Bloody Valentine - Good Charlotte

Notes: This is one of the few songs from this band that I still listen to, years after ignoring the fact that I still own their CDs. I think I love this piece a little. It was almost too easy to write.

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Mello put up with the woman for as long as he could before personally arranging to have her picked up by the police in a body bag.

Matt wasn't in the apartment when he came back, so Mello had the time to strip out of his splattered clothes and change into a clean sweater and jeans. He threw the clothes he'd had on in the trash. The blood had dried on the leather; no amount of scrubbing was going to get it out, and anyways it was better if there was no evidence left.

He washed his hands and face in the sink; dried blood flaked off and swirled down the drain, staining the water pink, and he watched it flow away, and felt nothing. In the distance he could still hear the occasional yelp of sirens, but no one had seen him, and in the dark, the blood wouldn't have shown up on the dull black leather.

He went into the kitchen, rummaged a chocolate bar out of the cupboard, and snapped off a piece to melt on his tongue as he made himself a large pot of coffee. He wandered into the living room as it started to perk, chocolate tumbling over his tongue and down his throat, and shoved things aside until he found his cell phone buried under a mess of cables in front of the TV. Flipped it open, thumbed down through his short list of contacts, and pressed to call Matt's number. Held it to his ear, let it ring, and ring, and ring.

Finally Matt picked up. "Yeah?"

"Where are you?" he said.

"Just went out to pick up some more smokes. Need anything?"

"Are you on your way back?"

"Yeah."

"Get back here quickly. There's something important I need to tell you."

"OK?" Matt sounded a little bewildered. "Um, did something happen? Something to do with all the sirens I've been hearing since I left?"

"Yes."

"Right. I'll be there in five."

Mello hung up, and went back into the kitchen. The coffee was done perking. He poured himself a cup and wrapped cold fingers around it, stared blankly at the wall until he heard the door open, almost exactly five minutes later. Matt kicked off his boots in the entryway, slung his vest off his shoulders and allowed it to fall on the floor. Mello held the cup tighter, though the heat was mostly gone from it and he'd only had a few sips.

"Hey," Matt said, and came into the kitchen, leaned on the counter opposite to Mello. His cigarette hung from the corner of his mouth, and Mello looked away, stared into the depths of his coffee. "So what's the big deal?"

"Kit's dead," he said to his cup, calm and steady. "She was a danger to the Family and she was shot down in an alleyway a little while ago."

He saw Matt's cigarette hit the floor, heard his breathing break rhythm, shaky exhale, sharp, pained inhale, and closed his eyes.

"There wasn't anything I could do to prevent it," he said, and there hadn't been. He hadn't wanted to prevent it. She'd been a worthless whore as far as he was concerned and they were all better off without her. Matt was better off without her. She was dead and he'd washed the blood from his hands, and it was over. It was done. There was no going back.

"Tell me you're lying," Matt said, and his voice cracked.

"No," Mello said, still calm, still steady. "I was there. She's dead."

Hitch in breathing, and Mello finally looked up. Matt's head was bowed, goggles and hair hiding his expression from Mello's view, but it sounded as though he were crying. As though he was actually sorry that she was dead.

"Was it quick, at least?" Matt whispered, at last, sounding sick.

Four bullets, shot at measured intervals. The first to stop her from getting away. The second to stop her from defending herself. Third, because she wouldn't shut up. Fourth, to finish her off.

Why are you doing this? Why? What did I ever do to you?

"It was quick," Mello said, looking him directly in the eyes. "She didn't suffer."

Because you weren't supposed to touch him.

Matt turned away, trying so hard not to show that he was crying. Mello reached out to him. Crossed the kitchen, put his arms around him, and held him to him, trying to take his pain and make it his own, trying to take it away. The one thing that had almost stopped him from killing her was the thought of Matt's pain. Matt shouldn't have to hurt over someone like that, someone low and dirty, unworthy of his affections.

You knew that.

Not that Mello was under any illusions that he was somehow less low, less dirty, more worthy. He wasn't. If anything, he was less than she had been. But at least he knew he wasn't worthy. At least he didn't pretend he had the right to the affections of whomever he chose. He'd protected Matt, by shooting her. She would only have brought him pain. He'd seen her in the club, cozying up to other men. Best to make it quick and get it over with, out of the way, before he fell in love with her and she broke his heart.

You weren't supposed to touch him and you slept with him.

"You saw it happen." Matt spoke numbly, from within the circle of Mello's arms. He didn't try to pull away, but neither was he leaning into Mello's embrace. He didn't seem entirely aware that he was being held. "Who did it? Who shot her?"

You broke the rules and you have to pay.

"I did," Mello said, and Matt twisted away, twisted away and hit him, hard, sent him staggering back into the opposite counter. The room swooped into blackness. Mello didn't let himself cry out. He'd expected this. He'd expected worse. He'd thought that Matt might try to shoot him. But it was better to be honest now than have it all come out later, backfire in his face.

"You bastard!"

Matt was almost screaming, wild and strange, and Mello wiped the blood off from under his nose, and stood up, face like a stone.

"Why'd you do it? You lied to me. Why would you do that?"

"To spare you pain," Mello said, when it seemed that Matt was going to stop yelling long enough to allow him to answer.

He's mine.

Matt stopped, swaying, and then he staggered forward, fell to his knees, buried his face in his hands. "Oh god," he said, numb again. "Oh god, Mello. So you took the gun... so the others wouldn't make her suffer, torture her... for my sake?"

No. I killed her so she wouldn't ever have a chance to hurt you or take you away from me.

"Yes."

After a long moment of deep, heaving breaths, Matt rose shakily to his feet again, shuffled forward, and folded himself into Mello's arms. Buried his face in Mello's shoulder, wrapped himself close around him. Mello closed the embrace, held him silently.

"I don't know why you'd do something like that, Mello." Matt's voice was barely audible, still deeply strained.

"Because I love you."

Matt jerked back in his embrace, looked at him, eyes wide, and Mello met his eyes calmly. "You're my best friend. I love you. I don't want you to hurt any more than you have to."

Matt's fingers trailed over Mello's cheek, expression unreadable, and Mello held still, feeling his touch ghost over hypersensitive skin, and he wondered if Matt understood, wondered if he would ever forgive him even knowing his most selfish justification.

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