When Light woke up, he was back in his usual cell, a white burning hell in the enclosed space of twenty by twelve feet. His wrist was in a cast and the pain of the iron handcuffs digging into him was slowly fading, because he was slowly getting used to it. It was this constant unmoving atmosphere that got to Light. Nothing ever changed, the water leaked from the ceiling, the silent drip drip drip against the floor, the clock chiming in the distance, Light no longer counted how many times the noise rang in his head, coupled with the pounding of his pulse in his head that made him feel as every part of him weighed a ton.

Moving required effort which he didn't have the energy for and his eyes burned. Damn, L and all his mightiness. He had been fooling around for too long and Light was left with an endless stream of reasons that were his guesses. Just what the hell did L want? He turned his head, trying to get as comfortable as he could and his eyes fell on the stacks of sheet placed near his feet, near the bottles of water. It was mineral water, a far improvement from his normal supply. There were also medicines and when Light checked the back, having twisted this way and that around his shackles, he found them to be the routine painkillers. For his wrist, presumably, or his head, one could never tell with L. Disregarding the painkillers, he gingerly picked up the neat stack of paper, yellowed in the edges, but otherwise, fine, and glanced through. It appeared to be correspondence of some sort even though certain words were blotted and scratched through beyond recognition. Light turned the paper over, but even from back he could not make out the word. With a sigh, he sat up, his vision swimming for a few minutes, and he placed his head between his knees till he was stable enough.

With nothing better to do, Light smirked at the cruel joke, he read the first letter.

L stood behind the one way glass, watching Light. His hands were buried deep in his pockets, his back in its perpetual hunch and slouch. His eyes were a fierce intensity, his stomach churning and tying into knots, when Light picked up the letters. He let out the breath he didn't realize he was holding and faced the only other occupant of the room, who was laughing with the usual hyuk, hyuk, like sandpaper, or something being dragged over gravel. It grated L's nerves. And L had to admire Light for having tolerated the supernatural presence with so much as a twitch on his face. It was commendable, really.

Ryuk glanced at the two men in front of him. Both insane and power hungry, but hiding under a mask of justice. Ryuk was curious as to what L might have been like as a child. What Light was like as a child.
Ryuk had seen children before; some of his previous Death Note owners had had children. And he had seen that amidst all of the blood shed of others and themselves, their children became the light of their life. One had even told him that her children were the only pieces of innocence she had left.
Had they ever been innocent?

Ryuk looked at Light whose face was all sharp angles and thoughts of how to manipulate a person best. Whose eyes contained madness and whose face now seemed confused and intrigued as he read those papers. And then there was L.

L whose face showed no expression, who ate like a child and spoke like an old man. No, he decided. None of them had ever been innocent. They couldn't have been.

And he laughed.