A/N: With this, "Manipulation" is complete. I was prepared to write another chapter, but after doing my research (i.e. reading the last four volumes of the manga again), I realized that would be unnecessary.

The -x-'s are there to show time passing, just to avoid some confusion. To be safe, I'll mention that I've incorporated some dialogue from straight out of the (English) manga, and those conversations belong solely to Ohba and Obata (as does all of DN, of course). I'm sure you'll be able to recognize which bits of dialogue I'm referring to, but I'll be happy to clarify if need be.

Regarding the investigation, everything is going smoothly. It's almost too easy.

Light Yagami and his people are incompetent, unbelievably so. It was not a question of if one of the Task Force members would step forward voluntarily, but of when.

And Shuichi Aizawa has certainly been helpful and compliant, though he seems to think his presence is of more value than it really is, but people do like to hold themselves in high regard. After an empty thank you, he must have realized that was as good as it was going to get and, with Mogi in tow, continued about his less-than-merry way.

Mello hasn't been making many, if any, noticeable movements. From the hints Lidner had dropped after my prompting, I can assume he's keeping tabs on Misa Amane and has made the connection that Light Yagami is the second L and Kira. The vision of Mello listening to the painfully shallow girl while Matt follows her every move is exasperating, because I know that the two can do something so much more useful than waste their time watching video feeds. Then again, who am I to say they aren't doing anything more or making progress by operating that way? I haven't had contact with Mello since that morning in the hotel room.

They don't know about Teru Mikami, of that I'm sure. Had they somehow figured out that he was performing the killings, they would see the futility of continuing to spy on Amane. Even if Mello has given Matt the duty of tailing Mikami, Gevanni would be able to recognize his face.

Not for the first time, I think of how much more effective our investigations would be if Mello would agree to cooperate with me. I lack the action and he lacks the calm. Damn.

We both have our pride, though. We are too obstinate. Would L be proud of his successors? He must be, or he would have never left things how he did; wouldn't have left such an important decision unmade.

I curl Mello's rosary around my index finger tightly, the beads leaving miniscule indents in my flesh.

I'll need that rosary back eventually.

I'm taking those words as more of a promise than anything else. But somehow, I can't picture Mello storming into the SPK and taking his tarnished symbol of faith from its place around my neck. Partly because if I were to meet with Mello again, I believe he'd have me go to him because the stakes are so high. And I know that when I must relinquish the beaded treasure, it won't be without hesitance.

Lidner's sudden appearance on the monitor pulls me from my musings.

"…But the conversation seemed to be only about which of them was 'his,' in other words, Light Yagami's girlfriend."

Predictably, the Commander turns to me. "What does this mean, Near?"

"What this proves," I begin, taking the Amane and Takada figures and snuggling them against the toy labeled L/Light/Kira, "…is that Light Yagami is a lady killer." My thoughts wander again to Mello.

"Near, seriously…" Rester trails off, as if tempted to chastise me, a cheeky child.

I suppress the urge to sigh. He misunderstands me, mistakes me for one to put humorous spins on serious situations. Omitting the 'please let me finish' I so desperately want to include, I cut in. "But being seriously infatuated can be a problem. They won't betray him that easily…no, he can control them as he wants…"

I may not be thinking clearly. Why am I reading so much into my own statements; thinking of mine and Mello's relationship while speaking of Light Yagami's? The assessment is not applicable because the one Mello and I share is one of equal need for control. Neither of us will submit to the other, we adamantly refuse to do anything of the sort.

When Gevanni contacts us with news that Mikami's talking to himself, I'm almost grateful for the distraction.

-x-

Pictures of infinite pages fill countless monitor screens. Rester seems almost befuddled by the sight, but I remain unaffected. As I've said before, I'm good at looking.

"What do you think, Near?"

"Yes, Gevanni has done well." Obviously not the response he is after.

"That's not what I meant!"

"The handwriting on this matches Mikami's handwriting on the investigation records he wrote as a prosecutor. It must be written by Mikami."

"Right," he agrees readily.

I allow a smile to twist on my face, though it is as much of a grimace as it is a grin. "Yes…looks like I can put my plan into action."

-x-

It's reduplicative paramnesia. Déjà vu, if you will. It must be.

The image of Mello striding in view of our monitors, red leather hooding his scarred and angular face, Rester turning to me, asking what it is that he should do; I've seen this all before.

I reward his questioning with a blank stare. "Please let Mello in."

"Sir, were you expecting him?"

"I don't know."

With a nervous glance back at the monitor, the Commander enters the code that has the metal doors gliding open, revealing Mello's leather-clad form. It is a strange feeling, seeing him in those clothes, knowing I've seen what lies beneath them; touched and appreciated what the slick leather dares to hide.

This is reality, it seems.

"Welcome, Mello. Commander Rester, that will be all."

"But, sir," he splutters out the beginning of a useless protest. Does he really think I require his protection? I spent the night with Mello not long ago and emerged unharmed. Then again, perhaps that is why he intends to be present.

"Please don't make me repeat myself." My tone is absolute, and the man leaves without another word.

"You've trained him well, Near," Mello remarks snidely. He doesn't expect me to respond, so I don't. I simply watch as he approaches me.

Sapphire eyes smolder and settle on the finger puppets I've been working on. His is completed already; the effort I put into it was almost painstaking. As I decorated the smirking face with a delicate scar that wound across the left side, I was reminded of the unsettling detail present on Mello's rosary.

He snorts, juts his sharp chin in the direction of the only finished puppet. "I'm flattered."

"As you should be."

He bends down to scoop up his puppet likeness as I begin to struggle to my feet, and we collide on our journeys. I lose my balance and reach my hand out instinctively for support, resulting in my fingers curled, claw-like, around the smooth material of Mello's jacket.

A long-fingered hand rests on my hip, I suppose to steady me. "Standing up? Surely my presence doesn't warrant such an honor." Black-tipped nails work their way up my shirt and cause friction. He finds the place where the rosary rests underneath the gentle cotton fabric and gives the cross a sharp tap. "My rosary."

I remove the beads from around my neck and take them in my palm, hold them up to him so the crucifix dangles from between my knuckles. My hand opens and the red and black beads lying flat on my palm contrast brilliantly with pale flesh. "Mello, I–" I'm not quite sure what I'm about to say, if I'm readying myself to ask if I may keep the rosary or something else entirely.

He curls my fingers around it. Again, I feel the beads making small indents in my skin with how tight my hold of the thing is. "Keep it. Where I'm going, I won't need it."

I hardly have time to ponder what he's insinuating with that statement, much less respond, because suddenly his lips are covering mine and blond wisps are resting on my cheeks. His pace is not harsh, but it is insistent, soft lips pressing hard against my mouth. I return the kisses; I need to return them and do so in a way that feels natural to me, prolonging the kisses, wordlessly asking for him to slow down. Somehow, we are able to meet somewhere in the middle and I know that I'm losing myself in his embrace when my limbs seem to liquidate.

He knows he is going to die and has resigned himself to that fate. I envision blue eyes wide and clouded and clutch harder at his jacket to keep myself upright because of it. I slip the rosary into his jacket pocket as our tongues and lips continue to clash, not wanting the fiery blond whose arms hold me to die without keeping his personal savior close. I know he feels the metal weigh his jacket down, he knows that I know he feels it. We keep silent and let each other pretend.

It didn't have to be this way. Even in my head, the words ring false. There was no other way this could have been. We weren't expected to work flawlessly together and catch Kira as a unit; the rivalry that has plagued us is too deeply ingrained. It could even be said that L planned for one of us to die at the other's expense, or at least accepted it as an inevitability.

I don't ask myself, why Mello? Not ever. Impetuous, bold, emotional Mello would always be the one most likely to put his life on the line. I could offer myself, sure, but that wouldn't be right. Like Christ, the man so atrociously splayed on the cross of the rosary in a crimson jacket pocket, Mello will die in such a way that ensures he will be forever remembered, at least by a few; a young and beautiful man sacrificing himself, modestly yet nobly, for something far bigger than himself. I don't think for one moment that Mello is altruistic, however. If I should fail, he won't have to be around to witness Kira's reign at the top.

Our chests are heaving slightly as we break apart and I indulge in one long look, knowing it will be my last. He even looks holy, or at least angelic, flaxen hair framing his face in something halo-like and ethereal. Jagged scar, body-hugging leather, wiry muscles lurking beneath smooth skin, eyes bluer than blue; I've seen it all before and then some, but the images seem to swell and crash over me in icy waves. Coming to my senses, I almost reprimand myself for ogling when I realize that his eyes are still roaming my frame and he's committing every detail of me to his memory, too.

Then he's gone, disappeared in a flash of leather and a hint of chocolate. It feels emptier than usual when I slump to the floor and don't move for an exceptionally long time.

-x-

"Near."

"Mello."

"I'm headed for a church in Nagano. Halle's on her way."

"This will prove that the notebook Mikami possesses is a fake."

"It seems I've saved your life."

"Mello…"

"Catch the bastard, Near. For L, Matt…"

"…for you."

"If for no one else, do it for dear Mello."

Click.

-x-

"Commander Rester, Lidner, Gevanni…let's put our best into this, shall we?"