Redeemer

Right about now would have been a damned good time to start thinking of a reason as to why he shouldn’t plant a bullet in Kira’s head. But despite how strong the urge was, Matt withheld. He’d have to pat himself on the back for that one later. Besides, he couldn’t forget the pesky detail of who it had been to violently mark Light’s body in such a manner to begin with.

The redhead twitched, the wheels turning in his mind. Anger was good. Fury was better. It kept away the hurt and the sinking sense of betrayal on Mello’s part. It kept away all of those darker thoughts that’d been riding him for the past hour like a ghost, just waiting to emerge and tear him down ruthlessly. But he would not let them. Not so easily. It was easier to turn that hurt into anger and deal with it in a more productive manner.

Mello was up. The couch groaning faintly as he pushed himself off its all-too-comfortable cushions. Mello was not only up – he was at Matt’s side the moment that first hint of flat black appeared in the gamer’s hand. The pistol drawn with the same dexterity as it had been previous, but instead of aiming at his lover, it was Kira who was forced to stare down its barrel. “Get out here,” he hissed dangerously, not so much as bothering with the Japanese usually spoken between them. At that point, he could care less. He waved the weapon, motioning Light to emerge from the bathroom.

“What are you doing?” Perhaps it was the tone Mello used; too normal and demanding as usual. Aloof and unconcerned as if nothing had just taken place; as if those fucking scratches on Kira’s back had not been his doing. Matt turned his eyes fiercely on his lover who had approached him silently. The element of surprise worked well in his advantage just then because as Mello was reaching out for the weapon trained on Light, Matt not only slapped his hand away, but gripped his lover’s chin firmly between leather-clad fingers.

Green eyes widened momentarily, surprise flashing across his features. Obviously Matt was not accustomed to react in such a manner. In fact, if anyone had ever been the one to reprimand and use violence to his advantage, it had been Mello and not the other way around. Thus, foolishly, he immediately shook out of that hold, only to find it too firm indeed. His hand fell upon Matt’s wrist, gaze narrowing in warning.

“That look doesn’t fucking work right now,” the redhead snarled lowly at him, keeping that gun trained on Light all the while. “We’re going on, so get some goddamned bloody clothes on. I don’t want to hear a fuckin’ word right now, Mello.”

Thick silence followed. Strained, uncomfortable. And although it looked as if Mello was about to rebel on principle alone – he did not take orders kindly, especially not like this – his teeth were grit and whatever words had been on the tip of his tongue, silenced with some effort. He did, however, shake out of that grip before backing up several steps, turning to the guest room and disappearing inside.

Shit.

The thin hoodie was barely over his head when Mello was forced to emerge from the bedroom despite the stabbing pain at his shoulder, and lack of preparation. Noriko ran past him to hide beneath the bed. Matt was cursing. Loudly and repeatedly. Gun pointed squarely at Light’s head from only a couple of meters away. Beside them the narrow hallway closet door lay open.

“You either go in willingly, or I knock you the fuck out. Personally I might get more enjoyment out of the latter but seeing as I’ve already wasted far too much goddamned time, it would be preferable that you would for once in your self-centered bloody life, do something someone was telling you to!”

“I am not going in there,” Light growled, and the presence of the gun had him seething angry. It was no surprise given his history how much Kira hated having guns pulled on him. But even though he’d allowed himself to be forced as far as the hall at gunpoint, he’d stopped budging from there—staring Matt down defiantly, the anxiety clearly laced in his gaze. L he’d been figuring out for years, Mello he was learning how to deal with, Matt…when it came to Matt Light was quickly deciding he’d underestimated the redhead.

Nevertheless the moment Mello appeared from the guest room Kira’s eyes shot up at him—for help? Assistance? Some voice of reason? It was a damn small closet. If things weren’t what they were, Mello would have almost been amused at Matt’s plan, instead he stood there and didn’t say a word. Now was not the time to speak anything on Kira’s behalf; and his decision not to act had Light seeing red.

“Get the fuck in there now, you fucking cunt!!” Matt hollered, and his aggression with the gun had Light recalculating whether or not the redhead had the conviction to actually gun him down then and there. The odds were not leaning in Light’s favor, but his pride however, still had him hesitating, no matter how pale he had just gone now that the weapon was basically an inch from his mouth.

His eyes flickered defiantly at Matt one last time and Matt…lost his patience. He whipped the weapon hard across Light’s face, and Light hit the floor like a ton of bricks. Kira, down for the count. Matt stood above him for a moment, panting, glaring, waiting to see if he’d done the job right. Light wasn’t moving, not a stitch, and just for good measure, Matt kicked him.

Mello was just a tad—surprised? But Matt didn’t turn around. “I realized something,” he said, almost as an afterthought, at last shoving the weapon back in his jeans, and bending down to drag Light by the arms and essentially stuff him into the narrow closet. “If I didn’t knock the fucker out—he was going to make a helluva lot of noise.”

Probably true.

Mello had yet to say anything though, watching him with a mixture of bemusement and surprise. Sometime between slipping from the bedroom and watching with a mild flinch, Light go down beneath the blow, the hoodie had come down over his narrow frame, covering bandages and more skin than his trademark vests tended to do, and yet it was still tight enough to highlight every curvature of his body. He followed it with one of his shorter leather riding jackets. The shirt just managed to cover the guns that were slipped snuggly against his lower back.

“Where’s L..?” he dared ask after several minutes’ pause. The door had not only been closed but barred. Mello lifted a brow as Matt dragged one of the kitchen chairs out onto the hall and shoved it firmly beneath the door handle, testing it before deeming it secure. It would hold him until they returned.

“Several blocks away and refusing to come back anytime soon,” he answered shortly, turning that clear blue gaze on him. Some of the tension had lifted off his shoulders once the butt of the gun had hit Light across the face – it had been satisfying to say the least – but he was by no means happy. Not just yet. Not quite so easily. Mello frowned and it had nothing to do with the redhead’s temper now turned on him so much as the fact that L was out on the streets on his own at a time like this.

“And you’re not with him because…”

“Because,” Matt snarled, crushing the filter into the nearest ashtray. “I need your fucking help in bringing him back since he sure as hell will not listen to me.”

Mello flinched but said nothing in return, lifting his phone off the table as he passed it on the way to the door. It was there that Matt stopped him, hand jutting out to catch him in the chest. And even though he felt those blue eyes on him, Mello could hardly bring himself to meet his lover’s gaze. There was guilt there when none had been present out on the balcony earlier; there was a barely contained sense of dread upon his features that confirmed the activities just recently shared between he and Light just as clearly as those scratches and bites had.

“Look at me,” the redhead urged him but this time, did not go so far as to yank his chin so that he could look at Mello. The latter did it on his own after several moment’s pause. Cool, introverted. How typical. How damned expected. “You fucked up.” The accusation drove straight home, causing Mello to repress a flinch. “I can’t say I’m entirely surprised. I’m not blind to what’s been going on here between you, even if you yourself hadn’t seen it from the get go. No, not a fucking word!” he interjected, seeing as Mello was about to interrupt. “Don’t you worry about me. I’ll deal and right now I’m too bloody pissed off to care. It’s L you should be worried about at this point, you fucking prick. So I don’t want to hear a goddamned complaint. I don’t care if I have to drive your ass to the fucking hospital by the end of the day to stitch you back up again, but you owe him this.”

“You won’t hear me complain…”

Matt was quiet a moment. “No… you never did complain,” he murmured thoughtfully, gaze taking Mello in as if his words alluded to a different time and place. But the moment passed all too quickly and his features reflected determination. “C’mon. I’d like to be back before he wakes up and makes a fucking ruckus.”

* * *

“Ego te absolvo a peccatis tuis in nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti... Amen.”

There was silence before those words, there was more silence after them, and L could hear the tremor in the priest’s voice as he recited the absolution.

The detective’s dark eyes lifted to the silhouette behind the archaic lattice screen and studied the man—the priest’s expression was distant, shaken—and he was grappling for his conviction to shore up his own faith at that moment. “Go in peace, my son,” he said after a long moment. “God is with you—you do not face this Darkness alone.”

L hesitated, but said nothing further, pausing only to make the sign of the cross. “Amen,” he whispered, and left the confessional. The priest did not follow. It was probably for the better.

Her lips spread wide at the sight of him—her followers haunting various angles of the nave, in pews, leaning against columns—this set was mafia from the looks of it; and if not mafia, then something worse. They were grim and finely dressed and terribly intimidating, but as he’d done before, L barely cracked an expression, shoving his hands into his pockets, his eyes just scanning his new company, before falling on Bella herself.

She took that as invitation, and sauntered up to him, lush red lips drawn up in a sly smile far too reminiscent of Light’s own. And when she was right there before him, she leaned in:

“L,” she greeted and leant that syllable far too terrible a weight.

“Madame Sforza,” L greeted back, unmoved, as always.

They were on the same page, yet still her eyes drank him in. “This is quite a change,” she purred, alluding to his appearance the other night at the café. “But I’ll admit, somehow it is more…natural to you.”

L didn’t respond, but he wasn’t cowing down to her either.

Bella wanted him afraid, but she had yet to rouse that response in him. “Then let me ask you," she said, "—I’m sure you’re well aware of our intentions; but I need to know. Misora…is it…Him?”

L didn’t bat an eye. “The first, the last and the only,” he replied. “But I’m sure you’ve realized by now, Misora is not his real name.”

Bella smiled demurely. “Of course,” she said. “What is his real name then, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Light.” Simple, to the point; but not in its entirety.

“…Light.” She seemed to enjoy the sacred imagery such a name conjured.

“Shall I assume he is your prisoner?”

“He has been for months.”

“And he is working against us?”

“At my order.”

“And why should I believe you?”

“That’s your decision.”

Bella smiled, and motioned for L to walk with her. The basilica was too heavily guarded by Kira worshippers by that point, so he fell into step alongside her and there was nothing different in his manner than there usually was. “Regardless of his association to me,” L said flatly, “he is what he is.”

Bella drew a deep thoughtful breath. “I have no guarantee he is what you both claim. You’re clever, you’ve come this far—there is nothing to say that Misora…Light…is Kira.”

L laughed at that. “Signora,” he chided. “Don’t you know the devil when you see him?”

Bella stopped and considered him long and hard before she smiled, satisfied. “Then you’re going to give him to us,” she said.

L barely reacted. “I have no intention of releasing him. Ever.”

“You’re not in a position to challenge me, L,” Bella replied, her gaze grazing over the various hulking members of her entourage. “It suits me to kill you here and now. A bullet in your brain before God and the church and all that is holy. I’ll leave you bleeding on this very stone.”

L still didn’t flinch, and it was hard to read his eyes—always haunted, almost lost, but never afraid. “Measures have been taken,” he said plainly. “If I die, so does he.”

The corner of Bella’s mouth hitched as though she expected as much. “I wonder then,” she purred, “What it will take, to get you to see…the light?”

* * *

It was a good half hour later when they found him at last. L had not made their task easy in the slightest. The ride had been for the most part, silent without being awkward. There would be a time to deal with personal issues but right now there was a greater task at hand.

Matt had pulled the car into a spot on the opposite side of the piazza, detecting L’s location as well as his intent. But as he threw the door open to follow him inside the ancient church, Mello stopped him with a hand to his wrist. “Wait,” he said, eyes not on the church’s sealed doors but its surroundings. Something felt off about the ordeal. No tourists were coming in and out; in fact, no one had tried the doors since a small group of tourists trickled out with remarkable eagerness. The strain of guilt he’d been wearing upon those features was wiped and replaced with something more familiar and just a tad more dangerous. Mello glimpsed through the rearview mirror, noting the vehicles that lay scattered about the narrow one way street.

A frown touched his lips right before a sweet cocoa square followed. “They found him.” Chilling words said far too lowly, far too casually. But Matt knew him better than that. There was nothing casual in his lover’s stance as he slid from the passenger’s seat, shutting the door quietly behind him.

His visage fell upon the church then, eyeing the all too public plaza that extended out before it, the narrow alleyway that led deeper into church grounds and service accesses. “I’m assuming he’s got no bugs.”

“None that I’m aware of.”

A brief nod. A snap of chocolate. “Can’t exactly burst through the front entrance,” Mello mulled quietly, already taking off toward the house of God that should have been a sanctuary, not a damned trap.

The first words of pardon were upon his lips the moment Mello forced the side door open, gaining them access into the church’s deeper rooms. Regretfully, there was a need to come in with one of his guns drawn, which naturally drew unnecessary panic from one of the older nuns first encountered. “Non gridi prego. Entro nella casa del dio nella pace,” he told her quickly, imploring silence in trust with the most innocent look he could give her. Perhaps it was the silver cross dangling from the weapon that calmed her in the end, or the rosary that bounced freely against the leather of his jacket but even though there as fright upon her eyes, she nodded, pressing curved fingers to her lips.

In the end, he got her to agree to remain in the back and prevent anyone through to the main basilica. Certainly she knew what went on beyond. Certainly she knew who occupied it now. If she did not, the dark look he cast her in passing confirmed all fears and deductions.

The marble stairs led them upwards to the higher level that surrounded the church’s nave and eventually would deposit them at the back with its organ and choir pews. It was there they separated. Mello instructed Matt to keep going across to the opposite side as he hung a left, streaming quickly along the narrow passage, keeping himself hidden and for the most part, silent.

It was then as he pressed his back to the cold marble, glimpsing over his shoulder down at the pews that he noted just how outnumbered they once again were and a frown tugged upon his lips. Mello took care to look upon each and every face, memorizing every last one of them. Whether his intentions were to dig up necessary information later on, or pray for their immortal souls once his bullet had shot through it was impossible to tell. Unlikely that he knew it himself, but new that Matt would also be doing the same.

How easy it would be to put an end to all this by placing a bullet in Bella’s head. Would they survive long enough to make it out of there once she was down? An unlikely chance with these odds and lack of proper preparation. He looked across the way and saw his lover sink down into position further up along the hall. Just the two of them against a good part of Kira’s congregation. He had to laugh. Or would, perhaps, when they managed to pull off the impossible a second time.

Perhaps it was that very same reckless thought that caused him to push himself up and backtrack. He caught his lover’s wide-eyed look, shaking his head and gesturing against whatever foolish plan he had just come up with. But Mello was not listening, riding on that same reckless high that had gotten him and Light out there the previous night to pull off a miracle. The stairs were taken quietly but with new-borne urgency. It took more effort than it should have, but he reached the bottom floor and with an added grace that for anyone who knew him, spoke of an entirely different persona being called upon.

Mello got as far as the first pew, sinking down onto the edge and draping his right arm over the back, rotating his body just enough to behold the assembled party. “Signori…” his voice carried smoothly, within an instant stealing all of the attention from L and onto himself. Guns were drawn, pointed and cocked before those present even realized who was interrupting their assembly. A gloved hand was lifted carelessly, dismissing the sight of drawn weaponry with a flick of his wrist. Up above Matt was practically having a heart attack; the inability to light up just then and there likely not helping his nerves along. When those green eyes were lifted, he saw several of the men falter, guns lowering before the words was given as recognition set in. Ah, conflicting interests. Good. In the very least, he could count on that hesitation.

The unfortunate truth of it was that in the time it took Mello to get himself from the organ balcony to the bottom pew, the situation had already spun out of control. L was not caving the way Bella wanted him to, no matter how outnumbered or threatened he truly was, he still did not so much as flinch before her.

“I’m confused by what I saw between you,” she said, again referring to Light, to the obvious stroke of jealousy L, then as Masaru, had instigated at the café the other night. “I don’t like what I saw.” She was turning her back on him, and as she did so, two of her minions were closing in on either side. If L had seen any sign of Mello prior to his interruption, he certainly didn’t betray it—but then again, he didn’t have much time to.

The first blow came from the man on the right—a hard heavy fist descending fast, brutal, merciless—dropping L solidly to the ground. He didn’t have a chance to shake it off before the man on his left start raining violent kicks to his body while he was on the ground—he tried to curl away from it, but they were fairly devastating, and then it was both men pummeling at him fiercely with fists and feet as Bella watched vindicated.

“We’re going to take you apart, L, until you give us what we want. Give us Kira.” She said, leaning against the altar, arms folded over her chest.

The first bruiser grabbed L by a now bloody shirt, half lifting him back off the floor, fist poised to crash into his face, and L would still not crack—he was dazed, bleeding, but clear enough to remain defiant. It dawned on Matt, who was frantic and stuck watching silently above that L was prepared to suffer whatever they had to offer—he wasn’t going to fold, he wasn’t going to beg, he wasn’t going to show fear.

He wasn’t Light.

“Oh god,” Matt murmured, and to see L being victimized by these fuckers right there beneath a fresco of the crucifixion—Christ’s suffering at Golgotha … it was terrifying, it was heart wrenching, it choked him with a fear he’d never quite known before.

“Signori…” And Mello’s voice was a blessed interruption. Thank God.

The beating paused, fists still poised and all eyes turned to the blonde sprawled nonchalantly in the pew. Mello had heard but hadn’t seen the beating, and it was as he was trying to keep his demeanor appropriately cool that his eyes fell over what they had just done to L...and yet despite it, L’s dark weary gaze seemed to be warning Mello away…even now, he remained the protector.

And somewhere in the back of Mello’s head, he was already praying for him.

"Gentlemen," he repeated coolly as if the bloody sight did not disturb him in the least. Mello allowed a small condescending smile as he shook his head, sweeping his gaze over the gathering. He gave L a brief glimpse, lifting a brow at the display, but it was more than Bella herself received. In fact, his gaze swept right over her as if she was positively unimportant. To his cause, she was.

"I'm afraid I find this display not only regretful but unnecessary," Mello continued, pushing himself back onto his feet. Digits brushed the smooth wood at the back of the pew, gaining himself a few extra seconds, perhaps, to stifle and swallow away any discomfort he might have been feeling. It would seem that Light was not the only good actor in their midst.

"Signore Capiello," he said, lifting his attention to one of the older men who had been the first to lower their weapons at the sight of him. He had been the one to throw the first punch. Not a pleasant situation to be in. "What part of he is not to be touched don’t you understand?" The question was asked quietly, but his tone had an edge to it which commanded respect. "Does your new lady have you so firmly by the balls, signore, that you forget your place?"

Silence followed, tense. Dangerous. A good part of Bella's entourage clearly conflicted as to what to do in this situation. Mello could have laughed at their predicament just then.

Matt, however, was far from laughing. In fact, he felt as if he would be sick before the evening was out. The tension was palpable and he was already predicting the worse. What the hell was Mello thinking!? he shouted within the depths of his mind and yet, a more reasonable question soon followed as he watched his lover down below gradually talk L out of this mess. Just how deep are you..? Clearly he'd known of Mello's involvement with the mob, but the details were lost on him. Matt had never asked and Mello had never felt the need to reveal it. The LA incident proved that he had a reasonable amount of control, even then barely seventeen years old, over the darker underground world of the city. There were signs of it in Tokyo and now this... The display proved that Mello had a whole lot more control world-wide than Matt had ever expected. It was a sobering thought. Just how much more was there that he knew so very little about?

Clearly, however, Bella was unhappy with the way this was going. She’d straightened, Mello set firmly in her sights. His involvement was more than suspicious, and given her quick discovery of L himself, it was only a matter of moments before she understood, despite his connections, despite his power—Mello was essentially on L’s side. There was no other reason to want to save the detective at that moment. Hell, she’d even assumed that Kira had more of an investment in L than she was prepared for.

They had only begun to establish who Bella was and how she behaved—given the incredible clusterfuck of their operation, they didn’t know as much as they needed to at that moment. So when her voice suddenly boomed over the scene, the men caught between her and Mello froze solid.

“Signore Capiello,” she commanded, and all heads turned her way—like a priestess of the Apocalypse, she stood there at the altar, Death Note open in hand. “It’s time to decide, Signori—which god you worship— famiglia, or divina?”

This was getting ugly fast.

Mello wouldn’t let that slide, and rose to his feet, gleaming pistol drawn, aimed at Bella, cross dangling in sacred air. “Fate is just as easily met at the end of a pistol as it is under the scrawl of a name, Signora Sforza.” He said coolly. “You stand here in the House of God and dare to speak of yourself in such a manner? Don’t any of you recognize the Devil when you see him? Kira is not God, and neither are you.”

Funny, L had said the same thing.

Bella’s face scowled ugly, but she and Mello were both hinging their actions on the same principle—the fear of death.

“Are you afraid to die, Signora?” Mello growled. “Are you like He you hold so dear?”

An odd allusion to Light that made Bella’s brow knit. Either she’d missed that rule about forsaking her eternity, or she was indeed prepared to go further than Kira himself had been, in the warehouse at least.

“No, Signore,” she grit, pen poised.

“A fine principle, but how is it in practice?” Mello sneered back, cocking the gun.

And this standoff was certainly giving Matt a heart attack, especially once Bella knocked her pen to paper. “I am the hand of God—and God has judged,” she growled, and in seconds had scrawled something, it couldn’t be more than half a name in the instant her pen hit paper, and Mello fired off a round at her. It winged her shoulder, threw her back—but at the same moment, no less than 6 of the conflicted men hit the floor writhing with death throes. She had no time to write six full names—what the hell was going on here?!

Mello’s eyes went wide, and Bella was hollering bloody murder at the remaining men, who in the line of their comrades’ fate were scurrying quickly at her order—and about then the definitive screech of sirens and polizia was piling in the air outside. Most probably the priest still huddled in the confessional had called them…or some tourist—Mello was lost to think of another option at that moment, because there were far more important things…

Bella’s men had grabbed L.

“Goddamint!” Mello hissed, chasing after the group of them as they fled passed the apse through the back of the basilica, dragging L with them. He was too brutalized to resist men twice his size—and Mello couldn’t let them get away. He charged up the holy aisle, gun drawn. “Matt!!” He hollered, peeling quickly through the low space of the doorway—and Matt was already rushing to his feet to follow, because Mello needed back up and he had none.

Except another figure rose up in front of Matt before he could rush for the stairs—a gnarled and twisted figure, cackling at him, notebook in hand beneath a long black-sleeved priest’s robe; and the man’s eyes were glowing—glowing red. Shinigami Eyes. Bella had backup poised ready to strike—and this one knew all their names. That was how 6 men suddenly dropped dead—and that was how he and Mello would have dropped dead if Matt didn’t pull his gun, and in one deft move—pull the trigger. The bullet slammed into the crazed priest’s forehead and he dropped there in the balcony, a pool of blood spreading fast from beneath his twitching body.

Matt stood there for a moment, breathing hard, but there was no time to process it. He had to rush after Mello and L—but before he did, he snatched up the discarded Death Note, and tucked it into his pants. That made two notebooks in Bella’s possession. How many more were there?

The thought raced to the back of his mind as he careened down the stairs, flying fast out the back corridors where Mello and the others had disappeared. He could still hear the cops threatening from the front of the basilica plaza—but the alleys behind it were empty. Matt charged out the door, and almost immediately was hauled back by Mello, who slammed him up against the stone wall to keep him out of sight.

They had no time for this—L—but Mello was peering around the corner of the archaic building, scowling like mad where Bella and her men had just shoved L into a van and fled the scene; and there in their wake having just rounded the corner themselves….

“SPK,” Mello hissed. “We cannot be compromised more than we already are.” And by the very grit in his voice it was obvious how frustrated he was. They’d lost L, and now Near’s fucker’s were right there—knowingly or not, ready to catch them.

Matt felt his head clench and twist and his eyes went imploringly to the street where the van’s had disappeared. “We can track him,” he breathed.

“We’re going to have to,” Mello growled, pressing the pommel of the gun to his head and squeezing his eyes tight. They’d lost L—goddamnit!!

“I need my gear at the room.” Matt murmured. “I can track him and infiltrate whatever systems they’ll lock him down under. We can’t do this blind, Mello, we’re all fucked that way. We have to play it smart.”

Mello’s eyes were slits, fixing on the familiar form of Gevanni scouting the back of the basilica. “Then we go back to the room; we have absolutely no time, do you understand me Matt? No fucking time.”

And Matt nodded as he and Mello slunk into the shadows of the alley and on foot raced back to where they’d parked the car…

And even though time was of the essence, Matt was surprisingly enough allowed to keep the car keys as Mello motioned him toward the driver's seat, climbing in wordlessly. His jacket was tugged open to reveal the first stains of red upon his shirt. "Fuck!" he hissed, leaning his head heavily back against the seat as the car propelled them forward onto the by now familiar streets.

They'd lost L. The thought was too huge to fully grasp; too impossible to comprehend. How could they have managed that? How could they have missed the presence of Bella's trusted lapdog scribbling down names in her stead? The one with The Eyes no less? Shit. They could have been dead right now. They could have fallen dead upon that cold stone floor just like the rest of her hired help. Goddamnit! Mello pinched the bridge of his nose; left hand clamped tightly around the gun. It had been reloaded as he raced in pursuit of Bella. Everything had just been turned on its head. The situation was by no means unfamiliar. Hell, he had plenty of similar encounters tucked away under his belt but there was more at risk now. Matt was there when he'd never before been involved and more importantly still... they'd fucking lost L.

It was a few seconds before he realized that the car had been parked and Matt was getting out. Wordlessly, Mello followed, coming back to himself with forced conviction, racing up to the top floor that held the presidential suite.

Light was all but forgotten as he moved through the hall and into the living area, heading straight for the bathroom and the medicine cabinet within, wasting no time in swallowing a couple of much needed painkillers. Matt, on the other hand, was disconnecting laptops, severing connections and gathering up his equipment. There was no need for words between them now as the goal was far too clear.

They needed to track L. And fast. No time to lose. No goddamned time to lose at all.

* * *

He remembered the closet incident the moment his eyes peeled open to pitch blackness and his chest felt like it was caving in on itself because he was so twisted and scrunched into such a small space. He grappled for the wall, his hand pushing past clothes that were making it even more difficult to breathe and he tried to adjust, tried to right himself, grunting and aggravated and truly pissed off that here he was locked in a fucking closet.

Light gabbed a long pull of leather that kept hitting him in the face, and used it at last to help prop himself up into a sitting position. Everything ached and he was still semi-wrapped in a damp towel and not much else—well, nothing else. The amount of indignity he suffered at these bastards’ hands just kept mounting, but what was worse was the bout of claustrophobia he felt coming on rather quickly now that he was conscious.

He pressed against the door, tried the knob—knew it wouldn’t budge but he tried anyway. It was about 2 seconds after that he started shoving his shoulder violently against the unyielding blockade, growling and cursing but very much aware he was alone in the room—not even Ryuk was around, or the shinigami would have stuck his head in and laughed at his predicament. No, Light was alone, and he twisted, and tried to use his legs, slamming feet against the door—making an awfully loud racket—at the very least, maybe hotel staff would come to intervene. No such luck at that moment however, and another several slams and his feet were sore and stinging, and he was back to cursing.

“Fuck!!” He pulled on the clothes hanging over his head—hangers snapped things fell on top of him, and he was digging through to find space and air, his hands falling on a pair of doc martens he was half sitting on—Mello’s or Matt’s clodhoppers, they’d spilled out of the guest room accommodations and into this closet apparently—and you know what? Fuck it. They’d locked Light in there naked. If staff was going to show up to find out what the noise was about, he was not going to be let out of closet naked. He had to draw the line somewhere.

Light tore down what felt like a pair of Mello’s leather pants, and twisted as much as he could to pull the damn things on. Snug, way too snug, tight in all the places that probably looked good, but was just not his style, but at that moment he didn’t care. Instead Light pulled on the boots that had been jabbing him in the ass up until that moment, because that extra weight and protection on his feet he planned to use on the door…

About that time however, he heard rummaging around in the room. They were either back or the hotel had sent someone. So he angled himself and slammed his feet against the door repeatedly. It was definitely budging now, and he adding some not-so-flattering curse words to the task until at last the door swung open and Matt was standing there looking angry and pale and utterly…panicked?

“You motherfucker!!” Light growled, shoving the redhead back as he half climbed, half fell out of the closet, sucking in the air and wincing at the brightness.

“Don’t you ever fucking do that to me again!!” And goddamnit, his head hurt, the bruise from the gun probably welting rather nastily across his cheek. Light swiped his hand against it, felt the bump, got even angrier until he realized neither Matt nor Mello was paying much attention to him…and L was still nowhere to be seen.

“What do we do with him?” Matt growled, back to packing his gear rather hastily.

“I dunno,” Mello mumbled, rushed, he was strapping his guns to himself and using duct tape over the gauze around his stomach. They were preparing for battle. “Handcuff him to the bathtub or something.”

Light jerked back, “Don’t you fucking touch me!” He hissed. Moving away, grabbing a black button down shirt off the back of the couch and slinging it around himself. He was quite done being naked in front of these two for the time being. And yet his eyes shot to Mello when Mello only half-noticed Light was in his clothes.

Light dismissed the odd look. “Where’s L?” he demanded.

The sort of silence that followed was wrong in all the worst ways. They weren’t going to tell him.

“Where is he?!” Light was getting angrier, “What the fuck happened out there?! What did you do?!” Ah blame, as though if he’d been there things would have gone more smoothly…

“Bella,” Mello growled. “Bella has him.”

Light stiffened, his eyes went truly wide. “What?” And there it was—genuine anxiety. The anger vanquished, gone, replaced by…fear. He knew what Bella was going to do, he knew L was going to suffer—he knew because he’d heard them say it over coded messages a thousand times already. “You let them take him?” More blame, but Light’s face had gone white, and when Matt approached him with the handcuffs, he recoiled almost violently.

“Get the fuck away from me!!” He hollered.

“Don’t make this more difficult, Light,” Mello growled. “Just cooperate and let us go after him, we don’t have time—if you give a shit, just do as we say.”

Light gaped at him, frozen like a deer in headlights and Matt approached him again, ready to clamp his wrists together and for that split second Light looked like he was about to let him; but in the instant Matt had his wrist, Light ripped away, shoving Matt forward, he grabbed the closest object—a lamp—and cracked it across Matt’s back, sending him to the floor.

Mello’s jaw dropped, and before he could pull his gun, his gaze met Light’s and for that flash of a second he paused—and Light—whirled around and raced for the door.
“No!” Mello hollered. His stitches were already ripped and Matt was on the ground trying to shake off the shock, and they had no goddamn time, but Light tore the room door open, and was out in the hall, tearing toward the elevator faster than Mello had ever seen him move—but at that moment, Mello was hot after him.

The elevator doors were closing before Mello got there, and again his gaze crossed Light’s—Light’s plan was already formulating, but there was still that look in his eyes—fear, panic, everything Matt and Mello were already feeling, here was Kira acting even more impulsively on it than they were.

Mello kicked the doors as they shut too soon. “Goddamnit Light!!” He growled, spinning toward the stairs, taking them groups at a time, hitting platforms hard on his way down he burst through the doors and hit the deck running. The two of them practically reached the lobby at the same instant, and Light was braced and ready; shooting across the room, shoving through tourists and guests and staff alike—Mello tearing hotly behind him, out onto the street chasing him down like a bat out of hell.

It became apparent how Light had the body he did—it wasn’t all for show, the bastard was fast on his feet, now that he wasn’t shot full of holes. And Mello wasn’t in top form at that moment, so the strain was dragging on him too soon, but he and Light tore across the blocks, Light faster in leather and boots than he would have been in designer-wear, and didn’t that just work to his advantage in a grossly unplanned sort of way.

People were diving out of their path, and Mello was trying not to wave guns around, because they were drawing enough goddamn attention as it was. L was gone, and Kira was going to get away if he didn’t tear-ass and tackle him to the ground soon. But Light had fire in his death god wings at that moment, and he just kept charging ahead. He darted into a piazza—leather pants, shirt half open, hair already wind-torn, Mello chasing him down, his mind racing like his legs, trying to calculate what Light was thinking—what he was planning, had he been a part of this? Or was this flight reaction not really flight…

…L. That was all Light saw in those moments that he careened through the sunny streets of Rome. They were going to kill L. They were going to torture and kill him and make it as painful as possible until he produced Kira—and L wouldn’t produce Kira, he would never give up Kira, not to them, not to Near, not to death—Kira was his—if there was one thing Light knew about L, it was that. And maybe it was the wind in Light’s face that hit his eyes and made them streak wetness across his cheeks, and maybe it wasn’t. He pushed himself harder than he ever had—not even fleeing the warehouse had been this desperate, and the burn was in his legs, clamping hard in his chest, but Mello’s wounds had him falling further behind and Light ran harder.

He rounded into another square, and there was a festival going on, hordes of people thickening the ancient confines, and that’s where Mello lost him—in the crowd—gone.