[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}
no subject
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...?]
no subject
[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.]
no subject
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.
no subject
[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?
no subject
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.
no subject
[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.]
no subject
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.
no subject
[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.
no subject
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.]
no subject
[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.]