L looked silently at Jubilee for a long moment, unblinking even though the rain streamed down his face and clung against his eyelashes. Then, suddenly, he smiled. The expression was so unexpected, and so new to Jubilee, that it nearly knocked her off her feet. Around him the colors softened and became warm, tendrils of them reaching out to touch her cheek like a gentle friend.

"Yes," he said. "Of course you do."

She stared at him, mesmerized. In that instant, a vision took shape within her mind's eye. She saw a little boy, with wild black hair and hunched shoulders, holding tightly to a white-haired man's hand as they stood together before a set of tall black gates. The air around the two was foggy and cold, and the sound of chiming church bells echoed in the distance. The loud noise startled the boy for an instant, making his shoulders hunch even more, before he looked up at the bespectacled man holding his hand. The old man gave him a reassuring smile, and the boy's shoulders slowly relaxed once more. Then, before them, the gates opened.

The vision faded, and L's face came back into focus before Jubilee's eyes. He was still smiling at her, but now a smirk tugged at his lips.

"It seems you aren't the only one who hears things," he said.

Jubilee let out a breathless laugh, even though she felt tears threaten to spill from her eyes for reasons she couldn't quite fathom. Perhaps it was because, somehow, the vision reminded her of the moments before her fatal car crash—the seconds before impact when all she could think of was her father. Perhaps, somewhere deep down, she knew that these were the sorts of memories that filled a man's mind as he readied himself for the end—memories that were of the most pivotal points in his life, when everything that got him to where he was now had first begun.

But Jubilee didn't let herself fully process these thoughts. She didn't vocalize to him her worry over him, or her fear of his fate, because she saw in that moment that he needed this—this final moment of quiet reflection before whatever happened next came crashing in. And she couldn't bring herself to interrupt it. But, more than that, she couldn't bring herself to accept that that was what was really happening.

So, instead of asking him what they should do now, or telling him not to give up hope and to keep trying, she said nothing. All she could do was stand by him, and give him her presence.

"Is it your late father who you talk to?" he asked suddenly.

She blinked. "What?"

"I've heard you talking to him, sometimes," he said, eyeing her with an unreadable look. The rain ran down his forehead and into his eyes but he didn't blink. "Not your guardian angel; I can tell when you are talking to him. You become more matter-of-fact and, oftentimes, angry. But I've heard you address someone else. You call him 'dad.'"

"Ah." Jubilee cleared her throat uncomfortably. "No...it's not my late father." She didn't expound.

"I see," said L after a short pause. "So, then..." He leaned back a bit and glanced skywards. "Big 'Dad.'"

She hesitated awkwardly, then couldn't help another little laugh. "Yes," she agreed. "Big Dad."

L hmmed to himself and turned to gaze out at the horizon once more. A long stretch of silence unfolded between them. She watched him as he looked into the distance and, for once, she felt completely at ease beside the detective. The faint, ethereal chime of bells continued to sound through the air, and for the time being, Jubilee let herself completely forget about Kira, about the case, and about shinigami. She simply stood beside L, watching the rain and listening to the sound of bells with him.

"You know," L spoke up again at long last. "There is a part of that book that is particularly striking to me."

Jubilee was about to ask what book he was talking about, when the memory of Watari handing his bible to L, so many months ago, wisped through her mind.

"It is when Christ washes the feet of his disciples," he continued, still watching the horizon. "Even though, at that point, he already knew that one of them would betray him."

"Judas," said Jubilee softly.

"Yes," said L. "Judas Iscariot. He knew that this man, who was once his friend, would betray him to his enemies and, ultimately, to his death. Yet he did something that no one in his right mind would have been willing to do during that day and age. Do you know—" He turned to her suddenly, "Just how unseemly human feet were back then, Miss Amachi?"

Jubilee was taken aback by the sudden transition in subject. "Um—no?"

"They were absolutely disgusting," L deadpanned with emphasis. "There were no paved streets back then. Men traveled for miles and miles on dusty, dirt-filled roads, on foot, wearing sandals, to get to where they needed to go." He leaned in close, eyes owlish and unblinking. "Can you imagine the callouses, the gnarled heels, the mud-caked toenails?"

Jubilee made a face and leaned away from him. "Yeah, if you keep talking like that, but I'd really rather not."

"Miss Amachi," L went on, ignoring her disgust, "To wash another's feet back then was servant's work, reserved for the lowliest of the low. To wash the feet of eleven other men, who are supposed to be your disciples no less, would be utterly humiliating. But, for one of them to be a traitor who is planning on betraying you to your death—" He leaned back and gazed off into the distance again. "That would be unthinkable."

Jubilee thought about his words for a moment. There was a time when such level of insight into scripture, from him, would have been irritating to her. But that resentment was no longer there.

"Well," she said, smiling wryly. "Seems to me like he was in the business of doing the unthinkable...what with walking on water and raising people from the dead and all that."

"So it would seem," said L. He gave her a sidelong glance. "And it seems he put you into that business as well."

"What do you mean?" She laughed. "I haven't walked on water or raised anyone from the dead."

"And yet you are often doing the unthinkable."

She softened. "So are you."

He looked away again. "I've only ever done what was logical, given the abilities that I have. But," He lowered his head. "Logic, and my abilities, have a limit."

Her heart ached at this but, still in denial of the reason behind his somberness, she joked, "Never thought I'd hear you admit that."

"Nor did I," he said. "But this case has shown me first hand that there are things beyond this world that test my limits."

"Tell me about it," she grumbled. "You know, I used to hate being here—I hated working on the case, and I hated you."

"And now?"

It was her turn to look away. She faced the horizon and stared into the rain. "You know how I feel now."

There was short pause. Then L, still not looking at her, asked quietly, "What changed?"

Jubilee hesitated, a little shocked at his forwardness. This was definitely the last thing she wanted to do—talk about her feelings with this man, no matter how indirectly or roundabout they were being about it. But she heard the quiet earnestness in his voice, felt the desperate tug of colors swirling around him...and as the rain poured down upon them like a soothing balm that healed old wounds, she suddenly found that—in what she knew he thought were his last moments—she couldn't deny him his need to know just why and how someone could actually love him.

"My perspective, I guess," she muttered, staring at the cement beneath her feet. "I finally learned to see things through a lens of grace." Took me twenty-three years though, she thought to herself, before continuing, "And when I did...it opened my eyes to the actual beauty and goodness that are in the things—" She stopped and took a deep breath, her cheeks flushing slightly, before clarifying, "The people, and circumstances around me—that I once failed to see." Clearing her throat awkwardly, she hurriedly added, "I guess that's how Christ managed to wash the dirty feet of a man who would betray him."

L hmmed again thoughtfully, then said, "Watari has long tried to teach me the same concept. I admit though, that grace is not often my strong suit. Perhaps because justice is instead."

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She remembered something Hellenos had once said to her: There is compassion and mercy, but there is also truth and justice...Both sides are of the Father. Glancing briefly at the angel, she said aloud, "Grace and justice may seem paradoxical, but they can, in fact, coexist."

"Can they?"

"You would know." She looked sidelong at him. "You're supposedly the epitome of justice, yet you're the one who demonstrated grace to me in the first place."

He turned his head to return her glance, lifting a cautious eyebrow. "What makes you say that?"

"You believed in me when I didn't deserve it, countless times. And you trusted me to work on the case with you, even though I hated you and treated you unkindly at the time."

L turned away again with what almost sounded like a sigh. "That was simply the most logical move to make," he said. "Just because you didn't believe in yourself, Miss Amachi, didn't mean that you weren't worth believing in. Your abilities are unparalleled even if you can't see it. To entrust you with working on the case was what best benefitted the investigation. After all, that's essentially the reason Light was hired on to the case as well." His voice took on a bitter tone as he added, "And I'm sure that you are able to discern just how much he does or does not hate me. So," He stuffed his hands in his pockets and looked to the sky with an air of nonchalance. "I'm sorry to say, that the qualities you have kindly attributed to me are no measure of my actual character."

Jubilee suddenly turned on him with such ferocity that she surprised herself. "This is exactly what I mean!" she cried. "Pot, meet kettle. You're giving me a whole bunch of credit, again, and yet you can't even see the good in yourself?"

L sidestepped away from her a bit, eyeing her warily. "I never said that. I'm quite aware of my superior intelligence and deductive reasoning skills."

"Yeah, yeah, you and I both know you're a genius," snapped Jubilee. "That's not what I mean. I mean, you think that that's all that you are. You treat yourself like you're a computer—a super computer, I'll give you that—but it's like you can't see the fact that you're actually a person, and a good one at that. You claim that you only do things to benefit yourself and the cases you work on, but that's not totally true. You could have used me solely to benefit yourself and the case, without showing me any kindness or respect, or helping me to overcome my fears the way you have."

"Watari once informed me that showing others kindness and respect was nothing to be applauded, but the very basics of humanity," replied L without missing a beat. "As for the rest—" He gave her a level look, his body still turned away from her. "How do you know that I wasn't simply manipulating you?"

Jubilee paused at that. How do I know? she thought. She glanced at the wavering line over his head.

"You don't know it yourself, do you?" she murmured with sudden realization. He said nothing, which answered the question for her. She crossed her arms then. "Has anyone ever told you," she began, a small smile tugging at her lips, "That you don't give yourself enough credit?"

He stared at her for a moment. Then his lips quirked upwards ever so slightly. "No, actually. Not even once. Usually everyone believes that I think I'm better than them."

She laughed at that. "Well, there's a first time for everything." Giving him a grin, she added, "You've got to see yourself through a lens of grace too, you know."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Pot meet kettle, indeed."

She huffed, dropping her arms. "Alright, I'll give myself some credit. But you've got to do the same." She put a hand on her hip and took a deep breath. "Listen...I'm only going to say this once, so please take it to heart and don't make me have to repeat it, because it's probably going to sound cheesy and make both of us uncomfortable." Willing herself to keep his gaze, she continued, "You are a good guy. But not because you're good at detective work and solving cases. Your intelligence isn't what defines you; you aren't solely your brain. You also—well, you also have a heart, despite your efforts to prove the contrary, which I once almost fell for. And it's—it's your heart, that I see...and that I admire." She swallowed nervously and went on, "It totally redefines how I see you, because it makes me see you for who you actually are—not what I or the rest of the world had assumed you are. And what I see...what I see is...someone, absolutely worth—" Loving, she thought, but aloud said, "Seeing and believing the best in, always. That is what defines you, L."

He stilled at her final words. The colors around him brightened, softened, and then reached out for her. Slowly, he turned to face her fully. "Say that again, please."

"What?!" Jubilee gave him a bewildered and irritated look. "Did I not just say—"

"Not the whole thing," he clarified, cutting her off. "Just the last part. The last letter."

She cocked her head. Suddenly understanding, she softened. "...L?"

He looked at her for a long beat, and then once again he smiled. The colors around him enveloped her, warming her skin with their touch.

"When one has been living under the shadow of different masks and aliases for so long," he began, still smiling at her, "It is pleasant, at long last, to be called by one's original name once more. And not as a title, or as a job position with its many expectations, but simply...as a name."

Jubilee gazed back at him, lost in the mesmerizing radiance of color surrounding her, in the soft warmth that lit up his eyes. That is, until he said, "Wouldn't you say so...Jubilee Jenkins?"

It took Jubilee a second to register exactly what he had said. When she did, her eyes widened and she took an involuntary step backwards in shock.

"Wh—what?" she sputtered.

He cocked his head at her, seemingly unperturbed."Well," he quipped, "Perhaps it was more pleasant for me than it was for you."

She stared at him, mouth open. Her heart pounded in her ears like a jackhammer. What—how?! How had she never realized that he knew her true name, every time he had called her by her alias? Was it because she had gotten so used to him having various motives, that she had never been able to discern anything out of the ordinary in the wavering line over his head when he said her name? Her fake name? She suddenly felt faint. L knew her real name. He knew who she really was.

Behind her, through the hazy fog of her racing thoughts, she distantly but distinctly heard Hellenos give a long whistle. Didn't see that one coming, he said.

You didn't know that he knew? she thought.

Oh, I knew. I just didn't know that he was going to drop it on you like he did.

What?! she wanted to scream.

Colors still radiated from L and caressed Jubilee's skin with a comforting gentleness. They washed up against her like gentle waves of bright blue and deep purple tinged with gold. Slowly, inexplicably, her rapid heartbeat began to settle and her breathing returned to normal. It was like her body understood the situation before her brain did. She continued to stare at L, who only gazed at her with an amused, curious look. For once, his expression was completely open, with nothing hidden. In it she saw light, warmth and welcome. Finally, she realized that she had nothing to be afraid of.

She let out a long exhale as a sense of calm came over her. As it did, words from a faint memory, a vision that had been drifting somewhere deep in her subconscious, floated to the forefront of her mind. Slowly, she smiled back at him.

"No, you're right," she said. "It is pleasant, isn't it...L Lawliet?"

She pronounced the name softly, hesitating at the lilt of each unfamiliar syllable. It was L's eyes that widened now, but he didn't step away from her, nor did the colors shrink back. He took her in for a long moment, gray eyes large and wondering.

Finally he murmured, "Nothing ever gets past you, does it?" Then, slowly, he returned her smile. "It's pronounced 'low-light' actually."

Her smile widened. Between them, blues and purples and golds danced, and for once the lack of any pink did not bother her even a little bit. She basked in the warmth of light and color all around them. Feeling almost giddy, she stuck out her hand.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Lawliet," she said, pronouncing the name correctly this time.

He looked at her, then down at her hand, then back up at her. Reaching out, he clasped her hand with his own.

"Likewise, Miss Jenkins," he returned, giving her a firm handshake.

She laughed. The sound shook off the last vestiges of anxiety in her, like dry scales falling away. L was right...to be known, without any masks or need to hide, was unimaginably freeing.

"How long have you known?" she asked him.

"From the beginning," he replied. "You didn't really think I'd overlook the fact that there were no records in Japan bearing the name 'Julie Amachi,' without looking into it, did you? From there, it was child's play. Elementary, really." He gave her an appraising look. "Well, middle-school, perhaps. You are rather unique."

She couldn't help but grin like an idiot at that. The combination of intoxicating colors along with the euphoric sense of freedom she felt was like a drug. That, and the fact that he was still holding on to her hand, made everything in her vision seem even more vivid and new.

Then the clarity lessened a fraction as a thought occurred to her. "So then, you know..." What I've done? was what she wanted to say, but couldn't bring herself to finish.

He looked at her silently a moment, and she could see right away that she didn't have to. He knew. Everything.

Her smile dropped and she bit her lip. Of course he knew. He was a genius. From the moment he unearthed the discovery that Jubilee Jenkins had disappeared from America without a trace, he would undoubtedly have made it his business to know why. And she hadn't exactly been the most subtle of thieves.

She hung her head. It all made sense now. This was why he could never see her as more than a friend. Because not only was she a former criminal...she was also damaged goods.

L's cool fingers seemed to squeezed her hand just then, but it was so slight that she could have imagined it.

"Miss Jenkins," he said.

She looked up.

"I once told you, that whether or not I know the specifics of your history is irrelevant. The fact remains, that your past does not define you, and that you are not what you have done. I know that perfectly well. Do you?" She said nothing. He went on, "Everything I have ever said to you about yourself is still true."

She must have looked doubtful, because he smirked slightly and added, "Didn't you tell me, that 'you've got to see yourself through a lens of grace too?'"

She snorted then, but it was mostly to mask the well of emotion inside of her. "Didn't you tell me that grace is not your strong suit?" she shot back.

He shrugged. "It isn't."

"Then what is all this?"

He gave her a look of amusement and warmth. "This is simply me stating the truth."

She huffed in exasperation, though her heart fluttered with a mixture of gratitude and relief, along with something else. Giving his hand a light squeeze, she said, "Well...so was I."

He returned her gaze with a long, thoughtful look. It seemed like he was about to say something else, when the door behind them creaked open. As one they turned to look, their hands still locked in a handshake.

It was Light, standing in the shelter of the stairwell and holding the door open.

"Guys?" he said, squinting at them through the rain. His eyes flicked briefly over their held hands, then back up to them. "Uh...what are you doing?"