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It took all of three hours for Near and Mello to outline their plan of attack. True to Matt’s previous bet, the blond had returned with the news that although their data was secure, a good number of the SPK were dead or presumed dead.
As the two ate (Mello had brought food), Matt retreated to the guest room - to “Give you guys some privacy,” he’d said with a wink before scuttling off as Mello attempted to glare a hole in the back of his shirt.
“Who do we have left?” Near asked between bites of their takeout breakfast; eating more to placate Mello than because he was hungry.
“Rester, Gevanni, and Linder.”
Knight, bishop, rook.
A snort from Mello pulled Near from his thoughts.
“Still attached to being chess champion?” Mello rolled his eyes. “You’d have had to cheat to beat me anyway, just remember th— wait, does that make you the queen?”
“No,” Near said, swallowing an additional “Of course not.” along with the last of his food. “As far as Kira knows, the title of true L rests on me alone; therefore, I would be the king.”
He watched as Mello took in that information, mulled it over, and froze mid-chew as he came to the obvious logical conclusion about his own role.
“I should brief Matt— set terms of compensation for his work.” Near got to his feet.
The heat of Mello’s gaze as he left the room was like sun on the back of his neck.
Lying to the Kira Task Force regarding the fate of the individual who had come to him in confidence was as easy for Near as breathing.
He did feel a small measure of sympathy for what they had been through, but that was far overshadowed by the fact that these were the people who had known L and still had ultimately failed to prevent his death. They couldn’t even recognize the wolf in their midst as it was in the process of killing him.
Near would never allow himself to be emotional — that was more his partner’s style. It just so happened that the actions called for by their current situation aligned with a very, very small part of him that had been unusually insistent in the time since the attack. It was surely temporary, Near had it under control.
Yet even the news that another member of the Kira Task Force was interested in speaking with him, and indeed that he was in fact on his way, did nothing to help.
When Mello requested his aid, Near wondered if his intent was to discuss their partnership. He had been sticking to his side more after the raid, so much so that the remaining SPK members had given them curious looks on more than one occasion. But Near found he didn’t mind; after what had happened at their previous base, he welcomed the new constant.
Or perhaps Mello wanted to interrogate Near, force him to have a serious conversation regarding the ever-mounting tension between them.
Neither option was appealing, but any reservations he had vanished as soon as he entered Mello’s room.
Gone were all the things that had once identified the space as belonging to Mello, either discarded or packed away along with the blond’s clothes.
As for Mello himself, he appeared in the doorway to his bathroom soon after Near’s arrival. He was dressed in unusual clothes — a gray hoodie and matching pants — and Near’s confusion must have shown on his face or in his eyes because Mello beckoned him closer with one hand. Ungloved, Near noted as he approached.
“What are you wearing?”
“Don’t insult me,” Mello shot back. “These are the only clothes I could find that can get ruined without me caring.”
He shook the box he held in one hand at Near.
“You’re going to help me finish my disguise.”
Near managed to resist asking until they were about to begin.
“Are you certain you want your hair,” he paused, squinting at the box. “Black leather?”
“Sure am.” Mello dropped his head back, mirth dancing in his blue eyes. “What, getting cold feet?”
“No.”
Admittedly, Near did feel rather foolish. His long sleeves had been pushed back past his elbows so that he could pull on the pair of gloves that had come with the kit. He had spent a period of five minutes watching Mello mix several components together, checking and double-checking the instructions before nodding and shoving the bowl at him along with a plastic brush.
“Make sure you get all my roots and don’t worry about getting it on my clothes.”
“Can I ask,” Near began as Mello turned and sat up straight, “why this shade?”
“Figured it will make sure I don’t stand out as much,” Mello said, and Near had to agree with him.
He began with the roots, smoothing the dye along Mello’s scalp with steadily mounting confidence. It wasn’t quite the same, but Near recalled Linda mentioning once that she found painting soothing, and he had to admit that she may have been onto something.
Bit by bit, Mello’s blond hair vanished beneath the black paste. Neither he nor Near mentioned it, but they both knew there was only one prominent figure in their lives who had black hair.
It took about twenty minutes before Near was satisfied, then another five once Mello looked at himself in the mirror and pointed out areas he wanted fixed or done again.
“Is it permanent?” Near asked.
“Nah, Matt swears by this stuff.” Mello waved the instructional packet at him. “Besides, we’re not going to take forever to catch Kira. Right?”
“Right.” Near peeled off the gloves. “How long do you have to let it sit?”
“Half an hour — then I’ll wash it and be out of here.”
Despite the fact that Near knew this was part of their plan, something in his gut twisted at the thought of Mello leaving. He ignored it.
“You’ll be careful?”
“As opposed to what?” Mello huffed. “I’m not about to die and leave you to inherit our title.”
“Good.” Something else pushed at Near’s throat, additional words trying to escape; but his throat closed around them and he moved to leave.
“Hey, you got some dye on your chin,” came Mello’s voice, enough to make Near pause.
As he turned back, one of Mello’s hands came down on his shoulder while the other pushed his cheek up, angling his face so their noses didn’t collide when he kissed him.
“Liar,” was all Near could manage when they separated, blinking and holding the hand on his face.
Mello grinned at him, wincing when he drew back and Near attempted to follow.
“Sorry. Should have saved that for when we caught Kira, but— you never know.” He swallowed, setting his jaw as he forced himself to take a step back and pulling his hand from Near’s grasp. “Now you— go back down. See you. Later.”
Near spent the rest of the day functioning at a much lower capacity, the moment playing on loop in the back of his mind. Mello did indeed leave that night, taking a bag of his things and his motorcycle.
A shame; Near would have liked to tell him farewell in person.
Thirteen days. That was how long Near had been apart from Mello.
He did his best to distract himself. There was plenty to occupy him, work to be done now that he was in Japan and had the means to begin planting the SPK members in opportune places. Yet even as he toiled, planting Halle as Misa Amane’s bodyguard and instructing investigations into Light Yagami for the purposes of gathering evidence, part of his mind lingered on Mello.
Was he doing well?
How were he and Matt’s efforts faring?
Why had they agreed to this in the first place?
Near had heard stories about codependency, but much like the new instinctive urge he’d discovered himself to possess when it came to loud noises in the aftermath of the raid, so too was he surprised to find that he was susceptible to such a thing.
The logical, rational part of his mind was not surprised at all. Like L, he was only human. Fallible.
Near sat on the floor, surrounded by action figures he was assembling from scratch, and contemplated the man he was currently investigating under suspicion of being the current Kira. When viewed out of the corner of his eye, he wondered if Teru Mikami and Mello looked similar.
The new scar was a dead giveaway when it came to his partner, of course, but Near knew he was smart enough to take precautions regarding such an identifiable feature. He lifted a hand to his hair, fingers brushing against his cheek as he went.
“Looks like it won’t scar,” he remembered Mello saying in a shaky voice as they patched each-other up following their escape. “Lucky.”
Near’s eyes narrowed as he started from the top, mentally going over everything they knew. The Shinigami, the notebooks of death, the eyes…
If he did indeed have luck, he would prefer to give his share of it to Mello; not out of pity, but out of a selfish reason that nagged at the back of his mind.
No, Near wouldn’t let himself dwell on it. Mello would be fine. He had Matt.
Their investigation into whether or not this new Kira possessed a Shinigami bore fruit. Coupled with the meeting Near had managed to arrange with the Kira Task Force, security footage provided to him by Gevanni had the unintended side effect of brightening Near’s mood.
He knew he hadn’t encouraged Gevanni to be as proactive as he could with regards to Teru Mikami, but Near also knew Mello. He would have been able to trace this lead without issue, from Misa Amane to Kiyomi Takada and finally to Mikami himself. Or X-Kira, as Near had taken to calling him.
With Matt’s aid, perhaps Mello even knew the exact location of the notebook long before Near had so much as begun to suspect.
It was exhilarating, almost like being back at Wammy’s; two matched minds racing in parallel as they pursued the same leads, but each with their own resources.
Near thanked Gevanni for the footage, spending the rest of the evening rewinding a specific clip of what the rest of the SPK believed was simply Mikami on his way to his safety deposit box. But Near knew better.
Similar hair, but not the same. Slight differences in styling, taking care to hide the face near his glasses.
Different stature, shoulders not quite right despite the effort being taken by padding beneath his jacket.
A miniscule difference in height, one not exactly accounted for by shoes hastily selected to compensate.
“There you are,” Near murmured, letting a smile pull at his lips as he hunched over the screen.
Even on pixelated footage, the sight of his partner alive and well was enough to lessen the distance Near felt.
He knew he had been right to put his faith in Mello.
Kiyomi Takada had been kidnapped. Found dead.
Matt had led her guards on a chase. Killed.
There were witnesses who swore they heard a motorcycle and witnessed it fleeing the scene. Rider’s whereabouts unknown.
Near stared at a report he’d managed to acquire, reading and rereading it as if he could somehow will a different outcome into existence.
Dead.
Matt had been vibrant, had more drive than Near could ever hope to muster. He’d agreed to help them without protest, without haggling on a price when they offered to pay him once the job was over. Enough to start a life somewhere, anywhere he wanted.
“Sure,” he’d said with a shrug and a smile. “What have I got to lose?”
And where had it gotten him?
Matt was dead.
Was Mello—
He turned away, brushing up against part of a card tower and setting off a chain reaction, the whole castle collapsing around him.
No, there was no evidence, he insisted to himself as he reached for the nearest pile of cards and began rebuilding. He had to be alive.
Absence of a body is also evidence.
There had been a fire, a fire that engulfed Takada’s body. Preliminary findings were that she had died of immolation. It didn’t make sense — she wasn’t tied up. It was as if she had been abducted, questioned, and rather than make an escape attempt or tell her captor anything, she had simply set fire to both her surroundings and herself.
Had it been after seeing Mello’s name and writing it down? Surely he wouldn’t be foolish enough to show his face to her.
But it was the kind of emotional mistake he had been known to make in the past.
Near turned away.
He couldn’t sleep, had no interest in it at the moment despite the lethargy weighing down his limbs. Lifting a hand, he brushed his fingers against his mouth, recalling that the other had tasted faintly of dark chocolate.
Why had Mello done that?
Surely it wasn’t some ploy to throw Near off, but he couldn’t be sure.
He allowed himself one regret: that they had agreed on absolutely no communication. It was as much for Mello’s protection as it was for Near’s, but the logic offered no comfort to him now.
His fingers slipped, the second attempt at his card castle fluttering back to the floor, and Near admitted defeat.
He retreated to his room, where he dug through his own closet to find a familiar gray hoodie that had been left behind when Mello departed, which he pulled on. Perhaps he was a fool for going to such lengths, but if his partner truly was dead, then Near would allow himself a moment of grief. As exhaustion washed over him and dragged him into the realm of sleep, Near made a promise.
He would have justice. Not for L, or for Watari, or even for all of Kira’s other victims.
For Matt.
For Mello.
For them, Near would see Kira rot.
Twelve hours before their meeting with the Kira Task Force, Halle brought Near a package.
“It was left outside,” she said, “But it’s addressed to L.”
“Did you have it checked?” Near asked, holding the box above his face as if trying to peer through the brown paper wrapped around it.
“Yes. It’s safe.”
She wasn’t lying about that, Near could tell; only about where she’d gotten the package. But he would allow her to keep her secret, whatever it was.
He unwrapped the box carefully, opening it to reveal what seemed to be a jewelry box and a printed card.
For Your Eyes Only, it read.
Near set the card aside and moved on to the box, carefully prying it open.
Inside was a single chess piece: the black queen. Near pried it from the paper in which it had been packed with steady fingers, gripping it hard enough to turn his knuckles white. It may have been a mass-produced thing, but at the moment it was more valuable to Near than gold.
“Thank you,” he murmured, words barely audible; in return for this kindness he wouldn’t ask how Halle had come into contact with his partner.
There was something about the package, something else that was pulling his attention back to it.
The paper packed around the queen looked familiar, and Near removed it with his free hand, doing his best to smooth it.
“I think the pages we have in our possession may well turn out to be fake,” he finally said, voice quiet.
He had never been happy to be wrong before, but he supposed this was a case of many firsts.
As satisfying as it was to lay everything at Light Yagami’s feet and watch his carefully-maintained mask crumble, Near found recounting every step he had taken to be ultimately useless.
It was only when he reached the matter of the second notebook that he began to speak with more conviction, a strange sensation in his chest that he would later recognize as pride.
He spoke of how he knew he would never be able to surpass L, that he had in fact targeted the wrong notebook, and that it was only due to his partner that he was able to finish the case.
“My partner,” he repeated, watching as something like shock began to gather in Light’s eyes, “and the one who shares my title. Alone, I could not surpass L — just as he could not on his own. I lacked the drive, he lacked the control. But together, we can surpass L. Together, we can catch you.”
He gestured with his finger puppets as he spoke, but in his mind’s eye he saw Kira, the real Kira, now cornered by the black king. There was only one piece missing, he thought as he listened to the ramblings of the mass murderer in front of him. One more move to secure their victory, only he was loath to take it himself, alone.
What had L seen in this man, to decide to put himself in such danger?
Had he truly found all other humans so boring?
Had Light been different then?
Had he ever been anything else than he was; was there a moment when the notebook had broken him beyond repair?
Or perhaps L had not been the purest of humans himself. Had he seen the ugliness underneath the perfect surface and felt a sort of kinship with it? Perhaps he, like Near, had been lonely and seeking connection—
The first gunshot was a surprise, as was the shouting, but the following shots were not what made Near sit up and take notice.
Another voice broke the silence, an order for them all to “STOP!” clear in his ears even if the others ignored it, and Near didn’t hear the ensuing scramble of the injured Kira or the protests of the fragmented Task Force, begs and pleas between them and the Shinigami he greeted earlier.
He heard footsteps, familiar ones, and for a moment he was at Wammy’s again, listening to that same rhythm making its way down the hall towards his room as he busied himself with a puzzle.
Mello’s hair was a dirty brown color, blond roots and highlights peeking through like a fragmented halo as he pushed back his hood.
“I’m late,” he observed, a hard smile twisting his face. “Sorry, L.”
Near shook his head, pushing himself up on legs that he pretended weren’t trembling.
“Not late, L. Just in time.”
Kira snarled something at the two of them that may have once been a threat, but as Near looked down at him, he knew the sound was nothing more than the last struggle of a trapped and wounded animal. Where the previous L had failed, they succeeded. They’d won.
Checkmate.