notes/warnings

+ swearing

+ the last few parts of this chapter could theoretically be trigger-y for abduction/molestation. one of the characters thinks about possessing one of the others. nothing is acted upon, though, and it's pretty damn mild. warning just to be safe.

Discomfort

Raye calls during breakfast, and the conversation is brief and awkward.

"I've confirmed Takada, Mikami, Amane, and a few others," he says gruffly. "Tell L I'm faxing through the details as we speak."

"Are you safe?" Naomi asks.

"Of course. That Minnie girl is hard work, though. She doesn't seem to want to give away too much information. You'd think people weren't dying as we speak."

"Some people don't think outside their own little box, honey. From what I've heard, that woman barely ever leaves her library."

"Right, yeah," he mutters, and then pauses. "I love you."

"I love you too," she says, and hangs up.

The words don't fix anything, but they are still absolutely true.

Naomi props her chin up in her hands. In a moment, she'll go and help L investigate the possibly-genuine Kira website he's found. But right now, she just wants to sit still. She feels sick to her stomach, and weak from lack of breakfast. A lesser woman probably would have thrown up by now.

She knows this will pass. It…it doesn't even happen every day. And really, it would be silly for her to go to a doctor until she's worked out the pattern. It will take months for anyone to come to a conclusive diagnosis based on nothing but a list of sometimes-symptoms.

Besides, she distrusts doctors. She's always been proud of the deep and intimate understanding she has of her own physiological processes. And what is going on right now is simply ridiculous. She's not old enough to be constantly ill. Besides, she's pretty sure her symptoms don't match any particular disease process.

It must be the stress.

Or Kira.

"Good morning, Naomi," someone says nastily from behind her. "You're looking a little green. Does L know you're sick?"

"It's not particularly a secret," she lies, and she can feel her body tensing up, automatically preparing for a fight. Rae bothers her on levels she cannot explain.

You.

It holds up its hands.

"Okay, easy. I was just making conversation. Do you want a basin, or something?"

Naomi smirks, as unpleasantly as she can manage.

L might not be a murderer, but she's not sure that this thing wouldn't kill of its own accord.

And it has crossed her mind that maybe Rae is the one who's slowly killing her.

"No, thank you. I can fight this."

And if you are causing it, then I'll fight you. I am not afraid. And I am not weak.

"Okay, whatever you say," Rae replies. It settles on the edge of her desk, legs swinging aimlessly. Naomi chews on her lower lip and waits for it to say whatever it came here to say.

"Ever worry that you've made a huge mistake?" it asks, managing to sound both earnest and young.

Its eyes are red. They were brown before. Naomi doesn't know if the change is significant.

Are the gods of death also the gods of hell? Is this thing going to torment L forever?

"Never."

Rae snorts.

"You don't have to lie to me, you know. What can I do to you?"

"Well, the fact that you can kill me at a second's notice comes to mind."

"I can't. L is in possession of my only note."

Naomi gapes at Rae, and then frowns and looks away. So it already knows what L has told her. This creature is too goddamned perceptive.

"Well, that's a nice thing to say, but I'll presume that it is also a falsehood," she replies lightly. "And I wasn't lying, actually. I've made mistakes, but I wouldn't describe any of them as 'huge'. I tend to make good decisions."

The Shinigami smiles at her uneasily, and she is struck by the bizarre urge to attempt to kick it off the desk.

The way I feel about you….you must be trying to hurt me. Why else would I dislike you so much without knowing a thing about you?

"I wish you'd spend more time around L," it says ruefully. "I worry that he is going to make some very bad decisions."

"What, like using the note that you gave him?" she asks, sarcastically. "Gee, now whose fault would that be?"

"Hey, I'm not human," Rae replies. "I didn't know what he'd be like. I didn't even know much about the Kira case, until four years ago. But now…"

She would dearly love to just walk out of the room. It's obviously baiting her, and she is confident that if she engages the Shinigami in further conversation, she's going to regret it.

But she's not capable of moving right now, not without dire, dizzying consequences. Ugh.

"Now what?" she snaps, impatiently.

Rae shifts, appearing right in front of her, crouching on the desk.

"Well, tell me something," it urges. "In a fair fight, would L have beaten that Light character?"

"Absolutely."

Rae bites at its fingers. She hates the way it apes L.

"See, that's worrying me," it confides. "None of you could even catch Light. If L is using this note unscrupulously – and of course, I'm not saying he is, because if he was, I wouldn't be allowed to tell you – but if he is, how will you ever catch him? He'd fool you all in a heartbeat, wouldn't he?"

"He wouldn't do it in the first place," she replies, with a conviction she does not actually possess.

How dare this…this skeleton cast aspersions on her boss. It has no right to even suggest such things to her.

"I hope you're right," Rae agrees. "I'm no expert on the more complex workings of the human mind, of course. That's why I'm telling you these things. You seem to be the most emotionally intelligent person in the building. But I'm not Light's Shinigami, and I have no desire to do such damage. I just want to be king."

"Yeah, no, I'm not sure I believe any of that," Naomi replies flippantly. "This just sounds like a vendetta against L, possibly because he won't use your precious death note."

Rae shrugs.

"Think what you like," it tells her. "But that is actually my point. The few times he's tried to use the note, he's acted out of extreme rage or inebriation. Sensible use of a death note is a common, normal response. L's dire and absolute refusal tells me one thing; he is afraid of himself. If that moral barricade that he's encased himself in ever becomes broken, he will be the worst monster you've ever seen."

This thing is lying. Has to be lying.

"I think you just hate L," she says smoothly. "I think this conversation has no real purpose except to ostracise L from the people who love him. Which neither benefits nor detriments your goal to make him use the note. This is simply a petty fight, and I don't appreciate you involving me."

But she's not...she's not sure. Not one hundred percent.

"And additionally," she adds, "I would appreciate it if you did not tell the others what you have told me. I suppose I'll know whether you are genuine or attempting to start a mutiny by whether or not you comply with that request."

The Shinigami holds her gaze for a long moment, its red eyes blazing.

"Now I'm wondering if you can be trusted, Naomi Penber," it whispers, in a tone of voice that says 'well played'.

"Oh, but you are just a poor, naïve little god of death," she says sweetly. "You know nothing of complex human emotions, remember? Why would you elect not to trust me based on such a small thing? Oh, I know why. Because you are a lying, cheating bastard, just like every other member of your species. I love my boss, and I trust my boss, and you will not shake that."

"Oh," Rae replies, voice equally saccharine. "But I already have."

"Fuck, she's replied," Mail whines, clicking furiously. L murmurs something indistinct in response, and holds up a hand for silence. He can hear Rae and Naomi talking in the next room, but he cannot make out the individual words.

Is Rae honestly trying to turn her against him?

If it is, then there is nothing that he can do to stop it. He can only be honest. And trust in his deputy.

Investigating the faux-Kira case is ten times more terrifying without his giant skeleton-god watching his back. It's not as if he can fault the Shinigami's morality, because it is clearly still motivated to solve cases and save people. Rather, its hatred and nastiness is centred solely on him.

Whatever happened between Rae and Ryuk that night has revived Rae's original hatred for him. And that…that is difficult to face.

Occasionally, L wishes Rae had never reverted back to its functional, red-eyed self. And that is both selfish and horrible, because he would not wish such dire disability on anyone, but he misses the version of Rae that had practically become his friend.

Not that it matters, really. In under a year, all of this will be over.

What will he do then?

"Oh fuck, she's agreed," Mail wails. "L. What am I supposed to do?"

"Mm?"

L has half a mind to get up and go into the hallway, so he can hear what Rae and Naomi are actually saying. Except that Naomi would never forgive him for spying on her, if she found out. And Rae would make sure that she found out.

Then again, Naomi has forgiven him for a lot of things recently. Maybe he's overestimated the length to which she will hold a grudge.

Mail pokes him in the ribs.

"L! What am I supposed to say to this chick?"

"Oh," L says, shaking his head slowly. "You told her you were interested in faux-Kira, yes?"

"Yes, but she's not using that term. Apparently the supporters are acting like this is the real, original Kira. And they keep using phrases like 'Messiah', and 'the second coming'. It's really fuckin' scary."

"Religious extremists are generally terrifying," L replies, sagely. "That's why we need to do everything in our power to stop this person, as soon as possible."

"Okay, fine. But why are we doing this in such a roundabout way? This lady is recruiting. Why don't we just call the hotline on the website and try to get to faux-Kira directly?"

L rubs at his good eye. This is the part that he's been losing sleep over. This is the part he's been trying not to think about.

"Because faux-Kira is not going to be easy to convict, no matter how certain I am of her identity," he admits. "We will have the same problem as the original case. Even finding someone writing in the notebook will not be enough, because the note may be disposed of by her Shinigami before it can be proven to be a functional item, and not a replica."

"So what the fuck is the point of any of this?"

"We need a confession," L replies simply. "To do that, we must first learn who this woman is. Replying directly to her is not ideal. There will be a heavy screening process, I imagine, since her earlier hiring techniques yielded nothing more than simple thugs. Part of this screening process will require the showing one's face, so that she can easily kill any traitors or undercover detectives."

"And how is Roper going to change that?"

"If we can extract the address of faux-Kira's headquarters, then I can send Rae in to identify the woman unseen."

"Oh," Mail says, in a strange, understanding tone of voice. "And then you can write down her name, and-"

"No!" L hisses, slamming his hands against the table.

Mail stares at him, looking vaguely wounded.

"No?"

"No!" L reiterates. "We are going to do this the right way. We are not going to sink to his level!"

"Don't you mean her level? This isn't a battle between you and Light any more, you know."

L isn't certain of that. Unless there comes a time when every staunch Kira-supporter is dead or in hell, L suspects he'll be fighting Light's ghost forever.

And that's okay. The ghost is still far more tolerable than the person himself.

"That is what I meant. We will show this newcomer that we have no tolerance for murderers, however misguidedly noble their motive may be. We will win, both legally and morally. We will make her confess, and then disarm her before she can kill further. And…and we will do this soon. As soon as possible. You must speak to Roper tomorrow."

Mail stares at him with a bizarre intensity that doesn't suit him and is far too reminiscent of Mello.

"But…if that's the case, once we know who this woman is, someone will still have to show her their face and try and convince her that they are a supporter."

L looks away.

"Yes, that is correct," he says softly. "We need to learn enough information to allow one of us to pass her screening tests and gain her trust. The person needs to be heavily but undetectably tapped, and we need to have the means to remove the notebook from her before she can kill them. It will be quite a task, Mail."

"You're not fuckin' kidding."

L touches the back of his head, and Mail doesn't flinch the way he used to.

"Tomorrow, Mail," he insists. "We must do this tomorrow."

Kathleen Partridge twirls her braid around her forefinger and checks the clock for the eighth time in three minutes. Still a quarter of an hour to go. She hums to herself, underneath her breath, perfectly happy.

She knows that she ought to have told them about this meeting. She is a disciple now, after all, and she is expected to share every aspect of her personal affairs with the other disciples and the goddess of the new world. Kimiko. Or, you know, whatever her real name is. She still won't tell them anything, like how she plans to bring Kira back. She just assigns them weird and random tasks and invades their privacy. And expects them to obey her every command.

Kathleen isn't exactly an ideal disciple, although she's pretty good at faking it. She doesn't love Kira. Sure, it was amazing when there weren't any wars, but if global tyranny is the price of world peace, then she'll leave it, thanks very much. But this new Kira uprising has changed her life, all the same. For the past two years, she's been a genius hacker with nothing to do, nowhere to go, no plans, no goals, no dreams. Now she's a trusted ally of the second most prolific mass murderer in history. Finally, something exciting.

Another few weeks, and she ought to have enough information to actually be useful to the police.

And to top it all off, the only man she's ever really felt connected to has contacted her. And yeah, he's her protégé, several years her junior, blah blah, cradle-robbing, but he's totally fair game. And she's been bored and alone for a long time.

She gets up and searches her flat for bugs, one more time, just in case. Kimiko is so freaking paranoid that Kathleen wouldn't be surprised if she spontaneously started spying on her own disciples. She clearly thinks that somewhere along the line, someone is going to slip in under her radar.

Kimiko is kind of crazy, actually. It's dangerous just to be associated with her. Kathleen does like a bit of danger, now and then.

The disciples are supposed to report back on everyone who contacts them, and record every conversation they have with a non-disciple. Obviously Kimiko is convinced that someone is chasing her. The federal police, maybe. Or some anti-Kira religious extremists. Or L himself. That would be awesome.

Kathleen had been sixth-in-line for a few years, before her little sister had usurped her. Not that she minded. She never had any inclination to be a detective. All she's ever really wanted from life is entertainment, a top-of-the-range modem, and a bit of an adrenaline rush every so often. And a slightly better world, maybe. If she can manage that.

The phone rings, and she bounces back to her desk.

He's early.

"Matt?" she asks, excitedly.

"Roper," he replies, and there is a weary, exhausted undercurrent to his voice that she doesn't like. "It's been a long time."

"Does that honestly surprise you, considering we're both antisocial computer geeks?"

"I resent that implication."

"Resent away, goggle boy. By the way, I'm emailing you the address of an encrypted website. I want you to hack into it without knowing the username or password required."

"Right."

He doesn't ask why, of course, because he's not stupid. He already knows who she is, clearly, but she needs to be sure that this is the real Matt. If it is him, he'll complete the task in under a minute. The code is one she shared with him at Wammy's, many years ago. Very few other people know about it.

"I'm in. It's a website that seems to link to a bunch of stuff about armadillos. Blue background, picture of a cheesecake…sorry, a baked cheesecake in the middle. Geeze, shut up!"

No doubt about it, it's really you.

"You're not alone, huh?" she asks warmly.

"My roommate is an idiot. And also fanatical about the correct identification of a piece of fuckin' cake."

"You know, we were always trained to believe that loving any form of junk food was an admirable trait," she grins. "But I'm really not so sure. Anyway, to what do I owe the pleasure of this phone call?"

Matt hesitates.

"Uh, you read my email, right?"

"You said you were interested in Kira," she replies dismissively. "Isn't everyone? What made you contact me?"

Matt makes a loud, breathy noise that is probably supposed to be a laugh. He sounds fucked, and not in a good way. Something has happened to him. Something bad. Back at Wammy's, nothing ever bothered him. Matt had been unshakeable.

Well, except when that hot, blonde kid went off on his own. Those had been bad times. Even she hadn't been able to miss Matt's aching, four-year melancholy.

And it's not as if she and Matt were ever really friends. She had simply been the one to train him. Wammy's kids tended to be emotionally retarded; their interactions purely businesslike and academic. Matt had been one of the few who had actually managed to hold down an amicable relationship with one of his fellow orphans.

She'd always admired him for that.

And anyway, they're both adults now. There aren't any attendees or strict nurses breathing down their necks. Surely she and Matt can manage to get along.

Unless, of course, he disappoints her, right here and now. Because if he's interested in supporting Kira, then. Well. Then she wants nothing to do with him, really. She's already got enough religious crazies in her life.

Come on, little Matt. Impress me.

"I've been a fan for a few years now," he tells her carefully.

Damn.

Evidently he notices her silence, because he continues awkwardly.

"I, um. I recognised your watermark on the recruiting website. I've never actively worshipped Kira, but it's obvious that you do, and there's going to be another uprising, isn't there? I want to help. I'm sick of this fucked-up world."

"I see," she replies, flatly.

What happened, Matt? Did something happen to Mello again? Is that why you're so jaded? Kira won't help. You, of all people, should know that.

"So, what do you think?" he asks, hopefully. "You're an insider, right? What can I do to help this new incarnation of Kira? I want to join the ranks."

Ugh.

"I'm afraid there's nothing I can do for you," she tells him, abruptly. "You'll need to apply through the website and go through the regular channels. Nothing else will work."

"But-"

"And I'm afraid I have to go, now. Good luck, little Matt."

Kathleen disconnects with a loud click, and slumps forward in her seat.

She is going to be so upset if she has to fight him in the end.

Mail promptly drops the phone, buries his head in his hands and hunches over the desk, shaking.

"God, I hate that name," he mutters. "I fuckin'…it's not my name. Not any more. Not since."

L runs his fingertips over Mail's back.

"She doesn't know any better," he says gently. "She doesn't know you by any other name. And you did well. We have identified Roper's address without alerting her to our intentions."

Mail shudders a few more times, and then peeks through his fingers at his employer.

"You'll bring her in for questioning now, right?"

"Correct. You have done well. We ought to be able to stop faux-Kira quite soon."

There's a faint uncertainty to L's voice that sends chills down Mail's spine. He forces himself to sit up straight and open his eyes properly. This isn't what Mello would want from him, after all.

How much longer can he live his life just based on what Mello would have done? He wants to crumble and grieve and pray and break. This is exhausting. And kind of stupid.

"Takada is in hell, right?" he demands. "That man checked. She's definitely in hell. She's definitely suffering."

"I promise," L says heavily. "I promise."

Mail touches the left pocket of his filthy black jeans. He can feel the sketch, folded and safe, secure and close to him.

Mello.

"Good," he says thickly, and hides his eyes again.

Jas is tired. Not physically - not even mentally - but emotionally. Sometimes, she holds nothing but loathing for her job. Sometimes she despises humans, and their faults and flaws, and their complications, and their innate evil.

Sometimes she wants to throw a tantrum, to show the world and all of its tiny, insignificant creatures just what she truly is. Sometimes she wants to announce that she is justice, that she is the one they all ought to fear, that she is the ultimate judge.

Sometimes, she feels like she's earned the ability to override her own safeguards. To declare every human soul as good or evil once and for all, without any chance for re-assessment or redemption. She wants to be the head of a religion. She wants to be absolute. She wants.

But that is the difference, is it not, between good and evil? Moderation. Wanting, and still not taking. Acknowledgement of personal flaws. The tiny detail that becomes a significant crack that becomes a mighty chasm. If she seeks moderation and modesty, then she can continue to be good. If she submits to her own constant power-hunger, then she will fall and become voracious and monstrous.

There are two humans that depict this difference beautifully, and they both started out very much the same. And Lawliet, for all his angst and sadness and regret, is the one that she must continue to emulate.

She would never forgive herself if she became the other.

But now, no, this is bad. This is very bad. L is too much, too good. And he is starting to have his doubts, possibly even starting to suspect her. And no human should be able to comprehend her existence, not without being explicitly informed. And there is no way that she can hide her from him. L is heavily involved with the faux-Kira case. He will know, by the end, that hell is more fluid than he expected. That outcome is now inescapable. She has erred, perhaps, and weaved too many hells around one man.

She will have to work extra hard to keep him blind to her movements, to keep him from becoming too knowledgeable. She must protect him, after all. He has almost become her mascot.

But there are others.

No Shinigami should ever fall for a human.

She is the one who makes the rules, after all. And she carries such a great burden, and she works so much harder than the others. She should be allowed to take liberties, every so often. She never has before. She's never fallen for a human before.

She must be owed some sort of reward.

Surely.

Sometimes, it feels like you're working a case.

Which is laughable enough on its own, really. You, working a case. You can barely be trusted to mind a child for a few hours, or to guard one exit of a mildly-important building. Near won't even let you keep watch over the Jeevas' house any more, because he says you'll do more harm than good.

Near. He's considered to be second only to L. What he says, goes. He shines where you rusted and burned and failed. Everyone respects him. Everyone loves him. You are some kind of terrible person, that you can't love him too.

But anyway, sometimes you feel like you're working a case. A psychotic little internal case. The mystery of why Sometimes Nothing Seems To Make A Lot Of Sense. Like the way you'll occasionally look at the sky, and convince yourself you can see the seams. Like the way you overanalyse the kooky things Jasmine says to you.

Like the way you kid yourself – stupidly – that maybe this can't possibly be real because, well, because you want a better life. Because you want to be owed a better life. Because you want to live in a little fantasy dream-land where nobody gets hurt and nobody dies and people actually like you and read the books you write. Where L doesn't look at you with loathing. Where your friendship with Matt is based on companionship, and not pity. Where you don't feel ashamed every second of your life.

You lean back against the grimy brickwork and stare upwards. Your scar hurts. You and Dwayne are supposed to be keeping an eye on this place. It's just a storage facility for Wammy's supplies. Nothing top secret or important.

Wammy wouldn't give you the time of day if his life depended on it. Near told you that he used to have such high hopes for you, when you were a child.

You have become such a bitter disappointment.

Nothing is happening. Dwayne keeps radioing you to talk about how he's setting you up on another date with his sister. You already know what the outcome will be. He'll browbeat you into agreeing, and then you just won't turn up. It's pointless. Your heart is spent. You cannot change that.

Besides, you're pretty sure his sister has a thing for Rester. Which is just plain weird.

You take out your wallet, and it's as empty as usual. Your credit cards are all past their maximum limit, and you barely have enough change to get a bar of chocolate on the way home. You really wish you had more willpower. Then you might be able to sort your life out.

Sometimes, it feels like you're being sabotaged. By someone else. Near said that's because you don't want to own up to your own cravings, so you blame some invisible gremlins.

You keep a photograph of Gemma in your wallet. It was taken a few weeks ago, a gift to you from Matt and Jasmine. In the picture, she's asleep on the sofa, her hair pulled into two tiny pigtails, her pink-striped dress bunched up underneath her. She has one hand wrapped around a gaming console, and you already know she's going to be just like her father.

You really thought, when Jasmine first announced her pregnancy, that you'd hate the baby. That you'd hate this tiny, innocent being who was the ultimate proof that Matt was in love with someone else, made a home with someone else.

But you can't hate her. There's too much of him in her.

The wind is blowing, it's almost midnight, and Gemma's face is endlessly peaceful. You aren't allowed to babysit much any more. Near's orders. Gotta keep people safe, after all.

You have a new hobby, too. You're trying to document what you know of the Kira case, so that people can read about it once it's over. But every time you sit down to pen some cold, hard, informative facts, you wind up writing mini-novels about death and tragedy and broken hearts instead.

You still miss those roses. You had to throw out the last one yesterday, because it was going mouldy. You still feel like they brought you closer to Matt, somehow. Which is stupid, because it was Jasmine who gave them to you.

But whatever. You're stupid. That's not fucking news.

You rest your head against the wall and close your eyes, just for a moment. You're fat, incompetent, and idiotic. No one is really going to be surprised if you fall asleep on the job.

As soon as he loses consciousness, Jas lets the world fade to swirly grey nothingness, vague blurs marking where people and buildings had been, so that she can put everything back the way it should be when he wakes.

Mello is fairly tall, less than an inch short of Lawliet and Jeevas in height. But right now, asleep and huddled, he looks tiny and vulnerable. His oversized blue shirt swallows most of his arms, and his pants are practically falling off his hips.

This place is nothingness. He is suspended in nothingness. Outside his own mind, of course, he is unchanged. His silky blonde hair grazes his chin and shoulders.

She does not own those in hell, any more than a warden owns his prisoners. Touching him without his knowledge is nothing short of molestation. And that is not a part of his designated hell.

But he'll never know. And she's never been in love before. And what is she supposed to do? She can't spontaneously let him go. What if he doesn't redeem himself? What will she do? Will she take him for herself, then? Will she give him back to Mail, anyway, breaking her own cardinal rule?

And speaking of that rule, if she's going to break it for Mello, she should break it for that one, too. He should not be allowed to save himself. He should not be capable of saving himself. If he does, can she presume he has cheated?

Isn't it her job to protect the human world from evil?

Anyway, she did not come here to dwell on distasteful humans. She sits down next to Mello, tilts her head to one side, and listens to him breathe. He is so alone right now, the only living thing in his world. No wonder he gets suspicious.

Jas catches a strand of his hair between two fingers, and examines it. It looks like spun gold, healthy even after all this time. He's classic-beautiful, like an olden-day princess. A princess locked in an impenetrable tower.

Well, that would make her the only prince able to save him then, wouldn't it? And it's not as if Mail is any more deserving than she is. She might not be able to change a heart, but she can change a mind. She could make Mello think he loves her, even if he doesn't.

She touches his wrist, feeling the steady pulse there. To take Mello for herself would be to jump to the other side of that chasm. To become the other one. It is not damnable to have such thoughts, only to act upon them.

"I can't help you, you know," she tells him. "You'll have to save yourself, like all the others. You see, what I do, it can't be easy. I knew that all along, but your mentor put it perfectly into words."

She picks up his hand and presses her lips to the back of it. A taste, a liberty, something she's earned.

No further.

She leaves without another word, both renewed and disgusted with herself.

tbc

a/n:

+ another 5k update in which NOTHING HAPPENS. yay, spades, we'll never get tired of this!

+ I am running out of nouns to use for chapter names. I wish I was kidding.

+ thank you, all of you.