All The Way Here

Mello listened to the girl waffling on, amazed that so much could be said about the colours of lipsticks. So much now convinced him that Misa Amane was the second Kira, but for that fact, he would have happily taken the headphones off and gone to relieve Matt downtown. He stretched, a crick loosening in his neck with an audible crack. He was half-tempted to go and see how Matt was getting on anyway. If only to ensure that he was paying attention. Mello smirked, wondering why he attempted to fool himself. Yet given a choice, Matt\'s ass over this banal creatures incessant talking...



Mello peered out from underneath the blind. Outside the sun was going down; another LA sunset. This used to be his city. It still should be, if he was to walk out there now with a certain kind of attitude. If anyone was to pick up the pieces of the operation here, then Mello was the one in the frame. He vaguely wondered what had happened out there, when he went missing, or if there had been anyone left to know that he was gone. As many terrible memories assaulted him out there, there was a kind of power too. He had felt it as soon as he\'d stepped off the plane and smelt that LA air. He could do anything and be anyone. Out there, he was number one.



He returned to the mouldy armchair, schooling himself to ignore the stains and the suspicion of fleas. Nothing had bitten him yet. This was LA. Who would dare? Through his headphones, Mello heard Mogi make a non-committal comment about the virtues of Iced Champink against the colour of a specific dress. Mello smirked and glared at the table. If this had been just a few weeks ago and he had suspected that the second Kira and maybe even Kira himself were in LA, what could he have done? So much more. Such a waste of the years of building up his Mafia connections, just to have it all crumble at the 11th hour.



Biting down disappointment, Mello glanced up at a small beep. It was the instant messenger window that he had open with Matt. Nothing had been typed there for half an hour, when his suggestion that they play on-line chess had gone unanswered. He clicked it open, hoping for news. He got it. \'Nothing\'s happened.\' Mello sighed, thinking back to New York. Matt was already stir crazy then and it was just getting worse. He could feel his lover\'s depression as an undercurrent in every text, call, e-mail or message. He never actually said that, covering it up in a whining, \'I\'m bored!\', that just wasn\'t like him. Matt didn\'t get bored. He played games, disappeared into his own mind or threw a tantrum and went out. He didn\'t just sit there waiting for the world to entertain him.



Mello typed back, \'What are you doing?\'



There was another long pause, then the legend \'Matt\'s typing...\', but nothing appeared on the screen. In the headphones, Misa Aname was talking about shoes. On the messenger, it came again, \'Matt\'s typing...\', and still no message. Mello frowned, waiting. Misa Amane expressed the opinion that American girls had bigger feet than Japanese girls, but she personally thought that big feet were ugly on women. The messenger told him again that Matt was typing. Given the speed that the redhead could type at, it should have been an essay by now, but when it finally arrived, it simply said, \'Eating noodles.\'



Mello sat back, feeling the pressure prickling around him like an iron maiden ready to shut. It was so tempting to shut the woman up, one way or another; then go and shake Matt. The lure of power out there on the streets, that was attractive too, in ways which Mello really didn\'t want to admit to. Power is a drug, someone had once said to him. He\'d used the information at the time, but now he actually understood it. It took a brave, strong man to stand back from the precipice. He could just as easily walk back in and even convince himself that it was all about Kira. Rebuilding for destruction. Mello was under no illusions though. Right now, tailing the airhead and the Japanese police were their fastest, most direct route to Kira. Anything else was kidding himself.



The blond glanced at the window again, watching day turn to night. He wasn\'t powerless. Not really. It was a different sort of game, that\'s all. He bent and typed into the messenger again, \'What were you typing before that you decided not to send?\' Absolute silence at the other end. Mello smirked. Could it possibly be that Matt hadn\'t know it gave that alert? Mello typed again. \'Imagine that I\'ve got a gun at your head. Tell me.\' He grinned as the alert came up, \'Matt is typing...\' It arrived. \'Imagine that I don\'t give a shit.\' Mello raised his eyebrows. Over the headphones, Misa Amane thought that sling-backs accentuated the calves quite nicely, but only if you bought high enough heels. Mello typed back, \'Bang.\'



He strode to the window again, leads trailing after him and stared out onto the streets. Opposite, he could see the little, blonde woman through the window of her room. It would be so easy to take her out with a rifle. He would just have to allow for the glass and... On the table, his laptop beeped. Mello crouched down, careful not to touch the floor. The carpet didn\'t smell too great and was already rotting where it met the walls. Matt had typed, \'Fuck off.\'



Mello sighed. He typed back, \'\'We each must kill the thing we love...\' I know you\'re bored, Matty.\' Send. \'Imagine I\'m holding your hand and kissing you by the Hudson River.\' Send. \'Imagine I\'m looking right in your eyes and saying \'I know you\'\'. Send. There. That ought to communicate loud and clear that he knew what was happening over in that arcade. Misa Amane started waxing long on the fact of human nature to enjoy being attractive. Isn\'t that what everyone wants? She asked, but didn\'t await answers. Mogi didn\'t supply them. Misa went on and the messenger told him that Matt was typing. It was a happy smiley. A second later another message arrived, \'I\'ll play on-line chess with you if you want me to.\'



Mello wondered how many games that Matt was simultaneously playing right now. There would be at least one electronic one, plus the how-can-I-mess-with-Mello\'s-head strategy one, probably running concurrent with how-can-I-depress-myself-even-more game. Chess might just divert him away from either or both of the latter. He typed back, \'Ok. Set it up.\' Misa was still telling Mogi about relationships and what men looked for in a woman, as if she was the expert, her knowledge superceding even that of a man. A link appeared in the messenger and he clicked it. Ten minutes later, the game was won and Mello sat back as the champion. Misa thought that it was very important to act feminine, as men really didn\'t like tomboys. Mello typed, \'Gone very quiet over there?\'



\'Matt is typing...\' Mello smiled, realising how much those three little words were becoming a life-line against the rambling about feminine attributes in his ears. It arrived, \'How long will you be on here tonight?\' Not what he\'d been expecting. He typed back, \'I can leave it on all night. I\'ll have the camera running anyway.\' \'Kk.\' \'Why?\'



It told him that Matt was typing, but no message came through. It told him that five times, before Mello tired of it. He took off the headphones, pulled out the socket to hear the conversation in the room, then called Matt. "What\'s going on?" He asked as soon as the redhead answered. There was a steady stream of \'beep, boop, beep\' close by, testimony enough that Matt had an earpiece in while he concentrated on his game.



"Nothing\'s happened." Matt replied, no emotion at all in his voice.



"I\'m not talking about outside, I\'m talking about with you."



"Nothing." That same dead tone. It was like talking with Near. "I\'m just bored." He quickly added. "I know this is important."



Mello gazed at the monitor. Misa Amane was throwing herself about the settee like a small child. Her conversation was centred totally upon her love for her husband. She would do anything for him, she professed. Anything. Mello made soothing noises down the telephone, which were only half thought out and only half heard. He tried again. "I\'m occupying myself picturing you, strapped down to my bed, and the things I\'d do to you."



"Oh really?" Finally some life in Matt, not much, but an interest.



"It makes the long winter nights just whizz by." Mello smiled into the telephone.



"I haven\'t got a bed, or else I\'d invite you down to do it." Matt\'s voice sounded slightly clipped. A cigarette obviously held between his lips.



"What have you got?" Mello urged him on. "Just so I can fantasize properly."



"Cold, white tiles." Something in the way he said it sparked alarm bells in Mello\'s head. The beeping of his game went on, punctuated with the deep breaths that were probably his smoking. "Oh and a few pallets covered in sheets."



"What happened with the white tiles, Matt?"



There was the longest pause, then his lover said, "Watari."



"Huh?" Mello frowned. From the speakers, Misa told Mogi that she couldn\'t live without her husband. He was everything to her. Mogi just grunted a reply. "Come on, Matt, it\'s been a long day. Less cryptic?"



"Yeah." There was the victory music of a level being gained. "Forget it. I\'m good."



Mello sighed. "Do I need to come over there? I\'ll be honest with you, you\'re in a funny mood and I don\'t know what to say to knock you out of it. It would be great to meet up and go for another walk, but that\'s not feasible right now. I wish it was. It\'s not easy for me either."



"I know." Rapid clicking on the other end of the telephone. "Sorry I\'m being moody."



"Don\'t be." Mello struggled for the words to say, but Matt\'s soullessness was infectious. It was starting to cloud his mind. "One day this will be all over."



"Yes." More clicking and the odd beeping sound. Just when Mello was guiltily considering ways to end the conversation, Matt went on. "It\'s just so quiet here. I\'m not listening to any conversations like you are."



"Believe me, that\'s a blessing." Mello held out the telephone so Matt could hear the latest, so serious evaluation of some television anchor woman. He brought the telephone back his ear. "Get my point?"



"I\'d better let you get back to it." Matt replied quietly.



"I\'m pretty certain that she\'s the second Kira." Mello heard himself saying. Justifying himself? To Matt of all people! Yet there was a breath at the other end. The blond began outlining all that he had worked out, repeating the things that Hal had reported from Near too. The whole gameplan to date spilling out. Kira used a notebook to kill; he\'d been controlling the Japanese taskforce, because he was connected with them; he could well be the new L; the proximity of Mogi to Misa Amane suggested that she was the second Kira. It felt good to speak it aloud. "You could be sitting across the road from Kira. I don\'t know. But I am fairly certain I\'m listening in to the second Kira, as unlikely as that sounds."



Part way through his narrative, the beeping had ceased on the other side of the telephone. When Matt\'s voice sounded, it was as someone thoroughly engaged in the discussion. "It sounds like that to me too." There was movement as the redhead moved about. "Run it past me again why we\'re not just storming the buildings and shooting dead everyone inside?"



Mello pulled the telephone from his ear and glared into it, as if Matt could see it from there. He returned it to his ear and hissed, "Are you...?" This was so unlike his lover that Mello had to stop, calm and work out if it was some kind of joke.



"Just thinking about that hothouse." Matt went on. "It\'s the old dilemma, if you could go back in time and find Hitler as a three year old, would you kill him? If I was to go over there now and kill anyone who wasn\'t Aizwaka, then the chances are I\'d kill Kira. Game over."



"This isn\'t game." Mello wondered just how stir crazy Matt was becoming. "Don\'t you fucking dare." He couldn\'t square the conversation with all he knew of the redhead. "You\'d do that?"



"If you are certain about Misa Amane. Has she got a boyfriend?"



"No, reverse again. Are you bloody serious?" Mello hands fisted. It took all of his willpower not to get on his motorcycle and speed over there.



"Fuck, Mell, I\'m just thinking aloud, \'kay?"



"L is surrounded by Japanese police. He is being watched like a hawk by Aizwaka. I am watching Misa Amane and so is Mogi. When are they getting the opportunity to write in the Death Note?" Mello growled. "But the killings go on. What does that tell you?"



"There\'s a third Kira."



"No shit, Sherlock. So what precisely would you gain by going over there and getting killed?" On the other end of the telephone, the beeping of a game started up again. "Just keep your eyes open and wait for me to signal any moves, ok?"



"Right, Mello." Matt\'s tone had slipped back into that emotionless deadpan.



"I\'m sorry for shouting." Mello sighed, forcing himself to sound more concilitary than he felt. "You\'ll be out of there soon enough, I promise."