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darklunaTitle: Morning of a New World
Rating: G
Summary: It would be understatement bordering on absurdity to call Near the strangest boss he's ever worked for.
Word count: 710
ObDisclaimer: Not mine!
Notes: GevannixNear if you want to see it, or just friendship if you want to see that. I myself am not quite sure which is really is. :-) All my WIPs had started to seem grim (even the pronz), so I decided to write something shorter and a little more lighthearted.
Morning of a New World
"Is it done?"
"Yes," Stephen says, stretching. He rubs his wrist, then rotates it. It makes a noise not unlike a cement mixer.
"I knew you could do it," Near says, making a gundam fly over the Lego wall. Stephen suspects his choice of toys is usually significant, but he hasn't been able to discover a pattern.
"Thanks."
It would be understatement bordering on absurdity to call Near the strangest boss he's ever worked for. That may be why he's willing to work so hard. It's to help solve an insanely complicated case, yes; it's to free the world from the grip of fear. But it's also to win praise, however restrained, from the smartest and, at times, most infuriating person he knows. Near expects, in his quiet way, a practically impossible level of skill from the team, and though it took some getting used to, now Stephen loves the challenge. It's made him a far better investigator than he'd otherwise be.
It's almost six in the morning, well past the point where what sleep he could grab would only make him feel more tired.
Near is clearly not going to rest before the showdown. Stephen sometimes still finds himself fighting the urge to take care of him—to make sure he eats enough (he doesn't) or sleeps at least a little (he won't).
He watches Near move toys around according to some arcane logic. The colors soothe his eyes. Hours of staring at black and white, managing only by force of will not to think about what all those names mean... he feels wrung dry and sorely in need of some distraction.
The Lego fortress holds a jumble of different toys: rubber ducks lined up next to aliens, the New Year's candy sitting in a curve of the marble rollercoaster. Stephen remembers his mom making him share his toys with his younger sisters, and the pretend games they played with them.
"Dinosaurs and Transformers?" he says.
"It's a very diverse realm," Near says.
"And technologically advanced, so they probably have time travel."
"That's silly," Near says. "The dinosaurs are the products of genetic engineering."
Stephen gets the strangest feeling that Near's humoring him. "What about the mochi?"
"Our main export." He doesn't even crack a smile. He takes some of the robots and puts them along the wall, facing out, like guards.
"It's a good fort," Stephen says. He's pretty sure he understands this toy; Near started building it when he deduced the existence of X-Kira. "It'll keep everyone safe."
Near puts the L puppet on one hand and the one of himself on the other. "Don't be afraid," he makes L say. Then, looking at Stephen, he adds, "I'm not. I'd say if I were."
"I know."
"It'll be time to take it down soon. There's a new world coming." He lines up the SPK figures—and Mello—on the highest wall.
It's almost here, Stephen thinks, looking out at the city. We'll be making the last stand, and most of them will never know.
He picks up the puppet of himself and walks it closer to the one of Near. "What'll you do, in the new world?"
Unforgivably personal, perhaps, even asked like this, but Near answers right away. "It will need L too."
Anything resembling pity would certainly make Near turn on the deep freeze. It's hard, though, not to feel bad for him, to imagine the kind of life he had at that crazy orphanage, and the life before him now. It's hard not to reach out.
Stephen just wants... he's not sure, really. To touch his hair, maybe, and see if it's as soft as it looks. He'd bet Near could count on one hand the number of physical gestures of affection people have given him, so he resists.
But here, with the day that will change everything breaking over the city whose people will never know, he wants to do something. So he leans the Stephen puppet in, so its head rests briefly against the Near puppet's shoulder, and Near looks down, but he smiles. It's probably the closest to a real hug he'll ever allow. "It's almost time to go," he says softly.
"I'm ready."
Rating: G
Summary: It would be understatement bordering on absurdity to call Near the strangest boss he's ever worked for.
Word count: 710
ObDisclaimer: Not mine!
Notes: GevannixNear if you want to see it, or just friendship if you want to see that. I myself am not quite sure which is really is. :-) All my WIPs had started to seem grim (even the pronz), so I decided to write something shorter and a little more lighthearted.
Morning of a New World
"Is it done?"
"Yes," Stephen says, stretching. He rubs his wrist, then rotates it. It makes a noise not unlike a cement mixer.
"I knew you could do it," Near says, making a gundam fly over the Lego wall. Stephen suspects his choice of toys is usually significant, but he hasn't been able to discover a pattern.
"Thanks."
It would be understatement bordering on absurdity to call Near the strangest boss he's ever worked for. That may be why he's willing to work so hard. It's to help solve an insanely complicated case, yes; it's to free the world from the grip of fear. But it's also to win praise, however restrained, from the smartest and, at times, most infuriating person he knows. Near expects, in his quiet way, a practically impossible level of skill from the team, and though it took some getting used to, now Stephen loves the challenge. It's made him a far better investigator than he'd otherwise be.
It's almost six in the morning, well past the point where what sleep he could grab would only make him feel more tired.
Near is clearly not going to rest before the showdown. Stephen sometimes still finds himself fighting the urge to take care of him—to make sure he eats enough (he doesn't) or sleeps at least a little (he won't).
He watches Near move toys around according to some arcane logic. The colors soothe his eyes. Hours of staring at black and white, managing only by force of will not to think about what all those names mean... he feels wrung dry and sorely in need of some distraction.
The Lego fortress holds a jumble of different toys: rubber ducks lined up next to aliens, the New Year's candy sitting in a curve of the marble rollercoaster. Stephen remembers his mom making him share his toys with his younger sisters, and the pretend games they played with them.
"Dinosaurs and Transformers?" he says.
"It's a very diverse realm," Near says.
"And technologically advanced, so they probably have time travel."
"That's silly," Near says. "The dinosaurs are the products of genetic engineering."
Stephen gets the strangest feeling that Near's humoring him. "What about the mochi?"
"Our main export." He doesn't even crack a smile. He takes some of the robots and puts them along the wall, facing out, like guards.
"It's a good fort," Stephen says. He's pretty sure he understands this toy; Near started building it when he deduced the existence of X-Kira. "It'll keep everyone safe."
Near puts the L puppet on one hand and the one of himself on the other. "Don't be afraid," he makes L say. Then, looking at Stephen, he adds, "I'm not. I'd say if I were."
"I know."
"It'll be time to take it down soon. There's a new world coming." He lines up the SPK figures—and Mello—on the highest wall.
It's almost here, Stephen thinks, looking out at the city. We'll be making the last stand, and most of them will never know.
He picks up the puppet of himself and walks it closer to the one of Near. "What'll you do, in the new world?"
Unforgivably personal, perhaps, even asked like this, but Near answers right away. "It will need L too."
Anything resembling pity would certainly make Near turn on the deep freeze. It's hard, though, not to feel bad for him, to imagine the kind of life he had at that crazy orphanage, and the life before him now. It's hard not to reach out.
Stephen just wants... he's not sure, really. To touch his hair, maybe, and see if it's as soft as it looks. He'd bet Near could count on one hand the number of physical gestures of affection people have given him, so he resists.
But here, with the day that will change everything breaking over the city whose people will never know, he wants to do something. So he leans the Stephen puppet in, so its head rests briefly against the Near puppet's shoulder, and Near looks down, but he smiles. It's probably the closest to a real hug he'll ever allow. "It's almost time to go," he says softly.
"I'm ready."
