Redeemer

L didn’t even bother trying the inside door, he already knew Light was pressed up against it. Sort of like he knew Linda had watched him from the hall and now the window—and Mello’s head had craned in his direction when he passed by the study glass. The doors to the music room were unlatched, which was good, because he didn’t exactly feel like breaking old glass, so he simply slid inside and shuffled across the polish wood floor to the crumpled form of Kira—still where he was when L first saw him on the monitor.
The detective crouched down, but Light sensed his presence long before—had heard him come in, so there was no surprise.

“I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me,” Light growled miserably.

“This will not do,” L muttered; “You’re losing the plot, Light.”

Angry amber eyes shot up at him. “Isn’t this what you’ve always wanted?! To completely incapacitate my abilities? You’re getting your goddamn wish, L.”

There was no patience in that stoic expression, no matter how true Kira’s rather astute observation was. “That may be,” L said, “But I’m certain I don’t like the current results.”

Light blinked, and L took him by the wrist, tugging him up. “You’re coming upstairs with me where I can keep my eye on you and I won’t take no for an answer.”

* * *

"Has it always been like this?" Linda asked after several minutes of silence. Matt did not so much as look up from his screen, but she knew he was paying attention. The response was delayed as he cursed at the screen before finally cheering briefly and tossing down the controller.

"Between those two?" He indicated with a nod of his head. Linda nodded, but he continued nevertheless. "No. It was easier when Kira was simply being a bloody twat 90% of the time. If you ask me, I'd say the guy's cracking." Matt was rolling his chair back to his work station before Linda had a chance to respond, tackling away at the keyboard and looping through several screens.

"Cracking? ...yea, I suppose that's a way to put it isn't it." Linda mumbled thoughtfully, glimpsing outside as if hoping for any hints as to what was going on.

"He's cooled off, and while I thought it was just for show at first, I'm convinced otherwise now."

She looked up at that, surprised. "Why's that?"

"Because it's obviously affecting the wiring upstairs,” Matt said, “And while I cannot stand his guts from here to bloody Kent, I can at least admit that the bloke isn't a fool. An utter arsehole, sure enough, but not foolish to do that to himself. That kind of instability you just can't fake."

Linda was gaping at him, meanwhile the redhead made his comments purely conversationally. As if they were discussing something as mundane as the weather. One second talking to her, the other into the headset, eyes never leaving the screens.

"It almost makes me curious to know what the fuck is going on behind the scenes," he continued moments later. "I know Mell's had a hand in this - whatever in the bleeding hell it might be. The bastard's always been a whirlpooling force of nature as far as anyone's concerned, but I admit that this is a surprise." His shoulders rolled in a shrug. He lit up a cigarette. "But then I come to my senses and I could not care less."

* * *

Mello was not sure at what point the study door opened and L walked in. It had to be several hours after lunch, but the detective did not look happy. He said nothing in greeting, instead circled around to where Mello was hunched over the laptop, closed the screen on him and stared him down.

“What is going on?” L said dourly.

Mello blinked one of his classic expressions. “Comparative analysis of eastern Asian law throughout the ages?” he offered, referring to the topic spread out across the coffee table. The one L was demanding a veritable thesis on.

L frowned. “Don’t be smart with me, Mello, I don’t have time for this. He doesn’t eat, he doesn’t speak, he just sits there on the bed and stares out the window. He hasn’t once tried to find out what case I’m on, hasn’t hacked any computers to make contact with Bella, hasn’t even cast a caring glance at daily news reports. I couldn’t take it anymore, so I slipped something in his tea. It took him two hours to drink one cup, and finally he’s out cold. I admit, six years ago this would have been a desirable outcome, but he’s just not functioning as even one iota of himself and it’s beginning to drive me mad. I have more important things to worry about—and I could use his brain to bounce off of, but he’s shutting it down. So tell me—what in bloodyfuckinghell is going on?”

Mello was silent a while, the frown creeping across his features several seconds later as he released a breath, sitting back in his seat. "Shit," he hissed under his breath and ran a hand through unruly bangs. "Unfortunately I don't have much of an answer for you. He's practically shut me out as well. Ran for it minutes after I had brought him water like you asked this morning." The blonde shook his head and stood, not quite believing what he was about to do. He crossed over to the desk where the second laptop remained dormant; it came back to life with a swipe of fingers across the touch pad. He swung it around and motioned L over. "Log yourself into your surveillance system and backtrack to last night's footage. See for yourself, 'cause I don't know what to tell you."

That said, he stepped away from the screen, taking his seat behind the desk and just waited, having no desire to watch the previous night's events. It was troubling enough to know that it was all being recorded, but that was not so bad once he stopped to think about it. That he was in the same room as L witnessed what had happened between he and Light was bad enough to cause him to fidget - albeit keeping it somewhat under control - and chew ruthlessly on chilled chocolate fresh out of the small fridge.

L climbed into the seat in his patented crouch, clicked through the security levels, and mercifully put on a headset so Mello didn’t have to listen to what he knew was already there. The detective didn’t budge the whole time the events of the previous night played out, his face blank, eyes wide, absorbing it all in, thumb pressed thoughtfully to a plump bottom lip and Mello kept flicking nervous glances in his direction, but L was like a statue. His expression belied nothing—not even a hairline reaction—and when it was over he shut the laptop and just sat there, long hands folded over his knees.

After a moment his head turned to Mello, with that owl movement that was more than slightly unnerving and Mello sat there like a deer in headlights waiting for the verdict.

“I confess, this is beyond me,” L said at last. “At least until I have some time to think about it….”

That just didn’t help in the slightest and Mello’s expression twisted, noting how utterly controlled L was in that moment…it seemed to betray that his thoughts, or even perhaps the way he felt about this situation was anything but controlled, and he was being extra cautious not to leak it out.

“Keep focused on your studies,” he said absently. “Don’t avoid him, but don’t seek him out—be courteous to him, but don’t coddle him…not until I sort out what is going on in his head….treat him delicately…unless I say otherwise. There is a clear choice here—it should be a no-brainer but it’s not. We either let Light utterly defuse and deteriorate so he can no longer pose harm to anyone….or we rescue…Kira.”

It was that whole allowing him to deteriorate bit that posed the problem because they both knew that it wasn’t right. On some level, it was not right to let it happen like this because Light was falling apart – cracking at the seams and spilling over in the worst way possible. The lack of the notebook was only one of the factors attributed to the erratic behavior, the rest a trying strain of emotions that would have made more sense were the circumstances not so difficult. Or rather, they made sense, but were not being accepted. His thoughts were clear upon his eyes and so Mello made no effort to try and spell them out seeing as L was already formulating his own ideas behind that blank façade. It truly was frustrating every so often and while Mello was generally not affected by it, just then it was hard to swallow because he knew the detective better than that. He knew there was something going on behind the veneer and the fact that he could not even spy a glimpse past it meant that L was shielding just that much harder to keep him out.

“I do not intend to act any differently than I have,” Mello told him with a last satisfying snap before wrapping the foil back over the remaining half a bar and setting it down on the desk. “But seeing as you mentioned Kira—,” he trailed off, leaning back in his seat to reach into the desk drawer to his right. A folded over piece of paper was extended between two fingers. “Everything is there as it should be carried out to make it seem as if I’m on the scene. You’ll find a picture attached. Now—,” and Mello stole the instructions just out of L’s reach, casting him a sharp look despite the owl-like appearance the detective still held. “You tell me whether or not this is going to make the situation any better or worse. If you believe it will create a problem, I will make some calls and pull some strings if the need arises so that it’s carried through in my stead without raising suspicion, but I do not want you to do it.” He let his words sink in a moment before turning the note toward L once again. “Promise me you won’t do it—this or anything else that might arise.”

“Promise,” L said much too quickly—like a troublesome child who had no intention of listening—and snatched the paper from between Mello’s fingers, popping up from the seat and shuffling out of the room.

* * *

Dinner came and Mello’s concentration had been shit prior to. He didn’t think L was that stupid to just use the notebook at random, but he couldn’t deny the anxiety that such a possibility was working him over like a thug in an alleyway. Nevertheless, when they all sat for a meal, the detective maintained that completely blank façade—still shutting everyone out as to whatever hypothesis was forming in his brain—and as almost-to-be-expected, Light was notably absent from the table.

“Not feeling well,” L said casually, looping long strings of cherry-licorice down his throat.

Linda and Dr. Gregory exchanged glances, Matt looked like he wanted to snort but contained himself, and L didn’t bat an eyelash. Mello grit his jaw, but said nothing, ultimately picking at his food, having not even removed his gloves for dinner, and at last, the good doctor felt the need to inquire.

“Is he alright?”

L stopped midway through his licorice, long red strings hanging over his lips like a scene out of Lady and the Tramp, and his eyes went to the older man. “No, I don’t think so,” he said somewhat aloof. “It’s a work in progress.”

The doctor took a breath, seeming to marvel that he even cared to ask. “L,” he muttered, cutting his steak, “Several months ago we discussed the option of drugs—it’s still on the table.”

“I’ll consider it,” L said sharply, which seemed to mean he wouldn’t give it a second thought. “Therapy is a possibility,” he mumbled a moment later. “Linda—I’m contemplating taking you off of B and putting you on Kira…hmmm—that sounded wrong,” –the girl flushed— “But you know what I mean.”

She tried to nod, and Matt looked like he wanted to intervene. His eyes shot up, crossed to Linda, staggered on Mello and winced hard. Mello said nothing and Matt frowned and looked back at his food.

“He hasn’t been the same since,” Linda paused, as though second-thinking her insight the minute L’s dark gaze cemented on her. Her voice dropped slightly, “His death,” she murmured. “I haven’t caught a glimpse of ‘Kira’ once since then…” She hesitated as the statement lay flatly on the air.

“That seems about right, doesn’t it?” L concurred a moment later.

“I would imagine he was extremely rattled after that incident, and the several incidents before.” Dr. Gregory added.

“He’s losing the plot and you all need to decide just where this priority lies in the greater scheme of things,” Matt finally said, seemingly frustrated that Mello chose to say nothing. “Honestly—is Kira killing people with the Death Note now? That’s a good thing then isn’t it?”

“Kira is,” L replied, “Light isn’t.”

“And do we want Light to kill again?” Matt countered. “He was rather prolific at it, and despite all that’s been going on in recent history, I recall you swearing to stop him from doing so once upon a time.”

There were several owl gazes that shot to the redhead, and none of them were L’s. Instead the detective wasn’t making any eye contact at all, too intent on peeling apart the next licorice. “Good point, Matt,” he said flatly.

Mello winced—being perhaps the only one there who truly heard the tightness in L’s tone. The detective however carried on as though it were an open topic for debate:

“Thoughts? The rest of you?”

Immediate silence followed, when normally it would not have been so. Most noted was Mello’s reluctance to speak up as far as this particular point was concerned. That detail was lost on no one and he felt the settling of curious and frustrated looks upon him as he kept his own eyes down. Thoughtful but refusing to share. What could he possibly add when he could barely make anything of the situation himself? Wasn’t he the one neck-deep already?

“I will attempt to help, but I will only be able to do so much if he does not work with me,” Linda spoke up at last.

“And just what is it we’re working to accomplish here?” Matt asked—funny that he had bothered to include himself in the occasion. “With all due respect L,” he inclined his head at the detective. “I thought this is what you wanted. He still has his memories but is no longer running rampage. Sure enough I can see it as well as everyone else, he’s cracking but what is Linda going to do for him? Somehow I don’t see him as the sit down on the couch and spill it all for the sake of therapeutic release.”

“I’m willing to go so far as to say that the notebook was a source of therapy—oddly misplaced but perhaps not so much.” Linda suggested, chewing on the end of her fork. “Atrocities aside, in Light’s eyes he was doing something to make an impact. Now we’re all hidden away here but while every last one of us has a purpose, he does not. Kira’s grown bored and without a means by which to give himself a purpose in life, he’s losing himself. Just as surely as he lost his sense of control.”

“You’re right.” Mello spoke up at last, causing three pairs of eyes to set on him at once. L was still intent upon his sugary dinner. “And it will eventually destroy him.”

“Destroy him or destroy Kira?”

A pale brow was furrowed at the sound in his lover’s voice. “Both,” he responded. “Although as far as he’s concerned, Kira as he knows it has already been destroyed. Bella isn’t carrying through with her initial surface plot, using the Death Note to further her own means and ransacking through the Roman underground unchallenged. Misa is the only one carrying on the legacy as best she can. I suspect her to be on the run seeing as no one has managed to either catch her or catch a glimpse of her. I wouldn’t be surprised to find out that she’s trying to find him. But that too is out of his control because with Ryuk gone, no messages can even be carried through to her.”

Mello took a sip of his wine and then as if in second thought, drained its contents entirely. “Light’s been stripped of everything he’s had—influence and freedom being top of the list. He’s lost his ability to judge and carry out the path he’s paved for himself. He’s trapped here at L’s mercy and has been forced to witness that no, he isn’t the most important thing on this earth, he experience death, and crawled back from it with the knowledge of those last moments burned into his mind.” Mello allowed himself another pause, tugging his gloves off as if he’d just only then realized he’d still been wearing them. There were several small chips on the black nail polish along his left hand. “I imagine he has yet to fully deal with all that happened back in Rome, coupled with the last several days, I can’t imagine it being healthy on anyone’s psyche. God knows I’m practically at my wit’s end every time I realize that we have not yet been here a full month.” It just felt that much longer.

“So what are you saying?” Matt interrupted from across the table.

“I’m stating the situation as I see it, nothing more.”

“I suppose you’d have a more appropriate insight.”

The comment had a particular bite to it that made Mello peel his eyes off the table cloth at last, and it wasn’t an entirely friendly look he cast his lover. It conveyed the necessary message of ‘not now’ and ‘what the fuck is your problem’ all at once. Aloud he said, “I suppose so, but I don’t believe that’s the case at hand at the present moment.”

“No,” Matt countered, “The problem at hand is while just a few months ago the answer would have been clear, that is no longer the case.”

Touché. Mello pursed his lips, offering no further comment.

“Funny that,” L said flatly, but he didn’t elaborate—he didn’t need to, his tone matched Matt’s own sarcasm as though to reiterate that yes, things were different, and yes, there were personal reasons, and yes—they were selfish reasons—but that was the way it was.

Matt held his tongue, and L continued with his licorice…

* * *

Yagami Light did not dream. He most certainly did not have nightmares, so when someone grabbed him by the collar of his shirt in a dark room he could not place, he was as terrified and confused as he should have been. L drugged me and moved me, he kept thinking—it seemed the only coherent thought available to him as the first crushing blow impacted with the side of his face and sent him to the floor. Everything spun—rollercoaster spun, and Light reached out to try and crawl away, but a swift kick caught him in the ribs—tossed him over, and kept kicking him. He could have sworn he heard bones crunching, was positive he was in the hands of the SPK, he could hear himself crying out, much like he had that terrible night, but the punishment did not stop.

He was grabbed again, hauled up off the floor and slammed into the nearest wall, where his assailant continued to beat him mercilessly until the blood drooled from his nose, and lips, and his eyes were puffing.

“Stop,” he gasped; his mind a blur. “Stop.”

He felt so utterly defenseless, and when he held up his hands, they were slapped away. A strong grip rolled his shirt collar tight, and yanked him forward, up against a sturdy frame, and Light’s eyes widened—because his own face stared back at him in that moment. That cruel countenance others used to see so often, eyes agleam and bright red.

Kira leaned in until they were nose to nose and said in a low, angry voice: “Wake the fuck up.”

* * *

Linda was tense in her seat beside Mello, having looked between her two peers during the brief dispute. She had to admit that it was a bit surprising, even if not entirely unexpected. After all, it was a shitty situation Matt found himself in, but she had yet to see him make any comments on the matter concerning the oddity of a relationship between Kira and Mello. “We can all agree that it has become more complicated than that,” she said. “But the truth of the matter is that it can hardly continue on like this. You said it yourself, Matt, he is cracking and none of us can predict the outcome when that moment comes.” It was not so difficult to recall the fits of rage Light was prone to – what’s to say it would not turn ugly when that last straw was snapped at the fringe? Linda did not want to consider it, but it was her job to make it a point to keep such nuances in mind.

“What are you suggesting?” Mello asked quietly beside her.

“I… don’t know.” Her frown was grave. “Do you think it at all possible to help him find a happy medium somewhere in between?” she returned her attention to L, making it a point to address him directly lest anyone have any further comments to make.

“I had hoped that would be the case,” the detective answered. “I had hoped to substitute ‘Kira’ with a new path he could set himself on—truth be told, he’s been far too unstable for a very long time to entrust him with cases of his own. I have been holding off, but his situation is worsening.” L was mummifying his finger in licorice. “Look at it this way,” he said. “Each one of you take the thing in life you hold most dear—the thing that gives you your purpose, and I don’t mean candy, or drawing, or gaming, or chocolate—I don’t mean people either—I mean that inner ambition that drives you to where you are. Take it—and blot it out completely, stamp it away, throw it somewhere far out of reach where you just have no more access to it—and then tell me what you’ve got left in its stead. The optimist will make an excuse—life, love, some other mundane distraction—the realist knows better…”

L’s gaze circled the room briefly, and no one could meet his gaze. “I honestly want to hear how you would feel—reduce yourself to the most unimportant, ineffective state you can bear to imagine, and tell me where your mind goes…”

* * *

Light started up in bed, cold sweat running down his face, panting and shivering until it all came back to him, and he yanked his gaze around the room. He was alone. It had been a dream after all, and he pressed his hands to his eyes to try and rub it away. Goddamnit, goddamnit, goddamnit—his own face came back to haunt him, and he tried to shake the vision—no, the feeling—the feeling that he was failing. Failing epically. He’d let himself down, he’d sacrificed so much, and now it was all burning up and he was forced to watch. Nothing wasn’t waiting for him at the end—Nothing was here now. And he even saw it in L’s face—this state he was in, he’d sunk too low, far below that line of equality with the detective he’d prided himself on. This was how B felt when he’d begun to fail himself—from equal to nothing and the detective would grow bored—had already cast him aside for a new case…was now deciding what to do with him because Kira was no longer of any use—not as equal, not as an adversary, not as anything…

Light’s gaze darted to the desk—to the file and photograph and that telling slip of lined paper…part of the notebook sitting there like a tantalizing fix. Without a word L had left the whole set up for him—sympathetic to his junkie-lover, Light could only figure this was the detective’s way of spoon feeding him some part of himself so he could maintain—like a dog on a leash allowed a treat, there was a piece of the death note, and a victim to sate the need of Kira’s dying ambition. He’d once been so in control of his own destiny—of the world’s destiny, and now—they’d filleted him alive, and this sad pathetic skin was wasting away to nothing, trapped here—coddled and stroked and over sensitized.

The nightmares had begun now…they’d continue, Light was sure of it, until he couldn’t sleep anymore, until his eyes became dark like L’s…like B’s…B needed to be something to L—not something like him. That was a mistake on everyone else’s behalf, if he wasn’t something to L, he was nothing. Kira had never worried about such an outcome—he’d planned to always be something to L, there was no way he couldn’t—two halves of a whole, two sides of a coin…that was changing though, wasn’t it?

And what was worse, was to see the realization dawn in L’s face, that this tempered, tamed Kira was not at all what he wanted—6 years and he’d been chasing the wrong end.

Light got out of bed and approached the desk, glancing at the photograph, the name, the notebook paper…it was still blank—he hadn’t done it. Hadn’t reached for the pen…didn’t feel like he deserved the right to any longer…

* * *

Both Matt and Linda seemed to heed the detective’s words and give it some thought. Mello did not bother. He knew. He’d been there—on a lesser degree, granted, but there all the same. He had stared madness in the face and laughed. Given in just enough to get by without losing himself all together. Where had it left him? Not too bad off, given his current situation, but that desperate sense of panic had been there nevertheless. “Rational thought shuts down so that you can get by without over-thinking the incredible shittyness of the situation,” he said bluntly with a roll of his shoulders. “You do what you can to regain some semblance of your former self in the meantime, feeling inadequate the entirety of the way through until life decides to smile down upon you at last. If it ever does.”

“That was different…” Matt murmured across the table, casting his lover a dark look.

Mello smiled and the redhead actually winced. He knew that smile all too well. It was not particularly fake as it was cold, bitter and incredibly jaded. “Was it?”

“Shit,” the redhead hissed and tugged his goggles off his head as if the familiar pressure was suddenly the cause of his growing headache. “Listen, I understand what you’re saying. And forgive me if I come across as the lone arsehole in this entire mess, but I’m also the only one with the least thread of personal sympathy for the guy.”

“Which only makes your judgment as bias as theirs,” Linda offered kindly.

Matt lifted a brow at her. “And where does that put you?”

Linda had the decency to chew on her lip and shift her gaze aside. She didn’t hold the same amount of sympathy for Kira as L and Mello obviously did—the former more so than the latter—but it was no secret that she had a soft spot for him.

“There is no need to pick on her for her sympathies,” L said, slightly out of character, as though he’d just gone out of his way to defend Linda. “Though I should hope at this point it would at least be apparent that if I was looking to decimate Kira and leave him alone and abandoned to rot, I could have done so already; I could have done that and worse. Obviously, that is not my intention; so all theoretical and argumentative biases aside—the simple truth is that I’m seeking to help him, and it’s getting harder by the hour.” L’s dark gaze circled his company. “We’re a room full of brilliant minds, surely we can determine how to help one man from utterly deteriorating without undoing the work that was already done…”

* * *

No, no he couldn’t do it—he couldn’t reach for the pen just like he couldn’t drag himself up to the surface to breathe, and Light pressed his temples hard, turning from the desk and heading for the door—his pace quickening by the step until he was rushing down the hallway.

Voices wafted to him from the stairs—they were talking about him, but he already knew that. No longer an equal—it kept playing through his mind, and when had he snapped this way? When had it all just fallen apart? Why??? What the fuck had happened?! He didn’t know, he only knew that by the time he hit the bottom floor he’d broken out into a run—for the glass doors to the dark veranda, passed the dining room, and whether they saw him or not, he didn’t care. He tore the door open, and was outside—and by that point he was just running, without a direction, without a sense—without anything…

* * *

The sound of him was enough to alert them that whatever drug L had fed Light earlier had worn off with a vengeance. It did not bode well. In fact, it was downright bad that Light had taken off at a run to escape the villa and its oppressing nature. To escape them. Linda turned in her seat, catching a glimpse of him through the darkened windows before he fell out of reach of the external lights.

“Shit!” Mello hissed, shooting to he feet which shoved his chair back against the floor. But, he did not take off after him. Not immediately. Pausing that extra second to look at L in silent question: To go or to stay. He knew the detective was fully capable of pursuing Light himself if he wanted, but just as Mello could not read him earlier that afternoon, he still could not make anything out on those pallid features now. Goddamnit.

* * *

God it was so dark, even though the pink of a too-late sunset was still smeared vibrantly across the sky, the land was dark, the trees even darker, and Light didn’t slow down until he was in them—enveloped by the woods—it occurred to him briefly to go to the little house and lock himself inside, find the smallest corner to curl in…it occurred to him to burn it down then… why?

He blotted all thoughts from his mind, slowed down, still not knowing which way to turn. He needed some sort of divine intervention because lost didn’t even begin to describe how he felt—physically, mentally, emotionally—he could not settle for what was being done to him, even if they didn’t mean outright harm, it would kill him in the end. He was a trophy without purpose, and maybe for awhile it would be pleasant to live a life devoid of conflict—ultimately, he was nothing, and that was not living a life at all.

There was still no where to turn. It had not escaped him all this time, that the only people in his life were his enemies—they cared for him, held him, kissed him, fucked him—but they were still his enemies weren’t they? They’d never supported him, were never loyal to him, they’d taken him from his life, destroyed his ambition and bent him to their will—and he’d folded, folded so goddamn completely that he was sobbing in their arms and professing his love and praying they’d say the same in return…and they hadn’t. He was so fucking stupid, and had he not woken from that nightmare—that would have been the second thing out of Kira’s mouth: Wake the fuck up, you’re so fucking stupid.

Help, Light thought desperately, gaze craning around in dizzy circles trying to find some direction. Help me. Someone was going to come running after him too—he knew that—be it Mello or L, fuck maybe even Matt…they’d tackle him and leash him and drag him back to the villa. Play sympathetic while drugging his tea and discussing his fate.

Almost on cue he felt the rushing sense of someone fast approaching, and before Light could bolt out of the way he was tackled to the forest ground. He landed hard and all the air went out of him, and in that split instant he expected to be incapacitated and contorted to someone else’s control—but it didn’t happen.

In fact, Light’s hand hit denim and cotton, and a body that should have been L’s but was all wrong in so many ways—even though the sky silhouetted the person on top of him—the dark hair that stuck out in haphazard angles, the white shirt that seemed to glow when everything else was sheathed so deeply in shadow—L—L…not L…not L…B?

And all confusion came spiraling downward like a two-ton weight just before a wispy voice parted the darkness above him and said: “Raito.”

Snap.

Light realized he was holding her too tightly in a grip set to throw her off, but it was the sound of her voice at that moment that brought the entire world whirling to a complete and utter…stop.

Light winced, his eyes widening. “Misa?”

…What?

“Misa found her Raito,” she purred, leaning her full weight against him, curling on top like she used to do when they lived together—slept together—and her body was too skinny, her hair too short…

“Misa, how—”

He couldn’t get the sentence out because the girl was droning on just the way she used to: “Misa Misa found her Raito, but almost didn’t recognize him because his hair is so long.” She giggled. “Ryuk wasn’t lying, you’re not dead. They lied to Misa Misa.”

Light’s mouth dropped.

“Ryuk told me how to find you,” she squeaked, her arms crushing even as skinny as they were, and Light was struggling to sit up because if he didn’t he was sure he’d probably black out from the shock, realizing he was now utterly certifiable. Either he was—or this was really happening.

He untangled himself just enough to get his hands around her face and force her to look at him. The pale lighting hit her a bit differently—and just goddamnit…

“Misa, why do you look like—”

“Ryuuzaki?” She sounded too chipper. “It’s Misa’s disguise.” Too chipper. That was typical, what wasn’t typical was the next thing out of her mouth… “You always thought of him when you were with me,” she said. “I thought this would help Raito love Misa more, especially after she kills Ryuuzaki for good this time.”

“What?”

“I came to free you, Raito,” she continued. “I have my Notebook, and the Eyes—I can kill them all right now and anyone else you need. Anything for Kira, you know that. Misa would do anything for you…and Ryuuzaki is keeping you prisoner here—he needs to die.”

And just like that, he could have the entire world again… something had to be said for his righteousness if fate had ordained to throw this in his lap now…

Light’s demeanor smoothed—God it smoothed—smoothedsmoothedsmoothed and he cupped her face, the way that made her melt like butter in his hands. “No Misa,” he said softly, “You’re not going to kill them—not now at least.”

He could tell she was scrunching her nose up at him, but she didn’t protest. “You are going to help me though…” Light said with all the charm in the world, and to press his intentions, he pulled her close and kissed her in a way he’d never kissed her before, and she went limp against him.

He had to wonder then if she was right about the disguise, but he’d rather not put in the effort to care.

* * *

L only caught the movement on the screen because he was turned slightly toward the window at that moment. The security surveillance system plastered with its many watchful windows across the widescreen monitor, picked up just the shadow of a quickly skirting figure along the darkened cottage music room.

L’s head snapped to full attention—he’d entertained the possibility that Light would go there for sanctuary—had given him a head start for that purpose before letting Mello follow after him. He never did show up at the house, so the rooms remained dark but for the moonlight—and it was in that moonlight, as L rewound the footage he swore he didn’t actually see—that he made out the very blurry, though painfully familiar silhouette of… B.

* * *

The moment the go ahead had been given with a tense nod of L's head, Mello had bolted from the dinning room, tearing through the hall and out the back veranda into dusk. Seeing as L had thought best to give Light a head start, it left Mello running blind through the lush gardens, with only his quickly adjusting eyes and the sound of Light's fleeing to guide him. He was not going to the cottage as originally predicted. In fact, there didn't seem to be any set direction which made the situation all the more pressing and pushed him to heighten the chase. Light was a wild card right now. There was no preconceived notion of what Mello wound find upon catching up with him at last; what state of mind Kira would be in.

He pushed ahead anyway; the sounds of Light tearing through the stone paths that much louder. Heart thundering against his chest, Mello cut across the vegetation, hoping to come around and cut off the chase before they drove that much further into the property. But suddenly everything stopped and Mello caught himself slowing because it felt... wrong. The murmur of voices was carried back to him but muffled by the fall of his boots and so when the blonde came back upon the path to come across the highly unlikely scene, his mind jumped off the deep end into a much darker assumption.

The gun was in his hand before he even realized he'd drawn it at all. The running stopped, but he approached with a determined stalk falling on the lithe figure from behind. Perhaps they had all been thinking of B far too much in recent days—after all, he was dead. Kira had made sure of that. And L was back at the villa. So here, this impostor posed a threat of unknown nature. "I don't make it a habit to warn more than once," Mello said coldly and the click of the gun warned of its loaded status. "Get off of him. Now." The last word came out as a growl.

Little did expected the eyes that greeted him to be the deep-set and not entirely stable eyes of Misa. Her features were drawn, thin. The dark circles beneath her gaze natural, although heightened considerably with makeup. She looked ghostly like that which made it all the more striking. And the way she looked at him was enough to drive a cold chill through Mello’s veins. "...the fuck!" Surprise was unleashed on his features but the gun did not waver. If anything, it was all the more reason to keep it properly trained upon her head.

“Mihael Keehl,” Misa purred, “I think I’ll write your name in pink—you can be the first to die so Misa can free her Raito,” she smiled, a small strange smile that looked something like L’s and yet not, though as she said it, she slowly crawled off of Light, creeping strangely in a circle around Mello.

The situation was far too bizarre, the shadows too deep, and Misa too wild for Mello to even think of taking his aim off her, but in turning to her—their eyes connecting—Mello trying to read the depth of insanity in her gaze—in turning to her, he turned his back on Kira.

Once upon a time, Mello never would have made that mistake—but things were different, Light was hurting, Light was in love with him, Light needed to be saved—which was why when the hard blow came brutally from behind, Light was the furthest thing from Mello’s mind as he hit the ground.

Misa giggled and clapped and Light dropped the heavy branch—he’d put a lot of power into that blow, more than he initially anticipated, but he needed to make sure Mello would be out—dead-out-cold—if any of this was going to work.

“Ryuuzaki can’t bug the entire woods,” he said, “Chances are good there’s no cameras here—most likely they’re nearer to paths and cottages.”

“I know,” Misa chirped in a half-whisper. “Ryuk told me the only way I could watch you was if I avoided all the cameras,” she beamed, but it was still a deformed L beaming at him and not Misa… though better, it was a believable B.

“How long have you been here?” Light muttered, taking Mello’s gun and setting it back in its holster as though he’d never drawn it. He then set about cleaning up the scene where Misa had rolled him in the leaves—as though they were never there. Light was a cop, he knew how to believably clean up a crime scene.

“Only a day, Raito,” Misa purred, “I saw you come from the little house this morning, and I saw Ryuuzaki jump on your back—the pervert.”

Light straightened, and held out his hand for Misa to take, it was best to lead her deeper away from Mello on the odd chance the blonde awoke prematurely to hear them.

“So you know where the outside cameras are, that’s good,” Light said, “—avoid them at all costs unless I tell you not to. We’re going to play a game with Ryuuzaki, Misa,” and he turned to her and pulling her close, delighting in how her eyes went wide and inky and her body just melted to his whim. This was loyalty. This was worship. This was what Kira needed. “My beautiful, perfect actress,” he purred, gathering her to him and nuzzling her nose. It had never taken much to win her over, a peck on the lips, a random ‘I love you’ and she was putty. But now he was going to pull out all the stops just to ensure she would go to the ends of the earth for him.

“Anything,” Misa whimpered brokenly. Light heard there a smidgeon of pain in her voice, and knew this was the reunion her crazy mind had dreamed of for months, he’d have to make it good for her…

“I know,” he said, stroking her face gently with the backs of his fingers, almost feeling the shudders run up and down her spine. “First, I need you to give me half the pages in the notebook, and then, you will listen to every word I say…”

* * *

B imitated L, but there were most likely very telling differences between them. Light had read the case files, but did not yet have the inside information L had undoubtedly been feeding Linda—that would have to change. For now, if Misa was to be Beyond Birthday, she only had to imitate L. A glimpse caught here and there on surveillance, would be enough to raise the little hairs on the back of the detective’s neck. It would make no sense every way L divided up the reasoning, and at the very least—he had a B imposter on the grounds, which seemed so improbable and bizarre it would most certainly unnerve him. Especially if Light did what he needed to do to sustain the illusion from his end.

He merely wanted to get under everyone’s skin, have Linda and L looking over their shoulders in dark hallways, have Mello pondering just what the hell was going on. A perfect diversion to distract everyone—coupled of course with his own downward spiral and no one would be paying attention to the bigger picture that had fallen off the map weeks ago.

The challenges that came in were mundane ones—keeping Misa alive was the biggest problem. It was not like she had shelter or a food source hiding around in the woods. Light was going to have to find a way to get her food and water without looking suspicious; with cameras everywhere, it wasn’t like he could sneak stuff very obviously. It occurred to him the best bet would be the cottage house, with the proper excuse he could store a supply there. He also needed to find the camera blind spots—knowing L, there weren’t many. So he’d need to hack the system. L normally wasn’t watching the cottage, especially not if everyone was holed up in the villa. Mello had a habit of visiting now, which meant L would at least keep one eye on it, and if Light played his cards correctly—it could still serve as a proper love shack—which would give him a reason to be there, and to keep food there…for he and Mello of course.

This would not be easy, and would involve a far too suspicious group of Alphabet Children…

Just the way Kira liked it.

* * *

Mello was taking too long, and L was not in the mood to just let what he’d seen on the surveillance tape slide. He didn’t communicate to Matt and Linda who stared at him strangely when he pulled a long-sleeve black shirt over his head, and headed out for the veranda.

“Stay here,” he said firmly. “Do not follow me.”

Linda nodded and Matt winced, and L was outside, disappearing into the shadows before they even understood they’d lost sight of him.

He found Mello collapsed on the ground, half thrown backwards into a ditch, as though he’d lost his footing and stumbled in the dark, and L clambered down quickly to revive him—checking his vitals, checking for a broken neck. It seemed he smacked his head on a rock—and the blood was already drying, so L shook him, tapping his face, pulling him back to consciousness. “Mello,” he whispered, as the blonde struggled awake. "Are you alright?"

There was no sign of Light, so it seemed they hadn’t crossed paths…or if they had… twenty different possibilities raced through L’s mind at once, and he would sort them all out later; but despite the notion Light had something to do with Mello’s current state, there was still the matter of that footage… that low crouching figure…

The moment Mello was safe, L was going to that little house to check…

* * *

The first thing he remembered through the haze in his mind was running out into the woods. The next thing he remembered was the sharp pain that had presumably knocked him out. Or it could just be the fact that his head was throbbing. Mello cursed, reaching up to touch the decisive bump and hissed in pain. When his eyes at last focused, he looked at L and promptly blinked at the absence of the typical white shirt that would make him glow in this sort of low lighting. Instead he was blending all too well into the dark background. "Yea," he muttered. "Don't ask me what the fuck just happened 'cause I'm still trying to piece that together myself." There was a lingering sense that something was wrong... that something was just simply... off. Mello looked past L's shoulder at the surroundings but there seemed nothing amiss. Nothing out of place. Shit. What the hell.

And then he remembered what had brought him here in the first place. Grimacing, Mello pushed himself up. "Did you find him?"

“No,” L muttered, “But I will. First I need to get you back to the house,” and the detective was pulling Mello’s arm over his shoulders, wrapping a firm grip around his waist. Normal people might have struggled with the added weight, but L lifted Mello straight out of the ditch, expertly balancing his dizzy self against his body. The whole world seemed to summersault.

“What do you remember?” L muttered, moving them both along a little more quickly than Mello would have liked.

“Not much,” the blonde grumbled, pressing a solid palm to his eyes. “I remember running out here—then it’s all just a blur.”

“Seems like you fell then,” L concluded, but not definitively.

“That sounds so stupid,” Mello muttered grimly.

“I know.” Gee thanks, L.

They made it to the gardens, and to the veranda where Matt and Linda were still quite plastered against the glass. Matt immediately slid into form the minute he realized Mello was hurt, smoothly taking the blond from L’s arms.

“What happened?!” Linda cried, sounding as nervous as she looked, and L went to answer but his eyes snagged on something to his left.

Light was there, just several meters away at the edge of the veranda, sitting with his knees to his chest looking absolutely tormented and quite utterly lost…

“How long has he been there?” L asked, completely distracted.

“I don’t know,” Linda replied. “We noticed him shortly after you went out, he could have been sitting there for quite awhile.”

“I can check the footage,” Matt said, and L quirked a gaze at him—but of course since Mello was hurt, and Light was off kilter, Matt was suspicious.

“Do that please,” L replied. “After you tend to Mello.”

Mello was eased down onto the steps, where he was quite glad to stay for a moment. Matt was immediately crouching down in front of him, worry evident upon his eyes. He did not miss, however, the look his lover cast in Light's direction - the confusion was bare, as if he were trying to piece something together. What the hell just happened out there? "I'm all right," the blonde muttered and immediately winced the moment Matt reached up to inspect the blow.

"Right," the redhead returned with typical deadpan and tugged him back onto his feet. "Let's get you inside and that looked at."

Linda stood back to let them pass, then held the door open to ease the way. Left outside with only L and Light, she seemed a bit awkward as to what to do, but dared a couple of steps toward the latter, inclining her head as if she wanted to ask after his condition but thought better not to. This was L's department. "I'll let you two be. Do you need me to get you anything?" she inquired at last, gaze settling on the detective.

“Not at the moment, thank you Linda,” L said, his attention on the crouched, quite figure just beyond. The girl was hesitant to move back inside, but she did anyway, lingering just long enough to see L approach Light.

“What happened to Mello?” Light muttered listlessly, scarcely changing his position as L came to stand before him.

“He fell running after you—hit his head,” L said flatly, though his tone was a bit softer than usual; there was obvious concern in it as he looked upon his lover—the once proud Kira was fading away…

“My apologies,” Light murmured, his tone way off and just leveled, like a condemned man who’d come to accept his fate. “He didn’t have to do that—there was really no where for me to go…”

“No, there isn’t is there,” L replied, hands stuffed into pockets. “But you have us all very worried.”

“Do I?” Another flat response—like he’d given up. “This is you winning.”

“I was not aware we were still at war,” L answered, “That ended at the warehouse.”

“Liar, and you know it,” Light replied. “This is your prize—to see me waste away to nothing.”

L winced, but his bangs hid the expression. “What makes you think that is my goal? If I wanted to see you suffer so abysmally, I have better ways to do it.”

“I’m supposed to believe that?” Light muttered, eyes still straight ahead, staring off into the darkness. “You’ve torn me down and shredded me, and now I am nothing.”

“You deserved it,” L replied. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to save you.”

“I’ve done with your brand of saving before,” Light grit, his eyes shifting up to meet L’s dark gaze. And that was a reference to the execution. It cut the detective rather deeply, but he didn’t show it; nevertheless, Light knew him well enough, could sense the reaction through his breathing patterns.

“That upsets you?”

“You should know it does,” L said quietly.

“You deserve it,” was Light’s rather biting response.

They were both quiet for a long moment. “Tell me what to do,” L conceded at last. “Tell me what will help…”

Light’s narrow gaze winced, and then left him, his silence long and pensive. “I wish I knew the answer,” he muttered. “But I don’t. I don’t know what the fuck is going on.”

“Dr. Gregory has suggested drugs.”

Another glare in the detective’s direction. “He would.”

“I’m beginning to wonder if he’s right.”

Light snorted. “I’d say based on your practice, you already have,” and that was in reference to the tea. “You’re no bloody martyr, L,—you’re a goddamn hypocrite and you’re stringing me along until I give out.”

L’s jaw tightened. “I’m going to let you speak to me that way because you’re an ignorant child and you always have been.”

“Look who’s talking,” Light returned bitterly. He wasn’t looking so he missed the flash of anger in L’s eyes.

“I have work to do, Light,” L said firmly a moment later. “I don’t have time for this.”

Oh and he knew that particular statement would cut Kira deep. He left it there and turned to go back inside, but Light’s voice rose to give him pause.

“Give me something to do, L, before I go mad,” he said.

The detective didn’t turn around. “What would you like?” He answered.

Light pretended to think a moment. “…B.”

The hesitation was brief and L offered no other reaction. “Fine,” he said. “You can work with Linda, the case is still under her jurisdiction, but she can use your insight—and if you don’t cooperate with her fully, I’m taking you right back off.”

Light snorted again, “So you want her to be my therapist?” He muttered astutely, proof that he still did possess his deductive reasoning.

L paused only a moment longer: “Yes,” he said. And walked back inside.