Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note
.
.
It took one week for the rumors to spread. The human population stood still in anticipation for something – anything.
But nothing came.
On the second week, some of the braver – or stupider – criminals started peeking out of from under the rocks and began tentatively testing the waters.
By the third and fourth weeks, crime began to rise. Drastically.
In just a little over a month of Kira's 'disappearance', the world was already trying to go back to the way it used to be. Except it couldn't, not really. Kira had made his mark on the world for every succeeding generation from here on out to look back on with awe and fear.
Light's death as Kira was never shown on the news. The masses would wonder but never know for sure. The greatest mass murderer in history would always be a mystery.
Upon closer reflection, Near guessed as he lined up a pack of dominoes, that he should be happy – the SPK were, at the very least, relieved that the entire ordeal that was the Kira investigation was finally finished. But he wasn't. Granted, he wasn't a very emotional person in the first place, but winning a game of life or death that had dragged on for six years costing thousands of lives, including that of his mentor … wasn't that something to feel at least a little proud of?
No – or Near thought that it wasn't, anyway. Because, in the end, could it ever truly be over? Ryuk wasn't the only shinigami alive, and the Death Notes Near had burned definitely weren't the only ones in existence. Who was to say that another one of those creatures won't get bored and decide to drop their notebooks? In which case, Near could very well be chasing copycat Kiras for the rest of the foreseeable future.
…Well, at least, he'd never be out of a job. Although, if possible, he would prefer never to go up against someone like Light again; Near had been just that close to losing against the man. And even then, he'd only won because of Mello - and he was already dead.
His life's work, chasing after Death Note users.
It sounded like a royal headache.
Still, the thought that he would always be needed was … strangely reassuring; outside of detective work, Near wasn't actually sure what he'd be good for – if he'd be good for anything at all. Wammy's House had given him the best of the best education possible, but he still remained at a loss when dealing with people. He didn't even know what he'd want to do, if he weren't already the new L, or what he, as a person, wanted right now.
His line of thought was starting to get a little unsettling. He should stop, knew he should, or he'd wind himself into a panic. And he tried, but it seemed that this was just the part of his life he couldn't control. He began setting up the dominoes a little faster than necessary, all the while fighting to keep his breaths calm and deep. But then, almost on cue, it happened – a pale finger slipped, and that was all it took for all of them to fall down, one after another. The tiny little clicks of the falling dominoes echoed through the room, ringing in the albino's ears, before-
Silence.
He stared at them for a minute that seemed to stretch into an hour. Or maybe it was an hour that felt like a minute – he wasn't really sure. And then, as if someone had wound up a spring in him, his hand rose up and started setting up the dominoes again.
Why was he doing this?
The lights were off, but the luminescent glow from the walls of computer screens were all Near needed at the moment for what he's working on. In any case, he didn't particularly feel like stepping around his dominoes just to flip the switch to a light source he could do without. The room was the same as always, he knew, even if it looked so very different under the odd light casting long, dark shadows all around.
Cold, hard objects filled the room. They were meant to help him think, but right now, all they're doing is cluttering up his mind.
Air flowed through the vent, soft and cool, creeping up and into his skin. He forgot to shiver.
Because natural light would affect the monitors, there weren't any windows. Screens covered the walls, and the ceiling suddenly felt a little too close to the ground.
The room was void of life, and Near wondered when he'd turned into a processing machine. Questions of the existential sort flashed in and out of his head filled with gears and wires and electrical signals. He hadn't an answer to any of them, and his heart - his proof that he was alive - skipped a beat.
He was L, he was N, he was the head of the team who bested Kira. But in the darkness of the all-too-quiet room, it somehow wasn't enough and Near couldn't help but wonder what would be. It was cold, and he eventually abandoned his dominoes to instead pick up one of the toy robots close by. He hesitated for a moment, but really, what did he have to lose by doing this?
Nothing.
So he tenderly wrapped his arms around it.
For a long moment, he stayed in that position, holding the old toy close in a way that he thought he'd long ago outgrown. In a way he hadn't known he could anymore. And when he closed his eyes and thought really hard, he could almost remember familiar arms ghosting around him. Arms that would never really touch him again. Arms that belong to a person he, even with his memory, couldn't quite remember.
But then the moment passed and left him colder than he'd felt before. Colder, emptier, quieter.
He carefully placed the robot back into its old position. He rose and, for once, decided to take Rester's advice and go to bed earlier than usual. He eventually settled into the soft sheets in an equally cold, equally hollow, but much darker room. He could almost swear to himself that he could hear his own breathing echo. The silence loomed over Near, and he found it unreasonably hard to keep his eyes closed. But eventually, he drifted off into a fitful sleep filled with dreams of scarred blondes accompanied by snarky redheads, and the marmalade-tinged halls of an orphanage in a place far, far away.
.
.