Death Note Fanfiction - News from the Eastern Front
Title: News from the Eastern Front
Series: Death Note
Characters & Pairing: Mello x Matt, Roger, Vladimir x James (original characters)
Genre: Angst, Friendship, Romance
Rating: K+
Length: 1,864
Spoilers: Multiple, and right to the end of the series.
Warnings: SPOLIERS and swearing.
Status: Complete
Summary: There aren't many people who know the young man with the red hair and goggles being gunned down on the evening news, but there are a couple out there. An outsider perspective on the deaths of Matt and Mello.
To be totally honest, I have no idea where this came from. James was mentioned by a kind reviewer, and I got the image of him and Vlad watching the news... Sorry. I hope it's not too terrible. *fails*
ooo
NEWS FROM THE EASTERN FRONT
ooo
It takes a couple of days for the pictures and names to wriggle their way through the news blackout that’s surrounded Japan for so many months now, but they make it eventually.
So, two days after their precious little brother bled and the cute, bastard blonde burned, Vladimir Drozdov and James Bennett are sitting rigidly beside one another, watching Matt die on the six-thirty news. Their lasagne falls back to their plates, and stainless steel forks clatter against china. And when he falls James is screaming and Vlad is cursing and the coffee table is taking one serious fucking hell of a beating.
James hated Mello since before he ever clapped eyes on him, hurting Matt the way he had, but he’d hoped the Russian holding him had been wrong about how much fucking trouble the blonde was. Burn scars can come a variety of ways, and not all of them are criminal.
Neither of them can help the tiny flare of enraged, perverse joy at hearing the blonde didn’t last much longer than Matt. Both of them hate themselves for it in the morning, remembering the looks that Matt had been the only one not to see. Remembering the stories Matt used to tell on the rare occasions he drank bourbon, and the sweetly amusing emails and happy photographs they each still have on their computers.
None of which had given them so much as a clue to All This. They know that Takada is Kira’s voice, so they can guess at what the lead-up to this particular hell was like, but Matt had never mentioned criminals, guns or tricked-out cars (Vlad won’t say it, but he can’t help desperately wanting an undamaged version of the car Matt had stepped out of), and basically never prepared them for this shit in the slightest. He didn’t say what he was going to do as he got into that van with Mello - just said he had a job. At the time, they’d hugged and promised and then, vitally, let go. Matt said he’d miss them, loved them, and would keep in touch. They said he always had somewhere to go, always had a welcome and some family waiting. Then they waved and cried and let him go.
Looking back, Mello hadn’t said a word.
Except he had, and James sort-of heard it but didn’t understand the significance (he hasn’t told Vlad yet, and wonders if he’ll ever have the balls to). It rips at his heart to know that the pain-ridden apology was Mello’s plea for them to haul Matt back into their safety, to never allow him to leave with the openly dangerous blonde - and that he completely ignored it.
ooo
So they sit here in the rubble.
They call in sick to work and drag Frank - Matt’s precious sofa - over from the flat the redhead should still inhabit. They call the rest of the gang and try to be gentle with those who are still in blissful ignorance. They make tea and frame photographs and cling to each other for hours at a time.
On Friday James and the ‘girls’ wear their best black dresses and Royal Ascot hats, and Vladimir pulls on an old, beloved suit and a black feather boa it took him over an hour to find, and they drink so much that they get thrown out of three different clubs. They go home and cry together, and more than half have to quickly take off their expensive wigs as they throw up.
They curse Matt for being an idiot and Mello for being selfish. They mourn their ‘sister’ and the man he was so bloody besotted by.
They scream out of windows and from the porch that Takada’s nothing but “a stupid, self-righteous bitch” that deserved to “damn well burn for longer!” They rage that Kira’s a “fuck-tard bastard and fucking impotent!” They roar that he’ll “damn well pay” for taking their ‘sister’. They shout that he’s not a god but “just a mass-murdering shit!”
The neighbours yell back at them, and are summarily ignored, until the police show up and do some yelling of their own.
They should be arrested, and paperwork ought to be filed. Fines should be handed out. However, tonight they’re blessed with two very understanding men and an utter sweetheart of a woman who all agree on a warning and a promise of it never happening again. Gillian (known twelve hours earlier as Bill), remarks that Matt would be disappointed in the lack of “bad cop-show drama.” The laughter has a hysterical edge, but when it finally stops everyone is wearing some variation of a smile under their streaked mascara.
ooo
More details come to light. The news reports that the “bodyguards” who gunned Matt down have been arrested and charged with murder. James and Vladimir throw away their useless attempts at stew and dumplings, and go out to Matt’s favourite local pub to celebrate the victory in his name.
It’s when they hear that Kira was killed in an empty warehouse in a joint effort by the American and Japanese teams hunting him that they really push the boat out. Suits, champagne in crystal flutes, fillet steaks, incredible desserts, dancing and a bill reaching past the one hundred pound mark. It’s three days before payday, but it’s worth the charges they’ll have against the credit card. Especially as Matt and his sweetheart were mentioned briefly - vindicated as having been heroes and martyrs working recon rather than a pair of sociopathic kidnappers.
It doesn’t bring them back. It doesn’t put them at this silk-covered table, eating good food and smiling in content. They died. Painfully and unfairly. But not wastefully, and both James and Vlad know how obsessive Matt was about being useful to others.
Well. The others he liked, at least.
ooo
Six months down the line, things are probably as normal as they’ll get (let’s face it, their ‘brother’ and his lover had fought Kira, which is such a very surreal feeling and pretty much erases the usual normalcy as any form of possibility) and the loss is… The losses are a dull ache rather that a knife twisting constantly between ribs. Vladimir has stopped randomly punching walls and (the more sturdy) furniture, and James doesn’t have breakdowns every couple of days.
They’ve saved the emails and photos to disk, but put them away. The framed ones are still up, but ones of the flat’s two inhabitants take precedence. Frank is still bright orange, but there’s a warm red throw and cushions decorating him. They’ve each kept one text and one photo saved on their mobiles, but they’ve deleted Matt’s number.
All in all, they miss their little geeklet, but are proudly moving forward.
And the doorbell rings.
ooo
The man is gruff and elderly, and far too tight-lipped regarding the purpose of his visit for Vlad’s liking, but he smirks when he sees the god-awful sofa and thanks James warmly for the cup of tea that he sets on the coffee table in front of him.
“Do you have any ID?”
Well. That was one question neither man thought they’d be asked in their own home. “Yes… Driving licences? Just the cards are ok, right? I’m a bit rubbish at ‘safe places’ so it-“
“Fine.” Vlad almost laughs at the look on the gentleman’s face when James starts to babble, and waits in silence whilst his boyfriend retrieves their wallets. Their guest seems to appreciate the lack of noise.
“Here you go.”
“Mm. Thank you.” He checks them carefully and precisely, and both men are starting to worry when he gets them to sign some scrap paper for him to compare against their bank cards.
His face softening into fond appreciation and sympathy is a surprise. “Well, gentlemen. I’m here on behalf of a close friend of Mail Jeevas - whom I believe you know as Matt Davies.”
Stunned silence.
“Mr. Jeevas, apologies, Davies left instructions for my employer regarding his estate. Due to the nature of his death, it’s taken a while to sort out the particulars, but there we have it. He left half of his estate to the orphanage in which he grew up, including a couple of sentimental items he asked to be given to my employer, and the other half to Messer’s Vladimir Drozdov and James Bennett.”
“… I’m sorry?”
“He’s from Matt. Matt wrote us into his will.” Vladimir turned to the elderly man, “Sorry. Slight shock. Ah, what exactly are we talking about here? Do we need to go to Japan to pick up his possessions or -“
“No, not at all. One box of sentimental items will be delivered tomorrow morning by eleven - unless you have a prior engagement. It’s a Saturday, so my employer thought yo-“
“Who is this employer?”
The messenger looked peeved. “My employer is a childhood friend of Matt’s. I myself am his former guardian, as I used to run the orphanage all three boys attended.”
“Thre-“
“Mello,” Vlad mumbles into James’ ear.
“Quite right, Mr. Drozdov. Incidentally, he left you a note, but nothing of his estate. The note is here,” he pulled three envelopes from an inner pocket and pushed the first across, “Along with a letter from Matt for you both, and the cheque. The necessary paperwork and particulars are with the last, but my employer has taken care of it all. You simply need to cash the cheque.”
James scoops up the letters, letting the cheque remain on the coffee table for the time being, and Vladimir leans close to see Matt’s scrawl across the front of the larger envelope. “Anything else?”
Matt’s former guardian shakes his head with a slight smile. “No. Simply that I am sorry for your loss.”
“He was yours too. We’re sorry.”
“In a way, yes, and thank you.” He stands and reaches for his umbrella. James and Vladimir both hurry to shake his hand. “I’ll pass your sympathies on to my employer.”
“Yes, please! Tell him thank you, too!”
Vlad is a little less excitable. “Please do. Thank you very much.”
ooo
“I’m sorry. He’s probably upset and pissed as hell. Look after him. Sorry.”
It’s not much. But the fact that he really believed that Matt would get out alive - if damaged - means a hell of a lot to both of them. It’s enough, at least, to wash away that last, irritating snarl of bitterness when they think of the blonde man.
ooo
“I’m sorry. I couldn’t say anything, and, shit, I’m sorry for blindsiding you...
“If Mel makes it, look out for him? He thinks I’ll get away, the dumb tart…
“I really have been happy, y’know. I didn’t lie. He loves me too and, Christ, James, I’m so fucking happy…
“You’d be proud of me, Vlad, with all this secret-agent, saving-the-goddamn-world shit…
“I love you. Miss you every day. ”
They cry.
ooo
The cheque is written clearly, signed by two lawyers - or Mr. Guardian’s employer and a lawyer, they aren’t entirely certain - and made out to them for a grand total of two-hundred and eighty-five thousand and eleven pounds (and forty-seven pence).
“Fuck. Me.”
“Later, when I remember how.”
Series: Death Note
Characters & Pairing: Mello x Matt, Roger, Vladimir x James (original characters)
Genre: Angst, Friendship, Romance
Rating: K+
Length: 1,864
Spoilers: Multiple, and right to the end of the series.
Warnings: SPOLIERS and swearing.
Status: Complete
Summary: There aren't many people who know the young man with the red hair and goggles being gunned down on the evening news, but there are a couple out there. An outsider perspective on the deaths of Matt and Mello.
To be totally honest, I have no idea where this came from. James was mentioned by a kind reviewer, and I got the image of him and Vlad watching the news... Sorry. I hope it's not too terrible. *fails*
ooo
NEWS FROM THE EASTERN FRONT
ooo
It takes a couple of days for the pictures and names to wriggle their way through the news blackout that’s surrounded Japan for so many months now, but they make it eventually.
So, two days after their precious little brother bled and the cute, bastard blonde burned, Vladimir Drozdov and James Bennett are sitting rigidly beside one another, watching Matt die on the six-thirty news. Their lasagne falls back to their plates, and stainless steel forks clatter against china. And when he falls James is screaming and Vlad is cursing and the coffee table is taking one serious fucking hell of a beating.
James hated Mello since before he ever clapped eyes on him, hurting Matt the way he had, but he’d hoped the Russian holding him had been wrong about how much fucking trouble the blonde was. Burn scars can come a variety of ways, and not all of them are criminal.
Neither of them can help the tiny flare of enraged, perverse joy at hearing the blonde didn’t last much longer than Matt. Both of them hate themselves for it in the morning, remembering the looks that Matt had been the only one not to see. Remembering the stories Matt used to tell on the rare occasions he drank bourbon, and the sweetly amusing emails and happy photographs they each still have on their computers.
None of which had given them so much as a clue to All This. They know that Takada is Kira’s voice, so they can guess at what the lead-up to this particular hell was like, but Matt had never mentioned criminals, guns or tricked-out cars (Vlad won’t say it, but he can’t help desperately wanting an undamaged version of the car Matt had stepped out of), and basically never prepared them for this shit in the slightest. He didn’t say what he was going to do as he got into that van with Mello - just said he had a job. At the time, they’d hugged and promised and then, vitally, let go. Matt said he’d miss them, loved them, and would keep in touch. They said he always had somewhere to go, always had a welcome and some family waiting. Then they waved and cried and let him go.
Looking back, Mello hadn’t said a word.
Except he had, and James sort-of heard it but didn’t understand the significance (he hasn’t told Vlad yet, and wonders if he’ll ever have the balls to). It rips at his heart to know that the pain-ridden apology was Mello’s plea for them to haul Matt back into their safety, to never allow him to leave with the openly dangerous blonde - and that he completely ignored it.
ooo
So they sit here in the rubble.
They call in sick to work and drag Frank - Matt’s precious sofa - over from the flat the redhead should still inhabit. They call the rest of the gang and try to be gentle with those who are still in blissful ignorance. They make tea and frame photographs and cling to each other for hours at a time.
On Friday James and the ‘girls’ wear their best black dresses and Royal Ascot hats, and Vladimir pulls on an old, beloved suit and a black feather boa it took him over an hour to find, and they drink so much that they get thrown out of three different clubs. They go home and cry together, and more than half have to quickly take off their expensive wigs as they throw up.
They curse Matt for being an idiot and Mello for being selfish. They mourn their ‘sister’ and the man he was so bloody besotted by.
They scream out of windows and from the porch that Takada’s nothing but “a stupid, self-righteous bitch” that deserved to “damn well burn for longer!” They rage that Kira’s a “fuck-tard bastard and fucking impotent!” They roar that he’ll “damn well pay” for taking their ‘sister’. They shout that he’s not a god but “just a mass-murdering shit!”
The neighbours yell back at them, and are summarily ignored, until the police show up and do some yelling of their own.
They should be arrested, and paperwork ought to be filed. Fines should be handed out. However, tonight they’re blessed with two very understanding men and an utter sweetheart of a woman who all agree on a warning and a promise of it never happening again. Gillian (known twelve hours earlier as Bill), remarks that Matt would be disappointed in the lack of “bad cop-show drama.” The laughter has a hysterical edge, but when it finally stops everyone is wearing some variation of a smile under their streaked mascara.
ooo
More details come to light. The news reports that the “bodyguards” who gunned Matt down have been arrested and charged with murder. James and Vladimir throw away their useless attempts at stew and dumplings, and go out to Matt’s favourite local pub to celebrate the victory in his name.
It’s when they hear that Kira was killed in an empty warehouse in a joint effort by the American and Japanese teams hunting him that they really push the boat out. Suits, champagne in crystal flutes, fillet steaks, incredible desserts, dancing and a bill reaching past the one hundred pound mark. It’s three days before payday, but it’s worth the charges they’ll have against the credit card. Especially as Matt and his sweetheart were mentioned briefly - vindicated as having been heroes and martyrs working recon rather than a pair of sociopathic kidnappers.
It doesn’t bring them back. It doesn’t put them at this silk-covered table, eating good food and smiling in content. They died. Painfully and unfairly. But not wastefully, and both James and Vlad know how obsessive Matt was about being useful to others.
Well. The others he liked, at least.
ooo
Six months down the line, things are probably as normal as they’ll get (let’s face it, their ‘brother’ and his lover had fought Kira, which is such a very surreal feeling and pretty much erases the usual normalcy as any form of possibility) and the loss is… The losses are a dull ache rather that a knife twisting constantly between ribs. Vladimir has stopped randomly punching walls and (the more sturdy) furniture, and James doesn’t have breakdowns every couple of days.
They’ve saved the emails and photos to disk, but put them away. The framed ones are still up, but ones of the flat’s two inhabitants take precedence. Frank is still bright orange, but there’s a warm red throw and cushions decorating him. They’ve each kept one text and one photo saved on their mobiles, but they’ve deleted Matt’s number.
All in all, they miss their little geeklet, but are proudly moving forward.
And the doorbell rings.
ooo
The man is gruff and elderly, and far too tight-lipped regarding the purpose of his visit for Vlad’s liking, but he smirks when he sees the god-awful sofa and thanks James warmly for the cup of tea that he sets on the coffee table in front of him.
“Do you have any ID?”
Well. That was one question neither man thought they’d be asked in their own home. “Yes… Driving licences? Just the cards are ok, right? I’m a bit rubbish at ‘safe places’ so it-“
“Fine.” Vlad almost laughs at the look on the gentleman’s face when James starts to babble, and waits in silence whilst his boyfriend retrieves their wallets. Their guest seems to appreciate the lack of noise.
“Here you go.”
“Mm. Thank you.” He checks them carefully and precisely, and both men are starting to worry when he gets them to sign some scrap paper for him to compare against their bank cards.
His face softening into fond appreciation and sympathy is a surprise. “Well, gentlemen. I’m here on behalf of a close friend of Mail Jeevas - whom I believe you know as Matt Davies.”
Stunned silence.
“Mr. Jeevas, apologies, Davies left instructions for my employer regarding his estate. Due to the nature of his death, it’s taken a while to sort out the particulars, but there we have it. He left half of his estate to the orphanage in which he grew up, including a couple of sentimental items he asked to be given to my employer, and the other half to Messer’s Vladimir Drozdov and James Bennett.”
“… I’m sorry?”
“He’s from Matt. Matt wrote us into his will.” Vladimir turned to the elderly man, “Sorry. Slight shock. Ah, what exactly are we talking about here? Do we need to go to Japan to pick up his possessions or -“
“No, not at all. One box of sentimental items will be delivered tomorrow morning by eleven - unless you have a prior engagement. It’s a Saturday, so my employer thought yo-“
“Who is this employer?”
The messenger looked peeved. “My employer is a childhood friend of Matt’s. I myself am his former guardian, as I used to run the orphanage all three boys attended.”
“Thre-“
“Mello,” Vlad mumbles into James’ ear.
“Quite right, Mr. Drozdov. Incidentally, he left you a note, but nothing of his estate. The note is here,” he pulled three envelopes from an inner pocket and pushed the first across, “Along with a letter from Matt for you both, and the cheque. The necessary paperwork and particulars are with the last, but my employer has taken care of it all. You simply need to cash the cheque.”
James scoops up the letters, letting the cheque remain on the coffee table for the time being, and Vladimir leans close to see Matt’s scrawl across the front of the larger envelope. “Anything else?”
Matt’s former guardian shakes his head with a slight smile. “No. Simply that I am sorry for your loss.”
“He was yours too. We’re sorry.”
“In a way, yes, and thank you.” He stands and reaches for his umbrella. James and Vladimir both hurry to shake his hand. “I’ll pass your sympathies on to my employer.”
“Yes, please! Tell him thank you, too!”
Vlad is a little less excitable. “Please do. Thank you very much.”
ooo
“I’m sorry. He’s probably upset and pissed as hell. Look after him. Sorry.”
It’s not much. But the fact that he really believed that Matt would get out alive - if damaged - means a hell of a lot to both of them. It’s enough, at least, to wash away that last, irritating snarl of bitterness when they think of the blonde man.
ooo
“I’m sorry. I couldn’t say anything, and, shit, I’m sorry for blindsiding you...
“If Mel makes it, look out for him? He thinks I’ll get away, the dumb tart…
“I really have been happy, y’know. I didn’t lie. He loves me too and, Christ, James, I’m so fucking happy…
“You’d be proud of me, Vlad, with all this secret-agent, saving-the-goddamn-world shit…
“I love you. Miss you every day. ”
They cry.
ooo
The cheque is written clearly, signed by two lawyers - or Mr. Guardian’s employer and a lawyer, they aren’t entirely certain - and made out to them for a grand total of two-hundred and eighty-five thousand and eleven pounds (and forty-seven pence).
“Fuck. Me.”
“Later, when I remember how.”