Current mood:	annoyed
Current music:	Paralyzed - The Used

O hay look!
aluminium chose 17, so here we go.

Title: Signals
Author/Artist: temptationwaits
Fandom: Death Note/Another Note
Pairing: Beyond Birthday/L
List and #: Alternate #17 - passing by
Rating: R (mild profanity, sexuality, short little lemony scented moment)
Disclaimer: Death Note, L, etc. © Ooba Tsugumi, Obata Takeshi, etc. Beyond Birthday, Another Note, etc. © Ishin Nishio.
A/N: Spoilers for B and Another Note in general. This piece is really muddy, in a sense it feels like I wasn't completely aware of what I was writing. XD I know I say this about most of my fics, but I felt as if this one is just... poopy. Hopefully you enjoy it. It's also somewhat AU-ish? How so will be explained in the after notes, as it's spoilery. But, anyway, yeah. Enjoy.

It feels all most impossible to consider yourself significant when you're in a crowd of people. Surrounded with other humans, in bunches and herds, moving like cattle through the streets and intersections, passing cars and buses full of more people, you don't feel like you're anything special. You begin to think that you're just another advanced organism, another face in the crowd, because there is always someone better, bigger, prettier, smarter, talented than you in that squall. Do you wonder if people think this about you as you pass them?

If you're quiet enough, you might be able to hear people's thoughts. Maybe not so much hear as feel. That woman in the pretty blue suit and heels clutching the strap of her purse tightly--he can tell she's nervous about something. There's lipstick on her top teeth; there's more of it on her top lip than bottom, suggesting she's been chewing on it. The way she clutches her purse suggests she's scared, somehow, she's impatient. Her suit is brand new like her pumps, her hair is done in extravagant curls, she's constantly checking her face in her compact. He guesses she's either meeting someone for a date or possibly work interview.The prefume isn't overdone, the suit is too formal; work interview.

L can pick up these things. He doesn't know if he likes it or not. When it comes to cases, however, it's critical to know how to read body language, to know how to dissect people. Though it had not come completely natural as everything else did; because he was as social as a badger, he didn't know much about human actions and what they meant. L's own gestures, own postures, were much different than the norm.

But sometimes, when he thinks he's losing his grip on human nature, when he feels he's becoming something... mechanic, something robotic, he takes walks. Like this one, for example. L doesn't care to make friends, doesn't care about pleasing the world--all he wants is a puzzle to solve, someone to serve him tea and cake. Watari is the best and only friend he desires and cherishes. Everyone else is a medium for his actions that would require him to communicate with more people, a subordinate to command, a case compatriot--as soon as he solved the crime, their temporary companionship would end and he'd happily go back into social recluse.

It was when he felt he was losing his edge on understanding the human body and emotions that he stepped out of the shadows to join his fellow species. He had to sharpen his dulled skills. When he was standing in a crowd of people, just like this very moment, he felt a strange sense of insignificance, unimportance. A sort of reminder that he wasn't the only person in the universe. L was egotistical, but he admitted his faults--he had to remember there were people out there that would never understand, would never be controlled.

But can humans completely control other humans? Was this possible? He'd seen undying devotion before. A criminal who shot himself after murdering all those women because his wife "told him to." A couple who took hands and jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge together, their love for the other effecting each other so intensely they couldn't live without one another, couldn't live in a world that wouldn't accept them. So in death they hoped they'd be welcomed. And the most extreme case? Humans who killed, destroyed, manipulated under the name of divine beings they had never personally met.

L vowed he would never let himself be controlled like that. Nobody was going to jerk him around on a leash. Nobody would put him in a position where he'd reconsider his own thoughts and feelings, his own demise, for someone else's. His reality was his reality, no one would push theirs on him; he accepted reality for what it was, but it would not twist and turn him inside out as it had done for all the people he convicted and sent to jail.

For the most part, L had built a wall to keep out these possibilities. To turn your head and back and eyes from people was something you had to both accept and reject when you became a detective. You had to listen to people to catch them, but you had to shut them out unless you wanted to be manipulated, you wanted to feel sorry for them, you wanted your judgement toyed with.

Two years ago, he sat in an interrogation room with a serial killer, just the two of them and the unfeeling cameras glaring down at the men from two far corners of the room. The man was screaming and sobbing about how he never wanted to hurt anyone, never wanted to do any of those killings, and he was so damn sincere sounding, his tears so real, his quivering violent and his terrified face genuine. He pleaded L to take mercy on him, to oversee his sins, to play the role of God and if he just repented, he'd surely be forgiven, to take on the role of a priest, and if he just confessed his wrong doings to him in this sterile, freezing box, he'd be granted freedom and happiness he insisted he never had.

But L was not god, he was modest enough to know that. "I'm sorry," L told him, but didn't mean it, as he sunk out of his chair, his bare teeth touching the hard tile. He turned his back to the wailing boy and waved at the one-way mirror. "I play the game to play. I don't care what happens when it's all over. That's your job, isn't it?"

L would be told he's mean, he's cruel, he's hard headed, stubborn and harsh, but the thing is, when you play a game, you play to win, and tools of games are not humans. They're pawns. They don't breath, they don't speak, hear, feel, fuck, hate, love. As far as L was concerned, he could push people past their limits as long as he won in the end. And when he did win, people would stop complaining about his methods.

But could there really be anyone who could break down that wall? Was there anyone who could reach out and touch his face, pull on his heart strings, pick at his brain? Was it possible someone could wrap his arms in twine and play him? L never considered this, because he had the mentality and the determination to close out anyone who would try to garner control of him.

You can't get inside someone's head if you never see them.

However, you could try if you did see.

In Los Angeles, California, the weather was downcast and cold, the clouds thick and gray with rain yet to spill. There was a four way intersection wedged in the heart of the city, not too far from Hollywood. Here women and men and children of all genders, races and religions passed by on constant go, some looking tame and normal, others eccentric and downright weird. In this city, there were so many different cultures, and this was probably the best place to do his study.

Although he did look a little odd among a good deal of the people, nobody paid any mind to him. Slouching in his levi pants and white sleeved shirt, his shoes were on sloppy and untied, hands tucked in his pockets. His black eyes moved from the gravel beneath his feet to the people that passed him. He'd deduce at least one thing about them before they disappeared.

A girl chewing gum loudly, eyebrows creased--she was angry, and the way she was punching away on her cell phone, most likely at her boyfriend or friends. By the blush in her cheeks and gloss in her eyes, perhaps boyfriend. A boy wrapped tightly in clothes and sweater, his hair long to shape and hide his face--insecure, head bowed, uncomfortable among so many strangers. He could empathize.

It was easy to read people, even when he didn't care to try. It was easy to mold them in ways he so desired. Yet people would never know what he was thinking, why he did what he did. Those who cast him looks wore expressions of confusion and curiosity; obviously they didn't get a single thing about him. That's the way he liked it. No one, no one would be able to dominate and control him.

L glanced briefly at a large clock on a nearby building. It would be noon. He promised Watari he would return to the hotel soon. They'd be contacting Misora as soon as he got back. She had called him the other day, told him about her findings at Bridemaid's apartment. About the strange boy under the bed. L had smiled at that.

Suddenly, something felt cold and hard as if a blunt object just thwacked him on the back. L recognized this as apprehensive uneasiness, as a sense of... familiarity. Uncomfortable familiarity. The atmosphere felt stiff and cold and as his breathing came out in tiny white clouds, he slowly turned his head to the left, the rest of his body remaining still in place, life continuing to move past him.

A woman brushed by him, her hair trailing behind her like a curtain--when it parted, he saw his face. Well, no, it wasn't just his face. Same clothes, same posture, same hairstyle, same pale skin, same baggy eyes. But no, no, those eyes were red and unlike his flat line frown, this one was grinning.

Beyond Birthday stared at L across the street, standing before a bus stop. A couple girls sat behind him, giggling and toying on their phones, unbeknownst of the murderer only a few feet away in front of them. B's back was curled into his shirt as he hunched forward, long thin fingers tucked into his levi pockets, the sleeves of his white shirt crooked like his grin.

L slowly turned to face B full frontal, but did not make any sign of advancing any closer. B stayed put. And for a minute or so, they just stared at one another, ignoring the sounds of numerous feet claking at the hard ground, the chatter, the noise, the breathing, the mere existence of others. Soon, the world was quiet, even when people and cars and life continued moving. Nothing but silence and the low drawl of a beep, the type you hear when you lay in bed in the dark, unable to sleep, staring at the ceiling, a low constant whine ringing in your ears, the one you never really noticed before since you were too busy paying attention to the noises around you.

Then, B rose one hand, and L reacted by batting an eyelid, curious. He watched as B started making signs with his hands, his fingers, holding up digits, making shapes--sign language. He was doing sign language. He was speaking to him.

B rose his fingers to face, clamped index fingers and thumbs together by his eyes, then snapped them open wide.

Surprise.

L couldn't help but smirk, but hid it well. He signed back a moment later. How strange to see you here.

I'm not too surprised to see you here, however. I anticipated your arrival.

Oh? Have you been missing me? L placed a flat hand to his chest, another on top of it, before holding out the top hand. He placed the top of his left hand on the palm of his right, raised the left up with finger pointed, then folded it over his right arm. Beyond Birthday.

B chuckled softly, looking so innocent--too bad L couldn't hear how wicked his laugh was from where he was standing. B raised his hands and signed his reply. It's been too long, you know. I would be lying if I said I didn't miss you.

It seems you've been calling for me, L retorted.

And you answered.

What business do you have with me?

B's fingers curled. You'll come to find out for yourself, I'm sure. B held out a hand, then circled his face with it. Your face. I've missed your face.

How ironic it was to gesture at his face when speaking about L. And how ironic that face was very much L's. Not those red eyes, but the numbers B saw, those were his.

You see it everyday, I suspect, L smirked. I suppose it wouldn't be fun for either of us if you didn't tell me why. We both enjoy the thrill of the game. One fist raised, knuckles out, thumb up, other hand striking knuckles.

The corners of B's smile curled slightly. It's been a long time since we played a game, L. Index finger up, thumb laid out. The question is, will you solve it in time? A finger placed on the top of the other wrist.

We'll see, won't we? But I have confidence in my skills. Do you? Finger thrust forward, hard, as if like a knife, a stab.

B snickered again, but it was inaudible. Your confidence--it really inspires me. Finger pressed to the heart. Do you remember the last time we were together? Are the details still sharp in your mind, or have you closed them out?

L searched those crimson red eyes. He rose a hand, snapped fingers to thumb.

B laughed heartily. I didn't think so. How could you forget the one time someone took complete control over you? Fists moving back and forth. Just like they had when they ran up along his milky white hips, down his legs, along his thighs. His rapidly moving fingers swaying like they were against his hard cock. His eyes glowing domination and insanity down at the bleeding, wounded, pallor body laying beneath him. The way he surpressed cries of pain and pleasure as B worked in and out of him, so hard, so inconsiderate, wounding his insides, blood dripping onto the carpet from between his legs. It hurt so goddamn much, but yet it felt so goddamn good. Was L perhaps as masochistic as he was sadistic?

B's mouth devouring his, biting his lips, tongue pressed against tongue, a thin line of bloody saliva hanging from both their bottom lips. Stubby fingernails digging hard into the flesh of his arms, forming goosebumps and ripples of erotic pain. His back was sore and stinging as it swept harshly back and forth against the creamy carpet, stained with blood, sweat and soon... Bangs stuck to their moist foreheads, hate in black and red.

L continued to frown, hands by his sides.

You pride yourself as invincible, unbreakable. Index fingers crossed, fists clenched, the sides bashed together then burst apart, violently, just like his wide eyes and toothy grin. But at the time, you were under my tender mercies, I had made you vulnerable. I had opened you. Sides of hands pressed together, spreading, opening. I dominated you, I conquered and devoured you. Fingers to mouth, hands scratching violently to the air, at him. With your defenses down, I began to understand you as I consumed you. I got the information I needed. So I became you.

L couldn't help but smile a little. Let's put that knowledge to the test, shall we? Index fingers raised, twitch, lowering.

B returned the grin, the exact same grin. If I win, I would very much like to push you down and take you again, to fuck you raw. He shook his head slightly. Unfortunately, that won't happen.

You're right, L agreed, it won't.

You didn't fight back last time.

Then perhaps you really weren't in control, were you? Now his fists moved back and forth.

B blinked, slightly taken aback by his reply, but any surprise was kept from being seen. That's something to ponder. Dropping hands, placing a finger in circles around his temple. Funny enough, it was all most like that silly little gesture for "insanity." Oh, and how fitting it would be.

Have you followed me just to tell me all this? L inquired.

No, B answered. I'm just... He spelt the words out for him, slow, as if to pass time, a physical way of someone pausing to grin, chortle and give a false answer. Passing by.

L felt a muscle in his shoulder twitch when B suddenly stepped one foot out onto the road, over the curb. Wearing shoes just as dirty as his, the same style, the shoelaces untied and dragging in dirt. His hands were limp by his sides, his smile was gone, his eyes a dull maroon. L stayed in place as B started across the street to him, slow and deliberate.

B stopped. It seemed the rest of the world did, and everyone had disappeared. B placed two fingers to his lips, then placed them to his cheek. As his smile reappeared, the silence was shattered when a bus came roaring right between them. L's heart leapt a little, but he kept still, his eyes widening slightly.

When the bus passed, Beyond Birthday was gone. L felt alone, and he didn't know why, when there were so many people walking by him, so many sounds to fill the atmosphere. But all he could hear was B's voice telling him, Let the games begin, let the best man win.

Thunder growled above.

----

You will remember this moment
As you dig into me
And from your smile now
It seems as if you liked it
You'd better cherish this moment
As you dig into me
You'll never get another chance
At this
This Moment by Disturbed

After Notes: Those are all pretty much real hand signs I looked up on the internet. I'm sure you know B's last sign to L was "kiss." Also, they were doing a lot of signing spelling out words as well. I don't know, I think hand signing can be very beautiful. The idea of these guys knowing how to sign seems completely normal. XD

The AU-ish feel comes from the fact that B never met with L in the story. Also, L figured out B was responsible for the murders once Misora told him about his encounter with him. I'm sure B knew very damn well Misora told L about him, so L must suspect him. I think his plan was to kill himself before L could figure out the final victim--and, I assume, erase his identity so L wouldn't think he was B? Anyway, this AU takes that approach.