So, I had meant for this chapter to be longer, but it really doesn't need to be. And I finished it faster than I thought I would, so yay me!

This story's going to be coming to an end soon, which is good because I have another story idea that's just itching to get out. Haha - hopefully you'll all take a look at it as well? It's going to consist of Beyond Birthday (FTW) and Near, for the most part, but there's going to be some L action too, which delights me to no end!

Without further ado, I present to you: the beginning of the end!

------

As the car drives up the Wammy's House driveway, I can catch a glimpse of another car and a small commotion outside. As we pull in closer, I see Roger helping someone out of the small, beat-up looking red vehicle.

It's Deborah.

I frown. I don't know what she's doing here, and I'm pretty sure this is unexpected, expected of her.

Once our vehicle stops, I hop out of it and trudge over to the brunette who is currently lugging a suitcase out of her car. I note the oddity of the outfit: black walking shorts, black knee-high socks with piano keys up the sides, chuck sneakers, and a purple and white striped sweater that looked much too big.

"Hello, Near," she greets with a grunt hauling the black and pink suitcase from the car with a final jerk.

"Deborah," I greet, a bit of my surprise escapes in the simple word. "What a surprise."

"Yeah, well, I decided that I can't take care of myself properly at the moment," she says, lifting a smaller bag out of the car and attaching it to the top of the larger bag. "So I came here for the obvious reason that I have nowhere else to go. That, and I figure I'm going to need some practice."

I lift my hand to my hair, twirling it between my index and thumb. "Practice?"

She nods, nearly shaking off her over-sized white-rimmed sunglasses. "Yeah."

Practice for what? She doesn't seem to understand that I was trying to ask what she meant, or, if she did, she's purposely not telling me. More than likely it's the second stream of thought.

I watch her begin to lug her things up the stairs and cry out in exasperation. "Ah, I forgot how many stairs this place has! What a mess. Eugh!"

I stare after her before remembering that I still had to arrange for Jamison's release. I ask to the driver of my car to help Deborah before scurrying up the stairs myself, intending on making the proper calls.

But a young boy at the door who grabs at my pant legs stops me. It's Blue, obviously, judging by the dark hair and light lips. He stares up at me.

"Hello," he greets simply.

I say nothing in reply.

And with that, the boy yanks my pants in the direction of the hall. "I want to show you something," he states, and begins that way.

At first I hesitate but I end up following him into the nearest playroom when I see a rather large Lego fixture, not as large as mine tend to be, but still quite impressive.

Especially if this six-year-old has constructed it.

"Did you make this?" I ask, causing the little boy to grin.

"I spent all week on it to show our visitor!" he exclaims.

I walk around the structure slowly. It's about my shoulder in height, about two meters in length and width, and consists of several arches, towers, and, when I look into the castle-esque structure, I can see a small town. The more I look, I can see crude attempts at detailing in the main castle structure, though the colours are all mixed around.

Looking into the structure, suddenly Blue appears inside it. "And this is Matt-town!" he proclaims excitedly.

I stare at the boy. He's genuinely excited about naming his little city after me. His eyes are bright and wide, his white lips parted in a playful grin and I can see a tooth missing.

I wonder if he still believes in the tooth fairy?

I get on my knees and crawl into the entrance he had gone through off to the right. I just squeeze in after Blue scoots to the other side of the town. It's actually quite roomy in here. There isn't enough room to sit how I usually do, so I sit on my legs instead as I examine the small town. I see that he's designed every house different (there are about six small buildings), and I can see that each one has a label on it. "Matt's Library," "Gerry and Marissa's home," "Mayor Roger," "Sheriff L," "Hospital," and a little grocery store are all included. I smile at "Sheriff L." It is true; L is justice, after all.

Blue now proceeds to explain all of the architectural attempts he'd made previously in the week, and I must say, for a boy of six, it is quite impressive. However, it isn't much compared to the towers I had been making by that point in my life.

My own towers had been about shoulder height and about three to four meters squared; however, they had one very distinct difference. My towers were made of dominos and playing cards. True, the structures were more impressive when using this medium, but they were also more fragile. Much more. For all the talent I had that he doesn't, I can see in his actions and expressions that he has something that I don't.

I can't quite pinpoint it. The tone of his voice suggests contentment; his bright eyes suggest happiness; the pride in his work suggests confidence; but there's something else. I have been content, happy and confident. No, this child has innocence.

He has been sheltered. He has been unadulterated. His mind is clean, pure, white.

His is white, as mine has not been in many years.

My own innocence was broken the minute Jamison had first held my face under the water. It had been further shattered that day Mello had pushed me to the ground. L had taken the rest, or rather I had surrendered the rest to L, that day he had the conversation with the Wammy's children.

I had given a piece of myself to L that day, though he was not aware of it. I had given him a small piece of me in exchange for a piece of him. I had taken his words, processed them, cherished them, and incorporated them into my own ideology. I had become more like L that day, and less like Near.

Or rather, it would be fairer to say I became more like L and less like Nate River, though I hardly know who that is anymore. He was lost many years ago when I had come to Wammy's, when they had labeled me "Near." I had been near death, and they labeled me so.

Now that Blue has granted me leave, fifteen minutes later, I shuffle down the hall to the staircase and find Deborah there, engrossed in a book. This is odd, considering this is Deborah, she who must have a controller in her hands at all times.

I pause and stare. What book could she possibly be so enthralled by that she hasn't noticed me?

And suddenly her eyes flicker up to mine, and opens her mouth speaking slowly and deliberately, her eyes back on the page: "To be, or not to be: that is the question: Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;"

"Hamlet." I say blandly, a hand going to my hair to twist it.

Deborah nods as she purses her lips. "Yeah. I always thought that no sane person could contemplate suicide." Her eyes slowly meet mine once again. "What do you think, Matt?"

Roger has briefed her; that, at least gives me some relief. "I think it was a wise decision on your part to come back to Wammy's house."

Deborah chuckled as she snapped her book shut. "Yeah?" she grunts as she stretches her striped arms upwards. "Not to worry, deary, I haven't even considered suicide. That would be selfish of me, killing Matt Jr."

Matt Jr.? I pull at my hair until it pulls at my scalp. "You are..."

"Preggo, man." She finishes my thought. I note her right hand draped across her abdomen. "About two months into it. Soon I'm gonna have to abandon the shorts for bungee pants."

"And that's why you said you needed practice?"

"Yeah, well," she trails off indecisively. "My doctor thinks it would be wise if I didn't coop myself up in my little suite, right, and where else've I got to go?"

I nod. "Of course."

And silence falls between us, though the sounds of children's voices can be heard down every corridor. Deb starts rubbing one socked leg with a foot and sighs heavily. "I don't really care for Shakespeare, though. Never have. But people tend to act out of character when they're depressed."

It's now I notice her eyes; they're red as blood, puffy from crying, bagged from the lack of sleep. Even now, she looks near to tears. Despite that, her voice was calm, low, monotone. "How are you, Matt?"

I look down at the question. That may be the first time anyone has asked that question of me since the Kira case was wrapped up. At least someone still sees me as human.

"I have not been well, I believe," I answer honestly. Though I don't show emotion on my face, I don't wish to hide it fully. "And will not be for a while."

I feel Deborah's eyes on me and I hear her sigh a little. "I understand that. Mello's death must be hard for you."

I look up for a moment and then away again. "Not just that, but yes, though I can hardly understand why."

"Well, you did grow up with him," she answered, trying to think through my issue, figure me out. I wish she'd stop. "And everyone could tell that you were friends, even if Mello denied it."

"Perhaps," I agree slowly. Mello was my friend? Yes, I suppose that is a fair analysis, but I don't know if I would call it friendship; a more accurate word to it would be ally, partner, or second half.

Mello was indeed my second half. He was everything I was not. I was everything he was not. Without him, I shall never, truly be L.

Just now, the twins come barging between Deborah and I and charge up the stairs arguing over some kind of book they are both reading. A smile stretches across Deborah's face. "I hope mine's energetic like that." She says listlessly before standing to her feet in a slightly wobbly manner. "Man, I know I'm having an easy time, but still, going pee every half hour kinda blows."

I can only blink as she stumbles down the hall towards the restrooms. She was never a very coordinated person, but she looks as if she was holding onto the walls for dear life. I have a hard time believing that this is due entirely to the pregnancy.

Now, just to make that phone call and find some form of attire for the funeral tomorrow...

----------

It's raining. Every funeral I've ever been to it was sunny, however today is different. The sky weeps for Mail Jeevas and Mihael Keehl along side Deborah, who won't let go of my arm. She isn't loud, but she continually sobs as we listen to the minister speaking.

As for myself, I don't know how I feel. No, I don't feel. I'm dead inside today. I feel nothing. There had been a small tinge of disgust when I had seen Mello's body in that coffin, but nothing else that I can discern.

There aren't a lot of people here, understandably. However, there are about fifteen, many of which I can recognize from Wammy's House. Linda, Jean, Winston, Geoff, Hailey, just to name a few. They had all worked with Mello or Matt once or twice, but none of them were really close to either. They had come merely to pay their respects. Fitting, seeing as that's all Mello had ever wanted.

There's suddenly the sound of footsteps behind me, and my free hand, not being occupied by a nearly hysteric Deborah, is gripped by a small one. Surprised, I look down to see...

Raine?

I stare. It is hard to see his face under the oversized bright yellow raincoat, but truly it's him. Roger, who stands on Raine's other side, apparently brought him. I had asked that none of the current Wammy's children not be present at this funeral, so why has Roger brought him?

And why is he holding my hand? No, now his grip is getting tighter and I hear small sobs. Why is he crying? Did he know Mello or Matt? He couldn't have; they had both resided at Wammy's since the time this child was one or two years old.

And now he buries his head in my arm. Both Deborah and Raine have found some use in me anyway. But I am not use to such closeness.

Soon enough, I return to my deadness, though still confused as to Raine's presence. Deborah's sobs, Raine's squeaks, the rain's pattering, the minister's speech, feet shuffling in the grass, the arrhythmic cars driving by, the quiet sound of life entering and exiting my lungs, the wind.

So this is how Mello and Matt say goodbye to the world.

-------

Thanks for reading! Please please PLEASE send me a review! :) I like hearing from you all.