Author's Note.
Okay I have been promising and promising to get a move on with Tramps... and I will, just my brain doesn't listen to what I want to do. Yes, yes I know the brain is the most important organ in the human body, without it nothing can occur... but sit back and take a look at what organ is telling you these things... lol
I've been thinking a lot about my Near displeasure, I'm not a Near fan at all by all admissions, but I was looking back over some of my reviews and took note of some praise that I have had for the albino brat. No, no, I am NOT abandoning my love of Mello. He rocks my socks. ^-^ (heh, Pikachu, sorry I'm in a random mood.) But I decided to dig through the manga novels, re -watch the Near/Mello arc and this is what was spewed forth.
I think I briefly once mentioned that I had this in the pipeline, or I imagined I did, if I did I'm sure the person in question will remind me.
Now, I will forewarn you, this is intended to be an emotionally heavy piece of literature. It is also supposed to be accompanied by music. One song on continuous repeat for the duration, as it was when it was written.
This is a Near/Mello fic, not yaoi. So it is suitable for all ages, religions and species. It is also one of the extremely rare non 'M' rated fics to come forth from the perverse recess of my mind.
Musical inspiration.
Within Temptation. Our Farewell. (Is suggested on repeat for the duration)
Disclaimer.
Nope not mine, just the emotional interpretation.
Ja mata ne.
He squatted upon the clinically stark floor, white cotton clad knees folded insect like beneath him as he carefully constructed a miniature scale wharf scene.
Warehouses lovingly crafted from expertly cut construction card, their corrigated texture skillfully rendered with the use of a simple pencil. Its hexagonal contours made it a perfect detailing tool.
The teen, though bordering upon the cusp of adulthood, still bore the characteristics of a child. Chubby cherub like cheeks, beautiful curls twisting astride his porcelain forehead. His ill fitting bleach white pajamas further portrayed the childish appearance, swamping his small frame.
Such colourless feature, apparel and environment gave any who took the time to even give notice to the boy an unsettling and ominous notion of him. Something none could give voice to but knowing it to be something odd, unnatural... until the boy would choose to tilt his snow kissed head and reveal a colour other than white but just as unnerving.
The boys black eyes looked aged, bottomless pits of shadows. Seemingly drawing in the missing colours from the environment, from the boy himself into their yawning chasms. They glittered darkly, seemingly more alive and more animated in their sweeping motion as he smoothed a single crease from his fragile architecture than from any bodily motion he had ever made in his eighteen years of existence.
The boy cocked his head as he silently admired his work, a fluttering of pale lashes his only affirmation of a satisfactory result. One delicate hand, peeking from an unbuttoned cuff, drew an unmarked crafts box toward himself. Within its sanctuary sat chunky plastic figures, carefully and precisely carved from soft plastic. Each bore features, crudely carved to mimic those of whom he had interactions with. All were completed save for one. He selected the figure with the intent to continue and add the more delicate features that he had long since committed to memory, masterful fingers translating each line and crease into quick and confident cuts with his craft knife.
For some time he poured all of his energies, all of his concentration into his selected figure, switching tools after precisely one hundred and three cuts from knife to soft file, smoothing away the rough edges of the brittle compound structuring of the plastic. He sucked in an almost audible breath, cheeks puffing, as he held the figure to his face and blew sharply across the newly shaped contours.
Residue particles and stubborn shavings of plastic burst from the figures face and scattered into the air, revealing a confident and feral smirk upon the carvings lips, detailed right down to the puckering of the upper lip. The boy carefully passed a sensitive thumb pad over the newly whittled features, his own lips quirking upwards by barely a fraction, pleased with the accuracy of his rendition or simply because this particular subject was a copy of someone with whom he felt a deep and personal connection.
Reaching into his crafts box, the boy selected a third tool, a tiny needle nosed file. Laying the textured metal flat of the tool to the models 'hair', a simplified globe shrouding the now highly detailed face, he slowly began adding sectioned grooves as bang partitions.
He was content, amid his projects and his props. Here he was safe. Here he was untouchable by the fear and the sorrow and the cruel intent that stalked the world and its inhabitants. Here he was a King protected by high and impregnable walls, with his knights whom he could order forth and scout the lands. Here he was free to indulge his childish fantasies and games that he held secret in the other part of his mind. In his imagination. Behind these defenses, these walls, Kira and his notebook of death were little more than a child's fleeting nightmare, even if only for a short while.
On his left, the panneled wall that spanned from floor to ceiling suddenly flickered with static. The panels revealing themselves to be not simply wall segments but dozens of identical monitors, idiling in powersave mode, each one bearing a single uppercase calligraphic letter suspended in white...
'N'
The letter rippled gently, the white background merging with the stark void of the room as the boy silently sighed and lowered the figure and file, replacing them with a headset and a button operated microphone.
He watched for a moment, as he placed the headset over his ears, the silvery sheen that slowly rolled from one side of the black letter to the other, the similarities to the way his curls tumbled over his eyes and how his pale form melded effortlessly with his surroundings were not lost to his sharp mind. He smiled bitterly as he considered this before stabbing his index finger down sharply upon the microphone's button.
"This is Near."
The four innermost monitors whited out for a moment before a woman's face dominated the screens in place of the letter.
"Near. We have a situation. Lady Takada has been kidnapped."
Nears head cocked sharply toward the screens, curls tumbling and sweeping across his brow. Those fathomless eyes hardened as his mind shifted from 'play' to 'active detective'. Near was, after all, most likely successor to the L title.
Near's gaze shifted to his neglected figure. He did so wish to continue with his carvings, he still had this one to complete and several more to varnish before 1pm on the 28th. Two days away. "Kidnapped, Agent Lidner? While she was leased into your care? How terribly irresponsible of you." He shifted his weight and slid a single foot from beneath himself, arranging his stance so he could hold down the communication button with his big toe. His hands now fee to recollect his tools and the figure.
He turned the carving around in his fingers, inspecting his work before plunging one hand into his box and retrieving a collection of small pots. Modelling paints. Popping the caps one by one, Near set them out at less than a foot's diameter in front of him and then picked out a plastic bottle and a rag.
"I assume I am correct in my suspicions as to whom the culprit may be." He twisted the cap from the bottle sharply and wrinkled his nose at the pungent tang that was belched forth, assualting his sensitive olfactory system and polluting his atmosphere.
Lidner was very quiet. From the outer edge of his peripheral vision, Near swore that her cheeks had flushed slightly in humiliation. Cupping the rag in his palm, Near tipped a small quantity of the white spirit onto its fibres before carefully cleaning the detailing brush, ensuring it was perfectly clean.
"Yes, Sir." She mumbled quietly. "A young man, driving a red Dodge Challenger*, shot at Lady Takada's escort outside the NHN building before fleeing. And then, Mello..."
Near merely nodded, tuning out Lidner's report on her failure while he inspected the fine paintbrush. Satisfied it was clean of any previous paint residue, he dipped the very tip of the horse hair into the pot of rich brown, evenly coating the strand tips and applied it to the torso area of his crafted figure in single smooth strokes.
Lidner was still babbling like a fool but Near paid the woman no heed, his mind already processing what she had told him and churning out possible theories as to what Mello hoped to achieve through his reckless activity. But each of his scenarios made little to no sense to logical procession. Too many variables, too many pitfalls. He dipped his brush again. Unless...
"Lidner." His wrist remained perfectly still, locked in place as his fingers flicked the brush, smoothly staining the plastic. "Just how much information have you leaked to him? And I want the truth. This whole investigation could all be for nought now, and the responsibility for its failure will rest entirely upon you."
Lidner visibly stiffened, Near's harsh accusations wounding her deeply. She remained silent for a few minutes, her eyes downcast. If she hoped that she could out silence Near, out wait him, she was sorely mistaken. Near's patience knew no limitations. Provided he had any of his projects, he would happily continue working, building construction after construction, crafting figure after figure until she surrendered to him the information he'd requested.
Finally Lidner mumbled the words Near had not expected to hear tumble from her lips.
"He knows everything. He knows what your plan is. And he knows it will fail without his interception."
Nears fingers stilled. Mello was actually doubting his conclusions, doubting his capabilities. And Lidner had obviously been swayed by the blonde's explanation if she had felt justified in betraying every last detail of his plan to him.
Outrage whip lashed through his chest, though Near would never show it. He had his pride and composure but Lidner's complete and utter betrayal cut him to the core. "I see." He said blandly, his fingers twitching once more and he coated another segment of the figures torso. "And he believes kidnap is the incentive required to correct my errors and conclude this case? I seem to recall that he attempted this tactic before. The results leaving something to be be desired."
Lidner took a sharp breath, choosing to ignore the sarcastic undertone of Near's words. "He asked after Mikami."
Near's brow quirked in curiosity. But he kept his chin lowered and his attention solely on his current project.
"He was interested in why Gevanni was withdrawn from his objective of trailing Mikami in favor of replicating the notebook. Some of the smaller details were not conclusive. When I pressed him for more details he sounded tired, almost sad. He replied, 'get someone back to tracking him when I next appear, I have a feeling that his role more complex than Near has calculated'."
Near paused again.
Mikami. Gevanni's reports were conclusive. The man was an obsessive methodist. So much so that he was almost at the point to rival Near's own compulsive and perfectionist behavior. The same daily rituals, the same movements. Nothing changed.
And this behavior, his cut and dry attitude made it easy to confirm Near's suspicions. Mikami's unbridled passion for Kira's judgement made him the key suspect to the identity of X-Kira. He'd been actively voicing his devotion and 'suggestions' of whom Kira would punish next.
No, there was no doubt. Mikami was X-Kira. Gevanni had proven him to be carrying the notebook and actively killing. This was why Near had Gevanni tamper with Mikami's notebook. Finding the pattern and exposing its weakness. Predictability is a dangerous Achilles heel, too easily exploited.
A page a night. Mikimi followed his routine religiously and that enabled Near to count forward and have Gevanni switch all remaining pages after a predetermined date, rendering the notebook useless. He was planning to use this strategy to his advantage and arrange to meet L-Kira and the Taskforce on the day Mikami was due to start on the altered pages.
But now something bothered Near. How would his plan fail? On January 28th, at 1pm, Kira would lose. No one else would fall victim to this terrible killing tool. Mikami's power over life and death would be gone, and L-Kira would be exposed as the mass murdering megalomaniac and corrupt law enforcer that he was.
Near was certain that his plan was secure, there were no flaws that he could see. Mikami WAS X-Kira. There was no doubt in Near's mind. Gevanni had witnessed Mikami kill first hand. Near shook his head once, curls fluttering over his ears and tickling his cheeks with feather soft touches. Mello was, once again, allowing his pride and desire to outshine Near to blind him.
Mikami had taken out his cellphone alongside the killer notebook...
Near's mind suddenly cleared. The cellphone. Mikami had the power of the Shinigami, that was clear. How else had he known his victims names by face alone?
But then why the cellphone?
He had not made a call, cell signals are notoriously poor underground... so...
Near's wizened eyes widened briefly. A camera.
Almost every model of cellphone nowadays was equipped with a built in camera. Mikami knew he was being tailed. Knew he was under scrutiny of the SPK, so he must have been acting as a proxy. Acting as X-Kira whilst passing on information to a stand-in and the true murderer.
But that meant that the notebook Gevanni had tampered with could also have been a fake. Near had overlooked the cellphone as an unimportant detail, but Mello had not. He had taken all of Near's data that Lidner had passed along and rearranged it into a sequence that bore only a few minor changes but those changes had altered the path substantially.
Kira was drawing Near's focus with the obvious bait while finding a lesser puppet to play the master role from the shadows. Near had disregarded the possibility of Takada being anything more than just confident between L-Kira and X-Kira and therefore not his primary suspect until it was too late. He had poured all of his resources into Mikami and his notebook and had not even considered a decoy.
But Mello had. And now, he was employing Kira's own tactic against him. Kira was now so focused on beating Near that he had left his flank exposed and defenseless to a surprise attack. Mello had swooped in low and close and had now burst ahead, snatching up the prize before either Kira or Near knew what had happened. And now both Near and Kira could do nothing except to watch what would unfold of this reckless action.
Near placed the figure down and set about cleaning his brush. The torso was completed save for a few minor touches he would add before completion. He had underestimated L-Kira's determination, and that admission stung. "Lidner." He dipped placed down his paintbrush and figure, what he would instruct the woman with next was vitally important. "You are to track Mello and Lady Takada. Your role as Lady Takada's personal bodyguard would indicate that you would try your best to locate your abducted protectee. I suggest you discover where he is taking her and why. As soon as you have any information you report back to me, do I make myself clear?"
Lidner glanced directly at him for the first time since she had contacted him. Shame and despair lifting from her golden eyes and they blazed with renewed fire. "Yes Sir."
Near nodded once. "Find him as fast as you can. If he knows as much as you claim that he does then that means he could be in grave danger. Find him and inform him that I will re-issue orders to Gevanni, he will be from this moment, re-assigned to tailing Mikami."
Lidner simply nodded, her lips drawing to a hard thin line before she cut her connection.
Gevanni sighed, his shoulders slumping forwards and his head bowed low to the desk. His hand lifted to push his slicked and styled black bangs from his startlingly blue eyes, only for them to immediately fall back to obscuring his vision the moment his hand was removed in favor of drawing a stack of photographs to him.
Shuffling through the glossy squares, he quickly found the reference required, a close up image of a name written in kanji. Picking up the photograph, he held it to the piece of paper he had been working on, the kanji characters were identical. Gevanni then leaned back, bracing the heels of his palms against the desk edge, his shoulders and neck vertebrae popping in satisfying crunches, grateful for the momentary change of position.
Over twenty-four hours ago Near had contacted him, instructing him to begin trailing Mikami once again. Gevanni had been confused. Near had previously instructed him to tamper with the notebook that Mikami carried hidden within the confines of his briefcase. He had done as his commander wished and the results were of a now harmless notebook after the final killing page dated for the 27th. He had cut and substituted all pages with ordinary blank pages from a ledger notepad and forged all previous entries.
He assumed that Near's sudden paranoia and demand that Mikami be once again followed had something to do with the scheduled meeting with the Taskforce the next day. That and Mello's sudden reappearance.
Everything was boiling to a head, Near was to confront the man he was so sure to be Kira. To Near, this case was not only his maiden voyage into the predetermined course his life had plotted since the day he had passed through those Gothic cast iron gates that protected the Wammy's House, but it was also a personal vendetta. He would be facing against the man who had murdered the closest thing Near could remember that resembled a family unit. So of course he would be anxious. And to an emotionally stunted individual such as Near, he was working through his concerns the only way he knew how. With cold hard facts and figures.
He tilted his head toward the clock positioned at the head of his desk as the digital numbers flipped past another minute.
02:47 28/2
At least, this was what Gevanni had assumed, until Mikami had suddenly left his office. Gevanni had been following Mikami for months prior to today, and never, in that time, had Mikami shown any concern that he was being followed. He did so now. He paused at every sudden sound, jumped at every unexpected person rounding a corner from a side street onto the main.
Gevanni had found this strange. But stranger still was the destination that Mikami had lead him to. The bank.
From previous reports he had issued to Near, Mikami had always visited the bank on the 25th of each month. Gevanni checked his wristwatch. 26th. Something felt wrong. Two visits to the same destination in as many days from someone as rigid as Mikami, his suspicious behavior and his nervous disposition on this particular errand.
Near had informed Gevanni that Mello had taken Takada captive during a highly populated appearance, ensuring that either Mikami or L-Kira would become aware and perhaps agitated at this sudden move and do some rash themselves. Lidner was sent after Mello and Takada, while Near remained in constant contact with L and the Taskforce, leaving Mikami to Gevanni.
And sure enough, Mikami broke rank.
He had waited patiently until Mikami re-emerged from the bank, looking distinctively less anxious and vaguely satisfied with himself as he headed back toward his office building.
Gevanni loitered approximately 30 minutes before entering the bank himself. He turned down the corridor that lead to the collection of safety deposit boxes, smiled politely at the aged security guard and nodded when he gestured to sign the visitor's book. Once inside the vault he would be left alone.
Sure enough, the guard made no attempt to follow him as he passed through the door, content that the polite young man had followed basic security procedures and therefore was not here to cause mischief. Gevanni headed straight over to Mikami's allocated box and fished out the key he had copied early on in his investigation, slipped the cold object into the keyhole and opened it with a click...
Gevanni stifled a yawn as the clock flipped another digit.
03:21 28/2
He reached and picked up his coffee mug, downing the dregs and grimacing. His coffee had turned cold long ago but he had to finish forging this new version of the Death Note and return it as soon as the first of the bank's staff arrived. If Mikami was indeed going to be present at the confrontation in little over nine hours, then he would also be returning to the bank vault to retrieve the Death Note in the morning. It had to be there. And if that meant that Gevanni would be required to flash his shield in order to gain acess before opening hours, then so be it.
Near could not sleep. He lay, curled beneath his blanket, in the darkness of the small antechamber that he had claimed as his own private retreat. His dark eyes stung with bitter fatigue. He wished so hard that he could make sense of the final call from Lidner.
He squeezed his lids shut and rolled onto his side. No, he could make sense of her report. The words were the clearest his ears had ever relayed to his mind, their meaning impossible to mistake.
Mello was dead.
Near had pushed past the grief when news reached him of L's death, the true L. In fact he had felt less grief learning of L's death than he had when hearing of Watari's. L had never really held much interest in introducing himself to the children gathered to be groomed for his replacement, he had felt it less of an intrusion and less of a distraction to their schooling.
Near loved L, loved him as he loved his own deceased biological father. But Near had also decided long ago that there was a limit as to how much grief should be given to a figure he could barely remember and to one he had never seen. But now, as he lay in darkness, knees drawn to his chest and thumb to his lips he could not simply dismiss the death of a boy he had know throughout his childhood. He could place both face and voice to the name of Mello. He was more real than any other loss in Near's life.
He couldn't breathe.
For so long Near had built up his walls. Constructed defenses against pain. He had spent so long suppressing any and all emotion until he came across as cynical and robotic. The children at Wammy's had dismissed him as unfeeling and Near had nurtured that notion. Refusing interactions and severing bonds from all of the other orphans. Believing that this was the way L had intended his heir to be, and believing that emotions were little more than a hindrance.
And it had worked. Worked well enough that no one had bothered him at Wammy's. He was a ghost. Until Mello had sought him out. Little more than a 9 year old bullied-come-bully, Mello had discovered a 7 year old Near curled in a corner of a darkened room, hiding in the shadows as he constructed stories with his scattered toys that even reputable authors could only dream of.
But Mello didn't see the toys as anything more than a childish activity and proceeded to kick down book buildings and sneer at the child who simply sat back and allowed the destruction to occur. But Near didn't respond. As soon as Mello's rampage had ended and the blond boy had scampered off to torment another defenseless child, Near would completely disregard his previous scenario and construct a newer one, more elaborate than before.
Near kicked back his blankets and sat up, switching the lamp that sat on the beside cabinet on and sat in the shadowless pocket of artificial light. Beneath the lamp sat a figure. A finger puppet. The one he had been crafting since Lidner contacted him about the kidnap.
Its brow sloped downwards over its large almond eyes, the confident and feral smirk pulled back over perfectly white teeth and he'd added a scar to cover the entire left side of its face. Near gently gathered it into his palm and drew it to his chest, hoping the crude carving would draw some of the grief from him. Not a lot of it, but enough so that he could take a breath without it feeling like his ribs would shatter.
Near loved Mello. Loved him more than he had loved L. More than he had deemed possible. Every memory he held centralized around Mello. His first day in the orphanage, Mello had ignored all directions to allow him to settle and stomped into Near's allocated bedroom. His curiosity demanding to be quelled before his conscience could remind him that maybe he should for once obey Roger's words.
His first birthday under the roof of Wammy's, Mello was there, pushing his way through the other children to stand closest to the table shouting his own rendition of happy birthday as loudly as he could before sticking his finger into the cake and licking the icing from it.
When Near lost his final baby tooth, it was Mello's fist that knocked it out.
Near sat, gazing at the puppet. A strange burning warmth building at the inner corners of his eyes. He closed his fingers around the soft and flexible plastic and pressed his fist to the bridge of his nose as something carved a warm and wet trail down his cheek. He had always believed that emotion was redundant. Too much time wasted on trying to change circumstances that were irreversible. But here and now, Near found himself wishing that this was little more than a prank. A tasteless and cruel joke and that Mello would strut through those doors whether, here or at the Yellow Box warehouse, with that arrogant smirk on his lips as he drank in the horror on Yagami's face and the fury on his own.
He wished with all his might that Lidner was in on the prank. That she agreed to participate if only to punish Near for his harsh treatment of her when she had allowed Mello to take Takada.
But the void in his chest and the heavy ball of emptiness settled in the pit of his stomach grounded reality solidly in his mind.
Dead was dead. Gone was gone. And Mello was little more than a blackened unidentified corpse now sitting in the Japanese Cadaver Lab awaiting Forensic analysis.
Wiping his fist that clutched the finger puppet across his cheeks, Near lowered the appendage to his lap and uncurled his fingers. "Will you still be at the finish line, waiting for me, Mello?" He murmured softly. The finger puppet simply smirked up at him.
His body felt heavy, exhaustion finally creeping through his muscles as Near carefully stood the puppet under the lamp once again. The harsh fluorescent light refracting eerily from the bold yellow bob crowning it's head, the rays halo-ing outwards in a hollowed disc of gold.
Near blinked at the strange light trick, deciding that it was due to the dampness and blurring of his eyes and not some holy indication that somewhere, Mello was watching over him.
A cold shiver tingled along his spine as he snapped the light off and plunged the room into darkness once more. As Near snuggled down, he refused to admit that he could just about make out a faint silvery tinge to the shadows creeping beneath the door. Same as he refused to believe that he could barely hear an echoing heartbeat to his own.
Near reached his hand over his head, fingers clasping around cold glass beads, strung together by silver thread and a silver cross that dangled.
Lidner had managed to rescue the object from the remains of the truck. The rosary had been caught in the steering wheel when forensic scientists had removed the bodies and snapped from Mello's neck. Falling into shadows cast by the dashboard, investigators did not notice it. Lidner, after showing her credentials as both a former CIA Agent and as Head Personal Bodyguard to Lady Takada, managed to access the crime scene and discovered it laying on the floor, forgotten. Upon returning to headquarters, Lidner had quietly palmed the object into Near's waiting cupped hand.
Rester had repaired the clasp, and Near simply pocketed it until he was alone. It had hung over his headboard since then. Now, however, he wanted it close by. Carefully he managed to unhook it and lowered it to him. Wrapping it around his wrist and curling his fingers around the cold cross.
"Will you watch me through this night?"
His pale lashes slipped over his red rimmed eyes as his night vision adjusted enough for him to vaguely make out the expression on the finger puppets face. The smirk appeared to soften to a wan smile even though its teeth were still bared.
Near's lips twitched an answering smile.
"Thank you."
Authors Note:2.
Ack. And I still hate having to write Near. This was so incredibly draining for me. And the result of having my emotional nerves shot to buggery by listening to nothing but 'Our Farewell' by Within Temptation for the last 9 days. Don't get me wrong I love that song, I'm fond of many of their songs, but this is a highly emotional piece of writing for myself to have written.
I hope it tugged at a few hearts and I hope that Near was not too OOC and that I did Gevanni justice despite him having a non-speaking role.
Now translation and the star thingy buried in the fic...
Ja mata ne ~ formal way of saying goodbye in Japanese (or so my research has told me)
* Dodge Challenger ~ Have you ever seen these cars? Google image it and find one that has been well looked after (any mistreated car looks like shit) and you might agree with me that they are the smex... and actually look a lot like Matt's car from the anime. XD