This chapter is dedicated to Kismet. Luffles to you, little one.

Letters

6

--M--

June 17, 2007

Two hours.

Matt ground the butt of his last cigarette into the concrete with a toe, pushing it into alignment with the rest.

Two long hours.

He didn't know whether that made him pathetic or loyal. He didn't know which was worse. He didn't really want to find out.

Two bleak hours.

Tired. He was numb, all hope finally drained. All thoughts of reliability had slowly dwindled and honor had never been present in the boy Mello had been… so why would he have expected it in the man?

Two heartbreaking hours.

He shouldn't be feeling this way. He shouldn't have let himself become so anxious before he had even seen the guy. It shouldn't have left him so sapped of strength. It should have been different, so different, and yet the problem was that he wasn't surprised with the outcome. What he really should have done was simply expect it.

Two fucking hours.

It had taken two hours before Matt had let himself believe that Mello wasn't coming.

He gave the alley one last glance through orange-colored lenses, the sun setting magnificently behind the old warehouse, and turned his boots away. If Mello did bother to show up somehow, someday, he would know that Matt had waited for him by the cigarette butts on the ground. In his frustration and boredom, Matt had spelled it out in the trash he was leaving behind:

TWO HOURS.

--M--

"I waited for you today, but you didn't show.

No. No. No.

I needed you today, so where did you go?

I cried out with no reply, and

I can't feel you by my side, so

I'll hold tight to what I know,

You're here and I'm never alone."

July 23, 1998

Matt woke up, and wondered where he found the energy to crawl out of bed. Pounding a small fist on his alarm clock to shut it up, Matt stumbled to his wardrobe in the dark, still half asleep.

The day before had been… more exhausting than he had ever imagined. His classes were hard, and his teachers expected him to perform at the level of Mello, Near, and Orphan, and they had been studying the topics diligently for several weeks already. Matt hadn't even tried to answer any questions on the Latin test he had been given—he didn't know any Latin. It was frustrating; wasn't the point that his teacher was supposed to be teaching him the language?

The rest of the day hadn't gotten any better; it had slumped into a downward spiral of frustration and jealousy. He only had classes with the other three children and to Matt's goggled eyes, they were like a team of synchronized swimmers. They all seemed to understand the material and what was expected of them. Matt didn't. He felt more like he'd fallen ungracefully off the high dive, only to flounder in the chlorine.

After the long day culminating in running laps around the firing range in the summer heat, Matt had retreated back to his room, feeling exhausted mentally and physically. It was only then that he remembered Wammy's words about the difficulties and the challenges. At the time, Matt had never imagined his challenges would be like this. Despite that, Matt knew he had been warned and couldn't bring himself to blame the old man. Wammy had tried to tell him; Matt just had been too full of himself to understand the implications.

He had felt older, sitting there in his darkened room, absently playing solitaire. He had lost something that day, without really understanding what it was he was missing, and with a certain jaded heaviness, Matt knew he would only continue to lose whatever it was.

Because he wasn't about to give up. No, Matt knew that that was what the others, even Orphan, secretly hoped. It had been apparent in English when the rest of them had spoken in a perfect Standard American English dialect. When he had been with the other children on his first day, his Scouse accent had been a source of slight amusement, but not enough to ostracize him. Among his three new classmates, he was ridiculed for not comprehending the slight speech differences right away. It was downright embarrassing when both Mello and Orphan hinted that their first, and even second languages hadn't been English, yet they both spoke it better than Matt did. Well, Mello hadn't hinted… he had brandished the information in Matt's face like a red-hot iron. It hurt and Matt hated the other children at that moment, as much as he realized that they were the first peers who shared his same cursed intelligence.

The rollicking emotions of rivalry—especially with Mello who seemed to take Matt's existence as a personal insult—allowed Matt to use the acerbic oil to fuel his fire for competing and beating them. All of them. Matt had taken it upon himself to find the library in the basement of Building B and check out all the suggested reading materials for his classes for the summer. He had also spoken privately with the English teacher to find himself a speech therapist, despite the embarrassment of asking. He had spent the majority of the night pouring over study books and solitaire, sometimes simultaneously doing both.

Which was why he was now blearily eyeing the door, hoping he wouldn't run into his classmates as soon as he stepped out into the hallway. He had woken up feeling stuffy after studying in bed, the dust from the books leaving his tongue feeling thick. He could wait until Tuesday's first class of geography and politics to interact with those kids, right?

Goggles strapped on to protect him from the advances of light, Matt shrugged his shoulders back and pushed open the door.

The hallway was empty, until he closed his door and found Orphan standing directly behind it. Matt's shoulders slumped in response; he hadn't wanted to walk with anyone except himself down to breakfast. Orphan's constant presence, while friendly, was not conducive to Matt's morning. Through his groggy sleepiness, Matt forced himself to recall that he didn't want to push away his only friend… even if he was tired and cranky.

"Hey," she said by way of greeting, bright and cheery. Something gave off a questioning feline chirp and Matt's eyes were drawn to what she was holding in her arms. Orphan held up the cat, and Matt realized it was a lot smaller than he had first believed. Underneath the mass of silky white and grey fur, it looked more like a kitten than a full grown cat. The small pet blinked at Matt, its coloring giving the impression of black eyeliner around green-blue eyes. "This is Kismet."

Matt's slow simmering anger from the day before gradually melted away. Kismet was serene and commanding, her paws perched over Orphan's forearm, imperiously letting Matt know it was okay to pet her. Matt reached out a hand and gently petted the top of Kismet's head, eliciting a small mraw? from the animal. Orphan giggled, and Matt found himself joining in as Kismet began purring, stretching her head and neck to get the full effect of Matt's ministrations. The soft mass of fur rumbled under his fingers, almost tickling him.

"Do you want to hold her?" Orphan asked, shifting the cat into a more accessible position.

Matt hesitated before responding, and his answer reflected his insecurity, "Okay?"

His parents had never kept pets more than two fish at a time in an aquarium when he had been younger, but they had never seemed to last very long. Matt had usually been the one to find the fish floating upside down in the tank despite the changes in pH levels, fish foods, and water temperatures the family had tried without any luck. Eventually his parents had given up, emptied the water, and sold the aquarium. Knowing his own bad luck with pets, Matt decided to err on the side of caution with one of Orphan's prized animals. He didn't want to drop Kismet, even though he knew cats were all supposed to land on their feet. Matt figured he should at least warn Orphan of his lack of knowledge on the matter. "But I've never held a cat before."

"Oh, that's fine," Orphan told him cheerfully. "Here, hold her with one hand under her and the other around her. Like this."

Orphan demonstrated with exaggerated movements, and Kismet tolerated the explanation while retaining an air of aloofness and boredom throughout the whole affair. Matt held out his arms to try, and Orphan deposited Kismet firmly into them, just as Matt found himself ready to sneeze. Unable to wipe at his nose while fragilely cradling Kismet, Matt settled for wiggling it. Orphan burst out laughing, her childlike guffaws echoing down the hallway.

The N door opened, a tuft of white hair poking out from behind it. A single black eye was visible, shaded by hair, and caught next to the dark wood. Matt would have thought Near was curious as to why Orphan was laughing, except that no emotion registered on his pale face. Orphan's laughter slowly began to down, but Matt forgot he was trying not to sneeze.

The sound of his nose trumpeting, and the reflexive twitch of his head and shoulders startled the purring cat out of his arms. When he opened his eyes, Matt could tell that even Near had jumped back into his room a ways. Orphan, on the other hand, was laughing again. Kismet was hiding behind her thin legs, giving Matt a guarded glare that said plainly that he was never to hold her again.

"I'm going to breakfast," Near announced quietly, and he exited the room. Near locked his door, and then Matt noticed his unsteady footfalls towards the stairs, one foot not quite pulling up at the same speed as the other. He hadn't noticed it the day before, not with Mello dragging him along, although now, looking back, Matt realized that Near's gait had been uneven. The redhead had automatically assumed that it was Mello's tugging that caused it.

"Wait for me!" Orphan shouted, whirling around to scoop up Kismet and replace the cat inside her room. Near made no response, grabbing the railing as he proceeded to make his way down the stairs. Matt began to follow, but then stopped and quickly went back to lock his door.

Near and Orphan had just reached the first landing and turned the corner, when Mello's door opened, the blond locking it furtively behind him. His eyes landed on Matt, and narrowed, but he quickly turned them along with his feet to Near's door.

"Near's on the stairs," Matt blurted out suddenly, wondering why he had spoken. It wasn't like he had an obligation to be nice to Mello. Dressed all in black again, Mello twisted around, his face pale and pinched, and blue eyes on the redhead as he walked past. Matt kept his goggles pointed forward, not daring to look at him.

It was like having a pack of wolves follow him, Matt decided upon striking out for the refectory. Mello stalked him all the way there, staying at least ten feet behind, but never exactly the same distance and never directly behind him. It was completely unnerving, and Matt had to resist the urge to keep checking behind for the exact location of his rival.

At least, Matt concluded, the older blond was behind him, even if it was simply literally. It gave Matt hope that soon perhaps, Matt would be ahead in what he was beginning to see as a serious competition.

--M--

"Where you going, Matt?"

Orphan looked up at him curiously, as if he were breaking some kind of lunchtime tradition. Which, he supposed, he probably was.

He didn't really want to tell the truth about it, but knew that his classmates would figure it out soon anyway. If it had been one of them, Matt knew he would have solved the mystery.

"I'm going to see Mr. Gage." This statement caught the attention of the rest of the table. Mello was watching him like a cat that has spotted a mouse, and Near stopped playing with his food. Forrest Gage was the English teacher and had agreed to help Matt as a speech and language therapist to control his accent. Matt was also secretly hoping Mr. Gage could teach him how to fake others… he remembered Sebastien's thick French and the laughs it had created. His mind wandered a bit as he wondered whether Orphan or Near would find it as entertaining… could Near even laugh?

"You left something in English?" Orphan questioned. English class had been at 9:30, second period, even though it had been the last class before lunch—fourth period—the day before. Class times switched everyday in a pattern that Matt knew would take some getting used to, but he felt that it would keep him from getting too set in a single routine.

"No," Matt replied, hoping they wouldn't ask further questions while knowing they would.

"What are you doing?" Matt could hear Mello's narrowed eyes in his voice even before he glanced over to meet the accusing glare. Matt's insides suddenly curled up into a defensive ball, his breath short and hot, and he suddenly didn't want to tell Mello—no, any of them—what he was doing and where he was going. It would only mean he'd be mocked sooner.

"Leaving."

--M--

June 25, 1998

"Achoo!"

Matt wiped at his nose with a sleeve. Orphan laughed, both of them sitting outside in the shade behind the church. She had brought out three cats with them, saying that it was important for their health that they get outside sometimes. Inwardly, Matt doubted the truth of her words because he had heard of indoor cats, but supposed that Orphan probably knew more than he did about felines. Currently, Kismet was prowling through some shrubbery, and Orphan had explained proudly that the grey and white cat was quite the huntress. Matt, however, hoped that he wouldn't have to see any dead mouse pieces before supper. Beowulf, a larger grey-striped male, skittered across the lawn in bursts of speed, stopping to lurk in the grass or pounce on fallen leaves. Orphan's other pet General was a mass of orange fur shaped vaguely like an enormous American football with paws and a tail. He sat on the other side of his mistress, stretched out to fully appreciate the shade. Orphan petted him absentmindedly, then turned to Matt.

"You sneeze a lot, don't you?"

Matt felt his cheeks heat up. "Not really."

"Yes, you do," Orphan insisted in her typical fashion, sure of herself and oblivious to Matt's discomfort.

"It's only when you're around," Matt replied defensively, not realizing the absolute truth of the statement until he had spoken. It was only when he was with Orphan that Matt sneezed and his eyes itched and he had the vague sense that his throat was coated with dust. It was like….

If he were a doctor, he'd probably diagnose himself with allergies. Except, one couldn't be allergic to people, right? But nothing else was constant in his environment when he felt sick except for the girl… and the symptoms were undoubtedly worse the closer she was.

"You know, some cultures believe that when you sneeze, it means someone is talking about you behind your back," Orphan continued, still unaware of Matt's inner turmoil. "I bet it's Mello. He hates you especially, said you're a gormless piece of shite, you know."

"Yeah, I know…" Matt said casually, even though he hadn't. Now with the possibility of being allergic to Orphan swimming through his head along with the ever-present threat that was Mello, Matt wondered what bizarre singularity would prevent him from being friends with Near… besides Near's obvious lack of emotions. After four days of classes and meals with the albino, Matt had never seen the younger boy smile. Although somehow, Mello and Near continued to stay close together, their peculiar relationship excluded anyone else so that Matt and Orphan only had each other.

"What was it like before I got here?" Matt asked suddenly.

Orphan peered at him closely, her dark honey eyes searching his. "You're wondering why you're here?"

"No," Matt replied assuredly, "I know why I'm here. It's just… what?"

Orphan was raising an eyebrow as if she didn't believe him, a serious demeanor on her delicate face. "Do you know why you're here? Because I get the impression that you really don't. Wammy didn't tell you, did he?"

"Of course he told me," Matt retorted. Wammy had told him about becoming a detective and keeping secrets. Matt knew he was going to be a great force of Justice by the time normal children moved into junior high, if not before. It was obvious that the other three had the same goals, and insulting that Orphan thought he was the only one who hadn't been clued in. Wammy trusted Matt, just as Matt trusted the aging caretaker.

"Oh, don't worry, he didn't tell us right away either… I mean, it's not something you can tell just anybody. And I think he kind of rushed it because of Mello… not that that did any good, really. Quite the contrary, as I think Mello only got worse. But once you actually got here—another M—I think the message got across, you know?" Orphan shifted her gaze off Matt halfway through in favor of watching General, the cat rolling over on his side and pushing his face into Orphan's palm. Matt got the sense that Orphan was testing him somehow, but he couldn't quite decipher what she was talking about. Doubt sidled up to his tapestry of perceived truth, tugging playfully at the threads.

"Everyone thought Mello was going to be expelled because he was violent," Matt stated, knowing he needed Orphan to think he understood everything she was talking about before he could get to his real questions. Even though she sounded like she was talking in vague riddles, Matt could follow her words, albeit clumsily. Something had happened to Mello, though, when Matt had arrived at the House. Matt was some kind of message? But it didn't make sense; it was obvious that Mello hated Matt, so why would the redhead's arrival make the blond less violent? His mind whirred, trying to put it all together, but not only was he missing pieces of the puzzle, he also had no clue what kind of mosaic he was trying to build. He felt another sneeze coming, tickling the edges of his nostrils.

"Well, yeah, he was violent," Orphan emphasized as if he were stupid, "Even the regs knew that."

Matt had picked up on the slang used to describe the rest of children at the orphanage earlier in the week. They were regs because they were the regular children of the House. To the regs, Matt was one of those children. Matt frowned, but holding back his sneeze only helped his eyes itch and water. He slid a finger under his goggles to wipe his eyes as he spoke. "What did he do?"

Orphan shrugged, an unusual gesture for discussing Mello's violence, Matt decided. She looked down to General, and for the first time, her voice was tinged with bitterness. "What didn't he do is a better question."

"Never mind," Matt muttered quickly before he sneezed painfully. It was too bad he was allergic to Orphan, he thought darkly, wiping his nose and squinting against his watery eyes. She was the only one he could nearly call a friend.

--M--

July 8, 1998

Blair Rose should have been five years old today. If she had lived. It wasn't fair.

Matt lay on his bed, his goggles pushed onto his forehead. His eyes were focused on the ceiling, but he wasn't seeing it. Matt was looking inwards, down to where his own heart lay caged away from reality. The bars were made of his own anger and vengeance, the cold air surrounding him wrought from how he had distanced himself. The key… unbidden from within the prison came as a giggling girl, blond ponytails swinging as she unlocked and freed Matt's broken heart. Nothing was fair, really. Matt wiped at the tears spilling into his goggles, his face passive and silent but for their slow trickle. His family was really dead, and they certainly hadn't deserved it.

And the constables Seaver and Brinkley weren't anywhere closer. In fact, Matt suspected the two weren't even working on the case anymore. No progress had been made, no movement forward. No information about the man with the hat. But neither were the constables willing to let Matt get involved.

"It's a grown-up thing, you see?" Seaver had said over the phone, sounding like he was distracted and the little orphan boy was wasting his time. Matt had almost wanted to hang up on him and his 'grown-up' notions. If it wasn't for the fact they were the detectives on the case….

"Blair…" he choked out, curling up to protect himself from the sobs now beginning to wrack his body. The little girl didn't reply, and Matt's insides twisted painfully because he knew she never would. "…Rose… you're such a pretty Chester Rose, right? Right?"

Matt plunged deeper into his despair, unable to help himself, half wanting the pain and the grief to wash over him. He deserved to feel this sorrow because he had survived. His family was gone so he was compelled to drown in tears for them. If he didn't, would he forget them? If he stopped crying, would it mean he didn't really care? Would he forever be soulless and emotionless as the emptiness that had found him in the days that followed his loss if he didn't cry here, now, again, and often?

"Mum!" he cried, "Da!" His outbursts echoed back to him in his small room, to leave him surrounded in silence. He was all alone, no one cared, and his family was never coming back. Matt, because he had once been Mail, would always be alone. The normally comforting darkness now seemed to illuminate all the emptiness he possessed inside his heart. His sense of sight blocked, he could believe there was nothing outside of him as well, mirroring what he felt his heart looked like. The blackness, both inside and out, was impenetrable so that Matt couldn't see the end of it. A shudder whipped through his shoulders, along his spine and to his fingertips as a cold acceptance sunk heavily into his mind. It would never end, would it. Alone and in a strange place with people who simultaneously hated him and, worse, showed little interest in him.

Matt lay gasping shakily from the aftermath of his sobs, waiting for something. Anything that would drive away the numbness that began little by little. It crept up, wrapping around him like a cool blanket of fog; its small, wispy tendrils enveloped his soul.

The silence and the minutes dragged on, weighing heavily enough to crush something in Matt's chest. It was slow, like suffocation, but every heartbeat seemed to sink deeper into him, and nothing could stop its deadening progress. The blanket was enclosing him completely, binding Matt to the heartless insensitivity of his present world. He couldn't escape… and found he didn't want to. At least the numbness would be so apparent that everyone would know he was mourning. They would see the deadness mirrored in his eyes and understand that the death of his family had meant something to the little redhead. The length and depth of his grief would prove how wonderful his family had been. Suffocating under the weight of his anguish, Matt gasped for breath as hot tears trailed down his cheeks.

He closed his eyes and his sobs lessened even though he didn't want them to. He should be sadder; his parents and Blair Rose were too precious for him not to cry more. Exhaustion seeped through the invisible blanket, bringing a hazy peace to Matt's body, even as his mind railed against it. He shouldn't let go of the pain, because it meant… it meant he had cared….

"You just don't get it, do you?" the beautiful girl said, a mixture of pity and annoyance painted on her angelic face. Her fine features were framed with long layers of golden hair, her grey-blue eyes the color of a rainy morning. Matt was close to her, so he could see that she was much taller than him, although it only accentuated her outrageous beauty. It was the girl from the hallway but this time, Matt's heart didn't pound in fear of the strangeness; he only felt a distant sense of wonderment. The patterns on her shirt didn't look like flowers anymore either, the jagged scarlet splotches more like drops of wet paint. Or nail polish, he thought, glancing at her matching fingernails. "But if you're one of us, you'll figure it out eventually, huh?"

Matt gave her a confused look. What was she talking about? Figure out what? Matt pondered her words, then belatedly realized she was fading from view. In contrast, the pattern on her shirt grew more distinct, blurring together into a terrifyingly familiar red nightmare. Matt's adrenaline suddenly kicked in ferociously, his heart pumping erratically in terror as he understood what was happening. Everything was dark like his closet and the blood monster was approaching.

Someone shouted harshly, and the sounds of bullets ricocheted across the vast empty space. Matt didn't have time to react, no time to run, to hide. Wet scarlet rose up like a curtain before him, blocking out the darkness behind it with its liquid light. Terrified, Matt could barely make out the silhouette of the man with the hat on the other side of the cascade of blood. Anger surged through his veins suddenly replacing his panic, but as much as Matt wanted to reach the man, it would mean he would have to step through the wall of red liquid, covering himself in what must be the blood of his own family. Frustration battled fury battling fear, tearing an incontrollable howl from his chest.

He woke up sweating, the echo of his cry hanging in the air. Matt gasped and shook, the edges of his nightmare clinging to him like brambles. He hadn't even realized he had fallen asleep. Matt wondered if his nightmare was punishment for surviving. The sole remaining life of the Jeevas family, Matt was completely alone. Another wave of grief washed over him, as he contemplated once again how his family was gone. He needed to let himself wash away into the breath-catching pain, lose himself to the tender agony of his memories. How Blair Rose had been determined to follow him to school one day. How his father always smelled of paint. How his mother had made him lunches every morning, packing up his box of apple juice. Maybe they weren't quite gone if he simply kept remembering them and focused on nothing else… maybe then he wouldn't be so alone.

Suddenly, the door opened and light streamed in around a tall figure in the doorway. Matt shrank away from the terrible image, reminiscent of his nightmare, before his tear-blurred eyes caught Wammy's worried expression. Matt shut them against the glare from the hallway and fumbled for his goggles. Placing them on his head, he heard the heavy footsteps reach the bedside and then Wammy picked up Matt gently as if he were a precious doll and hugged the boy to his chest.

"You don't have to bear it alone, my boy," he said, petting Matt's auburn hair. Matt stifled a sob at the words. How had Wammy known his exact thoughts? And at the right moment, he had said the right words…. More tears spilled out, soaking into the soft cushion of his goggles, but these tears felt cleansing, and Matt reached the conclusion Wammy had set before him: the House founder would keep Matt from being alone.

Quite suddenly, Matt felt safe again. It was strange how he hadn't even realized he had been so scared until his caretaker held him. He let the feeling wash over him, gentle as surf sliding across a sandy coast, smoothing and eroding away his negative emotions. Wammy was some kind of lifeline to keep Matt from drowning in his sorrow.

"I should have been here sooner, Matt. I'm sorry," Wammy whispered, still gently rocking the boy in his arms. Matt sniffled, trying to shake his head that it wasn't the man's fault, not trusting his voice yet.

"Let me tell you something, my boy," the caretaker began heavily, "Your family is dead, and nothing can change that. But from somewhere—be it heaven or someplace else—they are watching over you. It's because they love you dearly and they want to be sure you're happy. It's never an easy thing to be separated from the ones you love, but the truth is that even when you feel like you're completely alone, someone cares about you."

Matt digested the words, letting them flow through him like a cup of hot chocolate as Wammy held him back a little to look Matt in the face. Matt saw the man smile through orange-tinted lenses, the goggles turning his graying mustache faintly yellow. Wammy's older face held only a hint of sadness for Matt's plight, somehow becoming mischievous. "I'm also one of those people, you know. You're part of my family now, here at the House. When you're here, you're never alone.

"Now go to sleep, my boy." Wammy finished and gently laid Matt down into the covers, pulling them up to the boy's chin. With his tears dried and his heart warmed as a result of Wammy's ministrations and speech, Matt didn't even notice that his goggles were still on his face and he drifted off into the darkness.

He slept soundly.

--M--

First off, dear readers, I'm sorry for the long delay… yeah, I told a few of you I'd get this up by Sunday and now it's Wednesday. I'll suffice it to say I've been busy. I hope you enjoyed this chapter regardless of its tardiness.

On another note, this chapter is really painful for me in a way quite different from Matt's. Orphan's cat Kismet really was MY adorable kitty, but between the writing of Kismet's scene and this posting, she passed away (July 24) . Hence, this chapter is dedicated to my fluffy little ball of fur that's no longer with me. Luffles, Kismizzles.

You know you want to review. Click the button and tell me how cruel I am to do this to Matt. Did I make you cry?