notes/warnings
+ remember this fic? the one that hasn't been updated in like 2304823 years? here's the next chapter!
+ warnings for swearing, grief, illness. also, warning for nothing much happening. :/
Understanding
After following several of the Glasgow-bombing survivors, peering at numerous police records, and spending two days at the local police-training facility researching explosives, Rae is finally able to pinpoint the person responsible and…
Now what?
Raye packs up Naomi's belongings, unpacks them again, arranges them, arranges to have them burned, cancels that appointment, polishes and cleans everything, and packs them back up again.
Finally, he digs out some of her old reference books.
"Do you think it would be okay if I studied these?" he asks Mail, loudly.
Mail grinds his teeth in frustration. It's been five weeks, and he hasn't had any time to himself. He can't…he can't keep doing this. He doesn't like people and he doesn't like fuckin' Raye.
But he understands. He does.
He must understand.
"Naomi would probably want that," he says, grudgingly.
She probably would. The team was important to her. L was important to her. Other than that, Mail knows almost nothing about her, and he doesn't get all. The. Fucking. Questions.
"Okay, good. That's what I'll do."
Raye doesn't look like Mail looks. He still shaves. He still washes. He still eats at least once a day. Mail can't really expect more than that from him. He didn't lose Mello, after all.
"Good," he grunts. "I'm going to the balcony for a smoke. If you follow me, I will fuckin' punch you."
Raye glares at him, and Mail doesn't care.
Raye comes to get him after five fucking minutes anyway.
L takes on a case that is really below his qualifications. A serial thief, who only targets well-off households and small businesses. No casualties. No evidence of identity theft. Just stealing money and siphoning credit cards and moving on to the next victim, over and over.
L can only agonise over being miserable and alone for so long. Eventually, even a medium-sized case is sufficient. And it's actually difficult to progress, because none of the relevant police forces are invested enough to help him out.
And…he doesn't have Rae.
Sometimes he still forgets. Sometimes he still asks a question to the empty room, and waits for a prompt, intelligent answer that is never going to come. Sometimes he still dreams about Rae's fingers wrapped around his wrist, instead of the weight of the chain.
But then L remembers that Rae is going to be okay, now.
Rae is going to be okay, even if he isn't. Even if Rae looks right through him every time they pass, even if it never bothers to even insult or accuse him ever again. Even if it kills him in the end, sends him to hell, he has still saved it.
And that has to be enough.
So he slogs through the case, and catches glimpses of Rae when he can, and every so often, he makes that phone call.
"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."
What is the point of having a phone number if nobody ever answers?
This is troublesome. A Shinigami cannot significantly interfere with the human world other than by use of a death note.
Meaning that Rae cannot actually bring the Glasgow bomber to justice without the help of a human.
And L is unlikely to hand the notebook over so that Rae can find a trustworthy, decent human being to help it solve cases.
So what are the options? Mail is still more or less allied to L, Watari is definitely allied to L, and Raye is presently incapable of doing much at all.
Rae grits its teeth. It knew, of course. It knew at the very beginning that it would be difficult to judge and dispose of criminals during these five years. Just like it knew that it would be stuck with the insufferable, immoral, self-absorbed, torture-happy L. And that it would have to pretend to be someone else. But it's hard, still, seeing it happen. It's hard knowing that innocent people will be hurt, again and again, if Rae doesn't do something.
Not long, now. Not long to go.
As it turns out, some unimportant human detective eventually finds and arrests the suspect, and Rae has to go looking for something else to do.
And…it keeps an eye on Raye Penber, and his delicate frame of mind.
Because sooner or later, he'll break.
And when he does, Rae will be there.
L catches the serial pickpocket, fails to crack a pedophile ring, and helps a handful of Scottish detectives apprehend a pair of serial killers. Husband and wife.
He tries not to wonder if perhaps one of the murderers was coerced into a life of crime by the other. He tries not to think about Rem. About Rebecca.
She's safe, now.
She must be safe.
L also tries not to wonder whether one of the detectives might secretly be Buzz. Secretly be Light.
Worrying about an unpredictable future is almost as pointless as worrying about the dead. If Light is going to show up, then there is nothing L can do to change that. Because if Light does show up, it will be at the behest of the hell-god.
Still, he can't help but feel uneasy. Back in the first world, during the Kira case, L was never truly frightened of Light. Not until the very end. After all, L had come up against so many criminals, so much evil, and he'd always succeeded. But then the handcuffs were undone and the bells started ringing and Light had won, and everything was lost. And L was truly terrified, clinging to his own fragile life, desperate for the comfort and support he'd never needed, that nobody had ever bothered to offer.
Now would be the ideal time for Light to return. L has almost no supporters at all. Watari is unreliable, Raye loathes him, and Mail is heavily preoccupied.
It would be just like last time. You could make everyone love you, and then destroy me. Right in front of them. And somehow, they'd still love you afterwards, too.
If the number of worlds - of afterlives - is truly endless, then perhaps Light will try to conquer each of them sequentially. One by one. Arrive in the second world, vanquish L, destroy countless lives, be eventually defeated, arrive in the third world, do it all again.
Then, anything L tries to build will be inevitably and mercilessly shattered. All he will ever have is the few short years between his own death and Light's, before everything is ripped out from under him again.
He has to hope. He has to hope the hell-god holds onto Light and never sets him free. That Buzz is someone else, some cocky new detective. Some malevolent villain, even. Anyone else. Please. Anyone else.
If he and Rae could have remained friends, then there would be someone on L's team that Light could never defeat.
Friends.
They were almost more than friends. But that is irrelevant, now, and L would very much like to be able to stop thinking about the matter entirely. About how comfortable he'd felt in Rae's arms, about how he'd wanted to bottle that safety, that companionship, and steep in it for the rest of his life. About how he still hates the idea of being alone, forever, now that he's had a taste of…
Enough.
Enough, enough.
Oh god, I miss you.
Enough.
Yesterday, he did nothing but call the Tracking Library once every five minutes. For twenty four hours. Two hundred and eighty-eight phone calls. On a weekday. There is no good reason for library staff to be so completely unavailable for such an extended period of time.
And he used thirty-one different phone lines, including one of Mail's mobiles. So it's not as if they've just happened to block his number.
If the hell-god is involved, though, she'll be able to block him absolutely.
Still, it would be pertinent to at least leave a message. Perhaps they just never answer the phone, and elect to return calls instead?
"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 knows exactly what he wants to say; which alias is best, which contact number he wants to leave, every last detail. But the tone never comes. The recorded message disconnects immediately after the last syllable.
He cannot leave a message.
L lets the handset fall to the ground. The hell-god is as involved in this as she is everything else. And there is nothing he can do about it.
Please, just don't let him come back.
It's been long enough now, right?
It has to have been long enough. Raye is at the point where he desperately wants to take on a case; for Naomi, for the world, for his own damn sanity.
And because…because this is his job, too. He might have only started working here for Naomi's sake, but this has still been the entirety of his life for the past eight years. And he wants to save people. He wants to feel like he can do something useful.
Yeah. It's been long enough. Raye spent the entire night composing the question. He must get everything exactly right.
Because he cannot do this without Mail's approval.
The younger man is sitting on the desk, tapping furiously at his laptop, the rosary threaded through his fingers. If he were anyone else, Raye would presume that he'd forgotten it was there at all.
But Mail doesn't ever forget. Perfect fucking widower.
Raye sets his textbook down, and steels his nerves as best he can.
"Hey," he says, gruffly. "I've been thinking."
He doesn't try to sound casual. He doesn't want to give Mail any reason to think him flippant or indifferent. Because Naomi was his fucking life, and he needs someone else to know that. He needs someone else to care. He can't do this on his own.
He's never been any good on his own.
She was always so much stronger than he was.
"About what?" Mail asks, without looking up.
"I want to try working on a case, again," Raye tells him, and shit, was that exactly how he meant to say it? It sounds a heck of a lot more selfish out loud than it did inside his head. "For her. Because she can't, and I can. It's what Naomi would want. I know it is."
Mail frowns at him.
Oh, fuck.
Is this not okay?
Is it fucking still not okay?
"Oh," he says, quietly. "Ah. Right."
"It's not that I want to," Raye reiterates, quietly. "It will be hard. But…she would want it this way."
"Yeah," Mail says, distantly. "That…that makes sense. You should talk to L about it."
Raye breathes deeply. He's okay with it. Grudgingly, but okay. Good. Raye is reasonably sure that this is what Naomi would want. She'd want him to be brave. She'd want him to keep going. And since her murderer is already dead, the only way to move is forwards.
Raye isn't going to forget her. He's going to fight for her. He feels….better. Not alright, not functional, but better. Less bad.
But then Mail gets up, and walks out, and slams the door, and the walls are suddenly closing in again, and Raye doesn't even know where he's going.
Mail strides into L's office, and lets the door swing closed behind him.
The place is a mess; there are piles of plates and wrappers covering most of the floor, there is icing smeared on the desk, and there are tea-stains on L's shirt.
Mail wonders, absently, if he's grieving for Rae as well as Naomi.
"What is it?" L asks softly.
Mail hesitates.
"It's Raye," he blurts out. "He's. He's. I'm not sure I can fuckin' do this."
Because he really needs some fuckin' space.
From Raye, who is around all the time. And Mail told him it was better not to be alone, because that's what L told him. But this is absolutely fuckin' ridiculous. Mail never needed L every hour of the day, every day of the week. Mail never really needed L at all.
And now, Raye wants to start catching criminals again.
When Mail first arrived in the second world, it took L six fucking months to convince him to even help with a case. And he knew, he knew that was what Mello would have wanted from him, but he physically just couldn't fuckin' pull himself together enough to do it.
Raye isn't grieving like Mail grieved. Raye isn't making any sense.
"Penber?" L clarifies.
"Yes. I don't fuckin' understand him at all."
And the thing was, Mail was certain that he would. Raye's lost the one he loves. His situation is more temporary, certainly, but right now they're in the same damn position.
He ought to be able to predict Raye's every word, every move. This is the one thing he knows, damnit!
"I'm sorry," L offers. His expression is sympathetic, and a little lost. When he had sat by Mail's bed every night for half a year, Mail had ended up hating the sight of his fucking face.
Now he just looks familiar and tired, like a worn-out pair of jeans. And Mail has not the emotional reserve to be kind to him.
"He wants to start working again," Mail tells him. And maybe L isn't even going to get this, and Mail isn't sure he'll be able to explain.
"You've taken very good care of him for an extended period of time," L says, delicately. "You are not expected to support him indefinitely, you know."
"But," Mail says, rubbing at his eyes with one hand. "But. What? Does this mean he's over her? Just like that?"
"I very much doubt it. You of all people ought to know that every person has different ways of grieving."
Yes, Mail thinks, irritably. But I thought he'd be the same. He seemed to be the same. I thought I understood someone.
I thought someone understood me.
Why does this matter so much, then? It's not like he fucking cares about the world outside of Mello and L and his own misery. It's…it's not as if he wants to be normal. It's not like he wants Raye to suffer and mourn forever, he just.
He just.
There isn't anyone in the world as unlucky as me, is there?
He's not sure what he wants at all, now. He's not sure what he came here to say.
"Yeah," he grunts. "Good point. You got any new jobs for me?"
He needs something to occupy his mind while he's babysitting a grown man. Sometimes Raye is so irksome that Mail cannot properly meditate on Mello, or pray, or wallow in anguish.
Taking on cases is what they do, he supposes.
He still doesn't like it, though.
He still shot Takada, though.
"Well, there seems to be a hacker threatening the Chinese government," L murmurs. "I'll might need your help with that, soon. But it's a little early to be confident that the threats aren't empty."
Mail nods and listens, and checks his watch.
He's been gone for thirteen minutes, and Raye still hasn't come after him.
Maybe he really is recovering, after all.
"Hello, Penber."
Raye lifts his head and frowns.
"I thought you were avoiding this place," he ventures, carefully.
"Not deliberately," Rae replies. "I've been working on cases, that's all."
Raye still isn't quite sure what to make of the Shinigami. It is generally polite, often cheerful, and seems to make better conversation than L. And he feels intrinsically sorry for it, having been so effectively manipulated and abused.
But still. It's a monster. It's a god of death. And he's not quite sure he can trust it.
"How's that going?"
"Not as well as I'd hoped," Rae admits. "A Shinigami cannot make phone calls, or interfere with humans other than to kill them or distribute death notes. So, I'm identifying criminals, but I can't actually bring them to justice on my own."
So you broke some sort of rule when you allowed all of us to see you, Raye realises. And you did that solely to protect L.
And look how he repaid you.
He wasn't even the least bit grateful.
L might be trying to save the world, but what he did to Rae was wrong.
"Then it's completely futile," Raye says aloud. "Why are you even bothering at all?"
"Well…all I really need is the help of a human," Rae tells him, hesitantly.
Raye slams both his fists against the desk.
"You had better not be thinking of going back to L," he growls. "He'll destroy you."
And he won't allow that. L won't be hurting anyone.
He's done enough damage already.
"No, that would be disastrous," Rae agrees, a little sadly. "I was thinking…maybe Mail?"
Mail would be safer, but Mail is too close to L.
And.
And, Mail said it was okay. And this might be exactly the opportunity that Raye has been hoping for.
"I could help you," Raye offers, quickly. "I mean. I know I'm not as smart as the other two, but I'm sure I'm capable of making phone calls and arresting a few criminals. If…if you want."
"I wasn't sure if you'd be up to it," the Shinigami admits.
Raye wonders, briefly, whether it has been listening outside the room the whole time. Whether it heard what he said to Mail, and engineered this conversation because it knew he would volunteer. But, in all honesty, he doesn't care. With Rae, he can solve real crimes. Proper crimes. Big crimes. He can be the sort of detective that Naomi always wanted to be.
And he can do it without L's help.
"I'm up to it," Raye says, firmly.
This is ridiculously easy.
Penber actually suggested it on his own. Penber wants the two of them to work together. Rae barely had to convince him at all.
You must really despise L, to go against him like this.
Raye Penber is either really weak, or slightly more moral than Rae previously estimated. Either is tolerable, for now. If he turns out to be a bad person in the end, Rae can always just kill him.
The first criminal on the list is an enigmatic and violent rapist. It took Rae six long days of tracking and research to identify him. It takes Penber less than three sentences to convince the relevant authorities to arrest him.
Humans have everything so fucking easy.
And even then, most of them fail to do anything useful with their lives. How many cases has L solved in the past month? Barely any. Rae has a long list of criminals just waiting to be taken into custody.
And Penber. Penber can pretend to be L. So he can be the subservient, subdued, beaten, obedient L that Rae has always wanted.
And they'll solve cases, faster than anyone else possibly can. And everything will be fine.
It's not like L was ever special, anyway.
"Okay," Rae says briskly, as soon as Penber has hung up the phone. "This next one is a little more complicated. Herbert Mayne is a long-time fraudster and conman who's been targeting charities for several months. I actually witnessed him in the act, but we need better evidence than that, of course, and….where are you going?"
Raye Penber is getting out of his chair and walking across the room and what the fuck? Rae is trying to catch criminals here.
"I'll…I'll be back in a minute," he babbles. "To help. I just. It's been twenty minutes. I need to go and see where Mail is?
Rae groans inwardly. Of course. Penber is dependent on Mail. Dependent enough to delay protecting innocent people. Because he's selfish. And weak.
And Rae will definitely get rid of him, once he stops being useful.
Under the Shinigami's guidance, Raye makes phone calls and checks databases and facilitates the apprehension of nine different criminals in the space of one day.
Rae is amazingly smart. Smarter even than L.
Maybe that's why L tried to kill it. Pure, simple jealousy.
Raye doesn't know for sure, of course. He doesn't understand fucking geniuses, but he's doing something and making a difference to the world and Naomi would be so proud of him and…
Naomi isn't anything.
Naomi is dead.
The revelation hits him like a wave, even though it's been several weeks, even though he knows, every second of every day he knows she's gone, it's still.
He still.
Sometimes, he still just expects her to be there.
And she'd have wanted to be involved with this. She'd have wanted to help with these cases.
"What is it?" Rae asks, sounding surprisingly gentle.
Raye drops to the floor and ducks his head between his knees. His sobs are shuddering and painful, over and over, as inevitable as a seizure.
He's not okay. He's still not okay.
He's never fucking going to be okay.
It takes Mail a good ten minutes to realize that something is wrong, and cross the room to sit with him, and Raye loathes him for not coming sooner.
In the space of one week, Rae catches two more rapists, solves three complicated murders, apprehends the ringleaders of a white supremacy organization, and cracks the pedophile ring that stumped L.
And L.
L arrests one counterfeiter.
I've made the right decision, L thinks, miserably watching the evening news. Even if you kill me, it won't matter. Because the world is better off with you, instead.
Mail hates the alliance that Raye has forged with the Shinigami, because he doesn't trust it and he doesn't exactly trust Raye's judgment, either.
But he desperately wants to work cases, for some utterly unfathomable reason, and it's not like Mail has any fucking idea what's going on in Raye's head, anyway.
And Raye still has hysterics every time he leaves the room, and Mail is starting to get this awful suspicion that he's being used as an emotional crutch, and that is bound to end badly because Mail is approximately the least stable thing in the universe.
But he stays, anyway. He sits in the same room and ignores the fucking god of death and works and eavesdrops as best he can. Because it would be really fucking idiotic if Rae actually managed to kill L. And also, Raye tends to rage and scream if Mail doesn't accurately predict the timing of his emotional outbursts down to the last fuckin' second.
Besides, the love of his life - the centre of his universe - is dead. It's not like he has anything better to do.
You focus on trying to finish your novels, to entertain yourself, to pass the time, to keep yourself out of trouble. To try and escape from the real world for just a little while.
But you've never been good with fiction, and the words start to run together, the sentences start to blur, and you realise that you're just recycling the same old plot in a dozen variations.
And the protagonist is always the same character, too. Male, young adult. Scottish. Brown hair and freckles. Perfect in every way, adored by everyone. Painfully straight.
Essentially, they're all Matt.
It's not like he'll ever know, anyway. Even he isn't masochistic enough to take an interest in your pathetic attempts at creativity.
It's not as if your life is ever going to get any better. And it's not as if you have the guts to get away from this place. You're just a big, fat, hopeless loser.
Sometimes, you wish the guy who murdered your parents when you were a baby had had the spine to kill you, as well.
Because then you'd be dead – you'd have barely ever existed – and you wouldn't have to deal with this shit.
"Okay," Rae says, rubbing its skeletal hands together. "You need to convince the Cardiff police to interview this witness, Penber. She's twelve and she's scared, but she's the only one who actually saw the gunman's face. Since we'd have no way of knowing that, though, I suggest you recommend they interview all of the junior students."
Raye rubs at his eyes. He's kind of exhausted. Shinigami apparently have boundless energy and mental reserve, and he can barely keep up. He's actually sleeping well at night, and that's…that's good. He needs to keep reminding himself that this is good. This is what she would want.
Raye checks over his shoulder automatically. Mail is still lounging in the corner, staring into the middle distance.
"And you need to hurry," Rae urges. "I know you're probably tired, but they can only keep him in custody for another twenty hours, maximum."
The Shinigami recognizes that he's fatigued. Huh. So even Rae is kinder - and more human – than L.
And L tried to murder it. Take its heart, break its heart, and destroy its remaining life. With a smile on his fucking face.
He cried over Naomi. It's okay. It's okay to stay here. It's fine.
He's not really evil. He's just.
He's just L.
"I'm on it," he replies, faintly.
"Good," Rae tells him. "You can rest once this is done. I'll be travelling to Germany tomorrow. I have suspicions about the identity of the person who abducted those twin boys, but I need to go to the scene of the crime before I can be sure."
"Right," Raye agrees.
The Shinigami never seems to stop solving crimes, even for a moment. It comes and goes a lot, but that's okay. It's not like it's his friend, or anything.
L works as hard as he possibly can. He doesn't attempt to keep pace with Rae, because he can't. He's old and he's useless. But even if it takes him a year just to solve one case, he's still going to try. He owes the world that much. He owes Naomi. He owes Matsuda.
The newspapers are studded with Rae's successes, but it seems to be spending more time working that warranted by these cases alone. L suspects it is also tackling other, smaller, less newsworthy cases.
Possibly in an attempt to prove him incompetent.
L doesn't blame it for that. But he watches. He watches and listens and drinks in the small glimpses he gets of Rae, the snippets of information that Mail brings him, because this is his only reward. Rae being safe and alive and near him, for just a little while longer, is all he can ever hope for.
With Mail's help, he tracks down and catches a long-term serial killer. An ex-schoolteacher, who murders one person every year as part of a ritual that will apparently protect her family from being sent to hell.
In a way, the second world has amplified the very religious; because both punishment and the afterlife have become inescapably real. Sometimes the amplification is beneficial, and sometimes it is disastrous. Religion is never to blame, L knows. Religion doesn't kill people. People kill people. And sometimes, L manages to stop them before they succeed.
The next week, L starts investigating a diplomat suspected of espionage. And then Mail calls and informs him that Raye and Rae have taken on that case, and that he needs to find something else to do.
So even Mail has decided that they're the better detectives.
Good. Rae is still here, and Rae is still working cases, and that's enough.
Until Light comes back, that's enough.
The next case is a lone terrorist, and the evidence is so obvious that Raye is pretty sure he could have solved it on his own. But he lets Rae take the lead, anyway. It speaks to him with kindness and respect, like a proper colleague, and Raye can almost pretend he's just a normal guy, working a normal job.
But then they hit a quiet spell, and the crime rate becomes so low that even Rae's enthusiasm becomes sapped. And with lack of work comes boredom, and with boredom comes grief and the deafening silence and the absence of Naomi.
Sometimes, L comes down to talk to Mail. Rae always pretends to be terribly busy. Raye hates how it is stuck living in a confined space with someone who has threatened its life.
Aren't they supposed to be protecting the innocent from the abusive, after all?
"I think I should go," Rae announces, quietly. "I'll return as soon as a significant unsolved crime presents itself, of course."
Raye doesn't say don't go, because Raye doesn't mind if it leaves. Mail stays in the same room during the day, and sits by his bed every night, and he doesn't actually need the Shinigami for companionship.
Besides. If he wants to take on a case, he can do it alone. Naomi would want that, too.
"Sure," he replies. "Okay. What will you do?"
Rae's eyes are blood-red, burning-red, horror-red. Raye will never get used to looking at them. He'll never not want to run screaming.
But frightening eyes are not enough to make a creature evil. L has no excuse.
"I'm going to broaden my horizons," Rae says softly, stretching its wings over its head. "I think I'm going to frequent police academies and universities, and see what I can learn."
"Will that information really be useful, once the five years are over?"
Raye wonders whether the Shinigami actually wants to fight crime. Like maybe, even once it is finished with L and reunited with its notebook, it will go on fighting crime and making the world a better place.
He kind of likes the idea of that. He's really not sure the world should be relying on L, right now.
Even if the knowledge is useless, it will be good for Rae's emotional health to escape this place for a little while. Raye is almost jealous.
I have to stay. I decided I would stay here. Naomi would want me to stay.
"When you're talented, all information is useful," Rae says, voice confident and bright. "Listen. Be careful. I don't think he'll try to hurt you, but it's probably better to exercise caution."
"I'll be fine," Raye says, emphatically. "Go."
The Shinigami disappears from the room, without another word. Raye picks up his laptop, moves across the room, and sits down on the floor next to Mail.
And then, perhaps inevitably, L gets sick.
There's a nasty strain of influenza circulating the country, and he's recently been deficient in both sustenance and sleep, so it's no great surprise, really. But weakness and fever stacked on top of grief and self-loathing and loneliness proves to be an unbearable combination. L retires to his bed, unable to think, unable to move quickly, useless and useless and useless.
Maybe this is it.
Illness might force him to retire. Force him to give up the job.
Force him to make way for Rae.
There's nothing to do, anyway. There's no work. If this keeps up for long enough, he'll eventually run out of money.
Of course, that would take approximately….fifteen years. Even longer, if he's frugal.
L curls up, and drags the pillow over his head.
Rae has been gone for two weeks, and L hurts.
With the Shinigami absent, Raye automatically goes back to spending all his time with Mail. He occupies himself by alternating between studying Naomi's textbooks, looking over Mail's shoulder, and staring miserably at the wall.
"So the monster's gone, huh?" Mail says, casually. "Is that a permanent arrangement?"
"Not yet," Raye says, unable to keep the spite from his voice. "It's stuck with L for another few months."
Mail looks up from his computer screen, focusing on Raye with flat, unemotional blue eyes. He seems to be deciding upon what to say next.
Apparently Mail used to wear goggles all the time, before he died. Hardly anyone ever saw the upper part of his face. And - if Raye remembers correctly - he was a hardcore gamer who wore stripes and bright colours and knee-high boots. He was a person, not just an empty, grief-stricken shell.
Raye can't. Raye can't do that. Raye can't make himself into a nobody. He can't abandon his need for food, or his favourite style of jacket, or his love of crossword puzzles. He doesn't want to ignore his hair, his personal hygiene. He doesn't want to dress in Naomi's clothes and try to become her and never escape.
Never escape.
That's it, isn't it? The principle difference between the two of them. One day, Raye wants to be able to get on with his life.
No!
No, he doesn't!
Fucking no!
He doesn't. He wants to be in love with Naomi forever. He's not. He was a good husband! Is a good husband! Can be a good husband, forever. He's just doing things differently, that's all! Mail's way isn't the only way!
Mail's way isn't…
Mail is the only friend he has left. The only person who understands.
"Huh. And you're trying to keep it safe from L, right?" Mail asks, slowly, seemingly unaware of Raye's inner turmoil.
Is that how it is? Rae against L? No middle ground?
Good against evil?
When he first started working in this place, Raye was convinced that L was absolutely good.
"I don't know," he murmurs. "I really don't know."
tbc
a/n:
+ so, work and health issues are making it difficult for me to work on this fic at the minute. please be assured that I haven't given up on it or anything. updates might be a little slow for the next month or so, and then hopefully return to normal.
+ also, plot is kind of dragging right now. things will happen soon! I promise!
+ thank you for reading.