Redeemer

The water was cool against his upturned face. Mello stood motionless in the shower, good hand pressed to cold porcelain as he kept himself up beneath the merciless beat of water. His mind was not his own; his thoughts floating elsewhere out of his control. What the hell was happening? And yet, it was clear. Too clear, and perhaps that was the problem. Too clear to realize that he was being led astray, and clear enough to look past the anger and the fury that had driven him in previous years. Too much had changed. There was no black and white anymore it was all a murky gray line, and only so much managed to make sense.

Matt sat on the bench within reach, having with great care, unwound the bandages from his lover's abdomen and arm so that they would not be soaked through. "You're still thinking too much."

"I know," the blonde returned sweeping drenched strands from his face. It took a bit of an effort to pull off the task without further afflicting the ever-present pain at his shoulder. Stubborn as he was, he knew that it would not do them any good to have him vulnerable at a time like this. "You've never addressed me by my name in public before."

"It was the only way to make you listen," the redhead explained with reason. That or physically snap him out of it and right now was not the best time to add further bruises to that battered body he adored. Besides, it was no longer a secret. L knew it and most importantly, Light knew it - had known it for years without his even realizing it. It was a bloody wonder he was still alive after all that had happened. Living in fear was not their style, however, and so that particular detail had been dismissed after the initial freak-out was done and over with.

When Mello said no more, Matt resumed watching him quietly, ready to jump to assistance should there be a need. The door had been left ajar, so that should anything happen outside, they would hear it. L was still in the living room, buried behind the screen of several laptops. Light had yet to emerge from the master bedroom. The Shinigami was nowhere in sight. His Mario Kart's into screen was on loop on the flat screen TV.

"You better get yourself back in top form soon," Matt muttered at last, casting his lover a sidelong glance. "I don't know how much longer I can stay here without losing my fucking mind."

Behind the barely closed curtain, Mello chuckled. Leave it to Matt to shatter the tension with a bloody sledge hammer of a comment. "Workin' on it," he returned. "You're always free to go on 'errands', you know."

"Yea, but that doesn't change the fact that I'm not keen on sucking you off in L's own bathroom."
* * *

After that morning’s lovely events, the next several hours were blessedly quiet and drama free—not that the tension didn’t still hang on the air, but for the most part it was just a matter of Mello resting his injuries, Matt doing what he could to help, and L buried against computer screens. Light had yet to emerge from the bedroom still, and now it was nearly 3pm with no sign of him, not even for food. L didn’t seem to notice—or if he did, he was blatantly ignoring it, but when he at last popped up over his screen which he had been reading so intently, he asked rather loudly what the time was—nevermind it was right there on the laptop in front of him—before making it a point to look at the bedroom door.

It had been awfully quiet.

“Maybe he’s sleeping?” Matt offered. And maybe it should stay that way, he wanted to add.

L pressed his thumb against his lip, smudging that pale, plump feature to the side and into his cheek. “Maybe,” he said. Then got up, walking across the couch pillows like he was prone to do, and rapped gently on the bedroom door. “Raito-kun? Do you want something to eat?”

There was no answer and L exchanged looks with Matt and Mello. He tried again, still no answer, and to the younger protégés it seemed a rather obvious flash of anxiety crossed L’s features. He wrapped those long fingers around the door handle and pushed the door open. The room was dark inside, and even as Matt craned over the couch back to see, it was really hard to make out much of anything beyond the threshold.

He and Mello waited. There was a muffled voice—L’s—a muffled reply—presumably Light’s, and then L shuffled back out of the room and closed the door behind him. “He’s sleeping,” he said, and resumed his perch in front of the computers.

That was probably a good thing, maybe if Light got some real rest, they could resume this investigation with some semblance of sanity…or at least civility. Of course the next words out of L’s mouth were not quite so welcomed.

“Kira’s been busy today.”

Matt and Mello winced in unison. “How so?” And that was the blonde, sprawled in the adjacent sofa, clicking through muted tv channels. The shinigami never returned to resume his game—but who knew what the lives of Death Gods entailed…except for perhaps Light.

“She’s just been busy,” L continued. And like the day before, his table was piled with sweets—barely touched. Matt noticed again, and made a mental note to talk to Mello about it. “—I’d say she’s trying to impress Raito-kun by striving for his former numbers;” L went on. “We’re back to the daily lists of criminals dying it seems…” And L winced. “A lot more than I’m used to from her, but I suppose it would suit Kira’s church to attempt to live up to the standards he’s set, especially now that they’ve seen him.”

“Deplorable, but likely,” Mello muttered grimly.

“I’m curious to see what Light-kun says when he sees this—whenever he decides to speak to us again. This is a full-blown Kira back on the radar…it’s going to attract attention…” And L didn’t even have to mention whose attention he was implying…that was already more than obvious.

Matt said nothing, he didn't have to, but his gaze immediately shifted just in time to watch Mello stiffen quite obviously. It eased out of him after a couple particularly loud snaps of chocolate, but he knew better to assume the spark gone. They'd been dealing with Kira on a regular basis, they'd been speaking with him, sleeping under the same goddamned roof like it was the most natural thing in the world, and yet normalcy resumed the moment Mello reacted to the mere hint that Near might become involved. Ah, so the world wasn't completely on its head after all.

"We need to end this quickly," he said, resuming the flipping of channels after that initial pause. Quickly and carefully. Should Near become involved, which of course, he would, they could not afford to fuck up. Shit, the only one supposed to still be alive was L as far as Near was concerned, and that was interesting. L didn’t want the little albino genius to know about Matt and Mello—though he had yet to explain he exact reasoning on the matter—and he definitely didn’t want him to know about Light.

As far as the real world was concerned, Yagami Light was dead. The official story was killed in action on the Kira case. He’d had a hero’s funeral and everything. And L wanted Near to buy it above all else, because Near would not have been happy to know that Kira survived the injuries he sustained at the warehouse—and Near would not have been happy to know, that Kira was living the lap of luxury with L protecting him 24/7.

“Agreed,” L said after a moment. “I have yet to determine if I’ve misjudged Near. There is no doubt in my mind he has been following the 5th Kira’s activity, but considering we know he has at least one notebook—since Ryuk claims to have taken his other one back, well, if Near even suspected Kira might still be alive, he should have written his name down for just precautionary measures. It is my theory Near disposed of Mikami this way…but I have my doubts he wrote the name himself. Givanni is devoted enough to him to take up the pen. Perhaps Lidner as well, in light of Mello’s passing; I don’t believe Near would consign himself to Kira’s fate by writing in the Death Note… it’s a matter of principle. As for you, Mello, I can’t say if he would strike at you either. Near has always wanted to defeat you on equal grounds. In fact, it’s the same with Kira…he did not settle until he forced Kira to confess in the warehouse. I would venture to say he’d operate in the same manner in this case as well. But we should at least assume he is going to send agents, SPK or otherwise, to investigate. He will track Kira’s activity to Rome much the way we have, it’s only a matter of time…”

Indeed only a matter of time. Mello was absorbing everything the detective was saying, allowing a small frown at the mention of Halle despite himself. The older woman had been as loyal to him as she had been to Near, but he had not dared contact her after his supposed downfall. It was better this way, but perhaps - should it come to it - she may come to be of assistance yet again.

"You'd think after supposedly blowing myself up a second time for his sake, I could consider myself somewhat safe," Mello murmured with a bitter chuckle on his lips. A fact he had never admitted aloud before, even though all had known it to be true. His reckless actions had had one purpose - at least on the surface - and that was to defeat Kira by handing Near the information he had to that point not laid his hands on. Not a preferred method of laying the cards clearly on the table, but it had served its purpose in the end. Whether or not he would repeat the antic... well, let's just say that it would be a bit more difficult to get him to agree to such a suicidal plan this time around.

Rather than let Mello go down that damned memory lane as far as Near was concerned, Matt spoke up, addressing L. His topic a bit more objective. "I can access his mainframe within a day and get just beneath the surface to know what's happening on their end. Give me four days and I can dig deep enough that we can sit here watching his security cameras." His tone was the same as ever, cool and detached as if what he had just claimed was in essence, a piece of cake.

On the other couch, Mello barely contained a grin. So modest. The claim was confident, if not outright haughty for someone who did not know him. Truth of the matter was... he'd done it before, thus it could be done again.

L’s head listed to the side as Matt spoke, his eyes owl-wide. “Yes, that’s good, please do that.” And there was an edge in his voice both Mello and Matt were beginning to recognize every time L seemed overtly concerned for Light’s well being. It was subtle, as most of L’s manners were, but it was starting to manifest more and more.

He was worried Near was going to interpret this new activity by Bella and her minions as a possibility that Light was still alive, despite what he’d just said about Near still wanting to defeat Kira on equal terms. After all, wasn’t that what they had all wanted? From L, to Mello, to Near, to every orphan hopeful at Wammy’s House? To bring in Kira’s head on a platter by having outsmarted the devil himself? The crowning achievement—the victory of all victories? It was the only reason none of those worthy enough to battle Kira had ever put a gun to Yagami Light’s temple and pulled the trigger. There was no honor it that, no sense of accomplishment, no victory. To prove as much, the only one who had ever truly assaulted Light in such a way was the dumbest detective alive—and thankfully for Light’s sake, if not for anyone else’s, Matsuda hadn’t aimed for the head.

Nevertheless, Near would want any Kira the way he’d wanted Light. Utterly defeated. That seemed the only way the little albino bratling wanted his every adversary, and Mello could only assume that included him if Near perceived he was still alive as well. But what if L was giving Near too much credit? Wammy hopefuls had gone bad before…and Mello was loathe to think of B at that moment. Near may have looked like an inverted carbon copy of L…but that didn’t mean he was L.

L seemed to be thinking the same, because no sooner did he give Matt the go-ahead to hack into the SPK, he stood up on the couch again and stomped back to the bedroom. This time he didn’t knock, he just walked right in and Mello and Matt could hear him. “Raito-kun, I need you to see something, get up.”

There was a muffled sound of groggy protest, but moments later L emerged with Light in tow. He’d been napping in his clothes—sleek, all black and form-fitting, his auburn hair tussled yet still attractively framing that sculpted model-face of his. He certainly didn’t look ready to be awake, his eyes had that distinctive exhausted glaze, and his mind was sluggish enough to forget just how angry he’d been hours earlier at the detective.

“What is it?” He muttered characteristically irritated. Sometimes it was difficult to remember he was Kira because he seemed such a part of everyday life lately—no longer the evasive murderous presence whose identity few people knew.

L spun two laptops for him and Light leaned down, focusing on the screen, adjusting to the brightness. None of the Wammy kids clarified, but all of them waited to see what conclusions he drew from the reports of dead criminals on the screen. “Kira” had killed 3 criminals, from 10 separate countries, and L had spent the better part of the day tracking down the pattern to come up with those numbers.

“Hmph,” and Light straightened and leaned back. “She’s trying to impress me.” He stretched, suppressed a yawn and waved it off. “She’s going to have to do better than that—even Misa was more prolific in a single day,” and he sauntered into the kitchen in search of coffee.

“We’re anticipating Near’s involvement,” L said, and his own eyes had darkened at Light’s haughty reaction to the deaths.

“Near?” That tenor aloof tone seemed to echo almost innocently as Light made the espresso. “I suppose that would make sense.”

“Does that worry you?” L added.

“Not particularly, no,” Light replied.

“Why not?” L seemed honestly curious, since the last time Near had come up in conversation, Light seemed very worried—very worried indeed.

Light appeared in the doorway with a small cup in his hands, his silhouette sleek and backlit. “Think of it from Near’s perspective,” he started simply. “Say he assumes I’m alive—which is what I think you’re getting at—and he assumes I’m still Kira, and I’m the one doing this. You’re entertaining the possibility that he’ll use his notebook to take me out just as a precaution.”

“The thought had occurred to me,” L muttered.

Light took a patient sip of coffee. “I’m telling you he won’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” and Light swallowed the rich steaming beverage, “If I was the Kira doing this, that would automatically mean I have or have access to a notebook. And if I have access to a Notebook—well… I know his name, don’t I? So if I perceived a threat from his direction, all I would have to do—as a precaution—would be to write down the name ‘Nate River,’ and I’d have all the time in the world to do it—Every. Single. Letter.”

L winced, and that warehouse reference hung on the air for a moment. “So your reasoning is that he won’t write your name, because you could just as easily write his.”

“Correct.”

L put a finger in his mouth. “That’s highly presumptuous.”

“Near is highly presumptuous,” Light replied. Then he smiled that small sly smile and shrugged nonchalantly. “But if I drop dead before the end of the night, then I suppose you’ll know I was wrong.”

And with that, he sauntered past them and out onto the balcony.

Had the situation not been so serious, Mello would have chuckled. Had he not been thinking the exact same thing only the previous day? Or had more time passed? Either way, he was pretty damned sure he had entertained the thought in the recent past. That one single letter would have saved Light so many troubles. Ah hell, since when had a serious situation stopped him. He allowed a grin just as he snapped off a chunk of chocolate, watching the exchange in thoughtful silence. Not even the augmented amount of typing to the side distracted his attention.

Matt sat on the edge of the couch, his own personal laptop directly in front of him. An unlit cigarette hung from his lips as his eyes were intent upon the screen, but otherwise his outward appearance had not changed. As if he'd just been charged with the simple task of scrolling through news feeds. But he knew the signs. The redhead even wore a slight grin. It was just another game to him - another challenge and one he'd enjoy tremendously despite the headaches it would likely give him once the code started to bear down on him. But for now, he was content to dig his way through the SPK's firewalls one at a time. Child's play.

Mello followed Light with his eyes, not daring to speak until he was out of earshot out on the balcony. "Merkwürdig," he murmured at last, switching smoothly to the German he knew L was more than prolific at and Light, well, was not.

A brow was lifted. Curious. "Something has changed..."

Obviously L would have caught it from the get go, but Mello needed to say it to confirm. He was not yet an expert in Light psychology. In fact, he would not likely ever be. Too goddamned complicated as far as he was concerned.

L’s eyes were glued on the sleek form standing on the balcony, still nursing the espresso. “I believe Raito-kun hates Near almost as much as you do, Mello,” he said after a moment. “That’s a good bonding point.”

It was that statement that made Mello’s face twist and Matt’s cigarette falter.

“What?”

L hadn’t moved, “Raito-kun is seeking your companionship, Mello,” he said thoughtfully, “…I want you to give it to him. The more people I have trying to get into that mind of his, the better…you’re right, something has changed.”

Mello blinked as if he hadn't quite heard him correctly. An endless rollercoaster of changing plans and intentions. Bonding with Kira over their mutual dislike of Near. Yet another normal day in the household. And yet only earlier wasn’t L implying that he didn’t want Mello and Light to bond? Wasn’t that the purpose of his rather dramatic antics to rile Kira’s temper? Or was Mello mistake? Reading the detective wrong yet again.

No, L was only trying to test how far this budding bond between the blonde and the self-proclaimed God of the New World went. It was a test, it wasn’t a warning. He wanted Mello to be aware of the situation, but that didn’t mean to stay away. Oh L loved to play with fire didn’t he.

Mello chewed quietly upon a melting square of chocolate, tossing it about his mouth as if there was a need to savor it and make it last. His gaze swept toward the balcony yet again and, chocolate gone from his mouth, Mello chewed idly on his lip. Nevermind the fact that he still held half a bar in his hand. "Any clues as to what that something is?"

L thought for a moment. “Could be a number of things—a revelation, a plan—most likely. Of what sort, I have yet to figure. When Raito-kun gets backed into a corner the way he was earlier, he schemes until he comes up with something that will re-establish his guise of superiority. Like tampering with the tracking device. To you and I, he is living the sort of prison sentence that is better than most men’s natural free lives; but to him, his independence is compromised and he’s clawing the walls to break free—not necessarily in literal terms, but he does not want to be beneath any one of us on this particular playing field. Captivity does not bode well with Kira, even if it’s captivity in the lap of luxury.”

"I realize that..." Mello let the thought hang between them.

Matt had returned to his quest, which did not mean that he was not in paying attention. Serious amounts of piled up ADD he might have, but that did not make him completely unaware.

Another snap of chocolate. Sometimes Mello was utterly convinced that he was just not getting paid enough for some of this. Irony of ironies considering that there was no salary involved with this arrangement. There never had been. His funds still leaked from less reputable sources. "Into the lion's den it is," he murmured several moments later. Pushing himself off the couch with a cat's grace, he crossed the living room and paused at the balcony's doorframe, resting there languidly.

Mello said nothing at first, resting his right shoulder against the frame and looking across the cityscape. After a short while, he spoke up at last. "Aren't you a bit too cocky considering the situation?"

Light was poised against the rail with that swath of divine vantage about him, looking out over the city, drinking it all in. God of a New World? The notion was there written in his posture. He craned his gaze back at Mello at the sound of the blonde’s voice, and his expression was reminiscent of one of those wanton angels the masters painted.

“Am I? I’d rather not stress it,” he said in that airy voice. “Do you walk around waiting to drop dead because Near may decide to scrawl your name in his notebook? Then why should I? I should have died so many times already…I’m still here for a reason…”

Kira contemplated it, and then contemplated Mello. It probably wouldn’t take Light long to figure out L had sent Mello to be the household mole, but Light let the notion flicker and flutter away. “You should probably sit down,” he said, motioning to where Mello had been so comfortably sprawled earlier that morning.

Mole or not, he acted no differently than he had in the recent past: an edge of civility mixed in with something more along the lines of his usual gruffness whenever Light was involved. It started to seem a bit more...normal. But still he lifted a brow at the offer, taking a few extra moments to study the scene from his vantage point before taking the offered seat, keeping him within plain sight. Some habits never did die out.

The rail was low enough that it did not obscure his view from the seat. Mello took a final bite of chocolate and set the rest down on the table; table upon which he rested his heels, crossing his legs at the ankles so that the chair tipped precariously on its two back legs. It was comfortable out there; the breeze borne out of the height from which they surveyed the scenery offering just enough contrast to fight off the heat.

And then he said the unexpected. "How the fuck could you miss a simple 'R'?" He sounded honestly curious, thus making it impossible to judge whether he was purposely bringing up the devastating incident at the warehouse, or simply fucking with him.

Light blinked, momentarily taken aback, and then he smiled—an introspective smile that seemed edged with grief and regret. “I’ve often wondered the same thing,” he said with a small laugh that didn’t reach his eyes. The humor faded a moment later, replaced with a very genuine anger that he kept well in check, turning his gaze back to the sprawling view of the ancient city. “That day haunts me,” he said honestly, at least Mello perceived it as honest. “But I suppose it gives you and the rest of them some semblance of pleasure.”

Mello had to wonder if Light was including L in that statement—and if he was, he was doing it out of spite, because a guy as brilliant as Light Yagami couldn’t be as dense as that. It was obvious L had been deeply affected by the events at the Yellowbox Warehouse. If he’d been holding out for Light to do the right thing then, the way he was holding out now, he’d been crushed by what went down—and how it went down. Bullets nothing, that was a mercy in the end—but listening to the madness spill out of Kira’s self-righteous mouth, and to see how he’d crumbled when defeated…Light himself was obviously blocking some of it out, he couldn’t be walking around as if he owned the world again after that disgusting display. There had to be some shame there…

Mello cocked his head to study him, to see if he could see it. And Light was rubbing his arms in the wind, his head hung lower than it was a moment ago—and yes, there it was. But did he mean it? Or was he acting because he knew Mello was looking for it?

Hard to tell if not downright impossible. The guy was a walking enigma despite the array of emotions that sprawled across those handsome features; despite those expressive eyes. He wasn't a blank slate as L could very often be. Far from it. And Mello watched him now. It wasn't pleasure that day had given him. Shit, he'd been keeping vigil at Matt’s bedside at the time. The news had not been too surprising, but finding the details had been shocking. Not the results, seeing as he'd handed Near all the last bits of information required to catch Kira, but the way in which this self-asserted Godly figure went down.

Fear. Desperation. Pure and simple. It was plain disgusting and had made Mello cringe to watch. It wasn't so much pleasure that had been taken away from the event, but an odd sense of displacement. It had been the case then and was the case now. Anger had followed it once he found out that L had indeed succeeded and was keeping Light under captivity. Further fury erupted when he found out the arrangement. And now... none of that surfaced now to be unleashed.

"Despite it all, you still regret nothing, do you?" Mello said. It was an honest question; his tone quiet if not soft, and unlike his earlier question there was no misjudging his intention. He truly wanted to know.

Light paused, and fixed him in a pensive gaze, reading the honest question in his brow. “What made you decide Kira was evil?” He asked.

Ah, the topic Mello had never wanted to discuss at length. There were far too many loopholes, far too many dead ends. Mello watched Light a moment, perhaps considering his answer.

"It's a matter of perspective," he responded, letting the words sink in briefly before continuing. "Your initial intentions were not what I'd consider evil, but your methods were far from noble." That was the easy answer. Now onto the more complicated one. "What you achieved, even for a little while, was what the majority of the people on this earth hope for - a god, I say it freely, walking amongst them and delivering those who've sinned their proper sentence." He paused there and reached for the chocolate, yet instead of taking a bite, toyed with it between his fingers a while before continuing. "However, your methods were less than prudent. You judged as you saw fit, and true enough you had the schooling, you had the intelligence to back up your decision and keep this up for six bloody years, but you had no right." It was then that he upturned his gaze to meet Light's amber one. "It isn't a matter of good and evil, but the fact that you've undermined every justice system in the world just so that you could set yourself up above it all."

“Then let me ask you something.” And perhaps there was a slim bend of disappointment in Mello that Light was not about to take up the charge and defend himself in that moment—or perhaps Light believed himself still so righteous, that he felt no need to defend himself. He turned to Mello, like the scholar at a debate—or the snake in the garden, his face a mask of unbiased calm, at least for now. “You had a notebook for a short time—I’ll be honest, when you stole it from me, you put me at such an immense loss that I was very much beside myself, impressive considering the two people you’d put in jeopardy to pull off your heist were actually my father and sister. And you had no idea. The first thing you did with that notebook was kill half of the SPK. Then you put it into the hands of your mafia brethren. I know for a fact, you didn’t want to catch me the way L and Near did, but to kill me—and then what, Mello? With Kira dead and the Death Note in your possession, what was your plan?”

It was clear that such details and questions had not been anticipated. The surprise flashed clear across his features as eyes widened momentarily before Mello caught himself. Fuck! A chocolate square was bitten off with a snap at that point.

"I admit you've put me in a difficult position," he sneered. "It was my intention to finish you off as quickly as possible. Plain and simple. That much we all know. Whoever dropped dead as a result of that notebook, however, did not do it by my hand regardless of whether or not the order was mine."

And there it was. Clean after all. He'd just have to contend with the lives he personally took rather than those awarded from the pages of a notebook. But that was another discussion all together. He had enough Catholic angst to contend with on his own time without Light's interference.

"What I would have done had things not ended as they did... I don't know,” Mello confessed. “Call me a hypocrite if you will but I cannot answer you truthfully. The Death Note seduced me as it did you, but my hands remain clean." Another snap. "You were wrong in sending your father in there that night," he murmured. Well. Weren't they just revisiting happy times that afternoon? "He was too conscious of his actions. Great chief he might have been but his conscience sealed his fate." Actually, he didn’t say that as spitefully as he could have. In fact, it seemed as if there was just the slightest hint of regret etched upon those green eyes. "I might've lost practically everything I'd worked toward that night, but in managing to walk out of there however scathed, I also gained sobriety." A kick in the ass in all terms. A sharp wakeup call. He'd gone about it the wrong way, but as it turned out, it hadn't been too late to make amends and get to that damn finish line.

“I had actually wondered about that.” Light said after a moment. And he still had that quiet introspective tone, a mild surprise, considering in prior arguments he’d defended his stance rather vehemently. Or maybe that was only when he was working hard to deny he was Kira. Truthfully, there was a weight that had lifted from Light now that he was free to be who he was. Not that that was such a good thing.

“Your religion, I mean,” he clarified. “It’s always fascinated me how entwined the mafia is with Catholicism—seems staggeringly hypocritical—a path of sin that simultaneously builds into its foundation a road to redemption—like insurance even. You’re free to do horrible things in the name of business and family and vengeance, but in the end, your faith in God can buy you a shot at Heaven and forgiveness.” And despite the conversation and the sensitive nature the two of them continued to touch upon, Light’s tone remained somewhat—empathetic? To both of their positions. Odd that. He was not being antagonistic in the least but rather engaging Mello in an honest discussion void of games—for the moment. “Obviously, given your roots and your history, of which I don’t know every lurid detail obviously, but have seen enough in your face to understand you are tallying up the penance you will owe at the end—that despite the darkness you engage in, you’re worried about your immortal soul, and yet even though the doctrines that govern your fate express the very guidelines you must abide in order to find peace with your god, you willingly and knowingly go against them—all the while praying your rosary and crossing your fingers that somehow in the end, you’ll be okay. Salvation will have mercy and forgive you the sins you still persisted in committing despite knowing otherwise.”

Light paused, and his eyes were fixed on Mello. “What if you knew the outcome ahead of time? What if you were guaranteed that the path you chose would lead you to one place and one place only? And let’s say it’s not the preferable outcome. Are your convictions in your actions strong enough to take you there regardless? Do you believe so strongly in what you’re doing that you will take that path and sacrifice yourself for something you believe is greater? Or do you betray your own judgment in fear of the ultimate consequence?”

Light paused again, his gaze drawn downward, elegant fingers idly plucking at the knit fabric around his neck. The wind caught in his hair and blew it across his eyes. “As for my father,” he said. “It was not my intention that he go in there that day. Matsuda was supposed to have been the one. But Soichiro Yagami did what he thought was right, even knowing the consequences. And for that… I would have killed him 13 days later had he not died that day.” His silence was long and heavy and unreadable at that moment. And then his eyes fluttered upward to meet Mello’s gaze. “Take that to your Catholic God.”

Halfway through his speech, Mello just about held up a hand to interrupt, but held himself silent until Light had finished. Silence followed, deep and contemplative. "Do not throw me into the mix with general mafia assumptions, Light. I held my beliefs long before I held the LA mafia by their balls," he spat as if the mere idea that he' been grouped into the stereotype had offended him. It was different. The mafia had been convenient. Nothing to do with honor and family and religion. His honor was his own as was his religion, and as far as family went... well, that was a pointless thought was it not?

"But yes, you're right. I've fucked up as far as the rules go. And I continue to do so. Not only am I fucking another guy, I've got enough blood on my hands to pave my way straight into Hell but you know what... That's my own problem to deal with. I can still live with myself. I can still wake up every morning and look at myself in the mirror without wanting to sink out of sight." Sometimes it was not so easy. Sometimes when the bile was still fresh in the back of his throat and blood still stained those hard to reach places beneath his fingernails - thankfully painted black and hiding all such traces - it was not so easy to face himself each morning with a clear conscience. It was far from clear.

"Perhaps just like you, my views of right and wrong are warped. I've done what I have in order to rid the world of you, in order to keep both of them safe as well as myself. You've carried out your justice under the belief that it would be the one and only solution to guaranteeing that such acts of violence would come to an end." Alas the spot he had not wanted to reach. It was not so different in the end. The differences between them not so vast after all.

Light saw the unwanted conclusion dawn in Mello’s face, followed by the snap of chocolate and the patented scowl. “Not so very different from me after all?” But Kira felt the need to say it all the same. He turned back to the view, waxing philosophic—or at least giving that impression.

“I also find it interesting how upset you are by the idea that I’ve held myself above the flawed justice systems of the world which fail to keep simple people safe, when you yourself have probably not abided by even one of those laws you think you hold so dear. And neither does L. L is his own brand of justice—and is not held to any sole system alone. In doing so, he puts himself above them all, the way you accuse me of doing. What gives him the right? Or you? The ends of course. The means justify them…you’ve said so yourself. The difference is that while L can take only handfuls of dangerous criminals off the streets—usually only when the mood strikes him or there is a sufficient sum involved—I’ve eliminated hundreds of thousands of murderers, rapists, terrorists, warlords, pedophiles—the worst this world has to offer. People the system could not punish adequately, could not keep from the streets, could not keep out of the general populace. People who began and perpetuated war and famine and genocide. There’s no threat of them ever going into civilization again. I have to wonder if you’ve ever actually taken the time to speak with anyone who has been saved or avenged by Kira. Probably not. Instead you and L and Near were swept up in broad umbrella principles—thou shalt not kill—thou shalt not prove to be better than the world’s greatest detective, thou shalt not make a difference in this unabashedly rotten world. What gives me the right to do it? What gives you the right to stop it? There is blood on my hands—the blood of the wicked, and I don’t regret it. I’ve traded my soul for it, haven’t I? Not for money, not for wealth or prosperity, but for justice—and I don’t regret it. Not now, not ever—not even when I was on my knees in the warehouse bleeding to death. Why should I? For every life I took, I saved dozens more—and could you truly argue the impractical so-called moral high ground and broadly say that killing is wrong? Taking any life, even if it’s the life of a man who walked into your house and slaughtered your family—is wrong? Ask Misa, if you ever see her again, how it felt to know the man who killed her parents had suffered for his crime when the justice system could not touch him.”

Light looked inward, a small smile spreading his mouth—this reminder of Kira’s crusade stirred far too much passion in him. “If those closest to you were ever harmed—if Matt was ever harmed and your precious justice system could not touch the ones who did it…what would you do? What would you want? In the end, in a room without mirrors?” Light paused, at last coming full circle to the initial question. “You’re right—I regret nothing.”

Mello hated him then. Hated him for the arrogance. Hated him for the conviction. Hated him because he was right. Hated him because in that one moment of clarity Light had stirred in Mello all the doubt and the thoughts that he had kept safely tucked away for all those years. And what he hated the most was the fact that he truly could not hate him. Not honestly. Not as he once had.

It was then that Mello opted for silence. If only for just a little while. Silence to think, silence to digest what had been said and formulate some semblance of a reply. He found his eyes following that of Light's gaze over the span of the city that had seen its share of similar issues. Of right and wrong, and god and morality. And yet, he could only behold it for so long before pinching the bridge of his nose and obscuring his vision. Goddamn him. Goddamn him for bringing this up now. Damn him for bringing up the debate at all - and yet it had not been much of a debate, had it? A civil educated discussion of opposing views. Damn him.

Five years ago the playing field had been different. In some respect, L had been wrong to assume that Mello like himself and Near had wanted to beat Kira on an equal level. It might have turned out to be the case, but given the opportunity at the time, one of his trusted bullets surely had Kira's name on it. He would have done it unflinchingly. That had been the goal all along - his destruction. And yet, how many chances of doing that very thing had he gotten since then? How many times had he pulled a gun to Light's head since? Countless. And here was yet another chance.

The chair straightened itself as Mello dropped his feet off the edge of the table and folded his good arm over the rail, resting his chin down upon bare skin. The white rosary bracelet was back upon his wrist and now stood out when it had never before. Stood out now that Light had pointed out the particulars; the hypocritical psychology that made Mello tick. Again, damn him. Just then how he wished he could summon that anger; the anger that would solve everything because he would not have to feel so inadequate; the anger that would have him scowling furiously with a curse and stalking away from the balcony, deeming this task impossible. But he didn't. In fact, Mello had yet to say anything minutes later.

"What I said the other night still holds true," he said at last albeit quietly. "You're one of the most infuriating individuals I have met to date." Given his track record, that was quite an esteemed spot to hold, and yet the irony of it was that there seemed to be no hints of fury as he said so. "And maybe that's because I simply don't know what the fuck to make of you." The confession was allowed to linger between them but Mello could not help daring a sidelong glance through lengthy bangs at him.

Light smiled quietly, his gaze scanning the ground, catching Mello looking up at him and for a moment their eyes held. “There’s no black and white here, Mello,” he said, “—not anymore. I found that out the hard way a long time ago and I have been fighting to maintain ever since. But we all have, haven’t we?” His smile broadened a bit, but remained ever reflective. “Ryuk told me once, that he would never say whether I was right or wrong on the matter. He never has—it’s sometimes made me wonder if there even was a right and wrong, and where, ultimately did all the lines lay in the end?” He was quiet again, and those quiet silences seemed the most honesty Yagami Light had ever shown around him. “My first judgment with the Death Note was only an experiment to see if the notebook worked. I found it on the ground at school and thought it was some stupid prank; but I took it regardless because I was curious. When I went to write down a name, having already read the rules, my pen faltered. What if it wasn’t a prank? What if I was actually about to take a human life? It went against everything my father ever taught me, everything I thought I believed and stood for and wanted to adhere to. Murder was wrong…. On TV at the time was a news report about a man having gone into a building and taken people hostage. They showed his picture, and they showed his name—and I wrote it down. It was almost automatic, he was evil, he wanted to do innocent people harm—and it was possible, that there on my desk lay the power to stop him … and it did…” He paused, but Mello was still listening intently, because here were things about Kira he’d never truly given any thought. But this wasn’t Kira talking, was it? It was Light…and where did the distinction lay?

“The second time I used it,” Light went on. “It was on a motorcycle thug about to rape a girl right in front of my eyes. His friends called out his name, and I stood there and scrawled down all the possible kanji I could use to spell it right, and the girl was saved… I want you to know, Mello, that I had remorse in the beginning, I could not believe what I had done; but it occurred to me quickly just what was possible if the Death Note was used in the name of justice, and not in the name of personal gain—money, wealth power … or if it was not used at all. Where would that girl be now? Or those people in the building? Or the thousands of others who saw the face of Kira when they needed it most?”

Light was quiet then, a long moment that stretched between them, and Mello’s gaze still remained fixed on his cross. There was so much to process, about Light, about himself, about his faith and his whole damnable world view that felt like it was now spinning on the wrong axis. Giving Kira any credit, or even the chance to speak his peace was never in the plan from Day 1—and somehow when it came out in the warehouse that day it sounded so much more insane than it did right now. But that was desperation talking, wasn’t it? This was conviction.

Mello closed his eyes, and the wind was in his ears, and Light’s voice suddenly on the wind was a strangely sublime experience he let envelop him, even if the words themselves were confusing: “You’re bleeding,” Light said.

Mello didn’t put the math together in time, before Light was suddenly guiding him to his feet against the balcony railing, his hands moving to the darkening stain across Mello’s stomach. The stitches must have ripped. It wasn’t bad, but it was there, and yet at that moment, standing against Light, Light’s hand firm but gentle on his body—Light’s eyes, those deep, amber eyes so full of so much… wisdom and madness, passion and innocence, conviction, sadness and fear—Mello found himself moving before he even allowed himself to think...

It was his own brand of impulsiveness as he slid both hands around Light’s slender jaw, gripping his face hard between his palms, his gaze spearing firm and fast into Light’s eyes—not to ask permission or even to offer an explanation—just to connect with him before he pulled Light close and kissed him deep …