[L is motionless as he listens. The rise and fall of his chest is so subtle that he seems as though he's not even allowing the sound or sensation of his own breath to be a distraction for what amounts to... well, this.
He knows what it must take for Mello to be this emotionally vulnerable in front of him. No amount of alcohol alone could prompt it; he is, if not the deliberate cause of Mello's agony, a potent catalyst for it. And L can read between the lines; Mello holds him responsible, because a God who isn't responsible isn't God. Mello might not be a child anymore, might demand that L notice how the mighty have looked upon him and despaired, but L is the legacy he follows like the specter of an absent parent. He wants L's acceptance and leadership and trust, and from his perspective, why wouldn't he be entitled to those things?
L doesn't flinch away from the rigid focus of Mello's eyes. He returns a steady, even stare that is perhaps more distant than appraising; it's so difficult to tell sometimes, with such still waters.]
I've never doubted your competence or your loyalty. I don't doubt them now.
[Besides, they're not enough. L's doubt, after all, is focused inward, on the soul that's already stretched and strained from the effort of maintaining one Bond with another witch.]
I strive to consider all possibilities, however. And though you mean it in these moments... this pledge to stand by me always... what if I should fail, again?
[Failing, after all, might as well be the same as dying for a God. Only mortals fail, and no mortal could pull this helplessness and desire from eyes hardened by Mello's cruelest years. Mello is asking him to do something Herculean; he could go mad, lose himself, become a menace or a maelstrom. All distinct possibilities, and if Mello writes them off because Linden is L, it is by far the largest hazard they face.]
no subject
He knows what it must take for Mello to be this emotionally vulnerable in front of him. No amount of alcohol alone could prompt it; he is, if not the deliberate cause of Mello's agony, a potent catalyst for it. And L can read between the lines; Mello holds him responsible, because a God who isn't responsible isn't God. Mello might not be a child anymore, might demand that L notice how the mighty have looked upon him and despaired, but L is the legacy he follows like the specter of an absent parent. He wants L's acceptance and leadership and trust, and from his perspective, why wouldn't he be entitled to those things?
L doesn't flinch away from the rigid focus of Mello's eyes. He returns a steady, even stare that is perhaps more distant than appraising; it's so difficult to tell sometimes, with such still waters.]
I've never doubted your competence or your loyalty. I don't doubt them now.
[Besides, they're not enough. L's doubt, after all, is focused inward, on the soul that's already stretched and strained from the effort of maintaining one Bond with another witch.]
I strive to consider all possibilities, however. And though you mean it in these moments... this pledge to stand by me always... what if I should fail, again?
[Failing, after all, might as well be the same as dying for a God. Only mortals fail, and no mortal could pull this helplessness and desire from eyes hardened by Mello's cruelest years. Mello is asking him to do something Herculean; he could go mad, lose himself, become a menace or a maelstrom. All distinct possibilities, and if Mello writes them off because Linden is L, it is by far the largest hazard they face.]