This Black Lamb

This Black Lamb

Deathnote AU

L x Raito

Disclaimer: I do not own Deathnote or any of its characters. If I did, Aizawa wouldn’t have waited till after L died to cut off that hideous afro. He’d have never had it to begin with.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Chapter 3 - Hunger

Soichiro headed home from work as usual, walking down the street in the dark, the sun long since set. The last time he had glanced at a clock, it had been midnight, and he’d had to stay another half hour to finish up his report. Another half hour had seen him stepping off the subway, ready for his fifteen minute walk home. So, he estimated it was half past one in the morning. His family should be in bed, so he’d have to be quiet coming in so he didn’t wake them up.

He was surprised when he walked in the front door, only to see his wife and Sayu sitting on the living room couch, wide awake. Both had anxious expressions on their faces, and Sayu was clutching her old baby blanket to her chest like a lifeline, despite the fact that she had stopped sleeping with it years ago.

Something was wrong. And not just from the look on their faces, as they turned panicked eyes up at him. Looking around, he realized what was missing.

“Where’s Raito?”

His alarm grew as Sayu let out a small sound of desperation, quickly standing up and dashing to her room. His eyes followed her up the staircase, fierce with concern, until they snapped back down to his wife, questioning.

“Sachiko, where is Raito?”

He watched his wife’s hands grasp at each other, the knuckles turning white.

“Raito… didn’t come home today, Soichiro.”

Soichiro Yagami felt his heart stop.

~*~*~*~*~*~

“Why are we doing this again?”

Raito glanced over his shoulder at Ryuk, an annoyed expression apparent upon his surprisingly dirty features. He didn’t let his eyes linger though, the odd contortion Ryuk had forced his body into due to apple withdrawal a bit much for him. His stomach hurt enough without adding nausea to his mental checklist of ‘unpleasant sensations to which he was not accustomed’.

“I’ve already told you a million times, Ryuk. Stop making me repeat myself.”

“You could at least humor me, since I’ve been good and gone without so much as one apple for an entire week…”

“Oh, how horrible for you. I’ll remind myself to cry about it later. And I don’t know where you got the idea you’ve been good, considering every time you’ve opened your mouth for the last six days its been to whine. You don’t even need to eat, unlike me, and I haven’t complained once!”

“That’s because this was your idea. And I never would have gone along with it if I’d known you had a fetish for self-torture…”

“Ryuk. Shut up.”

Was it really so much to ask that the Shinigami leave Raito to wallow in his own misery for a few minutes? He stubbornly blocked out the section of his brain that said he had brought this down upon himself. Then he strangled the little voice that saw fit to mention that Ryuk had a point about that self-torture thing… feeling the breath behind the annoyance whoosh out one final time before letting it fall to the ground, kicking the corpse a few times, and stabbing it with a theoretical hatchet.

Ah… much better. Now that his state of mind was locked in place once more, Raito allowed himself to go over his plan in his head, and hopefully in the process figure out…

What the HELL he had been thinking!?

Okay, start at the beginning. Before he had started smoking an unknown substance subconsciously and fucked everything up. He had decided, approximately one week ago, to run away. His life was boring, and as long as he remained confined to the established role of perfect son, student, brother… he would be caged in a never ending cycle of monotony until one day he finally snapped. Therefore, running away was, in hindsight, a good idea.

But now, the result was sitting here, in a dirty, unnamed ally, looking like a dirty, unnamed person with a companion only he could see to talk to. And talking to something only you could see was not a very good sign in most cases, which would account for the odd stares and the wide berth he was being given, if his physical state weren’t reason enough. He was dirty, smelly, his clothes raggedy and ruffled, and he looked the exact antithesis of everything one Raito Yagami had previously stood for.

On top of that, he was hungry. And he would rather DIE than sink to rummaging through garbage.

Yes, running away to escape monotony and find some reason - ANY reason - for existence was a good idea. Running away with no money, nothing of value on his person, and no plan of action was, in hindsight, a very bad idea.

Damn, was he hungry.

His stomach was so empty, it felt almost concave, like the organs were withering away and shrinking further in from lack of nourishment. It was a cleaving feeling to his center, one he had become well accustomed to the last few days. The first pangs of hunger he had felt, the second day, while new and surprising, had been ignorable. Those had gradually grown to a gnawing hunger so great, he felt if he didn’t eat soon, his body would begin eating itself.

But he had no money. Nothing of value. No plan of action. To any onlooker, he was simply another homeless kid on the street, dirty and not worth anyone’s notice. He wasn’t Raito Yagami, perfect student, genius really, class president, son of the director of the NPA, school idol and all around good person. Here… he was just another face in the crowd.

Another vulnerable lamb in a helpless flock. And somehow, despite the hunger, the embarrassment, the dirt and the stench…

The thought was strangely liberating.

But at the same time, he would never be one of them. Because Raito was a genius. Because Raito had once been above the flock, been the wolf to their sheep. The predator to their prey. So even now, when he was willingly among them, he was separate, something distant, something worthy of their fear.

He felt the weight of his Death Note in his backpack, heard the shifting of the discontent Shinigami behind him. Looking down at his hand, he could no longer see the pure white he had once shown so brilliantly with.

All he could see was black. A black as dark as a notebook that controlled death, as the wings of the Shinigami it had once belonged to….

As black as the filthy hunger biting at his innards, demanding it be fed.

For the first time that day Raito stood. Fixing his hair out of habit, he straightened his clothes and brushed them off to look almost passable, acceptable at first glance. A subtle gesture to Ryuk had the Shinigami following behind him as he made his way through the streets, finally reaching the outdoor market he had spotted two days before. Walking in, he allowed his eyes to wander, finally catching sight of the kiosk he’d been searching for.

A clean, neat little stand, owned by a kind old widower. Not an extra cent to her name, out to sell her wares in the heat of the noon-day sun, hoping to feed the young child she had taken in off the street out of the kindness of her heart with the meager earnings she gained from the days toil, neglecting her own self and needs in the process. Raito snorted. Sometimes his mind was too melodramatic for its own good.

More likely she was some old hag a big company had hired to play off people’s natural sympathies to sell their chemically produced wares, and she was getting paid more than the average salary man to do it. Yes, that sounded much better. He had thought for a second there that he was actually allowing himself to be dragged into it all, this thing other people liked to call life. But no, Raito was above all that, whatever his situation. And he saw all this for exactly what it was.

A total farce.

Raito took advantage of the loud, crowded street to speak to Ryuk, since nobody was paying him any mind in any case.

“Hey, Ryuk. I know that you can’t take things from the human world that aren’t given to you, thus your inability to take those apples over there on your own…”

“…This coming to a point, or are you just being a jackass?”

Raito took that as confirmation. “But technically, that doesn’t mean you can’t, let’s say, touch something, does it? For example, knock something over…?”

Ryuk was silent for a moment, before erupting into rolling successions of “Hyuk, hyuk…” Raito let a slightly evil smirk grow on his face for a moment, once more thanking whatever it was, fate perhaps, that had made sure it was Raito that had picked up Ryuk’s Death Note. It was refreshing to have someone he didn’t have to explain himself or his actions to, to have someone who understood and would go along without complaint. A partner in crime, per say, no pun intended.

It was supremely ironic that the one thing Raito had been searching for his whole life had only been found in a God of Death.

“Wait until I’ve been there a minute or two before you do anything Ryuk, we - well, I - can’t afford to seem too suspicious. You understand?”

“Yeah yeah, I got it…” With that less than assuring confirmation, Ryuk unfolded his wings, relocating himself to hover at the booth to the apple kiosk’s left, his grin anticipatory and his body finally unwound.

Raito didn’t waste a moment before walking to the far right side of the display of apples, bending down to examine the fruit. He could feel his mouth watering as his stomach gurgled, the sound thankfully drowned out by the hustle and bustle of those around him. The old woman appeared to take no notice of him, but Raito didn’t doubt for a moment that she had already memorized his face and appearance, and was ready to scream ‘thief’ if he so much as picked up an apple to weigh it in his hand before she saw some cash.

Counting in his head, Raito refused to acknowledge the nervousness curling in his belly as the number kept getting higher and higher… 60 seconds… 90 seconds… 100 seconds… where the hell was that stupid… don’t look up there, that’ll look suspicious, you can’t seem as though you know anything… 120 seconds… damn it all to hell, that son of a-

Finally, the roof on the stand to his left suddenly collapsed, scattering oranges in every direction, and causing all heads within its immediate vicinity to swivel, mouths gaping as they observed the damage and the furiously cursing booth owner.

Raito didn’t hesitate to reach forward, his hands closing around two deep red apples amid the confusion.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Raito’s eyes were flat and bored as he stared at the TV screen, obviously less than interested in the movie he was watching. Aladin, he believed it was called, a stupid import movie from America that his mother had gotten him for his birthday. And despite the fact that he was playing it in English, just to see if he was fluent enough to understand (he was), the movie was boring as hell. Politics would have been more stimulating. Perhaps even golf.

Anything but this mindless happily ever after bullshit.

He was only about twenty minutes into the movie, he estimated, another hour or so to go. But he had to watch it at least once, or his mother would be disappointed. And Raito’s mother, for whatever inexplicable reason one could come up with, was the only person Raito couldn’t stand to make unhappy. It just… unsettled something deep inside him, a gnawing, almost hungry feeling that he just couldn’t drown out once it was there.

And so, he was sitting in front of the television, wasting an hour and a half of his life watching this foreign waste of time and effort. Delightful.

Raito’s eyebrows furrowed suddenly as he watched. Reaching for the remote, he rewound the movie about ten seconds, his eyes intent. Then he did it again. And again. And again.

“Father.” Raito called, taking advantage of the fact that his father was home on a Saturday (for once). His father responded quickly, walking into the room, a few files held in his hand as he continued to skim their contents.

“Yes, Raito? Are you enjoying your new movie?”

Raito ignored the question. “Father, why does the man threaten to cut off Jasmine’s hand for stealing an apple? If you don’t mind me saying, Disney usually tries to stay away from violent implications, so I just thought it was odd.”

Soichiro glanced up, peering at the image of the shop keeper holding up his sword, frozen on the screen. After a moment of thought, he finally answered, his tone a bit thoughtful. “Well, I imagine they were trying to be historically accurate, Raito. Back then, the punishment for stealing really was getting a hand or both cut off. A bit harsh by today’s standards, and hardly reasonable.”

Raito thought on it for a moment, finally nodding as he came to his own conclusion. “On the contrary father, I find it very reasonable. The logic behind the idea is flawless.”

“Excuse me?”

Raito ignored the incredulous tone, going on, “It makes sense you see, as well as makes a statement about their ideas on society and how to keep it in order. The human body represents all of society, and when the hand of the body stole the apple, in this case,” Raito nodded toward the television. “It represented crime within society. Therefore, the idea is to cut off the tainted body part , in effect, removing the troublesome area of society, in other words, the criminals. Remove them, destroy the problem, and leave a lesson to whatever, or whoever remains.”

“But Raito, surely you don’t believe… that anyone who steals should have their hands cut off? Sometimes, people have no choice, or have a mental illness, or don’t know what they’re doing-”

“No, father.” Raito clicked the play button, settling down to watch the pointless film once more.

“There is no excuse for any crime, ever.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

Raito didn’t run after he had grabbed up the apples, no, that would just be stupid. It would catch everyone’s attention, practically screamed ‘hey look, I’m stealing shit!’, and he wasn’t sure he had enough energy to run even if he wanted to. So he tucked the apples inside his backpack, turning to look at the destruction with everyone else. He had to hold back a smirk as he saw Ryuk hovering over the destruction, doing what looked a great deal like a happy dance.

Once the crowd began to disperse, Raito felt safe in his theft, walking away from the stand without a backward glance. Quickly navigating several streets and cutting through a park, he found himself in the same ally he had been in that very morning. He supposed that now, since he had instinctively come back to it, it could be claimed as ‘his’. If only for temporary purposes. Taking out the two apples, he didn’t even flinch at the dark shadow that passed over his body, dropping down to sit in front of him. Ryuk’s eyes were bulging more than usual, the Shinigami almost drooling as he focused on the apple in Raito’s left hand.

Well, may as well feed the dog first. He’d been a good boy and done his part, after all.

Raito tossed Ryuk the apple, the Shinigami only strengthening Raito’s mental comparison of him to a large, hideous Labrador Retriever as he jumped into the air, wasting no time before eating the apple as he caught it between his teeth. Charming, Ryuk, absolutely charming.

Holding his own apple in both hands, and doing his best to ignore the near orgasmic sounds of the feasting Shinigami next to him, Raito paused to take in the moment. While the apple was nothing special to the God of Death, or at least, not any more special than any other apple, the fruit he held in his hands represented a lot to Raito.

It was proof of his first crime. It was the first food he had eaten since he had run away. It was the first material thing he had gained through his own efforts, showing that he existed in more than just grades and test scores.

He took a deep swallow, his stomach twisting, nearly forcing him to slowly raise the apple to his dry, chapped lips. Pressing the apple to his mouth for a moment, almost in imitation of a kiss, he finally allowed his teeth to sink into the crisp, red flesh, the juice hitting his tongue and sliding down his throat.

He couldn’t help but feel later, that while the weight of the apple in his belly felt like a small piece of heaven…

…the apple itself had tasted of nothing but sin.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Hitoshi Demegawa felt the sweat trickling down his back as he stared at the seemingly innocent notebook, flipped open on his desk. He swallowed, considering removing his trademark sports jacket as the room suddenly felt too hot. His frantic eyes moved to the TV once more, seeing the collapsed body of one of his biggest competitors, watching as paramedics quickly removed the man from the view of the cameras. He stood frozen, as just ten minutes later an announcer came on screen, solemnly declaring the man dead.

Dead. Of cardiac arrest.

A heart attack.

Demegawa had killed him. He had killed a man. He didn’t know how to handle this, what was he going to do? He could be thrown in jail, should be thrown in jail, once they found out-

But wait. How would they find out? It wasn’t as though they knew of the Death Note, or its mysterious powers. And even if they had, they had no way to know he had possession of such an item, and no proof that he was involved in any way. Which meant…

He had killed a man. And he would never get caught, because nobody would be able to prove that the incident was murder in the first place.

Quickly walking over to his computer, still giving the Death Note a wide berth, Demegawa logged onto his account, quickly bringing up the stats page for the different TV stations in the Tokyo area. His breath caught, half in surprise and half in delight, as he saw his competitors viewer count dropping rapidly, his own slowly but surely beginning to rise. This was- the Death Note - there would be no evidence - he could - he could…

He could kill anyone he wanted, and come out white as snow. His pudgy hand shook on the computer mouse, a slow, ugly smirk making its way across his face. Oh, this - he could use this.

Taking a deep breath and gathering every ounce of courage in his flabby body, Demegawa turned and strode determinedly to the notebook spread open on his table. Sitting down, he rubbed sweaty palms against the fabric of his pants, leaving wet, salty stains in their wake. No matter, he would soon be able to afford fifty new pairs of pants, if things went his way. Yes, and much more than that. A whole new wardrobe, a flashy sports car, maybe even a private yacht….

Lost in his daydreams, it took a moment for him to snap back into reality. He was getting ahead of himself. Before he could have any of that, he had a job to do, first and foremost. Picking up a black ball-point pen, he set the tip to the second line on the white paper, trying to decide who to kill next. It didn’t really matter, he was going to kill them all, but still, it was a tough decision. Finally, a devastatingly handsome, tan face came to mind, silky black hair falling in front of dark eyes. Yes, that bastard would do nicely, thought he was so great because he was good looking…

Furiously writing down names in the notebook, Demegawa never noticed the dark, winged figure lurking in the corner, watching him with curious, red eyes.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Compared to America, L dully concluded, Japan was really, really… boring.

Not only did they not appreciate the true worth of strawberry cake, or pie, or ice cream, or candy… they had no 24 hour movie channel for him to veg in front of, when he was in the right mood.

So is life, he thought, finally tossing the remote down, his incessant clicking stopping on some news channel. Sighing, he flopped back on the couch, staring up at the ceiling, before his eyes were inevitably drawn to the painting on the wall in front of him. The barren wasteland. He knew, on the wall behind him, there was a painting of a bowl of apples. Though vastly different subjects, both pieces had been painted by the same person, as had the one piece hung in his room, directly across from his large, four poster bed. A painting of nothing but wide, red eyes.

Eyes reminiscent of the artist’s himself.

Yes, Beyond was nothing if not an accomplished painter, L decided, observing the flawless detail of the piece before him. Any one of his compositions could have easily sold at any art gallery, no matter how disturbing the content. But for whatever reason, after he had painted the pieces (presumably out of boredom, seeing as how he was incarcerated in the highest security prison the U.S. had to offer, with no chance of getting out in this life time), he had requested that they be sent to Wammy house, the note attached plainly reading that they were gifts meant for L himself.

Why that freak wanted to give him, the man who had continually outdone him and sent him to prison, he had no idea. But he had never claimed to know what went on in that demented mind.

Not that he wasn’t curious as to what exactly that mind was hiding. But he certainly wasn’t going to march himself down to the prison to speak with the man and ask him. Oh yes, he was sure that would go over well with Beyond Birthday. “Hi there, I’m L, the man you’ve always tried to outdo but have never quite managed. Sorry about that, by the way. Now, I was wondering, what exactly are you thinking about at the moment? Don’t mind me, just tell me anything, I promise, your secrets are safe with me.”

…

The percentage of THAT working were so close to zero he wasn’t even going to calculate the actual value.

But L was sure that there was a reason the man had painted these for him, almost as though he were giving him clues to… well, something. They mocked him in their mystery, taunting him to try and figure out the message within their macabre scenes. And there was a message in them, he knew. And if there was anyone that could find that message, it was L.

Though his attempts up to this point had met nothing but frustration and no small amount of rage.

Finally L allowed his eyes to fall closed, beginning to get a headache from the sheer impossibility of the task before him. L knew he could do many things most humans would find beyond their abilities, but this was daunting. Frustrating. Mocking.

Just like the man who had painted them.

But enough. He didn’t want to think of Beyond any more than he already had. This ‘vacation’ Watari had suggested was turning out to be crappy enough without that wacko stuck in his head. But L knew just what would make him feel better after a completely craptacular day.

Ice cream. Lots of it. Preferably the kind with cookie dough balls.

He had just risen, intending to walk to the kitchen and retrieve his yummy treat, when there was a commotion on the TV screen. Looking back, L sucked in a surprised breath at the sight of the news anchor laying on top of the studio desk, not moving or breathing. Waiting a moment, he watched as the paramedics came in, carting the man away.

Well, that was unexpected.

But L shrugged it off, after all, the man wasn’t terribly young, and that stuff happened. Remembering his quest, he quickly walked into the kitchen, opening the freezer and locating the ice cream of choice. Ten seconds of defrosting, a quick search for the whipped cream and one big-ass spoon later, L found himself on the couch again, shoveling in the cookie-dough flavored goodness. He turned his attention back to the TV just in time for the announcer to come on, informing viewers that the what’s-his-name reporter was dead of cardiac arrest.

Ouch. That couldn’t be helping their ratings.

But now that the disaster was over, the news program turned out to be, surprise surprise, a total snore. L picked the remote back up, flipping through the channels once more, albeit more slowly this time around. He finally found another news program, seeing an insignia on the little box in the corner of the screen (he forgot what they were called, but if the great L couldn’t remember, it wasn’t that important anyway). They must have been detailing his last successful case. Ah yes, if he remembered, one of the informants had been Japanese…

For the second time that night, L’s attention was captured by a scream on the television, and he watched, his eyes getting wider and wider, as the handsome young reporter clutched his chest, yelling as he collapsed forward, before going still a few seconds later. Spoon sliding slowly from his mouth to drop on the floor, L’s mind flew back to the reporter who had died not ten minutes ago due to a…

…heart attack.

He was in an abrupt whirl of motion as he began throwing the magazines on the small TV table in every direction, desperately looking for the TV guide. Finally finding it (next to last, damn his luck), he searched through its contents frantically, finally finding the name of another prominent news station. Quickly changing the channel, he pulled his knees up to his chest, watching the hosts intently, looking for any signs of illness. Ten minutes later, he was still watching, wondering if the night’s events had been some kind of sick coincidence.

Until the middle-aged woman on the screen clutched her chest, her breath coming out in desperate gasps before she collapsed. And stopped moving.

Cardiac arrest. A heart attack. Just like the others. Cardiac arrest. A heart attack. Just like the oth-

L snapped his eyes back to the booklet folded open in his lap, quickly turning to another news channel, just in time to see another man collapse. Another one, a ten minute wait, and the fresh from college news anchor went down with a high pitched scream. And the one after that. And the one after that.

In the next hour, fifteen news announcers and hosts of popular shows had died of heart attacks on-air. And those were only the one’s L had seen.

What the hell was going on?

Staring down at his toes, L stuck one hand out slowly, picking up the hotels phone and dialing the number for the next room over. It rang twice before it was answered, the voice on the other side one of a polite elderly man.

“This is Watari.”

“Watari.”

“L?”

“Have you watched the news at all tonight?”

“No, I can’t say I have. Any particular reason why?”

“Maybe.” L bit his lip, wiggling his toes absentmindedly. “It’s just that I have a hunch we might need to extend our little ‘vacation.’”

~*~*~*~*~*~

Kiyomi Takada raced towards the news station, out of breath and running late. Add that to the fact that she didn’t want to be at this particular station in the first place, and it all added up to a rotten mood. Not that she was going to let it show on her face, but still.

Ah, the joys of being an intern. Only she would be sent out at this time of night to deliver some less than urgent documents to a place like Sakura TV. The station more notorious for its - pardon her language - bullshit than a herd of Kobe cows. And that was saying something.

Hurrying in the door, she nodded to the receptionist, quickly making her way to the elevator and pushing the button for the top floor. It was nice that Sakura TV was such a shabby place, or she might have to wait around while the head honcho was in a meeting. As it was, she doubted he had a meeting in the next month.

Stepping on, she winced as her ears were assaulted by the most hideous elevator music she had heard in her life. Dear lord, what century was this from? But she pressed her lips into a firm line, refusing to let the complete lack of taste in the building get to her. Much.

Finally she made it, and breathed a small sigh of relief as she stepped out of the musty little box, immediately making her way to the door down the hall. Stopping in front of it, she raised her hand to knock, only to freeze in shock as loud screams began emerging from the room in front of her. Slowly lowering her hand, she turned her head, straining her ears to try and figure out what was going on.

“NO, NO, P-PLEASE, DON’T HURT ME, I’LL DO ANYTHING!!”

Takada blinked. It sounded as though the man were being threatened. But who would bother threatening a man like Demegawa?

“I’M SORRY, I DIDN’T KNOW IT WAS Y-YOURS! PLEASE FORGIVE ME, KAMI-SAMA!”

Kami-sama? What the hell was this man talking about? More importantly, who was he talking to?

“N-NO! D-D-DON’T TOUCH ME! D-DON’T COME ANY C-CLOSER! AAAAAGGGHHH!!”

Takada nearly had her head taken off as the door slammed open, taking a quick step back so she wasn’t hit. Her mouth fell open slightly as she was greeted by the sight of a scared shitless Demegawa, his face pale and sweating profusely while his eyes darted all over the place, finally settling on Takada. Mouth falling open in shock, he stared at her for a moment, before looking down at his chest.

Where he appeared to be clasping a black notebook…?

Suddenly said notebook was shoved into her hands, as Demegawa rushed past her, an almost insane smile on his piggish features. He cackled as he headed straight for the stairwell, not even bothering with the elevator.

“IT’S YOURS NOW, AND MAY YOU TAKE THAT DAMN MONSTER WITH YOU! DO WITH IT WHAT YOU WILL, IT’S NOT MY PROBLEM ANYMORE!!” The man sounded positively gleeful as he stepped into the stairwell, and she heard his frantic footsteps as he began to run down.

…What the hell was that all about?

Takada looked down at the notebook clutched in her arms. Looked pretty normal to her. Flipping it over, she was surprised to find words on the cover.

Death Note? What was…

A dark shadow fell over the cover of the book, and Takada looked up.

And found herself face to face with a monster.

She didn’t scream, only because her throat was paralyzed in terror. Trembling, she watched as the creature tipped its head to the side, almost like a curious kitten. It took a few minutes of panic, but she finally noticed that the creature was making no move to hurt her, or to do anything really. It was just standing there.

Closing her eyes, she let her breath out through her nose, regaining her composure. Opening them once more, she was able to address the monster in an almost normal manner.

“Who are y-you?”

The monster seemed to grin, if that wasn’t him snarling his teeth.

“My name is Deridovely, and I’m your Shinigami.”

“M-my Shinigami?”

“Yup. That guy gave up ownership of the notebook to you, so as long as you own the Death Note, I have to follow you around. It’s just the rules, I don’t make them.”

“The Death Note?”

Now that she knew it wasn’t going to hurt her - it had said follow, not eat - she felt more comfortable, or at least as comfortable as she could feel in the current situation. Bending her head down, she examined the notebook in her arms once more, flipping open the front cover.

The human whose name is written in this notebook shall die.

As she read, Takada felt a calm descend upon her. No wonder that fool had been scared; he didn’t even know what he had had in his possession. Not really. And thinking it was a curse, he had immediately thrust it upon her without a second thought. Tried to save himself.

That selfish pig. She hated men like him.

But he didn’t save himself. In fact, she thought as she retrieved a felt tip pen from her pocket, uncapping it with vindictive anger, he had just signed his death warrant. People willing to let others suffer to save themselves didn’t deserve to live.

Especially not after killing all the innocent reporters she had seen written on the first page of his book. All those people dead, just so he could make a few dollars.

She was doing the world a favor by getting rid of him, she thought, imagining his disgusting, portly face in her mind as she wrote the last kanji for his name.

The Shinigami in front of her laughed, seemingly pleased.

A minute later, after setting the files she had brought over on Demegawa’s desk, Takada walked back to the elevator, pushing the button for the first floor. She walked out of the large building, heading home, ignoring the Shinigami floating behind her. She wasn’t worried, she’d be long gone before anything was found amiss.

Because under the names of 22 well-known TV faces, was written;

Hitoshi Demegawa 9:52 P.M. Falls down stairs at Sakura TV. Is not found until morning.

~*~*~*~*~*~

It had taken Misa a few days, but she had finally gotten used to idea that Rem, yes, did in fact exist, and would follow her wherever she went. All because of that stupid Death Note she had been given because some stupid Shinigami had died to save her.

Well, let it be known that one Misa Amane was NOT grateful, since she had never asked to be saved in the first place. Besides, the idea of a Shinigami in love with her was really just gross, especially if he looked anything like Rem.

No offense to Rem or anything. She was actually really nice, once Misa got over the whole ‘big scary monster only I can see’ thing. She was great to talk to, and she never had to worry about her blabbing Misa’s secrets, since nobody else could see or hear her.

And she was a nice bodyguard for when Misa had to walk home alone after dark, like right now.

After a few more miles, Misa finally came to her house, pulling out her key attached to the most ADORABLE kitty keychain that she just hadn’t been able to live without . Walking in, she threw her bag to the side, heading to her room after grabbing her non-fat yogurt from the fridge.

She opened up her desk drawer, taking out the Death Note and flipping it open on her bed.

Tonight. She was finally going to do it, tonight. She hadn’t been able to do it yet, too scared to be a murderer, but she had finally talked herself into it.

Tonight, her parents’ murderer was going to die.

Touching the tip of her pretty sparkle purple gel-pen to the page, she felt a tremor run through her, and nearly stopped. She could feel Rem’s eyes on her, but she refused to back down. Not again. He deserved this, her parents deserved this.

Hell, she deserved this.

She closed her eyes, willing herself to relax and take some enjoyment in this moment. The moment where justice would finally be served for her family, once and for all. Picturing the man’s face in her head, the one face in the world she could never forget, she quickly scrawled his Kanji across the page, not bothering to be neat about it.

She opened her eyes to watch her lock, holding her breath until forty seconds had finally passed. And suddenly, she could breath again. It was over, just like that. A burden had been lifted off her shoulders, the man was dead, and she was free.

She offered Rem a happy smile as she put the Death Note back in her drawer, watching as it was hesitantly returned. Rem really was too serious for her own good, Misa would have to help her with that. She held a modest hand over her mouth as she yawned.

Maybe tomorrow. She had some beauty sleep to catch at the moment.

Crawling into bed, she said a quick goodnight before turning out the lights. It was only a few minutes before she fell asleep, breathing peacefully as Rem stood guard over her bed, white skin glowing faintly in the moonlight.

~*~*~*~*~*~

“Father.”

“Yes, Raito?”

“What is death?”

Soichiro looked at his son, surprised the young genius would ask him anything. Raito never asked ANYONE anything, he just seemed to always know. So it was understandable that he was caught off guard. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t answer.

“I guess… it’s just what comes after. Nobody KNOWS what death is son, all we know is that it comes after life.”

Raito looked up at him. “So… it is the absence of life?”

“In a sense.” Soichiro frowned. “But some believe it is a new life, or the end of this life cycle and the beginning of another one.”

“So, who’s right?”

“I couldn’t say.”

It was silent for a few minutes, while Soichiro watched his son try to grapple with the concept of death. He wasn’t sure why a nine year old felt it necessary to think of such things, but, on the other hand, it was Raito. And that spoke for itself.

“I think… death is the opposite of life.”

“Hmm? What makes you say that?”

“Because…” Raito’s brows furrowed. “Death cannot exist in the same place as life, and life cannot be where there is death. They cannot coexist in a being at once, there can be no compromise, no ‘living-dead.’ Therefore, they are the opposites of one another.”

“That makes sense, I suppose.” A lot more than his own explanation had.

“But that also means they need one another.”

“Come again?”

“They are opposites. Without death, there could be no life. Without life, there could be no death. Without each other, neither of them could ever exist.”

…How did one respond to that?

“So, therefore, since death is the only reason life exists…” Raito continued on, his voice thoughtful and distant to his father’s ears.

“A person who loves life must also love death. Without one you cannot have the other. Death is just as necessary as life, if not more so, to our continued existence.”

Raito paused, looking his father in the eyes, his face blank.

“They are the same. Death is life and life is death. There is no difference. If humans want to live, they must accept…”

Raito turned away.

“That someday, every man’s time will come.”

Soichiro took in a shaky breath.

“Everyone will die, father. It’s just a matter of when and how.”

“Raito…”

His son turned back to him, a small smile on his face.

“Father, how do you think I’ll die?”

His blood ran cold.

~*~*~*~*~*~

A/N: Sorry everyone, this took a bit longer than the other chapters, but I've been working on other stories too. The first chapter of Singing Through The Silence should be coming out in the next few days, just needs to get betaed now. And I'm working on the first chapter of Valient, as well as a oneshot I'm thinking of calling Luck Of The Draw. Title may change with mood though. And since I've neglected it for so long, I'm gonna try to have the next chapter of A Matter Of Profit by next week, so yeah. The chapters of that one are just sooooo damn loooooong....

But I don't really have to say that much this time, other than congrats to Neverending Odyssey, it was Demegawa indeed, before I killed the pig! ^ ^ I don't like Takada much, but she was into news broadcasting too, so it made sense. Anyway, I just used Demegawa to get L's attention, since the other Kira's were being so discreet.

AND SUPER BIG THANKS TO NILAHXAPIEL, AS ALWAYS, FOR BEING MY SUPER-AMAZING-BETA-PERSON!!!

And that's all for now, unless anyone has any questions? I can't really remember if there were any in the reviews... um, but just put them in really big letters so I don't forget them again if there are, okay?

Once again REVIEWS ARE THE LOVE OF MY LIFE AND BEYOND - but not demanded. So, yeah, I hope you enjoyed! ^ ^