Running Blind
Genre: drama/general
Characters: M, M
Pairing: none, really
Disclaimer: don't own
Warnings: language

Notes: This is basically just where I have fun with the idea that there was absolutely no deliberation in the 'partnering up' thing, and was honestly only coincidence. And don't nag me about realism here; randomly running into people on street corners where you'd least expect them totally happens. I'm actually not being sarcastic here. Stuff like this happens to me, at least, about once a year.
Language/Style Notes: Self-betaed, as usual. Third person limited narration.

-

It was cold. Matt buried his face deeper into the fur-lined collar of his vest, glad of the goggles that kept the feathery snow from falling in his eyes and blinding him. The steel-grey sky was tinted orange by the lenses, a sick, strange colour that felt like... like the colour of deja-vu. It gave him a funny feeling in the pit of his stomach, and he hated it. The sooner he could get back to the safe gloom of his apartment, the better. He didn't understand the strange people that actually liked walking around in this weather, that strode forward with their faces bared to the cold air.

He bumped accidentally but rather forcefully into someone all in black leather, and Matt's stomach clenched up further. Shit. A quick glance all but confirmed that the guy was probably in some gang or something, also that he had a gun tucked under that coat somewhere.

"Sorry, man, didn't mean to," Matt mumbled, edged away with his head down, eyes deflecting towards the ground in a submissive attitude to avoid pissing the guy off. There was that scar across his stomach that throbbed angrily at the mere thought of another bad encounter with a gang-lord or one of his cronies, and his stomach twisted at the memory.

"Whatever," snapped the man, turning away, but not before Matt caught sight of the terrible scar that the other was attempting to hide under oversized sunglasses. He hurried off, gladly.

Almost home. Good. The sky was starting to get to him. He waited patiently on the corner for the light to change; his apartment was visible from here. When he got back, he'd pull out his new Zelda game and get in some good old-fashioned digital ass-kicking before writing some more code, then calling it a day. He'd barely slept the last few days, the edge of being here in this new place finally starting to grind him down, and it was affecting his performance on the job. Not that anyone would ever notice; his less-than-best was still more than adequate when it came to the gadgets he dealt with, but sleep was starting to sound pretty good.

The light was still red when someone else joined him at the crosswalk, and it had just switched to green when he felt something that felt distinctly like the barrel of a gun shoving into the small of his back, and a voice hissed in his ear, "Get moving."

"What do you want?" Matt said, as steadily as he could manage, which wasn't very.

"Just go. We're two old friends deep in conversation; if you yell for help I'll shoot you," said the man coldly, and Matt heard the squeak of cold leather, saw the sudden image of the leather threat he'd thought he'd escaped half a block away. He started across the street almost involuntarily, tensing up. The man made a condescending but pleased noise in his throat and followed, gun still pressed hard against Matt's back.

Matt stayed silent, judging that it was in his best interests if he wanted to live, which he rather did.

"You look like a guy with some material means about him," said the man conversationally, and Matt turned cold.

"If you want cash, man, I don't have any on me, but I can go to a bank machine if you're desperate -" he said, hoping only to appease this guy and get him off his back.

"I don't need your money," the man said scornfully. "Just an anonymous place to crash for the night."

Oh hell no. Matt's flat was his own, private and comfortably messy, filled with not-exactly-legal projects. And there was no fucking way he was going to bring some crazy gangster home with him. He could be a druggie, or a murderer, or any number of things that Matt simply did not want to deal with and certainly not on his own turf.

"I don't have a place," Matt lied. "I spent most of my money on cigs and booze. I just got paid, but I don't have anything more than some cardboard and blankets and it's certainly not made to accommodate more than one. Sorry."

The gun shoved harder against his spine. Matt could practically feel the chill of the metal through vest and shirt.

"You're a fucking liar," the man said. "Your keys are in your pocket; I can hear them jingling and clinking, and it's a different sort of sound than change. You have a new video game for a TV console in your damn plastic bag. Where are you getting the electricity to run a TV if you live on the fucking streets? You're not married - no ring, so if you a girlfriend or a roommate or something, tell them to piss off for an evening. I want you to take me to your fucking place and if you even try to look at me, I'll shoot you."

"All right, all right," Matt said, alarmed. This was madness. Why the hell was he agreeing? Oh, right, to avoid being shot. Of course. "OK, you're right, that wasn't nice. I'll let you stay. Don't shoot. It's just me in the apartment, but the building itself is pretty full, so you better tell me how to avoid pissing you off other than 'don't look at me,' if you don't want to get caught when someone hears that gun go off. I can be pretty offensive when I want to be."

"It's easy," said the man. "Don't look at me. Don't talk back if I ask you to do something. And don't tell anyone that I was ever there."

"Oh, is that all?" Matt said, and tried to stifle the automatic sarcasm. Avoiding getting shot here! he scolded himself.

"That's it. I'll be gone in the morning, probably before you even wake up."

This guy was frighteningly observant, and bossy, and Matt was not looking forward to sharing even one night in the same apartment as him. But he was looking forward to having a hole in his spine even less, so he kept walking, down the street, into the apartment building, and steadily up the stairs to his suite.

It was dark; Matt hadn't opened the curtains before he'd left that morning, and he certainly wasn't going to open them now. Mr. Observant would think he was trying to get a look at him in a reflection off the glass or something. He left the lights off too. Anything which would lessen the possibility of him actually seeing anything.

"Right," said the man. "I'm taking a shower and then going to bed."

"And by bed, you mean my bed, right?" Matt sighed, resignedly. The couch again, which meant another sleepless night crunched into all sorts of strange positions, which meant that he was going to be next to useless the following day. Christ, life must hate him.

"Really? Thanks for offering," the man said, and Matt suddenly wasn't sure whether he wanted to kick himself or his home-invader more. He shut his eyes, exasperated, as his 'guest' strode past him towards the bathroom; he only dared to open them when he hear that door shut decisively.

What had he gotten himself into? Jesus. Life was such a bitch.

He set to work on one of his less obviously illegal projects - not that it particularly mattered, since it was pretty obvious that this guy didn't want to be involved with the law either - but it was nice not to let the guy have anything more to use against him than he might already have gathered.

Someone knocked on his door, and Matt practically jumped a mile in the air. No one ever came to his apartment to visit! No one! Why now, why today, when he had a criminal in his shower who would probably kill him if he even so much as suspected Matt of foul play? Oh shit, oh shit.

"Mr. Johnson? I know you're home, your neighbour says she just heard you come in. Don't worry, there's no trouble, I'd just like to ask you a few questions."

Matt opened the door, resignedly, and found himself facing a tall, bulky blond man, made to appear even bulkier, somehow - Matt was willing to bet that it was because under that coat he was wearing a bullet-proof vest.

"Yeah?" he said. "Sorry, didn't hear you knocking at first. What can I do for you?"

"We're trying to track down someone," said the man. He had to be CIA, or FBI, some sort of national police, anyways. He just had that certain look that Matt had noticed that all policemen got after awhile, whether anyone else noticed or not. "A young man - about your age. Blond, blue eyes, probably all in black."

"That's kind of vague," Matt said. "I've seen a bunch of people even just today who could fit that description. Hey, if you left out just one of those factors, you could be talking about you."

"He's five-seven, wiry," the man said. "He's - oh, here, I'd better show you the sketch. He's extremely paranoid and probably dangerous, so unfortunately he's destroyed all photographic evidence of himself - and this sketch is from when he was a kid, although he hasn't changed all that much. Just in height, I'm told. Here."

The man passed him a folded piece of paper, and it was all Matt could do to remain calm. He couldn't stop a startled exclamation, but covered it swiftly with, "Christ, I thought you said you were looking for a guy."

"Just tell me if you've seen him recently," the man said wearily, looking annoyed, as though he always got those sorts of reactions - that, Matt could easily believe.

"Nope," Matt said, and handed the sketch back with barely a tremble in his hand. It was the absolute truth. He hadn't seen him - recently, anyways. "No, I'd definitely remember that stare - those eyes. Christ. Well, good luck finding him, and I'm sorry I can't give you a better clue about his whereabouts."

"Do you have a room-mate who we could ask?" said the man.

"No I don't," Matt said, honestly; it was only after, seeing the suspicious look in the man's eyes, that he realized that the shower running was clearly audible. "Oh that? I was getting ready to shower when you knocked. Nobody ever comes to visit me, so I wasn't expecting..." he improvised smoothly.

"No, that's fine," the man said, stepping back into the hall. "I'm sorry I interrupted you. Thanks for your time."

"Sorry again I wasn't a help. Good luck finding him." Matt smiled falsely, hid his trembling left hand in his pocket, his right behind the door.

"Thanks," said the man, and turned and left. Matt shut the door quickly, feeling a deep sense of relief. The water was still running in the bathroom, so he was safe for awhile and could have a mental breakdown on the couch.

He had a sketch of Mello. Fucking Mello, for fuck's sake - why? What was - why was - when had -? Shit. Shit, fucking Mello, that kid that he hadn't been confronted with or even dared to think of for six fucking years. Did this mean he was in New York? Did this mean he was still fighting Near? Did this mean he was still deeply involved in the Kira case -?

No. No, he would not go there. Mello was a memory of the past, now. He should be no one to him, and he could still be that, if only Matt kept hold of his resolve and didn't let the old memories overwhelm him. Yeah, he would be fine.

"What did you say to the person who was just at the door?"

Matt leapt almost out of his seat again, heart pounding in his chest. The water was still running. Shouldn't the guy still be in the shower?

"Fuck, don't sneak up on me!" he said, knowing it probably wouldn't have any effect. He was pretty sure the crazy bastard was pointing his gun at the back of his head. Again. And he was probably naked, too, because he could hear the asshole dripping on his linoleum. What a paranoid freak. Couldn't even dry off before coming out to find out if Matt had betrayed his presence.

"I asked what did you say?"

"He was looking for some kid," Matt said. "Some blond little jerk of a kid that's been gone for years, so he could be anywhere now. Don't worry. I'm not stupid enough to have said anything about you to him."

"A blond little jerk of a kid," the invader said. "Huh. Sounds like you knew him?"

"Not the guy looking, no," Matt said.

"But the kid."

"It was just some kid. Look, you said you were going to bed. I have to work tomorrow, and I'm running on a major sleep deficit, so if you don't mind, I'd like to go lie down as well. Good night."

That was a pretty sharp response to someone who had specifically told him not to lip him off, but hell, he was still alive; his little invader buddy seemed not to care.

"... Fine, whatever. Good night," said the man, and from his tone, Matt suddenly had to wonder if he'd been trying to make some sort of odd but polite conversation, and if they'd actually both failed miserably at it.

Oh well.

He fell asleep on the couch, completely exhausted despite the weird noises coming from his room that should have kept him awake. He was really too exhausted to even care what the creep in his bedroom was doing. He'd change all the sheets just in case it was something like... that, but other than that, the less he had to do with the guy, the better. There was no way in hell he was going to go check the situation out.

-

Matt woke up to someone shaking him, and opened his eyes blearily. "What?"

"No, keep your eyes closed. Close them! Good. Just listen. You're absolutely sure that you told no one I was here?" His voice was hushed and urgent; his hands were still gripping Matt's upper arms. He must be kneeling just in front of him or something. Hadn't this guy heard of something called 'uninterrupted sleep cycle'? The kind that Matt hadn't experienced for a long time?

"Course," Matt mumbled. He couldn't lip off. Lipping off would get him shot. It was tiring and aggravating to keep remembering that, and he hoped this meant that his uninvited houseguest would be leaving soon. "I said that, didn't I? Can I go back to sleep now?"

"No. Matt, that man, who came to the door, what did he look like?"

"Tall and blond and bulky," Matt mumbled. "Looked like he was prepared for shit, and other sorts of projectile weapons. Think he had a flak-jacket on. Didn't get a name, he was smarter than that."

"Fuck, Lester," snarled the man. Then, a little calmer: "You need to get a new apartment."

"Why? This one's just fine," Matt said. "So it looks a bit like a trash heap; that doesn't mean -"

"I mean that that guy will be back, with other members of his team. You covered well about the photograph - I heard that - but to someone like him, the lie will be there all the same. You can't let him find anything here, me or any of your stuff, which I could tell was all illegal, by the way, so don't think you're any better than me at hiding that shit. Trust me. He's with the police. Or rather, the police, after a fashion."

"Shit, with Kira?" Matt felt the breath get sucked out of him. He was suddenly a lot more awake than he wanted to be.

"No, it's - well, it's not important, but you'll be in shit if they find out you're here. I'm trying to do you a favour, Matt. Stop fucking questioning me. I've already packed most of your clothes and things up, but you have to deal with your computer crap. I'm going to go finish that up, and you get off your lazy ass and start organizing the stuff in your living room. I saw car keys on the hook - tell me where you're parked and I'll start dragging stuff down."

Matt could have said many things, like: My body clock says it must be four in the fucking morning, are you insane? Or, What makes you think you're going anywhere with me? Or, Oh, so that's what you were doing in my room. Or, This is all your fault. Why do you know so much about this? About me? What is going on?

What he actually said was: ".... What did you call me?" His mind was curiously still. He had a feeling he should be a lot more worked up about this, because he'd just said -?

"Matt, you little ass. Don't pretend it doesn't belong to you. Get up, we have to get going - what the fuck are you doing?!"

The other's face under his left hand was smooth and finely shaped, with high, foxy cheekbones, narrow, with nearly non-existent eyebrows. A curtain of straight, straight hair brushed the back of his hand as he brought it down, fingers trailing lightly over a stubborn chin, a tense jaw. His touch faltered, alarm bells going off in his head at the sensation under his fingers, numbing.

He knew that face.

How many times had it glared at him? How many times had its owner bossed him around, even though they were supposed to be friends, after a fashion? He yanked his fingers away as though burned, eyes flaring open as he blurted the name.

"Mello -? Jesus fuck!"

Mello's eyes hadn't changed, hard and icy and terrifying, although at the moment they were half-hooded as he pulled back. It was dark, but enough light was getting through the crack in the curtains to tell Matt that something drastic had changed.

Matt sat up, drew his legs up to his chest. "Your face, man - what happened to your face?"

"That's not important," Mello snapped. "I told you, that guy will be back. He's under Near. I wouldn't put it past the little shit to have bugged him, and recorded your conversation or the appearance of each person he brought to the door, the little brat'll have seen your face - at best heard your voice. You're another Wammy's kid, don't you think he'll be wondering why you're here?"

"Well, until this afternoon, I was here just because it was a good place to be anonymous." Matt sighed; his heart was pounding, though he was trying to hide it. "Fuck, you're probably right, I'd be the first person he'd suspect of harbouring you. What made you wait so damn long to tell me you'd figured it out?"

"You said you were exhausted," Mello growled, "And you have way too much shit to pack. Where are you parked?"

"Underground parking lot, third level. Number's the same as the apartment," Matt said without thinking.

"Right, I'm taking stuff down. Get your ass moving."

Matt dragged himself to his feet as Mello whipped out the door, and tried not to think about anything except how to get all of his stuff out and into the car without breaking anything. If he stopped to think -

Damn, Mello. Fucking Mello coming out of nowhere after six years of silence and ignoring his existence, and taking control of his life once more. Why was he bothering? Mello was the one in trouble, not him. All he had to do was stay here and do nothing. And make Mello swear never to contact him again, because Near would probably keep watching him until he was sure that Mello hadn't contacted him in the first place, and would never contact him ever again.

"I said get moving!" Mello cuffed his shoulder as he came back through the door, looking even more frighteningly insane than usually.

"Mello, I don't have to go anywhere. If that guy comes back, I just have to let him search the apartment since you'll be gone, and when he finds no evidence that you were ever here - and he won't, I'm not a total idiot - he has to leave me alone. Near might keep me under surveillance for awhile, but that's hardly something to worry about if you keep your promise that you made before I figured out it was you, and never come back."

"Matt."

He was trying hard to quell a terrible anger, Matt noted, and wondered if he'd pushed it too far. What exactly was wrong about what he'd said? He thought he'd had a perfectly valid point. And he didn't have time for jerks who hadn't had time for him for years, either.

"We don't have time for this."

"You don't have time for this," Matt corrected him. "I have all the time in the world. Whatever you're involved in, I want no part in it. I never liked your competitions with Near and I'm not going to get stuck in them again."

"Even if it's also for L?" Mello said, quiet, voice sharp like a blade.

"Even then. It's four in the fucking morning, I'm going to bed. See you."

"No you're not," Mello snapped. "You're coming with me."

"Make me," Matt challenged, flopping back down on the couch and closing his eyes.

He heard Mello walk out, slamming the door behind him, and tried to sleep. The problem was, now he was too keyed up to relax. Fucking Mello. Jerk.

He jolted out of a near-doze when he heard the door open again, and then he was being shaken again.

"What, for fuck's sake?"

"Come on," Mello said.

"I told you. Make me."

"Why are you making this so fucking hard? I'm not afraid to threaten you again if I have to. Get up."

"You wouldn't shoot me," Matt said, rolling over. "And, you know, maybe it would be better if you took me out right now instead of getting me involved in your stupid petty machinations for who can get to Kira first. Give me one good reason why I should help you that has nothing to do with Near or L or you being a jerk."

"Kira has everything to do with everything," Mello said. "I'm going to take him down, by myself, if I have to."

"Good, well, have fun with that," Matt grumbled, pulled a cushion on top of his head and squashed it down firmly, pretending not to hear.

"I also don't want to die," Mello said, after a long moment of tense, nearly exasperated silence. "You know you're the only person other than L that I would listen to if they told me to stop?"

"Great. So stop trying to keep me awake all fucking night and leave me the hell alone."

"Matt. I want you by my side. Do you understand or do I have to spell it out? I have no one I can trust. I have nowhere to go."

"So?"

"So we were always a team, and that was important to me, despite everything you might think. If you want to stay out of danger, that's fine, I have no problems with danger myself. Just come with me. I need you."

Matt remained buried, but his throat tightened. Fucking Mello always knew him too well, knew how being third was perfectly fine, as long as he was needed.

Of course Mello had been the one who'd overheard when Wammy had called him his protege with a grandfatherly smile, of course Mello knew that that meant that Matt was to be the partner of whoever became L. To be needed, a valuable assistant and partner, instead of just a floater who did odd jobs in code-writing and computer repair and upgrades.

Shit.

That was all the purpose Matt had wanted out of life, and he'd given that up - and now, here was Mello offering that to him again.

He knew what sort of work he'd be getting himself into. It was Mello. Mello was insane. In spite of Mello's confident assurance that there would be no problems with avoiding danger, he'd probably face death time after time, and end up either arrested or dead before their goal had been achieved. He wasn't walking blindly in; God knew he'd had enough contact with Mello to know better.

"You're gonna shoot me if I don't?" Matt said blandly.

Mello's eyes glinted. "Get packing and you won't have to find out."

Matt got up. He thought, resignedly: What the hell. I guess I'm caught.

He wasn't, actually, all that upset.

-