Death Note Fan Fiction ❯ Going to Marrakesh ❯ Golden Boy ( Chapter 14 )

Disclaimer: Not mine.

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Golden Boy
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They send the others out to fetch Misa's notebook while his father retires to another room, and Light watches placidly as L writes email after email, arranging for Higuchi's proper turnover to the authorities, artfully avoiding any mention of notebooks but emphasizing the danger of his eyes. His lips twitch at the particularly biting nature of the message to the NPA - unsurprisingly, L holds a grudge, but Light congratulates himself for a job well-done even as the words unwind him.

It takes a fair amount of wiggling, shoving, and a brief scuffle before Light is able to curl up against L's side and close his eyes. The dull clack of the keys is as familiar as breathing, and his limbs are a jumble beneath him and L has the pokiest ribcage known to man, but it's soft and warm where he's wedged between him and the edge of the couch, and he sighs softly and wishes he could throw an arm over his eyes. He's just dozing off against him when his father returns, and Light slits his eyes open as he staggers across the room to the couch opposite and sits down slowly, visibly pale and faintly shaking. Light remembers that he has begun complaining of stiff joints these days, early-onset arthritis if he's one to guess, and feels a faint stirring of what might have been pity if it were any stronger.

"Light... can I talk to you alone?"

Light, caught mid-yawn and stretching, blinks blearily in his father's general direction and frowns, suddenly and unexpectedly startled, then casts a puzzled glance over at L. "...alone?" he echoes blankly. "If you want, dad, but Ryuuzaki won't allow-"

"On the contrary," L drawls, and Light feels himself go utterly still even if he doesn't know why. "I think you would benefit from a private talk with your father. I'm sure the two of you have much to discuss... and we have an interrogation room that should serve that purpose nicely."

Soichiro frowns, folding his hands together in a gesture that isn't quite wringing. "...Ryuuzaki, I meant privately, not under surveillance..."

A moment of silence passes that is just as pointed as his words when he next speaks. "I am trying to keep your son from killing you."

Light glares at him, and when he opens his mouth, it's as much for his father's benefit as his own wounded pride. "I've never killed anyone close to me, you know that, and I certainly wouldn't kill my family or anyone else that I've personally-"

"You know," L interrupts thoughtfully, "I never remembered to give Misa her phone back."

Light doesn't flinch, but the softly coiling warmth in his belly grows cool and still and quiet in the face of his quiet outrage. You don't count, he thinks vaguely, well aware that his eyes have slitted and he's all but baring his teeth, you of all people don't count, you don't and you know it, you fucking hypocrite!

"Light...?" his father says cautiously, and it takes him a long, confused moment to tear his gaze away from L and focus on his father instead.

"Hm? ...oh. Of course, father, whatever you'd like."

Light glances back over his shoulder as he exits the room, and doesn't know what to think of the relief he feels - L is still watching him, but the only god he knows how to thank is himself, and he doesn't even know why he wants to do that much, if anything at all.

* * *

It's only been a very quiet five minutes, but Light already doesn't like this room. There's a table and two chairs and one obvious camera in the corner and probably fifteen more secreted elsewhere, and in front of him there is only his father surrounded by blank walls and a barred door. Perfectly bland, perfectly impersonal, perfectly designed to drive people mad.

It's the first time in months he's been separated from L, and he finds that disturbing, and finds his own disturbance disturbing, but of course the thoughts he's having are ridiculous, completely insane, because he's a god, a god, not a child and never, never a victim.

Self-awareness makes it all untrue, and what stilled his hand was neither loyalty nor love.

L is watching him, and for once he can't watch back. It makes his skin itch, reminds him of before, and he thinks of the taste of his tongue and the touch of his hands in the dark, and the curve of his throat as he breathes. Too close is never close enough, and he wants to crawl into his skin, peel back soft flesh and sink inside forever, just to make sure he never gets away. Jewel of a mind, he thinks, but if what Ryuuzaki's been humming this past week is right then all the pretty things are going to hell, and he casts a dark glance at the metal biting his wrists, at the prison of flesh and steel and stone that keeps him away from the one person he can never run from.

Polarized magnets, he thinks, and locks and keys and the idea of soulmates is silly and nebulous, dreamed up to make the loneliness bearable and to breach immeasurable distance. Fantasies, one and all, and delusions are just fantasies a little too real to really be, products of a mind softly twisted, and in the silence between heartbeats, the ugly world is beautiful.

Five minutes apart and already missing him. Dependency, then, and physical attraction and trepidation and he's planned for this, for all of this, because even at the beginning he knew he'd have to get close, so close, because for all their spread of pawns he's only been ever dancing for one. I will give my love an apple, he thinks, and it's enough to make him laugh a little, to smile and flutter his lashes at the camera, because he knows he's watching, he's always watching, and he hasn't yet been able to read him well enough, hasn't yet been able to tell if the yearning is just his own.

It probably is, and that's all right too, just another step to spin and fall into place, just another smile and concession to his own beauty, his own grace and cleverness, and whatever it is that's pulled him down is different enough to make him smile, to make him laugh and preen and tug him closer, because it's perfect, just perfect that his only equal is the only one who doesn't want him.

"Light?" his father says, and he blinks attentively back at him, expression smoothing into placidity even as his attention begins to slide away, still seeking the hidden cameras, still wondering where his eyes are. "Light, look at me."

He looks into the image of himself reflected on the light in his father's glasses, and thinks of drowning pools and still water, and if everything he remembers is right then the flash of cold steel means passion and love. He takes a moment to analyze his own thought process, realizes that he's in desperate need of more than the single nap he's taken, and has the distant, sleepy thought that it must be raining. Baptism is in the blood he hasn't yet shed, and everything new is everything old reshaped and reshorn by the him-that-wasn't, by the him-that-could-have-been.

Memory loss is a tricky thing, and he can't quite recall when he decided that forfeiting the note would be the best of plans, but then again, he's only underestimated himself, and he is, after all, a god. That makes L the devil, and the comparison is perfect, because Lucifer was the most beautiful of all the angels. Light-bringer, he thinks, and laughs again, because his parents named him so rightly and he doesn't know L's name, but something deep in him wants it to be perfect, all shadows and silence and exoticism, vowels rolled and syllables curled in a foreign tongue.

Light has always been a dreamer, with passion enough to make those dreams real, and he thinks of the notepaper tucked away in his watch and the boy somewhere not so far away and the girl with eyes clear enough to see, and oh, he's made beauty out of rot, called it to himself and swept the rest away in the tides.

Two and a half hours of sleep in the last forty-eight, he estimates, maybe a little bit longer. That explains the blurriness and the bleariness and the way his thoughts are chasing one another in circles.

It's a little lonely, in this quiet, in the sounds he's straining to hear. Shifting and slow creaking and the faint low hum of fluorescent lighting, but no clink of china and no crunch of sugar and no slurp of tea, and no chime of steel to accompany each twitch and turn.

When he finally focuses again, across from him, Soichiro is watching with a weary expression, exhaustion dripping from every pore. "Light... son..."

"Father?" he says, "I'm... sorry, everything's... kind of weird right now. I'm having trouble concentrating." That sounds right, he thinks, shades of the studious boy he used to be, and uncertainty to lay his father's fears to rest. Nothing's changed, and everything has, and how much of the masquerade is habit and how much is still poise has started slipping, but there are broken pieces littering the ground, and of all the world, only Misa and L have reached past it to squeeze his insides out again.

"...are you all right? Do you need to rest?"

Yes. Yes. Light needs to sleep for eight hours every twenty-four to perform at peak mental and physical functioning, but he lives with an insomniac and too much sugar tastes like poison, like crashing from an adrenaline high and being torn from a soft dark place and thrust into the light. It makes his eyes sting and his stomach churn, because all he's eaten is an apple and some doughnut cream and he's not quite shinigami, not quite human, and he can't survive on blood alone.

He thinks that he would like to.

"I'm fine, dad. What did you want to talk about?" The smooth lines come out as a too-polished recitation, and he winces at the cool sound, at the look of blank disbelief that spreads across Soichiro's face. Distraction means playacting, and even if he can't be blamed for being preoccupied, that slip shows a little too much skin, and it's all he can do not to grimace at his own fumble. Other people aren't meant to see, especially not this man, but if it's all falling down anyway, he wants to be showing off on purpose, not because he's too tired to play his part.

L would have laughed, but glancing down at his father's clenched fists, he knows it's all the man can do not to slap him. It's the first time in a very long time that he's seen his father look this way, and he lowers his lashes and fumbles for a cover. "I mean... I know... you must be ashamed of me, and... it's..." he draws a wavering breath, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that, it's just... I... I'm still trying to hang onto being normal, even though I know I shouldn't, and... I'm sorry."

His father just stares at him for a long while, and Light remembers the click of the safety being thumbed off, and the sound of Misa's panicked gasps, and the feel of blood welling beneath his nails. Puppet strings on puppet strings, but in that moment, at least, he'd been afraid of his father.

Pathetic, he thinks, and remembers the cool pitilessness of his smile. At the time it had made his breath catch and tears sting his eyes, but the memory is vibrant and beautiful in its clarity, and even through the pain of the moment he remembers marveling at the cruelty and brilliance of the move.

God, he loves L.

"I know this isn't what you wanted for me." He says it, and it's true, because his father is a good man and always has been, so he can give him that much, at least, because it costs nothing for his game, and what man wouldn't be sympathetic to his only son?

"Light... can you tell me why?"

Light blinks over at his carefully-controlled father and heaves a soft sigh, already annoyed with the conversation before it's even begun. "Does it really matter at this point...? I gave myself up because I don't think that way anymore," he lies flawlessly, carefully looking him in the eyes, like he's resigned and exhausted and young, so very young, like he's in over his head and drowning.

Mostly he's sleepy and bored and feeling surly at being abandoned, but his father doesn't need to know that, and if L can't see it then he deserves to be fooled.

The worried frown he receives in reply is predictable and boring and paternal, but his father gave up all rights to him the instant he handed himself over to L, and Light's been slipping away almost since he first learned to talk. He's never belonged to his family, not really, for all that they've been kind to him, and the first time he saw L was like a kick to the spine, an impact with force enough to start him breathing. He'd learned when he was young, and taken what he could from him, and in that respect, he thinks, Soichiro Yagami has served him well. Such a passionate man, his father, it's a pity he's so misguided. "Of course it does!"

He turns his gaze away, looking towards the cameras, through glass and plastic and steel, towards the sanctuary of the only person in the world who understands him. "I disagree," is all he says, "I've changed in ways I don't expect you to understand - and for what it's worth, I am sorry. Just... not for what you would think are the right reasons."

His father's face tightens, but Light just blows out a bored sigh and taps one finger rhythmically on the table - Morse code for 'get me out of here.'

"Light," his father says again, "was it something that-"

"Dad," he says flatly, "I'm not insane, you and mom aren't to blame, and I started to figure out what I was doing within a week of getting the Note. I don't regret any of the decisions I've made since then."

"...Light..."

He's already on his feet and turning to face the door. "I know I was wrong, and I'm sorry I'm not who you thought I was." He pauses for a moment, then offers him a half-smile over his shoulder. "You've still got Sayu," he points out gently. "She's normal."

He watches the barb bite deep, and thinks of L murmuring in the dark - such a petty little godling you are - and he smiles, just a little, because watching his world collapse in on itself is strangely exhilarating, and despite the cuffs and cameras and the bullet with his name on it, he's never felt this free.

"...you say Sayu is normal. Why would you say that, Light?"

Light blinks back over at him. "Hmm? Well - she is, dad, you know that she's not anything like me."

"...like you," his father repeats slowly, folding his hands. "Light... what exactly is your relationship with Ryuuzaki?"

Light stares blankly at him for a long moment, holding very still and feeling vaguely ridiculous, rather abruptly aware that for all of his brilliance and everything he's done, despite the madness and the darkness and the deaths his father knows he's caused, the man also sees him as nothing more than his child. It's almost stupefying, in a way, and he adjusts his answer accordingly, fumbling the way any teenager would. "He's my best friend, dad, you know that, that's the whole reason I-"

His father looks very old, and very, very tired, and maybe he sees a little more clearly than he thought. "I'm neither blind nor stupid, Light."

...interesting. He hadn't thought that his father would have the courage to acknowledge it, at least not openly, but then again, he hasn't honestly been considering his reactions - it's not like they actually matter, after all, and soon enough he'll be free of this baggage forever.

Just a little more time to claim all of the world.

Light closes his eyes and just breathes in for a moment, and when he opens them again, he's smiling faintly, not for his father and not for L, but for himself, and for the new world he hasn't forgotten. "...he understands me," Light says, simple and soft and biting, "even if he'd died, he would still be the most important person in my life."

"...Light..."

"He's always known I was Kira," Light says flatly. "Always."

"...you turned yourself in," Soichiro says slowly, "and I am proud of you for that. Life in prison will be-"

"I killed twelve FBI agents," Light says, soft and smooth and calm, "they were only doing their jobs, but they were getting in the way. And I did it to show off." His lips curl in a smile that's sincere, all soft thick glee and delicious satisfaction. "I killed them because I was playing with L, and he knew that from the start." He watches his father from under the fall of his too-long bangs, watches as he reels back, watches the disappointment and dismay settle in, until the man is staring at him like a stranger. "He won't put me in prison and he won't let me go."

Soichiro grows still as he gathers his composure about him like a blanket. "I don't trust that man with your safety," he says finally, and Light laughs, startled enough that it's genuine.

"You don't have to worry about me," he says gently, still honestly amused by the utter absurdity of the sentiment, still amazed that he can see so clearly and still not see, "he wouldn't let anyone else kill me, and I won't let anyone else kill him. That honor is mine."

"Light..."

"Father."

"...what happened to you?"

Light blinks slowly, neat and composed, and folds his hands together, knowing the soft clink of steel on steel will make his father flinch. "Nothing at all, father. Nothing at all."

There are tears in Soichiro's eyes, and looking at him, Light feels nothing at all.

This little room and this little world are so petty, and this man is just a man, nothing more. A good man, a steadfast man, a man he once admired, but he's grown up now, and found everything he's ever wanted.

Soichiro Yagami's dreams are dying while he watches and suppresses the urge to tap his foot in boredom. Light doesn't understand why the process is taking so long--by all rights, they should have been dead about three hours ago.

* * *

When he steps out of the room, padding quietly behind his father, L is waiting, and that's all it takes for his eyes to fall-half lidded and his pretty mask to slide away, a smug smile curling his lips and his posture shifting from attentive poise to lazy invitation.

He can hear his father suppressing a startled gasp--horror, perhaps? He's never really seen Kira's face because he's too blind, and he's never seen the way he acts around L when they're alone, but it shouldn't be a surprise. It's not like he doesn't know, now, and while it's a compliment to his own skills the obliviousness still chafes, because shouldn't it have been obvious that the world revolved around only him?

A step and a shove and then his back is to the wall and he's crooning softly, pressing forward to bite at the tongue in his mouth, to settle his hands on his chest and curl his fingers into soft thick fabric.

This must be what happiness feels like, he thinks dimly, and doesn't flinch when long fingers tighten warningly around his throat, just enough to make him gasp a little, just enough to make him smile.

He rests his cheek against L's shoulder and watches through slitted eyes as his father walks away.

"Bastard," he whispers against soft pale skin, voice thick with affection and scorn, "you're a vicious bastard."

"Watari doesn't approve of you either, you know," L murmurs against his ear, and Light buries his face against his neck to muffle his laughter. "Thirteen point four percent probability that your father commits suicide tonight," L continues, bland and cool, and Light tilts his chin up and mouths 'what a pity' against his lips.

His father is a good man, the sort of man he's built this new world for, and it's just too bad that he doesn't see it that way, but now there's nothing to be done about it.

If needs be, he can send flowers to the funeral.

* * *

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