Fic: Foreign - Death Note
Aug. 13th, 2011 10:06 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
splinteredstarTitle: Foreign
Series: Death Note
Timing: That wiggly bit at college but before the tennis match.
Characters: Light and L
Rating: PG
Summary: Light observes the masks and acts of his newest enemy.
Light shifts in his uncomfortable seat, because apparently even To-oh University has to have classroom chairs that are too hard with backs too straight. He stares out of the corner of his eyes across the classroom (out of reach, but still far, far too close) at L – Ryuuga? Someone else? – and Light’s fingers twitch with the urge to break that spindly neck. It’s a little worrying, because Light isn’t normally this violent (the note doesn’t count, never, that is godhood and necessary and not even in the deepest darkest bits of his mind does Light enjoy it) but it is L – isn’t it? It’s impossible to know, but regardless of his true identity this strange scrunched up man knows far too much to live.
Light shifts his attention back to the teacher lecturing, but doesn’t really listen to her droning about various forms of punishment used across the world. He’s quite good at looking like he is, though, which is more effort than Ryuuga puts into it. Light steals another glance at Ryuuga, resisting the urge to roll his eyes at the man, staring blankly off into space – space that just happens to be occupied by a girl’s rather attractive (as far as these things go – Light’s never cared much) figure. The teacher’s eagle-sharp eyes scan the room as she talks, skipping over Light’s attentive mask and zeroing in on Ryuuga’s misty eyed stare.
“Mr.” she pauses, the name leaving a foul look on her face. “Hideki. Since my you obviously don’t need to listen to my lecture, you should know this already. How many countries do not currently practice capital punishment?” It’s a question from the text that Light doesn’t need to read, and he hastily suppresses a smirk. He and Ryuuga are supposed to be friends, after all, and as damaging the association is going to be to his reputation it wouldn’t do to be seen enjoying his friend’s public embarrassment, even if it is no more and quite a bit less than the man already deserves.
But L – and Light’s almost, almost sure, because the mind sparkling behind ink-black eyes isn’t an imitation – doesn’t even have the good grace to look embarrassed or even ashamed of himself for getting caught distracted. He merely shifts his gaze up to the teacher’s scowl and replies, “Currently 94 countries, though there are always proponents in industrialized nations who say it should be outlawed in their country.” With that, his gaze shifts back down to staring at a girl absently, ignoring the students’ impressed tittering and the teacher’s deepening scowl. Light chuckles a bit – it’s just a show of admiration for a friend, for all the students are so stupid it’s hilarious – but smoothes his expression when the teacher’s sharp eyes swipe at him. The teacher – a harsh old woman, severe looks only barely softened by make-up and worsened by a seemingly permanent frown – huffs, and turns back to her lecture.
If he were anyone else, she would have called on him, asked him what was so funny and upbraided him in front of his peers. But Light can already tell that he’s being treated differently than his peers – either his reputation has preceded him as usual, or the rumors are true and she really was his father’s old girlfriend and there’s still lingering fondness. He’s been told, of course, how much he looks like his father at the same age, a dozen hundred times, and as little as it matters he doesn’t quite mind the comparison. (Light wondered, once when there’s nothing better to do, what it would be like to go somewhere where he’s not known first for what he did in middle school or who his father is – a place without a past, without a family to define him. Then he shook his head – it’d be no good to get rid of such advantages, as boring as they make things sometimes.)
Light doesn’t care why, because there are more important things in this class. He keeps glancing at L – it’s a bit rude of him, but few people will notice and fewer will comment. Everyone watches Ryuuga, even the teacher, all of them wary and admiring and curious. He’s much more interesting than the teacher and her lecture could ever be – even to the ones that don’t really see Ryuuga, just seeing this strange twisted novelty, interesting for a moment and forgotten as soon as something newer comes along. Light knows, instinctively, that for him it will be different; that he’ll never forget Ryuuga and toss the memory aside. Light will keep the memory close, polished and clear without the dust of time to blur it. The memory of L will be something precious, something unique and real, and the – not yet here, never soon enough – memory of his death will be the most dear of all.
Out of the corner of his eye, Light watches L scribble with a pencil like a conductor’s baton. Light’s fascinated, almost, by the subtle mockery in the man’s quirky mannerisms – the sardonic cast invisible to all but Light. Everyone else thinks Ryuuga’s simply ignorant of the local mores, a brilliant but socially clueless foreigner. (Light suspects that, no matter where he goes, L always seems slightly foreign, and wonders how much effort it takes to maintain the artifice.) The mask is good, but Light sees through, and he can tell exactly how much L knows about the cultural rules by how thoroughly, how _precisely_ he breaks them. Light’s impressed despite himself, and he knows that no one else sees through such a well tuned act to see the sparkling reality beneath. (Could it be another act? No, no one is that good – not even L, never, maybe…)
L lays his pencil down and glances to the side, catching Light’s eye. Light doesn’t blush – he never has – and doesn’t change this expression (the quickest way to get caught is to act guilty, and Light’s always known it.) He just nods, once, acknowledging Ryuuga, and turns his eyes back to the professor. Light can feel L’s eyes on him as the lecture turns to the moral justifications of the death penalty, and the change of atmosphere in the room – the quiet unasked question in the collective mind of the class – makes Light want to sneer.
“Despite the moral objections some have,” the teacher, hesitant against her habits, but Light of course knows (will forever know) why, “Many people consider the deterring factor of the Death Penalty enough to justify its use.” She takes a breath, and in the gap between one sentence and the next L stands (a process too complicated looking to work that quickly) and asks out of turn,
“Then what about Kira?”
The room goes silent for half a heartbeat, and then the rest of the students start whispering swiftly to each other, gossip and speculation on the case traded in murmurs and breathless gasps – have you heard what L did? (Pretty fools, eager and curious and none of them know.) The professor glares for a moment, managing to silence them all with a single stare. (Light might have to learn how to do that – it will come in handy with Mastuda’s blather and the chirping adoration of a dozen girls – but it would alienate them, and he doesn’t want that, no) Then she steps back, and with her arms spread says,
“Yes, what about Kira? Class, you may speak at will.”
As he stands Light can feel L’s stare on him, somewhere prickly on his shoulder, and he knows the next step to the game. Playing along with L’s plan stings, just a bit, but it helps knowing that all of the others in the room are all bit players to Light’s lead – that the only person that matters at all to L here is Light. Not ideal, but not unpleasant. So he turns to Ryuuga, his tone shifting without effort to politely insistent.
“Ryuuga, Kira isn’t the same thing at all. Kira isn’t suppressing violent crime – he is violent crime. He is still one man-” titters around him from those who still thought it was the CIA or something stupid like that – “without any of the safeguards in place that keep the justice system fair and just.” It’s not true, and it was never true – if the justice system worked then Kira wouldn’t be necessary and he is. “The death penalty works because it is sparingly used.” The students all nod in agreement, but that’s no way to tell what they think, but for now they don’t matter. L’s eyes don’t leave Light’s, and Light would be unnerved but he knows this is a challenge. “Comparing Kira to the Death Penalty is like saying thieves are redistributing wealth. It’s completely ridiculous.” More murmurs of agreement, and it stings to compromise his own support, but right now staying alive is more important. He can solidify public opinion in his favor later, after L. (After L. It’s a strange thing to think, for some reason, and he’s not quite sure what he’ll do when that happens.)
The professor doesn’t stop them – she’s always encouraged debate and discussion in her classes, and it’s one of the parts Light enjoys. L, of course, isn’t flustered or defensive at all, and replies in Japanese touched _just barely_ by an unidentifiable accent,
“Of course it isn’t the same thing. I was merely saying that the justification used for the Death Penalty is also used by those who support Kira. I was curious about what both Sensei and my classmates thought of it.”
Liar, Light whispers in the back of his mind, this Ryuuga-L, liar and hypocrite and blasphemer, and his death can never come too soon. Light open his mouth to respond, answers and explanations swirling in his mind, but the class is almost over and the professor shushes them both, saying they can continue it next class, now sit down and get ready to write the assignment down. She’s planning on dedicating an entire class to Kira, sometime.
Light’s looking forward to it.
The professor scratches the homework on the blackboard – for a woman, she has rough, angular writing, but Light has received many notes from girls and women, and is grateful that at least it’s readable. He notices out of the corner of his eye, that Ryuuga doesn’t even bother writing down the assigned reading. Light doesn’t need to either, really, but it looks better if he does – a touch of imperfection, even faked, keeps him approachable, keeps him human. He won’t need to fake anything later, because everyone will know him truly then, but for now he’ll pretend.
The students shuffled out, in groups and pairs, some of them pausing to talk to Light, or, more rarely, Ryuuga. Light’s polite, of course, but Ryuuga brushes them off as rudely as he can get away with, and Light spares another half-moment as he gathers his books to be impressed. To know, so exactly, how far he can push people before they break, to know precisely how to set people ill at ease but not offend…it’s a skill Light’s never used, never needed – he always makes people comfortable, makes them relax, because it’s easier to control them that way – but that doesn’t mean he can’t appreciate the skill.
Ryuuga – L – shuffles over to Light, a plan in his eyes and friendly greeting on his lips. There’s another test coming, and Light knows it, and if it didn’t mean that L wanted him dead Light would relish the challenge. It’s still fun, though, no matter the costs, and while the thrill is tempered by the knowledge that he cannot lose, it’s exacerbated by the thought of the consequences if he does. L says, hands shoved in his pockets because he never brings his books or anything else to class,
“Light-kun,” He always insists on the familiar address, and it makes Light’s teeth clench slightly, “It’s a pity we had to stop for the end of class. Would you like to join me in the library? I’m sure there will be a table open.”
Light almost rolls his eyes, almost but not quite, but instead he nods, and pausing to wave farewell to a beautiful young woman with short hair and intelligent eyes – she seems to rather like him, he’ll have to remember that – he smiles to Ryuuga and says,
“Sure, that would be great. I’d like to hear your opinion as well.” It’s only half a lie, because finding out L’s opinions is always a good thing – assuming he can dig them out from under the politics and turns of phrase. It’s a challenge, and useful too, so Light has no real objections. The lie is in the tone, the implications of friendship and enjoying each other’s company. (Light doesn’t enjoy it, doesn’t like this crazy bastard, doesn’t want to be around him anymore than he enjoys using the notebook.) It’s a lie, but a lie so old and familiar it’s like Light’s oldest (only?) friend. It’s so well practiced that only the best – L? maybe… - can see through it.
They walk to the library, not really together but not obviously separate, Light occasionally pausing to greet classmates, old school mates that followed him in. Every time Light continues, he looks and finds L – Ryuuga a few steps ahead, not obviously waiting for him, but then again neither of them regularly deals in the obvious. (they can’t afford to – in the game they play, obvious means a lie and assumptions mean death flying in on cold numb wings.) Light watches him, a bit more obviously now, but it would be impossible to notice in this crowd. Ryuuga looks like an idiot, or a tourist, staring unabashedly at the signs and people’s outfits. He’s lived here nearly two weeks, and if he’s who he says he is he’s been here before. It’s another show, another bit of paint on the mask of his persona – charming and bumbling, funny if odd, harmless.
Light appreciates the genius of it even as he suppresses a wince at Ryuuga’s antics – if he keeps this up, soon no one would ever suspect him of anything except ogling girls and accidental social slights. People used to be threatened by Light, unable to tolerate the glaring perfection, so now he works in flaws, tiny ones to soften the shine. It stings his pride, a bit, but he won’t have to do it forever. Both good acts, both strong masks, but Light’s is a bit stronger, a bit more practiced. That’s what will save him in the end, the thing that will make all the difference. Evidence is evidence and facts are facts, but what matters are masks. Light has the best mask, so he’ll win. He hasn’t found a way though L’s mask, yet, but he will.
They arrive in the library without much fanfare – girls giggle, boyfriends glower, but all that’s normal and barely worth mentioning. Light’s there first, slipping into the expected empty table and pulling out his book before Ryuuga is even nearby. Suddenly, there’s a commotion at another table – Light snaps his attention up from his book and towards the source of the fuss, suppressing another wince when he sees the cause. L, of course – always and forever L, always and forever – has knocked over into someone, causing her drink to spill all over the table where here and her study mate were working. Light doesn’t believe it was an accident for even half a moment, because he can already see the fine tuned control it takes to look that clumsy.
L apologizes, or at least, what passes for an apology with him, and it doesn’t take Light’s perception to see how fake it is. The first girl - glasses and short hair, and her name tugs on the edge of Light's consciousness, but it doesn't matter - doesn't mind too much; it's annoying, but accidents happen. The other girl - long hair, more make up and her cell phone out despite the library's rules – is more annoyed, more frustrated. L apologizes again, but the girls laugh it off - the second a bit strained - and L slinks (a word too elegant for the movement, but the only one that fits) over to Light's table. He doesn't speak as he slides into the chair, sitting ridiculously as always.
Light doesn't know where that fits into the mask, if it's reality or persona. Persona, probably, but Light's not quite sure so he'll have to watch carefully. It may be just for him, just to rile him and distract him. It's both frustrating and flattering, but Light won't let it bother him. L barely spares a glance at the still drink-covered girls, and Light knows there's a plan buried under bumbling social slights and self-depreciating clumsiness. He raises an eyebrow at L, curious, the question unasked but heard regardless.
L grabs Light's book and holds it open but his fingertips, somehow managing to find Light's place despite reading upside down. Hidden behind the book, L says, almost to himself, "The second girl was copying her friend's citations and references so she wouldn't have to do her own research. Her friend was unaware of this." It's phrased like a justification, and Light nearly gags on the hypocrisy. It's punishment for a sinner; on a smaller scale, but the difference is of degree and not nature. Light almost, almost snarls, just almost and some of his annoyance shows up on his face. Instinctually, instantly he covers with as sign and says,
"Ryuuga, can I have my book back?"
L notices - damn him, damn him, _damn_ him - but he doesn't comment. But he doesn't give the book back, either, reading page after page upside down, holding the book by the tips of his fingers and Light wonders how it keeps from falling. Instead, Light keeps talking in the same distracting, quiet voice, "She would hardly learn that way, and it's important to know how to do research. It's not fair to cheat."
The annoyance - bubbling into anger, bubbling into offended righteousness - can't quite be controlled, and Light says, "So you punished her for cheating?" The comparison is blatant, and while Light tries to keep his tone friendly and joking he can't quite manage it. L's been playing the devil's advocate all day, but the hypocrisy still leaves an unpleasant lump in Light's throat.
L sets the book down delicately, like a child or a gentle lie, and stares at Light with eyes as dark as sin. Light is almost breathless for a moment, caught in the depths of depthless eyes and the feeling of being seen through completely. It would be intimate, special and more personal than Light has ever known, but it can't be, not from L, not from an enemy who wants him dead - but from whom else? Light clears his head forcefully, the half-breaths time passing without acknowledgement, but deep in his heart he can feel, underneath the lies and plans and tricks, L is something _real_.
L slides Light's book back - he moved the bookmark, the bastard - and says without a single waver in his voice, "Hardly. She would reap punishment at some point simply from her actions - whether she fails the assignment because she doesn't really know the information, or she is caught and expelled for cheating." L pulls a lollipop from the depths of his pockets and, blatantly ignoring the library's rules about sticky food, unwraps it and pops it into his mouth. Light's mouth twitches in sympathetic revulsion, and he can smell the artificial cherry flavoring from across the table. (Light can never stand artificial flavoring, the things that are supposed to taste like something but never really succeeded. They were uniformly wrong, but wrong.) L pulls the lollipop out for a moment, holding it by his fingertips over the floor, and Light despairs at the thought of the sticky mess it would leave on the soft carpet, ground in by the masses of uncaring students until it couldn't fully be removed.
L continues, licking at the lollipop but not sucking on it, "I was not punishing her for her actions. I was attempting to force her to learn before something more severe did." It's ridiculous, because she won't learn that way. Evil people do not change because of punishment – it only serves as encouragement. And those who are in between learn by examples, by seeing the punishment of others. That is what saves them – the thought of what will happen if they are not saved. (Fear of punishment, fear, fear makes things better, but only for a little while of course.)
The words bubble just behind Light's teeth, threatening to spill out, but he can't, not now. Later, when he can speak freely. Later, when he need not hide. (It will be strange, he knows, not hiding who and what he is, strange being completely honest and not concealing himself. He can't quite imagine it, and when he tries he can't ignore the faint simmering terror in the back of his mind.) But he can't really suppress the annoyed tone - forgivable, revealing nothing, anyone would be annoyed when dealing with L and L wants it that way - that creeps into his voice when he says, "But Ryuuga, that doesn't make any sense. She won't do the research herself now. She'll just get the citations again."
L raises an eyebrow, taking another experimental lick on the lollipop and saying, "Her partner will be leaving soon to visit her parents, and taking her notes with her. Where will she get the information?"
Light rolls his eyes. "I am sure there will be an abundance of people doing research papers who are using applicable books." He knows L realizes this, has to, because L is not stupid. (L is smart, L is brilliant and Light knows this, but only in the depths of his heart will he admit it.) L's getting at something, some point he's trying to prove and if this is how he always acts then his death can't come fast enough. If Light can't find out his name, then he might just strangle L with his own untied shoelaces.
L looks at Light, like a particularly boring experiment, and chomps down on the lollipop, the crack echoing through the library and drawing stares. "Do you really have that little faith in humanity, Yagami-kun?" The familiar suffix, again, and it amuses Light as much as it irritates him. They're not friends, and they both know it, but they both know it’s important to look the part.
(Light wonders, sometimes, what would have happened if he refused L’s friendship, laughed in his face when L said who he was – but that wouldn’t have worked, not at all; Light needed to get involved and L needed to get close. If L had been rebuffed then he would have found another way in, and Light would have given up his advantage up for nothing. Better to be friends, better to look close and keep remembering: It’s just an act.)
Light ignores the disapproving stare of the librarian – he’s not causing trouble, but L is, so its guilt by association, an idea that Light always thought was legitimate until he started suffering from it. “I’ve merely observed how things work, Ryuuga.” He says instead of snarling, instead of growling about how foolish L is being. He knows that L knows – there’s no way those all-seeing ink black eyes have missed the horrible state the world is. He’s too smart, too observant, too understanding to have possibly missed it.
The world rots, Light thinks but does not say. The world rots and putrefies and you watch from your 64 thousand spy cameras and do nothing. L says he acts as an agent of justice – the phrase has never seemed so foul in Light’s mind before, never so clear a mockery – but Light knows the truth that hides behind piles of sugar and galaxy dark eyes. L is not justice, and even though he holds the power of the whole world he refuses to do anything but amuse himself with cases chosen for difficulty instead of meaning. It makes Light clench his teeth, just for barely half a second, but L frowns slightly and Light knows it was seen.
L pulls the lollipop stick out sans lollipop, and as he puts the sticky mess back into his pocket. Light’s almost disgusted, but he’s too angry to care. Staring, L says quietly, quiet as reality or the murmurs around them, “People think that justice matters, and it does. But without order, justice is merely vigilantism and revenge. Without order, man’s opinion is law and justice disappears.”
Light knows its bait, knows he should play the part, but he still whispers, quiet as the scratch of a pen on paper, “But order without justice is merely tyranny. If you crush all opposition in the name of keeping the peace, when what you have is not peace but slavery.” He knows – of course he knows – what L was referring to, even though L has it all wrong. (Maybe, some deep part of his mind whispers, maybe L could be convinced, maybe Light’s found an ally and not an enemy, because between them, between them… But he looks at L and L looks at him – though him – and Light knows it can never happen, and will not even for the slightest moment allow himself to be disappointed.)
Light draws back, straightening his back from his unintentional slouch. He was acting without thinking, revealing things he shouldn’t. He’ll have to be more careful, in the future. L recognizes the end of any real conversation, the end of any mutual observation. They’ve both pried too deep, unwilling to expose themselves any more. L nods, stands up in a movement a bit like a slide. His clumsiness is all show.
“Well,” Ryuuga begins, his voice back to normal and his slouch in place, and Light is stuck with the difference from the poised truth and reality from a moment before. “It was quite interesting speaking with you, but I really must be going. I’ve been meaning to investigate the tennis courts on campus.”
Light’s ears perk up, slightly – it’s a show, of some sort, because Light _cannot_ believe that L hasn’t looked into that yet – but it’s still Tennis against L, and he would be amiss to miss the opportunity to show his friendship. So he looks pleased and says, “Oh, you play tennis?”
L doesn’t fake looking surprised and Light is pleased despite his company. Instead he nods and says, “I do. Would you like to play against me, sometime? It might be fun.” It’s a bland statement and a bland offer, but Light knows the importance despite the appearances, so he just nods and says,
“Sure! Saturday, maybe? If you don’t have too much to do, of course.”
L nods and leaves without another word, walking away with a slouch and a shuffle, leaving Light sitting at the table and slowly watching him leave. Light sits there for a moment, reassembling his mask until he’s fit to be seen in the world, then he stands, finds his place in his book again and leaves, all the while imagining new ways for L to die. Light wants to break that mask, shatter that perfect persona and leave L exposed to everyone, defenseless and helpless.
For the two of them –liars and masks upon masks – there is no crueler fate.
