Forty, Love : Chapter One
A Death Note Fanfic
Disclaimers: Uh… this is a mostly MelloxMatt fanfic, but it's also got some… uh… random and in some cases kind of strange pairings, a lot of one-sidedness, and one pairing I've never seen before anywhere, so we're gonna have fun! I'm really, REALLY going to screw with the plotline of Death Note in here, so please don't get angry with me. What the story needs, the story gets! Yay! So… onward. I have really, really long disclaimers…
By the way, the title is what it is for two reasons: 1) tennis seems to be a recurring theme in the DN fandom, and forty – love is a tennis score, and b) I couldn't think of anything better.
Oh, and to dA : Rated… not-under-16 for language. The Y!Gallery will have the uncut version, but can't do that here…
--
"He is such a little bitch."
"Mmm."
"Little albino asshole…"
"Mmm-hmm."
"God, he is such a freak…"
"Yep…"
"Dammit, are you even listening to me?"
"Mmm."
Mello turned quickly, smacking the DS out of Matt's hands. The goggled redhead blinked in surprise before sighing in annoyance, placing his hands on his knees and glaring at the blonde.
"You didn't have to do that."
"You're always paying attention to that damn video game! You can deal!"
Matt stooped, not rising from his perch on the edge of Mello's bed as he picked the fallen electronic up. "Just let me freakin' save, jerkoff," he muttered as he made the little dude land the airship so he could save. Stupid Final Fantasy III with its weird save rules.
"What'd he do now?" Matt asked as he flicked the power switch, closing the DS and placing it on the vest folded on the bed.
"What'd who do now?"
Matt rolled his eyes at Mello's short attention span. "Near. Who else?"
Mello snarled and returned to stalking back and forth with his arms behind his back, forcibly reminding Matt of a wild animal trapped in a cage. "What hasn't he done?" Mello spat, angry green eyes sliding over to meet Matt's goggled ones before turning back to the ground in front of him. "He called me a girl. In the dining hall. In the fucking dining hall!" the blonde continued, his nails making half-moon shapes in his arms as he dug them into the flesh.
"You say that like it's a new development," Matt said quietly, leaning back on his elbows. "He does that all the time; and you know he only does that to get this exact reaction. He wouldn't do it if it didn't piss you off like this. You're just giving him what he wants."
Mello snarled in response, not once slowing in his pacing. He began muttering – Matt could barely pick out such words as 'hate', 'albino', 'freak', 'maim', 'hurt', and 'L'. Matt switched on his Mental Mello Translator (or MMT for short), deciphering the sentence into, "I hate that little albino freak. I'm going to maim him when I see him… he's going to be in a world of hurt. God, when is L coming back…"
Matt sighed and pulled his goggles off, letting them hang around his neck. He was glad to see his MMT was in good working condition as always – but he wanted to know what the hell that last thought had to do with anything else. It wasn't as if L was going to do anything about Near publicly humiliating Mello for about the fourth time this month (keeping in mind that it was only November second), except maybe give him a slap on the wrist.
But when Mello was angry about something, his thoughts always diverted to L.
Always.
Dammit.
"You need to calm down," Matt muttered, getting up and walking over to the dresser. He stepped in Mello's path, forcing the blonde to stop, and held up half of a chocolate bar. "Just sit and eat, okay? I keep telling you not to let Near get to you so bad. It's gonna make you sick one day, ya know."
Mello 'hmph'ed a bit but snatched the chocolate away, sitting on the bed and taking a huge chunk out of it.
"There ya go," Matt muttered, sighing a bit in relief as he resumed his position. For a few minutes, there was nothing but the sound of the ceiling fan, which Mello insisted on leaving on year-round, and the occasional snapping of the chocolate.
"…Matt."
Matt looked up at Mello. Here it was again – he could always tell when Mello wanted to know something when he said his name like that. It was that commanding tone Mello always took with him.
"Yeah?" he asked calmly, closing his eyes.
"Who do you think will get it?"
"…It's not my decision," Matt finally said with a shrug. "It's L's."
Mello sighed and closed his eyes. There was something in that sigh that Matt was sure only he heard – and he hated it. That wistful, longing note that always entered Mello's voice when L was mentioned.
Damn L.
"I guess you're right," Mello muttered, balling up the foil and tossing it across the length of the room. It hit the rim of the trash can, bounced up, and barely landed inside the container. Mello stood and headed for the door.
"I'm going downstairs."
"You do that."
Matt watched him go before standing and walking over to his own bed, which was pressed up against the wall. He knelt on the mattress, leaned over to the window positioned above his bed, and twisted the latch before pulling the pane up, returning to Mello's bed for his DS and vest as a frigid breeze escaped into the room. He knelt in front of the window again, laid the DS down, and pulled a pack of cigarettes he had stolen from the drugstore a couple of days ago from the vest pocket.
People would have a fit if they knew he was smoking.
Even Mello didn't know.
He smiled a little to himself, imagining what Roger's reaction would be if he found out.
Matt lit one of the cigarettes and leaned his elbows on the sill, staring straight down at the lake. Nothing to see but that dim, depressing stretch of grayish-blue water reflecting the watery silverish sun and the stones on the side of the orphanage. He raised his hand to his lips and pulled away the cigarette, blowing a ring of smoke out into the air. The wind swept it away almost before it got a chance to completely form.
Matt left the cigarette between his fingers and crossed his arms, laying his head down on the sill with his arms as sort of a pillow as he looked at the city lights across the lake.
He wanted out.
But he knew Mello would never really let him leave.
--
Mello moodily kicked over a tower of blocks that had been precariously stacked by some snot-nosed brat or another as he stormed through the various rooms in the orphanage. He wasn't in a good mood, and when Mello was in a bad mood, you could be sure as hell that no one else would be cheery, either.
"Feeling pissed, fraulein?" an emotionless voice asked from seemingly nowhere.
Caught off-guard, Mello spun around on his heel, his arms snapping out and one leg extending behind himself to keep his balance. He hadn't realized until too late that he'd wandered into the West Corner; Near's sanctuary. It was the smallest of all the living-room type areas, and contained no furniture except a card table and a chair, in case Near wanted to do a puzzle on the table instead of on the floor.
Near's own private room, given to him by L personally.
Damn albino.
"Don't call me that," Mello growled, clenching his fist as he watched Near's lips curve up into the ghost of a mocking smile at having unbalanced the blonde. Not that knocking Mello off his mental balance was exactly a trying task, per se – it was just fun to do.
The white haired boy slowly moved his hand up to his hair, absently twisting a curl in that damnable way that irritated Mello so much. "What are you going to do about it, pout to your dog?"
Mello snorted and crossed his arms over his chest, the skin where his eyebrows would have been, had he been given any, furrowing together in annoyance. "Don't talk about Matt like that, either, you little bleached midget."
"It just makes you angry because it's true," Near responded, immediately and matter-of-factly, reaching up and placing a Matchbox car at the top of the track he had twisting around him. "Don't get mad at me for pointing out that you treat him like a pet."
"I do no such thing. He's my best friend."
"Uh-huh."
Mello narrowed his eyes, his fingernails creating another set of crescent moon shapes in the flesh of his arms. He didn't know why, but just looking at this little brat pissed him off to no end. He wanted so badly to just punch him in the nose, but then he'd have Roger on his back for God only knew how long.
Even though he hated Near, he knew he shouldn't have said it – but he couldn't help it. Before he even knew he thought it, he heard the words in his voice echo in the room.
"At least I have a friend, you freak."
He left the room before he could see Near's reaction.
The white haired boy watched the blonde retreat, slamming the door behind him. He heard a picture fall off the wall in the hallway, a muttered curse, and a scraping as it was replaced. It would probably be crooked – Mello really had no sense of décor.
Near reached out and placed a hand on the Matchbox car as it sped happily past him, stopping it before it reached its destination of a horrible crash into the wall.
He sat up on his knees, the pattern of the carpet still lightly indented in the white material of the chest and stomach of his shirt.
"He's right," he murmured, looking at the car. "He does have friends… I don't have anybody. But… I don't really care," he added, not even able to convince himself. He sighed and closed his eyes, placing the car at the top of the track again and watching it slowly wind down to the crash.
--
It was November fifth when the car pulled up. As far as Matt was concerned, that's when all the shit started.
He had been playing his DS in the entry hall, sitting on a plush bench situated in a corner. It was there for prospective parents of the children who weren't gifted with Near or Mello's unusual intelligence. After all, it wouldn't be much of an orphanage without the chance of adoption.
Not that any kids really ever got adopted from Wammy's House, anyway.
Matt heard the quiet hum of a car motor and the crackling of gravel as a car rolled into the driveway, stopping in front of the front doors. A car door opened and slammed, and footsteps signified someone was making their way up the stares to the large oak double-doors that made up the orphanage's main entrance.
As the doors swung open, Matt was wholly unsurprised to see who their visitor was – it was really the only man who ever visited Wammy's, besides Watari.
L.
The black haired man strode into the entry hall with his strange gait, his hands shoved in his pockets and his back hunched, as usual. He looked around slowly as Watari closed the door behind him.
Well, he didn't hear Mello's high-pitched screams of joy, which probably meant no one had heard him come in. He proceeded towards the stairs, pausing briefly on the lowest step. "Watari," he said quietly, looking back at the older man. "Would you bring some tea up a little later? I need to do some work before I make my presence known here."
Watari bowed a little. "Of course, sir."
Matt glanced around the doorframe of the room he had slipped into, watching L ascend the stairs. He always got the feeling L didn't especially care for him – why should he? L didn't exactly seem like the type who liked kids, and Matt wasn't one of the detective's precious prodigies, so he really couldn't see any reason for L to be partial to him.
He sighed and stepped around the doorframe, leaning against the wall.
"What's he doing back?"
Watari blinked in surprise, turning to face the hacker.
"I don't think I can tell you that," he said with a wry smile.
Matt snorted. "There's a shock." He pushed off the wall and, walking off, he muttered, "Just make sure he doesn't give Mello a heart attack. All that chocolate's made him very… delicate."
Watari watched the redhead go, a slight frown on his face. He wasn't used to seeing Matt that way – he was usually so laid back. He couldn't help wondering if there was anything wrong…