Redeemer

Light sunk down over the back of the leather sofa, arms folded, brushing Mello’s hair, and even though the blonde had perfected the art of not being surprised—Light may have picked up on it anyway, but he let it slide.

“Not particularly, no,” Mello muttered, answering his question. “I thought you went to bed?”

Light shrugged and Mello opened his eyes to catch a glimpse of that most pleasing jawline disappearing up into the feathery jag of too-long bangs—Kira looked so different with his hair that long, falling in mismatched lengths across his shoulder—Mello contained himself from reaching up to run his fingers through it.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Light muttered, gaze drawn ahead to the wall of windows—the utter blackness of the courtyard outside. “The music room couch isn’t all that comfortable.”

“Ah,” Mello murmured. “So that’s where you ended up?”

Light leaned his head on his hand nonchalantly, “I would have crawled in with L. He doesn’t toss so much when we’re in bed together—but there’s a redheaded guard dog in there,” he slid a wise smirk at Mello then. “I’m concerned he’s been out as long as he has, actually,” he added a moment later. “I would have woken him up by now.”

Ah. Interesting that, but Mello supposed it was not so surprising, Matt was lamenting L’s unconsciousness. “He sure as hell needs it,” the blonde said regardless, but it was obvious that he shared similar concerns. “We’ll see what happens tomorrow. I don’t expect him to be out for much longer.” Back to the main topic. “You might have better luck with the sitting room, either way.” Sure enough he couldn’t simply invite Kira into his own bed. Details.

“Not really tired,” Light purred. “That insomnia thing is contagious I think—I can’t recall a decent night’s sleep since I met L.”

He leaned up from the couch and circled around to the window—and Mello got his first glimpse—Kira quite conservatively dressed in pajamas beneath a black robe, long hair shifting down a narrow, tapered back. Light folded his arms and stared out the window—and Mello expected some snide remark about not having a proper bed or bedfellow—or even hopping back a few hours to Mello’s big-brother stance over Linda, instead of course, Kira reminded Mello just what sort of mind he was dealing with.

“Who’s B?” Light said, the reflection of his face muted by the glass.

Oh fuck. Mello blinked, exercising that lack of surprise ability a second time. “It’s bad form to listen in on conversations, you know,” he returned with a faint smirk, betraying nothing of the importance of that question. But, of course, if Light had been there to hear that much, then he already knew just how important it was. Damn him.

Light scoffed. “Do you really want to play that way with me, Mello?” He said. “You might as well save yourself the trouble and just tell me flat out—because I’ll only end up finding out by whatever means I deem necessary otherwise.”

Hmm, that was a challenge wasn’t it? Or a veiled threat? Had Kira woken up on the wrong side of the couch because he sounded ever vaguely… bitter. It was possible he was a tad miffed over the Linda thing—but truly, Mello hadn’t reprimanded him so bad to wound his precious ego—or so he didn’t think. Was it something else then? Oh fuck…Light had said Matt was with L…did they have another confrontation? Or was Light having a typical bout of pms…

Mello lifted a brow, awarding him a curious, thin smile. “There is no other way to play with you as far as I’m concerned,” he said offhandedly and crossed his legs at the ankles, heels resting on the edge of the coffee table. A snap of chocolate. “You’ll find that the answer isn’t as simple as you may expect. Nor that the information is as openly available as you may hope. But,” Mello murmured, pausing to let it hang for a few moments as he decided to fetch himself a drink from the small fridge L had provided him with. “Seeing as I’m in a fairly good mood and you clearly are not, I suppose I could answer your question.”

He turned, leaning against the fridge as the cap was twisted off the bottle of pop he’d opted for. “He was the second kid ever to be taken to Wammy’s House.”

“Alphabet Children,” Light droned. “That much I could surmise—I’m assuming he’s garnered some importance in relation to recent events or you wouldn’t have put off your vain attempts to beat my record by phoning your former residence to ask after him?”

Mello’s face twisted at Light’s incredibly blunt display of acrimonious attitude. He was being downright sour when he’d been so full of sweet before. So something was up. Of course, there was always those mysterious innerworkings of Kira’s mind to consider.

There were actually times—(and this only came to mind because Mello had been harping on Wammy’s and its role in his and the other children’s lives these passed few hours)—that he gleaned some cleverly disguised form of jealousy on Kira’s behalf over the orphanage. It was, of course, obviously a place for the gifted—those who were hand-chosen to strive to succeed L—a role which Kira already deemed himself most worthy of, and had (a grim admittance) already played to admirable success. Nevermind he was manipulating the detective’s name to thwart his own capture—he was still L, he still commanded L’s legions, and even solved a case or two in L’s name during that time.

Light looked down on Wammy’s…but Mello knew he also felt—left out. Ha. L, Near, Mello, Matt and now Linda—all members of this prestigious and secret place, and Light—Kira—was not. He was the only one on his own side. No wonder he strove to win them over the way he did, Kira was lonely wasn’t he? Lonely and bitter—and every mention of Wammy’s made him that much more so.

Or maybe he was just being a prick.

Mello watched him intently, chewing down the urge to backfire at such an uncalled for comment. He was good, however, did not engage, regardless of how tempting it may have been to call him on the observations that came to mind with boggling clarity just then. “You assume correctly,” he could give Light that much. “But that wasn’t your question. You asked who he was, not what he’s done, therefore you’ve got your answer.” Alright, perhaps that was a bit snippier than usual, but goddamnit. Who the fuck was Light to waltz in here and demand answers while insulting Mello in the same breath? Fuck that.

Light’s head quirked at the tone, but he didn’t bother to turn around. “Fine,” he simpered. “I’ll find out myself.” And he absently fingered the ends of his hair, but his back was much stiffer than it was a moment ago. There seemed more he wanted to say, but he held back—was holding back—but not very convincingly and Mello got the sense that if Light turned around just then, the look in his eyes would be enough to set them both off at each other.

Mello’s jaw clenched, teeth grit for a second and then relaxed. Green eyes were closed as long fingers swept unruly bangs aside. “The fuck is eatin’ you? This is beyond your normal arsehollish behavior.” Blunt and to the point. It was too late to drag this out.

“Nothing I can think of per se,” Light growled, his tone dripping every bit of sarcasm it was meant to. The comment was directed to all those things no one was openly wanting to discuss just then—because Light knew those were the things he could hide behind rather than starting fights just for the sake of doing so. And he’d been so well behaved all day—pity.

“Don’t pick a bloody fight with me, Light. I’m not L. I’d quicker shoot you in the kneecap to end the stupidity than draw it out. So try me. You’ve played the golden boy all goddamned day, so what’s this now?” By God, Mello was actually going there. In fact, Mello was not only going there, but he was retaking his previous seat, bottle comfortably held between his legs which were once again sprawled out toward the table. That gaze neutral, but just ever slightly curious.

The channel switched—just like that, and Light’s shoulders eased, slumped, head bowing ever so slightly. “Nothing,” he said, his tone deflated. “I’m just tired,” he muttered; “I’m tired and I can’t sleep,” …and? There was more to that, because Kira wanted something—he wanted something out of Mello, and Mello didn’t have it in him just then to figure out what.

Shit. It truly was too late because Mello could not see beyond the moment. Beyond the here and now to figure out just what it was that Light was trying to get at and failing. Left out of any other options, Mello prompted him. “…and? I’ll be frank, you caught me at a bad moment when I’m reaching the point where I can barely form two thoughts together coherently.” It had been a hell of a long day. “But I know you well enough to know that this is more than you being tired. So, goddamit, Light, you come here with your pissyness and deposit it on me ‘cause I’m the only one who’ll take it at this point in time. The least you can give me is a bloody explanation, cause this isn’t just some random middle of the night visit for the sake of bein’ a prick.” Mello paused and added around the rim of the chilled bottle. “You’re usually more coherent when you’re truly being a prick.”

There it was, that narrowed gaze slid over a slender shoulder. Light fixed Mello in it but said nothing—his silence was stiff and angry, but he kept it in check. When it was clear at last that Mello wasn’t going to abandon the blunt approach, Light forfeited his end of the scenario. “Nevermind.” He grit. “I have nothing to say to you—”

With that he swept back toward the door, and into the hall without so much as another glare in Mello’s general direction.

Mindboggling. Mello was sure he’d thought it in the past, but this just now seemed to top all other prior events. Mello was left blinking owlishly at the now unobstructed line of windows before him, bottle in hand. What the hell had just happened.

Wait a goddamned second! Nonono. He wasn’t about to take that kind of shit from the likes of Kira. He was up within moments, stalking around the settee to charge into the hallway. “You’re such an insufferable bastard, you know that?” he hissed, keeping his voice down as he followed Light throug the darkened hallway.

“Leave me the fuck alone, Mello,” Light growled, storming up ahead, back toward the music room where he undoubtedly planned to slam the door in his lover’s face. He almost did too, if Mello hadn’t wedged a boot in between the doorjamb, stopping it mid swing.

Light looked furious, but he looked something else too—and that was the part bothering Mello more. What the hell was Kira doing? What was he playing at—or was that it? Was he actually, for once—not playing? Hard to imagine if Light even remembered what it was like to not play—but he was most certainly angsting over something that was rather unabashedly escaping the blonde at that moment.

So what if Kira wasn’t playing? What if he was waiting for Mello to recognize something genuine and he hadn’t? Shit—what if Mello’s brain was just superbly fried at that moment and not making much sense at all?

“You don’t want me to do that,” he returned quietly, letting go of the door from where he’d caught the knob. “I can’t figure out just what it is you want, but you came to me with a purpose. One you’re trying to hide or deny now – I don’t know which.” He approached, giving Light little time to react before grabbing his wrist and tugging him closer, left hand coming up to alight on the side of his neck. “What you are managing, however, is to worry me. And I’ll be damned if I admit that again, goddamnit. So bloody talk to me.”

Light’s eyes widened—he didn’t expect Mello to go the gentle route—to pull him close that way and man did it ever show in his face at that moment.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said at last. But that wasn’t the thought-out response and Mello went to protest, but Light interrupted. “It doesn’t matter because nothing I say will right now, and I’d rather just—leave it alone. …Just leave me alone, Mello…” But the words came out so much quieter than they had a minute ago—and fuck, he was trembling…

“It does matter,” Mello countered quietly, brows furrowing because this was just not right. None of it was. Not that quiet tone, not the tremble he felt beneath his fingers. “It does matter because otherwise you would have told me to fuck off and be done with it. But I’ll drop it if that’s what you want… It bothers the hell out of me, damnit, but I’ll drop it until you decide otherwise.” But that did not mean that he would vacate the premises just as easily. In fact, Mello found it that he couldn’t. Simple as that.

He could not walk away from him just then. Could not turn his back knowing what he did, seeing with his own two eyes that something had happened – one way or another. Perhaps it had been there all along beneath the golden boy façade and playful composure. Shit, had he missed it all together? Had it been there right in front of him only to have been completely and utterly missed?

He pulled him close, fingers tangling into feathery strands of silky auburn. It was yet another episode worthy of the Twilight Zone. And Light leaned into him all too easily, shying back from the kiss in favor of burying his face in Mello’s neck, his arms constricting around the blonde’s shoulders, tightly, too tight—and that sharp stifled breath… Mello realized it with a certain semblance of horror that Light was crumbling again—right there in his arms he was crumbling, that finely crafted shell that had been spouting pleasantries and preaching Bach was all falling away to reveal what had been there all along—what had been there the night before when he’d emerged to L in the rainstorm… Kira was devastated.

He hadn’t brushed it off—his death at L’s hands, whatever in God’s name had followed from that moment to this—whatever he’d been fighting so successfully all day long to keep from everyone else—he’d come to Mello with it, at last, at long last, but he hadn’t known how to say it had he? He still didn’t—only Mello was seeing it now for what it was. How shaken Light was. He’d held it in. L had collapsed, and Kira had held it in—and Dr. Gregory and Matt were both keeping Light from the detective’s side, the only one who could alleviate what was happening—they’d kept them apart, and look at them both now…

Mello gripped his lover hard against him, cradling his head—acknowledging and not wanting to acknowledge the hot, quiet tears that stained his shoulder.

“It’s okay,” he whispered against Light’s hair. “It’s okay, Light.”

Light’s fingers only dug into his shoulders deeper, and if he wanted to argue, he couldn’t will his voice to do it without cracking. But there was a sluggish shake of his head even as he refused to come out of the protective crook of Mello’s collar.

Mello stroked his hair a moment longer, closing his eyes, trying to will the pieces together in his mind, fitting together that elusive puzzle that was Kira. He held Light and felt the shudder in his body, held him and felt the sympathy in his own—which was why he was so unprepared for the way Light suddenly shoved him away.

Shocked was more like it.

There was far too much power in that shove—too much anger, too much reeling misery as Light managed to put as much distance between himself and Mello as he possibly could in that one harsh motion. Typical. Just when Mello thought he’d figured it out… it seemed as though he hadn’t, or not all of it… he was still missing a big piece?

Mello blinked at him, and Light was backing up, his expression brutalized, ragged, raw—despite being drenched in tears, as he shakily wiped a hand across the evidence of his misery. Caged animal syndrome—as though in every off moment Kira was suddenly aware that he was still a prisoner despite the accommodations, despite the people who were far more civil to him than they needed to be—he knew what his life had become and he couldn’t deal with it. But that wasn’t the missing piece—that was just the icing on his anxiety.

“Light, calm down,” Mello said, applying just what he needed to the situation, despite himself—patience.

“No!” Light snarled, backing up further toward the door, hand up to keep Mello at bay. “Stop. Just fucking stop Mello,” he growled. “Stop unless you fucking mean it!”

Ah. This coming from the world’s greatest liar.

Nevertheless it seemed like what Light truly wanted to do was crumble in Mello’s arms the way he had been, crumble and sob and believe that Mello meant exactly what he said when he told him it would be alright—meant things beyond that…what?!...Instead what Light did was whirl around for the door and peel back out into the darkness of the hallway. Peel out at a run no less, which made Mello peel out after him—a panicked Kira was prone to damage—both to others and himself. Mello had seen far too much evidence of that already.

Mello took off at a sprint, crossing the long hall, intent on spinning Light at the shoulder and knocking him out if need be, if that’s what it would take to calm him, to snap the sense back into him. What in God’s name after all?? Mello’s mind kept whirring at the insanity of it—and he was just two arm lengths away from pulling Kira back, when someone else beat him to the punch—someone Light suddenly collided with at the foot of the stairs—collided with and wrapped around and was suddenly sinking to his knees with on the floor.

Mello skidded to a stop, eyes darting down to the knot of figures, and the person who’d locked Light in a fresh embrace, the person who had him contained and trapped and immobile as Light just buried himself against him and let it out—muffled though it was—was the only person it could be:

L.

The detective lifted his eyes to the blonde, his pale face barely discernible in the darkness of the late hall.

“I’ve got him, Mello,” he said flatly. “Thank you.”

* * *

L was understandably ravenous after being out all day, but he didn’t want to sit in the kitchen with its bright lights and airy ceiling, so when he shuffled through the study door where Mello had resumed his work—now 3 o’clock in the morning—he was towing a rather loaded cart of desserts and teas and coffees and anything else he figured himself or the blonde might want to nibble on.

Mello looked up. He’d already gotten the detective tea just a bit earlier—but it hadn’t been for L, it had been for Light, though L added a sleeping aid to it just before handing it to him. Light probably knew but made like he didn’t and though he’d calmed down to a respectable level, he refused to look Mello in the face. Ten minutes later he was out and L was downstairs.

“I’m sorry for worrying you,” L muttered; wheeling the cart to the armchair and settling down to pick and choose at will. “That happens to me sometimes, I need to recharge. Watari was usually there to handle it, but it hasn’t happened since—” he didn’t finish the sentence, but saved it rather conveniently by cramming an éclair into his mouth—almost whole.

“We were worried,” Mello confessed. “Very worried—I’d say Light was too, but he’d managed not to show it as far as I could tell—for most of the day at least.”

L blinked. “What happened?” He said. “I admit, things were a bit hazy when I woke up—but what set him off?”

“Truthfully?” Mello muttered. “I haven’t the slightest. He seemed fine—had even been getting along with Dr. Gregory tonight. I thought maybe Matt got his panties in a knot earlier, but I don’t think so.”

Matt had been asleep of course—and was far too groggy to catch Mello’s message about L waking up. It would sink in by morning however—which still seemed such a long ways away.

L licked his fingers. “I’m going to have to observe him a bit to figure it out then,” he muttered. “It’s most likely just a combination of everything manifesting the moment Light was no longer on his own private stage keeping up appearances. In his current state, I think of him as a broken doll—constantly plastering pieces of himself back into place to stay pretty, the moment he moves too much, he falls apart again. It's a vicious cycle. I think he loses pieces along the way too--under the radiator, taken by the cat—that sort of thing; so there's holes and cracks all over the place." Long metaphor, L didn't seem to care. "Light didn’t used to be like this," he said "—but that’s my fault, I tend to stretch him to extremes just to test the breaking point.”

L downed a rather generous heaping of strawberry jam at that moment—digging it out of the jar with his fingers, and Mello caught the nuance, the pallor in his face suddenly said the rest. L stopped and looked at him, then noticed himself.

“Ah,” he said. “Forgive me…I’ve been thinking about B.”

A frown. What other appropriate reply was there? "I figured you would be," Mello commented quietly. "But do put the bloody jar down. That just borders on creepy." It was a beauty when they could be blunt to one another without insult suffered. "But you're not the only one," he confessed two seconds later, lifting a steaming mug of coffee to his lips. "In fact, I confess that it has sidetracked me for the greater majority of the day. Among..." he cast L an intent look, eyeing the laceration that should have been there, now hidden beneath his trademark white sleeve. "Other things." He alternated the coffee with a bite out of his chocolate. "I would not be surprised if Light brings him up. He overheard me on the phone earlier and questioned me on him. It was when I offered up no proper information that he began unraveling around the edges. By which point my brain was so fried that I haven't a clue as to what the hell happened."

Mello paused thoughtfully, studying the dark contents of his mug held now between both hands in front of him. "L, what else is there to him? B, I mean." He said, lifting his eyes to the detective. "I got fed up with the infrastructure two thirds of the way through and ended up 'phoning Roger, but as expected, he would not tell me anything on the matter. You know, though, don't you..? There's much more to it all than simply wanting to overcome you.."

L screwed the lid back on the jar and set it down. For a moment it seemed like he hadn’t heard Mello’s comment, or was simply just ignoring him—but he wasn’t even though he took his time to answer, drawing his knees up to his chest, poking around the cart for something chocolate. “My thoughts on B have varied greatly over the years,” he said at last. “He wanted to give me a mystery I could never solve—he did—but it wasn’t the LA case. It was him. Just him.”

L inhaled a brownie and extended the plate to Mello who was not prepared to say no. “I don’t have the answers on B yet,” the detective continued. “Though I think he is now as much a key to Kira as Kira is to him—I don’t know how they fit—but they are both obviously something of a world that is not ours. B was from the beginning…how, I can only draw one conclusion that is contradicted directly by the rules of the Death Note…but there have been fake rules before.” L paused to consider this and take another mouthful. “Though maybe it is not that a shinigami can’t mate with a human—but rather shouldn’t mate with a human—thus resulting in a pseudo-divine being who belongs to neither world. A cross-breed born in a human world could be driven mad by its death god powers. Like B. And maybe a cross-breed in a shinigami realm would be driven mad by its human tendencies…or at least confused by them…or better—ruled by them. Human ambition in a shinigami gives you Kira. We both know Light wasn’t born with his abilities—but he was born remarkable, wasn’t he? Like all the children at Wammy’s—Kira was always remarkable.”

Mello’s brow twisted up—and since when did Kira and Wammy’s belong in the same sentence?

L stopped eating and caught Mello in a sober gaze. “Ah,” he said; “I gave you more credit than I should have.”

And Mello’s brow furrowed even more because that almost sounded like an insult. L caught himself—“I phrased that wrong,” he said. “I gave your criminal tendencies more credit than I should have—you already admitted to attempting to hack Wammy’s tonight, I assumed it wasn’t the first time.”

“L, what are you saying?” Mello’s tone was grounded.

“Third generation,” L replied.

“What?!”

“It never happened, however,” the detective went on. “Watari was fully prepared to sign the adoption papers in Japan but he decided instead on a different child—Beyond Birthday. He admitted to me it was partially a matter of pity. Beyond was abandoned in an alley—Light was merely put up for adoption by a woman too young to raise him. Soichiro Yagami and his wife had already expressed such devoted interest in the child—they were having troubles conceiving and turned to adoption, Watari didn’t see the harm in giving Light to a loving family and taking in a child whose odds at a normal life were so much…less. Imagine Watari’s deep sense of failure when both B and Light went so wrong… he confessed the tale to me shortly after I convinced him that Light Yagami was Kira. Then again, I ran a DNA test and already knew Light was not by blood a Yagami.”

Mello, was gaping. He had to rewind for a moment and rehash it just for his own sanity. “You’re saying Light’s an orphan?” He muttered.

“He is,” L replied. “Adopted practically at birth by Yagami and his wife. He and B were in the same hospital when Watari was there to make his choice.”

“And Light was Watari’s first choice for Third Generation?”

“Indeed,” L replied and for a moment his mouth hitched as he pushed a thoughtful thumb across his lips. “Hmph,” he muttered.

“What?”

“Watari named him,” L said simply. “Light the Way. He told Mrs. Yagami and she kept the first part, having thought it suiting.”

“Christ on a cross,” Mello muttered, raking a hand back through his hair. “That’s practically impossible to believe.”

“The irony has always struck me—never so much as lately however.”

Mello’s gaze lifted to the pale detective. “L,” he said. “How did Watari choose? I’ve often wondered…”

“He just did,” came L’s rather flat response. “He had a sense about certain children—he knew the moment he looked into their eyes. He knew they were special—he did not, however, know if that meant for better or worse. Seems to me Third Generation was doomed no matter which way he chose.” He paused. “Of course…Light has no idea he’s adopted. It also makes me wonder…if Watari named him…which name does the Death Note recognize? And why?”

Mello was quiet a while – that was a particular topic upon which he had reflected many a times. All of them – himself included – had a handful of personas at their disposal. His passport sure as hell did not spell out Mihael Keehl. In fact, there were no documents – other than those stored away at Wammy’s – that revealed his identity. “We both know which name Bella used not that long ago… which would have been effective if not for strokes of luck and otherworldly interference…” he murmured quietly, nibbling on a brownie. “Unlike us, Light has never known any other name. You said it yourself he was practically adopted at birth, so as far as he’s concerned, that has always been his name, and will forever be the name he identifies with. His own father as well as Misa had the Eyes and saw nothing different.” The coffee was savored, letting that thought linger a moment.

“The rest of us are different – we guard our identities and take up several others as it becomes necessary, but we all had a life that we may or may not remember – we all have a name which we cling to because it’s all that’s left of that past. It’s those names that float up above our heads to anyone with the Eyes – as Light has already confirmed.” Mello was thoughtful a moment, reflecting on what he had just said. “In essence, paperwork means shit when it comes down to it. A legal name change would not mean squat in matters of death gods and notebooks because regardless of what the papers said, and whether or not a person would start answering to that name, inside they would know better.” A chuckle. “Otherwise, Watari’s naming system would have done us little good. Although,” he added with a brief affectionate smile. “I still believe he erred in naming me.”

“He named you out of hope for that to be the case,” L muttered. “Watari was a very optimistic man—it’s why children like Beyond and Light and even you found their way into his good graces…that includes myself, come to think of it.” And that was a suddenly odd admission from L in regards to his own origins—something everyone assumed was completely unknown except to perhaps Watari himself. Then again, if L could flawlessly solve over 3,500 cases in his short lifetime, why not his own be among them? Mello nibbled at a square of chocolate in thought—and as was habitual when conversing with L, it could only prepare him for what the detective said next.

“I’m grateful, however that Watari died before he could see what you involved yourself with, Mello—these last few years. The failure of A and B, and more recently Light grated hard on his heart… I know Near would too given present circumstances; but Watari had gone through certain undue experiences with mafia bodies—Japanese moreso than Italian…” L hesitated almost poignantly. “but the principles are similar—he would be gravely disappointed.”

L stacked a column of sugar cubes and ignored the look that crossed Mello’s features. “I’ve turned a blind eye to it—for now,” the detective said. “But it’s business that will be dealt with in time—one way or another.” His tone was stern, and actually somewhat reprimanding and then just as it seemed he’d return to the subject at hand, he looked up at Mello expectantly, waiting for a response.

Mello was at a momentary loss for words. Lips parted but he did not speak. Not right away. Of course it would have to be dealt with – he was a bad case of conflicting interests as it was. Should he ascend to L’s position sometime down the line – whenever that may be was a whole other discussion and not one that entirely mattered – there was no way he could keep playing both sides of the field. Which only brought him back to the messages he had pointedly ignored earlier that evening.

Shit! He pressed his knuckles to the sensitive spot at the bridge of his nose and grimaced. Goddamnit. This was something he had not wanted to deal with just then, and especially not with L. Damnit. It was one thing for his…involvement to be unspoken common knowledge, another all together to be discussing it with L! This just did not seem right and yet, what chance did he have? “American,” he said through gritted teeth. “British. My involvement in Italy is risky at best and would have been left alone if not for the purpose of this case. I’ve already called too many bloody favors to simply pull out at this point in time.” He paused as if gathering his next words, which sounded absurd in his own head if only because of the nature of his audience. “Because of all that went down in Rome a couple of weeks ago… shit, L, I’ve got a hit. I saw it when I turned my bloody phone on earlier to contact Roger.”

Certainly this was just around when the sky would start crumbling down and the heavens fall to the earth, because he had not just actually said that. Mello had yet to look up at the detective, fearing the look that was being cast – halfway knowing the blandness to it, but also the coolness those impossibly black orbs were capable of.

L didn’t blink—in fact, he was silent for a very long moment. “I know how the mob works, Mello,” he said after a profound pause. “I don’t anticipate your extrication being a simple task—therefore you will do what is required of you, for now.”

Mello’s jaw grit. L of all people had just given him permission to follow through on a hit?

“But,” and L’s eyes flickered upward—hard, cold, unmoving. “You are not to leave this villa.”

At that Mello’s brow squirreled. “Then how—”

“Kira.” Simple. To the point. Oh fuck.

Mello gaped at him. Wait a bloody fucking minute. What?! “You can’t be bloody serious!” the outburst was louder than he had originally anticipated. He sat up as the words flew out of his mouth, coffee mug pressed down onto the table. As if giving him the go ahead wasn’t bad enough, to do so by thrusting the task off into the hands of Kira was even worse!

“Nononono,” Mello shook his head and pushed himself up, pacing back and forth in long strides opposite L. “No goddamn way.”

“There is no room for argument,” L said steadily. “If you intend to carry out this hit—and any others—this is the only way I will allow it. Through Kira—remote. Don’t persist in any childish misconceptions here, Mello,” he continued. “You are my heir, under my employment before theirs—you follow my orders first and foremost.”

L hadn’t moved from his seat, but his stance was firm, commanding, and he almost seemed a moment from standing up at his full height to enforce his point further. L had been the single most active branch of world law enforcement to bring down more mob-related criminals than anyone else across the board. Seems he had a particular vendetta against them, come to think of it…and mention of Watari having had difficulty with Yakuza must have factored in there somewhere…

Mello grit his teeth and after what felt like a monumental stare down, forced himself to lower his gaze. This wasn’t a battle he could win. Not a battle he would have dared keep up for much longer, in fact. Goddamnit. Fingers tightened into the cushions as the tension raced down his arms into the leather. It hardly made him feel better. After some time, he nodded albeit stiffly. “Very well. However, unless you’ve got a notebook of your own stashed away somewhere, we appear to be out of stock at the present moment.” Shit. He grimaced the moment the words were out of his mouth. Misplaced anger. Fuck. And already he was jabbing at topics that had remained deeply buried in the background.

“Let me worry about that,” L replied, and his answer was curt and to the point. He wasn’t happy, not happy at all and his displeasure was wafting in Mello’s direction. Whereas Mello’s gaze had lowered, L’s gaze hadn’t budged and Mello felt the weight—hard and heavy. This was a first, he’d seen L upset, but he’d never quite been on the receiving end of his anger—true anger—it had a presence all of its own.

“You determine when this needs to happen,” L said. “I will have the proper elements in place. You take this into your own hands, there will be serious consequences.”

Mello seemed to actually flinch but did not offer argument. How could he? Shit. Again that stiff nod. It took effort to dislodge himself from the spot he’d rooted to, coming around to sink back down onto the couch. This was definitely not how he had imagined the night to progress. Especially not upon L having just woken up after a worrying day-long slumber. It was almost as if he were ten all over again and being rebuked for having done something amiss – kicked the football into some unsuspecting kid’s head, perhaps, or snuck away at the opportune moment for one reason or another. And while Roger had been stern, Mello had never been frightened of the older man—nodded innocently enough and ran out upon dismissal as if nothing ever happened. L had always had a different effect on them all.

The detective barely had to say anything at all – barely had to do anything other than look at them for the message to get across. And fuck if he wasn’t doing it now. Only the matters were just a tad more serious, the stakes higher and Mello was no longer ten and the threat anything but idle.

When he dared glimpse up again through a veil of messy bangs, it was the clock face he sought. 3:30. It felt much later, but he did not think he could sleep, his mind too aware, too damn awake to care for a pillow just then.

“Understand how much I despise that way of life, and that’s all that needs to be said on the matter.” L finished, and to punctuate the end of the conversation, he popped a strawberry into his mouth. “Back to the topic at hand,” he continued, his anger dissipating to his patented nonchalance and the case as it stood before them. “Similarities between Kira and B: the strange coincidences as follows—though not born around the same time—Kira was an infant while B is only slightly younger than myself—they ended up occupying the same hospital simultaneously while Watari was there. They are children of crime—both of them. B was abandoned—that proves delinquency on his parents’ behalves—whoever they may be. Light’s mother was raped—father unknown…for the record. Unofficially, I know who his father was—DNA linked me to a man who later died of a heart attack in prison… Do you follow me?”

Mello’s mind flopped over and raced right in cue to L’s new streamline. At the latter comment, Mello narrowed his eyes. Christ. This whole thing was more fucked up than he’d originally anticipated – but then again, he had no way of knowing this much, no way of accessing even an inkling of it all. “I follow…” he said slowly, filing away the information as it fell into slots, slowly making some semblance of sense. He was being kept on a thread and L still held the other end, tugging him along by revealing only a little bit at a time. Damn him.

“Light does not know his own father numbered among his early victims, just as he does not know B did as well—unless mentioned of course. Kira has an odd way of remembering the names and faces of those he killed; hence why I will not name his father here and now.”

L poured himself another cup of tea, and poured a heaping half a cup of sugar in right after it. He stirred with a dainty silver spoon pinched delicately between two fingers.

“Light will come to know B as there are pertinent questions I must pose to Kira—eventually—regarding Beyond Birthday. To continue the train of thought, however, standout oddities and ironies of the case are as follows—Light was first choice for Third Generation, Beyond was chosen in his stead. Despite growing up outside of Wammy’s, Light went on to eliminate his competition in Beyond by writing his name in the Death Note and becoming L, albeit for a short period. It was not necessarily Light’s goal to become L—but merely to use the alias to divert the capture of Kira. It was B’s intention not merely to become L, but to surpass me… B saw himself as my mirror image—mimic that he was—and so too does Kira. Kira envisions us equals without question, B wanted us to be, but never truly believed that we were. His vision was short lived and he suffered with inadequacy anxieties. Kira has never once believed himself to be inadequate.”

L drained his tea in one sitting. “Both are inextricably linked to the Shinigami realm. B was born with The Eyes—that means one of his parents was a Death God. DNA tests have located neither of his parents and yet have not necessarily turned up any aberrant biological results either, so his origins remain a mystery. So perhaps that is the wrong conclusion? To think B was begotten of shinigami. Perhaps that is stereotypical of an inherently human mind which is not at all calculating any other possibilities…possibilities which are by default unconsidered because they are just simply, not known.” L shrugged. “We know there are at least two proven ways to get the Eyes. The first, is to make the deal while in possession of the Death Note, which costs half your remaining lifespan. The second is what is happened to Light—he is transforming seemingly due to the introduction of the Death Note and its properties into his system. How far this change will go, it’s impossible to say. So what does all this tell us—if anything? Or did Watari happen to sniff out two equally doomed children with links to the death world—both of whom would dramatically alter my life—and perhaps even end it before this thing is through.”

Mello was following along, nibbling idly on whatever chocolaty matter he happened to get his hands on, eyes unfocused as they stared unseeingly at the coffee table in front of him. Thoughtful. Then something clicked and the world came back into focus. “Wait.” He said stopping L’s discourse, which might as well have transformed into a monologue at this point. “You told me yourself that B was considered the backup when A… did not meet expectations,” he put it as gingerly as possible. “Would Watari have named Light differently, I wonder.. had he come on board as planned.” He chewed on the inside of his bottom lip. “Obviously that meticulous order was soon abandoned…” Seeing as the first two experiments had been utter failure. Words he did not speak but were more than likely reflected across his features.

Already Mello had spent far too long contemplating the inner workings of Wammy’s House and what it may have meant to B. This newest development just about threw him for a loop. But on the subject of letters… he had to stifle a bitter chuckle, using a fresh mug of coffee to keep it at bay when the thought flitted its way across his mind. It seemed too perfect. Ah such a wonderful thing was hindsight. He had to wonder if those pesky letters Light badmouthed so sarcastically at all times were truly thought out. He had to wonder what they meant because as it stood, the backup had clearly sunk. Light – another L in name and in reality for a short amount of time – had also become L’s greatest enemy under the now-worldwide alias of Kira – K, which stood beside L and followed by himself – M – now charged with the task of picking up the pieces should it fall apart before their eyes. A too neat streamline, and yet L was surrounded by the two most unlikely people to step up to the plate – not in ability but in personality alone.

If Watari was indeed sniffing out L’s future with his choices, he had a twisted sense of humor. Mello sighed, letting the coffee linger in his mouth for a short moment before warming him all the way through. But that did not hardly matter now, did it? And yet… his mind strayed back to those thoughts – darker than they perhaps should have been. It had been a long time since he had seen the orphanage in the same esteemed light as he had while a child. “L… can I ask you a somewhat personal question?” he blurted suddenly.

“Please feel free,” L muttered dropping a mini cupcake down his throat. “As my heir, I will impart information more freely to you, anyhow. As for Watari naming Light differently—I’m afraid I can’t say. He named him as he saw him—and how very astute his foresight…as far as Kira himself is concerned, he does Light the Way for the rest of us, should we follow his ideals to a pristine, crime free and appallingly sterile Utopia…”

“Irony that, isn’t it…” Mello commented briefly, then lifting his gaze to L, sobered up. There might’ve actually been a frown there upon those lips, cleverly hidden behind the coffee mug. “Did you ever give it any thought – what all of this meant, what Watari was trying to do all these years? I do not undermine the noble intentions behind his actions, but I cannot help but question them. And maybe that’s because I’ve been on the outside for this long and have spent the majority of the day looking in from an entirely different perspective but… What did you ever make of it? He’s essentially gathered kids from all corners of the world not just to save them-“ a pause. “Us- from whatever unworthy life might have befallen us, not just to make us something great but… to clone you.”

L’s eyes slid around to Mello even though the rest of him didn’t move. “I’ve been waiting for years to hear someone other than B ask me that,” he said and he set his cream puff down. “Yes, I’ve given it thought,” he replied, gaze drawn inward now, eyes on the floor, compositing a response that would or wouldn’t satisfy, but perhaps shed some light on the world’s greatest—and most enigmatic detective. Even after all the time Mello had already spent with him—L was still at his core, a mystery.

“There are a variety of ways to look at it,” L began pensively. “The most normal and mundane one is the one Wammy’s House currently operates under—a place for gifted children who are training to become detectives of the highest caliber. A step deeper and you have the upper echelons of those children striving to aspire to a single goal—to become L. L is not immortal. L is in a dangerous line of work. Chances are, L will die young—it is best then, to make sure there’s an heir to continue on the work that is needed in this rotten world. It’s Justice’s monarchy based on merit and not blood. It’s honorable until you scratch the surface and open Pandora’s box—then there are questions.”

L’s arms curled around one knee, and still he did not lift his gaze. “Quillish Wammy was a good man,” he said resolutely. “But he was curious—he was an inventor, his mind worked in ways other people’s minds didn’t—and whereas he was indeed a humanitarian he was addicted to invention and experimentation, to pushing the limits of logic and reason to break through to something else. It was an insatiable need. At first his ideals were limited to theorems of technology and pursuing the magnates of philosophy; his hypotheses were sublime, his practice corporeal to a point—after all, things made of mechanics do not lead lives of their own. Governed by the inertia of their inanimate domain—they only act when acted upon. They do not live. Quillish Wammy wanted brilliance to have life… he did not realize this to its fullest potential until… he met me.”

It seemed L could have elaborated then the circumstances of how he came to be—but he paused, and diverted the topic. “Watari’s detachment in regards to creating a copy was balanced by his desire to care for those he brought to Wammy’s. His core instincts drove him to find children of a particular breed—his heart created a place for them to enhance their abilities to their greatest potential because that was what he believed. Intelligence could not be wasted, it had to be nurtured and he wanted to provide that when no one else would. Sometimes I think his goal to produce my copy was an unconscious one—it happened naturally because of his inventor’s mind, because he was thinking in terms of multiple brains functioning simultaneously for the common goal of justice—or he was planning for a successor—but not so callously considering it to be a subject of copy…. then again we all have our dark sides…and if I gave more merit to Watari’s dark side than I ever truly did, perhaps I would have been insulted a lot sooner than I initially was. Not that the insult lasted—it came and subsided in my youth when I had an unparalleled ego.”

Had? Mello supposed the only way L could say such a thing past tense was because he now considered Kira’s ego to be the parallel. After all, since Light came on the scene, L’s ego had taken a beating—and very much so.

L’s toes tangled together as he chose his next line of thought carefully.

“You’ve realized several things for yourself, Mello,” he continued, “And now your gaze has developed a particularly critical lens. Yes, in some instances you are correct—Wammy’s is functioning to produce something of a clone. I will be the first to say it’s impossible—that comes from my own aforementioned hubris as well as typical common sense. Every child brought in was far too unique in his or her own right to ever be a clone. Every success was unique—and every failure, equally so. What Watari was striving for was a level of brilliance that exceeded above and beyond—but that actually wasn’t an immediate plan.”

L’s pause was heavy, and his gaze so internal at that moment it was almost disturbing.

“I was nearly 10 when Watari brought A to live with us. General consensus was that A killed himself due to the pressures of striving to succeed my accomplishments. But A was not brought in as a copy—I lied when I told you that. He was brought in as a companion—my companion. That was the true failure. Watari had found a child whose intelligence he thought, could match my own, and on that basis, I could have a companion. It was not meant to be—my competitive nature forbid it. I have had but one companion who ever matched me—and he’s upstairs…” Another pause, fingers now wrapping around toes with a slim flare of agitation.

“In any event,” L went on, “Watari never blamed me for A’s death—but I suppose, like everything else, that is a matter of perspective. As for B… Watari felt in his case, a clone was safer than a companion. By that time, I had solved 100 cases and the need for another ‘me’ was suddenly paramount. So B was the Back-Up—and he was all too aware of it.” L paused. “Mello, I still lived at Wammy’s while B was there. He exploited the notion of his role as a copy—and gradually I became his obsession. If he was to be a copy—then he would be one to the utmost of his ability. He mimicked me endlessly—among other things of a far more disturbing nature. I had no patience for him, ultimately, I despised him and the more he sensed that, the worse he became. It was my arrogance that induced his inadequacy—pronounced it as our rivalry grew volatile. It came to a point where I refused to let him be my copy—I used my best efforts to thwart his progress subversively—to sabotage him until he believed himself a failure and left the orphanage. It was a necessary evil at the time given his advancing psychosis, I was protecting myself and Watari and our mass of tutors and keepers.”

L didn’t sound like he believed his own lie. Whether he was guilty for B, Mello couldn’t tell—it actually seemed like he wasn’t, and for that, he was guilty.

“Ultimately, both A and B were far too close in proximity to me,” L said. “Too close personally—and both were failures. For Watari, therein lay the rub, and I left the orphanage before the next child set foot through that door… So what do I think?”

L’s lips spread somewhat cynically. “I think it’s all completely fucked—but necessary. Sacrifice is necessary for a greater good—justice is the greater good, that makes L the necessary sacrifice. What I do know now, that I wasn’t truly aware of then, is that the chance is exceedingly high I will die young, and there is far too much work to be done to allow it to die with me. So I need an heir—and not just anyone will do—for that Wammy's is essential, and we come full circle.”

Mello grinned. The curse sounded so foreign upon L's lips that he could not help but notice it. The little hypocrite. But he did not call him on it. Not just then. It was not important, and besides L was right - this whole situation was downright, utterly fucked up. "The greater good..." he murmured, throwing an arm over the back of the couch as he faced to watch the windows several meters away. "Isn't that what's gotten us all in this mess in the first place - doing it all for the greater good?" he let that thought simmer, brows furrowing. "Kira executes in the name of the greater good, you work your ass off for the sake of the greater good. We all cross boundaries that, under normal circumstances would not be accepted - you and I included - all in the name of the greater good. So where is the line drawn, I wonder... Does it not all come down to a matter of perspective. The eternal question of good and evil...?" And suddenly, Mello laughed lowly. Shit. Had he not heard those words before spilling from Kira's own mouth?

Oh, how deeply he'd fallen in recent months.

"The truth of the matter is,” he continued, “You're no saint despite your victories. You do what you have to in order to win. I know that, Light knows that, Matt knows that... I don't think Linda has yet to catch onto that fact just yet. She still holds you in a more innocent regard. Therein lays the problem perhaps... It's all so bloody grand while you're there, working toward an unattainable goal, walking toward a mirage but never once complaining because it's an honor. And it is, I will not deny it. However, you're right - it is fucked up, because we're all raised with this innocent frame of mind, all the while set up against one another in the worst way possible to achieve something that keeps slipping through our fingers. So close and yet so far away. Endless competition like that just isn't bloody healthy." A bitter grin. He finished his coffee and set the mug down on the table between them. "And I'll be the first to admit it." Mello chuckled, shaking his head as he rested his chin down upon a scarred bicep, eyes narrowing at the darkened windows.

"Honorable motives, a flawed way to go about them. The story of our bloody lives."

“I never outwardly purported to be a saint,” L said. “The reputation was garnered via the end results of my work. I was putting criminals behind bars. I was putting masses of terrible criminals behind bars—a mob mentality, especially of young innocent minds, automatically sided that with goodness over evil. I like to think that it is—even Kira would agree that such an end result was worth the effort put forward. Our paths to justice are different, but it is the ultimate goal we seek. Of course the nature of my ‘virtue’ was perpetuated at Wammy’s and purposely so by your teachers and mentors—Watari and Roger among them. Children who are aspiring should not be aspiring to something that can be inherently dark and foreboding despite any outcome in the greater favor of justice. The understanding of the reality comes with age and experience after the core knowledge has set its foundation for the task. Irony would have it, however, that the children who stood out the most—the ones on the honor roll—like B and Near and you—understood the darker side of things too easily and were jaded far faster. What was unspoken in your youth was that it does take darkness to become L—it requires being jaded.”

He dipped a cookie in milk. “It requires doing terrible things. It requires—most absolutely—the death of your predecessor. That was never on any test, was it? And I’ve seen that reality set itself upon you quite heavily in these last few months... Success in academics at Wammy’s was not what formed the honor roll—it was part of it, of course—there were students prior to you and Near whose test scores in their subjects bordered on divine—but they never made it so far as you. And I’ll be honest with you now, Mello—part of what held you back for so long in second place, was not Near’s superiority…but your own faith. I saw it as a weakness, I saw it as something that would prevent you from doing the things that would be required of you in this title. I have tortured and sent men to death—that inherently conflicts with the dictates of God. Near had no faith and little conscience and that kept him above you for quite some time.”

L sucked the cookie down and reached for another. “Obviously I overestimated him and underestimated you—but I’m no more perfect than I am a Saint. I’m aggravated that I was wrong; but I never factored the Death Note in with Near, or the mafia in with you—so I deal and take on matters from here. Your loyalty has been staggering and Near’s disloyalty equally so. He seeks to surpass me and bury me—I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised; it’s happened before—ironically it also hinged on a direct link to the Death Gods and their realm. Further coincidence? I don’t know yet.”

He fished an aberrant chocolate chip out of his milk. “Like you said, you’re now on the outside looking in and you don’t like what you see anymore. That’s good, that’s what I need—I need you a mind apart from everyone else. You’re jaded and disappointed to some degree with your upbringing—so am I—yours and mine; but I don’t regret it and I don’t resent it. It’s the natural way of things. Ask Light, whose childhood was nothing short of perfect—something was obviously missing, something created in him that void to become what he did. He could have lived Happily Ever After, but he discarded it early and so very willingly. We are those who are not satisfied. We possess a drive essential to changing the world, for better or worse. You question the motive of things done for the greater good, so then tell me, what else is there? What else would you want?”

L paused. “And yet…you’re right. I sometimes think that had Kira used the Death Note for personal gain—the way he prides himself on having not done, though that’s inherently fallacious since his end result was the personal gain of a divine title and power over the world—regardless I wonder if he’d used it to eliminate his enemies and enhance his personal wealth, his body count would have been so staggeringly less than what it amounted to be in the name of the Greater Good. But then yes, it is a matter of perspective—is he simply a murderer, or does his end result count for justice in the same vein that mine does? In which case his success is so very far superior to mine I could never even hope to aspire to it…”

There was a scary thought. L let it lie and continued:

“We eliminate criminals, we sacrifice and harm others for the sake of doing it—so what separates me from Kira? Bodycount? Hubris? Scratch the lofty surface of the Greater Good and what do you have? The juxtaposition of Light’s motives are innately hypocritical—he has sacrificed himself…to become a God? And what of my motives? I capture criminals, but I will not pursue a case unless it stimulates me. I’m bored and crime has always presented me with the puzzles I need to keep my brain eternally occupied. And what are yours? Have you come to any conclusions? Or have you been programmed to simply follow your childhood goal to its fruition? Is any of that noble and worthy? Or do the ends, truly justify the means? There isn’t an answer—not a definitive one—it is all indeed a matter of faith and perspective and thus we find ourselves where we are at this moment—seeking an answer in the coincidences of the divine correlation between the Shinigami and an orphanage in Winchester.”

It was perhaps the most in-depth conversation Mello had had with L in all the time they'd known each other. He supposed the moment was right as everything that was known started breaking apart at the edges. Too many things to consider, too many aspects to look at, details once forgotten were revisited and re-analyzed. Mello had not given Wammy's House any thought in years - not really - and now look at them. And all because of a tiny piece of common notebook paper buried deep within the patch of an old scar. All because the desperation of a once seventeen year old kid originally meant to be sitting where he was right now, led him to make the monumental decision of his life. Because that desperation flustered to life again in the interest of self-preservation. All because something beyond their comprehension was happening now with no clear indication of where to even start looking for the appropriate answers.

Because Light was developing into something so much more than any of them had ever anticipated. Because he was not the only one, but that particular topic had yet to be breached, but it bothered Mello. It simmered in the back of his mind behind a chained up door, waiting for the opportune moment. Patience, however, tended to run thin at the late hours and given the frankness with which they had been speaking, what harm was there in dragging that up to the surface? Mello thought on it. Chocolate bar hanging from his fingers, half devoured but he had paused some minutes prior, allowing a broken off square to linger and melt upon his tongue. Sometimes that was most effective. "To answer your question," he said quietly at last. "No, I have not come to any conclusions. This case has been my life for practically the past seven years. Once it became an issue, it was all that we focused on. Part of me wonders if my sympathy comes from the fact that I've never thought past it. That wasn't programmed into our brains - life beyond Kira. A major flaw that will have to be fixed, obviously enough, but one that hit me like a bag o'bloody bricks just two days prior." Thoughts he had entertained but never dreamed of speaking a loud, least of all to L himself. The admittance of weakness was just... uncharacteristic. And then the gears were abruptly switched. "L... how's your arm?"

L blinked. Point for Mello, the switch had caught the detective off guard. “My arm?” Playing dumb would have suited L just then—a glance at the bandage however false the wound was beneath it, and he shrugged. “Fine I suppose,” he said. But he saw the meaning in Mello’s eyes and his pause stretched—stretched long before those long fingers of his pulled at the wrappings, loosened them, and tossed them aside. There was a scar there against that creamy white flesh, but that was it and L extended the limb to his heir so Mello could get a long look.

“How long?” the blonde muttered then. “I’ve tried doing the math, but—”

“Light’s coma,” L replied. “When it became apparent Kira was ascending to a new plane where I could not follow. I implanted it then.”

Mello’s jaw grit. Tit for tat huh? And he closed his eyes to push down all the uneven emotions that rushed him in that instant. “You want to follow him,” he said slowly, trying to keep his tone level.

“I have to follow him,” L replied. “I have only ever been the one to match him—I cannot afford the risk that Kira will transform and there will be no counter to him—saved or damned, he cannot be the one to stand alone upon the pillar at the end.”

“L—” Mello had known though, just like Dr. Gregory had known. But to hear it… “It could be suicide.”

“All life is suicide,” L replied. “It is in our nature to kill ourselves. Something is happening to Light, and I refuse to be powerless when he at last sprouts his wings and proceeds to raze the world. I simply do not have the faith in him to turn away the moment he is presented with divinity—Kira will win.”

“That’s assuming that is the final outcome,” Mello muttered.

“Yes, that’s assuming so.” L said. “If it’s not, then I simply gain a way to study what is happening to him by experimenting the same on myself.”

“Where did you get it?” The blonde continued. “The piece of the notebook? Light did the math earlier—by all calculations the notebooks are all accounted for but one.”

L twirled a lollipop through some ice cream. “No,” he corrected, “The notebooks are all accounted for.”