notes/warnings
+ swearing. but nothing worse than the previous chapter.
+ general unpleasantness, grieving, etcetera.
+ more dicking around with the actual canon rules of the death note.
+ general poor writing.
Hell
For a second, nobody moves. L feels nothing. No pain. No weakness.
What?
"Oh no," Takada rasps, and both the gun and the note tumble to the pavement. She clutches at her side with both hands, and L suddenly realises that there is blood seeping insidiously through her expensive coat.
Oh.
Rae's enormous hand closes tremulously over L's shoulder, and L feels like he might fall apart, and start yelling and crying right there in the alleyway. And then Takada collapses, like a tower of cards, like nothing at all, choking and wide-eyed and horrified.
And as she falls, L sees his own protégé standing a few feet behind her.
"Mail," he calls, out loud, almost involuntarily.
He takes a few steps forwards, mostly to get out of Rae's grip. Mail doesn't even look at him. His eyes are fixed on Takada's body with a terrifying sort of intensity. He looks alive, actually, properly alive. Like he might not be thinking of Mello at all. Mail levels the gun at Takada's head.
"No," L orders croakily. "M. M. That's enough."
And then the police are upon them, pouring between L and Takada and Mail like so many ants. They form a wide, cautious circle around Takada. One of them grabs L and tugs him backwards. Another two grab Mail under the arms, effectively.
"No!" Mail yells, desperately. "Not yet!"
"Did you shoot this woman?" someone demands
L fishes his own fake identification card out of his pocket.
"I am agent Tony Base," he manages. "This is my colleague, Robert Wilson. We both work for L. The suspect threatened me at gunpoint. Wilson had no choice but to shoot her."
The redheaded officer closest to him nods once.
"These two are with L," she announces, loudly. "They're clear. Agent Base, I am Constable Wicks. Are you harmed?"
L shakes his head.
"I'm fine. Don't worry about me. Listen, this woman dropped a notebook. I need you to give it to me, straight away. L considers it to be vital evidence."
Wicks turns to look at Takada's struggling, broken form, and then briefly scans the rest of the area.
"What notebook?" she asks, sounding puzzled.
No!
No, I'm not ready. No!
Takada stares at the space where her death note had been, just a few seconds ago.
"Fuck you, Ryuk," she rasps, bitterly. It hurts to talk. Everything hurts. She's bleeding. Her own fucking blood is all over her arms, and just the thought is enough to make her feel woozy.
If she dies, who will save Light?
She can't die. She's a goddess, she can't die! This isn't even a useful death.
And the man who shot her is no one. A maniac. Some mentally-ill agent of L's with a gun and barely enough brain cells to put his shoes on in the morning. And he keeps raving about how he's going to shoot her again.
Kira will see to him. Murderers ought to be punished. Attempted murderers, too. Anyone who ever thinks about committing a crime, really. This world could be so beautiful, if they could just get rid of the filth.
Light, I need you now.
And the stupid police goons don't help her. One of them kicks the gun out of her reach, and then edges away as soon as possible. They're treating her like she's still powerful. Takada manages a tiny, sick little smile.
She's failed him. Again.
Light, where ARE you?
And L's other fucking agent is acting like he's the boss of everything, ordering people around and declaring…declaring…
Something.
The world is starting to fade around the edges. Her vision is starting to go. She can't…she can't think. No, no, no! She can't think.
She's not sure how much time passes while she lies crumpled and pain-riddled on the pavement, but eventually someone picks her up and carries her towards an ambulance, and she's still not dead.
She's not dead.
She's not dead.
Somehow, everything will be okay.
There's only one paramedic on the scene, which strikes L as strange, because he knows they are required by law to work in pairs. But then he has to convince a couple of detective constables that Mail is only screaming because he has an unusual case of Tourette's Syndrome, and not because he's in a murderous rage. And then he has to answer approximately far too many questions about why he was here in the first place. And then someone shows up with a cocky-looking Grianna in handcuffs. And the whole time, L has to keep coming up with creative excuses to shove Rae's hand away from his back and his head and the hem of his shirt. So L transiently forgets about the paramedic. He can only focus on one thing at once.
He's practically useless, right now.
"Jones," he says, softly. "I don't understand you at all."
Grianna smiles at him, and the gesture is both malevolent and intensely familiar. L can't think why. Wedy never smiled like that.
"I do what I do," Grianna tells him. "And you won't stop me, agent. No one can stop me. I have more money than L himself, and I play very carefully."
"I know your history," L tells her. "Often charged, never sentenced. What I don't understand is why. What do you gain from this?"
Rae touches his hip, and L takes an abrupt step sideways.
"Did you do that on purpose?" the Shingami demands. "Don't you run away from me."
But L can't do this. Can't handle this. Can't even look at Rae.
"You've obviously never lost anyone to hell, old man," Grianna says derisively.
L boggles. Hell?
What….what is this about?
Whatever it is, he might need a little more privacy. These officers have been carefully-selected to be trustworthy and yet not annoyingly independent, and they wouldn't do anything to impede L's supposed henchmen, but some things shouldn't be available for public consumption.
L turns to the officer currently restraining Grianna.
"Please leave us for a moment, officer..."
"Maxwell. Jeremy Maxwell," the man supplies.
So generous in giving out your full name, L thinks. Don't you realise who we were fighting?
"Please leave us for a moment, Officer Maxwell. This woman is an important witness. L needs her statement immediately."
"L has some strange bloody orders," Maxwell grunts, but he reluctantly releases Grianna and moves away.
Grianna could theoretically run, but she's still handcuffed and the whole area is surrounded. And L…L wants to know what she knows.
"Hell?" he echoes, quietly.
Rae reaches for his wrist, and L folds both arms firmly and uncomfortably over his chest.
No!
"There is something that controls hell," Grianna says fiercely. "Something intelligent. Something that can be reasoned with. A death god told me so."
What…who is this woman?
She's encountered a Shinigami. Then, she has possibly also encountered a death note.
"You've seen-"
"Yes, a few years ago, now," Grianna interrupts, sounding mildly irritated. "The notebook was useless to me, but I still have the eyes. I also learned this; those who are in hell who appear in the real world must be here to be tested."
L tilts his head, almost completely forgetting Naomi and Mail and Rae and the entire, awful situation, for just a moment.
"You seek those who are being tested," he surmises.
"Smart, aren't you," Grianna comments, and she sounds so much like Wedy that it makes L ache. "I seek the god of hell."
"If she really does have the eyes, then she's already recognised that you are also the owner of a death note," Rae points out.
Of course. They have something in common. Is that why Grianna is telling him so many things, so easily?
Well then. It can't hurt.
"I seek that too," L whispers. "I…I want to get someone back."
"The hell-god is supposed to show up to the scene of every test, whether passed or failed," she says, firmly. "He or she must be here. Somewhere."
L regards Grianna with an odd feeling of kinship. He feels strangely validated. Someone else knows about the god of hell.
It's not just him.
It's not just him.
"She's as paranoid as you are," Rae comments, and L diligently ignores it.
"Do you have any idea what form this god takes?"
"I don't know."
"But surely you must have some sort of shortlist," L reasons. "If what you say is true, then the same person, animal, or object would have appeared at every other test you've seen too, right?"
Grianna raises an eyebrow.
"Does your boss know that you're wasting time chatting with suspects?" she asks.
"Why are you avoiding the question?" L wonders. He cards a hand through his hair, dislodging Rae's fingers in the process.
It belatedly occurs to him that Rae's reaction time seems to be no better than his own. His Shinigami is becoming damaged. Again.
Grianna sighs.
"I don't know. It's almost like, after a few weeks have passed, I can't really remember the details any more, you know? This thing is powerful. And probably psychic."
"Okay, we've officially established that this woman is crazy," Rae complains. "You need to get somewhere safe, L. You're still out in the open."
"I've met your daughter," L tells Grianna impulsively.
Rae's hand is hovering an inch from his elbow, like Rae is trying to respect his desire not to be touched, and just can't quite help itself.
"Someone's coming over," it warns L. "Keep the conversation safe."
Grianna looks stricken.
"She thinks very little of me, my daughter," she says, sardonically. "What's she like, now?"
"Amazing," L replies.
"Excuse me, sir," someone drawls from right behind them. "I don't mean t'interrupt."
It's the paramedic. He's scruffy and blonde, and his uniform is white. L imagines it must be impossible to keep clean for any length of time.
"What is it?"
"I'm not s'posed to announce this officially," he says loudly, "but that woman has passed away. Thought it might mean something to this here investigation."
L hesitates.
"Takada is dead?" he clarifies, carefully.
"Yup. Blood loss from the gunshot wound. I still need to take the body to the hospital, though," the paramedic points out. He has odd-coloured eyes, and he isn't wearing a nametag.
"I understand," L tells him. "Thank you."
"Dead," Grianna spits. "Ha. Serves her right. I don't like people who take it upon themselves to punish others."
"Dead," Mail calls, incredulously. "Dead? Dead. I killed her?"
He sounds…he sounds fucking ecstatic. L can't handle this. He can't handle anything. Grianna is no use to him if her memory isn't intact.
"Best of luck with the judicial system, Jones," he tells her. "I have things to do."
"Wait," Grianna says, quickly. "Wait. Tell L I said 'thanks'. Please."
Thanks?
"Thanks for what?"
"That's the whole message," Grianna confirms. "Just…thank you. He might know what I'm talking about."
I seriously doubt that, L thinks. He feels strange. Like there's something he ought to be noticing. The officers are milling around like they've got nothing to do. The paramedic is preparing to leave. Rae is by his side. Grianna's story makes sense.
What…what's wrong, then? What isn't right? A psychic is only given away by the mistakes that he makes. And L can feel that horrid weight on his mind. But it's not as if L has seen any of these people before. Unless he counts the paramedic vaguely resembling the woman in the library.
Oh, dear god. It can't be.
L turns on his heel and heads towards the ambulance.
"Don't fucking go anywhere," Rae demands. "Can't you stay still for five seconds? Where are you going?"
"Stop," L hollers, and the exertion makes his throat ache. "You. Paramedic! Stop. Stop!"
"L, seriously, where are you going?"
"To the ambulance," L mutters. "Leave me alone."
"Ambulance?" Rae asks, curiously. "Oh, right. There was ambulance here, a few seconds ago, wasn't there? I guess it's gone now."
The only vehicles in the entire street are police cars.
L sinks to his knees.
Naomi doesn't look any different. She could be resting. She could be asleep. Her skin is still warm, and her eyes are closed. And Raye wants to take this moment, and suspend it in forever. That her body might never change. That he might never have to leave her.
Raye gets down on the hard, dirty floor with her and presses his face into her shoulder. She cannot speak. She can never tell him why she confessed to Takada. She can never tell him whether or not she'd have chosen him over L, in the end. She can never tell him she loves him.
There are people everywhere, and none of them stop. Even when the bullet-noises and the shouting and the pandemonium finally ceases, nobody stops. Nobody cares that Naomi is dead. Nobody even notices that this incredible, beautiful person has…has fallen.
Naomi is lost. Gone forever.
No!
It's not fair. Nothing is fair. Raye puts one hand on the side of Naomi's face and howls into the sleeve of her shirt.
This will never be okay. This will never, god, he feels like he's lost a fucking arm. He feels like he's died, like there is no life left in the world. He feels alone. No one cared about him, but her. What will he do without her?
What will she do without him? Will she do anything? Is she anywhere at all?
She believed in the third world so much, but Raye doesn't. He can't. A second chance was miracle enough. A third is too much to hope for.
What if she's in heaven, now? Raye will never make it to heaven. Naomi was everything that was good about him. Without her he's just an ordinary guy with a talent for firearms and an unnatural fear of trains. She made everything exceptional. She made everything sparkle.
There were things. Things he wanted to say to her. Not 'I love you', or 'I will wait for you forever'. Little things. Stupid things. He wanted to hear her opinion on developments between their stupid fucking boss and his skeleton friend. He wanted to tell her about this recipe he found for chilli chicken with lime. He wanted, he wanted, he wanted.
Past tense.
Wanted.
She was alive. An hour ago, she was alive. They have recordings. She was talking to people. Raye checks her pulse, over and over and over, in the hope that he might feel something there.
He'll stay here forever, then. He'll stay here with her. Eventually, he'll die too, and then everything will be okay.
Raye is frightened of death. He's always frightened. He can't. He can't. He's failing her, right now, right at the very end.
He never even knew why she got sick. He had questions. She can't just stop, he needs time. He ought to have been warned, at the very least. He could have made the most of the time they had, instead of L…
Instead of L getting everything.
Eventually, after what might have been hours, Raye senses that some of the policemen - or criminals or whoever the fuck is left in the building – have stopped, right next to his head.
"Raye," one of them says.
"L," Raye says, packing as much loathing as he possibly can into that single syllable. "You did this."
"She is dead, Raye," L says distantly, like it's nothing. Like he could get a thousand employees just like Naomi with no problem at all. "You need to come back to the base."
"No," Raye says quietly. Once he gets up, that's it. He'll forget the way she smells. He'll forget how she feels. He'll become…
He'll become.
He's too scared to die.
Raye pulls Naomi close, one last time. Ten more minutes, and then he's going to get up and punch L repeatedly in the fucking stomach, and make him feel this pain, too. And maybe that will be enough that Raye will finally be able to breathe again.
"Ugh, what's happening?" Takada asks, drowsily. "Where am I?"
She's not in pain any more. She can't really feel much at all. They must have given her some good drugs.
Light. She needs to get back to Light. He needs her.
Her surroundings slowly come into focus. She seems to be in a hospital, somewhere. Everything is white. But she's not restrained, and there don't seem to be any police around.
What's going on? Have I escaped?
The paramedic is there, but he's just sitting in a chair next to her bed, watching you.
Who are you? Did Light send you?
Could it be that he's been looking after me, all along?
"Kiyomi Takada?" he asks, and his voice is neither soft nor kind.
"Yes?" she hazards.
The man puts one hand against her jaw.
"I'm so sorry," he tells her. "But you have to stay."
The words sound important, somehow. Drastic. Like this is some horrible place she'll never get out of. But that's insane. She's not trapped. She's just in a hospital. In England. In the real world.
Isn't she?
The man takes a step backwards, closer to the flickering fluorescent light, and suddenly Takada can see his face. She can see that he is Big Jason.
She doesn't have the energy left to scream.
Raye Penber hits L twice, hard enough to leave marks, painful enough to make him nauseous. L doesn't try to defend himself.
He deserves this.
And then Rae shows up, and pins Raye against the wall, and L is struck by how slow and heavy his Shinigami's movements have become.
So debilitated.
No, no! He didn't want this. Naomi is dead, his team is falling apart, and Rae is broken.
Everything is broken.
He is…
Not yet. He can't collapse yet.
"You are disgusting!" Raye yells at him, damningly. "The way you use people, you're worse than Light!"
L doesn't shudder, doesn't flinch. He doesn't have the right to be upset.
I'm not I'm not I'm not I'm not.
Please, no. Anything but that.
He grinds his teeth, and pushes the panic away. He is L. He needs to be strong. He turns to Mail, who is inconceivably functional right now.
"Please drive us home, now."
"Sure," Mail says, brightly. "Uh. All of us?"
He jerks his head in the general direction of Naomi's body, and L's heart sinks. This isn't the same as when Matsuda died. The world is a different place, filled with enemies and monsters and hell-gods and various versions of Kira. As painful as it might be, Naomi needs to come with them to headquarters.
"Yes, her too," he says, softly. "Raye. Raye, help me carry her, please."
Raye doesn't answer. Instead, he collapses against the wall, shaking, and doesn't move for a solid minute.
His eyes are rimmed red, and L still cannot deal with this.
Don't, don't, don't.
I did it.
I did it!
I actually, actually DID something!
It takes them, like, twenty fucking minutes to get Naomi up the stairs. Raye looks like he'd rather throw himself upon the floor and start kicking and screaming. L looks like he's dead inside.
And Rae just looks at L.
Whatever. Nobody has ever shown Mail much sympathy in his grief, and he's not about to let their bad moods bring him down.
"I can't believe I'm doing this," Raye says, faintly. "I can't believe we're…we're treating her like luggage."
I did it, doll. I sent her back to hell.
He'd never, ever, in a thousand million years, dreamed that he'd actually be able to do something for Mello. Not with Mello so far away, in a place he can never access. Not after Mello deliberately tried to leave him behind forever. Not after the very first day he met Mello, back at Wammy's, and Mello was perfect and beautiful and fiery and smart, and he was just some slob with too many games and unnecessary eyewear.
But he killed Takada. He put a bullet through her.
"I am sorry," L tells Raye, and there's a shudder in his voice that belies his calm expression.
He's going to fracture all over the place. Not now, maybe not even today, but soon. Mail has never really understood L. They've never been much comfort to each other.
Actually, this is the most thought Mail has put into anyone who wasn't Mello since he died. Fuckin' hell.
They finally, finally make it to the top of the stairs. Raye is holding as much of his late wife as he possibly can, like he's trying to physically wrestle her off of L.
Naomi. Her name is Naomi. And Raye is far too late.
"L," the Shinigami says, placing one hand on top of L's head. "There is something else you should know. Takada tried to-"
"Get off of me," L snarls, through gritted teeth. "I should not have to tell you more than once."
Oh yeah, this is going to be fucking spectacular. This is going to be like when Matsuda died.
But Raye. That man. Raye. He's going to take it even worse. He's going to have to deal with this forever. Mail knows his fate, all too well.
Maybe he should have let Raye shoot Takada.
"And you gave yourself up to be killed, you utter, utter bastard," Rae hisses, getting angry just as quickly. "That was exactly what Naomi was trying to stop!"
"Can you all just do as I ask, for five minutes?" L demands. "Mail. Open the door."
"Yeah," Raye says, voice low and sickly and venomous. "It must be really hard for you, L, having people who care about you. That must really suck!"
L gapes at him, and Mail can see the struggle to keep himself together. Mail can read it right off his face.
L's not as good at hiding as he used to be. He's not as good at anything as he used to be.
"I don't care about him," Rae says, instantly, smoothly.
It's obviously thought about this before. It's obviously very good at denying this, too. Practiced, even.
The two of you might even be interesting, one day, Mail thinks.
And fuck, what is he doing? Mello is supposed to be his universe. If he doesn't remember, doesn't grieve, doesn't care. If he stops thinking about it, for even a few seconds, then no one will be remembering Mello at all.
God knows you deserve better than that, doll. You deserve better than everything.
I'm sorry.
But he did it. He did it for Mello. Right now, here, today, stuffing Naomi's body into the back seat of a filthy car, he feels okay.
That's…
That's twice now. That's two of them. Naomi commented, before she died, before she even came here, and now Raye.
It's not true.
It's not true, and like Naomi can talk, anyway. She's been head-over-heels for L the moment she met him, even in the very beginning.
And it's not the same. It's not.
The difference is…
He almost died. Might have gone to hell. Might have been lost forever.
The difference is that I just want to use him.
No. More than that. L said things. L said things, and Naomi would roll over in her not-yet-dug grave if she had heard them. Matsuda would bawl his fucking eyes out, and he'd deserve it. Dear, dear Rem would be broken.
The difference is that he is mine.
He likes me.
He said it. Heart of fucking stone, emotional capability of a three-year-old, and he STILL had to say it.
And he's being a dick about it now, sure, but he's upset. And selfish, because he nearly goddamn got goddamned killed, and he hadn't even…
It's hard to move quickly. It's hard to fly. It's hard to see the names over people's heads, dipping in and out of focus like a possessed camera lens.
I flew as fast as I could, and I could still barely keep up with Mail.
This is terrifying. This is terrible. This must be all part of the test.
There's nothing wrong with me. I am perfect. It's just the king, and his stupid, stupid assessments.
If Mail had gotten there any later. If.
It doesn't bear thinking about.
Because L is a prize, a trophy, a consort. Something to be kept. He's not even a proper detective. He's barely even a real person. And people, as a rule, are filth, anyway. So many of them are bad. So many.
There will be a lot of work to do, once this is all over.
And it will be glorious.
Almost died.
And L will witness it, and he'll be pleased, because if he's changed this much, he can be changed a little further. He'll use the death note, because he has to, and then he'll understand.
Almost lost.
I've never lost anyone before.
Of course, nobody was ever important for very long before. They came and went. Stepping stones. There's nothing wrong with hurting bad people, because they're already bad.
I can't lose anyone.
L is a bad person too. So it's okay. Everything is okay. And just like that, the names and life-spans become clear and defined. And, oh, that's right.
So little time. So little time, and everything is going wrong.
L is a bad person, except he does good things, sometimes. Things the world can't live without, like getting rid of his mother, and saving people, and…
So, what? Is he just misguided?
L's lifespan disappears again, and fuck no, almost died.
Almost died.
Takada was rotten to the core. She almost killed L. People aren't shades of grey. They're not like that. But L's so fucking contrary, maybe he is.
One thing is for sure. He's not in control any more. And that's. That's good.
Probably.
Don't ever do that again.
L sits in the front, with Mail.
Nobody speaks, Mail drives like an ordinary, sane person, and L studiously ignores Raye's ragged breathing.
And Rae. Staring at the back of his head. Staring at him like he's the last thing left on the planet, and goddamnit, didn't L want this?
He doesn't deserve this. He doesn't deserve anyone. He got Naomi killed and he failed to arrest Takada, he failed to secure the death note, and he failed to even speak to the hell-god.
This case was an absolute disaster.
He didn't save anyone at all.
Not one single person.
"Please find something else to look at, Shinigami," he requests, and his voice cracks on every other syllable.
"Takada used the note to try and make Naomi summon you," Rae says bluntly. "It didn't work. And I'm not sure why."
"Never mind that," Mail growls. "Fuckin' Takada had the same weapon as the first Kira, right? Where is the notebook?"
"It belonged to a god of death, like me," Rae tells him, offhandedly. "He took it back. L, did Naomi have a way of summoning you?"
"Yes," L replies, hesitantly. "But she…she never used it. Not even at the very end."
"You never told me that," Rae snaps.
"Bullshit," Raye says, suddenly. "You would never have gone to her, even if she'd called for you."
"I would have gone in a heartbeat," L replies, honestly.
Raye Penber will never, ever believe him.
"I hate you," the Shinigami tells him, darkly. Apparently it is taking his failure to defend himself against Takada as a personal insult.
"He didn't kill your wife!" Raye continues, his voice rapidly getting higher and louder. "He didn't destroy anyone you loved, just to be a hero and solve one more case. He didn't….oh my god. I can't believe she's gone. I hate you, L. I WISH YOU'D DIED, INSTEAD!"
"SHUT UP!" Rae yells at him.
"I wish that had been the outcome, too," L says softly, staring at the road.
Once they get home, it will be real. There will be no Naomi, leaning over his shoulder, reminding him to be human, kissing him on the cheek. There will be no-one to stop Raye from loathing him. There will be no-one to cut Mail's hair.
There will be an empty space where she used to be, and that space is worse than nothing at all. Not for the first time, L wishes he had the power to erase memories. He could take Raye's pain from him, then.
And Mail's, too. And maybe Rae's-
L feels fingertips against the small of his back. Rae must have put its hand through his seat. And the touch is so light and intimate, and his skin is so sensitive, and he's so tired that L just…just.
L wipes furiously at his good eye, and forces himself to stay focused. Besides, they're approaching the driveway to headquarrters. He can deal with this. For a little while.
"The death note can only kill directly," he whispers. "Could it have predicted my death at Takada's hands, and therefore prevented Naomi from summoning me?"
"Honestly?" Rae says thoughtfully. "I'm not sure. I would have expected that to be too removed a consequence for the death note to foresee."
"Perhaps," L says, reaching behind his own back and stilling Rae's fingers. "But regardless, there is also a more probable reason. Naomi would never have led me to my death. Her treachery is impossible to conceive."
"That depends on whether Naomi ever realized Takada had betrayed her," Rae points out. "If she became completely unaware after having her name written down, then she would have only been summoning you to the building. She would have thought that Takada had renounced Kira, and therefore, that you might have been safe."
"These are important rules for us to know," L says, irritably. "And yet, we are only guessing at them. We ought to know these things, Rae. The fact that neither you nor I know the exact extent to which the note can be used is a terrifying prospect."
"Well, you're the one who was involved in the original Kira case. Wasn't that the time when a lot of different humans set out to test the limits of the notebook? What did you learn?"
That the thirteen day rule was a lie, L thinks, bitterly.
"I refuse to believe that you have accepted the powers of your own death note without exploring them, Rae. You're as clever and resourceful as any human I've ever met. But you have a point. If it were possible to use a notebook to have someone summoned to a place where they would be easily killed, Light would have used it against me. And he never did. So we can presume that such a thing is impossible, and therefore, the reason that Naomi died from a heart attack."
"Wait, wait," Rae says, confused. "Are you telling me Light was ever in a position where he could control someone who knew you well enough to successfully summon you – alone – to an unsecured location?"
L throws up his hands in annoyance, and Rae finally, finally stops touching him.
"Fine! What is your estimation, Shinigami? Why do you think she was able to defy the notebook?"
"Will you BOTH SHUT UP?" Raye roars. "ISN'T IT ENOUGH THAT SHE DIED TO SAVE YOU, L? DO YOU HAVE TO QUESTION EVERYTHING?"
"She didn't die to save him," Mail says calmly. "She would have died anyway."
"You shut up, too," Raye snaps. "You're barely even human! You're not…I've lost. I've lost everything. L. L!"
Raye isn't even making sense any more. L knows how he feels. It's easy to be angry. And it's easy to be numb. But eventually, both emotions will fade.
Leaving only acceptance. Only loss. Only a thousand shattered memories, a thousand regrets. Only self-loathing and darkness.
Raye should stay angry as long as he can manage.
Mail brings the car to a stop, and L suddenly realises Watari is right there, standing in the middle of his custom-made, expensive, triple-locked garage.
They're home.
tbc
a/n
+ thank you very much for reading.
+ estimated time of next update: probably about ten days away.