Disclaimer: Don't own Death Note, Mello, Halle, Matt, Rester or Near. However, the two foodstuffs mentioned in this chapter happen to be practically the only non-microwaveable things I can cook. I ownz mad pasta making skills. Quite is Desiderata, Max Erham. Uh. Ehrman? I've credited it before in this fic anyway.
Note: Yes, it's not dead. Thanks to koomiii (I hope I spelt that right, I am too tired to check, sorry m'dear :D) I got my second wind and hopefully this won't be a one-off random update but the start of a new spree. I have the next chapter completely mapped out in my head so hopefully it'll mean I'll get round to doing it quicker. This feels a bit like a non-chapter to me, really, but...it's necessary. For me. Bridging gaps again. Also I like Matt so blah. And this ISN'T Matt/Halle, it just kinda looks that way if you squint. It's just kind of hard to write Mello/Halle when he's unconscious. Don't worry. The action will be MAD when he comes to. Um. I hope.
Yeah, anyway, belated Merry Christmas everyone :3
x
Whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should
-
In the morning, Matt wakes up first.
Halle is still asleep when the door of her bedroom creaks open. Padded footsteps of a boy in socks move up to her bed, and the light filtering through the blinds is obscured by a shadow.
"Halle Lidner?"
Distantly, she hears her name. But the recesses of sleep are so warm and so inviting, and she hasn't dreamt about Kira or Mello or Near at all, so it's all so innocent and easy to just stay there, curled up in the blankets, and ignore whoever it is that wants her up.
"Ms Lidner?"
Ignore it. It'll go away, no one stays around to bother that much. It can't be urgent. If it was urgent they'd be more insistent and it's not so...
"Halle?" A poke on her shoulder. And then another poke. And then –
"Okay, okay," she mumbles hoarsely, rolling over, eyes still shut. She raises a hand to bat sleep from her clenched lids, and props herself upright. Then, she opens her eyes. "What are you doing in my room?"
Matt, sihoutted in the morning light, his ridiculous goggles pulled up on his head, shrugs. "Am I not meant to be?"
"Well –" Halle starts, about to explain the reasons why it's mildly inappropriate for this teenage boy to have crept into her room this early in the morning, when she was still asleep, but she stops. She catches sight of the look of pure confusion on his face, of genuine naivety, and she realises that no amount of explaining in the world is going to help. "Never mind, Matt."
"Okay." He grins broadly, pleasantly, pointlessly. It's a little bit shaky around the edges, and she remembers Mello.
"Oh..." she says softly, bringing a hand to her forehead. "Is Mello alright? What time is it? How long have I – When did I -?"
"Um, Mello's fine. Well, kinda. Um, yeah he's not really that fine. He's kind of groaning a lot and contorted a bit and I don't know, I thought it might be a good idea to wake you –"
Halle's already out of bed and pulling on a robe over her pyjamas. It's thin and powder blue and a half-hearted Christmas present from an ex-boyfriend, but right now that doesn't matter. Right now, Mello's in trouble, and he's hurting, and Halle needs to get to him –
And for a second, in the middle of the rising panic and Matt's anxious hand-twisting, she stops.
What?
Mello – but - no. She shouldn't care, not that much. A vested interest, sure, but – this...?
She shakes off the feeling because she's awake now, and all the fancies of dreaming have faded into calm assurance and Halle Lidner. Cool and collected and in control and all business, and right now the business is Mello.
Mello's still on the couch and if she weren't worrying so much, Halle would have wondered where Matt had slept, would have noticed his body warmer bunched up in a makeshift pillow right next to the couch. As things stand, though, she just pushes it aside, leaning over Mello.
"How long has he been like this?" she asks, brushing his fringe aside and pressing the palm of her hand against the flat of his forehead. It's warm, and damp with perspiration.
"A minute or so," Matt tells her. "Is he okay?"
"I don't know," Halle says, reaching for the bag she'd left by the couch the night before. A few painkillers forced down his throat as he drifts into semi-consciousness is all she can manage, and Mello relaxes. He's still breathing and it doesn't look like he's in so much pain. A job well done, she thinks dryly, and sinks back.
Matt drops to the floor next to her, and pulls himself into a cross-legged position. He looks at her expectantly, trustingly, and she's reminded forcibly of a child, maybe a school kid. "Thank you," he says earnestly.
"He needs a doctor," Halle says brusquely, brushing aside his gratitude.
Matt looks worried. "We can't. Mello – um – well I know you know him a bit and probably you know more about him right now than I do, but he's – he's involved in – stuff." He waves his hand inefficaciously.
Halle understands, but shakes her head. "Doesn't matter. There's a doctor – a doctor Near put us onto – who doesn't ask questions if the patient's coming from him. In case anything happens to us on the Kira investigation and we need assistance and can't go to a regular hospital...he doesn't ask for documents, doesn't ask for names – just a face he can trust and a reference from Near."
Matt's brows knit. "That sounds great but how are we going to get a reference from Near?"
And it isn't strange to her for a second that he knows who Near is, and vaguely, she wonders why that is. She's just started accepting what this boy has to say, and...and that doesn't make sense. Not for her.
"Leave that to me," she says, getting to her feet and dusting imaginary dirt from her robe. "We just need to keep him here, and safe, and stable until we can deal with it."
The redhead nods, climbing to his own feet. "What can I do to help?"
"You can look after him." Halle checks the clock, hanging on the wall behind the couch where Mello's sprawled. "I have to go to work in forty minutes. You can stay here today?" It's half inquiry, half order, and Matt nods again.
Halle pulls on clothes while only half-concentrating, and it takes her three tries to successfully do up her bra. Her mind is elsewhere – in the living room, with the burnt-out blond and his puppy-like friend.
Why had she cared so much?
It didn't make any sense. Surely – surely if Mello died, things would be better? No more pressure on her, for a start, one less factor for the SPK to deal with in their fight against Kira, one less dangerous rouge element...
But when Matt had woken her up, told her Mello was in pain, those thoughts hadn't occurred to her at all. The only things she had thought about were getting there quickly, and stopping the pain.
It had been an emotional response, pure and simple, and on one level, that comes as a relief. She knows what it is, and that means she can deal with it. It's just a case of keeping those emotions in check and remembering to use logic instead of just gut-feeling.
The bigger question, though, is just when she got 'emotions' for Mello, and what exactly those emotions are.
She isn't sure she wants to delve too deeply into that matter. Especially not when she's less than an hour away from standing face to face with Near, and having to lie through her teeth for yet another day. So she presses down the rising questions, checks her make-up one last time, straightens her shirt, and pushes open the door.
Matt is sitting by the couch again, staring morosely at the carpet and tracing a pattern on his sock. She notices that his shoes are placed neatly by the door, next to her own, like he's respecting her authority in the apartment and trying his best to follow her rules without imposing enough to actually ask what they are.
The thought that it's sweet crosses her mind a split second before she remembers that he's following Mello and that sweet isn't going to get him anywhere at all.
He looks up, and offers her a smile. "He seems okay now," he tells her, and it's appropriate that he starts the conversation with Mello. It's what they're both most worried about right now, after all.
She nods. "What do you want for breakfast?"
"Huh?"
"Breakfast. You do eat, don't you?" She quirks and eyebrow, and Matt flushes.
"Y-yeah – of course! I – um - what do you – I'll have whatever you're having."
"I'm not."
"Oh. Right. Um...toast?" he suggests, looking embarrassed.
"Toast will be fine."
The kitchen, when she reaches it, is quiet and cool. She pulls some bread out of the bag and slots it into the toaster, pushing down the lever and bending to hunt down the pots of jam she keeps in the cupboards. As she's lining them up on the work surface, someone clears their throat behind her.
Predictably, it's Matt, hovering in the doorway and looking a little uncertain. "Hey," he says. "I just kind of...wanted to say thank you. For Mello. And for letting me hang here with him and stuff."
Halle shrugs. "Don't worry about it." Then, she frowns. "But I must say, Matt. You seem a lot more – well, you seem awkward. A lot more unsure of yourself than you did last night. Any reason why?"
Now it's Matt's turn to shrug and he averts her gaze. The toast pops up, and Halle pulls it out, dropping it onto the plate. As she starts to spread butter over it, she thinks she understands. Last night, Mello had been bleeding and unconscious and at death's door. Matt hadn't cared who he'd gone to so long as they could help. Now, he's had a night and a morning to think on the fact that he's in a strange woman's apartment, trusting both his and Mello's life to someone he doesn't know, imposing on a person he's never met...
No wonder he's a little more shy, she thinks, with a small smile, as she turns to hand him his toast.
-
The day passes slowly – achingly slowly, and every time Near says her name, she starts, convinced he's going to ask her why Mello is in her apartment. But he doesn't, and as slow as it is, the day passes. Halle leaves, heading for home with a file under her arm, and a few thin sheets of paper about the doctor folded neatly inside.
Matt is asleep when she gets in, curled by the couch. Mello seems unmoved and about as peaceful as he's going to get, given the circumstances. Halle lets the door shut behind her, making sure it's quiet, and treading softly as she approaches the sleeping pair.
They're an incongruous pair, at that. Mello, so dark and angry and brooding is so vastly in contrast to the laid-back, self-conscious Matt that for a moment, Halle wonders what the real relationship between them is. She wonders fleetingly if Matt is another lackey, press-ganged into service, but she dismisses the notion. The panic in Matt's eyes that she saw the night before is still lingering in her mind.
So...he's a friend?
Huh. So Mello has friends.
She supposes the notion isn't that strange. After all, doesn't she eat breakfast with him sometimes? Discuss the issues of day? Chat, make jokes, enjoy his company, try to make him laugh because she likes the sound...
And her gaze shifts from Matt, so youthful and relaxed, to Mello.
He looks so much older now.
It's been a few days at the most since she last saw him, but he looks different. Absurdly so, in fact. He looks longer, leaner, tougher, like his scrawny, wiry limbs developed into slender muscle overnight. And with the wound down his face, still raw and bare, he looks older. He looks...well, he doesn't look like a kid anymore.
But Halle can't forget. He is a kid, and she can remember the first night she met him, how childlike he seemed, how damned young he was, and now...now, he looks more than his age, he looks tough and mean and strong and –
This case has aged him, and he's not even supposed to be working on it.
Maybe it'll age Matt, too. It's sure as hell aged her.
-
At eight, Halle is cooking spaghetti. The sauce is simmering, waiting to be served, being kept warm, while she stirs pasta into water and watches it cook. Matt is still asleep, and Mello hasn't woken up or made any kind of movement. Nevertheless, she's made enough for three, out of some vain hope, some fancy. It doesn't matter. It can be frozen down.
The phone rings, and shifting her spatula into her other hand, she reaches across and scoops up the cordless sitting by the kettle before it can wake either of the boys.
"Hello?"
"Lidner?"
"Rester," she says, pleasantly surprised. She likes Rester. He's straightforward and forthright and strong and honest. He's not some daunting child genius like Near or overly-skilled prodigy hotshot like Gevanni. He's just...Rester. "What's up?"
"Oh, nothing much. Just calling to check up. You seemed very distant today. Oh, and to remind you I need my shirts back." There's a smile in his voice. She's spoken to Rester on the phone quite a lot, and even met him for dinner a couple of times, and it's always like this. Strictness and business on the job, and then this relaxed, easy conversation when they're off the clock.
"Yes, I keep forgetting. I'm sorry." Matt flashes up in her mind, and she adds, "I'll bring them tomorrow, but I spilt some wine on one the other day so I need to get it cleaned again. White, don't worry, so it won't stain."
"Glad to hear it. You better be paying."
"I will, don't worry," she smiles.
"So – today?"
Halle pauses, stirring the spaghetti. It's almost done. "I'm fine," she says, trying to make it sound as truthful as possible. And she shouldn't need to have to try, the lie should be slipping out. Easily. Like always. But it isn't – something's stopping her, and the word 'fine' is accompanied by a mental image of blond hair stained red.
And Mello's having far too much of an effect on her for this to be normal.
"It's not Mello, is it?"
For a second her blood runs cold.
"What?" she asks, a little too sharply, and then realises what her tone could have given away.
"The taskforce blowing up his hideout. All that mess. All that death. I thought maybe –"
Halle fights to keep the relief out of her voice. "Oh – right! No, no – I'm fine, really. Thank you. I'm fine."
"...Right." Rester doesn't sound convinced, but he doesn't sound suspicious, either, and as bad as it sounds, Halle is suddenly kind of glad he's always favoured brawn over brains.
"Up for dinner tonight?"
"Hm? Oh, no, I'm sorry. My food's almost ready."
"Okay." Faintly, Rester sounds disappointed, but before Halle can apologise, or ask anything else, he's said, "I'll leave you to it then. Just...call me if you need anything, right? See you, Lidner." And he's hung up.
She turns to see Matt sitting in the doorway. "Colleague?" he asks.
She nods. "And a friend," she adds, on a whim, smiling a little to herself. "I hope you like pasta."
"Love it," Matt says, and she spoons it out and hands him a plate. "Did you get anywhere with the doctor?"
Halle nods as she doles out a second portion. "I got the form that will get him out here. Basically verifies that Near's okayed the call-out. But when he gets here...when he gets here, he's going to realise that Mello's not really on his patients list."
"Then what?"
"Then we have to do some fast talking." She turns to him with a sly smile and a glint in her eye, twirling spaghetti onto her fork. "And I need to pick out a low-cut top."
Matt grins. "No way."
"I'm afraid so."
He's relaxed again, Halle notices, and Matt makes no sense to her at all. It's almost like he'd been worrying that as soon as she woke up he was going to throw him out, throw them both out, that last night was a fluke...but now that her help is guaranteed, he's completely at ease.
Halle isn't used to ease. She's used to suspicion and paranoia and caution and obsession and Death Notes and murder and –
And Matt isn't like that at all, and really, she realises, it's kind of refreshing.