The Mello Code

Matt strolled out of the examination cubicle, immediately dodging to avoid a doctor hurrying past him. Matt hated these places. The hospital was filled with white tiles and uniforms. There had been waiting around in terminal boredom, made worse by the uneasy presense of Mello beside him. The past hour had been an endurance test. A six-year-old girl had spent most of it alternating between staring at Mello's scar and sobbing loudly. A man beside them had looked dead, until he suddenly threw up. The caged television had been showing a banal chat-show and the whole experience had just sapped their souls. Matt had sat there, trying to concentrate on his game despite a blinding headache and blood dripping onto the little screen. Mello had just sat there, leaning forward like he only needed the slightest provocation to flee, his head bowed so that his hair had covered his face. It hadn't mollified the crying girl. Matt supposed that he and Mello could have attempted conversation, but there was nothing to say in this place.



Matt stepped out into the waiting room. Mello had gone. Matt surveyed all of the plastic padded, metal framed benches just in case he had moved. There was no sign of him. Common sense said to wait right here, because his husband would eventually come back from wherever he was hiding. On the other hand, the blond had embarrassed him with their little row, when Matt's assumed name had been called and Mello had wanted to come in with him. They wouldn't even be in a hospital if worry about what Hal would make of this hadn't kept them away from Wammy's House and its infirmary. Besides, if Mello hadn't bashed him into a door, then compounded his crime by fretting anxiously about concussion, they wouldn't be outside their home at all. Mello could have given him the five stitches that Matt had ultimately required. The redhead waited for about thirty seconds, before the need for a cigarette saw him threading his way through the people and out into the fresh air.



He was confronted with a four foot wide sign telling him in no uncertain terms that smoking was not permitted in this hospital or anywhere in its grounds. Matt lit his cigarette and gratefully inhaled the nicotine. He spotted Mello. The Slav had his back to him, talking on his mobile phone, whilst standing on a kerb several yards away. Watching him, Matt decided that Mello posed by default. His legs parted in some heroic stance; his hand leaving his hip, so that a finger could stab at the air; his blond bob shaking with the jerking animation of his head. On second thoughts, Mello wasn't posing. He was probably happening to someone. His body language communicated ire. Matt paused in his slow amble towards his husband. This gave him time to collect his thoughts without Mello radiating guilt and tension beside him. Matt determined that he had about a minute. Mello didn't go in for long telephone conversations, unless he was persuading someone to do something or else was being paranoid about Matt being out of the house and thus was chatting to him constantly. Right now, Mello looked like a man who was telling someone that they would do something, do it yesterday and stop messing about. Matt slipped beneath a young tree and took another drag from his cigarette.



Self-analysis did not come easily to Matt. He took a long, hard look at how he was feeling and was still none the wiser. It was complicated and Matt didn't like complicated emotions. He tended to just shut down and play a game until his psyche gave up and chose one for him. There wasn't time for that. In a minute, Mello would finish his telephone conversation, provide Matt with the rant version of whatever that argument had been about, then suggest that they went home. Once in the car, Mello would procede to pester Matt to react in some way other than emotionless detachment. Matt knew that he would end up caving in to whatever Mello wanted from him, just to shut the Slav up. It had been like this ever since Mello had walked into Matt's study, with a contrite look on his face and a First Aid box, then stood there watching the redhead sitting on his settee staring at the broken goggles in his hand. Stemming the blood had been doomed to failure, but worse was Mello's attitude. He had been meek and it didn't suit him. So Matt had snapped at him and Mello had switched 180 degrees into becoming a nagging arsehole.



Matt sighed. He was getting distracted. He glanced up and inwardly jolted at the realisation that Mello was now looking directly at him. The blond hadn't covered the distance between them though, still intent upon his telephone conversation, so Matt stayed right where he was. His headache was receding now that the paracetomol had kicked in, but that only gave more focus to the general dullness and hostility of the world in Matt's view. It was too white and sharp without the wash of orange. It had jagged edges. Moreover, the world could see him. His fringe was too short and his glasses were too transparent. In fact, his glasses were too annoying full stop. The metal frames froze his skin in the chill air. He had hated the fact that they kept sliding down so much, that he had bent the arms right down over his ears. The arch of the glasses cut into the bridge of his nose now. It wasn't endearing him to them. He would have taken them off completely, no matter that he wouldn't have been able to see clearly as far as Mello, but that would have rendered his eyes completely uncovered. Matt felt exposed and it was that which was making his flesh crawl.



He supposed that he should have been at least a little perturbed by the fact that Mello had damaged more than the goggles. Five stitches and a plethora of minor cuts and bruises were testimony to that. Matt closed his eyes, remembering his own very real fear that Mello was going to kill him. He saw again the blur of the tiles below and the heart-stopping pressure on his back, unbalancing him. Then he remembered the sex and faintly smiled. It had been great sex. It had been precisely the mixture of violence and danger that fuelled Matt's fantasies and caused his brain to drop to his groin. If Mello hadn't been so upset afterwards, he would have told him to do it again, any time he fancied. It had been amazing sex. But all that was before Matt had seen his goggles.



Matt threw his cigarette butt onto the floor and stamped it out with his heel. He lit another one immediately afterwards, watching Mello pacing on the edge of his kerb. Seemingly more agitated than before, but that was Mello all over just recently. Another fear, running as an undercurrent throughout the last couple of hours, bubbled to the surface again. Matt wondered how close to insanity his husband was straying. Mello had promised to tell him if it got that bad again, but Matt himself hadn't been in a position recently to cope with it. Mello could well have been struggling, yet suppressing it under the need to be the strong one. It would explain a lot about the stress, the paranoia and the incessant need to know that Matt was safe. Matt wrapped his arms around his chest, one hand hovering near his mouth with the cigarette lodged between its fingers. The solidity of the tree behind his back suddenly felt like a God send.



"What did the doctor say?" Mello called from several feet away, as he strode towards him.



"He said you need a psychiatric evaluation." Matt felt mollified to see uncertainty flash into Mello's eyes. "Before we have this conversation, I need to know. Are you going mad?"



Mello dropped his phone into his coat pocket and took out a chocolate bar. "You told them that you got mugged. If you were going to drop me in the shit, you'd have let us go to Wammy's infirmary, instead of telling me to bring you here. You didn't mention me to the doctor."



"No, I didn't." Matt shrugged. "Answer my question."



"I'm not going mad."



"Yet you're obsessed with keeping me safe."



Mello's gaze flickered to the Accident and Emergency sign over the entrance behind them. "I've just put you in hospital. That's hardly keeping you safe." He flashed a small smile. "I've just been speaking with Roger."



Matt frowned. "I thought the wanker was uncontactable somewhere in the South of France."



"He was." Mello smirked. "Unfortunately for Roger, I didn't want him to be uncontactable and so I followed my nose until I tracked him down." He checked his watch. "Twenty-five minutes. God, I'm good."



Matt felt a twinge of irritation. "Do you want a medal?" He decided that, if Mello wasn't going insane, then Matt was perfectly justified in wiping the floor with him over the goggles. "Where the fuck were you? I came out of there and you weren't in the waiting room."



"I was out here on the phone." Mello pointed to the spot where he knew that Matt had been watching him. "Tell me what the doctor really said."



"Five stitches and no concussion, no fucking thanks to you. You psychopathic cunt."



Mello nodded and licked his chocolate. "You have every right to be angry with me."



"Too bloody right I have!" Matt's arms dropped from his chest and his fist balled. Mello didn't even flinch. "All I did was kiss you and you threw your rattle out the pram. But you can fucking beat me up and I'm supposed to just accept it. There's double standards in this marriage and I've had it up to here with it." Matt gestured angrily at the air above his head. "From now on, it's going to change. If a rule applies to you, it applies to me too."



"Really?" Mello asked, looking at him with interest. "That works for me. Incidentally, I was calling Roger to find out where he had your goggles made into prescription lenses. I've got the name of the opticions. Roger reckons that they could put clear ones in while we wait, but the orange tint might take a few days. I'll negotiate them hurrying the Hell up once we get there."



"What?" Matt stared, his mouth curling into a smile. "Really? We can get them fixed?"



Mello stepped forward, his arm reaching around Matt's shoulders and drawing him away from the tree. Matt passed his cigarette into his other hand and slid his arm around Mello's waist. He bowed his head, grinning, as they set off towards the car. "So," Mello casually nibbled on an edge of chocolate. "This no double standards and equality thing, does that go both ways?"



Matt's head rose, following the query to his conclusion. His gaze slid sidewards. Mello was grinning. "What do you mean?" Matt asked to give himself time. "Mello, you have equality. You have it in abundance. You have my half of the equality as well!"



"Stop playing dumb. I'm not one of the plebs. It doesn't work on me." Mello winked at him and his fingers twisted reassuringly around Matt's collar. "I'm looking forward to equality. I might manage the occasional lie-in myself, if you're taking responsbility for your half of our relationship." He chuckled. "You look so worried."



"Stop fucking with me."



"I can do what I like with you. You're mine. Oh!" Mello blinked. "No, I can't! Equality means you get a say in it." He licked his chocolate. "And you've made your views clear, so I'll stop fucking with you." Matt stopped dead and narrowed his eyes at his husband, removing his arm from his waist. "Baby." Mello bit his lip. "Come on, let's get your goggles fixed."



Matt clicked his tongue in annoyance. "So you think that just fixing my goggles is going to make this alright? Whoosh! Everything back to normal. Is that what you think?" Mello stiffened. His gaze darted from the floor to Matt to the sky to the floor again. He frowned. Matt headed him off at the pass. "Stop analysing it! Just be told that it's not like that." Matt had finished weakly and knew it. He pulled away, heading for the car.



Mello dashed after him, racing around to the driver's side. "The problem, as I see it, is that your brains and your balls aren't telling you the same thing. I think your mind will be a lot happier with the point of view of your balls once you have your goggles back."



"Fuck off." Matt pulled open the passenger side door, then wondered why he was automatically not driving in his own car. "In fact, get round here. I'm driving. Where are we going?"



Mello had sat down and inserted the keys. He looked sharply up, as Matt appeared beside him, holding the door open. "What?"



"I'm driving. Get out."



Mello raised his hands. "And currently your brain is winning. Right." He climbed out again. "Injured pride and over-exposure to the world." He grabbed Matt, pushing him backwards against the car and holding his collar. Mello pressed his whole body weight against his husband and leaned in inches from his face. "I cover you, Mail. No-one can see you when I'm this close. I took your hair and your goggles, but the only person looking into your eyes is me. Your beautiful, beautiful eyes; and God! I see the worth in you." Despite himself, Matt was melting under him, startled beyond reason by Mello's insight. "I will always cover you. As long as you need me to. I'm sorry I broke your goggles. I really wish I hadn't done that. But, guapo, I'm going to make that mistake good again." His lips brushed against Matt's. "You incredibly, sexy man. I have you."



Matt felt drunk. The emotion had formed in the pit of his stomach, but had swamped his mind and groin alike. He knew that, rationally, Mello was playing him like a harp, flirting and saying all the things that Matt needed to hear. Matt could feel himself becoming overwhelmed and he was vaguely ashamed of it. He recognised that Mello was close enough to be headbutted or that a well-placed knee would soon have the blond crouching in agony on the tarmac, but he was also a breath away from being kissed. He peered into Mello's eyes and saw the depth of feeling there too. His best friend, his lover, his husband, his history and his future. "Fucking wanker." Matt breathed and kissed him.



Mello slowly rubbed Matt's arm, pulling away with a lingering look. He smiled faintly, "Yes, I am. Want me to drive us to get your goggles fixed?"



Matt nodded, "Yeah. Thanks." He watched Mello smirk, as he sat back down in the driver's seat. "But stop thinking of this as a victory. You're still an arsehole."



"Understood."



"Good."