#83 Angel

Not many understood why she was chosen as L's successor. Oh, yes she was bright enough, in the same way that all the Wammy's children were imbued with intelligence beyond their years, but of all of them there was no-one in the house more clumsy and disorganised.

Many people whispered that she was only picked because L fancied her. They were probably a little bit right, because L was a sucker for a pretty face and puppy-dog eyes.

No-one could work out what skills she could possibly bring to a detective's job. Even when she was a child, playing with L and B, their pretend games of Sherlock Holmes had always cast her as Doctor Watson.

That's what she was, if she was honest. Someone to follow L around and be constantly amazed by him. She played to his vanity, which is probably why he fell in love.

And B? Well, he was just jealous that anyone could be closer to L than he was.

Which is probably why he talked the red-haired Angel of Wammy's house into her suicide.

Oh, they never found any evidence to say she was murdered, but B was just that clever. He knew how to talk someone into his or her grave and never have to lift a finger. And he knew exactly when to time it.

L never found out about the baby. B made sure of that, he was very bright after all, and she was so far along, but wasn't showing at all, always so skinny.

B cut the child from her, and hid it away. He was good at hiding things.

He giggled to himself when he played with the baby, remembering that Angel wanted to call him Gabriel.

B called him Christopher, his mind chattering away to him about the appropriateness of it, ABC.

He sent Christopher away, to somewhere in America, a nice foster home, funded entirely by his own stolen bankroll. L would never know, he was sure of it.

B can't have been entirely a monster, because he left a substantial amount to the boy with copper hair and dark black eyes.

It was inevitable that one day, someone would find him. B always meant for someone to find the boy, one day, just to twist the knife in L's chest.

Mello watched the child playing on the front lawn, Matt beside him in the car.

"No doubt, the kids's Angel's." the Croat muttered.

Matt rolled a cigarette beside him, "Sure, if you say so Mello. I don't remember her like you do."

"Take your stupid goggles off and you might see it." Mello sighed, "L's eyes though."

Matt shrugged, lighting up, "Mell, any chance of you telling me why you made us drive out to the arse-end of no-where just to stare at a brat that may or may not be L's son?" a puff of smoke exited his lips. "It doesn't make any difference, face it. He doesn't know who his parents are, both of them are dead, and after the miserable bloody time we had at school do you really want to subject the kid to wammy's house?"

Mello lowered his head. "No… I know you're right, he's happy there, his foster parents love him, he's not gonna want for anything… it's just…"

"Just?" Matt prompted, starting the engine.

Mello sighed. "L was alive for twenty-five years, he solved some of the worst crimes imaginable, some of the things he did changed the world forever, and the only material evidence that he was ever born, that he ever loved, is running around on that lawn over there." He nodded to Matt, signalling him to drive. "After all this time, it's nice to know he was real."