"What is it?" Matt asked.
"Come with me," Near commanded. He lead the way to the bathroom, grabbing a box on the way. You heard the shift of the contents inside and lifted a curious eyebrow.
Near closed the door. You heard the muffled voices from inside the cramped bathroom, but you made no move to get closer.
--
You were talking to the staff that worked with Near. There were a handful of new people that you ignored, but the surviving group all seemed happy to see you, and vice versa. You didn't like the new people. You didn't take any time to ask their names or even look their way. Why should you? They didn't belong here, as far as you were concerned.
The bathroom door clicked and you saw light stream out from the side of your eye.
"Mum?"
You turned and saw an angel back from the dead.
Then, your legs gave out and you crashed to the floor.
--
"... that she'd react this strongly," you heard as you woke up. Near was sitting in a chair, tugging at his hair.
You sat up. You were still on the ground.
Near's eyes darted to you, his body perfectly still. "You're awake."
Your eyes searched the room frantically, looking for your son. They rested on...
"...Matt?" you whispered.
He was clad in new clothes. Boots, jeans, a furry vest, gloves, a striped shirt, and orange tinted goggles. His red hair was messy, too, which was unlike him. He usually had it combed, but you guessed Near had messed it up, to make the look complete.
"He should take up smoking," Near joked. Was it your imagination, or was there a sense of sadness in Near's voice? Yes, you were sure there was. His voice was always so stable that you could just tell whenever there seemed to be even the faintest spark of emotion.
But why? Did he miss Matt? Was it because he was looking at your son? Was it jealousy? No, you were sure it wasn't. You frowned at how cocky you sounded.
You didn't cry, even though it was almost like Matt was back from the dead. You couldn't even look at pictures without a tear or fifty, but seeing Matt in the flesh- well, almost- didn't even bring you to tears. This made you sad, but also happy. Sad because you felt guilty that you could look at the twin of your husband without crying, and happy for the same reason. But you knew why. This was your son, he wasn't your husband. You'd see your husband again someday.
You jumped up and hugged your son.
"Mom? What's wrong?" He hugged you back nervously.
"Near, where did you get these clothes?" you asked.
"I can get anything." His tone was a little angry. There was a long pause and he added, "when it comes to material items."
You hadn't heard anything Near had just said. You were too busy admiring how much your son looked like his father.
"What's the big deal, Ma?" he asked, tugging at the vest with nervous fingers.
"This is what your father always wore. I don't know why. He looked like a punk cotton ball on fire." You smiled as you thought back.
"Dad wore this? Exactly these clothes?"
"No," Near answered. "If you were wearing his exact clothes, you'd be covered in blood and bullet holes and you'd smell like smoke. Your father was buried in those clothes. Wammy's made sure of that. Same with L and Mello. Same with me, some day. Your mother is the only one who's fashonably flexible."
Hearing about your husband's gory death made you close your eyes tight and bite your upper lip. You took two breaths and relaxed your muscles. You stopped biting your lip and took another deep breath. Your eyes opened and your eyesight was unclouded.
You noticed your son was thinking deeply. For some reason, he made the same face as Mello when he was scheming. He looked straight ahead at nothing in particular, with no emotion at all until he came to his conclusion. Then he smirked, but he said nothing.
Near watched him carefully, probably marveling at the same thing you were.
"Can I keep these clothes?" Matt asked.
Near nodded.
Matt took a deep, nervous breath. "I.. I want to work with you, Near. Let me help you."
Near looked at you. You stared at Matt. Matt watched Near. Nothing was going too happen unless you spoke up.
"Why?" you asked.
Matt turned to you. "I want to work like Dad."
You massaged your temples. It was better than him going off like your husband had, following someone with blind loyalty and trust.
"You want to work like your father?" Near began. His next words were his train of thought, flying by so quickly it was hard to hear what he was thinking. "Your father would not have been happy working here. Especially with me. You're not your father, though. He disliked me because of Mello. But especially because we're far too professional here. He didn't like leaving the house, but he also didn't enjoy being is such a place as this, looking like the place was made of gold instead of dirt. Although, the only time he gave up gold for anything cheaper was when he bought her," he nodded to you, "ring."
Before Matt could question his words, you spoke. "He bought it?" You looked down at your silver ring and twisted it around your finger.
"Of course. Stolen items weren't good enough for you." He rolled his eyes, although he made it look like he was only looking in a different direction.
This conversation didn't interest Matt in the least. "So can I work with you?"
"You won't be happy here," Near assured him. "You might not be your father, but I've seen enough of you to know that you won't be happy here." Near's face stayed stone still and emotionless. You noticed he hadn't changed much. Not a single wrinkle. No smile line, no frown line, no worry lines. No gray hair, but that would be hard to accomplish with the snow white head he had.
"I don't care!" Matt whined. "Let me stay here. Let me work as a detective, punishing bad guys. Just like my mom does. Just like my dad did. Please, Near?"
Near's eyes turned cold. "No."
--
On the car ride home, Matt sat in the front seat, one foot on the dashboard, arms crossed, staring out the window.
"Why did he say no?" he asked when you stopped at a red light.
"Because, it's true. Ma- your father would never have been able to work there. I can't work there. You'll never be able to."
"How do you know? I'm not you!"
"I just know. There are some things you can and can't do. Working there, in such a tight spot, without any freedom, taking orders from Near.. You'd hate it."
"You don't even know me!"
"I know you enough, Matt."
"Obviously not, if you think you can make such assumptions about me!"
"Your father worked in the mafia, Matt. He worked where it was either do something right or die. Near works in an office, where it's do something right or apologize. I know you. You'd need the danger to motivate you, or else you won't get anything done."
Matt's foot dropped and he turned to you angrily. "I can motive myself with other things, Ma! You can't just say what I can and can't do! Near doesn't have the right to refuse me just because I wouldn't like it! I would quit if I hated it!"
"You wouldn't quit, Matt! You'd just go on torturing yourself with hated work just to do your duty."
Matt mumbled to himself and got back in his old position. He didn't talk to you for the rest of the night.
--
The next morning, you walked into the kitchen, looking for a snack.
"Mom-
I'm not going to be held back. I'm going to make something out of myself, like Dad. If Near won't help me, I'll do it myself.
--M"
You held the note in your hands, unsure of what to do. Your first thought was to freak out over your son, who has decided to live on his own without knowing much more than how to cook French toast. Then you smiled. You pictured him in your old hideout, working against Near for the spot of top dog. You felt like a teenager again, like you were about to watch your life in a replay screen.
--
Twenty-Seven Years Later
Your hair was now a thick brown-gray. Your once lively eyes were clouded and far away. Your extra baggage hung loosely on your wrinkled body. Your movements slowed and your voice brittle. You were slowing down, now in your seventies. You weren't dead yet, but, oh, how you were ready for it. Ready to see Matt again in another place. You often wore house dresses because you didn't really care for how you looked anymore. You didn't leave the house much, but you stayed glued to the television, for one reason and one reason only.
You had the news on, waiting to see if Matt would be on it again. You hadn't talked to him much in the years he'd been away, but you saw him grow on television and through stories in the newspaper, and your best source- Near. Once in a while, there would be a new surprise about your son, the way he lived, and the things he did.
Matt had helped Near bring down a Kira-like criminal a decade back, and he had done a lot of jobs that Near hadn't accepted. He worked with Near a bit when necessary, but that day when he was fourteen seemed to have made Near his number one rival. Often, the police were on the lookout for Matt, because he worked in the mafia, but Near would often tell them the wrong lead or assure them he was on it.
Matt was always in trouble, doing things for the right reasons.
Walking right in his father's shoes.
There happened to be a car chase on tonight. A red car came screeching to a halt at an ambush of police cars. There was a stream of cigarette smoke and loud rock music coming out of the open car window, letting you know exactly who it was.
A pain began in your chest, and you prayed it was a heart attack. However, it was just the beginning of uncontrollable sobs.
"Don't get out," you whispered.
Matt got out out of the car.
"Get back in," you yelled.
Matt said something you couldn't hear. You began hyperventilating, your heart racing as if you were on the drug speed. When the police handcuffed him and put him in their car, your heartbeat calmed down considerably. The car drove away and eventually the mob of onlookers dispersed and the news topic changed, all without a single gunshot.
--
The next night, there was a knock on your door, but it opened before you could get to it.
"Hey, Ma," a slightly familiar voice called. You saw Matt standing in the doorway, dressed in the same clothes you had last seen him in. You ran to give him a hug, your now old legs carrying you at a pace marathon runners would marvel at.
You held your son so tight that he had trouble getting air in and out of his lungs. He didn't complain at all. He hugged you back, just as hard.
"Matt! Oh, God, Matt!" you cried, tears streaming down the few wrinkles on your face.
"Are you, OK, Ma?" he asked. You were too overwhelmed to tell him that you had seen the same scene so many years ago, but without being able to hold the man again.
On the television in the other room, the news announcer was saying, "Yes, and that man they caught yesterday? Got away, I heard. Yeah, escaped right out of jail using some technique out of some car jacking video game!"
Matt was all too much like his father.
THE END