Dear Audience,
While I am still waiting for my co-author to update Within These Walls, here's another oneshot - for Near, because I can't stop writing about him. Maybe next time I'll do one for Mello. If you really want me to - or even if you're only sort of interested - please review. Reviews make authors write more.
On a closing note, I've always thought that it might not have been only Light who noticed L's presence so strongly throughout the Successors Arc…
Disclaimer: I did own Death Note, but I lost it in a card game. Sadly, now I own nothing.
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Ghost in the Machine
We are spirits clad in veils. ~Christopher P. Cranch
The shadows lay thick through the chilly room, countered by the dimly glowing screens. The wan light glinted off the white hair of a still little figure crouched at a table; touched his pale face and round dark eyes. His slender, delicate hands were lying quiescent before him on the table, among a jumble of scattered dice - the remains of a structure which must have taken considerable time and concentration to build. The child - for so the figure's size seemed to indicate - appeared to have no interest in rebuilding his creation, though. He was listening.
Near tilted his head a little, straining his ears to catch the sound which seemed to linger just on the edge of his memory. He could only hear it at times like this, when HQ was dark and still - the other members of the SPK snatching a few hours of much-needed sleep. It was a sound which could not be real, should not be real, and yet - at these times, Near found himself waiting for it, hoping that he would hear it again.
Ah - there it was. For a few seconds, perhaps no more than half a minute, the sound of a familiar voice echoed in his mind, wandered quietly around the room. Near could never quite understand the separate words - but the timbre of the voice was clear enough, achingly, shatteringly familiar. The boy turned his head, seeking the source of the noise, and his breath caught in his chest, as for a moment, from the corner of his eye, he seemed to see a dark shape crouching next to one of the monitors, bending forward to examine it. It was gone as he looked again, along with the voice in his head.
Near closed his eyes, the aching sense of loss in his chest competing with a growing sense of frustration. What was this? Some trick of his mind, some wish-fulfillment created to reassure himself that L was still with him, even though he knew that he was dead and gone? But why now, why not years ago, when the loss had been new, more painful?
L believed in ghosts.
Near shivered - from the cold, he told himself - and took a breath to calm himself, stacking a few of the fallen dice atop of each other. He didn't look around this time when he heard a footstep close by, felt a hand brush across his hair in a ghostly repetition of an affectionate gesture. Instead, he stared at the stacked dice, counting the pips again and again until they blurred - two becoming four, four becoming eight, six becoming twelve - and ran together.
No matter what it is - I am grateful for it, I suppose.
Near frowned as he blinked his eyes, attempting to clear his vision, and was surprised to feel a dampness on his cheeks as he raised his hand to touch them. His eyes were watering - he must be more tired than he had thought. How long had it been since he had slept - forty-seven, forty-eight hours? Perhaps he should try to rest for a short time - there was no use in playing into Kira's hands because he was too exhausted to think properly.
Nestling his head into the curve of his arm, Near stared at the shimmer of the screens until his eyes reluctantly closed and he slumped against the table, too drowsy to care that the edge was uncomfortably hard. He had no idea where the scent of fresh strawberries was drifting from, but it was comforting, bringing a warmer, happier time to his mind… half-conscious, Near shivered again as the chill crept through his white pajamas. The last thing he remembered before sinking into sleep was the soft touch of a blanket being tucked tenderly around him, and a voice from the past whispering his name.