Comfortably Numb by nothingsorrow

January 31st 2010

Three days have passed since the reign of Kira came to its dramatic end of manic confessions, blood, and bullets in the Yellow Box warehouse. The world was none the wiser to the fact that Light Yagami, head of the Japanese Task Force for seeking out Kira, was himself the delusional mass murder. The others who were present faded back into anonymity and silence. The body of the younger Yagami was released to his surviving family. The truth was covered up. He died a hero in the war for justice.

So many casualties. The names of the dead were largely unknown to the public, or in some cases the connection to the case was left unstated.

L, real name Lawliet, a name that he himself might not have been aware of. He was not just a great detective, but perhaps the greatest thinker that had ever walked the Earth. Date of birth, October 31, 1979. He died on November 5, 2004 at twenty-five years of age. Fallen hero. The details of his life and death are best left unknown. Could the world ever really grasp the importance of his sacrifice? Would law enforcement agents or world leaders seek out the aid of his successor if they knew exactly what he was- the one who was in line behind the one, true L?

Matt, or Mail Jeevas if you will, was a genius in his own right. He was ranked third at the mysterious Wammy's House, a place that hid under the pretense of an orphanage for the gifted but was actually an assembly line and warehouse for the next generation of Detectives. If the files that Near had graciously supplied her with were right, he would have celebrated his twentieth birthday tomorrow. No gathering of friends to celebrate his life this February 1st- instead his body, riddled with bullet holes, lay in metal and wood awaiting shipment to destinations unknown. Christ, he was just a teenager, a computer geek with an obsession for video games. Yet now he was remembered to the world as an accessory to kidnapping, his only known association being with the infamous criminal mastermind Mello.

Taking a deep breath, Halle's attention shifted to the last file. After a moment of silently looking at the plain beige folder, she flipped it open. The date of birth caught her attention first. December 13th 1989.

A faint blush stained her cheeks as she mentally did the math, all the while her mind flashing back to images of the two of them together. The sex had been hard and fast. Bruises and bites covered chest and hips. Temporary marks of possession.

The act was far removed from lovemaking, yet it was passion-fueled enough to not be mistaken for a random and meaningless fuck. He made it known, though subtly, that she was more than a vessel to empty his balls- his crude phrasing, not hers. The way he placed her need to feel before his own. The fact that he demanded she lock eyes with him even as the screaming orgasm tore through her. A strange request. One that no lover before, and she was sure no lover yet known, would ask.

A soft chuckle escaped her as she recalled his awkwardness after. The way he kept his gaze averted as she dressed, as if hours earlier her flesh had never been explored by calloused fingers and rough lips and sharp teeth. The redness of his ears and neck when he came to the realization that she would show him no such courtesy as he slipped back into his leather. For all his perverse dirty talk and demanding rough play, he was a shy teen just burgeoning upon adulthood.

She had been shocked to see the full extent of the damage when, out of desperation and fear, he had played with explosive material. The marred flesh not only covered part of face, neck, and shoulder, but also parts of his chest and back. It showed that when the shit hit the fan even a Wammy genius could lack common sense.

“Mello, you've revealed something about yourself that you thought was locked away, tonight."

“Enlighten me, Lidner. If luck's on your side, I may even consider gracing you with a confirmation."

“For starters, I believe that, although you like to come off as one, you're not actually a bastard.”

“Actually," he smirked, "since there's no 'father' listed on my birth certificate, I am, in fact a bastard. At least by one definition.”

A strangled sound of frustration escaped her as she threw up her hands in mock defeat. “Fine. You're a bastard. An asshole. A fucker that's too smart for his own good.” His brow quirked at her use of obscenities. “Shut up and listen. You may come across as a little shit, but I don't think that's really you.”

The corner of his lip began to curve up into the beginnings of sneer, but he dutifully remained silent as he had been asked to.

“I think that despite your obnoxious and shitty attitude you're actually a good person. Between the emotional trauma from the loss of your mother and the sudden change to that damned institution that raised you and placed more pressure on you then any child should endure, you got lost. You forgot the importance of human connection and feeling.”

He walked past, slipping into his jacket, his shoulder brushing harshly against hers.

“And Lady Luck this evening says? You. Are Wrong.”

“Mello...” Her plea was cut short by the slamming of the front door.

Now, in the present, as she read the file, she understood the full implication of her comments. The truth of his parting words was now apparent.

In black and white, it taunted her and her mistaken assumption of his origins and early life.

Mihael Keehl, found in the early evening hours of December 13th 1989. Abandoned by birth mother in a dumpster shortly after birth. His mother found, charged and convicted of child neglect and abandonment.

Attempted infanticide at the hands of a teenage mother. She refused to even reveal his father's identity. Unwanted by his relations, he was soon a statistic of the system. Foster home after foster home. Allegations of physical and emotion abuse in some and suspected sexual abuse in others. He entered Wammy's House shortly before his seventh birthday.

Already damaged.

Already broken.

Already afraid to form relationships.

Willingly and comfortably numb.

Authors note: I would like to extend my gratitude to Dlvvanzor for their skills as a beta. If it were not for them this fic would would not be as good as it is. Thank you!
Originally conceived for the dn_contest community on lj. The prompt was “Death Eraser.” Due to unforeseen circumstances and a lot of procrastination upon my part, this piece did not get finished in time to be entered. In the original version Halle was playing with the eraser while reading the files. I figured what the hell; I'll finish what I started and post it for all to read. Please forgive me for the lack of lemon, under normal circumstances I am a writer of homoerotic literature so I am not confident in my abilities to write heterosexual relations

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