Redeemer

It occurred to Mello in his sleep, that L was too still, which meant he was wide awake. Anyone who knew L, knew that he just did not rest easily, he tossed and turned and writhed tormented. Of course that cognizant notion was melding through some other membranous aberrations of subconscious that drew on every anxiety Mello was having at that moment—from past sin, to present love…limbs tangled around his body that were at once Matt’s and Kira’s and L’s… his sleep was not at all deep, and when at last his eyes snapped open, he had to wipe the slate of his brain clean to get a grip on just what was real and what wasn’t.

Kira was gone and Matt was offline and L—was still beneath him. Mello craned a gaze up at that pale face. He looked peaceful, and Mello had to briefly wonder if it was genuine. To test the notion, he flicked a curious finger up along L’s jaw, and waited for him to stir…

When he didn’t, Mello blinked, and for a moment felt like he was a kid again, studying the nature of L in his natural habitat. Only this was far from natural and thus why it became so interesting. Mello almost laughed at the ridiculousness of his own thoughts and bit his lip against the chuckle that threatened to surface. Instead, he remained where he was, lying comfortably against that warm, supporting body, listening to the soft thud of L’s heart, feeling the rise and fall of his chest. The mystery remained as to why – or rather how – L had managed to get proper rest without his usual bouts of restlessness.

Seemed it had something to do with having company… how strange then to think that L couldn’t sleep alone… L who seemed sometimes to be a species unto himself, and a loner at his very core needed the security of another body pressed close beside him, another heartbeat pounding steadily against his own.

Mello had spent a great deal of his youth trying to understand his mentor. Perhaps later on after he’d left Wammy’s that fascination had dimmed quite a bit. He’d broken away onto his own path, his own life—seeming at once so very distant from his prior ambitions… yet it was another irony that those paths that had brought him right back around to where he found himself today…

Lastnight…

He’d been wondering throughout the course of those late hours how he would come to think of what had happened once his mind was fresh. He’d even imagined that he’d wake up like it was some mind-numbing morning after a particularly bad hangover, when he couldn’t remember just who it was he’d fucked against the wall of the local loo… then again, he’d only ever fucked Matt in a public restroom, and Mello didn’t often—if ever—have hangovers.

Nevertheless, he wasn’t flying from the bed in horror, his mind wasn’t reeling from shock, instead he was lying there quite comfortably against L’s body, just observing… just wondering… and there was nothing panicked about it.

When Mello at last slid slowly out of bed he was careful not to disturb the detective. The nightstand clock announced 10am. They’d barely gotten four hours of sleep. Fuck.

He would be feeling it later, but for now, Mello climbed back into his leather pants, tugging the laces shut as he padded quietly from the room in search of a coffee maker. He’d have some damned coffee and worry about the rest of the day later. From the cigarette case on the coffee table, he extricated a clove – all too aware through his morning haze that they were still being watched, lighting up as he padded barefoot across the sitting area into the small kitchen where indeed a godly-looking coffee maker was waiting for him.

Five minutes later, he was sitting at the table directly in front of one of the windows—a show of blatant nonchalance for their audience. He had the mug between his hands and an ashtray in front of him. His phone had been turned off and the radio noise in his ear indicated that Matt and Linda were still offline. That was fine. Let them get a bit more rest. God knows they had earned it. That was about when he heard the quiet shuffle and glanced up to find L standing in the doorway. The detective had tugged his robe back on and even managed to look ever slightly more refreshed than he had several hours prior.

What Mello did notice right away, however, was that whatever makeup L had used the previous day was fading around the edges and although from a distance his features still looked flawlessly like Deneuve, Mello could see the difference. “Bonjour, chéri-“ he greeted him smoothly and with a ready smile upon his lips.

“Bonjour,” Deneuve mumbled, sounding ever slightly distant…like L was impatiently waiting to shed the foreign skin. Nevertheless he shuffled over—and because it was morning and he’d only gotten 4 hours sleep…probably much less actually—he was allowed to shuffle. He did, however, maintain the façade, by slipping a clove for himself and lighting up.

He ruffled Mello’s hair as he passed by, grabbing a mug and pouring a generous amount of black coffee—still unsugared—before he slumped into the seat opposite his much younger lover.

“It’s time to see some of the sights,” he announced. And that meant he wanted to leave.

“I hear the Coliseum is beautiful this time of morning,” Mello purred, flicking his ashes, slightly enamored with the way Deneuve and L’s faces seemed to blend and unblend before his eyes.

“The Coliseum sounds lovely,” Deneuve purred. “I’ll go get dressed.”

Mello lifted an eyebrow, watching as L was up again and shuffling back out of the room. He was in a hurry, and Matt was still offline.

It was purely maddening to be out of sight and yet still confined to the roles they’d set themselves up to, seeing as there was doubtlessly enough bugs on them to satisfy Veronique’s need to know their every move. So Mello leaned against the elevator’s door, watching its descent with the same sort of impatience that lingered right beneath the surface of L’s firm charade. He’d finished his coffee in several consecutive gulps, dressed, primped and they were on their way. The minute they were free of these sightless constraints could not come soon enough.

Back on the road, the GPS was keyed to life and indeed there was Matt’s stop-off point as promised. Still nothing from their end, and as it was, getting a message across without tipping Veronique off was complicated. But Matt, being the fellow genius he was, had thought ahead and booting up the GPS sent an alert back to the hotel suite to wake him.

Within several minutes, the gruff morning greeting came on the line. “I’m assuming there hasn’t been any problems thus far,” he murmured. It was a rhetorical question since they had not phoned in for backup. The roads were already bustling with morning traffic, and the busy Piazza del Colosseo was all the more chaotic with the morning rush of tourism. Mello pulled over onto a side street, finding a spot to tuck the little sports car and glimpsed in the rearview mirror at the piazza proper.

“Come. You owe me breakfast.” he muttered in character, leaning over the center console to steal a quick kiss from his Deneuve’s lips before pushing his own door open and striding out onto the cobblestone.

Debugging was an interesting event—in a men’s room no less. Luckily it was a single, and they were already supposed to be lovers—they already were lovers actually, so stripping and preening through clothing was a tad tedious, but not terribly awkward. The scanners picked up about 30 bugs a piece, which Mello promptly deactivated and then dumped—it took them a bit of time to get through it, but when the task was finished, they could both breathe a little easier. There was no removal of disguise just yet… but at least they could speak a bit more freely.

That was when Mello turned to L, and saw the detective swaying a bit where he stood.

Whatever the blonde was about to say, went right out the window in favor of the obvious. “You need sugar.”

L nodded, then held up a finger in pause. “Oh excuse me Mello,” he said in his slightly off sing-song lilt. Mello’s brow twisted, but he assumed it was personal, and turned to leave, only to catch L dropping down just then to basically shove his head in the toilet—throwing up everything Deneuve had done those past 24 hours that inherently conflicted with L…

Cue a most typical expression and Mello grimaced, promptly patting himself on the back for not opening the door and bolting from there. No, instead he went to the sink where he moistened a series of paper towels and actually approached the detective, pulling his hair out of harm’s way and waited, cringing, until L was quite done emptying himself of every last offending element out of his system. Mello pressed the dampened towels to L’s forehead and a fresh bunch was handed over moments later. Part of Mello knew the feeling quite well. There were nights where he found himself on his knees, retching up the sin of every last foul thing he had committed. But five years had passed since then and the incidents lessened. Or rather his shell hardened against the guilt and disgust.

“My apologies,” L finally managed, trying to catch his breath. “Sugar withdrawal.”

“The alcohol and cigarettes couldn’t have helped,” Mello said, trying to provide a bit of levity. It didn’t escape him that he was still rather tenderly caring for his mentor, blotting his forehead, and helping him to his feet. The look in L’s dark eyes was slightly bewildered and questioning, as he gratefully fell upon the sink and the cold water.

“No, not at all,” he said in regard to Mello’s comment. “And the calamari has been turning my stomach since last night,” he confessed. “I’m not fond of seafood—at all… in fact, I hate it.”

“Then you should have ordered something else,” Mello deadpanned. It was a damned good thing he had force fed L those pastries the previous night then, seeing as they’d been up ‘till the ass crack of dawn talking business. If anything, it had been just the right fix to keep him going that much longer. Christ. “Let’s get you back and properly fed” Mello murmured, not at all missing the utter irony of the whole thing. Most people would have retched at the mere thought of ingesting half the amount of sugary concoctions that made up L’s diet.

L nodded again, and ironically the nod was accompanied by a rather endearing list into Mello’s person, sort of like a crooked cat walking into people’s legs. Mello balanced the detective’s weight, comfortably tangling his fingers into L’s hair—however unnatural—and massaging under the wig into his scalp. Of course if he didn’t know better, he’d say that L was genuinely purring just then, and since Mello’s actions had already displaced the wig to some degree, it would probably serve L better to just take the damn thing off for a moment… which Mello went ahead and did.

L let him, seeming relieved—it wasn’t like the men’s room had windows anyway; and Mello smiled. “There you are,” he remarked, massaging L’s scalp.

“Mmm,” L muttered absently enjoying the blonde’s ministrations. “Hello.”

Mello had to laugh and shook his head, running his fingers through L’s messy mop of black hair and scratching at his scalp much like he would Noriko. They were pressed for time, but a slight diversion in their best interest was acceptable. “Are you going to be all right getting out of here?” Mello asked and it did occur to him that he shouldn’t have had to. It’d been a rough night.

“Yes, I’ll be fine,” L muttered, still very much enjoying the petting. “Just do me a favor,”

“Whatever you need,” Mello smiled. He was ever slightly amused by L just then, and just that more sympathetic. If he was angry at L for manipulating him the night before, he wasn’t feeling it.

“Lose our tail so I can gorge myself on some dessert.”

Now that was more like it.

Disguises and attitudes properly in place, they made their way back to the car. The moment the doors were closed and seat belts snapped, Mello was instantly more himself. Tails be damned. “Matt,” he said, staring up the engine all the while checking the mirrors. The GPS came to life with an aerial view of the city.

“On it.” And sure enough, the images were updated with prominent marks on the road. Marks which, Mello noticed with a crooked grin, began moving the moment he did. He took it casually at first, allowing their tail to gather –there were only two this time. He was almost disappointed. “Accident on Via della Greca, hang a right. Now.” And just as the order escaped Matt’s lips, the car slid along the paved road. Seconds later, a higher gear was thrown and the gas pedal floored. Within seconds, Mello was racing them through the streets in a rather familiar fashion that closely resembled the previous month’s road fiasco, only it was not so serious. The stakes were not so high. Keeping a close eye on his mirrors as well as the small screen on the dash, he listened intently to the redhead’s instructions, avoiding the greater agglomerations of traffic.

On a sharper turn into a one way side street, one of their tails promptly followed, albeit a bit more unsteadily behind the wheel of his vehicle. Mello took him right into the busy intersection at full speed, using the handbrake for a sharp turn, and proceeding to duck between incoming traffic and a delivery truck, which effectively clipped their tail. Mello cackled, watching the crash through the rearview mirror for the two seconds he awarded himself before pushing onward.

It hardly mattered whether or not their actions looked suspicious. Deneuve was not about to allow himself to be tailed for the rest of the bloody day. And thus, as their second tail was lost, cut off by traffic at an intersection ironically not too far from their ultimate destination, Mello ducked them out of sight and continued to the hotel only upon confirmation that there was no one else to be dealt with.

Matt had half the hotel’s dessert menu waiting in the room once they arrived, and L made a beeline for it like he’d been starved for days. It only occurred to Mello while watching the detective drop pastry after pastry down his gob just how much it had taken for him to maintain Deneuve’s suave diet, in addition to his drinking and smoking habit.

Matt folded his arms for a moment to glance them both over, but there was this strange tangible sense of awkwardness in the air…ah yes, about that.

And that was when it all came crashing back. Shit. Mello muttered something about needing a bath as he dropped the content of his pockets, along with his earpiece on the table. It wasn’t so much an escape tactic as a need to submerge for a short while and reset all the gears. All right, it was partly an escape tactic, but he knew that Matt would follow him to inquire should he truly feel the need to do so. So in essence, it was all about the bath.

Or he’d just thought himself in a circle. Goddamnit.

Clothes were peeled off and the faucet turned so that the tub was swiftly filled. He was soon climbing into the scalding water and dunking his head beneath the scented surface, settling then against the edge. The door slid open as expected and Mello glanced up from where he’d draped himself on the side of the tub. Matt said nothing as he stepped inside, simply sinking down to sit on the plush rug beside him.

“I’m not even going to ask what happened last night,” the redhead stated dully. He did not sound annoyed, simply… dumbfounded because just like his lover, the morning had come and the facts were still there.

“That’s good, cause I don’t have an answer for you and I’m doing my damned best not to give it any further thought,” Mello muttered, words half mumbled in the crook of his arm. He glimpsed up again as Matt offered him an already-half unwrapped bar of chocolate. Mello snatched at it, snapping into it with undeniable satisfaction. He was not so bad as L, but it had been missed. “How did Linda take it?”

“She told me we should fuck.”

Mello blinked, then burst out laughing because the concept was just that goddamned ridiculous. Or he was simply just that tired. Most likely a combination of the two. “She’s your type…” he teased and the redhead fixed him with a deadpanned expression.

“Get yourself washed up, I imagine there’ll be a discussion once L manages to stop shoving pastries desperately down his throat,” Matt told him, pushing himself back to his feet.

“I’ll be out in a little while,” Mello told him and snapped into the chocolate bar again before handing it back for safe keeping well away from all suds and moisture. He would soak just a while longer and silently thanked god that his mind allowed him respite. At least for a little while.

* * *

Raito tossed, tossed enough that Misa couldn’t sleep. He’d been tossing for the past several hours since dawn, when he’d at last crawled into bed, exhausted—drained—angry. He’d heard them making love over the com—Ryuuzaki and that blonde—that pretty boy… that scary boy. Heard the moans and gasping, the obscene wet sounds of mouths and bodies joining—knowing they were sharing with each other what they had shared with him—what belonged to him… as far as Kira was concerned, Ryuuzaki was his, body mind and soul… and the blonde—Misa frowned.

She knew about Ryuuzaki. She knew that pervert had corrupted Raito’s mind for years. But the blonde… Raito was in love with him—freshly in love with him. It was plain as day, even to her…and his focus was scattering because he’d separated himself from them, from both of them—and Ryuuzaki was using it against him…

Raito tossed again, and Misa turned her gaze on him, studying him, his brow knit in his sleep, bangs dampened across his forehead. Raito never had nightmares, never tossed in his sleep.

She ran her finger down his smooth face. “What have they done to you?” she whispered.

Light’s eyes snapped open at her touch, his gaze hazy and sharpening as he drew in her appearance beside him—how she lay on her stomach, topless, the smooth line of her back too narrow to be L’s—but in the shadows he could pretend couldn’t he? Especially with the choppy cut of her dark hair… no.

“Leave me alone, Misa,” he growled, turning to his side, back toward her as he clenched tightly away from his thoughts. He felt so goddamn empty just then—so fucking abandoned—he just spent hours listening to all the information he needed to see his plan through, but the one thing that had wedged itself firmly in the frontal lobe of his brain, was imagining L and Mello tangled together in passion…L and Mello… goddamnit.

* * *

How hard – seriously just how hard – could it be to find a Japanese man in Rome? Neverind the influx of tourists pouring in from every part of the world now that spring was crawling into summer. Nevermind the fact that Light was becoming well acquainted with Misa’s methods of disguise. Goddamnit. But honestly, how hard could it be to track him down?

A week had passed since their meeting with Veronique and there had not been any sighting of Light – not literally and not covertly. He was preparing, they knew that, but it was all the more unnerving because he had fallen so completely off radar. And in particular because Mello knew (while Matt and Linda did not) that Light had overheard the unlikely round of sex between L and himself—an event that had not been discussed by any of them. An event, which Mello very much doubted would ever be discussed seeing as both he and L went about business as normal and there was no reason to dig up unnecessary issues.

They drove through the city streets, tailing a lead that may or may not have been trustworthy. It was something. It was the only thing they had to go on in days. Even Bella had been quiet – at least on the surface. It felt as if they were all sitting on a volcano, bubbling and steaming and waiting to erupt.

Their recent informant had been vague, too vague for Mello’s tastes, but he wasn’t the one making the executive decisions. Not as far as this particular investigation was concerned, and thus as he turned off the main road toward the outskirts of Parco della Resistenza dell’Otto Settembre, he slowed down, eyes scanning the street.

The mid-afternoon sun streamed in through the canopy of trees. L sat quietly beside him, his black gaze hidden behind the reflecting mirrors of sunglasses; red hair properly in place and falling perfectly in smooth cascades around his face and neck. That cool persona was back in place, this time quite properly fed with all things sugary and Mello’s mind betrayed him as he imagined just how sweet those plump lips would taste.

Fuck.

It was God’s own miracle that made him spot their informant. “There,” he muttered, nodding to the sidewalk several yards away: nicely dressed man, suit and tie and briefcase in hand. Mello scoffed, slowly approaching.

The Masseratti came to a halt right in front of the man, who stilled, trying to peer through the tinted windows. He would not have to wonder long as Mello lowered the driver’s side window; and lifting a gloved hand, motioned him closer. “Talk.”

There was no missing that fleeting look of ‘oh shit’ that crossed the man’s face at the sight of Mello. Warranted too because Mello had quite the reputation with the underworld in these parts; and even though this clown was merely a money man for a prominent family who had just lost a rather important member to an unexpected heart attack, well, it didn’t mean he did not know Mello’s rather familiar face when the blonde glared at him.

“Signore,” and the money man was trying to be congenial and hide his fear all at the same time. “I have nothing to tell you Signore, I know nothing.”

Mello clearly ignored that unfavorable opening statement. “That’s a nice tie, Signore Manetti,” he purred, noting the slant of expensive fabric as the man leaned close to the window—“You must have paid a lot for it.” And the beads of sweat breaking across Manetti’s brow was not from the midday heat. His nervous eyes went from Mello’s face, to Deneuve’s cold expression—and he winced, because while he may have known the blonde with the scars based on brutal reputation—the redheaded detective did not register at all on the map. Ha. If he’d only known.

At any given time, L probably had no less than 50 separate contracts out on his life via mafia alone. Italian mafia too—that was barring Yakuza and the Russian Mob, in addition to countless other pockets of organized crime. Mello once again was oddly reminded of L’s seeming personal vendetta against all things mob-associated—and so it was terrifically ironic that here Manetti was, unaware he was literally staring at the biggest bounty this side of the Atlantic. That was also about the moment that Mello snatched that expensive shaft of fabric, and pulled it through the window slat, promptly re-sealing the window so the tie, and now its owner, were stuck to the side of the car.

“How ironic, it’s that tie that’s gotten you into this situation,” Mello said, letting up on the break so the car started to roll. “Now you know I don’t like that answer—so you’d better try again, Manetti, before I decide we need to go any faster.”

Needless to say, Manetti was panicking quite badly as Mello smoothed the car into a higher speed, and the money man was now running to try and keep up lest he be dragged and shredded across the pavement.

“Okay! Okay!” he cried at last. “Don Caligari is no longer sided with Bella—but she doesn’t know!” And he was trying to hiss this information through the window so it wasn’t overheard by everyone under the sun. Mello still sped the car up, wry mouth quirked wickedly at the corners, mirrored glasses in place, set dead ahead on the road and the encroaching intersection. “Go on,” he said.

Manetti was worming his way on the verge of tears. “There’s someone else—I don’t know, but the Don has funneled money to a new source—he won’t say anything to anyone but his Consigliere—there’s whispering of a coup rising against Bella—I don’t know anything more than that!”

Mello snorted, and without warning, scrolled the window down, releasing the trapped tie, and in turn—Manetti—who hit the pavement with his own momentum just before Mello sped off.

That was when L turned a dry gaze on him. “Not very subtle,” the detective muttered. “But effective.”

Mello's grin only widened as he drove them out of sight. "We're well past subtle, don't you think?" he countered smoothly, shooting the detective a sidelong glance beneath the mirrored lenses of his sunglasses. "So now the question is—just how quickly do we want this information?" and he sounded conversational but they both knew he was suggesting a deeper probe into realms L would much rather throw a mass nuclear bomb at.

"If we want to get technical,” Mello continued, “I was no more than Ross' Consigliere in LA. Technicalities aside, the bastard could hardly differentiate his head from his arse and simply did whatever the hell I wanted. It's that particular detail that became known and what I've built upon." He paused, not looking at L as he kept his eyes on the road and the busy intersection they sat at for just a moment longer before whisking off onto the main avenue.

"While I may not gain the Don's immediate trust, I'm almost certain I can get his ear. Particularly if he is planning to move against Bella." What neither of them had yet to say, however, was whether or not Light had anything to do with this sudden talk of a coup. It would not be beyond Kira to play all the pieces against one another so long as it earned him the ultimate goal in the end. It had already been a week without any hint of him. As if Kira had completely disappeared off the map. Impossible, but it seemed the bastard was thus far rather successful.

“Light’s setting up his chessboard,” L mumbled. “Seems he needs a benefactor—ironic, if that’s the case, then this is the first time Kira-Proper is using the Death Note toward monetary means. I’d suspected Amane would be funding him—she’s not as dumb as we’d like to pretend either. Living with Light has taught her enough, and she’s been using cash this whole time, rather than any traceable means of finances. Depending on what Light is planning to do—chances are, he needs more money than whatever Misa has not drained from her trust fund. Hence it seems he’s now pocketed one of Bella’s allies. That must mean Kira has reached out to make an impression with the Caligari family.”

L’s brow knit beneath the sunglasses and he unwrapped a lollipop, sucking upon it greedily. Mello glanced over just to catch the fleeting glimpse of the cherry-red candy disappearing past plump, pale lips, making them seem rather sexual… goodamnit L. As if it was not something the detective did on a daily basis.

“What I want to know,” the detective continued, “is the approach Kira is taking. How close is Don Caligari to Bella? Is he a principle ally? Or one already predisposed to turning against her? What is the deal Kira has made with him?”

More sucking, the artificial candy dye glistening over now-moistened lips.

“Perhaps it’s best to make use of your connections on this,” L conceded at last. Oblivious—or seemingly oblivious to the way Mello kept glancing at his mouth just then. No they hadn’t spoken of the sex—but they hadn’t forgotten about it either. They went about business as usual, and more often than not were cruising about just this way on the field, and not holed up with Matt and Linda in the hotel, but their personal rapport had felt the effects. There was—despite all efforts to the contrary—a sizable elephant in the room. Proverbially speaking of course.

“Matt,” L said over the comlink. “Book us a room for the night—Mello will drop me there and after dark, hit the streets to exploit his talents.”

Mello visibly grimaced, casting L a questioning look, which shot a pale eyebrow well past the line of jagged bangs. “You make me sound like a whore,” he muttered and let him be damned if he didn’t spot the corners of L’s lips turn upward ever so slightly.

* * *

It was just barely evening when they arrived at the hotel to check in. Mello had even taken them through a detour into a particularly high fashion store where he acquired a change of clothes for the occasion. While L would have appeared completely out of place, Deneuve simply took a seat all too comfortably and waited. Within minutes he’d drawn the attention of several of the store employees. Mello practically heard the relief upon L’s lips once the car doors were shut and he was off the hook.

For a moment the blonde contemplated dragging the detective down to the hotel restaurant, but deciding on mercy instead, Mello called up room service with dinner for the both of them. L was inhaling a particularly phallic looking cannoli as Mello wandered off to get ready, cursing the sexual innuendo his mind insisted on applying now to L’s common oral habits… at least they used to be common. Once upon a time. Damnit, what the hell was wrong with him.

The thought came back the moment Mello re-entered the sitting area to see L – no, Deneuve – lounging all too comfortably across the leather couch—in leather pants himself and a fitted black button-down, laptop perched on his taut middle, red hair spilling to the floor. He was seemingly oblivious to the enticing sight he was creating and Mello was momentarily rooted to the spot. It occurred to him then—damnit, he had a thing for redheads.

And he had to pull it together.

It was back to all leather for the blonde; stylish, expensive, meant to impress and intimidate all at once. The vest was zipup, the pants were laced, belt in place, boots clacking with each step. A long overcoat was pulled on last, light and flowy; high collar and wide cuffs. Handguns were slid in place, cellphone squeezed miraculously into his pants pocket. “I’ll be online ‘till I arrive. I’m severing the connection as soon as I make contact,” he said. Not only was a wire not exactly welcomed amongst those darker circles, to have Linda, Matt and L especially listening in to his mob dealings simply would not do.

“You know my feelings on that, but do what you must,” came L’s distracted reply as he idly loosened his top shirt buttons. Deneuve may have been able to wear fashion, but clearly L did not necessarily enjoy it. Of course, in doing so, he inadvertently exposed that sliver of creamy white flesh that stretched taut over a smooth, flat chest—and Mello found himself marveling on more than rare occasion the way L had moved in his arms—the fluid undulations of an impressively flexible body. Kira may have been as svelte and pleasing as they came, but L possessed an erotically supple nature probably equaled only by the likes of exotic dancers—which brought to mind a perversion on a whole separate scale that Mello had to willingly shake away.

“My apologies,” the blonde muttered, “And no offense—but this is my territory.”

L’s dark eyes shot up at that—like he was about to contest it—and Mello offered a wry little shrug in response; but the detective didn’t retort.

“I want you to check in by 4am,” he said sternly. “If I don’t hear from you before then, I will assume the worst and send in backup—do you understand?”

Mello nodded tersely. “4am, it is,” he said, fixing his collar, and straightening his gloves. He quite deliberately averted his eyes as he moved toward the door—because he needed a damn clear brain for this, and could not have imprints of lithe white bodies and long red hair rippling in the forefront of his mind…

* * *

It was well after Mello was out of range, that L switched to his private, direct comlink to Matt.

“Don’t argue with me,” he said outright, and heard Matt’s deliberate pause, the redhead obviously wondering if he’d missed the first half of the sentence.

L was off the couch then, unbuttoning the rest of his shirt, and unlacing the belt from his waist as he moved into the bedroom to rifle through his bags.

“Come again?” Matt managed.

“I’m going out,” L replied, selecting the clothing he’d stowed away just for this particular purpose, “I’ll keep my line open, but you are to maintain radio silence on this link unless otherwise indicated—understood?”

Matt thought to argue, but L’s opener was still dancing rather sternly over his head. “You sure this is a good idea?” the redhead managed. It was one thing to have L in the field with Mello—another to have L in the field by himself, of course that was the most delicate way Matt could think to phrase it just then.

“I said don’t argue with me,” L reiterated, “And Mello is not to know.”

There was another heavy pause and Matt was certainly sitting there tensely, staring blankly at the screen instead focusing all attention on the voice in his ear. “Just tell me you’re not about to do something completely stupid.” Which, of course, was a stupid thing to request because L’s expected response of “Why would I do that?” was immediate and Matt cursed under his breath. “Understood,” he said gruffly not entirely pleased but having little choice in the matter. “I’m rewiring this channel so you’re linked directly to me.” There was no need to warn of any imminent danger, but the redhead did add “And watch yourself out there…”

* * *

The car purred its way down the via, street lights streaming by and Mello’s mind was elsewhere. It had been some time since he had exploited his ‘talents’ as L had so lovingly put it. Some time since the dangerous game of cat and mouse, of information and interests was played. Their last stay in Rome had been nothing; dealing with small pawns was always easy. They scared easily, scattered and bowed to a stronger will that much more readily. Bella, too, knew that. The bitch. The scowl crossed Mello’s features before he even realized it. Don Caligari would not be shoved over so readily, but well… there truly was no need to shove. Mello simply required information and perhaps would prod a little helping hand toward Light’s own cause since the greater amount of enemies Bella had, the better off they all were.

“Buona sera, signore,” the valet’s smooth voice greeted him. High class all around. The Maserati was abandoned and a neatly folded orange bill slipped into the man’s palm.

There was no foolish wait outside – not like in the US where establishments sought to make an impression by having people wait like cattle around the building. Hardly. Mello cast the bouncer a glimpse through the tinted lenses of his sunglasses and received a nod in turn, all the while pulling the door open to allow the blonde through. The Lounge was darkened, the music could be better, the crowd was well off socialites of Roman life – politics and entertainment and money. Emphasis on the latter. Skin was not sparse on the women and competitive attitudes not lacking in the men. Typical. Mello slid easily through the bar crowd, leaning upon the LED lit surface. It took those who sat on either side a couple of seconds to notice him, but their reactions were the same all around – initial surprise, followed by curiosity and near immediate attraction. The keep was flagged, short words exchanged.

“I was not informed of your arrival, signore…”

“Ah, Ricardo, that is a shame,” Mello countered smoothly, noting the gold plated nametag on the bartender’s shirt. “I do suggest you make it a point to become better informed in the future so that your good benefactor is not kept waiting.”

It worked every time. The keep nodded hastily and sought the phone behind the counter. He turned his back slightly on the blonde, but Mello had not bothered to keep an eye on him, much less read his lips.

“Signore Caligari will see you,” the young man was telling him cordially moments later, indicating toward the upper glass-enclosed area above the main lounge.

“Grazie…”

* * *

“Do you have any idea where L is going?” And it just figured that Linda had overheard the conversation earlier.

“No clue in the slightest,” Matt grumbled. “He didn’t take a tracker with him either—so now he’s completely cloaked with the exception of the com.” The redhead sounded thoroughly disgruntled about it, but there didn’t seem like anything either of them could do at that moment.

Linda was frowning, and frowning deeply at that. “What if something happens?” she said meekly, a hesitant minute later.

“Let’s try not to worry about that,” Matt muttered. But truth be told, he was twenty steps ahead in the worrying department already. What with Mello having friendly drinks with Dons and now L deliberately vanishing off the radar… this had all the makings of one helluva a beautiful night.

* * *

Thus far it was going pretty goddamned beautifully. But that might have only been due to the fact that Mello had for several minutes swallowed his pride and kissed the incredibly gaudy gold rings upon the Don’s fingers. It was enough to break up the tension that had inundated the private lounge the moment he made his presence known - reputation preceding him, which was the one trump card he’d been counting on.

“My condolences for your loss,” Mello murmured respectfully as he rose.

“I do not believe that is the reason for which you came here,” Don Caligari gruffed. Ah, not so stupid after all. Mello allowed a small smirk and sank into the seat he was shown. Within seconds, he had a rather scantily clad brunette to keep him company; all curves and smiles, body pressing against his, bare knee sliding along his thigh so that the flit of fabric she wore – otherwise called a dress – left very little to the imagination. The first drink was poured.

“No, I’m afraid I must disturb you with business for the sake of common interests…”

“These are troubling times,” Caligari droned, watchful mocha colored eyes intent upon his foreign visitor.

“Indeed,” Mello agreed unwavering. “It is not just your honored famiglia who suffers, but all of Rome. There are rats beneath your very feet, rats with more power than any of us may want to admit…”

A tense pause was shared between them and then the Don laughed. The sentiment was only echoed by those employed to follow orders; to laugh when the boss did, to get angry when he did. Mello’s features remained impassive. Caligari sobered with a dangerous grin. “You’ve got balls, boy.”

“Last I checked.” And this time the snort from one of the men was not prompted.

Caligari chuckled, refilling his drink. “Talk.”

* * *

Linda was pacing. Or rather, she went through stages of pacing, scurrying into the kitchen to make them something to eat – be it soup, toast, some sort of dip or simply more coffee to keep them bright eyed and bushy tailed – and pacing relentlessly because it had been two hours without any contact from either L or Mello. She was doing decidedly better, however, than her initial first days on the job. No more outbursts – at least not on the live wire – and she was following directions.

“You’re ‘bout to walk a trench in the carpet, luv,” Matt commented without looking up from the small screen of his PSP. A cigarette dangled from his lips, treacherous ash tipping precariously on the end. The headset remained firmly in place, however, and he had sat himself within easy reach of the monitors.

“Do you think they’re all right?”

“Yes.”

Linda deadpanned and the redhead still did not react. “You’re just saying that.”

“It’s a possibility.”

“Goddamnit!” she cursed and sank into the couch.

“I can’t do this, I need to know if they’re okay, shouldn’t one of them at least have the common decency to check in and let us know after two bloody hours?!?” Admittedly, the girl was cute when she was frazzled.

Matt’s lips spread into a smile around his cigarette. “Firstly, luv, think of who you’re referring to and re-examine that decency comment again…”

Linda’s frown deepened as she did just that.

“Then,” and Matt’s cigarette was bouncing around his mouth as he spoke, half his attention span once again on Lara Croft, “L already gave Mello a time check, I’m going to use my good faith and say L will do the same—by 4am, we should hear from them. If not, we go into crisis mode.”

The mention of Crisis Mode prompted the expected response, and Linda pitched a minor fit, whining a bit and kicking her feet, then jumping up to go cook something—anything—she could get her hands on…

* * *

An hour later, the company had been cut back to Caligari and his trusted Consigliere, who was now glaring quite openly at Mello as if he saw the threat there present. He was quite justified in feeling threatened – here was a kid a decade his junior who managed with a few quirky words to gain the Don’s attention more completely than he ever had. Of course, he could not argue against the punk, seeing as every last question was justified, every suggestion meant to benefit the integrity of their family.

“We are beyond family quarrels,” Mello was saying, swishing the contents of his glass in his hand. “The coup will rise and succeed if we can all manage to look past such pesky details.” The Don was frowning and Mello lifted a brow. “Oh, I guarantee the time will come where feuds will continue, but I’m afraid that cagna must first be relieved of her heretic’s role. I would love nothing more than to put a bullet in her head if I was not already convinced that God Himself will strike her down from her throne of blood.”

Ah the dangerous irony alone kept the knowing smile from his face.

* * *

It was 3am when Mello was escorted through the thinning throng of people and the summer night breeze was more refreshing than he cared to admit. Their information had been confirmed. A second 50 € bill was slipped into the valet’s hand as Mello sank behind the wheel, waiting until he had turned out of sight before extracting the comlink from its hiding place beneath the passenger’s seat.

At the hotel Matt practically jumped at the sudden hiss of static in his ear, catching the cigarette before it tumbled onto his lap with devastating consequences. “Bloody hell,” he muttered.

“Good evening to you too,” Mello chimed in.

“How did it go?”

“I’ve got a cunt of a headache and in desperate need of a good cup of coffee.”

“No hitches, then. Good,” the redhead deadpanned.

“Oh ye of little faith.”

Mello smirked as he said it, but it was about that same moment that he noticed he had a rather non-discrete tail following him through the emptying Roman streets. His attention directed to the rearview and Matt noted the sudden pause in volleying quips.

“What is it?” He said over the com, and Mello could almost see Linda tense up on the other side.

“Company,” Mello muttered.

“Lose them?” Matt offered.

And Mello was reaching for the bar of chocolate on the passenger seat. “Depends,” he said, snapping into the cocoa sanity.

“On…?”

“Whether they’re hostile,” Mello muttered. “If they’re Caligari’s men just checking up on me, then I’m not about to burn bridges,”

“They could be Bella’s,” Matt mumbled, bringing up all the screens necessary to direct Mello through the city should an escape become imminent.

“Hence, ‘hostile,’” Mello replied and in his head he was thinking, ‘so help me God if they shoot at my car I’m gonna kill each and every one of them.’

He changed lanes and made an unexpected turn, and the more he thought about it, the more he truly did not feel like trashing his new ride in a car chase… it might have been better then to lose this one on foot.

“I might want to have a chat with them,” he purred somewhat mischievously.

“You might wanna what?!” And that was Matt, reading his mind. “Mell—no. The bloody car ain’t worth it.”

“No use tying your panties in a knot,” Mello purred, vaguely aware that Linda was near-hyperventilating because this was making her far too nervous. “I just bought this car—she’s gonna make it past the first week without a scratch, isn’t that right, baby?” He said, petting the dashboard like a familiar lover.

“Goddamnit Mello,” Matt growled. But it was no use, because at that moment, Mello was looking to stash the Maserati in a tight little alleyway…

The car was parked, locked and patted lightly on the hood for good measure before he temporarily abandoned it. And here he just sought a warm cup of coffee and a goddamned pillow. No, it was three o'clock in the bloody morning and Mello was about to initiate a foot chase through the nearly-deserted Roman streets. It just figured. Ah, but goddamned if he did not love it all the same. Another snap of chocolate resounded as he stepped away from the vehicle and toward main avenue from which he had just turned. The headlights were spotted but he paid them no mind - at least not obviously so. There was a cafe half a block away and he strode toward it. Perhaps he could grab that coffee after all. Whether or not he'd be enjoying casual conversation or dodging bullets, however, was yet to be seen.

"So tell me," he broke the silence all of a sudden, far too conversationally to register on either Matt and Linda's minds at that moment. "How have you two been spending this lovely evening?"

"Oh bloody hell, Mell, would you get serious!?" Matt hissed through the mic and Mello reprimanded him with a tch.

"I'm always serious, Matty. You should know better than that."

"If you were serious, you'd get your arse back in that car and get the f u ck out of there."

"No," the blonde purred, licking the cocoa sweetness in his hand before snapping off a chunk. "If there's someone on my tail tonight, I want to know exactly who they are and what their purpose is before I decide whether or not to bless them with a few extra orifices."

"I thought you were going to lose them on foot," Matt deadpanned.

"I will," Mello said, sounding far too goddamned chipper.

"Linda," the redhead muttered, already feeling the incoming headache. "I think we're gonna need more coffee..."

"Is the shiny black Mercedes the only thing I have to worry about right now?" Mello prompted, turning into the cafe.

"That seems to be the case at the moment."

"Good. And how scalable are the buildings on this side of town."

"You can't be serious."

"There you go again," Mello muttered, turning his attention to the waiter, having pulled out his cellphone so that it did not appear as if he were speaking to himself.

"This isn't the States, Mell - you want up, you'll more than likely have to make it in first."

"I'll manage," and Mello cut off casually enough but the redhead felt the heavy silence. The car had just pulled up outside the cafe; its tinted windows making it impossible to peer inside, but Mello was not looking. Let them follow him in.

He did however, hear the car doors slam in his wake, and caught the mild reflection of movement in the café windows as he slid inside. Car doors slamming spoke of bravado—and trouble—and it was four slams, four doors, at least four people, and with a quick glance back, Mello noted not four, but five burly Italians crossing the street and heading his way.

“Lovely,” he purred, still taking the time to order his espresso. If this was turning into a gunfight, he needed his coffee.

Now Matt was ready to hyperventilate on the other side of the com. Though he’d seen Mello do worse, so Mello had to assume Linda was just being a bad influence on his nerves… or there was something else going on they weren’t telling him about. No time to really worry, as the old man behind the counter slid his espresso over just as one of those burly guys walked in—that probably meant the others were hitting up the exits.

“Bella’s man,” Matt said into his ear—now that he had visual. “She must have had Caligari’s place staked out—she’s probably sniffing out trouble, wouldn’t be surprised if the old Don bites the big one tonight at this rate—not sure if she knows the source of the trouble yet,” Mello could hear Matt chain-smoking on the other end, and calmly the blonde sipped his espresso, watching Bella’s man straighten his blazer and calmly take a seat near the door—heavy dark eyes trained squarely on Mello.

There was the obvious shape of a weapon beneath the jacket, but no aggressive moves, which meant Mello was going around the back, because surely that’s where they were going to meet him—they were herding him that way, and it wasn’t for any chit chat.

So, that was the way they wanted to play? Okay, fine. Mello finished his espresso as leisurely as he’d started it, then with just a dangerous, fleeting glance at the sentinel by the door, he turned and headed toward the back. He heard the man jump up to follow just as Mello quickened his pace, his lips curling up with menace and excitement.

“Might wanna hold your ears,” he purred over the com.

He heard Linda’s ‘oh God,’ just as he pushed through into the back alleyway—and as predicted there was an explosion of gunfire the moment he hit the street.

No they definitely did not want to chat.

Mello managed to throw himself out of the way, because he knew exactly where the attack was coming from—he’d scoped this whole area out before even walking in. But he also knew his friend from inside would be coming up the rear, so Mello pressed himself to the ground, volleying back enough fire to keep Bella’s other goons at bay—and they were indeed blocking his every exit on either end of the narrow backstreet—as he waited for his friend from inside to come bursting through the door before clipping him straight.

The big guy hit the ground yelling, in fact there was yelling all around, bullets whizzing back and forth; but mafia was not always the most athletic of warriors, they rather thought of themselves as tanks half the time, and the notion of taking cover was not always forefront, especially when they were bearing down on a pretty little blonde in leather, who they were fairly certain was not going to shoot his way out of their trap.

Wrong.

Maybe the maniacal thrill in Mello’s face should have been their first clue, as he spun several well-aimed shots at each man, every bullet finding its mark, if not fatally, then enough to bring his attacker down. And in moments the gunfire had ceased, and Mello was pulling himself up and brushing off, guns still trained on the two men left writhing in messy pools of blood.

“Should I bother asking them any questions?” Mello purred, kicking a firearm out of one of the goon’s reach, and grinning as the guy cursed vehemently at him in Italian.

“Oh fuck, Mell,” was Matt’s less than enthusiastic response.

It was practically a jinx, because at that moment, 3 more shiny black cars pulled up at either end of the alleyway…