Scattering Ashes

Title: Scattering Ashes
Chapter Title: Heaven, Maybe
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: I allude to the epilogue manga catalogueing Near and his memories on how he was chosen as a potential heir as L. I do not believe I give too much away, but I do stick to that canon as well.
Alternate Warnings: Rating MA is for violence, swearing and adult sexual situations 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 to make some interesting sacrifices for this chapter. Namely: We're behind schedule. I had hoped to use the first chapter of the Bridge to Nowhere arch to name the location of said bridge and start them on their journey. However, when I outline stories, I am not yet fully involved in the characters. That takes time and experience and character building. Because of the time I've spent crafting and re-crafting these guys, I felt it was important to describe 'the after', and to have these two characters come to know one another on a new level, on a more mundane level, and see if their closeness falters or becomes more defined post-sexual tension. Some of you, in your reviews, thought they might become distant, shy, reserved, might crawl back into their protective introverted shells. Some of you hoped to see more playful sides of their dynamic, a little more flirting, a fresher, light-hearted attitude. I thought: Interesting. I thought: Why not some salt, a dash of pepper and pinch of paprika?

And then it suddenly occured to me that you guys know very little about Matt. And if you know few things about Matt, Near is even more in the dark because a great deal that has been revealed about Matt has been done in third person narrative and only marginally in dialogue! I thought: Well, this is perfect opportunity for Near to learn about Matt as an individual, like Mello knew him.

So! This chapter has been completely revised. The chapter title was re-named, the entire outline for this arch was re-crafted, and I think, even though it puts us a little behind schedule, the adaption benefits the story like a breath of fresh air. I've played with humor in here, while avoiding fluff as often as possible. I bounce Matt and Near off of different types of intimacy. I use short quick scenes to express the timeline of about four days. And! This is the first chapter where anything is written from Mello's third person point of view! I also pulled a lot of inspiration from Christopher Walken in The Prophecy trilogy, and you might spot some terms and cameos here and there. I was also inspired greatly by The Last Samurai by Helen DeWitt and the character Ludo, the child genius who might kill a man if they used real swords, who understands that a real samurai will parry the blow.

Cu-kid did another fantastic and awe-inspiring fanart called 'Haunted' which you can find here: cu-kid[DOT]deviantart[DOT]com/art/Haunted-111549652

And big thanks to Doumi for her beta and for the fabulous, fun, and clever sketches that she did, which you can find here: duomi[DOT]deviantart[DOT]com/art/SA-Sketches-in-color-111651130

PLEASE go to those sites and comment their art, they're both amazing and I'm so honored to inspire such imagery!

Yours,
Gloria



Scattering Ashes

Chapter Thirteen

Heaven, Maybe

“Dawn points, and another day
Prepares for heat and silence. Out at sea the dawn wind
Wrinkles and slides. I am here
Or there, or elsewhere. In my beginning.”

~From “East Coker” by T.S. Eliot

July 18th, 2013

Several things occurred to Near, in a seeming simultaneous fashion.

The first was that at least forty minutes had passed without his notice. A trivial fact, as far as Near was concerned.

The second was that he had, at some point, lost feeling in his leg. Near had spent day-long vigils in this position before without this problem. Of course, he’d never had the weight of a human head and torso added to his lap, so he could logically deduce the source of his current predicament. Matt continued to slumber peacefully, the sound of his even breathing one of the more relaxing reverberations Near had ever encountered. Therefore, he was somewhat reluctant to oversee the before stated problem as it would include moving the sleeping thing in his lap.

The third was that his shirt stuck to his chest uncomfortably—which led directly to fourth: He was still fully clothed. Odd. Of course, he’d had the idea that perhaps they might have needed to disrobe to become intimate. So much for assumptions. Well and so, his ejaculate had dried precariously on his stomach underneath his shirt, which Near decided was somewhat…gross.

Still, it did not seem reason enough to move the sleeping thing in his lap, the source of that most calming sound.

The fifth was the other sound. That strange, perplexing, sickly grumbling sound. Near blinked slowly, letting his thoughts settle back into their normal rhythm.

Ah. Of course.

Matt hadn’t eaten since the mango stand, after the monkeys and the market place. Before the death of the Kuna girl. Almost forty-eight hours.

Near sighed, causing his skin to stretch oddly where it was stuck to the front of his shirt. That may very well be his fault too. Of course, he hadn’t demanded or actively forced Matt to stand by on-deck while he waged war against his mind yesterday. But still.

Matt obviously participated actively as his W whenever the opportunity presented itself. Near knew that. He probably should have sent him away to nourish himself at some point. Of course, Near felt he certainly shouldn’t have to regulate when Matt did or did not eat, did or did not sleep. That would be utterly ridiculous.

But.

That sound was obstinately guilt-provoking nevertheless.

The duffle bag was about a foot away. Near reached, being careful not to jostle the sleeping thing in his lap, and procured a pair of sweats. The material was soft, so Near folded it carefully and placed it beneath Matt’s head as he scooted back and stood. Matt murmured something at the disturbance and Near froze, bent over him and peering. Matt’s fingers flexed and then relaxed. He continued to sleep.

Near closed his eyes briefly and straightened. He walked across the room and dialed for room service. After he had placed the order he figured since he was up anyway, he might as well shower. He eyed the bathroom door warily, wondering if Mello would pop in for a visit.

He wondered if he should call him and get their stand off over with—because of course that was what it would ultimately deteriorate to. That wasn’t to say Mello was predictable. Surely, Near didn’t know anyone less predictable than Mello. But there was something Near did understand about Mello. And it was this:

Mello was driven by his emotions, by his instincts, and therefore animalistic about what he considered his. Mello was very clever, and dying seemed to only heighten his sense of awareness and expand the wealth of his knowledge. However, whatever game this phantom, this residual imprint of Mello played, it did not seem to hamper that chaotic nature of his personality. Mello will, and must always be, Mello.

And Mello did not like other people touching his things.

Well and so, Near did not think Mello would come when called. Everything about Mello would rebel at being summoned. Mello would show at a time of his choosing, and no sooner…if at all.

As it happens, Mello saw fit to allow Near to shower in peace. After Near had dressed himself in a pair of loose slacks and the AC/DC shirt Matt had given him the night when he’d first kissed him, the night they both learned some terrible truths, he wasn’t sure of what to do.

He stood in the center of the room, gazing down at the sleeping thing on the floor. Matt with his arm tucked under his head, with the calming, steady sound of slumbering breath. Matt, who saw past his memory of Mello for a few titillating moments and saw Near. Matt, who looked painfully young while asleep. Matt, who sent Mello away. Matt, who said there wasn’t room for three.

Near couldn’t agree more.

A knock sounded at the door. Near took the platter of food from the waiter and closed the door in the man’s face. He placed the platter by Matt’s head, knowing the man would be hungry when he woke.

There was a sixth occurrence, of course; a realization that made him wonder when it was he last rested. Near was exhausted. His eyes felt like twin burning things inside his skull, and dry as stones. His limbs felt heavy, his arms like lead at his sides. The shower had not worked to revitalize him, and he submitted to the tiredness sweeping through him. He curled onto his bed, his eyes fixed on the sleeping thing.

Of course he dreamed. He dreamed of the echoes of conversations he should remember more clearly. He dreamed of a tall Asian woman who glanced down her nose at him, contempt in her glittering black eyes. Her face morphed into another face with glittering black eyes, impenetrable and grievous. After he dreamt of Akhish and his unfathomable secrets, he dreamed of Abu Ghraib. And as they struck him down and pummeled his sides with their boots in swift, harsh kicks, he saw the albino Kuna girl standing in one corner. She watched with an accusation in her unseeing, milky eyes. Cradled in her bloody, broken arms was a mahogany urn with gold trim, shards of red glinting in the sharp slash of the interrogation light.

~*~

His stomach growled. Matt grimaced at the rumbling inside of him and turned over, coming nose-to-platter with the thing that smelled so delicious it woke him from a dead sleep. He lifted the lid and chuckled. A dozen or so grilled cheese sandwiches waited on the floor next to him. He ate two in the time it took him to sit up. He’d consumed another by the time he located Near.

The fourth sandwich paused in the air, half-way to his mouth. Near whimpered, and whimpered again. Matt dropped the sandwich back onto the platter and got to his feet. He’d washed up and changed clothes in less than five minutes. He crossed the room swiftly and bent over Near, grasping his shoulders and shaking him gently awake.

Near woke with a start, his wintry blue eyes bloodshot and blinking rapidly.

“Alright, easy killer.” Matt smoothed his palm over Near’s cheek, waiting for the detective to recognize him. “Easy.”

Near clutched at his shirt and pressed his forehead against Matt’s collarbone, sucking in air to level his breathing. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine,” Matt contradicted. He pressed one knee into the mattress and Near made room for him. Matt hesitated for only a fraction of a second before maneuvering under the sheet. He snaked one arm around Near’s slim waist and pulled him close. The detective seemed to melt against him, fitted against every limb. “Abu Ghraib again?”

Against the hook of his throat, Near nodded. “More. Every damning thought seems to mutate in my dreams now.” He paused. “I think I know now why L did not like to sleep.”

“Don’t say that.” Matt propped his chin atop Near’s head, white curls whispering along the angles of his face. The detective smelled like soap.

“Don’t say what?”

“Damning,” he answered. “Near, you’ve done nothing wrong.”

“I dreamt of K too,” Near murmured, swiftly changing the subject. Apparently, he didn’t want to get into another argument about whose fault what was.

“K? Really?” Matt shifted back so he could look at Near’s face. The detective’s eyes swiveled up to meet his. “I didn’t think you would have remembered her.”

“I don’t remember much, actually.” Near paused, his eyes becoming unfocused as he peered into the analogues of his mind. “She never spoke to me. I never saw her after my first year at Wammy’s.”

Matt waited for it. He expected a stream of questions about K. Instead, Near asked: “Why do you call me ‘killer’?”

Matt was startled, but he gave Near a generous smile. “Because the look on your face when I say it is completely worth it.”

“You mean it amuses you.”

Matt’s smile grew a little wider. “Yeah. And that.”

Near’s eyes became even bluer. His mouth quirked in one corner. “You’ll have to explain to me, one day, what it is about my face that you find so humorous.”

Matt’s smile softened. He smoothed Near’s hair out of his eyes. He liked the sound of that. It made things seem a bit less urgent, a little less rushed. It made the illusion of time seem somewhat believable. Matt wasn’t sure how long he could have this before it was snatched away. He considered kissing Near, continuing what they started earlier that morning. But:

“You’re tired,” Matt observed, pulling back.

“Very,” Near murmured. “But I’m afraid to sleep.”

Matt took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. He didn’t know how to ward off nightmares. “I’ll be here,” he promised, because that was all he could promise.

“I know,” Near whispered, closing his eyes.

The night deepened and melted into dawn. Matt waited for Mello but Mello did not appear. He could still feel him, the throb in the edges of the hole, the chill at the end of his fingertips and toes. He knew he was close, but he continued to give them privacy.

If Matt had a heart, it would be bleeding. He knew a little about what Mello was sacrificing for him now. Soon, Mello might go mad and begin to hate him for it. But certainly hate was better than apathy, wasn’t it? Certainly the dull throb, certainly the chill, certainly the echo of his ghost was better than no ghost at all. Wasn’t it?

With Near sleeping fitfully in his arms, Matt was gripped by the sudden fear that Mello would leave him permanently.

What if he never came back?

~*~

“Dry humping?!”

“Yeah,” laughed Matt, who had collapsed against the wall at the sight of Near’s expression.

“You’re laughing at me.”

“Yeah,” Matt agreed, clutching now at his sides.

Near made a face and threw a grilled cheese sandwich across the room at him. Matt caught it one-handedly and cheerfully took a bite.

“But it sounds blatantly crude!” Near protested, his exasperation making his voice rise above its normal pitch.

Matt chuckled and took another bite. “It’s supposed to, Near.”

Near peered suspiciously at him under his fringe of wild, white-blond curls. “Is that really what it’s called?”

“Yeah.” Matt finished the sandwich and grinned. “Would you like another go?”

Near’s mouth twisted. He looked as if he were trying not to smile. “Not if it’s really called dry humping,” he said, crossing the room and disappearing into the bathroom.

Matt’s laughter continued even after he shut the door.

~*~

Strange how things felt new that weren’t really new.

Strange how a shift in emotional atmospheres can do that. Near thought it might have something to do with perception.

Near had heard Matt laugh before, but now it felt new. Like it was the first time. Because before it hadn’t given him cause to smile. Before he hadn’t wondered at the sound of it, the richness of it, the clarity either.

Incidentally, he’d known that Matt had a sense of humor too. However that was easy to forget when his eyes were blazing with fury, or there were bullets slicing through the air and aimed for Near’s head. It was easy to forget when Matt spent most of his time frowning and looking distracted, and Near’s mind was also elsewhere, mulling over impromptu adventures, near-death experiences, paranormal entities, and murder mysteries. It was hard to miss now. Every quirk of the hacker’s mouth, every bark of laughter, every grin he tried to hide by turning his face away. Now, it was hard to imagine what Matt didn’t find funny.

Another day beckoned another night, and they were yet another day closer to the close of this journey—and to the beginning of another one. Three days left aboard the cruise liner. Near found himself wishing that number was more like three hundred. Or even three thousand. Or three million…

At first, Near apprehensively thought their episode of…of…no, not dry humping—the saying offended him as Near considered it a particularly undignified piece of terminology—their…

Near sighed. Matt looked up at him from the chair he was currently perched in, reading a pamphlet he’d found about the ship they were on and snickering every few minutes as he read something he found amusing. “What’s up?”

Near shuffled the deck of cards in his hands for the eighty-four hundredth time that day. He’d build a castle with them if not for the annoying sway of the ship. Near met his eyes and found himself smiling. “Nothing. Just thinking.”

Matt tilted his head to one side and re-folded the pamphlet in his hands. “You’re bored.”

Near shook his head. “Not really. I have many things to think about.”

Matt quirked a brow. “Nothing I’m sure you haven’t thought over before.”

Near shrugged.

Matt’s smile turned into a grin. “Still trying to find a synonym?”

Near turned a little red, shuffling the cards again. “Unfortunately.”

Matt laughed. “Why not just think ‘Little Death’ while you’re sitting there over-complicating things.”

Little death. Well, if it was suitable for Shakespeare…

Near shuffled the cards for the eighty-four hundred and second time in a row. At first, Near thought apprehensively that it might have only been a one-time thing, that maybe Matt had the release he was looking for and would only reach for him again when the hacker’s calm deteriorated back into near-madness. Of course, he wasn’t complaining about the almost twelve hours he was able to sleep, knowing that he was safely tucked in the middle of his protector’s arms. It didn’t keep the nightmares away, being wrapped up in Matt’s embrace, but it certainly helped—and the hacker would always shake him awake before his dreaming became too violent or horrific. So, really, Near wasn’t complaining. However, Near wasn’t sure of what to expect to happen after…well, after, and so was confused when Matt did not kiss him again.

When he’d tried to breach the subject by asking what is was, exactly, they had done, Matt had said, quite casually, ‘dry humping’ and promptly laughed in his face. Or at his face, as Matt claimed.

Near knew enough about Matt to know his manner was only meant to tease, but he’d taken offense anyway. It must have been evident because after Near showered, Matt cornered him in the doorway and kissed him senselessly. He said later he just wanted to make sure. Near wasn’t certain what that meant, but he wondered if it was an expression of the thoughts that circled in Near’s brain.

Now…

Well, now Near was trying to figure out a good way to initiate it again without making him look like an idiot. Problematic, as that was precisely how he was beginning to feel every time Matt looked at him with those bright, laughing eyes, and smiled that insufferable teasing smile.

Near’s fingers paused amidst the eighty-four hundred and third shuffle. “Come again?”

“Hm?” Matt hadn’t stopped looking at him. He seemed to be waiting for something. He wasn’t smiling anymore, and his eyes were alert and watchful.

“What did you say?” Near pushed the cards away and stood, watching Matt’s throat as the hacker swallowed.

“Little death,” Matt repeated. His lower lip bent under his teeth. The small detail made him look abruptly nervous.

Near crossed the room and bent over Matt, peering at him. “No, the other part. Am I over-complicating it?”

Matt had straightened in his seat, head tilted back so he could see Near’s face. “I think so.”

“Interesting.” Near felt Matt’s long fingers brush over his leg and curl under his thigh. At the slightest pressure of those fingers, Near moved forward, causing his other leg to maneuver between Matt’s. “Ah,” Near murmured, lifting his hands to caress the skin just beneath suddenly anxious eyes with his fingertips. “I see.”

Matt’s eyes closed. Near drifted his fingers over his eyelids, the bridge of his straight nose, the jut of his angled cheekbones, the curve of his jaw, his generous, sloping mouth. Near cradled Matt’s face like a precious thing and bent lower. He kissed him very gently. And then not so gently at all.

Matt moaned under the onslaught, tightening his grip beneath Near’s thigh and drawing him closer, until Near had all-but climbed onto his lap. Near wondered wildly if they wouldn’t make it to the disrobing part this time either, meeting the push of Matt’s pelvis with his own.

A knock sounded at the door. “Room service,” called the intrusive moron in the hall.

“Ignore it,” Matt murmured against Near’s mouth, at the same time Near remembered that they had called down for more food. Regretfully, he pulled away, straightening his shirt and glaring at the door. Matt jumped to his feet.

“I’ll do it,” Matt said. “You’ll just terrorize the man.”

“I would do no such thing,” Near lied, in a half-hearted protest.

“You were viciously mean to the last one,” Matt reminded him over one shoulder.

“I was not—“

“Hi,” Matt greeted amiably. He seemed unapologetic about the tousled nature of his hair. Near saw the waiter try and peer around him. “Thanks a lot,” Matt was saying, taking the tray of food and rolling it into the room. “Here’s your tip. Thanks again. Have a good one.” Matt closed the door behind him.

“I am not mean,” Near said.

“Yes, you are,” Matt disagreed with a laugh. “C’mon, let’s eat.”

~*~

Sometimes Near was very difficult to read. Watari had trained him well at dissembling, but he used to say too: “If a person like L truly wishes for you to not know what he is thinking, then it might very well be impossible. You’ll just have to memorize habits and prepare for anything.”

“Jesus, anything! Really ‘anything’?” a younger Matt had asked. A much younger Matt. “What if L knew that aliens were about to attack the planet and that we were all doomed and he didn’t want to bring this to your attention because it would upset you so he closed it up in his head—We have to prepare even for aliens?”

Watari had looked at him for a long time before answering: “Yes, even aliens.”

So, naturally, Matt was considering an alien invasion as he watched Near stare at nothing for about an hour. Matt laid flat on his back, his hands tucked under his head, and Near also sat on the bed between him and the wall, curled in on himself and chewing idly on his fingernail. Near’s eyes were mostly black.

Suddenly, the twin abysms slid down and looked at Matt.

Matt waited. The black holes shifted back up and stared at nothing. Another hour went by. Matt yawned.

“What are you thinking about?” Matt considered himself a patient guy, but this was on the one side of uncomfortable.

The twin abysms blinked at him. “I’m trying to remember you.”

“Are you serious?” Matt sat up. “Why would you—I’m right here, Near.”

“I am aware of your physical presence,” Near said drily.

Matt made a face.

Near sighed and blinked again. His eyes were more blue than black when he looked at Matt again. “Don’t be offended,” he said with a small smile. “I’m just trying to understand you.”

Matt looked away and back again, his mouth turning up on one side. “I’m flattered.”

“Oh, now you’re flattered.” Near raised one white brow.

“What do you mean?”

“I blabbered on and on about decent qualities I saw in you in Japan, and—“

Matt interrupted with a laugh. “I was trying not to like you at the time Near. And you have to admit, you were being a teensy bit pretentious.”

“I’ll admit to no such thing,” Near said, but he was smiling.

“You know,” Matt said, leaning his elbows on his knees. “Most people just ask questions when they want to get to know each other.”

Near eyed him warily. “We’re not most people,” he said softly.

Matt regarded Near quietly, hoping he could read the silent invitation. “It was just a thought.”

“Would you answer my questions?”

“I might,” Matt said. “Depends on the question.”

Near was quiet for a long time. Finally he drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Did you leave Wammy’s because L picked me and not Mello?”

“Yes.”

“You were angry.”

“Yes.” Matt paused and then reached for Near’s hand. “But not with you.”

Near looked at their interlaced fingers. “You felt betrayed.”

“Yes,” Matt admitted. “Initially, yes. Turned out to be the right choice though, in the end.”

Near met his eyes briefly and then returned his gaze to their hands. Near’s eyes were smoldering.

“I was a teenager and petulant,” Matt continued. “The logic didn’t settle in until I matured a little. The world doesn’t revolve around what I want, even though I thought it should.” Matt’s voice was very soft as he said: “It still amazes me that we were so young when everything happened. I wonder sometimes if we had been a little older, if maybe we would have been a little wiser in what we chose. The fate of the world resting on the shoulders of a couple of kids is never a good plan, in my mind.” Matt tightened his fingers on Near’s, causing the detective to look at him again. “But you brought us all together anyway, didn’t you?”

“Accidentally,” Near murmured. “And with terrible consequences.”

To that, Matt didn’t know what to say. Mello’s death hung in the air between them. He felt the chill at the end of his fingertips, the throb around the edges of the hole. He wondered if Mello would appear. He didn’t.

Near looked away. “What is Akhish to you?” he asked. “I know he’s a member of your network, a connection, but he seemed protective of you. He had the Rabbi keep watch over you.”

Matt thought of the Arab and the look of utter disappointment in his eyes as Matt sold a year of his services to a man they both hated so fiercely.

“You don’t have to answer that if you don’t want to,” Near said, glancing side-long at him and reading something in Matt’s expression.

“No, its okay,” Matt said quickly. “I—Akhish’s father was a contact of Watari’s. I met the Nusseibeh family in Iran just before the war started.”

Near stared at him for a long time. “You were renewing Watari’s resources.”

Matt nodded. “I warned them about the invasion, trying to give them a head start as an act of good faith that they would remain within the network. I didn’t expect that they would stay in Jerusalem.”

Near searched his face for a moment. “They prepared for it instead.”

“Yeah.” Matt glanced at him. The smoldering look had dimmed a little. It was easier to meet his eyes now. “They used the information I gave to them to save lives. I respect them for that, even if I don’t know that I wouldn’t have run myself.”

“I don’t think you would have run.”

Matt snorted. “Why not? It seems like the only thing I’m good for.”

“Not with me.” Near met his eyes unflinching. “Abu Ghraib.”

Matt looked away. “Abu Ghraib wasn’t an invading army. Outnumbered and outsourced, I don’t know that I wouldn’t take the coward’s way out.” Matt bit his lip. “Didn’t know that, huh? Didn’t know I was a flake, did you?”

Near stared at his averted face. “I don’t know everything about you, but I know a few things. I know that, when it counts, you’re not a coward.”

“You don’t know that, Near. You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do.”

“No—“

“A coward wouldn’t spy on a Kira knowing there were Death Notes and death gods involved,” Near said, his voiced hard. “A coward wouldn’t go to such lengths to warn me, a coward wouldn’t have gone to Japan in the first place, to help a friend, a lover, and a coward certainly wouldn’t walk into a hailstorm of bullets to fake his own death!”

“Ah, but you see…” Matt turned and smiled sadly at Near. “I was running, Near. I was running from Mello, from my responsibilities, from my promises, from my duty—“

“Being W shouldn’t be a duty, it should be a choice—“

“But I was running from that too, Near!” Matt all-but shouted. “I did choose in! I wander around the world, going through the motions of W, but I’m too much of a coward to pop in and say ‘Hey, by the way, I’m Watari’s heir’. It’s not a fucking hard thing to say, but I couldn’t do it. Fucking Christ, Sarah had to tell you because I couldn’t decide if I thought—“

“If you thought it was worth it?” Near demanded. “If I was worth it?”

“No!” Matt growled, clutching at his hair. This was getting out of hand. “I was terrified that you didn’t need me. You had Rester and Halle. The orphanage seemed to be operating just fine. You figured everything out on your own, made new contacts, created a new network…” Matt trailed off and glared at the far wall. “I couldn’t tell if you really needed me.”

The twin abysms bored into him.

Matt finally turned to face them. He let those dying sun stars rape and pillage everything Matt was trying to say that he just couldn’t. Near continued to stare unblinking. “Can you imagine how worthless that makes me?” Matt whispered brokenly. “I feel like a wool coat in the Mojave, man. I train my whole life to…to…”

Near reached for him and Matt let himself be cradled against the detective’s chest. Near’s arms held him awkwardly, and he couldn’t seem to decide what to do with his hands as they shifted restlessly from position to another. Near went so far as to pat Matt on the head. It was weirdly cute, and Matt found himself smiling into Near’s shirt. He pulled back a little to see Near’s face.

The detective had taken on the deer-in-headlights expression. He looked so uncomfortable Matt had to laugh. “I’m okay,” Matt said. “Really, I’m okay.”

Near looked suspicious.

“Sorry for falling apart on you,” Matt said, trying to reassure him with another smile. “Go on. Ask another question.”

Near looked apprehensive.

“Aw, Near, you’re going to make me feel bad. Ask another.”

Near looked indecisive. Then he said: “K.”

“That’s not really a question,” Matt said, but he knew what Near meant. He’d been waiting for it. Had been surprised that he hadn’t asked already. Matt was prepared; he said: “K is a contact of Watari’s, I inherited her network when he died.”

“And?”

“And she has a career in Japan, so she’s pretty much stationary.” Matt shrugged. “I called her when I decided to book.”

“And?”

“And what, Near?”

Near stared at him.

Matt held up his hands. “Alright, alright! Jesus, killer, relax. Don’t get all crazy,” he muttered. “She’s a bio-chemist at MCC. She’s also an Md. She was very close to Watari. She worshiped him. His death hit her hard, okay? So I’d prefer it if you didn’t go bothering her.”

Near glanced away. It seemed to satisfy him.

Matt laid back and rested his hands beneath his head. Beside him, Near perched his chin on his knee and stared down at him.

“I’m not very good at that am I?”

Matt glanced at him. “At what?”

Near’s mouth twisted. “Comforting you,” he said slowly. Near hesitated, and then met his eyes quietly.

Matt propped himself up on his elbows. “I don’t think it’s an exact science, Near,” he said. “But I haven’t felt this relaxed in years.”

Near’s eyes skittered away, but Matt caught the flash of disappointment before they did.

“You mean the hug.”

Near blinked, his eyes returning to Matt’s face.

“Come here,” Matt said, holding out one arm. Matt waited for him to stretch out alongside him before maneuvering Near’s head gently to his shoulder. Then he clasped Near’s wrist and pulled it under him, around his waist. He took Near’s other arm and wrapped it around his torso. Then Matt encircled his own arms around Near, one arm above the detective’s shoulders, and the other below. He held him close.

“This is a hug,” Matt whispered. “See? It’s easy.”

~*~

They embraced for hours before speaking again.

Gone was the playfulness. Gone was the urgency, and even a little bit of the heated lust. Peaked and smoothed out. There was more to intimacy than sex.

In the small hours of the morning, Near shifted in Matt’s arms. Matt blinked groggily at him. “What’s up?”

“Can I ask you another question?”

Matt nestled his head back into the crook of Near’s neck and shoulder. “Sure,” he said sleepily.

“Sarah said something about your mother…”

A jolt went through Matt, causing him to stiffen.

“Matt, what happened to your mother?”

Matt didn’t stir for some time. He buried his face against Near’s throat and gripped painfully at his arms, his fingertips forming bruises against the detective’s milk-white skin. Near bore it silently for twenty minutes. “You don’t have to answer that. I understand.”

“I used to love going outside,” Matt said suddenly, speaking against Near’s throat. “The only thing I loved more than going outside was basketball. There was a court just down the block. I used to play with the big kids. I helped them with their homework and they let me play.”

Matt swallowed before continuing. “Mom worked a lot, but she’d always be home to make dinner. She had only one rule. She wanted me home before the street lights came on. So I always came home before the streetlights came on.”

Matt fell silent again and Near waited.

Finally: “The guys wanted to play at the court on the boardwalk. The boardwalk was some four miles away. I wanted to play too. I didn’t make it back before the street lights came on. I had to walk four miles back. Mom wasn’t home when I got there. Supper wasn’t ready…”

Matt lifted his head and stared intently at Near. “Can you believe that I was actually mad at her? I was so mad because I just walked four miles back from that stupid game and I was hungry. The least she could do was make supper. It wasn’t like I hadn’t given her enough time!” Matt’s voice broke. He pulled away completely and sat up, drawing his knees up and wrapping his arms around them. Matt wore a long-sleeved shirt and jeans. He always wore long-sleeved shirts and jeans, even to bed. Near’s eyes flickered, aware of the fact.

Matt’s voice sounded like the rustling of dead, autumn leaves. “Cop came to the door the next morning. Said Mom was hit by some drunk fuck in a Toyota by the court down the block. He took me away and D found me, brought me to Wammy’s. I was four.”

“She was looking for you,” Near said.

“Yeah.” Matt looked at him and smiled bitterly. “People don’t fucking listen. Not even me.” Matt said softly: “I was afraid if I went outside again, someone would die.” Matt ran a fingernail over his bottom lip, his eyes staring at something far away. “Seems true again, lately.”

Near reached for him. No theatrics, no weeping, but Matt went willingly enough and let Near hold him. Near didn’t fuck it up this time.

~*~

Matt was more reserved today. He spent most of his time on his laptop--not really doing anything, just staring at it.

Near regretted asking about his mother.

Near gave him his space and sat in the middle of the floor, laying playing cards face down around him in complicated patterns. He still wore the arm bands the Kuna girl from the market place had given him and tried to recreate the beaded patterns on them with the cards. He thought about her, the girl from the market place. He never bothered to ask her name.

Near thought about K. He thought about how Watari's death 'hit her hard'. He thought about how she grieved. Near didn't think it would be the same for everybody.

Near thought about the murders in Japan and how that case seemed to be so far away, so unimportant now. He thought about the dead and the families they left behind. He thought about how those people grieved, and he thought it would be different for them too.

Near thought about Alexa, and wondered how she would grieve if Sarah died.

Near thought about how he didn't recall grieving at all for the parents he couldn't remember. Near thought maybe there was something wrong with him. Why would he grieve for Hani, and not for his own parents? Why he didn't grieve for Watari or L, or even Mello--three people who might have been more like family to him than the couple who bred him twenty-two years ago.

Matt said he was mean to the waiter who brought them grilled cheese sandwiches. Matt hadn't seemed bothered by it.

But was he?

Near wondered if he wasn't equipped with the humanity required to nurture a creature like Matt, who seemed to be in a constant state of grief. Near wondered if Matt was thinking the same thing.

Near felt suddenly cold, like a wintry gust of wind had passed through him. Above them, the ceiling light flickered. Near gasped, Matt looked up from his laptop.

"What's your favorite color?" Near asked, the words ripping from his mouth without having been considered. It felt like the question hadn't come from him at all.

Matt blinked rapidly at him. "Blue, I guess. At the moment."

Gooseflesh broke out on Near's arms and he curled in on himself, bringing his knees up under his chin. "Why?"

Matt frowned at him. He got up and crossed the room, tiptoeing around Near's card-patterns. He picked up a blanket from the bed they didn't use and bent over Near, wrapping it snugly around his shoulders. Matt turned, and then sat cross-legged on the bed they did use. "If we're going to play the question-game again, I think it might be fair if I can ask one every time you do."

Near's teeth chattered and he clenched his jaw, tightening the blanket around his shoulders. "I thought we weren't playing anymore games." The wintry gust passed through him again, and he shivered.

Matt smiled a little. "This game doesn't have to be dangerous."

The cold vanished abruptly. Near took a deep breath and shrugged off the blanket. "Alright."

"What's your favorite color?" Matt asked, his demeanor tentative, his eyes alert as they watched Near.

Hysteria swept through Near like the cold moments before. He let out a short, soft laugh. And then a longer one. Breathy, incredulous laughter. Near dropped his head in his hands. I'm losing it, he thought. I'm losing it. He said: "I'm sure I have no idea." Near looked up, met Matt's eyes briefly. They were that dark, sapphires-at-night blue. "I don't waste my thoughts on trivial notions like preferring one invisible shade from another, as color is merely perceptions of refracted light."

"Uh-huh," Matt grunted. "Well, be trivial. Just for this one moment, be trivial and pick a favorite. I promise I won't tell anyone you slipped and let your guard down." It was said humorlessly. Near thought Matt was annoyed with him. Near didn't like that either, that he was becoming an irritant.

He considered red, because of the highlights in Matt's hair and the shine in Mello's urn. But then he thought of Hani, broken and bloody, and shuddered. Then he thought of the sloth, surrounded by shouting Panamanians and thick green foliage. Big green leaves and small green shrubs. He thought of the deep green water of the canal, and the green mold against the red rust of the sunken tub. He thought of the bright green bananas and the family of monkeys. He thought of the expansive green lawns of the Wammy estate. He thought of the large green, pear-shaped bushes lining the driveway, twice as tall as a man. He thought of the sharp, piercing scent of pine and cedar. He thought of how deep the green looked at Wammy's when it rained. Near said: "Green."

Matt nodded slowly. "A calming color." He smiled. "Your turn."

Near considered carefully his next question. He wanted it to be harmless like 'What's your favorite color?' and not potentially harmful as 'What happened to your mother?'. But he didn't want it to be trivial nonsense either, for fear Matt might throw it back at him. He didn't want to ask something he already knew the answer to, like 'What's your favorite food?', as 'grilled cheese sandwiches' would most likely be the answer. He didn't want it to be 'What's your happiest memory?' because he was curiously terrified the answer might have something to do with Mello. Near didn't want to ask anything, suddenly, but his drive to know absolutely everything about Matt was more powerful. He asked: "Why do you still insist on wearing long-sleeved shirts?"

Matt stared at him. Near instantly regretted his question. He knew the answer before Matt spoke it. "My scars," Matt said in a hoarse, low voice. "I don't--I don't like them."

"I've seen you naked," Near said, grimacing as he wished wildly for a filter. "I don't mind them."

Matt stared at him. His face gave nothing away. Then he grinned lop-sidedly and glanced away. His cheeks had colored. When he looked back he said: "Think about it this way. I'm supposed to be invisible. I'm not supposed to draw attention. If I walk around in a tee and shorts, someone's bound to notice bullet scars up and down my arms and legs. I can imagine some child pointing them out to her mom, and the mom whispering to her husband and then there's suddenly a hundred and fifty-two eyes staring at me. Consider how problematic that would be, especially when I'm trying to keep you relatively hidden."

Near liked it when Matt grinned like that. It seemed reflexive and not forced. He liked that he could cause it. Near held up two fingers and counted off. "You apparently don't understand the effect you have on people as crowds seem to stare at you anyway, I've noticed, and there are not one hundred and fifty-two people in this room. Just me."

Matt frowned ruefully at him. "Okay, and then there's the small problem of 'I think they're hideous'."

"I don't mind them," Near repeated.

Matt stared at him, but his eyes were soft. He said: "It's my turn."

Near felt frustrated, but he let the matter drop.

Matt tilted his head to one side. "I'm a little bit crazy," he said, "and irresponsible to a fault. Do you think they fucked up when they chose me as W?"

Near lifted one hand and twined a lock of his hair around his index finger. He dropped his hand. He looked at Matt, seeing the pain and doubt behind his carefully gaurded eyes. "No." Near asked: "When this is over, will you continue to be W, or will you defect?"

Matt stared at him. "I don't know. Will you want me?"

"I think so," Near answered. He shrugged. "I want you now. You've proven more than competent. But are you over-complicating it?"

"Maybe," Matt said quietly. "Things are more complicated now. This is not professional."

Near didn't know what to say, so he kept quiet.

"I don't want to screw this up," Matt said. "I feel like I'm screwing it up." He paused. Then: "It feels like it was screwed up from the beginning. How do we fix that?"

Near closed his eyes. "This is not something I know anything about. I know a lot about a lot of things, but nothing of this." Near opened his eyes. Matt inhaled sharply at something he saw on Near's face, but what it was, Near couldn't fathom. He asked: "What do you want most in the world?"

Matt answered readily. "To matter." There was a world of pain in his eyes, agonized sapphires at twilight. "What do you want, Near? Most above all?"

Near thought about the notion of W, how the idea itself could remove his ownership over what he thought he'd inherited. He thought about how he really didn't think he cared. He thought about Hani and the oath he'd sworn to her. He thought about Mello's idea of 'purpose', and how it could be so powerful to instigate residual energy to push events into motion. He thought about L and what he had accomplished. He thought about the War of the Three and why he'd done the things he'd done. He thought about the original mission of Wammy's House. He thought about Quillish Wammy's vision. He thought about Akhish and his father choosing to use knowledge to save lives at the risk of their own. He thought of how Akhish's forefathers were given a duty by Saladin thousands of years ago. He thought about why he was called 'Near'. He thought about how he was a copy of a man who knew his purpose and attacked it vigorously, sleeplessly, who was calmed by sugar and sweets and had a grounded sense of right and wrong. Near was almost a replica of that. He felt maybe he had a grounded sense of right and wrong. Matt thought so. Sweets didn't calm him, but cards and toys and blocks did. Near thought of how he took up the helm of L, dutiful and indifferent. He thought maybe he was unhappy because he didn't have that one thing that made him different from L.

A purpose. A point. A reason.

Near understood Matt more than maybe Matt understood him then. He said: "To matter." He asked: "What do we do now?"

Matt stared at him, his expression thoughtful. "I don't know," he said softly. "We find the Bridge to Nowhere, and we cross it."

~*~

Matt inhaled, feeling the burn of smoke slide down his throat and the calm pool in his stomach. He exhaled slowly. He flicked his thumb against the filter, ashing into the foam below. Matt sat, perched on the rail, facing the endless blue of the Pacific Ocean. It was hot today, and mercilessly sunny. The water roiled beneath his dangling, booted feet. He thought of the propellers that could dice him into a dozen pieces just beneath the foam. He briefly considered jumping. But just briefly. The moment passed, he pressed the filter to his lips again and inhaled deeply. He laughed a little, a puff of acrid smoke.

Mello still had not appeared to him. Matt wondered why he was waiting.

Matt gazed across the endless blue and thought of the country just across it. Ground zero. Where Mello had died, alone because Matt walked away from him. Why did Matt think he deserved anything? Why did he feel Mello owed him this small happiness? Maybe Mello didn't. Maybe that was why Matt couldn't bring himself to enjoy it. It was beginning to get under his skin, the madness. The sickness. The badness he felt when he closed his eyes and re-saw terrible things. Soldiers clubbing a child to death with the butt of their rifles. A village burning to the ground. An orphan crying before being handed a Kalashnikov and ordered to execute his brother. The badness that whispered to him he shouldn't have left. The badness that could have promised ignorance if he had stayed where he belonged, in Mello's shadow. The badness that claimed he could have had everything he wanted if he had just broken his word, if he had walked away from a stupid promise made to an old man and not walked away from the one person who knew and loved him best.

But something else murmured he had an opportunity to rebuild that burning village, to rehabilitate that child soldier. That other thing murmured that he could change the world, that he could make things better, that he could have some redemption for all those people who died because of his decisions, because of his ignorance. Watari had promised him that. That he would have every tool at his disposal to make the world just a little bit better. That all he would have to do was protect L, to aid L, to make L happy.

So why the fuck was Matt contemplating sleeping with him? Why the fuck did he want to screw it all up? Matt decided that there was something irrevocably wrong with him.

The worst part was that it wasn't the idea of sleeping with L that gripped him, contrary to what Mello thought. It was Near.

Matt wanted Near.

And Matt was beginning to think he couldn't have him. No, not because it was the one person Mello hated above all. Matt knew he was twisted enough not to really care about that. Matt thought he might have to deny himself Near because Near was in fact L. And a W wasn't supposed to sleep with his L, because surely that would cause an immense amount of problems. What if L's decisions became warped because of W's influence, namely because they were lovers? Conflict of interest. L would lose his credibility. L could lose everything. L might say no, when he should say yes. L might say execute him, when he should say life in prison. L might say I want to concentrate on this case, when he should say this other one is far more important. What if W made L irresponsible? Inevitably...

Inevitably...

But Matt couldn't help thinking that they had gone too far anyway, and this internal debate was a moot point. And Matt couldn't help considering maybe he was making excuses because he knew Mello wouldn't like it. Even though Mello was dead. Mello wouldn't like it. Mello wouldn't approve.

"Fuck Mello," Matt whispered, staring at the deep, endless blue. "Fuck you, Mello. You've made me crazy. Are you happy now?"

Behind him, someone cleared his throat. "Excuse me, sir. You can't be up there."

Matt twisted a little, glancing at the waiter who spoke to him. Matt recognized him. Slightly pudgy, Asian-American male whose nametag said 'Bobby'. Noticeably gay, early twenties, earnest. Matt smiled disarmingly at him, gripped the rail with one hand and neatly somersaulted back onto the deck. The Bobby-waiter stepped back in surprise.

"Sorry," Matt said grinning.

The Bobby-waiter opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water. "Can-can I get something for you, sir?" he stammered.

Matt glanced at the beverage platter tucked under his arm. He moved his eyes back up to the waiter's slowly and held his gaze for a moment longer than appropriate before drawling: "No. But thank you."

The Bobby-waiter's face flushed a bright red. The poor guy was sweating. "Oh, okay then."

Matt looked at him for another long moment, satisfied when the fleshy man dropped his gaze and flushed again. "See you around," Matt said, smiling his best smile and giving the Bobby-waiter a small wave. Matt turned and made his way below-deck, grinning to himself.

Near was sitting on the floor in the center of the room, immersed in another complex pattern of cards. He looked up when Matt entered the room. Matt stopped grinning. He wondered if Near would understand the humor of what he'd done to the poor waiter above-deck. Matt thought he probably would. Matt understood the look L had spoken about when he chose Near as his successor, saying he had seen something disturbing in his eyes and knew in that moment Near thought as he did. L had said there was a similar look in Mello's eyes. Matt understood that too. What twisted creatures they all were.

Matt tried to cross the room to the bathroom, but Near caught his wrist. Matt felt his pulse leap at the touch. He paused and looked down, seeing that look in Near's eyes. The silent, curious, wicked invitation in the otherwise expressionless face. Matt stooped and clutched Near's elbow, hauling the man to his feet. He shoved Near against the wall, watching the excitement flash in the detective's near-black eyes, the dying sun stars. Matt moved against him, running his hands up Near's slender chest, wrapping his fingers briefly around his throat, then lifting his hands to cup Near's face. Matt imagined throwing him onto the bed and showing him everything he'd been keeping from him. Matt imagined showing him what the little death really could be, and how they had barely scratched the surface. He imagined tying him down and making him beg for something he's never felt. He imagined making him scream, making him writhe, making him come apart at the seams. He imagined making those black eyes winter-blue again. He imagined tearing him apart. He imagined breaking him.

Matt wanted to fuck him until Near couldn't remember his own name.

Matt curled his fingers into fists and closed his eyes. He saw the burning village and the child soldier, weeping as he killed his little brother. He saw Hani turning her face into the sound of Near's voice as he swore vengeance. He saw his mother's face, a haze now because a memory can only last so long. He saw the ruin of the church Mello burned in, dead already from the Death Note, dead because he hadn't listened, dead and alone. He saw K's beautiful, dispassionate face as she told him the news, as she told him Near won, as she told him that it was over and to never bother her again.

He saw Mello's glittering, bright green eyes set in Watari's weathered face. Both eyes and face did not approve.

Matt sighed, dropped his hands and made to move away.

"No." The word cracked through the air like a whip, wrought with frustration and tension. Near curled his fingers tightly into the fabric of Matt's shirt, holding him there.

Matt opened his eyes, surprised at the anger swimming in Near's charring gaze, despite fully expecting it. "Near--"

"Explain," Near said flatly, tightening his hold on Matt's shirt.

How could Matt possibly explain something to him that he could barely explain to himself?

Matt circled Near's wrists with both hands. "You're my glass menagerie," Matt murmured, his eyes burning as Near stared into them. "You're the one thing I can't break."

"I'm not as delicate as you think," Near snapped waspishly.

"I can break you," Matt said, tightening his grip on Near's wrists. He jerked Near's hands away from his shirt and held them above Near's head. Near's eyes smoldered, his chin lifted in defiance. If only he knew how much that did it for him. Matt squeezed, watching Near's face as it darkened, as the detective tried not to wince at the pain of his bones grinding together. "I can break you."

"Are you threatening me?" Near panted. No fear, only anger. Near was many things, but a coward was not one of them. Matt's blood raced in his veins, his heart slammed against his ribs.

"I don't want to break you," Matt said, abruptly releasing him. Near slowly lowered his arms, wary but not afraid. "I won't break you."

"Then why--"

"I break everything I touch."

"Danny-boy said that, so it can't be true." Near was gripping his shirt again. He wasn't desperate, but Near seemed stubbornly committed to preventing Matt from walking away from him.

Matt laughed. He touched Near's face tenderly, a wave of affection sweeping through him. "You're my glass menagerie," he repeated. "I can't break you, because you're all I have left."

"That's ridiculous."

"No its not."

"Its selfish."

Matt paused. "True."

"Idiocy," Near muttered, letting his hands drop from Matt's shirt. Matt didn't move away. Near's eyes flashed at him. "You're being pointlessly masochistic," he accused.

"I have reasons for everything I do," Matt disagreed.

"Or don't do," Near added sourly.

"Or half-do," Matt said with a smile.

"I refuse to beg," Near muttered, stepping around him and walking atop his card-patterns. Near crossed the room and poured himself a cup of coffee.

"It's nothing but cabin fever," Matt murmured, hand on the wall where Near had been, head bowed. "It'll pass. Once we're off the ship--"

Near slammed down the metal pitcher. "And what if it doesn't?" he demanded.

Matt lifted his head but didn't turn around. "Then we'll deal with it." Matt didn't believe it was cabin fever either.

"By crossing the Bridge to Nowhere?" Near scoffed. "Sounds promising."

Matt didn't have anything to say to that. He disappeared into the bathroom and shut the door behind him.

~*~

Dusk fell and beckoned another night, the last night aboard the cruise liner. Matt and Near began it in separate beds, sitting atop the covers and staring in different directions. The night hours dwindled into the early morning ones, the groan of the ship the only sound in the room to mark its passage.

Both were stubborn, but Near had the last word. Matt rose and crossed the little space between their beds and crawled beneath the sheets of Near's. Near looked at him for a long time as Matt held the bedcovers back for him. Finally Near relented and lay beside him. They held one another loosely, gazing at their interlaced fingers. Matt drifted off to sleep first. Near rested his head on Matt's shoulder at the first sound of the hacker's deep, even breathing. Soon, Near slept too.

Mello had had enough.

~*~

"Is this the nothingness?"

Mello turned slightly and looked at him over one shoulder. The earth was bone-dry and cracked, the wind gusted dust in every direction, the clouds above whipped across the sky so quickly it was hard to follow, the obscured sun blinking light past the edges like a strobe. The desert stretched on forever and blurred on the horizons, making the barrier between heaven and earth uncertain. Mello wore loose black slacks and a black, silk button down. He was perfectly aware of the contrast between he and his companion. Mello said: "Part of it."

Mello turned away again. "You cannot imagine what it was like coming here, certain he'd be here, searching for him for an eternity, only to find he was not." The gusts ripped and slashed at his words, carrying them with the dust this way and that. "I thought maybe he was too good for this place, that maybe he'd been sent to Heaven and I had to work to make it there too. It was devastating to think we'd been sent to different places because of the blackness in my heart."

"I want you to leave him alone," his companion said.

Mello whirled on him, a wrath building inside of him that maybe even this place couldn't contain. "Be grateful!" His words boomed across the harsh landscape, echoing off unseen terraces and making the cracked earth beneath their bare feet tremble. The heavens rushed above them. The wind gusted sporadically. "Be grateful!"

Even here, his companion looked like an angel. The piercing glow around the edges was because he did not belong here; Mello knew that but the effect was the same. The white was because of his natural coloring, his usual choice of dress. Mello had chosen it because it was how he remembered him.

Mello was not afraid of angels.

And if his companion was an angel then he was a demon. Mello was certain a demon would win in this place. Mello bared his teeth at him, embracing the bloodlust. But Mello could not fight the angel with power or force, because the angel was not an angel. The angel was a man. Mello had to fight this man like L had fought the other man who paraded as a god. With wits.

Or.

Or he could find another way. A way that did not include battle. One that did not include war. The problem wasn't that Mello did or did not have claim on a mortal. It wasn't that at all. The problem was that he saw what was ahead, and he saw that things had changed because the angel had chosen very difficult paths to follow. The problem was that it cast the mortal into perilously shadowy places, places Mello couldn't see clearly.

So how to explain why leaving the mortal alone was completely, utterly, irreversibly out of the question?

Certainly not by making war. Mello sighed and felt the anger slip out of him. That was the utmost best thing about being dead. One only had to hold on to any particular emotion when they felt it suited them. They did not have restricting skin suits to trap it all in.

Mello said: "You fucked everything by going to Abu Ghraib, you dimwitted fool."

His angelic companion blinked at him. "I don't understand."

"Of course you don't. You're a dimwitted fool."

The angel made a dismissive motion with his hand. The motion enraged him. The angel said: "You're destroying his mind. You cannot linger with him. It will make him go mad."

"Do not presume to know what is better for him," Mello hissed.

The angel raised one delicate brow. "And if I do?"

The bloodlust boiled inside of him again. Mello bared his teeth. "Be careful."

"I am not afraid of you."

Mello laughed humorlessly. "You should be." He said: "If I am as you think, if I am residual energy, then I could manipulate anything of my kind, could I not? I could manipulate anything that is energy. Think on that and tell me you should not be careful."

The angel became quiet; Mello watched him think. The angel said: "You're different today. You've been kinder before."

"Priorities are different now."

His angelic companion nodded in agreement. "What is it you want me to do?"

"You made me a promise," Mello said, the bloodlust ebbed once again. "You gave me your word. I intend to see you keep it."

"I am." The angel seemed confused again. "What more can I do?"

"You can stop fucking it up," Mello snarled. "I've watched you for three days, and you continue to fuck it up."

The angel was silent for a long time. "I think we're talking about different things," he said quietly.

Mello gave him a long-suffering look. "Your problem, precisely, is that you over-think."

The heavens rushed above them. The shadows deepened. The gusting winds roared between them, whipping their clothes about.

The angel said: "Did you love him? Like he loved you?"

"More," Mello said. "I don't expect you to understand that."

Finally, the angel seemed baited. His white, glowing features darkened. "Hypocrite," he said. "If it was true, you would leave him alone. If it was true, you would let him move on."

Mello was satisfied with the slip in the angel's calm demeanor. He did not become angry. He said: "Perhaps. Maybe." He said: "Know that if I put up the barrier--know that if I let him go; know I will haunt you until you die. Understand that. I will always keep watch." Mello said: "Are you willing?"

The angel was not happy. The angel frowned deeply. There was a crack of thunder to the west. They turned their faces toward the sound.

Dawn was coming. The dawn trumpeted from the west in this place. "Are you willing?" Mello repeated.

"Fine," the angel said. "If that is what it takes, then we have terms."

"We have terms," Mello echoed. "Do not be like every other miserable soul in that place or the next. Listen carefully to everything I say. Be grateful. Be careful. Listen."

The angel continued to frown. "We have terms," the angel repeated.

Thunder cracked in the west. The heavens rushed above them.

To be continued...

After Note: I had a small, teensy problem with, um, crashing my boyfriend's computer last week, mid-chapter. This is another reason why it took dreadfully long to write and post this update. Graciously, James' roommates allowed me the use of their computer. Of course, the computer did not have any sort of Microsoft Word and therefore no spellcheck program. The bulk of the chapter was sent to the marvelous Doumi for the beta, so most of it went through a thorough edit; however, the author's note and any responses to reviews written afterwards are not. Forgive and, ignore any babbling, mispellings, homophones errors, tense crack-ups and obnoxious MIA punctuation marks. Thanks!

Cu-Kid: I absolutely adore that pic! I'm going to print out all the art from you and Doumi and frame it and put all over my walls to oggle! Thank you! And thanks for another fantastic review!

"Halle, Rester, and co." *laughs* Well thanks for calling it intrigue! Its as difficult to write as it is to read, I think. If you want some good intrigue, read Jacqueline Carey's Kushiline Trilogy! She has the last word on intrigue, I'm telling you.

I agree that Matt's behaviour in the beginning of the chapter was definitely as important as the release of tension at the end. It shows an immense amount of character for him, and also gives us an idea of what it is to be a W. Can you imagine the hours and hours Watari stood by patiently as L thought and thought and thought?! I mean, its an incredible notion in my head. I can barely wait patiently for an hour whilst my boyfriend whittles away on his Xbox! I turn into a raging bich by Hour Two! But with Matt, its easy to imagine it being effortless for him to stand at attention and with great severity and a sense of real responsibility and awareness while the current L thinks for some twelve hours. I'm so happy you noticed that! Because I felt it was extremely important.

I'm also happy you seem at your wits end with all three of these guys, Mello, Matt and Near. I feel, when writing people, its important to write them with flaws, to have them make mistakes, to be obnoxiously needy, to allow them to give in to their self-interests at the expense of a greater harmony--because its human nature. We, as readers, can almost always spot the happy medium, the right choice, but when we are the character, we often make the same mistakes and become a little self-involved. This is what is happening with these guys, they all have their own agenda, because people always do, they all have their own insecurities, because people always do, and they all look at what is happening from their point of view like they're the victim of some seeming random, or un-random, turn of events, because people do that too. This is what makes people fascinating to me, and this is why I'm thrilled you're a little fed up with the three of them chasing their own and each other's tail.

The awesome thing about building tension within character relationships, and by extension, with the reader, is that when the character's find a momentary release, the effect is the same with the reader as well. Its like being able to breathe after hyperventilating. I'm glad of your reaction! Means I might be doing something right.

Yes! Your art helped me, and helped again! I cannot express to you how much of an honor it is to have art done of my story. I feel like its the highest form of praise a fan-author can get--and its also inspiring to inspire! It really makes me feel like I'm walking on clouds! Thank you again!