A/N: Greetings! This is the first fanfic I've written in many years, and I am extremely excited to finally share it with the world. I've written various other fanfics in the past, but was not inspired to write another until relatively recently, when I finished reading the Death Note series. Folks, I am obsessed with this manga. OBSESSED. I think it's reached a point where it actually might be starting to frighten my friends and family…

But enough about that. Much as I loved and enjoyed Death Note, there was, I quickly realized, one crucial thing missing: a romance plot. And no, Light and Misa DO NOT count.

I absolutely love the idea of Hal Lidner and Mello, odd as that may sound. There are little hints throughout the manga (not so much in the anime) that Hal had a "thing" for Mello. He didn't really reciprocate, but I like to think there was a part of him that respected and even admired her. I am basing this fanfic on that idea. I tried to keep as true to Mello's voice as I possibly could—as true as you can remain to the voice of a sociopath, that is—and can only hope that the narration ends up doing what I intended. It's a one-shot, but my goal was to flesh Mello out a bit and to give a little insight as to why he decided to do what he did right before his death. It's a shame what happened to him, really, and if I'd written Death Note I'd have done Mello's story differently. I think the character had so much potential. Such a waste.

Anyway, I'll shut the hell up now. XD I hope you enjoy! Leave a review (if you have the time) and let me know what you thought. All commentary is welcome; just try not to be an asshole about it. Thanks. Much obliged.

Pointless Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note. Trust me, if I did, I wouldn't be working retail right now.

Monster

I don't even know why I'm doing this. Writing this down, I mean. It's not going to change anything, and it's most certainly not going to atone for any of my past wrongdoings. But I just want to set the record straight. There seems to be a consensus among nearly everyone involved in this race—for that is truly what it is: a contest, a rush to the finish line, an intellectual war, not an investigation—that I, Mello, am an impulsive psychopath with no honor, no principles and, ultimately, no respect for humanity.

And they're right.

If I were to guess, I'd say that that likely isn't at all what you were expecting to hear. You were probably expecting me to try to justify everything I've done. No, worse, you were probably expecting me to delve into some long, sappy memoir that would serve as an explanation for how I went from an innocent schoolboy without a sin to his name to the ruthless, hot-headed son of a bitch that I am now. And I could do that, if I really wanted to. I could play the orphan card. I could weave you a tale of woe—how I never knew either of my parents, how I never had any real direction in my life. How, as a child, I was burdened with pressure from my mentors to be the best at everything and how later, as a teen, I got involved with bad people, people who undoubtedly had a lot of influence on my behavior and choices. I could then conclude with a psychological analysis of my character, stating that, in the end, I'm merely a product of my environment and that, deep down, I'm just a lost, lonely boy looking for his place in the world and am not truly to blame for the way I turned out.

Again, I could do that. I'm not going to, though, because it would be bullshit. No, I openly admit to having committed a great deal of atrocities, atrocities that in any decent, civilized society would be punishable by death. And yet, in spite of that, I have the audacity to say that I don't regret my actions in the least.

Confused? You should be. But I promised myself I would be honest with you, and to say that I wish I had done things differently would be an outright lie. I don't regret having a desire to prove myself, and I most certainly don't regret the steps I took in order to achieve the recognition that I know I deserve. I don't regret storming out of Wammy's House at age fifteen, bound and determined to show the world that I was both more intelligent and more capable than that big-headed twit Near. I don't regret flying to the States and joining forces with Rod Ross, and no, I don't regret carrying out the events that revolved around my attainment of the Death Note. I know that hearing that probably upsets you, but I won't deny it's true. Threatening the president, taking that Yagami girl hostage, killing all those hapless SPK agents, triggering that bomb in my mafia family's hideout…gritty and self-serving as my actions may have been, they were all necessary means to save my own skin and, primarily, to stay one step ahead of you and Near in the Kira investigation. And, for that, I will not say I'm sorry.

I will say one thing, though, and that's that I never meant for things to turn out this way. That may seem unlikely, given all I've just told you, but I said before that I wouldn't lie, and I meant it. I know you have your doubts about me, but I'm convinced there is in fact a small part of you that believes in me—or wants to—and it is for that reason that I have decided to entrust you with these words.

Though I don't regret the path I took in pursuit of my success, I do, in fact, wish there had been a different outcome. After recovering from my injuries in the explosion, I replayed the events of that day in my head over and over, searching desperately for something I could've done that might have prevented my plan from (literally) going up in flames. In the end, though, I realized that there was no point in asking myself what I could have done differently. What's done is done, and the only thing I can do now is try to make up for lost time.

I realize, of course, that I am currently no match for Near. I've lost possession of the Death Note, been stripped of my title as a Mafioso and, to make matters worse, have absolutely no allies whatsoever to speak of. None, that is, except for a notorious hacker with a serious death wish. And…well, maybe you too. I say "maybe" because, in truth, I'm not entirely sure whether we are allies or not. While I believe you when you say you have no real allegiance to Near, I know for a fact that you'd take me down in a heartbeat if I were to try to screw with one of his plans again. That being said, you have continued to provide me with information on the SPK's movements, as promised, and have complied with every single one of my demands up to this point. It's inconsistent, what you're doing, almost like you're trying to play the part of middle man. It's confounding.

No, it's infuriating.

Honestly. What is it with you, Hal? Whose side are you on? I remember what you said when I first asked you that question. You looked me right in the eye without even the slightest hint of fear, and you told me: "I'm on no one's side. I just want Kira to be caught." I relayed those words in my head for days, and as much as it pisses me off to say it, eventually I came to realize I respected—no, admired—you for having such a noble aspiration.

You might want to read that again, because it's not every day that I give someone a genuine compliment. Even though I hate saying it, I really do admire you, Hal. I admire you, first and foremost, for your goodness of character. That might seem like an odd thing for a criminal like me to say, but when you stop to consider how few truly good people I've encountered in my short life…well, it shouldn't be all that surprising.

Let's not kid ourselves here, though. While goodness is certainly a rarity in my daily experience, I don't exactly go out of my way to seek or manifest it, nor will I ever. It's just not who I am, and it's not something I really care about. No, I chose to work with you for one reason and one reason alone, Hal, and it wasn't because you're good. It's because of how much you remind me of L.

During my years as a student at Wammy's House I was one of the few apprentice detectives who was given the privilege of listening in on L's computerized lectures from time to time. A topic he spoke on rather frequently was his inability to get any real kind of grasp on human feeling and emotion. The fact seemed to bother him deeply. It must have, otherwise I doubt he would've brought it up so much. The first time he mentioned it, though, I was struck with the instant realization that I too had such a handicap. Matters of the heart have always been strange and foreign to me, and although I do catch glimpses of raw emotion every now and then in others, all my life I have found that, most the time, I am simply unable to understand or participate in sentimental affairs of any kind. Not unwilling, necessarily. Just unable.

And maybe that's how I got to be where I am now. Maybe that's why I was insane enough to join the mafia, even when I knew full well of all I would have to do—of all the crimes I would have to commit—in order to get that bastard Rod to take me seriously. But I was also aware of all the mafia had to offer me, and that was ultimately why I decided that I didn't care about the risks involved. While the idea of running with mobsters didn't exactly appeal to me in the initial, I knew that their resources and manpower would be more than enough to aid me in my search for Kira. As a result, I did everything I could to prove myself to Rod and his men. I put my life on the line for them, more times than I'd care to acknowledge. I stole for them. I killed for them. And I did all of it without even blinking an eye.

Yet here I am, feebly trying to convince you that I'm not the terrible monster everyone seems to think I am. I don't know why I'm bothering. Frankly, I don't know why I even care what you think of me. For some reason it just feels important that I get this out of me. Again, I don't know why. It just does.

Listen to me, spewing all this fucking nonsense like some kind of common half-wit. Maybe Near's right. Maybe I am a joke. I can only imagine the way he reacted when you told him of the pathetic state I was in when you first met me. He probably scoffed at my idiocy. Hell, he's probably still mocking me right now, wherever he is. Probably back at the SPK headquarters, smirking behind some dumbass jigsaw puzzle. That fucking kid. He really does think I'm a failure, doesn't he? Yeah. But I guess now so does everyone else. Well, everyone save for you and Matt.

Or maybe I'm wrong. Maybe you think I'm a failure, too. You agreed to help me, and I used to think that meant that maybe you had some sort of small faith in me. But do you really? I don't see any reason why you should. In fact, it's just occurred to me that now, after reading this far, you may have decided you hate me after all. And if that were the case I wouldn't exactly blame you. I mean, I did just confess to being the blackguard who killed your colleagues. Who might've even killed you, had fate taken a different turn.

What, you thought I spared your life deliberately? I didn't. You, Rester and Gevanni just got lucky. The method I used to determine which SPK members lived and died was completely random. You want to know what I did? I'll tell you, though I assure that you aren't going to like it one bit. I had Snydar pull up a list of all the SPK members. Then I took a pen, closed my eyes, and touched the monitor three times. The three names I landed on were the ones that I instructed him not to write in the Death Note. There. That's it. Are you impressed? Elated? Grateful?

No? Good. You shouldn't be.

I won't deny that I'm glad you're alive, though. Yes, that's what I said. I'm glad you're still breathing, even knowing what an asset you are to Near. Now Rester and Gevanni? I don't give two shits about those imbeciles. But every time I think of how close I came to killing you, I pick up the phone and call you to ask for an update. Then, when I hear your voice, I mumble something stupid to make it sound like I had an actual purpose in calling you. Then I hang up and go about my regular business. But I feel different afterwards. I feel better, like a giant weight has been taken off my chest, almost…relieved.

Relief. Now that I think about it, it's probably the closest thing I'm ever going to get to happiness. Hmph. Not exactly ideal, but I guess I'll take what I can get.

Damn it all. I don't even really know what it is I'm trying to convey here. I just know that today might be my last day alive, and for some strange reason I've decided that I can't allow myself to be cast into oblivion without first giving you my gratitude. So...thanks.

I'll run that by you again, in case you blinked.

Thank you, Hal. And I don't just mean for helping me. I mean for treating me as an equal to Near—for making me believe that I still have a chance at nabbing Kira.

"We need you both." That's what you told me yesterday over the phone. "We need both you and Near to beat Kira. Without both of your efforts…we will undoubtedly fail." See, that's another thing I like about you, Hal. You're wise.

I too have always known that Near is no better than me, and deep down, I think he knows it too. I think somewhere in that big brain of his he also realizes that, without me, he can never hope to win against Kira. You were the first person other than me to ever see this reality. You—an outsider—were one of the few people I've ever known to be brave enough to look into my menacing eyes and see more than a heartless criminal with an evil agenda. From the very beginning, you regarded me with the same respect that you did Near, and unlike him, you took me seriously. You saw me as a potential comrade. You saw me as competent. You saw me as worthy. Then again…maybe I'm wrong. At this point, maybe you don't think I'm worthy of the dirt Near walks on. I don't know. What I do know, however, is that it was you who gave me the courage to do what I'm about to do, and so for that…thank you.

If I were someone else—anyone else—this would probably be the part where I tell you I love you. It would be the moment where I start waxing poetic, saying that you're the only person who's ever been able to look past even my most heinous faults and see the good that lies within. But alas, I am not someone else. I am Mihael Keehl, second successor to L, the runner-up, the leather-clad, wild-eyed genius who found all his life that he was capable of understanding and perfecting anything he put his mind to—anything, that is, except for basic human love and empathy.

Do you remember when you told me that you don't like Near because of how cold and calculating he is? How you doubt he's even once felt a shred of anything for anyone in his entire life? He and I might be polar opposites on varying levels, but when it comes to love we are one and the same. I don't love you, Hal. I don't love you, not because I don't want to, but because I can't.

And that's why I know that, on my own, I too will always be inferior to L. While Near and I certainly both lack any kind of real capacity for empathy, I will grudgingly admit that he is more like L than I could ever hope to be. Like me, Near does not comprehend love or compassion. Unlike me, however, he respects such emotions and makes practicing them an integral part of what he does. A lot like you. A lot like L. No, exactly like L. As for me? Well, we've already established that I don't do that. I acknowledge the existence of love and compassion; I just don't care about them. In my head, I never weigh right and wrong, good and evil, even though most the time I know unquestionably which is which. Rather than looking at things from a moral standpoint, I look at them from the perspective of one who is asking the question: Just how much can I get away with here? Not who will this hurt, what will the collateral damage be, or, is this really necessary? I just assess my best options and go with whatever plan I believe has the most promising outcome, regardless of who suffers as a result of it.

Maybe that does make me a monster after all. I don't know. I guess it's a moot point. As you said, in the end, all that matters is that Kira is captured. I may be a stubborn jackass, but I know with every fiber of my being that that is what L would also be saying right now if he were still alive. He would be disappointed in me. I know he would. He would tell me that I've been a fool. He would tell me to throw away my childish rivalries and end this madness once and for all. And so now that is exactly what I'm going to attempt to do.

If I die, then so be it. If not, I'll be hoping to see you at the end of the line.