Miya's Note: I know I said there wouldn't be any more author's notes until the end, but I also had promised to get you this chapter over a week ago. I apologize for that, and if you want an explanation, all you need to do is copy/paste this into a word processor, and then check the page count. I didn't expect it to get this long, and because of that, I also ended this part a lot earlier (as far as where it ends in the story) than I originally intended. That, however, should be advantageous, as it'll probably balance out the lengths of the parts, as 9 was originally going to cover a relatively short period of time, while this one covered too long of one to be a reasonable length in comparison.

There are parts of this I'm still not completely happy with, but that could just be my over-critical self speaking. I do plan on revising the entire fic when I'm all done, though, so I'll take any criticism you have into account. Other than that, I hope you all enjoy, and that this was worth the wait. Love and Digital Hugs.

…those who trespass against us…

Freedom was fear. This was the first thing Mello learned once he had thrust himself into the outside world.

Though a genius, he had a child's naiveté, still, and something inside of him had expected, wrongly, that the world would actually give a damn that he was a lone fourteen-, soon to be fifteen-year-old without a place to stay, and nothing but a single bag to keep him company.

But the world didn't care, nor did it even seem to notice, which is why Mello was huddled between two dumpsters in some cold and rancid alleyway, realizing with growing horror that he couldn't go home for dinner and a warm bed, and that he should have packed more than chocolate, rosaries, a couple of changes of clothes, and far too little real food.

He would not cry, though he wanted to so badly. He didn't have the luxury of tears (no place for the weak here). But he was hungry and tired, though too afraid to sleep, and loneliness like he had only felt just after his parents had died weighed heavy on his heart.

Where had Matt been when he had decided to leave? Not at his place in front of the computer, not in his room. He wasn't in the kitchen, or the yard. The last time Mello had seen him, Matt had been watching the computer. Could he have known about L and decided to leave, too? Why didn't he wait, just a little while, so they could leave together?

Matt, as it turns out, was just as scared as Mello. He wasn't far from the blond's location, in all actuality, and was crouched in the doorway of an abandoned building about two blocks away.

He was hiding, at that moment, from another runaway. The boy who was chasing him had been dirty and thin, as if he had been on the streets for some time, and he had stolen a hot dog from a street vendor, which had been abruptly nabbed from him by Matt.

The redhead, as he ran looking for a safe hideout, hadn't even realized he had run right past the perfect hiding place two alleys back, where his lungs had first started to burn. Had he ducked into that alley, he not only would have saved himself a great deal of anguish, but he would have run straight into Mello, who had heard the commotion and peeked out from between the dumpsters just in time to see a lanky, dirty boy who seemed to be running after someone who had just passed, and who was being chased by a rather angry hot dog vendor.

Seeing his opportunity, Mello slipped from his secure spot and looked cautiously out of the alley to see the hot dog stand, unguarded, not too far away. He walked to it as discreetly as possible, his backpack on his back, and took what he wanted casually, but cautiously, watching for a witness or the vendor's return.

While Mello enjoyed his first good meal since running away, Matt sat in his doorway, tired and gasping from his run, and scarfed down his food as quickly as possible in case the boy managed to find him, only to almost immediately puke it all back up.

As the days went by, both Mello and Matt began to realize that a lone child on the London streets was, sooner than not, a dead child. Because of this, Matt had found shelter amongst a group of fellow runaways, while Mello had weaseled his way into a small gang.

Matt's group, ironically, was lead by the very same boy from whom he'd acquired his short-lived meal just days before. As it turns out, it was that very same boy, a seventeen-year-old with a thick Cockney accent who went by the name of Miles, who had recruited Matt into the group.

"Not fas' enough this time, Guv," said Miles as he grabbed Matt by the shirt when the redhead, a few days after the hot dog incident, had been spotted and immediately tried to run away. "Don' think I'm gonna forget the little stunt you pulled on me."

Matt had tried to escape, yelling and flailing and actually getting a couple of hits in on the other boy, but Miles had calmed him down as fast as he could, knowing better than anything from his experiences that gaining a new ally--one who could steal from a boy who had lived his entire life taking from other people--was worth forgiving the person who had wronged him.

Mello, though everything had started off better for him at first, had a much rougher time finding allies than Matt had. As the nights grew colder and colder, he realized that his dumpsters, though they blocked the wind, did not save him from the chill enough to keep him from freezing to his bones. As he wandered the streets, he searched for shelter, finding quickly that the best places were ones near small restaurants that had ventilation from the kitchens that blew out enough warm air to let him drift into light, but cautious sleep.

Each morning, though, he found that he could not stay, as the owners of the restaurants would shoo him away or call the police, and he would have to run to a new sanctuary.

One night, he found an old parking lot surrounded by a broken fence, full of old, abandoned cars. He curled up in the back seat of one vehicle, pleased to find a tattered blanket there to wrap up in.

It was just as he was starting to drift off that he heard the clamor of the chain-links of the fence rattling, and then the sound of hushed voices. It was then that he looked around at the car in which he had taken shelter, and noticed that his blanket was not there by mistake. There were some various possessions scattered around the vehicle--old cans of food, a couple of articles of clothing--and Mello knew at that moment that he was trespassing in someone else's home.

A thousand thoughts ran through his head of how best to escape without being found, but the door had already opened, and a shadow stood before him, steel glinting in the moonlight from its hand, and the blond was more afraid for his life than he had ever been.

"Oi, look boys. We've got an intruder."

Mello was frozen in place, feeling hopeless. Any wrong move, and this man might kill him. If he didn't move at all, he might meet the same fate.

The man's knife flashed, brutal, and came down toward the young teen who had stolen its handler's shelter.

It caught on the blanket, and moved it from the small body underneath.

"Heh, come look at this. It's just a kid."

The man turned for a second, shrugging and laughing toward his unseen companions, and Mello thought to take the chance to run, but his body moved against his will, his eyes and then his hands darting to the black-silhouetted arm that held the knife.

It was almost impossible for the other men in the parking lot to see what was happening in the poor light, but there was a strange mass of flying shapes by the car; shouts sounding through the night, and the occasional glint of metal in the fray. The sound of heavy bodies clashing against the frame of the car called for the other men to move, but they all stood, motionless and gaping in the dark, unable to retaliate with guns or their own knives for fear of missing foe and hitting friend, instead. There was a muffled cry that had not come from a child, but a grown man, and it seemed the smaller of the shadows moved faster. Still, it was not fast enough, and the shine of steel had disappeared.

There was a screech that seemed to echo from the pavement to the stars.

It was a cry for help, but the people of the city didn't hear, drowning out the sound like they did every other frightful night-creature wail, fearing for the safety of their own children, even as another stumbled back, the hilt of a knife sticking out of his side, and tripped; fell to the asphalt.

The whites of Mello's eyes shone bright out of his silhouette as it seemed to grow along the ground, the shadow of his blood black and indiscernible from the rest of him.

"The little fucker bit me!" hissed the man as he stepped over to the teen who laid, writhing on the pavement.

As the other men gathered around, too, they caught the first flash of color. A streak of red had flown from the ground to the face of Mello's opponent, shining brightly over the metal blade it covered as the blond boy pulled the knife out of himself in a fit of pure desperation and slashed at the closest moving thing.

The circle of shadows drew back as the form before them, clutching at its side, leapt up and swiped madly through the air with the blood-covered knife. Then, there were shouts from behind the fence, and the clashing of metal as the links parted to allow the entrance of new bodies to the lot.

The sound of shots rang through the air.

Shadows began to fall both in front of and behind the teen, and he dropped back to the asphalt, still grasping the knife and his wound, too frightened to scream again, and voices mixed, unintelligible, in the frigid air.

Mello was dizzy from blood loss by the time the sounds had dulled to an echo around him, and when he felt a hand touch his back, his only instinct was to stab at it with any strength he had left, but his wrist was caught, and the weapon pried from his fingers.

"My God, they've really reached a new low this time…he's only a child," came the voice that seemed to belong to the person nearest Mello.

"Is the kid hurt?" came another voice.

"He's bleeding pretty badly…we need to get him somewhere out of here, before the fuckers come back for him. We've taken out a good lot of 'em, but they won't leave their stuff behind. I'm glad we finally found their hideout, though."

"Thanks to this little fella, right? If he hadn't screamed…" This voice was new as well, rough, and gravelly.

"We may not be able to thank him if we don't get him some help soon…"

There was the rustling of bodies, and then arms picked Mello up. The movement made him feel sick, and his dizziness blurred even the shadows so that everything seemed to have turned darker around him.

Caught within his own frantic thoughts, Mello lost track of time. Where the knife used to be, his Mama's rosary had appeared in his hand--how it got there, he wasn't quite sure…not quite sure of anything, no--and that moment was all there was, the cross dangling from his bloody fingers, the thought running over and over and over and over…"Oh God, I don't wanna die…Oh God, I'm scared to die…Oh God…."

And then he had started shaking uncontrollably, and all he knew about where he'd come was there was light, and there were hands on him, and all the pain in his side was getting worse and worse, and the light had turned into just…white, just like the darkness had kept getting blacker and blacker, then black…

"He's definitely gonna make it…the wound wasn't as bad as I thought," someone had said.

But all Mello heard was his own "Oh, God…Oh, God…Oh, God…"

He couldn't hear it as they said he was going into shock. He couldn't feel his own body twitching against the hard surface of an old table. He could only hear his own pleas that he was screaming by then and that were as close to prayers as he could manage, and he could feel the pain that had taken his entire form.

But then, there was a new pain, as if he'd been stabbed again, and then his thoughts slowed; his screams quieted. The white of the lights blurred farther into grey around the edges of his vision, and then faded completely, his eyes closing to the morphine that had filled his veins with each pounding beat, beat, beat of his heart.

That sound is what carried him into slumber, and it was also the first thing that greeted him when he woke again--God only knows how much later--its metronome pounding in his skull as the wound in his side throbbed dully as the heavy painkiller began to wear off.

As his senses adjusted, Mello took in what he could of the room around him. He was on the floor, in the midst of what was apparently a pile of old blankets and musty pillows. The windows of the room he was in were boarded over, and the little light that filtered in between the planks barely did anything to enhance the harsh, but inadequate glow of a single naked bulb above him. There were other cushioned nest-beds scattered around him, a couple of which still had people lying in them, most of whom were either asleep or paying him no heed.

Mello thought to move, but the pain that greeted him at any attempt to do so changed his mind quickly enough. His mind was still lightly blanketed by a fairly pleasant fog, and he simply relaxed back into the slightly lumpy, but still remotely comfortable pile beneath him, able to easily ignore the smell of old sweat and other unknown filth after having to live too long without the warmth that accompanied it.

He had no way to judge time to tell how long it was before a bony woman with greasy brown hair walked into the room to check on him.

"You're awake. I'm glad."

Mello turned his head to her, taking in her features. She was pretty, under the rags she wore, and obviously older than him by a few years. Her eyes were visibly blue, even in the dim light, and they seemed out of place amongst the dirt and grime on her face. Her smile was a welcome change from haunting silhouettes.

"What happened?" asked Mello to her. "I remember being in that parking lot, and a man with a knife. After that…I assume he stabbed me, but I don't remember how, or much of what went on after that. Who was he? Who are you? Where am I now?"

"That man, the one who stabbed you, was a member of a rival gang of ours. I can't tell you much of what happened, other than your screams were what brought us into that parking lot. We had been trying for months to find where they'd holed themselves up, but each time we'd get close, they'd move again. Those men have done a lot of terrible things. They killed my little brother, just like I think they were trying to kill you. We brought you here, because you were hurt, and because I couldn't leave another kid to die out there. This is the closest my group has to home. It's not much, but…"

"It's great. It's a lot nicer than where I have been."

The woman looked surprised. "You mean that?"

"Yeah." Mello took a very deep breath, and tried to ignore the aching twinge as his sides expanded and contracted. "At least it's inside…something like a home."

"You're not from one of the other gangs, are you? Why were you there, anyway?"

"I just wanted somewhere warm, and I found that car…and then the guy came, and he didn't want me there…I'm not in any kind of gang…"

The brunette looked relieved at that. "Do you have anywhere to go back to? A family? A home?"

"I'm an orphan."

There was an understanding, soothing smile at that, but a forced one. "You're like me, then."

"I'm sorry to cause you so much trouble. Once I'm better, I'll leave…"

"You're not any trouble at all! I've talked to everyone. We've all agreed that if you have nowhere to go, that you can stay with us. We'll take care of you. That's what we do. We stick together."

"Like a family."

"Yes." She looked down at the child in front of her, and an old ache revived in her heart. He looked so small, so helpless, in so much pain…

"I noticed your accent's not from around here," said Mello, trying to keep his mind off the sharp pain that was getting worse as the medicine wore off.

"I was born in America. I lived with my dad, there. I never knew my mother. Dad told me that she hadn't wanted a kid, but he'd stopped her from getting an abortion, and had taken full custody of me after he and she got divorced. When I was nine, Dad met a British woman named Rosette…she was beautiful. We moved to London, and we were happy, and Dad and Rosette had Adrian. Then, one day…they went out to dinner, left the two of us with the babysitter, and never came back. It was a car crash…"

"Why are you telling me all this?"

"I don't know. For some reason, I feel that I can trust you."

"Because I remind you of your brother?"

The woman looked away at that. "No, you're stronger than he was. You lived."

"Dying doesn't make you weak," said Mello, and his voice had gone dark. It startled the woman, because she suddenly didn't hear a child in that voice.

The brunette stuttered. She looked at the boy, and his eyes were piercing.

"And living doesn't make you strong," he said. "I learned that when my parents died, and left me behind."

Before there was time to think or to respond, the gruff voice from earlier called out, "Hey, Lee, the kid awake yet?"

"He's fine," the woman named Lee said back, almost thankful for a distraction.

The owner of the gravely voice walked into the room, just close enough that Mello could see him. He was a stocky, small man, and his eyes were dark, but not unkind. "I'm sure you're still in pain, eh' kid?"

"My name's Mello."

"Mello, huh? That a nickname?"

"Yeah."

"Most of us here go by some kinda' alias, too, so that's cool."

"I won't let you give him another shot," Lee cut in, looking at the gruff man's hand and at the syringe it held. "He's too young. He'll get addicted too easily."

"You really gonna let a kid suffer without any painkillers? I remember how Adrian screamed for the morphine after he got caught in that drive-by…"

"And I wouldn't let him have it, Jack!"

"And he cried for the stuff until the moment he died." It was obvious to Mello that the second the man had said that, he regretted it.

"That's harsh, you bastard!" It was obvious that Lee was holding herself back from either crying or attacking Jack, and her face was full of both rage and sadness.

"All I'm saying is that I don't want the kid to be in pain, because I don't think I could stand to be kept up by crying like that again! I know he was your brother, but how do you think it felt for the rest of us, huh? When the kid--Mello, right?--was asleep, he looked so peaceful…"

"Lee." Said Mello, trying to break the palpable tension in the room. "You're right. I'm not like your brother. I don't need it." He turned his head to Jack. "Thank you, but I'd rather not…it hurts, yes, but there are things I need to do. I need to be able to think…"

The people who had been sleeping had all woken up, and some of them were rubbing their eyes groggily. Others were staring, caught in something resembling awe. It reminded Mello a lot of the House, how childlike many of them looked as they watched, curled up in their makeshift beds. Though most were older than him, many of them were still young, and he realized with a strange sort of spite, probably many years behind him on a mental level.

Mello felt, as he often did among other people, that he was completely out of place.

"There you go, Jack. Now get out of this fucking room," hissed Lee, "and take that morphine with you. If you want to help the kid, bring him some food."

Jack simply turned and walked out without a word.

The brunette woman sat down on some of the cushions, and hid her face in her hands. After a long moment of silence, her body began to shake slightly, and she looked up, her eyes a little red from holding back tears, her hand covering her nose as it tried to run. It was obvious that she didn't want to cry, but that she was having difficulties holding back.

"You know, I bet he's in Heaven," said the blond boy. "If you wanna try talking to him, I bet he'll hear it. He may not respond, but it might make you feel better."

"Man of faith, huh? I used to be, until God took him away from me…I'm sorry. I'm usually not this emotional. Makes me feel really girly…" She laughed a little at that, awkwardly.

"It's okay. You know, even if I'm not like him, I understand what it's like to need someone to fill in the gap he left. I lost someone, too. He wasn't my real brother, but I miss him."

Lee had wiped the traces of tears away and turned to him, her eyes wide with worry. "What's a kid like you have that's so important that you need to do? Why are you out on the streets? Is it because you didn't want to be shuffled around foster homes? That's why, after Dad and Rosette died, I ran away with Adrian…but even that would have been better than dying out here!"

"I ran away from my orphanage because I have to catch Kira. He's the one who killed my brother." Mello forced himself to sit up, despite his wound. "Thank you," he said, and he leaned over, closer to Lee, "for saving me. Out there, I couldn't even stay still long enough to think of a plan."

"Kira? Are you crazy? How old are you?"

"I…I don't know. What's the date?"

"January third, but…"

"Fifteen, then. What a way to spend my birthday and Christmas, huh, out on the streets? I didn't even know they'd passed, and, really, I don't care. I may be young, but Kira's taken everything from me. If I don't catch him…there's no reason for me to live."

That hit something deep in the woman's heart--some kind of painful recognition--and she knew suddenly that there was no way she'd be able to change Mello's mind, so she chose, instead, to try and help him as best she could. Yes, this Mello was a child, but there was something so different about him. "I…know a thing or two about revenge," she said solemnly, knowing, somehow, that the blond would understand.

"That gang?"

"Not just them. My group found and killed all of the men who were in that car after they saw what happened, and they took us in. The guy who actually fired the shot had to be one of them, so, really, it isn't just about the person who killed Adrian."

There was grumbling from around the room, and the people who had been sleeping were, by this time, getting up and getting ready for the day ahead. None of them were really paying attention to the two any more, and that fact seemed to allow Lee to talk on an even more personal level--something she could have never brought herself to say to anybody in the gang.

"The people you see around us," she said, "are my family. But, still, I hate gangs. I hate what being on the streets can do to people. There was a time when I almost agreed with Kira for what he was doing. There was even a short, crazy period where I wanted to get caught by the cops and be judged by him for having let myself get to the point that I was at…where I would join a group against the one that killed my brother, just so that I could take out the rest of them, even though none of the ones that were still living had ever done anything against me. But then, I realized that Kira was going about it all wrong, too. Maybe he had the same problem I did, and was just going after these criminals because of some immature vendetta."

"You sound like you have a plan of your own."

"I do." She looked around, as if making sure the others really weren't listening. "I remember, back in America, when I used to watch the news with Dad, seeing all of the stuff about the FBI and the CIA…big government law enforcement--the kind that we don't really have here, not in the same way. I wanna go back there…" Lee put her fist to her mouth, thinking. "We…we're staging a raid tonight on that gang. I don't wanna do it. I don't want to, but I have to, because I'm not there. I'm here, with these people, and I'm one of them. I'm just…some criminal like the rest of them, you know?"

"Just because you're here, now, doesn't mean you have to stay."

It was then that they were interrupted by Jack, who had returned with food. "It ain't much, kid, but it's all we have."

"It's fine, but could you guys stop calling me "kid"? I have a name, remember?"

"You got attitude. I like that," said Jack, handing Mello the plate. "You'd be a good one of us, I'm sure, once you heal. Too bad you're not gonna be better by tonight. You got that one fuck good, and I bet you could do some serious damage with a little more practice."

"Jack, don't," Lee sighed exasperatedly, wishing the man in front of her would stop butting his nose where it didn't belong.

"I'm serious, Lee. Our little buddy Mello…you saw that gouge in that guy's face."

"What?" Mello cried out. "I didn't! I wouldn't do something like…"

"You almost got Lee pretty nice, too…"

"Jack, stop! I don't even think he was aware of what he was doing!" Lee tried to push him out the door, but Mello stopped her.

"What did I do?"

"You stabbed a guy with his own knife, that's what you…"

"Shut up, Jack! He didn't need to know!"

Mello stood, and swayed in his spot. He clutched at the bandages on his side. "Did I really do that? Tell me. I have a right to know. You don't have to protect me." He looked, pleading, at Lee.

"Go ahead, Lee. Tell him. I agree. He deserves to know what he's capable of."

Realizing she was defeated, the woman explained. "When we first found you, we saw you through the fence, through where it wasn't covered up by boards or cloth they'd been using to try and hide, and we saw you pull the knife from your own side and use it to defend yourself. It was adrenaline. That's all it was, just like it was a reflex when you tried to stab at me when I touched you."

"Did I hurt you?"

"No. I stopped you."

"I'm glad, but why did you keep that from me? I asked you what happened, and you said you didn't know."

"I wanted to protect you…a kid shouldn't have to deal with that kind of thing."

Jack spoke next. "Lee, did you protect him because you thought the knowledge would hurt him, or because you thought he'd want to fight?"

The woman sputtered slightly, eyeing the stocky man with disdain.

"Maybe I do want to fight. Not tonight, obviously, because I'd get myself killed, like this. It scares me that I'd do something like that, even if it was just a gut reflex, but any power I have that could get me closer to stopping Kira…"

"Kira, eh?" Jack cut in. "That's a big responsibility for a kid to be taking."

"Could you both just shut up about my being so young? I'm sick of it. From now on, I want you guys to treat me just like you would anybody else here. I may need your help, and if you can't treat me as an equal, I may have to go to someone else, because I don't have time to sit around and have people dote on me. I'm sure I'll be healed soon. Where's my bag?"

"Don't leave. We'll help you, Mello," Lee begged. "At least I will. We may not have the same goals, but there may be a way for us to work together somehow."

"I'm not leaving; at least not yet. I just need to see my stuff, and I need some time to think."

Jack pointed to a small backpack that was propped up against one wall. Mello nodded his thanks and went over to it. The two didn't stop to see what he was getting, but it looked as if he'd held it to his chest, whatever it was.

"He's a weird kid--oops, weird guy--isn't he?" asked Jack to Lee once they'd left the room.

"He is, but there's something special about him. He's got so much weighing on his mind, it's as if he's lived ten years past his age. To want to go against Kira on his own…they have the most qualified people in the world working on that case, including that L guy… He's only fifteen, but…"

"You think he could actually do it?"

"That's the thing. I don't know. With any other kid--hell, any other person--I'd say no."

"I'll talk to him later. Like an adult. I'm sure he has questions for us, too."

"Okay. Let's give him a little space, though. He needs time to clear his head."

"Yeah."

After somewhere around an hour's time. Mello stepped out of the room, his Mama's rosary around his neck. The rest of the gang's headquarters weren't much different from what was obviously the group bedroom, except for some differences in ratty furniture that distinguished one area from another. He stood in the doorway of what seemed to be a kind of meeting room, biting off a piece of one of the only bars of chocolate he had left, thankful for his ability to ration as he watched some of the group's members talking around a fold-out table.

It was obvious, from even a short period of watching, who was in charge: A tall man with jet-black hair and numerous intricate tattoos whose voice he vaguely recognized from when the gang had saved him.

This man was engaged in an animated argument with Lee, and was pacing back and forth along one side of the table, his hand clenched in the base of his own ponytail in a gesture of obvious annoyance. "You can't just skip out on us, Lee. We need you for this one. We need your aim."

"I won't. Not this time. Not anymore."

"What the hell is wrong with you? What made you change your mind all of a sudden? Isn't it you who's always telling us to stick together?"

"I'm sorry, but I seem to have lost sight of the cause."

"It's that kid, isn't it? You find some street-rat kid, and it makes you get all sentimental on us."

"I'm standing right here," said Mello, leaning against the doorframe, and wincing as his side stretched when he did.

"Mello, I'm sorry you had to see this," Lee hissed, sending a glare toward the leader as she stood up from her chair and walked past the blond boy and out of the room.

"Kid, you'd better not be trying to interfere. Lee may have a soft spot for you, but I wouldn't think twice about throwing you back in that parking lot as bait."

"He ain't a kid," Jack butted in.

"And I'm not trying to interfere," said Mello, walking up to the tall man and standing directly in front of him, having to look up at him in a manner that would have seemed almost funny had the situation been less serious. As it were, the fact that Mello had the courage to put himself in that position, standing strongly, despite the bandages around him and the way the other man towered over him, actually startled the leader, and he inadvertently found himself taking a half a step back. "If I weren't injured, I would tell you to hand me a weapon and fight in her place, but right now, the risk is too great, and I have too much I need to do. She said those things of her own accord. She's been having doubts for a while now, from what I gathered, so don't go blaming me because someone disagrees with you, and you think I'm an easy target. Maybe she's right, and you're the one who's wrong."

"You'd better learn some respect, soon, kid. Mouthin' off like that's gonna get you killed one day."

"I'm not yet a member of this gang, which means that I am in no way subordinate to you. If I have to show respect to anyone, it's Lee, because she's the one who saved me. She's the only one I have a debt to."

The man seemed to be trying to keep himself from reacting, and the look in his eyes said that he would have probably hit Mello if there hadn't been others around.

He looked down at Mello. Mello simply stared back up at him, unwavering and willful.

Jack spoke up. "I told you. He's no kid."

"So I see," said the man, and he turned and left the room, too.

The second the man was gone, Mello let out the breath he'd been holding and clutched his rosary, looking up and saying a silent thank-you prayer.

"You know, you're a cool guy, Mello," said Jack as he stood and clapped a hand on the blond's back. "I know more than a few guys who would pay to have the balls to do what you just did."

A few of the people around the table nodded their consent.

"You know," said another guy, "you'd better be careful, or we're gonna have an uprising on our hands, and H is gonna be replaced as leader by someone half his age."

"H?" Mello asked, puzzled.

"Yeah," hissed Jack with a smirk that almost resembled a snarl. "For Hugo."

A couple of the other guys laughed. Mello smiled a little, slightly relieved that this H had no relation to other people he knew that went by initials alone.

"Guys, could you clear out? I need to talk to our friend here," said the gruff voice that had grown to be a comforting sound.

The others grumbled a little. A couple of them nodded. Slowly, they filed out, and Jack shut the door behind them.

"You know, I didn't really agree with her when she said it earlier, but Lee's right. There's something different about you."

"Thanks, but that wasn't anything special. I was scared like you wouldn't believe to do that…"

"But you did it. When our old boss died--now that was a good man--the guys picked the next leader by duking it out against each other. H beat 'em all, and ever since then, he's been lording it over all of us. I didn't fight, but I regret every day that I didn't beat his bloody face in when I had the chance. You were scared shitless, and you still had it in ya' to stand up to the asshole. That shows guts, right there…Hell, more than I ever had. From now on, I've got your back. Anything you need, you come to me, or Lee, got it?"

"Yeah." Mello smiled, and for a split second, the child was visible in his eyes. "Thank you."

"No problem. You got any questions? Anything at all? You're trying to go after that Kira fuck, right? I know I'm just some guy, but I'll do anything I can to help you out."

Mello looked down, consumed in thought, and then he started pacing, and Jack almost laughed at the way he fell into the same path that H had been following just moments before. "What I need…is a force. A group of people powerful enough to stand up and fight against Kira. Really fight. I'm not talking about cops. They're too regulated, and most of them would be too afraid of him, anyway. Beside, there are probably a number of them that agree with him, and I can't take that risk. I need someone…less controlled. Someone who would give up their lives if it came to that…"

Jack seemed to consider that for a moment. It wasn't long before his eyes lit up with a spark of an idea, and Mello was relieved to find that Jack at least seemed intelligent. "Well, let's think this through," he said, and it reminded Mello a lot of the times at the House when he had been tested with a situation and had to reason it out. "The most powerful allies are the enemy's enemies, right?"

"Right."

"And Kira's against criminals, right?"

"Yeah."

"So wouldn't it stand to reason that criminals…"

Mello stopped, and pounded a fist into the open palm of his other hand. "Criminals are against Kira. I need someone like you guys, but bigger."

"Sounds reasonable."

"But," Mello continued, "people like you--people in street gangs--the reason most of you are out here isn't really because you chose to be."

"That's true."

"So, there might be a lot of gang members who just don't want to get involved."

Jack smiled. "But, there are people who choose to be criminals."

"You're right. To them, it's a way of life, but with Kira around, the risk of getting caught starts getting worse and worse, and they probably resent him for it."

"So you'd need people like drug runners, mafia--any kind of organized high-crime syndicate that's gonna have a grudge against Kira."

"That could work, and those kind of people, they have money; resources."

"There's a problem, though, Mel--can I call you Mel?"

"As long as it's not "kid", it's fine."

Jack nodded, and then continued. "How the hell are you gonna get in with them? Beside, isn't Kira supposed to be in Japan? That could make things a little difficult."

"About getting in there, I don't know what I'll do yet, but what I do know is that Kira may be in Japan, but he's a worldwide problem, so I can find allies anywhere I go, and I wouldn't necessarily have to go to him, at least not right away."

They looked at each other, open and finished with what they had to say. All that was left was Mello's questioning eyes, asking silently whether the man in front of him would help.

Jack grinned in answer. "Count me in. She was right, Mel, I think you can do it! I bet you Lee's gonna love to hear about this!"

"You can't tell her. She won't do it."

The grin faded. "What d'you mean?"

"She told me she hates gangs. You really think she's gonna wanna work with another gang against Kira, a bigger one, if she won't even go on that raid with you?"

The energy in the room seemed to sink, and it felt as if the both of them were being dragged down a bit with it. "I think she'll come around," said the older, finally, but uncertainly. "This is for a just cause, right?"

"I don't know if she will or not, but it's clear that I need to do some planning; figure a few things out, like who, exactly, we're gonna try to get in with. You need to get ready for tonight, right? I'll keep thinking on it. You go prepare yourself. Get some rest."

Jack nodded. "Well, then, Mel. I'll see you later tonight, after we kick those sorry fuckers' asses." He laughed. "Maybe H, he'll get some humility knocked into him, right?"

"Yeah."

Jack smiled wider, and jerked forward as if he were about to do something, but stopped, before finally stepping forward and grasping Mello in a bear hug. "You know, I haven't been this excited about something in years. Thanks a lot."

"It's nothing, but you're welcome."

By that night, Mello had formulated the basis of a plan on his own, while managing to dodge any questions Lee had about what, exactly, his thoughts were so consumed.

It would start with sending out members of the gang for reconnaissance--anyone who would cooperate--to do research on the biggest crime groups in London, and to observe them from afar and get any information they could that might be useful to Mello and Jack, who would be the ones who would use that information to find a way in. Jack would act as a sort of bodyguard--while Mello was smart and (he thought) relatively self-sufficient for his age, he still didn't trust himself to do something do dangerous without some sort of security--and Mello, protected, would manipulate and build trusts among the new gang.

From there (the hard part, really, was the getting in, but knowing more about the target group would help immensely), it was all a matter of using his new allies to gather information about Kira. How did he kill? What was his motive? Who was he, even? What kind of a man, if a man at all?

Mello, every time he thought about Kira, wanted so badly to believe that he was nothing more than human--just another clever human like himself--but he had killed L, and that fact caused Mello's mind to fight itself, where half of him wanted to be fighting someone he had half a chance to beat, while the other didn't want to believe that any regular man had been able to murder his hero.

But all he could do, fear or no fear, was to plan, and having something to ponder, he found, took his mind off of his worries.

That night, however, no thoughts could mask the fact that something bad had happened. Mello and Lee were the only ones left at the hideout, and after a few hours alone, both of them started to worry.

"Do you think something went wrong?" Mello asked.

Lee shook her head, fidgeting, her hands moving from being clasped together, to her face, through her hair, and through innumerable different meaningless, nervous gestures. "It usually doesn't take this long."

"Do we need to go out and look for them?"

"No…no I'm probably just worrying because it seems like a lot longer, because I'm here, not out there with them."

"Are you regretting not going?"

"I don't know, Mello." She sat next to him on his pile of blankets, and wrapped her arms around him and rocked back and forth in a comforting manner, and Mello knew it was more for herself than it was for him. "I don't know."

The time kept passing, quietly and steady, and soon Lee's heavy, frightened breathing was the only sound in the hideout. This is why, when the front door of the building slammed open, followed by the sound of labored shouts, both Lee and Mello stood up with a unison screech, as Jack ran into the bedroom.

"You two gotta get out of here. I shouldn't have come back here…I've probably led them right to you."

"You're hurt!" Mello cried, noticing how Jack was holding himself.

"It's only my arm. I was one of the lucky ones." He moved his hand to reveal the gaping shot wound there. It was obvious that it probably wouldn't heal right. Mello felt dizzy at the sight. "The fuckers were expecting us to come back for 'em, and they were prepared. They allied with the East Brawlers. H is dead, and so are most of the others. Some of us escaped, but I had to get to you to make sure you were safe. We have to get out of here, and we have to hide. We can never come back here. They'll be waiting if we do."

They took the back way out of the building just as soon as loud voices echoed throughout the hideout.

Mello had left his bag, and all he had left beside Lee and Jack were his mother's rosary on his neck, and the broken one in his right pocket.

It was thankfully dark enough that they could slip away without being seen, and they snuck off to a ditch in an old junkyard, where they took shelter in a large concrete drain pipe. It was dark, and musty, and the sounds of squeaking rats and clicking cockroaches echoed down it from some unknown space in the abyss, but it was inconspicuous, and would have to do until day, when the cops would be out full force and the rival gangs would not dare to attack them openly.

While the sounds of creatures echoed up to them, the labored, quiet noises of Jack's breaths and gasps of pain were amplified back down the pipe. It was too dark to see the wound, and as hard as Lee tried to figure out a way to treat it in the poor light, it was useless.

"It'll have to wait," Jack kept saying. "There's more light outside, but I won't let you risk it." His smile was barely visible in the dark. "You'd have to drag me out there, and ain't a small guy."

Jack's sense of humor was comforting, but as the hours went on and he made fewer jokes and his breathing became increasingly more ragged, all that Lee and Mello wanted was the sunlight that seemed as if it may have permanently ceased shining.

Finally, however, the sky began to lighten from a black-purple to a pink, and then to a pale blue, but by this time, the pained gasps had quieted to shallow huffs, and then silenced.

It was unclear whether it was blood loss, or shock, or infection that had done it, but Mello knew immediately that Jack was dead, like he could feel the air change as his soul was stolen away by the Lord. The slight brush of chill air against him caused him to shiver.

Lee, however, couldn't bring herself to believe the truth, and she shook Jack's body futilely, screaming as night turned into day.

Lee was without home, without family; orphaned for a second time.

They didn't have time to give Jack a proper burial, with only limited hours in the day to find new shelter and safety. The junkyard where they were staying was by the Thames, however, and they gave him to the water off of a dock where trash barges picked up cargo, and Mello said a prayer for him as Lee, sobbing, watched the body float for a moment and then sink as Jack's thick winter clothing soaked up enough water to weigh him down.

From the junkyard, they walked boldly through the crowds of the London streets, knowing that their rivals would not attack them, or even notice them, within the masses. As a woman and a teenaged boy, they also proved to be relatively inconspicuous, and it was obvious that, as long as they didn't show any outward signs of affiliation with the now-practically-extinct gang--Lee had to get rid of an old bandana that she normally kept tied around her right upper arm--that they would be in little danger, especially if they managed to find better clothing and shelter.

It was at this point that Lee revealed their saving grace: A stash of money that she had tucked into a pocket in the lining of her jacket that she had been slowly collecting over the years. It was enough to buy them both a few changes of clothes from the nearest second-hand store, some food, and a few nights' stay at a hotel, while still leaving them quite a sum to use later.

When Mello asked her what it was for, she answered, "I had been saving this to get a passport and a plane ticket home. Dad never did change our citizenship before he died, so I'm still legally an American. It'll be pretty easy for me to get back there with the right research and records, and now all I have left is to do it. No reason for me to stay here, now."

At the hotel that night, Lee and Mello were silent most of the time. There were only a few comments from Lee about how nice it was to have a decent shower for once, and not much more. When Lee woke the next morning, she leaned over Mello's bed and told him that she was heading to a library to look some things up. He nodded and curled up in the sheets, thankful for a room and a warm bed, but worried about what he would do with Jack gone and Lee trying to leave the country.

He had drifted off not long after, and didn't wake again until Lee returned with some printouts from the library computers. She sat down at the tiny table by the window and looked through the papers wordlessly.

Mello was beyond sick of the silence, and had too much at stake to be able to avoid trying to get Lee into the plan, since he had no other backup, but he knew that he couldn't tell her his and Jack's ideas openly. He said her name, and she turned to him.

"I…I need your help."

"What is it?"

"There's no way I'll be able to catch Kira alone. Please don't leave me here by myself."

The brunette stood, walking over to the bed and wrapping her arms around Mello. "I didn't plan on leaving you. I never planned on that, and I'm sorry for making you think I would."

"But, aren't you going to America?"

"I don't know anymore. Staying with you is more important. I've been looking things up, but I'm really just indulging in my old fantasies. With the money I've collected, we could start building a life here, and I'll take care of you."

"Why don't you just take me with you?" Mello asked, spotting an opportunity in Lee's dream and knowing that America, as one of the world's superpowers, would have more of the resources he needed.

"You're not American, Mello, are you? You may not even be able to find your records, depending on how young you were when you were orphaned. I'm not your legal guardian, either, and you're too young to travel without some form of permission from a parent or guardian."

The boy smiled. "But they wouldn't stop you from taking your little brother, would they?"

It was hard to tell at first whether Lee was more surprised or just plain offended. Soon, however, it had obviously begun to click that the goal she had given up on years before might just be attainable.

When Mello smiled (slightly deviously) and said, "It's probably what he would have wanted, right? He would have wanted you to follow your heart," the plan was set, and there was no way Lee could resist.

Immediately, Mello's brain started adjusting and reformulating all of the plans he had made before. Once they got to America, it would take the same basic steps: Gather information, build a strategy based on those plans, and then follow through on that strategy. However, he knew that Lee would not help him the way Jack was going to, but having her as an ally would surely be advantageous. She wanted to get into a government agency. That, itself, was a resource. If he could use Lee to get into criminal records, he could much more easily and much more precisely find a powerful group than if he had used spies from a street gang.

The real problem, however, laid in the fact that he would probably have to follow through on his own. Already he felt guilty about what he knew he had to do. He would have to use Lee, and then he would have to leave her behind, without a word or an apology.

He was scared, too, knowing that he was going to leave behind the only comfort he'd found since his last time having run away, and as much as he tried to deny the fact, a part of him still admitted that he was only a young and gangly teenager, and that he was trying to intrude upon something much bigger than himself.

Lee, by this time, was already pacing around the room animatedly, her brown ponytail swishing behind her as she did. She was mumbling to herself rather incoherently, and Mello stopped her.

"We need to calm down and think. First, we need to make sure this will work. Were there any records--any at all--that said that your brother had died?"

"No. He was shot on the street, but he died in the hideout, and the only people who knew about it were the members of the gang."

"Good. Now, the main issue will be pulling this off without getting caught. If anybody knew we were lying about this, there's no way either of us would ever make it overseas. In fact, I don't think we'd have to worry about making a life here, either, because we'd be assured a nice home behind bars."

Hearing this boy talk so positively about something so adult was more than a little disconcerting, but she knew that what he was saying was true. "Well, for starters, it'd probably help if we looked like brother and sister. Your accent," she said, noting Mello's strange inflection that seemed at times like a mix between British and something more foreign, "won't be too much of a problem. After all, Adrian was Rosette's son."

"That could also be an explanation, if anyone asked, to why we look different. If anybody wonders, it's because I take after my mother." Mello laughed. "That wouldn't be a lie, either. I really do take after Mama, even though she wasn't Rosette."

"That's good. That's a good start."

"There are things we could do to look more alike, though, to avoid people's asking questions as much as possible."

"Well, I've always wanted to see what I'd look like as a blonde," Lee chuckled. "Even though it should probably be you that changes to look like me, I think it'd be a shame for you to have to dye your hair."

Mello was glad for that, knowing that he wouldn't have to lose one of the only connections he had left with his childhood or real family, and he voiced his thanks.

From there, all it took was to do it, and during the next couple of weeks, they gathered records and supplies. When Lee bleached her hair the day before they went to get their Passport pictures, she did a little turn in the hotel room, happy with how it had turned out, though it had come out a little lighter than intended. When they got the Passports later, they held them up next to each other, and it was obvious that the slight change had done wonders, because they, in the photographs, looked convincingly like they could be related.

It didn't feel at all like it had been over a month when they boarded the plane to the United States. Lee was all smiles, even when they were stopped by Customs and their bags were checked.

When they arrived, the money that was left, and the money they had acquired during the preparation stages from various odd jobs was enough to rent a small apartment. Immediately, Lee started gathering information on how to get into the government, and Mello had never seen her happier. She finally decided on trying to get into the CIA, glad for her citizenship, but fearing that her lack of a college education and the fact that she had lived in England for most of her life would hinder her from being hired.

However, her resume had something that the CIA wanted: Street experience.

Within three weeks, she had an interview. Within another two, she was hired.

"It's one of the fastest hiring jobs they've ever done, they said, especially for someone who came off of the streets like I did!" Lee clasped the boy's hands, beaming. "They said it was my intelligence, my life experiences, and my ability to fight that did it. They said they had been needing someone just like me! Oh, Mello, but I shouldn't be telling you these things. You're not even supposed to know I'm hired, or even that I was applying."

"Don't worry, nobody will guess that I even know you."

"You want to see my I.D.? The picture came out really well, too. I think I'm going to keep the blonde." She laughed.

Mello looked at the card. The picture was a proud portrait of a woman with finely cut blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. She looked happy. He read the name listed. "Is that your real name? It's pretty."

"I don't like it. I've never felt that it fit me. It's too girly, so I shortened it to Lee."

As Lee's paychecks began to come in, the first thing they bought was a computer with internet connection, so that Lee could keep up with her work. When she was gone during the day, however, Mello, though he felt terrible about it, hacked into her records. He learned quickly when to start backing out and covering his trails, and he was glad that Lee had enough access to confidential files, but that she didn't put up a lot of extra security on the home computer. It was too easy to get in and out without a trace, and Mello was feeling more and more guilty by the day, glad that he was working fast enough that the time for him to run away and leave behind his lies was growing close.

It wasn't until a few days before he was to leave that he truly realized, with a sense of dread, that he was about to become one of the people that Lee and her coworkers were against.

He tried to concentrate on his research as much as he could, and most of the organized crime in America, he found, was organized by ethnicity. This, he knew, would be a problem, as his accent and his appearance were mixed, and didn't fit into most of the categories of people who had the power.

However, there was a subsection of Mafia who were divided by different means: Religion.

There was an especially powerful group of Catholics that had their headquarters on the West Coast, in Los Angeles. As much as he hated the idea of using his faith, of all things, to work his way into high crime, it was probably the best chance he had. The biggest problem was that he and Lee, for best access to the government, were living in Washington D.C.

He knew she would look for him if he ran away, and that he could not, by any means, use mass transit, because it would be too easy to trace, but he had to go, and as much as he wanted to stay and possibly use Lee's connections with the CIA to catch Kira, he knew that things probably wouldn't stay so easy forever. It was only a matter of time, he knew, before something happened, and Kira scared the American people into submission. It had already begun to happen in countries all across the world, and it was only a matter of time before it reached the States.

Luckily for Mello, he had learned a lot from his time on the streets, and he packed a small bag (this time with more food than the last, but still with quite a collection of chocolate), took enough money for the trip (which made him feel even more terrible), and nabbed a combat knife that he knew Lee kept in the drawer of her end table. Unable to get rid of his guilt, he left a window of the records open, with a message on the screen explaining what he had done and what he had to do, with a warning that Lee should not try to follow, though he knew that she probably would. He didn't list where he was going, and figured that Lee would not think to look across the country, and that he would be safe as long as he got far enough away from D.C.

It was a long, hard trip, and the beginning of it involved a lot of hitch-hiking and trying to stay as under the radar as he could. He was prepared, if somebody attacked him, to retaliate and run before word got out, but, thankfully, didn't have to take such drastic measures.

By the time the reports got out that Mello was missing, he was already halfway across the country, and had finally felt safe enough in his distance away to board a train. Those who had given him rides who came in to report having seen him had been given misleading directions, only being advised to take him short distances, and it seemed to anybody who asked them that Mello was probably a lot closer than he actually was.

Los Angeles, when he arrived there, was bustling and crowded. He was almost out of money, but had forethought enough to get new clothes so that he wouldn't look so obvious when he took a man's wallet. The man was oblivious, and Mello took what money he had, and then casually handed the wallet to a cop, as if he had found it on the ground and was the Good Samaritan who had returned it. When the man ran right past him, screaming and searching frantically for what he'd lost, Mello didn't react.

When he had gotten far enough away, however, the blond ducked into a small café, knowing they'd be looking for him once the man noticed the absence of his cash, and recognizing that they wouldn't expect him to put himself somewhere so public.

He bought himself a hot cocoa and sat down to think.

He had made it this far, and the next step was to get himself into the Mafia. He was alone, and unarmed except for a combat knife, while they would surely have numerous men with guns. He was in a lot of shit, he noted, annoyedly, and knew he didn't have many options.

His best bet, he realized, was to show them just what he could do, and the only way to show them was to put himself within their midst. It was no longer time for careful planning and inconspicuous shrewdness. It was time for dangerous action. There had been a few places listed as possibilities for the Mafia's stronghold, and all he had left to do was to check them out himself, and then break into the one that was right.

When he finally found the place, a pier warehouse where the cargo was suspicious and the men too well-dressed for sailors, he hid behind a cargo crate and held the rosary he wore in one hand, crossing himself with the other. His prayer was simple: "God, please let me live through this. I can't afford to die here."

When he was inside, after having snuck in behind some shipments as they went through the doors, he stood in the midst of a group of men, in plain sight.

"Hey, look what we have here. It's a little rat."

Mello had always heard, during his childhood, the cliché that said history repeats itself. As he grew, he began to take more and more stock in that saying during each time it was proven true. But where the last time he had intruded on the home of a gang had been completely by accident, this was on purpose, and he had all intention of getting caught.

It may have been a stupid move, he realized as he pulled out his knife and held it toward them even as they drew their guns, going back to thoughts (too late) that the smartest choice would have been to keep up his charade as Lee's brother Adrian and use her and the connections with the government, but the government was too slow, too controlled, and who knew if they were on his side or Kira's in the end?

By this time, however, Mello was getting used to run-ins with the Reaper, and facing death when he already should have died five times over was probably wearing God's patience thin, but he had the chance (and it was the possibility that mattered) to gain unregulated, truly dangerous allies that, even if they didn't manage to stop Kira, would definitely be able to scare him shitless.

He dropped the knife to the ground, making it clear that he had held it out to show that he was now unarmed, not to attack.

When they threw him against the wall and bound his hands behind him, he didn't resist. When they put a gun against his head and asked him why he was there, he told them the blatant truth: "I want to get in with you. I want to be one of you. I need what you have."

When one of them hit him, hard, with the back end of his pistol, he found himself laughing, even though he knew it was crazy to do it.

"What the fuck is so funny, you little brat?"

Mello's face was cast down to the ground, his hair staining red where his skin had split with the blow, the blood streaming down and catching in the upturned crease of his mouth. "Last time I did this, they stabbed me," he chuckled. "I'd expected Mafia to be much worse than a little street gang."

Why was he saying these things? Did he really want death, after all?

Something about the situation, though--even as the man knocked him to the ground, where he landed, hard, unable to catch himself; even as another guy kicked him in the gut--seemed so ironic, so funny, so sad (What a mess you've gotten yourself into this time, Mello!) that he couldn't stop laughing. Even as they shot a bullet into the floor in front of his nose, even as they screamed at him that he was nuts, he laughed.

"Don't touch him again. If you lay one hand on him--one more cut or bruise--I will shoot you in the head."

Mello didn't know who had said it, but he laughed even as he relished in the sound of a savior come to rescue him. "Oh, how easy it was, God!" he screamed out loud, and a couple of the men backed up. "Just pray for safety, and I won't die! It's like you're letting me use you! It's like you love me more than you should! Why me? Why am I the special one?"

"Are you sure, boss? Him? He's gone mad, by the looks of it."

"Yes, I want him. He's the one I've been waiting for, I think. He'll save me…"

And Mello laughed harder, "Save him? Did you hear that, God? Everyone believes in me! Why? Why, when I don't believe in myself?"

The man grabbed Mello's face, hard, and made sure the boy was looking at him. "He'll save me from that incessant boredom I've had to face with that last loose pussy."

The laughter didn't stop, but there was a coldness that washed over Mello at the words. "And here it is, God, right? My lesson? I only asked not to die…I only asked for life…"

"Yes, that's right, I won't let them kill you" the man purred, kneeling down close to him. "Not another scratch. Not another bruise. You're a pretty one, and I'd like to keep you that way."

Mello saw a weakness, and he spit in the man's face, smiling ferally, because the guy had just blatantly told him that he would not retaliate.

"Yes," said the boss, wiping the saliva from his visage. "Yes, you will do well to end my boredom. Breaking you will be fun."

The boss was a large man, and strong. It was that moment when Mello suddenly realized that, even if he weren't handcuffed and lying, prone, on the cold concrete floor, that he wouldn't be able to resist this man. Had he not been surrounded by more than ten men with guns, he still would not have been able to retaliate. It was because of this that he kept laughing until they put the gag in his mouth; until the man placed the rag of chloroform under his nose and hoisted him limply over his shoulder.

He woke in an unfamiliar bed, his body tied to the posts, his skin bare against the silken sheets beneath him. He was stomach-down so he couldn't see the room, save for a bit of the bedside table and part of one wall, and his head was turned uncomfortably on the mattress, without the extra cushioning of a pillow. The moment in the mafia hideout had seemed so unreal, but now, with his bruised ribs pushing painfully against the still-too-hard bed and the gag still in his mouth so he couldn't scream--when he felt large hands on his back, which then ran down to his spread legs and caressed them almost reverently--everything suddenly became too true.

Mello began to flail as wildly as he could, almost lifting himself from the mattress as the ropes on his wrists and ankles pulled tight and chafed into him. He was making as much noise as he could through the cloth between his teeth, and his eyes started to water from his fear and from the pain in his limbs.

The hand pushed down on the small of his back, urging him to hold still, and when he didn't, the owner of that hand hissed, "Be still, whelp! I can't go hurting you too bad on the first time, can I? You have to relax."

It was an absurd request (Or was it an order?), but Mello stilled, knowing full well that he couldn't escape and was just making things harder. The man hummed behind him, content, and then the bed shifted, and the blond could hear the sound of a drawer opening behind him. When the weight on the bed returned, he tensed involuntarily, and then cold liquid dripped onto him, which was then massaged down between his legs, and tentatively into him with one of the man's fingers.

"I like the way you squirm, Pet."

Mello's eyes were wide, and he tried as hard as he could to think straight as pain and something else shot up his spine. If this man liked how he squirmed, he would just have to stay still, he reasoned, but when cold metal was pressed against him and then slowly, slowly, slowly inside, he twitched involuntarily, and bit so hard on the gag that he almost bit through.

The thing that had invaded him was pulsing, now, as the man moved it within him, and Mello wanted, more than anything, to just be able to scream, but all he managed was a stifled whimper.

When it pulled out of him, he collapsed, relieved, his breath fast and burning through his nose, his tears staining the silken sheets.

The man chuckled at him, calmly, and then, for the first time, Mello noticed the soft, scared sound of a female voice somewhere to the side and just out of his sight. It sounded as if she were gagged, too, and he wondered if to another bed or what. When the boss spoke again, it was to her.

"Are you watching carefully, whore? See how he squirms and writhes? Isn't it beautiful?" The woman whimpered pitifully. "But you…you, my dear, stopped that a long time ago. Have you grown bored with me? I have with you."

Mello convulsed again as he felt a new something pressed against him, and hands ran down his back. The man leaned close over him and whispered in his ear. "This, Pet, is going to hurt."

He pulled the gag from Mello's mouth, and pushed himself, hard, inside the boy.

Mello's strangled screech blended with the sound of the boss's gun firing.

Mello screamed. From then, however, the woman was silent.

When the ropes were off of Mello's hands and feet, he curled into a ball on the bed, his limbs spreading wetness of all kinds over the silk. He could see the woman clearly then, her blood and brains splattered on the wall behind the chair where she had been tied.

"This is your room now, Pet. If you're good, you can keep it for a long time. Just be sure to keep things…interesting?"

Mello said nothing, but curled tighter in on himself, shaking.

The boss's house was luxurious, to say the least, and Mello treated practically like a king. At times, he could almost forget that, come night when his master got home, he would be torn into again and again.

After that first night, he always wore Mama's rosary, which he'd found on the bedside table with his own once he'd recovered enough to look for it. The boss liked this a lot, he said, because it made him feel dirty, and there were times when he would play the role of priest, giving Mello that of choir boy, and he would tell him again and again to "Sing for him" as he shoved him into the bed or the walls or the hard edges of tables, and Mello hated the man more for calling himself Catholic and then practicing such blasphemy.

For a long time, Mello was always handcuffed when the boss fucked him. The man said it was because he hadn't gained his trust. So, day after day, Mello played his roles better, screaming more sweetly and squirming more beautifully until, finally, the boss walked into his room, and his hands were empty of the metal cuffs that he always carried.

"You've been a good pet. I think it's finally time I let you off your leash."

"What is it today, Master?" Mello asked obediently, sitting on the edge of the bed. He reached down and undid his own pants and slid them off, leaving him with only a shirt, as he was not allowed undergarments.

"You look so beautiful today, Pet. I want to watch you pleasure yourself for a while. I've never gotten to see what your hands can do."

"Very well, Master."

The man was visibly aroused from the moment Mello first touched himself, and it wasn't long before he was overcome with lust and undid his pants without taking them off, shoving the blond against the wall roughly.

There was a maid outside of the room, and in a pure fit of morbid fascination, she stopped outside the door to try and hear what was going on. She knew about the boy her employer kept locked in the room. She had seen him a few times, even, when she'd been asked to bring him food. She had a suspicion she knew what happened in those walls at night, but couldn't help but to make sure.

What she heard was a hard pounding on the wall, accompanied by the boss's moans and Mello's fake cries of pleasure and real cries of pain. It wasn't long before the pounding stopped with one last, loud groan from the boss.

But then, the sounds changed. There was a sudden shout of fear, and cries for help. There was a light click.

More cries, begging now, pleading.

It was the master who was crying, not the boy.

There was a loud, resounding bang that could have been heard even if the maid hadn't been right next to the door, but which was almost deafening at that close proximity. There was the sound of liquid hitting the wall, and then a dull thud.

She threw the door open to see the boy, shaking and half-nude with the boss' own gun in his hands. The boss, himself, was slumped, dead, against the wall, his blood re-marking the new paint that had replaced the already-stained layer under it.

As the maid stepped closer, the blond pointed the gun at her, screaming, "Don't come any closer, or I'll shoot you, too!"

She backed up and ran out of the room, running to her own and packing her things, knowing that she couldn't call the cops; not when she had been working for a known Mafia leader.

Mello, finally alone except for the macabre sight of the man in front of him, dropped the gun to the ground, his hands quaking violently.

He had killed a man…killed his "Master" with his own gun, while the man was weak and faint with orgasm. Mello had blood and semen running down his legs, and his hair and the shirt he was still wearing were sticking to his skin with the cold sweat that had covered his body. He turned, sick, away from the boss, and ran into the bathroom that connected to his bedroom, kneeling into the toilet and retching into it until his stomach was past empty, the last painful hacks dry and agonizing.

From there, he crawled into the shower, turning it on without taking off his shirt or his rosary, curling into the far corner and rocking back and forth as the warm water cleansed his body, but not his mind.

He stayed like that, rocking until his hands and feet were swollen and heavily creased with too much moisture. He figured he was probably crying, but couldn't tell the tears apart from the other streams running down his cheeks.

This was the last time Mello ever shed tears, up until the moment of his death.