DESIDERATUM: Chapter 12

Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note.

ENTICEMENT

The fire truck whirred, followed by a procession of shrieking sirens and within the hour all the flames had been terminated. They told him that it was lucky that the fire had been in the cellar, because it stayed mostly contained throughout the forty-five minutes it had been allowed to live. The wine was destroyed, the cellar would need to be completely rebuilt but still, he was so lucky. This wrath of hell, it could've murdered its way into his daughter's room, it could've come and killed him. What a lucky man, what a lucky con-man, it's terrible but these things happen. What had been lost could be rebuilt.

Except, of course, you have our deepest and most heartfelt sympathies for your poor wife. May God bless her and keep her.

The police said that there was head injury, and because Collette was surrounded by shards of glass it was presumed that her attacker had struck her in the head with a wine bottle. The blow might have only caused semi-serious head injury, but she immediately fell unconscious. She was covered in alcohol from the attack, and when the flames began to spread further, she was burned alive. (But she was lucky, they said, she was unconscious and didn't feel any pain.)

Aiber planted a piece of 'evidence' before they arrived – a note from a certain Kal Snyder, a name already marked by the police. They ate that story up like candy, and no further suspicions were drawn.

But oh God, it wasn't enough, it would never be enough.

The police were watching him carefully, trying to keep him rational while simultaneously trying to shoo him into an ambulance for an emergency check-up that they all know he didn't need. More condolences, and more obligatory words. Feelingdrunk, Aiber excused himself from the crime scene and opened his cell phone.

(Betraying L was a stupid idea, there was too much of a profit to be made off of him. Doing this would win him no benefits... only satisfaction, the thing he needed most right now...)

“Hello.”

“Mr. Takahashi,” Aiber greeted, his voice surprisingly cordial for how weak he felt. And why shouldn't it sound so professional? This was Tierry Morello at his core essence, this was getting what he wanted and not settling for less. “I've called because I have valuable information for you, concerning the Kira case.”

There was a pause, and the speaker slowed down and hushed down to a harsh murmur. “Who are you? How did you get this number?”

“I've got everyone's number, Mr. Takahashi,” he drawled, running a hair through his slicked-back blonde hair. “I know everyone. Call me – Erald Coil.”

The name that he had used as an alias during the Yotsuba investigation came naturally out of his lips. It belonged to L, but Aiber honestly had no issues then with soiling the son of a bitch's identity.

“Do you have any proof of your identity?” the man asked tersely.

“No.” So natural, the words were so natural, like witty conversation at a black-suit party, like sipping a strangely entrancing cocktail of lies and truth. “I want payment in exchange for this information. Ten million US dollars. I'm e-mailing you the bank account you can send it to now.”

There was another pause. “I have no reason to believe that you are who you say you are, or that your information for me is reliable.”

“I know who Kira is.” Aiber let the words enjoy a vast moment as the man at the other end made his deductions. “This is what we'll do. I'll give you the first half of his name now, and if you send me the money, I'll give you the second half, too. I know that money is not an issue for Interpol, in fact, it's not much of an issue for me either, but let's play ball anyway.”

“All right.” Takahashi recovered, still quite cautious but he was going to participate. “I received your e-mail, but I need proof that your information is reliable. How can I be assured that this person is the guilty one?”

Aiber, for whatever reason, found himself chuckling. “He kills with a notebook.”

“...Very well, we'll make our deal.”

That boy, that insolent schoolboy who thought he'd claim the world. That skinny little motherfucker who gave himself the right to piss on the criminal underworld, to drop them like flies because suddenly he was righteousness. Suddenly he was the Christ who fancied himself delivering the world from evil because he always got done with his homework early and needed a constructive pastime to deliver himself from boredom. He murdered Collette, and Aiber felt dizzy exhilaration to know exactly what would fall on him.

This was not righteous judgment on Aiber's part. This was revenge.

And at least between the pair of them, Aiber knew he was human.

“Light.”

It was the strangest, sweetest feeling, and an unsteady smile found its way on Aiber's lips. They would find the piece of trash shit who killed his wife, they would hurt him, they would fry him like a fish, stolen out of the water. Perhaps they'd even air it on television for the whole world to watch. Aiber would tape it and show the video to his daughter every day.

“Light...” Akiyama echoed distantly.

“Yes, now concerning the bank-”

Thud.

His heart was suddenly burning, burning with something that was not love and was not hate. It was not fear, nor satisfaction. It was burning like the fire that had burned Collette.

He saw her as he fell to his knees, as the police surrounded him and said things without sound. Saliva gurgled out of his lips but there she was, Collette, and he saw her face until everything was no more, and the Nothingness consumed him.

“Light-kun, talk to me,” L announced with his lazy vigor as they soared at an altitude of a good 10,000 meters above the ground. “I am, much to my personal dismay, very bored and you are acting significantly less exciting than you normally do.”

Bored? L could amuse himself for hours with a handful of marshmallows and a fork, Light thought haughtily. The detective had taken off his seatbelt the precise moment that the flight attendants had turned their heads, and was now crouched precariously by the window. Light had not argued for the scenic view. Instead, he concentrated on staring down the aisle and listening to the ear piercing sound of wailing babies while distracting himself with mentally bitching that it was a great pity that the Death Note didn't effect humans under 720 days old.

“Light-kun, this is our third plane ride together, and we're both actually in full health. That's good, right?”

No, Light, in all of his cognitive skills and inventoried factual knowledge could not discern why any of this was possibly a good thing. Aside from the fact that L being in good health was not exactly jubilant news for Kira, he could do with three less plane rides altogether. The bastard was quite likely leading him on a metaphorically treasure-hunting Eurotrip just so he could amuse himself by making Light ride more stupid planes. Also, despite the fact that they always rode first-class (not even L-incognito would settle for anything less), Light was quite certain that he picked the planes that had the most babies to ensure maximum annoyance beforehand.

Among other things, he mentally griped about being sore from the night before and that, like everything else, was L's fault. He hadn't gone into this anticipating that they would have a sexual relationship – it had never been a part of his calculations and remained that way. There was no point in planning it out because the interactions never had any point in the first place. It never made sense to Light when he tried to analyze what was developing, and so the rational man in him dismissed it as a convenient way to ease stress and natural bodily lust. In his more haughty moods he left it at that, but...

But nothing. That was all it had to be. He hadn't let his feelings get in the way of the necessary actions he had to take before, with one or two sloppy exceptions, and he wouldn't again. L would die – at times, the man was so unstable that Light wondered if he didn't know that, or even, perhaps he wanted... – and Kira would reign. Somehow, he had to get through this. He had to manage with his feet off the ground or death awaited him.

Excursions with Ryuuzaki were unimportant. Among other things.

“Light-kun, you're not saying much.” Wisely observed. This man was certainly L for a reason. “Perhaps you really are sick. Are you still afraid of planes?”

“I'm not afraid of planes,” Light growled, clenching his fists.

“My world-renowned deductive abilities suggest to me the contrary.”

Light chuckled in a way that suggested that he wished to throttle L. “I'm only afraid of crashing.”

The onyx-dark eyes widened a little and his thumb found its way between his lips, and he smirked. “Ahh. So that's it.”

The adolescent frowned. “Any rational human being is afraid of dying, Lawliet.”

“I suppose you're correct.” He narrowed his eyes and tilted his chin upward toward the passenger box above their heads that offered services of a small light or a fan if needed. He extended a curious hand to the fan and twisted the nozzle until cold air shot down in a thick breeze, sending ripples through his already messy hair. “I don't think about those things often.”

Light didn't answer, instead he clutched onto his arm rests, looking blankly ahead at the seat in front of him. He tried to ignore the barf bag that stood erect in that seat's back pouch.

“If you only had a few days left to live, how would you spend them?” L suddenly started.

“You shouldn't talk like that,” Light snapped.

“I'm genuinely curious.” Oddly, he actually sounded genuine, too. The fact that he was leaning forward, now his face just inches away from Light's own was enough to show that he wasn't simply babbling. “I told you, I never think about these things, and now I am.”

“That's such a morbid thought. I don't want to talk about it.”

“Is it taboo?”

Light couldn't say for certain if he even had the right to avoid the taboo anymore. After all, he was lucidly aware that he himself had embraced the taboo in a way that went beyond having sex with another man, in fact, another man who was his worst enemy. He had killed, repeatedly, and even if he did so for a good cause, he had been voluntarily playing with fire for a long time. No matter where the planes took him, he would never escape the flames. Burned onto the backs of his eyelids, evident when he closed them, was a burning French house and the promise of death written before him.

Despite all of the supporters, even worshipers they might see on the streets or the televisions, Light knew in a way he hadn't quite comprehended before that there were a lot of people who wanted him dead. They wanted him dead enough to risk their own lives for killing him. These people just couldn't understand the justice of what Kira was trying to do, and with a sickening knot in his stomach, Light knew that he might not always have the time to explain it to them. He was walking on thin ice, and those torch-bearing idiots were chasing after him.

But idiots or not, they could destroy him. Light needed to think through everything meticulously. He couldn't leave anything up to chance. The problem was that L had, most likely purposefully, forced him to detach from the immediate action and now Light was relying off of intermediaries. He hated this situation, but that was how it was and regretting it was never going to accomplish anything.

Telling himself to calm, however, wasn't completely possible. His eyes darted from the seats to the aisles to the screaming babies and all he could think was that he was on this plane, and if anything should happen, he had no way to escape. Kira could never live on in Misa's hands and judgment, and he, Light Yagami, would crash and burn like a mortal man.

Cold fingertips suddenly brushed against his arm. Light flinched, and his eyes flickered toward L. The detective's eyes were not on Light's face, they had traveled down to his wrist, which was lightly encircled with a purple bruise from the handcuffs from the night before.

Retaliating with a glare fierce enough to shatter glass, Light pulled his hand away and rested it on his knee. L's own hand followed, persisting, fingers wrapping around it. The other pale hand took hold of Light's right hand. A pang of unnecessary panic emerged in Light, as though the passengers on the plane might know he was Kira simply from public intimacy with L, and he unsuccessfully tried to pull away without making a scene as the detective held up his two slender hands to his face.

Urgently, Light glared at L. But L wasn't looking at him.

L lowered his face to the golden skin, his nose touching between the two forearms. His lips fell onto Light's left wrist, kissing it gently and then to the right wrist, kissing that as well – as though the folklore magic would make the bruises go away.

The unexpected moment of tenderness made Light stare blankly.

But the detective did not notice, or at least put on an act of it. He simply lowered Light's hands again, putting them back on the lap where he found them, and looked out the window. “Ooh, cumulonimbus clouds!”

“Shut up!” The growl escaped uncensored from Light's mouth and resisted both the urge to pull out his hair and punch his nemesis.

“Light-kun, I need to divulge some information to you immediately.” L suddenly hopped off his seat and stood up in a single graceful movement. “Come with me, we'll speak in private.”

“Huh?” Light's stomach churned but he stood up also. “Where would we go?”

“The bathroom will do, if we can keep our voices down. Can you keep your voice down?”

“Wha-”

But L had already pushed passed his knees and was stalking down the aisle, hunched over darkly in a way that made every passenger move their intruding legs the moment they saw him coming. Light sighed and shook his head before trailing after – despite how irritating L was, it might have been worse to sit there all alone.

L had shamelessly entered a bathroom, and turned around to watch him expectantly. Light glanced at the flight attendants who were busy serving soda and peanuts to paying passengers before diving in as well. He slammed the door behind him, feeling weak in the knees from the thought of motion.

“What did you want?” he demanded, placing a hand on the sink to keep his body from rocking as the plane shifted.

L waved a hand to the toilet seat behind him. “I've deduced that you'll prefer to sit during this, considering how anxious you are standing in this plane. Please have a seat.”

Light's brow twitched. “On the.. toilet?”

“Yes, Light-kun. Surprising, toilets can, in fact, be sat upon,” L explained helpfully. When Light continued to stand, leaning against the wall in the tiny airplane bathroom, L made it clear exactly why he had brought him here.

He grabbed Light by the hair and pushed his mouth against the younger male's. There was a crash of an impact, incremented significantly when the plane lurched in the air. Angrily, Light shoved back into L, not bothering to release the kissed, and forced the lithe-framed man's back into the counter. L grunted as the edge dug into his skin, but kicked his legs at Light's knees. When Light's balance was jeopardized he advanced and pushed the other toward the toilet seat.

Growling, Light gave in. “Door's locked?”

“You just..” L murmured, sinking his lips into Light's neck. “..have to be...” He sucked wildly, as if he had been holding these urges in ever since the airport. “...quiet..”

Light wrapped his hands under L's arms, fingers entwining themselves in the loose fabric of L's white shirt. His cheek pressed against his companion's unruly black hair and he shivered against it, exhaling sharply but as silently as he could. L was warm against him, and Light could feel his slim muscles working in his back, the body that made his enemy a human (a real human). He relished it and he sighed, his tensions unraveling at sound of L's husky breath against his neck.

Supple hands traveled downward without hesitation and immediately found the button and zipper of Light's khaki pants. There was no ritual to this, there was no savoring the act but the zipper was simply ripped down and the boxers yanked out of the way hastily. Light tightened as a hand took hold of the increasingly aroused member, and he grabbed L's face from under the chin, tearing it away from his neck, and kissed him.

The kiss seemed to distract L from his job instead of encourage him, because his hand was limp around the shaft. The warmth of it was not enough, and Light bit down on L's already-scabbed lip. The reminder made L's hand constrict, a thumb running downward against the tip. A second hand met the first, roughly wrapping itself and jaggedly beginning to move.

L pulled away from Light's kiss, but not before watching him with glazed-wide eyes and lips twisted into a small smirk. Light was beyond caring what L was thinking, and he pushed L down by the shoulders to his manhood. Without complaint, L took the tip of the penis into his mouth, giving it a tender lick before taking in more and more until Light can't keep his hips still.

Light jerked as the sweat begin to bead from his brow, and he clutched on hand against the counter and one grabbed at the collar of L's shirt to keep balance. He ground his teeth together and his lungs released their air in tight hisses. L's mouth was hot and his tongue was as nimble as his fingers, and when he toyed around with his caresses Light found himself slamming a palm into the back of L's scalp to keep him going deeper.

The world became a rush of steam and Light didn't notice when his hand burrowed so tightly into L's hair that it must have been painful. L made no complaint until a tender, “Ahhnn” escaped from Light's mouth. One of L's hands shot up to Light's mouth and clamped against it.

“Mmnnf!”

The erection was overcome with heat and Light could barely see anything except for L. He thrust his hips into L's mouth, every movement making the world blurr all the more until Light forgot he was on an airplane at all. When he came, he bit into L's hand, resulting a distorted and somewhat muffled yelp from him and a groan from L.

L ripped his hand from Light's jaw and lifted up, spitting come into the sink. He sighed as he examined the teeth marks in his skin, and held it accusingly in Light's face to see as though that were the predatory proof he needed to convict him of being Kira. L then ripped a paper towel from the dispenser and wet it with water, tossing it to Light to clean up.

“Sorry,” Light mumbled as the world came back together, but this time, he saw it through exhausted eyes.

The detective was about to respond, probably some sly sexual and entirely inappropriate remark about recently occurred event when suddenly there was a tapping at the door.

“Uhh... is everything all right in there?” the flight attendant called.

Light and L exchanged looks, the former exasperated, the latter amused.

“I'll hide,” L suggested. “You go out and tell her you require Pepto-Bismol immediately.”

After a growl of indignation and a smack across L's face, Light did not tell the flight attendant that he had diarrhea. After a brilliant smile and a bullshitted explanation to the attendant and a lecture from her about one person in the bathroom at a time except for small children and parents, L followed as he stomped back to his seat. L didn't conceal his smile at Light's pride, after all, at least Light wasn't moping so silently that it was obnoxious about how much he hated airplanes. The brunette was relaxed, and even looked as though he could have fallen asleep if only the flight from Paris to London wasn't so short.

They gathered their meager belongings and made their way through a busy labyrinth of an airport. Security didn't bat an eye at the updated false identification papers, which was to be expected when it came to L's handiwork. Light didn't glance L's way as he waited to get through customs, but L knew that Light was on edge – of course he was. He knew his life was more or less in L's hands.

The flight had been brief, and due to Paris being in an earlier time zone than London, when they finally stepped outside into the city it was still morning. The weather was frosty, and nipped at their ears, but there was no snow and their sweatshirts sufficed to keep them warm. L complained loudly that he was feeling a bit sick again and was very cold, anyway, and expectantly shoved himself into Light's arm. But Light shoved him right back off again and told him that if he was sick, then he ought to stay away because he was probably contagious.

“I'm not actually sick, Light-kun,” L pointed out when Light sped up his pace, despite having no idea where they were going. “I merely wanted-”

“I know.” Light reached a corner on the sidewalk, and only then did he turn around, crossing his arms and tucking his hands into his sides for warmth. “So, where to now?”

L shrugged. “Cake or sight-seeing, up to you which first.”

The adolescent stared, and then narrowed his eyes into a condescending look that only a would-be God could muster. “We did not interrupt work on the Kira case for cake and sight-seeing. Please tell me there is a good reason why we're in London.”

“Certainly. To go to Winchester,” the detective explained patiently. “I never fly directly to where I want to go in order to avoid being tracked. We'll take a bus to Winchester, but I wanted to visit a place before we leave.”

Light nodded, and either he had opted to enjoy himself or he decided to give up fighting since L was the one in charge of their adventure anyway. He left their destination up to L, who decided quickly on a coffee shop for cake and caffeine and Light seemed pleased enough with a large caffè macchiato and breakfast roll. L ordered liberally, because if there was one thing he would refuse to eat, that was airline food and he wasn't pleased with going so long without proper sustenance.

After sipping the hot espresso and licking the foamy milk from his lips, Light's inquisitive nature took over. L noticed Light's eyes on him, and politely L offered him a piece of his strawberry swirl cheesecake, which was refused. Light finally spoke, very carefully.

“You told me once that you spent three years in England. It was right before we played tennis at To-Oh.”

Through a mouthful of the cheesecake's crumbled biscuit crust, L gave a muffled, “Correct.”

“What's correct?” Light pressed. “You were in England, or you told me you were?”

“Yes, I told you that.” L clarified. “And yes, it's true. I've spent three years in England.”

Sensing ambiguity, the adolescent frowned. “You lived here.”

“I was as alive at the time as I am now.”

“You know what I mean,” Light said indignantly. “I mean, this was, or is, your home.”

'Home' was an odd way to put it, and the word made the cheesecake taste sour, so L added a handful of sugar cubes to his coffee and let the sweetness burn his tongue without taking his gaze off of Light. Wammy's House was a place that he spent a large portion of his childhood, technically anchored as far as issues of legality for minors went. It was a place of convenience. Roger Ruvie and Quillsh Wammy had aided in getting him the connections he needed to become the detective he was. Now more orphans were raised there to compete for L's own title. He liked England. But it was only a place, like any other.

There were so many places in the world. And in the end, nothing was as different as everyone proclaimed it to be. L lived a life where he learned to detach, and there was only one person in the world that had stayed as a constant to him wherever he went – if 'home' is a constant and may be applied in to a human being, then the term could possibly have been appropriate. That person, however, had been terminated by the boy in front of him.

“If you're done, let's go.” L finished his coffee in a final gulp and stood up.

Akiyama Takahashi, who had previously looked as though he hadn't slept in days considering his shadowed eyes, wrinkled suit and the stubble that was grazing his chin, looked a changed man. The Japanese representative's eyes were sharp with determination, and sharper still were the words that he barked to subordinates. Everyone seemed to have become Akiyama's subordinate over the last few hours, and President Dressler didn't even have to give the word. If Kira was the Japanese Light Yagami, then their Interpol representative was going to take command.

Though Diane Wittlinger had supported Akiyama in investigating Light Yagami from the beginning, she had maintained the opinion, if privately, that the boy might have information on Kira but was not Kira himself. The thirteen-day rule of the Death Note proven false may have supported the proposition but it certainly did not conclude it as fact. Try as she might, she couldn't wrap her mind around the fact that a child so adored by his family (as communication with police chief Soichiro Yagami had made clear), who did so extraordinary in school and who had everything going for him and, most importantly was completely rational, would become the greatest criminal in all history. Akiyama hadn't even bothered to throw her a victorious smirk after he hung up the phone with the renowned detective who had confirmed his hypothesis, the man hadn't even glanced her way unless to send her on an errand.

If there was one thing that Diane didn't like, it was to be wrong. The CIA had recognized her problem-solving skills immediately, and then Interpol also chose to give her an official international position for her intellect. Admittedly, she could recognize that Akiyama was superior to her in wit and dedication both, but seeing him parade in authority with the snarl of a wild animal made her want to see him wrong.

“Mr. Takahashi, how do you know we can trust Erald Coil?” she asked skeptically, tapping him on the shoulder as he marched through the conference room. When he turned to her coldly, she went on. “He didn't even show us his face. How do we even know it's him? You realize this is still inconclusive, right?”

“It doesn't matter,” Akiyama snapped, and then perhaps surprised by his own tone, he cleared his throat and proceeded coolly. “Look, if there wasn't something about Light Yagami, the person who called me wouldn't have pulled that name out of thin air. We have more than enough evidence to proceed, and God knows, more than enough at stake.”

There wasn't anything left to argue when Akiyama had his mind made up, and Diane felt uncomfortably as though arguing further would result in an accusation of treason, or worse – incompetence. “How are we going to proceed? We don't know where he is.”

“Dressler.” the Japanese man dropped their leader's title, and the way that his lips tightened in irritation made it clear why. “Dressler can get in contact with L. L can find him.”

“I thought you hated L.”

“Don't be ridiculous, Ms. Wittlinger,” Akiyama said with ice. “L is our trump card, and now isn't the time for personal dissatisfaction when we all have a job to do.”

Diane laughed in his face, wrapping her brown curls around a finger. “Then what's my job, sir? Want me to contact Soichiro Yagami and tell him we're hauling his boy in as Kira, so he'd better cooperate at risk of being an accomplice to terrorism?”

“No.” Akiyama waved his hand. Then he turned again to leave to wherever he had been going, leaving Diane standing surprised. “We won't tell him anything like that until we have Light.”

Of course it made sense, in a mechanical way, but Diane couldn't help but feel as if everyone was changing. It was probably nothing more than a result of her growing resentment for Akiyama Takahashi, for certainly she had done crueler things in her difficult job as an agent than withhold information from an agency they claimed to be working with. But she wanted to slap her coworker when the thought of her own seventeen year old son came into mind.

“A duck pond? When you said that you wanted to go somewhere, I assumed you meant another cake shop.”

The detective strode forward with his thumbs lazily hanging in his pockets. He walked past a wooden bench and went toward the shore of the pond, staring silently out at it.

Though the area was empty of human life on such a chilly English morning, the ducks remained undaunted. They probably relied so heavily on humans feeding them bread crumbs and other scraps of picnic food that they wouldn't know how to leave – L didn't know for sure, but he never once saw the pond entirely void of avian activity. Young birds swam around in purposeless circles, rippling the smooth glassy surface and distorting the silver-gray sky so that the water reflected like mirrors as they showed off to their would-be mates. Older birds passively glided along the shore, checking for remnants of food, and often enough finding them.

It had been Quillsh Wammy who initially suggested that he visit this place during some free time in a London case he had been helping out with at age fifteen. Humans are complex, the old man had said, but underneath it all their emotions are still in basic form not much different from other animals. Watch the ducks. You'll learn something very valuable.

Watch the ducks.

It was a comparison, for sure. Males fighting over female mates, mothers protecting their children, squawking battles and arguments over food – the one to move first is the one to prevail. Underneath the organic shell that defined the organism, there were similarities between everything with a beating heart.

However, humans remained unique. Lawliet found one difference that defined all differences. When he came to the duck pond, he was relaxed. There was something soothing about this simplified world, something he could understand without summoning complex rationality. His head was as clear as the water itself. There were no anxieties, only a calm acceptance of whatever problems he was facing and an energized mind to decipher them.

Watching humans was a completely different process and experience both. Humans remained unique.

L turned and stepped back to the bench, and perched himself in a comfortable position on top of it. He curled his toes to the best of his ability while wearing old tennis shoes, and waited for Light to join him.

“I heard something once,” the adolescent said, gazing outward, before finally taking a seat next to his companion. “Spending time at a duck pond rejuvenates your soul. So for every problem you have, attach an appropriate length of time to it and stay. Then you'll feel better.”

“Is that so?” L mused. He watched a younger duck paddle intentionally close to the unlikely pair, looking at them expectantly with glittering eyes and an open beak. “I am sorry, duck, I don't have any bread.”

The duck didn't go away, but twisted its long neck forward. It was encouraged, if anything. Light chuckled. “You know, I don't think he understands Japanese. You speak too softly and he thinks you're being nice.”

“Ah. Then perhaps we should spend five minutes here, for the inability to communicate with ducks.”

“Mm..” L could feel Light grinning. “Another five minutes for you forgetting to bring bread. I don't have to sit for that one, since I didn't know we were coming here and I certainly would have properly prepared if I knew.”

“Five minutes for you, for not having the money to buy bread even if you did know.”

Light got defensive. “That's not my fault! Blame the gods that I'm not a billionaire like you.”

L tore his eyes away from the water and advanced his face toward the younger male's, hooking a finger around his lip. “Only Light-kun would ask the gods to sit at the duck pond for him. If I believed in such things, I might be frightened for your soul.”

“Five minutes for the headache being with you gives me.”

The detective chewed the finger between his lips finger thoughtfully. “Five minutes for how difficult you are to keep in line when I don't have handcuffs.”

“I think we should knock off five minutes from the total, actually, because I'm grateful I'm not leashed to you anymore.”

L looked back at the ducks, putting on a show of being very mournful. “Five more minutes for me, then, since now I'm distraught that Light-kun doesn't enjoy being my pet.”

“Keep talking like that and I might accidentally shove you into the water.”

“Five minutes for you, Light-kun, for clumsy accidents.”

“Fives minutes for you, Lawliet, and that mouth of yours.”

He reflected on this briefly. Yes, come to think of it, it had been mentioned to him more than once over the years that for all the cake that he ate, he had a tendency to not sugar-coat the things that he was saying unless that method was a last resort to persuading somebody to obey his orders. Unlike the well-behaved, disciplined Light Yagami, L preferred to be blunt and enjoyed getting a reaction out of people.

Which was probably why his response to the vigilante was, “But I thought you liked my mouth, Yagami-kun. I can do very interesting things with it, can't I? Or perhaps that look on your face this morning was only air sickness...?”

An unconcealed huff of perturbation expired indignantly from the youth's lips, and L had the pleasure of seeing his friend blush. Following that, a fist, stinging unpleasantly into L's cheek and toppling him off the bench and landing flat on his back on top of the cold grass.

“Ow, that hurt!”

“If you really got what you deserved,” Light growled, “you'd need several days at the duck pond just to recover.”

“I thought I did you a favor,” L whined, sitting up and rubbing his back. He gazed at Light crossly, who turned and put up his fists when he realized what was coming, but that didn't block L's eye-for-an-eye policy from kicking Light in the jaw and sending thudding to the floor.

“Bastard!”

“You know,” L said, diplomatically offering a hand which Light reluctantly accepted to pull him to his feet. L didn't let go of the hand, and Light didn't either as they stood in front of each other, casting a reflection into the pond that the ducks swam through unbothered. “If you got what you deserved too, Light-kun, you'd also be at the duck pond for quite awhile.”

Light smirked at that, this inside joke between the two of them. Then he was closing his face in on L's, noses touching and mouths breathing in the trustless words of the other and letting that oxygenate their unmatched brains. “Then we'll have to keep each other company, I suppose.”

“I was rather hoping you'd reach that conclusion,” L admitted before shamelessly kissing him with all the birds to see.

-

-To Be Continued..

Author's Notes

1. Hey guys, remember this story? Ha, and you all didn't believe me when I said it wasn't abandoned.

2. Almost named it “Sex on a Plane”. Almost. Or “In Which L and Light Join the Mile High Club”. Al...most...

3. For a moment of honesty though, I have some issues with this fic. I started writing it over a year ago, and there are some things in older chapters that I'm not really satisfied with anymore. However, I'm not going to alter anything, and I'm going to continue as originally planned.

Thanks for everyone for all their reviews and encouragement to keep me writing this fic. :-) I appreciated it!

-Serria