[Sighing, here, is almost as theatrical as the explosion. This much weary contempt shouldn't fit so tidily into a single thick tide of a sigh. Mello pulls it off with a flourish, and he's proud of that. It proves to him, in some way, that he's not about to die. He's got a few more flourishes left in him, he'd bet... His voice is immodest, when it rides that wave of contempt.] Yeah? So your guys can grab me and haul me off to a safehouse of your choosing? Sounds like a pass to me. [Immodest, sure, and rightly so, but his voice is thinning out the more he speaks, too. He's breathing like each breath is an act of defiance. But this next inhale has a real tremor to it, and the tremor seems to surprise him. God, it hurts bad.

He's stopping to take a swig of something. This is where he knew he would head if he ever got fucked up to this level, and it's stocked with liquor for a reason.]

I didn't call you to come and pick me up, Near. --But I didn't call you to torment you, either. [Give him a break. Any man would sound tired when he's spent the wee hours skirting round and round his own grave. He has to allow himself the shedding of a little weight.] I hope you know that.