Redeemer

L swallowed, and fixed her in a steady gaze. Not an owl gaze—a steady, serious gaze, that flickered abysmally deep for just an instant, before it went back to being aloof and deceptively blank. And Linda understood—it was those glimpses she caught in moments like that, which made up much of the attraction in the end… wasn’t it?

Wait. Had he just said something? Linda blinked blankly at him and with the second blink came the realization that yes, indeed, he had spoken. Shit. B. Yes... she was buried to her nose in that case. "Ah..." she awarded herself some extra time by taking a sip of tea. "I don't know how much you're willing to disclose but..." she paused, chewing on her bottom lip and lifting her gaze to him. Later she would have to give herself a pat on the back for meeting that dark visage unflinchingly. "No matter how many times I read the case files and how many directions I approach it all from, it won't give me the personal insight only you can provide me with."

She was quiet a moment as if waiting for a reaction before proceeding. Silly. Of course there would be no immediate reaction. "What was he like?" Linda asked at last. "During his stay at Wammy's... what was he like? How did he interact with you? Where was the breaking point, or did you not get to see it?" Perhaps the new topic would allow her to focus and alleviate her fidgeting…well, at least until L flashed another long line of his neck, licking whipped cream and nutella from his fingers.

If L caught Linda staring at him, he didn’t make it known, “B,” he mumbled, as though judging where to begin. “What was he like? Hmmm, I didn’t take much note of him early on, I suppose that had something to do with how extreme his antics eventually became. He was brought in after A expressly to be trained as my ‘back-up.’ The failure of A was due to other circumstances, and so no misconceptions were made about B…only B was a misconception unto himself.” L scratched his head, one eye squinting more narrow than the other. “I believe I was 10 when Beyond stepped up his strategy against me,” he sounded unsure. “He started with the mimicking—one day I noticed he’d grown extremely pale, thought nothing of it, until the next day I noticed the circles under his eyes had deepened, I realized then he was using make up to look like me. It irritated me, and I made it known to him… I was actually rather out-spoken in my youth.”

Linda blinked. And he wasn’t out-spoken now? That only made her marvel at what a handful L must have been earlier on—actually…it was rather telling. Here was an adolescent with the mind of a genius ten-times over—it was obvious now as an accomplished detective L had an ego to rival all others…save Kira—but teenagers, even the dumb ones, considered themselves rulers of the world anyway. Take an overtly brilliant teenager, and add to him all the other elements of youth and puberty and my God L must have certainly been a piece of work. And here she’d only ever thought of him as reclusive and quiet, the image he’d sustained at Wammy’s after his departure. But if that was not the case—if he’d gone out of his way to call B on his antics; to perhaps challenge him, argue with him, antagonize him back—then L was certainly close to the source of why B became the way he was. Not just because Beyond Birthday was already designed as a back-up, but because the ‘original’ didn’t intend to just sit back and let it happen easily. L pushed B’s buttons…but how much and how far?

“He’d often sit opposite me and stare,” L continued. “And every movement I made, he’d reflect like a mirror—this usually happened in the library study or at meals, because I normally avoided him otherwise. Sometimes I ignored him, sometimes, I didn’t.”

“You provoked him?” Linda dared to ask, it would cement her theory.

“More often than I care to admit,” L responded.

“What did he do?” Linda paused to elaborate. “I mean, were his antics a form of flattery? Just a kid trying to get your attention?”

“I never gave him the benefit of the doubt,” L replied rather flatly. He saw Linda’s frown start to form. “Be careful how you sympathize with Beyond Birthday,” he mumbled, seeing the theories swimming in her eyes. “I did not bully him, and the seeds that made him what he was, were certainly present from the beginning. Our spats early on were rather childish, he was often placed in a separate room when he failed to stop annoying me. The disturbing nature of his behavior increased rapidly, however, and it wasn’t long before he started to leave little gifts for me—dead animals—and blame it on the cat. Our tutors were loathe to think B was killing animals in his free time, so he got away with it briefly, until I found the cat quite brutally murdered on the grounds. I confronted him, he denied it, then he pretended to be me and turned the argument around so that I was him, and it was me who killed the cat—he had the audacity to attempt such a stunt before Roger and Watari. For that I gave him a black eye which lasted for weeks. We were very much separated for quite a while afterwards.”

“Classic serial killer behavior,” Linda observed, and she tried to imagine L actually throwing a punch at B.

“Too text book, I’m afraid,” L replied. “Later on he’d do things like sneak into my bedroom and crouch at the foot of my bed in the middle of the night. He’d hide in my closet, shadow me in the halls. He’d go through my personal affects, and take little trinkets that he stored away in a disturbing little shrine he was concocting in the cellar—something we found after he left. And always these antics were accompanied by mind games that Kira himself would envy. There was an occasion B locked me in the library, and then took my place at dinner—he fooled everyone for as long as it took me to escape and expose him—he pulled a similar tactic several times on a variety of occasions. It was his specialty to trick others into thinking he was me—it was his biggest ploy. Imagine for a moment having someone pretend to be you on a daily basis—but not for fun and not as a joke, to actually pretend as realistically as possible, to be you as though they meant to take your permanent place in the world." L paused. "But still, that was all rather tame.”

The irony was L spoke as though this was all happenstance and rather boring business. It took insight to actually bring some of this to life, and Linda had to actually stop and begin to envision what it would be like to wake up in the middle of the night and see B crouching at the foot of the bed. The notion gave her chills.

“He aggravated me,” L said rather grimly, alluding yet again to his ego being the main factor here. “And I began to go out of my way to sabotage his progress. He grew extraordinarily frustrated because he believed our rivalry was on an equal playing field, but when his grades began to fail he began to feel inadequate. He started to snap in different ways, not being my back-up meant he was not much of anything, which was something he simply could not deal with.” L swirled a finger through the whipped cream.

“I was 15 when it turned violent,” he paused and reconsidered. “No, I’m lying, it wasn’t just violent—he gave the rivalry a warped sexuality. His attacks started to boarder on assaults and I had to step up my methods against him. Beyond Birthday didn’t just leave the orphanage—he fled one night after we nearly killed each other—quite literally. Actually… we tried to kill each other often.”

Linda wasn’t sure what she found the most difficult to imagine out of all L had just told her. Clearly L was a violent bastard, but that much had already been proven, even if his normal subdued composure made it a difficult thing to formulate. But for it all to go so far as to have B flee the orphanage because of a violent dispute was difficult to swallow. She did not so much sympathize with B as she partly understood where the sympathies could arise. But she knew too much. She knew what he became and what he went on to do. And then, of course, there was the matter of their ages.

The wheels of her brain were spinning as she chewed thoughtfully upon her pancake. Ages… “Wait a second…” she said abruptly. “You’ve told me all this and I did not once stop to think of how old he was at the time. Because you’ve already told us that it was a tossup between he and Light at the time, that would have made him merely 16 or 17 at the time of the LA case!” It was as if in that single realization the whole narrative had become just that much darker. Everything she had read thus far, she had done so without taking age into consideration, figuring him in his twenties by the time the atrocities were committed.

L blinked at her. “Why is that so shocking?” He asked. “Evil or capability is not allowed to exist before a certain age? Light was 17 when he began to kill hundreds of people. I was 8 when I took on—and solved—my first case. We’re not concerning ourselves here with the age of one’s body—but with the advancement of one’s mind. Beyond’s mind was quite advanced—and most definitely warped—before he even turned 10. We’re talking about Wammy’s House, here Linda. But even still—I have come across many acts of horrific violence committed by those we want to consider children. It pains me to say, I no longer hold ‘childhood’ or ‘children’ in general in an innocent regard. It is dangerous to underestimate a young mind. Take into account how many barbaric classroom shootings there are across the world, carried out by children as young as 13. Recall the 1993 case of Jamie Bulger, the three year old tortured and stoned to death in Britain by two 10 years olds and left on the train tracks to cover it up. The examples are painfully infinite. Just merely consider how utterly skeptical Interpol was when I told them Kira was a student. No one wanted to believe it. Age has no bearing on the despicable evils man can do to his fellow man. It should not be a factor when suspicions arise.”

L took another mouthful of the gooey-melty mess that had become his breakfast. “Besides,” he murmured. “I wasn’t entirely clear about B’s origins. B and Light were at the same hospital simultaneously. But while Light had only just been born, B was already 5 years old at the time. He was found beaten and abandoned in a dumpster. Neither were adopted straight away, instead they were both instituted at the same orphanage where Watari found them a year later. That’s when Light was taken by Yagami. As far as I can tell, he has absolutely no recollection of the orphanage, and I don’t see any benefit in giving him one.”

L hesitated. “I should actually stop the timeline math here for your own benefit, but since you insisted on bringing it up, I’ll confess to you a rather disturbing factoid. A and B were adopted in the same year as part of the same experiment. This was several months after I myself came to live at Wammy’s. I was 8, had solved my first case, and A and B were brought in, ages 8 and 5 respectively. A was designed to be my companion and equal, B was designed to be my back-up. Neither worked out—obviously.”

Linda could not overcome the slight wince at the latter bit. Lately her entire vision of Wammy’s had darkened considerably and yet she seemed to be the only one who had yet to connect the lines beneath such a jaded light. With that information on the table, she had to wonder if the reason the fourth generation – their own – was made up of over a dozen brilliant children was to act as a failsafe. Someone was bound to make it. Someone was bound to make it through the pressure of it all. But perhaps that’s where Watari had gone wrong in the first place – the companionship as competitive as it might have been was perhaps what had saved them all from a similar fate. Point to note.

Which, of course, only brought Linda back to the too-complex puzzle she’d been working on for the past couple of weeks, and only now was she gaining access to a previously hidden stash of pieces that were at last beginning to fit together. Near… B… and remotely, Kira. It was enough to make anyone’s head spin, but thus far she was holding it together. Perhaps it truly was her calling.

“Hm…” she murmured against the rim of her mug, leaning forward to lean on the table, mug warm between her hands as her gaze fell absently on something over L’s shoulder. But she wasn’t truly paying attention to the scenery – and thankfully not at the way L went back to the sugary concoction she had dreamed up, dissecting its layers, licking his fingers clean of sugar and cream. He had assaulted the ice cream at last, licking it delightfully off the spoon provided. Seemingly oblivious to the sight because, well, that was how he normally ate to begin with. It was no fault of his own that Linda had decided to turn her attention back toward him just as the last strawberry was dipped in the half-melted ice creamy goodness, which was promptly licked clean with gusto before being dropped into his mouth.

She felt her teeth clamp down onto the porcelain of the mug and the tea was promptly drained.

L blinked. “Something wrong?” He said.

And Linda blinked back, momentarily perplexed—her mind raced ahead, but L clarified.

“You’re chewing your cup,” he observed—and Linda turned bright pink. Well there went that composure—there really weren’t a whole lot of reasons for her to turn bright pink and chew a tea cup—and L was a detective after all.

He tilted his head a bit like a curious puppy and waited for a response.

“Nothing’s wrong,” she said a bit too quickly with a shake of her head and set the empty mug down. “Thinking. Didn’t realize I was doing it at all.” Well. At least that wasn’t a lie. And there wasn’t anything particularly... wrong. Not… really. Granted some might argue that fact.

“Right,” L said. “Anything else then? About B?” Something seemed to strike him, and he held up a long finger, digging into his pocket with his other hand to fish out his cell phone. He flipped it open and a moment later was speaking to the person on the other end. “Roger, it’s me—can you please have all the footage of B that we have on file sent to the address I am about to text you?....Hm? No, in relation to another case. ….Yes. ….Mello? ….He has Level 4 clearance now—that’s right. Thank you, Roger.”
And L hung up the phone. Linda’s eyes widened a bit.

“There’s footage of B?” She ventured.

L nodded blandly. “I almost forgot.”

No, he’d been holding back, and his comment about the dreams came back to her. It was one thing to read about B—Linda was not quite so sure she wanted to actually see him.

Unlike the last time she was affronted with video footage, Linda felt quite hesitant. “Everyone warned me about watching Light’s footage… but you’re not offering any sort of the same warning now.” She paused, slender brows furrowing beneath the fall of feathery bangs. “Somehow that makes me all the less eager to watch it.”

“You don’t have to watch it,” L replied. “It’s a resource to use—or not use—at your discretion.” His eyes glanced down at the nearly mopped-up plate of sweetness, but he was no longer looking at the sugary puddles, he was deep in thought. “To warn you about B I can only say so much that won’t have you running in fear. His mode of behaving has always been…disturbing. I say he mimicked me, and that’s true, but he took my mannerisms and made them his own—he distorted them to alarming proportions. Like something out of a horror film—as cliché as that may sound. He had habits of alternating the speed of his movements, still as a mannequin put together wrong, one moment, he’d then jerk about like a broken marionette the next. And just when you thought you could gauge his approach, he’d hunch low and rush at you—I’m more seasoned now than I was then, and there were times I wanted to jump out of my skin because of the way he came at me. He relished that. He liked hiding in the shadows, he liked scaring people. Perhaps we resembled each other naturally, but when he wore makeup to impersonate me, it made his face the most unnatural thing you’d really ever want to look at. And when he wasn’t imitating my voice, he used to draw in deep and scratchy breaths before hissing out his words.” L paused. “That probably wasn’t very encouraging.”

Linda stared.

She’d been mid-motion, setting her fork down against her plate when her too-creative mind painted an all too vivid picture of what L was describing to the point that she simply… stared. The bite of chills crept down her spine even as the warm morning sun flooded the veranda. It was only a string of morbid curiosity that made her hold onto the thought of perhaps going through and watching the footage, but the rational part of her brain wanted to end this conversation here and now. “Christ…” she whispered, at last setting the fork down.

“The night we nearly killed each other, B set my bed on fire—with me in it,” L finished. “I would venture to say he had quite a hand in helping the progression of my incurable insomnia.” He glanced up and saw the pallor in Linda’s complexion, and his tone smoothed out, less casual, more meaningful—as though he were dropping an act of some sort. “Last night I was dreaming of him,” he clarified. “Of all the evil I’ve encountered in my life—Beyond Birthday still haunts me the most. He got his wish in the end.”

Suddenly it all made sense. The tossing and turning, the seemingly stubborn reluctance to get any sort of proper rest. It wasn’t because L couldn’t sleep… but because he preferred not to.

“It never surprised me to see what he became,” L said calmly. “Though I concede the victory to Light ultimately. When I saw that Beyond had died of a heartattack, I wondered if Kira understood just how close he’d come to me—it almost felt intentional, and for awhile I was paranoid that it was. I knew barely anything of Kira then—no Death Note, not even aware of Light himself—it just felt like a message and B was replaced by Kira in my nightmares. They weren’t so different then in my mind—equally horrifying,” L scoffed slightly. “I won’t deny I was relieved when Kira turned out to be infinitely less terrifying…in some ways moreso than others.”

Linda spared a ghostly smirk. Yea, she supposed there must have been some delight in coming face to face with Kira to find that not only wasn’t he a thing of nightmares, but something altogether pleasing to behold. Most of the time. “Thank you,” she said after a short while, looking to L. “This has helped. I’ll decide about the footage once it arrives.” She flashed him a small reassuring smile – or what she hoped was a reassuring smile – and pushed herself up to pile their plates together. Little did she realize that the sketchbook she’d kept behind her, between herself and the chair, fell half-open forward onto the seat proper once she stood, carrying the dishes back inside.

* * *

It was perhaps one of the odder sights he’d seen in recent history—God knows he wasn’t prepared for it. Not at that moment, not after he’d chastised himself every step of the way for sliding out of Mello’s arms, dressing and slipping from the little house to return to the villa.

Light told himself he needed air. He knew he was lying. He told himself he needed food. He knew he was lying. Told himself he needed some time to think—maybe that wasn’t so much a lie as an excuse. But he was missing that bed, missing the steady drum of Mello’s heartbeat, the warmth of his body.

Light had woken first and had fully contemplated basking in his lover’s embrace until Mello woke as well—perhaps they’d make love again, perhaps things would be clearer…perhaps Light didn’t really want to know—he couldn’t figure out why else he left. Not like he would have stayed too long—they were missing for hours already, and Mello had work…more excuses.

Whatever the case, he wasn’t prepared to see L that way upon exiting the ring of trees into the eastern garden. The nimble detective was balanced on the crumbled stone wall like it was his own personal gymnastics horse, and he bent over backwards into a perfect back-bridge to stretch—hands and feet touching the ground simultaneously, body in a smooth, high arc, feathery black hair brushing the stone. He made it look quite effortless and Light found his head mimicking the motion, like a confuzzled puppy—his brain went from lamenting over one lover’s bed, to pondering his other lover’s oddities.

At the very least, L had perfect form. Light didn’t often wonder when or where the detective practiced all those martial arts he was apparently trained for. Abilities like those took constant maintenance, and in the years Light had known L, he’d never seen him practice—save for the occasional scuffle where L would unavoidably practice on him.

Light’s lips spread into a small smile, and he trudged up the hill to stand beneath the detective—they were essentially on eye level, since the garden wall was fairly high. Light took a moment to admire before L’s eyes opened to see a slightly smirking Kira standing there, and without missing a beat, the detective simply said: “Good morning.”

* * *

The first thing he noticed was that it was particularly bright out and the room was warmer than usual, but the bed had a distinctive cold feel to it. The second thing he noticed was that, indeed, the bed had a cold feel to it when it most definitely should not have had. Mello stretched as he woke, rolling over onto his back, stretching out with cat-like grace toward the edges of the mattress before sinking back into a curled up thing beneath the single sheet that still covered him. A glimpse toward the pillow beside him confirmed that he had not simply dreamed of the previous night’s events. There was a most definite dent upon the down pillow and should he inhale the scent upon it, he was sure to find traces of expensive cologne. But he did not, trusting his wits to award him with a bit more than ample fantasies.

Was he disappointed to find himself very much alone upon the vast bed? Perhaps a little, but not all together surprised. Perhaps it was best to pull away and gather one’s thoughts after all that had taken place between them the previous night. Either way, at least they were no longer at each other’s throats. Thank god for small favors.

Mello slid from bed, plucking his trousers off the floor where they’d been tossed. He stepped into them as he walked from the room to locate his shirt and a comb or something similar. His fingers were just not doing that great a job in taming the wild mess that had become of his hair through the duration of the night. For a moment he considered lingering just a tad while longer to enjoy the luxury of a shower, but on catching a glimpse of the large clock on the living room wall, he decided against it. Mid-morning had come and gone and they were now progressing surely toward noon.

* * *

Matt woke with a start that launched the PS3 controller off the couch and onto the floor. Mild panic set in as he lifted his head to the screens for an indication of the hour. He fumbled for his goggles that although cast everything in a yellowish-orange tint, aided him in that extra sharpness to read that in fact, it was past eleven and he best drop his ass back in that chair.

The game remained paused as he darted into the kitchen for a steaming mug of coffee, lighting up as he went along because unlike some people his brain needed those two essentials before becoming fully operational. Caffeine and nicotine were a definite must, thank you very much. It even aided in reminding him just what he’d been doing the previous night before falling asleep. He’d have to go back into that boss fight with a clear head. The fucker had just about pwned him twice as the sun was coming up, but he was not about to give up. He was also not about to go MIA first thing in the morning. A second fag was lit from the first as the redhead dropped into his seat, two mugs of coffee on the desk in front of him. Now the day could start.

It was not long until Linda crept into the study and took a seat at her usual desk, greeting him briefly and taking no offence to the slight nod that was cast her way—the only indication that she was not being completely ignored as Matt turned in his chair and rolled himself to the other side of the perpendicular stretch to type furiously into the small keyboard there present.

As if the world had not tipped off its axis just a few hours prior.

* * *

“Did you sleep well?” L asked—innocently—and Light was immediately willing to discard that as part of the detective’s usual aloof fare.

“I suppose,” he answered. And at least each knew the other was a complete liar.

L was still in the bridge, and after another moment, got out of it by essentially bringing his legs over his head, through a handstand, in one very smooth and seamlessly controlled movement, which seemed to speak of the strength he kept secreted away in that lean body of his. Light was impressed all the same, and laughed when L remained standing on the wall, suddenly slouching into his normal stance, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Show off,” Light snickered, walking alongside his lover on the ground, as L traversed the wall like a balanced cat—albeit on two legs instead of four.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” L muttered in his British lilt. “And you don’t look very well rested—in fact, you look rather pensive.”

Unconsciously Light shoved his own hands into his jeans pockets, almost mirroring his lover. “Must you really play stupid?” He mumbled in English. The practice was doing him well lately.

“What do you mean?” L replied, still walking, bare feet on stone.

Light fixed the detective in an even stare. “I’m sure you have the place bugged.”

L did little to contradict the assumption. “Actually, I didn’t have time to watch lastnight,” he confessed. “So whatever happened between you and Mello—I missed it.”

Light winced and tried to gauge whether that was the truth or not. But why would L lie if he didn’t even bother to cover up the fact that the little house was bugged?

“I’m afraid if you want to talk, Light,” L continued, “You’ll have to tell me what’s on your mind.”

Light frowned. “Maybe later,” he said after a moment, “Once I confirm I still have a mind.”

* * *

Linda was distracted. Or rather, her mind was racing a million miles a minute in a direction not altogether related to the work she should have been pouring over. On the screen to her left, several sectional views of the SPK droned on endlessly. On the right, several document files were open - some in progress of her own findings, the others old case files. But it was a notebook that had ended up in front of her and the practiced inking of a pen that unconsciously guided her hand.

"You've been staring out into space for the good part of the last twenty minutes. What's up?"

Matt had walked up behind her, and how he had managed to do so without her noticing was a feat considering that her desk faced his sectioned part of the study. Linda jumped, coming back to herself to peer directly upward from where he was looking down at her from behind tinted lenses, coffee in one hand, freshly lit cigarette in the other. She caught the mild change in his features that indicated he'd spotted the notebook she'd been doodling away at. Anyone else would have left it at that, but he took the cigarette into his mouth and reached down over her shoulder to pluck the notebook from her hand that reached up far too late to grasp it. "Really Linda, what's up?" he asked, lifting a brow as he looked at her from around the pages. It would not have been so surprising to find himself on the paper seeing as how she normally started drawing whatever she was presented with at any given time, but it was not Matt’s face sketched there from multiple angles on the lined paper - it was L's.

“Huh,” Matt muttered. “Good likeness.”

What he didn’t say was how telling Linda’s sketches could be sometimes. These weren’t just stark portraits or even doodles—these drawings had an elegant, dreamy, impressionistic quality—there was something sultry about the gradients, the lines themselves that spoke of thought or perhaps fantasy. She seemed to favor L’s quarter view, placing emphasis on the fullness of his lips, the curve of a high cheekbone, the arch of a long neck. She didn’t sketch him head-on, and seemed to avoid his eyes—shading them under heavy bangs, hinting at a glance askew, or more often than not—sketching them closed with a soft flurry of dark lashes.

To draw an insomniac mostly asleep every other angle was ironic at best. Of course it meant she was hiding from him in some way—her long glances snuck in on the sly when he wasn’t looking—that to draw L the way most other people saw him—with the unnerving, unblinking stare, would rob her suddenly romanticized view. But Linda had a tendency to romanticize everything—for all her skills, she just wasn’t a realist. She saw Kira as a vulnerable lost puppy and L now had a soft, tender side? Bloody hell.

“Always admired your skill,” Matt mumbled around the cigarette, handing the notebook back and traipsing over to his side of the room. He waited until Linda let out the breath she’d been holding, before kicking up his feet, grabbing his PS3 controller, and blankly saying: “So you have a thing for L, huh?”

Damn, the detective was rubbing off on him.

Linda deadpanned - it was better than her usually blushing reaction - but it only worked because Matt's attention was firmly planted on the wide screen and his peripheral vision was currently obstructed by the frame of his goggles. "Don't be silly," she responded in the most contained tone she could muster all the while fidgeting with the pen in her hand. She kept stealing glimpses toward the portraits, as always, surprised by the results she saw there. "I draw all of you guys."

"I know," the redhead droned back, not skipping a beat regardless of his intent on the boss fight. "But you've drawn him the most recently and besides, your style gives you away. You forget who you're talking to." He grinned, turning to look briefly at her to find that deadpan expression gone. In its stead was something more comical - akin to a deer in headlights. Matt laughed, looking back toward the screen as he deposited ashes into the ashtray.

"I don't see what the big deal is," he continued.

"That's cause there isn't anything to make a big deal out of!"

"Right," he agreed and she buried her face in her hands. There was just no talking her way around these guys. "So you do have a thing for him..."

"Yes! NO!" she practically shouted it and realizing the contradictory words that spilled from her mouth, she froze then sunk onto the desk, muttering incoherently into the stack of papers beneath her. "Fuck!"

Matt snorted. “Glutton for punishment.” And Linda glanced wearily at him. The redhead shrugged; still quite engrossed in the boss fight.

“I think of the lot of us, you set your sites on the most challenging,” he said simply. “Though I suppose you always had a bit of a hero-worship crush on him for as long as I’ve known you—that was before you got to see him up close and personal. I find it ironic he hasn’t sent you fleeing in the opposite direction—I love him to death, but he's a bit of a bastard.” He chuckled, then cursed as the boss bested him again.

Linda frowned, God that was true wasn't it?

Matt glanced her way, waiting for the screen to reload. “He is a lot older than you, you know,” he added, as though that was some helpful bit of information.

“Could you just shut up,” Linda grumbled. “I’m not about to ask him on a date or anything.”

“You made him breakfast.”

She gaped as if to ask how he knew. Matt smirked and didn’t give away the answer.

“Well,” Linda huffed. “I wasn’t just going to eat in front of him and not offer him anything.”

“Suppose with his stomach, that wouldn’t go over well,” the redhead mumbled, amused—and yet determined as the boss level booted back up. “Then again, could be just a passing fancy, yeah? He did something to make you look at him differently—my guess is you caught him asleep—and suddenly thought he was a pretty bloke, or some such business.”

Another gaping, deer-in-headlights face. Matt deadpanned. “Lin, we all trained to be detectives—‘member? I’m third in line—and half those sketches are of L sleeping.”

“Well, maybe,” she muttered grimly, her eyes grazing across the page of drawings. “I hope so, I don’t want to have to keep up this bloody front every time I’m around him so he doesn’t see.”

Matt laughed in earnest then, nearly choking on his smoke. “Christ, Lin,” he said. “He’s L—chances are he knew even before you did.”

"I could hear you down the hallway," the familiar voice chimed in from the doorway and both glanced up to see Mello leaning against the door frame, half out of sight. "What's so bloody funny?" He lifted a brow, eying for the first time Matt's intricate surveillance set up, gaze alighting on the game screen and then Linda who looked as if she didn't know what the hell to say or do at that exact moment.

"Jus' discussing Linda's latest fancy."

"Matt!"

The redhead could barely contain himself and lest he truly choke himself half to death, crushed the cigarette into the tray at his side. Mello blinked his trademark puzzled expression. "Have I missed something?"

"No." Linda said flatly, only to be contradicted not two seconds later.

"Linda fancies L."

"Well, I knew that..." the blonde stated flatly as if expecting some more interesting piece of news. The poor girl was wishing for the floor to cave in beneath her at that moment.

"Discussing the difficulties of that particular goal." Matt added helpfully and Mello snorted.

"Yea, good luck with that. Try giving him a loli. He likes those multi-colored round ones. The bigger the better." Mello advised her and ducked out of the doorway just as a fat eraser came flying at his head.

* * *

“I should drop you,” Light grumbled, blowing at the black tuft of hair that kept tickling his face.

“Why would you do a thing like that?” L garbled, his voice muffled against the back of Light’s shoulder.

“Because you’re a tad on the heavy side,” Light muttered grimly.

L had said, ‘help me down’ when he’d reached the end of the garden wall. Had Light known that in L-speak, ‘help me down’ translated into ‘give me a piggy back ride’ he would have avoided the request at all costs.

“I have no doubt you can handle me,” L mumbled, long arms slung over Light’s shoulders, long legs wrapped over Light’s hips—heaped on Light’s back as though Kira were a beast of burden.

“I don’t want to handle you,” Light retorted, “And don’t think I’m carrying you all the way back to the villa this way.”

“It’s not that far,” L countered flatly, like a lazy kindergartener.

“Bloody hell it’s far when you have a giant mound of mongoloid-panda on your back!”

“Panda?”

Note he didn’t question the mongoloid bit—but that was L being a smartarse.

“I’m dropping you in the first puddle of mud I come across,” Light grit, his voice mock-haughty.

“Please don’t do that,” his lover replied. He’d settled himself in quite comfortably, and despite his complaining, Light was holding up fairly well under the strain. “I’m wearing white.”

* * *

By the time they’d reached the villa veranda, Light was gasping for air and quite red in the face. L hopped off him, smirking; “I win,” he declared, and Light collapsed on the steps, not just to sit, but to lie down, throwing an arm over his eyes.

“Water,” he panted, and then a moment later added, “No, I win. I carried your arse all the way back here without dropping you.”

L held up a finger to dispute it, “No, you said you weren’t going to carry me all the way back, and you did—hence, I win.”

“Bullshite,” Light countered, still huffing and puffing and refusing to move. "I put up with your stupid antics when you thought I was going to break—therefore, I win."

L went to further justify his victory but Light cut him off—“Just shut up and get me a drink.”

* * *

The shower had been a blessing and Mello shook his hair from his face and as he tugged free a towel off the rack wrapping himself and simultaneously catching sight of his reflection in the partly foggy mirror. He paused, eyes narrowing at the red marks on his shoulder and faint bruising at his neck. Goddamnit! How had Light gotten away with that without him even realizing it?

Scowling, Mello marched into the bedroom, muttering this or that under his breath as he rummaged through the armoire for something to wear. He caught sight of himself again and was forced to pause, frowning as the previous night’s events came back to mind. It was easy to set it all aside while everyone else was around, but the look in those eyes, the saltiness of tears, the heartbreaking sound of those sobs in his ear were difficult to push off for very long. The fact that Light had left without waking him only indicated that he too had to come to terms with what had happened before further contact was established. Of course it would change things on a deeper level, but their public interaction would not alter so drastically. It couldn’t. Regardless of whether or not L was all too aware of what was going on between them, regardless of what Matt and Linda would come to know, appearances had to be kept for the balance to remain between them.

Mello chewed thoughtfully on his bottom lip and chastised himself, turning away from the mirror long enough to dress–until he had to apply that the proper sweep of eyeliner before making it out the door at last.

L was rummaging through the fridge – typical – as Mello glided into the kitchen to secure himself something of the edible variety before tackling the books that had been forgotten since the previous evening. A damned good thing he’d worked ahead. “Mornin’. Could you grab the milk when you find your way out of there?” He asked while reaching in the cabinet for a tall mug and tea. From the pantry he secured biscuits, which would tide him over until lunch proper came about. The water was set to boil and in the meantime, Mello plopped himself quite casually on the edge of the counter, hunched over his lap, biscuit bag between parted knees, his mood having obviously suffered a complete 180 from the previous night’s annoyance.

L poked his head out and glanced at him—up and down—before stooping back in the fridge to grab the milk. He set it on the counter beside Mello, stacking a horde of cupcakes on a tray for himself. After a moment he decided one of the cupcakes didn’t deserve to make it much farther than that, and promptly shoved the whole thing in his mouth, which made speaking rather interesting a second later:

“Wuhight yust gae me a iggy-ack ide, so—mmm” he swallowed, “Something’s obviously different between the two of you. Like I told him however, I was far too occupied last night to really care, so let me know if there’s anything you need to talk about. Otherwise—I’m busy.”

L started slurping the icing off a second cupcake. “And Matt’s busy,” he added. “Don’t distract him.”

Mello lifted a brow at him, which only hitched higher still at the latter comment. “A butterfly fluttering across the window is enough to distract him under the right circumstances,” he commented offhandedly but the curiosity was obvious in his tone. The milk was lifted and poured into his tea. He did not ask, figuring already by the setup in the study that L had involved his lover on another case. That he had not had the chance to properly watch the outcome of the previous night’s events, however, when it was more than obvious it had been L to send Light out to the smaller house, was a surprise.

“Matt is well aware of the importance involved with his current case—so I’m not necessarily concerned.” L waived it off as though it was business as usual, but he seemed rather intent just then with ducking out of the kitchen before Mello could further inquire. He was out into the hall with his tray of full of cupcakes, but stopped on a whim and slid his head back into the room—“Please give Linda back her sketch pad, she left it outside,” he said, indicating the book on the counter. “And please give Light a glass of water—he’s laying on the veranda steps.”

And that was all there was to say from the Wonderful World of L.

Mello blinked owlishly at him. The momentary confusion was followed up by a trademark tilt of his head but the detective was gone without further explanation, leaving him to wonder just what the hell had happened.

“Seems you’ve been abandoned,” he was saying a minute later, standing two steps above Light’s resting form, a glass of chilled water extended downward as indicated. “I was asked to deliver this. Looks like you need it.”

Light blinked up at him, and the look on his face said it all—he wasn’t prepared to see Mello just then, and no matter how fast the Kira in him tried to pull over a convincing façade of nonchalance—that Kira was apparently failing miserably.

He sat up, his brow furrowing as he took the glass, avoiding eye contact. In all the years Mello had known, and known of, Kira as Light Yagami—failing to make eye contact, even under the most stressful situations was something he just did not do. Something was different, something was wrong…or maybe…

“Bastard,” Light muttered, referring to L. “There are truly times I just want to hate him.” He gulped the water then to buy himself time, and it seemed he had this odd need to shrink away at that moment.

If the night before wasn’t enough to confirm Kira was deteriorating in some way, this was beginning to cinch it.

Mello spared an understanding smirk, crouching down where he stood, but did not descend any further. The mug of steaming tea was held between his hands – it smelled suspiciously of cocoa. “He was piling cupcakes and practically running out of the kitchen when I came in,” the blonde explained if only to make sure Light knew that he wasn’t being cornered. Of course there was also the possibility that L would have come back outside with the water had Mello not appeared to begin with. “Don’t know what he’s working on, but seems particularly important.” He shrugged then, taking a sip of the tea all the while his gaze swept across the lush gardens and vineyards beyond.

“Yeah, well he was doing gymnastics on the garden wall before—he’s either in a good mood, or an extremely bad one.” Light sipped the water again to fill a rather uncharacteristic awkward silence. “I’m going to bug him regardless—if he doesn’t give me something to work on, I’ll go out of my mind….not like I don’t feel that I already have.”

He left that cryptic statement rather unfinished, and stood up from the step, brushing himself off. Like L before him, he seemed intent on making a speedy exit.

The only problem here was that unless he wanted to make it known that he was downright uncomfortable and walk around to the next set of doors, Light had to climb the stairs and thus walk right by Mello in order to head back inside. The blonde was watching him, holding his crouched stance as he drank his tea in silence. “Let me know when you find it.” Mello said, then lifted a glance to him once he noted the somewhat puzzled look Light was casting him. “That brilliant mind of yours, I mean.”

Light managed to pull enough of himself together to make his exit as smooth as possible—which was rather rough compared to his past performances. “I’ll send you a memo,” he muttered. “Thanks for the water.”

“You’re welcome,” Mello murmured to himself as Light was already far out of ear shot. Mello lingered a short while longer, chewing on his bottom lip as he kept a steady gaze on the sway of trees. And suddenly it felt as if his response carried more weight than originally intended. He cursed inwardly for allowing himself to sink into his thoughts yet again and linger on those things that still did not make sense. Why had he played that song last night? It had been years since he had composed it with tears in his eyes and a lump in his throat because each note meant more than he could even comprehend at the time. He had not played it since despite its apparent hit because of the sorrow it carried. The bittersweet emotion that should never have been produced by one so young at that time.

He’d chosen to play it last night because it felt appropriate. Even without the proper backup and guiding rhythm. The melody had swept through his mindoin cue to each pluck of a string and glide of the bow as if it had been composed in hindsight. He had played it because he had been ready to give up and move forward. Because he was angry, because he felt the sting of betrayal. Because simple words had unleashed in him the emotions he had not felt in a very long time.

Mello unfolded at last with the creak of leather, wondering all the while if there was some greater meaning to it all. Some greater plot that he was not yet aware of. Perhaps… but was it not blasphemous of him to consider it? The tea cup was set in the sink once he returned inside, retrieving the sketch book on his way out. Thoughtful and devoid of the earlier playfulness with which he had greeted his peers. This time, Mello merely peeked in to drop off the sketchbook – after dutifully looking through it, of course – and make his exit just as quietly. There were more important things to do than contemplate on Kira’s missing mind.

And his own. Or perhaps it was just his rationality that had failed him.

* * *

It was not L’s intention to glance at that particular monitor at that moment. He’d come into his room, set his tray of cupcakes down, and proceeded to completely ignore them; climbing into his favorite seat, his eyes moving from screen to screen to screen—his bloody composure was goddamn immaculate this morning all things considered, which was more than could be said for Kira just then.

L squinted and leaned in closer, studying the villa surveillance monitor—how Light had rushed into the music room, swiftly closed the door, slid down to the floor and buried his head in his knees. The immediate thought was that he and Mello had another row—so L switched through the house channels to see Mello making his way to the study, seemingly unaffected. So then it was just Light falling apart? Why? What the hell was he up to now?

L switched back to the music room, the nagging voice in his head telling him to leave it alone and go back to his work. But he was pretty certain Light was more rattled than was normal, and he just couldn’t let that slide… especially not when his shoulders shook like that.

“Fuck,” L muttered. And got up again from his seat.

He was spotted passing the main study minutes later. Linda blinked because something seemed off – the detective’s usual shuffle was a bit more hurried, his hunch not so pronounced, as if he had a purpose that lay beyond what sat in the fridge at that moment. And instinctively she had to wonder if something had happened – she had seen that look before, and it usually came out when dealing with Light. Who had yet to be spotted by her all morning. In fact, she had not seen him since the previous evening when she and Matt left the dinner table. Again she thought back to the rather empty bedroom chamber upstairs. Matt had crashed on the couch, so he had had no way of knowing whether or not Mello had ever made it to bed. But Mello had come by already and nothing seemed amiss.

“You’re frowning again.”

The comment brought her to herself and Linda shook her head. “And you’re not paying attention to whatever it is you should be doing.”

The redhead lifted a brow without looking away from the game screen. “Congested traffic on the top left, streaming data bottom left, office building top middle, satellite images on the right – bottom one is currently zoomed in and flashing an indicator light pointing north – bottom middle is switching between various residential areas. Laptop’s got my email – three new messages – main laptop’s split six ways with surveillance footage,” he droned on, sounding bored around a cigarette. Fingers worked relentlessly at the controller. Linda gaped, crosschecking each screen to confirm that indeed, it was as he said. How the fuck…? She then noted the headset around his neck, seemingly forgotten but she could hear the low murmur of the transmission still coming through.

“Touche.”

“Anything interesting on your front?”

“Nothing of note.” In fact there hadn’t been a whole lot to watch. In real-time, Near was certainly not the most interesting of specimens. It was only when Linda crept into the threads of his psychology that he became in the least bit entertaining. She could not, however, help stealing a glimpse toward the hall as if it would offer her a hint as to what was going on beyond those doors.

Of course her seat was close enough to the window that she suddenly caught another glimpse of L heading out onto the veranda, down the steps, and around the house, presumably in the direction of the music room. The glass doors opened on that side, and Linda couldn’t help but crane her neck to stare. There weren’t many reasons he’d be trying to get in that way from the outside, other than the possibility someone had locked the music room doors…

“I think something is going on,” she muttered.

“Don’t get involved,” Matt replied.

Linda frowned, but was still trying to see outside.

“When it comes to L and Kira,” Matt mumbled again: “Just don’t-get-involved.”