The Mello Code

Matt cringed as something crashed upstairs. Mello was hoovering like the world was ending. The ceiling had actually shook. Matt looked back at the game in his hand, but the non-verbal communication was being heard loud and clear. He put it down and wandered out into the hallway with a view to seeing what he could do to help. He spotted the row of bins sitting accusingly halfway down the stairs, empty wrappers and assorted crushed cans lolling on the stairs around them, where, presumably, they had been thrown. Matt collected them, swooping down on the debris and sauntered back the way he\'d come, with the edges of five bins trapped between his fingers.



Matt pulled out the carrier bags from each, but the last. This was from his own study (which meant that Mello was tidying in there too) and he hadn\'t bothered lining the plastic before he\'d filled it with rubbish. Matt fetched a carrier bag now, vaguely aware that Mello was becoming increasingly hot on recycling. But not so vigilant that it was a matter of life and death to comply just yet. Matt upended his bin into and a cloud of ancient cigarette ash rose up to fall again; the kitchen, newly cleaned by the irritable blond, now resembled some lesser Pompeii.



Matt froze, glancing quickly at the open door with a stab of fear. He quickly dashed to grab a cloth for the surfaces, while his feet rubbed ash into the carpet. He wondered how Mello managed to do it. Lace the atmosphere of a house with so much poison that anyone in it just discerned what was needful and did it immediately. Matt pondered on what he was actually scared of happening. Mello could be a violent bastard, but he was hardly going to hit Matt for crimes against housework. It would be more likely a lashing from the blond\'s vicious tongue; or worse still, pointed silence.



It wasn\'t even like Mello was consistent on the subject of domestic cleanliness. They could sometimes go a month or more without either of them lifting a finger to tidy the house. They loaded and unloaded the dishwasher, but certain things were necessary for survival, like having enough mugs for cups of tea. They would float around the house, wallowing in their own muck, until things started to smell and one or the other of them would do something about it. Only very, very occasionally did Mello get in this mood. Then he attacked the dust and grime with a frenzy bordering on psychopathic. Matt knew he should have seen the early signs and not just sat there playing Mario, lifting his feet when Mello passed with the hoover. He should have taken that as his cue to grab a duster.



Matt wondered how this had played out when Mello had been in the Mafia. He imagined thugs returning to the hideout, dripping blood and testosterone, reporting back on how they\'d just wiped out four generations of the same family; and Mello standing there, brutally not saying a word, just hoovering until everyone dropped what they were killing in order to help.



Matt looked around. The kitchen looked clean again. He took the bags outside and threw them inside the wheelie bin. The temperature was really starting to dip. Matt shivered in the sudden chill. He ran back inside and closed the door gratefully, before unloading the dishwasher, just for something to do. Stamping footsteps on the stairs heralded the approach of Mello and Matt slowed a little, so not to run out of crockery to put away, before Mello had witnessed his assistance. The blond didn\'t say a word. He just deposited the hoover in the back of the pantry and emerged again with the dirty cloth that they used to fix the cistern, whenever it packed up again. He didn\'t even look at Matt, before charging back upstairs. Matt cringed and took out the duster and polish. There was enough wood in this house to keep him occupied until the storm of Mello had passed overhead.



"Mail! Oh fucking Jesus." Mello bellowed from the bathroom. Matt sighed. He imagined keenly what it would feel like to be gaming right now. He had been playing a platformer and had just worked out the timing. He was confident that the next round would have got him straight past the tricky bosses and into the next level. Then on to the end probably. A vaguely rebellious thought snapped through that he was an equal partner in this marriage. In fact, this house was in his name. It ought to be up to him if and when it got cleaned. "Mail! For fuck\'s sake! Get your fucking arse up here now!"



Matt climbed the rest of the stairs and turned the corner. Mello was not leaning over the cistern, as Matt had thought, he was underneath the sink. The U-tube had been removed and cloudy water was pouring out all over the carpet. "... the fuck?" Matt looked around hurriedly for a bowl or bucket. He raced into their bedroom to pick up the bin, but they were all downstairs. "Mihael! Leave the fucking plumbing to me, ok?"



"Jeevas!" Mello growled back. "Playing fucking Mario all day does not make you a plumber!"



Matt found a tin of Quality Street by Mello\'s side of the bed and so up-ended the chocolate onto the quilt and ran back with it. It had little left to catch. "What are you trying to do?"



Mello\'s jaw dropped. "I\'m not trying to do anything. I am fixing the blockage in that sink. The water takes ages to go down."



"Then get the plunger on it like normal people." Matt crouched to peer underneath. Gunge was hanging and dripping from the hollowed tube. "I bet this is fucking wax. Creams and crap that you flush down the sink. Moisturisers." He pulled off his glove and reached inside. There was no blockage. "What are you doing taking it off without something to catch underneath anyway? Fucking twat."



Mello had been standing glaring at him. Now he rasped out with icy pointedness. "The blockage is already out and is in the bath tub. It was a ball of red hair. The thread on the trap is fucked. It fell off in my hand."



"You must have been touching it for it to have fallen off in your hand."



"Maybe."



"Well then." Matt inspected the trap and its connection. "We\'re going to need a new one. Bye."



Mello blinked. "Huh?"



"You won\'t let me out to fetch one and if I have to walk around Homebase with you, I\'m liable to end up decking you. So go and get on your bike and fetch us a new trap. Thank you."



Mello took a step forward to stand over him. "You\'re threating to punch me?" He pushed the hair roughly away from the side of Matt\'s face. "Over a fucking sink?"



"No." Matt pushed his hand away and stood, ducking back to avoid hitting his head on the unit above. "Over your attitude these past couple of weeks. Longer than that. You are a pain in the freaking arse to live with. If you\'re not freaking out, you\'re getting upset. You\'re losing your perspective and taking it out on the rest of the world. You\'re doing housework!"



"Oh! I see!" Mello stared. "So it\'s ok for you to lose the plot, but if I start it..." He frowned. "Hold on, what am I saying? I am not losing the plot. You keep telling me that I am, but that isn\'t the same as actually doing it. That\'s you just being a bitch." His eyes narrowed. "Go on then, Matty, attempt to hit me. Let\'s see how this works out. Good luck."



Matt calculated his chances of winning this fight. They weren\'t good. He revised the goalposts in his mind. "Ok then. My study now."



Mello stood his ground, glowering. "Go on, hit me, so I can call Hal and tell her what you did."



"I will. In my study. Go."



"I\'m not playing Wii boxing with you." Mello smirked suddenly. Matt grit his teeth and Mello beamed. "Oh! I can read you like a book. Heh!"



"Doesn\'t make you any less of an arse."



"Hit me."



"\'kay." Matt inched around his husband, aiming to reach the door without turning his back on him. Mello was an unpredictable opponent at the best of times and his smirk held no humour. Matt made it for a clear run. "I\'m off to Homebase. Bye." He started to move, but Mello grabbed him. Matt lashed out, not expecting for one second that he might actually connect. But Mello\'s face was unaccountably under Matt\'s fist. It happened fast, too fast for either to realise what was happening until it was too late. Mello, always so sure-footed, slipped on the gunk lining the carpet and the momentum from the punch sent him careering backwards. His hand flew out to save him, but not in time to stop his head smacking against the edge of the sink. He fell, unconscious, into the gap between the laundry basket and the bath. "Oh. Fuck."



Matt lifted the laundry basket onto the bin and crouched down. His fingers were filthy. He debated feeling underneath Mello\'s head anyway, but a quick look told Matt that blood wasn\'t gushing out. He would probably survive long enough for Matt to wash his hands. He stood and leaned across to do that in the bath. At his feet, Mello was stirring. There was the briefest groan, quickly arrested.



"Mihael, you\'re alright. You\'re in your bathroom at home and you\'ve hit your head. You\'re not in danger and I\'m here. Lie still for me, angel." Matt crouched again. He laid a hand on Mello to stop him moving. The other hand slid underneath Mello\'s head to feel for blood. It immediately emerged sticky and wet. "Right, you\'re bleeding, but it doesn\'t feel like a great deal. Lie still for me while I check your back and neck. You went down with a right thud."



"You fucking..."



"Yeah, I know. Can you tell me your name?"



"... wanker!"



"Yes. Any other names?" Matt felt along Mello\'s spine, it all felt intact. "What\'s your name?"



"Mello."



"Age?"



"Twenty-one tomorrow."



Matt nodded. "And can you remember what just happened?"



Mello opened his eyes. "Yes."



"Oh well, that can\'t be helped." Matt smiled. "How\'s your vision?"



"Matt, just fucking move so I can get up." Mello growled. "My head!"



Matt sat back on his haunches and helped his husband to sit. Blood poured into his left eye. Matt cringed and bit his lip. "On the bright side, it\'s on your left..."



"Matt." Mello fixed him with a Medusa stare. "Back off. Now."



"That\'s going to need stitches." Matt scratched his nose. "It\'ll match mine." He leapt back as Mello moved, but the blond got as far as the edge of the bathtub. He sat there with his hand pressed over the wound. Blood cascaded over his fingers. "You\'re so going to make us go to Wammy\'s House infirmary for this, aren\'t you?"



Mello sniffed. "Hell yes."



"Wii boxing would have been easier."



"You hit me!" Mello gasped. "You can\'t..." He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "God! You\'re incomparable!" He stared at the dripping trapless U-tube. "All I wanted was a tidy house for my birthday, so I didn\'t have to spend the day looking at this pigsty."



"I love all the injured innocence when it\'s you bleeding. You spend half your life knocking me across rooms and the one time that the boot is on the other foot, you\'re trying to make me feel guilty." Matt leaned against the back wall. "Does your back and neck hurt at all?"



"No."



"Mind you, you wouldn\'t know. You\'re still in shock."



"Will you stop standing there being inane and go and get the First Aid kit please?" Mello sighed. "For fuck\'s sake."



Matt shook his head. "Not while you\'re sitting like that. You might pass out and really do some damage." He edged forward, extending an arm. Mello took it, which told Matt that, for all the sniping and snarking, Mello was secretly feeling a little shaken right now. He cuddled the blond close, then led him out onto the landing. "Might as well go downstairs, you\'re going to need stitches."



Mello nodded and winced, still holding his head. "We\'ll have to go to Southampton. We can\'t go to Wammy\'s after all."



"Why not?"



"You\'ve still got stitches. Madeleine will work out why we didn\'t go there for them."



Matt snorted. "Yeah, but I think it\'ll look pretty reciprocal about now, don\'t you?" He guided Mello down the stairs. Matt still wasn\'t sure whether to laugh or keep out of harm\'s way. There was something darkly amusing to him about it being Mello who was covered in blood for once. It occurred to him that an apology might smooth the way. "Sorry that I hit you."



"I still don\'t understand how you did."



"Well, you were being a tosser, so I raised my hand and..."



"I meant how you managed it. You shouldn\'t be able to hit me."



Matt rolled his eyes. "Well sorry for denting your pride." They had reached the foot of the stairs. "Maybe you underestimated me."



"No, it was a lucky hit." Mello blinked against the blood dripping into his left eye. "Let\'s go to Southampton anyway. Hal will only whinge at me about the night before last. Plus the kids will want to know what happened to me."



Matt grinned. "The great and mighty Mello floored by a blocked sink."



"No." Mello rasped. "Floored by a Spanish wanker, who is seriously going to get his when I can see properly again."



"Your vision has gone?"



Mello sighed. "There\'s fucking blood running into my eye! I do question Mr Wammy\'s selection criteria sometimes. How you got let into the system is beyond me." He reached out for the back of a chair and clung onto it. "Probably some crap Spanish translator who got the words for \'gifted and talented\' mixed up with \'special needs\'. Mr Wammy didn\'t check it out and just let you in, then it was too late. You\'d charmed him with your big, green eyes and your \'I\'m Matt, love me\' grin." Matt had nipped into the pantry for the First Aid kit, he emerged now with it and smiled at Mello. The blond gestured impatience. "Forget that, let\'s just go straight to hospital. Fuckwit, arsehole, wanker." Mello peered with one eye at the floor by the back radiator. "Where are my boots?"



Matt grinned at him. "My \'I\'m Matt, love me\' grin? I\'ve got one of them?"



"It\'s more a supercillious smirk."



Matt laughed and went to get to their jackets and boots. He returned to find a bloody handprint on the fridge door and Mello standing beside it devouring a chocolate bar. "You do woebegotten so well, Mihael. It has to be said."



"Arse."



"Why can\'t you just say, \'Mail, I was in a mood and, in my impatience, I broke the sink. Then I was being a provocative bastard and there was contributory negligence in you cracking my head open on the said sink. Now my head really hurts and I would like a truce please\'? Then you wouldn\'t have to be standing there looking wounded until I get the message." Matt smiled as Mello stared at him again. "Have you got enough chocolate for the journey and the wait? Because if we\'re going to Southampton, it\'s going to be a while."



"I\'m not joking, Matt." Mello screwed up the empty wrapper and threw it onto the worktop. "Give me my boots."



Matt shook his head. "I\'m taking you to Wammy\'s. I don\'t give a shit what they think. I\'m not sitting in a waiting room with you in this mood." He threw the boots at Mello\'s feet and went out to start the car.