Awakening [complete]
Who: Matt nicotine_sky & L sugarstacker
Where: Room 269 - Second Floor (Mello & Matt's room)
When: Backdated; about the same time as this log
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Logic and investigation only get you so far, at least in Wonderland.
the Story:
L stared at Matt's body on the couch and wondered what he should feel. Regret? Yes, he felt that. Regret that he hadn't taught them better, hadn't been able to protect his successors, not even in teaching them to protect themselves. Sorrow? To an extent, though it was a distant thing. He didn't know the boy - no, man now, hard as that was to accept - lying there well enough to feel real attachment to him.
Matt had never been one who came running to L when he arrived, to show off his accomplishments and beg for attention.
And now, he was dead. Odd. He had never expected to have to see any of them dead, been certain he'd die long before. And he had, and yet, here they were. Matt was dead, and Mello, too, and he, L, was inexplicably not, sitting up in the cold light of early morning, watching a corpse and, against all he had known, waiting for it to open its eyes.
A long, long moment of silence.
Then, slight movement.
It was an odd sensation, to wake up from being dead; all too much like just waking up from a night's sleep. The all-too familiar morning haziness, the moment or two it took for his brain to realize that it was time to get up. Slowly opening his eyes, he turned his head, blinked, squinting a bit as the crouched figure of L came into focus. It took him a moment of confusion to realize that L was sitting there watching him -- and realize what had happened before. (Bullets. Blood. Mello. The psycho. Oh shit--)
The familiar headache he always suffered from in the morning attacked him when he struggled up, casting about his surroundings - it was their room, their room, he was on the couch, why? he'd died in Near's room - then turned to L, his voice heavy with urgency. "L -- Mello, he -- what happened to him?"
Yes, that was Matt. His first thought of Mello, and not of himself, for all he had been dead a moment before. The transition was instantaneous; he was dead, and then suddenly he began to breathe, eyes opened, animation
returned. L regretted now not being in contact with him; he was curious if the first sign had been warmth returning to a body now gone cold. When did blood start to flow again? Surely that must be first: first the heart, then the lungs, before the brain could work...
Oh. He realized he hadn't answered. "He should be waking up now as well. How do you feel? Are you stiff or sore in any way?" What had happened to his injuries? For someone shot, what about the bullets? Did they merely disappear, or were they somehow expelled? L couldn't help his curiosity at this odd phenomenon and he stood awkwardly, creeping closer, peering at Matt. Would he allow himself to be examined?
"Sore? No, uh --" Only then realizing the implications of his revival, he groped at his stomach (last he remembered, the bullet had been lodged somewhere around there, dripping blood and staining his clothes the same color as his hair). Nothing. No pain, no soreness, no pain. "--it's completely gone, I don't know." To be honest, he would much rather not think about the mechanics of the entire event. (Did his body, like, absorb the bullet? That would be disgusting.) But at least it provided a nice distraction from Mello--
"...fuck." A curse spoken in a low whisper, and Matt buried his head in his hands, twining his hair around his fingers in frustration. A second time he'd failed to be of any use, any fucking use at all. He'd just been standing there, when the fucker shot, and -- "...was he -- do you know if his wounds are gone, too?"
"If yours are, it only stands to reason that his would be as well." L's voice was thoughtful as he tilted his head and considered Matt. "Near was waiting in the other room for him to awaken." It wasn't necessary, but it seemed kindest to warn him. "I apologize that we didn't change your clothes to something cleaner." Perhaps they should have; waking in bloody clothes couldn't be pleasant. But he hadn't been certain he would welcome the intrusion, so had chosen to refrain.
Now... well. This was awkward. L stared down at Matt, wondering what he should do. He supposed he could try... perhaps if he pretended he was a child again, one who had broken his favorite toy or fallen and skinned his knee, for all this was more serious. He sat next to him, awkwardly wrapped a long, too-thin arm around him. "If you are well, logic suggests that Mello is the same."
As unpleasant as his clothes were (he looked like he'd just killed a few dozen people, a regular Freddy Krueger, if nothing else), they were the last thing on his mind, really. Mello would be safe, right? He'd passed out a short while after he saw Walter kneel over the leather-clad corpse, tried desperately to do something, but had blacked out in the end, and woken up only after everything had happened - found Mello's body
stitched up and covered in blood and---
Warmth. Subtle, but there. The slight weight of L's arms around him almost made him start, and he froze, unsure of how to react. This...wasn't supposed to happen. He was supposed to be L's successor, not some poor thing to be pitied -- how would L feel about this? This would look pretty pathetic, wouldn't it? Without moving, he spoke softly, with a weak laugh. "...sorry. You must be really disappointed."
"No." Perhaps he should be, but he wasn't, not at the moment. "Returning to life after death would be hard on almost anyone." He remembered that he had been confused as well, and his death had not been nearly so traumatic or drawn-out as Matt's had been. He had regretted Watari's death, yes, but the connection they had had was not the same as that between Matt and Mello. No, it wasn't surprising that he was upset. He was merely human, after all, and L never expected more of them than that. "If it's any comfort, the being who did this to you seems to have had superhuman capabilities. The chance that any of us could have fought him off successfully is less than 1%."
He wondered vaguely if Matt would mind if he looked to see if there were any signs of his wound remaining, scars or fresh, pink skin, something to show that he had healed in a hurry. Perhaps this wasn't the time to ask. L sighed. Such an interesting occurrence and he was prevented from exploring it! Distressing.
"Yeah, I noticed." The fucker had taken, what, a dozen rounds at least, mostly to the chest and lung and general-fatality area and had gotten up without so much as a grimace. If that wasn't supernatural, he didn't know what the hell was. But that wasn't so much why he was distressed - it was more the futility he'd felt when he'd seen Mello snuff it right before his eyes and he'd been able to do a big fat nothing. How useful.
But this wasn't the time to gripe about it - more time to feel sorry later. Looking up, he picked at his clothes, avoiding L's gaze (it felt like he was being judged, like back at the orphanage, always by the people high up there, with the mysterious enigma up on top). "...guess I should change, huh?" More searching for a distraction than anything else.
"You'd be more comfortable," L agreed. A shirt stiff with dried blood was likely to be not only rough against the skin, but an unpleasant reminder of what had happened. It didn't bother L, of course; he'd seen corpses before and had plenty of time over the night to get used to seeing this one. He'd even carried him and mainly been grateful that he was not yet awkwardly stiff, nor so cold as to be a constant reminder. But he could appreciate why Matt would wish to change; he would likely feel the same in his place.
"I apologize that I did not assist you more." He had seen what happened on the cameras, yet had swiftly concluded he could do nothing worthwhile to intervene, so had limited his actions to watching. Watching, after all, was what L did best; long habit dictated that he acted only after due consideration of the effects of his interference. It was only logical, yet now L wondered if it had been cowardly as well. He could not have made a material difference, but perhaps his efforts could have made an emotional one, made them feel supported? He would have to consider the matter.
Matt only shook his head. "No. It was probably better that you didn't come." Most certainly. Seeing Mello die had been bad enough, to see L - THE L, the great one, the one they were supposed to worship and follow - snuff it would only have been the icing on the cake. Sitting up properly on the couch, he undid his vest, wrinkling his noise a bit - that was an awful lot of bloodstains on the couch -- which reminded him.
"You were the one who brought me here, right?" He doubted that his body would have teleported by itself, and Near certainly wouldn't have been able to do it.
"Yes." He nodded. "I believed you would rather wake here." Odd as it felt to say that about someone who had been deceased rather than sleeping. He eyed the bloodstains as well; unfortunate, but it couldn't be avoided. And as Matt had placed Mello on the bed, staining it as well, he had assumed he didn't mind them. "It should be possible to get you a new couch to sleep on. Or perhaps another bed?" He didn't quite understand why Matt hadn't moved an extra bed in here when he moved in to begin with. Surely it would have been more comfortable. Or did Mello require such a gesture of submission from him, an indication of lesser status? Perhaps he did; Mello had always been insecure. But it was at the very least uncharitable of him.
"Thanks. I appreciate it." Well, to be honest, he was a little too hazed at the moment to think about it too much, but it would be harsh to say he wasn't thankful for it at all. Trying to avoid looking at the smears of red across the floor, he walked over to the closet, shuffling off his vest and tossing it in the trashcan near by. No use trying to cling to something that stained. Besides, it smelled foul,
looked foul, felt obscene.
"The couch?" Looking back, he thought for a moment, frowning. "Yeah, I guess I can." Though, he rather liked it. It was comfortable -- well, not really, a bed would be better, but he'd gotten rather used to the feel of a headrest after a while. Whatever. Shrugging off his shirt, he paused, noticing the splotch of scar tissue where he'd been shot, jagged and bold. "..."
"There are several empty rooms that could serve as sources of furniture." L observed. He was curious what the mansion would do, as well. If they took a bed from an empty room, would it replace it? If Matt didn't do it, he might, merely to observe what happened. He was making a mental list of experiments to try. This mansion was by far the most interesting puzzle he'd ever been presented; it would be foolish not to try to solve it. At least he need not be bored.
He looked over at Matt, almost surprised to see the scars. "I see. So wounds do not merely disappear." His gaze was cold, almost clinical, and he moved closer, reached out a hand to touch the scar tissue, not pausing to consider how it might look to someone else. Not that he doubted the evidence of his eyes, but L had always believed in acquiring as much data as possible. "I don't suppose you'd
consent to a medical examination? If the supplies for such can be obtained?" He'd want X-rays, of course; L was still very curious as to what had become of the bullet. And blood work; surely such a rapid recovery from death must leave interesting traces.
He instinctively flinched back a bit at the touch - not that it hurt, it was just awfully sudden. Though, he knew that L was probably just analyzing it. Logical as usual. The entire mansion here seemed to defy the laws of science and everything back in their world; there was probably a huge plethora of things that piqued the detective's curiosity. Still, his own body?
"Uh." Turning away, he quickly rummaged for clothes, thinking he'd feel much more comfortable with the scar hidden - it reminded him too much of what had happened. "I...guess it'd be okay, if you can find stuff." The only reason he answered in the affirmative would have been because it would probably be rather difficult to find such equipment - hopefully. Pulling on a shirt, he made sure the scar was gone, out of sight, couldn't help but let his hand stray there a moment. "This feels weird as shit. Being alive again."
"Is that uncomfortable? Any residual pain?" L wasn't offended by the way Matt jerked away, merely curious as to the motivation behind it. Perhaps he was repulsed, but he doubted it, and right now he was too interested to be bothered by such a thing.
"I'll look. With all the rooms and surprises in this mansion, the chance of such equipment existing somewhere is substantial." An exaggeration, but it wouldn't do to sound uncertain, particularly when the building seemed to respond to desires on its own. If L were certain the equipment was there, perhaps it would be.
"Physically? Or mentally?" Mentally was a given, but physical symptoms were definitely possible. An increase in adrenaline was likely, with the resulting elevated heart rate. Elevated levels of cortisol, possibly sore muscles from lying stiff all night? "Is it different from your initial arrival?" Having experienced that particular instance of being unexpectedly alive again himself, L wondered how this differed, if at all.
He tried to meet Matt's gaze, his own sharp, as though he could look through him to see what he felt, X-ray him with only his eyes. Yet there was softness, too, concern, if distant, though little of it showed in his voice. "Are you all right?" He had wished them well, wanted better for them than violent deaths. When he'd thought of them as people at all, that is, rather than as merely embodiments of his legacy, his future, that was. It was to remind himself of that fact, that these were humans just as he was, that L had visited Wammy House once he was an adult at all. Otherwise, he could have relied on the reports he received on each of them. Of course, L also trusted his own judgment more than that of the caretakers there; he could not deny that that had been part of his motivation as well. And it had been interesting, to watch them grow and change, slowly
becoming people with their own identities and approaches to his mission.
The sudden torrent of questions overwhelmed him a bit, but he answered them eventually, a little hesitant in his words (god, how the hell was he supposed to explain how weird if felt to just wake up after he'd felt his heart stop beating?), but going through the answers, almost listing them. "Not particularly uncomfortable, no residual pain. No physical oddities - or, at least, not yet - but just feeling really weird." Skip that bit about the medical equipment and silently hope that the detective wouldn't find scalpels or anything. He'd actually listened a fair amount in class, so he knew what went on with autopsies and dissections but, well, to have one done on himself wouldn't exactly be glorious, and as for that last question--
A pause, while he fingered the scar almost unconsciously. Okay? Maybe. Though, if he were okay and Mello weren't, that condition would probably very quickly be negated. A deep breath. "...yeah, I'll be alright."
(Hopefully.)
"Perhaps you should eat." It had been quite awhile, though since his body had been shut down, it shouldn't matter. Still, L had long believed in the soothing power of sweets. Food could make one feel more like oneself. Hmm, did he... yes. He had a cookie left from the stash he had brought with him. Perhaps it had been rude to eat in someone else's room, but L would hardly go an entire night without
sustenance by choice, and Matt and Mello had been beyond caring at the time.
He offered Matt the cookie with a sweet smile, then fished around in his jeans pocket. "Here; I got you these when I went to get food." He handed Matt the pack of cigarettes as well. He might disapprove of such a self-destructive habit on logical grounds, but he had expected Matt to need the comfort of his addictions after such a traumatic experience and any he had had on him were undoubtedly no longer in a state to be used.
L watched Matt closely, eyes bright despite his sleepless night. He was used to it and scarcely noticed such things any longer. If questions were unwelcome, perhaps observation should suffice for a time. He often learned more by watching than anyone would tell him directly.
"Uh, thanks." It was an awkward smile that Matt gave as he took the sweet L offered, but sincere enough - as sincere as he could get. The cigarettes, he also took, but resisted for the moment - L probably didn't like cigarette smoke, and the least he could do was be polite enough after the detective had bothered to stay around watching over a dead body - must have been awfully boring, at least.
Chewing absently at the cookie, he leaned back on the closet, staring blankly towards the door of the room. Mello was there, right? Maybe -- no, resist, resist, the last thing he really wanted to see right now was Mello dead. It'd be best to just assume that the blond was fine, that he was well-off, no problems, yes, that's right. ...fuck, who was he kidding?
"...L, do you think... since Mello died before I did, he would have awoken before me?"
L considered the question seriously. Was revival strictly 24 hours after death, or merely the next day? He would have to compare the exact time that consciousness had returned in each case with Near, if he had noticed. "I don't have enough evidence to be certain, but it is likely he is awake now." From what had happened to others, L suspected Matt wouldn't like what he found, but he wouldn't prevent him from looking. There would be no point in that and a detective could not avoid truths merely because they were unpleasant. Perhaps Matt no longer considered himself a detective, maybe he never had, but L thought of him as one, as he thought of all of them.
"You can go ahead and smoke," he offered. He could tell Matt had done so here in the past, the scent permeated everything, and he was certain he wanted to, almost as much as the man before him longed to see Mello. L judged them, long habit made him unable not to, but he did not judge Matt harshly for this. All of them had their addictions, even L himself, and he refused to be a hypocrite about it, or to declare one better than another. Further, he was an outsider here, no longer part of their lives, and it was not his role to stand in Matt's way. They were no longer children and it would be wrong of him to stifle them, try to forcibly return them to childhood merely because that was how he remembered them. Instead he would watch, as he always did; watch and learn from watching who and what they had become.
"Maybe later." An answer given half-heartedly, as Matt stared uneasily at the door. So, then, Mello was probably awake. But not in one piece, right? Last he'd seen the psycho hobo had been tearing into Mello's chest with a knife, digging through organs, and god knew what else-- his hands twitched, and he shook his head, glanced at L, tried to keep his voice calm. "The bastard, after he killed Mello... he said 'sixteen more'. I'm going to assume that's sixteen more people."
He'd never been all that bad at logic - hell, all of his beloved computer coding was pure logic - but he just never bothered to think it through, much. This time, though, well, it sort of all ran together. "I'm guessing you've been watching the network for a while, while I was dead. And I don't think the bastard would have stayed still the entire time." Just get to the fucking point already. "Is there anything else found out about this entire situation?" (Any proof that Mello will be okay? Be okay after having his fucking chest cavity played around with, oh god.)
"He took his heart." L's voice was cold, logical. If Matt wanted the truth, he'd give it. Most likely he should have given it in the first place; trying to protect him was disrespectful. "Life shouldn't be possible without it, yet it has been for others. Logic does not seem to rule here, nor do facts as we know them." L's smiled, but it was bitter. Logic and facts had been his life and doing
without them was hard, as though someone had stolen his own heart, his very identity. He did his best, but he didn't understand what happened here, how things worked, and he might never understand it. That very fact offended him, upset the core of who L was, how he saw himself. He was trying to adapt, but it was harder than he'd admit.
He sat back down, curled on the couch in his normal posture, protecting himself from this strange reality with his body. Although it was merely symbolic, he felt comforted and better able to think nonetheless. "It is normally mere metaphor that the heart is the seat of the emotions, but in this instance, it seems true. It is 99.7% likely that Mello will have none."
He looked at Matt, considered offering the observation that most things that occurred here were temporary, as their death had been, but refrained. While true, the comfort would be little, and offering it patronizing, as Matt surely knew this fact as well as L did. Yet he had no other comfort to give.
"His heart."
Two words repeated blankly, but behind his goggles, Matt shut his eyes, picturing the last few second he'd seen before he blacked out. That psycho with the knife, tugging around at Mello's body, bits of flesh splattering here and there. Took his fucking heart. So much for logic and reasoning - unless this place made people regenerate organs, and even so. Matt let out a breath, slowly, hands clenched tight behind his back. Fuck.
Mello without emotions? What the hell was that supposed to be? Mello was fucking made of emotions - spitfire and explosions, radical and swift and outraged, with a dash of hardcore insanity that shielded the spark of humanity deep in there. Haha, this was pathetic. (And I did nothing to help stop it.) He wouldn't depend on that 0.3%. He wasn't that optimistic.
"Alright. Understood."
He managed to force his voice into a controlled blank, his escape tactic for facing a reality he didn't like - pretend it didn't affect you, pretend you were unphased and maybe, just maybe, the damage would be less. (It rarely worked, these days.) Time to face the inevitable, walk into the lion's den. (Evaluate the damage.) He glared at the door.
"M'going to go check on him." Pushed off the closet, took a few, quick steps towards the exit, then paused before L for a moment.
(Not sure of what to do.)
"Thanks for telling me."
"You asked." L shrugged; it wasn't something requiring gratitude. There would have been no point in lying, not when Matt would discover the truth for himself so easily. L was perfectly willing to tell lies when it suited his purposes, but he saw no point in the kind told merely to protect someone's feelings.
"Since you are recovered, I'll take my leave." He would only be in the way, if it were a happy reunion. And if, as seemed more likely, Matt wound up hurt because of it, his presence would make it worse rather than better. And of course he had medical equipment to search for, as well as perhaps coffee. Maybe doughnuts? That would be nice; he hadn't had any since he'd been here and he missed them. "I will contact you later." To see how he was and perhaps arrange that medical examination.
L turned to go, paused, and turned back. "And Matt, my door is always open, should you wish to find me." It always had been at Wammy's, too, though few took advantage of it. He hadn't minded then, but now... now he wished they would. And he suspected Matt needed it, poor comforter as L was, or would soon enough if he didn't now.
Matt only nodded silently in answer - he didn't know what to say, and probably wouldn't have been able to say it properly anyway. Though... as awkward a mentor as L tended to be at times, the offer of an open door was somewhat comforting. Something to fall back on, something to depend on, a crutch? Maybe. He'd been terrified of the detective in his younger days back at the orphanage, not sure of what to think of the sugar-addicted enigma that was called by a single letter. Turned out even that mysterious figure was just a human in the end.
(Thanks.)
The click of the door, and he was out.
Where: Room 269 - Second Floor (Mello & Matt's room)
When: Backdated; about the same time as this log
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Logic and investigation only get you so far, at least in Wonderland.
the Story:
L stared at Matt's body on the couch and wondered what he should feel. Regret? Yes, he felt that. Regret that he hadn't taught them better, hadn't been able to protect his successors, not even in teaching them to protect themselves. Sorrow? To an extent, though it was a distant thing. He didn't know the boy - no, man now, hard as that was to accept - lying there well enough to feel real attachment to him.
Matt had never been one who came running to L when he arrived, to show off his accomplishments and beg for attention.
And now, he was dead. Odd. He had never expected to have to see any of them dead, been certain he'd die long before. And he had, and yet, here they were. Matt was dead, and Mello, too, and he, L, was inexplicably not, sitting up in the cold light of early morning, watching a corpse and, against all he had known, waiting for it to open its eyes.
A long, long moment of silence.
Then, slight movement.
It was an odd sensation, to wake up from being dead; all too much like just waking up from a night's sleep. The all-too familiar morning haziness, the moment or two it took for his brain to realize that it was time to get up. Slowly opening his eyes, he turned his head, blinked, squinting a bit as the crouched figure of L came into focus. It took him a moment of confusion to realize that L was sitting there watching him -- and realize what had happened before. (Bullets. Blood. Mello. The psycho. Oh shit--)
The familiar headache he always suffered from in the morning attacked him when he struggled up, casting about his surroundings - it was their room, their room, he was on the couch, why? he'd died in Near's room - then turned to L, his voice heavy with urgency. "L -- Mello, he -- what happened to him?"
Yes, that was Matt. His first thought of Mello, and not of himself, for all he had been dead a moment before. The transition was instantaneous; he was dead, and then suddenly he began to breathe, eyes opened, animation
returned. L regretted now not being in contact with him; he was curious if the first sign had been warmth returning to a body now gone cold. When did blood start to flow again? Surely that must be first: first the heart, then the lungs, before the brain could work...
Oh. He realized he hadn't answered. "He should be waking up now as well. How do you feel? Are you stiff or sore in any way?" What had happened to his injuries? For someone shot, what about the bullets? Did they merely disappear, or were they somehow expelled? L couldn't help his curiosity at this odd phenomenon and he stood awkwardly, creeping closer, peering at Matt. Would he allow himself to be examined?
"Sore? No, uh --" Only then realizing the implications of his revival, he groped at his stomach (last he remembered, the bullet had been lodged somewhere around there, dripping blood and staining his clothes the same color as his hair). Nothing. No pain, no soreness, no pain. "--it's completely gone, I don't know." To be honest, he would much rather not think about the mechanics of the entire event. (Did his body, like, absorb the bullet? That would be disgusting.) But at least it provided a nice distraction from Mello--
"...fuck." A curse spoken in a low whisper, and Matt buried his head in his hands, twining his hair around his fingers in frustration. A second time he'd failed to be of any use, any fucking use at all. He'd just been standing there, when the fucker shot, and -- "...was he -- do you know if his wounds are gone, too?"
"If yours are, it only stands to reason that his would be as well." L's voice was thoughtful as he tilted his head and considered Matt. "Near was waiting in the other room for him to awaken." It wasn't necessary, but it seemed kindest to warn him. "I apologize that we didn't change your clothes to something cleaner." Perhaps they should have; waking in bloody clothes couldn't be pleasant. But he hadn't been certain he would welcome the intrusion, so had chosen to refrain.
Now... well. This was awkward. L stared down at Matt, wondering what he should do. He supposed he could try... perhaps if he pretended he was a child again, one who had broken his favorite toy or fallen and skinned his knee, for all this was more serious. He sat next to him, awkwardly wrapped a long, too-thin arm around him. "If you are well, logic suggests that Mello is the same."
As unpleasant as his clothes were (he looked like he'd just killed a few dozen people, a regular Freddy Krueger, if nothing else), they were the last thing on his mind, really. Mello would be safe, right? He'd passed out a short while after he saw Walter kneel over the leather-clad corpse, tried desperately to do something, but had blacked out in the end, and woken up only after everything had happened - found Mello's body
stitched up and covered in blood and---
Warmth. Subtle, but there. The slight weight of L's arms around him almost made him start, and he froze, unsure of how to react. This...wasn't supposed to happen. He was supposed to be L's successor, not some poor thing to be pitied -- how would L feel about this? This would look pretty pathetic, wouldn't it? Without moving, he spoke softly, with a weak laugh. "...sorry. You must be really disappointed."
"No." Perhaps he should be, but he wasn't, not at the moment. "Returning to life after death would be hard on almost anyone." He remembered that he had been confused as well, and his death had not been nearly so traumatic or drawn-out as Matt's had been. He had regretted Watari's death, yes, but the connection they had had was not the same as that between Matt and Mello. No, it wasn't surprising that he was upset. He was merely human, after all, and L never expected more of them than that. "If it's any comfort, the being who did this to you seems to have had superhuman capabilities. The chance that any of us could have fought him off successfully is less than 1%."
He wondered vaguely if Matt would mind if he looked to see if there were any signs of his wound remaining, scars or fresh, pink skin, something to show that he had healed in a hurry. Perhaps this wasn't the time to ask. L sighed. Such an interesting occurrence and he was prevented from exploring it! Distressing.
"Yeah, I noticed." The fucker had taken, what, a dozen rounds at least, mostly to the chest and lung and general-fatality area and had gotten up without so much as a grimace. If that wasn't supernatural, he didn't know what the hell was. But that wasn't so much why he was distressed - it was more the futility he'd felt when he'd seen Mello snuff it right before his eyes and he'd been able to do a big fat nothing. How useful.
But this wasn't the time to gripe about it - more time to feel sorry later. Looking up, he picked at his clothes, avoiding L's gaze (it felt like he was being judged, like back at the orphanage, always by the people high up there, with the mysterious enigma up on top). "...guess I should change, huh?" More searching for a distraction than anything else.
"You'd be more comfortable," L agreed. A shirt stiff with dried blood was likely to be not only rough against the skin, but an unpleasant reminder of what had happened. It didn't bother L, of course; he'd seen corpses before and had plenty of time over the night to get used to seeing this one. He'd even carried him and mainly been grateful that he was not yet awkwardly stiff, nor so cold as to be a constant reminder. But he could appreciate why Matt would wish to change; he would likely feel the same in his place.
"I apologize that I did not assist you more." He had seen what happened on the cameras, yet had swiftly concluded he could do nothing worthwhile to intervene, so had limited his actions to watching. Watching, after all, was what L did best; long habit dictated that he acted only after due consideration of the effects of his interference. It was only logical, yet now L wondered if it had been cowardly as well. He could not have made a material difference, but perhaps his efforts could have made an emotional one, made them feel supported? He would have to consider the matter.
Matt only shook his head. "No. It was probably better that you didn't come." Most certainly. Seeing Mello die had been bad enough, to see L - THE L, the great one, the one they were supposed to worship and follow - snuff it would only have been the icing on the cake. Sitting up properly on the couch, he undid his vest, wrinkling his noise a bit - that was an awful lot of bloodstains on the couch -- which reminded him.
"You were the one who brought me here, right?" He doubted that his body would have teleported by itself, and Near certainly wouldn't have been able to do it.
"Yes." He nodded. "I believed you would rather wake here." Odd as it felt to say that about someone who had been deceased rather than sleeping. He eyed the bloodstains as well; unfortunate, but it couldn't be avoided. And as Matt had placed Mello on the bed, staining it as well, he had assumed he didn't mind them. "It should be possible to get you a new couch to sleep on. Or perhaps another bed?" He didn't quite understand why Matt hadn't moved an extra bed in here when he moved in to begin with. Surely it would have been more comfortable. Or did Mello require such a gesture of submission from him, an indication of lesser status? Perhaps he did; Mello had always been insecure. But it was at the very least uncharitable of him.
"Thanks. I appreciate it." Well, to be honest, he was a little too hazed at the moment to think about it too much, but it would be harsh to say he wasn't thankful for it at all. Trying to avoid looking at the smears of red across the floor, he walked over to the closet, shuffling off his vest and tossing it in the trashcan near by. No use trying to cling to something that stained. Besides, it smelled foul,
looked foul, felt obscene.
"The couch?" Looking back, he thought for a moment, frowning. "Yeah, I guess I can." Though, he rather liked it. It was comfortable -- well, not really, a bed would be better, but he'd gotten rather used to the feel of a headrest after a while. Whatever. Shrugging off his shirt, he paused, noticing the splotch of scar tissue where he'd been shot, jagged and bold. "..."
"There are several empty rooms that could serve as sources of furniture." L observed. He was curious what the mansion would do, as well. If they took a bed from an empty room, would it replace it? If Matt didn't do it, he might, merely to observe what happened. He was making a mental list of experiments to try. This mansion was by far the most interesting puzzle he'd ever been presented; it would be foolish not to try to solve it. At least he need not be bored.
He looked over at Matt, almost surprised to see the scars. "I see. So wounds do not merely disappear." His gaze was cold, almost clinical, and he moved closer, reached out a hand to touch the scar tissue, not pausing to consider how it might look to someone else. Not that he doubted the evidence of his eyes, but L had always believed in acquiring as much data as possible. "I don't suppose you'd
consent to a medical examination? If the supplies for such can be obtained?" He'd want X-rays, of course; L was still very curious as to what had become of the bullet. And blood work; surely such a rapid recovery from death must leave interesting traces.
He instinctively flinched back a bit at the touch - not that it hurt, it was just awfully sudden. Though, he knew that L was probably just analyzing it. Logical as usual. The entire mansion here seemed to defy the laws of science and everything back in their world; there was probably a huge plethora of things that piqued the detective's curiosity. Still, his own body?
"Uh." Turning away, he quickly rummaged for clothes, thinking he'd feel much more comfortable with the scar hidden - it reminded him too much of what had happened. "I...guess it'd be okay, if you can find stuff." The only reason he answered in the affirmative would have been because it would probably be rather difficult to find such equipment - hopefully. Pulling on a shirt, he made sure the scar was gone, out of sight, couldn't help but let his hand stray there a moment. "This feels weird as shit. Being alive again."
"Is that uncomfortable? Any residual pain?" L wasn't offended by the way Matt jerked away, merely curious as to the motivation behind it. Perhaps he was repulsed, but he doubted it, and right now he was too interested to be bothered by such a thing.
"I'll look. With all the rooms and surprises in this mansion, the chance of such equipment existing somewhere is substantial." An exaggeration, but it wouldn't do to sound uncertain, particularly when the building seemed to respond to desires on its own. If L were certain the equipment was there, perhaps it would be.
"Physically? Or mentally?" Mentally was a given, but physical symptoms were definitely possible. An increase in adrenaline was likely, with the resulting elevated heart rate. Elevated levels of cortisol, possibly sore muscles from lying stiff all night? "Is it different from your initial arrival?" Having experienced that particular instance of being unexpectedly alive again himself, L wondered how this differed, if at all.
He tried to meet Matt's gaze, his own sharp, as though he could look through him to see what he felt, X-ray him with only his eyes. Yet there was softness, too, concern, if distant, though little of it showed in his voice. "Are you all right?" He had wished them well, wanted better for them than violent deaths. When he'd thought of them as people at all, that is, rather than as merely embodiments of his legacy, his future, that was. It was to remind himself of that fact, that these were humans just as he was, that L had visited Wammy House once he was an adult at all. Otherwise, he could have relied on the reports he received on each of them. Of course, L also trusted his own judgment more than that of the caretakers there; he could not deny that that had been part of his motivation as well. And it had been interesting, to watch them grow and change, slowly
becoming people with their own identities and approaches to his mission.
The sudden torrent of questions overwhelmed him a bit, but he answered them eventually, a little hesitant in his words (god, how the hell was he supposed to explain how weird if felt to just wake up after he'd felt his heart stop beating?), but going through the answers, almost listing them. "Not particularly uncomfortable, no residual pain. No physical oddities - or, at least, not yet - but just feeling really weird." Skip that bit about the medical equipment and silently hope that the detective wouldn't find scalpels or anything. He'd actually listened a fair amount in class, so he knew what went on with autopsies and dissections but, well, to have one done on himself wouldn't exactly be glorious, and as for that last question--
A pause, while he fingered the scar almost unconsciously. Okay? Maybe. Though, if he were okay and Mello weren't, that condition would probably very quickly be negated. A deep breath. "...yeah, I'll be alright."
(Hopefully.)
"Perhaps you should eat." It had been quite awhile, though since his body had been shut down, it shouldn't matter. Still, L had long believed in the soothing power of sweets. Food could make one feel more like oneself. Hmm, did he... yes. He had a cookie left from the stash he had brought with him. Perhaps it had been rude to eat in someone else's room, but L would hardly go an entire night without
sustenance by choice, and Matt and Mello had been beyond caring at the time.
He offered Matt the cookie with a sweet smile, then fished around in his jeans pocket. "Here; I got you these when I went to get food." He handed Matt the pack of cigarettes as well. He might disapprove of such a self-destructive habit on logical grounds, but he had expected Matt to need the comfort of his addictions after such a traumatic experience and any he had had on him were undoubtedly no longer in a state to be used.
L watched Matt closely, eyes bright despite his sleepless night. He was used to it and scarcely noticed such things any longer. If questions were unwelcome, perhaps observation should suffice for a time. He often learned more by watching than anyone would tell him directly.
"Uh, thanks." It was an awkward smile that Matt gave as he took the sweet L offered, but sincere enough - as sincere as he could get. The cigarettes, he also took, but resisted for the moment - L probably didn't like cigarette smoke, and the least he could do was be polite enough after the detective had bothered to stay around watching over a dead body - must have been awfully boring, at least.
Chewing absently at the cookie, he leaned back on the closet, staring blankly towards the door of the room. Mello was there, right? Maybe -- no, resist, resist, the last thing he really wanted to see right now was Mello dead. It'd be best to just assume that the blond was fine, that he was well-off, no problems, yes, that's right. ...fuck, who was he kidding?
"...L, do you think... since Mello died before I did, he would have awoken before me?"
L considered the question seriously. Was revival strictly 24 hours after death, or merely the next day? He would have to compare the exact time that consciousness had returned in each case with Near, if he had noticed. "I don't have enough evidence to be certain, but it is likely he is awake now." From what had happened to others, L suspected Matt wouldn't like what he found, but he wouldn't prevent him from looking. There would be no point in that and a detective could not avoid truths merely because they were unpleasant. Perhaps Matt no longer considered himself a detective, maybe he never had, but L thought of him as one, as he thought of all of them.
"You can go ahead and smoke," he offered. He could tell Matt had done so here in the past, the scent permeated everything, and he was certain he wanted to, almost as much as the man before him longed to see Mello. L judged them, long habit made him unable not to, but he did not judge Matt harshly for this. All of them had their addictions, even L himself, and he refused to be a hypocrite about it, or to declare one better than another. Further, he was an outsider here, no longer part of their lives, and it was not his role to stand in Matt's way. They were no longer children and it would be wrong of him to stifle them, try to forcibly return them to childhood merely because that was how he remembered them. Instead he would watch, as he always did; watch and learn from watching who and what they had become.
"Maybe later." An answer given half-heartedly, as Matt stared uneasily at the door. So, then, Mello was probably awake. But not in one piece, right? Last he'd seen the psycho hobo had been tearing into Mello's chest with a knife, digging through organs, and god knew what else-- his hands twitched, and he shook his head, glanced at L, tried to keep his voice calm. "The bastard, after he killed Mello... he said 'sixteen more'. I'm going to assume that's sixteen more people."
He'd never been all that bad at logic - hell, all of his beloved computer coding was pure logic - but he just never bothered to think it through, much. This time, though, well, it sort of all ran together. "I'm guessing you've been watching the network for a while, while I was dead. And I don't think the bastard would have stayed still the entire time." Just get to the fucking point already. "Is there anything else found out about this entire situation?" (Any proof that Mello will be okay? Be okay after having his fucking chest cavity played around with, oh god.)
"He took his heart." L's voice was cold, logical. If Matt wanted the truth, he'd give it. Most likely he should have given it in the first place; trying to protect him was disrespectful. "Life shouldn't be possible without it, yet it has been for others. Logic does not seem to rule here, nor do facts as we know them." L's smiled, but it was bitter. Logic and facts had been his life and doing
without them was hard, as though someone had stolen his own heart, his very identity. He did his best, but he didn't understand what happened here, how things worked, and he might never understand it. That very fact offended him, upset the core of who L was, how he saw himself. He was trying to adapt, but it was harder than he'd admit.
He sat back down, curled on the couch in his normal posture, protecting himself from this strange reality with his body. Although it was merely symbolic, he felt comforted and better able to think nonetheless. "It is normally mere metaphor that the heart is the seat of the emotions, but in this instance, it seems true. It is 99.7% likely that Mello will have none."
He looked at Matt, considered offering the observation that most things that occurred here were temporary, as their death had been, but refrained. While true, the comfort would be little, and offering it patronizing, as Matt surely knew this fact as well as L did. Yet he had no other comfort to give.
"His heart."
Two words repeated blankly, but behind his goggles, Matt shut his eyes, picturing the last few second he'd seen before he blacked out. That psycho with the knife, tugging around at Mello's body, bits of flesh splattering here and there. Took his fucking heart. So much for logic and reasoning - unless this place made people regenerate organs, and even so. Matt let out a breath, slowly, hands clenched tight behind his back. Fuck.
Mello without emotions? What the hell was that supposed to be? Mello was fucking made of emotions - spitfire and explosions, radical and swift and outraged, with a dash of hardcore insanity that shielded the spark of humanity deep in there. Haha, this was pathetic. (And I did nothing to help stop it.) He wouldn't depend on that 0.3%. He wasn't that optimistic.
"Alright. Understood."
He managed to force his voice into a controlled blank, his escape tactic for facing a reality he didn't like - pretend it didn't affect you, pretend you were unphased and maybe, just maybe, the damage would be less. (It rarely worked, these days.) Time to face the inevitable, walk into the lion's den. (Evaluate the damage.) He glared at the door.
"M'going to go check on him." Pushed off the closet, took a few, quick steps towards the exit, then paused before L for a moment.
(Not sure of what to do.)
"Thanks for telling me."
"You asked." L shrugged; it wasn't something requiring gratitude. There would have been no point in lying, not when Matt would discover the truth for himself so easily. L was perfectly willing to tell lies when it suited his purposes, but he saw no point in the kind told merely to protect someone's feelings.
"Since you are recovered, I'll take my leave." He would only be in the way, if it were a happy reunion. And if, as seemed more likely, Matt wound up hurt because of it, his presence would make it worse rather than better. And of course he had medical equipment to search for, as well as perhaps coffee. Maybe doughnuts? That would be nice; he hadn't had any since he'd been here and he missed them. "I will contact you later." To see how he was and perhaps arrange that medical examination.
L turned to go, paused, and turned back. "And Matt, my door is always open, should you wish to find me." It always had been at Wammy's, too, though few took advantage of it. He hadn't minded then, but now... now he wished they would. And he suspected Matt needed it, poor comforter as L was, or would soon enough if he didn't now.
Matt only nodded silently in answer - he didn't know what to say, and probably wouldn't have been able to say it properly anyway. Though... as awkward a mentor as L tended to be at times, the offer of an open door was somewhat comforting. Something to fall back on, something to depend on, a crutch? Maybe. He'd been terrified of the detective in his younger days back at the orphanage, not sure of what to think of the sugar-addicted enigma that was called by a single letter. Turned out even that mysterious figure was just a human in the end.
(Thanks.)
The click of the door, and he was out.