Thank you so much for all the reviews! I really appreciate your thoughts and support. Unfortunately, my life has gotten a bit busier recently and I probably won't be able to update every day like I've been doing up until now-sorry! Still, I will continue to put out chapters as fast as I can write them. Thanks again for all of your kind words, and I hope you enjoy this chapter.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Mello woke slowly, for once. Normally, he would leap out of bed the moment his eyes opened. He'd always been that way—quick to rise, energetic, ready to face the day.

Today was different. It could have been anything, from the slightly-too-stiff mattress, to the heavy duvet, to the sliver of light peeking through the thick curtains, to the steady breathing—almost loud enough to be a gentle snore—just to his right. James had always been a quiet sleeper, barely making a noise or moving at all throughout the night. Matt was clearly the opposite; when Mello cracked open an eye, he saw the sheets on the redhead's side in messy disarray. In fact, he'd kicked the comforter and blankets so that they were piled on top of Mello, instead. No wonder he was so hot under all that.

Stretching and pulling the heavy covers off, Mello slid off the bed and stood up, shivering now that he was abruptly outside of that cocoon of warmth. He grabbed his shirt from yesterday on the desk chair where he'd left it, and he pulled it on, rubbing his arms to heat them up again.

He glanced back at the bed. Matt still lay sprawled on the mattress, his arms hanging off the edge. He was still completely dressed—except for his shoes, which he'd kicked off at the entrance—and Mello felt a little naked near him with only a thin shirt and boxers on. The night before, he'd been delighted that Matt hadn't thought sleeping next to him would be too weird, but Mello had to admit that it had only made his infatuation worse. The few times he'd woken in the night, he'd imagined what it would be like to be with the redhead and sleep like this every night.

Mello sighed, bringing a hand up to run through his long blond hair. He had to stop doing this to himself. He was getting dangerously attached. Yeah, he preferred relationships to one-night-stands, but that didn't mean he usually spent this much time mooning over someone. He was an action type of person. If he wanted something, he went after it—fuck the consequences.

With Matt, he couldn't do that. It was obvious that the redhead didn't have many (any?) friends or people who gave a damn about him. He'd become so close to Mello in recent weeks, that if Mello were to try to capitalize on that connection and get anything physical out of him, it would feel wrong… like he was taking advantage of him. Even if Matt had any bisexual tendencies—which Mello doubted—he recognized that Matt wasn't quite stable enough yet to throw himself into a relationship. Especially one with a guy.

But then there was the corner of Mello's mind that whispered that it was his birthday today, after all, and didn't he deserve a present?

Shut up, he told himself. Being born 23 years ago on this day doesn't entitle you to anything, you dumb sod.

As Mello watched, Matt shifted and sniffed. His green eyes blinked open and he pulled his face away from the pillow. When he turned and sat up, his right cheek had lines on it from creases in the pillowcase.

"M-m-morning," he yawned hugely. His mahogany hair stuck up in all directions.

"Morning, Matt," said Mello. "Ready for another day of driving across the country?"

Matt blinked blearily and winced. "You know, maybe I'll go back to sleep."

"Oh no you don't."

Matt clung stubbornly to his pillow, and Mello was forced to come over to prize it out of his grasp. Naturally, the redhead wouldn't let go, and instead he tugged so hard on the thing that Mello was knocked off balance, sending them both to the floor in a jumble.

"Ow!" whined Mello as Matt's elbow landed painfully on his hip.

Mello could feel Matt shaking atop of him. Muffled chuckles turned into full-out laughter as Matt lay on him and, this close, Mello could smell the scent of his sleepy skin and morning breath. It was such a human smell that Mello closed his eyes, overcome with the desire for more, to be even closer.

When he opened his eyes just seconds later, Matt's laughter had died down, and he'd propped himself up by his hands, still facing Mello.

"Awake now?" asked Mello softly, staring up at him. The words came out in an unexpectedly challenging way, as if daring Matt to do something. The position they were in was rather compromising, after all, and Matt was sure to realize that.

Matt's eyes widened, but he didn't immediately pull away. After a few tense moments of merely staring at each other, he laughed a little awkwardly and stood up, offering a hand to pull Mello up as well. "You little minx, Mello," he said teasingly.

Mello grasped his hand and pushed himself to his feet, as Matt added, "And yes, I'm definitely awake now. And bruised, thanks to you."

"You're not the one who had someone's entire bodyweight land on you," said Mello, disgruntled. "You're heavier than you look, you know."

"Are you calling me fat?"

Mello rolled his eyes. "Yeah, you're absolutely huge. Enormous." He shook his head, grinning. "Matt, if you lose any more weight, you'll start to look like L."

Matt perked up at that. "Oh yeah? So he's really skinny, then?"

"Skinny is an understatement. Last I saw, he could pass for an anorexic teenager; his stomach is practically concave. He might be a bit more filled out now, though. It's been a few years since I laid eyes on him. Weird to think that he's nearly thirty."

"Huh," said Matt. "That's never how I pictured him. I always thought he was someone who had all his shit together; someone super OCD about everything, including taking care of himself."

"Nah. He was a Wammy's House genius—none of us were quite perfect, if you recall. People have their quirks. Eating loads of pure sugar without gaining a pound is his thing. Probably the only reason he's not dead is that Mr. Wammy catered to his every need while he was out solving cases. Lucky bastard."

As he finished speaking, Mello abruptly felt the sharp sting of rejection—a feeling he thought he'd buried years ago—as it sunk in even further that he would never have that life. He remembered how wildly he was reeling after he'd graduated from the school, nowhere in particular to go, no goal to pursue. He'd gotten smashed for weeks straight, uncaring about everything, and had had more one-night-stands then than ever before. All he'd wanted to do was wallow in his own anger and denial that this had actually happened to him.

Then, of course, after that disastrous relationship with Heather, he'd met James. His whole life had turned around. As James had been fond of saying, he'd "mellowed out." He'd become engaged with the world again and content with his place in it.

Well… fuck him, Mello decided bitterly. He should have known that happiness never lasted long.

"You okay?" asked Matt. He looked drained tired now that he wasn't smiling anymore.

Mello blinked and nodded. "Yeah. Let's just get going. If we leave now, I bet we can make it to Salt Lake City by sundown."

Stifling a yawn, Matt pulled up a GPS on his phone and glanced at the estimated time. "That's like 13 hours away." He glanced out the hotel window. "And it looks like a storm is coming in," he added grimly.

The redhead twitchily shoved his phone into his pocket and paced around the room restlessly. Mello figured he was probably craving a cigarette pretty badly at this point, not having had one last evening.

They got dressed, and every time Matt looked out the window, his temper seemed to darken even more. With a put-upon sigh, he finally said, "Mello, this is getting a bit ridiculous, don't you think? As much as I'd like to be in Silicon Valley, there's no particular reason why have to hide out there. Why the hell do we have to drive to California when we can stay in any old hotel?"

Mello shrugged. "It was your idea to go to California, you idiot. I agreed because I just think we should get as far away from Chicago as possible."

The concession didn't appear to satisfy Matt, though. "Okay, sure. But we need to have some kind of plan for when we get there, otherwise why bother at all? God, I thought you were the thinking-ahead type of person. What the hell are we going to do long-term, huh?"

"I thought you understood," said Mello in a flat voice. "Coming with me meant not knowing about the long-term."

"There's a difference between not knowing what you'll do tomorrow and not having even a vague idea of where you'd like to end up months from now! Come on, Mello!"

"Oh, shut the fuck up," the blond snapped. "You're just whining like a little bitch because you haven't had your cig. Don't fucking take it out on me."

"That doesn't have anything to do with this," said Matt, eyes narrowed.

"Yeah, right," said Mello, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Mr. Addictive-personality can't get through a damn day without his nicotine. Have you even tried quitting?"

"No. I don't want to."

"That's because you're a self-destructive twat."

"You know what? Fuck you. I'm not driving you anywhere today. We're staying here, and I'm going to work on a case."

Angrily, Matt pulled a laptop out of one of his cases and jammed an Ethernet cable into the wall jack. His back was to Mello, stiff and unyielding.

"Fine," spat Mello. "I'm going out. I'll see you later, maybe."

Storming out of the room, Mello wandered out of the hotel and walked down the street, seething. As much as he liked Matt, he was sick and tired of him getting anxious and irritable whenever he went too long without caffeine or nicotine. He supposed the redhead might get cravings for harder drugs, too, but ever since the Valium incident he seemed to have been relatively clean.

Thinking over their conversation made Mello want to hit something. Part of the reason he was so pissed off was because he had no idea what to do. Matt had struck a chord. His only connections were in England; he was essentially alone in this country, without a real place to go. It reminded him of the turmoil after leaving Wammy's house, and he'd detested that time in his life.

Just think, Mello. You can figure out what to do. Just let the answer come to you.

He wandered around the streets of Omaha, grateful for his heavy coat, because it was true—a storm was rolling in, and the wind whipped fiercely across the city. For a long time, he merely explored the area. A couple of hours later, he had finally calmed down completely after stopping in to grab a hot tea from a café. Annoyed but deflated, he started walking back toward the hotel, not particularly wanting to talk to Matt right now, but knowing he would have to.

Then something out of the ordinary happened: his cell phone started ringing. Mello stopped, sticking a hand into his pocket, brow furrowed. No one, save a couple of people who he went out for drinks with on occasion in England, had even bothered to call him ever since he came to America. He hadn't answered their calls, and he figured he would probably ignore this one—at least, until he saw the name flash on the display.

James Clayworth.

Holy fuck. James was calling him. Mello knew it probably wasn't a good idea to answer it, but he couldn't help wanting to cuss the fucker out. Before he could talk himself out of it, Mello pressed the answer button.

"What the fuck do you want, cocksucker?" he spat immediately.

"Now play nice, Mello," came James's cool response.

"No. No fucking way did you just say that. You conspire to get me jailed and then send hitmen after me—don't even try to deny it; I know it was you—and you tell me to 'play nice?' You've gone mad. You—"

"Okay, okay, settle down," said James, in a hushed and stern tone. Mello couldn't believe the nerve of him. "Sorry about all that, but—"

"Sorry? You say sorry? Hah! I can't—"

"Mello!" barked James. "Look, I just want to warn you."

"Warn me?" scoffed Mello. "Why would you even bother? You didn't warn me about any of the other shit you did. I don't need your fucking warning."

He made to click the disconnect button, only to hesitate as James's voice continued to flow swiftly out of the speaker.

"Mello, please," he heard faintly as he stared at the phone, finger lingering over the red end-call square. "Just—look out for Beyond."

Mello froze, bringing the phone slowly back to his ear. "Did… did you say Beyond?"

"Yes, yes—Beyond Birthday, B, whatever. You must know who he is, right?"

"I do," said Mello suspiciously. "…But how the hell do you know about him?"

"That's not important right now. I just wanted you to know that he's out of jail and coming after you."

"What the fuck? How… and why? I never did a goddamn thing to him—never actually even met him, come to think of it. How do you know this? Also, why the fuck do you even care to tell me? Having second thoughts about trying to kill me?"

He heard James sigh. "Look, Mel, I never really wanted this to happen, but it's the way things are now, okay? I can't contact you again. Take care of yourself, I guess."

"James—come on, you have to give me more than that, I mean—"

"Sorry. I have to go. Don't call me again, and don't expect any more help. This was a onetime thing, okay? And… happy birthday, babe."

The phone went silent as the call disconnected, and Mello was left frozen, still holding the phone to his ear in disbelief. His mind was buzzing with so many thoughts that he couldn't make sense of them all. Slowly, he lowered himself down to sit on the frosty curb, dazedly shoving his phone back in his pocket.

James doesn't completely hate me. At least he cared enough to warn me.

Oddly, Mello didn't feel very reassured. This was all he would have wished for in the days after his initial capture—some contact with his hopefully-regretful-ex-boyfriend—but now he simply felt numb to it all. He… appreciated… that James had bothered to warn him, but Mello found that he actually didn't feel a longing to be back with the man anymore. The realization caught him off guard.

Instead, now every time he imagined himself with someone, his fantasies had turned to Matt.

Oh, good job Mello. Now instead of lusting after the ex who tried to kill you, you're obsessed with a completely straight guy with addiction issues. You sure know how to pick them.

But then he thought about how they had landed in a jumbled heap that very morning, and he'd seen the look in Matt's eyes as they pressed against each other. There wasn't disgust in his gaze—and there certainly wasn't a desire to separate immediately. He'd looked surprised but somewhat… interested.

Rubbing his face and shielding his eyes from the wind with a gloved hand, Mello determinedly stopped thinking about the redhead, instead forcing his mind onto more pressing matters—such as the fact that Beyond Birthday was apparently after him now.

All he knew about the man was that he'd been L's Backup—a project that had failed when Beyond began to show sociopathic symptoms and a fascination with death. Mello had read the reports; B had begun killing small animals even when he was still at Wammy's House, apparently "just for fun." He also became obsessed with L, wanting to look like him, be like him, act like him. Then, after L rejected him on the basis of being completely batshit insane, B had gone even crazier, leaving Wammy's House soon after A's suicide. There was no sign of him for years, at least until he started a string of serial killings in Los Angeles and L had been forced to solve the case. Last Mello had heard, he'd been locked up in solitary confinement.

And now he'd broken out. Probably with help. James's help? Maybe, but not his entirely willing help—at least, so it seemed.

It was most likely Natasha, Mello decided. She'd never liked him, and he could see her forcing James to go along with her… although why James would bother to obey, Mello didn't know. If he was right, then she might have helped to orchestrate his breakout in return for tracking down Mello. Those unskilled hitmen back in Chicago probably weren't reliable enough for her tastes, and she was looking for something more. Just how she and/or James knew Beyond well enough to plan all this, though… well, that wasn't something Mello could figure out at all. B wasn't the type to make casual friends.

Mello grimaced, thinking of what he would have to do with this new information. He'd have to stay on the run, but his only real hope was to outmaneuver Beyond and pray that he was as unstable and unreliable as he'd always been—because he was just as likely to kill Mello gruesomely as he was to decide that he didn't care about fulfilling his end of the deal.

Standing up, he realized that he was shivering and that the exposed skin of his face was cold in the biting wind. Mello eyed a liquor store across the street. It was incredibly tempting, he thought, to go there and buy a fifth of vodka and get utterly smashed.

What the hell, he decided. Matt is upset with me, James called to tell me I'm being tracked down by a psychopath, and I'm stuck in fucking Nebraska with no place to go for the day.

Making up his mind, Mello headed into the building, more than ready to have his brain wiped real goddamn blank for the next however many hours.

A fucking happy birthday, indeed.