[L is a shit Bond; Mello is already aware. As is he, as far as he can tell. He's never done this before; it was never in the cards. Things like loyalty and commitment beyond necessary goals are alien to him. But he's doing his best, even if he's downing his nth glass of cognac while the sun is high in the sky, and shoving food at L as though that's the answer to the heartbreak that's so tangible that Mello can feel it second hand and understand the pain of it, completely.]

You're trying to talk me out of it.

[Or being painfully honest. Mello honestly doesn't know. He finishes off the glass before immediately going for the bottle to refill it, eyes his mentor's glass to see if he needs to be topped off. Being a bartender has created certain, worthless habits.]

Like your Doe.

[Yes, this is coming up now.]

Is that the goal, L? [Distracted, he runs the tip of his index along the rim of his glass.]

Are the two of you trying to get me to walk without a war?

[And in a moment of utter vulnerability.]

Do you regret our Bond?

[God, don't destroy him. Just don't.]