deercountry | 15 . JOHNUARY

[ Lazarus's wounded pride is a force more powerful than fear, apparently: he snaps back like a challenge. It's a pretty good showing. John regards him with cool, steady attention.

He still doesn't pay much attention to Light, comparatively. If he knew much of anything, John would expect to see fear in him, too. ]

Just the town running us ragged, as usual. [ His tone is still steady, mild. ] But you know me. I can always make time.

[ No one runs out unless he lets them.

It's a horrible threat, even obliquely. He says it just to watch the little frisson of fear through Lazarus's body, just to know they're on the same page. If he can't wield death as a weapon, he can wield its absence instead. ]

[ In spite of the reprimand for doing just that earlier, L again talks to Light while instead talking to John. If he'll receive no real answer there, he'll have to instead come to some conclusions on his own.

His attention turns to John, someone who had even less reason to answer him, but he's the only person who he hasn't tried. Light could leave the two men to double talk at one another while he continues his studies, or he can give one more effort at getting the answers he seeks. ]

Did he join the list of why people call you a complete monster?

[ That gets through to him. John blinks at Light, briefly taken aback— by the boldness, not the judgment, if the way he settles behind the same cool calm is any indication. He just tips his head in consideration, finally looking at Light as though seeing him properly. ]

I'd ask who's calling me names, but it'd be quicker to ask who isn't. [ He doesn't say this like it bothers him, but like it's a funny little observation. ] If Lazarus wants to play coy about our history, that's his business.

[ There is a hanging beat in which he almost resists telling on himself for a stupid fucking joke. ]

I'd hate to kill and tell.

[ The joke always wins, every time. ]

[L's undefined reasons for "playing coy" make perfect sense to him, and yet they unravel during efforts to consciously articulate them. It's not like he gains something by minimizing events or shrouding them in vagueness, but John correctly identified the intensity of his pride.

No matter how many layers of armor its hidden under, a fresh wound will sting when nudged. It'll sting more when pierced and twisted, and while L doesn't have a name for that feeling, sly insinuations and references sound increasingly like they could line up with L's unexplained disappearance at the beginning of the month, which Light would certainly have noticed.

Is he afraid that knowing he died will make Light think he's weaker? Or is it actually based in the realization that all those hours of sickness and pain were a unique, unconventional kind of intimate that's also uniquely, unconventionally indecent? Speaking of it almost seems vulgar, punching low at the expense of the kind of memory he seals in a glass orb on his birthday.

The impression of a foul play feels bitter and unfair, though John's broken none of the unspoken rules. Neither has Light; prying into this is a way to twist a wound, too, just like the gift of a tailored suit at his birthday party. Their own history motivates every interaction between them, and often involves some form of petty backstabbing. L can't fault him; he would have done the same in Light's position, taking advantage of an opportunity to rattle him.]

That was easier when they stayed dead, probably.

[I'll see your definitely-not-a-betrayal, and raise you one tenacious resurrection.

If only they were effortless. If only the additional chances were more infinite than they felt.]

I'd suggest remastering that before taking on a Pthumerian.

[He realizes that half of him hopes that John will offer to make Light his next attempt. L's inability to predict his own response to such a threat is thrilling, in itself.]

Edited 2023-01-22 06:26 (UTC)

[ He trusts Lazarus to snap back, and sure enough, he just doesn't stay down. John tips his head in touché, as though this is banter between friends, and not something that started with a visceral flinch. There's still a line of tension in his jaw and shoulders, still something dark and heavy in his eyes. The levity sits uneasy and out-of-place against that underlying tension. ]

You're certainly giving me practice.

[ It ought to read as threat to Lazarus, offer to keep up the pattern, but he says it with an acceptance that sounds too much like respect. To Light, he says: ]

Your friend is a talented trespasser, and I draw some hard lines.

The crime of trespassing is death?

[ The question comes in lieu of denying that L tresspassed. Light's all too familiar with L's penchant for ignoring personal boundaries. He'll never forget the house full of cameras that likely served as L's first live view of Kira. He likely did cross some boundaries, and the look shot his way is questioning. What did you do?

Light can read a lot of emotions in John's words, but none of them is regret. If anything, he seems to respect L's snapback. It's a game to him.

How familiar. ]

It wasn't in defense.

[ John didn't defend his line. If it was all about making sure L didn't push any more boundaries, the previous words would have been met with disdain or contempt.

While there's assurance in his voice, there's no heat. Light has experience in this, too. There was a reason L's death felt different from others. The intent isn't to immediately attack John though he doesn't take well to monsters. ]

It was revenge. Is it finished?

[ It seems to be, but it's a heavier question that it initially seems. ]

[Threats and respect aren't mutually exclusive according to L's personal set of rules. He's thought them through and tangled with the paradoxes, all without pausing to wonder if it's possible for a person who thinks that way to be anything but desperately lonely and sad during his extremely short life.

As long as it's not boring.

The threat and the respect, in any case, feel earned. They sustain him like food, comfort, and praise sustain some other people, somewhere, playing by a set of rules L doesn't quite grasp.

Rules like finishing, after revenge. His glance at Light is lingering, and though his expression betrays nothing, the length of the look alone should be more than enough to communicate the sentiment you can't be serious. There's no way in hell it's finished. Do you end the game of tennis when someone successfully returns a serve?]

Maybe it is.

[Most people, saying those words with that tone, would sound like they were lightly or pleasantly commenting to a child who has asked if the moon is made of cheese. Like most things, L wears it a bit differently. The effect is animated sarcasm.]

I was asking him.

[ Light knows L too well to have to even ask. They can talk later when the subject isn't immediately in front of them. There isn't a lot of optimism regarding his ability to change L's mind, but the odds are greater without John present. ]

I can ask more directly: how much further are you planning on pushing your 'punishment'.

[ Normally, Light isn't going to ask that question and expect a truthful reply. Even now, he'll be weary of the answer, but John doesn't seem to bother really hiding his murderous streak. If anything, he's more likely to use it as a chance to threaten L further. ]

[ He can see why Light is a detective's colleague: the guy has a harder edge than he'd expected, gone cool and thoughtful in the face of something that should probably be alarming. The Nine Houses doesn't have a very common baseline for alarming, John's aware. ]

For now.

[ He doesn't say it with relish, or with malice, or with anything but resignation: his gaze is on Lazarus again, a man sizing up an oncoming meteor. A problem he hasn't finished with, and won't be finished with until it's in pieces. ]

I do occasionally keep my covenants. [ His smile is humorless. They had a bargain, after July: John's loved one stays in her grave, so long as he doesn't put Lazarus's in theirs. ] If he doesn't sting me, I won't swat at him. We can all get along.

[ None of them puts a lot of faith in that if. ]

[When L behaves like a child and is summarily treated like one, it doesn't particularly surprise him. It still rankles him to have two of his enemies talking past him, as though he's a problem to be dealt with.

Maybe I am. They certainly are. Could I take them both? Alone? Working together?

He doesn't want to encourage an alliance, but it's a fascinating thing to consider. Because there's no one left he loves, at least no one that John doesn't also feel conflicted about harming. Their tangled, overlapping webs and Paul Atreides' own fierce competence compromises the old covenant.

They both know it. Light will probably pick up on it, if only because he does know L, and his sting, and his nature, and that he was like this even when death could (did) stop his heart permanently.

What could cause that to happen again? Taking down the Pthumerians, perhaps.

Those books.]

Good fences make good neighbors, but I'm thorough. I can't be held responsible for what I stumble into when a boundary hasn't been set.

[Where's your campsite, John?]

[ It would be easy to remind L that death is something to be avoided, not a goal to achieve.

Isn't twice enough?

Instead, Light knows that picking this battle here will prove to be fruitless. With John standing there, he's as likely to back down as he is to swear allegiance to Kira. While it's very likely true that he'll follow through with the cryptic promises he utters today, L also will want to make those promises.

So, at what point can John be useful? As friendly as they play, as openly as they challenge one another, Light knows L isn't going to pretend like he hadn't died at his hands, no matter if Kira also believes L doesn't remember the moment itself. When L bites, Light will need to find a defense. To do that with someone who considers the two of them as friends, he'll need an explanation, but that doesn't mean the seed can't be planted in advance.

It can't start here. It'll need careful steps, and L's watchful eye doesn't allow for too many things to stay hidden. ]

[It says something, truly, that one of L's greatest historical nemeses is fairly invested in helping to keep him alive.

They help each other, this way. Because L, also, wants to live as much as he wants to see his version of Justice prevail.

He has no problem setting the tone. Taking charge. Lighting a fire that sizzles his own belly and keeps the others on their toes. In fact, isn't this the very definition of being in his element?]

There are so many unguarded places to stumble. It'll be a pleasure in service of the truth, won't it, Light?

[He makes a point of grasping Light by the arm, to demonstrate that nothing he does will be accomplished alone, anytime soon.

Forced-teaming is such a unique joy.]

[ Heard loud and clear. John looks back at L with the same sense of exhausted acknowledgment, enemies eye-to-eye. They see each other clearly, and there's a certain gravity to that. He can think only of the dead woman he had tied to a chair, six months or a lifetime ago: some revenants are built different.

Still: he has a bit to play. John splays his hands wearily and looks to Light, as though to say: are you seeing this? And people call him the aggressor. As though he's not regularly forced to pry this guy out of his brain with a crowbar; as though anyone in his position wouldn't make it hurt. ]

And here I thought I might get to stop setting wards.

[ Lazarus will make him snap back every time, and take the flack that comes with it. He knows it. It's a maddeningly effective strategy if the goal is to wheedle John into cruelty, counting all his weak spots along the way. ]

[ L doesn't mind setting the tone; Light doesn't mind trying to take control over it. ]

Lazarus.

[ He won't necessarily allow it to be forced though he isn't going to completely 'betray' L, either. ]

The truth does cover both sides. You know I'll protect you if you're his target, but you should also know I'm not going to help you become his target.

[ Light's gaze returns to John, but his words are still to L. ]

You're right: I do want the truth. I can figure out my actions from there.

[Honor, betrayal, and competence all dance a fine line, as far as L and Light alike are concerned. At least, regarding one another; all bets are off, for everyone else, but Light is probably more concerned about where appearances and respectfulness feature, there.]

What a world it would be, with nothing to hide.

[It's a veiled concession. He's accepting, bit by bit, that he won't have a chance to steal what he wants anytime soon. By the time he does, it will likely be too late. John will have read what he has secured, and utilized the knowledge for better or, far more certainly, worse.

L's eyes burn, for a moment, the way he wants to set fire to John's campsite. With Light here, he won't try. Without Light, who could say what he's capable of?]

15 . JOHNUARY

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