A/N: Wow… Over a year since I've posted anything… I'm SO sorry about that, everyone!

And, now that I have written something, it's not even for the story I started almost… God, almost three years ago o.o Well… I'm doing something, either way.

Description: This is a little side story from a collab between myself and a friend who… actually, at this point, she has no name on that I know of, so she shall remain nameless. Anywho, this was going to be part of a chapter in this collab fic, but it didn't quite fit in with the rest of it once I actually got it written. (This little bit is all mine, I'm afraid.)

WARNINGS: Spoiler for vol. 12, character death, yaoi-flavored if you squint really hard.

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Suede

Near stared blankly at the monitor before him, his hand hovering where he was about to place another card on the top of his tower. The newscast was… it was shocking, to say the least. The Japanese police - Japanese police, who carried nothing more dangerous than tazers and pepper spray - had gunned down a young man where he stood, weaponless and with his hands in the air in surrender.

The young detective wasn't really hearing anything, though. He was staring at the motionless body in the center of the shot. Though he couldn't make out the face, he could clearly see striking red hair and unstained patches of a coat he knew to be suede with a pattern of white fur (arctic fox tail, if he was right; very expensive and even more illegal. Not that that had ever stopped Wammy's kids...). Since there weren't exactly a lot of redheads in Japan, the pool was left rather narrow and, the circumstances being what they were, there was only one logical conclusion for Near.

His eyes, still on the screen, glazed over slightly as the detective let himself be drawn back into his memories.

Matt…

He had been indomitable back at Wammy's House. The pressure that had caused so many strong minds to completely crumble never seemed to affect Matt. Without even appearing to try, he was just behind Near and Mello in the line of L's possible successors; but Matt seemed almost oblivious to this fact, not acting as though he really cared one way or the other.

Though Matt spent most of his time either sitting alone playing some handheld game or another, or with Mello (still playing some handheld game or another as he listened to Mello talk, commenting appropriately and intelligently), there were times when he would wander into the library and see Near sitting in a far corner with a puzzle or action figure of some sort. Without saying a word, Matt would seat himself on the floor next to Near, the sound on his game turned low and his eyes on the screen. Unless something pulled one of them away, they might sit in companionable silence like that for hours on end, utterly losing any sense of time.

The first time this occurred was years ago. Near was nine, maybe ten years old, and Matt just a year older. The redhead had sat down next to the younger boy with a sigh, probably for the simple reason that it was a quiet, secluded corner where he wouldn't be bothered. Near's eyes were drawn to him. Matt had been there for almost as long as Near and Mello, but they'd simply never had occasion to associate.

Observant gray eyes traced the coat-vest that Matt wore, following the stripes it made around his slim figure. Without consulting his brain in the least, a pale hand was touching the soft white fur, twisting it between slender fingers experimentally. Matt glanced up from his game, his expression revealing curiosity, just before the machine let out a noise that sounded decidedly unhappy. However, Matt just watched Near (who was gazing back at him, hand still and expression carefully controlled, waiting for the inevitable scowl of disgust as he stormed away from the "little freak") for a silent moment.

Then Matt turned back to his game, trying to redeem himself from the distraction. He made no move to stand, or even to scoot away as so many had done so often. He neither encouraged nor condemned Near's gentle exploration; he just accepted it, allowed it to be without asking why. After all, who was he to judge another?

Perhaps that was why Near's eyes stung as he thought about the young man and his untimely and unnecessary death. This fight had had nothing to do with Matt, but he was a casualty anyways; this passive, accepting person who'd never done real harm to anyone was gone because he had allowed himself to be drawn into someone else's conflict. Where had the justice been stolen away to?

Near blinked out of his reverie and looked down at the finger puppets spread on the floor before him as the tears began sliding softly down his cheek, silent only because the white-haired boy kept his breathing carefully steady.

He would have to make a figure of Matt when this was all over…