VII. All's Fair in Love and War

It wasn't long after he had drifted off that Mello had come into wakefulness again, blinking through the darkness. Luckily the dusty shutters had been closed to ward off whatever sunlight may be trying to ease its way inside. Through the open door leading to the bedroom he could see a vague glint of crimson, denoting that Matt had fallen asleep in his bed, since Mello had insisted on sleeping on the couch, despite the fact that the bed was a good deal more comfortable.

He slid onto unsteady feet, his cheeks tepid because the fever had already begun to diminish. It was fairly certain that the plane wasn't going to leave soon; otherwise, Matt would have been up already. Still, restive Mello packed the necessities, using a reasonable amount of judgment to gauge what he could and couldn't get past security. The guns, though he knew he could maneuver it somehow, would have to stay. His plan wouldn't need to be put into action for awhile after the plane was estimated to land, so it would give him plenty of time to buy a new pistol for not only himself, but for Matt. The other had some fake IDs, he was sure, and seemed to pull a shitload of cash from nowhere, so he trusted in the knowledge that the acquisition of the weapons would run quite smoothly.

Smoother than the actual plan would be, that was for sure.

Once he had gathered everything in a bag and lugged it to the space next to the door, he heard a faint murmur from the bedroom, some rustling and movement, and finally a groggy looking Matt appeared, blinking a few times to banish the sleep from his eyes.

"Mello," he said blandly, clutching tightly to his collar. That injury must only have been a hairline fracture; the redhead was holding up spectacularly for someone who had sustained a broken bone and hadn't received proper medical attention.

"You're awake."

Evidently.

The elder one cast him a look that reflected sheer exasperation, and, luckily, he took the hint. Rummaging through the refrigerator, one hand still clasped tightly at the collarbone, Matt sighed precariously.

"We leave this morning," he stated. "We should head out in an hour."

"You cut it really fucking close, don't you?" quipped Mello, running a withering gaze over his gathered supplies, and resolving that they were sufficient enough to stay put, he turned his attention to his clothes. Not that Matt didn't have his own little style, but the stripes and jeans just hung off the blonde in an awkward way, possibly because they were so huge in comparison to his lean frame.

"What d'you mean?" inquired an clearly still-tired Matt.

"I mean, I could have chosen not to come at all. You planned this all out as though you knew I was coming."

This comment seemed to coax the most puerile smirk onto the gamer's features.

"Because I did know you were coming," he breathed, as though wanting nothing more than to expel these words. "For one thing, you already had business in Japan set for today that you had told me about weeks ago, and I knew that you weren't just going to stand by and watch me elope with Takada while you stayed behind and tried to reschedule your undoubtedly ingenious plot."

"It wouldn't have been any sweat off of my back."

This last was spoken softly, a tone of voice that was almost as rare to Mello as compassion. Matt had pinned him rather well with these assumptions. Maybe he had lived with the other too long. All the same, he wasn't so sure where he stood on allowing the redhead to throw his life away for some woman that was bound to kill him as soon as she was instructed to do so. Then again, he wasn't all that convinced that he even loved her in the first place. He certainly didn't act like it, the way talked about her.

Yet he cared about Mello and still called him an asshole, and was all but apathetic in the other's presence, as though Mello was just someone else who had wandered into his midst, and deserved to be treated as such. The only real display of 'caring' he received from the other at all, actually, was his loyalty, and he seemed damn loyal to Takada if he was going to just give her his life wrapped in multicoloured ribbon and sealed with a kiss.

Hell, Mello didn't know what to think of this.

He looked up, maybe about to question him about this conundrum, but was met with a swift blow to the face. It hurt like a bitch, but luckily Matt, whom he hadn't noticed approaching, hadn't struck the side of his face that was already wounded. Rubbing the afflicted area, which had just been connected with the other's fist, he snarled.

"What the fuck was that, jackass?" he demanded.

Matt examined his knuckles interestedly.

"It was for being an unfeeling son of a bitch," he said through clenched teeth, obviously from the pain of the feat, though still managed a small smile.

Mello could have reciprocated the attack, but instead shook it off atypically, figuring his revenge would be paid when the other went off with Takada. There was no way he would live long staying with her…

Scowling and ducking into the bedroom, the blonde sought to change out of Matt's clothing in predilection of something more tasteful. He closed the door behind him and slid off his pants, finding that the other hadn't bothered to put underwear on him. It made Mello grimace; great, he had been seen not only helpless, but also naked. Now the redhead really deserved a punch to the jaw.

Pulling on a new pair of pants and divesting himself of his shirt, he vaguely heard the door whistle open and shut again, and the springs of the bed squeak as it was met by a sudden weight. Once the shirt was removed, he blinked to see Matt sitting there.

"What do you want?" he growled, quite perturbed to have been barged in on while he was changing. Then again, he had been fully exposed not long before; a lack of a shirt here and there really couldn't compare.

"I need to ask you a question," he breathed unconcernedly.

Mello glared for a minute, then rolled his eyes and rummaged for a shirt. He might as well.

"Fine. What is it?"

"When this is all over, I mean, when Kira's gone and defeated, and either you or Near has won, what do you plan to do? If Near wins, will you still be out trying to beat him? If you win, will you succeed L? And in the end, if Kira wins and both you and Near are dead, will you die satisfied? All you've wanted in life is to win. But do you plan to die for it?"

Matt sighed and turned his head, examining a small stain on the floor as though that was the only thing in the world of interest. But he wasn't quite finished.

"Yeah, we've come this far, and it's been fun, but hell, L died trying to catch Kira. Wouldn't it be a waste to throw yourself out along with him? I know you wanna emulate him, Mel', but that doesn't mean you have to die."

Finally, he had finished, ending his rhetoric with a small sigh. Mello stared, eventually giving a small smirk.

"I thought you wanted to ask me just one question," he said, zipping his shirt and slipping back into his element. The only thing missing from that picture was chocolate, which he would end up getting soon.

"Well, yeah…" said a rather shame-faced Matt, though you couldn't tell while he still watched the carpet, not to mention the fact that his thick goggles concealed all emotion. That must have been why he appeared so apathetic about the whole ordeal. "Are you going to answer or not?"

Back to his usual gruff manner, the elder one rolled his eyes and stomped over to sit on the bed as well, though he leaned forward, proactive and ready to leap up at any time to head out and catch the flight. He knew, however, that Matt would warn him if they needed to leave soon. He put at least that much faith in the other.

"It seems like a damn good cause to die for, if you ask me," he replied roughly. "I've been wanting to beat near for more than fifteen fucking years. If I die in the process, at least I'll know that I did something. I tried to be something more than second place, even if I couldn't reach first."

Matt eyed him precariously.

"That's all you care about, winning, or trying to win? You don't have normal dreams like everyone else? Money, happiness, love?"

The other snorted. "Money? I don't need something that materialistic. Happiness? I'll be happy in my success. And love…who do I possibly have to love now?"

All of a sudden, the gamer's gaze hardened. He stood up and went to the door, all the while muttering:

"Nevermind. C'mon, Mello. The plane'll leave without us if we don't get on the road."

Mello was definitely confused by this abrupt halt in conversation, but if this meant making it to the plane in time, he could deal with it. He followed out the door, picking up his packed things and retreating into the outside corridor with his companion.

No words were exchanged for the longest time, not even on the drive there, though when they arrived at the airport Matt muttered a few things, though Mello was sure that they were more to the car than to him; he seemed to have some kind of love affair with the vehicle.

Rolling his eyes, the blonde headed up toward the building and checked in his luggage, undaunted about whether or not the other was following. The crowds were dense, and this irritated Mello. Soon enough, they had reached the terminal, after passing the security with a fair bit of difficulty, and neither of them was in too good of spirits. Still, they were silent, put off by their more recent discussion, though Mello still wasn't sure what had made the other so pissed.

He didn't have long to sit and wait.

"You have some twisted priorities," said Matt off-handedly, fingers twitching in the absence of his usual cigarette. Apparently, smoking was prohibited here, and on the plane too. An expression of distaste flitted across his face as he realized it could be hours before he could smoke, unless he wanted to go somewhere else before the plane took off. Somehow, he knew that Mello wouldn't tolerate the redhead making him wait.

"What are you rambling about now, Matt?" demanded the elder one. He had never heard Matt talk this much in his life.

Matt shrugged it off; he had something important to say, and if Mello didn't want to hear it, he could go straight to hell.

"I mean, you're so focused on your goals, and then you say you have no one to care about. You honestly don't have anyone that you'd feel sorry at their funeral?"

Scowling, he got the hint.

"Are you talking about yourself?"

The other didn't answer.

"For chrissake, Matt, if you wanted some acknowledgement, all you had to do it is ask. You didn't have to whine at me."

"I wasn't whining at you, dumbass. I was giving it to you straight. What, badass Mello doesn't like talking about his feelings?" Suddenly, that smoke was greatly appealing.

So, he stood and walked away, leaving Mello to sit on his own. Being as restless as he was, however, he went out walking as well, cleaning out the boutiques for chocolate to fuel his indulgence throughout the flight. He checked a nearby clock; it was an hour until their plane left. That seemed ages away, but planes always had a tendency to run ahead of schedule. Soon, he began thinking of what tomorrow promised; kidnappings and danger, that was a given.

Mello began to stroll through the food court, not looking to eat, but merely to look. At a lonely table not far away sat Matt, dragging deeply on a cigarette in the smoking section. As filthy as the habit was, and how discontent he would be in a perpetual cloud of second-hand smoke, he went and sat down with the other anyway, casting him a lazy stare and stretching over the booth's cushioned seat.

"What do you want?" the redhead demanded, mimicking Mello's usual gruff tone. He ignored it.

"I want you to top acting like an immature idiot. The plane'll leave in forty-five minutes, and we need to be at the terminal in fifteen."

"I'm not done," he said, waving his cancer stick around indicatively.

There was a long pause.

"You know I appreciate you Matt," said the blonde, not looking at the other to lessen the effect of these words. He hadn't ever said them before, and he hadn't planned to…but they were always on hand, ready to use on the edge of his subconscious if ever he developed the sentiment of caring that seemed to be so foreign to him.

"I know," said Matt, though he was unable to conceal the grin that was spreading across his face. "That's why I wanted to hear you say it."

Another silence, but this one was filled by a creeping smile that was faintly growing on Mello's expression as well. The younger one tilted his head, stood up, and began to walk away, but not before looking back as though there was something genuinely troubling him.

"Y'know, Mel', I haven't seen you smile like that for almost ten years." He gave a Cheshire smirk. "It's kind of nice."

He looked witheringly toward a nearby hanging clock and crushed his cigarette butt into his breast pocket. Disgusting. No wonder he had so many holes in his clothes. Nevertheless, Mello's gaze followed Matt's, and noticed that they would need to leave.

As if reading his mind, the striped one began to quicken his step.

"C'mon, Mello, we'd better get going."