BWAAAHAHA!! TEN CHAPTERS! TEN CHAPTERS! TEN C H A P T E R S!!! YEAH, BABY, YEAH!! ;0)

And so many review! I'm touched, guys! -tear- No, really, I am. I love you all. Thanks for stickin' around and I hope you enjoy the meat of the story that is to come!

Pairings: Ash and Misty. COME ON, they were meant to be together. Brock was a freaking pervert. ;) He he he he ... But yeah ... keep guessing ...

Songs: Wayfaring Stranger, for Near and Con and all of the other orphans, but the main one is True Colours, the Cindy Lauper version. It's EPIC. Seriously, I realise that Con and Charlie share a theme song - and this is it. ;) You can access them all via my homepage, fols.

Shout out to: My amazing reviewers. My friends ... I don't know what to say.

To JaxX , I'll get my squeeing out of the way first. AGGHH!! NEW BLOOD, NEW BLOOD, YAAAAAAAY!! He he he, thanks for visiting, Jax! I'm so glad you like the chappie. ;) Russian, eh? You know what, that's what my mammy said when I asked for her opinion ... To my dear Pisces, ah, yes, German and Russian! I think everyone's kind of going Eastern Europe, yeah. But I KNOW!! It's SO CRAZY! But me and Paula are the only sane ones. Ha ha ... ha ... (PAULA, IF YOU'RE READING THIS, QUICKLY, HIDE THE NITROGEN BOMBS!!!!) Yes. We are very normal, sane people. Ha ... ;) But you probably do have dementia. A penname like that? OBVIOUSLY CRAZY. ;) He he, I'm glad Charlie's getting some love. I know. Poor thing. I'm so mean. :) To Hidden in Sunlight (awesome name, by the way) Ooooh! SCANDINAVIA!! I like that one a lot. Nice one. ;) And hi! Thanks for the review!! To Oh, God, it's Paula ... I mean, Shivery Fecking Sox the Fecker, ;) - why does that smiley look sleazier than everyone elses? WHY?? Anyway, DEADLY BUZZ!! I love it, you knacker. But, yeah, Matt's epic. So epic, in fact ... I can't even think of a good simile. When I say he's epic like e-coli on room temperature English meat, you'll know what I mean. :) And you love her!! YAY!! Well, she is lighter than Dixon .. and she doesn't kick so hard either! ;) God, that sounds so STALKER!! CHRIST!! ;) Is that why you took so FECKING LONG to answer the door? You left me FREEZING OUTSIDE? Oh, you ... fecker!! ;) Its okay. It was worth it. Anyway. Hope you enjoy reading this instead of working. SLACKER! Anyway. Thanks for not being bored yet, fol! I LOVE YOU!! To Con, the Epic, heeeeey!! HOPE YOU LIKE THE FINAL PART OF YOUR CAMEO! You have to admit, it's great value winning a cameo from me. You certainly get a good chunk in it! Ha, anyway, I'm glad you liked the chapter! And the Con-fit. Glad you liked that too. I loved it myself. I was like, 'damn ... want this ...' God, yeah, me and Paula-fol make a great stoned duo, don't we? Oh, she should be here ... HEY, PAULA! OVER HERE! Well, now she's reading this too. He he. Yeah, really though, I must have scared people. Sort of an 'I KNOW WHERE YOU LIVE!!' moment ... but it WORKED, didn't it? There you go, kids. Violence is always the answer. OH MY GOD, NEARxCON! I have a terribly excellent idea .... HA HA!! You asked for it, Con ... you asked for it ... ;) But I'd hug him and Mello. Really hard. And refuse to ever, ever let go. And Matt'd be all like, 'Okay, crazy little brunette girl, I have to go to work now,' and I'd be like, 'TAKE ME WITH YOU!!' and then he'd have to. THANKS FOR NOTICING MY SOUNDTRACK!! THANKS SO MUCH!! I LOVE YOU, CON!!! To my lovely and amazing Rat, my God, thank the good Lord the withdrawals stopped. ;) As for why he was eating mayo from the jar? Well, I think of Paula when I'm writing Matt. And I've seen her lick garlic butter off of knives, despite me screaming at her to stop. If she liked mayonnaise, I don't doubt she'd eat it from the jar. ;) Also, he's Matt. He's bat-shit crazy. SLOVENIAN?? SERIOUSLY?? WOW!! COOL!! Thanks for that Rat! And you're SUCH A SWEETIE!! I'm glad you made it back. ;) To Cheta Cheese, hey, nice to meet you! Russian too? Well, there you go! Ha, your friend sounds like me. ;) We don't obsess, we just think intensely. ;) He he, thanks for reviewing. To smearedliner HI!! -waves madly back- I know! Poor Near. Ah, well, he can suck it up for once. ;) Another Russian believer? AWESOME. ;) And finally to the one, the only Seriously not Lexy ... ;) I love you too. ;) I don't know WHAT happened to Chess there! Don't worry, I'll bring her back soon for you, fangirl! I ADORE THAT MOVIE AND THAT BOOK BUT MOSTLY THAT MOVIE BECAUSE I FREAKING LOVE JOHNNY DEPP. ;) Russian and English, nice! I like it! A lot of Russian votes ... GASP!! GASP!! JEALOUSY!! ENVY!! GASP!! SUSPENSE!! GASP!! ... he he he he he ... OH MY GOD! TELL YOUR MOM SHE'S A LEJ-BAG. She actually is her. Blessings upon your home. ;P I'm such a nerd. He he he ... AND I'LL REPLY TO YOU SOON! I'm working in a theatre this week and it's UBER busy but never fear, I shall return soon! LAAAAV YOOOOU!!

OH MY GOD, THE LENGTH OF THAT. CHRIST ON A BIKE. THANKS FOR ALL THE REVIEW, GUYS! AND KEEP 'EM COMIN'!

OH! And I have a present in celebration of ten chapters. But it won't be ready until chapter eleven. A present from the cast themselves ... he he he ...

-

Phase 10: Decisions

-

You with the sad eyes ... don't be discouraged.

-

Con cut the ignition dramatically and the two sat in silence for a moment.

'So. Welcome home, I suppose,' the girl mused, staring out of the windscreen dazedly. Wammy's house rose before them, as dominating and cold as it always appeared, belying the nurturing atmosphere within. It might be sad, but this place had always been 'home' to Near. It always would be, if 'home' was classified as 'a place where a person or animal can find refuge and safety or live in security' or 'the place where somebody was born or raised or feels that he or she belongs'.

This was where he had belonged. With all of the other misfits.

Con snorted and pushed her door open, slamming it roughly behind her before opening Near's own door. He climbed out, awkward in the shoes Rester had forced him to put on. Con hesitated beside the car for a moment, before appearing to make up her mind.

'Hey, uh, Near? Is it okay if I go in with you?'

'Certainly.'

'Thanks.'

She stomped to the door, pressing the bell. And then, the two waited for the familiar voice over the buzzer.

'Hello?'

'Hello, Roger,' Near said, toneless as ever, 'it appears you have visitors.'

Just like Mello would say, Near thought, wryly. Well, as wryly as he could. He wasn't Mello, after all.

oOo

A boy with bleached hair gelled into tousled spikes, and snake-bite piercings in his lower lip stalked out of Roger's office, slamming the door behind him. He glowered at Near and Con with derision through unsuitable brown eyes; the kind that looked as if they should always be upturned in a smile.

He stalked past them, head held high, and Near was reminded strongly of Mello. For at least the third time today.

It was only the arrogance in the boy. And the coolly condescending look in his eyes. Mello was in a league of his own, and that was that.

The boy swept down the corridor and turned the corner, disappearing from view, and Near turned in time to see Con widening her eyes, and letting out a low whistle.

'Wow. This place hasn't changed a lot,' she remarked.

'Indeed,' Near mused. 'In fact, I was just thinking the same thing.'

Con shrugged and moved closer to the door.

'I'll, uh …' she muttered, turning the handle and opening the door, before stepping back to let Near enter first. He did so, twirling a lock of white hair around his finger.

Roger watched the child enter the office, as pale and disinterested as he had ever been in the years he had lived in this house. No hint of real life in the pale eyes; no lustre in the straw-textured white hair. No animation in the snowy face.

Years of watching the genius orphans come and go and grow and learn and leave and die should have desensitized him to the sadness of their situations, but every single time he saw one return, he was struck with the hopelessness again. Especially seeing this one. Near. No matter how hard they tried, the children still grew up broken. Broken by the years they had suffered before arriving; broken by the years within and the learning and schedules and tests … broken by not having one single person love them like they needed.

Even this one. Ranked First. L's successor; he'd won. He's done what all of the children aspired to do. And it still hadn't fixed him. Broken; beyond all repair. It killed him slowly, day by day, year by year. A slow torture; one he suffered steadily. Someone had to.

'Near …' he breathed, quietly. The boy kept his gaze and slouched forward to fold himself into a chair like he had done in school. One knee at his chest, the other dangling to the floor, one hand twirling the white hank of hair, the other, enveloped in it's oversized cuff at his lip. And no shoes. Of course.

'Hello, Roger,' he said, and (maybe he was just jumping on the hope) but he thought he heard a hint of warmth in his voice. Maybe it was being in this place. He had to have at least one fond memory of this place. Didn't he?

'How are you, Near?' he ventured, thoughtlessly. When dealing with geniuses, he tried not to remember their IQ level, and treat them like any other child. And Near would never answer rudely. His reply – 'I am physically well, Roger, not currently suffering from any illness.' – would differ greatly to many of the replies he would have received from others.

'However, I require lease to search Wammy's for explosives.'

… and yes, from then on, things went as Near presumed they would. Roger: gasp, question, aquiest.

And then, he padded away (as he had, so many times in the past) to unfold yet another mystery Mello had left him. And somehow, it was still a game. Even after all of these years. And if Near was honest (as he always was, untouched by bias, prejudice or that hamper: emotion) he would admit that yes, he was glad Mello was still alive, and still playing the same old game. And even when he found the bomb, live, but placed far away from where it could kill anyone when it exploded, he was impressed that even he had had to think for a while before realising where it was (inside a piano … the piano, in fact, that Mello had once smashed Near's head into until someone came to drag him away). He was impressed; because he knew that this wasn't the game; Mello would never make it so easy for him. This was the prelude to the real game, the real chase, the real hunt. He was glad it was coming. He had missed the game.

It made things … interesting, somehow.

oOo

By the time Con managed to creep into the office where Roger was correcting tests, Near had been gone about ten minutes, and Roger wasn't aware that anyone else had been lurking outside trying to pluck up the courage to reclaim a past life.

When she did come in, she didn't say anything for a second, and he didn't even realise anyone had entered. She rocked awkwardly on her heel for a minute before clearing her throat abruptly. Roger's head darted up, and he frowned at the girl.

'Yes?' he queried. The girl gave a pale imitation of a smile, as she stumbled towards the desk and opened her mouth to speak, before thinking the better of it and pulling off her shades. A pair of unfamiliar tangerine eyes shone cat-like from the face. Roger blinked in surprise, as the features assembled themselves in his memory into the younger face of a child he had known well.

'Hey, Roger,' she grinned at him, with that whisper of doubt just hinted at the corners of her mouth.

'Hello, Con,' he said in surprise, and the doubt erased itself.

'Oh, good, you remember me. Well, that's a relief, certainly,' she said, leaning on the back of the chair where Near had sat, kicking her heel off the ground.

'Wh- what happened to your –'

'My eyes? Eh. Experimental surgery. I think it looks kind of cool,' she mused, turning to admire them in the mirror to her right. She turned back to wink at Roger.

'Really, Roger. Who else would, but me?'

Roger laid down the sheets he had been holding and leaned over his desk.

'I'll admit, it's a surprise to see you, Con,' he said, running his eyes over the face that had been so carefree. She shrugged, and avoided his gaze.

'Not that surprising. We all fetch back here at some point, right? I was due for a visit,' she smiled, glancing up and back down.

'I – I'm here to … ask a favour,' she blurted out, and Roger felt wariness rise in himself. The same sad story, he supposed. Another genius gone to the bad, come here, home, to beg for money to feed their habit –

'I want my files.'

Oh.

'Your – your files?'

The girl nodded, sliding to sit on the arm of the chair, watching the older man with the unnatural eyes, still beseeching and full of desperate youth. They watched him, as focused as any cat as he started the old familiar spiel.

'But – Con, why would you want them? They're no good to you; your future was provided for here, but you left it behind. If you want a career, we can sort it out for you; but really, the content of these files –'

'You're wrong, Roger,' she cut him off, gracefully, and watched him with the sad eyes.

'You've never had to worry about things like I have. You've always known your own name, your family, your background. You've never survived on a whim of someone's imagination … Con,' she snorted, disgusted.

'Just someone's stray thought. And I've made it who I am. I'm tired of that, Roger. I'm tired of having no idea who I am; tired of fabricating a life around myself. I want the world to happen around me. You'll never know what it feels like; to have to claw your way into the world and cling on in case it falls away. I don't exist, really. My life has been just a series of falsehoods, and I'm tired of that. I want the lies to just – stop. So I'm making a new life. Without lies. And it's going to start with my real name, and go on from there. I –'

She cut off for a moment, examining the maroon nails on her right hand.

'I can't ever make you understand the allure,' she said, looking up and speaking softly, 'of knowing the simple truth of your own name.'

You never can, he thought, pulling open a shelf in a filing cabinet, and rifling through the sheaves of paper until he pulled out the one marked deliberately with her name and pushing it into her hands.

'Thank you,' she said, quietly, as she left the office. Roger never saw her again, but he knew, to the day he died, that she had created a better life for herself with the protection of the name her parents had given her.

oOo

Ping.

An unrealistically comforting sound to the wearied ears and mind of the diminutive French girl, wrapped safe in the metallic embrace of the elevator.

It was so peaceful in there, and sadly enough, that wasn't the first time she'd thought that. Sometimes (on days like this, particularly, when all she wanted was for the world to leave her alone) she just wanted to lock the doors of the elevator, curl up on the little seat and ride the elevator up and down through the building until they physically cut the door open. She would relish it, too.

Charlise leaned against the wall and closed her tired eyes. Things had certainly sped up since Matt and Mello had joined the ranks, but really, she was starting to wonder if this was such a good thing. Undoubtedly, the team was being kept on their toes, but Charlie wasn't, as Paprika had pointed out, a bounty hunter. She was just a kid studying science. And her balance had never been that good, so while everyone else was on their toes, it felt like she was being pulled through open, empty space.

She cast another longing look around the elevator. God, I love this place …

The doors opened, and Level 3, the Common Area spilled into view. Time for a quick mug of something warming and maybe, finally, she could go to sleep.

'Hey, kid!' Crash chirped as Charlie stumbled into the room, and immediately she knew that she was kissing her peaceful evening goodbye. But she still pulled her tolerant face on and smiled as winsomely as she knew how. She loved Crash; and sometimes she thought he was like a brother to her. Sometimes she thought he might love her more than her own brother. And when the thought started to make her feel sick, she'd open a window and start singing something from Oklahoma! to calm herself down.

But still. Crash didn't really do 'down-time' that well. He was too jazzy and lively a person; and there was no better relaxation for him than to have a good natter about anything and everything under the sun.

'Good evening, Charlie,' Cheshire said, quietly, and Charlie spied the slight Japanese girl sipping daintily from a snow-white china tea-cup.

Even better, Charlie thought sourly, resolutely smiling wider and diving towards the kitchen as quickly as her leg would allow. Cheshire was too quick. She saw logic and pattern everywhere, and sure as hell if you made one slip in her presence, she'd remember it forever. Charlie had made plenty of slips around her, and something malicious inside her warned her that Cheshire was compiling all of these slips, and that one day, she'd release them all at once to her detriment.

Maybe that was just the late hour talking, though. Charlie hoped as much.

The kettle boiled gently on the stove, and Charlie decided to watch it boil, and avoid the others. She tried to plan her next letter to Dixon in her head as she did so, but nothing suitable popped into her head. The world suddenly seemed very grey; and Charlie suddenly felt very old, and very weary. Which was not right; she shouldn't even have reached the prime of her life, yet … but somehow, she never would. Too many issues, too much cynicism and too much responsibility had seen to that.

The kettle whistled. Charlie pulled it off the heat, and, gritting her teeth, poured a mug of it over the herbal tea-bag in her cup. The heady fragrance of jasmine filled the air around her head, the steamy moisture clinging to the bright strands of her hair. She stood for a moment, inhaling almost gleefully, before stealing herself to bring her mug into the common room and face the questions of Cheshire and Crash.

She knew there'd be plenty, but she just couldn't coax herself into building up enthusiasm to answer them. They said a problem shared was a problem halved, but whoever had made that up had obviously never had a real problem in their life.

When she sat down, the ensuing conversation was painfully trivial, but when the questions came (as she had known they would) they were hard-hitting and tough to answer.

'Look, Charlie … this Mello guy. I know – we all know – you're incredible, and everything. The things you come up with and just know … they're brilliant. So when you come to us going, 'We need to recruit this guy', everyone automatically goes, 'Certainly, Charlie. Where should we start?' We don't doubt you. Hell, we don't even doubt you now. But this Mello guy … he's the most dubious thing to ever happen to us. And we took Paris in! We're used to the unsavoury.'

Crash paused, blinking his wide, guileless eyes at her, taking a sip of coffee, despite the late hour. Then he frowned.

'I – Charlie. I'll be honest.'

He set the mug down and leaned forward, his eyes tight on her face.

'I don't know much about you. Oh, sure, I know lots, like how you like your tea, and your favourite song, and what you do when you're stressed and all of that kind of stuff. But … three years. That's all, really. And as for the rest of your life – I have no idea. Don't get me wrong, I don't want you to have to tell me, but – now I'm thinking it might have been a lot different than I presumed. A lot … tougher.'

Charlie stared back, steadily.

'You trust this guy, obviously. Please, Charlie … we just want to understand.'

Charlise sighed, and her head clunked into her hands clumsily.

'Look,' she said, through her fingers, 'Since you started it – well, I'll be honest too … I'm never honest. And I lie so much to so many people that there really isn't that much I can tell you. That's the sad part, and the part that worries me, too. Things are changing all around us, quickly; too quickly, and in the very centre of everything is this weird secret, that I'm trying undercover. It's not working, but I'll keep trying. It's the key. And Mello … he …'

She raised her head, a sad, sleepy smile on the unreasonably young face.

'He's the key to the key. If that ever makes sense.'

She stood up and swilled the contents of her teacup around pensively.

'And if it doesn't,' she said, setting it carefully, and straightening to her full and still small height, 'then I'll try my best to make you understand. Because I'll be honest, again, for once … I need help.'

oOo

And meanwhile, three thousand five hundred miles away, across an ocean, a man at a check-in desk glanced up at the girl in front of him. She was almost quivering with excitement, as she passed him the passport.

'Fabienne Zubriggen?'

She didn't seem to care that he'd obviously just mangled her name horribly. She just grinned through really weird amber eyes, showing the incisors with the tips filed to points for some unknown reason and nodded gleefully.

'Yes,' she said, 'That's me.'

And she pulled the passport into her pocket, picked up the rucksack (her only luggage) and headed in the direction of her flight to Switzerland.

And when Con passed the gate, she ceased to exist. Her bank account froze; her apartment was found abandoned. She was chalked down as another missing person. Wammy's got a notification of her absence, and seven years later, it was issued with the death cert of one 'Con Distentia.'

And she never set foot in England again.

But in Switzerland, if seven years later anyone had looked, they would have found one 'Fabienne' blossoming; real, unique and ready for whatever life would throw at her.

And for once, happy just to be alive and to say to anyone who asked, 'Yes. Fabienne is my name.'

It's a pleasure to meet you.

xXx

But I see your true colours
Shining through ...
I see your true colours
That's why I love you
So, don't be afraid to let them show
Your true colours are beautiful,
Like a rainbow ...
- True Colours, Cindy Lauper

A/N: ... and I always liked to think of Mello as Italian. Ha. ;) Well, here's another one for ye ... What are Mello and Matt's favourite subjects?

- Wraithlike xxx