Redeemer

"Mell..." and Matt hoped that his tone was enough warning because this was about to get really ugly really fast.

But Mello did not respond, catching sight of the cars as they screeched to a halt. Time to play then. Fine. He lifted his gun and the first two goons were dead before they even hit the street. In that moment of confusion, Mello took off at a run, not away from the thugs but toward the three cars. The men hardly knew what to make of it, ducking down behind black polished doors to shoot. The fire was reciprocated; blood pooling messily against glass and metal and pavement. Mello pistol whipped the nearest goon, using the falling body as leverage to stomp up onto the unblemished hood of the first car and race across it, to slide across the back end of the furthest vehicle. A bullet grazed his shoulder and he hissed, but used the momentum to turn around and sink to the ground with a volley of fire, which reduced the following party substantially - minding to take out a couple of tires in the process - before he pushed himself up and kept going.

Those still alive and able to move followed. Mello cursed and Linda was doing her damned best to keep silent after her initial shrieking which had Matt ready to gag her.

A nearby apartment building door was kicked open after the third try and Mello poured in, scaling the steps two at a time to the roof access. His pursuit came blundering up the stairs behind him, only to be taken out with deadly precision. The clip clicked empty and Mello dug a fresh one from inside his coat, reloading as he climbed. The fuckers had gotten smart and sent someone up ahead. How nice. The gun flew into his face before Mello even realized what hit him.

His reactions were quicker, however; his training a cut above and he caught the man’s gun hand, slamming it out of the way and into the adjacent wall once, twice, until the weapon clattered loudly to the floor. A well aimed kick at the man's ribs had him groaning in pain even before Mello shoved him brutally down the stairs.

He reached the roof at last, and much to Linda's horror, took the length of it at a sprint, to clear the gap of the alleyway beneath. It was then that he heard the initial sound of sirens and while under different circumstances, Mello would have thought nothing of it, this was different. "Sirens?" he hissed breathlessly into the com. "Why the fuck am I hearing sirens?! What the fuck is L doing!?"

“Can’t say L has anything to do with that, mate,” Matt muttered, and he sounded exasperated, but was clacking through screens regardless to get a bead on the sirens. He found the emergency feed easy enough: “Ambulance—gonna assume they’re coming to collect the bodies you’re littering the streets with.”

And Mello frowned, running across the rooftop. This was a surprising show of force from Bella, and he had to wonder if it was just the fact that she wanted iron-clad control over the families in her territory, or if she was suspecting something else at work…

Nevertheless, it seemed she’d sent a veritable army after him, as bullets were suddenly whizzing over from the neighboring roof. “What the hell?!” Mello growled, slamming up behind a water cooling unit for cover, buying himself enough time to change clips. “Did she send a bloody army?”

He could sense Matt raking hands back through red hair, and downing coffee by the cup at this point.

“Tell me you have enough ammo,” he breathed into Mello’s ear.

Mello snorted, “Enough to get me to the next roof—definitely…” and that was the sort of resounding no that had Matt’s breathing shallow and Linda sweating bullets. Ah, but it was all part of the game, huh? Mello had to laugh to himself—knowing the darkness made seeing across the roof rather difficult; nevertheless he had to aim where he saw the fire coming from, and the resounding hollering at least confirmed that someone was writhing in agony over there.

Didn’t stop him from cursing when bullets began to whir from the roof that was facing him.

Fuck.

Mello hit the gravel. They had him pinned. He was pretty certain they couldn’t see for shit, so staying low was priority—until he heard the shouts coming up from behind as goons a plenty were crossing over from the roof he just jumped. Coming up the stairs of course, and not exactly pulling his daredevil maneuvers.

“Shit!” Matt hissed. “I’m getting you backup!”

Mello grunted, and despite the situation, he wasn’t exactly panicking. “Really? From where?”

Almost on cue however, there was the unexpected whir of sniper bullets flying through the air, and Mello heard several of his pursuers hit the ground.

“He’s got backup,” and that was L’s voice over the com suddenly.

“L?!” Matt clearly wasn’t expecting that. “Where are you?!”

“Close enough,” was the reply, and several more shots rained down. He obviously was close enough—had to have been on one of the rooftops, and he obviously had full night assault capabilities because he seemed to be picking Bella’s goons off with relative ease. It begged the question just how long L had been watching—and clearly following—Mello this whole time and Mello hadn’t seen him once.

“Mello, you’re clear on the north side,” L said calmly, “—get out of there, and I’ll cover you.”

Mello's head snapped up to attention, bewilderment evident upon his features but he wasn't about to question this stroke of good luck just yet. He pushed himself up smoothly and darted across the rooftops, hearing the buzzing of bullets and groans of pain with each goon that was dropped at L's trained eye. The long stretch was covered, another daredevil jump across an alleyway that proved a little wider than before had him grabbing the edge precariously before vaulting himself up to relative safety. What he wouldn't give for the motorcycle right about now.

This was a sticky situation if he'd ever seen one, and for it to have turned this ugly in such a short amount of time, Bella either knew or suspected more than they were aware of. Definitely ranked high on the uncool scale. "You're clear up ahead," Linda informed him, her voice shaky but he had to hand it to her, the girl was handling it better than he predicted. Damned good thing, too, as distractions would only be a hassle. "Shit!" she hissed moments later and Mello practically skid to a halt, throwing himself into a crouch and flat against the side of the raised parapet.

"What is it?" he breathed.

"You're about to have company shortly. One car just pulled up to the building ahead." As she talked, Mello popped out the clips to either handgun, grimacing at the too-limited ammo. "Mello just stay put, they don't know you're up there."

"They'll known soon enough." Any further complaints Linda might have offered were silenced once Mello rose to sprint to the adjacent building and instead of running across it, slipped through the roof access door and thundered down the stairs. He had company sooner than Linda had anticipated. They were ready for him and Mello had to duck back into the passage way to escape the well-aimed bullets that drove into the stone wall beside his head. Eyes were closed, teeth grit. The barrel cold against his forehead and the crucifix dangled against his wrist. He waited, counting the number of footsteps running in his direction and just... waited.

The moment the first goon reached him, Mello grabbed his wrist, twisting it fiercely behind the man's back until a sickening crack was heard and the bastard yelped in pain. An elbow to the back of the head was enough to stun him. An effective shield in place, Mello took the man's firearm and made it to the first landing unscathed. Little could be said for his human shield, however. Flesh was shredded and blood slick upon the floor by the time Mello discarded him with a shove toward his comrades further down along the stairs.

"Linda," he said and the girl sat rigid at attention.

"Yea?" she said and Mello could hear the tension in her tone.

"I wouldn't be horribly offended if you were to look away at any given time." Which, in other words, meant that she needed to. And right about then was a damned good time because even before she had a chance to respond, the gunfire opened back up and Mello was plowing through Bella's army with renewed vengeance. But it wasn't until he hit the platform floor and was once again running out of ammo that Linda started going "oh god oh god oh god, don't!" under her breath.

A second human shield was used and Mello dove under a volley of bullets, kicking the side railing until it broke with flying splinters, but there was no time to check. He just barely heard Matt's furious curse as the redhead realized what his lover was about to do. Mello was only five floors up and thus the drop not so severe, for the most part—especially with the added cushioning of the mobster's sizable body to break the fall. Another bullet grazed him, but his own hit true. Within seconds, Mello was rolling on the bottom floor against the cold marble and cursing as he stumbled to his feet a bit uneasily because goddamnit, the jolt had gone right up his calf and it was all he could do to grit his teeth and bear it until further notice.

The black car was outside and Mello slid into the driver's seat. "L, what's your position?" Even as he said it, he noticed activity ahead. "I'm detonating these fuckers." Mello snarled and planted the car in the middle of the road before dive-rolling out of it. The incoming pursuit screeched, but all too late because with enough shots to the gas tank, the car gave a decisive lurch as it exploded from the rear. The heat blew against his face as Mello pressed against the side building, heart thundering in his chest, sweat beaded across his forehead.

For the moment, all was still.

For the moment.

Which didn’t last long, as a fat, heavy hand lurched out from around the corner and grabbed Mello by the head, slamming him against the wall.

Mello had only enough time to prevent the blow from being immediately fatal; but it didn’t save him from being knocked nearly senseless. He stumbled back, and a guy quite bigger than Mello really wanted him to be, stepped out, cracking his knuckles, intent on slamming Mello from here to the next century. Ah damn. He didn’t waste much time either, and even as Mello was still trying to grapple for his whirring equilibrium, the thug slammed a hard fist into him and sent him to the ground.

The gasp from Linda over the com was audible, and Mello watched the opposite building do a literal somersault over his head.

“Ah, this can’t be good for you,” he muttered. Grasping at his gun, which the thug tried to kick away. Pain shot through Mello’s wrist, but he’d be damned if he let the weapon go, it did however hit the pavement along with his hand, and jam at the most inopportune moment imaginable.

“Goddamnit,” Mello hissed, trying to ignore Linda’s panicked cries to ‘get out of there!’ as Mello scrolled back on the ground along his elbows—towering thug looming over him. If the bastard came at him with a foot, Mello was cracking his ankle—which meant he had to time it, and it meant he had to see straight.

“Pick the one in the middle,” Matt muttered, inherently on the same wavelength. And just as Mello was deciding which middle to choose from, he saw a slinky figure all in black suddenly drop down behind the thug, and in moments, the thug was wrenched back, twisted and dropped to the ground—neck broken.

Mello let out a breath, eyes just barely making out the shadowy form—covered head-to-toe in a tactical catsuit, weaponed to the extreme, grappling apparatus and everything—like something out of one of Matt’s video games, only it was L and his friggin ninja tactics—which until this moment, had only been schoolyard rumors and hearsay, and unbelievable ones at that.

“What are you doing lying down on the job?” the detective muttered drolly, grabbing Mello and pulling him to his feet.

Mello had to snort, wavering a bit to shake off the dizzyness, but neither of them were out of the fryer just yet—which became despicably obvious when a brigade of mob-men rounded the far corner. Bullets opened up, and L shoved Mello out of the way, himself springing back like a gymnast—hand over foot, taking cover at a dumpster and pulling out his firearm. L was a bloody crack shot as ever, which was good, because while he targeted the guys pouring in from the far end, Mello spun and gunned down several more rounding up to the rear of them—with back-up ammo L had tossed him. Thank Christ.

“Did you do something to piss her off that I don’t know about?!” Mello hollered over the explosions of gunfire.

“Not that I can recall!” Was L’s rather sing-song reply, as he and Mello switched targets—practically sharing a brain on the tactical front.

It was good that despite a veritable street war, they were both relatively calm. Linda couldn’t understand it, not for the life of her—because now, not only was Mello right there in the line of fire—so too , was L.

“Why do you ask?” And that was L being funny wasn’t it, using Mello’s cover as a chance to reload—the two of them rather pinned in the middle of the alleyway with goons on either side.

“No reason!” Mello hollered as the cloaked detective, scrunched down against the ground across from him. “This just seems like a lot of firepower for one man is all.”

“Maybe she’s just being paranoid?!” L offered, his sleek figure completely in control as he picked off several more goons on both sides, and Mello loaded his last clip.

“Paranoid, yeah, sure!” Mello grit. Several of the mobsters were dug in like ticks on either side, it was tough for even L with his night vision goggles to get a bead on them. And that was just before bullets started hailing down from the rooftops above.

“Bloody hell,” L muttered, rolling closer to the building to get a shot upwards.

“L, I’m getting the policia,” Matt growled on the other end of the com, you’re completely surrounded.

“Might be a good idea,” L mumbled in that aloof British lilt, picking off a sniper who was about to fire down on Mello.

But in that moment, there was a sudden rousing chorus of agonizing cries all across the alley—gunfire went haywire as men began to inexplicably drop to the ground clutching their chests. Mello and L kept cover for just those few fleeting moments before the silence was suddenly ringing in their ears—and every man in that immediate vicinity now lay dead.

The detective and his heir exchanged looks, and then simultaneously cast their gazes all around the perimeter—seemed they had backup after all… and of a very unlikely nature…

The moment passed and the stillness remained. Mello lowered his weapons, leaning heavily back against the wall which at that moment was the only thing keeping him up. The adrenaline was still in place, but it was seeping out gradually. Give him half an hour and he’d be cursing for pain killers. Fuck.

They’d just been bailed out of this mess by Kira. The thought was unnerving as it was somewhat oddly reassuring. He was watching then, but for how long? For the briefest second, Mello imagined having personally woken Light from his beauty sleep with gunfire next to his bedroom window. A grin touched his features and seconds later, he was laughing quietly under his breath, sinking down to the ground. Just like any other time he found himself alive after highly unlikely circumstances, Mello laughed, praised God for yet another miracle doubtless he’d been walking on borrowed time for years, and laughed.

Matt, who had seen this slow unfolding more times than he could count, merely exhaled, sitting back in his seat. He draped one arm across his eyes, relief washing over him despite the source that had just guaranteed their safety. Linda looked exhausted beside him, downright shaken and beside herself because while this was the type of shit she saw in the movies, it was not what she ever imagined herself doing, or witnessing first hand. But they were all right. There did not seem to be any further threat so for now, they would be all right.

Regardless… she had to ask. “Are… you two okay?”

Mello’s mildly unhinged giggle had her eyes widening to unexplainable proportions but Matt shook his head and waived it off, mouthing ‘he’s fine’ in order to reassure the girl.

“Oh I’m in dire need of a lolli,” L muttered, cautiously getting to his feet, and despite the burgeoning fit of giggles his protégé was suffering from, he made his way over to Mello and helped him up as well.

Though L of course was still completely unrecognizable, having gone through all of that without once exposing his face—hidden well beneath the catsuit hood and high-tech goggles. Didn’t seem like he was going to strip any of it away either.

“Time to go,” the detective said, noting the sound of fire trucks on the horizon—and whatever other wealth of emergency personnel was en route.

Mello nodded, getting a grip. “He has to be within sight, right?” he muttered lowly. “To get their names?”

“Correct,” L replied, pulling Mello into the shadows of the adjacent street, the two of them jogging across the darkened divide.

“Which means he’s here.”

“Presumably,” L muttered.

“Which means we could feasibly attempt to find him…”

“Feasibly,” L said, and the way he danced along the syllables of the word meant he had absolutely no intention of trying to root out Kira.

“Thought so,” Mello murmured.

He followed L into another alley several blocks over, the two of them keeping to the shadows, and as Mello was still trying to do the math—after all, it was one thing for L to be playing Dark Knight along the rooftops and get away with it. Ninja tactics of that nature weren’t exactly Light’s style—and it was, sincerely, waaay passed Kira’s bedtime… so unless Light was indeed tracking them this whole time, which meant he’d somehow gone from godly wannabe to James Bond—there was not much evidence to support how Light miraculously knew where to find them but…

“Put this on,” and L was abruptly chucking a motorcycle helmet at Mello.

All thoughts vanished and Mello’s eyes went owlish. No. Oh no no no no no. He didn’t.

“I’ll give you a ride to your car,” L purred, removing the goggles to put on his own helmet as he slung a long, lean leg over the hulking Ducati parked in the shadows.

“L,” Mello managed.

And somewhere in that helmet, Mello knew the detective was grinning like a fiend.

“L—,” Mello grit a bit more sternly.

“No worries,” L sing-songed. “It’s not yours, it’s mine.” He revved the bike and patted the seat behind him. “But I admit, I copied your taste.”

“Goddamnit L,” Mello growled, because bikes were his thing, and L didn’t even drive cars… wait… oh shit...

* * *

At that moment, it had felt like one of those horrible American action movies—complete with flaky sense of humor and far too much buttery popcorn, because the last thing Light had been prepared for that night, was gunfire next to his head. The loud explosive patterns—not to mention something that sounded like an explosion itself—had him on the ceiling before his eyes had even opened, and Misa diving under the bed was good indication enough that he hadn’t been dreaming.

It took a moment, to pull his heart back into his mouth, where it had flown from his chest and nearly splattered against the wall, but Light was more irritated that the first peaceful sleep he’d gotten in weeks had been so rudely interrupted.

“Stay down, Misa,” he growled, sternly approaching the window, not only seeing the reflected blaze of what was obviously a car on fire—but the sudden, rather blonde activity, of a fight going on in the side street below.

That was about when Light pressed his gaze to the pane like a Garfield in a car window and scowled so deeply, Misa was sure the frown lines were about to wrap themselves fully around his head.

“You have got to be fucking me,” he grit, noting that yes—that was Mello down there, getting his arse handed to him by a rather large hulking behemoth of a man. Oh and what made it worse, was the sudden sleek figure that repelled quickly passed Light’s window like something out of a spy movie.

Light recoiled before he was spotted, but couldn’t help watching as a most bizarre scene unfolded. Misa was at his side then, half naked in one of his undershirts, when she absently commented—finger pressed to her lips—“Oh, that’s Ryuuzaki.” A comment which made Light splutter and gag, because he couldn’t tell with the ninja-outfit, and wouldn’t it just figure.

“Goddamnit, L,” he grit. His brain at last spinning through the math as he recognized several of Bella's goons now peeling down the alley and promptly surrounding his two nemesis-lovers. “Even when you’re not trying, you keep me bloody up at night!”

And that was when Light clamped a hand on Misa’s wrist, swiped the Death Note from its hiding place, pulled on a robe, and promptly dragged the girl up to the roof. There were snipers up there, pinning L and Mello to the alley, and as long as this shit was going on, Kira’s beauty rest was forfeit.

Light dragged Misa all the way upstairs, despite her rather anxious inquiries as to whether or not this was a good idea, and the moment they were outside he pointed to the man hanging over the building’s side, firing down at L. “Write his name down the minute he turns around,” Light grumbled, before promptly yelling out: “Hey arsehole! Shut the fuck up!”

The goon whirled, momentarily perplexed, ready to shoot, and Light pulled Misa out of the way just in time—she squeaked with surprise, but dutifully wrote down the name that appeared over his head and 40 seconds later, the shooter was dead, and Kira was angrily tugging her along to the edge of the building.

“Get him next,” he sneered, pointing across the way to the sniper trying his best to make Mello look like swiss cheese. “Then take out the bloody rest so I can get some goddamn sleep around here!”

Misa nodded “Okay Raito!” she beamed, and quickly went to work. Several moments later, all was quiet and Light was gratefully hitting the pillow, because tomorrow, the real shit was going to start and he needed as much rest as he could get.

* * *

Mello wasn’t sure what the hell had just happened, but clearly L had gotten him to his car in on piece, waiting until the blonde was behind the wheel and the engine was purring before motioning him off. They took separate routes to the same destination, trusting nothing and no one at that moment. Not until half an hour later –making certain that no one was on his tail - when Mello was banging on the hotel door because keying in the code just seemed like far too much trouble.

Linda was at the door instantly, pulling it open and immediately ushering him inside with more questions than probably even registered. Mello’s giddiness had passed, which left him in a particularly foul mood. It was all a matter of progressive stages, and because it had been Matt who was on the receiving end of each and every mood swing these last several years, he knew when to shuffle in, pull the long jacket from his lover’s shoulders, noting where cuts and scrapes were located but not yet tending to them. Instead, he shoved a steaming mug of hot cocoa into Mello’s hands and pushed him down onto the couch without a single word.

Only when the cocoa was fully drained, did the redhead make the attempt to tend to hjis injuries. But he’d miscalculated, Mello was still in a lousy mood, peering down through narrowed eyes he snapped. “What.”

“Hm,” the redhead murmured. “Figured you would have gone into the cool down phase by now.”

“Give me some bloody painkillers and I’ll think about it,” Mello grunted, wincing because it was not like him to complain over such small damage. Of course, it was nothing small to Linda who looked downright beside herself. Ha. If only she had seen him after the explosion. At present, blood was seeping down his arm; dark where it had dried against the sleeve of his jacket, but fresh where it was oozing from the bullet had grazed his right shoulder. There were also cuts and bruises aplenty—his face had not definitely not escaped much thanks to the giant of a thug that had wanted to flatten him beneath his fist. Fucker. There was a cut upon his brow and his lip was split. The unzipping of the vest revealed further bruising along his ribs and another bullet track along his side, likely to have happened during his literal flight down the stairs, but no serious damage.

Mello sat there with a cold compress to his jaw by the time L strolled in, looking not altogether nonplussed considering all that had just taken place.

“Gonna need stitches,” the detective sing-songed on his way through the room, and now he was carrying his gear, hood off, though the rest of the protective clothing was still in place.

At first Mello thought the remark was directed at him, but L slid easily into the washroom, dropping his stuff first on the couch, and peeled the catsuit down to his waist—it was more than obvious he’d been winged as well, straight across the back, blood drizzling down his spine and smeared across that too-white flesh. He was not wearing Deneuve, so it was a clear view with his scruffy black hair and no long wig in the way. L angled to catch a glimpse of it in the mirror, scrunching up his nose if only because he could not reach the wound to stitch it himself.

“Oh my God!” and Linda was obviously threatened by the sight of blood, rushing over to him. But L waived off her concern. “Flesh wound,” he said, stretching to crack a number of joints, before turning to glance at Mello slumped on the couch.

And why did Mello feel the need to glance L’s naked torso up and down for just an instant, before capping that annoying little voice in his head. “You alright?” the blonde managed, and L’s brow lifted under messy bangs. “All peaches and apples,” he replied, vaguely ignoring Linda’s attempts to clean his wound as he slunk over to a platter of cookies sitting out in the open. He bent over the platter with a finger smudged to his plump lips—as though inspecting a work of art, before selecting one cookie, then two—then five more.

“You know, Mello,” he said. “I think you’re right.”

Mello’s eyebrow went up.

“I think Kira was in one of those buildings.”

“I never said he was in one of the buildings,” Mello replied flatly.

“No, but you thought it,” L answered, sucking down a cookie whole.

Matt honestly didn’t want to hear about Kira at that moment—because deducing that he was in one of the buildings was child’s play considering how magically he had offed their attackers. This was just L playing stupid to make up for the fact that he’d made no attempt to apprehend Kira when he knew he was that close.

“L, stop dripping blood on the carpet and wait for me in loo,” Matt grumbled. “I’ll stitch you up in a moment.”

L blinked at the vaguely reprimanding tone—almost unconsciously—but did as Matt asked all the same, shuffling back into the washroom, cookies in hand.

All three stared after him but only Mello shook his head, and leaned it back against the couch as Matt strode away, crushing his cigarette in the ashtray as he went. The suture kit was dug out and Linda warned to stay out of the bathroom to avoid the possibility of her fainting. Not to say that she listened and so as the first stitch was weaved through L’s flesh, she turned a remarkable shade of green and ran back out to the sitting area where she slumped beside Mello.

He shot her a bewildered look and snapped into a piece of chocolate. Linda merely shook her head –too rapidly to be healthy as far as he was concerned.

“Should I even ask where you went to get all this gear?” Matt murmured, not sounding entirely annoyed anymore. They weren’t discussing Kira, after all. Instead he sounded downright tired and rightfully so if seeing as the sun would be peeking over the horizon within the next hour or so. Goddamnit. Another sleepless night.

L might have winced at the next stitch, but beyond that he gave no real indication of any pain, merely shoved a cookie into his mouth to keep from having to answer Matt's question in full.

“I have connections,” he said, around a mouthful of dry crumbs, which took a real effort to swallow. “Linda?” He called, not a moment later. “Would you be so kind as to get me some tea?”

Matt frowned, and Linda’s head bobbed up, purposely trying to avoid the gory crimson trails leaking their way down L’s back as Matt sewed flesh to flesh.

“Uh-huh,” the girl managed, making her way into the kitchen.

“Connections, huh?” Matt replied flatly.

L slanted a droll gaze at him via the mirror. “If I didn’t have such connections, I wouldn’t be a very good L, now would I?” He answered rather sarcastically.

And it wasn’t exactly L’s imagination that the next stitch was particularly more deliberate than the last.

* * *

Matt was passed out in the guestroom as the early dawn began to seep into the suite. Linda, as had become the habit, spent another lonely night in the master bed, without her would-or-would-not-be lover, who was crouched on the couch in his usual mode, scrolling rather wide-eyed through the lap top screens.

It was at some point around that moment that Mello decided he couldn’t sleep for shit, and strolled out shirtless to keep the detective company.

“I suppose Light will be on the move as soon as humanly possible,” he said.

“Most likely,” L replied, rather distracted.

“You’re just going to let him,” Mello commented, and the detective nodded like he hadn’t heard a word the blonde said.

“And then when the dinosaurs come back to life and take over Tennessee so they can occupy Graceland and play all the Elvis songs they want, you’ll do nothing.”

“Uh huh,” L replied, which proved he wasn’t listening in the slightest… until he said: “Why would the dinosaurs want Elvis?”

Mello snorted. “What is so interesting?” He asked at last. Normally people didn’t say that to L when he was focused on beaming himself inside his own laptop.

“War,” he replied, and Mello’s eyes went screwy.

“What?”

“It’s like in the old Westerns,” L pondered, “Gun slingers at sunup and all that rubbish.”

“What in God’s name are you going on about?” Mello managed, finally moving to hang over the detective and take a gander at his screen.

There were a slew of early-morning reports about Japanese tourists being gunned-down by possible mafia hit men. Mello unconsciously reached for a bar of chocolate on the coffee table.

“This got very dangerous, very fast,” L muttered, pressing a thumb to his bottom lip. “Seems the only thing the mob knows about Kira, is that he’s Japanese—several families got the order to just start hitting Asians left and right to try and scare him out—or better yet, kill him.”

Mello snapped the chocolate. “Bella knows he’s alive then?”

“Not sure if this is Bella’s doing,” L replied. “From what Veronique says, Bella maintains that Kira is still Kira, and she just has his ‘ear’ so to speak. And the most well-known fact about Kira, worldwide, is that he is most likely Japanese. Therefore, it’s open season. Last night’s incident and the trouble Bella’s been causing have the mafia aiming at every Asian in the hopes that they may be Kira—man, woman and child. It’s just going to escalate, but no one sees that yet.”

“Except you,” Mello muttered.

“Of course,” L replied. “The press thinks these are small incidents, but it’s going to explode. I’ve already notified the necessary authorities. Light can wage his war against the mob, but even he will condemn innocent tourists being slaughtered this way.”

“It’s going to force his hand,” Mello murmured, wrapping plump lips around melting cocoa, still hanging over L’s shoulder sort of like he used to do as a child.

“Most likely,” L replied. “If he wants to uphold Kira’s own ideals, he’s going to have to protect his fellow nationals. Unless he diverts from his own path, and lays low to further mislead Bella.”

“He’s not going to do that,” Mello said, and after he said it, he wondered why he said it with such conviction. That was almost a vote for Kira, wasn’t it? A look to the shinigami’s favorite son to step up to the plate and combat evil… since when had he ever thought of Kira in that light? Since he started fucking him most likely, was the snide answer scrolling through his synapses, but nevertheless, it was almost as disturbing as it was inspiring to think that Kira was the force of good against Bella’s force of evil …

“I don’t think so either,” L said. “Kira’s going to put himself in play—and he should have the means to do it—”

“Thanks to you,” Mello finished.

L blinked and turned to face him, which, given Mello’s position, put them nose to nose. L looked briefly surprised at the proximity, but Mello held his gaze. “You’ve been on his side since the moment he left the villa,” the blonde said, staring deep into those wide black orbs.

“I have a deadline,” L replied, but not as defensively as he could have. “Light’s mapping out the strategy, but the deal was, we both had to finish the case—so at some point, it will be my move.”

“Some point? You’re just going to sit back and wait to be cued in?” And the remark wasn’t as baiting as it could have been, but they were still nose to nose, and closer than would ever be considered normal.

“You call what we’ve been doing, sitting back?”

“How about going in circles?” Mello offered. “If we were out to find Light, we could have done so last night.”

“I have a deadline.” L repeated.

“You want to give him a chance to be the good guy,” Mello countered.

“Kira’s never been the good guy,” L retorted. “He is an instrument in this case—a means to an end. It’s the way I work.”

Mello’s lips curled at that one, “Liar,” he whispered.

The word made L’s brow knit, and just as it seemed they might actually be on the verge of an argument, Mello grabbed the back of L’s hair and pulled him into a bruising kiss. The surprise registered in L’s reaction for the 2.5 seconds it took him to kiss Mello back, and after a heated moment of tangled lips and tongues, they broke away from each other just as suddenly.

“Why did you do that?” L managed.

Mello smirked introspectively. “If I knew, I would have been able to rationalize my way out of doing it,” he said.

“Thus, the only explanation,” he continued. “Is that I wanted to, but it does not undermine the fact that you are, indeed, lying as a means to justify why we have not found him. Just as you have been justifying it for years as to why you keep him alive and closely at your side.” A snap of chocolate accentuated his point and Mello straightened up but did not back away, remaining quite firmly against the back of the couch. “Because the truth of the matter here, L, is that you want to give him the chance. You’re playing and taking risks as you always have. You won’t step in so that he has the chance to choose for himself which role is better suited for him.” And this time there was no smile present. There wasn’t a need.

When the detective did not respond right away, Mello finally stepped away. “And by the way, Caligari’s more than happy to be of assistance, that is if he doesn’t suffer a mysterious heart attack sometime in the next few hours,” Mello added dully as an afterthought. Or if he hadn’t already done so. A sobering thought. Fuck. What was going on here? They didn’t even know whether the attack had been due to his meeting with the Don or the fact that he had attempted such contact in the first place. The fact that Bella had sent an army out to squash him said a lot –her desperate need to get rid of him, and how he was clearly not underestimated. Both good and bad things, depending on the circumstances. Just then, it was bad.

L however, had not moved on from the original topic. “Of course I want to give him a chance,” he said, rather sternly, as though at that moment, nothing else truly mattered. “Just the way you wanted to give him a chance by letting him walk away from the villa. Have I asked you why? Have I even confronted you on it? No, Mello, because it bloody goes without saying,” and he actually sounded annoyed just then. Annoyed that Mello had even dared bring his behavior regarding Light into question. “Don’t kiss me and berate me in the same breath,” L muttered further, “I don’t appreciate it. You and I share a common hypocrisy—it’s made us messy bedfellows more than sex ever could. We love Kira, we love someone we both vowed to destroy, and frankly, there is just no denying it. So yes, I do not plan to capture him until this plan has seen its completion, and yes, you let him walk away from the villa for the very same reason you accuse me of lying now. You want to give him a shot at redemption—not in God’s eyes, but in ours.”

L was grimacing by the end of his tirade, which had actually stressed his voice, escalated his pitch, and seemed—for lack of any better term—to have made him rather emotional. And if that wasn’t bizarre enough of its own accord, he snapped the laptop shut, and with a resounding ‘damnit’ climbed off the couch and stalked off into the washroom to draw a bath—leaving Mello, rather stunned and sort of perplexed.

It took his brain just a couple of seconds to catch up because just then L had thrown it for a spin. It had not been the expected reaction, but then again perhaps that was his initial mistake. Mello stared after him before following the detective briskly toward the bathroom, catching up before he had the chance to hide himself away. Granted, that involved throwing the door open as it was being shut, which in itself seemed like an affront if there had ever been one, but it got him there regardless. "L, I'm sorry-" he said quickly, hardly above a whisper partly because they did not need to wake the other two and partly because to say it any louder seemed almost... wrong. "That was completely out of line on my part... I'm sorry..." And it had been. And Mello had known it just as the words fell from his lips, almost as if he had had all intentions of picking a fight. Stupid maneuver. Sleep was a definite necessity. But now he was just making excuses in his head.

Goddamnit.

Just what was the point behind all of this? Fuck. Mello pinched the bridge of his nose, loosing a breath before daring to lift his eyes to L once again. "I'm beyond frustrated by this whole thing..." he murmured, leaning heavily against the door frame. "But you're right - we're both hypocrites of the worse kind. I had no right to say what I did after all that's happened." Especially considering that, indeed, it had been him to allow Kira to walk free in the first place..

L’s face was rather sober as he listened to Mello apologize, but he definitely seemed edgy, and it was for more than just Mello dancing along hypocritical lines in the face of both their sins. It was plausible that L was worried for the fact that the war between Kira and Bella was starting in earnest, and already there were casualties on both sides, and this domino effect was most likely going to fell everyone possible before it literally came down to the last man standing… and L had just resigned to let it, which inherently went against his own inner sense of justice—and that just brought everything right back around to the hypocrisy thing again.

Mello need to visibly shake that one from his head, because the run-on thought literally tied his brain in knots. He felt the sudden resulting pulse tighten in his temples, and unconsciously he started to rub them.

“It’s one thing if Matt decides to speak his mind regarding Kira,” L said rather solemnly, “But you of all people, I expect to understand...” he trailed off softly, and he seemed, though obviously wanting to defend his heart, to be ashamed for even bringing any defense in favor of Kira, let alone, that one. In some vaguely misaligned form, L had set Mello and Kira up to become lovers, and he did it knowingly. It smacked of him wanting to have someone who would inherently understand his perspective on having such a lover, based on their own experience. Then again, L probably only helped things along, because he saw the initial spark there to begin with. Chemistry such as the one Mello shared with Light, did not just happen because the All-Knowing L wanted it to.

Mello frowned, looking up at him. It wasn't just a fabrication of his mind that had L looking like a lost puppy at that moment. "Shit," Mello breathed and shook his head. "I do and that is why I'm admitting to acting like a class A arsehole," and he felt a whole lot more guilt than this sort of argument should have invoked. Damnit.

Without warning, he stepped around the detective after a particularly awkward silence and turned on the water, filling up the tub for a rather bubbly bath. "Get in," he muttered, nodding at the near-full tub. "I'll go fix you some tea..." Because it was the best course of action he could come up with at the present moment.

It allowed him to tread his own thoughts regarding Kira as he busied himself with the task, thoughts he had not necessarily wanted to entertain since Light had walked out of the villa—since Mello had let him walk out. Thoughts in a frighteningly similar vein to L’s own, which was raising concerns about Light going up against the mob… Mello knew these people, or these types of people, and despite Light’s prior experience in person with Bella and his church; Mello knew that if Kira slipped, if he was caught—well then, what these people would do to him would make the SPK incident look like a romp in the park. Kira far removed and scrawling names in a notebook was one thing; but if Light were exposed to any one of the Dons that wanted his head on a pike… fuck. It was bad enough they knew he was Asian…

Mello tried to rub the thoughts away, tried to instill in himself the faith that Light was smarter than any of his adversaries. That his wit and strategy was just that much further ahead, and that damnit, in his case, the pen was truly mightier than the sword. Back when Kira was the enemy, the unquestionable enemy, he actually seemed far more untouchable than he did right now. But of course that hinged on the fact that Mello had since seen Light vulnerable, had seen his weakness, had seen him falter in more than just the warehouse…

“Damnit,” the blonde muttered, and finished with L’s tea. There was of course the lingering possibility that Kira was still the bad guy, and would still turn around after all was said and done and stab his would-be allies in the back. But after lastnight… it seemed even more unlikely.

Mello slid back into the washroom, tea in hand, and L was in the bath, hunched over his knees, drawing circles in the sudsy water with his fingers. He didn’t look up as Mello set the tea down on a small brass taberet beside the fancy clawfoot tub, and still the detective seemed rather lost, which made Mello stop and consider him there, steam flushing his normally pale skin pink; dark, onxy-black hair dripping quiet trails of water down his sinewy arms.

“I need your help,” L muttered, pale cheek smushed childlike against his forearm, and Mello braced himself.

“I need you to take the stitches out, I don’t need them anymore.”

Which was unexpected, because Matt had only just put them in a few hours ago. Mello’s eyebrow squirreled, but rather than question the request, he crooked a gaze around at L’s back, and indeed, the wound had healed enough that the stitches were no longer necessary. That was quick.

“Alright,” he managed, grabbing a small set of clippers and a pair of precision tweezers from the medical kit still on the counter. He took a seat on the boudoir chair, drawing close to the tub, and L slid back a bit so he could reach—but remained in that hunched, upward fetal position, hugging his legs to his chest, his head lolling sideways across his knees, spears of black choppy hair pricking the surface of the water.

Mello removed the stitches expertly without either of them saying a word—which didn’t matter, because they were both truly thinking the exact same thing. Or worrying in the exact same way. And when the last surgical thread was removed, Mello leaned forward and pressed his forehead between L’s shoulder blades—moral support? Perhaps… he wanted L to know he was feeling it too, and words seemed mundane just then.

Still the detective muttered, his voice half muffled by a well-placed kneecap, sounding somewhat odd and distant: “I’d like some company.”

And that translated as join me in the bath…

Mello blinked before he even lifted his head from his mentor's back, long lashes fluttering against flushed, pinkish skin. Company? He didn't ask it but his pause was questioning enough. When he managed to straighten up at last, he peered down at L, who had yet to move from his hunched position.

What was it about L that made people want to take care of him? Look after him as if he were but a child and not - in Mello's case - practically ten years his senior? It made no sense at the most basic heart of it all, and yet there was that unexplainable pull that made Mello stand up, push the chair back against the wall and step out of the loose fitting pants he'd tugged on earlier for the sake of modesty. The black fabric fell stark against spotless white marble. Needless to say there was little thought being applied to his actions other than the fact that L had requested his company, and innocently enough that he complied. Or at least the initial thoughts were innocent, down to the point where Mello sank down into the steaming water with a brief hiss and was promptly buried to mid chest.

They sat across from one another and L had yet to move. Mello's position almost mirrored the detective's, but his gaze was intent on those blank, pallid features before him. "Are you all right?" he asked quietly after several minutes, not because he did not know the answer, but because it felt necessary. L was not all right - he had not been all right since Light had put his plan into action and bound the detective to their bed. The very same bed upon which he had died. L had not been all right even before that because Light was not all right. The balance was off, tipping dangerous to one side and leaving them both grasping at the pieces of what was - what could be. Once upon a time Mello would not even have tried to make sense of the complexity of their relationship, but somewhere along the lines it had started to make sense. Somehow...

"Hey," he prompted when L remained still as if he had not heard; dripping fingers raising from beneath a thick layer of suds to brush the detective's arm and gain his attention.

L’s eyes shifted, “Hmm?” he said, almost innocently, and Mello frowned.

“I asked if you were alright…” but he said it softly and without reprimand. L blinked giving it some thought.

“Hamlet Act 2 scene 2, as it appears in the 1623 First Folio,” he said out of nowhere.

Mello winced, “Ah,” he muttered, scrolling those canals of deep academic memory. “Doubt thou the stars are fire—” it was almost required to have most, if not all of Shakespeare memorized at Wammy’s.

“Doubt that the sun doth move,” L continued, “doubt truth to be a liar…” he paused, “But never doubt I love.”

Mello waited, and L had barely moved a stitch, even so, he could still lecture on the bard while sitting there like a sulking child in a bubble bath. “There is never just one way to interpret anything Hamlet ever says,” L muttered, “—on the surface it seems simple enough, doubt everything, but do not doubt me, he seems to be proclaiming, even while considered mad—but feigning madness—an inherent contradiction, which automatically brings his every nuance into question. ‘Doubt thou’—implies, do you doubt? Do you doubt the stars are fire? Shakespeare and Galileo were contemporaries—born in the same year, so while an audience watching the tragic prince spout those lines could perhaps ponder the meaning of the stars—and to another extent, the path of the sun, Hamlet himself predates such findings, and thus, is speaking from a medieval mentality, ironic only because his author is not. Therefore what else could the stars be, but fire? And why doubt what seems so obvious? Doubt that the sun doth move, conjures the notion of doubting, what could—by visual assumption at the time—be almost a given. Of course the sun moves through the sky—but that we know, is not the sun moving, but the earth. Another inherent dichotomy. Doubt truth to be a liar, is even harder still—because to doubt truth itself, is to claim it’s a lie, but to doubt the lie, is to claim its truth—and so to doubt that truth is a liar, well then which is it? In each case, the word doubt can signify at once its literal and opposite meaning—and all taken into account, cast a shadow on the last line, which should have been the truth of it all, can suddenly be, it’s adversary. But never doubt I love…”

L hesitated long and thoughtful, before muttering. “That was what Light said to me, the last time I saw him. Never doubt I love… of course, he is well aware of the argument surrounding the poem, and so chose it, full opposing intentions in tact. Because he is meticulous, and particular, and never blatantly honest—so what am I to believe in the end, Mello? What was I ever to believe to begin with?”

The pause was interspersed with the dripping water from his hair.

“Obviously what Light has always known and counted on,” L concluded. “That regardless, I aim to believe what I want to...of course, Hamlet said this to Ophelia, and we all know how she ended up, so the math is gratingly not in my favor...” was the parting irony.

Mello listened without interruption, following the detective’s reasoning in silence. It was an argument he, of course, was familiar with but while put into this perspective, made it a bit different. Just a bit. He frowned, but was shaking his head even before L had the chance to conclude his thoughts. “What I believe is that you’re thinking yourself in circles. Anyone who knows you knows that is how you operate, and he knows it best of all. You doubt and yet you want to believe and therefore you do, but even then, there is that stray tug of doubt in the back of your mind which merely leads you to second guess yourself on topics you were just minutes prior one-hundred percent sure of.”

He paused, letting it sink in. “None of this is a question of affection, but one of faith. You know he loves you, you’ve known this for some time and he has told you himself. He has told me. In fact, there hasn’t been any secret concerning that particular detail. You know this, L. You know this.” Mello draped an elbow over the edge of the tub and in turn leaned against it. “What’s in question here is whether or not you have faith in him and his ability to do some good for once. Not the sort of warped justice he’s always been going on about, but good as we know it. Maybe that was his way to implant the thoughts into your mind and let you simmer in them. Already we’ve seen that he’s watching, and that he’s saved our arses from a sticky situation. Granted that might have been because I disturbed his beauty sleep, but who knows. That isn’t the point. There have been a number of situations in which he could have finished us all – but here is where I talk myself in circles because only minutes earlier I was pulling an entirely different argument.” Mello chuckled, resting his chin upon his arm. “It’s still a matter of faith and by God has he left it hanging by a thread.”

L cocked his head a bit like a wounded puppy, one eye going larger than the other, eyebrows slanting in opposite directions—this was the same hole he’d been failing to dig himself out of for years—and just then, it was still a losing battle. But the look on his face brought some levity to Mello, quite unintentionally, and the blonde laughed, but entirely good-naturedly. It made L’s frown deepen and his head sink lower until his chin was in the water, and that was when Mello brushed the whole thing off entirely.

“C’mere you sopping, mopey panda,” he purred, reaching under the water to seize one of L’s feet, immediately digging his thumbs into the calloused sole to relieve the tension. It garnered the expected reaction out of the detective, who sighed and at last unfurled from his fetal knot to lean back against the tub.

“Oh yay,” he said somewhat wistfully. “Foot sex.”

Mello lifted a brow in a very typical expression and actually laughed. “Excuse me?” he murmured, but did not stop his ministrations, which soon had L groaning appreciatively at the magical fingers his heir was currently making use of. Of course he offered no outright explanation, which left Mello eying the detective with a mixture of amusement and curiosity. He leaned back against his side of the tub, thumbs working their magic by the sound of it, and easing the traces of tension from L’s very nude form. And Mello wasn’t sure why it had taken him this long to realize it because L was downright purring and almost seamlessly morphing from strange, panda-esque man-child, to something once again oddly erotic in all its goth pale-skin-kohl-eyes-and-inky-hair glory. He was writhing a bit too, the water clapping against his lithe body as he slid limbs against limbs beneath the melting bubbles. When he caught his bottom lip between white teeth and hissed as Mello struck a definitive sensitive point, the picture began to come together.

Ah. L had a foot fetish. How strangely appropriate.