Disclaimer: Don't own Death Note, don't own Mogi. No cash for me from this.
Note: So yeah MINDLESS MOGI INTROSPECTION. He doesn't talk much so you KNOW he's gotta be thinking in there. Anyway ramblings for youuu. Including Matsuda, Soichiro, and kids. THOSE DAMN KIDS. I have to go back and watch SGA now, it's got Beckett in it and those episodes are so rare nowadays. Oh, I'm like back from Oxford by the way. OBVIOUSLY. City's lovely. Didn't like the university but it's one of the best in the world so that DOESN'T RLY MATTER DOES IT. Yeah interviews were kinda sucky but I should find out...um...Christmas Eveish, I think, whether I got in or not. Then there's a whole new dilemma but we'll deal with that later.
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Genes
Prompt: 07. Stranger
It is sometime in the depths of the morning, when the sun is wiping out the night and colours haven't yet defined themselves. It's a time for uncertainty, really, when shapes still blur and it's neither today nor yesterday, though the clock will tell you one thing and the shopkeepers another, and it's a time when not quite everything makes sense.
That's kind of how Mogi sees it, anyway, but he doesn't voice this opinion to the other members of the taskforce. He doesn't for three reasons: one, he never says much anyway, two, it's far too poetic a statement for him to ever admit to thinking, and three, they're all asleep, except Matsuda, who for some reason isn't, and is just sitting at the foot of the couch he's made his bed. He's folding and unfolding a pillow case, which seems to have been extricated from the mess of blankets and cushions he sleeps on, and something about it strikes Mogi as an anxious gesture.
He doesn't understand Matsuda. Doesn't understand, though the man is really just a few years younger than him, how they can be so completely, totally different. They've both had similar upbringings, he knows – disciplinarian fathers who wanted the best for their sons, fair education, police force as their first job.
But somewhere along the line something must have changed for one of them, because there's no way they'd be this different otherwise. Sure, there's the whole nature-nurture debate saying it could be in your genes anyway, but Mogi isn't sure he believes that. Because if Near's right, and Light is Kira, then that means it's in Light's genes to be this way. And if it's in Light's genes, it was in the Deputy Director's genes, too.
The idea that Soichiro Yagami could have been capable of these murders is one that neither Mogi nor Matsuda would be willing to entertain.
That's one point of similarity between then, anyway, Mogi thinks, and he turns back to the window. Underneath him, the street is waking up. Quiet. Peaceful. Unstrained. None of the worries that go on in this little room, hot from computers and angry words, pierced with the chill of a mechanised voice when a single letter N flashes up on the screens.
Mogi never saw eye to eye with L, but he thinks he'd rather have him here now. L, with his certainty, with his history of always being right...it was easier to trust, easier to follow. And then they were all on the same side, really; there was none of this nonsense with Near and Mello, little boys too big for their boots.
Like Light.
Mogi's barely thirty five but he's starting to feel so old around these kids.
They've all gone past the point of wanting justice now, he decides, as the light trickles over low lying roof tops and filters through the glass of skyscrapers. They've all stopped wanting this to be some great, heroic fight. Up until the Deputy Director died...it still had been. Up until then, it had been noble, it had been worth something.
Now, it was an uphill slog that would more than likely kill them all, and really, Mogi thinks –
Really, they just want it to be over.