[Death Note]: Beginnings
Title: Beginnings
Fandom: Death Note
Recipient: sakru909
Summary: The boy, his social workers said, was...peculiar.
Notes: Merry Christmas! (Lately.) Not much to say on this one. I hope it pleases.
The boy was…unusual, his social workers had said. Difficult and peculiar. And clever, they added, mostly as an afterthought. We suppose.
Quillsh looked down at the boy whose only name was a letter and felt himself being equally scrutinized by those eerie, huge black eyes, gleaming with reflected light. Clever, he thought, was probably an understatement, no matter how innocent the youngling was trying to look. “Hello,” he said, trying to sound gentle and fatherly. “Are you L?”
The boy just stared at him until the social worker, whose nametag proclaimed him Mr. O’Reilly, prodded his shoulder gently. “Come now. Answer the question.”
“Evidently,” said the boy - L - still staring. It seemed as though he hadn’t blinked once.
Quillsh glanced up at Mr. O’Reilly with a bit of a sigh. “Can I talk to him alone?”
“Of course.” The social worker knelt, trying to catch L’s eyes. “Now, you behave. Mr. Wammy is a very important man.”
L said nothing. Quillsh looked back at the boy and said, “Thank you. I'm sure I can manage.”
“Let us know if he gives you any trouble, sir.”
“I will.”
He waited for the door to close, and then found a chair and sat down. L examined him for several minutes more in silence, and Quillsh waited, wondering how long it would take the boy to get uncomfortable.
The trouble was, that L didn’t seem inclined to get uncomfortable within the next hour. Possibly within the next twenty-four. He just stared, and finally it was the older man to break the silence. “I was told that you were a clever boy, L.”
L looked bored, and started to chew on the tip of his thumb. “Yes,” he said, in bland agreement. Wammy blinked a bit. The other children he’d spoken with had been inclined to be modest, even when they were obviously pretending. He flipped open the file he had and looked it over again. Seven years old, L Lawliet, parents: deceased.
He realized a moment later that the boy was watching him with new intensity. “Is that mine?” He asked, pulling his thumb away from his mouth for a moment. Quillsh hesitated, then nodded. “I want to see it.”
Wammy let his eyebrows rise, but after a moment’s deliberation, closed the file and held it out. The boy snatched it, barely holding it with his fingertips, and laid it out on the floor, spreading the documents out and looking at all of them with a slight tilt to his head. He picked up the report on his behavior and turned the pages, eyes flicking back and forth, then set it back down and looked at the pictures, then at the basic profile sheet, and closed the folder. He looked up. “I thought someone was watching me,” he said, and sounded a little proud. “Is that because of you?”
Quillsh’s eyebrows rose a little further. He had specifically asked that the observation not be overt. “Did someone tell you that?”
L shrugged, with one shoulder, and went back to looking bored, drawing his skinny knees up to his skinnier chest. “No. I wasn’t supposed to know that they were there.”
Wammy blinked exactly once. “How did you see them?”
L shrugged again. “I just did. It wasn’t that hard if you just looked a little, and I don’t think they thought I’d be looking.”
Clever and observant, Wammy noted, and both were probably understatements. He reached into his bag and pulled out a simple logic puzzle, and held it out in one hand. “Here, this is for you.”
L looked at it with faint disdain, but then leaned forward and plucked it out of Quillsh’s hand with just his fingertips, and pulled it apart and put it back together without hardly looking at it, then looked back up as though expecting something more challenging.
Quillsh shook his head slightly, and then held out his hand for the folder. “Can I have that back?”
L peered at him with his too-large eyes for another several moments of somewhat unnerving consideration, and then said, “Would you answer a question for me, first?”
Quillsh shook his head, slightly. Peculiar did not begin to cover it. “I suppose, though I'm not in the habit of bargaining to get my own belongings back.”
“Are you going to adopt me, Mr. Wammy?”
It wasn’t a childish plea. It was just a direct question. Quillsh took a deep breath through his nose and let it out slowly. “It’s a distinct possibility,” he said, and L’s smile surprised him with the way it lit up his whole face, even the large, almost black eyes. The boy picked up the folder carefully and held it out to him, never releasing his knees from his chest.
“Oh,” he said, “Good.”
Quillsh Wammy took the folder back and smiled as well. “Thank you for your time, L,” he said, but just as promptly as he’d had the boy’s attention, it seemed to be gone again.
Difficult and peculiar aside, he knew he was lost.
With his influence and wealth, he could have cut corners in the adoption process easily enough, but he went through everything very officially anyway. He wanted there to be no question. All the same, everything fell together, and he took L home with him, small hand in his, only a month and a half after they’d first met.
L, for his part, seemed faintly pleased and not at all surprised, his eyes taking in everything with what appeared to be nonchalance. However, his fingers gripped Wammy’s hand tightly for the entire trip, and as they walked up the path to the big house as the bells rang in the distance, L clung close to his side.
Fandom: Death Note
Recipient: sakru909
Summary: The boy, his social workers said, was...peculiar.
Notes: Merry Christmas! (Lately.) Not much to say on this one. I hope it pleases.
The boy was…unusual, his social workers had said. Difficult and peculiar. And clever, they added, mostly as an afterthought. We suppose.
Quillsh looked down at the boy whose only name was a letter and felt himself being equally scrutinized by those eerie, huge black eyes, gleaming with reflected light. Clever, he thought, was probably an understatement, no matter how innocent the youngling was trying to look. “Hello,” he said, trying to sound gentle and fatherly. “Are you L?”
The boy just stared at him until the social worker, whose nametag proclaimed him Mr. O’Reilly, prodded his shoulder gently. “Come now. Answer the question.”
“Evidently,” said the boy - L - still staring. It seemed as though he hadn’t blinked once.
Quillsh glanced up at Mr. O’Reilly with a bit of a sigh. “Can I talk to him alone?”
“Of course.” The social worker knelt, trying to catch L’s eyes. “Now, you behave. Mr. Wammy is a very important man.”
L said nothing. Quillsh looked back at the boy and said, “Thank you. I'm sure I can manage.”
“Let us know if he gives you any trouble, sir.”
“I will.”
He waited for the door to close, and then found a chair and sat down. L examined him for several minutes more in silence, and Quillsh waited, wondering how long it would take the boy to get uncomfortable.
The trouble was, that L didn’t seem inclined to get uncomfortable within the next hour. Possibly within the next twenty-four. He just stared, and finally it was the older man to break the silence. “I was told that you were a clever boy, L.”
L looked bored, and started to chew on the tip of his thumb. “Yes,” he said, in bland agreement. Wammy blinked a bit. The other children he’d spoken with had been inclined to be modest, even when they were obviously pretending. He flipped open the file he had and looked it over again. Seven years old, L Lawliet, parents: deceased.
He realized a moment later that the boy was watching him with new intensity. “Is that mine?” He asked, pulling his thumb away from his mouth for a moment. Quillsh hesitated, then nodded. “I want to see it.”
Wammy let his eyebrows rise, but after a moment’s deliberation, closed the file and held it out. The boy snatched it, barely holding it with his fingertips, and laid it out on the floor, spreading the documents out and looking at all of them with a slight tilt to his head. He picked up the report on his behavior and turned the pages, eyes flicking back and forth, then set it back down and looked at the pictures, then at the basic profile sheet, and closed the folder. He looked up. “I thought someone was watching me,” he said, and sounded a little proud. “Is that because of you?”
Quillsh’s eyebrows rose a little further. He had specifically asked that the observation not be overt. “Did someone tell you that?”
L shrugged, with one shoulder, and went back to looking bored, drawing his skinny knees up to his skinnier chest. “No. I wasn’t supposed to know that they were there.”
Wammy blinked exactly once. “How did you see them?”
L shrugged again. “I just did. It wasn’t that hard if you just looked a little, and I don’t think they thought I’d be looking.”
Clever and observant, Wammy noted, and both were probably understatements. He reached into his bag and pulled out a simple logic puzzle, and held it out in one hand. “Here, this is for you.”
L looked at it with faint disdain, but then leaned forward and plucked it out of Quillsh’s hand with just his fingertips, and pulled it apart and put it back together without hardly looking at it, then looked back up as though expecting something more challenging.
Quillsh shook his head slightly, and then held out his hand for the folder. “Can I have that back?”
L peered at him with his too-large eyes for another several moments of somewhat unnerving consideration, and then said, “Would you answer a question for me, first?”
Quillsh shook his head, slightly. Peculiar did not begin to cover it. “I suppose, though I'm not in the habit of bargaining to get my own belongings back.”
“Are you going to adopt me, Mr. Wammy?”
It wasn’t a childish plea. It was just a direct question. Quillsh took a deep breath through his nose and let it out slowly. “It’s a distinct possibility,” he said, and L’s smile surprised him with the way it lit up his whole face, even the large, almost black eyes. The boy picked up the folder carefully and held it out to him, never releasing his knees from his chest.
“Oh,” he said, “Good.”
Quillsh Wammy took the folder back and smiled as well. “Thank you for your time, L,” he said, but just as promptly as he’d had the boy’s attention, it seemed to be gone again.
Difficult and peculiar aside, he knew he was lost.
With his influence and wealth, he could have cut corners in the adoption process easily enough, but he went through everything very officially anyway. He wanted there to be no question. All the same, everything fell together, and he took L home with him, small hand in his, only a month and a half after they’d first met.
L, for his part, seemed faintly pleased and not at all surprised, his eyes taking in everything with what appeared to be nonchalance. However, his fingers gripped Wammy’s hand tightly for the entire trip, and as they walked up the path to the big house as the bells rang in the distance, L clung close to his side.