A/N: w00t! Another story! Well... this follows a cannon line. I am quite happy to say that this is a plausible scenario as you never fully see Near's end of the line. I hope everyone finds this believable and of good quality... *dances around from foot to foot* I don't own anything, sadly. DDD8 Some of the convo between Light and Near, as well as a breif snippit of the news cast, were taken directly from the manga. Granted, I got them from an English translation, so if you buy an American copy of the manga, chances are the wording is different. ^^;;; Ah well... READ MONKEHS! And enjoy! ^^ As always, commentary is welcome.

10. Breathe

It bobbed up and down rhythmically. Its happy little face dipped under the water again, resurfacing a second later. The third second, it was rocketing across to the other side of the inflatable pool. Bonus because the pressure forced it to squeak. Near smiled. He was partaking in one of his all-time favorite games – shooting rubber ducks with a water pistol. He aimed up with his third yellow victim, ready to fire. "PI PI PI!" He started and missed his mark. The white haired boy glared at the uninjured plastic toy, then at the source of the source. ''L', of course.' He hissed venomously under his breath. That was officially his first miss in months. But he had been caught unawares… "Doesn't count." He grumbled.

"What was that?" Gevanni asked, extending the flip switch to him.

"Nothing." Near dismissed, connecting his line. "This is N."

"Near." The other said in a formal tone. "I wanted you to confirm our meeting. Thursday, the 28th, at 1, correct?"

"…Correct…"

"At Yellow Box, as you selected?"

"Yes." Near nodded, feeling on edge. 'What's he playing at?'

"…" silence on the other end. And then a distant voice. "Damn, it, I coulda sworn he said 2!" "Matsuda…" an exasperated groan. Then a closer chuckle.

"Thank you, Near." 'L' said, humor dusting his voice. Click!

'So the bastard does have a sense of humor…' Near grinned to himself. He turned and heaved himself into his strange desk chair, sitting in his unusual fashion. He pushed off against the nearest desk, swiveling around to survey his Lego map. Closest to him was the tall building representing where he now sat – the SPK headquarters. But it's pieces had been moved to the far right hand corner. Three black figures backed a single white piece. Across from the four stood five more, one pulled out before the others. The tenth puppet stood to the side between the groups, a notebook placed in its open palm. Thursday. In two days he could end this for good. 'Thursday.' He thought nostalgically, fiddling with his headset, twinning the speaker between his fingers. 'Thursday the true L will finally be avenged. Thursday Kira will be captured and the world can return to peace…' a pained, ironic smile. 'Thursday true justice will prevail.'

"Near!" a broad man burst into the room. His expression wasn't so much panicked as it was shocked. Instinctually, Near slipped on his headset, turning back around to face the faceted wall. The screens whirred and the other man started typing rapidly at one of the computers.

"Lester, what is it?" he asked, concentrating on the central screen. A finger strayed to his hair, toying with it. The larger man remained silent, absorbed in his work. Gevanni strayed closer to Near's side, unsure what action to take.

"Lester…?" he prodded, straightening his jacket in a nervous gesture. "…" he frowned and looked down at the mysterious detective. N ignored him.

"It's Hal, is it not?" the white-haired detective quipped, not tearing his gaze away.

"Yes and no." Lester finally conceded, hitting a few more keys. The central screen flickered to life. A man in a tweed suit appeared; mic in hand, nervously shuffling papers with the other. He straightened his glasses as he continued his report.

"… so we will update you as soon as more information gets out. We'll be switching now to LiveCopter7 to show the live feed of the scene." The small box in the corner pulled over the screen. The rotating machinery of the chopper blared over the speakers, nearly drowning out the captain's voice. After a second, white subtitles appeared at the bottom of the screen.

"We're here now at-"

"Takada's been kidnapped." Lester interrupted, watching the broadcast intensely.

"…Mello?..." Near hazarded, yanking more roughly on his hair.

"Hal confirmed it." The other nodded. "Just before I came in here." He turned normally cold blue eyes to the head of operations. "Do you know anything of this?"

"…" Near looked to him distractedly, gauging how much the man presently trusted him. "No. I'd prefer it if Mello hadn't done this. Especially if it chases Kira away." Content with what he saw, he returned to the screen.

"Do you wish to contact him?" Gevanni posed.

"Yes." The dark haired man brought him the flip switch again, and a dial tone buzzed in Near's ears. Obnoxious sound. There was a click of someone picking up the line, and he spoke before 'L' could. "L, this kidnapping of Takada was not done by me."

"…Is that so? Then… it must be… Mello."

'He sounds hesitant, but shaken… perhaps the absence of Takada has messed with his plans? But no, Yagami is simply using her as a messenger to get to the substitute Kira. Alike to how he uses Amane. She couldn't possibly have a role in tomorrow's events, could she…?'

"Yes." He replied, bridging the brief silence. "To be honest with you, the guard I set for Takada confirmed the abduction was done by Mello. I'm sorry about this situation occurring with the bodyguard I had set there."

'Actually, I'm not sorry at all. I have nothing to loose here. If Takada's loss influences Kira into a tight corner, then I'll be all the better.'

"Near… I suppose you can contact Mello, right?"

"No." he lied, glaring at the fancy 'L' monogram. 'Getting desperate are we?' "I can't. I have the means, but I doubt he'd answer me under this situation." He allowed. "He will chase Kira down through Takada." A satisfactory lull in conversation occurred and Near smirked. Gevanni and Lester looked over their shoulders at him with a mixture of caution and alarm. "To be honest with you, I didn't want him to do such a thing and create chaos for the next few days." He added, feeling slightly annoyed as he bent the free standing speaker out of shape.

"I understand." Light replied a few seconds later. "I trust you and I believe you didn't do this in connection with Mello."

'Like Hell you do.'

"L, we are going to search for their whereabouts at any cost." He replied, sending meaningful glances to the other two people in his party.

"All right… we as well…" Click!

'He was hesitant… surprised even. It seems as if I've confused him or thrown him off course. Not because of Takada's absence, that's certain. More due to my earnesty, I should think…It's doubtful he thought I'd have any interest – forced or otherwise – in finding Takada. Especially seeing as how he would view me as seeing this as a bonus for future plays. He must realize that I know exactly how Takada is being used…'

He returned his attention to SakuraTV's broadcast, listening intently for further news of Mello's plans. "…-rther news on the abductor's accomplice! One of the conspirators had various firearms with him. When he aimed them at Takada-sama's bodyguards, they were forced to open fire, killing him. Here again is the picture of the man's car, completely torn, as you can see, by bullet-holes. We are still uncertain of its make, as the emblems have been removed, but viewers have called in indentifying it as being an old 1989 Honda Prelude Si. While no sketch of the perpetrator and victim has been finished, we can now release that the man was approximately 174 cm tall and around 65 kilograms. He was a Caucasian with red hair that came to just above his shoulders, and had green eyes. We at SakuraTV encourage viewers to call in if they believe they know anything about the identity of this man. Takada's security team and the police force will be working around the clock in regards to her disappearance."

As Near watched, he began to feel a disturbingly cool feeling wash over him. It settled in his gut and roiled, making his insides feel as if they were rotting and burning away. His mouth slowly dried out, and he unconsciously sent his tongue out to wet his lips. The first few words had had his head buzzing with distant disbelief, but now there was just a roaring white noise. Ice shot through his veins, catching up with the rest of his organs in a sickening way. He felt like throwing up. He wanted to throw up. He stayed frozen in place, shaking slightly. 'No…' he thought from a place outside his body. 'Not again.'

An obscure image floated into his senses; sickeningly childish yet morbidly simple. A singular rose, floating in mid-air, trapped behind glass. The glass – his shield, his indifference and composure. Small fissures worked their way from the chipped rim of the bell all the way to the hilt of the lid. And behind it, the memories, the suppressed feelings that he still had yet to comprehend. Each petal a reminder of all he had lost. Of the few things he had ever had. Another one had just fallen to meet the rest that littered the base. The father who had abandoned him before birth. His mother who had died having him. His aunt and uncle who had no choice but to leave him. A, who had committed suicide under pressure. B, who had lost his way trying to be the best. L, who had been killed mercilessly trying to protect faces he never knew from harm. From death. Watari, who was always much kinder and easier to trust than Roger. Even one for the lost friendship of Linda, possibly the kindest person he had ever met. And now… now… His throat clenched painfully, constricting. Now another petal lay for Matt. For Mail Jeevus. Because he was dead. Dead because of him.

But the news wouldn't stop reeling, time wouldn't stop flowing. Not even for him. He gulped, feeling like the action made his dry throat split and bleed. He had to keep watching. There was still one petal left on his rose. Just one. He HAD to see this to the end, helplessly. The news copter circled over the tops of gleaming towers. The pilot interrupted the silence on occasion for the viewers' sake, announcing location and air patterns. Things no one really cared about. Near shifted into a more comforting stance, wrapping an arm around his legs, mimicking his predecessor. Half of his head now bore curly hair from the force at which he yanked and twirled each strand. Seemingly vacant eyes locked hungrily to the screen. Still nothing developed.

'He's alive. He has to be. He's always been good at hiding, at playing. Cat and mouse is his specialty. He won't be dead, he won't be caught, he won't…'

"WHOA, WHOA, WHOA!" the pilot exclaimed, breaking into his thoughts. The darkness beyond the helicopter briefly grew darker before being ensnared in bright light. Smoldering flames engulfed the building below. Soft stone crumbled and there was the ear-splitting sound of breaking wood. The church trembled, and then gave way. The entire East Wing collapsed in on itself, and the flames leapt higher. Already fire trucks were arriving on the scene, followed by several police cars and an ambulance. Two sleek black cars pulled up at the back of the procession, anxiously observing the scene.

'Takada's bodyguards…' Near numbly processed.

Pillars of water showered the building seconds later. Panicked voices blurred with stronger ones, becoming just a jumble of words that could have been foreign. Everything was just smearing into one large, unidentifiable picture. His heart beat painfully against his chest, his pulse stronger than he could ever recall.

"Gevanni." He said shortly. "Phone." The dark haired man started, moving for the closed line. "No. Mine." Near added, never looking behind him. There was a pause, and then the shoes paced forward to his side. The phone flipped open at his ear with a small chime, but Near had no patience for procedure. He grabbed the cell from the FBI agent's hand, punching in a number. His colleagues stared at him in disbelief. Near was just as germaphobic as his predecessor, the true L, had been. For him to actually touch the phone was an odd phenomenon. Near pointedly ignored their stares.

Riiing… briiing…briiing…

'Pick up… pick up… pick up…' he chanted along.

"Hey." The abrupt voice made his heart skip. "If you got a hold of this number then you know who I am. Leave what you need after the beep and I may or may not get back to you."

Silence.

Beeep.

Near stared ahead, the blood pounding through his veins. 'He's alive. He's alive. He's got to be. He's smarter than that… he's agile and athletic. He always works his way out of situations. He's…' The words tumbled around and around like a mantra. After a second's hesitation, he punched the redial button.

Riiing… briiing… briiing…

His stomach churned painfully now. It wasn't a foreign feeling. But the last time he'd felt this way…. "Hey." The message began again. He yanked a strand of hair as he waited for the message to play out.

"Hey… It's me." Near began, knowing that alone was sufficient. "I'm watching the news. Where are you? I realize you might be in a tight spot, and I apologize. Just reply as soon as you can. …You better not ignore this message." He knew the last part was childish, but it was the only thing he could think of to veil his growing anxiety. The announcer's voice sounded so distant now. He just stared blankly at the dwindling fires. The firefighters were dispersing. Some had returned to their trucks and had begun winding the hoses back. Within five minutes they had cleared out, leaving behind a smoldering pile of ash and rubble. The assembled police men – some in uniform, others in suits – carefully entered the remains of the church, now standing as if an invisible knife had sliced it cleanly in two. First the gunmen, then the investigators. Tenser waiting as the announcer's voice became more prominent, filling the space.

One man emerged and beckoned the camera crews forward. There was a wave of movement as reporters and cameramen alike surged forward, all eager to see what lay beyond. Near strained forward, almost falling forward out of his seat. Looking for clues, hints… anything to indicate that he had been there. The pews within, rotten and damp from years of retirement, now lay in damp splinters, burnt at the edges. There had been a runner down the center aisle, set as if for a wedding. Now it and the floor beneath it were scorched and riddled with holes. Loose papers were scattered throughout the entire scene; pages of bibles, hymns, piano sheet music. The men stepped about carefully as the floorboards creaked and at times gave way. The roof rained debris in irregular bouts, making disconcerting groans.

"Nakama, Saiyuri here for SakuraTV." A voice chirped. "Here at the scene where Takada-sama was last reportedly known to have been. As you can see behind me, the search-and-rescue teams are coming in to look for signs of Takada or her captor."

'He can't be there. He must have left. He's gone. He's fine.' Near told himself, irritated when the wash of relief never came. His dark eyes flitted to the cell in his palm. Then it was to his ear, ringing.

"Hey. If you got a hold of this–" Near jabbed the 'end' button, glaring at the phone.

"Pick UP, damnit!" he snarled, letting the last of his composure slip. His insides were still swinging between knotting up and unfurling; ice still ran through his veins, ran so fast it hurt.

"…are still coming in through our system, although none of the claims have been proven factual or false. We, of course, are doing all we can to ensure that we solve this quickly…"

Riiing… briiing…briiing…

So lock and load, mercenaries, I see the smoke from the hilltop; they march one by one…

Near pulled the phone away from him, staring at it confusedly. A ringtone. "What the…?"

"What was that?" a voice piqued up.

"Over there! Over there!" another said. Near whipped around to stare at the screen. Men in orange and white reflective uniforms raced over to the source of the sound, digging through a pile of rubble.

"To the left, it's more to the left." A third said. One man hefted up the remains of the alter, tossing it aside. "Is that a…?" the third asked, bending over to examine something off-screen. The newscaster rushed to his side, enveloping something in her hand.

"Hello?" she said carefully into the black lacquered cell phone. "This is Nakama, Saiyuri of SakuraTV… are you associated with Takada-sama or her captor? We can trace your number, so don't bother hanging up."

Near sat, frozen stiff, listening to an echo of her words. An involuntary shiver shook him, and it felt as if it was ripping him slowly apart. All the previous emotions were quieted a moment, then forced upon him tenfold. He felt sick. So, so sick. The final petal quivered in his mind. Quivered, and then fell. Mello. Mello, Mello, Mello. The stem hung in place, now nothing but thorns and tattered leaves. The glass trembled, the cracks dug deeper.

"Sir or madam?" Nakama prodded… listening, staring unknowingly into the eyes of the one she was addressing.

'His phone. She answered his phone. He's not here. He wouldn't leave that. He's not careless. He's not here. He's not –'

"Nakama-san!" one of the men hollered. The reporter whirled around, hand over the receiver. The camera panned over to the upturned corner of the church. It was charred like the rest, but held something singular. It only took a split-second to register, even as the camera quickly redirected its view. A long pale arm, slightly burned, a dark leather glove covering the limp hand. The belled glass in his head was guarding nothing now, nothing precious lay within. It broke, shattering into millions of pieces, flying off into infinity. Near shook violently, shock and disbelief gripping him in an iron embrace.

"No…" he chocked, seeing only the blurry screen. "No… no, no, no….Me-Mel…"

Mello who he'd grown up with. Mello who had hated him. Who envied him. Who wanted to beat him. Who wanted nothing to do with him. Who had died for him.

Near slipped from his seat, falling onto his knees. His head hung limply, curled white tresses falling over his eyes. "Mel…" Like someone had ripped his heart out of his chest. "Mell…" The world had stopped spinning, he was sure of it. Something was horribly, horribly wrong, and he was the only one to know it. Because the one he loved most was gone. "Mello…" he whispered, unfamiliar tears trailing down his cheeks. Then he broke, no longer caring what anyone saw, how they saw him. He lay, sobbing quietly on the ground, curled in on himself. His cheek pressed against the rubber matting, his sight was sideways. And the light that came from the computer screens from below the desk look morbidly like a cross. A cruel reminder.

'Breathe…' he thought, all senses blank. '…Just breathe…'