Okay, so, I'm gonna pitch an idea, Mello wearing one of Matt's shirts after he's taken a shower. Think on that. Also, I don't know how I haven't noticed it but a lot of this story takes place in bathrooms, just so you know that wasn't intentional, I have no idea. Also, the next chapter is gonna be the epilogue and then we're done!
That said, I'm a horrible person.
Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note
The world, which had been blurry since they left the hotel room, was starting to clear up. He remembered Halle playing her part, telling Takada to go with him. He remembered saying something to her, or maybe she'd said something to him? Whatever it was, he couldn't quite remember. But it had worked because Takada was now on the bike with him, and his mind was on autopilot, only putting forth the focus necessary to keep him from crashing. But also trying to keep him going fast enough to prevent capture.
The only thing Mello could hear was his own heartbeat. The cars that he sped past were practically nonexistent. He couldn't feel Takada's arms around his waist, or her worried breath at his neck. No, Mello was oblivious. His only saw the few feet in front of him as he sped along the packed streets.
It was all a bad idea. It was so very horrible and Mello hated that his bad idea was the only one that could possibly work.
He regretted leaving Wammy's, leaving Matt. Regretted blowing up the warehouse, being found by Matt. He regretting pulling his love into the mess that was the Kira case. Mello regretted all of it. Mostly, he just regretted Matt. Regretted developing feelings for him. If he hadn't, neither of them would be in their current situation.
Matt would only just be leaving Wammy's, he'd probably find a small apartment and work at some tech place. Or maybe, Matt would be how he was when he found Mello, working jobs for higher ups and with too much money and his car. Either or would be better than what Mello had shoved him head first into.
Mello would more than likely have been sent to a psyche ward for his problems. He never would have loved Matt and he'd have no conflict or guilt about him. It would be so much easier to not care about him. Not caring was easier. Not caring was sleeping without worry. Not caring was shooting someone and not having to think about whether or not somebody would feel differently for him. It was definitely not crying when he was alone, then getting rid of red eyes before Matt got back. It wasn't having someone necessary for survival. Indeed, not caring would certainly be easier.
But he did care. And he found himself racing amongst cars, trying his damndest not to get captured or shot while Kira's accomplice was handcuffed to him. He did care, and Matt was diverting attention by leading Takada's guard force away from Mello. He cared, and the chance that both of them would die was higher than it had ever been before.
Waking up was a mistake
Mello woke first. He kissed Matt's forehead before getting out of bed and stumbling into the bathroom. He didn't bother trying to make the water warm, he was numb so it wouldn't make a difference. With his mind on autopilot, Mello washed his hair and scrubbed his skin until it was raw. His hands shook as he turned off the water but stopped by the time he managed to towel off and pull on a pair of boxers. He sat on the edge of the tub for a moment, waiting until he was able to move without feeling like he'd keel over. He pushed himself to his feet, swaying only a little.
Matt found him a half hour later, sitting on the edge of counter but angled so one leg dangled off, the other tucked beneath him. His eyes were closed and he wasn't paying attention, so when Matt stepped up behind him and wrapped his arms around his waist, Mello almost panicked. But he relaxed when Matt pressed a kiss to his throat.
Blue eyes opened slowly and Mello covered one of Matt's hands with his own. Matt helped him off the counter and handed him a shirt, one of his own. He gave him another kiss before Mello stepped out of the bathroom. Quickly, he slipped into Matt's shirt, planning to change out of it later, but he would enjoy it for the moment.
He waited in one of the chairs by the window, tucking his knees to his chest under Matt's shirt, obsessively tracking the seconds until Matt got out. It took ten minutes and thirty seven seconds. Matt was more properly dressed than Mello, wearing jeans a wife beater. His hair was still wet and he smelled strongly of shampoo. It seemed longer than it should, Mello found that he liked it.
Matt swore as he turned a corner and his grip on the wheel faltered slightly. The entire car seemed to shake but he soon regained control and sped up. There were a lot more guards than they'd originally estimated, but it wasn't like he could turn back now.
He spared a look in his rear view, glad to see he was putting some distance between himself and his pursuers. Letting that lull him into a sense of security would be a mistake, so Matt floored the gas pedal and swerved to avoid a driver that wasn't paying attention to the high risk car chase going on.
They'd run tests, seeing how fast the police reaction time was. Matt had checked out all of Takada's personal force and the cars they drove. From that, they'd figured that Matt should be pushing one hundred to one hundred fifteen miles an hour when he drove. That meant hyper vigilance. There was no point in leading a chase if his car was going to give out, or he got distracted and crashed.
Which meant no thinking about Mello's well being, or the plan, or whether Mello remembered the directions and didn't get lost. Matt wasn't supposed to think about how apprehensive he was. Wasn't supposed to think about how the mission made it so it was likely that he'd never see Mello again. And certainly, Matt was not to think about how much he wished he could just put an end to Kira and take Mello away so they could go back to his apartment in L.A., where they could live together for the rest of their lives and cause trouble without repercussions.
He turned the corner and was astonished to find a barricade of cars in place. He was already too far down the street to turn onto another, and turning around was suicide at the speed he was going. He couldn't just break through them either, not unless he actually did want to die. No doubt the other street openings were packed tight as well. How had they known where he was going? Was there a chopper in the air that was recording him? Was that how? But how had they beat him there? And why the hell did Takada have so many people at her disposal?
Matt wrenched the wheel and slammed on the breaks, feeling his car shudder and shake and he whispered an apologize as it skidded and spun to a stop.
So that was that. Was he to make his final stand? Was there even a chance that they'd just take him in for questioning? Arrest him, rough him up but keep him alive? They'd have to. If they wanted information about Mello, and Takada's whereabouts, they'd definitely bring him in for questioning. And it wasn't like the Japanese police could carry firearms.
His confidence shattered as he saw the amount of guns aimed right at him. That hadn't been in the research. The last time they'd checked, they weren't allowed to have guns on their person. What the hell happened?
Shakily, Matt adjusted his cigarette and opened the door. His chance was to play harmless, to play stupid and reckless. He was two of those already, so the third shouldn't be so hard.
"Hey, come on, give me a break," he called, already raising his hands, "Since when were the Japanese allowed to carry around such big guns?"
He paused a moment, but detected no change.
"You got me, I'm part of this whole kidnapping incident. That means you'll have a lot of questions to ask."
Get them on track, get them to lower their weapons. They'd have to take him alive, Mello said so. Mello said so. He said so, he said so, he said so.
"You won't shoot."
And Matt really thought that they wouldn't.
The worst part was that he was aware of every individual bullet that passed into his body. The ones that riddled his torso, his legs, the one that nicked his temple and sent blood streaming down his face. He was even aware of the ones that hit his car. He was aware of every single one. But he didn't feel them. He felt the force behind them as the shots made him stagger back, eventually sagging against the ruined exterior of his car.
But he didn't feel it.
Matt let out a shaky breath as his cigarette tumbled from his lips, extinguishing itself on his ruined vest.
He felt blood gurgling up his throat as he tried to breathe, a low heat began to burn its way from his toes and up to his head. His mind, while slowly shutting down, channeled memories for him to enjoy and he appreciated the fact.
He saw frigid eyes that hid a world of hurt. He saw a rare smile that lit up the world brighter than any sun. He saw a swish of black as it turned a corner, and thin hands pulling golden hair into a messy bun. He saw the night sky from the roof of Wammy's, and a hand clasped in his. He saw a snow covered boy beneath him on a semi busy sidewalk in a small town.
Matt saw Mello.
There was another chair that Matt could have easily sat in. Instead, he picked up Mello and sat down, arranging him sideways in his lap once he'd done so. Mello didn't protest, he didn't make a sound and maybe that was cause for worry.
Matt eased back a bit to make Mello more comfortable and began running his hands up down the blond's back. Mello was trying to keep his own hands busy, clenching them into fists or rubbing his knuckles. He looked like he wanted to say something.
"Mells?"
"Why?"
"Why what?"
"You hardly call me Mello anymore, it's always Mells. Why?"
Well, there was a good question. Matt had never really put much thought into it. Half the time, he wasn't aware that he was indeed calling Mello 'Mells' instead. But now that he did think about it, he could pinpoint a reason.
"I didn't think you'd appreciate your real name, and everyone's always called you Mello. I'm the only one who calls you Mells, so..." he made a dismissive gesture, not quite sure what to say next.
"Oh."
Mello settled against him properly, resting his head on Matt's shoulder and letting out a quiet sigh as he did so. It was a few minutes later that Mello realized Matt's hair was still wet. He got to his feet and retrieved a towel and the brush from the bathroom. He stood behind Matt and carefully dried his hair before brushing it. Matt relaxed almost immediately, allowing Mello control.
Mello had originally suspected Matt of dying it but what kind of nine year old dyed their hair? And even if he had, Mello had never seen any dyed dots of skin or products in the trash bin. Besides, the color suited him.
When he finished, Mello finished getting dressed, keeping Matt's shirt on for just a little while longer, then sunk into the opposite arm chair and tipped his head back.
"I'm going to call Halle," he said after a moment.
"Okay," Matt responded slowly, "I'll finish getting dressed."
Mello stepped into the hallway and dialed Halle's number, casting a glance over his shoulder before he closed the door. Matt was only just standing up, his body language read as 'at ease' but his face was somber as a funeral procession.
Mello's voice didn't waver as Takada stared him down. She wasn't what Mello had entirely expected. But he could see her slowly unraveling, becoming distraught the further he pushed her.
His helmet was still on, his name was still safe. His scars began to burn as he removed it, revealing his face to the woman before him.
"Take off everything you're wearing and put it all in that box," his voice was stern but indifferent.
Mello could see her shock at the request and held back a sigh. She was smart, supposed to be anyways. She should have figured it would happen. He found himself disappointed.
"Hurry up," he cocked the gun aiming it at her chest, "You can use this blanket."
Who'd have thought modesty would be such a big deal for her.
Without a word, Takada turned her back and began to strip off her clothes. Her hands were shaking, making it difficult to under the buttons on her shirt. Mello obliged her when she asked for the blanket. He was thinking too much, his wheels turning too fast, burning up and egging on a headache. He refused to move, and kept the gun fixed on her until she'd covered herself.
He folded the flaps to the box containing Takada's clothes and closed up the back of the truck. In the dark, he changed into the stolen uniform he'd gotten ahold of earlier. The burning sensation he'd felt since the day began was increasing with ever step he took. It wasn't horrible, nothing like the warehouse explosion, but it was verging on inability to ignore.
It was better than the bells at least.
Mello started the truck and began driving. He'd not heard from Matt yet, he hadn't expected to but some part of him made his hand go to his phone ever few seconds. Pushing thoughts of green eyes and orange goggles from his mind, Mello attempted to focus on the ultimate goal. The goal that the plan would accomplish.
It was nothing short of suicide mission, he knew that and didn't even have to dig down all that deep to know it. Mello couldn't do much. He was never going to be L's successor, he was never going to amount to anything. he was never going to be the one to catch Kira. That was never his fate. The dice that had been cast labelled him little more than a knight. Near wasn't even a piece, he was the player. Mello had his many uses but, ultimately, he was expendable.
It was his final move, it would be good for something. It was an anomaly in Kira's plan, it would prove something, it had to. Near could use that something. Besides self sacrifice, there wasn't much else he could do. He knew he was important, but he wasn't valuable.
He'd long since stopped thinking to the contrary.
His train of thought was cut short by the small screen displaying the news.
As soon as he saw the state of Matt's car, he stopped listening. There was no clear picture of Matt, and he felt a small part of himself become relieved as fire consumed his thoughts.
Matt wasn't supposed to die. He was supposed to make it out alive, supposed to get out of Japan and back to his apartment in L.A., and if not that then he was supposed to go to Near. It wasn't right! It wasn't supposed to end like that! Matt was not meant to be lying against the side of his Camaro, dead.
He flexed his grip on the steering wheel.
Refusing to cry, refusing to do anything but get the job done, Mello continued to drive.
It was only a short time later that Mello felt himself seize up. Pain radiated through his body, down his arms, doing an excellent job of leaving no nerve spared in its assault. Mello's slightly lacking medical knowledge produced 'heart attack' for his hazy mind, right after Kira and crime scene photographs danced in his vision.
The truck veered off the road and crashed into an abandoned church.
Had Mello not been dying in that moment, he would have found the irony unbearable. He was to die in a church of all places. The sudden realization that he was dying hit hard, he found he couldn't breathe.
He dragged one hand to his rosary, fighting to bring one of his fingers to the 'M's' that Matt had carved there all those years ago. He slipped another finger through the ring.
It seemed like another life time. One in which he and Matt were happy, despite the bulimia, despite Mello's anger, and the standards they were placed at. It struck a cord then, that he missed being happy. He missed actively seeking comfort from Matt, missed the days where Matt would carelessly throw him a smile. An innocent smile. And they had been, innocent. Matt more so, but they'd been relatively untouched by the world. Untouched by the insanity that over took Kira and claimed Beyond.
The insanity that led to Matt's death, and Mello's soon enough.
Mello felt strangely sleepy as he died, feeling his heart falter in his chest. He was pleased though, he could see Matt.
"I'm sorry, you know?" Mello whispered. He was hunched over his knees, lacing up his boots. He'd changed out of Matt's shirt, missing the way it felt as soon as he took it off. Matt sat opposite of him, field stripping both of their guns and reassembling them. He'd been doing that for the past hour.
"For what?" Matt set down the partially assembled gun on the table to devote his attention.
Mello didn't answer until he'd laced both his boots tighter than necessary. He tucked on leg up onto the chair so his chin could rest on his knee.
"Everything," Mello knew that he was beginning to shake, but he he tried to keep the tremors out of his one word answer.
Matt was standing in one second, kneeling in front of him in the next. He moved Mello's leg and pulled him down the short distance it took for them to properly meet each other's eyes.
"Don't start that shit Mells, not now, we aren't gonna do that right now," Matt said, wrapping Mello tight in his arms.
"I'm aware we've been over all this Matt, I know," Mello said shortly, turning his face into Matt's neck and press a light kiss to his pulse point, "I know but I can't help but think that if I'd been a bit meaner to you at Wammy's, you wouldn't be here."
"Mells, look me in the eyes, now."
Mello bristled a little at the authority in Matt's tone but he quickly shook the feeling away. It took a moment for him to stop hiding in Matt's neck but he leveled their gazes again, trying to see past orange tinted lenses. It bothered him, so he pulled the goggles off, feeling better when he saw the proper green of his eyes.
"I love you, you got that? I'll say it again. I. Love. You. Now, whether our relationship should be happening or not, that's not entirely pertinent to this scenario, is it?"
"Matt-"
"Is it?"
Mello's response was to lean closer until their foreheads touched. It was Matt who leaned even closer to kiss him, and Mello allowed him to. More importantly, he allowed himself to feel safe with Matt's lips on his.
It would be a handful of hours later that the sun would begin to set. When that happened, two young men, truly they were not yet proper adults, would walk down to a hotel parking lot. In one spot, a red Camaro, lovingly taken care of, and in the space beside it, a newly purchased motorcycle that would later be abandoned without a second thought.
In that parking lot, the two would hug, and they would kiss. The would stare, conveying wordless expressions. They would force themselves to step away, but allow their fingers to linger longer than necessary.
Matt would hide a tear by snapping his goggles on and Mello would hide a shaky sob with his helmet.
And it was obvious that they knew it would be the last they ever saw of each other.
