Redeemer

Walk away. Just walk away. Just walk the fuck away. It was one thing to know about it – the fucking, the all too complicated avoided answers – another to witness this, whatever this may be. Matt’s hand lingered on the doorknob, grip tightening until the decorative metal dug into his palm. Only then did he let go, backing away without a word. Not worth it. Matt pulled the door quietly shut, teeth grit painfully as he turned away. Just walk the fuck away, he told himself again.

Linda was already heading toward the stairs halfway down the hall, stifling a yawn behind her hand. When he approached, she tilted her head. “Where’s Mello?”

“Must’ve already crashed.” An easy lie, his tone betraying nothing was amiss, nothing of what he’d just witnessed even if the image had been burned into his mind.

He’d seen it from first to the last because he’d woken up when Kira glided down the hallway. And Matt knew instinctively where he was going at so late an hour. The hall had been dark but for the pale lighting in the medical wing—which meant L was up, which meant L knew, and didn’t stop it—because L either didn’t care what his bastard lover was doing, or…fuck, Matt couldn’t get a bead on how L operated half the time, especially when it came to this. If he was so damn in love with the fucker, why not enforce some bloody fidelity or something? Shit.

No, instead Light drifted down those stairs and to Mello’s study, and Matt wanted to walk away then—but some things just couldn’t be ignored, and maybe the reality would not be as bad as what Matt would have imagined had he just laid there in bed and let it torment him. That had sufficed countless times in the past, but it couldn’t suffice tonight.

So that first moment when Mello grabbed Kira’s arm out of paranoid defense—for just that split instant, Matt thought he might tell him to bugger off. But then that kiss—and Light, so goddamn submissive?! Since when??? Since when did Kira want nothing more than to be fucked hard on his knees by someone superior?!? Motherfucker knew, he knew from the moment he met Mello that was what got Mello off—the desperate gasping, the begging to be hurt…godfuckingdamnit. And yet…and yet…none of that was so bad as the post coital bliss they seemed to so easily fall into the moment it was spent and done.

Mello, lulled to sleep in Kira’s arms? Wishing aloud that Kira had not suffered at Near’s hands?!? Telling Kira that he’d missed him?!

Matt pressed a hand to his head and Linda saw it easily. Too easily. Too fucking perceptive the goddamn Wammy girl. She looked to the door—closed tight, she looked to Matt’s face, the way he avoided her eyes.

“They’re in there aren’t they?” She whispered. “Mello and Light.”

Matt went to deny it, but couldn’t and before he could tell which way was up, Linda was on her tiptoes, wrapping her arms around his shoulders as though he needed someone to cry to…

He released a breath, but those tears did not come. Not just then, if they would come at all. Shit. It wasn’t the fucking around that bothered him, God knew Mello did enough of that in recent years – but it had usually been for some sort of gain, information, power, loyalty – something! This… what gain did this serve? What good came out of allowing himself to be lulled to sleep in the arms of that son of a bitch? What had he to gain by any of it?

But… if this was how they fell into one another here where anyone could walk in, here where anyone could see – Matt did not so much as care to think what had gone on those three days spent all by their lonesome in the rented flat where there wasn’t a single soul to disturb them. What sort of familiarity had grown there beyond the rabid sex that allowed for such comfort, such ease with one another as to simply… fall asleep as if months prior they had not been trying to kill one another every few minutes.

Fuck.

Matt felt himself shudder – anger, frustration, confusion. Did Mello even realize what he was doing? Did he even realize the type of situation he’d placed himself in with all of this? Matt lifted one arm, hand falling lightly against Linda’s back, grateful for her company despite how awkward it was to have someone there to begin with. It had always been just the two of them and maybe that was part of the problem. Mello was a social creature, while Matt was not. And while that had never been a problem, the current living arrangements were plainly fucking with that carefully constructed balance.

Not knowing what the hell to say to her, Matt said nothing, staring intently at the designs on the stone floor regardless of the fact that it was just far too dark to tell them apart. He wasn’t that interested, but it was a nice distraction.

“I’m so angry for you,” Linda managed, and yeah, she was actually trembling wasn’t she.

That made Matt snort, made him come back to himself for a moment. “You need to get a handle on that,” he ribbed softly.

Linda reared back, a thousand emotions at war in her face—damn woman, always had to emphasize that sort of thing.

“Go in there and break them up,” she bristled.

Matt’s brows lifted. “I’m not going to do that,” he said.

“Why not?!?” She was steaming and it was kinda funny and rather endearing.

“Because Mello’s a big boy,” Matt muttered.

“He’s yours—you can’t let that bastard do this to you!”

Matt sighed and took the girl by the shoulders. “This is the shit of it, Linda,” he said softly. “No one is forcing Mello to be in there—he’s in there because he wants to be. He wants to be with Light right now.”

She didn’t want to hear it—and maybe it was good she was having the fit, because Matt felt his own frustration starting to vent through her.

“Fuck!” She stamped her foot. “Does L know? Does L know what that snake he’s been pining for and keeping vigil over is in there doing?!”

Matt pursed his lips. “I’m certain he does. I told you about L already—despite his feelings, it seems he can only take so much of Kira in his brain-space.”

“Oh goddamnit!”

And for sure, he’d never heard her curse so often in a single time frame.

“Then you’re coming with me,” she ordered.

“What? Where?”

“The kitchen.”

“Why?”

“I’m going to make you something—I don’t care what, I’m just going to make you something. When I’m pissed—I cook.”

It wasn’t long before she was doing just that—cooking – or rather baking – in the wee hours of the morning. And while she did, Matt lit up, holding the cigarette between his lips as he fetched a short glass from the cabinet and promptly raided the liquor cabinet for the strongest infusion he could find. His hand grabbed the scotch, pouring it into the glass, dropping in ice before returning to the stool on the opposite side of the kitchen counter, wordless as Linda tore the kitchen apart with surprising efficiency.

Several minutes later, he happened to glimpse at the tray she was preparing to slide into the oven and blinked. “Shortbread cookies?”

“It was the first thing I could think of.”

Fair enough. Matt shrugged and drained the glass. Linda made to snatch the bottle out of range when he reached for it a second time, but a decidedly stern look made her give up on that idea and Matt poured a second glass, allowing her to take the bottle away then. Unlike some, he could handle his liquor, thankyouverymuch.

Fifteen minutes later, there was a steaming tray of lightly browned cookies sitting in front of him. “Do you feel better?” He asked despite himself, finding some amusement in the activity she’d chosen to distract her anger.

“No. I still think you should do something about this bullshit. It’s unbelievable.”

Oh, he’d like to do something about it, all right. It generally involved adding several bruises to Kira’s pretty face. Although at this point, Mello deserved a couple himself, if only to bring him back to his fucking senses. But one did not reason with Mello like that – one did not start a brawl and get away with it. Matt had tried it once and had ended up with a split lip and a gun pressed to his forehead. Details.

Despite the double Scotch, however, Linda poured Matt a glass of milk anyway—milk went with warm oven-baked cookies no matter what the hour, or the other poison of choice. And it was as Matt was indulging her, and indulging himself that he wondered why L hadn’t miraculously appeared in the doorway at the faintest scent of homebaked cookies. The man had a sweet-radar like a bloodhound had a nose—but there was no sign of him. And it was possible he was asleep…but most likely not…

* * *

Mello stirred because Light was shaking him ever so gently, hands against his head, squeezing his shoulder.

“Hmm? What is it?” The blonde muttered, and the room was still dark, Light’s body still warm, everything still feeling just the way it should have, except…

“We should go to bed,” Light was saying.

Huh? Oh yeah. Mello squeezed his eyes with his hand, and with minimal consciousness lifted himself up into a sitting position so Light could get up and retrieve his robe—which he did, standing to slip it on, leaving Mello still very much groggy on the couch and out of it.

Mello felt the cool fingers wrap around his elbow to help him to his feet when he realized Light had already vanished out the door into the hall; and slightly confused he turned only to see a shade of L’s silhouette passing by the last dimly lit lamp in the room.

“Get some rest, Mello,” the detective said, moving to the hallway when he was fairly certain Mello was not about to walk into any walls. But it was dark, and this was strange, and L’s voice just sounded so disembodied at that moment, speaking in the dulcet tones of his native British lilt, that Mello just had to stand there and focus. What just happened? But by that time, both L and Light were gone, and the only thing that remained, save himself and one lamp, was the aroma of freshly baking …cookies?

Again Mello’s eyes pressed shut as if that alone would make him regain some coherency – what time was it? Mello ran a hand through his hair and as an after thought, re-did two of the buttons of his shirt. And that was when it hit him and he had to stop where he stood in the hall, gaze instinctively going toward the stairs, but they were gone and well out of sight by now. Had… oh God… had L actually just come in to send them both to their respective beds after all was said and done? It was far too bizarre to even entertain that particular thought, but it sure as hell seemed to be the case.

Mello’s mind was back to minimal functional ability by the time he approached the kitchen, searching for something to drink but also too curious to ignore that scent of cookies that wafted through the house at this late hour. Outside it was still dark, which meant he hadn’t been out for very long, but he’d certainly lost track of the evening all together.

No sooner had he made it two steps through the door than a dishtowel was flying straight for his head. Mello just barely managed to catch it, the mildly damp fabric slapping against his chest regardless – the aim had been a bit off. He blinked, but had little time to recover between the dishtowel attack and the slap that resounded loudly in the otherwise silent kitchen. The next thing he realized was that his cheek stung and Linda was standing before him. Matt had just about dropped his cigarette onto his lap at the display, stunned to silence that she should not only go that far but get away with it too.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!?” She hissed. “Don’t you have any idea what the hell you’re doing to him?!?”

Mello gaped. In fact Matt was gaping too—but Mello assumed the ‘him’ in question was Matt…and that meant. Fuck. That meant the entire household knew he’d been shagging Light rotten in the study.

Bloodyfucking fantastic.

* * *

Light stood in the private washroom of the master bedroom. The medical room didn’t exactly have a lock on the door, and L seemed of the mindset that tonight, a lock was in order. He didn’t really go into detail about it, but it seemed to have something to do with baking cookies that he was—strangely—not partaking of.

Light inhaled the aroma unconsciously, standing naked before the mirror, eyes drawn to that rather noticeable mark on his side.

“When are you going to explain this to me?”

L was behind him sitting in the tub—bubbles over flowing, waiting for Light to join him.

“What makes you think I have the answers to that one?” He mumbled, and he was stacking the bubbles as they were melting in his hands.

Light crooked a gaze over his shoulder, noting that the damn sun would be coming up soon, and now he was keeping the bloody hours of a vampire just like his pale and broody lover. “Because you wouldn’t just let something like this slide without researching it to the nth degree.”

And Light turned from the mirror to step into the tub, sinking down to face L, who had suds on his head. L hunched down over his knees, but his dark eyes were on Light, and were more narrow than usual, which meant he was tired. “I did research it to the nth degree,” he droned, “—but as I’m sure you’ve already surmised, that’s not any language of this world.”

Light frowned.

“And,” L continued, “your shinigami has been MIA for two weeks, so I haven’t yet had the pleasure of asking him to translate. It does however, have something to do with your rather miraculous recovery—and that’s all I can truly say for certain.”

Light frowned more, and L grabbed him by the wrist, pulling him forward and forcing him to turn around so he could wash his hair.

“But that’s not the issue right now,” the detective mumbled, lathering up those long, amber locks.

“No, I didn’t think so,” Light muttered. L’s fingers felt good—they always did, he had the hands of a masseuse.

“The issue is that Linda and Matt are quite upset about what just happened with Mello.”

“Like I care,” Light sneered.

L took the nozzle and rinsed the soap out of Light’s hair. “I don’t care if you care—it’s an issue, and they are as much my responsibility as you are, so this is going to have to be sorted out.”

Light leaned back, sliding down to rest against L. “And how come they care, and you don’t?” he said glumly.

“You want me to care?” L sounded almost genuinely perplexed. “Light,” and ironically he dropped the honorific, which made his lover flinch, “If I cared, this would be a very different situation. Truth be told, the more I tell you not to do something, the more you tend to do it. I see no benefit for my mental health if I try and keep you away from Mello at this point in time—but that’s me.”

“You care, L,” Light insisted.

“If you say so,” the detective muttered flatly.

Light twisted around on his stomach to face him, and it obviously bothered him that L didn’t seem in the least bit jealous. He scrutinized L’s expression anyway, seeking something anything—any sliver that would betray him; but L just looked bored and broody as usual. At least he wasn’t doing the owl-eyed thing, which Light hated because it was usually L’s best attempt at dodging the issues by playing stupid.

“Does it bother me that you feel the need to have another lover?” L muttered. “Maybe on occasion—when I’m feeling tired and worn out because that’s the only time I ever have thoughts like that.” He hesitated, the water pooling around his pale shoulders, which as always were more muscular than they ever appeared while dressed. L gave a good illusion of looking like a deformed lanky panda half the time, but Light knew that was not the truth of it—he was fit and trim and tall and broad and he used his bizarre poses to let everyone else completely underestimate him. Then he’d pull out those asinine excuses that they helped his mental capacity.

“Do I have the time to cater to your every sexual need and perversion?” L continued. “No, definitely not. It suits you to have my 100% attention fixed on you 24/7, but my position in life just can’t allow for that—”

“So you’re happy to pawn me off on someone else,” Light concluded sounding somewhat bitter.

L blinked dryly. “Yes, I suppose that the easiest way to put it,” he let the comment hang there and watched the way Light’s eyes narrowed like a child who couldn’t get their way.

“But in the end, Kira-sama—you belong to me.”

* * *

The silence was positively awkward because Linda was doing the very thing no one else had had a mind to do. She was getting involved in the worst way possible and Mello did not even know how to react to it – mostly because he was not about to strike back, and because his brain was still mildly groggy and fuzzy, albeit the blow had stirred it up a bit.

Matt had crushed one cigarette and lit another, his attention returning to the windows and the lightly blowing leaves outside, which given the situation and the fact that he had stopped gaping and paying attention only meant he knew exactly what had gone on behind those not-quite-so-closed doors. Shit.

“Stop staring at him and answer me goddamnit,” Linda jabbed a finger at Mello’s chest, regaining Mello’s attention, who instead of responding, moved to walk right past her. She made a move to grab his arm but he was quicker, perhaps expecting it, perhaps instinct alone kicking in.

“Don’t do this Linda,” he warned her quietly, but the threat that would have normally been present was softened as he simply sounded tired.

She actually laughed, however, holding her hands up to indicate that she wasn’t going to attempt to grab him a second time, but her words were bitter. “Or what, Mello? I’m not one of your cronies, you don’t bloody scare me.” Behind her and out of sight, Matt actually had to smile, the gesture hidden behind his hand as he sucked upon the smoke. She was going on assumptions again, because even he had seen that not-so-friendly side of his lover on a number of occasions, but he supposed Linda was a different case. Mello wasn’t that much of an arse.

“It isn’t my goal to scare you,” and Mello’s expression had not changed, there was no hint of aggression upon his person. He reached the fridge at last. “I simply don’t want to have this conversation right now.”

“You’re acting like a bloody arsehole, you know that?”

“Linda, I’m tired—” he droned, removing a glass from the cabinet.

“Yea,” she snorted. “I’ll bet you are.” The cabinet was pressed shut a bit more loudly than necessary, hands falling to the edge of the counter and there along his shoulders, even beneath the black fabric of his shirt, the tension was gathering.

“Linda, let it go,” Matt intervened at last, calling her off the chase she had initiated much to his surprise. “I appreciate it, but this isn’t your problem.”

Linda looked as if she had been about to argue but gave it up at the last minute, meeting Matt’s stern gaze. Stern but equally tired, hurt but well-contained. This was nothing new, even if the blow had cut deeper this time around with the sight burned all-too-fiercely into his mind. He nodded toward the hall, indicating to her to get some rest. Linda sighed but gave up the chase, shuffling over to press a light kiss to his cheek. “G’night,” she murmured but what she really meant was ‘good luck’.

Alone at last, Mello poured the juice and shoved the container back into the fridge, all without looking at the redhead, but when there was no other choice, he turned finding that Matt was once again looking elsewhere. A breath upon his lips, the blonde leaned against the counter, holding his head up in one hand while the other secured the glass. Just inches away and it felt like an eternity between them.

“What did you see?” he asked at last.

“Enough.” Came the detached answer that indicated Matt had seen more than enough. He’d seen far too much for his own good; like a train wreck unfolding before his eyes that he could not look away. “And don’t say you’re sorry. That’s the last fucking thing I want to hear right now.”

Fair enough. Mello frowned but did not contradict him. “What is it you want to hear?”

“How ‘bout a bloody honest explanation?” Matt countered, shifting his eyes to look upon his lover.

Shit. “What if I said that I didn’t have one for you? Honest or otherwise…”

“Then I’d say you’re full of shit,” he said bluntly. “Because you always have an explanation. One way or another, good or bad, you have an explanation. So when you tell me that, you’re either lying through your fucking teeth or it means that you’re not allowing yourself to come up with the explanation. Frankly,” Matt scoffed and tapped ashes into the ashtray in front of him. “I’m not sure which is worse.”

“Don’t think I’m doing this to hurt you…”

“I don’t,” the redhead said with a sad smile. “And that’s the rub of it all, isn’t it Mell? ‘Cause if you were doing it on purpose, it’d be a whole lot easier to just be angry, slap some sense into you and be done with it. This is something altogether different, which apparently not even you understand – whether you don’t want to, or have simply not given it the appropriate amount of thought, I don’t know. And that’s the fucked up part of it all.”

Mello opened his mouth to speak but Matt held up a hand, interrupting him. He was not done yet. “I’m not going to stop you.”

“What?” the question was accompanied with a trademark Mello expression because it just made too little sense.

“I’m not going to stop this,” Matt repeated, “I know better than to think I have any control over you and frankly, L has amazingly enough benefited from the respite of not having to give Light his undivided attention.” So even Matt had caught onto the ramifications of this entire mess. “I’m not stupid, I know what’s going on in the background, even if it goes without saying.”

“Matt-“

“Don’t fucking interrupt me, goddamnit,” he said and his tone was not as strong as it had been just two seconds prior. He was holding it together by a thread. “So you will do what you want. If L doesn’t care, then why should I? I know Light initiated this whole ordeal and even though you fell – and continue falling for it – he won’t get the results he’s after,” and Matt retrieved another smoke from the now empty pack but did not light it right away, toying with it instead.

“He’s not about to get rid of me and sweep me out of the picture that fucking easily.”

* * *

Linda barely slept, in fact she was up again not several hours after Matt sent her off—up with the crack of dawn, and only she and the servants were that crazy this morning. Of course she was hoping that L was where he usually was—tucked behind his Great Wall of laptops—because she had a thing or two she wanted to say to him. But he wasn’t.

In her youth, despite his quirks, the detective never really struck her as inhuman, but lately his way of handling or not handling everyone else’s emotions with any sort of decorum was just incredibly… incompetent, and that was unacceptable. Linda supposed she really wanted to give L a piece of her mind—yes, she’d checked and doubled checked her sanity with herself, and she could not rub out that hurt look in Matt’s eyes, so she was indeed going to give the Great L something to nibble on that was not so sweet.

Except he wasn’t there.

The closed door to the master bedroom gave definitive indication as to where he was—and by the time it was 10 am—far later than the detective ever slept—Linda had crossed the path in front of that door no less than 20 times, continuously checking on the offhand that he’d at last emerged.

Of course he hadn’t because Light’s arms felt way too good that morning—and by 10 am, the two of them were rather knotted together and rutting rather passionately in the king sized bed. Light was on top, wrestling L’s creamy thighs, struggling to hold him down and fuck him senseless as the detective half arched off the mattress, getting a bird’s eye view of the master balcony upside down—that’s if he was paying attention, which he wasn’t.

Light was rather lost himself, because L’s body was always so deliciously tight, and it was always a battle to get him to yield, and it was always that much more erotic when he finally started gasping senselessly with the sort of abandon L never showed to anyone else—so by the time they were finished and spent and bonelessly heaped against each other, kissing lazily in the sunlight, it was nearly noon and Linda was beside herself.

It wasn’t L who stepped out of the bedroom first either, looking like a damn Abercrombie model—it was Light, refreshed, sated, and sly like a wolf. Linda was coming down the hall again, for the millionth time and the minute she saw him, her temper went through the roof.

“You’re a monster!” She yelled.

Light’s smile was immediate and highly entertained.

“And you’re cute when you scrunch your nose up like that,” he returned, not bothered in the least.

Linda opened her mouth to respond, but the words failed her. What had he just said? Christ. She pressed her lips shut and frowned deeply, momentarily taken off track by the unexpected aloof comment, which, once again, put her in the spotlight. She was going to have to work on that. She did not bother trying to think up further arguments, seeing as this would not lead her anywhere. Not with him.

Not with him smiling slyly at her like that; pristine and glorious in the morning’s sunlight as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn’t just been under for two weeks. It just wasn’t natural. Nor was the behavior he was participating in – one she only knew bits and pieces of and her imagination was not so broad as to fill her in on the possibilities. Perhaps it was best that way. The look in those eyes was molten and she scowled, finding herself staring despite herself. Where was that anger now?

“I’m here to speak with L,” she announced at last but even to her, her tone sounded defensive.

“L, hmm?” Oh that smile only spread and Light’s honeyed gaze slid to the bedroom door he’d just closed behind him. “L’s a little worn out at the moment,” he purred, that voice was semi-sweet and loaded with a playful deviousness. He waited for the comment to jar Linda’s sweet innocent brain, which was scrambling to piece what he was saying together, and before the complete picture could form, Light leaned in, close enough to kiss, smelling of sweet cologne and soap and just something else altogether—his presence electric and overpowering. He grinned, long sweep of bangs over one eye and finished the thought for her: “I just fucked him senseless.”

She stared at him, her eyes widening ever slightly at the comment – a bait if she’d ever heard one, but her blue visage soon narrowed, summoning her anger, if only because this was L they were talking about. And doing so in terms she did not particularly want to think about – sure, she knew they were lovers but to have Light speak it so plainly, so bluntly to her? After what had happened the previous night, no less. She flushed pink against the fall of layered blonde hair that had been kept loose that morning. “Get out of my way,” she said, her voice hardly a touch above a whisper, not trusting herself to speak any louder at that point.

What should have been most disturbing was how easily Light complied with her demand, sliding out of the way, but not essentially going anywhere, too pleased with the show he was about to witness as Linda gripped the bedroom door and barged in.

L’s gaze shifted up, and he knew it would be her, because he’d just heard her voice, but that didn’t mean he really had much time to get himself together—lying in bed on his stomach in front of a laptop. He was busy with work anyway, so he really wasn’t terribly concerned with Light’s antics at that moment—the girl was going to have to learn how to deal with Kira, especially now when he was actually making it easy on her. This wasn’t the Kira L had to get close to, or the one Mello had to fight—this Kira was just playing. He had yet to mean business, and if Linda couldn’t deal with him now—she would never be able to deal with him when circumstance were more serious.

That didn’t stop her jaw from hitting the floor at the sight of L lying there in bed—essentially naked. The sheets were thrown over his waist—the fabric as white as his skin—Linda getting an eyeful of his back, long, tapered, surprisingly muscular—like his shoulders and arms, looking so strong the way they were folded in front of the Mac. His hair was mussed in less than normal fashion, recently washed, and actually a bit longer since the usual poof of it seemed to have fallen during certain…activities…and the ends now brushed the top of his shoulders.

Linda was at once in shock—because never in a million years had she expected to see L, in bed, naked, nor had she imagined him to be ultimately ….that attractive doing it. He was L, he had an allure, much of it was his mystique unless one really took the time to see him beyond those oddities of his manner; and to those around him, preserving that odd image was practically sacrosanct. It obviously wasn’t to Kira who delighted in deconstructing L any way he could and exposing that for the others to see.

L’s expression neither betrayed nor reflected any of what Linda was thinking, instead he turned a blank gaze up as though nothing were out of the ordinary and said flatly: “Yes, Linda? Can I help you?”

She was pretty goddamned sure she had come here with a purpose, but God help her she could hardly remember it now. Shit. Her hand lingered on the doorknob if a bit too firmly, too shaky. She was all right. This was fine. Once she regained her bearings and swallowed the lump in her throat that was most certainly afflicted her brain, she said – “I’d wanted to speak with you this morning but…” Oh shit. Sure. Start like that, why don’t you? She stifled the need to bite her lower lip and stepped further inside, so that the door was already halfway being closed behind her as she asked, “Do you have a moment..?”

It didn’t help that Light started cackling behind her as she said it. Cackling probably was the best way to describe his laugh in intention—it wasn’t necessarily that he sounded like the Wicked Witch of the West doing it. It was his laugh however that made Linda shut the door then rather distinctly in his face.

L hadn’t moved, staring up at her with those dark eyes through shadowed lids.

“Say what’s on your mind, Linda,” he muttered, and she was sure it didn’t escape him that her eyes were trying to go everywhere at that minute but on his skin—until she realized, being closer than she was a moment ago, that there was something on L’s back that looked very much like…lashing marks.

Damnit. That was a distraction she had not wanted to entertain – did not so much want to consider the sinister, perverse possibilities as to the source of those lashings, but then again… she had read of what had happened in Rome. Perhaps that was part of it. Sure. Had to be. But just as she came to that conclusion, she found herself frowning and making a distinct effort not to look at him – not anywhere but his face, though considering he had already returned his attention to the blasted laptop in front of him, it made her task all the harder.

“I wanted to speak to you about what happened last night,” she said at last, inching just a tad further into the room to seek the nearby chair that would support her when her legs decided against it. Precautions taken, she continued. L had yet to say anything, darting only a glimpse over the screen to look at her. “I’m under the impression that you know what’s going on between Light and Mello – in fact that you’re going so far as to encourage it but…” she paused then, because here she was about to question L’s motives, about to question his intentions. No one did that. Teeth sank into her bottom lip. “It isn’t right,” she said quietly yet firmly with conviction. “Matt saw them last night – he saw them and didn’t even bother to stop it because he’s under the impression that part of it is your doing!” And as she said it, she sounded surprised – astonished that such a thing could even be possible. It did not seem plausible.

“Correct,” L said matter-of-factly. “It is.”

Linda gaped at him, because as much as she was already denying the fact that was the case, she was certainly not ready to hear him concede to it so simply. So of course she followed that up with a less-than-inspiring: “What?”

L glanced at her rather dourly. “As I explained to Light last night, I simply do not have the time to satisfy his incessant need for attention 24/7. He and Mello have a working rapport, they are free to pursue it as they see fit—they are both consenting adults—and while Kira is occupied with how best to win over Mello, he is—frankly—not in my hair.”

Linda was staring, disbelief etched across her features because he sure as hell had not just said that. But… he had. L wanted Light out of his hair… and thus Mello was in charge of keeping him occupied. Dear god this was more complicated than she had thought. She lowered her head, knuckles pressing her lips. She did not know what to say. What to think of it. The rationality was properly in place – Matt had said it himself that L was more himself without Light constantly around him, sucking out every bit of energy and focus the detective had, but what the hell was all this supposed to mean? Rational thought or not, where was the consideration for people’s feelings?

L had never struck her as inhuman to the point of being able to sacrifice that for the sake of keeping his head firmly in place. But then again, L always had a knack for pulling the most unexpected maneuvers and this sure enough was one of them. But regardless… it wasn’t right. In doing so, he was putting a careful balance at risk – he was hurting people.

Shit. Linda stood up all of a sudden as if staying still just was not working for her nerves, or whatever in the hell was afflicting her at the moment. “But it’s causing problems, surely you must know that,” she appealed after several seconds of pacing, turning to face him and this time her eyes did not dart to look upon that sprawled out figure of pallid skin and toned muscle, too distracted with the topic at hand to truly appreciate the sight splayed before her.

“Problems?” L sounded completely cynical in that moment. “Linda, people are dying. The Kira Ring, the Second Kira, the SPK—these are problems. Sex and jealousy—that’s drama. And right now, the two don’t compare. Matt and Mello know their own relationship, Light and I know ours—where the two cross is of course tumultuous at times, but ultimately if Matt is having issues, I fully trust him to deal with it as he sees fit—if he decides to tolerate it, or if he decides to confront Mello or Light, then that is how it will play out—what I don’t see Matt doing is sending you to my door to complain on his behalf.”

L took a breath, scrolling down his screen, his chin balanced on his forearm. “You are viewing this situation, Linda, through a distinctly female lens with a rather misplaced romanticism. This is, for Light and Mello especially, yet another facet of the same game we’ve been playing for years. Matt understands this, as do I. This is strategy written in a sexual language, this is not shallow games of the heart.”

Surely a truck must have just come blundering through the room to run her over, because the girl was left reeling. Again that sense of practically rude bluntness came to mind – it was one she did not understand. But there was still very little she understood about L. The detective was as much a case study as Kira himself, because while both thoroughly enjoyed being utterly unpredictable half the time, Kira at least had some semblance of a pattern that could be followed and understood. The actions at least, even if the psychology behind him and his games were more complex than that.

You’re serious, she wanted to say but did not. What use was there? She was coming into a far-too-complex situation without understanding what preceded it, or what sort of agreements – spoken or unspoken – had been set. From what it looked like last night, Matt had known exactly what was going on, and understood the necessity for it. And that, above all, threw Linda off because despite that knowledge and understanding, she could still see the hurt in Matt’s eyes; how whatever activities he had witnessed in there upset him more than he cared to let on. Ah, but if only she knew it was not the sex that had set him off. If only she knew how far it had come, how complex and interlinked beyond all reasoning or understanding.

So, with pursed lips she nodded. Awkward if not embarrassed. She had hoped to accomplish something here but instead seemed to only have stepped on toes. “I’m sorry,” she murmured looking aside, “for disturbing you with this… I know it isn’t any of my business, but I….” Linda exhaled, silencing herself before saying anymore and shook her head. “Sorry…”

“Don’t apologize,” L said flatly. “It is not my intention to upset you, merely to inform you that what you are dealing with here is of an unfathomably complex nature. Kira is a study to be conducted hands-on, I revealed my identity to him in the first year of the investigation because I understood that. Mello has made incredible headway in a far shorter period.”

At that, L stopped what he was doing and sat up, sheet still in his lap, torso lean and muscular and displaying the vicious tracery of the beating he’d suffered at Bella’s hands—not to mention a love mark or two besides. Linda tried not to show her surprise, and instead met his unwavering gaze as best she could.

“Listen to me,” L said soberly, gone was that aloofly flat tone he often spoke in, and rather he sounded unflinchingly…honest. “As much as none of us here want to admit it, Kira is holding a staggering amount of cards against us. He has my name, he has Mello’s, he has a church that for all intents and purposes have been doing his biding, and he has Amane at his beck and call once again. Recent events show that he is now imbued with something inexplicable that has healed him and could quite possibly be changing him into something—not necessarily of this world. His power and his reach is extensive, and exceedingly dangerous—perhaps even borderline invincible. There is however, one thing that gives him pause—he cannot choose between the path he laid for himself with the Death Note, and the people—myself and Mello—to whom he has connected with above all others. That is my best advantage—I have used it to confuse him, and endear him to us and us to him, keeping him undecided until hopefully he will chose the path we all need him to. Ours. Relationships, Linda—has been my strategy now that all others have fallen away and I am here with Kira under my roof at all times. Do you understand? He has been inhuman for as long as he’s had the Death Note—at present, Mello, whether he realizes it or not—is helping me to return Kira’s humanity.”

It made sense, one way or another, it all added up despite just how fucked up it all was. Again Linda nodded, a short breath upon her lips. She wasn’t sure whether the explanation made her feel any better, but the anger previously riding her through the morning was dispelled and in its place was a strange sort of understanding that left her reeling beyond comprehension. “I jumped on an assumption, that’s why I apologize,” she murmured quietly. “There is still much that I have yet to get a grasp on – no one has offered this sort of information and I have not brought myself to ask. That was my mistake. It will not be made again,” she lowered her gaze. She had gotten involved without knowing all the proper details because, as L had so nicely put, she was looking at this not from a rational point of view, but from an emotional and very female mentality.

Already she was backtracking toward the door, hoping dearly that Light had gone elsewhere and was not waiting right outside to see the defeated look on her face. They had been talking lowly enough that he would not have been able to overhear them – and that there was a blessing – but he was also the last person she wanted to see just then. The last person she wanted to see for a few hours in the least. “I’ll let you go back to work,” she murmured quietly. “Thank you,” she said sincerely. “For clarifying this for me.”

L nodded, and instead of going immediately back to what he’d been doing, he waited patiently until she left the room. Thankfully, Light was not outside in the hall the way she’d been fearing, in fact he was nowhere to be seen as she made her way downstairs. Matt was in his usual place, and Mello it seemed was hard at wok in the study and Linda…just needed a moment.

Tea sounded good, so she headed to the kitchen set on a cup—to clear her head, to bring things into focus, to just help her settle. Of course, she wasn’t expecting Light to be there—not when she’d already designated the kitchen her safe haven.

Linda stopped short in the doorway the moment she spotted him—those designer jeans, that cotton button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, that attractive shift of long amber hair. And what was worse—he flashed that pretty smile and handed her a cup of tea. “Peace offering?” He said smoothly, with all the damn charm in the world.