Near had always paid some attention to Matt. You can't properly understand an equation unless you know all the variables, and Matt proved to be difficult to decipher. At a far-from-sweet five years old, Near had stared at him, fingers curled in his hair, and decided that further observation with clearly necessary.

At Wammy's, it hadn't seemed so hard. Matt had been third best, best friend of Mello, not up to much good but not causing much harm either.

He hadn't been dangerous, and he hadn't been driven, and after that 'further observation,' Near had believed that it was as simple as that. That he could dismiss Matt as a player, because Matt did not want the same things as he did, and was not going to compete against him and was therefore not a threat.

Near was very young, back then. He should have known better. Now he does.

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They leave Germany once they've stopped the smuggling organization, and they move on to Montreal. There's a child prostitution ring there that they break up. Matt hacks away and finds all the members, locations, etcetera. Near puts the pieces together and steers the police, from behind his voice-distorter.

"My father was Canadian," Matt says, conversationally, once things are done. At Wammy's, you're not allowed to talk about who you were.

"He was working in England when he met my mother." They're not at Wammy's any more, though, are they? And as N, Near is the one who makes the rules there, anyways. The one who makes the rules here, too.

He doesn't know what to say, though. He winds his fingers in his hair.

"So it goes," says Matt, bemusedly, and he does know what to say to that one.

"Kurt Vonnegut." Which means 'see, I am human, after all.' Matt grins at him, a proper smile, like he hasn't since he woke up in the hospital, and Near's relieved that he still remembers how. Grief can destroy a person, and it took a lot of time and effort and some very good luck to sew Matt back up again. It'd be a shame to do all that and have it all be for nothing. (He lets none of this show on his face, of course.)

"I liked Cat's Cradle."

"That was from Slaughterhouse Five," Matt corrects, and he nods. He knows. He climbs to his feet and leaves, to find some darts or something else to do.

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From Montreal they head to Washington, because SPK is homesick. Hal, who hasn't been the same since everything, cries when she tells Near that she won't be joining them when they leave again. Rester and Gevanni look uncomfortable throughout. Matt looks like he understands all too well, and is the one to fetch her kleenex.

Near considers putting phone call to the police department she says she's going to be applying to, and telling them in no uncertain terms that she is one of the finest agents he's ever worked with (leaving out the fact that he's not even twenty, and she's one of the only agents he's ever worked with) and that they would be idiots not to hire her. Also, not to tell her that he said so.

He doesn't, though. She's more than qualified enough to be hired on her own merit.

Matt rolls his eyes at him as he stares at the phone. It's like he knows what he's thinking. He very well might, actually. He knows probably everything ever written down about Near.

In Wammy's, he had access to all the children's files. He's too carefully to not have checked up on them again more recently. Near would tell him not to, but then, Matt would find some underhanded way to do it and Near would rather not make Matt do anything that involved him pulling any sort of wool over Near's eyes.

It helps that everything written down about Near, at this point, has been modified and looked over and edited, and is just accurate enough to ring as true, but entirely unhelpful. No matter what Matt might have found, he cannot trust it, and even third-best would know as much.

If Near were Kurt Vonnegut he'd have some sort of deft little saying here; loose lips sink ships, blown ass over teacup, what goes around comes around. But he isn't, and he doesn't.

So it goes.

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He has never been on for frivolity, not really, but there are some pleasures Near allows himself.

He keeps his toys, because his reasoning is much more efficient when he has something to do with his hands. He keeps his matchsticks and dice and legos, because building structures helps him organize his thoughts. He keeps his darts because even he can become frustrated, though you would never know it to look at him, even L probably didn't, and frustration does not make for clear thinking.

He keeps his books for pleasure, pure and simple. When Rester asks, he says it's so he can keep a good grasp on the languages he speaks (when he asks how many that is, Near has to close his eyes and think for a moment) but that is a lie. He wouldn't forget a language, and he doesn't really need to know more than a few, translators aren't hard to come by.

Near had read Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. He just felt it best to be sure that they both understood that time really, really wasn't an illusion and that lunch time was not particularly special in and of itself. Douglas Adams wasn't his favourite author, not by far. He was too gaudily imaginative.

For Near's taste, that is. Near has never been big on frivolity.

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It's shocking and pleasing, how well Matt's talents slip in to his routine, how... indispensible is not the right word, because Near got by without him for this long and logically knows that he can do so again when the time comes for Matt to get on with his own life.

Near will make all the use he can of him until that time comes. He has had many tools, over the years, blunt and sharp, swift and slow, weak and strong. He has never had a 'partner in crime.'

Even Rester, boldest of SPK, never clapped Near on the back after a success and laughed. Even Gevanni, most emotional, never called him a moron when he was taking a risk he didn't like. Even Hal, the kindest, for all that she occasionally got a maternal glint in her eye, had never ruffled his hair.

Feigning irritation was easy, because Matt was smart enough to know it was a lie. Matt knew Near's limits in terms of patience better than anyone. Probably better than Mello, even, because Matt was the one who stood back and watched closely and dragged them apart if it ever got out of hand.

The problem now is that the person Matt was usually protecting, keeping out of too much trouble, minding, he wasn't here any more. Now the full weight of his gaze is entirely on Near, and if he hadn't been quite so good with computers, if he hadn't been quite so able to break in to a suspect's house and set up cameras, if he hadn't had such an impressive arsenal of tricks and tips, (if his hand hadn't felt quite so warm on Near's shoulder) he would have had to send him away, as a distraction.

In fact, he knows enough about psychology and about himself to say that he is making excuses. That he should send him away as quickly as possible. Because while Near hadn't really decided he needed to know a lot about Matt back at Wammy's, even then, Matt had existed for Mello, and Mello had existed to torment Near, so Matt had needed to know exactly how far it could go before it turned into serious trouble.

Near isn't even irritated with him for it. He should send him away.

But Matt still can't run, he still can't walk for more than ten minutes without starting to limp. He still wakes up with nightmares and arrives out into the investigation room, hastily dressed and pale. (His fingertip, just one, resting against the skin above Near's collar, sending unfamiliar little shocks down his spine.) He still pats his pocket for a non-existent pack of cigarettes when something gets to him.

Matt will leave when he is ready.

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"Those are bad for your teeth," Near warns, placidly, as Matt reaches for another peppermint.

"L used to eat sugar all the time." Matt doesn't sound to worried. "Besides, I have faith in the marvels of modern medicine. What's a root canal compared to digging a bullet out?"

"At least it's better than smoking." Near wrinkles his nose, and Gevanni drops his coffee. Did Near just make a joke? Both geniuses glance over at him, with narrowed eyes, then dismiss him in a way that just sets his hair on end.

"At least it's better than almost never eating at all. You take in less than a bird."

Near sniffs, and Gevanni looks around for something to wipe up the coffee with.

"You're at least taking vitamins?"

Near shakes his head, and Gevanni makes a note to get some, because Matt's probably right about that. Matt's eyes follow him as he leaves the room, from behind his goggles.

"I love that he hates me."

"You would," Near replies. It's his second joke in as many minutes. Even Matt looks surprised at him, but not unpleasantly so.

It's being L. Being N, rather. It's made him different. He likes it. He's happydoing this, solving these puzzles, playing this game

The next morning Near has a bottle of vitamins on his desk, and Matt has a cup of toothpicks on his.

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In his dream, Near says to Matt, 'I know you wish I were him. I know I wish he had survived and I had died, and that if you could have us trade places, you would.' In his dream he is brave enough to say it, which is something, because Near is never one to say any of it.

In his dream, Matt replies, 'No, it's alright,' and 'I forgive you' and then he reaches out...

Near wakes up, wide eyed and jumping like he's been electrocuted. He pulls his cotton clothes on and pads to the bookshelf, and finds his Dostoevsky. Time to lose himself in someone else's dreams.

L never sleeps well. N is no different. He'll have dark circles etched in permanently in a month or two.

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In the morning, Matt says, "hey, do I get a salary?"

Near blinks at him and steals one of his toothpicks to give to the leader of the lego army as a weapon. There are fifteen lego people taking on one small transformer, and the odds are evenly matched, or so the lego people have every reason to think. Near has decided, though, that the transformer is going to win, due to its manoeuvrability.

"If you want." He makes a car sound effect, as the transformation begins. Matt seems unperturbed by his play. As though he's used to it, as though it's just to be expected.

"Eh." Matt is the picture of nonchalance. Near gets the feeling the issue is pretty much dropped. He really would have given Matt a salary if he wanted, though. In his head, he starts calculating the number of cases Matt has helped him on, and how much work he put in to each of them.

He doesn't have unlimited funds; right now, they're working off money from the governments they help, and from Interpol and various other less-known realization. Not to mention work for private, wealthy clients. If they complete a few more jobs successfully, those less about justice and more about money, then he'll be able to pursue the crimes he wants to.

L might never have stooped as low as this, but Near is not L.

Near has a very good memory. It doesn't take long until he has an exact dollar value for what he 'owes' Matt so far, and he'll keep a running tally. If Matt accepts it, it's something he can give him when he decides to make off on his own.

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He sometimes wonders what L would think of him. At the orphanage, L called him too hasty, but would also smile at him and bring him puzzles. He would ruffle Near's hair (like Matt does now, and Near finally connects the feeling of contentedness with a belated snap) and offer him the strawberry off the top of his cheesecake.

Near was never as smart as L, and was smart enough to know it, too. If he ever wrote a book of his own, it would be about the frustrations of knowing your own weaknesses.

He needed Mello to surpass L, to avenge him. Mello needed Matt. The three of them made it possible, made it work, and now the three are down to two. So in his own way, Near feels Mello's loss as keenly as Matt does; without him, Near will always be N, and never L.

He dreams again, this time of Mello, reaching out a leather gloved hand to him and asking, with a sneer, if he'd like him to take Matt's place. If Near would rather engage in his own little swap out.

He wakes up in a cold sweat, and climbs out of bed at once. It's four am, and Matt is at the computer. The hair on one side of his head is flattened, and sticking out on the other side, subtly, like he ran his fingers through it some but didn't shower.

He probably had a nightmare too.

Near joins him soundlessly, Matt reaches for a toothpick, without comment, and they both get back to work.

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They walk together through Dubai, one of Matt's hands on his gun, the other on his side, willing it to stop aching. Near watches Matt surreptitiously, and keeps his hands in his pockets. He keeps his head lowered, and in between watching Matt, he watches everything around them. They haven't come this far to go to a knife between the ribs.

Matt asked Near last night what could possibly be more glorious than what had almost got him. Near just glared at him.

L's old contact lives in a shady building in a shady part of town, which is perfect, because that's what he's here for, is to provide information about the underground goings on. He's old enough that he's been in the employ of two separate L's already. He knew Mr Wammy personally.

Near wants to meet him personally. To judge him, personally. L had Wedy and Aiber, both deceased, probably at Kira's hands. Near will have Rodgers. Rodgers, who tells everyone his first name is Darwin, but is really a Jonathan.

Near is hardly one to complain about fake names. He lets it be.

Darwin Rodgers is an old man who wheezes and laughs, and offers them both cigarettes. Matt accepts one, and Near doesn't.

"You must be Mello," Darwin says to Matt, "L talked about you."

"I'm not, actually," Matt replies, firm and kind of tired sounding, "I'm just along for the ride." He's matter-of-fact and composed, and if Near didn't know that there was grief in there, somewhere, he probably wouldn't have been able to tell.

"Sorry," says Darwin, because apparently he can see it too. Maybe it's just Near that can't read Matt any more.

"Peachy-keen jelly bean," Matt replies, and then takes a drag, "let's get down to business."

Isn't Near supposed to be the unemotional one?

Aside from that, it goes smoothly, except that Near has cigarette smoke in his hair and is quite upset by the time he leaves, for no particular reason. He knows Matt can tell, and that no other human being would be able to. Not Hal, not Gevanni, not Ridner, not L, if he was still alive.

Alright, maybe L. But L is dead, and now there's just Matt, who's under his skin, who's a splinter in his brain, who is making him emotional, ergo ineffective and whose presence can therefore no longer be tolerated.

His thoughts are chasing themselves in circles. Darwin Rodger's hacking laugh is in his ears. He drops Matt off at a hotel room with a credit card, with no explanations, and is on a plane an hour later.

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--AN- I am far from satisfied with this, but I have twisted and turned it and poked it in so many different directions that I'm starting to get flashes of dread whenever I open the word document, so it's time to cut the umbilical and chuck it on up. Near is hard to write, because I have such a specific vision of how he thinks and I never quite feel like it's coming through.

Next chapter will hopefully be better. Thanks for all the reviews! You feed my self confidence deliciously.