Author's Note: I do apologize for this taking so long, even though it hasn't really been that long, has it? Oh, well. I hope you like it anyway! Lots of angst and internal conflict in this one.

To WildfireDreams: Hopefully this one is awesome, too. That's what I was going for. :)

To exogenesis Fm7: Thank you! I was hoping that someone would like the Mello-Emilia thing and am happy that you won't skip it. There will be more of that in later chapters. :)

To garnet86: Thanks for the loads of compliments, haha! Figuring out the setting and how to bring the canon characters in was the hard part. I definitely want to continue to develop the L/Lana relationship for a little longer, so we'll see what happens. I already have an overall idea for the plot, though—I'm going to try to make it awesome.

To version15: No worries about being late! It really makes me ecstatic that you like this story that much (and also my OC, because I am trying to do her justice, haha). I'll try to keep writing to the same standards! Thanks a lot :)

Warnings: Mild profanity. Another astonishingly clean chapter.

Chapter 14: Ever the Honest One

My mother bought poppy seeds at a farmer's market once—those places are ridiculously expensive, by the way. They sat for so long in the pot by the windowsill that I forgot about them; I didn't even consider the fact that they might bloom one day. I just kept watering the soil, and little by little small buds began to appear, breaking through the dirt and bursting into full color by the time spring came around again. The change was so gradual that I didn't even notice. And then, one day, the small, insignificant seeds that I had first thought were just a waste of time grew to be something not only worthwhile, but beautiful—and I don't throw that word around a lot.

You see, it took me a while to learn that the most important things in our lives can start as something mundane or trivial, and then grow into something amazing that can make you feel happy again. So you shouldn't deny those things when they do pop up, like he did all those years ago. Just like with those stupid poppies, I didn't really take notice of it until it was almost too late.

I don't really know when it happened. I was too far gone by the time I realized. Ha—look at me! Talking like I doomed myself when it was actually what saved me. You wouldn't think such a thing would happen under the circumstances. After all, I had long since given up any hope of finding happiness.

But I guess love is just sneaky like that.

"Near?"

Lana called for the white-haired boy, her hands clasped in front of her mouth to amplify the sound. Her voice reverberated down the hallway, sending inconspicuous vibrations through the station. "Near? Where are you?"

She sighed; she had been searching for the boy for ten solid minutes, sauntering from the room they were sharing to the broadcasting room next door. He hadn't been in either: all she had managed to find was Matt (who was currently on the air) and an impressive collection of dust motes and mothballs.

She swore on her life that neither Mello nor Matt ever cleaned this place.

On top of Near's disappearance, L—she couldn't think of him as Ryuuzaki anymore—was also missing. This was what bothered her the most—what if he tripped and fell? Then all of her hard work would be for nothing.

Honestly, she thought, Near's probably helping him hide from me. That was most likely her own fault, though. For the past three weeks, she had been nothing if not overbearing towards the detective. The first two weeks had consisted of her forcing the injured man to lift increasingly heavy objects with the use of his legs, just to build up his strength. Too much strain on his damaged muscles at that point would have only made it worse—but that didn't mean he couldn't exercise that part of his body.

And, exactly as Lana had expected, he hadn't liked being bossed around. He also hadn't taken very kindly to being relegated to a room down the hall with her. Every time she had gotten too close, he had tensed at her touch, but it had been necessary at some points when he had to sit up.

Thankfully, either Matt, Mello, or Near had been around for all of the times he needed help to go use the bathroom—which was really just a bucket that was kept stored outside the back porch of the station. She shuddered at that.

Anyway, he had been steadily improving in strength, and his wound was healing nicely—or, at least, it seemed so to Lana. He had appeared to be doing better, and so, about five days ago, she had allowed him to graduate to the dreaded stairs in order to regain his strength further. It had started out with half of a staircase, then an addition of two steps for each day, steadily increasing until he could get almost up one flight by himself.

Unfortunately, due to lack of exercise in that leg and weeks of no aerobic exercise, he was in pretty bad shape. Though she knew it was for a medical reason, Lana had yelled at him to go harder until she was nearly blue in the face, just as her old coach had done to her.

Maybe she had taken it a bit too far. The thought made her smile.

Clearly, however, he did not appreciate her treatment and had made that abundantly obvious. She had originally thought he was just being unreasonable—but now she was starting to turn that accusation around onto herself. Yes, perhaps she had been too harsh—in all honesty, she was probably just frustrated with him still. He had most likely sensed that and opted to avoid her because of it.

So now, here she was, searching for two of the people she had promised to help. Just as she approached the door that led to the staircase, someone else stepped out, nearly walking right into her. She gave the blonde a small nod, and Mello did the same.

Over the past few weeks, they had learned to begrudgingly get along. (While he was here, at least. Most of the time he was out scavenging on his bike.) They didn't talk much—her interactions with him were limited to when she helped him bring the goods and wares he had found upstairs and when they occasionally ran into each other around the station.

Every now and then, though, he would catch her eye as he passed by, and give her a look she couldn't quite place—especially when Near was with her. It was similar to the one he had given her when she had pounced in front of his gun at Parkerville—like he wasn't seeing her, but someone else. Right now, his gaze was the same.

Just as he made to brush past her, she grabbed his shoulder. Immediately, he tensed, stiffening up as he turned around to look at her in surprise.

"Hey, Mello," she began, trying to work some semblance of a smile onto her face. "Have you seen Near and Ryuuzaki?"

The touch blonde stared at her before nodding gruffly. "Yeah. They're a few flights down."

Her jaw dropped. "What? He's training without me? That dick…" She had suspected as much, but she still grumbled as she continued on into the staircase, sending a hurried Thanks at Mello before leaving. She would be lying if she said that she wasn't just the slightest bit insulted by L's behavior, but the more rational part of her really couldn't blame him. She knew that she wasn't an overly kind teacher. She had accepted her gruff treatment of the others, with some exceptions for Near.

Then why does L ignoring me make me feel…bad? She pondered this question as she descended and only stopped pondering it when she came upon the two objects of her ire. It was probably irrelevant, anyway.

Near was sitting at the top of the staircase she had just reached, his slouched form facing away from her as he watched the man who was currently climbing them. Lana opened her mouth, about to say something to the white-haired boy, when the dark-haired detective caught her eye instead.

He was climbing the stairs by himself. One of his pale hands rested on the handrail, while his legs worked one at a time to propel his body onwards. His head was facing downwards, his eyes locked on his own feet. The damaged leg was barely even shaking as it had been doing since the beginning. His movement up the stairs was slow, by normal standards, but his pace had increased greatly from what it had been a few weeks ago.

Little by little, he was making progress.

And that made a small smile bloom over Lana's lips.

So she just stood next to Near, not saying a word but knowing that he already knew she was there. He didn't say anything, either. After a few more minutes of painstaking effort, the pale man made it to the top of the stairs—and immediately met the young woman's eyes.

But Lana spoke before he could say a thing.

"It looks like you're doing a lot better," she complimented, crossing her arms over her chest smugly. "I wonder why that is?"

He sighed, leaning heavily on his good leg while his hand still rested on the rail. "Perhaps it is because I have been training my strength in my free time."

"What free time?" she asked, confused. She had been with him almost constantly for the past few weeks! What sort of free time did he have?

Near, ever the honest one, informed her. "He means that I've been helping him practice while you were sleeping."

Mismatched eyes widened in surprise. "What? Without me? Why?"

L looked as though he were about to say something, but she quickly interrupted him. "Nevermind!" she exclaimed, covering her ears. "I don't care. I don't really feel like having you tell me what a hardass I am. I already know that." She grinned cheekily at him. "I just came down here to see if you guys were hungry."

Near nodded at once and uncurled himself from his squatting position. L merely inclined his head with a simple "Yes," then a follow-up question about whether or not the twinkies were still present.

Lana laughed as she came around to his side, lifting one arm around her neck so as to support him. They had more than a few flights to go up, so she would have to help him. "Yeah," she answered his question, noticing the way his mouth twitched as soon as she hefted him up the first step. "You can eat all the sugary shit you want once we get upstairs, Ryuuzaki. I promise."

Matt's eyes flicked to the three of them before they had even fully entered the studio. Lana saw the way they brightened just a bit, as if glad to see them there. He was still inside the glass box, but from the looks of it, he had just gotten off the air. His headphones rested around his neck while the gentle thrums of a guitar were playing in the background off a vinyl record. As soon as he saw them come in, he was already at the door to greet them.

"Hey, guys," he said with a casual wave of his hand. "What's up?"

"Nothing much," Lana said as she sat L down on the sofa, then ventured over to the plastic bin she had stored all of the food in. Near followed her, grabbing the can opener Mello had found and a container of beets before plopping on the floor. "We're just getting some food," the dark-haired girl informed him.

Matt sighed, crossing his arms as he narrowly dodged the twinkies she tossed L's way. "And here I thought you came up here to see me. I'm disappointed."

Lana scoffed sarcastically. "You wish."

"Ouch."

She smiled as she turned away from him, grabbing another can at random. She sat down beside L and began to eat her corn.

After a few minutes of silence (and the repetitive sound of chewing) the four of them heard the music emanating from the studio cut off; the record had stopped playing.

"Crap," Matt griped, "I've got to put another one on." He made to get up, but Lana jumped up after him.

"Wait! Let me pick one," she suggested (more like told), her hand clasping the brunette's arm.

He blinked at her, and then a full grin broke out on his face. "Sure," he conceded. He let her into the studio, where he proceeded to show her the vast array of records in the station's collection. They lined every wall and filled every nook and cranny of the large shelves. There were even many of them that didn't fit anywhere else, and so were stacked in huge piles on the floor, the desk, the foot of Matt's computer chair, and beside the cushiony seat that sat against the wall behind them. Lana could barely even see the floor.

"Damn," she whistled, admiring the luxuriously well-stocked music room. "Have you been through all of these?"

"Nope," Matt admitted. "The ones I've played are all in that shelf"—he gestured to the one that was pressed up against the farthest wall—"and sometimes I play them more than once. There used to be another shelf in here, but we got rid of it for space. That's why there're so many on the floor."

At some point during Matt's speech, L had drifted into the room and was now standing awkwardly behind the other two. Out of the corner of her eye Lana watched as he sat down in the cushioned chair behind them.

She shook her head, trying to push herself back into her conversation with Matt. "Why don't you at least rifle through all the others? You don't have to go in order or keep playing old ones that you like. You should at least try listening to something new—just pick a record at random."

The brunette smirked at her enthusiasm. "Well, why don't you pick one, then, my lady?"

"Fine."

Lana stalked over to the nearest, largest shelf, and immediately recognized some of the album titles she pulled out: Tarkus by Emerson, Lake & Palmer, the band that held her namesake; Madman Across the Water by Elton John; she even glimpsed Out of Our Heads by the Rolling Stones.

But then, one album in particular caught her eye. It was one she had never seen, by a band she had never heard of.

The Who, she thought with curiosity. She flipped the record over to look at the track list. A single name blinked up at her from the list of songs, one that stood out above all the others.

It was called Behind Blue Eyes.

Hastily, she slipped the record out and slid it onto the player. Matt took hold of the needle and placed it, and the music began. The soft sound of an acoustic sashayed gracefully across the room.

No one knows what it's like

To be the bad man, to be the sad man

Behind blue eyes

Those first lines caught her immediately, making her ears perk up and ache to listen to the soft voice that emitted them. Those lines…they reminded her of that other part of herself—that violent, perpetually angry person that she had been for nearly the last seven years. That part of her that ached constantly, as if something vital were missing.

Absentmindedly, she began to sway to the music, allowing her eyes to slide closed as she did so. If either L or Matt were watching her, they said nothing and she didn't see. One of her hands itched to reach up and touch her sole blue eye, as if doing so would somehow reveal the writhing person behind it. What was the part of her that felt this way? How long had it been around?

Why did she care now? Everything had been fine for the past few weeks…but then again, the changes had also been very gradual. It took a mind trained in the art of boredom to notice it. Well, Lana had that; and now, she could see more clearly. She didn't like what she was becoming—a listless, bitterly angry person who seemed totally unlike her former self.

But lately…things had been changing. She laughed on occasion. She smiled more. It had been since…

Since she had met L.

And suddenly, Lana's skin felt as though she had been dunked into a freezing cold pool. Had L been the factor that brought out her former self? Had she subconsciously begun to think of him as a safety net? A constant? Or, dare she even say it, a friend?

All at once, her mind recoiled. A friend? No—she had no more real friends. Itzel was her only friend, and she was dead; she had never even known Lana's real name.

No. Lana Emerson Turk had no friends. All of her loved ones were dead. She lived on for them, to get out of here and live the lives they hadn't had the chance to. Why not? She was alive. Living was all that mattered—that was what her father had made clear to her. Happiness was a concept she had given up on a long time ago—what remained was a sense of compulsive duty.

Yet even with this logical reassurance, the prior her still needled her conscience, and the song still continued to play.

But my dreams, they aren't as empty

As my conscience seems to be

As the woman continued to sway, a small smile came onto her lips. It was a miniscule, ironic smile. It was true, she thought—though she spouted her resolve and the fact that she had nothing left to protect but herself, her mind and her subconscious decisions contradicted that belief.

In her dreams…in her dreams, she felt guilt. In her dreams…she felt love.

And that, above all else, terrifies her. How could she love when she had sworn to herself not to? The day she left her father to die, she became Emerson—a survivor. Not a nurturer or a lover—a survivor. Despite this, she had once again made the mistake of caring about Itzel. And what did that get her? Only more regret. But L was different—she had saved him because he was her ticket out of here.

The tiny voice in the back of her head voiced its disagreement, but remained largely ignored, only coming out in her daydreams and nightmares.

Her dreams were not empty.

But ever since L had become her companion and she his principle caretaker, this way of living had become harder and harder to maintain. Perhaps it was the way he always dug around and asked questions about her and her life. Perhaps it was the fact that he had saved her and she was understandably grateful. That, or she only felt obligated to help him. Lana didn't even bother to consider the fact that it might be something deeper. She subconsciously pushed that thought aside.

Similarly, her attachment to Near must have been a result of her innate tendency to nurture a younger brother. Alfie had been younger than Near when he died, but not by much. It was understandable that she would harbor a sense of obligation.

But L…he pushed all of her buttons. He poked and prodded his way into her life and her brain, and now he was trying to poke his way into her music?

No one knows what it's like

To feel these feelings like I do

And I blame you

It was his fault, she realized. She had established a tenuous system of existence with the part of her that cared and the part of her that felt rage and injustice more than anything else. Yet, with one feel swoop, that pale, baggy-eyed detective was trying to knock it all down. And the worst part of it was, even as she thought all of this, her body still swaying gently with the soft sound of the song's chorus…

She didn't care.

She was terrified, but she didn't care. She just kept swaying to the music, picking up her pace and moving her feet in repetitive patterns as the song's tempo increased dramatically. The riff of an electric guitar spilled into the small glass box, and the whole song began to blend into something dark, something else entirely new.

Still, Lana didn't care. She kept moving blindly. Dancing was a good distractor—how long had it been since she danced? Definitely over seven years, if she discounted fighting as a form of dance. So she kept moving, only to come to a stop when the music once again faded out to the slow trickle of an acoustic.

Slowly, gradually, Lana's world once more came to a grinding halt as she registered the sound of utter silence in an empty room. She opened her eyes, and blinked lazily at her surroundings. A familiar warm feeling crept onto her face.

Both men in the room were staring right at her. In all honesty, anyone else in her position would have opted to bow out—she didn't know which expression to be more put off by.

Matt was grinning cheekily at her, his hand halting the progress of the record player's needle from going onto the next track. Across his cheeks, there were bright red splotches, a consequence of one of the most intense blushes she had ever seen on a grown man's face.

L's expression, on the other hand, caused her insides to squirm uncomfortably. His face was usually, if not always, pensive and serious; as bright-eyed and curious as he sometimes appeared, his current countenance was barely a step above constipated. He was staring (glaring was actually more appropriate) at her with a mien of utmost concentration, as though he had never seen her before in all his life. She had the eerie but probably accurate feeling that he was analyzing her again, as he often did. His charcoal eyes harbored something the woman was unable to decode no matter how much she tried to crack them open. In the end, however, she ended up simply looking away out of stark discomfort, her own eye fluttering over to rest on the vinyl player's needle.

The room was so quiet that just the sound of Matt's voice was enough to cause Lana to jolt slightly.

"That was quite a performance," he called out teasingly. "Would you mind doing it again?"

Before the brunette could wipe the grin off his face, Lana had already slugged him upside the head. "Shut up," she chastised him. "I haven't danced in a while."

"It sure didn't look like it," Matt tried to reassure her. "You're a natural. Really," he emphasized, seeing the disbelieving stare on her face. "Right, Ryuuzaki?"

Lana was aghast to admit it, but this was the first time she believed the pale man had been caught off guard by a question. His eyes blinked lazily, rolling from the brunette who had posed the question to the focus of it, and came to rest entirely on her face once again. As soon as his dark orbs caught hers, it was as if she lost her ability to look away—he had ensnared her in his perceptive gaze and was loathe to let go of her.

"Hmm," was all that sneaked past his lips as his thumb meandered up to rest between them. It took Lana all of three seconds to realize where her eyes were straying, and she quickly averted them.

A noncommittal grunt sounded from the doorway, and the room's three inhabitants found themselves jolted out of their respective stupors by the man who stood before them. Mello was leaning heavily against the doorframe, his blue eyes looking both disinterested and focused.

"How long have you been standing there?"

The blonde chose to ignore Matt's question in favor of glaring at all three of them equally. "If you three are done fucking around, I actually need someone to come downstairs and help me sort through the basement. I need a new battery for my bike and all the ones I salvaged are buried under mountains of other shit. Any takers?"

By "any takers," Lana knew that he really meant her. L and Near were out of the question for obvious reasons; Matt was due on air in a few minutes. Besides, she was always the one to offer to help him anyways.

So she shook off the awkward air that had been pervading the room and gave an affirmative grunt. "Let's go."

The dark-haired woman left, following after the gruff blonde while trying to ignore the strange sensation of eyes boring into her back.

As L watched the dark-haired woman follow the other man out of the room, he found himself for once too distracted to take his eyes off of her. That nuance of his behavior had been steadily increasing in regularity as of late. It felt almost as if his eyes were magnetically drawn to her back. Though, if he were being honest, her back was not the only place his eyes felt drawn too. Her eyes were preferable.

This was not a new occurrence.

Ever since he had woken up here, he had noticed…changes in himself. More specifically, changes in his state of mind. Distantly, a tiny voice in the back of his head warned him of the possibility of mental decline; he had been inactive in his search for B for far too long. Despite the fact that he had tried to spend every available waking moment going over the details of the case, wondering if he had overlooked a pertinent detail, he somehow always found his mind beginning to drift over to other images. A specific person had been occupying his thoughts with greater frequency. And now that she had left the room, those thoughts came back in full force.

Lana's nearly constant presence in his life had begun to bleed over into his private thoughts as well. Whenever she had left his side to assist Mello or to use the bathroom, he would be left sitting in his room or eating from his box of pastries on the couch. Then, suddenly, for no reason whatsoever, he found his mind pondering where she was, or what was taking her so long to get back. And always, when she came back to see him after her brief absence, he felt the pit in his stomach twist and tighten to uncomfortable proportions.

Rightfully, he blamed her. If she were not so intent on being near me at all hours of the day, this would not be an issue. He was talking to her more and more, to the point where it made him feel absolutely clumsy and useless when she was trying to help him walk. Because of his stomach. Of course, that sudden onslaught of physical nervousness and distraction also had another cause (a physical one), but he still felt uncomfortable around her. This was a puzzle he did not quite know how to solve. When he had first met her, he had been strangely comforted by her presence; but now, it felt as though being near her was driving him mad. She had been incorrect in her deduction that he had been avoiding her because of her temperamental treatment of him during his rehabilitation. He had expected nothing less of her. In fact, it hadn't been her attitude that drove him away—it had just been her.

"Ryuuzaki," the brunette next to him drawled out his alias, and L only then realized that the man had been calling his "name" for quite some time.

"Yes?" he said quietly, still not looking at Matt; his eyes remained fixed on the doorway.

"I was just saying that I've been trying to fix the communicator lately, and I managed to repair most of the damage."

L's ears perked up. Perhaps he had finally caught a break. "And? Have you been able to turn on the devices?"

"No." Matt's answer was honest and blunt. "But I've found something that could be of help." He brought the two pieces of equipment out, removing them from a small box that had been kept under his desk. He laid them out on the table. "As you can see, the wiring and electrical connections have been repaired for the most part. I've done a complete overhaul on the circuitry using what I could find around here—that stuff is really freaking advanced—so in theory, the devices should be working perfectly. But that's where the interesting part comes in." The guy's voice took on a sly tone, and he wore an expression of rapt attention. "This is one of the strangest little pieces of technology that I've ever seen. It's extremely durable, so I'm actually surprised that you managed to break it. Then again, I guess whoever made this didn't expect to be violently attacked by crazy people. And get this—unlike most communicators, it doesn't use either regular lithium batteries or rechargeable ones. Both of these contraptions here use a ferromagnetic battery that's attached to the circuitry. The way it works is that you basically jump-start the devices with a jolt of electricity, which is retained in the ferromagnetic core for a specific length of time. When you turn it off, the battery retains the electrical current until you turn it on again. It could probably last for six months if you use it wisely."

He sighed, indicating a change of tone. "Whatever damage you did caused the current to diffuse."

L nodded, his brain processing Matt's words at lightning speed. "I see. So that means we must find another source of electrical energy?"

The other man nodded. "Yeah. That's gonna be tough, though. We can't just stick a fork in the toaster like before, and trying to siphon off the building's electricity could cause a short in the whole backup system. I'm not risking that. Something like old-fashioned static would work, though."

The pale man nodded again, chewing on his thumb more furiously now. "But we'd need another conduit to work as a carrier for the current."

Matt grinned. "Something like a pair of jumper cables and a big-ass sweater? We don't have cables here, though…I guess I'll ask Mello to go out again after he's done replacing the battery in his bike."

"So we wait then," L conceded, a new sense of purpose cresting in his mind. It looked as though he had finally found a way to get back in touch with Watari. His leg was almost healed, and soon enough, he and Lana would be able to fully get back to the case and to chasing B.

He tensed at that last thought. He and Lana…he had added her name without hesitation. A gnawing, negative feeling began to resonate in his mind; just as he had feared, the woman who had initially punched him in the face had now become an ally…her dying would serve no benefit to him solving the case, and was therefore pointless and unnecessary. He was supposed to leave her behind—in L's opinion, this was tantamount to giving her a death sentence.

Yet, L knew in his heart that the situation had not changed—objectively, anyway. The goal was still the same. Find B. Stop him from killing people and fulfilling whatever strange plans he has. Do what is necessary to do so, and do not stop to think about trivial matters. This reasoning, this guideline, was how he solved every case he had been presented with and taken. He had promised Watari that he would follow through with abandoning her if it came down to it; at the time, he had genuinely believed that he would get over whatever polite fascination he had with the scarred woman.

That hadn't happened. And now, for the first time ever, L sat silently and stupefied, uncertain of just what he should be feeling.

The song that was playing in the background in the studio was Behind Blue Eyes by The Who, circa 1971. I do not own it, nor do I own any of the albums that were mentioned in this chapter. If you haven't heard the original song, I highly recommend that you go listen to it. It's bitchin'.

As always, thank you for reading, and leave me some feedback if you want.

—Vicious Ventriloquist