This chapter is dedicated to my first two reviewers, phantom-willow217 and Matt FTW. Thank you so much! Here's the next chapter. Be forewarned, you finally get to hear from Matt, but if foul language offends you, you may not appreciate this story very much. Remember, also, that this story will eventually have slashy things going on, so. Please be mature, know what you like and don't like and act accordingly.
Here we go…
Matt shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He hated airplanes. He had only been on one once before in his short life, and although it had taken him to Wammy's and to Mello, his only and best friend, it had still been a miserable experience and he hated the fact that he was being forced to repeat it.
And he was being forced. He was definitely not here by choice, on a thirteen hour long flight to Japan of all places. And why, might you ask, was he going to said Asian island?
He had no freakin' idea.
He had been oh so innocently minding his own business (read: hacking top secret government files mercilessly while still managing to easily dominate two separate RPG websites at the same time) when one of the housekeepers had barged into his room (His Room! Private and holy and get the hell out, thank you very much!) and told him with not so much as a by your leave that he had ten minutes to pack up anything he wanted to ever see again and get his butt down to the main entrance. Do not pass go. Do not collect two hundred dollars.
Well fuck that.
And he'd said as much.
She responded by telling him that he was going whether he wanted to or not and he could choose whether or not he brought along his clothes and "security blankets". Her words, not his. His machines were not "security blankets".
And he'd asked WHY he needed to do this.
She told him he was wasting time and that she honestly had no idea.
Angrily, which had surprised the both of them, since he hardly ever cared enough to express such a pointless and exhausting emotion as anger, he had demanded where he was going.
Away, she'd told him. She did not know where or why and couldn't seem to care less that she was tearing his world apart by the seams.
Questioning how long he'd be "away" for was met with an equal amount of ignorance. When he'd demanded to speak to Roger or anyone, really, she'd told him he had five minutes left to get ready and that he'd be sedated if he did not come quietly.
After that he had moved faster than he ever had in his entire life, dismantling and packing up his computers, games and disks in record time. Once his precious possessions were packed, he threw his few other material belongings into the small bag which had been the only thing he had had with him on his arrival at Wammy's so many years ago. In went some clothing, his spare pair of goggles, the ratty little stuffed rabbit that he'd had as long as he could remember, and last but not least, his pictures. At the top of the little stack was one of his favorites: a picture of Mello and him during their first Christmas together, back before they'd known the true purpose of Wammy's and Mello hadn't yet thrown himself into the impossible task of becoming L.
His best friend. His only friend, really. Not that he cared that he had only one friend in all the world, one was plenty and all he really needed. Mello, just Mello.
"What about Mello?" He had demanded as he went to grab up his neglected school books, "Is he coming too?"
The housekeeper shrugged, "Not that I know of. And don't bother with those. I understand that that will be taken care of wherever it is that they've decided to send you…There you go, all set? Good. Come along, Matt, it's time to go."
"Wait," he'd demanded still unbelievably angry and terribly confused, "Just like that? Don't I get to say goodbye?"
The woman attempted to pull her features into a remorseful expression, but failed miserably, "I'm afraid there's no time for that; you're already a few minutes late as it is. Now come along, unless of course you'd prefer to make the journey under the influence of tranquilizers?"
Matt shuddered in his uncomfortable seat. He hated the thought of being drugged against his will. The utter loss of control in such a situation…the things people could do and you'd never even…
The twelve year old bit back a wince at the thought, but now that he'd had a chance to cool down (four hours of cool down time in this goddamned flying metal deathtrap, to be exact) he realized that he'd been played. He knew his fear was well documented in his Wammy file, having hacked it years ago and removed the information himself, but he was not stupid enough to think that there weren't hard copies of the information and now, like a freaking noob, he'd been tricked into leaving without a fight, his tail between his legs like a whipped dog.
And to make matters worse, he still had no idea what was going on, though he did have a destination now. They couldn't have hidden that, not when they had announced it to the entire plane. Japan. Freaking Japan.
He liked Japan just fine, don't misunderstand, after all it was the home of some of the best technology in the world. Computers, programs, games…you name it, they made it and they made it better than almost everyone else. Which was why Japanese was one of the few languages that Wammy's House actually knew that he spoke, they'd be suspicious if he hadn't known it, what with all the games he ordered direct from the country…and so he supposed if they were going to ship him anywhere, that at least they were sending him someplace where they knew he knew the language. But in the end, it all came down to the fact that they were sending him anywhere without giving him any choice at all in the matter that made him so uncharacteristically angry.
Because he'd been fine where he was, for the first time in his miserable life he'd been fine. He'd had a place, a number even, a little niche where he belonged! He had a purpose: help Mello, support Mello, make Mello number one. And sure Mello could be an ass, and the guy was sometimes completely unstable and utterly unpredictable, but he actually cared about Matt. And that was rare. Really, really rare. Most people didn't give a shit about the quiet, awkward redhead, with the stupid goggles and his foot in his mouth. Not that he blamed them, of course. Why would he blame them? He really was wholly uninteresting, completely useless and so unforgivably awkward. Sometimes he wondered why Mello even bothered with him at all…but then he never thought like that for long because then the blond might just wise up and get rid of him and then he'd be alone again…and that was too unbearable to consider.
Not that it mattered now. He was alone now. Mello was kilometers upon kilometers behind him, getting farther away by the moment and he was going to Japan, of all places, and he might never see his only friend again.
He wanted to cry with frustration. His eyes burned behind his goggles and he felt nauseous. Damn motion sickness. Goddamned plane. He would not cry. He hadn't cried in years, because it was stupid and childish. And besides, to cry about something, you'd actually have to give a damn and he'd put a hell of a lot of effort into not caring about anyone or anything, not even himself. But his stomach was churning and his face was turning green.
The aide that Wammy's House had so kindly provided him in order to stop him from escaping or slitting his wrists in the tiny airplane coffin toilet smiled with feigned kindness plastered across his face and shoved a paper bag into the boy's face.
Matt took one distasteful look at the floral patterned barf bag before grabbing hold of it. He scowled hatefully at the innocent bag for an instant, but then his stomach was in his throat and he was bent over in his seat like a hunchback emptying his lunch into the eyesore of a puke receptacle while tears streamed uncontrollably from his eyes, collecting in uncomfortable pools at the bottom of his goggles.
He came up for air a moment later and shoved the bag into the waiting arms of his obnoxiously pretentious babysitter. Matt cherished the look of disgust the man afforded the innocent bag, but then his stomach was churning again in warning. The redhead automatically snapped up the bag that his stupid aide was already offering. He spent a second cursing whoever's idea this whole debacle had been in the thirteen languages that he was fluent in, but then he was too busy dry heaving into that stupid floral bag to focus on cursing.
He hated flying.
How many hours till Japan?
Well…what do you think? How's Matt's characterization? He's different from some of the other Matts I've read, but then again, since he's never really developed in the series a fanfic writer has a lot of freedom when writing him. In any case, L is sending Matt to Japan. Who saw that coming? I have a pretty good idea where I'm taking this, but since I don't want to be too predictable, I want to hear your impressions. Take some wild guesses; tell me where you think I'm going with this. Who is the mysterious person Matt is supposed to meet? What pairing am I going promote?
While I do appreciate story alerts and story favorings, they really don't tell me anything. I want to hear what you think! It's important to me!
Until next time :)