Redeemer

Light had been working prior to his departure. The laptops were up and running, the espresso machine still hot. It must have been hours, and that thought was still incomprehensible to L, who stood there alone in the room, looking at the set-up. Light had let him sleep, had gotten to work, had… had what? He was gone, but they all knew about the tracker, Light had consented to it, so he wasn’t running away, which begged the question, what was he doing?

L went to the couch, crouching on the cushion, spinning the laptop to face him, there was a small wrapped confection sitting across the keyboard, as though Light had left it for him, knowing he would be there, wanting him to see those three words blinking at the end of a long message thread on the screen: “Meet me there.”

L scrolled up. Light had been speaking with the board members again—or just one it seemed, a long complicated conversation about justice and murder and the greater good, which ultimately circled down and around to a discussion of religion, of perceived gods, of the church and Kira and where it all collided together. A joke was made about Rome, yes Rome—a code for the other party to confirm they were in the same city, and they confirmed it, reminiscing, so to speak, about meeting a handsome Japanese man at a café one morning. In reading that, L could almost sense Light’s train of thought speed over everyone who had said something to him over coffee earlier that day, and L quickly turned to the adjacent monitor—proving he and Light still shared a brain when it came to this, there was the surveillance footage, already loaded. L scanned through it, noting how everyone Light had spoken to, save himself, had been female.

One of them, was the same person he’d been speaking to hours earlier online.

What were the odds that person was the 5th Kira? A woman… this pattern was familiar. A woman Kira was quite possibly the best scenario Light could have hoped for. There was no one better he could wrap around his graceful fingers than a member of the opposite sex. Amane, Takada… Mikami was an exception, and L’s brow unintentionally furrowed at the thought of the prosecutor. Light himself had confessed his apprehension over the severity of Mikami’s fanaticism…in the same breath he also delighted in how the man had worshipped him. L knew what that meant, the images were not hard to conjure—it was a known fact Light had seduced Mikami the way he’d seduced everyone else he’d managed to recruit with the notebook. He and the other man had fucked endlessly in hotel rooms night after night until there was one thing and one thing only Mikami lived for—Kira had become flesh and ironically had used the corporeal to transcend the divine. And it worked too well, so well it nearly killed Light in the end when Mikami erred on the side of the best intentions as far as Kira was concerned.

But that was a tangent best avoided. No, Light had gone to meet someone from the ring, quite possibly someone who had access to the notebook or was even herself, Kira—and had already identified Light, and most likely L as well. There was far too much risk involved in a move like this—and Light was obviously working on the assumption that his followers were on his side and not luring Kira out to dispose of him, and take over his reign for certain.

Mello had yet to answer the call, and L quickly tapped in a second message: “K is meeting with K5; confirmed: 5%.” Mello would know 5% was most likely the opposite. There was a 95% chance Kira was about to reveal himself to his church. Whether his intentions were on their side, or his own, it was all in Light’s hands at that moment…

* * *

What Mello had also had needed—again—was the press of those lips upon his own; the all-too-familiar taste of smoke he'd grown accustomed to over the years. They had argued in the past about the nature of Matt’s addiction, but after a while it had ceased to matter and it became just another quirk, another detail that reminded Mello of him.

Within moments of stepping past the door, barely giving Matt anytime to press it shut and lock it, Mello had been upon him. Hands trailing along the toned ripple of muscle at his abdomen beneath his shirt as lips sought the curve of his neck, allowing the door to be properly shut before forcefully turning his lover around and pressing the redhead against the adjacent wall, claiming those lips at last as if it were the last thing in the world. For all they knew, it was the last thing.

Hands soon stripped the gamer of his likely ridiculously expensive cotton shirt, tossing it carelessly across the room so that Mello could properly explore the bare, lightly tanned body he had come to know inside out. Harsh, nipping kisses fell to his neck, his throat, descending along the span of bare flesh until one knee hit the floor and he tugged forcefully at his lover’s belt. Surprisingly enough however, Matt did not allow the move just yet, pulling him back onto his feet and sealing their lips in a kiss once again.

The war for dominance was on and Mello scowled against the redhead’s mouth, tugging as he had hours earlier, at the longer strands of hair at the nape of his neck. “You’re mine tonight,” he told him feverishly, raking blunt nails across his back in such a way that he earned the most delicious sounding groan; the pain-laced pleasure a kink he could not deny.

Clothes lay scattered haphazardly across the hard-wood floors; not having made it anywhere near the bed as the couch just happened to be that much closer and it was easier to shove Matt down onto his knees upon the cushions, making Matt double over the back of the plush couch as Mello fell over him. Digits running down his back, lips leaving trails of heated kisses across his shoulders, across thin scars left there by his own hands, across fresher ones where bullets found their way through the protective barrier of his vest.

Matt had leaned his head down, his breathing heavy but not yet breathless, not until Mello would stop his tormenting; not until he would quit his maddening foreplay that drove him right up the wall. But that was the reaction he’d wanted, the bastard. A stifled groan touched his lips as long fingers curled around his throbbing length, merciless. “Fuck-“ he gasped sharply, digging his nails into the couch cushions, squirming within his lover’s arms. “You’re intolerable!”

A sheen of sweat soon spread across his brow, cries stifled by the cushions with each thrust of narrow hips, by each pounding of flesh that made him want to cry out and groan like a practiced whore. A gasp touched the redhead’s lips as his head was forcefully lifted, cringing delightfully at the sharp tug of hair, the pain it brought coupled with the immediate deep thrust that made him shudder and lean back against Mello’s damp body, wrapping one arm around his neck. Desperate, lost like the blonde was within the amalgamation of feelings, the fading anger and conflict. It was all gone in that one moment of pleasure where all seemed right with the world again.

Mello remained buried deep within him as the moment passed, hearts thundering as senses gradually returned; lungs remembering to breathe, limbs regaining some of their most basic functions. Yet, head buried against the side of his lover’s neck, he did not want to rise just yet. To do so was to return to the world that expected him to move forward and conquer this big bad evil that lurked out there. Sometimes it was just so much easier to give up and let someone else deal with it. And yet, what other purpose did his life have? What other purpose than what he had been bred to accept and follow through on? As if sensing the darker thoughts lingering beneath the surface, Matt reached up and ran his fingers along his lover’s jaw, forcing Mello to glimpse up, claiming that hand in his own and bestowing a light kiss upon his knuckles.

A lengthy shower had been a necessity once they at last rose off the couch on unsteady legs. Yet, as Mello stumbled his way in the bathroom’s general direction, Matt had had the insight to check the monitors for any messages. What he saw there made him curse.

“Make that a quick shower,” he called after him.

“I thought you weren’t letting me go anywhere tonight.”

“Light’s meeting with the fifth Kira tonight.”

“Fuck!” Mello snarled, turning on the overhead shower. How long had L already waited impatiently for their feedback? Shit. “Tell L we’ll be on it.”

“Already ahead of you,” Matt returned around the butt of a freshly lit cigarette. Got delayed. Will be on his heels in no time. Will we need backup?

He sent the message off, perhaps getting a little ahead of himself in its context, but could never be overly prepared. He lifted their clothes off the floor on his way to the bathroom to cleanup, wishing nothing more to sink into that tub and remain there for an unimaginable amount of time. Goddamnit did they need it!

* * *

Not half hour later, Mello was gunning the little sports car past familiar streets, keeping an obsessive eye on the rearview mirror despite Matt’s radar telling him there was no police in sight. The redhead had a laptop open, banging away quickly on its keys as the installed dashboard com system offered them a map with Light’s exact location.

“Ho detto no ci sarebbe domande!” Mello was scowling into the phone, his tone threatening. “And I don’t particularly care for the hour either. If I make the call, I will need five of your men stationed on Via del Babuino on the corner of Via de Gesú e Maria. Half hour would be too long.” And with the hasty demands, he snapped the phone shut, praying that the offence would be smoothed over once the results showed, should it come to that. Hopefully there would be no need for extremes and they would be doomed to watching Light play his games while learning what they could, but who knew? Fuck he was tired.

A block away from the chapel, he’d pulled the car over and ducked into one of the few cafés that remained open, coming back out with two large cups of coffee in hand, one of which was thrust in Matt’s general direction as he took off. It was going to be a long night.

* * *

It had only been in the last six years that he’d started this game that Light’s increasing brilliance had come from absolute necessity and not just mere boredom. The desperation of his actions had also increased tenfold, and he frowned.

Thankfully it was a single restroom, and he’d locked the door, careful to take off the expensive suit jacket, the expensive tie and designer shirt, hanging them on the hook to stare at himself shirtless in the mirror. There was a time that reflection had been flawless, but lately it was so incredibly marred—the gunshot scars, the black and blue bruises, phantom trace of fingers and teeth where limbs had wrestled hard against each other. Sometimes it made him feel loved, other times it made him feel owned, and Light frowned—more deeply. Lately his desperate actions were going above and beyond, crossing the realm of intellectual warfare into something more…corporeal.

He ran the small washrag under the faucet, his breathing shallow and he hadn’t even started yet but he knew there was no way he could do this and not be in complete control of his every move—one day L would understand that, but probably not now, and this was a move that could very plausibly be the end of Light, which was why he had to be so horribly careful in how he accomplished it. Of all the dangerous things he would do tonight, it began with this—and Light twisted the washcloth, taking it in his mouth, between his teeth, clenching hard so the water rolled down his chin, his neck, his bare chest. He selected the scalpel, it had been in L’s first aid kit—as long as L didn’t decide to suddenly look for it, he wouldn’t know it was missing.

The tracking device was in Light’s left arm—that was L’s first mistake. Light was right handed, if L ever thought him capable of this, he should have at least put it in his right arm. But in his off hours, Light had already done his homework on how to make the proper incisions, as long as he didn’t let the pain get the better of him, he was confident he had the dexterity to make the incision as cleanly as possible. It had to heal small and over the already existing scar. Unlike the kill switch, which was buried somewhere terrible and deep inside his body, the tracking device was fairly close to the surface. It had to be to coordinate most efficiently with the satellites.

Light dipped his fingers into the water glass he’d gotten from the waiter—the piles of already melting ice cubes—plucking one out, pressing it to the skin until the sharp cold pain started to numb. He couldn’t risk drugs, he needed a clear head to make his meeting date and to perform this surgery.

L falling asleep had been far too beneficial to him to carry out this plan—it gave him a chance to actually pull it together, though admittedly he’d considered it from the moment he consented to the damn thing, only now it became a necessity. He needed to be able to control L as much as L controlled him. None of them knew what to expect from the Church of Kira and Light wasn’t about to walk into the lion’s den without having covered all his bases. If there was something he needed L not to see, not to hear, not to know, he needed that option open to him. And god knows he most definitely had to ensure himself the option of throwing Mello and Matt off his trail, seeing as how the last thing he wanted was the two of them ever deciding to take matters into their own hands and come running in, guns blazing at any given inopportune moment.

No, Light needed to be in control of his own movements, he’d already sniped the necessary hardware from L while he was sleeping to reprogram the device once it was out of his arm—reprogram it so he’d have all the control, but cloak it well enough so the Wammy Kids would have no idea he was the one pulling the strings. It would become all about coordination, if they expected him to be in one place, he could make it so he would, even if he was in another. He could lead them on any necessary goose chase as long as the trails met up legitimately at the end. Otherwise it would be a short-lived rouse. The first time they arrived having tracked him to one place, and he wasn’t there, they’d sniff him out. No, this had to be as finely crafted a ploy as Kira had ever done before, and it all came down to this moment.

Light inhaled deeply, trying to brace himself against the onset of pain, and then carefully he pressed the scalpel to his arm, over the healed scar, He wished he’d been able to at least smuggle a local anesthetic somehow, but L had had none on hand, and it would have been more than suspicions to request any. Instead he applied the pressure he’d been gathering the courage to and the blade cut like butter. The pain caught audibly in his throat, muffled by the rolled up towel he’d clenched between his teeth. He bit it hard, so hard his jaw hurt, until that first wave rolled over him and dulled into an incessant searing throb. He cut a little deeper, his voice grinding against the pain into the towel, tears involuntarily flooding his eyes, and he had to bite them back to see what he was doing.

The insanity of it dawned on him at some point, as he watched the blood ribbon over his skin in the mirror, his face was flushed, sweat had broken out across his brow, dampening his bangs, and this was actually worse than when he’d slipped that scrap of the Death Note in between raw stitches. That hadn’t required a scalpel at the time, and wouldn’t require the self-sewn stitches to follow… hopefully, given his unabashed lip-lock with Mello, L would be discouraged from entering his bed long enough to at least allow for Light to remove the stitches after the wound initially healed. If L noticed the scar was fresh, he’d know immediately what had happened. Chances were then; he’d take the sort of action Light would deeply deeply regret. Unless Light could come up with a way to justify his measures that L would accept. Perhaps even the truth, or some form of it…

Light clamped his eyes shut, trying to keep a grip on himself, cutting deeper, until he was able to at last use the scepters to dig out the tiny little chip. It was far too delicate a process and the slightest slip up would cost far more than he could afford. But he got it, and it was the size of a tick, covered in blood, he dropped it into a cup of water to rinse it, clamping the wound shut long enough for him to turn to the laptop and satellite system he had balanced on the toilet. He dried the chip and snapped it into a memory card, sliding it into a reader and into the laptop. His arm was throbbing, and he was half covered in blood, using a towel to sop it up so it wouldn’t drool onto expensive pants—he was grateful that hacking into the tracker was a lot easier than hacking it out of him.

Light reprogrammed it with his own codes, taking all the proper precautions to keep L’s settings as proxy, so the detective and his little protégés could continue business as usual. He left a mess of bloody fingerprints across the keyboard, and when he was done, he pulled the chip out and tucked it back into the open, bleeding wound. Ha, if Mello could see him now…and then Light reached for the needle and thread…

* * *

The notion of alcohol was an ample temptation given what he’d just done to himself, and yet he resisted, working hard to dismiss every flinch of pain from his face so by the time he rounded the corner and arrived at the designated meeting place, no one could tell his left arm was causing him such shrill agony. He’d stashed his equipment, which was risky, but necessary. The tracker itself was working legit at that moment, so Light was actually a little surprised not to see any sign of Mello and Matt lingering nearby.

He knew L was awake, he’d woken him up on purpose before he’d left so his actions wouldn’t be so immensely suspect—but so far, no trace of the M&M boys. Perhaps it was just as well, since he was pretty certain if Kira #5 was as smart as he was beginning to perceive, this meeting place would be only a decoy to shake his tail. All the more reason to have tampered with the tracker before going in. L had a habit of intervening in investigations whether it was good for him or not. And Light was not about to risk this, if he needed L to stay out while he did his own recon into the Kira Ring, that was the way it had to be. L might have been the biggest expert in dealing with Kira from his side of things, but only Kira could handle what Light was about to walk into.

As per usual, his very presence attracted a swarm of appreciative glances when he entered the terrace café. Mostly women, some men, Light was capable of discerning admirable from envious in just a glance, and his lips quirked confidently, even more so when he spotted the hulking figure of Melchiorre seated at the bar. The man was here to either continue spying, or to actually serve as his go-between and Light decided this time, he wasn’t going to just sit there and wait around. He strode confidently into the back, politely declining several invitations to settle at various women’s tables to have a drink with them. Italians were so forward. He had been used to this sort of attention in Japan, but it was usually more reserved—with Misa’s exception of course. Instead Light caught Melchiorre’s gaze dead-on as he walked passed him—it was obvious from the somewhat stunned look on the man’s face that he hadn’t expected the direct approach; but Light kept going, not even pausing to give Melchiorre a chance to address him. If he had something to say, he was going to have to take the bait, and if it was his job to lead Light somewhere else, first he was going to have to follow.

He did of course. Whatever his orders, they were centered around Light, so he followed him after a few moments through the back of the café, to the dimly lit alley behind. Light was hidden in the shadows at that point, so he had the pleasure of watching Melchiorre stutter in confusion for a moment at what seemed to be his magical disappearance.

Contrary to every method he’d used on L during the Kira investigation to prove he wasn’t Kira, he now had to employ the opposite to prove that he was. Everything he did now had to be something Kira would and could do. He had to always remain 10 steps ahead of these people, and he had to keep them enthralled—most likely his life depended on it. If he took their beliefs at face value, he was after all—their god.

So when his voice at last slipped through the shadows to wrap itself gracefully around the man, it was as Kira as perhaps anyone had ever heard it. And in Italian, Light said:
“Do you have a message for me, Adriano Melchiorre?”

In fairness, that name confirmation was thanks to Mello and his questionable connections; but for Adriano Melchiorre, to hear his full name come from Kira, well, that was something else entirely. Yet of course Light had to remind himself that he hadn’t proved for certain his identity, so he couldn’t take for granted that this man would drop to his knees and prostrate himself before him.

Melchiorre whirled around to see Light step from the darkness, the streetlamp melting orange across the crests of his handsome face and painting him threatening—like a devil from a stained glass window. That correlation flashed over the elder man’s features, but Light maintained his superiority with a simple look, his stance was casual, hands in his trouser pockets, ruffling his suit in a pleasing, professional manner—showing that he was absolutely not threatened by Melchiorre in the slightest.

It took a moment for the Italian man to find his voice. “Si, Signore Misora,” he said, “I am to give you this.” And he held out a small envelope.

Misora Tsuki. The alias beneath the alias—they’d fallen for L’s ploy. He’d created two, the name Light had “officially” given them: Reiji Higuchi, and the name that was to serve as Light’s real name: Tsuki Misora. They’d done their homework as much as L and Light expected them to and not a miniscule effort more. They most likely didn’t have the slightest clue of there ever being a Yagami Light in connection with Kira. It also meant that Melchiorre was not the one with The Eyes, thankfully, since he was satisfied in referring to the alias.

Light betrayed none of this of course, and made no show what he thought of Melchiorre having used his “real name”. Instead he took the envelope handed to him, and opened it. Inside was a simple note scrawled neatly in Italian: “Don’t be afraid.”

It would have made anyone wince with confusion, but seconds after Light scanned the message, he understood immediately. The 5th Kira was not so confidant as he was, and was taking this precaution just in case “her” assumption that he was Kira proved wrong. In which case, she wanted to warn him before the sight he was suddenly greeted with apparently scared him silly. It wouldn’t of course, since he’d spent 6 years sharing his living space with it.

Light laughed that confident sort of amused laugh and crumpled up the note, slipping it discretely into his pocket.

“Ah, long time no see, Ryuk,” he purred.

The Shingami laughed, “Hey buddy,” he said, and leave it to Ryuk to play along with the alias and not call him Raito. “It’s good to be able to talk to you again.”

Melchiorre was appropriately shocked, how much more proof did he need after all? It had just been confirmed he was in the presence of Kira. The look on his face reflected that truth, and oddly he made the sign of the cross and spluttered some half-prayer in Italian.

“By all that is holy,” he managed, “You are Him.” It was no surprise to Light to see the man gradually sink to his knees, and Light watched him coldly.

“That’s right.” He said, and the words echoed somewhere in his repressed conscious. “I am Kira.”

Light arched a languid eyebrow then. “Now, Signore Melchiorre, what is the real message?”

* * *

The blinking red dot had become stationary several minutes ago. Mello cursed and pressed the gas pedal into the floor. The little Alfa Romeo zoomed gracefully through windy roads. It was a wonder they were not pulled over at any given moment. When they at last pulled into the correct street, he geared down and pulled into a spot on the sidewalk several meters away from the café Light had led them to. The exchange was for the most part, missed, but Matt happened to look up just as Light turned his attentions to someone they could obviously not see. Wordlessly, he slapped Mello's arm, gaining his attention.

Their good friend from the plaza earlier that afternoon was with Kira. Mello frowned, snapping into a new bar of recently purchased chocolate; there were several more shoved into his coat pocket. "Can you get a feed?"

"No," and that answer alone was enough to worry the both of them.

"What?" the blonde turned to him as if he had just told him that the earth was actually square all this time. Matt looked grim, typing away furiously at the innocent laptop that now bore the burden of his frustration.

"T'fuck is going on!" he grumbled, stealing several glimpses toward the man with whom they'd been entrusted as if to make sure Light had not moved; as if to make sure something still made sense.

"He's taken the game into his own hands. Fuck. I don't like this. He didn't bother with the wire, which means there's probably something going on we're not supposed to hear." It was probably the most Matt had said at any given point during this investigation. At last while they were playing Light's damn shadows. Mello blinked owlishly at him but did not respond, turning his attention back to the café. There was no way he could risk going over there for a closer look and listen, not when so much was riding on this one brash and downright foolish move.

What are you thinking now, L…? he wondered quietly to himself, glimpsing sideways at the dashboard screen that put them in direct communication with the detective. It had been quiet since they were on the move, having peeled themselves out of that tub which was so damned inviting, so damned compelling to just... remain there. Invoking more patience than any sane person should have had at - he glimpsed at the radio - 1:14am - after having barely slept at all the previous night, Mello sipped at his coffee and leaned back in his seat. What am I supposed to do here?

* * *

Don’t do this, don’t make me hurt you.

The words sounded strange to think—danced around his frontal lobes for a few seconds before L even acknowledged them as his own thoughts. He’d been transfixed to the monitors, at last getting visual when Matt and Mello finally arrived on the scene—though the visual was not wonderful. Light had chosen a dark alley for his meeting place with Melchiorre, he’d chosen a dark alley and hadn’t worn a wire. Matt’s rather anxiety-ridden voice seemed to only confirm what he and Mello already thought of the situation:

“L, orders?! This doesn’t look kosher, not at all.”

Kira’s gonna turn around and fuck us, seemed to be the main underlying meaning there. And considering Melchiorre had just essentially dropped to his knees before Light as though Light were his god…he’d dropped to his knees. L’s thumb smudged his lip further across his face as he sunk nose-to-nose with the monitor to make sure he was witnessing it right. Whatever Light had just said or done had confirmed his identity as Kira.

“Hold position,” L said blankly. He could tell from the string of muffled curse words that Matt in particular did not like that direction.

Don’t do this, don’t make me hurt you.

There were a million legitimate reasons why Light hadn’t bothered to wear a wire. In his zeal to dive headlong into his meeting with the 5th Kira, he could have quite simply, forgot…not likely, Light didn’t forget things. Light never forgot things. So it was entirely feasible that he didn’t want to risk being searched with a wire on him in the course of his first meeting with the ring. He probably wanted to feel them out, understand where he fell so he could gauge just what he’d be able to get away with. After all, he was still outside, within view of the street, knowing Mello and Matt would be there watching. He wasn’t inside hiding where no one could see him. But knowing Light as L did, Light would have taken such an explanation into account. It was so simplistic the only way L would believe it was if he wanted to believe it. And L did want to believe it, didn’t he? It was taking more strength for him to believe Light was lying than to believe what was plain as day before him: Kira was operating fully functional right beneath their noses. And that letter Melchiorre had handed him…what were the odds it was a piece of the Death Note? If Light didn’t have access to his piece before, he certainly did now.

No, no, but it was necessary the ring believe he was Kira—that had been the plan all along hadn’t it? They’d agreed upon it, L had consented to it, and Light had turned to him and said that it was going to seem like he was betraying L, he’d said it so L would understand, so L would know at a moment like this that it was an act for the ring to believe him, so they could solve the case and save their lives…and that had to be the truth because the opposite was too hideous to contemplate. The opposite entailed Light setting him up from the beginning, from the moment Ryuk appeared in his cell and they struck the deal. It was most certainly plausible Light could see Ryuk now, even if he couldn’t before. Melchiorre had given him a piece of the notebook to judge his reaction and Light had greeted Ryuk like an old friend—that had to have been it. And Light was stringing them all along with his lies while Ryuk had probably struck the deal at his orders, the way he’d lied about ever knowing him to begin with back during the initial Kira investigation…and that was all so much more probable when taking Yagami Light into account, having spent 6 years trying to battle against his mind—the mind of Kira.

L was being played a fool…

That was another thought that took its time to feel his own, and by the time it occurred to him through the swarm of other thoughts, L had his hand tangled in his hair, his head resting distraught against his palm. He had to think straight, and he wasn’t—because every time he tried, his chest would tighten and his mind would cloud, and he’d imagine the feel of Light’s lips against his shoulder in the middle of the night when they slept, spooning against each other—slept in a way L had never imagined himself ever sleeping…in the arms of someone else. In the arms of someone he loved. Even if that someone continuously tried to rip his heart out on a daily basis, if Light wanted him dead, he’d had millions of opportunities to do it. There was the thread of faith perhaps.

L had resolved to trust Light. He’d promised himself that would be the way of this investigation. He was going to trust Kira. If he was the fool in the end… then he deserved what he got.

He leaned to the com and pressed the button to open communication. “Please continue close surveillance,” he said flatly. “Thank you.”

He did understand however, that there could actually come a point where Matt and Mello stopped listening to him. It was a wonder they hadn’t already…

* * *

Light caught the first glimpse of Matt and Mello’s car over Melchiorre’s head while he was on his knees. They couldn’t have been there long, but he wasn’t exactly sure on which part they’d arrived, so he was going to have to assume they’d seen the whole thing. Most likely one or both of them were bitching about his blatant omission of the wire this time around—but in all honesty, there was no way Light was going to be caught wearing a wire on his first meeting with Ring members. That was stupid—apologies to the Wammy kids, he was the one on the field, not hiding behind monitors or drinking black coffee behind the wheel of fancy sports cars. It was his ass directly on the line and he wasn't wearing a wire until he knew what sort of people he was dealing with. This entire investigation hinged on his ability to play his own followers and while it seemed that they did have half a brain—half would not be enough to do battle with him, and in that, Light was confident.

“The real message,” Melchiorre murmured, “Tomorrow night, 8pm Caffà del Cinque in Trastevere.”

Light arched an eyebrow. “Hmm, tell her I’m disappointed she didn’t keep our date for Bellinis then.”

The fact that Melchiorre stuttered and looked up semi-horrified guaranteed that Light had indeed pegged the right woman from that morning as his “contact.” It had been an educated guess, and a risky one, but he’d done the math now a thousand times, and there was just something about *her* the last woman to speak with him before L had arrived, something about the way she’d looked at him, and spoke to him—his photographic memory didn’t lie in situations like that, no matter how he was trying to graft more to the recollection than was actually there. Nevertheless, he’d gotten it right despite the odds.

“Forgive us, Signore Misora,” Melchiorre muttered, and at least he was smart enough to not continually address him by the name ‘Kira.’ “We weren’t sure it was you.”

“Well now you are,” Light said simply.

Ryuk laughed—he laughed good.

“In that case, I have another appointment to make,” Light shrugged. “Tell your Signora, I’ll see her tomorrow night.”

And with that, he turned and headed off through the shadows in the opposite direction. Much to Melchiorre’s continuing awe, Ryuk followed him. No matter where the 5th Kira was, it was obvious at that moment, the Shinigami preferred the company of Kira-Proper.

“Hey Raito, you’re doing pretty good for someone who lost their memories.” Habitually, Ryuk waited until they were well out of range before he brought up that little point.

“If you were watching for as long as I think you’ve been, Ryuk,” Light said simply, “Then you know why.”

“You certainly like playing dangerous games, buddy, it’s getting kinda scary what you’ve been doing lately.”

“More fun for you, of course.”

Ryuk laughed, “Sure! Though, I can’t really tell you what kind of consequences that sort of thing might have…”

Light’s brow knit as though the conversation were actually bothersome to him. “What sort of thing?” He was breaking his own rules about speaking with the Death God in public, but it had been so long since he’d had a conversation with Ryuk that didn’t entail him begging for his own life…not a pleasant memory.

“Putting a part of the Death Note inside you like that. Never seen it done before—not sure if it’ll have any consequences actually, but…”

“But what?”

“It may, that’s all. You know as much as me.”

“Typical, Ryuk. I suppose it’s also pointless to ask anything regarding your current ‘chosen human’ then?”

“Raito, don’t try to flatter me, it’s not like you. And of course I’m not going to tell you anything—rules of the game.”

“Of course. But…” and he paused on purpose, because Ryuk had a habit of hanging on his words. Predictably the Death God was eager to know what he’d been about to say.

“But what?”

“You’re with me and not her.”

Ryuk was flustered for a moment, “Eh, well, you’re more interesting.”

Good to know.

That was about when Mello sped his little Alfa Romeo to a screeching halt in front of Light—pretty obvious from the way he angrily snapped his chocolate that he was pissed to high hell, but was doing a fairly good job of keeping it in check. Light met his bristling animosity with passivity, silently calling him out on everything he and Matt were about to accuse him of. Yeah, so, he hadn’t worn the wire—he wasn’t hiding that fact. And he’d met Melchiorre within their view.

“Get in,” Mello growled.

Light didn’t jump at the words, instead he stared coldly down at the blonde—a very different stare from the one he’d left him with back in the shower. There was nothing but cold, hard superiority in that gaze, and Ryuk laughed—but Mello and Matt couldn’t hear him, they hadn’t touched the note, so the Death God remained invisible, no matter how much they assumed he was present.

“I’ve confirmed the 5th Kira’s identity,” Light said, his voice level and unrattled. “But we still need a name.”

Perhaps his conclusions were overly presumptuous, but he was 99% sure he knew that his Bellini date and the 5th Kira were one in the same. Whether any of the Wammy kids cared at that moment, remained to be seen. Why worry about the 5th Kira, when the real one was right there in front of them?

"That's nice," Mello grit out, not particularly surprised that Light had gotten a confirmation on the fifth Kira's identity, or rather, her face. The heart of the matter did not lie whether or not he had managed to be productive while throwing them all for a loop, but that he had done so in the most reckless way possible. Fucking bastard.

"As far as I'm concerned, this can wait for morning. I'm bloody fuckin' tired and chasing you around all night was not in the goddamned plans, so get the fuck in."

Unhappy was a massive understatement. Mello was downright furious. Not so much that he'd just had to race out of the freaking house because Light decided to play God, but that he had done so while L had not even been aware of it. This whole thing rubbed him the wrong way. Whatever sympathies he'd felt toward him earlier that evening had been punted aside the moment he'd received the summons to get his ass on the street and chase him down. Bastard just had a knack for wrangling flip-flop emotions out of people.

Beside him, Matt was folding up the equipment and tucking it away, leaving only the main monitor alive before he climbed out of the two seater, backpack slung snugly over his shoulder. A new cigarette was lit up, its little flame reflecting off the yellow lenses on top of his head. He too was not particularly pleased, but as seemed to be the norm, was a bit better at controlling his temper than his counterpart. "I'll meet you back at the flat," he said, tapping the edge of the door over its lowered window. "And pull the top up." Wouldn't do them any good to be seen escorting Kira around at this hour. Not if they were to be his shadow every other waking hour.

Light’s eyes followed Matt’s movements for a moment, before he casually took up the redhead’s former seat in the car next to Mello. That haughty air was clinging to him like the cologne he was wearing, and he simply said, “Don’t blame me if you were too busy fucking your boyfriend to come out here and do your job.” It was the absolute audacity of that statement that made Mello’s foot slam on the gas and the car tear forward, but Light was well aware of his irony—he’d done it deliberately and it hitched in the shadows of his face. “The ring wanted to meet me tonight, it’s a break in the case we needed and last I checked, L and I have sort of a deadline.”

Mello snapped his chocolate and swerved the car around a turn, hugging the corner close, but throwing enough momentum into it to bounce them both around the car a bit. And he noticed Light wince—badly—as though he were in pain, but he recovered quickly and shot Mello a hard glance.

“Getting us pulled over by the police is not going to be beneficial to anyone,” he growled, and yes there was definite pain in his voice, which he was covering over with unapologetic attitude. Mello, however, had yet to say a word. Instead he jerked the car around again—after all, this was Italy, driving like a maniac was a prerequisite in most places. But he jerked the car on purpose this time, to see if Light would confirm his theory that he was in pain. Light braced himself and rode it out—there was however a definite grit in his jaw and Mello tucked that tidbit of information away for later.

It was about then that Light noticed something else and his brow furrowed deeply.

“This isn’t the way back,” he growled, hackles rising suddenly on end—the break in routine had pushed a slim element of anxiety into his voice. “Where are we going?”

Where -were- they going? Mello wasn't particularly sure of a destination. Sure, he had every intention of returning Light back to his fancy sixth floor suite, but not just yet. He wasn't sure what about the situation that had ticked him off this badly, but it was enough to keep him silent lest a whole new can of worms opened up. It was the last thing he wanted to do, despite whether or not such an argument might even make him feel better. Goddamnit, the man was infuriating. He did however, cast Light a sidelong glance perhaps noting the hint of anxiety tipping off the edge of his words.

"Don't worry," he assured him dryly. "It isn't my plan to take you to some dark alley and beat the living shit out of you." The lack of humor to Mello’s voice gave him away. Indeed it was no lie, but he had no set plan in mind either. Goddamnit. Lifting his hand off the gears, he tugged the small monitor hooked onto the center panel to face him; the touch-screen input allowing him to transmit his message within seconds before killing the image all together. Will be there soon. Simple, to the point and without confining himself to a defined schedule. Worked.

The first of several raindrops hit the windshield thickly. Figured. Thunder rumbled quietly in the distance. The storm would be upon them within minutes, and within minutes it too would pass.

"You're fucking infuriating, you know that?" Mello broke the thick silence unexpectedly, smoothing the car into lower gear and following the outer ring of the traffic circle a bit faster than he probably should have, but without the prior jolts. He'd gotten his answer; no point in beating Light around if he would not get the personal satisfaction of doing it himself.

Light feigned like he was taking Mello’s anger in stride, but Mello could sense Kira’s own anger peeling off of him in spades. “I’m infuriating?” He half snarled. “I’m surrounded by infuriating people, some of whom feel the need to threaten my personal well-being on an hourly basis. Fine, you want to take out your aggression, be my guest, Mello. You have no idea what I’ve already been through, if you think I can’t handle whatever you have to throw at me, you’re dead wrong.” There was a good probability he was baiting Mello on purpose, but the invitation was damn tempting.

“Of course, you’ll be the one explaining it to L,” Light added vindictively; his tone strengthening in its anger. “But I don’t give a fuck at this point—we’re living on borrowed time anyway. This is a last-ditch effort to stay alive, and if you think I’m going to walk into the Kira Ring as an obvious double agent blatantly wearing a wire and waving an ‘L’ flag, then you’re dumber than I’ve been giving you credit for. You’re in the mob, you already know this shit. Whether it’s a bullet or a Death Note, I’m the one that’s going to take the fall first, so if you don’t like my methods you can fucking choke on it. I’ve said it before, if I wanted you dead, you and L would have been eating dirt months ago. Now take me back to the goddamn hotel and go do whatever it is you do.”

Ha. Argue in favor of being beaten up to try and worm his way out of it.
He truly was a snake.

And at that moment, the skies just opened up, like the wrath of god, and seeing through the windshield became a thing of the past…

It was truly an impossible argument, and one that would see no finality. Not now, not decades from now should any of them manage to survive that long. It just came down to a matter of clashing egos, short tempers and a severe lack of trust. To be expected. Both knew it the day L had sprung the news upon them that the four - fucked as they were, seeing as only L wasn’t supposed to still be kicking - were to be working together. Every day was a test. Some worse than others.

Mello scowled at the sudden pouring rain, thankful that he'd taken Matt's advice in closing the top, even if the initial reasoning had been much different. The wipers were not doing much to aid him along the way, and thus there was little choice but to slow down and, upon spotting the still lit sign of a café, pulling over. Wordlessly, he killed the engine and removed the keys all in one motion - whether habitual or conscious, it was impossible to tell - and was striding through the downpour only seconds later, leaving Light behind to gawk after him. And yet, to some surprise, when he returned short minutes later, falling back into the low driver's seat with a curse or two, Mello thrust a short cup into Light's hand; the strong aroma hinted of a double espresso.

Wordless still, the engine roared back to life. There was no use simply sitting there. There was only so much the two of them could possibly discuss without wanting to rip each other's heads off. Thus, Mello pulled back out onto the road, following a boxy little red Fiat that zoomed fearlessly past. The hotel was not far, but the previously taken unnecessary turns had put them further away than the short minutes it would have taken him to deposit Light back into L's hands.

The irony was that it took a cup of espresso to render Light speechless at that moment, and he visibly seemed to wrestle with the gesture; lapsing into an aggravated silence at first, then finally submitting to a half-grumbled ‘domo.’ It seemed that, like L, Mello had the power to confound him on the every off occasion, and he settled into the kind of tense, disturbed silence you could cut with a knife. There seemed like something someone should be saying, but Mello wasn’t making a sound, and Light at last resolved to just let it go—for the moment.

He stared out the window, but there wasn’t much to see, the rain hailing down in solid sheets, and any cars driving nearby seemed to come from nowhere. Seemed Italians didn’t let inclement weather slow them down either—they still drove like maniacs, and there was a blather of muted horns this way and that constituting whatever near-misses were going on around them. It was dark on top of that, so the conditions were actually a lot worse than Mello was making them seem—what was going on in his and Light’s own little world at that moment transcended rain and darkness and crazy foreign motorists.

Light’s head was actually pounding at it all—that and he needed aspirin badly, his arm was killing him to the point that he wasn’t sure how much longer he could go without showing just how much it hurt. Aside from a bit of odorless ointment, he hadn’t used anything to dull the pain—the wound was sore and throbbing and puckered up along the stitches; which he’d executed as neatly as humanly possible for someone who had never developed the fortitude to sew their own flesh without any painkillers. It was starting to have its way with him because he couldn’t get his mind to focus on much else, trapped in the small car the way he was. He pressed two elegant fingers to the bridge of his nose, squeezing tightly against his sinuses—he’d play up the headache, so at least his pain would be explained if it started to show in his face.

“Drink your coffee,” Mello half grumbled. And he’d perceived it, the way Light had already figured he did.

Light drained the espresso without replying, and slumped down a bit further in his seat. He wanted to fold his arms across his chest, but the thought of moving his arm at that moment, was just too much to comprehend, so he tried to keep it as still as possible without giving away that he was.

At that moment however, Mello was too focused on cursing at the fiat that just wouldn’t move out of the way, and seemed to be creating his own lanes around the rapidly flooding streets, so Mello swerved around him, speeding the car against better judgment because the longer he and Light had to share the same breathing space, the worse the whole situation would get. He needed to get away from Kira and curl back up in a bathtub with Matt—and he was pretty sure Kira needed to get away from him, even if that meant weaseling around whatever explanations he’d conjured for L to justify his behavior tonight. At the very least, Light looked like he was about to start popping pills like candy because he kept rubbing his temple as though it pained him something awful.

Mello’s gaze shifted, but he didn’t say anything.

“I’m fine,” Light growled, and the pain bit through his tone.

“I didn’t ask,” Mello growled back. “Frankly, I don’t care either.”

“Good, then stop staring at me,” and Light had turned his head completely to the window to avoid Mello’s gaze. Obviously physical discomfort made Kira ornery.

And for the umpteenth time Mello marveled how he hadn’t just dragged him to the alley and beaten the shit out of him regardless because that kingly attitude of his was chewing rabidly on Mello’s last nerve. He shot him another hard glance, but Light’s eyes were closed and the strain was visible in his brow. Kira was a pampered sonofabitch, but only to some degree, and Mello found himself unwillingly reflecting on what Light had meant when he’d said he’d endured a lot already. Of course the warehouse incident had left him in the hospital. According to L, he’d been resuscitated several times on the operating table. There was some physical therapy involved too, but Matt had essentially gone through similar treatment, so Mello wasn’t finding any sympathy there for Kira. Not when Mello himself had had half his face nearly burned off. Now that was pain. He was pretty sure Light wouldn’t have been able to endure that—for the pain, sure, but probably even worse, for vanity reasons. Imagine that pretty face charred all to hell, he’d probably hide himself away in a closet and never come out again…something to consider actually. Ha. Although Mello wasn’t sure he’d wish that on his worst enemy…not after what he’d been through; and whether Kira deserved it or not was a moral issue he just didn’t have the brain power to debate at that moment.

It was ironic however that that was the thought in his head when the fiat blindsided them suddenly from the rear, spinning them on wet cobblestone headlong into an intersection. There was a screech of wheels, but the rain was impossible, and by then it was too late—another car slammed into the driver’s side not second’s later and it was light’s out…