Redeemer

Most of the day passed before Mello even realized. He was too damn buried in work—make-up work for the most part, he was in essence waiting for Light to finish the BB case before he let himself delve more into it. When Kira had formulated his own hypotheses, then he and Mello and L could all discuss Beyond Birthday over tea or something. That and Mello was in dire need of the distraction of real work—the kind he’d be firmly graded on, otherwise he was going to sit there and mull over what Light had said and done—or not done—that morning. It was haunting in the back of his mind, so when Matt finally knocked on the study door to tell him dinner was ready, Mello was actually genuinely surprised.

“Light will not be joining us,” L said from the head of the table, cocking his head back to drop a strawberry down his throat.

Mello frowned, but Linda was the one to ask: “Is he alright?”

“Still under the weather,” L replied nonchalantly, “I had dinner brought up to him.”
The excuse stood, but was not entirely believable. After all, a guy who could come back from the dead in 24 hours wasn’t just liable to be ‘under the weather’…or maybe he was, regardless, Mello had the distinct sense Light just didn’t feel up to the task of…well…being himself. L’s odd glance in his direction seemed to confirm.

It was a few more moments of general silence as everyone made work of their entrees before the detective slumped in his chair like a bored king and flatly said: “Someone tell me something interesting.”

Test time. Having L back on his game was good until he got bored—then it became work.

There was a muted chorus of stumped minds—after all, what was interesting to someone like L? The answer had to be witty or insightful, though preferably both, and clever either way…that, or it had to be puzzling and gory enough to spin his brain…silence reigned supreme because every thought that came to mind ultimately seemed too mundane to fit the task.

L’s eyes were narrow and expectant but resoundingly impatient. “If I were in the lunchroom at Wammy’s and I posed that question,” he muttered, “No less than 20 students would be throwing their arms in the air immediately to answer—uninhibited. Here I’m surrounded by the best of the best and not one factoid put forth?” He could have sounded disappointed, but it was tough to tell based on his low and essentially non-descript tone.

Linda went to open her mouth presumably to venture up a suggestion, but L cut her off. “Let’s start with that then,” he said—“I want to know the hardest most personally-affecting experience regarding the orphanage that does not have to do with academics. Dig deep,” he said; “Whoever comes up with the most disturbing answer gets a strawberry.”

Of course, he could have just said that to begin with—but that was what made him L.

"You." Two voices resounded at once and only a second later, both Mello and Linda laughed. Matt coughed, stifling his own amusement that his peers had gone so far as to pinpoint L as the source of greatest distress during their time at Wammy's House. When L blinked at them, the redhead could barely contain his laughter. "They've got a point," he added sheepishly.

"Not for nothing L," Mello chimed in, grinning behind his wine glass. "But you can be a frightening bastard."

"As if those tactics ever worked with you!" Linda scoffed, all too aware that of the three of them, only Mello had had the balls to push the boundaries as far as L was concerned - the only one who had sought him out, the only one who despite the intimidating factors, went that much further than any of them ever dared. And yet, just the previous night, L's overpowering presence had worked like a charm to subdue Mello's outburst.

“Frightening?,” L replied dumbly, as if he didn’t know. Deep down it made him smile somewhere, the bloody sadist. He pretended to think on it then shook his head. “That could work I suppose, but that wasn’t the answer I was looking for. I’m well aware of my affect on the household—that math has been done already…I need to know what else. Preferably social—what sort of dynamics flew under the radar, because I’m skeptical that all you children ever did was study.”

“There’s a point to this isn’t there?” Matt muttered.

“There’s a point to everything I do,” L replied flatly. He downed another strawberry. “Okay, let’s backtrack then—what is your opinion of Wammy’s House now that you’ve left? And does it differ significantly from when you were there? Does that hinge on hindsight now that you have some world experience? Or did it evolve through experiences such as the ones I’m digging for, that you had while at Wammy’s? Here was an institution of the most gifted children Watari could find—all abandoned in one form or another, brought together to study, among others things, the workings of crime and criminal cases, and aspiring to something that could—quite frankly—be unobtainable. That’s the general overview—but each participant in that scenario is distinctly individual, which is why I’m interested right now in the dynamics rather than the politics.”

It was plainly obvious now that L was still working on the B angle. “Bare in mind,” he continued, “That while I was there it was not so much an orphanage as it was a foster home, so I did not benefit from the company of many peers…perhaps benefit is the wrong word.”


Linda blinked, appearing momentarily puzzled as to what they were being asked. Mello was quiet, minding his dinner and not looking in the very least surprised the question at last came out as it did, which, in turn, had Matt deducing immediately that something had happened last night between Mello and the detective. The thoughtful expression upon Linda's face, however, only proved what Mello had observed regarding her still too-innocent view of the orphanage. It had not fully hit her yet. She had not left as he had. She had not been involved in one of the darkest cases in history from her early teenage years. She had not seen death staring her in the face, she had not been jaded too young.

"There is a severe flaw in the system." It was Matt who spoke up first, leaning back in his chair. A cigarette appeared in his hand, but it was not lit up. He tapped it lightly against the table cloth. When Linda seemed about to intervene, he held up a hand. "Let me finish." At this point, Mello glanced up, watching his lover curiously. It was a topic they had never actually discussed between them. "The flaw is that we are - were - all working our asses off to become something and someone we are not." An obvious statement, but there was more weight to it than that.

"Take Mello for instance," he motioned across the table at his lover who blinked at him. "He is to succeed you when unfortunate events call for it. Unfortunate because, let's face it, Mello cannot be L while L himself is still around." The redhead quieted, letting that particular point sink in briefly before continuing. "You've chosen him," blue eyes fell on L. "But he is not your carbon copy. In fact, he's the furthest thing from it. His methods will be different, his handling of particular situations will be positively radical from what you are used to doing. So, even though you've made your choice and he's achieved the goal of a lifetime, is it a true success by Wammy's House standards?"

Linda was gaping. Mello had looked down but there was a faint smile upon his lips. Matt was not yet done. "What we have here is someone that was barely manageable during his time at Wammy's, who walked out halfway through the curriculum, who's got a longer unofficial record than some of the low-lives rotting away behind bars," Mello half-choked on his wine. "But," the redhead continued, containing a grin. "Out of all the straight-laced aspiring youths still at Wammy's, you've chosen him. Some would question that decision, but I understand why. And that is only because I've been here every step of the way. But therein lies the rub, which returns us to the original question."

“I’ve seen what straight-laced aspiring youths are capable of,” L deadpanned. And yeah, that comment was directed firmly at Light, they didn’t get much straighter than him back in the good ol days. “But irony that, thank you for pointing it out Matt.” L continued, twirling the next strawberry through some chocolate sauce.

“I would like to think that to some of you,” he went on, “It would have become obvious that L’s heir ultimately—would be L’s choice. Tests and competition and all the like was a manner of judging skill—but would not be, in the end, determining anything. If I decided I wanted the student with the lowest scores across the board to succeed me because he and I shared the same taste for sweets, that would be the way of it. That’s not to say I would—Mello is working hard right now to enhance his credentials because I will not accept anything less—and it’s not to say that all the hard work you suffered for was for naught, it is to say however—well, that it all rested on my personal choice no matter what. I do believe my subordinates were slightly deluded into holding the determining factors of the curriculum at Wammy’s in higher regard than they should have, and passing those sentiments on to you. My apologies for the misrepresentation—but ultimately, it was needed to drive you all to your greatest potential anyway, and help you excel wherever life would take you thereafter.” It seemed now no sweet on L’s plate was safe from being equally drowned in chocolate sauce…that was of course, before he reached for the strawberry jam.

“Mello was chosen just as equally for his darkness as for his brilliance,” the detective went on. Judging from Linda’s reaction, that was something that had not occurred to her. Mello seemed slightly smug as a result.

“How he comes to run ‘L’ as his own operation will depend on where he is in his life when the time comes,” L said, ringing a finger around the rim of the jam jar. “I don’t think he would disagree to say that the last several months have changed him in ways he probably never imagined—so while I don’t doubt his methods could be perceived as more radical than my own…the truth of it is that any of you have only ever seen a rare fraction of my methods anyway. As far as you can say for certain—the odds are that we’re more similar than we first appear—and that too, may be why I chose him.” Finger went in the jam, then disappeared between L’s plump, pale lips. “But how Mello transitions to L, is between he and I only—that’s his right and he earned it… Back to the topic—there are inherent flaws in the system, the way they were established and conceived and therefore run. That’s the politics…I want personal. I’m unraveling the textile of Wammy’s House and I want to see all the individual threads—every last fiber. Forget academics, forget L—tell me about you.”

Linda appeared all the more puzzled now because the question had just gotten even more personal and she was not even sure how to approach it. "It's all a matter of perspective and what you take away from it," Mello prompted and the redhead smoothly followed it up. "And how much you let it affect you. Academic pressures and expectations aside, it was as good a place as any orphaned kid could have asked for. At least on the surface. But again, I speak with hindsight because when you're seven and running around the playground, it's the best bloody time of your life."

At last Linda caught onto what they were trying to get at and frowned. "Have I been so blind...?"

Mello cast her a small smile. "Not blind - well, maybe a little - but you haven't had any reason to overanalyze Wammy's 'till now."

And that's exactly what she'd been doing. Taking in every word spoken, every meaning that they could have possibly been alluding to. Every facet of the conversation which seemed so odd and yet, at the core, it made sense. Too much sense. "I've known you two for fourteen years and yet I don't really know you. I didn't know your name until the other day," she looked to Matt as she said it. "And I still don't even know yours, Mell. It was drilled into our heads from the start so it didn't even make a difference but... it's strange isn't it?" She frowned, thoughtful. "I don't think I ever had any true bad experiences during my stay there but you're right... it's a matter of hindsight and perspective. Dear God. A constant competition which may have started in academics spilled over into every aspect of our lives. And while everyone for the most part got along, few true friendships developed - especially the higher up you were. How you two managed it, I don't even know."

"I've the patience of a saint and know how to put up with his shit," Matt commented offhandedly, earning him a sharp glare from across the table.

Linda grinned. "I suppose so. But it isn't just this, is it? I'm still missing something..."

"You were one of the few who ever bothered to approach Near," the redhead commented and Mello twitched. "Why did you do it?"

"He always looked lonely..."

"Precisely."

"What?"

"Linda, think about it. Due to its very nature, Wammy's could be a lonely place. Not because there was no one around, but because in order to strive and to get ahead, it was every man for his own. In our way, we've all been afflicted by it. Whether it was the academics or the social functions which may or may not have been fake, it has molded us into something that we may or may not have ended up becoming had Watari never plucked us away. That environment in itself was already training us for the real world whether or not we recognized it. 'Cause the world isn't just flowers an' rainbows, and depending on how lucky you are and what situation you find yourself in, trust is a difficult to thing to come by."

Silence prevailed for a few minutes, Linda watching her plate. "Shit," she breathed and shook her head in disbelief. "This is right down my alley and yet I missed it despite having stared it in the face all this time."

"Linda, what did you end up doing post graduation?" Mello asked her conversationally. She looked up, lifting a brow at him.

"I've been working as an intern in London's psych ward..."

"See. None of this has been staring you in the face because you've been removed from that environment. But this isn't fair..." He said, turning his attention back to L. "Because there's a purpose here and they should know it."

“Purpose?’ L said, fingers-jam-lips. “Yes, I’m aware. But I’ll determine what it is they should know.” With that rather confrontational statement all eyes shot to the detective. He blinked, but not at them, at the jam dripping from his fingers. “I’m not withholding information out of amusement, but because I want unbiased answers. But to direct the conversation closer to the topic at hand—which I have not stated—I will say that my main concern lies in an early occupant of Wammy’s whom none of you—thankfully—ever had the pleasure of knowing face to face. He remains an enigma that haunts me, and that actually presents a rather bizarre connection to recent events. To put it in summary, he was designed to be my back-up, but instead became my rival…he committed several murders in Los Angeles before I tracked him down and had him incarcerated where he was later judged by Kira—unwittingly. He and Kira and myself, happen to have many things in common—and I am down on all fours, searching a dark room, trying to find out if there is any sense to it. Wammy’s is a link, and so, I am conducting an open session to hear your views on Wammy’s to see if anything strikes me as conclusive—or if I’m only crawling around in circles where there is no determined problem and therefore no determined solution.”

He glanced at Mello. “Does that suffice?”

At about that moment there was a rather loud and intrusive “WHAT?!” echoing down from the hallway.

L’s head craned around, and in moments the jam was on the table and he was out of his chair, shuffling into the hall and craning his gaze up at the rather commanding figure looming over the balustrade. Everyone else actually followed him out.

Light was fuming, and holding the BB case file in his hands. “Impossible!” he growled.

“Which part?” L managed, finger plucking at his lips.

“You know which part!” Light grit back.

“Could be a myriad of related dilemmas,” L said.

“How about the goddamn notes you wrote to me in the bloody margin?!” Light retorted—ironically…in English. Several expressions contorted, but not L’s.

“Oh, yeah,” L said—playing dumb, which sent Light through the roof. “I take it you followed the leads?”

Light’s gaze narrowed, “Yes I followed the bloody leads—I’m not even finished reading this ridiculous case, and I still followed the bloody leads!”

“Not finished? You’re taking rather long to get through it,” L deadpanned.

“I was sleeping,” Light shot back. “And this woman’s utter stupidity irritates me to no end!”

“Good thing you killed her then.”

“SHUT UP, L.”

Mello could at least follow this diatribe with some semblance of understanding—everyone else—save L of course—were completely grasping at straws.

“So I take it you followed the leads to their end-most conclusion then?” L said. Some could argue the detective lived for baiting Kira.

“I followed them enough,” came the overtly aggravated reply, voice booming down from above.

“And?” L prodded.

“Impossible!” Light hissed, “I am NOT—”

“One of us?” the detective finished, he was smirking when he said it. And Light bristled, he bristled red. “We were actually just about to discuss the case, Light, you can come down here and join us if you’d like—”

“Fuck you, L!” Light hissed. “If you knew this all this time, you could have told me like a normal human being!”

L pretended to consider his obtuse ways, “Oh, yeah…maybe, my apologies.” He was so full of it, and Light and Mello and most likely Matt and Linda and Dr. Gregory were all completely aware—especially since L's grin turned slightly impish. “But you probably wouldn’t have believed me anyway—best you see for yourself.”

Light fumed, “And they call me insufferable.”

“My offer still stands,” L prompted, sounding so incredibly unfazed and all too firmly amused. “We haven’t had dessert yet.”

Light laughed arrogantly—pissed to high hell, but keeping some modicum of composure. “Dessert?” he retorted. “Choke on it—I still have to finish the case.” And with that he whirled back around and down the upstairs hall.

L watched after him and then chuckled. “Maybe now he’ll pull his head out of the clouds and actually focus,” he said, turning to his companions. “Let’s resume, shall we?” and he shuffled back toward the dining room—intent on dessert.

Mello was the only one to follow without a positively perplexed look on his face. The others, however, appeared dumfounded but did not make any immediate questions, although it was obvious the inquiries were formulating as they slid back toward their seats. “Good to see his English is improving. Albeit thus far only used to insult with the proper intonation.” Mello snorted. Amused. And then he added, “You scribbled notes in the margins?” In the very least, it was a creative way of breaking the news to someone, albeit a bit… harsh.

And that was when two questions were voiced at once: “What was he talking about?” Linda asked, quickly followed by Matt’s “What did you mean by ‘one of us’?” It was the latter question that grasped Mello’s attention. Yea, that little tidbit of information would indeed come as a bit of a shock, would it not? He remembered his own reaction the previous night – in fact, it was still difficult to grasp the concept when it seemed so very foreign. But, he supposed it made sense. It all made a whole lot of sense when one stopped to think about it objectively. It was not an answer he was ready to give, however.

That was L’s task and L’s alone.

L actually chuckled—that was rare—as he climbed back into his chair, feet first, into a half-sprawl, half-crouch. Dessert had been set out already, but it looked no different than L’s dinner, except for the appearance of nutella on cupcakes again—seemed a preference of the detective’s. He devoured two right off the bat, one in each hand, like an assembly line before he volleyed off the answers to the questions one by one:

“Yes, Mello, I scribbled notes in the margins. In particular, I linked him to the Yagami koseki—which he has never before seen.”

“His family registry?” Linda muttered.

“Correct,” L replied. “It details the conditions of his adoption. Tokubetu youshi engumi, one of the two types of adoption allowed in Japan, it maintains the child is a non-lineal descendent to his adoptive parents—the case with Light, as he’s just discovered now. Hence what he’s ranting over. Yagami Light, is not a Yagami. Though he was adopted practically at birth by Soichiro Yagami and his wife after their early attempts to conceive failed.”

“Why don’t I like where this is going?” Matt muttered.

“Because you won’t,” L replied, lapping the nutella off the top of a creamy white sponge cake. Truly, he was bottomless. “The individual I was mentioning before regarding the murder case and why I want to delve into Wammy House’s psychology—let’s refer to him as B—was the second choice to fill that particular slot in the orphanage. Watari found him in Japan—but was fully prepared to adopt Light instead. In fact, Watari went so far as to name Light—an L name for an L backup. Technically, Light is supposed to be where Mello is sitting right now. But, The Yagamis had fallen in love with him, and B was an older child greatly in need, and so—we have B, the serial killer and Kira, the mass murderer. Ironic, no? B could not handle the pressure to become L, that I now know Light could, seeing as how Light is the only one aside from myself to ever operate successfully with the L title. It begs the question, what would have been, had he indeed been brought to Wammy’s House as originally intended? And is yet another reason, I am interested in the orphanage dynamics. What went wrong with B and K because their roles were essentially, reversed?”

L licked his fingers. “But I’m sure Mello will say I’m not being fair. So let me elaborate on B a bit. He was designed to be my copy—he excelled in criminology, but he took the idea of being a copy to heart, and essentially became a copy of me. He wore heavy makeup to impersonate my features and he memorized my every mannerism to become my mimic. And to answer before you ask, yes, B and I lived at Wammy’s House concurrently. He is also the only one aside from Light, myself and Watari, to know—and call me—by my real name. How, is something I will cover later. B’s psychosis advanced at an alarming rate through his youth, and he vanished from the orphanage before graduating. I spent time and effort hunting for him when he at last emerged as the serial killer in the LA BB Murder Cases—the case Light is currently reviewing. B wanted to design a mystery I couldn’t solve, by disguising his own suicide as a murder—thus eliminating the trail of the killer essentially by dying. It was thwarted, and he died in prison at Kira’s hands. Ironically—Light, who was to have been in B’s place, ultimately killed his replacement…without knowing. Now…” L paused like this was a normal lecture. “Thoughts?”

There might as well have been crickets singing happily along through their silence. It was only interrupted by the creak of leather as Mello reached for one of those delicious looking cupcakes followed by his laughter when by the time he’d taken a bite there had still been no response. Both Matt and Linda cast him annoyed looks and he stifled his impulsiveness. “Sorry,” he muttered, amused. It was just so damn typical of L to withhold information only to bombard it minutes later and demand a proper conversation as brains were still being picked up off the floor. Damned typical. Or maybe he found the humor in it because he’d already gone through it the previous night and was now left off the hook and outside the spotlight.

“I certainly find no humor in this,” Matt muttered around an unlit cigarette. Somewhere from the depths of his pockets a slim DS had emerged and it sat still powered off in his right hand while the left picked at the crème brule in front of him, tucking the cigarette behind his ear so that he could indulge. “Just so that we’re on the same page,” he continued, casting L a glimpse through haphazard red bangs. “Are you going so far as questioning us whether or not the problem lay within Wammy’s and not just a matter of personal psychology? Because if that is the case than even though Light operated as L for a given amount of time and did so well enough, he had not previously been put in the position of being expected to live up to the task.” He paused.

“Hell. What I’m trying to say is, he worked with you prior to taking up the title. Contrary to B who had been brought into the orphanage with the sole intention of essentially becoming you. Granted, he took it a bit too far, but it is no less fucked up a situation especially, when I understand correctly given what you said prior, there were very few if any other children at Wammy’s at the time.” He spooned the last bit of the crème brule into his mouth and sat back, flipping open the top of the DS. Linda was blinking owlishly at him. Sometimes it was easy to forget that he too had been a runner up. “Indicating that the pressure was solely on him. Whether he had psychological problems prior to being put into that situation or not, I do not know, but if so, I can see how it would have only pushed it along.”

“And of course,” it was Linda now who jumped in on that train of thought. “You said it yourself you’ve seen what straight-laced youths are capable of.” She pointed out, earning a trademark what-the-fuck look from Mello when she was suddenly seen holding a pencil and tapping it against her temple. Where the hell had that come from? Someone save the table cloth! “We have not only Light as an example, but Near as well. And as much as I hate to compare the two, under these circumstances, it is a fitting comparison because while we’re still uncertain as to Near’s ultimate goals, the ambition is present in the both of them. Near has risen as far as he can in this situation and already we see it becoming a problem. Light, bestowed with the means by which to make a difference and leave his mark upon the world, took it upon himself to do so regardless of consequences.” And everyone saw it but her, the words that came out of her mouth next. Not until she had spoken them. “In essence, you and Light are not so different as the ultimate goal is the same. As-is, you’re right, he is fully capable of operating as L, but I wonder if the same would have been the same with a much different upbringing.” She mulled on that for a moment. “He was raised on his father’s strong morals and ideals, while at Wammy’s he would have been raised with one intent and one intent only – to become L. To live up to the high expectations laid out by your constant achievements. It might have also altered him to become something different, who’s to know? As for B…” she frowned. “There isn’t a whole lot I can say for him as I know so little. But one thing’s for sure…” she chewed on the end of the pencil, eyes narrowing. “That ambition to not only become as you are but exceed you is disturbingly similar to what we’re encountering now…”

“Semantics,” Light said suddenly from the doorway, and all eyes turned to him. He’d dressed and was now far more composed than he was a moment ago on the staircase. Seemed he knew he would be the subject of conversation and he wasn’t about to let that happen without proper representation. “The notion of what could have been is futile to even entertain at this point. And frankly, silly.” Ah, enter Kira, and Light took his seat at the other end of the table. “The simple matter is that what happened is what was meant to happen. There is no doubt in my mind, if I were in B’s place, that I would be your heir right now—” eyebrows rose at his blatant display of arrogance, but Kira smiled ruefully. “Because I am that capable—but you already know that, L. However, I would not settle for your title alone, because of my nature to excel and exceed, and you know that as well. There is a distinction between those who strive to be you,” His gaze circled the table “—working your lives away to achieve that final goal,” and then those amber eyes settled back on the detective, “and those who strive to surpass you: B, Near and myself. The former category has been tricked to think that the be all and end all of achievement, is L. You like them that way—it feeds your ego and keeps you superior. The latter category, had the independent sense to realize that being better than L was the higher challenge.”

“The latter category as you define it,” L said, “Is comprised of psychotics and borderline psychotics.”

Light laughed. “It’s also comprised of persons directly related to shinigami. You want to think that if I had been in B’s position, Kira would never have come to pass, and instead you would have a firmly capable Second L on your hands.”

“Because at this moment you’re relegating your potential success as my heir/surpasser based on your abilities as Kira,” L replied.

“And why not?” Light answered haughtily. “Who’s to say that even as your heir, Ryuk wouldn’t have dropped a notebook in my lap? Seems to be an odd coincidence among those of us in that category—But like I said, semantics…more importantly is what actually happened, so what I want to know is: how?”

L’s eyebrows rose. “How what?”

And Light looked dark, “How did you know B had the eyes?”

A pencil was dropped, clattering against a dish. “What?!” Linda gasped and Matt only stared cause she beat him to it. Mello cringed because well… all semblance of subtleties had been lost the moment Light stepped foot past that door. “That wouldn’t have been my first question…”

“Wait a second, how much of this do you even know?” Linda again, this time her eyes narrowed at Mello. She had been paying attention to how he was not partaking of the conversation, which obviously indicated that he as aware of what L had been trying to get at, but right on top of it while they were being tugged around for answers.

“I wrote the case file Light just read a few years ago,” the blonde answered simply with a mild shrug and broke off a piece of cupcake to promptly shove in his mouth. “Hardly official, but gets the point across.”

“Bloody hell,” the redhead exhaled and swept a hand through his hair, pulling off the goggles that had been perched as per usual on top of his head. “You never said anything about another notebook being involved then.”

“That’s because there wasn’t a notebook,” Mello told him pointedly. “Supposedly he was born with the eyes.”

“Impossible.”

“Yea, that’s the general consensus, yet he had them.” Attention shifted then to L, who had yet to offer input. Then again, getting a direct answer out of him when the detective was so obviously amused by playing too complicated games, was worse than puling fucking teeth.

“That’s definitely the consensus—because nowhere in that file does it say, how you know that B had the eyes,” Light repeated. “Believe me, I was irritated by a lot of what that case entailed—the names for one, each and every one of them are absolutely ridiculous even for Americans. Unbelievable—if you vouch that they are essentially the real names of those poor bastards, then I suppose that’s an argument in favor of B having the eyes, but it’s far from substantial evidence. It seems to me, it’s merely an assumption then. Unless he told you himself—which is the only way I figure it. He told you, L, and you neglected to tell Mello to put it in the case file, which makes me wonder why… you withheld it for a reason, just like you basically withheld the majority of your participation in the case for a reason. Instead you used that unforgivable idiot Misora.”

He said that with such spite it was almost comical. “I want to think you chose her for her inability to come to a proper conclusion without being led by B, so you could confirm it was him you were up against and no one else...because the woman couldn’t seem to string two coherent thoughts together, and every conclusion B made was just as ridiculous as his victim’s names. The only way any of that made sense was because he forced it to, by inherently creating it. The fact that she was able to get there in time to save him for a second fate was just miraculous.”

“You sound rather ruffled about it,” L commented.

“If I could kill her again, I would.”

“Spoken like a true arsehole,” Matt muttered under his breath, and Mello followed up almost immediately by peering up at Light, lifting a brow. “Tch, Light. It almost sounds as if you’re jealous of the poor woman.”

“Jealous?! Are you fucking me??” He laughed. “More like stunned that I was ever even remotely threatened by her!” He coughed and reeled himself back in. “Trust me, if you read the case file, you’ll be just as irritated by her every move—except the part where she kicks L down the stairs.” And he winked at his lover across the table.

Linda lifted a brow, incredulous but Mello's barely stifled laughter confirmed that Light was not exactly exaggerating. She spared a grin because, well, it was a hard thing to imagine and she had never even met the woman. It did not escape her attention, however, that L had yet to answer the question. “Did he tell you?” she asked at last, turning her gaze over to the opposite side of the table, her curiosity making her a bit more daring than normal.

“There’s really no other way is there?” L said flatly.

Light looked vindicated. “Not really,” he replied, all tenor tones and slimly guarded attitude. “When someone has the Eyes, you can’t see them. And if this was prior to your knowledge of shinigami and the Death Note, then that conclusion shouldn’t have even dawned on you. Obviously Mello recorded it after you faked your death in the Kira case, so he had the beauty of hindsight—but, what would even drive you to such a conclusion anyway? Nothing. Unless B said something to you that clicked later on down the line.”

“Very good, Light.” L muttered. “He did.”

“So did B himself know what he had?”

“Not necessarily, no,” L answered. “B had rambled on about seeing names—he knew mine, which was impossible. My name is not recorded –anywhere- so he didn’t happen upon it, but he did taunt me about letters floating over my head. I couldn’t chalk it entirely up to madness—though I wanted to—because he had my name after all. It wasn’t until the Kira case that it finally made sense and I was able to impart that information to Mello.”

Light took a moment. “Which brings me to that other pesky little detail.”

L beat him to it: “How did he get them?”

“Exactly.”

“If we are to consider the idea that he had them since birth, that narrows down the possibility to a rather disturbing answer.” Leave it to Mello to bluntly state the obvious.

“You can’t actually believe that.” Linda frowned, looking up from the sketched lines that had already formed across a napkin.

“Which part? That he was born with them or that it narrows down the conclusion to one of his parents having been a shinigami?”

Matt winced, eyes intent upon the DS in his hands. He was not fully lost in the game, still very much aware of the conversation that developed around him. If anything, it helped him think. Figure that. “I though there was a rule about that.”

“Aren’t rules meant to be broken?” Mello countered coolly. “Besides, for there to be a rule must mean that the consequences are disastrous enough to want to prevent it.”

Light’s expression was fairly priceless, he’d done the biological math, he’d also lived with Ryuk leering at him for 6 years. “The Death Note says: there are male and female gods of death but it is neither permitted nor possible for them to have sexual relations with humans. The gods of death also cannot have sex with each other.”

“Ah, but remember the 13 Day rule,” L murmured, and Light flinched. “You asked Ryuk to write it, and he did—he essentially lied in the Death Note—if he could do that with one rule, why not with another?”

“I’ve never seen Ryuk display any sexual desires of any kind…” Light muttered, but it was simple to see he was rethinking it as he said it. “Sure he liked seeing Misa in her underwear, but so did you.”

L deadpanned. “So did everyone.”

Both Matt and Mello were quiet but the thought also crossed their minds and both expressions contorted into something of common agreement, complete with slight nods. Linda sighed with a shake of her head.

“But even if it is true. What’s to say that is a physically literal rule and not one that should be obeyed based on consequences alone?”

“It said it wasn’t possible,” Light repeated.

“Determent,” L replied. “Say the result is an abomination—rather than hold out the temptation by saying you shouldn’t do something, skip the problematic approach and just state that it can’t be done. From what I can see, most shinigami don’t readily explore their options or think outside the box and wouldn’t consider testing the theory if the Death Note explicitly states so.”

“I am deeply disturbed,” Light muttered.

“You should be,” L pointed out. “You’ve had quite a lot of sex in front of Ryuk.”

The resulting glare was worth it.

There was a resounding snort from across the table as Mello practically burst out laughing. The look on Light’s face was too priceless and of course, he should be disturbed. But then the sharp gaze that Matt shot him quickly sobered Mello up because… well… those three days locked away in a Roman flat had been busy indeed.
Fuck! No sooner did the chuckling stop than Mello nearly choked on his coffee.

Light and L both slid gazes at Mello, who was gagging with a lot less dignity than usual. “We’re all in the same boat,” L said, dissecting his 6th cupcake. “Light has gotten around.”

Another glare. “Well being watched by Ryuk 24/7 significantly prepared me for being watched by you 24/7,” Light retorted. “I’ll tell you who was the bigger perv, and it wasn’t the shinigami.”

He went there.

Linda had her head in her hands, trying to ignore the fact that this conversation was heading in that direction. Matt merely sighed and returned his attention to the two small screens in front of him. As far as he was concerned this was normal. Dysfunctional to the Nth degree, but normal all the same. Well. At least by their warped standards.

“Alright-“ Mello gasped when he at last managed to regain proper usage of his lungs. “Enough!” Because he sure as hell was not going down that route—L and his 24/7 surveillance tactics… cameras everywhere… wait a minute…

L’s eyes were on Mello then, cheeks chipmunked out with cupcake, it didn’t matter—L saw the color drain from Mello’s face, and the fact that he didn’t flinch one iota just about confirmed it. Mello reached for the nearest piece of chocolate for salvation, cramming it quickly into his mouth. Goddamnit.

But neither Light nor L were about to forfeit, because like squabbling children, they just couldn’t let up when tangled in a death match pulling each other’s hair.

It was L’s turn: “I have yet to figure which is the more perverse,” he said, “Watching your endless display of kinky activities, or you indulging in said activities knowing you’re being watched.”

Linda spit out her tea on that one.

Matt handed her a napkin from across the table without so much as looking up.

Had it been anyone else engaging this… discussion, it would have been different. Mello would not have minded it so much but it was L. That… that was just not right in any way one could look at it. He finished his coffee in a gulp, savoring the sugary sweetness that had gathered at the bottom of the small cup. It came down a bit harder than originally intended but he did not even bother to apologize. It hadn’t exactly been noticed. But the sliding of the chair definitely was. He stood. “I’ve got work to do,” he grit out, trying his hardest to muster some semblance of dignity when the thought of L having viewed all that had taken place that morning was still floating about tauntingly in his mind.

“You owe me an essay!” L called after him. “The Philosophies of the Marquis De Sade and his Contemporary Libertines!”

Mello bristled, and could have sworn he heard L—or maybe Light—chuckle as he left the room. Or perhaps that was just Linda spitting out another mouthful of tea.

* * *

It was barely ten o’clock and there was the distinctive thud and thump of activity going on above somewhere. Mello heard it, because he’d felt the need to investigate at first—given all that was prone to go on around here, he never knew what to expect from one moment to the next. Who was bleeding and on their death bed, who was waving guns in other people’s faces—it was never dull. Upon figuring out the source, however, he’d almost wished it was one of the other options.

The familiar cries of Light in the throes of ecstasy were not hard to miss and Mello was pretty sure that wasn’t what he sounded like while masturbating. L was in there with him—apparently their antics at dessert was foreplay or something.

Mello glared in the general direction of their newly acquired bedroom somewhere above him, then followed it up with a scowl. Damnit. It was distracting. Just how loud did he have to be? There were things one could do to remedy that. Damnit.

“Coffee?” Matt called from the now half-open doorway, peeking out from behind the glass double door.

The blonde blinked at him as if not comprehending the word. Coffee. Oh. Suddenly it not only made sense but sounded like the most wonderful thing in existence. “Please,” he groaned, tossing a pen down onto the desk.

It seemed as if his lover had come fully prepared because not a minute later, there was a heaping, tall steaming mug of coffee set down in front of him. Mello looked up through the cracks between his fingers, having decided it was best to hold his head up. “Thanks,” he murmured, taking it appreciatively and leaning back in the high backed chair.

“How’s it going?” Matt asked, nodding at the organized chaos spread across the mahogany. He sat on the edge of the desk, peering down at the various texts and then stole a glimpse at the blinking cursor on the laptop’s screen. Thirty pages in and still not done. But something wasn’t right. The redhead lifted a brow, looking down at the texts and then the screen a second time. “He’s making you do it in French?!”

“No, but I don’t trust myself to think in two languages right now.” He looked tired, Matt noted. Then again, the last few nights must have been catching up by now and seeing as Mello had barely left the study all day, he had all rights to look exhausted.

“You look bloody knackered.”

A chuckle. “Jus’ got a few more pages to go and I’ll call it a night.” And when Mello said a few more pages, he generally meant that there were going to be a few more hours involved because a few tended to mean many by a sane person’s standards.

“Alright. I’ll be up for a while, so let me know if you need anything.” And with that, a Matt leaned across to press a kiss to his lover’s lips. It was heated, bordering on forceful, promising. Hopefully it’d even make him type faster. It ended before the blonde could capitalize any further. “Good luck,” the redhead grinned and the door clicked shut behind him shortly thereafter.

Mello set the coffee down and in the same gesture, his forehead decided to use one of the thicker texts as a pillow. “Goddamnit!” he groaned, cursing his luck.

* * *

Light was still panting and breathless when L tugged at him. “Sit up,” the detective muttered.

“Moving is a problem,” Light breathed, but L was dragging him up into a sitting position regardless, the two of them fairly knotted naked in the sheets—the only thing left on the bed. Light wasn’t sure what the rush was, until L was behind him, jar of ointment in his hands—“For your back,” he muttered.

“What?” Light managed, sitting hunched over his knees in a position his lover could be proud of.

L didn’t answer, but stroked two fingers down along one of the still-prominent welts across Light’s back. Light’s eyes widened—he’d practically pushed the entire incident out of his mind until just then. Hadn’t even occurred to him while he and L were slamming each other up against walls and battling across the floor—clothes went flying and there wasn’t much else to be concerned with.

But the soothing ointment felt good against cooling skin. They had to part the balcony doors and now the breeze was flowing in rather generously. Nevertheless Light waited but L didn’t say anything, tending to marks rather expertly.

“You saw?” Kira managed.

“Since when don’t I see?” L replied. “You think I’m fool enough to let you out of my sight?”

Light scoffed, and L’s ministrations were quickly becoming of the massage variety. He had magnificent fingers, as strong as they were capable.

“I suppose not,” Light said, closing his eyes. “I suppose I just neglected to assume this place was bugged inside and out.”

“Naturally,” L said. “But don’t misunderstand, Light,” he continued; and he’d completely disbanded with Japanese altogether, honorifics and all. Light was growing used to the new voice, the new inflections—the accent—it was of course helping his own, which L already knew, partially why he persisted. Light had the natural ability to just absorb things without trying very hard. “It wasn’t the nature of the sadomasochism involved—it was when you stopped it that I became concerned.”

“You’re not the only one,” Light muttered. He was tired, his eyes were getting heavy, and when L had finished, it was easy to curl together with him there in the bed. They fit together differently than when Light curled with Mello. There was something wild and natural about curling with Mello after sex. There was something transcendental about curling with L—there was a sense of utter belonging.

“Tell me about B,” Light said sleepily.

“Not now,” L managed, he was too aware how early it was, but Light’s weight was anchoring and he knew this was the only way he’d get some sort of restful sleep.

“Why not?”

“You’ll have nightmares.”

Light smiled. “I don’t have nightmares.”

L smiled back, “Yes you do. You just accept them.”

* * *

It was some time past midnight when the door was quietly pushed open. L, of course, was awake. Light was making good use of his life-sized plushy, wrapped against L’s body, fast asleep and very much tangled into the sheets. The laptop was dimmed and sitting precariously on the edge of the bed. Mello peeked in and held up a mass of papers, padding in to drop it on the nightstand. “I need more than three hours of sleep before I go out of my freakin’ mind,” he whispered. “Should all be there,” he nodded at the essay. “And I’m not ignoring the two pop quizzes you sent my way. Or at least, I’m only ignoring them ‘till the morning and we can pretend I never said anything and didn’t check my inbox.” He grinned sheepishly, already backing out of the room.

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” L replied and Light stirred a bit at the sound of his voice; but didn’t do much more than snuggle closer. L caught Mello’s eyes dart to him, and even in the dim lighting of the room, the shadow of the welts were evident. It was strange that Light could heal from death, and yet those damn welts… more mysteries. Joy.

L pretended not to notice Mello flinch, his gaze going back to the screen. Though it was still odd to see L any other way than usual—so him leaning against the head board, not in one of his usual positions, hair not quite so out of control, skin bare and glowing in the screenlight, well…it was just…odd. “Tomorrow, Mello,” he said, “Ask me if I have this place bugged from top to bottom, then ask me my opinion on what happened.”

Ah. Damn.