Redeemer

“Fuck!!” Mello hissed angrily, steadying himself against the side of a building as he stared hard into the crowd. That was twice today that he lost someone within the span of thirty minutes. Goddamnit! Fist punched the wall and the pain shot straight up the length of his arm.

His phone was ringing not a second later and it took him several moments to realize it was. He dug it out of his pocket to flick open the gnarled case, Matt was already speaking on the other side. “Where are you?” If the redhead had been annoyed before, he was downright furious now. Having to deal with Light at that point had not done much to improve his mood and the close encounter with the goddamned lamp had positively shattered all hopes for improvement.

Mello looked around. His breath was still ragged upon his lips. “Piazza Navona,” he returned, at last locating the proper name.

“Did you get him?”

“No.”

A curse on the other side of the line. “Don’t move, I’ll pick you up in a second.” Click.

Mello grit his teeth, snapping the phone shut and shoving it back into his pocket. Hand brushed his abdomen, feeling the ridges of duct tape beneath the thin material of his shirt. It would have to do for now. His jacket was zipped up half way, properly covering the holster that he’d slipped over his shoulders to hold the two guns snuggly at his sides. A third had been slipped into his belt and while normally even he would have considered the precautions too much, it was quite clear that they were now in over their heads. He’d shot Bella and although regretfully he hadn’t gotten a clear shot to knock her from the radar, it had been at least enough to anger her all the worse. It would be L who would suffer the consequences; L who would endure the brunt of her anger and her failure.

Not five minutes later, Matt had pulled up in front of him. “Get in!” he hissed, and Mello wasted no more time; crossing the cobblestone sidewalk and climbing behind the wheel as the redhead slid onto the passenger’s seat beneath the weight of his laptop. A GPS had been attached to the dashboard and it was at that moment mapping out the streets of Rome in detail.

“Where the fuck does he think he’s going?” Matt was grumbling, sounding a bit perplexed, one hand tackling away while the other extended out the window to tap ashes free of the edge of his cigarette. Apparently he’d not only already begun hunting down L, all the while keeping an eye on SPK’s movements, he had also tapped into the tracking device worked into Light’s kill switch. Mello had to lift a brow, honestly impressed. A serious amount of ADD he might have, but Matt was damned good at what he did.

“Just tell me where to go.”

Matt did not even have to glimpse up, reaching across to turn the GPS to face his lover. “Follow that,” he instructed, feeding the device the proper coordinates from the wired connection into the laptop.

* * *

Why couldn’t Light blot out the image of L in his arms at that moment? His soft pale skin, those dark engrossing eyes—he kept picturing L lying there against white sheets, black hair stark against the pillow as Light dragged his fingers slowly down L’s bare flank, the two of them so inextricably entwined in the early morning sun—bodies wrapping closer like there was nothing else in the world, nothing but them…like it always was…like it always needed to be.

The memory was tormenting him, a crisp vision in every flutter of his eyes and it was because L wasn’t there—because he was in pain and Light knew it, he sensed it, he practically felt it with him. They were hurting him, and it was driving Kira mad. But he’d run out of that room with nothing—no preparation, no plan—this would be as spontaneous as his brilliant mind could invent, because at the very least he had to be there—he had to be there for him—he couldn’t let L go through this alone.

The plan was formulating rapidly, Light having lifted a pair of sunglasses from a tourist booth, making his way smoothly through the crowd, long bangs covering the dark bruise Matt had been so kind to visit upon him. He probably could have passed for a j-rocker or something, decked out the way he was half in Mello’s clothing, half in his own—it was such a different persona than Light was used to conveying that he almost felt naked walking into the café that way. The café in Travestere. But he could wear anything well, and he knew it.

He’d given Mello the slip, but was very much certain he and Matt would be trailing him via tracking chip—of course simple deduction should have been able to tell them where he was going. The only point of contact they knew for certain was owned by the Ring. He needed to get to Bella, whether she’d be expecting him was another story. But Light barred to the bathtub or locked in the closet was the absolute worst plan of action those two brilliant little Wammy minds could have come up with. Basic paranoia still prevented them from understanding that the only one—the only one—of them who could infiltrate Bella’s ring, who could bring her down, was Kira himself. Not L, not Mello and his underworld, or Matt and his hacker genius—the only way to fight fire was with fire—Light’s fire, Kira’s fire.

Walking into the café this way was not so different from how he’d walked in there the last time—completely unprepared; the difference was not that L’s life was in danger, it was that this time, Light had no idea how long he would be engaged in this situation, no idea all the ins and outs of desperate manipulation he would have to employ to save this moment. He hadn’t wanted his worshippers to see his weakness that night of the accident—he’d contained it so well when it had hurt so bad; but this time his wounds were plain as day; and god knows what Bella knew now, if she’d managed to uncover L’s own identity. Light would just have to assume she knew about him—that she knew he was L’s prisoner, that she knew he was working against her all this time. He’d have to convince her his loyalties lay with his church…he’d have to convince her he was the victim—and then what would that sort of weakness say about him as Kira?

Fuck.

He was going to have to wing this.

All that mattered at that moment, was L… that was Light’s focus. Life or death, love or hate, L was his and no one else’s.

* * *

It was the next kick to the ribs that pulled him out of the darkness. They’d chloroformed him in the van, and now he wasn’t terribly sure where he was—it was dark, and decrepit—a basement? A wine cellar? A catacombs? He thought he saw a skull in the wall as Melchiorre dragged him off the floor and hit him again, but kept him by the shirt collar, holding him on his feet so he could rope L’s arms and string them over his head on a hook that hung from the ceiling.

“L, I have no doubt given your credentials, you have the capacity to deal with this sort of thing,” Bella was saying. “Which is why I have every intention of pushing your limits until you die. I expected more, that much I’ll confess. You see I’ve built an army, you—you have what allies? The Great L, master of the world’s justice system—but who knows you’re here in Rome? Anyone? I’m getting the sense you’re very much alone in this.” She grinned, snapping a cell phone shut. “Or are you going to tell me Kira is your ally?” Her tone dripped with venom.

“Kira is my enemy,” L said flatly, though he was slightly dazed and breathless, and there was a grit of pain in his voice; his eyes, however still reflected no fear.

“Then how is it you have Kira in your possession?” She was circling him wolfishly.

“Kira was critically wounded in a sting operation, he was taken into custody then,” L replied truthfully, or so it seemed.

“And this situation now?” Bella purred. “He works for you?”

“He cut a deal, obviously,” L replied. “He’s like any other criminal. He agreed to help us bring down this ring in return for a lesser sentence.”

“And you trust him?”

L’s eyes narrowed. “Not in the least,” he said. “I am certain he seeks to betray our agreement and unite with his church here in Rome. There’s only one thing Kira has ever wanted—and that’s to see his vision realized. He’ll do anything to achieve his goal; which makes him the most dangerous kind of man.”

Bella boldly traced a polished fingernail down the bloody taters of L’s shirt. “So then if I kill you, his favor will be assured.”

L smiled. “If you kill me, the only thing you’ll assure is his anger.”

Bella saddled up closer to him, her hands curling over his strained shoulders coyly, thumbs rubbing small circles against L’s neck with mock affection. “Now you’re just lying to save yourself,” she purred.

L’s vacant look was heavier than it had been, but remained steady. “Then you don’t know Kira,” he replied. “This cleverness you pride yourself on, Signora, is lacking severely.”

Bella didn’t like that in the least, and she nodded to Melchiorre behind L, who flipped open a switch blade and approached. L was aware of the man’s presence, but his gaze stayed locked on Bella, and he waited for it. She studied him, desperate to crack that impenetrable exterior of his; watching his anticipation, the preparation for pain, it was there under his stoic surface—it had to be, but she still couldn’t see much of it. Melchiorre grabbed the fabric of L’s bloody shirt and began to cut and strip it off of him.

“I have professionals on their way,” Bella clarified. “They specialize in pain. You, yourself, I’m sure have dealt with these types of men—if anyone can break you, L, it’s them.”

“There’s only one person who can break me,” L replied. “And he’s been trying for years.”

* * *

“Do you have a location on L yet?”

“Getting there…” it was an absent minded response. Matt had barely even heard him, his attention solely focused on that one task. He needed to locate L and it was proving to be a bit more difficult than originally anticipated. A fresh cigarette was lit. His gaze shifted between either side of the widescreen. “SPK’s on the move.” He could just about see the twitch upon Mello’s expression without having to look at him. “But we’re still ahead them as far as this case is concerned, it would seem. They’re still looking around for concrete leads, even though the fuckers practically had us today.”

“And L…?” Mello grit out. The last thing he wanted to do just then was think of Near and his bloodhounds. This was not the time and place. Already they showed up far too quickly, already they were too close to stealing the fucking show. The competition was far too familiar to be healthy. Mello bit hard into a half-devoured bar of chocolate.

“Zeroing in on a location now...” Matt trailed off. The typing halted, gloved hands hovering over the keys as he eyed the screen momentarily silent. “We’ve finally got our link back to that church you checked out when we first arrived,” he said, looking up to Mello at last. “They took him there.”

Whatever Bella was planning did not bode well. Mello looked grim and eyed the GPS. In the meantime, Light had resorted to seeking answers at the one place that would give them. “He’s at the café,” Mello murmured, pulling into the street and coming to a halt within safe distance. Who the hell were they supposed to track? Gloved digits tapped the steering wheel; that green gaze drawn, thoughtful. Another snap of chocolate. It was his decision to make, wasn’t it? Did he trust Light alone amongst these people when this was the very sort of respect and glory he had sought all those years ago? Did he trust him to get the proper answers without fucking anything up in the meantime? Possibly not but he trusted Bella even less to leave L unharmed until the cavalry arrived.

With a hissed curse, Mello geared the car and backed up until he could intersect a side street, thus avoiding being seeing right outside the ring. It would not do well to blow their cover – or Light’s for that matter, should he still be working in good faith for L.

Beside him, Matt said nothing, even though he saw the wheels turning in his lover’s head; the decision had been one he had not wanted to make. It was no secret that their loyalties lied with L above all, but in abandoning Light to his own plans and measures, they could also be comprising everything they’d worked for up until that point. It was a lose-lose situation in the worse case scenario.

* * *

Light didn’t slide the sunglasses off as he slid smoothly onto a stool at the bar. The bartender turned toward him gruffly and for a moment it didn’t register who Light was, but then the man’s jaw slackened and he nearly dropped the glass he was holding. Light caught his arm, helped him to lay the glass neatly on the counter top and then leaned in close. “Bella,” he said. “Now.”

The bartender nodded absently, and barked at a passing waitress to get him the phone. The waitress only hurried when she saw who it was sitting there before her boss, but not before she flushed a deep pink in admiration. Light raised an eyebrow. Leather might have been an interesting choice.

The girl returned with the phone, and the bartender quickly dialed in Bella’s personal number. He went to speak as she answered, but Light snatched the phone away with the sort of finesse only he could muster.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” he purred.

There was a pause of surprised silence, before Light could actually hear the woman smile on the other end. “Indeed,” she purred back. And then: “I have a gift for you.”

Light’s smile spread, but the anxious look in his eyes was hidden beneath the shades. “Mmm, so I hear,” he murmured, his tone like butter and wasting no time, he added confidently. “I want to meet you.” It sounded like more than just a simple demand, and Bella heard it that way.

“I would deny you nothing,” she smiled, her voice demure and full of the kind of sexuality Light was only used to dealing out.

“I want to be where you are,” Light said, and that again sounded like pure seduction and not just a request to see what she was doing to L. But that was what he wanted, that was what he really wanted, and in his mind he was cursing, angry, anxious—but none of that was betrayed by his smooth expression. “Send a car,” he ordered. Risky, but yes, he could not afford to show weakness, not even when he was this compromised. No Death Note, not even a page, no shinigami—where was Ryuk anyway? No pristine clothes, and a face that looked like it had seen the wrong end of gun pommel…goddamnit Matt.

“Of course,” Bella purred. “You must forgive me, we didn’t realize you’d be joining us, we’ve already started.”

Something clenched inside of Light. Clenched hard.

“Then stop,” he said. That forceful commanding tone. He heard her hesitation.

“I would prefer it if he were dead,” she said after a moment. And there, the suspicion Light was sure she’d already developed due to whatever L had told her.

“We’ll discuss that when I get there,” Light paused, his brow knit… new strategy… “There’s something you need to see first.”

Bella immediately sounded concerned. “I’m sending the car now,” she said. “We’ll wait for you.”

* * *

“Wait,” Matt hissed sharply, clearly having picked up something on the laptop. “Wait a second,” he repeated, glimpsing up toward the café, or what could still be seen of it. Mello paused, looking at him questioningly. “Sit tight a second. She’s sending him a car, we’ll follow that.”

And as predicted, a sleek black car pulled up in front of the café’s esplanade not two minutes later. They watched tensely as Light glided between chairs and tables, sliding smoothly into the back seat with a kind of ease that could have been downright infuriating if they did not have greater problems to dwell on. Nevermind the fact that Light was using those seemingly mismatched clothes to his best advantage, Matt noted with a lifted brow behind fiery bangs, watching the wistful looks with which the waitress watched him depart. Admiration and zeal all in one. Dangerous. “Tail him.”

Mello did not have to be told twice and pulled back out onto the street, moving smoothly around the block as to not raise any suspicion. They had the tracker anyway, so losing them was not an option.

* * *

Light was not happy, not happy at all, and more than a little anxious to boot; but he couldn’t show it, especially not when he knew the driver kept checking his rearview, stealing glimpses of Kira. Who knew how each individual follower had pictured their god? And perhaps occasionally it was a bit unnerving to see Kira’s true self—his youth, his beauty, his sometimes obvious meandering sexuality. It had thrown Melchiorre that first time in the restaurant, it had probably thrown a lot more than just him, especially when Kira often put out a robust reputation but was maybe anything but on sight. Light’s confidence and superior demeanor however often countered the inhibition he was beginning to grow accustomed to from certain followers. After all, L had the same problem. Who could ever imagine the world’s greatest detective, the man who held sway over all earthly justice systems, who’d taken countless impossible criminals off the streets was a borderline idiot-savant at times and occasionally resembled a lanky panda boy who played with electrical outlets in order to do his hair in the morning?

The car was meandering down narrow streets, at last pulling up before an archaic church, and the driver got out to, opening the door for Light.

“Signore,” the driver bowed his head low, stepping aside so that Light could exit the car…

* * *

Mello was half draped over the steering wheel, watching Light intently, Kira ascending the blasphemic Church’s steps and sweeping coolly inside and Mello snapped off a piece of chocolate. Thoughtful. Considering their options. Given that there were no wires, nor any bugs to rely on, it made the situation all the more difficult. Tapping into lines of communication could only do so much when no such methods were being used.

“Is this where we go in there guns blazing?” he muttered.

“You’re the expert at this sort of thing.”

Mello lifted a brow, casting Matt a sidelong glance. Questioning. Had that been a hint of animosity he’d caught in his lover’s tone? He wanted to question him on it, but this was not the time for arguments or discussions. Not in the least.

“I’d ask what you’re going on about but we don’t have that sort of time right now,” was all Mello said on the matter, leaning back in his seat. “Is the SPK on our tail?”

“No, they’re running around with their dicks in their hands elsewhere across the city,” Matt returned dully, checking the screen. “I’d say we only have a limited amount of time, however, before they catch on and find the lead.”

Hm. So for the moment they were alone out there. And yet, unlike earlier that afternoon, it was going to be a bit more difficult to infiltrate the church undetected when it was Kira’s own congregation that assembled within its unholy walls. It would have to be done, however and Mello was already scouting any other possible ways of entry, glimpsing at stained glass windows and side doors. “Can you get me a blue print of this place?”

“Jus’ a sec.” As if such question was even necessary. Matt tackled away quickly and only short moments later, he whirled the screen around on his lap, allowing Mello to glimpse a dated set of plans of the church and its surrounding streets. Mello studied it closely, his gaze snaking back toward the structure several times before he made it a point to memorize the inner workings of each floor – catacombs included. It would be a test whether or not that photographic memory of his would hold true when necessary. He’d found a way in, but fighting their way out would be a more challenging task.

The keys were removed from the ignition, the GPS shut off and stuffed out of sight. “All right. Let’s go.”

* * *

Light ascended the stairs and entered the church; the dome arching high above him, the shadows dropping dark and heavy and sacred from secret places…sacred? There seemed an absence of the sacred until Light started to look more closely… the iconography was off…there were no catholic images in this basilica… figures stood in judgment in every fresco—angels with black wings and black books, scythes and hellfire, and nothing he’d quite imagined before…this was his church. The church of Kira. For a moment he felt himself slip, and he reeled it back in, several men appearing from beneath the grotto archways, waiting to escort him. He tore his gaze away from the towering paintings and moved toward them with the confidence that came so natural, and at that moment felt so wrong.

“Signore Misora,” still the alias, “per favore.” And Light followed them, down and around decrepit corridors beyond the nave, into the dark descending depths of catacombs. They had L down here? They had him here? Light was forced to remove the sunglasses by this point, making sure to stay back and concealed enough by shadow so not everyone got an eyeful of his face. He was most paranoid about that gun bruise, but he was going to use it to his advantage. He was building up an arsenal of deception and denial because he was not sure what exactly he was about to face down here…and it scared him.

Not Bella and her minions.

But L.

There was the unmistakable sound of flesh hitting flesh, the grunt and gasp of pain, the spit and curse of spite, and Light’s fingernails were digging into his palm so hard he had to make a conscious effort to stop it. Whatever he saw around that next corner he had to steel himself against…their survival depended on his reaction.

Bella was there, waiting for him, her attention drawn to the cluster of large men with rolled up sleeves—blood spattered on white linen shirts, and Light sucked it in, readying himself.

“What happened to waiting?” He said lowly.

Her head jerked toward him, and like before she was immediately taken by his appearance. That much had been effortless on Light’s part, she was madly attracted to him, and his current look had her face tinged pink even in the shadows. It was looking into that face—seeing her eyes, knowing what was in her mind that finally brought Light to himself. This was no time to fall apart, no time to even consider it.

He consciously did not turn to see what was going on to his left, within that ring of professional pain bringers. Instead he kept his honeyed gaze on Bella, and his posture was invitation enough for her to go to him, and press against him, her hands slipping boldly to his face to cup his cheek and see the bruise. Light let her see exactly what he wanted her to—he was indeed L’s victim then, he’d been captured and tortured just the way L was being now, and Bella’s entire expression went soft with heartfelt empathy and anger on his behalf—that was good.

Light cupped her hand against his cheek, his lips spreading with a knowing smile to silence her. He shook his head, he was fine, but it alluded to the notion that L was not working as alone as she supposed. This would make her think she was indeed his rescuer, and whatever suspicions she had of him working against her were fated to dissipate if he pulled this off properly.

“Bella facia,” Bella whispered, smiling, very close to him, as though they were reunited lovers. It was a strange familiarity given their unfamiliarity, but Light let it play through. He could play the lover, he could play it well. It had always been part of his plan to gain her trust. He just had less of an upper hand because there was the notion that someone had dared to lay a hand on him…ha, wait until she saw the rest of his scars.

Bella was a breath from his lips, her eyes probing deeply into his, testing him—seeing if she had permission—and just when it seemed Light would kiss her in front of all those present, he smiled slyly and shifted away; though not without cupping her face to promise her more when their privacy was restored. It was a way to keep the upper hand. She could attempt to coddle and comfort, but he had to remain in control. He was Kira, not her.

So it was then he turned to look…

Blood.

Slick and thick and red—too red and made darker by the lengthy, flickering shadows cast by oil lamps and yellowed overhead lighting. It was a color that only enhanced the sallow paleness of L's complexion. A color that should have never been seen smeared upon his body; across smooth skin and toned muscles kept hidden away beneath an array of loose white shirts like a well-kept secret only Light was privy to. But there it was, bared for all to see. What remained of his shirt lay in tatters upon the floor; soaked and stained and worthless. The strain was obvious upon his arms, supporting his weight from a peg that kept him upright—a perfectly bared canvas for the grisly work Bella's professional thugs had arrived to perform. Bruises and welts and gashes too deep there upon him. A sight difficult to behold. A sight unimaginable for one such as L—untouchable, hidden behind monitors and the system he wielded in the palm of his hand—now reduced to a prisoner of war in a conflict much darker than any case tucked away under his proverbial belt.

A sight Light himself would have reveled in several years ago when L was his one and only true threat and nothing other than self-preservation mattered.

How much that simple concept had changed. How far it had been warped.

And there, as Kira watched, bloodied fingers wound themselves into jet black hair, tugging L's head up and forcing those empty - so empty - black eyes to look at him. To look upon the new God of this world, now victorious in this moment and freed of the bondage he'd been submitted to. A test, perhaps, above all as to how either of them would react—a terrible test to assert Light's place and his ability to follow through with the initial plan or ascend beyond and claim the title that was his and his alone.
* * *

The silencer was attached as he walked, crossing the street at a light jog.

"That's your plan?" Matt hissed, keeping up with him and eying the weapon. Mello only cast him a look that demanded silence and proceeded along the back of the church. As if there was any other choice.

There was no graveyard as one would have expected from such an archaic building. In fact, upon closer inspection, there were several things missing that one would normally take for granted. The stained glass windows, upon first look, seemed like any others but the iconography was off. Mello paled as realization dawned and the figures took shape, their meaning becoming crystal clear.

"Kira's church through and through." Leave it to Matt to dully point out the disturbing fact as though he was addressing the weather. Mello pursed his lips but said nothing, leading them up a narrow stairwell to the priests offices.

The first bullet found its target between the eyes of the 'priest' that came to meet them. The silencer did its job and kept all others away. Time was running out. The man was left at his desk and if not for the pool of blood that gathered upon parchment, he could have been sleeping soundlessly. Mello darted to the door, pressing himself to the wooden frame to peek out onto the hall; gun lifted and ready. Somewhere in the back of his mind he had to wonder if God would be so forgiving of the lives taken today.

He brushed his lips against the cold metal of his gun and rolled his shoulder along the door jamp, pushing forward into the hall. He would deal with the consequences awarded to his immortal soul once this case was over and L was quite safely out of harm's way.

* * *

L’s eyes fluttered and opened, as far as they could under drying blood and welting flesh, the room was spinning, the pain as controlled as it could be, though his breathing was strained with the weight of his arms pulling on his chest, and the strength in his knees had long since abandoned him. It took him a moment to adjust before he realized who he was staring at—who was staring at him—who suddenly had elegant fingers tangled in damp hair, head bowed and amber gaze piercing the way it had all those years ago when L last died in his arms. The image that haunted him, and somewhere inside everything tightened—he’d been a fool hadn’t he? Kira had crossed all the lines and taken the game further than L could have dreamed, and the only way L could continue to play was to deny it—the cruelty, the deliberate cruelty; Kira had won from the inside out and the pain, at last was bare in L’s face—he wanted to give up.

But Light slipped a second hand under his jaw, the gaze that so tormented his lover shifting for just an instant, a flash—an assurance. Don’t give up—don’t give up on me. L caught the nuance in the darkness, his vision hazy, but he saw those hard lines soften in that face he knew so well, and for a moment he thought it was pity, pleasure—but the look was unmistakable—Light wasn’t there to damn him…he’d come to save him.

Beneath L’s hair, where it was hidden, Light brushed his thumb tenderly against L’s neck; the smallest touch of affection when there was just so much pain and L’s dark eyes searched Light, searched him deeply and found the emotion he was seeking. Light returned his gaze—there was a crack in his fissure hidden from the others behind him, waiting to see what Kira would do. It became disgustingly apparent then to L that Light was operating on blind faith at that moment—and it didn’t seem to be faith in his own principles, but in what had his heart slamming hard against his chest at that moment.

L saw it and his expression steeled; goading Light to do the same. The communication was wordless—and here and now, they had to be enemies…or neither of them would live to be lovers.

Light drew a discrete breath, his eyes closing for just a moment, pulling himself together, shoring up that confidence he needed so badly and when he looked at L again, there was nothing more in Kira’s expression save for arrogance and vindication…and yet…

“Take him down.” The order was forceful and there was no room for argument—but nevertheless it was followed by a confused silence.

Light let L’s head drop, turning a cold shoulder to him, he faced Bella and her monsters. “This is not how he gets defeated,” he said, and it seemed Light was trying to keep the growl from his voice, trying to smooth it over with that aloof nonchalance that spoke of intelligence and strategy.

“I see nothing wrong with it, one way or another,” Bella replied.

And Light’s gaze darkened, if he argued with her rationally, he was pretty sure he would lose just then, because he wasn’t thinking rationally—not at all…time for a new strategy.

He stepped away from L and approached Bella, channeling all the darkness he could, his gaze hard, and sly and frightening. He didn’t pause either, slipping his hands around her face, forcing her to look at him, his inviting lips spreading into a narrow, cruel smile. “He is my kill, Bella,” he purred. “I’ve worked very hard to earn his blood on my hands…but it will be done in the way that pleases me best—and this,” he stressed the word. “Does not please me. This reduces me to something low and common, and this battle has only ever been divine. Do you understand? Take. Him. Down.”

He could feel her pulse racing under his fingers, her gaze wide and searching his face; a meld of fear and adoration—just the way a god should be looked upon.

“Release him,” she said at last, and her goons moved to comply and a moment later, L crumpled painfully to the floor.

Light didn’t look at him, knew he couldn’t face him again lest he undo everything he’d just scored together to keep himself in control. It was just as well, too many long gazing looks at his lover and Bella would end up seeing straight through him. For now, he still had her—but she was clever, too clever, and at that moment, there was truly only one thing he could distract her with.

Light’s smile changed, from cruel and demanding, to seductive, and he pressed a thumb across her red lips, pausing just so she could taste his flesh with her tongue. She closed her eyes to taste even that much—the flesh of Kira—and when she looked at him again there was no mistaking further invitation.

“Bound L’s wrists and guard him,” she ordered, her gaze flickering to Light. “But no more pain…” she smiled. “For now.”

“Si Signora,” they responded. But Bella was through with the matter at that point, turning to lead Light away from the scene, beneath and enclave and up the stairs to her chambers…

* * *

They heard the voices before any sight of Bella's precious goons were spotted. Mello flattened himself against the wall, pushing Matt back beside him. Silence enveloped them and the voices passed. The rear end of the church was a labyrinth of private quarters and offices with the nave extending far to the front. He spotted a spiral staircase near a heavy set of doors and glimpsed up. Upstairs it was dark. The wooden door was closed and by the looks of it, locked as well. As far as hints as to where the hell L had been taken and Light had disappeared off to, there were none.

Mello cursed under his breath, peeking out from around the corner. There was only a constant murmur of voices coming from the distance; its source unknown and he sure as hell could not make out a goddamned word. This would not have been so difficult were the point to search and destroy rather than infiltrate and rescue without compromising himself or Light in the process. Shit. Who was he kidding?

"Mello, wait," Matt stopped him before he could move any further. Eyes narrowed, a brow lifting in question.

"Don't hesitate on me at a time like this..." he frowned and the redhead shook his head.

"I'm not bloody hesitating." But he sure as hell was suffering the lack of nicotine in his veins just about then. A cigarette was held between his lips but he did not dare light it. "I picked up that priest's Death Note when I shot him earlier."

Mello blinked as if the thought had not even crossed his mind. As if the possibility of a notebook falling into their hands was just so foreign to comprehend. "Where is it?"

"I've got it with me. Did not trust to leave it at the hotel unattended just yet."

The wheels were spinning in both of their minds and Mello was the first to look away, glimpsing toward the end of the hall and the passages that lay beyond. Once upon a time, it would have been no question as to what to do with the notebook. They knew Bella's name, they could end this with the scrawl of a pen but... but the consequences were too dear. Mello would not doom himself to the fate Light had fallen into. And he sure as fuck would not allow Matt to do the same. "Hold onto it…" was all he said and motioned toward the hall. "C'mon, it's too quiet. I want to check out what the hell's going on before making a move."

* * *

There were candles lit around the low chambers, the walls stone, like a crypt, but decorated by rich art and tapestries. She led him to the bed—there was obviously no other purpose at that moment than to consummate a partnership she’d obviously been dreaming about—and Light’s brain was not on her, not on her at all until she turned to him, pressed up against him—for all her power, she was small next to him and he had to look down into her face.

“Light,” she whispered, smiling a coy smile. She seemed to enjoy saying the name.

Had he been better prepared he wouldn’t have looked so narrowly surprised. But his real name coming from her at that moment was not something he was too happy to hear. She saw his brow knit.

“He told me,” she purred, fingering his collar, the buttons already open down to his chest. “Locating you was difficult from there, I had to call my connections in Japan, who were quite confused by the discrepancies in the kanji…but they eventually returned a name: Light Yagami. Son of a prominent detective, both father and son killed in action during the course of the Kira Investigation…you were both awarded posthumously by various International Agencies in honor of your involvement with the case.”

He was trying not to scowl at her, he really was…but at that moment he’d sooner smack her across the room than sleep with her. Goddamnit. L had told her? Gears grinded. Why would L divulge anything to her? Especially that? Had he given up? Or did he—even in this state—have some plan to keep him in the game? Of course he did… Light was grimacing and Bella caught it.

“I can only think he wants to even out the field by exposing you to me,” she purred, her fingers working free the buttons on Light’s shirt as she spoke—her eyes drawn down demurely, drinking in each new reveal of flesh through parting fabric. Light was no stranger to dominance play in bed, but he was quickly gathering this was a game he couldn’t afford to lose. It seemed quite apparent that Bella’s warzone of choice was the bedroom—she had him right where she wanted him, levying that little bit of jarring information to defeat his advantage going in.

Her hands slid up slowly under the shirt, over his skin, mapping the warm contours of his body before she peeled the garment off his shoulders. Her eyes fell to his chest, his stomach—the bullet scars and various other elements of recent events—bruises from the accident, Mello’s love bites, all plain as day on what should have been an immaculate vessel.

“Madonna Mia,” Bella gasped. Her fingers lingering on the gunshot wounds. “What have they done to you?”

Oh what a many-edged question…

“I’m fine,” Light murmured. “The trials and tribulations of this war of ours.” Yet despite his easy dismissal, Light felt his control over the situation slipping, and not in a good way. So he leaned in and grabbed Bella’s face, a grip that was strong and almost painful but still managed to retain some semblance of seduction. “Una ragazza intelligente,” he whispered, smiling despite how he really felt about the matter.

“Domo arigato gozaimasu, Kami-sama,” she replied.

Light paused at her sudden use of Japanese, still holding her face, her lips a breath away from his. Did she know how to speak it? Or did she just know the polite phrases? “Do itashi mashite,” he purred. “Anata wa nihongo ga wakarimasu ka?” It was a test, and he watched the misunderstanding flinch in her eyes before she did her best to change the subject. Good. His language was still his own.

“Is he you lover?” She asked boldly. No use in denying it, she was perceptive, and if he openly lied, his credibility would start to plummet even worse than it may have already been.

“Yes,” he answered. “The pull of an enemy.”

“I understand that,” she whispered, breathing him in, waiting for him to complete that tantalizing kiss he held poised just a touch away.

“Do you?” And Light was dragging it out. He was going to make her wait for him—she would not have the upper hand here.

“It’s a delectable concept,” she said. “There can be no great enemies without love and desire between them...Do you love L, Light?”

Light dared not pull back to let her look in his eyes for the answer, instead he moved closer, smiling against her lips just soft enough to whisper, “I love him and I hate him and I want to destroy him,” and with those words, he kissed her—he kissed her deeply.

She wrapped her arms around his naked torso, her polished nails digging in over scratches Mello had left behind, all the while sighing her pleasure at the rapture of Kira’s kiss. They moved to the bed, stripping each other naked and sex soon became a dance of dominance and passion—tricks of tongues and lips and teeth—the calculated measure of balance and moans, sheets clenched in fingers, the yield of bodies entwining in the dim glow of archaic lanterns. She liked wax on her back, the draw of his tongue down her spine, his teeth in her shoulder, hard enough to gasp, but soft enough to purr. She liked being taken from behind, feeling him over her, bracing her hips; she liked being taken from the front—legs wrapped tightly around his flank, nails endlessly carving into his skin as a breathless string of Italian words flowed from her parted lips; and by the time Bella was heaving and gasping her pleasure—and Light had remained ever in control, he knew he at least had won this battle and slowly settled until she was asleep against him…and he was able to think of the true matter at hand…

* * *

It was indeed quiet, but the reason was quickly understood. Most of the traffic normally found upon the church’s main floor had dissipated into the lower catacombs, and it was there from which all rumbling of voices emerged. Mello motioned Matt to the opposite side of the door way, waiting, listening. He did not hear Light, which under normal circumstances was not reason for worry but just then, it had been what he’d been counting on. Mello frowned, but waited, following the hushed conversation.

“Knowing Signora Bella, they will be a while. She enjoys fucking more than she does killing.” A string of laughter followed. Mello lifted a brow, exchanging a glance with Matt too who was listening intently. He had a small handheld monitor in hand. “He’s still here,” he whispered, confirming their immediate suspicions. Would this mess ever end?

“There’s no one up stairs, you two get back up there before we have any trouble.”

With a grunted reply, hurried steps headed toward the stairs. Matt and Mello both fell out of view behind gnarled columns of stone. Mello could not help but glimpse up at the iconography that had been carved into the decorative stonework, frowning at the apocalyptic imagery that depicted the forming of this new world. How could it have come to this? The heavy footsteps came closer. His gun was in his hand.

A nod was shared. The doors pulled open. The two goons slipped through. The doors had barely time to close when Matt slipped out behind the second man, arm sliding across his throat; his grip fierce enough to immediately cut off any possible words and complaints that could have been uttered at that point. The vanguard, ignorant to the fact that they were most obviously under attack kept moving until his partner’s digits brushed his arm. There was a second’s panic in his eyes, meeting the bulging eyes and red faced man that had followed him up the stairs. Matt looked to him from behind the translucent yellow lenses of his goggles, his features partially obstructed by red tresses and his victim’s head. But before any words were spared, the cold metal barrel was pressed to the all too sensitive spot beneath his chin. The man froze, fear evident in his eyes as his fingers twitched at his side, too far away from the weapons he likely tucked away in that expensive suit jacket of his.

“In nominee patris et filii et spiritus sancti…” Mello hissed into the man’s ears. A hiss not fit for such words, a tone dangerous rather than forgiving or contemplative. Bitter. Spiteful. The trigger pulled. Blood splattered across the second goon’s face, which by that point had turned various shades of whites and reds, either by fear or lack of proper air being filtered into his lungs. “Amen…” Mello concluded, catching the body before it tumbled loudly to the floor.

Matt took it upon himself to finish the other, sparing a bullet and opting for something less bloody as he smoothly snapped the man’s neck with one firm twist. He wasn’t thinking. None of this had yet to sink in. Two men in one day when his hands had been virtually clean all this time. Mello had always done the dirty work. Shit, he worked for the bloody mafia, for Christ’s sake. Or did the mob work for him? Matt wasn’t even sure anymore. He knew how to shoot because his lover had insisted on making a lesson out of it until he could do it properly. He carried a gun because Mello would not let him anywhere out of the house during similar circumstances without one but this was not his job. This was not his playing field. He worked behind monitors, he worked from a distance as remote backup. Eventually, when all of this was over and he was washing away the metaphorical blood from his hands at the end of the night, the reality of it would sink in.

“Over here!” The whisper brought him out of his reverie. The redhead tugged the body out of sight. Both men left behind, dumped in the shadows behind a staircase to be found at a later time. “You all right?” Mello asked, too keen, too perceptive for his own good. Matt could only nod and chewed the filter of his cigarette, wishing like nothing else that he could light up. Those green eyes were still on him a moment later, however and he shook his head. “There’s no time to waste. C’mon.”

And with the less than convincing words, he took the lead as far as the door went, pulling it open and allowing his lover to descend into the chasms of the desecrated church.

The catacombs were dark. Typical. Eerie and comforting all the same. Or would be if not for the less than favorable circumstances. Only three men remained behind, at least in the general vicinity. The windy paths and labyrinthine corridors dug through the earth offered good cover which they used to its full extent, darting across the main opening toward the sound of voices deeper along the path. It was then that he saw him. L. Crumpled upon the floor where he’d been left; hands bound firmly behind his back. He seemed unconscious, and if that was indeed the case, it was a blessing. A release from the pain he doubtlessly endured judging by the amount of blood shed, by the shredded flesh upon his back and front, the bruises that had been pounded into exposed skin.

It took the redhead dexterity to grasp his lover lest Mello dart forward. It seemed as if he would. Rocking on his heels as he beheld the sight. “Dear god…” he whispered under his breath; the hand that gripped his trusted weapon trembling. Beneath the black of gloves, his knuckles had more than likely gone white from the pressure.

“Don’t do this…” Matt urged him, whispering into his ear. “You go out there now and you’re going to get us all killed. Please,” he held him firmly from behind, arms winding around his lover’s shoulders. But Mello was hardly listening, torn, conflicted. How much longer would he be forced to watch? The situation had been assessed. He could take those three bastards out… but who else remained behind? Who else did Bella have wandering around these corridors of the dead just in case of such an infiltration?

* * *

Light waited until her breathing was deep enough that he fully believed she was asleep, before he moved—slipping out of the bed to pull his clothes back on. He’d handle her reaction later if the situation called for it, but now he was not going to stand by while L lay hurt and bleeding downstairs. Somehow he had to get L out without compromising himself—and therein lay the rub.

First, it was a matter of getting through the guards. How ironic was it that he as their god needed his own faith to trust their faith in him? After all, Light had shed his divine skin tonight—that first appearance at the café was brief and surreal enough to allow Kira to continue to function as untouchable, but he’d proved his worldliness in these past few hours. Scars and sex and Bella now knew his real name—Light couldn’t help but angst over whether he’d just brought himself down to a level he couldn’t afford? He’d have to find out the hard way; slipping out of Bella’s chambers quietly, he began to sneak downstairs with a sort of stealth that was beginning to feel well-practiced.

The three guards were meandering about, and L was still a bloody heap on the floor—not moving. Light grit his teeth…he fully intended to use the same trick he had on Melchiorre that night in the alley…he had to keep his followers unnerved around him. So he waited until they least expected, milling about distracted, every so often spitting some disparaging remark at L. None of them were paying attention when Light managed to just “appear” from the shadows, standing confidently before them without any movement at all. They were collectively jolted by the shock of his presence. There was a gasp, a fumble, one of them dropped his cigarette. The absence of Bella helped—it practically announced Kira’s victory in the bedroom, funny how that actually was a factor of importance; the woman must have had some reputation.

“Signori,” Light greeted, his voice low, dark, sharpened with a dangerous edge. He actually didn’t look any of them in the face, his gaze trained with menace down on L’s collapsed form. The men were at a loss—how did one address Kira anyway? And thankfully the shadows were dark enough not to expose his weakness; dropping into his face, masking his finer points, making him look more threatening. Even the black clothes he wore added to the effect, blending his rather narrow frame into the shadows, so he seemed both everywhere and nowhere.

Light paused poignantly, his expression frightening and murderous even to men seasoned with a lifetime worth of violence. When he suddenly approached, his footsteps were heavy and steadfast and the men parted around him, practically jumping out of his way; watching with rapt attention as Light stopped over L, and arrogantly kicked at his shoulder.

“Leave us,” he commanded then. He heard them pause a moment—of course it went against their orders, but who were they supposed to listen to in the end? Bella? Or Kira himself. “This is not a conversation any of you have earned,” Light reiterated, his voice low and haughty but certifiably threatening. “Don’t make me repeat myself.” It brought to mind his ability to kill them without so much as flinching—it brought to mind the hundreds of thousands he’d killed before them.

There was a rush of movement then, and the men quickly filed out of the catacombs, not daring to question him. Light remained there, towering over L before he was positive they were gone. And yet, he still had to take into account the possibility of cameras—of surveillance—he had yet to see any sign of modern technology in these crypts, but he couldn’t risk it. So as much as he wanted to grab L and crush him close, he refrained. Slowly sinking to his knees beside the battered detective, he kept his movements calm and calculated and his voice barely above a whisper.

“L,” Light cupped his face, his hand folding tenderly over L's bruised and bloody shoulder. “L, wake up,” and slowly the detective’s eyes opened, fixing on him wearily.

Light paused, trying to steel himself against that gaze—but there was too much in those eyes, too much pain, too much gravity. Light couldn't hide from them, allowing himself then to fully drink in his lover’s appearance, the savage tears in tender flesh—his mind was beginning to map it all out, the brutality it took to create wounds like those, and the words escaped his lips before even he himself realized… “Oh god,” he whispered.

He grabbed L then, pulled him into his lap—cradling him—trying to staunch some of the bleeding with the remnants of his white shirt. L still hadn’t spoken, was merely watching Light—Kira—and his collapsing demeanor and Light stroked L's hair, gripped his chin, trying to determine if L was in shock, or just adept at containing how much it hurt. Everywhere he looked, the brutality just seemed to be worse and L wasn’t responding as much as Light needed him too, but his eyes were alert, conscious, absorbing—

“I’m getting you out of here,” Light whispered, hushed, working to untie the detective’s wrists. He didn’t have a plan, he didn’t have a plan at all, and at that moment, hauling L up and fleeing into the catacombs seemed like the only option. L stiffened and grit his jaw at the pain of movement, Light struggling to balance nearly dead weight over his shoulder, standing him up so L was half draped on top of him. The detective was in bad shape—but men like those, whose job it was to dole out pain, were skilled at doing so without causing serious damage right away. The idea was to keep the victim alive as long as possible—so even though L was clearly hurt in terrible ways, he didn’t seem to be suffering injuries of a truly critical nature.

“You’re going to compromise yourself, Raito-kun,” he managed.

“Shut up and let me worry about that,” Light grit.

He’d have to worry soon though, because the guards he’d forced from the area were coming back down the stairs…