damned_institute | Night 49: Nurse Lounge

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Night 49: Nurse Lounge

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A slightly larger and comfier-looking room greeted the pair next. A couch and several cushy chairs littered the space, along with a table, chairs, and a large cabinet, among other things. Definitely wasn't the worst place they could have ended up in, Scott thought. They could have ended up in a fridge or something.

Speaking of fridges. "Anything you wanna grab from in here? I kinda want to see if there's anything in there," Scott said with a little grin, gravitating toward the side of the cabinet where a mini-fridge sat. If he knew mini-fridges, he knew they tended to contain at least one of two things: alcohol or pop. With the former, he didn't want any, but he could think of at least a few people who probably would. With the latter, he didn't really like the fizziness, but hey, there could be free power-ups in them, at least!

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Matt's punch snapped Mello's head back, rattling his teeth, and landed him unceremoniously on the floor. It felt like Matt had knocked his jaw crooked. Out of breath, he sat up and felt his chin for damage, made sure everything still moved that was supposed to. "What?" he demanded. "You're not fucking saying anything worth hearing!"

He was still pissed, but the fight had just about literally been knocked out of him, silent guilt setting in at the sight of the purpling bruise around Matt's eye. Closest thing to a friend you have here, dumbass. No wonder you lose every ally you ever make.

Bugger off, he told that part of his mind. He dropped his hand and just looked at Matt. "What?" he said again, more quietly.

Matt managed to sit up once Mello wasn't practically on top of him; he could already feel his right eye starting to swell, and it was not a good feeling. Forgot how hard the prick hit, he thought, staring at the floor a moment as he caught his breath and attempted to calm himself down.

After a minute or two of recuperating, he looked right at Mello, the swollen eye mixed with the narrowing of his other making for one pathetically pissed off glare. "I was trying to say - before you knocked me flat over - that I wasn't calling you a failure, you illogical prat. Just your plan."

He paused for a moment, leaning over and grabbing the crowbar and the flashlight. The packages of food were all but completely trashed, and he was contemplating whether or not it would be pointless to keep carrying them. "It was a very stupid plan," he mumbled, still sore over the whole death thing.

"I know that," snapped Mello, who had actually been so convinced of what he'd thought Matt had said that it seemed he could still hear the echo of his friend's voice saying the words. He got to his feet, giving Matt a black look and rubbing his chin, mostly for effect. "There's going to be a different plan when I get home," he said. "Come on. Night's not over yet. Maybe we can find you some ice."

He scooped up the flashlight and the bag with the lighter fluid from where he'd dropped them, touched his coat pocket to make sure his gun was still nestled there. When he went to retrieve his chocolate mints, he took a peek into the mini fridge and came up with a bottle of water, which he tossed toward Matt. "Better than nothing." It was also as much of a gesture of apology as he could bring himself to make.

He'd slipped up, but Matt hadn't called him on it yet. Best to keep moving and hope he wouldn't have time to think too hard about what Mello had blabbed in his frustration.

Matt watched his "friend" closely - or, as closely as he could, considering he couldn't use one eye, and his vision in the other was going a bit blurry; it would be a cold day in hell when he admitted why it was going blurry. He could feel the heat in both cheeks, and he probably looked embarrassed as all hell, but as he thought over the fight, something rather intriguing popped out at him, grabbing his attention and running with it.

Catching the water bottle with ease, Matt sighed, a sign that he was pleased with how cool it was, and he accepted it as whatever makeshift apology Mello was trying to make this time. I have to, I suppose, he thought, knowing all too well that he was about to hit a sore area - and maybe even get smacked again.

"Y'gotta tell me now," he said in a low, quiet voice, pressing the cool bottle to his right eye. "I've noticed things - little things, here an' there, but they're-" He sighed again, trying to say this in a way that wouldn't make Mello practically tackle him again. "You're different, mate. And- And what you said-" while you were boxing my ears, as though we were right back at Wammy's. "What'd they do t'you?"

Knowing Mello, he probably wouldn't answer, but Matt needed to try. Logically, it was his place to know; he had that gut feeling that Mello hadn't managed to make any new friends while locked in the madhouse.

Edited 2010-06-08 03:41 (UTC)

Damn. He shouldn't have been surprised; Matt had the advantage of having seen Mello a lot more recently than Mello had seen him, and he'd always had an uncanny knack for noticing a hell of a lot more than he seemed to.

Wouldn't getting it out in the open be healthier than sublimating until he had to punch someone again? No. Fuck healthiness, and fuck telling Matt and knowing he'd never see him the same way afterwards. He may have accepted that nod in the direction of apology--and Mello had read that sigh of relief as easily as Matt had read the intent behind tossing the water bottle--but he still didn't trust Mello. Something came clear that he hadn't realized before. "That's why you wouldn't stop pushing, in Japan."

There was one thing he couldn't resist the temptation to bring up, that had been weighing on his mind all night. "What's different?" He watched his friend steadily, resigned to having at least this much of the conversation, and felt his fingers twitch with that restless urge to touch the back of his neck. Telling would take him right back there, lost and hurting and pathetic. He wasn't going unless he had to. You never have been on good terms with the aspects of reality you don't like, he thought unwillingly, and for a fraction of a second, which felt too, too much like standing at those marble doors, eying surrender from afar, he knew it was true. He wrenched the lid of the candy tin open and popped a couple more mints, and felt steadier.

Matt stared at him. "Yeah," he answered, his tone even. "I wanted you to admit it. Be straight with me again.

"You expect me t'be all nice and quiet in the corner, playin' my games until you can figure out a use for me. But that's not how-" it's been lately, but it suddenly hit Matt again that this wasn't the same Mello he'd spoken to just the night before. The entire situation was still entirely too unsettling for Matt's taste, and he swallowed, trying to come up with a way to deal with it.

His eyes snapped downward, lingering on the ever so slight twitch of Mello's hand; that was something he'd noticed earlier in the night. Mello was... much more on edge and guarded around him than he was used to. The blond's trademark confidence had seemed unnaturally forced the entire time they'd spent together; the only time it had been real was when they had found the door to Tokyo.

"I can't explain it," he murmured, leaning back on his other hand and keeping the bottle pressed against his face with the other. "It's just... little quirks and mannerisms that I notice." A grin snuck its way onto his face, and he snickered a little. "Y'know I just notice these things.

"...it stopped while we were in that fake Tokyo." Matt eyed Mello, watching for his reactions. Even the smallest one would do; Matt was more than confident in his ability to figure things out from there. "Which is how I know it was something they did to you." He barely blinked.

Edited 2010-06-09 02:23 (UTC)

Mello did blink. That was all, and it was a battle won against allowing his eyes to widen at exactly how much Matt had managed to figure out. As intently as he was watching him, Mello suspected a blink spoke volumes.

He could guess the rest of the cut-off sentence. That's not how it was when we met up again. Meeting up with him again had gotten Matt killed, but that was a stupid reason to waver and consider telling him after all. Even if he was right about the rest of it, too. Mello had barely given Matt a moment's thought since leaving the House. He knew that wouldn't have changed until he needed another pair of eyes back home, until the reckless methods he'd been so proud of had eliminated every other option. His mouth tightened briefly in annoyance. Let those little fuckers in his brain whisper what they would. He had to hear it, but he didn't have to listen.

It had never been Mello's habit to confide in anyone. The last five years hadn't just given him a greater ability to bear everything alone, they'd brought home again and again that he had to. The one time he'd vented here had been that rant to HK-47, which had been less a heart-to-heart therapy-fest and more a pissing contest of whose woes were greater.

"Matt, before long, we're going to black out and wake up back in our cells, in our beds. We don't have time for caring and sharing hour." A stalling tactic, of course, necessary for practicality's sake. His reluctance had nothing to do with the cold finger of uneasiness he could feel hovering near his spine, ready to touch down. He fitted the lid back onto the tin and dropped it into the bag: subject closed, time to move on.

His left eye narrowed at Mello as the blond put him off again; it was getting old. Forcing himself to his feet with crowbar and flashlight in hand, he opted to ignore the snack packages on the floor and fixed Mello with an even glare. The curiosity was killing him, and Matt felt like he deserved to know what could possibly happen to him during his stay. The more he thought about how forcefully Mello was trying to keep his secret hidden, the more Matt couldn't help imagining Claude being dragged from their room... and he couldn't stop imagining himself in Claude's place, kicking and screaming to keep from being... whatever. Tortured, or experimented on. Those just weren't on his list of to-dos while at Landel's.

He didn't want to stoop to such low levels - Seems more like something Near would do, he thought, a bad taste in his mouth. Or Kira. He really didn't like that, but he knew it needed to be done. So Matt just shoved both those thoughts away and braced himself for an act he wasn't feeling too confident giving. Screw it - Mello's probably done this t'me hundreds of times.

"We need to make time," he answered, somehow managing to keep the shake from his voice. "You may not feel like you owe me anything, but I wouldn't be here if I hadn't helped you." True enough. "If there're dangers here that I don't know about, you need t'tell me. Y'didn't make the danger clear when I signed on for the Kira case with you, and look how badly that turned out.

"Don't hang me out t'dry again." The last part was a lie. He'd known the dangers very well - Matt had just chosen to ignore them. Maybe the logical outlook mixed with a mild guilt trip would ease the truth out of Mello? Maybe, maybe not, but it was worth a try, and he knew he was laying it on thick, but it was all for the greater good - or his survival. Depended on who was looking at it.

Mello's eyes narrowed in suspicion. The guilt trip still worked, echoing as it did, and very effectively, everything he'd been trying not to think. Plain and simple, his future self had fucked up. Knowing he wouldn't sacrifice Matt on purpose made it even worse. What had he not anticipated? Where had he failed? That train of thought needed to be derailed quickly. He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to concentrate. Just tell him. He's most of the way there already.

Most of the way wasn't all the way. It wasn't specifics, and those were what Mello couldn't stand the thought of anyone knowing. To know someone was seeing in their mind's eye the way he'd been, helpless and effortlessly manipulated; to hand them a scalpel to dissect his behavior, to pick it apart for what was real and what was left over from that night. No. Matt should have known he would never give anyone that power.

He would also never have expected Matt to follow him blindly.

There it was. A way out of this. Aren't you asking him to follow blindly now? the insidious whisper came. Mello gritted his teeth. So what if I am, and so what if he knows it? He let his hand fall, stood straighter. "I asked you to sign on for something without laying it all out for you, and you agreed?" He paused to give Matt his most skeptical look. "I don't think so.

"Now quit dicking around, and let's get going."

Matt's eyes narrowed, and he huffed a small chuckle as his cheeks flushed ever so slightly. Should've known he'd figure it out. This was Mello he was talking to, no matter what mental hoops they'd forced him to jump through the last few days. Of course, he couldn't say anymore that he was blindly following Mello; after all, each and every one of the tiniest nuances in the blond's reactions had told Matt more than the other man was willing to come out and say. Something bad was going on in this place, and it was nearly impossible to escape. He knew they'd manage, though. It was just what they did.

He swallowed. "Just tell me how bad it is. Y'know. For when it happens t'me." Matt knew that if Mello was no match for these people, then he sure as hell wasn't. When they burst into his and Claude's room to drag him off, he could kick and scream all he liked - but no one would do anything about it. Then we'll go, he thought, because he knew Mello was right; they didn't have enough time to be dallying.

He could have lied to Matt, but he dismissed the option instantly. From the age when most kids were still sounding out words in primers, Mello had believed, with the fervor of a convert, that nothing was truly frightening if you understood it; a belief that had taken a knockout punch in the last twenty-four hours, but one he was committed to nevertheless. With reliable information as fucking scarce as it was here, he didn't begrudge Matt the question.

"There's nothing you can do if they take you," he began, starting with what he'd found strangely reassuring to learn. "And it's random, so they may never come for you at all. But if they do, don't lie there beating yourself up wondering what you could've done to stop it." Not that Mello was able to practice what he was preaching, and Matt, damn him, could probably tell.

He tipped his head toward the door before going for it, his way of saying he'd spill a little more on the other side.

[to here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/895522.html?thread=70060578#t70060578)]

Edited 2010-06-10 20:29 (UTC)

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Night 49: Nurse Lounge

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