I had a lot of fun writing this chapter…the imagery of my dear Mello being such a prick was, needless to say, endearing to write. ::smirks::

And many thanks to EleganBlack for being super awesome in every way possible! She knows who she is. ::pats on back::

Anyway, enjoy! I don't own Death Note.

"Get her up."

That voice…

"Aw, Mel, back to that already? She's exhausted, for Christ's sake."

Matt…?

"Well, consider the idea that I don't give a flying fuck whether or not she's exhausted. Now, get her up."

No…no, no, no, not him again…

Truth of the matter is that Bea is not asleep on the cement floor, her hair soiled and strewn over her face, and has not been sleeping for hours. At the first sound of footsteps that she heard just minutes before, she had collapsed onto the ground in a seemingly sleeping heap, all the avoid the possible questions that could greet her when the door opened, yet at the same time be aware of what was happening around her. She is careful not to twitch, gasp, breathe even a beat out of step, so careful that her stomach is cramping and twisting at the very idea of Mello learning that she is indirectly lying all to escape him.

But Matt is here…he won't let Mello do anything to me if he's with him…or at least that's what I'd like to think…

"What's got your balls in a pinch, Mel? Can't you just scare the shit out of her when she's actually awake?"

Bea hears a sudden scuffling of shoes upon the ground, and if she is not mistaken, they are the hard heels of boots. A thick surge of dread simmers in her chest when she hears the footsteps grow closer to her, and she is suddenly thankful for the hair over her face concealing the telltale grimace of one expecting a slap in the face at any second.

No, not a slap…but the callused hand of Mello yanking her up by the collar of her shirt. Bea lets out a yelp of both fright and pain of her neck jerking back at the action, hears the groan of objection from Matt a few feet away, but sees blue.

The eyes are back in her mind now, burning and searing into her, blue, so pitiless and so frigid that she bites upon her bottom lip, blue, terrifyingly close to hers, almost biting out at her, blue…

There is a moment in which Mello simply holds her up by her collar, studying her face with a callous hatred, and Bea is too numbed to look away from him. Her toes curl in her socks, preparing for a strike to her face, but it does not come as she expects. He releases her collar, a scowl heavy on his lips. "You're coming with Matt and I," he explains bitterly. When Bea opens her mouth to speak, he cuts her off brutally with, "Don't ask questions. The only person asking those in here is me, you got it?"

Bea's eyes flit over to Matt, who is standing awkwardly in the corner, a plastic bag in his arms and an unlit cigarette hanging loosely in his mouth. He meets her eye briefly, almost guiltily, but he wipes the expression off and gives her a little nod, a small smile with nothing behind it.

When Bea does not give any form of acknowledgment, too bleak to respond at all, Mello grabs her by her bandaged wrist with the intention of pulling her away, but earns a shrill scream when the bandage presses into the raw skin. Mello leaps back at the sound, his eyes for once shocked instead of hateful, but he scoffs and backs away from her. "Look, if you're going to do nothing but scream all the goddamn time-"

"She's hurt, Mel," Matt attests suddenly. "The cord that the guys put on her cut her wrists all up, alright? Chill out, man."

Bea stares down at the floor, both embarrassed and overwhelmed by Matt's defense and the blinding pain in her wrists, but bites harder on her lip and says nothing.

Mello makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat and reaches out to grab her again, this time by the forearm. "Whatever," he mumbles, "just quit with your whimpering and let's go."

Mello wants the girl to strip down to bare skin before him.

"Wh-what?" Bea stutters, gripping onto her skirt. "But…but can't I just-"

"No," Mello interrupts. He stands by a small window shielded with unsightly blinds, the heavy lace of night seeping through the slats. His arms are crossed over his chest, in which is exposed from his vest, with such authority that he almost appears to be a caricature of a human and not the young man that Bea was currently gaping at. "I'm not taking any risks here."

Bea's eyes widen at his ridiculous statement. "But what risks? Do you…do you think I'm going to try to escape or something?" Her voice is breathless, stolen with the sheer gravity of the situation she has been thrown into. "Because Matt already told me that he wouldn't let me…a-and I don't even know how to get out of here, let alone-"

"Shut up!" Mello barks, taking a violent string of steps towards her. "Don't make me have to do it for you!"

Bea leaps back, breathing heavily from the fresh fear of him being so close to her. She shakes her head rapidly, her hair covering her eyes again. "N-no! No, I'll do it, fine, it's fine, I…"

Mello releases a sigh through his nostrils, his jaw clenching up. "I'm not about to take any chances with you right now. You don't seem to get that this isn't some little game that you can play your way out of." At this, Mello takes a step towards her, to the point where Bea can feel that clenching blue digging into her again. Some of the heat is taken off when a lock of golden hair falls down into his gaze, but Bea keeps her breath tight and locked away in her chest. He gives her a dark smirk, one that either makes his face devastatingly beautiful or wretched; Bea cannot decide. "And if you don't answer my questions, I don't answer yours. That's just how it goes."

Instinctively, Bea steps back, but trips on her footing and crashes to the ground. In any other situation, she would have been humiliated, but in this case, she is seeing red through her baffled rage. "That…that is completely different!" she breathes out. "If I could actually answer your questions, it would make a little more sen-"

"You can answer my questions," Mello hisses as he approaches her even closer. "But you're choosing not to because you think it'll save your little ass."

Bea cringes at his word choice, stunned. She says nothing as Mello shakes his head in a mockery of sympathy. "Your poor thing," he croons, "thinking that I'll play along in your little chase in order to get an answer out of you."

He is laughing at her, and as much as Bea wishes for him to drop dead upon the floor, she keeps her mouth shut, biting upon her tongue in order to stifle her scream. She does not understand why he possesses such a hatred for her…but her hatred for him, however, has a solid ground, a legitimate reason, and it is further fueled by the smirk in his eyes.

"You're not going to win, Beatrice," Mello jeers.

The sound of her name coming from his lips sends a hot flush of rage through Bea's stressed bloodstream, both fury and fear now heavily washing through her. Now, even if she wanted to, she does not speak all because she literally cannot do so. Her throat is closing up, her vision going blurry with tears, and as much as she wishes to fling herself forward and tear his hair out, she knows she is incapable of such a feat when this young man has the ability to floor her with a single hand.

Oh, she utterly loathes him.

"Now, undress. We're wasting time, something you seem to be pretty good at," Mello says boredly.

Bea does not, however, and stares down at the floor, trembling violently from excruciating wrath and the talons of fear that still have a firm grip on her.

"I won't say it again."

"Then don't," Bea whispers inaudibly to herself as she clenches her fists. Her hair fans down over her face, hiding her tears, but she glances up at Mello when she hears him groan and fling open the door. Matt, whom had been leaning against the door from the outside, crashes to the floor with a confused yelp of a curse. "What the hell, man?" he orders, standing up and rubbing the elbow he landed on. "Just flinging open doors out of nowhere and shit, what's that all about?"

Bea cannot recall ever being so relieved at the sight of the green-eyed boy, and she shakily brushes her hair out of her face and wipes her cheeks free of tears. Mello kicks the door shut and crosses his arms, staring at Bea again with an intense disdain. "Ask our friend," he snaps with a jerk of his head in her direction.

Matt's eyes, shielded by goggles, meet Bea's, and a light frown grazes his mouth. "She doesn't look like she's in the mood to answer any questions, Mel," he says with a shrug. "Give her a break."

Mello's eyes widen to a comical extent, and the caricature complex has returned to his striking face. "Then how the fuck do you justify a detainee refusing to change, Matt?"

A lighter has appeared from Matt's pocket, and he casually lights the cigarette between his lips; how many does he smoke in a day? "She's shy. It's pretty common with sixteen-year-old girls being told to strip, Mel."

Mello glares at Matt for a moment, jaw slack, before throwing his hands up in mock defeat. "Then you take care of the search, Matt. Be my fucking guest. I'm out."

As he storms away, Matt gives an exasperated sigh, tilting his head back as if he is so incredibly used to the blonde's performance. "Oh, Jesus Christ, not this again…"

"I'm fucking out," Mello mutters furiously beneath his breath. "So done with this shit…"

And just like that, he is out of the room, slamming the door harshly behind him. Bea stares at the space that Mello once occupied, stunned by his mood decline in a matter of seconds, but lets out a breath and regains her footing. "Matt…?"

The young man in question nods again and takes a short drag of his cigarette. "He gets pissy every now and then." A graceful mouthful of smoke dances out of his mouth with each word, and Bea watches it float away and die out. "You look a little shaken up, baby."

Bea clears her throat and wipes her palms off on her skirt. "I'm fine," she lies.

"You're lying," Matt says with a smirk, "but that's alright. I lie, too."

As Bea watches him in fascination, Matt flicks his ashes onto the floor and releases a sigh. "But, look, I'm gonna have to get you to change clothes before he gets back."

"Why can't I just-"

Matt cuts her off with a chuckle. "Hey, I'm not here just to eyeball you or any of that. Besides, I'm sure you'd prefer me in here than Mel, right?"

He has a point, but her question has not been answered yet. "Mello said that he isn't going to take any risks with me by not having me change," Bea quietly explains. "I don't understand…"

Matt rubs his elbow again, shifts his shoulder back and sighs at the relieving crack the joint gives. "It's just a precaution. Mello doesn't even explain half of his theories to me, let alone to the girl that he's holding captive." Matt takes a little step towards her, grinning. "And you don't really look like the type of girl to carry around daggers or any of that."

Bea, unsure of whether or not this is a compliment, smiles slightly and bows her head. "If that's what this is about, then he doesn't have to worry about me."

Matt is just about to speak when the door opens again, and much to Bea's dismay, Mello reenters with an expression that is only a notch calmer than before. She immediately sets her jaw and bites upon her tongue when he speaks. "Well, Matt?"

The auburn-haired boy shrugs his shoulders. "I was just talking to her. Chill out."

"You shouldn't be just talking to her, Matt," Mello says through gritted teeth. "You should be getting her to change, not dicking around with just talking to-"

Bea silences them both when she yanks down her skirt, kicks it away furiously, ignores the stunned reaction of Matt and the glare of Mello. Without another second's hesitation, she pulls her shirt over her head and throws it into the corner, standing in the middle of the room with only her bra and underwear. The humiliation settles in when she realizes that she has committed to this without having thought it out at all, that she is half-naked in front of two young men that she barely knows.

And not only that, but Matt is blushing. He clears his throat and takes a longer drag of his cigarette, looking down at the floor as if fascinated by the cement, and Bea squeezes her eyes shut so as to block both his reaction and Mello's, in which is a narrow-eyed cynicism that she detests.

Please, just let this be over…please, please just get it done with…

When she reaches down to the plastic bag with her change of clothes, she is stopped by the sound of footsteps. "Hold still," Mello orders.

Like an ice-cold stab to the heart, Bea is frozen in her place, her mind reeling with what could possibly come next. No…no, he couldn't possibly…not with Matt standing right there…no, please don't let this happen…

But there are hands on her chest, patting up and around her bra to her back, and Bea cannot open her eyes to expose the burning tears that struggle to let themselves free. Mello's callused hands hurriedly dip down to her underwear, merely skimming atop the material, but Bea squirms and shivers and bites back a sob of objection before his hands leave her. "She's clear," Mello mutters.

Clear…?

Bea's eyes snap open, and she sees that the blonde is trudging away with his hands shoved in his pockets. A glance over to Matt shows that his face is beet red by now, but surely not as scalding as Bea's at the search. Mello's voice pierces her ears before he leaves again. "Get changed. I expect you back out within five minutes."

The door is slammed shut again, and Bea yanks out a T-shirt and sweatpants from the bag without a word or another glance at Matt. She swallows back her tears in vain as she quickly pulls the change of clothes on.

"You alright, babe?"

She barely has time to register Matt's words when she throws her old clothes into the back, slings it over her shoulder and storms out the door, choking out, "Thanks for trying to stop him."

It rains at around three in the morning, and Bea cannot sleep through it. Each and every sound is magnified in her ears, her senses heightened by her paranoia, the feeling of Mello's obtrusive hands on her chest still fresh in her memory.

Yet she wishes for a window to look out of. She wants to see the rain, be confirmed of its survival with means other than simply hearing it. For now, as she lays in a numb heap on the cold grey floor, she is unsure of whether she is truly alive or not.

Dad…

So many inquiries pummeling down upon her, racing through her body to see which one will steal her sanity first. At this rate, it is the one that pleads to know why she is here in the first place, sloppily dressed in foreign clothes and weeping in an unknown warehouse. Her fate is bleak in her mind, as black as the night that she cannot see, but the darkness that washes over the entire windowless room.

And just as she screams out to the ceiling, growing mad in her colorless cell, a door opens.

It is Mello. She knows by the ominous energy that erupts in the pit of her stomach and the lean silhouette in the doorway.

"You want to know why you're here?"

Why is he asking her such a mindless question? Bea closes her eyes and curls up tighter on the floor, trembling. "Yes," she whispers. "I need to know…right now…"

There is a dark silence. The rain lessens for a string of seconds before suddenly increasing in its wrath upon the roof, and Bea can almost feel it raining in her head as she awaits Mello's response.

It comes with a gruff sort of reluctance, but nevertheless, Mello finally speaks.

"Fine. But you're coming with me."

Hope I'm still not butchering Mello's character, he's surprisingly difficult to write…


And I promise that I won't wheel around having to explain the reason why Bea's there in the first place in the next chapter, lol. It picks up in the next chapter, trust me.

Reviews make me dance naughtily.