However much Light might have wished it, L was not traumatised. He had simply decided after five minutes that Sachiko and Soichiro were probably used to babysitters running away from their home, and thus he could easily avoid Soichiro in a manner that didn’t rouse his suspicion.

Although, if Sayu had managed to go through with the threat of the mascara, he had to confess that he might have broken. Not least because she probably would have blinded him and he rather needed his sight. He wondered how a couple so perfectly normal as Soichiro and Sachiko had managed to spawn not one, but two of the most demonic beings he’d ever had the misfortune to meet.

On the other hand, he was going to savour the look of horrified recognition from Light for the rest of his life. Even Watari's ban on cheesecake did very little to make him regret his course of action when he thought about that look.

The world, L had realised some time ago, was tilted on its axis, just marginally out of alignment. Not by any great amount, not really noticeable. But there was something… wrong, like the entire world had been taken apart at some point and been put back together just slightly off balance. When L thought about it, he thought about Kira.

No. Not Kira. For now Kira was still four knifelike white letters on a black background. When he thought about how there was some absence, some shadow with no creator, he thought about Yagami Light, Yagami Light and his tired eyes, slightly out of place, slightly out of time, set apart.

If L stopped to think about why he was so determined to prove – to himself at least – that Yagami Light was Kira, he would be forced to admit he didn’t have the faintest idea. When L thought about the boy he found it difficult to see him as he was – a twelve year old child, still plump-cheeked with baby fat, head looking slightly too big for his body – instead of the young man he would be, confident and sharp-eyed, and so, so dangerous.

He knew Light was Kira. It felt true, it felt like a well-worn fact, like knowing the Moors Murderers were Ian Brady and Myra Hindley, like knowing the symptoms of arsenic poisoning, like knowing – well, not his own name, because even in his head he referred to himself as ‘L’ – but like knowing the names of every person who could conceivably end up working under him in an investigation.

“Let’s catch Kira together,” a voice said to him sometimes, when he was nearing unconsciousness because of sleep deprivation. It sounded like someone he knew, yet he didn’t recognise it. It was something somebody had said to him, yet he didn’t remember any such incident.

He didn't dismiss it simply because it made no sense. Many of L’s cases fell into place with the tiniest of incidents, things easily overlooked, seemingly unconnected. When it came to his work, everything was to be regarded as significant, at the risk of missing something that might help, that might at long last fill the gap in his knowledge of when and where and why and how and who. Eventually everything could be put into place, the most disconnected, the most bizarre or useless things could be found to fit the puzzle.

The criminals were terrified of Kira – fifth of November – shinigami – heart attacks – Kira Kira Kira. Light and his slight self-contained smile.

L used to think that the thing about Kira was that it was a little like searching for the truth when the truth was the sun – there was no way to look at it straight-on, its reflection was the best you could hope for, so you spent years looking for the purest mirror you could find. So Kira slipped in and out of his vision at the corner of his eyes, a glimpse of the sun in a muddy puddle, until he saw Yagami Soichiro's son.

L smiled in a way that Light would recognise and fear. Something as bright and impossible as Yagami Light couldn’t keep itself hidden forever.

He thought of the fury and discomfort on his face, so close to breaking out of character L could taste the truth on his tongue, could see those four knife-bladed letters over his head, and he started laughing and couldn’t stop.

It had been a good evening. Sachiko realised, with some resignation, that she hadn’t expected it to end well anyway.

Sachiko looked at Light where he sat, head bowed, fists clenched, shaking slightly, face pale with – fear? Anger? Affront? Her child. He looked like a scared child, and the only thing that gave him away now, as always, were his eyes – cold and blank as untouched snow, thoughts rushing beneath the stillness. How do I escape, how do I use this, what can I do, what do I say.

Sachiko wondered if she could touch him, if he would let her. She wanted to hold him the way she had when he was baby, his head against her heart, the steady thump that had been better for Light than any lullaby. It had never done a thing for Sayu, who grizzled until she started to sing.

“Light,” she said gently, as she would to an injured animal, too wounded to move, desperate enough to try, “I’ve always known. Don’t bother lying to me now.”

He looked up at her then, and she saw that he wasn’t afraid at all, he was furious, and suddenly she didn’t want to touch him at all. It was like seeing lightning strike out of a clear sky, and Sachiko felt her hands clasp together, her back curve as she bowed before it instinctively, those eyes--

She watched it disappear in the instant following her reaction, saw him – this little god, little demon – look at her with an expression close to contempt, a dismissive understanding that she had no idea of the shape of his world. She felt as if he’d taken her heart between his hands and stopped midway into eating it because he suddenly realised she wasn’t worth the honour.

He licked his lips, once, twice, tried to speak and couldn’t and looked away again, face narrowed with concentration.

Sachiko let him consider the situation, and tried her hardest to avoid thinking of what he might do if this had been the wrong thing to do, tried not to think of Light’s invisible guard, Light’s shinigami.

“Light,” she said quietly, when she was beginning to jump at the slightest sound in the silent house, when she could no longer stop herself from trying to imagine what a death god might look like. “This is not going to go away. I’m always going to know, and you can’t avoid this. Talk to me.”

Light watched her, dark eyes intent on her face, and then he threw his head back and laughed. He laughed for a long time.

“Okay then,” he said abruptly, suddenly as serious as he had been hysterical. “Let’s talk.”

When Light had wondered about the source of his intelligence, his mother had never been high on his list. Her life was so very small, so centred on her family. For Light, who thought in terms of the world and everything in it, for whom family had never been the great deal it was portrayed to be, merely a necessary obligation that he fulfilled out of the desire to maintain his illusion of perfection, the thought of being happy in such conditions was anathema. He couldn’t understand it in the slightest, how happy she was, why she wouldn’t fight to be more, have more, why she was content with her neat home and two children.

Twelve years without megalomania had taught him a few things, made it possible for him to see her without thinking of how he ought to react to preserve his cover, how to make the best use of her if he had to, how he could kill her if he had to. It occurred to Light when he was four, watching her hum as she cleaned, that he had never really been happy in his life; even when he thought he had been, happiness had been a mirage wavering in the distance. And his mother – she was happy. In her tiny insignificant little world, she managed to be happy.

Light wondered if it was the same as the fleeting moments he’d had chained to L. Unaware of himself as Kira, unaware of the huge responsibility he’d taken upon himself, and made alive by something that finally made him use his starved intelligence – yes, he thought he might have been happy then, in the rare moments when L didn’t say anything.

It had been a hard blow to learn that she was capable of happiness and he wasn’t. It was even harder to realise that he’d managed to underestimate her badly. Very badly. One of his primary caretakers, someone he needed to be aware of at all times. If he had the capability, he’d be ashamed of himself.

Since he didn’t have the capability, he spoke. “You’ve told no one?” he said warily, watching for the slightest hint of a lie on her face.

Sachiko – forget ‘mother’, she’d earned the right to be considered outside of her contribution to her family – smiled wanly. “You don’t think much of me, do you?” she said softly.

He owed her honesty, he supposed, as well as his respect. No, Light never owed anyone anything. He’d just never been able to talk to anyone other than Ryuk honestly. He opened his hands so that his palms were visible; something Aiber had once told him was a signal of openness. Women, Aiber was prone to rhapsodising, were much better than men at reading body language. It took much more training matching the body’s language to the verbal lies to fool a woman. Light had been utterly bemused by Aiber’s assertion. Women were so easy.

“No,” he said simply, and watched her flinch as she read the truth in his voice and body.

“That’s where you fail,” she said, with a briskness that didn’t disguise her hurt. “When you think too little of the people you’re trying to fool.”

Light grinned at her – she recoiled, so he supposed he must have ‘unintentionally’ given her what Ryuk called one of his Kira smiles. “I don’t need to be told that. Do you mean to become my coach?” He wanted to hurt, he wanted her to go away, to let him pretend she still knew nothing, she was still nothing.

Sachiko narrowed her eyes in a way that made Ryuk suck in a breath with a startled noise of recognition. “I don’t know what you are--”

Absurdly, Light found himself having to fight not to flinch.

“--but you are still my son, and I am still your mother. It is a mother’s duty to protect her child.”

Light stared at her, unable to understand in the slightest what she meant. He looked at Ryuk. “Humans,” the shinigami said, as if that explained everything. Sadly, it did.

“Ryuk?” Sachiko queried, an edge still audible in her voice. She smiled when Light swung his head back to face her, surprise visible for a microsecond. “I am not as stupid as you think I am.” She sighed, reached forward and stroked his hair, ignoring the way he froze under her touch. “You’re so used to ignoring me, you don’t realise how much you let me see. Unless of course, subconsciously you’ve wanted me to know all along?”

Light shook his head mutely, though it was not a denial of her question, more a startled expression of awe at how much he’d managed to miss. “You,” he said with something as close to honesty as he knew after so many years hiding himself, “are incredible. I have spies less observant than you.”

Ryuk laughed, and Light reached up a hand offhandedly to swat him, as he would if they were alone in the room. He watched his mother, the way she watched him – hands clasped before her, expression bland. It reminded him of a woman named Maria, one of his German Voices – the way she had reacted to Takeshi and his proposal, carefully weighing up the advantages and disadvantages while doing her best to appear harmless. A stranger would have thought her stupid, and even Takeshi had told him later that he didn’t think Maria had the type of character required for the work. Light had told him not to question orders. Sachiko, he realised now, was revealing exactly that same edge to him in exchange for forcing him into the open.

“May I meet Ryuk?” She said politely, bowing her head slightly, making it look like she conceded to Light, as if he were the one in control when she had destroyed the gossamer-thin falsehoods that kept them happy.

Light considered it. To show her Ryuk might intimidate her. It might make her aware of the irrevocability of her decision. It might be nice to be able to give Ryuk’s opinions and information without playing interpreter. It was difficult to ignore Ryuk, difficult to pretend a seven-foot shinigami didn’t exist when it was dancing in midair right in front of you or saying ridiculous, funny things. “Get an apple,” he said, and watched her nod and leave.

He looked at Ryuk. “Want to talk to my mother?” he said curiously, as if he had any intention of doing what Ryuk suggested. Ryuk flipped himself upside down and stood on the ceiling. “Was that meant to be a ‘yes’?” Light said.

“Yeah,” Ryuk said, in his special no, duh voice. Which Light was reasonably sure he’d gotten from him anyway. It didn’t affect his response, but it might have had something to do with tone it was delivered in:

“Tough luck.”

“Wha-?”

“You don’t give away any more than you need to.”

“But-”

“She’ll know you’re there, that ought to be enough.” Light scowled up at him. “Don’t even think about ‘accidentally’ touching her with a piece of your Death Note.”

“I-”

“And don’t lie to me.”

“Wasn’t,” Ryuk muttered resentfully.

“You were about to.”

“Wasn’t.”

A soft cough alerted him to his mother’s presence in the room, apple held tight in one hand. He offered it up to Ryuk diffidently, mouth twitching only slightly when he heard Sachiko’s gasp as chunks of apple vanished into thin air.

“Ryuk is quite addicted,” he said placidly, watching her carefully.

“I know,” she said instantly, and he swallowed back a smile.

“Do you?”

She looked momentarily abashed. “You used to speak of him when you were a toddler. I thought – I thought at first that he was your invisible friend.”

“Well, he’s invisible,” Light agreed, “but ‘friend’ might be pushing it. Eat the core too,” he ordered when Ryuk looked like he was going to leave it.

“I’m desperate enough right now that I’d eat only the cores if that was all that was available,” Ryuk muttered, plucking the apple core from Light’s hand and flinging it absently into his mouth, twisting half his body impossibly to keep his feet on the ceiling and his head in a position where gravity did the work for him.

Sachiko knelt on the floor, hands on her knees, staring up at the ceiling where the apple had disappeared. Light wondered if she was going to clap three times and press her forehead against the floor in obeisance. “L,” he said, forcing her attention away from the impossibility she’d just seen, distracting her from asking again about Ryuk.

“Forgive me,” she said in a distracted voice, gaze flicking constantly back to the ceiling where Ryuk no longer stood. “I don’t understand.”

“No?” Light said encouragingly, letting her read into it what she would, fill the silence with her own thoughts. “You tried to research me, didn’t you, when you realised?”

Sachiko nodded mutely. Light settled back in his chair, palms open on his knees, body relaxed. “L is one of the world’s greatest detectives.” He considered that statement, decided against elaborating, decided in favour of simplifying, and continued. “He and I vie for the right to call ourselves as such. The man you invited here to watch us, that was L.”

“That is… a problem?”

Light didn’t think he’d ever quite understood the extent of a ‘blind rage’ before, thoughts tumbling into and against each other, so fast he could barely distinguish them – it was like touching the Death Note again and feeling those lost pieces of himself force themselves into what used to be their places even though they no longer fitted quite right.

“It is a problem,” he said flatly, after telling himself that just because she knew he was Kira didn’t mean she understood at all what that really meant. “But not yours. I can deal with him.”

Head resting on his shoulder, Ryuk gave the sort of laugh he used when watching humans die.

“As you say,” she said, even as her shoulders pulled back, retreated, saying ‘I’m afraid’, as her face stilled and said ‘I don’t understand’, her hands wrung together, nails digging into flesh, and said ‘that sounds far more ominous than it should.’

He smiled at her with all the gentleness and understanding he possessed. She stood and asked him quietly if they could continue the conversation tomorrow, which was exactly what he’d hoped for. He watched her go, and pitied her, and thought about how to use her.

“Gonna kill her?” Ryuk asked, staring at the closed door.

“If I can refrain from killing L,” Light said with exaggerated patience, “I can almost certainly refrain from killing my own mother.”

Ryuk sniggered. “I like the way you say that, like it’s a perfectly normal response to something.” He grinned nastily at Light’s insulted expression. “Whatever happened to that vicious little bastard who’d kill his own family if he had to?”

“He grew up. Besides, I’m supposed to be dependent, awkward questions would probably be asked and I’d have to wait until things slowed down before making an escape. With L hanging around, being able to leave at a moment’s notice is essential.”

“Are we planning to leave?” Ryuk said, puzzled, as if the months Light had spent drawing up plans to stave off the worry of L’s inaction had completely passed him by.

“‘We’, Ryuk?”

“Eighteen years and you still don’t know how this possessing thing works?” Ryuk said snidely.

“…Tell me it hasn’t really been that long.”

“Well… maybe take a few months for that time you lost your memories…”

“Wait. Wait. Let me think. I picked up the Death Note on the… 28th of November 2003. I died on the 28th of January 2010. That’s… six years, two months. I’m twelve years old now… oh god, you’re right!”

“Hey, there’s no need to sound like that about it.”

Light shuddered. For the first time he realised the full extent of the horror of having Ryuk watch him for the rest of his life. He already doubted there was a time before Ryuk; soon he wouldn’t be able to remember that not everybody was cursed with an invisible shinigami companion, that he was in a club of one. Or six, if other shinigami got Ryuk’s type of restless. He sneezed.

“…Bless you…?” Ryuk said awkwardly, unable to remember the proper response to a sneeze. The minutiae of human interaction had typically passed him by, even after so long bound to a human. Couple of centuries and he’d only have to forget again.

Light waved a hand dismissively. “Ryuk, my faithless friend, I think we have several choices here, depending on L’s… persistence. There can be a kidnap and murder--”

“And murder? Not just kidnap?”

“No, because if L thinks I’m still alive he won’t rest until he’s found me. We can try warning him off – I think the brats would be good for that, don’t you?”

“Heh.” Ryuk rather enjoyed Light’s rants on ‘the brats’; they hadn’t become boring yet because every time he brought them up Light added some new reason they were worthy only of humiliating deaths and having their corpses left in a room full of necrophiliacs. Which of course had nothing to do with the fact that they’d managed to best him. At all.

“L will definitely leave if his ‘successors’ are threatened, right?”

“…Yeah?”

"So…" Light looked at him, encouraged him mentally to connect the dots. "Isn’t it obvious?”

“…No?”

“…I’m sorely tempted to give you another apple just to see if it does anything for your brain.”

“Yeah?” There was a spark of hope in Ryuk’s expression, which was a pity, because there was nothing Light liked more than to extinguish an opponent’s hope.

“Unfortunately for you, my grudges last a lot longer than my pity.”

“Oh.” Ryuk pouted. Light grinned at him.

“We could make use of mother,” he mused, deliberately turning away from the thought of the brats.

Ryuk’s smile had far too many sharp teeth in it, even for him. “And if she ‘happens’ to be killed discharging her duties?”

“Ryuk!” Light pressed a hand to his heart, his face blank above the theatrical gesture. “When have I ever knowingly let my agents die on the job?”

“Jeeze.” Ryuk said, staring at Light’s bleak smile. “You really could still kill them if you had to.”

Light turned away, thinking it over. “I won’t have to. But …Yes, I think I could.”

“You think?” Ryuk goaded. “Or you know?”

Light turned back to look at him, and Ryuk recognised Kira’s cold dead eyes, although he hadn’t seen them in a long time. “I know I could.”

Ryuk opened and closed his mouth wordlessly, seeking the right tongue to express his thoughts in. He shook his head. “Wow. Just wow.”

“What? What? You’d do the same.”

“Well yeah, but one – shinigami. And two – they’re not my family.”

Light shrugged. “I won’t have to,” he said firmly.

Ryuk decently refrained from telling him that was what he’d said about his father. He wasn’t giving up his scarcely regained apples just to give Light an unpleasant and unlikely to be heeded truth. He wondered if he should tell Light that it had been decided that deaths indirectly connected to his actions didn’t count against him so long as they occurred in such a way that there was absolutely nothing to be done to prevent them from happening. He shrugged. Light wouldn’t try anywhere near as hard if he knew. So Ryuk just let him fly blind. It was far more entertaining.

“Hey Light,” he said, reaching past him to tap at the computer monitor. “Don’t you have a case to work on?”

From the way Light's head hit the keyboard with a frustrated groan, Ryuk assumed the answer was 'yes'.

A/N: …I comfort myself with the fact that however long people have been waiting to be cheated with this, it’s still been twice as long a wait for the next chapter of Reigning on Heaven.