A/N: Sometimes, a part of me wonders if Christmas is really worth all the hassle and trouble that comes during this season… And then the rest of me beats that part to death with sledgehammers and the moment ends. Thank you and Merry Christmas to all my amazing reviewers! You people keep me updating (even if I'm a tad slower than you deserve.) I hope you all enjoy this chapter!

Disclaimer: Still don't own Death Note. It's on my Christmas List. 8D

Chapter 5: An Interlude, of Sorts

It was a slow, tiresome day. A bleak, gray day. A 'we-know-our-plan-already-and-now-we-just-have-to-wait-and-there's-nothing-left-to-do' day.

In short, it was a boring day.

And Rester was bored.

Gevanni was still spying on that Mikami Teru guy, so at least the jerk had something to do, even if the fake Kira's movements were methodical to the point of practically being a robot. Still, it had to be better than being cooped up here at HQ. Halle got to play bodyguard for Takada, the Kira spokesperson, which considering the anchorwoman's Celebrity status was bound to come with all sorts of perks.

Which left Rester, stuck here, in the hotel, with Near. Brilliant, creepy little Near, who had a way of making you feel less confident in your own intelligence simply by being in the room. Currently the young man, who looked disturbingly like a young boy, was building an elaborate Lego city all around himself.

He entertained himself for a while just by watching; it was truly amazing the speed and efficiency Near had in his construction. But after a while it began to get tiring just to look at, so Rester turned back to the computers. Bored. Bored. So bored. He decided it could hurt to check through some old files. If only for something to do.

Rester failed to notice that the computer he happened to be facing was Near's personal laptop, and Near, engrossed in his own little world also completely failed to take note of this.

It took only a few seconds of trolling through files for Rester to realize that many of them did not appear to pertain to the Kira case at all. Or any case, for that matter.

No, what he had inadvertently stumbled upon… appeared to be Near's diary. He should have stopped then. He should have closed out, turned off the computer, and gone to get some coffee. He should have… but he didn't. The document currently pulled him in, and he found himself lost in the words…

Matt can be quite irrational, at times. He is often foolhardy in his behavior, a side-effect I presume is a resultant of too much time spent with Mello. If such theory is accurate, then I suppose that it does not bode well for me.

At lunch, Matt saw fit to spike the juice, a rather clichéd and pointless endeavor, although I must admit that the little experience I have had with practical jokes did prove amusing, if nothing else.

As one can easily deduce this action lead to much chaos and confusion, particularly on the part of the Camp Counselors. Honestly I cannot say whether I pity these people or am simply annoyed with them. It is unfair of me, it is not their fault that I must waste time in this place, but I still cannot help the ire that springs up at their patronizing attitudes.

Particularly that Ms. Shelley, the Head Counselor. She, I would say, is at the very least moderately unstable, and the odds are looking favorable that she should not, in fact, be in charge of children of any age. But I digress.

Upon her arrival at the scene, and witnessing the mess that had been created at Matt's hands, she simply smiled… or rather, did not cease smiling as she had been doing so without pause apparently since long before we three had the misfortune to set eyes upon her. Mello, reading over my shoulder, comments that her face may actually have frozen this way. I observe that this is not physically or biologically possible. Mello insists that it is merely a figure of speech. I inform him that he should speak plainly, and say what he means, as that is the most efficient form of communication. I also mention that it is rude to read over people's shoulders. A 'wrestling' match ensues. I lose. As usual. However Mello appears to have forgotten, or overlooked, the cause of the… scuffle. As usual.

As I was saying, Ms. Shelley failed to show any sign of real distress, instead instructing everyone to adjourn to their cabins and take a long… nap. This is not verbatim. I find that I cannot bring myself to quote anything this woman says in the words she uses.

So now it is that I, Mello, and our rather unfortunate roommates find ourselves confined to the cabin. This is not entirely disadvantageous, since it spares us from further 'camp activities' as well as interaction with any of the employees, and gives me time to update my journal. Mello, still not heeding my earlier advice to cease reading over my shoulder, adds that since the other inhabitants of our cabin are essentially comatose from alcohol consumption, we're practically alone together.

I choose not to argue this point, since I tend to agree that said fact is a positive observation.

It has been several hours, Mello and I even slept for some of them. Our roommates woke up with, quote "God-awful headaches" unquote, and swiftly departed to visit the nurse.

Upon return, they informed us that activities would resume the following day, since it had grown 'too late' to partake in any more. I pointed out that this was rather ridiculous, since we had all been asleep far too long to gain any further rest without prior exertion.

Our roommates proceed to stare blankly at me. Mello finds this funny, as he bursts out laughing. Our roommates become indignant, and voice said indignancy. Mello scowls at them, his expression implying future violence, as only he can deliver. I am mildly aroused. The roommates are cowed, and retreat to their beds where eventually they fall asleep once more.

Mello falls asleep again some time later, after suitable exertion has been had. Thank whatever deity exists for the narcotic effect of pain pills, as otherwise the likelihood of being interrupted should have been too great. I go now to retire myself, having suitably completed my entry for today. Good night.


Rester stared at the screen for a few moments, silent. Speechless, actually, if you want to get specific. He glanced over at the pale boy on the rug, still fiddling with his Legos. He looked back at the screen. He repeated this action several times.

Finally, the FBI agent closed the window, shut down the computer, and pushed away from the desk. All without speaking or, oddly enough, blinking. He stared at the computer. It did nothing. He stared at Near. The young genius, feeling eyes on him, turned to return the stare.

There was silence.

"What is it, Rester?" Near asked. Rester blinked. He opened his mouth. He shut it again. Near just kept staring expectantly.

"…Nothing." Rester said finally. Near raised an eyebrow. "I'm going to go get some coffee."

"…Alright." Near shrugged, turning back to his playthings. If Rester didn't feel like talking, that was that. He could always worm it out of him later.

A few minutes later, Rester remembered he'd just said he was going to get coffee, stood, and left the room.

Near continued playing with his Legos.

Years ago, in a happier past, two boys slept, one curled against the other, in a cabin. Each had a gentle, secretive smile on their face.


A/N: WTF she tried something NEW!?!? DDD8

Lol, forgive me, please, I enjoying playing around at times. And Rester's just so easy to poke fun at. xDDD

Writing from Near's point of view… wow, that was… interesting.

I hope you all liked it, unorthodox as it was. The style will be back to normal next chapter, I promise! And it'll be longer, too! Review please! Feed my insatiable hunger!