Title: Dog of the Industry
Summary: It's almost funny how the need to do laundry can lead to so much excitement. Poor, Mail Jeevas never thought he'd be involuntarily pulled into a world of underground criminal activity. "Welcome to the Industry."
Disclaimer: I don't own DN.
Author's Note: I'll try to update soon, but it might be after Christmas.
…
"Matt, you will run a Suicide Hotline."
...
After collecting their clothes and relaying a few handshakes and insincere words of closure, Mello excused himself and Mail from the gathering. "That went well," the blonde said simply, heading to the car and getting in.
Mail followed suit, tossing their clothes in carelessly before seating himself and reaching for the blindfold, only to be halted by Mello's hand on his arm.
"No, Matt. Your behavior tonight was good enough to impress Watari. You've earned your sight for now." With that, Mello smiled and patted the redhead on the back.
Mail wanted to feel ill, but all he could focus on was the swell of pride inside at Mello's praise. He shifted to get more comfortable in his seat before starting the car up and taking the wheel. Before pulling out, he closed his eyes for a moment and savored the small pleasant feeling that warmed him. Then, releasing a small breath, the warmth started to fade and he felt compelled to ask: "I start work tomorrow, right? What about my old job? And what does my new one entail?"
For once, Mello fell silent, not answering right away like he had any other time prior.
The drive was slow and quiet. Too quiet. Too slow. And yet, the redhead made an effort to stretch it out and make the trip even longer. Turning and taking a back road that he'd seldom driven before, he wondered if he'd get an answer or if he should just turn on the radio to null the uncomfortable silence.
But Mello didn't make him think on it too much longer; instead, he finally found his voice and spoke with an unreadable tone. "Matt, listen to me. This weekend has helped you open your eyes for perhaps the first time in. You've experienced so much, and yet you've only gotten a glance at life."
"Mello..."
"I already turned in your letter of resignation, and another member of the Industry will be filling in for your remaining days."
"Mells..."
"As for your new job, it's not going to be easy. You know that, right?"
"Mello, your voice doesn't sound okay. Is something bothering you? You can tell me. I-"
"Matt, listen to me. Just shut the fuck up and listen. Tomorrow, at exactly 1 AM, you're going to get your first call. It's going to be a woman calling. She's going to cry and tell you about her poor pitiful life, and then she's going to tell you how she plans to kill herself..."
Mail's breath caught between his lungs and throat, and his grip tightened on the wheel.
"And, you're probably thinking that you'll just throw some positive shit in her face, tell her that she'll be fine and she needs to move on and live her life to the fullest extent... but you won't. You can't tell her that. Instead, you're going to tell her exactly what she wants to hear."
By now, Mail reached home and parked the car. He remained quiet for a moment before responding to the blonde with another question. "What am I going to tell her? What is it that she wants to hear?"
And Mello answered. "You're going to bite your tongue if you think to tell her how good life can be. And instead, when she weeps and wallows, you're going to say: 'Kill yourself, do it.'"
Mail's eyes slipped close and his heart clenched tightly in his chest; an unpleasant shiver ran along his spine and he bit his lip to prevent any argument that wanted to bubble forth.
"You're going to tell that bitchy woman to 'kill herself.' You might even encourage her to get creative with alcohol and barbiturates. Maybe slip a plastic bag over her head and teach herself to stop breathing. Asphyxiation can be fun. -Whatever you tell her, make sure she knows you're not going to help her."
"Mello... why?"
"Because, Matt, if she wants to die, it's not your choice. However, if she wants to live, she needs to figure that out on her own; you do not have the authority to tell her to live. -That's why Watari assigned this to you; he obviously believes you're capable of understanding this shit. -If a person wants to die, it will appease them that you give them permission and encouragement, but if they want to live, at least they'll find their own reason to do so. Anything positive you could possibly tell them won't truly mean anything to them. So, this is for the best."
"...I don't want to do that, Mello. I can't."
"You can, and you will. They do not want your hollow encouragements." Mello looked at Mail with eyes full of intensity and... something else. "Don't disappoint me, Matt."
Mail sighed, head aching and heart breaking as he imagined the pending obstacles ahead. Taking a deep breath, he focused solely on Mello and said something that surprised even himself. "Mello, stay with me tonight."
"Matt..."
"Mello, please. Be there with me in the morning... when that first call comes. Don't make me be alone."
For the longest time, nothing more was said, and the building tension drove a wedge between them.
Minutes ticked away.
Time itself became an aging factor.
Then, opening the car door, the blonde got out and grumbled "Get our clothes and come on. I'll stay til morning. But you owe me."
-Getting inside, Mail was surprised to find his home once again alive with movement. What's more, his home wasn't just full of people -but things as well. And those people, all in uniform, were arranging posh furniture and designer decor.
"What the hell?" the redhead muttered, confused. "Didn't you guys rob me of all my shit? Why are you-? What is...?!"
"Matt, I told you: the Industry takes care of its employees. You do a good job, you get a reward. You fuck up, and it gets taken away," speaking, Mello's tone lowered in what some might call borderline contempt. His gaze flicked downward for just a moment before averting, not wanting to train his eyes on his bloody socked-but-not-booted feet. He curled his toes and found his gaze traveling down again, then behind him, vaguely curious if he'd left any red-stained foot prints on the freshly tiled floors. Sighing quietly, he murmured: "The Industry giveth; the Industry taketh away."
Mail didn't hear the downtrodden woe in the blonde's voice, eyes wide and focus steeled on taking in all the nice new things he could never afford on his own. Everything, from the freshly painted wall with a hand-painted border of intricate vines and imperfect flowers to the imported Chinese silk drapes. The fancy tribe-made glass ornamental sconces, each brimmed with lightly scented candles -oh, and that painting on the wall must've cost a fortune at some fat cat's auction or another... Not to mention the HUGE new flat screen that took up almost an entire wall on its own and sat across from a luxurious sectional sofa. Then the Scandinavian coffee table, the sleek laptop that rested on top of said table and sported the clever three-lettered logo he was beginning to admire...
And this was just the living room.
Curiosity and mild excitement drove him to investigate the kitchen. A high-set marble table and matching stools with leather padded cushions... Heavy silverware and fine china dish sets. Fluted wine glasses next to a series of small bottles, each containing a variant of alcohol- and of course a fancy decanter of sherry. Even the fridge, full of fruits and condiments, and foods that require more than a microwave for cooking.
Then, he just had to see his room. At first, upon entering he was mildly disheartened because all he could really see was a new bed dressed in bedding that followed a bland color scheme. His dresser was still gone, and his closet was still empty- at least, it was until he carelessly tossed his and Mello's dry cleaned clothes inside.- But, upon further inspection, he found that his stained up floorboards had been replaced with shag carpeting.
All in all, he was excited and happy, even if his bedroom hadn't received the same makeover as the rest of his home seemed to. Throwing himself face-first onto the bed, he nuzzled his face into a particularly soft pillow.
Eyes closing, he hadn't realized just how exhausted he was. Sleep was calling his name and lulling him into the wonders of dreamland.
This was all very new for the redhead whom had grown accustomed to living on minimum wage, not really expecting anything grand from life in terms of material possessions... but he was certainly happy. Happy, content, and tired.
...
Mail awoke to movement; his equilibrium shouted that he was in an upright position and being moved; his body was slammed harshly into a wall over and over again
Mildly alarmed, heavy eyelids peeled back to allow Mail a view of his assailant, though he relaxed instantly. "Mello?" he breathed groggily, vision blurry, though he could easily make out a distinctive blonde bob of hair.
The blonde seemed to snarl, eyes narrow, nose crinkled, and lips pulled back with unbridled irritation. "Mother fucking idiot," he barked insultingly.
"Hn, Mells?" Mail tried, still in the process of emerging from the veil of sleep.
Mello held the redhead against the wall with more than enough force and pressure to cause discomfort, holding him there until he was certain Mail was alert enough to stand on his own feet; then, he reluctantly relinquished his hold, but his scowl stayed in place as he explained his animosity. "You, Matt, are a dumbass, y'know that? The Industry is tossing you a fucking bone to reward you for what you've done, and you're not only happy about it, but you're literally jumping into the bed they made for you."
Mail looked Mello in the eyes, clearly confused. "That's okay, isn't it? Isn't that what I'm supposed to do? I-I'm tired and confused... and hungry... and...-"
Mello slapped Mail hard across the face, effectively ending the list of complaints he was rattling off. "No, Matt. Bad. Now pay attention. You work for the Industry. It's the only path to escaping the System, so of course it's your only option, but... you can't sit back and be the Industry's bitch either."
"I'm still so confused."
"If you let the Industry buy your loyalty with possessions, what's going to happen when you eventually lose those possessions? Will your loyalty crumble? Will you find resentment? Fuck, Matt, think about this for a minute, okay? And... don't you think they rewarded you a bit excessively just for getting a kidney?"
Mail's brows knitted together in an appropriate show of bewilderment. "I-I don't know? I just... I thought-"
And suddenly, Mello's lips were on Mail's, soft but firm and commanding. He withdrew before Mail could properly register or react, sighing. "It's good that you work for the Industry, but... Matt, just as easily as they gave you these things, they can -and probably will- take it all away."
Mail nodded mutely, eyes shining with unprocessed emotions and abashment.
"I bet you got pretty tired the moment you laid in bed, didn't you, Matt?"
Mail nodded semi-absently, lips still tingling from Mello's warmth.
"That's because your nice new bedding has been doused in chloroform. Now, before you freak out about this, understand that it is not uncommon. The Industry will take care of you and even go as far as to reward you for doing your job, but you need to be wary of excess. It comes with a price. Now..." Mello paused, stepping away from the redhead and looking around. "Aside from a few bugs I took the liberty of removing, your home should be safe for the time being."
The two stood in silence for an immeasurable amount of time before Mail found his voice, and while he had many questions, comments, and concerns about the Industry, the one thing he found himself asking was: "Erm, Mello, why are you naked?"
/More coming soon./
