Note: Since I seem to have haters (hello dear fake account, your insults and flames were much laughed at ^^), I now also have the fantastic xxbeyondxbirthdayxx Pom Pom Girls! Gimme a X! Gimme a X! Gimme a B! XD
I love you girls! (Wanna join the crew? search for 'Xxbeyondxbirthdayxx PomPom Girls, the MattxMello cheerleaders' on Facebook! Just for the LOLz and the love of our two boys! I may submit chapters I need advice on from time to time, but it's mostly to discuss MxM and DN related stuff.)

I'd like to thank two of the xxbeyondxbirthdayxx Pom Pom Girls for their help with this chapter, the lovely Mello aka HeavenCat and SadisticSugi! I had some doubts with it and they kindly confirmed that I had fucked up XD. So I rewrote 3/4 of it, which obviously makes me have to rewrite 45 as well (yes, it was already written -_-)
Buuut it doesn't change anything to the story, and the same's going to happen, just a tad bit less easily for Matt to set his plan in motion (you can't always be lucky!)
And in the end that makes two chapters more because it's way more developped, so all in all I guess it's a good point :)

Matt
I was probably a little too optimistic about my plan, when I made my first call. The second wasn't much better. I was turned down each time and I was beginning to fear that I could not make it to the first part of my plan. So the rest would never see light. It's always the same, theoretically things look easy, but once set in motion, they quickly find all the bumps and rocks on the road.

I kept on calling, going through all the yellow pages list of lawyers in LA, and they were quite a bit.

When I said things were against me, I hadn't realised how much. I didn't have money, so I was of no interest to the people I called. Helping hands weren't legion and I was slowly realising that my lack of faith in people's honesty and kindness was founded. You should expect people that studied to defend others to have some appeal for humanism, but actually the appeal is more financial than anything.

But I wouldn't stop just at the beginning. University. University had what I needed. I assume.
Looking for my agenda from the previous scholar year, I lit a cigarette. I wasn't supposed to smoke here, or anywhere in the house, but I didn't care at that point.
I spotted the item in a drawer with the pink bunny. That brought tears to my eyes but I set the memories aside, it wasn't time for that.
I flipped through the pages to find the general informations note I had somewhere in there and dialled the number of the Law department of UCLA once I found it, hoping that someone would reply although the holidays hadn't ended yet. But of course, it rang without an answer. Oh right, it was sunday today...

When I parked at my usual place at Uni, a wave of nostalgia washed over me. It was hard, so hard not to relive the moments shared with Mihael here. Stop. If I ever let myself dwell on that, I'd become a wreck again in no time. I was just grateful I had the strength in me right now to set things aside before I started to cry again. It's not that I didn't care or worry anymore, but I couldn't allow myself to.

I walked to the Law department, trying to spot someone in the other aisles in the meanwhile, but there wasn't anyone at this moment of the summer holidays, especially not on a sunday. I found a panel with informations that I could see through the glass door. Squinting my eyes to be able to read it in the distance, I noted a few numbers and immediately tried the first one.
Damn, it was tough. He practically hung up to my nose after calling me names. You don't want to help, ok, no need to be so fucking rude!
Second call was even worse. The guy lectured me about calling on a sunday, about asking for help for free ("Do you think people work for free young man? Ah young people these days have no idea..." blablabla).
One thing certain, if I ever want to change my major, it won't be law. I wouldn't want to study with such jerks.

I was still nowhere after that. Ok, I wouldn't find much help on a sunday, but I didn't have the fucking time to wait for tomorrow, so what now?
I sat in my car, door open, smoking cigarette on cigarette. There must be a way. I can't wait tomorrow, because tomorrow only leaves me with twenty four hours to do something. Twenty four hours to find a way to keep Mihael here in LA. Or even to keep him alive... What if the respirator stops during the flight? What if the emergency battery doesn't work? What if there's too many jolts while they're flying and with the crack in his skull... SHIT!

I shook my head like if the morbid thoughts would fall off my brain by the ears. I could feel a lump in my throat, and my hands become cold. It wasn't the time to feel weak, I had some serious thinking to do. So I breathed deeply. Cigarettes helped me to keep anxiety at bay, but I was starting to think that a good shot of strong alcohol may help. No getting drunk, just a strong boost... No. Let's forget it, that's stupid.

Tapping the stirring wheel, my own nervousness was going in the way of my thinking process, which made me even more nervous. Great.
Where would I find help? I had already mailed all possible online legal aid but they stated a reply in 48 to 72 hours. I had tried to call many lawyers but most of the firms were closed, and the few secretaries I had on the phone took a message but I had few chances to be called back with such a case.

Desperate, I went to the police.

The policeman looked so bored when I explained my case that I wanted to strangle him.
He only told me that I could lodge a complaint, but there wasn't much chance that the prosecuting attorney cared about that, because he got hundred of complaints and from what I was saying, Mihael was in a good hospital, Doctor Zimmerman was renowned so he couldn't be a bad guy (what's the point?) and the parents were taking full charge so I had no legal value in the story. Hum, thanks, second time I'm told I'm nothing...

I filed my complaint since I couldn't do much more at that point, even if I didn't have any idea if that was a good thing to do. Ok, I knew about the process: go to the police, lodge a complaint, complaint submitted to the prosecutor, prosecutor decides to deal with it or shelve it. If the prosecuting attorney decides to take the complaint seriously, then he meets the plaintiff and the opponent, and still can decide to shelve the file. If he doesn't, then in my case the counter expertise of Mihael's case is demanded.
That was about all I could get on the internet.

I was legal concerning the law, someone's health was put in danger and if I had any doubt, I had the right to distrain the law for a second medical advice. That's what comforted me in doing this. I had the right to do it so I had to take the chance.
If Mihael left the US, of course I knew that he would be back as soon as he could, but it would take months and he could even not make it during the flight to Berlin, which was my biggest fear far beyond not being able to see him for months. I could deal, even if hardly, with a temporary separation, but not with the loss.

Of course, it wouldn't be easy, and I could be backslapped very hard by justice if it went unto the counter expertise and nothing wrong was found, because not only would I have to pay for the other side's expenses, but I would face a penal prosecution for false accusations. And I was sure the 'other side' would not hesitate a single second to prosecute me. They probably even had their own personal lawyer and if he had the same moral as them, I was doomed.
But I'd sign a pact with my blood with anyone willing to help me at this point so well, no choice.

I went home around noon after my mum had called me to check on me, and of course she forced some food down my throat. She seemed extremely worried, and I understood why when I went to brush my teeth and saw my face in the mirror. I was usually fair skinned but now I was so pale I looked like dead. I had dark circles under my eyes and looked awfully tired. Sick even.

I checked my emails but there was nothing.
My mum came past my bedroom's open door as I was smoking at the window. She shook her head when she saw me, but she didn't say anything. I think she didn't say anything because of the situation, but I was pretty sure that if... when this would be sorted out, I would hear about that.

I checked my mailbox again a hundred times but suddenly just fell asleep on my desk. When I woke up, it was around 6pm.
All this was wearing me out. But still no email.
I was like a lion in a cage. I called again, all the list on the yellow pages. I lost my temper, cried on the phone, insulted a few people, threatened a few others, but it didn't touch anyone in the slightest. At least it made me feel a bit better to tell them what I thought about their non existent sense of humanity.
I suddenly felt so alone, so lost, even if my parents supported me, they couldn't help much further.
It was David against Goliath, and Goliath had a lot of money. All I had was my willpower to protect Mihael and my brain.

It wasn't a movie, the good wouldn't win against the bad. Not if I didn't give myself means to counter attack.

I went to my parents in the living room. I felt horrible for asking that, but I was so hopeless I had to. But they didn't have much money, and although they assured me that they would do their best to help me, they couldn't give me much. They obviously couldn't pay a lawyer. Of course, I expected that... but I think I expected some kind of miracle nonetheless.

I helped my mother in the kitchen so I could talk with her, she had always a good advice to give me. Except that she didn't have one this time. Everyone here was helpless. Time was passing and we didn't have a fucking clue about what we had to do.

I took my car after dinner and just drove. I eventually passed by the hospital. I stopped, staring at the façade, but quickly resumed driving before I made something stupid.

A drink. I wanted that shot of anything strong now. Just so maybe it would make the lump in my throat disappear. Swallowing was painful. Walking was painful. Everything was.
I first took the direction of the glaucous bar I went to, some months ago. But I decided against it. I didn't want to face those girls, I didn't want to think about what had brought me here in the beginning.

On my way home I saw the lights of the club where Mihael had worked. Everything seemed to remind me of him.
Not really knowing why, I parked in from of the disco and entered. I was even surprised they let me in with the way I looked.
I sat at the bar and ordered vodka. Just one shot, alone.
The barman looked at me several times before snapping.
"Hey, you're Mello's friend, right?"
Mello... I never called him that although I knew about the nickname. He had told me once but we never used our nicknames, I wouldn't want him to call me Matt. Except now, he could call me anything as long as he was here with me...
"Yeah..." I replied, making a sign to get my glass filled a second time. I gulped the shot and just kept on staring at the wood of the bar in front of me.
"Long time we didn't see him around, he quit but I thought he'd come to say hello at least..." he went on. Couldn't he just shut up?
It was early so there weren't a lot of customers around, maybe twenty people to the most, so he kept on making conversation with me, or at least trying to since I was far from responding.
"Are you just friends-friends or...?" he asked, "because I remember seeing him with tha t guy and the same night you kissed him and you looked pretty shitfaced so... well, just wondering if I have my chances if I drop him a call, his number is still in the restroom on the employees' list so..."
I got my glass filled again. Once more. And again.
Talk about doing something stupid... I was now pretty drunk, snuggling with my dear friend the bar, my head resting on my arm. It was even more stupid that this would cost me quite a bunch of tenners, clubs don't sell strong alcohol for cheap.

When I asked for a sixth shot, the barman refused: "You had your share, I won't serve you anything but water or juice now." The bar had strict rules.
I stared at him and I wanted to punch him. I was clear enough to know I wouldn't be able to, but drunk enough to be verbally stupid.
"Just serve me that shot already, you fag..."
"Who are you calling a fag douchebag?" the barman looked puzzled. Being called a fag by a guy you saw kiss another guy, how ironic.
I tried to stand up. "You, me, whatever..." I stuttered, throwing bills on the counter.
I grabbed my keys I had carelessly left on the bar and tried to walk to the exit of the club.
The barman ran around the wooden counter and pulled me back in: "No way! You're not going anywhere, I'll call you a taxi."
"Leave me... alone." I was dizzy. I didn't oppose when he made me sit at the bar again, I was unable to stay on my feet anyway, "What m'I doing here... in the first place..." I mumbled, "This... place's so gay..."
"Well, that's the point, smartass." the other barman, who was taking his shift at that instant, spat at me with his thick spanish accent, pushing a glass of water in front of me.

"My boyfr...iend's a boy, y'know" I was pretty well pissed right now.
Both looked at me with a sneer. I gave them a crooked smile and kept on making a fool of myself, "I got that... pink bunny and... and I'm not g...gay... b...but he's got... a dick y'know... and..."
"What the fuck dude, look at you! You're so pathetic, don't drink if you can't hold your liquor man!" Barman Number One told me, scoffing, "We don't care if you suck dick or not, just get a hold of yourself, you're fucking ridiculous!".
"But he's fucking cute." Spanish Barman added, "If he wasn't shitfaced I'd give it a go but I don't do stupid kids that can't have fun without boiling themselves."
"I'm not... having fun you dumb...ass, I'm..." I was crying now, much to their surprise, "It hurts! It fucking hurts!"
I was beginning to feel clearer now and all the pain, all the worry were coming back. But I was still drunk enough to be unable to get a grip, and I was now breaking down in front of total strangers.
"Great, here's the official nutcase of the evening." Number One sighed going back to his customers.
"Heh, you can't blame him, it always hurts the first time!" Spanish Boy laughed, "No need to put yourself in a state like this, it will get better sweetie." He patted the back of my hand and kept on laughing as he finished cleaning some glasses.
My system evacuated the vodka little by little, and little by little I noticed people around me, looking at me with pity as they came to fetch drinks at the bar. I peered above my shoulder at the dancefloor but it made me feel sick to see them move in rhythm.
Alcohol made me feel sick, people watching made me feel sick, this situation made me feel sick. And I exploded.

"He's gonna die!" I was shaking under the force of my sobs, "I'm trying to fight but he's gonna die!"
I fell from my stool, hitting the border of the bar with my head in the process, and I landed on my knees with my eyebrow arch bleeding. I didn't even notice until someone began to pat the wound with a tissue.
"Look what you've done to yourself... come on." The person pulled me on my feet and almost carried me to a couch in a corner, helping me sit.
"Drink that." Spanish Boy deposited a cup of coffee in front of me. He crouched, looking at me, "You gonna be ok?"
Both barmen seemed genuinely worried, as well as the person that was trying to stop the blood above my eye.
"I... don't know what to do..." I kept on crying, I just couldn't stop myself.
"Do you want to tell us what's wrong?" the unknown person asked kindly.
"Who's gonna die? What are you trying to fight for?" Number One enquired, bringing some more tissues.
They were all so kind with me now, it just made me weep even more.