Poisoned Rationality

It became a routine. The timing was haphazard, but it followed a formula. Sometimes hours passed, sometimes just minutes, yet it stayed the same. To Matt\'s mind, that was one of the most frightening things of all, that Mello stayed the same. Since they were small children, his lover had been a tempermental bastard with lightning mood swings. He could be riled or coaxed into changing personality, within a set ratio of Mellos, with skilled handling, but this Mello was different. This Mello was frightened, more paranoid than Matt had ever known him to be; this Mello was gentle and loving all of the time; this Mello never raised his voice in their bedroom. He entered each time with a view to calm. Placating words and cuddles. They had sex, often, but it was an extension of the tenderness. This Mello didn\'t appear to be eating chocolate. This Mello had eyes that shone a little too brightly.



Matt had considered his weapons and his options. He had freedom of movement enough to eat the piles of food that kept arriving, to drink and smoke. There were a few ways in which he could have laid Mello out. The shackles were ultimately long chains of metal, to be wrapped around a neck or used to knock someone out. The glass could be smashed into a jagged knife. If it came to it, he could throw a punch, kick out or head-butt; he had his body. He could also pin Mello down, if it came to that. But what then? Lie here with the corpse of his lover and starve to death? He hadn\'t even worked out yet what he was bound to, as each twisting movement to try and ascertain where they lead, once they went under the headboard, caused enough noise to bring Mello running. Besides, he loved him. He didn\'t want to kill him.



The blond was lying beside him again, whispering reassurances. Matt smoked, holding his hand. It was frustrating, but moreover, it was heart-breaking. It was demoralizing how he, of all people, couldn\'t find the right words to bring Mello back to him. Each time Matt tried to talk too much, Mello would silence him with kisses, telling him that it was alright and that he was safe. The closest Matt came to believing him was when they lay silently like this, holding hands or gently stroking each other. But it was a lie. He had to try again. "Mello, you\'re not well. I love you all the same, but you need to believe me."



"Hush, Matty, it\'s alright."



"I know it is." He took another drag on his cigarette. "Please will you humour me? Tell me what\'s worrying you?" A sheepish grin. "I won\'t be able to think it through as well as you, but you know what they say? Sometimes a fool can look at a king and see things that the lofty can\'t. I\'ve always been your fool."



"Don\'t worry about a thing." Mello\'s forehead creased, but it was with upset. None of the fire or passion that had carried them until now. "I\'ve got it covered."



"Where\'s your chocolate?"



"I ran out." The blond head moved to rest on Matt\'s chest, arms clinging around him. Matt stroked back his hair. It was getting so long.



"Why don\'t you go and get some more?"



"I\'ve barricaded the front door." Mello whispered quietly. "They won\'t be able to get in."



"Right." Matt touched the rosary, but he had already tried Catholicism. It hadn\'t budged anything that he could see in the Slav\'s mind. Very softly, he asked, "Who are \'they\', Mello?"



Mello began to cry again. "I don\'t know!"



"Ok, don\'t cry, princess." Matt bent over him to find some face to kiss. "We must be running low on a lot of supplies by now. Is that why the tea tastes weird, because we\'re on the long-life stuff?" There was a nod. "Right, the important thing is we get you some more chocolate. If you don\'t want to go out, why don\'t you bring me my laptop and I\'ll get some delivered here?"



Mello sat up and stared at him. That should have been a glare, but there was no anger, just pity. Matt cringed. His suggestion had been clumsy. His lover might be having some kind of nervous breakdown, but his intellect seemed, if anything, sharper. "No, because you still don\'t get it! It\'s not a joke. You think it is and you\'ll e-mail someone or something and you\'ll be in danger again." Tears flooded down his cheeks, even from the damaged eye where there had been enough injury to the tear ducts that he had had to apply eye drops for months. It was evidently repaired now. "I\'m doing my best for us. Please trust me."



"I do trust you and I\'m grateful." Matt reached out to wipe Mello\'s face with his hand. "Please help me reason it out though, Mell, you know I\'m a lot more stupid than you are. I need things spelling out sometimes."



The blond stiffened suddenly, eyes narrowing. Matt\'s heart leapt at the sight. "No you\'re not!" It was almost snapped, stopping just short it. "You are a genius!" Confusion crossed behind Mello\'s eyes. "You are! You\'re a genius! You were third at Wammy\'s."



"If I\'m as clever as you say, couldn\'t I help with the people after us?" Matt reasoned, but the glimpse of old Mello was gone. New Mello was back with condolence in his eyes, touching him like it was already over and they were both doomed. "Where\'s your gun, Mell?" He had been reaching to run a hand over Matt\'s chest, but there was another darting glance back to meet his gaze. "Only if they come bursting in here, don\'t you think we\'ll need it?"



"I\'m tired, Matt."



"I know you are." Matt held out his arms. "Come and sleep on me?" He smiled reassurance and Mello actually came. The last time Matt had tried that, his lover had fled the room. He slept in the front room now, if he slept at all. Sometimes Matt woke to hear him pacing up and down the passageway, as if on sentry duty. Mello\'s muscles felt so taut, every sinew tensed. Matt held him until he lay slack, breathing slowly and heavily. Carefully Matt slid his hands across his lover\'s pockets, but he only had his trousers on and nothing could fit in those pockets. The leather was skin tight. No keys, no telephone, no gun. He had to fight hard not to fall into despair himself, caught up in the infectiousness of it. The thought of the future was terrifying. They would get Mello back, he had no doubt, but what then? How would his Mihael live with the knowledge that he was finally defeated, not by Near, nor by Kira, but by his own shattering mind? The world darkened, becoming as dark as Mello painted it. It was hopeless. Even if they survived, it was hopeless.