…and forgive us…

When they arrived in England, and later at the Wammy's House for the Gifted that Mihael would soon call his new home--prerequisite "Wow"s at every step, from the new country, to the limousine, to the Wammy's House itself--L crouched down in front of the boy, serious, as Wammy went inside to start preparations for the House's new inhabitant. The child looked around, unable to keep his concentration long on L's face, and was comforted by the crosses that adorned the top of the fences around the House before he finally gave his full attention to the man in front of him.

"Mihael, your new home is a very special place."

"Really?"

"Yes, and you have been picked to come here because you, yourself, are special."

"Really?"

L nodded, and Mihael couldn't help but to trust the older boy's dark, wide eyes. "There are some sacrifices to be made when one is special, though. Here, you are going to be learning how to use your abilities to their fullest. You are a very smart child, and you are going to be meeting a lot of other children like yourself, all of whom are working very hard, like I hope you will, to be like the brightest."

"Who's the brightest?"

"I am."

Mihael put his hands on his hips, and cocked his head. "Oh yeah? What's eight million times three?"

"Twenty-four million."

"I knew that."

L laughed. "I'm sure you did."

"I did!"

"I believe you."

The two stared at each other for a moment before the younger shrugged, a slight bit of nervousness creeping into his posture. "Is that all? We just have to be smart? What if I'm not as smart as the other kids? What then? Will I have to leave?"

L placed his hands on the boy's shoulders, only his fingertips touching, delicately. "Mr. Wammy and I encourage all of the children here to be their best. Just work as hard as you can in your studies. We won't turn you away, though, no matter what. Once you are here, this is home."

"I'll do my best, Mr. L! I promise!" Mihael clasped his hands in front of his chin with a smile. "Even better, I'll be the best of them all! I wanna be like you!"

L's cheeks tinged slight, barely-noticeable pink, and he smiled slightly, shyly. "I hope you will, Mihael."

"Is that all? Just try our hardest, be smart?"

"There is one more thing."

The blond made a small, questioning sound.

"Wammy's house isn't a normal orphanage, as I'm sure you've figured out. Unlike other orphanages, it's not open to public records, there are no people coming around to adopt the children, and we have to take certain measures to make sure the progress of you and the others does not get out into the open."

"Why?"

"Because you are the key to our future. If a crisis grips the world, we're going to need somebody smart to save us. Mr. Wammy built this orphanage after he saw my potential, hoping that he could find other children who could follow in my footsteps if I ever had to put myself in danger."

The smile disappeared off of Mihael's face. "Danger? Why would you be in danger?"

"There are a lot of bad people in the world, Mihael. You know this. I've read your records." He thought to tread lightly at what he was about to say, and then decided against it, knowing he would have preferred frank honesty as a child. "I know about the explosion, and about the people who did it. Mr. Wammy wants me to start working in a few years, once I've gotten a little older, to fight against people like that, and bring them to justice. There's a chance that people worse than the ones who killed your parents could come along, and people like us--smart people, geniuses--are the only ones who will be able to stop them, because the worst people in the world, and the best, are the ones with the minds to do what they care most about, be that good or evil. Do you understand?"

"Yes," said Mihael, thankfully coping well enough to be seemingly unfazed by the mention of his parents, "but I don't want anything to happen to you. You need to work hard to be smarter, too, so that you can keep yourself safe, okay? I'll pray for you, Mr. L!"

"Thank you." L stood, but remained slightly hunched as always. "Now that you know the dangers involved, will you live at the Wammy's house? If not, I can send you back to a regular orphanage…"

"No!" Mihael latched on to the older boy's waist. "I don't wanna go back there! I wanna stay here! I wanna stay with you, and learn to be smarter, and keep you safe!"

L pried the younger from him gently, lending a consoling touch to the top of the blond's head. "Mihael, it's alright. You can stay. But because this is not a regular orphanage, we have to take certain precautions. Your records, right now, can be traced to this place. If people were to learn what we were doing here, the bad people may come to stop us, and they may hurt you, and me, and Mr. Wammy, and the other children. To keep you completely safe, we have to get rid of all of your records. To the rest of the world, this place and the children inside of it cannot exist."

Mihael looked up. "What do I have to do?"

"You have to give up your name. You'll get a new name, and from now on, that's who you'll be. It's like a code name."

"Is that why you're called L?"

L smiled at that, but didn't respond.

"What's my name, then?"

"We haven't decided. Most of the children pick their own names, some have us pick for them. Most of the time, they keep the first letter the same."

"Can I just be M? It sounds so cool that you're just a letter."

"I think the other children with M names might get jealous if you get to be like me and they don't, don't you?"

"Yeah, I guess." One tiny foot scuffed its toe into the ground.

"Is there anything your mother or father used to call you?"

Mihael stared at his feet. "No. Only my name." He then looked up, new hope and a rekindled delight in his eyes. "Mr. L…"

"It's okay. L is fine."

"L, will you name me?"

The lanky teenager laughed again, something he had been doing more often since Quillsh Wammy had started bringing these children into his life--these children that were too young to be called friends, but who still presented a welcome presence at the House--and scrutinized the young boy before him.

"Hmm," L said, tapping his knuckle on the bridge of his nose. "Hmm."

Mihael's large, expectant eyes seemed to have temporarily stopped blinking.

"You're not going to like it, I don't think," said the older after what seemed to the younger enough time for him to have grown wrinkled and grey. "I think my mind may be preoccupied, I'm afraid."

"What is it?"

"Mello."

"Mello?"

"Mello. Kind of like marshmallows."

"That's silly."

"It is, and it makes me a little hungry."

The boy giggled at that, a light, small, and impish laugh that sounded almost as if it had never passed the child's lips before. "You're funny, L. Do you like marshmallows?"

"Very much."

"Okay then, it's set! Mello it is! If you like marshmallows, and you wanna name me after them, that must mean you like me, right?"

The dark-eyed and dark-haired, but white-pale teen couldn't help but to grin at that, his shaded eyes soft and a blush further breaking apart and contrasting with the lightness of his skin.

But then it hurt him, suddenly, like it had with all the other children, that he knew what this Mihael--this Mello--had faced and would have to face. It hurt him to think of the horrors the boy had seen; of the competition, the testing, the hard work, and the danger he would meet that would tear his delicate light-sugar innocence apart. He knew that what Quillsh Wammy was doing was cruel to children; wrong to crush childhood away to breed genius drones with one goal and another man's ideal of justice ingrained into their minds, and it hurt him more to think that, despite how much the children looked up to L himself and trusted him, he agreed with Wammy--agreed with him, and, thus, betrayed them--in that, maybe, taking these orphans, who had already had their purities shattered and their thoughts subconsciously filled and blinded with a want for both revenge for what was unfairly taken from them and the acceptance of something to replace what they had lost, was the only way to create the future the world needed.

It hurt him, too, that he could never shake the stubborn, vile thought that, this, itself was justice: To deal upon the youth what had been dealt so unfairly upon him when his parents had given him up--died in his eyes, though living in body--to a man who wanted him for his mind, not his humanity.

But L was now a role model and a father figure to Mello just like Wammy had been to him, and he knew that he would be cherished in the boy's heart like God seemed to be, just like the inventor had been and was still in his own, despite the anger and the resentment that he could never force to go away.

And Mello smiled, still, and it comforted L's weary soul.