[L's tone is enough to make Mello flinch with his tea half-raised to his lips. He doesn't know if more severity to the man's voice would make things better or worse. Regardless of what the blonde has done — in L's name... no. In his own name. L was always an excuse wasn't he? — he fears he will be an eternal child before his ex-mentor who wants nothing to do with him at all.]
Doesn't seem like you want me to thrive.
[Because Mello can be a cold thing, too.]
Seems like you'd rather me disappear so you can carry on with Kira without judgment, yea. [After all, isn't this what it all comes down to?]
[T'ch.]
I'll leave it alone.
[No, he won't. L isn't the only detective at the table.]
On one condition. [Might as well take it where he can get it.] At least tell me why you didn't choose. [Finally, he takes a sip. The liquid is warm and acceptable; it's definitely leagues away from proper British tea.] You knew that case could've killed you. [And it did. Fuck, it did.] You had two successors lined up.
[Since they're being bold, and all.]
You left fucking kids to pick up the pieces. Destroyed all evidence. I almost murdered N because of you.
[No, he won't refer to Near as "Eli" while speaking in this context. The connection could be made by anyone with an open ear.]
[If Mello can be a cold thing, perhaps L would welcome a reprieve from the scorching, unrelenting heat. That's what he'd had, when Mello wasn't here, and so... there might be some bleak truth to what the younger man accuses him of. If he disappeared, it would certainly be simpler; if he vanished, the status quo L's come to covet could continue unimpeded and unquestioned.
It's an evil thing to wish for. L doesn't, actively; he doesn't believe he could, even now, even when Mello makes a point of mentioning what L hasn't.
So, he's offended. Predictably. It'll only be leverage if L allows it to be, and he does have no small measure of power here. He's reminded of it starkly as Mello names his terms, sets them between them on the table like the two cups of tea.]
You... want to know why I didn't choose.
[As if that could possibly ever be it. Mello, freshly arrived, would want to know, wouldn't he?]
Two reasons. The first was that I wasn't planning to die, the second was that the two of you weren't ready.
[Yes, he said "the two of you."]
The fact that you "almost murdered N" rather confirms that you remained unready for years to come.
[He shakes his head. To all of it. fucking liar is on the tip of his tongue, but Mello silences it with another sip of mediocre tea. Any case could be their last — they learned that from an age when it might have been too early for the reality to set in. Crime scene photos of mutilated bodies and blood spattered over walls as part of the curriculum; (never allow yourself to become directly involved in a case. Don't give them your name; don't show them your face.) Crimes that children their age wouldn't have otherwise thought were possible spoken of matter-of-factly as though they were learning maths or fucking Shakespeare — ]
[L broke every damn rule in the book.]
Planning and taking the possibility into account are two different things.
[Short. Accusatory.]
Once you showed your face, all bets were off. You should have chosen then. Should've made sure we were ready.
[But L didn't, and it wasn't due to pomposity, was it? No. It was pure, unbridled selfishness. Leave them in the hands of The House and its staff while he runs off and abandons them, leaves them to die afterwards.]
I never hated you, you know. [As he stares down into the liquid.] Because part of me always believed that you gave a shit, and he just bested you before you were ready.
L's dark eyes narrow. His tea sits untouched in front of him as he holds himself stiff and still.]
If it would have changed the outcome, and allowed you to survive by cooperating amicably with someone else? Yes, you should have. I wouldn't have cared; I died.
[He shakes his shaggy head, bitter, dismissive.]
Is that why you wanted to talk, truly? To hold me accountable for every life wasted in connection to my legacy? If so, you should know that my count could rival Kira's.
[L has a point: how many lives were sacrificed for Mello's 'cause'? (Whatever it might have been.) and how many more got caught in the crossfire without him even knowing they existed? He wanted to think they were more when it came to L, because Mello had always wanted to believe that L was better than him — One can't equate themselves with something Holy — and if he admits that L is just a man, well.]
[A measured exhale. No, that's not why he wanted to speak. He wanted to speak because he walked in here for fucking tea and one negative encounter and an accusation of something Mello doesn't even know the details of isn't enough to wipe something away that's carved into his bones. He'll have to scrub them clean, himself.]
[But this isn't the way.]
Mmno. [He admits, and L might notice his shoulders slacken a bit. Linden's response was nothing short of a reprimand, wasn't it? Mello: the eternal child — he doesn't want to believe that he will always back down before L, but.]
[That's exactly what he's doing, isn't it? He can't pretend to be ignorant towards where they — all of them — stood in L's peripheral. See that flick of his eyes towards the counter, the way his fingers grip the cup so tightly? That's the outward expression of Faith being crushed underfoot.]
[Of course, he isn't going to say all of that. No point to it.]
I just didn't want to leave things the way they were after that — [He hesitates.] — dream.
[The last time Mello was here, it had become a desperate mission for L to pull himself down from the pedestal the younger man worshiped at. The effigy wasn't flesh, and couldn't be, and the finicky and flawed detective in particular is not up to the task of maintaining that backbreaking illusion, in person, with regular and scrutinizing interaction.
This time, a different tack is required. One that's even colder and more distant. Mello will not be L's friend or Bonded; Mello will also not question that this is L, and actually listen to what the man tells him to do even if he hates it. As dubious as the reasons are, that's an outcome he desires.]
What do you want, Malakai.
[L sounds irritated, tired.]
Is it that you want to leave things differently, or that you don't want to leave...?
[Something twists in Mello's stomach so hard that he almost retches his tea. If he can read people, L's a goddamn psychic (and maybe he is.) Mello doesn't know the extent of his power. He'd been warned by his ex-idol that he is, indeed, a powerful witch.]
[But that tone. Oh, it's enough to crumble anyone, even someone as strong as the blonde who sits across from him. Mello feels too seen, and it's too much. There's no veil to hide behind, no other way for L to phrase what he just threw in his face.]
[The answer lies somewhere in-between.]
I don't want you to be a ghost to me.
[As honest as he can be. Mello doesn't think he can handle knowing that L is alive and well, and M won't be able to see him. What the fuck kind of shit is that? It's not like he's working a case worlds away. They're so close that they just happened to run into each other in the very same tea shop.]
[There might be a bit of accusation to his next question. Just a little.]
If I see you, am I supposed to just pretend otherwise?
[Please don't say yes. After all, L didn't throw Near away, did he? No. Quite the opposite.]
[L doesn't get any kind of kick out of being cruel this way. It doesn't make him happy and it doesn't give him satisfaction. But Mello's reaction really drives home the sobering fact that this is the approach needed. The mistake of vulnerability won't be repeated; becoming human in the other's eyes means becoming accessible, exploitable, and attackable, and at least this way, he commands his former successor's respect, or something like it.
It's a start.]
My life here is very different. If you think of me as the person I am now, and not the person I was, it's unlikely our paths would ever cross in a meaningful way, and unlikely that I would ever merit your attention.
[Mello, in the previous iteration, had once even stooped to calling him unattractive, to remind him of how unextraordinary he was without the grace afforded him by his title and their history.
He's learned, the hard way, that when he allows Mello to humanize him, dehumanization soon follows.]
[Mello takes in the other's words like rough waters running over high, thick rocks. He has his answer, as much as it insults and tears at him. The flat stare L receives in return should reveal as much, but the blonde is at a loss. What is he supposed to do? He's always been a dog at L's feet, and if his idol tells him to "stay," he's been trained to do just that.]
[Even if it goes against everything that Mello is.]
[But he does tip his head, throw an inquisitive look in L's direction.]
[You merit my attention, now.]
[But Mello won't say it, only curl gloved fingers against the edge of the table. L is tossing him and there isn't a fucking logical thing he can do about it without looking like an absolute head case. So he only gives a slow blink, purses his lips so hard that his teeth nearly hurt beneath.]
Whatever happened. [That he has no recollection of.]
I'm assuming "sorry" wouldn't make the grade, yea.
[L feels regret that throwing Mello away is the result of this, the natural conclusion and follow-through. As much as the younger man might hate it, it's necessary, bitter medicine. It'll be hard to swallow; it'll also go toward mending and healing a gaping, painful chasm.
He sighs shallowly at the question. Mello is offering an apology for something he doesn't remember; such an apology can't be worth much, but it's his own decision to sit on this information. It's his own desperate call to clutch control over something about this whole difficult situation.]
Does "sorry" ever make the grade? No, this...
[You carved that chasm, stroke by stroke. I enabled it, but you took, and took beyond what I could give, and--
He realizes that his hands are tight in his lap. His feet are on the floor and his shoulders curled forward; he tries, consciously, to unwind and untense.]
It'll take time. Time, and a trial period. Given evidence that things can be different this time, perhaps they can be.
[You fucking left us, I've no reason to redeem — ]
[But Mello stills, wraps his hands firmly around his cup even though on top of his own, the heat is nearly unbearable. L is giving him an out here, isn't he? In two ways: he can either assuage something he doesn't even remember, or throw the whole thing away. Let go of a past life. Move on. He knows in his soul that the other man would prefer the latter, but Mello's always been a selfish thing.]
It isn't my intention to hurt you.
[Not really.]
When I was a kid, yea —
[Pause. Blink. He's not a kid anymore. But he'll continue anyway.]
I thought you were immortal. [Never thought L would die so soon, at least. After all, L was only a few years older than Mello is, now.]
Thought I could be good enough to work beside you. I never wanted to go off on my own.
[An absolute lie, but it feels like truth as they sit across from each other with cups of tea being inevitable timers upon which this encounter will end. And after that? Who knows when or if they'll ever see each other again?]
[It's difficult to look directly at Mello, both for the fractured serrated memories that L can't blot out and the clear anguish the other man is in. L manages it, anyway, though he blinks more frequently, as if the shutter is closing before the camera refocuses on a difficult subject.
He nods. He knows; when Mello was a kid, he thought a lot of things. He believed in justice; it's closer and clearer in his past than some point when a younger version of L also believed.]
You're not on your own here. You have Eli, who grieved you when you left before, and needs you, now.
[He cups thin hands around his tea cup.]
He's your match; I'm just a man, and proof of that will only mount, the more time you spend with me.
[It'll make him either contemptible, or accessible. Both are the first step in a long and messy trainwreck; it's better to make it sound undesirable from the start.]
[And Mello... actually laughs. How rich. Both the idea of Near needing him and them being a 'match' are absurd. What they've agreed to is purely logical; the blonde doesn't expect it to go very well in the grand scheme of things.]
That right? [To everything, really. Mello stretches his neck, his legs, before going on.]
And exactly why do you think he "needs" me?
[Sip, stare. Near can handle himself; Mello knows that much. But for L to suggest such a thing.]
Is it because you bonding with Kira might've fucked with him as much as it has me?
[Just a thought. L doesn't need to worry; his ex-protege will be taking his leave, soon. He just needs to take his jabs where he can.]
[L expects any number of reactions; laughter, unfortunately, is one of the possible ones, even as it's not exactly desirable. He's dealt with mockery by either not caring or shutting it down swiftly; are either of those things appropriate in this situation, in the face of these questions and accusations?]
I don't have to defend my decisions to you.
[A simple statement, no inherent apology.]
I also don't have to defend them to Eli, although... if any aspect offends or disturbs him, I wouldn't be acutely aware. He doesn't wear such things on his sleeve.
[So L is suggesting that Mello is transparent. The off-handed accusation doesn't sit well, but M maintains his composure. Sips his tea. Attempts to ignore the hostility from one he would have once regarded as God, himself.]
[It's tearing up his stomach, really. But the blonde won't reveal that. L already holds a pre-conceived contempt — that much is clear — but it needs to be said — ]
I've already bonded with Eli. [Another sip. Could almost be taken as nervous.] And I have another potential Monster bond. [As his eyes narrow slightly.] Three monsters would weaken me beyond what I'd consider acceptable.
[A half-grin, almost teasing.] I need a Witch.
Suppose you're off the table?
[Definitely. Maybe not. Mello is attractive after all; he knows that much. But he already knows the answer. Besides, he doesn't think he could possibly deal with this level of animosity from a man he worshiped for most of his life. It stings too much.]
[L actually blinks. His expression is confused, disbelieving, put-off by the indecency and the audacity even in joking about it.]
You'd suppose correctly.
[Flint and ice. It's actually unthinkable; a joke like that only increases the tension rather than defusing it. If it's not a joke, well...
Mello isn't stupid. Just too brash and ambitious for anyone's good.]
It's for the best. Whether or not you can appreciate it as this juncture... you're better off with Eli, and the other monster, if the personality is a compatible one.
[For Mello to find such a person so quickly is a stroke of incredible luck. He'd do well, L thinks, not to let them go. Could it possibly be...?]
[Mello is out for power, which is why he requires his third to be a Witch. But apparently the last time he and L were bonded it didn't go so well, so — ]
[Would have M even agreed, had L agreed?]
[Maybe. His emotions have always gotten the best of him. He gives a small nod of understanding, downs the rest of his tea as though it's alcohol. Right now, he wishes it were. Because after this, if he sees Linden, he's to — ]
[What? Ignore him. Apparently.]
When you walk out of here, [Because, oh, it's going to have to be L who walks this time.] I won't see you again.
[He pinches his tongue between his teeth behind pressed lips.]
At least it's better to know, this time.
[Yeah, he'll rub it in. Because that's what Mello does.]
[As charged as this is, as fraught and complicated, L is grateful that some kind of understanding seems present. It's all he could have reasonably hoped for; more, even.]
Whether you choose to believe it... now, or ever... I fully believe it's your best chance at something like peace in this place.
[And his own, of course.]
I wish for that very much. If it only costs your bitterness, I'm glad to pay that price.
[Abrupt, with the cup raised to his lips. Mello takes a large sip, sets it back down on the wooden table. What he needs is closure. What he wants? Well. That's entirely something else.]
Do you think I found peace when you left the first time?
[When you died.]
You claim to know me from the last time I was here, of which I have no memory.
[No, is L's immediate, annoyed impulse. Stop trying to take from me; it's never enough.
Any criminal with no memory of their crimes, set to be punished for them, should know, or it's like punishing an oblivious dog or a child. Had Mello's crime been against anyone else, L would consider it a duty to tell him... but his refusal to see himself as a victim places that crime in an ambiguous territory that L can conquer intellectually, but not physically, only emotionally in ways that involve transferring the energy elsewhere.]
You didn't.
[Honest; it's the truth, and no one who met Mello would deny it.]
Our reunion and our Bond didn't give it to you. Nor did anything else that happened between us. It dug a hole, deeper, incessantly, until I thought you wanted to bury us both. That's not peace.
["Nor did anything else that happened between us."]
[There. Mello doesn't fucking need detective training to draw the meat of it all from that one statement, not when L had listed a myriad of things before it. It stills his hand, and God was always a cryptic thing, wasn't he? The light coming through the pane of a window to his right draws his attention for a moment, two. Beats of a heart have never been so palpable, aside from his last — ones struggling to keep him alive when the end was in sight and L — Linden — may as well have knocked the life from Mello's body with that one sentence.]
[The breath he takes does nothing to fill his lungs; the silence is so thick for a moment that he might as well be somewhere else, alone, where he didn't just hear what he knows he just heard.]
[And he remembers when he was almost fourteen, sneaking up on L in the kitchen like a wild, stupid thing while the detective slept in a place he'd deemed safe. Remembers being thrown on his back and all of the hurt that came with it — none of it physical — and it's with a stuttered inhale that he finally musters the courage (is it really courage if he has a knot in his stomach) to ask the obvious — ]
Did we fuck.
[It comes out as more of a demand than a question, but Mello's head is near-spinning from the anxiety of the possibility. Did he go that far? Did he tear L off of the cross that firmly? He can't — won't see it — and his eyes are the same as the fire in his veins when he poses the inquiry.]
[L realizes it's coming before it does. He wonders if he was mistaken, to invite it, if he did invite it. But Mello said it himself; it means that there's something in him that is capable, at least, of believing it, as incredulous as his tone might sound.
He reaches for his tea, cool enough to drink now. He brings it quickly to his mouth, sips, continues to hold it near his face.]
It's like I said before. You injured me in a physical altercation.
[He needs to be away from this, as soon as possible. There's a part of Mello that wants to dig deeper, a part that wants to run. But he's never really been one to run, has he? L's words echo in his ears as something far away, close as they are.]
[Really, the revelation makes him want to vomit. They were bonded — Mello had assumed that it was all for power (why not take power when it's readily available?) but for it to have gone that far — ]
L.
[Fuck Linden. Who's gonna hear them? Kira? Kira already knew. Had L's name to kill him in the first place.]
[And if there were ever a time that Mello was close to passing out from pure shock, it's now. He's gripping the edge of the table, eyes imploring.]
What —
[What did I do? But L won't tell him. He hasn't, so far. What's changed?]
[He clears his throat. Attempts to right himself. Did Mello go too far? Did he — ]
[No. No. It was consensual. He's not the type. Never has been.]
[That's all it was; a physical altercation. The nature of it shouldn't matter, even as L's eyes are cold, his posture stiff as though tensed for an attack.
He doesn't correct the name. Just raises his tea again, and when he sets it down, the contents, previously steaming, are frozen in a solid block.]
Yes; you do.
[No argument from the detective. He was never turning his back on this table, first.]
[Meanwhile, Mello's grip has left smouldering marks on the wood. He hasn't gained enough control over his power yet; it's so connected to his emotions that it threatens to burn the whole place down, right now.]
[He's a kid again: being thrown onto his back. And he hates it. The realization. The rejection. It shows in his expression like a painting. But Mello has grown, and he only huffs in response before pushing himself up, the chair scratching against the floor.]
[It's not a matter of win or loss, right now. He needs to fucking breathe.]
[L is — always was, always will be — stronger than him. And he just knocked Mello off of his fucking poise.]
Catch you around, [he mutters, but if what L is insinuating happened actually happened, he doesn't think that will be the case.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Doesn't seem like you want me to thrive.
[Because Mello can be a cold thing, too.]
Seems like you'd rather me disappear so you can carry on with Kira without judgment, yea. [After all, isn't this what it all comes down to?]
[T'ch.]
I'll leave it alone.
[No, he won't. L isn't the only detective at the table.]
On one condition. [Might as well take it where he can get it.] At least tell me why you didn't choose. [Finally, he takes a sip. The liquid is warm and acceptable; it's definitely leagues away from proper British tea.] You knew that case could've killed you. [And it did. Fuck, it did.] You had two successors lined up.
[Since they're being bold, and all.]
You left fucking kids to pick up the pieces. Destroyed all evidence. I almost murdered N because of you.
[No, he won't refer to Near as "Eli" while speaking in this context. The connection could be made by anyone with an open ear.]
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It's an evil thing to wish for. L doesn't, actively; he doesn't believe he could, even now, even when Mello makes a point of mentioning what L hasn't.
So, he's offended. Predictably. It'll only be leverage if L allows it to be, and he does have no small measure of power here. He's reminded of it starkly as Mello names his terms, sets them between them on the table like the two cups of tea.]
You... want to know why I didn't choose.
[As if that could possibly ever be it. Mello, freshly arrived, would want to know, wouldn't he?]
Two reasons. The first was that I wasn't planning to die, the second was that the two of you weren't ready.
[Yes, he said "the two of you."]
The fact that you "almost murdered N" rather confirms that you remained unready for years to come.
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[L broke every damn rule in the book.]
Planning and taking the possibility into account are two different things.
[Short. Accusatory.]
Once you showed your face, all bets were off. You should have chosen then. Should've made sure we were ready.
[But L didn't, and it wasn't due to pomposity, was it? No. It was pure, unbridled selfishness. Leave them in the hands of The House and its staff while he runs off and abandons them, leaves them to die afterwards.]
I never hated you, you know. [As he stares down into the liquid.] Because part of me always believed that you gave a shit, and he just bested you before you were ready.
[Now, Mello looks up, his expression grim.]
But I should have.
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L's dark eyes narrow. His tea sits untouched in front of him as he holds himself stiff and still.]
If it would have changed the outcome, and allowed you to survive by cooperating amicably with someone else? Yes, you should have. I wouldn't have cared; I died.
[He shakes his shaggy head, bitter, dismissive.]
Is that why you wanted to talk, truly? To hold me accountable for every life wasted in connection to my legacy? If so, you should know that my count could rival Kira's.
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[L has a point: how many lives were sacrificed for Mello's 'cause'? (Whatever it might have been.) and how many more got caught in the crossfire without him even knowing they existed? He wanted to think they were more when it came to L, because Mello had always wanted to believe that L was better than him — One can't equate themselves with something Holy — and if he admits that L is just a man, well.]
[A measured exhale. No, that's not why he wanted to speak. He wanted to speak because he walked in here for fucking tea and one negative encounter and an accusation of something Mello doesn't even know the details of isn't enough to wipe something away that's carved into his bones. He'll have to scrub them clean, himself.]
[But this isn't the way.]
Mmno. [He admits, and L might notice his shoulders slacken a bit. Linden's response was nothing short of a reprimand, wasn't it? Mello: the eternal child — he doesn't want to believe that he will always back down before L, but.]
[That's exactly what he's doing, isn't it? He can't pretend to be ignorant towards where they — all of them — stood in L's peripheral. See that flick of his eyes towards the counter, the way his fingers grip the cup so tightly? That's the outward expression of Faith being crushed underfoot.]
[Of course, he isn't going to say all of that. No point to it.]
I just didn't want to leave things the way they were after that — [He hesitates.] — dream.
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This time, a different tack is required. One that's even colder and more distant. Mello will not be L's friend or Bonded; Mello will also not question that this is L, and actually listen to what the man tells him to do even if he hates it. As dubious as the reasons are, that's an outcome he desires.]
What do you want, Malakai.
[L sounds irritated, tired.]
Is it that you want to leave things differently, or that you don't want to leave...?
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[But that tone. Oh, it's enough to crumble anyone, even someone as strong as the blonde who sits across from him. Mello feels too seen, and it's too much. There's no veil to hide behind, no other way for L to phrase what he just threw in his face.]
[The answer lies somewhere in-between.]
I don't want you to be a ghost to me.
[As honest as he can be. Mello doesn't think he can handle knowing that L is alive and well, and M won't be able to see him. What the fuck kind of shit is that? It's not like he's working a case worlds away. They're so close that they just happened to run into each other in the very same tea shop.]
[There might be a bit of accusation to his next question. Just a little.]
If I see you, am I supposed to just pretend otherwise?
[Please don't say yes. After all, L didn't throw Near away, did he? No. Quite the opposite.]
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It's a start.]
My life here is very different. If you think of me as the person I am now, and not the person I was, it's unlikely our paths would ever cross in a meaningful way, and unlikely that I would ever merit your attention.
[Mello, in the previous iteration, had once even stooped to calling him unattractive, to remind him of how unextraordinary he was without the grace afforded him by his title and their history.
He's learned, the hard way, that when he allows Mello to humanize him, dehumanization soon follows.]
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[Even if it goes against everything that Mello is.]
[But he does tip his head, throw an inquisitive look in L's direction.]
[You merit my attention, now.]
[But Mello won't say it, only curl gloved fingers against the edge of the table. L is tossing him and there isn't a fucking logical thing he can do about it without looking like an absolute head case. So he only gives a slow blink, purses his lips so hard that his teeth nearly hurt beneath.]
Whatever happened. [That he has no recollection of.]
I'm assuming "sorry" wouldn't make the grade, yea.
[Oh, he already knows the answer.]
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He sighs shallowly at the question. Mello is offering an apology for something he doesn't remember; such an apology can't be worth much, but it's his own decision to sit on this information. It's his own desperate call to clutch control over something about this whole difficult situation.]
Does "sorry" ever make the grade? No, this...
[You carved that chasm, stroke by stroke. I enabled it, but you took, and took beyond what I could give, and--
He realizes that his hands are tight in his lap. His feet are on the floor and his shoulders curled forward; he tries, consciously, to unwind and untense.]
It'll take time. Time, and a trial period. Given evidence that things can be different this time, perhaps they can be.
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[But Mello stills, wraps his hands firmly around his cup even though on top of his own, the heat is nearly unbearable. L is giving him an out here, isn't he? In two ways: he can either assuage something he doesn't even remember, or throw the whole thing away. Let go of a past life. Move on. He knows in his soul that the other man would prefer the latter, but Mello's always been a selfish thing.]
It isn't my intention to hurt you.
[Not really.]
When I was a kid, yea —
[Pause. Blink. He's not a kid anymore. But he'll continue anyway.]
I thought you were immortal. [Never thought L would die so soon, at least. After all, L was only a few years older than Mello is, now.]
Thought I could be good enough to work beside you. I never wanted to go off on my own.
[An absolute lie, but it feels like truth as they sit across from each other with cups of tea being inevitable timers upon which this encounter will end. And after that? Who knows when or if they'll ever see each other again?]
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He nods. He knows; when Mello was a kid, he thought a lot of things. He believed in justice; it's closer and clearer in his past than some point when a younger version of L also believed.]
You're not on your own here. You have Eli, who grieved you when you left before, and needs you, now.
[He cups thin hands around his tea cup.]
He's your match; I'm just a man, and proof of that will only mount, the more time you spend with me.
[It'll make him either contemptible, or accessible. Both are the first step in a long and messy trainwreck; it's better to make it sound undesirable from the start.]
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That right? [To everything, really. Mello stretches his neck, his legs, before going on.]
And exactly why do you think he "needs" me?
[Sip, stare. Near can handle himself; Mello knows that much. But for L to suggest such a thing.]
Is it because you bonding with Kira might've fucked with him as much as it has me?
[Just a thought. L doesn't need to worry; his ex-protege will be taking his leave, soon. He just needs to take his jabs where he can.]
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I don't have to defend my decisions to you.
[A simple statement, no inherent apology.]
I also don't have to defend them to Eli, although... if any aspect offends or disturbs him, I wouldn't be acutely aware. He doesn't wear such things on his sleeve.
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[It's tearing up his stomach, really. But the blonde won't reveal that. L already holds a pre-conceived contempt — that much is clear — but it needs to be said — ]
I've already bonded with Eli. [Another sip. Could almost be taken as nervous.] And I have another potential Monster bond. [As his eyes narrow slightly.] Three monsters would weaken me beyond what I'd consider acceptable.
[A half-grin, almost teasing.] I need a Witch.
Suppose you're off the table?
[Definitely. Maybe not. Mello is attractive after all; he knows that much. But he already knows the answer. Besides, he doesn't think he could possibly deal with this level of animosity from a man he worshiped for most of his life. It stings too much.]
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You'd suppose correctly.
[Flint and ice. It's actually unthinkable; a joke like that only increases the tension rather than defusing it. If it's not a joke, well...
Mello isn't stupid. Just too brash and ambitious for anyone's good.]
It's for the best. Whether or not you can appreciate it as this juncture... you're better off with Eli, and the other monster, if the personality is a compatible one.
[For Mello to find such a person so quickly is a stroke of incredible luck. He'd do well, L thinks, not to let them go. Could it possibly be...?]
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[Would have M even agreed, had L agreed?]
[Maybe. His emotions have always gotten the best of him. He gives a small nod of understanding, downs the rest of his tea as though it's alcohol. Right now, he wishes it were. Because after this, if he sees Linden, he's to — ]
[What? Ignore him. Apparently.]
When you walk out of here, [Because, oh, it's going to have to be L who walks this time.] I won't see you again.
[He pinches his tongue between his teeth behind pressed lips.]
At least it's better to know, this time.
[Yeah, he'll rub it in. Because that's what Mello does.]
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Whether you choose to believe it... now, or ever... I fully believe it's your best chance at something like peace in this place.
[And his own, of course.]
I wish for that very much. If it only costs your bitterness, I'm glad to pay that price.
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[Abrupt, with the cup raised to his lips. Mello takes a large sip, sets it back down on the wooden table. What he needs is closure. What he wants? Well. That's entirely something else.]
Do you think I found peace when you left the first time?
[When you died.]
You claim to know me from the last time I was here, of which I have no memory.
Tell, me Linden. Did I have peace, then?
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Any criminal with no memory of their crimes, set to be punished for them, should know, or it's like punishing an oblivious dog or a child. Had Mello's crime been against anyone else, L would consider it a duty to tell him... but his refusal to see himself as a victim places that crime in an ambiguous territory that L can conquer intellectually, but not physically, only emotionally in ways that involve transferring the energy elsewhere.]
You didn't.
[Honest; it's the truth, and no one who met Mello would deny it.]
Our reunion and our Bond didn't give it to you. Nor did anything else that happened between us. It dug a hole, deeper, incessantly, until I thought you wanted to bury us both. That's not peace.
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[There. Mello doesn't fucking need detective training to draw the meat of it all from that one statement, not when L had listed a myriad of things before it. It stills his hand, and God was always a cryptic thing, wasn't he? The light coming through the pane of a window to his right draws his attention for a moment, two. Beats of a heart have never been so palpable, aside from his last — ones struggling to keep him alive when the end was in sight and L — Linden — may as well have knocked the life from Mello's body with that one sentence.]
[The breath he takes does nothing to fill his lungs; the silence is so thick for a moment that he might as well be somewhere else, alone, where he didn't just hear what he knows he just heard.]
[And he remembers when he was almost fourteen, sneaking up on L in the kitchen like a wild, stupid thing while the detective slept in a place he'd deemed safe. Remembers being thrown on his back and all of the hurt that came with it — none of it physical — and it's with a stuttered inhale that he finally musters the courage (is it really courage if he has a knot in his stomach) to ask the obvious — ]
Did we fuck.
[It comes out as more of a demand than a question, but Mello's head is near-spinning from the anxiety of the possibility. Did he go that far? Did he tear L off of the cross that firmly? He can't — won't see it — and his eyes are the same as the fire in his veins when he poses the inquiry.]
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He reaches for his tea, cool enough to drink now. He brings it quickly to his mouth, sips, continues to hold it near his face.]
It's like I said before. You injured me in a physical altercation.
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[He needs to be away from this, as soon as possible. There's a part of Mello that wants to dig deeper, a part that wants to run. But he's never really been one to run, has he? L's words echo in his ears as something far away, close as they are.]
[Really, the revelation makes him want to vomit. They were bonded — Mello had assumed that it was all for power (why not take power when it's readily available?) but for it to have gone that far — ]
L.
[Fuck Linden. Who's gonna hear them? Kira? Kira already knew. Had L's name to kill him in the first place.]
[And if there were ever a time that Mello was close to passing out from pure shock, it's now. He's gripping the edge of the table, eyes imploring.]
What —
[What did I do? But L won't tell him. He hasn't, so far. What's changed?]
[He clears his throat. Attempts to right himself. Did Mello go too far? Did he — ]
[No. No. It was consensual. He's not the type. Never has been.]
I need to go.
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He doesn't correct the name. Just raises his tea again, and when he sets it down, the contents, previously steaming, are frozen in a solid block.]
Yes; you do.
[No argument from the detective. He was never turning his back on this table, first.]
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[He's a kid again: being thrown onto his back. And he hates it. The realization. The rejection. It shows in his expression like a painting. But Mello has grown, and he only huffs in response before pushing himself up, the chair scratching against the floor.]
[It's not a matter of win or loss, right now. He needs to fucking breathe.]
[L is — always was, always will be — stronger than him. And he just knocked Mello off of his fucking poise.]
Catch you around, [he mutters, but if what L is insinuating happened actually happened, he doesn't think that will be the case.]