Redeemer

“Fuck,” Mello grit, again, for what guarantee did he have one way or another?

“Light—” and the name was spoken in such a way almost to communicate all the doubt, all the angst, all the hope and hopelessness, but there was no follow up, because they’d been over all of this already, hadn’t they? Time and again? From the warehouse and back? They’d been through all of this—and Kira had said in his own words, that it was the nature of the beast—he was what he had always been, so what was it that gave him the benefit of the doubt at all?

Right here and now. It was only Mello’s own decision.

“I’m going upstairs,” Light said. “You can join me, or you can leave—the car will take you back. But either way, by morning—it’s the beginning of the end, there is no way around it…we’ve come to it at last.”

Light’s figure was graceful as he ascended the steps—fully in control and Mello stared down at the comlink in his hand, the same hand that pressed to his forehead as pale lashes fluttered against his cheeks. By God, he wanted to follow Light and pretend, for just one night, that the world wasn’t about to implode. Pretend that all was all right, that it was not Kira whom he sought to embrace, to kiss, to love until the sun came up.

But it was.

This was Kira deep in his reign of terror, poised upon the ultimate crest of victory over the insubordinate pawns that had dared go against him. That dared soil this earth with their criminal behavior. The lines were drawn again, and the only the span of a flight of steps, bridged the gap.

Mello glimpsed the car that sat not too far away, its driver on attention and waiting. Once again he looked at the small device in his palm, and flicked his phone open. No missed calls. No messages. Not a single word from any of them. Hesitantly he keyed in a message to L’s inbox. “Safariano’s dead. Send a couple of ambulances to retrieve the bodies. The whole household is dead.” He paused, looking at the little cursor upon the rectangular screen. “Will be back later. There’s something I must do.” Mello hesitated only briefly before hitting the send button and flipping the phone shut. There was no stopping it now, fool of him to think any of the control was even remotely in his hands.

By the time he reached the top landing and followed the long hall to the end room, he’d managed to block out only so much, and it wasn’t the sort of block that had him numb to the world, that had him brainwashed like those poor bastards downstairs—it was the sort of block that staved off all the ugliness facing him just then, because when he opened the bedroom door, what he saw there was anything but ugly.

There was a warmth that seemed to halo Light’s golden body, emanating and angelic with the way he curved that honeyed gaze over a lovely shoulder to see Mello enter the room—as Light apparently knew he would. Their connection was too strong then wasn’t it? And Mello just drank in the sight of him—this demon, this devil, this angel, this god—like a renaissance painting aglow against a room draped in white—the canopy of the bed loosing long cascades of fabric to the floor, like the curtains, like the sheets; the stark contrast enveloping his pleasing form—that narrow line of his back, the sway of a figure Michelangelo’s David himself would have envied. And so telling were those prominent scars where wings had once been—wings—Mello thought, because he believed it—and was it ever true? This fallen creature, this rising divinity, Lucifer the Favorite, the Morningstar, the Light; he had to exist, because without him there was no God. Because he wanted to be loved more than any other—because he felt he deserved it…and Mello dropped his gloves, closing his eyes to slide a hand over that warm shoulder, snaking an arm around Light’s waist to pull him close in his arms—back to chest—face pressing to skin, breathing in that familiar scent he had missed so desperately.

He felt Light sigh his appreciation as he leaned his full weight back against Mello, head dropping to his shoulder, shag of silky honey hair spilling against Mello’s neck, and Mello turned to press his lips there, against Light’s jaw, against his temple—his lips… and they were kissing sweetly, adoringly—as though this was that sliver of Heaven neither would probably ever see—maybe ever again.

The thought made Mello wince, made him feel the rush of emotion that had been threatening his fortified soul this whole time—that twisted hard in his face and pricked his eyes with tears, because how could it be like this? Why suffer this sort of feeling for someone who did not know the monster they had become?—who despite an infinite downward spiral, still felt like salvation when they turned and pressed close and wrapped him in warm arms?

Why? Mello wanted to ask, because he felt helpless against it all, and Light was the only thing to hold on to. And this was what L was wrestling with wasn’t it? What he had been wrestling with all this time? This love… this strange, doomed, paradoxical love that had stripped them both to the core and made them face their own darkness… and embrace it. Oh how ironic, that darkness was called Light.

“There is no world tonight,” Light whispered, as though he understood, as though he knew all—every bit what Mello was thinking, feeling… it was the way it was. No one could change it. Nature of the Beast.

Mello slid his hands around Light’s sculpted jaw, pulling him deeper into the kiss, trying to force away that pain riling inside him, threatening to break. I will kill you, he thought, when the time comes—I will kill you, beloved.

The first of the tears leaked with that desperate truth…and Light kissed the tears away and only held him tighter…
The evening’s earlier anger had dissipated, leaving in its place a strange sort of desperation and unexplainable fear. It was there, tugging like an annoying child at the back of his mind, his nails digging into those glorious bare shoulders, sliding around to tangle into Light’s hair, refusing to break that kiss because once he did, then reality would come back and crumble that moment of peace, of glory.

It shattered, however slowly, when both were breathless, foreheads resting together. Mello gasped softly, his breath hot against his lover’s kiss-bruised lips and held him tight. Wanting nothing more than to take him away from this, to just make time pass quicker and let everything play out as it would without involvement. This way there would be no choices. This way there would be no risks. This way things could be all right and no one would have to get hurt.

Shit. When had he become so desperate? When had he given into such weaknesses? “I want to believe in you…” he whispered against Light’s lips. “I want nothing more than to believe you… To take you from here, to put all of this to an end…” he was rambling, he knew, soft whispers between breathless kisses along his jaw, his throat, his shoulder.

“Light please,” Mello whispered, holding Kira’s handsome face between his hands, the tremble working itself deep through Mello’s bones, his sinew, his nerves—teetering on a precipice of feeling he’d been battling back for so long, because the end felt so impending just then. And here were the words he’d swore he would never say. Here was the tactic he promised he would never use. Here was the one thing he’d denied above all else—the truth:

“Light, I love you,” and Mello squeezed his eyes shut, forehead pressed to Light’s as he said it. “I love you and I want you here with me—with us; you mean so much to us, to L and I, and we can’t lose you. Not to this, not to Bella, not to the Death Note… please beloved—don’t—” do anything stupid was the part he didn’t get to speak. Please don’t do anything stupid, please don’t do anything that will force our hands, force that choice—please don’t make me kill you; but it went unspoken because Light pressed a finger to Mello’s lips to silence him.

Don’t beg, was the gesture. Don’t say the things that are to remain unsaid; it passed through Light’s amber eyes as he pressed his lips beside Mello’s, “Don’t worry,” he purred softly. “Believe in me—like I believe in you…”

It was a feeling much akin to that terrible dread both he and Matt had swallowed the night their plans had been put into action, seemingly a lifetime away in Japan. But the fear was not for himself, as it had not been that night. In fact the fear was rarely ever for himself—it was for Light now. It was for L. Because as much as Mello wanted to trust that all these genius plans were foolproof there was that lingering gravity that it would not work out so well.

Goddamint, he would drive himself mad this way. The switch went off and it showed visibly as Mello smoothly disarmed himself, tossing each weapon aside and shrugged off his shirt. At that moment the physical contact made all the difference and he pressed himself against Light's warm body but before he had the chance to truly dwell on the sensation, Mello found himself on his back against the mattress, blinking up into that amber gaze with just a touch of questioning before his lips were claimed and all thoughts fled.

His breath was a desperate shudder as Light lavished affection over Mello’s throat and shoulder, lush lips trailing the despicable planes of scar tissue both numb and over-sensitive. The bastard always knew what buttons to push, how to make Mello gasp and squirm despite himself, flattened as he was against the bed, pinning Mello to the stark white sheets. Light’s dominant manner spoke all it needed to: yes, he knew what he was doing; yes, his plan was as flawless as he claimed.

The first penetrating thrust pushed through him, and Mello's broken hiss was quickly muffled by the crook of his lover's neck, the blonde’s legs tightening around that slender waist, black nails carving into Light’s back. The initial pain brought back a sliver of rationality and the sensations that followed numbed all that pesky anxiety as Mello groaned his pleasure into the soft, silky tresses of auburn hair.

It had been truly long since anyone had taken him this way—he’d certainly never given himself to Kira before, would have never dreamed of it, but the submission came easily just then under the very talented cadence of Light’s hips, he knew how to angle, he knew how to hit those places deep inside that had Mello tossing his head with abandon, clawing Light’s shoulders as though he were the last thing in the universe to hang on to; and God if he’d known Light was this good on top, this scenario could have played out sooner.

But it was more than that, wasn’t it? More than just a romp, a role reversal, and even if Mello’s rationale—to a degree—was slowly trickling in to part him from his sense of tragic finality, he knew Light had done this deliberately—to show Mello he was in control, to maybe even give him that reassurance Mello was indeed lacking upon realization that Kira was there, fully prepared to claim his own throne—unchecked. That every decision right now, rested with the ‘God of a New World’ and that those who loved him were waiting in the wings to see if they’d made a terrible mistake.

But no—he was anchoring, beautiful, powerful at that moment—more powerful than Mello had ever fully felt—because this was Kira at an apex of glory, wielding his deadly nature, and this was Yagami the brilliant strategist who’d outsmarted all, and this was Light—the man Mello had fallen in love with against all odds, the man who’d stolen L’s heart and made them both believe that sometimes, God truly did work in mysterious ways. And if he didn’t prove it with every capable thrust, with every demanding claim of ragged lips—then Mello could indeed allow himself to firmly believe, that he and L had truly lost this day—and Kira, so patient and clever—had won.

But the turmoil was fading the closer Mello reached toward climax; Light’s body inside his own carrying him to places far above those earthly plains on the rhythm of those lovely hips; and Mello was arching, gasping, glistening in a sheen of sweat, the taste of Light’s lips so very potent in their inherent desire—

“Light—Light,” and Mello was writhing and gasping his lover’s name, gasping deep and breathless, his thighs laced so tightly around Light’s own body—he thought nothing could bring him down from such a high, until it suddenly occurred to him, that just beyond the door—men were screaming…

Mello’s eyes snapped open, his head whipping to the side, his brain quickly spiraling in to do the math—they were dying, their time was up, a whole wave of human life dropping dead in the throws of the Death Note’s agony—and their murderer right there above him, inside him, making love to him as his victims were claimed in a sea of death around them both.

Instinctively Mello pushed a hand against Light’s shoulder, almost to keep him at bay, throw him off, come back to himself to realize that here was the villain after all—yes? But Light caught him, fingers lacing in that devout companionship they shared, caught him, and pinned him back; his ragged motions easing to slow and languid strokes that continued to strike Mello’s pleasure place deep inside—quite maddeningly. But the blonde was fighting it just then, eyes meeting Light’s, threatening rebellion.

“Stay with me,” Kira was saying, his other hand alighting Mello’s smooth jaw, “Stay with me right here—there is no other world tonight…” his lips fell lovingly against Mello’s own, “Stay with me, Mello—I love you…”

And Mello was truly damned now wasn't he?

The kiss was too sweet, and even though it did not immediately block out the agonized, strangled cries of dying men, it did its job. Because there wasn't a damned thing Mello could do for them now. They were dead. Dead for hours—hadn't that been the initial problem? But... he hadn't predicted this. He had not taken into account that he would be in the throes of passion as these men crumbled beneath the too-powerful iron grip his very lover had on their lives. There was a world out there... there was...

But Light was chasing chills up and down his spine and Mello whimpered despite himself, cursing inwardly the moment he did so. It was impossible to ignore them, to simply let it pass as just another occurrence but... God, why did he sound so sincere? Why did that smooth voice have this effect on him? The fight melted away all too easily and Mello was throwing his head back down against the mattress, teeth grit against the pleasure, against the pain, against the inner turmoil that stripped him bare of any rationality, of any common sense, of any structured thought, leaving him only with the too raw sense of feeling.

He pressed his face against the inside of his arm; fingers tangling into soft, tangled sheets. "Light..." he gasped breathlessly. Outside, screams were subsiding. Nothing he could do for them... "Light..."

What have I done...? The revelation spun itself through Mello’s head.

“It’s okay,” Light purred into Mello’s ear, his breath ragged, broken, pressing toward his own climax the deeper he thrust into his lover’s willing body. And those words seemed to inspire that desperate need in Mello to function on pure faith just then, because he wrapped his arms so very tightly around Light’s shoulders, sealing them together so that hearts pounded in conjunction, and angles deepened, and both were gasping fervently against each other as the friction built and rushed and burst in a blinding tremor of transcendental pleasure—and Mello was whimpering in a way he’d never before, shuddering and heaving and Light holding on to him so perhaps he wouldn’t just fall away—until at last they collapsed boneless against each other, and around them, the rest was silence…

* * *

Matt had chewed off every fingernail, and perhaps L hadn’t been in the least bit supportive of his anxiety; but nevertheless, the detective had tried to get his mind off of it by keeping him busy—though it was both of them monitoring the police reports as Safariano’s stronghold was seized upon, and body after body brought out in dark black bags.

There was a glimmer of displeasure in L’s face, but it was not for the fact that Kira had indiscriminately killed an entire mob family…barring women and children it seemed, unless the women were particular serpents—no, it wasn’t the act, it was the notion that this may have exposed Kira a bit too soon.

That it would interfere with the plan.

Matt was grimacing and trying to shove off the notion—which he already knew was the truth, because godforbid anything interfere with plans when it came to Kira or L. Nevertheless, he was at the same time trying to convince himself that L had not entirely betrayed them here—that he was L after all, and even though it may have looked like Kira had outsmarted everyone and gone above and beyond what was anticipated—a whole bloody family? And how many to follow?—there was always the cold hard truth that L had several aces up his own sleeve no one but him ever knew about.

Or was that blind faith?

Linda’s face seemed to say so—and the poor girl was just not prepared to deal with this sort of stress under these kinds of conditions. She’d been searching the suite in vain for the better part of 20 minutes now to find a proper bottle of aspirin—but they were out, because she, Mello and Matt had been popping the damn things like candy these last couple of weeks.

“I’m just gonna go down to the lobby,” she said, “To get some aspirin.”

L’s head bobbed up from behind the screen. “Have room service bring it,” he said rather firmly. But Linda was massaging her temples, distraught and cranky, and probably having her period.

“I need some air, L,” she shot back, maybe a little harder than she intended, to the point that Matt had now glanced up from his PSP. “I’ll only be a few minutes.”

L didn’t seem entirely pleased, but he didn’t argue with her. “Take a cell,” he ordered, and that was funny, because who took a cell just to go down to the lobby? But that was the sort of thought that only passed through Linda’s brain, and not Matt’s—Matt knew the levels of paranoia L’s own existence hinged on, and even a trip to the lobby at a time like this was considered risky. Linda had yet to understand the mentality in full, so she took the cell almost begrudgingly, perhaps just as displeased with L at that moment for what was transpiring—and maybe more, since the detective had been a bit of a prick when it came to their rather off affair.

So to punctuate the situation, she let the door slam behind her, perhaps just a bit too loud…

* * *

The world had, of course, fallen apart. Crumbled around the edges, leaving behind only a wave of dark suits upon highly polished floors. The bed was empty when Mello came to several hours later in the first hours of morning. It had been the streaming sun through the windows that woke him, its warmth comfortable but unfamiliar. The only hint that Light had been there at all was the fleeting scent of cologne upon the pillow, the marks upon Mello’s body and the mug of lukewarm coffee upon the nightstand.

Mello had taken the time to drink it, sitting on the edge of the bed, staring toward the window without looking outside. It was with a strange sort of calm that he stepped out onto the hallway and beheld the first traces of the massacre that had taken place beneath this roof. Jaw tight, he strode through the corridors to look down upon the main lobby and freeze, fingers tight upon the railing. The floor was littered with the bodies of Kira’s victims—victims to this war, to this secret battle that would soon erupt all over Rome in the worst way possible. Men had fallen where they stood; some had tried to get away from the cold grips of death. But it was impossible. Damned—they had all been damned.

With a quiet prayer upon his lips, he turned away, descending to the bottom floor taking care to sidestep those less fortunate to have just missed the rising sun. He found, with obvious surprise that the Ducati sat untouched outside where the car had dropped them off the previous evening. Had that also been arranged? No, it couldn't have been because the choice had been his, but Light had seen to it—Light knew.

The motorcycle purred to life between his legs and the early morning warmth was splashing against his face as Mello took to the streets. He would retch if he stayed any longer, if he let the reality sink in. The codec was pressing against his leg, still tucked away in his pocket. He had yet to check in, and regardless whether or not he knew he should given the circumstances, he couldn't. Not yet.

It was not the hotel he turned to anyway, but one of Rome's tall churches. He pulled in front, his conscience heavy, his steps heavier as he crossed the threshold. Inside it was quiet. Too early for tourists and Mello caught himself pausing, his gaze sweeping up to the sacrificial figure behind the altar. He dropped to one knee, head bowing as he crossed himself before sinking into one of the front-most pews.

It was then that the tears came, launching a grief he could hardly begin to explain. It was there, knelt against the worn wood, half draped over the front pew that he buried his face into the crook of his arm and released every worry and doubt he'd kept hidden well out of sight for the last several months. As if the previous night had been the breaking point. As if last night had been the moment the earth pivoted out of orbit and dumped him into blackness. It might as well have been.

He felt a hand upon his quaking shoulder and he stiffened, but the immediate voice that followed assured him that there was no reason for paranoia. Not here. Not right now. "Do you need to talk, my son?" And Mello shook his head, not even looking up. Unable to do so. Talk? How could he? His sins were far too numerous to list and he did not have the time. Not today of all days. He should not even have taken the time to come here but...

"I will be here if you need me," the priest told him solemnly, clearly taken aback by Mello's obviously distraught state.

"Thank you Father..." he managed, not trusting himself to say much more because a number of different scenarios were running amuck through his mind. Because he saw failure across the board—on their part, on Light's part—a multitude of options and decisions and possibilities and not a single one was reassuring. Not a single one of them was acceptable, because of what Mello might still be forced to do. Because of what it would put L through. Because of what the detective had already suffered, because of what he had done to his life-time partner and lover, because of the mess he'd created when once upon a time it had been his task to knock some sense into L. Because going in guns blazing would not solve it all this time. Because he couldn't figure out a way that would.

Because, by God—he loved Kira.

"Keep him safe," he murmured feverishly between prayers, grip tightening upon the rosary. "Let him come home..."

* * *

What Mello didn’t know, was waiting on the other end of that codec he had yet to turn on and had happened hours earlier. Nevertheless, Matt had left the distress call as clear as bloody day even when he knew his lover was otherwise occupied—even when he knew that at the moment they needed help the most—Mello was with Kira, and both of them were too involved with each other to be where they needed to be. Not that Matt had been hoping for another one of Kira’s miraculous appearances on the scene… not that he knew of anyway.

Linda had gone down to get aspirin, she took the phone, but hadn’t turned it on—too angry, too irritable, not thinking, it didn’t matter, because the point was, she had no emergency link back to L the moment they met her in the elevator. The question of course was how. How the fuck.

If Kira was working fast, Bella had risen to the occasion to work faster—and maybe that’s what one did when they suddenly understood their entire empire was about to fall apart. The Safariano deaths must have been the tip-off; so far off Bella’s own radar, and so massive on scale, that it could only be a formidable opponent like Kira himself at work. The scenario knit together in Matt’s mind as one where Bella was scrambling to the one source that would perhaps know something: Veronique. It was of course confirmed later that she had, and that with certain persuasive measures (as yet undefined) Veronique had spilled information linking back to Deneuve—to the fact that Deneuve was on the Kira investigation, and that possibly meant he knew more about Kira than Bella did.

Irony would have it; Bella used her own infinite resources looking for Deneuve… and much to her unplanned luck, found L instead. She of course didn’t know that information until she set foot inside the suite… after she and her goons had pushed Linda back into the elevator, grabbed her hard and put a gun to her back. Veronique was more productive than she needed to be, and had unearthed information on Dion that involved the shopping trip with Linda earlier the day he’d first made Veronique’s acquaintance—so Linda was on the radar, Matt and L were not… not then, but Bella was smart, as smart as Light when it came to names and faces, so she instantly recognized the Wammy girl, and dragged her back up to the room—and it all unfolded from there…

L probably sensed it an instant before it happened—he had a knack like that—he’d also tapped into hotel security feeds and saw them on their way. “Matt,” he said, and his voice was calm, and yet urgent all at once, “Arm yourself and get out of sight,” Matt’s head bobbed up immediately, and L was off the couch, tossing the weapons at him, killing the feeds on the laptops, and all links back to Mello. “They’ve got Linda—follow my lead,” and L was chasing him out onto the balcony the instant Bella’s goons kicked in the door.

Shit.

Linda was already tearing up—trembling and scared to death—herded into the crashed door by the ten men set to descend on Deneuve, so when Bella stepped forth between them and laid eyes on L waiting for her calmly, her plush red lips bowed up immediately.

“How is it, Signore,” she purred, “I come looking for Deneuve and find you instead?”

“Rotten luck, I suppose,” L deadpanned, in English, accent and all. Seemed he wasn’t about to speak Italian so her goons would not exactly be privy to the conversation.
“Actually, it’s fairly brilliant luck,” Bella grinned, “Because I’ll venture you know more than anyone.”

And as she spoke, several of her thugs were casing the suite, looking for anyone who was lying in wait. L had yet to make a move, because he was all too entirely conscious of Linda, and the man who had her quite firmly by the arm. She may not have known one brutal thug from the next, but L did, and not only could he run off their names from the top of his head—he could run off their criminal records, their rank in the family, their allies and enemies and treacheries—and their morbid fetishes, and that man—Antonio Degalla, had a nickname: Budella in Italian, otherwise known to Interpol and the FBI as “Guts,” or “Big Guts” because of the amount of men he’d killed by slitting open from gullet-to-groin and essentially spilling their guts all over the place for his enemies to find. He was the one pulling Linda back close agaisnt him, and flicking his hand over her stomach—and her eyes were darting desperately to L, who understood then, the way he was going to have to play this out—hopefully Matt would understand as well…

“Let her go and we can talk about anything you’d like,” L said, still the very picture of calm—and Bella most likely remembered it was fairly difficult to rattle him, and she most likely remembered how much that aggravated her.

“Doesn’t work that way, when there’s all of us against one of you—L,” Bella replied.

Ah shit, and there were suddenly very intense mafia gazes pointedly snarling in L’s direction, because while Bella had known on sight who it was standing there in the room, her men—seasoned mafia all of them—did not. And L had been one helluva thorn in their sides for a very long time…

* * *

Matt hardly had a moment to reply before the balcony doors were slid shut in his face and the front door burst open. The redhead immediately spun out of sight, flattening himself against the outer wall, hoping all the while that he had not been seen. It did not look that way. Besides, Bella was all too preoccupied with L himself at the moment. Shit. Shit. Shit.

The redhead checked the two guns that had been tossed in his general direction. Both were loaded. He stuck one in his belt, kept the other in hand, the PSP disappearing into his pocket. At least he still had his cigarettes. And a phone. A replacement after Light took his from the villa that morning—the very phone L had presumably traced to Kira to make secret contact with him. That was insult on injury as far as Matt was concerned.

Mello’s number was dialed regardless and Matt cursed as it shot right to voicemail. He keyed in the code that would allow him to access the codec should it be active. Again, no luck. “Fuck!” he snarled under his breath, crouching down on the edge of the balcony to stay out of sight. He left a message anyway. ‘Shit hit the fan.’ It was the first of two messages he would end up sending his lover before this whole thing was finished.

Inside Linda was tense, and Matt could see, as he peered carefully through the window panes, that she was trying her damnedest not to make a spectacle of herself by keeping her tears in check. He countered the men that moved through the suite, ducking out of sight the moment one walked too close. He eyed the work station. The feeds had been cut but there was far too much bloody information still afloat. The PSP appeared in his hand and Matt leaned back against the wall, working fast on the handheld to access the server remotely through the wireless feed. He was accustomed enough to the controls to race against time and in minutes, all screens inside the suite flashed white with the black-out gothic L before falling quite dead and inaccessible.

That was one thing out of the way. Matt pushed himself away from the wall to peer over the balcony toward the streets below. Several cars sat in wait and he had to wonder if they were transport or backup. Fuck. “Mell, you fucking cunt, where are you!” Matt grit, not in panic but frustration. Because the blonde would have already shot his way out of this one. Because he would not have listened to L’s order and preferred to engage rather than play it safe. But he wasn’t here right now, was he? No, there wasn’t any time for this. It was most certainly not the proper situation either. Linda could not be counted on, but if things called for it, Matt would have no issues going in there guns blazing. There might be ten of them, but he could take several of them out before chaos ensued. Of course, L had given direct enough orders. Stay out of sight… fuck. Matt leaned his head back against the wall, handgun gripped tightly and ready. Godamnit…

* * *

“Not yet,” Bella growled, because at the revelation that L—The L—was in their midst, several of her thugs took rather dramatic steps forward—undoubtedly wracking up vengeance points against one justice or another L had served unto their brethren. They wanted to eat him alive, and it was painfully obvious—but as was his way, L didn’t flinch. He stood his ground, and his sole concern seemed to be Linda…

“L,” Bella hissed, “Where is Kira?”

“You get nothing from me until you let her go,” L replied, his tone level and sober.

Bella laughed. “You’re outnumbered,” she said. “You’re in no position to make demands.”

And L’s face darkened. “Madam Sforza,” he addressed. “Who do you think I am? Do you honestly believe you can just walk in here like this and threaten me—and that I would let you?”

Bella’s laugh turned evil. “I think you’ll do whatever I say,” she purred as Guts tightened his hold on Linda, and pulled out a knife—a rather large one. Linda started screaming when she saw it, dancing in front of her, threatening, promising to slice deep and bloody and open her wide.

“If we’re to die here, madam,” L replied, unthreatened—at least to the untrained ear. His concern for Linda at that moment was as deep as Matt had ever heard it, but Matt knew what to listen for, Matt knew when L was truly being serious. “We’re going to do it my way.”

Bella raised an eyebrow, and L elaborated. “In my position,” he said, “I’ve been prepared for a very long time to die on short notice—all the elements are in place to carry on my work without me, they have been for years. But you will get no satisfaction, and you will get no escape—when you walked in here, you tripped my security system and triggered a detonation device that will take out this entire room unless I deactivate it. There’s no use running either, it has a built-in failsafe, and the first person through that door—or any other exit, will trigger an immediate explosion. You want to live beyond this moment, madam—long enough to ask me about Kira, you give me the girl, and I will deactivate the device. You want to call my bluff, then I dare any one of you to cross that threshold—or just wait another moment.”

The fear was widespread, mixed with the sort of anxious skepticism that he just couldn’t be serious. But L’s gaze was dark and stern and dangerous just then.

“You’re willing to kill yourself and your lovely lady?” Bella said, but the hesitation was obvious, she wasn’t sure if he was bluffing or not.

“Signore Degalla is threatening to cut her open,” L said brazenly, “I’d much rather she dies quick and painless with me—my way—than to suffer that butchery.”

And Linda was whimpering, but Bella was beginning to scowl, “And what if he were to cut her open now?” She sneered.

“You have less than a minute to decide, madam,” L replied, “I’m prepared to die—I don’t think you are, or you wouldn’t be here.”

There was an unparalleled tension just then, and it seemed to flinch through Bella’s face to wait it out and see just how well L could lie, and yet, her men were antsy, eyeing the door, minding his words, too nervous to test the theory. Bella was angry, way more angry than she should have been, but in the end self preservation won out and she grabbed Linda by the hair and threw her at L, who caught her and immediately shoved her behind him. Linda clung to him, gasping and trying to pull herself together—still so utterly terrified.

“Deactivate it,” Bella ordered, and L moved to the laptop, bringing up a screen, a password prompt—and Bella watched, grimacing, because she didn’t trust him—as she well shouldn’t have because L was lying, because that bluff served him twofold—he had Linda, and he as about to code in a universal distress call which would shoot his location to every law enforcement agency within a one hundred mile radius—at the very least…

But they were hardly out of the deep end just yet. Matt remained still, glimpsing in whenever possible, catching sight of L entering in the distress signal. The redhead had to grin at the ingenuity. But even with the signal sent out, it would take too long for any sort of help to arrive and there was only so much time that could be bought before Bella lost her patience. Already the woman was fuming, her men antsy, the tension thick and palpable. It would get ugly fast regardless, and at this point Matt could do little else than wait for a signal, whatever it may be. Any sign to interfere or otherwise. There was no way of knowing just what L was planning, but he had told him to follow his lead. Fair enough. But they also had Linda to account for, something which had never before been a problem. Goddamnit, did he need a cigarette.

Linda was at her wits end, and berating herself with every passing moment. Be quiet, don’t be a hindrance, be quiet. But her breaths were hardly controlled and tears stung her eyes. For the moment, unshed. It would be all right. She was in good hands. She just barely dared to look at the screen over L’s shoulder to see what he had done, and to her credit, her features did not give it away. Either because the realization that he had sent out the distress signal had not immediately sunk in, or they were rubbing off on her at last. Either way it did not change the fact that they were severely outnumbered and there was very little she could even do to help.

“L,” Bella said, now that the threat was supposedly ‘deactivated,’ “Where is Kira?”

“Which one?” L answered plainly, and the woman’s scowl turned ugly, she was not amused, and definitely not in the mood to play his games. L still had one arm still rather protectively curled back around Linda, and he knew he was still going to have to keep Bella there long enough so the backup could arrive…

“You have to know that I’m not leaving until you talk,” Bella purred.

L scoffed at the remark. “No games,” he said, “Please stop pretending like I haven’t been dealing with the mafia most of my life, and speak plainly.”

“Very well,” Bella purred. “You tell me what I want to know, and we’ll kill you quick—don’t—and your death will be as slow and excruciating as I can possibly make it. I will cut you apart while you’re alive—piece by piece—and they’ll need dental records to identify your body—if you even have dental records.”

“My teeth are flawless,” L replied flatly.

Bella tried to ignore his nonchalance. “And we’ll make your woman watch—every single horrific thing we do to you, we will do to her, and you can die knowing that.”

“No,” L said.

“Naturally I didn’t expect you to agree,” Bella laughed.

“No, I’m not going to tell you what you want,” L clarified. Linda’s grip tightened on him, her forehead pressed hard between his shoulder blades, against the firm musculature of his back. And he was standing straight, his height shielding her, but they were still doomed weren’t they?

“So you’d prefer a gruesome death,” Bella said. “And I would prefer to give it to you,”

“Unfortunately you need to know about Kira,” L finished. “I do not fold under torture, madam,” he said, “This you’ve already seen. Torture me, and you won’t get anything, torture her,” and he motioned to Linda, “and I will take my own life, and you won’t get anything. There is only one person on this planet who can tell you what you want to know in relation to Kira—any Kira, and you cannot afford to lose that now, of all times. Safariano’s entire stronghold is dead. I guarantee you, this is just the beginning.”

Bella was aggravated, but silent. “You’re quite mad, aren’t you?” She said after a prolonged moment.

“Don’t you think I need to be?” L replied.

And the woman laughed, suddenly directing her voice to Linda, still cowering behind L. “Oh bella donna,” she purred, “Your lover is going to sacrifice you today, how that must make you feel no? I’m curious, L,” Bella went on, “What do you propose? Because we are not leaving, until I get what I want.”

“I propose we leave,” L said simply.

Bella’s eyebrow went up again.

“I go willingly with you, and you leave her here,” L said, and Linda’s arms tightened around him as if to protest. “You can do anything you want to me, but you’re going to leave her alone.”

“So you’re noble after all?” Bella murmured.

“Tell me, signora,” L went on, giving the comment no credit whatsoever, “Surely you have some idea of who you’re up against, and surely it makes no sense after you had already taken every precaution to claim Kira’s throne for yourself. Not only do you have questions—but you know, if your own suspicions are correct, you have no defenses—you’re a smart woman, do the math correctly and you will see what I am saying.”

Her frown deepened, but she was following, following very closely.

“You need me,” L continued, “And you need me alive—for more than just questions, madam, because as it stands right now, I am your only bargaining chip—and your only hope—if he hasn’t already written your names in the notebook.”

“You lie through your teeth,” Bella hissed.

But L didn’t flinch. “Do I?” He said. “Do you want to risk it? Your time is running out.”

“Light’s dead, I killed him myself,” Bella replied rather viciously.

“Why? Because you wrote his name down in the book?” L said, and he was still calm, maintaining eye contact with Bella the whole time. “How do you know it worked? How do you know the name you wrote was truly his name? You’re going by records? What if I told you he was adopted? Born with a name not recorded anywhere else—one you don’t know… what proof do you have he is dead? The SPK? Kira already hit them, like he hit Safariano, like he will hit the rest of you—the wrath of God has no mercy.”

Bella’s pause was telling, because it encompassed all the doubt L was playing against right then. Doubt that Kira was dead, doubt that L was lying, doubt that everyone whose name went into the book died…

Her pause gave pause to the others, and the moment stretched. L of course was going to talk her into circles, stirring up as much doubt and contention as he could—he wanted them out and away from both Linda and Matt, but he was going to use himself to do it—and that was not a plan Matt or Linda could get behind—not even with help on the way, not even knowing that Mello would emerge from Kira’s bed sooner later and deal out his own brand of divine justice. L had to keep himself alive by making himself important to the situation—and honestly, he was, because he was probably the best bargaining chip Bella could use against Light… if Light truly did care the way he claimed.

Nevertheless, Matt wasn’t digging it. Bella could keep L alive, sure—keeping him in one piece was another matter entirely, and that was where the line was gonna have to be drawn, which was why Matt was semi grateful the moment Bella’s thug decided to stick his head out onto the balcony, just to check…

"Greetings," he said and watched the thug's eyes snap toward him just as the muzzle was pressed to his forehead. Time slowed down for the instant it took his finger to pull the trigger and then it exploded. Matt was on his feet, splattered with blood, the body was yanked out of the doorway and flung all too easily with its falling momentum over the balcony onto the hood of one of the waiting cars. Inside there was an immediate charge of footsteps and disjointed cries, and since there was no further use for secrecy, the redhead appeared to take out the goon closest to L and Linda before the situation grew too out of control.

Rushing inside, Matt grabbed Linda’s arm, untangling her from L as he took cover. She cried out but did not fight as Matt practically flung her toward the guest room. Just in time too as bullets were flying in their direction. Linda burst through the door as Matt flattened himself against the carpeted floor. He met her frightened gaze only briefly, long enough to instruct her to stay in there before pulling the door firmly shut just as another volley of bullets splintered wood above his head. Inside Linda screamed, but was almost immediately drowned out as Matt returned fire, effectively dropping a third goon with a gruesome two shots to the knee that had the man crying out agony before the third shot to the head silenced him indefinitely.

Naturally, they were still painfully outnumbered, regardless of whether or not Matt had a gun to each hand, trained on two of Bella's faithful pawns. They were not particularly intimidated, just as they had not been intimidated by Mello's initial appearance several weeks prior. The only difference here was that these bastards saw this as an opportune moment to exact vengeance against L once and for all. It tended to make things a bit more complicated.

Fire opened up and Matt had to jump out of the way, sliding across the floor to back up against the desk. The phone was in his hand seconds later, Mello's number redialed. "Mello, you fuking bastard, if I die here today I'm haunting you for the rest of your goddamned life!" he snarled into the line. Not because he truly expect to meet his end, but because it was the best way to get across the severity of the situation without going into further detail.

And then Bella’s fuckers brought out the big guns. Matt heard the hardware scant seconds before the heavy artillery unleashed a barrage of rapid fire bullets that chewed up everything in it’s path, bearing down on him, set on chewing him up as well—and Linda was screaming in the next room, and L was pinned down somewhere out of Matt’s field—and Matt could only curse just then and hope the dumb bastard ran out of ammo before he managed to actually get off a successful shot—one that did more than just wing Matt’s shoulder—goddamnit.

But L’s voice was suddenly over the chaos, though by the time Matt registered it the gun had cut off and Bella and L were actually hollering back and forth at each other, the situation had spun violently out of control—and crossed a line that seemed to surprise even Bella, from the sound of it.

There were sirens now off in the distance—an auditory clock that had just gone off, and there would be no conversations had here and now—but that wasn’t the immediate issue was it? And Matt managed to angle back and crane a glance into the heart of the suite to see just what was going on…

Words were being slung around in Italian, words like Kira, and you have nothing without me, and you’re all going to die—and take this last chance before it’s too late, with the police sirens growing louder… and there was L, standing before Bella, blood pouring down his arm, where he had opened a goddamn vein himself… and the knife he’d used to do it, was now pressed to his other arm, the detective essentially holding himself hostage—it should have been far more extreme than was necessary; but L had judged his adversary correctly—she was desperate, she who’d sat upon Kira’s throne and knew his power, and knew how angry a god could get against one particular Judas or another, and she needed him, she needed him alive, and he was threatening not to be for much longer…

Matt didn’t even know what to think, his head spinning, his brain floored—and maybe he was just that desensitized to not be as threatened by the goons and the hardware as he needed to be, and maybe L was already stacked with far too much information regarding what would happen if they were all taken by Bella—but this, was, crazy.

“The police are on their way,” L said calmly, though he sounded winded, because he was losing blood. “So we’re leaving—now—and they’re staying behind.”

“L! No!” Matt hollered, trying to reload a clip as quietly as possible, blood pouring down his own arm where the bullet had grazed him. “Don’t you fucking do this!”

“Shut up and let me handle it,” L snapped, and it may have been clear there was more to it than that—more to the whole thing—but Matt wasn’t thinking that far ahead.

“Alright,” Bella breathed at last, “Take him, and let’s go.”

“L! Goddamnit!!” Matt yelled, but it was too late, they’d grabbed him, and the lot of them were herding quickly out of the door—leaving behind just the sound of broken things, and splintered glass, and Matt’s anxious panting.

He banged his head in frustration against the gun, before managing to kick in aggravation and scramble to his feet. He couldn’t let them just take off, he couldn’t let them take L so easily—he just bloody couldn’t.

Yet, even as he made a mad dash for the door, boots crushing over glass and debris, the elevator was closing at the end of the hall and a well aimed bullet clipped his thigh the moment he emerged into the corridor. Matt supported himself against the door frame, having stumbled back with the shot and cursed as he threw a fist into the door, which in turn slammed against the opposing wall behind it. The cops were on the way and L had orchestrated this whole bloody thing so that he would be taken. This wasn't how it was supposed to go.

"Fuck!" Matt hollared viciously and limped back into the room, taking a moment to survey the damage at last. Brick was showing through the chipped paint, furniture was blasted apart, several of the screens had been destroyed. The mainframe was still operational and besides their data was safely stored away somewhere across seas but that wasn't the point because L had been taken and Linda was whimpering in the next room. Because L had more up his sleeve than he cared to disclose and Matt was left to pick up the pieces. Because Mello was still MIA somewhere in the comfort of Kira's bed, whose ass they were essentially all protecting and for what?!

Matt swept a hand across the nearest table, scattering books and a mug with a loud crash that made Linda yelp. But when she did not hear anything further, the door was cracked open so that she could peer through. She was on all fours on the floor, and from her vantage point she saw nothing but the chaotic disarray left behind at the mercy of the automatics. It was only once she crept forward and pushed herself onto her feet that she saw Matt, covered in blood, some of which was his own as it seeped down two limbs, and smeared across his features. The redhead was leaning heavily on his palms against the table whose contents he had just swept. He still held one gun in his hand, the other having been dropped several feet away.

"Are you all right?" he asked before Linda could so much as make a sound.

"Y-yea... shaken. Where-..." but she did not get much farther than that because it was obvious that L was nowhere to be seen. That he had been taken in exchange for their safety. She fisted her hand against her mouth and her eyes welled automatically—but Matt wasn’t about to give her time to mourn the situation—not just yet.

"Get your stuff together. Only what you need and can carry. We're getting out of here."

"But the cops..."

"Are on the way and will have to be dealt with. We, however, are not on the radar and I'm not about to walk into an emergency room seeing as we don't fucking exist," Matt hissed, moving away from the table to follow his own advice. This was a bigger mess than he had wanted to deal with just then and there. And while it was best that Linda had not been left alone—seeing as she would not know what the hell to do in this situation—not knowing what would become of the detective was driving him positively mad. He'd seen what Bella's people were capable of. "Sorry..." he told her, cupping her cheek briefly as he passed, the blood on his hands blending with the tears on he cheeks.

"Has it always been like this...?" she asked softly and her voice trembled.

Matt stopped mid motion of tying a bandage around his arm; one end of the gauze clamped between his teeth. He lifted his gaze to her after a moment's pause. "No," he said and left it at that.

* * *

In the back of the shiny car, Bella ripped her own sleeve to wrap the detective’s bleeding arm, constricting and tight and capping off the life flow. “I have never come across someone like you before,” she muttered, and it was clear she was frustrated, even though she got what she needed—she was far from safe, and it was in her voice. “They should lock you up in a padded cell,” she grit, applying pressure and elevating the wounded limb.

L was woozy, but not unconscious. “Been there,” he sing-songed, and Bella’s eyebrow peaked, but L didn’t elaborate, instead his dark eyes shifted to her and held her gaze.

It took her a moment, but her lips spread into a wry smile. “Mannaggia, you want a front row seat,” she purred, his pale arm still clamped in her grip. “That can be arranged—but know this, I am going to hurt you until you tell me everything I want to know—I am going to hurt you, until it’s a thing of beauty.”

L scoffed, sluggish and tired, barely noticing the row of aggravated looks he was receiving from Bella’s horde—those who were cramped in the car with them, weapons ready should he try anything funny. “Madam,” L said, “That’s entirely too predictable—where’s your originality?”

Bella laughed, laughed before she grabbed L by the face and pressed her lips demandingly to his—Italian kiss of death. “My originality, signore, will be in the way I make you scream.”