A/N: Kick me. I know I said I was going to finish it early this year, but there's been a change of plans. You can blame my daily, almost two foot tall, pile of homework. I kid you not.
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Adrenaline Rush
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I tear my heart open,
I sew myself shut.
My weakness is that
I care too much.
- Scars,Papa Roach
Chapter Thirteen
Rod Ross is stalking down the dim, stuffy corridors of the mafia base. Royal red wallpaper, carpeted corridors and sparse decor welcome him at every turn- it all looks dizzyingly similar. Had he been one of the new recruits or an intruder (though chances of intruders entering are very slim), he would have long since been lost. Fortunately for him, he had been the one to authorize the brats' decision to change the entire layout of the mafia. Ever since the restructuring of the mafia base, security has tightened, and information leaks have been... taken care of.
He inwardly commends them both for yet another accomplishment.
The mafia boss admits that he had been wary of them at first. And although his paranoia came with good reason- no one barges in on the mafia, ready with bombs, demanding to be let in-, it seems as though having them watched might have had been unnecessary.
What with the way they have proven their loyalty to him, Rod has no more reason to detest them. Yes, he can easily say now, that while he does not trust them -he probably never will-, he respects them immensely. They have risen in ranks in such a short span of time, and that is no easy feat for any teen. But then again, they aren't just any sort one would find running about on the streets.
For even street rats have their backgrounds.
Mello and Hex? They've got no background at all. Rod has had his men doing a check on their history, but the results have been nothing short of disappointing. He doesn't understand the phenomenon. He had expected that Hex, at least, would have had a criminal record, given her extensive crimes. But there had been nothing eye-catching. Her information was sparse, and it had stated nothing more than the fact that she exists, anf that she is still alive. Mello, on the other hand...
No one has even an inch on him. He had no crime records or hospital records, no identity and no bio-data. Mello doesn't exist to the world, and he can very well be a ghost in this life.
The mafia boss stops himself right there. Never any good comes from holding on to questions with no answers. Mello's lack of background should not be his primary concern anyway. The blonde has made clear of his usefulness to the mafia, and that should be sufficient for Rod to overlook his anonymity. At least, for the while.
Mello is useful. His tactical skills and prowess in constructing flawless strategic procedures are nothing but pure gold to Rod. It does not matter, that Mello's grand schemes (and overspending of imported wine and chocolate) make rather impressive dents in the mafia's financial accounts. Hex is reeling in the money like a pro anyway. She works the deals, trades, bargains- all the conning and theft that is ever necessary. Hex's prowess for spotting bad deals and traps are also a plus. All in all, it appears that Rod has been prospering, ever since he had first introduced them to the family.
They started off just like anyone else in the business- runts, amateurs that got sent for the most menial of tasks, but they worked their way up lightning quick. And as they rose in rank, the mafia rose in power. He daresay that he is now the head of one of, if not the most fearsome mafias in the entire business. Mello and Hex's promotions in rank are not regretted, but Rod is beginning to worry slightly. They stand just a single rank below his own now, and they have not yet demanded anything of him. It both surprises and unsettles him, but he knows that it will only be before long.
As he enters the main room, he hits the dim lights. Rod is surprised to see Hex, but greets her with a silent nod. He says in his usual drawl, "Hex... I never would've expected you, of all people, to be here tonight."
Rod's thoughts are not unfounded. Hex has made it clear too long ago, that she has no intention to be sticking around in a, and he quote, 'poorly decorated, musty room with sweaty men'. The latter comment is something he takes great amusement in: each time she is at the base, he sees her spitting threats and making demands for incense or air fresheners. Just ridiculous.
The flaxen-haired teen is sitting on the zebra print sofa, legs crossed, with one arm thrown over the back of the couch. Her other hand holds a glass of alcohol. Whisky, if the bottle on the table is any indication. Hex isn't even looking at him, but at the surface of the drink she swirls languidly. She seems highly distracted, and her reply is belated.
"I don't need to be expected to be here... but wasn't it Jack's duty to report to you... whenever Mello and I come around here?"
"Yes, it is... but it might have slipped his mind." Rod says quietly. He sits across her in the red leather recliner, leaning back leisurely.
Hex snorts. "Or he's too incompetent."
"You tell me."
The girl shrugs, picking up the half-filled bottle of whisky and offering him a glass. "I might have told him to keep my presence hush-hush. But it was mostly because of Mello."
The bottle is passed from a smaller hand to a much larger one. Rod pours the alcohol into the spare, empty glass on the low table before picking it up. "Trouble in paradise, sweet cheeks?"
"Paradise in trouble, more like." The words are muttered too quietly for Rod to hear. Hex downs the rest of her drink in one gulp and says, "Just a small argument. The mafia's finances are great enough to last us for years, but Mello thinks the base needs missiles. That's insane, you know? We need a clearing, launchers, missiles- the whole deal. It could cost us more than thirty six million for everything."
Rod doesn't detect that her defensive reply is only a half-truth. He accepts her words with a thoughtful hum. "And what does he intend to do with the missiles?"
"Get Kira's power," Hex sulks. "But I suggest we-"
The mafia boss doesn't give her suggestion a listen. After all, Mello is the tactical genius around. "Have Mello give me a call when you see him." He notes her empty glass and asks if she wants another.
She shakes her head. "I'd rather you keep the alcohol away from me for the moment."
Rod teases her with a smirk. "What's the matter? Can't hold your alcohol?"
She scowls, her gaze falling back to her now empty cup. "I hold it too well, actually."
"Oh?" Rod entertains her claim. "Then there shouldn't be a problem." Now that his eyes have adjusted to the dim lighting, he notes that there is a slight redness dusting her cheeks, and though her eyes are still attentive and alert, he cannot help but notice that she isn't quite focusing on anything. Rod assumes her to be slightly tipsy.
"Problems aren't always quick to show themselves," she says ominously. "Some problems- they're gradual... sometimes so slow, you don't get to see them." She takes another sip. "But who am I to say anything anyway? I'm practically begging for some more problems here."
Rod finally pours himself a glass. "Drinking is mostly for celebration, not desperation."
The girl snorts in an unladylike manner. "You're hiding under a rock, nervous at your own shadow because of some God-wannabe. Hallelujah, bring out the booze." She grins cynically. "It's not much to celebrate."
He smirks, pulling the glass away from his lips. "Not to you, maybe, but I for one, am glad I'm still alive. That's a more than valid reason to celebrate."
She mutters something under her breath, sounding vaguely like 'nothing to celebrate with Kira after you'. Rod sets the whisky bottle down, saying, "Ah. What your problem is, is that you see your glass half empty. You're too pessimistic."
"If I'm pessimistic, you're the queen of england," she snarkily replies. "When I see a glass half-filled, I say it's half-filled. End of story."
Rod sees her pull a face. He says, "I've got a collection of wine downstairs. It's quite vast. You could have a servant bring your favourite up."
"I'm sticking with the whisky."
The mafia leader waves his hand dismissively. "You don't even like the shit. Or do you?"
"I've mixed opinions about it," she says softly, shrugging. "It's unpleasant... bitter and sharp... Liked it enough at first, I suppose. But once I got past the sensation of trying something new- I realised it was just like anything else. My vision just... cleared... or blurred- I don't know which. The room's starting to spin." She chuckles. "But I used to like red wine too."
"Used to?" Rod echoes her, finding her half-drunken rambling wholly interesting.
Hex pouts as she thinks, tapping her empty glass thoughtfully. "Yeah. It was light, almost sweet, and healthy, just enough to make me warm- but it turned bitter too." Rod thinks she does not make any sense, but he has expected that, as listens on. "I'm glad everything's bitter. I get reminded that if Kira doesn't kill me first, alcohol will."
Rod remarks, "Technically, you die of a liver failure, not of alcohol consumption."
"But isn't it the alcohol's ripple effect that kills you? Alcohol causes addiction, addiction causes liver failure, and liver failure causes death." She puts her drink down. "Glad I'm sober now."
"That doesn't make any sense," Rod remarks. "You're hardly sober."
Her green eyes are glazing over. "Maybe. I'm just trying to savour the bitterness. Tonight will be the last time, I promise."
How to use LIX: A human death caused by Death Note will indirectly lengthen some other human's original life even without a specific intention to lengthen a particular person's original life span in the human world.
Mello was orphaned at nine years old. He had barely survived for a while, but he hadn't been worried then. His mother used to tell him that horrible things happened for a reason, but things always would get better. Horrible things happen to everyone, and sometimes no one can ever understand why. His mother used to say that it was alright not knowing, because nothing can remain unknown, in the dark, for too long. Someone will be there to shine a light on the mysteries. His mother was an optimist, and she had told him everything he wanted to hear.
But nothing that he really needed to.
His mother didn't tell him that growing up meant getting hurt more and more. His mother didn't tell him that things wouldn't ever get better, if he didn't stand up and work for what he wanted. The epiphany shocked him the day L died. Mello woke from his hazy, misguided beliefs and he saw clearly for the first time. Mello realized then, that time was truly against him. He realized that if he stuck with his past beliefs, then life will be lived in ignorance and misery. He realized that despite knowing everything, he knew nothing.
Wammy's? That place is only a foundation for the skyscraper he's building. He had decided that no one could help him but himself, and he decided that he couldn't dive into the pool of ignorance where Near –and most other Wammy occupants- resided. Mello can only feel disgust at the knowledge that Near, although brilliant, was -and still is- oblivious to their inability to truly live.
So Mello had decided to damn Wammy's to hell, and he had packed all his things -save for a photograph- and left without regrets. He didn't need philosophers or professors or doctors to teach him how to live. No. He's learned more on the streets that he ever had at Wammy's, and he can only thank blood, pain, toil and survival, for leading him to where he is now. He's learned that life means survival of the fittest, bad did not necessarily mean wrong, what doesn't kill you makes you stronger... and that honesty is a lie.
Each time he says lie, if rolls off his tongue smoother than truth ever will. He can't stop, and he does not want to stop lying, even if it means living in paranoia. Even if it means never being safe. As long as he gets what he wants. What he needs.
Matt's voice pulls Mello from his thoughts. The (now redheaded) teen waltzes into the kitchen with a cell phone pressed to his ear, an impatient look on his features. "No- hell, were you even listening to me? I'm not threatened by you or Ross, so don't give me shit. We had a deal, remember? I improve your security, secure your damn network and you give me my dough. I did my part two fucking weeks ago, so where the hell is my money?"
The younger boy flashes an irritable look at him. The older teen only shrugs. Matt plops into the chair across him stiffly and clenches his free hand. "You're not going to kill me," Matt laughs humorlessly, "You need my skills and you know it. I'm the best there is."
Mello stirs his coffee idly, watching Matt argue with slight interest.
"I want my money, Tommy," the brunette hisses. "All seven hundred thousand dollars of it- and I want it tonight,or else." And he leaves the conversation at that, flipping his phone shut and slamming it onto the wooden table.
Mello snorts. "Or else what?"
"Hell if I know," Matt groans, sinking deeper into the chair as if intending to be swallowed whole. "But I'm serious, Mel. That black mustang's been singing to me for months.I can't take another day without her any longer."
"Easy there, lover boy," Mello chuckles. "You'll get your money."
Matt opens his eyes, setting a weak glare in the older boy's direction. "But when?You're in charge of the crew, aren't you?"
He puts his hands up in mock surrender. "It's not my job to care for the mob's finances. But still, I don't see why you can't take the money off of random bank accounts and just get the car already."
"I'm not you," Matt says simply, rolling his eyes as if it is the most obvious fact in the world. "If I want something done, I'll do it myself and I'll do it right. If I want money, I work for it. I earn it."
Mello swallows down his coffee. "That's laborious."
"Life's not always about shortcuts, Mel," Matt says sagely, a tired smile pulling at his lips. "It's not fair if we feed off what people earn."
The blond says, "Yeah? Well life's not fair. Grow a pair and get used to it."
"I've got a very decent pair, I assure you."
Mello snickers. "You're sick."
The brunette smiles at him as he tries to balance himself with the chair only on its hind legs. "I'm just saying that I like doing things right. Less will I have to listen to my conscience blabbing about right and wrong. I get guilty a lot, you know? In that sense, I'm not like you."
He taps himself on the chin, a thoughtful look on his face. "So you're saying that I lack conscience?"
Matt shakes his head, his expression carefully nonchalant. "Nah, that's an overstatement. I'm just saying that you have a lot less empathy than I do. Nothing's wrong with that, but it's just that… I know how you work, and it's a stark contrast to the way I do things. Cheating to get what I want- it just really isn't my style."
Mello frowns. "I wouldn't call what I do 'cheating', exactly. In case it slipped your notice, I still have to climb all the way to the top of my game- and without help, at that."
"So having me and Hex at your back isn't help?" Matt asks rhetorically, pursing his lips. "Well, thanks a heap. It's great to know our efforts are wholly acknowledged, not to mention, appreciated."
"That's not-" Mello breathes in, and pauses for a while, trying to stop himself from bristling in annoyance. "That's not what I meant, Matt. I appreciate the help, you know I do." What he doesn't say is that he will forget all Matt and Hex have done for him and feed them to piranhas happily, if it ever means capturing Kira.
Unfortunately for Mello, Matt remains unconvinced, and says, "Yeah, and that's why you're planning to betray Hex. You must be sothankful." Matt snorts derisively, looking vaguely sick at the thought. "I know you. You only have friends when it's convenient for you, so don't you even dare think that I don't know that you don't trust me anymore. You're probably going to use me like you're using her... and to think- we're willingly helpingyou."
"So why do you?" Mello's tone is deadly low, dangerous. "If you think you'll end up dead because of me, then why do you stick around? To what benefit can I bring you?"
Matt gives an easy shrug of his shoulders, but he will never reveal to Mello how he is secretly afraid of death, of Mello, of everything. "I'm just hoping you change your mind soon, I guess. If not- then… then we'll see what I'll do." He pulls the goggles from his head to over his eyes, now preventing Mello from reading him successfully. Matt is a coward like that. "But we're not talking about me, are we? We're talking about you."
"Were we?" Mello is not comfortable at all, at the fact that they are back to the same topic.
Twiddling with his thumbs lazily, Matt says, "Admit it, Mel. You're a liar- a cheater. What you're playing isn't a game. It's life, and life is fickle. You're planning to get through all of this with a gamble, and that's what cheaters do. You're not earning your way to the top; you're throwing others into the battlefield, expecting them to win the war for you."
Mello's face is unreadable. "Am I?"
"It's not fair that you do that to people- to me, or to Hex,of all people. Not after all she's done for you. Heck, Mel, she got you into the mafia. She gave you the information you needed. She-"
"I knowwhat she's done," Mello says through clenched teeth. "I don't need you to remind me."
Matt is exasperated. "Then why are you pretending like you've forgotten? Like none of this is a big deal? I know she trusts you, Mel, and it's not fair that you're going to just-"
"Like I said," the blonde's tone is clipped. "Life isn't fair. Survival of the fittest."
Running fingers through his hair furiously, Matt shuts his eyes, willing all of this to go away. It doesn't. It never does. "Don't you hear yourself, Mello?" Matt sounds ever calm, like a parent trying to reason with a stubborn child. "She's your friend. She's ourfriend."
The older teen scoffs. "Don't tell me you're having second thoughts about your part in this."
"Mello-"
"Because you sure as hell never complained about it before," Mello ignores him, raging. "So what, if I'm using Hex? So what, if I'm signing her off for dead? I don't like it either, but I don't see a better solution for this shit. And you shouldn't be one to complain about this, not when it looks like you're not going to do anything about it."
Matt sets his jaw and shuts his eyes tighter. "Let's… Let's just stop arguing."
"Let's not. It looks like we've got fuck loads to talk about."
Tiredly, his best friend pleads, "No, I've had enough. We can argue later."
Unimpressed with Matt's response, he scowls deeply. Mello leans back into the wooden chair, saying, "You see? That's the attitude that landed you in third place at Wammy's. If you had a little more guts, then maybe you would've been in second place."
"I- wait, only second place?" Matt's eyebrows knit together. "That'swhat you think of me? Just second best?" A little stung by the insult, Matt decides to retaliate. "So if I'm second best, what does that make you? Third or fourth place? Did you forget I've landed third rank without the effort you apply for your second place? Did you forget that Hex was number two for a reason?"
The older teen ignores the jab, but his yes flash a brilliant, icy blue. "If you're second, then I'm number one."
"And what about Near?" Matt's malicious smirk grows. "No, don't answer that. I already know- if you're number one, then he's already L."
Ouch, burn.
Mello doesn't register getting to his feet, hands clenching and unclenching, as if restraining himself from breaking the nearest object in sight- namely, Matt. "No- If I'm number one, I'm L. Near will be at my feet, no- he can go to hell for all I care. And Hex? Hex won't be a problem when she's dead."
The calmer of the two remains seated, completely accepting that his best friend is losing his temper. It is not the first time he has seen Mello like this, and it certainly will not be the last. Setting the chair properly on its four legs, he looks to Mello, saying blankly, "You can't be both L and number one at the same time, Mello. The system doesn't work that way."
"Well, screw the system," Mello hisses, pacing up and down the kitchen floor furiously. His hands are clenched tighter still, his back is rigid, and eyes hard. "When- whenI'm L, I'll create a new system. No asshole can ever be number one, not while I'm alive. Number One will be just me, just as it should be. I'll be the best the world has to offer. Not Near, not Hex, and not anyone. Just me."
Matt looks vaguely disgusted at Mello's selfish intentions. An eyebrow shoots up inquisitively as he peers at the blond. He says his next words very carefully. He is already too aware of the dangerous grounds he is treading on. "You know… I've been wondering for a while now; why do you want to be L so bad? What does the world have to offer you? Why does being number one matter so much? It's a title, and titles shouldn't matter."
The older teen freezes in his tracks, looking stunned. Apparently, Matt has struck a chord in him. "Well I don't know, Matt," he drawls sarcastically. "Maybe it's just that the world is fucking fickle, and they don't give a shit about you unless you make it big in life. Maybe it's just that people like us- people like you, and me, and damn it, even Near- no one ever stops to listen to us. No one cares."
"True that," Matt allows thoughtfully. "But we never give people enough reason to listen, anyway."
"Maybe not you," he says bitterly, "But if it slipped your notice so easily, let me remind you that I'm already big in the underworld. But does that matter? No. The underworld's not enough. I want the worldto listen, Matt. I know I'm worth something… but I'm not worth enough if I'm not number one!"
Matt nods slowly, absorbing all his best friend has confessed with unyielding composure, filing the information in his mind for safe-keeping. "That's what you think of yourself?" the hacker ponders aloud. "That you're 'not worth' anything if you can't be the best?"
The blonde's eyes flash in irritation. "Were you even listening?"
"'Course I was, Mel," he says. "I just didn't think your inferiority complex was this bad."
Mello looks at him suspiciously. "Who said I felt any inferiority? I know I'm superior. I just want to get rid of any potential threats to my goal."
"Like Near?"
"Especially Near."
A/N: For Hex's part of the story... well, I used symbolism. The whisky represented Mello, and the red wine represented Matt. Huzzah. And the purpose of Mello and Matt's conversation? A couple of reasons, namely: 1) to contrast both Matt and Mello, 2) some more character development. I like making this Mello very selfish, 3) to ensure that the next couple of of forthcoming chapters will make complete sense, and 4)++? I can't tell you. :D
Again, my many, many apologies, for the delay in posting this chapter up. I'll be replying to reviews through PM. :D