Scattering Ashes

Title: Scattering Ashes
Chapter Title: Haunted - Interlude
Summary: Three years after the fall of Kira, Near continues his role as the successor of L with dutiful indifference. Even so, he is haunted by ghosts of the past—indeed, one comes back from the dead hell-bent on teaching Near how to live.
Disclaimer: Death Note is the property of its creators. I do not own this franchise and no infringement is intended or profit gained by the writing of this fanfiction. I also do not own T.S. Eliot or his works; my quoting of his poems is to enrich the fanfiction but not to profit by it.
Pairing: MattxNear, past MelloxMatt
Spoiler Warning: Quite a few, actually. But if you’ve been reading with us this far, it’s hardly relevant.
Alternate Warnings: Rating T is for violence, swearing and adult sexual situations (which will occur later in the fic, please be patient) which include, but are not limited to, homosexuality. Also contains characters dealing with serious subjects like death and grief, so standard angst warnings apply.

Author’s Note: Hi readers! I had planned this chapter when I first began formulating this story--and yet, it still felt different enough to me--in perspective--that I decided to call it an “Interlude”. We step outside the normal narrative here, and explore Matt’s perspective with a little more depth and feeling. It is raw, heartbreaking material, so I encourage you to re-read the “Alternate Warnings”. Also, within the next few chapters, I will have to change the rating of this story to MA. If you haven’t marked this story yet, and wish to continue reading with us without having to search for it, then it’s probably going to be a good idea to bookmark it somehow.

I have a few dedications to make: “Haunted--Interlude” is dedicated to Doumi, for her beautiful, breath-taking fanart of Scattering Ashes--which you can find here “http://duomi.deviantart[DOT]com/art/Scattering-Ashes-107229794”--and for her constant, grueling, bluntly honest support, as well as her saint-like patience with my single-minded pestering. “Interlude” is also dedicated to Saint Sentiment, for giving good critiques and sticking with this story from the very beginning, her consistency and support has been inspirational and thought-provoking, and I’m very grateful to have her as a reader. Thirdly, “Haunted” is dedicated to Nebo, whose past two reviews were moving and insightful, honest and thorough. Thank you so much for your words.

And finally, this chapter is dedicated--with a basket full of warm, chocolate chip cookies--to inuyashalove04, for being the only one to rightly guess Mello’s cameo!

And, of course, to everyone who reads this, and doubly so for those who review. It’s always humbling, and I’m always grateful. Happy Holidays to you and yours, and here’s to 2009!

Yours,
Gloria

P.S. For the curious, I created an on-line playlist of music that I listen to while hammering out chapters for Scattering Ashes. You can find it here “http://www.youtube[DOT]com/view_play_list?p=CE9B0A85C727E11A”. Consider it my Christmas present to all of you, for sticking with me this far.




Scattering Ashes

Chapter Ten

Haunted - Interlude

“Damyata: The boat responded
Gaily, to the hand expert with sail and oar
The sea was calm, your heart would have responded
Gaily, when invited, beating obedient
To controlling hands...”

~From What the Thunder Said, “The Waste Land” by T.S. Eliot

July 2nd, 2013

Grief is a tricky thing.

There is no real way around it; no handbook to teach a person how to deal. It engulfs, sometimes. For some, it holds its breath and then sideswipes a person when they’re not looking. In others, it takes the wretched form of guilt. No matter how it attacks, and inevitably it will, in one form or another, it does so with a vengeance. And if someone tells you there is something you can do or say or think that will make it go away by force, they are either lying to you, or selling something.

For Matt, it was a hole; a deep, festering wound in the center of his chest. Some days, it burned merely, and was almost bearable. Most days it was a piercing pain, reminding him of the gaping thing where his heart used to be. It hurt worse than the bullet wounds, or the dagger that was just recently thrust into his side. It was more painful than the therapy he’d endured to get his arm working again, after the bones had been shattered from his run in with the Japanese police force. Hell, it hurt even more than leaving Mello and Near to fend for themselves while Kira still raged his war on morality. And that had really hurt. That had been agony.

Matt was not able to shake it, or fill it up, or replace it with something else. He thought he knew why. He thought it was because the one who had devoured him, the one who had carved the hole in the first place, quite enjoyed peeking through it. He thought it was good fun, Matt was sure, to jeer and wiggle his thin fingers through it, to crawl through the hole and torment him. The hole was his gateway, you see, from the other side. It was how Mello was able to always find him, no matter how far he ran, how long he hid, no matter how loud he screamed or how violently he shuddered. Mello found the light from the physical world through the guilt-edged hole in Matt’s chest, and saw fit to torture the one who betrayed him by using it for his own means--which, for all intents and purposes, usually meant wicked, sadistic scheming.

Matt knew he was somewhat insane. It was only fair, he thought at times, because Mello had definitely been crazy, and Near was certainly off the standard sanity kilter. Even L had been a little left of left field. Insanity was a lot like grief, in the sense that it could sideswipe you suddenly without warning or preamble. For Matt, it had been when he first answered Mello aloud--almost thirteen months after Mello had been killed by the Death Note, and burnt to a cinder in some church. Matt knew he had snapped then, and gave himself over to it wholly. He had laughed until he cried, and then sobbed until he heaved, vomiting everything from his insides except for the organs that kept him alive. After that, he tried his very best to hide it, to smother it in some hidden recess of his being, and only brought it out when he was sure he was alone. Then he would talk to Mello, if only to humor the ghost that trailed him relentlessly.

Matt had often wondered if he could find a way to close the hole, to banish Mello back to nothingness, would he be sane again? Could he settle down somewhere, maybe start a career like a normal person? Maybe even get a dog, and some stupid plant, and then go work out at the local gym after he got home from work and showered? He doubted it. A normal life would probably make him crazier than Mello had been. And certainly much more of a troglodyte than Near. He’d be useless as a normal human being. He was certain that he would lose his sense of feeling if Mello left him, because he felt so much when he was around.

It wasn’t natural, Matt was sure of that, to almost want his haunt to stay. Not so much because he was lonely, the Starks were definitely as close to a good family as he was ever going to get; caring, generous, and the rest.

...But more because of love.

For most people, love was a...nice thing. Matt had heard that it was euphoric, all-encompassing happiness and sweet, sweet longing all bundled up into one fuzzy package. Matt wanted to give every single one of those people the finger.

For Matt it was never a nice thing. Even when Mello had been alive, it had been angry, aggressive, violent. Possessive. Bitter. Always painful, always hard. Always a crossroads, choose love or integrity. Sometimes, there had been calm, and most times there had been a sense of wholeness, of something completed or fitted perfectly together. Never quite nice.

Mello felt fiercely. That was the first thing Matt had loved him for. Nothing diluted, nothing false. What you saw was what you got. With Mello, everything was pure, driven, and powerful. Matt appreciated that. Matt did not like lies, even though he told them enough to sometimes forget what the truth even was. Matt appreciated that, with Mello, he would never have to dissemble, never have to guess.

Now...

Now, it was different. The afterlife had muted Mello, and it frustrated Matt. Mello played with him, kept him guessing, kept him yearning, and Matt never, ever got the answer right to any of the ghost’s riddles.

That stupid fucking will, to begin with...just getting it open was an unbelievable hassle. Matt still hadn’t figured out who the hell Benjamin was. And the whole thing about scattering ashes? What the shit, man? Mello still refused to give Matt a straight answer on that. And Near...

Hell, Near was a riddle all by himself. Matt wondered if Mello’s involvement of Near was just some rotten parody at his expense--especially now that the little prick went and got himself tortured by Hezbollah for some freakish mind game...

Matt hated riddles. Right now, Matt hated Mello. Matt had always hated Mello as much as he loved him. Mello was able to do that to a person...because he loved like he hated. And hated like he loved.

Fiercely.

Matt was pacing. He liked to pace. It let the rage burn out through the movement of his legs, hips and feet--so as not to be tempted to instigate anything with his hands. Matt’s hands had long-since become deadly things. He had to be very careful with them, and was committed to never use them while he was irate. It would be a stupid thing to do. Of course, Mello would find it delightedly funny if he had used his hands to throttle Near twenty minutes ago. But that was just how Mello was. A cheerfully sadistic bastard.

“Honestly, Matt--“ Mello was saying.

“Matty, I just don’t want you to do--“ Joe was saying.

“--I don’t understand why you don’t just leave him here.” Mello smiled wickedly. “Let him find his own way home.”

“--anything stupid,” Joe finished, pacing behind him. “I know you’re upset, but--“

“It’s time he grew up anyway.”

“--maybe when you think about it calmly--“

“I told you he wasn’t worth it.”

“--you might find he felt he didn’t--

“Didn’t I?” Mello pressed.

“--feel he had any--“

“He’s useless with things his mind cannot comprehend.”

“--choice in the matter. Matty? Come on--“

“He’s useless for you. He could never understand you.”

“Matty, look at me. You need--“

“You’re wasting your time.”

“--to calm down. Please, just stop--“

“He’s not worth it--“

“It was never about him,” Matt hissed suddenly, whirling around. His eyes blazed, fixed intently on the hazy figure lounging lazily against the porch swing. Mello paused, waiting, fingering the beaded rosary around his throat. “I made that promise for you. But you weren’t good enough. ”

Mello frowned, the corner of his mouth pulling down on the side that wasn’t gnarled by his scars. “That’s not very nice at all, Matty.”

Matt snorted, tossing his head back and beseeching the skies with his tormented cornflower blue eyes. “I hate that word. ‘Nice.’”

“Did he taste nice, Matt? How did he smell? Nice? Was he nicely warm?”

Matt closed his eyes. “Stop it.”

“Do you think he would drudge up enough kindness to touch you back one day? To give you what you miss now that I’m gone?”

“Stop,” he pleaded.

“I don’t think so,” Mello mused, combing his leather-gloved fingers through his jagged yellow hair. “He’s a think-tank, Matt. He wouldn’t know what to do with you. You feel too much.”

“Please...”

“He’s even less nice than I am--“

“Stop it!” Matt’s eyes snapped open, his limbs trembling as he glared at Mello. He was more solid now, a black glow edging his frame against the darkness. Matt gritted his teeth, forcing the next words out through lips that would barely move. “I would never have kissed him if you hadn’t put the fucking idea in my head.”

He had too, weeks ago, when Near had first put on that stupid fucking red shirt. Mello, deviant even as a ghost, had whispered it into Matt’s ear while he was listening to Danny-boy harp at him about his blasted plane.

Mello tilted his head to one side, an amused smile curling his mouth. He regarded the shaking hacker for the briefest moment before turning his focus plainly toward another direction.

A sense of dread settled in the pit of Matt’s stomach and he followed Mello’s gaze. Joe had fallen silent beside Matt, his face ashen as he watched Matt fall apart at the seams, talking to someone who wasn’t there.

“Matty?” Joe took a hesitant step forward, placing the tips of his fingers on Matt’s arm. Matt looked into Joe’s face resignedly, soaking in every wrinkle, every graying strand of hair, every golden speck in Joe’s kind, concerned eyes. Matt wished suddenly that he’d been able, at some point in his relationship with Joe and his family, to find the strength, the courage, to call this man ‘Dad’. No one had ever been ‘Dad’ to Matt. The hacker had considered L, and very quickly had been repulsed by the idea. Watari came next, but only because he had spent so much time with the old man to learn his trade. But Quilish Wammy was only ‘Watari’ for L, only ‘W’ for the Lawliet genius who nibbled on sweets like it was going out of style. Matt’s own father had been a drunk. He’d seen him only once, the man who had impregnated his mother and disappeared, and it had been during the year after he left Wammy’s. His father had been vomiting whiskey and lasagna into a trash can outside of a pool hall. Matt had tracked him down, but immediately lost interest after seeing what he was. He was nothing. He was a little less than regular. And Matt was much more than better. His father did not deserve to know he had a son; he had no right to know he had sired the most intelligent hacker in the world.

Matt was not characteristically self-obsessed, but he certainly wasn’t that compassionate either.

But Joe...

Captain Joe Starks, his wife Sarah, and the little one, Alexa, were beautiful people. Matt looked into Joe’s eyes and knew that it was probably the last time he would ever see them straight on.

Belatedly, Matt flinched away from Joe’s touch, turned on his heel, and strode back into the house. He paused in the kitchen only briefly. His eyes flickered from Near, who sat stiff like a rod at the kitchen table, to Sarah, who looked up from her empty mug of tea, to the calligraphic ‘W’ sketched on the napkin, and then back to Near.

“Brilliant,” Matt muttered as Near dragged his dark eyes up to meet his. Then: “We’re leaving.”

He left them in the kitchen to stare after him as he sprang lightly up the stairs. He entered his room swiftly and shut the door. Mello was there, sitting cross-legged on the bed. Matt expected him to taunt, but he didn’t and kept unnaturally silent.

Matt grabbed a duffle bag and stuffed it absently with clothing. Then he approached his computer center and grabbed a few appliances, a set of speakers, and an extra laptop. Then he thoroughly purged the rest of his network.

When he was finished, he turned and reached for the door knob. Of course, Mello’s voice, low and peculiar, drifted over to him, stopping him and making him turn. “I am curious too, you know.”

“About what,” Matt sighed, his shoulders slumping a little, the hole in his chest stinging and sending waves of aching through the rest of his body.

“Why you did it.”

Matt stared at his haunt, a perfect shadow of the Mello that had frightened him, triggered him, possessed him...and still did. His creamy white shoulders stood out from the black leather of his shiny, goth-styled vest and arm sleeves. His long legs wove around themselves comfortably from where he perched on the bed. The beads of his rosary glinted in the lamplight as they swung gently from his throat. The scars were a deeper color than the rest of his skin, rough and beautiful. His jagged yellow hair fell into his piercing green eyes, lidded and dangerous. But everything about him screamed ‘curious’ and not ‘lethal’. It made Matt pause. Sometimes when Mello was only curious, it was okay to be honest. Most times, it was a death trap.

“Because I didn’t want you to hurt.”

Mello raised one blond brow.

It was...insane. Everything about their intimacy had been painful, even the sex. Mello was not the sort to soften up or slow down at anyone’s expense, let alone behest. Matt had been no exception. It was ludicrous for Matt to tip-toe around Mello’s feelings on this account; it was never something that took part in their relationship. Mello certainly hadn’t, and to his credit, Matt hadn’t either. He had always been able to take whatever Mello could dish out.

Until the mafia. Until the Death Note and the death gods and the kidnapping of innocent children. That had been too much for Matt.

But Mello had shifted after the accident that had left him scarred. He had chosen a different route, one that no longer involved the Mafia. And yet Matt...

Matt had chosen.

The hacker watched as the realization dawned across Mello’s face. He was worried, a little, why Mello did not look angry.

Matt turned back to the door, but Mello’s voice made him stop again. “Will you tell him?”

“I don’t know that he deserves it.”

“Deserves? Or needs?”

That caused a spasm of pain to jerk through him. Matt’s hand tightened on the doorknob. If Near didn’t need him, then there was nothing, really, to stop him from throwing himself over a cliff. He’d lost everything on a terrible gamble. Near was the only one left. If Matt wasn’t needed, if he was the one who was really useless, then what the fuck was the point?

“Either way, I’m finishing this.”

“Really, Matt, they are only ashes.”

“It’s what you wanted.”

“For Near. For you, it was very different.”

“Doesn’t matter now.”

“Seems a little ridiculous to me, forcing someone so apathetic to carry out someone’s will.”

“If he refuses, I’ll do it myself.”

“No, you won’t.”

“Watch me.”

“You can’t even touch the urn,” Mello challenged.

Matt could not find a response that mattered before Mello spoke again. “You must think there’s more he can offer.”

“Maybe.”

“You think so. You would not continue. I am still baffled that you brought him here.”

“I am rectifying that mistake now.”

“You think he has the capacity to care, don’t you?” It seemed almost like an accusation.

Matt’s voice broke. “He held my hand when we picked the urn. He saved my life in Israel. He killed for me.”

“Of course, it must mean something. Obviously, he was never interested in how the hell he would get out of there without you.”

Matt shook his head. “He came back for me. He played with Alexa.”

“All with very selfish reasons, I can assure you.”

“He held my hand.” Matt’s fingers flexed on the doorknob. “When we picked the urn. He held my hand.”

Mello was silent.

He took the pause and wrenched the door open. Sarah was waiting downstairs with a bag of sandwiches. Matt leaned in as he took them, whispering to her: “I wish you hadn’t done that.”

She kissed him on the cheek and ruffled his hair fondly, her smile at odds with the sad expression in her knowing eyes. “I trust my instincts--the same ones that allowed you into my home all those years ago.”

Her remark made him pause, but only for a split second. He stuffed the bag of sandwiches into his duffle and headed for the door. Like Matt knew he would, Near trailed silently behind him.

The gravel crunched beneath their feet, quick, angry sounds that seemed louder than necessary. The wildlife from the nearby cluster of trees chirped and shrilled as the night began to lighten to a dull grey in the eastern sky. The silence between Matt and Near screamed between them, tense and electric.

Matt unlocked the passenger side of the Mercedes and opened the door. He didn’t wait for Near to get in before twisting on his heel and marching to the other side of the vehicle. He unlocked the driver’s side with one hand and fished for a cigarette with the other, his lips twisting bitterly as he thought of Near’s new-found knowledge. Matt figured the detective was kicking himself now. Had Near known that Matt was his weapon, and had been trained by Watari himself for the job, perhaps he would have kept his little secret to himself for a while longer. Maybe he would have suffered Matt’s advances a little more coyly, instead of so thoroughly rejecting them.

Matt found it wretchedly ironic, that he would spend his life training for one thing, hoping it would be for Mello, only to find that it would have to be for Near, and yet be thwarted from even that. To have to betray Mello, only to later have to give those very services to an American, war-mongering general because of the one he swore to protect.

Matt lit his cigarette, stiffening as he realized Near had not entered the car. Out of Matt’s peripheral, he could see the detective standing next to the Mercedes, staring in the direction of the house. Joe and Sarah stood on the porch watching them.

“How many weeks do you hypothesize the remainder of Mello’s list will take?” Near’s voice was flat and inflectionless as usual, but it seemed more suited for the glum quiet than Matt’s tone.

“What the fuck are you talking about, Near? Get in the goddamn car.”

“Panama,” Near said, ignoring the hacker’s acidic command. “Bridge to Nowhere. St. Josef of Memmingen. How long to complete these tasks? Four weeks? Six?”

“Six,” Matt answered tightly, exhaling a puff of smoke. “Maybe eight.”

“Perhaps you would rather spend that time here.”

Matt was doing a very good job of not looking at the detective, but that remark almost made him glance over. “What?”

“Danny-boy expects you after I return to England,” Near murmured, his voice almost too quiet to discern. “I can finish this on my own. It is unnecessary to force you to waste your last free weeks with me. Maybe it would be more...congenial to stay with the Starks. Until my task is completed.”

“No.”

“This is a responsibility Mello left for me. You should stay with your family. Without my interference.”

Matt nearly choked on the smoke trapped in his throat. He coughed and looked over at Joe and Sarah. The offer was tempting, and surely, it was more than due him. But the Starks were not his family. They were close to what he would like his family to be, but a person cannot always choose their family. Usually, it was chosen for them. Matt was no exception.

Matt dropped his half-smoked cigarette on the ground and crushed the cherry out with the toe of his boot. “I still can’t stand to look at you,” Matt said, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “And I don’t trust you enough to let you stay anywhere near these people. But...” Matt took a deep breath and glanced over at Mello, who stood just to the side of him, gazing thoughtfully at Near. Mello’s piercing green eyes flickered to Matt’s. The ghost shrugged once and turned into the darkness of the trees, disappearing almost instantly. “But I’m not ready to give up yet.” Matt turned his face towards Near’s direction, not quite looking at him, but definitely trying to. There were six words that explained everything. Why he came back after so long, why he cared, why he was here now--even rejected and barely stable. Six words; and he spoke them now in an anguished whisper:

“You are all I have left.”

Matt could feel Near’s eyes on him, searching, dissembling, soaking everything in. Nothing ever escapes eyes like that, do they? They suck even the light in, like twin black holes, the implosion of sun-stars in the great vacuum. No escape.

Matt wasn’t able to breathe until he felt the car dip slightly and heard the door shut, letting him know that Near was willing to play along a while longer. How much longer, Matt wasn’t sure. He fully expected Near to disappear one day, to finally realize that there is nothing, really, at all, stopping him from doing whatever it is that he wants to do. That he could walk away from everything, if he wanted to, or return to his haven, to his duties and bodyguards. He could be more, or he could be less. But really, really, Near didn’t need anyone. Matt knew the detective thought he did. He thought he was inept when it came to dealing with the world he was unfortunately born into. Thus the computer screens and the voice boxes and the bodyguards. But it was bullshit. There was a big difference between needing and wanting, and both were perfectly okay--but Near was strong enough to make it without any of the crap that had been left behind for him, or the SPK remnants the detective had collected for himself. It would be nice if Near knew that.

Matt looked forward to the day that he woke up and Near was gone, because he would know that it all had gotten through. That Near had figured it out. And if he was at Wammy’s when General Whitman was finished with Matt perhaps, maybe, Matt might show up and report in as ‘W’.

Depends, of course, entirely on Near’s sense of responsibility. After his year with Danny-boy, Matt would never again work for a man who would use him for selfish means, as a tool for power and corruption. Matt hadn’t thought Near was anything like that. Mello had been--which was why Matt never broke his promise to Watari. But after Near’s confession, Matt wasn’t so sure of the detective’s character.

However, he wasn’t sure if he was quite ready for it to end. Not like this. Not while it was weird, and Matt was angry, and Near was confused. It would just feel unfinished, like a waste of precious time. And Matt wasn’t ready to give up.

He was still livid...but Mello had pissed him off countless times. The patience he had acquired by being Mello’s friend was paying off now.

The hacker slid in behind the wheel, tossed his duffle into the back, and started the ignition.

~*~

The following week was...uncomfortable.

Matt could not bring himself to speak to Near, and the detective remained equally silent. They had to wait eight days to board the cruise liner that would take them down the coast, stop for a day at the Panama Canal, and then churn up to Los Angeles. They stayed in a suite on the fourteenth story of the Hilton in downtown Boston while they waited, eating grilled-cheese sandwiches and staring off in different directions.

On the eighth day, Matt secured a cellular line for Near and allowed him to check in with Wammy’s. Near had disappeared into a separate room for over an hour, speaking to Rester and Halle in tones too low for Matt to hear. When he’d emerged, he had looked distracted, twirling viciously at his white hair and wandering aimlessly around the suite.

Matt destroyed the cell phone before packing the duffle and holding the door open so they could leave.

Customs was eventless, and Matt was bemusedly grateful--even in his brooding state. Near played the part of the blind man again. It worked as well as it had last time. But touching the detective felt different this time. His hand ached from where it pressed on the small of the detective’s back, leading him this way and that. When they had found their room, Matt had snatched his hand away and left him there, escaping to the bar for the first of many rounds of alcohol.

When he’d returned, drunk and swaying, Near was curled on his bunk, facing the wall.

The days dragged by, one molding into the other. They kept the room shuttered and dark, probably so they didn’t have to look at each other. Regularly, Matt brought him food, but stayed away from the room as often as he could. He liked the ballroom, because it was constantly noisy. Old women cackled and jeered, couples laughed gaily in their honeymooning state, children squealed and dashed about, and the few single women on board giggled and eyed Matt’s drunken, hunched form by the corner bar. All the while, the boat swayed. It was a lulling movement, a motion of shifting side to side that most passengers figured out ways of ignoring within the first couple hours of the voyage. Not Matt. As long as he could feel the movement, he knew he still existed.

It was so easy to disappear.

Mello had not visited him since disappearing in the Starks’ driveway.

Near pretended he didn’t exist.

His own mind laughed at him.

Matt felt the depression thicken with each fleeting hour, the burn in his chest become duller, his need to feel become just a little less necessary. By the fourth day of their voyage, Matt thought he knew why Near did not like to feel.

It was easier.

The bartender had cut him off for the day, so Matt stumbled back to his room, his feet dancing underneath him as the ship swayed back and forth. He felt a little like a ping pong ball as he made his way through one thin, claustrophobic hall and then the next, brushing against each side of the wall at least five times before he could turn the corner and grab the handle of his door.

Near was asleep. Matt could tell because of the sounds he made, the whimpers and the moans became more and more painful the closer the detective came to waking up. The nightmares had begun on the Wasp, but when Matt had asked about them, Near had stared at him balefully and refused to answer.

Matt closed the door quietly behind him and stood in the center of the room, watching spasm after spasm shudder through the dreaming albino. Matt wanted to wake him, like he had on the Wasp, to hold him until he calmed and sorted himself. But Matt couldn’t trust himself now. He had gone too far with the detective. Near had been quite thorough in his rejection, and Matt was still very bitter about the incident with the Hezbollah.

Matt bit his lip as Near cringed and muffled a scream in the bed sheet beneath him. It hurt to watch this, but Matt knew it would be over in a matter of minutes. Near always woke himself up before long. It was usually better if Matt wasn’t there when he did though. Near had a way of looking at Matt when he first woke from a night terror like he didn’t belong there, like he had no right to see such a thing. Matt turned to leave again, but Mello appeared and blocked his way.

“Where have you been?” Matt demanded darkly, his voice barely a whisper.

Mello ignored his question and stared past him, a severe expression marring his features. His eyes were a dark beryl today, barely more than a shadow. It was the color of trees in the reflection of a pond at twilight. Near whimpered again and Matt turned back. He felt like a monster, being a mere voyeur with his sadistic, ghostly companion, cruelly gazing on as the one who was better than all of them shuddered inside his own personal hell.

Suddenly, Mello pressed close to Matt, fitting his freezing body behind him. Matt stiffened. He did not like it when Mello touched him. He was far too cold. Slowly, and with great deliberation, Mello reached up and snaked his white hands over Matt’s shoulders. Carefully, leaning in close enough to move the strands of Matt’s hair with his frosty breath, Mello pressed his fingers against Matt’s eyes, whispering: “Shhhhhh.”

There was a jolt, and then a sensation like pain, but more of an echo of the thing. Then it felt like the floor dropped out from beneath Matt’s feet and the whole room was shaking. He quaked, struggling against Mello’s sudden, iron-like grip, as the world shook and trembled and then spun around and around and around...

He was freezing. He stared at Near, his lips blue and his white hair dreaded by clumps of ice, as he stood beside him gazing down at the Mello-child playing in the water. Another spasm; and they were in a room. A thin man with a black sack over his head was being bodily thrown into a wall. There was a sickening crunch and the body slid down and landed in a crumpled heap on the floor. There was a smear of blood left on the wall. A leg came out from nowhere and kicked the man in the stomach before two pairs of hands reached out and grabbed the man’s arms, hauling him to his feet. The man made a choking sound, like he was trying to scream, but had forgotten how, and seemed like a rag doll in their hands as he was tossed from one corner of the room to the other. At some point, the prisoner landed on his knees, his right arm flopping awkwardly to the side, and the sack slipped down, pulled by gravity, and fell to the floor. Aghast, Matt saw the shock of curling white hair, the pale white skin, and knew it was Near.

This is what they had done to him at Abu Ghraib.

He looked swollen. They were shouting at him, demanding answers Near was never going to give. Near had long since lost himself inside of his own head. No torture technique could get this one to talk, not when he was inside of his mind. Nothing can touch him there.

Mello was there, whispering to him. Near’s face was warped by swelling and bruises. His mouth was dark with blood. His eyes were hollow.

Matt shouted at him to wake up when he saw the hammer, when they grabbed his left hand. He tried to attack the man who held the tool, but he couldn’t move. He screamed and writhed, a fury filling him so consuming he saw red. There was a tremble, another jolt, but the scene didn’t change like the rest of them. They were in the same room, in the same situation. But Near thought faster than Matt did. He was moving so quickly, Matt forgot, momentarily, that it was him he was watching. The hammer was suddenly in his left hand, and it was smashing in the skull of his tormentor. Near wasn’t finished, a peculiar, terrified look strangling his swollen features as he whirled and proceeded to rip out the throat of the other one. Matt realized abruptly that the blood that covered Near when he found him in Abu Ghraib had not been his own.

Near sank to his knees, running a hand blindly over his face, smearing red blood into his white hair. He glanced up at the ceiling, and then stared at his hands. Finally, the detective took in a deep shuddering breath and looked at the men he had killed. Matt watched the regret fill his dark eyes, the pupils become smaller, the light blue iris become visible...and then the image shimmered and went black.

He felt sick as Mello released him, and he stumbled forward. He landed painfully on his knees, one hand on the edge of Near’s bunk to brace himself. His voice came out like a sob as he reached over and grasped Near’s shoulder. “Near!” He shook him roughly as Near cringed away. “Fucking Christ, Near; wake up!”

Near’s eyes snapped open and Matt grabbed him by both arms and pulled him from the bed. He wrapped his arms around him tightly, the hole in his chest constricting painfully as Near shuddered and clutched in shock at Matt’s collar. His nails were sharp and dug painfully into the flesh of Matt’s throat.

“Jesus, Near,” Matt was muttering, “God, I’m so sorry.”

Near struggled against him, trying to lift his head, and Matt’s arms fell away instantly. Matt took one look at Near’s face and scrambled back. He looked angry.

“I was--you were dreaming,” Matt murmured inanely as he jumped to his feet. My dead boyfriend showed me what you were dreaming and I didn’t like it, he kept to himself.

Near’s eyes were pitch black and glowering. “You are absurd. Your apologies are wholly uncalled for.”

“Hey, fuck you,” Matt snapped. “You sounded like you were in pain.”

“Well, I wasn’t obviously,” Near said, his voicing raising a pitch higher than usual. “I was, as you so intelligently observed, dreaming.”

“You were dreaming about Abu Ghraib,” Matt accused, and then bit his lip to keep from saying anything else.

Near narrowed his eyes. “The subject of my dreams is inconsequential to you, regardless.”

That stung in ways Matt was sure Near hadn’t intended it to sting, but it was an otherwise odd thing to say. “How so?”

Near waved his hand imperiously, it was a small, minute gesture, a mere movement of his fingers, but the effect was the same. “My mind is reviewing memories of a very recent encounter that I--“ Near inhaled sharply, glancing away. A tremble quivered between his shoulder blades. Even from across the room, Matt could see the effort it cost the detective to fight to seem aloof and indifferent.

“Near, stop it.” Matt waited until Near looked at him. “Guilt compounding trauma is either going to give you a complex or make you insane. You have to--“

“I have no right,” Near interrupted, his tone sharp even if his voice was flat, “to impugn you with complaints regarding this particular matter.”

Matt gritted his teeth when he saw the stubborn lift of Near’s chin. This conversation would go nowhere. He needed a drink. “Fine,” he said, and turned for the door. “Be a fucking martyr.”

“Matt.”

He looked back in time to see Near motion with his fingers again. It was an invitation this time, instead of a dismissal. Matt felt helpless. He hated himself for needing it so badly, needing warmth instead of cold. Someone alive instead of someone long-dead. He went.

Two steps merely, but he was there. His face felt hot and he averted his gaze as Near lifted his left hand and placed his fingertips on Matt’s hip, slipping one digit into the belt-loop there, trapping him. He was warm.

That had been the best part--when he’d been reckless almost two weeks ago now and kissed him...right before every weak strand of fragile trust and companionship they had woven together frayed and snapped, everything crashing down around them. Near had been warm. Alive. Human. Physically there.

The twin abysms were staring at him again, trying to suck the life right out of him, the truth, the riddle, whatever it was that Near sought. Near didn’t move, and neither did Matt. The hacker had learned his lesson. He would not initiate again.

But, God, he needed this.

Near’s face was impossibly close. Matt could feel his hot breath on his throat, the tickle of his white hair on his skin. “I don’t know what to do to make us better,” Near whispered, the words causing gooseflesh where they hit Matt’s flesh.

“I don’t want to be your charity case,” Matt whispered back, keeping his eyes fixed on the floor.

Near was silent for a long moment, and the heat between them was becoming unbearable. “I don’t know what that means,” Near murmured finally. “But I know I am not Mello.”

Matt jerked in his trance, taking the words like a blow. He still could not move away, not with Near’s fingertips fixing him in place, but he wanted to so badly he trembled. He lifted his eyes and saw Mello staring at them, a black outline in the corner of the room. His piercing green eyes were hot, burning like coal. He stared unblinking, and Matt stared back as the guilt ravaged him, tearing his heart apart and making it feel like a fresh wound all over again. Betrayed over and over for the same one. The third child. Matt could not fathom how this had happened, what cruel twist of fate had led him down this path. But he was here, and it was all left in his hands now, the hands of the third, and they held Matt fast by mere fingertips.

“I’m sorry,” Matt croaked, his voice filled with pain. The words were meant for Mello, but of course Near wouldn’t know that. Near’s hand fell back to his side and he turned his face away. A split second later, Matt swiftly left the room and stood shaking in the hall. He breathed in through his nose until his heartbeat slowed, until he could walk again. The world was no longer swaying violently, and that was never a good thing.

Matt headed back toward the ballroom.

~*~


Matt had heard a rumor that the ship was going to dock early at the Canal. This is why he was at the stern during the hour before sunrise. Mello had once confided in him that he always wanted to see the sun rise on one ocean, and then set on another in the same day--without having to hop on a plane. The hacker had a sneaking suspicion that was why the third stop on Mello’s list was the Panama Canal. To his knowledge, the Canal was the only place one could do that; see the sun touch two oceans in the same day.

Mello had tried to make Matt turn back and return to his room after the bartender in the ballroom sent him out again. However, Matt had ignored his ghost until it muttered himself back into nothingness. Matt had wandered the ship then, surfacing to the deck from time to time so he could smoke. The liner was massive, gilded and buzzing with parties and drunken laughter even in this late--or early, as the case may be--hour. Matt avoided crowds when he could, but mostly didn’t care. His inebriation had turned into a sober headache, the ache forming behind his eyes as the alcohol in his system hastened a hangover Matt would have much rather slept off.

Matt knew he would have to return to the room eventually, to wake Near so they could complete Mello’s third task. He wanted to see the sun rise first. Matt wasn’t sure what the big deal was about their solar system’s star making its first daily appearance on the local horizon, but he supposed the colors were pretty enough. Already, the inky black sky was melting into a deep purple color. The shade reminded Matt of the shadows beneath Near’s eyes, achingly similar to the smudges that had owled L’s eyes before him. Matt took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He lifted one foot and hooked it into the railing, and then folded his arms over the top bar, resting his chin in the nook of his arms.

They were so similar it was frightening--L and Near. They both seemed so indifferent, so callous, but really it was bullshit. They were cowards, trapping their feelings behind a pale face and unblinking eyes because if they revealed how much they cared, the real world would butcher them, hack them into little tiny pieces and then eat them for breakfast. It wasn’t fair that the rest of them had to feel so much, that Matt and Mello, Roger and K and D, the Starks, Akhish, Yisheth and his family...it wasn’t fair that they had to have their hearts broken, their friends die, their families ripped apart, their worlds torn inside out because they weren’t capable of not giving a damn. It wasn’t right that Near could just about get himself tortured to death on a wild gamble for Matt’s network and walk away like it wasn’t a big deal. The little brat had no idea how badly that had scared him, how much he gave to get him back. That, really, was what angered him.

No. Who was he kidding?

That’s not true.

Matt placed a cigarette between his lips, angling his head to the side so he could light the damn thing.

Matt wasn’t really angry about that. The truth of it was a bit simpler. Matt knew that if he had never bothered Near in the first place, the detective never would have gotten hurt. He had put Near in an impossible situation. Matt was supposed to protect him, take care of him, but he was injured and unconscious in a war zone. Matt knew Near saw the scars, and God knows what Akhish had said to him to set him off...Near panicked. Matt knew the detective well enough that he should have expected that, planned for it. Hell, looking back, he probably should have just told him the truth in the first place. But Matt had been selfish, still undecided about whether or not he wanted to be W for the new L...for Near, his best friend’s rival.

It was his fault.

It had been his fault that his mother died. It was his fault that Mello got careless with Takada. It would have been his fault if Near had died too.

The more Matt thought about, the more he was convinced that Watari was out of his mind to agree with L’s proposition--that since Matt was refusing to be L, then perhaps he should train to be W instead. When Matt was told that Near had been chosen instead of Mello, he couldn’t look either of the heirs in the eye. He had been the first to leave Wammy’s, so disgusted with the trickery, so angry with the deceit. They knew, L and Watari, what Matt would have to sacrifice to keep his promise. How could they?

Matt had never been angry with Near for his succession. His wrath was directed with careful precision toward the two who had made the decision in the first place, L and W.

Mostly, Matt was angry that he was angry all the time. It was an awful feeling and he couldn’t shake it. If he wasn’t angry, he was painfully aware of the hole in his chest. There were only a few times when he forgot about the hole, and wasn’t angry at all. The problem was, it was usually because of Near.

Mello was right, Near was often accidentally funny. And before it got weird between the two of them, Matt could almost say he was beginning to calm down. He smiled with Near, something he hadn’t done in years. And that was...well, it was nice. Or had been. Before it got weird. Before the kiss. Before Mello decided to play matchmaker, and then glare at him like he was committing treason.

Matt flicked his butt into the roiling black ocean, a cool breeze ruffling his hair. He rested his head back into the cradle of his arms, watching the foam on the water, trying not to brood, but failing miserably.

“I wanted to see the stars.”

Matt jumped nearly out of his skin at the sound of Near’s voice, skittering back a few steps. Near had on a baseball cap drawn low over his eyes, and wore a long sleeved shirt and jeans he’d found in Matt’s duffle. White, curling hair peeked out from beneath the cap, waving graciously against Near’s jaw and neck and disappearing into his collar. Near turned his head, tilting it slightly so he could see Matt’s face. His mouth was turned down in a peculiar frown. “I suppose I’m too late.”

“Well, there’s always Lucifer,” Matt muttered before he could stop himself.

Near tilted his head at an even sharper angle, revealing the dark shadow where his eyes were. His frown became deeper.

Matt lifted one hand, feeling precisely like the idiot he sounded, and pointed up. “Morning star,” he mumbled. “Sorry, private joke.” Not his joke, per se. It had been something Mello used to say.

Let’s go see Lucifer, Matt. Come on; wake up!

God, you’re insane Mello.

Near looked up, exposing the hollow of his throat. Matt looked away, wondering what the hell was wrong with him. “Ah,” Near said. “I see it.” He looked back at Matt, but he was still staring at the deck. “Thank you.”

Matt shrugged and watched out of his peripheral as Near approached the rail. He had a sudden urge to make him back away, as if he would magically fall over if he didn’t. But he knew that was absurd. Matt decided to keep quiet.

“I should probably tell you, Rester and Halle have noticed some inconsistencies in albino statistics.” Near’s tone was monotonous and bored. But there was a flush crawling up his neck, and Matt noticed his breathing was slightly hitched. A couple strolled by and Near stiffened. Matt drew closer so Near didn’t have to speak so loud.

“What inconsistencies?” Matt asked under his breath.

Near waited until the couple went past. “Death statistics. Hate crime numbers are rising.”

Matt’s mouth thinned, his eyes hardening as he peered at the brightening horizon. “A swell?”

“Not yet.”

“That’s not good, Near.”

“Not enough evidence to claim that my sighting has been leaked, but it is a passing concern. I have instructed Rester to make a statement as L. It should at least confuse the underground, if there is a warrant for my assassination.”

“You should really let me take you home.”

“I intend to keep my word.”

“Is it worth your life?”

Near turned to him, regarding Matt silently. The hacker felt uncomfortable under the detective’s scrutiny, feeling every vulnerability he’d ever had rise to the surface and get sucked into that black gaze. “Yes,” Near answered finally, and turned back to staring at the water.

“Well, it’s not,” Matt said. “It’s really not.”

The sky was bleeding into a ruddy, reddish pink color before Near spoke again. “I’ve never wanted a friend before.” He said the words slowly, as if he was hoping they would make more sense out loud. Judging from the irritated frown that twisted his lips after he spoke them, they didn’t.

Matt stared at him, curious and more than a little stunned at the sudden confession. It wasn’t like Near to be so open.

“I understand a little,” Near continued after a moment, his eyes searching the frothy water as it began to sparkle. “With Rester and Halle, what the Starks are to you--how it’s different with you and me. They are...” Near’s face scrunched up briefly, and then smoothed out again. He waved his hand irritably. “They are like a piece from the wrong puzzle, doesn’t quite fit.” His voice faded off, and the annoyed frown was back. He sighed heavily and looked away. “I’m no good at this, Matt,” he murmured softly.

“Don’t worry about it,” Matt said, his voice gruffer than he intended it to be.

Near seemed to struggle again, his mouth opening and closing. Finally, he said: “I know I am not forgiven.”

“Near--“

“No. Let me say this. I don’t understand why you apologize for things that are not your responsibility--“

“You are my responsibility.”

“Please refrain from speaking until I am finished,” Near snapped, his eyes flashing beneath his cap.

Matt scowled into the horizon.

“I keep my word,” Near said, his voice stern yet sincere. “So, logically, if I finish Mello’s will, and I tell you I will not put myself into danger to force you to reveal...” His voice broke off, lost in some thought that made him shudder. Matt looked at him. Near met his eyes. “If I finish this,” Near whispered. “Then you can trust me. You would have no reason not to.” It wasn’t framed like a question, but it sounded like one--as if Near was searching for some validation of this odd theory he’d formulated.

His words mattered very little to Matt. What struck him was that Near had searched the boat for Matt to tell him this. First, he was angry the detective would endanger himself but that quickly passed. Matt could see the toll this had taken on the detective, coming out on his own. A sheen of sweat glistened on Near’s exposed skin, his breathing was still labored, his fingers were trembling...the panic was threatening to spill over. Matt was actually impressed that he had learned how to hold it at bay this well.

Near stared at Matt, and the hacker stared back. Abruptly, Near made a strange face and tore his eyes away. “I’m finished. Thank you for listening.”

It suddenly felt like ice was sliding down Matt’s wrist, and he looked down in time to see Mello’s thin, nearly transparent fingers encircle his hand and begin lifting it. Matt looked up, but Mello wasn’t there. When he looked at his hand again, Mello’s fingers were gone--but the damage was done. Mello had pulled Matt’s palm up. Near saw the movement and looked down. It was absurd--utterly ridiculous--the thrill that passed through him when Near took his hand and interlaced their fingers, accepting an invitation Matt hadn’t meant to give. Matt was visited by the brutal urge to laugh hysterically. He bit his lip and stared out over the Atlantic Ocean as it frothed and roiled, the sky erupting into a riot of color as the sun finally made its glimmering appearance, a sliver of brilliance cresting the horizon. It really was rather beautiful.

“Thank you,” Matt murmured, tightening his fingers around the hand in his. “For coming out here. It would have been a shame to see this alone.”

“You’re welcome,” Near answered simply, squinting against the brightness but not turning his face away.

An impasse. After all of this, they had come full circle. Back to square one.

Holding hands.

“Are you sure you want to be my friend?” Matt asked, his voice thick. “You don’t know the things that haunt me.”

Near looked at him then, a whipping breeze lifting the ball cap up from his face. Matt saw the manic glint in his eyes, the private smile, the almost incredulous expression Matt was sure he was fighting too.

His face seemed to say: You have no idea.

A small, breathy laugh escaped through Near’s pale lips as he turned back to the sunrise.

Behind them, Mello grinned.

To be continued...



Nebo: Thank you so much for your reviews! I became really excited while reading them, because I felt like we were on the very same page. I listen very carefully to reviews, and I had begun to worry that I wasn’t getting my point across--but your reviews helped me quit second-guessing myself. So thank you!

Ch. 8--Near was most definitely insulating himself inside of his head. It was interesting to me, after reading so much in “Static”, a documentary about free press and how that right got morphed in propaganda by the Bush Administration, about psychological torture and its methods, to try some against Near--who, when all is said and done, has the strongest mind in this story. I tried a few different things with that scene, and ended up with the one that made it into the final cut. I wanted to make the pain leave a lasting impression, but also to have Near’s mind relatively impenetrable. Even under torture, he wouldn’t be giving anything away. The hammer scene...was certainly surprising. And if I said my own sense of justice didn’t leak onto the page, I’d be lying. After having to force myself to put Near through that kind of trauma, I wanted to show Near strong enough to take an opportunity when it was provided him and become a deadly thing--or at least, to show that he has enough of a sense of self-preservation to fight back. Thank you for considering the escape from Abu Ghraib epic! It’s one of the more exciting moments in this story, and I’m glad I pulled it off. I wanted to also use that scene, and the brief ones preceding it, to show how intense Matt can be when he slips into “protector mode”.

The remainder of your review for this chapter was incredibly exciting for me. I agree whole-heartedly that in real life, things do not conveniently snap together. And I thought that a Death Note fanfic was a perfect opportunity to explore that because of L’s death three quarters into the series. Obata wasn’t afraid to make beloved characters fail, and I respected that of him. It was a brave thing to do, given how many fans doted on L. And even later, there were many, many sacrifices to be made on all sides before the conclusion of the series. Here, in SA, I wanted to continue that idea--at least the idea that life isn’t always gooey and fun. People are people, no matter how intelligent, and it is human to make mistakes, to hurt those you love, to obsess over trivial things and ignore the heart-wrenching possibilities right under your nose. With Matt and Near, two very introverted, intense, quiet people, it is important to me to acknowledge their flaws, to keep them human, to let them hurt each other...because otherwise, could they possibly be in-character? Near does like to forget his previous apathy with Matt, because he cares so much now. And Matt forgets at times that Near will be Near no matter how much he wishes he were different. Near is definitely immature, and this fic is designed to help him mature, in a sense. And Matt is mature, even if a little wild, but he is also suffering. I do plan for a happy ending, eventually--even if it won’t quite be this story that it happens in. But I’ve always thought “Happy Ending” is an inane sentiment. One moment can have a happy closure, but it’s not an ending, not really. There will be many chapters with mini-adventures, little heart-aches and moments where they scratch open each other’s wounds--and when the chapter comes to a close, there might even be a sense of peace as well as happiness and understanding. But end? Never. ^_^

Ch. 9--Alexa was based off of my own sister, Teresa, who is nine also, and might even be a tad immature for her age. I can understand your confusion, and sympathize too, because I feel about small humans much as Near does--they’re like little aliens invading our planet! I understand very little about them. But Teresa melts me just like Alexa melted Near, despite his irritation. We’re both quite helpless against their charm, I suppose.

The explosion between them was very difficult for me to write, even after the reasons I stated above, because it was so heart-breaking to let everything come to a peak and rip through them. I also felt, however, that certain things needed to be said, that consequences had to be dealt with, before either of them could move in the direction I want them to. You know, it’s fascinating to me how powerful words are--especially ones spoken out loud, and doubly so for the ones that are bitten out during an argument. I strictly believe that person means everything they say, because it had to begin as a thought--no matter how fleeting--before it was processed and came out of their mouth. Doesn’t mean they can’t change their mind, just that, in the moment, they meant it, every last cruel word. And so, Matt meant what he said--but certainly not in the way Near takes it. Matt meant it to sting, but when he spoke the words, he didn’t realize Near cared about him as much as he did. Matt felt embarrassed and angry, rejected and betrayed. He was taking a little of his pride back, defending his dead friend. But Near would only understand it as “It’s hopeless. He will always want Mello more, and I don’t compare.” It’s devastating how powerful words are at times.

I glowed for days after reading this next part. Sarah and Joe’s role in this chapter was definitely supposed to speak volumes about the “Mom and Dad” role that they play for Matt and Near while they are, indeed, hurting each other. I’ve lived on my own as a child, been in and out of foster care, had adopted families and lived with biological ones too, and the difference is very real; it’s a tangible thing. Near and Matt, Mello and L, even Beyond, to an extent, and K, all have a sense of being anchorless when it comes to the very real values and compassion that comes with having a family. Nothing can replace what a parent can offer to a child. And I wanted to show Near and Matt having that experience with the Starks, so that they can know the difference too.

Thank you again for your amazing reviews! They were revitalizing!

Inuyashalove04: Thanks for another review! And you guessed rightly! Congratulations! Ha ha, I was relieved to finally be able to write something Matt/Near, even if it was brief, and violently interrupted. Thanks again! And Happy Holidays to you too!