As Near walked into the kitchen, he found Mrs. Yagami already there. She beamed a welcome at him, one hand still stirring a pot on the stove.

"Don't worry," she said warmly. "You're not in my way."

"What are you doing?"

"Cooking dinner. I know you feed him, but I feel so useless sitting still, and I thought—perhaps he might be tired of American food."

"I don't mind." Near's eyes wandered over the scraps and utensils on the counter, and his fingers picked uneasily at his shirt. "For your family, I assume?"

"And for your team. I hoped we could all eat together, maybe. Get to know each other more."

Get Light to stop avoiding you, you mean. "You don't have to do that."

"It's no trouble. Do you like pork ramen?"

"Yes, but—"

"Then it's no trouble. Please, sit." With her free hand, she gestured to a chair. "I've been hoping to talk to you."

Warily, Near sits, tucking one knee up to his chest as usual. "I've been busy."

"I understand. I'm used to cooking for busy men." Her voice was gentle, almost teasing, but Near could hear a note of sadness in it, too. "This was Light's favorite."

"It still is. He's tried to make it once or twice."

"Tried to?"

"He's not a good cook."

Mrs. Yagami laughed. "He never was. I might be a bad mother to say it, but it was almost a relief to have one thing he needed my help with."

"I don't think you're a bad mother."

Before Mrs. Yagami could respond, Lidner walked through the door with Sayu's fussing baby in her arms. "Oh, there you are."

"Is something wrong?" Near asked.

"Sayu and Light are talking in her rooms. She asked me to take him to grandma for a little while to give them some space."

"I'm so sorry, but could you hold him a little longer? I'm almost done."

"She needs to go back to her post," said Near. "I trust your children, but someone needs to supervise Light."

Mrs. Yagami glanced at Near. "Then perhaps you could hold him?"

Near looked at the infant with alarm. "Me?"

"Just while I finish. I don't want to burn him. Is that all right?"

Near opened his mouth to refuse, but Lidner thrust the baby at him with a wink. "He'd be happy to, Mrs. Yagami. Anything to help."

Sometimes, I despise that woman. Near held the child at arm's length, staring at him with appalled fascination. Wiggling, his chubby fingers jammed into his mouth, the baby stared back in equal confusion. At least it's staying quiet. Mrs. Yagami glanced over at the pair of them, her cheeks creasing with amusement.

"You've never held a baby before, have you?"

"No. I don't see many children in my line of work. Not living ones, anyway." The baby kicked him in the thigh, and Near made a face. "I don't like them."

"Forgive me for saying so, but you're very blunt. Are you American?"

"Currently, yes." Though they all think I'm too blunt, too. "Why?"

"I'm curious. I assumed you must be L, but you seem much too young to have worked with my husband. Or my son, either, before…"

She trailed off, waiting for an answer. Gingerly, Near lowered the baby onto his knees. "The L who handled the case initially wasn't the L who arrested your son. You're correct."

"He died, then. Didn't he?"

One L did. "I'm sorry. Considering the nature of the case, I can't say anything more than that."

Mrs. Yagami stirred her pot, lost in silence. At any moment, Near expected, the drooling time bomb on his knees would start to wail, but he hadn't yet. He simply sat there, sucking his fingers, studying Near with eyes remarkably like Light's. For your sake, let's hope that's all you have in common. For both your sakes, probably.

"Do you have family here? In America?"

"No."

"That must be difficult."

"Not particularly. I'm an orphan. I haven't seen my relatives in years."

"Oh, I'm so sorry."

"I wasn't complaining. In many ways, it's convenient. If there's one thing your son taught me, it's that it's safer for people like me to be anonymous."

"Of course, of course. I didn't mean to pry."

"It's fine. You want to know what sort of person your son is living with. I understand." Near longed to tug his hair, to stand, to flee the conversation, but he had nowhere to put the baby down. Imagine having a mother who cared that much. Imagine having a mother at all. "I take my responsibility very seriously, Mrs. Yagami. He's safe here. I promise you that."

"I know. He trusts you. I can tell." She pressed her lips together, hesitating. "How…is he, really? He's never been fully honest with me, but now…"

How do I begin to answer this? Uneasy, Near squirmed in his seat. "I was hoping you could tell me. I've learned to read him sometimes, but I won't deny he's been—I don't know. Difficult."

"To you?"

"At first, yes. He didn't trust me. I gave him little reason to. The first time I asked him for help on a case, he spent every spare moment he had needling me, but he did everything I asked. I made mistakes on that case, and they cost us. Cost him, in particular. He never did. I put him in a cell for two years, all but alone, and he came out as sharp as ever. I resented him for that."

To his confusion, Mrs. Yagami smiled. "You sound like you admired him, too."

"I do now. Then, I just resented him. When I arrested him, I had every intention of leaving him to rot. Giving him his life was mercy enough, I thought—far more than his own victims ever got. I resented him for a long time."

"May I ask what changed your mind?"

London. Christmas. A night together in a shabby hotel, hearing him cry when he thought I was sleeping. "Time," Near said. "Familiarity. I won't pretend it hasn't been a struggle for him to take ownership of his mistakes, but since that first case, he's been trying. He's been part of my team for seven years now, and he hasn't failed me yet. He's a brilliant investigator, a talented Go player, enjoyable company most of the time, and probably the most stubborn man I've ever met. Which isn't always a good thing, least of all for himself, but it's kept him alive and focused. He wants to be a good man, and he's certainly trying. I'm not sure whether that's an achievable goal at this point, but the fact he's making the effort deserves respect."

A strange, unreadable expression came over Mrs. Yagami's face, and she turned to give Near her full attention. "It's funny," she said quietly. "For a moment there, you sounded almost like his father."

"How so?"

"He was so proud of Light. The case was wearing on him, anyone could see it. But whenever he came home, when it was just the two of us, all he could talk about was Light. What a brilliant investigator he was, how charismatic, dedicated, dependable…He couldn't give me any details, of course, but he promised that soon he would. Soon, soon—with him it was always soon. The case would be over, and he would rest, and he would tell me everything he and our brilliant son had done. But when it was finally over, there was no 'soon.' He never came home. And neither did Light—until now."

Guilt twisted deep in Near's stomach, and the baby on his lap began to fuss. Before he could start wailing, Mrs. Yagami set down her spoon and walked over to scoop him up. "Hush, now. You're fine, see? None of that."

"I should have made him talk to you sooner," said Near. "I should have let you know, at least."

"No, no. I'm not upset with you. You saved my son when no one else would, and then you gave him back to me. As far as I'm concerned, you're family."

Family. The word had a weight to it—of guilt, of love, of earnestness—that threatened to crush the air from Near's lungs. Like an unwanted hug from a Wammy's teacher. Like a surge of water pushing down a sunken car. I don't have a family. I don't have a mother. I don't need his.

"I appreciate the sentiment," Near said, but even to him, the words felt inadequate. Trying again, he added, "I'm honored."

"After so much time, he must feel the same way about you. Ms. Lidner told me you two spend a lot of time together."

Near nodded, relieved at the change in subject. "We meet regularly for Go—and sometimes for drinks. His determination to be good hasn't stopped him from cheating at it, but he still loses more than half of the time."

"You said you're living here with him?"

"Well, yes. It's more convenient for me to live here, and he doesn't really have a choice. His rooms are perfectly comfortable, though. Besides the security measures, they're not very different from yours."

"They're very nice rooms." Mrs. Yagami smiled, rocking the baby against her chest. "I'd love to see where he lives before I leave."

"You'll have to take that up with him. When I last talked to him about it, he insisted that he needed more time to clean."

"He's afraid of what I'll say to him, isn't he?"

"He'd rather die than admit it, but yes. I think he is."

"He doesn't have to be. You seem like a kind man, and I'm glad he's not alone. You have my blessing."

"Your—?" Understanding spilled over Near like a bucket of ice, and his breath snagged in horror. "Mrs. Yagami, what do you think our relationship is?"

"I don't mind. Really. Don't tell him that I said this, but he's always seemed a little distant around girls. Even with that fiancée of his, Amane, he never looked happy—just stiff and closed-off. If he hadn't just come back from the dead, perhaps I'd be more shocked, but…well, that doesn't matter now. He doesn't have to hide from me. As long as he's happy, so am I."

Light is going to kill me.

"He isn't hiding. Not about that. I don't know what Lidner told you, but he isn't—I'm not—" Near forced himself to catch his breath, tugging his hair hard enough to hurt. "I'm his warden, Mrs. Yagami. Not his peer. Given the circumstances of our relationship, it would be a violation of ethics to—" The word "breeding" sprang unwanted to the front of Near's mind, and his blood boiled beneath the surface of his cheeks. "I enjoy his company. I have rooms in the building. I sleep in those, not his. That's all."

"Oh, no." Mrs. Yagami's cheeks blazed as hot as Near's felt, and she looked at him with wide, mortified eyes. "I'm so very sorry. I didn't mean—"

"It's fine," Near said, too quickly. "It's fine. It's fine. No—no offense taken. It's fine."

He's going to hate me.

Again.

"Near?" Mrs. Yagami asked, her voice full of concern. "Are you all right?"

Near's back thumped against the chair back, and he suppressed the urge to squeal. Embarrassed, he nodded at her feet. "It's fine."

"I didn't mean to upset you. May I get you a glass of water? You've gone so pale."

I'm always pale. On the verge of panic, he shook his head and stood up. "It's fine. Excuse me."

She made no attempt to stop him, and he fled the kitchen without looking back. Once he was safely out of sight, he crouched against a wall and closed his eyes, rocking back and forth until the storm of hypersensation died down.

"Christ, Near. Are you all right?"

Lidner. "Fine," Near mumbled, fixing his eyes on the wall past her legs. "Where's Light?"

"Back in his rooms, but—"

"Good. Keep an eye on him. I'm going to sit here for a while."

"I think his sister just disowned him."

Near's head snapped up, the last of his post-shutdown torpor fading. "When?"

"Thirty minutes ago."

Damn it to hell. "And you left him alone?"

"He didn't leave me much choice. You told us not to go in without his permission, and he won't give it. Rester and Gevanni tried knocking, too. He won't even respond." Lidner shook her head. "I thought about sending his mother to try, but I think that might be worse."

"It would be. Go see if she needs help with dinner—or that baby, I guess. I'll try to talk to Light."

Lidner's lips thinned at the mention of the baby, but she nodded. "And if he won't talk to you?"

"Then I'll sit outside the doorway until he does. It worked for Mrs. Yagami. With any luck, the same trick will work for me." I promised I wouldn't barge in there. I promised him that. "Have Gevanni keep an eye on the monitors. I'll handle this."

"Light, it's me. May I come in?"

The only answer was a drawn-out silence, a discouraging, heavy thing. Near waited, then knocked again, more insistent.

"I just need an answer, Light. You can say no."

This time, the response was immediate. "Yes."

Near opened the door cautiously, like a zookeeper entering the tiger's cage. The door to Light's bedroom—formerly Roger's—stood ajar, and Near walked through it without a word. Where a vast collage of Yagami family photos had once hung, the wall was an unbroken stretch of white. Beneath it, Light sat cross-legged on the bed, his expression just as empty as the wall.

"You took down your photos," Near said.

"Observant as always." Light's voice exuded dejection, as heavy and dull as lead. "Were you watching on the monitors, or did Lidner send you?"

"Neither," Near lied. "Why now?"

"I told you I wanted to straighten up in here."

"I assumed that meant cleaning, not redecorating."

"You make it sound like I asked you for paint. I'm too damn old to be taping up photos on my walls like a teenager. There's no deeper thought behind it than that."

Liar. Near tugged his hair in annoyance, tempted to push further, but he knew there would be no point. Whatever his relationship with his family, he's always estranged himself from the truth. It's not as if I have much room to judge. "Your mother is making us ramen. In case you're tired of American food, she says."

Light's stone expression softened. "That's kind of her."

"She's a kind woman. Too kind, maybe."

"Is there such a thing?"

"Yes."

"Let me guess. She's been asking you questions?"

"Yes."

"If you'd bothered to talk to me before she got here, I could have warned you about that. Anytime Sayu or I brought a new friend home, she'd ply them with food and pry out their whole life story."

"Friends?"

"Friends, girlfriends, classmates. She doesn't mean any harm by it."

I know exactly what she means by it. Near picked at his shirt, hesitating. He's going to hear about it. Better to get it over with now. "She thought we were cohabiting."

Near braced himself for a mortified reaction, but he didn't get one. Light simply blinked, then shrugged, his voice casual. "And?"

"And?"

"What did you tell her?"

"That it would be a clear ethical violation, given the circumstances of our relationship."

Light's lips twitched upward. " 'The circumstances of our relationship?' "

"I used the word 'warden,' I think. I didn't have a pre-prepared answer, Light. The wording may not be exact."

"I hope it isn't. Otherwise, all my mother is going to hear in that sentence is the fact you never used the word 'no.' "

Oh. "The 'no' was clear from context."

"Was it, though? When it comes to ethical violations, your record isn't exactly spotless."

"I wasn't asking for criticism." Embarrassed, Near tugged his hair. "Just informing you."

"Sorry. I misunderstood." Light shook his head, faint amusement in his eyes. "It makes no real difference. If she'd rather pretend I'm staying here by choice, I don't mind."

Aren't you, though? Near's stomach clenched like a fist, and he pushed the thought aside. "You should talk to her."

"I have."

"You know what I mean."

"I will. This case is the priority. The sooner we solve it, the better."

"You have time to do both."

"They're a distraction, and I've disrupted their lives enough already. The least I can do is make it safe for them to go home. I'll have time to focus on them when the case is over."

"To hear your mother tell it," Near said quietly, "your father used to say much the same thing."

Light stiffens, his posture rigid as a day-old corpse. "Don't."

"I'm being objective, Light. I can't promise you'll have other chances to—"

"Don't." Kira's voice cut the air like a knife, and Near's advice dropped away unfinished. "You said it yourself: you're my warden. My family is my business, damn it. You may control who I can talk to, but you sure as hell can't force me to speak."

"I'm not telling you this as your warden."

"Aren't you? As someone mentioned, the circumstances of our relationship—"

"Offering you advice and taking advantage of you sexually are two very different things. You're fully aware of the difference." Near regretted the words the moment they left his mouth, the moment he saw Light's jaw clench. "That was poor phrasing."

"You don't say. First you blame me for my father's death, now you bring up London? Are you planning to actually cheer me up at some point, or will you be reminding me about the warehouse next?"

"I used your father as an example that sometimes people have less future than they plan on. I wasn't blaming you, Light. That wasn't my intention at all."

"I know exactly how much future I have: none. I've known that for almost a decade, but I'm—"

Light stopped himself and drew a breath, closing his eyes. A lead weight settled into Near's gut, cold and poisonous. "But you're still here."

Light nodded. "The first time you deigned to visit me in my cell, you warned me I'd never have anything of value to contribute besides helping you. Not anymore. I told myself you were just being an asshole, but—"

"I was."

"You were. You were also right. I know the work we're doing is meaningful, and I'm grateful for it. But to my family—I'm a burden on them, Nate. I can't be anything else."

"Your mother might disagree with that assessment."

"Sayu doesn't."

There it is. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"There's not much to talk about. She preferred it when I was dead, so I agreed to stay out of the way." Light looked up at the empty wall, his voice flat. "She asked me if I killed Dad."

"You didn't."

"Not directly."

"You didn't. You have more than enough deaths on your conscience, Light. Don't start claiming more." Hesitant, Near sat down on the edge of the bed. "How much did you tell her?"

"About what?"

"You. Your life since she last saw you. The things you've done."

"If any of that changed the fact that I'm Kira, you wouldn't keep me locked in this room. She's got a right to hate me, Nate. Begging for her pity wouldn't make either of us happier."

"I suppose not." Some small, selfish part of Near felt triumphant, but he forced that thought aside. He's not choosing me over them. He believes he has no choice. "I'm sorry."

"Yes, well. It could have gone worse." Aimlessly, Light waved his scarred hand in front of his face, as if to shoo Near's sympathy away. "I'll take my dinner in here, if that's all right. Finish cleaning. And I'd like to take another look at that timeline Lidner made, too. See if I can't turn up something to appease your ICPO friends."

"Your mother hoped we would have dinner as a group."

"And Sayu hopes that I won't. Julia's eating in her cell tonight. It won't hurt me to do the same."

"Your mother didn't invite Julia. She invited you."

"Once Sayu has a chance to talk to her, she'll understand why I'm not there. I'll make time to talk to her later, I promise. Right now, I need some time to lick my wounds."

You've had lots of practice at that. "Is there anything I can do?"

"Just bring me a copy of that timeline when you have the chance, and tell my mother I'm deeply grateful for the food. I haven't had decent ramen since Matsuda shot me."

"I'll tell her."

"Tell me it stops feeling like a kick in the gut."

Despite Light's efforts to sound casual, all Near could hear in his voice was loss. Solemnly, deliberately, Near nodded. "It stops."

"Good. Then that's all I need." With a sudden, impish smirk, Light's eyebrows rose. "Thank you, darling."

Near scoffed, warmth rising in his cheeks. "At least one of us has been talking to your mother."

"Then one of us probably shouldn't keep her waiting."

It should be you, Near thought, but he didn't have the heart to push. Accepting the dismissal, he slid off the bed and walked back out of the cell.