AN: Just to let everyone know, I'm going to try to update chapters weekly on Friday evenings.
Thanks to all the readers so far and please be aware that reviews are very much welcome and appreciated! Be it a kind comment, question/suggestion, or criticism, it's good to know what readers think works well or could be better. Thanks again and enjoy!
Mello kicked at the dirty snow piled up on the sides of the street, pouting and burying his face in his turtleneck to ward off the cold.
What the hell was wrong with Matt!? Coming out here wearing only his shirt and jeans as if they were still in SoCal! Hell, Mello had figured even stupid number 3 was smarter than that!
Watching his breath fog in front of him with a frown, the blond walked briskly down the nearly-empty sidewalk. Of course, he had also noticed the lingering smell of smoke in the bedroom. Dammit, Matt was always making bad health choices! He was seriously going to get himself lung cancer or pneumonia one of these days and keel over. Not as if Mello had room to talk, but honestly, at least if he was dying anytime soon, it'd be by an enemy bullet and not his own stupid choices to drink and smoke and walk around in below-zero weather wearing Southern California clothing.
Honestly, Mello thought exasperatedly, couldn't Matt take better care of himself? It was nearly a miracle he'd survived this long, and all those years on his own too, filling his lungs with tar and getting wasted when he felt like it probably, playing those stupid mindless games that were surely ruining his eyes and slowly eating his brain. Maybe he'd get thumb arthritis, too... or something. Carpal tunnel, probably.
Stupid Matt.
Scowling, Mello shoved open the door to the Carl's Jr. a few blocks from the apartment, ramming his shoulder into it with unnecessary force.
Well, he wasn't Matt's goddam mother, and he wasn't about to start worrying unduly like some frikkin' schoolgirl or anything, but honestly, if the stupid gaming, smoking, weather-oblivious geek kept at it...
Hell, he'd never, ever admit it aloud, but the blonde knew that even the thought of losing the only person in this world whom he trusted--the only person who put up with his eccentric habits and moody bullshit-- scared the hell out of him.
Glaring intently at the menu with his hands shoved deep in the warmth of his jacket pockets, Mello wracked his brain to remember when the last time he'd had Carl's Jr. was and which of these disgusting options was the least awful. Matt, of course, usually loved this kind of greasy shit.
Finally, the blonde settled on a decently harmless-looking grilled chicken sandwich, and whatever the signature burger of this place was for Matt. Famous Star something-or-other. With fries. The name made him snicker as he waited for his order.
As an afterthought, he went back to the counter to order a salad for himself, suddenly not in the mood for sandwiches. He'd had his fill of grease with all that fried chicken back in LA. Mello's appetite was as volatile as his moods, and thus he could be a hell of a picky eater most of the time. Besides, he had his slim and sexy figure to keep up, he thought absently with another snicker. Though it wasn't as if his 'exciting' lifestyle was about to let him laze around and get fat, no matter how many cocoa-based sweets he consumed daily.
Which reminded him to get some chocolate cheesecake too. And some cookies. For Matt. He was fairly sure Matt liked cookies, anyway. Maybe.
Well, he liked cookies, so at least they wouldn't go uneaten. He'd need as much sugar as possible for tomorrow anyway.
Finally satisfied with his purchase, Mello slung the warm plastic bag over his shoulder in somewhat of a better mood and headed briskly toward the 7/11 across the street, only frowning briefly to flip off a car stopped in the middle of the frikkin' crosswalk, but managing not to get too angry. It was far too cold for that.
Diving into the heated gas station mini-mart and grumbling about not having his bike yet, the blonde weaved around the cramped aisles until he found the makeshift pharmacy section.
"Something for a fever," he mumbled to himself, tapping his bottom lip with a leather-gloved finger and scanning his options critically. Finally, he grabbed some Tylenol in both liquid and pill forms and some Aspirin just in case, and sauntered up to the counter to pay. Almost as an afterthought, and even though he had a bagful of chocolates at the apartment, he grabbed a handful of the Crunch bars conveniently lined up underneath the counter. Shooting the critical cashier a--purposefully--rather creepy grin, he darkly relished the unnerved looks the poor girl gave him before gathering up his purchases and change and turning back to brave the cold once more.
It didn't take him long to get back at the rather quick pace he was walking at, cradling the still-warm takeout to his chest, and he noticed with a sudden mixed feeling of relief, happiness, and resentment that his bike and Matt's red car were parked in the apartment parking lot. Well, he wasn't about to start complaining to the cold night air about who had had them brought here, so he contented himself with an ominous glare into the darkness beyond the vehicles and he tried to enter the apartment quietly--probably for the first time in his life. Spreading the plethora of medicine on the counter, Mello also set the table quickly, looking rather self-satisfied and failing to remember the last time he'd actually done anything of the sort.
Finally, he figured it was time to creep into the bedroom and prod the gamer awake. He was feeling exceptionally kind at the moment, and thus only shook his friend's shoulder gently. "Matt? Dinner's on the table," he informed the other male softly. But of course, even in one of his kinder moods, Mello didn't skip the insults. "Get up, you lazy ass."
Grumbling and fighting the urge to flip over and wrap his comforter tighter around himself, the gamer slowly dragged himself into consciousness at Mello's words. He glared through bleary eyes at the clock on the dresser, but finally gave up trying to decipher the small red numbers, deciding them much too far away.
He had really wanted to just sleep until the morning, and then some, but before he even had the time to protest this, he caught the heavenly scent of whatever it was that Mello had bought, and that plan went out the window, bought a cab to the airport, and left on a jet, far, far away.
It smelled like grease, and fat, and imitation meat, and everything else that made fast food fast food.
God, it smelled delicious.
Sitting up, he groped for his goggles on the nightstand beside the bed, and slipped them onto his head in their rightful place out of habit.
Goggles now in place, and feeling a little more awake he sent a grateful smile in the direction of the older boy, barely preventing himself from salivating on the spot as the aroma of the food became stronger to his senses, only to discover that the blonde had disappeared back into the other room.
He placed his feet cautiously on the ground at the edge of his bed, but before standing took a quick check of his state of health, not wanting to end up half crumpled like the last time he'd gotten up. Amazingly enough, his head actually felt a hell of a lot more clear then it had earlier, and, he realized, even his thoughts were more coherent.
The wonders of sleep. Even if he had only been out for a little more then an hour, he was already feeling better. Of course, he knew, one hour's sleep was by no means enough to cure his ailment completely, still, it was reassuring to know he was already feeling back to his normal self. But, and he realized with some humor, judging by his unexplainable urge to giggle, he was still feverish, if only a little. He always felt giddy when he got a fever, despite his poor state of being
He really did just need rest though.
Or, you know, a good Hi-Potion. Or white mage.
Damn, where were your Aco's when you really needed them? Hmmm? Probably AFK to go play DnD. Ughh. The losers. He shook his head in disgust at the incompetence of healers. Never there when you actually need them.
As he stood from his cocoon of blankets, and placed a hand on his head to check his temperature, he wondered briefly if Doctor Derek Styles had any good tips for getting well from a fever fast. (Though he was doing much better if the hand on his forehead was any indication.)
He was very tempted to find out, but noted sadly that if Mello were to return to the room and discover Matt playing a game, Matt was pretty sure a, "But Mello! It's like I'm going to the doctor's, without actually having to go!" wasn't going to be sufficient for the testy blonde.
Entertaining as the thought was, he didn't need to be recovering from a fever and being shot.
Besides, his fever had gone down, at least a little.
As he walked into the kitchen and took a seat in one of the chairs, smile in place, and eager for delicious colon killing sustenance, posture a one eighty degree juxtaposition from his earlier pathetic slumped over position, the abandoned chocolate bar on the table caught his eye, and his grin vanished only to be replaced with a much more serene smile.
It wasn't every day Mello went giving away his most prized possession.
He took the candy bar, sliding it into his pocket for later, and waited happily for the blonde to join him at the table.
Mello glanced over from where he was lining up little bottles of pills on the counter and almost let out a cry of protest as he saw a glimpse of a familiar brown wrapper disappearing into the depths of Matt's pocket. But then he stopped himself, remembering suddenly he had had a really stupid burst of kindness earlier. Damn. He'd forgotten.
Shrugging the startled irritation away, the blonde sidled over to the table, slipping into his chair and slouching with his elbows on the table to peer at Matt critically.
"I can't have you sick tomorrow," he announced sharply, cutting to the chase without any fluffy, worrisome 'are you ok' kind of crap. Still staring the brunette down with an odd mixture of irritation and something close to concern, the blond reached for his salad, squeezing some Italian dressing on it from those stupid little bags because he'd forgotten to buy the proper kind in a bottle. "I need you to hack into the Indian Point power plant facilities and turn off the alarms and you can't be half-asleep to do that, I don't give a damn what kind of computer geek you think you are," the blonde continued pointedly and waved an arm toward the makeshift pharmacy he had set up on the counter.
Speaking around mouthfuls of lettuce and whatever obscure fake vegetables were in the damn thing, Mello pointed his plastic fork sternly at the gamer who was currently stuffing his face with a potential heart attack. "So you'd sure as hell better get yourself fixed before tomorrow afternoon, got it, Mr. I'm-gonna-take-a-walk-in-fcking-zero-degree-weather?"
Matt didn't bother to protest the insult, well, couldn't protest it really. It was true after all. Certainly hadn't been one of his brightest moves. Damn, he thought to himself as he realized how stupid he'd been. Matt acts lame. Subtract 20 HP points for stupidity. Hmmm. He'd have to make up the loss somehow. Then again, his INT stats would be sure to rise if he set up whatever it was Mello needed setting up tomorrow. He mentally laughed at his clever plan, but kept himself from voicing the thought aloud, knowing the blonde just wouldn't get it. Well, you know what they say about blondes after all.
At the idea of Mello being a dumb blonde he could not hold in his laughter and covered it up by taking a large swig of his soda, though he ended up giving some kind of choked gargle, reminiscent to a drowning fish. This succeeded in causing Mello to raise an eyebrow, but luckily for Matt, the blonde refrained from asking.
He raised two fingers to his head in a half mocking salute, as a cocky smirk slipped into place to match, and a giddy "yes sir" completed the look.
He was pretty sure he'd be back to his normal self the next day, missing a few precious brain cells perhaps, but feeling better nonetheless. He would just have to be sure not to overdo it in order to avoid a relapse.
As he finished the last couple of fries on his plate his thoughts became a little more serious.
He really would have to be more careful. If something were to go wrong, and he wasn't capable of fixing it…
He tried to stop his thoughts, knowing exactly where they were going, but failed.
And there he was again, the air thick with the smell of burned flesh, and his stomach turning itself inside out while his heart tried frantically to make it out of his throat, twisting and turning and prodding painfully against his chest.
He was running and running and running, but he couldn't see where he was going. The lingering smoke was acid in his eyes, and tear gas in his lungs, still he pushed forward, groping with his hands, not caring as they were torn open by the scraps of sheet metal, still blistering from the flames.
And he was going to fail, going to lose everything because he wasn't good enough and he couldn't find him.
He slammed his hands against the broken shards of metal, punching his way through to the ground.
Never ever in his pathetic existence for a life had he cared about failing as much as he did now.
He couldn't fail.
And just when he couldn't take it anymore, when his heart was about to burst through his chest and bleed out of him right there, and his lungs were about to disintegrate from the flames licking them up, the glare of a tiny silver bead caught his eye. He had long since removed his goggles despite the terrible burning. The orange tint had made it too hard to distinguish colors, what with all of the gray and red and black all fading together in an orange world.
First he saw the bead, and then another, and another until he made out the form of a small beaded rosary. But the horror of finding the rosary without its rightful owner was quickly forgotten as he plunged his way through the still aflame ruined building, and saw that the necklace was not on its own, but rather being clutched tightly in an ash-covered fist.
And he was charging through the building now, and everything hurt and he just COULD NOT FAIL.
As he rounded a corner of the wreckage and was able to see the rest of the body that clung to the treasured rosary, he wasn't sure exactly whose willpower it was that kept him from breaking right there. There was ash mixed with blood that formed an orange tinted tar puddle that pooled around the limp body lying in the middle of the sludge.
And then he was at his side, and checking for a heartbeat, and watching the painstakingly slow, but still there rise and fall of his best friend's chest. He told himself that it was the smoke that made the tears drop silently from his eyes, and the poisoned air that caused the sob that was forcefully ripped from his throat, and not the sight of the burned flesh that continued to blister and sizzle, or the shards of shrapnel embedded into different parts of the blonde's broken body.
He told himself it wasn't the expression of agony written across Mello's face that made the tears fall faster, as he carefully lifted the excruciatingly limp form of his best friend from the rubble of the destroyed base.
He was alive. But Matt had failed. He never should have let it come to this. Never should have let this happen.
Never. Never. Never. Never. Never. Never. Never. Never. Never. Never. Never. Never. Never. Never. Never. Never. Never. Never. Never. Never. Never. Never. Never. Never. Never. Never. Never. Never.
The word echoed in his mind like a mantra that he'd forgotten the rest of the words to.
He had failed.
And as he carried his best friend out of the flames, he promised himself next time, if there had to be a next time, he would be there. He would stop it from coming to this.
HE WOULD NOT FAIL.
Never again.
His memories were broken when the slurping sound of a straw on ice crashed against his ears. He must have finished his soda without realizing it. He wondered how long he had been making the sound, but didn't really care.
He hated remembering.
But his memories were right. He couldn't afford to be careless, ever. Not if he intended to keep his promise. The giddiness from earlier had fled his eyes in a flash to be replaced by a solemnity not often seen in the brunette.
He wanted to leave. Wanted to just get out, but knew he couldn't. He couldn't afford to worsen his illness.
The only answer he could think of was sleep. It was the only way to get away.
But he didn't want to sleep now. He knew what he would dream of if he went to sleep now.
Cursing at himself for allowing those memories to be rekindled on this of all the nights, one when he desperately needed his rest.
He had to get his mind on something else before he crashed, he just had to.
Without a word he stood, dumping what little was left of his meal (he had long since lost his appetite) into the trash, and glanced about the room, eyes searching wildly for his DS.
Blue eyes followed him silently as the blonde absently licked his plastic spoon to collect the last lingering traces of chocolate from the no longer existent cheesecake. His brow was furrowed slightly and he gnawed on the plasticware, watching with disapproval Matt reach for his DS. The look in the other boy's eyes bothered him deeply for some reason.
He just couldn't place it, that intense gaze, the serious expression Matt's lazy gaming nature was usually so bad at producing.
Why couldn't he remember what it was supposed to mean? It made Mello's skin crawl, in a way. It was unnatural. Matt wasn't the serious type. And he never looked that desperate to find salvation in his game, not unless something really terrible had happened.
Shit. Mello berated himself for being stupid. Perhaps he shouldn't have mentioned tomorrow's mission after all. Matt was probably goddam worrying about him now or something. Cursing inwardly, Mello took a final swig of his Sprite and stood, kicking the trashcan over to the edge of the table so he could get all the plastic and paper and cardboard that came with fast food in one convenient fell swoop.
He considered for a moment telling Matt--who was now sitting on the couch playing some game with the utmost look of a man in need of escape--to turn the damn thing off and go to bed. But for some reason he didn't.
With a small sigh, the blonde scanned the recommended dosage on the Tylenol pills and took the amount in hand, grabbed another soda from the fridge, and set everything down with a soft but decisive thump on the coffee table in front of the brunette.
"You forgot these, moron," he added sharply, making sure to smirk as disparagingly as possible. "I told you to get better. And don't you point to your stupid little health bar or some shit like that. That's it, maybe I should put this in terms you can understand: I'm going to be defeating some boss tomorrow and you are my... something-or-other computer nerd who needs to get his goddam health bar back up and... Well, shit, none of this makes sense does it? Goddam video games," the blonde grumbled, diving for the smaller couch in the well-furnished room and yanking some folders out of the black bag laying abandoned in the middle of the room.
He threw one at Matt.
"Schematics," the blonde explained curtly. "Study those damn well. Times and places I need things done with the lights and alarms are written in a chart on the front page. Study that goddam well too. So, long story made short, Matt," he continued sharply, "Is that starting around 1pm tomorrow I'm going to be counting on you so you had better as hell be rested and not sick. I can do it by myself," he explained with the beginnings of a playful smirk, "But if I don't give you shit to do, your brain will rot and then I'll be stuck living with a mindless zombie chanting about RPGs and Mp3s and God knows what and frankly, I don't want to deal with that."
Well, fck. Mello barely prevented himself from frowning in angry confusion. The stupid bastard was giving him that look again. That uncharacteristically determined, intense, and goddam frightening look that was so bloody full of a sentimental something that made Mello want to cringe away from sheer uncertainty of what to do.
Dammit dammit dammit. Why was he being like this? What more did he want? Being an ass to him hadn't worked, what else was the blonde supposed to do?
Tell him you trust him.
Hell no, Mello told the sudden unbidden thought in disgust. Like fck something so lame and sentimental was going to come out of his lips.
Even if Matt's eyes were begging for it unwillingly.
Dammit. He understood now, suddenly and with a lurching sensation.
That look in his best friend's eyes, close to worry but not quite. Nearly fear, almost terror. Disappointment. In himself. Insecurity. In his own capabilities.
Shiiiit... What was he supposed to do? Standing up quickly and practically racing to the fridge, the blonde tore a chocolate bar out of the bag, demolishing the wrapper in one fluid motion and letting the sweet sensation against him tongue calm him as he stalked, cat like, back to the couch to perch on the backrest.
How to alleviate his best friend's fears? Mello knew it was no big deal, he knew these were petty criminals he could deal with no problem, he knew Matt was the biggest help to him in the world and the only person he would ever let aid him on his missions. He had never imagined Matt would feel so pressured, even if he never said it. Mello wondered darkly what had set off this awkward situation. Matt was always thinking far more than he showed it. Perhaps too much.
But perhaps an 'I can handle it' wasn't going to cut it this time.
Still gnawing on his chocolate, Mello glanced over furtively at his friend, who was now leafing through the notebook, never having said a word, the same goddam expression glued to his face.
"You understand it all, don't you?" the blond spoke finally, jerking his head toward the papers. The brunette nodded vaguely, not looking up.
"That's precisely it, Matt," Mello continued softly, tongue flicking out absently over the calming sweet. "You understand. And then you do it. I could never let anyone else even try, because no one else was ranked the third most intelligent guy on the face of the earth and no one else understands my shitty penmanship and even shittier drawings. Only Matt." He fixed his best friend with the most serious, no-bullshit glare he had. So stop goddam sulking and looking at me like you think you're going to let me down, Matt. Because you're the only person who never will.
"Got it?"
Matt slowly lifted his head, allowing dim green eyes to meet intense blue fire. Swallowing the lump in his throat that had formed for reasons beyond him, he nodded twice before tearing his gaze away, and in doing so snapping the invisible threads that had sprung up between them, temporarily and wordlessly connecting them.
His eyes fell back to the schematics in his hands, but words and numbers blended together when his mind was somewhere else.
It wasn't like he didn't understand Mello's words. He knew the blonde had been trying to reassure him, and to some degree it had worked. Hell, the mere idea of Mello caring enough to even try to reassure him was enough to bring a smile to the gamer's lips.
Though the fact that he'd been trying to be reassuring in the first place showed that he had seen that something was wrong. Mello was a genius, it wasn't as though Matt didn't know that, but sometimes he swore the blonde was even more perceptive then L himself. Then again Mello did have the advantage of understanding human emotion, a quality the late detective had never completely grasped.
Shaking his head, he pushed thoughts of their former mentor out of his mind.
No, it certainly wasn't as though the blonde's words had had no effect on him. It was just that some things could never be fixed, and never be forgotten.
His almost fatal mistake being one of those things.
But, and he was reminded by Mello's blazing glare from only a moment ago, that didn't mean he had to dwell on it. Dwelling on it was about the worst possible thing he could do.
Dwelling led to insecurity, insecurity led to doubt, and doubt led to mistakes. Matt needed to get his head back in the game.
Eyes focusing once again, he re-read the schematics with a newfound vigor, determined to memorize every damn thing he could, and stopping only once to take the medicine Mello had lain out before him.
The blonde gave an approving nod, still relishing his chocolate bar and observing Matt out of the corner of his eye. Something very much like self-satisfaction rose in his chest and he smiled a little behind his candy. Good, Matt seemed better already. It must have been the Tylenol. It worked immediately, apparently.
Sure, medicine... For a different sort of wound, though...
Shrugging away the last uncomfortable thoughts his annoyingly over-thinking mind decided to dredge up, the chocolate lover finally stood, having finished his bar, and stretched up with a wide yawn, shooting his wrapper into the trash basketball style.
"Haha, perfect score," he chuckled to himself, stretching his arms behind his back now. He glanced at the time. A little past midnight. Damn, when had it gotten so late?
Peering over Matt's shoulder at his own scrawls for a little while, he ran over the plan again. Despite what he knew some people's popular belief was, he didn't usually try to be a rash idiot. One didn't get to be ranked number one (or perhaps two, he half-amended sourly) at Wammy's through lucky happenstance and impulsiveness alone. Hell, he always had a plan, and charts, and maps and everything else one needed to be fully prepared for acts bordering (if not crossing said border) on illegality. It was just that those plans usually ended up taking on a mind of their own and a fat lot of good it did him to try to stop it.
But at least if there was one thing Mello was good at, it was improvising. In a messy situation, if nothing else, at least he was adaptive. He could count on his instincts as much as his mind, and to tell the truth, he always did.
And now these instincts were cussing at him that if he didn't get to the damn bed right now they were going to be extremely pissed.
Well, it was either instincts or his drooping eyelids, anyway. And the goddam incessant yawning which had apparently concluded now was the opportune moment to attack him.
"Matt," he called decisively, stifling another yawn. "Bed. Now. You need to rest, you useless dolt." His insults lacked the usual sharpness, however, and for Mello it was practically a civil suggestion to get a little sleep. Well, maybe more like a mandate.
"I don't want your sick-germs," he continued loftily, prodding Matt in the thigh with his foot to get him off the couch, "So I'll sleep out here since this couch looks a hell of a lot more comfy than that piece of shit in LA. I mean, this one at least doesn't seem to be missing most of its springs and stuffing or whatever they put in couches to make them soft..."
The underlying message beneath the disparaging comparison between poor Matt's original furniture was, of course, I'm going to be extra-generous and let you have the real bed.
"Now get off my bed, you lout," the blonde concluded haughtily, pulling the coffee table--and thus the computer and papers--away from the gamer.
Having studied the sheets of paper long enough to be able to recall every single detail at a moment's notice, the gamer wasted no time in complying with his friend's request, only noticing precisely how tired he was when he rose from his comfortable spot on the couch.
He yawned as he turned to go, and threw an awkward half-wave in the direction of the complaining blonde.
He managed an awkward "Night, Mello" through the yawn on his way out.
He was already imagining the soft texture of the comforter waiting in the bedroom when he reached the threshold separating the two rooms and came to a somewhat abrupt stop, something still ebbing at the back of his mind.
Turning slightly, only enough so that he could give Mello a sidelong glance, he spluttered out the words before he could stop himself.
"Hey, Mel?" he began but continued before the blonde could throw something at him, or have a hissy fit about the use of the long discarded nickname.
"Thanks." And then quickly amended his blunt statement with a "for the medicine that is; I mean, that is to say, I feel a little better already."
He didn't wait for a reply, but shuffled the rest of the way into the room, though he left the door between the two rooms open.
Just in case.
Setting the alarm clock on his phone for a decent hour, and collapsing into the welcoming warmth of the bedspread, he let out a long, deep sigh. There would be a lot to think about tomorrow, but for now he just needed his rest. He didn't bother to change, having discarded his rather wet jeans and long sleeve much earlier and swapped for some sweatpants and a t-shirt.
He was barely conscious enough to remember to remove his goggles, and flick of the light, and within a matter of minutes, he was out.
Blue eyes watched the dark rectangle leading to the bedroom with a smile the owner wasn't even aware of, cleaning up a bit and pulling out some pillows and blankets from a cabinet. With a final glance into the doorway, he flicked the light to the kitchen and felt his way back into the living room, following the soft hum of the still-running laptops stowed beneath the coffee table. The blonde boy threw some of the blankets over the cushions and settled himself on the couch, sprawling out as much as the narrow space allowed and pulling one of the covers over his chest.
Thanks.
Yeah, 'for the medicine,' my ass, Mello thought in mild amusement.
For once, he would let it go. Mel. Ridiculous. Matt was too lazy to even say an extra syllable.
The blonde chuckled softly.
Finally, things seemed to be looking up. The Kira case had caused such a huge rift between him and Matt, he didn't want to admit it but there were times he distanced himself on purpose because he had tried to give up on the past. It was not in his nature to be nostalgic. But tonight, he let it go. For this moment, 'Mel' was fine and for now perhaps they could try to be children again, at least for a little bit.
But Mello knew that childhood had been nothing but a dream and he lived a dangerous life, even if he wasn't a wanted criminal anymore. He simply knew no other way. And he also knew that as much as he tried to tell himself it was wrong, Matt would follow him into Hell, and Mello wouldn't do a thing to stop him.
He was just a selfish bastard after all.
And Matt was just a loyal idiot.
A small smile graced the blonde's lips as his thoughts drifted into an incoherent jumble of sunlit memories at a time so long ago when L had been alive and all his hopes and dreams had been whole and shining with promise. A time when it hadn't seemed so very alien to hear a kind word or feel a gentle touch.
And without really meaning to, he let himself repeat the foreign word into the darkness in a gentle, whispering sigh.
"Thanks..."
It took a while but he eventually became aware of the bright rays of sunlight burning his eyelids and making it uncomfortably hot under the mass of blankets his lanky form had gotten hopelessly entangled in. Mello groaned, trying to turn over.
And wound up on the floor with a yelp and a curse.
The events of last night suddenly crashing down in a blinding whirl of reminiscence (or perhaps because he had hit his head on the coffee table) caused him to cut his would-be rather 'eloquent' string of curses short, however. Matt was still asleep.
Frowning and blinking up at the window as if it had caused him some grievous wrong, the blond managed to sit up finally and disentangle himself from the blankets.
Note to self: Couch equals narrow.
No shit, Sherlock.
Guh, his head hurt now. Grumbling under his breath, the blonde staggered toward the kitchen, reaching into the fridge for salvation. 10am was still pretty damn early, after all, and only chocolate could make that at all bearable.
The abrupt and annoyingly high beeping of something in the bedroom made him start however, which unfortunately for the blonde who had his head buried in the fridge also entailed trying to lift it... right into the top edge of the damn door.
Uttering a few hissed choice words, Mello slammed the door shut and raced into the other room, eyes glaring around for the perpetrator. Once he spotted the offensive cell-phone, he grabbed it and jammed a finger into the END button with a snarl.
There was a soft rustle of blankets and he looked up, a bit startled, to see Matt turn over in his sleep.
Mello licked his chocolate in thought. No, it was best not to wake him, he concluded. Best to go about his business without dragging him in unless it was absolutely necessary. After all, that was always his policy, whether he admitted it or not. Matt wasn't cut out for the kinds of things Mello could pull him into, and they both knew it. No, it was best the brunette stayed here by his techie-junk and let Mello do the dirty work. There was no point in bloodying two pairs of hands where one would suffice.
Mello had volunteered to be the sacrifice long ago.
Nibbling his rather unhealthy breakfast with a look of dark reminiscence in his eyes, the blonde tiptoed out of the room, shutting the door carefully to let Matt sleep in peace. He didn't need an alarm.
Tearing through the suitcase he hadn't bothered to fully unpack last night, the former mafia boss tugged on his customary close-fitting black leather pants, snapping shut the large silver cross belt-buckle with a soft click, tucking the bottoms of the legs into his sharp heeled boots. He wandered around for a bit, shirtless, still hot from the sun's earlier attacks, stepping into the bathroom to wash up.
Toweling off his face and neck, the blond stood staring at his reflection in the mirror for a while, tossing the damp towel on the counter with a slight frown.
His lean but well-muscled form was pallid, nearly luminous in the sunlight. Except the never-fading dark blights upon the left half of his face, neck, and shoulder. The mark of his mistake.
Biting his lip, Mello ran his fingertips over the rough skin once, then turned away swiftly. Don't dwell on it. It's a warning and I'll never let it happen again. I'll never miscalculate again. I'll never have to be rescued again...
Vague reassurances ran through his mind like a desperate mantra as he tugged on his tight leather vest, zipping it over the incurable skin with a decisive tug of the little silver ring on the zipper pull.
Today would be a brilliant success or he would never let himself live it down, he swore. Especially since this had all been his own damn idea. Stupid, really, but he never backed away from anything he started. He'd see it through, with or without anybody else.
And with Matt at his back if the need arose.
The thought was both comforting and terrible and he turned away with a sour expression, digging through the weapons arsenal with as much vigor as possible without raising too much of a ruckus.
The need would not arise.
Finally ready, the blond grabbed his dark biking helmet off the top of the metal cabinet, shouldering a small black backpack of useful things such as charts, extra chocolate, and grenades, fished his keys out of his jacket pocket and strolled through the door with a determined shine in his eyes, tugging the thick leather coat closer to his body as a wave of cold air affronted his bare midriff.
Sure, hell of a time to wear this, Mello, he chided himself in dark amusement, recalling how he'd put down Matt for a similar reason.
Well, old habits died hard, and if he was going to be at the top of his game today, this was the only way to do it.
Sharp canines digging into the last bit of his current Hershey's bar, Mello vaulted himself onto his bike, backing out with a squeal of tires against the icy ground and speeding off onto the main street with a roar and a cloud of trailing gray fog.
It was finally his turn to play.