Redeemer

Linda's head shot up. "Tonight?" she asked and looked around the table, finding that she was the only one taken by surprise. It immediately dawned on her that she was about to be involved in a world she knew nothing of. Having a lovely desk job was one thing, being an analyst even was another but this—this was altogether different. She could hardly begin to imagine how they would pack up—equipment and all—and leave for Rome within a few hours' notice. Of course, this was L, but... it was simply mind boggling.

"Just get yourself sorted out. We'll take care of the rest," Matt told her, doing his damned best to keep his tone neutral. It was successful for the most part.

That was the end of it as far as L was concerned. He folded off his perch, towels still swathed around him, dragging on the floor behind him as he shuffled out sort of like a pathetic ghost—and for the next several hours, no one saw hide nor hair of him really. But then again, they were far too busy packing up shop. He was at one point behind the main hub, and then again behind his own personal hub, before allowing Matt to disassemble the machines. Mello passed the study, when L was presumably watching the SPK incident, screen turned so only he was witness—but Mello could hear the screams of panic—of agony—it sounded like a bloody massacre, before Near’s voice broached the chaos with the simple command: “Shoot him,” to which a gunshot poignantly followed. At about that moment, L caught Mello looking, but the detective’s blank expression belied nothing—not what he thought of the apparent carnage, and not what he thought of Kira for doing it, or for Mello overhearing it. Matt would undoubtedly hack into it and take a gander for himself—would probably show the blonde to boot—but that was later. For now, Mello ducked away and his imagination was left to its own devices.

Some time around 9:30 at night, the house was ready to be abandoned, staff had already begun departing, wings were closed and furniture trapped, utilities shut down, and there was a heaping mound of luggage and equipment being loaded into vans. Linda was watching with something of a bittersweet expression on her face—she’d gotten comfortable here, and didn’t want to leave so readily; but that sort of sentimentality was not appreciated by her peers—L most of all, probably—so she tried to hide it as best she could.

She watched Mello and Matt finish loading their things.

“That’s it,” Matt muttered, stepping back inside, as the only thing left to do, was to wait for L.

Linda sat in a plush hallway bench, already covered with a white sheet, watching how Matt and Mello were pointedly avoiding each other, when the sound of someone speaking fluent French in a thick accent preceded a sight she probably wouldn’t too readily recover from.

The only thing that gave him away was the fact that he had black hair, everything else was completely and utterly foreign. He was on the phone—hence the accent and the language, and he was holding the phone like a normal human being—in fact, he was walking like a normal human being—perfect posture—full height, back straight, shoulders out. He’d tamed his unruly mane so that its layered cut fell attractively around his pale, handsome face, and brushed his collar bone. He was dressed in a dark expensive suit—casual and rather fashionable, instead of stark and stiff—over which he had an equally expensive light-weight black trench that flowed in the air behind him. All the garments he wore well, as though he wore them all the time. It was like Light had possessed L’s body and raided the Banana Republic warehouse—and Linda’s mouth completely and utterly tumbled open and hit the floor running.

Mello caught her staring before he actually saw L himself and followed her gaze to the detective. The blonde uttered a chuckle, as he moved past Linda. "You are salivating a bit there, dear," he muttered under his breath at her with a wink. "Meet Deneuve," he told her when she caught herself, looking up at him sheepishly. It would make sense shortly enough. Light, of course, had posed as L in order to see through with his and Misa's escape. It was only natural that L would then have to operate under a different name so not to draw suspicion. Naturally, Mello couldn’t blame Linda for her reaction. All of them had been just as equally surprised (minus the salivating on at least his and Matt's parts) when L first appeared decked out in a similar fashion back in Rome. It was a striking sight, especially after the detective's earlier mood and downtrodden appearance. It was a little hopeful, if even, "C'mon," and Mello motioned her up, leading her to the cars.

L –or Deneuve rather- was right behind them, and climbed into the van on their heels, snapping the cell phone shut, he promptly withdrew a cherry lollipop from inside his coat pocket and started sucking on it. “Bugger,” he muttered, the statement drew all three pairs of eyes to him. “I’ve had to sabotage my own reputation to limit Light’s movements as L,” he pressed two fingers to the bridge of his nose. “I’ll repair what I’ve done later on, hopefully, but for now, Deneuve has been pitted against L in the Kira case…some things never change.”

He didn’t seem happy about it, and it was ironic because he was technically both detectives—but still, L was, well, him. And Deneuve—wasn’t.

“I don’t understand,” Linda managed, and if anyone thought she’d been blushing before whenever L turned that opaque gaze on her, the effect was tenfold now that he looked like some suave wealthy J-rocker.

“Deneuve wasn’t always just an alias,” Mello explained, first looking to L to see if he had permission to relay the tale. L nodded, plump lips molded greedily around his lolli. “Deneuve and another accomplished detective by the name of Eraldo Coil engaged themselves in a detective war of sorts with L—blame their respective hubris, they were resentful of L’s abilities to just come on a case and solve it almost effortlessly. Not that they weren’t talented in their own right, they just—weren’t L; but they were however, top in the field before him, so naturally they were jealous and felt usurped. The war was drawn out, but to the victor went the spoils, namely the detective codes—to own and operate as whichever detectives lost. Hence both Denueve and Coil, now as full entities, belong to L.”

Which meant of course, L had won. And he won before he even hit the age of twenty. Probably right around the time he’d last seen B alive.

“Since they were already so well established unto themselves, it’s easier to operate them under a completely different persona, rather than just as an alias—and so, you’ve got Deneuve,” Mello finished, with a small nod in L’s direction. It almost suggested that the detective was either a master of disguise or a borderline split personality.

“Considering many who have tried to crack L’s identity have hired either Deneuve or Coil for the job—it’s just added insurance for me,” L mumbled, first plucking the pop from between his lips. “Since it seems to be common knowledge that both Deneuve and Coil—in addition to being at odds with each other—have absolutely no love for L—it was just easy to pit Deneuve against L here and now in the Kira case.”

The question on everyone’s mind seemed to be ‘how?’ But L didn’t elaborate. He’d either completely fabricated his argument to whatever authorities had now just employed Deneuve—or he’d used too much of the truth against himself, for which he was ashamed to admit to his protégés. Matt’s expression seemed to side with the latter.

Linda was looking between them, following the explanation but entirely too enthralled by the sight still to let it truly sink in. She was spared further embarrassment, however, as the conversation quickly turned to the events at hand. She listened intently as the three discussed their arrangements from then on. Before she knew it, they had reached the airport and were watching their cargo load onto a private jet. Linda trailed behind, making herself useful where possible all the while reeling from the sudden change in direction. It was fifteen minutes into the flight that her new role was suddenly laid out to her in detail. “Matt,” Mello addressed his lover, and nodded at Linda. “She’ll be working with you from here on in. We don’t have the time to fully train her, so it’s going to be all you getting her up to speed.”

“What will I be doing?” Linda asked curiously if not a little intimidated.

“Field support,” Mello told her, and then in answer to Matt’s questioning look, added. “For the both of us.” And Mello meant himself… and L. The redhead blinked, glancing at L as if to confirm that he had heard that right.

“Not sure how good an idea this is…” he muttered, not because he doubted L’s field work, not that he had ever seen L’s field work, but because he was the least expendable life among them.

“It’s all we’ve got,” Mello justified, and L nodded in agreement, mouth plugged with another lollipop.

* * *

It was only a few hours later they were checking into the luxury 5-star suite and Linda’s jaw was on the floor as she took their accommodations—spacious living area, which would soon be turned into a fully operational work station, a small private kitchen and bathroom near the entrance. Two bedrooms stood to either side; the master, which was left to L’s disposal and a smaller one Linda assumed they would be sharing as her bags were carted inside. It was an arrangement after which she had yet to inquire. Details.

Matt wasted no time in rearranging furniture so that workstations could be set up. Mello threw open the balcony doors, stepping outside to peer upon the familiar city, sharp eyes darting to each adjacent building, memorizing the streets below and making note of each point of access. Linda’s head was spinning, but she could not deny the thrill of it all. More than before, this truly felt as if her childhood goal had been achieved. Here she was neck deep on a case with L himself.

It was closing in past midnight when Linda found herself dozing in the wide, low-back armchair. She’d curled up comfortably with a file Matt had passed her on Rome, but it had been a very long day—very long, and her eyes were getting so incredibly heavy.

Mello had gone out to do some city-scouting, and Matt was engrossed in the latest Metal Gear Solid game. L was on the couch opposite her, clothes loosened, but fashion still quite in place. He hadn’t changed back to his normal attire, and however uncomfortable he might have been—not really able to perch in his preferred way, but rather sprawled in more Mello fashion, with the machine across his lap—he seemed quite fixed on maintaining this persona of Denueve…

He caught her dozing however, looking up, hair still tamed, however open his shirt collar. “Linda,” he said smoothly. “Get some rest.”

She jerked awake at the dulcet sound of his voice, her eyes wide and blinking, and almost idly she wondered if she were sleeping in the same room as Matt and Mello. She made motion to head in that direction, when L interrupted her.

“You can have the master bed,” he said, as though he didn’t anticipate going to sleep. If Matt heard the statement, he made no motion. The words stopped Linda for an instant, but she was just so tired, she couldn’t care—and besides, she was hoping that a bout of good luck would have this handsome new version of L crawling into bed beside her before the sun came up.

She felt as if she were sleepwalking as she nodded idly and changed direction to shuffle into the master bedroom. Just then it was far too much effort to go into the other room to fish out her pajamas and thus, she climbed out of her jeans and into the bed as-is, her eyes too heavy and already half-asleep by the time her head hit the pillow.

It did not escape him that with Linda gone, Matt now found himself quite alone with L and the seeming protection of the headphones would not keep the detective at bay. Of course, Matt was not about to tuck tail between his legs and escape. There was no denying the fact that since the last time they had shared similar living arrangements in this very city, things had changed. Gravely so. Having been stuck beneath the same roof with Kira had done a number on him in the worst way possible. At least here, they had regained the freedom the villa did not offer. Here there was a city to escape out into—Mello had had the right idea in making a run for it the moment everything had been set up. Bastard better bring back cigarettes too.

Matt did not address the detective, however, gaze intent on the screen as if nothing had changed. And truly, whatever friction existed between them was not personal. Kira was a thorn in Matt’s side due to a number of reasons, but it would pass just like everything else. His patience levels were sure to inflate back up to proper levels over the next couple of weeks. Or one would hope. Having a purpose here was most definitely refreshing—the fact that the purpose just happened to be tracking down that insufferable bastard was even better.

L of course, didn’t budge an inch for quite some time after Linda had gone to bed—other than to set up all the resources in place that Deneuve would require. After all, the French detective was coming out of retirement for this—and even though L still had not confessed what exactly it was he told to his ‘employer’—presumably Interpol—to get them to hire Deneuve either in addition to, or in lieu of ‘L’, it had to be along the lines of a 6 year case lingering on and on without any truly serious results. Despite several hiccups in Kira’s activity, and the claim that the real Kira was dead and cremated, “Kira’s” judgments were still going strong, and L had yet to quash them. Deneuve must have flashed his arrogance at being able to do the job L could not—which either meant that Deneuve did indeed plan to quash Kira’s activity once and for all, or L risked tarnishing two of his codes—two of his main codes—and not just one.

In any event, it wasn’t until Matt paused his game and removed his headphones to refill on coffee that L finally said something. “It was wrong of me to bring that up in front of everyone,” he said, without taking his eyes off the screen. “My apologies, Matt.”

The redhead stopped short because he wasn’t sure if he’d heard right… L apologizing? He unwittingly pulled a Mello expression.

“However,” L continued, “As I’m sure you already know—I will not tolerate it. You have my entire wealth of resources at your disposal to help you with this issue—anything you need, I’m willing to offer. But I want to see the effort made with the full intention of kicking this habit for good, otherwise the consequences will be ones neither of us will like.”

L was decidedly the last person Matt had wanted to have this conversation with, but then again he knew it was coming. From the moment Mello had detected it several days ago, he knew it was a matter of time. Did not make it any easier. Particularly when it was being made to sound like a bigger deal than it actually was. Granted, the understanding between Mello and himself several years ago had been discussed much differently. Something along the lines of "give it the fuck up and keep your mind clear, or you're on the street". It was not so different now in terms of the ultimate goal, but the manner in which L offered his... resources made it worse somehow.

Matt winced, not answering right away. Not until his mug was topped off and the strong coffee was pouring down his throat. "I'm not dependent, L," he said at last, sitting back down, looking somewhat sour. Not entirely dependent, but it sure as hell helped to keep him going the lengthy hours necessary as of late. The controller was in his hands, but the game remained paused, his gaze on the floor in front of him. Mello's anger he could always deal with. This... this just made him feel particularly shitty.

L at last looked up from what he was doing. It leant a sort of importance to the matter Matt wasn’t sure if he did or did not want. Of course bringing attention to it—especially if it was being made to sound like he needed rehab was the sort of rubbish he’d never subscribed to, and yet at the same time, for L to just rattle it off nonchalantly without even taking time to break from his own matters—well… it wreaked of neglect somehow…though Matt insisted on shaking that particular sentiment from his mind. Mello was the attention whore when it came to L—not him—never him.

Nevertheless, he suddenly had the detective’s undivided attention, and it was even more disconcerting because L looked that much more mature and more in charge with his ‘Deneuve’ persona in place. Somehow, a lanky panda-monkey sucking on lollies might have been easier to talk to—but then again, L could be intimidating in any form if he laid out the effort to be.

“If it’s recreational, I want it stopped.” He said. “If it’s what you’ve been relying on to keep up the workload—I’d prefer to have you call it a night and get some sleep. Any way you cut it Matt, there are two things I can not abide—drugs and organized crime.”

Murder apparently didn’t rank anywhere on the scale considering who his lover was. But Matt kept that hypocritical morsel under wraps. L seemed to catch the nuance despite it—though it was hard not to, they’d been butting heads over Kira for far too long now, and far too out in the open. If Matt wanted to take the immature route, he could argue that point—that L picked and chose his points of morality as they pertained to the situation at hand and not because he adhered to an overall honorable behavioral code. After all, how could he come down this way on Matt for drugs, on Mello for mob relations—but on Kira—he’d flat-out lay down his life for him, no questions asked? … No, that wasn’t fair. L hadn’t made an open point to say it, but they all knew he’d do the same for them if it came to that… where the line was, that was another thing altogether. It seemed Kira crossed that line the night L tried to execute him, but by all other counts, the calls were just way too close to judge by.

Matt nodded because he didn’t want to argue, and he didn’t want a lecture—L seemed to be waiting for both. He also seemed of the opinion that what he was saying wasn’t exactly getting through the double standard Matt was convinced was in place.

When the silence stretched out, hanging by a delicate thread between them, Matt glanced up and over his shoulder at the detective. “You’re expecting me to argue?” he asked dully with an uplifted brow. “You want it to stop, I’ll stop.” He said it with a roll of his shoulders, looking back toward the screen where it had been frozen right in the midst of a boss fight. It sounded so simple. Perhaps it was. The next couple of days would be unnerving at best, but at this point it would be harder to give up his beloved cancer sticks than anything else. Did not change the fact that he was still particularly sour regarding the entirety of the general situation.

L seemed equally sour and definitely seemed like he wanted to say more—but he let it go. It was there in his silence however, that heavy tangible air of conversation un-had. Matt probably could have said plenty, L probably could have said plenty back, none of it would have been beneficial to either one of them, and Matt was all but ready to turn around and resume his boss fight, when L’s brow softened and he said one simple word: “Why?”

It occurred to Matt then—perhaps for the first time—that despite all this tension, the tone in his voice gave L away—he was actually genuinely concerned…

With his thumb hovering over the start button, Matt paused, frowning intently at the screen as if it had wronged him. Part of him wanted to ask why what, the other part was hesitant against playing such games with L. It wasn’t worth it when the detective did sound concerned, that misplaced annoyance would be of no use to either of them. “Why did it start in the first place, or why did it resume now?” and his tone was as neutral as he could muster.

“Both,” L replied—though being the world’s greatest detective, Matt was certain he could figure out the answers. Nevertheless, it seemed to be L’s way of trying to make contact—as strange as that sounded; though Matt was loath to believe L had seen too many after-school-specials to suddenly want to play guidance counselor—or worse—shrink. That was probably Linda’s job, and Matt found himself itching for Mello to return to interrupt this damned moment. Though he supposed if he wanted to be angry—he had been feeling rather betrayed by L lately—and with far too good a reason…

The coffee was drained and Matt sat back in his seat, he actually went so far as to un-pause the game. Not like it made a difference as far as his attention span was concerned. “The shit was already present in the ADHD meds Roger prescribed years ago,” he commented lightly. “I’m not foolish to believe that you’re not aware of what each of us had been doing before coming under your employment.” Unlike Mello, he hadn’t always been set on the Kira case. In fact, in the two and a half years that passed between Mello’s abandonment of Wammy’s House, and the two joining back up again, there had been plenty of time unaccounted for. “Camden’s nightlife isn’t the cleanest. I had money rolling in from questionable hack jobs across the spectrum. It kept me going.” He narrowed his eyes and the sound of rapid gunfire resounded from the headphones on the seat beside him. “It stopped when Mell took me on the case.” He stated the facts as dully as if he had been reciting the headlines off the morning’s newspaper. The blunt detachment allowed him to give L what he wanted without feeling as if it were a shrink session. That was the one thing it sure as hell would not turn into.

“I suppose that’s valid,” L said after a moment. And maybe Matt was projecting the disappointed parent syndrome, and maybe there was something in L’s manner just then that must have resembled Watari’s disappointment every time one of his ‘clones’ failed. But after that statement L got up and waked into the kitchen.

Matt’s eyes followed L’s movements into the kitchen. Even though he had not seen the look the detective cast his way, it was easy to guess and the redhead could not stand it. He had to wonder if it would have been easier had they not been so at odds over Kira.

Matt tossed the controller onto the couch cushions and got up. “Don’t do that,” he grit loud enough for L to hear over the opening and closing of cabinets.

“Do what?” L replied dully and deliberately ignorant. “I’m hungry.” He didn’t make eye contact as Matt all but stormed his way into the kitchen, folding his arms across his striped chest, his blue eye-ed gaze keenly set on the detective.

“Play stupid for one,” he remarked pointedly. “Or act as if I’m one of the biggest let downs of your life. Goddamnit L, I wasn’t your responsibility. That may have changed now, but I wasn’t then. Don’t make it seem like that was the case.” Once upon a time, it would have been easier to watch his DS get run over by the metro than to speak to L this way.

“Let down?” L stopped reaching for the assortment of tea and looked Matt squarely in the face. “I’m not let down, I’m troubled. And whereas perhaps then at that time you were not my ward—you are now, and I have seen far too great a change in you to let it slide so easily. If I’m let down about anything, it’s that—and knowing that I’m responsible for where you now find yourself in more ways than one—perhaps the only way I can communicate my concern, is to come off sounding far more harsh than I feel.”

It wasn’t the response Matt had been expecting. The redhead frowned but his features were otherwise devoid of whatever thoughts raced through his mind at that particular moment. This was probably the closest they had ever come to an actual non-confrontational conversation regarding all that had happened since the last time they were in Rome. Mostly because, at the time, he and L were particularly content to share the same living space without speaking much, just enough to get the job done without any surfacing issues. That had changed in Sicily. A lot had changed in Sicily… Left without a proper answer, Matt was quiet, exhaling deeply as he leaned against the wall, hands burying deep into his pants pockets.

“You’re justified in feeling the way you do,” L said. “—about me and about Kira. So perhaps then I’m the one being presumptuous about where you want to be in your future.” L paused, his eyes falling to the counter top in what seemed very near sadness, before he recovered his gaze and scanned it away to the furthest possible wall. “Matt, whatever you want to do with your life, you have my full support—financially as well. But I’m not going to force you one way or another if you decide you no longer want to subject yourself to this case and its effects. You were all brought to Wammy’s and forced upon a singular goal—but it no longer has to be that way. You have a right to choose whatever path you’d like.”

A faint humorless smile crept across his lips. Matt shook his head. “I’m not here because of some preconceived notion ground into my head since I was five. You know as well as anyone that I never cared for the rankings, I never wanted your job. I’m here because a choice has already been made.”

“Kira was not a part of the equation then—but he is now,” L said. “I can’t make it up to you—I can only give you a way out if you so decide.”

“I appreciate that,” Matt said so truthfully. “But I’m not walking.” He supposed they were all stubborn around here, some more than others. But he wasn’t about to take the coward’s way out. No, that sure as hell was not going to happen. He might drive himself half mad along the way, but then so be it.

L nodded, but didn’t have anything more to say. He decided against the tea in that moment, and closed the cabinet moving passed Matt. “I need to get some rest,” he muttered, which was extraordinarily out of character for him, along with his sudden downtrodden demeanor. But nevertheless L shifted back through the doorway and toward the bedroom…

A blink and mildly puzzled expression followed this particularly strange comment, but what was Matt to say? Couldn’t exactly call L on his bullshit, because who was he to contradict the detective’s need for rest – they all knew he needed it, regardless of whether or not he indulged in it. It did not escape him, however, that Linda had been shuffled off to bed not an hour prior and was blissfully asleep in that very same bed L migrated toward.

It was Matt who needed the goddamned tea at that moment.

* * *

She felt his weight enter the bed just before warm arms encircled her from behind. Linda’s eyes opened long enough for her to consciously sigh, twisting herself around to wrap against him in the dark. He still smelled like sugar—she still knew who he was, even if only the faintest of moon light filtered over his pale skin and masked his handsome face—it didn’t matter, right then, no one had to speak, no one even had to see face to face; and Linda curled against L’s smooth chest, and fell back to sleep, contentedly listening to his heartbeat…

* * *

Mello was positively elated by the time he keyed in the access code and made it through the front door several hours later. He had needed this freedom more than he’d allowed himself to think. The villa was nice and grand, and there was plenty of work and drama to occupy him, but it was not comparable to the bustle of the city.

He closed the door quietly behind him, throwing the bolt. Keys to the newly acquired vehicles were set lightly on the table as he shrugged off jacket before even noticing the sprawl of stripes against the couch. Blinking, he approached, crouching down to gently shake his lover’s shoulder. “Hey…” he murmured quietly, stirring him from the seemingly uncomfortable doze. He noted the TV had been shut off at least. Although a paused PSP lay on the floor beside the couch and the dim screensaver of the laptop was glaring at them from the coffee table. Stranger still was the absence of L sitting behind a screen. In fact, Mello glimpsed toward the master bedroom and spotted no glare from within. Matt was muttering something about sleep and Mello returned his attention to the redhead who had effectively turned onto his side and half-buried himself into the cushions.

Mello blinked, lifting a brow and then, standing, pulled him up. “C’mon,” he said, leading him into their own bedroom. He cleared the bags off the bed and Matt managing to rid himself of clothes in a half-daze before climbing under the covers and promptly cocooning himself there.

“Everything all right?” Mello asked, clambering up onto the bed beside him, lifting the blankets to peek inside. A grunt indicated that yes, everything was peachy. Fuck. Turn his back for a moment and the world goes into disarray.

* * *

It would be the first of many… that lone desolate landscape, ashen ground and craggy precipice, the one he would all too often stand at to survey his world—his utopia; though it never looked more than this. Alone, barren—devoid of life and scrolling for miles and sometimes he had to wonder if the whole world had rotted and he’d been too late.

“It’s not hell, but you can see it from here,” L would say, too wis, and all-knowing coming up just behind him. And that would always make Kira angry—so angry, that even now, L refused to give his work the credit it deserved.

“This has to end,” L would continue, behind him, but just out of sight, his shadow creeping toward the edge of finality.

“It’s only begun,” was Kira’s reply.

“There’s nothing left but us,” and the detective’s voice would be lost on the wind.

“As it should be.” Yes.

“What about Mello?” And it was that question that skewed the whole scene—and Light’s eyes snapped open with his heart inexplicably racing hard in his chest. What? Another dream—? ..What about Mello? He squinted in the dark, vaguely conscious of the body beneath him—that warm steady pulse beneath flat contours of a familiar plane. It took Light a moment to understand Mello’s arms anchored around him, to understand that that was exactly where he needed to be at that moment because yet again, a dream had thrown his cognitive equilibrium and he was quite frankly happy that it had ended… until he craned his gaze up toward that lovely countenance to see that Mello… had no face….

Light actually bolted up in bed with a resounding “Fuck!” loud enough to stir Misa sleeping blissfully beside him.

“Raito?” she murmured, still sounding relatively intoxicated from their earlier activities when Kira had essentially fucked her as she’d never been fucked in her life. The formally sterile nature of their sex life was promptly cast aside, although Light needed to bend her over forward against the bed while taking her from behind with his hand tightened in messy black hair in order to cum… ironically, Misa knew exactly what she had been doing when she changed her appearance. Kira’s carnal response definitely proved as much.

“Go back to sleep, Misa,” Light all but growled, getting out of bed naked to pace into the washroom. Cool water was slapped on his neck, and it took him a moment before he could face his own reflection. He was not supposed to be here. And that thought was resoundingly—and disturbingly clear—but again, he pushed it aside.

* * *

“Gegrüßet seist du, Maria, voll der Gnade, der Herr ist mit dir. Du bist gebenedeit unter den Frauen, und gebenedeit ist die Frucht deines Leibes, Jesus.” The words were hushed in the morning breeze. The sweet scent of approaching summer mingled with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee adding that extra special something. “Heilige Maria,
Mutter Gottes, bitte für uns Sünder jetzt und in der Stunde unseres Todes.” The coffee lay untouched a short while longer. “Halten Sie ihn sicher und halten ihn wahr… Amen.” It was not the first time he had uttered those last closing words, but perhaps the first time it was not his own lover who’s face he saw as he whispered the prayer.

Mello rose and lifted his coffee off the table to lean comfortably against the balcony rail, mug secure between his palms as his gaze swept the familiar city. It was… strange being back here. Strange to behold this sight without thinking of what had happened last. It had been through those streets that he had chased Light, those same streets he drove him to safety and later on chased him even more desperately only to find himself too late. Mello chewed on his lip and paused his thoughts by sipping gratefully at the sweetened coffee. Downstairs, a Ducati Streetfighter sat in the hotel’s parking lot, right next to the shiny new sleek black Maserati GranTurismo. This time he’d opted for a four seater, thinking ahead to future complications. And besides if Deneuve was to walk these streets – or rather be driven around these streets – the eye candy could not hurt.

The blonde lowered his head, eyelashes brushing his cheeks. The previous night’s euphoria had bled away during the night. It felt good to be back, but here on his own, standing on that balcony with only his thoughts for company, it was not so grand. The previous morning’s events had yet to be discussed, but he had no doubts that it was now common knowledge what he had done – or rather, had not done. It was not so difficult to figure out. It was easier to focus on the business at hand, to focus on that goal that had steered him forward all these years. Catch Kira – always that. It did not matter if the world was crumbling around them or if he was laying on a couch wrapped in bandages and chugging painkillers and alcohol just make the pain stop. The goal was the same. An obsessive determination that had never before been questioned because that was just what he had to do.

So what had he been thinking in simply… standing there as Kira … walked out? What had he been thinking as he raced down the hallway at a mad dash to make it to Matt only to have his resolve crumble in an instant the moment he reached the doorway? In that moment it was no longer about Matt, and everything about Kira. In that moment, Mello failed, his focus twisted and that determination melted away.

He let him go.

Not only had Mello let Kira go, he instilled some hope for the bastard. Even now after everything he had done, Mello clung to that last bit of hope that somehow, by some will of God, Light knew what he was doing. Why? Why even bother… why give him such a broadened chance when it was clear that none was deserved? “Get a grip, Mell…” he coached himself under his breath.

Keep him safe, he had said. Keep him true...

* * *

What was odd was that Linda woke up, and L was still asleep beside her, the sunlight pouring in over his china-white body, half covered in loose linen sheets. Noriko was asleep on the pillow beside his head, as L must have tossed her out of his hair in the wee hours of the morning. Linda smiled, twisting slightly to stroke a finger under the little kitten’s chin, which automatically set off her motor. She got up and danced a bit in circles, walking back and forth rather clumsily across the linear line of L’s back. He stirred a bit and muttered when Noriko started doing the paw-paw in between his shoulder blades, and Linda couldn’t help but laugh…

Her hand came up to stifle herself when the kitten, sated with its momentary kneading, flopped down quite comfortably on the small of L’s back. Victorious once again. But seeing as she had a captive audience, Noriko rolled onto her side, paws stretching either way and that fuzzy belly just begging to be rubbed. Linda bit her bottom lip, grinning and pet her, unconsciously leaning against L’s body as she did so.

“I’m glad I serve a higher purpose,” L murmured without opening his eyes and Linda giggled.

“She adores you,” she said, saddling up beside him just a little more consciously as she rubbed the kitten’s tummy.

“Does she? I hadn’t noticed,” L smirked. He seemed tired, and didn’t truly seem to want to wake up just then. Part of Linda wanted to wonder if she should worry—that it was so very out of character for him; but then again, she knew by now that he had to recharge—especially if he was to embark on yet another high-stakes chase of Kira…

Linda craned her neck to check the time displayed on the LED clock on the nightstand. It was well past 9am already. She’d gotten a full night’s sleep, which after the chaos of the last several days was well deserved. Having absolutely no idea what time he had actually crawled in to join her, she could only guess that L’s charge had been minimal. But… she hadn’t noticed any notable tossing and turning. A good sign. She peered down at him. “Should I bring you some tea?”

“I think I’d prefer it if you just stayed a bit longer with me,” he said, and one dark eye at last opened beneath a soft shag of long mussed bangs. “Or is that too presumptuous of me?”

He of course said this as Linda was pressed up against him—her stomach to his hip, her legs knocking against his own—and he was shirtless, but wearing some sort of pajama bottoms, and she had on a t-shirt and her underwear—and she could probably almost trick herself into thinking that this was normal, that they were a couple, that he wasn’t L the way she knew and had always known him…god knows his ‘Deneuve’ façade certainly presented as far more normal than his natural demeanor.

And of course as that dark gaze settled on her, Linda could not help the small smile and faint flush that brushed her features. “No, that’s fine…” she murmured, bowing her head so that her forehead brushed his shoulder, the hand that petted Noriko pausing only briefly.

Despite the kitten on him, L curled in closer to her, and Linda found herself opening her arms to pull him into a lazy embrace. Noriko rode the wave of his movement, but was adamant to stay upon her claimed perch, and settled when he did—him against Linda, and her against his back.

Linda didn’t realize she was holding her breath until she felt L relax completely—and no sooner did she have a chance to marvel at a predicament she’d never truly imagine she’d see realized, then L had fallen back to sleep—deeply and peacefully.

Linda smiled up at the ceiling, her fingers gently tangling in L’s locks—and she had no idea how much time actually passed before Mello was peeking his head in, presumably to see if the detective was alright.

His features were controlled, but Linda noted that he regarded her with an unspoken hint of curiosity. “Everything all right?” Mello whispered from the doorway, nodding at L’s prone form and Noriko’s equally passed out bundle upon his back.

Linda nodded with a small reassuring smile. “Jus’ sleeping.”

“Yea, that’s why I ask.” Mello returned dully but shook his head. “I’ve got tea and coffee made, if you want any. Room service should be up shortly to deliver half the bakery’s stock.”

“Want me to wake him?”

“No,” Mello told her before she even gave the thought any further consideration. “Let him rest while we can afford it.” And with that, he slipped out, closing the door quietly behind him.

“What?” Matt asked from the kitchen doorway, noting the blonde’s particularly puzzled look.

“I feel as if I’ve just saved myself from falling head first into the Twilight Zone,” Mello said dazedly and the redhead snorted.

“It’s more than bloody obvious he’s having issues dealing right now,” Matt said, pouring sugar into black coffee. He still sounded bitter, and Mello had to lean back and wonder if he needed to prod. Light was currently out of the immediate equation, and Linda was no trouble maker, so whatever had happened last night while Mello was out making the rounds was between Matt and L.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Mello said, skipping right over L’s issues and straight to Matt’s. Sure L was having issues, he was grasping at someone who was no longer there, and it seemed Linda—for now—would do just fine as the replacement.

“Oh what?” Matt said, unlit cigarette hanging from his lip. “You mean, talk about how you spilled everything to L? Or, maybe talk about how Kira just waltzed out yesterday?” The bite in his tone was definitely back. “No Mell, I don’t want to talk about it—I want to offer up a great big fuck off cunts to the lot of you lately—but that doesn’t mean I love you wankers any less. Even when L all but tries to hand me my walking papers for my own personal well being.”

He took a slug of the coffee and moved passed his lover and back into the sitting area. “We have a job to do, let’s bloody do it, yeah? And save the rest for a rainyfucking day.”

Mello raised an eyebrow, perhaps a bit surprised, but he did not prod further, taking it as a blessing that they were not initiating what would become World War III under their roof. Devoid of comment, he shuffled in after his lover, bare feet partially hidden beneath long leather pant legs, which was as far as Mello had gotten insofar as dressing that morning. The red rosary hung freely against bare skin and for whatever reason Matt caught himself glancing up over the rim of his mug at the undeniably pleasant sight before him. Several months prior, however, it was not a sight he got to enjoy unless it was truly just the two of them in the flat. It spoke volumes of Mello's new-found comfort levels regarding the heavy scaring that had once upon a time caused esteem issues even between the two of them.

Mello caught Matt looking and paused, blinking. "What?" he asked, a croissant half-shoved into his mouth.

The redhead shook his head, lowering his gaze back to the screen that was booting up in front of him. "Nothing," he said. "Admiring." He knew there would be a little smirk upon Mello’s lips at that, because despite just how cold they could be to one another, simple comments such always did manage to break the ice and please the blonde. It all went back to that pesky inferiority complex of his, that constant nagging desire to be better and grander. No one in a million years would have ever imagined it, seeing as how he carried himself, that there was just an inkling - or perhaps more than an inkling - of self conscience there beneath the surface. One of the many wonders of the world. But seeing as Mello sank onto the couch - not onto the cushions, but instead onto Matt himself, long leather-clad legs straddling one of the redhead's thighs—that little comment must have gone a long way.

Matt smirked a bit, but kept his attention on the laptop—Mello soon joining him in reviewing the world of Deneuve—which L had left access codes to in both their inboxes somewhere between his and Matt’s conflict, and his subsequent canoodling with Linda.

Deneuve had an impressive list of cases and seemed to concentrate on crimes of a particularly dark and scandalous nature. Much of his work was centered in Europe, so it seemed only logical that he be the one to pick up the Kira thread here in Rome. By contrast, Eraldo Coil seemed to operate more normally south of the equator, and for all intents and purposes, didn’t seem to have L’s favor the way Deneuve did.

Mello had often wondered in the past—ever since the detective had rather austerely relayed the tale of the war to him—if there was more to that. L had always given the impression that the war was on a strictly anonymous playing field—but it was rather obvious L had at least made contact with Deneuve—where the real Deneuve was once he’d lost, was anyone’s guess. From what L claimed, the French detective retired rather comfortably on his fortune somewhere in the south of France along the coast.

Mello slid down to lay on his stomach, half along the length of the couch, half draped over his lover's lap. And while any other time the chosen positioning could have been particularly distracting, both were far too intent on the screen to notice. In fact, it was with a pang of distant familiarity that they realized things had truly been on shaky ground between them lately.

"Hm..." the redhead murmured around the butt of his cigarette, the tip flaring up red as he inhaled its poison. It had been the furthest thing from his mind since their chase from Rome and escape into Sicily, but the matter of Aiber came back as he read. Of course that was one particular detail that would not be inserted into the file seeing as the conman worked off record for the most part. The bastard had been left to soak in the tub, in whatever condition it was L had beaten him to. Matt had not bothered to check as their necessity to leave was a bit more pressing. But he assumed someone had eventually found him.

"What?" Mello inquired, having caught the nuisance and glimpsed up questioningly.

"It's nothing..." Matt replied, scrolling through the file. As expected, Mello was hardly convinced and had absolutely no qualms calling him on it with a snorted "bullshit".

“Aiber,” Matt said simply.

And Mello twisted up a brow. “I didn’t get to that part.”

“It won’t be in here—he’s a conman L made use of as Deneuve…he’s also the one who attacked L in the hotel when we were last in Rome.”

“You told me,” Mello muttered.

“I just have to wonder—since I have no idea where he went after we left, though I can imagine he wasn’t feeling very rosy—if he’s going to rear his head around the moment he hears Deneuve is back.”

Mello chewed on a finger. “Because he obviously knows Deneuve is L?”

“Well, there’s that sure,” Matt said.

“But?” Mello anticipated.

The redhead seemed not terribly excited to impart the information. “He has a certain unhealthy lust for Deneuve in particular.”

“And by lust, you mean--?”

“Just that, mate, lust.”

"Lust," Mello repeated, lifting a slender brow. "Something about the way you say that makes me not like the sound of it."

"There's little to like, the bastard's as skeezy as they come."

"Reassuring," the blonde deadpanned.

"Certainly." The cigarette was crushed into the ashtray beside him. "I don't imagine you'll have many public events, but you might want to familiarize yourself with Deneuve as best you can." Blue eyes turned downward. "You're serious about teaming up with him out there." It was a statement, but it sounded incredulous all the same.

"What choice have we got?" Mello countered with a shrug and folding his arms across Matt's lap, set his head down. "I work just fine on my own, but time is of the essence. We need you here and Linda's not trained." It was the only logical choice. Matt chuckled and Mello cast him a curious look.

"Sorry," the redhead muttered, grinning sheepishly. For now his anger forgotten. "It's just so like you to already be calling the shots like this." His grin broadened as Mello's gaze narrowed indignantly. "I mean no insult, it's just your nature. You've got more drive and ambition than the lot of us combined, but it amuses me all the same that you have the balls, even now, to call the shots while L is otherwise indisposed. And the best part," Matt paused sipping at his coffee. "Is that this has nothing to do with the fact that he picked you—it’s just the way you are."

"I'm not sure whether or not to be insulted," Mello grumbled, but Matt spotted the faint upturn at the corner of his lips as he leaned his head back down.

"Don't," the redhead snorted. "You do mean to have her trained, though?"

"I think it would be most prudent if she's going to stick around."

"Hardly her area."

"Not yours either, but it's come in useful more times than not," Mello countered.

At about that moment, the room phone rang. Mello and Matt stiffened, having not expected it; but Matt nodded to Mello, “It’s wired,” he said, “Go ahead and answer.”

Mello snatched the phone. “Pronto,” he said, and listened to the clerk mention something about a delivery from Winchester that they were sending up for a Mr. Nathaniel Crane.

“That’s me,” Matt mouthed, listening in over the tap, and Mello nodded, eyeing his guns on the coffee table. “Si, send it up,” he said, severing the call.

“You?” and Mello was off the couch, loading the weapon in anticipation of whoever was on their way to the door—could have been innocent… or perhaps not. With Deneuve in play and them back on the field, danger could come from any number of places—not just Kira.

“Nathaniel is Deneuve’s tech assistant,’ Matt said, getting up and shutting the laptop. He even went so far as to remove his goggles, and Mello vaguely remembered that whole-hair-dying-disguise thing he’d gone through only a month earlier.

Mello saddled up beside the door, weapon ready, and Matt waited to answer.

The Bellhop looked harmless enough as he handed over a package—rush delivery from England. Matt nodded, thanked him, signed for it, and by the time they shut the door, Mello was almost disappointed that it turned out to be nothing.

“We should check it out,” Matt said, it was a padded yellow envelope, rather large, and whatever was inside, felt soft…

“We should,” Mello muttered, eyes scanning the postal markups that defaced the surface.

“It’s mine,” L said suddenly from the bedroom doorway. “I had it rushed over lastnight from Wammy’s.” Both gazes craned up in time to watch the detective shuffle from the room—dressed in his usual garb, at least for that moment, and seeming intent on locating the nearest source of sugar possible.

“It’s for our dinner date tonight with Veronique Danton—Mello, I suggest you brush up on your French… and on Veronique.”

Mello blinked with a typically questioning expression because L had not mentioned any goddamned dinner date. At least it was still morning, which was several more hours in advance than he could have been warned. “It’s not my French I’m worried about,” he said, intrigued and Matt passed on the package to the detective. “It’s our presumed date. Who is she?” And in the same breath, he added. “In the kitchen, L. There’s pastries in the fridge.”

L nodded and moments later he was coming back out of the kitchen, pastry in his mouth, tray of pastries in his hand, He set it all down on the coffee table before climbing into his chosen seat before the laptops.

“Veronique,” he said, around the confection, before biting off half and swallowing it into that endless abyss of his, “Is Deneuve’s eyes and ears. Invaluable resource of information, we’ve done a fair extent on our own, but even with all of our work, and Near’s, I still want a better grasp of what’s going on in the underworld. Veronique should be able to provide that.”

He scarfed another pastry. “She has extravagant taste, so we’re dining at the Vivendo, in the St. Regis Grand Hotel.”

Which was only the most expensive cuisine in all of Rome.

There was a slight pause in which Mello made sense of the information. A brow was lifted and Mello’s most congenial response was, “…oh.” Well. All right, he could do the expensive dinner date with the mysterious informant. Chances were that he would not be the main attraction, seeing as Deneuve was making his come back. “And how are we going to explain my presence at your side from now on?”

“Simple,” L said. “Deneuve’s taste is extravagant as well…” He put a finger to his lips and blinked wide eyed at the ceiling as though doing the math… “You’re his current lover.”

There was a decisive sound of choking on coffee from Matt’s general direction. It was a wonder he did not simply spit it right out. Mello, who’d been setting his weapon back down on the coffee table, fumbled. The gun thudded more loudly onto the glass than it should have. His eyes shot up to gape at the detective, one of his most extreme patented expressions clear across his face. He wasn’t quite sure he’d heard L right, just as he wasn’t sure what to be more puzzled by: that he was now going to play the part of L’s – no, Deneuve’s – lover, or that L had just called him extravagant.

Mello and Matt exchanged equally wide-eyed expressions watching as L chewed a thumb, focused on the screen intently and suddenly began typing a response to an email as though nothing were out of the ordinary.

“Umm…come again?” Mello managed.

“You heard me,” L replied. “But you’re going to need to dress the part—for now, you’re arm candy. Veronique will be distracted enough not to suspect anything right off the bat…” He paused to think again. “The leather pants will work, but I’m sending you and Linda out for a more expensive wardrobe to polish it off. After all, Deneuve’s almost as wealthy as…” he smirked. “I am.”

Mello stared at the detective as though he had just grown a couple extra heads. Sure, it made sense and the need to dress the part was all well and good but there was one thing Mello could not get past. “…arm candy?!” He sputtered several long seconds later because the term sounded just as absurd as the mental images his mind was formulating. “Bloody hell…” he muttered before L could respond, brushing jagged bangs from his eyes. They fell back in place seconds later.

Beside him, Matt had apparently moved past the initial shock and was now holding back laughter behind his fist, brows twisted as he tried his hardest not to burst out with hysterics. After all, the mental image was truly that amazing. Mello being led around by Deneuve as a little trophy mistress of sorts—it was golden.

“You think this is funny?” The blonde turned on him, which only made the redhead’s brittle control shatter as he let out a particularly humored cackle. “Oh fuck off,” Mello muttered, disgruntled.

And damn if L himself wasn’t smirking slightly at the bomb he’d just dropped, which only made Matt laugh harder. “Naturally I don’t want you to act flamboyant—” the detective continued matter-of-factly. “But you need to make some mouths drop—the real Deneuve had a reputation you know.”
Mello was very near scowling when Linda came out wrapped in a bathrobe. She saw Matt practically in stitches with tears running down his face, and both her eyebrows went up.

“What’d I miss?”

“Linda, luv,” L said, attention on the screen. “I need you to take Mello out shopping.”

That was it, Matt was done, sinking to the floor, unable to control himself. “Oh God,” he gasped, “Suddenly it all feels worth it.”

Mello frowned, and noticed that L was now sinking behind the laptop, presumably to hide his own chuckling.

“Fired,” he grumbled. “The lot of you.” And with that, he turned on the spot and disappeared into the bedroom, assumedly to finish getting ready so that he and Linda could go on their shopping trip.