notes/warnings
+ yay swearing.
+ implied past sexual abuse.
+ return of mr second-person-italics.
+ in light of concerns expressed in recent reviews, I just wanted to reiterate that there will be NO canon character/own character pairings in this fic. the own characters are intended to be a supporting cast only. they may have feelings for canon characters, but they will not have romantic relationships. for example, either Jas/Mello will never happen, or Jas is actually a canon character in disguise. same goes for Rae/L. and, I dunno, Roper/Mail, or any others that might be worrying people. this story is about the canon characters, I promise.
Undercurrent
"While you were sleeping, someone broke into the storeroom," Near announces blandly. "Were you aware of that?"
He doesn't move from the spot. He doesn't look at you. He never looks at you.
No-one ever looks at you. Except with distaste.
"Yes," you reply, and you're already pissed off. You make mistakes all the fucking time. Near doesn't have to drag you in here and humiliate you. You know you're a fucking loser. You know!
You wish, sometimes, that he'd just throw you in a cell and be done with it. It would easier – and more honest – than keeping you around as a glorified security guard.
A glorified, untrustworthy security guard.
"You were supposed to be watching the entrances," Near continues, one pale hand guiding a rocket through the air. "Did you forget that, Mihael?"
Everyone calls you by name. You're not worth protecting. You don't deserve a nickname. You are well aware of all of these things. And yet, hearing Near say your real name sends you into a blinding, helpless rage.
He's got no right. He's tiny and he uses people and he keeps you around just to make you miserable. He's not great, like everyone says. He can't look after himself. He'd be nothing without L. He's no L.
He's ten thousand times the detective you'll ever be, but you hate him. You hate him more than anything.
It was him that…god. It was him that introduced Jasmine to Matt. You can't ever forgive him for that.
And L chose him over you.
And even though he's the better choice - by miles and miles the better choice - you can't help but hate him for that, too.
He's taken everything away from you. Everything.
Almost everything. You've still got the Jeevases. You still get to see Gemma once a week, and Matt still chats to you on the internet every other night. And Jasmine comes over for coffee on a regular basis, and she's always excessively kind to you.
Smug bitch.
And once a month, you are allowed to visit them. All of them. Together. Your family.
You wish.
"I didn't forget," you grit, and you hate admitting this shit to him. If you had a gun, you would cheerfully shoot yourself in the head right now, just to avoid this conversation.
You don't have a gun, of course. Psychopathic losers can't be trusted with firearms.
"So what happened?" Near asks, twirling his hair around the propeller of a plastic helicopter.
"I told you, I can't do this," you growl. "It's…it's too hard."
Your brain doesn't work properly. Your body doesn't work properly. You don't know why you fall asleep all the time, why your strength has disappeared, why your head is thick and woolly whenever you try to think. You've been to doctors. There's nothing that they can do.
You hate everything. You hate your life.
"Everything seems to be too hard for you, lately," Near comments. "It's a pity L has ordered us to keep you around. But then, I suppose if you'd had more self control, you wouldn't have learned our names in the first place. We could have gotten rid of you as soon as the Kira case became difficult. Life would have been much easier for both of us, don't you think?"
You clench your fists so hard your nails cut tiny semicircles into your palms. You can't even remember exactly how you stumbled across their names, but you were obviousy prying, because that information is - and always has been - ridiculously classified.
And yet, some part of you still wants to believe that you were told their names on merit. That you earned that trust, somehow, a long time ago. It's like you have these faint memories of something else, some other time, some other place.
No, dreams. Not memories, dreams. That's all they are. This is the reality. You, and your incompetence, and Near.
And Near is vile. He's tiny and white and awful and no one will ever, ever love him. No matter what.
No one will ever love you, either, but that doesn't matter. Your heart is wasted.
"Do you expect me to apologise?" you demand.
"I don't expect social graces from you," Near replies condescendingly. "To be honest, I expect very little from you. But I do expect you to protect those around you, to the best of your ability. Lately, you haven't even been trying."
"I always try!"
Fuck him. Fuck him, he doesn't know how difficult things are for you. He doesn't know. He has no right to pass judgement!
You know you're an awful person. You don't need him to say it.
"Well then, you had better start trying harder, because I have made an executive decision," Near informs you. And then he raises his head and casts his eyes over you, just once. He grins, smugly, unpleasantly, like he's just won some private war.
Against you.
"If you make one more mistake, Mihael, I am going to categorise you as unfit for contact with at-risk employees."
You spool the words slowly around your brain, like they'll somehow magically make sense.
You used to be so smart. You used to be able to read people; their personalities and hopes and fears, all gleaned from a few moments of conversation. Matt used to say you had magic powers.
You've never been able to read Matt, though. Or you couldn't, back when you were kids. He's pretty easy these days. He loves his wife and daughter, he's excessively kind, and he wants justice and a safe world. And top-of-the-range gaming consoles. Easy.
You wish your life was so easy.
You wish you knew what went wrong.
You wish the seams in the sky were real. That this life was some place you could escape from.
"What?"
"I'll spell it out for you, will I?" Near asks casually. "If you mess up one more time, I am going to prevent you from seeing the Jeevases. Ever again."
You see your whole world crumbling right in front of you.
"You can't do that!" you protest. "You can't do that, I'll die! They're…they're all I have!"
"You shouldn't be seeing them anyway," Near continues. "I disapprove of Matt pandering to you. The way you feel about him is repulsive, and he should put as much distance as possible between the two of you. Since he is resistant to that concept, I have allowed you to maintain contact. But the next time you fail at a task, that privilege will be revoked. Matt is aware of this, and he's agreed to support my decision. Isn't that nice of him?"
"Fuck you," you say darkly. "Fuck you, you…you worm! You…you dickhead!"
The rage that consumes you is powerful and huge. You can't control yourself.
You don't want to control yourself. You want to slam his face into the fucking floor. Repeatedly.
You manage to get six paces closer to him before security arrives and throws you out.
Your life is over.
Your days are numbered.
You cannot ever, ever screw up again.
But you know that you will.
Morning rolls around, painfully bright after another sleepless night. Takada spends an extra twenty minutes on her hair. Then she checks the tiny piece of death note hidden in her watch, and starts making preparations to leave.
"You sure this is a good idea?" Ryuk asks brightly. "It could be a trap. I'd hate for anything to happen to you."
He's lying, of course.
"If you truly cared for me, you would tell me whether or not this is the real Light."
Ryuk shrugs.
"How can I tell? I've only seen the same email you've seen."
"Then why don't you go and meet him in my place?" she snaps, obsessively checking the locks on her bedroom door.
"Eh? Sure, I can do that. But how will you know if I'm lying? Plus, if it is the real Light, don't you think he'll be reluctant to wait around? By the time I go and come back to report to you, he'll be gone."
Takada takes her mask from the top drawer of her desk. It is expensive, beautifully-made, and fits seamlessly against her skin. When she wears it, she looks completely unlike herself.
This is a risk. This is dangerous. But isn't this what she is all about?
Anything for her Light.
"Are all Shinigami as useless as you?" she asks, distractedly. Ryuk has become part of the furniture; just an annoying and talkative fixture.
She calls her security team on the upper floor.
"Teams A and B, please continue to monitor this building. Michael and Theo? I want you to monitor Naomi, Reid, and the other disciples of interest. The rest of you are to monitor the closed-circuit television footage from the area around Bradley's Bistro, as we discussed yesterday. Bronson will be with me. Margaret, Gree, and Leah will be stationed nearby."
"Yes, my Lady," comes the chorus.
Most of her security officers are men. They patrol the compound and monitor all the camera feeds. They are also restricted to rooms separate to her living quarters. Bronson is the only exception; she keeps him close because he is perceptive, talented, strong, and thoroughly gay.
She does not employ or associate with any men who have white-blonde hair and beards. No-one has noticed this, of course.
She doesn't like men. She doesn't trust them. But she especially doesn't want to be reminded of Jason.
She needs Light around to protect her, that's what. Once he has returned to her side, her life will be wonderful. All she has to do is work hard, right now, and her future is secure. Guaranteed.
The employees she keeps close to her – her snipers and her spies and her assistants – are all female. Ryuk occasionally refers to them as her 'harem', if he's in a particularly retarded mood. But the truth is this: she can sleep when she's surrounded by women. None of them are going to violate her. They might kill her, sure, if they're murderously-inclined or spies sent by L, but they won't…
They won't…
What he did…
Jason is evil and everything he does is evil and she will see him destroyed. Then, maybe, the nightmares will stop. And the paranoia will stop. And the fears will stop. Everything will be just fine, she can get past this. It will only be bad for a little while.
Just a little while.
This Naomi, she needs to prove herself trustworthy. She's useful. And that'll be one more nail in Jason's coffin, Takada is certain.
"You okay, toots?" Ryuk asks loudly, interrupting her reverie.
She forces a smile.
"Absolutely fine," she replies.
She stuffs her dress with as many pistols as feasible, and goes.
She can't be weak, after all. No matter what, she cannot be weak.
Rae bursts in while she's watching the morning news. Naomi carefully doesn't react to its presence, of course.
"Takada has gone," it reports.
She nods dutifully. Today, as planned, she has been especially sick. She has been weak and pale, stumbling into walls, unable to consume anything more substantial than tea.
Truth be told, today is one of her better days. But Takada doesn't know that, and neither do the guards. Naomi has excellent control over her body, for the most part.
And L knows how to use his resources well.
She switches off the tiny television, picks up her phone, and contacts Takada's base.
"Yes?" an unfamiliar voice answers.
"Oh no," Naomi says with exaggerated dismay. "Is my Lady not available?"
"She's presently indisposed," the man informs her. He's definitely not Moustache, but he's probably another one of the security guard.
"I've called too late," Naomi says sadly. "I had been wondering if our Lady wanted me to do some research into the local police force. I thought I might be able to help uncover the truth about the man she is meeting today."
There is a momentary pause on the other end of the phone.
"She has told you a lot, it seems," the guard replies, grudgingly. "But I will not tell you any more. There are no instructions for you today. In any case, you do not appear to be capable of fulfilling demanding tasks at this time."
She's told me a lot, has she?
"That's heartening, at least," Rae mutters. It's scary how clearly she can follow the Shinigami's thoughts.
Of course, Rae tends to have a fairly one-track mind. It's probably either thinking about getting L to use the death note, or. Well, just getting L.
And now she is making terrible jokes. Apparently this solitary confinement has affected her mind.
"Yes, I was considering getting myself some more ginger from the pharmacy," she says mistily. "I do not advocate the use of therapeutic drugs in most circumstances, but I want to be able to function my very best for Kira."
"As do we all," the man replies. "You have already been given permission to leave if you need to, Naomi."
"Yes," Naomi agrees. "Yes, I have."
Perfect. That conversation couldn't have gone better if L had scripted both sides.
The plan isn't ideal, of course.
If L hasn't judged Kiyomi Takada perfectly, then Naomi may wind up being released from her services.
Or dead.
And if it really is Light, then. Then he'll probably wind up dead, too. He wonders if Light will return with more supernatural powers. If he'll be able to pinpoint L's exact location, or kill him just by thinking about it, or hide his face and worm his way back into L's life just to fuck it all up as much as possible.
L doesn't even want to think about it.
He is hunched over the video feed. Naomi is driving, but her destination is not the pharmacy. She's breaking rules. That is their strategy.
Naomi is prepared to sacrifice everything for Takada. Even her beloved Kira.
And Takada, well, Takada might feel obliged to do the same. Or she might fall in love, if Rae's estimations are correct.
What does an arrogant, idealistic Shinigami prince know about human love, anyway?
Not much, L answers himself, bitterly.
Rae is with Takada now, and it will stay with her unless there are unforeseen problems. If something does go wrong, it is up to Rae to decide whether to inform Naomi first, or go back and reassess the situation with L.
This whole case is pivoting on Rae. It's the first time all of them have really worked together, as a team.
And they cannot fail. L keeps reminding himself of that. They cannot fail.
The path to the pharmacy will take Naomi right past Bradley's Bistro. All she needs is to see something. Anything. Say….Moustache. Accompanying a beautiful and masked woman. Any Kira-supporter knowing what Naomi knows would presume her to be faux-Kira.
So simple. So easy. Naomi will stop, abandon her own errands, and dive in to save Takada. From a mysterious masked man carrying a gun that she recognizes as FBI-standard. A masked man who is definitely not Light Yagami, because he'll try and shoot Takada.
And Takada will flee. With Naomi. With her newfound guardian and friend. L doesn't like toying with people's emotions to such a cruel extent, but he has little other choice. Besides, emotional wounds heal over time. Heart attacks are forever.
Even if Light is here, perhaps L can stop Takada from meeting him.
Light is not here. Takada cannot meet him, because he is in hell. He is in a tiny, tiny locked box, and he cannot reach us.
Oh please, he cannot reach us.
L's phone rings. The screen shows 'Grint Street Police Station'. His point of contact with Nathan Bryce and the other police officers assisting him with Naomi's back-story.
Why would they be calling at a time like this? he wonders, and answers the phone.
"Yes?"
"There's…someone who'd like to speak to you, Mr Smith," Bryce says quickly, without any small talk at all. "He wanted your number, but I told him we'd connect the call instead."
As far as the station is concerned, L is Bert Smith, a detective to rival Eraldo Coil. But not L, because that would be presumptuous.
"Someone who knows my name?" L queries, fascinated, his eyes never leaving the screen in front of him.
Naomi is approximately five minutes away from the bistro. She must have his full attention at all times.
"Someone who wanted to speak to the leader of this investigation," Bryce says helplessly.
"Someone who knows about my investigation?" L repeats stupidly. "Did they contact you directly, Nathan?"
"Yes, sir. Me. They found my office extension number. No one else knows that you're chasing after…after you-know-who."
After faux-Kira.
Bryce knows some details. It was necessary to buy his support and his silence. Whoever this is, they've done their research. They're tracking him. They're trying to find Bert Smith, out of all of the detectives targeting faux-Kira.
"Put him through," L says, because he's hardly going to turn down a chance to identify this person who has violated his privacy so.
There is a click, and a few high pitched sounds, and then a voice.
"Mr Smith, am I correct?"
The voice sounds as mechanical and filtered as his own. Damn.
"You are correct."
"That's good. You can call me Buzz. I'm presently investigating the activities of a woman I believe might be faux-Kira."
Oh, no you aren't.
Out of my territory, you…you punk.
"I see," L replies blandly.
"There is a strange thing, Mr Smith. I have set a trap for this woman, but there appears to be a man here unassociated with me. Judging by his mask and the weapon he carries, I'd say his aim is to scare her away from the person she is supposed to be meeting."
L feels as if an enormous weight has been lifted from his shoulders.
"Was it you who sent her that email, Buzz?" he asks quietly.
"You know about that? I guess that means you do have a man inside, then," Buzz deduces.
Impressive.
"That is correct," he concedes.
"I see. Unfortunately, we've been unable to launch a successful applicant at this stage. Since you have, I will step down from this investigation and let you take over, Mr Smith. I was going to apprehend your friend with the gun, but you've obviously got something in mind. My plan only had a ten percent chance of success, anyway."
"You use percentages to clarify your uncertainty?" L manages, with a little laugh. "Trying to impersonate big-league detectives, are you?"
But if you aren't Light, then…
And you don't sound like Light.
God, what would Light sound like, these days?
"Not at all."
"How were you able to answer her questions correctly?" L demands.
"I was lucky," Buzz replies. "I am more recently dead than Miss Takada, and some things have been made public in the first world. People know who and what Kira was. Everyone knows his face. If he returns, there will be pandemonium."
"I know that," L snaps. "So you're telling me that intimate details of Takada's life are published in several volumes, are you?"
There is no risk in revealing that he suspects her. After all, this guy is already convinced that Takada is faux-Kira, it seems.
"I worked on the case, for a little while," Buzz admits.
"Who are you?" L replies sharply.
You worked on the Kira case? Did you work with me?
"And I guessed one of the answers, too," Buzz continues, ignoring him. "It seems Light really did have her kill herself. Such a terrible thing to do. But since my last statement made you enquire as to who I was, I presume you worked that case too?"
"I imagine half the crime experts in the world were working on it before the end," L says tersely.
"An excellent point. I suppose that really doesn't narrow anything down for either of us, does it? I hope the scenario I've set up is useful for you. I will keep my word and refrain from this case."
L feels strange. On one hand, Buzz is clearly trying to wrangle his identity out of him. On the other hand, an ex-Kira-case-worker sent that email. Not Light. Never Light.
Of course. He knew all along. Light can't come back. No god in their right mind would release something that terminally evil onto the general population.
"I hope you do," he replies. "You have caused me some trouble as it is."
"I apologise for that," Buzz tells him. "I'm sure we'll talk again, sometime. Goodbye, L."
The phone slips from L's fingers. He cups it in his open palm and stares at it.
Buzz was guessing. Is guessing. Is apparently one of those infuriating detectives who formulates a theory out of nothing and then attempts to prove it right, one way or the other.
Fuck you, L thinks. You don't know who I am at all.
And the next time our paths cross, maybe I'll defeat you and take your identity too, Buzz.
Because you're not the hotshot you think you are.
And I've got a Shinigami on my side.
And then none of that matters, because Naomi is pulling into the bistro car-park, and Takada and Moustache are exiting their vehicle, and Raye is waiting in the shadows, just out of view of the closed circuit cameras.
The only thing that matters is that they get this right.
This is wrong.
Everything feels wrong.
Kiyomi checks over her shoulder discreetly. Margaret is a few feet behind her, watching the crowd carefully. She is an excellent shot, and she has a tiny gun hidden inside the index finger of her glove. Kiyomi has access to all the very best gadgets, of course. She has money – donations from rich supporters – and she dutifully uses every cent to try and ensure Light's safe return. And then she has talented supporters, people who provide her with electronics and equipment and skill.
And they are useful, but she can't trust any of them. Not really.
Gree is already inside the bistro. She's not as good a marksman, but she's got tremendous powers of observation. Leah is still in the car, the back-up plan.
Right now, Kiyomi needs to live. If she doesn't live, then she can't save Light. And that bastard won't tell anyone else he has Light prisoner. She is his only chance.
Everything is riding on her.
"All clear, my lady," Bronson murmurs.
Her mask is on. No-one can see her face. Under her dress, her chest is covered in bulletproof metal. But there are ways. There are always ways. Her head isn't wrapped in metal. People don't need a death note to kill other people.
It's a busy area. Light chose well. People everywhere. Men everywhere. She tracks their hands and their arms as they pass. So strong. So powerful. God, she needs Light here to protect her.
Gree gestures twice. No one suspicious. No one fitting Light's description.
Margaret falls back into the crowd, exactly the way she's been instructed. Kiyomi barely notices.
"He's not here," she says softly.
And then a man actually approaches her, and she gets as far as opening her watch before she realizes that he's not actively trying to kill or molest her. He just looks lost.
"Can I help you, sir?" Bronson asks, a hint of threat in his voice. He's a useful find, really. But she doesn't think he'd stay if she stopped paying him.
Filthy, mercenary scum that he is. Kiyomi snaps her watch shut, annoyed.
"I have a message," the man says quietly. "I have a message from Light."
Kiyomi's hand drops away from her face, and she gapes at him. He's tall and dark-haired and speaks with an American accent.
And there's…oh god. There's no name over his face. There's no name over his face.
He's got a fucking mask on.
Then he's. He's not here for Light. He's here for whoever laid this trap.
For her.
Kiyomi freezes, unable to speak, unable to move. No-one has actually attacked her before. Not since that blonde kid threw her in the back of a truck and drove until she killed him.
In the confines of her own mind, she screams. And screams.
No! Light! No, I had so much more I…no! NO! DO YOU HEAR ME! I CAN'T, I CAN'T! NO!
And still she cannot move.
The barrel of the gun is right there, in his sleeve. He's not even trying to hide it.
It's too late to run away. Too late to reach for her own gun. And Bronson hasn't even realized, the useless scrum.
NO! NO! NO! NO!
"I don't think so," a new voice drawls, female and dangerous and coming from right behind her attacker.
And there's no mistaking the click of a safety catch coming undone.
The man hesitates, his fingers still on the trigger. Margaret hasn't noticed them yet. Takada is going to fire her once she gets back to base.
If she gets back to base.
"Let her go, or I'll kill you. I swear, I'll kill you!"
Takada lifts her head, struggling to regain the power of speech.
"Naomi?"
"I'm sorry, my Lady," Naomi says sharply. "I was on my way to the pharmacy. I recognized Moust…the man you were with. I knew you had to be you. And then I realised this clout carrying an FBI-issue firearm. I just had to stop. I thought you might be in danger."
"You work for her, huh?" the man drawls. "Naomi, is it? Don't you know what this woman is doing?"
In one neat moment, Naomi spins around him and stops right in front of his chest. Front and center.
You idiot! Kiyomi thinks, panicked. He's seen your face, now.
And then she realizes that Naomi is between his gun and herself.
"I'll die for my Lady," Naomi says fiercely. "Just you try me."
No!
Wait, why do I care? Why are you…
Why did you do that?
"People are watching," the man says nastily. "And there are more officers on the way. You might as well give up now, Kira."
"People are watching," Naomi agrees. "Are they about to see you kill two women - one of whom is completely unarmed - right in front of them?"
"I'm taking you prisoner!"
"Not if I shoot first!"
In the time it takes the man to snort derisively, Naomi knees him in the stomach. For a thin, sick woman, she seems to pack a surprising quantity of power. The man crumples a little, still grappling for his gun.
"For Kira's sake, my Lady, run!" she yells.
Bronson practically has to drag her away, even when the FBI agent opens fire. But she regains the use of her legs when Naomi catches up to them. And Kiyomi doesn't really understand that, either.
"I'm impressed that he managed to shoot so convincingly while completely missing you," Rae comments, curling up on an empty car seat. "He's a good shot. Is that why you married him?"
Naomi doesn't react, of course. Not with Takada sitting right next to her.
"Are you hurt, my Lady?" she asks tremulously.
"Are you stupid, Naomi Penber?" Takada demands. Her mask has slipped, making her face look bizarre and disproportionate.
"I did what I had to do," Naomi says cheerfully. "I'll do anything for Kira. And as far as I'm concerned, you and Kira are the same person. After all, you're the only link we have."
"I didn't ask you to die for me," she snaps.
"You didn't ask me to be there at all," Naomi replies. "Why did your guards not notice his gun, my Lady? Why didn't anyone else help you?"
"No one else here is a retired police officer of your skill," Takada replies, a little tersely, and Naomi chalks the conversation up as a victory then and there.
"She was impressed," Rae says unnecessarily. "And L will be thrilled to know that her guards are incompetent at best."
"Thank you, my Lady."
"That was not a compliment!" Takada chides. "The FBI know your face. You are in terrible danger."
"And in compensation, you are alive," Naomi says rapturously, clasping her hands.
"You know, you should win some sort of award for acting," Rae comments.
You never met Light Yagami, did you? Naomi thinks.
"I shall have to have you transferred to the base," Takada fusses. "There will be no other safe place for you now."
"Won't I be in your way? You'd have to go around with a mask on at all times. That doesn't sound very comfortable, my Lady."
Okay, she's good. She's very good. She's at the top of her game today. Maybe because she's finally been allowed to leave that tiny little flat.
One can only pray to false gods and antagonize Shinigami for so long before one gets horrendously bored, after all. And it was good to see Raye again, however briefly.
And now, Takada respects her. Cares about her, even. L is a genius.
She'd be interested to know who false-Light was, because they never showed up. She wonders if they got in touch with L.
She wonders whose side they're on.
Takada scowls hard, the visible part of her forehead wrinkling furiously above the mask. She probably thinks Naomi can't see her expression.
"You've passed your security clearance," she replies curtly. "And you've proven your loyalty today, if not your good judgment. Living at base means you are privy to my face, Naomi Penber."
"Excellent," Rae murmurs. "I'll tell L we're in."
"Thank you, my Lady," Naomi says serenely. "The honour is all mine."
L shakes his head, and then twists it from side to side. He feels a little heavy, like he's coming down with a cold.
This…no. Something isn't right. Something fundamental.
He just sent Raye out to meet Takada, and orchestrated a fight between Naomi and her husband. All kinds of things could have gone wrong. Raye could have missed and shot his wife. Naomi could have arrived too late, or too early. Takada could have been suspicious of Naomi showing up at just the right time.
Takada could have…
Takada…
Takada damn well should have been suspicious! Why wouldn't she be suspicious, of Naomi who just happened to know that faux-Light was a trap? Of Naomi, who's only just shown up? Of Naomi, who is both smart and an ex police officer?
And that's still not the thing that bothers him the most. The thing that bothers him the most is that he thought it was a good plan. He sat down and thought of all the weak points, and he still went ahead with it. He still decided it was the best possible thing to do. And Raye, and Mail agreed. Rae agreed.
A momentary lapse in common sense in one person is explicable. In four, though, it is…
What? Witchcraft?
This heavy feeling that his mind is being blinded and fooled. That someone else is controlling him, just a little, steering him in an odd direction.
Could it be Kira?
And Buzz. Who the fuck is Buzz? And how convenient of him to contact L in such a way that L can't even prove he existed.
L scrubs at his face the way Matsuda used to do. He feels like someone is manipulating the events around him. He feels like…like there's a script somewhere. Like Naomi always had to apply to join faux-Kira, and like Raye always had to go and threaten Takada today.
Wait. He's felt like this before.
"You did well," Mail says politely, when Raye finally deems it safe to approach the car.
"Fuck off," he replies. "I just opened fire on my wife. I don't need your fucking comments."
"Whatever," Mail says, and goes back to tapping at his keyboard.
He doesn't need to hear Raye angsting about Naomi, who is alive, in the second world, and very much in love with him. Mail isn't jealous. He's pretty sure he's not physiologically capable of something as emotionally complex as jealousy. He just doesn't think Raye has any right to complain.
No matter what happens, he's never going to see Mello again. He can wear his clothes, and don his boots, and impersonate him until the world ends, but Mello can never come back.
Mail touches the rosary.
For the love of fucking god, please look after him, he thinks, because he's given up on flowery, standardized prayers. Please just keep him safe. Give him chocolate. Keep him happy. Take…take every tiny good thing you've ever given me, and use them to keep him safe. Please.
L's voice crackles over his headphones.
"Mail, can I ask you a question?"
"Yup."
"Do you remember Holland?"
Mail frowns.
What now? Holland? I don't think we've ever worked a case there. It's a pretty peaceful place, for the most part. Not a lot of crime.
Why the fuck is he asking me?
"Uh…not particularly. I've never even visited the place," he murmurs.
"The case," L says patiently. "The case with the gorgon. It happened last year."
"Wasn't that ages ago?" Raye interrupts, impatiently. "I can barely remember it. Besides, don't we have more important things to be focusing on right now?"
"You can barely remember it?" L asks quizzically. "But you have an excellent memory, Raye Penber."
"Well, forgive me if I'm a little fucking out of sorts!" Raye says hotly.
"Do you remember Grace, Mail?" L asks.
"Sure," Mail replies. "Little girl we took in. She was killed by…um…"
He's not good at remembering shit like this.
"How was she killed again?" he asks, giving up.
"The gorgon killed her," L says somberly.
"Really?" Raye asks. "Wasn't she just killed by…you know."
"Ordinary stuff," Mail supplies.
"Yeah. That's it. Ordinary stuff," Raye agrees.
"I see," L says, sounding strangely distressed. "That is not important right now, of course. I apologise for bringing it up. Tell me, what did you think of your most recent mission, Raye?"
"It sucked. Next time, you can go and shoot at someone you love."
"Ah, so you think it endangered Naomi unnecessarily? Why did you not mention this earlier?"
He's in a strange fuckin' mood today, Mail notes blithely. Really, L asking for criticism? The Shinigami must be eating away at his confidence.
"It wasn't a bad plan, this is just a bad fucking situation," Raye growls. "Don't twist my words!"
"So we are agreed it was a good plan," L says. "Thank you. Please keep monitoring the taps and wait for my next instruction."
"Weird," Raye mutters. "Sometimes I think he's starting to lose the plot."
For once, Mail has to agree with him.
tbc
a/n:
+ still moving! so far I have an empty unit with a rice cooker in it and nothing else! I am nearly as good at moving as I am at writing, clearly. so expect another week of tardiness and late updates. my apologies.
+ thank you, thank you.
+ also, the amazing Moss E has made me FANART for this ridiculous fic, because she is just too awesome for words. if you'd like to see it, there is a link in my user profile. (there is, in fact, another piece of fanart for this fic by another amazing person, but I don't yet have her permission to link it to anyone).