Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note. Quote line is The Libertines and I will totally regret using it on this chapter later because I love that quote. I also slipped in a quote from Desiderata later on, by Max Ehrman. Which you should reeeead.
Note: Hahaha I was reading over the first chapter of this to remind myself what I wrote and I realised that I let me 'Halle is Seven of Nine' idea come across in her speech a bit. Any Voyager geeks out there will be sitting there going "WHUT SHE IS NOTHING LIKE SEVEN" but guys she totally is. To me. And Seven is kickass.
Also, an actual relevant note. I know I said this would be three chapters. But see, here's the thing. I lied. After the last chapter, and a couple of the reviews it got, I've decided on a couple of other things I want to toss in here, and I'm going to drag it out a bit. I know it means the first bit is a little rushed and the rest is more drawn out, but maybe the same excuse will work on you guys that works on my friend: "it has Mello, it has PRETTY". Yes this chapter is full of angst and alcohol. Lol it's all I can write.
I'm sorry for the delayed update. I was going to let this fade out and then keem yelled at me for not updating and so I did and now I have renewed vigour. Woop.
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do we just keep on pretending, and hope our luck is never ending
Halle is fed up of getting in late but when you work for Near, it isn't a choice. She supposes she should be proud, exhausted but glowing with the feeling of a job well done, one of the few people in the country working against Kira and getting closer to bringing him to his knees.
Only tonight she doesn't feel proud, she doesn't feel strong or noble or like her job means anything. She feels dirty all over, and she's shaking a little, and she puts the kettle on for coffee and then changes her mind and pours herself a brandy. She drinks it too fast and grimaces, before pushing the glass towards the sink.
She can't get rid of the feeling of filth. She showers, dries herself off, sits in front of her mirror and still doesn't feel clean, so she showers again, turning the heat up and crossing her arms across her chest, drawing deep breaths of warm air. Eventually, she just feels uncomfortable, under the constant pressure and heat and some fleeting, artistic part of her brain decides that that's an appropriate metaphor for her life.
Exploded. It had exploded. How the hell had Mello's base exploded? No, that was a stupid question. She knew, really - it would have been rigged that way. If Near weren't so certain he wouldn't be caught out Halle is about ninety percent certain that he would have rigged their base to explode on command, so she settles on that explanation for Mello's base going up.
The other explanation, of course, is that the task force - in their infinite wisdom - decided blowing up a boy barely out of his teens was a worthy goal, and Halle really doesn't want to think of that as a viable option.
The entire evening had been a horror story. Out of nowhere Near got a report that the taskforce was moving in on Mello's base, then that the base had blown up. And Halle had hovered behind him the whole time, as the almost-albino's mind worked and whirred and she and Gevanni and Rester were made completely redundant, except to dash out to fetch paper or look something up.
What side am I on?
Halle steps out of the shower, into the sudden silence and coolness of the bathroom. She exhales.
What are the sides, for God's sake?
She doesn't know. She really doesn't know. Because Mello and Near, and even the taskforce - well, they're running the same race for different reasons, and Mello's playing dirty. Near - well, Near is Near. Near is playing fair because right now, that works for him. Halle doesn't have very many delusions about her boss. He looks like a kid and can't function without a toy in his hands and on some days, he scares her more than Mello, because he is perfect - a genius, pure, almost invisible, translucent and hovering just out of reach. And perfection has always, always meant the eradication of emotion, so Halle knows she can't count on Near for anything.
Mello, on the other hand - now, Mello, he's full of feeling and passion and drive and emotion. He is charged with it, running off a never-ending supply of aggression and self-loathing and anger. He doesn't walk through life, he blazes, not just setting things aflame but tearing them apart in a tornado of ash and fire.
And that means Halle can't count on him either. Not, of course, that she thinks for one second that she has formed a bond with Mello, to the extent where she'd have the chance to depend on him. There is no dependence in their relationship. It's all cold hard facts, brutal bargaining and the occasional round of toast on the days he's just too tired to slink off her couch before she wakes up.
She's seen the pictures Near got by satellite. The base in ruins, rubble and bodies strewn across the place. The kind of devastating fallout that people use to prove that bombs can be dangerous, after a scare when one goes off and no one dies and there's only a little dent in the side of a train station. She didn't see Mello in the picture. She didn't expect to.
Halle realises that she has been standing in her bathroom for a good ten minutes now. The water clinging to her hair has gone cold, and a drop trickles unpleasantly down her spine. She shivers. She drops the towel, and goes back to the shower.
-
Three days later there is a knock at the door. Halle has scraped a few, precious hours off, a window to 'go placidly amid the noise and haste', if only for a day, and the knocking depresses her. But she answers the door because nowadays she doesn't know what might be important, or who might be dead.
She isn't expecting the sight she's greeted with, but she's a professional, so she steps back from the doorway and lets the strange red-head drag Mello's unconscious form into her apartment.
The door shuts.
"Halle Lidner, right?" the red-head says. His voice has a twang of the British about it, more pronounced than the faint lilt she picks up in Mello and Near. He looks at her with wide, earnest eyes, and looks like he doesn't care if she's bloody Kira so long as she'll help Mello.
"Yes. What happened to - no, this was - his base?"
The red-head nods. Halle thinks he might be around Mello's age, maybe a little younger. She thinks, suddenly and fleetingly, that he might be his brother, because to drag someone in the state Mello is across the country and onto the doorstep of someone he didn't know would probably take a lot more than some friendly compassion.
"Onto the couch. Come on, help me - name?" She shoots the last bit as a question at him.
"Matt," he answers, too casually for giving a name in this day and age, and she wonders if he even knows what Mello's involved in here. What she's involved in.
Then she catches sight of Mello's face, and realises that if she was the one who'd just brought him in here, protecting her name would be the least of her worries too.
The skin on half of his face is melted away. Flesh is visible underneath, pale and then vibrant all of a sudden, chunks of skin still clinging on, dirt and soot making a harsh outline of the wound. He has burns down that side of his body, too, and in places the leather has fused to his skin. A gash, probably caused by glass or timber, runs across his stomach, and the strips of material that had been used as a makeshift bandage are peeling away.
Halle covers her mouth, turns her head to the side. For a second, her vision is blurred, and her throat is constricted, and she's sure she's going to make some kind of over-emotional noise. Get a grip. You're the adult here, she thinks. You're the professional. Get a hold of yourself, be calm. Think.
"Matt. Get me some towels." She points to the bathroom. She's already heading to the kitchen. "And bring all the tablets you can find from the cabinet on the left."
She hears him scrambling up, heading to the bathroom, and she pulls open the nearest cabinet. She keeps the rubbing alcohol next to the real stuff for a good reason, she thinks, pouring herself a very large brandy. She hesitates, and then pulls down a second glass for Matt.
When she gets back, Matt is crouched next to Mello, carefully avoiding looking at his face. He staggers to his feet when she comes into the room, scooping the towels off the floor and holding out one of the bottles of pills. Halle gestures for him to sit down, and starts rooting through the pills, setting aside the ones that look useful.
Suddenly remembering, she passes Matt his brandy. He looks at her, and somewhere between her inviting him into her home no questions asked and offering him alcohol, they've decided they trust each other. He takes the brandy and doesn't smile, because new friendships aside Mello is still potentially dying a few feet away. They both take a quick mouthful of the burning spirit, and get to work.
-
Matt is nineteen, lazy, and vaguely anti-establishment. He's a hacker, a slacker, he has a lopsided grin that flickers on and off, once they've got Mello into a mostly-stable condition and confined him to Halle's bed. Halle notices that under his body warmer he's not wearing anything else, and realises where the strips of cloth across Mello's stomach came from. She offers him one of Rester's shirts that she was supposed to be returning after having them cleaned for him.
Halle is older, wiser and much, much more tired, and she knows that even if Mello makes it through tonight and past tomorrow, he's living a life that means he won't be lucky for that much longer.
But she knows that Matt doesn't need to be told that right now, and perhaps not at all. She knows eventually, he'll work it out, because she's seen it in his eyes - he's following Mello now, and if Mello goes down Matt is going to be going down with him. It's ridiculous, suicidal, and - Halle thinks, as she casts a glance towards her bedroom door - absolutely and completely understandable.
Quietly, in a dark apartment, they clink glasses to a job well done and a life well saved. They both have questions, but it'll wait until morning.
Halle still doesn't know which side she's on. But if this is the one she's doomed to live - and die - on, she thinks she might be able to cope with that.
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Second note: Guys please don't let me turn this into Halle/Matt. I know you didn't even think it was possible but now I have them in a room together and I just want to. Please stopme. Mello/Halle. Say it to me if you choose to review. Mello/Halle. Bialy, if you want to deviate, do a oneshot or something. Don't mess this up with your inability to put Matt in a room with a woman without wanting to pair them up. This is exactly what happened with Pyrotechnics.