Work Text:
This is by far the weirdest job I've ever taken, thought the electrician Jean Martin as he shimmied down the rope from a helicopter. An old man with a neatly trimmed gray mustache waved politely at him from the driver's seat.
Absolutely insane, he thought as he looked at the cottage on top of the hill, then at the six meter tall electric fence, with spikes on top and cement under it. He must be somewhere in the Alps, for soft green grass stretched under his shoes for miles and a mountain peak stood tall in the distance. He even thought he might see a small, turquoise lake. If there was ever a place Jean Martin would like to live after he retired, this would be it. Even the sound of the songbirds was like a balm to his soul.
Jean went over the rules in his head as he made the long trek to the house. He'd been sent an anonymous message offering him some basic work any self-respecting electrician could do in five minutes, all for a ridiculous amount of money. There were a few caveats, though.
Rule no. 1: Never take off your mask.
Rule no. 2: Never reveal your true name.
Rule no.3: Don't believe anything the nice man says.
Not to mention the last thing he remembered before waking up in a helicopter, blindfolded, was entering a luxury limousine, feeling rather self-conscious about his frayed clothing and ratty leather equipment bag.
He felt a little uncomfortable with the black mask covering his entire face. Jean could breathe just fine, but the weight of it was oppressive–this was clearly no cheap plastic.
When he finally knocked onto the door of a very charming wooden cottage, he didn't even know what to expect anymore, but it certainly wasn't a handsome young man of Asian descent opening the door with a friendly smile. He was clad in a black turtleneck and khaki pants.
“Hello,” he said in French. “You must be…?”
“Jea–ahem, the electrician, uh, Jacque,” Jean amended, remembering the second rule. “I've been told there's a problem with the lights?”
The young man’s smile widened. “Of course. Come on in.”
The inside of the cottage was a beautiful mix of traditional and modern. The floors were covered with rich, plush carpets, which Jean experienced shoe-less, after a pointed glance and a cleared throat from the young man. Those Easterners sure were very particular about some things.
The dark couch was made of what seemed to be fine leather, and the low wooden table shone with fresh polish. The kitchen was supplied with modern appliances, especially the latest model of coffee machines. Jean noted a curious lack of TV or a telephone, as well as…rather a lot of bowls with plentiful red apples. Maybe they had a phobia of doctors?
He tried not to gawk as the man led him deeper into the house, to a small room the size of a pantry, where all the sensitive wires and switches that made his job so tricky were stored.
Jean opened it with a screwer and then had to pause for a moment to stare.
This… he'd never seen such a thing in all of his career. At first glance you wouldn't notice anything wrong, but the more you looked the worse it was. It was as if a professional had been told to give it the appearance of functionality while actively sabotaging it.
“How…?” With a gloved finger, he touched a wire that had been snapped at the base, hidden well by the other wires. Upon further inspection, that had happened to several others as well.
“You wouldn't think so, but we have a pretty nasty rat problem,” the youth said, shaking his head mournfully. Jean detected a subtle foreign accent.
“I hate rats,” Jean said vehemently. “My grandparents’ entire stock of grain got eaten by them, and they barely survived the winter. They lived in the countryside, you know. They should all be exterminated,” he added with disgust as he started taking out his tools.
“I agree completely,” the other said, with a touch of strange amusement in his voice. “I tried that once, but some people would rather let the entire world fall to ruin rather than surgically removing the rot. I have always said–”
“Sorry, what was your name?” Jean asked distractedly, putting on his glasses.
There was a sharp inhale, a small pause, then, “L.”
Must be an alias, Jean grumbled in his mind. If it was true, he pitied the poor guy. His mother must’ve been doing coke in McDonald’s bathroom stall to name her son a single letter.
“L like the Great Detective?” he joked.
“Exactly,” L, apparently, said, sounding smug. “Would you mind terribly if I kept you company?”
“Sure, knock yourself out,” Jean mumbled through a screwdriver in his mouth.
Suddenly, the loud sound of door slamming open and closed made him drop the screwdriver on his feet.
“What–!”
L didn't seem perturbed. “Just the bad wind. You get used to it. It's annoying, but not much else.”
Jean reflexively looked in the direction of the last window he'd seen when passing by. It was a perfect spring day, with no rain, clouds and especially no strong wind.
“R-right…”
L just beamed at him blindingly. Jean had to blink a couple of times to clear the red spots from his sight.
Jean tried his hardest to ignore other creepy things he noticed when he went for a quick bathroom break: books in the living room fallen off the shelves, a games console playing Mario Golf by itself, and apples disappearing from the bowls.
Think of the pay, Jean steeled himself, and dived back into work. Vacation to Mallorca. A new flat. Car. No more shitty commute.
L leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed. “I deeply admire you, you know. You're so underappreciated, and yet where would the world be without your expertise? It must be difficult.”
“You don't have to tell me twice,” Jean muttered, carefully replacing a wire. “I can't even travel anywhere, because I have to take care of my elderly parents. And where does all the tax money go? Not to teachers, or nurses or electricians like me, but into the pockets of the higher-ups.”
L made a sympathetic sound. “I completely understand you. My own work has rarely been understood and valued as much as it should be.”
They chatted away like that for a while, and Jean Martin found himself enjoying the time with such a conversationalist. His guard, as high as it was, little by little was worn down to nearly nothing. Why would his mysterious employer warn him of this man? He was nothing but kind and attentive.
However…
Jean noticed how shifty L would become from time to time, looking over his shoulders, fidgeting with his clothing. When his sleeve rode up, Jean saw purple bruises, fresh, in the shape of fingerprints.
“What's the matter?” he asked, now getting concerned.
“Hmm? It's nothing. Please, I don't want to keep you from your work.”
“No, listen, L, I know we've just met, but I can tell you're a good guy. If there's something I can do to help, if you're in a difficult situation…”
He gave L’s wrists a significant glance. L quickly hid them behind his back.
“It's just…” L got closer, face suddenly intent and alert in the way it hadn't been this entire time. In a hushed voice he asked, “What is it like, outside? Is Kira still killing?”
“Kira?” Jean suppressed the shiver he always got whenever that name was mentioned. Something about a higher entity watching their every move, passing judgement didn't sit right with him. “Well, Kira’s gone now. That's what L–sorry, I mean the detective one, not you, said.”
L shook his head vigorously. “You don't understand, it's all a farce! Kira is just lying in wait for the perfect moment to take back his power!”
His voice became more frantic, his eyes frenzied. He grabbed Jean by his arms none too gently and pushed him against a wall. Jean’s head thudded against the wall, next to the open wire box. That's a safety hazard, he thought distantly. The rest of his mind was fully focused on the young man trembling like a leaf.
“I know this may be difficult to believe, but… I really am L, the Great Detective, jokes aside. I have lost. Kira has me in his grasp. Have you not noticed the electric fence, or that there is no way to communicate with the outside world? The most that I can deduce is that we are in a French speaking country,” he said bitterly, head hung low in defeat.
Suddenly, he snapped right back up, and Jean found himself entranced by the determination in those slanted eyes, the sheer resolution…
“But it doesn't have to be like that,” L said, tone low. “You are my last hope, Jacque. If you can only disable the electric fence, I could climb up and out of here, and finally bring Kira to justice.”
“What about the spikes?” Jean whispered.
L smiled grimly. “Little bodily harm is of no consequence to me.”
What a madman, Jean Martin thought in a daze. But why do I believe him? Maybe he truly is L…
“I…”
L’s eyes bore into him, and suddenly Jean felt the weight of the decision–of the world–on his shoulders.
Rule no.3: Don't believe anything the nice man says.
Where had that suddenly come from? Could anyone really lie that convincingly? How could the bruises on L’s wrists and the bags under his eyes be explained? The man was ghostly pale and his lips were bloodless.
Still…
“I–I think I have to consult with, um, my employer, uh, and see what he says,” Jean managed to stammer out.
The feverish light in L's eyes dimmed until Jean felt like was looking at empty glass that reflected his own scared expression.
“I see,” L said dully. “It's always the money, isn't it?”
“Please understand!” Jean cried out. “I've got ill parents, and I plan to get married sometime soon! It's not that I don't want to, I just can't afford to!”
“Oh, I understand completely,” L said sympathetically, then grabbed the wires that Jean hadn’t got to fixing yet, and pressed it hard against his bare skin.
Pain, unlike anything Jean Martin had ever felt in his unremarkable life. His very nerves were on fire and, absently, as if outside his own body, he was aware of his knees buckling, falling face first onto the ground, shaking madly.
“...tried to give you an out… never listen….tsk.”
His limbs were so heavy, and it must've felt like dead weight, because L was huffing as he maneuvered Jean’s unresponsive body to his back against the floor.
“Why are being so fucking difficult?” L muttered, then added nonsensically, “Shut up, Ryuk.”
Jean blinked slowly. He didn’t know what a Ruyk was. Was it some Chinese slang?
L’s hands suddenly grabbed his clothes and started pulling them off.
“What…?” he managed to mumble through numb lips.
“Quiet,” L snapped, and continued trying to pull out Jean’s arm through the hole of his jumper.
“You're not…L…”
Not-L looked up at him, and Jean didn't know how he could ever have thought him to be so charming and relatable. There was nothing humane in those eyes.
“I think that's quite enough,” Not-L said, then grabbed Jean by his hair and slammed it down hard.
After that, everything went dark.
When he blearily blinked his eyes open again, he was nearly naked, his underwear being the only thing leaving him some dignity. Cool air kissed his cheeks; the oppressive mask was gone as well.
Not only that, but his hands and ankles were tied together with thin pieces of fabric. He experimentally pulled. They stayed firm.
Jean looked around. He had been shoved into what seemed to be a pantry, but the door had been left open. The jars of pickled vegetables were freezing on his bare skin. Grunting as quietly as he could, he wriggled on the floor like a worm until his shoulders were peaking out.
“Did you really think I wouldn’t know what you were planning, Light-kun?” Jean heard from somewhere nearby. He froze. It was a deep, pleasant voice.
Jean imagined the layout of the house in his mind. The stranger must be in the bedroom which had remained closed, but it was open now, and the sound transmitted clearly.
“Liar,” the person who had introduced himself as L–Light-kun, apparently–snapped. “You're such a fucking cheater, L. You had cameras installed, didn't you?”
“I don't need to cheat to win,” the real L, Jean guessed, said, voice monotone. “Unlike you. But it does tell me a great deal about your mindset that you thought there were cameras and still went through with your plan. You're getting desperate. Sloppy.”
There was a sound of something shattering, then, “And now you're getting aggressive. Tsk, Light-kun. You could have killed me if your aim had been any better.”
“I wish!” Light-kun screamed. “And it’s not my aim that's the issue, you fucking dodged!”
“Hmm. You seem very defensive for someone claiming to be a god. Would you like me to walk you through my thought process?”
An incoherent shout of rage.
“I'll take that as a yes.”
Little by little Jean managed to wriggle fully over the pantry threshold, keeping his ears and eyes wide open.
“First, you masterfully destroyed our kitchen appliances little by little, then went for the kill by cutting the wires. I was quite impressed by your knowledge, too. I suppose I should have expected it from someone who created a bomb in their childhood bedroom desk at seventeen. I still can't figure out where you got the actual rats from, though.”
“And you never will,” Light-kun interjected snidely.
L continued as if he hadn't heard that. “You purposely made the electricity go out while I was home, so that I would have to be the one to call the electrician, thus removing the suspicion of trying to bring in an outsider to manipulate off of you.”
Jean, who had once again stilled after hearing about teenage-made bombs, started moving again, until he could peek into the bedroom.
It was a strange mix of opulence and scarcity. No decorations hung on the walls, and the wooden designs of the closet were simple, but Jean could tell the duvet was finely made, and the floor-length curtains had exquisite patterns on them.
The deceitful young man–Light-kun–was sitting at the edge of the bed, wearing Jean’s clothes, had his arms crossed and spine straight in a defiant manner. Both of his shoes and socks were gone. The mask lay next to him.
“You can prove nothing,” Light-kun said disdainfully.
The other man had been standing in front of the window, hunched back turned to Jean, but at these words he chuckled and turned around.
“What is this? Are we back to square one? Will you deny being Kira next?”
If Jean had to describe this man, his first words would be bug-like. His large eyes seemed empty, emphasized by undereye circles. A smile played on his lips around his thumb.
“And I'm still firm about that,” Light-kun refuted. “I’m not Kira, and I never was. The reason I'm trying to escape is because you've kidnapped me in the first place.”
“...I won't even grace that with an answer. Anyway, I had to call our poor electrician friend, and after he refused to help you, you tried to kill him–”
“I did not, he was unconscious at most–”
“Stole his clothes and stuffed him in our pantry, then disguised yourself as him. You even managed to disable the electric fence without killing yourself. Not that I would have let you, anyway. If only that had worked out for you.” A mournful sigh.
“Shut up.”
“You knew Watari would not come pick up the electrician until late evening because you had your Shinigami spy on me. You laboriously climbed over the fence–I can see all those tennis matches paid off–and started running, when you got electrocuted. You've already figured it out, but I find I cannot let a chance to gloat slip through my fingers.” L shook his head. “Turns out I'm just as childish as you, Kira.”
“It was the socks,” Light-kun said lowly, looking down. “You had made the electrician wear shoes with a cold metal heel with electric wires inside, and only with my specific socks–the ones you knit for me, because you know my feet are always cold, and I wore them out of pity for you–could it have any effect.”
L stroked his thumb over his lips. The look in his eyes seemed slightly less mocking than as of a moment ago. “Out of pity for me? I don't think so. Try another word. You've thought it. I’ve said it. You know the one.”
Light-kun–Jean simply glossed over the fact that he was Kira for the sake of his own sanity–shot up from the bed and stalked over to L. Grabbing L’s baggy white shirt, he leaned in closer, until their noses were almost touching.
Jean was straining his ears to hear Light-kun hiss, “Just because you are pathetically in love with me doesn't mean I reciprocate your disgusting feelings. I will never love you. You are hideous, do you know? I don't think there is a soul on this Earth benevolent and pitying enough to love you.”
Jean winced at those harsh words. If they had been directed at him, he suspected he'd be crying by now. But L was not crying.
No, L was smiling, as if he's just been given a great gift.
Light-kun stiffened, the hold on L’s shirt crumpling the plain fabric. L slowly moved his head and gently pressed his lips to Light-kun's cheek.
“You are the furthest thing from benevolent or pitying, but that's alright. We can be hideous together,” he murmured. “You will keep running and I will keep chasing you. You will wear the socks I knit you and force me to eat my vegetables. I will give you exciting cases to hold your interest and you will hold me at night even when I hog all the blankets. I can say this as many times as you need me to, Light Yagami.”
Light lost his grip on L’s shirt. “So you–” he tried, but his voice was too hoarse. He seemed as if he wanted to say something, then abruptly changed his mind. “You admit it, then? You admit you hog all the blankets to irritate me?”
“Me? I don't think I've admitted to anything. Your hearing is failing you, Light-kun,” L said innocently, and quickly stole a kiss from Light’s lips right before Light–
Punched L in the face?!
These people are insane, Jean Martin thought as he frantically wriggled. Changing his mind, he managed to get up and started hopping about, all the way across that beautiful cottage and finally through the damned door. The last he'd heard of the pair, they were making noises that made Jean wish he'd been born deaf.
He got the surprise of a lifetime when he saw the helicopter he'd arrived in waiting at the bottom of the hill. Deciding to save time to get away from this hell, he simply rolled down the hill, hopelessly staining his skin and underwear on the wet grass.
The older man in the driving seat of the helicopter cut Jean's makeshift bonds with a knife he pulled from God knows where and helped him climb up.
Relatively safe–because the old man must be a freak as well, working for such a person–he relaxed, closing his eyes.
"I apologize for the scenes you must have witnessed,” the man intoned. “This was not our intention. Nonetheless, you will be compensated for your work, time, and lost equipment.”
“Great.”
“Now, if you would please put on the blindfold again?”
Jean was outraged. What had he done to deserve this? After a moment, resigned, he just grabbed the blindfold and tied it around his eyes himself.
“I want an all expense paid trip to Mallorca after this,” he warned.
“That can be arranged,” the other said politely.
“And I want a new car,” he added. “And a new flat. I hear Paris is beautiful in the spring–”
The next thing he knew was a hand coming down on his neck, and for the third time in twenty four hours, Jean Martin was knocked unconscious.