AN- This is the companion story to "Welcome to Wammy" and follows the same premise, detailing the life of Near. I say companion story because they are both stand-alone, but play off the same events. This one is also rated M, because I have come to terms with the fact that I could not write fluffy, light subject matter if my life depended on it. Even my fluffy moments are later ruined by something. That being said, I hope you enjoy this story, but be aware that I write about heavy subjects...pain, trauma, and the general Tom-foolery that is the human life. Because that's all this is...taking a character, and trying to make them human. With Love-Kani

Chapter1 A bunny called Love.

He didn't want to know why he was there. If he knew why, then he had to accept what had happened, and that cannot happen…at all. He was courting madness to flirt with murder. Still the pain at his temple brought him back and reminded him that it was done and he couldn't change it. The white hair wrapped tightly around his knuckle grounded him firmly, here…in the 'this' and the 'now'.

"I understand that your mother's murder has yet to be solved. I want you to know that we will do our best to put her at ease."

Nate did not look up when the old voice spoke, because the voice is what scared him. The voice is what drove him deeper into himself, away from wherever this place was. He hugged himself tighter, until the muscles of his leg began to cramp from the strain of his unusual position. One leg up, to protect his stomach…the other down, should he need to run, and he chose to sit this way.

He did not cry.

He did not tremble.

The voice came again, and his large dark eyes closed, hearing, and wishing so desperately that he didn't.

"We're not trying to replace your Mother, Nate. We just want to take care of you…teach you, and help you grow. Do you understand?" His eyes flickered open again before he clamped them shut with a jerk of his chin that could have been a nod.

He understood.

He did not like it. He didn't like this place, this place of many children. Too many other minds, too many voices.

"We're going to call you Near. One day, you'll be able to put it behind you, and we'll be there to help. Eric will show you to your room."

The man came back, and Nate stood slowly, his arms wrapping firmly around his small stomach as he shuffled after him. The door closed, and there were more doors…several doors, hundreds of doors here. Too many, and he felt so small. Eric, the man, he was young, but tall…he walked beside him.

Near pulled away slightly, though he wanted to grip the hem of that shirt, bury his face into his side, and be held for a moment. No, he knew better now.

Eric lead him up the stairs, to a long empty hall, quiet. A moment and the key sounded in the lock, the white door swinging inward. Nate stepped into his room, and didn't turn when the lock sounded, trapping him there.

There was a bunny…there on the bed. He shuffled forward slowly, peering quietly at it as it rested on his pillow. There was a small collar around the stuffed animal's neck, a small brass coin reading 'Love', held on by a blue ribbon. The seven year-old in him took over then, and he remembered the small child that he was. He scrambled onto the bed with a half-choked whimper, and clutched the bunny to his chest. The tears came…in the dark, behind the locked door. The strange bunny grew warm as his chest heaved with tiny sobs, because he dared not cry loudly. No…no one would know. He would cry, for his mother, for his brother, and for himself…and only 'Love', would know.

His mind called him foolish. The remainder of his heart called him wise, for letting it out now…here, alone, where only he would know. It offered solace, to be in control of his weakness if nothing else.

A finger twisted into his hair hard, pulling until he heard a strand or two snap in the utter silence of the room. He looked to the side, and found a window overlooking the English winter. White…a vast expanse of virgin snow, rolling gently as a calm sea. He'd never been to England before. He could hardly appreciate it now, in the middle of the night, after hours of not knowing where he was headed simply because he could not find his voice to ask.

Wammy's House, they'd called it.

It wasn't home. His mother wasn't here, and she never would be, because when he'd last seen her…

The sobs came harder, but the bunny didn't mind. His eyes felt heavy after half an hour or so, and he curled into the pillow with the bunny still plastered to his shirt front.

There, at one in the morning after an exhausting jet trip from Toronto, Canada…Nate River finally fell asleep.

XXXX

"Is he sleeping?"

"Yes sir…cried himself right out, the poor thing."

"If he dreams take him cocoa with a mild sedative…he needs to rest. Now, let's review his file."

"Yes sir…Nate River, seven years old, witnessed the murder of his small family, and was found in a small orphanage outside Toronto. Our representative claims that he has an amazing mind, but the trauma sent him mute. We don't know when he'll start talking again."

"Well, we're not going to rush him."

"He's albino, small for his age, collected toys. Our rep. says he likes to stack things..."

"Logical then…good."

"He hates being spoken to, though he still responds to verbal cues and conversation. He hasn't said a word in four months."

"He will speak again, however?"

"Yes, the damage is completely psychological. When he's ready to speak, he will…though it's possible that he doesn't know why he can't talk. Until then, we'll have to read his body language and possibly teach him sign language."

"Alright, we'll have Sarah start working with him in a few weeks. Tell Penny that I want his outfit duplicated, no variations."

"It's not a problem sir, we can have that taken care in less than a day."

"Good." Roger turned a page, reading through the sheet again. "He was completely catatonic the first few days after the murder?"

"Yes sir. Then on the third day he got up and this is how he's been ever since."

"Is he religious?"

"…Not anymore."

"Alright then. Tell housekeeping to take the bible out of his dresser then. What else does he like?"

"Puzzles, sir."

"Good. Wait until he opens up some, then show him the catalogue so he can pick a few."

"Yes sir."

"Eric?"

"Yes sir?"

Roger sighed, sitting at his desk and watching his newest ward sleep. "When he gets hungry, give him anything he wants, but supplement it. He's too small."

"Understood. I'll see you in the morning."

"Night son." Roger donned his reading glasses and pulled out The Hound of Baskervilles, settling in for his customary First Night's Guard.