Disclaimer: OH HAY GUESS WHAT I OWN DEATH NOTE NOW. Except, not. Not mine, making no money, just borrowing and bastardising. Lyrics are Metro Station - Seventeen Forever. I really like Metro Station mmkay.
Note: Sometimes when I'm writing about Mello I think I might just be trying to see how many adjectives I can get into one story. There is less happening in this chapter than I originally intended. I was going to take this right up to just after Mello makes Halle take him to the SPK HQ but I decided this would be a better cut off point and I would just try to get another chapter with you quicker. After having Mello unconscious for about half of my MELLO STORY, I am enjoying having him awake, and I hope you will too.
Errr, if this story wasn't an M before, it is now. Though it makes me lol that I have given this chapter the least sexy title EVER.
x
we're one mistake from being together
so let's not ask why it's not right
you won't be seventeen forever
and we can get away with this tonight
-
Mello is a changed man.
He is still standing in the doorway of Halle's bedroom. He is obviously weak - the hand pressed against the doorframe is doing a little more than just looking imposing. He is bloodied. He is scarred. He is unwashed and in the days since she saw him last, the fresh-faced, feline boy with the perfectly groomed attitude has changed, mutated into this rough, towering pillar of anger and old fire. Mello has always been odd, always been a little too strange and a little wild, but now there is something dark about his anger, deep and coarse, like an oncoming storm.
Mello-the-boy has been eaten away at, pulled under the white foam of the mountain rapids in the dark of a tunnel, and now, standing before them, is a man who has seen death, who has caused death, who, for all his bravado and strength and brilliance, should be dead -
Only he isn't dead. He's standing in the doorway of Halle's bedroom looking as mad as hell.
Halle, she thinks this is hitting her harder than it should have. The breath has been knocked out of her, her throat his tight, all relief and terror and shame at the feeling at once. And all of a sudden it hits her, that she doesn't know how she got here - got to caring about him - changed from reluctantly accepting this strange boy into her life to liking having him there, to craving him there, to finding herself lost for words and stunned in her own apartment after she's saving his damned life.
The first thing he says comes out as a growl, a snarl. "Someone had better tell me what's going on right now."
Halle regains herself. Not quickly enough to kid herself that she's simply glad he isn't dead, and nothing more, but really, she passed that point when she let a guy she didn't know drag him over her doormat and lied to one of Near's contacts to get him medicine. She gets to her feet.
"What's going on here, Mello," she says, her tone all ice and coolness, the perfect foil to his bubbling hostility, "is a little gathering intent on saving your life. Do you have a problem with that?"
Mello crosses the space between them in half of a heartbeat, and all of a sudden he is very close. He is, Halle notices, about three inches shorter than her. She doesn't really feel at an advantage. His breath is awful, a testament to days spent unconscious, he reeks of sweat and flame and leather, and something about the scent hits her -
"I didn't ask for your help." Low, harsh. Not venomous. Mello would never have the self control to be venomous.
"Forgive us for caring what happened to you."
His lip curls. "Why should you even care anyway, Lidner? I'm blackmailing you, remember?"
"Why I care," Halle replies, all stone and control, "is not of your concern. I would have thought that the fact that this caring has led to your survival would be more -"
"Well, you were wrong," he hisses, teeth bared, eyes narrowed, extremes in everything, a caricature of emotion.
"Mello, we were just trying to help -" This is Matt, swaying to his feet, more uncertain, voice unsteady. He is hanging back, shoulders slumped, and everything about his posture makes Halle think 'submissive', a dog that expects to be kicked. Like he knows he's done wrong. Like he knows he shouldn't have tried to save his life.
"I DON'T NEED YOUR HELP!"
Halle steps backwards, shocked. His attention has left her; he is completely focused on Matt. It strikes her suddenly that he has been ignoring him, deliberately ignoring him, right until now. And now he's shouting, fists balled, face contorted.
"I TOLD YOU NOT TO COME!"
"Mello, I just - it's not - I -"
"Mello, for the love of peace, keep your voice down, or we shall all be arrested." Halle has regained herself, and she steps forward, and places her hand at the point where his shoulder becomes chest, firmly.
"I don't care." But he's dropped his volume.
"You ought to. You know what will happen if you are found."
"I'm as good as dead anyway," he says, and his eyes are fixed on Matt, and Halle doesn't know if he's talking about Kira, the explosion, or something about the skinny red-haired boy hovering behind her. It shouldn't matter.
"No you're not," Matt says, sounding stubborn. He still looks like he expects Mello to lash out at any second, but now that's kind of mingled with him realising that nothing he can say is going to stop that if it's coming. "You're not going to die."
Mello snorts. He looks like he wants to tear the place apart. "Like hell, Matt. You haven't got a clue what's going on here. You're useless."
"He managed to bring you across the country whilst avoiding detection," Halle snaps. Mello has no right to call Matt useless.
Mello is, for a second, taken aback. Then, for the first time, he looks around, and seems to realise where he is.
"Lidner. This is your apartment."
"Astounding. Your skills of deduction are rivalled only be those of L himself."
"Shut the hell up. You didn't even know L."
Halle does not respond. Mello looks at her for a few seconds, as if hoping the force of his rage will push more explanation out of her, but Halle isn't volunteering anything. If Mello wants to know, he can damn well ask.
He doesn't ask. He turns on his heel and strides back into Halle's bedroom. As he rummages through things, making far more noise than would ever be necessary, or perhaps even possible, Matt and Halle look at each other. They do not speak. Maybe this is goodbye for them.
Then Mello reappears. He is carrying a pillowcase, and from what Halle can make out, it has his medications inside it. He points at her. "I'll be seeing you soon," he says, grimly. So he's leaving. Leaving, but not stopping - oh no, the chase is still on and Kira will be his, and Halle should have known, she should have known years and years ago when she joined the FBI that this was going to happen, at some point, that she could only be stone and ice for so long until…
"I won't be seeing you." He is speaking to Matt. It is an order.
"Mello -"
"I won't," Mello repeats, voice low and deadly, "be seeing you."
He turns. He finds his boots. The last look he shoots them is loaded with mistrust and anger, and then he's gone.
And only Mello could make stumbling out of someone's apartment with a pillowcase full of pain meds and unlaced boots look even remotely imposing.
-
There is a brief period that night, after both Matt and Halle have reluctantly decided to settle down to sleep, where they both drift in and out of consciousness, half-thinking that Mello is going to come back. When Halle's alarm goes off at 7.45 and she opens the door of her bedroom at 7.48, the couch is empty, and she knows, as surely as she has known anything, that Mello will not be coming back.
She also knows, just as surely, that the fact that that bothers her is going to cause problems down the line. The nature of these problems, she thinks, has been defined by half-remembered dreams of golden hair and hot breath and seared skin. But she is Halle Lidner, femme fatale and agent extraordinaire, so she pushes the thought aside.
Matt has slept on the floor again. He could, just as easily, have taken Mello's now-vacated spot on the couch, but there he is, on the ground beside it, one lone cushion under his head and one of the jackets Halle bought him as a blanket. He wakes up, bleary eyed and disorientated, and in that gap between sleeping and waking he catches sight of the empty couch, and panic flares up in his eyes. Then, he's waking up properly, and he remembers, and Halle thinks that if she hadn't been FBI trained she wouldn't have noticed the slight, defeated slump of his shoulders.
"He'll be back, eventually," she says, with far more confidence than she feels. Matt nods, almost automatically. Halle sighs.
"Can I - um -" Matt falters. He is cross legged now, looking lost, brow furrowed. "Can I - I mean - if you don't mind, Ms Lidner, could I please stay here for a few more days? I - I don't really have anywhere to go."
Halle turns, sinking into her hip and studying him. Sometimes, when he looks at her, she sees the keen glint of unfettered intelligence behind his eyes, the kind of shackle-less brilliance bred into the kids from the Wammy's House. There is no doubt as to what this boy is. But other times - like now, when he is nineteen and sitting on her floor and Mello has just cast him off like a dirty shirt - Matt is far, far more human than anyone she has come into contact with recently.
"Of course you can. On one condition," she adds, and Matt looks up at her nervously. "You must promise to take as much food from my kitchen as you need. I do not wish to come home to find you have starved to death because I had to work overtime."
Smiling weakly, Matt nods. "And er- could I have a shower?"
"Go right ahead. There are clean towels next to the sink. I will have breakfast ready in about twenty minutes."
Muttering awkward thank-yous, Matt disappears into the bathroom. As Halle peels bacon out of the packet and lays it on a tray to grill, there is the hiss of the shower sputtering into life, and then the sound of running water.
She is just turning the last piece of bacon when she hears the click of the gun, and feels its muzzle press coldly against the small of her back. She does not need to turn or to hear him speak to know the man behind her.
"Where's Matt?" Mello asks.
Halle answers, quietly, steadily. "He's in the shower."
"Turn around."
Halle obeys.
Mello has been gone for perhaps eight hours. In that time, he has procured a change of clothes - all leather and zips, much more heavy, much less elegant than his old attire - and a gun, though these acquisitions have done nothing to sweeten his mood. He is still glowering, still dark with fury. Dark, Halle thinks, is absolutely the right word for him now - his childish malevolence has hardened into something else, something scarred by the harshness of reality, fused into hot bitterness and utter recklessness. It is broad daylight and he has entered her apartment with a gun.
He is looking at her. He has the same tinge of teenage lust in his gaze, but behind that is a deeper - and, again, darker - intent. Halle knows, she knows totally and absolutely, that she should be terrified. But her heart is racing for a different reason.
"Did Matt bring me here? After I -"
Halle spares him the difficulty of finding the right words to describe the events that wound up tearing half his face off, and nods. "He was very concerned about you."
He scoffs.
"Good friends are hard to find, Mello."
"Don't lecture me." He presses the gun against her, into the soft flesh of her side. He is extremely close. She can feel his breath on her, feel his eyes burrowing into her. He smells of chocolate and soot. She thinks it is a smell he will never quite manage to shift.
"Do you mind me asking why you are here?"
"I still need to know more. I wanted to let you know you are still going to be spying on Near for me."
Halle does not move. Mello is still watching her, looking strangely hungry, and the smell of bacon fills the room. Some of it, she is sure, will have burnt. The rush of water from the shower can still be heard.
Mello is very close.
"Send Matt out of the house. I'm going to want to talk to you. Not now, after work."
"Why can't you just -"
"Matt goes," Mello says, low and bestial. "Or I will find another way of getting my information." The gun at her ribs punctuates his point, but for some reason, Halle does not quite believe him. And she knows she is going to do what he tells her anyway.
God, he is so close. She can see each broken line of his lips, see where the dull grey line around his irises melts into clear blue. Deftly, out of sight, the gun is twirled in his hand and his fingers take its place, firm against her side, warm against the fabric of her gown. His face is set and hard. His other hand runs up her arm, she shivers, and he reaches her hair, wrapping strands around his fingers. He isn't wearing gloves, she notices. He's always wearing gloves. The tips of his hair brush her cheek as he leans forward, ever so slightly.
If Mello moves any closer, he is going to be -
The shower shuts off. In a blur of black, his hands have left her, the door of her apartment has shut, and except for her and some charred pieces of bacon, her kitchen is empty.
"Halle?"
Matt is standing in front of her, fully clothed and hair fluffy from being towel-dried. At least a few minutes must have elapsed, but she hasn't moved. It doesn't feel as if time has been moving. Her heart still hasn't caught up with the fact that Mello is gone, and Halle draws a deep breath, struggling to get her body back into rhythm.
"Halle?" Matt asks again, anxiously. Absently, she notices there is a thin curl of smoke rising from the grill. "Are you okay?"
"I don't think the bacon is going to be edible," she says.
Matt moves forward. "Seriously, what just happened?" Then his features clear. "Oh. Oh. He was - he came back, didn't he?"
"I think we're going to have to have toast instead." Halle looks up, her heart still out of time.
Matt studies her for a few more seconds, and then nods. "I love toast," he says decisively, and squeezes her shoulder firmly.
-
At eight o'clock that evening, Halle is alone in her apartment. Outside, the sky is dark, November bringing its shroud of darkness down earlier and earlier each day. She has made herself coffee, and is sitting in an armchair staring at a book. Every now and again, she turns a page, unaware of what the story is about.
After hearing what Halle had to say about her encounter with Mello as the bacon burnt, Matt had told her that he would do as Mello wanted, and absent himself from the apartment that evening. Halle had protested, and Matt had turned to her, eyebrows raised, and said, "Come on, you've met him. You think he's really going to let the fact that I wouldn't go out change his plans? He'll just kidnap you. You'll me way more comfortable here." Halle had to admit he had a point, and had bid him farewell at six o'clock.
At ten past eight, Halle places down her coffee mug and goes into the bathroom. When she emerges, Mello is standing in the middle of her living room, unarmed, all wiry muscles and warm leather, completely at odds with every piece of furniture she owns, and she is sure that if he so much as moves, all the coiled up anger and energy locked inside him is going to morph into a hurricane and tear the place apart.
And then he does move, powerful and determined, and before Halle knows what is going on she is crushed against the door to her bathroom, and his strong hands are pinning her back. She is dimly aware of there being one on her hip, and the other on her shoulder. His face is contorted, somewhere between a snarl and something undistinguishable, but Halle knows that she has nothing to be afraid of.
Then, he is close, closer than he was that morning, closer than he has ever been, and his lips are pressed against hers, clumsy, unpractised, and brutish. Halle has no time to think, she simply presses back, unyielding, and then Mello's hands are everywhere, and then his lips, are, too, and then oh God she's naked, and then -
She is grateful, afterwards, that Mello had the good grace to manoeuvre them towards her bed for what may or may not have been his first sexual experience. It is only natural that he spends the entire time on top, pressing her down, dominating her, and she knows there are reasons other than modesty that make him turn the lights off. He is inexperienced but refuses to allow her to guide him; he is full of anger and desire and desperation, and in the dark, with the smell of him surrounding her, Halle finally admits to herself those thoughts that have only been half-formed until now, finally admits that she really does care too much about this flame-edged youth with a devastated past and no future at all.
His hand finds her cheek as he fumbles for her lips again, and this time it is different, suddenly and terrifyingly tender. In that moment, Halle Lidner changes, and though she does not know it, she will never be the same again.
He gasps, his lips against her ear, just as she cries out, and the heat and the darkness and Mello are all so close that she cannot tell them apart.
x
Note deux: B'aw, please excuse my hideousness at writing anything that even verges on smut. ALSO ALSO exciting news, to run parallel to this/the next chapter or so, there is going to be a MATT/HALLE one shot requested by Taoi Ryder :D It'll basically be like an alternate version of part of this story done as if Halle gets it on with Matt instead. Because, you know, none of us are really in Death note for the erudite philosophical debates and cunningly operated plans. We're in it for the shower scenes.