PART II.

Matt awoke to the steady buzz of hospital machines, a calm drip of morphine hooked to his forearm. The pain pounding in his head reminded him that he was still very much alive. And if there was ever any doubt at all, it was confirmed by the warm bedsheets beneath him. For one frightening moment he thought his whole body had gone numb. Had he become a parapalygic? But alas, upon investigation Matt realized that Mello had merely fallen asleep across his chest. The towheaded boy did not stir as Matt moved to readjust himself. How long had Mello been sleeping soundly in the plastic chair? As Matt became more aware of his surroundings, memories of what had lead to his current station began to trickle forth like a slow stream.

Outside the hospital window the sun was rising over a dead oak tree, setting the fading leaves afire in a bloody red hue. Blood. From what Matt could remember there had been a lot of it the night before. His blood, all over his clothes; and judging by the look of Mello's attire, all over his as well. Hadn't Mello bothered to change? This struck Matt to be a little strange, knowing Mello he would have flipped out if anything ever stained his expensive clothes.

Speaking of clothes. Matt found himself with a lack there of. He was eager to get out of the hospital gown he was currently sporting and conveniently just as this thought occured to him a white-coated doctor entered the room. The man carried a rather unassuming air. The type of old man one often pictures in this kind of field, kindly eyes and a soft reassuring smile. Matt didn't know if the expression was sincere or merely a mask perfected from years of med school. Point blank, he did not care either way.

"Good morning Mr. Wammy, I am Dr. Jordan," the doctor greeted warmly. The name momentarily disoriented Matt before he quickly realized Mello must have given a fake name to the hospital. Without skipping a beat, Matt nodded in reply, "Hey."

"Your friend here brought you to us last night," he said and they both shared a gaze at the sleeping figure, "he never left your bedside---not even at the request of my staff." The warmth of his tone faltered briefly as if to insinuate Mello might have been less than pleasant. This, however, did not surprise Matt in the least. As if almost out of custom, Matt felt obligated to apologize for his comrade. Like a father being told his impudent son had done something wrong again---this was almost routine.

Matt said, mildly sheepish, "sorry if he did anything retarded."

The doctor chuckled and shook his head, casually looking over Matt's records. He seemed sufficiently satisfied. "No harm done, Mr. Wammy. One should be grateful to have such a faithful friend. They can be a rare breed."

"Yeah," he responded. Meet Matt, King of Eloquence. Some would say he was a man of few words though the general consensus was that he was just an idiot. A rare breed, eh? Mello is a lot of things; rare is just one of them. Fucked-up asshole would probably be more of an accurate description though. Shortly after the doctor left, Mr. Wammy aka Matt woke up Mello and the two escaped out the window. Or at least tried to escape. Mello escaped, Matt sort of half-fell-have dived onto of the blond. It was instances like these that made Matt wonder why they always had to do things the difficult 'bad-ass-way' when walking out the front door could have been slightly more convenient.

"Get the fuck off me, dumbass!" Mello yelped.

"You try jumping out a window with an arm in a sling and nothing on but a gown," Matt retorted as he got to his feet with perfect lack of grace. People in the courtyard stared at the two bickering boys before Mello shot them all a look from hell and they wisely went back to their own business.

"Whine, whine, whine; suck it up, I parked the bike around the corner," and before Matt could say anything more he was being tugged along by his partner-in-crime. This is so fucking embarrassing, the red-headed boy thought to himself as he dangled after Mello in his turquoise-blue hospital gown. Worse of all was that he was going to have to look like this the entire ride home.

"At least let me wear your jacket, ass," Matt grumbled as they got on the bike, "I am going to be fucking freezing as it is." He imagined another exchange of cussing and arguments but was surprised to find how easily Mello relinquished his leather jacket. There was silence and then the rumble of the bike. Matt laced his arms as best he could given the condition of his left arm,around Mello's abdomen as the world around them became a blur. Mello picked up speed so the only sound between them was the air whipping across them.

Mello had yet to say anything about the other night, but Matt knew he had not forgotten. If anything he had spent these last few hours calculating how he was going to handle matters. In fact, Matt was surprised Mello was even still around. In the past, Mello had simply run away from complicated situations. Just look at how he ran away from Wammy's. As Matt began to consider the consquence of his confession it seemed so ridiculous now. Not only that but he feared he had just created a canyon between him and his friend. Because even if Mello had not disappeared from his life yet, it didn't mean he wouldn't very soon. He was never good with dealing with his emotions, let alone those of others.

All these things were fluttering in Matt's head as they rode along. Mello navigated the slick black streets with a veteran's skill, weaving in between cars and stoplights. By the time they reached their rickety old loft in the condemned neighborhood of south Chicago Matt was apprehensive as to what to expect. For the first time in his life he was worried what might happen next. Up until this point, Matt had watched the world with a detached gaze. He wasn't effected by Kira's mass murders or even that L had been one of his victims; but to lose his only friend over something like this.

For Matt that would simply be catastrophic.

When they were inside the comforts of their trashed abode Matt had expected that Mello would finally bring to light what had happened. He had waited in the hospital, on the ride home, but he found himself increasingly antsy for Mello's response. But nothing occured. In fact, Mello was just the same as always; he barked at Matt to make him a chocolate-bannana sandwich and plopped himself down in the middle of the floor where it had become his psuedo-office.

And that was that. Matt wasn't exactly satsified but he would deal with it. As he went to work on making the sandwich (which wasn't exactly easy seeing as his left arm was in a sling) Matt became relieved that nothing had changed. Perhaps Mello actually had forgotten the words said.

But in actuality, neither assumption was true. Things had changed, a more complicated web had indeed been spun.

And secondly, Mello never forgets.