Calculated Risks
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Tsugumi Ohba, Takeshi Obata, and Viz Media. I don't own them; I'm just examining all their possibilities.
Author's Note: This is my first attempt at multi-chapter Death Note fiction, so there may be a lot of experimenting and figuring things out. Constructive criticism is appreciated. Technically this story is LxOC with mild yaoi, but there is going to be a somewhat complicated plotline to go with it. Just a note, the narrative of this story will jump around between two different time periods, though the whole story will be told
"Calculated Risks" is rated M for adult themes, some sexual content including homosexuality, and strong language. The focus is mostly going to be sensuality and will try to avoid outright smut.
--
The source of my felicity
Dark maiden taking hold of my hand
Lead me away from hibernation
Strong and unafraid
Never a question why
"The Night" by Disturbed
Prologue:
April 19, 2009
Los Angeles
The three by five foot piece of thinly stretched canvas was more a container of the scene: a weeping stone cherub, hands clasped in prayer, face in a look of stricken grief as real, wet tears streamed down its stone face as it looked up to Heaven. In the background was a blurred yet clear image of a small wooden coffin covered in lilies.
The full image was clearly done with acrylic paint; black, white, and every tone of gray with that added acrylic texture that almost made the stone look like it was in the painting instead of depicted on the painting. Mello took a creeping step closer to analyze the details, mouth slightly open in a look of calm awe.
Up until three years ago, Mello saw this image every day on the wall of the rank flat in London he squatted in since he left Wammy's House.
The huge studio apartment in the back end of SoHo was officially rented by a junkie with a trust fund named Dudley Morris, who made it a popular hangout and crash site for whatever goth or punk rowdy that bought him a few drinks. Mello was one of at least six who called this place home: Dudley was usually too strung out to care.
The image itself was literally a computer print out from a website that was tacked to the wall across from the water closet. It was a focal point for Mello, a piece of beauty in a rather dingy environment.
His green eyes left the painting for a moment and darted around a few before falling to another acrylic portrayal of a black face contorted with a gaping open mouth and eyes in the midst of Voodoo possession. The woman's large breasts peaked out as half moons from her white dress, a white wrap around her head and outstretched arms almost taking movement on the canvas.
Mello casually reached into a pocket on his tight leather vest, pulling out a foil wrapped chocolate bar, and gently nibbling; letting the sweet ambrosia melt across his tongue.
He took a step back and looked around the room. There were about fifty people in the wide gallery at the Museum of Contemporary Art; many in suits, ties, and skirts, some in some flavor black be it silk shirts, leather trousers, brocade dresses, or whatever struck their fickle fancies.
Uniformed servers carried trays of rather fancy looking hors d'oeuvres and flutes of fine champagne which were all snatched up greedily by the patrons
Everyone here was dripping in money or reputation of some kind; this was an exclusive first-look, invitation-only show opening and everyone there had some kind of pull to be there.
As for Mello, his ticket in was a few "favors" he did for an allied crime boss. The boss' weaselly attorney approached Mello a week later and presented him with two invitations courtesy of the Don, who heard from a few sources the talented new kid in town was into this type of thing.
Mello bit off another piece of chocolate and smiled; this was just one of the perks of the job.
He had been in this gallery for five minutes and was already in a complete zone of happiness by his surroundings; the rich atmosphere, the equally rich people, the eyes running up and down his leather encased form from both genders, and the multitude of dark and gorgeous paintings by one of his favorite artists.
He casually flashed a glance to Matt, who was a few feet away and still pacing around with hands in pockets, half-heartedly looking at his surroundings with a bored expression. He was still regularly tugging the collar of the red silk shirt Mello pretty much made him wear to this occasion.
Striped shirts and fuzzy vests weren't going to cut it at in this more formal atmosphere and Matt was dead set against wearing anything else. This wrinkled shirt from a second hand store was a grudging compromise.
Mello made eye contact with his friend, who walked closer to him.
"Seriously, dude, how long do you really plan on staying here," Matt whispered in an almost pained tone.
"As long as I damn well feel like," Mello replied. "Look around, this is the work of a complete genius; I'm sure you could get a lot out of here."
"Yeah, get a lot out of a big breasted Voodoo lady," Matt said with an eye roll, looking up with the painting Mello had just walked away from. "Come on, man, this is bullshit."
"You're into big boobs, this should be right up your alley," Mello said, putting a corner of the bar in his mouth and letting it melt in his mouth. "Besides, Matt, a little culture's not going to kill you."
Matt rolled his eyes with a grimace that communicated he did not want to be here. He also clearly knew, under the circumstances, he really had no choice in the matter.
Hooking up with his childhood friend in L.A. had snagged Matt a few simple, yet well paying jobs with Mello's Mafia buddies. He had come to the City of fallen Angels severely strapped for cash; a problem remedied by a few phone calls between Mello and a few friends.
In return for the favors, Mello expected Matt to provide some minor services, usually in the way of information gathering, deliveries, or just accompaniment in hostile situations. Mello considered this the latter; he was essentially here representing the firm and did not enjoy the idea of being alone in what could be a trap from someone.
Overall he appreciated the company; Matt was his wingman of sorts here and he did want to share one of his greater interests with his old friend.
As Matt was into video games and electronic gadgets, gothic and dark art was one of Mello's side enthusiasms; he readily admitted a like for pretty things and his closet alone was a testament to that. He had a list of artists and fashion designers he checked up on in local displays and online on a regular basis; most of them underground though a few more commercial.
Ever since seeing the image of the crying cherub on Dudley Morris' wall, Trevor Skye, the star of this show, was high on that list.
The Boston-based Skye was only a gothic artist in the textbook sense; at the root of every one of his pieces was reality presented in its own dark, sometimes surreal beauty. There was nothing over dramatic or too colorful; just black ink, minimal paint, or plain pencils. His works usually focused on one or two subjects whether human, animal, or inanimate object and would devote the rest of his energy on the sheer striking details.
Mello turned his attention across the room to another painting, the first image that brought Skye toward more commercial ventures. The piece was a heavily shadowed silhouette of a man in ragged clothes with a scraggly beard walking down a darkened street; the only things not in shadow were his bulging eyes and upraised bloody knife.
It was the cover of Issue 1 of the graphic novel "Confessions of a Psychopath" Skye illustrated with the writing of New Zealander Stuart Faris. Mello owned all three volumes, one of the few occasions he was willing to buy a book and not just skim it on a shelf. Yes Skye was becoming a bit more commercial, though Mello was a rare gothic art enthusiast who never saw that as being a bad thing; it meant more people were seeing a true talent.
Mello's concentration on the piece's details was suddenly interrupted by a series of soft, yet all-too familiar electronic beeps and blips. He bit his lower lip and casually looked to the side where Matt stood. Mello pretty much threatened him with bodily harm if he brought his PSP here, though his cell phone was far from off limits.
As expected, Matt's phone was in his hand and fingers on the keypad with his full concentration, likely on one of the hundreds of games he had downloaded on there. Mello kept his irritated gaze on his friend, ready to walk over and tell him to turn the damn thing to silent.
His train of thought was once again interrupted by another unwelcome sound closing in on him that he actually had to pay little mind to; the nasally lisp of Nick Maretta, the slimy attorney who got him the invitations to this event. Anything Mello said to Maretta would eventually go back to Maretta's boss and biting the hand that fed him would be rather unwise at that moment.
"Oh darling, here he is now," Maretta said, still behind Mello yet clearly making a beeline for him. "He's new to L.A. so be gentle on him."
Maretta probably had company with him, which was even worse. Mello's upper lip curled in an annoyed sneer, glancing at Matt. Matt was now looking up from his phone, eyes going back and forth between Mello and whoever was behind him with a dirty smirk and concealed chuckle.
Back still to Maretta, Mello made eye contact with Matt and mouthed "fuck you" before slowly turning around.
Nick Maretta was wearing his green and blue art deco tie and the black suit he probably slept in. Through thick glasses, Mello could see his eyes were somewhat red and the way he rubbed his nose with his finger told him he just had some candy of a different sort.
As expected, Maretta was accompanied by someone, though after a second Mello's annoyance changed to surprised happiness.
It was a face he had glanced at in different black and white photos; one on the website and the back jacket of "Confessions of a Psychopath." He had only taken brief glances at the photos, but was good enough with faces and names to recognize the artist himself.
"Trevor, this is Mello," Maretta said, making a dramatic motion toward Mello. "Mello, this is the star of tonight's show, the one and only Trevor Skye."
Skye remained a few steps to the side of Maretta, looking equally annoyed with his presence as Mello, though his attention too piqued by the sight of the other. Mello noticed the polite smile become a little more enthusiastic as Skye's dark blue eyes subtly trailed down Mello's form. He saw something he liked and Mello was far from bothered by the attention.
Mello put out his hand and gave an enthusiastic handshake to Skye.
"Amazing show," Mello said with perfect sincerity. "I've been following your work for a while now and it never ceases to amaze me."
"Thanks, man," Skye said with a wide smile. "It really means a lot to hear that."
Trevor Skye clearly maintained the airs of a normal guy, though the somewhat gothic and alternative styling was mildly present in his appearance. His mop of impeccably combed- back blond hair bore red and black streaks. It looked as if he wore a hint of eyeliner and the small silver stud in the side of his nose capped off the look. His plain black t-shirt and simple black blazer at this more styled event suggested a more casual demeanor.
He was plainly tall and slender, a pretty average looking individual by Mello's estimation save for the added details.
"Oh Mello I see you brought your friend with you," Maretta said, adjusting his glasses and looking at Matt.
"Your partner in crime?" Skye softly asked with a subtle smile.
"My house bitch," Mello said in the same tone and a wicked smirk.
Skye chuckled with Mello following for a moment before glancing over at Matt, who was still looking down at his phone. The briefly raised middle finger in Mello's direction indicated he heard everything.
"Nah he's my roommate and I just drag him to things," Mello said, taking another bite.
"Well if your new in L.A. it must help to have at least one friend around," Skye said, "though if you want a more proper tour, I'll be in town for at least the next few days." Skye reached into his jacket pocket and produced a business card. "I know a few great chocolatiers."
Mello nibbled his chocolate and took the card with a smirk. It was indeed a professionally printed business card, though Mello noted how a cell phone number had been penned in on the bottom. He had prepared for this sort of thing.
"I'll have to remember that," Mello said with a smile. He had little to no interest in calling, though, once again, the attention was not unwelcome.
"Now if you'll excuse me I have a few more asses to kiss," Skye said, glancing around with a smile.
"Glad I'm not you," Mello said, watching Skye give him a smile and a wink.
Maretta practically grabbed Skye's shoulder while telling him about another friend he had to meet; though the lawyer glanced back to Mello and gave him a subtle, yet goofy thumb's up.
Mello gave Maretta a fake smile before casually turning back with a shiver. Dealing with lowlifes like him was only a small price for being hit on by an amazing artist, Mello counted his wins higher than his losses right now.
He glanced back at where Matt had his perch. His friend was gone from that spot, though returned to his pacing. Mello swore he saw Matt actually glancing at some of the other paintings; it was at least a start.
Mello returned to his browsing, taking another piece of chocolate before wrapping the bar and replacing it in his pocket, all the while admiring the vivid works and the richly dressed art patrons that surrounded him. This was happiness indeed.
A multitude of Skye's works were on display, from ones Mello had seen many times on websites to smaller pieces and even fleshed out sketches. One painting of the Prudential Tower covered in fog and one of a ghostly woman in white walking past a building clearly marked "Quincy Market," all with signatures dated before 2004, showed Skye was displaying some older works done during his greener days in Boston.
Mello turned around to see a few figure drawings in the corner, most of them dramatically posed females strategically covered in shadows or pieces of cloth. Skye went for realism but preferred modesty for whatever reason.
The sight of a red silk shirt caught his eye underneath this painting and, sure enough, Matt was standing transfixed on one work in the corner. This moment only deserved ridicule and Mello wanted to give it to him in spades.
The hard soles of his pointed boots clicked against the brown wood floor as he walked toward his friend with a smug smile. Matt didn't seem to notice, only keeping his gaze on whatever work was in front of him. His eyes did trail upward and his mouth hung slightly open.
"I'd keep your hands to your sides if I were you," Mello said, hooking his thumbs in his belt loops as he walked closer.
Mello expected at least a retort or flushed cheeks in embarrassment; the same reaction he had gotten a few times after walking in a room and catching Matt on the computer watching online porn.
Matt glanced at him with a serious, almost helpless look. Mello cocked an eyebrow at the reaction, which was rather uncharacteristic for Matt.
Mello gradually made his way behind Matt, keeping a view of the back of his head and wanting to surprise himself at whatever scandalous thing he was looking at. Matt's eyes went to the floor as he stood slightly aside, a hand going through his auburn hair as he gave an uncomfortable sigh.
Mello's first reaction upon seeing the image was a dirty chuckle, eyes first catching the body of a half dressed…no make that mostly undressed male. Shadows concealed most of the lower torso and half his chest, creating a somewhat dramatic lighting effect.
"Oh Matt isn't he adorable," Mello said, first noticing the slender, close to gaunt form and the mass of matted black hair.
Mello's smile quickly evaporated, his knees suddenly threatening to give out the moment he got a better look at the face; features that were etched in his memory and now looking back at him through canvas.
Intense dark eyes framed by dark circles; pointed, yet delicate facial features; and a calm yet mischievous smile hinting at a million plots.
The young man in the painting leaned backward, his elbows casually resting his weight against what looked like a table; gaze directly at the audience. His stance was confident, though Mello clearly recognized the visible slouch to the shoulders and the slightly downcast turn to his eyes.
Mello tried to chase away the shock with denial; it was impossible, this had to be another person besides his idol.
The memory of every feature of L's face, however, would never leave him and would never let him deny that this image was anyone else. As much as he tried to pry his eyes away, they trailed down the painting.
No intimate areas were visible or even outlined in the shadow. Half of one thigh was illuminated as was a slight curve to his backside. The figure in the painting, though half concealed, was clearly nude. Mello almost felt he was intruding by looking at this piece.
"Look at the one above this," Matt practically whispered, pointing upward.
Another smaller piece was mounted diagonally from the top corner of this one. Once again, the same mass of black hair, the same pointed features, the same black rimmed eyes.
This portrait only showed the figure from his bare chest upwards, looking to the side while holding a small, crystal candle holder in which a lit tea light candle glowed. The candlelight lit half his face, the spikes of his hair creating shadows across his face though the features were clear.
"Yeah, I thought that's who it was," Matt said gravely.
"We don't know that for sure," Mello quietly snapped.
Matt had only seen L once and for a few minutes. Mello, however, had gazed at that face for an entire night in rapt awe as he told stories of his three greatest cases. Out of both of them, Mello had the most experience to know exactly who this was and Trevor Skye had the talent to capture every line, every angle, and every texture of his features perfectly.
A sudden memory from that amazing meeting, a few months after the L.A.B.B murders and nearly a year before the Kira case, caused Mello's eyes to trail down the image of L's body despite every mental cry against it. If Trevor was that good and this was actually L, one feature would be in place.
Mello looked carefully and felt his knees buckle again at the sight of a faint, yet noticeable scar on his side.
They had been introduced for five minutes when Mello, ever the alleged tough guy, made some smart comment to L about being a "couch potato detective." L gave him one of those calm glares, slowly stood up from his seat, and lifted the bottom part of his white shirt high enough for Mello to see that exact scar in a fresher, redder form.
"Yes, you are at great risk of taking a knife to the side when you sit in front of a computer all day," L had said, voice dripping with sarcasm.
L didn't give the particulars about how or when he got it, just explained that he did do a bit of undercover work and there were always risks. By Mello's estimation, the scar was less than a month old but L didn't want to be pressed any further on the matter.
Skye had captured that scar perfectly in this painting and Mello's last denial that the subject could be anyone but L was smothered. The question of "who" was pretty much answered, though screams of "why" and "how" went through Mello's brain.
Mello stepped back, frantically scanning the room for the artist himself. Skye had just finished speaking with a couple teen girls in black leather pants and black lipstick before seeing Mello staring at him from across the gallery.
Mello casually pointed at him and motioned with his index finger for him to come over; taking a deep breath and trying to still look somewhat cool though his hands were starting to shake. Skye gave him a smile and a nod while making a casual beeline for Mello.
Matt stepped back a few steps, meeting Mello's gaze and exchanging the same disturbed look.
"See something you like," Skye said, taking a sip from the flute of champagne in his hand.
Mello put his hands on his hips and motioned nodded toward the painting.
"Oh you noticed these two," Skye said, pointing to both the paintings. "A couple creative souvenirs from my leaner days."
"May I ask who your model was for this one," Mello asked.
Skye gave a semi-embarrassed chuckle that told Mello more than he wanted to know.
"He's beautiful, isn't he," Skye replied. "He was a houseguest of mine for a little while back about, God I don't know, in '03 somewhere around there. A very long time ago."
"Houseguest?" Mello asked, trying to sound curious and not incredulous.
Skye chuckled again, his cheeks turning slightly red. "Well we kind of, enjoyed each other's company as it were," he replied.
"So you two pretty much fucked," Mello said calmly, not caring how it came out.
"Well…pretty much yeah," Skye replied with another uncomfortable laugh, his eyes now fixed on Mello waiting for a reaction.
Mello simply nodded, though could not conceal a small grimace as he tried to comprehend all he was hearing. He glanced at Matt, who folded his arms and looked somewhat green.
"I was 22 when this happened and yes I did sow my wild oats a bit; typical dumb kid in a big city," Skye said in a semi-apologetic tone, "though this beautiful creature right here was different. His name is Ben I met him on the T Memorial Day weekend, the Boston subway to us locals; just another semi-morbid looking pretty boy I thought. We ended up spending the weekend together; how that happened I will never know. He seemed like a fragile, scared little fox, though just a few words with him he was incredibly strong; this old soul just made of so many mysteries.
"I remember telling him I wanted to paint him and at first he just gave me this 'you've got to be kidding me' look. Believe me you don't want those eyes looking at you like that; they'll bore right through you. But you could tell he was thinking of it a little, finally he just got into a pose; made me swear it would be paints and pencil only, under no circumstances whatsoever was he to be photographed."
The circumstances Skye described seemed impossible; L was too proud and too shy for such a thing. But then Mello only knew his idol through stories and the rarer conversation; L could have had a whole other life aside from his work. Given his methods and approach to some of his most difficult cases, Skye's description fit him too well.
"He sounds so methodical, so cautious yet so reckless at the right moments," Mello said with a nod, his chest tightening.
"Yeah, that is probably the best way to describe it," Skye said with a chuckle, his eyes turning to the larger painting. Mello swore he saw a look of longing in that gaze. "He was a constant enigma, but that just added to his beauty."
Mello glanced at Matt once again, seeing him leaning up against the wall and shifting uncomfortably. This all was becoming a little too much for Mello as well.
"That's an amazing story," Mello said.
"Why thank you, it's pretty amazing to me too," Skye replied. An uncomfortable silence lingered for a moment; Skye giving another look to both Mello and Matt, seeing them looking somewhat uncomfortable if not perturbed. "Well my public awaits," he said, giving Matt and Mello a nod before walking away.
Matt and Mello exchanged another hard glance, both glancing back to Skye as if they were begging for more information yet their stance suggesting they heard enough, possibly too much.
"I think this is a good time to get the hell out of here," Matt said.
Mello nodded, wanting to say something in return though any words right now failed him. He turned on his heel and slowly walked away from the wall, taking one last glance at the paintings of his fallen idol.
He saw Matt also giving one last look while looking down at his cell phone, then positioning the top part at the painting. Mello's eyes slightly widened as he sneered; the son of a bitch was taking a photograph of each of the two paintings. A few pressed buttons later, Matt folded his phone, put it in his pocket and walked toward Mello.
Mello stood and glared at him for a moment. Matt returned the look before shrugging and pulling a cigarette and lighter from his other pocket.
Mello looked away from him and continued for the door, grabbing the chocolate bar from his vest, unwrapping a corner and chomping down.
All he really needed right now was air and a million miles of space to process his surging thoughts.