleeping face. So far, all he had found was more questions. And as he watched Light sleep peacefully, untouched for the moment by mortal concerns, he found himself wondering what Light's original plan had been had Misa not died – supposing, of course, that Misa's death had been an undesirable event, as L hypothesized.

Surely Light must have realized that if the killings began again upon their release, L would have tested the thirteen-day rule. So what would he have done? L knew better than to believe Light would have abandoned punishing criminals in favor of maintaining his illusion of innocence. But how could he have pursued his role as Kira without giving L cause to test the rule?

Would he have laid low for a while and led the investigation in circles while L was consumed by confusion and pointless questioning of the Shinigami? Would he have found another scapegoat to blame the killings on, someone innocent and unknown?

…Or maybe, he would have wanted the rule to be tested? But that made no sense. Why would he have wanted L to disprove the rule that assured his innocence?

Unless…

Oh, that was an interesting thought.

Unless, for whatever reason, L testing the rule was what would have led to his own death.

Had the rule been not just a way to prove Light's innocence, but also a trap for L? L wouldn't put it past him – and it explained why he had recently felt his death creeping up on him. That theory made sense, provided, of course, that the rule really was fake.

But if it was true, why would testing the rule result in L's death? Was there an inherent law of some sort to the notebook that would have been broken by the test? L just didn't have enough information about the notebook and Shinigami in general to conclude the answer.

And in the end, these what if's were of little import, however much they may have bothered L's curiosity. Right now, the matter of most significance was deciding his next course. Because he would admit, he was a little unsure how to proceed. And watching Light sleep, while very interesting, wasn't bringing him any clarity on the issue.

Not taking his thoughtful frown from Light's curled form, L punched in the code (digits 22 through 49 of pi, backwards) in the keypad and quietly shuffled into the cell, gently shutting the bars behind him.

Light's face was relaxed in sleep, his hair spilling into his eyes with a sort of childish, roguish charm. His lips had fallen open slightly, and L rested his eyes on them, wondering what it would take to get those lips to spill their owner's secret, to reveal the mind behind.

To frame the words I am Kira.

Because L was beginning to believe the surest – and perhaps only – way to prove Light's guilt was to induce him to confess. Waiting for him to make a mistake was too slow – not even taking into account Light's cunning, which made the likelihood of a mistake happening smaller than with most criminals – and circumstantial evidence was inadequate.

The problem was, L couldn't formulate an idea that seemed liable to stimulate a confession from Light.

The obvious answer, torture, was definitely not outside of L's scruples.

Were it to come down to it, L knew he would have no problem absconding with Light across the globe, away from the misguided morals of the task force, and subjecting him to more tongue-loosening conditions than he had yet been exposed to. There wouldn't even be any pesky questions of legality concerning the authenticity of such a questionably-wrought confession, because he was L, and if L told the world's governments that Yagami Light was Kira, they'd execute him without hesitation.

In fact, if L wanted, he felt confident he could close the Kira case right now, not only by claiming Light was Kira but by performing the execution himself – he had the authority to do so, after all. It would just be a matter of pressing the cold tip of a gun to Light's temple, pulling the trigger, and sending the video tape to the necessary bigwigs with the message Kira is dead, signed with his usual moniker. Then, of course, cleaning up the brain splatters and disappearing before certain devastated fathers showed up with murderous and suicidal intentions – because again, that wasn't L's concern. His only concern was catching Kira.

But L knew he wouldn't do it that way. Executing Light without proof wouldn't be a victory, nor would it bring any satisfaction. A hollow triumph, nothing more, and L didn't want it.

But that still didn't answer the question of what course next? – because while L could definitely get away with torturing the truth out of Light, he'd prefer to not take that path unless strictly necessary. The childish truth of the matter was that it felt like cheating – a victory almost as hollow as shooting Light through the skull right now. It wouldn't be proving L's superior abilities, just his brute strength and clout as L. It would be winning a game of intellectual prowess through crude force, and L found the thought distasteful.

Though, if necessary, he wouldn't have any qualms doing so. Crude methods or not, L was willing to do whatever it took to win, and matters were getting such that L lately had been thinking it was perhaps time to quietly disappear, his suspect and supernatural murder weapon in tow. It certainly was the only method L could think of at the moment that would be sufficient to make Light confess.

Perhaps it was time for such drastic measures.

If Light had thought L's methods unethical and drastic before, L wondered what he'd think when he realized L was perfectly capable of methods even more extreme. He wondered if Light was even aware torture was a possible card in L's deck.

Had L asked himself that question a couple of weeks ago, he would have been unsure what to answer. But now, since Higuchi's death and since the hard, cunning edge in Light's eyes seemed to have been magically regained, driving out any naiveté from his gaze, L felt confident that the answer was yes – yes, Light was very well aware that torture was a possibility.

L felt he could guess how Light would react.

He'd act shocked at first, as though he couldn't imagine that L would resort to such methods – like anyone else on the task force would feel, though for Light it would just be an act.

Denial would be next, Light laughing and giving a come on, L, you can't scare me into confessing, as though he honestly believed L was just bluffing.

Next, once he pretended to realize that L wasn't bluffing, would come the fear, and L wondered how much of it would be real. L didn't doubt Light's courage, but the prospect of torture could twist even the bravest's insides with terror.

Quick on fear's heels would be anger, L knew – that beautiful self-righteous anger that would blaze from Light's eyes as he snarled and mocked L for his brave brand of justice, never once acknowledging the hypocrisy of his seething words.

After that, the challenge. The go ahead and try it, bastard, and the scathing I dare you. The scornful smile, the contempt, the biting pride – Light would push himself into the position of a martyr, snatch the moral high-ground because he was the one about to be tortured, he was the one in the right, simply because the law could not yet prove his crimes. But L was the Law, and L's ethics had always been a bit colder than most; Light knew this.

And beneath it all, beneath all of Light's pretense of his own twisted Stages of Grief, Light would be hiding a pleased, smug gleam in his eyes – the knowledge that L had been forced into such drastic measures and couldn't beat him through cunning alone. He would be insufferable, L knew.

At least until the pain began.

L wondered, from a purely academic standpoint, how long Light would be able to withstand the pain without breaking. Because everyone broke – broke or died, that was. It was simply a matter of time.

That was not meant to sound melodramatic or unnecessarily heartless and cruel; it was merely a statement of fact. When placed under severe enough stress, everyone eventually cracked. It was the reality of torture.

Light had already proven very stubborn, with a will made of diamond, and L believed it would take the harshest conditions break him.

But torture – especially the harshest sort – more often than not brought about fake confessions, which was another reason torture would be a cheap veneer of a win.

It was a problem. Not legally – as he'd mentioned before, L had no problem slipping around such issues – but personally. The doubt would always be there, niggling at the back of L's mind, long after Light was convicted and sentenced.

It would consume him and his brain, spinning question after unanswerable question until L was driven mad by the doubt: Maybe he hadn't induced a real confession. Maybe it was just a confession made of desperation. Maybe L had lost, even once Light was dead.

And it wouldn't be a real win – and for L, after finding the case of his lifetime, this was not acceptable.

But L's thoughts were broken then, as beneath his impassive gaze Light murmured a breath of a sigh and shifted in his sleep, then sleepy eyes drifted open and L was no longer merely an observer.

"Hello, Light-kun," he said.

He waited patiently as Light's glazed eyes blinked at him, still not fully awake, staring at him as though L were a specter escaped from a dream as sleep bled into reality.

L waited patiently a moment, allowing him to regain some of his bearings, and when Light's eyes blinked and stared at him with sharpened but still drowsy familiarity, he spoke again.

"Though perhaps I should say 'hello Kira-kun' instead? It is one and the same, after all, is it not?"

Light's eyes managed to roll disdainfully despite how they were obviously still half caught in sleep.

"Mhnn…not…not this again," he sighed, then his eyes drifted shut again and his head turned away from L. "Go away, L, 'm tired," he murmured, shifting in search of sleep again, his back now completely turned to L. L watched indifferently as his suspect's shirt slipped slowly from the hill of his hip and bared a thin stripe of skin as it settled a little higher up on his waist.

There was really no reason to keep Light awake – he had nothing to ask and hadn't meant to shake him from his rest, had merely been watching him as his brain mused – but he found his mouth speaking up, suddenly, his instincts telling him to stop Light from slipping back into sleep.

"I only need a moment of your time, Light-kun," he was saying, as though he had intended this all along. "Then you can resume your session of wasteful unconsciousness."

Light didn't move for a moment, seemingly attempting to ignore his jailor detective, but when L dug a bony finger into the small of his back he squirmed away and grunted quietly, his cuffed hands twisting to swipe distractedly at L's finger, already long gone. Then he settled back down again, stilling, his breath beginning to deepen once more as though he truly believed L would be so easily dissuaded.

L prodded him again, this time right between his scapulas, and Light groaned and jerked away but finally twisted and sat up, his hands trying to rub at his eyes before apparently remembering they were cuffed behind his back. Instead, he blinked a few times then turned his bleary, belligerent eyes on L.

"Well, what do you want," he asked, his voice a blend of tired frustration and resignation, sleep-roughened but still with the underlying smoothness that characterized his vocalizations. "Have you come to let me out?"

L watched him carefully, taking in the weary set to his face and the mouth already snapping open in soft yawn.

"I'm afraid not," he answered quietly, and his brain easily provided him with an excuse and a means of further provoking Light into consciousness. "Not yet. I've actually come to inquire after your emotional well-being, as it was not twelve hours ago that your second-in-command was killed. I felt it my responsibility to look after your psychological needs in this case."

Light's yawn cut off suddenly, and he blinked a few more times before narrowing sleepy but still dangerous eyes on L.

"You woke me up, at an ungodly hour of the morning, after imprisoning me under suspicion of having a hand in my girlfriend's death and also accusing me – again – of being the supernatural killer of thousands of others. How do you think I'm doing?"

"There is no need to be quite so touchy, Light-kun. I was merely trying to fulfill my obligations as a friend."

Light glared. "Go to hell," he snapped out, then somehow managed to flop gracefully back onto his side, his back an uncompromising wall of silence. L glanced in mild fascination at the loose shirt which had bunched slightly upwards again, and he wondered if Light noticed the cool air gliding against lower back and stomach, leaving tiny goosebumps in its wake.

He cleared his throat and spoke again.

"I assure you, it was not my intention to upset you. Though I am sure you must realize the suspicious nature of the circumstances. After all, it was immediately upon kissing you that Misa's unfortunate death struck. It makes one wonder, does it not, if there is any credence to the fairytale theory of a kiss of poison."

Light lasted seven seconds, which was two seconds longer than L had hypothesized, before flipping around to his other side and regarding L with an annoyed, gradually awakening gaze that had a commendably convincing layer of deep misery forged as an undertone.

"I'm tired, L," he said, a cross between aggression and despair. "My girlfriend- my girlfriend is dead, and I still haven't been able to muster enough energy to even fully process it." The tiny crack in his voice on the word 'girlfriend' was all the more convincing for how slight it was, and L felt the sudden urge to applaud Light's performance. Even half awake, he was a flawless liar. "We can talk in the morning," Light finished firmly, if tiredly, clearly having said his moral lecture for the day, but as he was about to turn over again a sly light snuck into his eyes, so sly that L guessed there weren't many others who would have seen it.

Light sat slowly up, feet dropping to the floor, his face now level with L's chest but his eyes slipping upwards to L's. "Unless you want to test that theory," he pointed out with the barest mocking tilt to his head, a tempting twist to his lips and a subtle, hard glint in his eyes. "You're so stubborn about testing your pet hypotheses, as I well know – and after all, if a notebook can apparently kill, why not a kiss?"

His mouth pulled into a cruel smile then, and the hard edge to his gaze became more pronounced as he flicked his eyes up and down the detective. He locked his eyes with L once again, all traces of dark teasing gone.

"Get out of here," he said seriously, softly, "and let me sleep. I'm fucking mourning. I've been patient with you up until now because I want to prove my innocence just as much as you want to fabricate my guilt, but even you shouldn't be able to justify taunting a man just hours after the traumatizing death of his girlfriend, which happened as he held her in his arms; you shouldn't be able to do anything when you don't even have a shred of solid evidence against him – against me. So fuck off, L, and I'll talk to you in the morning." And with one last raking glare, he flipped himself over and presented L with his stubborn, slender back one more time.

For a moment, all L could do was blink and nip at his thumb in mild surprise.

He had known, of course, due to his prolonged experience with having Light semi-permanently fixed to the end of his wrist via a sturdy chain, that the other boy tended to be more easily irritated and more unpredictable with his reactions when he was tired, but unless L was very much mistaken Light had just proposed L kiss him, which was a rather unprecedented turn of events.

Oh, Light hadn't meant it, of course. L and Light both knew that. It had just been his bitterness – bitterness both real and manufactured – seeping out in caustic sarcasm, yet whether he meant it or not it nonetheless implied a ninety-three percent chance that Light was both comfortable with and well aware of his own homosexual leanings, which leanings L had previously observed and theorized him to be blind to. Not that it pertained significantly to the Kira case, but it was an interesting side note at any rate. It certainly cast some intriguing doubt on Light's former relationship with the late female model – though it hadn't really needed it anyway, as it had been obvious at least to L that Misa's affections hadn't sincerely been returned.

It made L curious, now, as he watched Light's ribs begin to rise and fall in a forcibly slowed pace which was gradually becoming honest as sleep grabbed at him once more, exactly how Light would react were L to take him seriously on his proposition that clearly wasn't meant to be taken seriously. Not to test the hypothesis of Light possessing a poisonous kiss, as Light had suggested, as that was clearly illogical nonsense, but simply to test his reaction to L taking up the offer of a kiss.

L wasn't interested in a kiss for the sake of the act – he had never had much time nor interest in such things – but it would nevertheless be interesting to see Light's reaction to L taking such action. For the purposes of observation.

Satisfied with his reasoning, L wasted no time in clambering up onto his suspect's makeshift bed and crouching next to his body, one hand rolling Light over so he was as far on his back as his cuffed hands would allow. Light's eyes were flickering open in sleepy surprise, barely having time to sweep up to L's face before L carefully leaned down and touched their lips gently together in his first kiss.

For a breathless moment neither moved, and L took silent note that neither of them had closed their eyes, as he believed was generally custom for such pastimes. He could see why this was so; Light really was too close to observe properly, and trying to do so only served to give him a headache.

So, aware his time was brief, L let his hands take Light's face within a soft hold to keep it in place, and he turned his attention instead, with his usual scientific curiosity, to quickly cataloguing the sensations he was experiencing before Light decided to draw away.

Kisses…were warm. Just a subtle warmth, but there nonetheless in the mouth pressed against his.

Kisses were also soft, but with a tiny hint of something that tasted like electricity tingling along his lips and also, surprisingly, at the very base of his spine. He wondered what that was, as there seemed to be no logical reason for a physical reaction such as that to occur merely from touching one's mouth to another's. He doubted it was merely a triggering of the nerve endings in his lips, as he had touched his lips many times before and never experienced such a sensation. It seemed, despite the way logic insisted otherwise, that it was a reaction to an actual kiss – how intriguing. L filed this away for later perusal.

Kisses were dry, as well, he discovered, though he supposed that changed depending on whether tongues became involved or not. He was just debating if this experiment could be improved by engaging his tongue and changing things from dry to wet when Light seemed to recover his senses and yanked his head away, sideways out of L's gentle grasp.

L pulled back as well without complaint, letting hands draw back next to his own body, and he returned his laser attention to Light, curious to observe his reaction.

It was difficult to tell in the dim lighting, but it appeared that Light's cheekbones were now dusted with the barest hints of color, though that seemed to be more an involuntary physical reaction to the contact rather than a betrayal of an embarrassment L was sure Light did not feel. Light's eyes were cool and calculating as they narrowed up at L, further dispelling the embarrassment theory, watching him as carefully as L watched in return. His breath was slow and audible between them, his hands clenched where they were trapped behind his back in a way that seemed to subtly suggest his resentment at his bound state.

L wondered what Light would have done had his hands been free. Punched him, maybe? Likely, though L found this a trifle unfair considering Light had extended the invitation in the first place.

As it was, Light simply stared up at him for a beat, then licked his lips – probably unconsciously – and spoke.

"That was spectacularly inappropriate, L."

L nodded, acknowledging the claim even as his unashamed gaze reminded Light that, as L, he was above such concerns.

"It was an experiment," he explained. "And you did offer. You can hardly maintain the notion that I'm abusing my position."

"Except that I am currently bound, freshly grieving the loss of my girlfriend, and was actually speaking in obvious sarcasm when I 'offered'. If it weren't for the fact that you're L, you'd currently be facing charges of police misconduct."

L frowned. "Yet, like you say – I am L, not the police. And do you not think you are exaggerating, Light-kun? It was merely a short kiss, between friends. Hardly the harassment you are implying. And at the very least, we have now determined there is no physical poison which taints your lips."

"If you had really believed that there was, L, you hardly would have tested it yourself."

L hummed. "Perhaps."

Light's eyes were suspicious as they watched him, gleaming a little in the semi-darkness, but he didn't scoot away from L or show any signs of discomfort with L's continued proximity.

"What was your experiment, then?"

"Tell me, Light-kun," L replied instead. "Was Misa aware of your sexual preferences?"

If L had hoped to catch Light off-guard, he would have been disappointed.

"That I'm bisexual, you mean?" he questioned, not attempting to deny anything, and there was a sharp, knowing glint to his eyes. "Yes. We'd discussed it. It wasn't a problem for her, if that's what you're asking."

L bit his bottom lip thoughtfully. Bisexual, then. It was possible, he supposed, if unlikely; L's instincts had always classified Light as more interested in his own gender than not. But it was possible.

L still had the feeling Light was lying.

But it was of little matter; Light's sexual orientation would have very little bearing in proving his guilt as an international mass murderer, particularly now that Misa was dead, and L had mostly ran his experiment out of personal curiosity.

"Kissing a suspect without permission in order to satisfy a theory is hardly ethical, L."

L dropped his eyes to Light once more, and found him gazing sternly up at him. It was interesting how Light seemed to think he could get away with playing the moral high-ground card with him, when they both knew full well L was perhaps the only person alive who wasn't fooled by his ethical pretense. In fact, the hidden, taunting gleam to Light's otherwise uncompromising mien acknowledged this, even if no one else but L would have cottoned on to it. L addressed this honest gleam rather than the moral mask Light wore.

"I have hardly claimed to be ethical in what I do, Light-kun. Merely efficient. There are times when ethics must be sacrificed in favor of justice – as I am sure you are aware."

Light's eyes spoke a thousand words his mouth wouldn't say, words of Kira and comparisons and can't you see, that's exactly what I'm doing, but Light wasn't stupid or careless enough to start spouting out pro-Kira propaganda, and L would have been disappointed if he had, however much he would have enjoyed poking holes in Light's arguments.

But Light remained silent, so L spoke instead.

"I'm sure you realize the position you're in, Light-kun," he said, and he hadn't meant for it to come out like a threat but it had anyway, soft and mild like the best kinds of threats were. He had simply wanted to call Light's attention to the fact that it was well within L's authority to use methods of extreme dubious-ethicality in his case against Kira, but suddenly it had felt vital to make sure Light completely understood this reality, inside-out and backwards, with all the implications entailed.

But Light seemed determined still to maintain his mask of naïve innocence, and he ignored the hovering, unspoken threat of torture even when his eyes spoke his true thoughts on the matter.

"Of course I do, L," he said softly, but there was a razor-sharp edge in his voice and in his eyes. "I'm being temporarily imprisoned because you're too stubborn to not jump at any chance to lock me away, even if it means you have to use personal tragedy as an excuse. You and I both know it won't last, though. However eager you are to place the blame of thousands of deaths on me, you know as well as I do that you don't actually have any solid proof – just assumptions and twisted theories and a murder weapon which can't ever be linked to me. You can't prove it, L. You can't prove it because you're trying to prove something that's a lie. All this – the cell, the handcuffs, all of it – are just technicalities. And the sooner you accept that, the sooner we can start working together to bring the real Kira to justice, the original Kira. You know this, L, you know this as much as I do."

There was a quiet fire in Light's eyes, an unquenchable determination that glinted in the darkness, and for a moment it threw L back to when, all those weeks ago, Light had been locked away in this very place, staring up at him through the lens of the camera and declaring his innocence with all the firm conviction of words seared into a mountainside. Back then, Light had been as magnetic and cunning as ever, almost unbelievably so, but with an unexpected soft edge that had appeared from nowhere, sharp but without danger, still innocent and naïve and unversed in some of the harsher realities of the world.

You can't prove it, L.

Now, Light's eyes held that same unshakeable conviction as they said those five words, but his eyes were harder, keener, the soft edge gone, his cunning lethal and ruthless like a deadly blade. The soft Light was gone, and it was that as much as anything that convinced L that it was Kira currently stretched out beneath him on the hard wood.

But even now, even now as Light's more-aware eyes acknowledged L's latent threat of torture and his lips twisted out his pretty half-truths and denied any knowledge of such possibilities, even now as Kira looked through his eyes with oceans of blood splattered on his hands, even now he still had an idealistic fire in him, a fire that might have been youthful but definitely wasn't innocent; he was like a young revolutionary, alight with passion and the ability to set others ablaze with his zeal, yet able to take a life, take thousands, without any pang of conscience.

L wondered if Light knew most young, idealist revolutionaries tended to end up gasping out their dying breaths as their bodies lay broken on their own battlements. Though, granted, most of them hadn't been as clever and capable as Light had already proven to be, and most of them weren't handed supernatural notebooks able to kill with only a name and a face. That did possibly change things.

Light, apparently satisfied he'd said his piece and finally quieted L, somehow managed to smirk up through the darkness without actually smirking, then twisted around one final time and gave every appearance of trying to return to sleep.

"Goodbye, L," he said.

L's eyes fell to that now-familiar stretch of skin above his waistline.

It was then, he'd realize later, that L understood the reality of the full extent of Light's stubbornness. He'd always known Light was as determined as he, but it was at that moment that he realized exactly what that meant. It meant, unconditionally, that Light would react just as stubbornly as L would in his situation, and L knew that were he in Light's shoes, nothing short of torture would have pried open his lips.

It was nothing Light had necessarily said or done, no particular gleam in his eye which L could isolate and point to as a cause, but L knew there was no chance of Light ever confessing while he still lived and breathed, save for under extreme physical and psychological compulsion – which L had already determined was only to be utilized as an unpleasant last resort.

And this thought may have been discouraging for L, if not for a quiet idea beginning to patiently take root within his mind.

As long as Light was alive, he'd never admit to his crimes under his own free will; L knew this.

But if he were dying – well, that was perhaps another matter altogether.