::Missing Piece::

They find Yagami's body with relative ease. A man in his state couldn't have gotten far, and indeed he didn't. His escape attempt ended in a building not too far from the warehouse he had been running from. He lies halfway up the stairs, his skin pale, eyes closed, lips slightly parted from his last breath of air. His wounds aren't bleeding anymore.

"Light!" Touta Matsuda emits a sound, something between a scream and a whisper. Then he runs over to Yagami's corpse, and gets down on one knee to search for a pulse. "He's... cold," he chokes out.

Ide puts his hand on Matsuda's shoulder. Mogi looks down at the ground; he doesn't say a word. Aizawa's lips form a thin line, but he still averts his eyes.

The SPK, admirably, are not so troubled. Halle, ever the practical one, takes out her cellphone to make a few necessary calls.

"You did the right thing, Matsuda-san," Near says dispassionately.

"Yes." Matsuda nods absently. "…I know." But his eyes say that he doesn't think so, not entirely. All the rage that had filled them when he pulled the trigger is completely gone. Now his eyes look empty, lost, forlorn, unsure, and he himself looks like a grieving mourner, kneeling next to the body of a martyr. Near doesn't like that comparison. Yagami was a self-righteous fool, and Kira was a plague that should be remembered as nothing more than that.

It is as it should be.

Kira is dead. Crushed, defeated, and dead. The case that dragged on for more than half a decade is finally over. Near had succeeded where L, the first and original L, had failed, and now he bears his title unchallenged. The madman who stole it is gone for good, and the world will go back to the way it was before his rise to power – the natural way, the reasonable and lawful way. The right way.

Still...

It's a triumph, to be sure, but it leaves a slight sour aftertaste in his mouth – almost like disappointment. Kira is dead, Kira has lost, and Near has won, but it's not exactly the victory he had envisioned. He had hoped to keep him alive – an ultimate, constant reminder of who won their game of life and death – to make it abundantly clear just how defeated, how humiliated he was. He, the great Kira, God of the cowardly majority, would be reduced to nothing but a broken prisoner without a hope of ever getting his empire back.

"Hey." Shinigami Ryuk flies in through the wall. No one from the task force reacts with surprise. His grin, which by this point Near is fairly sure must be permanent, seems slightly wider than it was before. "I was gonna just up and leave, but I remembered something you might wanna know."

"I'm listening, Shinigami-san." With the notebooks burned to ash and the man he followed dead, Near would have expected the creature to go away. Nevertheless, if sharing information is his only goal, Near is happy to listen. There are several secrets Kira took to his grave, and Near is eager to sate his curiosity now that the danger has passed.

Ryuk cackles and lands in front of the white-haired boy. "He"—the Shinigami points his long index finger at Yagami's corpse—"was always so curious. He would always ask questions. Heck, half the time I didn't even know the answer. He asked about rules, notes, the shinigami world, and I told him a thing or two." The creature takes one big step and closes the gap between them. Then he crouches so low that his face is merely a few inches away from Near's. The newly minted L can smell the not-so-faint stench of rot and apples. "But, since you beat him, I figure you deserve a reward. It's only fair, eh? I'll tell you something I've never told him." His monstrous grin broadens even more as the Shinigami's lips almost touch Near's ear. "I'll tell you…" He lowers his voice to a whisper, "…how we Shinigami are born."

And he continues to talk, too quiet for anybody but Near to hear. The young detective listens, and for one brief moment he forgets to control himself. He takes a sharp, shocked intake of breath (too much like a scream), and his eyes widen as he looks at Kira's body.

Ryuk ascends into the air again, his bulbous eyes gleaming with excitement as he drinks in the emotions all too evident on Near's face. Then he turns away and phases effortlessly through the wall again, disappearing from sight.

"What did he say, sir?" Rester's voice almost doesn't sound nervous. Almost.

They all ask, "What did he tell you?" but only one person seems to guess correctly.

Matsuda doesn't ask. He only stares at Near, then at Yagami's body, and then he notices that one of his hands is covered in blood. Well, not covered per se; only a few small red stains, but judging by Matsuda's yelp, they might as well be drops of acid. He shudders and tries to shake the blood off, but it stays.

Then he starts to laugh. He doesn't stop when Aizawa shouts at him. He doesn't stop when Mogi shakes him, or when Ide gives him a resounding slap. He just keeps laughing, loud and broken and understanding, and there is this useless feeling in Near's gut...

He thinks it might be (no, not fear) hate.

It's not impossible that the Shinigami lied. It's entirely plausible that he had made up the shocking revelation on the spot just for laughs. From what he gathered when he questioned the task force on the subject, it wouldn't be all that surprising; the Shinigami seems to have had a habit of dishonesty.

Yes, there is a very real possibility that the Shinigami had lied, Near decides, and he doesn't waste time thinking about Ryuk's words. He does what he's been preparing for since early childhood. He slips into the role of the world's greatest detective. Without the Kira case on the table, he's free to move on to the other cases, and since Kira's disappearance (death) there are many, many more cases to solve. Crime rates predictably and inevitably skyrocket, but that's not something Near bemoans.

He simply does what he does best. He solves puzzles.

Ide dies in a traffic accident, and it's a loss for the Japanese police to be sure, but it's nothing more than that. Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing special—there are no grounds to suspect foul play (or supernatural intervention).

An accident is not a heart attack. Many people die in accidents, not only those who tracked and revealed and caught (killed) Kira. Near is not concerned. He phones each living member of the former task force with condolences and moves on to the more important activities.

Near is standing above Yagami's pale and bloodied corpse. His escape was useless, futile. If the newest L ever held any respect for the man, it had been erased by his pathetic behavior in the warehouse. Grasping at straws. Lying when the truth had been revealed beyond the shadow of doubt. Still trying to kill Near when every gun was trained on him. Struggling, screaming, panicking, trying, fighting, and then fighting even more desperately when it had all been in vain.

Pitiful.

Some might consider it admirable to fight to the end, to fight even when there is no hope of winning. Near disagrees with that view.

If one is out of options, if victory or even survival becomes impossible, the only thing left is to accept it and give up. It's illogical to fight when the fight can't possibly be won.

Kira is dead, and Near is the last man standing, and—

"And you will be the last to fall." Yagami smiles, his (red, gleaming red) eyes open, and Near screams. He stops almost immediately after he wakes up on a carpet, his toy robots scattered around him, but he doesn't fall asleep again that night or the next one. He tells himself it's because he has work to do, and he can't afford to waste any time.

Months pass, and the world doesn't exactly come to terms with Kira's disappearance. Both sane and wild theories about the reasons behind his sudden inaction sprout all over the internet. The most popular ones include but are not limited to: Kira was caught in secret; he is being incarcerated and tortured; he was killed by an unknown group; and, of course, he's testing the faithful, and shall return when they prove their virtue, devotion, or whatever.

Kira's more zealous worshipers (pitiful sheep, all too numerous) grieve for him, organize demonstrations, and uselessly write letters to anyone and everyone that matters to give Kira back to them. Respectable sociologists give interviews on why exactly Kira is needed and how the world was better off with him than without him. Renowned academic professors write essays and books on the improvements Kira brought and the 'catastrophic' consequences of his disappearance. Near is mildly disgusted by their calm and rational arguments. Fanatics are one thing; they are easier to ignore, easier to ridicule, but these people are a much bigger problem. Statistics show that more than seventy percent of the populace in Japan wants Kira back. It varies depending on a country, but the results around the world are similar enough. The majority is not pleased to lose their 'protector,' and they're only too willing to forgive a mass murderer.

Near doesn't wonder why they're unable to comprehend that it's better the way it is now. He could give dozens of explanations for their idiocy, all of them professional and accurate. He wouldn't even call himself concerned. He won't uselessly complain about the stupidity of mankind. He won't try to enlighten the ignorant masses, like so many (or so few, far too few) Anti-Kira optimists. It's impossible to make the Post-Kira society see reason. Near's function, his calling, lies elsewhere.

Mogi dies in a raid. Gang members refuse to surrender, gunfire ensues, and he's shot multiple times. He dies in a hospital, without regaining consciousness. Near calls with condolences.

"Why are you still keeping tabs on us?" Clearly irritated (and when is this man ever not irritated?) Aizawa asks on the other end of the line. "It's over. The case is over."

But maybe it's not. The chance that this is not a coincidence is small, but not as small as Near would like it to be. He doesn't start to believe Ryuk blindly all of a sudden. He just doesn't exclude the possibility. Near goes through every piece of evidence left from the Kira case, all that is known about the notebooks and Shinigami, and it's frustrating how little there is. He can't help but wonder how much more Light Yagami knew.

Near doesn't even know why Ryuk gave his ultimate murder weapon to Yagami in the first place, what his motivations were, or why this disaster called Kira even started. There are lots of questions, with nobody left to answer them.

Before, Near wasn't bothered by it. He had known enough to close the case, enough to bring Kira down, and all else had been of little importance, even if academically intriguing in it's own right. Now Near is annoyed with his lack of knowledge. But just annoyed—nothing more. He's not going to assume that Ryuk was telling the truth. He's not going to grow paranoid over one Shinigami's cruel joke. He will wait, and more likely than not, nothing more out of the ordinary will happen (as nothing has so far).

"Denial doesn't suit you, Near."

Near doesn't turn around at the sound of that familiar voice. "I'm certain this is a dream, Yagami. There's no point talking to you."

"Certain? This is probably the biggest difference between you and L. He, unlike you, operated on much more than just instinct, but your methods are based hugely on wishful thinking and guesswork."

There is something vaguely unsettling about that comment. If (and there is no if about it) this is just a dream, then everything that comes out of Yagami's mouth originates in Near's own subconscious mind. And Yagami is suggesting, none too subtly, that Near is unworthy of L, and that's obviously not true. Yes, he needed the clues left by his predecessor to complete his work. Yes, he needed Mello's help in the end. But that doesn't change the fact that he is the one who ultimately stopped Kira, and not once since his death has he failed to solve a case. Therefore, he is worthy of L. This is the simple, logical truth.

So why does his subconscious produce arguments to the contrary?

"Whatever my methods may be, they were enough for me to stop you," Near responds, picking up a Lego block and adding it to the base of his tower. "To end you," he emphasizes, and he expects (wants?) anger, the raw and impotent anger of a dead, beaten man, but Light Yagami just laughs, and it's not the laugh of a madman Near had heard in the Yellow Box warehouse. This laugh is not so loud but much more condescending, and Near feels a surge of irritation. He is annoyed at his dream projection of Yagami, and – even more so – at himself for reacting to him at all.

"Ended me? Perhaps I was wrong," Kira muses contemplatively, but not without that entirely unwarranted hint of superiority. "Denial does become you, Near. Until next time."

Aizawa develops a gastric cancer. Before it's diagnosed, it spreads to his lungs and bones, and it doesn't stop there. Surgery comes too late, and chemotherapy only slows it down, maybe. Aizawa dies, and Near has only one person left to offer his empty condolences.

"Save it," Matsuda slurrs drunkenly over the phone. "And stop pretending, damn you! We both know what's going on here, and we both know I'm next! In the beginning I thought I was gonna be first, but..." He's silent for a moment, and then he adds, "I wonder when it's your turn."

Contrary to his expectations, Matsuda isn't next. He is still alive and in good health when Halle Bullook dies of a sudden heart attack.

"If Yagami is dead," Stephen Loud asks, trying and failing to sound calm, "who is doing this?"

There are no Death Notes left on Earth, as far as Near knows, but there might still be some that he doesn't know of. It doesn't have to be a whole notebook. It could be just a page. One page, under these circumstances, would be more than enough.

No, Near doesn't start believing Ryuk's words, spoken on the day when the Kira case ended. There is another explanation. An explanation that is far more likely. There are none among the SPK who had the opportunity to steal a page before Near burned the notes, and none who would be willing to avenge Yagami. Among the task force, however... that's another matter altogether.

There is one person who could have had multiple occasions over the years. One person who survived the apparent purge. One person who might have given in to his misplaced guilt, as foolish and senseless as that would be.

The possibility is small, very small, but it's still worth investigating.

Some strings have to be pulled, some contacts activated and some rules circumvented, but it's not that hard to get the green light. Matsuda doesn't resist his arrest. He just stares incredulously when he is told what he's accused of and then he laughs. It's disbelieving at first and full of emotions Near can't read very well, and he lets himself be handcuffed. His apartment is thoroughly searched, every loose scrap of paper is confiscated, and Matsuda is strip-searched, restrained and placed in a cell.

Near knows, of course, that there are many more places where he could have hidden a piece of the note, that there may be an accomplice, but with Matsuda's ability to write and contact the outside world removed, it will be less of a problem.

"You have nothing to worry about, Matsuda-san. This is just a precaution. If you're innocent, I'm sure it will be proven soon enough."

"They were my friends. We worked together for years." Matsuda's voice sounds indignant now that his surprise has worn off. "Why would I kill them, even if I could?"

"I'm not claiming that you did."

"But you hope I did, don't you?" There are echoes of hysteria under Matsuda's forced calm. The man doesn't seem entirely stable. He looks paler and skinnier than he had been when Near saw him last all those months ago. The dark rings under his eyes indicate sleeping problems. "You hope I'm the one doing this, don't you?" And there it goes again, that sad bitter laugh without a trace of merriment. "Because... because you know if it's not me, it has to be -"

"Matsuda-san, unless you're willing to confess, or have anything else to contribute -"

"You want to know something?" Matsuda interrupts. His cackle breaks off just as abruptly as it starts. "When I was told about her death, I was relieved even though I knew I shouldn't be. I was happy it was Lidner, and not me, and I was skipped." He looks at Near with something that is most likely shame. "But it doesn't mean I get to live, does it? Not in the long run."

Near leaves that question without an answer, and Matsuda doesn't seem to expect one anyway.

He is proven innocent on the twenty fourth day of his incarceration, when a new employee Near hired after the case was over (Matsuda, or any possible accomplice in Japan, had never met him, never saw his face, never knew his name) dies of a heart attack right in front of him. Near watches him collapse and he doesn't hear Rester's voice, even though he sees the man's lips move.

It had happened before, he reckons. Members of the SPK dying around him, and he had sat there unmoved and unperturbed because he knew that he himself was safe. Whoever was doing this, whoever (Mello, or some lackey of his) was writing death for his men, couldn't possibly know Near's real name and thus he would survive. The loss of lives was lamentable, of course, but an unnecessary show of emotions wouldn't serve any purpose, and wouldn't bring them back. This is something a lesser man would have to say to himself in his place to keep calm, but Near didn't need to. His ability to take things stoically isn't something he's proud of, merely a natural characteristic of his, though unquestionably beneficial.

Back then, he had watched the SPK die and he was perfectly calm, but that was then and this is now.

For a few seconds (more than forty) he stands there, waiting for something to break the silence, for something to happen, for his own heart to stop, but it doesn't. It keeps beating much too fast, much too (not fearful, definitely not terrified) shocked, almost on the verge of cardiac arrest, but not quite getting there, and he thinks he can almost hear something in his head (a smooth, strong, confident voice) say Not yet.

The sun is setting, the warehouse is behind him, and his legs are unnaturally heavy.

"You are dead, Yagami, and this is a dream." He says it calmly, almost. Only the quiver, that shameful quiver betrays the tension that shouldn't be there, that doesn't fit him.

"I know." The voice answers from somewhere above, and Near thinks he can hear the sound of wings beating the air. "But we both know why you're dreaming this dream, and we both know why you're running," Yagami (who's dead, dead, dead!) replies, and there is no malice in that voice, no aggression, no bite. Just mild amusement, and absolute certainty of victory, and it's all wrong because Near is the one who's won and Light Yagami should know it best.

And Near keeps running, but not because he's scared. There is no point being afraid when he knows he's dreaming. He is running because if he stopped, he would turn around and look at (Kira) Yagami, and to look at him, to continue speaking to him would be much too close to acknowledging him. It would be almost like treating this illusion, this product of his own imagination like a real person, a real threat. And it is not, and Near knows it. That's why he will not look behind him, he will not feed the nightmare.

That's why he runs.

He reassures what's left of his team (his face blank again, as it should be), he releases Matsuda, and he delves back into the puzzle he already solved. He goes through the data (again, and again, and again ad nauseam), trying to find a way to counteract the Death Note, to save (himself) them all, to finally put a stop to the case that should be finished already, that has no right to go on.

He refuses to give up. There must be a way, there is always a way, he just needs to find it. He changes his name on the off chance that if it were already written, the notebook will not take effect because that name is no longer valid. He looks for the loopholes in the rules and limitations they know of, and tries not to get frustrated by the abundance of what they don't know. At daytime he works.

And at nighttime, he takes medications to stop the dreams.

"They're from some different world, you know. They watch, they kill, and we can do nothing." Matsuda smiles dreamily, tapping his empty bottle of sake.

"I think you've had more than enough," Near comments.

"Please, what else is there to do?" Matsuda tries to shrug and almost falls off his chair. He takes a moment to steady himself, and then his eyes, with clear effort, focus on Near's face. "Tell me honestly, do you ever think we shouldn't have-"

"No," Near responds at once, perhaps too quickly, because Matsuda smiles again, and there is something far too knowing in that smile. And then his eyes close and his forehead hits the table.

For a while, Near thinks this might be it, and his heart speeds up because if Matsuda is dead, if the man who pulled the trigger is dead, then that means...

But Matsuda isn't dead. His back is still rising and falling rhythmically. The newest L gives himself a few moments to calm down, gets up, turns around, and just when he's about to walk away, he hears the other man utter something that sounds like, "I'm so sorry."

"It's of no importance, Matsuda-san," he answers, but as soon as he looks at the other, it becomes clear that he's still very much asleep.

"Please, Light. I don't wanna die!" Even though he can barely make out the words, the meaning behind them, the utterly pathetic tone makes Near clench his small fists.

On one screen, Rester is reporting progress (or lack thereof). On the next one, there is news about the armed conflict in the Middle East, a new one of course. And from another one comes the flow of words about how criminals 'strictly in name' weren't the only ones Kira was keeping in check. About how now the governments of the world feel free to wage wars yet again, and how "I'm not claiming that what Kira was doing was morally right in any way, shape, or form, I was always very much against him, but..."

Rester grabs his chest with a yelp. Near turns the screens off.

They march one after another, a great sea of white cloaks, each with a candle in hand. They weep for (mass murderer, damn you, that's all he was!) their god. In different languages and different words they ask: "Kira, why have you abandoned us?"

Near doesn't ask, "Why have you not abandoned me?"

He doesn't ask, even though the irony is almost enough to make him laugh. He doesn't ask, because there is a possibility that he would get an answer. Maybe a tiny piece of paper would appear out of thin air. Maybe after picking it up he would see a familiar, pale, eternally grinning face; or maybe he would see a different face entirely, changed beyond recognition or still familiar. But he doesn't want to see that face. He won't talk to (Ryuk? Yagami?) that person, that monster, because he won't give him the satisfaction. (And not because he's scared. Absolutely not.)

Near is not afraid of death. Dreading something that cannot be avoided is a waste of time and energy, which is much better spent on something constructive. Near isn't afraid of death. He only focuses on planning how to postpone it, how to lengthen his life as much as possible. Fear of death is a primitive instinct that can be controlled by a rational mind such as his. Fear of death won't help him save himself from it and it can only paralyze him to the point of being unable to think, and if he's unable to think then he's already lost.

He focuses on thinking, he concentrates on looking for a solution, and he does not fear death.

That's what he says to himself when he wakes up from a particularly morbid nightmare (he's grown too used to the pills), tears flowing without his control or consent and childlike bawls escaping his lips.

He thinks he knows what his mistake was. He approached the case from the entirely wrong side. He focused only on Kira himself, his human accomplices, and the weapon they'd all been using. What he left out of the equation almost entirely were the Shinigami. He had assumed early on, after learning about their existence, that even if Kira was being followed by one, this Shinigami either wouldn't or couldn't offer help to him, and so the SPK would only have to fight a man. A man armed with the most powerful weapon known to humanity, but still a mortal man. This assumption was logical and based on what Near knew. But his mistake lied in thinking that what he knew was enough to make an informed decision.

He caught Kira, he stopped Kira (or so he thought at the time), and he assumed that this would be the end of it. He ignored the many unknowns about the source of Kira's power. He didn't investigate the Shinigami thoroughly, and he didn't foresee the consequences. (Are you laughing, Kira? Are you laughing at me?)

It is possible that Ryuk had lied on that day. It's possible that when Yagami died, all of him died but name. (Kira, the masses call, and Near can only glower.) It's possible that Ryuk's the one behind it, the one whose hand writes their names, the one who laughs at their naiveté, at their palpable fear. It's possible that he's doing this simply for his own amusement; or maybe, in his own incomprehensible way, he did grow attached enough to Yagami to avenge him, if not enough to save him.

It's also possible that Ryuk didn't lie, that Yagami is still out there, watching, playing, waiting. Not a vengeful spirit but something much worse. Which Shinigami is crushing their lives under the tip of a pen? Maybe the worst part is that Near will never know.

No, that's not it. Maybe it's the fact that they, the Shinigami, exist at all. An entire species of creatures, there's no telling how many, who can kill any human by writing a name any time they want. (They watch, they kill, and we can do nothing.)

No. No, that's not nearly the worst of it. It's his own failure that truly gets under his skin. It's the fact that, ultimately, nothing is over. Did he even truly triumph over Kira? (If you can't win the game, if you can't solve the puzzle, you're nothing but a loser.)

But no. That's also not the worst part either.

He considered killing himself, of course. To take his fate into his own hands, to take control back from (Kira) the inhuman hands that snatched it away. To avoid whatever his murderer may have in store for him, and he can only hope the Shinigami has less imagination than he does. It can be anything, really, but he won't kill himself.

He can no longer control his tears. He can't even force himself to cry in silence. But he won't kill himself, because he wouldn't even know if he's acting on his own volition. He wouldn't know if he's committing one last act of defiance against Kira, the only one he has left, or playing out the script written out for him in the Death Note. He won't kill himself because...

(Please, Light. I don't wanna die!)

In his current headquarters, Near is sitting on the floor, sharking, clutching an action figure much too tightly, his face wet, the sounds he's making unfit for a grown man.

In the Shinigami world, a hand reaches for a pen. The tip, shining and sharp, is suspended above a half-filled page.

The Shinigami starts writing.