"-suicide."
"What? No, no, that makes no sense!"
"I'm sorry Ma'am, but that is the only explanation, and-"
"No, no, that can't be it, he played with gun-"
"Ma'am, I know you are shocked, but nothing will change the truth, it was a suicide... you have my condolences, truly."
"No..."
"Ma'am?"
"No! No, he wouldn't do such a thing, you're lying!"
"Don't make me have to charge you with assault, be reasonable!"
"Let me go! M-my uncle was an honest man, and a happy one! He would never have done something like that! He played with gun's, he didn't shoot people! Let alone himself!"
"Ma'am,"
"No, you're all wrong..."
Folders slapped onto table, blue eyes glared at brown, a sharp voice ringing through the small office shortly.
"What do you mean? I completed the case!"
"Yes, Mello, but your methods were... unfavorable."
Said blond snorted in response to that simple explanation; sure, he had gone far, but without those methods, the case would have gone downhill and taken a lot longer to solve, or; god forbid, have ended up in bloodshed.
He'd done right.
And this is what he got, and as he slammed the building door behind himself, he believed that nothing would ever brighten his day again.
Back to gopher boy, he couldn't believe it. Clenched fists and gritted teeth, he couldn't snap himself out of anger. He'd done it this time, last warning, and now he had to work himself all the way back up again. It was unfair. They knew how resourceful he was on the field; while the other top detectives didn't leave their offices for cases, he actually did, and he took the initiative, and he solved them.
He was the brains and the operation, and they knew it. And they knew that they needed him. And yet they... dropped him. He wanted to scream, punch the nearby brick wall that he instead only huffed at as he continued walking.
there were too many people, he couldn't cause a scene.
Not this close to headquarters anyways.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck...fuck!"
Apparently causing a scene in a gym wasn't a good idea either; a single kick and after all those punches, the punching bag hit the ceiling, and in that, a light.
Fuck.
600 dollars, bloody scammers, they shouldn't have left a light there in the first place, they had it coming, don't charge him, who was now making a LOT less money...
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck!
He got several glares for punching the pedestrian walkway sign, and felt his face heat up as the mingling bystanders whispered notes of his sudden outburst to each other.
Couldn't they see that he was having the worst day in his life? It's not his fault he had anger issue's, he just did, and it wasn't his fault, either, that the superintendent thought he'd gone too far. Nothing was his fault, unless he'd directly hurt anybody, and he'd never done that.
He just wanted to disappear, a feeling he hadn't experienced since high school, before he'd taken up being a bully- but the bullies in the adult world were the criminal, and he wouldn't step into that path. Not far anyway.
He had.
Laughable, was the fact that they put him down in his current job, when they would be absolutely screwed if he decided to be a criminal, which he had the will to do so. But he simply didn't care for it. He'd been there, and while it was no different from detective work, per se, it... was different. It wasn't familiar.
He was kidding himself. With what? A lot.
People in this world want two things; success, or love. It was one or the other, with no exceptions. How they accomplished those things were up to them, whether they used one or the other or neither. It was all in their control.
Usually they wanted those two things hand in hand, and then, as always, their life lesson comes when they realize that that isn't possible. Then they either give up, or peruse, and those are the two kinds of people that people are divided into.
Mello always told himself he wanted both, and could do it, determination a wide definition of why. He knew he was wrong, but that didn't mean a thing.
He could still do it. Until he turned sixteen and was forced to pick, or, admit that he had picked. That's when he ran, ran, ran, and when he realized that he was giving up, he turned that run away, into a 'run to.'
But, it always seems like he's running away, even so, not running to. Unsaid ideals and glances tell him that.
It's a lot, and nothing in essence, but this was his life, and in that, he could do as he liked, despite his apparent paradigm. So he wouldn't give up, because, success, or not, he wasn't the type to give up; not that he had any clue how to do that either at this point in his life.
Vodka. Vodka was an outlet, an outlet that Mello had learned when he was very, very young.
Drink it down, take a breath, grasp the next, gulp it down, inhale, exhale, next. Repeat.
The trick was to breathe, and then vomit as soon as needed, and then repeat. Not healthy, and it got one utterly and totally wasted. Which was the point.
Two hours in, of course Mello was wasted to high hell, low earth, and bloody heav'n. Wasted like a sopped rag in a trash can, skin as pale as death(not that he wasn't pale already) and fingers a lil' too cool to the touch.
Perhaps from the cider he was then nursing, and the ice in it, or perhaps from the lack of circulation.
He felt warm though. He also felt numb. Ah, familiar, familiar, and glorious vodka; his genetics aided him well- though when he stepped outside, he didn't wonder why three people(so far) had asked if he was alright.
He knew it wasn't just because he was piss drunk. Skinny jeans and a tank top in minus fifteen degrees on a snowy day mid-week was a cause for alarm, drunken appearance only adding to the cause-for-pause.
He didn't feel cold. He was a fuckin' Russian, kids like him played in the snow naked back in the day. Naked, I tell you. Gotta get used to that shit.
Bouncer rolled his eyes, Mello snorted, not a goosebump on his skin, how could nobody believe him... maybe, because he was drunk. Right.
Though that wasn't the bouncer from before. Scratch that, this isn't the bar from before. Mello was staring glaze-eyed at the bright pink lighted sign, frown on his lips, far from sober. If you asked him anyways.
Hmmm. If you asked anybody else, as well.
"Id-ts jus' no't, I din't cum ou' there di' I?"
"No, we've walked a block now."
Wat?
What?
Not a surprise was the fact that some mysterious stranger had rescued him from his clothing-less escapade in the cold. Not that he needed rescue. He was a fuckin' Russian. No snowy night would kill him.
"So you've said..."
"Shu' up."
It wasn't a pedo, hopefully. Mello did look young... two years ago.
He wasn't bothered by his age, he just knew what his mother looked like at thirty- ugh. Don't get him started on his father.
Fuckkkk.
Red hair...
Or was that the lighting? Mello felt like he was going to pass out, and the stranger was nearly taking all of his weight, all 114 pounds of it...he didn't like 114 pounds, apparently. Apparently, his mouth wouldn't stop running itself out of business, or what should have been out of business.
This, was why he didn't keep company when drunk. Also...was this guy not cold? He'd given Mello his jacket, which Mello wasn't even really using anyways...
The chirp-chirp of a car being unlocked sounded, and Mello shivered, stood still beside headlights.
"Here, get in."
Why?
No answer.
Did he even say it?
He was wasted...?
"Don't puke in my car, okay? What's your address.?"
Mello stared, not at all straight- in his seat. He was straight, in his seat. No, He wasn't straight in his seat, he was side ways, as the man tried to work the seatbelt over Mello's shoulders. To little success apparently, as he quickly gave up and instead shut the door on Mello, getting in on the other side within a few seconds.
Mello stared, the red haired and stripe-shirted cretin starting up his fancy car.
Bet he was rich.
Bet he lived in a mansion.
Mello was so great...and he lived in a hovel.
"Address?"
Mello stared, arm barely holding him in his seat. His vision was swirling, he felt vaguely sick. He could hold it back though. It was in his genetics.
"I get it, you have some drunks for family. Are you going to give me your address or not?" The statement wasn't without a chuckle, and Mello didn't know why. The words irked him, he knew that.
Irked him so badly, so terribly, why was he born in a world?
"Okay, you can crash at my place... lord knows I can't leave you outside."
Mello right away knew the consequences. He recognized the symptoms promptly. He knew the aches and pains. He knew the burn. He knew the pressure. He knew the cold sticky and absolutely lovely smell of his underarms.
Vodka.
Does wonders.
Especially in the morning.
Then it tastes like shit, too.
But, even sleepy, he was never one to black out, and he remembered red hair, so wasn't surprised by the unfamiliar ceiling above him.
Stucco and plaster, a little leaky here and there, with that old glitter they put on ceilings in the eighties. The walls were a tacky bright green, painted over stucco as well, telling Mello that someone just didn't care for the looks of their home.
It seemed that he was in a spare bedroom; a single bed, dresser, mirror, and lamp the only belongings; Mello believed that you'd have to be insane to have this as your room.
And indeed, upon waddling over to the ajar door and opening it, squeaky hinges wringing his ears, he saw the absolute catastrophe that the adjacent room was.
Mello didn't even want to look at that for more than a second; and what was up with the black paint in the hallway?
Even the floorboards were painted... bathroom looked normal, just plain, front door was at the end of the hall, he noted as he stepped up to the welcome mat, the clanking of dishes registering in his ears as his gaze reached the living room, what was the kitchen probably resting just over the corner.
Indeed, Mello noted as he rested his weight against the wall, gazing at the plain white countertops and cupboards, dirty light up above and the crooked table resting in the middle. The main attraction of the room, though, stood front and center as being Mello's 'rescuer.'
Red hair, Mello remembered that well, and the striped shirt, seemingly not changed since the night before. What was new was the baggy jeans and tattered giraffe print socks, plus what looked to be goggles tied up in the hair. Scraggly hair, skinny body, but not without its weight. The man looked to be heavier than Mello, at least, not chubby, but...
Ugh. He was a tad tired.
The man was doing dishes, though what caught Mello's eye was the pot of coffee and open cupboard of cups off to the side.
He tried to take the situation in stride, and walked up, tiptoeing a little until he pulled out a cup- it was white with a rubber ducky on it, oddly. The noise of porcelain against wood startled the redhead though, and before Mello knew it he was regretting trying to act 'cool.'
He bent down immediately to help the other man pick up the broken glass of the plate he'd dropped. He was on his knee's and setting the last piece in his hand when the other man sat up to, smiling awkwardly at Mello, and their eyes meeting periodically.
"Hi-"
-Sleep well?"
Mello's lips twisted, and the redhead's turned his into an unsure frown, one that soon quirked into a smile at the incredulity of the awkward situation- at least Mello assumed.
He held out a hand, "I'm Matt." he said, and Mello paused, frowning, before lowering his eyes to his glass holding hands, before looking back at 'Matt.' In the response the other man flushed. Actually flushed. Jumpy and awkward? Huh.
"Ok sorry, I- I'll just throw this out." Mello followed Matt's lead as he threw out the remaining glass, and soon enough, in seconds, really, Mello was staring on as the presumed geek prattled on what was probably supposed to be an apology- or was it a scolding? Yeah, this guy was awkward.
"I'm sorry, you startled me, you should have just said something. I was in my zone there, didn't think you'd be up this early, you were up late last night, and drunk... sorry, I brought you here because you wouldn't give me your address, at least you didn't puke in my car... um, hi."
Mello just blinked at the young man for a moment, silently telling him just how awkward he was being, before he uttered a quiet "right..." drawing out the word. A beat passed, and Mello shook his head faintly, going back to what he'd been doing beforehand. Pouring coffee.
"Um, do you need a ride home?"
Mello supposed that he'd need to break the ice and make this less awkward. He'd graduated as a detective at 17, what good was that if he couldn't make this random stranger not feel awkward? And besides, he saved Mello from freezing to death, the least he could do it be courteous to this socially awkward -clearly-not-a-morning-person and endearingly freckled mess.
Mello smirked into his cup as he poured the last inch of liquid into his cup. "Not right away, unless you want to get rid of me so quickly." Mello smiled at him then, one of those friendly and open smiles.
It was practiced.
Matt seemed even more awkward.
Did Mello look that bad?
"I- no, you can stay as long as you like, I don't really care... you can use my shower if you need, too."
Mello nodded, slurping his coffee and leaning back against the counter, facing Matt only slightly. "Thanks, if you don't mind, I have to be somewhere at...mm, what time is it?"
Matt pointed above Mello in response, and upon tilting his head up, he found the time to be...rather early, 8:38.
Mello had to be at the office at 10:00...
"Where abouts in town are we?"
"Bridge Road, near the Plasma center."
"Damn." Half an hour drive from home, Mello kind of needed a new change of clothes too, he wouldn't make it in time...
Best he could do was chug his coffee and get in the shower, perhaps borrow Matt's boxers? Hmm. Yeah, he didn't have much choice, needed a shirt too.
"I'm sorry to ask, but can I borrow some boxers and a shirt? There's not enough time for me to get home and to work by ten, and could you drive me too?" Mello made sure the importance of this all leaked into his words, very, very, clearly. Matt didn't even pause in a nod.
"Yeah, sure, its no bother."
"Kay, thanks." Mello chugged his coffee despite the heat, clunked the cup onto the counter, and turned towards the bathroom.
He could make it up to the stranger later, for now he had business to attend to.
When Mello stepped out of the shower, he found that Matt had slipped a tightly fitting striped shirt and some Mario themed boxers(of all things) onto the bathroom counter. He'd stared, admittedly. The guy really was a geek.
And when Mello stepped out of the bathroom, and into the living room, Matt was playing video games on his tacky brown floral couch, back turned to Mello; Mello, who then, noting that he had an hour still, sat down beside the hunched over redhead.
Matt ignored him, and Mello stared. Then Matt's eyes flitted to Mello for just a second.
"Do you need that ride?"
This guy seemed to be a social enigma.
"No, half an hour still."
"Okay."
"Hm." Mello leaned back on the armrest, staring then at the screen that Matt was so intently blowing up at that moment. Then he shot a zombie in the head.
"Do you need an Advil?"
"Nah." Mello congratulated Matt on the offer in his head, though, it was appreciated, really. But he didn't need it, the bit of a headache he'd had was gone, and he wouldn't be feeling sick anytime soon.
Matt was shooting a hoard of zombies that had surrounded him, turning in every which direction and making a blur of the screen as he expertly eradicated the hoard. Mello didn't much like games, so while it was entertaining for a few moments, he quickly grew bored, turning his attention elsewhere.
The apartment was a little messy, but less cluttered than just unkempt. It looked as if, by the full trash bin, that Matt had just picked up a bunch of garbage, actually. Probably because he had a visitor. Mello liked how he probably didn't care about Mello seeing the mess, but was just forcing himself to be hospitable. His questions and offers so far attested to that fact, and it was likely that Matt didn't mind the company, but just didn't think catering after a guest was necessary.
Those deductions seemed to fit the persona that Mello'd seen so far.
"So why were you so drunk on hump day?"
Mello's gaze turned back to Matt, who still wasn't looking at Mello and instead at the screen. His words took a second to catch up to Mello.
"Hump day?" He spoke with incredulity, and Matt shrugged.
"Yeah, Wednesday, the hump of the week. Usually, people have work the next day- or did you get fired...?"
"I-"
"No, you said you had to be somewhere at 10, so it's either relationship trouble or you got demoted."
Mello smiled. Apparently gamer boy here liked to deduce things, similar to a habit Mello had as a child.
"The latter." He offered, and Matt nodded, pausing his game and looking at Mello over his shoulder. His eyes were very blue, and because of that Mello figured that his hair was artificially red.
Odd for a socially awkward gamer geek to bother with hair dye.
"So, what happened?"
Mello paused in consideration for just a moment, deciding whether he should divulge his work life. He figured there was no harm. "I went a little too far on a case -not for the first time mind you- and the boss didn't like it."
Matt un-paused his game with a dip of his head, acknowledging the situation as he clicked at the controller. A few beats passed, before he spoke up again.
"So what're you going to do about it?"
"Something, just don't know what."
"Well, hey, at least you're not givin' up. Usually people do when they flunk it like that, though they usually flunk it because of a relationship..."
Mello smiled. He actually smiled, quite honestly, and Matt got a funny looking expression on his face as he looked at Mello out of the corner of his eye.
"Okay, what's that look for. You're so stoic, and now your grinning like I just said a great joke?" Mello could only chuckle in response, shaking his head a little to dismiss the notion. Matt was still staring at his screen, but apparently had no trouble watching Mello's face too, and Mello liked his phrasing.
Mello kinda liked this guy.
"By the way, you look strange in my shirt," Matt noted then, and Mello had to agree. It was tight, like he usually wore his clothes, but the stripes? Nah, not for him. They looked good on Matt.
"I know, it's quite terrible really, I have to go to work in this."
Matt seemed to have gotten to a save point in his game, and after clicking several buttons, the screen went black, before he turned to sit facing Mello, leaning against the other armrest similarly to how Mello was.
"It's not that bad, stripes just look gaudy. So what are you gonna do about the demotion? Where do you work?"
"Detective agency over by Clarency, the one with the red flag on the door."
"Oh, right, that one... no, I have no idea where that is."
"Hm, yeah, I guess you wouldn't." Mello quirked a lip.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Matt feigned offense, and Mello shrugged, smirking mirthfully.
"Nothing, Mattie boy, though I don't suppose you have any grand ideas for me?"
"I... dunno really, I had a friend when I was younger that was a detective, though. He always complained about cases never being solved properly."
Mello knew straight away the implication that Matt was making, the unspoken question.
"I'd get in trouble poking around in closed cases at this point. They demoted me not because I was underperforming, but because I went too far. Budding into an old case, successful or not, would just prove their point."
Matt lowered his eyes, scratching his head. "Alright, um... so work behind the scenes? Surely you have friends at work, you could point them in the right directions, and eventually it would be noticed that it was you, but without the repercussions."
Mello smiled, a small one, one that was amused and not without interest but knowing it was a bit futile.
"That'd be tricky, and take just as long as it would for me to get up again from gopher boy. Though-" Mello leaned forwards, elbows on knees. "Why are you trying to help? You've done plenty, letting me stay here the night and steal your coffee and all."
It was Matt's turn to shrug, "I dunno." He said, and the conversation took on a mildly awkward lull.
While Mello didn't mind at all, it was questionable, the interest. Maybe it was just a Matt thing to do, but Mello'd thought that Matt was the type not to care, to do what was obligatory of him and nothing more.
"Do you wanna play Left 4 Dead with me?"
"You on a zombie kick?" Mello nodded to the stack of disks on the floor.
"Yeah, its marathon a category week." Matt smiled, slapping his goggles over his eyes as he hopped off the couch to change the PS4 disk.
Matt had taken the lack of a 'no' as a 'yes.'
Matt's words continued to bother Mello all day.
Do cases anyways. Be persistent, like Mello is anyways. Indeed, it was the only(effective) way, even though the chance that he would get in trouble was very, very high.
He didn't mind risking his whole job in its entirety at that point, though. Like he'd notioned before; he could do anything he wanted to, as it was.
He didn't mind criminals, either, and he may have been raised for the justice system, but he was smart.
Despite all misgivings, despite his doubts, despite the fact hat he could easily get in trouble, he sneaked into his coworker's computer at the end of the day, when the man was out on his coffee break. Mello acted as if he was just doing some clean-up, and no one but the chief was suspicious.
He knew what Mello's MO was. But Mello could cover his tracks, online and offline, computer and real life.
Mello wouldn't do anything risky yet, but he already knew that being gopher boy for even a month was going to bore him to high hell, low earth, and all of the above and below. He was just going to look.
Just a look.
Lady Laughlin, a sales worker and the only known relative of Gary Pescuili, the victim of a closed case from 2008, two years ago. It was supposedly solved, but tricky in the fact that his niece protested -protests to this day, actually- that he would commit suicide.
She said it had to have been murder, or at the least, an accident. Mello recalled the case easily, in fact, and he remembered how full of it the news was when it came to this little thing. But, the thing was, Mello knew, was that being family, Lady was prone to being delusional when it came to her only kin.
So he dropped that case without a thought, going on to look at others for any clue of some other explanation. That is, until he had an idea. Or rather, a memory came to mind, followed by a fact.
"To hire a hit not hit you..."
He cringed, closing his eyes and taking a breath.
There's always more to the story, and in his case it had been the same. Only, everyone had thought otherwise.
Gary was a bit of a ghetto rat, raised and grown, and so was his niece, her having grown up alongside him as well. There was the kinship, the fact that lady was bound to want him not to have committed suicide, but also there was the fact that she did know him, and appeared by all accounts, smart, and with the background...
To hire a hit man not to hit you.
And so Mello looked up all the interviews he could, grasping at this, and he watched, as over time she shut up, accepting the fact that it was suicide. Or was it? Did she know something else?
That stutter.
That pause.
That nod.
That shake of the head, that word unsaid. Mello watched video's until the early morning light, and by then, he was bursting with adrenalin.
To hire a hit man not to hit you, and then...
But there were holes in it. So Mello put it away.
Until he knocked on Matt's door a week later, cluing in about a fact in the case(a clue) and recalling the redhead's words when he had dropped Mello off a week ago.
"Hey," Mello turned to look at Matt, hand still on the building's door, red flag blowing in the wind, almost matching the color of Matt's Camaro that he seemed all so proud of.
"Hm?"
Matt ducked his head briefly, as if embarrassed, before meeting Mello's eyes again from across the sidewalk where he sat in his Camaro. "If you find anything that could help you get your job back, then I'd be more than willing to check it out with you."
Mello smiled, nodding, and stepped inside the building. He'd not thought too much on Matt's offer, The guy was just a geek living in a shitty bachelor pad, and Mello doubted that he could help all that much.
Yet here he was, albeit still doubtful.