It's a dimly-lit, sparsely furnished room: with only two chairs and a table, Mello and Matt have no choice but to stand, waiting for the room's occupants – an well-dressed older man in a black hat, a white-haired boy sprawled out on the grounds with a white puzzle, and last but certainly no less important for his inconspicuousness, a thin figure hunched over a computer – to acknowledge them.

Mello watches Matt, sees him blink a little as process of elimination kicks in, and can't blame him – Mello had, after all, reacted similarly when the hunching man with disheveled hair and a sleepy eyes had first introduced himself as the world's greatest detective – but other than that, Matt shows no signs of surprise. Wammy conditioning, Mello thinks, old mindsets returning in places of origination.

Watari is the first to break the silence, stands up as he smiles and walks towards them. "Mello, Matt," he says, clapping them on the shoulder, "it's good to see you two again."

"You as well, sir," Matt says, words warm but rote and smile stiff.

Behind Watari, L says nothing, only continues typing without any sign of noticing them.

"Ah, apologies for that," Watari says, noticing Mello's eyes on L, "even though the case is essentially closed, there are still plenty of legalities to deal with – the press will want a trial, and the police aren't quite fond of some of our actions, and well, there's been quite a lot of fallout to deal with –"

"Not entirely accurate," L says without turning around. "While it's true that we're still collecting the final data on the Zodiac case, that's not the matter on hand. This," he said, punching a key, causing the printer nearby to whir-whir into motion, "is."

"Here," L says, turning around and handing Mello the paper, still-warm. "This is your contract. Watari and I were impressed by your work in the Zodiac case," he continues, turning back to his computer. "Hence, although it was not written into the original plans, we've decided to offer you a position in dual successorship. On," L adds, not seeming to notice Mello's sharp intake of breath at the word 'dual,' the way his eyes dart to the white-haired boy on the ground, "two conditions."

"First," L says, fingers click-clacking as he talks, "despite former difficulties, you will cooperate with Near. Roger has informed me of your mutual history, so cordial relations can be suspended for now – however, at least in terms of cases, you will be required to work without animosity. Personal feelings notwithstanding, this will provide you with a number of technical advantages – access to the same databases, for one thing."

And though the words are in the same monotone as before, there's something in the casualness of the remark, the glancing manner in which he mentions it that makes Mello start, glance again at the detective hunched in the chair.

"What about data – how did you – you knew –"

"Of course we knew you were hacking in," L says, expression unchanging as he reached for a cup of coffee. "The old security measures were still formidable, granted," he says, dropping four or five sugar cubes into the mug, "but it's hardly as though we would allow our systems to be so easily breached."

Taking a sip, L adds another couple of sugar cubes, then continues.

"Second," he says, stirring his coffee, "there will be the necessary medical procedures. You will continue to take – or, if you've stopped, will recommence taking – the medicine you've been prescribed. Yes, we knew about that as well. Hospitals keep diligent records, even if they are for aliases. In addition," L adds, taking another experimental sip of his coffee, frowning, and then dropping in another two sugar cubes, "if it is necessary, a psychiatrist will be prescribed –"

"Only if necessary, of course," Watari says quickly, more attuned to the growing anger in Mello's eyes than his protégé. "It's no less than what we would do for any other ward of the House, under similar situations. Your safety and happiness are, after all, our highest priorities."

"Oh?" Mello asks. "Is that so."

"Naturally," L says, reflexively biting as his thumb as he types another few words. "Hence, both perfectly reasonable stipulations." He takes another sip of his coffee, then nods, and puts the mug down as he returns to typing.

"That's an awfully preemptive thing to assume," Mello says, eyes narrowing and voice deadly quiet as he looks at the assembled men, "for someone who hasn't even accepted your offer yet."

"Mels–?"

"That possibility was considered," L concedes, nodding slightly but showing no other sign of reaction, "but seeing as the chances of that were deemed under three percent, the possibility that you will accept is still vastly greater."

"At least think about," Watari adds, smiling pleadingly at Mello. "I know it's a large decision and that this is very sudden – the shock of the moment, of course – but please, do think about the idea –"

"And what if I just walked away – right here, right now?"

"You won't," Near says, speaking for the first time from his place on the ground. "Even if you were to leave the building," he said, clicking two pieces into place, "the lack of convenient public transportation means you would still be confined to House grounds."

For several, long moments, silence –

"Well," Mello says, smile all jagged teeth and cold eyes, "guess that means it's time I prove all your fucking probabilities wrong, then."

"Mello," Watari says, voice cajoling, "I know you may be angry, and you're right to be, but please don't just –"

"Oh, don't worry, I'll think about it, if that's what you want," Mello says, not turning around, "think about you and your fucking offer and what a fucking sucker you've taken me for to think I'd agree. And don't worry," he says bitterly, "your precious albino freak's right, it's not like I can go anywhere, so there's no need to worry about this piece of collateral running off and trying to put a gun through his head again."

"Now, Mello," and dimly, he registers that it's Roger this time, always-composed voice cracking as he shouted after him, "you know that's isn't how we –"

But he doesn't listen to any of them, not Matt or Roger or Watari and certainly not L (if, that is, he had said anything – which he doesn't, only sits there looking at Mello with black eyes as expressionless and bad as Near's), only walks out of the room and, ignoring Hannah's cries of confusion, out of the House.

He had intended, of course, to rip the paper up and walk away – not where, he had not planned that far, had only known that he was angry, indignant and outraged so furious his hands shook – no, destination had never been the goal, only away, far, far away, and all the fucking better –

And yet. Yet, once he was out of the House, standing there in the cold air and bright sun, the anger suddenly dissipated and Mello suddenly realized, with a sense of dull emptiness like aftermath of an adrenaline rush, that there, really, was nowhere to go. He hadn't a car; they were too far from a city for taxis to be close by; and even if had attempted it, what he had done so many months before, there were hospitals close by and the House staff would surely be on alert –

And, besides, he couldn't. Not with Matt and Hannah to think of.

So, in the end – with no place to run, nowhere to go, just as the little albino freak had said – he ends up in an abandoned tunnel, one of his and Matt's old hideouts, and does what he had told Watari and L he would do: he thinks.

He thinks on a lot of things. There is, of course, the burning indignity of it all – the fact that they had known, had been helping him all along, had probably even pitied him –

And L. L, whom he had never seen but once before, but who had stood in his memories as a sort of God, a fabled idol whose favor he had fought fifteen long years to be granted – and yet who, when he had given it, had done so with no more expression than before, no more than cursory congratulations –

("Watari and I were impressed –")

Impressed? Impressed, after all that, when Mello had bled and nearly died for him, had devoted his mind and whole life to completing the labors the House had set before him – and after all that, after all that, all L was, was impressed –

And Mello wants to scream at it, to hit and break and fucking hurt someone for it – but more than anything, once the anger passes, he wants to curl up somewhere warm and cry.

He understands, suddenly then, the urge that all drawn the other students to leave this place behind – Linda with art school and France, Matt with Oxford and Hannah, A with a note and a rope around his neck – all of them had been so much wiser, so much more intelligent than he (second, second-in-line and always second best) had been, had seen through the light show into the blankness behind this place, and had chosen to leave its castles of sand –

And yet. Yet here it was, all again, the place it had all begun, with all the main players up lined up for third act: two caskets for A and B, a throne for N, and God-knows-what for M and Matt. The final act: inescapable, in the end.

But he could stay here now. He could stay here, have, if not everything, then at least the majority of what he had wanted as a child – successorship even if it was only halfway, but still something, acknowledgement even if it came in brush-away bursts and automated moments –

He thinks of a life like that, spent waiting, always searching for what breadcrumbs of praise he could find (his life thus far, and for so very very long). He thinks of Near; he thinks of L, of cold, cold lives spent in whiteness and faded computer lights, and shakes his head. No, not quite. Not that.

And yet. Yet, somehow, he couldn't quite find it in himself to leave, either – force of habit and force of instinct, the House, as always, drawing him back –

"It's cold out," L says. He stands before Mello, slouched slightly, face illuminated by a flashlight held loosely in one hand. "You should come inside."

"You're not exactly dressed for the weather, either."

L shrugs, not denying the allegation.

"It isn't my health I'm concerned about," he says, unperturbed as he continues standing there.

Mello says nothing for a while, only stays there for a while, scrutinizing L in the faint yellow lights.

"Did Matt tell you where I was, then?" he asks finally, not moving from his place.

"Berated us for half an hour on deliberate callousness and calculated exploitation, then stalked off once he realized you were safe. Security cameras," L says, nodding at the ceiling of the tunnel. "Roger installed them after Rita and James were found using psychedelics here last year."

Rita and James...two of the older kids, Mello thinks, brown hair and freckles and an eagerness to follow him and Matt around like they were mother hens (he knew he should have discouraged that sooner) –

"It wasn't deliberate, however," L says, still looking at Mello with those same blank, black eyes. "Calculated, perhaps; exploitative, certainly; but callous and deliberately so, no. Flawed as his methods may have been, Watari was not lying when he said your safety and happiness are our highest priorities."

He stops for a moment, and when Mello continues to say nothing, asks, "have you decided, then? On the offer."

"Yeah," Mello says, slowly turning around. "And I think I've decided to agree to your terms – but with a few of my own."

L cocks his head, expression unchanging.

"First," Mello says, standing up, dirt and leaves on his pants, "if you think I'm going to staying at the orphanage the whole time, then, well, I won't. I'm not staying anywhere within five hundred meters of that albino freak, so don't try to make me. And don't bother about trying to find me a place nearby – I'll get my own place, with my own money."

"Second," he continues, "this isn't going to be a binding occupation – while I'll commit myself to any cases given, I reserve the right to stop working for you if and when I see fit. You already have one successor in the works, and if it eventually turns out Near isn't suitable by himself, there's a crop of potential subjects to groom for the position."

"A bit redundant, considering that the original contract never specified living quarters or required permanency," L says, "but amendable enough. We gave you two conditions; that's two."

"Plus one more," Mello says, "I'm going to enroll in Oxford. I know you have people in their offices, but there's no need to bother – I can get in easily enough, and if for some reason they don't give me a full scholarship, their loss – Cambridge and Imperial are still open."

He pauses after that, looks at L for the first time during the conversation with defiant eyes.

"You are aware, of course," L says, "that working on cases – regardless of the number I allocate to my successors – will probably be a full-time occupation, with little time to devote to other activities."

"I'm aware of that," Mello says. "But I'm also aware that I managed to bring in a number of crucial leads for the Zodiac case with limited resources and only cursory access to Near's databases. I think I can manage a little homework over topics I covered ten years ago. Besides," he adds, "you need someone on the ground – someone to gather data, collect information from where it is instead of letting computers spoon feed it over –"

"We have plenty of police forces and covert agents –"

"And, with a few exceptions, they're shit," Mello says, "useless for anything except the most basic of analysis–"

"Is this what this is about, then?" L asks, voice suddenly quiet. "The quality of my subordinates?" and in the light from the flashlight, L's eyes bore into Mello, black and large, unblinkingly penetrating.

"No," Mello says finally, looking away. "It's not –"

"What, then?"

And, as the wind rustles through the grasses, bringing with it the residual winter chill, Mello can only say, so quietly he isn't sure if he is talking to himself or answering L, "it's not about that."

L doesn't say anything more, but he doesn't need to – and perhaps Mello imagines it or perhaps it is an effect of the darkness, nothing more than a trick of the light, but for a moment, Mello swears L smiles as he nods, says, "alright" as he offers Mello a jacket.

"Watari would have my head if you died of pneumonia."

And Mello – despite all his previous anger, despite his still readily-present resentment – takes it, somehow and for some reason, and follows L back to the House, where the first lights of the coming celebration are already being strung.

Aaah wow, this is the first fic I've finished of this length! I'm not sure how to feel about this...

It's been a lot of fun you guys, thanks for staying this far and I hope you enjoyed the journey! Thanks so much for all your reviews and support and general wonderfulness!