Disclaimer: Run for your life!

Rating: M

Warnings: The usual: Cursing, weirdness, sex, and references to death, suicide, and necrophilia...

Spoilers: Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir?

AN: This chapter is not up to my usual standard. I'm tired and need a coffee. Do not expect miracles.

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Not quite;

By Azar-Apocalypse

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Chapter Eleven:

And I said, "Romeo, take me somewhere we can be alone. I'll be waiting; all there's left to do is run..."

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Approximately every decade at Wammy's House, as far as Near could tell, a police investigation was conducted, during which most of the students were interviewed. In all of the history of Wammy's House, only two children had ever been charged with a criminal offense.

The police were stern-faced and stiff; their countenance was so cold and severe that Near wondered if his hands would come back cold if he touched them.

He sat in the library, silently watching them record every detail of the 'crime scene', carefully watching their investigation; the library, his asylum, where the tapping of shoes against the cold stone and the clicking of cameras, dulled by layers of police-tape and plastic, made Near feel nervous.

The library was where he hid away from the world; the library was the one place where he felt safe.

But something was not right.

The police seemed to be paying particular attention to him, as if the dozens of other curious orphans around them meant nothing.

He pretended to read.

They stared at him.

He scratched his knee.

One of the policemen approached him.

"Hello," the policeman said, his voice surprisingly low for someone so small in stature. "My name's Joshua Lewis. What's yours?"

Near did not look up from his book when he replied, "My name is Near."

His breathing was far too short to be considered normal. He hoped that Joshua would not notice.

Why were the police taking such an interest in him? Near had done nothing that could be deemed suspicious, by any stretch of the imagination. He had not spoken to Alex in six months. He had never so much as stolen in his life.

Did they want to glean knowledge from him, then? What did they expect him to know? He knew nothing about Alex's death: that was why he was watching the investigation, in the first place.

Near felt nervous, though he didn't like to admit it. He could be taken into custody on simple suspicions.

To Near's utmost dismay, Joshua sat beside him and asked, "What's that you're reading?"

"Divina Commedia," Near answered shortly.

Joshua seemed almost insultingly surprised. "In Italian?"

Near sighed and closed the book. "No: the title is in Italian, but the book itself is in Swedish."

Joshua did not reply, though he did look appropriately apologetic. Near felt irritated.

If Near was not guilty and had no knowledge of the circumstances surrounding Alex's death, then the police could only want to know one thing: information about B.

Someone must have seen them together, by now. In fact, if Linda had not seen Near and B interacting, by this stage, then Near would have to reconsider his opinion of her and her intelligence.

B had said that he was in isolation for four days. During that time, anything could have happened. B could have let slip the smallest piece of information - even Near's name - and the police would have honed in on it, grasping the only clues that they could find.

Near's fingernails were sharp when they dug into his own palms.

They would not take B away. He would tell them nothing.

"You didn't come here for small-talk about Dante Alighieri," Near said. "What do you want?"

Joshua placed a small notebook on the table when he said, "Well, I just wanted to ask you some questions about the death that recently-"

"Alex's death, you mean," Near interjected. "He had a name, you know."

With a nod, Joshua continued, "I just wanted to ask you a few questions about Alex's death. Do you mind?"

Near stood up and explained, at Joshua's quizzical expression, "I expect that you won't want to speak to me about Alex's death in the middle of a crowded library."

It was a lie. Near could not care less about people overhearing them: he just did not want B to come and find him while he was being interviewed by a policeman.

Joshua stood as well, and they both made their way out of the library.

Walking through the cold, empty hallways, Near suddenly felt less comfortable with Joshua.

"What do you want to ask me?" Near enquired when Joshua did not say anything. He was anxious to get this over and done with.

Joshua deflected Near's question with his own: "It looks dark out - do you think it's going to rain?"

Near ignored Joshua. He wanted to speak to B. He needed to find out what B had done.

Joshua silently sat down at a table in the dining hall and gestured for Near to join him.

The whole hall was empty.

Near, disconcerted, sat down.

"Now, then," Joshua said, suddenly sounding much more professional, "where, exactly, were you on the day of Alex's death?"

Near sighed, already bored. "I was in the library," he replied. He wondered why even the police insisted on wasting his time. He would have preferred to spend several hours in Linda's company than listen to the police's incorrect accusations.

Joshua raised an eyebrow and pulled out a notebook from his pocket. "Go on," he prompted, writing in the pad.

"I was reading," Near said slowly.

Joshua quirked a brow. "Were you, now?" he asked, his eyes fixed to his notepad.

"I can give you a list of the books, if you like," Near offered.

Joshua smiled wryly. "If you please."

Sarcasm was obviously wasted on this man.

Near did not return the smile when he asked, "Are you hoping to find a cryptic message in the titles of the books? Their authors, perhaps? Or maybe the third line of every ninth paragraph of every fifth page?"

There were not many things about a person that could surprise Near: he had observed the human race for as long as he could remember, dedicating only the oddest social rituals and habits to memory, and he was no longer shocked by anything that he saw or heard.

Joshua's laugh, however, was something entirely unexpected. It sounded almost like B's, in that it sent cold shivers down Near's spine, but these were less than pleasant. Joshua's laugh was not pleasing to the ear, nor was it filled with any particular kind of mirth that Near could understand.

Near felt ill.

"So you're a smart-ass, huh? You know what that tells me? That tells me you're scared," Josh sneered.

Near quirked a brow. "Alternatively, it could just be that I don't appreciate having my time wasted. Please get to the point."

His confidence was nothing more than a lie. He did not feel comfortable in Joshua's presence. He was terrified of the idea of being sent to prison on a false charge, and of something similar happening to B.

Joshua put his notebook down on the table. Near decided that this was not a good sign.

"I know that you had something to do with his murder - or suicide, if you'd prefer to call it that, though we both know that it's a lie," Joshua said confidently.

Near was very tempted to laugh, if only to wipe the annoyingly arrogant smirk from Joshua's face. Instead, he asked, "And what did I have to do with Alex's death?"

Joshua folded his arms. "Why don't you tell me what you told Alex, hm?"

Genuinely confused, Near frowned and said, "We haven't spoken since June last year. I'm sure I can tell you the details of the conversation, if you think that it will somehow contribute to figuring out the reasoning behind his suicide, but I don't see how this will further the investigation at all."

He did not understand what Joshua was insinuating. He liked Alex - most of the orphans did - and Near was regretful of the fact that they had not spoken in several months.

What was Joshua talking about?

"Don't play dumb with me," Joshua said, scowling. "Don't even try it. I've spoken to Mr. Ruvie. He says you're a genius - a prodigy, even."

Near's frown deepened as he stated, "Well, yes, I am very intelligent. I think you'll find that most of the people here are. That's why it's an orphanage for bright children, you see."

Joshua tapped his pen against the desk at exactly one hundred and twenty beats per minute.

The hair on the back of Near's neck bristled. He felt irritated. Why could Joshua not just accept the fact that Near knew nothing about Alex's suicide?

"You didn't kill him because of your grades - you're at the top," Joshua contemplated aloud. "Mr. Ruvie said that you're socially awkward. Is that why you killed Alex - because he fit in better than you could? Or was he with a girl you like? Did he sleep with her?"

Near snorted: he could not stop himself. "I admit it. I, the socially awkward virgin, communicated with Alex - through the beginning of every twelfth sentence in every fortieth book in the library, no less - that I wanted him dead," he sneered.

His voice did not sound like his. He didn't know why he was provoking a policeman, of all people, only that it felt good.

It was as if he could not stop himself once he had started. He found that he could release all of his pent-up frustration and anger and confusion on this unwitting policeman, and that he felt no guilt at all.

Near wondered if this was what insanity felt like.

"Please don't try to understand me, Mr. Lewis. I'm not-"

There was a loud noise that seemed to resound throughout the whole dining hall. Joshua's hand was still poised over Near's cheek, as if to strike him again.

Joshua stood over the table, and Near's cheek stung.

They stared at each other.

Near reached up to touch his cheek. He winced. It was bruising already.

He noticed, with no small amount of amusement, that it was cold.

"Don't you dare," Joshua said quietly. "You little shit. You think I'm stupid? I don't care if you can read in Italian or Swedish or whatever the hell else you do for fun. Do you get your kicks out of humiliating people? Is that why you killed him?"

Near tried to read Joshua's notebook from where he sat. He craned his neck slightly and made out the words 'clearly...' and'denial...'

He clenched his fists, enraged.

"Are you deaf, or are you just an idiot?" Near asked. "I didn't have anything to do with Alex's suicide. I liked Alex. Why would I want to kill him? Because he has more social standing than I do? What would that achieve?"

Joshua glowered at Near. "I don't know - why don't you tell me?"

Irritated, Near stood up and said, "You've no evidence against me. Please stop wasting my time." He felt awkward when he turned his back on Joshua, and his muscles tensed, almost as if he was expecting Joshua to hit him again.

He found that a sick part of him wanted to be struck. He wanted Joshua to hurt him, if only because he could file a police brutality claim and lose Joshua his job.

"No evidence?" Joshua repeated gleefully. "Come to the police station with me, and I'll show you the evidence."

Though he did not like the idea of blatantly defying authoritative figures, Near very stubbornly began to walk away from the table. To his surprise, Joshua did not call after him, and he briskly made his way to his room.

Near was silent when he opened his bedroom door. Something did not seem right. It could have just been paranoia, but Near was not known for being paranoid.

A hand was clapped over his mouth and he struggled against it, cursing and biting and yelling as loudly as he could.

"Calm down," someone whispered into his ear. "It's just me."

He immediately fell still. "Bleh?" he asked softly against their palm. He found himself hoping that is wasn't B just as strongly as he wished that it was.

B sighed against Near's neck. "Yeah. You calm now?"

Near's skin tingled. He kissed B's palm gently, but made no move to nod or shake his head.

There was a sharp intake of breath beside his ear, and then B released him. "Stay very, very still, and keep your voice down," B said lowly.

Near did as was asked of him and enquired, "What's going on, B?" His heart-beat was far too fast and loud in the sudden silence. He was sure that B could hear it.

"Cameras," B murmured. "Above your bed, behind your book-case, in your wardrobe... Right now, we're standing in the only square metre of space in your whole room that isn't being taped, and the cameras will pick up every conversation you have in here unless you lower your voice."

Near felt the curious sensation of his stomach clenching and his breath leaving him at the same time.

He had no idea that B was so concerned for his well-being that he would sneak into Near's room and scour it for cameras.

He was almost overcome by the powerful urge to press B against the wall and kiss him, in front of the police and anyone else who would see the surveillance footage.

"Really?" Near breathed. He was distinctly aware of the fact that B's arm brushed against his with even the slightest of movements from either of them. "They installed them today," he realised.

B touched his waist and replied quietly, "Yeah, they did. What were they talking to you about?"

Having this conversation in his doorway seemed extremely awkward to Near, but, nevertheless, he answered, "I don't know." His chest twinged. He did not like lying to B, no matter how partially.

B sighed, relieved, and pressed a short kiss to Near's throat. Combined with the soft weight of the hands on his waist, it did not feel right to Near. The tension was so thick in the air that he found it hard to breathe.

"What?" he asked, trying to keep the urgency out of his voice. "Something's wrong, isn't it?"

B's breath was too far away from something to not have happened. Near could not feel it on him; he could not taste it, or even hear it. It seemed almost as if B was being distant on purpose.

Near's throat tightened.

"What?" he repeated.

It was quiet for far too long, and Near turned around to face B, whose face was contorted into such an expression of badly-hidden anxiety that Near's heart ached.

"You need to leave," B finally whispered, sounding desperate. "They're investigating me, and by now, someone would've seen you with me. The police will know your name. They're going to take you into custody."

Near swallowed around the lump in his throat and murmured, "I won't tell them anything." A beat, and then, "Why are you here? You don't care."

It hurt him to admit it. He felt his words distinctly on his face, as if Joshua had struck him again.

B looked troubled, and Near almost regretted voicing his curiosity.

Almost.

"I don't care," B answered harshly. "I just don't want to go to gaol."

Frustrated, Near pushed B away from him. He suddenly felt impatient and annoyed with B's constant denial. Any more and he would begin to believe that B really didn't like him at all, and that they were simply participating in pointless and meaningless rendez-vous.

B scowled. "What?" he asked. "I just saved your arse, you unappreciative-"

Near had never hit anyone before and found that he did not like the sensation of his knuckles cracking against B's jaw. He wasn't sure if it would even bruise B's skin, but he did not care: his face was flushing and his pulse was roaring in his ears, and B had fallen silent.

"Do you enjoy lying to yourself?" Near asked quietly, sounding vaguely mutinous.

B snarled, "Don't pretend to understand, you little fairy. Why don't you stop being so self-absorbed and realise that everything in your life is just like you - pretty and perfect?"

Near's lips curled up into a smirk when he asked, "As I recall, you were the one who propositioned me, yet you think that I'm the fairy here?"

"Shut up," B spat. He removed himself from Near completely and stepped away.

Near narrowed his eyes. "Do you want to hear a lie, B? Do you want me to be dishonest?" He grabbed B's hand and tugged B down to his level, so that they were eye to eye when Near stated, "I hate you."

B stiffened, and Near tightened his hand around B's when the boy threatened to walk away.

"W-What?" B asked, sounding scared.

Near leaned in closer until he could feel B's breath mingling with his own. "I hate you," he repeated quietly, his eyes narrowing until he was glaring at B with as much effort as he could muster.

B's eyes darted about the room, as if he was trying to find some way to escape. His hand tugged at Near's when he tried to leave, but Near held onto it tighter still.

"God," Near murmured; his nose awkwardly bumped B's, "I hate you so much..."

B was shaking and his breathing was too far too shallow to be healthy. "I... I hate you too," he whispered.

They were both trembling: B was shaking so violently that Near wondered, for a second, if he was feverish, but then B was pressing him against the wall and they were kissing and Near's mind went completely blank.

They broke apart after what felt like an eternity, B's lips bruised a lovely red colour. Near's stomach clenched and he stroked B's cheek lightly.

"I'm leaving," he said softly. He had not made a decision to do it, but he realised that he'd never really had a choice at all.

B sighed and pressed his forehead to Near's. "Where to?" he asked quietly.

Near closed his eyes and murmured, "I don't know." He paused for a moment before saying, "Come with me."

B's arms were tight around his waist. Near hugged B closer to him and touched B's soft hair.

"I can't."

Near did not feel disappointed, because he had expected nothing less. He could not stop his heart from clenching, however, or the tremor in his voice when he asked, "Do they have a reason to be suspicious of you?"

B did not quite meet Near's eyes when he responded, "No."

Near drew in a sharp breath. "What did you do?"

It was quiet for a few moments. Near was torn between holding B for a while longer and pushing B away from himself.

"He used to watch you in the showers," B finally answered. "You didn't know because I made sure that you didn't find out. He took photographs. I burned them."

Near's stomach sank and he struggled out of B's arms. "What are you trying to say?"

He knew exactly what B was saying - he just did not want to believe it.

B seemed genuinely upset when he elaborated: "He didn't respect you. He wanted your body. Everything he ever did - when he studied with you, spoke to you, asked you to sit with him at lunch - it was all because he wanted to sleep with you."

Near shook his head, his eyes wide and stinging.

It couldn't possibly be true. Alex had been so kind to him. In fact, Alex was the first person to ever be that kind to him; they had almost been friends.

"He deserved to die," B murmured, clenching his eyes shut. "He was scared and didn't know what to do. He was sick, so sick - he was going to die anyway, but he didn't want to die from the illness, so I told him..." B took in a great, shuddering gulp of air and cried, "I told him how to- how to tie the noose and- and I didn't think he'd actually do it!"

Near did not want to listen to B any more, but could not seem to turn away.

He watched, transfixed and horrified, as B tore at his face with his fingernails, looking deranged, and choked, "I can't- I c-can't stop h-hearing him... in m-my head..." He pulled at his hair, his eyes shut so tightly that it looked painful. "I-It just won't stop..."

Near stepped away from B and felt for the doorknob behind him.

"N-Near," B sobbed, "I d-didn't mean it... I-I didn't..."

Near nodded, feeling numb, and he let himself out of the room, closing the door behind him.

He walked around Wammy's Ground, his mind oddly blank - for how long, he was not sure - before he came to a stop in front of the lake.

It was not a windy day; the water's surface was smooth.

Near knelt at its edge, picked up a pebble, and threw it into the water as hard as he could with a loud cry. "Fuck!"

He threw another stone into the water and made a frustrated sound, his throat feeling tight. The lake was so far into the Wammy's grounds that no one in the House could hear him: the sun was setting, and no one would be out in the grounds, except for him.

"Shit," he hissed when he cut the tips of his fingers on a particularly sharp stone. He clenched his jaw and kicked at the water's edge, his toes coming back cold and wet.

He did not care.

He threw another pebble into the water and breathed in deeply, trying to calm himself.

It did not work.

What right did B have to force him into this situation?

Near now had no choice but to leave Wammy's House. The police would be investigating him and, though it would look suspicious, he did not want to get tangled up in it at all. The case would be solved, B would be locked up, and Near could go on with his life.

He tried to convince himself thoroughly that it didn't matter to him whether B - a criminal - was locked up or not.

He failed miserably, and despondently kicked another stone until it rolled into the lake.

As he watched the first few drops of rain hit the lake's surface, he knew, with complete certainty, that he had never hated anyone more in his life.

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Dude, I totally ruined Beyond Birthday's character. It was, however, a necessary evil, so don't be shunning me until the story is over. It'll make sense in the end, I promise.

I could've written it differently, but I haven't, so screw it. I'm not fixing it unless I spontaneously receive some kind of motivation from the Heavens.

Shitty update is shitty.