Title Contingency
Rating PG-15 for swearing
Category Death Note
Pairing/s Veeeery light MelloxNear
Summary It all started when Near hit his head and severed all emotion. It was like a catalyst for worse things to come.
Author's Note Contingency means an accident or a possibility that must be prepared for; a future emergency. Work out which one is more relevant in this fiction c;
Each new section is a jump in time. Starting ages is Near- 4, Mello-6 and L-16. The rest is maths. POV changes from L's, then to mostly Near's. Spoilers throughout series.
Disclaimer I do not own Death Note.
Near hasn't always been the emotionless boy that he is today.
When he'd first come to Wammy's House, year 1995, big black eyes and wild white hair, he was just like any other normal four year old. Still getting used to his voice, growing into his legs and far too curious for his own good.
Despite boasting albino qualities, back then, Near wasn't allergic to the outdoors. Study was something he would only know in a little less than a year, so spent as much time as possible out in the fresh air before that time came. One wouldn't go as far as saying his pale skin was browning, but it had a healthy glow that it certainly doesn't hold today.
Back then, he and Mello had been like a ball of tangled yarn. No matter how much you try to sort the mess out, the many threads just won't come apart. Near trailed after the blonde like he was a little lost lamb, clutching to his shirt tails and peering up at him with admiring eyes. Back then, Mello was Number One in Wammy's House.
Near has always admired Mello- this fact never wavered and simply grew stronger after his death. The boy was never a natural talent like Near- Nate River, flowing from L's guidance- but Near found his stubborn determination to want to beat him something worth admiring, and some would call his emotional out bursts a flaw, but Near saw them as qualities that made Mello, Mello. Going by pure instinct is sometimes a good thing. Feeling things is a good thing. .
Near used to feel. Until the accident.
All L remembers is the shout, a crack of a tree limb then the horrible thud of a body hitting the unforgiving ground. Then children screaming.
Normally, L wouldn't have bother- the orphanage children are always hurting themselves, it's like, the leaves must always turn to fire before they fall in the winter- however Mello's screech of; "L. L! Oh gods!" soon has him out of his comfy, fit for a giant sized armchair.
The student aids take longer to reach the site; L has already assessed the sturdy oak tree, the height of it, the clue of the broken limb on the ground and the cat frightened look on Mello's face. His body language reads run run wanting to leave the problem to someone else, but the guilty twists of his black shirt say otherwise. Near fragile body is broken on the ground- L has read countless books on never touching a hurt body. The teenager squats next to the boy, pad of his thumb brushing against his upper lip as he studies Near. He won't lie. It is rather fascinating. . . that is. . . if your into that kind of thing.
Mello makes a tiny sound, like a squeak or a sob, L isn't too sure, so the teenage genius tries to reassure him that all it well. "Fear not, Mello. Near is still breathing. However, if he were dead, judging by the height of the tree, Near's weight and the factor of gravity, death would have been fast and pain fr-"
"L!"
He likes children, he really does, but lack of social skills does hinder him slightly. Watari is bearing down on him like a pitball that has been poked in the eye.
". . oh. Good timing, Watari!"
Near is taken inside, tearful children following after them. Mello stays behind with L, not asking permission to take his hand. The child seeks comfort in holding on tightly to the long, bony fingers. He doesn't leave his side until the evening.
Nothing is broken. Thank god. Or at least. . not physically.
The fall has knocked something out of place in Near's head. Or perhaps something has been hit back into place, that it should have been there from the start. Or maybe it had been hiding there all along, and all Near needed was something traumatic to make it show. L has hypothesised over the incident many times, chasing himself into circles until he simples puts the bone of thought away and just accepts it.
A great chunk of memory has been erased from Near too. Near simply remembers his birth name, then has to be re taught his alias. All his Wammy's House and past memories have vanished.
Near is like a blank piece of paper that is begging to be written on.
Despite only being four, it's like he's reversed into an even younger child. Speech is hard, he's forgotten how to walk and all the innocence and feeling has gone out of his abyss like eyes. This has disturbed Mello the most, who avoids the child like the plague now, even though his own eyes are guilt ridden, reigned into knowledge he is the cause for the sudden handicap of Near.
L is troubled by it.
Mello had been the only person to take an interest in Near, now the albino child is again a lost lamb in search of his flock. The other children have no time to waste on a no case, to busy with their own problems and not wanting to play with someone who can't, and the teachers aren't here to baby sit. Somehow the job is silent past to L.
The only ray of hope that shines through is that Near may not be able to walk, or talk as well as he could, but suddenly his mind has blossomed. He can piece together white jigsaws, untangle metal puzzles, solve equations a school child may struggle with. He can write- no script – read and understand what he's processing, pull apart a calculator and piece parts of it back together without instruction. He can create things out of nothing, worlds made from blocks and lego parts and paper chains. He's even starting to teach himself piano. Suddenly, both L and Mello have competition nipping at their heels.
L keeps a close eye on Near.
Typically, he works by himself, in his room or in a safe corner of the mammoth library. Today he find himself in the common room, stack of books beside the couch he sits on. A purring laptop is at his fingertips, fitting snugly between his propped up legs and chest. He can't avoid the children, a few scattered about the large room, some indulged in their own quiet study, some chatting softly on pillows and blankets dragged from bedrooms. Mello is tinkering on the piano, doing rhythmic scales, close friend Matt by his feet, rhythmical tapping at his game consol.
L has always found it very interesting that Mello is never too far off when Near is-excuse the pun- near by.
Boy in question is lounging on the ground, feet in the air and expression peacefully neutral as he methodically stacks a tower of cards. Every so often, L glances up from the glowing computer screen to check up on Near. When he at last finishes the towering deck of cards, he simply pushes the whole thing over. The music stops briefly, and L's surmises that Mello is wondering the same thing he is.
"Near, please come here," L says at last, voice just bordering on being uncomfortably loud in the tranquil room. This time Beethoven, Sonata No. 14 in C-sharp minorfills the room, a typical, easy piece for beginners, however a few off key notes stumble out every so often. Mello's panda eyes continuously dart elsewhere.
Near glances up from his carpet of cards.
The lap top has been deposited on the ground, L makes a few hand motions for reassurance. A frown gently cresses Near's face, as he struggles to sit up properly, hands smoothing down his white pyjama top then rest on the floor in a action of trying to push himself up. Beethoven transforms into something L can't put his finger on. Belatedly, he realises it's impromptu.
Near manages to stand, swaying alarmingly on his unsteady feet. Like walking is completely foreign to him, Near only makes a few steps forwards before his left leg gives out, and it slams solidly onto the wooden floor boards. The child is left hovering in an awkward position of one leg propped up before him, the other sprawled on the ground. The piano has stopped all together now, Mello makes no attempt to hide his slightly concerned gaze. Silently, alarmingly, Near's black eyes fill up with frustrated tears- the first emotion he has shown since his fall. A bittersweet victory.
L is sure it's not the pain of landing on his knee, but rather being upset he can't do what L has asked of him. To come over to him.
"Ah, it's okay, little one," L swings his lanky legs off the couch, leaning over and scooping him up. Light as a feather. Near blinks at the sudden sensation, the movement dislodges a few tears from his lashes. Without hesitation L pushes them away with the palm of his hand, then sets Near down on his lap, rearranging his legs into their usual, quirky, position. His tutors have always called him a slob for sitting hunched over, knees to his chest, so L has simply strung a lie on how his IQ increases whenever he sits like this. It works. Adults are so very easy to fool.
Near has stopped crying, however it feels like he hasn't really been crying in the first place. There might have been tears, but on closer inspection, his eyes haven't reflected any emotion at all. Like the salty water was simply a natural, body reaction, feelings be damned.
The detective sighs, realising there is still work to be done.
He picks up a book on fairytales from his pile.
L is aware that sometimes. . the children idolise him a little too much. He knows the orphanage is really just a disguise, that this is a place where his successor will be born, but L isn't a very good role model. Intelligently and morale wise, he is, but some of his odd ticks and actions are not. Especially his sweet tooth.
L does not function very well if he can't get his greedy hands on some sweets. Watari is very strict on the other children when it comes to eating junk food, but as L is the greatest budding detective known to man kind, he makes an exception.
However this has been rubbing off on some of the children, or more specifically, Mello. The nine year old has a nasty oral fixation, and L has found that his stash of sweets in his room have been ransacked over the past few months. Chocolate especially.
Over the last three years, L has seen Near also pick up a few odd ticks. The way he sits, one knee up and the other leg on the ground in close imitation of L's own habit. Or the way his hand strays to his white hair, twirling strands in a nervous gesture he's developed over time. L's childness has also rubbed off on Near, who is collecting a growing number of toys and puzzles each day. At least the just shy of seven year old can talk and walk naturally now.
Near's and Mello's relationship has dissolved as fast as their new personalities have immerged. Near is Number One. And Mello hates it. He is quick to bully, or pick on Near, staying up late to out study him, but it's just no use. Near is just a natural talent.
L hasn't quite given up on hope yet. He is sure that Mello is the key to make Near show signs of life again. He just needs to turn and jingle that key in the hole a few more times before it clicks into place.
In a quiet corner of the House grounds, L is surrounded by bits of paper. Some are stapled to trees, others on the ground, padded down by small pebble so the wind doesn't take off with them. There are plastic seal up bags around his feet, some containing hair, scrapes of material or liquids. Held in the very tips of his fingers is a soft backed book. In his other hand, is a daintily held pen. He scribbles something on the white piece of paper, heavily bagged eyes of a chronic insomniac dazed in concentration. In his mouth is a slab of chocolate.
"Hmmm. . ." he frowns at his conclusion, mind already whirling with numerous arguments against it. That can't be right. . "Mello, I know you are there," he says from around the softening treat. A rustle in the tree above him, then Mello gracefully falls from it, landing on all fours. A twig sticks out from his over grown, blonde hair. ". . climbing trees is dangerous. You know that," L says, oblivious to the sore spot he's touched.
"I know what I'm doing," Mello sniffs, lifting his foot off one of the hair samples. "What are you doing?"
"I am doing a test case. A murder case."
"And no doubt you'll solve it perfectly, L. Again," Mello grins, dark eyes brimming with admiration and jealous all at once. However it's not the harsh, hating jealousy he holds for Near. This is softer, a type that he wishes to have and strives for ever day of his live. He sits next to L, crossing his legs and staring at the tiny, cramped writing that is all over the papers before them. He can't imagine ever writing this much for one case! "You're really amazing L. . . It's really depressing, actually."
The raven haired teenager tosses down the book and pen, removing the chocolate bar from his mouth before he starts drooling over it. He glances down at Mello and his confession. He flicks the boy on the nose. "That means you just have to work harder. Nothing in life comes easy." L then ruffles up his hair to show there are no hard feelings.
Mello blushes faintly, touching his assaulted nose. "It does for you and Near," he grumbles at last, staring sourly at a splotchy diagram scrawled over two pages in L's messy script.
L pounders that, looking across the grass to the boys playing soccer by the House wall. The black and white ball sours into the sky, hits the brick wall and patters to the next player. The prodigy takes a bite from his chocolate bar, feeling the watchful gaze of Mello brushing over his actions. "That. . I can not really help you with. Some people are just born blessed. That being said, others are blessed in their own special way. Like you, for example, Mello. I have never seen someone so obsessed with trying to beat someone, obsessing over someone, like you do."
"I'm not obsessed," which is a honking great lie.
L, however, doesn't bother to point this out.
Television is a luxury at Wammy's House.
A pokie, chunky little box that is no bigger than a breadbin is brought up from the basement. It's so old, it still supports an antenna and needs to be bashed once to stop the image flickering. Even so, it still enchants the children.
Except maybe Matt, who is a full supporter of his game consol.
The television is only brought out when something drastic is happening on the News.
A plastic looking woman introduces herself, cue cards under her long nails, and an image pops up beside her- an ominous looking K.
All ears prick up at the words "deaths" "Kira" "unsolved" "Japan". They don't know what's going on, but give them a good twenty minutes on Google, and soon all will be revealed.
"I bet L could solve that case, no problem," Mello says with confidence, arms around the now young man's shoulders, chin resting down, peering at the laptop screen. Most of the children are crowded around the popular L, wriggling onto any spare space on the couch, or on their tip toes to try to get a glimpse at the website page.
The page in question is the colour of misery, words like spider webs, and the blogs are that of worshippers. Kira is God.
L snorts.
The only person seemingly uninterested, is Near. Religiously, he is at his white puzzle, hunched over on the floor. A cough like dust being blown out of an old instrument alerts them all to Watari, who is holding the wireless phone, looking at L in a secret kind of way. All the kids moan a little when he leaves the room to take the call.
L is less than happy to find that the Kira case is not going as smoothly as those ones on paper. Or. . really any case he has solved over the years. You can't say oops, sorry if someone dies in real life, can you? The laptop is taunting him, telling him to type, search, or hack. L ignores the urges, and turns towards the window that looks over one of the main cities of Japan.
Briefly, he thinks about his two successors. Near and Mello. And his hearts sinks. Maybe after he finishes this case he can try work on them a little bit more. L knows that if the two of them worked together, they would be brilliant. Better than him in fact. Like chalk and cheese. Complete opposites and yet- meant to be together.
An icon dings on his laptop screen, pulling the insomniac out of his trance. Work calls.
It's one of those amazingly gorgeous days. One you couldn't possible spend indoors. Wammy's House is literally sweating in the blazing heat, all the children outside, squealing and giggling, some reclining to cloud count, others in the small forest the House owns, many playing with various toys and sport equipment. A soccer ball is punted into the air. It flies over the out stretched hands of children, and into the open window of the Common Room.
It bounces sharply off Near's head.
Child no more, having just hit his first year of teenage hood, he doesn't even squeak as the ball ambles away. However it does distract him from his own who done it murder case that is lain out before him. Curiously, his eyes follow after it.
"Awah! Near, are you okay?" Matt calls, guilty face at the window, arms draped over the frame. "That must have hurt. ."
"Not really. It's only made up of cheap plastic, leather and air," Near says in a bored tone, running his fingers through his wavy hair before idly twirling a strand around his index finger. "What are you doing outside, Matt?" Like it's some sort of crime.
However this is Matt, who would happily miss a good day to hibernate in his room with his games. The red head pouts, chin resting on his folded up arms. "Oh, I wouldn't be here if I had to be. But I got bullied to join. Why don't you play with us, Near?"
"Gods, what is the hold up, Matt?!"
Matt suddenly disappears with a waaargh of protest. Mello's grumpy head replaces his. "Near. Stop being so useless and get the ball," no pleases and thankyous from him. Near doesn't expect any less, so collects himself up, and totters over to the ball. The texture is strange and unfamiliar under his fingertips that have only touched pens, and puzzles and piano keys. As he draws nearer to the wide bay windows, his black eyes narrow in the harsh, foreign glare of the sun. Mello unintentionally imitates him. Near still insists on wearing those over sized pyjamas that make him appear even smaller and more fragile than he really is. As the light floods in behind Mello, the converted energy strikes the white of his clothes and white of his hair like soft, glowing aura. It only lasts but a second, for Mello blinks and his pupils adjust.
Near is considering the dirt smeared ball in his small hands.
"Do you. . erm. . do you want to play with us?" Mello asks, looking away awkwardly, trying to hide the spark of ignited hope in his eyes.
"I thought Mello didn't like me," Near asks with a quirk of his lips. He has no problems with staring at Mello, who is growing increasingly more flustered and frustrated, the heat appearing over his cheeks is a beacon shining onto his true feelings.
"I-I don't- I mean I do hate you. Just shut up and give me the stupid ball!" Mello splutters, eyes careful to glide over Near's own as he lunges for the ball. Nears gives it up with little fuss. Mello is briefly surprised- then remembers Near is not like other children. A normal child would have pulled the ball back, or started to wrestle over it. "I was being nice, stupid."
Mello runs off, leaving Near to chew over that- thinking that Mello's idea of 'nice' is very different to his own.
When the boys are told of L's death, Mello's heart is on his sleeve. He reacts wide eyed, and slack jawed, sorrowful, then violent, as he grabs Roger and all but chokes him by the collar, screaming he promised, goddamnit!
Near, reserved, on the ground, simply tips his completed, white jigsaw puzzle out, letting the jagged pieces of the puzzle scatter around his knees.
Mello finally gets his temper in check. He takes a step back from Roger, casts a disgusted look at Near and says in a cool manner; "Fuck this. I'm out of here."
Roger says something sharp, anger spiked at Mello's bluntness. The blonde cusses, but never in front of adults. Disregarding Roger's demands, he storms from the room, slamming the door as hard as the hinges and frame can take. Roger flinches. Near doesn't. Calmly, the pale boy stands up, leaving the broken jigsaw on the ground.
"Near. . I wouldn't antagonise Mello any further," Roger warns half-heartedly. The young detectives have never listened to him before, so why start now?
"Antagonise? I just want to calm him down," Near drones, fingertips on the doorknob. Anyone else would have been ignorant to Roger's actual meaning. Without saying anything, Near just has to be close to Mello to make the boy's blood boil. With his free hand, Near fiddles with his hair. "Am I correct in assuming only us two know of L's death? If so, logically, only I can go after him. If Mello is left on his own right now, not even I can calculate what he might do," the words hurt himself don't need to be issued.
Wammy's is quiet as Near follows the familiar route to the boys dormitories. Soon, the House will be completely empty. The teach aids will go. What's the point of the House if there is no L to live up to now? The children may be fostered out, or sent to the other orphanages, the legit kind, that Wammy had set up.
L has failed.
L and failed don't seem to fit in the same sentence. Two pieces of a puzzle that won't go together. Near frowns, stopping outside Mello's door. That, too, is firmly closed. Near doesn't pause to eavesdrop, instead he knocks hard to announce his presence then turns the knob. He hangs back, awaiting the hard, flying object he has anticipated will come.
An alarm clock smashes into the wooden frame.
"Near. Go away!"
Avoiding the shattered clock face, Near closes the door softly behind himself. It feels very bittersweet that the sun still glistens through the lonely window, bird song filters through the minuet cracks under the pane, while out there, on the other side of the world, L's cold body is nailed shut inside a black crate. Mello looks up from his position on the bed. His panda eyes are red rimmed, but tears are held fast in front of his rival.
"For once, would it kill you to listen to me?" Mello's bubble of laughter is slightly hysterical. Either another, possibly softer, object will be thrown, or he will simply be ignored- Near narrows down the possibilities. Mello stares at Near, then groans and flops his head back down on his mouse chewed pillow, realising they have touched on a stalemate. "If I say please, will you go away?"
"Mello. . I realise this situation is upsetting, however-"
"Oh, don't you fucking dare- don't start bloody analysing this, Near, or I swear to whatever god people believe in nowadays, I will kill you," Mello shouts, lifting his head up to snarl at Near. He blinks at him impassively. This innocent action is enough to make Mello's blood sing in his ears, and his hands physically shake. He clutches his bed sheets hard. He knows if he doesn't, he might just put those fingers around Near's neck and-
"What the hell is wrong with you?!" Shouting is a much safer path than the nasty scenario playing out in Mello's head. "How can you just. . just act like nothing's happened? L is dead, and you act like everything is fine. It's not normal Near, and- and oh fuck," Mello starts to crack. He grits his teeth, and covers his eyes with his palms, feeling his entire body sink in upon itself. His fingernails dig through his thick hair and into his skull, and his body shivers like he's been doused in freezing water.
Like a whisper, Near's gently touches the back of Mello's white knuckles with the pads of his fingers. Just a small gesture. As if he's been electrocuted, Mello jumps and jerks away from Near, removing his hands and stares at him. Red marks appear from where his hands have been pressing. "Mello," he tries again. He. . he isn't too sure what he plans to say, everything he does upsets Mello to some extent, but he doesn't feel comfortable leaving Mello on his own.
Luckily, Mello can speak, act rather, enough for the both of them.
Near get's no further than his name, before the angry boy snatches up his wrist and tugs him onto the bed, shoving him down hard and Near would not be surprised if he started growling like a territorial dog. Everything Mello does it. . rather animalistic. Mello has always been like an out of control lab animal. He never does what you expect. He simply fascinates Near.
"Why won't you feel anything?" Mello demands, gripping Near's bony shoulders and shaking hard. And on the flip side, everything about Near disgusts Mello. Although, the nastier, truer part of Mello's mind knows that it isn't disgusted that he feels towards Near.
It takes a while for the boy to reply, mind reeling at the violence administrations. People touching him is something completely foreign to Near. ". . that's not true. Mello is simply too blinded by his own emotions to see anyone else's."
The nails has been hit on the head.
"That isn't true," Mello childishly denies it.
"I believe it is," Near simply shrugs, freeing a hand and starts to play with a hair strand. Mello stares at his working hand, and Near thinks he could probably calculate the period of elapsed time from Mello's white, livered face, to his now heating up one. Mello stops the hand, frustration making lines appear on his young face.
"Why do you do that. . you know what, nevermind," he shakes his head, believing that he will get no satisfactory answers and just has to admit that it's just one of the quirky ticks that makes Near, Near, just like his obnoxious chocolate obsession makes Mello, Mello. This train of thoughts unfortunately leads back to L and his numerous, loveable habits. His chest gives a sting of pain.
"Mello. ." somehow he doesn't seem to be getting any further than repeating his name today.
"Shut up. Don't say anything," the blonde growls, but there is an edge of weariness to it. Slowly, Mello uncoils the tautness out of his body, lowering himself down, half on and half off of Near. Using him like an over sized pillow. Near is slightly unnerved, feeling a little trapped, claustrophobic even, with someone restricting his movements. Mello grunts something to quiet to hear. Up this close, Near marvels at how- despite realising how very childish the notion is- Mello does not smell like chocolate. Well, his breath holds the potential of it, but his natural scent is simply that of the store brought soap all the Wammy children use as well as the uniqueness that is just Mello. "I hate you, Near," the boy informs him like someone might do on the weather today. "You and your ridiculous perfectness. Not just in grades, but you're in complete control over your emotions, what you do, say, act. You remind me to much of him," he voices shakes dangerously, but not as hard as his body.
Near moves his arms like he's approaching a wild animal in the forest, touching his fingers to the back of Mello's shirt and stroking upwards. "Don't touch me, damnit!" Mello's second or so order of the day. Almost out of relief, Near drops his arms uselessly back to his sides. Then, belatedly, Near realises the front of his pyjama top is damp. It seems Mello has been crying now for quite some time. Like he's just realised this to, Mello lifts his head up, strands of golden hair sticking to his moist cheeks.
Intrigued, like he's never seen a person cry before, Near follows the movement of Mello's eyes, black and swirling like a disturbed inkblot, showing a beautiful array of emotions. ". . unn, don't look at me," Mello groans, disturbed by the lack of emotion reflecting in Near's own black irises. He wants to cover them up, or take some scissors and cut them out. "Stop having so much control!"
And like some demonic vampire, Mello stoops his head and bites Near hard, just up and to the right of his prominent collar bone. The desired action is obtained. Near cries out in alarm, taken completely off his guard. Emotion sparks across his face- surprise, pain. A pity Mello misses it.
Mello stays put, the patter of wetness on Nears shoulder and through his hair enough of a reason to why he hides his face. In the allowed time, Near's scramble brain begins to connect back again like a smashed jigsaw. He pieces together the motive behind the action. Mello is simply. . jealous, for use of a better word, of Near's mask of stone. Mello is completely wild and has no control over his own emotions. Which means he hates Near and his impeccable with his own feelings. So. . to execute his frustration, he takes Near out of his little box of safety, and makes him uncomfortable, giving a higher percentage rate of seeing the results of a not so lifeless Near. It has. .worked, to some degree, Near will admit.
Though he would have accepted a punch more willingly than a chomp to the neck. He's not white chocolate.
At last, the spasms coming from Mello have lessened and he gingerly removes his mouth, looking a little apologetic. Like his eyes, it's overly wet, leaving spider webs of saliva down his neck. As Mello sits up, Near uses the back of his cuff to wipe the evidence away. It's going to leave a mark. Chances are, that stories of rogue squid in the area will not fly to well with Roger.
"Mello," this time he will finish his sentence. "I hope you don't consider yourself unlucky to express your emotions."
"Hn, I do when I'm next to you," he mumbles, sounding a little embarrassed as he wipes at his eyes.
"Please don't. It. . ." Near sighs, revealing just how frustrating it is for him to not express what he feels. It's all so strange and new. "I feel like I simply over think things. I think, and analyse every situation to the point where all human emotions seem irrelevant and meaningless. And- and it's like you said. It's very wrong. I don't even feel upset that L is dead."
Slowly, Mello starts to laugh, shielding his face with a hand. "Oh gods. . are you deliberately trying to piss me off?" the gurgle of mental laughter stops. His lips lift in a slight sneer. "But that's okay, Near. I guess where both kind of wrong, anyway. Nobody can fix us. Don't we make a great pair?" he lies back down, but this time lies next to Near, giving him the option of freedom. Near doesn't have to consider it.
He rolls over slightly, playing with a strand of Mello's hair instead of his own. He brushes the tips of the hair fibres against Mello's cheek, then his neck. "Some things are meant to stay broken."
The other children of Wammy's House all left once they learnt of L's death, the House serving no purpose anymore. The building is still there to this day. The walls are a little crumbling, but it's only seen a few years of neglect. There was no burial for L, so when they first arrived at the cemetery, the silent ritual that started five years ago just before Mello left with an empty suitcase and jacket slung over his shoulder, all that had greeted them was the iron clad gates, and L's tombstone, somewhere in the mess of the city of the dead.
When Near steps out of the stretch Humber, he still wears socks and no shoes, even though he is technically in adult now. The early morning dew soaks them through and up his pyjama pant hems, but he doesn't pay any heed to it. Clutched close to his chest, is a yellow rubber duck.
Giovanni starts to swing his legs out of the passenger seat, but Near stands him down. Like a day dreamer, Near brushes through the ivy coated gates, and follows the cracked and stained cobblestones, past all the grimy tombstones, and heading for the lonely hill at the far end of the England cemetery.
Somebody is already up there.
The motorbike is an old classic, vintage like a well loved wine. Near appreciates it for a moment, before looking at its owner. Mello is lounging back on the tree that guards over the tombstone. The head piece itself is an angel with a cracked face. A large bouquet of flowers garnishes the tired writing of justice lies here. Near kneels, in his familiar pose of one knee raise, the other folded underneath him. He puts down the toy, fingers stroking its tiny head before he ghosts them over the beautiful flowers. A card sticks out from between a fern leaf and a sunflower, but Near doesn't read it.
"Near. . why do you bother coming back here each year?" Mello voice growls from somewhere in the depths of his fur trimmed hoody. Near knows that Mello hasn't been eating right, by the way his hip bones stick out over his tight leather pants and the dent in his stomach that is revealed by his padded, sleeveless vest. Fashion taste hasn't changed over the years of being around gangsters. The only familiar thing about Mello is the half eaten chocolate bar that hovers around his lips.
Near stays silent. He doesn't turn to face Mello either. The man licks then munches thoughtfully on his treat before speaking again.
"It's not like you loved him or anything."
". . don't say that," Near says, very quietly, fingers curling around the damp grass. They do this every year. The shots at each other.
"Why? Because it's true?" Mello scoffs, and at last moves away from the tree. Near doesn't react when the blonde squats beside him. The hoody is still up, but even in the weak morning light, Near can just trace the outline of Mello's horrible scars with his eyes. He hasn't had a hair cut in a while either. "Little Near, the emotionless boy, who doesn't know a thing outside the four walls he lives in," a sneer hangs about Mello's chocolate stained lips. He picks up one of Near's hands, as if comparing them against his own. Oddly, the man isn't wearing gloves like he usually does.
"You would be surprised, Mello. About what I know."
"Oh, I don't think so. You might know everything, but that doesn't mean jack all if you've never experienced it," Mello hums, playing with the length of one of Near's fingers as he does, noticing the difference in skin tone, Near's free of rough calluses and scars and burn marks. While Mello over analyses his hands, Near watches the way Mello nervously eats his chocolate, letting a block crumble off into his mouth, then pull the whole thing away, letting the rope of saliva break off as he does so.
Both study each other carefully, as if hunting the other down, or waiting for one to attack.
The heavens decides the next phase for them. It starts to drizzle with unwanted rain. The light droplets patter off Mello's leather, but Near is gradually getting soaked through. ". . yeesh. For god's sake, can't you look even a little upset by this?" Mello questions Near's carefully neutral face. He simply blinks at Mello, moisture that has settled over his eyelashes quiver and drop at the action. Like he's crying rain. Roughly, without asking, Mello grips his wrist and pulls the boy-man really- up. He still weights nothing. Mello tsks at the state of his pants which are slick with mud. "Just as bad as L. Never looking after yourselves."
"Is Mello worried about me?"
He is taken under cover of the tree.
They sit side by side, up to their waists in roots and dead leaves. Near doesn't even shiver when the temperature starts to drop. Then out of nowhere, Mello shifts his arm, and puts it around Near, sharing a little of his glowing warmth. Near is not all together surprised. He had caculated this would be one of the numerous, predictable actions he could have chosen.
"Why don't you act like a normal human being for once?" Mello wants to know, staring moodily out across the rain washed landscape. Near has no answer to that. "I mean. . you didn't even cry when L died."
"Let's not go over this again. . I simply did not see the point," Near says bluntly, and truthfully.
The truth is never wanted to he heard, and Mello takes it badly like anyone else in his position. But he still doesn't let go on Near. "I don't know if I should pity, or want to be like you." Near rests against Mello, not answering. Above them, the black clouds part briefly, letting down bands of weak sunlight.
They gently stroke L's grave before moving on. The rain hurts the delicate flowers, making them buckle and droop. They simply bounce off the rubber duck- indifferent.
END