Chapter Text
February 14, 1993
L’s Valentine [do not edit or repost]
If it weren’t for the red and pink envelopes pushed beneath the door to his room, L would have completely forgotten it was Valentines Day.
He’s overslept as it is, and if he’d been attending regular lessons he would have surely heard the other kids – girls, especially – talking about the upcoming holiday. He’s always received far more valentines than he gives out (that number currently at zero), but he’s still surprised at how much resistance he runs into when he tries to open the door to his room. There’s not only a dozen or so cards waiting for him, but two boxes of chocolates and another of cupcakes, decorated in pink sprinkles. One glance at B’s door shows a pink-and-red haul of similar proportions.
L scoops the loot up and arranges it on his desk. There’s the usual assortment of humorous cards, some signifying friendship and others currying favor. At least three cards are of the overt hearts-and-flowers variety, but the one attached to the box of cupcakes is the fanciest. Store-bought and glossy, it features a cupcake decorated with a heart made of real sequins. Flipping it open, L reads A’s familiar script:
To L, From A.
P.S. Slaved over those cupcakes myself. Hope you enjoy!
L lifts one of the cupcakes out of the box and peels off the wrapper, taking a cautious nibble. It tastes decent, but it also tastes exactly like the cupcakes sold at the bakery of the nearest grocery store.
There’s a two-one-two beat on the door that L knows can only be B. At some point in the recent past that L can’t quite pin-point, his best mate started knocking before barging in. Still, he hardly waits for L to say “come in” before sweeping across the threshold, a clutch of cards in his hand, his hair still faintly bed-mussed.
“Happy Heart Day,” L says through a mouthful of cake. “Care for breakfast?” he nudges the box across the desk. “A claims to have baked them herself. Tastes like Tesco’s to me.“
“Happy Stupid-Love day, Lawli,” B drops his array of cards on the coffee table and sits down on the small chesterfield in the corner. She’s getting him cupcakes? The hell? B’s stomach starts to churn unpleasantly, though he takes a bite of one with an easy grin, “No way in hell. If she can bake I’ll eat all these Valentine’s cards.”
Lawliet nods in agreement, kicking his feet up on the coffee table, and regarding the Valentines with disinterest. It looks like he’s just rolled out of bed, his hair mussed and his shirt unbuttoned, his collarbones and ribcage distractingly on display. B tries not to stare too much.
Been a bit of a problem lately. B’s not sure what to call the mass of flipflopping excitement he gets when Lawliet is close these days, but it sure as hell is hard to push away. Should jerk off a bit, later on. Usually helps.
Alright, so maybe B did know what to call it, but he sure as hell wasn’t giving it a name yet.
Besides, it’s not like Lawliet would ever be interested in anything like that . Lawliet hadn’t even showed any interest in A, much less him. And it wasn’t like A wasn’t, well. Pretty. B had to give that to her. Too bad she has the personality of a two-faced cockroach snake.
He and A ‘got along’, meaning they tolerated each other. But he still doesn’t trust her an inch, and her fucking cupcakes even less so. Lawliet does seem to be enjoying the cupcake though, snaking out his tongue to paint it with the red icing.
Jesus Christ, look away, look away. He blinks once more to burn the image into his brain, then busies himself with a bite of the shitty cupcakes, or staring at Lawliet’s pile of Valentines. Which, yeah, Lawliet has more than a few. So does B, but it’s not like those mean anything. B bites his lip, staring at his own stack with a trace of bitterness.
What, do you think you could get him a Valentine? Keep dreaming, dumbass.
“What do you think she’s after?” Lawliet asks, sticking a long, elegant finger into the icing of one of the other cupcakes. To avoid staring again, B fishes out his card from A.
B’s Valentine [do not edit or repost]
“Dunno, she sent me one too, hand-drawn. Wanted me to go shooting with her. No cupcakes, though.” And B fully recognized the slightly off-kilter arrow in the second heart as a stab at his poor marksmanship lately. Always the backhand with you, isn’t it, Adder?
A wouldn’t miss a chance to remind him who was the Backup. Not that it usually bothered him. But if she was going to try and sweeten up Lawliet with cupcakes, B sure as hell wanted to know why.
Lawliet studies the Valentine over B’s shoulder with a frown. His closeness is making B’s heartbeat pick up a little, “Cute. Seems like yours is a little more personalized.“
“I guess. Why’d you think she’d lie though?” he tries to keep his voice neutral.
“About the cupcakes?” L asks, licking his lips and catching a few stray crumbs with the tip of his tongue. B practically winces in response, and L quickly folds the cupcake wrapper and deposits it onto the coffee table, trying to neatly dust any remaining crumbs into an empty tea cup. It’s become clear to him in recent months that his eating habits just might be revolting, based on B’s reactions.
Not that it’s like B to be openly fussy about such things, but right around Christmas he had pretty much moved out of L’s room entirely, and L figured that his own tendency toward slovenliness might have been a factor. That and the fact that they were getting a little bit old to be sharing the same space together, as A had been fond of pointing out. “You’re not actually real cousins, after all.”
A few years ago, L had actually lamented the fact that he and B weren’t truly blood related, but now there’s a distant part of him that’s distinctly glad that they’re not – though he’s not sure why he’s glad. It just seems better, somehow.
“Yeah.” B tucks his own cupcake wrapper into the teacup. “It there’s anyone who’d know the difference between a homemade cupcake and a factory-baked one, it’d be you.”
“Yes, which I’m sure A is perfectly aware of.” L rolls his eyes a little, thinking of A with an odd mix of both fondness and frustration. She and B didn’t always get along, but L was usually able to finesse things to keep the peace – the most important finesse being B, who L was always careful to assure of his place as L’s virtual equal. “Probably it’s her idea of a joke for just that reason.”
“Pretty stupid joke.” B doesn’t bother to disguise the grumble in his tone, which only makes L smile. Listening to B occasionally talk shit about A behind her back is yet another necessary finesse.
“Anyway, your valentine from her seems like less of a joke.” L touches the edges of the hand-drawn card with his bare toes. “Sounds like she’s asking you out on an actual date.” He picks up another cupcake and quickly hides his smile behind it.
“No way. Shit. I thought she was just taking a stab at me for being a bit of a sloppy shot lately,” B’s heart pounds in his chest, and he hopes Lawliet can’t tell. Why the hell would A want to go out with me? She never stops trying to cut me down.
“That’s a lot of artistic effort for an insult,” Lawliet runs a finger along his lip, “Besides, knowing her, a shooting range would be her idea of a date.”
B is about to protest when he realizes L has something there. He’s about to respond with an emphatic no way in hell would I ever– when he notices that Lawliet has a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
Does he want me to go on a date with her? Why?
“Well, suppose you’re right, then,” he sets his half-finished cupcake on the table, not feeling hungry anymore, “D’you think I should take her up on it?”
L is so busy amusing himself at the thought of A and B ‘playing nice’ long enough to go on a date that he almost doesn’t hear B’s question.
“Take her up on the –” He chews his bite of cupcake and swallows abruptly. “Oh, the shooting range bit?”
B leans forward, clearly waiting for an answer, his knee stabbing into the side of L’s leg. The insistent pressure gives L the strange and sudden impression that his answer is crucial, perhaps desperately so.
L pauses behind another bite of cupcake, wondering how his idle teasing suddenly turned into a serious conversation about A and B dating , of all things. Then again, Sasha and Harold got together right around New Years, and ever since others in the 13-14 age bracket have seemed keen to imitate their conspicuous coupling, which as far as L can tell largely consists of them eating together in the dining hall and studying on the weekends.
Truthfully, the thought of A and B dating makes L a little ill. It just seems wrong, somehow, mostly because there’s something just a little false about A. L likes her, most of the time, and certainly finds her competency and intelligence both valuable and impressive. But whereas B is sometimes excessively human, A feels a little too inhuman. Which isn’t to say they’re entirely different from each other, because they’re not.
But if this is B’s way of telling L of the real feelings he’s harboring for A, L supposes he should be supportive. It’s the right thing for a best mate to do, after all.
L feels faintly dizzy, though, wondering at what point exactly he missed that B’s grumbling about A wasn’t borne of jealousy, but some other complicated emotion. But it’s true that Sasha and Harold had been in fierce, bitter competition with each other over scholarly pursuits, before they’d finally gotten together.
“Um, I don’t care.” He stuffs the last bit of cake into his mouth. “Your call, I guess?”
He doesn’t care?
Fine. It’s not like I really do either. B feels his guts twist but he moves his knee away from Lawliet, and stands up to stretch, trying to be nonchalant.
“Fine then, I guess I will. Could be good for a laugh, you know?” It comes out more bitter than he intends, and he tries to force a smile. He can tell it probably looks wrong, but he can’t bring himself to care when he finally looks at Lawliet.
“Alright. Have fun, I guess. Hope neither of you come back injured,” Lawliet stares at him almost downcast for a moment before his gaze returns to neutral.
“I’ll go ask her right now,” B declares, gesturing grandly and almost knocking over Lawliet’s pile of chocolates as he does so. Just keep making an ass of yourself, why don’t you?
B doesn’t even wait for Lawliet’s reply, just lets the churning in his gut drive his angry steps towards the door and downstairs, two at a time. Why the hell would he even suggest that?
He probably thinks if we get all lovey-dovey he won’t have to deal with us being at each other’s throats. Lawliet had a reasonable patience for he and A’s constant rivalry, though they’d settled into a ceasefire over the past year. The first few months when she’d arrived though– they’d fought almost every other day.
At least I know he isn’t after A. B consoles himself slightly, sitting down on the steps and biting at his knuckles. He stares at the mass of shoes at the front foyer, taking note of A’s high-laced black boots. Shit. I said I’d go to the range with her. That I’d go out with her.
Christ, what the hell have I got myself into?
February 19, 1993
B itches the back of his head uncomfortably. After blurting out to A ‘any time, any place’ for a shooting session, there they are in the back field behind the stables where Wammy would set up the targets for practice. It’s the first clear day since Valentine’s, though the grass is still a little damp.
Feels like a normal meeting . He tries to tell himself that, though he’s got an ugly feeling at the bottom of his stomach when he looks at her. A is sizing him up with that usual cruel curl of her lip.
Does she always wear lipstick? She has at least a few times, same shade of slightly demure red. She cocks a SIG Pro, selected from the impressive array of weapons, tossing B a Beretta that he often favoured.
“I’ll give you a familiar one to start, since you need the advantage.” she smirks, and then they go at it. Bang! Bang! That feels normal as well.
After a few minutes, they pull off their headphones and regard the targets. B blinks several times to erase the images of bleak red-eyed memories that have started to creep up.
Since A arrived she’d insisted they acquire people-shaped targets, for ‘realistic practice’. They’re an experience, after Wammy’s circular ones. B’s shooting has gotten better, but occasionally his eyes creep up on him during practice, giving the mannequins real faces from New York, or monstrous grins from god-knows what recess of his memory.
Sometimes that makes his aim better, sometimes it makes it worse. Today, not great. A tallies up the scores and clicks her tongue with a smile playing on her lips. He makes a concerted effort not to look at her chest. She, unfortunately, has a nice chest for a fourteen-year old girl.
B is quite the opposite of pleased with that, though he does think it’s nice to look at. Not today though.
“So, what do you think of the new case?” she asks while glancing back at the targets.
“Oh, uh. Seems interesting, yeah,” B focuses on reloading. Lawliet didn’t mention a new case yet.
She knows about it and I don’t?
“Mhm,” she smiles a little wider, like she can tell he’s lying through his teeth. “Seems like it’s a good thing you came. I’m outstripping you by twenty points more than usual. Another round?”
“You know it,” B growls. After they reset the targets, he picks up a Desert Eagle, breathing in for the second round. Keep your eyes in the game .
Same game A is always playing. She always had to be better– almost like Lawliet always had to win. Of course, Lawliet mainly beat her out, so she had to take pleasure in outstripping B, instead. Which, fuck, whatever. As long as I’ve got Lawliet, she can have her pissing contest..
He focuses in on the targets, taking them one at a time. It at least distracts him from thinking about A at all. He takes the last shot, and then realizes that she’s staring at him, gun still trained firmly at the shot she’s just taken.
“What?”
“See, your posture isn’t great, B,” she lowers her gun, moving closer to B than he’s comfortable with, “That’s why you keep swinging left of the target.”
“If you just straighten up a little, right here–” she reaches her hand for his lower back, and B’s skin crawls .
“Don’t–” B flinches out of her touch. She regards him with an arch to her eyebrow.
“What’s your problem?”
“Is this a date?” he spits a little when he says it, but keeps his chin high. I’m done playing any of these games, Ace, “Like is that why you sent me that fucking Valentine?”
She hesitates a moment, then laughs in that airy, distant way she often does, “My god, get over yourself, Backup. I just thought your aim could use some work, is all.”
“So this isn’t a date.”
“No. Did you think I wanted a date with Lars too, since I sent him a Valentine? You’re so full of it,” the way she says it doesn’t have quite the usual bite, this time. B would linger on that, but he’s a little busy feeling relieved that the whole business stopped here.
“I didn’t think that, no. It’s a stupid holiday, anyways.”
A picks up a rifle and takes aim at the remainder of B’s middle target, hitting it square in the center. She smiles, seeming a little distracted for once, “Was that what you wanted? A date?”
“Christ, no,” he picks up a rifle of his own, breathes deep, takes aim at the middle target. For a moment, A’s smirking face flashes up over top of it. He pulls the trigger, hitting the target dead-on.
L would certainly find it easier to work without the crack of gunfire in the air. The noise-cancelling headphones are effective, technically speaking, but they don’t erase the knowledge from his brain that at this very minute, B and A are out on their shooting range date.
L doesn’t use the shooting range very often. It was originally installed for archery lessons, but when A took up hunting with Wammy, she pushed for training in every type of firearm. L doesn’t find it surprising, given her background, and he’d rather she learn the tactics in a controlled setting than sneak off and experiment on her own. L suspects that B took up shooting mostly because he didn’t like the idea of A being the only one to pursue it, but he’s turned out to be a fairly good shot, himself.
Giving up, L slides the headphones off his ears and listens. Another round of gunfire, and then the noise stops. Either they’ve finished up or have decided to take a break.
Pushing his latest case offering from Scotland Yard aside, L moves his telescope from the West window to the North-facing one, adjusting the focus until he has a sharp, up-close view of the range. The targets are peppered with black holes, the brown grass littered with spent casings. A and B are dressed for the weather in skin-tight jackets that don’t inhibit their movements too much. From a distance, it’s more apparent than ever that B’s an inch or two taller than A, now. Even though he’s still too thin, she looks almost dainty beside him.
B and I are the same height, though. Does that mean that I’m taller than A now, too? L hasn’t really been paying attention to such things, but he supposes it must be true. He’s had to replace his shoes and clothing twice in the same year.
A and B are talking about something, but B’s facial expressions are hidden from the viewfinder. It’s only when A puts her hand against B’s lower back that L clearly sees him jump and squirm out of reach.
Wonder what that was about… looks like she was just trying to adjust his stance.
They talk more at length, then, and A is wearing that distant, faintly-amused smile that she uses to cover up her more complicated emotions. L is less interested in that, though, and far too caught up in the one face he can’t see. What’s B doing? His shoulders look tense.
It doesn’t look like much of a date at all, to be honest.
B doesn’t ask A for a third round, questions about this so-called case starting to gnaw at the back of his mind. Why would he tell her and not me? Once they’ve cleared up the weapons, he hurries back inside, taking the steps two at a time up to Lawliet’s room.
He barely knocks, impatient, before opening the door and intending to demand an explanation. Lawliet is tucked up on the couch as per usual, and smiles at B when he walks in.
“Hullo, B.”
B’s initial irritation drops several levels, replaced by a swooping sensation in his stomach. That in itself is a little bit annoying.
“A says there’s a new case,” he blurts out, and it’s a little sharper than he intends.
“Just came in this morning, take a look,” Lawliet gestures at the space next to him on the loveseat, “How was the date?”
“Wasn’t a date, I asked her. It was like I said, she just wanted to mess with me about my aim,” he takes a seat heavily next to Lawliet, glad to get that out of the way. There’s something off about the room layout, looking from this angle. Though Lawliet has his notebooks strewn out and looks to be deep in it, the tilt of the telescope way off from where it’s been since they were stargazing on New Year’s.
It’s pointed at the range. B realizes, then a smile spreads across his face. Guess he cares at least a little.
L hands B a copy of the case report send via fax this morning. It hadn’t interested him on first sight, involving too much money and fraud, neither of which he considers fun or challenging. Upon closer reading, L discovered that the bank fraud case involved telecommunications fraud, specifically something known in the computer hacking world as phreaking . The current theory, as L explains to B, is that a group of UK-based hackers have banded together to launch covert phreak attacks designed to transfer money out of bank accounts via the telephone banking system. Banks across England, Scotland, and Wales have also reported slow but mysterious losses over the last year.
“Individually, their losses are small.” L points to a helpful graph. “But collectively, it’s over five million pounds.”
“Just by using a computer and a modem?” B scratches the back of his neck, squinting at the chart. “That sounds like some futuristic sci-fi shit.”
L nods vigorously. “That’s why I want in. Scotland Yard’s not prepared to deal with something like this, but I think we can be, with a little work. If I can establish L as an expert in cyber crime before the rest of the major outfits do, it can only help my credibility.”
“Cool.” B unzips and peels his tight jacket off, his arms startlingly white and bare beneath. L doesn’t know how he always manages to stay so warm dressed in just a tee-shirt, especially when Wammy’s house is at its draughtiest. “Where do we start, though?”
“I think I’m going to actually have to learn how to ‘phreak’ – that’s with a ‘p-h,’ by the way. Hackers think it’s cute to get creative with their spelling.” L rolls his eyes a little. “They also like to log into BBSes and trade software and files with each other, play games, post on forums, that sort of thing. So I expect we’ll have to explore that as well.”
“That’ll be different. Interesting, though.” B gives him a smile that makes L feel better about accepting a case that, on first sight, he feared was going to be regarded as boring not just by B but A, too.
And A still might not like it. Not quite high-stakes enough for her tastes.
“Does that mean you’ll be free to help out?” L manages a half smile, not quite daring for a full one. “I mean, since it sounds as if you’re not going to be out on dates with A…”
“Helping you comes first, always,” B says seriously, hoping the blush doesn’t show on his face, “And I don’t even like her like that anyways. It was more of a stupid dare than anything.”
Lawliet stares back at him, seemingly slightly flummoxed for a moment. Which, yeah, I guess it was stupid to go asking her in the first place. He scratches a note down with his pen, “Oh. Good, I’m glad you want to help. Just so long as you know you don’t have to.”
It’s the delicate emphasis on have to that raises up B’s hackles for a moment. Does he just want me out of the way? Is that why he told A about the case first?
Maybe I’ve been useless lately, what with the staring. The last case they’d worked on was the age-old Italian catacombs case. Which like, yeah, he and L had hashed out a few things about the Mafia together, but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t a little distracted. A, of course, hadn’t missed the chance to subtly point that out later on.
Which, speak of the devil herself. A’s cheeks are a little pinked from the cold when she sweeps in without knocking, again .
“Oh, is Lars filling you in, B? Good, now we can get some real work done,” there isn’t much space between the two of them on the couch, but she slides her thin body between the two of them anyways, placing a compact computer on the table, “I think the Delphi Forums are a good place to start, but might be a little well-known for an illegal ring of hackers. Or they might be speaking in code– but it’s a good opportunity to get to know their M.O. What do you think, Lars?”
She blinks her lashes which B notices for the first time– mascara. That’s new.
L shakes his head vaguely. “Delphi would be too regulated, I would think. I’m working on compiling a list of BBSes – those are far more popular with computer programmers. My mother even used them, back in her days at Oxford.” He flips through the file folder and shows them the list he’s started. “Some of these, like Plover-NET, are where some of the most notorious hacker groups formed. Legion of Doom, for example.”
A lifts her eyebrows in interest, but L can detect the slight air of surprise that sometimes comes over her, as if she didn’t really expect L to know more than she did.
“These hacker blokes are usually very good at spotting outsiders, which is why we’ll need to do a lot of research into the subculture before we can really dive into the investigation. Should be worth it, though.” He drops the file folder back onto the coffee table and pries himself free of the small sofa, padding across the wood floor and plopping into his desk chair.
“Are hackers always guys?” A seems to sit up straighter, somehow, and L sees B pick up on the gesture and cast her with a suspicious squint.
“Legion of Doom was all male, as far as I know.” L swishes his chair gently from side to side. “There’s probably a few women out there, but they’re rare. Why?”
A’s lips quirk a little. “Well, maybe the hackers would be more accepting of a female outsider, then.”
At that, L catches his bare ankle on the leg of the desk, abruptly stilling his chair, and silently meets B’s gaze.
B smirks back at Lawliet’s quizzical look, reveling momentarily in his gaze. But unfortunately, Ace isn’t wrong this time around. He leans back into his hands, think it over, “Not a bad thought. These guys are probably recluses, nerds if I remember right from school. They may act all high and mighty about the books, but they’ll spill their guts if it means a girl will so much as look their way.”
“That’s exactly what I’m getting at,” A smiles up to her red cheeks, staring a little too long at Lawliet. Luckily, Lawliet doesn’t seem to take notice at all, but it still sends a flash of something ugly and angry to B’s gut. Remember she wasn’t asking him out.
Or so she said.
“We’ll pick up a female ‘handle’ for the forums, then–” L nods in assent to A, “Although we’ll all manage the communications through it together. After all, it’s not like they can tell who’s on the other side of the keyboard.”
“I was thinking perhaps Athena?” A tilts her head, now turning her gaze to L’s computer screen at the desk
B shakes his head, moving to L’s other side, “Way too high above them– you wanna make these jerks think they have a chance with her. Need something simple, that sticks. What about Quarter Queen?”
Bit of royalty in there. Plus the alliteration will stick in people’s heads.
“Cute. Only a quarter of the way there, huh?”
“Math words for math nerds,” B glares at her a little and she flicks an eyebrow back.
“Quarter Queen works fine with me,” Lawliet gives his diplomatic smile to B. Which still looks great, to his credit, even if B likes his smirk a little better, “But it might still be a while before we know enough to pull it off realistically.”
“Well then,” A smiles wide with teeth, perching on the edge of Lawliet’s desk, “We’d better get started.”