Redeemer

When Linda at last brought herself to open her eyes and release the tense breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding, she took but a brief glimpse of the room before darting straight on out onto the hall. It sunk in now, all of it, what she had fallen asleep to, the lull of the music followed by the strain in those notes, the flush in Light’s usually so controlled features, the sounds – oh god – the sounds that escaped him in the moments of ecstasy. And worse yet were the two conflicting images of Mello she had in her head at that moment. She knew things had changed, but holy hell! She had noticed his sexual appeal the moment she stepped out of the helicopter two weeks prior, but that – that display had been something all together different. That hadn’t been him acting casual, that had been Mello exerting his sexuality with frightening expertise.

Christ! She was rushing through the halls; her steps quickened without running. No need to bring attention to herself, after all. However, as she practically ran into Matt the moment she turned the corner to bolt for the stairs, that plan of ninjaing herself out of sight failed quite miserably. Her eyes immediately widened as if she had been the guilty party. “Sorry!” she gasped, which only earned her a puzzled look and the lifting of a reddish brow.

“Everything alright?”

“Yea!” she answered a bit too quickly, blue eyes shifting toward the steps. “I just remembered something upstairs…”

Matt looked skeptical. “Uh huh,” he said rather flatly. “You also rather look like the cat that ate the bird.”

Linda went owl-eyed—an expression L could have been proud of. “When’s dinner?” She managed. Brilliant save, apparently she picked that one up from Mello.

“Like now,” Matt answered. “I was just checking on L.”

Oh God, L—yes…”How is he?” Her tone was still too damn rushed to be believable.

“Dead to the world still,” Matt muttered. “Dr. Gregory is leaving him with a nurse and coming down shortly—as for Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumb—judging by the look on your face I’d say you have a good idea where they are.”

Linda stuttered for a moment. “Isn’t Mello studying?”

Matt snorted. “Lin, luv—you’re a lousy-arse liar. But I still like you.” He twirled an unlit cigarette between his fingers and headed off toward the dining room. “Don’t forget dinner…”

“I’ll be down shortly!” The steps were mounted quickly. Her bedroom door slamming shut behind her the moment she found herself inside, hands still on the knob as she pressed against it, breathing hard. “Get a hold of yourself,” Linda reprimanded aloud, running trembling fingers through her hair. What had she just witnessed? She bit her bottom lip, fingers touching her mouth. What had the purpose been? And… her eyes widened all over again. She had to face them at dinner!?

* * *

The setting was severely unbalanced as L was still missing from his usual spot at the head of the table, leaving only Light in the opposite place. It gave everything a rather twisted point of view, but not one any of them cared to point out. Linda was late in her arrival, having changed and made herself presentable for the occasion. The entrée had just been served, but already, she noted, Mello was stealing bites out of the closest slice of black forest cake that just happened to be sitting in front of him.

Recharging the batteries, she supposed and took her seat quickly. Damn him! The fiend actually looked up at her blankly, lifting a brow as if to ask if all was well. She had never before been late. Of course this was normal. Positively natural. Whatever relationship it was they had was not new, so of course only she would be the one to act differently, having witnessed what she had.

She threw an anxious glance around at her company, Matt had resumed his seat across from Mello on the opposite side of L’s vacant chair, and the doctor was probably closer to Kira than he ever really wanted to be—but he tolerated it with the same patience (or impatience) he tolerated L’s antics—though with considerable less affection. Light of course met her gaze when her eyes flitted in his direction.

Prior to the tryst she’d witnessed, he was perhaps more congenial and pleasant to be around than she ever imagined Kira could be, and despite the tryst he still was not asserting his arrogant cynicism the way he had been a day or two earlier. Still, it was unnerving based on pure principle that Kira was seated at the head of the table—and L was painfully absent. There was some jarring sense gathering in the back of Linda’s mind that Kira was winning—the battle was still on, it had just moved to different terrain, the lines no longer clear cut, and Kira using his wiles to knock down his enemies one by one--by making them side with him. If not in ideals, then in love.

Linda gulped her wine, and Light’s smile was pleasant, but just ever so slightly…smart, like he was daring her to undress him with her eyes. She quickly averted her gaze at that—and maybe Matt and the doctor noticed, but neither made it known.

“Yagami,” and Dr. Gregory was a brave soul, but he spoke without looking Kira dead in the face, too busy slicing up his steak. “If there’s anything I will ever compliment you on, it’s your ability to play classical piano.”

Light’s gaze flickered to the man, and ironically, he seemed surprised the doctor even addressed him, let alone complimented him. That pause on Kira’s part was actually a point for the doctor, quickly followed by point number two when Gregory said: “Of course, it was rather obvious you got utterly distracted midway through Bach’s Fantasy and Fugue in G Minor—either that or your tutor was drunk when he taught you the dynamics.”

Light might have spit out his drink just then, if Linda didn’t beat him to it.

She did not particularly spit out her drink, but sure as hell practically choked on it. The glass was set down and her curled fingers pressed to her lips as she tried with little avail to control the coughing fit that had mysteriously afflicted her at such a precise moment. Matt looked at her from across the way, lifting a brow but did not offer to comment – his eyes darting first to Light’s also not quite so composed state and then finally to Mello.

For anyone who did not know him well enough, Mello had offered little to no reaction. He’d shoved a piece of black forest cake into his mouth and chuckled quietly under his breath, keeping his gaze for the most part lowered. And that was what had set it off. Matt knew him a little too well by now. There was little surprise etched upon his features, what was present was slyness. A trace of gloating, perhaps.

Ah, yes. That would more than likely explain the… distraction. It did not, however, explain why Linda had reacted as if she had been the involved party. Matt’s eyes narrowed, falling back on her. She seemed downright agitated earlier and while it had not been obvious right away – or he just had not paid enough attention – it was blatantly obvious now that she had seen something. Matt had to appreciate the humor in that despite not particularly approving of the circumstances. Not a fucking thing he could do about it, was there? Linda, however, just managed to get herself into interesting… situations. It was truly just a question now as to whether who happened to be the guilty party. Had her sighting been innocent and accidental all around, or...?

Huh. Blue eyes shifted to his lover; Mello too quiet to be completely innocent. Here Matt was trying to keep Linda out of the center of chaos, and Mello was drawing her further in? Goddamnit. There were going to be words later.

“Excuse me,” she finally managed once she regained some semblance of control over herself, clearing her throat and willing the flush that had overcome her pale complexion to disappear.

"I'm afraid that was my fault, doctor" Mello commented offhandedly, taking a sip of his wine. "My focus slipped and I took it upon myself to antagonize him once I realized it had been Light playing all along."

Matt deadpanned, his fork bearing a helping of steak frozen halfway to his mouth. Linda looked horrified, contemplating the idea of fleeing as speedily as possible from the dinning room. What in the hell had gotten into him!?

Light managed to buy himself some time by sipping his water slowly and spending the effort to swallow as smoothly as possible. Funny how Kira had been caught of guard just then—almost unlikely even—one would think Dr. Gregory had been taking notes from L—quite obviously so. And Mello, well Mello was quickly establishing himself in Linda’s mind as an entity unto himself.

So maybe he’d seduced Light to a state of unbridled passion, and maybe it seemed for just those few moments afterward that there was something incredibly heartfelt in the way they kissed—but damnit Mello still enjoyed taunting Kira every bit as the next adversary when it came right down to it. So truly, what the hell did it all mean?! It was confusing enough to realize L had fallen for Kira, extremely complicated when L admitted to using his own feelings as a strategy against Kira—to keep him in a state of indecision—now to see the constant sway of Light and Mello together, from lovers to antagonists and back again—it opened a veritable Pandora’s Box of psychoanalogy that Linda hadn’t even considered. It was making her brain reel.

Thank God for levity however when Dr. Gregory responded to Mello’s confession with: “Antagonize? Is that what they’re calling it nowadays.”

Light flinched and Matt semi-choked on his steak.

“I suppose I got a bit creative,” Mello smiled, “But to his credit, Light didn’t hit a wrong note.”—ah, he was bragging his victory, the sentiment was reflected in Kira’s narrowing gaze.

The doctor chuckled. “Made it very distracting to listen to, all the same.”

Oh. They were ganging up on him, weren’t they? Linda’s eyes widened and she looked from Mello to Light—who did not look particularly happy, and when Kira wasn’t happy, Kira usually turned things on their head. Yeah, the realization of his MO hit Linda about the same moment the sly bastard purred: “Linda didn’t seem to mind.”

Oh. My. God. They had been all too aware, then. She was foolish to believe – no, to hope – otherwise. Unable to keep her cool unlike, seemingly, everyone else, Linda lowered her forehead into her palm with a mutter that might have just been a curse. Unbelievable. Adding insult to injury, beside her, Mello actually laughed. “Come now, no need for that,” he reprimanded Light in jest.

“Shit,” Matt exhaled, leaning back in his chair to look between the three of them. Light looked ever slightly miffed, Linda was about to crawl under the table and make a run for it and Mello looked downright smug. “You’re bloody unbelievable, you know that?” And Matt held up a hand as Mello turned his eyes on him, lips parting and about to speak. “And don’t even dare ask me ‘what’ in that bloody smug tone of yours. This is fucking unnecessary.”

Mello looked as if he would argue at first but then consented with a tip of his head and the slight raise of his glass. “Fair enough. Consider it dropped.” Matt scowled but had nothing more to add on that particular topic. It was a wonder he had let it slide as much as he had in the first place; still did not look particularly thrilled – in fact he was downright disgruntled over the fact that not only was his lover fucking Kira, it had now become a public discussion to be carried out at dinner. That just did not fly as far as he was concerned. Looking the other way was one thing, partaking in this bullshit was another altogether.

Light of course observed the exchange between them with a deepening interest. Why intervene if Mello was going to aggravate his lover all on his own? The strategy suited Kira just fine to allow Mello to dig his own hole with the redhead. Linda, on the other hand looked like she wanted to crawl into a corner and die…

“Of course it seems I put poor Linda to sleep with Chopin, so I doubt she even heard what you did, Doctor,” he said smooth enough but without any inflection of antagonism.

The doctor quirked a gaze at him, and paused before saying, “Chopin would put anyone to sleep—not among my composers of choice.”

“Nor mine,” Light simpered, eyes on the table, nonchalant, casual, utterly changing the subject from what could have been a grand stage for the mortification of everyone present by Kira, to a mundane commentary on his classical preferences….Linda raised her head—huh? Seemed even Mello was waiting for the antagonistic punch line, but Light offered none. “He was my mother’s favorite, I learned his pieces for her,” he said.

And Kira speaking of his mother seemed almost blasphemous considering he’d essentially destroyed his family. Nevertheless that comment contained an odd air of tragedy as though Light was well aware of that fact and had accepted it with a humble form of outright—regret. Again—huh?

Matt was wary, and the doctor was treading with caution and Mello couldn’t wipe that smugness from his overall expression—but Kira was suddenly playing good guy to Mello’s villain, and doing his best to alleviate the very strain he’d almost completely and utterly visited on poor Linda—and Dr. Gregory, however skeptical, saw that and was assisting him in changing the subject and removing the spotlight from the girl. It appeared that Kira’s reaction to insult was behaving in the exact opposite manner from what everyone there expected of him.

“I prefer Bach, myself,” he said, still with little to no eye contact; “Though I feel his keyboard concertos, including the Fugues are much better performed on the organ or harpsichord for which they were intended. Despite debate, if Bach had wanted it played on the fortepiano—which was available to him at the time—he would have notated the music differently and it would have been idiomatic for the foretepiano.”

The doctor cut another piece of steak rather casually. “Agreed,” he said. “But you still played it.”

“It was requested,” Light replied. “Besides, there is certainly a way to play Bach on modern piano—the reason why so many believe it’s a travesty to do so is because there have been so many horrendous performances not done in the correct style. One of the primary beauties of Bach is in the admiration of his structure: how he uses a motif and transmogrifies it, how he derives a new motif from an old one, his harmonic progression, his unexpected U-turns in the melody, and such. For the performer, this can be elicited best through careful study of the structure, as articulation is pondered. For the listener, this can be elicited best through the performer's articulation. There are those who believe it’s necessary to take advantage of all the tonal possibilities the piano has to offer, including pedal, by gum in order to translate Bach to the modern piano. Absolutely not. To use pedal would blur the performer's carefully thought-out and exercised articulation, which is antithetical to the way Bach wrote his keyboard music.”

Dr. Gregory had long since stopped paying attention to his food and was now actually quite actively listening to Kira speak. For the first time, the bastard was speaking something that was not essentially a strategy or a game, but just natural intelligent conversation his surrounding geniuses could take part in if they were up to par on the subject.

“I confess, I’m fascinated,” the doctor muttered.

And Light’s smile was small but there. “I could demonstrate after dinner, if you’d like,” he replied humbly. And the doctor sat back in his chair, amused at himself for even playing this game.

“You know what, Yagami,” he said, laughing. “I might just take you up on that.”

And that was when Light caught Linda’s gaze, albeit briefly—and winked.

* * *

“Renee Deneuve was rumored to be two things: highly exotic and painstakingly French.” Aiber said with a lax nonchalance that spoke more of haughtiness than casual relation. “He wasn’t—French, that is. The French have a certain je n’ai sai quoi, which Deneuve convincingly lacked though he spoke the language fluently and immaculately. He was, however—quite exotic—quite exotic indeed.”

Near twirled a lock of albino hair, not looking the conman in the eye where they sat, surrounded by the shadowy screens and monitors of the SPK Italian Headquarters. “I would imagine,” the deceptive youth replied.

Aiber chuckled. “Don’t misunderstand,” he went on. “Deneuve and L looked nothing alike.”

At that the prodigal child glanced up. “Please explain,” he muttered and the cocky conman was more than happy to.

“At the time Deneuve had a reputation in France—he’d been hired by a wealthy French recluse—reportedly for millions—when the man’s son turned up horribly murdered and unmentionably violated. The case led Deneuve into the higher rings of France’s filthier politicians where he rather easily exposed a scandalous underground sex trade involving minors and children and French diplomats. I had innumerable connections among the Parisian elite for a variety of reasons—which led Deneuve to my doorstep, seeking my services. When I met him, I was armed with the aforementioned rumors by a compatriot of mine who had a distinctly…criminal nature. Where he heard it, I don’t know, it wouldn’t surprise me that Deneuve himself had spread the rumors through crime syndicates to guard his true identity.”

Aiber sipped his espresso, relishing the fact that he had Near’s attention at that moment. “We met in one of his hotel suites because he refused to be seen in public. And what struck me first was not his youth—I was surprised to discover he was only twenty—but his beauty.”

Near’s face twisted. And Aiber leaned forward to elaborate. “I did not meet L,” he enunciated, “I met Deneuve.”

“A decoy?”

“No, L—incognito. At least I believe so, either that or L puts forth a different appearance for each of his known and unknown aliases making it impossible to glean which appearance is truly him. You see, L—is a strangely awkward, severely sleep-deprived oddity, with messy black hair and translucent white skin who devours sweets by the pound and seems to possess a primitive compulsion of sticking his fingers in his mouth at every off moment. He crouches, he parades around barefoot, he wears the same style clothes day in and day out—he’s L. Deneuve was not.”

“Go on,” Near muttered.

“Deneuve did have the white skin—but he had red hair. Long, passed his shoulders, a silky curtain of lovely red hair which he wore down, and rather manicured—I assume now it was a wig, but looked entirely too real at the time. He was tall and statuesque—he stood up straight with a refined sense of posture that L currently lacks to a point of gross inefficiency—and he dressed normally all in black, tailored clothes not too unlike…Yagami actually.” Aiber lingered on that observation. “He didn’t crouch in his chair like a mongoloid but sat with admirable poise, and I never saw him eat one piece of candy—but he did take his tea with a lot of sugar. He and the man we know as L shared one thing: a face. Deneuve’s eyes always unnerved me—they were black. Blacker than anyone I’d ever met—unreadable, and purposely so. I often thought it looked like he was wearing makeup—a defining ring of kohl around the lashes perhaps, but I realize it may have just been concealer over his natural darkened circles. Nevertheless it made him exotic, along with the androgynous features of his face—which made his background hard to decipher. He did not look French, he seemed to maybe be of some Asian decent, but it was not nearly as pronounced as it is now—he was a blend and that made him all the more intriguing.”

“And his manner?” Near probed.

“He was polite, but stern—rude at times, deliberately—I suppose his manner was not all that different from the way it is now, but combined with his highly altered appearance it was hard for me to determine L and Deneuve were the same person until he told me outright during the Kira case. In fact, it was nearly impossible to determine such a thing and I only believed him in hindsight because no one save Deneuve had eyes as black as L.”

“How did everything else come about?” Near said, twirling another lock as he selectively slid a puzzle piece to its proper place.

“Deneuve was attractive and rather alluring without overtly trying to be so. To be fair, I pursued him; he never conceded until put in a situation where he needed my help and without it, certain elements of his case would fall apart.”

“How so?”

Aiber smiled, “I had connections to a key witness who would not testify unless persuaded by me and me alone. It was my bargaining chip against Deneuve—a game if you will. I had him where I wanted him and used it to my advantage—but I think he only agreed because he was ultimately curious. I was his first, after all—I doubt he let another human being even remotely touch him prior to our affair. He was not very receptive in bed—he made it difficult for me—so I was forced to make an impression.”

“You can spare me the details,” Near mumbled.

“But they are without a doubt, the best part—my victory over him. After the case was closed, Deneuve retired.”

“Because L wanted nothing to do with him or you.” Near answered. “You Thierry Morello are, for lack of a better word—a mistake.”

The conman laughed. “He certainly seems to think so now, doesn’t he? I supposed he’s ashamed of giving in to me the way he did. But he did bring me in on the Kira case regardless.”

“And was there any rekindling of your affair at that time?” Near mumbled.

“It wasn’t until midway through my involvement that I was even made aware L and Deneuve were the same person. I had no interest in L until I learned that—imagine my shock, for truly they were almost opposites in appearance and poise. L did not acknowledge our history, and I fear I almost made a nuisance of myself trying to remind him—but by that point L had a permanent guard dog attached to his wrist 24/7.”

“Ah,” Near muttered. “Of course.”

Aiber chuckled, “It did not seem in my best interest to infuriate L’s jealous lover…a lover who just happened to be Kira.”

* * *

It was perhaps the most bizarre dinner shared since Light's first awakening from his coma. It was made even more bizarre due to the underlying meaning behind their given spots at the table, by the knowledge that L remained quite dead to the world and justifiably so; by the recent memories of grief and tears of the previous night. It was civil - no, it was something more than just civil. Light's behavior was extraordinarily well-behaved, not to mention refreshing. And true to his promise, once dessert and coffee had been served and the table began to be lifted, he returned to the music room to demonstrate his rhetoric, Dr. Gregory in tow. After a moment's hesitation, Linda followed - but made it a point to stay well away from the chair nearest the piano.

Mello watched them disappear into the music room and waited until the first few notes were played before continuing passed to head up the stairs.

"Where are you going?" Matt asked from the floor, clearly having expected his lover to retreat back into his study as was common after dinner. And given the day's distractions, Mello certainly had more than enough work to make up.

The blonde paused on the steps, hand alighting on the handrail and glimpsed down over his shoulder. "Sitting in with L for a little while. Will likely be up half the night anyway, but I want to check on him."

There was a slight hesitation on the redhead's part which caused Mello to cast him a questioning look. "Mind if I join you?"

"Since when have you had to ask?" The question was rewarded with a reproachful look but no comment as Matt scaled the steps up to the top level.

The room was dimly lit by a single table lamp. A pair of kitten eyes peered up sleepily as they stepped inside. Noriko was firmly planted atop L's head, who was still very much asleep. The kitten yawned and pushed herself up onto dainty little paws, climbing down from the pillows to greet them as they approached. Mello grinned at her, scratching her head. "Hey," he murmured, gaze flickering over to the detective once again impossibly tangled into the sheets. "Even you're keeping vigil now, huh?" Noriko nuzzled his hand as if to agree, and quite proudly so.

"I can't stand seeing him like this," Matt muttered as he came around the side of the bed, sinking down into the chair Dr. Gregory had occupied only an hour prior. "Lately if it's not one thing, it's another. Goddamnit. He's always been untouchable all this time and now..." he bit his bottom lip and shook his head, leaning back into the chair.

Mello regarded him curiously, having picked the kitten off the bed when she started pawing insistently at him for the loves and cuddles L most definitely was not giving her in his unconscious state. "This isn't why you came up here with me."

A brief chuckle. Blue eyes turned toward the windows, watching their reflections cast upon the glass. "I suppose it was only part of it."

"I know you better than that, Matty." Noriko was set down at L's feet, where she promptly curled up in a little fuzzy ball. Ready for a nap after such a difficult five minutes of vigorous petting. Mello walked around his lover and leaned over, arms coming to wrap loosely around his shoulders, chin resting against soft strands of red. "Talk to me."

"Easier said than done."

"Tch! You've always gotten away with anything you've wanted to say to me."

"And sometimes with a few bruises."

Mello grinned sheepishly and tightened his hold, bowing down further so that his breath was warm against Matt's temple. "I'll spare you those tonight."

"How kind of you," Matt offered dryly with a sidelong glance, but despite his less-than-enthusiastic response, he still lifted a hand to fall over the blonde's wrist, squeezing lightly. After a pause and deep breath, he said at last - "I don't need further details to gather what happened earlier this evening. All I ask is why you went out of the way to put Linda in that type of situation."

Ah. Yes. About that...

* * *

Sometimes L dreamt of B.

Beyond Birthday would have wanted that—would have wanted to know he’d left his indelible mark on the most hated-love of his life.

Sometimes L dreamt that he was the one drenched in gasoline—match lit between his fingers—which could mean one of several things: that in killing himself, B was really killing L—his doppelganger, for that final moment in flames before a mirror it would have been Beyond’s victory over Lawliet. Ah, using suicide as an illusion for murder… how sadly pathetic. What an utter defeat, though B would have tricked himself to believe it a triumph; the fragments of his addled mind orchestrating it the divine case his nemesis could not solve…when he was really just chasing shadows all along.

But sometimes L dreamt that he was B.

Lately, that made more sense. Lately pieces had been falling away…no, that was not it. L knew the confusion made him toss restlessly, he could almost sense the sheets tangled, constricting, trapping him like the insect stuck in the web, struggling to make dark things clear… Why was he sitting there, the fumes of the accelerant wafting far into the reach of his brain? Why were his eyes red now? Blood drenched against white fabric—why, in his dreams, was he B? Unless he was waiting? Waiting for the jarring pain to shoot through his chest—there behind cold, dark bars—waiting for Kira to kill him…

No, that was not it either.

L tossed more. The cat had been displaced ten times over, and Matt watched frowning, head propped against numbing fingers as the detective just couldn’t seem to lay still. The need to shake him awake was there and maybe someone should have taken that initiative because L’s dreams were terrible—blood-soaked psychology he couldn’t make sense of when part of his brain was shut down and wouldn’t let him.

Matt was visibly fighting the urge; didn’t help that the heavy notes of an articulate Bachian piano was swelling through the acoustics of the villa. That Kira had successfully garnered himself a pleased audience who was too easily falling for his newest charms—Dr. Gregory included.

Matt winced, eyes stuck on L—long white limbs trapped in the tangle of blankets as he twisted again—his face had more expression in sleep than it ever did awake—it was so obvious that he suffered more than he would ever let on…

“Are you going to answer me, Mell?” Matt muttered; and the urge was worsening, the patience evaporating. L wake up…

It had been such a long silence that Mello had stopped paying attention to the conversation. And Matt’s blue eyes lifted to him. “Why Linda? Or have you acquired such a taste for Kira’s games that you play them yourself now?”

Mello blinked—he was not going to answer that straight away. Or maybe Matt wasn’t going to let him answer that at all because a moment later he said: “I want to wake him up...”

Mello frowned, following Matt's gaze to L's restless figure upon the bed (and the kitten who seemingly hung on for dear life as she rode the waves of moving limbs). "He needed the rest but this... I don't know just how restful his sleep can be."
Mello sighed and shifted in his seat, propping one leg up to rest against his lifted knee. "As for Linda..." he said thoughtfully, followed by an immediate pause.

Matt looked up to him expectantly. Downstairs, Light delighted his audience with a flawless run that would likely have the girl gaping. Goddamnit.

"It wasn't my intention to get her involved in any way."

"But you did."

"She was asleep at first. I didn’t intend for it to get as out of hand as it did." That was when Matt held up a hand, caring little for the details of what may or may not have happened between Mello and Kira while Linda watched on. "But," Mello continued. "I suppose you're right on some level. I was playing unwarranted games with the both of them."

"And what purpose was there to fuck with her like that?" Matt looked up to him in earnest. "What could you possibly have to prove?"

Mello paused, as if unsure of how to answer him. As if the question made no sense, when in truth his lover had hit the nail right on the head. Below them, Light had moved onto a more somber piece. "I wanted to shatter whatever misconceptions she might have had."

Matt chuckled, shaking his head and returning his attention to the bed where L turned once more. Noriko, caught unawares, practically flew off the edge, grappling just at the last moment to save herself the embarrassing tumble. "Misconceptions," he stated flatly. "Regarding who, Mell? Yourself or Kira?" Now that was a trick question.

"Both." Smart boy. The redhead mustered a thin smile, sparing him a slight nod. "I will speak with her later and clear things up. C'mon..." he summoned him with a slight tug. When Matt did not budge, Mello leaned down over him; hand falling to the side of the redhead's neck, lips brushing his jaw. "C'mon," Mello whispered and pressed a light kiss to his lips, letting it linger briefly before pulling away. "Let him rest a while longer. I'll check on him again once I come to bed later."

"How much do you still have left for tonight?"

"A bit," Mello muttered somewhat guiltily. "I got sidetracked earlier before even heading to the music room. Something about this whole ordeal is bothering me, but I'll tell you about it later once I have a firmer grasp on what's truly going on."

"That at least sounds a bit more like your old self."

Mello chuckled and tugged Matt off the chair. Rather than exiting right away, he returned to L's bedside to free whatever sheets he could from their tangled mess. Then touched a hand to his mentor's forehead, worry etched upon his features. Come back to us...

* * *

It was after 11 when the delighting over classical music theory finally began to wind down and Kira had proved himself capable of being one of the most personable men alive… which was utterly disturbing if either of his companions took the serious time to think about it. He was witty and intelligent without being cynical, he was pleasant and flirtatious with Linda without being overly predatory and sexual, and he managed to hit on all the popular subjects with Dr. Gregory—without argument—inspiring debate, inspiring skill—with the sudden ability to be genuinely likeable with a dash even of humor that was simply refreshing. The Golden Boy. Had this been Light Yagami pre-Death Note? Linda found herself wondering that more so than the obvious ploy that it was yet another act. If Light was acting—then he was in the wrong business and should give up righteous judgment in favor of a more lucrative career in Hollywood.

The doctor was the first to call it an evening—later he would reiterate how utterly tragic it was that Light had ever come across the Death Note to begin with, if this was the person he’d once been. Linda had gone beyond wondering if Light’s manner was genuine because she simply didn’t want to believe it could be otherwise, so when the doctor left and she was ironically back in the chair closest to the piano, head dreamily resting on her arm, she couldn’t help but beam when Light smiled sweetly at her.

“You know what I’m thinking?” He purred, leaning his head on his own hand—and his eyes were like pure honey.

Linda beamed more, “I only wish I did,” she laughed and Light’s smile was that much more beautiful.

“Ice cream,” he said and she giggled—giggled like a schoolgirl—oh God. But she brushed off the realization because she wanted him to look at her like that—she wanted him to be that gorgeous, thoughtful golden boy and ask her to have ice cream with him…

“Sounds divine,” she beamed. Oh the irony, truly.

Light got up and Linda followed him, wondering if this was the part where he’d hold her hand—soft warm skin, strong pianist fingers she’d been admiring unconditionally for the last several hours. He’d taken a murderer’s hands and turned them into a musician’s hands and she’d shoved the notion of murder right out the window.

But he didn’t take her hand, he did, however, hold the door for her, reflecting her lighthearted mood and echoing her musical laughter as they sorted through the endless supply of ice cream in the freezer—living with L usually meant an endless supply of ice cream. Light did also seem every ounce the perfect boyfriend prospect in that moment when he made her the raspberry chocolate swirl sundae with the cherry on top—which she licked free of whipped cream and gobbled delightfully. But it was her own stroke of brilliance to suggest he taste his creation for himself—to which Light leaned forward and Linda slipped that spoon between his lips.

Their eyes connected with that syrupy affection Light was so good at wielding and Linda had to wonder if this was the part where he’d lean closer and capture her lips in his own… her breath stuttered for a moment—which was all the invitation Light needed—to do just that.

She was rooted to the spot, to the press of those lips, the warmth of his proximity. Her mind screamed but she could hardly hear it because Light was kissing her across the counter and the ice cream lay between them and the spoon was barely being held anymore. Who would have thought that such a simple little gesture could cause the world to stop if even for just a second?

Linda’s breath failed her and she gasped, breaking the kiss and leaning back, wild eyed. The flush was delayed but it caught up with her in moments. She lowered her head in attempt to hide behind the loose strands of blonde that cascaded against her shoulders. Oh god. Oh god! “I’m sorry!” she gasped faintly, touching a hand to her mouth. Ironic that she should find the need to apologize when it was he who had gone the extra step in sealing that devilish kiss that would steal her breath away. The same one she had been imagining through a good part of the evening.

Damnit!

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” he smiled, his voice soft and far too inviting. “That was my fault, if I insulted you—” Too polite, too charming, too perfect—it worked of course.

“Oh no, no—I didn’t mean it that way—,” Linda caught herself when Light arched an eyebrow, smiling with gentle amusement, his eyes bright and shining at her. And he was still close enough to kiss, and she’d wanted those lips, had been fantasizing wrapping her arms around his shoulders, feeling his body flush up against hers…God this was Kira. Linda tried to will herself back together but it wasn’t working, because he was waiting for her to make the next move, and every instinct in her body wanted her to lean to him, to kiss him, to have his hands in her hair, his arms around her—with everything she knew about him, he could still make her believe he was that chivalrous and perfect and romantic, that he could sweep her off her feet and carry her off into hours of tender lovemaking…oh God…

She could not imagine this being how Light had conquered both L and Mello – neither seemed the type to fall for those sweet smiles and sweeter words. But damned if he wasn’t making good progress with her. Linda felt herself melting beneath that molten look that promised things she could hardly even wrap her mind around. This practiced, careful game of seduction was one Kira was too accustomed to, and she despite her beauty – despite the woman she had grown into much to the surprise of both her peers, was not particularly practiced in such advances. Damn him.

And then the footsteps nearby startled her out of her reverie – she caught herself staring at those chiseled features, the shadow of his brow, the line of his jaw, the perfection of lush lips that just begged to be kissed. Lips which were suddenly further away than they had been two seconds prior. Rescue had come – or had it? Mello slid through the doorway, lifting a brow at the scene before him but unlike Matt who would have likely taken the opportunity to deck Light across those too-pretty features, the blonde tangled a hand around Kira’s shirt and tugged him backwards just enough to sever the magic of that too dangerous proximity. “Hands off,” was all the reprimand Mello offered, continuing his intended trajectory to the fridge.

Light must have flashed him a questioning look of pure feigned innocence to which Mello scoffed. “I know you better than that. And because of that, she’s off limits. Don’t make me say it again.” Coffee was poured, cream and sugar added. As if it was a normal conversation – then again, given the two of them, it probably was more normal than anything else they could possibly talk about.

Linda felt herself flushing, but could at last breathe a little easier now that those amber eyes were no longer focused on her, stealing away every last rational thought she was capable of. “I’m all right, Mell.”

“I know you are. Don’t misunderstand this as me trying to baby you, Linda. Under normal circumstances, I would not jump on the big brother role,” he told her with a grin, glimpsing over his shoulder as the sugar was put away back into the cabinet. “But seeing as these aren’t normal circumstances…” he trailed off, looking at Light instead. Perhaps there was a misplaced trace of possessiveness reflected in those green eyes, or perhaps he truly was simply looking out after her best interest. This was Kira, after all. He might have fallen for those wiles, but Mello could handle himself. He knew exactly what he’d gotten himself into – they were of the same breed when it came down to it, both playing games where there were no misconceptions.

Linda… Linda would be swept off her feet and dropped at the first chance when she was no longer useful. Mello had seen it happen several times before. That was just how Light operated. She was just a conquest and because of that, Mello could not let he fall.

Light’s small smile was delighted and teasing—like the imp who’d been caught causing mischief, and it in turn made Mello snort.

“Painting me out to be the bad guy, yet again,” Light purred, swiping an innocent finger through the whip cream and sucking it between those lovely lips. “No harm meant, truly.”

Mello deadpanned and sipped his coffee. “You are the bad guy.” He said.

Light scoffed and waived off the remark, “Matter of perspective,” he simpered, and flashed that winsome grin back at Linda. “Enjoy your desert,” he said. “And thank you for your company tonight, I enjoyed it.”

Mello deadpanned more and Light winked at him. “I’m gonna retire,” he announced; “Not sure where, all the rooms are occupied and the master bedroom is quite off limits as far as I’m concerned.” He shrugged. “So I suppose this will be interesting—see you in the morning.”

He maintained that overtly charming façade as he left the room, and then it was Mello and Linda and a chocolate raspberry sundae all to themselves…

Linda was watching her dessert quite intently by the time she found herself alone with the blonde, who although was minding his coffee, had yet to retreat. “I owe you an apology,” he said casually and her eyes widened.

“What?”

“Earlier this evening,” he explained, replacing the creamer into the fridge. “I was out of line and I’m sorry ‘bout that.” The fridge door was pressed shut and Mello turned to find her studying him, much to his surprise. “Should not have put you in that position.” But as he said it, Mello could not help the faint grin which was quickly hidden by the rim of his mug.

“You apologize, yet you smile.” Damn her astute observational skills.

Mello chuckled, setting the mug down on the counter across from her, leaning against the marble top. “Don’t misunderstand me, I don’t regret what happened, but the truth of the matter is that I should not have involved you as I did. Let’s be frank, I knew you did not stay asleep for long and could have stopped at any time.”

Linda was fidgeting and was forced to lower her eyes beneath that intense green gaze that bore down upon her. “It’s all right…” she murmured, prodding at the melting ice cream in front of her.

“Of course it is, because I know you can look past such things.”

“But why didn’t you stop?” she asked, daring to look up as she spooned ice cream into her mouth.

“I did not want to.”

Linda frowned. “That’s the easy answer, Mello,” she reproached him all the while holding a friendly serving of chocolate raspberry goodness out to him. He lifted a brow but took it all the same.

“I didn’t know you wanted the complicated answer.”

“If you have one to offer.”

The blonde grinned, returned her spoon and picking his coffee back up. “Not one I’m willing to dream up right now, but I’m sure you’ll come to a conclusion on your own.” Mello straightened up, ready to return to his study. “Do watch yourself, Linda. He may or may not mean any harm, but the truth of the matter is that he’s out to conquer you. I don’t want to see you hurt,” he touched a hand to her shoulder as he passed. “Get some rest. I’ll see you in the morning.”

* * *

Somewhere in the main sitting room the clock rang out its song, announcing that midnight had come upon them at last. Mello hardly even heard it – far too busy to pay attention to such mundane details. Busy not with the work L had assigned him, no that had been put on hiatus for the second time that day, but his own personal research. The heavy textbooks lay open across his desk, a half-written essay flashing brightly on the laptop beside them. Ignored. Had been so for over half an hour when his mind had, once again, strayed to the matters at hand rather than the ramblings of modern judicial law. The Macbook was picked up and carried in one arm as he paced the length of the tall windows, typing furiously – as furiously as one could muster one-handedly – to gain access into L’s own personal network. There was only so deep he could dig, but it would be enough for this particular question.

And alas, there it was.

B. Beyond Birthday. The second child ever to enter Wammy’s House. The one that had gone beyond expectations in demonstrating the greatest flaw in the system. He had not just wanted to become L. He had wanted to surpass him. Small details few had ever become privy to – Mello considered himself lucky, having been told the gritty details of the Los Angeles Murder Cases by L himself several years prior. As far as Mello knew, he was the only one to which the story had been told and he had never questioned L’s motives. Until now.

Indeed there was something particularly wrong about the entire system because no matter how great Mr. Wammy’s intentions had been at the time, the psychological damage bestowed upon each and every child taken under that esteemed roof, was many times overlooked. Or perhaps ignored. Who knew. It was a clone lab in disguise. But how could it be possible to create a carbon copy of an individual when every last one of them was so very different?

Mello paused. Sitting down and snapped into a new bar of chocolate. He and Near were told to have been the closest. But what did that mean? In what sense was this ‘closeness’ measured when both differed so greatly and L… L was an entity onto himself. “Scheiße!” Mello hissed. Focus, goddamnit. Focus. Another snap of chocolate. Now was not the time for self-analysis or too jaded reflections upon the Orphanage. It was B he was after. The details that once upon a time he had not paid such great attention to and now seemed that much greater. That much more important. Because he knew L had thought of it. Because he knew that was part of the reason that had led L to make that sacrificial decision to end the life of his lover.

So that Kira would not hurt them?

Or so that Kira did not become something of the crazed madman B had become? Which, more likely than not, would only end up killing them in the end.

It was too goddamned complicated. The Eyes. What did they mean? Light held a piece of the Death Note within him but what of B? – he was said to have been born with the Eyes, but that could only mean one thing. Mello grimaced at the insinuations of such a thought. There was a rule about that… he remembered it clearly and it made little sense to him at the time. Was it to prevent such abominations? Obviously B had not been immune to the notebook – Kira had made sure that he paid for his crimes short years after having been incarcerated, but he had had the Eyes. So what the hell did that mean?

Another snap of chocolate. Damnit. How he wished Ryuk was here to answer questions – ah fuck Ryuk! The bastard hardly knew any of the right answers, or rather, if he did, he sure as hell did not care enough to share. Sidoh would have been more helpful. Mello snorted, leaning back against the couch cushions. Where was that pitiful waste of a shinigami now while his notebook had once again been stolen for the greater good – of amusement, that is.

Mello eyed the laptop, scrolling through the details of the case, pages upon pages of grisly details and deductions. News casts and L’s own comments. But he knew these things already. The case file wasn’t going to give him the deeper answers he sought. But… there was perhaps someone who would. He frowned, sucking thoughtfully on a chocolaty square. He wasn’t the top grade hacker Matt was, but he managed decently enough. And besides, seeing as he was already wired through L’s network, it shouldn’t have been so difficult.

Twenty minutes later, Mello was cursing viciously at the screen. Wammy’s House files lay only a few steps away. The intraframe locked down more securely than he had anticipated. Goddamnit. Wouldn’t be surprised if Roger had hired Matt himself to program the firewalls. Bastard. The empty wrapper was tossed carelessly onto the table. fuck it.

Mello set the laptop down and pushed himself up, fetching his phone off the top drawer of his desk. He had not bothered to turn it on since they had arrived in Sicily. There had been no need as everyone was present and… well, outside company could just wait. He cringed at the number of missed calls and messages that popped up.

Halle had continued communication, albeit brief and subtle. She had checked up on him shortly after the infiltration of the SPK headquarters, and there were just a couple of messages after that. It was the other handful of missed calls that made Mello grimace, eyes narrowing dangerously at the innocent screen. Those, however, went ignored just a short while longer as he dialed a still-memorized number, pacing over to the windows. He had a thought to check the hour, but did it truly matter? It wouldn’t have stopped him anyway.

“I didn’t think I would ever hear from you again, Mello.”

The blonde frowned at the sound of that familiar voice. It did not occur to him until that precise moment that it had been years – years! – since he had had any contact with Wammy’s. In fact, he had not gone back, not called, nor contacted the orphanage in any way shape or form since his abandonment of the institution.

“Is it safe to assume that it was you pushing the firewalls just a few minutes ago?” Roger asked and Mello could see him smile that thin smile elderly people tended to have. Slightly condescending, but affectionate all the same. He exhaled.

“Yea. I don’t have the patience to keep fighting with it. There’s something I was wondering if you could tell me.” The silence on the other side prompted him to continue. “I need to know about B. Where he came from, where he was found...”

This time the silence was a bit more strained. “You know I can’t give you that information…”

“It’s important.”

“I’m sure it is, but you know the rules, Mello. I cannot volunteer anyone else’s information other than your own. If it is L’s intention that you know these things, I’m sure he will tell you himself.”

Mello grit his teeth, ready to say that L wasn’t exactly in the position to say much of anything at the present moment, but he did not want to cause further trouble. No use in upsetting the man that had become the closest thing to a father any of them had ever had.

“Yea,” he muttered irritably. “Thanks.” Whether or not Roger had had anything to add, Mello did not stick around on the line long enough to find out, flipping the phone shut in frustration. Goddamnit. That bit of information was at the core of his answers – or was it truly just personal curiosity?

No. He wanted to know about the Eyes. He wanted to know where Watari had managed to find such a deranged child. A chuckle. Like he had room to talk. But then again, the institution itself had done something to fuck with their heads, hadn’t it? And perhaps, yes, Mello was jaded. He’d become jaded too young – far too young indeed – but the truth of the matter was that the competitive edge to become something – someone! – that was so beyond any normal human expectations was just… unhealthy.

Mello sank back down onto the couch, eyeing the computer screen with disdain. Of course, he could drag Matt out of bed – if he had even made it that far. What time was it? Surely his lover was not yet asleep, wrapped up in one of his games was more likely – in order to break the last few firewalls that stood between Mello and that endless source of information. But… he couldn’t get him involved. At least not yet. And well, the one person who could verbally give him the answers was ever slightly indisposed at present. Besides, given the fact that he had two days worth of work piled up, this little side research was likely not what L would approve of as an excusable side-track.

Mello sighed, throwing his head back against the cushions and let those pale lashes fall against his cheeks. “Verdammen Sie es zur Hölle…”

“Sounds like you’re enjoying yourself,” came the low smooth voice from the shadows.

Mello would have jumped but didn’t—he’d trained himself not to. He was however not expecting a visitor—especially not one who managed to sneak into the dark study via the even darker hallway without him noticing. Had he been that preoccupied? And how long had he been there?