A special thanks to all of those who have reviewed this piece: you can have hugs and kisses and other bits of ephemera that will not actually cost me anything (for I am, as always, completely broke). And an extra special deluxe thanks to Just Funning, whose last writing contribution to this fic. can be found in this chapter.

Chapter 7: Clocks

"Well, I kind of like it," said Mello, dangling the sinister-looking pocket watch in front of his face. Thanks to his criminally-inclined fingers, they had gotten out of the cage and then out of the theatre altogether, exiting through the back door they had originally come through. "Too bad it's not the real thing."

"We need to get a hold of the real thing. Otherwise, why put that note in there?" Once they had gotten out of the cage, Near had immediately scooped up the watch and, prying open its jaws to get at the actual clock inside, a note had fallen out with a single word written on it:

Fake.

"The real watch is in the horological museum inside the Guildhall. Which is in Cheapside." The two boys moved at a brisk pace up Long Acre, heading in the general direction of the Covent Garden tube station. The sky had opened up again and was spitting, casting down random, annoying drops of rain that was just enough to dampen everything in their midst. Mello wished he had his rain coat back.

"We're being manipulated here," commented Near in a low, angry voice.

No shit, thought Mello. What he actually said was: "Do you think it was. . . too easy? How we got out of there?"

Near narrowed his eyes, thinking. Mello could practically hear the gears of thought squeaking inside that big head of his. "It's not that. It's this 'game' that we're playing. It's obviously rigged. I. . . I don't think it's possible for us to win it."

If you can't beat the game, you're nothing but a loser. . .

"This is more than just a 'game,' Near. It's Matt. Or are you saying that I should just forget about him?"

The double meaning of that sentence was not lost on Mello.

"No," said Near, and for once, the other boy actually looked stressed, uncertain. Mello found he didn't care for that look-not from Near-not in this situation. He needed the other boy's certainty like air to breathe. "No. It's just. . . I can't see a possible solution to this. The outcome of it. Not one that will come out in our favor, anyway."

And Near always had the solution to the puzzle.

Without warning, Mello shoved Near hard enough to cause him to fall, to fall and take a well-dressed gentleman in a suit and tie down with him. The two of them folded like a deck of cards onto the busy sidewalk. Again, Near's face registered absolute shock, and he was about to start stammering out a litany of heartfelt apologies to the strange man he'd practically been thrown into, when Mello promptly intervened:

"I'm sorry, sir! My little brother here is the clumsiest creature on the planet. Born with two left feet," he helped the other man to his feet, his face filled with a faux concern, concern wrapped with a hint of chastisement, as he addressed his little 'brother.' "Why can't you watch where you're going?" he snapped. Near just stood there with his mouth hanging open. Mello's mouth quirked upward in an evil grin as he peered at Near from over the other man's shoulder.

Near's eyes narrowed in suspicion as he realized what Mello was up to.

"I'm okay-just. . . let me go on. Alright?" The man in the suit picked up his fat, fallen laptop bag and started backing away, his eyes sweeping Mello's leather outfit with obvious distaste. He turned and fled up the busy street, his brown trench coat blending into the crowd, lost in a sea of pedestrians and just as easily forgotten.

"Sorry, sir!" Mello called out sarcastically. Then, without speaking, he whirled on his heel and started again for the tube station. Near practically had to run to catch up with him. Once he got there, he said:

"So how much did you get?"

Mello riffled through the man's wallet as he walked, without slowing his pace. "Bingo. Look-oyster card!" he held up the blue and white card in triumph. He watched Near's face. "Don't look at me like that-all my shit was in my coat, remember?"

"But none of that originally belonged to you," Near pointed out.

"Hey, special circumstances call for special solutions. And you're all about the solution, right?" They came up to the tube station entrance and Mello chucked the man's now empty wallet into a trash bin. They descended the dirty concrete steps into a yellow-lit, man-made dinginess.

"You could have warned me," complained Near.

Mello sighed and rolled his eyes as they cantered down the steps.

"Jesus, I thought we had this conversation already. . ."

All the buildings near the Guildhall were blindingly white and Romanesque in appearance. Not as many people roamed the streets here as they did around Leicester Square and Covent Garden. Mello and Near were quite alone as they moved past the Lord Mayor's mansion, walking briskly in the long shadow of its immense stone walls and elegant Corinthian columns. The two boys padded across the street in the direction of the massive Guildhall, passing, every now and then, random pieces of the old Roman wall that were left littered around the place like pieces from a giant's jigsaw puzzle that had been dropped from the sky. In the medians, near daycare playgrounds, in church back lots, the puzzle pieces sat, too fragile, too valuable to be moved, and so they remained where they were found, like untouchable meteorite detritus from outer space. Valuable, rocky, and mostly ignored.

Mello and Near crossed the wide courtyard which led to the front of the Guildhall Museum. Along with the clock collection, there was also an adjoining art gallery and a library. Sliding glass doors parted and allowed them entrance into the museum's understated, carpeted lobby. A young woman in a dull, dove grey pantsuit was manning the front desk, and she glanced up once from her desk, only to do a double take as her curious gaze alighted on Mello and Near. Her mouth fell open a little a she watched the two boys push their way through the double doors of the clock museum. Mello gave her a flirty little smile and wave as he disappeared into the fluorescent, inhuman whiteness of the museum.

"Can't you at least try and not draw attention to us?" whispered Near after witnessing Mello's little flirtation.

Mello snickered. "You're joking right?" Now that he'd lost his coat, Mello was beyond conspicuous. His sleeveless zippered vest didn't even meet the top of his leather pants, all perfect and perilously low-slung, the whole she-bang held in place by the gravity-defying good graces of a studded belt crowned by a large, silver-cross belt buckle. Mello took his religious symbols seriously. Near gave him the once over and sighed.

"You're right-you're about as inconspicuous as a Soho street hustler."

Mello burst out in bright, hardy laughter. "That's a good one-but you shouldn't talk about my second job like that! And what would you know about Soho street hustlers anyway?"

"Just being observant, is all," said Near, and Mello thought he could detect the hint of a smile in the other boy's face.

"Hey you two-keep it down!" This came from a craggy-faced security guard who had been, until that moment, as still and as an unobtrusive as a statue in the corner. Mello gave him the evil-eye as he and Near casually meandered by glass case after glass case filled to the brim with oddly shaped time pieces. Mello kept his cat eyes trained on these various crow's nests of shiny, ticking objects, scanning, his green gaze on the lookout for the unmistakable silver skull. After a moment, he felt Near's hand on his arm.

"There."

The skull was housed in a free standing glass column that rose up like an aquarium made for metal fish from the floor. Mello stood on one side of the case, and Near on the other. Near's face looked at his through the wall of glass, questioning. "So what do we do now?"

Mello lifted a gloved hand to the glass. "Fuck. There has to be a way to get-"

"I said, keep it down in here! And keep your hands off the glass!" The cranky security guard had edged closer to the two boys, and Mello looked around them then, and he realized that the three of them-he, Near, and the security guard-were all alone together in the tiny museum. A diabolical thought hit his brain like a frying pan, causing him to turn to the guard and say with a snarky tone, "And what are you going to do about it if we don't?"

Near's eyes widened with an expression which clearly said: "What are you doing? Have you gone insane?"

The security guard advanced on Mello, his threatening frame towering over the young boy's by at least a good six inches. "What am I going to do? I'll tell you what I'm going to do-I'm going to haul your delinquent ass out of here, that's what! I don't like like the looks of you, kid."

"Is that so?"

"That's so!"

"Ah, well-that's too bad," Mello purred seductively, reaching up to touch the security guard's face with his leather-gloved hand in an overtly intimate gesture. The guard, his attention drawn by this, stared at the hand as if it were a live tarantula.

"What the fuck-" The guard never got to finish his sentence, because Mello, as quick and as fluid as lightning, had grabbed the nightstick from his belt with his other hand and bashed him on the side of the head with it. The man had barely hit the floor before Mello turned his attention to the glass case holding the skull pocket watch, bringing the club down with crashing force onto the glass. It smashed into pieces, raining small bits down everywhere like shimmering drops of diamonds. Somewhere in the distance, an alarm sounded. Without hesitation, Mello reached in and took the watch, shaking off pieces of broken glass as he did so. Then he grabbed Near's arm and turned and yelled:

"Run!"


Mello strolled along the Thames, the late afternoon light glinting off the water as a slight breeze stroked his face like a lover's fingertips. He was nearing the footbridge that would take him across the river to the London Eye with all the living statues (or people with too much time on their hands, as Mello thought of them). This wasn't his destination, however. He was headed to Cleopatra's Needle, an actual Egyptian obelisk bookended by two sphinxes, as well as the site of countless suicides. It was one of his favorite spots in the entire city, and he could sit in the park area which surrounded it, take in the distinctive architecture, and think. About his feelings for Matt, which wavered between affection and annoyance. Much like his feelings for Near. Why couldn't he ever have simple, straightforward feelings for anyone?

His thoughts were interrupted as a long, sleek black limousine glided to a stop at the curb next to him. The windows were darkly tinted, as if those inside thought themselves too superior to allow the common people to even look upon them. Mello considered the car for a few seconds then continued on his way, assuming it had nothing to do with him.

Until the very back window rolled down and he heard his name called.

Mello turned suddenly, immediately on the defensive. He stared at the face that stared back at him, framed by the window. There was something familiar about that spiky hair and those round glasses, but full recognition hovered just out of reach.

"There he is, the Little Bluffer himself," said the young man inside the limo. "Spent that fortune you cheated from Hector yet?"

Ah, now recognition came. Puck, the cocky hotshot from the poker game. "I didn't cheat," Mello said tersely.

"Well, I suppose that depends on how one defines the term. You certainly showed yourself to have a lot of balls, if not smarts."

Mello bristled at the perceived insult. "I'll have you know I'm one of the top ranking students at Wammy's House."

"No. 1, are you?"

Silence was Mello's only answer.

"Well, like most kids who are too smart for their own good, you seem like something of a mischief maker. I heard about your skirmishes at the nightclub evening before last."

"How did you-"

"Never mind that," Puck said with a flip of his hand. "You just seem to have a nose for trouble. I bet poor Roger has his hands full trying to keep you in line."

Mello narrowed his eyes, and if he were a cat his fur would be standing on end. This guy seemed to know an awful lot about Mello, too much. "You know Roger?"

Puck smiled, but only with his lips; his eyes remained flat and appraising. "I do. You see, I was a student at Wammy's House myself not too long ago."

"Really?"

"Indeed, No. 2, just like you. At least until an unfortunate incident necessitated my leaving."

Mello nodded, getting a bad vibe off Puck, like a whiff of rotten eggs. He started edging away from the limo. "Well, thanks so much for that extra special glimpse into your life. I really need to be going now."

"I don't think so," Puck said, his voice full of the authority of one who doesn't ask but orders. "I think you'll be getting in this limo and taking a little ride."

Mello laughed and flipped the young man the bird. "No thanks, you'll have to find your next trick elsewhere."

Puck was not amused. "Do you think this is a request? Do you not know who I work for?"

"Look, it's been fun gabbing with you and all, but I've had just about-"

"Silence, boy!"

Mello froze at the sound of a second voice inside the limo. A feminine voice, but nothing soft to it. It was hard-edged, commanding, sharp like a steel blade, a voice that wouldn't be denied or defied. He knew who it belonged to even before he saw the fall of fiery red hair and the pale face that leaned forward over Puck's shoulder. Zelda.

"Get in," she said, brooking no argument. Puck opened the door, and it looked to Mello like the yawning maw of some giant sea beast ready to devour him in a single bite.

"I really have to go," Mello said, finding himself trembling under Zelda's intense gaze. "I'm expected..."

"This won't take long," she assured. "Our business with you will be concluded shortly, I guarantee it."

Mello felt his feet shuffling toward the limo against his better judgment, as if Zelda's eyes emitted a tractor beam that was drawing him in. He forced himself to stop. "What is this about?"

"It's about you, Little Bluffer," Puck said. "You've attracted the attention of certain people."

Mello glanced around to see if anyone was near, but he seemed very much alone.

"No more dawdling," Zelda said, holding out her hand. "Now come with us."

Mello felt ample amounts of trepidation, but he also had to admit to equal amounts of curiosity. Besides, he had a blade strapped to his calf; he was confident he could take care of himself if it came down to it.

With one glance back toward the Needle, thinking for a brief second he saw something falling from the top, he climbed into the limo.

The door shut, the window rolled up, and the car pulled away from the curb.

End Chapter 7