Scattering Ashes

Title: Scattering Ashes
Chapter Title: The Bridge
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: Hm. None that we haven’t covered before, I don’t think.
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: Hello readers! I am very satisfied with this chapter—especially after Doumi’s beta and thoughtful pointers and sharp eye for detail. (Thank you so much! You’re the best!). I feel it has more balance than the previous one—with equal parts of dark, hard themes, humor, adventure, mystery and, well, sex.

For anyone who is interested, every time I sit down to write an update for this story, I try to figure out a new song that would equally express each of our three main characters’ personalities. I recently decided that Fake It by Seether was exceptionally inspirational for Mello. A strange mix of When I’m Gone by 3 Doors Down and amusingly Crank That by Soulja Boy helped this week with Matt. And Until the End by Breaking Benjamin did wonders for Near. Also, as a whole, for all three, I find that I can listen to The Beginning is the End is the Beginning by Smashing Pumpkins for a whole hour and think of nothing but Scattering Ashes without getting irritated. Give them a listen! I’d love to know your opinion—and also if you have any ideas for new music.

An incredible, awe-inspiring new art came from Cu-kid a few days ago. PLEASE go check out “Escape from Abu Ghraib” by Cu-kid at cu-kid[DOT]deviantart[DOT]com/art/Escape-from-Abu-Ghraib-113289947 and tell her how awesome she is.

Yours,
Gloria

P.S. I also want to say that existence of Douglas Deliverance Dane and many themes I write in this story about the origins of Wammy’s and its first few generations of students come from themes I have pondered and characters I’ve created with the inspiration of Doumi’s ideas for her fic Thanks for the Memories. If you would like to explore these characters with us in further detail, Thanks for the Memories is posted on AFF[DOT]net under Doumi’s penname. We’d love to hear what you think!



Scattering Ashes

Chapter Fourteen

The Bridge

“Only
There is a shadow under this red rock,
(Come in under the shadow of this red rock),
And I will show you something different from either
Your shadow at morning striding behind you
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
I will show you fear in a handful of dust.”

~From “The Burial of the Dead”, The Waste Land by T.S. Eliot

July 23rd, 2013

The roof again.

Mello had had a fear of heights, when they were little. It was never properly reasoned, but he wasn’t one to pry. They had worked it out. They were a team like that, from the very beginning. Mello would drag him outside and force him to have fun, and he would bring Mello onto the rooftop. Eventually, Mello stopped bitching, and so did he. Eventually, it all became something to laugh at later. Irrational fear became laughable.

He was not laughing now. Neither was Mello. Mello stood at the far end, perched like a weightless thing on the edge. He scaled the ancient shingles towards Mello, careful not to grip the clay moldings, knowing they would crumble to dust under the slightest pressure. The stone gargoyles were better, more reliable. Their ferocious silent snarls offered unmoving blunt jaws to grip, their bat-winged backs perfect footholds. It was tricky, but he knew this obstacle course and swung himself up on the ridge effortlessly. Only then did Mello turn and regard him.

Mello’s face was dark but bright around the edges, like the impenetrable shadows were glowing; his eyes a milky jade, unreadable, unnatural. He might have smiled, but Mello’s face was too dark to tell. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he echoed, turmoil twisting knots in his stomach. “You hate me now, don’t you?”

Mello tilted his head to one side. “Of course.” The shadows brightened. “Of course not.”

He chuckled briefly, and then sighed. “Ah, Mello; you fucker.”

“Arrogant prick,” Mello retorted, but there was no sting to it, instead the sarcastic affection that was as familiar to them as the back of their own hands. Mello reached for him.

He went, and was surprised when Mello’s touch was warm on his skin. Mello’s long arms wrapped gently around him, patient as he became accustomed to the change, to the heat, to the sense that it might be real. He melted against Mello, resting his face against Mello’s bare shoulder, pressing his cheek against the familiar cool leather, skin the color of new cream against the harsh slash of shiny black. Spilled milk on black marble. He closed his eyes, content that even the scent seemed real. Mello used to make him think of brand new cars, crisp leather surprisingly yielding under the slightest pressure, firm yet malleable. Purring as it submitted to clever fingers that knew every flip to switch, every button to press. He tightened his arms around Mello’s slim waist, refusing to let him go this time. This time, he was not going anywhere.

Mello spoke softly into his ear. “At the center of our galaxy, there is dead star; a super massive black hole where not even light can escape. It pulls hundreds of thousands of suns and solar systems into its gravity, like ours. It is so majestic, it even enslaves thousands of sun stars to circle it like water circling the drain, an entourage of massive, flaming balls of energy—just as big, and most times bigger than our sun—damned servants that could potentially create their own solar systems, doomed to be eaten by the one that died.”

“You’re fucking crazy, Mello,” he said, pressing a kiss to the shoulder with skin like new cream.

“Hush,” Mello said. “But even sun stars enslaved to the dead one have a weapon. They have their own gravity. No, not nearly as powerful as the dead one they serve, but just enough to gravitate to one other sun star in their doomed rotation. They dance around each other, these two sun stars, faster and faster and faster, until the energy created between them becomes explosive. And when that explosion comes, it comes in a burst of gravitational implosion, restricting in on itself until it shoots outward. The lucky sun star is hurtled into the great vacuum, away from the awesome pull of the dead one. The lucky sun star escapes, is given a chance to attract its own solar system, its own cluster, or, if it so chooses, it can simply wander the universe. It can do whatever it pleases, because the lucky sun star is free.”

He lifted his head and peered into the milky jade gaze. “What happens to the unlucky sun star?”

Mello smiled gently, moving his hands to cup his face. “The unlucky sun star is hurtled the other way. The unlucky sun star is swallowed by the dead one.” Mello stroked his cheek. “Even in the brutal chaos of the universe and its endless cosmos, second chances are provided, sacrifices are demanded as the price of freedom, and the dead have more power than the living.” Mello ran his fingertips under his cornflower blue eyes. Mello lowered his head and kissed him.

When Mello pulled away, it seemed much too soon. He protested, dug his fingernails into the leather, and jerked Mello back to him. They ignited, ah, so much like they used to. Fire in his mouth, fire in his blood, fire all around him. Mello was all around him.

“I would give anything,” he said to Mello between flames, between kisses. “I would give anything, sacrifice anything to have you back.”

“Even Near?”

“Even Near,” he said with conviction, with desperation. “I’d walk away from it all; I swear it, if it would make you real again, like this. Oh God, Mello. I want you back. I want—“

“It’s enough,” Mello said, pulling back to look in his eyes. “It is enough, to know that.”

Mello kissed him again.

A sob caught in his throat because it felt like goodbye.

“You ever think about falling off it?” Mello inquired, disentangling himself from him and pulling away.

He followed the jerk of Mello’s chin with his eyes and glanced over the broad expanse of the multi-faceted roof, the turrets and tiers. Below, the estate sprawled on for acres, lush and green and wet. The steep, five-story drop would be fatal.

“Once or twice,” he admitted, shrugging a little.

Mello smiled again, his white teeth flashing amidst the shadows of his face. “In eighty years or so, I’d like to show you some things.” He took a step back.

His mouth felt cotton-dry. “Will you show me the cosmos, the dancing slave-stars?”

“Yes,” Mello agreed, taking another step backward.

He swallowed. “It’s a date then.” He tried to smile back, but failed.

Mello took a final step back, his booted heels angled over the edge. “Yeah, it’s a date.”

Panic clawed at his throat. He reached out to stop him, afraid he would fall. Mello lifted one hand, stilling him with the motion.

“Irrational fear is laughable,” Mello said, grinning like death itself.

“Mello…” He wanted to beg, but the futility of it stopped him. He watched Mello spread his arms, mimicking the crucified man that swung from the rosary around his throat. Mello twisted his hand, forcing it palm-forward.

Mello held up three fingers and counted off. “Three,” Mello murmured. “Two.” Mello waved, a slow curl of his fingers. “One.”

And Mello fell.

~*~

Matt opened his eyes, his entire body quaking with the residual force of his dream. He blinked rapidly, focusing his gaze on the face inches away from his. Near’s eyes were shut, but he appeared to be dreaming, the muscles moving jerkily behind the closed lids. Matt felt something a lot like physical pain lance across his chest, slashing through the burning hole that was already there, jaggedly dividing it into two equal parts. Matt’s arm trembled as he reached over and curled it around Near’s slim waist, pulling him closer. Maybe it was the heat of Near’s body, Matt thought, that made his dream of Mello seem so real, so physical. It was torture, the fickleness of his subconscious. He knew he wanted Near, but knew also that Mello still held sway over the pieces of his heart. The nature of his dream was proof enough of that.

Pieces.

Broken, shattered, razor sharp pieces were all that was left of the thing that had loved Mello. His friend had taken it to the grave with him. Matt wished that even if he couldn’t have it back, that at least Mello would let it rest in pieces, let him rest in pieces.

But then there was that terrible part of Matt, that damaged, masochistic part of him that hoped wildly that Mello wouldn’t. That he would never leave—because Matt scared himself when he thought of what would become of him if Mello did move on. Matt was terrified that he would buckle under the pressure of the void, that the loss, the pain, would be too much to bare.

Near’s white, curling hair tumbled across the pillow and swept across the long angles of his pale face. His silver lashes quivered, his mouth parted, his fingers twitched, and then his eyes opened in one slow, defined movement, alert and awake almost instantaneously. The piercing winter blue of his eyes bored into Matt, a subtle greeting and tenderness in the mere presence of color. But something those eyes saw in Matt’s face made them suspicious, and Matt watched the guard come up, too transfixed by the phase to object. The pupils widened slowly, devouring the pale, wintry blue color until it had all but disappeared. The dying sun stars again. Matt looked away.

“We have to get ready to go,” Matt said quietly. He looked back when Near didn’t respond. Near was still staring at him, some mystery, some unfathomable thing moving behind those impenetrable now-dark eyes. They saw everything, didn’t they?

This wasn’t fair to Near. Something had to give; something had to stop. Matt could at least be honest.

“I dreamed of Mello,” Matt murmured.

Near held up one hand and pressed his fingertips against Matt’s lips, silencing him. “Your dreams are your own,” he murmured. “You do not need to explain anything to me. I know enough about human nature to understand that you do and will always think of him.” Near paused. “I will always try to not hold it against you.”

Something softened inside of Matt, the unnamable source of why he kept Near at arm’s length. Near’s words sounded a lot like compassion and a promise for patience. Maybe…maybe this could work. Because that is all he would ever need from Near, and it was everything he never thought he could get. Matt felt something like relief.

Matt checked his watch and, seeing the time, disentangled himself and rose from the bed. His emotional turmoil muted, allowing his training to take over his thought process. He needed to figure out how he was going to get Near off the ship and as far away from the cities of Southern California as possible. He needed time to organize safety precautions, gauge the threat of these hate crimes against albinos, and sort out exactly what the Bridge to Nowhere was, and its location.

In Japan, when Matt went through Mello’s list and began planning their travel, his code had told him the term ‘Bridge to Nowhere’ was the name of an actual bridge somewhere in California state—which was why Matt had decided to book passage from Boston to Long Beach on the cruise liner that would take them through Panama in the first place. Now that they were here, Matt probably needed to take Near far out of the way to keep him safe. Southern California was a cesspool of violence and criminal gang fare. If there was a warrant on Near, Matt needed to take him as far north as possible before setting out for the bridge, wherever, exactly, it was.

As it happens, being W had its perks.

Matt ran a hand over his face and reached inside his duffel for a phone he’d previously lifted off a fellow passenger. He hacked into the mainframe and dialed a friend. Near watched him carefully, his chin perched atop his knees.

“Stevie!” Matt greeted when the line connected.

“Who’s askin’?” Steve’s gruff voice answered.

“M,” Matt said. “I need a favor.”

“Uh…um, listen, M, this is kinda a bad time.”

Matt laughed good-naturedly. “It’s always a bad time with you.” Matt met Near’s dark eyes and looked away. “It’s nothing big,” Matt said. “Just need wheels. I’ll wire incentive—you know I’m good for it.”

Matt listened to Steve’s long, resigned sigh, followed by the shrill of what sounded like a very irate woman. Steve said something, muffled, presumably, by his hand to the woman shrieking at him. Then: “Yeah, yeah, yeah; what and where?”

“Hm.” Matt fumbled through his duffle and produced a toothbrush. “Ninety-seven Jag, silver, sunroof. Cruise terminal, Long Beach, Windsor Way. Just park it and go; you don’t have to be there when I pick it up.” Matt glanced at Near again, taking in his thoughtful expression before heading for the bathroom.

“Got it,” Steve said. “Use the same wire from last time.”

“Cool.” Matt squeezed some toothpaste onto his toothbrush and popped it into his mouth. “Oi,” Matt mumbled around the toothbrush.

“Yeah?”

“Make sure there’s a sunroof.”

Another long, resigned sigh. “I hate the British,” Steve grumbled offhandedly. “Goodbye M.”

“Bye Stevie.”

It wasn’t until Matt was rinsing his mouth out that he noticed Near standing in the doorway.

“Who is ‘Stevie’?” Near murmured in his usual flat voice.

“It’s ‘Steve’, actually,” Matt said, wiping his mouth with a towel. “I just call him ‘Stevie’ to piss him off.”

Near didn’t find it amusing. “Another ‘friend’ then?”

Matt straightened and regarded him thoughtfully. Finally, after a short struggle, he said: “Well, not quite. He’s D’s friend.”

Near’s fair brows scrunched together briefly. “Deliverance?”

Matt smiled, simultaneously amused and impressed that Near remembered the name. Douglas Deliverance Dane was an active member of Watari’s network, nestled nicely inside the Federal Bureau of Investigation, and also a former student of Wammy’s. Deliverance often brought ‘gifts’ to the orphanage, and, in fact, had been the agent to stumble upon Matt when he was a child, and ultimately brought him to the attention of the famed, mysterious inventor and his prodigy L. “Yes. Steve wanted in the queue, but D never got him cleared before Watari died; so now, I guess…”

“It’s your decision,” Near finished for him.

Matt shrugged. “Yeah.”

“Can he be trusted?”

“D trusts him.”

“I’m not asking D.”

“And I’m not very fucking prolific,” Matt snapped suddenly. “I’d like to think up all sorts of scenarios that would test this man’s character, but I find myself distracted by keeping the current L alive at the moment, so really, you’ll have to forgive me.”

“You like him.”

Matt sighed, frustrated with himself snapping at Near. “Yeah, he’s a good guy; I think, anyway. But—Okay, listen: It’s not really about Steve. Did you know D wants to retire?”

Near blinked slowly. “No. I did not.”

Of course. Matt felt the frustration dissipate. Near would have no way of knowing D wanted to retire because Matt had, like a selfish idiot, kept him in the dark for the better part of a decade. “D’s up for retirement in the FBI next year, and…he hasn’t heard from Wammy’s in a long time, so—“

“Ah.” Near turned as if to return to the room, but then paused, one hand on the doorframe. “Did he enjoy being D?”

“He lived for it,” Matt said softly.

“Well,” Near said slowly. “Tell him that I am reactivating him, if he still wants his post, and if not, he can retire with my blessing.” Near looked up at him through a fringe of curling white hair. “We could do this thing, together, you and I; L and W. I think, anyway.”

Matt held his look for a long moment. “We could,” he admitted; and smiled.

Two hours later, they had made their way through customs and found the Jaguar left for them in the parking lot by Steve, or Stevie, or maybe just S, if Matt ever made up his mind about the man. Matt retracted the sunroof as he pulled onto the seven-ten and headed out of Long Beach. Beside him, Near grumbled under his breath about the oppressive heat. Certainly, it was a warm day and brightly sunny—normal for a summer California day in July. Matt cheerfully commented that it would be some ten degrees hotter where they were headed and lit a cigarette.

“And where is that, precisely?”

“Safe house,” Matt replied around the butt, the roar of the wind whipping through the vehicle as they sped down the highway almost drowning out his words. “Mouth of the Cajon Pass; we’ll be there in two hours—give or take, depending on traffic.”

“Is it close to the bridge?”

“Not sure yet. Once I get hooked up to my network, I’ll have more details.”

“No hotel this time?”

Matt laughed. “You sound disappointed. No, I can’t risk you being seen if someone’s trying to off you. I’ll be looking more into that too.” Matt glanced sidelong at Near. “It’s a safe house L and Watari used to use, I’m sure you’ll find it more than accommodating.”

Near turned slightly, pulling his sunglasses down his nose a fraction and regarding Matt solemnly. “I’d wondered,” Near said after a long pause, “what had happened to L’s safe houses; I’d only ever been exposed to Wammy’s and the one L used in Japan.”

Matt smiled at him. “We have dozens, all over the world.”

Much to his surprise, Near smiled back at him.

Another two hours flew by, and Matt veered off the two-ten and onto the fifteen, heading into the Cajon. In the passenger seat, Near sat curled in on himself and staring out the window, the glasses and cap obscuring what Matt was sure to be an otherwise bland expression. After entering the mountain pass, Matt exited the highway and took a road that winded into the large, rocky hills, past small towns and into a sparse neighborhood with few homes and even fewer trees. Matt rolled up the windows and closed the sunroof as they slowed, the sporadic gusts of wind picking up yellow dirt and swirling it around the road. Matt pulled off the road behind an exceptionally large rock and parked. In front of them was a haggard shed, looking rather worse for wear.

“Here?” Near asked, straightening.

“Here.” Matt pulled the keys out of the ignition and grabbed the duffle from the backseat. “Come on, let’s go.”

With wary movements, Near followed Matt through the clouds of dust and into the shrub, picking their way through the prickly bushes and cacti towards the shed. Once inside, Matt dropped the duffle by Near’s feet, told him to stay put, and went back to the car. There was an earth-toned tarp by the rock, and Matt used it to cover the Jaguar. When he returned, Near had taken off his sunglasses, and he looked more than irritated.

“Really, Matt, I cannot imagine L ever suffering a place like this—the roof looks about to cave in.”

Matt laughed. “It’s supposed to look that way, but it won’t,” he promised, pointing. “Inside the wood is steel beams and iron plating; this place is as sturdy as it gets.”

Near’s mouth set in a surly frown. “I refuse to camp in a shed.”

“Easy killer.” Matt shouldered the duffle and headed towards the back. “Follow me.” Matt paused in front of a particular wall of rotten wood, and lifted a flap of brown material that blended perfectly with the wooden panel. He placed his hand inside, where the computer within scanned his fingerprints. Then another beam shifted and a mechanical retina scanner protruded from the faux rotting wood. A line of red passed over Matt’s right eye, then shifted and repeated the scan over his left. Then scanner retreated into its hiding place and triggered the release. The entire wall shrank back and slid to the left, revealing a metallic shaft just large enough for the two of them to step inside. Matt grasped Near’s hand and pulled him forward, urging him inside the shaft first. Once inside, the door slid shut and the elevator brought them down. After a few dozen feet, the door reopened and they stepped into the safe house.

Matt watched Near with a smile as the man walked forward, taking off his cap and letting it dangle from his fingertips. Matt had never decided if he was going to fully take up the mantle as W, so he could never be too certain that Near would utilize any of the safe houses his predecessor had used. However, that hadn’t stopped Matt from preparing just in case.

The former L’s safe houses were customized to Lawliet’s particular…personality. They were all stockpiled with confectionary, silver serving trays, crystal and china serving ware, mountains of books and hard files, and low chairs, set to a certain sturdiness. Plenty of tea, plenty of coffee, and separate offices for L and Watari as L often preferred solitude when pondering a case. And, strangely, the walls had often been tiled with jade and green-tinted glass. Matt still hadn’t figured out if that was L’s preference or Watari’s, but at this point, it certainly didn’t matter.

Now, the safe houses were re-customized for Near—and Matt watched Near’s reaction to it with a great deal of pleasure. Four walls were committed wholly to the creation of toys and small dolls. There were dozens of shelves with four inch blocks of wood, every sort of type imaginable, and the tools necessary to carve them with in drawers below. Paint of varying colors, there was also, and paint brushes. An iron sink beside that, for washing, and beyond that a small den stocked with thousands of dice, cards, and puzzles. The carpet was thick and soft, but sturdy and flat, a deep, royal blue color, and expansive. There were only a few pieces of furniture, because Matt knew Near preferred to work on the floor. A chair behind the desk where Matt would work—which held, a testament to Matt’s vanity, no less than twelve monitors and an intricate network of modems and appliances—and two beds in separate rooms toward the back; Matt hadn’t planned on being Near’s lover when he redesigned the safe house. A large marble bathroom was set beside the second bedroom with a private entryway to and from, and a moderate kitchenette opened up on the far side of Matt’s desk.

“If there’s anything I’ve forgotten,” Matt said softly to Near’s frozen back, “I can get it for you.”

Near turned and Matt stepped backwards, somewhat staggered by the grin that split the normally severe set of the detective’s face. Standing there beaming at him with that silly grin on his face, Matt thought Near actually looked normal and…young. He’d get carded at a smoke shop with that smile. He also looked devastatingly sexy.

“Don’t be absurd,” Near murmured, his voice breathy and hushed, as if afraid he’d break some spell with the sound of it. His eyes were piercingly blue. “It’s perfect.”

Matt stepped forward, close enough to place his hand on Near’s hip. He seemed to have lost the ability to breathe, looking at that abnormally happy expression, those incredible blue eyes. “You like it?” he asked, smiling a little himself, reaching up to twine a lock of white hair around his finger.

“I find it more than suitable,” Near answered, his voice now low and little husky.

Matt kissed him, feeling Near melt against him, fitted limb for limb, more perfectly than maybe it should be. Near’s mouth was hot and eager under his, and Matt kissed him until Near had to pull back for air. Near smiled again, flushed from their kiss, and withdrew, distracted already by the bounty that waited for him. Near stood in the center of the room for a short moment, seeming undecided on what to fiddle with first, and then headed for the blocks of wood.

Matt approached the desk, a pleased, boyish grin hanging stupidly on his face, and turned on his computer.

~*~

It humored Near to give Rester’s doll an exceptionally large, square face with a ferocious scowl, and he smiled a little to himself as he painted the faithful bodyguard’s dark box-cut hair on the doll’s head. By his internal clock, it was dwindling towards five in the evening and Near was beginning to get hungry. Near set his miniature Rester beside his miniature Halle, where she loitered among the dolls Matsuda and Aizawa, and rose to his feet. He padded into the kitchenette and retrieved a platter of grilled cheese sandwiches Matt had left for him and went back to his spot on the floor. A few feet away, Matt swore under his breath and squinted at one of his left screens, cornflower blue eyes darting across the code that ran horizontally and vertically all across the multiple pages.

“Found something?” Near inquired offhandedly, not quite expecting an answer.

As predicted, Matt muttered some indiscernible nonsense under his breath and pecked rapidly at a keyboard.

Since their arrival—or at least since Matt set to work—the hacker had become somewhat less than sociable. Matt had opted to read the code today instead of listening to it, mumbling something about not having that luxury if Near’s life was in danger, and had instead turned on some awful metal music that sounded a bit like Matt’s clanging when he cooked to help him concentrate. Near was still too pleased to complain, having so many things to occupy his hands so he could think properly. Surely, however, another twelve hours of that racket and Near would have to object.

Matt pressed the butt of a cigarette between his lips and lit the end, leaving the burning thing to dangle from his mouth. The smoke made interesting patterns on the reflection of his goggles, which dangled from the hacker’s throat. His gloved hands paused over the keyboard, his fingers flexed, and then he sat back. Near took a bite of grilled cheese and chewed slowly, watching his companion across the room.

“What the hell is BlueShip?” Matt said suddenly, pulling the cigarette from his mouth and ashing into a nearby tray.

Near swallowed the bite and, as casually as he could, placed the sandwich back onto the platter. He crouched over his half-finished dolls and delicately selected the one he had created for K. “One word, or two?” he asked in a level voice.

Matt whirled the chair around so he could face Near directly, his cornflower blue eyes alert and suspicious. “Does that mean anything to you?”

“One word, or two?” Near repeated, glancing up at him.

“Does that mean anything to you?” Matt grated through his teeth, as stubborn as the one before him.

“That depends,” Near said, his dark eyes flashing with impatience, “on if it is one word, or two.”

“One,” Matt said, relenting. He gestured to monitors four and five. “These are telling me that the company that hired the Hezbollah is called BlueShip. And here,” he said, scooting back and pointing at monitor eleven, “are the black market lists for mercenaries and underground networks. It’s sending out a signal to every major crime lord and mafia family in the world. L has been a top priority for most of them since Lawliet first made a name for himself. Now, they have a physical profile.”

“Albino,” Near said, fingering the beaded bracelet around his right wrist, the scarlet red and milky white beaded extravagance that he couldn’t bring himself to remove from his arms. The gift from the Kuna girl, a reminder of the vendetta he had every intention of reconciling.

“Yes,” Matt said. He put the cigarette to his mouth again, and inhaled a long, smoky drag.

“Does the profile trace back to BlueShip?” Near asked, his voice a deadly calm.

“No, at least not that I can find.” Matt turned back to his monitors, pointing again with gloved hands. “Here and here shows the correspondence coming out of Abu Ghraib during your time there. They confirm the existence of a prisoner to the third party, BlueShip, but there was no response. They do not say anything about your coloring, but the lack of response leads me to believe that BlueShip expected you to be executed immediately. After your extraction, the physical profile popped on the grid, coinciding with the rise in hate crimes against albinos.”

“Hezbollah?”

Matt glanced at him. “That would be the easy answer,” he said, stabbing out his smoke in the ashtray. “But I don’t think even the Hezbollah would be expansive enough to spread the word on a global level, especially after we cleaned Abu Ghraib.”

Near traced K’s unpainted features with his index finger, the doll a solemn caricature of the beautiful woman from one of his faintest memories. He set her down and rose to his feet, approaching the shelves with four-inch blocks of wood. “BlueShip,” he murmured.

“Does it mean anything to you?” Matt asked quietly, watching him.

Near selected five pieces of redwood and returned to the center of the floor. “BlueShip is an environmental group,” Near informed him flatly.

“How did you manage to piss off a bunch of tree-huggers?” Matt asked incredulously.

Near met his disbelieving eyes and smiled thinly. “Where is the Bridge to Nowhere?”

Matt frowned at him and turned back to the monitors. He set four of them to search the network for anything and everything to do with BlueShip, turned off the screens, and went back to work, this time to plan their next venture.

Scarcely an hour later, Matt made a strange gurgling noise. It sounded like he was desperately trying to smother a snicker, and ended up choking on the private amusement instead. Near glanced up from his castle of cards, made completely out of Jacks of Hearts, and held up by his dolls Aizawa, Matsuda, Rester, Halle, Danny-boy, K, and the five most recent ‘B.S.’ figures, the letters painted across their chests in blue. Matt’s gloved hand was pressed tightly over his mouth, his eyes, obscured by his goggles, trained on one of the many monitors, and his entire body shook with what Near assumed to be laughter.

“What is it?”

Matt turned his head in Near’s direction and, after a moment, pulled his hand away from his mouth and pushed his goggles up his forehead, mussing up his auburn hair. Near could just make out the jagged scar running the length of his temple. “Oh,” he said, his eyes sparkling. “Um…I need to go get some gear.”

Instantly suspicious, Near rose to his feet. “Gear?” he echoed.

Matt bit his lip and scratched his face. “Yeah,” he affirmed, another laugh catching the end of the word. “I’ll be right back.” His right hand flew over the keyboard, causing all the monitors to black out, except the ones wired to the security cameras, and got up. “Come here.”

Near listened, wary of Matt’s sudden mirth, as the hacker explained how to lock down the safe house in the event of an intruder and that he should be back before eight. Then Matt surprised him with an unexpected kiss, another laugh, and was gone before Near could catch his wits. He stared at the computers for a long moment before attempting to get the screens back on-line. After a frustrating, futile half-hour, Near went back to his castle.

True to his word, Matt returned before eight, carrying several bags from a place called ‘Bass Pro Shop’ and wearing a decidedly insufferable smirk on his face. Near had thought himself into circles at what could be so obstinately funny for the better part of two hours and was in a sour mood by the time Matt arrived.

“What is all this?” Near demanded, gesturing to the bags. “And if you say ‘gear’, I might actually hit you.”

Matt laughed and pulled out a box from one of the bags. Inside the box was pair of hiking boots. “See if these fit,” he said, tossing Near the shoes.

Near did not try to catch the offending things and let them topple to the floor. “Oh no,” Near said. “No, no, no.”

“The Bridge to Nowhere is within the Azusa Mountains,” Matt said conversationally, retrieving a second box and sitting on the floor to try on his pair of boots. “We actually passed it on the way up here.”

“Why do we need hiking boots?” Near growled, not in the slightest bit amused.

“Um, because the bridge is some five miles in.”

“Five miles in from where?”

“From where we park the car.” Matt laced up the boots and seemed pleased with the fit.

“No,” Near said.

“There’s a trail,” Matt said, inspecting the heel of his left boot. “We’ll have to cross the river a few times, but I’m certain there’ll be markers.”

“No,” Near said.

“Tomorrow, there’s a group hiking out to the bridge with a guide. We’ll have to be there by seven to catch the outing.”

“No,” Near said.

“Did you know that the bridge was used to during the World War I? All the roads got destroyed during a few pretty nasty mud slides and floods since then, but the bridge is still there, hale as ever.”

“Matt.”

“What?”

“What part of me, precisely, screams ‘adept at wilderness’?”

Matt drew his knees up and grinned. “Try your boots on.”

“Why can’t we just fly to the bridge?”

Matt lifted a brow. “You mean like hand gliding? Or simply a helicopter?”

“Be serious.”

“I’m not willing to draw any attention to you, Near, and arranging a drop to the bridge will do just that and more. It’s a risk I’m not willing to take.”

“But you’re willing to drag an albino on a ten mile hike during a hundred degree, summer Californian day.”

Matt smiled a little wider, showing two rows of straight, white teeth. “Come on, Near; it could be fun.”

Near jabbed a finger towards his Jack of Hearts castle. “That is my idea of fun.” He pointed back at the Bass Pro Shop bags. “That is not.”

Matt’s smile faltered, and then disappeared. His face became suddenly serious. “Do you want to go home? Say the word, and I’ll take you back.”

Near glowered at him. “That’s not fair.”

Matt shrugged. “I didn’t make the list.”

That was true. Another one of Mello’s riddles for him to ponder. “Fine.” Near sat on the floor and pushed one foot into a hiking boot. It actually fit quite nicely. He pulled it off again and tossed it across the room. “It fits, what else is there?”

Matt rolled his eyes and rummaged through the bag, muttering under his breath. Near caught the words “petulant” and “brat”, but did not comment as they seem to have been said with some affection. And, well, because they were both entirely accurate.

~*~

Near stared at his reflection, appalled all over again that he was actually about to go hiking through mountains. He wore a white, long-sleeved, loose-fitted shirt made of some unusually comfortable, threadbare material. His pants were khaki and breathable, and tucked into the waterproof boots Matt had purchased for him the evening before. He wore fingerless gloves with padding on the palms, a scarlet handkerchief, the same color as the beaded arm bracelets, to protect his neck and throat from the sun, and a khaki, wide-brimmed hat. Near thought he looked utterly ridiculous, and sighed.

“Near, have you put on the sun block?” Matt called from the main room.

“Not yet.”

“Come here.”

Near turned and left the bathroom, sullen and unhappy with the prospect of hiking, something he never thought he’d ever have to suffer. Surely, Abu Ghraib was a better fate for him than this.

Near looked up when he entered the main room, and caught his breath. Matt stood, bent over his key board, in an outfit…that probably should be illegal. Matt straightened, jabbing at the keyboard a few more times, and turned towards Near. Baggy, red-seamed dark pants, snug around his hips, loose everywhere else and tucked into his boots adorned his slim legs. The forgettable pants put more focus on Matt’s torso. A black, sleeveless shirt stretched over the ridges of his muscles, fitted tight across his chest and long, black arm-sleeves hooked around each middle finger and covered most of each arm, leaving his shoulders bare. Obviously, the garments were chosen to keep him as cool as possible in the heat, while covering every scar on his limbs. The effect was drastically heart stopping. Near had the sudden thought that Matt almost looked like Mello, and took a step back.

Matt was giving him a strange look, his fingers fiddling with the bottle of sun block now held in his hands. “I know it’s not really my style, but I couldn’t risk ruining my favorite striped shirt—“

Near didn’t remember moving forward, or reaching up to dig his hands in Matt’s hair, but suddenly he was there, crushing Matt’s mouth down on his. Matt gripped Near’s shoulders tightly, responding instantly and sweeping his tongue inside Near’s mouth. Near bit down on the tongue, relishing the gasp it produced, and hissing when Matt’s teeth sank into his lip. A hand pressed into his lower back, pulling him closer into Matt, into the heat, into the sudden onslaught of lust that Near had promised himself he wouldn’t beg for. Near thought now, as that hand reached lower and cupped his rear, squeezing, and grinding his hips into Matt’s, that maybe he was losing that battle. If they continued on like this, Near thought he might be reduced to a simpering, lovesick thing before the end. He pulled away, trying to keep hold of some of his dignity, wanting to be the one to draw away first this time, and stepped back.

Matt panted, staring at him, his face flushed and lovely, his eyes dark like sapphires at twilight—a color Near was beginning to acquaint with desire. “We’re going to be late,” he said.

Near nodded, watching something dark and predatory move behind those eyes that stared at him. The eyes searched his face, looking for something. Whether they found it or not, Near wasn’t sure, but when they lifted back up to meet Near’s gaze, they were smoldering and almost black.

“I want to do something for you,” Matt whispered, reaching out and untying the scarlet handkerchief from about Near’s throat. Near felt the fabric whisper as it slid across his skin and then fell to the floor, discarded, unneeded.

“We have time,” Matt murmured, stepping in close. He kissed Near’s throat, softly, gently, a slight pressure of his lips against the vein. Then his teeth were there, grazing and scraping, drawing a long line of white-hot pleasure down Near’s throat, to his collarbone. Matt’s nimble fingers scaled the front of Near’s shirt, unclasping the buttons and pulling it free of his khakis. Matt bit down on the flesh between Near’s neck and shoulder, causing a jolt of pain to run the length of his spine and pool somewhere in his stomach. His phallus twitched, swelling as Matt pressed his tongue into the bite mark, soothing away the sting and pushing the threadbare shirt back across Near’s slender, pale shoulders.

Matt lifted his head and pressed a long kiss against Near’s mouth, backing him towards the desk, letting Near rest against the edge. Near’s mind was swimming, a futile, dangerous attempt to keep wits with the pleasure coursing through him, to try and logically ascertain Matt’s sudden spike of lust. Hell, maybe it was Near’s kiss that sparked it, created the urgency forgotten aboard the ship. Near smiled against Matt’s mouth, his fingers trailing the muscles of Matt’s arms, a foggy sense of satisfaction filling him as he gave himself over to the sensation of Matt’s hands against his skin, his tongue in his mouth, his scent all around him. Matt’s fingers brushed down the length of Near’s chest slowly, causing a shiver of pleasure to roll through him, followed by a trail of gooseflesh. The pad of one thumb paused over a nipple, and Near stiffened. Matt bit his lip again, eliciting a gasp. Pleasure thrummed through Near from all angles, from the roll of Matt’s hips against his, from the teeth grazing his lip, from the fingers teasing his nipples. Near gripped Matt’s arms, digging his fingernails into the arm sleeves and panting into Matt’s mouth. Matt trailed smaller kisses along his jaw, back to the vein in his throat, lower and lower until his hot mouth snagged one of Near’s now-erect nipples and bit down. Near’s hands flew up to Matt’s head, tangling his fingers into the auburn hair as he bit back a cry. Matt’s tongue flicked across the throbbing nub, sending a new wave of shuddering pleasure through Near. Matt shifted, torturing the other nipple equally as his clever fingers moved over the zipper of Near’s khakis.

“M-Matt,” Near panted, quivering under Matt’s talented mouth as he moved lower, kneeling now on the carpet in front of him.

“Shh.” Matt pressed kisses down Near’s torso, swirling his tongue around his naval, and then lower. Another whisper of fabric, and the khakis slipped down Near’s slender hips, exposing his swollen phallus to the cool air.

Near bit his lip, his mind completely shutting down once he realized where that mouth was headed, and closed his eyes. In the darkness behind his closed lids, the sensations became sharper, more defined. He felt the flick of Matt’s tongue against the tip of his phallus like a jolt of electricity. Of course, it was nothing compared to the fiery pleasure that shot through him when Matt’s hot, wet mouth enveloped him completely. Near cried out then, bucking into the heat as Matt’s tongue swirled around him. His entire body sang as Matt bobbed over him, humming slightly in his throat and causing little vibrations to thrum through him. Slender fingers moved gently under his sac, pressing on the sensitive spot just behind it. Sparks exploded behind Near’s closed lids and his body jerked violently, the sensations too much and peaking. Near came with a shout, his fingers knotted in Matt’s hair as he swallowed it all, sucking Near’s phallus clean until it softened.

Matt pressed a kiss against Near’s stomach before lifting his khakis back over his hips and pulling up the zipper. Then he stood, smiling crookedly as Near panted, and removed Near’s hands from his hair. Matt let his hands settle about his waist as he straightened Near’s shirt and refastened it. Then he stooped and picked up the discarded sun block and the handkerchief. Quietly, while Near recovered and leaned heavily against him, Matt applied sun block to the detective’s face and neck. Afterwards, he retied the handkerchief and pulled back to look at Near’s face.

“Told you today could be fun,” Matt said.

Near laughed incredulously, drowsy from his orgasm.

“Come on, let’s go,” Matt said, pulling on Near’s hand. “Now we really are late.”

Near protested and pulled back. “What about you?” Near inquired, placing his hand over the bulge in Matt’s pants.

Matt groaned a little, and took Near’s hand away. “Later,” he promised.

~*~

Well, it worked.

Near seemed to be in a substantially better mood and trudged behind him as quietly as one who’d never been hiking before could. It was horribly hot, but the Azusa Pass had many trees and the river they followed kept the atmosphere relatively cool. And even when it was not, it was usually time to cross the river anyway and sloshing through the water lowered their temperatures effectively as well.

As it happens, Matt’s detour from regular scheduling did cause them to miss the group. Matt had parked the Jag at the end of East Fork Road, near the lot for the Ranger Station. The lot was full and Matt was forced to park a few meters down the road. They found San Gabriel River easily enough, as it was at the end of a short dirt road and across a tin pipe bridge wrapped with rocks and wire.

“Precarious,” Near had commented, but crossed it without complaint or trepidation. Near was many things, but a coward was not one of them.

Matt had assumed the trail would be marked clearly, telling them precisely when to cross the river to either bank. Sadly, this was not the case, and Matt was forced to drag the poor detective with him over several crossings often before they found the right trail. The low trails had them climbing over bowling ball sized rocks that littered the banks like an oversized, stony beach. The higher trails took them up steep inclines into the rock face, causing them to tiptoe across dangerous ledges that often hid treacherous roots under moss that caught them about the ankles, causing them to trip more than once. That being said, the scenery was rather breath taking.

About an hour into the hike, Matt recognized Shoemaker Road several hundred meters above them to the north, and took them east. Matt stopped them there, once finding the mouth of the new trail, marked by a small stack of rocks, to allow Near to catch his breath. The detective was red-faced with exertion, his white hair slick with sweat and coiling against what was exposed of his pale face—which wasn’t much, considering the massive, black sunglasses Matt forced him to wear, and the wide-brimmed hat Near had grumbled about when Matt had introduced it to him the day before. Matt helped Near out of his backpack—a relatively light affair with only the urn and some padding to protect it inside, and water bottles in the outer pockets—and instructed him to sit on a smooth, outcropped boulder at the edge of the rocky river bank. Matt’s pack held most of the actual hiking gear: Foodstuffs, compass, a bit of rope, a climbing harness and ACT devices—just in case, but Matt didn’t think they’d really become necessary—extra socks, hunting knife, flashlights, and about four different things of heavy sun block for Near. Matt was pretty sure he packed chap stick too. He set his heavy pack down, fished out a granola bar and a bottle of water, and sat next to Near on the boulder.

“How are you holding up?”

Near looked at him, accepting the granola bar and the water, his breathing heavy but restrained, as if he was trying to hide it. His face was even more indecipherable under the hat and protective eyewear. “I’m fine. Thank you for asking.”

Cryptic. Matt lit a cigarette and pushed his goggles up his forehead, squinting against the sunlight as he gazed out over the rushing water. “Pretty, isn’t it?”

Near took a drink of water, his breathing beginning to even out, and nodded. “Strange; it somewhat reminds me of Israel.”

Matt hummed a little in agreement, cracking his neck and stretching his arms over his head. “They have mountains a lot like this.” He glanced sidelong at Near. “You were knocked out when we passed most of them though.”

Near’s face went a bit red again, and his mouth turned down into a rather surly frown. Apparently, he did not much like being reminded of passing out on the jet that had flown them into the country.

Matt laughed and nudged him with his shoulder. Near made a strange motion with his head, and Matt imagined he was rolling his eyes beneath the sunglasses. Near nudged back, his frown becoming slightly less severe. “You ready?”

Near nodded again and accepted Matt’s hand when he offered it, coming to his feet more lightly than the hacker had expected. They re-shouldered their packs and resumed the trail.

Some forty-five minutes later, Matt forced Near to cross the river to avoid a twenty-four inch garter snake and had to pick a new trail back to the old one for safety. Unfortunately, the new passage cost them another half hour, but Matt spotted trail markers sending them east again and soon they were back on track. Another three miles and several breaks, to Near’s quiet appreciation, later, the trail seemed to come to an abrupt halt; however, after twenty minutes of tracking, Matt found that it veered sharply to the left, taking them up into a steep incline. Near commented on the red hue of the earth exposed by the cliffs, saying somewhat about a mud bank he’d noticed in Panama. Matt told him about the red earth he’d encountered in Africa during his time there, but kept the belief of a millennia of blood soaking the dirt being the cause of it to himself. Matt did not see Near’s curious expression behind the thick sunglasses.

Another half an hour brought them into a solid trail through a field of prickly, snagging California buckwheat and acres of pleasant-smelling wild sage. Matt was glad he’d opted to have them both wear pants, as the brush and cacti scratched often at their legs on the seemingly untended trail. Near bore it without complaint, but Matt could sense it was irritating the man as much as it did him. The trail through the buckwheat narrowed dramatically, forcing the two of them to walk single file. Matt heard the soft, warning clatter of a rattlesnake’s tail and reached behind him for Near’s hand without comment, hurrying them along silently until the rattle ceased.

Picking their way through the field, the sun beating mercilessly down on them, Matt and Near finally found the remnants of the old road, washed away in nineteen-thirty-nine. The canyon opened up on the left side, giving berth to the impressive red-golden gorge below and the thin trickle of water from the San Gabriel River, low tide now in the summer months. And there, directly northeast of them, was the bridge. It cut from one side of the canyon clear across the gorge to the other side. Behind Matt, Near slowed.

But Matt knew it wasn’t the massive bridge that made him pause, it was the group that loitered on the bridge itself. There was a shout, a short chanting from those assembled on the bridge, and then an echoing shriek, followed by the trill of ecstatic laughter, bouncing and ringing off the canyon walls. The group cheered, Near all but stopped on the trail.

Before Near could object, Matt grabbed his hand again and tugged him along. Three large Labrador retrievers, with identical thick, golden coats lumbered towards them as they rounded the bend. They seemed especially interested in Near, who recoiled from their happy, slobbery tongues as he tried to squeeze past them. Matt couldn’t help it, he laughed. Near instantly whirled on him, his complacency vanished and replaced with a deadly glare. One of the dogs managed to dance in close and, with tail wagging, licked Near’s hand, smearing drool all over his glove. Near’s face contorted in disgust and he snatched his hand away.

“Go away,” he hissed at the three dogs, while Matt continued to laugh.

“They think you have food,” a friendly voice called out to them.

“Well, I don’t,” Near snapped, pulling his hat lower over his face and turning toward the sound. Matt watched him eye the dogs as he moved, obviously perturbed at how all three of them sat in a semi-circle around Near, tongues lolling and tails wagging happily. Near jabbed a finger back at Matt. “He has the food; why aren’t they bothering him?”

The man that approached them shrugged and smiled cheerfully, whistling through his teeth. The dogs answered dutifully and trotted over to their master. The man was tan and as golden-blond as his dogs. He flashed another white smile and Matt stepped forward. “Are you Bill?”

“I am,” Bill said, extending his hand. Near shrank back against the rock face as Matt shook his hand. “You’re our two M.I.A.’s then?”

“Sure are,” Matt said with friendly smile, adjusting the pack across his shoulders. “This is Nathan,” he said, gesturing to Near. “And I’m Mike. Nice to meet you.”

“Great,” Bill said. “Follow me. You missed the instruction so there’s a few things I need to show you.”

“Ma-ike,” Near said behind Matt, a warning in his voice.

Matt ignored him and followed the instructor onto the bridge, sure that Near was trailing close behind. The group of hikers and adrenaline junkies crowding the bridge pressed close to one side as a slender Asian girl, strapped snugly into a harness, stepped over the rail and stood on a hidden platform on the other side. A thick, padded bungee chord was buckled to her harness. Matt paused, close enough now to hear the chant.

“Three,” the crowd cheered in unison as another instructor held up three fingers and counted off. The girl looked terrified, her dark eyes wide and staring into the instructor’s smiling face, her knuckles white as they gripped the rail, her back to the gorge below. “Two…one!” The instructor waved to her, a slow curl of his fingers, and the girl launched herself backwards.

Matt felt a chill run the length of his spine. He looked back towards Near as the girl screamed, falling into the gorge and bouncing as the bungee chord caught her and swept her into the air again. Near was spasmodically shaking his head from left to right, his eyes wide and furious.

Bill held up two harnesses. “This one will go around your waist and support your thighs and buttocks,” Bill said cheerfully. “And this one will go around your torso. They’ll fasten here with this, and this is what we connect to the bungee chord. And this…”

“You tricked me,” Near hissed in his ear. “I refuse to do this.”

“Why would Mello send you all the way out here if he didn’t want you to jump?” Matt responded.

“I’m certain this is not the only Bridge to Nowhere in the world,” Near growled. “There’s one in New Zealand, in fact; I’m sure of it.”

“We were closer to this one,” Matt murmured, watching as Bill showed them how to put on the harnesses. “And they jump off of that one too.”

“I refuse.”

“It’ll be a long walk back,” Matt said, “knowing you wimped out.”

“You’re attempting reverse psychology and rotten trickery,” Near hissed back. “It won’t work, not on me.”

“I know Mello,” Matt said, turning his face toward Near and thinking of his dream. “I know he would want you to jump.”

“It is madness to hurtle oneself off of a perfectly good bridge.”

“Mello was crazy,” Matt said shrugging. “It makes perfect sense to me.”

“These chords are designed to hold ten times their designated weight,” Bill offered.

Near glared at him, and Bill looked away chuckling. Then Near looked at Matt, a fierce, cruel glint in his hard, dark eyes. “I’ll do it on one condition.”

“Which is?” Matt asked.

“You do it with me.”

“Done,” Matt agreed with a satisfied smirk.

“You did not let me finish.” Near took off his backpack and unzipped it. He retrieved Mello’s urn, watching Matt’s face as he winced. “Ashes and everything, you do it with me.”

“No,” Matt breathed, fear pooling in his stomach at the notion of touching Mello’s ashes.

“Then no deal,” Near said, and placed the urn back into the backpack.

Matt drew in a long breath and held it. He watched a balding, three hundred pound man struggle into his harness. He thought of Mello, his boots dangling off the edge, the slow curl of his fingers, the countdown. “Shit.”

Matt pulled a pack of smokes from his back pocket and lit one, taking a long drag and expelling it slowly. “Irrational fear is laughable,” Matt muttered. “Joke’s on me this time.” He turned to Near, his mouth set in a serious frown. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

Near did not look precisely happy about Matt’s decision at all.

To be continued…

A/N: Hmm, not convinced this is necessary, but I figure I can toss it out there anyway. The Bridge to Nowhere is a factual bridge some five miles in past East Fork Road. Its one heck of hike to get there, as its easy to get lost, is rather dangerous and wrought with slippery cliffs, rattlesnakes, cougars, and scorpions (ew), but! It is totally worth it. I’ve done the hike a half dozen times myself, and have even got myself lost out there at night with no moon, no flashlight and no compass. Nothing but the sandals on my feet (yes, yes, I KNOW…I can be an idiot sometimes) a couple of bottles of water and a pack of smokes. Took me some nine hours to find my way back to my car and ended up taking a chunk out of my ankle on an impromptu tumble from a rock face I’m still not sure I was ever supposed to climb—some protruding root saved my life, which I caught and hung from in the knick of time. Anyway. The roads used during the war did in fact wash out in 1939, leaving only the bridge and a few other markers. Bungee America, Inc. hikes out to the bridge on Saturdays and Sundays with paying customers and sets up shop. They’re fantastic, hardy people who do a great job and the jump is always great, great fun. If you’d like more info, you can go to bungeeamerica[dot]com and, if so interested, purchase a few jumps for yourself. Great, great fun.

Hm. Oh! And also, the whole bit about the dancing slave stars and the super massive black whole is all factual, neato stuff about our galaxy. I learned about it on a fascinating episode of The Universe on the Discovery Channel about a month ago. Thought it was the best ever analogy. It is up to you to decide whom the two dancing slave stars are supposed to represent—and who the super massive black hole is.


Shuu: Really?! Oh, wow. Now I feel kind of bad for taking so long to update! Thank you for your review! I appreciate the lovely compliments.

Ah! I’m so happy you caught the “Glass Menagerie” montage! When I read that part of your review I got really excited. I’m thrilled it made sense to you, and that the central ideas of the play are threaded throughout this fic. It has been a huge inspiration, in its own way. Matt’s handling of the situation with Near scares him, because he has conflicting motivations. He wants him, but he loves Mello, but alas! Mello is dead, and so that is sort of moot point in the logical center of Matt’s brain, but then he also has a responsibility as W, and that entails enabling L, not changing him or becoming his lover or putting him in any dangerous situations whatsoever, but then of course Matt doesn’t really know if wants the job anyway, so why not have a little fun? Matt’s madness is reaching a breaking point; and it will be interesting to see what happens when it does. And as for the deal with Mello—it might just take effect when it is most needed, or it could be what pushes Matt over the edge.

Thanks again for your thoughtful review, and I hope you enjoyed the update!

Cu-kid!: We’ve got a yin/yang operation going here. I inspire you and you inspire me and I inspire you and you inspire me and on and on it goes. I’m using your art as my desktop at the moment, so I can look at it while I type. It has been most helpful.

Oh, gosh, it DOES feel like pulling teeth, even for me. There are days when I just sit here and stare at a half-written scene that’s turning spectacularly angry and resentful and wondered how the hell that happened when I was aiming for sweet and endearing! They turn me in circles, these two. Ah, and no, you weren’t reading too much into it. Matt is totally into the color of Near’s eyes. I’d actually had a whole thing of dialogue planned out for that scene to really draw out that conclusion, but ended up cutting it for the sake of flow. Glad you caught it anyway.

Mello’s appearances have always been really fun to write, and I’m constantly dreaming up new backdrops to set him in. I think a fun part of Mello’s scenes is how he reacts to, and plays off of, certain backgrounds…and how Mello becomes just a little more human, a little more beaten and haggard, and a little less all-knowing, when he appears in real time and space. But when Mello can pick the scenario, he seems more at ease with himself, and a little more in control of the situation. When he is forced to appear in the physical realm, like in Abu Ghraib, and when he’s surprised, it wears on him…and then we see a more vulnerable part of him. And so even Mello, who is dead and the composer of Near and Matt’s journey, comes across as a main character in his own right.

Anyhoot, thanks again for the great review! And I hope you enjoyed the update!

Inuyashalove04: Hey you! Thanks for your review. It’s always fun to type out your penname. Lol, I think that’s why I couldn’t help writing those bits with Near and his difficulty with the term ‘dry humping’. I kept trying to figure out how he would react if he knew that was what it was called, and all that came up in my mind’s eyes was incredulity and utter shock. And it was damn funny in my head. Couldn’t help myself. Thanks again for your review, and I hope you enjoyed the update!