Redeemer

“What are we shopping for?” Linda was asking him as she climbed into the passenger’s seat of the car, strapping on her seatbelt. It was only once she was inside, pressed into the soft leather seats that she realized the sort of thing she’d just climbed into. “Whoa, Nice,” she approved with a slight whistle.

“Expensive clothes.”

Linda eyed him curiously. “And I’m to help you pick them out?” she asked incredulously. If there was one person who knew how to dress – other than Light, of course – it was Mello. They all knew that.

“I think you’re supposed to keep me in line or something,” Mello scoffed, pulling out onto the roadway.

Linda chuckled, lowering her window. “What’s the occasion?”

“I’m going on a date—with L.”

“What?!” and the girl’s shriek was lost in the wind.

* * *

It was not long after that L shut the laptop and stood up from the couch. Matt had managed to recover from his hysterics, but couldn’t hide the fact that he was eagerly awaiting Mello’s return to see just what his lover had shopped for. Oh god, it was all so priceless—and he truly needed the laugh.
“I’m gonna be awhile,” L said, scratching fingers through scruffy black hair just before he picked up the discarded package from Wammy’s he’d left sitting on the couch beside him. “I have to pull off a sort of miracle transformation in order to do this tonight.” Almost as an after thought he snatched up one of the last several pastries on his breakfast plate and popped it into his mouth. “Feel free to order lunch,” he said.

“Will do,” Matt returned, grinning. He slouched back on the couch, once again half-hidden behind the monitor of his laptop. “Let me know if you need help.” He called after the detective as the bedroom door was pushed shut.

* * *

Linda’s eyes practically fell out of their sockets when the total number lit in green on the shop register. She gaped even more so when Mello hardly blinked and unfolded the necessary euro from his wallet, pressing it into the polished wooden counter.

“Must be an important date…” she commented as they stepped back out onto the street, marveling again at their surroundings. She never had the chance to travel, having gone straight to work in London. The call to Sicily had been exciting, but even then Linda had been confined to the villa and thus never experienced the sites. Being walked and driven around the ancient city like this made her positively giddy.

“It is,” Mello murmured thoughtfully, leading her down a side street not to the car but to a small café where he ordered them both coffee and pastries. “Meeting some informant of his. I don’t even know what I’ve gotten myself into.” At that Linda had to grin because for a moment Mello actually sounded worried.

She was beaming rather silly as they slid into the chairs with their gourmet little snack, and Mello deadpanned, but Linda cast a glance around the ancient grotto buildings. “It’s so beautiful here,” she sighed, and Mello snorted.

“You don’t think so?”

“No, I do,” he replied, sipping his espresso. “It’ just that—the day I get to sit in a place like this and just enjoy it for what it’s worth, rather than be involved in some life-threatening situation, well—”

Linda was grinning even more now.

“What?” Mello managed.

“Liar,” she purred. “You love this life style—don’t deny it.”

Mello snorted again, and Linda took her time with the pastry, savoring every flavor. “L hasn’t said much more than you’re meeting an informant?” she asked, her eyes scanning their surroundings appreciatively. She absently fixed on a young man seated in a café across the street—he seemed to be doing the same, drinking in the beauty of Rome—their eyes happened to catch just then, though he was far, and Linda wasn’t paying attention, randomly admiring the notion that he was probably a student, or the son of a rich man—dressed in a casual suit, brown, neatly trimmed hair, slightly on the windblown side—glasses… she blinked a little embarrassed when he winked at her, getting up from his seat and getting ready to leave.

Linda’s gaze fluttered down for a moment, embarrassed he’d caught her staring—and she had to chastise herself because here she was surrounded by a slew of peers, none of whom would have been intimidated that way. Damnit, she shouldn’t have been either, so she forced her gaze back up and caught the young man just as he was beginning to walk away, and her mouth tumbled open—because, oh my God, how could she be that stupid?!

“Mello,” she breathed, as a tour bus passed. Linda craned her gaze, trying to see around the vehicle, but it was too late—the young man was gone.
Mello’s eyes snapped up, following how Linda had paled, and where she was so avidly staring.

“What? What is it?” His hand instinctively fell to the gun hidden inside his jacket.

“I just saw Light,” Linda gasped.

“What!?” it took some effort not to stand and dash across the street in the direction she was gaping at.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know why I didn’t realize it at first – he was just sitting there and…” but their target was long gone and they could not afford chasing shadows not with plans having already been made for that evening.

So they had been right in believing him to be here. “You’re sure it was him?”

“Positive,” she said with a firm nod.

“Shit,” Mello muttered, picking his coffee back up, eyes scanning the street intently as he took the last sip. “All right… we’ve got confirmation that he’s here, at least.”

“Shit, Mell, I’m sorry…”

“It’s fine, you weren’t expecting him to simply be sitting there. C’mon,” he said once Linda had finished her pastry. He could not shake the feeling of being watched now though as he led her through the cobblestone street back toward the car. Paranoia, perhaps, but tingly sensation crept right between his shoulder blades.

* * *

“He showed himself for a reason,” Mello murmured, driving intently around Italy’s cramped roads. “If he was truly hiding from us, he wouldn’t just pop up and wink at you.”

Linda breathed. “You’re right,” she said, “It makes me wonder how long he’s been following us. But how did he even know where we would be?”

“Not sure,” Mello muttered. “It’s possible he tagged us while we were unconscious. Light doesn’t like to be blind, he likes to have all his bases covered—so it wouldn’t surprise me. We’ll have to have Matt do a bug check once we get back.”

“But if he knows where we were, he’d know where we’re staying.”

“I’m sure,” Mello replied. “We’ll most likely be switching rooms a lot, but that’s how L normally lives. It’s a game, Linda—Kira’s playing and this proves it. He wants us to know he’s just out of reach, close enough to touch but too far to capture, he’s leading us along—it makes me wonder.”

“Hm?” Linda murmured.

Mello was quiet for a moment, gloved fingers tapping lightly against the wheel as they sat at the red light, seconds later it turned green and he proceeded. “Just thinking out loud,” he commented with a shake of his head. Light was leading them along, and they had only just arrived. It was somewhat worrisome. Those bug checks would have to be made, but Mello supposed for now it would be all right. If Light had wanted any harm to come to them, there had been plenty of time in Sicily. He could have murdered the lot of them at the villa and left as easily as that.

* * *

Matt looked up as they stepped inside, Linda first. He was about to make a crack when he noticed the look on both their faces. A brow was lifted instead. “You look like a happy bunch.”

“Linda spotted Light,” Mello commented offhandedly and set the shopping bags down on the side of the couch, tossing the keys onto the coffee table. Lunch had been ordered. Mello inspected the tray, stealing a French fry off the plate and looked up once he noticed Matt was staring at him. “What?”

“You saw him?”

“I did,” Linda said a bit meekly. “Across the street. As if he knew exactly where we were.” The redhead frowned.

“We’ll have to look into that,” Mello said, tugging off his jacket. “Where’s L?”

“Getting’ ready,” Matt said, nodding toward the bathroom.

“Already?” Mello muttered, helping himself to a brownie off of L’s plate. “I thought dinner was at six?”

“He said he had a transformation to perform,” Matt muttered, madly clacking through the keys, presumably trying to find out if Light had configured some sort of tapping setup in their system. “The bastard’s good, he grumbled, “And lightening should strike me dead for saying that, but he’s done all sorts of damage in the hub. He’s made it the bloody Winchester House of network nightmares.”

“What?” Mello muttered, eyebrow squirreling up.

“Winchester House—you know, that wacko place in California, stairs going up to ceilings, doors opening up to nowhere—that’s what your boy-toy has done to my system—every time I think I’m on his trail, I turn up at a ceiling.”

“Bloody hell,” Mello muttered, just a moment before it struck him. “Boy-toy?”

He could have sworn that he spied just the faintest of smirks around the cigarette between his lover’s lips. Bastard. “Well, either way I’m sure you can get yourself back on your feet before it’s truly critical.” Matt glared and Mello grinned. Challenge in place, he plopped himself down in front of his computer near the windows. “Good time as any to start giving Linda the run-through,” he called across the sitting area. The girl looked owlishly at him. “You’ll be on the line with us tonight,” he told her. “It’ll be an easy start.”

“I’m not as tech savvy as either of you lot,” she said, biting her bottom lip.

“That’s why you’re training with the best,” Mello said with a wink. “You’ll be an extra set of valuable eyes and ears. For now, you might want to read up on Deneuve,” he advised her all the while looking up their informant dinner date herself.

It should not have been surprising that Veronique Danton was quite simply… a looker. Okay, fucking gorgeous. Independently wealthy, jet-setting type—more men than she had dollars. Apparently that was how she got all the information she did. Her list of high profile affairs read like a who’s who of the upper echelons of rogue intelligence agents—a good lot of them, L’s competition. Sometimes it was easy to forget, despite all the power L wielded in the world justice system, a fair amount of those same agents of justice were against him. Jealousy, mistrust—it was fair to say there were a great number of individuals who were utterly against one man having as much power as L did. Mello supposed in situations such as theirs though, it was better for L to operate under a different detective code—hence Deneuve.

Deneuve was more a part of the culture, especially in Europe, than L was. The original Deneuve anyway—the file was well separated between the two, only, L had destroyed all photographic evidence of both Deneuve and Coil. It was part of the deal—to the winner went the spoils, yes; but seeing as how the so-called war, was a war of strategy and not finality, the losers were guaranteed life-long anonymity to ensure they would have a long and healthy retirement. So their identities were erased and absorbed by L. Therefore, there were no pictures of either, and no pictures of L posing as either—like there were no pictures of L himself…

Maybe that’s why the person who came out of the bathroom was such a shock, because it for certain wasn’t L.

There was a collective dropping of jaws across the board—hard to say whose jaw hit the floor the loudest. It was one thing to see L cleaned up and in a suit—that in and of itself was bizarre—but like the first impression reiterated itself aloud in an ‘oh my god’ from one of them (hard to say who)—this just wasn’t L.

There was no slouch—his carriage was tall and slender and svelte, dressed in an all-black form-fitting suit Light would probably have creamed himself over. The blazer was decadent velvet, the accents—belt and gloves, black leather. He looked expensive, he smelled expensive, and his face (but for the obvious features they only recognized because they lived in such close proximity to the detective)—was almost entirely unfamiliar. Full lips, high cheek bones, and smooth pale skin, yes. But L suddenly had a fully visible brow in the absence of bangs—eyebrows too actually, normally almost invisible, were shaded red to match the magnificent long silky swath of red hair that fell neatly on either side of his androgynously exotic face and down his broad shoulders. Not only that, the dark circles usually so prominent beneath his equally dark eyes were gone—stamped away by a generous amount of foundation and cover-up, it made for an altogether unrecognizable countenance—which was absolutely and utterly… alluring.

Transformation had been one hell of a good word for it, because unless they had been expecting it, not a single one of them would have recognized L on the street. Not for who he truly was. “Bloody hell,” Mello heard himself saying. It was still quite early, but he supposed this would take some getting used to before they would all be able to stop staring. So goddamned bizarre.

Linda was practically salivating because while L himself was attractive in his way, this new countenance emitted such a radiant aura of appeal (that was both different and somehow familiar) that she could scarcely wrap her mind around it. “Wow,” she murmured. “That’s amazing…”

L didn’t miss a beat, though perhaps he was secretly delighting at having thrown them all for a loop. “Mello, you should start getting ready,” he commented, crossing the room. L’s voice coming out of that face was positively bizarre; it defined the notion that this Deneuve was a disguise, the transformation would truly be complete once he started speaking French.

“Oh, but first,” he said. “Tell me about Light.”

“He was at the café, watching us,” Linda murmured, still very distracted by the red-haired detective before her.

“Cat and mouse then,” L muttered, chewing absently on the tip of a gloved finger. “He’s playing and he wants us to know—though I’m sure you all surmised that for yourselves. It also means that whatever he’s doing, he wants us involved, so he’s bound to be dropping more of these little morsels along the path for us.”

“He’s done more than drop morsels in my system,” Matt grumbled still attempting to clean up the mess Kira had left him to wade through the previous day. Bastard. He felt dirty. His network contaminated. Goddamnit.

For the most part L ignored that comment. And then his phone rang. He answered thickly in French, sounding so very smooth and borderline…seductive, flirty even—and several more expressions around him twisted. The call lasted only a few moments, but was telling all the same. Deneuve was going to be an experience.

Mello caught himself staring and shook his head, rising from his seat. He plucked Matt’s soda off the table, stealing a sip before dropping it back down. Shopping bags were picked up and he moved smoothly off into the bathroom to get ready.

Out in the sitting area, Linda glanced up at the time. It was lunch, still early for their six o’clock meeting with Veronique. She had to wonder what this extra preparation was all about. She sat on the couch when the bathroom door was pulled open twenty minutes later. Matt was in the process of wiring L and so did not glance up as his lover approached. Linda, however, was for the second time, staring wide eyed at the sight.

And an impressive one it was. She had seen what he’d picked out, but the overall result was particularly lovely. Mello had taken the opportunity to purchase a new pair of leathers, free of scuffs and any sign of wear as his had been. They hugged his hips like a second skin, beneath a fitted black shirt, unbuttoned only half way to reveal the smooth pale hint of his chest; his rosary stark crimson against naked flesh. A leather blazer fell over the ensemble, hiding the firearms that doubtlessly pressed against his sides and his hair had been smoothed back into a loose pony tail, long bangs falling strategically over the left side of his face, revealing just enough of the ridged scars along his jaw and neck. He revealed as much as he hid—a handsome strategy to make an impression. Just as much as L enjoyed fucking with people’s brains, Mello enjoyed shocking them. Sunglasses sat for now on top of his head, green eyes seemingly even brighter than usual due to the heavy liner he’d expertly applied. Liner he had not used in this way since LA.

He picked his wallet off the table and slid it into his inner blazer pocket, offering Linda a glimpse of white gun handles at his sides where the holster hugged his upper body. It was not so different from Mello’s usual appearance, but the expensive wares certainly helped to enhance that aura of sexuality he carried about him. His attitude had changed, although it was likely Linda only noticed it because she had been in such close contact with the lot of them over the last month.

Mello dutifully stepped toward his lover, who had at last caught a glimpse of him and grinned despite himself. Matt motioned him over, wordlessly wiring him as he had L. After checking that both were active on his screen he nodded. “You’re all set.”

“Lovely,” L purred, “Then that’s half the battle.” And with the way he winked, Mello knew he was lying…

* * *

Deneuve, in public, was L’s opposite. He was proud and suave and possessed a certain je ne sais quoi that made him untouchable to common folk but of ample interest to the wealthy, important people. Of course, being both L and Deneuve, no matter who cast desirable glances his way—he was haughty and cold-blooded to outright rudely ignore them.

Mello, of course was enjoying no lack of attention either, which he allowed to coolly roll off his persona. No matter what lust was being beamed in his direction, he was Deneuve’s, or at least, that was the game right?

“Renee, mon Coeur,” Veronique greeted, as they neared her table, where the exotic, dark-hair beautiful French woman sat in a low-cut fitted gown, sipping wine and flashing her too-blue eyes at anything with the proper package. That—Mello expected, he also expected her to stand up and give the signature affectionate peck on either side of L’s pale face—what he didn’t expect at that moment, was for her to then slip her arms around L’s shoulders as though she were the most intimate person in the world to him, and kiss him long and deep on the lips.

And he certainly didn’t expect for L to return the gesture.

And thus a slender brow shot up well beneath the fall of his bangs, and while normally Mello would not have commented, he had a role to play and cleared his throat with a sort of indignant arrogant air.

“Seems I’m moving in on someone else’s territory, ne’s pas?” Veronique purred, her sultry gaze sliding over Deneuve’s shoulder to fix on Mello’s incredibly sexual countenance.

“Depends on who you ask,” Deneuve replied rather cleverly as Veronique took her time to admire the blonde.

“Veronique, this is Dion—my assistant.”

Veronique’s bee-stung lips spread into a cool smile, reflected by her equally cool blue eyes. “Enchante,” she purred, offering Mello her hand. He accepted it with all the catlike grace and smoldering promise he could muster, which pleased the woman greatly—her gaze practically devouring his every feature and sizing him up for all of his uses.

“Ah, the two of you fucking?”

“Whenever the mood strikes,” was Mello’s smooth answer. If she was trying to jar him, he’d let her know it wasn’t that easy.

Deneuve’s smile was quick, clever and maybe ever slightly pleased and Veronique laughed. “And now I am to be distracted with that image for the remainder of the evening.”

In his ear, Mello heard the distinctive sound of Linda spewing her drink. Hopefully not onto the screen. His expression did not betray this little bit of knowledge, however, and Mello grinned, walking around the table to pull her chair out for her. His gaze lifted up toward the door, discretely taking notice of all escape routes and Veronique smiled. Mello could see how she managed to wield the power she did over the men in her life. “Don’t let it distract you too much, mon cherri,” he practically purred into her ear, leaning over the high back of the chair. “Not sure just how interesting a dinner conversation that would make.” And yet, he knew that she would be most interested in that particular conversation above all.

Deneuve took the seat directly across from her, which left Mello to sit between the two. It was with some relief that he did so all the while facing the main doorway. Call him paranoid, but it was best to be attentive, especially now a days.

“Tell me, Renee,” Veronique purred, addressing Deneuve with the utmost familiarity. “Where in God’s name have you been hiding all these years?”

“LA,” Deneuve replied rather believably, which had the woman’s jaw dropping in her lap, as though that were the most repulsive notion in the world.

“No,” She gasped.

Deneuve’s gaze narrowed rather intoxicatingly, to the point that Mello had to remind himself this was L he was staring at. “Of course not,” Deneuve purred in a thick accent, “You should know better than that.”

“So you won’t tell me?” She smiled like butter.

“Not in the least,” Deneuve smiled back.

“Then what brings you out of retirement?”

Deneuve scoffed, selecting a rather expensive bottle from the wine list for the waiter to bring over. “Simple—Kira.”

“Kira?” Veronique’s eyebrows went up. “Ah. I see—L again, you’re still bitter.”

“Bitter?” Deneuve laughed. “Far from bitter—more like insulted,” and he said this as he draped his napkin over his lap. “L is useless, particularly in this case. He has half of Interpol eating out of the palm of his hand, but has shown them no results. For six years he’s had a hard-on for Kira, but despite several minor mishaps in Kira’s activity—and trust me, I’ve been monitoring—there has been no definitive cease of murders.”

“So you’ve decided to attempt to usurp the case from L?”

“Not attempt,” Deneuve replied. “I will. I will take Kira down before L and prove to the world what a useless armchair detective that bastard is.”

Veronique laughed. “Bitter as always—your colors are showing Renee.” She winked at him and turned her attention to Mello. “I hope he’s not that hard on you, Dion.”

"No," Mello returned smoothly with that sex-laden smile of his. She had laid out the challenge upon her first greeting, now he was simply following through with it. "I can't say I have any complaints despite his borderline banal tastes and determination." Mello grinned, lowering his gaze to leave Veronique staring quite intently. He took his time to butter a small piece of bread, making sure she was watching as he at last lifted the sunglasses off his eyes to perch them on top of his head, turning that sharp green visage on her. Mello was playing, plain and simple. In part because he could, because it went hand in hand with his present role; but mostly because it had been far too long since he'd had the chance to exert his overtly sexual nature on an unsuspecting victim.

"Besides," he continued casually. "While this whole mess may be a case of bitterness at its deepest root, it's a challenge all the same." How strange it was to be speaking in such a manner, against Kira, against L himself as he sat right there beside him. They had both missed their calling as bloody actors. "It will give me the chance to not only see Kira executed as he should have been from the get-go but to watch L's flourished reputation crumble, and I will have the satisfaction of knowing that I had a hand in it." He sounded so convincing, the smooth almost-purr of polished French rolling off his tongue as if it were second nature.

Veronique smiled, delighted, resting her head on her hand and meeting Mello’s gaze with the sort of fiery appetite he would expect from her. “Renee, you’ve outdone yourself—where did you find him?”

Deneuve flashed a cryptic smile and his eyes settled on Mello as if he were indeed a prize. “You should only know half his talents,” he purred, and all the necessary sexual innuendo was present. By God if there was one thing L didn’t do so blatantly, it was speak like that. Bandied about innuendo plenty with Kira, but it was the incorporation of such a sultry, French, syrupy tone that seemed to draw a definitive line right down the center of where L stopped and Deneuve began.

To boot, it was suddenly frightening how well he and Mello were starting to play off each other with this whole ‘lover’ idea. And maybe they were both thinking of Kira when they spoke—projecting his enduring sexuality onto a relationship that basically didn’t exist, and maybe it was the fact that L sat there looking and sounding nothing like L, that helped things along. But Mello was conducting the role with ease and L was complying, and a few more weighty comments back and forth had Veronique lavishing quite a juicy degree of attention how the two of them must have looked tangled and sweaty and naked in expensive sheets.

Linda’s jaw was in her lap on the other end, and Matt was deadpanning. He’d managed to successfully push the act aside—so long as it remained an act—something he was not at all worried about considering he knew Mello and L were both talented performers in their own right, and deep down were well aware of where the boundaries lay. So he only choked slightly when Mello rose to excuse himself for a moment, but not without first kissing L on the lips like he was the lover he pretended to be.

And Linda spat at the screen a second time.

"How do they manage it?!" Linda asked agape, hardly believing what she was hearing and worst of all, seeing through each of the miniature cameras wired onto their person. Initially the cameras had been thought unnecessary, but seeing as it was the first of several outings they would be taking under their dual identities, it had been a last minute decision.

"Talent," Matt responded with an equal amount of amusement and wonder.

"I can hear you, you realize," Mello intervened as he stepped out onto the street, walking just out of sight of the doors to reach inside his jacket for the slim silver cigarette case he'd purchased earlier that morning. "I need her to talk freely," he explained with a murmur around the darkly colored clove between his lips, effectively obscuring his words and the fact that he was conversing at all. Thus far Veronique was impressed, but he couldn’t push his luck. It would be prudent to have her trust him, insofar that he was clearly in Deneuve’s favor, but without being overly forward regarding his involvement in the detective's bitter ambitions.

“Wow, Mello, you just kissed L,” Linda said, and clearly this field support business hadn’t exactly taken with her yet—she was too busy thinking of it as a reality show.

“So did you,” Mello replied, lighting up, “Actually, now Matt’s the only one who hasn’t, I think it’s his turn next.”

* * *

“God, tell me everything about him,” Veronique purred, watching after Mello, in particular the way his ass looked in leather pants, as he stepped out of the restaurant for a smoke.

“I’d have to kill you then,” Deneuve replied nonchalantly.

“He looks dangerous,” she smiled.

“Very,” was the laconic response as Deneuve glanced over the menu, he set it down a moment later. L would have gotten straight to business, Deneuve was drawing things out a bit.

Veronique crossed her legs and sipped her cocktail, blue-eyed gaze settling on the detective. “I hope you don’t intend to just use me for information, Renee,” she simpered.

L’s smile was something out of Kira’s book. “Of course not,” he replied, “I intend to use you for all things base and carnal after I use you for information.”

It was a good thing he didn’t flinch when Linda lost the rest of her drink in his ear. Matt swiped the mic from her. “Linda, luv,” he muttered, unlit cigarette between his lips, “You have to stop doing that. You can’t compromise their cover.”

Luckily, Veronique did not have the benefit of the wire tap that L and Mello did. L passed it off without a hitch, and Veronique sucked down her maraschino cherry. “Kira’s a hypocrite,” she said a moment later.

“So I hear,” Deneuve replied.

“All of this idealistic crime-free methodology he’s been slaughtering by has been a cover for his true ambition—money,” Veronique grumbled. “He’s working his way through the underground—members of prominent famiglia across the board are flocking to his side to fulfill his every demand in fear of his retribution. He is merciless, he’s taken out men Interpol would have castrated themselves for had they the chance.”

“That’s not new to me, Veronique,” Deneuve muttered, sounding rather bored.

“Non? It’s new to the rest of us who bought into the crap the Japanese have been saying about him.”

“There’s going to be a change in Kira’s behavior soon,” Deneuve replied. “He’ll stick to the underground, but my suspicion is, he’ll be taking out his followers—I need to know everything that goes on when he does.”

“What makes you say so?” Veronique murmured, eyebrow raised.

Deneuve stopped and fixed her in a knowing gaze. “Tch tch, you know better,” he chided. “Let’s just say Kira has decided his flock is misbehaving.”

Veronique leaned back in her chair. “Tell me Bella is involved,” she said.

“Id’ assume that goes without saying here,” Deneuve answered, both of them hushing a moment as the waiter came by to check on their progress with the menu. L ordered an appetizer for the table that didn’t involved anything remotely sugary.

“Bella has trumpeted herself the only way to communicate with Kira in the underground.”

“Hmm, funny that,” was Deneuve’s reply. “This is all superficial, Veronique—I want to know, what you know.” He lingered on that last word rather heavily, enough to make the woman sit back and grin. She was obviously regurgitating the synopsis that would do for any normal detective—but L was fully aware she knew much more than that.

“Fair enough,” she simpered. “I have a room in the hotel—after dinner you buy me a bottle of wine, and you come up there—bring your friend—and we’ll talk.”

Deneuve pretended to consider that and then he laughed. “Just because I’ve been retired these past several years does not mean I’ve gone stupid,” the reply made Veronique laugh. “Of course I know you’re room is tapped.”

“Of course,” she purred.

“And I’m already buying you a bottle of wine,” Deneuve continued, the woman’s lips spread a bit further.

“And,” Deneuve paused and fixed her in a black gaze, “I don’t think Dion’s tastes will blend well with yours.”

Her eyebrow arched. “Non?”

“Non,” Deneuve cocked his head with a telling bit of mischief. “You like to play, Veronique,” he said. “Dion…well, the scar speaks for itself.”

Her eyes widened, and now the scar had just taken on a dangerous connotation that not only smacked of violence, but smacked of violence and extreme sadomasochism in bed. “Renee,” she said, almost breathless. “I need to fuck you—it’s been years.”

If Linda was spitting out her second drink, L didn’t hear it this time because Matt still had the mic.

“After dinner,” he said. “You give me two hours to send you a meeting place. We’ll talk there—for your usual price.”

“Deneuve,” Veronique whimpered disapprovingly, which meant the usual price was not what she had in mind just then. Most likely a fee that involved a ridiculous amount of zeros.

Deneuve smirked at the pout she was suddenly directing at him and shrugged nonchalantly. “Dion would not approve,” he simpered. “Believe it or not—he’s the jealous type.”

Mello's outward reaction was as controlled as anyone could have asked for, but a brow most definitely shot up as he listened in on the conversation. Wasn't he just gaining one hell of a colorful reputation to himself? The smoked clove was crushed into the nearby and he casually flipped his phone open as if he were checking for an important call. He stepped back inside, knowing at that instant that Veronique was watching his progress across the floor, Mello made it a point to emanate his usual untouchable demeanor as he stepped around waiters and elegantly dressed patrons, just the faintest hint of a smile up on his lips.

"What have I missed?" he inquired with an all-too-knowing playful air, which carried just the right amount of edge to back up Deneuve’s prior statement. It would not do to have his treasured lover fuck around for the sake of information, now would it? Particularly when there were a number of other creative ways to attain that very same sort of knowledge. Mello sank back into his seat, leaning against its high back with a sort of comfort most people just did not encounter at a restaurant. He looked as if he owned the place.

"Tch," Mello chastised them both, leaning forward to rest his chin upon the back of his hand. "You both look far too serious. Talking business even before we make it to dessert. That just won't do..."

Deneuve’s lips spread into a smooth smile. “He has a point,” he said.

Veronique laughed. “Well, God knows I’m a purveyor of pleasure before business, but,” and she leaned on her own hand to turn lush eyes on Mello. “Renee says you don’t share—consider me very disappointed.”

Mello chuckled, “Personal habit, I like exclusive—makes me feel special.” He flashed a knowing grin to communicate both the playful nature of that statement, and the undertones of its meaning. Besides, it was somewhat obvious that L had no intention of bedding Veronique, whether or not he had indeed fucked around with her on prior occasion. (It had to have been him because Mello and the others couldn’t believe L was that good and usurping Deneuve that one of his own lovers wouldn’t recognize the difference) hence it was suddenly accepted that L himself had seduced her for her to be this open with him… and yet, oh how bizarre a concept. Kira was one thing, it was widely assumed Kira had done all the seducing in that situation…but then again, L was just full of surprises wasn’t he?

Before he managed to get another comment across, however, the waiter arrived with a tray of steaming stuffed calamari. “Grazie,” Mello murmured with a nod as the waiter refilled their wine glasses before sliding away.

“Here we go…” he heard Matt deadpan in his ear and Mello grinned because the timing was perfect and because his lover was not oblivious to the fact that he was enjoying this far too much. The blonde took the initiative to serve Veronique her appetizer, appropriately flirtatious. “You have me at a disadvantage, mon chéri,” he told her smoothly and lifted his wine glass to partially hide the smirk that crept across his features. Mello’s gaze did not leave her as he continued. “Renee,” and he was all too convincing as he reprimanded his would-be-lover. “All this time you’ve kept away this magnificent gem. It’s but a crime-“ he purred.

Deneuve laughed, and sipped his wine—perhaps a first for anyone to witness L partake of alcohol. In fact, he ate the appetizer too without so much as a flinch, let alone the gag-reflex anyone might expect of someone who gorged on sugar to suddenly down a piece of stuffed calamari. Mello half wondered if the detective would end up with his head in the toilet later that night.

“Then I suppose I’m guilty,” he muttered, his eyes canvassing the room discretely enough as he spoke. “But the two of you are inherently—a conflict of interests, so it’s for the better.”

“Hmmm,” Veronique purred, “So you say—but just because I can’t touch, doesn’t mean I won’t make a nuisance of myself regardless.”

“Why should I expect anything less?” Deneuve replied and the woman grinned, turning a mischievous gaze on Mello, she said: “So, what position in bed is your favorite with our lovely Renee?”

Mello lifted a brow at her, but his cool did not crack in the slightest. On the earbud there was positive silence. In fact, he was pretty sure he heard some crickets. Linda had likely been denied a mic, Matt, he could imagine staring, frozen mid motion with a smoke halfway to his lips because regardless of how good Mello might be, that question should not have been one to answer on the spot. How terribly wrong of them to assume.

“Now, what makes you think I kiss and tell?” he returned, meeting her gaze and accepting her challenge. “Besides, it would not do to reveal all of my secrets to you right here. It would most certainly ruin the mystery and seeing as you’ve already been licking your lips at the sights your imaginative mind has been feeding you about us… ah, well,” Mello paused, shooting her a sidelong sensual look. “I trust your mind to be quite accurate.” And with that, he winked. “Particularly insofar as perversions are concerned, Renee’s grown adventurous in your absence, I fear. Hot wax and silken scarves are always pleasing, but do not compare to the sting of leather and the thrill of knifepoint while being mercilessly fucked from behind with only a mirror to assure there is no mortal danger. But even that is questionable at times.” It was then Mello chose to casually fork a piece of calamari into his mouth, particularly pleased with the wide-eyed look on Veronique’s face.

“Holy shit, Mell,” Matt muttered over the wire. And it had the definitive ring of not wanting to air dirty laundry in front of L feel to it. Not to mention, that the subject in question was supposed to be L, even if it technically wasn’t—not in that scenario at least. And it didn’t take the world’s greatest detective to figure out who it was really about.

Matt wiped his brow, Linda was dying. Her mic was frozen, but she was still listening in—and damn… just damn.

Deneuve on the other hand, shrugged. “You asked,” he said rather demurely.

When Veronique did not say anything right away, Mello lifted his gaze to her, quite innocently too – as innocent a look as he could pull without it turning downright silly – and lifted a brow in question. “Ah forgive me,” his smile was modest as he lowered his eyes. “I fear I was too blunt.”

“Not at all,” was L’s interruption when Veronique failed to answer. “It’s a valid reply,” and his lips quirked with amusement.

“Renee, you’re obscene,” Veronique finally laughed, and L’s eyebrows went up. “I’m obscene? You wanted to know.” He laughed then, and tipped a rather sultry gaze at Mello, “Don’t tell her about the bath tub incident,” he said rather cryptically.

It was Mello’s turn to eye him curiously, all the while managing to keep that heat to his gaze as it settled upon L’s transformed features. “Ah… Certainly not,” he droned with a quiet chuckle. Bathtub incident? His mind was racing behind the scenes because there was only one bathtub incident he could think of it and it had absolutely nothing to do with Deneuve and all to do with Kira. But… that had also taken place at the rented flat in Rome, so how could L have known about that?

“Or the cello incident,” Deneuve said with a more than amused air, and Veronique swatted at him.

“Alright, you fiend,” she purred, “Enough fun at my expense,” her slender hand folded affectionately over his—and while Mello would have internally thought that odd, and wondered what poor Linda was thinking—his mind was too busy racing at the unexpected mentions L had just let slip—two incidents quite exclusive to Kira. It was one thing to use their respective lovers to draw on for this façade here and now, but L was pointedly bringing up two rather powerful events that had occurred in Mello and Light’s relationship… which meant…

Mello’s eyes widened, a nuance he controlled quickly. L hadn’t caught it either, because he was too busy suddenly purring in French against Veronique’s ear, which left Mello to scan the dinner crowd… had L seen something? Or rather… someone?

It would not have been far fetched, but ever slightly unnerving, not to mention suspicious. Twice in a day was too good a coincidence. Mello swept the patrons with a trained eye, quickly and subtly. Just what was L trying to tell him? And of course, to pass the message onto their extra set of eyes and ears became a bit more problematic. His gaze fell on his two dinner companions while tapped rapidly against his ear.

On the other side of the screens Linda flinched, about to say something but Matt held out a hand, silencing her immediately, eyes narrowing. One hand on the mouse, he scanned the view available to them from either camera, free hand reaching for a pen and without looking, he’d scratched out a series of dashes and dots. A hushed curse touched his lips as he looked down at what he’d written. “Eyes peeled, Linda,” was all he told her and she caught the notepad he slid across the table at her. ‘Kira,’ it said beneath the series of code.

“He was disguised earlier today,” Linda managed, trying to scan the crowd through the cameras, equally trying to ignore how cozy L looked with this woman—L, who was not supposed to be social, not supposed to be romantic, not supposed to be sexual… and Veronique was all over him.

“You’re getting distracted, Lin,” Matt said.

“Sorry,” Linda muttered, “Light had short hair and was wearing glasses earlier, I don’t know if he cut it, or if it was a wig, or…”

“Just keep your eyes peeled,” Matt reiterated, and Linda snapped her jaw shut, watching Matt equally scrutinizing the monitors.

“How hard can it be to find a Japanese guy in the middle of Rome?” the redhead mumbled grimly; but neither of them were seeing anything, and both were beginning to wonder what it was Mello or L had seen to put them on alert.

Indeed, Mello was sharing the very same thought because he too had not come up with anything thus far, and given the fact that their cover was still on the line, the ball must not be dropped. Thankfully, the waiter had returned with their dinner, which gave him the chance to cast a wider glimpse to little avail. Their wine glasses were refilled and he watched as Veronique extended her charms to their waiter with a thanks, giving Mello the opportunity to exchange an all too quick glance with L.

“So tell me something, Renee,” Veronique continued, before L may or may not have had a chance to communicate more properly with his team.

Mello idly noted the fact that for the first time that he was witnessing, L was eating normal food as if it were perfectly natural for him…

“Do you know who Kira is?” Veronique said. “The person, I mean. I’ve always assumed that L knew, and that’s why the case suddenly vanished under the radar, when early on it had been splashed all over the news.”

“Of course L knows,” Deneuve replied, matter-of-factly. “And that’s exactly why he pulled his ridiculously egotistical antics off the front page. Kira may have continued along with all of his propaganda—in Japan especially—in an attempt to make it look as though no one were on to him, but L truly wanted Kira all to himself the moment he understood his true identity. He got covetous and jealous—no doubt hiding in his accustomed dark rooms in front of his computers—his finger on the button of every law enforcement agency which he used to bring Kira close—as close as possible most likely, to keep him for himself.”

Veronique nearly purred aloud. “You make it sound so sexual,” and this was exciting to her. “I admit, I never thought of Kira as sexual.”

Mello would have spit his food out at the irony, but he was still rather busy trying to keep a furtive eye out for the person in question.

“That theory is as good as any,” Deneuve went on, the bitter intuitiveness front and center. “It makes me think that L is actually beneath Kira then—out of his league—smitten with him, following him around like a lost little puppy.”

They both snickered at the notion—but moreso at the fact that they were putting L down, making him seem gangly and pathetic and cowardly… a closet geek with latent homosexual tendencies and no courage to act on them… Mello kept the wince from his face just then, and had to almost remind himself that this was L speaking to maintain his own cover on both codes, and not some haughty arrogant prick who didn’t know any better…

Haughty and arrogant, however, was how he was coming across and even their watchful backup was left blinking dumbfounded at the screens. Be it L’s subtle hints or the fact that he was now working himself up to it, that tingly sense of paranoia was beginning to bother Mello because just then he felt the heavy weight of a decidedly familiar gaze. But how could it be when this arrangement had been called with hardly any notice and there was no possible way Deneuve could have been tracked? What then were his senses telling him?

Feeling much like he was undergoing a prime case of schizophrenia, Mello flashed Veronique a prompt smile as she turned her eyes on him. Ever attentive, ever ready to snap back to the conversation at hand. It would not do to be caught in the midst of a distraction, not when this contact was obviously important. Seeing as she was keeping an obvious admiring eye on him even as she traded business and banter with Deneuve, Mello did not falter, swiping her glass out of her own hand – a gesture which parted her lips with a silent comment – and refilled it for her. Veronique laughed, touching a curled finger to lush lips. “Mon dieu, Renee,” she exclaimed mirthfully. “I do believe your lovely amant is trying to intoxicate me…”

“Tch,” Mello chuckled. “You give me little credit.”

“Oui, Veronique,” Deneuve replied, and goddamnit, L was on his second glass of wine… “He doesn’t need to intoxicate you to win you over. I think he only had to show up.” Another smirk, but as Veronique was gazing at Mello, L’s eyes slid to his left where an empty table sat, not yet cleared of a plate, and a cup of espresso.

Kira had been there, but was now gone.

Matt caught the nuance, moving suddenly to rewind the footage all the way back to when they’d first entered the restaurant. A man had been sitting there with his back to them—blond hair, casual blazer, skin rather darkly tanned. His hair was lengthy too—in his eyes from the brief angle the camera caught of him—but of course it would have to be, otherwise he’d be too prominently Asian right?

“Fuck,” Matt cursed, and strangely enough, flicked open only Mello’s mic. “Mell listen up—Kira was sitting right next to you, totally disguised,—he must be using wigs and makeup. He was there the moment you walked in, I don’t know how he knew to be there—this meeting didn’t go into the system… that means someone at that table is working with him …”

What Matt didn’t say, was that it most likely wasn’t Veronique.

It took some effort for Mello not to react in the slightest to his lover’s relay as Veronique’s attention was plastered quite firmly on him. Her gaze intense, her unabashed appreciation reflected in those dark eyes and lush lips at which she dabbed with a corner of her napkin. “You intrigue me,” she purred.

“Good,” Mello countered smoothly, sitting back in his seat as the dinner plates were lifted and a dessert menu set in the center of the table. It was then that he turned his full attention on Deneuve, taking in L’s too-impressive countenance for what it was, and Mello curled a finger beneath the detective’s chin as he leaned closer. “Shall I give you two a few moments alone?” he murmured. “I may have no intents on sharing you, lover, but I suppose I can sacrifice your undivided attention a while… for the greater good,” he finished; crooked grin tugging at the corner of his lips.

L’s eyes narrowed slyly—another expression ripped out the good book of Kira, and his mouth quirked slow and smooth. “Actually, beloved,” he purred. “I’m not having dessert.”

Well that was surely a sign of the apocalypse.

Mello made the effort not to flinch in the slightest, as Deneuve took his own sexuality down a notch. “I’ve promised Veronique a night cap in a little while—after we run some errands.”

“Oh?” But he’d heard this already. The serious conversation was to be had at a meeting place of L’s choosing two hours from their departure at the restaurant. That was all fine and well, because what L was really doing was keeping Mello right there so he wouldn’t run off to convene with Matt over a seeming conspiracy going on right under their noses… either that, or he wanted to clarify before Mello and Matt had a chance to conspire behind his back. L must have sensed Matt had made contact with Mello alone, and most likely realized they’d put two and two together.

Kira was at that restaurant because L wanted him to be there. Had left a trail for him somehow. No doubt untraceable on one of his own personal machines—hell, he might have even sent him a voicemail, hard to tell, but Light had been forewarned—and the question was why?

“Ah” Mello purred. “Then I suppose that sounds even better.” He winked at Veronique, whose smile devoured him.

It was not too much longer after that, that they said their goodbyes, and Veronique was kissing both of them—too long and savory to be just a friend, but not long enough to be a lover. She tasted of wine and something exotic, and Mello couldn’t quite rub it out of his mind as he and L waited for the valet to bring the car around.

Though L had not let down the act, even after Veronique was well out of range, riding away in the back of her own car.

“She has eyes everywhere,” he said under his breath, as they climbed into the low, luxury vehicle—Mello behind the wheel, L in the passenger side. “Right now, she has no less than five tails watching us for a number of reasons—she doesn’t trust me, she doesn’t trust you, she doesn’t think you are who I say you are, she would like to collect on several of the bounties on both Kira and L’s heads—so she wants to know who they are, and she’s just insanely curious about our love life… that’s if she believes we’re lovers. Chances are 50% she does—hence all the intimate questions over dinner. If you flinched to think of our favorite carnal position, she’d know we were faking.”

And L was rattling all this off, in part because it was necessary, and in part because he was avoiding the topic Mello really wanted to broach.

“And did I flinch?” Mello muttered. But he sounded slightly aggravated, and L knew it.

“No,” L replied.

“And you say she’s watching now?”

“Definitely,” L mumbled, trying not to make it obvious that he was spotting for tails as they sat there in the car.

“Then let her,” Mello muttered, reaching over without warning to grab L by the jaw and pull him into a fierce and bruising kiss—the kind he’d give to Light, the kind he’d never imagined giving to L—the kind that was hidden enough inside the vehicle to not be an obvious display—but visible enough to communicate their relationship.

If L was stunned, he certainly didn’t react for the very same reason Mello had kissed him to begin with. In fact, he closed his eyes and let it happen, and returned it for so long as Mello kept it up—which turned out to be longer than he’d planned because the taste of L just then was strangely heady, and strangely empowering, and perhaps far too confusing to want to wrap his mind around.