Scattering Ashes

Title: Scattering Ashes
Chapter Title: Released
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: Some bits about Halle and Mello before the kidnap of Takada in the last arch of the series. A recreation of the last scene we see of Matt and Mello from the series before the big showdown with Takada.
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 hope everyone is well. I’ll apologize in advance for posting the un-beta’ed version of this chapter. I find myself amidst yet another nasty breakup with James, and I wanted to post this ASAP in case I didn’t get another chance to for a few weeks.

Big thanks to Cu-kid for more fanart! Go check out her page on deviantart and let her know how exceptional she is! This chapter was inspired by equal parts Hum Hallelujah by Fall Out Boy (for the jumping scene) and Come with Me by Puff Daddy ft. Jimmy Page. Currently listening to The Worst Day Since Yesterday by Flogging Molly—suits my mood. I don’t usually ask for reviews—as I sort of think its bad form—but I’m feeling extraordinarily crappy and they would definitely perk me up. So, you know, if you liked the update, please let me know.

Oh, and if you spot errors, let me know about those too, and I’ll fix them.

Yours,
Gloria


Scattering Ashes

Chapter Fifteen

Released

“As the soul leaves the body torn and bruised,
As the mind deserts the body it has used,
I should find
Some way incomparably light and deft,
Some way we should both understand,
Simple and faithless as a smile and shake of the hand.”

~From La Figlia che Piange by T.S. Eliot


Matt twisted the small tool in his hand, fixing the screw deeper into the device as he listened. It wasn’t often he had to make his own gun, but that didn’t stop from him knowing how. It gave him something to do with his hands as Mello talked quietly, fiddling with the foil wrapper of his chocolate bar. Mello recounted his conversation with Halle, Near’s agent posing as Takada’s bodyguard, his eyes averted, his booted feet flat on the ground as he sat in the creaky chair across the coffee table from Matt.

Matt lifted his head, previously bowed over his project, when Mello said somewhat about the bodyguard inviting him into the shower with her. Mello’s eyes flickered, meeting his gaze in a moment of half-hearted bemusement, a flash of brilliant green in the shadows his jagged yellow bangs made in his scarred face. This was the point where Matt would say something crude and Mello would snicker and respond with something equally obscene. It was a decent attempt at normalcy, for Mello’s part. But the stakes were way too high for mindless banter.

Matt said instead: “We need to separate Takada from her Death Note. Force the other one to use his.”

Mello lowered his eyes again. He lifted his chocolate bar with the intention to take a bite, but the candy paused halfway to his mouth. A great heaviness settled over Mello’s expression, his bare shoulders hunching forward under the pressure of his thoughts. His hand dropped and he placed the chocolate onto the coffee table beside Matt’s nearly completed pistol, another vice abandoned amidst the turmoil.

“We’ll do it tomorrow,” Mello murmured, his words barely a stirring of the air around his mouth.

They’d discussed it already, the operation to abduct the news anchor, Kira’s lover. Matt’s insistence on warning Near of the second Death Note had angered Mello at first, causing another violent rift between them. However, even when Matt’s obvious commitment to Near’s safety, and the conviction with which he argued the case, sparked wave after wave of bitter insolence in Mello, he understood the necessity of it, knew the logic, was aware of the desperate circumstances. Neither he nor Near could bring down Kira on their own. Matt had forced him to realize this, or so he thought when Mello finally agreed.

Mello’s temperament had changed after that, becoming dangerously quiet and introverted. He was hurting; Matt knew that because he knew Mello better than anyone. Knew his mood swings, the reasons for his anger, his hate, his dark humor. He knew that Mello hated his scars, even though Matt found them beautiful. And even if they weren’t classifiable as beautiful, they were still certainly honest. He knew Mello’s silence was more than pain over a silly lover’s quarrel. Mello was quiet because he had given up. He was never going to be L, and maybe never have another decent chance to prove that he should have been. It was over. Tomorrow, it would be over.

Mello stood after some time, gazing out of the window beside the table. The weak light form the street lamp filtered in, dancing through the dust motes in the air and illuminating him around the edges. Matt stared at him for a long time, the powerful, deceptively slight muscles coiled around his bare arms, crossed now over his slight chest, the long legs, the black leather that was always more shiny on Mello than on anyone else, the curve of his back, the jagged fall of blond hair, and the deep brown-red of his scars, stretching and morphing his skin where the burns were the worst. Beautiful creature. Spilled milk on black marble. Honest.

Matt went back to his project. After a few minutes, he pushed in the clip and loaded the safety, switching it off and on and back again until he was certain it wouldn’t snag. Then he placed it back on the table. Mello still stood by the window, gazing out, but not seeing anything but the thoughts in his own head.

Matt picked the weapon back up and disassembled it.

Mello’s voice floated over to him at long last. “You ever think about forever?”

Matt abandoned his project and sat back on the dirty sofa, resting the back of his head against the edge. “No. I think about now. Sometimes I think about tomorrow, sometimes next week—but not forever, no. Why?”

Mello turned to regard him, the shadows on his face doing nothing to hide his scars. “Promise me you’ll be safe tomorrow.”

Matt looked up at him, wondering for a moment if he knew, but when Mello reached down and tenderly traced the line of his cheek, he knew he didn’t. Matt shook his head. “I won’t promise that.”

“Please.”

Matt closed his eyes, feeling Mello’s fingers curl under the elastic of his goggles and pull them off his face. There was a clatter when Mello tossed the goggles to the side, but then nothing but silence as Mello waited. Mello never said please. “Only if you promise,” Matt said, opening his eyes to regard the unfathomable expression on Mello’s face.

Then Mello’s expression darkened, his green eyes flashing in the shadows, his mood switching rapidly to anger. His fingers curled in Matt’s hair, tightening into a fist and tugging painfully. Matt winced but didn’t say anything, watching the gathering storm clouds on Mello’s face.

“Coward,” Mello hissed, abruptly releasing Matt’s hair and walking toward the back room where the mattress was.

“You’ll need to search her,” Matt called after him. “I know her type; she’ll hide something on her. Tracking device, wire… If it’s a piece of the Death Note, she’ll kill you with it.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Mello shot over his shoulder, undoing the clasps of his vest and tossing it to the floor.

“Take this seriously,” Matt warned, rising finally to his feet and watching as Mello jammed both hands into his hair and raked his fingers through. “Don’t be reckless.”

His back still turned, Mello muttered: “Don’t kid yourself; we both know I’m the one kidnapping her only because you don’t have the stomach for it.”

Matt felt cold all over and anger began coiling in his chest as he rose to the bait. “Thanks for bringing that up, Mello,” Matt snapped. “Now that we’re on the subject, do you think Takada won’t be as effective because she’s not a little girl? It worked so well for you last time--since you’re the expert on kidnapping, I’d like to know your thoughts on the matter.”

Mello turned, rage glittering in his cat-shaped eyes. “Fuck you,” he grated, kicking off his boots. “You’ve got no backbone, Runner. Don’t preach to me.”

Runner. The nickname for an orphan who tried to escape from Wammy’s. Between the two of them, the term was like a slur, a vicious kick in the teeth. Matt’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Nice, Mello. Thanks a lot. Maybe I should have just turned my back on everything L stood for and become a criminal like you.”

Criminal. In Wammy’s, a criminal was always worse than a runner. Matt watched Mello grind his teeth, the muscle twitch in the side of his jaw. Mello couldn’t argue that, but when Mello turned his back on him again, Matt felt no satisfaction in shutting him up. It was an ancient argument between them. Mello had his reasons for what he’d become, however warped they may be. And Matt had reasons of his own for hiding at the Starks, away from Wammy’s and his sudden responsibilities there.

Mello’s reasons centered around L. So did Matt’s, for that matter, but for an entirely different purpose.

Well and so, Matt had come to Japan. He’d offered a truce. He would not be Mello’s W, no matter how often Mello demanded it of him, but he could stand with Mello this once. It did not breach his responsibility as W because it would ultimately save the current L’s life. It would also give Mello one last chance to work side by side with Matt, a dream they’d harbored since they were barely more than toddlers. The two of them in some filthy safe house, planning on how to take down the bad guy and save the world. Mello’s redemption—Matt could help this once, and then he would go.

Matt was too dangerous a weapon to be used by Mello. It broke his heart, deciding that, standing by it, refusing to budge even when the furious man he loved crumbled because of it, even when the hurt rose up in those brilliant green eyes when Mello couldn’t smother it anymore.

Matt crossed the room and entered the bedroom, coming to stand directly behind his best friend, his lover, his sole confidant. He wrapped one arm around Mello’s naked waist and rested his chin on the man’s shoulder. Mello leaned back into him, expelling his anger in a long sigh.

“If you could stop being W for one minute,” Mello whispered, “you’d see we could run together. We could leave everything. If Takada has the Death Note on her, we could take it and make money off it. We’d sell it to Near; he has plenty of money now, the little freak. We could sell it to him, no harm, no foul. No more Kira, the Death Notes are in the right hands, and you and me…We could disappear, we don’t owe anybody anything. We could just-just go. Come with me.”

Matt pressed his brow into the warm flesh of Mello’s shoulder, hating the vulnerable undercurrent of his words, knowing in his gut that even if Mello meant it now, he wouldn’t later, knowing that it was probably a lie. “You wouldn’t sell it to Near, Mello. You’d force him out of Wammy’s to get it from you. Then you would take Wammy’s for yourself and declare yourself L. I know you would. You’d probably never even give the thing to Near. Mello, I wouldn’t put it past you to actually use it on him.”

Mello turned in his arms, a thoughtful expression on his face, his eyes bright. “Hmmm. You really think I’d kill Near if it meant being L?”

“I do,” Matt said, not fooled by the play at innocence. “I really do. And you’d be an idiot to think I wouldn’t kill you before you had a chance to.”

Mello’s eyes widened a fraction, and then he smiled. “It’d be interesting to see you try.” He looked thoughtful again, a slight tilt of his face. Matt had to look up to see his expression. It annoyed Matt that he’d become so much taller than him. “You’re probably right about Near, but you wouldn’t be able to kill me.”

“You don’t think so?” Matt tried to smile, but couldn’t. He wasn’t sure of the answer himself, suddenly, looking at that face, that wicked smile, the bright eyes that flashed with equal parts madness and passionate righteousness. No innocent façade, now.

Mello shook his head. “No. I don’t think so,” he said, and kissed Matt hard on the mouth.

They made love like war that night. Viciously, like it was a battle to see who could be crueler. Violence had always been a mutually accepted part of their relationship. They loved and hated each other—Mello hated Matt for his betrayal, his conviction to keep his word to an old man long dead. He loved him because Matt was the only person he could love. It was impossible not to. Matt hated the man Mello had become, the criminal, the madman that made it impossible for them to be together. He loved him because he always had. It was sometimes the only thing he knew for certain: He loved Mello.

And no, Matt decided, as the night stretched on and the bruises began to form, as the passion between them peaked and screamed for release, as the blood ran freely, as slick as the sweat on their bodies—no, Matt would never be able to pull the trigger. He could never end Mello, because Mello was Mello, and Mello was forever.

Death Gods whispered in the deepening shadows, grim and ghostly, starving for two more lives, desperate for two more hearts to stop. It could never be planned, what would happen the following night. Not even ghouls with notebooks designed to kill could properly foresee it. It was evident, glaringly obvious that it would be over, surely. The strongest minds in the world had decided it, the gods had spoken, and tomorrow was the beginning of the end. One would die, the other would not. L might win, if he was cleverer than the last. Kira would fall, eventually—because even gods fall from grace. They always have.

Come with me, Mello had pleaded, demanded, whispered, hissed.

No, Matt had responded. Tomorrow, God help him, he would die; and this agony would be over.

“I love you,” Matt whispered.

“I know,” Mello whispered back, and looked away.

Come with me.

No.

Not even Death Gods could have foreseen it.

~*~

July 24th, 2013

“Are there any back injuries I should know about?”

There was a snort of amusement somewhere to the left of him, but when Near’s head snapped around to glare at its source, there was no one there. A chill ran down his spine, gooseflesh prickling on his arms beneath the thin shirt he wore.

“Nathan.”

A slight breeze kicked up, noticeable now in the waning afternoon, and it moved through Near’s shirt like a whisper, tantalizingly pleasant, calming, a cruel joke at his expense. Near was not fooled. Wherever Mello was, he was laughing at him.

“Nathan.”

The sunlight slanted at him, warm on his back and shoulders. Near was glad of the sunglasses, as he peered behind him, towards the light, the expanse of the canyon they had hiked to get here. His head ached, pounded behind his protected eyes as his brain swelled against his cranium, a result of exposure and anxiety and labor. If his head hurt already, protected from the sun as one could get without actually remaining indoors, it would be terrible to take them off. The exposure of his retinas to the ultra-violet rays would be most painful, Near thought, decided, predicted.

“Nathan!”

Near turned again in one quick, agitated movement, facing forward. “What?”

Bill stood beside Matt as if they were amidst a private conversation. Near frowned at their close proximities, annoyed again by how well Matt seemed to get on with perfect strangers. Natural, for Matt, to be amiable, likable. Near was in no mood to want to be similar, irritated with Matt as he was—but it still made him frown. Uneasy, even. Near did not like the bemused quirk of Bill’s golden-blond brow, in his ridiculously attractive tan, equally gruff face.

The instructor seemed used to nasty attitudes from clients. He probably had to deal with overly anxious, nervous jumpers on a daily basis. Surely, not everyone handles fear with grace and good humor like Matt. Surely, one or two of them can turn mean and unsociable like Near. Surely, Near was not the only client Golden-Bill, with his three stupid, slobbering dogs, and his forgotten, obviously abandoned bridge—surely Near was not the only one who wished nothing more than to be left well enough alone while he worked up the nerve to…

Bill was speaking again. Near made an impatient, slicing motion with his hand, sufficiently quieting him. Matt made a show of sighing before walking over. The hacker took Near by the arm and pulled them to the side.

“He’s asking about back injuries,” Matt said quietly, a strange look on his face. His eyes were averted, a flat, grey-blue color. Gone was the impish grin he was wearing when he conversed with the instructor. Now, Matt was frowning. Worriedly, maybe. Concern…? Ah.

“My shoulder is fine,” Near said flatly, resisting Matt’s grip on his arm. When Matt let go, Near wished he hadn’t pulled away. Matt’s face seemed to go distant, immobile as those hollow eyes stared off into something Near couldn’t see.

Near understood now. The grin had been a farce. Matt looked pale, now that he did not have to seem brave. Matt probably thought that at least one of them had to keep up the pretense. Near knew it was not the actual jump that bothered Matt. After all, the hacker had jumped from a moving helicopter only a few weeks ago during the attack on Abu Ghraib. The ashes frightened him. There was a small, indefinable part of Near that pitied Matt for it, wished he could take back their agreement and do the jump alone. The spitefulness of the initial stalemate had receded, even if Near was still clearly upset by the predicament he now found himself in. However, he could not help feel it was important for Matt to have some sort of closure here. Near glanced up and saw Bill watching them carefully.

Despite his agitation, Near could see the intelligence behind Bill’s clear, brown eyes. If he did not think they could handle it, Bill might not even let them jump. Near had not considered that. Near contemplated, briefly, if he should throw a fit. Near wouldn’t, of course, not only because he didn’t have the energy to, but also because his pride would not stand for it.

Near had not expected Matt to agree with him.

Matt was not looking at him, still. “Are you all right?” Near asked him softly, his tone milestones gentler than it had been a moment ago.

Matt’s eyes slanted towards him and looked away again just as swiftly. “I’m fine,” he said shortly. “I’m concerned about your shoulder. I should have anticipated that.”

Near had the sudden thought that they were both trying to ascertain ways out of their new predicament. Which meant…

Near thought of L. He thought L would probably jump. Why wouldn’t he? He played tennis, after all. And why had he done that? …Because, why wouldn’t he? It made sense, somewhat, for all Near knew about how L’s mind worked.

It did not matter, anyway. Near was L, now. In addition, that did not mean he had to be like Lawliet in any other way. He had already proven himself worth the seat he inherited. Hadn’t he?

Near was thinking himself into circles again. Jumping was not about being L, Near didn’t think. Mello wanted him to jump. Why? Maybe if he could understand this, maybe it would make stepping over the ledge and onto that little platform easier. If there was some sense behind all of this, maybe he could do it without making a fool of himself, without torturing Matt in the process.

Two hours had flittered by since they arrived at the Bridge to Nowhere. The crowd had thinned considerably. There were about a dozen jumpers left, most of them lingering simply out of curiosity for the latest arrivals. Near and Matt had shared a quiet lunch, crouched on the pavement, their backs against the thick, stone rail, as far from the crowd of jumpers and instructors as they could manage. Matt wandered off often, mumbling this and that about a small cave he found, or a trail he discovered back down to the river. When Near had asked if he should go too, Matt shook his head and muttered it was too dangerous. Near sensed the hacker wanted to be left alone with his thoughts, and, appreciating the concept, gave him his space. His own solitude might have been pleasant, if it were not for the three golden retrievers shadowing his every step and grinning at him expectantly. Even the attempt at conversation from a handful of jumpers was bearable next to the perturbing attention of Bill’s three dogs. At least he could frown and glare away the jumpers; dogs, however, seemed unconcerned with Near’s painfully obvious wish for privacy.

Matt was looking at him again, waiting for his answer. Near returned his gaze evenly, doing his best not to seem short with him. “Even if it dislocates again, you can always jerk it back like the last time, can’t you?”

Matt blanched, whatever color had still been in his face draining at the comment. “I’d rather not,” Matt whispered. “I know how much that hurts.”

Near grasped Matt’s shoulder and led him even further away from Bill, until they were pressed against the opposite rail. “Why would Mello want me to jump? You knew him better than anyone did. Does it mean something?”

Matt’s eyes went distant again and he did not answer for a long time. “Of course it means something. But meaning is subjective, Near, it changes for each person. Only you can properly understand why Mello would want you to jump.”

That was an un-answer disguised as an answer. Near’s frown became deeper, so ingrained he could actually feel it pulling at the muscles of his face. Matt’s statements could be ambiguous, from time to time, but never so blatantly useless. Near touched his face, worried suddenly at the clammy, cool feeling of the man’s usually warm cheek.

“Can you handle this?” Near asked.

Matt shot him a surprisingly potent glare, and Near actually dropped his hand and stepped back. It was not often Matt intimidated him like this, but Matt was dangerous and unstable enough that Near knew when to back off. “Don’t insult me,” Matt said in a low voice. “Not over this. I said I’d do it. So I’ll do it.”

“I never said you wouldn’t,” Near found himself protesting.

“You insinuated—“

“I did not.”

“Fucking knock it off, Near,” Matt growled suddenly, his mouth a thin line in his unnaturally pale face. “This is supposed to be about you, but you made it about me. I don’t fucking know Mello’s punch line, Goddamn it, I’m supposed to be dead. I’m trying to be the steady one here, but when you keep pestering me, it makes me want to take off. Do you get that, Near? I want to run so badly right now, my legs are twitching. So shut up and be grateful. We fucking agreed to do this thing, so let’s fucking do it.” Matt took in a deep lungful of air and let it out in a rush. He turned away, visibly shaking. Then, barely a split second later, he was back, slinging one arm around Near’s shoulders and pulling him close. “I’m sorry,” Matt said into Near’s hair. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have freaked out on you. This isn’t your fault. I’m sorry.”

Near shrugged as Matt lowered his arms, his hands lingering around the detective’s waist. “I understand,” Near said. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Bill staring at them again. Near fought the strange urge to sneer at the man. “But you’re right,” Near said to Matt. “The sooner we do it, I think, the better. The longer we wait, the more anxious we’ll be.”

“Okay.” Matt pulled away and took Near’s hand, leading them back to the tarp of harnesses where Bill waited patiently for them. Bill’s three dogs followed Near to the edge of the tarp and sat in a semi-circle, tails wagging eagerly as they watched. A girl wandered over and crouched beside one of the retrievers. Near watched her, behind his sunglasses, coo and pet the dog while the animal ignored her and stared at him, grinning cheerily, tongue lolling.

An odd thing occurred to Near then. Matt said this was supposed to be about him, and Near’s first thought was that he was wrong—that this was really about Mello. Matt had told him in Berlin that Mello wanted nothing more than to be buried next to L. However, Mello revised his will when he assumed Matt was dead…for Near. Customized, for Near.

Five locations that meant something to Mello. Five places that inevitably meant something to Near as well. Mostly, however, chance dictated the lessons Near learned along the way, sights he’d seen, feelings he’d felt. Mello was mortal and alive when he wrote his will, so there had to be some perfectly mundane reason behind it, some particular design that Mello, the man, had in mind when he created it. L’s grave, Skull Rock, Panama Canal, Bridge to Nowhere, St. Josef of Mimmingen…

The only thing these locations seemed to have in common, aside from that they meant something to Mello personally, was that they stretched over the globe in separate, almost even spaces. Japan, Israel—no, Jerusalem, because who owned that particular bit of land was still a subject warred over—Panama, Western United States, Bavaria…

Near accepted the aid of another instructor in stepping into his seat harness and pulling it up. Matt was there, then, to help buckle him into it and shrug into the harness that went over his shoulders. As Matt slipped into his own set of harnesses, Near distractedly located his backpack and retrieved Mello’s urn, the golden trim flashing brilliantly in the sunlight, the red tints of the mahogany wood shining like blood.

Another thing these places had in common, Near thought suddenly as he ran a hand over the smooth surface of the urn, was war. Every single location had suffered war and political unrest since…well, since the written word, really. Was Mello’s intention for Near to see these places, to become acquainted with them, to care about them? It would be easy to waver in favor of whatever politicks controlled the situation, easy to ignore the other side of the story, empathize with the population closest to the heart of disaster, the people that lived it everyday and still found time to care about others. Like Yisheth, Akhish, the Kuna girl from the marketplace. Hm, but then the bridge? L’s grave was simple, in this light, because his predecessor took his job very seriously. He did not bow under the pressure of political influence, but remained always a steady rock of justice and law. The bridge was more difficult to understand. While it had the same undercurrent, the same history of war…this whole jumping business screamed of personal.

This has personal written all over it, Rester had said.

Indeed. What was the lesson here? Confronting fear? Near found himself snorting unattractively as he turned and walked back to the tarp. Matt was gazing in his direction with a sickly expression, but not at him. Matt’s eyes were fixed on the urn he carried, his eyes bright and feverish. Bill leaned over to say something to him. Matt forced a smile, disguising the panic that had broken the surface of his calm only moments before.

An instructor directed Near to set the urn down between the two platforms so he could fasten the bungee chord to his harness. Near watched in morbid curiosity, taking a tiny smidgen of comfort in the familiarity in which the instructor handled the clasps and buckles. “Has the chord ever broken?” Near asked the man, before knowing he had even opened his mouth to speak.

The instructor glanced up at him, an amused smile hovering at the edges of his otherwise professionally indifferent expression. “Ah, no. We’ve never had a chord break. Some of them fray after use, but we don’t utilize them anymore after the first signs of wear.”

“You’ve never had a chord break?” Near repeated, annoyed with the element of disbelief in his own voice.

“Break, snap, come apart,” the man said, smiling with teeth now. “No, never. And I’ve been doing this with Bill for some twenty years now. You’re in safe hands. I’ll need to take your hat and glasses. Can’t wear them on the jump.”

Reluctantly, Near handed the man his hat after he’d checked the harnesses a third time. When Near took off his glasses the light blinded him painfully, searing into his eyes and burning his sight away completely. Near had to blink several times just to be able to squint. His eyes watered profusely, which only served to blind him further.

The man asked him which jump he wanted to do. Near paused, but only he and Matt would know he did it sarcastically. “Front, I suppose.”

“Okay, cool,” the man said. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Near bit his lip, the knowledge settling inside of him that he was really about to crawl over the side of a bridge and launch himself into a gorge. He looked sideways at Matt. He and Bill were waiting for his cue. It had, apparently, taken some convincing to allow them to jump simultaneously. Bill and his partner usually allowed only one jumper at a time, except for special occasions. It took only one look at the urn, however, for Bill to relent. Obviously, he had seen this before too.

Matt’s face was white as a sheet as he mimicked Near and moved towards the urn. Near opened the lid and reached inside, procuring a handful of ashes. Matt hesitated for what seemed like an eternity. He worked up the nerve eventually, however, and jammed his hand inside without warning. Matt looked like he was going to be ill as he withdrew his hand, gaping at the ashes trickling from his closed fist, his mouth twisted in a grimace. It was costing Matt a lot more, Near decided, than him to do this. It was the cruelest thing Near had done to Matt to date.

Matt raised his haunted, wracked gaze up to Near’s, his expression tortured and pale. A sense of urgency moved through Near then, afraid that Matt would lose his courage as swiftly as it came to him—and he would actually run. Near did not put it past him. It was monumental, what Near had asked of him.

Near scrambled over the edge, using one hand to hold him in place as he set two feet on the little red, metal platform on the other side. As he turned to face the gorge, his heart beating wildly in his chest, he saw Matt move over the ledge in his peripheral. Matt kept his back to the gorge, his eyes glaring at the fistful of ashes, his head bowed. Bill was speaking to him in a low, calming voice. His own facilitator was doing something similar, but Near couldn’t hear his words over the rush of blood in his ears.

A hand on his shoulder. “Do you see that red flag, across the canyon?”

Near nodded weakly, squinting against the searing sunlight, ignoring the panicked agony of his newly fueled headache.

“You’ll want to aim for that.”

“Why?”

“So you don’t jump wrong and hit the underside of the bridge.”

Near went rigid. “What?!”

Whatever the man said next was drowned out by the roaring of Near’s thoughts. In his mind, he saw the math, the geometry, the thousand and seventeen ways he could jump badly and actually hit the bridge.

Behind him, a strangely distant sound of chanting began. “Three!” the now sparse crowd cheered as they held onto the instructor’s harness.

Near’s heart was in his throat as he whipped his head around, his eyes seeking Matt’s. As if feeling Near’s panicked gaze, Matt lifted his eyes and stared back, a disturbing darkness moving behind the cornflower blue. His expression was calm, quiet even, in the few meters that separated them. The ashes trickled through their fingers, a silent timetable of their own.

“Two!”

Near went over the logistics of the bungee chord in his frantic mind, wildly searching for any flaw in the design of the harnesses, if he’d noticed any odd marks on the buckles. Logic, his mind screamed at him. Logic! However, logic has absolutely nothing to do with jumping off a bridge. Absolutely nothing.

Matt turned his eyes back to Bill, his calm expression crumpling as he saw Bill slowly curl his fingers, waving a cheery goodbye. Near wildly sought out the red flag, determined not kill himself by jumping incorrectly.

“One!”

Near’s throat was bone dry, his entire body tingled, his heart tried to crawl up his throat and out of his mouth. Adrenaline, Near thought absently, secreting adrenal glands…

His knees bunched, his muscles uncoiled like a spring, and the red flag became abruptly closer as Near swung his arms over his head like he was swan diving. He felt, ever so briefly, his body arch in mid-air, the odd sensation of nothing pressing against the soles of his feet, and then gravity, a cruel mistress, took her due.

A scream tore through his throat as his stomach seemed to drop through his feet. In his peripheral, he saw Matt launching himself backwards, a clean somersault through thin air. Near choked on his scream, then, as the boulders below rushed up to meet him, the absurdly thin stream of river water weaving between the jagged rocks, and then his entire body jarred against the impact of his harnesses gripping him violently. The bungee chord caught him, and, with an undignified bounce, swept him into the air again. His body twisted sideways, until he was belly up, and he saw not rocks closing into to smash his limbs to powder, but the underside of the bridge. He sucked in a lungful of air, determined to scream accordingly this time, but a sharp whoop of ecstasy distracted him. It wasn’t until he was plummeting backwards again that he realized it was Matt, laughing like a madman.

The bungee chord caught him a second time, jolting him upwards, his limbs flailing like a rag doll’s. He had enough sense in him to ball his hands into fists, despite the overwhelming urge to grab a hold of the cushioned chord buckled to his two harnesses, connected just over his bellybutton. Matt’s laughter continued to distract him, as he willed his limbs outstretched and out of the way as he swung, clearing all the way to the other side of the bridge and back again. He turned his head, his heart racing as he sought out his lunatic companion. Matt swung from his bungee chord similarly, his entire body limp, his head thrown back as he barked his laughter to the sky above them.

Near felt like he was at the amused end of a nervous breakdown himself, watching Matt swing through the gorge, listening to the sounds of his rapture echo off the canyon walls. Hilarity consumed Near, a grin splitting his face in two. He closed his eyes and let his head fall back, air whooshing through his clothes and hair, a calm, wondrous sensation sweeping through him. If he had to name the feeling consuming his entire body, making his racing heart swell in his chest as if it was going to burst, he would call it freedom.

Distantly, Near registered the lowering belay chord. He reached out for it and grasped the end, buckling it to his harness as he had been instructed to do, wincing at the sudden burn spreading through his shoulder and back. Slowly, the belay chord pulled him up, until he could reach the red platform and haul himself the rest of the way. His legs felt like jelly as he placed his feet back onto the bridge, so it was good that his instructor was there to catch him when he teetered sideways. He was unfastened from both chords before left to stumble away from the tarp, the three retrievers tagging along as he went. He was spun around abruptly and the sound of laughter became a sensation too, soft rushes of breath against his cheeks. Matt.

There was a staggering brightness about his face and Near found it harder to look at than the searing light of the sun. Near was kissing him back before his mind caught up with his body. He did it, they both did, and the exhilaration swept them both up in a frenzy. Maybe that was what Mello had wanted Near to know…maybe freedom comes in a separate package from logic. The two may need to be separated from time to time, to fully appreciate it as a whole.

~*~

The first mile on the return hike was pleasant and relatively eventless. Matt felt like the child he used to be, carefree and excited, pausing to inspect this plant, or show Near that rock with the strange coloring. Near humored him, which surprised Matt, commenting appropriately, and even sliding in a quiet joke or two, subsequently causing Matt to erupt in delighted, unguarded laughter. Near had once told him he did not have a sense of humor; Matt was beginning to disagree.

Even with the hat low over his face, and the large black sunglasses obscuring his eyes, Matt could see the amused smile hovering at the corner of Near’s lips. Near had handled the jump well, as far as Matt could tell, and the experience seemed to have been a good one for the detective, who was in a decidedly better mood as they found their way back to the river and followed the trail into the thick of the woods. For his part, Matt was giddy, restless, and happy for it too. It felt like something had eased in him, wedged enough space between him and his pain, his grief and guilt over Mello, to allow him to feel…like he had a heart again. Hell, Matt felt human again. And that was wonderful. Matt had taken off his gloves so he could run his fingers over the foliage they passed, feel the dirt crumbling off the rock face, become moist with the spray of the rushing river.

As they approached the first crossing, tell-tale now with the thin bridge of driftwood and branches, Matt noticed Near adjusting the straps of backpack. Near, used to the nature of these natural bridges now, headed to the edge first.

“Heavy?” Matt called behind him.

“Mm.” Near shifted the pack again, so it could settle a certain way across his shoulders. “No.”

Near stepped onto a plank of driftwood. It was wet and slippery, but the detective seemed to decide it was sturdy enough because he placed his weight on it without hesitation, fearless now after his jump. Matt paused at the edge, watching with a shrewd eye as Near made it to about halfway across before stepping onto the driftwood himself. There was a shift, and then a splash, and Near paused, gazing at the piece of rotten wood that separated a foot from him and was swept into the river. After a moment, he started forward again, but stopped when the natural bridge groaned under his weight.

“Matt,” Near said over his shoulder. “Is there another crossing nearby? I do not think this one will hold.”

“I don’t want to get us lost again,” Matt said, shaking his head even though the man couldn’t see it. “We’re losing daylight—and I really don’t think we should be out here after dark.”

“Agreed,” Near said, and then sighed heavily.

Before Near could take another step, however, Matt, feeling exuberant and happily reckless, jumped into the river. The thunderous splash startled Near, causing him to teeter momentarily from his precarious position on the slippery driftwood. It was very cold, the water, and the algae-covered, mossy rocks underneath the surface were even more slippery than the driftwood bridge. Matt shivered a little, laughing through his chattering teeth as he made his way forward, the rushing water pushing at his hips. He reached up for Near’s hand, intending to walk him the rest of the way across. Near gaped at him stupidly.

“You cheerful idiot,” Near blurted. “You’ll get hypothermic! Get out of the river at once!”

“Cheerful idiot?” Matt echoed, grinning as he grasped Near’s hand and waded beside him. “Gee, Near, thanks. Didn’t know you cared.”

“Don’t be insufferable,” Near retorted, trying to pry his hand away. “I can cross on my own, I’m not a child. Get out of the water!”

Matt felt a surge of devilish mirth, his grin turning impish. “Suit yourself,” he said, releasing Near’s hand.

Thrown off balance again, Near’s arms waved about. His foot came up, trying to even his body against the weight of his backpack, and Near’s eyes bulged as he realized he was swaying backwards to the point of no return. The sight switched from mildly amusing to comically hysterical as Near fell into the river, his limbs flailing like a banked crab as he struggled to right himself in the frigid, actually quite shallow river. Matt bent over, waist deep on his side of the river, laughing so hard his stomach hurt. With a vengeful shout, Near finally got his feet under him, flung his pack back to the riverbank they came from, and hurtled himself over the driftwood bridge.

Matt felt all the air leave his lungs when Near landed on him. His knees buckled, his boots slipped on the underwater boulders, and they both went down in an explosion of water. Matt twisted to avoid jarring his shoulder against a mossy rock, but for all his trouble, still managed to breath in a mouthful of river water and came up sputtering. As Matt coughed up the last bit of water, his goggled eyes found Near crouching in the water, shoulder deep, a few feet away, and watching him warily. Slowly, Matt let a smile spread across his face before he took a step forward. He saw Near’s mouth open, a logical objection ready on the detective’s lips, before the words died in his mouth. Near twisted away, already springing backwards through the water, trying to escape—but Matt snagged his wrist and pulled him back.

Laughing, Matt caught the other wrist and pulled both arms behind Near, bringing the man flush up against him even as the detective struggled for all he was worth.

“It was only fair,” Near was saying, squirming as Matt locked both wrists into one hand, and used the other to fasten the man around his waist. “I only—“

“What is it you think I was going to do?” Matt asked with another throaty chuckle. He felt Near pause in his struggle, responding minutely to the husky delivery of his words. “Drown you?”

“Don’t be absurd,” Near answered haltingly as Matt ghosted his lips down the side of Near’s throat. “I just…just…Hmm, that’s very nice, actually.”

The water continued to rush around them as Matt brought his mouth up to press a kiss against his ear, swirling his tongue around the lobe and sucking it in with his teeth. Near melted against him, his head falling back on Matt’s shoulder, and shivered. Matt did not think the shiver had anything to do with the temperature of the water. Matt adjusted his grip on Near’s wrists, stopping when the small movement of Near’s arms produced a gasp. A sound that certainly did not sound like pleasure. Matt released him immediately. “Near?”

“No, no, I’m fine.”

“Your shoulder—“

“I said I’m fine. A little discomfort, nothing more.” Near offered a smile, turning in the water to face him.

Matt wasn’t convinced. “I could…I could rub it out for you.”

Near’s smile was genuine this time. “That sounds lovely, really, but the water is rather cold, and I think you had the right idea about getting us back to the car before nightfall. Later, perhaps.”

Matt felt his grin return. “Ah, yes. Later.”

Near colored a little, but had the grace to laugh. “Indeed, well…” He turned again and headed back to the bank to retrieve his backpack.

“You know what?” Matt called after him, pulling his own pack from the driftwood and slinging the straps over his shoulders. “Maybe I should carry your pack for you. We really shouldn’t push your injury any further than we already…” The words died in his throat, terror lancing through his body in one powerful shockwave as he raised his eyes to Near’s retreating figure. He had scrambled onto a boulder at the edge of the riverbank, attempting to reach the backpack that became lodged in a crevice above his head. Ten yards to the left of him, prowling behind a thicket of buckwheat, was mountain lion.

In a flash, Matt had his knife in his hand and was sprinting through the water as fast as his long legs could carry him. Distantly, he was happy he’d taken off his gloves as his grip on the handle of the knife would have been slippery with them on. The cougar paused, hair standing on end and hackles raised as Matt rushed forward. His splashing was too loud to tell if the massive cat was growling, but Matt didn’t doubt it. He surged out of the water, grabbing Near’s shoulder as he landed in a crouch on the boulder and thrusting the startled detective behind him in one violent motion.

The mountain lion paused and retracted a step when Matt exploded from the river. Near struggled to keep his balance, hissing angrily at Matt while the hacker glared across the riverbank, his hunting knife glinting between him and their predator. Near sucked in a breath and froze, finally spotting the cougar. “Matt!”

“Be quiet!” Matt hissed. “Stay behind me.”

The cat’s nose was short; hide a tawny, yellow shade, lighter on the underbelly and haunches. The beast had to be somewhere between one hundred and one hundred, fifty pounds. Matt watched the animal as carefully as the cougar watched him, and he decided she was female. Her golden eyes blazed at him angrily, lined with thick black stripes, smudging her nose, and darkening the points of her alert, elevated ears. She bared her teeth, hissing as she stepped forward again. From nose to tail, the animal was near six feet long, massive for a female, or any mountain lion in general.

“Stand up,” Matt whispered, his fingers still digging painfully into Near’s arm. “We need to make ourselves seem as large as possible.”

Silently, Near obliged, clutching the pockets of Matt’s backpack for balance as they rose, watching as the cougar continued to slink forward. “Should we get back in the river?” Near whispered.

Matt shook his head, his eyes still fixed on the animal now only eight yards away. “She can swim. Cougars are predatory.”

“She’ll follow us,” Near finished for him, his words breathy against the back of Matt’s neck. Near shifted behind him and went rigid again. “Matt,” he said in a low voice. “She has kittens.”

Matt’s eyes flickered briefly, spotting them instantly now that he knew what to look for. Three of them, spotted and tiny, curled amongst each other and sleeping in a small crevice inside the rock face behind their mother. Great. Fucking great. A cougar protecting her young.

“Near,” Matt whispered, his mouth barely moving. The cougar’s ears flickered, catching the sound. “I want you to ease back into the water and swim to the other side. Stay as submerged as possible. I’ll meet you at the next crossing.”

“No.”

“That wasn’t negotiable,” Matt hissed dangerously, gritting his teeth as the mountain lion took another silent step forward, her front legs coming into full view, muscular and powerful, designed to crush prey with their mere pressure.

“I won’t leave you here. We can leave without hurting her. She won’t follow us far with a litter unprotected.”

Damn Near and his fucking logic. “The urn,” Matt growled, jerking his chin towards the backpack trapped on the lionesses’ side of the riverbank. Behind him, Near was silent. The kittens mewled behind her, the cougar drew back her lips, exposing powerful jowls complete with sharp teeth and long fangs, snarling for all she was worth. Her head moved forward, her shoulders dipping as her muscles bunched, preparing for the attack, the short sprint cougars were acclaimed for, her hackles standing on end.

Matt looked again at the trapped backpack, his newfound heart slamming rapidly against his ribs, burning with every acidic jump of his pulse. He felt a searing sensation wedge against the base of his throat and swallowed against it, hating the fact that he knew he was going to have to choose again. Mello or Near. Near or Mello. Protect L, or safeguard his soul. What a stupid reason to force his hand, what to stupid way to have his heart broken all over again. A great darkness erupted inside of him, spreading through his limbs to very tips of his finger and toes. The base of his spine tingled, answering the hate, the anger that boiled inside of him. He had already decided. He knew he did. As if he needed another reason to hate himself. As if he couldn’t go one more day without screwing up. One easy task: Help Near spread Mello’s ashes at five locations—and he couldn’t even do that for Mello. Failed again.

He bored his eyes into the cougar’s blazing golden ones, a growl ripping through his throat and rushing passed his lips, bared too and stretching over his lips. The cougar seemed unafraid, but did pause at the sound. Matt took action, shoving Near back into the water and pushing him roughly until they had reached the other side, his hand gripping his knife and holding it up and across his face, the blade stoically remaining between Matt and the beast.

The mountain lion did not follow them, but allowed the pair to see her prowl the riverbank until they were out of sight. Matt forced the pace, gripping Near’s wrist painfully as he rampaged through the trail with quick, angry strides and subsequently dragging him along.

We could disappear, we don’t owe anybody anything.

They took no breaks as the dusk deepened and the sky above the trees and boulders turned blood red and hellish orange. Near was silent behind him, unresisting despite the painful grip Matt had on his wrist. Their second crossing went swiftly. Matt slid into the water without breaking contact with his ward and swiftly marched them across the fallen tree trunk he’d spotted at the small stack of rocks. Twice, on a higher ledge of the trail, Near stumbled and fell, sweeping his legs dangerously out into thin air. However, with a grunt, Matt merely hauled him up again and continued on.

Promise me you’ll be safe tomorrow.

I won’t promise that.

Near’s breathing was ragged behind him as they marched. Matt ignored it, hating himself more and more, but why stop? What the fucking hell was the point? Stupid fucking ashes. Pointless, idiotic endeavor. Matt was a tool. He knew it the day they gave him an actual name and not a code like Mello or Near. Matt knew it the day Watari and L sat him down and introduced him to the idea of W. He knew it the day L and Watari died, leaving Near as the successor and not Mello. He knew it the day he worked up the nerve to come back, and Near had to step between him and his bodyguards before the three of them shot each other to death. He knew it the day he woke up and realized he’d fallen for L. He was a tool, only useful when he was doing his fucking job—a job he couldn’t even do properly, a job he wouldn’t be able to do until after he served his sentence with Danny-boy. His job mattered, but anyone with two brain cells to rub together could do it. Matt was a tool, an out of date piece of weaponry for an L that didn’t really need him. Fancy that.

You’ve got no backbone, Runner. Don’t preach to me.

Nice, Mello. Thanks a lot.

Thanks a lot.

The bridge made of rocks and wire was found easily enough, and Matt marched across it, Near stumbling behind him as they went. He released his hold on the detective once they found the dirt road leading up to East Fork. The Jag was a quarter-mile away. Near lagged behind as Matt marched along. Dusk was darker now, a deep purple against the mountaintops. Four miles northeast, a mountain lion stalked around the very last thing left of Mello. Matt pocketed his knife.

Maybe I should have just turned my back on everything L stood for and become a criminal like you.

A criminal like you.

His cigarettes were soggy from the river and Matt threw the pack against the side of the car as he trudged up beside it. He wasn’t cold, even though by rights he should be. He wasn’t afraid or anxious. Hate could be very calming. Heightened his senses, made them more acute. He was aware of the cold without really feeling it. He knew Near would be shivering once he caught up with him. Matt fished out the car keys, turned on the ignition, and switched on the heater. Near entered the car without a word, and even though Matt did not look at him as he shifted the clutch and pulled out onto the road, he knew Near was staring at him. Interesting how well one could know a person so intricately after so short a time.

And you’d be an idiot to think I wouldn’t kill you before you had a chance to.

It’d be interesting to see you try.

Matt’s fingers tightened on the wheel. He skidded through the turns, instead of around them. Once they were on the highway, he turned off the headlights and pushed the barometer to one-thirty, one-forty, one-fifty…

If you could stop being W for one minute…

Stop being W for one minute…

They arrived at the safe house in record time. Near was out of the car and stumbling to a nearby brush in a flash, bent over with his head between his knees and gasping for air. Oh, panicking now, are we? Near didn’t want him to hurt the goddamned mountain lion because she had kittens, but a little speed gets him worked up? Matt stormed past him and covered up the Jaguar with the tarp. Within minutes, they were inside the elevator and descending into the safe house. Matt brushed briskly by him and made his way into the kitchenette.

Come with me.

No.

No, I can’t do that.

I’m too dangerous for you, Mello.

I can’t do that. I don’t have the stomach for it.

This isn’t about the Starks, you asshole. It’s about you! You’re too goddamn crazy, Mello. I can’t be W for you. I can’t do that.

He grabbed a loaf of bread and tossed eight slices on the countertop. He opened the fridge and produced cheese and butter before slamming it closed again. He rummaged through the cabinet, shoving dishes around. He grabbed a pan and a spatula.

I love you.

I know. Come with me.

No.

When was the last time Matt had heard Mello? When was the last time he’d felt the burn at the edge of the hole in his chest, the tingling chill at the tips of his fingers? When was the last time…When…

Come with me.

No.

When…Oh, God.

The spatula and pan hit the floor with an enormous clatter. No. No, no, no. No!

“NO!!!” Matt roared, sweeping his arm out and shoving the bread, cheese and butter off the countertop, clutching his other hand to the front of his shirt. “Oh, God. Oh, fuck. Oh, no, no, no…”

A strong hand on his shoulder, turning him around roughly, warm against his skin. Matt clutched wildly at his chest with both hands now, searching for the hole, terrified by the absence of it. His mind was blank and glaringly white, his eyelids stretching and round as they gaped, looking, but not seeing. No, no that was Near’s hair. Arms around him, gripping tightly. Mello was…Mello was…

Let’s go see Lucifer, Matt.

You ever think about forever?

In eighty years or so, I’d like to show you some things.

The lucky sun star is hurtled into the great vacuum, away from the awesome pull of the dead one.

Matt’s knees buckled, giving way to the weight of the rest of him. “I can’t…” He sank, a great, terrible agony welling up in his chest, bursting against his throat. Not the searing hole, not the burn around the edges, not Mello—different pain, worse…this was worse. “I can’t—I can’t feel him. I can’t feel him! I can’t feel him! ”

He felt anchorless, adrift in the great chasm of loss, of grief, of insurmountable agony rippling through him. He drew in a sharp breath, shuddering as the pain clawed at his throat, burned behind his eyes. A sob gurgled inside of him, desperately trying to escape. He sucked in another breath, shuddering as the first fall of tears squeezed free. His arms latched onto Near, the man who held him, anchored him in reality, as cruel a thing a person could do. He latched onto him, squeezing, his face shoved into his neck, his body jerking as it tried to release it, the pain, the agony, the grief…

The sobs were quiet, deadly quiet, sharp, slicing gasps, deep, trembling breaths expelled haltingly, violently. The grief seized him, wracked him, viciously torturing every twitching muscle, every quivering limb, until he could do nothing but whimper.

Mello was gone.

Come with me, Mello had said.

No, Matt had answered.

And so, Mello left.

To be continued…

A/N:

Cu-kid: This first part of your review was answered, I think, in the newest update. I’m curious as to your thoughts on Matt’s reaction. Ha ha, and that is the fun thing about writing Near. For the most part, we understand as the readers what Near really feels because we get a sneak peek at his thoughts. His dialogue is certainly impassive. I wanted to keep that part of the original Near, even if I was going to try and mature him, and have him discover new things to feel for and care about. Lately, I’ve been wanting to write him cursing or saying something in British lingo, but I keep going back and deleting it because it feels too non-Near—despite how funny it could make a spat, let alone the fun shock value of it.

I think you have the right of it, concerning jumping as metaphorical for living. It was harder to explain that then I thought it would be, because I chose to write the jumping scene from Near’s perspective. Hopefully, I pulled it off.

Heh heh, I can’t wait to see sexy!Matt. Oh, and surely, they will continue to surprise each other. Whatever else happens, they’re definitely good for that. Thanks for another great review! I hope you enjoyed the update!

Inuyashalove04: Aw! I made you cry? Cool! (lol) Yeah, it was most def a poignant scene. After writing it—and I wish I had done so beforehand—I looked up the jingle Drops of Jupiter by, um, Train? And downloaded it. It sort of fit, and I wanted it in my arsenal for later Matt thoughts on Mello. Yes! It was very weird to write Near grinning like that, but I felt if there was ever a moment in this story that I could get Near to smile like that, it would have been then.

*laughs* Wanna know something fun? It my outline for that chapter, the line 'What part of me, precisely, screams 'adept at whilderness'?' was the only thing I wrote to remember that scene as a whole. I designed that entire scene around that single sentence. *is gleeful* I’m so happy you liked it. And yes, Matt in hot, slinky black would make me a puddle-o’-goo as well. Puddle-o’-goo.

Ha ha, anyhoot, thanks for your review and I hope you enjoyed the update!