Riddles {a Death Note MelloXOC and NearXOC story}

Poison

"Feel free to tell me what you brought me here for at any time," I said casually as the two of us walked side-by-side down the empty streets.

He sighed, taking the fag out of his mouth and puffing a cloud of smoke. "You have a day."

"A day?" I said. "For what?" I stopped walking when I realized what he meant. "What's that nutter got planned?"

"It's a long story," he said.

"Fortunately for us, you have roughly twenty-four hours to tell it to me," I told him, putting my hands on my hips and staring at him determinedly.

"Where should I start?" he wondered.

"The beginning, m'dear," I suggested with a grin. "That would be preferable."

Patience

I was with Near in the main room of the SPK's makeshift headquarters. It was the quietest place there, the only sound the little tapping of Near moving his toys around. I sat in a chair, flipping through the pages of the English version of the script of the play Allison had told me about. It hadn't taken me very long to read, and I silently wondered if Allison had seen or read the play in it's original Norwegian version. Probably.

One part of the play had stuck with me. It wasn't the climax, or the big twist at the end. It was much simpler than that.

Towards the end of the play, the main character, the doctor who tested the spring waters for poison, is confronted by his father-in-law, who asks if he had any doubts. He assured his father-in-law that he didn't, but his father-in-law kept pushing. Perhaps the water was only poisoned in that one section he'd tested. Maybe a cure could have been made. The tests could have been wrong. The people who came to the springs to be healed and left with different illnesses could have contracted those illnesses by chance; maybe food poisoning, which the doctor had not bothered to look into.

The doctor tells him that the chances for all of that are extremely low, but it was obvious by the way the doctor spoke that even he was beginning to have his doubts.

We never find out if it's actually poisoned. It's suggested that it's true, but the doctor, who had originally been so certain, eventually came to doubt his belief, even if just a little. Such a small chance. The majority of the town, as Allison had said, had been against him even though it's supposed to be obvious that the doctor is right, and that the chance of shutting down the springs should be taken. Such a small percentage of the people agreed with him. Such a small percentage despite the little, but legitimate, evidence which was provided.

That Mikami would risk calling out to the Shinigami in public, even if all alone, was strange to me. It seemed so insignificant, so unlikely to actually have any meaning. The probability that my suspicions were right was low, but I couldn't help but get this feeling in the pit of my stomach that something was off.

I set the script down on a table. There was nothing I could do about it. If I did nothing and ended up being right, we would all die. If I was wrong and tried to do something, I would end up getting us all killed. Just like the doctor had his family.

It was a bittersweet feeling. On one hand, if Near was right and we had the real notebook, after Mikami tried to write our names down I would be able to find out my real name. With the same powers as the Second Kira—as Misa—he had the ability to find out anyone's real name. Hopefully, even if they didn't know themselves.

"Do you know your real name?" I asked Near even though we hadn't been talking.

"Yes," he said, "but knowing makes no difference. Knowing who my parents are, knowing what my real name is. None of it matters. I know who I am."

I smirked. "It makes no difference to you," I said, "but for me... I have no clue who I am."

"You're Patience," he said simply.

"That isn't very much to go on," I countered.

"Perhaps not for you," he said, "but for everyone else, it's plenty.
"It's like with the Japanese Task Force. Those idiots blindly following 'L' have been looking for Kira for years, and he's been right under their noses the entire time, steering them away from the truth."

"Are you calling me an idiot?" I wasn't offended by the comment, as he no doubt could tell, but I didn't see how it was helping.

"No," he said, "I'm saying that it's right in front of you, Patience. You just have to find it yourself; hearing it from someone else won't mean anything."

"Why's that?" I inquired.

"Because they might know you," he began, "but the only person who knows who you really are is yourself."

"Well," I said, picking up the script and leaning back in my chair to read it again, "maybe my name can help me find out. That is, assuming we all live to see February."

I heard a small laugh from Near; no, not really a laugh. It was more of a small noise, like a "huh," to indicate his amusement. It was a rare thing for him to do. For some reason, whenever I heard it, I couldn't help but smile.

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A/N: Short chapter. Deeeeeeeeeeeeeeal with it. The length of the next chapter will probably make up for it... probably.

As for the odd insertion of An Enemy of the People, it's a play that I actually once performed in school. For some reason, it came to mind as I was writing this (I can't totally recall why), and I guess I thought it might be fitting to add it. Allison's fluency with languages and interest in their cultures and histories would give her a broader knowledge of such arts, anyway.