[Near drops his hand back down, and then he makes more of an effort to sit up in bed. His lower back protests against that, and so do his elbows, and pretty much every single inflamed joint in his body--but it's worth it to better greet the man who's bothering to visit him. No matter how many times he goes over the facts, he still doesn't understand why Mello decided to come back to him. He sighs, giving up on it for now. His head lolls against the big pillow behind him (Mello fluffed it for him), and he doesn't look away from Mello now that he's had himself a look. He stares intently. It's natural for him to stare. It's natural for him to observe, to catalog, to analyze what he's seeing in front of him. His eyes are still that dark blue-grey, still bloodshot; he still isn't sleeping enough. He stares that much harder as he listens to what Mello is saying...
A sore winner, then. That's all right. Near is something of a sore winner, too.]
Mello, you went above and beyond anything I could have asked of you.
[He can do whatever he wants. That's what Near said when both Rester and Lidner opposed this idea of Mello having free rein of the control room. If Mello wanted to work his magic on the case, then he was allowed to work his magic. He was allowed to peruse any and all records. He was allowed to familiarize himself with L's resources, contacts, directives. And, according to Lidner, Mello did just that. He compressed a lifetime's worth of effort, including trial and error, into a surprising few days, perfectly emulating the L that came before him. Near can understand that much about Mello's efforts, of course. This keen desire to carry on with and honor the memory of their fallen mentor. Near wants L to be seamless, without flaws--more of a concept than an actual person--justice personified, in other words. But Mello went the extra mile all on his own. That's how it always is with him.
Case in point: this bowl of chocolate pudding, with its chocolate shavings and chocolate squares. Near is accustomed to one-dollar Snack Packs from Target, the cheapest of the cheap, nothing special. The pudding he's looking at now probably came from a five-star patisserie on the upper east side of New York that charges an arm and a leg for a dollop of the stuff. It does look good, though. Sumptuous and satisfying. It looks like victory even when neither of them is feeling the rhythm of celebration.
Near licks at the corner of his lips, and then he reaches for the silver spoon. He scoops up some pudding, plus one of those chocolate squares... and he holds it up higher, peering into it. He holds it out. He's holding out the whole spoon to Mello with the insistence of a toddler wanting to feed their favorite teddy at teatime.]
So, if that's how it is... then all of this belongs to you. You're the hero of the hour, after all. Come here.
[He wouldn't be smiling like this--softly, even peacefully--if he didn't mean every word of it.]
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A sore winner, then. That's all right. Near is something of a sore winner, too.]
Mello, you went above and beyond anything I could have asked of you.
[He can do whatever he wants. That's what Near said when both Rester and Lidner opposed this idea of Mello having free rein of the control room. If Mello wanted to work his magic on the case, then he was allowed to work his magic. He was allowed to peruse any and all records. He was allowed to familiarize himself with L's resources, contacts, directives. And, according to Lidner, Mello did just that. He compressed a lifetime's worth of effort, including trial and error, into a surprising few days, perfectly emulating the L that came before him. Near can understand that much about Mello's efforts, of course. This keen desire to carry on with and honor the memory of their fallen mentor. Near wants L to be seamless, without flaws--more of a concept than an actual person--justice personified, in other words. But Mello went the extra mile all on his own. That's how it always is with him.
Case in point: this bowl of chocolate pudding, with its chocolate shavings and chocolate squares. Near is accustomed to one-dollar Snack Packs from Target, the cheapest of the cheap, nothing special. The pudding he's looking at now probably came from a five-star patisserie on the upper east side of New York that charges an arm and a leg for a dollop of the stuff. It does look good, though. Sumptuous and satisfying. It looks like victory even when neither of them is feeling the rhythm of celebration.
Near licks at the corner of his lips, and then he reaches for the silver spoon. He scoops up some pudding, plus one of those chocolate squares... and he holds it up higher, peering into it. He holds it out. He's holding out the whole spoon to Mello with the insistence of a toddler wanting to feed their favorite teddy at teatime.]
So, if that's how it is... then all of this belongs to you. You're the hero of the hour, after all. Come here.
[He wouldn't be smiling like this--softly, even peacefully--if he didn't mean every word of it.]