A/N: Hola! Chapter 4. I actually had this done last night, but I decided to wait to post it. Just a few notes. Again italicsare flashback. In the last chapter the girl with the sympathetic stare and the girl in the graveyard are the same person. I see Near as being from the U.K., but I don't know anything about their court system so that bit's based on the American court system. And on Crisium's note on my note about not owning Death Note 13, you're lucky. We don't even have a bookstore around here. So every time I go home I drag my whole family to the bookstore because I swear I start to go into Border's withdrawl while I'm at school. On with the chapter.

Thank you to Crisium, Emerald Skies, Quarter Queen, and Karin Babbitt for reviewing!

Warning: More name spoilers for Near.

Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note, but I do watch it on T.V. despite my disdain for the English voice-actors. (For some reason the Japanese voice-actors always seem to be better...)

There he was again. That boy who ever so vaguely resembled a panda, the one who Near had become so fascinated with. Of course he hadn't asked anyone who the boy was, even though he knew that anyone he asked would know. Trouble was, he had yet to speak to anyone – he had only said a total of about five words to Roger – as no one had approached him and he was never one to initialize any sort of interaction with anyone. And so Near sat silently amongst the rows of musty books that filled the sunlit library, wondering and rejecting hypothesis after hypothesis. Even though he had been here only five days he had already figured out that everything here was based on grades, so that most likely had something to do with the other children's awe and jealousy. After all, this place only took in the best and brightest of the horror stories like him who meandered along their not so merry way while the rest of the world contentedly denied their existence. How many years had it been before anyone noticed or believed him when he hinted at what had been done to him?

But his silence wasn't to last for long. He had not missed the sound of footsteps behind him, approaching cautiously most likely in an effort not to attract his attention so that whoever they belonged to could just continue to ignore him without feeling guilty. What he hadn't expected was for that person to not only acknowledge him, but to speak to him.

"Hello, there," said a soft, feminine voice. The speaker couldn't have been much older than he was and she seemed to be debating the best way to begin the conversation. Obligingly, Near turned to face her and found himself face to face with the girl whose sympathetic stare had so unsettled him. "My name's Linda. You're in my beginning psychology class, aren't you?"

Near nodded, wondering why she was talking to him.

"Sorry if I'm bothering you," she continued. "But I couldn't help noticing that you're always all alone. You're new here, aren't you?"

Again Near nodded.

Linda cocked her head slightly to the side so that one of her brown pigtails brushed her shoulder and gave him a puzzled look. "Do you speak?"

For a third time Near nodded, feeling no need to prove his answer.

"Oh." She seemed a bit put off by his unwillingness to talk, but pushed on anyway. "What's your name?"

There was a long pause before the small boy whispered "Near" and fell silent again.

Linda smiled. "Well, Near, what are you studying?"

Near didn't answer, but Linda took notice of the blocks stacked into pyramids at his feet. Perhaps the cause of his shyness was his young age. She herself was only eight, but for the children here eight really wasn't so young.

"How old are you, Near?" she tried again with a warm smile that told him she thought she was speaking to someone much younger than herself.

"Seven," Near replied curtly. He hated when people mistook him for a small child.

Linda blinked, surprised, but recovered gracefully. "Really? Then you're only a year younger than me. I've an idea. Perhaps you'd like to join me at dinner? You do look lonely in the corner by yourself."

When Near didn't answer she frowned and stood up.

"If I'm bothering you then I'll go," she said quietly. Near realized from her voice and her movements that he had made her angry. Well, perhaps not angry, but at least a bit ruffled. He stared up at her questioningly for a moment and when it seemed that she would leave he turned his gaze back to the odd boy perched on a chair next to the window, a pile of books on the table before him. Linda noticed where he was looking and realized what he had been doing. "That's L. He won't talk to you if that's what you're hoping for. He's supposed to be the smartest person here, but he hardly ever says a word to anyone. And my offer for dinner still stands if you'd like."

With that she turned to leave. Near watched her go and mused that she either hadn't been as ruffled as he thought or she was very fickle. Either way she seemed friendly enough and it was a nice change from the cruel whispering that had followed him everywhere since his arrival.

Near did join Linda for dinner, but he felt awkward and only said a total of about four words the whole meal. He wasn't good at conversation and he was content to let her ramble on about the orphanage and the people in it. That is, until she asked a rather unwelcome question.

"But of course, everyone here has lost their parents," she said sadly, looking down at her plate. "Mine were killed in a car crash two years ago. I know it had to be recent for you, Near, since you just got here and all, but what happened to yours?"

At this Near froze. For about three full seconds he didn't move at all and when he recovered from his shock he picked up his plate and cup and hurried off without looking back. It was a reasonable assumption, he supposed, but she couldn't know. None of them could know. And he didn't want to remember. He wrapped his arms tightly around himself as he shuffled quickly back to his room, failing to disguise his slight limp in his haste.

He wasn't sure about his father, but his mother was in prison for abuse. He had helped put her there with his testimony at the trial. The last image he had of the woman who had caused him so much anguish was of long, untamed curls of brown hair hiding a cold pair of green eyes set in a too old face, the blaze orange jumpsuit with black letters and numbers on it taking the place of her usual blouse and skirt in muted earth tones. And it was that image he would rather remember because that image assured him that she could do him no more harm.

"The prosecution calls Nate River," the lawyer announced as the child services representative lead to the front of the court room a tiny, white haired boy who refused to take her hand. The jury seemed surprised when he was made to take an oath. After all, he appeared to be no more than a toddler even if the prosecution had made it clear that he was seven years old and by far intelligent enough for his testimony to be of use.

"Nate," the lawyer began. "You are the son of the defendant, Eleanor Ann River, correct?"

Nate paused for a moment and looked into his mother's face, saw the pleading expression the woman wore, and with one word and a sweep of his dead gaze crushed any hope she may have harbored that her son would take some pity on his mother.

"Yes."