notes/warnings
+ STUFF ACTUALLY HAPPENS IN THIS CHAPTER! GO ME!
+ swearing/mention of racial crimes/character with overtly misogynistic opinions
+ long chapter is long
+ okay, so not that much stuff happens. :/
Quietly
Raye and Rae start work on yet another case. Privately, Mail thinks that Rae is probably accepting any reasonably-complex job that it can find. It isn't trying to be the best detective. It's trying to hurt L.
Mail thinks maybe L never should have gotten involved with the Shinigami in the first place. It has brought so much unhappiness to his life. To everyone's lives.
Still, Raye seems to be more functional this evening than he's been in a long time. He's sitting up straight, his expression is focused, and from what Mail can hear, he's actively participating in Rae's newest investigation.
Maybe…maybe Mail did something right, then. Maybe Mail actually managed to help.
Whatever. He won't be doing it again, that's for sure. He's physically and emotionally exhausted. He keeps having flashbacks to that awful moment when he learned that Mello was gone and in hell and never coming back.
He'd go back in a heartbeat, if he could. Back to the mildew-infested apartment, strewn with cigarette butts and chocolate wrappers. Back to the days when he cared about beating the next level, and fantasized about dating Samus Aran. Back to the days when Mello always came home at some godforsaken hour, shirt too short and pants too tight, hair perfect, mood feral. Back to the days when Mello always came home, and so Mail could be a person, because the foundations of his universe were in place.
He studied so hard, trying to build that time machine. Stupid fuckin' dream.
Stupid fuckin' Raye Penber, sitting in his desk-chair, eating an entire take-away container of creamy pasta. Mail can't eat at all. Doesn't want to eat at all. Even the fucking Shinigami is stealing the leftover mashed potato from the lid, but Mail never eats.
He used to eat.
It doesn't matter. He can't live in the past, because Mello will never come home. He needs to be here, so he can help L and accompany Raye and pray and pray and pray. He needs to be here so that people will remember Mello.
No one should ever be able to forget him. Everyone should know his name, his face, and what he died for. What he suffered for.
You got so much less than you deserved, doll.
L sends Mail a message. They're changing cases. The news-hacker hasn't made any other moves, and someone recently massacred a bunch of people at New Eltham College, Bromley. L isn't trying to compete with Rae. L is trying to be a good person. That's all he ever fucking does, all he can ever do. He puts his life at risk and sacrifices his own fuckin' health and makes people hate him – even when he really, really cares about them – because that's what he does.
And Mail…Mail hacks things.
Mail sends back a quick 'affirmative', closes his current browser, and opens another. He'd follow L to the ends of the earth.
It's not like he has anything better to do.
When Raye wakes up, Naomi is still dead and L is still evil and Mail is sitting on the floor. And he wants to bury his head under the covers and spend another half hour feeling sorry for himself. But he doesn't. He gets up.
There's a rapist out there who needs catching, and Rae can't succeed on its own.
It's an unusual case for L – there's been no threat of a second attack – but the police have requested his help. And with Rae probably planning his untimely demise and Buzz waiting in the wings to take over, L is hardly in a position to refuse.
According to the police report, the gunman left no evidence at all. No fingerprints, no discarded weapons, no witnesses. Or rather, there were plenty of witnesses, but 'a figure in bulky clothes and a full-face mask' is hardly a useful description.
On his desk he has a list of the dead. Thirty-nine students, all in the same class. Three staff members. None of the victims were injured. All were cleanly killed. The gunman knew what he was doing. Or he got very, very lucky.
And the motive is…unknown. Demographics do not indicate any pattern – socioeconomic, racial, religious, or otherwise – amongst the victims. No other classes were attacked. The gunman did not speak, and afterwards, ran away.
Even sociopaths have something to say. Even if it's only 'fuck you all'.
Was this just a fit of mania, then? A protest? An example?
He needs to go to the university itself. He ought to see, firsthand, where the gunman went.
And.
And.
One of the victim's names is….interesting. L touches the list with the tip of his forefinger, checking and re-checking.
Professor James Lawliet.
It means nothing. Next to nothing. Even if it is him, L never knew him. Never knew what he looked like. Never knew anything about him, except that Emma Wakefield was in love with him once.
And, now, that he is dead. Twice.
L contacts Watari and makes preparations to leave.
Raye keeps saying really bizarre, unrelated things. It's not actually hindering Rae's progress, because Rae is far too competent to be bothered by such trivialities. But it is…unusual. Noteworthy, maybe.
"There were another three attacks last night," Rae says, darkly. "One of the victims killed herself before morning. This…person is disgusting."
The second world is still filled with evil, despite the hell-filter, despite Takada's best efforts.
Only I can make a difference.
Only I can fix this.
"She was engaged, too," Raye notes, distantly. "You know, I was really, really lucky. I mean, given how much time I got to spend with Naomi."
What the fuck is wrong with you? Innocent women are being attacked, and you're relating this to your perfect fucking marriage?
Selfish.
Despicable.
Selfish.
"Yes," Rae says, warmly. "You were lucky to have someone who genuinely cared for you."
Raye meets its eyes for a moment.
"I'm sorry about what L did to you," he says, heavily.
This is almost like a game. Working hatred for L into every glance, every conversation. It's easy and it's natural. It makes Rae feel a little better about the whole situation, and it is cementing Raye Penber's dubious loyalties.
It might be enough just to make you leave, Rae muses. Then he'd have nobody left but Mail.
It wonders if it could turn Watari against L, as well. That would be difficult and involved. A challenge. Still, it's not like Rae is particularly busy. It won't be able to make any real difference to the state of the world until it has the notebook back.
Until it is king.
Rae laughs, sounding a little rueful, a little hurt. Raye is so easy to manipulate. He's like a woman, almost.
"Yeah," it says, sadly, out loud. "I'm sorry, too."
Two hours and forty-five minutes later, the Eltham gunman case is unraveling like a ball of cheaply-spun yarn.
While Watari had scouted for physical evidence – using his now-superior, two-eyed vision – L had investigated the quarters of the murdered staff members for clues. The first victim, a janitor, was an avid philatelist. James Lawliet didn't keep any personal artifacts at work. And the unlucky lecturer, a Doctor Janet Dawson, had been conducting small group therapy sessions for five university students who were struggling to cope with arriving in the second world.
When they contacted the first student on the list she broke down and confessed to everything. Obtaining the gun, shooting the victims, and running away. Everything. Over the fucking phone.
L orders her arrest and goes to witness it in person. The case feels too easy, uncomfortably easy, like the hell-god is toying with him again.
And maybe he's getting paranoid. From the outset, he'd known this case was less complex than his old standards. He can't work to his old standards any more, because he's.
He's getting old.
He's getting replaced.
And Reba Martinez seems to be real, tangible and frightened in front of him, screaming at her arresting police officers about how she just wanted to die and why don't they understand.
And L does understand. He does. He has to work with Mail every day, and Mail…Mail needed to die, really. To die and be dead. Sometimes people need to stop. Some people weren't meant to go on forever. But.
"Wanting to be dead does not excuse your ending dozens of lives," he says, softly.
He's wearing his mask. Watari is waiting in the car. Martinez looks right at him. She's young. Barely nineteen. She's only been in the second world for four weeks.
"They'll just go to the third world," she snorts. "It will never end. Oh god! It will never end!"
"No," L agrees, voice deadpan. "It will never end."
Martinez will never have to worry about the third world. Chances are, she'll end up in hell. But he doesn't tell her that.
He's not that unkind.
When Raye wakes up, Naomi is still dead and L is still evil and Mail is sitting on the floor. And he doesn't want to get up, not really, but it's morning and the sun is shining, and Naomi always loved sunshine.
A week goes by. Rae catches eight criminals. L catches two. According to the news, Buzz cracks a massive underground drug-dealer ring in South Africa.
L doesn't see Rae at all, but that's. That's fine.
They have four months left, until Rae's time is up. L still doesn't know whether he ought to use the notebook. He cannot use it. Rae is convinced that he has no choice but to use it. Rae is so convinced of this that it cannot even be bothered to torture, terrorise, or bully him into submission.
Or perhaps Rae is more frightened of him that it is eager to become king. Perhaps he has overridden its one goal, its only desire, because he hurt it so badly that it cannot stand to be near him. To speak to him.
Perhaps.
L rolls onto his side, tucks his knees under his chin. Sometimes, he cannot sleep. Sometimes he feels like Rae is everywhere. Brown-eyed Rae. In his head, under his skin, everywhere in the locked room. Sometimes he expects to wake and find Rae looming over him. Malevolent, benevolent. Red eyes, brown eyes; L doesn't care. Rae is one entity, and he loves it, and Rae is never there. Can never be there. What they had is over.
Sometimes L aches.
And he's not… he's not the type of person who needs physical pleasure. He's never cared for sex, by his own hands or anyone else's, but Rae changed that. For a while. When they were together. When they still had a chance. L wanted things. Wants things.
Which is ridiculous. Rae is a Shinigami, and he has no right to want anything from it. It owes him nothing, and now it hates him. And that is fine.
And he still aches.
L has never been in love before. Not really. Not as an adult. Not like this.
Maybe once. Maybe when he was six years old, and that boy had just...decided they were going to be friends. Declared it, even. That sort of thing wasn't done in Japan, wasn't done anywhere, but he had never seemed to care. He had always seemed to get away with everything, too smart by half.
Until the Shyster broke him.
People like his mother, people like Light, they don't just ruin lives. They destroy lives. They change other people exponentially, make them insane, or useless, or debilitated. Light, especially. Light killed hundreds of people – maybe thousands – but he ruined millions of lives.
And L. L hurt Rae. Because he had no other option.
But he needs to be careful. He needs to be careful not to just presume he knows best. Not to presume that because he got things right with Rae, that he can hurt someone any time the urge strikes him, and it will be for the greater good.
He needs to be so careful.
Emma Wakefield was selfish and evil. And from all the evidence L can garner, James Lawliet was neutral. Neither bad nor good. Ordinary. Witnesses say he ran towards the sound of gunshot, because he had hoped that he could save someone. Maybe slightly better than ordinary.
L isn't the sum of the people who made him, though. Not morally. Nobody is the moral median of their parents. James Lawliet is nobody. A statistic, an ordinary man, and a usefully unusual last name.
L needs to always try to do the right thing.
He has to never turn into Light.
He has to never use the notebook.
And he has to hope and pray that in refusing to do so, he's not somehow harming Rae.
When Raye wakes up, Naomi is still dead and L is still evil and Mail is sitting on the floor. This time, Mail is running his fingers over his precious drawing of Mello.
I'm never going to be that broken, Raye thinks, promises himself, promises Naomi, and gets up.
A few cases later, they take on a team of probable serial killers. Twelve people have disappeared from the Manchester area in the past four days. All were of Indian descent. Rae goes off to investigate.
Raye eats macaroni and cheese for lunch. He loves macaroni and cheese.
He still has no idea what he's supposed to do with his life. But Mail said…Mail said he ought to get better. Mail said Naomi would want that. And she would. Raye knew her better than anyone else in the world.
She'd want him to be strong. She'd want him to go on. And…she'd want him to be happy.
He's not happy, and he's not strong. But…the food is good.
Rae comes back with bad news; it has found a lot of freshly-dug earth in a forest bordering on Manchester city. But the connection is too tenuous to involve police without doing a little…digging, first.
"Are you up to this?" Rae asks, voice soft and concerned, so different from L.
Raye needs to go. Raye needs to go and possibly uncover a lot of dead bodies. He has to, otherwise the murderers may never be brought to justice.
It will be the first time he's left the building since Naomi's funeral. And Raye isn't ready. Not…not for everything.
"I think I can handle it," he says, with a weak smile. "But only if Mail comes, too."
At the other end of the room, Mail lifts his head and shrugs.
"I'm not doing anything right now," he announces.
"Of course you're not," Rae mutters. "You're working for him."
"I'm sorry," Raye says, hanging his head. He knows it's difficult for Rae to stay here. He knows that the more time Rae has to spend with anyone who's allied to L, the more likely L is to find another way to assassinate it.
Wait. Does that mean Raye doesn't classify himself as being allied to L any more?
The concept of not working for L does sound tantalizingly good. But Raye can't make those sorts of decisions. Not yet.
"It's fine," Rae says, loudly enough that Mail can hear. "Mail can come with us. That's…that's okay."
Mail goes, and they dig up a bunch of dead bodies, several murder weapons, and enough forensic evidence to arrest the entirety of the newly-developing Manchester-based neo-Nazi movement.
"I don't know how you did it," a local police detective gushes. "How did you even know where to start looking?"
Raye Penber stares at the ground, but he mumbles something semi-coherent about doing a thorough job and just getting lucky. He's doing well, actually leaving the building, and talking to people he doesn't know.
He's doing well, for a self-important self-pitying mentally ill moral Neanderthal. But that's okay. That's important. He's taking steps away from L, and that's important.
Because if he stays, Rae has an ally. But, if he leaves?
Rae can tell him anything. Rae can say that L is committing crimes, L is hurting innocent people, L is abusing his position of power, L tried to kill Rae again and Rae is just so scared and sad.
Rae isn't scared. Or sad. Rae is angry. Rae is going to fucking get even, and L is going to know all about it.
Because even if he leaves, Raye Penber still has intimate knowledge of L's headquarters. The windows. The weak points. L's weak points. And if Raye leaves L's service, Rae is absolutely confident that it can convince him to assassinate L. Or at the very least, have him imprisoned for the unlawful scum that he is.
"Please extend L's condolences to the victims' families," Raye finishes, with an awkward little bow. "We really must be getting back to base now."
"Good job," Rae says brightly, to Raye and not to Mail.
No matter what happens, Rae will win. Rae will win. Like always. Like everything should be. Should have been…
That doesn't matter any more. Rae is stronger now. Stronger and more capable and still right. And it will see L suffer and struggle and plead for death before the end.
It's only a matter of time.
Raye drags him out grocery shopping because apparently, now that he's feeling better, Mail is forced to be an active witness to every aspect of his daily life.
"Oh hey. Syrupy Fruity Honey Puffs. I haven't had these in years," Raye murmurs, and shoots Mail a tiny smile. "The only cereal in the second world that is over ninety-nine percent sugar."
Mail tries to smile back, but he can't. He doesn't smile any more. He doesn't have anything left to smile about. He stays at one end of the confectionary aisle, trembling and near-catatonic, because it's filled with chocolate. Filled with memories of a completely different, second-rate, first-world shopping mall, where Mello used to buy a whole trolley full of candy bars and bulk-sized bags of cocoa, and Mail used to help carry it all back to the car and he was happy and he still wants to go back.
He wants to curl up in Mello's bed, one more time. He knows, he just knows, that if he went back to that tiny, dilapidated apartment, he'd be able to sleep soundly. For the first time in almost a decade.
But it isn't enough. He can't ask for just once, because he doesn't dare pray for anything more than Mello's health, Mello's safety. Even if his prayers are answered, Mail will never know. Mail will never see Mello. But that is all he can ask for. Just. Just in case.
Just in case someone is listening.
L spends the next two weeks working for the Federal Bureau of Investigation, investigating a possible case of corruption in the United States police force.
He doesn't ask if they've also contracted Buzz, or whether they would have preferred Buzz, or why they've chosen him instead.
He doesn't really want to know.
When Raye wakes up, Naomi is still dead and L is still evil and Mail is sitting on the floor. And he doesn't want to get up, not really, but it's morning and…
Actually, he's kind of looking forward to the Syrupy Fruity Honey Puffs.
"You need to hand over the corruption case," Rae says, sudden and unexpected, its voice like hatred personified. "I won't let any more people suffer while you sit here and do nothing, monster."
Rae almost never comes to L's room. Looking up and finding it suddenly there is like the best of special treats, even if it has come to damn him, even if it loathes him with every fibre of its being.
The only success in L's miserable, failure-riddled life.
No. That isn't accurate. He's had dozens of successes. Hundreds. But that was before. Before, when he had Rae. And Naomi. And Matsuda. And before all of that, before he ever met Light.
How many good people does he need in his life before he can cancel out the damage that Light did to him?
One. One would be enough. One Rae.
"We could work together," L offers, voice silky and arrogant and inviting. "Think of how much fun that could be."
"No," Rae barks. "Do you really think I'd be stupid enough to trust you again?"
L smiles. Fake email messages aren't enough. He needs to go on being dangerous. He needs to always be a threat.
"I'm counting on it," he replies.
"I'm counting on your life running out," Rae answers, fast and sickly-sweet.
"Your stupidity versus my mortality," L murmurs, thoughtfully. "But you loved me, Rae, didn't you?"
"No," Rae says, coldly, as if L has used the most disgusting and grotesque slur imaginable. "I'm not weak like you."
"And I shall not be handing over this case," L replies. "Now, either kill me or love me or go away, please. You are impeding my research."
Rae leaves with a nasty little laugh, and L throws himself back into his work. Because Rae is right, of course. Since he made the decision not to work with Rae, he needs to solve this case quickly on his own, so that no innocent people are harmed.
The next time Rae needs him to leave the building, they're in a rush. The suspect is about to leave the country, and they don't have the evidence to ask airport security to stop him. Raye doesn't have the chance to grab Mail and bring him with them, but in the adrenaline-fuelled pandemonium, he barely has time to feel alone.
"Thank you for your help, today," Rae says cheerfully.
Raye Penber is like a small dog. Like the little dog Rae got for L, that day when they were eating blancmange and Naomi was listening at the door and they were still…
Don't think about that!
This must be part of the test. Rae doesn't seem to have the same ironclad control over its own thoughts as it used to. And that's…terrifying, but it's also fine. The test is finite. Rae is undamaged. Rae can fly.
Raye Penber is like a dog, in that he's easily trained. A few kind words, and he's practically begging to be used against L.
"No problem," Raye replies, looking pleased with himself. "Someone here needs to help you, after all."
His voice drops in the last sentence, becoming almost a hiss. Raye is working a dislike of L into every other sentence, without any prompting from Rae at all.
Good.
Soon.
Rae still isn't sure what it wants to do, but having options is never a bad thing. L may self-destruct all on his own, and that would be a beautiful thing to witness. Too beautiful to interfere, certainly.
But Raye, Raye is the insurance policy.
"So you're only assisting me out of pity?" Rae asks, softly. "I didn't realize that."
"That's not it at all. I support you," Raye says, quickly and emphatically. "I'm on your side. After what he did, I'm definitely on your side."
In the confines of its own mind, Rae smiles.
That was easy.
"I don't want you stuck here because of me," Rae tells him. "If being in this place upsets you, I'd prefer that you leave. I don't want him hurting anyone else."
It's time. Raye is finally weaning himself from his dependence on Mail. It's time to break him away from L completely.
"What would happen to you if I left?" Raye asks, carefully, hesitantly, like a good little puppet.
"Well, I'd have trouble solving cases, but only for a limited period of time," Rae tells him. "Plus, if I needed to, I could show myself to Buzz or one of the other detectives. Please don't think that I don't have options."
Raye stares at his hands.
"I'll…keep that in mind," he says quietly. "But right now, I'm here, and I'm working with you."
"Understood," Rae replies, and it's as easy as that.
L manages to crack the corruption case, and is re-hired by the Federal Bureau of Investigation to help locate a fugitive fraudster. He travels around a lot, with Watari, just like the old days. He doesn't talk about Rae. He and Watari have never spoken of personal details, not even when L was small.
Sometimes he wishes Matsuda was still around. Or Rem. Someone unrelated, someone he could chat with about Rae and Light and the hell-god and trying to save the world.
But then he remembers that Matsuda wouldn't have understood, and Rem would only be disappointed in him for falling for Rae.
Buzz hasn't been mentioned in the news for over a week, though, and L considers that a victory. To celebrate, he buys ten jam-filled croissants from a French bakery, and eats them in one sitting.
In his spare time, Raye starts reading novels again. Criminal masterminds and murder-mysteries. He likes the stories. He likes reading about things that interest him in a fictional context, where no one can ever be hurt, and the ending is set in stone.
He'd like to know how it all ends. He wants to know whether he'll wind up in hell, in nothingness, or if he'll slide through the worlds forever. He wants to know if he'll see Naomi again. He wants to know what their child looks like, and how it feels to get up for the seventh time at three in the morning because the baby is grizzling. He wants everything.
But there is something satisfying about saving people. There's something comforting about Rae's companionship, and maybe Raye can go on like this, for a little longer.
Raye gets up to go to bed, and Mail gets up to follow him. He's in the middle of some case with L, papers strewn all over his desk and computer.
"It's all right," Raye says, automatically, without thinking. "You can keep working here."
Mail doesn't look surprised, because Mail is incapable of such a neutral emotion, and Raye is really fucking glad he's not going to end up like that.
The first two nights, Raye reads until he falls asleep, afraid to look at the walls, afraid to see them closing in, afraid he'll be crushed in the ensuing collision.
On the third night, he's too exhausted to care. He sleeps and wakes and the room is the same size, unmoving, just an ordinary room. Naomi is still dead and he doesn't know where Mail is, but he's okay. He isn't dying.
Raye suddenly feels free, unanchored, like he's beaten the final crutch of his grief. Like he can go anywhere he wants, and do anything he wants to do.
So…what does he want to do?
Raye packs everything that he owns into boxes. A few outfits, a few books, a few tools, and a metric fucktonne of Naomi's old possessions. He finds an apartment in Enfield; far enough that he's unlikely to run into his colleagues, and close enough that Rae can still reach him quickly if it needs him.
Because this is what he wants to do. He wants to be free from L. From L, who destroys people he ought to care about. From L, who calmly discussed Rae's murder with Naomi in email messages, like he was discussing the laundry or something.
Raye can live without Mail, and he can't live with L, and Rae…Rae practically gave him permission. He's leaving it here all alone, without support, but it only has to survive another three months. And there haven't been many cases, recently. It's been a quiet few weeks.
He won't tell L. He'll hand him his resignation once he's ready to leave. That is all L deserves, and that is all Raye will give him.
The Shinigami walks through the wall when he's sealing up the last box, and looks around approvingly.
"Good," it says, calmly. "Now he can't claim credit for your work any more."
"I didn't want to tell you like this," Raye replies, flustered. "I was going to come and say goodbye properly. I just. I just have to do this."
L has become such a terrifying thing. The monster under Raye's bed. The demon in the corner of his mind. L gets everyone killed, sooner or later, and Raye wants to live. He has to live, so that he can go on remembering Naomi.
He can still remember the sound of Rae's voice when it saw those messages, soft and lost and miserable.
No. No. Fuck you. No.
He can't. He can't live with this. He's running away, and that is selfish, but it's the first selfish thing he's done in months, and he feels good.
"You're leaving today?"
"Yes," Raye confirms. "I had…I had to pack everything up before I could be sure that I could do it. But I can. You should come with me."
"I'll come and visit you when I'm king," Rae offers, and every lingering doubt in Raye's mind is swept away.
The Shinigami will be fine. It's a Shinigami. A god. Of death. It isn't easy to kill. And now, at least, L can't try to use him against it.
Not that Raye would ever, ever let him do that. But still. It's L. When it comes to manipulating people, he's second only to Light.
"I'll be living at 24 Greenbatch Street," Raye tells it. "Nobody else will know the address. Please come and find me if you need me. If he tries anything. I'll support you."
"That means a lot to me," Rae says warmly. "Thank you."
Three months. Three months isn't that long.
"What will you do to pass the time?" Raye enquires.
"I've been thinking of haunting the universities," Rae says, easily. "I'm actually heading over to Bedford right now. There's a master locksmith there who's training a new apprentice. He's supposed to be the best in Britain. And, they do say you can never learn enough. A good detective should never stop trying to improve themselves."
Raye grins to himself. Rae is such a decent Shinigami.
God, he hates L. He hates L for everything. Semi-human emotionally-retarded shell of a man.
"Good. Stay away from here as much as you can," Raye agrees, getting to his feet. "I hope everything works out for you."
"I'll be fine," Rae replies. "I'm always fine. And…I never lose. Don't worry."
"All right," Raye says, a little gruffly. "Take care of yourself."
"You too."
With that, Rae floats out of the room. Raye supposes Shinigami aren't big on saying goodbye.
Now, he has to talk to Mail.
Rae rests its head against the wall, and laughs and laughs and laughs.
Raye Penber is leaving. Everything is falling into place. And soon, L will be destroyed.
It's a good day. A perfect day.
Sometimes, on the really good days, Mail can remember exactly how he felt when he shot Takada in the alleyway. It is the best second-world memory that he has, the one moment he was truly alive, and he treasures it alongside the rosary and the drawing and every second he spent with Mello.
He's helping L research a serial kidnapper, and he really ought to be paying attention. But L and Watari are off on a job and Rae isn't here, and there are no audio taps in this room and his desk is in the blind spot of the security system. It's not like anyone will know that he's slacking off. Hell, that was one of Mail's conditions of working here in the first place. He doesn't want to be monitored all the fucking time.
Mail turns and gazes at the window. The sun is high in the sky. It's a beautiful day. Mail knows, categorically, that it's a beautiful day. He just doesn't give a damn.
I hope you're okay, doll. I hope…I hope they're not hurting you.
And then Raye bursts into his office like the annoying dick that he is, and locks the door behind him.
"I need to talk to you for a minute," he says, quickly.
Mail lifts his head. Raye is wearing his coat and hat. He looks like he's about to go out somewhere. He'd better not be asking Mail to go with him.
"Is this about a case?" he monotones. "Because I'm kind of-"
"I'm leaving," Raye says, and the absence of elucidation is more of an answer than his words.
If he was going temporarily, he'd have said as much.
"You're quitting the team," Mail says, quietly.
"Yes. Right now. Today."
Mail nods. This is probably the best thing that Raye can do. He's not happy with this type of job, and he'd probably be better making a new start for himself. It's not something that Mail could ever do, but that's okay. They're different.
Raye gets to get better, and Mail got to kill Takada. They're practically even.
"We'll have to change all the passwords and locks again," Mail points out. "Are you sure this is what you want to do?"
It doesn't really make a difference to Mail, but losing a man will hurt L. He's already lost two. Or three, if Rae counts.
And Raye fucking left once before, and then fucking came back, and Mail is getting really sick of having to constantly update the system security.
"Yes," Raye tells him. "I'm sure. I don't want this to be a big thing. I just came to say goodbye. And…thank you."
Mail wonders, absently, whether this is the Shinigami's doing. He wonders whether it will consider Raye's leaving to be beneficial or detrimental. He wonders, but it's not like he'll ever find out. It's not like the blasted thing will ever talk to him.
Mail doesn't get up from his chair.
"It isn't a big thing," he agrees. He doesn't understand, but he pretends to anyway. L asked him to look after Raye. "And I'm not really surprised. This job is fuckin' exhausting. And…you're probably better off going and making new routines, right?"
"That's not why," Raye says, voice suddenly dark and unpleasant. "I'm not leaving because of the work. Or because of Naomi. I thought you, of all people, would know that."
Mail stares at him irritably.
"Why should I know that? I don't fuckin' understand you."
"Well, I'm telling you," Raye says sharply. "This is about him."
"That isn't very specific."
"The fuckhead who pays you!"
Mail blinks. Sometimes Raye is really fucking stupid.
"This is about L?" he clarifies.
"It's about what L did to Rae."
Mail blinks again. His head is starting to ache.
"What L did to-"
"I can't fucking live with someone like that!" Raye yells. "We had no evidence that Rae was ever going to harm anyone, but L decided he had to fucking dispose of it just because of its species. I can't stand him and I can't trust him and I will not ever, ever forgive him. He tried to hurt someone who cared for him, because he could. I don't want to work for someone like that. I don't want to ever see him again!"
Mail stays where he is, trying to process everything that Raye has just said.
This is about L.
This is about.
Raye Penber wasn't like this before. He was never so staunchly allied with the Shinigami, not until he started spending all his time with it. It has done this. It has made him hate L, and Mail can't blame it for trying to defend itself, but this is an utter fucking mess.
"And that's the only reason you're leaving?" Mail asks, finally.
Raye tugs at his hair with both hands.
"Isn't that enough?" he demands. "I don't know how you can stand to be near him."
"Where is the Shinigami now?" Mail asks.
"Headed to Bedford."
"It already left?"
"Yes," Raye growls, narrowing his eyes. "Why do you want to know? Please tell me you're not planning to help him murder it."
Mail isn't like Raye. He isn't incapable of making decisions for himself. He's definitely not incapable of targeted and discerning mutiny. L will be devastated if Raye leaves. Impossibly, Mail feels like the single adult in a classroom filled with children.
He's too fucking broken for this level of responsibility.
Mail gets to his feet, which is really fucking weird.
"Come here," he says, softly. "Come over to the desk, Raye."
Raye stiffens.
"Why?"
"Because it's out of view of the cameras," Mail explains, matter-of-factly. "I am going to tell you something that you need to know now, but you are never, ever to share this information with anyone else. Anyone. Not even Rae. Especially not Rae."
Raye approaches the desk warily. This doesn't make any fucking sense. This is all part of L's plan to harm Rae. It must be. There's no other good reason. He needs to get out of here before they can use him against the person he's trying to protect.
"Does this information impact on Rae's safety?" he asks, harshly.
Mail grabs him by the shoulders and pulls him across the desk, crashing their foreheads together, and Raye is suddenly terrified that maybe Mail fell for him, that night when they almost-
No, that's ridiculous. But this whole situation is ridiculous, too. There is nothing that Mail could possibly tell him that will change his mind.
"You need to be quiet," Mail whispers, and he smells awful. "And no, this doesn't affect the fuckin' skeleton. Now listen. Those messages were fake."
Raye is sure that somewhere in Mail's nutrition-starved, grief-stricken, madness-overrun mind that those words make some sort of relevant sense.
"Who in the what now?"
Mail sighs, but does not release his grip on Raye. Raye is starting to worry that maybe he's actually gone mad, and maybe Raye should have just slipped out quietly and not come to say farewell at all. Maybe L is manipulating Mail because he knows Mail is insane. Raye wouldn't put it past the fucking bastard.
Mail rolls his eyes.
"Do you remember," he says, slowly, "the day when you and Rae discovered those emails between Naomi and L? About…about how to kill a god of death?"
"Yes," Raye tells him, annoyed. "Of course I remember. How could I forget that?"
"Well, I made all of those emails," Mail breathes. "They weren't real. I created them on that day."
"No, you didn't," Raye tells him, with a tremendous amount of patience. "Those were between L and my wife."
"No," Mail says, tersely. "I created them. About five minutes before you read them. L instructed me to make them. He intended for Rae to see them. He wanted Rae to hate him. That's why he did it."
Raye wonders if he's dreaming.
"That doesn't even make sense," he snarls. "Why would you do that? Why would L want Rae to hate him?"
"Because…look, I don't understand all of it, but don't you remember how Rae's eyes used to be brown? And how it used to move more slowly and have trouble flying?"
Raye tries to remember. It's hard. He can't recall much of anything that happened before Naomi died. But yes…okay. He does kind of remember that.
"When Rae is like that, Rae is damaged. Sick. The longer it stays like that, the worse it gets."
"Did you learn this from L?" Raye asks, because L is fucking malevolent and they shouldn't believe a word he says.
"Eh, I'd seen it for myself, but it was L who worked out why. Apparently, the more Rae cares for him, the more debilitated it becomes."
Mail sucks in deep breath and ploughs on, one impossible statement after the other.
"He only figured it out that morning. And he called me and had me make those messages, so that Rae would be angry and stop caring for him and be safe. There. Now you know."
Raye pushes both hands over his eyes. This is. No. This can't be. L doesn't do things like that. This has to be a lie. Somehow. There are so many things wrong here that he can't even begin to fathom it.
"Why would L want to protect a Shinigami?" he manages.
Mail snorts.
"Because he likes it. A lot, I think. I dunno. He doesn't talk to me about this stuff, thank fuck."
"That can't even be possible," Raye says, triumphantly. "Those messages were sent weeks and weeks earlier. You can't have made them up on the day we found them."
"I backdated them," Mail says, simply. "I'm a hacker, Raye. I can do things like that. Pretty effectively, too."
No, Raye thinks, shaking his head.
L is.
L is trying to….look after…Rae?
L went to all this trouble?
Is it even possible? After all these months of loathing L, could it be that he was wrong? That Rae is wrong? That Rae is safe, all along.
"You can still leave, if you want to," Mail says, softly. "It's just. He's not fuckin' evil. I didn't want you to go and think that he was. And you must never, ever tell Rae, or all of this will be in vain."
Raye clenches his hands into fists.
"But Rae…Rae cared about L, too. This isn't fair."
"So what was he supposed to do? Let it get sick?" Mail asks. "You're being unreasonable. He did the best he could do. Rae might feel hurt and betrayed, but it will leave here unscathed, right?"
This is the stupidest, most ridiculous situation Raye has ever heard of. He wonders if L has set this up, somehow, to convince him to stay and support L so that L can eventually kill Rae. Maybe he's lied to Mail exactly the way Mail is lying to Raye right now.
But.
Didn't L once speak of another Shinigami? Ren, or something. L referred to it as being a friend.
Yes. Yes he did. And he's never shown murderous inclination to anyone, or anything else. Even Raye can see that, and Raye hates him. But god, if this is real…
Raye kind of crumples against the desk. He can't process all of this. He can't fathom these stupid fucking geniuses and their stupid fucking plans and everything.
"Can you prove to me that the emails were fake?"
"Not unless you spend six weeks in an intensive computer-hacking course," Mail replies. "You don't believe me?"
If this is real…
It must be so painful to turn someone you like against you. It must be the worst feeling in the world. You'd have to be the best sort of person just to go through with it. And that's.
That's the L Naomi always spoke of. The good man. The hero.
"I believe you," Raye whispers. He hates this. He hates all of this.
"Good," Mail says, businesslike. "If you tell L what you know, he'll be furious. Please pretend that you don't know any of this. I don't want to have to talk about it again."
"Right," Raye says, faintly, barely listening.
"So," Mail prompts. "What are you going to do now?"
tbc
a/n
+ estimated time of next update: two to three weeks again, guys. maybe less if I'm lucky.
+ thank you for reading, and reviewing, and for being so patient with my inability to update on time. I really appreciate it.