Redeemer

He heard the racket in his sleep and it blended and morphed until it was part of his dreams—a shrill beep, and voices yelling…Mello’s eyes snapped open just as another set of feet went running past his door.

“What the—?” he growled, slamming Matt’s shoulder urgently.

Matt jumped awake and Mello was already clamoring out of bed, swinging a robe around his naked body. “Get up! Shit’s going down!”

Matt half fell on the floor trying to follow as Mello careened out into the hall. He had his gun, because it never left his hand at night—but the commotion seemed to be of another matter entirely, as Dr. Gregory’s stern voice filled the second floor: “Clear!”

There was a power surge from the medical room, and Mello skidded into the doorway onto the scene, Matt colliding behind him just in time to see that…

Light…was in cardiac arrest.

Even Matt’s eyes widened—because this could have been it. Be it Near, or Bella or Ryuk himself—Kira was having a heart attack, very probably at the pages of his own notebook. Mello nearly dropped his gun, his face blanching white, lips uttering a rapid prayer in his ancestral German as he made the sign of the cross.

He saw L, ghost-white and being corralled by a nurse as Dr. Gregory hit Light’s chest a second time with the defibrillator. The jolt lifted his torso partially off the bed and the heart monitors flickered, but flat lined again. Kira collapsed back to the mattress as dead weight and the doctor waited impatiently for the machine to recharge…

There was a number of thoughts that could have crossed Mello’s mind at that moment - it could be the end of it all, depending on who had carried out the act. L could follow, he himself might not be that far behind. The coup would be carried out with deadly efficiency and only Matt and now Linda would remain to know what the hell had just happened. There could have been fear, a mild sort of panic.

But... there wasn't. Mello stood in that doorway, holding onto the frame for support as clear disbelief - if not denial - flashed across his features his one and only thought was: please God, not now. Don't take him now.

A selfish notion, perhaps, but the only thought that could cut its way through the blank shock that had otherwise stilled his mind. It seemed as Fate itself were testing them - not hours after having sat there at the foot of Light's bed, reassuring L's too heavy burden... this? If it was a test, it was a cruel one indeed.

Linda was the last one to the scene and she stopped short of the door with a silent question upon her lips which was never voiced because it just did not seem right to ask. Not just then. Mello, however, barely noticed her as he was intent on pushing into the room; gun disappearing into the waistband of his pants behind his back—stark against bare flesh—he took over for the poor nurse who did not seem to know what to do with herself as far as L was concerned. Mello would forcefully eject the detective from the room if it was necessary. "C'mon," he murmured, sliding an arm around the slightly taller man’s shoulders—it'd make a difference if only L would stand up straight—and led him firmly from the room. Of course, he didn't go far, but that had also not been his intention. His intention had been to get L out of the way, and at the same time get Light out of his sight.

Mello eased the detective down into a chair outside the medical room while inside the medics still worked and it was agonizing to listen in, agonizing to pay attention to all that was going on in there, even without seeing it. Linda had taken a nearby seat and despite the fact that she had not yet caught up to the present dilemma, she remained quiet, waiting like the rest of them. Matt stood at the windows, arms crossed, brow knit—his worry not for Kira who may or may not be dying in that room, but the consequences it would bring. And Mello, surprisingly enough, was not pacing—in fact, he looked the calmest of them all if only because necessity required it. He had crouched down, one knee pressed to the cold floor in front of L, his thoughts dark but his support unwavering.

L was in shock, his gaze drawn blankly into the void of the hallway floor, running on motor skills if even to just hold the edge of the chair—an act that revealed all too quickly his hands were shaking. A sign of weakness, something none of his protégé’s were comfortable seeing. But L had done the math just like Mello had—there were no signs Light’s condition would bring this on, he was healing, and healing well, so it was one of two things—the notebook inside of him, which made little sense—or the more likely and staggeringly obvious fact that someone had written his name down.

That someone was most likely Near. And whether Near proceeded to take out L and Mello, or leave them for another time—time would tell. That wasn’t L’s concern—L’s mind had stopped at the certainty that no one survived the notebook.

Not even Kira.

Dr. Gregory was still working to save him, but L knew it was a death sentence. Light was gone, and the detective’s shock was devastating, his eyes as wide and blank as Mello had ever seen them—if it was possible for someone to die of a broken heart, it seemed L would do just that. If Near didn’t kill him now, L might just take the task on himself—waste away to nothing…nothing.

Mello shut his eyes and tried to block it out. All of Light’s worst fears had come true then, hadn’t they? The pain he’d been so terrified of suffering at the hands of the SPK, and now his fate—the one that had been waiting for him—perhaps it was a blessing he never woke up.

Mello fisted a hand, his gaze glancing at L’s own hands right there on eye level where he crouched, fingers spread over knees, knuckles blanched white—he wasn’t breathing—his attention trained solely behind him—listening into the room, waiting for the Doctor to call the hour of death, waiting to mark that moment that Light left him forever…
And then there was a beep….and another beep…a steady pattern lifting up from the monitors—Light’s heart beating.

L released the breath he had been holding, and was off the chair and back in the room faster than Mello, Matt or Linda could take the time to wonder—what the fuck had just happened…

A breath had been loosed from Mello himself, who practically slumped forward against the now vacated chair. Just what had happened? What cruel game was this? One's fate was sealed at the mercy of the Death Note, so what did this mean? Had Near not taken his victory after all? But if not him, then who and for what purpose? It still did not explain how that relief of strengthening beeping resounded now to wash away those gripping moments of panic. If not Near, and not the Death Note, what explanation was there for this too-bizarre and frightening turn of events when there was no indication of failure from that quickly healing body of his.

Mello pushed haphazard bangs from his face and looked up with a quiet prayer on his lips for what only seemed to be a fucking miracle. But as he rose to hear what Doctor Gregory had to say from the doorway, he did not notice the intent way with which Linda watched him at that moment. Indeed the girl was going above and beyond all expectations and requirements for it was too clear now that things had indeed changed and while Matt did not appear too devastated that Kira had not met his fate this time, he did not show the utter sense of relief that had in an instant washed over both L and Mello. The case study continued.

Where was the line drawn when both L and his second in line had just both been praying to whatever God would hear them that Kira may be saved? Where had the boundaries begun to blur? L she was beginning to understand, but what of Mello?

Linda was on her feet moments later, but did not storm the medical room, hanging back in wait of news, or any sort of explanation that might cast some light on the obviously unexpected situation. Beside her, Matt looked grim, hands deeply buried in the pockets of low-hanging jeans. And perhaps it was because he remained firmly on the outside of the current clusterfuck, keeping his perspective focused on the facts rather than what extended beyond them, that he was the only one to still think clearly at that moment.

Of course the notion of losing L and Mello in that very instant had crossed Matt’s mind, because it was the logical train of rationale and not one he enjoyed to entertain for very long. Of course he considered the consequences of what Kira’s loss would do to L—he neglected to think too hard on what it would reflect upon his own lover's behavior—but just then it was best to be objective. Therefore, he had absolutely no issues in interrupting—perhaps rudely—to ask, "Do either of you know whether it is possible to summon the Shinigami, or does Ryuk simply do whatever the hell he pleases at any given time?"

L wasn’t paying any attention, or if he was, he was ignoring everything but what the Doctor was about to show him, with a somewhat grim and complicated expression. The detective was still wide-eyed, still pale, obviously reeling in his every emotion at that moment just to function with some semblance of dignity and control. He didn’t seem too stable on his feet, his posture stiff and trying to keep it together.

“You tell me,” Dr. Gregory muttered, peeling back the sheet to expose Light’s flank—and what had been a nearly indecipherable mark over the Death Note piece, was now quite certainly—a definitive symbol. Like a brand, as L had thought of it earlier, it rose through the skin and resembled something akin to the ancient Egyptian ankh, sign of life, only not—as L was sure it was not a symbol of this world, but the next.

The detective pressed a finger to his lips, but had nothing to say, as Mello leaned in to see the scribe in Light’s flesh. Whatever had just taken place was directly related to it after all.

Matt and Linda tentatively entered, craning a bit to see what L and Mello and the doctor were so intent on looking at, as the nurse reattached Light to all the proper monitors that had been thrown into disarray moments earlier.

“L, we need to speak to the shinigami,” Matt reiterated, because this didn’t bode well at all, and if nothing else, maybe Ryuk could at least translate what the hell it was appearing in Light’s skin.

But L held up a silent hand to deflect the question, pressing a knuckle to his lips, it was obvious he didn’t trust his voice, didn’t trust much of anything, and he moved swiftly then to the balcony doors, opening them, moving outside into the darkness and closing them firmly in his wake. Dr. Gregory replaced the sheet, but didn’t exactly display the entirety of the frustration he felt in the matter. “Give him a moment,” the distinguished Englishmen said, as three pairs of concerned eyes glued to the reflective panes of glass—but L was out of sight.

“Matt, we’ll discuss it later,” Mello said more gently, he didn’t notice his own hand had unconsciously dropped to the warm, soft skin of Light’s arm—that familiar sensation too comfortable to mentally make note of—the way Linda was doing just then.

Matt nodded, knowing inherently that L had just come extremely close to his greatest fear—and was not about to just pick up where he’d left off as if nothing had happened, the way it would have suited the redhead—because Kira was not worth this. Goddamnit, he wasn’t. It was about then his eyes flickered to where Mello’s hand rested on Light’s arm. He didn’t point it out, however, said nothing more than “I need a fag,” and then he turned to leave.

Linda followed Matt, because to ask Mello then and there if he was Kira’s lover just didn’t seem in good taste and maybe a cigarette would loosen Matt’s tongue up a little to explain what the hell was really going on among the lot of them—including the tattoo?—they’d all been staring so intensely at on Kira’s side.

Mello watched after them, his gaze then returning to the balcony doors, before at last dropping to Light’s quiet face, his thumb stroking the smooth skin of his arm unconsciously, affectionately, until he realized he was doing it. Oh….shit. Mello drew a frustrated breath, but was beyond questioning himself at that point. The tight anxiety unraveling inside his chest was explanation enough, and he took that chance to brush Light’s bangs out of his face. That silky brown hair disheveled and unwashed, and a lot longer than it had been a week ago, growing as his body so rapidly healed? Sure, why not. God, but he was still beautiful wasn’t he? The bastard.

Mello leaned down; lips close to Light’s ear. “Stop putting L through this,” he whispered firmly. “And wake the fuck up.”

* * *

The moment the glass doors closed behind him, L was in the far corner of the balcony, hand grasping for the balustrade, his knees giving way under him and he sunk down, fingers clenched hard against the stone as he tried to hold it back, fought that cancerous knot that choked his chest, constricted his throat, burned in his eyes—no amount of breathing exercise would keep it at bay, and he fisted a hand to his mouth and let it come, still fighting to stifle the sobs, even as the tears flooded down that pale face—if only to keep everyone just inside those doors from running out and seeing him in such a state.

They knew, and if they didn’t, they weren’t as smart as he believed them all to be—but that didn’t mean they had to see him as such a mess. No, he hadn’t cried in a long time—not like this, never like this, unless he had no recollection—unless it was one of those early memories he had blocked when he lost his mother all those years ago.

God, why had that even come to mind? Long fingers pressing to his eyes, those shuddering, silent sobs completely wracking him—he was helpless against them, helpless this whole time; no matter what—despite how far he’d come, how hard he’d tried, how much he’d sacrificed, he was forced to stand by helpless and leave Light to his fate—there was nothing he could do—and his mind had immediately jumped to the quickest way to end his own pain the moment he knew Light was gone. He’d brought himself so far across that point, he wasn’t prepared to reel back—and the shock of Light recovering was just as great, if not greater than when he’d first flat lined right there in L’s arms.

The thought—the very notion of that bottomless sense of loss, compounded with the absolute disappointment that L was ready to forfeit the game—that he was that destroyed after all, it was nothing short of utterly devastating. And L sunk back into the very corner of the stone, head in his hands—he didn’t really plan on moving just then for a very long time…

* * *

He could have gone straight out into one of the balconies for that much desired smoke, but he didn’t. Matt barged into his own darkened room to lift the pack off the nightstand where it had been left, nearly running into Linda as he swept through the doorway and headed downstairs. She followed after a moment’s puzzlement, asking no questions until they were quite out of earshot and properly in the solace of night’s deep dark for not even the patio lights were lit at this hour.

And what hour was it? He had no idea and after a moment’s thought, as the lighter sparked the flame that would give him that cherished calm, Matt decided he didn’t particularly care either.

He was angry. Positively bristling and could barely contain it – it was a long time coming, constantly tucking away those feelings which he told himself were not justified, were senseless. They weren’t, not really, but he just did not want to deal with it. Deal with any of it and now it had returned – returned too strongly for his taste. The redhead was pacing and Linda sank into an elegant iron-worked chair, pulling one leg up to her chest.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you angry before,” she commented quietly with a distinct hint of curiosity. Considering they had all grown up together – she was the same age as he – that was an incredibly long time devoid of any sort of outburst. Mello had enough of said outbursts for all of them combined and then some to spare.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Linda was quick to say, watching as he passed only to pause several meters ahead and turn back. A second cigarette was lit from the still smoldering end of the first. Never a good sign. “You and Mello are together?” she carefully tested the waters.

“This isn’t a jealousy fit, Linda.”

“I never said it was, I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on here without all the necessary details,” she pointed out. “What of him and Kira?”

"I have yet to figure out what the fuck is going on there." Which in essence indicated that there was indeed something going on and Linda was not pulling assumptions out of thin air. "Shit," Matt hissed, stopping suddenly to scowl furiously into the lush gardens and vineyards beyond. "I don't understand them - neither of them and maybe that's because I never subjected myself to his fucking charms and mind games, but I just do not fucking understand any of this. I can see the allure, sure. L found himself a match, Mello a decidedly fuckable opponent, but this?" He could hardly stand it. Just as he could hardly contain the frustration he felt toward the slow unwinding of rationale and lack of focus over the last several months - seen even more evident in the last few weeks.

Indeed it wasn't a lover's jealousy fit so much as long sense of possession. He and Mello had always looked after one another, and even though he had never been in close contact with L, still felt protective toward him. To see what Light - Kira! - was doing to them was downright unbearable.

“So there is sex involved,” Linda said cautiously. Oh the innocence, Matt couldn’t help but snort.

“It’s one of Kira’s primary advantages,” he muttered; “For years he played this asexual vibe—you can see it on the tapes, so damn pristine and sterile and untouchable—went along with his burgeoning God-complex I suppose, but right after L faked his death, it came out—no holds barred, he used sex to bind all of his allies to him—Amane, Takada, Mikami. From what L has hinted at they were lovers during the handcuff period—seems like a given considering they were never five feet from each other for months on end. Same bed, same shower, how they got dressed in the morning I still can’t figure. One can argue that Light was actually grieving for L after he thought he’d killed him, and started spreading himself around—not my choice of argument. I think he just realized how powerful his own sexuality was, and he started using it just as deftly as the notebook.”

Matt dragged long and hard on the cigarette. “Since the warehouse, his seductive tendencies have increased tenfold. He’s like a bloody vampire—he drains people, he’s been draining L for years now, and recently L had to physically unload him onto Mello in order to get some semblance of his brain back. It was working up until a week ago. Of course, Mello has yet to be truly straight with me about what he and Kira…have…together. Fucking like bunny rabbits goes without saying, but Mello has certain…appetites…not everyone can appease. I’m assuming, that Kira has found every way to appease them and more—it’s the only way I can figure the bastard having drawn Mello this obviously close to him. Kira sees the weaknesses, he psychoanalyzes in a glance and is usually 99% right whenever he does, and then he acts on it. He’s a marvelous bloody actor, should be winning Oscars right and left, somewhere along the way, L and Mello have decided that not everything he does is an act, that there is something genuine about him—absolute bloodyfucking rubbish. He’s a fuck, he’s always been a fuck, he was probably a fuck back when he was sucking his mother’s tit—pardon my French—and to see what he’s getting away with,” Matt paused his rant to light yet another cigarette.

He dropped the last butt to the ground and crushed it with his toe, dragging long and hard on the new stick, breathing the smoke out through his nose. “I’ll tell you one thing—if Light could see for himself what he just put them through in there—he’d be gloating—he’d be bloody gloating and then he’d use their emotions against them every way he could.”

Matt paced a bit back and forth. This felt like therapy, and he was surprised Linda wasn’t taking notes. But she was listening with rapt attention, and if anything—if she did have the misfortune of coming eye-to-eye with a very conscious Kira, hopefully she wouldn’t buy his shit for any price.

“But listen, Linda,” Matt said, trying to cool down. “L doesn’t walk around with his heart on his sleeve around Kira—he makes it hard for him more often than not, it’s just that Kira knows the game, he knows it better than anyone and he knows how it’s played. There is, unfortunately, no one in this world who can read and understand L better than Kira. L opened himself up for this attack a long time ago, when his goals were completely different. Back then he was willing to do anything to destroy Kira…now he’s willing to do anything to save him. He’s in love—head over heels, barmy and bloody in love and it’s fucked him up; it’s thrown the lot of us into this complete cluster of a situation.”

Linda drew in a deep breath. “That’s what’s escaping me here…”

Matt fixed her in an even gaze. “To put it simply, L made a deal, the last time Light’s life was in jeopardy. He made a deal with the shingami—who was ready to kill Light on the spot for one reason or another, that they would both solve this new Kira case together—this ring L has mentioned—within a year’s time frame, or the shinigami would get two lives instead of one.”

Her reaction was, as to be expected, of a mixture of pure horror and surprise. Certainly she must have heard him wrong, because had Matt just insinuated that L would trade his own life for this – what? – dangerous game in order to give Kira one more year in the very least?

“You heard me,” Matt interrupted before she even had to ask. “We’re half the bloody way through and as you know, the case has yet to be solved. Not only that, our grand player is currently out of commission. So as you can imagine, we’re all a little fucked at the present moment. Which is also another likely reason why L is pushing Mello the way he is all of a sudden. Sure, we’re laying low, but we’re also wasting valuable time, so L’s putting his backup plan into motion.” He sighed, running his fingers through his hair. “And I believe this also why he’s called you into this whole mess. You’re a clean slate and can make your own decisions based on all that’s happened from an outsider’s point of view. We’ve all invested far too much into this clusterfuck.”

“What am I supposed to accomplish here, though?” She asked and Matt realized that she truly had not been told a single thing prior to her arrival. Poor girl. Not twenty four hours in and already there had been a crisis.

“I don’t know what he’s thinking. I’ve only just recently gotten used to the fact that I’m personally working with L on a case – and as of a month ago, living under the same roof.”

Linda smiled. “Mello was the only one with enough guts to go pester him whenever L dropped in at Wammy’s.”

“No kidding,” Matt chuckled and felt some of the tension lift off his shoulders. Some, not all and definitely not enough to make this whole thing go away. “And he’s much more at home with him because of it. The first time I saw him contradict L, I nearly shat my pants.” Linda laughed and Matt stopped pacing. “Mello backs down as easily as he jumps in for the attack… His loyalty is unbelievable and has led him to ridiculous lengths for L’s sake.” A pause. He sat down, suddenly tired.

“And that’s why you worry…”

“How can I not? Shit. Light’s in this condition because for the second time, Mello’s grand plan exploded in his face at Near’s hand. L gave him the go ahead, Linda – Mello was to put a bullet in the brat’s head. Everything went to hell, which goes to show just how much more influence Near has attained in the last few months.” Her eyes widened at that particular bit of information but she did not interrupt him. “Light was captured during the single hour Mello left him alone since L charged him with the task to keep an eye on Kira. I didn’t know it at the time, but Mello had made him a promise to keep Light out of the hands of the SPK, and should it happen, to retrieve him. He retrieved him all right – by marching into SPK’s Interpol guarded base and blasting his way to Kira.” Her eyes grew wider. “The bastard turned his com off so we couldn’t hear what was going on, but I know he met with Near… L’s priority, however, was Kira. And as a result instead of wiping Near out of the picture, Mello got Kira out of there instead.”

Yea, it was reason to worry when a lifetime of annoyance turned hate was put on hold in order to save Kira from the clutches of Death itself. Yea, a serious fucking reason to worry if there had ever been one. Linda was frowning behind the fingers that tapped lightly against her mouth. “When’s the deadline?” She asked suddenly.

“Early February, I believe. I’m not certain when exactly the deal was made.”

“You’ve been in Italy how long?”

Where was she getting at? He lifted a brow at her, but answered all the while. “Mello and I came over in the beginning of the month. L and Light followed a few days later.”

“You said you’d been living under the same roof…?”

“Just a few weeks. Light and L got into a fight, Light walked out to do some ‘work’ which pretty much involved meeting with the battshit crazy people of his church. Mello and I tracked and caught up with him. Mello was in a rage that night and ended up crashing the car. Needless to say L didn’t let him out from under his sight until he recovered.”

“And Light..?”

“Few scratches and bruises, nothing serious. Mello got the brunt end of the damage.” Although how much had to do with the Death Note’s influence, he could not even be sure anymore.

Linda was quiet a while, assorting out her thoughts. She leaned back in her chair – it was cold through the thin nighty she had put on some hours prior.

“Read the rest of it tomorrow, I assure it will make a whole lot more sense.” Matt exhaled the last bit of smoke to the side and crushed the cigarette.

* * *

There was a message blinking on the screen when L at last came in from the balcony. The chill in the night air had eaten straight through him and his fingers were numb, the tip of his nose, he couldn’t feel his toes either—but none of it registered as his gaze went first to Light there in the bed, before he managed to focus on the message. Encrypted. Bella.

L stood there a moment, staring at it, before he ran it through the key. It was simple enough: Are you there? She was of course asking Light, or who she thought was Light—but L had been the one speaking with her for the duration of Light’s coma. On instinct L went to type a response, but his hands stayed; the puzzle piece swirling intangibly above him, just suddenly snapping down into place…

He looked again to Light, trying to will the thoughts together and override this shucked sensation L was still reeling from. No, he needed to think…it had been a heart attack with no clear medical forewarning. It had to be the notebook, and not the one inside Light—that made absolutely no sense as that piece seemed to have inherent healing and self-preservation properties…so had it been Near’s doing, chances were good that L and Mello would have quickly followed … but they didn’t.

Bella on the other hand…

Well, Bella had Light’s name. She did not have L or Mello’s. She also, most likely, had reason to believe Light was in jeopardy or had sold her out, or would sell her out—which L still hoped was Light’s intention. It was also possible that L himself had given the plot away since he was not 99% sure what exactly Light and Bella were plotting together…so if Bella suspected L was the one she was conversing with, the simplest way to discover that would be…to kill Light. If Light was dead and she was still getting messages from ‘Kira’ then reason would conclude L was masquerading as Kira this whole time.

Kira’s Queen had just tried to kill him.

But did that make sense? She was enamored of him, she wanted him to herself, she wanted Kira at the helm of her church…or did she? They were two of a kind, she was as much a snake as he was, if not more. The old Light would have devised a similar plan—had devised a similar plan in regards to Takada…maybe Bella had done her homework. She had her own notebooks, there was one among her flock who had the shinigami eyes—at least one—what did she truly need Kira for if she was in essence, Kira herself? Light sensed the venom in her, she must have sensed the venom in him—kill or be killed, they were the same breed after all.

Or maybe it wasn’t venom she sensed.

Maybe she’d figured out what Light hadn’t…maybe she saw his loyalties better than he did…and maybe L was hoping that was the case.

One way or another, the detective wasn’t going to answer the message. This theory would play out. Let Bella think she’d succeeded in killing Kira. L would monitor the board and see what became of it. Would she simply assume the role as God of a New World? Or would she use Light’s death as a rallying cry against L and all who opposed Kira? It would unfold and L would watch.

He closed the laptop and moved toward the bed, sinking down to the floor to rest his chin on the mattress and stare at Light. The monitors were steadily at work in the background, and L hitched the sheets up just a bit to look again at the shinigami mark—that was what his brain had begun to refer to it as. It was death’s language, and it was one he didn’t know—not yet.

No one survived the notebook…obviously there was an exception now. And there were two questions…how? And why? Ironically, the how would be easier. The how had to do with the shinigami mark—it had counteracted the actual Death Note. That was the simplest explanation L could conjure. Light was either protected, or being transformed—and the Death Note, now, could not turn on Kira. No, Kira had reached a status he’d been yearning for—and maybe it wasn’t essentially divine, but it incorporated divine elements. Whether he’d done it to himself knowing the outcome or not, L still couldn’t say. Honestly, he didn’t think so. He was pretty sure Light did what he did with the scrap solely in the interest of maintaining his memories. It was akin to prisoners hiding valuables in questionable orifices in order to protect said valuables…not something Light was going to do, considering the sort of bedroom activities he knew would uncover his secret. No, under the flesh was the best bet, since ingestion would have been merely temporary…Light didn’t know this would happen. Whether Ryuk did—that still remained a mystery.

The why was a question of faith…why was Kira spared when no other before him escaped the notebook? All those years ago, Light Yagami was merely a brilliant murderer with a God-complex. Now…for some reason, fate ordained that he become something more. And maybe he understood something all this time that L and the others had not. Maybe that was indeed the reason why the notebook had ever found its way to him at all…and maybe L was still feeling far too brutalized to examine this situation with any modicum of logic and coherency.

It was late, he was tired—dawn was arching across the sky in shades of indigo and he truly couldn’t bring himself to move, his legs crumpled under him, arms outstretched over the mattress, head lolling in the crook of his elbow…only he could fall asleep that way, and ironically, he didn’t toss and turn.

* * *

A week had passed.

There were no further incidents to speak of – Linda was fully up to date on the situation and making it her job to prod deeper by the day. Mello’s academic work had him ready to kill small fuzzy animals and throw various dictionaries out each window within distance – be it closed or not at the time. He’d withheld temptation, surprisingly enough, and settled for cursing furiously in however many languages he could muster, to come up with creative substitutes for “fuck” and continue on his way. Matt had beaten Assassin’s Creed twice within the span of that week – once on the PS3, the other on the Xbox to compare the differences – but still managed to get downright annoyed at the ending the second time around.

As for Light – there was still no change in his condition – or rather, there was: all signs of the abuse endured were completely gone; those handsome features betraying none of the horrors committed and the brand was the only thing that remained out of place against smooth skin. Once so pristine auburn hair now pooled around his neck and against the white of his pillow, messy bangs falling in a sweep across closed lids. It had grown in two weeks what one would expect out of a couple of months without a proper trim. Another oddity no one had bothered to question.

June was upon them and with it, the gradually warming days, but with the turning of the month it felt as if they were that much closer to the deadline, even if only a week had passed them by.

The only thing that distracted L from his somber mood was the constant demands made of Mello – and the blonde, in good faith, took the abuse with as little argument as he could possibly allow himself to do. Thus, as he emerged from his study that sunny mid-morning, looking as if he had yet to see sight of his bed since the previous morning, he strode upstairs to drop the several-page-long paper right onto the keys of the laptop L had been watching intently. A faint smirk was in place – arrogance must prevail to the very end – but behind it was clear signs of exhaustion and something more – uncertainty? A hint of dread? Two weeks into L’s murderous curriculum, it was the first evaluation to be turned in and needless to say, given the competition it was reason to dread the results – a too-familiar feeling Mello didn’t think he’d be experiencing again.

L stopped in mid-motion, eyes darting downward to fix on the paper lying there in front of him. There were indeed times at Wammy’s when rumors would circulate that L would grade papers, or design tests—truth be told, he probably did have a hand in everything on the damn syllabus, but when his name was directly tacked on to a project, you could bet the students worked that much harder to impress. And now here was Mello, his every stitch of work would be given directly to L…and compared directly with Kira.

“Thank you, Mello,” L said, “I look forward to reading it.”

Mello nodded shortly and turned to leave.

“I just emailed you a pop quiz, by the way.” L added, and Mello sensed him smile at the way his shoulders must have stiffened. “When you’re done, take the rest of the day off. I haven’t seen you ride in a while, I know you miss it.”

“Yeah,” Mello muttered, “Thanks.”

* * *

Dinner remained the formal event as always. Now all but L seemed to actually dress for the occasion, it was silly in some respect, but there was a sense of prestige that clung to the villa—after all, these were Wammy’s best directly under L’s guidance, and since a week had gone by without any crisis, there was some odd normalcy returning.

L was keeping it all in, that was certain—the truest way to sense his feelings was to hear him play the violin, which he continued to do on a daily basis. Linda was actually beginning to set her breaks by it, and Mello had forgotten the girl’s passion for classical music. She’d never had much of a talent for it herself, but she adored it to no end and had confessed to wanting to ask L to play the piano for her, since it was her favorite. She hadn’t garnered the courage however, and so, she just continued to privately delight in the violin concertos he’d perform for hours on end out there on the balcony.

Conversations over dinner did not usually drift toward the case—rather they often entered the realm of Mello’s current studies—hours of intelligent discussion and debate between the lot of them, Dr. Gregory included, having studied at Oxford and Johns Hopkins—which was actually where L got his own medical degree. One had to wonder how the detective, barely 31, had found the time to study at so many prestigious institutions, garner so many credentials, and still solve his cases. It almost went to show just how much time he was wasting on Kira—but that was really neither here nor there. Point being, it was a welcomed lifestyle, despite the cloud that lingered overhead. Sometimes Mello found himself reflecting that if L indeed was doomed by the deadline, this was a nice way to spend his last time on earth. It was morbid, but Mello supposed it was because things had maintained a façade of peace—for a week no less—and that was more peace than any of them had had in years.

The chocolate mouse was savored in turns between sips of his double espresso. A brief nap earlier that evening had tricked his body for a little while, but the previous night’s run had caught up with him and it was now only a matter of time before it would sink its claws in deep and yank Mello crashing hard. It was expected. The coffee was purely psychological.

As had been the trend, L was the first to abandon the dinner table once the friendly debate had at last reached a truce – at least until the following evening. In both his and the doctor’s absence, all formality scattered and Mello held his head up, fingers tangling into loose blonde strands. His gaze turned to his two peers and even before he could utter a word, Matt commented bluntly. “You look half dead.”

“I feel it too, if it’s any consolation.”

A chuckle from his lover, who doubtlessly had something to do with not-quite-so-regular sleep patterns. “Get some rest.”

“I will later. Fill me in, anything new?” After completing the massive paper, and the pop quiz L had sprung on him, Mello had wanted nothing more to do with blasted computer screens – thus the case went blissfully ignored through the length of the afternoon. But even when he did get a chance, there was only so much time he could devote to it – and besides, sitting behind the screen monitoring this and that was the farthest from his style, so of course unless there was something truly happening on the other side of those monitors, Mello’s involvement became limited. The waiting game had never been a favorite.

“Nothing of note,” the redhead offered with a shrug. “It looks as if everyone’s at a goddamned standstill. Either that or being too bloody careful. Bella’s up to something, and what we assume to be Misa is still hard at work in Japan, although there hadn’t been any overwhelming attacks, just a steady flushing of the world’s scum. Or something like it.”

“Near has also been quiet,” Linda inputted, flicking loose waves behind her shoulder. “No doubt keeping tabs on Bella without making himself overtly obvious to the public.”

“And to us,” Mello muttered.

She nodded in agreement. “It became obvious that you were watching his every move as closely as he was yours. He won’t be that careless again.”

“There’s a whole other group of words I would have used before ‘careless’ to describe his actions,” Mello commented idly, pushing his chair back to rise with a last draining sip of his coffee. There was little other than a few drops and an abundance of sugar on the bottom. “But you’re right in any case.” A breath was loosed. “I’m gonna crash for a while. Wake me if the apocalypse strikes.”

* * *

Something was pulling. That was all he could focus on—something was pulling him—like his father’s hand that time he’d gone into the lake and didn’t come up. God, he’d forgotten about that—not a stitch remembered until now, he must have been 4? Maybe 3? Into the water and straight to the bottom, so dark and breathless, and there was no panic; he was too young to realize how close he came, down there, staring into the abyss—the darkness, the next world—and it stared back at him, right into his soul…like it was doing now…

Light’s eyes snapped open and collided with a dark ceiling—he half expected to feel his father’s strong hands, pulling him from the water—saving him, but there was none of that, he wasn’t in water—he didn’t know where he was; the world had just somersaulted over and above itself, and Light flailed an arm outward, felt tubes where there shouldn’t have been any, and his hand went to his face, pulled at the breathing apparatus which was in his sinuses, and the awful yanking sensation snapped him further conscious. Oh fuck, what the hell?

He made an incoherent sound of protest and rolled to his side, disconnecting from a wall of beeping monitors, which quickly flat lined at the disruption. Light didn’t even notice, his brain was too busy trying to focus, sucking in air around the tubes that were down his throat, IV in his arms, he didn’t even want to know about the catheter—not that he could, he just wasn’t that aware yet, eyes fighting the darkness to fix on laptops, on glass doors—on a room he definitely did not recognize.

He moaned irritably, fighting that horrible sluggish feeling, like he hadn’t moved in days—and truly, what the fuck was going on?

* * *

L dropped the tea cup somewhere at the top of the stairs—he wasn’t sure which reached his ears first—the steady shrill tone of a flat lined heart monitor, or the sudden crash that followed—the sounds contradicted each other, and he rushed back to the room he’d left for only 5 minutes, skidding to a halt in the doorway.

The monitors were dead alright, but the figure in the bed was far from it—flailing where he’d just knocked over the medicine tray, struggling to sit up, shag of long auburn hair in his face, and he was swatting at it because it was suddenly very foreign to him.

L wavered, quite shocked to say the least—he was not ready for this moment after all those hours he’d sat and stared and hoped for even the slightest movement, all those tormented prayers for some sign of life dashed over and over, here, in the middle of the night, gone for five minutes and Light…just wakes up?

Bloody irony.

It was Light choking on the air tubes he was now attempting to remove rather drastically that L rushed to his side.

“Light,” he said, catching Kira in his arms, trying to steady him, and Light was thrashing a bit instinctually because no one liked waking up with tubes in their face.

“Shsss, shsss,” L coaxed, “Calm down, I’ll get them out—” and he had Light by the shoulders, as he extracted the tubing as gently as possible. Light choked and gagged, and L handed him water, which he chugged gratefully before his eyes at last focused on the detective.

“L?” he breathed. His voice rasped, rusty as all hell, but it was music to the detective’s ears. He thought he’d planned this moment if it ever came to pass—he thought he’d planned to remain in control, but there was no controlling how he suddenly crushed his lover close and pressed cool lips to Light’s forehead. That was enough to clue Light in to the fact that something had been seriously wrong.

“What happened?” he breathed, fine with being in the detective’s arms at the moment—they were anchoring, when the rest of the world was still spinning.

“I don’t trust myself to speak right now,” L managed somewhat brokenly; “But I’ve missed you…”

* * *

It was nearly 4 in the morning, but the kitchen was awake, and so was Kira—sitting at the polished table, steaming cup of tea in front of him. L was crouched in a chair close by, and Dr. Gregory was leaning against the long preparation counter, bathrobe and pajamas, arms folded across his chest. It was a lot to unload on Light so quickly after he’d woken, but being his stubborn self, he demanded to know.

“My memory is fuzzy,” he confessed after a few minutes. “I recall the crash…I think. Whatever happened after is a complete blur.”

“That’s a blessing,” L said. They’d told Light he was in the hands of the SPK, but hadn’t gone into terrible detail.

“Point being,” the doctor said, “All indications are that your injuries are 100% recovered. You have, however, been bed ridden for two weeks, so I may suggest the use of a cane at least until you feel stable enough to walk without it.”

Light’s eyebrows rose, but he smiled nonetheless. It was that knowing smile that Dr. Gregory didn’t miss in the slightest, and Light was well aware. “If you insist,” he said, voice still rusty and slightly deeper than usual, but quickly acquiring familiar tones.

“Then I’m going to leave the two of you to yourselves,” the elder man said, and he already knew he liked a comatose Kira much better than an alert one.

Light waited until he was gone to turn to L, who was staring, in his usual way—but the emotion in his eyes was obvious. Light returned his gaze, that golden look of his warm and inviting.

“Do you really remember nothing?” L said a moment later.

Light’s lips spread slightly. “Do you want me to remember?” He replied.

“Not particularly, no,” L returned.

“Then I remember nothing,” Light said, eyes dropping to the tea demurely.

“You’re already lying to me,” L muttered.

And Light glanced up. “Then that should be a good sign.”

* * *

By dawn they’d moved out on to the veranda to watch the sun rise over the vineyard, and the house had begun to wake up around them. The first of the servants were rather awestruck by Light’s new and very conscious condition, and Light was very quickly used to being waited on, something L knew he would be immediately. Light may have come from middle class, but he was an elite breed, and he fell into step rather easily.

“But L,” he finally said, “The hair,” and he glanced at the auburn strands that now brushed his shoulders in long choppy layers.

L shrugged. “I like it,” he said. “And you should change your look anyway—after all, you’re now dead to the world for the second time.”

* * *

It wasn’t the apocalypse, but it came bloody well close to it.

As had become the recent habit, Mello was up first and after the lengthy restful night, he complained only a little with the damnable sun spilling cheerfully through the windows before rising. His early morning routine usually consisted of meandering downstairs for a cup of much deserved coffee, perhaps toast (especially if nutella was present), then back up with a second cup in hand which would cool off while he stood beneath the pounding shower for some time. However, that particular morning Mello had not even so much as made it into the kitchen, much less any other part the routine.

He passed the veranda on his way to the kitchen and at first thought nothing of the sight of L perching in one of the chairs. But something wasn’t right. In fact, something was very fucking off because he not only caught the detective’s voice faintly across the way, but it was the intonation of his voice that threw him. Mello paused, hand against the corner of the wall and back tracked, eyes already widening as the distinct sound of Japanese became unmistakably clear. L only spoke Japanese if… Kira was present.

Mello hadn’t seen Light at first because he was not particularly paying attention that early in the morning and simply—he had expected him to be there.

Mello’s fingers squeezed against the cool wall before he stepped away from it, appearing in the opened doorway short moments later. By God... Light had not only risen from his coma, but he was on his bloody feet. How?! The surprise was clearly etched across his features – it was too unexpected to be able to play it off coolly with such limited notice. Shit. He didn’t even particularly care at that point.

“…mein Gott…” Mello muttered faintly under his breath. It seemed positively unreal for Kira to be sitting there, basking in the early morning sun as if the last two weeks had not even happened.

Mello’s words were faint, perhaps, but not faint enough as those familiar amber eyes flickered upward and found him easily, a slow smile spreading already seductive lips.

“Danke schön, Mello,” Light purred and that was not the look of someone who’d just been to hell and back. Mello did his best to contain the wry twist of his brow at that moment but it didn’t help that Light looked…good…too good. Pale still yes, a little slimmer in the face, definitely—it gave more edge to already sculpted cheekbones, which were half-hidden by that new long sweep of hair that lent him an altogether freshly alluring look…and really it just wasn’t right to gauge Light's sex appeal when he couldn’t have been out of a coma for more than a few hours.

It was just too damn instinctual.

L crooked his head around, somewhat owl-style and caught Mello gaping. “He woke at about 3 o’clock this morning, Mello,” was the answer to the unspoken question.

“L is bringing me up to speed,” Light added, and it was strange to hear Japanese again after weeks of proper English. “Somewhat sparingly—I get the sense he’s leaving a lot out.” And that last bit he said with an arch of eyebrow in L’s direction.

“What would give you that idea?” L replied flatly, stirring his tea with a rainbow lollipop.

Light shrugged, sipping his own tea. “Because you’re you,” he simpered, but his smile at L then was genuine… affectionate. Oh he knew alright, L must have been unable to hide the full spectrum from him and Light was quickly seeing just how devastated the detective had been. Almost to confirm his line of thought, Light’s eyes grazed over Mello again.

“Seems I’ve been missed,” he concluded from the expression on the blonde’s face, and Mello cleared his throat.

“How are you feeling?” He said, taking that moment to pull himself together and step out on the veranda. He hadn’t been expecting to wake up this morning to a conversation with Light—but if he had, he would have expected Light to be showing signs of anything…physical pain, pain remembered…anything remembered; it made Mello wonder if Light didn’t exactly know what had happened to him at the hands of the SPK.

“Decent, all things considered,” Light replied congenially. “A bit worn, and I think I’ve downed about ten gallons of water already—”

“Any pain?” Mello ventured.

Light shrugged. “A bit—the leg mostly, and the aches and pains that come with lying pretty still for two weeks—throat’s sore from the tubes—but otherwise I feel fine. Scroungy and overgrown, but fine.” And he was referring to the hair—joking actually, and it was directed at L. They must have already discussed L’s choice of styling.

“Suits you,” Mello said, at last finding his nonchalance, and settling down in one of the iron lattice chairs.

“So too says L,” Light replied, fingering his tea cup. “I suppose I’ll keep it—for now,” and one eye lifted between the part in long bangs. Seemed he’d already discovered how to wear it to make him look the most seductive too—or had Mello been just starved to see him again? That was a disconcerting thought.

“In any event, Raito-kun,” L said, draining his sweetly rainbow-colored tea, “I don’t want you exerting too much energy too quickly.”

“Sending me to my room already?” Light ribbed. “I thought I was behaving.”

“I’m sure you won’t be soon enough,” L droned. “But yes, I’m sending you to your room. Let’s see how you do over the next few days—if all goes well then you can move to the master bedroom and out of the medical wing.”

“We,” Light corrected.

L’s eyebrows lifted, “Pardon?”

“We can move out of the medical wing and into the master bedroom,” and Light’s smile was just ever-so-slightly coy.

“I thought that went without saying,” L said dully, displaying a brand of arrogance Kira could appreciate. It was also to stop Light from taking the upper hand by putting him on the spot in front of Mello.

Ah, the games had already begun.

Mello had to admit, at least to himself cause he sure as hell would not be caught dead saying it a loud, that it was a bit refreshing to have Light back amongst them. Go fucking figure. Mello had to suppress the small smile that threatened to seep through as he watched the light banter between the two; catching the relief in L's eyes, the weight that had just been lifted like a rain cloud as if by magic. Kira was a dangerous drug indeed and one L had apparently gone without for too long. And while for now, Light was the antidote to L's gloom, when would he become the thorn at his side once again?

A constant roller coaster. And lately, they would not have it any other way.