Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note.
A/N: Special thank you to DustAddCharacter, who gave me several ideas for this fic! Also, I apologize for my French. I did the best that I could do considering I know zero French. If you happen to know it and would like make corrections, send me a message with the lines to insert and that would be awesome!
Sleeping in the same room as C for the first time, so many years ago, had been odd. They'd been total strangers and then simply been told to sleep. It had always struck him as odd that he was expected to be entirely defenseless in front of someone he'd never met before that very day, and everyone seemed to just assume that neither of them was a serial killer who might start on his serial killing adventure with his brand-new roommate. He hadn't been murdered, of course, and eventually after knowing C well enough to be reasonably certain that C wasn't going to kill him, sleeping in the same room hadn't seemed so odd.
Moving in with A hadn't felt as weird. It had been done out of necessity, and they'd already been fairly close. The first night, Light had just been excited. It had been like a sleepover, or at least what he imagined a sleepover to be like.
With L, it was somewhere in between.
He knew L. Possibly, he even knew L fairly well. He knew a bit of his backstory, knew what he liked and hated, was possibly the only person who truly understood the level of genius he was at. However, he wasn't 100% sure that L wouldn't do something to him in the night. L was unreadable and, as far as Light was concerned, unpredictable, and while Light wasn't actively afraid that L would murder him, because it seemed like a stupid thing to do in a house full of budding detectives, it crossed his mind as he got into bed that night that L perfectly well could, and that if he woke up to L crouching over him with a dagger he wouldn't be overly surprised.
Still, though, he did manage to sleep. Living with L would be good for his reputation in several ways. It would make him look good to the others, and it would be a situation where he could honestly be himself in his room without damaging someone's opinion of him—L already knew, and wasn't any better. Presumably L would get benefits too, because although he didn't care what Light could do for or to his reputation, living together meant that Light was nice and close for L to keep an eye on.
Those were the thoughts Light had as he dozed off, and the last thing he saw before he was totally unconscious was L crunched up at his chair, typing rapidly at his computer.
Light slept hard, so although it was several hours later when he was startled awake it felt like it had been several minutes. His eyes went to the clock immediately and saw that it was 4AM, and his first thought was 'turn on the lights.' He fumbled for where his lamp should be and nearly fell out of bed when there wasn't even a side table there. "Urg!" He wobbled, flailed, and caught his balance at the last minute, flopping back fully onto safety. He lay there for a minute, eyes wide and panting from his intense wakeup, before he realized that there must have been something that had caused it.
He sat up, more careful this time, and scanned the darkened room. There was a streetlight right outside this new window he shared with L, and while the blinds were closed it did still slightly illuminate their room, turning it a soft yellow wherever the light reached and casting shadows wherever it didn't. The room was undisturbed. No one was dead in the bed next to him (the very first place he looked), no one was at the door, no one was in the window. It was just him and L, still crunched up in his chair in front of his glowing computer, head tucked to his chest like a bird…
Light watched. Yes, L had fallen asleep, but it didn't look like he'd meant to. He was still in his clothes, still logged into his computer, and, of course, still crumbled into his chair. He was definitely not conscious.
It didn't seem to be a peaceful sleep, though. As Light watched, L twitched. It made his chair tip a little.
"S'il vous plaît arrêtez…"
Light automatically backed up. It was a mumbled and a little hard to understand, but it still wasn't every day he heard someone begging him in French to stop. He took several steps back and watched from there. "Sorry, I didn't know you were awa-"
"S'il vous plaît arrêtez…"
Not awake then. Talking in his sleep? Was this something he did a lot? No wonder Q had never spent any time in the room…
Light shrugged and headed back to bed. As he lifted the covers to climb into it, L whimpered and twitched again. Light turned back around.
"S-S'il vous plaît a-arrêtez…"
It didn't sound good and L did not sound happy. He must be dreaming?
Light approached again, hoping that L wouldn't suddenly wake up or he would have to explain why he was creeping towards him in the dark at 4AM.
Another jerk and a louder cry. "Mère, non!"
Light hurried over. A nightmare. 'Mother, no.' Obvious. L's awful parents, from whom Wammy had kidnapped him. However, this wasn't going to continue. He was not going to listen to this all night when he should be sleeping. This must have been L's plan all along, room with him and deprive him of sleep because L had yet another ridiculous habit…
He put a hand on L's shoulder and shook it. "Wake up."
L curled away with a sound like he was being stabbed. Light jumped back, hands flying off of him, but L didn't stop fighting, even though there was nothing to fight anymore. He cried out and thrashed, like he was pushing something away or warding something off, curling up at the same time and begging over and over to stop, mother no, please stop.
"Réveillez-vous!" Light demanded, trying it in French to see what happened. "Would you just…"
It made L cry out louder and draw his arms back in and stop moving, made his voice into a whimper of "Désolé, désolé, je suis désolé…"
Light was at a loss, but at least L wasn't moving or yelling anymore. He could probably sleep through this without too much trouble—he'd gotten used to B and C, after all. Considering his job done, he got back into bed and rolled so that his back was to L.
After a while, the whimpering faded to a murmur, and from a murmur it went quiet. Light was finally able to sleep when L shut up.
That night, Light dreamed of A and a room full of blood.
For the next several days, people stared at Light.
Light was used to feeling watched— usually someone was looking at him, either for an idea of what to do, or because he was saying something clever, or because they simply enjoyed looking at him. Now, though, everyone was just staring, because Light's roommate had killed himself and because now Light was living with L and sure something interesting would come of at least one of those situations.
Light was not, however, used to being looked at like an animal in a zoo.
L didn't seem to notice a difference, or if he did he proceeded as if he didn't. He also didn't stare at Light, at least not more than he usually did, and not in a nosey way but a searching, intense way. So, the usual.
Sleeping in the same room as L had yet to have any horrifying consequences. Not even for L, because Light had yet to make up any rumors about that. Living with him was just… fine. L made noise on the rare nights he slept, but if he went and snapped at him in French and shoved him it made him curl up like a pill bug and quieted him down, so that was tolerable. It was a place to sleep and a place to keep his stuff, which L had arranged exactly as Light had had it in his room with A, before, and he didn't even have to bother being polite to his roommate.
People were talking to him again, but they were treating him carefully, so Light went with it, acting lost and sad, openly crying at A's memorial, ignoring L when L rolled his eyes at this.
L looked really good in a suit…
He was ranked second that week because he figured it would look bad if he made first, and L said nothing about it in their room that night, even though he'd done it without studying- Light hadn't caught him studying even once, and Light perfectly well knew that L knew he'd planned for second place and hadn't bothered trying to compete. The extra class that night should have been dull, but mostly it was scary because he was second which meant he was sitting next to B (and C) who was (were) third.
Light stared blankly at Wammy as Wammy explained the assignment for that night. He let his mind wander back to when he'd met him, how Wammy had sat down with him and explained his situation, spoken moderately poor Japanese to him to make him feel better. He looked at him now and he hadn't changed much. He'd aged a little, but he still seemed like himself. Open but mysterious, calm, intelligent, observant, kind. Gentle. He couldn't imagine him killing and, more importantly, brutalizing, B's parents and godfather. This gentle man?
But he'd kidnapped L. That, he could imagine. He could see Wammy in his wool coat, standing up straight and proper, releasing a gas into L's house, walking in, taking L by the hand, and leaving. L had thought his parents weren't dead when he left, but he'd been a toddler. He could be wrong. Could the gas be used in non-lethal amounts, or had he simply killed L's parents? He could imagine Wammy transporting L to England, appearing to have all the necessary paperwork, and setting him up in the House with everything he could want or need. He could imagine Wammy not even feeling bad about it, not questioning that taking a tiny L away from abusive parents, maybe even killing them, was the right thing to do.
And it was. Probably. Could kidnapping (murder?) ever be the right thing to do? And if he did kill them, then the death of B's parents matched his MO. Gassing abusive parents. Abduction of a genius child.
But. They hadn't found a shred of evidence that B was abused at all, even though they'd asked everyone they could think of. There had been no signs of it in the house. It didn't necessarily mean they'd not mistreated B, but if they hadn't, would Wammy kill a genius child's decent parents just to take the child? It was Wammy's gas they'd found at the scene of the crime.
But why would Wammy let them investigate the scene if his gas was still on the premises? He knew how they thought and functioned, because he'd trained them to think and function that way. Surely he knew that if he'd brought them to the house, they would find the gas canister. And he knew that Light had been in his lab, could have seen the gas… Maybe he thought there was no way he could have remembered?
Where had Wammy been when they were murdered? Light didn't know and had no way of finding out. And why had Wammy taken them off the case just as they'd started to put things together? It could just be coincidence. And Wammy hadn't seemed to know who B was before being told about him.
Light's eyes slid to B, who for once wasn't staring at him or C or L, but was looking at and listening to Wammy as C traced patterns on the crook of his arm with light fingers. His face was neutral, though he was leaning towards the soft touches from C, and though he was staring at Wammy there was no hate in his eyes. Not like how he looked at L. B was violent. Light… thought. His amygdala thought, anyway. He had no real proof of it. He'd given them a hint that led them to the decrepit house next to the Birthday household, where they'd found the murder rooms. He seemed to know. And he was creepy and scary and terrifying but Light had no proper reason to think it was he who killed his family. But why would B lead them to his murder scene?
Surely it was B. Surely it wasn't Mr. Wammy. Even though they both had opportunity and motive.
But the means. The gas Mr. Wammy invented. How could B have gotten the gas? He didn't have a way of finding that out either.
He tried to focus for the rest of the class, but it was difficult when on his right was B, a possible murderer, on his left was L, a kidnap victim who really… really had looked good in that suit earlier, and in front of him was Wammy, who may have orchestrated it all from the start.