Redeemer

It was shock coupled by the unexpected surprise that kept him still at first. Matt pulled his lover further back into the shadows as Light descended, remaining still and silent until the guards left their God behind. To approach? To remain hidden? The eternal question here remained sprawled on the table as it had ever been before—whose side was Kira on? And then Light sank to his knees and the worry in his voice was genuine. Could it be? Could it truly be that whatever feelings Light mustered for L were stronger than his conviction? Mello wanted to believe it, he truly did but it was difficult given all past circumstances.

But there was little time to think about it. The guards had changed their minds. Come to their senses perhaps. Or worse yet, likely found their comrades missing at their posts. It would not be so difficult to find their bodies, and that of the priest at his study.

It was time to act, then. Not difficult to pull himself together. It was just another façade, another mask of determination to hide the true emotion boiling within. Mello stepped out onto the light, in direct line of the entrance. It was long enough to be spotted, to let Light know that they had indeed followed and this once – just this once – he would cover his ass so that Kira’s reputation may remain untouched. He slunk back into the shadows the moment the first foot came into view.

Mello shot true, blowing out the man’s knee so that he tumbled where he was and was forcefully yanked down the stairs. A second gun materializing to send him into oblivion. There was no longer a chance to play it safe. No chance to keep themselves hidden and keep this as neat and quiet as possible. They were out of time. The second man was not so careless and had plenty of time to whip out his own weapon and reciprocate fire. “Get down!” Mello hissed over his shoulder at Light.

Chaos was unleashed. Matt darted from between earthy columns, taking over in supporting L’s injured form without a comment. He too shared a look with Light that spoke of too much and nothing at all. For the time being, their personal dispute was put aside. Just then it did not matter who had fucked who. It did not matter what Light had done in the past for, at that very moment, their goal was one in the same. The redhead simply hoped he would not come to regret this in the near future. “Get yourself out of sight,” he told Light. “We’ll take care of this and get him back. Return to the hotel when you can.”

The directions were clear cut and simple enough.

The blueprints had done more than offered them a way inside. Mello had spotted and pointed out a second entrance within the depths of the catacombs, allowing them to emerge in the far side of the cemetery, which would land them further away from the car. And while at the time that had been the plan, everything had changed the moment they had set eyes on L. It would be downright impossible. And thus, as Mello bolted up the stairs, guns blazing their deadly fire upon Kira’s disciples, Matt followed more slowly behind. There had been just barely enough time to dodge when another suit came tumbling heavily down the steps, bashing his head gruesomely upon the stone floor. If he had not been dead during the descent, he most certainly was now. Upstairs gunfire raged. There were more than those three, then. Two had already been dispatched and he was hearing a whole lot more than a couple of handguns. In fact, several voices had joined in on the fray. In contrast, Mello remained downright silent as he dealt out the ruthless punishment.

“Clear!” he shouted at last, sparing just a second to peer through the door and wave them forward before disappearing to go on ahead, dropping empty cartridges, which echoed loudly against once sacred stone walls along the way.

They made their way as quickly as possible through the church, down the aisles, careening toward the door; Mello veering, the areas above them where Bella’s men had been spilling out. He’d picked them off like a pro, and blood drooled from the balcony alcoves overhead—how fitting for Kira’s church.

It was a mad dash to bust out the doors, and Matt was struggling with L as they got outside, Mello seeing his lover trying to maintain under the extra weight, moved to help; stuffing his one gun into his pants, trying to grab onto L with his free hand. But four more of Bella’s men materialized just then from the outside parameters—raining fire down on the three of them.

They had to dive back and take cover, and Mello had one bullet in his chamber, as he spun to retrieve his other weapon; pinned where he was under fire. Matt however was at a disadvantage when a loose bullet winged his gun arm and threw his weapon back. He hit the ground, tried to scramble, and the bastards were nearly on top of him. Mello rushed to jam a new clip into his weapons—his mind racing, seeing Matt in peril; but before he’d shoved in the ammo and taken aim; the three goons hit the ground dead after three single deft blasts...

L had Matt’s gun and despite his condition, he was still an incredible crack shot.

* * *

Bella was fuming mad, and ironically still wrapped in a bed sheet; hollering out orders to her men, eyeing the litter of strewn bodies across the nave. The gunfire itself was quieted; the smell of smoke pervading—but L and those two bastards of his had apparently gotten away.

Kira was leaning nonchalantly against the altar on the dais, studying his nails, and Bella fixed him in a wary gaze.

“I told you,” Light muttered, his gaze slanting up at her darkly. “You can’t fight L with traditional means. This,” and he waved around at the remaining goons, “Is all for naught.”

Bella winced, and Light smiled darkly. “L is mine, Bella,” he said. “Leave him to me…there are more important things for you to be doing.”

She raised an eyebrow at him, her arm clutching the sheet to her full chest. “Such as?” She muttered.

And Light pulled out a Death Note, the one he'd discretely slipped from Matt's vest, from under his shirt. “Whatever I tell you.”

* * *

Matt was cursing furiously in the back, having eased L into the seat so that they could make their escape. The car peeled from where it had been parked, leaving the church behind them in their wake. There was no pursuit but even then, Mello could not help the constant glimpsed in the rearview mirror. Could never be too careful. And again his lover cursed. “What?” he hissed at last, glimpsing into the back as they came to a red light.

“It’s gone.” At Mello’s clearly confused look, he elaborated. “The fucking Death Note! It’s fucking gone and I damned well know I didn’t drop it! Shit!!” Before he could utter anything else, Mello tossed him a pack of cigarettes that had been left on the passenger’s seat earlier. Matt caught them with a fumble, but the promise of nicotine did not undermine the fact that there was another notebook now back into Bella’s hands. Goddamnit!

By this point the late night hotel staff knew better than to question any hints of blood and conflict when they ascended to the top floor through the employee’s elevator. Between the two of them, they got L upstairs, all other injuries and dilemmas forgotten in the face of the damage. And yet, as Mello punched in the key code that would allow them access, he frowned at the cracked lamp that still lay upon the floor. He picked it up and set it back upon the table, cracked as it may be. This was not the time for explanations.

The door was pressed shut once Matt and L were through. Mello motioned them into the bathroom, where they proceeded wordlessly. He tugged his jacket off, peeling off the holster in one sweep. He was sore and had likely torn up more stitches, but his own discomfort was unimportant. Everything was for this moment. Everything from the moment he’d ran out of the room hot on Light’s tail had been for this. Getting L back here in one piece and although the damage had been done, L still lived.

Mello sank down to one knee before him. Matt was holding the detective up where he sat on the stool, gently peeling away the tatters that remained of his shirt, careful not to tug at any open wounds that might have clotted against the fabric.

There were little words exchanged through the process, but it was obvious that the day’s events had begun to sink in. Obvious that the hurt and guilt and regret was culminating at that point as Mello knelt before the detective, cleaning wounds with meticulous care, washing away the blood that had dried upon that pallid skin, dressing the gashes that had been opened with frightening precision at a the hands of a professional.

Time passed like this. Matt slipped out of the bathroom and returned with two mugs, one of cavity-inducing sweet tea, the other simple steaming hot cocoa. Mello gave him a muted thanks, sipping at the infusion gratefully before setting it down on the marble floor. It was then that he sought L’s gaze – that dark blank gaze that others found so damn unnatural. Maybe it was because L showed so little emotion, because Near had never showed any that Mello emitted so much. And at that point, his hand faltered as it touched the sterile gauze to L’s shoulder.

Perhaps it was inappropriate, perhaps even uncalled for, most definitely unexpected but he did not care. Right then and there Mello could not spare two shits, it did not matter, not really. His injured shoulder screamed at him for the nth time that day, but even so, he leaned forward and slid his arms tightly around L’s shoulders, burying his face against the crook of the detective’s neck as he had so many times in the past when something went wrong—a poor score, a disappointing result; trivial things that at the time meant so much. How far away those times seemed now when the world was whirling out of control and all bets were off.

The flood gates opened and every last bit of anxiety and fear Mello had tucked away inside these passed several hours was vivid and alive now and Mello clung to L because despite it all, despite the misunderstandings and arguments, despite the disagreements borne out of clashing methods, L was still the only other person other than Matt that Mello could trust. L was still the one who had sparked in Mello a fire to push farther than ever imaginable, to go that extra distance and become something, to become someone. The only goddamned family he had – he’d ever had for as long as he could properly remember. Mello held onto him then because he did not know what else to do. Because this had almost been a failure of epic proportions. Because they’d nearly let L die, because they’d let him be hurt so bad, because Kira was on his own—free to fuck things up, because a goddamn Death Note was missing. Mello held onto him because the proper words escaped him and the raw feeling threatened to engulf him.

L’s hesitation was typical, he was not a very physical individual, he never had been for as long as Mello and Matt knew him…not until Kira it seemed. Not until Light. But he lifted a pained arm up then and cradled Mello’s head against his shoulder.

“It’s okay,” L whispered. “It’s okay, Mello.”

No it wasn’t, it wasn’t. But Mello didn’t say that, he just winced at L’s long fingers against his hair, the anchoring support L leant to the moment even though it was L who had been tortured that night.

“I’m sorry,” Mello whispered, and he didn’t want to let go; “I’m sorry, L.” What more could he say? All other words seemed trivial—even ‘I’m sorry’ seemed trivial, but that was how he felt; and L just stroked his hair gently, and told him again it was okay…

* * *

It had to be near morning, there was that dreadfully early feel to the sky outside the window, and Matt’s eyes peeled vaguely open in the pre-dawn darkness. L was asleep in the master bed, flat on his back, bandaged and braced and resting. Mello was beside him, exhausted, freshly bandaged himself, one arm bent under the pillow, clutching his gun, the other curled slightly against L’s shoulder. And there were so many things Matt could think about that—could think about his lover in that moment, but frankly he was too exhausted.

He curled tighter in the bedroom loveseat by the windows, pillows propped up behind him, blanket draped over bootless legs. He and Mello were a couple of children just then—knit around L, to protect him or to linger in his protective presence? The argument could go either way; but neither felt like leaving the detective alone, especially in his condition.

It must have made for an interesting sight to the lithe figure that had suddenly appeared silently in the doorway. Matt’s gaze snagged on him, but he didn’t move, he didn’t want Light to know he was awake, so he only followed that svelte form with his eyes far removed in the shadows beneath a fall of red bangs.

In truth, Matt half expected Light not to come back, so it was a mild surprise to see him there. The possibility existed that he’d brought his followers with him to finish the job, but that didn’t make sense overall considering Kira’s behavior that night. So Matt was startled, but didn’t react to it. Instead he just watched—watched Light quietly cross the bedroom threshold and sink down on the bed beside L.

An amber gaze hidden in darkness studied the detective, and lengthy fingers stroked dark bangs away from a bruised cheek—tenderly, affectionately—the gentle stroke of knuckles over sore skin.

L’s eyes fluttered quietly open, and when he spoke, his voice was so soft, Matt had to strain to hear it. “…you came back…” he said to Light.

Light combed the bangs away. “Why wouldn’t I?” he said gently, then after a moment he smiled ever so slight. “Don’t answer that,” he ribbed.

L’s own smile barely moved his lips, but it was there in the motion of the shadows. “Tired,” he muttered, closing his eyes again, and Light leaned in, and kissed his forehead. “Sleep,” he whispered.

“…stay…” L muttered, but he was quickly falling back under the spell of exhaustion, and several breaths later he was deep in sleep.

Light watched him—lost in thought he watched L’s chest slowly rise and fall. It was long minutes before he finally gave in to his own exhaustion and lay down beside his lover, angling himself on the bed, face touching L’s shoulder so very gently, arms folded across his chest as he curled toward his lover’s body. It didn’t take him long to fall into a similar pattern as the detective beside him; and Matt waited until Light was asleep to finally release the breath he’d been holding…

* * *

The sun had lingered in the sky for several hours, tipping toward its noon peak when Mello finally stirred from the deep sleep that had captured him so desperately the previous night. It felt as if he had not even moved all night; hand still gripping the trusted weapon, the other brushing L's shoulder over the covers. He blinked groggily, lifting himself up just enough to halt as Light's frame came into view on the other side of L. Mello frowned. When had he returned? How could he not have even noticed? And alas... they were all still in one piece.

He flinched, sitting up after that one moment of hesitation and yet he could not help the stray gaze that returned to Light's sleeping form, still in his clothes, apparently having collapsed the moment he arrived the previous night. Mello left them to their rest, slipping carefully out of bed and onto momentarily uneasy feet. Once the world had popped back onto its axis, he retrieved the gun from beneath the pillow and departed from the bedroom, sparing only a glimpse at the now empty chair upon which he knew Matt had spent the night.

The redhead was at the balcony, arms crossed and draped over the railing as he alternated between the mug of coffee and a cherished cigarette. His gaze distant. Withdrawn. Mello approached after securing himself a cup of coffee from the kitchen. Still warm. He must have not been up long, or had just gotten that good at guessing when his lover was about to rise. He joined Matt out on the balcony, his greeting silent as he mimicked him, supporting himself against the railing, gaze straying across the familiar sprawl of the city. "How did you sleep?" Mello asked at last, not yet glimpsing directly to him.

"Not particularly well." A surprising response. Matt was not known to complain, nor to have any trouble sleeping either, as far as he knew. Green visage ascended to look at him curiously. Again that withdrawn look. Something was wrong. Something more than his own fuck up. Something darker. "Talk to me," he murmured only to receive a brief shake of a head in return.

"I'm fine."

"Bullshit you are. Goddamnit I know you and I sure as hell can't decipher that look right now. What's wrong?" It was then that Mello reached up, grasping his lover's chin in his hand so that he could meet his eyes.

"Yesterday was a lot to take in. I'm still processing it all." It was as simple an explanation as he could muster.

Mello was silent a moment, studying him carefully, trying to figure out just which particular detail had him the most upset. Shit, he would have rather pure anger toward his actions than this silence. Anger he knew how to deal with, this was unfamiliar territory all together. "I'm sorr-" he began only to have his words silenced as two fingers were pressed to his lips. He could smell the smoke upon that touch. Matt had been out here for a while.

"Don't apologize. Not now. Shit, right now I don't even care about what happened between the two of you. It isn't about that."

"If not that then.."

Again that shake of head. "Later when I've got a firmer grip on myself we'll talk. Right now I just want to finish my coffee and get through Near's bloody mainframe." Hacking into the mainframe was much like getting lost in the endless pixels of yet another game. It was a distraction, and a productive one at that.

Mello released a breath and nodded, digits brushing the redhead's cheek affectionately as he pressed a kiss to his lips, letting that gesture alone speak the words that Matt would not allow him to voice. It would have to do for now.

* * *

Light was awake by the time they went back inside. He was in the kitchen, barefoot, still in Mello’s pants, his shirt closed with just a single button across his chest. He looked bleary-eyed and utterly exhausted, which was unusual for him; and he stood there at the counter deciding over whether to pour himself coffee or not—another unusual thing for him.

Given everything that had happened, there was part of Mello that considered not even speaking to him, at least not then, fearing to just stir up more trouble which Kira usually had a tendency to do whenever he opened his mouth.

Matt was setting up on the couch, and his gaze flickered momentarily to the Japanese man, who had yet to acknowledge either one of them. But there were too many things that could not go unsaid.

“I’d be lying if I didn’t say we were unsure of your intentions last night,” Mello muttered. “Especially with the way you ran out of here.”

Light scoffed, still staring at a now freshly-poured black cup of coffee. “I bet you were,” he muttered back. He sounded as exhausted as he looked.

“How did you get out of there?” Mello pressed, dismissing Light’s attitude for what it was.

Light put sugar in his coffee. “I fucked her,” he replied. “Then I told her the truth and I left.”

Even Matt looked up at him with that remark, and at last Light met their eyes. “It was L’s strategy as well,” Light justified. “Not the fucking part, but the honesty part.” He was being particularly abrasive this morning. “The truth is as fucked up as any story I could have invented, so for now she’s convinced that I’m working both sides—I’m on hers, but I’m convincing you I’m on yours, and I’ll say these exact words to both of you to make you unsure of what I’m really up to.” He paused, and his smirk was bitter. “Bet that fucks with your head too,” he muttered, lifting his coffee from the counter. “Take it for what it’s worth—but I’ll have you know, I’m going to kill them all. Every last one of them. And then if you have to worry about me, we’ll worry about me and pick up where we left off.”

Probably as direct as they’d ever heard him speak regarding his intentions—even when it wasn’t exactly reassuring and just as opaque as always, and it accomplished just what Light told them it would. It fucked with their heads. If he was telling the truth, if he was lying—it was an equal mind-screw. He was convincing them he was on their side? He was convincing Bella he was on hers? He wanted to kill her, but did he want to kill them? Couldn’t he have done that in countless ways last night alone? Or did he need them to help defeat her? He’d gone there to save L. Or did he have a dual purpose? Had he set the whole thing up as a dual purpose? How deeply was he really involved in any of this? And right under their noses too. He was alone and unsupervised and already seemed to have Bella wrapped around his fingers—or his cock, whichever she preferred. And yet, Matt and Mello had both seen it. Light was upset about L. He gave a shit, and dare either of them venture that his current irascible frame of mind was due to the fact that his lover—his so-called equal—was lying in the next room hurting and bandaged and out of commission because he’d been tortured at Bella’s hands?

Light took a sip of coffee then frowned. “I don’t want this,” he announced to no one in particular. He’d finally decided only after he’d poured and sugared it.

“Light,” and Mello’s tone was oddly patient.

Light looked up, unaware perhaps he was scowling as bad as he was. He met Mello’s gaze and there was hurt and anger in Kira’s face slipping through that impenetrable demeanor. The moment stuck there, and then without warning Light hurled the coffee cup across the room. It shattered on the other side, hot coffee spilling wide against the wall and Light stormed onto the balcony, gripping the rail, bending his head to it, growling some incoherent curse. He was pissed, he was extraordinarily pissed, and this time it wasn’t at any one of them.

“A fine performance,” Matt muttered, back to his hacking. Mello’s expression knit—he didn’t think so. This was genuine, this time anyway. Ever since that day in the shower when Kira first exposed that unexpected vulnerability, Mello was learning how to read him better. He paused despite himself, glancing over at Matt.

Matt sensed his train of thought and didn’t look up from his work, cigarette between pursed lips. “Since when have you ever needed my permission to talk to someone?” He said. There was a bend of sarcasm in that statement, Mello frowned slightly, but shoved it off, setting his coffee down and going outside after Light.

Light was still bent over the rail, eyes tightly shut, riding out whatever wave of anger that seemed to equally be riding him. “Let’s talk,” Mello said.

“Why?” Kira growled back. “What do we possibly have to say to each other?”

Mello leaned against the rail, arms folded across his chest. “You’re a mental case, you know that. A seriously doomed mind-fuck of a human being—when you actually feel like being human that is.”

“Is that what this is? My humanity?” Light’s tone was dripping bitter.

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.” Mello replied. “Matt thinks you’re acting.”

“Matt can go fuck himself,” Light retorted. “I don’t care what he thinks, I’ve never cared what anyone has ever thought.”

Mello smiled, unwrapping a bar of fresh dark chocolate. “Because your superior mind is above everyone else, and no one is fit to judge you…no one but him. L. He’s your counter balance, your flipside…your other half. I’m beginning to understand it now, I suppose. Yin and Yang, you can’t exist without each other—all this shit we’ve been doing here in Rome to solve this ‘case,’ is secondary. The only real challenge is him. The only challenge you really want is him.”

“He’s mine,” Light said. And what an overcomplicated concept stated so simply.

“I suppose you belong to each other,” Mello replied. “He’s the only person who has ever mattered to you—and neither of you want anyone else involved in what you do to each other.”

Light’s gaze slanted up over the arch of his shoulder and Mello met those amber eyes steadily. “You’re a child, Light,” he said. “Selfish and cruel and confused. You only happen to have the mind of a genius, and you were given far too much power for any one person to ever have…I’ve thought about that a lot lately. You’re here for a reason—God, created Kira for a reason. If you’re darkness—if you’re judgment—if you’re the light…there will come a time, I believe, when the intention is at last revealed. Were you put here to sacrifice yourself for a greater good, as you believe? Or were you put here to create the ultimate good in someone else by being their ultimate evil? There will come a time when we all will know at last where we stand.”

Light had buried his face in his arms again. “I know where I stand,” he replied.

“Do you?” Mello snapped off a square of chocolate. “If you did, we would all be dead. Or Bella and her church would be dead…how many Death Notes do you have, Light? How many has your shinigami given you?”

Light lifted his head at that, in fact he straightened and stared Mello square in the face, his expression dark and weighted, but he didn’t respond.

“Does anyone have the power to truly stop you?” Mello asked. “Or is that your job?”

Light didn’t reply, but his gaze had narrowed.

“Are you looking for someone to stop you?” Mello said. “To save you? Because he wants to—I know he does, and he’s prepared to die to do it. Would you die for him, Light? Would you take that pain, that doubt, that fear of wondering if you were putting everything on the line only to be betrayed in the end? And yet still make the choice anyway? L has. He tests you endlessly—he knows by testing you, you test yourself; and we’re still here breathing for a reason because of it. Because he’s trying to catch you as you’re falling and some part of you recognizes that. Because you love him, and you don’t know how to make the choice…yet. You’re telling yourself you’re angry at Bella because she dared to step into your war with L. But you’re really angry because she hurt the only person you love. She hurt him bad and you ran out of here the way you did yesterday to stop her… now if I’m wrong, Light—tell me.”

Light looked furious—but not at Mello—he just looked furious. “You’re not wrong,” he growled after a long moment. “And I’m not lying when I tell you I’m going to kill them—every last one.”

Mello’s smile was faint, but decidedly present all the same. He spared Light a brief nod, pushing himself away from the railing. “I have no doubts in my mind that you will.” He paused, reaching the doorway and sliding it open. “And when it comes time for that, I guarantee that you will not be alone in your sentence.” His gaze darkened as he said it. Light was not the only one with a vindictive nature and although the initial reasons could be accounted for wanting to defeat anything related to Bella and the reign of terror she led, it was much more focused now, much more personal. They had laid their goddamned hands on L, and just like Light, Mello could not forgive that. And then, in the same breath with only a short pause to let that dark promise sink in, he added. “Those look good,” he nodded at the snug leather that still remained as if poured on around Light’s legs and narrow waist.

He took his leave then, without giving Kira a chance to respond or make any sort of remark that may or may not challenge his conviction. He’d said what had to be said and although playing the role of shrink when his own life was a massive clusterfuck seemed unlikely, it had been necessary. Not only necessary but justified. He was indeed learning how to figure Kira out and read the particulars of what seemed at the surface like Light’s eccentric behavior. How wrong they had been all this time.

The chocolate bar, by now reduced to half was dropped on the table and exchanged for his previously abandoned mug of coffee.

Matt did not question him, but then again, he never generally did. And yet the lack of comment from the redhead at that moment seemed more foreboding than anything. Shit. Mello should have been used to that silence by now. They’d known each other for how long? Matt did, however, spare him a glimpse from behind the top of the monitor, lifting a brow but not going so far as to make any inquiries. His attention was quickly distracted by whatever string of code flowed across his screen. The faint beat of techno could be heard pouring from the headphones he’d draped around his neck, preferring to keep one down at all times so that the outside word was not a surprise waiting to happen. As far as Mello was concerned, Matt was lost to the screen and the task that accompanied it, and so with a breath upon his lips, he left him to it.

* * *

He must have fallen asleep for when he glimpsed up, the sun no longer streamed brightly through the window. It was now far on the other side of the building and creeping slowly toward the horizon. The book he remembered parting some hours earlier was lying beside him, firmly shut and Matt was peering down at him, crouched on the floor beside the bed. He was not smoking, but an unlit cigarette was held between his fingers, low upon his lap.

“Something happen?” Mello muttered groggily, shaking his head in hopes to disperse the sensation.

“No,” a quick response. “Can we talk?” Ah, leave him alone for a few hours worth of productive work and he comes back with a clearer head. It was so typical. Mello offered a slight shrug and wave of a hand, motioning him to sit as he himself pushed himself up to lean against the headboard.

It was awkward. It felt out of sorts, but it was not his place to comment when it was obvious that Matt had his share to say. Mello watched his lover push himself up and deposit himself upon the mattress, eyeing the window several moments and there in that gorgeous profile he’d fallen for so many times again, Mello saw the hint of darkness he had earlier that afternoon. He saw the troubling thoughts that possessed him and because of that, he nudged his lover lightly with a bare toe. “C’mon, talk to me…”

The prompt elicited a smile, however faint. It was a start, but it disappeared as quickly as it had come. “Yesterday made me realize just how little I have known all this time.” Mello frowned but did not interrupt. “I thought I had you figured out. I convinced myself to believe that I was the only one who actually knew you and yet I’ve been proven wrong.”

“What are you talking about…?”

“You’re secretive. It is your very nature. It’s been true since the days you were plotting around for a better way to frame Near all those years ago and I never questioned it. I never questioned it years later when I followed you halfway across the bloody world and you would disappear for days, sometimes weeks on end. It was necessary. You were working and gathering whatever the hell you needed to get ahead of the game. And I didn’t question it because you always left me with a task to be carried out in your absence and I did it.” He paused then, as if gathering himself. The cigarette was lit. He leaned forward, elbows resting upon his knees, gaze lowered, thoughtful. Still, Mello did not interrupt him. “For all your faith, Mello, many have said that the Devil himself gave you your drive and after everything that’s happened, I’m beginning to question that myself.”

“Matt…”

“No, not yet,” the redhead cut him off. “Let me finish before I drive myself mad with all of this. I don’t question your intentions. I didn’t then and I still don’t. I don’t need to because out of anything, I understand that much. I understand why you do the things you do. You were amazing yesterday,” he told him, meeting that green gaze at last. “From the moment I got here to the time we got back at the end of the night. You went out there and put everything on the line just to get him back. You did everything that was expected of you and more. And maybe it’s because this was always your game and I just heard of the results once the carnage was done and over with. But my hands are now dirty and even though I did not regret pulling that trigger on that fucker – it was him or us just then and there – I cannot shut away that goddamned human conscience that as fucked in the head as he might have been, as both of them might have been, it was still a life taken.” He paused, exhaling a haze of smoke in the opposite direction.

“Matt,” Mello interrupted at last, reaching up to pluck the cigarette from his lips so that he could gain his lover’s attention and meet those troubled sapphires. “You’re going around in circles. You were never the talker, that too is my department, remember?” He offered him a faint smile and returned to him the cigarette. “When I taught you to shoot three years ago it wasn’t because I was expecting you to come into battle with me, but so that you would not be vulnerable should that time come. My hands are dirty enough for the both of us,” he murmured, hand alighting on the side of the redhead’s neck, forcing him to hold that gaze and not look away as he was prone to. “I would have rather you not have had to come yesterday, but I needed you. And despite how much I can fool myself into believing that I’m untouchable half the time, that isn’t always the case.” And that much had been proven several years ago. “But there’s more to all of this than the fact that you killed someone, isn’t there? There’s more to it than the thought of me gunning anyone else down because you’ve known that much. Perhaps not all the gritty details, but you’ve known.”

“Your unexplainable funds, your involvement. How far in are you, Mello? I’ve known you had involvement in the mob back in LA, but… we’re in fucking Rome and you waltz in there as if you own the place. How many more secrets are there? Here I thought I’d been fucking my best friend, but only now have I come to realize that I’ve also been fucking a mafia lord for the past four years.”

Mello flinched visibly, that cool composure failing him then at the harshness of Matt’s tone.

“What you told Light earlier can also very well apply to you, Mihael,” he murmured. “You set yourself apart from Near when you left and proved that your methods, albeit questionable as they might have been, got you further. If not for L’s involvement, we’d both be dead but here we are. Have you ever thought about what’s going to come of you when the lines begin to cross? Already you’re putting yourself at stake by going against these people – Kira supporters or not.”

“They were warned…”

“And your word is law?”

“No. It’s fear, which is all the more effective.” But there was no smugness to the words that under normal circumstances would have been uttered with a grin and a loud snap of chocolate.

But Matt reacted as if he had smiled smugly, shoving Mello down against the mattress, hand firmly planted upon his upper chest. “I won’t ask how you did it. Hell, I won’t even ask what you did in order to get so far. It isn’t my business, and frankly I think I’m better off not knowing.” The cigarette was crushed into the ashtray on the nightstand. “But I do not fear you.”

“That’s because you love me.”

Matt was taken aback by the comment, many times uttered in jest between them but just now, Mello had said it in all seriousness. “Yea…” he admitted. “And some would say I doomed myself in doing so.”

“If I’m bringing anyone down, it will be me…”

“No,” the redhead interrupted, touching a lone digits to his lover’s lips. “Eventually, you’ll bring us both down in your war. But so long as that’s the case… then I can accept that.” He let the words hang between them. Mello’s gaze widened, all possible responses silenced upon his lips. He did not know what to say. “Ask your God forgiveness in my stead, will you?” Matt asked him, venturing a small smile. “And have him save me a spot ‘cause I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

Wounds and discomfort were forgotten as Mello reached up, digits burying into those deep red strands as he pulled his lover down against him, holding on as fiercely as he had held onto L the previous night. But the circumstances were different then. “I will…”

* * *

“The sun is going down.” L observed quietly.

Light nodded, pressing the cold compress to L’s cheek. “Yeah,” he said softly, blotting a cut that had reopened, dots of blood staining the towel. “It’s been another one of those lost days.”

“We can’t afford lost days,” L said; eyes heavy as Light’s fingers threaded gently through his hair—it alleviated the tension beneath his cranium, pulsing somewhere inside the throbbing and tightness and pain.

“I have it under control,” Light assured, and L twisted a bit, his head on a pillow in Light’s lap, arms curled around Light’s leg. They were on the master bed, the TV aimlessly playing, neither of them paying any attention. Light had showered all traces of Bella’s scent off of him, and was neat and clean in a pair of his own black pajamas, just propped against the headboard where’d he’d already been for hours—tending to L.

The detective’s weight was anchored against him, settled heavily, L curled in his favorite fetal position. His dark eyes drifted to the armoire mirror across the way and traced over Light’s reflection, watching the knot of concern in his handsome brow as he blotted the blood.

“What are you thinking, Raito-kun?” L muttered. Ironically, he’d refused painkillers and Light had yet to sneak them into his tea.

“You should know what I’m thinking,” Light replied, his eyes meeting L’s in the mirror for just a moment.

“And how are you going to do it?” L murmured.

Light unwrapped a fresh bandage—the bed was littered with them. “All at once. They have my real name, L—the moment they suspect I’m eliminating them, Bella will kill me. I’m certain of it.”

Light felt L’s arms tighten around his leg unconsciously and his lips spread into a small smile. The detective was hanging on to him.

“That’s not going to happen,” L replied.

“Why not?”

“Because you’re going to betray me.”

Light’s hand faltered and his face knit angry. “Stop saying that. I’m not going to betray you—if I wan—”

“I’m telling you to, Raito-kun.” L’s tone was flat as usual, but it still opened that fissure wide inside of Light—the one that had been steadily splitting open since the night before and was taking more and more effort to keep from cracking completely.

No, was what Light wanted to say, instead he took a deep breath, combing L’s hair gently. “We’re not talking about this right now,” he replied. “I’m not going to be your Judas.”

“You’ve been right this whole time,” L murmured. “You’re the advantage in this case—you’re the last person we can lose.”

“That’s bullshit, L and you know it,” Light growled back. So much for diplomacy.

“Please refrain from cursing,” L replied.

“I know what I have to do to deal with Bella,” Light answered, trying to smooth his demeanor back into place. “Let me handle that. Right now, I just want you better.” He leaned over and kissed L’s temple. “That’s all I want,” he whispered.

“You do what you need to do to betray me,” L muttered, ignoring Light’s attempts to gloss over the situation. “I already know Ryuk gave you a Death Note, that you created this fiasco with Mello to direct attention away from the fact that these new judgments on the news are yours and not Bella’s. I know this—I know you’re Kira. I know you better than anyone…I just don’t know what this is all going to lead to—I don’t know that.”

Light had gone silent, but that tremor was still there in his hand, threatening to break. L felt it, and his eyes went to the TV, watched the Italian soap absently.

“Why were you in the church?” Light asked moments later, and his voice was weak, had barely scraped above a whisper.

“For absolution,” L replied plainly, he flicked the channel and felt a drop of water break against his shoulder. His brow furrowed then, and he twisted to look up at Light. Light had his hand pressed against his eyes, bangs as far into his face as their length would allow, but it was apparent from the way he was hiding, from the way his shoulders had stiffened, from the way his breathing shuddered even as he tried to control it—that Kira was crying.

L watched for a moment, his eyes narrowed thoughtfully, before he reached up and slid long fingers around Light’s head, pulled him forward, and Light folded against him, face buried in the crook of L’s neck, tears flooding against L’s wounded flesh. Neither of them said anything, and L held him as Light’s shoulders shook, his sobs still silent, still hidden but so utterly broken.

“I’m either a fool or a believer,” L whispered against Light’s hair; “I suppose we’ll know in the end.”

* * *

Skin pressed to skin, they lay there like that as the sky darkened and night fell and the TV was the last earthly glow left in the room. Light had peeled away his shirt and held L close in his arms, their bodies curled and spooned together—a perfect fit as always. L was in no condition to make love, so they just lay there, staring into space, not speaking but for breath and heartbeats—and maybe it felt like the end, and maybe it was just a proverbial bump in the road—but Light was being worn away, and it was getting harder for L to function each day, and half their time had already passed until Ryuk’s deadline. They both seemed to know the thoughts of the other in those quiet hours. If we die, we’ll be separated, and if we live, we’ll continue to fight—and there is no simple end to any of this—and this is the way it has to be.

Their fingers continued to entwine affectionately together, stroking and tangling slowly against the sheets. Every so often Light would press his lips to L’s shoulder, or L would squeeze Light’s forearm anchored around his middle; but words were just unnecessary, words would ruin them further and they were ruined enough just then.

Sometime around nine o’clock there was a soft rap at the door, before it creaked open and light flooded in from the suite. Someone’s silhouette filled the space—most likely Mello’s because Matt didn’t seem the type to walk in that way. There was a pause, Mello drinking in the sight of Light and L tangled quietly the way they were, obviously awake, but more affectionate than he’d probably ever seen them despite the various medical products strewn across the bed.

“Neither of you have eaten all day,” Mello muttered quietly; “But neither have we, so we just ordered room service. I’m going to insist on sustenance—L, you need to recover as quickly as possible.”

“Thank you, Mello,” L murmured without moving. “I will try to eat something.”

“Matt has finished hacking the SPK as well,” Mello added, “We have the situation handled for now.”

“Good work,” L said, and his voice was just a bit off because his lips were still split and puffy from the beating. “Please keep a close eye on their movements. I may need to eventually make contact with them.”

“SPK?” That was the first Light had spoken—no one had informed him yet of Near’s sudden appearance on the scene and judging from the strain in Light’s voice—it was most unwelcome information. “They’re here?”

“Yes, Raito-kun,” L muttered. “From what I understand, visual confirmation was made yesterday—is that right, Mello?”

“That’s correct. I spotted Gevanni when in pursuit out of the church. They were delayed in arriving at the scene, but found Bella all the same.” And nearly found us, were the words that went without saying. “We’re in the process of figuring out who else was sent over, if anyone. Personally, I don’t think Gevanni would have come alone, but we’ll have those answers soon enough.” He paused, glimpsing briefly behind him before returning his attention to the pair. Mello contemplated them for a moment. “But we’ll talk business after you’ve got some food in you.” And then after a moment, added, “I’ll bring you both something.”

The door was pressed closed, shutting out the near-blinding light. At least for now. They would have a couple of minutes before the distinctive knock on the door and quiet announcement of room service. Mello answered it, flashing charming smiles when needed and tipping the girl handsomely for her troubles. It was so very easy to buy someone’s silence now a days.

When the door opened again, Mello was carrying a tray which was set down on the edge of the bed while he flicked on one of the nightstand lights. The contents of the tray were then revealed – a small bowl of steaming soup accompanied by a doubtlessly over-sweetened tea, shallow cup of tiramisu and canoli. Typical, but maybe it would encourage the detective to eat at least some of it. Beside it was a more solid meal consisting of a small portion of steak – properly cooked to near hockey puck status – for Light. Kira had once complained that he preferred his bovine the deader the better. Seemed like a trend in his lifestyle. Mello was feeling gracious – it could have come out bleeding - not only that, but he’d added a recently poured espresso to the tray as an after thought.

“Let me know if you want anything else,” he told them, leaving them to their meal as he returned to the living room. The door, however, was left just past the point of ajar.

When he at last sank down onto one of the comfortably overstuffed chairs, Matt was already picking at his dinner, the laptop for the moment put aside as he instead opted to flip lazily through the several channels they’d been granted due to the all too luxurious suite. Nothing seemed to pique his interest, however, and so the remote was exchanged for the bottle of Heineken, which was, Mello noticed with an upturned brow, halfway drained. “Looks like we’re about to have company,” he said, setting the bottle down and stuffing a forkful of chicken into his mouth. After an appropriate pause for chewing, he added. “Gevanni’s reports were the lead Near needed to make a wider move. Seems like he’s packing up and getting on a plane come morning. Which,” he checked his watch. “Would be within the next several hours.”

“Fuck!”

“We’re out of time.”

“No shit,” Mello hissed, glaring accusingly at the screen. “Fuck,” he repeated a second time for emphasis.

“Perhaps it’s time to get in contact with Lidner.”

“Last I checked, I was pretty bloody dead, Matt.”

Matt glimpsed at him. That look that spoke more words than he cared to voice out loud. “You were dead for four years last time, and that didn’t make a lick of difference.”

“The circumstances were different then.”

“Were they?” he asked with honest curiosity as yet another piece of chicken was shoved into his mouth. “She may be loyal to Near – for whatever fucking reason that may be – but she was also loyal to you, regardless of whether or not you happened to be fucking her at the time.”

Fair enough, but could that loyalty still be counted on? Mello eyed his food but opted for a snap of chocolate before digging into something a bit more substantial. “I’m afraid we’re going to have to play this one by ear. There’s too much on the line to compromise at this point in the game.”

* * *

The food was sitting there steaming, but neither had reached for it yet. Light’s arms tightened around L. “I can’t move,” he whispered. And for some reason that just seemed to be the hardcore reality—if he moved, they would break. L blinked. Light struck him as being something of extreme delicateness at that moment, poised on the edge of an object about to move—the only question being which side he was going to shatter on. Something had happened to his disposition these last few hours; and he was quickly taking on the symptoms he had before Rome, back when he was still abysmally struggling with his prison sentence, and suffering no less than 5 nervous breakdowns per day in captivity. Matt and Mello hadn’t seen that stage of this current affair, and L wasn’t looking forward to repeating it—albeit for different reasons.

It wasn’t Bella or her church of miscreants that had shaken Kira, it was himself. The outlines of his own heart were at last taking shape through his New World idealism and he was terrified by what he saw—his priorities suddenly askew, his mind was now racing to make sense of the absolutely senseless. What was love after all but completely and utterly senseless? Did it make sense that Kira loved L? Did it make sense that L loved Kira? No, not at all. Barring the Shakespearian, the Freudian, the divine, when it came to plain earthly reason—it made no sense at all. L had been milling over the same concepts. But he’d come to his decisions already, he’d taken his stance on his chosen side of the line and he was waiting for Light to step up to the plate—something Light still seemed incapable of, being that he couldn’t move at present. He was going to have to chose eventually, because L was resolved enough not to let him have both. Light could not have his World and L—it was one or the other.

In the lens of Kira, the New World and his finely crafted Utopia far outweighed whatever L supposedly meant to him—L was sure that was what Light was continuously trying to convince himself. After all these years of work and pain, that was his pay off, that was the bounty of his efforts—his “crime-free” Utopia. Nevermind the insanity of such a notion—it could not be argued that Kira was at all ineffective in his methods, they were just not leading to what Light had deluded himself into thinking they were. Then again, he had a church, he had followers, he had heirs to carry his vision further and wider now were he to make use of them that way. Kira was poised—Death Notes in possession, Shinigami at his shoulder, army of lunatics and a church of worshippers and an equally maniacal queen by his side—he was poised to take over his world, and yet he lay there like a frighten child, wrapped around the one person poised to stop him. So what did that say about Kira? Obviously nothing Kira wanted to hear.

L sighed; inertia would need to begin with him. It didn’t escape the detective how often he was the one to put Kira back on his feet, whether Light realized it or not. It was deplorably ironic besides—because they needed to be opposed to each other as much as they needed to lay there the way they were now, tangled inextricably in each other’s arms. They both recognized that truth, which was why it always hurt so bad. This whole love, hurt so bad. L couldn’t live with a Kira that was reduced to nothing and Kira couldn’t live with an L who had been defeated. They were doomed to constant struggle, and Light couldn’t move just then, because he knew breaking this moment meant the struggle would just continue. And it couldn’t, not after last night, not after Bella had tortured L, and Light had gone running to his rescue—but they had to move, because the outside world was closing in, like it always did.

“I think I would like some tea,” L muttered. Not really. He wasn’t hungry.

Light didn’t move.

“Raito-kun, would you help me drink it?”

There was still no motion from his other half, and L at last craned a look over his shoulder. Light’s eyes were closed, but not in sleep, in thought—heavy contemplation and impending anxiety attack. Yes. He knew.

“Light.” And it was unusual for L to address him without the honorific, and especially in L’s native British accent, usually completely absent from his Japanese discourse. It was enough to get Light’s eyes to snap open. He didn’t like dealing with an L that was unfamiliar to him, and almost on cue, his embrace seemed to loosen at the sound of his name being said in such a manner.

L hated it. He didn’t want to move as much as his lover didn’t want to move—but he understood the reality, and his ear had been half trained on the slightly opened door—and the conversation being had just out of general hearing range. Near was on the move, and that brought a whole new slew of complications to the matter.

“Raito-kun, onegai shimasu,” he said more gently.

Light drew a deep breath, before at last unwrapping his arms from L. There was a poignant sensation of absence that took some adjusting to, and L made the attempt to sit up on his own to avoid dwelling on it—though he’d forgotten how much everything hurt having not moved for so long. Light caught him, helping him upright gently, fluffing the pillows so L could lean back comfortably against the headboard. He lifted the tea from the tray, sitting on his knees quite traditionally next to L, helping it to his abused lips. L’s eyes followed him, stripping Light’s expression bare—he knew the look his lover wore, he’d seen it before; and even though he sipped the offered tea—the steaming herbal sugar-water swirling hot against his tongue, his gaze never left Light; who now could no longer lift his own eyes to L’s.

The more Light couldn’t look, the more L couldn’t look away. This was the cracking point, and despite the pain that screamed in abused limbs, L suddenly grabbed Light by the face, forcing him to look. There were a million things he could have said at that moment, but his dark, probing eyes did all the speaking—only, Light… wasn’t up to the challenge.

“Gomennasai,” Kira rasped hoarsely, pulling away and getting up from the bed in something of a rush, and leaving the room to lock himself temporarily in the bathroom.

L just stayed where he was, in part because he was in no condition to rush after him. Instead he looked to Matt and Mello, who were staring strangely after Light. L had to pity them on occasion, they never really knew what was coming next.