Edited, for typos, punctuation and minor stylistic elements. Well, here's the Mello character study. It was harder than L's, because I wasn't sure what I was doing, but easier than Light's because I trusted what I was thinking. Odd, yes, I know. Regardless, I based this on various obscure details throughout the manga, so it's fairly likely to be close to the actual Mello's thinking, much more so than Perfection's Victim, and almost as much as Invisible Parallels. Oh, and congratulations to you if you know what paradigm is, without going to a dictionary. I'm referring to the psychological meaning, thought that should be evident by the end. Enjoy.

Mello is terrified.

He's not sure what of, exactly. Death. Failure. Loss. Flaws. Something like that, most of the time. But he knows he's always been scared, as long as he can remember, and Mello can remember a lot.

(That doesn't mean he admits it.)

He's running. Mello heard that L was a great athlete; he's sure that Kira is too. He knows Near isn't, and he's wondered, idly, sometimes, how that changes the battle. If L got the Note away from Kira, he'd win. But if Near got it, Kira could still strangle him, and Near couldn't fight him off like L could. Like Mello could. Mello's always been a great athlete, especially when it comes to running and fighting. He's always been doing both of those, just as long as he's been scared. Perhaps he should call it flight, not running. But he's glad, even if he knows, deep in his subconscious, that it's a sign of weakness, because L was an athlete too. Mello tries to be identical to L in every way. He wonders if L was scared too. The little things count, more than he thinks Near will ever understand.

(Little things, like being perfect.)

L was perfect. So is Mello. He'd heard once that reality was a collective agreement, so as long as everyone thinks he's perfect, he is. Or as long as a majority do. He's sure that Near and Matt and Roger and the rest of the kids who knew Near at Wammy's don't think so, but he doesn't care. It's not them that he needs to fool. As long as most people think he's perfect, he is. He doesn't keep thinking along those lines, doesn't get around to realizing that the collective agreement makes Kira good and him evil and evil is most definitely not perfect.

(Or maybe that's why he chose the Mafia to use, anyway.)

Mello knows he's emotional. That's the one thing everyone would agree with. Well, almost everyone. His parents, and the kids he's forgotten from his school and neighborhood before Wammy's, they would disagree. He wasn't emotional then. He was, and he wasn't, but he was again before he got to Wammy's, so none of them know. Even Matt didn't know. They always criticized him for being emotional, and Mello hated it. He knows he could lose his emotions again, if he tried, but he doesn't.

(From watching Near, Mello thinks it's worse to be emotionless than emotional.)

Mello is smart. There aren't many things that he can't understand, but he knows enough to admit it, even if just to himself, when there is. For a while he couldn't understand how Kira killed, but it made sense when he heard about the Death Note that L had discovered, and he understood even better when he got the Note himself. He can't understand humans, though. Not always. He knows the patterns and the chances and the whats and whys and the chemical work inside a human brain. But there are so many differences. He never seems to find someone who thinks like he's learned they're supposed to. Normally it doesn't matter, but he wonders. Wonders why Matt died when he shouldn't have. That's Wammy's flaw, he supposes. They were taught so much logic, they can't really understand the exceptions, even though that's what they're supposed to be working with.

(Even though that's what they are.)

It doesn't matter, Mello decides. Because he's always been the emotional one. He didn't learn the logic, not as well as Near did. It got him lower grades, but now, when he'd worried about Matt and dismissed it because of logic, he decides it didn't mean anything. The wrong answer on the test was the right one in reality. They're not dealing with logic, except the logic of a twisted reality, of helpless guns and lethal paper and evil victims and a god bound for hell. Not the logic Wammy's taught them. But the logic Mello knows—that fits. He saw it before Wammy's, he saw it in the Mafia; he knows how it works far better than Near does. He knows Mikami is too obvious—Halle tells him more than Near thinks. She knows more than Near thinks; Near's flaw is the same as L's, the same as Kira's. He knows Kira wouldn't let Mikami be that obvious, knows Mikami wouldn't let himself be so obvious. Kira is as paranoid as Mello; he wouldn't agree to the meeting without half a dozen tricks ready. Near shares Kira's flaw, but Mello can share Kira's mind. He shifts slightly, and can feel a folded piece of paper in his pocket, just as lethal as it should be. He knows Near will lose this way, and he knows Near wouldn't listen to him, no matter how loud he shouted.

(Well, actions are louder than words, aren't they? Loud enough, perhaps.)

Mello has very good senses. His hearing, his sense of smell, touch, taste, they're all better than average. Maybe because he's so often running on adrenaline. He can hear Takada behind him in the truck, even though the engine is much louder. She's silent, breathing calmly, far more calmly than she should be. She shifts, and along with the blanket, he hears what could be the sound of paper rustling.

(He should be scared.)

It's the way Mello is. He's extremely emotional, but it's deliberate. He used to be no more emotional than anyone else, but he was criticized for it. As long as he could remember he'd wanted to be perfect, so when he was criticized as a child, he ignored and controlled his emotions until they went away. When he realized just how flawed the inability to understand feelings made him, he pretended until they came back. But some of it has stuck with him. When he can't change, or won't change, he doesn't worry directly. He knows, he is afraid, but not really. As if there's something bigger, and he's become it for a while.

(Maybe this was always meant to be.)

He said he was the only one who could do this. That's not reality. There is no collective agreement; the agreement is that Near is better, that Near can do everything Mello can. But Mello knows better, and he doesn't care about collective agreements because he knows better, and what kind of sense does a lethal notebook make, anyway? Less than this. Near is too cautious, and physically too weak. Maybe he's stronger than Mello mentally, or maybe not, but it doesn't make a difference because if Near is stronger, he never uses that strength, anyway. Of course, he's never had to. That was why Mello hated being second best—Near was never hurt. Any time someone needed to do something dangerous, it was Mello's job, not Near's, because Mello had the abilities, but not the value. So it was always Mello, Mello who got in trouble and got caught and ruined his name and almost died.

(A mind born in fire, like a phoenix.)

It became a habit, Mello guesses, to risk himself for Near. Sacrifice. That's what the entire case has been about, really; L's sacrifice. L died. Does that mean that, to be L, you have to die? Mello always tried to be just like L. Surviving the case, catching Kira when L failed, those wouldn't make him L at all. Maybe that's why he does it. Or maybe it's not. Mello doesn't care. The whys don't matter anymore. He doesn't often know the whys of what he does. He never knew why he was religious either—if you could call what he did religious. But he was, anyway, and nothing really mattered anymore, because he could see in front of him the old church, falling apart, with its doors taken off to make room for the truck he's driving. He thinks it's appropriate, in an odd way. Religion was the only part of his childhood self that he hung onto, despite Wammy's discouragement, and a church seems like a fitting place for him to die. The truck stops.

(He assumes he stopped it, but he didn't really notice.)

He can hear paper again, better than before, and Takada's breathing speeding up. He knows what it means; he does nothing. He doesn't think he could anyway; so many things have been going through his head, he's not sure he could move. Wammy's was wrong—their logic is sane, not like the reality that they try to apply it to; if it was right, Matt would be alive. He should have known better—he knew Wammy's was wrong in the first place, but he'd spent so long trying to do what they said, he ignored it. If they were switched, Matt would be alive. Mello was sure that no one knew Matt's name, but he knew Roger had told his. It didn't matter anyway. Kira would be caught; Mello was sure, and that would make up for everything. Whatever reality there was; the collective reality of logic and perfection and good and evil, or his reality, of failed heroes and corrupted saints. Either way, Mello knew who he was, what he was doing, and maybe, even, why. He doesn't care about much else, now, really.

(Takada's paper was silent.)

Mello waited, counting seconds, reaching to pull out his paper, to look at it once more. Just a torn sheet from a notebook, almost empty except for one note. He wasn't terrified, even scared, for the first time in who knew how many years. Pain hit, and he dropped it as he fell forward onto the truck's steering wheel. The paper landed so the writing was up, where he could see.

(He wondered why the horn didn't go off, with him leaning on it like this.)

It was just as well he knew what he'd written, because that meant he didn't have to see to read while his vision fades. Light Yagami, heart attack, 13:38 on January 28, 2010, confesses to Near everything he knows about the identity of Kira before dying, in a way that makes sense to those around him.

(In the end, he thinks his failure is better than Near's success, even if it's only in his reality.)