Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note, I never have, and move than likely I never will.

A/N: First off, sorry for taking so long. I kept procrastinating, then when I finally told myself I had to write, I got writer's block. Mello still doesn't particularly like me. I'm trying to cut a deal in which I give him chocolate every time he cooperates. He usually refuses and just stands there and dislikes me. I think it's improving, though. Slowly. And I hit 100 reviews! It's exciting. Thank you! *hugs for everybody* And thanks of course to my lovely beta/RP partner DessArtem, even though she decided to just turn me loose for this chapter and not give me any Mello-advice. But it worked out. And now I'm done with this obscenely long AN.

Chapter 16: Twelve

Eventually, in spite of the fact that I was sandwiched between the dead weight of Mello and the rather unyielding floor, I managed to doze off. When I woke up later, Mello had vanished, and I felt as though I had been hit by a small bus. Or a large car. Or perhaps an out-of-control cyclist. Having never actually been hit by any of those, I couldn't really make an accurate comparison. I decided to just tell myself I'd been hit by a Mello and leave it at that.

After that assessment, I sat up, which made my head start throbbing like nothing else. "Ow…" I mumbled. I wasn't sure which was worse – the headache or the slightly duller but unrelenting pain in my jaw, which, based on how it felt, was probably rather bruised on the right side. Damn, Mello could throw a punch. I was glad I'd picked that fight while he was both injured and high. Not that I was any less injured for it…

I was about to stand up when I heard footsteps coming from the kitchen. At the same instant, I saw something black vanish around the side of the doorway to the bedroom. So, it wasn't gone. Damn.

"You're awake," Mello commented, crouching down next to me. By the looks of it, he'd changed the bandages over his burn. It looked like he'd had a bit of trouble with the ones on his arm, but he seemed to have done alright otherwise. "You sleep like a rock."

"'m not surprised," I muttered, rubbing the back of my head. "But I don't think rocks bruise."

Mello, to his credit, looked apologetic. "Let me see." Without waiting for an answer, he reached out and ran his fingers carefully along my jaw, which hurt like a bitch. I gritted my teeth, and Mello quickly took his hand away. "It doesn't feel broken."

"If it's not broken, what color is it?" I asked. If it was going to be sore anyway, it might as well be a spectacular color.

"Um, bruise color. Purple, brown and vaguely yellow."

Well, I guess I hadn't really expected a rainbow. I wasn't sure what I was expecting. I wasn't expecting Mello to still look sorry, that was for sure. "Eh, I'll be fine." I rubbed the back of my head again in a failed attempt to relieve my headache.

Mello stood up. "You might want to get up before the pancakes get cold," he advised, heading into the kitchen.

"You made pancakes?" I asked, pushing myself to my feet and following him. "When did you learn to cook?"

"It's not particularly complicated. You just read the recipe and do what it says. If you didn't have the attention span of a hyperactive gerbil, you could probably make something other than canned soup." He put two plates of pancakes on the table. "Do you have syrup?"

"Um…" I looked around the kitchen. "I think it's in that cupboard by the sink. I'll check. You might've tossed it while you were cleaning." I crossed the kitchen and wrenched the cupboard open. I was greeted by a small avalanche of mostly-empty bottles of…stuff. Dish soap and olive oil and 409, and a few other things I couldn't quite identify.

I was beginning to think Mello might've been right about me being a slob. I guessed that he was thinking that too, since I could've sworn I heard him mutter something that sounded like, "You're hopeless."

"Where's the ibuprofen."

I withdrew my head from the cabinet. "I don't think I have any. What do you need it for?"

"I need it for you. You keep wincing every time you move."

I unearthed the half-full bottle of syrup I'd spotted at the very back of the cupboard and stood up. "Don't worry about it. I'm just stiff from falling asleep on the floor." I tossed him the syrup – which he thankfully caught – and grabbed some forks.

Mello sat down at the table and started dumping syrup on his pancakes. "Go lie down after you eat." I opened my mouth to protest, but he cut me off. "Just lie down on the bed and take a nap. Humor me."

I decided it was best to eat my pancakes and not argue with him. Then I realized something. Two somethings, but I figured I'd deal with them one at a time. "Why are we eating pancakes at five o'clock in the afternoon?"

"Because we never ate breakfast."

"Where did you get the chocolate chips for them?"

"You got them the last time you went to the store." He frowned. "I didn't give you a concussion, did I?"

"Mello, all you gave me was a grocery list a mile long. It's not surprising I can't remember anything on it. I'm fine."

Mello didn't look convinced. We ate the rest of our breakfast – supper – whatever meal it was supposed to be – in silence. Mello finished first, then watched me like a hawk and snatched my plate the second I was done. "Now go lay down." I was halfway out of the kitchen when he added, "And don't even think about playing any games."

That thought had definitely crossed my mind, but the look on Mello's face led me to believe acting on that thought wouldn't be my best idea in the world. "I'm banishing the idea from my mind."

Mello snorted. Apparently he didn't find that believable. I didn't really find it believable either, to be completely honest. But that was because I knew what I was thinking. He, on the other hand – well, actually, he probably knew what I was thinking too. So, despite the fact that my PSP was conveniently on the nightstand, I flopped down onto the bed without so much as touching it. Then I had to deal with getting comfortable. Surprisingly enough, it was difficult to find a comfortable way to lie after you'd been punched in the face, shoved into a wall, and tackled twice. It wasn't that bad, but my bed wasn't that comfortable to start with, so I couldn't find any way to lie that was any more comfortable than the one I'd been in when I woke up on the floor.

I was just sinking into the dull boredom that came with gamelessness when I heard Mello walk in. I opened my eyes. "Checking to make sure I'm not playing games?"

"Yes." Mello sat down on the other side of the bed and handed me an ice pack. "Put this on your jaw. It might help."

I turned over onto my side so I could balance the ice pack – which seemed to be made of a bag of frozen peas and a towel – on my face without using my hands. "Thanks."

Mello was silent for a moment. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," I said, catching the ice pack, which had started to slide when I spoke.

Mello frowned. "No, it's not. I shouldn't have beaten you up."

I sighed and sat up, setting the ice pack down on the bed. "Mello, it's okay. I've known you since I was seven, and this is the first time you've actually injured me, as far as I can remember, and this time I provoked you, so I'll take the blame for it."

"I've hurt you before. Do you…? Yeah, you do still have that scar."

"What scar?"

"The one on your cheek from when I threw my history book at you."

It took me a minute to remember what he was talking about. "Oh. I remember I was pissing you off then, too. And you weren't exactly aiming for me anyway, so that was an accident. That doesn't count."

"Still."

"Mello, I'm over it. You don't need to keep blaming yourself. It's not like you did any lasting damage. You should take a nap too – maybe you'll feel less guilty when you wake up and find out I'm back to doing stupid crap."

He stood up. "I'm not tired." He went over to the doorway, turned off the lights, and then shut the door and came back over to sit on the bed. "But I'll lie down anyway."

I rolled my eyes and pulled off my goggles, then laid back down and put the ice pack back on my jaw. Within five minutes, I heard Mello's breathing even out. Not tired my ass. But I figured it was probably a better use of my time to sleep than to ridicule Mello's pride in my head. Not to mention it was probably better for my health, since he did seem to have a way of knowing what I was thinking.