Redeemer

He was roused from the sleep he never remembered submitting to god knows how many hours later. Mello blinked, coming to himself in a flurry of soreness. He noted that he’d also just been medically tended to judging from the neat bandage around his thigh and the absence of blood that had previously covered him. Shit, how long had he been out? It had been far too easy to be lulled by the hum of the engines and succumb to a peaceful nothingness for a while. But it was all back now and he grimaced as he pushed himself up. The door was open, the engines were off and the medics were carrying Light out into the darkened landscape beyond. “Where are we?” Mello mustered as he neared the opening.

“Sicily,” L said, climbing out of the helicopter, his attention drawn to the medics as they hurried off through a cluster of weeping foliage—Light in a stretcher between them. “The villa is freshly bought and fully enhanced with all the equipment we’ll need for now. It’s time to lay low—this brush was too close for all of us.” And L turned a slightly humble gaze on Mello. “Thank you,” he said quietly, before moving to follow the medics to wherever it was they went.

“Technically there was an attempt made on L’s life lastnight,” Matt said, sniper rifle packed away and slung across his back. An array of other bags containing his gear strapped over his narrow shoulders.

“What?!”

“That skeezy fuck Aiber took a shot at him, not literally, but yeah, L is convinced the aim was his assassination. Aiber had some other intentions for starters—I intervened, and L ran a rather creative interrogation on him. Though technically we left him tied in the bathtub back at the hotel, so who the fuck knows what happened.”

It was either too much information to process or not enough.

Mello blinked at Matt, not particularly sure how to even start processing the information. Christ. Hadn’t he asked to be informed of just what was going down on their end? Damnit. Truth be told, even as he watched L shuffled away after the medics, the situation seemed too unrealistic to grasp. Regardless of the fact that Mello had been there from beginning to end, it felt as if there were gaps missing and then there was the even more startling truth – he had just let Near go in order to save Kira. What the fuck was wrong with this picture? He pinched the bridge of his nose and suddenly Matt was beside him.

“You all right?” he asked and the question was rhetorical because it was just that goddamned stupid. Nevertheless, Mello chuckled instinctively, only managing to cut it short several seconds later and nodded.

“Yea,” he muttered, looking to him. “Your hair’s throwing me the hell off, though.”

It was such a goddamned mundane observation that Matt blinked at him, previous too-serious expression being replaced by something a whole lot more familiar. Mello grinned. At least some things were still right in the world.

* * *

The villa was vast, from its surrounding greenery to the spread out two-story house, replete with old-world balconies and terraces aplenty. Upon entering, it was what one would expect, rustic and in full possession of a heightened sense of style while managing to be comfortable nevertheless. Their new headquarters had been set up in the north wing but it didn’t appear as if anyone was going to work that night.

L had accompanied Light into what was a fully operational medical office on the top floor. Mello found himself in a somewhat vegetative state on the couch, half-empty mug of hot cocoa in hand, head back against the cushions as his gaze stared unseeingly at the spackled ceiling above. Matt was fidgeting. Alternating between a cigarette and the PSP which he kept fiddling with without actually turning it on, and sometimes multitasking with both at the same time. What he had to be so goddamned agitated about, Mello could not even begin to guess. There had yet to be any word on Light’s condition. In fact the whole damn place was quiet – almost eerily so.

That notion flickered on and off in the back of Mello’s mind for god-knows how long. It was still dark, but it felt late, probably later than it was, though he truly had no recollection of time just then; and things were beginning to feel appropriately apathetic that was until L appeared in the room.

Mello didn’t realize how much he wanted to know about Kira’s condition until he laid eyes on the detective and L’s face betrayed little more than his own exhaustion.

“Your rooms are on the second floor, south side,” L said. “I suggest you both get some rest. It’s well deserved.”

Not a word about Light, and ironically Matt had also looked up, waiting to hear—or so the expression on his face indicated—be it concern or curiosity, Mello assumed it was the latter insofar as Matt’s personal feelings and the former insofar as Mello’s—or what he assumed was Mello’s.

L went to turn around and depart again, and Mello jumped up—but only as much as his wounded leg would allow…it was still a tad too fast for his lover’s taste.

“L?” He stressed. “How is he?”

L stopped and slid a stoic look over his shoulder. “They’re working to stabilize him.”

Given the hour, that wasn’t particularly good news but Mello took them with a nod all the same. It was something. But his jaw was clenched with things unsaid. “I’m sorry,” he murmured once L turned to leave a second time. “I shouldn’t have left him unattended.” And that was truly what it came down to, wasn’t it? That damned promise again. He’d fulfilled it all right, but he’d also allowed Light to be taken. And had Halle truly fucked him over and baited him? Shit, he still didn’t even know that much.

“Not your fault, Mello,” L said quietly. “You didn’t do that to him, they did.”

Ironically Mello went to protest and L interrupted him before he could get two words out. “Matt,” the detective muttered, and his voice was stronger, borderline commanding. “Please help Mello to bed, he needs his rest and I want him off that leg for now.”

That was the final word, and L turned away at a faster pace, and disappeared up the stairs.

Mello frowned but said nothing in protest despite his wish to do so. “Come on…” Matt urged lightly and took but a moment to crush his cigarette into ashtray before tugging his lover along to aid him up the stairs.

“I hate it when you’re this quiet,” the former-redhead commented several minutes later when the soiled clothes had been pulled off, all blood and grime properly washed away and Mello had been forcefully tucked into bed. Matt was back into caretaker mode and had no tolerance for complaints or protests, yet that tolerance was not so much as tested through it all as Mello simply complied with what he was told to do. He’d fallen gratefully into the cushy mattress but was not so far retreated into himself to avoid glimpsing up at him. “It’s been a long day,” however was the only response Mello’d mustered. Which, in a way, was all too true. It felt like they had just experienced a couple of days all jammed into one. The lines had begun to blur somewhere that afternoon.

“I know. Get some rest, I’ll be in soon.”

“Matt..?”

The tone in Mello’s voice gave Matt pause, glimpsing over his shoulder in question.

“I’m sorry…” Simple words that could be taken in a whole number of ways. Matt had just to pick one, but he didn’t, at least not just yet. Too tired to be angry, too tired to consider the ramifications of that apology spoken just then.

He shook his head. “There isn’t a need for it,” Matt assured him quietly. “Sleep.” The order was followed up by the simple gesture of a fleeting kiss, but Mello had not let him get away that quickly, hooking one hand behind his neck to prolong the gesture just a little while longer in hopes, perhaps, to get his point across. When the kiss was finally broken, Matt exhaled, brushing blonde strands from those familiar features. “We’ll talk in the morning. I’m going to rinse off. I want you out cold by the time I get back.” His attempt to sound stern failed at the last moment when he met those drained green eyes.

It was not the same haunted look L had prior to sending Light away as a precautionary measure, but there was something there closely resembling it.

* * *

Tomorrow brought with it a wan light, and Mello’s eyes peeled open at dawn. He probably didn’t intend for that, but there was a nagging sensation pulling on his mind all throughout his sleep that he couldn’t pinpoint in his dreams, but seemed to feel somewhere in his throat when he twisted his head and caught a glimpse of brown hair beside him. It was too dark to be Light’s…and he caught himself then.

Oh shit.

3 days? He and Light couldn’t have been fucking more than 3 days, at least, right? And yet here he was, mistaking his life-long companion and lover for Kira. Fuck.

Mello sat up in bed and pressed his hands to his temple. Matt wasn’t budging beside him, and neither was that nagging sensation, which clarified as the airy villa bedroom came into focus, with its tall bright ceiling, and long balcony doors—the gentle white curtains swaying in an early morning breeze.

He needed to know.

And slowly, Mello slid out of bed naked, hissing at the pain in his leg, dull and throbbing and sharp at every wrong angle. He managed to hobble over to grab the robe draped over the corner chair and slip it on. He’d apologized to Matt lastnight, but that wasn’t going to cover it, was it? That wasn’t really going to do shit, because sooner or later Matt was going to see just how affected Mello had become and just what a bad idea it all was.

For now, however, the blonde hobbled into the wide hallway—making his way to the adjoining corridor where the medical rooms were set up. That whole side of the house was awash in the brightening light of day, and just as quiet as they had been the night before. No sign of much at all, until Mello came to the end room and saw through the tall doorway, L sitting in a chair, staring.

He looked like he hadn’t moved for hours, which was more than likely the case, and he didn’t move even as Mello shifted into the doorway to see that Light was lying in the bed beside L, hooked up to plethora of tubes and monitors, but otherwise rather motionless. He was no longer covered in blood, but he was pale and rather sallow in the face—not by any means that handsome golden glow Mello was used to seeing. He was beat up pretty bad, but for the most part swelling around his cheek seemed to have alleviated a bit, and though he was plagued with nasty bruises and a black eye and puffy splits down those sumptuous lips Mello had grown too used to kissing, it was more than obvious the worst of his injuries were hiding beneath the fold of crisp white sheets.

Mello wanted to open his mouth to say something, but L spoke first. It didn’t seem the detective had even noticed the blonde was there, but that was L’s way.

“He’s done this to me once before,” L monotoned. And it was a lost sort of monotone—distraught, perhaps slightly disbelieving. “I didn’t think I would survive it then, I’m not sure if I’m going to survive it now.”

At that, Mello’s jaw snapped shut, but his gaze shot back to Light all the same. “L,” he started, and god he just didn’t know what to say.

“Near had Gevanni rape him repeatedly,” L rattled off the statement like it was an elemental fact. “That among other things compounded internal injuries from the wreck.”

Mello folded his arms across his chest, he felt numb, he just felt numb and he was trying to explain to himself why. It wasn’t working because he didn’t want to know.

And then L said it. “They’re not sure if he’s going to wake up.”

Another long pause from the detective. “Ryuk has already offered to end it for him…I had to remind him that the deal was for us both to die…”

It was a cold, heavy sort of knot that started at his throat and settled in his gut, and for a second Mello thought he was going to be sick. “No—” was all he mustered before all semblance of rationality left him in that instant. Because it had gotten this far, because there was a chance Light would not wake up – because he should not even have been worried about whether or not Kira met his fate – because he did care, because L had not forgotten the gritty details of the deal, because he could lose L to this, because there was a hell of a good chance that he would lose them both.

The doorframe was his salvation, as Mello was not particularly sure whether or not he’d be able to stand out of his own accord without leaning heavily against the polished wood. There was just too much to process, it had started last night and even though he had hoped that with the coming morning things would start making a bit more sense, he had not been prepared for this.

Anything but this.

The lump in his throat was not retreating and he did not trust himself to speak; his grip shaky and merciless upon his own arms but he had not once turned away from either of them. Not as that whirl of thoughts and emotions clearly crossed those always too-telling features, not as he drew a complete and utter blank as to what the fuck to say because what did one say in this situation? On some level he could understand what L was going through and why it was easier to call it forfeit than to struggle endlessly with each passing day as hours blurred together with the constant beeping of machines.

And then came the most troubling thought of them all: he’d fucked up. Near had caught onto his bait all right, and responded accordingly—responded in a way that Light had anticipated, which only showed that the morbid changes in Near were already making themselves painfully apparent since the warehouse incident. Mello’s risky plan would have worked in the end; he would have kept Light safely out of sight and Near would have fallen. But… the bastard had turned his own tactics against him. He’d learned a thing or two and become not only all the more cocky but all the more dangerous. Too dangerous. Had Mello not carried out such a hasty plan, this would not have happened… had Light not have been revealed to the SPK like that…

L had said that Mello had not done these things to him, surely not, but the blonde had opened up the opportunity hadn’t he? Shit.

His legs would no longer support him, and instead of attempting to reach a chair, Mello sank down where he stood, rooted by conflicted thoughts and emotions, rooted by guilt.

He’d fallen short. Once again, he had fallen short.

He wasn’t even aware of the anguished sound that escaped his lips, and not at all aware of the way L’s head turned sharply to see him there, of the way L was out of his chair then and suddenly at his side…taking Mello in his arms. Mello hadn’t been in L’s arms since he was a child, since he’d nearly thrown up his hands at always having to suffer second to Near—he couldn’t have been more than 8, sobbing like a baby, and the detective was there for him, to comfort him, so out of character and yet so needed to a little boy who had no one else.

Unconsciously Mello wrapped his arms around L’s shoulders because he needed something to hold on to at that moment, he was sinking, his world folding in—Near had won…Light had suffered, would be consigned to Nothing…L would…

“Mello,” And L’s voice was strong, stronger than it should have been, as strong as it needed to be. “This is not your fault. I will not have you blame yourself, I will not have you give up, I will not tolerate it. Do you understand me?”

Mello tried to focus even though his face was pressed unforgivingly into L’s cotton-clad shoulder, and the life support machines were beeping continuously in the background.

“Mello, regardless of what happens to Light or I,” L continued, and his embrace was anchoring at that moment. “You are my heir—you—and there is still much work to be done.”

Mello stiffened… what? L had made his choice? L had chosen—here and now, at the king of all fuck-ups and L had chosen—him? Mello craned a teary look up into his mentor’s determined face.

“You,” L repeated, answering the silent question that sat upon that marred brow. And Mello squeezed his eyes shut, held on—held on tightly. He’d fought his whole life for this moment—and it came when he was least ready, when he felt so abysmally low that it almost didn’t seem real—in fact, it was as surreal as it was to heavy to even begin to comprehend. A weight Mello couldn’t seem to lift, he wasn’t ready and the world felt as if it was closing in on him. He felt as if he were out of his league, as if everything would be lost at any moment.

His fingers gripped the soft folds of L’s shirt, forcing wrinkles with his shaky grip. What good was a title when it was failure Mello faced right then in that brightly lit hallway; against the constant beeping of life support filling the space of the room? That sense of competition had changed several years ago; it was a personal dispute above all else because even though it had always been the intent to get ahead of the game and to hear those words out of L’s mouth, when it came down to the harsh reality of it all…

Mello did not want it.

Because to ascend any further only meant that L would have to fall.

“I thought I could do it…” Mello whispered despite himself, feeling the sting of tears at the corner of his eyes. “I was going to pull this off… I was going to get rid of him for you… I-… shit…” he hissed, the frustration aimed at himself for crumbling like this. It was unforgivable.

“You are going to do it.” L said. “We are not perfect—none of us. I fail, I continue to fail, as does Kira—this is as much his failure as anyone’s. That doesn’t mean we give up.”

L cradled Mello’s head and Mello felt like such a child before him—he wanted to be that too, because L felt safe. At that moment, L felt so safe, like he could shield him from the world.

“Light is not going to give up either, Mello,” L said just a tad more quietly, because above everything else, L sensed that emotion there for Kira—he knew it was there better than Mello did. “I have never seen him truly give up once, I’m not ready to start now.”

There was just the slightest of nods, of Mello trying to focus. He was trying to be strong, because it was expected of him. It was the persona he’d built up over the last five years that had yet to let him down because, hidden away somewhere in the back of his mind was still that sense of failure, that thread of fear and self-consciousness that had haunted him for so long. No one would think it possible for such things to exist, to plague him now. Mello, the cold bastard who had made a name for himself amongst the greatest famiglias across the continents; Mello who would shoot a man in the head without a second’s hesitation should the situation call for it; Mello who had come so very close to beating Kira at his own game once upon a time; Mello who had a goddamned reputation for fire and mayhem and other such effective methods; Mello who had single-handedly infiltrated SPK’s headquarters, shedding blood and claiming lives in order to pull Kira from the grasps of sadists that made him look like a fucking tree hugger. Where was this person now as he rested against L’s comforting hold?

The apology was upon his lips, but he did not say it, expecting reprimand. He felt so small as he leaned away just enough to look at L, feeling like that kid who’d been beaten yet again, but this time the consequences weren’t getting a perfect score or missing a point or two on a damned test. This was real life and it had reared its ugly head. And while he’d gotten his fair taste of life’s hard lessons, he had always done it in a way in which only he was affected – he would wear that evidence for the rest of his life. So, instead of apologizing, he murmured, “Thank you…”

L’s strong hands folded over Mello’s shoulders and Mello searched the depths of that dark gaze. L’s eyes had such gravity to them, such weight and Mello tried not to think of what the detective was really feeling in that moment. That for as long as he’d known, L was a loner, had never bonded with anyone who could meet him eye to eye—and the one person who completed everything he was, for better and worse, was now in that bed, dying. Would be gone forever. No… No, Light was a sonofabitch, he would not go down that easily. Mello wanted to risk a glance at the bed, but he didn’t. He didn’t dare, trying to pull himself together as it were.

“Things are going to be quiet for a little while,” L said, and he was seeking to pull the world back into focus, his back to the bed, drowning out the incessant machines. “I’ve pulled us off the radar—both Near and Bella will be scrambling, and we’ll keep them monitored but only take any action if absolutely necessary. I know Light has assigned a notebook to another Kira—my guess judging from the patterns is Amane—I’ve assigned my task force members to return to Japan and seek her out. I need you to recover, mind and body. I need you to rest. The environment here will provide that for you. I’ve brought Dr. Gregory on full time into my employment, he is overseeing Light, but he is invaluable as a voice of reason usually when there isn’t any.” L paused. “For now, Mello—just get some rest. Recoup. And we’ll let time do its will…”

Mello nodded, pulling himself together, getting to his feet rather shakily—but L was there to lean on until he was standing on his own. Another moment’s pause, still staring into his mentor’s eyes—confirmation, affirmation, whatever it took to find his strength. L nodded to reassure him and Mello turned to leave, made it into the hall where he stopped and just stood there, just stood there for long moments.

He thought to move to his room, instead he took several steps back, his gaze sliding again through the doorway he’d just come from, to Light’s bed—to where L now knelt with his head pressed to the blankets, his face hidden in the fold of his arm, fingers just a brush away from Kira’s.

Mello frowned, watching them in silence only interrupted by that blasted beeping. He felt like he should say something – do something, but was at a complete and utter loss just then because never before had he seen L like this. It just was not supposed to happen like this. Mello caught himself palming the small cross of his bracelet, squeezing it until it practically hurt. The pain was good, though. It was better than the incomprehensible numbness he’d felt earlier. It brought back some focus. He looked down at it and after a moment’s pause, flicked open the clasp as he shuffled forward quietly on bare feet across the sunbathed floor. The white beads were dropped gently upon the sheets beside L’s own hand. “For all its worth,” he murmured quietly – it was the only explanation he had for the unexpected gesture.

L lifted his head slightly, gaze focusing on the bracelet, on the crucifix. Mello didn’t know L had gone to confession the day that Bella took him, didn’t know he’d begun to concede to a higher power because lately he’d felt as lost as Mello looked just then. Because Kira himself and his shinigami both transcended the earthly into the divine, as much as L would never admit that to Light, not even on his death bed.

Long pale fingers folded over the blessed ornament. “Thank you, Mello,” he said but his voice was weaker than it had been moments ago.

And perhaps now was Mello’s turn to offer comfort, his turn to be strong because who did L have months prior when he went through this very thing, the endless vigil as Light wasted away after the warehouse only to return at last after all hope was gone. And so it happened again. Who did any of them have other than each other? His hand fell to the detective’s hunched shoulder and his grip was stronger than one would imagine after his recent state. “Can I get you anything at all?”

L’s head lolled to the side, gaze drawn up to Light. “I don’t know,” he said. “I’m not hungry—maybe I need some air…” Mello nodded, moving to open the long window on the other side of the bed.

It was shaping up to be a beautiful morning, and outside was a lush veranda overlooking a long rolling vineyard—L certainly knew how to pick the spots.

“A violin.” L said a moment later. “I think I’d like a violin…there’s one in the music room downstairs.”

Mello glimpsed over his shoulder, lifting a brow at him. Surprised by the request and yet, he shouldn’t have been. He’d heard him play in the past, but it had most certainly been a while. “Violin it is.” Ignoring the throb in his leg just a little while longer, Mello padded out, making his way down the stairs with the assistance of the handrail to seek out the appropriate room. It took him a couple tries—opening and closing doors to find it, but at last, it was located toward the back of the house. Should have predicted it.

It was airy, spacious. A grand piano stood to one side, various overstuffed chairs scattered about the music room, a bar had been installed in the corner – all elegance and refinery, with only three stools surrounding its v-shaped marble counter. Mello’s gaze swept the surroundings with a strange sense of dejavu – almost as if he’d been transported back to Wammy’s house for but a brief instant. The violin was found, or rather the case was. He picked it up, flicking open the case to inspect that it was indeed found within. Satisfied, he returned to the hall, closing the door quietly behind him.

But instead of returning to the medical room right away, Mello made a quick detour toward the kitchens, taking the extra few minutes to brew the tea that would then be brought upstairs, with its ridiculous amounts of sugar to boot. The cup was set down on the nightstand. “Here you go,” he said quietly, setting the case carefully down on the edge of the bed.

L sat up, his attention breaking away from Light, going to the dark leather case, the polished European maple instrument inside. Carefully the detective picked it up like it was an old familiar friend, resting it across his left shoulder—skilled fingers tuning it quickly and perfectly. He touched the bow to the strings and they sung under his ministrations—his own personal violin rendition of Bach’s Prelude From The Unaccompanied Cello Suite No. 1 In G Major.

It was a popular, familiar melody, it brought Mello back to times of the past when he’d listen to L play. The detective used to perform for the children at Wammy’s House on occasion—there were a great many of them already skilled in music, so not only did L perform for them, he also performed with them—a guest soloist in a multiplicity of Wammy Quartets and the like up through the various grade of students. Yet another thing those of the orphanage aspired to excel at because of L.

Mello settled in a plush brocade chair to listen, knowing the music soothed, seeing how it brought L’s focus around, lost him in the way it made sense to him—the mathematical logic of harmonics and pitch production. The detective’s eyes were closed while playing, and he gave the piece the sort of life most masters dreamed of. And he was only just warming up, drowning out the drone of life support machines, loosing a spirit into the room that was almost tangible. He would be at it for hours, Mello knew it. Days maybe, so it wasn’t a surprise to see Matt materialize in the doorway halfway through Mozart’s Violin Concerto No. 3 'Straussburg' K.215, 3rd Movement.

* * *

Naturally the unexpected projection of its music had woken him; or perhaps it was the coldness of the bed beside him that had brought Matt out of the deeper reaches of sleep to then follow the luring melody to its source. There was no surprise in finding Mello there, huddled as best he could in the nearby chair, still wearing only the robe he’d pulled on earlier that morning.

Matt said nothing, regarding the scene in contemplative silence and noting no hint of coffee, he motioned that he would be right back, descending to the kitchens to prepare some. The music followed him all the way downstairs, each note augmented with the acoustics of the villa that allowed piece after piece to be carried through the halls. Matt lit up a cigarette as he watched the coffee pour into the pot. Thoughtful. He could only guess at what had gotten his lover out of bed this early in the morning on that bad leg, could only predict what conversation may or may not have taken place between Mello and L. It was all too fucking complicated as far as Matt was concerned, but for once it wasn’t anger he felt, nor frustration toward the situation.

It was as if their sorrow had somehow muted those emotions and left him with only a misplaced sense of sympathy – because goddamned if he was going to feel sorry for Kira’s latest dilemma, it was L and Mello he worried after, not the murdering son of a bitch.

Coffee in hand, he returned upstairs, placing the steaming mug into his lover’s hands. Mello thanked him with a nod and shared look, reluctant to speak, to shatter this strange sort of soothing peace L delivered with each complex melody. He did have to gape, however, as Matt after one brief glance at Light’s prone form upon the bed, stepped outside to crush and put out the cigarette he’d been holding between his lips. It was possibly the nicest thing he’d done for the man since their initial encounter seemingly so far away back in England.

L continued to play, each and every piece from memory, from Mozart’s Lacrimosa through Mendelssohn and Stravinsky even brushing through Bartók before settling back on Bach and his two sole surviving violin concertos. It was early afternoon when L finally put the instrument down and blinked at Matt and Mello as though he hadn’t realized they were there this whole time.

“Dr. Gregory has scheduled a 3 o’clock surgery,” he said dully, placing the instrument back in its case. “The medical team will be here soon.”

It seemed such a random statement after hours of nothing but the enveloping chords of classical masters, that Mello and Matt each had to shake out of themselves like some sort of trance.

“Right,” Mello muttered softly, and Matt’s eyes glanced down at him, even as L set the instrument in the corner of the room and shuffled passed them into the hall.

“I’m assuming Light’s prognosis isn’t stellar,” the former redhead muttered and he contained himself when he saw his lover stiffen.

Mello shook his head and his answer was tight and measured. “No,” he said stiffly. “They’re not sure if he’ll wake up.”

Matt nodded but made no show of his feelings one way or another. After all, wasn’t this what Kira deserved? At one time all three of them would have been in agreement, now both L and Mello were keeping vigil in the hopes that the bastard would wake up. And wake up like what? It was unpredictable—if Light came out of this, who could possibly know what his reaction would be. Would he withdraw out of shame for all he’d endured? Maintain his moody, brooding, doomed veneer? Mental fits and nervous breakdowns and desperate appeals for sympathy left and right? Or would he come out swinging? Angry at the world—ready to slaughter half of mankind in retribution for his suffering? Would he blame Near? Or would he blame Mello and L for setting him up in such a way to begin with? Light was a goddamn loose canon in every situation—why would this be any different? No, if anything, should he survive, Matt was certain Kira would be even more untrustworthy than before.

“C’mon,” Matt said to Mello whose gaze had drawn toward the bed, and there was a disturbing longing quality there in his face Matt didn’t even want to think upon. “I’ll make you something to eat downstairs.”

* * *

Mello had not realized just how hungry he was until the first piece of buttered bread touched his mouth. It was devoured almost instantly, and it was then he remembered that the previous day had been mostly spent without much source of sustenance. Minor detail when the world was falling apart. When the jar of nutela was placed in front of him, then for sure, all bets were off. It was just as Mello was licking the gooey chocolate-hazelnut substance off the spoon that he heard Matt barely repress a giggle in front of him. Mello paused, spoon disappearing between his lips and blinked owlishly up at him with a distinct "wut?"

"You look starved," Matt grinned despite himself.

"I feel starved!" the blonde countered, producing the now clean spoon out of his mouth and already reaching for the jar a second time.

"Are you going to tell me what's been going on these last few days or should I leave it to my imagination?" Matt asked, doing his damned best at sounding as pleasant as he possibly could, and marvelous at that, he actually succeeded to the point that Mello lifted a brow at him.

"Honestly I'm not sure which version you'll like better. Mine or whatever your mind's already come up with."

"That's hardly reassuring."

"You didn't want me to be reassuring."

A pause. Matt released a breath, leaning on the counter in front of his lover, arms crossed beneath him to support his weight. "No, I suppose not." A cigarette was lit and Mello took another serving of nutela. "I know you've been fucking him, Mell, I don't particularly like it but that's not what bothers me. What bothers me is seeing you throw yourself on the line like you did yesterday for his sake. What really fucking bothers me is seeing in you what I see in L, although perhaps not to the same extent."

There was a pause and Mello directed his gaze at him, expectantly perhaps.

"Do you love him?" Matt asked.

"No." And the answer was said calmly, not like one who'd been trying to cover up some strain of guilty conscience. No, it was a previously thought out answer because he knew that sooner or later, the conversation would have to come up.

"But you care for him."

"Yes."

"Perhaps a bit more than you should."

"Matt," Mello interrupted. "We're all doing something that we probably shouldn't be doing. From day one, this whole thing has been utterly fucked." He watched the former redhead frown but no argument followed. "Listen, I know something happened between the two of you the day before we split up. Now, I don't know what it was, and I sure as hell am not going to protect him because I still know quite well that the guy is a fucking self-righteous prick and he’s been getting under your skin from day one."

"It was a stupid, meaningless argument."

"Such as the case may be. It doesn't matter. I don't expect you to like him, Matt. The son of a bitch is despicable. All I'm saying is that I care because I sympathize. There is no hidden meaning here, nothing that I'm outright hiding from you because, truthfully, I don't have to. There is nothing to hide." Mello shook his head and paused to take a sip from his coffee, which was promptly refilled once the mug was set back down. "I do owe you an apology and I know that simply saying so isn't going to do shit. Hell, I didn't even know until the other night that part of this was L's plan to begin with—to get Light out of the way for awhile so that he could have a bloody clear head again."

Matt gaped at him. Certainly, it made sense. The returning appetite, the life that had bled back into the detective only a day later without Kira's poisonous presence clouding his vision and his focus.

"We both know that you would have attempted to throw him from the balcony had you been the one stuck in that flat with him..." Mello teased, daring a small smile and to his relief Matt chuckled, glancing past him toward the wide windows that looked upon the vast yard. So intent was he in watching the shadows play across the stone floor outside that he did not notice Mello rising off his seat to lean on the table, mirroring him. Didn't notice until that soft breath brushed against his jaw. "You know I love you, Matty..." and even though it was said lightly with a hint of jest, Matt could hear the sincerity in his tone. A brief look of surprise crossed his otherwise reserved features.

"I don't think you've ever said that to me before." At least not like that.

"That was my mistake," Mello murmured, plucking the cigarette from his lover's lips so that he may seal them with his own instead. The kiss tasted of chocolate and smoke and so utterly familiar. And Mello thought again, at least some things were still right in the world.

* * *

“L,” and Dr. Gregory had to snap his fingers to get the detective to stop staring out the window into ancient tree boughs to actually look at him. The sun was setting over the vineyard, but little more was visible through the foliage other than a spattered smear of pastel gradients.

L’s eyes turned to the distinguished doctor, sort of like a petulant child because he already sensed what was coming. Dr. Gregory had already told him Light’s surgery had gone well, as well as could be expected. All the internal bleeding was stabilized, abdominal perforations cauterized, infections contained and being treated, which left one other thing…

“Quite frankly I’m puzzled,” and Gregory’s dour British tone reminded L of some of his professors back at Wammy’s. It was that cynical ‘I’m puzzled’ and not a genuine ‘I’m puzzled.’

L was fidgeting, knees sloppily scrunched into the chair, one leg bowing out against the arm, long toes tangling with each other, foot over foot.

“CT scans,” L muttered.

“Mmm hmph,” was Gregory’s less than emphatic and wholly sarcastic agreement.

“Left side, between the eighth and ninth ribs,” L said.

“That would be the place,” came the doctor’s response.

“You didn’t open it did you?”

“Ironically, no,” the doctor said, “Despite my keen sense of curiosity, I left it as is, thought I should talk to you first.”

“Leave it alone,” L said flatly. They were of course, discussing the Death Note—the piece Light had so brilliantly (or not-so-brilliantly) inserted under his skin.

The doctor fixed the detective in a steady gaze. “L, you’re aware—it’s doing something.”

* *

If L hadn’t already known it was there, the reddened patch of skin could just as easily have been dismissed as a result of Light’s current broken state; but the shape was odd, like a burn—no, more like a brand—indecipherable as anything overtly familiar and identifiable, but odd and deliberate all the same.

L put a thumb to his lips and leaned in closer, running his index finger gently over the marking. “What did the scans indicate?” He muttered.

“Initially I thought cancer,” the doctor said, randomly checking the monitors around Light’s bed. “But CT showed nothing of that nature, so I ran checks for radiation sickness—and while the area affected the Geiger counter, the readings make no sense. It’s not radiation, but it’s something akin to it.”

“And what are the effects?” L muttered.

“I’m not positive, as his white blood cell count is definitely affected, but not necessarily due to that, considering Yagami’s wealth of problems reads like a grocery list.”

“Leukopenia?” L suggested.

“Leukocytosis—,” Dr. Gregory replied, “but that can be due to trauma. So I’m running more specific tests. One thing is certainly noticeable, however…”

L looked up, gaze probing and intense.

“Since lastnight, there has been a significant decrease in tissue damage—both internal and external. You’ll find a majority of the knife wounds…are healing at an exponential rate.”

L winced, pulling the sheet back, probing between Light’s bandages—rusted stains, but no scars. His eyes widened.

“This—whatever it is—is either healing him, or killing him.”

L’s jaw tightened. “Or something else altogether…”

* *

Dinner was surprisingly formal—unexpected especially to Matt and Mello who walked into a low-lit dining room with a long table, fully set, with candles and everything. It spoke of Dr. Gregory’s higher-class British standing and L’s own roots—though the meal was considerably Italian, and Mello already had noticed that certain trusted members of L’s own personal entourage had joined the villa staff to help maintain the detective and his growing number of associates. How permanent or temporary they were, Mello wasn’t sure, but a handful of them were definitely of the bodyguard variety. Not that they were present at the dining table.

When Matt and Mello walked in, L and Dr. Gregory were already steeped in conversation of the medical variety, and seemed to essentially be arguing, albeit calmly and intellectually.

“We remove it,” was the doctor’s firm position.

“Out of the question,” was L’s even firmer response. And unlike the doctor, who had a plate full of parmigiana, L’s dish was laden with cakes—yet to be touched.

“Tissue reconstruction is alarmingly rapid—and I’m waiting for the tests to tell me just how serious a condition this is. Just because there’s healing involved, does not mean it’s good. It could quickly catapult into a cancerous situation—the elements for leukemia especially are firmly in place.”

“But no solid diagnosis as of yet,” L countered. “No, it’s a risk I’m willing to take. It stays where it is.”

“I’m not arguing for his sake,” Gregory said emphatically, “I’m arguing because it’s my nature as a doctor.”

“What’s going on?” Mello could only take so much when he was decidedly left out of things.

L sat back in his chair, one knee crooked up, arm wrapped around it. “Seems Kira is a thing of divinity after all,” he deadpanned.

Gregory sliced into his meal with tempered aggravation. “I wouldn’t essentially phrase it quite like that.”

L fingered a pastry. “I can, because I know what it is.”

There was a clatter of silverware against china, and the doctor’s grim face was pointedly fixed in L’s direction.

“It’s what makes Kira, Kira.” L clarified, without truly clarifying.

“You’re saying it’s otherworldly.”

“I know it is,” L muttered, “It’s what started this whole bloody mess to begin with.”

That wasn't exactly the sort of response either Matt or Mello had been expecting, but there was no instant cry of outrage; in fact the surprise was mild given the circumstances. They'd been dealing with the otherwordly far too long to let such a statement take them by complete surprise. However, as Mello settled himself down into his chair with a cringe or two along the way, he toyed idly with his glass a moment, chewing on his bottom lip and thinking over what he'd just overheard. Obviously there were details that he was not yet privy to.

But... had he understood? Or was Kira regenerating?—for it seemed that such a term was applicable in this instance—was he healing faster than normally anticipated? Truthfully Mello wasn't sure if this was even more troubling news than the earlier prognosis.

"Speaking plainly here," the blonde spoke at last, glancing at the doctor, but his attention settled on L. "What exactly are you suggesting is happening to him?"

It was obvious that the medical explanations were coming up short as to what in the bloody hell was happening to Light, but the detective had some deductions of his own, which under normal circumstances would not even be entertained much less questioned. This whole fiasco, however, was anything but normal. It had not been 'normal' since Ryuk had gotten bored and decided to play in the human world to begin with. Which reminded him—and the expression was clear as curiosity swept across his features—where was that blasted shinigami anyway?

L fingered his wine glass, which was most likely filled with the most sickeningly sweet brand of juice he could get his hands on. “It’s beyond obvious now that the desperate action Light took by inserting a piece of the notebook under his skin was not without consequence,” He said—and his tone was all business. “Whether Light was aware the notebook was affecting his health—perhaps mental as well as physical—no one knows as I simply can’t ask him at this point in time. It’s possible that it hasn’t, or has not at least been noticeable and these effects have been dormant until this present trauma. His critical condition may have been the catalyst for the powers of the notebook to act upon him.”

L paused. “Or perhaps we’ve already seen this before and could not recognize it—such as the case of the previous car accident when Light was significantly less injured than you, Mello. It’s also certainly plausible, that the only reason Light came out of the Porsche crash at all is because of what we’re witnessing now—and plainly speaking, all indications point to the conclusion that the Death Note is healing its host. We could be looking at something of a parasitical nature—if Light dies, so too does the notebook’s ‘energy’ if you will—in which case, Light is being healed in the interest of the notebook’s own sense of self-preservation. Or perhaps the notebook’s properties go beyond that of just death and we’re just unaware. Kira himself may be unaware—or he may have been sitting on this trump card all along, and his action of implanting the book into himself was not without full disclosure of how it could benefit him. Conversely, being that the way we’re most familiar with the notebook is as an instrument of death, the effects, though they appear to be beneficial, and Light is recovering at an exponential rate from his injuries at least, could just be further speeding Kira along to an already untimely demise. His current status, however, despite a continuing lack of consciousness, seem to indicate the former rather than the latter.”

Dr. Gregory sighed.

“And then there’s the doctor’s position,” L went on, poking a pastry with an index finger. “Which does not take into account the elements I just mentioned—and instead maintains that the fragment of the notebook is akin to something with radioactive properties that could just as likely cause radiation sickness and bring on leukemia since Light’s white blood cell count is significantly on the rise, and seems quite indicative of such a result should these conditions continue on the current path. Which brings us to the question of which course of action to pursue: leave the fragment in, or take it out?”

There was a distinctive pause between the four of them before L added. “As we three know, taking it out has more than just health consequences.”

“Then you’re obligated on a moral level,” Dr. Gregory informed. “If this is the very key to why Kira is the monster he is, then as his guardian and being who you are—L—you are morally obligated to remove this ‘otherworldly’ fragment and free Light Yagami of his own murderous nature.”

L rolled a somewhat exasperated glance at Mello and Matt. “Hence you see my predicament,” he said.

“Your motives are selfish.” The doctor observed.

“Not surprising,” L replied, “Though Light himself would agree with me.”

“Kira would agree with you.”

“They are the same person.”

“Maybe,” Gregory persisted, and it was clear he and L had been having this argument for months. “—but they keep to different values.”

“Same values, different honor systems.”

“Kira has no honor,” the doctor grunted and L shrugged.

“Ultimately,” the detective continued, shifting the subject over a notch, “I would love to ask Ryuk his opinion—but I haven’t seen hide nor hair of him since last night.”

The doctor’s brow squirreled up. “Who’s Ryuk?”

L downed a creamy cake. “I’d tell you, but I’d rather show you—and I simply do not have the means to do so at this point in time.”

Mello was quiet for a moment, taking in the explanation, chin resting on his hand and seeing as there was no chocolate to snap into just then, he found himself chewing on a black polished nail instead. It did not have the same effect, but it was something. "Even if it is removed at this stage, Light still-" he paused then, the thought unfinished as eyes widened ever slightly. "Dear God..." he whispered, dropping his hand away and it took some effort not to curse in present company. "If we want to be technical, Light still has ownership of one deathnote at this point in time, so should the piece be removed, he would not forget, however... that too has been transferred into Near's hands, upping the count to either two or three in his possession."

As if they didn't have enough problems. This slight overlook had not even occurred to him with all that had taken place. Of course Near had that one notebook now - Light had either taken it with him during his escape or left it behind - which was highly unlikely. His capture only meant the confiscation of that too important book. Damnit.

"And he is now positive of everything we're doing here..." Matt added. "And that you're still alive."

"But the fact that neither of us has yet to drop dead means he's still playing his goddamned bloody game," Mello grit out, forcing himself to lean back in his seat and cool off. An unlikely feat, but one he mustered nevertheless. He forced a deep breath. "What he plans to do with the notebooks aren't what's in question here, though..."

Mello leaned in, picking at his dinner at last and lifted his gaze to L once again. "Keeping that in mind, perhaps it would be best to remove it at least so that we may determine just what kind of effects it's having. Did he not have possession of the book, then I would likely agree with you, L, because even if we would be doing Light a favor in removing the parasite that allows for Kira's existence," he nodded in the doctor's direction, "We would also condemn him in doing so, because I do not believe his mind nor his conscience would be able to handle the truth behind his actions."

L licked his fingers, listening as Mello spoke, even though his attention seemed to be focused on the rising pyramid of cannoli on his plate. “You’re correct about Light, Mello,” the detective said, “—he would not be and was not ever capable of handling his own truth in a proper frame of mind. But it’s not only possession of his memories I’m concerned with. Have you considered the possible ramifications beyond this current scenario?”

It was maybe then that Mello noticed L was wearing the rosary bracelet he’d given to him earlier.

“Which are?”

“Well,” L started, “What does it actually mean—to have a piece of the Death Note as part of you?”

“Oh my god, where are you going with this?” Dr. Gregory muttered.

“Correct, gods have everything to do with it,” L said rather bluntly. “But not the kind you’re referring to. My question is: has Light—by taking this extreme path—altered his own fate? The fate set out for him merely by using the notebook? That he is doomed to stop existing when eternity closes in and consigns him to Nothingness? When he does die, does the fact that he is now a being of this element—or at least with these elements inside him, have any bearing on how he ends up? And where? What are the chances this is the case?” L shrugged, part of him was extolling a genuine theory and part of him was playing Devil’s Advocate. “Of course it’s impossible to measure as it goes beyond our earthbound knowledge—but the very notion that we can’t say puts the odds by default at 50%. And if that’s the case, neither myself, nor Dr. Gregory, nor either of you have the right to take that away from him. You would not want to be robbed of your chance at salvation—none of us would—nor should he.”

“This is theological,” the doctor said.

“Indeed,” L replied. “If you want to explore the theology—what else does Kira think he is after all? He has as much a chance at damnation as salvation, presumably moreso; but that’s assuming everything we’ve been taught about ‘God’s Will’ is correct. The argument still stands that we’re all wrong—and Kira, as much as we’d hate to fathom, is in fact, an instrument of divine justice. That the shinigami knew what he was doing, that the will of a higher power directed the notebook into the hands of someone like Light Yagami—who was weaned on justice and who had just enough righteous fortitude to carry through with a plan of judgment rather than using the book simply to increase personal wealth, as most others would think to do. What are the odds and implications of that? But surely, any way you want to look at it—he is perseverant. He’s overcome extraordinary odds and continues to do so, so surely there is some purpose in the end.” L let that sit a moment, but obviously wasn’t finished. “No. This is Light’s path. He chose his fate the day he wrote in the notebook—and he chose to put that fragment inside him, to whatever end. Therefore—it stays. Whether he lives or dies…” L smirked with wry introspection—“Is in God’s hands.”

Hefty words on L’s part. Just like him to rationalize that which could not and was not meant to be understood. Mello wore a thin smile but said nothing at first. Digesting the information – the implications of it all. “Should your theory be correct,” he murmured though, pushing pasta around on his plate with his fork, too distracted to eat. “While the initial belief was that those who use the Death Note are doomed to Nothingness upon their death, to go beyond that and have the notebook become a part of himself, Light has in essence given himself a second option.” He paused, dropping the fork and leaning back in his chair.

Matt eyed him curiously, recognizing that look on his lover’s face; the look that he was onto something—something he did not necessarily like or approve of, something he found difficult to accept in the first place, but could only deny for so long. And then it dawned on him all at once as Mello opened his mouth to continue. “You can’t be serious,” Matt interrupted, earning questioning looks from those at the table with the exception of the blonde, who smiled knowingly.

“The option he’d been seeking all this time,” Mello said, “only there’s one minor flaw. Should this go on and the Death Note becomes an even greater part of him, so does he become a part of the world which created it. The possibility that the Shinigami world will reclaim its own is just as likely as any other theory we could dream up here, if not more cohesive. Upon his death, Kira might just as well become the God he sought to become, only no longer a living God as he hoped but a Shinigami proper.” And then, to Matt’s horror, Mello chuckled. “Would probably be the most dedicated one in history should he continue his judgment and now, from a standpoint that no one could stop him.”