Part 7: Prodigal

The phone buzzed and was at Roger's ear before he was entirely conscious.

"Yes, Watari?" he said automatically. Then it occurred to him that he was Watari, and no one had this number. He only kept the phone charged and nearby because he didn't want to break the habit, for when the boys finally came home and took up the title.

"…Roger."

"Near?" Instantly Roger was wide awake.

"Is everything alright? Are you okay?" Roger felt like he'd know in his gut, somehow, if the Kira case was closed (surely the world would feel lighter and the sky would loom less), and the only other reason he could think of for Near calling was if he were in terrible trouble. Other than the odd rumor and a few suspicious news stories, he had barely heard anything about Near and Mello in the last couple years, let alone heard from them.

Near cut the feet out from under his fear before it could rise to choke him. "Everything is fine," he said. Maybe it was an effect of the phone connection, or maybe Near had somehow become even more withdrawn into himself than he had been upon leaving Winchester (or he was just lying), but he sounded almost mechanical when he said it.

"Oh," said Roger. "Oh, well, good. That's good. I'm glad to hear it." He really was. It made his chest ache, how good it was to hear that familiar voice, even in that detached tone.

"Yes," said Near. There was an uneasy pause, in which Roger considered several things that he could say which would all probably make this unexpected phone call even clumsier. Finally Near said, "I found Mello."

The hope that Roger had cherished all those years ago about the boys working things out between themselves flared back to life with a brilliance that scared him. "Oh! And…how is he?"

"He seems…fine."

"Have you seen him? Is he…is he there with you?" Roger tried without much success to quash down his hope before hearing Near's response. There was still plenty left for the boy to crush for him.

"I have seen him but…no, he is not here." There was rustling. Roger smiled a little in spite of his disappointment; Near was probably twisting his hair around one finger. "However, we are conducting parallel investigations on the case."

The old man got the strange impression that Near was proffering a self-conscious, second-best excuse for them working together, like he anticipated Roger's disappointment and it actually had some sort of impact on him. Roger had not forgotten the promise Near had made to him before leaving. Personally, Roger didn't have any expectations whatsoever of Near as far as Mello was concerned; he hoped that Mello would come back of his own volition, but that wasn't the other boy's responsibility. Apparently Near did not take it so lightly. "I'm glad to hear it," Roger said in the most reassuring voice he could muster.

This seemed to exhaust Near's imagination for conversational material. Roger waited a little. It was unlike Near to call like this for no reason—well, ok, that was an understatement. Near never called. Still, the fact that the boy hadn't hung up already indicated he might actually want to talk about something, even if he wasn't being very forthcoming about it. Creaking and crackling, Roger dragged himself out of bed and slid into his slippers, padding out into his office and going to the window. The faintest touches of predawn brushed the edge of the sky, and the grounds were shrouded in fog.

"Some Japanese policemen came by asking questions about you two a while back," he said when Near remained silent, taking refuge in the practical.

"Yes," Near said. "I expected that. I trust they did not learn anything of much use."

"No, not that I am aware of," Roger assured him. "Concord came back and redesigned our entire computer security system, and she didn't find that any compromising files had been touched."

"Concord?" Near mulled over that bit of information for a moment.

"Yes." Roger hesitated. "She indicated that the police contacted a few of our graduates individually, she among them. That's why she came."

As time passed, many of the older students had trickled out of the House, scattering across the world and starting their own lives. Lately Roger felt like he was more of a career counselor than a training center manager. He had done a little scouting for new students as well, but had recruited very few. Maybe dealing with Mello and Near had led him to set the bar unreasonably high, but it was rare that any child stuck out to him as worth the effort.

Not to mention that, though experience had taught him that contingency plans were always a good idea, he had trouble forcing himself to explore the ins and outs of any future in which finding a replacement would be necessary in his lifetime.

"They did?" The dull, mechanical voice sharpened ever so slightly. "But they couldn't have told them anything damaging," Near said, as though he were reassuring himself.

"C also said that Linda sketched your portraits for them."

"Hm, well," Near said dismissively, "Kira needs a photo to kill. A drawing wouldn't work."

Roger relaxed. "So the case is going well, I take it?"

"It has progressed significantly," Near said. "I expect we shall wrap it up within the next few months. I know who Kira is now."

"You do? For certain?"

"Yes," said Near. "He's the one currently using the name of L."

"Oh. My goodness," said Roger. He felt like he should say something more intelligent, but Near had always kept him rather in the dark about his work on the case, and so he was a little at a loss for how to respond now that he was being so chatty.

Near paused for a moment, then went on, "Anyone who knew that L was working in Japan but didn't know of his death thinks that this pretender is the same L. Though obviously, he's not furthering the case at all. He's making L appear to be incompetent."

L's heir seemed to find this crime far more offensive than the fact that Kira had snagged the title which was his by right.

"Well, L's reputation can always be mended later," Roger soothed.

Near made a noncommittal sound. "In any case, I intend to join my team in Japan soon."

"Join your team?" Roger blinked. "Near…is anyone there with you right now?"

"…There is a skeleton crew of auxiliary day staff," Near mumbled.

"What, what do you mean, 'auxiliary day staff'?" Roger checked the clock on his desk. It was nearly six in the morning in Winchester, so it had to be night in the United States. "Are you alone there?"

"The security in this building is far more than adequate," Near said in a bored tone, downplaying the situation. Roger caught himself before launching into a scolding. Legally speaking, he reminded himself, Near was an adult. Surely by now he had learned something about how to take care of himself on a daily basis. And if he was too proud to admit that he had called home because he was lonely, well, Roger was too touched to push the matter and embarrass the boy.

"Well then," Near muttered, and hung up. Eloquent as ever.

-o-

Time had seemed slow before, but now the days crept by like a parade of snails. It was irrational, but after hearing from Near, it seemed somehow inevitable that Mello would contact him too. Actually, the more he thought about it (and the more time passed that the Watari phone remained silent) the stupider the notion was; Mello had run away a long time ago and had made a way for himself without Roger's help, had left on angry terms.

Knowing it was stupid didn't make the hope go away.

Still, he had known when they left that neither was the type to send home postcards to tell him about the weather and how they were doing. It was a gift just to know Mello was still alive and doing well, and while Roger was now plagued with even more anxiety knowing that the two of them were closing in on L and W's killer, it lifted his spirits to know that Near thought the end was in sight.

Burying himself in work, he tried not to dwell on it overmuch.

He had stopped telling all new students about the succession at the age of eight. The policy had been rewritten to include only students who showed a particular interest in criminal justice, the age raised to fourteen. The collaborative class structure he'd implemented to try to get Mello and Near to work together was maintained as well. The atmosphere at the House became much more pleasant as a result. Of course there was still all the childish drama one would expect from any group of people all packed into one House, but nothing like the bitter rivalry that Roger had fought so hard to break up.

It had been unseasonably warm this winter, but they finally had their first snow in January. The intermediate physics instructor was the first to give in to the inevitable fact that the children were going to be restless and rowdy until they got a chance to muck up the flawless sparkling white that mantled the grounds. They dragged scales and a chalkboard out into the garden and played some sort of game based on calculating the arcs and velocities of snowballs. Now a full-scale battle was being played out on the football pitch by all the students, involving an elaborate trench and wall system and a complicated fictional political situation—currently it appeared that talks to discuss the release of prisoners of war were being used as a distraction to send in a rescue party, who in turn were unaware that an ambush was waiting.

It brought him back to his time in military training, when he was not much older than some of these kids. That seemed like several lifetimes ago, now. This might as well have been one of their war games, except that the participants were laughing and having fun.

Roger watched through his office window, allowing himself a small smile. He remembered the first day Quillsh had driven him past that pitch, his alarm at discovering what he was getting into. He wondered, if he had known then the things he knew now, if he still would have accepted Watari's offer, or if he would have walked away. It was hard to say, but Roger suspected he might have turned right around and gone back to waste away with Rosalea's garden. The years and experience had changed him, he supposed, though he couldn't decide if that were a good thing or not for either himself or the House, or for Mello and Near.

Not that it was really worth pondering. He had stepped into this position, that was reality. And despite all the stress and turmoil and anxiety and disappointment, there were moments, like this one, when things felt pretty ok.

And maybe, just maybe, not if but when this whole business with Kira was over (he had to believe Mello and Near could succeed, because if they didn't he didn't know who was going to stop Kira; certainly Roger couldn't) everything really would be ok sometimes.

As though thinking of the boys had summoned them (though that couldn't be true, or the line would be ringing off the hook every day) the phone in his breast pocket buzzed.

It almost slipped from his unsteady fingers as he fumbled with it, but somehow he managed to get the thing open and to his ear, breath catching—Near would only call again if it was the best news, or the worst.

"It's done," Near said before he could even open his mouth to ask, sounding as though he hadn't quite believed it himself until this very moment.

Relief overwhelmed him, dizzying and breathtaking, and he had to sit down. "Oh, that's wonderful. Wonderful," he babbled, hardly knowing what he was saying. He pressed a hand to his forehead, trying to collect himself a little, so he could at least come across as sane at least if not entirely coherent. "Are you both alright? What happened? When are you coming home?"

The gap in the conversation stretched past 'normal Near delayed response time' to something more worrisome.

"Near?" Cold hands clenched around his lungs. "What's wrong? What happened?"

"It's…there was an incident. With Mello."

Oh, oh no. No, no, no…. "You—you quarreled? He still doesn't want to come home…?" Near didn't answer, and Roger's hand started to tremble. "Near? Did Mello…is he…."

Near's silence told him all he needed to know.

-o-

Roger was an old man, and had survived the deaths of many people.

He vaguely remembered the death of his grandmother, when Roger himself was quite small, remembered his mother crying and how the body in the casket looked like a large grey prune with too much rouge, and not like his Nan at all. His father had died of lung cancer shortly after Roger married, a painful and ugly death, and his mother passed away quietly in her sleep only four years before Rosalea died.

Lovely, laughing Rosalea. Her death was unexpected, resulting from injuries sustained in an automobile accident. Those had been the worst hours of Roger's life, unable to get in the ER to see her, pacing the squeaking linoleum of the waiting room listening to the ticking of the clock and waiting to hear something, anything about her condition, only to find that there was nothing to be done.

This was different from all of those experiences, in some way that Roger couldn't quite describe. He folded his arms and hunched against the cold as he waited on the front steps, watching the black car approach. There was that familiar, hollow feeling of something missing and chances lost, and the sharper, raw pain of the simple tragedy of the situation, but there was something more, this time; a sense of wrongness and sick displacement, because this wasn't how things were supposed to happen.

Roger was all too aware that Mello and Near were not his sons, but they might as well be, and it just wasn't right that a child bursting with so much life and potential should die before a tired old man.

Possibly worst of all was that it seemed so unnecessary. If he had braved Mello's rejection and tracked him down anyway—if he hadn't been so afraid and aloof and had somehow gotten Mello to understand that Roger really did want the best for him—

If, if, if.

Two of Near's agents had come with him; Near had been unspecific, but Roger got the impression that they were going to stick around for a little while at least. He recognized Rester, going around to the back of the car to open the door for Near, and there was a woman as well, waiting near the car for the other two and looking around apprehensively. The two agents flanked the young man steps like bodyguards (which, Roger considered, they probably were) as he shambled up to the steps.

Near looked paradoxically almost the same as the day he'd left, and a thousand years older. He hadn't grown a jot. Roger was starting to think he would probably always be quite short. But he had aged; his hands and face were now slender and angular where they had been baby-soft and rounded, and in his movements he'd developed an odd, listless sort of grace. It was his eyes, though, that had changed the most; the deep shadows beneath them seemed permanently scored there, and their lackluster cast suggested he wanted nothing more than to go to sleep for the rest of his life.

It was not the face of someone who had just won a great victory.

It took all Roger had not to reach out and embrace the returning child, just to know for sure that he was in fact solid and real. The hyper-conscious distance kept by his agents and his reluctance to meet Roger's eyes restrained him. Near's entire demeanor clearly communicated that he'd rather be left alone.

"Welcome home," the old man said instead, and ushered them into the warmth.

-o-

Near's immediate priorities on returning were evading Marta's boisterous mothering and shutting himself in his room to sleep for several hours, which he did without so much as a 'hello'.

Roger couldn't be sure, but it seemed after a day or so like the boy was avoiding him. True, Roger didn't exactly seek him out—the walls that Near established around himself had grown high and thick, discouraging approach. He slept a great deal, which was understandable. He probably had a lot of sleep to catch up on. Still, even when he was awake Near didn't come up to the office. In speaking to Rester and Lidner, he discovered that Near had explained to them Roger's role as Watari, and that implied that the new L expected him to fill that role, but he never said anything about it himself.

It was hurtful to know that Near didn't want to see him, when Roger had wanted little else but to see and talk to the boys for so long. Now that he knew that Mello was beyond reach, it made him want to hold even tighter to what he had left. What was even more upsetting, however, was how out of character it was for Near. He never invited affection or social interaction, it was true, but there was a definitive difference between Near avoiding Roger and the new L avoiding W. The last time he had literally shut himself away like this had been when Mello ran away.

Maybe it had all been too much for the boy. Too much strain and pressure for too long. Most people would have snapped like so many toothpicks, Roger was sure. He could see it in Rester and Lidner; both of them put up a good show of businesslike composure, but it was obvious to the old man that they were emotionally and mentally drained.

It seemed to affect Lidner most. A few times he caught her just staring off, lost in thoughts, and then she would startle and look around as though she'd forgotten where they were.

"Mello grew up here too, didn't he," she asked him almost wistfully as Roger was showing them around the facility.

"Yes, that's right," Roger said roughly, turning away as he felt his face start to crumple.

"I'm so sorry," Lidner said, her voice breaking. "I'm so sorry."

-o-

When Near finally emerged from his room to do something other than visit the kitchens and go back to bed, the first thing he did was go outside.

"Oh, child," Roger murmured to himself, shaking his head as he watched the boy trudge across the darkening grounds with only a jumper thrown over his pajamas. "Still no common sense."

"Sir," said Rester with uncharacteristic hesitation, "If I may ask, are you related to Near?"

"…No," Roger said distractedly, his attention drawn by the forlorn little figure skirting around the edge of the gardens. The two men were following his progress from Roger's office window; Rester had just made his report of the Kira case to Watari. What a horrific trial for anyone to undergo; how could he ever allowed either of the boys to go through that? But it was done now, and it was too late to save Mello.

From the looks of things, maybe it was too late for Near too.

"But you raised him."

Roger sighed. "I tried to."

"May I speak plainly, sir?"

The agent's face was a struggle between worry and an attempt to stay professional. Roger recognized that struggle all too well. "Please do."

"Near has not…been himself since the case ended. You know him better than either Halle or myself. I don't think he would be very receptive to either of us offering that kind of support."

"No. Probably not," Roger said wearily. He doubted it would be much more appreciated coming from himself.

-o-

The snow was almost melted, turning the yard into a slop of dead grass and slush. At first Roger sought out bits of firmer ground to step on, but quickly gave it up as a lost cause and tromped through the muck resignedly.

The boy was at the very edge of the garden, where Constance usually planted the rosemary. All of the herbs had been transplanted into buckets and brought into the kitchens for the winter, and most of the snow had been requisitioned for snowball fights, leaving the garden a pot-holed, muddy mess. Heedless of his bleach-white pajamas, Near was crouched down with his fingers laced loosely over his knees, staring at the ground. Roger noted with resignation but little surprise that he hadn't even put shoes on over his formerly white socks. The boy glanced obliquely through the curtain of hair that had grown out to almost obscure his face as Roger drew up beside him.

"You're going to catch your death out here, child," Roger informed him, unceremoniously draping the scarf he had brought around Near's thin shoulders and dropping a knitted hat on his head. Already his nose, ears, and fingers were red with cold.

"I'm not a child anymore, Roger."

"No, I suppose not," he agreed, tucking a coat around the boy. "A child would have come out, noticed he was uncomfortable in this inclement weather, and gone back in for his shoes. You, on the other hand, are a very stubborn young man, and are too caught up in your thoughts to pay attention to such mundane matters." He held out a pair of mittens. "Here."

Near frowned. He took the mittens but didn't put them on, clasping them in his spidery fingers. "What do you want?"

"Your agents are very worried about you."

"I know," Near said, his brow creasing slightly.

"I'm worried about you too."

"They briefed you on the details of the case."

"Yes."

Near sighed. "I expected as much."

"Near," Roger said awkwardly, when the other didn't go on, "I think…we should have a talk."

Small shoulders hunched defensively beneath the over-sized coat. "I expected that too."

Apparently Near had no intention of making this any easier. "Well, erm, it's just that…I know that this case and… how everything turned out with…." Roger swallowed. "With Mello. I know that must be very difficult for you…." The old man trailed off uncertainly, cursing himself for his own clumsiness. He was no good at all this feelings stuff.

"Are you going to retract the title from me?"

"I—what?" Roger stopped, bewildered.

"If you know the details of the case then it is logical that you would do so," Near told his knees. "I expect that Rester and Lidner will be finding other work soon as well."

Roger blinked a few times, trying to redirect his train of thought. He got the feeling that he and Near were holding different sides of two completely unrelated conversations. "Whatever are you on about?"

"You said yourself that you were worried. Speaking objectively, I too would have concerns if I were to examine this case as an observer." Near hung his head. "I would also have doubts about my capacity to handle that position."

Mouth open in surprise, Roger was momentarily at a loss for words. "Oh, Near," he said when he found his voice, and placed his hand gently on that bowed head. Near seemed to crumble at the touch, pressing his forehead to his hands.

It occurred briefly to Roger as he knelt stiffly next to the boy that he might not be able to get back up, but he would just have to worry about that later. "Now, what on earth possesses you to think you can't handle being L? Your case against Kira was successful, was it not?"

"Not mine," Near answered quietly, his voice muffled. "If my original plan had played out…I very nearly handed us all over to Kira. We barely avoided catastrophe. If Mello hadn't interfered, the SPK and the Japanese taskforce would all have been killed, myself included." Raking his hands through his fringe, Near wound the hair tightly around his fingers, pulling it taut. His calm voice clashed disconcertingly with his despairing posture. "He wasn't supposed to die. That was not in my scenario. I should have thought of the possibility of a fake notebook. I should have kept better track of Mello. I was careless, and Mello was killed as a result."

"It wasn't your fault, Near," Roger told him gruffly. It was hard to speak around the lump in his throat. "No one expects you to think of every possible thing. You can't control everything and everyone. No one can."

"I promised I'd bring him back," he protested almost inaudibly.

"And it turned out to be a promise you couldn't keep. They were circumstances outside of your control, Near. Mello…" Roger blinked rapidly, eyes stinging. "Mello made his own decisions."

"How can you say that, as though it's not important?" Near's breathing was growing sharp and shallow, the façade of control cracking. "If I made a promise, I should have been able to keep it."

"It's alright, Near." Roger was terribly afraid that Near was going to start crying, but then, he himself was already blinking tears, so maybe it really wasn't such a terrifying thing. Mello had died resenting him, never knowing how much Roger wanted him to succeed, or how much Roger cared. He wasn't going to repeat that mistake with Near. Tentatively, he put a hand on the boy's shoulder. "I don't hold that against you."

Near didn't flinch away, but curled up even smaller. "That's completely irrational, Roger!" he said tightly, hiding his face in his arms. "It's not alright!"

"There now, child," Roger said, attempting to sooth him.

"He promised he'd wait for me this time," Near cried. "He promised."

His knees were starting to hurt and the mud seeping into the fabric of his trousers was freezing cold, but Roger didn't move, just waited and hoped that his presence was some source of comfort. It wasn't long. Near regained his composure after several seconds, taking in a few gasps of air and wiping self-consciously at his raw eyes with his sleeves.

"Ugh. I apologize," he said, struggling to replace his mask of calm. "That was completely unacceptable."

"There's no need to apologize."

"You're far too diplomatic, Roger," Near muttered. "I'm more than aware what a disappointment we've always been to you."

"A disappointment?" Roger almost felt like he might start crying all over again. "Near, I couldn't be more proud of you."

Near looked up sharply at that. "…Why?" he asked, as though he thought Roger were crazy.

"You've shown more strength in the last few years than I think you even realize," Roger said seriously, giving his shoulder a light squeeze and letting him go. "You've given me little not to be proud of."

Ever logical and completely missing the point, the boy shook his head. "You've always wanted Mello and I to work together," he insisted stubbornly. "I suspected for years that that was what L really planned all along, which was why he never showed a preference between us. Mello disagreed…he thought it was you that wanted us to work together temporarily, not to succeed L together, but because you thought my influence would tame him. His analysis was it was you who wanted me to succeed L, but wanted him to be ready too as insurance."

Horrified, Roger had to interrupt. "That's not how it was—"

"I know that," Near said. Sighing, he wound a lock of hair around one finger. "It is clear now that Mello and I balanced each other out; we needed each other, like two halves of a whole. Both in the Kira case, and in this, both of us had some of the pieces, but only together did we have the entire puzzle. Without Mello, I am an incomplete shadow of L at best." His shoulders slumped. "It was under my nose for years, but I never truly understood until it was too late. I thought L had seen the connection all along, but then…I discovered that Mello met L, right before he left for Japan."

"He did?" Roger said, startled. Near went on, ignoring his outburst.

"If Mello spoke to L face-to-face, and came to the belief that L had little consideration for the succession…that lends his analysis of the succession a certain credence. He always was a good judge of character." Near gave his hair a short tug, frowning slightly. "But like myself, he was only half right. We really were supposed to work together. It wasn't L's idea, though, was it?" Grey eyes slid sideways, not quite meeting Roger's. "It was you who saw it from the beginning, and tried to put the pieces together for us. And now…I've ruined the puzzle. It does not add up that you would have any reason to be anything but disappointed and angry."

"Good heavens, Near," Roger said, astonishment somehow finding him through the tangle of constricting sorrow. Over the last couple years he had almost forgotten the brain-scrambling effect trying to understand where Near was coming from could have; he could only just barely follow this bizarre, self-flagellating line of reasoning. Sighing heavily, he rubbed his forehead. "It wasn't like that. It was never like that."

"No?"

"I…I didn't think either of you couldn't have excelled as L's successor alone, given time and training. Both of you had the ability," Roger said slowly. "L might have chosen either of you. But you both wanted it so badly, and...I couldn't choose between you." He squared his shoulders. "I couldn't choose, and I didn't want L to, either."

Brought outside the realm of the logical and cost-effective, Near didn't seem to understand what he was trying to say. "You were unsure about our relative level of motivation?" he hazarded.

"No," Roger said. "I just, I…" he took a breath, then finally admitted out loud to himself, "I cared about both of you too much to disappoint either of you. Compared to that…I didn't give a damn about L, or the title. I wanted you…to be happy."

"Happy," Near repeated, as though he didn't recognize the word. "Oh. …I see."

He didn't look like he did. On the contrary, he looked as though Roger had hit him upside the head with a crowbar.

"Life isn't always clear-cut, Near," Roger said gently. "People aren't puzzle pieces or toys that fit together just like you think they should. Losing the people who are close to us is hard, but…life goes on. You're not less of a person, or less of a successor, without…him." He hesitated, then continued, "I was married, you know, before I came to Winchester. When…when she died, I never thought…it was like part of me, the best part, was gone. I didn't think anyone else could ever be such an important part of my life ever again." The old man's brow creased, and he said, almost as though to himself, "But…I was wrong."

As he was speaking, Near's gaze remained locked blankly onto empty space, but it seemed to the old man that he was still listening. "I know you're a very, very intelligent young man, Near—you're much, much smarter than me. But I've been around a lot longer than you have, and there's a lot to be learned from experience. You're far too young to be thinking you've messed up your life past fixing, child."

Apparently unsure of how to respond, Near finally looked away, flustered. "…You're doing it again," he said, changing the subject.

"What's that?"

"Calling me a child."

Roger wiped at his eyes and chuckled. "When you get to be my age, Near, everyone looks like a child. I may break myself of the habit by the time you get to be forty or so."

"Forty?" Near said, giving him a flat look. "That seems excessive."

"Yes, well. I fully intend to be around a long while yet, nagging you to eat your breakfast and remember your hat when you go out in the cold."

"Hm," said Near, resting his chin on his folded arms and gazing up at the House, "I suppose…I can tolerate that. If I must."

Roger smiled fondly to himself. Only Near ever knew what Near was thinking, but even the old man could see that he had relaxed, his face now obscurely melancholy rather than obscurely miserable. His effort to appear completely composed was somewhat ruined by the fact that he kept sniffing, however. Apparently the cold was finally getting to him.

"We should probably get back inside," Roger said. His legs had gone numb quite a while ago. "Marta would never let me hear the end of it if she discovered I let you sit out here and give yourself hypothermia."

Near lifted one of his feet, examining his mud-caked sock with resignation. "I expect we're going to hear about it regardless," he said glumly.

-o-

"What happened to the praying mantis?" Near asked, peering into the terrarium.

Roger looked over, a little surprised. Near had never shown any interest before in the various insects, both alive and preserved, that adorned the shelves of Roger's workspace. He hadn't realized that Near had even noticed the mantid that had replaced the walking twig.

The office was something of a mess. L's team—that is, Near himself, Rester, Lidner, and Watari—were moving their base of operation to an installation in London, for better mobility when Near decided to haul them across the globe to follow this case or that. Half of the contents of the room were now in boxes, the other half either marked for packing or to be left behind for the new manager. Most of the team was frenetically busy, but naturally, Near was the exception, managing to appear as though he was almost completely unemployed while the people around him went crazy. Two years away from the House had not broken his perverse habit of being obliviously underfoot while Roger was trying to work, and he had just finished a waist-high pyramid of origami cubes (made from every last sheet of Roger's printer paper) right in the middle of the semi-contained chaos.

"It died quite a while ago," Roger told him. "Mantids only have a lifespan of a year, you know."

"Ah." He frowned. "So you left it empty."

"Not at all." Roger came up to the terrarium, pointing at the underside of one of the leaves.

Near wrinkled his nose. "What is it?" he asked gingerly.

"Chiasmia clathrata, in its pupal stage. It's a cocoon," Roger clarified, at the young man's blank look. For as gifted and well-versed in some areas as he was, Roger thought, Near's education was tragically lacking in some vital subjects. Such as entomology.

"So it will hatch into a butterfly."

"A moth, actually," the old man corrected. "To be specific, a latticed heath moth. The biology class was examining caterpillars and they gave a few of them to me."

"Interesting," Near said automatically, looking a little glazed. Roger suppressed a chuckle, then turned and almost tripped trying to avoid stepping on the edge of the fragile origami pyramid.

"Young man, don't you have any packing of your own do be doing?" he grumbled, catching himself just in time and sidling between two stacks of boxes instead to get to his desk.

"No," said Near.

That was not surprising; as far as Roger knew he had very few personal belongings, and he had probably delegated anything of importance to L's work to poor Rester and Lidner to handle. "No cases to be working on?"

"I am waiting to receive the forensic reports on the Moscow murders."

"Hm. Here, why don't you find something closer to home to occupy yourself," Roger said, tossing him a newspaper from his desk.

Catching it, Near spread open the pages and held them up by the corners. "Are you trying to tell me to leave?" he asked from behind it.

"Not at all." As irritating as he could be, it was a good sign that Near no longer seemed to feel obligated to be working every waking second. He spent an almost worrying amount of time curled up in windowseats or on the floor in silent communion with a pair of finger puppets painted to resemble Mello and the first L. Roger found them mildly disturbing, but, he supposed, everyone had their own way of dealing with death. Roger's way was mounds of paperwork and scotch. Apparently Near's was pondering over creepyish little representations of those lost. If that was what helped him cope, Roger wasn't about to remark on it. At least he had come through the worst of his funk since their conversation in the garden. It was relieving to see that he now occasionally sought out the company of others, even if he was kind of in the way.

"Hm."

"You could help me pack," Roger suggested dryly, pulling open a filing drawer full of disks.

"You wouldn't have so much packing to do if you would simply load everything onto a server," said the newspaper. "It's your own fault you have so much unnecessary work." Unimpressed by what the local police blotter had to offer, Near picked his way across the room, spread the newspaper flat on Roger's desk (thus monopolizing one of the few clear spaces left in the office) and began folding in the corners.

"I suppose." There was no point arguing with the boy about it; Roger liked to do things his way, old-fashioned or not, and that was that.

"Roger."

"Yes?" the old man said distractedly, flipping through the disks. Most of these were tailored infiltration viruses. They would be coming with the team. Which meant Roger needed another box, which meant he'd have to go downstairs and get one from maintenance. He sighed.

"Do you remember what I said when Mello left the House?"

Roger stiffened warily. Near didn't pause in his task, his deft fingers unfolding the newspaper again and refolding it into a new pattern, pressing the creases smooth. They had not spoken of Mello since the garden. They had never discussed that day.

"Erm," was all Roger managed.

Taking his faltering reply as uncertainty, Near filled in for him, "I said to you, 'You've never seemed averse to manipulating us like tools.'"

Clearing his throat, Roger shrugged it off. "You were upset," he said gruffly. "I know you didn't really mean it." Honestly, he was a little impressed that Near could remember that conversation so accurately. Had it been haunting him all this time?

"I did mean it," Near said matter-of-factly. "However, the accusation was founded on false presuppositions. I was wrong, and I apologize."

Roger could only stare at him, speechless. Reaching out, Near placed the newspaper origami in the middle of the desk, got up, and picked his way out of the room. "I'm going to get more paper for the pyramid," he announced as he went.

He picked up what had been his (unread) newspaper. It was now a praying mantis—not perfect in its anatomy, but good enough to be clearly recognizable.

Huffing an incredulous laugh, Roger shook his head, turning the delicate thing over in his hands. It didn't really fix anything, or alleviate any of the pain of Mello's death, or exonerate him of any of his own failings. But some small thread in tangle of issues that made up their lives was ok, for now.

And that, Roger thought, was enough to get by on.

AN: The End.
homg, I'm loserly excited that I actually finished something I started. :O I hope you enjoyed it.
If you did, or especially if you didn't, you can *help me improve* by sharing some concrit. :)

ETA: Also, if you are interested, my story "Under One Roof" is a collection of 60 vignettes that fill in some of the behind-the-scenes stuff of this story, as well as going into more detail about the everyday life and culture of the House.