notes/warnings
+ warnings for swearing, grief, Rae's personality in general, etc etc.
+ now seems like a good time to rehash my overreaching warnings for bad writing and an incredibly self-indulgent fic (concrit is still welcome, though).
Records
Rae flies and flies and flies, desperately trying to get as far away from L as possible. Eventually, it ends up hiding in one of the spare garages, huddled on the cold cement floor, wings braced against the locked door. Its head is spinning, overloaded with a thousand details, a thousand tiny damnations.
'I need you. I need you, and I miss you.'
'Do Shinigami feel pleasure, Rae?'
'Help. Help. Stay. Help.'
Lies. All of it, lies.
Rae can understand it, of course. That's the worst part. It understood as soon as it read those messages. And even as the world shifted, and became a dozen shades uglier than before, Rae could only admire L's skill and attention to detail. The meticulous way he fostered a relationship, and won Rae's confidence, and trust, and affections.
All this time, all this time.
Damnit, no!
You were supposed to be mine.
But you.
You.
What had L said? 'I know how to behave to make it like me'. Absolute proof. Inarguable proof. Rae is no imbecile.
You set out to kill me, all along.
Every touch, every smile, every word a lie. Rae knows how the game works. Rae has played it before.
And Rae doesn't lose. Rae never loses.
'You, though. I…I like you.'
Liar.
Rae wanted L, for a companion, for a pet. For an eternity.
No. Rae wanted who Rae thought L was. Hardworking, and moderately good. Ineffectual, but heroic.
But L is not that person. L is a thousand criminals, wrapped up in a fragile, treacherous exterior. L is the monster.
You had no right.
How dare you take me for a fool.
To try and murder the future Shinigami king – the one person who can actually save the world and make it right – that is the most heinous crime in existence.
'Stay. Help'
Liar!
To toy with another person in this way is never okay. Is never anything short of wicked.
Except when…
Except when.
It doesn't matter.
L is a lie.
No, L is L. Rae was right all along. L is L. And Rae will kill him, in the end. And it will be slow. And torturous. And humiliating. And the world will be better for his absence.
I cared for you, and this is how you respond?
I've never cared for anyone in my life, and now.
Rae uncurls, finally, and stares at the ceiling. Belatedly, it realises that it feels physically excellent. Its strength is back. Its body is restored.
Rae smiles.
Everything is fine. Rae might have been temporarily deceived, L still ultimately failed. Too stupid and disorganised to even properly hide evidence from the one person he was trying to destroy.
You haven't changed at all, have you?
Something has changed, but Rae is okay. Rae will be king, and L will struggle and fall and pay and pay and pay.
Soon.
I did it before and I'll do it again.
And you'll know all about it.
Where do I go from here?
Jas sits cross-legged in her garden, the rich soil staining the bottom of her wings.
She took a life. She shortened a lifespan. She killed.
There is nothing separating her from the other Shinigami now. She could be any one of them. But then, she is one of them, isn't she? She always was. She was one of the very first, back before there was anything. But then…
Then the notebook came to her. It chose her and she chose it. She lost the need to write in it many millennia ago. It is tuned to her thoughts. And her inadequacies. Her mistakes. Writing 'and no innocent lives were lost' means nothing if she lacks the mental fortitude to see that command fulfilled.
It was only one life. Just one, after all this time. Surely she is allowed one mistake?
Why not two, then?
Why not take two human lives and have what I really want?
No. She can't. She absolutely must not interfere with those in hell. Every hell, every path, every test is specifically and painstakingly calculated. Set in stone. She cannot. She can't.
She can't take Keehl.
Can she?
No one will ever know. If he never comes back, he will be presumed to have failed his chance at redemption.
She could. She could do it. There would be no consequences. Probably.
And this is the issue at hand, isn't it? She cannot trust herself. She cannot trust herself, and therefore, any decision that she makes might be wrong. And maybe that didn't start with Naomi Penber's death. Maybe it happened a few years ago.
Was Wakefield supposed to go free?
She cannot give up, of course. Someone must control hell. Someone must punish the bad, and protect the good, and oh goodness, what has that marvelous boy done now?
Her attention is drawn, as always, to L. To L, who fights for justice all the time.
And who has just unwittingly thwarted the most evil person he will ever encounter.
Jas clasps her hands and smiles.
Raye showers and shaves and gets fresh cutlery and makes coffee and toast. And then he stares at his breakfast with incomprehension, and eventually gives up and dumps the lot into the rubbish bin.
He's going through motions. He's just. He can't eat.
Raye washes up with trembling hands, the whole, empty day unfolding all around him. What is he supposed to do? Plan Naomi's funeral? Find another case? Punch L until both his fists are raw and bleeding?
Kill himself?
Leave?
He can't. He can't handle any of those things, even the ones that he desperately wants to do. He's not even certain that he has the emotional reserve to properly grieve. He lets the plate fall from his hands and shatter on the floor, and walks away from the half-filled sink, back to his room, and crawls into bed. In the middle of the fucking day.
No other place seems to make sense. At least here, with the dim light and the familiar smells, he can pinpoint exactly where Naomi ought to be. Next to him, and asleep, nose wrinkled and one arm thrown out over her pillow, pulse steady, alive.
No more. Never again.
He stays there for hours, eyes squeezed shut, utterly awake. Like maybe if enough time passes, he will somehow magically become a whole person again, and fuck L for trying to kill someone who cared about him. Fuck him for throwing that away, without so much as a second glance, without even a glimmer of regret.
Shinigami are people too, really. Aren't they? Theirs kind of is, anyway. It's an evil-looking, grumpy thing, but it's a part of their team. If L starts picking and choosing who he protects and who he harms, then who is next? Raye?
Good. Raye would like that. Raye would like L to try and destroy him. It would take him away from this life, this bed, these horrible choices that weigh on his mind. Living without Naomi and dying and everything in between. And then the world might finally see that L was a terrible person, but oh god, Raye doesn't want to die. He wants to live. He wants to stay warm and alive and he wants Naomi to come back.
A Shinigami murdered his wife. Twice.
But that isn't true, Raye thinks, grimly. She was murdered by Kira. By Light Yagami. And then by Kiyomi Takada. The Shinigami are just vehicles. Just tools.
And now L has a death note, too. Can Rae refuse to serve him, if it chooses?
God, he hopes so.
But the Shinigami provide the means, don't they? They obviously don't care for humans, or they wouldn't go around turning select individuals into mass-murderers. Superhumanly powerful mass-murderers.
Raye relishes this train of thought. This is functional, and maybe even progressive, and outwardly-focused, and nothing at all to do with Naomi.
His wife. His wife.
He is going to become Mail, isn't he?
No, he can't. He doesn't have the strength to be like Mail. He wants his life back, and that is the principle difference between the two of them. He wants to one day…
He wants.
Dear god.
Raye desperately tries to focus his mind back on L and the Shinigami and anything else, anything but him and his own situation, but Naomi's face is everywhere, even when he opens his eyes, and he cannot. He cannot escape.
She would want him to move on. To get back up. To fight. To keep solving cases and making the world a slightly better place.
But he can't.
He's not her.
And he is not strong.
Watari goes to L's room with a tray of scones and some of the most disturbing information he's ever encountered.
Nothing. Not a thing. No relatives, no friends, no colleagues, no records. Not a shred of evidence to suggest that any of the victims were anything other than fabrications of the media. For all we know, only Roper and Naomi were real.
Meaning that perhaps, Naomi died for nothing. Perhaps Takada never would have truly killed again.
And how on earth are they supposed to fight a being powerful enough to alter reality in such a believable way? For not the first time, Watari is glad that he is not the one making the decisions.
Watari knocks once, opens the door, and sets the tray down on the nearest horizontal surface. L barely looks at him. Watari is aware that he's had some sort of altercation with his Shinigami, but L has yet to provide him with further details. In fact, he's always been very reluctant to speak of his relationship with the monster that haunts him.
Watari hopes that he is okay. That he is still mentally and emotionally sound, despite everything. The world still needs him, after all. It especially needs him now, because…
Because.
"Tell me quickly, Watari," L monotones. "What did you learn?"
That the victims.
All of Takada's victims.
All the victims were...
Were...
Watari blinks in surprise. He came here to tell L something, and he knows that nobody develops age-related forgetfulness in the second world, and yet he's suddenly not certain of what he wanted to say. His mind is a veritable fog, and he curses himself for not writing it down.
For not writing.
Hmm.
"Is something wrong, L?" he asks, politely, because L seems to be excessively distressed.
"Those killed by the second Kira," L says, his voice harsh and loud. "What did you learn, Watari?"
"Oh, yes," Watari says, remembering something at last. "Several of the names checked out. Tax records, mostly. And a few estranged relatives."
He's…he's pretty sure that's what he found. Yes, why would it be at the front of his mind, if it were not the correct information? He is dependable, after all.
"Did you speak to any of these people by phone or email?" L asks. "Did you make any contact with any of them at all? How do you know the relatives are real?"
"Real?" Watari echoes. "Real? L…are you well?"
It isn't like L to speak like this. Watari is absolutely confident in the results of his research, yes, he confirmed that several of the murdered criminals had ties. Now L is speaking of madness, of…of pretend people, and Watari doesn't understand.
But it isn't his place to say anything.
L looks away.
"I am sorry," he says, softly. "Please forgive me. I am not myself right now, but I soon I shall be fine. Please…please organise a private jet to leave in one hour. There is something that I must tend to quickly."
"It is already evening," Watari points out, mildly. "But the forecast is for a clear night. Where shall we be going?"
"Washington," L tells him. "As close to the Tracking Library as possible. I want you to stay in the aircraft. I will conduct my business alone."
"As you wish, L," Watari says, and leaves promptly.
For some reason, his head feels a little strange. But he's sure that it's nothing to worry about.
This.
This is good, actually.
All the doubt, all the niggling uncertainty is vanished. L is wrong. Was wrong. Is evil. Was always evil.
Exactly as I thought, exactly as I predicted.
There is something incredibly heartening about having been right, all along. Something comforting and familiar about volleying right back into loathing L. About knowing that he will fail and lose and die and finding all of that delicious.
Will be. Will be, soon.
And the best part is, L has effectively screwed himself. His true intentions for Rae were revealed in front of his employees. And while Mail was unimpressed at best, Raye Penber was downright upset.
He ought to be. He's lost his wife. He's vulnerable. And he obviously despises L. Now, more than ever before
And anyone who isn't on L's side must be on Rae's side. There is only the two of them, after all. The only people that matter, for ever and ever, stupid fucking game. Good versus evil, and good will win. Rae will win. Rae always wins.
"For fuck's sake, stop picking the locks to my room!" Raye snarls, twisting his head around to get a better view of the door.
"It's me," Rae says, gently, because Rae is good at this. It has been a long time since Rae actually had to pretend to care about someone to get what it wants, but old habits are never forgotten.
"Shinigami," Raye says, hoarsely, and slumps back onto the bed. His hair is a greasy mess, and his stubble is visible even in the darkened room.
Pathetic.
No, not pathetic. Easy.
"I apologise for disturbing you," Rae says hesitantly.
"It's kind of been a rough day for everyone," Raye says, weakly. "Uh. Are you okay?"
"A little shaken."
"You sound frightened."
"Yeah," Rae replies, with just the right amount of reluctance. "Maybe a little of that, too."
"One of your kind murdered my wife," Raye mutters. "I can't offer you much sympathy."
"Oh, that's understandable. To be honest, I was more worried about you."
"I'm worried about her," Raye croaks.
"Naomi? Oh, don't concern yourself with that," Rae assures him. "She's in the third world. All humans go to the third world, when they die here."
It's not actually sure, and it doesn't actually care. But Raye isn't to know that.
"Or to hell, right?"
"Naomi was good. She won't go to hell."
"What if there isn't anything?" Raye wails. "I mean, how would we know?"
Perfect. Absolutely perfect.
"Nope, won't happen. All humans have somewhere to go. It's only the Shinigami king – and heirs to the throne – that cease to exist after they die."
Raye stares at it in mounting horror.
"I didn't mean to say that," Rae says, ruefully. "That isn't your burden to bear, either. Tell me, do you think you're going to stay here, or leave L's team?"
"So L wanted to destroy you completely?" Raye mutters. "Did he know that's what would have happened?"
"Unfortunately, I was stupid enough to share that fact with him, yes. Back when I still thought we were friends."
Raye struggles into a sitting position.
"Look," he says, softly. "I can't even think straight, right now. I don't like your kind, and I can understand why he wants to protect people. But…but what he did to you…"
"I really liked him," Rae interjects, sadly. "To think that he was laughing at me - and hating me - the whole time."
"He was an asshole," Raye agrees, angrily.
And this, this is all Rae needs. This tiny little alliance. Raye doesn't have to renounce L, all he has to do is support Rae more.
A back-up plan. Just in case L gets cocky and tries again.
"What about you? Will you stay, or will you leave? I mean, it's not really safe for you here, is it?"
"I have to stay with L for five full years," Rae says, truthfully. "I have several months left."
And I wouldn't get too attached to L after that, Penber. Because I'll be sending him right to hell.
Right where he belongs.
"Be careful," Raye warns, and in the privacy of its own mind, Rae laughs and laughs.
Everything is back on track.
Curse you, god of hell.
L logs in to Watari's computer account only to find that all of his browser history has been deleted. All the records of the research he'd just performed; the coding, the cookies, everything. Watari's report alone was only slightly suspicious, but Watari never covers his footsteps so unsubtly, and certainly not without explicit instruction from L. He obviously found something that the hell-god didn't like. Which means he probably found that none of the other victims had any records or ties to real people at all.
It will take more than that to stop me from chasing you, L thinks, angrily. The god of hell is here, taunting him, killing his staff, changing people's minds right in front of him.
The news is no longer reporting significant public panic. In fact, faux-Kira was barely mentioned at all in the major newspapers and new channels.
L is apparently the only person who can be relied upon to recall information regarding the Takada case. Fine. He will go to the Tracking Library, and pay Minnie a visit. Then he will go to the police headquarters, to see how many of the arrested supporters seem to be real.
He really, really wants Rae's help on this, but that isn't an option any more. L is on his own.
Metaphorically speaking.
"I can see you, you know," he says politely.
"I can see you, too," Rae replies, acidly.
It has been standing behind him for the past three minutes. L deliberately doesn't look at his Shinigami, mainly to convey his utter disinterest in its well-being.
And because it still hurts, a little, to see it so angry.
But safe. Healthy and safe. Everything L could ever possibly ask for.
"Do you like staring at me?" L queries, steadily. "Do you still care for me, just the tiniest bit?"
"Not at all," Rae tells him. "I'm afraid your opportunity to kill me is gone. What a pity you are so… stupid."
"Stupid, because I want to protect my fellow human beings from demons like you?"
Rae is pretending to be calm, but L can hear the soft, telltale sounds of skeletal fingers clenching into fists.
"You are the demon," it declares. "Criminal. Murderer."
L chuckles.
"I wrote your name in the death note before. You cannot honestly tell me that you are surprised, Shinigami."
"You lied to me!" Rae says, emphatically. L allows himself one glance at its face, and sees that its eyes are so red that they almost seem to burn.
Good.
Be safe.
I love you.
"I would have lied to anyone in your position," L responds, with a shrug. "It isn't anything personal, Rae. It's just that you are a god of death. Your kind practically preys upon humanity. And I am obligated to protect society against things like you."
"It doesn't matter," Rae says haughtily. "Even if you hate me, you'll still have to use the note. You still haven't figured out why, have you?"
"Does this mean you'll be staying by my side?" L asks, thoughtfully chewing on his thumb. "Hmm. Interesting. So I may have another opportunity to eliminate you."
Rae grunts in disgust and walks away. There is finality in its movements. It may not speak to him again for quite some time.
And you'll never know.
L smiles.
L makes preparations to travel. He leaves Mail in charge of headquarters, and packs a tiny video camera and two masks.
There was a time that he would have had handed control over to Rae, instead.
Rae folds both hands over the back of its neck and kicks hard at the floor. Infuriatingly, this isn't as simple as it initially thought. Having cared for someone deeply leaves imprints. Memories. A touch, a glance, a thought. For perhaps only the second time in its life, Rae cannot control all of its emotions down to the finest nuance, and that is terrifying.
But it's not the same as last time. Rae isn't going to die.
Everything is fine.
The problem is; L was briefly victorious. For a short time, Rae believed that L harboured strong feelings for Rae, so he became safe. It was fine to care about him, and want to own him, because he was apparently besotted and obviously powerless.
Rae has always looked down on those who cared deeply for others. Intense friendship, romantic love, dependence; these things are all flaws. The people who feel them are not wicked or corrupted, but they are weak.
Only the strong have the right to rule. The right to decide. The Misas, the Rems, the Takadas of the world; they will always fall by the wayside. To be strong is to not care about people, to only care about right and wrong.
Rae has no heart. Kings do not need hearts. Gods do not need hearts. Rae is perfect in every way.
Everything is fine.
'I know how to behave to make it like me'
Liar.
Murderer.
Killer.
It is good to be back. Good to be operating at full strength, floating through the world free from the dead weight of unimportant people. Everything is right as it should be.
And the best part is that Rae can once more see those damning red numbers, ticking down over the top of L's head. Reliable and comforting. When he's gone, everything that is left in Rae's memories will die with him.
When he's gone.
Not too long now.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
Washington hasn't changed; the same mishmash mix of ancient and modern buildings, filled with the same throngs of bustling, busy people. Even the tang in the air is the same, equal parts exhaust fume, cologne and frying oil.
The world has not changed. There is no reason for a city like this to acknowledge the passing of a single person. Especially not a person who lived overseas, and who kept her identity hidden most of the time. L knows this, intellectually, and yet he is still briefly overwhelmed with how normal everything seems. Everyone else is okay. His team is falling apart, but the world outside remains unchanged.
Watari is waiting in the aircraft, as instructed. His Shinigami is following him, at a great distance, watching his every move. Trying to figure out a way to counter an attack that is never actually going to come. It will probably kill him, for this. But perhaps he will want to die, anyway, when it leaves him.
Perhaps this time, he will go to hell.
The ice-cream stall is still in business, doling out creamy peach and divine chocolate and amazing pistachio, but L has no appetite at all.
How long has it been since he last ate?
Doesn't matter. Naomi is dead, and Rae is lost. And he is a failure. Unless he can find and defeat the god of hell, everything will be in vain.
L ambles through the courtyard, and up the stairs. The expensive paving stones are cool and smooth under his feet. The Tracking Library is a monstrously huge construct – tall and well-built and beautifully maintained and slightly charred in places, if you know where to look – but L no longer feels impressed or relieved by its existence.
You told me Takada was in hell.
And yet she came here. Here. What next?
Who next?
Not him. Please, anyone but him. Not with Rae against me, and Naomi and Matsuda gone.
Please.
They defeated a gorgon in this place. They captured Holland, right here, by the main door. L's last big, successful case. He is becoming outdated.
But what else can he possibly do? No other job would satisfy him, he can hardly marry his Shinigami and buy a house and adopt nine kids and live out the Raye Penber domestic dream, and anyway, he'd never forgive himself if he stopped trying to protect people, even for a moment. If he is making even the slightest bit of difference, then he must struggle on.
L did a brief media search of his own, before coming here. No preliminary evidence for any of the victims actually having existed.
Perhaps he isn't making any difference at all.
L steps through the archway into the library proper and…
…bounces back.
From an empty doorway. From air. He blinks, and then reaches out with one hand.
Solid.
Like a well-polished sheet of glass. He can see in, but he cannot get in. L hits at the invisible barrier with both fists. Then he kicks it. A woman walks past him, walks right through, and enters the library without any resistance at all.
You're trying to keep me out? L thinks, angrily.
Fuck you.
You killed my deputy. You put Takada in the real world, and she killed Naomi, and now you're locking me out?
Why? What can Minnie possibly tell me?
Is Minnie you? Is she the god of hell? Is she the queen?
L takes a running start, and connects loudly with the empty doorway, pain surging through his limbs. The barrier is perfectly smooth to touch, like a sheet of plastic. He takes a pocketknife from his sleeve and stabs at it. The blade buckles and folds.
This is pointless.
He cannot fight against the god of hell. Not with weapons, anyway. Not with anything with a physical presence. The only place he – or she – cannot reach seems to be the inside of his own mind.
A couple with a small child exit through the archway, right next to him. They don't seem to be able to see him at all.
Why are you doing this? What can you possibly hope to gain?
L reaches for his phone, and dials the number for the Tracking Library. And immediately is connected with the answering machine.
"Hello, this is the Tracking Library. Our staff are unavailable right now. Please note that records cannot be given out over the phone. If you have another request, leave a message after the tone."
L hangs up with a little more force than is entirely warranted. He is angry. He's come this far, and some omnipotent god is hiding from him.
Are you just toying with me?
You are clearly too strong for me to harm you, so why won't you speak with me?
Are you afraid of me?
No. That is ridiculous. Maybe in his younger days, in his surer days, he might have been competent and impressive enough to merit the respect of a god. Now, he's just a sad old man, fighting for justice. And losing.
Defeated, L turns and heads back to the plane.
They return to headquarters, and take one of the lesser used cars to Grint Street Police Station. L is already expecting to come away empty-handed, but it would be remiss of him not to check.
"Here we are," Watari announces unnecessarily.
"Yes," L agrees. Rae is about a hundred meters behind them, but it is matching the vehicle's velocity without much effort.
It's good that you don't feel comfortable being close to me.
I can protect you, this way.
L has never had to protect anyone from himself before.
"What are we doing here, L?" Watari enquires. As if L hasn't told him before. As if he honestly can't remember that he…can't remember.
Curse you, hell-god.
"Private business," L says succinctly, because he is getting sick of saying the same thing over and over. "Please wait here, once more."
If he doesn't directly reference his suspicions, Watari doesn't seem to forget.
The more senior officers know of his visit. Or more specifically, they know that a representative from L is coming to inspect those that are being held for questioning.
There isn't any point in L handling these people himself. There isn't anything he needs to know about Takada. Naomi was there in the thick of it, after all. He has both video and audio recordings of the whole incident. He is here to gather evidence against the hell-god, that is all. But nobody else needs to know that. And even if he tells them, they won't remember.
He stands in the observation room – which is little more than an old office with a desk jammed in and too many video screens mounted on the wall – with his hands deep in his pockets, staring. There are enough people in the cells to match the list of names in his hands. Grianna Jones has already been released on bail, alongside a few others, but they are still showing up on police records.
So what does that mean? Either these people are real, or the hell god is trying a little harder to dupe him. Now that he is here, L isn't actually sure what he was hoping to find.
"Do you have any records of any of faux-Kira's victims?" he asks, quietly.
"Sorry, sir," his escort replies. Maxwell. Officer Maxwell. He was at the scene of Takada's arrest. "None of them occurred in this district."
"I see. Thank you for that."
Which is all fine and good, but L can recall that some of them distinctly did occur in this district. So, the hell-god is capable of some subtlety. Wonderful.
L goes to a few of the cells in person, peeking in through the gaps in the sliding hatch. Everyone seems completely normal. Breathing, moving, behaving like ordinary accomplices.
L watches the woman called Leah drum her fingers against the bench over and over.
What am I doing here?
This is pointless. There is no reason to presume the hell-god cannot make believable, real people when it suits him. Or her. And there is no reason to believe that it cannot re-animate dead people, bringing them back to a previous world for her own purpose.
The female pronoun fits better, L thinks. There is some evidence to support the hell-god as the Shinigami queen.
So, she, until proven otherwise.
Could she have simply created Grianna? Is it possible that Wedy's mother isn't really in this world, or shouldn't be in this world? Should he consider that everyone around him might possibly be a lie?
Raye. Mail. Watari.
Rae.
No!
That is an absurd and destructive train of thought. The evidence for other people forgetting events is restricted to the Holland case and the Takada case. Thus, the hell-god presumably only controls people who are in some way related to the actions of those who are in hell. Or being tested. He ought not forget that being in hell and being tested are two different things, and that someone in hell may not know they are in hell - may not even seem to be suffering at all – if that is a requirement for their test.
And, if Grianna's words can be trusted, then those in hell who appear in the second world are always here to be tested.
And L does have a way of identifying the influence of the hell-god. When others forget and he remembers, he will know that she is moving.
And what good will that do? She cannot be bargained with, or threatened, or begged, or brought to justice. She cannot even be reached. And if she really is controlling the entirety of hell, then she is effecting so many people. Judging the whole of humanity.
Just like Light.
Only omnipotent. Or near-omnipotent.
L sucks in a deep breath, and goes back to the car. He has neither the power nor the resources to fight against the god of hell, and he knows it.
And she undoubtedly knows it, too.
When they get back, Rae takes one of his laptops and disappears. L doesn't even want to think about what his Shinigami is feeling right now. It never cared for him specially, of course, but any sort of betrayal is painful. And it is terribly destabilising to have been lied to.
L wishes they could have still worked together. He wishes there could have been some other way to save Rae.
He scans the media for new cases, even though his team is in no real condition to start working again. He just needs something to occupy his mind.
Because Naomi is still dead. There is no escaping that. She was his deputy, his main supporter. His friend. The first time, she died trying to reach him. Now she has died trying to save him. L wants her back more desperately than ever before.
He'd give up his remaining eye. He'd give anything.
He's so hungry, and he can't stomach food. Nobody else will drag him into bed with them, just to lay in companionable affection. Nobody else is going to be able to force Mail to bathe and wash his hair occasionally. What will they do without her? What will any of them do?
For the first time, L wishes his inner Near voice would come back. He wishes he could be unempathetic and emotionless right now. He wishes he could be a machine.
If people he cares for keep up the current rate of attrition, all of them will be gone within a few years. He will be completely alone.
He used to be just fine, on his own.
Now the scenario sounds so bleak and ugly and endless that L thinks he would rather die. He wants his life, the way he has it now. He wants his world coloured by the people around him.
He was a machine when he lost to Light. He cannot become that person again.
"Hey," Mail greets, wandering into the room.
"Hello," L deadpans. "Thank you for taking care of Raye."
Mail arches an eyebrow.
"Which one?"
"Penber," L clarifies, voice carefully neutral. Even if his Shinigami is listening, it probably won't pick up on the implications of Mail's query.
It is terribly intelligent, but it hates him now. And hatred is as blinding as love.
"Eh, all he does is shout at me and throw things," Mail replies.
"It is still more than anyone else can do for him," L says, and then lowers his voice to a whisper. "Have you followed all the other instructions I gave you?"
"Yes. Everything is done," Mail assures him.
"Good."
Then, Naomi's email account is purged. There is no way for anyone to ever find the minute details that would reveal the messages as being fake. And the phone company has deleted all records of the call in which L told Mail to create them.
Rae is safe. Rae will never find out. Even if L wanted it to, he'd have no chance of ever proving his case.
Good.
"Then, was there something else that you wanted, M? You don't usually seek me out."
"M, huh," Mail snorts. "Anyway, I wanted to ask you something. Faux-Kira was really Takada all along, right?"
L swallows.
"Yes. I lied to you. I realise that this must be difficult for-"
"I don't care about that," Mail snaps. "But Takada is definitely listed as being in hell, right? The Tracking Library said so. You even went back to check, didn't you?"
There is no point in telling anyone else that he's been locked out of the library. Rae knows – or at least, presumably Rae saw what happened to him – but it has declined to speak to him ever since they left for Washington.
"Yes. She was listed before, and she is still listed now," L tells him.
"And you doubtlessly have theories about why she showed up here, right?"
That's more than ten consecutive sentences without a single swear word. Mail must be feeling particularly human today.
L has no idea how to respond to that. Mail is the last person that he wants to talk to about redemption, because Mail really doesn't need to hold on to such damaging hopes.
"Well, I think-"
"I don't care what they are. I just want to know…is there…is there any chance that he could come back?"
L lifts his head, and sees that Mail is still as pale and drawn as ever. And he is actually shaking.
Of course. Of course this has been on your mind.
And I hadn't even considered it, because I've been so busy with Rae and the hell-god and Naomi.
I'm sorry.
"No," L replies, with certainty. "No. Takada was an isolated incident. Mello cannot ever come back."
For a moment, Mail is silent. His expression does not change. Never changes.
But that makes sense. He never really had hope. And he was practically begging L not to give him any.
"Yeah," Mail replies gruffly. "That's what I figured."
Mail heads back to his office, neither happy nor sad nor relieved.
Of course not. Of course.
Mello is still gone, vanished from the world forever. Everything is as it always was. Unchanged. Mail trusts L, because he has to. Because L is the only familiar thing left.
And L trusts Mail.
He trusts Mail, and he almost never checks up on Mail, and he's preoccupied right now, anyway. So he'll probably never find out that Mail didn't delete those emails, and preserved a copy of their phone conversation.
Mail shove an unlit cigarette into his mouth, and locks his computer before wandering off to find Raye.
Naomi cannot come back to life. Mello cannot escape hell. No matter what they do, neither of them can be with the one they want.
But one day, L may change his mind.
And if he does, Mail wants him to have the option of undoing what he has done.
tbc
a/n
+ thank you for reading. I really appreciate it. :)
+ I'm not sure when the next chapter will be up. it's the end of an arc, so I need to sit and think and plot out the next bit. unfortunately, I'm not the brightest person in the world, so this may take a little while. estimated time of next update is probably two to three weeks.