(Why does this fic have so much dialogue in it? Argh. Shut it up, guys. How I made Matt & Near chattier than Matt & Misa is anyone's guess. I hate writing Near, but this fic is more about him than anybody else. …anyway, this won't make much sense unless you read Pardon With a Question Mark first. Then again, it might end up making no sense at all no matter what you do. Sorry! I tried!)

the heart and the mind on a parallel course,

never the two shall meet

and oh the dissatisfied with the satisfied

--indigo girls, you and me of the 10,000 wars

Matt hasn't seen Near in…going on four years, now.

He hopes before going in that Near looks different.

He doesn't.

Near looks exactly the same and Matt has to rein himself in from the get go, because he's already ready to hate Near for not changing almost as much as he hates him for surviving. And what kind of a reason is that? Stupid. Matt's not Mello and he's not going to take up Mello's mantle now; it'd hurt too much and Matt doesn't think he'd be very good at it anyhow. He's not an heir-type. He's an accomplice.

That was something he and Mikami had in common. Y'know, they'd really gotten along.

Shame that Near, you know, went and killed him.

--no, dammit, stop. You don't know—(but you suspect)—that it was him, and who could—(and suspicion's enough)—blame him anyway, the guy was a lunatic, Near doesn't look at people like—

Near looks exactly the fucking same, damn him.

Then again, so does Matt.

Books and covers; that kind of judgment's about as valid as Kira's. Though Matt's always fancied himself more of a bookend.

…Do something with your hair, man.

"Hi, Near."

Near, used to speaking Japanese, hears it as a crisp subservient yes before he stops being foolish.

"Hello," he says.

Dear God, but he's out of practice. "How're you?"



"Fine." A useless question. "You?"

"Sort of awful, really," Matt answers honestly. "A little pissed off. A little depressed. Why'd you ask?"

"…It's customary." Near's voice is almost dry; like something stale. "It has been a while."

"We both know you don't give a shit how I am."

Even if Near did he wouldn't ever say so.

What passes for Matt's courtesy reminds Near of Mello, and it is far from comfortable. With Mello it was part of the vocabulary. With Matt it's not. He never spoke to Matt enough to develop a vocabulary. He has stored away enough humility to acknowledge that although he speaks fifteen languages Matt's is not, has never been among them.

"Let's not," says Near, ever even.

"Isn't that basically what I just said?"

"I meant let's not be combative." Is that dryness? Maybe it's just disuse. Maybe Near's diet still consists of nothing with a side of Legos. "There is little point in it."

Combative. Well, Matt's pretty good at not being combative, right.

"Agreed."

"Thank you."

"…Seriously, then," Matt says, lightly, "how have you been, man? Last I saw you you were doing puzzles on, like, six different shades of beige carpeting. Moved up in the world, right?" He kicks the floor. "Good solid wood. And you solved a damn big one."

We did, Near thinks.

"Yes."

"Well—"

"I know," says Near.

Right.

Because Near always knows.

Matt pauses, then shrugs. "Did you want something?"

"Then or now?"

"Either."

--oops. That word out of his mouth carried more force, more—he guesses he'd have to call it bitterness—than he'd really meant, and the aftertaste was telling him: this isn't yours. Dammit. Dammit.

Near flinches, but it's so slight that Matt's not sure he really sees it.

He says, "Yes."

"Yeah?" An arched eyebrow and sardonic voice; those'll get him out of this funk, maybe. "What?"

"None of your business," Near says.

"Then," says Matt, with a skewed half-smile, "or now?"

"Both."

"…'Kay."

"…Now," Near adds, after a pause, "I do not want anything from you except to make clear what it is you know, and what you intend to discuss outside of this room."

"So this is about security." He can't help but roll his eyes at that. Of course. Right. Fucking Wammy's paranoia; it's going to follow him to the grave and, with his luck, it'll have a nice long chase. "Alright."

"So…" Near is uncertain how to proceed, isn't he? So used to getting answers when he asks for them.

What'd they do to you, Near?

What's this doing to you?

He wonders if they knew it was going to turn out like this, and if Near ever wondered. "I know a lot." –and shrugs. "Not as much as you do, probably. Just the basic stuff—what Mello told me about the notebook. I know who the Kiras were. I know the square root of two. I know that Misa Amane likes black more than pink but she likes blue better."

"What's the square root of two?" Gevanni pipes up from his position at the computer in the corner of the room, glancing back, interested.

Smartass. "Around one point four one four two one three five six three, I think."

"Five six two," Near corrects, automatically, then scowls a little. "I thought you knew about the notebook."

"Five six two." Matt stretches, wincing as he feels a twinge in his stomach. "See, I told you you knew already."

"You do understand the absolute necessity of keeping it secret."

Give me a break. "Near?"

"What?"

He closes his eyes, then opens one with a squinty, pained expression. "Who exactly am I gonna tell?"

Near says nothing, but he does nod, and it's…almost apologetic. Almost.

And with this odd half-sight he notices that Near does, in fact, look a little different—a little harsher around the edges, a little older, a little more intense, and a little more like L. He's twirling a few strands of hair around his finger absently and he's probably dissecting the silence, and Matt thinks:

…well, at least I'm not him.

That's quite an at least, though.

…he feels Gevanni's eyes on him. He shoots a look in the opposite direction for some balance and sees—wait, what are those? Can't tell from this distance. Weird little things. Finger puppets? Near, you're so weird. But Near's always been weird. Puppets are creepy. All he can gauge from here is that one has black hair and one's wearing black.

" I'm not going to cause any trouble, Near," he says at last, tired. "I swear. I'm not staying in Japan. I'm not going to work for any governments and I'm going to try like hell to stay as ignorant and average as possible until I cough myself to death." He takes out a cigarette from his pocket; lights it as Near wrinkles his nose. "Go back to the States, probably. East coast, not west." The smoke lingers in the air, here. Not surprising. Air as thick as it is. "Or maybe somewhere in Britain. Always thought I'd like Scotland. Great accents, you—"

"You're been tracked."

Ah, leave it to Near to not care about acce—wait. What?

Matt's eyes narrow. "I what? Who's tracking me?"

"The institute." Excuse me? "They've been semi-looking for you since you left."

…right. That…made some sense. They liked to keep tabs, Matt remembers. After Mello left they looked for a while. Like Mello'd let anyone find him. …Like Matt would, either. Weren't they supposed to be geniuses? Come on. "And now that the Kira thing's done—"

"They've revived their efforts, yes."

Pretty lame. "What do they want me for?"

"You might act on your own."

Like he did. God. "Don't they know anything?"

"They don't know you're alive."

…ah.

"…Who does know?"

"No one outside this room."

"…You won't tell them," Matt says.

Near shakes his head. "No."

"No, what?"

"No, I will not."

"…Do they 'know' I'm dead? Do they know about—"

"I intend to tell them nothing," Near answers, still so damned even, but with a touch of what might be…what. Resolve? "Their system installed me as the successor to L. I will act as I believe L would have, and withhold any reports."

"…why's that?"

Something in Near's eyes flickers. "I have deemed them incompetent and unnecessary. They have not acted in such a way as to protect their assets. An inefficient machine deserves no upkeep. Isn't that true?"

…Matt doesn't try to fight back the small smile. It's dark. It's more than a little mordant on the scale of such things.

"…God."

"I don't see what God has to do with anything," Near says, tersely.

"You'd be just like him," Matt says, "if you bought yourself a sense of humor."

"Like—"

"L."

When Near replies, it is to say, quietly: "That is not entirely correct."

What does he—

Oh.

Matt whistles. "That's low."

"But it's the truth."

"The truth…" He exhales, letting the smile fade, just a little. "The truth's kind of a bitch, isn't it?"

"L said that truth was the only thing more difficult than justice."

"Think I know someone who'd agree with you."

Crap. He should've stopped himself from saying that.

Oh well.

Near's eyes narrow slightly. "Who?"

"Knew," Matt murmurs, rummaging through his pockets for his cigarettes. There they are. "I meant knew."

"You—"

"Teru Mikami." His glance snaps up. It's ringed with what looks like annoyance but might be anger, upon closer inspection—even Matt doesn't feel like checking. "Kira's accomplice. He survived whatever you did to catch Kira, but he didn't get a trial; he was thrown in prison for a life sentence and ten days after they locked him up he killed himself."

Gevanni's stopped typing. He's watching Matt with that sidelong look, but a bit more focused on Near with—it might be concern, actually. Why?

Don't care right now.

"Is that so," Near says, impassive.

"He watched Kira die," says Matt.

Near's look says, where are you going with this? "Yes."

"He didn't have any God to believe in after that."

Again: no, really, where are you going with this? "Yes?"

And it's Mello's smirk he wears, like an inheritance, hollow or not. I win. "You killed him."

Near pauses. "Why do you say that?"

"You had the Death Note."

"He could have just chosen to die."

Matt shakes his head. "No."

"Why not?"

…but not all of it's Mello's. His voice is oddly tight. "A guy like that, without God. –no. Who's seen his god torn down."

Near's silence indicates that Matt should continue.

"He won't commit suicide."

"Why?"

"Too scared."

…ah.

"…I didn't kill him," Near says, after what seems like a long time—though it can't have been that long, really. "Not exactly."

"Not exactly?" Near's words on Matt's tongue are almost acidic, but Matt's still sort of…at a breaking point. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"And the shinigami did not kill Kira," Near continues, "nor did Touta Matsuda."

Oh. How philosophical. …dammit, Near, I—"I get you, I get you." But self-destruction's not the same as suicide. It makes some vague kind of sense that Near wouldn't understand that, although Matt—who's risked his life only a few times and always with reservations—doesn't want to know why he feels like he does. And—aaah, no amount of cigarettes is going to—this—God—for—"I don't agree but I really don't care, Near, okay, I don't. I don't care." He throws his hands up in the air in mock defeat. "I do not. Fuck. I didn't. I only got into any of this because—" Wait, he doesn't want to talk about Mello yet. Maybe not ever. "—you know why. I don't care about Kira. I don't care who killed him. I don't even really care if you killed Mikami or not. I'm starting to think the safest course of action from here on out's going to be to not care about anything."

"It won't work," says Near unexpectedly.

"I know that," but I didn't think you did. "but I could, you know. Pretend for a while."

Near's looking at Matt, but he's not seeing...

Who or what does he—

"…I didn't kill Teru Mikami, Matt," he says.

(Who did you--)

Matt gets a replay of a non-sequitur memory, just a shred of one, of L addressing them via computer in a cool, synthesized voice twisted by static and anonymity. It was almost impossible to determine any emotion from a voice like that. He's wondered before if Near took some cue from those days. But it's not the same. It's maddening, Matt realizes—realizing what Mello must've known from the start—maddening to listen to Near talk, because the note of humanity is there, but so subliminal and indecipherable it just tickles your ears 'til they ring.

He's still listening, though.

"Hey. Near."

"Yes?"

"I asked you something before. I'm going to ask you again."

"Then ask."

He clears his throat. "Did you want something?"

Near is…looking again, but Matt thinks Near sees him this time.

And he—

"I'm sorry."

What?

This isn't about the Mikami thing. That might've been mercy; Matt just doesn't—

"…You wanted to say that," Matt clarifies.

Near nods slightly.

…Yeah?

Go to hell, Matt wants to say, but he doesn't.

Matt thinks he knows what this is about, now.

So he doesn't.

But he doesn't know what to say, because Near might mean it.

"Don't think you need to be," he says at last.

Near does a still more annoying thing, and shrugs. There's at least half a sense of dismissal in it, although not enough to be entirely clear. Matt's just tired and takes it that way, clearing his throat again and shoving his hands in his pockets. "I guess I should be going."

"Where are you going to go?"

"I dunno." Something's in his pocket. What is it? Piece of garbage, or something. "I'll figure something out."

"I can give you a lift somewhere," Gevanni offers, standing. "Not, like, Bolivia or anything, but western Europe or continental United States? I'm all over it." Mood's already changing, Gevanni's voice to match; all good-natured and matter-of-fact like Matt generally would've been; will be again. "After all, I dragged you over here in the—" Wait, what? "—first place."

Gevanni was the one that--? And Near's twitching like he's bent a puzzle piece. "Nah, you don't owe me anything. I owe you some painkillers—need all the Advil you can get, taking orders from this guy, right?"

"Psht, whatever," and Gevanni's laughing, but something in his look, it's—"after the Kira case, any headache'll seem small by comparison. And Near didn't order me to take you here."

What?

"Gevanni can drive you to the airport," Near says, a hint of finality in his voice and some edge that in L would have been urgency and in Near is as close as he gets to uncomfortable.

"'Kay." Matt turns to go, wondering, and then—he's realizing what the thing in his pocket is—it's a Hershey wrapper from a 7-11 in Anaheim about a month ago; it's not his. He has a picture. Several. He's good with images. But this one--…so he turns back—

and his glance darts for just a second to something brown and silver on this room's third desk, in between screens and wires, about a yard from where Near now sits twirling his hair in his small hand.

"Forget something?" Near asks.

Matt grins despite himself, and despite the new headache he's starting to get. "Nope."

And he heads for the door.