Doe

by ADarkandMagicalForest

Summary:

'Jane Doe' is known as a multiple-use name that is used when the true name of a person is unknown or is being intentionally concealed. In the context of law enforcement, this name is often used to refer to a corpse whose identity is unknown or unconfirmed.

Chapter 1: Jane or J

 

 

 

 

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Wammy House

Back Then

Jane Doe or J

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She was the oldest child to be left at Wammy's in many years.

The girl couldn't've been much older than thirteen, given the size of her. They ran her dental records when they had the ability to, which usually was a sure-fire way of identifying someone - but unfortunately to no avail. However, given that she appeared to have all of her adult teeth in place, thirteen was a good bet of her age.

But that didn't exactly settle the concerns of those who now found themselves caring for the child.

It wasn't impossible. The Girl could have simply taken extremely good care of her teeth once gaining her adult set, garnering no need for a dentist visit.

But it most certainly was implausible - and extremely suspicious, especially when it came to light that she was suffering from memory-loss.

As a young girl in a strange place, the child shrank away from any adult who approached - confusion fueling fear as they spoke. She did understand and speak English, but refused to say anything more than short phrases when prompted. It was times like these that they wished they had a woman to turn to at Wammy's - but with nothing else to be done, and a concerning mystery regarding the amnesiac girl, her situation was handed over to L, a boy who had recently shown a proclivity towards solving such interesting mysteries.

The girl had allowed them to take a photograph of her, and, after gentle coercion on Mr. Wammy's part, he managed to take her to a nurse who owed him a favor, to perform a few tests.

On a Jane or John Doe's body, one could only be so lucky to find a discerning mark to identify them. A particular tattoo, a scar, a birthmark. Corrective surgeries, implants, they were the most useful identifiers to a Doe if their dentals were non-existent and their faces didn't give a match. However, with young children, this was made much more difficult. Not only did the likelihood of these identifiers lessen, but a child could be made to look entirely different in a very short amount of time.

Luckily, their Jane Doe had scars. Most of them were shallow and already fading. Scraps and cuts made during play, on her elbows and knees. Except for one, most strange scar, on her left hand.

Ominously, it was a thick, white line wrapped around her left ring finger. It was wide and though pale white, was disturbingly recent. It was enough reason to warrant an X-Ray, where they discovered that her finger had at one point been severed and then later reattached. This lead to several more extensive X-Rays, revealing the horrible truths that the girl had blocked out of her mind. Her left leg had two previous breaks in it, just below her knee. Like something had smashed, hard, on her leg. A car crash was a possible consideration. A newer vehicle could have crumpled around her, if she was in the front seat of a car. Or, given the state of her left hand - a person with a large foot could have stomped on her leg, to keep her pinned beneath.

Unfortunately, her previous injuries weren't the only thing that suggested physical harm.

The photo taken on her first day in the House, had shown her to have brilliant red hair. Not an unusual sight in the UK, even if the hue was particularly vibrant. However, the longer she lived in Wammys, the red began to fade, and blonde roots were revealed sprouting from her head.

Her clothing from the day Jane was left at Wammys had been taken and replaced, and were given a thorough investigation. L had been fascinated by the garments, because they were not only new, but brand new. Bizarrely, no fibers not belonging to the garment were on it, nor were any hairs not belonging to the girl herself. They were never laundered before, but there were no discernable tags or labels on them. He would have thought they were made specifically for her, if not for the fact that the pale, green dress was a full size too big for her. A ribbon had been used to cinch it to her.

Her memory loss wasn't a surprise, if his suspicions were correct.

If it was true, that is.

L had been almost fifteen at her arrival, and a week after she had first arrived, he had decided to introduce himself. He'd waited until the rest of the children shuffled away into their classes, leaving her alone. She was often found in the dining room - an interesting choice, given the playroom was just two doors away.

"Hello there. What's your name?" He asked immediately upon entrance. She'd been asked this twice before by both Roger and Mr. Wammy and had given neither of them an answer - but they were adults, strange to her. He was nearer to her age. Perhaps she'll answer me.

But no luck there. The girl looked up at him hesitantly. No, she wasn't afraid. She was frustrated and confused. She shook her head.

"You don't know your name, or you don't want to tell me?" He asked anyway, ignoring her demeanor.

Her face twisted with upset, and to his surprise (and rapidly growing alarm), her eyes began to well up with tears.

L had never been so close to a crying girl before, much less a girl who he may have made cry. It had sent an alarm through his young brain, forcing him into silence as he attempted to adapt to the vision of her raising her fists and roughly wiping at her big, weepy eyes.

"That's alright if you don't know your name. There are other ways to learn your identity." He'd said stiffly, staring as the girl began calming herself with shuddery breaths. He remembered wondering if it was appropriate to touch her shoulder, if that's the sort of thing you did to comfort someone in tears, but instead chose the safer option of merely stuffing his hands in his pockets. "Until we find your name, you will be known as a 'Jane Doe.' Do you know what a Jane Doe is?" He'd felt the inclination to speak more and slightly louder too. The girl hadn't spoken yet. He wanted her to, it was easier to question a speaking girl than a mute one.

"An unknown lady." 'Jane' had eventually whispered in a soft, girlish voice.

Close enough, he thought immediately at her answer. In another instance, he might have said that out loud, but the previous vision of her tears had him on edge. "That's right." L replied before turning and reaching for a few of plates from the Wammy's china cabinet.

As he moved, Jane watched him curiously, her tears paused as her wary, navy eyes followed him around the room. He was carrying the delicate china with just his fingertips, and L set up two place settings like that, carrying the silverware and napkins just as delicately. Only the large, two-tiered frosted cake which made Jane's eyes go wide, he'd used his hands for.

"So, Jane." He said, placing the cake in front of her, looking down at her large eyes. "Tell me the first thing you remember."

From that day on, the case of Jane Doe remained as L's standing, long-term case. And, her mysterious arrival and retrograde memory loss made her far too interesting to send away, not that Mr. Wammy had any heart to.

Jane adapted with only a few hiccups.

Placement tests and quizzes told them that she had never attended school past a 3rd grade education, a bizarre addition to the budding geniuses around her. Thanks to the curriculum they offered however, after a month of residing in Wammy's, her knowledge skyrocketed as she devoured the information given, sending her to a middle school level (though, she was still behind the other, lightning-fast students of her age, technically leaving her two grades behind.)

The longer Jane remained, too, the more words they gained from her, until eventually she blossomed.

Long gone was the frustrated, crying girl. She was replaced by a daring, stubborn and creative young teenager, prone to intense debate and wrestling in the front yard (which, midway into her second month at Wammy's, gave her an unfair advantage, as she'd unexpectedly sprouted three inches taller).

Proving her daring, on the eve of her fourth month at Wammys, he arrived home late from a case in Edinburgh and discovered that his bedroom was open - with Jane hidden inside.

"How come you're never here?" She asked. She'd been laying in wait for him for who knows how long, sitting on the floor next to his unused bed, a sucker in her cheek and the tools she'd used to break in laying innocently beside her. By that time, her red hair had faded peachy, sprouting from golden-blonde roots.

L stepped over her outstretched legs and climbed into his desk chair. "I have more cases to solve now." He answered her.

"Why can't you solve them here?"

"System connections, really." L replied honestly, before looking pointedly at her candy.

Jane got the hint and dug into her shorts pocket, throwing him a lollipop. To his disappointment, it was lime. He stuck it in his mouth anyway.

"So what was your case like?"

"Uninteresting." He'd replied, turning on the computer on his desk, the blue screen lighting up his rarely-used bedroom.

"So, the butler did it?" Jane asked, her words melding with the sound of the hard candy clacking against her teeth as she switched which cheek it was in.

"The butler? There wasn't any butler in the Teller Case." He'd actually looked at her then, and was gifted a pink-stained smile for it.

"Y'know, in Clue? 'I think the Butler killed the maid in the library with the candlestick!" She exclaimed, pulling the candy out of her mouth to mimic the action of hitting someone.

"Oh, it's a game." He'd replied, turning back to his screen.

"Yeah, it's a mystery solving game. You'd probably be awful at it." Jane teased, bringing her knees up, causing more stowed-away lollipops to tumble out of her pockets.

Looking at her had embarrassed him. He'd understood that her words were playful, meant to urge him to join in her games, as the occasional child would when he lingered in common areas, but he'd reacted differently when prompted by their Doe. Normally, he would have politely declined. But with Jane, he wanted to kick her out of his space and force her to go to her own bedroom across the house. The farther the better.

How novel, L thought. He was unusually thrilled and repellent.

As the months followed, the mystery of Jane's identity became a game for some of the younger children once it had come to a lull for L. Especially so once two very interesting children joined them. A and B.

A had seen the signs just as L had, but had gone no farther. He kept his opinions quietly to himself.

B, however, was more willing to be outwardly blunt, and wondered aloud, well within earshot of Jane, if she been a victim of child sex trafficking, given her injuries and memory loss when she arrived. The words had sent Jane to her room, where she remained until the morning, where she proceeded to pretend that the conversation had never happened.

The longer L was away from Wammy House, the more changes in Jane he missed.

According to Roger, she enjoyed reading fiction (a confusing mash of pulp-y Stephen King, cowboy westerns and allegory heavy horrors). Taking toys apart (to see how the mechanisms inside worked.) Cooking with whatever ingredients were left out in the kitchen - and melting things with the matches from the fire place.

Their Jane Doe could've been the only normal child in Wammy House, and maybe for a good half mile (at least compared to the likes of his growing successors who had never even heard of John Wayne). But while she would never be in the ranks of future investigators as the others at Wammy's, she certainly had a gift (if subtle) that made L believe she had a place in their field. Jane had the impossible-to-teach, yet common, gift of speech. Her strong will and nature of kindness made her easily trusted, a skill that many of them could never hope to gain, even with how simple it was.

"L? What're you doing down here?" Jane said once he had wandered down into the kitchen, looking at him with surprise. A lingered there with her, sitting at the high stool at their tall table, twisting and turning a Rubix cube in his hands.

It had been a few years since her arrival. She was now 'sixteen'. Himself, eighteen.

He didn't answer her right away, instead wandering close to where she stood at the stove, peering inside. She was making dinner that night, rather than Roger - it was a savory onion, meat and pea sort of situation, something traditionally British. Something out of Wammy's cookbooks. "I do live here, don't I?" He'd replied, straightening his hunching back, not finding what she had in the pan particularly appealing.

"Well, yeah. But weren't you just given a new case in Brazil?" Jane replied, just before Mr. Wammy's egg-shaped kitchen timer went off with a cheerful 'ding'.

"I was, yes." He confirmed, taking a step out of her way as she reached towards the oven, pulling out a skillet that was covered with a layer of golden pastry. L watched interestedly as she hefted the hot cast iron onto the counter, before placing a plate over top and giving it a swift flip.

"So," She grunted, wavering slightly with the weight of the pan before setting it down. "What're you doing down here? Are you having dinner?" She wondered, her attention though still on her pan as her oven-mitt covered hands lifted the pan up, revealing a caramel colored tarte tatin. The aroma of the apples and cinnamon overpowered any other in the kitchen, and L weighed the odds of his ability to pass on dinner but still enjoy the dessert. 35%.

"Actually, I wanted to ask for your help for this case." He answered, lowering his head to appraise the tarte from the side. "Did you make this pastry yourself?"

"Wait, are you kidding?"

"No, I think it looks really good."

Jane let out a short, bark-like laugh and shook her head, her slightly strawberry blonde hair falling further out of the haphazard bun on the top of her head. "No, not the pastry, the case! What do you need my help for?"

"Honestly, I just need a woman to come with me." He responded. "Rio's local police don't currently employ any women, and even if they did, I wouldn't involve them - they appear to have been bought out. I'd rather just bring a woman I already trusted - also I would like a slice of this without needing to eat dinner, may I?" L asked, hovering a single finger over one of the still-steaming apple halves that looked the most intact and shiny.

"You're gonna get burnt if you try that." Jane warned.

"What do you need a woman for?" A asked very quietly from his place at the table, his voice barely above a whisper. His Rubix cube was solved, and his gentle face was worried.

"Tell me I'm not bait." Jane demanded drolly, bouncing off A's concern.

"You aren't bait. You're a mole." L replied, touching the apple, only to flinch and retreat. He'd miscalculated - it was hot.

 

/~/

 

Just as it had been in Brazil.

The case in Brazil had tapped into something that kept his attention.

The local police were corrupt. Local boys were going missing in Rio, and it was clear to the city that a particularly powerful person was responsible. It must have been, because even after the fourteen year-old son of a local politician disappeared, the police hardly even put posters up.

So, they'd reached out to L.

The Alvarez family had quite a lot of information already, with their reach, and had their lawyers forward along their suspicions as soon as he'd agreed to take it.

Juan Del a Cruz was a local businessman in Rio. He owned several fronts, most of them being a version of dance or private, very exclusive gentlemen's clubs. He also had his hand in a few other businesses, being a monetary supporter of several powerful men, including a larger name in the police force. The Alvarez claimed it was Del a Cruz because it was rumored that the man had been known to try and cater to increasingly stranger clients in his gentleman's clubs - the last rumor being that he needed several young men to join him for a private party the day before the Alvarez boy disappeared.

Given the - sensitive - nature of the case, and his suspicions which had become borderline worries for what he knew of retrograde amnesia, L had kept the information he gave Jane to a minimum.

"Oh man, I've never felt a climate like this before. It's so warm." The blonde said pleasantly, dropping her bag on one of the two queen beds before hurrying to their large window. "Do you think we're high enough up?"

"Do you think you'd survive if you fell?" L had asked back, attempting to mimic the playful comfortability that she had so easily. He wasn't sure if it had landed as well.

"Nah, I'd go splat for sure." Jane had replied with a smile, and he remembered looking at her then for far longer than he normally would have. He'd been interested by the way the bright, Brazilian sun had flowed through her hair and turned her skin, for a moment, warm and glowing.

"If you're satisfied with that, please come away from the window." He'd said after feeling his pulse quicken oddly.

"So what hole am I going in?" Jane said, a confident smile twisted on her lips.

"You'll be placed as a waitress at the Del a Cruz Flamingo club. He attends several times a week, and I'd like to learn about him outside of the local rumors."

The blonde retrieved one of the papers he had, this one being a part of the local newspaper, a small black and white photo of the Flamingo club printed there. The paper was in it's original Portuguese - a language that Jane had never shown a knowledge for before, but the onset of understanding that shined through her dark blue eyes proved otherwise. Another interesting development, he'd thought, mentally tucking this piece of information away to add to her currently stagnant file.

"L, this place is a strip club." She said, good attitude vanished as she waved the paper towards him, as if he didn't already know what was written on it.

"Is that a problem for you? You won't be a dancer and you'll only have to be there when our suspect is."

Jane had pinked then, and tossed the slip of newspaper away into the air, like it had offended her, and acted as if he hadn't just spoken, instead rooting around in her luggage.

"If you don't tell me what's wrong, how can I be expected to fix it?" He replied, curious now, especially as her blush reached her ears. That familiar urge to find out itched over his skin and he was tempted to pry the bag from her hands, in order to more properly question her interesting behavior.

Jane let out a dismissive (embarrassed, why?) breath, tossing the grey sweater in her hand onto the floor - the pink had subsided from her face, but she still remained stubbornly silent.

"Jane." He prompted again.

Fully flustered, but pretending not to be, the blonde glared with embarrassment towards him, a grimace in place. "Aren't there - it's a strip club, L, the girls there are gonna be..."

Ah. His mistake. "I didn't realize you were uncomfortable with nudity, I apologize. I will readjust where to place you."

"Wait. You're just going to - to change the whole plan, just like that?" Jane's voice, which had been tight and uncomfortable changed then, flowing into a soft and unsure tremor. Her emotions so often switched on a dime...

"Of course. Placing you in a scenario that made you feel unsafe or uncomfortable will make you more likely to be found out. It will be simpler to place you somewhere else... It may actually be better, I believe the reception of Del a Cruz' building are hiring new maids…" And, the grateful look on her face was doing interesting things to his chest. He'd been pleased to settle her anxieties - (pleased that to do so, his plan ultimately didn't need to change).

The case moved quickly enough after that. A few days after placing 'Maria' into Del a Cruz' lobby, the man had been found out. Half of the local police were on his payroll and the other half being threatened. But after the blonde had recorded a partial phone call regarding a 'private, special auction for rare collectors', she'd stumbled on, the Federal Brazilian Police had no qualms of stepping in for the locals.

He'd had to send Mr. Wammy along, going by the name 'Senor Ramirez' for the case, where he would carry a laptop and act as if he was taking direction from an interested buyer overseas (while actually, the laptop had taken in video of every person who dared make the mistake of showing their face).

The Federal officers swarmed the building of the Flamingo Club, and Del a Cruz, as well as six of his clients and the attendants, had been placed behind bars.

For a first case, Jane had been useful - she appeared soft and quiet, thanks to her nerves quieting her. It was promising, suggesting that in time, she could perform the same act in the future.

"I thought Mr. Wammy always comes with you on cases, though." She said, after the case was over and when he informed her of his thoughts. She was folding the pieces of brightly colored clothing, made of silks and chiffons, local dresses and things that she'd purchased while there in order to more effectively remain hidden in the crowds, the brilliant colors against her making her look more bold and striking.

L scooped a spoonful of the caramel colored flan he'd ordered and watched it jiggle in place, so he didn't need to look at her. "I have no intention of replacing him. But there are certain roles that he just can't fill. Having a woman available on certain cases like this is just more convenient."

"Thanks." Jane replied dryly, wrapping a large, silk handkerchief around her shoulders as if testing it's warmth.

"You're welcome." He replied, his words muffled as he'd stuck the spoon in his mouth, his gaze following the movement of the orange silk against her sun-kissed skin as she pulled. "Consider it, you may end up being known as 'J.'"

 

 

 

 

Notes:

reviews are very welcome!

Chapter 2: A is for Adam

 

 

 

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Wammy House

Back Then

A is for Adam

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"Are you going to accompany L on more cases?" A asked her, the morning after arriving late the night before.

"I dunno. I think so - he mentioned having a girl on hand to put into the field was useful to solving the case. But then I wouldn't be here to watch out for you guys, do you really wanna get rid of me so much?" Jane teased the red-haired boy, scuffling his neat hair as she passed by to retrieve the juice from the fridge.

"We would understand." A said seriously. "Helping L solve cases is paramount, above all else. It's a great achievement."

A little unnerved by the young boy's attitude (geez, he was only nine) Jane let out a half-hearted chuckle and handed him a plastic cup filled with his juice. For the moment, they were alone - but the small ginger was always early to mealtimes. It wouldn't be long until the others joined them (however, with how she left L last night, she didn't expect his presence. He hadn't slept the entire time they were in Brazil or on the jet ride back to Winchester. The dark shadows under his eyes had been bigger than Prada's).

"There are other important things." Jane reminded gently, before turning to the stovetop and proceeding to prepare that mornings breakfast: today, oatmeal.

"Like what?" A whispered to himself - she looked back, prepared to say something; when other children began to litter in, each of them making a different type of noisiness.

The girl frowned, but shook off that strange feeling of wrongness. A was a good kid - he'd be alright until dinnertime.

 

/~/

 

"Are you leaving again?"

Jane let out an alarmed yelp at the sudden sound of B's voice.

She hadn't even noticed him come into her room - a strong achievement, given that she distinctly remembered locking it after sneaking away inside with the intent of doing personal research.

B was older than A, even though he was L's second successor. A boy of thirteen, but tall, taller than even Jane. He had short, cropped brown hair that didn't match his quickly maturing, awkwardly narrow features. As if proving his growth spurt, his clothes looked both too short and too tight on him, like he was some kind of funny spider.

"I told you to knock, B, what the hell are you doing in here!?" Jane snapped, irritated even more as her jump had caused her to smack her knee against the corner of her desk.

"I'm here to get an answer to my question, J. I thought that was obvious, as it was the first thing I said here." B said dismissively, before making his run through.

B liked to look. An investigator through and through, but when he did it, it always made her feel off and exposed. Like his eyes saw more than the other kids, than even L, did. His gaze wandered over her bed (crumpled up and used), to her single nightstand (equally messy with a few bottles of nail polish and a pair of earrings that she'd bought with L in Brazil), her tall standing dresser (a few of the drawers ajar) and to the socks on her floor. The final thing his eyes devoured was her screen.

"Investigating for yourself?" He asked.

On her screen were some of the most famous unsolved cases in the world. Jack the Ripper. The Zodiac Killer. The Black Dahlia. They were the most eye catching and obvious unsolved cases in the world, with all of them catching the public eye and the time, and yet still remained unsolved thanks to how old they were. It was 'baby's first Unsolved Cases'. Easy speculation for no reward.

"Not exactly." Jane replied, turning in her chair so as to block the screen with her body.

But that was worse - now B's investigative eyes were on her, probably noting every crease, crinkle and stain on her clothing.

"So. Are you?" B repeated again, only once his once over was completed.

"That depends." She said shortly, lifting herself and adjusting which leg she was sitting on - the pins and prickles distracting her, for a moment, from B's poignant gaze.

"On what?"

"If L asks for me again. If I complete the exams on schedule."

The brown-haired boy considered this, lowering himself down onto his feet and knuckles, giving a thoughtful hum. While there, he lowered his head to the ground, looking at the darkness underneath her bed. Jane hoped there wasn't a monster underneath it - it would've surely become terrified, seeing B looking straight into it's home.

"And the Unsolved are in service to completing the exams?"

"B, get off my floor." The blonde ordered, finding her limit on his searching when he attempted to stick his head under the wood frame.

The younger teenager obeyed unenthusiastically, slowly raising himself back up to his hunched standing position, expression revealing his displeasure at having been given a direction. B never liked any instruction he disagreed with - especially from Jane, who more often than not was put in charge when the adults were indisposed, thanks to (besides L) being the eldest one there. Even without his strange mannerisms, it was his irritation at following her directions that worried her the most of all...

The first day she met B, he'd discovered her 'Doe' status easily. And once it was revealed that she was one of L's paused cases, he acted as if it was a challenge. He'd done multiple concerning things, besides questioning her intensely at every opportunity, he often lingered in her bedroom when she was away; He'd attempt to collect her hair and blood, whenever her back was turned or when she'd accidentally cut herself on the kitchen knives... He'd even stowed away in the towel cupboard when it was time for her shower, to 'more closely observe the scars' she may not have recorded in her file.

There was no shortage of strange behavior at Wammy House, it was true. But after the last incident in the bathroom, B had been forced to speak with Roger.

Jane didn't know what the two of them talked about, but she was sure that B had had his proverbial ass handed to him. Hell - this was the first time that the boy had approached her since then. Because it was about L.

"I'm sure I'll be joining L on cases where he requires someone to be in the field. Maybe he won't need me on his next one - maybe he will. Like you, B, I'll probably have to just wait on his call." The blonde uttered, regarding him still with a guarded gaze. B may have been younger, but she was no fool.

"And if A or I were to succeed him?" He said this lightly - but it could hardly be considered breezy. No, it was more like he was testing the waters.

"We'll cross that road when we get to it, B."

Smartly sensing that he'd crossed a barrier, B retreated, reverting back to his unaffected persona. "Thank you for answering my questions, Jane."

/~/

Dinner.

Tonight was supposed to be Roger's cooking, but he got caught up late with his purchasing paperwork for Mr. Wammy.

"Do you have everything you need? If not, you can borrow the car, if you promise to drive carefully."

That garnered a mischievous snort from the teenager, whose last experience with Roger's car had been narrowly avoiding a telephone pole. "Not to worry, Rog! I'll drive 5 under the speed limit, promise." She retorted pleasantly, flipping through the new cookbook that Mr. Wammy had left for them. It was white, patterned with pale, blue fleur-del-lis and the lettering was a cheerful cherry red. "I think we just need meat and stock, unless you consent to me getting the red wine for this?"

Roger chuckled lowly on the other end of the call. "I have a bottle you can use - but be sure to follow the recipe Jane."

"Ok, ok, I will. Are the keys in the regular place?" Jane inquired with a smile, pleased and mentally preparing herself to sneak her first sips of wine without letting the busy adult know.

"No, they aren't. If you enter into the garage, on the wall, the spare should be there. Be careful."

"Absolutely will, thanks Rog." And so, setting the old phone on it's holster, Jane prepared to get her prize winnings. She shrugged on the nearest coat that fit her from the hanger and snuck outside, trying to do so while not letting any of the other kids know, just in case they caught on (and they probably will, the hyper-intelligent jackasses) and wanted to ride along too, which she definitely would've done if she thought she could get away with it (there was no way she would).

No, the only person she wouldn't have gotten beef for taking with her probably would've been the big L himself, who had left again to take on another case, this time in America.

Still, clambering down the driveway and past the swing set, Jane's eyes took a wandering look at the window that belonged to L's bedroom. She'd broken into his room dozens of times when she was younger, right when she'd begun to open up at Wammy's.

She sort of had a fascination with him.

It was easy to understand why - he was the first person who she ever trusted when she was placed on Wammy's doorstep. She'd been too skittish, to hesitant, too on edge, with Roger and Mr. Wammy. They'd tried their best to calm her, lowering themselves to her level, speaking calmly and quietly, offering information about themselves - but to no avail. It was only when L, a kid hardly much older than herself, came to question her that she'd relaxed.

Because he'd been weird. So weird, so out of place in that elegantly decorated dining room, with it's shiny glass windows and carved, wooden furniture - he taken her off her guard.

He'd been so pale, his hair so dark, matching only the black color of his eyes.

L had gotten her speaking, not just phrases, but full sentences. After the disaster of tears that had effectively ended with the other teenager naming her, he asked her dozens of questions, each of them stranger than the last, before finally giving her a cool, absorbing look. That expression was almost always on his face when they spoke - it was a look that many of the other kids there tried to copy and replicate - but only his was done so skillfully that she didn't mind it (or maybe she'd just adapted to it, the memory-less Doe that she was, the same way she had with genius-growing Orphanage that was Wammy House that she'd taken to living in).

So, a couple times, she listened at the bedroom door that she knew was his - she never used to know when he was there and when he wasn't, so she'd press her ear against the wood and wait to see if she could hear movement there - and if she did, she'd knock. If she didn't, she'd try and pick the lock on it, with bobby pins, sewing needles, anything she could get her little hands on at the time.

Once, she'd broken in using the ink holding portion of a ball-point pen. She'd shoved the weird plastic inside, and wriggled it, up down - and to her amazement, it had opened. She thought she'd succeeded...

Instead, L had merely opened the door on her - he'd been quietly staring at his computer screen, and she thought that he was out.

"Again?" He'd asked - not angry, but with his usual vision of utter neutral monotone, if piqued with amusement, though he hadn't been smiling.

Embarrassed, but stubborn and confident enough to believe she could get her way out of this, Jane had fallen back on her ass and let her ink-stained hands fall in the hole that her crossed legs made. "My lip gloss rolled under your door."

"Did it?"

"Yes, it did. Look for yourself." Jane retorted, slowly moving her legs up to block out her chest.

L did look - he lowered himself down, crouching as was typical, and turned so he was just in front of her, looking from her eyelevel into his dark bedroom, brushing against her side while doing so, as he was still much bigger than her. Taking advantage of his turned back, she'd moved her hands to her overall pocket, where said lip gloss decoy lived - only to find that it's familiar tube shape was missing.

But Jane's philosophy was to never admit that you've been caught. She bullshit'ed her way in, and she could bullshit her way out. "It's over there." She pointed to a vague direction, around L's unused bed.

L's expression turned with an amused air and came all too close to her, their faces hardly five inches apart. "Are you certain about that, Jane?"

"Positive." She insisted, immensely proud when her voice didn't waver.

"Then please, feel free to go retrieve it."

"But you haven't invited me inside." Jane replied quickly - a bit too quickly, she recognized - but there was nothing to be done now. He'd already known that she was lying - but her excuse... He'd taken it. That was why he'd brushed up against her, on the same side that she'd kept the strawberry gloss. Somehow, he'd pickpocketed her without her even feeling it.

"Yes, entering in without permission would be seen as rude, wouldn't it?" L asked innocently. The pretense was over - so, she turned around, so she could face him from the farthest point while still staying in his doorway.

"If I knew you were here I would've knocked." Jane revealed reluctantly, taking a lock of her fading pink hair and abusing the ends of it.

"Would you? And what were you trying to talk to me about?"

She hadn't really wanted to talk to him about anything particular. Of the conversations they'd had after her case had grown stagnant, and other, more pressing ones piled onto L's plate, they'd maybe spoken a handful of times, and it was often for only a few minutes. Jane had wanted to talk to L because she wanted to - and that was that.

"Are you going to pick Adam to be your successor?" She'd decided on.

Adam - now A, the first ever of L's successors. He was a bright, brilliant, if introverted and nervous.

Jane fumbled into the garage of Wammy's, unlocking the door and pushing the raveling metal upward and over her head, the metal tap-tap-tapping as they clacked close. With it gone, it revealed the row of pristine, British cars that she had the happy decision to sneak off and joyride in - the Rolls Royce was looking particularly tempting that evening, with it's shiny black paint and petite silver figurine above it's grill.

That tiny little woman with wings was what made her decision - Roger would never know she took the Royce instead of the sedan.

Lucky her that he kept all of the keys in the same place.

Jane crept over to the smooth, black ride, about to look hopefully inside at it's leather seats and cup holders - when she noticed it was already running. It took a second - but yes, underneath the sound of the kids upstairs, running and talking and discussing, she could hear the smooth motor purring quietly.

"What the - " She muttered, cautiously approaching the car, memories of the time she read 'Christine' breezing past her as she came up alongside the beauty. To her surprise, A was laying in the backseat - she could only just make him out from the windshield, thanks to all the other winds being heavily tinted for anonymity, but there was no mistaking that ginger hair.

The blonde was about to knock on the window, to laugh and ask if A was planning on being a little stowaway - when she moved. By changing her position at the car, she gave herself a new angle to peer inside of the car.

And at this angle, she could now see A's face.

His eyes were half closed. His mouth was open. He was on his side and no matter how long she stared, she couldn't see any motions of his breathing.

Because he was dead. A was dead.

 

/~/

 

The funeral was short.

Mr. Wammy and Roger had him buried at a local cemetery and allowed whoever wanted to say a few words for him to do so - there hadn't been too many. The other kids had drawn a kind letter for him, with each of them signing it in crayon, pen, marker, whatever they had on them. It was a sweet card - even L signed it.

Jane couldn't say anything - probably the same way that the adults couldn't say anything.

A was only nine years old. And he had committed suicide. She, like the adults, were confused and heartbroken and she, of all of them, was truly devastated. She just didn't know why he didn't try and talk to her. There would have been nothing in that world that wouldn't have been ok for him to tell her - but instead, he'd chosen not to. Was it her fault? She knew he seemed wrong at breakfast. Like he was lost - but she'd dismissed it - but how could she ever have known that he would do this?

Her mind only raced like this at night - was there something she could've done? To help Adam, to make sure he knew that he had someone in the world to help him. So he'd know his feelings were ok, that he could share anything with her?

Did any of the other kids think this way?

Looking at them, during the day, no. They were kids, they acted like kids (if with a few added quirks and the ability to list fifty digits or whatever of pi).

It was the successors of L, who didn't act like true children, like the others. A had been unique, quiet, demure - and more fiendishly intelligent than he looked. B acted more of the part - the genius, who knew your next move before you did yourself. But he was also older than A. He was quicker, he was more confident - he acted. But did that mean that B was less likely to - to kill himself - than A was? That he was merely more likely to act, more likely to reach for his goals? Was the heavy title of L weighing on that boy too?

Would L lose his second successor so soon after the first?

Jane didn't know - but she couldn't allow it if there was even a 1% chance. Even if it was B.

She redressed - it was now nearing the witching hour, that evening after A's funeral. She slipped her robe over her pajamas and exited out into the hallway - it was pitch black, but she knew her way to B's bedroom, she'd had to call him down for meals often enough...

The stairs squeaked more the more quiet she tried to be - so she ignored it in favor of slipping down as quickly as she could, before eventually reaching the second floor - where, at the very end, was B's room.

"B?" She knocked hesitantly on the wood with her knuckle, all too aware how late it was - and how much she really disliked talking to the boy with his invasive stare. "Are you still awake?" He usually was, this late. The boys who were his neighbors were always talking about how B's late night talking to himself kept them up past their bedtimes...

In fact, it was weird that he hadn't opened the door immediately after she'd knocked - or after she'd whispered to the door.

Perhaps he was really asleep, she thought. Then, it's grimmer sister thought, or maybe he's already dead. That thought propelled her - she tested the door handle - it was locked. She deftly picked it, not even bothering to care that she'd got it open on her first try, so quickly.

"B?" She whispered again, pushing the door open.

To her relief, he wasn't dead. But he also wasn't there. The window was left open, the cold air breezing in the room. B was gone. And just like that, in a single week, L had lost both of his successors.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 3: The Cat Burglar Pt. 1

 

 

 

 

---

New York City, New York

Back Then

The Cat Burglar - P.1

---

 

 

 

 

 

Three months, Jane realized with a hollow, guilty feeling in her chest as she pushed around her food in the dining room one Tuesday afternoon. It had been about three months since A's death - and since B ran away without a trace. They'd tried looking for B for awhile, but it was clear that he didn't want to be found. Roger and Mr. Wammy both had tried to sit her down in the last few months, attempting to start a conversation with her about their shared loss of A, and to a lesser extent, B - but Jane had remained silent, a shadow of her first days at Wammy's. What was there left to say? What could she even do, after this?

Be better next time.

Make it up to A - pay more attention, act faster.

She was the oldest, her seventeenth birthday was just around the corner - Jane was no stranger to playing 'babysitter.' It wouldn't take much to keep a closer eye on the younger kids - even those who appeared to be on the road to taking up the mantel of 'L's successor.' It didn't even take much convincing for Roger to let her take a few rounds around the House for him, either - he didn't really like children that much, he favored the quiet all too much.

He'd taken on lunch duty, while doing his normal rounds during the quiet hours so that Jane could still continue her studies in class (and keep a subtle eye out for possible successors who rose above the others, L be damned).

One such boy, who was still too young to be seriously considered as successor material was a boy who had arrived a few weeks ago. He was on the smaller side, even for just his age, complete with a sprout of thin, fair hair on the top of his head - and yet, he was running through the children's material quicker than anyone had expected.

He was sitting alone in the dining room that day - she couldn't remember the name he was given by Wammy - and was very delicately folding his napkin, creating dozens upon dozens of folds over itself. His plate still held his lunch, completely untouched, and Jane frowned, before picking up her plate and joining the kindergartener.

"Hey, you don't have to eat that." Jane sympathetically informed him, concern growing as she noted just how thin he was. On the seven-year-old's plate was a crust-on peanut butter sandwich, courtesy of Roger. It hadn't moved since it was put there, even as the lunch hour moved on and more and more kids finished their food and traveled outside to play; The sandwich had remained completely untouched.

"There wasn't anything else left." He explained shortly, his voice hardly above a murmur - she had to lower herself down to hear him.

"I can make you something else." Jane replied dismissively, waving her hand before picking up his plate and then, after considering his demeanor, she offered him her hand. "Let's go to the kitchen together, you can help me."

The boy hesitated, looking at her hand with a mixture of that typical, little kid-shyness, and true nerves. But Jane held on, waiting - until finally, the boys pale hand slipped into hers, and allowed her to lead him into the kitchen.

/~/

" - I think it would be best that she had a break! You haven't seen her recently, Quillsh, she's stretching herself so thin, it's no wonder that she's fallen behind on her schooling here! She watches these kids like she's their Mother, a girl her age should never have this sort of pressure on her shoulders!" Roger.

"I understand how you feel, my friend - and I can't tell you how much it warms my heart to know that you care for her so... But the cases L has recently taken are no environment for a seventeen year old girl to be in - " Quillsh.

"L is only two years older than Jane, an adult or not - to say that he can handle these cases despite his age while refusing to even consider - !" Roger retorted hotly, being unusually on edge for the entirety of this call.

"Roger, will you allow my input?" L interrupted, dropping a sugar cube into his coffee cup, waiting for the expected, tersely spoken:

"Proceed."

He took a long sip from his coffee, considering the way he would phrase his thoughts to the older man. Then, "I'm not against having Jane join me on cases - on the contrary, since I found her position on Alvarez-Del A Cruz case to be of great use to me. I just haven't had another opportunity for in-field work since then. I've been able to complete many of them from my hotel rooms remotely." L placed his coffee down, finding it not sweet enough. "However, just before this call began, I decided to accept a case from officials in New York City's Guggenheim Art Museum - a thief has been swiping works, one per night, since Sunday evening."

"How much have they offered for you to take the case?" Quillsh asked - of course, he had already seen the case come through, and already knew the answer.

"800,000." L decided to relay the truth - curious though, as to why Wammy believed it was worth mentioning.

"So you will take Jane to New York with you?" Roger asked, his tense voice relaxing back to being merely 'strained.'

He picked the glazed strawberry from the cream-tart he had and twisted it, watching the glare from the monitors wash over it's hard-sugar shine. "Yes. If she agrees to accompany me, that is. While these aren't violent crimes I'm investigating, I can't write off every possibility of danger towards her person when faced with a criminal." L tossed the strawberry into his mouth, the ripe fruit and sugar-glaze exploding inside with sweetness. "If you'd like, I can invite her now. You'll only need to put her on the call."

There weren't really downsides to bringing Jane to a case like this, he figured, flicking the green berry top onto his saucer. After all, their Doe had done well in Rio, doing as he asked without much protest. With her assistance, they'd more easily and quickly insured the arrests of several human trafficker's, all without her age really being a concern (besides that short time he was considering placing her as a mole within a Gentleman's Club, which he understood now was a misstep on his part). There could hardly be an opportunity for something like that regarding a New York City Museum.

Besides - he had enjoyed having Jane accompany him.

Unlike Wammy, who had primarily a distant, though somewhat Fatherly, butler/handler-esque role, Jane was closer to his age. They had known each other for years, and were friendly when left alone together. If he was going to say anybody was his friend, it would be their Doe who would take that cake. He had felt a kind warmth for the girl for some time now, enhanced especially after Rio - it took some deliberation to identify that feeling to be what friendship felt like... L had a growing fascination for what other emotions being around her could inspire - it too, was an experiment for him to take interest in, and yet another reason to allow the girl to accompany him for this case.

"Jane is currently in the kitchen with our new arrival - the boy, Nate, er, Near." Roger said. He had no fondness for Wammy's use of pseudonyms.

"Patch her in through the kitchen's telephone." He said, picking up his tart by the doily underneath.

"Very well - one moment, L."

 

/~/

 

"One ham and American cheese sandwich, hold the mustard, with homemade mayo - and absolutely no crusts. Bon Appetit." Jane recited, placing the plate in front of Near, who was crouched in one of the kitchen stools.

He'd been watching her bustle around the kitchen, and had been prompted to tell her exactly what he wanted to eat, which he'd been very hesitant to do - until she reached for the peanut butter jar. Then, he explained more confidently what ingredients he wanted, raising his voice came to a more easily heard register when he'd been forced to speak over her clinging and clanging.

"Thank you, Miss Jane." Near said, a wash of that little-kid shyness returning as he removed his hand from his hair to pick up one of the triangles.

"Hey," Jane said, smiling down at the boy as he began eating. There was something that could have been almost A-like in him, but it was something less sensitive somehow. "Near, don't call me Miss. I'm a kid here just like you. It's just Jane, ok?"

"My name isn't Near." He rebutted. And before she could quiet him, "It's Nate."

"Do you know why Rog and Mr. Wammy gave you a new name, Near?" The blonde asked, trying to remind herself that this boy wasn't a grown up, even as he looked at her with those hyper-intelligent grey eyes.

He considered her, looking all too adult again, and she wished for the shy little boy to return. "I understand - I just wanted you to know what my real name was." Near replied, taking a drink from his glass of milk.

And then, the kitchen phone began to ring - interrupting any response that she could have countered to the all-too intelligent five year old who had begun hungrily eating his ham and cheese sandwich now that their conversation was effectively over. So, allowing it to drift away, Jane put her back to Near and picked up the phone.

"Good afternoon, Jane. Roger and Wammy are also on this call." L's neutral baritone came through the speaker without any other pretense.

"Uh, ok then." She said slowly.

"Would you be available to join me in New York this evening?"

"What? Tonight, are you joking?"

"No, I'm quite serious. I need your help regarding the Guggenheim Art Museum - it's a matter of high importance." L did sound serious - but then again, almost everything he said sounded serious when he spoke in that rumbling monotone. Even the few times he'd tried mimicking her teasing when they were in Brazil - she almost believed him when he said he once knew someone named 'Six' and 'Seven', who ate 'Nine'. Still, she hesitated, turning her head so she could see Near in the corner of her eye, who was acting skillfully like he wasn't paying any attention to her conversation. Smart ass, she thought.

Jane twisted back, cupping her hand over the receiver, as if that would keep the boy from continuing to listen. "What's the case?" She murmured.

"New York is suffering from a serial art thief who has been taking one piece of work every evening, and they have been for the past two nights. Sending Wammy or a museum employee as a mole would either raise more eyebrows than needed or be completely redundant." He answered promptly.

"Can they even count as 'serial' if they've only struck twice? Isn't three the rule of thumb?"

"That statistic is for murders." L corrected. "However, I have reason to believe that our art thief will be making their 'serial' third theft by this evening."

"What makes you think that? And for that matter, what makes you think this is one thief, and not two who happened to steal from the same museum?" She countered, turning swiftly to begin pacing shortly around the small area in front of the stove, causing the long phone line to wrap itself around her.

"If this were two thieves, and not one, why would the second follow through with their plan after a well-known theft had occurred, in the middle not only of a formal investigation, but during a time where security and cameras are doubled? A hired thief, or even common criminal times their thefts during times where their site of choice would be most abandoned. This thief is choosing to not only steal during this time of heightened security, but is doing so multiple nights, all still without evading capture."

"You're impressed." Jane accused as he spewed his walls of words at her.

"I'm interested." He corrected.

"A case that interests the teen-detective L, that has no murder, trafficking or bloodshed. That's a rarity for you, isn't it?"

"It is," L's baritone answered, muffled now though - he must have just shoved a pastry in his mouth. "Do I have your answer?"

Near set his empty glass of milk onto the counter, it's 'clink' redirecting her attention to him. She frowned, considering as she twisted the phone cord around her hand, matching the scar on her left ring finger with the beige twirls. "How long do you think we'd be there?"

"Until our thief is caught." She heard him chew, and Jane could barely restrain herself from making fun of the gurgling sound his throat made over the phone. "I would say... 23 hours, if you get onto the jet right now."

"Right now?"

"There's no need to pack. I can have some things picked up for you." L bypassed her.

"But Roger - " Jane began to blurt out, only to be reminded that he was also on that call by him interrupting her with:

"The children will be safe and well under my care, Jane."

"But, the car will - "

"A taxi service will arrive for you at 1:30." Mr. Wammy also interrupted.

"I - I," She attempted, her brain moving much more blearily as she reached for another excuse, ANY excuse. But to no avail. She'd been beaten. So, "I guess I'll meet you there."

"Done." And he knew it too.

 

19 hours and 23 minutes

 

By the time the both of them arrived in New York, their art thief had just struck again, stealing a Picasso, three hours before they'd committed the two previous thefts.

L hadn't expected the thief to change the time of striking - 8:30 was an extremely risky time to attempt any large scale theft in a high-trafficked area like Manhattan, on top of the added security measures that had been put in place. Even with the risk, however, not a single suspicious person or persons had been seen. There was no footage of the theft. No hair or fingerprints left behind. It was infuriating that it occurred before he could even arrive, or give further instructions to those who'd hired him.

It was almost like the thief knew he would arrive, and was forced to act sooner to avoid being caught.

"L, I know you're pissed about this cat burglar and all - but if we do not eat something right now, we are both going to wither away into nothing, and this guy will walk away with the whole goddamn modernist gallery." Jane griped as he watched the fast-forwarding footage of the last four hours at the latest burglary scene.

"This hotel has room service, order whatever you like." He replied, not bothering to look away. One moment the painting was there, the next it was gone. These came directly from their security team, so either the security officer either is in on these robberies or our thief had access to these tapes already...

"And when's the last time you ate something that didn't have whipped cream on it?" She countered. Interesting, that her newfound protectiveness apparently included himself.

There, in between 8:53 and 8:54. Gone just like that, hardly even a glitch in the footage except...

"By your silence I'm gonna guess never. I'm gonna order something for you too though, and you're just gonna have to get off your sugar high to eat it." Jane muttered irritably, taking the offered room service menu - her poor mood a side affect of their cross-Atlantic flight and her empty stomach (which is why he was largely ignoring it - that, and there had to be a glitch, a mistake. You may not make mistakes, but if you have anyone at all working beneath you, they would. You're far more cautious than the common thief, so even when bringing in others to the fold, you would never tell them the full extent of the truth. They wouldn't take the precautions that you would).

"Do whatever you wish." He replied dully, rewinding the past five seconds again.

You're a professional, someone on hire within the Underworld. But you aren't currently on contract - you're doing this for yourself. But why strike evening after evening, how does this benefit you? If you wanted to, you could take what you wanted in one fell swoop, but you are choosing to make a fool out of this museums security systems. That makes me hesitant to believe this was an inside job at all, no one in charge of the Guggenheim would want to have their names ridiculed like this...

So who are you?

"So, what molehill did you need me in anyway?"

He finally turned away from his screen, the video paused on the only damming frame in the entire 4-hour footage. A very small, dark triangle had appeared in the corner of the frame for a fraction of a second. All the proof he needed to say that their thief didn't work alone.

Jane was sitting on the bed on the left, already dressed in her night clothes and was in the process of putting her messy, honey-blonde hair into a weak bun on the back of her head. He narrowed his eyes at her hands as they arranged her hair, the same fingers were able to skillfully break into the locked doors in Wammy House. She was hardly the ideal cat burglar, by any definition - although light on her feet, she was prone to cursing when making mistakes or especially after minor bumps and pokes. She'd once crushed her finger in a doorway, and thusly taught all of the children at the House to say 'fuck' as loud as they possibly could.

But then again - a leather bodysuit would look far better on Jane than Wammy.

"You will be striking tomorrow evening before our art thief gets the chance to." He said coolly. "You'll be stealing the Guggenheim's 45 million dollar Degas."

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 4: The Cat Burglar Pt. 2

 

 

 

 

---

New York City, New York

Back Then

The Cat Burglar - P.2

---

 

 

 

 

3 hours and 25 minutes remaining

 

"I've arranged so that the laser grids and cameras in the area to be turned off for thirteen minutes exactly. If necessary, I will be able to stall the cameras for an additional two minutes, but the grids will automatically reinstate themselves. Prepare yourself for that." L's voice said to her through the earrings that she wore, which actually held small microphones embedded in the gold. An actual hearing device would make our true thief far too suspicious if they encounter you. You must come off as an amateur.

"What about the guards?" Jane asked quickly, her gaze quickly counting up the amount of cars that were still in the Guggenheim's parking lot afterhours - it might as well have been still open. "There'll be at least three times as many walking security officers in the museum."

"Improvise." He said shortly.

"Improvise? That's all you got? I might as well try and fight them." She said, alarmed and on the spot over the possibility that he might not have thought of this. Or he just wanted to see what I'd do, her less used analytical mind countered, conjuring up the image of L as a scientist, running simulations on holographic versions of herself - all too curious and all too bold. This was the first time in a case (well, of the now two she'd joined in on) that he was allowing her to lead or make her own decisions - in Brazil, he'd controlled every action she made after she was placed as a maid. But now, he was asking her to improvise after putting her in an impossible-to-predict situation.

"I wouldn't, if I were you. This may primarily be a thief, but I have no doubt they'd be more skilled in a brawl than you, whose best fighting skills come from wrestling twelve year old's." That's more like it, she thought bemusedly, even as she was handed a line by Mr. Wammy, and was faced with needing to jump the daunting distance below.

"Thirteen minutes, Jane." Were L's last words to her - she heard the distinct sound of a click, and she felt distinctly colder as she readied herself.

"Land with your feet flat." Wammy's voice advised loudly. "Try not to lean forward, it will affect your landing. On your way, now."

 

/~/

 

Once inside, Jane was feeling pretty confident.

The window had been open just like L said, and the adrenaline was rushing through her as she slipped inside - when her feet touched the ground, it was like she could fly. Until ten seconds later, when she heard the echoing steps of someone in the winding hall behind her - shooting ice into her veins as her mind doubled over telling her to 'pick it up, pick it up, pick it up!' as the sound of the heavy footsteps echoed closer to her.

So that's the purpose of this outfit, an intrusive thought popped into her head while she pushed herself to a sprint through the corkscrew shaped building, of the skin-tight black suit that felt suction-cupped to her skin. It breathes while I'm running for my dear life.

Jane's eyes flickered from what stood ahead of her to the identifying signs on the glaringly white walls - from your entrance, go up two floors, L's orders came through her mind as she skidded to a stop in front of the room filled with famous, massive Degas. The only trouble, was there were two entrances to his wing.

Go through the mmhm entrance.

Shit.

Of all the times for her brain to buzz out.

A sudden, loud noise to her left made the decision for her. It startled her into rushing forward into the closest entrance. The right-hand side. The passing of a pair of heavy footsteps ensured that she would linger, hidden behind the farthest wall from the open archway to the hall. She had effectively trapped herself - if that guard happened to enter through that archway, she was a goner - forced to 'improvise' at last minute.

Jane pressed herself flatter against the wall, in the middle of two huge pieces, with one digging into her shoulder as she tried her best to blend into it's frame - trying to avoid being forced to act on her own until it was literally the only thing she could do.

Luckily, or perhaps thanks to L's well-thought out plan, that was not in the cards for her.

Because just when she saw the light of a flashlight pointed in through the archway, a firm hand griped her shoulder and yanked her backward - she could only be so proud that she didn't scream - though that was more thanks to the second hand that had clasped itself over her mouth.

"Be quiet." A female voice hissed lowly in her ear, the sound making the short, baby hairs on the back of her neck stand straight up as the woman behind her yanked her back, away from the possible sight of the guard - Jane stumbled and stepped on the thief/her rescuers foot, making the other woman grunt, but unsuccessful in the attempt to get her to let go.

So, the two were forced to remain still and dead silent - Jane looking with a baited breath as the security guard moving his stream of light this way and that - until finally, thankfully, the light moved away, and the heavy footsteps continued on down the hall, leaving the two women to stay quiet until the steps were too far away to hear.

"You picked a mighty time to attempt a breaking and entering, girl." The other woman finally said, after a few long minutes of listening.

"You're one to talk, Selina Kyle." Jane retorted without thinking, before breaking herself out of the other's grip and sharply twisting so that she (and the hidden camera with a direct line to L) could reveal the identity of their cat burglar. They stood nearly head to head, both blonde. The thief's hair was extremely straight, and platinum in color. Her face was hidden partially by a pair of narrow sunglasses, but her features read caucasian, and her mouth was painted a slick, red. Not far off for a Catwoman costume, actually. She's even dressed in leather.

"That's cute, coming from the girl who almost got herself caught." Selina Kyle replied coolly, her sunglasses making her expression appear all that more judgmental and severe.

"I was not almost caught!" She defended quickly, feeling all too young and clumsy besides the professional thief.

The older woman scoffed. "Oh, my bad, of course you weren't." Then, she seemed to remember where they were, and what little amusement Jane could see in her face, disappeared. "If you want the luxury of leaving this museum without handcuffs, follow me and keep quiet. No questions, do you understand?" Selina then silently grabbed her wrist, without waiting for any reply or agreement, forcing her to walk quickly to follow her long strides.

The platinum blonde was quickly on track to joining her freshly-created list of people who had a slap coming to them, as she reluctantly followed.

Kyle moved confidently and silently - and either didn't care about the cameras, or had made similar arrangements to L to have them shut down.

"Where are we going?" Jane whispered, only receiving an irritated, "Tch," In return, for violating the 'no questions,' order she'd been given.

Has she already stolen a painting? She doesn't have anything on her, and it's not like she could hide anything in that catsuit, she thought, glancing out of the corner of her eye where she knew one of L's installed cameras were, and wondered if he was watching her right now, suddenly all too aware that the speaker in her earring was remaining dead silent.

 

3 hours and 15 minutes remaining

 

"Don't lose sight of her." L ordered, his eyes devouring the screen as the two women moved throughout the winding Guggenheim museum.

He'd been correct in his assessment that their Doe would be able to create enough of a rapport with their thief in order to gain their trust, or at least their pity. It had been a risk - the fact that that their thief used a third party to forge the video footage could have meant anything. But it was a risk that would have benefitted them regardless. Either the thief would approach Jane, or they wouldn't - if they hadn't, they could continue their theft, under the watchful view of his secretly installed cameras, or they'd become spooked and abandon the museum, which would leave plenty of room for mistakes.

But L couldn't help but be pleased that his preferred situation was moving along. It gave him the ability to watch Jane's reactions and movements in real time, to watch how she behaved under stress and while temporarily working side-by-side with a criminal. It was actually fascinating to observe her in contact with someone other than a resident of Wammy's - something he hadn't had much time to do in Rio.

She was clearly on edge, no surprise in a situation like hers. But other than the uncertainty no doubt felt, she was behaving remarkably well, allowing herself to be dragged along by their thief through the winding Guggenheim.

L followed his installed cameras, and twisted a knob, increasing the volume of the attached audio in Jane's bugged clothing.

"If you don't tell me where we're going, how am I supposed to help?" Jane hissed quietly to the other woman as they stopped at a crossroads.

"Help?" The thief replied, sounding amused. "You're not helping me. You're lucky enough that I'm getting you out, girl."

Their Doe returned that with a scoff, and tore her arm out of the other's grip. "And what makes you think that I want to get out without anything for myself?"

"Try the 7-Eleven down the street, sweetheart." The thief retorted coolly. "You're in over your head - you'll never get out of this museum with anything but dust on your shoes."

"Then you should've thought twice about involving me - and showing your face. So let's skip all of that 'if you don't let me help, I'll rat you out to the police' bit, ok!" Jane was heated, and more importantly - convincing. Her fiery expression relaxed then, as the pale-haired thief stared down at her - nothing visible on her partially concealed face. "Tell me how I can help. You've been the one, right? From the past three nights? You're taking something else - I can help." She insisted, sounding to his ears only just desperate enough to make the possibilities a coin flip.

Either she would say yes or no.

A yes would lead them precisely to her location, and the stolen paintings.

A no could mean he was wrong in his assessment of their culprit, and even put a risk on Jane's life.

The thief lowered her chin and recaptured Jane's shoulder in her gloved hand, finally saying a lilted, "Very well - as long as you stay quiet and follow me."

L viciously scooped the cheesecake into his mouth. Of course, the teenager was a very talented chess player - the odds were in his favor, despite his habit of gambling on those odds, no matter how small the margin was of his success. But it seems that friendship dealt a quite deal in wanting the other half of that friendship to stay alive and well - for his own peace of mind. I'll have to strive for an even larger margin of success with Jane accompanying me, he decided, watching as his friend and the criminal moved throughout the Guggenheim.

 

Movement occurred quickly after her induction into Selina Kyle's plan.

It appeared that she'd already stolen the very painting that Jane herself was meant to take - it was covered up in drapes and bubble wrap, arranged by two larger women in security uniforms. Jane memorized their name tags and took notice of their tattoos and piercings, even as the cameras in her clothes took in their faces. It was like a well-oiled machine, there wasn't a single stop in motion as the painting moved from the security officers to the back of a delivery truck. They'd created a perfect system to get the painting out from beneath the Guggenheim's noses.

The blonde couldn't see the driver of the truck - but she didn't have too much time to investigate before Selina Kyle climbed smoothly into the back, following after the painting.

Jane had no choice but to join her. Cracking down on them would be no use without the three other paintings. If they're even still in the country, she thought as the truck shuttered shut, the only light coming from the cellphone in Selina Kyle's hand.

That was the other thing - the identity of their cat burglar. Her sunglasses were playing the part of those black masks that superheroes wore - giving some level of anonymity while she worked.

But with this many others in on these heists, she at least has given them an alias. If L is right, and she's part of the underworld, an alias could hold a lot of weight, especially for fresh recruits who would want their safety insured above all else. She's talented, well-trained, and has the trust of the others here - at least where the works are concerned, Jane thought, peering up at the small opening where their driver - another woman, was taking them to their next destination. I have to get her to give me at least one of her aliases.

I can bullshit my way into anything.

"So what do they call you?" Jane asked, flinching at her awkward wording. Lucky it was dark.

"Hmm?"

"I mean," she shifted closer to the dark shadow of the painting, the hard metal of the truck floor digging into her tailbone. "Who are you? I've kinda just been calling you Catwoman in my head this whole time."

A zippo was flicked, the metallic 'shink' accompanying the sudden burst of light across the truck bed. The other woman was closer than she remembered her being - now they were basically side by side. The small flame lit the pale end of a cigarette, which burned hot with embers.

"Wedy." The name came forth with a light cloud of nicotine-scented smoke. "And what about you, rookie? What do they call you?" Wedy asked, holding out her gloved hand, offering her the cigarette that she'd just lit. Jane had never smoked a cigarette before. Roger and Wammy were both pipe smokers, and there were never any cigarettes around the house.

With no prompting from L on her name, she could only offer the truth, "My name is Jane," before taking the offered cigarette, attempting to mimic the way Wedy handled it in between her fingers. The inhale tickled her throat uncomfortably, and she couldn't help her coughing fit, puffs of smoke bursting out of her mouth like a choo-ing steam train.

Wedy laughed, the first show of true emotion since they'd met (though it still had that lilt of arrogance, tainting the sound). "You didn't need to accept it if you aren't a smoker, Jane."

Jane hurriedly swiped away the hot tears that had peaked in her eyes from her coughing fit. "'Cuse me for being polite."

The cat burglar paused, her cool laughter fading away as she appeared to narrow in on something on her face. Then, Wedy reached forward, her gloved thumb swiping suddenly at her bottom lip - surprising the other blonde into stillness. It was such a strange, out-of-nowhere action - that, coupled with the nonviolence of it, was puzzling.

"Why did you - ?" Jane began to ask, toned down.

"My lipstick. It was on your mouth from the cigarette." Wedy explained shortly, returning to that iciness she'd held in the museum.

The truck's movement came to a stop, and the leather-clad thief rose up sharply as the shutters rose up, revealing the first men of the evening. There were two of them, and they looked to be completely identical, dressed in blue suits and thin, silver frames. Wedy openly appeared to dislike them - her entire body had stiffened, a sure difference from the woman of just a few minutes ago.

"Who's the girl?" The man on the left said. He had more of a beard than the twin on the right.

"Was there a problem?" The man on the right asked - he didn't seem to care about her presence at all.

"She's my delicious little sidekick." Wedy replied neutrally, dropping down out of the truck. "You don't remember her, boys?"

"No, we don't." The one on the left replied for the both of them - eying Jane as she slipped out of the truck.

"That's too bad for you then. Here's your prize, boys. Now, like we discussed, I'll be leaving and never seeing you two again." The platinum blonde replied coolly, hooking her arm around her on her way to the door.

"Not so fast." One of the twins said, like he'd known it would come to this. "We've had a good relationship this past week, Wedy, it's true, even with all of that unpleasantness at first... But, you understand how we can't simply let you go now, can we?"

The two men shifted, reaching their hands to their hips.

"No honor amongst thieves, is that right?" Jane said sharply, unable to help herself as they removed their guns - even loading them with shiny bullets in front of them. L, you better get a move on, she thought grimly, the muscles in her stomach tensing as she took a step back with Wedy.

"No." They agreed in unison. Then, the bearded one spoke, "I'm afraid you - and your little 'sidekick' are liabilities, Wedy. You're talented, of course, we would never doubt that. But your - disdain for us never went unnoticed. We know you've been staging these thefts to try and get us caught - even trying to get L on our heels. We were never going to forget and forgive."

So she had been hired on, Jane thought, tensing as they pointed their guns at them. Wedy's grip on her arm tightened. But L was still right even despite that - she was blackmailed instead of paid, and was purposely trying to get caught while still successfully keeping to her side of the deal. She knew that if L did get involved, he'd find that these two were the ones who were actually responsible. Wedy was ten times smarter than these idiot twins.

And L?

"Get down. We're coming through the windows."

Probably fifty times.

The twins clicked off their safety's, and the sound prompted Jane to tackle Wedy onto ground, gaining an outraged shout and smack to her ear for her trouble. Behind her, the blackened windows exploded, and glass sprayed everywhere, like confetti. The rush of noise came afterwards. The NYPD, dozens of them, stormed through the broken windows, crushing the glass beneath their boots as they shouted demands of the twins to drop their weapons and to fall to floor.

Wedy gripped her collar then, forcibly shoving her back, while still holding onto her tight. Her sunglasses had fallen off, revealing intense, green eyes. "You're L." She accused, her chest heaving, not raising herself up despite the broken glass they were surrounded with.

"Strike one. I'm more Bruce than Batman, sorry Selina." Jane retorted. The police behind them had finally got the twins on their knees, their guns forcibly taken and unloaded. They'd be next.

Lucky her that she could recognize Wammy's long, grey mustache from a mile away.

"Follow my lead and keep quiet, got it?" She said to Wedy, unable to resist. "If you're lucky, you'll get outta here without handcuffs."

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 5: Crush

 

 

 

 

---

New York City, New York

Back Then

Crush

---

 

 

 

 

 

"She's asking for you." L informed Jane once she returned from the nurse's station they had set up in Mr. Wammy's hotel room. She'd been covered in shattered glass, and had tackled their thief onto a concrete floor - leaving her covered in scuffs and bruising. No doubt still in a rush from adrenaline, their Doe had attempted to wave off his insistence for medical attention - until she quite literally tried to wave, and discovered that she'd nearly dislocated her arm in her stylish landing.

He'd won that argument - and now as she padded back into their two-bed, he observed that her arm was in a light sling (nearly dislocated didn't enforce a more hearty medical wrap, which annoyed him when he foresaw how easily she could slip in and out of the meager fabric, fur longing her healing time)her hair was dirtier than it had been , and there were small bandages over two of the more deeper cuts achieved by the shower of glass she received.

However, despite her slightly injured appearance, she not only did not appear shaken, she seemed content, even happy. An attribute that L would have dismissed from the excitement of the night, if not for the two hours that had since passed from their invasion of the Carter brothers hideout.

"She is?" Jane asked, her dark eyes flickering to the large screen which displayed the cat thief known as 'Wedy', sitting alone in a grey room, tapping an irritated fingertip against the metal table they'd placed her in. An untouched water bottle sat in front of her. "How long has she been in there?" Their Doe questioned.

"Ever since we arrived." This answer seemed to displease her in some way, as she remained quiet and her lips pursed. "Quillsh has her outside of police custody, and the NYPD do not know that we have her. They believe that 'Wedy' escaped our capture." He explained further, settling the expression on his friend's face as she took in his words, until eventually she nodded.

"So what's she asking for me for? We're just going to release her, aren't we? She wasn't actually guilty of robbing the museum, she only did it because she was forced to."

"Whether we release 'Wedy' is entirely up to her." He replied, stabbing his fork through a segment of melon. "While she was being blackmailed by the Carter brothers for this particular heist, she is guilty of several other robberies that we have record of. We could merely hand her over to the state police given how many crimes are stacked against her - however, I have a different idea of how to deal with our thief here." The teen detective stuffed the segment in his mouth, and spoke again,

"That's where you come in, Jane." He swallowed. "I would like you to offer her our deal. In exchange for wiping all current information regarding her presence here in New York, she will provide us with her direct contact information, and will here-in become available to us should we ever require her - services."

But Jane was hesitant - as she was whenever he asked her to act on her own. But surely 'convince a criminal to help solve crimes in order to save their own skin' was easier to achieve than 'convince a criminal to trust you.'

"Wouldn't it seem more official coming from you, though? You're the detective - I'm just the girl in the field."

"No, it wouldn't." He replied calmly. "I hope you aren't offended by my motives, Jane. To be entirely frank - I wanted to observe how you convince Wedy to cooperate with us. I've already seen how she behaves with someone like myself, and I believe that only you would be able to convince her that this would be the best course of action. Of course, if she continues to refuse, I will need to hand her back to the NYPD for her outstanding crimes..."

"Okay." Jane said eventually, appearing to take on a more professional disposition then, straightening her relaxed form and even smoothing out her still mused hair before taking the offered microphone.

He watched intently, stabbing a honeydew with a fork as their Doe clicked on the receiver.

 

 

/~/

 

 

"They pointed their guns at you?" The alarmed voice of Roger echoed, loud enough that L was able to register it even from across the room.

It was the next morning.

The early New York sun was leaking into their room as they prepared for their departure. Jane had wanted to explore the city before they left, only for a untimely phone call from the House reaching them. Mr. Wammy had always kept Roger well informed, and it appeared that after they deemed this case 'solved' (and after Wedy was signed on and released to her own business, wiping her completely free from the Guggenheim robberies, even despite the Carter brother's lawyers causing the NYPD trouble), he had no trouble reaching out, leaving it up to their Doe to clean up the old man's worries.

"I was fine, Rog. L had my back the whole time, and Wammy was just outside." Jane replied, completely dismissing his concerns, despite the true dangers that Roger had rightfully identified. "Those two brothers were dimwits anyway - they held their guns sideways, if you can believe it. If they did fire a shot, which is a big damn 'if', they probably would've missed."

L pressed his thumb against his lip, watching as their Doe skillfully washed away Roger's alarm with her confident half-truths, until finally he could no longer hear the older man's strenuous pitch. It was only once she was successful did her tense form relax - the call was then taken by Wammy, who left the two teenagers alone in favor of handling the call privately in the hall.

The detective observed as his companion leaned back against one of the upholstered chairs, adjusting the sling that her left arm sat in.

"You weren't frightened last night?" He asked her, noting the way her head moved curtly at the sound of his voice.

The blonde pushed herself forward, rolling back onto her feet - her preferred position when speaking. "Nah. But a call with Rog like that? That always gets my blood pumping." She explained simply.

But this explanation was too... Dismissive, to give reason to her behavior. He was not Roger - he did not unnecessarily worry or fret, it simply wasn't him. But unlike Roger, he could not be lied to so easily. He viewed Jane's body cam in real time, knew precisely what would have happened if those men had fired their guns at her. The truth was disturbing - Jane had been placed in genuine danger this evening, moments from grave injury or death. But she seemed unaffected.

"Why weren't you afraid?" He asked, observing her closely, hoping her demeanor would fail her where her words did not.

But their Doe was casual, even content. She shrugged. "Because I knew you were watching me. And had Mr. Wammy on standby outside with one of the biggest guns I've ever seen," she said with an amused grin.

"You mean longest, it was a sniper rifle." L corrected quickly, before delving deeper, "The Carter brothers held their guns perfectly. Had they fired they would have shot both you and 'Wedy' directly in your abdomens."

Jane wrapped her uninjured arm over her stomach. "But they didn't. What's your point right now?"

"You were placed in a harrowing situation, but are unaffected by it." He prompted - ever-curious by her mere annoyance at his interrogation.

"Why would I be affected by it? I was safe the whole time, you were watching with a team of police on standby." She countered, her tone rising in irritation as he pushed her further for more information.

"I could have miscalculated the blow. You could have been killed." He insisted calmly, looking pointedly at her arm.

"And since when do you do that? Actually, on top of that, since when would you not just make a mistake, but make a mistake so stupid that it would let me get shot by a couple of morons?" Jane shot back smartly, swinging her hands out expressively. There was no guesswork with the blonde - he understood her implicitly - and she'd more heated the longer he was left without a response. Still, he merely watched her.

"What's with you today? Are you sick?" Their Doe prompted again, tone leaning more serious now when once again, he gave no response, verbal or otherwise.

If I don't say anything, she'll worry as much as Roger, he thought mildly, looking over her concerned expression and discovering that he enjoyed when she did not break their eye contact when he moved.

"I'm not. And you are right, of course. You were never in any danger." He had to put more effort in his words than usual - maybe it was because although he knew them to be true, he still disliked his odds. 70-30. It was improbable that she'd have been killed, or even further injured, but - her bandages and sling proved how he had failed her, no matter how much she waved them off. Roger was too easily swayed.

Jane didn't seem that satisfied by his short relent, but she wasn't like him. She didn't continue to push, she let it go, waving her uninjured hand before declaring that she'd be taking a bath, leaving him alone in their shared room.

 

 

/~/

 

 

Jane settled into the large, porcelain tub as slowly as the slippery bubbles and slick coating would allow her.

Her shoulder, temporarily out of it's sling and currently causing her twinges of pain which circulated down her arm and her side, looked innocent and normal as she sank into the steaming water, enflaming her skin a brilliant pink as it relieved her whole-body aches. The top of the water was slick with the various bath things she'd found in the cabinets, things with strange names and ingredients she'd never used before, but she found that she liked after a cursory sniff. They were leaving in the morning, so why not use all of them at once?

The result was her slippery, bubbly, citrusy and flower-y bath. There were even hard bits of herbs at the bottom of the tub, which were pressing into her legs and butt as she swished them around.

It was a good treat to herself after a whole day of helping L.

He'd watched her the whole time, and closely too, while she spoke with Wedy. It wasn't as hard as she thought it'd be - it really just took explaining just what L wanted in exchange for her release, and allowing Wedy to think it over for a minute. Sure, she haggled, even rose her voice now and again - but really, she just had a few questions and requests (which, after each one, Jane had looked right at L for exactly what he wanted, only for him to nod curtly each time) which she answered and/or agreed/disagreed with - only for it to be finished just like that.

And yet, even with how simple it had been to convince Wedy to their deal, L had still stared at her with those huge, black eyes of his, absorbing her movements and how she spoke with Wedy, even when there was hardly any negotiation to speak of.

But L was convinced.

"Only you can convince thieves to play for Team L." Jane tiredly mocked, pointing at the rack of towels across from her.

But when was L ever wrong about something? Probably never, she thought, sinking deeper in the water, soaking her hair until the faintest peach twinge revealed itself at its ends. If it had been L to make the proposal, would Wedy have refused?

Knowing what she did about the older blonde, it wouldn't be that surprising. Hell, she looked like a caged lion in their live feed, her sunglasses on despite the horrible glare, and a single sharp fingernail tapping like a single claw. She was on edge, but knew perfectly well her likelihood of escape if she caused a fuss, and had decided to lay in wait instead.

Maybe he just wanted to avoid the back and forth, her tired mind explained. He didn't look like he had much patience for Wedy anyway. He probably guessed I'd save him five minutes of extra negotiations?

Or maybe he really did just want to watch me.

At that strange, protruding thought Jane dove into the slippery water, slopping some onto the bathroom floor in her haste. None of that, she thought, blindly reaching for her shampoo.

 

 

/~/

 

 

The next evening, after they had packed, they had a relatively quiet limo-ride to the airport, where they boarded first class without too much of a hassle. Jane fell fast asleep as soon as she clicked on the in-flight film.

He didn't sleep. The teen detective more or less survived on short naps throughout the day, on the couch or whatever chair he happened to be in at the time... So far, he was 14 hours along without even that - perpetually restless and as awake as ever. Jane was asleep - he could hear her soft snores (interrupted with the occasional mumble) from the seats across from him. It was late, very late - she'd be asleep for awhile longer, leaving him free to his complicating thoughts however long he wanted.

"When are you ever wrong?"

He was wrong 2.6% of the time, either marginally or entirely.

And yes, he would need to include his initial feelings regarding Jane Doe in that percentile.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 6: Patisserie

 

 

 

---

Wammy House

Back Then

Patisserie

---

 

 

 

It took three weeks for Roger to allow her to return back to her normal responsibilities after she returned from New York.

He above all took her injury seriously (while the kids mostly 'ooh'd' and 'aww'd' at it, a few of them even signing her sling) and had taken to snapping at her every time she dared slip her arm out of her sling to scratch at her nose or quickly reach for something. It had forced her to find more and more sneaky locations to sneak out, even at one point ducking into one of the kid's rooms to stretch her aching shoulders, knowing that Roger disliked young children more than he liked nagging her.

It was only once her sling was fully off did Roger slither back to merely being watchful rather than actively hovering over her shoulder - which was good, because it was just in time for her to participate in something he'd never approve of. But lucky her that it was a request directly from Mr. Wammy himself.

The Doe had been finishing one of her Unsolved profiles when the sudden knock interrupted her study.

"Jane? Are you resting?" The old Inventor inquired from behind her door.

Shocked, she replied instantly, "Uh - no, I'm up." before Jane hurriedly began tidying up - her mess worse than usual with her isolation. There was only so much she could do, so her shoes sadly ending up deep beneath her bed and her loose laundry into a dark corner before she finally opened her door, revealing the old man standing tall behind it.

"Hi - Mr. Wammy." The blonde greeted hesitantly, before rolling back onto her heels and allowing him to enter into her room, trying to remember if he had ever seen her bedroom before. "What's up?" She asked, closing her door once he'd turned to address her.

"L has another request of you, if you would consent to participating." He replied collectedly. 

"Of course." The Doe said, drifting backwards to sit on the corner of her bed while Wammy preferred to stand. 

"L would like for you to educate yourself in several self-defense techniques. He'd like for you to be tutored every Wednesday and Thursday afternoon regarding boxing, kickboxing and standard street-fighting. On top of physical defense, he would like you to study the following topics in great detail," Mr. Wammy proceeded to lay out various tombs, each with a more interesting title than the last, but all of them regarding one type of psychology, one that she happened to already be studying on her own: criminal profiling, a favorite subject amongst the scholars who she'd been using as support for her Unsolved Cases paper.

Not only was profiling useful to identify signifiers in criminals - but it was an important skill when identifying dangerous persons surrounding her. Another form of self-defense - only psychological.

"The books I can do." The blonde agreed, picking up and flipping through the pages of one of the paperbacks. "But who would be teaching me all the boxing?"

Mr. Wammy's old eyes crinkled as he smiled. "That duty will fall to me, Jane. I will be your boxing tutor."

She dropped the book in surprise, making it smack with a pathetic-sounding 'wop!'

"Once you are proficient in each of these skills, you will be able to rejoin L in his cases." The man informed, ignoring the wide-eyed look on her face. "We will be beginning today, given it is Wednesday. Please dress in clothing you are comfortable exercising in, and meet me in the upstairs drawing room in ten minutes." Then, he said near-cheekily, "And please do not fear harming me, Jane. You will not. So do try your best."

What else could she even do? Or say, in response to something like that?

All she could do is turn her brain off and obey, before peeking her head in the unused living room upstairs.

And man, a feeble old man he was not.

Hell, the first thing she thought when she walked into their make-shift boxing ring was 'oh my god, he's gonna kill me.' He looked like those old-fashioned boxers from the 30s, dressed in slacks and his undershirt, with big, puffy mitts on his hands that he bonked together readily. And man, was he much faster than she expected.

As soon as she nodded her consent for him to go, he zipped around like a damn snake, his arms moving fast with strikes. None of them actually hit her, just breezed over her limbs and head, sending her hair flying, but each move was a 'hit' in their play-by-play. Which was all well and good when he was just demonstrating - it was a whole other when Mr. Wammy then told her it was now her turn to try and hit him (and to actually land as many blows as she could).

Jane actually thought that she'd be able to land at least one - of course, that was a pipedream and Wammy without mercy wiped the floor with her, dodging each amateur swing she moved with ease, until finally all she could do was crouch on the floor, covered in the sweat of her efforts, while the old man merely dabbed the top of his head with his handkerchief.

"We will continue this tomorrow afternoon, just after your last class. I will have a dummy moved into this room for you to work with. In three weeks," His eyes then sparkled as he smiled at her. "We will try again."

 

/~/

 

 

The next few months went as followed: Every morning, she was up at 7 to make breakfast. Usually, Roger was already up, drinking his too-dark coffee. If he wasn't, she started the pot for him.

"Too watery," He would complain when she made it, despite her using up almost a full cup of grounds each time - but still he would drink at least half the pot before going up to his office.

On Wednesdays, she made waffles. But on Thursdays, it was cereal - thanks to the aftereffects of her new rigorous exercise routine with Mr. Wammy, which always made her muscles ache with exhaustion afterwards. It didn't help that they'd brought a new boy to the orphanage that week - she'd had no energy to reach out to the boy, nor was she truly able to watch over the other kids, the potential successors of L. Thankfully, the weekend gave her a much needed reprieve - until Monday came again, and she repeated everything all over again.

"Good morning, Jane." Roger greeted her as she slinked her way into the classroom, carrying her books for the day. She was all well and prepared for their independent study, and she was about to return the greeting -

Until she saw that they were not alone.

In the corner by the door, sat L. She hadn't seen him since their return flight from New York - the shadows beneath his eyes looked darker than ever, worsened by the presence of a cup of Roger's coffee that he was currently drinking (heavily sweetened, she noted the tin of sugar), which was accompanied by a slice of last night's leftover dessert, sitting balanced on a stack of biology books.

"Morning." Jane returned - addressing only L, who contemplated the porcelain teacup in his hands rather than her. 

"Jane." L said, not quite a greeting. "How far along are you with your assignment?"

"On the second go-around." She answered carefully - feeling a twist of concern in her gut as her friend still did not look at her. He was pouring all of his considerable onto the surface of his coffee. She felt like Medusa. "Are you ok?"

"Ok?" He answered, like a question.

"You look exhausted - more than usual." Jane replied, strain in her tone while she set her books down on the small desk in the middle of the room. "Are you on a case right now?"

Now, only now did he look at her. His piercing gaze finding her eyes intensely. L did that often - rarely did someone stare directly into her eyes like that, and for so long. Many of the children used to be frightened of him when he did this. "Yes, I am." He said after one beat, two beats, three -

The blonde swallowed, breaking their eye contact when she felt a draft move through the old classroom, the chill made the hair on her arms stand on end. "Has it got your goat?" She asked lightly, turning down to open her books to where she'd last stopped, fanning out her pages of notes beside it.

"'Got my goat'?" L questioned, brow furrowed with serious confusion.

Jane's lips relaxed then into an amused smile. L had probably never heard the phrase in his life. "Are you stuck on something?"

"I see." He said quietly, seemingly packing that new piece of information away somewhere in his sizable memory. "No, not particularly stuck. But I do need a middle man, as it were. Preferably closer in age to our culprit than Quillsh."

"Which is why you're here to see me." She surmised, not unhappily, notes forgotten. "What's the case?"

The case was hardly much of one in actuality. A conman had made his way through Paris, Vienna and was currently in Monte Carlo, enjoying a scamming spree through those cities most elite. One of which had enough money, and enough fury to contract L to capture the conman. The conman, whom L had already found shortly after being contracted through a few hours of deep digging (and with the inside scoop of one escaped cat burglar) was extremely skilled in his craft, sliding in and out of bank accounts, hotel rooms, pockets and purses, with hardly much room for capture and leaving behind a nearly-untraceable alias. The detective knew it would take more than simply notifying his 'client' with the man's real name and current address. 

He would go through the song and dance with no ability of proving who he was and that he had robbed anyone of anything. It solved a case, but did not give any reprieve towards those that he had robbed. That money would be off in a bank account with no rhyme or reason to be attached to whatever name this conman would use. 

No, L had a few other plans in store - he wouldn't have accepted a case like this for mere money. 

"It's in France." He informed her.

/~/

 

L watched as Jane gave the others in the House her good-byes. Many of them had ran to hug and kiss her as she headed out of the door, even some of the shyest and newest - one boy, topped with pale hair and dressed still in his nightwear, had waited quietly until she stooped down and kissed the top of his head. Even Roger begrudgingly patted her shoulder and accepted a tight hug in response.

None of them approached him, either none of them remembered what he really looked like, or were too nervous too. The detective appreciated the opportunity to watch as Jane gave each of them their love - the whole round of goodbyes lasted longer than he thought, what should have been a 2 minute exchange became 10, and she was still well-wishing the children even as the door shut behind them. 

Jane was well loved.

"Sorry about that, ready to go?" She asked, pushing her hair back as she looked up at him. They stood on the same narrow stoop, and the way he was hunched had them closer than he realized. 

"Yes of course." He said, straightening his back as Quillsh chose the opportune moment to pull the car up. 

Their drive and flight had similar occurrences - L was focusing more often on Jane's comfortable demeanor, her small habits, the frequency of which her tongue would dampen her upper lip. Tension swirled in his torso and he more or less spent the whole two hour flight curled over himself in complete silence, mocking sleep in hopes to not draw his friend's concern. 

By the time they landed he was considering this to be a mistake - his unpleasant months alone had been his inspiration to inviting Jane out with him once again. He'd been under the belief that space and time apart would ease his feelings - his research on the topic had suggested as much. But sitting in Wammy House again, waiting in that classroom for her to walk in had been nerve-wracking. He'd never been so aware of himself, and of the door that she would come through. Roger had spoken to him at some time while he waited, but he hadn't said anything to him back. L couldn't even remember what it was. 

Perhaps his research was faulty. He'd misidentified the situation. 

"L?" The Doe whispered - her fingers touched his shoulder, just her middle three. Her pointer finger slipped, creating a buzzing trail to the edge of his collarbone. He opened his eyes. "We're good to get off now."

"Right." He said. Her fingers left him.

Jane's eyes posture shifted. "You ok?" Her tone was concerned again, investigative. Attempting to extract more information from his demeanor. 

"Just considering the best way of introducing you to our conman." He lied. He stood, walking ahead of the Doe down to the landing, where Wammy already had a car flagged, their luggage being packed. His consisting entirely of one change of clothes and his monitor set-up. 

 

/~/

 

Jane knew instantly why L had chosen this particular hotel when they finally arrived. 

She spotted it as soon as they pulled up - this grand hotel, with had stunning décor and 17th century stonework on the outside, had right beside it a glittering French patisserie. There behind the glass were towers of macarons, spun-sugar wrapped cream puffs and delicate cakes. The whole thing smelt of vanilla and butter, and she couldn't help giving L a pointed smile as they passed the glass on their way inside to check in.

They rode the elevator in quiet, with a group of others as they went up higher and higher. The last rider got off on the 7th floor. 

They got off at the 10th. 

"Jane, you have room 325. L's will be 327. My room is 326, if you need me for anything." Wammy said as he handed her a room key.

She took it, confused at the sudden change in routine - but before she could question him, the old Inventor explained shortly. "You two are a little old to be sleeping in an undivided hotel room after all - the penthouse was taken before we could reserve it, so three rooms will have to do." 

The Doe nodded wordlessly, embarrassed to find that she agreed with Wammy's logic, and even more so when she felt that L was staring at her. 

"Will thirty minutes be enough for you to get settled?" He asked her neutrally as she busied herself re-adjusting her bag over her shoulder.

She hefted the strap and pushed the front of her hair that masked her at the action, muttering her agreement and their meeting time before bustling past to 'her' room. 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 7: Lucky Break

 

 

 

 

---

Monte Carlo, Monaco, France

Back Then

Lucky Break

---

 

 

 

 

Was this another test? 

That's all she could wonder, alone in her ornate, yet simple hotel room, which had quickly become a disaster as soon as her fifth minute alone passed by. 

Jane had grabbed her bag and emptied it onto the soft floral sheets, thoughts passing speedily as she divided up her clothes, folding them and refolding them, before moving on to her toiletries, which she stormed over to the bathroom. 

Separate rooms, that made sense. Or it would've if they hadn't already been sharing rooms for almost two years now. And the first time in a warm place like Brazil too. On top of that she was barely briefed - there wasn't even really a case at all here, and not one that she was needed in. L could've just as easily mailed a laptop to this man and upon opening given him his offer. Was it just because she did this for Wedy in New York? This was something so mundane that he didn't feel like doing it himself? 

But something like this didn't feel like a test. 

Jane had done it before, arguing on L's behalf. It's not something that he hadn't seen before. 

Maybe he just missed me, her brain supplied, earning a loud, exasperated noise from herself and another brisk movement towards the window, for a view at the passerby's below, exiting and entering various cars and cabs.

"He was so weird on the plane too." The blonde muttered out loud once she counted the 7th taxicab stopping. It had been a short flight from Winchester, and he'd just sat there, not looking at her once while Wammy took care of the bags. He'd been weird at the House too. Like he'd worked himself up before he'd gotten there. Normally he would've been more dismissive with her but - clearly something had changed in the months that had passed. How long ago had been New York? Four, five months?

That meant it must've been November now. 

"Jane, are you well?" Wammy. It must've been time to finally get briefed. 

She held herself steady, taking a moment before shouting out a quick response of, "Fine! I'll be there in a second, just - just looking for a sweater." 

 

/~/

 

The Doe came into his room 3 minutes after he sent Wammy after her, and like he wanted, she came in alone. 

But her expression was temperate, and she was bundled in a thick ivory cardigan that looked two sizes too large for her. His more recent emotional discovery piqued the temptation of asking how she was feeling - but ultimately, he decided against it, in favor of the task he had in mind for her.

"I need you to go to this address in one hour." The Detective said instead, setting out the written address beside the shopping bags on the table. "Your change of dress is here, as is your burner phone. We've hijacked into the establishment's existing camera feed, it's quite extensive, so I will have eyes on you throughout the time you are on the ground."

Jane shifted her weight - it creaked the old floorboards below her. "Do you know what day it is?" She then asked, catching him off guard with the sudden question.

He could feel that itch, beneath his skin. "November 11th." L answered her, staring intently (perhaps rudely, as even as the seconds ticked on, he felt no need to stop) at her face and the microscopic movements she made. 

"We missed your birthday." She said, confusing him once again as she reached for the bags, taking note of the contents; dress, shoes, bugged jewelry. 

"Birthdays are hardly worth celebrating." L said plainly, not entirely sure what she had to actually say about his missed birthday. "I'm another year closer to my brain reaching it's final development. Physically I won't grow any taller, but my hair follicles might have increased my ability to grow a beard."

He must have said something funny, because at that, Jane smiled. 

"I can't imagine you with a beard." She replied humorously. "It would be like - if you were actually a fishing boat captain or the Prince of Wales. Totally mind-boggling."

"Totally?" He echoed.

"Oh of course." Jane teased. She pulled the slick black dress he chose for her out of the bag and held it up, then against herself. 

"I would never work as the Prince of Wales. There's no future for the British Monarchy in this day and age. I would have run the entire establishment into the ground." He said while she picked the bags up over her shoulder. His words earned him another scoff of amusement, relieving the ever-present tenseness in his stomach.

His friend dismissed herself to his restroom then - and an hour later, she was placed on the ground of their conman's current hunting space. 

 

/~/

 

Thierry Morello (with the oft code name Aiber) was the type of man who people would call more 'emotionally intelligent.' It was true, he wasn't much for book smarts - and he would easily admit that to anyone who asked it of him, but he would argue that point with while scientific splendors and mathematical equations were interesting in their own right; Understanding the relationships and presence of those around you were far more meaningful to ones personal goals. 

What were equations to the understanding of a woman's heart? 

What was electrical engineering to knowing that a politician was having an affair with his intern by a mere softening of his gaze and flexing of his hand? 

Paying attention, close attention, to the emotions and actions of those around him had proved more profitable to him than a Masters Degree ever could have proved to be. There was no need for crude weapons such as guns when Aiber held the most powerful weapon at his disposal - his unwavering, all watching and all understanding eyes. It was no difficulty to him to identify a friend from a foe, a naïve mark to a wary one. He could charm them all with a smile and a sweet word. 

He knew that he had been slightly overbearing in his marks at times. At this time, his charm had relented on a certain high-profile mob presence, whose missing money and whispers from someone who moved through the same underworld circles that he did had unfortunately gained his marks ire. 

Aiber placed himself in the center of a particularly famous casino, full of locals, tourists and employees, and forced himself to relax. He'd drunk two glasses of wine that had been brought for other patrons, and began to meld into a group at a blackjack table that was lead by a loud American man who wore a tall, white cowboy hat that was lined with gold. He understood this man completely, from his first hearty laugh and the way he patted the hand of the young lady at his right. He was around fifty or older, with a rosy face and greying sideburns. Closeted queer - tourist, came here with his family. Two daughters, his wife wasn't with him at the table. 

He readied himself to approach, eying his mark's relaxed smile and eager hands as he grasped out for his cards - when he felt a small form bump into this shoulder, sloshing the wine in his glass, spilling it onto the carpet and onto his shoes. Irritation rose over him instantly, though he contained himself. His suit was wool of the palest mint, and now there was a glass of chateau margaux all over his ankles. 

The person who'd bumped him was younger than he was expecting. She couldn't have been any older than twenty-one, dressed in a simple, black silk dress and with a string of vibrant jewels around her neck. Her features were lovely, he admitted, with wide, dark blue eyes that sparkled like sapphires beneath the casino lights. Her hair was like spun flax, with the oddest undercurrent of peach at the end of her curls, which she'd left to flow loosely around her shoulders.

"I'm so sorry, sir!" She began to apologize profusely, her accent lightly British. 

"That's quite alright, Miss." He said, forcing the charm into his voice, smiling down at her.

The young lady pinked, clearly flattered and embarrassed. She pulled a cloth napkin from the small clutch she had, clutching it to her chest. "Please, sir, if you would allow me?" She asked softly. The cloth brushed against the jewels around her neck - they were real, true sparkling diamonds, emeralds and opals, connected by a shimmering silver chain. 

"Of course." Aiber agreed, allowing her to lead him away from the busy casino floor to one of the rounded, waist high planters that was left fairly empty of patrons. 

She was soft - like a lamb. Her youth and wealth suggested an heiress, or perhaps the guest of a wealthy employer with designs - but neither seemed truly fitting. She looked out of place, uncomfortable in space like this. 

A waiter came forward from the bar at his mark's request, carrying a glass of club soda. 

"May I?" The girl inquired, dabbing her napkin in the liquid. He gestured for her to feel free, and the young lady moved to the floor, on her knees as she dabbed the wine out of his pants, with no self-consciousness to how she appeared to the guests as she cleaned the stain. An heiress could never do so. Nor would the wife or mistress of a wealthy man. A young entrepreneur would offer to have his suit professionally cleaned. An assassin would try to get him into a hotel room, not the semi-public space of casino floor. 

So who was she?

"I think I got most of it out." The girl said then, smiling with hesitation up at him. He observed her work - although his pants leg was now very wet, the red stain had faded away, with only a few spots of pink where the wine had the chance to dry. 

"What was your name, sweet thing?" He asked, blurting his words more intensely than he'd intended - it was lucky he was so able to meld his words with his gentle charisma, which so often got him what he wanted. "With work this fine, I'd like to remember, in case I happen to experience an earthquake in this country's lovely wineries." 

The pretty blonde did not appear nearly as flattered as she had previously, and she was even bold enough to meet his eyes directly, her dark blue eyes almost making his hackles raise. 

"I'm Jane." She answered simply, calmer than he felt at the moment. Until she stiffened then, shifting ever so slightly, like someone had just called for her from across the room.

But incoming was someone not for her, but one who only had eyes for him.

The man who approached was thin - his hair was bone white and long, and pulled back into a tight ponytail at the base of his skull. His features would have been handsome if not for the touch of madness in the man's black eyes. 

"Joshua." His last mark, Elias Kyöstilä, hissed lowly at him. 

For once, he wished he hadn't disliked guns as much as he did.

 

/~/

 

"Kyöstilä should ignore you - but don't try speak, it may gain his attention. Right now, he is only interested in Aiber. Keep it that way." L informed his Doe firmly. This was annoying. 

The Finnish Mob member shouldn't have been there so quickly. His credit card records and reports showed that he had still been in Stockholm when they'd arrived in Monaco. He hadn't realized he would drop everything to rush after Aiber after he'd allowed a rat to drop the conman's location. 

And he'd seen Jane now - frustrating, worrying - Elias Kyöstilä was a dangerous man. He was quicker to act than he'd thought, and had no mind to dispose of those who interrupted his wants. 

She had a gun, strapped beneath the loose silk of her dress. It was small, and contained only six bullets. Kyöstilä had dozens of men, some were likely in the casino floor now. 

"Don't draw attention to yourself." The Detective repeated, staring intently at the array of cameras. Jane was still crouched by the planters, the black of her dress somewhat disguising her against the shiny black marble of the planters. L was having a very frustrating time trying to discern whether or not the Finnish man had armed the men he'd brought, or armed himself. Jane's weapon had been allowed thanks to a bribe that he'd paid to one of the doormen (as sometimes money was the most effective solution than a gun that could be unseen by a metal detector.) However guns weren't the only deadly weapon that existed, and several of the suited men who had joined their boss in the hotel had large arms and strong hands. 

"You have no idea how long I've been searching for you." Kyöstilä said, tone icy and unfriendly, eyes only for Aiber. "You ridiculous man. This isn't our hotel." 

Jane rose to stand, still mostly ignored by the dangerous man. Aiber stood as well, smiling at the white-haired man.

"Hello my friend. As always, your warm nature astounds me." The Frenchman said smoothly, seemingly unaffected by the man. Then, and watching this almost burned him, he reached out for his Doe, wrapping his arm around her narrow shoulders like they were the closest of friends or lovers. "May I introduce you to the Lady Jane? She is a true delight." 

L was unfortunately at a loss at how to direct her - he could not predict Kyöstilä's actions at her presence, whether he would act with hateful jealousy at her presence or if he would dismiss her as a mindless passerby. 

Jane, acting on her own, shortly curtseyed like a maid to the Queen, and gave a demure greeting. 

"Away with you girl." Kyöstilä quietly snarled, not even giving her a true passing glance. 

But the Doe's upper lip stiffened, and her eyes flickered between Aiber and the pale-haired man. He'd made the mistake to stress that he'd provide the conman's safety at his agreement for working for them as needed.

"Come now Elias," Aiber seemed to purr, not releasing Jane's shoulders from his greasy grip. "Do not be so unkind. We were about to have dinner, wouldn't you care to join us?" He lied with a smile, earning more of L's displeasure and Kyöstilä's as he refused to allow the blonde to escape. 

Soon enough, Aiber would realize that this stranger had been all too agreeable in this situation, where any other young woman would have excused herself. Jane wanted to follow through with this job. 

"Stay in public. Do not go to any of their rooms." L ordered, watching Jane's expression. She looked visibly uncomfortable, but no more than she had with merely Aiber. She was still playing the role he'd asked of her. 

Kyöstilä's smile was cruel - he was staring at Jane now, judging her form and face. He was less intelligent than both Jane and Aiber - that was what had made him the conman's mark in the first place, but he wasn't stupid. 

The Finnish man scrapped his teeth against his bottom lip, and then straightened his spine until he stood tall over both of them. "Lead the way, Joshua." He then insisted, in a dark voice. 

Both Aiber and Jane both looked deeply unsettled at the sound. 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 8: Soft

Notes:

hi it is short but it has been two years sorryy

 

 

 

 

---

Monte Carlo, Monaco, France

Back Then

Soft

---

 

 

 

L was becoming lightheaded. A curious symptom until, that is, he realized that he wasn't breathing.

The air he'd been holding was let out immediately at the realization, and he had to force himself to begin to speak to his Doe, who was currently sitting at a dining table with a gun pointed at her beneath it.

Aiber was looking wholly unaffected and unworried, using his own defense and trying to seduce or charm his way out of the situation, with obviously little to no care to Jane. His focus was on himself, his own safety. It was up to L to protect Jane. And he would.

"Make no sudden movements," He said in a very plain, monotone voice, putting much focus into keeping it steady. If she thought he was afraid, she would become afraid. He needed to be strong for her, give her the best case of being able to walk out of that room. "He's trained on you. Police have been called, agents from the EU. They won't enter until the hotel is empty of guests, that's including you."

Jane looked to stiffen at his words, her eyes flickering to Aiber who was still talking beside her.

"I've made no mention of Aiber. The police are only focused on Kyöstilä. Try to ensure that he and his men don't notice the evacuation. Stay calm."

"And you, Lady Jane," Aiber suddenly said, turning to her with a dazzling smile that succeeded only in earning L's first desire to pummel another person's face in. "What is your business here in Monaco?"

"Just a small vacation," Jane said.

"Softer." L commanded immediately. "Be as unnoticeable as possible, even as you answer their questions."

"A gambler at heart?" The Frenchman inquired, raising one brow at her as his eyes crinkled. 

"No," She replied demurely. "I never bet on anything I have no faith in."

L's heartbeat seemed to punctuate that feeling in his chest. And then, it twisted with the realization that she was attempting to make his offer to Aiber.

"Faith is it? You must be quite the astute young lady. How often has your faith been paid back, I wonder?" The man asked, his attention diverting only briefly when a waiter came forward with their drinks. 

"Twice so far." Jane said. "I never had any doubts."

Aiber met his Doe's eye, looking somewhat like he pitied her. "Then you have not yet known all of the world, my dear."

"L," Mr. Wammy's voice was soothing, and the dish of chocolate mousse in front of him did nothing but serve to make his throat feel dry. Their hotel was too far away. He wanted to be the first to divert Jane and Aiber after the teams cornered the Fin. How likely would it be for it to turn violent? 80 percent. Bad odds. "The teams are closing in. Would you like to join us in the helicopter?"

"Yes, I would. If there are a spare set of headsets I would pilot on my own, Quillsh." He said immediately, standing 

"I would advise against such a thing." Wammy countered calmly. 

Prickly frustration itched under his skin at the unexpected denial. "You know I am capable of piloting as well as you are."

"Yes, you are. But once we do land, Jane will likely be needing some support from a friend. She'll have been in the company of murderers, thugs and predators for hours. If you are piloting the helicopter, you would be unable to provide her this support." Lies. These were lies, Wammy was telling him. Well, perhaps not whole lies, these were at the very least factually true statements. But they weren't why Wammy was denying him. 

But L didn't wish to dwell on it when he could still hear his friend, his oldest and closest friend, talking while in the presence of a man who'd once drowned three of his lovers for infidelity. If he piloted, he could accelerate as much as he wished, could get to her as quickly as possible. 

His thoughts and feelings though did not make Wammy's words any less poignant however. 

Scared. She'd need comfort... She'd been injured in New York, but this was a different matter, Wedy had never harmed her, never threatened her. Wedy had protected her. But Aiber would not. He was more cowardly than Jane was. And she, believing in him, in L, would put herself in front of the crossfire for him because she trusted that he would protect her. 

But if Kyöstilä put his hands on her - was Wammy right? Would she want him to comfort her? She'd said she was anxious when she'd been speaking to Roger about her experience last time. 

Her mind had been lost when she arrived at the House. A girl, with red-dyed hair, silent, and not a memory to speak of. 

And all she'd needed was him.

"You're right." L relented quietly. Quillish laid his hand on his shoulder, beginning to redirect him to his shoes. "Tell all of the police to wait and to clear the rooftop of the casino."

"At once."

 

/~/

 

Jane was remembering to breathe. 

L hadn't spoken to her in a little while, but she knew he was there. Knew he could see her, knew every movement and motion that happened in the entire room she was in. She was safe. Even there, she was safe.

The drink in front of her she had been sipping, some anise flavored cocktail that had been ordered for her by Aiber, was dripping with condensation, dampening the square napkin the waiter had set with it. It had been placed there with a large cube of ice, almost as tall as the glass it was in. And now it was smaller, watering down the liquor. She'd thought to drink it properly, if just for her nerves, but by the way this case was going, it might've been wiser to wait until she was back in the cute little hotel room above the patisserie that L booked for them. Her knee began to bob slightly - until Aiber's hand suddenly clasped at her thigh under the table, his large hand tight while he made her leg cease.

"Miss Jane." Kyöstilä then addressed her, his strange gaze touched with dull jealousy and something a bit unhinged. When he spoke, she saw his teeth were grey. "Where in England do you come from?"

"Soho." She lied hesitantly, following L's last instruction. Demure, he'd said.

The Finnish man was threatened by her. But only if he found her worth being jealous of. So she had to make herself small. Weak. Soft. Sweet. Unremarkable.

"Soho. Sad place." 

The dining room was starting to look thinner. Less tables were looking occupied, as their guests left and yet were not replaced by new tourists or gamblers. They were being escorted out, she knew. Soon, they'd be the only ones left. But first - Aiber.

She had no idea if he'd know it - but she had to attempt it anyway, or else if this went downhill then she'd walk away without knowing if she ever could've managed it.

Jane lowered her hand to the conman's hand that still rested on her thigh. And with her finger, she began to tap out a message.

L is watching us. He's willing to offer you a deal out of this if you follow his instructions.

It was when she tapped out the message the second time that the fingers he had on her thigh began to dig in sharply, enough to hurt her. Jane grasped at her watered down cocktail, drinking from the glass as a way to muffle the whimper of pain that threatened to escape her.

"Joshua." Kyöstilä said, suddenly a touch more tender. "Let us retire to my room. I've chosen one with a view of the beach. You enjoy looking upon the ocean, don't you."

The room was finally empty. Empty of everyone. All except her, Aiber, Kyöstilä and his guards. Not even the staff were there any longer - L had all of them escorted out, all without any of them noticing.

Well? 

"I don't think I will, my friend." Aiber said to the man, with a smile as sweet as a kiss.

Jane saw the red dots of the sniper - and she grabbed the front of the conman's mint suit, yanking him down over her and onto the ground just moments before the room was stormed. She took her small gun from her thigh holster, twisting herself so that she was laying on top of him, her gun trained on the large men who themselves had begun to remove their weapons.

But alas. 

They were stupid, brainless men who followed a man like Kyöstilä - but they fell just like he did. 

 

/~/

 

Thierry had no choice, in the end, but to choose L. 

What other options were there? There was his mark and his goons - or there was this girl, with that earnest look in her eyes and a tiny gun in her palm.

He was glad to be on the ground when the men stormed in, arresting his mark without pause. Some of them were police - and the skin of his palms were getting itchy as the room filled with them. But another was an old man, dressed strangely in a vintage black and grey suit, ornamented with a silver pocket watch and a crest pin in the lapel.

This gentlemen strode within the room without note nor care for the police, easily walking past them and directly towards where he laid with this girl.

"Jane, Mr. Aiber. May I escort you outside?" This man inquired politely, offering a hand to them.

Thierry adjusted his suit and stood on his own. He would not bow so easily, even when he knew he was bought. He was nothing if not a tease. 

"Yes of course," He said agreeably, pushing back his hair until he no longer looked so unsettled. "After you." 

 

 

 

Chapter 9: safe

 

---

Winchester, England

Wammys House

Safe

---

 

 

"And then what happened?" The new addition, a young boy at the age of nine, demanded as she ended her story of L's last case to her rapt audience at dinner.

It had been her night, but Roger had insisted on cooking anyway. He'd made her favorite, a large crock of potato leek soup and a roast of lamb, served with the typical accompaniments of mashed potatoes, peas and gravy, so the children would eat something at all. Near, to her surprise, had eaten all of his soup that he was served.

"We added the conman to our dime." Jane told the boy, cutting into her lamb. "Now, just as the art thief is, we can call upon him whenever we need additional men on the ground." 

"Why would L need men on the ground?" 

She turned and looked into the new addition's eyes, knowing keenly that he would one day be joining L's ranks.

Mihael Keehl joined Wammy House recently, and had been a shy, quiet child initially. But like herself, as he got comfortable, got used to the new environment - he became himself. He told the younger kids scary stories, he led adventures through the house. His trust had to be hard won, but once it had been, he'd allowed flickers to who he really was. A nine year old boy with bricks stacked so high around him, trying to keep himself safe. 

It hurt. Seeing him, Mello as Wammy had deemed him, hurt her heart to the point where it ached.

"People will always need other people." Jane told him. "L and I can't do everything on our own. And there are some things that just can't be taught." 

The boy looked surprised at her words - and he lowered his blue eyes down, back to his dinner plate. He'd been picking at it, but it didn't seem to interest him. 

"Now, children, we'll be starting your evening time." Roger said then, clearly ready for the end of the night so that he would no longer have to monitor the dozen children at his dining table, fussing about with his nice linens and fine china. 

Many of the children whined and complained, needing to be shuffled along after the end of dinner back to the play room. Others went along happily, eager to play or continue whatever games they'd started before they'd sat to eat.

Near and Mello stayed. 

A boy of six and one of nine. 

"Mello, would you like something else for supper?" Jane asked in a lilted, casual fashion, standing from the table to gather the plates. 

"I'm not hungry." He lied, watching as she walked around Near, clearing the table as she did. 

"Yes you are." The younger boy stated neutrally, placing his clean napkin on the tabletop. It was folded perfectly into a swan. "I can hear your stomach growling."

"Shut up you little worm!" Mello snapped back, his cheeks ruddy with embarrassment. 

"Mello!" Jane interrupted immediately, dropping the plates down and snapping her fingers at him. "Enough of that. Near, go and join your friends. Mello, clear the rest of the table and come with me into the kitchen."

Near did as she asked without delay, climbing down from his chair and leaving while the older boy sulked. 

The Doe turned on her heel and entered into the kitchen, immediately going to the kitchen cupboards and searching for one of the packages she'd brought back from New York. She had to climb up and kneel on the counter tops to reach them. She'd thought it was cute, some pack of noodles with a cartoon character on them in mangled English on the outside. She dropped the package of noodles down, at the same time that Mello had sullenly set all of the plates and bowls next to the sink. 

He'd taken all of them at once, with even all of the silverware carefully balancing on top, the bowls stacked neatly and the bone china cleared of all larger debris from dinner.

"Thanks," Jane said to him, grunting slightly when the counter pushed into her stomach as she slid down back onto her feet. She reached into the fridge, retrieving one of the packages of meat from the drawers. Beef tenderloin - well, Roger wouldn't miss it too much. "Start washing those, use the gloves under the sink." 

She turned on her skillet, the spit of the gas alighting clearly confusing Mello. She could almost hear the thoughts as they went through his head, just from looking at his face.

What's she doing? Am I being punished? 

Jane oiled the pan, letting it get hot. "Go on, hop to it. We'll need those dishes for breakfast tomorrow." 

Mello closed his mouth and he stepped over to the sink, doing as she asked silently as his wheels turned. 

She salted the steak before sitting it on the pan, waiting patiently as it seared.

"Why choose Aiber in the first place?" He finally asked.

"Sometimes, there are skills that can never be taught. Field work is just as important as what L does behind his screen. There will always be cases that can't be solved without it." She explained mildly, pouring the hot water over the dried noodles. While those cooked, she turned the steak. "And we'll always need someone to serve between L and local officials." 

"And that's you." Mello stated, drying a clean plate in his hands. "Why would L need anyone else but you? You and Aiber serve the same purpose - why would some conman even - " But then, suddenly, the boy stopped. He stopped completely, going quiet but not truly silent. But then he picked up another plate, wiping it clean with a towel. It wasn't as skilled as it could've been, but from a boy who was only a whisper from ten, it was good. He looked to her. "What are you making?"

Jane stuck a piece of the medium rare steak in her mouth, checking it's flavor before she arranged the bowl of ramen. 

"Your dinner." She said simply, setting the wide-brimmed bowl down on the counter for him. 

It was still a little humble, especially compared to earliers dinner, made of two dollar ramen with red broth, flakes of dried seaweed from the package and Roger's favorite cut of steak sitting on top of the cheap noodles - but it had Mello's face flickering with emotion from behind the tall brick walls he'd built around him. Something soft.

"But - I don't understand." The boy breathed hesitantly, his brows furrowing with soft confusion. "Why would you - ?"

But Jane just smiled and stepped around the counter to where he stood, setting a fork down for him. She then kissed the top of his flax-blonde hair, before leaving him to eat privately. 

In the morning, the bowl was clean, washed and dried in the dish rack. And Mello never kept his walls so high around her again.

 

/~/

 

She wasn't good at boxing.

Or maybe Wammy was just too good at boxing. 

By her nineteenth birthday, L's project still ran supreme, so she was still in the upstairs drawing room, hitting the hard foam torso that was set up there. It was too heavy and hard for her to really punch, but Wammy did not seem to be very celebratory of the occasion as he continued to give her instructions on how to aim the best way to damage someone's kidney's with a simple strike. Of course, when she would fail to land it, Wammy would sigh shortly.

Jane was much better at the books. 

It even made her better at discerning the children's moods, and Roger's too. Though her arms now always ached so much that turning the pages was harder than normal.

On the morning of her birthday, she took advantage of the weekend break to sneak into the grandest bathroom, locking it behind her before she turned the tap to begin filling the large tub with hot water. 

By default, she opened the cabinets that were inside, checking the cupboards, under the sink and behind curtains. It was a silly thing to do, as B had been missing for years now, but it was second nature ever since L's old successor had hidden there to spy on her.

Green epsom salts were poured into the bathwater along with a glug of lily-scented bubblebath, which immediately began to bubble up eagerly to the sides of the tub.

And then, because she thought 'why not?' she lit a few candles as well. It was six in the morning, still dark outside, but she liked the way the pillar candles looked.

Her muscles sang with satisfaction when she finally sank her body inside of the water. If it continued on like this, she might've had to beg off the boxing with Wammy. He almost was always here lately, with the cases that L was taking not needing him to fly out or change his location. But even though he was still in the house, it was like she never saw him. She would've started hounding him and banging on his door if not for her sore, exhausted, frustrated body at the end of every day.

Jane sighed as she sank deeper in the water. The ends of her hair, the very ends, which were barely peachy anymore, were due to be trimmed away. They meant she was a whole new person now. The person she had been, the one she didn't remember, might as well have been a distant dream to her. But, like the shadow of B, it haunted her. Like a horrible monster with sharp teeth, waiting for her to grew soft and agreeable before it came out and devoured her.

If not for L, it might've. But he was there, like he always was, the hand out of her nightmares. His presence in the House soothed her after every nightmare, no matter how silly or farfetched, even just knowing he was the on the floor above her. Likely always awake, sat hunched and curled up on his chair, treats within arms reach and his eyes pouring intensely into his computer screen.

When L was around she was safe. Even if she couldn't see him, she could feel it was so.

Jane soaked in her bath until the water grew too tepid to linger, and she put on her simple flannel robe and tiptoed past the other rooms until she reached hers.

It hadn't occurred to her until much later that the house, now at 7:30 in the morning, should've been much louder with the rousing of children.

She'd dried and put up her hair, dressed, pulled on her warmest socks and prepared herself for another boisterous, busy day, all the while peacefully unaware. 

As when she'd finally gotten to the bottom of the stairs and entered the dining room she was shocked by every member of the household shouting at the tops of their little lungs, "Happy birthday!" With their little whistles and noisemakers shaking, their sparklers flashing and their little feet stomping and bouncing around.

And there was L, wearing a party hat on the top of his head, standing behind the rest of them with Roger and Mr. Wammy - looking pleased with himself.

And her heart jumped.

 

 

 

Notes:

see once i no longer care about wordcount, im able to get these out faster