All The Way Here

Mello sat at the foot of the stairs, hearing the television go on up on the landing. The sudden noise made him jump. They were probably the only people in Japan who hadn't been watching the contest finale all evening. A creak of the bed told him that Matt was sitting there rather than on the settee. The notion bubbled to the top of Mello's choatic thoughts that he should just go up there and let them lose themselves in sex. But he'd asked for five minutes and so he'd take them.



Deep breaths to still the soul. This was probably the sweetest thing that had ever happened to him. It was alright. It was good. Through the leather of his glove, Mello touched with the fingers of his other hand the ring that he wore. It should have been wrapped up until the 13th, but he had asked Matt and he'd said it was ok. He could wear it.



Mello tried to break his concentration from it, to consider things that he'd allowed to be swept from his mind. His gaze focused fiercely on the pillar ahead of him. This wasn't him. He didn't get sentimental like this; he could take out people with a shot to the head with barely a twitch. Mello's head bowed again. No, he couldn't. He felt them all die as barbs to the soul and paralysing dreams in the night. He'd prayed for everyone he had ever killed.



Another deep breath, a shuddering sigh. Berating himself in his mind. 'You are Mihael Keehl. You will pull yourself together. You will not ruin this moment for yourself. You will allow this feeling of unbelievable happiness. You will stop this and you will not be anything less than the hard-faced, take-them-all-on-and-win...' Mello faltered. There was a contradiction there. His logic was failing.



He caught his swinging rosary and kissed it. What was he doing? This was not sanctioned by God. Men could not marry! It was bad enough that he sinned with his body and soul whenever he got that redhead naked in his arms. He sinned in his heart every other time and that was wrong. Already damned and now he was taking the holy state of marriage, a union made before the very eyes of the Lord, and besmirching that too. It was so wrong.



Mello ripped his glove off. He needed to see it out in the open, no hiding behind leather and darkness. He had to see what he was doing here. The rosary and the ring. They pulled him in different directions and his heart didn't know what to do. "I've broken every one of the ten commandments, a hundred times over." Mello whispered aloud. But loving Matt wasn't mentioned in the commandments, could it be that bad? Yes. He was just trying to justify it to himself again.



He was damned. Worse, he knew well enough that he would allow that to happen. No last minute rushing to a monastry, to lock himself away with prayers and confessions, begging for absolution this late in the game. Instead, he would walk up those stairs, take one look at Matt and it would all be over. Mello wiped his mouth, lingering there with the ring against his lip. He couldn't blame Matt for that. That blame would be poison in their relationship. How could something so beautiful, so seemingly right, not be redemption? Mello's mind skipped back suddenly, a memory of lights in St Patrick's Church. He crossed himself automatically, "U ime Oca, i Sina, i Duha Svetoga. Amen."



Had that been acceptance? Redemption after all? Mello's eyes found the pillar again, tearing away from both potent symbols in his hands, reaching for reason. He could calculate this. 'If you can't beat the game, if you can't solve the puzzle...' Mello rose from the stair, pacing angrily out onto the concrete floor. None of this was important. Catching Kira was important. But the Almighty knew that it was hard! Mello's fist came back and he punched the pillar, knuckles stinging with the bruising impact.



The stakes were so very high right now. The whole world turning towards Kira until it felt like every light in on the planet was being snuffed out. Kira, the stuff of legends, not real in their minds anymore, but the avenging angel made actuality. Mello spat out the words, "Their saviour." Kira was not that. No more a Messiah than himself or Matt; certainly no more than Near. Mello rubbed his hand. Near, that tactless, hard-hearted, emotionless, superior, little... He had Asperger's Syndrome. He couldn't express emotions. The lightning mathematics were his language. Near was so in over his head.



Mello gasped, walking for the need to be moving, pacing around pallets and pieces of blasted mannequins. Was no-one, in the world, moving against Kira except for three Wammy kids? How had Watari and Roger seen so far ahead as to prepare them for that? Mello suddenly felt a tremendous love and fondness for the place, which he hadn't felt since he first washed up there, a frightened, genius child. They had done their best and now they had passed on the baton. Three? The blond glanced back at the stairs. Matt had written himself out of the running years ago. But he was still here.



Mello stared in horror at the shadows on the far side of the warehouse, as if Kira himself stood there. It was empty, of course, but he marched over there anyway. It was somewhere to go. The real showdown was going to be between himself and Kira, because Near didn't have the worldliness and Matt was waiting for Mello to lead the way. The only person with the mental capacity, the weaponry, the skill, the will, the everything to take on Kira was himself. The fire that had carried him to this moment chose that instant to flicker and fade, leaving in its wake the vast, barbaric, inner scream of 'it's not fair! Not to Matt, not to me, not to... Near.'



He stood shell-shocked, amazed that that had not come out to echo around the room. He had to stop. Ice flooded his veins and Mello looked down to see that he was touching them again. The rosary and the ring. He had to stop this and he had to remember. Near's intelligence was intimidating. The speed of his mind and his faculty to link patterns were seemingly preternatural. But he, Mihael Keehl, had given him a run for his money. Always second, but that was the academe alone. Near had nothing else. Mello smiled, a rictus grin of a smile, but one nontheless. Add to the balance a bloody-mindedness to do what needed doing; to know and to dare; to blaze through with an unpredictability and a psychology that must shake Kira to the core. It hadn't been Near who had captured a Death Note once; nor who had brought a world leader to his knees. It hadn't been Near who spoke with a God of Death; and had had the courage to fight every bitter fight to its bloody end. Add that to the academe!



Mello turned, striding back towards the stairs, then stopped dead when he looked up them. Matt sat there, halfway up, mostly in shadow from this perspective. His little half-smile of reassurance could be seen though. The light from the living area above bounced off his red hair and illuminated half of his face. He shrugged. "If you've finished having a religious crisis, I've made you a cup of hot chocolate."



Mello climbed the stairs and nodded. "I'm done." He didn't ask how Matt had known, or what he thought about it; nor even how else 'can I have five minutes?' could be interpreted. Instead, Mello leaned forward and kissed his lover, a deep, long, tender kiss. "Who won?"



"Kiyomi Takada."



"So be it."