Redeemer

The bathroom door swung open only moments after Mello’s message made it through. Matt kicked the phone away, but it was too late, Light shoved passed him and snatched it up; glancing at the binary rather disgruntled. “Doesn’t matter,” he muttered, unable to read it at a glance. “Time’s up,” and he shoved the phone in his pocket, withdrawing instead a syringe. “It’s lights out for you, Matt—I’m sorry but that’s as much sentimentality as I can muster considering we’ve never been very close…”

And with that Kira grabbed Matt by the hair, shoving the needle into his neck—at about the same moment Mello at last made it out into the hallway.

Of course, Mello’s message was abysmally clear as the piercing pain registered through Matt’s senses. His eyes widened and he might have actually thought to say something—something witty, something damning, but the words never made it out as he slumped forward, just barely hearing the stampeding approach of anxious footsteps before everything spun to darkness.

The bathroom was the first place Mello charged, having caught Light’s trajectory on screen prior to his escape. He’d all but broken down the study door, stomping the knob, hurling his body into the wood—he at last tumbled out onto the hallway floor and took off at a scramble-run to stop one lover from killing the other.

It was too late. Mello practically collided into the doorframe, skidding to a halt just as Light finished administering the drug and released Matt carelessly. Oh no… no goddamnit… The sentiment must have flashed across the blonde’s features—damn that pesky habit of externalizing his emotions—but it did not matter. Mello slammed a fist into the doorframe, gritting his teeth and looked to Kira. He’d made it out and the fortifications were still in place. So what now?

“Why so desperate?” Light said, sounding unabashedly calm despite the certain possibility that Mello was there to stop him—the veritable monkey wrench in all his too-careful plans. “Haven’t I made it clear I’m not out to hurt you? Any of you? Not even him?” Light shoved a foot against Matt’s slumped form. “What I need, Mello, is to tend to unfinished business—my way. Not L’s way, not yours—but mine. There’s not a chance any of you would allow for that no matter how the end result falls on me, so this unfortunate mess was necessary—otherwise we’re fucked.”

Light chucked the syringe into the waste basket, seeming far too casual just then. “As usual, all of you jump to the worst conclusions about me, even when you should know better by now.”

“This isn’t about you, you arrogant prick,” Mello snapped, pushing past Light to crouch beside his lover, taking his pulse, checking his vitals. He pulled the goggles over Matt’s head, dropping them onto the floor and lifted one eyelid, and then the other. Pupils were mildly dilated, but Mello could not be sure what had caused it—Light’s pharmecutical concoction, or Matt’s own amphetamine cocktail of choice. Fuck. “Goddamnit!” Mello hissed, pushing himself back up with an aggressive creak of leather.

Light’s eyebrow raised. “What’s he on?” He said rather perceptively, glancing back down at the redhead as though he’d just tapped a particularly juicy secret. “That explains a lot actually,” he murmured. “And let me guess—you’ve known… but L doesn’t. Of course not, L would never go for such a thing… then again, he tolerates you being in the mob, so maybe he’s going soft.”

“Of course L doesn’t fucking know!” Mello growled, not particularly pleased that it had come out like this. “And I only know because I know what to look for. It’s been a problem in the past but he’s been clean ‘till a few days ago,” Mello spat, suddenly feeling the need to counter any assumptions Light might have made on the spot. Feeling the need to defend Matt against Kira just then.

“Hmm,” Light muttered, and he was shifting toward the door nonchalantly, “Couldn’t tell you if there’s a conflict, might’ve been helpful if you mentioned something earlier.” He paused, leaning against the doorframe, still not entirely too upset that Mello was free just then. “What about you? Are you on anything?”

“Yeah,” Mello retorted angrily. “High levels of caffeine, theobromine and henethylamine.” Leave it to him to know exactly what he was ingesting at most hours of the day. Mello nodded toward the windows. “I’m out but you’re not. Where does that leave us now?”

“Not much different from where we were before,” Light simpered. “Just because you’re out, doesn’t mean I forfeit,” and Light seemed completely sober about it, not a hint of arrogance or playfulness, just flat-out observation of fact. “I suppose it depends on what you plan to do to stop me,” he said thoughtfully.

This arrangement was far too bizarre and ever slightly anti-climatic. Mello frowned. He did not have the advantage, this much he was aware of. Unarmed and alone as he was. Misa was wandering about somewhere and Light was not about to go down without a fight. It was complicated. Very much so. And so for the first time in a long time, Mello was caught without a proper answer. “I can’t just let you go like this… we both know that.”

“Of course, principle and all,” Light countered simply. “Even though you haven’t truly stopped to examine the full situation.” His expression was disturbingly unreadable just then, L-perfected. “Nevertheless, Mello, I’m leaving.”

And with that, he turned to go back into the hallway…

Mello blinked, infamous trademark expression splattering across his features. Had… had that bastard just simply turned his back and left? Just like that… What. The. Fuck was that all about?! Mello stormed out of the bathroom. “Light, don’t fuck around with me like that, goddamnit!”

“Mello, you’re either going to do something to stop me, or you’re not,” Light replied over his shoulder, casually on his way back to the study. It was about then that Mello noticed the pile of luggage lined up neatly by the veranda door. “So far your hesitation has been rather telling. Maybe somewhere, some part of you understands that I have a calling you’re not meant to interfere with.”

Mello fisted a hand against his forehead, goddamnit, what the hell was wrong with him?! Where had this hesitation come from now? Where was the anger when he needed it the most? The determination to put an end to it regardless of the cost? Shit! Goddamnit! Fuck!

Mello raced to catch up, spinning Light at the shoulder and slamming him back against the nearest wall. “I don’t know what you’re trying to accomplish here,” he hissed, meeting those amber eyes unflinchingly. “You claim we’re fucked if you remain here and prattle on about sacrifices. Don’t be a fucking idiot, Light. You’ve only made it worse upon yourself and we both know it, regardless of whatever greater good you’ve convinced you’re about to sacrifice for!”

For all intents and purposes, it looked as if Mello was set on the argument, set on carting Kira downstairs and locking him up until the effect of the drugs passed and he could be properly dealt with, but just as Mello’s eyes betrayed the thought, his words were the complete opposite: “Hit me.”

Even Light was surprised by that, his gaze widening, intent on searching Mello’s expression deeply, seeking the truth, seeking the lie, wondering where the line lay when only hours earlier Mello was ready to beat him senseless and deliver him to a fate deserving of such betrayal. It seemed Kira was bluffing then when he so nonchalantly pretended Mello was not as committed to stopping him as he should have been. And to Light, it was as though some part of Mello had at last accepted that Kira had purpose, even if it was just in this one moment, there was a higher design at work and he must have understood, because here he was—letting him go.

Like a grateful lover, Light reached for Mello, grabbed his jaw, pulled him close into a deep and passionate kiss—it spoke of ‘thank you’ and ‘goodbye’ and ‘I love you’ all at once, and Mello found himself returning it, wrapping his arms around the svelte golden body as though Kira hadn’t just administered a potentially harmful drug to Matt, or delighted in scaring Linda half to death, or tormented and willfully abused L—as if everything was as it needed to be between them—that bond—and Mello should have been angry with himself. There were so many things he needed to say, things he should have demanded to hear—like what was Light’s plan? What was this impending sacrifice and sense of doom he was tossing around? Was it real? Or had he finely crafted this misperception to justify his escape? Mello didn’t know—all he knew was that he did have Kira pinned to the wall, could have overpowered him then, taken him downstairs, locked him up, served him unto proper justice… but instead, instead here was Mello, tossing his faith into the pot, chancing his luck that this time things were different. This time, Light had willingly given up all the love and sympathy he’d fought to earn from his esteemed peers because there was indeed a greater good, one that would affect them all—and that—was the reason why Mello was taking no aggressive action now.

That was why his lips remained tangled with Kira’s and why he kept pushing that desperate sense of worry from his mind….worry not for them… but for Light—out there to tackle that encroaching sense of doom on his own.

It seemed impossible that he was doing this. Impossible in the face of all that had happened and yet the decision had been made, regardless of how it stood uncertainly on shaky ground. "Go," he whispered several moments later against Light’s lips, forehead resting against his lover's as fingers tightened and tangled into silky rich honey colored hair. "Before I lose my fuckin' nerve and beat the ever-living shit out of you..."

The comment itself said enough - Mello was teetering on the edge of what was expected of him, of what he should and wanted to believe. It was a leap of faith and one he had yet to truly dwell on because once he did, all bets would be off and Kira would find himself incarcerated down below. But this way, should he simply let him go, Mello could also ensure that the others would be all right and monitor their condition until the drugs wore off. Truth be told, that was only a small portion of his reasoning. And so his tone was pained when he said it again, "Go..."

Light risked one more kiss, short and rushed but satisfyingly deep and intoxicating, and Mello found himself fleetingly wondering if they would ever meet again this way. Suppose that was another thing for hope, because part of him did not want to entertain the prospect of never feeling that lovely form beside him again.

He pressed his eyes closed the moment Light moved from the wall passed him, as though that were the only way he could follow through with this insanity—to literally be blind to the fact he was releasing Kira back unto the world. He felt Light’s absence rather poignantly.

“Can I stick him now?” It was Misa’s rather odd voice, and at that Mello twisted a conflicted gaze to the side where the girl was just crouching beyond the study door, her wide eyes stuck on him—indeed very much like a deranged version of L. She held a syringe in her hands.

“No,” Light said rather sternly, disappearing back into the study. “Leave him alone.”

Mello had to snort at that—Light had a backup plan of course should Mello have tried to get in his way. But not giving him the drug—well, that spoke of more than just faith on Mello’s part, it spoke on Light’s as well. Who was to say that the blonde would not immediately enact a ploy to at least keep tabs on Kira as he made his escape? Light was risking a lot in that moment, and Mello firmly understood.

It was only minutes thereafter that lockdown was lifted. Mello scoffed—bastard was too good. Matt would be furious.

The refreshing fill of sunlight poured in through unveiling windows as the metal slats rose—the rays of long-absent illumination almost sacrosanct, lifting through the villa halls in columns of ethereal light. Mello’s gaze focused across the strange effect, made all the moreso when Kira moved back through the hallway—laptop bag strung over his shoulder, Misa trailing behind him. He was ringed in an odd, unearthly halo for just a moment as he passed the hallway windows, and Mello had convinced himself he was only trying to justify his current actions by making a vague appeal to the nature of Kira’s own divinity.

Light seemed to want to say something to him—seemed to want to say a lot to him, but he didn’t. Their eyes met briefly as he passed, but Kira kept moving and Mello didn’t watch as he and Misa gathered their things—and left.

Gone.

Kira was gone and Mello's legs did not seem to want to support him anymore. He slid down the wall onto the floor where he'd stood during Light’s final preparations, sentinel beside the door without moving an inch to stop him. Oh God, what have I done? There was still time, still time to run out there and set things right but... he didn't. Mello was unable to move, unable to do much more than stay fixed to the spot and wonder what would become of them all now.

The silence was unnerving, pressing hard and low upon him because just then Mello was the only one free to move around, the only one conscious to make the decisions and call the shots and because of him, Kira was gone... Mello could still taste that kiss upon his lips and with it the bitterness of what he had just done—what they had both just done. Mello should have stopped him. Light should have ensured that he was not capable to do so. The ramifications of either decision were too deep, too damned complicated to make sense of right now.

Mello did not remember rising off the floor, but all of a sudden the villa doors had been unlocked, freeing all staff from their temporary prisons. All of a sudden Mello was kneeling beside his lover in the sunlit bathroom, releasing the handcuffs and hoisting Matt off the floor. It was not until the redhead was set comfortably to bed that Mello pulled himself away to first check on L and undo his bonds, then free Linda and carry her up the stairs to her room. He checked then on Dr. Gregory, who was nursing a bad headache and a bloody nose locked away in one of the studies and once the staff was all reassured that yes, everything would return to normal and yes, everyone was all right including himself despite his rather battered and disheveled appearance, Mello returned to the study where he stood, staring blankly at the main Light had used to put his plan into action. The knot was still painful in his throat, and his gut was tight. He slipped into the chair, glimpsed up at the monitors where everyone's sleeping forms stared back at him and with a deep breath, buried his face in his hands.

After six years of work, after all the sacrifices... Kira was gone and Mello had practically held the door open for him.

* * *

Light drove, hastily crossing the island of Sicily en route to a private airport where “L” had chartered 5 jets—all to 5 different locations—all of them first stopping on the mainland before deporting for Tokyo, London, New York, Paris and Los Angeles respectively. Each jet was presumably carrying “L” himself, as all pilots and crew had been told, hence none of them knew which jet had the true detective. And there was a passenger for each jet—Death Note prescribed of course—Light had scoured the island for reports of foreigners, preferably ones who’d gotten in trouble, to meet him at the airport and board one of each plane, including his own.

Sitting opposite a man in his early twenties—some American mut of mixed origins—Light had the odd experience of truly being opposite one of his own victims for a prolonged amount of time. He’d seen the Death Note at work in person before—but never for this long, and he stayed quietly in observation of the passenger, who didn’t truly seem to know what was going on or where he was—just a sentinel, neither here nor there and not truly conscious of anything. It was the oddest thing, because Light knew, as did Misa, that this man would die somewhere alone and quiet once his flight reached its end destination—and that was somehow… divine.

Misa, as instructed, was now playing the role of L to a T. Light had debated following through with that particular plan, but he couldn’t risk one of L’s staff possibly recognizing that of all the supposed “L’s” none of them were the real one. If anyone had ever seen L before this, they would know… hence Misa sat scrunched in her seat, sucking on candy, and eyeing their victim as though he were some strange creeper she wanted no part of.

Interestingly enough, she’d made no mention of the lip-lock with Mello, which Light knew she’d witnessed. He knew also, that he’d never kissed the girl the way he’d kissed his other lovers, and if somewhere her little brain was aware of that, she was burying it, or ignoring it, or sitting on it for later—which meant he’d have to remedy the situation once they were situated.

Mello did linger in his mind though, in fact, he was a definitive weight—and there was still this extraordinary bittersweet pull that Light was continuously shoving off, that he’d just left… home. Never before had he felt such a fierce conflict in the duality of his nature—and that too he tried to shove off; but he’d realize that it was only going to get worse the more time progressed in the space of his departure…and therefore, the only way to get through this moment, and what was to come, was to give himself over to Kira—completely.

* * *

Unsurprisingly, it was L who shifted first. And maybe it was because he knew that Mello had already been sitting there on the far side of the room. Waiting. Chin propped up on his balled hand, eyes intent on the window, seemingly appreciating the sights of the grounds extended beyond the villa. His features were unreadable, however; the look in his eyes too thoughtful. Darkened. The weight of what happened resting mercilessly upon his shoulders—the truth obvious before he even said anything.

Which he did not. Not as the detective came into consciousness and Noriko tumbled onto the pillow with a mew of protest. Not as those abysmal black eyes fell on Mello in mute question. The fact that Mello had already been there waiting for him was indication enough that he had not suffered the same drug-induced fate as his companions.

What Mello had not predicted, however, was the hardening of that lump in his throat upon L's awakening. Nor the indescribable pull of tears at those intent green eyes—too bright. Too controlled. His fist tightened, blunt nails carving half-moons into his palm. Goddamn him...

“He’s gone then,” L said pensively.

Mello nodded, not daring to look the detective in the face, though certain that L had immediately pieced together a reasonably correct scenario.

“How long?” was the next question—fairly soft and detached.

“Nearly four hours,” Mello managed, not trusting his voice to get much louder.

“Four hours,” L repeated, his dark gaze falling to the blanket and how Noriko kept rolling onto her back for him. “He’s off the island by now,” and the detective tossed over the blankets, getting out of bed; “I have to see how much of our system he sabotaged—he’s most likely set up a rather elaborate decoy of sorts to cover his tracks… in all areas. Kira likes misdirection—ever since the beginning when he sent me those meaningless messages, all the while plotting how to get rid of the FBI…” L stopped with his back to Mello before leaving the room, head quirking slightly.

“How are the others?”

“Still out,” Mello managed.

L hesitated just a little longer. “You talk to me when you want to,” he said, “If you want to. But this is as much my fault, if not more.”

Mello knew that, of course. They were both at fault for different reasons. It was an agglomeration of errors and misconceptions and assumptions and distractions that had led them all to this very spot right here and now. But it did not make it easier. Mello nodded, allowing his eyes to fall shut a short while. He had to wonder if he’d come to the detective’s bedside because subconsciously he knew that L was the only one who would understand the situation—the full situation—no questions asked. It was an easy way out, but it did not save Mello from what would follow when the rest of the team came to.

“One more thing…” he said quietly before the detective had a chance to shuffle away. Mello sensed those owlish eyes on him but did not look up. “I’m telling you this now because I don’t know what sort of complications might arise… Matt’s been on amphetamines—Speed if I’m not mistaken—as of the last several days. I do not believe he took any this morning before this happened, which means that by now he’d be on a downer. Light administered the serum before I could get to them…” there was no need to elaborate further. What need was there to arbor guesses and jump to conclusions? Mello wasn’t the one with the shiny medical degree.

L’s pause upon that little confession, however, was rather disconcerting. He dead-out stopped and turned around. “Could you repeat that please?” He said, and his tone was borderline angry. Funny, Kira’s escape didn’t seem to push his buttons as much as learning that Matt was a speed-freak did. But that was probably because what Kira had done was expected—if not so much anticipated—and Matt…well, that was a different matter.

Mello closed his eyes. “It’s been an on-and-off again problem for years,” he said, “Since he left Wammy’s.”

Dead silence for too long a moment. “And you’re just telling me this now?” L was not happy. L was not happy at all. But before Mello could answer, the detective quickly jumped ahead.

“Judging from the rather morose bout of hallucinations I was having in my sleep—altogether different from the normal fare—I’m assuming Light used Ketamine as his anesthetic of choice. Ketamine blocks nerve paths without depressing respiratory and circulatory functions and shares a lot in common with amphetamines—particularly speed and cocaine—only it is slightly on the more powerful side. If Matt was on speed, it could be the equivalent of an overdose and he would have gone into cardiac arrest. However if he hasn’t, then chances are he’s abiding the effects a lot better than the rest of us. I will run a check to be sure—is Dr. Gregory awake?”

Again the detective didn’t wait for a response, turning his back to the blonde, a deliberate move to hide the actual anger in his eyes. “When everyone is up we’ll discuss the situation at hand. Before that, I need to see if Kira left me any breadcrumbs,” he took two steps into the hallway, and his voice carried over his shoulder. “Mello,” he said poignantly. “I will not tolerate it—do you understand me? I’ve entrusted Matt with a case that essentially amounts to my life’s work—if he continues to abuse, he will no longer be in my employ.”

Mello winced not because the latter was any surprise, but because he had been expecting it from the moment he’d decided to tell the detective in the first place. “I’ll take care of it…” he murmured. He’d done so in the past when it was an even more severe an issue, there was no doubting that he could now, but it was troubling all the same. Perhaps now with Light out of the picture, some things would change. God, what sort of mess had he tangled himself in?

* * *

It was a couple of hours before Linda was awake. She woke calmly enough, finding herself tucked into bed and safely beneath the covers. Late afternoon sunshine poured in through the windows and once her mind processed that particular fact, the memory floodgates opened and everything else poured in. While Mello had not been there waiting for her to wake, he came through the door short minutes later and Linda’s eyes rose to him, wide and fearful, the unsaid question obvious upon her features. “It’s all right,” Mello told her, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “Everyone’s all right.”

“I saw…” she began but he quickly shook his head and grabbed her wrist, wanting to get it through her as effectively as possible.

“I know what you saw, but it was no more than the initial shot to knock him out. You’ve been down for little over six hours because of it as well.” And before she mentioned it he added. “And as for B, a damned good impersonation, but it was Misa all along. Come on,” Mello tugged gently at her, pushing himself up and pulling back the covers. “You need to eat something and get some fresh air. We’ll discuss everything once everyone’s back on their feet.”

She was quiet, but seemed to have absorbed the information. Mello accompanied her out into the hall and as far as the steps, watching her descend before turning into his own bedroom where Matt was still quite under. Mello clambered up onto the bed, sitting against the low footboard. The laptop he’d been keeping an eye on to know that Linda was at last awake, was abandoned on the nightstand. No need for it now. He tugged one knee to his chest, using it to rest his head while his gaze flickered off toward the windows. Thoughtful. Grave. They would need to start picking up the pieces.

Hit the ground running. Himself included. In fact, he would be expected to be on the mark, not wallowing in the circumstances that led them to this general fuck up and the what-ifs that followed. But the truth of the matter was that there were far too many conflicting factors and emotions. Worse yet was that the latter should not have been involved in the first place. But then again, that alone was what had brought about the changes in Light—so were they genuine? No, Mello shouldn’t have had to question that, he knew the fucking truth no matter how difficult it was to accept.

But that was just it, wasn’t it? The reason both he and L were at fault above all. Give an inch and the bastard took a whole entire yard and left them dangling. This was a case of betrayal despite Light’s impending doom-like attitude toward the mission he had set himself up to achieve. What was it? What could he possibly have been planning all this time? Was it betrayal or something else? Mello sighed, grit, itched for chocolate. His mind had been going in endless loops ever since his last glimpse of Light out the veranda door. Conclusions, however, were a rare thing to come by.

His gaze shifted up the length of the bed again, settling on his lover’s dormant form. Willing him to wake up, willing this whole mess to go away. Just like that. How delightfully foolish a notion.

* * *

L had been in the study for the better part of his present consciousness. He did a grand sweep of the system and saw just how much Light had accessed and covered up and accessed again—just to cause confusion. He’d done a whole lot just to cause confusion, and yet L knew that eventually, Kira had set it up knowing he’d be followed. He had a head start just then, and for a little while longer, L was going to let him keep it.

The detective stared listlessly at the screen, he knew the listlessness was a combination of everything—including what Mello had revealed about Matt… how had he missed it? L pressed a hand to his face. It was a similar feeling to when he’d learned Mello was part of the mob—had gone underground into that life; that Wammy’s most promising was always it’s most disturbed.

L got up from the leather couch and shuffled across the hall. He didn’t even realize he was doing it until he was shedding clothes in the bathroom and climbing into a freshly drawn bath overflowing with bubbles. He just sunk down then, let the hot water surround him, and allowed his mind to attempt to go nowhere and everywhere at once.

* * *

Linda had gone downstairs as indicated, she’d even gone so far as to shuffle into the kitchen for something to chew on, realizing she was both ravenous and in no mood to eat. But she managed to sneak a sandwich past her rebelling stomach regardless. Heading outside for some fresh air seemed like one hell of a good idea, too, so she sat on the veranda as she ate. It felt like a lifetime away since she was out there, even though it had only been a couple of days. If even. Her brow knit. How long had it been? Time seemed sort of dislodged, just like everything else, her mind fuzzy, blanking.

It was quite unbelievable that only the previous night she had been writhing beneath L’s body on the study couch. Now, it was unnervingly quiet. She craved her sketchpad, certain it had been abandoned in the study sometime during the previous day. When she went to retrieve it, however, she paused just inside the door. Everything was as it had been left. No signs of struggle, no signs that anything had ever been wrong. Only the images on the screens were different. There was a cup of sugary tea on the desk, indicating that L had returned to the land of the living as Mello had told her. A brief glimpse about the study gave her no hint of where he might have disappeared off to. She imagined he would have picked right up where they left off, only now the mission was different. The empty chair felt wrong.

Linda lifted her sketchpad from beneath several other books on the coffee table and flipped through it as she exited the study. It was as she padded along the hall that she heard the soft splash of water from the bathroom, whose door had been left ajar. She paused, peeking curiously through the gap to see the mirror above the sink and L’s soapy, half submerged figure reflected there. Maybe it was the angle, or the shadows cast by the overhead light but he looked sad. Like a drowned panda with nowhere to turn. The analogy was almost startling and before Linda knew it, her hand was on the knob and she was leaning into it, rapping lightly against the wooden pane ducking inside before he had a chance to invite her.

“Hey…” she said quietly, unable to stop the frown that crept across her features as she looked him sitting there. She wanted to ask how he was feeling, if he was all right but every question seemed so utterly pointless and stupid that she ended up saying nothing at all.

L’s eyes shifted to her, and then back again, and he sunk lower into the bath—practically up to his nose, mounds of bubbles everywhere, masking that smooth pale skin of his—and made it quite apparent that he was sulking. L was sulking. Linda wasn’t sure what to do. They’d made love twice—nearly three times—but she didn’t know how to deal with the man still, his pieces never fit together right, and still too often she feared she’d do or say the wrong thing.

“I’m numb,” he said. Yes, of course he was wasn’t he. That statement encompassed so much—Light had betrayed him. All the faith, all the hope, all the love and effort L had sunk in to giving Kira the decent life he didn’t deserve, spat in his face by the only person he’d ever truly connected to… Linda hated Light just then. Hated him for hurting L.

“I’m going to need your help with Matt,” L said out of the blue.

Two statements Linda had just not expected to hear back to back. A slender brow lifted and she leaned against the nearby sink, sketchpad hugged to her chest. “What sort of help?”

This was of course L not wanting to talk about Light—not wanting to talk about the fact that he was probably feeling rather broken hearted just then.

“He’s abusing amphetamines,” L said dully behind a mound of bubbles.

Linda blinked, surprised. And just how the hell had this gone under the radar?! “What… I had no idea.” She seemed downright puzzled, not having noted any behavioral changes since her arrival, other than Matt’s growing annoyance toward Light, but that was a whole other can of worms. “How long?”

“It depends,” L answered. “Recently—a few days. Realistically—a few years.” L’s toes flicked through the water at the other end of the tub. The fact that L was hiding the lower half of his face betrayed his emotion at that moment—and of course not just for Matt—but he was doing his best to keep it as far from himself as possible. It didn’t escape Linda that the detective had yet to even ask her how she was—after all she had gone through; but she couldn’t hold him to the same standards as she would any other man. Or at least, she didn’t think she could.

“I told Mello he’s terminated if he continues,” L went on. “Of course I don’t want to be forced to make that decision, so as far as I’m concerned, Matt will be kicking the habit. It will be difficult for him, and I think he and Mello will soon be at odds over what’s happened today…” he paused, his mind obviously returning to the elephant in the room. “In any event, Matt is going to need you, and I want you to be there for him.”

Linda nodded. “Of course,” she returned expectantly. “I’ll do whatever I can.” The pause that followed was too heavy and too telling. “…what about you?” she murmured hesitantly, not blind to how much L had withdrawn into himself. “Will you be all right?” It would have been silly to ask him if he was—she knew better. None of them were one way or another, but L’s trauma was quite different, if not worse.

“Not right now,” he answered rather distantly. “Maybe later.” It was strange how flatly he said it. L said most things without much inflection—save for his accent—but those words just then seemed to speak of how much L was deliberately keeping himself together, so that he wouldn’t fall apart.

Part of Linda wanted to inch forward and chip away that shallow armor he’d holed himself inside of. The other half knew it would be better to leave him to pick up the pieces on his own first. Linda exhaled and nodded once more. “If you need anything…” she offered, moving back toward the door.

“Yes, thank you, Linda,” L said, and now she could actually hear the bubbles on his lips as he sunk even further down into the water as though he just wanted to disappear…

She left him nonetheless, as much as she didn’t want to, as much as her heart told her not to—L was different from other people, and no one really knew how he operated—or was that just an excuse everyone used to avoid the awkwardness of having to see L show emotion? Linda tried not to consider it, but who was she really trying to kid?

She felt just as listless as he did at that moment, and if it weren’t for the sound of two familiar voices filtering down over the balcony from upstairs, her mind probably would have floated away just like L’s was doing…

* * *

The first word out of his mouth was “water,” which Mello delivered quite promptly, pressing the glass into his lover’s hand. The second word would more than likely have been “smokes”, but again the blonde was ready, having dutifully held the cigarette between his lips and lit up before passing it on. Matt took it gratefully as he struggled to push himself into something of a sitting position, leaning against the headboard as his eyes adjusted to the sun-bathed bedroom. This was a change of scenario. He looked up too sharply, however, and his free hand immediately went up to his head, cringing at the throbbing ache that manifested there.

“How are you feeling?” Mello asked after several moments, watching him intently.

“Like shit.” An apt response and an expected one. Further insight was silenced by the butt of the cigarette which was burning quite quickly to fix the desperate need of a several-hour withdrawal. By the time a second was lit from the still burning tip of the first, Matt was looking a bit less woozy but not that much better. A quick fix of nicotine wasn’t about to fix anything. “What happened?” he asked at last, eying the bare windows. The answer was evident.

“Gone,” was the simple response. Just like L, Mello was not keen on diving head first into this particular topic. Not just yet, but he wondered just how much longer he would be able to avoid it.

“Fucker,” Matt managed, pressing a hand to his head. “Cunt,” he twisted so he could leave the smoldering smoke between his lips and press both hands to his head. “Oh my God, Mell, if I ever see that git again I’m going to kill him—I’ll rip his bloody flesh off and feed it to him.” It was another moment before Matt finally muttered, “Would you lower those blinds? My head is brutal.”

Linda had peered in at that exact moment and lifted a brow at the colorful string of curses that escaped the redhead’s mouth. Nothing new, of course, they both had quite the mouths on them with varying degrees of creativity. She stepped in just as Mello rose off the bed to lower the blinds and tug the heavier curtains over each tall window. The lamp on the furthest nightstand was lit so that there was some light to see by without being utterly offensive.

“You look better than you probably feel,” Linda chimed in playfully as she stepped inside, lingering near the door a moment longer to make sure she wasn’t interrupting anything before wandering closer. Mello returned to his original spot at the opposite side of the bed and she noticed that his very presence was somewhat reserved, not so withdrawn as that of L’s, but definitely lacking its usual luster

“That’s a relief,” Matt muttered deadpan around the cigarette. “How long have I been out?”

“Nearing on seven hours,” Mello said as he caught a glimpse of the bedside clock. “I expected you to be out longer judging by the amount of contaminated coffee you drank in addition to the dose of ketamine he gave you.” Fucking lucky is what he’d been, and although Mello did not out-right say it, the sentiment was there.

“Fucker,” and this time Matt emphasized the word even more. “So how much of a head-start does he have?”

“Quite a bit,” Mello said, and his tone was level, deliberately so. “By L’s calculations, he’s off the island by now.”

“Do we know where he’s heading?” Matt added, slumping back into the pillows, smoke satisfyingly in hand. He looked far more relaxed than anyone else was feeling just then—the dim lighting most likely had something to do with it.

“L should be briefing us shortly,” Mello said, and his voice was too nondescript for it to be alright.

Matt didn’t look at him however, to analyze Mello’s reaction—none too favorable reaction—in the face of Kira’s escape would probably send the redhead over the bleeding edge. Something they both wanted to avoid. So he wasn’t going to bring up Kira, or the particulars of his getaway—that would come in time. Likewise, Mello on his end was not about to bring up what L had concluded regarding Matt’s amphetamine kick…

Nevertheless, Matt’s gaze settled on Linda. “You alright, luv?” he managed.

She attempted a small smile, but for the most part, half her brain was still in the bathroom with L. “I am,” she said. “I feel a little foolish for how easily I fell for that B thing…”

The redhead grinned, exhaling a cloud of smoke away from their general direction. "You believed what you were supposed to believe. No worries so long as you're alright."

Linda tugged a chair closer to the bed and clambered into it, for the moment content that she was not alone with her thoughts and the too strong mental image of L sitting on his own half buried in the bath. It troubled her, worried her. This whole thing did. She could not help but glance between her two peers where the bomb was just waiting for its chance to detonate. She could not dispel the impending sense of doom that things would not be so peachy keen once the repercussions of today's events reared their ugly heads.

"So there's no surprises later," Mello interjected, not looking at either of them. "The SPK's been eradicated with the sole exception of Near and Halle." Linda gasped sharply, Matt fixed him an inquiring look. "I received a panicked voicemail from her earlier after it had happened. I've gotten in contact with her since, they're both fine and likely relocating although she obviously would not tell me where."

"Why leave the two of them behind?" Matt asked with genuine curiosity.

Mello mustered a bitter smile. "Near's mine." And Halle, well... that was a given.

“Light killed them?” Linda’s eyes were still gaping. Despite being on this particular case in this particular company, death and murder and all that gruesome stuff had not yet made its way in to her innocent world. A world that was quickly crumbling, but still vulnerable enough to be shocked and feel remorse that human lives had been taken.

Mello took a breath. “I haven’t watched the footage yet—he left it behind on purpose, but given Halle’s utter panic over the phone, and the way Kira was gloating about it—it wasn’t pretty. Was flat-out vengeance for what happened in Rome… so yeah, in short, Kira killed them.”

“She said, Light,” Matt corrected.

Mello’s eyes flickered narrow. “Same thing,” he said rather firmly.

“Are they?” And Matt wasn’t making eye contact, was being rather aloof about it, mostly because he knew the minute he made eye contact, the bomb would go off.

“Yes.”

“She said Light, you insisted on calling him Kira—just want to make sure you understand there’s no separation.”

Mello’s jaw grit, but he handled it well; “No misunderstanding,” he said. “Semantics.”

Linda had stiffened because it was obvious Matt was probing for buttons he shouldn’t have been just then—but there was something unspoken passing between the two and it wasn’t about substance abuse; in fact, it seemed Matt was not particularly aware that anyone aside from Mello knew that little detail.

“Did you see L?” Mello said to Linda suddenly, willfully interrupting the course of that dangerous conversation.

Linda nodded. “Downstairs, in the bath,” her voice trailed off which signaled her worry. It made Mello’s eyebrow quirk, and he chose the smooth way around.

“I’m going to go check on him then,” he said, without much further explanation than that. He didn’t glance at Matt as he left, and Linda, despite herself, could not truly release the breath she’d been holding in the interim.

* * *

Downstairs, the master bath was flooded with sunlight, it poured in over the white custom tiles, and onto the mountain of bubbles spilling over the tub, which was otherwise—empty. Or so it seemed. It wasn’t drained, and L may have been on the childish side when it came to domesticity—normally having people wait on him hand and foot the way they did—but even he would most likely drain the tub if he was no longer in it. It made Mello conclude one thing, and testing the theory, he plunged a hand into the water.

Unfortunately, his theory was right, and his fingers tangled in a floating mass of unruly dark hair, which Mello—now worried the detective was even less than alright than anyone supposed—used to pull L out from under the water.

L’s dark eyes shifted irritably to him; and for the moment the image was slightly humorous—Mello plunking L out of the water like a drowned puppy—if it didn’t have such serious undertones.

“What?” L snapped, rather nastily.

Mello blinked, owl-eyed. “Are you trying to drown yourself?!” he shot back.

“I was meditating,” L muttered.

“Oh is that what they’re calling it? Goddamnit, L.”

Mello was shaking his head, already reaching for a towel to dry off his hands. Granted, what he truly wanted to do was fully pluck the detective out of the tub, wrap him in a towel and shove him off toward a couch with plenty of cupcakes to feast on to balance his latest instability. But things were not that easy and they both knew it all too well. Instead, the blonde sat himself down precariously on the edge of the tub, staring pointedly down at the detective, who simply stared back in that typically too wide owl-like expression. Mello dipped his head with a look that simply said "don't even try that shit with me" but offered no commentary. It was pointless to argue, and if it had been an argument he sought, he would have just as easily remained upstairs. The potential was there, ready to explode.

"At the risk of sounding sentimental, I don't want to see you like this," Mello said quietly after several minutes of silence. Once had been enough, although at greater scale. Light's 'death' had pushed them all beyond the brink of comprehension, but this was a close second. Betrayal as opposed to preventive death. Which was the greater evil. Food for thought. "We need to get back on our feet before anything gets even more out of hand. You know this, I know this, they all know this. And frankly, I'd rather toss my hands in the air and say fuck it all but I'm a bit more of a realist than that," Mello frowned, staring at the tiles. "Recoup today L, but don't you dare beat yourself up over it."

L looked like a drowned rat at that moment, with his hair drenched and plastered down, almost shoulder-length, his pale face more gaunt than usual, and the dark circles around his eyes even darker. He sat half slumped, shoulders pulled in toward raised knees that just breached bubbles, but were practically the same color; and he grimaced. “I can't afford that,” he said. “Several hours head start is bad enough—an entire day I’m not willing to risk.” He paused, seemed to consider sinking back into the water—which he did a moment later despite Mello’s watchful frown—and promptly began blowing bubbles at the surface of the water with his lips. But the slant of his obsidian eyes indicated the detective was more in thought than in melancholy, and a moment later he lifted to look at Mello again. “What do you think he is doing?” He said rather demandingly. “In your honest opinion—for all that you know and feel for him—what do you think he is doing?”

"Hard to tell," Mello responded truthfully, chewing on his bottom lip. "He spoke of sacrifice and had an impending air of doom about him, claiming we were all fucked if he did not go forward with his plans." Mello paused, letting it all sink in because truthfully, he had yet to give it any rational thought. Oh, he'd thought plenty on it but he'd been fretting for hours rather than actively pursuing an answer that made sense. Perhaps that was the problem. "I don't know, L... Misa's out of her fucking mind and I can't help but kick myself for letting the matter drop last night when I knew he wasn’t alone in that bedroom—or should have known. Should have known goddamn well." Mello grit his teeth and pushed unruly bangs from his eyes. "He's gotten his revenge on the SPK so it obviously has nothing to do with that...The only thing I can think of is Bella. That's the only unfinished business any of us have here that might warrant this sort of reaction. Does he know?" He asked the detective, peering down at the soapy, half submerged drowned panda in the tub beside him. "What she attempted?"

“As far as I’m aware he doesn’t know,” L muttered, words interspersed with sudsy water blathering over partially submerged lips. “But he accessed all sorts of files, so there is a chance he found out or will find out…” L looked even more thoughtful. “You are right though, with or without her attempt on his life, Bella is unfinished business. There is the deal. Just because Ryuk has been MIA doesn’t mean he won’t collect if we fail to uphold our end…” L’s dark eyes scrolled up to him. “From what I can see, Light chartered several planes in my name to depart for different locations in an effort to confuse us. It’s simplistic, and yet appeals to my tendencies to over think… it plays out this way: 5 planes, 5 locations: Tokyo, London, New York, Los Angeles and Paris. The catch is that all planes had passengers, one plane had someone who resembled me—Misa—and all planes are first stopping on the Italian mainland. So which plane did Light take? Or better, where is he going? My pilots told me the person who resembled me, and her Japanese escort along with an American man boarded the plane for Los Angeles. Now, if it were Tokyo, then that is too obvious a ploy that it’s not Tokyo—or is Tokyo and the correctness of the assumption lies in the redundancy of the cover-up, or non-cover-up; if it wasn’t Tokyo, then that leaves Tokyo as a possibility regardless—for Kira to return to his homeland and continue his ambition. If it were London—that is disturbing being that that is our place of origins, Paris invokes Deneuve—of which Light has been uninvolved with, but may have stumbled across while accessing the hub—the States…well, Near contacted me, and has returned to New York… So where is Kira? Granted, just because he is landing in one place or another, does not mean that is his final destination, and I would not put it passed him to travel and travel until his trail is utterly lost to us. But does he want to spend the time? My guess is no. He may send Misa on a wild goose chase, and that’s a possibility, since he is aware, as am I, that I will be investigating all possibilities… my own conclusion is that he’s gone to none of those places, and has indeed disembarked his trip on the mainland to return to Rome and reconvene with Bella and his church… hence, if he is not aware that she made an attempt on his life—that puts him in a dangerous situation… then again, being Kira, his plans have always ever been flawless.”

“The kicker of it is,” Mello added with an added lilt to his tone that was not usually present under such serious circumstances. “While normally to come in contact with Bella after she has attempted to kill him would be a dangerous position to be in, he is rather aware that not only is he no longer vulnerable to mortal death—it gives him an even stronger advantage because Bella will not be able to touch him. If anything, she will be bowing before him and kissing the ground he walks in.” The perfect scenario for the God of the New World, Mello thought cynically. “If only so that she does not become yet another statistic to add to his lengthy list.”

“Which brings us all the way back to argument number one,” L muttered. “For whose sake is Light doing this? And what is the outcome he seeks to achieve? Winning the deal goes without saying, since he wants to live more than anything—to win, he and I were supposed to take out Bella together… those were the rules. I want to think Light has not forgotten the rules, but he’s gone off on his own which makes me anxious—to put it mildly. So has he made a new deal? It’s possible…am I to get the short end of the stick? I won’t rule it out. Should I be concerned that perhaps Light—as you’ve said—will now be wielding the highest advantage over everyone and in the end come out as the god he wants to be, complete with church of insane followers in place. Worst case scenario isn’t it?” L sunk a bit more in the water, and his gaze was dull and even more listless at that point.

“Who’s to say that no matter what intentions Light embarked with—whatever sacrifice you think he was mumbling about—that he won’t be able to turn away from the crux of his ambition once it is placed squarely in front of him… when do I stop giving him the benefit of the doubt and just take Kira at face value for the sanctity of all?”

L was now slumped over the side of the tub like a sullen little child, watching the water and suds dripping from long dangling arms and fingers to mess the tiled floor. “Fuck me running,” he muttered.

Mello lifted a brow, taking the lighthearted way around this because L was already worrying too much for all four of them combined. "If you keep on stealin' my phrases, I'm going to have to start copywriting them," he muttered with a small smirk then slid off the edge of the tub to crouch before the detective instead. Arms fell across his leather-clad lap and his fingers twined together in front of him. "We can do this one of two ways, L," he murmured loosing that initial mirth. There was nothing humorous about their most recent complications—their whole goddamned life was a snowball of complicated events bleeding into one another but this just about took the cake. Too dangerous, too volatile.

"I can leave you in here to prune, fall asleep in the tub and half-drown yourself." A pause. "All right, one of three ways. There is that. Or we can drive ourselves mad thinking of the what-ifs. Although personally I think the best course of action is to act. You're already more than halfway convinced he's in Rome - it makes the most sense. So let's get the fuck out of here, track him down and get him back. He's good but we're not strangers to this game. If anything, we're a bit more prepared than we were years ago." Mello paused, watching him intently for a short while. "Look, I know you like to over analyze everything and drive yourself and others half mad, but I'm not sure we have the time for that right now."

L’s brows shifted like a wound puppy, and he blinked. “Fine,” and for the moment, he seemed rather content to slip Mello the reins—he was the heir apparent after all. “I’ll prune, you go round up the others and we’ll lay the plan out for them…” he sighed like a wounded puppy as well—and of course there was the unsaid…despite everything the two of them were bantering back and forth—all the what-ifs, all the strategies at work in Kira’s brilliant mind, the thing that had L acting like a kicked kitten was the inescapable fact that he felt like he’d just been abandoned—dumped, to put it bluntly. After all, here was a man…that was using the term loosely; Mello supposed… that probably had never calculated human love and affection into his life. L was a machine of sorts—his work was everything and nothing got in the way save his own ego. He was perhaps the last person to ever want to fall in love, and ever think that he would—in fact, he seemed to go to extreme ends to scare people away…but he’d done it regardless, and most likely with little choice in the matter—he fell in love—with his worst enemy; and here they were supposedly challenging each other tit for tat…but this current scenario felt like something else altogether. At least, that was the way L was viewing it—even if Light had set his detective-lover up for a new chase, L’s lackluster response just spoke of being kicked in the ribs far too hard to even want to cross the starting line.

And all the while Mello was thinking this; L had yet to move where he was slumped over the side of the tub like a dead body.

Mello watched him a short while longer before unfolding with a creak of leather. "Ten minutes," he told the detective sternly. "Or I'll personally fetch you from this blasted tub if I have to." It would not be the first time, and he’d follow through with that blasted threat regardless of whether or not he understood and sympathized with the detective's dilemma. There were other things to do than wallow in feelings too complicated for that brilliant mind to encompass. Irony that.

And so, Mello left the bathroom, closing the door quietly behind him before returning upstairs. The discussion with L had him practically forgetting the near-argument he'd managed to walk away from several minutes earlier. That is, until he slipped past his bedroom door and found both pairs of eyes expectantly on him. Mello blinked. "Downstairs," he told them, sounding much like an order that had Linda lift a brow. "L's pruning and debating whether or not it would be worth it to drown himself, therefore I'm makin' the executive decision to get us the fuck moving. We've lost enough time as-is." He caught the girl's worried look and chuckled. "Nothing to worry about," he assured her. "Besides, at this rate, it would take L far too long to decide whether or not it would be a good idea while weighing pros and cons against one another—by the time a conclusion was made, he'd probably forget just what he was trying to figure out in the first place."

Matt snorted, crushing a cigarette into the ashtray beside him and pulled himself out of bed. He was steadier on his feet than anticipated and the throbbing behind his eyes was starting to ease. "In other words, he's pouting."

"He's pouting," Mello confirmed.

"Pouting?" Linda asked incredulous as if the thought seemed inconceivable.

"By his standards, yes. Worry not, he'll come to his senses soon enough. In the meantime, we're hurrying things along."

Ten minutes later and Mello was doing exactly what he expected he would be. After sitting there at the dining room table tapping impatient fingers on polished wood, crew of none-too-happy individuals sitting around rather quietly and sort of shell-shocked, Mello got up and went back into the bathroom.

L hadn’t moved, but that was fine, because Mello simply reached in and pulled the plug. The tub and its melted swath of bubbles began to drain, and Mello was then dragging the detective out of the soupy water, by a rubbery arm, wrapping too-fluffy towels around his person, including one over his head, sort of Virgin-Mary-esque, which Mello wasted several seconds on to rub dry that mess of hair, before spinning L at the shoulder, and literally marching him into the dining room.

Matt had to scoff, Linda’s mouth was on the floor, and Dr. Gregory seemed to be considering a slew of prescription anti-depressants…for himself… at that moment. L, however, had said nothing, and made no attempt to counteract, climbing into his usual spot, wrapped in towels, sort of like a bizarro-Goth figure from the bloody nativity; where he then made a very half-hearted attempt to select from a bowl of unsweetened strawberries, because–goddamnit—Kira had poisoned all the sugar.

The corner of his lips quirked in a sort of twitch he managed to keep absent from his features otherwise. Instead of taking his seat at the table, Mello marched out of the dining room just so that he could invade the kitchen and raid the fridge for the proper ingredients. The can of whipped cream was located, as was the strawberry preserve. The latter was set on the table before the detective, already open and with a spoon in it, the whipped cream was deposited in a fluffy, swirly mass over the bowl of strawberries.

Linda's jaw had made it through into the basement. Dr. Gregory looked beside himself. Matt had no words, but had frozen mid drag to watch the display in silence. Mello at last, climbed into his seat as L proceeded to dip a cream-coated strawberry in the preserve and drop it gratefully into his mouth.

It was going to be a long day.

“Kira’s in Rome,” L said, gobbling a second strawberry, towel half hanging over one eye. “Mello and I did the math, and that is the most logical destination. He’s taken back up the Bella case—to what end, we’re not certain. He’s either seeking to close the first deal, or he’s made a new one I’m not privy to…” L’s voice trailed off, though it had been a strong start, the wind seemed to just go out of his sails mid-way through. “You’re all brilliant,” he said. “You can figure it out. He’s either on our side or he’s not.”

Matt nearly choked on his cigarette. “Are you leaving that particular conclusion up to us?”

L swirled a third strawberry, but didn’t deliver it to the same fate as the other two. “My mind is more made up than not, but I don’t feel like arguing.”

“So you’re still on his side?” Matt said, crushing out the cigarette and looking more than grimly disappointed. “Even after everything he just did—to all of us this morning? You’re ready to subscribe to some jaded, misaligned belief that he’s working for a greater good and the benefit of all by making sacrifices—namely his rather cushy relation to those who were supposed to be incarcerating him—to follow through on the initial deal, and ultimately save you both from the Death God’s hand? Is that it, L?”

L didn’t outwardly reply; taking his time to suck the cream off the strawberry pinched between his fingers. “I’ll tell you what,” he said, and for some reason Mello thought of taking shelter just then. “You won’t beat to death the conflicting principles of my conclusion, and I won’t bring up your drug addiction at the dinner table—capice?”

That initial thought to take cover had been a good one. Mello grimaced because he had not had the opportunity to discuss that particular topic and Linda was pointedly staring at the not-yet-defined sketch she had begun some minutes prior. The redhead was taken aback by the unexpected blunt comment and thus faltered momentarily. Further comments, however, were effectively silenced. He grit his teeth behind pursed lips and flicked ashes into the tray before him.

"Whether or not he's working toward some sort of greater good isn't in question here," Mello interjected in order to salvage them all from the heavy silence that followed L's sharp comment. "The truth of the matter is that he has to be found regardless of his intentions." A cocoa square was broken off with a satisfying snap. "As it stands we're several hours behind without a live lead or any true advantages."

Despite his silence, Matt’s gaze was saying what Mello was neglecting to: the reason Kira was on the loose was because Mello—perceivably—had let him simply waltz right out the door. He wasn’t about to outwardly bring that up just then however, due to L’s very obviously bitter mood—the detective may have looked like a Jedi-reject but he sure as hell wasn’t one to mess with. Of course that meant Mello was going to get the brunt of it—because how else did L find out, if he wasn’t told?

“In other words,” L muttered, deciding against a fourth strawberry in favor of staring at his toes. “Pack up, we’re leaving for Rome tonight.”