A/N: Hola. Chapter 7. Not too much to say except I wrote this at two in the morning. Near can be really difficult to write. I have trouble getting the right balance because he is a child, but his mind works like that of an adult. Plus up until this point he's said a total of 35 words, only 3 of which weren't part of a flashback. Eira is a Welsh name, by the way. That's where she's from. I think that's about it. Anyone who had read Godless should notice some relatedness of the story lines beginning in this chapter. For anyone who hasn't read that, you have no idea what I'm talking about, but that's alright. Oh, and you may notice that I've changed all of the chapter titles. I don't actually know all that many children's rhymes (the "rhymes" I was told were always either Poe or Silverstein), so if any one knows of any good ones, please let me know. Thanks! On with the chapter.
Thank you to Riku-Rocks, Karin Babbitt, Emerald Skies, and Reese Craven for reviewing!
Disclaimer: Don't own Death Note.
Near did his best to hide the fact that he was trembling as he stood before the big, wooden door that separated this hallway from the councillor's office. He hated coming here. He couldn't help but be intimidated by the woman, even if she had never done anything to merit his distrust. If he didn't have to actually see her perhaps it would be different, but as things were these visits unnerved him.
At exactly three o'clock the door opened to reveal a smiling woman named Eira who reminded Near vaguely of his mother, though only in appearance. She ushered him inside and made to close the door, but he stopped her. That was one of the things that made him nervous, having the door closed, and the only person who would overhear anything in this hallway was Roger, who knew everything anyway so it didn't matter.
"Hello, Near," the woman said cheerfully. She knew he probably wouldn't speak right away, if at all, so she continued talking. "Roger has told me a little about what's been going on over the past month. How have you been?"
There was a long pause in which Near stared pointedly at the floor. Finally, just when the woman thought he wasn't going to answer, he whispered, "Not well."
It was the first time she had heard his voice and she was surprised by it. He looked so young, but his voice seemed so tired. The children here were strange that way. It was easy to forget sometimes that they were so young. Dealing with them could be difficult because they were so advanced in their thinking but emotionally they were still children. That was something about being in this place that she would never get used to.
Near looked up just in time to see her smile faintly. A real smile, not her fake smile, the one she wore when she was frustrated. It seemed she was pleased with that small amount of progress.
"Why is that?" she asked.
She knew. He knew she did. She'd have read his file. Besides which, he really was nervous and didn't feel like talking, especially about that. He just shook his head and looked at the floor.
"Near," she sighed. "You're not going to talk to me, are you?"
The tiny boy shook his head, his white curls swaying slightly before they fell to hide his eyes.
"Will you talk to anyone?" she asked. She was trying not to sound frustrated.
Near looked up at her, then back down at the floor. He was being a nuisance, he knew. Still, he wasn't comfortable talking to her.
A knock on the heavy wooden door startled Roger out of his work. It was shortly followed by a woman's voice even as the door was pushed open. "Are you in there, Roger?"
"Eira, I'm busy. Can this wait?" Roger said without looking up. And he was busy. There was a case that had come to his attention fairly recently. An American foster child bounced around from family to family since he was born. Right now things weren't looking very good for him, although he had just been taken in by another family. Quillsh seemed to think he was worth looking into.
"Near wants to talk to you," she said.
That got his attention. He looked up to see Eira standing in the doorway, Near several steps behind her. The woman stepped aside and shooed Near through the door before giving Roger a meaningful glance and turning to leave. The caretaker waited until the door was closed to speak, but Near got to it first.
"Sorry," he whispered.
It took Roger a moment to process the apology. "For what?"
"I'm supposed to talk to Miss Eira," Near said softly, staring at the floor. "You're busy."
"It's alright, Near," Roger told him, taking note of the way the boy kept his head down so that his eyes were hidden beneath his snowy hair. "I don't mind. What did you want to talk about?"
"I'm fairly certain you already know," the boy replied.
"Come here. Sit," Roger said gently, gesturing to the two unoccupied chairs in the room. Near chose the one next to the window, the one where Quillsh always sat. "I have a fairly good idea."
Near sighed. The sound was so soft it was nearly imperceptible. "Yes, but what you know is from court and my file. All you know are dates and facts and findings. That's all anyone knows. When they spoke to me about it that was what I gave them. An investigation requires understanding, not emotion."
It was odd to listen to Near speak. For all that Near looked like a very young child and occasionally even acted like one with his obsession over action figures and puzzles, the mind that hid behind the emotionless mask he wore was astounding.
"I suppose you're right," Roger admitted. "But in the more human spectrum, it's the emotions that matter. How are you feeling right now?"
Near lifted his head a little so that he could see the man behind the desk. He had closed the file he had been leafing through when Near entered and his hands were folded before him. "Not well."
"How so?" the caretaker pressed.
The young genius just stared at him for a moment. "Cold. I feel cold."
"I'm afraid I don't understand," Roger said. There was something odd about Near's eyes, now that he could see them. A kind of glassiness. They seemed hollow, like staring into a void.
"Because I know," Near began, his voice once again reduced to a frightened whisper, "that it won't go away. I feel dirty. Like I'm not fit to be considered human anymore."
Roger wanted to be sympathetic. He played the part of a surrogate grandfather to many of the children. He had always been good with children, and part of that was his natural tendency toward empathy. But Near would not want sympathy, that much he was sure of. Instead he settled for another question. "Why did you cover the mirror?"
"Simple," the boy shrugged. "I didn't want to see my reflection."
"Why, though?" the man clarified.
At this Near turned to stare out the window. This office had a view similar to the one from his room. He could see the moor stretching out to the tree line, painted with purple like a landscape one might find in an art gallery. His voice was just barely a whisper, just barely enough to break the stillness that seemed to creep into the room through the window. "Because when I look at me I see her. I have her nose, and the shape of her face is just like mine. I have her hands, too. I hate them sometimes. But I can see what she did, too. I can see it in the circles under my eyes because I have nightmares. I can see it in the way I hold myself when I sit. I used to pull my knees up to my chest because it made me feel less visible, though that was before I got hurt. I see it in my hair and my shoulders. I hate having it staring me in the face. I hate having her staring me in the face."
Roger was stunned. In all fairness he had never dealt with a child whose background was quite like Near. That it was his mother who had done these things to him, betrayed him in such a way, it made it much more difficult.
"May I go back to my room now?" Near asked, turning back to the caretaker.
Roger nodded. "Yes. I think that's sufficient for today. Would you mind terribly if I tell Miss Eira what you told me? I would like for you to start talking to her at some point and what you've said will help her to understand."
"Not at all," Near said distantly. Roger could tell his mind was on something else entirely.
"Will you be coming downstairs for dinner?" Roger asked. He still had an aide from the infirmary keeping track of Near's eating habits as the boy wasn't gaining the weight he needed to put on.
"Not today," he said. "Thank you, Roger."
Roger watched the boy drift from the room, looking completely lost. It was strange to see him devote the entirety of his impressive intellect to one thought and unfortunately it was usually only thoughts of his past that received such attention. It was sad, really. But there was hope. There had been progress today; a great bit more of it than Roger had expected. Now if he could merely get the boy to talk to Eira and a healthy weight.
