Redeemer

Mello looked up at last and the back of his head hit the polished side of the pew. His conflict was written in his face, the previous night’s words far too fresh in his mind and yet, this was Light’s most glorious moment, wasn’t it? This was Kira at his height, at the peak of his greatest accomplishment.

Mello’s heart constricted and the pit of disappointment swelled in his throat, but there was no emotion on his usually expressive features. No hint as to what he was thinking, feeling, considering. The answer was clear and it would take his all to go through with it, but he’d been prepared. Somewhere along the lines his earlier grief stood as part of the preparation—like he knew. That was why he lowered his gaze from his lover’s victorious outline, caring little whether or not he remained on the floor. It didn’t matter. The game had ended. It was just a matter of claiming proper victory. The rosary was lifted – its crucifix pressed to Mello’s lips and he tasted the copper of blood upon the metal. How fitting.

His first mistake was perhaps lifting the weapon. His second was lifting his gaze to that beautiful face, those graceful lines marred by cruelty, the arrogance in those amber eyes.

“My rule is one warning,” Mello said and his voice rose hardly above a hoarse whisper. Damn the emotion wrought in green eyes, damn the miniscule tremble to his hand that however slight was noticeable to anyone who knew him because Mello’s guns never wavered. “Don’t make me do this…”

Matt’s initial response was surprise. He looked down at his lover; at the clear line of his arm and the weapon pointed at Kira’s chest. Not that long ago he had told the blonde that he did not trust him to make this choice, that he did not believe it possible after everything that had happened. He’d underestimated him. God only knew what it would cost his lover to pull that trigger but Mello would do it, Matt was sure of it. He opened his mouth to say something, but clamped it shut because he couldn’t. Nothing he could offer right now would be appropriate. He was as biased as they were, Mello and L both. Their weakness was their emotions, his weakness the doubt he’d held regarding this final act.

“Uh uh uh, Mr. Mihael-san,” Misa suddenly purred from her hiding place in the balcony above. “I have half your name written down right now, so if you dare think you’re going to hurt my Raito, you’ll be dead before you know it,” she capped off that statement with a cutesie little giggle in her characteristic voice. “And you too, Mr. Jeevas-san, and Ryuuzaki…” she paused, her face pouting, “Raito, is it time to kill Ryuuzaki yet?”

L’s eyes narrowed, and Light’s expression hadn’t cracked, but his gaze went to Mello, and then back to L, and he had yet to make a move of any sort. Ryuk was hovering just above, grinning from ear to ear.

“Oh hey Raito, this is fun right? You’re about to win,” and the death god chuckled, but there was something in his tone that was slightly off, and Light’s eyes slanted because he caught it quicker than anyone.

“I mean, you and L, you just won the deal, you solved the case, you got rid of Bella and you did it together—you get your lives back…well,” and the shinigami crunched merrily on his apple, “that is unless you decide to kill each other here and now. I think if Misa writes Mello’s name down, he’s still got 40 seconds to shoot you, and if he doesn’t Matt will, and she’ll write his name down and L’s and probably be the only one to come out of this, unless L manages a well aimed shot… and he’s a good shot, isn’t he?—hyuk.”

The fact that the shinigami was even doing the math was strange, and spoke of a new game on a different level—and maybe it was one Light was familiar with, and maybe it wasn’t.

“Thank you for your observations, Ryuk,” Light said calmly, politely, his tones low.

“You’re welcome,” the death god cackled. “The way I figure it—everybody dies.”

“That sounds about right,” Light purred, and his gaze moved again to Mello, took note of the tremble in his hand. “But it doesn’t have to be that way.”

Forty seconds was more then enough time to empty the entirety of one clip and draw a second weapon if needed. The fact that Misa was more than enthusiastic to scribble off all of their names did not seem to be the blonde’s greatest concern. She had already been figured into the equation. He did not care about her, for she did not act without guidance. She would not act unless provoked or given the precise order.

“No, it doesn’t,” Mello agreed quietly but did not lower his hand. “But I’ve made my peace Light. I was ready to lay my life down a long time ago in order to end all of this.” It was with a bit of effort that he pushed himself up onto his feet. Matt stepped forward, but Mello held up a hand, stopping him. “I just have one request,” and he strode forward to close in the distance.

He saw Misa shift up above but paid her no mind. Without warning, he snatched the Death Note from Light’s grasp only to open it at random and press it back into his hands, into his chest as the gun too pressed directly to his heart. “You do it,” he hissed and at last there was the anger that had been tucked away. “If I’m to die here today, then by God, fucking do it yourself.” Damned that anger that did not last regardless of how tightly he grasped after it, how much he wanted to ride it so that it would be easier to say what he needed to say, to do what needed to be done.

It was that act however, that stripped the first layer out of Light’s otherwise dominant expression—the act, the gun nozzle to his chest, the snarling lover teetering on the very edge of grief-stricken vengeance; vengeance perhaps for a broken heart. And there dancing in Light’s eyes was some glimmer of betrayal, of the fact that even after his magnificent success—his nearest and dearest still refused to accept him for what he was, to bow down to his brilliance and revel in his victory with him. Because in a perfect world, that was what he wanted. That was on the tip of his tongue. Come with me, not against me, be with me and we will be unstoppable.

“No,” L said. And Light’s eyes shifted, watching the detective move forward, in agony yes, but forward all the same—a bad limp that was almost crippling, himself bloodied and beaten and it seemed quite symbolic of all L had suffered these passed six years—the very culmination of this entire ordeal, from start to finish, manifested in L’s blood…he folded a hand over Mello’s shoulder, pulling the blonde back.

“You can’t force him,” L said. And he didn’t mean force him to write Mello’s name down, he meant force him to choose not to. L didn’t want Light to renege on his murderous intentions because he had a gun pointing at his heart; because under those circumstances, even the most vicious would play nice in order to live another day. Light had displayed such a side in the warehouse, there was no doubt he’d do it again here and now if backed into a corner.

Ryuk laughed, “You always were a smart one, Ryuuzaki,” he said, and those yellow eyes were glinting—alive and bright and feral and waiting so very eagerly for this outcome.

Mello was loathe to comply, but L’s grip tightened almost painfully into his shoulder.

“Mello’s correct, Light,” the detective said, and the pain was so evident in his voice, but whether it was physical or something more, there was no way to clarify. “If we’re to fall to Kira—you do it. You write down our names, you reap what you’ve sewn and don’t get your servant to do it for you. Our pain has bought us that much.”

And L was using Mello’s shoulder as much to keep himself upright as he was to keep the blonde from going ballistic. He let go at that moment and all but stumbled against Light, who nearly dropped the Death Note to catch his unexpected weight, and L was in Light’s face, bloody hands on either side of Light’s jaw, holding him tightly, brutally, demandingly. “This is your choice,” L grit, his words forced and painful and as emotional as anyone there had ever heard him. “They’re not going to shoot while I’m in the way—I’m your shield, I always have been, and I won’t let them. So you tell me, Light—Kira—is this what you want? Is this what you’ve fought for? This kingdom, this divinity—is this what fills your black heart in the end? Because if it is, then I have no desire to live another moment breathing the same air that you do. Then do me that goddamn favor and end it, because that’s what I deserve for ever placing my faith and love in you.”

L’s forehead was pressed to Light’s as he spoke, and Light seemed, if nothing else, stunned at this rather unexpected display—forced to maintain L against him, forced to hear, if not listen to those words.

How much longer could they endure this? How much longer did it have to go on before someone truly snapped beyond repair? Mello was gritting his teeth, gaze downcast because he could not watch this. Could not see L this way; could not watch his pain. Goddamnit… He could hardly feel the hand that clasped the back of his neck, firmly yet comforting. He leaned toward it and found Matt a grounding presence behind him. It was certainly appreciated because he was at a loss.

Had it truly been for naught? What was the point of all those assurances, words shared and comforts persisted? A backup so that Mello did not shoot him on sight? Perhaps. It was effective, if that was the point, seeing as they’d made it this far. And yet, Light could have achieved the same result by simply writing their names. But…

But that was the rub of it, was it not? They were not meant to die here. That had not been Light’s intention and only that explained his gleeful excitement as he approached them minutes prior. Misa was a whole other crazed entity onto herself, protecting her beloved as she always had. Fair enough but… Light had not meant to kill them. Then… the math was far too complicated as it fell into place in Mello’s head. His brows furrowed and Matt cast him a questioning look.

Coexisting? Did Light truly believe it possible? L had already called him on it – this was not what they stood for. This had merely been tolerated long enough to accomplish a goal. It was done, the case was over. Time to move on… did Light truly believe that he would be allowed to claim his prize as God of this New World and they would simply turn a blind eye? It was with effort that Mello stifled the bitter chuckle that rose to his lips. Ridiculous. All of this… ridiculous.

Light heard Mello’s bitter chuckle, he heard it, his eyes flickering upward but was still quite trapped by L—trapped by him until the detective let go of him, let go of him deliberately and pulled back. The floor was Light’s, and it was clear L had said his peace, what happened from here was the finale of all they’d endured.

Light stood alone, his face blank—gone was that Kira expression, the one that promoted triumph and victory, gone was the sly serpent that had toyed with the notion of killing them, and the beaming divinity who’d been so ready to bask in his newfound glory. Instead Light was somber—silent, coming back down to earth.

He glanced down at the notebook in his hands, glanced again at the church around him, the bodies, the blood, his eyes moving from Mello who could not face him, to Matt who could only glare, to L who looked as though he could not take much more—exhausted, drained, and yet… there was something pleading in his face, some flicker of hope that was as stubborn as he was, and still refused to go out.

Light’s grip on the notebook tightened, and he took a step back, turning to cast a gaze up at the stained glass windows, the false images that were neither holy nor divine, but only appeared as such. Misa was watching, but not understanding, and Ryuk was riveted because the death god knew—because he’d been as much a part of this chain as anyone. And why did this feel so much like the warehouse? And yet… not. Here Kira was again on the spot, forced to justify himself to a ring of people who simply would never understand…

Or was it he, who didn’t understand.

Light’s brow knit, his breath breaking shaky from his lips. “I know,” he said softly, and it was almost the answer to a question no one had asked, except maybe for him, or Ryuk… or L. A question asked months ago, or asked only in the breathless places of the heart; whatever it was, it hadn’t been spoken in that moment, but it was answered.

“Ryuk,” Light said a moment later, his arm lifting the Death Note, as if to use it, fingers glossing over the cover—and Mello’s gaze shot up, his gun arm tense, and Matt was mirroring him, and L’s expression had knotted with the sort of anticipation that would declare whether he himself could ever move passed this moment…

Light held the book out, his eyes closing, “I discard it,” he said—and dropped the Death Note to the floor.

Mello’s head snapped up, eyes wide as he watched the notebook fall as if in slow motion. It was with a sort of surreal disbelief that he loosed the breath he did not even know he’d been holding. Matt was suddenly no longer at his side, jumping forward to support L who seemed like he’d at last sapped all strength at that precise moment. And the redhead had to wonder if despite all that hope, L had ever truly believed any of this was really possible.

Mello simply dropped his gun; it scuffed against the floor but he hardly paid it any mind. The back of the pew was there to support him when he leaned back, bowing his head as badly veiled relief swept over him. Thank you… he thought silently. Thank you.

The shinigami chuckled. “You sure, Kira?” he said, and the statement was baiting. Light didn’t acknowledge it, turning his gaze to the balcony. “Misa,” he said, “Drop your pages.”

“But, Raito,” The girl pouted, and yet, there was something akin to relief in her eyes, because Kira was secondary to Light, wasn’t he? And being Kira meant little in the face of pleasing her Raito. So after a hesitant moment, she took her pages and tossed them into the air, the deadly leaves sifting slowly to the floor, and Light watched them with the sort of expression that communicated just how hard this was for him, just how gut-wrenching, just how sad; but he’d shored himself up as much as humanly possible to keep from falling into the sort of pathetic state he’d succumbed to in the warehouse. To keep the misery from breaking free and taking over. His life’s ambition, now lay dead at his feet.

He turned his gaze to the death god the moment the pages were settled on the bloody ground. “It’s over Ryuk,” he said quietly. “Sayonara.”

“Hehe,” the shinigami grinned, and maybe there was something in his face that contradicted that sentiment, and maybe he just wanted it to be a surprise, but he accepted Kira’s resignation for what it was. “Hai, Raito,” he said. “Sayonara… have a good life.”

He was gone then, and Light swayed a bit where he stood, until L broke away from Matt, and went to him; pulling him close so that Light could bury his face in the detective’s neck, and wrap his arms around those strong shoulders, and try to hide his pain, even though it was so very—very visible.

“I’ve got you,” L whispered, bloodied hands in Light’s hair. “I’ve got you.”

It was over. The finality draped like a blanket across them. It was over in a way that had not been anticipated—Light had made his choice. He’d chosen them.

There was something akin to relief in Matt’s features. Not for Light’s sake, but for L and… Mello. He did not have to like it, but he could hardly deny the fact that there was something there. And it didn’t particularly mean that he was going to like Light any better now that the Death Note was not in question, but at least it was a slight redeeming point in the bastard’s favor. Just one.

Linda who had been quiet all along, sat before the screen, tense and knotted and speechless—she started to cry at that moment. Started to sob.

And Mello glanced up, watching L and Light in silence; but there was still the faintest hint of a smile tugging the corner of the blonde’s lips.