I write. This is my personal blog where I can write both original stories and from various fandoms.Fiction Questions
"I don’t think challenging Mello outright is a good idea. If I tell him to hit me, I’m sure he’ll do it with a car." Near mumbled.
Apparently voted one of my best Near quotes.
Happy Birthday my lovely Artist-san!
Yeah… I’ve been forgetting to post these… Mostly because this theme in particular declared war on me. I hope you like it!
This was supposed to be Gevanni’s POV, but Near’s inner voice leaks in toward the end. Oh well.
Gevanni thought himself good with people. Before he joined the FBI and CIA, he was always surrounded by people that he loved; he’d always had a lot of friends, especially in college. He was told that he was a good friend that could recognize a problem as well as be there to listen and give advice. It was much the same whenever he was in a relationship. He was attentive, dedicated, slightly clingy, but affectionate and caring. Truthfully, he had all the makings of a successful person.
Until the secrets started to consume his life and he couldn’t afford the socialite lifestyle anymore. But he loved his job too much to give it up. Or, he did most days. Except today.
Since they had arrived back in New York, Near had been irritable and mouthy. Normally Gevanni would contribute it to Jetlag, but Near didn’t sleep often and they had gotten back seven hours ago. If he was cranky, then he could take a damn nap. Unfortunately, he wasn’t in a place where he could tell his boss to take a fucking nap and piss off.
So, he sighed, working on some police reports that needed to be sent in before start of business tomorrow. At his desk. Quietly. While his boss sat ten feet away, glaring. This wasn’t exactly strange, considering that Near never slept much when there was work to be done. But Gevanni couldn’t just make another pot of coffee and bear with it. It was starting to get late. Or, perhaps it was better to say that it was starting to get early. A quick glance at his watch revealed that it was 1:16 am.
Normally, Gevanni didn’t have much of a problem with Near’s bratty nature. Once in a while, Near grew frustrated with something, which was usually a case or a particular person, and he’d sulk about it. He’d make card or dice towers, then destroy them. He’d throw his toys around, sometimes breaking them, or he’d just start arguments with those he worked with. Rester and Lidner tended to avoid him when he was like this. But Gevanni was the one in charge of watching him. Normally Rester flew with Near, since he preferred it that way. But they needed to get L out of China as soon as possible. So Gevanni escorted Near back to the United States.
Of course, the trip had been hell. Gevanni knew that if he told anyone that, they’d roll their eyes, blowing off the cliché of his words; but literally, it had been like hell. The turbulence knocked everyone around like popcorn in a bag. The one time that Gevanni managed to fall asleep he was awoken soon after by some woman publicly announcing her divorce with her husband. The plane fell about a thousand feet, which was probably the only time he’d ever seen Near look afraid, to make things better, Gevanni was sure that the flight he chose was going to cost L his life; and, to make things even better, there was this drunk woman sitting not far from them that kept trying to get Gevanni to get Near to have a quickie with her in the bathroom.
Yeah… helping his boss hook up wasn’t something he was into. That and he was sure that Near wouldn’t want to. So that just made the ride totally amazing. Oh, and he forgot anything that Near liked to do in the packed luggage. So Near spent the entire flight reading on the computer.
“Are you finished yet?” Near asked, his tone low and sharp.
Never, in Gevanni’s thirty two years, had he wanted to slap someone that he dearly wanted to see naked. Until this moment. Instead of letting it go, as most people would have, Gevanni pushed himself to his feet, out of his chair and walked over to his boss.
“What? What did I do that has put you in such a foul mood?” Gevanni demanded. “Was it when I fell asleep? When I forgot to take out the toys you usually play with during long plane rides? Was it because I picked the flight and we suffered the whole way through it? What is it? What the hell pissed you off so damn much that you’ve done nothing but sulk and bitch the entire time we’ve been back in New York?”
Near’s eyes widened, in what Gevanni assumed was shock, and his pale lips parted.
Fired. Oh god, Gevanni was so fired. He should just hand Near his gun and walk out before he could get yelled at, or before Near threw anything at him. But he couldn’t move. He couldn’t even bring himself to look at his boss. A shuttering breath escaped him, realizing what he’d just done, the person he’d just insulted.
“I-I’m…” Gevanni choked out.
“You flirted with her.”
Air cascaded out of Gevanni’s lungs in a way that it had only done when some criminal threw a trunk at him when he was a rookie. “W-With who?”
Near was curling his hair around his finger. “The red-headed woman on the plane that was sitting across from us.”
“I wasn’t flirting, I…” Gevanni felt dazed. It was like someone reached into his head and turned his brain around the opposite way. Why would flirting bother Near. “What’s?”
Near shifted his weight so he was sitting on his butt, then one of his legs come out, foot slamming into the back of Gevanni’s knee, causing him to fall forward. Gevanni, unable to stop himself, tumbled forward, almost crushing his boss. Thankfully, he caught himself on his hands, breathless. He wasn’t sure if it was the shock of the fall or his tie tightening around his neck.“W-Why did—”
The whitenette twisted himself under Gevanni’s body, a small hand clutching the white and blue tie. Near then used said tie like a leash, pulling Gevanni toward him, their lips meeting awkwardly.
The kiss was brief, but not unpleasant. When Gevanni moved back, Near was looking away from him, but released his tie. He started to curl his hair around his finger once more. Pale cheeks seemed slightly pink, and Gevanni smiled.
“Do not do that again.” Near slid out from under Gevanni’s substantial frame.
The Italian watched his boss, dumbfounded. “D-Do what?” Gevanni stammered, still confused by the whole interaction. “The telling you off part, or the flirting part?”
Near turned to look at his subordinate and smiled. Now, Gevanni stared, a smile meeting his lips as well. He loved his boss’ smile; but Near smiled so infrequently that the brunette could count the number of times he’d seen such a sight; this was the fifth.
I should have mentioned this sooner, but my SuteNia 100 theme challenge will feature 50 from Near’s “perspective” and 50 from Gevannis. I plan to post them alternatively, so the tone won’t become too boring. This is the second of the Gevanni section, mostly because the first one has turned into a 5 page story that I have the feeling will become a two-part ficlet.
In either case, Enjoy.
“Non, je veux savoir sur le dispositif.” Gevanni forced the sounds through his lips. He felt as if he could speak French while talking with Lidner, or when working for the CIA before coming to the SPK. But his abilities seemed to crumble whenever he was in front of Near.
Truly, it sounded foolish, but those black hues worked as black holes, sucking in everything around them, emotional, perception, fear; everything. Gevanni got nervous preforming anything in front of Near that wasn’t firing a gun. Marksmanship was probably the one thing that Gevanni could do better than Near. Language, however, was definitely one thing that Near had the advantage of.
The whitette shook his head. “It’s still not right. You take pauses that are either too long or inappropriate between words. ‘Sur’ is a long sound, but ‘le’ is a quick one.”
Gevanni sighed, leaning his head down between his knees. “Near, come on… We’ve been running drills for three hours. Why don’t we do something else?”
Near sighed as well. Trying to figure out how to prompt Gevanni to learn faster wasn’t the easiest obstacle he had attempted to overcome. This was proving harder than trying to stack card towers at Whammy’s House when Matt and Mello set off the emergency sprinkler system four times in one day.
It was apparent that his teaching method wasn’t effective, but he wasn’t a teacher; nor did he claim to be. “Alright, what do you want to do?”
The Italian wanted to distract his boss from what they were doing, but he had this nagging feeling that Near wouldn’t abandon this lesson for something more enjoyable, like chicken and Gnocchi. That would be delicious right about now.
“Where were you born again?” Gevanni asked, resting his chin on his hand. It was the first question he could think of, wondering what sort of foods that Near ate as a child.
Near rolled his eyes. “I have told you already, New York. What does that have to do with French?”
“So English was your first language?” Gevanni questioned, to which, Near nodded. “English was my second language. What was yours?”
The whitenette tilted his head slightly to the right, eyes narrowing in thought rather than irritation. The Italian noticed that Near did this whenever someone asked him a personal question. Gevanni assumed it was Near’s way of assessing the dangers and risks of such questions before answering them.
“I learned French and Italian simultaneously.” He answered slowly.
Gevanni smiled, his chin still resting in his palm. He grimaced, though, feeling the prickly hairs that were ravaging their way through his skin. He needed to shave after this, he reminded himself. “How old were you?”
“I hardly see the point in this line of questioning. This is about you speaking French like a soon-to-be-high-school-drop-out.” Near sneered.
There it was again! Gevanni sat up straight, wanting to slap his boss. Whenever Near grew frustrated with him; with Gevanni, just Gevanni, never Linder or Rester, he’d insult him. Gevanni wasn’t sure if it was personal, but he knew that he spoke French better than Near was giving him credit for.
“This is called bonding. Humans do this to build relationships and foster trust for one another.” Gevanni added, his tone more biting than he intended. If Near wanted to spit venom, then the brunette was content with spitting it back.
Charcoal eyes widened, just slightly, and Near looked away, starting to twirl his hair around his finger. He mumbled something that Gevanni didn’t catch.
“I was six…” Near mumbled a few seconds later.
He learned this in an orphanage, Gevanni reminded himself. Did that mean he was orphaned before that? Gevanni came to the United States when he was a little older then Near. So, that meant his boss would have lost his parents when he was still a child; and, considering Near’s current state, he was probably more like a toddler.
“Do you have any other prying questions?” Near asked quietly.
“Are you hungry?” Gevanni figured he best salvage the situation before his boss decided to drop the lesson and move onto something else.
Near’s head turned back, facing Gevanni. He stared at the brunette with that same emotion sucking expression, which was starting to make Gevanni uncomfortable. He could practically hear the synapses in Near’s brain firing.
“I suppose I could eat.” Near answered.
“That’s the spirit!” Gevanni chimed, beaming down at his small boss.
As they ate, Gevanni continuously glanced up at his boss, who was pushing his food around his plate rather than eating it. “Is my French truly that bad?”
“I…” The whitenette started. “May have over reacted… It’s not inadequate, it’s just not perfect. The French are unforgiving when it comes to their language. I want them to respect you. I’d never forgive myself if I let you get shot for something as foolish as pronunciation.”
The brunette looked down at his own plate, having forgotten that possibility. It had been about eight months since he’d been shot at, so he had forgotten the adrenaline that came with it. That, and he couldn’t help but feel honored that Near held priority in his life. It made Gevanni feel warm inside.
Gevanni’s brilliant blue eyes met the dark ones. “What do we do about it then?”
“I think, ” Near began. “that I need to find a way of teaching that works for you.”
“Any idea what that would be?” Gevanni asked jokingly.
Near shrugged, “Knowing you as I do, it will likely involve food.”
“Food huh? Can’t say I’d complain about that.” Gevanni thought, but was well aware that it likely wouldn’t work that way. He had never seen Near do anything domestic. He normally wouldn’t even get a drink on his own. The thought of that saddened him slightly, but he figured it might be a way to motivate his boss. “Any ideas thus far?”
The whitenette shrugged his shoulders. This was an action his boss rarely did. In fact, he had seen him shrug his shoulders only once before, when talking to Lidner about Mello.
“Near? Do you have any ideas?”
“I was thinking,” Near started to twirl his hair, “of attempting something similar to a bet.” He stated. “For every conversation we have in French that you complete without error, I will try something you make.”
A victorious look came over Gevanni’s face, making him look like a cat about to pounce upon his boss in gratitude.
“H-However, I do not think such a thing would work, considering I do not eat as often as you do, and I do not eat as much!”
“Je peux faire des repas de morsure de taille pour vous.” (I can make bite-sized meals for you.)
Near stared, dumbfounded. “You…”
Gevanni felt victorious, putting such an expression on the normally expressionless face. “It seems my teacher has found the proper motivation for his student. You can start by eating what’s in front of you.”
I know this is the third one, but I like it better than the first two so far. I can do it out of order if I want to. It’s not my fault I’m a bad writer.
Near wrinkled his nose at the sight of the mass on the fork before his lips; sometimes he wondered if Gevanni thought him a toddler, unable to feed himself.
But, taking a tactful approach, he tried to bring this to an end as soon as he could. “I do not like dishes that contain ricotta cheese.”
“I know you don’t. That’s why I made it with provolone and mozzarella.” Gevanni replied, his Italian accent slipping into his English. “Just try it.”
A skeptical look came to Near’s face. While he did appreciate the effort Gevanni put forth to make something he liked, he was working, and didn’t like overlapping activities that required a good deal of attention.
However, his skeptical look was met by a forceful smile from the brunette, and Near had the feeling he wasn’t about to get away with ignoring such an act of kindness. The genius studied his subordinates’ face. The situation was much like the mourning family of a victim, there was no reason to deny them comfort; so, Near didn’t see the need to pursue a battle.
“Alright, fine.” Near opened his mouth in surrender.
Gevanni smiled and put the loaded fork into his boss’ mouth. Relief flooded his features when said boss didn’t spit it out.
Food was formulaic in Near’s mind. Lasagna was nothing more than pasta layered with a sauce—which sometimes contained meat—and various cheeses. In addition, eating was never an activity that Near particularly enjoyed; it was a requirement of survival. Of course, Gevanni didn’t see it that way. The brunette saw food as something to be enjoyed, since eating in and of itself was an experience. Again, his Italian was seeping through for the world to see.
The whitette’s tongue was ravaged by a complex arrangement of tastes and textures. He was sure that he tasted garlic, as he pulled the clumped food from the fork, as well as some sort of sausage. It was strange, but not unpleasant. The lasagna felt strange against his tongue, it was like the first time Near attempted to read another language; beginning with frustration for the size of what had to fill his mouth, but with time, understanding lead him to savor the experience. He wasn’t disappointed. He finished chewing and swallowed.
A patient but expectant look was on Gevanni’s face. Near looked back toward his computer that had a 218 page document he needed for the case he’d taken that morning.
“Okay.” He surrendered completely, pushing his rolling chair away from his computer. “Bring me a plate.”