"He's not here." someone had told her at the front desk; a rounded faced Osaka-accented woman with stringy graying hair. Betsuni cocked an eyebrow after her reply, as if to say 'I know you're lying to me.' She didn't go any farther with her harmless interrogation with the hotel employee. It was not surprising that his presence was not public, he liked his privacy. Ignoring the woman ushering her to stop, the light headed otaku takes herself to the elevator; high class aristocrats having wandering eyes over her as she crosses through the marbled parlor. Ignorance is the key.
Hesitantly she made her way to the top floor, to room A-32. The walls of the hotel's hallways are a sickening sky blue; small white clouds for a border where the carpet meets the wall. It's typically spotless, as most high class hotels were. L had expectation and standards, there was no surprise.
Betsuni hums inside her head, remembering her interview with the amateur of a reporter that was Marc Fujascvek, his glittering eyes and tamed hair, his ability to not comprehend exactly who she was. Exactly what life was.
It was humorous to her. Him, that is. The way he thought she worked; she knew this, just by the way he looked at her. All his assumptions were seemingly false. She thought about such things as her feet shuffled in front L's hotel room. She had seen Soichiro Yagami not but a few moments earlier down the hall. He had given her a curt nod and smile, even though he'd only met her on very few occasions. This too, was on her mind, setting her into befuddlement.
She crept in slow, opening the loose door handle. Immediately, their empty eyes met again, but this time it was different. It differed from when they had first met, back when they had little suspicions, and no petty affections. But something had changed L; it was noticeable. His face was a little bit warmer, eyes less filled with disarray and mistrust. But he still greeted her with that enjoyable silence; an adored quiet the two shared.
Her eyes drifted to the clock on the wall. There was no animosity, no tension, not anything as she sat next to him, holding her arms. "You're dressed." had started the conversation, L had quickly taken notice to Betsuni's attire; maybe borrowed from Misa-Misa. She shifted awkwardly in her large jacket.
"Yes." part of her wanted to ask if he was feeling alright, which she assumed he was seeing as he was being his orderly self, munching on his casual snack. He offered her some cake set on the table, and she took it up gratefully.
"A while ago, I told you I trusted you." gently placing his own for down, for once, L leaned back. Betsuni could feel her small heart beginning to slow in fright. He didn't make eye contact, only stared off. Not directly at anything, never really at anything. He saw everything in front of him, and questioned it all. "I had kept it strictly business...but I believe, that you have broken previous allegations on your character." his words struck her oddly and dumb. "Sensible, sensitive, and weak is what women who get too close to the Kira case are considered. Expendable, for the most part." he still looks off, as she places down her own eating utensil. Taking all that is L Lawliet in. Her eyes swoop to a picture of Watari on the lamp desk to L's side as she queerly studies the man beside her. He continues his endless stare.
He explained, in very few words and facts, that he indeed was thankful. If she had been absent in his life, he wouldn't have gotten so close to be able to capture Kira. She finds this sense of flattery unbelievable, and can't concoct a response as quickly as she would have liked. "What happened to the copy cat you contacted me about?" L's eyes examine the perfect white paint on the ceiling. There are no rough marks in the finish, nor any air bubbles. Just an endless plain of smooth paint.
"Obtained and put under custody as a follower of Kira. All Death Notes were successfully burned." Betsuni nods in a considerate understanding. His goal had been fulfilled; his ambitions, she hoped, reached and carried out over the passed 23 days he had had after writing his name in Misa Amane's Death Note. It would make her happy, knowing he had.
Through the rest of the night, they talked about justice, cake; among other things as if they were old friends that had everything in the word to discuss, in an ever so little amount of time.
And by midnight, they both stopped talking, just thinking, and sitting. Betsuni did not mind, on the contrary, spending these last few moments with him quietly was nothing but spirit lifting, because there was nothing left to say.
She went to get up, seeing as L was slowly and steadily moving his eyelids to a tired close. She did not panic as he fell sideways onto her shoulder, she did not say anything, only shut her own eyes until the warmth of his body had gone away with the night. She smoothed some hair away from his face, eyes heavy and weary. The next morning it had been easy to shift the 110 pound man from on her side, trying not to mourn over this loss too quickly. She had smiled at how peaceful he looked, picking up the phone set at his side. She dialed a number quickly, chewing on her bottom lip, gaze rummaging over the angelic form of her colleague.
