mllelaurel

Mello was good at excuses. He must have misheard. Roger was lying. This was some sort of sick psychological test. Yeah, that was it. Anyone who had the least hope of becoming the future L would have to be cool under pressure, no matter what was thrown in his face.

He'd do it, too. He'd be L. But not yet. Not now, because there's no way L could have done something so pathetically, stupidly human as dying.

He wanted to punch Roger, but that was nothing new.

"The two of you," Roger jerked his chin at Near, sprawled on the floor with his puzzle, and at Mello, millimeters away from committing an act of homicidal strangulation on the Director's skinny ass, "are going to work together as the new L."

"That's fine," Near says.

On principle, Mello is ready to tell them all to fuck themselves and storm out of there, but what comes out of his mouth instead is "Whatever."

And again, his mouth is ahead of his brain, because he has no idea why he just said that. Working permanently with Near sounds about as amazing as shoving bamboo shoots up his nails. But somewhere out there is the man who killed L (if Roger isn't lying; if this isn't a stupid test), and that man deserves to pay. Not for any sense of justice, but because Mello wants to kill him; wants to hurt him until he realizes what he has done. And that trumps whatever else Mello may feel.

"Whatever," he says again, and a partnership is sealed.

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