Childish
"Is all of that true, L?"
L looks over his shoulder at the boy as if startled by his voice, as if he had not known he was there. "Of course it is. I have no reason to invent such stories."
Mello, who has been sitting on the floor with his legs bent in front of him in a hopefully unconscious emulation of L, leans forward and grasps his feet in his hands. "Will you tell me another one?"
"I have the feeling it may be too late to do so. Roger would be unhappy with me if I were to keep you awake all night."
Mello makes a face. "Who cares about Roger? And you're up all night anyway. If you can do it, I can."
L glances at him, suddenly understanding what Watari had said to him about role models. He puts a strawberry in his mouth and ponders this.
"I can't believe you've done all that," Mello is saying wonderingly. "How old are you?"
L has to think. "Twenty two."
Mello tilts his head. "You're nearly twice as old as me. Do you think if I start now I can do as much as you have by the time I'm twenty two?"
"I couldn't say. But you should remember that I have had assistance."
"But you've also had loads of people trying to stop you," Mello argues. "It's all you, L. You'd have done it without help." He smiles, curling his toes backwards with his hands. "I'm going to write down what you told me. So I don't forget."
"I thought you had a good memory."
Mello grins. "I do. But I want to remember all the details. It won't make sense to me later unless I do."
L considers this for a few seconds, pushing off the table with his foot and spinning gently around to face the boy. "Why do you want to remember so badly?" he asks eventually.
"I don't want to, I need to. I can learn from it." Mello's eyes crease with confusion. "That's why I'm here, isn't it?"
L hesitates. He should have been careful. He has, after all, been warned that Mello has not been told the entire truth behind this meeting.
"We think he's becoming overly obsessive," Watari had said, adding with a sigh, "even for him. It's not healthy. Perhaps it might help him to talk to you face-to-face. Tell him how you solve your cases- the process behind it. Be… be modest. If at all possible."
"Yes," L says to Mello, struck with the sense that the conversation is not going as Watari had hoped, "that is correct of course. Do not forget to include how long each case took to solve in your report."
"I won't! Seven days, four days, nine days, right? That's so amazing, it's no time at all!"
"And remember to include the names of the people and organisations that assisted me," L says, his sudden sinking feeling only increasing.
"Yeah, the ones that helped by following your orders." Mello snorts contemptuously. "Never mind them. Just tell me about another case! What about the last one you solved? Was it a murder case? A mob group, maybe?"
"An arsonist," L says, and sighs. "I think you may be-"
"So he just set fire to someone's house? That's a bit boring. How many people were killed? Can I have some of your cake?" Mello scoops up some of the icing with his fingertip and licks it happily.
L frowns internally, but does not voice his annoyance. It is the custom to wait for permission to be granted, his mind says petulantly.
"Actually, it was politically motivated. He interfered with the gas in public buildings to cause an explosion. That was how I- we- were able to catch him. What time do you normally go to bed, Mello?"
Mello pouts. "You're not answering me properly! Why not? I thought I was supposed to learn from your example?" He dips his finger into the slice of cake again.
L pushes the plate towards him, giving up.
Mello's eyes light up. "Is this for me?"
"You can have it," L says.
Although L chose this phrase deliberately to indicate that the cake was certainly not intended for Mello's consumption, his look of pure joy as he accepts it indicates that the boy has not caught on to the implications. No matter; he can always get more cake.
"Did you get it because of my birthday?" Mello asks as he picks up the plate.
Oh.
Somebody could at least have had the decency to tell me, L thinks furiously as he struggles over his response. "Yes," when he settles for it, is dishonest but keeps Mello contented- and Watari would probably approve of the "human element" to it, he thinks wryly.
And indeed, Mello's lips part in a smile- not his usual grin, normally used to express triumph or to issue a challenge, but a smaller, less toothy version of it that ignites something in his eyes that is entirely new. He says nothing, simply looking at the cake for a moment, then using his thumb to smooth over the icing and nudge the crumbling edge of the slice back into shape.
L's eyes widen slightly as he takes note of this. Strange behaviour for one who had seemed so eager to eat earlier on. Is the cake not so appealing now that he has the official right to eat it? Or does the idea that it is a birthday gift change matters?
Mello places the plate on the ground beside him, still caressing the cake with his eyes. Interesting. Mello never seemed the type to want to prolong his own sensory enjoyment.
"Are you going to eat that?" L says, with more than one motivational factor behind the question.
Mello looks at him like he is coming out of a daze, and then breaks off a corner of the slice and eats it with his fingers, looking almost reluctant to do so.
Then, abruptly, he is on his feet. He crosses to the door, not hurrying but with an unfamiliar purpose and breadth to his steps, turns the key in the lock and sinks to his knees to look through the keyhole just as a knock sounds on the door.
Mello smiles in triumph. "I thought so." He lowers his head to the ground, stretching out sideways, and peers under the door. "Brown shoes. Roger, not Watari."
"Indeed, Watari always wears black shoes. But what are you doing?" L says mildly.
Mello sits back up, looking dishevelled. "He's come to send me to bed and I don't want to go. You don't mind, do you L?"
"You certainly reacted quickly," L murmurs.
"Years of experience."
The knock sounds again, this time accompanied by a voice inquiring after L's presence.
"Let's be quiet and pretend we're not here," Mello says, his voice hushed and excited.
"But the door is locked. How could the room be empty?"
"This is your room- he's not going to try the door if he doesn't get a reply."
The door handle rattles.
"No way," Mello says, sounding outraged. "You'd think he'd give you a bit of privacy."
L thinks something about pots and kettles and gets to his feet. "I see no purpose in this façade. Yes, who is knocking please?"
"That's a façade too! You know it's Roger," Mello hisses as the voice confirms just that.
"I'm afraid it's getting late and Mello needs his sleep. Will you let me in please, L?"
"There is a difference between pretending not to be here and wanting to know for certain who is knocking on my door," L retorts to Mello, ignoring Roger's request and lowering his voice despite himself.
"Maybe there is, but that's not why you asked who was knocking, is it?" Mello says, grinning slyly.
"Apparently not."
"It isn't. You didn't want him to realise that I'd looked under the door."
"Why would I want to conceal that information?"
"Because once I'd looked and you hadn't stopped me, you were a part of it."
L raises his eyebrows.
"Will you open the door? This is very childish."
"What do you expect, Roger?" Mello yells over his shoulder as if the door is the middle-aged man in question. "I am a child."
Roger's voice falters. "Mello… you locked the door?"
"Yeah, I did. I can have a late night, can't I Roger? You're always so boring about this…"
"Interesting that he thought it was me," L says thoughtfully.
Roger is sounding increasingly frustrated. "Mello, I wouldn't mind letting you have a late night if it really was just this once. But you never go to bed when you're told to."
"That's because I'm not tired!"
"Maybe we wouldn't have this problem if L slept normally…" There is a sigh, then the sound of heavy footsteps walking away.
"He is not giving up," L says.
Mello snorts. "He never gives up. He's probably gone to get a key. Or backup." He takes another small piece of cake in his hand, tilts his head back and drops it into his mouth.
"You are not concerned?"
"Why should I be?"
"It is increasingly likely that Roger will enter this room by force."
"Oh. No, that doesn't bother me." Mello smiles at L in that different, almost affectionate way again. "I just want to talk to you for longer, and I think if you want to as well then you'll be able to stop him."
"What if I do not stop him?"
Mello shrugs, licking his fingers. "Then you don't want to talk to me and I wouldn't have been able to get anything out of you anyway."
"You are very confident in your analysis."
"Well, it's not like I could make you do anything you don't want to, is it? You're too smart for that."
"That is a fairly generalised statement. Although it is true that I am rarely forced to do something that I do not wish to do." L sits again, this time in the armchair, resting one foot on the cushioned seat behind him before folding his other leg up to join the first.
Mello watches this manoeuvre in interest before getting to his feet, picking up what remains of the cake and walking purposefully towards L. The man does not react to this, simply observing his approach with unblinking eyes.
"Here." Mello pushes the plate forwards, practically under L's nose. "Have some."
"I said you could have it."
"I know, but you want it, right?" Mello breaks off a bit of cake and proffers it.
L hesitates, vaguely bemused by the sight of pale, crumbling cake and sticky icing held between small blunt fingers. "I… would normally use a fork."
"Well there isn't one."
L is fairly certain that in fact there is, somewhere, and Mello has simply ignored it from the start. He does not mention this, however, and merely peers at Mello's face like he is trying to construct a mathematical formula from it. "I am not sure what you are trying to-"
He breaks off in complete numb shock as Mello lunges forwards and pushes the cake into his mouth. His horror only increases when the boy extricates his hand only to lick remnants of icing off his own fingertips.
"Do you understand what an unhygienic thing you just did?" L says after a long silence.
Mello looks honestly bewildered. "So what? It's not like my hands are dirty or anything."
"Actually, your body contains more micro-organisms than it does human cells-"
"You're being boring…"
L has been interrupted, another thing that rarely happens.
"It doesn't matter, ok?" Mello says, offering him another piece of the cake, and then eating it himself when he receives no response. "Sometimes it's ok to forget about all that."
"You are a very forceful person," L says, looking at him with enough candour to make Mello squirm.
Then the door rattles again.
"L? Are you in there?"
"That's Watari, isn't it?" Mello says around a mouthful of cake crumbs.
"It is."
"L, we need you to open the door. It's very late; all the children are in bed."
"Doubt it," Mello snorts.
"There's a spare key in the office. If you don't answer in a minute, we can go and get it," Roger's voice says.
"They only talk to you," Mello comments, "like I've got nothing to do with it."
"Yes. But they treat me like a child."
Mello flings the plate, still containing at least a third of the cake, down on the table. "L?"
"Yes?"
"They're coming in soon."
"I know."
"So can I hug you goodbye?"
This entire conversation has been nothing but consecutive surprises for him, L reflects even as Mello wraps his arms around his shoulders. The hug is less than comfortable- in fact, it feels more like a martial arts hold than an embrace- and surely Mello's breathing must be restricted by L's knees pressing into his chest? But then Mello lets go and pulls on L's ankles so that his feet slip forwards from under him, there is an uncomfortable shift of pressure in his knees, and he finds himself sitting with his feet on the ground, completely bewildered. This feeling only worsens as Mello tugs him into a hug again, even scrambling up with one leg on the seat of the chair so that he is almost in L's lap.
Really, L thinks, this has gone too far. But pushing him away would be disastrous. Mello is so attached to him that a rejection could be catastrophic- in a psychological sense as well as a physical one. Besides, Mello has made a fist in the front of his shirt and another in his collar, obviously doing his best to make himself a permanent accessory of L's shirtfront.
"L?" he says, his voice muffled.
"Yes?"
"You're cold. You should wear warmer clothes."
"Perhaps I should ask Watari to buy me some."
Mello smiles against his shoulder, and then turns his head and presses his ear against L's chest. "L?"
"Yes?"
"I can feel your heart."
"Can you?"
"It's weird, like being in your head…" Mello releases his hold on L's collar and moves his hand around to his own chest. "I never thought about it."
Both their pulses jump a little as another noise outside breaks the silence: a key turning in the lock, followed by a brief few words from Watari, then the door opening.
"Mello, for goodness' sake, you're falling asleep!"
"I'm not," Mello protests as he is lifted bodily into the air. For an older man, Roger is surprisingly strong, L notes. All of his running around after children must keep him fit.
"Please try not to keep the children awake past their bedtime," Roger says to L with the air of a martyred saint making his final request. L does not respond, favouring silence over a lengthy explanation. It was evidently the right choice, as Roger does not linger, marching out of the room with Mello held at arms' length, pinned by the shoulders and forced to walk. The boy turns his head and casts a quick backwards glance at L as he reaches the door, but is quickly whisked out of sight.
"Really," Watari is sighing, "what happened this time? Roger probably won't let you meet any of the other children after this."
"I was trying to do what you asked me," L says, folding his knees up again and moving the plate of cake crumbs into his lap. "I am not sure whether I succeeded; he is surprisingly stubborn."
Watari raises an eyebrow. "He certainly seemed to be getting his own way, it must be said. But you may have got through to him?"
"Maybe," L says. He pauses, trying to think of a good way to explain it, and then gives up and scoops up some crumbs in his fingers. "He could feel my heart, you see."
Author's notes: Why hello, fanfiction dot net. It's been a while. And what better way to return than with a fic involving my two favourite characters?
Reviewers get cake and hugs. :D