[Summary] In the spring of L's death year (before his death) the Wammy's children are taken to a secluded corner of the country. Mello recreates his marvellous disappearing act, and Near follows close behind with a Polaroid camera.

A bit of a slow starter, but bear with it and you shall be rewarded with better writing ^_~

~Got 'cha~

Once every year, when spring is nearing its end and lapsing into summer, the Wammy's children are taken out to the country. On these breaks, they spend their time in a small and isolated manor house. Though on the outside its walls are crumbling, its windows are scratched and smeared, and its baloneys look a blatant death trap; the inside is a completely different story. The rooms are packed treasure troves, with flamboyant décor and fine furnished rooms. Every shelf, every crevice, every space, is filled with the most intriguing and rare of games and puzzles from many exotic countries. The bookcases are stuffed until they creak, whilst in every room there is at least two musical instruments; harps, violins, cellos, pianos, harpsichords, accordions, concertinas… Plenty to keep a child occupied.

However, Near did not consider himself a child, and had not done so for a long time now. For the past few annual visits to the countryside, he had frankly been… bored? Yes, that was the word for it. He had a complete disinterest in everything around him, as if the goings on of the world were merely insects buzzing about his head. This attitude - according to the majority of his peers - was not a good one. It did not do a boy any good to be so detached.

Whilst everyone else had fun talking, playing and drinking in the country air; Near would rather sit out on the back porch, alone. The sturdy porch was lined with knee-high, strong; ageing stonewalls, with coarse Romanesque pillars that reached up from the ground floor to support the balconies above. Near would perch on these walls, with one leg drawn up to his stomach and the other dangling on the edge; his eyes seemingly looking at nothing. As he leant against the cold stone pillars, he felt the muscles in his back freeze and stiffen. His skin textured with goose bumps underneath his white pyjama-like attire. He despised the summery heat, and so relished this cool sensation.

People would think that he sat out there to be alone; they were wrong. True, he did not much care for the company of others and seldom desired it - but he would never so blatantly and rudely avoid it. Others would assume that he had simply read all the books and finished all the puzzles in the house, and therefore had no more interest in them. This was - partly - true, in that Near had solved all the puzzles and games in the house, and had read the hundreds of books, but he had not lost interest in them. Returning to a puzzle was still rather enjoyable, as was returning to a book. The only difference was that he had a smug familiarity for them now.

No, no one knew why Near sat out in the open spring air, detached and alone. Another thing no one knew was where Mello got to on these spring-breaks. The young tearaway had never stayed in the manor house without disappearing for at least two days. He would eat his meal with everyone else on the first night, and then just… disappear. Yes, that was the word. To be gone without a single trace, and without any hope of being found.

The first time this happened, Roger had panicked. No one had ever seen him so apprehensive - his eyes had bulged from their sockets, like the stomach of a pregnant woman swells. The children could practically hear his irregular heartbeat through the walls as he ordered every responsible adult in the vicinity to go and look for Mello. His voice had been but a quiet quiver, like the coo of a nervous and lonely dove, as he tried to reassure himself that Mello would come to no harm.

All night the search party had combed through the darkened forests and fields of the British countryside, looking for the blonde boy, whilst the remainder of the Wammy's children remained indoors under the watchful eye of Roger. There had been whispering - oh, how there had been whispering! - And shouting, and a general murmur of speculation. Where had Mello gone, and why?

Near did not know any more than the others did, and saw no point in joining in the discussion and contemplating. Mello would come back when he wanted to, and no search party could make him come any sooner. Patience is the most important skill a detective, or strategist, can posses. And sure enough, Mello returned two nights later.

His face was filthy and his black clothes were dirtied with the dust and cobwebs of the forest floor. He had just walked into the sitting room of the manor house, as if he had only been away five minutes. Roger had risen from his armchair with an unreadable expression. A thick silence slowly filled the room as the old man approached the unkempt boy. Abruptly, and without warning, Roger struck Mello across the face. The clap of the man's hand hitting his cheek reverberated though the room, as if it were afraid of dying away, as the children watched with knotted windpipes. Mello's body staggered a little off balance as his rapeseed-blonde hair obscured his face. Nevertheless, before the awkward silence could settle too comfortably, Roger swooped down on Mello, like an owl exhausted by flight, and hugged him tightly. His features tightened inward as he whispered in a blatantly false threatening tone: "Don't you ever do anything like that again."

Over his shoulder, a sulky and scowling Mello could be seen. It was clear that he was not best pleased to be back wit his kin.

That night, after eating and locking every available exit, the children decided that it would be best to harass Mello about where he had been for the past two days. They would corner him, like a pack of wild wolves, and demand answers. However, their voices were high, their bodies small, and their minds naïve, and in Mello's opinion, empty and unthreatening. He would effortlessly deter the little pups with a raised voice and harsh words, or even sometimes a sharp kick. Stubbornly, Mello would tell no one, not even Matt.

It was only later in life that Near realised that this was a challenge, directed only at him. Another test, another game. Every year that Mello remained hidden, he would win. The year that Near found him - discovered his secret hiding place - he would win. Simple enough. Too simple perhaps. Only this year would Near rise to meet Mello's challenge, out of sheer boredom.

"Near."

The white boy slowly turned his head to face Roger, who was wearing a friendly expression. The old and slightly dishevelled man stood on the porch, an aged slump curving his back. In his old root-like hands, he clutched a vintage Polaroid camera. Near said nothing.

"It's not good for you to spend your summers lounging around like this, you'll regret it when you're older." he commented, hopeful that his words would somehow influence upon Near; not much did, after all.

Near turned his head away before replying, without an ounce of tone in his voice: "Somehow, I doubt that."

"Nevertheless, I have something to occupy you." he sighed, his civil tone was unharmed. Over the years he had developed a certain patience for Near's apathy.

He handed the camera to the perching Near, who took it wordlessly, without the dimmest light of interest in his eyes as he examined it. It was simple, and looked like it could withstand being dropped and knocked around without obtaining too much damage. Its leather strap looked as though it would not snap as well. Still, it was rather disinteresting.

"Go out into the countryside and take some pictures." coaxed Roger "There must be something out there you want to take a picture of; an image you want to keep with you after you leave this place. Something interesting."

"Do I have to?" asked Near with the same bored expression he had been wearing for days.

"Yes," he replied more sternly and with thinner patience. "I'm sick of looking out the window just to see you moping about here; it's depressing. If you stay here any longer I dare say you'll turn into a potted plant."

"That's ridiculous." mumbled Near under his breath, as he pried himself from the ledge and stretched his aching limbs. He moved slowly, like a reluctant but obedient dog, with his head bowed and feet moving without will or haste.

"Come on now, away with you." shooed Roger until Near's bare feet touched the new spring grass. "And have fun!" he added hastily, as he watched the ghostly boy depart into the trees.

As Near knotted his naked toes in the grass, he looked out at the countryside in front of him. The seemingly endless hills and vales stretched out before him rumpled and uneven, like a bed quilt. The heavily leafed trees surrounding him buzzed with insects and birds. Little rounded songbirds gulped in the hot air and emptied their lungs as loud as they could; as each melodious song overlapped over another, and another, until soon they became tuneless. Bursting flower buds adorned every empty space, as they reached up to the bright burning sun, as it beat down maliciously on Near.

How long had he been walking? Too long. The heat and overwhelming freshness of all things green around him made him itch, as he perspired beneath his thin clothes. What had Roger been thinking, sending him out here? Anyone who knew Near knew that he hated the outdoors. The sun burnt his skin so easily, and the fresh air felt uncomfortable in his chest.

As of yet, he had seen nothing worth photographing. So, so many flowers, flitting buterblies, bluebell specked egg shells, and other such things. Nothing interesting.

The camera hung heavily from its strap around his neck; the useless thing. As pointless as this situation seemed, Near was not one to give up easily. He would find something that genuinely interested him and photograph it before returning to the manor house.

The time rolled on, like a snowball, steadily increasing as it went on; as Near strayed further and further away from his starting point, and the trees thinned out, until all that encompassed him was open field. The long turquoise grass was long enough to tickle his knuckles. Near noticed that the sun had moved a great deal across the sky since he first set out, as he saw its light run over the shining blades of grass in a wavelike motion with the soft wind. How far had he come? How far would he have to go? The sun could not light the sky forever - and Near did not want to stay out after dark and be painted with the same tarnished brush as Mello.

He caught a quick look back the way he had come. Had Mello walked that same path? It was likely. Mello had done his not-so-incredible disappearing act again this year. He had only been gone two days so far, so no one was too worried; he had been gone six days once - his personal record. Turning forwards again, Near spotted a lone tree in a field a few gates away; he would aim for that.

The sun eased its way down the sky as Near made his way over the rippling mounds of earth and through the vast fields. His cheeks had grown rosy and his feet were sorer than they had ever been, but he could feel the cool grass beneath his feet, and the night encroaching on the horizon to cool him down. This exploration was something new to him. Like most things that others relished, Near didn't care much for it. But still - he understood now.

He understood now why Mello chose to disappear, and be swallowed by an unknown landscape. It was peaceful. No one could get him here. This place would simply be him, a neverending landscape and his thoughts. Hours - days even, just to think and be. Out here, he may even forget their long burning rivalry, and the weight of being the successor to the world's greatest detective. Here he could be completely disconnected from his life, completely free.

He could see the tree more clearly now. On top of a small grassy mound, it was skinny, and its bark was roughly textured and dark. Near deduced that the it must have some kind of disease, since its growth was stunted and its branches were twisted. He did not take the time to name the specifics of this particular tree disease, since the thing situated next to it was far more interesting.

On top of the small mound of earth stood a lone figure. His shadow extended towards Near as the sun dipped lower down the sky, flooding their surroundings with orange pre-dusk sun. With his arms stretched out, as if crucified, and one hand clasping the knarred tree, stood Mello. With his arms outstretched in the empty field, he looked like a scarecrow, ready to deter any intruders from his discovered land; - though, to Near, dressed in his usual gloomy black attire, Mello simply looked like a selfish crow, that as unwilling to share his habitat with the rest of his kin. His baggy black clothes rippled with the wind, as his marigold hair lifted up with the softest of its breeze. On his young face - the features of which, were usually contorted with rage or devious determination - was now displaying the most peaceful of expressions, as if he were bathing in heaven's light, as though the silent air had soothed even his rampaging soul.

It was strange to see him so calm - so loose - as he was usually so tightly wound. This was certainly something interesting. Something rare. Something Near wanted to keep with him forever; Mello, quiet and at peace.

Moving slowly as a flipbook picture, Near raised the camera to his face.

Click -

The silence was brutally ripped from the atmosphere, as the camera's blinding white flash exploded from the camera and set the field alight; its click reverberating and ringing in both their ears. It seemed as though it took an age to extinguish.

Near lowered the camera slowly to see Mello snap round to face him, all tranquillity had fallen away from his face like petals from a rose. His scowling eyes where thunderous, as the two of them stood frozen, and the camera spat out a wet and undeveloped photograph.

"Near, what are you doing here?" demanded Mello, shock and irritation fighting for precedence in his voice.

Continuing to hold his gaze, Near tugged the Polaroid picture from the camera, before saying in a smug, clear tone:

"Got you."

Anger creased Mello's nose as he began to sprinting down the hill, bellowing at the top of his lungs: "Give it back Near!"

Near's only reply was to shake the picture dry whilst he shot Mello the most teasing on looks, which could only be read as: "Come and get it." before turning on his heel and fleeing his raging rival.

The chase began. Though Near was not much fond of physical exercise, he could be as fast as a scampering rodent when he wanted to be. With no clumsiness or panic in his movements, Near ran though the long grass, as it whipped and wrapped around his pale form. Not far behind him, Mello ran with inhuman determination in his eyes. Near could hear the low breathless snarls behind him, as the scenery at his side began to blur. He knew that his running was pointless - Mello was so much faster than he was, it was frightening - and as he felt his muscles begin to pulse with a stinging citrus-like fluid, Near knew that he would soon have to stop. However, having Mello so desperately chase him was so… fun. Yes, that was the word. A certain glee swam in his stomach and curved his lips every time he got his yellow haired friend into such a state.

Near felt himself begin to huff. Useless; this was useless. It was time to stop being so childish. Swiftly, he spun round to face Mello, and time seemed to slow. Through the air, thick with floating pollen, he could see the black figure of Mello spring from the grass with predatory precision. With a slick pouncing motion, Mello forced Near to the floor as the two of them fell to the ground with a muffled thud. Before Near could move to escape, he felt Mello's full force press down on his slim biceps, pinning him down. Looking up with cheeks flustered an apple red, Near saw Mello panting as he was - breaths heaving in and out, as heavy as the tide - both had emptied their lungs during their foolish chase. Tightly clamped in Near's sweaty fingers, he held the photograph.

"Give…" began Mello, still huffing oxygen into his burning chest. "Give it back!"

He tightened his grip on Near's arms, and fixed him with the most intimidating of glares. However, no matter how threatening he looked, the only reply Near was able to display was a look of pure exhaustion.

This long moment dragged on; and on; and on. Their gazes was locked together - eyes of crystal blue and silver birch glued together. Surrounded by walls of grass on all sides, they felt completely isolated - private. Both felt their hearts beat in tune, pulse with pulse, as they calmed down from the sudden gush of energy they had just experienced. No sounds or birds' song reached their ears; only the sound of their deep and warm breathing thickened the air.

Mello felt as though he had been staring into Near's eyes for an age, as he felt himself getting more and more lost in their limitless waters of gray. They were so much more alluring when they weren't narrowed into a concentrated scowl. But before these amiable thoughts could sink in, the lulling silence was broken.

"As you wish." sighed Near as he held the Polaroid beneath Mello's nose. "You win..."

Mello's brow slipped back to its usual look of discontentment before he released Near and snatched the photograph from his fingers. Holding the picture close to his face he looked it over with unforgiving eyes, as if it had insulted him. Quickly getting off Near, he looked down on him as he pocketed the photo.

"What the hell are you doing here Near?" he asked, his voice thin on courtesy.

"I could ask you the very same thing, Mello." Near countered him from the floor. Sitting in the groove of flattened grass he looked like a over large field-mouse, but his calculating expression was not so cute and very much human. "Is this the place you've been coming for years?"

"Don't do that!" yelled Mello, a new frustration rising up in his voice. "Don't twist the question back round on me; you're always doing that -"

"Roger sent me." Near replied quickly, with the slightest of tones.

"Roger sent you to look for me -?"

"The world doesn't revolve around you, Mello." Near muttered beneath his breath, so low that Mello didn't hear.

"Roger sent you out here with that?" Mello continued exasperatedly, revering to the camera. "We're not alouwd to be photographed; as Wammy's children it's too dangerous to have pictures of us just lying around. Doesn't he remember that? Didn't you know that? Everyone thinks you're so smart and then you do something stupid like this!"

"Are you done?" asked Near calmly, Mello's rant washing over him like water over a river pebble.

"Why did to take a picture of me?" Mello growled, looking away from Near as if he were restraining himself from hitting him.

"You're the most interesting thing for miles…" replied Near, as if that were a perfectly acceptable explanation.

Mello paused, expecting Near to elaborate. He didn't.

"What does that mean?"

"What do you think it means?" replied Near sharply.

"You never make any sense!" he exhaled, stress and anger thickening his words with hostility before he began walking back the way Near had come.

Near moved to stand up, but Mello snapped back round:

"Don't follow me, you white rat." he warned Near. "I'm not coming back tonight."

"What are you going to do with the picture?" asked Near, as if that was the most important issue at hand.

"What does that matter?" Mello yelled back from the distance; too far away to hear Near's whisper of a reply.

"… It's a nice picture…"

His words sounded out to nothing on the blowing wind, leaving the overgrown field to sway wistfully, more empty than before.

The open blue skies of the day had turned the deepest darkest of blues, like that of the shadows on the sea floor. Beneath this near starless sky stood Mello next to a small chattering stream; its water shimmered with moonlight, dulled by bruise coloured clouds. Involuntarily shivering, Mello looked up through the inky shadows of the trees to see the warm yellow lights of the manor house in the not so far distance. He was so hungry, and they would be eating dinner right about now. But there was no way he was going back tonight, not whilst Near was there; he would rather starve.

Why had Near been out in his fields today? He had been aloud to escape undisturbed so many times before, so why had he been disturbed today? And why with a damned camera?

When Near had photographed him, it was as though he had been capturing all of Mello's weakness - his vulnerability - in that one picture. Reaching into his pocket, Mello flattened the crumpled photo paper out on his palm. Why had Near taken his? It made no sense - he made no sense. Why had he wanted to keep this image of him?

The milk white boy could be so enticingly strange one moment, and irritatingly smug the next. He got so uncomfortably deep under Mello's skin, every time, without even trying; it made him want to smash Near's pale body like porcelain, until there was nothing left of him except the smallest of fractions. But… the fact he could have that effect on him so effortlessly made him feel even weaker still.

That wasn't the worst of it. Near could make him feel weak in other ways too. Like today, in the grass, he had been completely captivated, as so many thoughts started to fall into place in his head, as slick and unstoppable as a domino effect. Drowning in his mist coloured eyes, a certain déjà vu had lit Mello's mind as thoughts thought before came flooding back to him…

Why did he end up staring at Near so often? Back at the orphanage, when the lights were put out at night, among all the faces in the lines of beds, Near's moon bright face would glow in the darkness. Mello had watched him then. When he pondered over his puzzles, carefully selecting the peaces and fitting them together, his hands moved with such gentleness. And when his fingers twisted his flicks of hair subconsciously, his hands looked so large, and so soft. Would they feel as soft as they looked wrapped around his, with fingers woven together?; Mello had wondered, more times then he would like to admit, even to himself.

On their first night away from the Wammy's house, why hadn't he beckoned Near to follow him out into the woods, instead of sneaking out of the kitchen window alone, like some selfish lonesome cat? Would he have even wanted to come? Would he have been as scared as he was; running from invisible shadow monsters and sleeping in hollowed tree trunks? Or would he have just behaved as he always did, with unfeeling apathy and logical calm-headed thinking? Mello could never - and, probably would never - be able to keep his emotions in check. They ruled him, just as rational thinking ruled Near. Was Near able to let his emotions run as wild as his? Could his unfazeable, icy demeanour ever be lifted away? Would Near melt with a look, or warm touch, or licking kiss like vanilla ice cream? Or was he, Mello, simply too fiery to be tender enough to coax that side of his rival to the surface?

…Thoughts such as those.

However, as he was now, Near was needlessly complicated. Any conversation between him and Mello was a vicious battle field, and their words were only intended to maim and hurt one another. The cherub faced boy was just impossible, and seemed to relish making Mello feel a fool - but no more. He and Mello were complete opposites, they were never going to be able to work together, and would always hate each other - but that was meaningless.

Right now, L was battling in a far more vital rivalry between him and Kira. He was the best detective who had ever lived, but Kira was also the most successful mass murderer to ever walk this earth. Were L to die, then either Mello or Near would have to take his place. Now was not the time for petty, childish rivalry. He may only have a short time to prove himself, and he was not going to waste it trying to figure Near out. He did not need to understand him any more than he did now, he just needed to be better; quicker, sharper, smarter, braver.

Mello knew he could never remove all thoughts of Near from his mind - every plant has its roots, and Near was a significant part of his, tangled and entwined with the rest of his recollections - but he could give it a damn good try.

A purer, more righteous determination moulded Mello's features as he tossed the scrunched up ball of a photograph into the river, to be whisked away; out of sight and out of mind. Glancing about his surroundings, Mello concealed his striking blonde hair from view with a black hood, before doing what he did best; dissolving into the shadows.

In the densely leaved branches of a tree close by, Near watched Mello throw his picture into the river. The night soon engulfed him - as they always did - as he became just another shadow in the forest. This would have been quite worthy of merit, had he not chosen to whip out a chocolate bar a few meters into the trees, its silver foil shining in the moonlight. Near clicked his tough, and sat back uncomfortably in the tree's branches.

Both he and Mello knew that something would happen soon, something big, and that it would be best for the two of them to work together instead of fighting. However… Like L, Near was childish, and quite frankly did not like to declare a truce to anything. They would always compete - it was unavoidable - it was in their blood. It was an eternal and unbreakable connection between them, that neither of them truly wished to be severed.

Though the two of them had a lot to prepare for, a new challenge had been set before Near: To obtain a picture of Mello. No matter how small or distorted, he would have a photograph of his rival. An image he would keep with him, forever.

A/N Thank you so much for reading. My apologies if there were any irksome mistakes with spelling and grammar, or if there was glaringly annoying Out-Of-Character-ness . This was originally going to be a doujinshi, but I need to better my drawing a bit more before I even attempt that. This was just to get the idea out of my head.

Feedback is much, much appreciated~! I'll give you a strawberry if you review ^^.