A/N: This is the first of the themes to be AU. I don't intend on doing too many AU's, but this one was necessary for the theme. I originally wrote this in a notebook at two in the morning, but elaborated a little as I typed it up. Not much though... ___ My hand was cramped forever. XP I own nothing and please enjoy! Dedicated to the AMAZING Akane-chama! (maker of Dnd Poisoned and an excelled artist). One of the lines - and the whole inspiration for this piece - come from one of her pieces of art. Be sure to check her out! 3 3 3 ^^ As always, commentary is welcome.

57. Sacrificial

They sat across from each other, completely clashing with their surroundings. A heavy silence hung between them, a palpable tension cracking in the air. Around them was a constant, happy chatter; accented voices rising and falling melodically. It was a crisp Wednesday; comfortably warm with a nice breeze. The trees rustled on occasion as busy shoppers and business men bustled on the sidewalks below their boughs. Swanky jazz music floated around the area, mingling with the smooth décor of the cage. Black wrought iron fencing encircled the outdoor patio area, red cloth umbrellas bridging over and between the tables.

No, in this peaceful corner of New York, Mello and Near had no place being. At least, not together. The younger of the two speared a slice of strawberry on his fork and drew it to his pale lips. He ate the fruit quietly; all the while his dark eyes examined his companion. He delved for a chunk of cantaloupe, never breaking eye contact, and successfully delivered it into his mouth. He knew the blonde could feel his staring – not that he cared – and was presently wondering how long it would take the other to snap.

"What?!" Mello hissed, no longer pretending to people-watch.

Not long, apparently. Near smiled. He could tell by the other's eyes that Mello was more annoyed than angry – which was just fine with him, really.

"You should eat." Near replied in that quiet way of his.

"I am eating." The blonde drawled, licking crumbs from his fork. It had been three days without sight of a chocolate bar. Near had seen to that. It was also Near, on this third day since Mogi's capture, that had led them here, to Café Parfait. It was a quaint little shop with a French theme, and one of Near's alleged favorites. As such, he insisted that Mello order something and strictly forbade the consumption of chocolate in bar form. So Mello, being the stubborn ass he was, had ordered an éclair. A chocolate éclair.

"Eat something substantial." The younger emphasized, stirring his tea with a spoon. Mello eyed this simple procedure irately. It was black tea – L's favorite. Taking note that the sugar dispenser was still more than half-full, he decided begrudgingly that Near wasn't trying to jibe him… this time…

"I'm fine with an éclair, thanks." He said shortly. He watched interestedly as Near's eyes squinted slightly, his brows furrowing marginally. L's successor was pouting. Mello almost laughed.

"You can't just live off of chocolate you know." The white haired teen warned. "You'll get fat."

"I'm not fat!" the other defended.

"You will be when your metabolism catches up." There. A trace of a smile. Near nudged the plate before him across the table. "Eat." He insisted again.

"I don't want it." Mello shrugged, sending the remaining half of the turkey and avocado sandwich a dirty look.

"Picky." Near taunted, maintaining his monotone indifference.

"Am not!" The blonde scowled, shoving the plate back. "I just don't want any of it, jeez!"

"Eat the sandwich." The other said, not allowing room for excuses. The authority only L could carry. Mello, however, had not received that memo.

"No." he growled.

Near gave him a dead-pan glare and mumbled something incoherent under his breath.

"Stop speaking in Latin, you freak!" a blue eye was twitching now. "If you're gonna insult me, do it in a language I actually understand!" he was positively seething now… and blatantly ignoring his slip-up. 'I actually understand', an admittal of defeat.

"¡Coma la torta, perra!" Near rattled off in perfect Spanish. His tone hadn't changed, but his eyes lit up with a victorious glint at Mello's incredulous stare. "Or perhaps you'd have preferred Italian?" Near quipped in mock innocence. "Mangi il panino, femmina! No? What about French? Mangez le san-!"

"What the HELL, Near?!" Mello shrieked, once again in control of his voice. "Don't ever even IMPLY that I'm your bitch and for the last fucking time I. DON'T. WANT. YOUR. SANDWICH!" Near allowed a small smile. People were definitely staring now – that that he cared any – but is sure seemed to make the blonde opposite him uncomfortable. Mello turned to glare at the man seated closest to him. "Oh piss off!" he snapped, reverting back to his favorite old 'Wammy's swears'. "Come on Near." He said irritably, rising from the table. "I'm out of here, we're leaving."

"Who says I'm done?" the younger quipped, masking his jibe with curiosity. He really said, 'Who are you to tell me I'm finished?'

"I do." Mello replied immediately. 'You can't beat me all the time and you don't own me!'

"Hmn, that's interesting." Near said boredly, draining the last of his tea with a deliberate, excruciating slowness. 'Yes, I do.' It answered any and all questions. He replaced the cup back on its saucer and rose methodically, carefully brushing off his pure white pants, forcing Mello to wait on him. The blonde glared down at him ferociously, reading into his game. At last they left the café behind, wandering aimlessly down the crowded streets.

Mello forced his way ahead, perfectly cut out for this crude world. His thoughts a turmoil, a sense of surprise crashed down on him as something warm met his back. He looked over his shoulder to find Near staring back at him, a small hand fisted around the blonde's jacket. For the briefest moment, when their eyes met, Mello wasn't sure if he had merely imagined the soft pink tinge on Near's cheeks or not. But before he had a chance to ponder this notion, something else caught his eye. Or rather, someone else. "Oh shit…" he froze in place, Near still attached to his back.

"Mello?" the white haired teen quipped.

"Oh shit shit shiiit." The other quickly whirled around, placing his hands on Near's shoulders.

"We have to run?" he asked, comprehendingly. Mello nodded briefly, then tore back down the way they had come, Near hot on his heels. At the second alleyway they approached, the blonde turned right, running behind a row of city-built apartments. He continued to weave his way around the network of back alleys and side streets, checking every so often to see if Near was still there.

"Me-! Mel-! Mello!" he finally panted, stopping in is tracks. The blonde turned to find him bent double, hands on knees. "Wh-who are we-?"

"An anti-Kira mafia." Mello explained. "They found out that I had obtained Kira's weapon somehow and came after me. I killed their leader and three of their best men. Even though I no longer have the Death Note, they want revenge." He finished. Near nodded distractedly, still trying to catch his breath.

"So, do you think we're safe now?" he managed.

"Ya, I think we-"

BANG!

The sharp report of a handgun being fired echoed painfully throughout the alleys. Mello paled considerably. "Well shit, they're still tracking us!" he snarled, springing into action again. "Come on!" he called back needlessly. After another five minutes of frantic running, Near stopped dead.

"Mello!" he choked out, clutching at his chest. The blonde froze, mentally smacking himself. Near was born with an underdeveloped heart, which meant that anything trying or cardio-respitory-wise was dangerous to his health. It was for this same reason that he had been allowed to sit out during the mandatory physical education block at Wammy's, Mello could see the pain clouding the other's dark eyes, and pinpricks of guilt stabbed at him. 'This could kill him.' He realized. He jogged back a few paces and drew up before Near. Awkwardly, he swung the teen up into his arms so that he held him bridal style. Near ushered a small squeak as Mello set off again, clinging tightly to the blonde's neck. He rested his head on the other's shoulder, listening to the roar of blood in his veins.

Then Mello jerked to a stop. A dead end. They were trapped. The blonde set Near down, eyes darting about suspiciously. "They've got us surrounded." He said, more to say something than anything. Near would of course have already known this obvious detail. "Their target is me." Mello stated. "They've nothing against you as you're head of the largest anti-Kira department there is." Near looked to him blankly, hiding the frantic calculation in his mind. "They want me, not you." Mello rephrased blandly, as if it cleared up everything. "They won't kill you on your own."

"I'm not running." Near refused. 'I'm afraid to run alone.'

"I know."

"Then… fight them." The teen opted, feeling like he was prodding for solutions. Floundering, more like. The pair froze as yelling echoed back to them, much closer than before.

"There's too many." Mello argued, strangely calm. Even still, he drew and cocked his gun. Near whimpered slightly, staring down the end of the alley with wide eyes. Mello moved quickly then. He whipped around behind Near, yanking him backwards so they stood back-to-front. A gloved hand reached around and gently shielded the teen's startled eyes, beckoning them shut.

"You mustn't see this." Mello whispered. There was a click and then a ferocious roar. It reverberated within the alleyway, doubling in sound. Dogs barked abruptly, the yelling of the mafia rising. Mello's hand slipped from before Near's closed eyes. The mafia men broached the mouth of the alley, standing stock-still at the scene unfolding before them. One figure stood, shaking. The other lay in a heap on the ground, blood staining pale hair.

"You mustn't see this."

'If I live, you die.'

Near's legs gave out and he crumpled beside Mello's lifeless form, desperately shaking him, even though he knew, deep down, that the blonde was gone. For the first time in his life, genuine tears cascaded down his cheeks, staining his shirt and pants. He threw himself over the blonde, allowing the still-warm blood to drench his normally pristine clothing. To stain his skin, his hair. He nuzzled against Mello's neck, seeking comfort there. Mello, who had always sworn to hate him, now lay dead at his feet. He never once had told Near he cared for him. Not until now. And now was too late.

'He never got his chocolate either.' Near thought bitterly. 'He died without having what he loved most.'

Near didn't know it, but he was wrong.