Burn

by xLion'sRoarx

When BB, a dangerous criminal, escapes from jail and sets his eyes on Light, the entire investigation is thrown into chaos. The Kira case flies off the metaphorical tracks, and as Light's world comes apart at the seams, his own emotions bar him at every turn, turning calculations into reckless actions and throwing into danger everything that he has fought to protect. LxLight

24. Fire in the Sky

Important: there were some shenanigans going on with FFN when I uploaded the last chapter. I didn't even get the normal email alert that I'd posted, and I'm suspicious that some/all of this story's followers didn't get the normal email...with that being said, make sure you've read chapter twenty-three first! If you haven't read it, then you've missed some pretty important information!

To Beist: Oh, don't worry, things aren't going to be that easy for our favorite detective. He'll just have to find a different way out, without the help of the King ;)

Chapter 24: Fire in the Sky

There were three days until the New Year.

No—more accurately, there were three days until New Year's Eve.

Matt was able to get out of bed now. Some of his deeper cuts still oozed blood, and his stitches had to be covered with large bandages, but he was well enough to walk around and converse with the task force. Of course, it had taken a bit of work to force his stiff muscles to move once more. The morning after his conversation with L, Mello entered the infirmary and cheerfully ordered his lover to get out of bed—and when said lover informed him politely that there was no way in hell he was moving, Mello didn't waste a single moment in wrapping an arm beneath his shoulders and hauling him upright. After that there was a sudden stream of cussing (whether it came from Mello or Matt wasn't so easy to tell) as both grappled momentarily.

"I'm not getting out of bed!" Matt insisted, groaning painfully as his muscles were suddenly forced to support him.

"Tough shit," Mello responded, though there was a layer of amusement beneath his harsh tone. "You're not spending the next three days lying in bed! If you want to be strong enough to help us take down Kira, you're going to have to get up now and start moving again!"

"I don't want to!" Matt argued petulantly.

"Tough. Shit. Get the hell out of bed!" Mello kept Matt from falling back into bed with one arm around his shoulders, the other looping around his waist. "We're going down to the investigation room, and there's nothing you can do about it!"

"Mells, come on!" Matt protested. He tugged against his lover's grasp, but his efforts were halfhearted. Despite the grave atmosphere hanging over the building, he let out a short laugh. "It hurts!"

"And that, my dear friend…" Mello began, pulling him step by step towards the door, "…is why I'm getting you up now rather than when we have to leave to go get Kira." He paused then, gaze flitting towards the corner of the infirmary, where L had decided to move. The dark-haired detective had moved himself into the farthest bed from the door, slotted in between two walls, and hadn't moved since. Mello lowered his voice, whispering into Matt's ear, "Sorry…I suppose I shouldn't mention killing Kira around him."

"No," Matt responded sadly, drawing away from his lover just enough to peer into the corner of the infirmary. L was curled up on his side, face turned towards the wall, though he clearly wasn't asleep. "He won't respond to anything I've said. I don't know if he's really here mentally at the moment. I think you could say anything you want, and he wouldn't respond."

"Still…" Mello murmured, and Matt knew from just a single look into his lover's eyes that he was feeling guilty for what had happened earlier. "He can hear us."

Matt nodded worriedly, looking over at the inert detective. He lowered his voice so that even if L were paying attention, he wouldn't be able to hear. "I'm worried, Mells…I think that this may be too much."

"He's L," Mello responded in a murmur. "I'm sure he can handle it."

"Watari stripped him of his title," Matt reminded him softly. "Until he gets himself under control, he's relieved of duty. And think about it…he's gone all this time believing that he can save Light, and now not only has he been told that it's impossible, but both Near and you have yelled at him over it. We've yanked him out of a hot tub and thrown him straight into an ice bath. Let's face it, we haven't exactly been gentle throughout this whole mess."

The blonde's eyes flickered over to L's cot. "I know," he admitted. "We haven't exactly been tactful. But seriously, how can you expect us to just sit by while he destroys himself? What he's doing is going to kill him, and you know it."

"Yes…" Matt murmured. "But perhaps there was a better way to go about this—a way that didn't end like this. He's practically comatose, Mells. He won't look at me, won't speak, won't eat…he's just…gone."

"He'll recover eventually," Mello assured in a low tone. He tugged his lover towards the door. "Don't think about it now, Matt. Just come to the investigation room. We're making preparations that you need to be a part of—remember, the sooner we end Kira, the sooner L can begin to stitch himself back together."

Matt case one last uneasy glance in L's direction. Although he could no doubt hear what was being said, he hadn't made a single move, nor showed any sign of recognizing what was going on around him. Then, "Okay," he whispered. "I'll go with you. But let me grab some pain meds first, I feel like my chest is on fire!"

Mello rolled his eyes somewhat playfully, but released Matt long enough for him to limp over to the medicine cabinet, swallow a few pills, and make his way back over to the door. He stumbled slightly, nearly falling to the ground—but the instant he lost his footing, Mello hooked an arm around his waist, pulling his lover flush against him and not letting go. "Easy, now," the blonde murmured. "I've got you."

Matt gazed up at his lover through pained eyes. "Thanks," he gasped as a jolt of discomfort stabbed at his chest. "I hope those pain meds kick in soon…"

After that, Mello returned to the investigation room with Matt, keeping a close watch over the younger male and fetching him everything he needed. Everyone in attendance agreed that they had never seen Mello be so compassionate.

And while such a tender display of care was taking place, Near, sitting stoically in his seat, could do nothing but wait. He was eager for the plan to be carried out, eager for L to return to his former self. He knew, somewhere deep within him, that what he had said to L was wrong. Even if he'd been correct logically, he should never have said such cruel things to the one he admired so much. He should never have snapped, should never have allowed his emotions to dictate how he acted. But still—something about the way L had looked, hair sticking up, eyes wild, body mangled and torn…it had been the final straw. Over the four months since the mess with Beyond had started, tiny things had been plucking away at the strings that held Near tomorrow. First it was the way that L had seemingly given himself over to his emotions, over to Light. Then it was the fact that L was so determined to keep Light by his side, even though it was obvious that Beyond was going to win. Then it was the way L had fallen into depression after Beyond did win, and after that it was the way he so foolishly insisted that Kira would not be strong enough to overpower Light. Soon it was L's carelessness with his gun, then the ease with which Kira overpowered them all. Then it was L's breakdown and steady decline into insanity. And then, finally, there was that final, shatteringly painful event—L's insistence that he'd been visited by the King of the Shinigami, and the conviction with which he spoke of that damn bullet. All of the little things had plucked and plucked away at Near's strings over the past four months, and with every passing day those strings were drawn just a little bit tighter, and those invisible fingers plucked harder and harder, and then finally, after so much abuse, after so much pain…he'd snapped. Those fingers gave one last harsh tug, and Near fell apart. But even while he was falling apart, he managed to keep it together—and the glue that held him together was anger. Anger, white-hot and blinding, surged through him like a flame. And then he was burning L with that flame, burning him beyond recognition. It was a regrettable outcome, to be sure.

Still, though…if Near hadn't said those terrible things to the detective, Mello would have. And, in fact, Mello did say it, as Matt so kindly informed him just a few hours later. And if L hadn't been broken before, Mello's harsh words along with Watari's final, condemning statement regarding L's title as L had more than done the trick. L had snapped, and it would take more than a few kind words of apology to pull him back.

It was hard, sometimes, for Near to remember that other people had strings just like he did. Especially with L, who had always seemed so far out of reach—it was hard, so incredibly hard, to remember that deep, deep within the detective, there resided tiny cords that were pulled just as tight, if not tighter, than the ones within Near that had so recently broken. But it was too late now. It was too late for Near to remind himself that L was fragile, that he was too shaken to deal with harsh words and fierce actions. It was too late to stop himself from reaching into L's chest and giving those straining strings a painful tug, fraying them at the edges and paving the way for Mello to snap them entirely but a few minutes later.

It was too late to do anything, really, except wait.

And meanwhile, while Mello cared for Matt, and Near lost himself in the horrible act of waiting, L did nothing but think. He laid flat on his back in the infirmary, watched constantly by cameras, his mind running at top capacity. He hadn't slept. His eyes were beginning to look bloodshot, or so he was informed by Matt and Mello, who came to visit him that evening. They attempted to make him feel better, but L wouldn't respond, so they left soon enough. Once they were gone L had nothing to do but stare at the ceiling and count the tiles. He attempted to formulate a plan of escape, a plan to help Light and save him from death. But he was locked in the infirmary, and there was nothing he could do or say that would make Watari unlock the door. He settled for nursing his injured shoulder and trying not to aggravate his ribs. His head still hurt, but not so much that he couldn't think. Late at night he would pull out the bullet, which had been left in his possession, and roll it between his fingers. He longed to use it, to lodge it firmly into Kira's skull. But for now, there was no way to make that dream a reality.

His mind filled with images of Light. He was reminded, somewhat amusingly, of his time just a few days earlier, when he would sit in the investigation room and fantasize about Light. He'd done nothing but picture him, imagine his hair, his clothing, his movements, the way his flesh felt beneath his fingers. But now he was up to a whole different kind of imagining. Now, instead of imagining his hair, he imagined his expression, twisted in pain, blood spurting from his mouth as a bullet found his chest, his stomach, his shoulder, his…his head. Instead of imagining his pristine clothing, he imagined the way it would look spattered with red. Instead of imagining the way he moved, he imagined the manner in which he would fall, silhouetted by the moonlight, droplets of blood spraying outwards as he crashed to his final resting place. Instead of imagining the way his flesh felt beneath his fingertips, he imagined how it would never be beneath his fingertips again.

He wondered what would happen if Light died. When Light died. Because as the days ticked on, L became depressingly sure that that was where this whole train wreck was going. The successors had told him without hesitation that he would be bound here on the night of the New Year. While Kira became a shinigami, while Light breathed his last, he would be here, bound by something so mundane as a pair of handcuffs. Funny…this whole mess had started with handcuffs, hadn't it? Had L not made that decision, that one, fateful choice to bind Light to him, then none of this would ever have happened. If he hadn't bound Light to him with the handcuffs, then he never would have been pushed so hard. If he hadn't been pushed so hard, then he would never have fallen ill…and if he hadn't fallen ill, then there was a strong possibility that their relationship wouldn't have developed the way it had.

But…was that really accurate? Surely their love was caused by more than a fever. Surely it had been the result of a steadily growing affection—an affection that was locked firmly behind mental barriers, yes, but affection nonetheless. Perhaps, L mused, the handcuffs hadn't made the slightest difference. Perhaps the Shinigami King's little game involved their falling in love from the very beginning, and they would have been pushed into each other's arms without so much as a second thought. When it was put that way, it was almost depressing—it was almost as if their love was held together by manipulation. But no, that wasn't it—the Shinigami King could do anything he wanted, but it wouldn't change a thing. L loved Light, Light loved L, and that was all there was to it.

Well…perhaps there was a bit more to it.

Or a lot.

But either way, there was one thing that L knew for certain—this whole mess had started with a pair of handcuffs, and now it seemed that it was going to end with them as well.

How ironic.

L would have laughed at that, had he been able to vocalize anything without bursting into tears. He'd been silent for many, many hours now, and he refused to respond even to Matt, who stooped over him and murmured sweet lies about how everything would turn out okay, and how Light would be happier this way. That second part, at least, probably wasn't a lie—in all honesty, Light would most likely be happier dead, without Kira controlling him, than alive and trapped in his clutches. Oh well…it was too late to do anything now. The truth was, if something didn't change, and swiftly, then L would lose. Either he would remain in headquarters and Kira would die, or he would remain in headquarters, and Kira would kill the successors and the task force. That would lead to a miserable existence indeed, L thought. Of course, he wasn't too afraid of the future, at least where living after Light's death was concerned. If he lost the teen, then he had no doubt that he would lose the remaining fragments of his sanity, and follow close behind. He would be alone, yes, and without Light—but he wouldn't have the capacity to care. It was funny…he'd done everything in his power to save the one he loved, and now it had come down to this. L was barely hanging onto the tiny scraps of his own mind that he still had control over, and as time passed, those scraps were only getting smaller, fewer in number. Someday soon he would snap—if he hadn't snapped already.

No, no, no…there wasn't time for him to think of such things—he had to find a way to escape!

…How could he escape?

Oh…right…there was no way.

L let out a pitiful whimper, mustering the strength to roll onto his front, burying his head in the pillows. What the hell was he supposed to do?

Well, that was the question, wasn't it? What was he supposed to do?

Hah…

At the moment, it appeared that all he could do was wait.

†††

There were two days until New Year's Eve.

No one was in the investigation room. No one was seated in the cold chairs beside the darkened computers, no one was turning their ear towards the clock on the wall that slowly ticked down the hours, the minutes, the seconds until the New Year. The task force had been sent home. There was nothing they could do, after all, and they needed the rest if they intended to take on Kira and Beyond.

The successors had holed themselves up in their room, the lights off and the curtains drawn. The only light in the room emitted from the open laptops and Matt's handheld gaming system, which hung unused in one listless hand. None of them had spoken yet that day. They all remained silent, each lost in their own world.

Near spent his time imagining the world after Light was gone, imagining L's slow recovery. He imagined the day that L would work on cases and put criminals away without so much as a thought about Light Yagami.

Mello thought bitterly of Beyond's death, and silently dreaded facing L after Light was gone. He wasn't an idiot, he knew that snapping at L in the infirmary had been a mistake. He knew that he'd just pushed the detective further towards the edge, and that taking out his anger on the one he admired so greatly was wrong. But it wasn't as if he could just go back in time and stop this mess from ever happening—the damage was done, and now he had to live with the consequences. And, as unfortunate as it was, said consequences led right back to a practically comatose detective, curled on one side in the infirmary, refusing to speak. Mello regretted his actions, yes. He regretted most things these days, he realized dismally. He regretted letting L protect Light, even though it was painfully clear that it would only end in tears. He regretted allowing Kira to get his hands on Matt that first time in the investigation room. He regretted being unable to stop the murderer as he raised a gun to Matt's head and pulled the trigger—even if Kira had failed, and Matt was still alive, it didn't matter—he'd still allowed his lover's life to be threatened, and that was more than enough reason to regret that day's events. He regretted allowing Matt to slip right out from under him, regretted not noticing as he chased after L like a lost puppy. And finally, ultimately, he regretted Light's death. It hadn't happened yet—or maybe it had—but either way, he regretted it. He didn't like Light, didn't care about him in the least. But Matt liked him, and L loved him. That was enough for Mello, at least, to feel at the very least a shred of guilt and remorse for letting the kid die. It was terribly tragic, and he had a dull, aching feeling in his chest that told him that he wasn't nearly as unaffected as he wished himself to be. Yes…he regretted Light's death. But not nearly enough to change his course of action. This, he told himself, casting an uneasy glance at Matt, who was slouched over on the bed, is the only way. And when he still felt those prickles of unease, he thought it again. This is the only way. The only way.

Across the room, while Near brooded and Mello pondered, Matt's eyes watered beneath his goggles as he imagined the world after the next day. He found himself quite lucky that the goggles shielded his overly shiny eyes from the prying gazes of the other successors—he didn't want to have another conversation with Mello over the necessity of Light's death. Of Kira's death. He didn't think he'd be able to sit through another one of Mello's little fits over the subject. He wasn't an idiot, though. He wasn't the best at reading people, but he'd known Mello intimately for quite a large portion of his life, and he of all people was able to tell when the blonde was lying. Or rather, not quite lying—but hiding away emotional turmoil. He was saddened, Matt knew, over the fact that they were being forced to end the life of the one L loved so dearly. But despite that sadness that he tried so hard to hide, he would do nothing to change the plan. He was thinking much like the old version of L, it seemed, in the fact that he was putting emotions behind duty. How cold.

But…then again…Matt knew that he, as well, was putting duty before the deep, stabbing pain he felt in his chest. Of course, some of that pain could be attributed to the checkerboard Beyond had created on his chest. But the rest of it led straight back to Light. He didn't want to go through with this, he really didn't. He'd done everything, tried anything, to save the possessed teen. But now his attempts were in vain, and Light would be killed no matter what. And after it was over… L would be a mess. He'd been a mess since Light's transformation into Kira—no, actually, it had started well before that, well before the successors were called in to help. L's downfall had begun the very moment he laid eyes on Light Yagami, from the instant he dared to show his face to the task force. And after that, L had just kept spiraling and spiraling, wings ablaze as he fell from heaven. And soon that fall would be complete. Light would die, and L would hit the ground. After that, it would just be a matter of helping him recover enough to fly once again. Near thought that the recovery would be moderately swift, despite L's current condition, but…Matt wasn't so sure. He wasn't so optimistic as to think that L would make a speedy recovery after the death of his first—and quite possibly only—love. It could take weeks, months, years, or L may just never recover at all.

That was Matt's biggest fear. Oh, he feared many things as of late—he feared that something would go wrong when they confronted Kira, he feared that Mello would be killed, he feared that Beyond would get his hands on him again, he feared that Beyond would get his hands on Mello again, he feared that Kira would kill them all and go on to become the god of the new world…the list went on. But all of those fears paled in comparison to one blaring, terrifying fear—that the successors would succeed in killing Kira, and L would never recover. That was his ultimate phobia. He feared that L would never be able to function the way he once had. He feared the responsibility of breaking L beyond the point of repair. Of course, he knew that Mello and Near also feared such a thing—but they were confident that with time, L would return to his former self. Near in particular hoped that eventually, L wouldn't spare so much as a thought for the being that had been known as Light Yagami. Once again, Matt wasn't so optimistic. He was well aware that even if they won, even if Kira was killed, there was a good chance that L would never be the same. Of course, there was also a possibility after the change in his normally static character, he would still be able to function as L once again. But with that possibility also came the chance that the change in L would forever be negative, and he would retreat within himself permanently.

It was horrifying to think about, really. It was horrifying, and Matt was horrified by it.

A loud beep suddenly echoed around the silent room, and all in attendance jumped.

Oh…Matt's eyes fell upon the alarm clock in the corner. It was a rather irritating thing—it beeped once every hour, on the hour. It appeared that it was currently two in the afternoon…their time was slowly ticking away. But it made no difference. There was nothing left to do but wait, anyways. Nothing left. One hour, two hours, three…what difference did it make? Matt could count the hours, the minutes, the seconds…but it would all lead to the same place, eventually. He'd been told once, by someone whose face he'd long since forgotten, that all roads led to the same place. There was no escaping fate.

Well…

Matt stifled a laugh—he really didn't need the other successors thinking he'd gone crazy—at that particular insight. So, there was no escaping fate, huh? No matter what he did, no matter how hard he fought, he'd just be dragged, kicking and screaming, to his final destination?

Well then—he supposed he'd just have to wait, wait more, and then wait even more, to see where his fate was leading him.

†††

There was one day until New Year's Eve.

There was one day until New Year's Eve, and everything was silent. The task force were back in their seats, but it was more of a formality than anything else—the successors had told them time and time again, that they didn't need to be there, but they wouldn't listen. One day off was enough, they said, and everyone seemed in agreement that they weren't able to relax during their time off anyways. Not with the end so near, not with the termination of the Kira case brushing their fingertips. It was almost within reach…almost…

But it wasn't, not just yet—and so the task force sat silently in their chairs, unmoving, unspeaking. They did nothing but stare blankly at darkened computer monitors, each lost in their own thoughts of the world they would soon be forced to return to. And while they sat, completely inert, the successors did little more than stare at the ground, each breathing shakily, unsteadily—Matt for fear of what would happen the following day, Mello for fear of putting his lover in danger yet again, and Near for the anticipation of putting an end to Kira and restoring L to normal. They were all locked in place, like actors standing in a paused frame of their movie, and none of them moved so much as their eyes.

Time ticked by.

One hour, two hours, three…they counted the days, the hours, the minutes…and soon they would be counting the seconds.

It was a waiting game, and none of them wanted to play.

†††

There were twenty-four hours until the New Year.

In twenty-four hours, the new moon would appear in the sky as a faint outline, and Kira's plan would be carried out. He would perform the ritual, he would become a shinigami—and Light would die.

Of course, the successors and the task force didn't believe that the ritual was possible. They were walking in blind, L knew, to the big picture, and he wouldn't be surprised at all if it led to their undoing. They were going in without the necessary information to put an end to Kira once and for all. How could they be so stupid? They were so convinced that they were going to win…but would they be able to kill Kira before he became a god? They didn't know about the ritual, and so once it started taking place, they would have no idea just what Kira was attempting to do—and if they stopped for even a moment, hesitated to figure out what was going on, then Kira would have already won. They would have lost their opportunity to shoot him, and they would be slaughtered like animals. Kira was taking no chances, after all—or maybe he was. After all, he'd given L the bullet back—but then again, it was likely that he'd only done it because he'd known, as L had not, that the successors would think he was crazy, and use his insanity as a pretense for locking him away during the final confrontation. Kira had given L false hope, it seemed. He had everything planned out—and of course he did; since when was Kira the type to leave anything up to blind luck? He knew, had to have known, that the road would end here. He had to have been certain that L's heavy footsteps would lead him straight to his own imprisonment.

But maybe, just maybe, it hadn't had to be this way—maybe L could have convinced the successors if he just worded his plea differently, if he provided some sort of proof, if…

His thoughts trailed off into nothingness, trailed off because he knew that he was wrong. Nothing he could have done or said would have made the successors listen. And the worst part was, there was evidence. There was ample evidence proving the existence of shinigami, of the Shinigami King, of the shinigami realm, of the power of burning the Death Note…but L hadn't been able to get his hands on said evidence. Rem, the only person—shinigami—who had been willing to speak of the Shinigami King and the shinigami realm, was far, far away, helping Kira per the request of the King. And as was such, L had absolutely no way to prove that what he was saying was not, in fact, the product of insanity. He had no way to prove that he was telling the truth—and as a result, the successors were going to lock him up. He wouldn't be with Light when he died. And that was something definite—if L wasn't there with the bullet, then Light would die. Of course, if L was there with the bullet, there was no guarantee that Light wouldn't die—but still, considering the circumstances, L thought that he'd much rather take his chances. But, also considering the circumstances, it seemed that L wasn't going to have the opportunity to take said chances. The successors were dead set on their course of action. Why did they insist upon killing Light? His precious Light…

The door's handle jiggled. L shot upright in bed, tearing himself from the depressed hole he'd made in his mind. His eyes locked on the door. The handle jiggled again. There was the sound of voices outside, and L wondered momentarily if the successors were going to attempt to cheer him up again. Matt and Mello had been in twice, and Watari had visited him once—but he'd very adamantly refused to speak. He knew he was acting childishly, that he should tell the successors just what he thought of their little plan, but he couldn't bring himself to meet their eyes, let alone meet their murmurings with words of his own. He thought, perhaps, that now he would be ready to speak to someone, so long as the person coming to see him was someone worthy of his time.

The door handle turned to one side, but no one pushed it open. The handle stayed stuck like that, as if the person on the other side of the door was debating whether or not going inside was a good idea. L frowned—that wasn't like any of the successors, and it certainly wasn't like Watari. Who could be coming to see him that was so indecisive about their wish to see him…?

For just a moment longer, the handle stayed twisted to one side. Then the door opened, and in the doorway stood the last person L expected to see.

"Chief Yagami, what are you doing here?"

The older man had slight bags under his eyes, no doubt caused by the stress of knowing his only son was possessed by a murderer. His glasses were slightly askew, his hair frizzy and out of place. He stayed in the doorway, unmoving, and stared at L through uncertain eyes. He seemed to be debating with himself, as he'd been while standing outside the door, about the intelligence of speaking to the man who had condemned his son to death.

"Did the successors not tell you that remaining here today is useless?" L asked. "Why are you still here, rather than at home resting?"

The man furrowed his brow even further, hand clenching on the doorknob. Then, slowly, painfully, he took one step into the room and closed the door. He stood stiffly just inside the doorway, clearly uncomfortable with the situation. "I needed to speak to you," came the gruff reply, after what appeared to be a lifetime of deliberation. "Before tomorrow."

"Ah, yes," L murmured, his expression crumpling painfully. "Doomsday. Armageddon. The big finale. The day your son will die."

Soichiro flinched, his head snapping to one side as if L's words had stricken him across the face. An awkward silence commenced, a silence that lasted so long that L began to wonder if Soichiro had really had a topic in mind when he came to speak with him.

"I'm sorry," L said, finally shattering the calm.

"Sorry?" Soichiro echoed.

"Yes. I am sorry for letting things go this far."

More silence.

"This is your fault."

"It is."

Silence.

"Chief Yagami," L said at last, "Did you come here just to reiterate the fact that this whole mess is my fault, or did you have another topic of conversation in mind?"

The man reached up and straightened his glasses. "I suppose I just wanted to see the man who condemned my son to death before I have to go off and carry out that condemnation," he said stiffly.

So he was mourning and needed comfort from someone who also cared for Light. L almost smiled at how poorly the man concealed his emotions. It must have been hard for him to come here—but as it stood, L was the only other person who had even a slight understanding of what he was going through. The man may not have liked it, but L did love Light—and that meant that he was the best person to speak with for his purposes. "You don't have to worry about Light blaming you," L offered softly, understanding more than anyone else the need for comfort. "He wants to die. He's wanted to die ever since Kira possessed him again. He thinks it's the only way to atone for his sins."

"So I'll be doing him a favor," Soichiro stated coldly.

"Yes."

Soichiro looked down bitterly, and L sensed that he still wasn't satisfied. And honestly, who would be? No parent should ever be forced to kill their child.

"Do you want to know something strange?" Soichiro asked at last, his voice uncharacteristically dull. Without waiting for a response, he went on. "I thought I wanted to kill him."

L frowned deeply, opening his mouth to inquire further, but Soichiro cut him off.

"When I learned that my son was Kira—or rather, that he was harboring him within his mind, I thought that I wanted to kill him. I never said anything to that effect, not at first, because I knew that what I was feeling was wrong. I knew that I shouldn't ever wish to kill my own flesh and blood, no matter what. And yet, I wanted him to suffer for what he'd done. I wanted him to pay for the evils he'd committed. I gladly agreed with Near's plan to kill him."

Ah, yes…that L was well aware of. He knew that the task force had agreed to go after Kira without mercy. He couldn't say he was surprised—after all Kira had done, putting an end to him seemed to be the best course of action. He supposed that his own pitiful condition via the teen's actions was just the final straw.

"And yet, after I agreed, I didn't feel content. It was as if the moment I gave in to Near's plan, I suddenly realized that I was wrong—I don't want to kill my son."

For a moment, L was almost convinced that Soichiro was going to help him. But then he spoke again, and all of L's hopes immediately vanished.

"But it doesn't matter now, I suppose—I've taken my side, and I'm going to see it through to the end. I'm just a bit taken aback, you understand. It's logical, I know, for a father to protect his son. But in this case, after everything he's done…well…" he smiled, but there was no humor or happiness behind the gesture. "…Perhaps I've lost a bit of my sense of justice."

There was a cold pit settling in L's stomach. "So what if you have? In what world does justice lead to the destruction of an innocent teenager?"

"My son is not innocent."

"But he is. You just can't see it."

More silence. L knew that no matter what he said, Soichiro would not understand just how separate Light and Kira were. He would have had to see it for himself to truly understand—and that was never going to happen.

Soichiro shifted awkwardly, edging minutely towards the door. He clearly felt inclined to leave, seeming to have come to the conclusion that visiting L was a bad idea.

"Wait," L instructed in a dull tone, not wanting him to leave. There was one last elephant in the room—and it seemed to be putting its full weight on L's chest.

Soichiro stopped his steady retreat, but made no gesture or sound to indicate that he wished to be there.

"Chief Yagami…" L murmured, searching his thoughts deeply. He didn't want to discuss this, didn't want to bring it up—but if Light was going to die that evening, then he didn't want things to end like this between his lover's father and himself. He had to do something. He had to say something. "I thought about what you said," L muttered at last, refusing to meet Soichiro's gaze. "About me not really loving Light, but being selfish and treating him like a possession."

Light's father was watching him with cautious eyes, and L became acutely aware that if he angered this man, he wouldn't hesitate to bring harm to him. The fact that he was the man Light had fallen for wasn't going to protect him. "And?" Soichiro demanded. "Did you reach a conclusion?"

Apologizing was not L's forte. Neither was admitting he was wrong, or letting others know that he felt anything other than disinterest—although, admittedly, that last one had become less and less true over the past couple of months. But still, he had to say this. Soichiro's father needed to hear it, and L needed to say it. He drew a deep breath, steeling himself. "You're right," he said softly. A flicker of surprise crossed Soichiro's face at the admission. "I haven't been very good to Light. I didn't do what was best for him. I could have ended this, ended his pain, but my selfishness allowed it to continue, and now here we are. I must thank you for bringing my own selfishness to my attention, Chief Yagami." And yet, the funny thing was, if he could do it all over again, L knew that he would be just as selfish the second time around. He wouldn't kill Light before Kira could take over, no matter what.

Soichiro looked slightly concerned, as if he feared the direction the conversation was taking.

"I really do love him," L went on. There was an uncomfortable heat behind his eyes. "I love him dearly, and I want to be with him when he dies. The fact that he'll die alone, scared, cowering in the back of his own mind… it terrifies me. I wish that I could be with him. I wish that I could hold his hand, comfort him before he slips away from me."

Soichiro's expression twisted sourly, and the creases in his forehead grew even more pronounced as he drew his brows closer together. "If you hadn't deluded yourself into thinking you possess a magical bullet, the maybe you'd get your wish," he growled. "But once again, it's your fault that you're not going to be there for my son!"

L was taken aback. Soichiro was mad about that? He was mad about L not being there at the time of Light's death? "Hold on," L said, dumbfounded. "Is that seriously what you're mad about? You want me to be there for him? I thought you disapproved of us!"

The man turned his head away. "I am upset," he growled in a low tone, "that once again your actions have barred you from helping my son."

He'd evaded the question. "I thought that you disapproved of my relationship with your son," he repeated. He'd been functioning under the assumption, for all these weeks, that Soichiro hated him. Everything he'd said, everything he'd done, had all led him to believe that according to Soichiro, he was an unwelcome part of Light's life.

The man sighed heavily. "If you'd been paying attention, then you'd know that from the very beginning that I yelled at you due to your selfishness and inability to do what was best for my son," he responded. "Not once did I say that it was you I disapproved of—just your actions, and the way you've treated Light."

L's mouth was hanging open unintelligently, but he couldn't quite bring himself to close it. Light's father…approved of him? Or at least, he could have approved of him, had the circumstances been different? Was it possible?

Seemingly unaware of L's surprise, Soichiro went on. "I can't say that I'm pleased about the fact that Light has attached himself to such an unstable person as yourself. But if he has found happiness in you, I will try not to voice my displeasure in such a way that discourages him. I have been cruel to you not because of your gender, but because of the way you treated Light. Had you considered what was best for him rather than what was best for yourself, I would have been able to accept, at least on some level, what existed between you and my son."

L had convinced himself long ago that he shouldn't care about Soichiro's opinion about this particular matter, but hearing his approval (or rather, approval of the general idea of something existing between L and Light) made his chest swell with happiness. In a different world, it made him content to know that their relationship would have remained moderately unchallenged by Light's family. "Thank you," he managed softly. "I know that I haven't been good to Light. If I could change how I treated him, I would. I swear it." Yes, he would change how he'd treated him—he would have taken him to the hospital earlier, for example—but he knew that he never could have killed him, like Soichiro so desired.

"I know you would," came the weary response. Soichiro approached L's bed and reached a hand out to ruffle his hair in an almost fatherly gesture. The man removed his hand and headed for the door a moment later, his entire form tense, as if he'd just done something very bad. "Thank you for speaking with me," he said stiffly. "I should leave now. I need to spend time with my family. This is the last night that my wife and I will have son, you understand. I don't want to waste it."

There was the sound of footsteps as Soichiro walked away. Then the door closed behind him, and L was left back where he started, staring up at the ceiling and waiting for the evening to come.

†††

There were two and a half hours until midnight on New Year's Eve.

Things were eerily still as the task force dressed themselves in uniforms akin to riot gear. They were in the same room in which L had retrieved his safety equipment, each of them gearing up to take down Kira. The mood was somber, the air heavy with the reality of the situation. By the end of today, should fate be in their favor, Light Yagami would be dead. Kira would be dead. And Beyond wouldn't be far behind.

Matt turned the index card Kira had left him over and over in his hands. He was leaning against the far wall, uniform already on. He had forsaken the helmet in favor of his goggles. New Year's Eve, 11:00, the burial site of the Death Note. That was the message Kira had left them. The place where Kira had buried the Death Note… Light had told them about the location. It was in the small forest resting an hour's drive from the headquarters. In the dead center of that forest, under the endlessly reaching oaks, there rested a patch of earth that had been disturbed. That was where Kira planned to carry out his plan.

His plan… the successors had yet to puzzle out what that plan was. L had told them that Kira planned to become a shinigami and thus kill Light—but that was impossible, so what was he planning? Presumably Kira and Beyond wished to wipe out the last of the people that opposed them. After all, the police had long since withdrawn their support from the task force. Once the task force and the successors were gone, nothing could in Kira's way. He would become the god of the new world—figuratively, of course.

I can't believe this is the end.

No one spoke aloud, but the same sentiment was shared by all in attendance. It had been months. Almost four months since this all began, and now it was finally coming to an end. One way or another, come tomorrow it would all be over.

The end.

The last members of the task force finished dressing and headed for the door. The last one out was Matt, pulled forward by an impatient Mello. It was currently 9:30, and they needed to leave. The drive to the forest would take one hour, and they would want some time to spare.

"I wish we didn't have to do this," Matt whispered as he walked beside Mello. The blonde shot him a sympathetic look.

"I know."

That was it. No comforting words were exchanged. Nothing more than cold reality. All their words had been used, all their emotions expended. There was nothing left.

The team left Watari in the monitoring room to watch L. If none of them returned and Kira won, Watari was to take L and flee Japan. If L attempted to break out of his room or cause trouble, the inventor would stop him. There was no way L was going to be allowed to follow them to the forest.

Near ushered the task force down to the elevator, then through the lobby and out the front door. It was dark out, the faint outline of the moon casting a dim glow over the earth. The streets were anything but empty. They were filled with laughing people walking towards the spot where the fireworks show would be held, where the countdown to the New Year would begin. The world was buzzing with life, but the air was filled with death. Soichiro sat behind the wheel of a van and the task force piled in. Near leaned his head against the window, the cold glass fogging up with every breath he took. It was cold out. Snow drifted from above, covering the world in a gentle white powder. Beautiful. Deadly.

Matt leaned against Mello, his whole body shaking despite the rather warm protective gear. The heat was on full blast, and even that couldn't keep out the chill. Matsuda sat rather uncomfortably in the row of seats behind the successors, shifting restlessly and trying to do anything but gaze at the other people in the van. Mogi and Aizawa sat in the next row up on opposite sides of the van, both gazing out their respective windows at the celebration taking place in the streets. Soft pops were heard through the glass as someone far away lit off some firecrackers. Cheers followed close behind, the excited cheers of children as small fireworks crackled in the streets around them.

Soichiro sat alone in the front seat, eyes locked on the road determinedly. If he dared to look back then he would be hit with the irresistible desire to turn around and go back to the headquarters. He wanted to run away from his son. But, he reminded himself, a large part of the blame for this was placed on him for teaching his son such a twisted view of justice. His teachings had sired Kira. This was the only way to set things right. So he kept his gaze fixed ahead of him and suffered through the suffocating silence. For his son, he would do this.

His mind drifted back to his conversation with L. He remembered the thing—or rather, two things he had slipped under the detective's pillow while he ruffled his hair. He wondered if the detective had figured out just what he'd given him… Soichiro shook his head sharply to clear the memory. His fingers clutched the steering wheel tighter. He would not question his decision. He knew that he might have made a huge mistake that would lead to his death, to L's death. But he couldn't quite bring himself to regret it. He supposed that it didn't matter now, though.

For by the end of the night, this whole disaster would be over.

†††

Little more than an hour later, the task force stood in a forest. The forest was barely light enough to see with the moon absent from the sky, the endlessly tall oak trees reaching up into the night sky until their tops became nothing but blurry leaves and branches sewn together to form a canopy above their heads.

The task force and the successors moved through the forest on their toes, each member holding their gun aloft and shuffling along carefully just in case Kira and Beyond had a trap waiting for them. As they neared the spot where the Death Note had been buried, each felt more and more tense at the lack of action. Tension clouded the air.

And then it was there.

A clearing in the forest, slightly larger than the size of two living rooms sewn together, with one great oak tree dead in the center. Beneath the tree was a small spot of earth in which the grass had been upturned. Fresh earth covered the area. The task force slowly moved into the clearing, their backs facing each other in a rough, scattered circle.

"What time is it?" Matt asked softly, his gun leveled at the darkness beyond the clearing.

Soichiro raised one wrist to eye level, checking his watch. "It's 10:56," he said. "Four minutes shy of the designated time."

"Surely he's already here," Near murmured. He raised his voice. "Kira, Beyond! Show yourselves!"

Silence. Minutes passed.

"Time?" Near requested.

"10:59," Soichiro reported tensely.

Another minute passed.

And then it was 11:00 exactly. And just on cue, a sudden noise filled the air. But it wasn't the sound of bushes rustling or footsteps growing nearer. It was the sound of radio static, echoing eerily around the empty clearing. Immediately the task force whipped around to face the oak. The sound emanated from the tall grass growing around the base of the tree. A dull glow led Near to lean and grab the object making the white noise.

"…It's a transmitter," he said at last. Near held it up for the task force to see. "I wonder why a transmitter is sitting here where the Death Note was buried…" The expression on his face gave away the fact that he was not at all curious. He knew.

Suddenly the transmitter came to life. A small green light blipped constantly, and the sound of static faded to a dull roar.

"Near." A voice broke through the white noise. "Can you hear me?"

"Kira, you coward!" snarled Mello. "Using a transmitter to speak to us instead of showing us your face? Are you that afraid of death?"

Kira chuckled. "Wanting to preserve my life isn't cowardice," he purred smoothly. "I know that you're planning to shoot me on sight. I would be foolish to show up in front of you to make my little speech."

"What's your plan?" Near demanded. "Why did you call us here if you're not even going to show up?" Damn it, this was bad…Near had come here under the assumption that Kira's pride wouldn't allow him to be absent from the scene of his greatest crime. He'd assumed that he'd be waiting in the clearing, ready to make some grand speech, and all they'd have to do was shoot him. But now…

"Oh, I'll be there," Kira promised. "After you've been taken care of."

"Taken care of?" Matsuda echoed nervously. "What do you mean by that, exactly?"

There was a moment of silence. Then Kira snapped, "Where is L?"

He was avoiding the question.

"Like we'd tell you," Mello snarled.

"So he's not here," Kira concluded. He almost sounded disappointed. "You want to protect him, I assume. After all, I left him quite injured after our last encounter."

"Shut it, bastard!" Mello growled. "Answer the question!"

"Hmm…" Kira trailed. "I'd much rather show you. Rem, would you do the honors?"

There was an extended moment of silence. Then the shadows at the edge of the clearing rippled, and suddenly a massive creature was standing before them.

Snow-white skin. Purple hair. Dull pink lips. One, yellow eye, staring from behind a bandage. Rem.

Near had never seen the creature before, but Light's description of her was flawless. This was the shinigami that was obsessed with Misa Amane.

Soichiro, Matsuda, and Mogi all gasped. Though L had made them touch the Death Note, they had never seen Rem in person. "M-monster!" Soichiro stuttered.

"Not a monster," Kira corrected. "A shinigami."

Rem came closer in slow motion, and Near realized too late what her intentions were. "Shoot it!" he ordered in vain.

Bullets peppered her white skin, but none sank beneath. The forest floor shone with the bits of steel that had failed to kill their target. What remained of the moonlight made them glitter and dance, spotting the clearing with tiny gemstones. Deadly beauty.

"You see," Kira explained, "normally shinigami can't harm humans with their bare hands. The breaking of that rule is severe enough to earn them the judgment of the Shinigami King himself. But Rem will die soon enough, so taking you with her makes little difference."

Near blanched. Shinigami king? Was Kira just as delusional as L? Or…

Near had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, a sinking feeling that could be traced back to a raven-haired detective held captive in the infirmary with a magic bullet.

Near's thoughts were torn away from L as the shinigami drifted closer, a displeased look on her face. Clearly she didn't want to do this; her single yellow eye glittered with reluctance—but then, why was she still advancing? What force was keeping her moving? She hated Kira, Near knew, so why was she doing this?

Bullets continued to spew from the muzzles of the guns wielded by the task force, but it was more than useless in the face of a supernatural being.

The shinigami struck.

One of its massive arms swung down and knocked Mogi off his feet; the other swooped around and grabbed him by the ankle, slamming him against the great oak in the center of the clearing. There was a nasty crack as his head struck the tree. Then a stain of red, dripping down the grooves in the trunk. Then Mogi slid to the ground, eyes shut. The task force stood in stunned silence, too horrified to move. How could they fight something that couldn't be killed with their weapons?

The shinigami whirled around and delivered a harsh blow to the side of Matsuda's head before he had a chance to move. He hit the ground in seconds.

Soichiro and the successors had snapped out of it now. When the creature took a swing at Soichiro he threw himself to the side, landing harshly one his shoulder. He winced, clearly displeased that he was having to move in this way. He was an older man, after all, and he was no doubt feeling this more than anyone else. Rem attempted a jerky kick, clearly unfamiliar with moving herself in an aggressive manor. Soichiro rolled out of the way with a groan, coming to a halt beside the oak tree. For just a single moment it appeared that he was safe—but then the shinigami took a swipe at him, and his eyes glued themselves shut.

"Hey!" Mello yelled, drawing Rem's attention away from the downed chief. The shinigami whipped around, her one yellow eye locking on the obnoxious blonde successor. Mello's eyes darted past the shinigami to Matt, who had run to stand beside Soichiro the instant the shinigami turned her back. "Now!" Mello yelled.

Matt took a flying leap at Rem, barely feeling the burn of his injuries as he managed to catch one hand around her neck and pull himself up. He pressed his gun to the side of her head and pulled the trigger. When that spot didn't work he moved to another, then another, searching for a weak point.

Rem frowned. All it took was one shake of her shoulders and Matt was thrown to the ground. His body was already weak from his healing injuries, and the impact was all it took to jar his whole body painfully. He struggled to get to his feet, but the aches and pains resonating throughout his form stopped him. For a heartbeat he just laid there, groaning with every pulse of pain. Then Rem knocked him back into the oak tree with one nudge of her massive foot, and it was over. His eyes slipped closed as he fell into unconsciousness.

"Matt!" Mello choked, praying his lover was still alive. His eyes smoldered with fury as he stared down the shinigami. "You'll pay for that, you bitch!"

Rem didn't appear to hear him. She was too focused on her mission to subdue all the members of the task force. There were two left. Mello and Near.

Then Rem swiped one of her hands downward, and a harsh blow to the back of the head was all it took for two to be reduced to one.

Near backed himself against the oak tree, the helmet that came with the riot gear bumping uncomfortably against the hard wood. Never had he felt so foolish. Never had he miscalculated so severely. How had he made such a severe mistake? All this, his whole plan, had been based on Kira's unmistakable pride. It wasn't like him to not attend the scene of his greatest victory, his perfect crime. And to send Rem instead… Near whirled to one side to avoid Rem's attempt at knocking him out. Kira had said that Rem was going to die soon anyways, and that was why she could afford to hurt humans. What had he meant by that? How did one kill a shinigami? Near remembered Light mentioning something about it, but now it was all a blur.

Another blow scored the tree with several deep marks.

Near found himself missing L. He wished that he were there, even if he was completely delusional.

It occurred to Near that he might not have been so delusional. He had passed off L's ramblings as the words of someone stricken with heartache. But the fact that both Kira and L had mentioned this "Shinigami King" couldn't be ignored. Of course, Near still doubted the existence of magic bullets, but now it didn't seem so inconceivable that something of the sort could exist…

Near hoped that he hadn't locked his one hope for victory in the infirmary back at headquarters.

Rem raised a hand.

Near threw himself to one side.

Then he felt a piercing pain in his head, and his legs suddenly stopped functioning. His world was fading around him, fading at an alarming rate, but not fast enough to stop him from seeing a red-haired, red-eyed teen emerging from the shadows.

"Kira!" Near managed, but it was so weak that he doubted the teen could hear him.

Kira laughed, and that was it—Near's eyes slipped closed, and he gave himself over to unconsciousness.

†††

L stared up at the ceiling bitterly. His stomach was twisting with a horrible nervousness. It wasn't in his nature to do this, to lie in bed uselessly and wait for others to do his work for him. His fingers danced over his amulet. If only he had a gun, a way out of here, and transportation to the forest—the place where Kira had buried the Death Note before he went into confinement.

He'd lost count of how many times he'd put a number to every tile on the ceiling of the infirmary. It was all he could do to keep his mind off Light's death, and it was barely working. Every few tiles his mind would flit back to the fair-skinned teen he loved so much. His mind painted him in red, covered his face in spatters of warm blood, sprayed his life out over the forest floor.

He felt like he was going to be sick.

The worst part of it all was that he had the cure. He had the bullet that could save Light's life and end Kira's, and he was stuck counting tiles. Near thought he was crazy. Watari thought he was crazy.

At least Soichiro is moderately okay with me, he thought, rolling onto his stomach, his cheek pressed into the pillow. His eyes ached from remaining open so long. He hadn't realized he'd stopped blinking.

Soichiro… L still felt off about the conversation he'd had with him. He felt like he was missing something, something major. He sighed heavily. Maybe his mind was just over-analyzing things again. It wouldn't be the first time as of late. He pushed both arms beneath his pillows in a vain attempt to get comfortable.

He froze.

His fingers were brushing something smooth and cold. Metal. His fingers brushed over the length of the object. It came to what felt like a handle on one end, and extended for maybe six inches in the opposite direction. L's fingers closed solidly around the handle, and he knew immediately what he was holding.

He was holding a gun.

His mind raced. Who had left this? How hadn't he noticed?

His fingers traced something else. A piece of paper, folded up and resting beneath the gun. L left the gun where it lay and brought the paper up to his face, unfolding it carefully. It was a normal sheet of binder paper with a short message scrawled in familiar handwriting.

This is your second chance, L. You're not going to get a third. Save my son.

L stared at the writing in disbelief. So this was what Soichiro's visit had been about. He marveled at the fact that Soichiro had managed to slip the gun and message under the pillow without him noticing. He supposed that it had happened when Soichiro reached out to ruffle his hair. L had been practically delirious at the time, completely stunned that Soichiro was accepting him and completely heartbroken at the thought of losing Light. And of course, he was sleeping with two pillows, which meant that he hadn't felt the gun until he slipped his hands under the second one.

He wondered what would have happened had he not tried to get comfortable by reaching beneath the pillows. Light might have died because L was unobservant.

L forced himself to focus. Soichiro hadn't left a key to the door, probably because he thought L could think his way out of any situation. And of course, if L didn't have the brainpower to find his way out, then he really wouldn't be in any condition to fight Kira.

L thought fast. He was on the clock now—if Kira turned into a shinigami before L got to the forest, then the bullet wouldn't be good for anything. Light would die, and nothing would be able to pull him back. The detective rolled over and told the empty room, "I'm feeling a rather sharp pain in my chest. I would like my pain medication now, if you please."

A pause. Then, "I will be there at once, L." The speakers in the walls of the infirmary crackled with momentary static. L turned his face away from the cameras and smiled triumphantly. Watari, fearing that he would attempt suicide, had locked up the cabinets and put covers over the shelves that were unmovable without the correct code. Every time L requested medicine, Watari had to leave the surveillance room and come down to unlock the required pills. L threw himself face-down into the pillows and wrapped his fingers around the muzzle of the gun. He assessed the weight of it with curious fingers, swiftly formulating a plan to get out of the damned death trap the infirmary had become.

The door opened several minutes later, and the elderly inventor stood calmly in the doorway. "You requested pain medication, L?"

"Yes," the detective reiterated. "My ribs are hurting me."

Watari nodded shortly and moved to the cabinet, withdrawing a key from his pocket and inserting it into the lock. He opened the door and began rifling through the various pill bottles.

While he was busy, L silently pushed himself to his feet. His head spun for a heartbeat as he put his full weight on his legs for the first time in days. He clutched the gun in one hand and approached his guardian on light toes. He barely gave himself time to regret what he was about to do before he raised the gun, and with one, swift motion, struck Watari across the back of the head.

The inventor barely made a noise before he hit the ground.

L winced, approaching the inventor and prodding him gently with one foot. He didn't stir. "I'm sorry," he offered Watari's unconscious form. Of course, it was like talking to a corpse. He received no answer. So L simply pulled Watari onto one of the cots, turned, and exited the room.

He took the elevator down to the lowest floor and entered the parking garage. He'd originally protested it's construction, saying that he would never have a use for cars or this oversized place to park them. But now he was thankful. L yanked open the door of the sleek black sports car sitting nearest the elevator and stuck one leg inside. Then he paused, and on second thought abandoned that one in favor of the police car sitting next to it. He slipped into the drivers seat and latched the seatbelt into place. He grabbed the keys from the glove compartment and turned it on. A flick of a switch activated the sirens, and L grinned.

If he wanted to make it to Light in time, he would have to move fast. And this police car was going to help him do just that.

I edited this entire chapter with my five-month-old kitten, Loki, curled up on my chest. It was adorable, but I don't recommend it for work purposes. But that's beside the point; there are only a few chapters left! I'm so excited to post them, and I hope you're just as excited to read them! Finally, finally, this story is drawing to a close. I know it might not feel like it's been that long, but keep in mind that I've worked on this story on and off for over a year, so to finish it is a pretty big deal. As silly as it may be, it makes me feel like I've accomplished something.

Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and be sure to leave a review on the way out!