It had been two months since L took me in. It was only after I'd agreed to his offer and we'd been on the road for nearly half an hour that he bothered to tell me that it wasn't going to be just us two working alone. Near was apparently the one officially in charge of the case L had mentioned, and it was Near who wanted my assistance. We'd therefore be working – and sharing headquarters – with him, along with Anthony Rester and Stephen Gevanni. Apparently mafia activity had nearly doubled in LA during the past few months, with a mobster to be seen on nearly every corner of every block. Then there were the killings, two bosses murdered, shot in the head. Nathaniel Young, murdered on March 1st, then "Big Ben" Benjamin, killed only a day after. That alone probably wouldn't have been enough to catch L's interest, or even Near's, but there was one more aspect to these killings: every victim's mouth had been smeared with chocolate.

I hadn't thought anything of that particular fact at first. Near and L thought I would be of help because I knew the mafia, and they were right about that, though I was never sure if they were being completely honest with me about their reasons. After tonight, I doubted them more than ever. If Jeremiah really had been the one behind those murders…then was the chocolate more than just a killer's game? Was it a threat to someone? A threat to me? And if it was, had Near and L suspected it from the start?

It would make sense for him to be after me. A traitor among mobsters was not tolerated, and it was true that I'd done nothing but use them, then get them all killed. Most of them. But not Jeremiah, whom I'd never trusted from the start, because he'd always been suspicious. He'd always questioned me, always hesitated to follow my orders. He was a threat to my power in the family, and I'd tried so many times to get him killed, but Rod wouldn't have it. Jeremiah may have been low in the hierarchy, but he was a valuable man and had good connections. Connections with weapons – and explosives.

As for the other man, the one who came so close to shooting me in the back of the head…I could jump to no conclusions yet. It had been dark under the trees, and moonlight was a tricky thing. I couldn't allow myself to think that it might actually have been him. I'd put that person behind me; to bring him back now was to risk opening myself up to all kinds of hurt that I didn't want to bear. And I really didn't want to go back on the meds again.

Blood was smearing all over the steering wheel from my hands, and my chest ached from when I'd been knocked to the ground. But I was alive and uninjured, and Stephen was the same. In all, the night had been a success, even though it had come close to being a disaster. We'd gotten some valuable information, and perhaps even the fight had been a good thing. It proved Jeremiah was after me, giving us a new lead on the LA case. Though we still knew nothing concerning the mafia movements, we were making progress.

We had a three hour drive ahead of us, back down to headquarters in LA. Near had relocated here after the Kira case had ended, and had built a good sized building to be used as a HQ. He'd even gotten Halle to do some interior decorating – only due to some prodding from Rester, who said he should have a decent home to live in – and the place ended up looking like a five-star hotel. Except for the underground floor, which was storage, and the very top floor, which was filled with filing cabinets, TV monitors, and computers. L, Near, and myself all had a floor for our own personal living quarters, Gevanni and Rester drove home to their apartments at night, and Benjamin had a small guest room on L's floor. It was a decent place, and even with Near there I couldn't complain. It was better than prison.

I parked the corvette in the underground garage, sighing as I looked at the bloody mess I'd made of the steering wheel. The car wasn't exactly mine…but L never drove it and I always did, and I was usually careful to take good care of my more expensive belongings, unless they irritated me. Hopefully the leather wouldn't stain.

Several retina-scanners and metal-detectors later, Stephen and I had made our way to the building's fifth and final floor. The elevator doors opened onto a room that seemed to be made up almost entirely of metal and electrical cords. L was crouched in a chair in front of one of the monitors, pouring chocolate syrup onto a bowl of ice cream, and Near was somewhere at the back of the room, carefully constructing his precious card towers. He'd already filled almost the entire room with them, with nothing but narrow paths to walk between. I liked to keep a good distance of about three feet between the cards and I, as we tended to collide. The first time it had happened, I'd thought it was amusing to see Near's serious face as all the cards fluttered down around him, but dealing with his glare for days afterward, until he built the towers back up, got annoying. He had changed since I'd last seen him during the Kira case, that was certain. He'd finally lost that baby-face of his and had gotten leaner, more a man and less a boy, which, at 20 years of age, I'd certainly hope he would be.

"What happened?" said L, as Stephen and I exited the elevator. I suppose it was rather obvious that something had gone wrong by the state of my clothes and hands. Near's head popped up from among the cards to see us.

"We didn't quite get out before the shooting started," said Stephen. "I don't know who started it…" He looked at me accusingly.

"I ran into someone I knew," I said. "Jeremiah Rost. He was one of the few mafiaso in the family that didn't get killed. I suspect he's also the one who's been doing the killings in LA. He's out for revenge against me, for shaming the family." I didn't mention the other man. That could wait until later.

"As we suspected," said Near, disappearing back among the cards. "The chocolate on the victims was a message, a warning. It is disappointingly simple really. He killed two bosses and put chocolate on their lips, sending a very clear message that he was after you."

"Hmmm," L brought the bowl to his lips, slurping up some of the syrup and melting ice cream. "It would seem that is it. Disturbingly easy."

"But that's not all there is to it," I said. "What about the mafia movement? There's still more to the case that doesn't tie up. Jeremiah is a small-time mobster; he's got his cronies, but he's not a boss, and I don't think he's part of a family, not since he lost his last one. He might be trying to start his own, though. He had two other men with him when he arrived at the party."

"I suppose it was he and his cronies who caused trouble for you, Mihael-kun?" said L.

"Yeah," I looked down at the blood on my hands, now dried to brown. "They did. If you're going to send me out again, get me a better weapon." I tossed my gun down on the desk in front of L. "An automatic. It's too risky to be slowed down, and Jeremiah has a lot of firepower."

"Now that you've been recognized, it would probably be best not to send you out again," said Near. "Stephen should retire from such things as well, at least for a while. You attracted a lot of attention tonight, and it was risky enough as it was, sending you out at all."

I nodded. It really was amazing I'd been able to go unrecognized as long as I had. "Alright then. Stephen can tell you his side of things for now. I'm going down to bed." I walked back to the elevator and pushed the button for the third floor, then leaned against the wall during the brief ride down, exhaustion finally catching up with me. I still had more I wanted to do tonight, but it wasn't going to be easy staying up. My eyes were aching with the want for sleep.

I showered, thankful to be able to wash off all the cosmetics I'd had to put on to disguise myself. It was ridiculous how much gel I had to use to keep my hair slicked back. Looking in the steamed mirror as I toweled off, I felt – and looked – far more like myself. My scar was visible again, stretching across the left side of my face and just covering the bridge of my nose, even marring my shoulder as well. It would have been awful hard to get a woman to say anything to me, to come anywhere close to me, with that flaw showing. But to me, it was just another memory, a memento from life's mistakes.

I didn't change into any clothes, considering I wanted to get to bed soon and wouldn't be leaving my room. I was perfectly happy to wear clothes during the day, and be picky about those clothes, because I suppose I was actually rather vain and enjoyed looking good. It must have been pretty stuck-up of me, but I didn't really think any kind of attire did me justice. The clothes that came closest were of leather, and hugged my form as tightly as possible, so I was (literally) putting on a second skin. Plus, black set off my face, because of my blond hair and light skin, so the me beneath the clothes got plenty of attention as well. I liked to have heads turn and people stare. I was someone worth their attention, so they'd better look.

But when it was just me, with no one to impress, I was content to wear nothing at all. My clothes weren't exactly the most comfortable anyway. It was not easy to squeeze into pants as tight as mine.

I took a seat in front of my computer and switched it on, taking out a pen and pad of paper in case I needed to write anything down. The computers here already had access to police files, and even limited access to some government files, thanks to the influence of Near and L. I decided to look up basic records first; after all, why look up a criminal record on someone who could be dead? I felt slightly ill, venturing back to thoughts of this subject after so long, but I went ahead and typed in the name in the search box.

Mail Jeevas.

I had to use the U.K's database, since as far as I could remember Matt had never actually obtained American citizenship. He had been here on a passport, still considered a citizen of England. I managed to find him after nearly half an hour of searching through Mail Jeevas's. The picture he'd had taken for his driver's license stared at me from the screen with a look that was somewhat uncertain but bordering on a smile, as if he hadn't quite been ready for the picture. I smiled back automatically, sighing heavily. I'd really messed up, hadn't I?

No death date was listed, and my heart pounded a little harder. If he'd died in a Japanese hospital, would the information still be listed here? The world had been in such chaos at the time, I could imagine it being so simple for one death to be overlooked. This didn't prove much to me; I couldn't allow myself to get excited. I decided to search U.K criminal records next, as I was pretty sure he probably would have been sent there to be tried for his crimes. Yet all his crimes had been committed in either Japan or America, unless there were others I didn't know about…

Only one result came up for him. He had been found guilty of stealing a pack of cigarettes at 15. I rubbed a hand over my face, thinking hard. Was it possible that he might not have been taken to court at all? He was such a small player in the game; he shouldn't have even been involved.

But maybe this was all simply my own hopes. Of course I wanted him to be alive. I was already looking for any excuse for him to be. I went on searching, checking Japanese and U.S records next. The only thing he had in the U.S was about a dozen speeding tickets, and there was nothing on him in Japan. He'd had few days stay in a jail in Mexico, for drag racing. But there was nothing to tell me for certain whether he'd lived or died.

I thought back to the encounter with the mobster, trying to imagine his face again. I couldn't trust my own mind now. It would make me see what it wanted me to see, which was that it really had been Matt and he was alive. It so easily could have been someone else…but he'd recognized me too hadn't he? If it really had been him, why was he with the mafia? Especially with Jeremiah, who didn't seem to be keeping it a secret that he hated me?

I turned off the computer, going over to flop down on the bed. The only way to know for sure was to see him again, but apparently I wasn't going to be sent out on anymore investigations like that. After tonight, the danger level had jumped drastically. If Jeremiah already knew I was in LA, it was only a matter of time before he discovered where I was staying. We were well protected here, but he could hire men to patrol the streets outside, and they'd shoot on sight. I didn't want to end up being confined to HQ, but it would probably be best if I laid low for a while, and saw how things developed with the case before going out again. If it really had been Matt, he seemed fine for now. Besides, he could handle himself well enough. He'd managed fine before I involved him in all this; perhaps it was actually better for him if I stayed away. Being allied with me would make him a traitor as well, and before long he'd be finding mafia bullets aimed at his own head.

"This is it then, huh?" Matt glanced at me as he unlocked the door to his Camaro. "We're really doing this?"

"Yeah," I said, pulling out my cell phone to make sure the battery was charged. I straddled my motorcycle, took out my gun and made sure it was fully loaded. "We're as ready as we'll ever be, I guess."

"We could put it off a few days Mel-"

"No. Near's going to act soon. It has to be now. We can't wait."

Matt sighed heavily, leaning against the hood of his car and lighting up a cigarette. He was nervous, I could tell. He looked up at the sky, his goggles flashing in sunlight. "It's a nice day at least."

I rolled my eyes. "It's just dandy Matt."

"No, really. Don't you think?" He laid back on the hood, folding his arms behind his head, the cigarette in his mouth. "It's real nice."

"Look, I don't give a damn. Is your cell phone charged?"

"Yeah, yeah," he sat up, looking irritated. "And I got the gun. Everything's ready."

"Good. We'll leave in about half an hour. Takada should be arriving at NHN by that time." I checked my watch to be sure, then settled myself on the bike, feeling excitement rush through me. I wanted to go now, and kept having to remind myself to be patient.

"Why are we doing this Mel? Huh? Honestly, what's the point-"

"The point is to make something of ourselves! Didn't you ever want that Matt? To be someone, to have people know who are and recognize you for what you've done? Don't you have any aspirations at all?" I huffed in exasperation, shaking my head. "This is for us, to prove ourselves. To prove we aren't small players in this game, to prove we mean something. How can you not want that?"

Matt walked slowly over to the bike, blowing a puff of smoke into my face and making me cough. "Mello, I'm content with being the someone I am right now. I'm happy to have my video games and cigarettes, and quite frankly I don't care if I spend my days sitting on a crate in an alley and sleeping on park benches. I'd be happy doing the occasional job for someone, living off ramen, and having a drink once in a while. Maybe I don't have any aspirations, not by your standards. I don't need everyone staring at me everywhere I go, I don't need to be 'known'. In fact, I think it'd be real cool to be the guy that walks into a small desert town restaurant and everybody whispers and wonders who I am. I think it'd be cool to order two cokes and walk out without even glancing at anyone, and have you waiting out in the Camaro. I think it'd be cool to drive till the sun goes down and then rent a junky hotel and play video games 'til the next morning. Then I'd do it all over again. That's all I can really say I wanted out of my life."

I raised my eyebrows skeptically. "Wanted? Who says you can't have it?"

Matt laughed. "Mello, we're committing suicide and you know it. Right now I'm just wondering where I gonna go when I die."

"Matt, don't be stupid-"

"I never got a religion. I mean you're all set, with your freaking Hail Mary beads-"

"Matt, it's a rosary, idiot. And I'm not religious."

"Sure you are. You're always praying."

"No I'm not! It isn't praying, it's…habit. Okay? Just habit. I'm not freaking religious and we're not going to freaking die. When this is done we're going to go drive to a desert restaurant and get cokes and rent a junky hotel, got it?"

Matt smiled, not a grin or smirk, but a real genuine smile, the kind that made my stomach flip and reminded me of being a kid. It was a good feeling. I liked seeing him smile. "Okay, Mel." He ran his finger over where my scar extended over my nose. "You'll come with me?"

"Of course I will. I have to pay you back somehow for helping me. Besides, maybe it'll be fun."

His smile lingered, and he nodded slowly. "Yeah. It'll be fun."

We left about twenty minutes later, making sure we stayed within sight of each other as we drove down the busy street toward NHN. This whole operation depended on working in unison, and we couldn't afford to separate until the last minute.

There was one final stoplight before our destination, and we had to stop on the red. We could see the news building just ahead, and hear the cheers for Lady Takada as she arrived. I sighed heavily, willing myself to calm, and I glanced over at Matt, beside me in the Camaro. He was looking back.

"Good luck," I said. He just stared at me a moment, then opened his car door, stepped out, and right in the middle of the street, Matt, Mail Jeevas, kissed me.

It wasn't demanding or lustful. His lips were touching just beside my own, close, but an intentional avoidance. It was just a touch, just contact, yet it made my breath catch. No one had ever kissed me. Not on the mouth, not on the cheek, no where. Not even as a kid. The light turned green, cars swerved around us and drivers cussed us out, but it didn't really matter. I felt good.

Matt pulled away slightly, then, after hesitating a moment awkwardly, said, "That was as a friend."

"Right," I whispered my response.

"I love you as much as a friend possibly could Mello." He began to back away, then leaned forward again and said, "We don't have to get a junky hotel either. I'd rent you a resort if you wanted it. And if you want a Sprite instead of a coke, I'll get you that too."

"What if I wanted Root Beer?" I said, an entirely stupid thing to say as he got back in his car and shut the door. But it made him smile again.

"If that's what you wanted, Mel."

I nodded. It was time to move, time to carry through. It was now or never. I glanced at Matt a final time, and gave him a genuine smile of my own. "You pay for the food; I'll pay for the gas. Alright?"

"Alright." He revved the engine and took off, while I took a sharp turn to wait until the appropriate time to move. There was a faint taste of ash near the corner of my mouth…

… "The man who was shot down has still not been identified"…

I didn't mean for it to happen that way. I'd really thought he'd make it. I'd thought the attention would be on me, since I had Takada. But I'd been wrong. Again I'd acted for myself, and I'd gotten you killed…

I'd genuinely meant it, when I said I was sorry.