Point of Succession Chapter 12, a death note fanfic

A/N:

I apologize for the wait. Plot got tweaked. But I think you're going to like it.

Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note

Chapter 12

L glared through the camera, observing the scene critically. It had taken him a grand 38 seconds to hack into the city surveillance system, hijacking every camera on King's Street, even the private ones. The angle provided by the black and white camera he was currently peering through, mounted above Upsiy Daisy Bakery, presented L with a rather clear shot of Light Yagami, lounging outside the bakery window with a cappuccino in hand. The boy looked positively divine, an angel, cursed to live amongst the repugnant human race for being more brilliant than god. And yet, despite Light Yagami's untouchable aura, people were drawn to his glow, preening at his feet and simply wishing he'd look at them once, if only for a second. In another life Light Yagami would have made a brilliant con man.

Or perhaps the boy already was.

Three people had all ready approached Light. Each one of them sitting and chatting with the Asian beauty, a less than innocent glint of hope shining in their eyes. An unfamiliar twist wrenched at L's gut as he glared down over it all, he sincerely hoped it was indigestion.

It was hard to maintain that hope, however, when the truth was content to smack L across the face and steal his lollipop while he sat there, dazed and thoroughly perplexed. It was only as he crouched over a bowl of ice cream, keenly observing the foreign enigma, that L'd fully had time to analyze things as they were. And now that his mind was gaining new insight into its own soul, a place L detested venturing into, he was more than a little disconcerted with the conclusions being drawn.

He was attracted.

It wasn't the first time L had felt something more than platonic for one of his minions. The name Naomi Misora came immediately to mind.

For him not to have immediately noticed his attraction this time though… it set the raven haired man on edge. It meant he'd been too busy planning, devising, and calculating to clearly see the one important, though relatively useless, factor nestled sweetly in his lap. It meant he'd been distracted; mind diverted by the very object his physical desire was set upon. To be mentally derailed by another human being, it was a new experience for L.

Things would be so much easier if Light Yagami didn't insist on being brilliance personified. But he was. And if that wasn't enough to ensnare the detective than the verbal sparring was. The consistency through which the younger man refused to take L's bullshit, it invigorated the raven haired man.

…he also found it rather annoying.

"There are foot prints on the interior, leading into what the floor plan shows as the basement" L droned into the microphone, carefully scrutinizing Light's reaction.

The twenty year old spoke nonchalantly over the cell phone directly tied to L, and yet, the tone was challenging. "How fresh?"

"Day old to hours ago," L relayed, rewinding the feed Matt was recording and pausing to view the human tracks once more. They were appropriately sized for Beyond and that was all L needed to know.

Near's channel pinged to life with the albino child's lifeless voice, but L didn't hear it. He was too busy watching Light thoughtfully take a bite of his Apple Pie, free, complements of one flirtatious waitress. Briefly, L wondered if this was what Beyond's aim had been. To pull Light into the case in order to distract L, throw him a red herring that he, or anybody else on the face of the planet, would be unable to ignore. If that was the case then L felt Beyond had severely underestimated Light because where L's work ethic was failing, Light Yagami's was not.

"Don't let him go down there."

L stared at the screen, mind rushing to catch up with the abrupt statement. "Why? Do you see anything?"

Concern for L's successor was written in the shape of Light's brow and sat aside something else L couldn't quite decipher. But Light didn't answer the question. "Something's wrong," Light whispered into the phone, the tension in his voice speaking for what his body language refused to show.

L's eye's moved over the monitors surveying the street. "I don't see anything."

"That's because he's not out here, he's in there," Light said, forking a cinnamon drenched apple into his mouth and washing it down with a sip of his coffee.

L didn't need to ask who he was, and he also wasn't about to argue with Light's logic. He'd known the moment he'd seen the footprints that Beyond was lurking in the house. L figured he probably should have said something about it to Matt, who was currently performing recon on the same space B was occupying, but he choked back the moral instincts.

"Stay where you are."

Light's body didn't flinch, his expression didn't change, but the tone of his voice was stiffer than a plank of wood solidified in lead. "And what's Matt going to do?"

There it was, the accusatory tone spitting out at L and drenched in judgment. A voice no one else used when speaking to L, save perhaps Watari. But the man was practically family, in a dysfunctional sort of way. Watari was the only individual in the world who knew his real name. That made him special. Light Yagami was nothing of the sort.

"L," the irate voice rapped against the detective's ear. "Beyond is in there. Are you really going to leave Matt to face the psychopath himself? Do I really need to explain the insanity of that single thought? I don't care what kind of experience you think the kid needs!"

L glared at the figure on the screen, unsurprised to find that Light was now looking directly into the security camera. His annoyance for the younger male tripled. He didn't know why he bothered to keep anything from the younger male.

"I don't like reiterating myself Mr. Yagami." I also don't like how exciting it is that you know exactly what's going through my mind. "Matt understands the situation he's in." L felt a thin tinge of amusement as Light floundered in anger, seeming no longer care who was watching just as long as he made his point to L.

"Then why the hell did you call me out here? My sister's pissed!"

L smirked into his microphone. "Language Mr. Yagami."

Light's mouth thinned into a small, almost indistinguishable line. "B could kill him."

Immediately all humor ran from L's body, like a trail of ants running from their flooded hill. Morals were such tiresome things. "Don't move. I know exactly where Matt is." He swiveled the chair around to face the screen relaying the feed from Matt's camera and blinked when he saw nothing. The image before him was pitch black.

"And where exactly is that?" Light sarcastically shot into his phone's mouth piece. "A ditch? Six feet beneath ground level? Though Beyond never really showed much initiative to bury his victims. He was all about the display."

L was too busy typing away to respond to Light's biting commentary, what mattered to him was that Light hadn't moved from the café yet. That's all he wanted, Light to stay where he was. He refused to let the FBI agent any closer to Beyond Birthday than he already was. He couldn't afford it. Hence the smoke and mirrors, the conversation, distracting Light from following his curiosity through Unnatural Flooring's front door. Light probably knew L was doing it too. But no matter what the other man thought, it was better to have Light Yagami on screen before him than running around doing god knew what.

"Damn it," though perhaps he should have been keeping a better eye on Matt as well. He'd lost audio.

Light's eyes narrowed on the phone. "What?"

L ignored him. "Near! Where is Matt, I don't have audio and visual is compromised."

"He went into the - " The line went dead.

"Shit!"

"Language," Light shot back, but it fizzled over a string of L's profanity. "What happened?"

"Lost audio, but I still have visual. Matt's in the basement and Near's -"

"In the ugly pink truck," Light interrupted. "Yes I know."

L's toes clenched as Light ripped himself out of his wire chair, making to sprint for the flooring store. "I told you to stay where you are!" L shouted into his microphone, teeth grit painfully at the screen as Light proceeded to do the exact opposite of what L was demanding. "Yagami! I WANT YOU TO STAY WHERE YOU ARE!"

"Too bad." And Light hung up.

The music filtered through the room, soft, yet scratching, a slight hiccup in a two year olds throat, tiny and high pitched. It was a swaying lullaby, designed to comfort. But paired with the onslaught of darkness raping Matt's vision, the song was anything but.

Hesitantly Matt reached upwards, finger tips brushing warm glass, and he gave the light bulb a tiny flick. Breath held hostage by his throat, he pursed his lips and prayed to the gods responsible for every technological discovery known to man that Edison's incandescent genius would come back to life.

It did, and Matt quickly decided he would have rather stayed in the dark.

The figure was crawling, like some mutated crab that decided to grow arms and legs too skinny to actually belong to a mobile creature. Yet, the thing was moving towards him. Matt refused to acknowledge Beyond Birthday as anything other than a thing. The man wasn't human. There was no possible way a human could move the way Beyond did. It was disjointed, tramping across the floor, fingers and toes slapping against the cold, stone surface, eliciting a ghostly echo to ring over Matt's body, gluing him in place. Every fiber of Matt's body rejected what he was seeing, calling out that such an apparition was an impossibility, a frightening unraveling of reality's threads. And yet, he couldn't look away from it.

B laughed as he circled the room, inching closer and closer, then backing away, running to the shadows. And the laughter moved with him. The sound was taunting, teasing, amplified by the scrape of B's nails against the floor. Matt knew that laughter, he knew it from the dark space under his bed; it hadn't changed at all.

Suddenly Matt found his hand itching for the trigger of a gun.

A cackle escaped B's pale lips and he scurried backwards, arms moving over legs sharply, and the shadows swallowed him whole. "Mattie- Ma! Did ya miss me?"

Matt found his voice as the childhood nickname hit. B had a thing for naming things, he remembered. Naming people, the one's he thought belonged to him. "Where the fuck is Mello you sick bastard?"

Outside it had been comfortable, but the temperature in the basement was decidedly not and Matt didn't know why it had taken him this long to notice. Or maybe the temp had only just begun to drop… Frost dotted his eyelashes, his breath puffing out against the air like smoke as Matt turned his head, ears following the laughter.

A giggle rang from behind him. "No no no Mattie-Ma, it's too early for that. But while we're on the subject… would you be willing to tell me which hotel L has decided to hole himself up in? I'd rather like to blow it up."

"Well if that's what you're looking to do then of course, why don't I just give you the GPS coordinates." Sarcasm, it kept him warm and feeling in control of a situation when he knew he had absolutely none.

B came back out of the shadows. Slowly. Matt could feel the man's movements directly behind him and the teen boldly turned to face his childhood tormentor. The fear was there, plainly drenched across Matt's face, but he would not yield. Beyond stood there, just on the edge of the light bulb's dim glow, hair casting jagged shadows to butcher his pallid face. B didn't move. He didn't breathe. He just tilted his head, leisurely, deliberately so tangles of natural black fell across his cheeks, revealing an unblinking stare.

The eyes were bright, scalding so. They burned straight into Matt's blue orbs with an emotion too intense for one human being. They were bright… and yet blacker than ink. They were a contradiction unto themselves, empty, but filled with presence. It was a presence Matt couldn't quite see, as if it was hiding behind a curtain. Whatever was veiled behind that curtain, Matt was fairly certain he didn't want it to step out and reveal itself.

His skin prickled, it crawled, moved over his bones and muscle tendons, desperately trying to back away from B. And Matt wondered why he wasn't running with his skin. He probably should have been running. Hell, he probably shouldn't have gone into the basement to begin with. That'd been a serious lack of judgment on his part.

Beyond came closer. Feet shuffling over each other, toes wiggling like speared worms. B approached and Matt didn't move. He couldn't, no matter the intensity with which his mind was shouting at him to do so, his legs wouldn't fucking move! He was unarmed, utterly defenseless, and B was inching closer. With agonizingly measured steps the wraith creeped, literally creeped, towards Matt before stopping again.

Standing only a matter of feet from where Matt stood, leering blankly, eye's wide and hypnotic in their ability to not blink, B just stood there and stared at his prey, smiling. It was the kind of smile the clown in the gutter wore when offering little kids candy and balloons. And suddenly, at the tip of B's horrific smile, Matt's brain fired into action and began manufacturing adrenaline. The teen fell backwards, scrambling out of the light and into the shadow. And B followed, far too quickly for Matt to like.

Oh holy hell was he fucked.

That was about when Matt started throwing things. Desperation being what it was Matt decided he'd put as much as he possibly cold between himself and the man galloping towards him on all fours, quicker than Matt was scrambling backwards. The ear piece went first, fuck L for all the shit he was putting Matt through. It bounced to the ground, not connecting with the leering grin of its intended target. Next went the goggles. Snapped from pink tuffs of hair and flung through the air. B kept coming. The PSP actually grazed the side of B's head and the murderer paused in surprise, weather it was from the fact that he'd been hit in the head with a hundred dollar electronic or because Matt had actually parted with his lifetime lover, Matt really didn't give a rat's ass. As far as he was concerned, if he made it out alive L would be buying him a fucking Game Stop.

Matt's back hit a shelf and he was fumbling with his shoe laces when a loud crash thundered from somewhere up above. The sounds of raining glass and obvious breaking and entering, however, did nothing to deter Beyond. The skinny frame hit him with the force of a bowling ball, B ramming his head into Matt's stomach. The ex-red head's neck snapped against the shelf with a sickening crack, pain, sheer bloody pain, electrocuting his veins. Stars exploded above his head, quick little bursts of light blurring his field of vision into one unintelligible mass. He could feel the nails though. They clawed into his neck, slicing at his air supply and drawing little crescent shaped wounds over his flesh. The blood fell freely.

And then the weight of Beyond was gone, the man's limbs ripped viciously away from Matt's throat, leaving splatters of blood and open flesh in its wake. Another figure, slim and fast, knocked against B, pummeling the ethereal killer to the floor in a ball of flailing limbs. Matt found himself clawing his way up the shelf into a standing position, arms and elbows grappling for support. He could barely see what was happening right in front of him.

Until the other figure, the one who'd pulled B off of Matt, was leaping backwards, dodging what Matt was pretty sure was Beyond's foot. Bullets suddenly went whizzing through the air, the silencer reducing the noise to nothing more than a thin pop.

B dodged every bullet. His body moved like a contortionist, folding over in ways the human form was not meant to move. He was a fucking slinky, bathed in blood with ribs protruding at all the wrong angles. And every bullet missed, they had to keep missing, otherwise the psychopath wouldn't still be moving. He wouldn't still be laughing.

The clip was emptied seconds before Matt's savior discarded it and slammed another one in, proceeding to shoot. Matt didn't really know why the stranger bothered though because B was too fast, the gun was too slow and within minutes the second clip was clicking on air.

B lunged for the other man, tackling him to the floor and laughing merrily all the way. Matt simply stood back and watched as B bit into the other man's neck, blood pooling over Beyond's lips. A muffled yell of pain echoed through the room before B was kicked backwards, the stranger thrusting the murderer off his body. B stumbled backwards, deranged, soul sucking smile still in place before the strange whipped downward, propelling his leg right into B's stomach, sending the man to crash against the staircase. Matt didn't even see where it came from, but another gun was flipping through the stranger's hands, barrel pointing straight for B's chest.

The murderer didn't even hesitate. He flipped backwards over the stairs, narrowly avoiding the single shot meant for his heart. Landing heavily on his feet he ran, vaulting up the stairs and slamming the basement door shut behind him.

Three pinpricks of light filtered through the bullet holes in the door, illuminating caramel colored hair and a dark, designer suit Matt had only ever seen on one person.

"Yagami?" the teen breathed, stepping away from the wall. Matt's eyes painted over with flagrant shock as he suddenly found himself staring down the glinting barrel of a Colt Anaconda. "That FBI standard?"

"For the most part," Light panted, lowering the gun with no amount of apology in his eyes. Mentally, he was thanking the gods for Naomi Misora and her mandatory self defense classes, outwardly, he was pissed. This was all L's fault.

Without even looking at L's successor Light headed deeper into the basement, leaving the kid to follow him. They were screwed. And perhaps he was to blame for that. But he wasn't the type of person to leave a defenseless child in the hands of a murderer that loved nothing more than fucking with other's minds. He practically growled, the Colt shining against the room's only source of light as he stalked deeper into the room.

The music was still playing, the gentle skip occurring every half second alerting Light to the knowledge that it was a record player. His eyes keenly traced the ceiling, quickly picking out the series of pulleys and ropes stretching overhead. That wasn't a good sign.

Especially when he found himself walking straight into a hanging corpse.

The moment the ballroom door slammed shut behind the hem of B's worn out jeans Mello was digging through the pockets of his leather pants. For the first time in days a genuine smile fell over the boy's lips as he fingered the sleek, metal hair pin he'd hid in his pocket. The thin hair accessory twirled between Mello's finger tips as the blonde jammed it into the handcuff's lock. A satisfying click rang out over the hall and Mello's satisfaction grew.

Beyond wanted to know why Wammy's House had taught him about advanced weaponry? The answer was simple. So he'd know how to use it. Within the folds of gray matter encased in Mello's skull was an arsenal of nefarious defensive and offensive mechanisms. And every detail had been supplied by the elite teaching staff Quillish Wammy had personally selected. Public school systems the world over would be out for Wammy's blood if they got so much as a hint of what was being taught behind the establishment's brick and mortar. Beyond thought it ripped the innocence from the already broken children? Well maybe it did. But it also taught kids like Mello how to survive. And Mello was damn ready to prove just how good his survival skills were. He figured it was about time for a demonstration.

The blonde's face set in grim determination as he ran, barefoot, across the ballroom. If Mello wasn't mistaken, which he rarely was, there were six locks standing between him and his freedom. Escape wasn't currently written on the teenager's agenda, not yet at least, but investigation was indispensable. With a heavy grunt he rammed his shoulder against the double doors leading out of the dance hall. Nothing happened. If there was any common sense in the way Beyond had placed the locks then they would be evenly spaced over the thin crack between the two doors. It was that space that would provide the least amount of resistance. Huffing, Mello cast about the room. His eye's fell on the solid wood table with B's perverse game sitting atop it and immediately Mello went for it.

The game pieces rained across the floor in a rainbow of Hasbro and Parker Brothers creations. Grunting, Mello gripped the table and tried to flip it over, to no avail. The thing was heavy, weighing more than Mello did. Not to be discouraged, the blonde climbed on top of the table and stood directly on one of the corners. With a deep breath Mello jumped. A loud crack snapped across the large room and a harsh sting rocketed up Mello's left arm, which he'd used to brace himself as he crashed to the floor.

The table beneath him shattered. Shards of polished wood splayed themselves across the marble floor, glittering in the chandelier light like brown pieces of glass. More importantly however, one of the table legs had snapped clean off, providing Mello with a makeshift battering ram. And for that one piece of broken furniture, the pain was more than tolerable.

Ignoring the burning bruise spreading itself up his left arm, Mello slowly picked himself out of the mess of wood. The table leg was still heavy, but it would work. Locking it in place against his hip like a lance, Mello took a breath and felt the adrenaline of pain tingle beneath his skin. Without thought, he charged the door.

The table leg speared straight through the double doors, blowing the previously barred entrance clean open. Wooden splinters and chips of gold paint settled around the hall, dusting the floor like sharpened snow. Mello sincerely hoped someone had heard the explosion; else he'd have to go hunting.

The blonde wasn't disappointed.

The soft thud of quick footfalls came from somewhere down the hall, closing in on Mello's location. The teen sprinted down the dimly lit landing. There were no other doors aside from the one he'd just decimated. Coming to a turn Mello pressed his back against the corridor wall. Carefully, he angled his head to glance just around the corner to see a uniformed man running towards him. A heavy black vest covered a large percentage of the security guard's chest, a gun bouncing with every brisk step the man took.

The security guards were armed and the thought had Mello's lips pursing in irritation. Of course they were armed, this was a hostage situation. A hotel like the Langham was bound to have an arsenal for emergency situations like the one Mello, and the rest of the staff, currently found themselves in. With a hotel this big there had to be at least fifty guards, twenty on duty at one time, and if one was armed so were the rest of them. Yet, Beyond was still at large. Damn idiots had no backbone.

The blonde pressed his back up against the wall, knees bending slightly, poised for attack. A mental countdown rang out in Mello's head, waiting for the moment his prey would fall into his line of sight. The hotel guard rounded the hallway and Mello just barely caught the surprised widening of blue eyes before he jumped.

He tackled the guard to the floor, a heavy 'oomph' knocking the wind from the guard's lungs. Quickly, Mello flailed, rolling off the man and onto the carpet. His finger's locked over cool metal as he tumbled over the man's side and an internal wave of triumph washed over the adolescent male as he skidded across the carpet.

"What the hell!" the man was already scrambling back to his feet and Mello pressed the gun behind his back. If fortune was feeling at all kind today the guard wouldn't notice the absence of his weaponry.

Panting heavily, Mello stood, glaring heatedly at the man, waiting for his next move.

"You're the kid," the guard whispered, "the- the one staying with him."

"I am not with him," Mello spat, eyes narrowing.

The guard's face furrowed in confusion before the truth of the situation grasped him. The man took a step towards Mello, hands raised in the universal sign of surrender. "I can get you out of here kid! I can let you go."

A moment of indecision crossed over Mello's face. It'd be so easy to get out right then, take the entire staff with him and leave Beyond with nothing more than an empty hotel. He could do it too. But…

"I appreciate the sentiment," Mello drawled, calmly pulling the gun from behind his back and cocking it at the security guards head. "But that's not what I want."

"It's dead…" Matt's voice came with a slight tremor from beside Light, the boy's eyes tracing the slowly swaying form of the dead body as if it were a pocket watch, hypnotizing him.

Light tucked his gun into the small of his back, a look of resigned disgust marring his visage as he neatly covered the Colt with his jacket. Extracting the phone from his pocket he fastidiously began taking pictures from every angle, forwarding the images of Beyond's second victim straight to L.

Matt stepped closer to the corpse. "He did this didn't he?"

"If by 'he' you mean B, than yes this is his work." Light worked his way around the body, camera phone snapping off rapid flashes as it captured image after image, Light trying his hardest to ignore exactly what it was he was photographing.

Pain flared in Matt's chest, the twenty year old's admission searing straight through him. It was numbing, the phrase and the certainty with which Light had said it, like being plunged into an ice bath. Not that Matt had doubted Beyond was the culprit, not unless he'd fucking hallucinated B trying to claw his throat out with his bare hands. Judging by the pain radiating throughout Matt's neck and the warm, blood dampening his shirt collar, Matt felt his mind was very much rooted in reality. But things would've been so much easier to stomach had Beyond not been responsible for the dead person hanging before his eyes.

Matt could feel less for the hunk of decomposing flesh dangling over him like a frozen worm on a hook. Because, when it came down to it, the only thing he could see when looking into the closed eyelids of Beyond's victim's was Mello. Blonde hair frayed at the edges, cool, angered green eyes, displeased lips, and the scent of chocolate falling off warm breath. It was Mello strung up by a rope, not some random stranger picked out blindly by a convicted criminal, it was Mello. And it made Matt's heart quake. The mental image of Mello, intestines eternally stilled by a formaldehyde injection, eyes milked over and no longer able to process the world, it was more than terrifying. It was enough to make Matt wish Beyond had actually ripped his throat out, torn through Matt's stomach, snapped his rib cage outward, twisted the veins running through his heart, and ripped his brain out through his nostrils, all while his lunges were still gasping for air. All of it would've been easier than having to endure the unrelenting images of Mello's death Matt's mind was so fond of supplying.

Matt would rather die than see Mello dead.

He raised his hand, gently running it down the length of the victim's arm, strands of hair collected over his fingernails as Matt drove them over the hardened flesh. Matt wasn't an expert, but he was pretty sure a fresh corpse wasn't supposed to feel that way. "There's a crown on her head…"

Light glanced up and raised his cell phone, allowing the LCD screen to shine on the plastic jewels glittering from the stained metal. It wasn't so much a crown as a mockery of one. And B had left his mark clearly in the fake, red jems. "Go get the Crepe Team."

"He- he told us to call him if- if you broke out…"

The security guard's stuttering voice grated against Mello's already pain impaired mind. If he didn't need the guard to get what he wanted on the hotel then he would've shot the quivering man then and there. In the knee cap of course, give the bastard ample time to call into his walkie-talkie for some medical backup. That is, if the idiot had even a modicum of pain tolerance, though judging by the sniveling that was taking place before Mello, the blonde assumed otherwise.

Mello didn't even have his finger on the trigger; the digit was laid flat against the barrel of the gun. He was going Hollywood style here. Too bad his security dunderhead couldn't tell the difference.

"I don't want you to be making any calls right now," Mello demanded. "Take me somewhere secure."

The guard nodded his head vigorously and briskly began walking backwards down the hall the way he'd came. Mello's arms never wavered as he kept the weapon trained on the stumbling man. He wasn't even breaking a sweat. Adrenaline was wonderful that way. The glorious, biological chemical also kept any moral thought the teenager might have had at bay. Minimally at least. He knew what he was doing was wrong, in every sense of the word. He also imagined that he looked like a raving lunatic in his torn leather pants, blood stained feet, and the countless bruises blooming like a garden of purple roses across his skin. The mental imagine only added to Mello's chagrin over the whole affair. He was acting like a lunatic too, he knew, but only because it was effective. Perhaps the guard would forgive him after he saved his worthless life.

The pair made their way towards a service elevator hidden behind a series of doors marked only for hotel staff. The freight lift clanged loudly as the guard switched it into gear, jerkily lowering Mello and his hostage into the bowls of the hotel. Funnily enough, the back parts of the hotel, areas not meant for the eyes of its guests, were just as luxurious as the rest of the establishment. Dim lighting, warm carpeting, comforting paint colors, and a lot of glistening chandeliers opened before Mello as the elevator gate clashed open. The freight elevator itself seemed to be the only part of the hotel covered in grime.

Mello nodded impatiently for the security guard to vacate the elevator. Jumping, the man set off down the hall before them, leading Mello into the kitchen.

"O-okay," the guard hands were raised still, palms open, perspiration glinting in a thin sheen across his skin. "The kitchen staff was sent on holiday so no one will bother us here."

The guards words went unacknowledged however as Mello paced around the room. Vibrant eyes swept over the stainless steel appliances. All the while the gun never left the guard's form and Mello's arm was failing to get tired. Three massive ovens lined the right hand wall of the kitchen, after which sat two stove tops. Opposite the appliances was a row of sinks and four industrial sized refrigerators. From the freezers came a low hum, prickling the air with static. Down the center of the room was a long table, vacant and shining in the kitchen's artificial lighting. The guard's heavy, erratic breathing frosted the air-conditioned atmosphere as Mello turned to glare back at him, completing his turn about the room with his back facing what appeared to be another entrance into the kitchen.

A strong arm wrapped itself roughly around Mello's slim neck, lifting the slim teen off his feet as he was caught off guard by the backup that had unknowingly been called in. Air flow was abruptly halted as an overlarge muscle crushed the blonde's trachea against his spine. Despite the immediate reaction of tears clouding Mello's eyes his body instinctually moved to protect itself. One sharp jab from his left elbow into the stomach of his assailant and air rapidly rushed back into his lungs. Without even pausing to gasp Mello whipped around and seized the holstered gun from his attacker, pressing the full weight of his body onto the man's shoulder. The disabled security personal grunted in pain as gravity and Mello pushed him towards the floor. The man hadn't thought to come into the kitchen readily armed, underestimating Mello given the mere fact he was a teenager. And now the large security guard now had his own weapon pressing into his neck. Lessons for the brain cell deficient.

The guard Mello had forced to escort him to the kitchen stared at his coworker in terrified awe, mouth lying on the floor catching flies. The guard had a walky-talky pressed over his lips, speaker button held down by his sweaty thumb, but nothing was being said. Deftly, Mello raised the other gun, ignoring his left arm's screaming protests of agony, and cocked it back onto his first captured idiot.

"Call anyone and it's me, in the kitchen, with the 9mm semi automatic," the blonde growled dangerously.

His original prisoner nodded vigorously while the new idiot guard seemed to posses more balls. "Like hell," he gritted from the floor, knees pressing into the white, tile under Mello's weight. "Do you even know what's going on here kid?"

"Do I seem uninformed here?"

"You're a hostage!" the man spat against the gun pressed to his jugular. "Just like the rest of us!"

Mello nodded, a vicious smile lining his face. "Oh thanks for informing me! I had no idea." The sarcasm dripped off Mello's tongue like a corrosive poison. "Strange then, how when I, a hostage, makes a break for it you boys are all for nailing my pretty little ass back to the floor."

"You don't know what he did…" the guard Mello had nabbed outside the ballroom, Idiot Number One's, voice filtered over Mello's harsh tones. "So much blood… He hasn't stopped bleeding…"

Idiot Number Two, the one sitting beneath Mello, stiffened.

The boy glanced between the pair. "What?"

Another grunt of pain hissed through Idiot Number Two's teeth. "The hotel manager, that bastard killed him. Sliced him up like a god damn pig at the slaughter house."

Mello flashed back to the doorman who'd pretty much informed him of the same thing. Naturally B would have wanted the entire staff to see what he was capable of. The murderer ruled simpletons through fear because it was the easiest way to make them comply. Mello lifted himself off Idiot Number Two, careful to keep the gun squarely on the man's head. "Show me."

Idiot Number Two's brows hunched together, disbelief cleanly weighing into his stunned eyes. "I – I can't do that…"

A blonde eyebrow disappeared beneath the tattered fringe of Mello's bangs. "Why the fuck not?"

Number Two winced at the language, further robbing Mello of any respect he had for the man. It was just a bloody word, could hardly hurt anyone. The gun in his hand though, that most defiantly could paint a pretty blood splatter on the long table decorating the kitchen space. Something Idiot Number Two failed to identify with, his bravery blinding his common sense. Idiot Number One, on the other hand, seemed to pick up on the rainbow colored thoughts running through Mello's mind.

The first guard stepped a shaky foot forward, hesitation vibrating through his boots. "It's this way." He shuffled hastily across the tiled floor, eyes firmly locked on the guns in Mello's hands.

Mello shot the man a cheerful smile. "Well let's go then!" He kicked Number Two with his barefoot, wiggling his toes against the man's stomach. Damn if B was rubbing off on him.

The trio marched out of the kitchen, leaving through the door Idiot Number Two had so gloriously attacked from. The swinging door led down another elegant corridor which branched out into a series of plush offices. Five paces into the workplace setting and the teen immediately knew a dead body lay ahead of them. Not that he'd ever actually seen a naturally, rotting human corpse before, formaldehyde pumped cadavers was the furthest he'd gotten in his medical education. But there was no way anybody could mistake the rancid stench hanging glaringly in the air for something other than putrefaction. The deleterious odor spoke to Mello's flight instincts on a newly discovered level, urgently whispering of the invisible predator responsible for the atrocity sitting behind a finely carved oak door.

It was as they neared the office furthest down the hall that the carpet let out a sickening squelch beneath Mello's toes, and the blonde felt concerned. He lifted his foot from the sticky fibers, showing little emotion as he glared down at the red stain marring the bottom of his pale foot. Five feet from the back office and the carpet was saturated with blood.

A strong hand clasped over Mello's thin solider. "You're only a child," Number Two whispered morosely. "This isn't something you should see, no matter how tough you think you are."

Mello ignored him and covered the remaining distance between himself and the door, desperately ignoring the tacky liquid seeping beneath his toe nails. Why was he doing this again? Mello's mind failed to answer that innocent, little question so he pushed the office door open and promptly vomited across the floor. The two security guards rushed to Mello's side, holding him up right to keep him from kneeling into the bloodied ground.

The hotel manager hung suspended from the ceiling, dangling in stillness. Bloated eyes bulged out from sockets no longer large enough to house the milky orbs. Matted, blood stained hair clumped like moss over the man's face, dyed black and crusting in the dried liquid. Other than the grayish tinge of decay decorating the manager's face, the pallor of death was not openly visible over the man's skin. He was stained red, thickly drenched in his own blood, the dye running slowly out from his veins, each of which had been wrenched through his skin, severed open, and set in a flaying direction with unfolded paper clips. The man's suit had been stripped from his body, leaving him nude, though his modesty remained intact, the man's own intestinal system having been removed from the interior of his abdominal region and tied about his waste like a loincloth.

Blood was still dripping from the manager's body. It collected in a puddle across a desk littered with papers and business cards before falling in a gentle stream down the table legs and onto the floor. From there the blood spread, hungrily eating into the carpet, spreading through the room, causing the florescent lighting secured to the ceiling to reflect a pinkish hue onto the white washed walls.

Everything else was remarkably clean. The window behind the hanging corpse, the walls, the door, the ceiling, shelves filled with pictures of little kids and a black haired beauty playing on the beach, filing cabinets, it was all clean. No dust, no finger prints, everything unmarred by the rancid decay hanging before Mello's eyes. Everything except for the desk, which now sat like an altar beneath the bleeding effigy, was clean.

A set of strong arms pulled Mello roughly off his feet, carrying the sickened youth from the office. He barely noticed as he was taken by his own hostages out of the office space and back towards the kitchen. The guns were left behind, dropped to marinade in a puddle of crimson liquid. The rest of Mello's stomach ended up searing out of his mouth and into a sink the moment he was set down on the kitchen's tiled floor, bile splattering against the deep basin and leaving his chest heaving dryly.

That… had not been what Mello had expected to see. Not. At. All. But then, what had he been expecting from Beyond Birthday of all people? The man was vile, monstrous. There was no other word to slap across B's head other than that. Monster. A meticulous, plotting, monstrosity of human imperfection. Everything B did had a reason behind it. Beyond's was not the insanity of mindless indulgence, hapless violence caused solely because he didn't know any better. In a brief moment of victory, mind titillated with his success, Mello had forgotten that. He'd forgotten the most important thing L had taught him, the most important fact regarding B's psyche. Beyond Birthday was an orchestrator, he planned everything out, and no matter the slightest deviation, everything fell neatly into the rivulet he'd carved out for it. Just as Mello had.

Upon glancing at the hotel manager's body, every ounce of drive Mello had had vacated his system, left to stew with the vomit in the sink. B had ripped the ambition, the determination right from Mello's heart, and all it had taken was a two second look at a dead body. Blonde hair, damp with gastric juices stuck to Mello's cheek as he gazed, hypnotized by the bile swirling down the drain. He was fucked. That's all there was to it. He was fucked.

Mello didn't know which Idiot it was, but one of them snuck up beside him and turned the faucet on, washing the sour, half digested food down the sink. "Is there anything we can do for you?"

No, Mello thought viciously. There is nothing that can be done. Nothing. Someone else had died last night. Of that Mello was sure. Some unlucky bastard had their eternal countdown cut short because Beyond Birthday needed it to be done. A good portion of that person's death was Mello's fault too. If B was planning on leading L anywhere in the city, Mello was sure it would be to him. Or his dead body at least. And there was nothing that could be done to halt the fall of the dominos. Mello was already where B wanted him to be and he couldn't fucking move out of the murderer's asinine spotlight. His conscious wouldn't let him.

That was the purpose of the hotel manager's death. It'd been a gift for the teen, lovingly left by Beyond in order to demonstrate what would happen if his Wammy hostage ran. Mello couldn't leave, or the entire hotel would go up in flames. Communication. The piece of shit was good at it.

"Kid?" the word was rasped out of a tired voice. Idiot Number Whatever, steering him around by the shoulder, away from the sink. "Do you need anything?"

Mello wrenched himself from the man's hold, rage engulfing his mind, blurring the vision of B's little gift into an idea. "Yeah," he fumed, leveling his burning eyes on his pair of idiots. "I do need something. I need a record of every phone call, received and outgoing, that has been made in the past three months."

The guards both stared at him, caught between horror and pity, but they nodded mutely, perhaps not even realizing that the threat of a bullet whizzing through their skull was now absent. Mello ignored them, too entrapped within his own mind, cogs whirring against each other rapidly, causing sparks to fly through his eyes. He wouldn't let Beyond win. Though the murder had beaten him at every turn so far and Mello's previous plan of action now lay in ruins upon the floor, feeling disenfranchised would get him nowhere.

It was time to bring Darling out of the shadows.

The moment Light crossed the threshold of his hotel suite he found his back slamming into the wall, a set of slender, yet muscular arms caging him against the surface and barring him from escape. Light's mouth parted in surprise as he was pinned with L's coal, black eyes. The detective's visage contained a touch of irritation, the only indication of the man's true displeasure. A grin wound its way across Light's lips as he stared back at his employer, amusement smoothly replacing shock. L's eyes narrowed as he traced Light's cheeky grin and Light could practically taste the aggravation steaming off the taller male.

Tilting his head to the side Light found himself indolently reaching up to brush a strand of L's hair out from his eyes. The stubborn lock however bounced back into its rumpled place, interrupting the intensity of L's gaze. Light enjoyed seeing the rigid tension of L's shoulders, the man's arms locked firmly in place, straight as a board, perpendicular to the wall. A small amount of mirth escaped Light's mouth as he gently grasped L's arms and pulled them away from the wall, freeing him from the spot L'd pinned him to.

The detective had been concerned, he was touched.

Moving off the wall, Light casually entered his hotel suite. "It wasn't that big of a deal L."

The detective didn't seem to agree. "I specifically told you not to go to the crime scene," L said dully, his form dropping back into its customary hunch as he followed Light into the living room. "You disobeyed me."

Light sighed. "Everything I do is by my own discretion," he replied, taking a seat on the couch. "You didn't actually think I'd do what you asked of me, did you?"

L stopped and observed Light carefully. Outwardly the young man looked perfectly fit. The limp in his leg was barely discernable and L had to admit Light did an excellent job of hiding the bruise blossoming across the back of his neck with his jacket. But L knew the injuries were there. And Light knew L knew.

The insomniac's thumb found a comfortable spot in between his lips and the detective chewed on the nail dejectedly. "He hurt you."

"We both knew there'd eventually be a confrontation." Light waved it off, crossing his uninjured leg over the other, the grimace of pain barely touching his lips. "So stop pouting, it's unbecoming.

"I told you not to go," L mumbled irately, awkwardly looking over Light's hotel room.

"So you were going to leave Matt there on his own?" Light shot at his employer. "B would have killed him!"

L's wide eyes rounded back to the couch. "And now you've been compromised," he stated matter of factly, bristling over the notion. "I can't use you anymore! B will know you're connected to me because you were there with Matt!"

"That's ridiculous!"

"No it isn't. The only thing I needed from you was police information. You were not to interfere into the physical investigation unless I said so!"

Light stood from his seat, a fire of annoyance burning igniting beneath his amber eyes. "You're being ridiculous L! The kid would've died! I don't know if you've ever actually met Beyond Birthday, but may I remind you that he's a serial killer!"

"I know perfectly well who Beyond Birthday is!" L shouted back, for once his emotions getting the better of him. This was precisely what he'd been trying to prevent. Disastrous consequences from associating with outsiders. Light Yagami may have been brilliant, hell without the boy it probably would've taken L another day to find the next victim. And with a genius like Beyond, days were months. But the boy was a risk L wasn't ready to afford. Matt may have been placed in danger, but L was confident that B wouldn't have killed him. Hurt, maim, possibly yes, but kill? B had no reason to do so when he'd already kidnapped Mello. But now that B had seen Light actively working with L's own people… L couldn't predict the murderer's next actions with any amount of certainty. B could kill Mello, he could up and leave altogether… or he could go after Light.

L and Light stared at each other heatedly, their minds battling against the other internally. Each weighing what the other was likely to say and synthesizing an appropriate rebuttal. Their argument continued in silence, stretching over several minutes until Light broke the tension.

"B's been leaving his mark," the brunette said, changing the subject to one that was less likely to have the two of them throwing punches. "He left the a letter on the crown."

"And where's his mark on you I wonder?" L replied snidely.

"I beg your pardon?" Light gaped at the detective, more than a little perturbed by the implication of L's words. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Beyond likes to own things, name them, claim them. You yourself indicated as much in your thesis. We both know he's singled you out, as well as myself, so what brand has he left on you?" The logic poured from L's lips like overly sweetened honey, thick and stifling.

Light blinked, racking his mind for an answer, but he couldn't. There was an impression somewhere in his skin, be it visible or unseen. Something twisting and dark, had nestled itself into the folds of Light's being complements of Beyond Birthday. It tasted of whisky, burning through Light's body in the middle of the night, setting his head aflame with nightmares and leaving him vacant by morning, with nothing more than a cold sweat for company. L's inquiry was the same one Light had only recently begun asking of himself. He'd never had an issue with Beyond until now, and it was especially now that things shouldn't have been a problem. He'd made his peace months ago. There should have been nothing left to agitate… except maybe L.

Light looked into L's inquisitive orbs, searching into their endless depths for an answer of some sort. All he found was more confusion and conflict.

L suddenly found a discomfited sensation rolling down his throat. He needed to leave. It wasn't in his character to behave in the manner he had just now; none of this was in his usual character. And it was a waste of time, something he'd need to learn better to ignore. Softly, he turned away from Light, padding towards the door, intent on reclaiming his clarity. "I'm glad to see you're not seriously injured," he called over his shoulder. "We'll have a video chat later this evening in order to discuss the rest of today's events."

Light nodded numbly as the door clicked shut. But he didn't move, a vague urge to go after L wrapping snuggly over his mind, blanketing his thoughts. What he'd do when he caught up with the detective, Light wasn't entirely sure. But it felt like he'd just let go of something that might have been important.

A/N:

IMPORTANT! There is a poll on my profile page regarding the potential parings one may see in this fic. I'd very much appreciate your input.

Thanks for reading!