Walls Came Tumbling Down

"I know you're not asleep." Mello spoke eventually. They had been alone for over an hour and not a word passed between them. Matt lay beside him, with his back turned, in perfect stillness. "I've watched you sleep for years. You move about more than you ever have awake. Tossing, turning, sighing, talking, wriggling down further under the quilt."

Matt whispered to the wall, "I'm awake."

"I know you are, baby." Mello touched his back and felt him flinch. "Are you going to take the rest of today's Seroxat?" There was no response. "Is it time to talk then?" Nothing. "Mail, face me."

For a moment, it seemed like that would be ignored too, but then the redhead moved his hand to his face and there was some rubbing. He turned around and Mello was startled to see the redness around his husband's eyes. He had heard neither crying nor sniffs throughout their silence. Matt flicked a glance at him, but then fixed his gaze at the level of Mello's throat and lay there.

Mello reached a hand painfully to Matt's cheek and touched his finger there. "I'm not leaving you, you know. We're not over." Matt mumbled something in quiet response. Mello craned to hear. "I didn't catch that."

Matt gave a small cough, which evolved into a mucus filled chesty choking. It rocked the bed and Mello tensed, as his own injuries protested the movement. But it passed and Matt took a soggy piece of tissue from his pocket to spit into. They lay in the awkward aftermath. "Swallowed the wrong way."

Mello said nothing. It was patently smoking induced bronchitis, but they didn't mention such things, especially now. "Are you upset because I won't go home with you?" He waited but Matt just stared at Mello's throat again. "Mail, we can't sort anything out if you won't talk to me. I need to know what's in your mind, so I can add my side of the story. Your presumptions aren't necessarily correct."

"You say you're too injured to travel." Matt stated, voice hoarse and barely audible in its softness. "But we once crossed half of the planet with you close to death and in pain. I got you from LA to Southampton." There was an accusing flash of a look. "I healed you then. I kept you alive."

"You think I doubt your ingenuity as a field medic." Mello commented blandly. "Then I can answer that one. No, I don't. I think there are few people as resourceful as you, when it comes to emergency situations. But this isn't in the same category. Then we couldn't go to the professionals, with real drugs and equipment. Now we have them right here. I would trust you with my life any day, guapo, but right now that isn't an issue."

Matt sneered, "Isn't it?"

Mello hoped that he sounded appropriately indignant, "No! It's not." His hand had returned to his side, as Matt had coughed, now he sought out his husband's hand and linked his index finger around it. "You think I'm scared to go home with you, in case you finish the job."

"I think?" Matt whispered. "Right."

"You were possessed. You didn't shoot me. I saw you change."

Now Matt met his gaze. The emotion lay devastating and deep, suppressed behind his eyes. "And you trust that it won't happen again? That I won't carry it home with me, ready to strike when the moment is right?" His brow furrowed quickly. "Or when the moon is full or we cross water or something?"

Mello schooled his features to give away nothing, because all of this had more than crossed his mind. It was doing his head in. Bravado dictated that he get out of that bed right now and take his chances. Pain, fear and exhaustion made him want to just lie here for the rest of his life. Common sense pointed towards waiting until he was a little better, before doing anything; at least well enough to defend himself. "I don't..."

"Yes." Matt looked down again. "Please don't bullshit me. It's written all over your face."

"I trust you."

Matt whispered, "The only person in the world who always had your back went and shot you in it." He said more, but it was too low to discern.

Mello squeezed his hand. "I didn't hear that last bit."

"I said I'm sorry."

Mello nodded. "Me too, but this is our situation and we're going to have to live with it." He bit his lip, craving chocolate. "I have the feeling that I'm going to forgive you a long time before you've forgiven yourself. I already have. You probably never will." Mello waited, but Matt had nothing to say. "You forgave me for what I did to you back in the flat in Southampton. You let me back into your life and your bed." He tried a wan, guilt-ridden smile. "Can't I have the chance to do the same?"

"You were mad."

Mello winced. "Yes." He noted that Matt hadn't held his hand back. It just lay there, covered by Mello's own. The seconds ticked into minutes, before Mello found a response. "And you have no guarantee that I won't go mad again. You still stay with me."

Matt licked his lips. "Probably says more about me than you."

"Yes." Mello replied, then considered it. "What does it say, in your mind, I mean?"

"Doesn't matter."

Mello's heart was thundering. It hurt his ribs, but he didn't budge. "I'd like to know."

"Fixated on you like a little duckling. Dependent personality. Masochistic."

"Oh stop with the self-loathing." Mello growled. "For a start, if you deny you're a masochist, I'm going to laugh until my stitches all tear. As for the rest, it's disrespectful to my tastes and judgement." He clicked his tongue. "And I am talking about all of the things that you haven't said. I know you hate yourself and I hate that. Because if you were even partially as terrible as you think you are, then what does that say about my standards? I love, fancy and lust after you. Are you saying that my taste in men is bad?"

Matt's gaze slid to the mattress.

Mello only let the silence drag out for about thirty seconds, before going on. "Item one on my side of the slave contract - you must honour my tastes by complimenting and feeling good about yourself. Because you are my tastes."

"So you haven't started writing yours yet then." Matt stated, levelly.

Mello froze, his eyes flickering to see if Matt was looking at him. He wasn't. "I've been writing it in my head." He glanced down to indicate his shattered limb. "I want to see yours."

Matt asked quietly, "Do you have any intention of ever coming home with me?"

"Yes I do." Mello replied immediately. "Mail, I do." He inched himself closer to his husband. It hurt. He spoke more sharply than he'd intended, "Mail, just come here will you? I can't do with this gap between us, like the fucking San Andreas fault." Matt inched against him, but it wasn't done with any visible enthusiasm. "Up." Matt raised himself off the mattress and Mello moved his right arm across. "You may lie down again." Matt frowned, but did as he was told. Mello curled his arm around Matt's shoulders and relaxed again. It was like hugging an iceberg. "Or am I reading this wrong? Do you want me to come home with you? I've terrorised you, beaten you up, dragged you into dangerous cases, got you locked up. Do you want me to fuck off?"

"No."

Mello kissed him. "Then we have a start." Their lips sought out each other's and the peck grew into a desperate drawn out snog. "Better." Mello whispered, when they were done. "Item two - do not ever aid and abet me in unacceptable treatment of you. If I'm going too far, then stop me. You're a masochist, not a punchbag. You will use the safeword."

"Right." Matt said, blankly. "I can take whatever you have to..."

"No, you're not listening." Mello interrupted. "I have no doubt that you can. I'm not challenging your masculinity nor your masochist pride here. I'm saying that some behaviour is unacceptable and I'm a bastard for doing it. Your job is to stop me being a bastard by calling me on my shit."

Matt grimaced, "You're using this to bring up every issue we've ever disagreed upon ever."

Mello grinned. "Yes, I am." He watched Matt keenly and the smile faltered. "Which you're interpreting as your punishment, and projecting that I'm going to make your life Hell for it for the rest of your life."

"Is that what it's going to take?"

Mello shook his head. "I'm being an opportunist. I'm seizing the moment to strengthen our marriage, because it is going to remain intact. Please stop viewing honesty as torture."

Matt met his gaze. "Then admit that we are here because you are scared to come home with me right now."

Mello thought about lying. "I think 'scared' is too strong a word, but yes. I would like to be able to respond quickly to anything that may or may not occur once we're there." Under his arm, Matt physically jolted with shock. Shards of pain ripped through Mello's ribcage. "Fuck shit!" He sucked in a breath, his hand balling on the material at Matt's back. The redhead was frozen. "I'm fine. Just sudden movements. Bad." Mello exhaled. "Mail, now you admit that sometimes I cross a boundary and you are afraid I'm going to hit you outside sex." He paused. "Like now." Matt hadn't moved a muscle. It was like he'd just been switched off. "Mail, relax, for fuck's sake. Nothing's going to happen. We're good." Mello saw Matt blink. "I'm fine now. Pain's gone."

"Sorry." Matt barely moved his lips.

"If you're going to stay in denial about what I've just said, then what about the other thing?"

When no elaboration was forthcoming, Matt's gaze finally flashed towards Mello's voice. He asked, stonily, "What other thing?"

Mello smiled, "Why are you obeying Chrissie's orders over mine?" He waited to see if Matt's brain would compute the context.

"Huh?"

"She's told you to come off Seroxat. I've said this isn't the time for that. So why are you obeying Chrissie's orders over mine?"

Matt glanced to check if this query was genuine. Mello nodded for him to go on. Matt licked his lips again. "They made a whole case for the defence based on my personality having altered on anti-depressants. You once said you'd kill me if the drugs took me from you."

Mello struggled to recall ever saying that. It might have been a misunderstanding, but then it did sound like something he might have proclaimed. "This is what you're beating yourself up about?"

Matt added miserably, "And I promised Ann that I'd come off them, in return for her getting me back here to you."

"Ok then." He pondered it. "Then we do that on our terms, at our house, not under the direction of any of our peers and certainly not in this house. Take your fucking Seroxat, bitch." He loosened his grip, so that Matt could move. "And while you're at it, have a cigarette and get me some chocolate."

Matt lay there for a few more seconds, analysing the order. He only moved when Mello glared at him. "Ok." Matt quietly pronounced, before easing himself off the bed. He fetched the chocolate, then turned his back to open the medication. His head was bowed, ashamed.

"Mail, don't ever let those bastards grind you down." Mello told him. "And definitely don't do what they tell you to do." There was no overt reaction, but Mello had no doubt that his words were sinking in. "And I want to see what you wrote on your side of the slave contract, so bring it here please."

"I haven't finished."

"I didn't ask if you'd finished. I said I wanted to see what you'd written so far."

Matt dropped the opened packet of anti-depressants onto the table and took up his cigarettes. He sneaked a sideways look at Mello, before crouching to extract the paper from beneath the suitcase. He held it gingerly out. "Here."

"I want you to read it to me."

Matt's shoulders dropped slightly, but it wasn't with relief. He sucked on his cigarette, as he contemplated his own handwriting. "The regretting it thing."

Mello raised his eyebrows, though he knew precisely what Matt meant. "Elaborate."

"Like when you feel all guilty the next day and wish it hadn't happened." He exhaled more smoke. "It drives me up the wall."

Mello felt that he should defend himself on that one. It might just be a post-match analysis, rather than actual guilt. But Matt was looking wary, so Mello let him get away with it. "Right. Accepted. Next one."

"Let me be the judge of if we went too far, because..." Matt stopped, because Mello had laughed. "What?"

Mello gave him a wry look. "Fuck no. You have no concept of 'too far'." He could see Matt starting to withdraw into himself again. "Ok, here's the deal. Around the time that you start using our safeword and calling me on my shit when I hit you outside sex, then I'll entertain the idea of you being the judge of us going too far."

Matt gave a half-shrug, "It's on your list."

"So you are going to obey what's on my list?"

Matt stared at him in confusion, "It's a slave contract."

Mello paused, wondering how much weight they were each attaching to these pieces of paper. It had originally been Mello's way of saying, long distance, that he had every intention of keeping Matt. He should have anticipated that his husband's warped sexual inclinations would have pushed him into taking it at face value. "Ok." Mello grinned. This gave him much more scope. He would have to plan very carefully indeed the exact wording of everything he wanted to include on his list. "Keep going."

"That is my second one. To obey what's on your list."

Mello looked at him sharply. He had taken on board a secondary consideration; which was that his husband was also a highly intelligent man and therefore Mello should scrutinise everything Matt wrote before he agreed to anything. "My third is going to be something about slavery only relating to sex; and outside that we have a marriage based on equality and each taking their own personal responsibility within it."

A smile flickered at the corners of Matt's mouth. "You're using a slave contract to enshrine equality."

"A smile. He scores." Mello told the ceiling, though mostly to ensure that Matt knew he was watching him too. "Back of the net, my son!" Matt's face instantly sank into wary watchfulness. "That wasn't a bad thing, Mail. You are allowed to be happy again. That's what our whole contract is building upon, ensuring the conditions for ultimate happiness."

Matt nodded. He was swaying a little. He turned and leaned his back against the wall. "My next one," Matt continued dully, "is to never take any drugs, prescription or otherwise, without your express permission."

"You really have been shitting yourself about this." Mello observed. "Define drugs. A pepperoni pizza is a drug; and if I'm supposed to prompt every cigarette, then you're on your own." He pondered it. "I suppose I could record myself saying, 'light a fag, Mail', then just play it on an endless loop."

"I don't smoke that much."

Mello's jaw dropped and his eyes opened wide. He quickly recovered himself. "Ok, if we're going down that route. Item four - I will have a full and frank review of everything that my slave does, thinks and likes. With particular emphasis on what he likes sexually, which I will add to my own observed data. This will be corresponded with all that he really does not like, but does anyway because he thinks that his Master will hate him if he doesn't." He fixed his gaze upon Matt. "Take a note of that one, so I don't forget to write it down."

"You want a running commentary on my thought processes at all times?"

Mello frowned, "Stop finding the rough edges in my proposal before I've consolidated it. Do I want to ban you from contradicting me? No. That would be awful. But I will have it enshrined that you have to tell me about your sexual needs. That will be underlined and in bold. As soon as this thing is signed and sealed, we will be in discussion. After every single fuck, we will be in post-match analysis. I will know everything."

Matt stepped away from the wall and stubbed out his cigarette butt in the ashtray. He paused over it, staring at the embers. "I told you. In Aberystwyth. On the beach."

"You told me one thing." Mello countered. "Item five - you will consent to touch me occasionally during sex." It hung in the air between them, like tinder dry foliage just awaiting a spark. Mello risked a glance at his husband. Matt stared at the ashtray. Mello felt embarrassment start to flush his own cheeks. His tone took on an apologetic edge. "Did it never occur to you that I might like to be touched? By my husband. During sex."

Matt whispered. "You once banned me from doing that."

Mello gasped. "I was young! And terrified of my own sexuality! You can't possibly count that now, when I..." He stopped in horrified realisation. "You are still counting that?" No response. "Mail?"

"Not consciously." Matt breathed.

"Don't count anything that happened back in LA, nor the immediate aftermath. I was half fucking mad! Power mad at least." Mello could feel the distance opening up between them again. "Of course, it's a convenient thing for you to count, because it plays nicely into your demands to be restrained each and every fucking time!"

Matt turned away from Mello, his head bowed. He had said something quite short, but it was muttered.

Mello stared at his back. "I apologise if I raised my voice a bit at the end there." There definitely was no response this time. "Mail, are you crying? And if so, why?" Nothing. "Come and lie back here. That's an order."

His husband hesitated, but he did slowly return, padding to the foot of the bed. His face remained mostly hidden with his chin to his chest, but there was a tear sliding down to the tip of his nose.

Mello sighed. "Shit. I didn't mean to upset you this much. Come and lie down." He raised his arm as much as he dared, tensing against the agony, just wanting that physical contact. Matt probably thought he was being surreptitious about wiping his face on his sleeve, as he crawled into place. "Right now, just now, not anything else, what is getting to you?"

"I don't feel very well." Matt confessed.

"Were you as far as cold turkey then? You're not usually awake in the mornings. If anything, even as late after waking as you've topped up today, it's still early in relative terms." Mello was irritated. He wasn't well himself and he was making an effort to keep going. "And I don't think that was it."

Matt glanced at him. His eyes were still covered in a film of tears. He carefully placed his own arm around Mello and lay down.

Mello exhaled loudly. "Why are we even bothering, Mail? You can write what you want on your slave contract and you're never going to honour it. You'll clam up inside your shell and I'll be banging my head against it for fucking months. Eventually you'll be forced into giving me one cryptic clue to add to all of the other snippets, then consider yourself done." He uttered a frustrated snarl. "I haven't the fucking energy for it."

Matt's whole body was tensed. He spoke stiffly, but steadily. "I probably panicked myself into it, but it does feel like the onset of cold turkey. Like something rushing on either side of my head. It's affecting my balance."

"Ok. I believe you."

"What if I touch you and I do something wrong?"

Now Mello froze. He surveyed Matt with all the caution of someone having startled a stag out into the open. His husband's face was concealed. His frame shook with rigidity or fear. "Baby, do you really think that?" Mello found that he had forgotten to blink. He did so now, rapidly, several times. "Mail?" Paranoia flashed. "Are you laughing at me? This had better not be you trolling."

Matt looked up. He was not laughing. "When, in all of our history, was I ever relaxed about touching or being touched? I let you do it, Mello." He arrested an involuntary shudder before it could dislodge Mello's arm. "And I liked it. But I still have to force myself to do it sometimes, because I want to, but I don't get it."

"Are we still talking about sex or hugging or...?"

"Touching." Matt responded in a dead tone. "Mihael, have you ever really known me?"

Mello stared.

Matt rushed on. "When we were kids, Ann used to tuck you into bed and give you cuddles. When did you ever see...?"

"That was Ann!" Mello felt the panic rising. He had traced the catalyst of his own breakdown, in Southampton, to learning (incorrectly) about Matt's chemical inability to ever love him. "Mail, don't you dare tell me now that you've been repulsed every time I've touched you. Don't do this to me."

"And I liked it." Matt repeated without emotion, though a well of it burned in his eyes.

Mello could hardly see him. His tears had arrived without notice and were engulfing him. "You made me feel gorgeous. When I look in a mirror and see this grotesque..." His fist clenched against the sheet behind Matt's back. "You made that not matter!"

Matt replied quietly, "It's not about you."

"I repulse you!"

"Watari." Matt shrank again, withdrawing across the bed, until his back was against the wall. "Watari, Watari, Watari."

Mello draw his arm across his eyes and left it lying there. "There never used to be any problem. You would cuddle with me. It was never an issue."

Matt yelled with a suddenness that shocked them both. "You ignored the safeword!" His fist banged back against the wall. Mello stiffened. Matt shuffled off the bed again and picked up his cigarettes. He lit one, trembling. Mello hadn't responded. "I said it four times and you ignored it. You make such an issue out of it, then ignore it."

"I made a mistake." Mello whispered. "Forgive me."

"Before that, you asked me to be honest with you, so I did and you kicked off about it." Matt sucked on his cigarette. "I don't know how to fucking keep you, Mello! You change the rules of the game to your own benefit more times than fucking Google!"

Mello risked taking his arm away from his eyes to survey his husband. "Mail, I'm sorry."

"Fuck you!" Matt charged across to the door and unlocked it. The whole room seemed to shake, when he slammed it in his wake.