A/N: Mello/Layla drabble about what occurred after the events in "Leather" I'd been wondering exactly how Layla had forgiven Mello after that incident. Enjoy!
Forgiven
Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note or any of it's respective characters and situations. However I do own Layla Levandi and the writing seen here. Please do not use them without my permission.
His father would have been so ashamed.
That was the only thought that rang through Mello's mind as he sat on the couch, mindlessly chewing a chocolate bar. The savory sweetness of the candy did nothing to sooth him, only intensified the guilt he felt.
Layla had not spoken to him for an entire week, never meeting his eyes, not even when he stitched up the bloody gash on her face. She shied away from him, rolling to the far side of the bed when he sat down to take off his boots.
Afterwards, he'd taken to sleeping on the couch, cocooned in his own guilt.
It wasn't supposed happen the way it did. He'd needed the funding to track down Lucky Lady once he had learned she was still alive after shooting her twice. But, without Rod Ross, Mello had lost his favor with the mafia, now having to resort to cruel tactics to keep everyone else in line.
He'd attempted to bargain with them, kill for them, anything for the green paper that he so desperately required. The woman had killed his parents, let her boyfriend shoot his mother and father while he hid underneath a bed and begged for God to spare them for his sake.
But, the mafia didn't care about that. These were men with no loyalty to anything except themselves. They feared Mello but did not respect him, or else they would have never asked for him to bring Layla to them.
They'd seen him with her a few times, Mello having brought her to a couple of their meetings. He usually kept her far away from them, trying not to make it too obvious that he cared for her. After he would send her home, he'd talk to them crudely, tell the men she was a good lay, nothing more. He made it out like she was his pet, his dog.
He'd thought it would keep them away from her, not make them desire her.
But when they'd promised him two million dollars and full use of any of their influential people, Mello felt he'd had no choice. He could not track down Lucky Lady alone.
His father would have been so ashamed of him. Mello had always been taught that a man protected his woman and children first, then worried about his own ends. He would have never offered Mello and his mother to anyone, that was dirty, something a coward did.
The rosary around his neck felt incredibly heavy and Mello stroked it with his finger.
And it wasn't like Layla had deserved that. She was foolish and infuriating but she had helped him. She'd sat with him in the night and had bandaged him, kissed him, told him he was beautiful, and had loved him.
He was supposed to protect those who loved him, his mother, his father, Layla too. He'd failed them all, and he wondered how disappointed the three of them were now.
Layla's disappointment was obvious in her eyes, when she did spare him a glance. There wasn't fear in her face, just a lingering sadness that burned in his brain, multiplied by the angry red gash on her face.
Even Matt seemed upset. After he and Layla had come home after the incident that had occurred, Matt had cornered Mello.
"Well, what the hell happened to her?" Matt snapped, staring accusingly at Mello through his bright green eyes. Layla had since barricaded herself in the bathroom. It had made Mello ache to go to her.
"Nothing." he sneered, lying through gritted teeth.
"Bullshit!" Matt replied. Mello had always hated the way his best friend could see through him like a glass, he knew Mello too well. "Did you get into a fight?"
"I guess." Mello said, running a hand through his blond hair.
The redhead had merely glared at him, walking away in a huff and Mello knew why.
Matt often had both his and Layla's best interests at heart, and to see them hurt each other so much bothered him. It was no secret that he longed for the carefree days of their childhood when the three of them had spent hours together in bright sunlit grounds of Wammy's House. They had been friends, best friends, nothing more nothing less.
But what were they now? He had lost that youthful innocence, now replacing it with an unruly wildness that refused to be tamed. Matt didn't like it, didn't like the ruthless side that had sprouted in Mello's eyes like a poisonous weed. It suffocated everyone around him.
Mello suspected Matt had pieced together what had happened, and rightfully, he seemed more frightened of Mello than Layla did. He skittered past Mello like a tiny mouse, somehow afraid that in a fit of temper Mello would kill them all.
That was what scared him too. Mello didn't want to kill his friends, hurt them any more than he already had.
That night, when Layla and Matt had gone out, presumably to eat, Mello had gone into the bedroom and packed all of Layla's things in a suitcase.
It's better this way, he told himself, neatly folding her shirts and placing them in the bag. She's dissociating herself from this, retreating into her head.
It was true too, the way she was acting reminded Mello of the way she had acted at Wammy's House when she had gotten hurt. She'd pretend it wasn't her, pretend it was another Layla that had gotten bruised.
It was a trait Mello hated more than anything. Usually too, it was what had spurred his anger and he often lashed out, trying to keep her there with him. Trying perhaps to keep her from becoming too far gone from his grasp.
But this was different. He'd hurt her, physically, emotionally. He'd hurt her by doing nothing.
Lashing out at her would do nothing but make her retreat further. Yes, it was better that she would be far from his grasp.
When she came home, Mello winced at the quiet shut of the door, the careful goodbye to Matt. Not wishing to prolong her contact with him, Mello slipped out of the bedroom.
Unbeknownst to him, Layla had already been walking to the bedroom. When he stepped out, they were face to face for the first time in a week.
He averted his eyes and moved past her.
His coat had been hanging on a nearby chair and Mello moved to slip it on. He'd need to take a drive after this, anything to clear his mind after she left.
"Mello." her voice was surprisingly gentle.
"Do...do you need money or something?" he asked, fishing around in his pockets.
Suddenly her arms snaked around him, her hands pressing against his own.
"Mello, I forgive you."
Such a strange sensation that word invoked in him. It made him want to laugh, and oddly cry at the same moment.
He couldn't bring himself to squeeze her hands, or respond to the kiss she planted on his back over his jacket.
"Why?"
"Because I love you."
"You should get out, while you can."
"No."
Then he turned to face her, keeping his head down. God, the shame was nearly killing him. How funny that he could look into someone's eyes at the moment of their death and not look into Layla's.
"Mello, look at me." she pleaded.
"I can't." he said, ashamed at the whimper that escaped his lips. "I can't look at your face."
"Why? Found some other girl with a prettier nose?" she teased.
She was joking about something so unfunny. Something that Mello knew was going to haunt him forever.
"No, I just...I did it. It's my fault." he murmured.
She led him to the bedroom, and Mello was terrified she was going to desire him, because he felt so unready, so unworthy. A feeling that tore him apart like no other.
Layla removed the bags from the bed and Mello forced himself to look in her eyes, surprisingly, there was no hate there, no ill will. Only the same Layla he'd known before.
She leaned up to kiss him, brushing her fingers gently over his scars, sweeping the blond hair away with a practiced gentleness.
"I don't want to have sex." he said quietly.
"That's okay." she murmured, pulling him down against her on the bed. "Just lay with me a while."
"Forgiveness is the remission of sins. For it is by this that what has been lost, and was found, is saved from being lost again." - Saint Augustine