Just Like Heaven

by Azarr

When Near was little, he was sure that his mother was Heaven, and that no one else could ever compare. As he grew older, he started to realise that there might be one other person who could make him feel safe and warm and loved too... NearMelloNear

3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer:As much as it pains me to say this, Death Note isn't mine.

Rating: M

Warnings: Largely death based theme, very bad French, very skewed opinions on what Heaven is, mentions of rape/prostitution, eating disorders, language, self-harm, V fo Vendetta, and OOC-ness! (That's quite a list...)

AN: Alright.

Those of you who hate what I've done to Near thus far are really going to want to kill me after this chapter.

I think that this is a defining point in the story, and it's really quite important that I get it over and done with. That having been said, I don't like it at all.

Listen up, homies: I do not endorse any type of self-harm, whether that be cutting yourself, burning yourself, starving yourself, or anything else under any circumstance. My views on the aforementioned problems/disorders do not necessarily coincide with Near's.

I am not writing this because it's how I feel; I am not a tragically depressed orphan. My parents aren't divorced, and I'm not even a single child.

Also, I'm well aware of how terribly written this is. My insomnia has been playing up again, and I wrote this whole chapter between the hours of 2am and 6am. That includes proof-reading, editing, etc. so I apologise for how little sense this is going to make.

Anyway, there's a lot of action in this chapter, and things might slow down a bit after this.

-----

Chapter Three

-----

The next few days passed in a hatred-filled, anxiety-ridden blur. Mello had taken to glaring at Near at every opportunity, and Optimus Prime was still ignoring him.

Near wondered quite frequently what he'd done to make his only friend so upset with him, before realising that it was a stupid question - he'd watched Heaven burn and walked away without so much as a tear. The fact that Near regretted it every day didn't seem to matter to Optimus, and Near wanted nothing more than to know how to make it better again.

Unfortunately, no answer presented itself, so Near tried to convince himself to get used to fact that Optimus Prime had now joined his league of anti-fans. It wasn't as easy as accepting that everyone else hated him - Optimus had always been the one constant thing that he could count on when he needed something to hold onto. Now, with his only source of comfort gone, Near didn't know what to do. He wouldn't break - he would be unhappy, certainly, but he'd lived through Heaven's fall, and the resulting work, so he could get through this - but it wouldn't be pleasant.

Near had been at Wammy's House for a week, now, and, on this particular day, he thought that perhaps the weather (and God) was trying to mock him: it was bright, sunny, and cloudless.

Outside, children were running around in singlets and shorts, sweating profusely as they played together, but the warmth didn't quite seem to reach Near's bed. He was shivering under his covers, and he wished despondently that Heaven was there with him, though he wasn't sure that she'd want to be there with him, anymore.

Usually, he was certain of his beliefs that she would have surrounded him with her warmth and hugged him until the coldness went away, had she been there, but now, in the icy silence and loneliness of his room, Near wasn't so sure. Optimus was ignoring him, so he'd obviously done something wrong, and he despised himself for not knowing how to make everything better again.

There was a bruise and a small laceration on Near's cheek where Mello had hit him, and he loathed the nurse for covering it with a gauze bandage; the injury site was hot, and, when Near agitated it, it filled his whole body with a paralysing, tingling sense of warmth. He could irritate it through the bandage, but it didn't feel nearly as hot as when it was bare, and Near found himself pressing against the gauze almost desperately.

It was wrong, and he knew it, but he liked the sensations that radiated from the injury; it made Near feel warm and safe and alive - like his existence actually meant something, rather than him breathing for the sake of having nothing else to do while he waited for God to want him.

Optimus Prime didn't approve, he could tell, because the toy's disgust was barely contained, and Near's attempts at reconciliation did nothing. He'd tried begging, ignorance, and, though it shamed him to say it, black-mail, but nothing worked. If anything, they just made Optimus even angrier at him, and Near was close to crying out of sheer hopelessness.

Near didn't know what to do. It was cold in his room, so cold that his tears would probably freeze if he even attempted to cry, and the bitter taste in his mouth really had nothing to do with the fact that he'd already vomited up every ounce of food in his stomach. What was there left to do? What could he do to make the pain and the sadness and the damned coldness go away?

There was a cold sweat glistening on Near's skin now, and he thought that, perhaps, he knew what he could do to make himself feel better. It certainly wouldn't solve any of his problems, but a temporary fix... That was okay, wasn't it?

Though it made him feel guilty (so guilty that bile rose in his throat for what might have been the hundredth time that day), Near placed his pillow at the foot of his bed, and pressed the injured side of his face hard into the mattress. He hissed quietly at the small sting, before it faded and he was left with the wonderful aching that filled him with warmth.

Finding comfort in such a perverse way; wasn't that deviant to the point where normal might have never existed? Near was used to being an abnormality, but being so strange in a way like this was completely new. He'd never been so different before - he knew that none of the other children would ever even consider harming themselves to feel safe (and Near had to admit that it didn't make sense, even to him).

But that still didn't stop him from scratching at the gauze until blood soaked through it, and, even then, he took it off, revelling in the burn of the adhesive being peeled off of his skin, and continued to agitate his wound.

The amount of blood that was covering his fingers and bed-sheets was astounding - it was only a small cut, really; Near had received much worse from the tricks, but he'd never bled this much before. Near could feel it coating his palms and dripping down his wrists, and he pulled his hands away to see how much of his own life he'd spilled.

The blood coated his hands and forearms like glue, but it didn't look right - it was supposed to be red, but it was flecked with a horrible black and it was so hideous and filthy and vile and repulsive that the mere sight of it made Near's stomach churn, but he could see now; he understood.

This why God doesn't want me, isn't it; because I could never wash the filth off - it was in my veins, all along, Near thought to himself, and his heart twitched feebly in his chest - a poor imitation of the joy that he might have once felt.

It all made sense to him, now: the reason why God didn't want him, why he wasn't good enough for Heaven - it all added up. He'd known for some time that in order for him to be worthy of Heaven again, he had to get rid of the filth; he'd scrubbed away at the grime coating his skin, but it had never worked because the impurity was in his very life.

While this newest realization did nothing to make Near feel clean - he could almost feel something crawling under his skin - it gave him a sense of grim satisfaction: finally, he knew what to do to see Heaven again.

It wouldn't be pleasant, but he'd have to keep scrubbing away at the grime coating his skin and drain the filth from his very blood, but Near felt sure that he could do it.

He had to be able to do it - he had to see Heaven again, no matter what the cost was.

-----

"Good morning, Near," Roger said politely.

Near looked up at Roger from his position on the floor and returned the greeting, before returning his attention to Optimus Prime. The toy was still ignoring him, and he was at his wit's end - he felt more than desperate to find out how to make it all better between them again.

Clearing his throat, Roger said (and Near could hear the smile in his voice), "I have a surprise for you."

Far from finding the announcement exciting, as was probably Roger's intention, Near felt vaguely nauseous. 'Surprises', to him, never meant anything good; they meant tricks, jobs, fire, hurting, death, and burning.

"Has anyone told you about the purpose of Wammy's House, Near?" Roger asked.

At the thought of Mello, Near's nausea grew worse. "Yes. It's to find a successor for L, right?"

Near could see Roger nodding in his peripheral vision. "That's right," the old man said, "which is why I currently have L waiting online to speak to you." Roger's smile clearly suggested that Near should be thrilled to be presented with such an opportunity.

"I see," Near replied, feeling somewhat un-thrilled. In his eyes, L was pathetic; a man who didn't even have the guts to show his face to the world meant less than nothing to Near.

"Now, usually, if you were to correspond with L, it would be via a webcam, but certain... things have happened that prevent the use of one, so you'll have to speak to him through an instant-messaging program," Roger said, before standing up and handing Near a laptop.

Near was glad that the webcam was broken: it would stop people from seeing the imperfections that he knew were lying just beneath his skin.

Roger cleared his throat again and continued, "An instant-messaging program is open at the moment, and you'll notice that I took the liberty of making you an account. Your screen-name is Nathan, and it is very important that you stick to this code. On the same note, please don't address L as 'L' - please call him 'Ryuuzaki'."

Near wondered why all these code-names and aliases were necessary. Surely using an instant-messaging program couldn't result in death.

Nevertheless, with a small nod, Near put the laptop on a chair in front of Roger's desk and sat in front of it.

Suddenly, a box popped up on the screen, and Near watched as the words 'Hello, Nathan' were typed out to him.

'Hello, Ryuuzaki,' Near replied, propping Optimus Prime up on his knee so that the toy could see, too.

'How are you?' L asked.

'I'm fine. Yourself?' Near responded, but it didn't seem right; he couldn't see L's face, and so didn't know what the man was feeling - it was like conversing with a robot.

'I am quite well.'

There was an awkward pause in the conversation, and Near started tugging at his hair to distract himself. This kind of pain wasn't very nice at all; there was no blood being spilled, and it only served the purpose of helping him to concentrate. Still, he couldn't find it within himself to complain about the almost-pleasant burning sensation in his scalp.

'I'm going to be frank, Nathan - do you know what happened to your parents?'

Near cringed as he typed out with shaking fingers, 'My mother is with God.' I miss you so much, Maman... It's my fault you're gone... I should've stayed...

'Your father?'

Near wondered why L wanted to know so badly; did the man know what it was doing to Near? He tugged harder on his hair and ignored the looks that Roger and Optimus Prime were sending him.

'I don't know. I don't remember ever meeting him.'

L replied, 'Do you want to know?'

It would have been impolite to take all of L's efforts and throw them back into his face, but Near couldn't care less about etiquette - he was a child who'd watched his own mother burn to death, only to be thrust into a filthy world of prostitution, money, and loneliness, and he was scared witless. He'd never known his father (in fact, he almost despised the man for leaving him to work), and so held no feelings for the man; he was a stranger.

Near couldn't deny his curiosity, but he was afraid of what he might find out about his family if he asked.

'I could ask you again later, Nathan, if you like.'

Taking a deep breath, Near replied, 'No, I'd like to know.' This was the one chance that he'd get to learn about his family, his life before the fire, and he needed the sense of closure that he hoped that knowledge of his old life would bring.

'Roger has every file that we could find pertaining to you and your family, Nathan. Feel free to peruse them at your leisure when this conversation is over.'

Near nodded, though he knew that L couldn't see it, and asked, 'How many files are there, do you know?'

'Enough to interest you for years to come, Nathan. Now, I would like you to open the only file on the desktop of the laptop that you're using. By the way, feel free to keep it - the laptop is yours.'

The way that L gave away a laptop computer so easily made Near stiffen with apprehension; L would expect something in return, now, and the only thing that Near had to repay the detective with was his body (though he didn't see why anyone would want it - it was disgusting and filthy and vile and contaminated).

I don't want to work again... I won't do it.

Ignoring his unease, Near did as L had instructed him to (really, following L's instructions was the least he could do) and another program popped up.

'Nathan, I'd like you to start the program now. Please don't speak to me again until you're finished.'

Near minimized the instant-messaging window and read what this newest program was telling him.

'This is a test,' it read. 'Please conduct this test in a quiet environment where you can concentrate completely.'

Near decided that Roger's office was as good as anywhere else that he was going to find, and pressed the 'continue' button.

He was presented with a list of multiple choice questions - five of them, each with ten options - and Near immediately got to work answering them.

The first set, he realized, weren't that difficult: the first question that he had to answer was 'What is the name of the American National Anthem?', with possible answers such as 'God Save the Queen' and 'All Along the Watchtower'.

The second set wasn't much harder: 'What are the three colours of the West German flag?', with 'green, brown, and orange' as an option.

However, slowly but surely, the questions did start to get harder, such that at the twelfth set, Near actually had to start thinking before he answered.

By the thirty-first set, Near was doing calculations in his head, tracing words onto the chair with his finger, and tugging at his hair to help himself think.

By the fifty-ninth set, Near had requested a piece of paper and pen from Roger, and was furiously scribbling away.

By the seventy-eighth set, Near felt as if he was out of his league completely, and asked Optimus Prime for help.

By the eighty-forth set, Near was just about ready to quit. That was until he noticed that the questions were getting easier again, and the reason why he was having so much difficulty answering them was because his tired brain was making things complicated where they needn't be.

With a small grin, Near finished all one hundred sets, and told L so in an instant-message.

'You're completely finished?' L asked.

'Yes.'

'All five hundred questions?'

Near's smile widened as he felt his heart swell with pride. 'Yes.'

'A percentage will appear in the program window shortly. Please tell me how many questions you answered correctly, Nathan.'

Near waited patiently for his results to display themselves on the screen and held Optimus Prime at arm's length.

"How do you think I went?" he asked the toy excitedly. He'd never done a test before, and he was eager to see his marks.

Optimus seemed content to crush Near's spirit and continued to ignore him, no matter how many times he asked the toy questions or hugged it.

By the time that the percentage appeared, Near was feeling rather less enthusiastic about his results than he had been previously. It wasn't Optimus' fault - Near had done something to make Optimus upset, so it had every right to do the same to Near, but it didn't make the dull aching in Near's chest any nicer.

'Ninety-seven percent.'

He'd answered four hundred and eighty-five questions correctly.

Near didn't know what he'd been expecting, but it wasn't that. He'd definitely been expecting something lower.

The fact that he'd exceeded his own expectations didn't give him a sense of accomplishment, because he was sure that every other child was just as smart as he was - they just didn't show it; calculating everything and being right all of the time would be irritating and monotonous.

"Is... Is that a good result, Maman?" he asked his toy quietly, hoping that his Heaven would congratulate him for his average results and stop being angry.

Optimus continued to ignore him, offering no praise or, indeed, any form of acknowledgement that Near had just spoken at all - he might as well have kept silent.

Near opened his mouth to speak again, to tell Heaven that she could at least tell him to shut up or something, when the laptop suddenly beeped.

'The percentage must have appeared by now. How many questions did you answer correctly, Nathan?' L asked impatiently. He probably thought that some unobservant people would be caught up by his phrasing - they would send him their percentage, but he hadn't asked for that: he'd asked how many questions Near had answered correctly.

'Four hundred and eighty-five,' Near replied nervously. Would L tell him that he was just as smart as everyone else, that he was nothing special, and that Wammy's had no need for him? Would L kick him out? Would he be homeless, and have to work again to get by?

He didn't want to work again; if he started working now, he'd never get the filth off, and he needed to scrub himself clean, to let the filth spew from his veins, so that he could move on and see Heaven again.

The ache near Near's heart slowly started to feel like a vice, squeezing his chest until he couldn't breathe properly, and he dropped Optimus in favour of clawing at his throat. He was gasping for breath and he was starting to go light-headed - he couldn't start working again, he'd promised that he wouldn't, he wouldn't, he wasn't going to, he didn't want to, it was so unfair! - and his fingernails were drawing blood and Optimus was staring at him from the floor and the laptop was beeping again and everything was so loud and bright and it burned Near like the flame that had burned his mother as she screamed and screamed and screamed-

'That's very impressive, Nathan.'

Near's hands fell to his sides as he stared at the laptop, shocked. I-It's 'impressive'? Not just 'okay'? Better than 'average'? It's 'impressive'? His chest was still heaving, and he felt light-headed, but he could breathe now, at least. Th-They're not going to kick me out? N-No more working?

'That's very close to the record - you only missed it by four questions. I set that record myself, and I must say that I'm pleasantly surprised, Nathan.'

What could Near possibly say to accept praise like that from the greatest detective that world had ever known?

Certainly not 'goodbye'.

Unfortunately, Near's mind was buzzing strangely and he didn't think before typing out his reply, which just so happened to be 'good bye'.

'Yes, I imagine that you must be anxious to read through your family's files. Good bye, Nathan.'

Near logged out of the instant messaging program and sat perfectly still, bar the heaving of his shoulders and the small shudders that ran through his form, as he listened to Roger arranging papers.

His results were 'impressive' - what did that mean? 'Impressive' was ambiguous, and Near didn't know whether or not it was a good thing.

There were more important issues at hand, though, such as the fact that Optimus Prime still hadn't given Near any indication as to whether Near had done well or not in its opinion, and that was all that Near wanted. He couldn't care less about what some gutless detective said, but if Heaven said that it wasn't good enough, then it wasn't good enough, and she seemed to be indicating that in her ignorance of him.

Near lowered his gaze and chewed on his lip, rubbing his chest lightly in a vain attempt to make the ache go away, as he whispered, "M-Maman... Maman, a-are you proud of me?"

When Optimus ignored him still, Near didn't know if it was the pain in his chest that brought tears to his eyes, or his mother's blatant disapproval.

"Near," Roger said, snapping Near out of his newest depression. "Would you like to see the files now?"

It took Near a moment or two to figure out which files Roger was talking about. "Yes," he said once he'd remembered why he was there. He was anxious to learn about his father, his heritage, his life.

Roger nodded and pulled a stack of papers out of his desk. "Here they are," he said as he handed them to Near.

Near took the papers, picked up Optimus, and left with a small 'thankyou, Roger', his hands shaking with anticipation. What would he find out? What kind of person was his father - what kind of person did that make him? Was his father something important, like a doctor, or a fireman? Or was he something different, like a shop-keeper, or a soccer coach? What kinds of things did he enjoy? Did he like sport, or was he more of an artistic type?

Near found it hard to think with so many questions buzzing around in his head, and, with a small, nervous grin on his face, reached his room and sat on his bed. What if he found out something horrible; what if his Papa was a thief or a murderer?

With a quiet laugh, Near shook his head. His father couldn't be that bad - Heaven had deemed the man good enough to marry and bore his child, so he had to be almost as perfect as her.

Heart-beat pounding in his ears, Near started reading the first file.

'Name: Nathan John River,' it read, and Near already felt closer to his father than ever - he'd been named after his Papa. 'DOB: 5/10/67
POB: St. Mary's Hospital, Portsmouth.'

Near didn't know much about English geography, but he was quite certain that Portsmouth wasn't too far away. Maybe, if Roger would allow it, he could visit St. Mary's Hospital, and see where his father had been born.

'Current Place of Residence: Gaol - guilty of rape, arson, homicide, and attempted homicide.'

Near's heart thudded painfully against his ribcage as he read over the line again and again, just to make sure that what he was seeing was real. He swallowed in a vain attempt to wet his suddenly dry mouth, and hugged Optimus Prime for dear life. It couldn't be true - his Papa couldn't have- it wasn't possible for him to have- why would he set Heaven ablaze, anyway? He'd have to be stupid to do that, and Near was smart, so maybe his father was smart too, and smart people didn't do stupid things like burning the mothers of their children.

With a firm nod - a desperate attempt to confirm to himself that the person that he was very much a part of couldn't have murdered Heaven in cold blood - Near flicked through the papers and selected a random page, and began to read again.

'...though there is no conclusive evidence, the evidence available suggests beyond reasonable doubt that the defendant is guilty of at least one count of rape, one count of arson, one count of homicide, and one count of attempted homicide. Obviously, in the event that the defendant is found guilty, it will be difficult to find any sort of compensation for the plaintiff's family, but...'

Near would have kept reading his father's lawyer's statement, but his eyes were clouding and the words looked like black, shapeless splodges on the page, and his heart was close to breaking through his ribs, and his head hurt, because it wasn't true, and L had done all this research for nothing, because Near's father couldn't have done any of that to his Maman, it wasn't true-

Choking back a- a something (he wasn't sure if he wanted to cry or scream or some strange mixture of the two), Near threw the papers away from him and curled in on himself on the bed, until Optimus Prime was pressed uncomfortably against his thighs and stomach.

The toy's cold, hard, plastic arms that were digging into his skin so awkwardly could have been Heaven's warm, soft, flesh if it weren't for Near's own Pa- father (because the man was not his Papa; he was Near's biological father, and that was all) and it was Near's own fault; his Maman had cried at night, when she thought that he couldn't hear her, and it was because of him. He wasn't supposed to be alive - the fire was meant for him: he was a mistake.

It's my fault.

Near let out a quiet sob, before a cold, numb emptiness settled in the pit of his stomach and he felt ashamed of being so pathetic. Crying was weak, and he thought that he'd gotten all of the weaknesses out of his system in church a week ago, but they kept coming back and getting stronger and bigger. He didn't think that he could control them anymore, which made him even more pathetic, and there wasn't anything that he could do about it; every time he so much as tried, he just ended up feeling worse.

His father had killed his mother, had tried to kill him: the man who had forced him into existence had tried to kill him and had succeeded in killing his Heaven.

It's all my fault.

Optimus Prime wasn't being sympathetic at all: the toy was still ignoring him completely, and Near let out a choked scream before clutching at his head frantically.

"H-He killed her..." he stuttered incoherently, desperately trying to believe that the lawyers and everyone else were lying, because his father couldn't have murdered his mother. "He k-killed you, Maman..." The files fell the ground as he curled into a tighter ball and cried, "He k-killed you and h-he- he r-raped you, a-and it's a-all my fault! I-I'm so sorry, M-Maman... I-It's all my f-fault, and I-I-" Near couldn't speak anymore; he couldn't even breathe, and he sobbed into his knees for the second time in two weeks.

After a few moments of panic, he raised his head to try to find some reassurance from Optimus Prime - his Maman would provide him with a recollection of the events, right? His father couldn't be a murderer - but his eyes were drawn to the small photograph on the floor.

No... N-No... Near picked up the photograph and stared. It was like seeing himself, but with deliberate flaws - his father's hair was blonde and he had blue eyes, rather than Near's white and grey, and the man wore glasses, but the resemblances were obvious. They had the same nose, the same mouth, the same cheekbones... No!

Near threw the photograph away from himself with disgust and ran his hands over his face. He didn't want to look like that- that- that scumbag! This man was as bad as the tricks, if not worse, and Near wanted nothing to do with him.

He glared at the photograph that was staring back up at him from the carpet, and muttered scathingly, hiccupping occasionally, "You t-touched my mother, you s-scum."

Nathan had degraded her in the worst way possible; it was this salaud's fault that she was gone, and Near seriously doubted that he could ever forgive him.

The photograph - Nathan John River, his father, the man that he bore such a resemblance to, the man who had created him with his Maman - did not reply.

"Y-You killed her," Near said again, and he found that the more that he repeated it, the less he felt. The anger and hatred and sadness and sense of betrayal that all blocked his throat and made his eyes sting were draining away, and the cold numbness that had settled in his stomach before was now setting in completely.

Once again, Nathan John River said nothing, and Near clung to his last shred of sanity as he lunged toward the photograph and tore it to shreds.

"I fucking hate you! You k-killed Heaven, you piece of shit, and I'll... I-I'll... I'll k-kill you!" he screamed as he threw the shreds of paper in the general direction of the bin. The curses felt foreign, almost heavy on his tongue: he'd never cussed before, because his Maman had never liked swears - she'd probably be scolding him harshly, had she been alive; but he didn't know what he was saying, and he didn't care.

He felt out of place, as if he had no business being here any more, and expressing his feelings as anger and hatred was the only thing that he could do, even in the feelings were directed at himself more than anyone else.

I-I... I made her life Hell...

With a churning in his gut, Near glared fiercely at the remnants of the photograph and hugged Optimus Prime close. He didn't care if his Maman hated him now; for once in his life, he couldn't care less what she thought. All that he wanted to do, right now, was avenge his mother and get rid of any similarities between himself and one Nathan John River.

-----

Near was back in Roger's office, having told the man that he'd like to meet his father.

He could have laughed.

'Meet'? Well, if 'meeting' constituted killing someone in the most brutal way possible, then yes, he wanted to meet his father.

The horrible cold, numb feeling had nearly consumed him completely - it was more a matter of territory and possession, now, than any form of rage. His Maman was his, and what right did some fils de pute who'd hurt her over and over again have to take her away from him?

Roger smiled, obviously under the impression that Near was a lost and lonely child who wanted to understand where he'd come from (that child was dead now; it had died the moment that Near had vowed to kill his father), and said, "We can organise a limo today, if you'd like."

"A car will do just fine, thank you." Near smirked inwardly. He'd never thought that he could meet his father today - he'd been fine with meeting the scumbag in a week or two, maybe even in a few months - so to say that he was pleased now would be a large understatement. He was practically ecstatic.

Roger positively beamed as he replied, "Very well then. You can wait out in the entrance hall, if you like. A car should be ready in an hour or so."

Near couldn't quite keep the smile off his face as he said, "Thank you very much, Roger."

As Roger ushered him out of the room, Near clutched Optimus Prime to his chest and grinned to himself. He didn't know how he was going to do it, and he found himself not caring; he was going to kill the man who had dared to take Heaven away from him.

He walked to the entrance hall at an unhurried pace and wondered about how he should take his father's life. It had to be painful, because burning to death was excruciating and slow (and being touched against your will was horrible - Near could attest to that), so using a weapon was almost entirely out of the question, which was okay, because Near didn't think that he could bring a knife into a prison, anyway. This left him in quite a predicament, as he seriously doubted that he could kill someone with his bare hands, no matter how worthless the person in question was.

Near looked down at Optimus and asked, "What do you think?"

Optimus simply frowned and refused to meet his gaze, and Near wondered why Heaven didn't want to be avenged.

"He killed you," Near said, expecting Optimus to understand that he couldn't just let this go unpunished. "I... I miss you... and it's his fault. Well, to be fair, I guess that it's my fault too, but... he's the one who lit the fire, not me. Do you understand that? I need to... I need to get back at him." Near felt that perhaps he was being too insensitive, because Optimus gave him a disgusted look. "Je t'aime, Maman..." Near mumbled, suddenly ashamed of how irrational and immature he was being, "and that's why I need to do this."

Optimus refused to even look at him again, and he eventually gave up on trying to coax the toy into responding to him.

As Near walked into the entrance hall, Mello and a red-haired boy walked inside. They appeared to be having an argument about something.

"That's just stupid," Mello said. "It kills your brain-cells."

The other boy shrugged and fiddled with his orange goggles. "Well... Chocolate isn't all that good for you, either," he replied, and Near wondered what, exactly, they were talking about.

"Hey, at least chocolate doesn't-" Mello suddenly looked up and saw Near, falling silent.

Near smiled pleasantly at his roommate, and wasn't all that surprised when Mello glared at him in response. Mello hated him, and he couldn't say that he blamed the blonde. Near was disgusting and filthy and vile and worthless and didn't belong here - who wouldn't hate him?

Mello's companion looked at both of them before asking, "Who's Santa over there?"

Mello muttered something that Near didn't quite catch, and his friend's expression darkened, before they both left the room with dirty looks in Near's direction.

With a quiet sigh, Near tugged harshly at his hair as he said to Optimus, "This is why I need to do this... If you were here, then I wouldn't be alone. They all hate me, and... I just want one person to look at me like I'm not a piece of dirt who's just crawled out of a gutter."

The toy still had no reply for him, so he let out another resigned sigh, before sitting down on the floor in his usual position.

"You know..." Near continued pointlessly - it was obvious, by now, that Optimus would not respond, "I... I used to wish that I'd known my father, but... now I'm glad that I didn't," he confessed. "I probably would've... I don't know, but I wouldn't have been able to... I just... I miss you so much, and if I'd known earlier that my own father... He..." He helplessly started pulling harder at his hair and jumped when someone laid their hand on his shoulder.

"You're Near, right?"

Near turned around slowly, feeling the uncomfortable weight of this stranger's hand move to his upper-arm, and answered, "No, I'm Santa."

As Near turned around fully, he noticed that the person who was talking to him now was the boy who had been talking to Mello not two minutes ago, and he wondered why in the world this boy was talking to him - the boy had made it clear that he hated Near just as much as Mello did when he had glared at Near a few minutes ago.

The boy laughed sheepishly and replied, "Okay, so the Santa comment was below the belt, but you have white hair and... Anyway, I don't know what you did to Mello, but it upset him. I don't mean that you made him cry or anything, but he got pretty pissed. Beat up some kid, I think..."

Near blinked and tilted his head to the side as he regarded this boy. He had to be at least a year older than Near, but he spoke to Near as if he was scolding a three year old who'd stolen from the cookie jar, and Near didn't know whether this boy was trying to be condescending or kind.

Near found it insulting, either way.

The boy sighed and said, "Look, I don't want to start a fight, but you should apologise to him or something..."

"I haven't done anything that I should be sorry for," Near said, and the boy stared at him as if he'd just sprouted another head, "and it's rude to ask for my name but not give me yours in return."

"It's Matt, and you should apologise anyway," the boy replied, and Near wondered why he was being so defensive of Mello. Was it possible that they...? No, that was ridiculous. Wasn't it?

Near suddenly dreaded returning to his room to sleep that night - if Mello was like that, then would he ask a favour of Near? Near wouldn't work; he refused to, not when he'd come so far, and it was plain unfair for that to be asked of him now.

Matt removed his hand from Near's arm in favour of running it through his own hair. "So you're not very talkative. Fair enough. Look, all I'm saying is that you pissed Mello off, and you're going to get the crap beaten out of you if you don't make it better, okay?"

Near reached up to touch the new gauze that he'd put on the wound on his face to protect it from infection, running his hand lightly over the most sensitive part of the injury; he shuddered and wondered if it was healthy to not care about Matt's point.

Nevertheless, he nodded and lied, "I'll... think about it."

With a small smile, Matt turned around and walked away, deserting Near in the large hall, his footsteps echoing loudly.

For a few minutes, Near sat alone in silence, transforming Optimus into a truck and back again to pass the time. He still hadn't figured out what he was going to do about his father, and any and all solutions evaded him.

By the time that Roger entered the hall and said, "The car is waiting outside, Near," Near still hadn't figured out what to do; in fact, he was seriously considering giving up completely.

Optimus Prime's frown seemed to lessen slightly in severity at that thought, and Near wondered, for a second time, why she didn't want him to take vengeance. Was it possible that she-

The tapping of Roger's cane against the cold floor brought Near back to the then and there, and he quickly got up and followed Roger outside, where they walked down the gravel driveway together, toward the shiny, black car waiting just beyond the gates.

"Now, Near..." Roger began, his hand settling on Near's head, and Near clenched his fist in an attempt to ignore his discomfort. "The driver has everything you need - money, phones, voice recorders, cameras... Anything you need. All you have to do is ask."

Near was sorely tempted to ask, 'Does he have a gun, too?', but decided against it - Roger probably wouldn't take well to a small, albino orphan creating a major security threat in a gaol.

He settled for nodding, and quickly stepped into the car so that he didn't have to feel Roger's old, wrinkled hands on him any more. Almost immediately, the car started moving (what was it with the drivers here? Were they all so impatient?), and Near tried to curl into his comfortable crouch on the seat. His socks kept slipping on the leather upholstery, and he eventually shifted around so that his back was to the door, the seat-belt dug into his throat and chest (very probably leaving hard-to-explain marks behind), and Optimus sat comfortably in his lap.

"So... You're Near?" asked the driver suddenly, the intercom crackling, and Near didn't know why the man was attempting small talk.

"Yes," Near replied, regardless of the fact that he really didn't want to talk - he was starting to feel nauseous, and he didn't know if it was because he was going to a gaol, because he was about to meet his father, because he was about to meet a rapist, murderer, and arsonist (the man who had taken Heaven away from him), because he was a mistake, or because he wasn't used to travelling in motor vehicles.

Much to Near's dismay, the driver continued, "So you're new to Wammy's, huh?"

"Yes," Near repeated, and he hoped that the driver sensed his annoyance.

Optimus Prime, who had been beginning to look close to forgiving Near (even though he didn't deserve it), gave Near a reproachful look; Near realised his mistake instantly. He wasn't being tolerant enough of other people: his own discomfort had nothing to do with it.

Now that he knew what he'd done wrong, he could finally fix it, and everything could go back to normal - his Maman would be content with him (but how could she really be at ease with seeing the face of her tormentor day in and day out?), and he would be happy that he had just that little part of her left with him.

Near smiled as he said, "How long have you been a driver for Wammy's for?"

Optimus' glare faltered, and Near's smile widened. He was obviously doing this right.

"Umm... Around three years, now... You been in any orphanages before this one?"

"Yes... I'm not sure where it was, exactly, because my family drove me from Kent to the orphanage and it was night time, but it's an hour or two's drive from here," Near responded. He wasn't sure why he was being so open with this complete stranger, but it felt good to talk to someone (someone who could talk back, anyway). "Do you know anyone in the House?"

The driver hummed quietly for a few moments. "Can you keep a secret?" he asked finally, and Near quickly nodded. He didn't think that the driver could see him, but the man continued, "One of the kids in the House... He's my second cousin. I haven't seen him since he was a baby; that's when Ma- my cousin died."

Near chewed on his lip lightly. He didn't quite know what to say or how to feel: was he supposed to be sympathetic? He didn't know this man, and chances were that he didn't know the man's second cousin, either; he couldn't find it within himself to feel affected.

"I'm ah... sorry... for your loss..." Near stated blankly, repeating what people had been saying constantly to him ever since he'd moved to England.

Optimus Prime was starting to look slightly incredulous, and Near thought that he shouldn't push it too far - he had been relatively sincere thus far, but if he went too much further, then he'd be blatantly lying.

The driver snorted quietly, before laughing humourlessly, and Near winced at the sound. The man's voice was hoarse and harsh - much like that of most of the tricks - and he pressed himself as close to the door (as far away from the driver) as possible.

No, no, he can't... He's not allowed to... I don't want to!

As the car slowed to a stop, Near held Optimus up in front of him - a desperate attempt to shield himself from what was coming - and hugged both of his knees to his chest. He would fight the driver as well as he could - which, admittedly, wasn't all that well; he didn't want to do this, not again.

"I know you don't really care, kid," the driver said, once his laughter died down, and Near cringed in anticipation of what the man would say next. "It's good that you're trying to be polite, though..."

Near's arms tensed even more, his eyes widening. Why hadn't the driver insulted him yet? Why was this man still in the front-seat of the car, not in the back, with Near?

I can't I can't I can't I can't I can't do this, not again, I can't-

When the car started moving again, Near could hardly dare to believe that the temporary halt had been because of a red light.

"You alright back there?" the driver asked, and Near realised that he wasn't breathing.

He took in a great, shuddering breath, and stuttered, "W-Who is your s-second cousin? What's his n-name?" He wanted to upset this man; he'd made Near so uncomfortable and upset and scared - what right did he have to do that?

"He's probably a few years older than you... Abel's his name."

Near released a high, breathy, and slightly hysterical breath. "'A-Abel'? I know him... Well, I've met him, anyway. Do you want me to pass on a message?" he offered, though his heart wasn't in it. He needed to make this man hurt.

"No, thanks..." the driver said. "I'm just... worried about him. Does he seem kind of... down to you?"

Near tried hard not to smirk as he replied, "Well... Yes, a bit..."

He knew where to hit this man, now: Near knew how to hurt him.

"Shit," the driver swore, and Near could hear the panic in his voice. His heart twinged feebly, and he wondered if this was really the best choice of action.

The rest of the journey passed in relative silence, and Near didn't know whether to be satisfied or worried.

When they reached the gaol, the driver, a tall, thin man, wearing a thick trench-coat, opened Near's door, and they walked one hundred metres to the automatic doors marking the entrance to the only building in sight.

They entered the building, and Near felt that such a clean and normal environment was unbefitting for a gaol: wasn't there supposed to be barbed wire lining the perimeter, and snipers ready to shoot on site?

They walked over to a large desk, where a young woman sat, talking into the microphone on her ear-piece.

"Good morning," she greeted them, her straight, white teeth gleaming in the bright lights above her head. "How may I help you?"

The driver didn't look surprised by her address; he pulled an envelope out of his coat and said, "You'll find all the information you need in there."

She took one look at the envelope before standing up, her lips stretched tight across her teeth. "Well then," she said brightly, "let's get going, shall we?"

Near didn't like her for several reasons: when she saw him, her smile took on a slightly condescending tone, and when she saw Optimus Prime, held firmly to his chest, she looked downright patronising.

On top of that were the facts that she had a fake tan (her skin looked orange, and Near was tempted to laugh), her hair was limp and dull from peroxide, she wore make-up that was at least an inch thick, the top three buttons of her shirt were undone, revealing far more skin than Near wanted to see (girls were gross), and whatever she was wearing around her waist probably didn't even constitute a skirt.

"I'm Cat," she said as they walked through white, sterile halls. "What's your name?"

Near understood her to be speaking to him - her voice was high, and she spoke slowly, as if he was stupid.

If she wanted a stupid child, then a stupid child she would get.

"I'm Santa," Near replied, and watched, satisfied, as her horrible smile faded slightly.

"Well..." Cat said. "That's... interesting. Do you like Transformers?"

Near rolled his eyes and looked up at the driver for help. The man shook his head slightly, and Near sighed as he replied, "No, I'm only carrying an Optimus Prime figurine around for the added convenience."

Cat didn't realise that she was being mocked: she asked, as though this topic interested her, "Really?"

Optimus Prime was starting to get sick of her as well; Near could tell by the toy's slightly narrowed eyes.

"Nope," Near answered. "I lied."

"I used to have a Megatron toy-" Near cringed - Heaven was much more than a toy, "-when I was younger. I used to carry it around everywhere, too."

"That's wonderful," Near said, and, unsurprisingly, Cat made no further attempts to start a conversation.

They passed row after row of cells, some empty, some inhabited, and Near wondered how deep into the gaol Nathan's cell was.

As the minutes went by, Near was beginning to doubt his decision to visit Nathan. What was he trying to achieve? What could he achieve? Nathan was a rapist, an arsonist, and a murderer - he'd raped Heaven, burned her, and killed her, and Near could do nothing to bring her back.

This wasn't about closure any more - had it ever been? - and Near wondered if it was some strange form of masochism that kept him walking.

Finally, after what seemed to be an eternity, they reached a room with a large, white, and very intimidating door, and Near started to feel nauseous.

"Go on in," Cat said, as if Near had never seen a door before. "There's a two-way mirror, so we can see what's going on. Don't worry: he can't hurt you." With a pat on Near's shoulder that was probably supposed to be reassuring, she and the driver left for a different room, and Near stared at the door.

Could he really do this? Could he speak to the man who had ruined everything? Could he even look at this scum without vomiting?

Near reached up a shaking hand and opened the door.

Nathan set his steely gaze on his son, and they both stood there, still and silent, for what could have been years.

"Bonjour, Papa," Near finally said, and Nathan smiled, his teeth yellowed and crooked; Near held Optimus closer.

"Hello, son. How've you been?"

-----

Salaut - Bastard

Fils de pute - Son of a bitch

-----

AN: Oh, God.

I am so sorry for not updating in so long...

I have several thousand excuses, the most important of which being:

My work hours are screwed completely. One of my colleagues just decided that he didn't want to work Saturdays, so I now have his hours.

Recently, it was assessment time at school, so I had assignments and/or exams for every single frikin' subject. I had an oral presentation, an exam, and an assignment to do for Legal Studies, all in one week, if that gives you any idea of how hectic my schedule was.

I still haven't recovered from the epic illness that attacked me earlier this year - I'm sure that the many diseases that I have are breeding with each other and creating new, ultimate illnesses as I type this.

On top of the epic mega illness, my throat infection is playing up, and I haven't been able to get out of bed some days.

I haven't been home much, so that means no laptop - I've had gigs coming out of my ears, stupid work hours, rehearsals for about fifty different things, parties, and a whole load of other things. Mendokuse.

Life at home hasn't been too great, and then there's that whole 'I have a girlfriend; does that make me gay?' thing.

Ummm...

I think that that may be it.

Needless to say, I am trying to juggle everything and leave time for writing, but it's not working out too well ^^;