IT'S THREE O'CLOCK IN THE MORNING LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!
BUT I'M DONE! SO I'M HAPPY!
Would it be boastful to say I'm really proud of this piece? It's certainly taken me longer than any other fanfic I've written (that's been of a similar length anyway); about eight hours which, considering most take me less than one, has tested my attention span (normally that of a gnat with ADHD) pretty thoroughly!
This is a MattxMello story, set after the end of the series. I've been a massive fan of this pairing ever since I first read Death Note, but have never dared write any fanfiction about them before as there are so many good ones around. Also, as both of them, especially Matt, have a very vague character story, I've really tried to give them as realistic a background as possible, whilst still sticking to the plot, and keeping them in character, …and that takes a lot more out of a writer than in the fandoms when the work's all been done for you!
I know I always ask for reviews, but I would be particularly grateful if I got some for this, as I've put a bit of my soul into it (plus ruined my sleep patterns!), and would love some honest feedback from you guys.
Anyway, enough of my waffling! I know it's a pretty lengthy oneshot (it's 16 sides of A4 long!) so I've decided to put it into chapters, so you can peruse at your leisure.
So this was their idea of a medical miracle?
Doctor Aimee Mizaki took another step towards her patient, unconsciously hugging her regulation grey clipboard closer to her chest.
It looked like Hell itself.
The body on the bed made no sign that it sensed her. From close-up, it was hard to even identify which part of it was flesh; the young skin was so split and swollen, so scarred beyond any hope of healing, that what must once have been a living, laughing teenager was little more than a mass of limbs, studded with drip tubes and reams of bandaging.
It had been twelve hours, and they still couldn't stop the bleeding.
The boy had been wheeled in at four o'clock the previous night, paramedics buzzing like carrion flies, nurses dashing away to ring theatre, anaesthetists, surgeons…. She could still picture their exhausted faces, the harsh hospital strobes casting a hollow pallor over them all.
One of the ambulance crew had blurted out the details;
Approx. 18 years of age
5'8'', light build
No Medi-Bracelet. No Medical file.
Her eyes flicked to the ruined face. The clipboard was digging into her palm.
No Passport. No Parents…
A stutter in the bleep of the heart monitor. Her head jerked round to watch it, stiff as a puppet on a string.
A horrible pause, then-
…No. Nothing. The bleeps gave a tiny hiccup, then resumed their steady pattern.
Dr Mizaki let out a long breath, realising afterwards that she had no idea which scenario she had been begging for; for the boy to regain consciousness, or for him to slip away, and never have to find out about …
She forced her mind away, concentrating instead on the myriad of screens and dials around the boy's bed. She picked a pen from her pocket, racing through the tick-list on her clipboard with the ease of long practise.
She tried not to think about what the information she was jotting actually meant.
Twenty eight bullets, they'd said.
No heart should have withstood something like that.
Her eyes were brimming. Slowly, she raised a hand and wiped them, focusing all her energy on keeping it steady. She could hear the soft ticking of her watch now; its beat just a fraction faster than the bleeps of the boy's monitor.
Half-four, and she still had the rest of the ward to do.
Dr Mizaki put away her pen and cast one last look at the boy on the bed. She had never been religious, but she found herself breathing a tiny prayer into the sanitised air.
God help him.
Nobody deserves to die like this.