Title: Awakening
Summary: AU. Three weeks after the shooting, Matt emerges into a changed world.
Disclaimer: Despite all my fanon smatterings you see, Death Note is under the ownership of Ohba, Obata, and Viz.
Author's Note: I have researched the hell out of bullet wound survival, and came up with a passable explanation for how he survived his torso and limb injuries. But sadly I never did have much luck on finding explanations for head wound victim's survival. Almost everything I found dealt only with statistics, bullet removal and reconstructive surgery. Therefore let's just pretend Matt had excellent doctors and a strong will to live and not think on how unlikely it is that he's not dead or a vegetable.
Oh, and for those that don't know, Underoos are little boy's licensed character underwear. I'm sure I have you all rather disturbed seeing that in an author's note, but I assure you in context it's perfectly innocent.
Sleep held onto me as I slowly roused. I allowed it as long as I could, basking in its warm familiarity, until I knew it was gone.
My hearing came first as I became aware of the strange sounds around me. There were beeps and hisses, with quieter sounds underneath. None of it made sense and I hadn't the strength to analyse it.
I turned my head and felt some resistance against my jaw, something long leading to my mouth and nose. When my tongue explored the strange object, I found it led down my throat.
Now I was fully awake and panicked. How was I breathing? If I swallowed would I suffocate?
Suddenly I had to know where I was and get my bearings, so I opened the only eye that obeyed me. White angrily poured down upon me and I instantly shut my eye against the glare. After waiting for the spots to subside, I tried again.
Like a Polaroid picture in reverse, the white dissipated as shapes slowly formed before my eye. I saw the top of a set of cabinets and a ceiling. Ah, I was in a room somewhere.
I lifted my arm and found my wrist bandaged, with a tube leading from it. My other wrist was free, though I noticed a clamp on my finger.
I closed my working eye again, now remarkably confused. Where was I, and why was moving and thinking so difficult? It was like being immersed in a tub of molasses. Everything was stiff, sore and aching terribly. This couldn't just be from a nap.
Forgetting the mouth adornment, I heaved a sigh and nearly gagged. I couldn't stand it, I wanted that tube out! I forced myself to calm down and relax my throat muscles as I began steadily pulling on the tube. Whenever I panicked and my throat tensed, I'd push my feelings away and return to pulling. Soon enough it was out and I gasped and coughed, as my throat re-discovered how to work.
I took in the antiseptic scent of the room and the panicked beeping of the machines. As I lifted my head to examine the room before me, more questions filled me. Obviously I was in hospital, but why? How long was I out for and how was I injured? Everything was a blank. I wasn't even certain of my name. I knew one of my names was Jeevas but all I could remember of my other name was an M.
I turned my head to gaze out the window. The sky was deep blue, signifying early evening or pre-dawn. Whichever it was, it wasn't worth staying awake for.
A whoosh sounded as a young man in a lab-coat burst through the door.
"Jeevas-san," he announced, rushing over to reset the machines.
I didn't know how to react. The man had such an odd way of pronouncing my name that it took a moment for me to know he'd used it. It took another to notice whatever words followed weren't in English. The language sounded familiar, like the ghost in the back of my mind knew it, but I was too tired and dazed to interpret.
He fussed over me, checking me over, unhooking my IV's, and, much to my absolute mortification, motioning towards my catheter. I nodded, assuming he was asking whether he could remove it.
Obviously fully aware of my language problems, he switched to very rusty English.
"After three weeks, out of coma now! You should be able to talk, eat, and walk or crawl to toilet. This is such miracle! Doctor will have happiness when I tell him news."
Ah, so he was an orderly, perhaps an intern. No wonder he seemed young. I smiled and nodded but didn't speak. I hadn't tried my voice yet and wasn't sure it would be worth much for a while. I was also too stunned to think. How could my short nap have been a three week coma?
I planned to stay up and wait for the doctor but somehow, even after such a long sleep, I felt exhausted. If anyone came in later, I wasn't awake to know.
Near called Hal about Matt roughly an hour after the youth awoke. While it was too early to call it a happily ever after, it felt like a bit of one to Hal, after all the odds Matt beat. Since the accident she came to visit the boy after work nearly every day, if sitting with someone asleep could count as a "visit". Finally getting to meet him proper would be wonderful.
With Near's permission and blessing, Hal headed out to the hospital at ten the next morning with a trunk full of Matt's things. The surveillance equipment the agents found in the apartment, Near kept at headquarters for his own eventual use, though he left the laptop containing the most personal files to Matt. No one was quite sure there was a point to holding on to Matt's things, given his precarious health, but no one felt right throwing them out unless the time came when they knew he wouldn't need them. But now there was proof of the contrary and Hal was relieved something from the apartment had a connection to the living. Seeing Mello's parka casually slung on the back of a worn sofa was by far the worst part of the visit.
She headed down the hall towards Matt's room, a storage container of clothes and toiletries and a taped up box under one arm, and the gift Near sent along with her under the other.
By habit Hal nearly waltzed into the young man's new room, but soon remembered Matt was back in the land of the living.
Giving a light knock, she asked, "Matt? Do you mind a visitor?"
She'd have given her name, but wasn't sure the boy would recognise it.
"Visitor?" Hal heard an English male voice question. Nothing proceeded this and Hal decided to just step inside the large, single room Near had demanded for him.
She found Matt sitting up in bed, with a sheet over his bare legs, and watching television. He still didn't seem to be a participating part of the world with his dirty, messy hair and dazed expression.
When Hal shut the door he glanced up, gazing at her blankly with a single blue eye. Until then she hadn't even known what his eyes looked like.
"Somehow I knew you were too stubborn to stay under," she said lightly. "How are you Matt?'
He watched her another minute, obviously trying to place her.
"So it's Matt, I take it. I knew M, and Jeevas┘your voice, it's┘I know it, right?" He tilted his head, narrowing his eye.
Hal took a seat beside the bed, fighting back her worry. The surgeon had said there was still the possibility of some mental damage.
"Yes you probably do, since I've been coming to see you regularly. I'm Hal Lidner, I was a friend of Mello's." Well that was worded tritely. She wondered if Matt agreed.
"Mello. He┘ he rang you, maybe. I think I heard him talk to you sometime," murmured Matt. He looked for all the world like a child who'd fallen asleep on a car ride and awoken in a new location.
"I'd often hear you in the background so I'm not surprised," she replied, brushing lint off her dress pants.
Matt finally found the right switch and shut off the TV. Hal rather wished he'd left it on as it would provide white noise during the inevitable awkward silences. And, in fact, they'd just entered one, as Matt sorted through things in his mind.
"I┘don't recall much. It was evening, or afternoon. I drove, then┘suits everywhere, Mello there then not┘and that's it. I don't even know why I was there. Bullets, doctor mentioned bullets whenever he came; only person I've seen speaking fluent English. I think I knew Japanese before, but now┘it's gone."
Matt lay back against the pillow with a sigh, staring at the ceiling and itching the large bandage over his eye. Frowning at it, he ripped it off with a slight flinch. He turned his head towards Hal then, and she saw the jagged arrangement of stitches in the large pink hollow that once housed an eye. Due to the way the bullet lodged, there were lumpy scars surrounding the socket; apparent attempts at reconstructing bone fragments.
Gingerly, Matt ran his thumb across the surface before jerking it away in revulsion. He opened his mouth and Hal knew what he planned to say.
"You shot your eye out Ralphie," quipped Hal, hoping a stupid joke would soften the blow. From the look of horror creeping over the youth's face, she knew it was the wrong tactic.
"One of the bullets went through your eye and┘it was destroyed," she amended, her tone softened now as she smiled at him sadly.
"It didn't respond, I wondered," muttered Matt, touching the stitches again. "How deep was the bullet? Will I end up useless and left in a special home?"
The note of panic wasn't lost on Hal. She scooted her chair closer to the bed, an act that increased Matt's trepidation.
"Be glad for thick lenses, leaning your head back, and a mediocre gunman shooting from an odd angle. It tore through your eye and the socket, turned, and lodged partly behind the eye. There's no way to be certain what long-term problems you'll have, but if the injury heals right you may be lucky enough to only experience minor problems."
"The rest of the bullets were in the chest and limbs."
Fear gave way to curiosity as Matt sat up.
"How many? Where?"
"There were┘an obscene amount," explained Hal, crossing one leg over the other. "Seven in the chest, one in the thigh, and one in the shin. Only the bullets in the legs and the one in the eye lodged. The bulletproof vest under your shirt apparently did something, even if it wasn't effective enough to prevent penetrative injuries and bruising. They showed me the vest. I'm not sure you knew but it was Zylon, which is banned from use in America for just that reason.
"But even with a vest, it's remarkable that you lived. If one of the men hadn't called an ambulance to pick up the body as soon as he did, and one hadn't been nearby, you would have died. You came frighteningly close on the way to the hospital, from what I've been told."
Matt gaped and blinked, frozen in place.
"God, it makes no sense I'm alive. How was I that lucky?"
There wasn't a way to answer that and Hal didn't try. Instead she shrugged.
"I see now why I'm sore and my chest aches whenever I breathe too deep," he murmured. Fittingly, a brief coughing fit followed. His mind veered off and a moment later he changed topics.
"Mello. Does he know what happened?"
That question; Hal hoped it wouldn't come, despite knowing it was inevitable. She checked for cameras and, finding only one, which she recognised as having no sound, she answered.
"No. When he kidnapped Kiyomi Takada that night, she had a piece of the Note hidden. Mello is dead."
Matt's face fell and he flopped back on the pillow, gazing at the ceiling unseeingly.
"Him but not me; surprising," he mused. "He knew, but┘I didn't believe it. I mean mobs and explosives, no, but┘bloody paper!"
He paused. "Kira. I forgot about Kira; or Kiras, perhaps."
Hal mentally questioned how much of this wavering lucidity was normal and how much was injury. She waited, but his verbal stream of consciousness ended there.
"There were three active Kiras and the former one you tracked, Misa Amane," Hal supplied. "All are inactive now. Amane is free and Mikami is imprisoned and awaiting trial, but Takada and Light Yagami, the original Kira, are dead. Near and my fellow SPK members burn the notebooks in a week, at which point the Kira case will be unofficially closed." She smiled in relief at that.
"If you'd like I'll ask Near to let you come for that. I'd imagine he'd want you there since we couldn't have done it without your help."
"Uh, yeah, I think I want to," Matt decided, flushed from the compliment. As the flush faded, he grew confused. "Who is Near? I know the name but┘"
"He's the small, white-haired teenager who loves toys. Mello wasn't fond of him."
"Oh him!" exclaimed Matt. "Yeah, years since I saw him."
Hal picked up the small box from under her chair and placed it on Matt's lap.
"This is from Near," she announced.
He looked at the simple box with its cream paper and dark blue ribbon, obviously taken aback. Once shock passed, he untied the bow and unwrapped the box. From the length of time it took, it was apparent Matt was unused to using his hands.
Under the wrapping, the box was black and tin with the brand name written in gold on top. He pulled off the lid and gave a small gasp at what lay within. Reverently he took out a pair of goggles with gold-tinted lenses, new but Victorian inspired.
"Near had me searching everywhere for them and insisted on the best. For three hundred US dollars I should hope they are. As of last week, for whatever reason, he became almost certain you'd come through."
Matt pulled on the goggles as though they were fragile. A warm, peaceful smile settled on Matt's lips as he faced her.
"I can't believe this, we weren't even close. I'm so┘touched," he whispered.
"Your old ones were likely thrown out," explained Hal, changing the subject as she gathered up the wrapping. "These should last for years. The clerk said the lenses were scratch proof, glare proof, and had UV and UVA protection."
"They're great. Thank Near for me if I don't get to see him," he said, still smiling.
A nurse's aide came through the door with an ice bucket and cups. She flashed a smile and nodded at Hal as she laid it down on Matt's bedside table. Having always come in the evenings, Hal knew none of the morning staff, including this woman.
"Ah, Jeevas-san, you're doing well! Do you need anything?" questioned the young woman. Hal translated the question to Matt.
"No, no thank you," Matt replied with a shake of the head.
The young woman bowed and slipped out of the room, quietly shutting the door behind her.
The always comforting sound of ice hitting plastic filled the room as Hal dipped a cup into the bucket. Matt pointed at the plastic container beside her chair. "What's that?"
"Clothes mostly, and a few toiletries," she answered, bringing it onto the bed. "I doubted you'd want to stay in a hospital gown."
He opened it up, grabbed a generous handful of clothes, and inhaled.
"Smoke! It's perfect." He nodded at the small box of toiletries. "Is there a pack of fags in here anywhere?"
"Couldn't find any in the apartment," Hal lied. He sounded so hopeful that Hal almost felt guilty for throwing out the two packs she found. "After three weeks without any and all the damage you've dealt with, giving it up just might be something to consider."
Matt pouted, hugging his clothes protectively.
"I can't stand this," he groused, and took another whiff of second hand smoke from the clothes.
"Matt, you had enough strength to assist in kidnapping a celebrity, face a firing squad, and survive a serious head wound. You can do this," she said, looking him in the eye.
Heaving a tired sigh, Matt dug through the underwear portion of the clothes heap. The boy owned nearly every type of underwear they made. Today he opted for black Futurama boxers with Bender on them. Hal was willing to bet the bulk of men with novelty boxer shorts were graduates of Underoos.
Matt flashed Hal a pointed look, swinging his legs over the opposite side of the bed. Taking the hint, she turned away and scrutinized the ice bucket.
Changing clothes, much like opening presents, proved to be a task the boy's muscles weren't happy with. He repeatedly hissed with pain and, at times, obvious frustration. Once she heard him sit back on the bed, Hal turned around, finding him rummaging through the clothes pile again. He decided upon a bright blue shirt with the Windows blue screen of death on the front.
"I dread this; taking off my shirt and seeing the damage," Matt confessed as he held the gown's hem.
"Then you share something with Mello," she said with a sad smile. In the whole time she spent with him, Hal couldn't remember a single time Mello glanced in a mirror or down at his chest, even when dressing his injuries. It surprised her, witnessing apparent shame in someone she'd expected to be haughty about his battle scars.
The pair shared a moment of wordless grief before Matt abruptly threw off the gown.
Her eyes refused to look away from the boy's freckled, scrawny chest with its many gauze bandages. Matt didn't notice as he too stared down at the sight. He peeled the gauze off of a stomach area wound. Though the wound was minor, the surrounding area was red, with a few short, dark streaks extending from it. Obviously some infection still remained.
"Scraggy, short, nerdy, freckled, and now one-eyed and scarred." Matt sighed, rolling his eyes. "Smashing, a future of tissues and porn for me."
Scowling, and now blushing due to his admission, he yanked the t-shirt over his head. He looked so adorably innocent that Hal burst out laughing.
"You could always join the mob and start wearing biker clothes. It worked for Mello," quipped Hal. It felt strange to be joking around again, especially about Mello. But life went on and she couldn't grieve forever.
Matt chuckled, apparently not minding.
"Wouldn't work on me," he said, shaking his head.
He leaned against the headboard, wrapping his arms around his pale, bony legs. She noticed the bandages on his thigh and shin.
"Matt, were you and Mello close?" Hal ventured, since Mello was on her mind now.
Matt took the time to either mull this over or scour his mind for memories. With his memory lapses she couldn't be sure which.
"In a way," he finally said. "Growing up he'd pester me to make me notice him, as all boys with crushes do. He annoyed me, but never caused me any harm. It was almost comfortingly familiar, like the box of socks and pants you get yearly."
Hal had expected a reply akin to roughly a yes or no, but much preferred the more personal one he gave.
"Mello was sort of endearing even when irritating, wasn't he?" she asked rhetorically. "If I'm not prying, were the feelings reciprocated?"
"No," he said regretfully. "I put up with the flirting, and didn't mind it. But┘I didn't feel anything."
That certainly made sense, given the little she knew about Matt. He came across very kind and patient.
"I think we've all been there," Hal commiserated.
Matt leaned over the bed, grabbing a cup and dipping it into the ice bucket on the adjacent table.
"I hate admitting this, but┘I forgot what we were talking about," said Matt, lying back on the bed and putting a few cubes of ice in his mouth.
"Mello," Hal clarified. As he sat munching on ice, she leaned in. "Matt┘how much do you remember of everything I've told you today?"
The brutal sounds of ice crunching against teeth remained for another minute.
"Um┘I was shot, Mello's dead┘someone had the Note┘and Near gave me goggles. But that can't be all. Dammit! Why can't I remember everything!"
He clinched the plastic cup hard, nearly crushing it, and gritted his teeth. Ignoring the outburst felt most respectful, but leaving him fearing his sanity felt cruel. Hal really was terrible in emotional situations.
She searched for any available diversion and found it in the form of an external drive box on the floor. The contents were a mystery to Hal; she'd simply found it in a corner of his and Mello's closet, sealed with masking tape, and taken it with her. Judging from how it sounded, it wasn't filled with a hard drive anymore. Wordlessly she handed it over to Matt, who didn't show recognition but slowly ripped off the tape anyway.
Curious, Hal peered into the box when he opened it, discovering it was nothing more than the former contents of a junk drawer. Clearing a space on the blanket and smoothing it out, Matt dumped the contents into it.
Within the mix of paperclips, notepads, and various items of that ilk, she spotted a photograph peeking out.
When Matt didn't protest, Hal took out the picture and looked at it. There was nothing remotely distinctive about it; it was simply three college students in a basement, sitting in folding chairs in front of a ping pong table. Of the three men, the first was a large, neck-
bearded man who looked like Seth Rogan, the second a Mexican with tidy hair and a lazy attempt at a moustache, and Matt, who grinned crookedly and held a beer like he was toasting the photographer.
"Do you remember them?" Hal posed, holding the picture up for Matt. He took it from her, examining it long enough for Hal to doubt he did. But a moment later a smile crept over his chapped lips.
"Ah, Eric and┘Carl. My mates from my single semester at NYU. We shared so many tech courses that we became friends. Even after dropping out and eventually transferring to community college we stayed together. If I ever get back home I'll go knock 'em up."
Hal's knowledge of British slang lacked in many areas, including this one. She only knew he couldn't mean impregnating or beating them. The confusion must've been obvious, since he clarified.
"Visiting," said Matt. "Knock 'em up as in knock on their door."
"Ah, that makes sense," she replied, feeling silly. After a polite pause, she asked, "So New York is home for you?"
Matt nodded, returning to the box as Hal popped a cube on her tongue.
"I wanted somewhere vast and anonymous where everything's convenient. I applied to only New York schools, since I dreamt of living there for years."
"Change New York to D.C and you described me," said Hal, smiling nostalgically. "I hate several things about it, but it's where I came into my own and for that I am grateful."
Whenever Hal found someone she could talk to, she tended to get far too open and gregarious. She'd done it with Mello, partially in hopes of changing the subject from Near and catching Kira, but except in rare moments, generally late at night, he hadn't appreciated it. Matt, on the other hand, seemed the type who loved long exchanges, so long as he didn't have to be the one asking questions and his mind could stay focused.
"I thought I'd find at least one fag in here," muttered Matt, shuffling through the box. "I can't stand this!"
He took a deep, calming breath and proceeded to sort through the many papers in the box. Most appeared to be coupons. Given the English writing on them, Hal suspected he'd transported the contents of his junk drawer to Japan without sorting it.
"God, only three of these aren't expired. But they aren't worth saving." Matt held up a coupon for two-hundred dollars off custom cabinet work.
"I have more of your things in my trunk," Hal informed him, sipping the tiny amount of melted ice in her cup. "Your laptop and bass guitar are in there."
Matt's eye widened. "I'd forgotten about Mr Bassman! I love that guitar. I need to play that again, I don't think I did once after coming here."
By now he'd gone through all the coupons and started on the junk. A corroded battery went on the pile of discarded coupons.
"When did you start playing?" she queried.
The boy dumped a handful of cracked seashells and a midget pencil with a dried eraser onto the pile.
"I don't recall┘thirteen or so?" Matt shrugged, plopping a Day's Inn matchbook on the newly started Keep pile. "I'm best at drumming, but since it's not too feasible in a flat, I didn't buy a set."
Hal tried to imagine Matt as a drummer and found it very easy.
"Did you ever have a band?"
A notepad with stuck pages bit the dust.
"Uh┘yeah, sort of. My mates and I would mess about in the music room at Wammy's sometimes," Matt admitted, not meeting Hal's eye. "I couldn't stand playing if anyone stopped to watch. We were horrid."
Matt passed a few minutes riffling through his things.
"I'm sure you've told me already┘what's your name?" He gave a deeply apologetic smile.
Hal reintroduced herself, doing all she could to pretend it was the first time.
Matt nodded respectfully and they soon fell into an uncomfortable silence.
"Matt, you should be out of here soon. Any ideas of what you'll do next?"
From the expression that crossed his face, he obviously hadn't.
"I┘want to learn every detail of the Kira case, since my memory is short and I don't remember a great deal," he decided. "And after that, if I can, I want to return home, resume school, and go back to my previous life building computers and working. It's nothing extraordinary, but neither am I. I'm simply Matt the NYU dropout. But I'm fine with that."
The boy shrugged, grinning at Hal crookedly.
Hearing people put themselves down in a serious way had irritated Hal most of her life. Too many people did it to fish for sympathy.
"You are whatever you tell yourself you are, so skip the self pity," she warned. Her tone softened a bit as she continued. "Just because you're less distinctive than the others doesn't mean your contributions to the case were any less significant."
"Hardly, but I tried," Matt said, swinging his legs over the bed. "Nature calls, be back in a moment."
Holding onto the bed, Matt took a few stiff, timid steps. After stopping to check his balance, he let go and managed to make it to the bathroom on his own. It had to be a struggle after three weeks of rest and the loss of depth perception.
Feeling the need to make herself useful, Hal refolded all of Matt's laundry, including his underwear once she finished with the shirts and cargo pants.
"Are you┘folding my pants?" posed Matt as he stepped back into the room. He looked so bewildered that she instantly felt silly.
"Just keeping myself busy," said Hal with a shrug.
He ignored this, making his careful way back to the bed.
"Hey, Hal?" asked Matt, carefully settling on the edge of the bed. "What's the date? I don't know anything, even the year."
She nodded at a calendar on the wall opened to February. He took one look and winced with shame.
"It's 2010," Hal supplied, since the calendar didn't. "You had your twentieth birthday soon after arriving here."
Matt took a gulp of ice water and whistled low.
"Damn, I didn't think I'd live that long, with all that happened!"
There was something chilling about living in a world where people actually celebrated staying alive for two decades. But considering Mello died only six weeks after the same milestone, there was good reason to.
"I reckon I depressed you," Matt said suddenly, studying Hal's face. "Sorry about that."
"No Matt, you didn't," she lied, tucking a pale strand of hair behind her ear. Her gaze drifted to the strip of sunlight pouring over the end of Matt's bed.
"I would have prevented this, if I'd been wise enough to just ask what the plan was," she murmured, not even aware she'd spoken until after the fact. "Nevermind, nothing I can do about it now."
"I really┘don't know what you're talking about," admitted Matt. "But I know you couldn't have done anything."
That was the whole problem; when Hal should have done something she hadn't, and when she should have backed off, she unwittingly commanded the guards to shoot Matt. These were the only parts of the entire Kira case where Hal made a single mistake and one, nearly two people died for it. She was the type who could never let go of guilt, and it was a terrible shortcoming for an FBI agent.
Just then, another nurse came in, this one male. He introduced himself as he rolled in a small table. On it were a filled syringe, a bandage and alcohol swipe, a blood tester and test strips; Matt's diabetic supplies. Hal already knew about this condition, thanks to his medical bracelet.
The man performed the injection in Matt's good thigh. Matt obviously wanted to protest, but stayed mum. He did however use the tester himself.
"Lunch will be here in ten minutes," the nurse called out as he left the room. Hal translated.
Trying to lighten the mood, she joked, "That must've been a relief to Mello, knowing his chocolate was safe around you."
For the second time that day Hal wondered why she ever tried to be funny. Matt was gracious enough to force out a chuckle.
"Were you close to him?" Matt wondered once he'd sobered, echoing Hal's question from earlier.
"Was anyone?" Hal retorted with an equally false chuckle. "No, I┘I felt like it. I understood Mello well because I was a lot like him when I was around twenty; still am in many ways.
"I'm sad I'll never get to see what he'd become down the line. But honestly, I can't imagine him in a world without Kira and I don't think he could either. He knew he wouldn't survive that long."
Much to her chagrin, Hal felt herself tear up.
"I didn't get to know nearly as much about him as I wanted. Which I can't complain about. I'm lucky he let me be a part of his life at all. I can only hope he knew how important he was; to me and to so many others. For better or worse, Mello made a big impact in a lot of lives."
"Amen," agreed Matt. "L would be proud to know what became of his protИgИ, even though he'd probably disapprove in some areas."
Without either saying it, it soon became obvious it was time for Hal to leave.
"Well, I'll let you have your lunch in private. I'll come tomorrow after work and bring Mr Bassman if you'd like."
"Of course!" exclaimed Matt, hugging his knobby knees. "If I can remember anything I'll play you a song."
Hal stood, taking a final swallow of water. "I look forward to it."
By the time she spoke again, she was already to the door. "Oh, and don't go trying to bum smokes off the nurses."
Matt laughed, briefly sticking his tongue out at her.
"See you tomorrow," Hal said, holding the door.
"Thanks. And tell Near if I get shot again, I want an antique compass."
"Say goodnight Matt," she deadpanned, rolling her eyes and shutting the door.
She knew what he'd say and mouthed it with him when she heard through the door, "Goodnight Matt."