Hi, everybody. I hope none of you thinks this story is abandoned, because it is not - I just have a lot of things going on right now that are preventing me from writing/posting regularly. And I am sorry, I don't think this chapter is my best quality of work, but I hope it will suffice for now. Thank you for your patience with this update, and I will post again as often as I can. :)
Hearing that his application for adoption had been rejected a second time was both shocking and infuriating. Not that it had been outright rejected the first time, but it was currently the same thing in Matsuda's mind. There was only one reasonable explanation for this and that was that Near had actually done the one thing Matsuda had not expected him to do – proven paternity to the children.
He must have been stupid to think that Near would not have found out about the kids. Of course he would have found out about them - they were right there in Sayu's case file. Near may an insufferable prick, but he was not an idiot by any means. It was never a matter of whether or not Near would find out, it was only a matter of when he would. The idea that Near would be even remotely interested in the children was so absurd, it had never even crossed Matsuda's mind that he would be.
But of course, Near had found out, he had been interested, and now that sneaky bastard had taken the children away. And Matsuda had been so close to adopting them; he was sure of it. So close to pulling together the remains of their family. And damn it, it was his family. His family, not Near's. What did Near, the emotionally vacant traveling detective, know about family? What did Near know about the children besides the fact that they were biologically his? He, Matsuda, was the one who had practically helped raise the kids, had been the only paternal influence in their lives, had loved them so much that they may as well have been his. Near didn't care about the kids - this was all just some game to him, a game because Matsuda had dared to challenge him. He knew how much Near, like both of his predecessors, hated to lose, so of course he would have never allowed himself to lose to Matsuda, even if it meant giving up his children for their own best interests.
And of course being with Matsuda was in their best interests. What could Near possibly do with two children who had just lost their mother? Was he planning on retiring from his position as L in order to raise them himself? If not, then what exactly did he expect to gain from having the children in his possession? Near had to be the least fit guy for fatherhood that Matsuda could think of - except for maybe some of the criminals he had put behind bars over the years. Even Sayu had known that, hence why she had opted to keep Near and the children out of each other's lives.
No, Matsuda seriously doubted that Near would allow the children to stay with him permanently. It would hamper his ability to travel around the world and solve cases in absolute secrecy, which to him was paramount. Matsuda was sure that Near was planning on sending the children away to that Wammy's place at the first available opportunity, which could be any time within the next few weeks. And then Matsuda... he was sure that he would never see the children again after that. They would grow up without him, scared and alone in a country 5,700 miles away, among other children who were just as damaged by life's circumstances as they were. There was no telling what kind of things could happen... to be among a bunch of highly intellectual, highly competitive peers, without Matsuda there to help them and watch over them and protect them... It was a nightmare waiting to happen.
It was a nightmare that was happening. Matsuda had tried hard to intervene in any way he could - he had called the orphanage a number of times, cursed out some of the staff, even posted to them a few letters of disgust, threatening legal action. He had even actually gone through the trouble of sitting through a consultation with his lawyer who pretty much told him that he would love to take his money, but this would be a losing battle for both of them. There was absolutely no recourse for him where gaining guardianship of the children was concerned. It didn't matter that Matsuda had been with the children practically since their birth. Blood trumped paper, the children were with their "rightful" legal guardian, and there was nothing he could ever do to get the children back.
Yes, he was pretty sure he would never see them again, or even get to speak to them. He and Near were pretty much enemies now – why would he ever allow the children to contact him? Matsuda had not felt this depressed since.. well, since ever. As if dragging himself into work was not hard enough with everything that had happened with Sayu (and the fact that her case was now at a complete dead end), having the children taken right out from under him just about left him completely desolate and paralyzed. The NPA was also becoming overwhelmed as the number of copycat Kira cases continued to rise, and although they were sure that no supernatural notebooks were involved, it still took all of Matsuda's effort to give even half a damn.
In fact, he could not give half a damn even now, while a meeting about those very copycat Kira cases was going on around him. They were once again bringing up the fact that many of these crimes were being committed by members of this so-called Church of Kira; and, once again, simultaneously discussing how none of these crimes could be specifically linked to the church itself.
Matsuda was sitting there quietly, thinking about how all of this was some big messed-up cycle, stuck on repeat, and that they would never see the end to it, when his phone went off in his pocket. Glancing at it, he did not think much of it at first, at least not until he saw the number that popped up on the display. What the heck kind of number consisted entirely of zeros? Was it some kind of spam call?
Well, he couldn't be too worried about it right now, at any rate, being in the middle of a meeting and all. If it was important, whoever it was would leave him a message, which he would check later. He went to put the phone back into his pocket when it went off again, again showing the same number. Whoever it was sure was persistent, he thought as he again sent it to voicemail. But when the phone went off for a third time, again from the same strange number, Matsuda frowned. He then cleared his throat and raised his hand slightly, interrupting the chief.
"What is it, Matsuda?" Aizawa grumbled, clearly miffed by the interruption.
"It's, uh.. I'm getting a call."
"Can't it wait? If you haven't noticed, we are in the middle of a meeting."
"I don't know," said Matsuda, ignoring the chief's disgruntled attitude, "They keep calling back. It must be important."
Aizawa pressed his lips together and looked like he was about to protest further, but then Matsuda was already getting out of his chair, intent on checking his phone regardless of what his boss had to say.
Finally, Aizawa said, "I want you back in here in five minutes, then."
"Thanks, Chief," said Matsuda and excused himself, ignoring all the rolled eyes from his comrades.
Once outside of the office, he gently closed the door behind himself and flipped open his phone, which had already started ringing for a fourth time. Putting it to his ear, he said, "..Hello?"
"Uncle Matsuda, it's Chihiro."
Stunned, he nearly dropped his phone, but he managed to recover and stood up, his back ramrod straight. "Chihiro! Are you-.. Is everything-... Is Soichiro-...?"
"I'm here too!" came the voice of the boy, as clearly as his sister's. They must be on speakerphone, he thought. "Uncle Matsuda, what's going on?"
"I was about to ask you the same thing, kiddo," he said, feeling his heart hammering in his chest from both worry and relief at the same time. "Are you two okay? Where are you? Tell me what's happening."
"We're okay for now," said Chihiro, but Matsuda could hear a tremor in her voice, as if she was about to get upset but was trying not to, "We're at some huge building, supposedly a hotel, but the top ten floors are private. They just dropped us off in our room and left us here."
Matsuda himself was shaking. No way... Did that bastard really take the kids there of all places...? And did he really leave the kids alone, given everything they were going through? That guy really had a lot of nerve-..
"Uncle Matsuda," Soichiro butted in, "Is he really our dad?"
Matsuda closed his eyes and felt a disheartening shudder run through him, his eyes growing warm even as the moisture in his mouth dried up. He wanted to tell them that no, Near was not their father, that he - Matsuda - was their father. But of course they already knew the truth of the matter, as they had known even before this whole mess. The fact that they were asking now only meant that they were just as stunned and confused by the situation as he was.
"Yes he is, pal," he forced himself to say, rubbing his temples with the thumb and middle finger of his free hand while the other gripped his phone even tighter in its grasp.
"But why did he take us instead of you?"
"How did he find out about us?"
"Why didn't he come get us before?"
"Do you know him?"
Matsuda opened his mouth to answer their barrage of questions and then clamped it shut. It dawned on him how long it had been since he had really spoken to the children and how they knew nothing of the phone he had found at their mother's, his work on the phone, the custody battle between himself and their father, or any of that. How could he explain any of that without revealing why they were trying to call Near in the first place? That would practically reveal that their mother's case was at a standstill.
Well, he supposed it would probably be okay to let the kids know that their father had worked with the NPA on cases in the past and that they were calling him for his opinion on things. They didn't have to know all the little details, including that their father was L himself. He was admittedly reluctant to share any of this with the children, not just because of his own personal feelings, but because he knew it would probably spark their curiosity and lead into more questions. But he had promised them from the very beginning that he would keep them updated with what was going on with their mother's case. It was his responsibility as much as the kids themselves were, regardless of whoever they were living with.
That said, he figured he should just start from the top.
"It's, um.. It's about your moth-..."
"Is that really something you should be discussing with the children, Matsuda?"
Matsuda was so surprised by the sound of a voice that was neither Chihiro's nor Soichiro's that he almost dropped his phone again.
"Who is that?" the children inquired.
"What the-.. Near?! What are you-...?!"
"It should be obvious to you - I have access to this line."
Outraged by the sheer invasion of privacy, Matsuda fumed, "..You are a piece of work, you know that?! Never mind the fact that you are being completely paranoid, and let's not even go into all the stunts you have pulled recently - of course the kids have the right to know about their mother's case! And if you don't tell them, then I will!"
"Then I'm afraid this call is over. Farewell."
His eyes wide, he heard the kids call out to him in unison. He tried to tell them not to worry, that everything would be okay, but his words were cut short as the call ended abruptly.
"Son of a bitch!" he growled, clenching his phone tightly in his hand.
Next thing he knew, there was a loud crack and a sensation of flaming white heat jolting up his arm. This was followed by an anguished cry that Matsuda all at once realized was coming from him. At first, he didn't realize what was going on, but then he saw the slight dent in the door frame of the conference room. Moments later, said door was flying open and Aizawa was appearing in the doorway, frowning at him.
"Matsuda, what the hell is going on out here?!"
Holding back a pained moan, he muttered, "Nothing, I'm fine," although nothing was fine. He could feel the sharp sting of tears in his eyes, betraying him along with the throbbing fist he was cradling against his stomach, but he could not find any words to describe what had just happened, either during the call with the kids or directly afterwards. Without any further response, he ambled off in the opposite direction of the conference room and his scowling boss.
"Where do you think you are going?" Aizawa groused impatiently.
Matsuda bit his lip as he groaned back, "To get some ice."
"Near, was that really necessary?"
Near watched the pacing movements of Lidner's legs (clad in a professional black pant, as per usual) through his extensive latticework of cards, her impatient strides creating a sort of strobing effect through the gaps between them. He sighed. "Case information should always remain confidential, regardless of which case it is and who is involved, Lidner - you know that," was his simple reply. And of course the idea was simple - why was everyone having such a difficult time understanding this as of late?
"You know," she went on, her voice growing more stern by the moment, "Presenting yourself as a villain to the children isn't really going to help anything."
"I'm not presenting myself as anything," he cut in with a hint of irritability. He glanced at his laptop monitor and observed as the children tried to call up Matsuda again. Of course, their efforts would end in failure, as Near had been left with no choice but to block the children from being able to call him again. He should have just prevented it from the start - in fact, he wasn't exactly sure why he had allowed it at all. At any rate, any further communications with Matsuda at this point posed too much of a risk, and Near was already carrying enough risks as it was, having exposed his identity to gain custody of the children and all.
Lidner suddenly paused and sent him a disapproving look of some kind. He had a feeling that it was about the cameras he had instructed his team to set up in the children's rooms, and not a moment later he was proved correct.
"And having cameras put in their rooms..?" came Lidner's voice again from behind him as she presumably watched the monitors alongside him - well, as close as she could get to him from the other side of his wall of cards, anyway.
"It is a necessary precaution."
"That's not how you go about earning their trust."
"It's not about earning anybody's trust and they need not know about the cameras either way."
After that, Lidner fell back into silence, which Near was grateful for, because he was growing quite bored of listening to her reprimands. Her counterpoints and questions against his motives and decisions sometimes were actually good things as they helped provide him with some insight he might have otherwise not considered - but in this case, her contentions were both unfounded and unwarranted. How she, or anyone else, felt about it was not important. What was important was keeping a close eye, and ear, on the children over the next few weeks until he could have them sent away to the safety of Wammy's. What was equally important was being able to move ahead with his cases as seamlessly as possible. Plain and simple, he had himself, his team, his operation, and now two children to conceal from the world, and so any and all available resources would need to be utilized.
He could tell that she had much more to say on the subject, but she was at least wise enough to end the debate while it was still in its trivial stage. Relieved by her cease-fire, Near went right back to watching the children on his laptop. He found that he was oddly (admittedly) fascinated by watching them in this manner. The girl and the boy both had such different mannerisms - the girl with her almost frantic efforts of trying to call up Matsuda again, first on her phone and then on her brother's, and her fruitless search for the landline phone that had been removed during his team's preparation of the rooms; and the boy with his calm, albeit distressed, silence as he watched his sister's futile efforts. Perhaps that was why he was so interested in them. They were so interesting, so different from each other, so different from-..
So different from the (admittedly) redundant cases of inferior copycat Kiras he had been cleaning up for the past decade.
In the meantime, Commander Rester must have been encouraged by the desisted bickering, because Near could hear his approaching heavy footsteps and the shuffling of papers. Just as the Commander was arriving at his side to resume discussing their latest case, Near held up a hand to stop him. He could sense both of his agents crowding in behind him (on the other side of his wall, of course), with Gevanni being absent as he was presumably still retrieving the rest of the children's belongings from the limo. All three of them became transfixed by the drama unfolding on the monitor before them.
The girl had just made a move as if to throw her phone at the window, which Near knew would bear no damage. If it could withstand bullets, it could withstand the impact of a mobile phone. She then seemed to think better of her actions and instead threw the phone down onto the bed, where it bounced gaily before resting upon the comforter. Near watched as she stood restlessly by the bed, as if she could not decide what she wanted to do. She was then suddenly marching towards the door, wrenching it open, and setting out into the hallway and towards the elevator. The boy scrambled after her, his mouth opening and closing in silence due to the volume on his laptop being turned down. Still, the message was clear - the boy was wanting to know what his sister was doing and where she was going, a sentiment that was apparently shared by his agents.
"Are they coming here?" said Rester, sounding both surprised and concerned.
"That appears to be the case," Near stated, taking his eyes off the cameras briefly to pull a box of Tarot cards closer. He had a feeling that he would very soon be needing something to keep his hands occupied, and merely slinking a Slinky around was not going to be enough. Besides, the cards tended to help him focus more than anything else.
"I'll go stop them," sighed Lidner. She turned to leave the room, but stopped when Near spoke.
"Let them come," he said calmly.
"Near.. I don't think that's such a good idea," Lidner expressed, but her concern went unacknowledged as Near watched in fascination while the girl navigated the hallways, seeming to know on instinct where their command center was, with her brother trailing after her.
As the children approached his location, Near switched the cameras on his laptop to show an outside part of the building and picked up where he left off with his card towers. He had an idea of what to expect once they arrived, and he had already begun the process of fortifying himself against whatever vitriol they were going to throw at him. Still, he did feel the slightest bit uncomfortable when the girl began to rage at him the moment she set foot into the room.
"Who the hell... Where are you?!" she spat upon coming face to face with Near's sprawling fortress, no doubt a daunting image to anyone who had never laid eyes on it before. She did not wait for an answer - instead, she circled around on the perimeter until she spotted him. Once she did, she resumed her tirade, "Who the hell do you think you are?!"
Near raised his head and cast her a questioning look, beckoning her to elaborate without saying as much.
Something about this action enraged her further, perhaps because even while standing on her toes, she could not fully peer over the top of the cards, and so she had to settle with glaring at him through the gaps. Her voice rose in volume quite a bit, "You had no right to come and take us away from Matsuda!"
As he opened his mouth to respond, he dropped his gaze back to what he was doing with the cards, carefully angling two of them together so that they balanced and began to form a platform on top of which other cards would be placed. "As your father, it was indeed my right," he replied matter-of-factly, not even bothering to argue the point that he could not have possibly taken them away from Matsuda when they were never his (neither genetically nor legally) to begin with.
"Don't say that!"
Again, he blinked at her as if he did not understand what point she was trying to make. And maybe some part of him actually didn't understand, thus rendering the owlish look not entirely calculated on his part. He could understand a great many things, most of them things relating to people without actually being involved with people, including emotions. Yes, he did understand human emotions - and he could certainly understand why his children were feeling scared and angry - but what he was lacking was the knowledge of how to respond to many of these emotions. He did not have to psychoanalyzed by anyone to know that for himself, although he often found it was much easier to ignore these kinds of things when they were directed at him than to confront them. In the end, his reaction was neither important nor beneficial. It did nothing to change the situation or the other person's feelings while in the moment. Later, that person would be welcome to present their standpoint to him in a calmer, more logical manner and Near felt that this would yield better communication - not that the other person usually did approach him later on, but he was always open, either way.
Either way... in this case, he figured his curious lack of response would draw an explanation out of her, and so it did.
"Don't say that you are our father, as if you actually understand what that means! As if it means anything! As if it's normal! NONE of this is normal!" she went on, and at this point, Near could see that she was shaking with anger. He also noted that although her misty gray eyes were bright and fierce, they were glazed over, reflecting the luminous, silvery light of the closed circuit televisions around the room in a way that indicated she was holding back tears.
Near had no response to her outburst, although he did understand what she was saying - at least on a level that he could relate to. How could any of this be normal for any of them? Normal for everyone would have been before Sayu's death (murder), with the children growing up with their mother and prospective step-father while Near remained ignorant to it all. Ignorance, he supposed, was what would have been normal to them all. Ignorance was normal for most people. But seeing as that veil had been ripped away, revealing the truth, normal was no longer an option. It would never again be an option, and so they would all have to reform themselves around this new idea of normal, even Near himself, with as uncomfortable as he would forever be with the idea.
"You take us away from the only person who could ever really be our father, and then you cut us off from him, and now you sit there and-... and play with your cards or whatever, like it doesn't matter! Like WE don't matter!"
Of course it mattered. Of course they mattered. Why else would he have gone through all this trouble to obtain them? To have them sent somewhere safe? To ensure their futures?
"Well, if we don't matter to you, then why did you take us away from Matsuda to begin with?!" There was a short pause in which the girl let out a heated exhale. "Are you listening to me?"
Her sharp tone sliced through his spiderweb of thoughts. Of course he was listening to her - it wasn't like he had much choice at the moment, not with the way she was yelling. Also, he had essentially invited the children into his room so that he could listen to them - otherwise, he would have allowed his agents to intercept them. Besides, just because he wasn't looking at her, didn't mean-..
Near flinched - he actually flinched, which was not something he did often, if at all - when several of his cards suddenly went flying right out from under his steady hands. This triggered the collapse of the rest of them and all their interconnecting structures into a great, flat heap around him, fully exposing him to the rest of the room. With involuntary speed, his gaze snapped back up to meet that of his daughter's, somehow - amazingly somehow - taken aback by her explosive action. Was his mouth actually hanging open? Surely it wasn't, although he felt as though it was.
"That's enough," Lidner cut in, apparently no longer willing to stand by while someone - child or not - berated her boss. "Both of you, back to your room."
The girl sneered at him without saying another word, her sneer seeming to speak for her. That's what you get, it seemed to say. Some part of him wanted to express annoyance at what she had done, but he was still staring in a rare case of what felt an awful lot like shock at the demolished state of his card palace. Nearly two weeks worth of work ruined, all at the hands - or well-aimed foot, rather - of the child he had quite literally risked his life and operation to save. Two weeks of work... What had she-...? Why had she-...?
He had known that taking in the children might be challenging, but he had not expected any sort of antagonistic behavior from either of them. Up until that moment, they had been either defensive or withdrawn. He could handle that quite easily and had expected them to carry on as such.
How wrong he had been.
In that moment, no longer protected by his walls of cards and with the girl still glaring at him with eyes cut from steel he felt stripped bare and judged. Judged for something that had not been his fault. Again judged for something that was not his fault. Judged for something the girl did not fully understand. Judged for something he did not fully understand. Judged for something neither of them had any knowledge of - would ever have any knowledge of because Sayu was dead, she was dead and all of her secrets had died with her.
The moment passed. The girl turned away and began marching back towards the door from whence she came, flipping her (Sayu's) long, brown hair over her shoulder as she did so. The boy lingered in the doorway, looking at him in a mixture of fear, anxiety, and... sympathy? He pressed his lips into a thin, sad line and opened his mouth to say something-.. then closed his mouth again and made haste after his sister. As he did, Near heard from somewhere in the deepest, darkest part of his mind, the sound of laughter.
