A/N-Still maintaining that this is a conceptually nightmarish literary train-wreck.

This chapter is a little shorter than the others (I think. I'm writing this at like 1:15 in the bloody morning.) Mello's doing better, Near's doing worse. The story's slowly starting to wind down.

XXI-Chasing Butterflies

It was a rare sunny day in Winchester. The warm feeling of spring was in the air. Out in the yard, Mello climbed after Matt, who sat on a low branch of a tall oak tree. The blonde's hair was brushed away from his face, revealing the scar. Strangely, Mello didn't seem to mind if Matt saw him like this. Possibly because the redhead had been there when the wound was fresh and when Mello had woken up in the hospital. Knowing the extent of the damage made it less of a shock, but it was still a jolt to see. Matt had trained himself not to cringe so as not to upset him.

Removing the melted leather from the blonde's arm had arguably been a bigger problem. He was lucky not to have any permanent nerve damage. His skin from shoulder to wrist matched the new skin of his facial scar in colour but was much smoother, looking much less like a burn scar.

"You seem to be doing better." Matt said as Mello sat on a branch on the opposite side of the tree. The blonde swung his legs like a small child, looking back toward the House with a slight smile.

"It doesn't really hurt anymore." He answered. "Just every now and then."

Matt leaned back a bit, holding on to the trunk of the tree to avoid falling backwards. "You and Near haven't been fighting as much." He said, looking at the windows on the top floor of the House until he found the one with the shades drawn over the glass. "He's doing better, too. He hasn't been coughing nearly as much these last few weeks."

"But he has to go back soon." Mello had stopped swinging his legs. He was staring at the ground beneath them.

"It's just a routine test, though. He'll be back in a few days." Matt leaned forward to get a better look at the blonde. Mello had folded his hands in his lap like a schoolboy. The gesture seemed too innocent. It looked out of place on him.

"That's what they said last time, too."

Matt watched him for a few minutes. He reached out to touch Mello's arm, hoping to reassure him. "He'll be fine." He said firmly.

After a moment, Mello nodded. He wanted to believe him, but he'd seen how weak Near had gotten the past few months. He could only work few an hour or two before he had to sleep. He'd been losing weight at an almost dangerous rate, and his coughing fits were getting worse. Mello wasn't sure how to act around him anymore.

"Hey," Matt said suddenly, "Look." He pointed out into the yard. It took Mello a moment to see what he did. A small cloud of butterflies were flitting around the bright flowers that covered the latticework that framed the garden. The redhead jumped down from the branch, landing on his feet and laughing, "Come on, Mels!"

Mello watched him run, wondering what he was planning to do. The redhead ran into the garden, scattering the small creatures. Mello laughed as Matt tripped and nearly fell into the rosebushes. The blonde climbed down from his perch, not quite confident enough to jump just yet, and followed the redhead into the garden, letting the butterflies cloud around him.

He'd always been fascinated by butterflies, though he'd never admit to it. They were so…free. But they don't live long, he thought. They were fragile. Like him.

A monarch landed in his hair, stopping to wash its feelers. It was peaceful. For once in Mello's life, he was peaceful.

Matt stood a few feet away, watching the blonde in the cloud of butterflies. He thought about telling him. He thought about saying he was leaving, that he was going home, but he couldn't. Mello seemed so happy. He would tell him goodbye, but not now. The moment was too perfect.

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"It's amazing." Quillsh said softly, watching the boys in the garden through the panoramic window behind his desk. "He's recovered almost completely in the short time since the accident." It was Quillsh's way of referring to the explosion without mentioning Beyond. The man had tried to avoid the subject ever since all his boys had returned to the House.

L sat in his usual place in the overstuffed chair out of the sunlight that streamed through the glass. "He's very strong." He said thoughtfully, leaning forward to set the plate of strawberry cake on the coffee table. Quillsh turned from the window to face him.

"He's like you." The man said simply. L smiled a bit, looking down.

"Sometimes I wonder if that's such a good thing." The raven said softly. He stood as easily as ever from that strange crouch, crossing the room to stand in front of Quillsh.

The Englishman assumed that he would keep the usual distance between them, so he was a bit surprised when L wrapped his thin arms around his waist and rested his head on his chest. At first Quillsh placed his hands gently on the man's arms, not wanting to make him uncomfortable. When L didn't immediately let him go, the older man wrapped his arms around his shoulders.

"Happy birthday, Quillsh." L told him.

The man laughed gently, tightening his grip on the younger man's shoulders. Even if L was the only one who remembered, it didn't matter, because Quillsh had finally gotten what he really wanted for his birthday. A hug from his son.

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"An inoperable frontal lobe tumor extending across the midline." The doctor muttered, flipping through the file he held. "Started as lung cancer and spread." He started to tap his fingers on his solid oak desk, looking at the medical report he'd just been handed.

"He'll start going downhill soon," said Dr. Brian Summers from the chair across the room. "Once that happens, it's only a matter of time."

"There's no cure for what he has, then?" Tyler Griffin sat up in his chair, hoping the older doctor would correct him, tell him he was wrong, as he so often did when he was an intern.

"No." Summers crossed his long legs and shook his head sadly. "I'm afraid there's nothing we can do anymore."

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A/N-It's getting very difficult to talk about Near.

(*Stops begging for reviews.* They're still nice, though.)

Next: Chapter 22-Jigsaw