The sun was already setting by the time the girls returned to HQ. Cassandra said goodbye to Misa at the elevator and went up to her room, seeing the blonde creep up behind Light for a snuggle attack. She almost envied their relationship. Although, relationship... From what L had told her, Light didn't consider Misa his girlfriend in the slightest. She was either deaf and blind to his truth, or she simply didn't care. Could be both.

I guess every couple has their issues, pondered Cassandra. I wonder if there even is such a thing as a true, unconditional love. All those fairy tale remakes sure have a way of raising our expectations.

Talking to Misa had done her good, but now that she was alone with her thoughts again, the gloom invaded her once more. She gave a despondent sigh, pushing herself away from the far end of the elevator to saunter to her room. She didn't bother putting the lights on. Just trudging to the bed already felt like too much effort. When she finally dropped onto the mattress, Cassandra lay absolutely still, soaking in the quiet. The outside world wasn't for her; today had made that abundantly clear.

Suddenly, the lock clicked, and the door opened. Cassandra's groan was muffled by the bedsheets. Watari had undoubtedly come up to scold her for being so careless and confiding personal matters to a suspect in the Kira-case. She realized well enough she'd taken a huge risk, but who else was she supposed to talk to? The furniture listened, but they were lousy at offering advice, which Misa, surprisingly, had done.
Cassandra pushed herself up, preparing herself for her confrontation with Watari. But when she looked up, she didn't see the old butler and benefactor of Wammy's House on the threshold. Even with the light shining from behind, his pale face shrouded in shadows, Cassandra would recognize L's posture anywhere. But why was he here? It was still too early for him to retire.

Watari must've told him what I did.

Patiently, Cassandra waited for L to speak. But the silence lingered, becoming more heavy with every passing second. She shifted uncomfortably on the bed. A shiver ran down her spine, and her shoulders tensed.
Why was L just standing there? Had something happened while she was gone? A development in the case? Or... maybe he'd decided to send her back home to England. Put as much distance between them as he could.

"Lawliet?" Cassandra hesitantly called out to him. "Are, um... you okay?"

Finally, the super-sleuth entered the room. He shut the door before walking over to the bed. There was something about his stride that almost seemed... predatorial. Cassandra's body shrank in submission to the inexplicable power radiating from L. She froze when he touched her cheek with the tip of his fingers. Their eyes met, seeing clearly despite the darkness.

"Cassandra," whispered L. "Please don't hate me."

"Hate you? Why would I — ah!" 

Cassandra cried out when L struck her cheek with the back of his hand. Her own trembling hand covered the spot, and she fearfully stared up at his terse expression. She'd never seen him like this before. Was he that angry she'd spoken with Misa? Why else would he hurt her like this?
She opened her mouth, but her words changed into a yelp when L forcefully grabbed Cassandra by her arms and threw her off the bed. Terrified, she crawled and shuffled away until her back hit the wall. L approached slowly, like a sleek panther ready to pounce on his prey.

"L-Lawliet," she stammered. "Please..."

He raised his arm again. She shut her eyes.

📓💀📓

A strong side-sweep against his knees knocked L right off his feet. He smacked against the ground, grunting as he broke his fall with his hand and lower arm. Hurriedly, he rolled onto his back, but he wasn't in time to stop the redhead from pinning him to the ground. If he didn't know any better, he would've been surprised at Cassandra's sudden attack. But he did know better. This wasn't Cassandra.

"What the hell was that?" C hissed, her blue and hazel eyes blazing with furor.

"You left me no other option," replied L. "I waited as long as I could, but your continued absence proved problematic. I had to act."

"That gives you no right to hit her, you son of a bitch!"

"If you don't feel like coming out on your own terms, I have to force you. We both know that only happens when Cassandra's fight or flight instinct kicks in. Unless you prefer me to hold her at gunpoint or have Watari deal with it, this was the lesser of all evils."

C's nostrils still flared, but the anger in her eyes slowly dissipated. She sat back on L's lap, her hands slowly moving from his wrists to his chest. Her fingers clawed at his shirt to pull him up. When their faces were but a few inches away, she warned, "Hurt her like that again and I'll kill you."

"Come out more regularly and I won't have to hurt her," deadpanned L.

The corners of C's lips tucked up into a smirk. She gave a light chuckle and then got up, offering her hand to L. He waved her away, standing by himself, and then assumed his usual slouched position, his hands in his pockets.

"So," C clacked her tongue as she stood against the wall with her arms crossed over her chest. "What's going on that you had to resort to such drastic measures?"

"It's Monday," said L. "You agreed to meet with Mr Howe every Sunday in the park to see if he learned anything about Naomi Misora or Raye Penber, but you never left the building yesterday."

C pressed her lips together. When she looked down, L understood he'd been played.

"You have a way out without anyone knowing?" he asked.

A shrug.

"C, that's too dangerous."

"We're trying to keep Light and Misa from finding about where I go," she retorted. "Sneaking out is the only way."

"And what if Cassandra wakes up because you're jolted from her? What if Mercy takes over again? I understand your motives, but I insist on knowing where you are at all times so I can step in if needed."

C gave an exasperated sigh. "Fine, I'll let you know next time I go out."

"Thank you. Now please tell me how your meeting went."

"Not much to say. Howe's been asking around, speaking with other earthbound spirits, but he's got nothing yet. I told him to check the station at Shinagawa Park where Penber died. If he's not haunting the station, another ghost might've at the very least seen or spoken to him."

"What of Misora?"

"L, we don't know where she died or if she's even dead to begin with. Penber is proving difficult to track down, but Misora is practically impossible. We can't waste time on her."

L hummed in reply. He began to pace the width of the bed, his thumb to his lip, unable to shake the feeling he was missing something important. Something about Naomi Misora. He racked his brain, going over everything he knew about the young woman who'd helped him solve the LA BB murders.
The former FBI agent was fearless, going straight into the fray with only one goal in mind. But she was also careful, almost as careful as he was. She wouldn't have given her true name to someone she didn't know. Unless... that person somehow gained her trust. Had Kira or Second-Kira come across her during her investigation? Had they tricked her? But how? And when?

"The NPA," murmured L.

"What?"

He turned to meet C's confused gaze. "Naomi Misora contacted the NPA, asking to speak to me about the Kira-case. When we tried to track her down, she'd already disappeared. If we can learn whom she spoke with at the NPA, we could be one step closer to finding her."

"I suppose you want me to do that bit of snooping?"

"If you wouldn't mind."

C licked her lips, seemingly pondering her task. She pushed off from the wall and came to stand in front of L. With a prod of her finger against his chest, she said, "On one condition. Apologize to Cassandra."

L cocked his head, one brow raised. "Why make that a condition? You know I will."

"I don't mean for hitting her, though that's a given. I meant for last week."

Ah... there it was. L had wondered how long it would take C to bring that up. He wasn't about to give in to her, though.

"As I seem to recall," he said, "you were the one who set us up. If anyone should apologize, it's you to us."

"Agree to disagree."

"C..."

"Na-ah, you don't get to 'C' me this time. I'll admit I put the toy in Cassandra's hand and my phone on the cabinet, but it was her choice to have a little fun, just as it was your choice to come up after watching the video. And then you lead her on, making her believe you wanted more, only to chicken out afterwards."

"I didn't —"

"You chickened out, L. You had the chance to truly connect and be intimate with Cassandra, and you ran. Do you have any idea how much that messed her up?"

"How about how it messed me up?" exclaimed L. "I've told you a hundred times before that it can never be anything more between us, so why are you pushing us into this? You're accusing me of hurting Cassandra, but I wouldn't have to if you'd only stop your constant provocations! Just accept what is and leave us in peace!"

It didn't happen often that the brilliant detective lost his composure and went on an unhinged rant. In fact, he could only recall one time at Wammy's House, a few days after his parents were killed during the Mad Wenchester bombings. But C had finally gotten so deep under his skin, he wanted nothing more than to shed and claw her off.
They glared at each other, fuming. Neither spoke, but neither had to. Their bodies, both slightly leaning in, said plenty. Fists were balled, chests were rising rapidly, and eyes bore into the other's very being. Yet, unlike C, L was already familiar with his opponent's occasional tantrum. C had hit a nerve, and from the slight apprehension he perceived in her eyes, she realized she'd crossed a line. Eventually, she was the one who backed away first.

"I'll give you a few minutes to talk to Cassandra," she said. "After that, I'll take over again and begin my search on Misora."

"You're coming down with me," said L. "The team needs to see you're back and we're moving forward with the case."

C tsk-ed in annoyance. At his insistent glare, she nodded and then closed her eyes while exhaling slowly. L watched carefully, waiting for the alter ego to relinquish control again. When he saw the redhead's shoulders slump, her body suddenly shaking uncontrollably, he hurried to hold her. He sank to the floor with Cassandra, letting her cry against his chest as he stroked her hair.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I had to get C out. It was the only way. I'm so sorry."

L bit his lip to keep himself from saying any more. Despite what his heart was screaming, despite what his entire core was begging him to do, he held his tongue. He kissed Cassandra atop her head, cradling her like he always did when her anxiety got the better of her.
Not for the first time since the Glass House did L wish he'd never laid eyes on the young woman. Things would've been much simpler for both of them had he remained professional back then.

📓💀📓

Five years ago - March 23, 2002

L peered over his book at Cassandra. She sat on the other side of the rec room, away from everyone in the little sunroom, huddled on the two-seater in her oversized Glass House jumper. Her hand moved fast and with precision over her sketchbook. The detective pretended not to notice, but now and then, he caught her glancing up at him. Was he the subject of her sketch again, like he was yesterday? Why was she so hung-up on him? 

"Sir?"

L glimpsed aside, as his butler and benefactor came up in his periphery. Not for the first time did L believe the white doctor's coat suited Watari. Perhaps it was because of his calm, reassuring persona. 

"What is it, Watari?" he asked. 

"The head physician leading Cassandra's case returned this morning after her maternity leave," answered Watari. "I was able to speak with her and I've learned something new about our suspect."

L hummed and got up from his hunched position on the chair. He left the book on the table, shoved his hands in his pockets, and sauntered out to the empty corridor where they could discuss things calmly. 

"Is it what I suspected?" he told Watari, who kept a casual pace behind him.

"Indeed, sir. Dissociative Identity Disorder, formerly known as multiple or split personality disorder. Cassandra was diagnosed with the condition upon admittance six years ago."

Six years... That's when the first of those deaths started. That can't be a coincidence.

"Why isn't this in her file?" inquired L.

"That was on the insistence of both her godfather and the physicians who treated her before. Dr. Hadley wouldn't provide a reason, though."

"Hm, curious. What of the trauma Cassandra suffered?"

"Again, only the bare minimum. Cassandra spent a month in a coma after an accident that took the lives of her parents and unborn sibling. She was the sole survivor."

"How old was she?"

"Thirteen."

An important age in a child's development, mused L. DID has many causes, some disputed, even, but that much upheaval happening in a person's life all at once could certainly be enough to trigger the condition. Still... I wonder if she could've had DID prior to what happened. If she did, her parents may have been her first victims.

"See if you can find out more about the accident," he then said aloud. "I will attempt to engage with Cassandra again. Perhaps I can draw out the alter ego in our conversation and learn more from it."

L turned to face Watari, believing he'd find the butler nodding in agreement with their tasks. Yet the older man's expression was set in a grimace. Not that Watari smiled an awful lot, either, but seeing his mentor's clear apprehension gave L pause.

"Something wrong?" he asked.

"Yes, as a matter of fact," admitted Watari. "I'm concerned about your proximity to the young lady in question, sir."

"How so?"

"I've known you for many years now, and I've seen how you get when something piques your interest. Yet now with Cassandra... I fear it goes deeper than mere curiosity and your want to solve this case."

"I'll admit I'm fascinated by her, but —"

"Not fascinated. Infatuated."

"Excuse me?"

Watari edged a little closer to L. "You're a young man on the cusp of adulthood. There aren't many people your age in your immediate vicinity, for which I can only blame myself. It's normal you would seek out someone to connect with, to... form a relationship with, friendly or romantically. And I indeed encourage you to do so. But not with Cassandra. There's something wrong with that girl, sir, and I don't mean her mental state."

L stared back at Watari. He couldn't fathom what had prompted the man to think he would ever do something like that. She was his suspect. It would be highly unethical to have any sort of relation with her, especially if his theory about her being the serial killer proofed right. 

"I appreciate your concern, but it isn't necessary," said L. "I have no interest in Cassandra."

"But she has an interest in you," retorted Watari. "And I fear you're picking up on that without realizing it."

"I assure you, I am not. If she indeed has an interest in me, maybe we should consider this is because she knows I know about her. About her alter ego and her crimes."

"All the more reason to be careful, then." Watari placed a hand on L's shoulder. The simple yet fatherly gesture nearly made the young detective flinch. He meant to shrug Watari off, but his mentor continued, "My boy, I'm only looking out for your safety. You're already taking a significant risk by being here. I don't want to see you get hurt."

L pressed his lips into a thin line. Nobody had spoken to him like that since his parents had died. It felt... odd to know somebody would care for him as much as they had. A good odd, though.

"Thank you for your council," he said. "I promise I'll be careful. But I won't abandon this case. I cannot allow a dangerous criminal to walk free and endanger innocent lives. If Cassandra or her alter ego is guilty of these deaths, it is my duty to bring the killer to justice. "

Watari heaved a weary sigh but said nothing else. He released L's shoulder and walked past him to set about his task. L himself pondered a moment before returning to the rec room. Not to his surprise, Cassandra still sat in the same two-seater, still drawing in her sketchbook. The afternoon sun pouring through the window gave her red hair a brilliance, like a flame igniting over wood. The tip of her tongue pushed through her lips at the corner of her mouth. L faltered at the sight, his feet halting him in the middle of the room. He gazed at Cassandra, finding her... captivating.
Suddenly, L became aware of something. The corners of his mouth had curled up. Was he... smiling? He touched his face. Wait, why was he feeling warm? He quickly checked his pulse by placing two fingers on his wrist. Slightly elevated. He wasn't sick, was he? 

"Damian? Are, um... you okay?"

L blinked at the sound of Cassandra's voice. She was standing right in front of him. When had she moved from the two-seater? How had he not even noticed her coming toward him? Why was she calling him Dam — oh, right, his alias.

"Do you need me to get someone?" asked Cassandra, her expression filled with concern, eyebrows drawn together and dual eyes seeking his own.

"N-No, I'm all right," said L, his throat inexplicably dry. "Thank you."

She gave a weak smile, then averted. "Okay, so... I'll just, um... go then."

"Wait." He held out his hand to stop her. "I wanted to ask you something."

"Yes?"

"Can... you teach me how to draw?"

Cassandra drew back, head tilting in surprise. "What?" 

"My doctor suggested art therapy," lied L. "I really liked that drawing you made of me when I was playing chess, so I was wondering if you wouldn't mind teaching me."

A furious blush crept up Cassandra's cheeks. Her arms clutched her sketchbook closer to her torso. Then, in a little voice, she asked, "You... really want me to teach you?" 

L really had no interest in learning how to draw. It wasn't a skill he deemed particularly useful. Yet it gave him the opportunity to study Cassandra up-close. To be near her. He had no choice.

"I do," answered L. "Please."

"Well... okay. You'll need a sketchbook and a pencil. They won't allow anything else. Not outside the art room, I mean."

"I'll ask for one. So... tomorrow? In the sunroom?"

She gave a curt nod, then scooted past him. Their bodies brushed against each other, and in that moment, L felt a jolt. His heart skipped a beat. He stared after Cassandra as she went straight for the corridor. When she was gone from sight, L went into the sunroom and sat where she usually sat. He hugged his knees and leaned his mouth to his thumb, his mind racing with a million thoughts.

Was he finally becoming a victim of his adolescence, falling prey to such a trivial thing as infatuation, as Watari feared?

If so... 

Dear God, what had he done?