Author's Note: Hello there, brave readers! Thank you for giving my story a chance. This is the first fanfic I've written in years and I'm certain there is a lot wrong with it, but I figured I would post it in the interest of improving my writing. Death Note has become a bit of an obsession with me lately, which is odd and refreshing cause I haven't had a fandom in a very long time. Funny how you can't choose your fandoms… One day you're watching some anime in an attempt to kill boredom, then BOOM! You wake up as a fangirl.
Anywho… This story is meant to elaborate on Mello's thoughts in regard to B. In Another Note, Mello refers to B as his "great and respected predecessor" and says that B's actions influenced him. That piqued my interest and so I decided to try and build a story around it.
I hope you enjoy, or at least walk away without feeling like you wasted your time.
Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note or any of the characters used in this story.
An interesting thing happens when one forms a bond with a person who has already passed: a person they know they can never meet. Masks come off, scripts are shredded, and one is truly honest with themselves. There is no point in acting because there is nothing to gain. There is nothing to prove…
Not to the other, unreachable person at least. The scrutiny of one's own soul that such a bond induces is another story altogether. There must be some excuse for why spare time is now spent in the company of dusty notes and eerie photographs. Rationality demands a reason, but in the end the only answer is irrationality itself. It is our wild, sentimental humanity pushing us towards some greater understanding.
When L first told me about the man called B, and planted the seeds that would grow into one part obsession and one part impossible friendship, I was no more than fourteen and the world was still sane.
The excitement bubbling in my gut made anything more than fidgeting difficult as I sat in an uncomfortable wooden chair waiting for the arrival of the greatest man in the world. Even the pleasant chill hanging in the early January air did nothing to distract me.
What time was it? There was no clock in here. Why wouldn't they put a clock in here?
Just as I was starting to count back the milestone moments of my day for an estimate, the heavy door behind me creaked. I eagerly turned my head and saw Roger enter carrying what looked like a black suitcase. He gave a small, bent-armed wave with his free hand and circled around to the chair opposite me where he deposited the suitcase with a quiet thump.
Before I could demand the time or the status of L's whereabouts, another man entered the room, closing the door behind him. The first thought to cross my mind was that he looked like a ridiculous inverted turnip with his pale face and mass of black, leafy hair. The clothes he wore were plain and baggy and his feet were as bare as mine. Without looking at me, he made his way to the chair next to the suitcase where, instead of sitting, he tucked himself up into a compact, gargoyle-esque crouch.
"Thank you, Roger," he said in a calm voice, nodding to the older man. "You may leave us now."
I wondered why this man had made Roger carry his suitcase, but the piercing stare he turned at me chased the thought from my mind. He sat in silence for a moment watching me with those dark, unblinking eyes. Was it my imagination or did he seem nervous? No, not nervous… He just couldn't think of what to say.
"Mello, correct?" he asked finally, breaking the tense silence.
"Yes," I replied not taking my eyes off of him.
The room lapsed into another quiet state until the man awkwardly held out his hand to me.
"I'm L."
My whole body went numb with shock and, despite my best efforts, I could not control the exclamation that forced its way from my mouth.
"You're L?"
Immediately I regretted my words, knowing that I had shown a terrible amount of disrespect. If it were anyone else I wouldn't have cared, but this was L.
The man nodded, still holding out his hand.
"Don't worry, Mello," he said with a gentle smirk. "I pictured you as taller. It seems we were both operating under wrong assumptions."
I gawked at him stupidly for a few seconds before putting my hand in his. His handshake was light and fragile, as if he were afraid of breaking my wrist.
"Let's get down to business then, shall we? There's a lot I would like to tell you and we have only so much time."
I was hoping he would introduce himself a little more elaborately, or at least share a conversation with me, but it seemed he was intent on sharing nothing more than investigative memories.
He opened the black suitcase and pulled out a mess of papers, making a futile show of organizing them before speaking again.
"Ever heard of the Los Angeles BB Murder Cases?"
To this day I do not know why L told me the stories of his past exploits. Back then I was satisfied to believe that it was because he liked me better than Near, but I'm beginning to think it was because he knew I would take them to heart. For all Near's intelligence, he lacked emotion. Every academic novel we read, regardless of content or mood, always got thrown under the wheels of his overly analytical mind. While the rest of the class wept for a tragic character, Near dissected the diction and word choice of the author. Perhaps L wanted to make sure his memories never suffered such a hollow fate.
"So, the murderer, this Beyond Birthday guy… He was from Wammy's?" I asked when L had finished his story.
"Yes," L replied, turning his eyes to the ground.
"How come I've never heard of him?"
L paused.
"Nobody really likes to talk about B… or that time in general. It was a dark era rife with irreversible mistakes."
The tone in L's voice made me shiver. He had been able to describe the details of Beyond Birthday's killings with a straight face and a composed voice, but now that he had to address the killer as a person, he faltered. I never even knew L was capable of faltering.
"I'm leaving this suitcase with you," L said with finality, making it clear that this subject was now off limits. "You can research what you want to know on your own. For now, we must move on."
There was something intriguing about L's reaction that only strengthened my desire to know more about B. When L began to tell his other stories, it took an unbelievable amount of restraint not to be completely distracted. Why weren't there notes about the other investigations in there? Why bother putting anything into a suitcase at all if he could clearly remember the details he needed? Had he intended to give the suitcase to me the whole time?
As soon as I got back to my room later that night I tore into the contents of the suitcase with hungry vigor. At first, my roommate, Matt, paid it no mind as he was safely buried in a video game, but soon enough minutes turned to hours, and even he could not ignore my choice of activity any longer.
"Are you still digging through your luggage library, Mello?"
"Yeah."
"You know it's past midnight, right?"
"You're still up too, what do you have to complain about?"
"Who said I was complaining? I'm just curious. You haven't moved in nearly an hour."
"Neither have you."
"Yeah, but I'm building the ultimate team to take down the dragon emperor," Matt said, getting to his feet and pulling his face into a silly, satisfied smile. "I have an excuse."
When I showed no acknowledgment of Matt's virtual accomplishment he walked over to my side of the room and leaned over my shoulder.
"What's got you so captivated, anyway?"
I handed a pair of photographs backwards in a quick, forceful motion that took him by surprise.
"Photographs?" he asked, pushing his goggles up into his hair to get a better look. "Who are these guys?"
"A and B. They lived here at Wammy's before we arrived."
"Alumni, huh? So, what, do they work for L or something now?"
"No."
Matt looked at me questioningly as he set the pictures back on the bed.
"That one's dead," I said, pointing to A. "And that one's in jail."
A little bit of the color drained from Matt's face.
"Pleasant," he said sarcastically. "And this is what you've been looking at for the past four hours?"
"Yeah. It's fascinating."
"No, it's weird, Mello. You're acting like one of those war history buffs who hangs pictures of dead generals in their kitchen."
"Look at B in this picture," I said, once again acting like I didn't hear him. "Look at his eyes."
Matt picked up the picture again and held it to his face, turning it at all different angles.
"They're…um… scary?"
"Exactly. What do they remind you of?"
I was hoping to use this question as a stepping stone to a discussion about the shinigami eyes, but Matt's response stopped the dialogue cold.
"Actually," Matt said with a tiny chuckle. "They kinda remind me of you when you're planning something."
Up until that moment, the similarities I shared with B had been caught just below the surface of my perception. It was like a new bruise that had not yet gained its sickly color. In the weeks leading up to the distant killer's death, I would gain enough introspective knowledge to riddle myself with contusions.
Author's Note: That's all for now! I hope things didn't seem too out of character or disjointed. I'm still trying to get my "sea legs", if you will. There's a lot of things that bugged me about this chapter, but I wasn't quite sure how to address them, so they were left as is. The next chapter should hopefully be up sometime soon if this is met with a good response. Please leave a review if you liked the story or have any suggestions on how to make it better. Constructive criticism is appreciated, but please do not flame me. I'm way too easily burnt…