Redeemer

Light noticed the ear bud was still active when he happened to catch a glimpse of it on the dresser beside the bed. He saw it while he was clutching the pillow, moaning and keening with white linen caught between clenched teeth, and L moving hard above him, spidery hand wrapped the width of Light’s narrow hip, jerking him back into his thrusts—the two of them completely absorbed in essentially fucking into the mattress at that point. The scenario had of course gone from something purely romantic and nearly heartbreaking, to a struggle for dominance and control. That was the way of it always, and L may have been the one drilling Kira in that moment, but Kira was enough of a minx to keep L completely enraptured with his passive-aggressive submission tactics. That, and it seemed obvious after years of having watching Kira have this kind of sex, that Kira enjoyed taking it, and taking it hard, whether he’d ever admit it or not.

What he also enjoyed, was fucking with Matt and Mello—so where initially it had slipped his mind that he hadn’t switched off the ear buds when he started his seduction, it came to his full attention at that moment, when L changed angles and the hard stabbing pain-pleasure made Light’s voice do the most amazing things—loud enough (purposefully) for the Wammy kids to hear even if they’d locked their own ear buds in the next room.

Light was drenched in a medley of his and L’s sweat, making the exotic hue of his skin gleam like melting butter, and L sunk his teeth into Light’s shoulder like he was some particularly sugary confection—his slender fingers knotting tightly in Light’s hair, holding him down rather pornographically. Light had long since discovered L had a knack of grounding out his anxieties in bed—he may have been the very mask of bored composure on a nearly 24/7 basis, but fucking Kira was usually the sort of catharsis the detective could depend on. It was usually fucking, because fist fighting and tennis matches didn’t happen as often as the two of them might have liked—but all bets were off in the bedroom.

L was stifling his own moans, as he usually did; making the act sound like a grueling amount of hard work—not that that was so off base. Light however, had turned up the volume, he knew L liked to hear him, enjoyed the sound of his voice whether he was speaking normally or purring like a pro—it heightened the detective’s pleasure—God, they knew each other so well it was almost frightening. And given the events of that morning, this sort of release was quite necessary—Light hadn’t been able to think straight seeing L dressed to match him, smelling of sharp cologne and crisp shirts and Light’s hair products, since it turned out that’s what he’d used to straighten that often sugary-mop of his. Light didn’t realize it until he was stripping the garment off of L’s pale chest either, that he’d worn one of Light’s shirts—even though he had the resources to get his own at any second he wanted. There’d been something suggestive and intimate about that, and Light picked up on it, as L knew he would. It made them both hungrier and judging from the way L seemed to be feasting on the nape of Light’s neck in a way that made Light go absolutely wild, it was long-overdue.

Though Light was sure Mello and Matt would not be of the same opinion. Question was, were they going to stay away knowing what was going on at that moment… or interrupt?

* * *

The all too clear hint had not clicked right away. In fact, it took Mello a few moments to look past the blatant threat in his partner's tone to locate the source of the problem. Then it all made sense. Matt, not one to have his feathers ruffled so easily, was pissed. Pissed enough to make Mello wonder just what had happened and go so far as to sweep the little ear bud off the table (as his own was still mercilessly shut off) and listen in on the source of the redhead's annoyance. Brows narrowed and he dropped it back on the glass with a hissed curse. "Was this on purpose?" He asked, indicating the fact that they could listen all too well to what was going on several blocks away.

"Fuck if I know," he scowled around the filter. "Last I checked this wasn't the sort of 'work' I'd had in mind."

Maybe it was the pressure gathered through the afternoon, or the onslaught of boredom that had rattled their browns. Mello couldn't help a suggestive grin despite himself. Ah, but he knew better at least and kept his comment to himself. The look had been enough to cause Matt's brows to shoot up, a sliver of intrigue coupled with outraged disbelief crossing his features. "Mello..."

"Did you hear me say anything?"

"I know you."

"I should hope so." It wasn't like him to say it so lightly in the midst of what could be considered a crisis - not only was this a waste of time, but the knowledge of what was happening on the other side of the com burned furiously into his mind. And yet, he mustered the ability to let it slide, at least for now, and tease his lover instead. A fact that was puzzling the redhead beyond comprehension, but perhaps that had been his idea in the first place. And yet, it was then that the cigarette was tapped, urged to forcefully release the excess ashes that Matt's car keys were plucked off the table.

"What are you doing..?"

"Driving our asses over there. Now come on," he said, giving no room for objections with each wide stride toward the door. Matt had no option but to follow, muttering the entirety of the way through the flat and down the common stairs. It was when the fifth curse left his lips that Mello halted his descent, turned around and peered up at him. "Are you quite done yet?"

"Fuck you, man! You can't honestly tell me you're all right with this bullshit!"

A quiet, bitter chuckle touched his lips and Mello backtracked, taking the two steps that separated them at a time and pushing Matt back against the cold stone wall. "Hardly," he hissed, breath hot only mere inches from the redhead's lips. "But I refuse to cower and twiddle my fuckin’ thumbs. I'm sure they'll have plenty of time to fuck once this case is closed," he spat the words with a ferocity contradicted by the cool nonchalance he'd been exhibiting only minutes prior. "So yes, we're going there and doing what must be done if I have to kick down the bloody door." The hand that had been pressed to the wall, palm flattened against stone beside Matt's head, shifted then: digits tangling into wispy red tresses. "As for you," he continued, lowering his tone for their benefit rather than that of any overhearing tenants. "I'll take care of you once we're done." The words hung by a thread in the air; thread which was severed brutally by the press of cocoa stained lips accompanied by the even more torturous press of narrow leather-clad hips against his own. Taunting, merciless. It had gotten the point across. It had been enough to draw a small sound of disappointment the moment the kiss ended and contact ceased. Mello grinned and, biting into a cocoa square, continued his way down the stairs.

* * * *

The ride was short - or should have been. He had not even looked at the clock, nor thought about cutting through alleys rather than keep to the main streets. The city erupted with slow moving cars, all attempting to get themselves to their destinations and none achieving their goal. It wasn't long until his patience was shot and Mello elaborated his own detour through the narrow cobblestone streets with enough edge to make Matt cling onto the door of the sleek Alfa Romeo, begging to whatever deity would hear him now that no scratches would mar that beautiful paint job. Never mind the fact that Mello had once again come up with a miraculous amount of money to invest in top of the line (escape) vehicles for the both of them and was technically his car, but how could one not get attached?

When at last they arrived, the blonde was the first one out, shutting the door quietly enough to make it appear as if nothing was wrong; as if no arguments were about to take place. Such was their way of life. Matt followed him as he always did; just a couple of steps behind, puffing endlessly on his little cancer sticks, even if they were not lit. It was a comfort thing. Like cavity inducing amounts of sweets.

The knock was brief. A mere warning out of habit alone before the key was inserted and allowed himself in. Mello did not call out. Hell, he did not even make a sound other than to drop the riffle carefully on the coffee table (making sure to steer clear of the sweets there piled) and sat himself down on one of the overstuffed chairs that surrounded it, legs crossed at the knee, digits tapping lightly at his temple. He waited, not looking particularly amused, but devoid of the outrage that was likely expected.

* * *

L had him pinned as if they were in a fight for their lives, arms pulled taut behind his back, chest pressed into the pillows, and that merciless grip on his hips, thrusting so hard into him Light was pretty sure he was going to be feeling the effect for weeks. They were drenched—positively soaking—sore and bruised, scratched, bitten and straining and still grinding hard for that end pleasure—it had crossed into marathon status by this point, had become so much more than a tactical romp in the sheets. Probably because they were both well aware that Mello would not let this slide, probably because someone who wasn’t the real Kira had a bullet trained at their heads earlier that day, mostly because they were who they were, and this was as much a fight as it was a profession of love and the kind of bond only soul mates could share—which was a funny thought because they never truly came off that way.

The harder they fucked, the more Light’s strategy went out the window, his obvious ploy of moaning loudly to piss off Matt and Mello succumbing to the very real sounds of a true passion-struggle; and that could very much have been L’s strategy. Sometimes it was almost a given that L took him to this place for as much punishment as pleasure, as though the only way he could justify loving Kira as much as he did, was by hurting him in the process. And that Kira could only justify submitting to L, by forcing their lovemaking into the realm of pseudo-rape by struggling as much as he did; except L peppered him with kisses, and Light craned back to capture his lover’s lips in his own, sucking them wantonly, his body so titillated and driven to the extremes of sensitivity that every graze of touch made him groan. God it hurt so much. God it felt so good. He’d resorted to keening L’s name in time with the thrusts, broken with intermittent bouts of gasping. And L, that bastard, had been neglecting the straining parts of him for most of the afternoon.

“L, Please,” he begged, “—Touch me—” There was no dignity in that, but fuck it if Matt and Mello heard by this point. He’d deal with them later.

He couldn’t do it himself, his arms were pinned, and L was using this to control him, because once their games moved to the bedroom, the rules got dirty… and L had a habit of winning. He denied Light for as long as he himself could hold out, until it was all too much, the pressure building, peaking, the world flashing blind, and he grabbed Light’s aching length hard, so hard Light jerked instinctively against him, hollering, almost trying to fight him off even as his plea was fulfilled, and L wrestled him back down to finish him off right. It probably sounded as painful as it looked, Light yelping, almost sobbing his climax, spilling deeply across L’s hand and into the sheets, straining prisoner to his lover—his captor—his enemy and his everything; and L strained with him, spilling inside him, claiming him at that moment, completely and utterly before they both collapsed boneless into the bed, panting hard, pulses hammering in every vein and artery, beating faces bright red, hair wet with sweat and the world spinning all too violently.

“Fuck,” and that was the most coherent thing Light could come up with, L not altogether separating from him, but at least releasing his arms. The joints groaned with pain as Light tried to adjust enough so that his body didn’t feel about ready to snap even as he trembled with the aftereffects. He tried to rein in his breathing, pressing his face against the pillow, turning his head to the side, his eyes finally focusing, on the door, beneath the door, to the obvious shadows there pacing back and forth—and Light managed a wry, exhausted snicker.

“Mello’s here.”

* * *

Matt was pacing. And despite how many times Mello had urged him to stop, it would only last a few seconds before the endless tirade of steps fell in line along the floor. From the window to the opposite wall and back. Always crossing in front of the bedroom door. Always by some miracle stepping past it and not through it. Mello had remained seated where he had originally planted himself, his expression revealing nothing even as his gaze narrowed at the onslaught of cries that echoed from behind the closed bedroom door. Matt had gone through three cigarettes by the time it grew quiet, staring obsessively out the window as if that alone would be his salvation. Digits tapped upon the heel of his boot. He paced in his own way; those vibrant green eyes trained upon the closed door. The sounds of debauchery silenced to hushed words. He had no doubts that they were at last aware of company with only a thin wooden pane to separate them. It did little for sound isolation.

"How the fuck do you do it?!" Matt hissed at him, clearly ruffled but doing his best to contain it. He hadn't seen the redhead this annoyed in a long time, but perhaps that was his own fault as well. As if Matt's anger was only intensified by Mello's lack of outrage. Being the hot-headed of the two, he usually did the right amount of cursing and screaming for the both of them. But now he hadn't. In fact, he was so goddamned calm it was unnerving. Moments passed and there was still no sight of them. Fair enough. He'd give them a couple of minutes to recover before taking any action if it came to it. His eyes fell on the table, taking in its contents for the first time. Although none of the delicacies present seemed to be of the chocolate variety, Mello had little qualms in pointedly stealing a pastry off the plate, savoring it a moment before eyeing it approvingly. As if nothing out of the ordinary were happening. As if he were not the perfect example of a dormant volcano just waiting for the opportune moment to erupt with the greatest devastation.

Eventually the door opened. Eventually someone had at last managed to peel himself out of bed and hopefully don some clothes before making his presence known. Hopefully because Mello did not even bother to look up from the bakery-borne feast. "We're not interrupting anything, I hope?" The words were accentuated by the flick of his tongue against a fingertip, letting no custard go to waste.

"No, not interrupting," L said calmly, his eyes drawn to the pastry, finger creeping toward his mouth. He was dressed, and his formerly neat hair was quite successfully back to its natural messy state, albeit a bit damp...more than a bit damp. "We're finished."

Mello lifted his gaze toward him, not entirely surprised at the bland response, at the deadpan expression. "Great," he returned almost as emotionless; the only thing that ruined it was the hint of sarcasm upon his tone. "Could we get to work now?" He waved to the chair opposite him as if it were his own living room he'd invited L into.

Matt, on the other hand, was gawking. The lit cigarette hung precariously from slightly parted lips. This was far too goddamned bizarre even for Mello. He had to wonder if his partner had been hoping for Kira to have been the first one out that door.

L blinked, it was obvious he detected the hint of sarcasm, or rather, more than just a hint, and his gaze followed Mello’s invitation to the chair. He shuffled over, selecting a pastry off the platter with two fingers, but not taking a seat. “Tell me everything about the sniper and what happened,” he said, his tone business, but fading as he shuffled into the hall toward the kitchen, cramming the sticky-sweet pastry into his mouth as he went. He’d left the bedroom door slightly ajar, the setting sunlight from the far balcony pouring in through the old doors, flooding the linen drapery of the bed, and the vague, sultry, very nude shape of the person inside who hadn’t even bothered to move… yet.

It was easier to focus on business rather than the possibilities of the various states of undress Light might find himself in at the present moment, sprawled like that in sheen sweat across the bed. Why the thoughts even crossed his mind he was not sure, and thus allowed his gaze to follow L's movements instead. "Either way you want to look at it, we were set up. The guy had a clear shot had he wanted to take it. Whether it was your name or Light's on his bullet I don't know," he mulled thoughtfully. "But the truth of the matter is that he didn't bother to fight me and contended himself in announcing defeat." He shook his head, pulling the sunglasses off the top of his head and set them on the table. "He was dead in seconds, obviously in direct contact with Kira or someone with access to the notebook." He had turned in his seat to keep up with L, crossing his arms over the back of the stuffed chair as he kneeled casually across the cushions. "I didn't dare move him, although in retrospect perhaps I should've. Doubt he would have had any sort of identification on him," he murmured thoughtfully. "I can easily give you a sketch, and I've brought the riffle. Hopefully there's something to be learned out of it."

“Yes, do that,” and L was coming back from the kitchen with a veritable tub of tiramisu in one hand, and a plate of apples in the other. “Sketch and gun,” he didn’t spare either Mello or Matt a glance as he shuffled to the bedroom, opening the door wide, revealing the sleeping god inside. Light was on his side facing them, the slender bend of his figure reminiscent of some of the statues they’d passed that morning around the plaza—at least insofar as nudity and appropriately placed drapery. He was golden in the sunlight, almost angelic looking even from far away and L set the apples on the bed nonchalantly, shuffling then across the room to fetch a laptop, and casually moving back to the seat beside Mello to set himself up—scrunched and hunched as he began clacking at the keys. Of course, he didn’t bother to close the bedroom door, so it was a nice widescreen view of Light in all his godly glory right there before the three of them, apples like an offering blood red against white sheets. And Mello got the distinct idea L had done that on purpose. It was an odd thought, but possibly accurate, that as much as Mello and Matt currently disapproved of his behavior, so he equally seemed to disapprove of their reaction…

Mello just briefly glimpsed past the now open bedroom door, releasing a quiet breath without comment. It was pointless to comment as far as L was concerned. He couldn't exactly argue with him regardless of context on principle alone. But he had tried on a short number of occasions only to be further frustrated by his lack of reaction. "Why did you go out there today?" he asked instead, his tone softening a notch. Matt had decided to join them at last, thrusting a notebook and mechanical pencil into his hand. Mello thanked him with a brief nod, his attention still focused on L even as he began to sketch out the man's face, relying on that photographic memory to produce a proper sketch to go on.

Minutes later, he ripped the page off and tossed the notebook on the table, handing L the finished sketch. A surprisingly decent one, Matt had to admit at quick glimpse, given the rush and lack of reference aside from memory. Short hair, very short; reminiscent of a military cut. His features bland and unimpressive with the exception of the eyes, wide and desperate as Mello had seen him. Completely devout to whatever service had been entrusted to him. A frightening thought that.

L took the sketch and stared at it, teeth chipping away at the thumb, attention totally focused. He didn’t say anything for a long moment. “I went out there today because I needed to,” he said, without being very clarifying. It could have meant anything, from believing that his presence was the catalyst in drawing out the sniper and his link to Kira, to the more probable notion that it was a test of Light in some way. True there was an actual Kira out there, notebook in hand, but the real Kira was the one sleeping there in front of them, notebook or no notebook, his threat still hovered over them like the pall that it was. He and L could play all the kinky psycho-sexual games they wanted, when push came to shove—and it would—the question would be whether Kira was still utterly focused on becoming the god of a new world. If he was, then his plan undoubtedly centered on ridding himself of L, Mello, Matt, Kira #5 and any one else in his way. Everything in between was filler, him biding his time, confident that his followers meant it when they said they wanted him back. But L didn’t elaborate and left Mello to his own conclusions.

“Run this sketch through the proper channels to see if he’s connected,” L muttered. “Though he strikes me as military from the looks of it…Kira’s reach here is vast apparently, mob, military and church connections…though we are in Italy after all… Matt, run the gun through every check you can, tell me everything…” This of course was obvious, so L was dancing around the real issues. These damn games were going to be the death of all of them because no one was willing to open a solid line of communication…L least of all it seemed.

He sat there engrossed in his sudden bout of research for several minutes, basically ignoring Matt and Mello, which wasn’t so out of the norm, but under the circumstances seemed very deliberate.

“Is there something else you wanted to say to me?” For a moment that could have been just the opener the real conversation needed, but at that moment L happened to glance up—once, then twice, and his gaze stuck, straight ahead—glued to Light, Mello thought irritably.

But that wasn’t necessarily the case. Light hadn’t moved, but the apples in the plate beside him… were gone.

If he had indeed about to take L up on his offer to speak up, the words were exhausted from his lips before they had even been formulated. Mello followed L's seemingly intent gaze, ready to be annoyed by what he found but instead, he too could not help but stare. It wasn't the compelling sight of Light's sprawled nude body upon the sheets that earned their attention but the mysteriously missing apples upon the plate. He frowned then cast L a sidelong glance. "The Shinigami still follows him or is this just another curve ball thrown our way?" For it was more than obvious who's presence they were amongst, as to why... well that made a bit less sense unless there was something L knew and was not sharing - and of that there was plenty.

"It happened out in the plaza as well," Matt chimed in, eying the plate suspiciously. Unlike the other two, he had yet to have any first hand encounters with the Death Gods - a fact he was rather happy to maintain. "Planting that apple like that. It was as if he knew.." Sharp blue orbs shifted to focus on L, trying to gauge a reaction, perhaps, if they were so lucky as to be greeted with one. Every so often it was nice to have all the fact, or at least the great majority. And given the situation as well as the loudly ticking clock over at least two of their heads, it was a necessity.

“Raito-kun is positive the shinigami here in Rome is his own, or former shinigami,” L said, his gaze lingering on the empty plate. The apples hadn’t been for Light at all, but just another test it seemed to see whether the Death God followed the new Kira…or the proper one.

“He calls him ‘Ryuk,’ the shinigami utterly responsible for Kira’s birth unto this world. He dropped the book Raito-kun found when he was 17, and Raito-kun spent the majority of the last six years living with this creature as a permanent fixture and ever watchful presence. Apparently, Ryuk has a severe taste for apples—it was what Raito-kun referred to when he dropped me some playful hints back during the FBI incident. What he did with the apple in the plaza was a test to see if Ryuk was the shinigami responsible for the 5th Kira. It seems he is. It also seems, since I’m assuming he is following Raito-kun and not his new master, that everything we are investigating has been orchestrated by this beast as a game for Raito-kun. Raito-kun has insisted that his death god never took a side, but Ryuk admitted to me that Raito-kun is his favorite human. Of course, to his credit, had Ryuk taken a side, I could very well be dead right now—many years dead. It is only because of Amane’s former shinigami that Watari is dead, Kira never got his name, or mine until recently.” L said the facts straight enough, but his voice still wavered at the mention of Watari. That was still perhaps his deepest wound, and yet he protected the person responsible for it.

“The fact that Ryuk gave us this chance to save our lives by solving this case means he has more fun watching Raito-kun at work than he would simply taking his life and reducing him to Nothingness—according to the Death Note, Nothingness is what awaits
Kira when his earth life ceases. He simply stops existing, there’s no Heaven, no Hell, no salvation, no damnation, no chance for redemption. He’s finished. It’s why Raito-kun fears death more than any other thing. He was young when he made this pact, now he’s old enough to understand what he’s damned himself to. So rest assured, Mello, I can only save him for so long.” L actually sounded bitter, but more so at Light for having put himself in this situation. It was no secret that despite his feelings for Kira, L considered Light Yagami a wasted potential in every sense of the word. The guy had everything—everything—he could have done anything he wanted, had anything he wanted and he threw it all away.

“As to whether Ryuk is following Raito-kun out of curiosity or because he is still attached to him …that I have yet to determine. He’s obviously here, and lingering and watching. What Raito-kun did in the plaza was either a display for us as part of a ploy, or to prove the theory for himself.

L chewed his thumb. “He is in possession of a piece of the Death Note—that’s no secret. I don’t know where he’s hidden it. If he’s not the owner, he must be in contact with the piece at all times in order to keep his memories; which means even now the piece would have to be hidden on his person—and as you can see, there’s only so many places he could hide it in such a state.” L’s eyes the whole time had been trained on the golden length of Light’s nude body, and since he was central to their discussion at the moment, Mello at least had been watching along with him, much to Matt’s aggravation.

“I’d like to think I’ve already checked most of them,” L said flatly. It was a good thing Matt wasn’t drinking tea at that moment or he would have spluttered it everywhere. L, however, continued on as if he hadn’t said anything remotely crass.

“If he’s not in direct contact with the notebook, and he still has his memories, then that means he is Kira, he does have possession of a book, he has always been able to see Ryuk, and everything he is doing, he is doing to deceive us and win the game. I could even go so far as to say that whole deal with Ryuk is indeed a ploy and part of his design to have him win over me in the end.”

Essentially, just about every scenario so far involved Light being Kira, evil mastermind. It made one wonder why L was keeping him around and not shuffling him off to a dungeon somewhere. Though obviously, Mello and Matt already knew the answer.

“So are there actually any odds in his favor—or are we seriously wasting time here?” That was Matt’s nicotine talking so abruptly.

“Of course,” L said. “It’s a 50% chance everything in the current scenario is the truth. Raito-kun and I did make a deal, Ryuk is using the 5th Kira to play a game with us because Raito-kun entertains him, Raito-kun is hiding a piece of the Death Note only to maintain his memories to help solve this case, and he’s not going to betray us to his church of bloodthirsty followers.”

There was a dry beat of silence and Matt and Mello exchanged glances, wondering if that was indeed sarcasm they detected in L’s tone.

It was that moment Light chose to stir inside, leisurely stretching like a lazy cat. Most likely he’d been faking sleep the whole time and just heard everything they said. L didn’t seem to care.

“Konbanwa, Raito-kun,” L greeted. “Your shinigami has already eaten.”

So they had a reassuring 50% chance that all this was not going to hell. Great.

Matt had blanched, having perhaps expected a slightly more positive reply even if he did not entirely believe it. The odds were decidedly not in their favor considering it was their own lives they were gambling with. Matt made it a point not to look toward the open bedroom door at that moment L casually greeted his lover; the thought of that word alone caused him to grimace despite himself. But he was in fact curious as to how Kira would react to such a greeting and took turns looking between L and Mello, the latter being a bit easier to decipher as L's blank stare rarely offered any insight.

The blonde was not staring intently at Light, however, glimpsing in his general direction perhaps but his gaze was unfocused as it settled upon the empty plate, mulling over the words just entrusted to them. It was more than what had been previously revealed and certainly helped him understand some of what had happened to date. Hell, it even helped him understand some of Light's own behavior, however shallow that glimpse had been. They had all been lucky then.

All this time, it could have been for nothing. All this time, all they believed could just be dismissed as a wild thought because if L was right and all of these scenarios had some truth to them, then they were in truth, essentially fucked. Unless, of course, by some God-send miracle, Light would act as L desperately hoped. There was a lot riding on that one thread of faith. He frowned, looking to the older man thoughtfully. How much more would be invested in this mess before one of them snapped? It was not a possibility he liked to entertain but one that had to be considered all the same. Losing L had of course, never been on the slate, but Mello knew the harsh reality of the fact. It was possible. Hell, it was practically the most expected end to all of this, so he supposed that in not taking a bullet to Light's brain, he too was sharing L's slight faith that it would all be all right in the end.

Ha. Such a notion was better wasted on children.

Could the thought of such gruesome end to life be enough to change Light's thoughts at the last minute? Could he hope to make something right at least once, despite whether or not he truly faced nothing more than eternal darkness after that last drawn breath?

Kira's mortality was certainly not something he had given much thought in the past. After all, in their minds he was hardly even human by the time they had come into the case. Just another monster to destroy - worse than all the others that had been eliminated from this world at his hand. But now with the ample truth revealed before him, Mello could not help but entertain the thought that despite it all, it was a worry everyone had. Where would you end up after death? What would come then? What punishments, what rewards? For Light there was only the abyss. Mello clearly remembered Matt telling him once, during one of his moments of clarity from above, "You might've fucked up, but I've never seen someone do so much bad shit for a good cause." He had blanched at the time, but the horror had only lasted a few frozen seconds in time before a giddy sort of relief overtook him. How many years had it been since? How much more had he added to his plate? Yet, there was still that possibility that he would not sink to the fiery pits of hell with his last breath. A reason to wonder, a reason to try and change things. Light, on the other hand, had sealed his fate many a years ago.

As if Matt could read the thoughts right off his face, those blue eyes narrowed questioningly, but Mello's response was just as subtle. A slight shake of his head dismissed the issue. Later, he promised him wordlessly, lifting his gaze to the bedroom door as each traitorous thought was just as easily set aside. They would be addressed, of this he was sure, but it would be on their own time and not until he'd had a proper moment to think. There was too much to pay attention to now. Too much to deal with.

Kira’s mortality certainly was an odd subject to consider all of a sudden, and they had to wonder if L had brought it up as just a matter of fact, or as an attempt to give them some insight into Kira himself. After all, they’d been keeping Light Yagami’s questionable company for a short time, had already seen the face of the devil—not so badly as L had seen it for sure, but had seen enough to piece together the bastard’s dominant persona.

And yet, to give L some credit—or to better phrase it—to give due credit to someone of L’s caliber, there had to be something more to Kira the person than the front he wore like an expensive brand of cologne. L was quite visibly fascinated with the sonofabitch, and for more than just the sex—which, unfortunately sounded rather…engaging. He was trying to save him for a reason, and perhaps had now decided, (judging from Matt and Mello’s reactions regarding what had gone on just a short while earlier) to drop vague morsels of insight into why he gave a damn that Light Yagami would stop existing the minute he drew his last breath. That was of course, assuming L himself would survive to see such a thing.

The two of them would either die together as the shinigami planned, or one would outlast the other. Kira had once confessed regretting L’s death, back when he still believed he’d successfully defeated him. The surveillance of Yagami at the time, seemed to confirm that Light himself was indeed grieving, albeit in a twisted sort of fashion—so there may have been something under that dark surface of his after all. L believed it. For someone devoid of the greater faith, L was certainly pinning a lot on that distant concept. A whole helluva lot. And even though there was little doubt that, if given the chance (and assuming such was his plan) Light would hesitate to kill his lover and greatest enemy—did L possess that same strength? Could he trigger the kill switch if that’s what it came to? Or would he let Kira take him out? Mello didn’t really want to find out the hard way—in either case, it was obvious L would suffer.

“Oh is that what was crunching in my ear?” Light’s dulcet tenor voice interrupted Mello’s morbid thoughts. His Lord Highness was putting on a show of pretending to wake up, stretching and sitting up to face them, sheets pooling in his lap, concealing just enough, but not really much at all. “I had a feeling he’d follow me.”

Liar, the fuck. If he knew the shinigami better than anyone, he’d have known back at the plaza it was going to follow him home.

“So you can’t see him?” L’s question bordered on interrogational rather than curiosity, and Light blinked—he was far enough away from the three Wammy kids so that the exact features of his expression were vague, and that was slightly irritating because there was always so much to read in his expressions—in his eyes especially.

“Why would I be able to see him?”

L didn’t blink, in fact, he didn’t even move, a sugar cube poised between two fingers, where he’d been building a bridge from one pastry to the next. “Because you have a piece of the notebook.” He made it sound as though that should have been obvious.

Light’s silence was dry at first, and then his laugh turned haughty, and he nonchalantly shook out his tussled hair, not shamed in the slightest that he was essentially sitting there naked before the three of them. “My piece is from Misa’s book—and since Rem has been dead for 4 years, I can’t see any shinigami. I gave up the book Ryuk had given to me, remember?”

Should any of them have been surprised that he didn’t even bother to deny it? Maybe not, but they were anyway. Even L paused again mid-motion, his eyes shifting up, his fingers just about to lay down the next sugary brick in his odd construction. “So if Rem were alive, that is the shinigami you would be able to see, and you would not be able to confirm on sight that Ryuk is probably here watching us right now?”

Light smirked. “Ryuk is definitely here, most likely laughing at the moment. But no, I can’t see him, I just know him well enough—and since you said he ate the apples, then it’s really just a given now, isn’t it?”

L didn’t even twitch. It was sort of funny, him holding the position the way he was. It was also funny to think, judging by the stoic look on his face, that he’d been the same one in that bedroom making Light beg for release. That visual wasn’t fitting together at all. Mello and Matt definitely got the sense, however, that Light was on the spot at that moment, even though Light was not bending to it.

“Raito-kun,” L said.

“Hmm?”

“Where is your piece of the notebook?”