Disclaimer: Just to be clear, I do not own Death Note at all. If I did, L WOULD NOT HAVE MET HIS DOOM!!!!!

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Entangled

"GIR... why is there bacon in the soap!?"

"I made it mahself!"

-From the hilarity inducing television show Invader Zim

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"So, this new L... he is Kira." Near said aloud to himself, no one else being in the dark of his room. He wasn't apt to speak his thoughts aloud, but he had just had an epiphany. It all made sense now. If he thought about it like this now, it all made sense. All of the details, plans, shams...the way the new L and same old Kira went about things. They were one in the same person. Near's mouth upturned into a disturbingly creepy smile, that no one else could see and he could only imagine, as he did not have any mirror or surface in which to reflect upon his features.

His room had a high window which the full moon shone through. Though this created a certain liquid-like brightness to his little space where he slept, it also made small, shadowy spaces throughout his chamber. In a way, Near liked it like this, with no curtain drawn upon the open window, letting the light from the moon and the dank, hot air of the night seep through it. But he also disliked it, because it manifested certain areas of his room with darkness, and situations, for him, were also symbolic.

"Yes. L no. 2 is Kira. But I need to fill in the blanks. The holes. The deep, dark holes." Near shifted on his small cot, picked especially by him for purpose of rest. He turned onto his right side, lifted his head a bit, and fixed his gaze on what seemed to be the furthest corner of his room, which was steeped in the deepest shadow. He smiled to himself.

"There you are, Kira. L no. 2. You are so far away. But so close that I might walk over to you and expose you with a flash of brilliant light. But first I need evidence. There's always tricks needed to be done..."

Near allowed his head to fall back on a soft white pillow, also picked out by himself. His silvery hair was almost camouflaged in it, so well, in fact, that if a person looked at his head the wrong way, it would seem as if he were bald. Near laughed quietly at the thought, imagining if he were, indeed, bald.

"That would be ridiculous. Although..." Near mulled it over in his mind. A gentle wind blew absentmindedly through the high open window, stirring the stiff air in the room. The smell of some rare San Francisco flower floated down on Near's nose, and he twitched the appendage, sniffing curiously at the wind.

"Mmmm, yum." Near usually did not say such things aloud. He did not know from where his unusual sentiment came from; he rather kept his private thoughts from escaping his chapped lips.

The climate in Near's room was becoming a little too stuffy for him, such as the hot and humid San Francisco nights were. He wanted to climb up to his window and shut it, pull down the curtain if he felt the need to, and go back to thinking on the current SPK situation, but he lacked the ability to. The window was high, yes, but only 4 feet above his own head. And maybe 2 feet above Rester's head. But should he awaken Rester to do this simple thing for him? Erm... no. It was his own fault, after all. The commander had asked Near if he could close the window for him, even told him the night's forecast was to be dripping wet heat, but Near had politely waved the offer off. And, (Near laughed a bit at this, too) what would a man with an ironic name of 'Rester' say to him when at 2 'o clock in the morning, this task needed to be accomplished?

Near sighed lightly and arranged himself on the cot. Luckily, the cot was made of naturally woven fibers, so it would keep him cool during the night. He didn't normally use blankets, so that would aid him greatly too. But about his clothes...

Near paused in this thinking. He was almost always woken up by Rester, his most trusted advisor. Surely Rester would not mind if he came in the next morning to find Near half-naked on his cot? No, he probably wouldn't. Near could always explain about the temperature in his room anyway, and the window problem. However, what if the removal of the shirt did not suffice in cooling him down? Would Rester be thoroughly confused, nay, alarmed, if he woke up the teenager who was only in his white boxers? It seemed plausible. But there was always the logical explanation...

Near decided. He unfastened the polished buttons that held his white pajamas together at the front, the back, up his sleeves and down the sides. True, he could have more easily have pulled the top over his head, but he wanted to do things the right way, not the fast route or equally burdening slow way.

Once finished, he folded up his pajama top neatly and set it down on the tile floor beside the cot. His arms and torso were slighter lighter, but he himself felt no less cooled. Off with the pants then, I suppose...

Near took extra care in loosening the pajama bottoms, sliding them down the lower half of his body, rolling them up nicely and placing them besides the neatly folded shirt. He was now lying on his tannish cot a bit spread-eagled, clad in only his white undergarment. He stared up at the ceiling, not blinking. The moon beams cast light and shadows over it, and it was difficult for Near to picture certain splashes of light and pools of darkness as images. He frowned, then tilted his head to the right. He could see no more pictures than he could a minute ago; none at all. Near tilted his head to the left. Still no images revealed themselves to his keen probing eyes.

Near felt an immediate and an intense need to stretch, and did so, wiggling his toes at the foot of his cot, and reaching his arms above his head. He arched his back, doing a half-london bridge, then settled back down on his cot. He narrowed his eyes.

A cloud must have passed across the surface of the moon, else what could have suddenly blacked out his room's ceiling? He stared at the ceiling, waiting for the cloud to pass. Yet it did not, and he lay unearthly still for a good fifteen minutes, waiting with bated breath. Would the cloud pass? Would it ever let the light of the good moon shine through it again? Near was almost certain that the cloud would blacken the ceiling forevermore, never stepping out of the moon's way, never letting pure, solid light shine on the poor, dark ceiling again.

For those fifteen tense minutes, in which Near almost lost hope of the cloud never bending to the moon's will and letting the beams sparkle through, in which Near almost gave up and fell into a deep, dreamless slumber, he lay stock still on the cot, barely breathing, waiting, and wishing he could push the cloud away. Yes, oh to blow it away, to shove it away and never have to see it creep across his ceiling again; it would be ideal!

Finally, after those fifteen tortuous minutes, the cloud suddenly disappeared; as if vanquished by a mightier foe than the moon, who, although begging and pleading the cloud to dissipate, never really had any control over it in the beginning.

"The wind," Near mused aloud, putting his left forefinger to his mouth, chewing on it. "The wind did it. Not the moon, never the moon. The moon, being not so close to the cloud as the wind, is not near enough to blow it away. But what the moon lacks, the wind helps, after seeing the moon's distress and figuring out how to rid the ever glowing moon of the cumbersome black cloud."

Had anyone else been listening in on Near's one-sided conversation with himself, they might have scratched their heads or made a sound of perplexity. But Near, knowing his own self well enough to conclude his own observations, merely nodded at his odd speech.

"Of course, of course. Kira. L number 2. I know that I will hunt you down and find you. I am... Justice!" Near smiled his same rare disturbing smile, which would send shudders down even Near's most trusted employees backs.

With his elf-like smirk of satisfaction, Near felt he had reviewed the Kira case tonight enough to go to sleep. He either had forgotten about his state of dress or did not care that someone would find the genius teenager in his boxers the very next morning.

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Mello trudged up the declivity of the road with some difficulty. He was tired, it was true, but he knew he had to reach Matt's house before the sun rose. It was his only option. The only one he could come up with. He had very little money left, and he was so exhausted; he was also carrying a black leather bag on his shoulder. It contained most of his provisions as well as the most important thing on earth: his chocolate bars. He had only about thirty left, and that would not last him till the end of the week. So it was imperative, firstly, to get to Matt's house, greet him like an old friend, and ask for his help. Matt would not refuse Mello a place to stay tonight... hopefully.

Mello looked to the left and right of him. The Las Vegas strip had changed little since he had last been here, but he was unfamiliar with the residential part of the vast pleasure city. It was only pure luck that Matt, the third choice as a successor for L, lived so near the Mafia's headquarters. Matt shouldn't have forgotten him. After all, it was only four years ago since they had been... not exactly friends... but acquaintances, right? Right...

Mello stumbled on a crack in the sidewalk. He cursed aloud, but kept walking. His fatigue was getting to him... what number was Matt's house again? 6150 or something. Yeah, 6150, a sort of white stucco shared townhouse. Mello had goggled it on the web and had found a picture of it in an internet cafe, but the picture wouldn't mean much, because it was so dark outside. Almost 2:20 a.m. according to Mello's cell phone's clock. He hoped Matt was awake.

Mello walked on, not giving in to his body's intense desire for sleep. Just a little farther... one more mile and I'll have gotten to it. I know I'll find it. So was Mello's thoughts as he walked, half awake and half asleep, bearing the heavy bag on his right shoulder, to Matt's house. At last, he found it.

The front walk was outlined with slates of shale, with pebbles in between the slates. The front yard was tiny, covered by dry dirt with scant tufts of grass, and encircled by a chain link fence that wouldn't keep out serious burglars. Mello couldn't tell if the gate to the fence was unlocked or not, but it wasn't very high. He'd just climb over it. There was also a small flickering light hanging to the side of one of the edifice's doors. Mello guessed it was a gas lamp, but it was not for Matt's entrance to the shared townhouse. The outdoor lamp belonged to the other tenant's side of the house. Perhaps Mello would blow out the flame before knocking on Matt's door. Not for any specific reason, of course. Mello just liked to extinguish candle lights.

He walked slower now, knowing he was nearing his goal. No need to hurry, all in due time...

The gate wasn't locked. Mello pushed it open, ignoring the rusty squeaks of its hinges. He tapped lightly up the front walk to Matt's door. The path split three quarters of the way to the door, one pathway leading to Matt's place, the other leading to the other renter's. Mello turned right at the small fork. He paused for a moment, though. Mello turned his head slightly to the left.

The gas lamp was still burning. A small but bright presence to the mild Las Vegas night. It bothered him somehow. Should he blow it out, as he originally intended? No. It would only agitate the other renter of the townhouse. He blew a puff of air at his yellow bangs instead. There. That satisfied him. At least he blew on something yellow and hot before making his way to Matt's door, as he had promised himself upon first seeing the tiny fidgety flame. Mello hated to break promises...

Matt answered on the fourth knock. By the way he was dressed, (and Mello was a bit surprised by this) Mello concluded that Matt had not retired to his bed. Instead, the 19 year old, fresh out of Harvard, was clad as if he were going out to a restaurant or shopping center. The young man wore a red and black striped shirt, skinny blue jeans, orange tinted goggles, and, curiously, black elbow length gloves on his hands. He didn't seem at all fazed to find Mello standing on his doorstep.

"Oh, hi. Come on in."

Mello stared at him. Matt didn't blink.

"You're not gonna even ask who I am? Or why I'm here? Or where I came from...?" But Matt had already left the door and walked back into his narrow hallway. Mello, deciding on the spot, hefted his bag higher on his shoulder, stepped into the doorway, and closed the door behind him. He then set off after Matt.

Though Mello found it a bit odd that Matt would let him in just like that, with out so much as an explanation or greeting, he didn't question it, yet. And he could appreciate a person who got right down to business.

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A few minutes later, after following Matt down the house's dim hallway, Mello was seated at Matt's kitchen table. He placed his shoulder bag on the floor, and looked around while Matt took two glasses and a bottle of liquid out of his pantry. Mello could only assume the bottle was full of alcohol.

"Do you like schnapps? My neighbor gave it to me, and I think it's pretty good..."

Mello had tasted wine and beer before, but hadn't liked either. However, he practiced the philosophy of giving anything a try once...

"Sure, I'll take a glass. But, Matt, aren't you under the legal drinking limit?" Mello grinned.

Matt didn't even pause in pouring the clear drink into two square glasses. He turned around and put one in front of Mello, and raised his own to his lips, and took a swallow.

Mello saw a shudder run down his spine. Matt licked his lips. "Aren't you too?"

Mello picked up his glass and turned slightly away from Matt. He looked at the other out of the corner of his eyes. Then he closed them, and tipped the drink down his throat. It burned, but Mello repressed the urge to spit it back out. It was a contest, and he'd won.

"I won't tell if you don't." Mello drained the glass, making a mental note to brush his teeth, tongue and esophagus later of the burning sensation.

"That's what I figured," Matt also downed the rest of his schnapps. "Would you like some more?" Mello could see his sly smirk.

"No, thanks, I'll pass. Maybe later. Listen, I'm gonna need to board here for a couple of days. Is that okay?"

If Matt was confused, he hid it pretty well. He got up from the table to put his glass in the metal sink. "Sure. But you're going to have to help me pay rent. I'm almost out of money, and the rent is up in three days."

Mello nodded. "I have about 3,000 U.S. dollars on me in cash right now." Matt whipped around.

"Oh really? Would you by any chance lend me some so I can buy this really awesome new game that just came out on PSX? I can't spare money for it right now..."

Mello snorted, but nodded his assent. He stretched his gloved hands over his head. "You haven't changed a bit, Matt."

Matt smiled. "Neither have you. But I am curious, why the sudden reunion?"

Mello shifted in his chair, and Matt came back to sit at the table. He decided to explain.

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The night air was cool on his face. His limbs felt so light that he was sure if he jumped up in the air he would fly away on the soft wind current. Never had he felt so alive, so animated, as he strutted down the road, the deep black road, with the houses on either side dark in their windows; the whole neighborhood was in dreams. He himself, though, only he himself was free from the heaviness of sleep. He walked, unburdened by the dark, not held down by restraints any longer, free, free at last!

The young man walked down the somewhat steep sidewalk smiling widely, a crazed gleam in his eye. Yes, he had escaped. It was a brilliant escape, and it had all worked exactly as he planned it out to be. No matter that they would come searching for him. He had gone a long way away from the prison that had kept him locked up these past few years. And no one knew where he was now, he made sure of it. The call had been untraceable, the car that he had stolen was abandoned in a grassy field some 10 miles southeast of where he was headed. Everything was perfect. He was safe.

His body moved fluidly down the sloping street. He would dispose of his clothes as soon as he got to the house. He would burn them, as he had tried to burn his own flesh. Mercilessly, and with the result in mind.

He knew which house it was. The girl said it would be lit by a single gas lamp adjacent to the door. No other townhouses on the street had the particular lamp installed next to their door. Beyond Birthday laughed quietly to himself. He couldn't risk laughing as he normally did, calculated and loud. It might wake the sleeping houses and alert them to his presence. But he made a mental note to laugh in the house, as loudly as he pleased.

Beyond saw the flickering light of the gas lamp. It was still a bit of a walk, but he saw it. This was the location. This is where he would rest for a 2 week period before continuing on with his master plan. He would kill the girl before he moved on to his next step. No point in leaving any witnesses, and he certainly couldn't take her with him. She would only be a nuisance. He remembered her. The fifth letter. E. She had always annoyed him, B. She was stupid. He was a genius. She was ugly. He was the most beautiful creation on earth. He was using her once again, like he had used her in the orphanage. He always knew of her ignorance, her ugliness. She had liked him. He had used that to his advantage.

Beyond Birthday hardly noticed he was walking up the front path to her small townhouse. By his calculations, it was a one-person fitted house, about 1,000 square feet of room. Tiny, but it would do for now. After he murdered her, he would take her monetary means, and fly to Japan. It would be so easy that he almost laughed out loud on the spot. He suppressed himself with some difficulty. How easy it would be... to murder again.

Beyond raised the knocker and brought it down hard, three times. She should be awake. He had told her that he would come at 3:15 a.m., and there was no reason for her to doubt his predictions.

The door cracked open an inch. Then it closed quickly. Beyond heard something that sounded like a chain lock being fumbled with, and then the door swung open.

Beyond Birthday's mouth dropped open. There she stood, scantily clad in a black lacy bra and panties, a see-through night slip covering her pale and slim body. She had... changed since the last time he had seen her. His greedy eyes roved over her, from her black spiked pumps to the glittery red gloss covering her lips, and her silky black hair tumbled down her shoulders and back in undulating waves.

He stood stock still for a moment, mouth agape. Her full lips upturned in a smile, or rather, a smirk.

"Hello, BB. It's been a long time... won't you come in? I want to talk about a few things first."

His mouth dry and heart beating faster than it had been a minute ago, Beyond stepped over the threshold, into her hallway lined with blue flamed candles.

She led him first into her living room, not as he had expected. She motioned him to sit on a plush love seat, and wandered over to the love seat right across from him. She settled herself into it, and crossed her legs, placing her arms on either side of her body.

Beyond wasn't the type to sweat, but he could feel a few beads gathering on his temples.

"So, BB, you look well. How was your escape from prison? Did it go smoothly?"

The girl was smirking. Beyond swallowed and answered as calmly as he could.

"It went quite well, thank you for asking. If you don't mind, might I question why you are wearing that slutty getup?" Beyond kept a straight face, and her smirk faded. It returned as quickly as it had gone.

"I might ask you the same thing. In reply, however, I wear these clothes to bed. It's 3:30 a.m. I assumed you weren't coming."

Beyond blinked. "It can't be. I'm always right."

She smiled, and recrossed her legs. "See for yourself. There's a clock on the mantle. You can read it from here."

Beyond glanced over at the clock. It stated that the time was 3:32. His eyes widened. He had never been wrong before... he focused his gaze back to the girl.

"Alright, so it isn't 3:15, as I predicted. But, is everything ready for me, as I requested?"

She nodded. "Yes."

They stared at each other for a minute. Beyond could hear the clock's second hand tick slowly. He was suddenly overcome by fatigue.

"Well," Beyond broke the tense silence, "Could you go on to bed, then? I really want to sleep."

She rose from her love seat, and walked slowly over to him. Beyond tensed, then relaxed. Stay loose, he told himself, be ready...

She walked behind the couch he was sitting on. Beyond didn't dare move his head around to see what she was up to. Then, he felt the very faintest breath on his ear and neck.

"You can stay in this room for tonight, if you like." He repressed the urge to shiver. The breath was scented strawberry, and his memory flashed back...

Beyond flinched as a finger ran a short way down his neck. He waited for more, but then heard clacking, tapping footsteps. She was going to her own bedroom. Beyond thought for a minute. He decided against it. In order for his plan to be put into action, he must kill her. He must not develop feelings for her. Besides, what was a woman anyway but weak? Nothing more than a hinderance to a man on a mission. For these two weeks, he would remain emotionally frozen, resting and waiting to make his move.

Beyond found a blanket folded in a chest, and, most oddly, a mattress on the floor near a curtained window, up against the wall. It had clearly been set up for him, but the girl must have been counting on Beyond to find it or him to go to her room to ask for a more comfortable place to sleep than the couches. In which case...

He didn't continue this line of thought. Beyond lay himself down on the rather soft mattress, and pulled the downy blanket over him. He didn't bother to undress. Who knows what that girl might do to him in the night?

It was clear that her infatuation with him had lasted all these years... how old was she now, anyway? Probably her early twenties. That's how she looked, for sure. Maybe, before he killed her, he would give her what she wanted. A little sweet earthly pleasure before she was thrown by him into an eternal slumber. After all, wasn't it what she deserved...?

"Kya ha ha ha," Beyond's laughter filled the living room, even if it was quiet. "Pleasant dreams, Enrollment Dashboarddriver."

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If you do not know who Beyond Birthday is, I am appalled. Go read Death Note: Another Note. If you are shocked that the fifth orphan in Wammy's House is named Enrollment Dashboarddriver, stick around until the story unfolds itself a little bit more.