Warning: Please heed the rating. This story contains graphic yaoi, language, violence, and spoilers. No offense is meant to anyone by anything I've written. Count on many religious themes.

Thanks To: Mihael Keehl and CabiidO, for their help with the little bit of Mexican-Spanish translations I needed. And Ketsi-Nushi, for answering all my questions about the good old land across the pond, the United Kingdom. And to all those readers of mine who waited so very patiently for this story to be released. Much love to ya' :)

Author's Note: On December 5, 2004, Mello left Wammy's House (Death Note volume 13, page 98). On October 11, 2009 Rod says that Mello had been with them for one and a half years (Death Note volume 7, page 198). Therefore, for roughly three and a half years Mello was on his own, and for one and a half years he was with the mafia without even moving against Kira. That's a time gap of five years in which nothing is seen nor heard of Mello. The whole purpose of this story is for me to fill in the time gap with my own imaginings. There shall be more explanation from me at the bottom of the page, but for now, here is Chapter 1.

"Mello…and Near. Come to my room."

…

L is…what?

No. That's not possible. I've heard wrong, I've misunderstood. L swore he would see Kira brought to justice. It isn't possible that he…that he would…No. No, don't say this to me Roger. What am I supposed to do? If L is…

If L is dead…

Then he must have chosen. Which of us did he…? I don't want to ask. I can't stand to. Sickening fear and anxiety have settled in my stomach. I'm going to vomit…no. Don't. But my hands are shaking, my head feels light. I can see that boy, Near, in my peripheral vision. Sitting upon the floor, calm, uncaring. Slowly fitting the pieces of the puzzle into place, not looking up, not reacting. And his words…

"If you can't beat the game…"

No. No, no, no. I have to know. I worked so hard. I've tried and tried. Surely I was good enough; L must have known, he must have understood,how badly I wanted this, to take his place. Surely he would have chosen me.

"If you can't solve the puzzle…"

But I doubted myself. I always had. Immediately dozens of things flashed through my mind. Test scores, so very close to being the highest. Not good enough. Questions I was asked, the answers I gave. They had been intelligent and detailed, but not as much as they should have been. They could have been better, I could have done better, I should have…

"You're nothing but a loser."

L…didn't choose…

It was a relief. Yet, just as quickly as I felt the relief course through me, anger was quick to follow. Then what now? What was to happen? It wasn't as simple as this! L was gone; someone had to take his place! I deserved it more, I wanted it more, I needed it more. I clenched my teeth tight, trying to fight down the bile rising up in my throat. I could hardly get my breath. I wanted to scream, to yell at them. Work with Near? How dare Roger suggest it? How dare he! Was he mocking me? No, no, I knew he wasn't but…Near…I bit my lip hard. Near had agreed with it, he didn't care.

I felt as if I was suffocating. It was too much. I wouldn't work with him. I would never work with that little bastard! This was supposed to be my triumph, I should have been chosen. L should have…he should have chosen…this shouldn't have happened! L wasn't supposed to die!

I couldn't stay in this house. I'd rejected working with Near, so that meant he would take L's place, alone. He'd won. I couldn't walk these halls any longer knowing that. I couldn't look at the kids and feel them looking back, knowing that I'd lost. I was done here. Wammy's House had given me everything it could. There was only one choice remaining for me. I had to do it myself. My own way.

I left Roger's room without looking back, not daring to let them see my face when my eyes were filled with tears of frustration. 'It's not fair,' I thought desperately, and even as I did I stumbled slightly, my stomach knotting. I covered my mouth quickly. Don't do it, don't. Be strong, stop crying. My things…I would need clothes.

I went to my room and stuffed whatever I could into a single knapsack. The sock of money under my mattress…some 49 pounds about, I didn't know how long it would last me, but I couldn't even think of that. I took my rosary off the bedpost, the beads cold in my fingers as I snatched it up and put it around my neck. I grabbed my jacket out of the closet and slipped it on. All the rest of the things here…I could let them go. They were nothing to me now.

But one last thing made me pause. My picture, taken mere months ago, tucked safely inside the drawer at my bedside. I went over, opened the drawer and rifled through the papers until I came upon it. Me, smiling at the camera. Happy. Pleased with myself. Proud. I remember why I was happy too. That was the day I'd scored one point higher than Near on a test. We'd been asked questions about the importance of international relations and remaining on good terms with government officials in different countries. One point higher. That precious one point. It didn't take my over all ranking in Wammy's up, but all the same, just that once, I was better. I'd hoped that L would know about it, that he would hear about that test and see how good I was.

I was safer if this picture was destroyed. I'd heard the rumors about the Kira case, about the murderer being able to kill just by seeing a face. Any record of my existence here would put me at risk. But this picture…this was all that was left as a reminder for others that I truly was a contender for Near. And suddenly, an idea came to me. I would leave that reminder of me, this proof that I wasn't going to leave, here. I would leave it for the person I didn't want to ever, ever forget me or rule me out. I was leaving, but I couldn't truly be gotten rid of.

So, before I left Wammy's House forever that night, I went into Near's room and I set my picture on his bed. I turned to leave, eager to be gone and have this all behind me, but it wasn't that easy. Nothing ever could be easy, could it?

Near was standing in the doorway behind me, watching me with an expression that was as utterly blank as the puzzle he was fond of. I stiffened at the sight of him, though it was not as if he was standing there boldly or blocking my way. He was actually standing just a bit to the side of my exit, so I could have very easily just marched straight past him. But I couldn't make myself move. This was almost shameful, being caught here in the middle of leaving. I was giving up the house and the title to him, and I hated myself for it. Yet I felt I had no other choice.

"Mello," his voice was soft as he spoke, and calm, the words carefully strung together in such a way that made them dull and cold. "Mello does not have to leave this house. I am willing to work with you."

My face contorted furiously, my hand tightening its grip on the strap of my knapsack. "This isn't all about you," I said, and I was careful to keep my voice low. I didn't want to draw anymore attention. "I can't work with you."

"If Mello would try, then-"

"Then nothing!" I snapped. "Then either I'll lose my mind or you'll lose your life!" His eyes widened very slightly, something that probably would have gone unseen to the casual observer. But I was used to watching his face. I was used to searching it vainly for any hint of a reaction, so when one appeared it was as clear as day. "You know that's how it would go Near, you're not stupid." It made my stomach twist to say that. I walked forward and brushed past him, heading toward the doors. "I'm leaving. Don't forget me Near. This isn't over."

Almost beyond my hearing behind me, I heard him speak again, in a whisper. "Thank you for the picture. I would appreciate it if you kept your current cell phone. I may need to call you."

I gave no reply. I just kept walking. But another face I knew, and knew well, made me pause once more. Matt was standing just off to my left in the main hallway, his jaw clenched tight as he watched me. Oh. Damn it, no, I hadn't wanted to see him before I left, I couldn't…

In all my anger this aspect of leaving had eluded me. I was abandoning my friends, I was leaving behind those who actually…cared about me. Matt had been there for me since I arrived here, and I had been about to leave without even saying good-bye.

But he couldn't blame me for that. He had to know it was too hard for me. Everything was confusing enough. My head was already so full of emotions that were trying to take command, adding any more feelings to this whole matter would only make it worse. I was praying desperately that Matt wouldn't try to argue with me, that he wouldn't try to convince me to stay.

"Good-bye Mello," he said softly, and I heard the pain in his voice. He came up to me, hesitating a moment, looking uncertain, before he put his arms around me and said close to my ear, "Don't get killed. If you need me, I'll come okay? I know…I know you can't stand to stay. I heard what Roger said."

I nodded quickly, returning his embrace. I couldn't break down now, I couldn't lose my conviction. After all this…no, I truly couldn't stay. I wouldn't be weak. I wouldn't let myself… "Okay. I'll be fine," I said, my voice hoarse and choked to prevent any emotion from escaping.

It was almost too much. Everything was changing too fast.

…

I was almost fifteen years old. My birthday was a mere eight days away. But still, I was a child. I looked like one, and that night I certainly felt like one. I couldn't pass myself off as a man; I was too thin, too small, still too baby-faced to look like an adult. I wasn't even shaving yet. I wasn't sure, but I found it unlikely that any hotel would allow me to rent a room without an ID. Not only that, but I simply didn't have the money to spend on a hotel room, even if it was cheap. This money had to last me as long as I could stretch it, at least until I managed to get a job. As I walked out the gates and left the Wammy's House grounds behind, the reality of what I'd done hit me full-force. Even though I kept on walking, not once pausing to reconsider, all the new challenges that I would now face were suddenly making themselves known, and they were inconveniently late.

However, for now, I would simply have to focus on the difficulties immediately at hand. It was pouring rain, and I would need a place to stay for the night. 'A hot drink would nice too,' I thought longingly as I made my way further into the town of Winchester and found myself peering into the window of a coffee shop that was open late. I should be saving my money; after all, I didn't really need anything at the moment. But it was cold and my clothes were already thoroughly soaked by the rain. Just a cup of coffee maybe? That was cheap enough…

So, when I continued on my way again, at least this time I had something hot in my hands. I kept close to the buildings along the street, so the awnings could keep some of the rain off me. There were only a few other people still out, men in their trench coats and women kept dry beneath umbrellas. I tried my best not to draw attention to myself. The curfew in town for minors was ten o' clock, and by then it was at least eleven. I glanced at my watch. Yes, eleven-thirteen. I needed to be off the streets before I ran into a constable and ended up getting toted back to Wammy's. But where was I to go?

Then a thought came to me, as I caught sight of Winchester Cathedral not a great distance ahead of me, its stone steeples rising up through the rain and its lights shining like beacons. Groaning softly at the rain, I made a quick run across the street onto the cathedral's large surrounding lawn, and then up the pathway to its doors. From the outside it looked like an elegant fortress, all stone and skillful architecture. It felt safe.

I pushed open the door, just wide enough for me to slip inside. It had been a long time since I'd been in a church. It was not that I had not wanted to go, I just…hadn't. Laziness. I'd been lazy, that was it. It is so often that this can happen; one will utterly ignore God while all was well, but the moment something goes wrong one will come crawling back for help. The most I could do was send up a silent prayer of apology though, before I carefully shut the door behind me, closing out the cold air and taking a few steps foreword.

The cathedral was very quiet, and my footsteps echoed softly on the stone as I walked to the last row of pews. I put my bag beneath the seat before I let myself take a few moments to look about, tipping my head back to stare at the high vaulted ceiling above me. I then turned to look ahead toward the altar and choir, taking in the delicate architecture that was everywhere. My hand automatically went to grasp at the cross upon my rosary, twirling it about it my hands. Without even consciously willing it, my mouth began to move in the familiar words, those taught to me so many years ago.

"St. Michael, the Archangel. Glorious Prince, chief and champion of the heavenly hosts; guardian of the souls of men; conqueror of the rebel angels. How beautiful art thou…" The words died away before I could finish. It was late; it was dark outside and raining. It was cold. And I was alone. I had never felt so alone in my entire life. I sunk down to the floor, curling up on my knees with the cross clutched in my hand, pressing my fist to my mouth as I wept silently, the tears dripping onto the stone. I couldn't stand it. L shouldn't have died, nothing should have happened this way! I shouldn't have left Wammy's, I shouldn't have run away. I hadn't been able to stand it; Near had won, and I had let him. I'd rejected the equality with him I was offered and chose instead to run, to let myself be an outcast clawing at the edges of the proud legacy I'd been a part of. L…if only you hadn't…

"Absolve, I beseech thee O Lord," I forced my voice to steady and say the words. "The soul of thy servant from every bond of sin." I paused. I didn't think L had been a religious person, and the next line was to be "that being raised in the glory of the resurrection". So I simply skipped over that, and continued with, "That he may be refreshed among the Saints and Elect through Christ our Lord. Amen."

I sat up and took a shaky breath, resting myself back against the pew. I didn't know what good it had done, if it had done any at all, but it calmed me to say the words all the same. I was so tired, and it occurred to me suddenly that I had gone without a meal that night. My stomach growled hungrily, demanding food that wasn't available. I should have thought to get a pastry from the coffee shop in town, but the idea of going back out into the rain was repulsive. I scrubbed at my face with my hand, trying to wipe away all the damp traces of tears. At least no one had been there to see me; I wasn't one to cry, and I would have hated for someone to know that I had.

L's death itself was not a truly hurtful thing to me. It wasn't possible for it to be. I'd never met him in person. I'd heard about him, idolized him, and strove to gain his attention, yet I'd never seen his face. The only time he'd even directly associated himself with me, with the children in Wammy's as a whole, was through a blaring white computer screen boldly emblazoned with a black Old English "L". The voice that spoke was metallic and robotic, carefully disguised even when speaking merely to children. No personal attachment could have possibly been formed. All this nonsense, the prayers and the tears, I knew were for my own personal comfort. The prayers were old habits, things that were familiar and brought back the memories of a too-short childhood spent with my mother, those calm days when I lived with her in our little house in Piran right on the shores of the Mediterranean. I could hardly remember how that place looked now, but I remember how it felt. It felt like happiness, like my mother's warm smile in the morning. But then…it also felt like sorrow. The worry on my mother's face in the evenings, when another day had passed and my father still hadn't come home.

"Off to bed Mihael. Father will be home soon. Another letter from him arrived today; shall I read it to you? Here, come sit with me. Let's read it together…"

Those letters had kept me hoping. They couldn't possibly have done anything for my mother. Of course they couldn't have. They were signed "Father", but she'd written them herself.

There were other feelings in those memories. Anger and disappointment. Those were the days when I'd been happier than I'd ever been in my life, but nothing can ever be perfect. I was still angry, and perhaps I shouldn't have been. It was never my mother's fault, yet she took the blame on herself. She didn't acknowledge the truth, she tried to deny it. In the end, it was understandable that it led to her death.

I reached over to my knapsack and pulled out one of the half dozen chocolate bars I'd managed to stuff into it. I didn't feel like thinking anymore, I didn't want to. Everything was just going to make me even more upset. I unwrapped the bar and bit off a corner, knowing it would likely make me feel ill for eating it on an empty stomach. But I didn't care. I craved that smooth texture, the alternating bitter then sweet tastes. I'd read somewhere that chocolate causes one to release the same chemicals in their body that are caused by a sexual attraction to someone. I wasn't sure if that was true, but chocolate did have an awfully nice effect.

"Are you in need of any assistance lad?"

I looked up quickly, surprised to hear a voice so suddenly. An old priest stood there, smiling kindly as he looked down at me. "Oh, no Father," I said quickly. "I just needed to get out of the rain."

"Ahh, yes, quite a downpour isn't it?" he chuckled, lowering himself rather stiffly onto the pew opposite mine. "Thus does the Lord replenish His earth. It's something to be thankful for."

"Yes, sir," I lowered my eyes, wishing he would leave me alone. I could pray every day, but I couldn't be comfortable talking about religion. I would never say I was Catholic, not even if someone asked about the rosary. I would tell them I "just wore it", and leave it at that. I knew a lot of people thought believing in God and chanting prayers was really stupid, and I guess that had rubbed off on me a little. I didn't want to let it go, but I wasn't going to talk about it.

"Rather late to be out, isn't it though?" the priest said, and my eyes jerked up to look at him as I tensed. He shook his head. "Now, now, don't worry over it. The Lord does not question those who come to Him, nor shall I. You're welcome here, if you need shelter for the night."

"Thank you," I said. "I'll leave in the morning. First thing."

"Very well, lad. If you would like a blanket I'll bring one for you." He got to his feet, as if to leave, but paused and glanced back to me, still sitting with my legs sprawled in the aisle as I leaned against the pew. "Though, pardon me, I am rather curious what you're running away from." My eyebrows shot up, my mouth opening at once to deny it, to say I wasn't running from anything, but he held up his hand for silence. "I may be old, but I have yet to go senile," he said. "My memory isn't gone. I remember when I was young, packing up my things and running off in a huff."

"I'm not running away from anything," I said.

"Running toward something then?"

I winced. "Rather that."

"Ahh," the man nodded. "The grass is always greener on the other side. At least it would appear so. But at the risk of sounding like a babbling old man giving useless advice, I'll simply say that the grass will certainly be different, but not always greener. I recall once when I first saw prairie grass, I thought it looked ever so much better than the trimmed lawn here outside the cathedral. It was so very lush and thick. A 'rich' sort of grass one might say. But it was no better lad. The thicker, the 'richer' the grass, the more one's feet get tripped up in it."

"I understand what you're saying Father," I said, as I got up to sit upon the pew and put away my chocolate. By that point I was feeling thoroughly exhausted, far too tired to try to think and plan. I needed sleep. "But when there is no grass on one's side of the fence at all, anything else will look greener than dirt."

"Well, I won't tell you to be thankful in all things," he said. "I'm sure you have your reasons. A bad situation will look no better just because of an old priest's ramblings."

"It was a bit more than a bad situation," I said, fairly spitting out the words with bitterness. "If you'll pardon me for saying it in a church, it was complete shit."

"My, well, I believe you lad," he said. "There are some rather unfortunate truths we all must face in life, and such situations are one of them."

"I won't let this be truth," I said. I suddenly had a thought rush through my head, imagining Near answering to "L". I squeezed my eyes shut tight. "I won't let it be! I'll change this truth."

"You'd best be careful doing that," said the old man as he began to walk away. "Truth is truth. If it was anything else, it would be a lie."

I didn't like his implications, if I'd understood him right. What did he mean exactly, "it would be a lie"? Things that were truth changed all the time, but that didn't make them a lie, it just made them a new truth…right? Of course that was right. To say that something changing made it a lie was nonsense. The old man was just foolish, and I didn't bother to call him back to ask him to explain a bit better. I didn't have to listen to people like that anymore anyway. I was living on my own now, taking care of myself. I didn't need to listen to adults share their "wisdom".

I lay back on the pew, putting my knapsack under my head for a pillow and smiling up at the ceiling. I could handle this just fine. Just fine indeed. I was better off working on my own anyway. I didn't need Wammy's House to take care of me. I didn't need Roger looking after me. I would miss Matt…but before my guilt could arise again I swiftly shoved thoughts of him aside. This was for the best. All for the best. I didn't need friends. I could handle this on my own.

No more rules, no more scolding. Ah, and no more school books! No more essays and tests! I didn't have to learn advanced trigonometry to prove myself. I'd do that through my actions. I would track down Kira, destroy him, and avenge L, before Near even had a chance to hit puberty.

However, the world can seem very, very different when one is tired. Waking up with an empty stomach in a cold cathedral can quite effectively put things in a more logical perspective. I needed food, I needed a plan, and most importantly…I needed money.

Author's Note: Ahh, there we go, chapter 1!

So, do you wish to know what really inspired me, originally, to write this? The song Glamorous by Fergie. No, I'm not kidding.

Now you can count on much exploration of religion throughout the story, simply because I absolutely adore the idea of Mello being Catholic to no end. We can't know if such a thing for Mello was intended by the creators, though most likely it wasn't since all the mangas are filled with religious symbols (however I must point out that Mello has more than his fair share of them). Mind you, I'm not thoroughly educated on the Catholic religion. But I did have fun toying around with symbolism :)

Now, on the subject of Mello saying he grew up in Piran, on the Mediterranean: Piran is in Slovenia. Why Slovenia? Because according to the website Behindthename, "Mihael" is the Slovenian spelling of "Michael". (But for more on my research of the origin of Mello's name you'll have to see my LiveJournal). I am not trying to say that it is canon for Mello to be from any specific country. We're never told in canon where he is from. Please don't tell me he's from Russia or Germany or Sweden or wherever else :) I'm just going off what I got from researching his name.

I also had a lot of fun just exploring Mello's personality on a more in-depth level. There are so many freaking ways to make him act it's insane, even with the boundaries of "emotional" and "inferiority complex". But there are some things about him in canon that really fascinate me, and I kept my mind on them as I was writing this story. First, how he is seen sitting calmly and unaffected as mafia members are killed, yet later insists that he doesn't want to kill Soichiro or Sayu. And second, which is most interesting to me, is that when he kidnapped Takada, he actually thought to bring a blanket for her. Though that last one was probably just the creator's way of quickly getting rid of him, it's still there, and I find it interesting.