Another Note: Crime Scenes

BY : Resting-Madness
Category: Death Note > General
Dragon prints: 2148
Disclaimer: I don't make money from this work of fiction. I don't own the realm of death note's creation like characters and plot, and world. None of it is mine.

Disclaimer: I do not own Death Notes characters. I don't own the underlying or idea of the show. I would say I don't own the locations mentioned but that's obvious that I don't own Tokyo or London or any other place mentioned in this work of fiction. I don't get paid for this, but wouldn't that be kickin'?

Appreciation: To reader Carottal, a big thank you for helping the sentences in French more natural and correct. It's a big help.

x x x

"Aww, are you kidding?" Cried a little boy when he felt the first drop hit his chubby cheek. "I'll see you guys tomorrow." He went tearing across the street for home, after momentarily having to watch out from bumping into a lanky male, who's walking casually along.

"Yeah, bye Eric!" A tomboy called after him, before holding out her hand to see that it is, in fact, beginning to rain.

Taking leave herself, as do the rest of the small pack of playing friends, she hurries on home before the sky erupts.

Beeping cars of nervous drivers are left to move dangerously among other, slower, drivers; however, all of them are seeking to get somewhere out of the coming weather. Walkers without portable protection hurry into a nearby store or pick up their pace to go home, some hide beneath an awning until they can come out.

People have certain reactions to the dull wet weather, but what it comes down to are two reactions... They love it, or they hate it. For me... it's a gray necessity. So I walk in the rain.

Large black eyes turn up towards the sky as a dark cloud blankets the town of Bedford Row in Holborn. The homes are thin and stuck together in a row along the wide street, it's an active place despite its lack of gardens for a kid to have a thoroughly good day of play, but there are parks nearby to do as you will.

The wind is moving slowly through the air, so the clouds aren't being severely pushed; it's going to give the coming rain a long time to come down in the neighborhoods and city.

Some are calmed by the serenity of the gray sky, looking out at the dim like it's the pacifier to their infant souls or the cup of tea that battles a stressful day- coffee, or sweets for others.

There are others who spring into a greater hurry, because of the graying sheet in the sky. They want nothing to do with what comes next, not the drone of the elements coming down in a hard splatter on the ground, louder once the wetness has gathered into itself in pockets decorating the London streets.

They don't like being left to stand in the alone of no one wanting to go out, nor to be in the company of teary children who are just plain bored since their friends aren't going to come over, and they aren't allowed to go out.

It's that slowed down a cup of tea, it's that 'better get moving' hurry. It's the darkness in the light. It is... the rain.

The drops of rain came falling from the sky in a torrential downpour as if there was a word 'Go'. They hit everything, the droplets: the buildings, the cars, the people, toys left out on the lawn. Anything left exposed the rain came down and touched.

They're like children playing, if that's how you'd like to see the little drops. Children finding surfaces to slip and slide down from, like all the world were a playground. I suppose the wind could act as a swing when it blows the droplets slant.

His black hair is soaked to a wilt like a peeled banana turned upside down; his clothes are soaked through to the skin; and his skin soaked through to the bone. And his bones are absorbing it into the whole, as the detective walks through the rain. Hands arrested by his tightly soaked back pockets, and pace set to 'casual stroll', he walks through the streets.

There are some who dream a little darker, some who see- not little playing children, but- jumpers. Jumpers of purposeful, or accidental, suicide. From a plane with no parachute. From a bridge with no bungee. A window of a home, or even a small step off a chair... granted you have a long way down and rope around your neck.

His large eyes remove themselves from the sky, and instead he looks down onto the street he's treading with bare, exploring feet.

To me, they are neither playing children nor suicidal souls... they're gatherers. Employed by the grim sky that can hear what the city has to say, it sends its gatherers running along with the stories that the authoring city has to tell, then bringing them to me at a rapid pace as they swirl around my feet.

I'm walking to hear of their tales; short stories or long, they all come to me because I... am willing to listen.

I don't listen to the shouts of parents calling in straggling children, or the honking horns of cars being cut off by one another. I listen to the rain and its stories of the macabre. I was once told of a tale where a mother burned two of her three children to death, then leaped from the window with the third. The wet ash and smoke in the air liquidized and flowed down along the streets of the London neighborhood.

A young boy was bludgeoned to death by a bully, who chose to hit him just a bit too hard one dreary afternoon.

There once was a man from Yorkshire who'd been flung into a tree, his asphyxiated corpse was knocked down onto the street. And where happy sunshine calling "play with me", will ignore it... the rain does not. And the weight of its gathering forces into the body dragged it down, like a demon bringing a victim to Hell. A story of murder.

So I walk in the rain...

What tale will I be told today, as I make my way up the road and to the hospital?

As if on cue, red ribbons begin flowing, circulating, and slithering around his feet like serpents striking for a meal. His index finger rose to his bottom lip as if he were overcome with an almost child-like curiosity, and a desire to touch a forbidden item presented to him. Following the stream, he's led to one of the many slender, tall homes along the street; the stone stairs are darkened from gray to red since the source of the bleed is standing on the second step before the rain drenched traveler.

The detective cocks his head as their eyes lock, they almost seemed to be taking each other in. He and the victim? Or he and the murderer?

The man is wondering why someone would be out and about in this dreary weather before he could even begin calling for help. And the drenched detective is wondering if the blood-soaked man is covered in his own blood after having escaped a terrible home invasion, or if it's the blood of someone he's just gotten through killing?

He got his answer when the man stumbled down the stone stairs to stand before him, and in a raspy, weak voice... he says. "Help me." Before he collapses to the wet sidewalk.

That was one week ago, in the last week of April. It's now May 3rd, the year is 2015.

Mail. Would you care to explain why your medical bills have already been paid for? -L

Curt, and to the point. That was L for ya. At least, when he was trying to be intimidating. Point L. Matt, of course, had to smile. He had skillfully hacked into some rich pricks bank account, and paid for his medical bills, closing his link between them before it could so much as be whiffed as a possibility that something went on.

But, turned out, L planned on paying his medical bills for him. Who knew!?

Matt felt a twitch of a frown at the corner of his mouth. Deep down, hacking a system like that... He wanted to do it, needed to do it. Those Japanese officers firing on him were not part of the plan Mello had cooked up. He really thought that he was dead. He felt death's cold hands grip him tight, hug him close, and before he knew what happened... He awoke in the hospital with a nurse helping him eat.

He didn't speak- couldn't speak, actually; everything was muddy and fogged over. He thought he saw L, for real! But without his goggles to help with sharpness, it was really hard to say. There were a pale image and a cloud of black hair. No one from Wammy's has seen him, not in person; except maybe Mello- so he claims- but they all knew his basic design thanks to the resident nutcase Beyond Birthday dressing up like him, indefinitely, one year before he left Wammy's behind him for good.

L wasn't dead. He'd faked it when he'd figured out what that Shinigami was up to, unfortunately, it was after Mr. Watari was killed by it. He could only presume that he was next, and he waited for it. When nothing happened he tipped out of the chair and onto the floor.

It's what they were sent over e-mail two months later after it happened. He didn't say who would take his place as L, letting Mello and that punk kid Near fight over it as they continued with the Kira case off of L's notes. Or what was left of them, because during the time L went into hiding, and planned to inform them, Light had erased the data after hacking the system.

But they had the bones: Shinigamis, and a killer notebook. From there, it was all a game of relay racing- a sort of 'pass the baton' of who would catch Kira first. And thus, he was shot at. He'd left the school to join Mello's brigade. He'd follow him anywhere really... Even now.

It took three months to recover from being shot: regain his wits, eating on his own, the use of his right arm, recover from the cracked ribs that were grazed by bullets, learn how to breathe without a machine, and let's not forget to have authorization to going to the bathroom on his own again. Next came solid foods.

Now he's feeling like his old self again; he's even got his abilities back, sharp as ever. For as far as he can tell. The medical staff were hugely impressed by his rate of near impossible recovery.

Through it all, Mello was there. He'd brought his goggles to him, and his laptop; he'd even snuck him a pack of cigarettes, that mysteriously disappeared one night ago, about the same time when that little note from L showed up.

He couldn't be mad, though, because along with the note there was a packet of bubblegum, made to look like cigarettes. They used to sell them in the late 80s, he can't imagine where the man would get his hands on some, but for the meantime, they quelled the urge- at least in the sense of having something dangling from his lips.

Matt gagged on the sugar. He'd forgotten it wasn't a real cigarette and took a drag off of it- not for the first time either. His coughing alerted his sleeping partner, seated over by the window. He'd come to pick him up and bring him to L's manor in London, but Matt was asleep at the time.

The excitement of waiting for him to wake up must have been too much for Mello because he had fallen asleep while waiting. The tech-head was on bed rest for one more week and that week has come to an end. Today he was cleared for release, so you think the gangster's right hand would be up and at 'em to go. But have you ever been riddled with bullets? It's not something you just roll out of bed from, even when you are given the go ahead to exist in the real world again.

"Alright, Sleeping Beauty, are you finally up?" Matt droned over his mock-cigarette.

"Who're you calling Sleeping Beauty, when you're the bed-ridden sad-sack in need of assistance?"

"Oh, ha ha..." Removing the gum, he set it down on the dresser, absent-mindedly tapping away non-existent ash. "Mel', can we get going? I need a real cigarette before I go insane."

"I'd ask what happened to the pack I gave you before, but I'm guessing you smoked through them." Mello rose from the chair, striding over to the bed. Lifting the pack, he frowned. "Hospital prank?"

"More like an L prank." He frowned, not finding it funny at all.

"He was here!" Mello wondered, looking around as if the man were hiding in the room. "Where is he?"

"Don't know. I just woke up ten minutes ago and found this." He hands him the little slip of paper.

"Oh."

Matt blinked his vision down to his lap. In a quiet voice, he asked without it meaning to be a question. "He's here for him, then?"

"...Yeah." And Mello could spit!

Light Yagami. Fucking Kira! ...Is coming back with them to London. To live in L's home, under his supervision with the rest of them, while they work some new case that's come up. L had gone back to London to prepare everything while the injured remained in Japan, since they couldn't travel. And apparently there's been a break-in of a home, and L happened upon a journalist who was at the scene of the crime. It wouldn't even place on their radar, but L said something about it was unique.

In short... They've spent enough time playing hospitalized, it was time to get back to work.

His hand subconsciously came up to his neck; on the back left side of it, there's a little round scar that to the unknowing eye looks like a mole, but it's actually the entrance wound of a tranquilizer dart that had been shot into his neck that day Kiyomi Takada burned that truck.

He thought it was Kira that had killed him. He thought he was dead. But instead, he woke up in the bedroom of a hotel in London. There was a note for him: Matt won't be joining you. Stay put until I contact you. -L was all it said.

It wasn't easy cooling his heels while Kira's sorry ass roamed free, and Near continued on with the investigation alone. He wanted revenge for Matt's death... at least, he thought that Matt was dead. He would have hurried right back onto the scene had it not been for the end of the short note. L. He isn't dead. He tranquilized him and sent him away. Something big must have been cooking, and he couldn't get in the way. As annoying as that was to admit that he would have gotten in the way, had it been Near who'd written the note, but he wouldn't do it to L.

When the pipsqueak caught Kira off of his slip-up, he was then informed that Matt was alive and that he could go to see him until he while he recovered enough to be moved. Matt spent so long in recovery, that he didn't think they'd ever leave Japan. It was fine, though, with Kira captured and unconscious, he could move freely throughout the city.

The day finally came when Matt could leave... That day is today. But there was one HUGE and annoying knowledge that came along with it. Kira is coming along.

L told him through a laptop screen that Light Yagami is a terrible human being to waste. He has no memory of being Kira, and he is never to be told of it.

But to Mello, that's bullshit. Kira is Kira. Kira will always know that he's Kira. He's just waiting for the time when he can strike. But then, L is L. And for Mello, L's word is law.

Exiting the bathroom, Matt smirks at the contemplative look on Mello's otherwise dangerous face. "Better let me drive if we're gonna make it to the airport by seven, safely." Matt teased when checking the wall clock and seeing that they're just forty minutes from their flight schedule.

"I can drive." He grabbed Matt's suitcase from him before he could even pick it up from the closet.

Grimaced, he rubbed his stomach. "Good thing I didn't eat."

Following closely behind the embittered blond, the two bicker playfully as they exit the hospital.

0 0 0

'Nnn... Rr.. Nnn... It's no use.' He gave an inward sigh. '...Even in death, I can't find rest...'

L watched Light's resting body. He wondered how long he was planning on putting up the charade of slumber? Fingers extended, he reaches for a thickly coated chocolate covered strawberry, pinching it by its leaflets to hold it, while he dangled it over his open mouth like a Great White shark moving in on its upward escaping prey.

'Death is noisier than I would have guessed.' His lids blink, remaining closed. 'Its hard to guess which way I've gone, if either place exists... Sounds of pleasure could go either way.'

"Mmm... Light, if you're going to pretend to be asleep," L says to the bedraggled young man, "do you think I could have the rest of your strawberries? These ones aren't tart at all."

Although he had to wonder who'd sent them? The Japanese police were forewarned that Kira is officially dead, and Light Yagami no longer exists as a Japanese native. But, then again, Matsuda is an idiot and undoubtedly feels guilty for shooting and ultimately killing Soichiro Yagami's only son. In spite of the man existing in wonder over whether or not his son is Kira, he loved him. And everyone could see it.

There was also the frightening possibility of Misa Amane sending the basket of fruit from beyond the watery grave. He quirked his mouth to the side in thought, as something like that seemed unlikely. Amane's body was fished from the Tone River, 33 hours after she'd gone in. A cab driver saw the deceased model jump from the bridge, on his way home from work hours.

Whoever did it, they have exquisite taste in picking fruit and chocolate.

'L?' his clouded mind wondered. 'Now I really don't know where I am... L's pretty shady; who knows what kinds of things he's done, or laws he's broken while doing his job. He may have convinced me to help him do much of the same.'

"Light?"

'Could I be this lucid in death?'

L leaned forward in his seat, pinched fingers lifting the right eyelids apart on Light's face. "Light... I should make it aware to you that when a person is deeply asleep their REM count is 20 to 25 percent at the most- moreso as the night nears its end; you're simply hard blinking with your eyes shut. Unless you're experiencing full REM atonia... Mmm," the detective's words came to a halt as he downed another coated piece of fruit, "which would have the body completely paralyzed. Yours is not. In short, your brows have furrowed several times. So, you can get up now."

Blinking his eyes open, Light glares at his slumber preventing tormentor.

L cocked his head as a pug dog would when its owner is speaking to it. It was slow at first, those deep hazel eyes registering each physical and non-physical sensation of the human body. Until his gaze settled on the ghost of L, or he should be a ghost. But ghost don't eat. Ghost aren't opaque. And a ghost's gaze doesn't unnerve you the way this man's gaze does.

"I saw you die." He groaned softly. Placing a hand over his eyes to shield them from the light coming in from the window, he watches L move around the room to check his charts like a resident doctor would. Frightening thought to have L in charge of your body.

"I saw you die multiple times, but here we are." Replied L casually.

The detective watched as the situation slowly began to hit Light's conscience. First, the hospital room, then the realization that he's a patient, next came L, and the overall shocker that he's alive. But how?

He's positive he died. He felt the life drain from his body, he felt his blood oxidizing inside of his stiffening body, and his heart wrench. The last known image in his oxygen starved brain was L coming to take him to the other side. His rival... and friend. L is his friend?

Something seems wrong here. But he can't seem to wrap his thoughts around what.

"Did I... really die?"

Returning to his seat, he begrudgingly repeats himself. "Multiple times. Don't you remember what happened?" He asked.

Light paused. It was an odd thing for him to do because Light Yagami never needs a moment of pause to recall, remember, or imagine anything. It's always just been there. But right now... all he can do is pause.

"I was shot." He answers after a good moment.

"By whom?"

Again. Pause. "There was a shooting in the warehouse district. We were looking in on a cult that was creating super-soldiers who were targeting the Japanese government. The bust got out of hand because of Matsuda firing blindly when all weapons were supposed to be dropped." But it hurt when the memory tried to return to him. The words almost felt like they'd been programmed into him.

"That's correct." He eyes a box of tea cakes he'd brought in himself for the patient. "How do you fare? Not well enough to eat these." He removes the box from the tabletop where the patient's food tray is supposed to rest and begins devouring the cakes as he continues with his personal checklist of Q&A. "So, being shot, you were rushed to the hospital where you've been for six months in recovery. I've told you all this before during your many recoveries and declines."

'That explains why it feels so rehearsed.' Thought Light. 'I've been laid up for six months? But, I know I saw L die. The image is tattooed in my mind!' he eyes L's frozen figure that's looking back at him; his pinched fingers holding tightly to the small rainbow-colored fondant covered petit four. "But you died... I held you..."

"We were working a case with your father; it became relevant that I disappear for a while. The building had been bugged, and my identity compromised."

Light tried wrapping his head around the case. "Right. The Jack and Jill case."

"Light is correct again. Considering how many times you've died, your memory is as sharp as ever. It's good to know."

He and L had pretended to be lovers in order to catch a serial killer who'd been offing homosexuals, thus the name Jack and Jill. The case had been named by the killer who'd decided to identify the role of each person within the taboo relationship.

'And we became close during that...' He recalled sharing a room, a bed, and a life with the wide-eyed weirdo detective. 'Hn. We wore cuffs for the case, like our own little marriage-bond- it was ridiculous, but somehow meaningful after a while.'

"The warehouse case, you actually worked with agent N." The detective left the name sort of open-ended so Light can recall it all on his own.

"Near?"

"Mmm mmm, this one has mixed fruit filling." He voiced his pleasure with the sweet first, then replied. "Yes. You butted heads with Near, but ultimately made a good team." L went on filling in the gaps with him. "Your being shot was an accident, but the case was closed."

Grunting while adjusting his lying position to a seated one; L elevates the bed for him, Light continued trying to piece together this odd resurrection. "Where are my parents?" He asked when realizing there was no burst of emotion from a motherly figure coming his way, or his father's relieved words from his son's continued existence, not even Saiyu's laughter and light ribbing that he's, almost, bullet proof.

"Light... Soichiro Yagami died in the warehouse shooting. Your mother is taking care of your sister, who has gone catatonic after being rescued from the cult's human trafficking of its female members."

"Saiyu joined the cult..." His words became very distant as the weight of it sank in. "She was picked up while coming home from school."

"Yes."

"Its why Matsuda fired... someone was holding onto Saiyu... The bullet barely missed her- that idiot! He almost got my sister killed!" Light held onto his stomach as a bullet wound told him to settle down.

L only looked at the worked up bedridden young man with a sort of mystified disbelief at how amazing the death note's otherworldly powers were that they could do even this much. So long as keywords from the actual events are included in the made-up suggestion. It explained such a major detail in the second Kira's interest in Light while having no knowledge as to why. Her memories were wiped, but the Shinigami left her affections for Light intact.

It doesn't remove the fact that the Shinigami died for Light, in order to strike this deal with L, that Light would not die from the bullet wounds. But will, in fact, live to the ripe old age of 88. A death written to protect a human is, after all, a death written... whether it's gruesome or merciful.

As for the Death Note itself, it's locked away somewhere where neither Light, nor anyone else, can ever get lay hands on it.

"Light, your mother has her hands full taking care of your sister... So your care has been handed over to me."

"I'm not an infant, I can take care of myself."

"Not until you're fully recovered, but it isn't caregiving that I've decided to bring you with me to London. I'm working a case, and if and when you're able, I'd like for you to work it with us."

"A case..." He trailed off. 'That's L for you, you're not allowed to be a burden when you can be useful.' Looking at the man, Light nods. "Alright. I'll go with you, but only to cut my mother a break. But once I've recovered, I plan to return home and help my mother and Saiyu. She may recover faster if she sees that I'm all right."

L bit his thumb wondering when he offered to stay with him as a choice. He supposed he could fill him in about witness protection later.

"Rest for now. You have one more week in the hospital before your release. I'll go get your lunch." He stands from the chair, returning his sneakers to his feet before his departure.

"I'd rather wait for the nurse to bring it, L." Light called after the glutton leaving the room.

Somehow he had a feeling that of all the items on his meal tray, the dessert item will be missing.

0 0 0

Mello and Matt exit the cab like a couple of cripples, fresh in need of a chiropractor, with heads tilted back towards the sky, mouths agape like they're in pain when they're really in awe of the oversized manor standing before them in a glory of four stories high and two wings wide. It's shaped like a giant L with an impressive guest house, or perhaps servant's quarters, attached to the brown brick main building like it's a big gray period.

The yard is massive! Enclosed by rout iron attached to brick; there's a garden that doesn't seem to fit the exterior that almost holds a haunting quality about it; you'd almost expect Hellhounds to be sniffing around for where they buried bodies. A place like this, that reeks of peonies, could be beautiful in the day and cryptic by night. Even the defenseless hedges with the little white flowers engulfing the house's waistline seem menacing. Guess that's life with Kira living under the same roof.

Shaking his head, Matt mutters after a low whistle. "If I'm not staying, I'm stealing." He looks down beside him to grab the bags the driver removed from the trunk for them.

He must have completely missed the grim atmosphere, taken completely by the over-sized wonder of it all.

Righting his head, Mello slaps Matt on the gut with the back of his hand. "Come on."

The pair arrived at the front door after several minutes of walk up the long driveway. Matt knocked on the door; Mello instantly went for the handlebar knob. They eye each other curious of what the other was thinking. Looks like Matt got the point on that one because the door was locked.

"Is there a bell?" Matt asks. Reaching past Mello, he presses the golden dash.

It almost sounded like a gong had gone off if the chime were on repeat. It was more like the ringing of a grandfather clock marking the hour.

"That's a bit much." Mello comments.

The two perk up when one of the front doors opens. A tallish elderly man stands before them. He almost seems like someone out of the 1800s with the coat-tails he's sporting and white gloves. He smiled at them and gave a low bow.

"Salutations. Je suis Bertrand Duvernay."

Nodding, Mello puts on a pleasant enough smile. "Je suis Mello, et voici Matt." He cocks his head in Matt's direction.

"Oui, bien sûr. Nous vous attendions." Stepping aside, he sweeps his arm into the home. "Je vous prie d'entrer."

"Merci." Mello walks in, with Matt shadowing.

Reaching for their major luggage, he says when lifting them. "Permettez-moi de prendre vos sacs."

Mello and Matt follow after the man, down a long white foyer that's colored over in a soft cream glow from the antique wall sconces. The entire home is lined like the outside, only with wood paneling instead of greenery. Planks of the dark wood line the white walls in a lattice pattern; the 20 feet of walk lead them to a set of stairs that break off into two directions leading to one destination.

"Are we gonna have to speak French the whole time we're here?" Matt whispers to Mello.

Mello looks at the butler, or possibly just the doorman. "Parlez-vous anglais?"

"Ah, yes. Of course." He addressed them from over his shoulder, continuing down the hall for them to follow after. "Would you like for me to take your bags to your rooms while you dine on a late lunch, or would you rather retire until dinner is served?"

"Right. Rooms. And by rooms, we're talking how far apart?" Mello readjusts his bags before taking the stairs. Their footsteps are muffled by a thick green runner laying in the center of the stairs.

"That would be right down the corridor." Replies Bertrand. "One past master Near's."

Not something he wanted to hear or get used to. The little brat had better want to trade; the last thing he wants is to keep passing by the door to get to Matt's room, and having those condescending eyes glancing at him.

"This room is yours, master Mello." He turns the key in the lock, then pushes the door open to stick the bags in by the entry on the inside.

Mello glances into the room and continues down the hall with Duvernay and Matt; who seemed like he would have remained at Mello's room if he hadn't come along. It would seem that even in the lap of luxury, Matt's anti-social skills remain on a decline. God help them if they had to intercom for food. Although, he's used to being behind the scenes, so he wouldn't have a problem with that.

"And this room is yours, Master Matt." He replays his actions from over at Mello's room of unlocking the door, then setting the bags down inside.

"The green button calls the servants' pantry, the yellow the servants' house next door. The red one is for the home, and you only have to press a numbered button for the room you'd like to speak. The setting is left on 'All' unless you change it."

"15?" Mello looks at the intercom number panel.

"Not including the bathrooms. The manor has a total of 27 rooms." Watching the two look about like a couple of bobbleheads, he smiles warmly. "I'll leave you to get unpacked."

Before he left, he walked over to Matt's bed, turning it down for him. In case, he wanted to take a jet-lagged nap. "Bons messieurs du soir." Bowing he walks out of the room, and straight to Mello's to turn his bed down next.

Alone. Matt spreads his arms and whirls with a look of joyous baffle upon his face. "Are you freakin' kidding me?" He chuckled. "This place is a palace!" Walking over to an area that he's most comfortable, a large cherry wood desk; he runs his hand across the smooth polished reddish finish like he was touching something private.

Removing the satchel holding his laptops from around his shoulder, he sets it on the desk then removes its contents. The two high-power laptops look completely at home on the desk. He would set up a tower computer as soon as he locates one good enough to use for the case.

"How long do you think the squirt's been here?" He asks offhandedly.

"Hn. Probably days." He couldn't care less. Near is gonna be so far from his mind during this investigation, the little twirp'll have to name the uncharted location. "You know how punctual he is with one-uping me."

Merely taking in a lung full of air, he audibly releases it through his nose in response. Turning around to face the desk he'd leaned on, Matt raises his computer screens.

Figuring he wasn't going to get more from Matt than that; after all, he hates Near on his behalf, he says. "L said he'd be here in a week," He'd opened a monogram e-mail with the vocal information. "but we can go to the site ourselves whenever we want."

"You can go. I'm gonna bathe first; I seriously doubt piles of sponge-baths left me with any humanity beyond my voice."

Mello only smiled, as if to say that he wasn't planning on saying anything about it himself. "I'll see if Jeeves can get you something to eat when you're done."

"Okay." He's standing at the third door he's opened in his search for the bathroom, luckily finding it on that try.

When Matt disappeared in a brief striptease through the bathroom entrance, Mello took his leave out into the hall. Looking passed Matt's bedroom in the direction they hadn't come from; a butler moved just out of his view. He must be assigned to this floor, it looked like a different man than the one who'd shown them to their rooms.

He doesn't need anything in regards to towels et cetera, so he walks back the way they came through when arriving, to get back to the foyer. "Now where is the kitchen?" He thinks out loud while his eyes steal directions.

The wood paneling darkened just about every inch of the hall; large arched windows that open like french doors are spaced along the corridor. Sunlight beams in from outside, but only through the amount of space the width of the window's framing allows, almost like it's afraid to overstep its boundaries of the window, leaving the darkness to occupy everything in between.

Whatever boyhood he had left in him- and it ain't much- was tempted to jump up into the air, hand extended, to see if he could touch the ceiling that's 6′5" from the floor in this hall. But he strolled down the hall waiting to either come across the kitchen or have Duvernay pop up and escort him there.

"Figures you'd be in a room like this," Mello says when spotting the albino figure through an open door.

Near is sitting at a thick wooden table, in a blue padded chair that swivels; 3 puzzles dumped into a single pile, 3 judging by the three centers started before the younger detective that is all different pictures.

Near picks a puzzle piece from the pile, slapping it into place on the right-side puzzle. "Privet, Mello." He doesn't glance up at him, knowing his usual reaction whenever he speaks to him. "YA ne znayu, chto vy pribyvali segodnya."

"Spare me." He resisted rolling his eyes when spoken to in his native tongue. Near knew they were coming today. Approaching the table, he leans his hands on to it, slumping forward a bit in a lean.

"Should we start the investigation together, or would you rather go it alone?" He didn't have to say 'again' but it hung there where it wanted to be.

"Drop the pleasantries. The only reason I'm working this case with you is because L asked me to."

"Hn." His finger is now absently twirling a lock of his hair while he selects another piece from the pile to slap in place of the center puzzle. "Same Mello as always." He sets another few pieces into place, keeping his gaze on his activity. "It'd be a refreshing change to simply work together, but if you'd like to make it a competition for the predecessor, I'm game."

Why does every word out of this brat's mouth make his blood boil?

A couple thumps sound behind him, and he turns to see Duvernay standing in the entry way. "I see you two have found each other. Wonderful,"

He meant to say more, but Mello cut-in at his pause. "I didn't mean to, I was looking for the kitchen."

"Right this way. I have prepared a pre-dinner snack for you."

"It's not for me, it's for Matt." Straightening, he walks to the door. "He's in the shower, so you can bring it up in an hour or so; I'll be heading out for a while."

"As you wish. The lot has vehicles for your use." He shows him the kitchen's location. "Master L has informed me to give you anything you may need."

Almost burdened in polite conversation, he says casually. "I'll let you know." Glancing at the walls, he asks. "Keys?"

"In the lot. They're all labeled for easy use."

He exits the kitchen to, obviously, be followed to the garage, or "lot" as he called it.

The two make their ways down the hall to a short descent of stairs, the door at the end is opened revealing an underground garage. The lights flicker on, creating their own hum of sound in the otherwise quiet room.

Mello had to swallow back the excitement that the bikes gave to him. He couldn't believe the selection; between beauties meant to look at- though driveable, would you? And others meant for cruising the streets, and just making society sick with envy. Sportbikes for getting around. And the one that could have dropped him into bed for a month... a sleek black, silver trimmed, Ferrari motorcycle. Shaped like a thick handled dumbbell, cylinder wheels, and an engine that could annihilate avalanche territory without disturbing a flake from the powder; Mello felt himself wettening.

"Keys?" He asked, glad he kept it together enough to do so.

Duvernay showed him to the wall. A corkboard hangs there, with hooks holding each key; a label-maker label is stuck to the board just above the key telling which mode of transportation it belongs to.

"I shouldn't be too long." He informs the man.

Mounting the motorcycle, he grabs the helmet from the handle slipping it over his head. Lowering the visor to give him a sort of alien appearance with his scrawny body and over-sized head with the helmet on it, he gave the man a nod before making the engine purr his departure.

0 0 0

London. Though he was sent here after his narrow escape from death by a killer notebook, he didn't exactly spend his days and nights hopscotching through the strip like a teenager. He watched the news, he asked for reports, he climbed the walls, wrecked the hotel room, bit the damned bellboy! Anything to keep his ass in London, when he should have gone back to Japan to finish catching Kira.

Not exactly being dead seemed to be working for L, so what was wrong with some help?

The smooth ride to the rowhouses was a blur, and he doesn't need the address written down in order to spot the home that's become a crime scene. There's police tape stretched across the entrance just inviting vandals in, along with squatters to the vacancy. Society. Always ready to contaminate the scene of the crime. The reason for taking another sweep of the place is because it isn't enough to look at the police information; with them, there's always the chance of something being missed. Training 101: Eyes see different things, so don't rely on someone else's.

Walking up the stairs; the side of his mouth twitched in annoyance spotting the removed tape on the lower part of the door. Removing his Colt 1911-22 22LR handgun, a deep silver piece- because it's perfect for concealment, over his favored desert eagles that are black and gold- he stopped himself; this is exactly why he was left in London. He's rash. Even if he'd been in on the perfect plan of action, he'd of formulated his own and acted on it.

Stuffing the piece of metal back in its resting place beneath his back waistband, Mello decides vocal abuse will be enough to remove the intruder. Walking through the door, the broken tape made it easy for him to just slip beneath it rather than removing it all himself. He steps into the home, looking around the darkened room.

Grunting from a strike on the butt, he staggers forward a couple steps then turned around to smash in the face of the little shit who'd attacked him, only to find himself face to face with the barrel of his gun. His vision focuses just passed the hole, coming in contact with the eyes of one of Near's men; who continues to aim at him. A blond man, he can't address by name.

Letting the gun fall limp on his finger like it was a child's toy, the man showed he meant no harm by holding his hands up in peace. "You should watch where you keep your gun... If I were anyone else, I could have killed you."

'So much for working together, he's already got his team out here.' Snatching his gun back, he returns it to where he will always keep it though he'll be a little more cautious when passing entry ways.

"We won't get in your way if you don't get in ours."

Mello didn't respond, his focus has already moved on to the crime scene.

The police have removed the bodies, and the outline tape given its place. Its. No longer a person. Just a body. A simple left behind shell. He'll go over the documented photos with Matt once they get back, but for now, he'll take his own.

The smell in the home is rank enough to burn the hairs from your nostrils: old blood, bowel movements, rotten innards. It never usually smells like this. How long were these people dead before the witness found them? If he were a lesser person, he would have thrown up, but he held it in from even gagging.

The 3 men work quietly around the room, swiftly and expertly. There was another one of Near's who'd joined them from upstairs. Near's men left before Mello, having arrived earlier.

'I'd like to get a look at those photos,' He thinks. 'There's so much blood in one area, and almost a purposefully drizzled amount in the other.' Kneeling, he looks from the bloody chair arm then down along the dark pink carpet. 'The blood is so purposeful down the arm, but there's minimal spray on the carpet. A slit wrist would definitely have caused a broader spray... Something was either in its path from hitting the carpet or it got all over the person who did it. The only person in the room was the guy who claims he woke up in the massacre. Hmm?' He looks at the deep black puddle on the carpet where the other victims resided. 'Is it possible to wake up at the scene of the crime and have not done it?′

It seemed damned unlikely. He'll be around to questioning the victim slash witness later with Matt; the red head would also be around to go over this scene himself. Most people in their field of work would spot Matt in the room, his head down and playing a handheld game of some sort, and think he's just some hacker-gamer. Not very impressive in their eyes, considering 70% of an investigation is background checking, timeline creating, victim comparing, and delivering this information to the field team, so, no... it's more along the lines of 87%.

But they're all a bunch of big-headed, overly-self worth inflated dicks who think the arrest is the end-all be-all. The end of it is the true goal, but getting them there is the level of worth. And Matt is worth 100 arrests plus on his own. He's also trained in the field of forensics because of his specialty. In other words, a Jack-of-All-Trades. Perfect for a man in the shadows. He's almost positive that if he didn't just wave away being L's successor, Matt would have taken it from a field guy like Mello, and an analyst like Near a long time ago.

Although, now that they're working legitly, there's no need for him to hack the London police department. They're willingly given the files; not like with Kira when the SPK had taken over. But Near's team was not the problem, it was the bumbling KTF (Kira Task Force) that made catching a solitary man and his goons almost next to never.

Their ignorance for the truth just got a lot of people hurt or killed, all for the kept vanity of a genius pretty-boy with the usual God-complex brought on overseeing, all too vividly, what's wrong with the world? Where it's true the wrong in the world enough to drive anyone mad with this bit of lunacy that drives people to murder, and the next to no reason at all killers... Ugh! He even could have applauded the reasoning for Kira's actions- if it were possible to work. But where there's power, there's ego. And where there's ego, there's pettiness. That sort of perfect world ruler... It creates an abnormal peace, so it could never have worked.

He smiled a tiny little smirk over the pretty-boy comment. Light's good-looking, there's no denying it. But he wondered how he'd fare with a scar like his? Ha. Even the one on his chest and shoulder would be too much for Kira to handle, even as private knowledge. It makes no difference to Mello, though. He wasn't about to go crying to a hospital and be caught by those idiots working against the right people. There's no time to feel pain when shits hittin' the fan, before or after. He's just lucky Matt was standing by to put him out before the flames could swallow him worse.

Doesn't mean he isn't pissed it had to happen. He winks his right eye, musing bitterly over the blur there. The immense heat almost took his vision completely. His ear wasn't as lucky since the thin cartilage burnt up almost completely. He can still hear, so why complain?

'There were no deaths upstairs according to the police report, but I'll take some shots just to be sure.'

Walking up the stairs, he checks through every room documenting each corner, and whole, through photographs. After leaving the home he restores the police tape to where it had been over the door, then heads back to the manor.

x x x

Commentary: I'm gonna do the best I can! Ever since I was little I had an obsession with mysteries, so I can only hope to showcase something good through that, because its not my first time doing a to-the-plot Death Note, because I do all that other junk with them but in AU.

Anything you do to this story: review, favorite, alert or just read is very appreciated and thank you. If you'd like to bash me, then I hope something constructive comes out of it, and not just "this stinks" doesn't tell me much as to why, so how can I improve? *extreme close-up of intense eyes full of wonder* ahaha.

I almost forgot, I'm trying something new with my usual way of working, I always update a week after the last chapter, but this time I'm gonna take it as it comes to me.



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