(Untitled)

[firm_detective]

L is browsing the stacks in the eighth-floor library. Row after row of books on ornate, dark wood shelving -- How long have they been here? -- surrounds him, but he can still see the far-away main entrance to the library from where he stands. He wrinkles his nose at the faint musty scent of the crumbling volumes.

[Thread is private to firm_detective and refractings.]

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[refractings]

[Light has braced himself for a sudden, visceral sense of bereavement, and so when it doesn't come he is still a moment, startled -- although there's no reason, is there, for him to feel any sort of connection with the scrap. His connection with the Death Note has already been severed.

But the loss -- the loss, he realizes a fraction of a moment later, as it hits -- is present, is very real, simply existing at a higher and more cerebral level than he expected (of Kira), and will that make it less painful, or more so, Light wonders.

And he supposes he'll find out sooner or later, but he's currently busy making other unpleasant discoveries, and will have to save that particular unpleasant discovery for later. He has never mastered the trick of shutting down his thoughts. They slither through his head too quickly for him to grasp them and smother them. But he can drown them out, and therefore, immensely thankful that the exercise only manifests internally, he begins to shout into his head.

LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA

It's a horrible, tuneless noise, even in his mind, and he immediately feels the beginnings of a headache swim into nebulous being behind his left temple, but apparently he has a hallway to walk down, and he will begin to focus on the wrong things if he doesn't prevent the thoughts from taking hold.

The hallway. Right. And speaking of.

Having gotten to his feet as soon as L said the word "fireplace", and having started moving shortly after L started heading for the door, Light bristles at the casual command L throws back at him.]

I'm keeping up perfectly well.

[The utter infantility of the statement strikes him, as tends to happen when he deals with Ls, an instant too late to stop the words from leaving his mouth. Well, and it's true, he thinks obstinately. But L's (aggravatingly) right about the fireplace. Even if they weren't going to test the effects of his touching the scrap, it would need to be burned... it would need to...

LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA, Light screeches a bit desperately at his brain, and follows L.]

[[[ooc: ...lolwut. DON'T LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT]]]

[firm_detective]

*Out of the library through its double doors, down the hall, and into the room in question: L moves at a hasty gait. Two chairs sit before a roaring fire in what looks like the study of a English gentleman of the nineteenth century.*

*He takes up a place near the mantel, standing such that the pokers are behind him and Light will be forced to stand in front of him. He doesn't want Kira -- however momentarily he is present -- to have easy access to a weapon.*

Stand here, Light, and hold out your hand -- as close to the fire as you can tolerate. I will touch it with the paper, and we will see what happens.

*There is a fleeting wish that he had taken a moment in the library to leave a note about his whereabouts. It's too late for that now... but at least the warmth from the fire is pleasant, dispelling the chill that exists in so many parts of the mansion. L wriggles his toes as he waits for Light to approach.*

[refractings]

[This is your last chance to keep it, Yagami, Light finds himself thinking before he shoves the idea out of his mind, annoyed that it even found its way into his stream of thought. It's not true in any case. His last chance was gone when he handed the scrap to L. It was gone when he told L about the compartment in his watch.

He follows L into the room -- he more than half-expects the Mansion to present them with a trick room, given the circumstances, but it is for once cooperative -- and stands where L indicates, noting L's position, blocking his access to the heavy iron pokers by the fireplace. This is probably a smart move, but in all honesty, Light doesn't think he'll require any weapons, if he gets it into his head to attack L.

He glances across at the detective, at the way the light of the fire flickers over the musculature in his neck. The man looks terribly skinny, but not necessarily fragile. As Light remembers the white-and-blue blur from the tennis match, he thinks that L can probably take care of himself.

The fire crackles and flickers with a sort of indifferent cheerfulness. It would be easy to imagine the flames consuming anything (a log, a house, a person, a piece of paper) and continuing to burn, unfazed, self-possessed. Very simple, but Light isn't that whimsical, and he has other things on his mind. He holds out his hand, palm facing the fireplace. With his hand like this, grabbing the scrap will be more difficult, if he should decide to try for it.

His hand is close enough to the fire to feel its heat as more than just a benign warmth. The proximity is bearable for the moment. He glances up at L, then, in a nonverbal request, inhaling deeply in an attempt to calm his nerves.]

[firm_detective]

*He nods, once, and is surprised by his own heightened sense of anticipation. This is not the first scrap of its paper that I have touched, not the first time I have been in a room alone with Light, or Kira, or a Light who is or has been Kira.*

*Then, the understanding comes to him: it's the first time he's likely to see the memories returning. He doesn't know exactly how Light will react; he may maintain self-control, or he may collapse, or he may go wild. L has gathered from Misa that the return of the memories is traumatic, but they were unpleasant for her -- shameful, to some extent -- and there is every chance that Light is not in the least ashamed of what he has done.*

*His gaze is locked on Light's face: a change should show there, first. His own expression is at its most focused, its most grave. He is full of resolve.*

*Holding the scrap between his first and second fingers, pressed together, he touches it to the back of Light's hand, and waits for a response.*

[refractings]

[The fire is spilling its heat onto Light's hand, and except for the crackling of burning logs, the room is silent. Light inhales the scent of smoke and hickory wood and then, as the scrap of paper nears his hand, stops breathing. He has prepared his mind for anything -- an overflow of sensation and memory, a sudden understanding of everything that right now is a blank spot in his mind, perhaps the presence of another being entirely in his mind... even, as unlikely as it seems, nothing happening at all.

Then the paper, so normal-looking, so deceptive, touches his skin.

So much floods Light's brain that for an instant he loses himself completely, becomes a creature purely of images and voices and churning, poisonous impulse. When he grabs ahold his identity again, it's almost not a relief because this hurts, this hurts, he can feel memory -- this is what it is, this is what he is doing, he is regaining himself he was so lost showed each other our notebooks at Aoyama so empty -- he can feel them filling those holes in his mind, forcing their way through his conscious mind to shove themselves Naomi Misora L do you know into crevices and cracks and where is he, this is not-- why is-- there are mental connections he can't make yet and there's still more, god, there's still more and he can hear his neurons screeching or maybe they will follow him I am L forever, wasn't made for humans, no -- yes I am Kira I--

Less than half a second has passed, but for all Light knows he's been frozen in place for hours, his gasp of surprise choked off and smothered. There's no room in his mind for physical sensation, but something deep in the animal part of his brain knows to scream, and so he does.]

[firm_detective]

*L watches, waiting for the change, fascination mingled with anticipation, wondering if he will feel any real horror when it happens.*

*There isn't the opportunity. The scream begins almost immediately after the gasp.*

*His gaze doesn't leave Light's face. Instead, his fingers open enough to let the scrap slip through them and fall into the fire, where it begins to burn in an instant, blackening and curling.*

*He finds that he has forgotten to breathe; he wonders if it will be necessary to run.*

[refractings]

[It's as though Light's brain can't contain the knowledge it's receiving -- memories that still sting from being snapped into place begin to be sucked away. The process isn't painful, as such; the first time these memories vanished he had been expecting it, had let them go without a fight, and it hadn't even been unpleasant, except for the headache after. But this time he needs to keep them, he can't keep bumbling around this place like an idiot, cognizant of his identity but so ignorant of what it means--

It's hopeless and he knows it but he grabs at them, clutching, digging in his claws, trying to focus on all of them at once.

They rip themselves from his grasp anyway. Images and scenes go dark one by one like someone's hit a series of light switches until after a long long instant

His head hurts terribly and he's screaming. Why is he screaming? He cuts himself off with a rasping gurgle he barely hears. It hurts his throat, but he hardly notices that either. The piece of notebook paper curls and blackens in the flames as he stumbles back and sideways, his thoughts clumsy and fumbling. What--]

[firm_detective]

*L stands, transfixed and troubled and surprised, staring at Light. After a moment's hesitation, he finds his voice, and speaks in a low tone.*

Please sit down.

*His pale skin stands out in the room's warm dimness; he points to a chair next to Light with his finger, a white arrow.*

[refractings]

[Light obeys gracelessly and without question, his mind still buzzing with tangled, half-completed thoughts. The cushioned impact with the chair makes him blink, though, and his eyes snap into focus. He stares at L, looking confused and a bit afraid and altogether very young.]

[firm_detective]

*He remains standing, between the chair opposite Light and the fire.*

What happened? What did it -- ?

*How did it feel? He elects not to use that wording.*

[refractings]

I... I don't know. [He's speaking slowly, tripping a bit over the syllables.] It... My head hurts. Was I screaming?

[He wants to hug his knees to his chest and huddle back into the embrace of the chair. He settles for wrapping his arms around himself and hunching his back. He's still staring, wide-eyed and unsure, although lucidity seems to be returning.]

[firm_detective]

*L seems frozen in time, one hand now resting on the top of the chair next to him. After a beat, he nods.*

Yes. You began to, and then --

*His other hand gestures towards the fire.*

I dropped it in.

-- I think it can be considered conclusive.

[refractings]

[Light releases a huff of humorless laughter.] Yes. It can, can't it.

[He does pull his knees up to his torso now, as he turns to stare into the fire. His head is pounding incessantly. He feels sick and distantly horrified, and while he doesn't want to be alone, he finds that he wants L's company even less.]

Thank you. For your assistance.

[firm_detective]

Yes.

*He doesn't show any sign that he will be going anywhere. His hand remains poised on the back of the chair. His gaze shifts over to the fire, then back.*

It is hot in here, isn't it?

*He doesn't know if it's the fire that makes the room stuffy, or if the atmosphere feels airless because of what has just happened.*

-- What can you remember about what happened, just now?

*Something suggests to him that he should leave, for his own safety, but he may never again have the opportunity to hear about this immediately after the fact -- so he stays.*

[refractings]

Is it? [Light is chilled, covered in faint goosebumps; he hugs his legs closer. The room wasn't this cold before, surely? He forces himself to pay attention to L's words, to remain in the present.]

It... I think-- it hurt. [His words are halting, stumbling over each other, unsure.] The... recovery, not the loss. My head feels... emptier? Less cluttered, although why... Everything was rushing in, and before it had stopped moving it was going again...

[The impressions are vague, and fading rapidly; Light struggles to hold on to them with a desperation that surprises him. The last time he lost his memories, his memory-less self had had no concept of what was happening. The pain was rationalized away as the beginning of his headache, and the sensation of his mind clearing had seemed clearing of cobwebs, an awakening to his situation -- What am I doing here?

He raises his eyes as far as L's neck, but can't quite look the detective in the face. His expression is strangely vulnerable.] I don't remember anything else.