Title: Scattering Ashes
Chapter Title: Ruin
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: L, what befalls him at the close of the Yotsuba arch, and a few other bits and pieces.
Alternate Warnings: Rating T is for violence, swearing and adult sexual situations (which will occur later in the fic, please be patient) 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! I still feel a little awkward about the Halle and Rester scene, feeling it somewhat disrupts the flow of Matt and Near, and their growing camaraderie. However, I felt it had been long enough since we’d seen Near’s bodyguards and it would be detrimental to later plot twists if I delayed any further in catching us up to what they’re doing. Well and so, I’m very happy with the way this one turned out. We get to explore a new side of both Matt and Near, and see golden hints of what their relationship will morph into—which is always very fun to write. I hope you enjoy this and thank you very much for reading.

Yours,
Gloria

Scattering Ashes

Chapter Four

Ruin


“Now you shall see the Temple completed:
After much striving, after many obstacles;
For the work of creation is never without travail;
The formed stone, the visible crucifix,
The dressed altar, the lifting light,

Light

Light

The visible reminder of Invisible Light.”

~From IX of Choruses from “The Rock” by T.S. Eliot

June 8th, 2013

The foundations of intimacy were being laid, and Near felt it strengthen with trepidation. Matt sensed it too; Near saw the man’s hesitation to reach for him when the plane landed in Japan. He had, however, and pulled him close as Near’s eyes glazed over when the engines quieted and the clatter of reality descended once again.

Near processed little of their journey through the airport, or how Matt had procured a vehicle for them, or even the ride to the hotel, feeling only the heat of Matt’s body and the rush of blood in his ears. He recalled that the lobby had been massive, as he was bent over a porcelain toilet bowl to retch the contents of his stomach, adorned with pale rose walls with large white pillars, a giant chandelier glittering from the ceiling, dancing light on the glossy marble floor. A hand, warm and soothing, rubbed circles into Near’s back as he continued to retch, over and over, until there was nothing but acid.

A glass of cool water was pressed against his lips and Near took a dutiful sip, and then another, allowing the hydration to wash away the sour tang in his mouth and settle the fire in his stomach. His heart began to steady, allowing him to half-hear the words Matt mumbled into his hair. The revelation shook him that Matt was holding him from where they sat on the bathroom floor, rocking him in his arms as if he were a frightened child. Near straightened and Matt’s arms fell away.

Touch was never a common experience in Near’s life. Well, of course the basics of his somatosensory[1] system worked just fine, he wasn’t that defective. Yet, the feel of another human body against his was a relatively foreign thing—and for the touches to be primarily gentle, even more so. His earliest memories were of a hospital, cringing as dozens of indifferent fingers poked and prodded him, nurses scurrying back and forth as they attempted to heal the delicate body of the albino orphan child. And later, in Wammy’s, the only one who had dared touch him was Mello, but only in fits of anger. Matt had usually interceded before it got too violent; indeed, Matt sometimes had arrived before Mello did, anticipating his outburst and knowing his friend well enough to beat him there. Their scuffles had often been rough, Matt either successfully pulling Mello from the room, or they would resort to fist-fighting right there in front of Near, until Mello was soundly beaten and would, skulking, leave the room on his own, trailed closely by Matt who never once looked at Near. It was ever the only time he had seen them argue, when Mello was hell-bent on physically attacking Near.

Even Rester and Halle did not touch him unless he was asleep, and only then to move him from the floor to a bed.

Near had never had cause to wonder at this before. But now, as touch was becoming more frequent, and so too, did the seeming necessity of it, Near wondered if there was a difference in Matt’s reaction to him than any other human he’d ever encountered, or if it was that Near was so...so socially inept that he didn’t appear to need or desire touch. And if Matt ignored this because he had a different perception of what personal boundaries called for, or when those lines needed to be crossed. Or maybe it wasn’t Near’s need at all, maybe that had never changed. Perhaps it was simply that Matt was the one who required the closeness, or felt it was the only way he knew of to take care of his “ward”. Near wondered how often Mello and Matt had touched.

Matt had left the hotel room during his musings, and returned a few hours later with his arms laden with new laptops, accessories and bags of clothes. Matt avoided Near’s gaze as he set up his computers and, soon, he was typing away, hacking into some invisible system. Near watched him from the plush white sofa in the center of the living area until the light began trickling in from the draped windows, the sun peeking above the eastern horizon. Only then did Matt stir, rising to close the curtains.

Matt turned then, his eyes on his shoes, and mumbled: “We should get an urn.”

Intimacy. It was a dangerous thing. And Near could not imagine a more intimate situation than for the two of them to shop for an urn for Mello. They left an hour later, but the streets were quiet in the early morning, and Near did not feel so overwhelmed. Even so, Matt held him by the shoulders and they entered the funeral shop like two mourning friends.

It was nearly silent and dimly lit, a thin, heavy-browed man standing solemnly in one corner. Matt left Near to stand in the foyer for only a moment to change the sign on the door from “OPEN” to “CLOSED”. When he returned, he took Near by the hand, handed the man in the corner a thick wad of currency, and then walked to the back of the store. Urns were set on display, lining every wall atop multiple shelves. There were high tables also, with more expensive urns perched on their surfaces. Some were dark and glossy, some held ornate engravings, and others were decorated with traditional Japanese lettering. Some were garishly themed, while others were bland and simple. Some were round or oval shaped, while others where squat and square. Behind them, the man Matt had paid closed the door, murmuring in Japanese to knock when they were finished.

“You already paid him for the urn?” Near asked, frowning as his voice, inflectionless and low, seemed to disturb the quiet of this place.

“No. I paid for privacy.”

Near glanced down at their entwined fingers and Matt, following his gaze, attempted to pull away. But Near followed a whim and tightened his fingers. Matt met his eyes then, the blue irises dark and searching. Near met his gaze unflinching, knowing in some part of him that he had breached a line Matt had been careful to avoid. This touch was not technically necessary; it was just the desire to be comforted. Who was comforting who, Near thought as Matt gave a small nod and let Near lead them to one corner of the room, was still a question he had no answers to. After half an hour of careful consideration, they silently agreed on a dark mahogany urn with gold trim, the glossy finish causing the red to shine vividly in the light.

Matt would not touch it, though he seemed satisfied with the selection, and Near was forced to carry the urn as they returned to the hotel.

~*~

"I spoke with the Commander at RAF Menwith Hill[2]," Rester said, entering Near's office where Halle was currently pacing. "Says there was a bird that went missing for some two days, and then returned on the lot like it was never gone. Whole base is buzzing with it." Rester paused, watching Halle distractedly push an errant lock from her face, her movements like an agitated cat as she stalked the office. "The regular captain, a--" Rester glanced down at the file in his hand, thumbing through the documents within, "a Joe Starks, USAF, has several witnesses placing him within the base at the time of the disappearance. I was thinking of interviewing him. Halle."

Halle paused and looked up at him, her beautiful face worn with worry. "Okay. Joe Starks. Got it. I'm going to Japan."

"I beg your pardon?" Rester set the file on his desk as Halle ran a hand roughly through her hair.

"I just keep thinking, that guy--he did look an awful lot like Matt. I want to re-examine the body."

"Ah."

"I'll do it myself this time. Rester, he came in here like he owned the place, like whatever prerogative he had was far more important than whatever Near was working on, and he acted like he expected Near to be compliant. Doesn't that seem strange?"

"Halle."

"What if it was Matt, Rester? What would that mean?"

"Halle." Rester sighed heavily and put his hands on her shoulders to calm her, to force her to look him in the eye. "It would mean that we would have a name, along with a face. It would mean we would have a profile on who this guy is, what he can do, and what he might want. It won't mean that you failed Near, Halle. You understand me? It won't mean this is your fault."

Halle looked away. "I know." The tension in her shoulders relaxed a little. Then she looked back at him. "Do you think it would mean this is personal, Rester? That...Near and--"

This has personal written all over it. Rester blinked. "I don't want you going alone. Wait for me to finish in Menwith."

"No, I have to go now. We don't have that kind of time."

"The murders in Japan--"

"I know; I've thought of that." Halle offered a smile, fake as plastic jewelry but appreciated all the same. "I'll be fine, partner. I'll stay in touch, call if I find anything."

Rester frowned.

"Don't look at me like that. I'm a big girl."

"And those were big men that got whacked in their own precinct."

Halle wasn't listening anymore. She grabbed her badge and her gun and walked towards the door. "I'll call," she promised over one shoulder.

"You had better," Rester muttered.

~*~

Matt's grip on his shoulders was softer as they made their way from the car to the hotel, the garage empty and silent save for their echoing footfalls. They seemed, almost, like comrades. Yet, when Near looked up into Matt's face, his expression was shuttered, his eyes hard and distant. So distracted was Matt, that he led them straight into another couple in the lobby, young and obnoxious, American, from their accent. Matt apologized to them in a low voice, his free hand moving to his pocket, and veered Near away from the disgruntled couple and into an elevator.

When they arrived back in their hotel room, Matt did something very strange. He went to his desk and retrieved a small pack of chewing gum from one of the bags he’d brought back the night before, offering a stick to Near, who shook his head. Near placed the urn on the coffee table, watching Matt out of the corner of his eye as he pulled out a stick of gum and tossed the package—and the gum—onto the floor, keeping only the silvery gum wrapper in his hands. Then Matt booted up his computer system and began folding the wrapper. He put it to his mouth and blew softly, causing a strange whistling sound to emerge.[3] He frowned and fiddled with the wrapper some more. He seemed satisfied when he blew into it again, and then bent to retrieve a shirt from another bag, which he tossed to Near.

“Put that on,” Matt said distractedly as he produced a cellular phone from his pocket. Near stared at the phone, instantly realizing that the ‘bump’ into the couple in the lobby hadn’t been accidental. Near frowned in disapproval, but did not comment. Instead, he held up the shirt. It was made of the same soft cotton of the shirt Matt had bought—or stole, Near was beginning to suspect—for him in Berlin, and was a deep burgundy color. It smelled faintly of lavender.

By the desk, Matt whistled through the wrapper at the phone. Instantly, it lit up and sang back at him. He typed something into one of the keyboards with one hand, waited a moment, and then held it up to a speaker, which shrilled and beeped. The stolen phone began to dial a number and Matt held the device up to his ear. Matt glanced side-long at Near and pointed at the shirt. Near was about to object when Matt held up a finger to his lips, silencing him, and then smiled broadly.

“Danny-boy!” Matt greeted enigmatically into the phone. Matt’s tone startled Near, who hadn’t heard him even remotely that happy or pleased in their short time together, nor so...affectionate. “Yeah, it’s me. How’s the wife?” Matt leaned against the edge of the desk, his eyes skipping up to Near’s—which were still as dark and solemn as he’d ever seen them. Matt gestured to the shirt again. “Uh-huh. Well, that’s good. Good. No; well, I’m calling in a solid ‘you owe me’.”

Near looked down at the shirt again, feeling uncomfortable. He turned and began to unbutton his shirt, pulling it off and replacing it with the burgundy one. The sleeves were long and the cuffs went past his knuckles, but Near liked them that way anyway. Matt’s eyes were hot on his back. Near turned to meet his stare.

“Yeah, I get that,” Matt said into the phone, his eyes burning for a moment as they bored into Near’s. But then he glanced away and began pacing. “What do you have that’s fast?” A pause, and Matt laughed. “A jet.” Another pause. “One that can be trusted to keep his mouth shut, or none at all. I can fly it myself.” Another pause, this one longer. Then, “Israel.”

“Are you out of your fucking mind?!” came the voice on the opposing line.

Matt grimaced and held the phone away from his ear. When he returned it, the man on the other end was still shouting and Matt was beginning to look angry. “Look, friend, you and I both know this can go one of two ways.”

Near fiddled with the over-long cuffs, his mind working quickly. Matt was trying to get them a private flight into Israel using some mysterious private network. The fact that it was out of consideration for Near did not escape the detective. However, he was more fascinated with the thought that whoever Matt was speaking to was powerful enough to supply them a jet, and that Matt had the ability to threaten him into giving him one.

“Hey, fuck you, Danny-boy, I do not destroy everything I touch,” Matt growled. “I’ll get you your damn plane back. Okay, fine, but he better stay quiet. No—no, we have something to do first...tomorrow morning, oh-nine hundred. Japan. Yeah, no, Danny-boy. You already know my answer to that—as long as I have too! No, just the one.” Matt glanced at Near again. “I’m not telling you,” he said into the phone. “No, you don’t have a right to know...I don’t give a fuck if it’s your goddamn plane. You’re pilot stays in the cockpit, do you understand me? If he tries anything, I swear to—okay. Alright, okay. Oh-nine hundred. That bridge we used last time.” A long pause, and then Matt smiled grimly. “I’m glad we understand one another.” There was something deadly in the way Matt said those words that caused shivers to run down Near’s spine. Near wondered, briefly, if Mello had ever been the more dangerous one at all.

Matt hung up the phone and they stared at one another for a long moment.

“Who’s ‘Danny-boy’,” Near asked finally, doubting that was the man’s real name.

Matt’s mouth twisted. “A friend.”

A lie. Near couldn’t fathom how Matt expected him to trust him. He sighed. “Do you ever do anything legally?”

Matt’s temper blazed again, the faint lines around his nose and mouth going white, his shoulders going stiff with tension. “Oh, don’t go getting on your high horse, Near. You’re no better than me, and you know it.” Matt turned and angrily jabbed at a few computer keys, holding the phone to the speakers as it beeped and whined. “Legal implies law, and one of the first things we learned in Wammy’s is that law and religion are just a set of rules created by those in power to control the weak-minded and malleable.”

“Law serves other purposes—“

“And those in power,” Matt continued, running over Near’s voice as if he’d never spoken and tossing the phone into a waste bin, “can easily be controlled by their own secrets, their own desires, their own greed. I can know anyone’s secrets, and so can you. I do it through code; you do it with your mind.” Matt looked at him then, his eyes burning with some intensity Near couldn’t name. “I know your secrets, Near,” Matt said quietly, approaching him, closing in, too close. “Does that make me dangerous to you?” Near stared into his eyes, unmoving, unblinking, rigid in his silent defiance. He could feel Matt’s breath hot on his cheek. “Are you afraid of me?” Matt asked softly.

Yes. He said instead: “No.”

Matt smiled a little, a bitter twist of his lips, and backed up a step. “Of course not. Sorry. Sometimes—sometimes I feel like I’m becoming him. Angry all the time.” His eyes were sad now, as he reached up and traced the line of Near’s collar. “Color looks good on you. You shouldn’t always wear white.”

Before Near could fully register that, Matt had stepped around him and headed for the bathroom. “The church is twenty miles from here, and the cemetery where they buried L is an hour from that. We can get both done tonight.”

“Agreed.” Near did not turn, staring straight ahead, feeling frozen in space.

“We’ll leave at sundown,” Matt called over his shoulder, and kicked the bathroom door shut.

Near let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

~*~

The church was a ruin. A few beams of the condemned structure still stood at awkward angles, a broken skeleton of the building it once was. It was very dark, the twilight deepening to a blue-black, the scattered stars doing little to light their journey from the car.

Matt balked at the entrance, the smoking cigarette slack in his fingers. Near stared at him curiously, Mello’s urn tucked safely in one arm, but Matt shook his head, not quite meeting his eyes. Near understood, in a way. He supposed the idea of entering the building where Mello had died would be disturbing to Matt, who was once his closest friend. Near did not make him ask, and Matt’s eyes lifted in quiet appreciation when Near took the initiative and stepped up to the ruin alone.

The air was still and dry, disturbed dust swirling in his wake as he maneuvered through the beams, passed stonework that survive the fire, into the belly of the structure.

“Not many churches in Japan,” the child Mello observed.

“No.”

“Christianity didn’t seem to take as well here as in other countries.” Mello looked painfully thin in his oversized black shirt, his jagged, bob-cut yellow-blond hair moving in stray wisps around his round face. “I like the way the Japanese pay homage to their dead, though.”

“Do you?”

“Yes,” Mello answered with a bob of his head, so adult-like in mannerism, his quicksilver mind ever at war with the small body it was trapped in. Mello had always seemed that way. Trapped within himself. “Incense and shrines, prayers and humble requests for guidance.”

“Do you want me to ask you to guide me?”

Mello looked at him then, his big green eyes wide and dark with utter severity. “You already have. Why do you think I’m here?”

Near returned to find Matt staring hollow-eyed at the remains of the church, his features ashen, the slight tremor in his left hand more noticeable than it usually was. When Near touched his arm, Matt shuddered all over and looked at the detective with a stricken gaze. Matt opened his mouth to say something, but it seemed to die in his mouth.

“Come,” Near said, and took his hand.

Matt was silent the entire drive to the cemetery, and Near watched the shadows deepen in his face. Near could sense the despair welling up in the man, it was such a tangible thing. He wasn’t sure what he would do when it finally broke him.

Matt had to climb the massive wrought-iron fence to let them into the cemetery, and even though the effort seemed to wind him, he did so without complaining. They walked wordlessly among the rows of grave stones, the stone and marble glimmering white now that the moon had risen. Matt paused in front of one; an unmarked granite cross, massive and stained a white-grey.

“This is it?”

Matt nodded, shoving his shaking hand into his jeans pocket.

Near unscrewed the lid of the urn, a puff of ash escaping passed the rim as he did so. Matt turned his face away. Near considered offering the urn to Matt, feeling, somehow, like an intruder, feeling that this was Matt’s place, not his. But he knew Matt would refuse, and the man was already distraught. His hands were dirty from gathering the ashes at the ruin, but it felt different when he put his hand inside the urn and grabbed a fistful of ashes. This symbolized all that was left of Mello, all that was left of who he was and what he wanted. Dust to dust...ashes to ashes. Well and so.

Near scattered the ashes over L’s grave in a sweeping motion, feeling something pass through him like a sigh. He shivered as it whispered along his skin, wove through the curling strands of his white hair. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, waiting for it to pass and not ever really wanting it to stop.

When he opened his eyes, Matt was gone. Near found him eventually, standing over another unmarked stone cross, a cigarette hanging from his mouth.

“L told me, when I was ten, that he wanted me to have his seat,” Matt confessed in a small voice, his eyes distant as he stared at the mysterious grave. “I told him I didn’t want it, that it was too much power for any one man.” Matt swallowed. “He said that was why he wanted me to have it. Because I didn’t want it.”

“I never met L,” Near said, equally as quiet. He tucked the urn under his arm and looked up at Matt. “What was he like? In person?”

Matt glanced aslant at him. “Strange enough to be normal, considering.” Matt sighed heavily, pulling the smoke from his mouth with thumb and forefinger. He stared at it contemplatively. “He was...he was lonely.”

“Lonely?”

“Very. Though I don’t think he ever realized it. It wasn’t something he felt was important, to have friends, company, someone to share his thoughts with. I think that changed after he encountered Kira.”

“How so?”

“He let him kill him. He must have thought it was worth it, in the end. To die at the hands of someone so brilliant, so...like him. And yet, unlike him.” Matt dropped the cigarette and crushed it out with his boot. “I can almost assure you, L always knew Yagami Light was Kira.”

“I agree.”

“He made a good decision, declaring you his heir.”

To that, Near did not know what to say. He knew he did his job well, but L’s approval was never really something that mattered to him. And yet, it coming from Matt felt altogether different. Uncomfortably strange...and strangely comforting.

“He told me one day I might regret it,” Matt murmured. He looked over at Near, some nameless thing moving behind his eyes. “But I don’t. Never have I regretted refusing him. I’ve never really had a grounded sense of right and wrong. Not like you.”

“Mello never knew L offered it to you?”

Matt laughed a little, short, self-deprecating laugh. “I think that goes without saying. He would have throttled me in my sleep.” Somehow, Near got the impression that Matt was dead serious.

Near gestured with his free hand to the unmarked stone cross. “Whose grave is this?”

Matt met his gaze squarely, his eyes black in the darkness. “Mine.”

Near stared back, unblinking. “Then who is in the ground?”

Near did not expect an answer, so he was unsurprised when his question was greeted with nothing but silence.

~*~

A man standing the shadows put a phone to his ear, waiting patiently as the cellular dialed his employer’s number. When she answered in a clipped voice, he said: “Target was here. He just left the cemetery.” A pause. “Yes, I’m sure. And he has the package with him.” The man smiled, his grin flashing white against the light emanating from the cellular. “I’ll make the call,” he said, and hung up.

To be continued...

[1] The somatosensory system is the one within the body that controls all of body’s inner and outer sensory receptions, including tissue, organs, skin etc. It is the process whereby neurons are recognized and transmitted through the spinal stem and brain to cause sensation and feeling. I felt that Near would make that clarification, believing both entities to be separate and equally important, even though...they’re not; not really. But I thought that to avoid cliché-esque narrative about “Ooh! He touched me, however do I react to this?”, I could throw that in to make Near’s thoughts more relevant to his characterization and mannerisms depicted in the canon.

[2] Menwith Hill is a factual US military base in North Yorkshire, England. It is somewhat of a “head base” to the many other ones littered across the country. The RAF Commander is a sort of a steward to this network of U.S. bases in England, and RAF officers act as sub-stewards, behaving as liaisons between the RAF Commander, and the smaller base they personally oversee.

[3] I got this idea straight from The Core. That hacker in the film, handled “Rat” and played by one of my favorite actors, D.J. Qualls, did something similar to give Aaron Eckhart free long-distance on his phone forever. I thought it was brilliant, and used the process here, thinking it would be something clever and hacker-ish for Matt to do. As always, no infringement intended.

A/N:

inuyashalove04: Thank you for your review! To be frank, I never, in a million years, thought I would write a Matt/Near fic. But lo, the first DN fic I attempt as a solo act is this odd pairing. But Doumi has changed the way I view Near, making him more human for me, and Matt has always been a favorite. They're difficult to write together too, because they're both so reclusive and inward. But I'm glad you took a chance with this anyway and are liking it so far. I hope you enjoyed the update!