AN- I've introduced Matt here, later. I looked it up to be sure, and his real name is pronounced "Mile".

Three days later, Mello walked down the hall alone for the first time. The scrap of paper in his hands was a schedule. They'd denied him half the classes he wanted, simply because he wanted to take almost twenty a week. They explained to him that he had to pace them out, or he wouldn't be able to keep up with the workload.

He shifted the messenger bag serving as his backpack and tapped his bible impatiently against his leg as he considered the list. He was supposed to be on his way to Geometry I, but he wasn't sure where exactly he was. The tapping increased as his paranoia kicked in again. He was surrounded by kids…some walking with a purpose, others playing. It was strange. The classes were held in rooms, like the library…one was even in the kitchen because the chef apparently knew German.

He continued tapping his bible against his thigh as he walked. They'd given him shoes, a pair of plain black leather boots, and filled his wardrobe with the same non-descript black shirt and jeans. There had been a few variations…such as tighter jeans, a black button-up shirt…black jeans and a blue shirt…but he stuck with his original and banished them to the bottom drawer. Home, that strange little bunny, was currently sitting in the closet next to the vase.

He paused to sniff his shirt. Damn…he smelled like the herbs now. The strong scent was masculine enough that he didn't mind, but it had to be on all of his clothes by now. It made his eyes water to open the closet door in the mornings. His hair was back again, because he felt too feminine to wear this long normally. The monastery used to cut it off at his chin, and that was good enough for him. He may be gay, but he was not a woman.

The tapping stopped as his location dawned on him, a flicker of recognition at the painting on the wall. He set off, reassured that he was, in fact, in the right place. He found the class easily after that, and mentally enforced his map of the place. It wasn't so bad.

He'd gone to a basic school in southern Italy when he'd first started noticing boys. It wasn't a big deal to him, much like boys will ignore girls for a few years after they first start seeing them differently. His family was large, always had been, and devoutly Catholic. Because he was so young, he missed the gospel that told him his desires were wrong. They'd shielded him from it until it was too late. One night, he told his mother that he had a crush on a boy at school, trying to participate in the conversation as they made dinner with his sisters.

Possibly the worst mistake of his life. Mello glanced around at the other children from a place by the door before heading back to his seat. The way it'd been explained to him, this was an orphanage for exceptional children. They'd made a terrible mistake, because Mello was not an orphan. Mello was disowned, and abandoned. His father had driven him into the hills outside the city, and left him in that…asylum.

His family was still alive. Mello didn't care.

XXXX

Roger was in the process of researching Mello's past when he got the call that something had gone terribly wrong. There'd been a fight on the lower floor, over by the fifth classroom.

He arrived to find Mello and Eric crouched on the floor. Eric's hand was pressed to another child's throat, and Mello was on his knees rocking back and forth with his crucifix in fist, reciting the prayer of contrition.

"Eric, what's going on?"

"Apparently he shoved Mello around for a few minutes…drove him into a panic. Mello cracked a chair over his head."

"Good God, is he okay?"

"Oh yeah…out cold, but he's fine. Mello thinks he's dead though…" He gave a wry grin, and Roger frowned.

"Get him to the infirmary, I'll deal with Mello." He glanced at the other children. One of the younger ones piped up, staring curiously at the blonde.

"Is he a witch, Roger?" Another kid cut him off.

"Of course not…he's just praying…" Roger decided to let the older kid handle it as he sat next to Mello, placing a hand on his back and stroking his shoulder blades. Mello was so scared that even the touch didn't register.

"What's prayin?" The four year old asked.

"He's saying sorry to his God..."

"What's God?"

"I'll tell you when you're older." Roger smiled at the older kid and the reached to tug Mello's clasped hands from his forehead.

"Mello?"

"Roger, I think I killed him, I think he's dead, he's just lying there…" Mello noticed the 'body' was gone.

"Oh Christ, he is dead, isn't he?" The hands went back and he trembled, blue eyes huge. Roger sighed and yanked the hands away again, refusing to let him pray.

"He's not dead Mello. You just hurt him."

"But he was just lying there."

"Well, he's not dead. You only knocked him unconscious. He'll wake up with a head ache, but he'll be fine." Reality came back as the panic ebbed from his eyes a bit. He began trying to slow his breathing down, holding his crucifix fisted to his heart.

"Holy Mary, I thought I'd killed him…"

"You might have…if you'd been strong enough." The words sent another shock through the boy, almost sending him back into his frenzied prayer, but that's when he realized that Roger's hand was on his back.

"Don't touch me." Roger nodded, taking his hand away. He spoke quietly as he waved the other children away.

"I just had to get you back Mello. Come walk with me." Mello nodded and got to his feet, his knees shaking slightly. He never released his crucifix. He led him to the door at the end of the hall, and then out onto the grounds. They set off across the grass.

"Am I in trouble Roger?"

"I'm not sure. You seem to regret it."

"I panicked…You told them all not to touch me, but he just…he just kept doing it. He said I was weird, that I looked like a little girl, and he kept touching me." Roger knew Mello well enough to know that it hadn't been anything sexual…if it had, Mello would have killed him. He knew boys liked to cross lines however, so the assault made sense.

"He wasn't trying to hurt you, Mello."

"He wouldn't let go…he put his hands on my shoulders, kept pulling my hair. Why?"

"He was testing you. Likely wanted to know why he wasn't supposed to do it."

"Well he bloody knows now, doesn't he?" Roger glanced at him surprised. Mello's anger instantly shifted to remorse, but Roger was still glad. There was boy beneath this religious mask, he was sure of it. A regular Hellion if his experience told him anything. He wanted that boy…the wild and proud one…he'd never get far with this forced personality.

"I'm not going to punish you this time, Mello. The next time it happens though, I want you to just walk away. Don't do anything…just walk away." Mello shook his head.

"I don't know if I can Roger."

"Why not?"

"I have a terrible temper. Father Forgive, but…it felt good to hit him."

"Mello…You can't be violent with these children. They'll understand today, because you were provoked, but they are not normal children. They think just like you do…"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean you are nine and half years old and you think as though you are sixteen. You're advanced. You're smart…that's why you're here. But you have to understand that you're not the only one here that is."

"Why did he attack me then, if they're all so intelligent?"

"Because they, like you, are still children. To think well is one thing, to think with maturity…that comes with time, no matter how hard you try."

"I am mature. My Faith guides me."

"You're faith will not always be enough Mello." Mello cast him a scathing glare.

"You doubt the power of Christ?"

"I doubt you." That stopped him, and Roger turned to finish. "I doubt you, because you are a mortal being. Just as I am. God helps those…"

"…who help themselves. I've heard it before Roger. Still, I didn't exactly have to ask for help, remember? My parents saw that I got all the help I needed."

Roger sighed. "Mello…you have to get over your phobia of being touched. You cannot live like that forever…"

"I can try."

"Why are you afraid of physical contact?" Mello dropped his eyes, crossing his arms defensively over his chest again as he stared at the dirt. His voice was slightly monotonic as he recited.

"Because I am unclean, and will taint the innocents that touch me."

"Why are you unclean?"

"You ask a lot of questions Roger." Roger sighed, clasping his hands behind his back.

"Mello…no one here is going to harm you. Even that boy back there…he was just curious." Mello didn't look at him, shifting his back pack on his shoulder.

"Roger, I would like to return to my room please. I have homework."

The old man sighed gently, looking out across the fields. "Very well…We will have this conversation one day Mello. However, I do promise you that I am not looking forward to it anymore than you are."

"God keep you, Roger."

"I'll see you at Dinner, son." Roger watched the boy head off across the grass.

XXXX

December 7th, 1999

Mello was reading his bible on his bed when the voices passed his door. Roger, Eric and a younger, much more violent voice that he didn't recognize.

"Get OFF me you Fuckers, what the hell do you want!"

"Roger, hurry with door, this guy's almost as bad as Mello was." Mello perked at that, marking his page with a finger.

"Let me GO!"

"Matt, calm down!"

"MY NAME IS MAIL!!!" Mello raised an eyebrow. Mile? He sounded upset, whoever this Mile was.

The door finally came open apparently, because it was slammed shut two seconds later. There was a knock at his door. He rose and answered it, peering out into the hall. The door directly across from him rattled and shook as the boy within beat on it.

"Mello…if he bothers you, let us know…we'll move him."

"I assume he's new then."

"Yeah…his parents just died last week, and they sent him to us."

"His name is to be Matt?" The boy had fallen quiet, and he could imagine there being an ear pressed to the crack by the floor.

"Yes…you don't mind, do you?" Mello had had this hall to himself almost since he came here…there weren't many others that needed private rooms. Mello's phobia and violent tendencies justified his keeping of his room. He tucked his hair behind his ears.

"Three days until my birthday and you give me a loud hall mate. Thanks Roger." Roger just shook his head at the sarcasm. He allowed him these small whips because it meant that was starting to open up…just a little. The boy had a biting satire, and had started falling back to his wit instead of his fists, finally.

Not until after he'd earned a reputation for his violence, however. The kids knew not to touch him now…and though he was still occasionally assaulted by larger groups of four or five, they usually left him alone now. Mello had made his name at Wammy.

He was incredibly intelligent. Even Roger was shocked at just how far he'd come in the few months since summer. He was pulling closer and closer to Near, and he wasn't even aware of the race yet.

Roger and Eric were really the only people Mello truly respected. He was polite to Roger, aside from his little jabs now and then, and he tolerated Eric's presence simply because the man was so patient with him. Mello still hated the dining hall, but Eric never sighed when he requested a meal in his room. He peered around the two of them at the door again.

"Is he civil?"

"We don't know yet…but he's just had a great shock, and refuses to have anything to do with us."

"How long is he going to be locked in?"

"Until he is civil." Eric said with a wry grin.

"YOU BASTARDS CAN'T DO THIS!"

"On contrary, they can." Mello turned to regard the two of them again. "It's fine. I suppose we'll both be taking our dinner in our rooms tonight."

Eric nodded and they both headed downstairs. Mello leaned in the door for a long time, bible still marked in his hand, and listened. Matt beat at the door, and there was a distinctive shatter that told him the vase had been thrown. This continued for a long time, almost half an hour, until Mello assumed he'd worn himself out. He didn't say anything, just listened the anonymous tantrum, trying to put a face to the frustrated yells and banging of furniture.

Silence fell suddenly. Mello's eyes widened as the door bumped, and he imagined a boy his size setting his back to it and sliding to the floor.

The quiet sound of crying met his ears moment later. Mello felt his throat constrict slightly as he listened to the faceless boy sob. He shut his door, backing up to his bed and staring at the doorknob. He couldn't hear the tears anymore, but they echoed in his mind.

He pushed them away, and opened his bible again.