Yes, this took forever, for which I'm very sorry! But if you're one of those readers who skip ahead to the naughty parts, this is the chapter to which you'd skip. :-)

Chapter 4: Challenge

Rester and Lidner take the list of rules to refresh their memories, and Gevanni continues looking through the pro-Kira message boards online. Near flips through pages in his mental library, pulls the King of Cups, Page of Swords, and Knight of Swords from the tarot deck closest to hand, and sets them in the tower with the Hermit and the Chariot.

He has to hunt around for the Lego shinigami from years ago. He puts it outside the castle, but not with the Moon; it's not on S-Kira's side.

What if they composed a message designed to provoke a response? All four deaths are a matter of public record. Near's surprised, in fact, that no Kira conspiracy theorist has yet put the pieces together.

He takes the L finger puppet into the computer room and starts skimming through messages so he'll be able to mimic the style.

Lidner and Rester are bickering good-naturedly about bureaucracy in the shinigami realm, and both come over to offer suggestions.

"Be sure to misspell 'definitely,'" Lidner says, and Gevanni laughs at his own monitor, quietly, as if he's not quite sure he should.

"She's got a point," he says. "We don't want to seem too smart."

"Or too up on the case," Rester chimes in. "Include some irrelevant details, or leave one of the relevant ones out."

Near glances around at them, half-smiling. "Like someone who doesn't know the true significance of what he's discovered."

They work on that, and brainstorm about possible ways to exploit the rules they know, but S-Kira might not. The mood is noticeably different from when they were working on the C-Kira case, and Near wonders why.

You're all in it together now, Mello says.

We have been an efficient team all along.

He can all but see Mello rolling his eyes. Haven't you learned yet?

***

"There's another," Rester says when he comes back from lunch. "I saw on the news that Peter Stavrosky was found dead."

The card Near's holding snaps out of his hand, but, luckily, it sails harmlessly away.

"What's wrong?' Lidner says.

"That's a lie." They all look at him. He sighs. "Stavrosky is me. I mean, he's L."

Gevanni knew this, of course, but Rester and Lidner didn't. "As too many people found out," Near explains, "Eraldo Coil and Alain Danuve were L's alter egos. He had others whose covers weren't blown, and it seemed useful to maintain some of them. Stavrosky was one of those."

"So," Lidner says. "I'm sorry, but... who's dead?"

Near looks at her gravely. "I don't know."

Now we're royally fucked, Mello says.

We? It's not as though he can hurt you.

Hey, alleged genius. If you go, I go. As deeply, deeply weird as your mind is, it's kinda all I got.

"Stavrosky had a reputation for always being able to solve kidnapping cases without any harm coming to the victim. His methods and priorities were too much like L's. If the killer targeted him, he would have known that. When he realized Stavrosky was essentially a virtual construct, he must have figured out the rest He wanted the public to know he was continuing to target detectives, and he wanted us to know..." Near pauses, and scowls. "That he wouldn't hesitate to kill innocents for show."

"We're on it," Gevanni says.

"Warn the local authorities to take the usual precautions."

He's getting less subtle, Mello says. He wants you to think this was your fault.

You would know about that, Near tells him.

He's an amateur. Mello sounds almost offended. I had a dozen reasons for doing that.

Four by my count.

Still better than him.

Do you want to make me angry?

You should try it sometime.

He is angry, in fact. How does one protect people who don't exist? The aliases are doing their job too well. Near should have anticipated, he thinks, that someone would use them against L someday. Not taking precautions, allowing one to be discovered by sheer dumb luck—it's unforgivable.

He looks at the photo they've obtained of the victim. His eyes are closed in the deceptively peaceful way coroners always do it. He's an older man, who would've looked distinguished and intelligent in life. My substitute, Near thinks. "Whoever you were," he tells the picture, "I'm sorry."

He gives the Stavrosky Lego grey hair, but a white outfit.

Lidner and Gevanni say their goodbyes and leave, but Rester gathers his things and hovers by the door, and clears his throat, self-consciously.

"Yes? Was there something else?" Near says.

Rester sets a shopping bag by him on the floor. "My wife, uh. Likes to knit. I told her you probably wouldn't wear it—" He trails off as Near opens the bag.

It's a sweater, white of course, but with a barely-noticeable thread of silver running through the yarn. It's thick and soft, and maybe he ought to try wearing something he wouldn't usually.

"I told her a little about you, but I said you were an intern."

Near looks up at him. "Thank you. I like it very much."

Rester shrugs. "It gets cold up there."

***

Mello? What... What are my weak points? What will S-Kira try to exploit?

You're alone.

That's not—

I know, listen. He doesn't know about the SPK. But he does know L doesn't have any peers. Hell, I'm the closest you got, and I'm, you know. Not real. He's been trying to call you out the whole time because he assumes no one'll come out with you.

I wouldn't want them to.

Don't be stupid. You're tired.

I guess I should rest. He goes to his room and curls up on the bed, data still running through his mind: L's remaining aliases, and the chances of any of them being discovered.

Mello's sitting on a couch in what looks like the warehouse where he and Matt lived, and throws back his head and groans. Quit that. Just fuckin' relax.

Easier said than done.

Hey, Halle likes you.

Mello, don't be irrelevant.

I'm just sayin'.

Even if she did, and I were interested, which I'm not, it would be impossible. We have to work together.

Aren't you curious? You can't be as cold as you pretend.

I don't pretend. And I must have told you a hundred times by now: I have emotions. I just don't let them dictate my actions. And I'm not curious. It's not a lie.

Really, Near doesn't care if people think he's cold. He'd rather that than let them see he's the opposite, that sometimes it seems it would be so easy to let go. (Jump, Mello whispers, those times.) That sometimes, alone with his secret thoughts at night, he feels as if he might burn up, feels that his heart will pound out of his chest, and has to cover his mouth with his free hand to keep from crying out.

Never been curious? Mello says, wide-eyed.

Once.

About me? He inspects his nail polish with feigned nonchalance. There's all kinds of things I would've done for you if I'd known you were bent that way.

It's difficult to admit even under these circumstances. I've never wanted anyone but you, Mello.

Huh. Kinda sucks to be you, then.

Not really. I'd rather have an imaginary Mello than anyone real.

Dude. That's sad.

It doesn't make me sad. It's easier, really, less fraught with potential complications.

Nothing in real life can measure up to what he can do in his head, anyway. Only one moment has even come close, and it was forever ago, now: the time Mello shoved him against the wall at the House and whispered threats, or promises, that made Near's head spin.

"Oh, I'll get you someday," Mello said, and his breath, hot against Near's skin, almost made him shiver.

"What are you talking about?" He remembers thinking, You could hurt me if you really meant to, but even then, he picked up on the weird tension.

Mello's grip eased slightly. He slid one hand around the back of Near's neck, fingers tangling into his hair; and he was so close, the green of his eyes like a flame with barium in it. Near went helplessly still, surprised—he's surprised now, remembering it—that neither of them could hear his heartbeat.

Mello bent close again. "You'll see," he whispered. "No one's ever touched you. Bet you're really sensitive. It wouldn't take much..."

Maybe it was the power of suggestion, or maybe Mello was right, but Near thought he could feel the whorls of his fingerprints as he slipped his hand beneath the shirt and drew it slowly back up along his spine. "No," he said. He didn't quite know what Mello was thinking of, but he was starting to get it. That flame in his eyes could've burned them both up.

"No," Mello agreed. "Not much at all to make you lose control."

I can't, Near thought. And: I want to. "Mello..." he said. Kiss me, he wanted to say. Show me what you mean. I'll let you do anything. But of course Mello didn't want him to let him. So Near twisted away, and said "Stop," as steadily as he could, and Mello didn't follow him.

And that was two days before Mello left for good, and Near never found out if he meant it, or if it was just another skirmish in their long war.

"I wish I could touch you," he says now, mouthing the words more than even whispering.

I know.

He brushes his fingers over his mouth, and remembers how he couldn't look for more than a moment when Mello came to get his picture, how he didn't think he could see him without feeling a futile, foolish urge to touch his face.

I wouldn't have let you, Mello says.

It wasn't pity.

I don't mean fucking pity.

It would have been admitting too much, tipping the balance too far. It was too late for us.

Near... It was always too late for me.

"I wanted to save you," Near whispers, and curls up even tighter.

Shh, Mello says. Go to sleep.

***

Always, Near has needed to be exhausted almost to the point of hallucinating to sleep at all. It's the only way his mind will slow down enough, and even that only lasts a few hours.

He dreams about the end again, the church in flames. But this time it shifts, and he's there with Mello, watching it burn. He turns away and hides his face against Mello's shoulder.

"It's not the same," Mello says, but it is; the reek of smoke, the blackened bricks. Loss. Near looks down and sees flecks of ash clinging to his sleeves.

"No," he says. "No, no, not again."

"It's OK," Mello says, pulling him away from the heat of the fire and into his arms. "It's OK. You can't fix everything. You can't control everything." He takes hold of the shirt and shakes the fabric so the ash flies away. "There. White again."

"Thank you," Near whispers.

Mello tilts Near's chin so he has to look up at him. "Hey." The scar is gone, and he looks... happy? "I had to do it." He brushes a curl back from Near's forehead, bends and presses his lips there. "It wasn't so bad." He moves to his cheek, the corner of his mouth. "At least I went out in style."

"Like a Viking?"

"Like a fucking hero," Mello says, and kisses him.

Near wakes up half-thinking he can taste chocolate and feel the brush of a furred collar against his face, and he wills sleep to return, but of course it won't. It's still dark outside. He's shivery and aroused and feels irrationally cheated.

I'm still with you, Mello says. Don't be shy.

So Near imagines that the hand cupping him through the thin pants is Mello's, and that Mello's hair brushes his face as he leans close and whispers, Ah, I knew it wouldn't take much.

It never did, with you. He slips his other hand into his hair and closes his fingers tightly, because gentle is one thing Mello would never be. Mello would shove the t-shirt up and flick a black-painted nail at a nipple hard enough to make Near gasp. Mello would bite his neck and tear impatiently at the drawstring of the pajama pants.

I've got it, Near tells him, pulling the knot loose.

His hand is cold, but Mello's would be warm; he arches into the imagined touch. I want, he'd say, I don't even know what I want.

You never would have let me take you in real life, Mello says.

I might have done. But it's true that what he imagines isn't really about the sexual act. It's about how Mello would look at him, with an almost transcendent intensity, how his eyes would pin him, because of course he wouldn't let Near look away.

Damn right, Mello says. I'd wanna see your face when you come, and know I did it, and know you knew.

Near can see him more clearly than ever, can almost feel him, and he gasps into his pillow, and thrusts into his hand, and thinks, Mello Mello Mello.

***

What would L do? he thinks, but this time he doesn't mean their mentor. He means the L he wants to be, the one who's himself and Mello.

Kick his ass, Mello says.

That's your style, not mine, Near tells him.

Mello sighs theatrically, patience gone. Oh, for the love of fuck, he says. Are you L, or aren't you?

You think I should confront him?

You want to end it, don't you?

I won't let him kill anyone else.

Then you're gonna have to be the one to do it.

I know.

Are you scared?

Of course. Attempting to lie to his own subconscious would be the height of pointlessness.

We can do this.

I wish one of us had said that when you were alive.

Mello doesn't have an answer for that, but Near didn't really expect one. He picks up the Lego with the incongruously cute skull face and studies it.

The eyes are a problem, Mello says.

Yes. I'm worried about them too. If S-Kira had them, though, he would be trying to get to L in person instead of attempting to extract the information from others.

Wish you hadn't burned those notebooks yet?

I would never wish that. He did consider their potential future usefulness before doing it, but there was no possible way he could have allowed them to exist in this world, and no way, either, he could have simply handed them back to the shinigami. He would have felt responsible for every death they went on to cause.

He's still not sure what he thinks about the shinigami. Can anything be called truly evil when all it does is act according to its nature?

Its nature... They can conclude a number of things about the shinigami too...

He's still thinking about it when the others arrive and go back to sorting through travel records, responses to their post, and evidence from the Stavrosky crime scene.

"I got the admins for that message board to send me the archives," Gevanni calls. "Look at this guy."

Near and Lidner come over and look. "The fact that he writes in complete sentences sets him apart," Lidner says dryly.

"He certainly seems arrogant," Near says. "Where is he?"

Gevanni smiles. "More public libraries, but all in Philadelphia."

"He also replied to us," Lidner says. "He says it's stupid to assume Kira's back based on coincidences."

"That's him. He isn't ready to go public yet, and couldn't go back and cover his tracks after he found the notebook. Thank you."

Near picks up a dart and launches it toward the Moon card on the dartboard. "Here's something I've never said before: This is crazy, but it just might work."