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Fever Dreams	By : sashocirrione Category: Death Note > Yaoi-Male/Male > L/Light Views: 2733 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note, and I do not make any money from these writings.

Chapter List
- 32
- 33
- 34
CHAPTER 33
Light woke up slowly, in a familiar room, next to the tangle of blankets and long, spindly limbs that represented L, still asleep. It was their bedroom, the one he had shared with L for the last three months. It was the longest time they'd ever lived in one place during the years he'd known L. And it was a house, no less, not an apartment or a hotel room or a secret underground base or a submarine, as some of the other places had been. It was also the longest time they'd stayed together in one country, not counting Japan. L was very international in his living habits.
Living in America was odd. America was in so many movies and television shows that it seemed everyone in the world should know what to expect from living there, yet the feel of American life had still been unexpected. It was surprisingly ordinary, as if the distilled essence of everything that was commonplace throughout the world had been concentrated and mashed together in America.
The neighbors, of course, did not have any idea what went on in the house or any clues about the real identities of the occupants. They thought that Light was an investment banker and L owned a winery, and they knew them by aliases.
It was strange to wake up before L. Light usually fell asleep to the soft sound of L's fingers flitting over the keys of his laptop, and woke up to that same sound. L was normally such a workaholic that Light was more likely to see him asleep in a chair than in bed.
L's face was turned away, the heap of blankets rising and falling with a slow rhythm, the black spikes of his hair and the bare skin of one hand the only parts of his actual body that were visible. Light reached out, almost ready to touch that hand with his own, ready to wake L and subtly gloat at being up first, but he stopped.
It was an opportunity, being unobserved. Light let his thoughts drift, idly turning over the possibilities, and as one part of his mind came up with stealthy objectives, another part of his mind couldn't help but compare his still-outstretched scarred hand to L's bright pink hand, to remember all they'd been through.
The memories flashed through Light's mind at the same time as he spun his plan.
The doctors had been right. Light had gotten the worst of it, and L was better off. L's hands had ended up overall a different color than the rest of his skin. They looked rather like a recent sunburn, not old burn scars.
Light had gotten the same kind of sunburn effect on portions of his own hands, plus some areas of textured ridges, a number of irregular joins between the skin grafts and everything else, along with places where the skin was too tight and could give him pain if he moved wrongly. He rubbed special oils and creams into his hands daily, to try to soften, heal, and gently stretch those areas. His range of movement had improved considerably from what it had been at first.
Both of them had ended up with places that were nearly numb along with places that were extremely sensitive to any touch. After the initial healing phase had ended, these features had become a part of their lovemaking, inspiring them to nibble gently on each other's hands to stimulate the spots that would induce shivers and prickles and gasps.
Light finished ransacking his mind for what to do while L wasn't watching. There was really only one thing that mattered. Something in Light almost wanted to shy away from it, to shirk his duty, but, no, he couldn't turn away from a rare opportunity like this. It might be uncomfortable, but it wasn't forgivable to merely avoid it.
Light slipped backwards slowly, determined to leave the bed without pulling on the covers or causing the mattress to depress and spring back. There was only the unavoidable wispy sound of cloth against cloth, Light's pajamas against the sheets, until he slipped out entirely and padded away on bare feet across the warm wooden floor.
It was always warm to the touch. L had constructed the house so that every carpet-less floor was heated from within.
With a few soft steps Light was through a high-arched door, then past rich maple paneling and elegant antique furniture covered in faded rose-themed upholstery, past oil paintings of presidents, philosophers and mathematicians, and then at last through a small metal door that he had to first type in a code to open.
It was not a forbidden room, but something about it felt wrong, as if he were intruding. He stopped as soon as he was inside, the door sealing behind him to keep in the different atmosphere. It was hot and immensely dry, like desert air, something he could feel in his nose and throat as he breathed. The lights were tinted red and orange.
The walls were metal and very plain, their expanse only broken by periodic rivets and seams.
There was only one thing in the room, in the exact center. The tree.
The tree was three feet tall, four years old, and flowering for the first time, with a few sickly white flowers, even fewer than its very sparse leaves. There was something incredibly sinister about it. It resembled a bonsai that was hundreds of years old, gnarled and stunted, with branches wildly kinked, and it always looked as if it were dying.
They had already discussed it many times: if the tree were anything like earthly trees, it would not be too long until fruit appeared. As soon as more seeds could be obtained, the parent tree would be pulped to make paper, to test and see if writing a name would kill. L had already promised that a criminal and nobody else would do the writing, and that the entire process would be surrounded by the utmost in secrecy and high security.
Light hated the tree. He would have found a way to have burned it already, except that such an act was pointless as long as L's tree wasn't the only one. N had a tree too, and N was a complete mystery, his location unknown. It was unthinkable that such a person should potentially have access to killing paper if L had none.
Light said, "Rem, are you here now? I don't know if you can hear me."
In the past, there had been a written answer sometimes when he'd talked to empty air. If Rem were present, she'd know better than to write in L's house, where whatever thing she wrote on would need to be smuggled out or secretly destroyed. L had stopped having indoor cameras some time ago (only retaining cameras around the perimeter and each door leading to the outside), and Light had confirmed this many times by checking, but L was sneaky, and Rem knew it.
Light said, "Rem, I will repeat this whenever I can until you acknowledge. I believe Russell Hertoff, or whatever his real name might be, is an employee that L and N have in common. If you can follow him back to N's headquarters, burn N's tree first and then this one as soon as possible."
There was no answer, as expected.
Investigating Kira was important, but Kira had obviously been stopped, and so it was more important to prevent Kira from ever regaining a tool of supernatural murder, and to prevent anyone else with similar ideas from gaining that power as well.
In the meantime, until the trees could all be destroyed, it was important to use L's tree for the only other thing it was good for.
Light hated it and yet craved it. He wanted to know.
He approached the tree, crouched next to its container, took a deep breath, and then reached out one hand to touch it.
At the instant of contact with the tree's rough bark, there was a tickle in the back of Light's mind.
He tried to clear his thoughts, tried to breathe evenly. Pushing too hard was the wrong way. In that case, what he needed would just elude him. Letting it happen, unresisting, that was the way it worked. But it was very, very difficult.
When Light felt he was ready, he let his mind drift to one of his memory holes. Ordinarily, meeting Misa for the first time was full of bits and pieces that simply weren't there, but now there was a little more. Light couldn't see the missing pieces, but he could almost feel them, just out of reach. He shouldn't look at them directly. If he did, they would scatter like small, frightened fish fleeing from an arm-shadow cast over the water.
Light could feel that Misa had been carrying something with her. Was it a notebook, a Kira video, or a piece of evidence showing how she herself had been blackmailed? As soon as he thought of the concrete possibilities, the sense was suddenly gone, and Light had to quiet his mind again, to let himself drift, unconcerned.
When he could feel the thing Misa had been carrying once more, he let it take shape without evaluating, without suggesting anything. Whatever Misa had been carrying, he didn't like it. He'd had strong emotions about it. And then, at some point, Misa hadn't been carrying it any more.
He tried to feel what had happened to it. Something complex. There had been words spoken. Uneasy words, a kind of promise, lies.
Light suddenly knew that they had talked about L in some capacity, but he couldn't remember any specifics, any at all.
There was a sense of danger around L, and around Misa. Light had been looking up, up at something? At someone? What was it? A tall shinigami?
No, there was nothing, suddenly. He was trying, and so it was gone.
Light tried to not want to know, but the problem was that he did want to know. He wanted it desperately. He battered at his desire, pushing it down, then trying to release it. It wouldn't leave. He calmed, he breathed, he tried to detach from his thoughts. Still, the craving stuck to him, unshakable.
He'd been so close, so very close, and then it had been snatched away, all because he wanted it.
Light let go of the tree, and the tickle disappeared and at that instant he couldn't feel the missing pieces at all, not even distantly. He had the memories of what it had felt like, of the thoughts he'd had as he'd touched the tree, but no direct memory. It was more removed, like having memories of memories of a half-forgotten dream. And that was all.
It was always that way. Progress did happen, but at an agonizingly slow pace. He hadn't added much to his knowledge by doing the sessions with the tree, and he hadn't come up with any information that was testable, not yet.
But it was better to gather a little information than to refuse it because it was uncomfortable, because it made him feel a little sick, a little frightened.
Light knew he'd been either a tool or a serial killer. Those were the only two possibilities, and both were terrible.
There was the metallic pop of the door beginning to slide open.
In an instant, Light composed himself perfectly, smoothing out his facial expression before turned to see L standing in the open doorway.
L was standing on one leg, the other rubbing along the back of a knee in a scratching motion, his head cocked to one side in the special way he had.
A familiar quilt was draped over his shoulders, one L sometimes slept with. It was an old, worn, handmade quilt, the embroidery nearly falling out in places, the color of the panels faded from many washings, and there was a burn mark along one edge that had been hastily repaired with a strip of mismatched fabric by someone with shoddy sewing skills. Light knew it had to be a childhood memento, though he hadn't heard any history of it.
All the other blankets L owned were new and beautiful.
Light knew that for L, showing the quilt in the first place had been an act of trust. And the idea that L would approach wrapped in it at such a time, it meant that he was being manipulative.
It was a way of silently saying, "See, I trust you, now please feel guilty," without actually giving real trust.
Light had the feeling L knew everything. About his secret attempts to communicate with Rem. About the things that happened in his brain every time he'd touched the tree.
Light wanted to tell him.
Instead he said, "L, I couldn't sleep. I thought, if I looked at it again, I might think of something useful."
L hooked a finger into his bottom lip and stepped into the room, the quilt trailing along the floor behind him.
As soon as L was fully in, the sensors on the door slid it shut.
L made his way to the tree, crouched down next to Light, and stared, first at the tree, then at Light.
His gaze was black and penetrating. If L wanted to, he could make a good living as a scam fortune teller. The scrutiny in those eyes was powerful and terrible. People would believe he knew everything, or they would tell him their secrets without meaning to.
L said, "Yes, I heard you attempting to conspire with Rem. You wish to burn all the trees."
Light's heart sank within him.
L said, "I was in the wall."
L stretched out a finger, pointing toward a seam in the wall with a few rivets scattered along its length.
L said, "That is not a rivet but a screw. I unscrew it partway from the other side. It is engineered to make no sound when I do so, and to leave a tiny gap to see and hear through."
See? Then he saw everything? How will I explain why I touch the tree for such a long time?
Light said, "Burning them is not a bad idea. You're kind of crazy for not destroying them yourself. Please do it. I know you can outsmart N even if he tries to disobey you."
L said, "You are most likely correct. It hardly matters at this point. It wouldn't prove anything regarding any suspect. It would only make things more clear in my own mind. Yes, it is my insatiable curiosity that keeps these trees alive. Having come this far, I must know Kira's method. I must know if writing a name is how Kira killed. After that, I will be sure they are all burned, with the ashes scattered. I agree that the risk is too great to keep them alive any longer than that."
I should just tell him. I should have been more honest in the first place. He is actually reasonable.
Light tried to say it, but something stubborn in him wouldn't let the words leave his mouth. It was so humiliating. He knew his face would be red in shame if he didn't have so much control. L had tricked him again. Light knew he should have suspected that there would be a way to spy and listen at the tree's room even without cameras and bugs.
L seemed to sense where the subject was headed, and said in a musing tone, "You don't actually remember, or you would scream as you did every time before. It must have a partial effect."
Light said, "Yes."
Light sighed and it felt as if a great weight had been lifted from his chest, but at the same time he wanted to punch L for defeating him again. L was looking at him searchingly, but it was a calm, curious expression, not anger or judgment.
Light was moody, he knew it. L was calm. How could he be so calm most of the time? It was a complete mystery.
L should be in turmoil. His suspicions should be extremely strong, stronger than ever before. He didn't have proof but he had nearly enough evidence for his conclusions to point in one direction more than any other, and yet L had almost certainly decided to let Kira go without punishment. If Kira were Light Yagami, that was. Light knew that L's reasoning about averting punishment applied only to himself.
The thought made him angry. Things should be fair. Any Kira should face the same punishment, no matter whether L was emotionally attached to that person or not. That was how it should be.
Except that Light didn't actually want anything bad to happen to himself. It had all been enough already, and then there was the collateral damage that would likely happen if Light were caught as Kira, to his father, to L, and probably to others too.
Though, for Kira, could anything ever be enough? Getting burned hands and going through a great deal of confusion and emotional pain, that wasn't enough to make up for one murder, let alone the few thousand the first Kira was responsible for.
All those deaths... how could Kira continue to kill so many without hesitating, without spending his time puking up his lunch or covered with sweat or having terrible nightmares? Surely I would have noticed something like that in myself if I'd actually done it.
Light felt a sudden, stabbing pity for L. L certainly had gone through plenty of bad experiences, and he didn't deserve any of them.
But, just by watching L, it had been obvious he'd had a better time of it. Somehow he'd reconciled himself to it or found a kind of mental balance that worked better than anything Light had ever managed. Maybe it wasn't entirely healthy. L had never seemed like a completely sane person anyway. But L's method worked, whatever it was, whatever flaws it probably had.
Light was envious.
L moved a little closer in that crab-like crawl he tended to have when he was on the floor and didn't want to stand. His eyes were like two black pools, almost enough to fall into. Here, next to the creepiest tree in the world, in the orange-tinted light of the metallic room, L's eyes seemed more than ever as if they could reflect the soul.
He is still waiting for me to tell him, for me to be honest. Besides, I'm sure he's touched the tree, himself. I'm not really revealing anything.
Light took a deep breath and then started speaking.
"You're right. I don't actually remember, not directly. It is hard to describe. I feel the parts that are missing as if they are very far away and difficult to perceive, like waking up and not being able to remember your entire dream, and then thinking very hard about the missing parts and having a general sense of how they went without actually knowing. There aren't any details. It's just a faded, worn-out, barely-there thing."
In a quiet, solemn voice, L said, "That doesn't happen when I touch the tree."
He doesn't know? I could trick him into thinking it only happens to me for some unknown reason... but no, that would be wrong. And it might be a trap. He might know everything already.
Though, looking at L's face, Light had a strong belief that L really didn't know.
Light said, "But you feel something, don't you? That tickle?"
"Yes, but there is nothing more, no matter how hard I try."
Light said, "It works in a complicated way. If you want to know, you won't be able to remember the slightest thing. You have to let it happen without wanting anything. It's like meditation. You clear your mind completely of all thoughts and desires."
"All of them, or just ones relating to the memories?"
"Just ones relating to the memories, but being that specific in censoring my thoughts is harder for me than clearing my mind completely, so I take the simpler way."
Recognition flashed in L's eyes and he said, "That's how you did it, isn't it? Part of you would rather not remember, and so you stumbled on the technique by accident."
"Yes."
Light was about to speak again, but L said, "Be quiet," and stretched an arm out from underneath the quilt, gripping the tree's trunk firmly.
It's going to happen now. What will he... no, he said he wasn't one hundred percent sure even when he had his memories.
But he could have been lying when he said that.
He won't punish me even if... but will he tell me? If he finds out, if it's true, will he pretend it isn't true to spare my feelings?
L's face was serene and blank, eyes closed, his expression getting blanker by the moment. He'd had longer training in meditation, so surely he'd be able to get those desires out of the way soon.
Light wasn't sure what he wanted to happen. There was curiosity, revulsion, guilt, and even a small twinge of triumph at the thought that there was a slight possibility he'd be completely cleared.
They weren't touching each other, but were crouched together in mirrored postures, so close that their breaths intermingled.
In a moment of trust and sudden inspiration, Light wondered if there would be any difference if they both touched the tree at the same time, and so, with only a bit of apprehension in his stomach, he reached out and placed his hand on the trunk next to L's.
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Fever Dreams