Motive and Mayhem

SPOILERS: All manga, all anime, L's true name, Another Note, Law and Right, Truth and Justice.

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Motive and Mayhem

Chapter 3: Confrontation

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Smuggling was dangerous. That was why Matt and Mello had taken to doing it on an intermittent basis. It added a little spice, a little excitement, a little thrill to his life. There weren't many cases out there that they could really sink their teeth into, nothing that challenged them.

So, they made their own challenges.

December was closing in on the world, bringing cold and ice and snow to the northern hemisphere. Matt and Mello had taken to doing a little small time smuggling between their disgustingly easy cases. They only did it a few times a year, and only for Matt's contacts, but it was a nice break from the monotony.

The thrill of the deal, of sneaking past any security there was, that was the thing that drew Mello to it. And the wild sex that usually followed a successful smuggle.

The sex had gotten more creative over the two years that they'd been on their own. More and more hardware had gotten involved until it was a full-on BDSM relationship. At least in the bedroom it was. It was humiliating and exhilarating, and with Matt holding his leash, Mello was able to put aside his pride, allow himself to take pleasure in such dark things.

Which, if you thought about it, explained all his leather outfits. They were things Matt had 'suggested' he wear, and they suited him rather well so he never complained. It was strange, the way being restrained, being pinched and scratched and gently hit, was able to liberate him.

He would fall to his knees when Matt decided it was time to play. He would let his eyes stay steady on the other's, let him do as he wished, and god damn it, he enjoyed it. He enjoyed it so much he was willing to lower so far as to call Matt 'master' when in the bedroom, to ask for things he had a right to, to thank Matt for giving him pain. He didn't understand it.

What he understood was the orgasms were great, and the knowledge that he could trust Matt without hesitation made him feel safe. Safety came first in his world, and being able to trust his partner that far, that much, it was as close as he would get to admitting love.

He didn't believe in love, not the girly happy-ending love. He believed in commitment, and that people liked to throw those out the window on a regular basis. So, when Matt told him to kneel, he knelt. When Matt brought him to the brink, he begged. And when Matt gave him anything at all, he thanked him.

And the gods that had put him in Matt's hands. The toys, the sex, they were all great, but it was the other stuff, the little things that really did it for him. The way Matt looked at him, the way he was so gentle and so rough at the same time. It was that softness that surrounded everything they did together, even when it was inflicting pain.

It was, Mello thought, the emotion of it. Though he'd sooner rip his own tongue out his throat than admit it.

December was fast approaching and they had to bring a small cargo of rare and illegal gems to New Jersey. The armpit of the good old US of A. The thought made Mello grin. It was the easiest place to ship to, but the pickup sight had a bit too much security for his liking. Even so, they were getting paid a pretty penny for the transport, so they took the job.

It was a long term contact they had, one of Matt's best business associates, so the strangeness of the delivery didn't bother them. They got out to open waters before they called the contact, made sure he knew what was going on, and commenced transport.

It was a simple job, nothing new or terribly dangerous about it, Mello was even complaining mildly about how boring it was going to be. Until, that was, Matt took him below decks, tied him up and stuck a clean sock in his mouth.

When he was let out an hour later, he kept his comments to himself as he went about taking care of things. It was the tenth shipment they'd made that year for their contact. All of them had gone off without a hitch, and this one wasn't expected to be much different.

They came into port a few days later, took the shipment to a small warehouse on the wharf, set up for the trade. Then, they waited. Their contact arrived right on schedule, did the standard security checks. They all showed their various firearms before their contact and Matt both settled into seats around a small, square table.

There was a lot of small talk, stupid stroking of egos, professions of trust. The price was haggled a little more at the last minute, but wound up being the same price they'd agreed upon two weeks before when the delivery was set up. Mello snapped off a bite of chocolate, sighing to himself as the product and payment were exchanged, hands were shaken, and both parties backed off.

That was about when everything went to hell.

"It is my regret, however, to inform you this will be our final shipment. We have no more need for your services and, in fact, we have found you to be a considerable liability in the past three months." The contact said smoothly, grinning darkly. "I'm afraid we can't leave any evidence connecting us."

"Now wait just a minute," Mello snapped, taking a step forward. "We haven't been anybody's fucking liability. Everything is done on your goddamn terms. We even switched boats three fucking times in the past year for you. There's no god damned evidence."

"And what about the surveillance you've been taking of our meetings?" The man accused, pointed -- accurately -- to two of the units they'd installed in the warehouse. The only two units.

"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about," Mello snarled back. "We swept this place for bugs as soon as we fucking got here. If there are cameras here, they aren't fuckin' ours."

"That's not an acceptable reply," the man replied simply, made a small gesture.

Both their guns were out and trained on the man's head a split second later. "You sure you wanna do that?" Matt asked smoothly. The smoke of his cigarette floated upwards like a silken ribbon.

The man laughed softly, lowly. "I don't have a choice. This isn't my operation. It's L's."

It wasn't even a full second that did it. Just the tiny glance that Matt and Mello shared was enough for all hell to break loose. The grenade pinged softly on the concrete.

As soon as their eyes fell upon it, they knew the countdown was already half over. They didn't even look up to see their former contacts running. In unison, they turned, they ran, and when Mello's count reached zero, he threw himself onto Matt, tumbled to the ground.

He hit the ground screaming, they both tumbled in the hot air spread out by the blast. Somehow, they got away from it quickly enough to keep their lives.

Mello lay on the cold concrete, breathing heavily, noticing briefly that his hair was still on fire. Someone was smacking him on the head, probably putting the flame out, he didn't really know. All he knew was the huge world of pain that was consuming him. Why the fuck had he decided to go with a tank top in winter?

It felt like he was burned fucking everywhere but his arm, his face, those were the places the pain was sickening. Sickening because he could feel the throb, the hot ache of it, but not the hissing burn. No, this was a lot worse than that, and the thought alone made his stomach lurch.

He knew burns were a bitch to recover from. He didn't know who was moaning, but he didn't have the chance to ask before everything was fading to black.

Dear Christ, why had he complained that it was too fucking boring?

And did L really have any god-damned thing to do with it? His mind drifted to the surveillance cameras, absently wondered if Matt had hit the destruct button yet. He hoped so. God knew they didn't need that shit traced back to them.

Especially if L was looking at it. Or, Christ forbid, Light.

There were sirens somewhere nearby, he was only vaguely aware of it. Aware of the yelling, the sound of police shoes on cement, the squeaky wheels of a gurney that needed a good greasing. When the black consumed his vision, he could feel the hands on him, scissors pulling off his clothing and some fucking blessed thing being put on the burns, something that eased off the pain, just a little.

He let out a moan as his vision tried to clear. "Fuck," he moaned.

One of the EMTs managed a chuckle. "Well, that's a good sign. Good thing you had leather on, might have saved your lower half."

Mello groaned weakly. "Fuckin' hell. Where's Matt?"

"Alive and kicking, if he's the guy that was with you," the EMT replied. "Just try to relax, we're getting you to the hospital now,"

And Mello could feel the bumps as the gurney was pulled into the ambulance. He hissed in pain as an IV was started, as his injuries were catalogued. Next thing he knew, he was in a white room, a bunch of lab coats all around him, swiping at his burns with the gods only knew what. All he knew was the pain that was radiating from every touch.

He passed out again, he supposed, because when he woke he was in a big, metal bathtub of slightly cool water, and it felt fucking amazing. The hissing pain in his legs was gone, the heat that seemed to have been blistering his body had eased.

In the back of his mind, he was glad they had thought to cover their tracks carefully. It was, after all, damn dangerous business, working with criminals like that.

As if he and Matt hadn't proved it already. He found himself wondering, again, if L had been behind any of it. Not the grenade, certainly, but perhaps he was sniffing around at that particular mobster. It was possible.

If there was one thing Mello hated more than being number two, it was not having all the angles tied up nice and neat, not having a handle on all the possibilities.

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A/N: Okay, so, still a bit on the short side, but I got the important part out of the way. =3 The next chapter starts in on Mello's recovery.

Adele: XD Yeah, I thought about the character of Mello and it just kind of begged the question 'what is he hiding?' because he's so in your face and pretty dominant about it, too. I figured this would be an interesting angle on him. I'm gonna go into his potential background some, too.