Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note in any way shape or form.

A/N: This is me breathing life into a path less traveled. Enjoy.

r e d

1. dreams I

She sits on the edge of the bed, her head resting against the smooth, pale arms wound around her shoulders. He is so cold, so very cold, like ice, but his breath is warm on her neck. And he begins to work his way down, lips brushing against the sensitive skin. But he isn't kissing her – he would never (never dream of it, never) – he is speaking, chanting, a fervent mantra so low she can't hear him. She doesn't need to – she knows what he was saying, lips brushing, moving, warning her. That this is impossible (he'd never ever). That he didn't want this, never this.

"These are dangerous grounds, Misa-san."

She flinches at the words spoken so clearly and warm against her hip, aroused and angry. Under different circumstances she would push him back and devour the lips that wouldn't hesitate to sentence her to a thousand painful deaths. She would do it now, without the same hesitation, but he wouldn't respond. She is no fool; she's been around the world and had picked up more than a few tricks. She knows how to pleasure him, make him throw back his head and writher like a puppet while she pulls the strings. But it won't be her name on his lips, his moans wouldn't be for her (never, never, never) and she doesn't want to hear it, not that name.

He stops abruptly – her breath caught in her throat – and pulls back, sighing deeply like he is bored - like him, just like him – and leans against the headboard, pulling the silken sheets to his chest. She exhales, not as deeply, and turns to him.

"What? What is it?" he asks, thin eyebrows furrowed.

"You're tired of me," she says sadly.

"Cover up;" he points a slender finger at her nakedness, "you're not good at this, Misa-san, seducing me."

"Seducing? You're the one who…who…." She can't bring herself to finish and looks away from his dark eyes, and rises up and pulls on a faded nightshirt.

"Don't," he holds up a hand when she is about to sit back on the bed, "this might be your dream but I'm still myself." He sighs again, closing his eyes. "Does he miss me?" It was a hoarse whisper, like a voice after shouting or crying.

"Why are you asking me that?" She takes a seat by the window, head turned away from him.

He chuckles gravely. "Oh. I thought so. I'm sorry."

"No, you're not. You never were." She glares at him, her vision blurring with tears.

"Then why am I here?"

She wipes her eyes on the shirt and sniffs. "I don't know."

"I think you do." He shifts a bit, tousling the sheets, and leans forward on his haunches. "I'm a detective, a people-watcher. I saw the signals – from both of you, in case you're feeling particularly special – but the plane can only fly one way." He grinned impishly, clearly amused by his own little joke.

"You're disgusting," she says, teeth grit, "you ended up dead, didn't you? Dead, dead, dead! You were nothing to him! You're nothing now! Nothing!"

He sighs lightly and lies back against the headboard. "What's the word again, both of us…screwed over? That's it. Except I knew what I was getting into, the whole time, but I'm more tactful than you think." He pauses, looking up at the dim yellow light on the ceiling, than back at her. "And you're wrong. I was everything to him. Everything. Do you know what that feels like?"

"He wanted to kill you!"

"Oh, he wanted to do a bit more before that. All in due time, all in due time."

"He killed you! Like it was nothing!"

"Oh, no, you're not listening, Misa-san. I was everything, from the beginning to the end that's yet to come. And killing me was everything, don't you see that? He'd kill you just the same if you were got in his way. Except you're not everything."

"I know, I know." She holds her face in her hands. "Would I ever get in his way? He needs me…needs me…my eyes."

"Don't ask me. I don't have all the answers."

"It's my dream."

"It's my body."

"You're dead."

"And you want me, even now."

"Leave me, just leave. I don't want you here."

"As you wish." He rises and pulled on the white shirt over his sinewy frame, then the baggy jeans. "I'll be back." He doesn't look at her as he stands at the door, the blue backpack slung over his slumped shoulders.

"I hate you," she hisses.

"Alright," he sighs, opening the door and letting in a sliver of red light, "as you like."

"Why is it red?"

"What?"

"The light. In the hall."

"Why don't you step out and see why?"

"Shut up." But he is gone, leaving her in a hotel room that smelled like sex and nothing more or less.

She slumps onto the floor, clutching her face and rocking back and forth. If only the voice would stop, that one voice.

A/N: Have faith – this makes more sense as the story moves forward. Or less sense, depending on how you see it. Please review and let me know what you think.

Cheers,

elomelo