Disclaimer: Not mine. Well, I suppose the words are, so if you plagiarize, you shall be shot. But DN in all of its glory belongs to...someone else. Go look it up.

AN: Sorry this one took a relatively long time to put up. It's been, what, six days? Not too bad, I suppose, but still. I struggled with this one. Hopefully it's palatable. :)

Enjoy.

They stared at the dead laptop in silence for a moment, Mello's last words hanging in the air between them:

"Someone knows what we're doing."

Matt pushed the power button with trembling fingers. His laptop beeped irritably and started up again with a whir of the fan. He closed his eyes, relieved. "Thank god."

"Matt," Mello pressed, "Maybe you shouldn't be using that laptop. Someone managed to break in, obviously."

"I…" Matt hesitated. "Christ." He groaned and rolled onto his back, staring miserably at the library ceiling. "Mello, no one should be able to get into my system."

"No one should be able to commit murder in an orphanage, either, but somebody did," Mello retorted, but his usual sarcasm fell flat. Matt closed his eyes.

"Mello?"

"What?"

"Are we in danger?"

The question had been posed apathetically, as if Matt had been simply inquiring about the weather. Mello looked at his friend carefully. Matt's face was slack, as was his body; he looked for all the world like he was about to drift off into sleep. Mello knew that posture; it was an intelligent defense, because slack muscles meant that bones were less likely to break. After enough beatings, any kid with their brains began to take on that lax pose—it was the common thread separating Wammy's bullies from the victims, the wolves from the prey. Matt had been comfortably secure in second place for enough years that it wasn't a constant, but Mello had seen the way he immediately relaxed at the first signs of trouble. Instincts died hard.

Mello had to acknowledge that Matt's unconscious caution had significant merit. Someone—whoever it was—knew what they were up to. That someone had managed to beat the life out of Leo—whether it was intentional or not, it had happened, and that meant…

"Yeah. Yeah, we probably are." Mello grimaced. "But…I mean, this is Wammy. I think that to kill twice…"

"More evidence."

"Exactly."

Blue eyes met green. This was a house of geniuses, true, but it was also a house of brutality. Survival was assured; this much they both knew, but it was the question of just how close to the threshold the human body could be pushed before it broke.

Twin smiles spread across mirrored faces. This was something they both knew.

--

They moved in tandem.

Matt commandeered a trolley with Cook's blessings, and they piled his mass of gadgetry onto the racks. The library, they agreed, wasn't safe; it was too isolated, too familiar; anyone who knew their habits or who had access to the cameras would know where to find them. Matt had a number of battery packs reserved for just such an occasion, leftovers from the days when the packs had come hunting through his room on a regular basis. They picked out a few choice spots in a number of scattered locations throughout the school, and they rotated through them at random intervals. Cook's kitchens, the hallway in front of the security room, the janitor's closet…

The actual job of research was fairly simple, if time-consuming. Mello was compiling a list of all the possible suspect students. Unsurprisingly, more than a few kids took it upon themselves to sneak out after curfew. This would have created a number of irritating issues with the security feeds—obviously, disabling the cameras on one's hall was a prerequisite to leaving one's room—but Matt discovered a "backdoor circuit" of camera feeds that none of them had noticed. It was a complete duplicate of the normal security system, but recorded in another location entirely; as such, none of the students had even learned of its existence, much less how to disable it.

Tricky bastard, he thought with a grin. Leave it to Roger to set up cameras that take two feeds. I can't believe nobody thought of this.

Granted, Matt himself had missed it, which was just a testament to the old man's abilities. Once this was all over, he would have to remember all of the different backdoors he had found, because he had a lurking suspicion that he hadn't explored a tenth of Raven's possibilities.

And then the guilt kicked in, and Matt sighed and went back to ineffective fiddling. There was no point to any of this, was there? He knew well enough what had happened.

Two days of routine analysis, and they reached something of an impasse. The list of possible suspects was composed of every kid who wasn't on the feeds during the security camera's two-hour blind spot, from ten-thirty to twelve-thirty. In all, fifteen students were unaccounted for at that time, and thirty-three cameras had been shut off or tampered with at one point or another. Mello's job right now was eliminating students from that group of fifteen, and profiling the rest.

Of the fifteen, three were what Matt sarcastically referred to as "alphas," or pack leaders; eight were lackeys, known subordinates to the main bullies; four were kids who were usually the victims. Mello was currently studying the files on the three bullies. Acer, Runner, and Seven—seventh, fifth, and eight place, respectively.

Seven was an angelic-looking brunette with an apparent cruel streak. She was one of the only girls to have a pack, but she didn't usually resort to bodily harm. Roger had written matter-of-fact reviews on the far-reaching extent of her skills at manipulation. Seven was smart, but not exceptionally so; she excelled in human studies and math rather than memorization. She was two years younger than they were—one year less than Leo had been.

Runner's picture was that of a bored fourteen-year-old with a ragged mass of dark hair and dull brown eyes. He was one of the "kindest" bullies—his pack seemed to be more a source of personal amusement than a functional terrorist body. He was known for the disinterested precision of his "persuasive" techniques; by all accounts he was more interested in studying his victims' reactions than in causing them pain. Biology, medicine, and the other sciences were his forte. His pack was shrinking due to his apathy, and he spent much of his time off the campus. Runner was due to graduate at the year's end.

Then, of course, there was Acer; he was by far the most brutal of the bunch. Runner and Seven kept packs out of boredom or practicality; Acer seemed to actually have an emotional investment in his. His behavioral profile had no surprises. What Mello hadn't realized was that Acer's pack was so big. According to his profile, seventeen students had fallen into his ranks, spanning ages seven to thirteen. If the display in the Biology room the other day was any indication, he was quick to pounce on new arrivals, too.

Mello sighed and bit down on his hand. Looking at their profiles was pointless. Murder couldn't be something that just happened; there had to be a reason in all of this mess. He couldn't find any possible motive by reading their files. Seven and Runner hadn't even known Leo, to Mello's knowledge, and Acer wouldn't have wanted to lose a new recruit. It was all so senseless…

"You making any headway?"

Matt's indolent voice drifted over from beneath the porcelain sink. Mello's mouth twitched. In any other circumstances, he would be laughing out loud—the sight of Matt hunched over underneath a sink, buried in a mess of wires and flashing lights, was too much to stomach. Funniest of all was that Matt couldn't grasp the sheer absurdity that Mello saw in the situation. It was just so…bizarre. The only reason Mello wasn't laughing was because then Matt would be obliged to fire back, which would result in a fight, which—while fun—wouldn't be terribly productive.

"Not really," he replied, finally answering his friend's question. "I just…it doesn't make sense, Matt. None of it. Tell me, why would any of these kids want to kill someone?"

Matt scowled and ran a hand through his hair. "Well, if I knew that, we would know who did it, wouldn't we?" He grimaced. "Sorry. Let's look at this logically. Runner and Seven might want to weaken Acer's pack—"

"—That doesn't make sense. Runner's all but given up his pack and Seven's not threatened by Acer."

"If you already know everything, why ask me?"

Mello rolled his eyes. "My apologies, O Wise One. Continue with your wild schemes."

"Well, Leo could've crossed Acer, I guess. Maybe he got carried away?"

"Possible."

"As for the eight lackeys, I haven't a clue. Lackeys never act on their own, so I don't see why one would act out like that unless ordered. I mean, murder?"

Mello's fingers flew across the keyboard. "Hm."

"You got something?"

"Hang on." Mello pulled up the profiles for the eight lackeys. "Of the eight, three are Acer's, one is Seven's, two belong to some kid named Jared, and two are Mace's. We've got two other packs to add to the analysis." Mello glanced up at Matt. "What if someone wanted to show Acer a lesson?"

Matt shook his head. "But that's…I mean, you do that in the classroom, or in the gaming hub. Not by…" Mello. You're more insightful than Near thinks.

"Matt, this kid is dead. He didn't jump off a building and then crawl back into the hallway."

"I'm not stupid, Mello. No need to wax eloquent on the obvious."

"What, your obvious stupidity?"

"Shut up."

They lapsed into silence for a while. Mello gritted his teeth and went back to scanning the profiles. He was trying to build a diagram of how the pack rivalries worked. Matt was right; the pack theory was what ran the entire building. Brutal as it might have been, it was law, and Mello was damned if he wasn't going to try and understand it.

Matt's voice eventually interrupted his work. "Mello?"

"Yeah."

"You making any headway?"

"You asked me that ten minutes ago," Mello snapped. "Stop it."

"Sorry," Matt mumbled. Mello glanced up, surprised by the lack of an angry retort. It wasn't like the gamer to be…docile. He opted for the conciliatory route.

"Are you?"

"What?"

"Have you found anything?"

Matt paused and let his fingers come to a stop. "I…not really, no." He sighed and pressed the eject button on his external CD drive. "I feel so useless, you know? I mean, L's going to figure it out soon enough, Near's on the case, you're on the case—what good am I?" He deftly flipped the CD back into an open jewel case and pulled out another one. "Anyway. This kid's good. I know he had to mess with 17h, because kids don't just vanish, but there aren't any signs of tampering. I mean—none. I've even checked the backup loop, but it's the same: No Leo. I feel like I'm running in circles."

Mello raised an eyebrow. "You think I'm doing any better?"

"Well, yeah. You're collecting data, at least—"

"Can't you write a script to do that?"

"I already have one, but we'd still have to read—"

"Good." Mello shut his laptop and slid it back onto the trolley. "Come on."

"What?" Matt looked at him suspiciously. "We can't very well leave all this, Mello."

"Yes, we can." Mello grinned and held up a key. "Everyone else is in classes, and besides, all of our data is backed up, right?"

"Yeah, but…" Matt's fingertips brushed his laptop reverently. "I can't just leave it. What if someone picks the bloody lock?"

"You don't get it, do you?" Mello shook his head. "Come on. Trust me."

"I'm not—fine," Matt muttered, shutting his own laptop. "But if something does happen, you're going to be dead. It took me years to buy this stuff, you know."

"Yeah, yeah." Mello watched as Matt carefully crawled out from underneath the sink. He was being way too agreeable. Mello had to be missing something. "You really do have a soft spot for that sink."

"Oh, shut up." Matt grimaced as blood sluggishly flowed back into his ankles, igniting the all-too familiar pins-and-needles sensation. "Ow."

Mello shook his head and clambered over the trolley, which was blocking the door. "Just hurry up."

"Where are we going?"

"You'll see."

"Where did you get the janitor's key?"

"From the janitor."

"Does the janitor know you have the key?"

"What do you think?"

"Mello!"

"What, have you discovered morals?"

"Why aren't we working?"

"You'll see."

"Are you going to tell me anything?"

"That depends. What would you like to know?"

"You're insufferable."

"That wasn't a question."

"You're right. It was a fact."

Mello smirked and continued walking, blissfully drinking in Matt's grumbling protests. That was the irate gamer he knew.

Mello led them on a circuitous route, weaving from hallway to hallway until he was positive that Matt had stopped paying attention. When they finally reached their destination, a muscle in Matt's jaw twitched.

"You dragged us away from working…for chocolate."

They were in the kitchens, which were surprisingly peaceful at midmorning. Cook was nowhere in sight, but Matt could smell the lunch pizzas baking in the oven; she would be back soon enough. Mello placidly made his way to the pantry and began rummaging for something. "I never said that I wanted chocolate," he replied innocently over his shoulder. "You have such a low opinion of me." Something was still bothering his friend, then. He should have caught on before they got here…

"Oh, of course. It's all my fault, is it? And as if you ever come here for anything besides chocolate." Matt slid into one of the barstools at the counter—Mello always took forever when he was on one of his chocolate raids. "I'm seriously considering going back to work on my own."

"Mm." Mello found the case of Ghirardelli and grinned. "Score. Anyway, Matt," he continued, absently gathering an armful of the chocolate bars, "did you consider the fact that it's probably not safe to be walking around on your own?"

"Right, so what makes you think my stuff and our work is safe just sitting in the janitor's closet? Have you heard of the lockpick? It's a wonderful invention."

Mello slid onto the barstool next to Matt and dumped the chocolate onto the counter. "Oh, I know," he replied mildly, peeling back the foil on one of the bars. "Our stuff's probably being raided right about now."

Matt stared at him for a moment before his strangled vocal cords leapt back to life.

"What?"

Mello snorted and bit into his chocolate. "Do you really think I'm that stupid? Of course it's a possibility. Actually, it's more of a probability. That was the entire point."

"I don't know what you're doing, Mello, but it isn't funny!" Matt jumped to his feet and stared at his friend, askance. "I mean—bloody hell, do you know how long it took me to—to wire all of that? Some of it's mine from before, you dolt, and the rest I had to save up my allowances for. Not to mention the fact that it's our research, and we've spent the past two days working on it! And now you're telling me that you just led me here, on purpose, just so you could get some kid to raid it? What kind of moron are you?" This was unreal. Oh, God, Mello, do you know what you've done?

Mello took another bite of chocolate. "Are you done yet?" The only part of Matt's rant that had gotten to him was the part about "before"—if some of that stuff was left over from Mail Jeevas's life, then Mello would be in trouble if it was stolen, but he didn't think it would come to that. Better to maintain the façade.

"Are you even listening to me?" Before either of them knew quite what was going on, Matt's hands were clutching the front of Mello's shirt, suspending him in the air. "Mello, you had better start explaining."

Mello looked carefully at the white-knuckled fingers twisting into his collar. "Matt, let me down."

"Not until you tell me what the hell is going on."

Blue eyes met green again, iron against ice. Mello's fingers wrapped around Matt's, not enough to cause pressure, but enough to let him know that the threat was there.

"Let go of me."

"No."

Mello's hand dropped away. He saw the flicker of wariness in Matt's eyes, saw the glimmer of suspicion. You know I'm not going to back down that easily, don't you, Matt?

Matt recoiled, leaving Mello's jab at his jaw to just barely clip his chin. Mello was left to fall to his feet, off-balance with an outstretched arm. Matt's knee met his stomach; Mello rolled away with a grunt and latched onto Matt's ankle as he dropped to the ground. He rolled onto his back and yanked, taking out Matt's leg and sending him tumbling to the floor. There was a sharp crack as Matt's back snapped against the linoleum tile. He growled and scuttled backwards, but not before Mello had lunged at him, hands outstretched.

Something was off. Matt had years of experience in scuffles ten times as serious as this; the jab at his stomach had been too obvious, too exposing; there was no way someone like Matt would be taken down so easily—

Mello's brain was in the backseat. His hand sought out Matt's windpipe instinctively; his knee remembered the precise point on the stomach that would pin him most efficiently as he plowed into the smaller boy. Matt's hands scrabbled at Mello's grip on his throat, and he was bucked under the blonde's hold, fighting, trying to breathe—

Mello made the saving mistake of looking at his face. Iron met apathy, and Mello's muscles froze in place. The icy anger that he knew so well—it wasn't there. Instead, there was something frighteningly familiar, something that was supposed to be Mello's defense. Apathy—cool and collected and content. And Matt's body was still struggling, his hands were still clawing at Mello's grip, but they both knew that was instinct, not will.

Mello let go.

The sickly sweet fire of fighting seeped slowly from his veins, the burning pressure of blood in his temples receded. He took his knee from Matt's stomach and crouched back on his heels, keeping his eyes firmly locked with Matt's blank gaze. Matt stopped flailing and sat up, breaking off from Mello's gaze. His hand reached up and massaged his throat in slow, even circles. Silence, thick and brittle, stretched tightly between them in the sudden lull. Both of their muscles were still loose, Matt's with the mild grace of a deer, Mello's with the languid power of a wolf.

"What the hell was that, Matt?"

It was Mello who broke the silence, his voice hoarse and raw. Matt's lips twitched in a barely perceptible smirk that Mello had only just begun to recognize—a mocking inside joke meant to be between Matt and Matt and none else. He met Mello's gaze again and held it placidly, his green eyes smooth mirrors that betrayed nothing.

"You tell me."

Matt was knocked onto his back again, and Mello's palms were planted against his chest, pinning him to the floor. "I think," Mello said flatly, his voice clipped and controlled, "that you ought to do the explaining, not me."

"You hit me."

"Really?"

"It was unprovoked."

"Like hell it was." Mello increased the pressure on Matt's chest, just a little bit, just enough to remind him of its existence. "You did it on purpose, and we both know it. You don't pull off the helpless-prey charade that well, you know."

Again came the smirk, but it was meant to be shared, this time. "Yeah. I figured you would get that."

"You did that on purpose?"

"Well, I hadn't planned it, if that's what you're asking, but I let it happen. That good enough of a confession for you?"

Mello felt a smirk of his own tug at his lips. "You're a lunatic."

"So are you."

He climbed to his feet and held out a hand. "Need help?"

Matt snorted. "What am I, a kid?" he asked, and the irony conjured matching smiles. Matt rolled to his feet in one jump, wincing as his stomach protested. "You're heavy."

"Yeah, and you're a masochist."

Matt didn't say anything, just placed a hand to his abdomen and closed his eyes, breathing. Mello shook his head and walked around to the other end of the counter. He grabbed one of his chocolate bars and offered to his friend. "Chocolate?"

"Freak."

Mello shrugged and bit into it. "At least we accomplished something here," he remarked, gesturing to the scattered pile of chocolate bars. Matt looked at him and shook his head.

"I reiterate: Freak."

"Matt." Mello met his gaze, blue against green, the humor gone. "Why?"

Matt nodded and leaned against the counter, letting his legs sag. "Figured it was too much to hope for, that you'd drop it."

Mello waited.

"I'm not going to tell you." Matt crooked a smile. "Sorry."

"Yeah?" Mello grinned and mimicked Matt's position, leaning against the other counter. "You'll tell me eventually, you know."

"Oh, piss off."

"I wasn't lying about our data. I know someone's probably been through it by now."

"Well." Matt grimaced and shifted his full weight back to his feet. "I guess we can go back now, eh?"

Mello smiled and gathered his chocolate in his arms. "Lead the way."

--

The door to the janitor's closet was still locked, but Mello knew better. He shone a pocket flashlight in the keyhole, saw the telltale marks of graphite against the metal. An amateur lockpick, then, who had been planning to break into the closet for a while. He had taken the key, marked off his lockpicks with a pencil, then returned the key before trying the actual lock—all well and clever, but Mello wasn't stupid.

Matt's laptop reported that although someone had disabled the topmost levels of his security system, the core was still intact. It gave him the expected report—someone had looked at their files, copied a few onto a drive, left the rest, and had signed out. It was all done on-site, not remotely; still, the clutter looked exactly the same as when they had left. There were no signs of tampering. Just to be safe, Matt had run a sweep of the closet with what Mello had always assumed was an ordinary pen, but no listening devices cropped up. All in all—a good day. Thank God there hadn't been a message blatantly left for him or anything like that. Matt had to wonder exactly what the little snoop knew, if he was digging through their files. It was fortunate that Matt didn't leave too many trails to follow.

Matt was typing away, reenacting the more advanced security layers, tweaking them here and there to improve the patchwork of safeguards. It was Wammy's laptop, not his private one, so he was taking advantage of the chance to start from scratch. No real harm had been done—there were no viruses, no spy programs, no worms waiting to leap to life. Matt was pleased; there had obviously been an attempt to install such a program, but his security had quietly derailed it.

Mello was still gnawing on his chocolate. "You understand why I had us leave, now?"

"Enlighten me."

"Think about it. Classes are still in session. They've been in session this whole time."

"So whoever was out of class—"

"Bingo."

Matt shook his head. "Only an idiot would take that bait. I would've killed you if something had happened to my stuff."

"Would you really?"

Again with the clash of blue versus green, iron versus ice. The ice thawed first; Matt looked away, a cool sensation worming in his gut. "Maybe."

Mello nodded. "Do you want to go to the infirmary?"

Matt glanced down at his stomach. He had taken a cursory look at the bruises, spreading like the impression of a supernova across his abdomen. "You really think that something as trivial as these merits a trip to that place? You flatter yourself."

"Yeah, well, that knee to the stomach was pathetic."

"I wasn't trying."

"You're good at keeping secrets, Matt."

"Not half as good as you."

"I suppose." Mello smiled faintly and saved his work. "What do you say? Run the analysis later? Bathroom sign-outs don't come in until the end of the day, so we won't know who took the bait until then."

Matt grinned and closed the lid to his laptop. "We're not leaving the trolley this time, you know."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

"Puzzle Board?"

"Of course."

They loaded the mess of wires and blinking lights onto the kitchen trolley and pushed it into the hallway. Reality, in all of its gory immediacy, could wait.

AN: Well, I hope this was acceptable. :) I liked writing their little spat. It was fun. Was it any good, O Mighty Readers? Please, do tell me. Reviews are loved. I apologize in advance if it takes me a while to get back to you, but I swear, I read them as soon as I get them. It's just...procrastination. I'm human, all right?

(Actually, my species is debatable. I think I'm too unstable to be completely normal. Let's leave that alone, shall we?)

Cheers.

February 3rd, 2008. 8:30 PM