It was hard for Jubilee to look L in the eyes during work the next day.
L, the man who, as it turned out, was an orphan just like her.
What are you, a trust fund baby? The cruel words ran through her mind over and over again. And, even worse, Did your mother never teach you manners?
The man never had a mother. Never even got to meet her.
Jubilee closed her eyes as shame swept over her once again. No wonder he hadn't answered her. What was a wonder though, was how graciously he had ignored her provocations.
I am such a jerk.
"Tiramisu, my dear?" offered Watari's kind voice from beside her.
She opened her eyes to find a plate of sweet dessert being held out to her. One of L's favorites, she had learned from one of the old man's anecdotes last night.
"Thank you," she said quietly, taking the plate. Then, under her breath, she muttered, "Give some extra to Ryuzaki for me, would you?"
The old man smiled broadly and nodded in acquiescence before walking away, pushing his cart of refreshments ahead of him.
Jubilee ate a spoonful of the treat before setting it down on the desk and turning back to her computer, to watch yet another security footage video. The image of various humans, angels and demons meandering about, none of whom she recognized, filled the screen. She fast-forwarded through the video, feeling almost bored. Taking another bite from her plate, she briefly wondered just how censored her vision was these days...for while she seemed to be able to see relatively clearly when it came to video footage, she didn't always see so clearly in her immediate environment. Perhaps Dad knew that there was only so much she could handle without becoming overwhelmed.
The sweetness of the cake penetrated her senses for a moment, along with a dim, faint voice: Jubilee...Jubilee...
She snapped to attention and cast her gaze around, willing herself to still her mind. Slowly but surely Hellenos' form came into view beside her. He cocked his head at her and sighed.
Can you hear me now? he said, mimicking the old cell phone commercials.
Yes, she thought. Sorry.
Are you?
Yes! she thought. I think all I'm ever feeling these days is sorry.
That's the problem, he tsked. Conviction is one thing...but how long will you keep guilt-tripping yourself, Jubilee? You were given new eyes to see so that you could be set free.
"I feel terrible," she murmured under her breath. "About all the things I've said to him." And all the things I've thought about him. Things like how he was strange, a freak, and repulsive-looking. "I can't help but feel sorry."
Why don't you tell him that?
She was silent.
The angel sighed once more. Jubilee—
Because maybe I'm a coward, she admitted at last in her mind. And maybe I can't get over my own pride, no matter how hard I try. She glanced over at the detective who was sitting, crouched as usual, in his chair. He probably doesn't even remember all the things I said.
But you do. The angel looked at her pointedly. The point isn't to do this just for him, it's also to do this for you.
Jubilee stubbornly crossed her arms. Internally, however, her heartbeat escalated rapidly at even the thought of having to talk to L and seek out some kind of imaginary reconciliation. He'd probably just give her that blank, unintentionally semi-condescending stare and agree with her, even if he had no idea what she was talking about. And for some reason, the idea of that just made her completely balk. She was already feeling too much self-condemnation to be able to handle the thought of being looked at like that one more time. It was much more comfortable to simply avoid the whole situation and let it fade into obscurity with time—hopefully.
"I thought the point was to do things for others, not for ourselves,"she said stoutly in a low voice. Even as she said it she was aware of how backwards her argument was, and she knew that Hellenos knew it.
He heaved another heavy sigh and glided away.
Jubilee was left alone with her thoughts. Thoughts of how, in all of Watari's stories about L, the detective was always the one doing things for others instead of for himself.
And how so very different that was from her.
The little boy was six years old, but his thick black hair suggested the growth of a teenager's, jutting out wildly in all directions. Yet the large armchair that he sat in completely dwarfed him, as did the big book between his hands that he was holding up to his face. His stature was still as small as the day Watari had found him, over two years ago. But these were the days long before the old man had taken on the alias of Watari. These days, he was still known as Quillish Wammy.
"My boy," said Wammy. "Much as I take delight in your appreciation of the house library, I must insist that you join the other children for morning chapel. Structure and solidarity are important aspects of the program here at Wammy House; and what will the other children think if one of you is not with the rest? One seed of dissent could eventually sow chaos."
"Wise words, Mr. Wammy," said the boy, his mature speech at odds with his small voice. "But I think that, in the interest of solidarity, I am of better service separated from the rest of the children. You will find that they will altogether determine my absence to be quite agreeable."
Quillish sighed. All of the children at Wammy's Home for Gifted Children were extraordinarily intelligent, but this boy was several leagues ahead of the rest—even though he was the youngest and newest addition. This fact was not lost on the other inhabitants of the orphanage, who quickly found reasons to distance themselves from the strange new child.
"That is not entirely true," said Quillish. "I do believe that Adam would—I say, child." He paused, holding up his spectacles to observe the huge tome that the boy had not so much as removed his nose from during the entire conversation. "What are you reading?"
"Criminal Law and Justice, Volume IX," answered the boy without missing a beat.
"And do you enjoy it?"
"I find it rather fascinating."
The man blinked. This little boy never ceased to surprise him.
"Well, be that as it may," he continued, trying to get back to the matter at hand, "I do believe that Adam would highly appreciate your being there, as he is only a little bit older than you...and he hasn't had much luck making many friends yet, either."
The little boy's nose didn't move from its place in the book, but his wide, gray eyes rose to rest upon Quillish. "Are you worried that Adam will feel like the outcast of the group, Mr. Wammy?"
"The smartest ones usually are," Quillish confessed.
"Hmm," said the little boy thoughtfully. "I was under the impression that all the children here were categorized as 'smart.'"
"They most certainly are," affirmed Quillish, "But that, unfortunately, does not succeed in removing prejudice from among them. Not completely at least."
And at this he looked sad. He had established the Wammy House in hopes of giving outcast children an escape from the prejudices of a world that did not and could not understand them; but it seemed that nowhere could one find escape from the eventual jealousies and rivalries that would spring up between human beings. Wammy had the foreboding sense that he would be forever fated to watch his beloved children fight between themselves—sometimes secretly and sometimes outright—for the position of being best. He sometimes wondered if this was how God felt.
The big gray eyes took in the old man's low countenance. "Well," said the little boy suddenly, closing his book, "My experiences thus far have led me to deduce that my lot in life is not going to be one of making friends. However," He set the book to the side and slid out of the chair onto his feet, "It most likely will be one of being an outcast. I suppose I can take that burden off of Adam's shoulders."
With that being said, he took short but swift strides towards the door of the library as quickly as his little legs would take him. Wammy gazed after him wonderingly before following.
"I didn't know you thought so highly of young Adam," he remarked as they made their way down the hall together to chapel.
"I don't," replied the little boy with honesty and not malice. "It's you, Mr. Wammy, whom I think highly of."
...
Jubilee had been mostly silent as Watari shared one fond recollection of L after another, still getting over the initial shock of learning that the young man had grown up in an orphanage. Which orphanage? she wondered. Where? Watari had been pointedly vague regarding details, probably out of the necessity of being undercover. Still, her curiosity over what it was like to grow up in such a place made her intrigued—and ashamed. True, L seemed to have been well taken care of, but he had still spent his childhood in an institution, without ever having the sense of a real family. He had been much worse off than her.
Shoving the guilt of that revelation to the side for a moment, she had commented to Watari, "So he basically indirectly declared himself to be the smartest." Then she had clapped a hand over her mouth, mortified at letting yet another jab slip out.
The old man had laughed, unoffended. "Keenly observed, my dear," he said with a chuckle. "I think you'd do Ryuzaki proud. You are right, of course...but, then again," He spread his hands in a show of apology, "He was and he is."
"All the worse," Jubilee groaned. "Is there anyone that he doesn't think of as beneath himself? Besides you, of course."
"Ah, my dear," said Watari, "You misunderstand. Ryuzaki holds no illusions of himself being highly ranked in the areas of emotional intelligence, or social adeptness; in short, all the qualities that are necessary for functioning as a normal member of society. He simply acknowledges the truth of his own strengths...not very gracefully, most of the time, but that is a weakness in himself which he is well aware of. He is fully aware, for example, that you far exceed him in those areas."
"Me?" Jubilee flushed. "What do you mean?" Was he calling her socially adept? Memories of navigating Chicago's nightlife scene and charming the pants off of elite members of society—sometimes literally—echoed through her mind. She shoved them away. She wasn't socially adept. She had only been faking it to survive.
Watari smiled. "That is something I cannot answer for you, Miss Julie. You don't give yourself nearly enough credit, and it is high time that you learn for yourself how to do so."
Hellenos made a show of clapping from the corner. Jubilee gave him a look.
"But to answer your question, Miss Julie," the old man continued on, "There was in fact another gentleman at the orphanage that Ryuzaki rather looked up to..."
...
"The boy is immoveable, Roger," Quillish was complaining to his friend. "He's wanting leave Wammy House and start working Interpol cases...and he's only eight years old!"
"An eight-year-old who helped prevent the start of World War III," pointed out Roger Ruvie, the thin, bespectacled man sitting behind the desk in their joint office.
"Yes, yes," conceded Quillish, waving a hand dismissively. "We've already all been in awe of that feat and sung his praises over and over until we were all blue in the face...but Roger, he's still a child. He must be given the chance to be a child, before that time is robbed from him completely."
Roger shrugged. "Most of the children here are more grown up than adults."
"Because they had to be, to survive in a world that didn't understand them!" argued Quillish. "That is the whole purpose of Wammy House, Roger...to give them a place where they can finally be amongst likeminded peers. Where they can find acceptance."
The other man sighed. "You're right, old friend, that they are children. And the frustrating thing about children is that you can't force them to feel like they belong. Sometimes they must leave home to find what they are looking for."
Quillish looked torn. "But at eight?"
"Well." Roger turned in his chair to file through a stack of papers on his desk. "He'd need a guardian, of course."
There was a long beat.
"Surely," began Quillish, "You're not suggesting that you will—"
"I know, I know," said Roger. "I've always said that I hate children. Would rather do the bookwork. But, perhaps it is because I was once just like the children who are here. You've undertaken a noble pursuit, Wammy my friend. Perhaps, just like our charges, we must continually grow into something new."
Quillish looked at his friend uncertainly. "You're saying you want to leave?"
"What? Heavens no!" Roger looked aghast. "Who would look after the children while you are gone?"
Now Quillish was dreadfully confused. "While I am gone? You mean—"
"Surely you didn't think I was going to suggest separating you from that boy. One look at you when you are with him and even a blind man can tell that he is your favorite. You're the one who must go with him."
Quillish was taken aback. "Favorite? Nonsense! You know my philosophy on that, Roger..."
"Yes, yes," said Roger patiently. "All the children are equally precious and gifted in their various ways. Quillish." He eyed his friend seriously. "I am not questioning the worth of the other children. But this one—this child—he could change the world. He already has. And you know it."
Quillish looked almost pleading. "Couldn't he do that after he grows up? The other children at least have that luxury."
Roger looked at his friend and sighed. "You are the one in charge here, Quillish."
"I am biased." Quillish massaged his temples. "You are right, Roger. I cannot objectively make a decision that is in his best interest. I need your help. You must speak to him."
Roger gazed at the other man a moment longer, then nodded. Quillish went to the door and opened it, ushering in the person standing on the other side.
A young L entered the room. He was of a medium height for his age now, but still lanky, and still with that head of wild hair. His eyes had grown bigger and darker, and faint shadows had started to accrue beneath them.
"L, my boy," began Roger. "I understand you want to start working as a detective."
The boy didn't speak, but eventually nodded.
"You understand that you are exceedingly younger than is typical for such a task, don't you?"
Another nod.
"But Wammy and I recognize that your gifts exceed the typical," continued Roger. "However, we would be loath to let you make a rash or premature decision. There are important experiences to be gained from the age you are at right now. Thus, you may begin this work when you reach the age of ten, if you still desire to do so when the time comes."
Wammy closed his eyes. Ten? But he said nothing.
"Thank you, sir," said the young boy quietly.
"And, when the time comes," Roger went on, "If you should leave to pursue this work, I hope that you will come back to Wammy House in between investigations. It is good to have a home base."
"Yes, sir," said L.
The older gentleman lifted his hand in a gesture that indicated L was dismissed. The boy began to make his way back to the door.
"Oh and L?" Roger called before he had reached it.
The boy turned.
"You will be needing a...an assistant." The hint of a smile touched his lips then. "Wammy will go with you, when you leave."
L turned to look at Wammy. The stiffness in his shoulders seemed to lessen just a bit, and his eyes seemed to lose some of their darkness.
"Thank you, sir," he said, and left.
...
"Ten?" interrupted Jubilee, dumbstruck. "Ten?!"
"Yes indeed," affirmed Watari.
Jubilee shook her head in bewilderment. "I was still playing with Barbie dolls when I was ten."
Watari's eyes took on a wistful look. "If only the boy could have experienced half so idyllic a childhood. Alas, such is not the destiny for genii, I suppose."
"Apparently not," grumbled Jubilee. "Are you saying he never played with toys? Like, ever?"
"I'm not sure he ever even learned how to play, until he was fifteen."
"Oh? And what happened at fifteen?" asked Jubilee warily.
"He became the tennis champion of the national Junior Cup."
"What?" Jubilee covered her eyes with one hand and held up the other. "No, stop, I can't take it anymore. Is there anything he can't do?"
Watari smiled. "You'd be surprised, my dear."
"Try me."
"Well..."
...
Wammy woke up to the smell of burning in their hotel room. It was not yet strong enough to set off the fire alarm, but it sent panic flying through his mind nonetheless. He flung himself out of bed and burst into the main suite.
"L!" he called, frantic. "Up at once! Are you—"
He stopped short at the sight of the slouched teenager standing in the kitchenette, glaring at a frying pan on the stove in which lay several unidentifiable black crisps. Next to the pan, on the counter, lay a plate heaped with an unappetizing stack of yellow and white goo.
"I am always up, Quillish," he answered the middle-aged man without turning around.
Wammy stared for a moment, baffled at the scene, and waited for some kind of explanation. When none came, he ventured, "What is it you are doing, my boy?"
"Nothing very successfully," replied the boy with a scowl. "But I was trying to make breakfast."
"L, my boy, you know perfectly well that I would have—"
"I know, Quillish. You always do the cooking and all the menial tasks. I thought I would at least make breakfast for once."
Wammy stopped short at that, feeling his heart soften towards the boy whom he had come to see as a son. Perhaps it was spoiling the sixteen-year-old to always make his meals for him, but L was no ordinary teenager; he worked long days when most boys his age were either playing ball or out on dates, and he went many nights without sleeping while he worked tirelessly on one case after the next. On top of that L was a solitary worker, accepting some assistance from the older man but never much input. The way Wammy saw it, the boy was doing far more work than he was. The least he could do was see to his basic needs.
He was about to say as much, but L had gone on, railing against the frying pan almost accusatorily.
"How does one crisp bacon without burning it? Or fry an egg correctly? Yours are always perfect, Quillish, I don't understand. The cookbook I read didn't say anything about this."
"Cookbook?" Once again Wammy was baffled. "You've read a cookbook?"
"Yes, when I was nine. There's one in the library back at Wammy House."
"Well, my boy, if it was that long ago you can't possibly expect to—"
"I've memorized it."
"...Ah."
L turned and dumped the contents of the frying pan into the trashcan. "I don't understand what it is I'm missing. I would have thought that having a mental repertoire of recipes, as well as a thorough understanding of thermodynamics and chemistry, should have given me the basic skills required to make a simple meal. I know the exact quantity of ingredients and heat conditions that go into making a chicken consommé, for heaven's sake."
"Well," said Wammy, going to join his protégé in the kitchenette, "Some things must be experienced in order to be fully grasped. You can't expect to understand what love is like simply from reading about it in a book, now can you?"
At this the boy was silent for a long moment. Wammy pulled out clean pans and set them on the stove, then retrieved another carton of eggs along with milk from the refrigerator, and flour and sugar from a cupboard.
At last L spoke, his head down and his shaggy hair hiding his eyes. "I don't think it is my lot in life to ever understand what that is like, Quillish."
The older man felt a pang in his heart at the boy's grim tone. "Nonsense, boy. Love isn't what you think it is. It isn't what they show in books and movies. Look here." Quickly whisking together some eggs and milk in a bowl, he indicated the sugar with a nod of his head. "Add a cup of that into this bowl," he instructed. L wordlessly obeyed. Wammy continued, "You love sweets, don't you?" Skillfully he began sifting flour, salt and baking powder into the mixture. "And cake. Yes?"
"I suppose," murmured the boy.
"And you love solving cases. Do you not?"
The boy chewed silently on his thumb for a moment in thought. "Those are just things that I like to a great degree, Quillish," he said at last. "Like a child who enjoys candy and riddles. I still just partake in the things that I liked as a child. I don't do things out of love... the way you do, with the children at Wammy House."
Quillish stopped in his mixing. "How do you know that about me, my boy?" he asked, turning to the pale youth.
L looked back at him with somber gray eyes. "As you said, Quillish...I can read people all I want—observe their mannerisms, discern what goes on in their minds—but it doesn't mean that I ever truly understand them."
Quillish turned back to the stove and turned it on, blinking away the sting in his eyes. His heart went out to his young charge. When he spoke again, however, he kept his voice steady. "Candy and riddles may be a child's version of love, L, but as is always the case with children, those things can grow into something greater. One learns to love in small ways at first, and then it becomes bigger and bigger, if you will let it. The things that you 'like' are just a shadow of what it is like to love. One day you will understand."
"With all due respect, Quillish, I know how my own mind works," said the boy, still not looking up. "There are literally a million things I understand, that no one else in the world does. But there are things that everyone else in the world understands, that I never will." He finally raised his head, staring ahead at nothing in particular. "I will probably die before I ever grasp what it is that you are speaking of."
The statement felt like a dark omen, but Wammy shook off the ominous feeling. "Such cynicism, child," he said lightly. Pouring some of the batter onto the now sizzling pan, he set the bowl down and turned to face L, putting a hand on his shoulder. "My boy. Listen to me. Love is simply seeing and believing the best in something or someone, even when others don't. Just like you do with the things that you like. Just like I do, with you."
The pale boy was silent for a long moment. Then, still not looking at Wammy, he said quietly, "Thank you, Quillish."
Quillish nodded and turned back to the stove. "Now come, my boy...I think it is high time that you learned how to flip pancakes."
...
Jubilee sniffed. She was not crying. Definitely not.
"That doesn't count," she told Watari, trying to sound accusing but failing miserably. "You taught him how to cook after that, so now he knows how to do that, too."
"Oh, I wouldn't say he can cook," said the old man with mirth in his eyes. "Merely that I am slightly more confident in his ability to conjure up edible fare for himself when I must pass from this earth. But," he added before Jubilee could protest such a notion, "Cooking wasn't what I was talking about, my dear. It was love."
"That's silly though," protested Jubilee. "He has you. You love him. What else is there to understand?"
Watari appraised her for a moment with a thoughtful look. Then he said, "The scriptures say that God is love, do they not?"
Jubilee suddenly felt uncomfortable. "I guess. I haven't read all of the scriptures."
The old man's lips broadened into a smile. "And yet you have still seen Him face to face. What else is there to understand...but that you are greatly loved?"
Jubilee was tongue tied, unable to think of an answer. Luckily the question seemed to be rhetorical, for Watari went on, "Even after all that you think you've done, that is still the case."
Jubilee's mouth went dry. "You don't know what I've done," she replied.
Watari smiled again. "I don't need to."
Jubilee didn't know what to say. She attributed this partially to the awkwardness of the topic, and partially to the late hour. Perhaps she was getting sleepy. She wondered how to excuse herself without making things even more awkward.
"I, um—" she began.
"You should be getting to bed now, my dear," said Watari.
"Yes," agreed Jubilee, feeling relieved. "Another long day tomorrow."
She stood. Hellenos glided to her side as she headed for the door. But she stopped there, her hand resting on the knob.
"Um, Watari?"
"Yes, my dear?"
She closed her eyes. "I know that everything you said is true. I—I've seen it. I've felt it. I can't deny it. It's just...it's just that, after all that...after getting a second chance, yet still constantly messing up all the time...I don't feel like I deserve it all. But," And here she opened her eyes to glance at Hellenos, "I'm working on it." With that, she left.
That night, exhausted, she fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow; and her dreams were of bright angels and resonant church bells, and a little boy with wild black hair and big, gray eyes.
"Miss Amachi..."
Jubilee's eyes snapped open and she whipped her head back up from its drooped position. "Huh? What?"
L's large gray eyes peered into her own. He had rolled his swivel chair over next to hers, his handcuffed hand hanging outstretched behind him. "Miss Amachi, were you sleeping on the job?"
"Umm..." said Jubilee, desperately trying to act like she was fully awake. "I was just...resting my eyes. Boss," she added, with some mustered reverence.
L measured her for a moment. "You may go and rest in your quarters."
"What?" Jubilee felt more awake now. "Are you dismissing me? Is this like timeout, or something?"
"No, Miss Amachi. You are not being punished." L's eyes bored into hers in with their usual intensity, but his voice was matter of fact. "I am simply aware that I kept you up late last night. I forget sometimes that others are not as used to late hours as I am. For that I apologize."
Jubilee looked into his eyes and wondered how much of this gesture was done by the man who manipulated people and situations in order to benefit the cases he worked on; and how much of it was the little boy who went out of his comfort zone to make others happy.
You don't give yourself enough credit, Watari had said. Maybe she needed to learn to give others credit, too.
"That's okay," she said softly. Then, unnerved by the unexpected tenderness of the moment, she stammered, "I'll just—um—go take a short nap, then."
L nodded. She stood up and turned to go, then on second thought turned back and pushed her unfinished plate over to the detective.
"Here," she said. "You can have the rest of this."
Somewhere in the depths of those large, dark eyes, there lit up a small spark of delight. But L kept his voice even as he took the plate. "Thank you."
Jubilee couldn't help a small smile. "Yep."
That's his 'candy and riddles' look, she thought to herself, laughing a bit as she made her way upstairs to the elevator.
One learns to love in small ways at first, and then it becomes bigger and bigger, if you will let it.
The memory of Watari's words drifted into her mind, subtly at first, before sharpening into something louder and she realized that it was Hellenos who had spoken. She glanced up at the angel who stood beside her in the elevator as they went up.
"Why are you repeating to me what Watari said?" she asked.
Hellenos gave her a look like she was just slightly daft, but said nothing.
Jubilee got a foreboding and fluttery, but not altogether unpleasant, feeling; which she still, nevertheless, did not like. So, like with all such feelings, she pushed it down deep and forced herself to forget it.