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Thanks for the Memories	By : Duomi Category: Death Note > General Views: 1209 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-New Disease
- 2-Fear of Falling Under
- 1
- 2
Disclaimer: We do not own Death Note, nor any of the characters from it. We do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Rating: PG-13

Spoiler warning: Mello, Near and possibly Matt's real names, probably some information on B later. We try to keep our facts canon if we can, but this prequel is going to be mostly creative license.

A Fear of Falling Under

"...Searching for pieces...
...Pieces left behind...
...Discarded moments...
....In the junkyard of my mind."
~A Fear of Falling Under by Darren Hayes

Entry 1.01 Situational Analysis
Date 11.27.1995

Arrived at the Wammy's House three days ago. Was given the weekend to settle in, relax. Transparent code: they wish to observe me.

What they decide has no importance to me. Where I was held an equal exposure to those reported to be of unusual intelligence who still cater to their basic human nature. There, it was easier to get away from others.

~*~

Nate's earliest memories were of chaos, explosions and fire. When he thought back to a time before the hospital, that was all there was-- all that stood out.

Most of these memories were vague, impressions on his very young mind of terror and confusion mixed in with thunderous noise and distant screams.

One was more detailed.

Curled on the floor with one knee to his chin, the boy clicked puzzle pieces into place with a methodical precision. The pieces had been flipped, leaving only their pale cardboard backing visible.

This was the best way to complete a puzzle. There was no distracting, childish image to contend with.

As the blank canvas was quickly assembled, Nate imagined a new picture forming. Piece by piece, he laid out a memory.

Starting from the top, he remembered the sky-- an incongruously sunny day. Tall buildings surrounded the visible blue. Below the buildings... smoke, rubble, and an almost impossible amount of blood.

He could recall coming out from behind the fruit vendor�s stall that had saved his life, and seeing an object before him that his mind had been unable to process. In shock from the initial explosion of the mortar shell into the marketplace, he had stood and stared at the thing for some time.

It wasn�t until one of the UN personnel spied him and took him to their waiting plane for rescue that he realized what it had been.

Staring at his own limbs, he had come to a conclusion: an arm. A human arm had landed near his stall.

Most of one, anyway.

In the present, Nate clicked the last piece of puzzle down, surveying the memory with a detached calculation. Sky, buildings, smoke, destruction... arm.

Calmly, he reached out, picked the puzzle up, and shook it apart once more.

~*~

I have never related well to others. Dr. R was fond of telling me that if I tried I would find that manipulating others is the easiest thing in the world. I did not tell him that it seemed not worth the effort.

It didn't require speaking. Dr. R had no more liking of others than I, he was merely better at hiding his criticisms and insults behind acceptable masks, telling them as jokes or as sarcasm. I do not like sarcasm. Often, a person's face and eyes will not match their words, and only a subtle shift in sound denotes their words as false. Their faces are sometimes distracting, trying to match emotions to expressions and translating their language as well as what they mean. I learned that it is easier to focus on other things and watch them from my peripheral vision, when body language can be taken more into account than what they choose to show on their faces. Many people do not know to lie with their bodies as well as their eyes.

Dr. R has never had that problem in the time that I have known him. Watching him in any way does me no good, as his voice and body reflect only what he desires them to. I admire this ability, but have no wish to copy it. Instead, it is easier to merely be myself. Possessing no attachment to things, I do not feel a need to pretend to owning what isn't there.

I make others nervous. The nurses at the hospital, who cared for me when I was still injured from the Massacre, became unnerved by my mind within months. When I began to understand them, when I began to read, they were frightened.

For all that the children at this place are meant to be like me, I feel their eyes follow me through hallways, and I hear the same whispers.

~*~

Dr. Rivers was a Caucasian man of middle years, with glasses and a neatly trimmed brown beard. His hair was going to gray at the temples but his eyes were a sharp and laughing blue.

He greeted Kimiko with a smile that seemed too amused for the circumstances, though she hadn't yet had time to determine the source of his good humor. It was possible, she supposed, that the man was simply always like this, though his file had mentioned nothing of the sort.

"Dr. Kujo, isn't it? It's a pleasure to meet you. I often see your articles. Your work with infectious diseases and virii is groundbreaking, they say, and especially with someone so young. Though I confess, I'm still not sure what's brought you here..."

"You're being very polite, Dr. Rivers," Kimiko demurred, smiling with charming modesty and smoothing her business skirt over her thigh as she took one of the office�s chairs with legs crossed primly at her ankles. Barely twenty years old, she was already developing a striking reputation at the Asia Infectious Disease Center. "You've 'seen' the articles-- so you don't read them yourself?"

"I find myself only with time to read those journals which directly pertain to my own area of expertise, anymore... Much of my free time in these past years has gone straight into Nate." Dr. River's smile widened slightly as he took his own seat, settling with authority into its leather embrace. "Would you like any tea?"

"What kind?" Kimiko gave a sidelong glance to the office�s only other resident. A boy of perhaps four years sat in the corner some feet from where the doctors visited, putting together a puzzle with upside-down pieces. The child took no notice of the adults, toying idly with his abnormally white hair as he assembled the puzzle.

�The only real tea, of course,� Dr. Rivers asserted, pouring himself a cup and adding cream to suit himself. He took in the scent with a sigh of satisfaction, appearing totally at ease. Kimiko studied him, distracted from the child. She had come to the decision that whatever was amusing him so was something to do with her.

Not being one who took kindly to a joke at her expense, Kimiko offered Dr. Rivers another smile and kept her voice pleasant. �I must disagree with you. I�ve never been fond of English tea.�

�No? A shame, then.� Setting his tea down, Dr. Rivers straightened, his stare becoming frank and direct. �Well, let's get this over with. I lack the patience or the time for dissembling. You�re here to study the boy, correct? After the article on him...�

The doctor�s abrupt change of subject was more what she�d expected from her review of his files. The man was, to all accounts, excellent in his field, but when he tired of games he would switch instantly from charming to tactless. Kimiko chose to respond to his words rather than his manner. �It was a very provocative article. You must have known your claims regarding his abilities were going to be questioned.�

Dr. Rivers brushed these concerns away with a wave of his hand. �I have no doubts that Nate will pass any tests you could give him with little effort. He�s a fascinating specimen. I�ve never seen a mind that operates at his level, and for his age, it�s nothing short of... frightening.� Dr. Rivers lifted his glass for another sip. If his good humor was intended to relax Kimiko it failed sadly, leaving his eyes hard and watchful. �Though I admit, I had expected journalists or a team of scientists, not a fellow professional.�

�I�m sure I�m only ahead of the crowd. I have certain contacts that wished me to be the first to interview him. I assume I can interview him, correct...?� Kimiko queried, a faint frown gathering between her delicate brows. �The article mentioned nothing about him being deaf, or unable to speak. But he�s been sitting in that corner for some time.�

A smirk threatened to overtake the older man's mouth as he turned to his surrogate son. From the flash of satisfaction in his eyes Kimiko knew that she was about to find out what the doctor had found so very amusing since her arrival. �Nate? Have you had enough time to make up your mind?�

The albino boy lifted his puzzle above his head, pieces falling around him like bits of cardboard snow. Rolling his pale gaze to a point somewhere above Kimiko�s head, he spoke in a detached voice. �I'll talk to her.�

That decided, he set the empty puzzle down and began again.

Kimiko felt the frown gather force and settle more firmly on her lips. �Do you mean to say that he didn�t introduce us, not because you can�t speak, but because you were attempting to discern if I was worth your time...?� she asked the child.

Unaffected, Nate gave a small nod.

Kimiko�s sin had always been pride. Having a four year old set up such a plot against her wasn�t a thing she could readily swallow. Smoothing her expression, she fought her emotions down and managed a stiff smile for the child. �Dr. Rivers, would you mind leaving us alone for a short time? I wish to test the boy, and there are things we need to discuss.�

~*~

Entry 2.01 Environmental Analysis
Date 12.08.1995

Being surrounded by children is a strange experience.

As far as my memory extends, my only real associations have been adults. The children�s ward at the hospital was a place I never went when given any choice, and once he realized this Dr. R allowed my avoidance of it.

Children appear to be like adults, only with their reason and emotional stability removed, in the way that the females on staff at the hospital were much like the males. They are unable to understand me, and so they fear me, though they show this in different ways. Often I am avoided, though several times I have been pushed down in the hallways. I don�t believe it�s coincidence. Those that don�t fear me have already begun trying to change me or simply to ignore me. I prefer the latter.

~*~

It didn't take Kimiko long to recognize in Nate not only a brilliant young mind, but the best candidate for Wammy's House she had seen since L had disappeared into the walls years before.

Having toed off her low heels, Kimiko knelt formally beside the child now, hands in her lap as she meditatively watched the boy click the puzzle pieces into place yet again. She knew now that she would be taking Nate away with her, but dealing with children had never been a particular strong suit for her.

Kimiko pushed an imaginary loose strand of hair back into place in her neatly secured hair and shifted minutely in preparation to speak again, readying a warm smile and an impassioned speech.

"You want to take me away." The boy spoke flatly into the silence between them, and Kimiko paused an instant too long, surprised at the interruption and wondering what had given her away. "...Where will I be going?" Nate lifted a bit of cardboard and watched it rather than Kimiko, apparently seeing something there that the young woman could not. "I fail to see how I would be of interest for your articles on viral engineering. Unless you plan to use me as a test subject," he added flippantly. "Am I going to meet your 'contacts'?"

Regaining her composure quickly, Kimiko nodded, watching Nate with approval. He's quick, and suspicious. That will serve him well at Wammy's. "The choice is yours, of course, but I would like to take you with me. My interest in you is due to a private institution I know of, where children like yourself are raised in an environment that's more suited to their needs than any normal school could provide. You'll be housed and supported in return for taking classes with other children in... similar circumstances."

Nate's small hand dropped the puzzle piece carelessly, and his strange eyes with their large, dark pupils barely ringed in palest blue turned to her for the first time. "The school specializes in war orphans with oculocutaneous albinism,� he hazarded, tone flat.

Kimiko frowned slightly. �You know what I meant, Nate. Children of exceptional intelligence who, for one reason or another, have no caretakers.�

�...� Turning his eyes to the corner of the ceiling, the boy twined his delicate fingers into his unnaturally pale hair. �...Is it a worthwhile place?� he inquired abruptly. �You seem defensive of it, and your voice suggested affection toward it. Assuming you went there yourself, was it worth it?�

Leaning toward Nate meaningfully, Kimiko allowed some of her intensity and her faith in the Wammy�s House into her voice. �It is the only real place for people like us. Humans are so rarely worth our attention. Even in my profession, I often feel that I only waste time trying to help the blind see. The people you meet in... that place can be like anyone else, but a few there will be worth it. You will learn things there that no one else would be able to teach you, and your potential will be realized. I believe that it would be a waste to the world if you were to not go.�

Fingers slowing in his hair, the albino child breathed in silence for a moment. Abruptly, he drew himself to his feet, barely as tall as Kimiko where she remained kneeling at his side. He tilted his head. �We should leave soon. Given time others will show up to interview me. I don�t feel like speaking to them.�

With a rush of satisfaction, Kimiko gave Nate a benevolent smile and stood herself, smoothing her skirt-suit from habit and holding out a small, manicured hand to the boy. �I only need to make a call and we can leave. When you�ve finished your good-byes, of course, and collected your things,� she added conscientiously, not wanting to rush Nate too overtly.

Studying her hand minutely, Nate gave a small frown. Leaving her, he moved briefly to the wall, picking up a robot toy and tucking it against his side before returning to Kimiko. He casually slipped his tiny fingers into hers as he stared with apparent disinterest at the ceiling. �I�m ready now.�

~*~

The more I learn of those around me, the less reason I see to learn how to act in an acceptable manner. If people are unable to accept the way that I am, they are not intelligent enough to be spoken to. It would waste effort and time to appear to care about them.

The Wammy's House is no different in this way, either. Most so-called prodigies, while brilliant when compared to those in the world outside, have a sameness when compared to each other.

From my explorations of the hallways and grounds, as well as observations made from my classes so far, I have begun to suspect that the sameness of these students has some consistent pattern, and that further study will yield the unknown factors.

There are exceptions to the rule of sameness.

Of note: one boy, called Mello. Violent, hyper-active, and confrontational, with obvious insecurities. He�s unique, here; he alienates the others as I do, but is impossible to ignore. Has a charm that attracts attention but repels familiarity. I have not talked to him.

Also of note: an older boy, called Beyond. Loves jam, is unhygienic and possibly schizophrenic. He is also the only person here I was warned about by name.

From his actions, Beyond is controlled by thoughts that seem barely human.

I relate to that.

~*~

Sitting on the private jet en route to Winchester and the Wammy�s House Orphanage, Kimiko found herself unable to look away from the small child across from her.

With his white pajamas draping on his thin limbs and the dark smudges beneath his large eyes, it was easy enough to imagine Nate as he�d been described in Dr. River�s article-- a malnourished toddler, taken to a UN hospital after the first Markale Massacre during the ongoing Siege of Sarajevo. Beneath the loose sleeves of his shirt, the young boy was reportedly still possessed of slowly fading scars from bits of wood and rock which had turned into airborne projectiles during the Massacre. He was one of the lucky ones-- while something near 144 people were injured, 68 had died outright. It was possible that Nate�s parents were among those dead, as no one among the survivors had come forward to report a missing albino child.

His exact age was unknown, but the medical staff had estimated his birth to be somewhere near the end of 1991, and Dr. Rivers had taken it upon himself to assign the boy a birth date when he gave him a name.

Given the circumstances, Kimiko had expected a frightened child, and had been unprepared for the almost disturbing calm of the boy. Holding onto his toy, he kept his own eyes on the nearest window, and Kimiko had the impression that he was making mathematical calculations of their speed based on the clouds passing beneath them rather than entertaining any curiosity about their destination.

His farewell with the doctor who had taken him in had also been almost perfunctory, with Dr. Rivers ruffling his hair and giving a dry laugh at Nate�s idea of packing. Dr. Rivers had told Nate to write to him occasionally and to credit him when he became famous, and had allowed the two to leave with only a detached and analytical look at Kimiko.

The doctor had made calls about her presence while she spoke with Nate, and whoever had answered had allowed him enough information to satisfy him for now on where his charge was being spirited away to. She had expected more of a fight from him at the least, but he�d informed her that he had always known Nate would be taken to a place better suited to him someday and that he couldn�t be burdened with the care of a prodigy for the rest of his own career.

Even at those words, Nate had remained unaffected, staring down at his toy and waiting patiently for Kimiko to show him where to go.

Suddenly uncomfortable in the silence, Kimiko sought out some reassurance for the boy in case he was simply very good at hiding his anxieties. �You�ll be at home there, Nate. The Wammy�s House is just what the name suggests. Those who graduate with you often feel like family. I�ll try to check in on your progress as well.�

The plane flew on with only the hum of the engine and the hush of the recycled air between them.

Kimiko began to wonder if her theory of Nate actually possessing emotions might not be terribly misinformed. Still, she affected concern. �Nate...?�

�You didn�t ask a question. Did you want some sort of response?� the boy asked without real inflection, drawing one leg up onto the seat and resting his chin on his knee to stare blankly outside without straining his neck. �I assumed you were making a point.�

Once again, Kimiko felt a frown gathering between her brows. �You�re going from the only stable environment you�ve had since you were found. It has to have had some impact on you.�

Nate gave a small shrug, dropping his toy to twist his white hair into loops. His expression remained nonexistent.

Sighing, Kimiko turned her own gaze out the window, lips drawn tightly together. Deciding a certain amount of blunt honesty was called for, she returned her focus to the boy. �You have to understand, Nate... your mind is amazing, but that won�t excuse everything. It isn�t healthy to alienate yourself so far from others. At Wammy�s House you�ll be among others that are as intelligent as you are. It�s fine to be independent and self-contained, but if you want others to relate to you you�ll occasionally need to act... with emotion.�

Near abruptly went from distant and almost bored to completely unreachable, leg curling closer to himself and face going closed off and cold. Kimiko realized too late that the detached manner of the boy had been his strange form of acceptance, and that her criticism had destroyed what respect she had apparently earned so far.

Suspecting that any further attempts to talk with the child would be ignored, Kimiko leaned back into her seat in defeat and returned to gazing out the window. As clouds drifted by below them, K reflected on the fact that she had never been particularly fond of children.

~*~

Entry 3.01 Journal Analysis
Date 12.09.1995

When I arrived at this institution two weeks ago, I was given an assignment to describe myself. I responded with a description from the superficial to the skeletal, including current measurements in height, weight, length of hair, muscle groups and all individual bones.

I ended with an advisement to the teacher: "Your command needs more concise parameters."

The teacher insisted on lecturing me. I completed the large-size Wammy�s House white puzzle fifteen times while he spoke.

I did not intend my response to be rude, though I also do not care that he found it to be so. According to empirical evidence, there is no other way to describe myself than by my physical features.

In spite of this incident, I was given another assignment. I am to keep a journal, passages of which may be read to the class. It�s meant to record and organize my thoughts, and also, of course, to keep track of the stability of the geniuses who reside here. The longer I stay, the more convinced I become that the Wammy�s House is not as benign as it appears to be.

I do not doubt that even false passages for the class will be scrutinized for meaning. If that is the case, I have made it easier on any analysts. My public journal consists only of statements of observational fact: the number of cracks in the ceiling of the hallway from each class to my room, the temperature and weather forecast of every day, dust motes visible in the sunlight through the window. If anyone cares to verify these notes, they will, for the most part, have little trouble.

Their assignment did have a side-effect. When considering the journal, I came to the conclusion that evidence of my existence is circumstantial. Before Dr. R, there are no records that I was born or that I lived.

Now, at least in my computer, there will be one more piece of evidence.

My name is unknown. I have been called Nate Rivers by the doctor, and at the Wammy�s House I am called Near. An older man gave me this name-- Quillsh Wammy, the founder of this school. When I asked him for his reasoning, he told me that I remind him of someone-- that I am nearly a replica.

Almost a copy.

I am not sure if I will remain in this place, but I have nowhere else to go that would be better. This place is a mystery, and in itself that may compel me to stay. Is there really another like me? I have heard the older students speak of an idol of the school, called L. B himself reportedly changed his own appearance to what it is now in an attempt to look identical to this L. And yet he was named Beyond, rather than Near-- or even Beside, given the possible relation of our new names to our old in this school. Nate, Near, N. I can not imagine B in any other setting... If he is what L is like, will I eventually follow in his footsteps? I recognize my emotions as things apart from my myself and difficult to comprehend. Will they eventually be so alien to me that I become a creature like him?

I will keep this journal, not only to leave a mark of my passing, but to keep track of my own thoughts. If my mind begins to change, I will work to recognize it from my own writings. In the end, the assignment is complete. Someone will analyze my journal and watch it for clues. But it will only be me.

~ Excerpts from the journal of N.

---

A/N:
Took me a while to write this! I know in L: CtW Near is from Thailand, but I don't think that movie honestly has anything to do with the canon, so. (Even though I kept Kimiko Kujo, K, from that movie. I like her.) Besides, I thought it would be a lot of fun playing with Near's origin story considering his albinism. I don't recall why I ended up choosing the Siege of Sarajevo as his base, but I really enjoyed the study. Also, as to the origin of Near's name used here: I looked at the definition of Near on Merriam-Webster online, and in one place the definition means "approximating the genuine". Isn't that terrible, yet fitting? I can imagine Watari seeing Near in his socially awkward, distant, analytical self and being stricken by the obvious resemblance to L, but like a paler copy. And having him decide that Near is just that-- a little replica, maybe the one who can finally take on the mantle of heir to the title of L. Almost, but not quite, the original. Huge happy thanks to Gloria, as always, for getting me to work on this and for being generally amazing (and for doing the coding for me)!

As an aside, I'm still working on Tear You Apart! It's just... agonizingly slow right now. The next chapter on Arcadia should be up soon, but TYA is taking longer. Thank you everyone who's stayed with me thus far!

Comment responses:

Kiki: Thank you so much! I actually meant to read it after the suggestion and then forgot because I'm like that. I found it on FFnet just now, and I'll read it as I have time to! I love stories on the Wammy's House too.

SP777: Thanks! I'm loving what Gloria's doing for Mello's part, she's amazing. Hopefully Near isn't horrible here!
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Thanks for the Memories