Death Note Fan Fiction ❯ Psych ❯ Molly ( Chapter 7 )

Psych
Death Note AU
(L/Light or Light/L)

Summary: Sometimes the strangest of happenings, by that merit alone, are the most memorable. Lawliet, a professional who makes his living by understanding the workings of the human mind, finds that a chance meeting throws him a real curve. Yaoi. (As always, it will be of the L and Light variety)

Disclaimer: Please see Chapter 1 for full disclaimer.

---

Chapter 7: Molly

“Doctor, are you listening t’ me?”

L roused himself from distraction, pushing his glasses up higher upon his nose. “Yes, of course.” He re-crossed his legs, and readjusted his professional concern expression. He’d quite missed the remainder of the man’s words after he’d paired his wife’s visits - at a certain psychiatric office - with infidelity.

“Well, what do ye think I should do about it??” His Irish accent was getting thicker, the more agitated he became. He was only about in his early 40s, not a bad looking fellow. He was mostly trim, though it looked like he worked out to keep his fondness for ale from showing, and had close cropped brown hair and notably blue eyes. He worked for a local business office in the city. He was also not the picture of calm and stable at the moment.

“Your wife, Molly, is it?”

“It is,” the man confirmed, twisting the edge of his suit coat anxiously. His chiseled face contained hope, fear and condemnation.

L needed to tread this ground carefully. “Was there any reason you’re given to believe she was seeking counseling?”

The man before him had handed him a bit of a situation. It had taken him off guard to say the least. The accusations were of a tricky nature.

“Doctor!” Joe Finnegan’s voice rose sharply. “That’s ‘ardly the point ‘ere, is it?!” He was now beside himself with anger. With panic. He was losing control of his emotions.

His volatility set L’s nerves on edge. From what he’d observed thus far, this man had a propensity for losing self control and seemed the type to give in to violence.

He focused on calming his patient down, trying to redirect him back to normalcy. “I understand that Joe, I do.” The man’s wide eyes fixed on him. He was listening at least. “But you have more information than I do, and I need to know the things you know. You have to help me so that I can help you.” So far so good. “Is that fair enough?” he prompted, trying to get a rapport going again. A conversation would give rise to rationality more than the one-sided explosion the man seemed headed for.

Mr. Finnegan nodded. “Fair,” he said a little raspily. He cleared his throat. “Fair enough.”

Joe suspected her of cheating. Though the infidelity was, as of yet, unconfirmed. But, the manner in which it would have been happening, through a mental health office, was of personal import to L. L had anticipated something like this. It had only been a matter of time, what with the methods that person chose to employ...

“So,” L continued, tapping the point of his pen gently against his ruled tablet. “You have no idea why she might have felt the need to talk to someone?” he prodded gently. He suspected that, regardless of what was transpiring at that office, the wife might have had a genuine reason to be there. At least initially. In order to diffuse Joe, the ticking time bomb, he had to get to the root of the marital problems.

“Not a whit,” Joe said, his voice harsh with frustration. He ran his hand roughly through his spiky, gelled hair, like he wanted to pull it out. “There’s nothin’.”

“And how you discovered that she was seeking counseling--”

“I followed ‘er!” Joe jumped to his feet and started pacing. “Of course I followed ‘er.” He was muttering now. “Who wouldn’t? She was sneakin’ ‘round. Keeping it a secret.”

L chewed the inside of his lip as he considered the man’s instability and how he could continue this without setting him off. “Might she have kept it a secret for other reasons? Trouble at home?”

“Doctor! There is no way. She’s not goin’ there for-” he jabbed sharply at the air with his finger “-for counselin’! She’s met somebody. And when I find de arsehole who’s takin’ my wife away from me, I’m goin’ to slit ‘is bealin’ throat--!”

“Joe, please sit down.”

“At first, maybe,” he continued to rant, still gesturing wildly. “Maybe we ‘ad some issues she’d be wantin’ to complain about. Sure! Fine! I’m a reasonable man. Even I could see somethin’ like that.” Aggression was practically pouring off of him.Tick, tick, tick...

“Joe, listen to me. You cannot idly threaten someone’s life. If anyone hears you, there is not much I can do to help you.” He appealed to his patient’s sense of self-preservation, hoping he had some left.

“Oh, this is no idle threat. I’ll teach ‘er to cheat on me--!”

“Joe,” L tried again. He was totally losing him. “Even if Molly had feelings of some sort for anyone at that office, it doesn’t mean the sentiments are returned.” Joe hadn’t voiced a name for this office she was going to, but he deeply suspected that it was the one at which Light worked. How many of the people that were employed there functioned as the brunet did - offering extra services?

“Coming ‘ome, blushing like a teenage girl. She thinks I can’t see it??” he raged. “She thinks I’m stupid? Wouldn’t notice her wettin’ another man’s wick? I’ll find ‘im. I’ll find that bloody bastard and prune the testicles right off de gobshite before ‘e can blink twice. Making a slag out of my Molly. I’ll fucking kill ‘im.”  
 
---

When L got home that evening, he fell upon his bed face first and didn’t move for a good 15 minutes.

At this point, his phone buzzed in his pocket, happily informing him that he had a message.

Some days.... some days his patients drained the absolute life from his very bones.

He ignored the message in favor of his thoughts.

What were the odds that Molly was a patient of Light’s? Was the brunet destined to die at the hands of his own questionable professional practices and one jealous husband or boyfriend too many?

It would be his own damn fault, L thought petulantly, even as worry gnawed in his gut. He’s quite intelligent... would he really work himself into a corner like this? How far did he take things with his patients?

Were there limits to what he found acceptable or was anyone fair game?
(Like me?)

A soft, musical pipping alerted L of an incoming call. With a weighted sigh, he dragged his cell out of his pocket and up to his ear, not bothering to lift his face from where he’d planted it on the bed.

“Hello?” he said, muffled slightly by the bed sheets.

“Tough day at the office?”

Light.

Irritation and calm fought within him at the sound of the brunet’s voice. “What makes you say that?”

“Probably not the fact that you sound like you are burying your head in your mattress and at such an early hour...” he said in a mockingly speculative voice. “Let’s say... it’s my intuition.”

“What do you want?” L muttered, rolling over upon his back and rubbing the bridge of his nose. Damn. How had the other man come to anticipate even something such as that? L was sure Light had never seen him do it.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Patient confidentiality?”

“Something like that.”

There was a brief silence, and L debated bringing up Molly Finnegan. He really wanted to know, and yet he didn’t want to know. The last thing he wanted to hear was that Molly was Light’s patient or that the two were boning each other, though it could be that she was seeing someone else at the office. At the same time, he was more than a little concerned that Joe presented a real threat.

But it’s not my place to offer out warnings or tell him what to do. But if I don’t....

Instead of pursuing that directly, he went for determining the purpose of the brunet’s call. His voice sounded mildly suspicious and overly bland as he said, “Were you calling to see if you could take me out for that drink I’ll probably say ‘no’ to?”

Light laughed quietly. It was hard to tell if it was genuine or not. “That would seem to be a foolish endeavor,” he agreed solemnly. There was a weighty pause before he continued. “However,” he drawled lazily, “I happen to know that a certain someone has already agreed to be a sight more compliant than that.”

Some quality to Light’s rich, suggestive voice made it sound like the brunet was speaking directly into his ear. L felt butterflies in his stomach. “Really?” he replied archly, as if the breath hadn’t seemed to have been knocked out of him. Suddenly it was as if they were back in L’s office again, where this so-called ‘conversation’ took place. There hadn’t been many words exchanged, to be honest. He’d been coerced using more physical methods. “That would be a rather stupid thing to agree to, blindly.”

There was no conviction in his voice. He was already getting caught in this game between them where words were just words and tone and inflection ruled all. It could happen without a moment’s notice. One minute, everything was normal. The next, he was getting trapped and tangled in web that he couldn’t escape from. One that he couldn’t be sure he wanted to escape from. It was like his body would freeze and his mind started working at half speed. Light’s voice thrummed through him, reaching deep inside him to resonate and bend him to his will.

“It’s not stupid to know when to give in,” Light said enigmatically.

L let out a shaky breath as his body flushed. “The deal was one drink,” he said in what he hoped was a firm voice, responding already to the lascivious quality of the brunet’s voice which was making a mess of him.

“The deal was whatever I say.” Light’s tone was sensual and entitled, hiding a smile. “Anything I say.”

L shuddered as reaction rippled through him, violating his efforts to keep it at bay. He sat up, shaking his head and pulling the phone further from his ear. Remember Molly. “I want to talk to you about something.”

“Then it looks like it would be in your best interests to meet me for that drink.”

“But--” he didn’t want a drink, he wanted to get to the bottom of this.

“But nothing,” Light interrupted smoothly. “I’ll see you at seven. Old Bank of England Pub.”

“Light,” he implored. “If you’d just--”

“Don’t make a liar out of yourself, Lawliet,” came the imperious command. (Don’t break our deal, that was what he was really saying.)

L growled as the phone went dead in his hand. “Why are you so--! So strong-headed! Damnit!” But he knew the answer to that. It’s just how the brunet was. And he’d likely had years of getting away with it. Years of fawning followers hanging off of his every word, encouraging his personality to warp quite unfavorably.  

He was equally annoyed that Light could convince him half the time to just go along with it.

“Gah!” He ran his hands through his hair, destroying any semblance of order. He wished he’d never heard of Molly Finnegan. He didn’t even know the woman and he was thoroughly jealous of her potential connection to Light.

“Mrrow?”

Blackie padded into the room, tilting her head at him.

“That was the sound of me losing my mind,” he told her. “Don’t worry about it, you’ll still get fed.”

She hopped up onto the bed, or tried to - missing the mark. For her lack of upward mobility, she compensated with claws and the willpower of a natural rock-face climber.

The stressed sound of cloth under claws made him wince.

“Mrr-ow!” she announced triumphantly as she reached her goal then walked over to jump onto his lap.

He rubbed his hand over her head, which she seemed quite pleased with. “Lucky you, not caring about the plight of humans.”

She purred loudly.

He heaved a sigh and picked up his phone again. Pushing buttons, he tried to determine the location of the bar he’d never been to and the best way to get there.

---

It was a little chilled and drizzly that evening. L turned up the collar on his long, fitted, black wool peacoat as he looked down the street and waited for a break in traffic. It came soon enough and he crossed over to the Victorian grey stone building, his destination.

The door was rather grandiose. An oversized, recessed setting in stone held the large dark wood doors with their brass panels and handles and the ornate, wood framed glass above them which still bore the gold and black letters “The Old Bank of England”. Apparently, the pub was a renovation of a closed bank and had become fairly popular. He’d read a bit about it online while looking up directions. The building was almost one hundred years old, now, but the restorations made it look current. He could see inside a little, through the embellished panes of glass in the thick wood of the doors. The interior looked expansive, high-ceilinged, and teeming with people.

He grabbed hold of a brass handle with his gloved hand and swung the door open.

The view struck him dumb. It was amazing. He’d always liked architecture and this old place had been beautified, refurbished and made to shine. Lustrous dark wood was the unifying theme. Thick gold molding upon the soaring ceiling and walls, with cinnamon colored accents, lent a rich, elegant warmth to the space. Wrought iron banisters with polished wood tops trailed the stairs and the second floor. Everything wrapped around the central focus of the bar with its carved chocolate colored wood, black granite tops, and central structure of bottle lined shelves that would have required the use of a ladder to access its lofty heights. Brass chandeliers leaned down from the ceiling on either end of it.

He shuffled inside, trying not to look so obviously fascinated and awed by the place as he looked up and over and all around.

Murals decorated the walls in certain areas, and diamond patterns in cream and black swept dizzyingly across the tiled floors where there wasn’t carpet.

It was beautiful. Just beautiful. And totally packed.

Ten to seven at night was a little early for most pubs to be this busy. Every small table he could see in the wings, nooks and crannies seemed to be taken and the bar was equally swarmed.

L took off his gloves and shoved them into his coat pockets as he kept walking.

How did I never realize this was here? What a waste.

It wasn’t horribly, terribly, far from where he lived, though he had to take a bit of a drive to get to it. He should probably make a point of branching out and visiting places that were further than walking distance in the future.

Everywhere, people were drinking, talking, laughing and eating. There was the clinking of dinnerware, the gleam of light upon the rims of glasses and upon other shining accents in the room. It should have felt a little crowded but the layout and the super high ceilings removed that impression and gave one of sumptuous elegance instead.

With a bar this big, they must have quite a selection.

L managed to slip into a small gap in people at the counter and soon caught the eye of one of the bartenders. After finished dispensing the orders he’d taken already, he came over to take L’s.

“What can I do you for?” the young man said with a smile.

L ignored the wordplay, figuring it was a patented fishing for an extra tip - something he had no interest in entertaining. He tipped well enough regardless. Unless, of course, the person was a complete shame to the profession. Then, that was another matter entirely. “Do you have Bowmore?”

“Do I ‘ave Bowmore, ‘e asks me!” the bartender laughed good-naturedly, his voice carrying to his workmates. He leaned over, elbow on the bar and said with a wink, “12 year, 18 year, Darkest 15 or Legend?”

Wow. Color me impressed. “I’ll have the--”

“18 year, served neat. Am I right?”

“You’re certainly trying to earn a big tip tonight.”

The bartender chummily put both of his elbows on the bar top and grinned. “Go on, say you’re impressed. I won’t mind.”  His eyes panned over L a bit. “I’ll even tell you ‘ow I called it.”

“Tell me how you knew,” L countered easily, “and maybe I’ll tell you I’m impressed.”
Is he hitting on me? He didn’t want to assume, but he was getting the distinct impression...

“I’d be impressed if he could actually manage to find you that drink, instead of wasting time ogling you,” Light said blandly, materializing at L’s elbow. He spoke quite loudly enough to be perfectly audible to the young man behind the counter who was now glaring at him as he went to fetch the drink.

“Always one to make an entrance, I see,” L said, glancing over at him.

It being so crowded, they were in exceedingly tight quarters, practically pushed against each other where they stood at the counter.

Light shrugged. “And I see you arrived early. Eager to get a head start on me?”

“Hardly,” L said drolly. “Though maybe I should have, seeing as you’re such a lightweight.”

“Sticks and stones,” the brunet said, tossing his bangs out of his eyes. “What did you order?”

“An 18 year old Bowmore.”

“Oh, aren’t we a Scotch snob,” Light teased.

“If I wanted to be a snob about it, I’d have ordered a room temperature bottled water to go with it.”

Light grinned at him. “Ultimate snobbery. Who would have thought?”

“Here you are,” the bartender said a few minutes later, sliding a squat, stemmed glass snifter with a warm amber colored liquid swirling the bottom in front of L. The barkeep spared another irritated look at Light for having interrupted earlier, before looking back at L and turning the charm back on and starting to chat him up.

Light propped his chin on his hand and regarded him with an impassive stare. “He’s taken, you know.”

The young man had the look of stifled anger. “Who are you to--”

“To interrupt?” Light shrugged with a smile. “Just someone who really wants to order a drink and is trying to figure out why the bartender isn’t tending his bar very well.”

This got a flustered reaction from the pub employee. “I’m sorry, sir.” He bowed slightly, in overly formal, almost Edwardian apology. “What’ll you ‘ave?”

“What he’s having. It wouldn’t do to mix alcohols, am I right?”

Some small understanding dawned upon the bartender and he looked back and forth between the two of them. Before he made up his mind whether to take the comment as an indication to give up, he went to fetch the other drink.

L wiped a hand over his face. “Honestly,” he muttered. “Must you?”

“What? I thought that was quite tactful, considering.”

“I suspect you also ordered the same thing as you couldn’t have helped but notice he had to use the ladder to get mine.”

“Indeed,” Light agreed amiably. He picked up L’s glass and took a sip, while also pulling a damp piece of paper off of the bottom.

“What’s that?” L asked, deciding not to comment on the abduction of his drink.

Light handed it to him and he saw that it had a phone number upon it.

“Let’s see if he tries to slip you another one,” Light commented blithely as he took another sip. “This is really quite good. Never quite got used to the smell of Scotch, though.”

“I’m not getting my drink back, am I?”

“Yours is on the way.” Light paused, swirling the amber liquid in its glass. “Hmmn. Do you think I should leave you alone with your new friend? I wouldn’t want to interrupt a budding relationship.”

“Give me that,” L said, swiping his glass back and tipping it to his lips.  Stealing my drink. Please. Like I’d let that slide so easily. The scotch was smooth and strong, making his mouth burn and tingle pleasantly as it rolled over his tongue. It was one he had only ever had on rare occasions. His eyes closed as he savored it.

“You drink scotch like you’re having an orgasm,” Light said, gazing at him with his eyes at half mast, a sexy smile lingering about his lips.

The bartender chose that moment to return. “Um, your drink, sir,” he said, sliding the new glass towards L as he stared at him a little fixedly.

L lowered his empty glass. It wasn’t lost on him that the drink was supposed to go to Light. It seemed the bartender was confused or perhaps a little distracted. “Thank you, Uh--”

“Todd,” the bartender said, re-engaging immediately. “It’s a good year, isn’t it?” His tone and gaze were encouraging, and he looked like he was waiting for L to take another drink. His eyes strayed briefly to L’s lips, which were still tingling from the alcohol.

“I tend to like it,” L said in agreement, wondering how long their bartender was planning on hanging around.

“You seemed to like it a lot,” Todd said, pulling his bedroom eyes back up to meet L’s.

This was starting to become one of the more awkward situations L had experienced at a bar, and he’d certainly had quite a few. Now he’d feel weird if he did take another drink with ‘Todd’ staring at him like that, considering what Light had just said. Which was an utter shame, because he really wanted to have some more of it.

“That is why I ordered it,” L said, lifting the new glass. “Though this one, I’m afraid, isn’t mine.”

“It’s on me.”

“Ah,” L said. “But...” He glanced at Light.

Todd the bartender said, “Right then. Hold on.”

He disappeared for a minute, and then returned, cracking the top on a longneck which he put in front of Light before promptly ignoring him again. He turned his back slightly, giving his full attention to L. “That one’s not a scotch drinker, that much’s obvious.”

Out of his peripheral vision, he could see Light shrug minimally and take a swig of the bottle of Strongbow. It was true that he wasn’t one for scotch, and there was a good chance that a dry cider was exactly the sort of thing he might have ordered, seeing as the bartender appeared to have a good eye for pegging people’s tastes, but...

“Go on, ‘ave a drink,” the young man encouraged. “No one’s doing without, now.”

L sighed internally and gave in to the call of the Bowmore. If the start of this evening was any indication, he was going to need more than a few sips of alcohol to get him through the rest of it. He did his best to make sure he did not change expression as he did so. He hadn’t realized before that he even made any sort of face as he drank.

Contrary to Light’s belief, there was no second phone number under this glass. Speaking of the brunet, he seemed to be leaving L to sink or swim on his own. The only indication he was even paying attention to this little exchange, as he placidly sipped his cider, was the brief glance they shared and the amusement at his expense that seemed to lurk in those russet eyes.

L jumped slightly as a hand covered his.

“You aren’t together, right?” Todd the bartender said, leaning in and meeting his eyes rather forwardly.

“Not exactly,” L said, floundering a little. He didn’t know what to do, being hit on by another guy in public for the first time, and being on the receiving end of a heated gaze like that. Not to mention, with Light standing by. If he and Light were together, you’d think he’d have the good grace to help bail him out of this instead of sitting there watching the show.

Jerk.

“I get off at 11,” the other man said. He pushed a small, folded piece of paper into L’s palm and closed L’s fingers around it. His hand was overly warm. L fought the urge to jerk his hand back. He was coming on way too heavy. “I ‘ope to see you later.” He began to lean in close, like he was in for a kiss.

“Lawliet,” Light said, like he was calling him to heel. Both he and the bartender turned to look at him as he put his empty bottle on the bar unhurriedly and tossed down a few bills. “Our table is free.”

“What table?” the bartender asked, looking back and forth between them.

Light shrugged off the question as he stood. “Thanks for the drink, but wasn’t what I would have ordered. Perhaps you should work a little more on reading the mood of your customers.” He accented his statement by placing the tiny folded paper, which he’d taken from L, upon the bar’s shiny surface.

“Bollocks,” Todd uttered under his breath as they left.

“You certainly took your time,” L said with a frown. It seemed Light had actually made some sort of reservation or something, as the place was still as packed as ever, and they did indeed have an open table waiting for them.

“You’re a grown man, I figured you could handle it.”

L leaned across the table and hissed, “I’ve told you I’m not accustomed to such things.” Honestly! How many times did he have to say it - that before Light, he’d only dated women? It was like the brunet took some kind of perverse joy in making him admit it over and over. “How far were you willing to see that go?”

“It’s partly your fault - saying we weren’t here together,” Light said unrepentantly. “Besides, it was interesting to see how you just utterly buckle under that sort of pressure.”

L’s frown intensified.

Light smiled infuriatingly at him. He leaned in and took L’s hand in his, turning it palm up and smoothing it flat. “Just about everything you did was like an open invitation.” He traced a finger upon L’s palm and felt L’s hand jerk in his. “I’ll bet if he started tearing your clothes off, you simply would have stared at him wide-eyed as he did it.”

L tried to yank his hand back, the words pissed him off so much.

Light held fast, holding L’s eyes with his ruddy amber ones. “I’m not wrong.”

“Let go.”

“That’s why hearing it is pissing you off. You know I’m right.”

L regarded him with an intensely unfriendly look.

“Oh, come on, Lawliet, don’t be like that,” Light soothed. “It’s one of your more fascinating qualities. I’m not faulting you for it in the least.”

“And somehow that is doing little to mollify me.”

“That’s because you’re ornery.”

“You’re treading on thin ice, Light.” L was becoming increasingly inclined to part company with the brunet, agreement be damned.

“Ok, ok,” Light said, releasing him and raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I’m sorry. Truly. Stay a little longer?” He flashed one of those annoyingly compelling smiles at him. “Please?”

L slanted him an assessing look, debating it.

Light leaned in, and fixed him with wide, innocent, eyes. L knew they were a lie, and a precursor to a performance, but they were still very beautiful. Like cognac amber. “I’ve misbehaved, and I’m sorry. Sometimes I just can’t help myself. Please don’t hold it against me?”

“Do those eyes actually work on anyone?”

Light smiled, just the corner of his lips quirking up on one side. “They’re working on you at least a little.”

“You think so, do you?” L gave him an unimpressed look to demonstrate just how little he was being swayed. Though, in actuality, Light was correct.

“Well, not enough to keep you from being upset with me,” he said ruefully. “But perhaps enough to let me buy you dinner and make it up to you?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Then how about another drink?”

“On one condition,” L said.

“What might that be?”

“I need to ask you about something.”

“Oh, right, you’d mentioned.”

L allowed Light to flag down one of the waiters and order them a pair of drinks, like he wanted, before broaching the subject of Molly Finnegan.

“I thought you weren’t in the mood for a cider?” L asked, raising a brow as Light took a drink off of a fresh bottle.

He shrugged. “Maybe not, but I’d already started.”

“So the bartender was right,” L probed.

“He wasn’t off. I drink Strongbow often enough. It isn’t as sweet some of the others.” He looked at L and rolled his eyes. “I never said I didn’t like it, I just said I wouldn’t have picked it at the moment.”

L leaned back in his chair and swept a fully assessing, critical gaze over his companion. “Perhaps.”

“What?” Light asked, looking suspicious.

“You’re so full of it.”

For the first time ever, Light looked well and truly startled.  “Excuse me?” he got out after a moment or two.

L shook his head and laughed a little, taking a sip of his drink. He could feel Light’s eyes on him, busily trying to pry him apart. “You,” L said, “were jealous.”

“Oh, come now,” Light scoffed, leaning back in his chair and raising his bottle to his mouth. His eyes contested the ease of his body language. They were quite sharp and watchful.

“Your fun backfired, and your well-hidden jealousy likes to manifest as low blows and barbed comments. There was no other reason to insult the bartender’s assessment of your preferred drink, when he was, in fact, correct about it. At least, correct enough that here you are, having another.”

“Do I need to pay you for this session, Doctor?” Light asked with a touch of sarcasm, avoiding confirming or denying what L had said.

In turn, L ignored Light’s question and said, “Have you ever had a Mrs. Finnegan as a patient? Molly Finnegan.”

Light tilted his head as if in thought. “Molly Finnegan...”

“Or anyone at your office?” L added.

“It’s possible,” the brunet said. “Though admitting anything of the sort would go against patient confidentiality.”

“You’re concerned about that, are you?”

“Lawliet, please,” Light scoffed. “I’m a professional. Of course it concerns me.”

“Forgive me for being surprised. You seemed less bothered with rules than the average person.”

“Now that’s just rude.”

The brunet was wearing a mild frown, but did not seem altogether offended.

They regarded each other over the table for several long moments.

Just before L was about to break the silence, one of the staff whisked by their table and asked if there was anything they wanted. Light ordered two rounds.

“Trying to drink me under the table?” L said blandly. He wondered if more drink was supposed to be a distraction from his questioning.

“Despite what you’ve come to believe, I can hold my alcohol quite well, thank you. I’d simply had a head start on you the other night.”

“What I believe is that we are already past, not one, but two drinks I have agreed to. Are you planning then to keep me here all night?”

“You’re the one asking me questions that threaten my professional integrity,” the brunet said loftily. “Can you fault a man for wanting to drink through that?”

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’,” Lawliet said.

“If you like,” Light replied with a faint smile tugging at his lips.

“So, Molly,” L prompted.

“Yes, yes,” the brunet said, finishing off his bottle of cider. “The young Mrs. Molly Finnegan. Bright green eyes and bonny red curls, with a face that turns heads no matter where she goes...”

That pesky jealousy L had identified earlier rushed through him in a heartbeat. It was strong enough to burn through the slight haze of well-being the alcohol laid upon him and caused him to tense up.

Light’s quick eyes didn’t miss a thing.

“So,” the brunet said. “Is there a reason for your asking which is beyond personal interest?”

“There is nothing personal about it,” L said shortly. He cursed his clipped tone, knowing it was just one more thing giving everything away. “Is there a reason you’re avoiding the question?”

“Here you are, sirs,” the pub staff member said, unloading four drinks off of their tray.

“Thank you,” Light said, pushing a tumbler in front of L and daring him to drink it, despite his plummeting mood. He picked up one of his ciders and took a swig. “Drink through it and I’ll tell you something good.”

“Why don’t you tell me something now?”

“Because,” Light said, “if I don’t, and you go home now, you won’t be getting a single wink of sleep. You’ll convince yourself in the moment that you don’t care, but later you will curse yourself over and over for not staying.”

L did the unthinkable and downed his scotch in two swallows. Light winced, likely from sympathy pains. The drink was very strong and the burn of it was formidable to say the least.

“Alright then,” Light said, and downed his cider in a similar manner, not to be outdone.

L was glad he was sitting down. The rush of scotch was going to his head. “Is Molly a patient of yours?” He forcibly pushed Light’s glowing description of her out of his mind to lessen the impulse of wanting to punch him.

“No.”

They stared at each other once more.

“No?”

“No,” Light confirmed.

“Are you lying to me?” L asked. Was he? Mr. Finnegan obviously had some grounds for his suspicions, and Light certainly fit the bill... not to mention his colorful description of the wife...

“No,” Light said again. “Though if I were, I’d hardly want to admit as much, would I?”

Had he been with this woman? Had they been involved? Were they involved now??? The thought took his mind in its teeth like a dog with a bone. If he was honest, a rather black depression was forming, the more he thought about it.

“In all seriousness,” the brunet said. “Why do you ask?”

L took a swallow of his last drink. The joy he’d had from it previously had all but evaporated. Now he was simply getting drunk. It was a horrible association to make - using alcohol to enable you to deal with problems - but that was exactly what he was doing. He hoped it would still the gnawing in his gut.

“Mr. Finnegan,” L said simply.

Light searched his face. “Ah, I see.”

“I would say more, but I am unable.”

“It isn’t necessary.” Light sighed. “I can gather that he is a jealous type. Possibly hot tempered.” He looked at L. “You think I’m in trouble?”

L frowned and took another sip of his drink. Why was everything Light said geared towards confirming his involvement with that woman? He couldn’t stand it. “I’m sure you’ll be fine.” He drained the rest of his glass and rose to his feet. “Thank you for a lovely evening,” he said with thinly veiled sarcasm and walked out. Date? Please. If he never went on another one like this for the rest of his life, it would be too soon. Just as he’d dreaded, making this... thing... anywhere near official just enabled the whole thing to collapse in on itself. Why had he allowed it in the first place?

He made his way outside, not satisfied until his shoes crunched upon concrete. He paused for a moment to put on his gloves, thinking that if he been one to smoke, now would be a rather appropriate time for it. A nice separation between where one has been and where one is going, and a small warmth against the chill air.

He flipped the collar on his coat up, jammed his hands into his pockets, and crossed the street.

Was driving a good idea at this point? he wondered as he made his way to his car. Maybe a cab would be better. As the moments passed, the alcohol was still catching up with him and it didn’t look like it would be leaving him in very good shape.

Several long minutes after leaving the bar, reaching his car, his phone rang. He fished it out of his pocket. “L,” he answered without looking at the screen. On automatic pilot, he’d already fumbled keys into his hand. But he wasn’t planning to drive home, right? He’d already decided that would be a foolhardy move...

“Where are you?”

“None of your concern, I’m going home.”

“You didn’t let me finish.”

“Light,” he said with exasperation, “that hardly seems necessary.” He put his gloved hand on the top of his car and rested his forehead upon it. Closing his eyes, he admitted he’d overdone things. He couldn’t tell if his head was spinning with drink or with these pesky emotions he’d been saddled with.

“You’ve mistaken me, Lawliet.” His voice was not outright pleading, but there was a definite thread of stress in it.

L took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, until there was nothing left. It didn’t do much to steady him.

“Molly does frequent the office,” he explained, “but she isn’t my patient.”

“Was she ever your patient?”

“Yes, but I had to shift her to another doctor. She showed strong tendencies towards obsessive behavior and I felt it all too likely that she might fall to stalking if she wasn’t handled appropriately.”

L frowned. So was she seeing another doctor but had her stalker sights set on Light? Or was she smitten with whoever the new doctor was?

“Listen, Lawliet... I can’t really say more for now. But, when I described her earlier, I was just winding you up a little. I’m sorry.”

He felt infinitesimally better. Sort of. “I have to go.” He pressed the end call button on his phone, though it was hard to do with gloves on.

“You aren’t planning on driving are you?”

L pressed the button again, firmly, and tossed the phone back into his pocket. Oh, he was entirely too drunk right now. For anything. If he couldn’t manage a phone he wondered if even hailing a cab would be possible.

“Lawliet?”

Light’s voice coming from right beside him and a touch upon his shoulder made him jump a mile high and nearly gave him a heart attack. “What’re you--?!”

The brunet was wearing a frown and looked a little concerned. He lifted his phone up for L to consider and waved it a bit. “I followed the sound of your voice. But, never mind that. You aren’t planning on driving, are you?”

“No, no,” L said, leaning back against the side of his car and putting a hand to his head. “Was gonna get a cab.”

Light took up a spot next to him. Their shoulders brushed and his body language as stiff as the frown still upon his face. He looked pointedly forward, not sparing a glance his way. “I was too surprised when I thought you might be concerned for my safety... I didn’t handle it well. Didn’t say the right thing, obviously.” Light slid his hands into the pockets of his long coat, a self-deprecating sigh escaping him. “I wanted to confirm it, and chose my words accordingly. I suppose I hadn’t realized how it would sound.” He glanced at L then, who was remaining quiet for the moment. “I’d say it was because of the alcohol affecting me, but that might seem a bit irresponsible, wouldn’t it?”

Yes, it would be. L leaned his head back against the car, closing his eyes. Why now, after he’d made up his mind? Light’s words sounded all too reasonable. It set his mind to racing, picking over and replaying previous scenes. He was of no faculty to be sifting through facts and lies. “I’m too drunk for this.”

“Maybe you should sleep it off?”

L jumped in surprise. He wasn’t really suggesting they sleep it off around here? As in, together? But his tone certainly implied... “I’m sorry?”

“Right down the street there,” Light said, putting his head close to L’s and pointing down his line of sight to an inn. L noticed an arm draping over his shoulders as well. Maybe it was the alcohol talking but it wasn’t merely tension he felt at the brunet’s sudden closeness. “You see it?”

“No,” L said. Maybe there was an inn, maybe there wasn’t. He couldn’t properly focus enough on such things. His head was a maelstrom of anxiety and relief and paranoid fear.

Light turned to face him. Since they were already so close, it practically had them near enough to kiss. L’s heart started pounding as Light hesitantly leaned in that last little bit, tentatively touching his mouth with soft lips.

It was so gentle, and poignant.

The feeling twisted in L’s chest, bittersweet, and he couldn’t sever the connection. He couldn’t win against the quiet exploration of regretful lips, couldn’t pull away from the slender hand that rose to cup his face.

He felt totally overwhelmed.

He wanted nothing more than to believe that it was ok to have feelings for this difficult, fascinating, infuriating person who was capable of such tenderness. His heart told him to take a chance, meanwhile his mind threw up all manner of warnings and foretold disaster.

---
TBC     A/N: Moving was SO not fun. For months!   Strongbow is really good and available in the States. I heartily recommend it to anyone of age.