by Ebony

Notes: This is yet another lovechild of procrastination and myself. It's my third Death Note fic to date, and my first time writing Misa, so hopefully she was done justice. Yep, I finally decided it was my turn to write an 'angsting over L's death' piece. Enjoy, and please leave a review to tell me what you think.

I disclaim


It was a year to the day.

Misa found him sitting at the kitchen counter in the middle of the night, perched on one of their stools with a box of half-eaten chocolate in front of him. He stared at it somewhat vacantly, one hand pushed up messily through his honey-brown hair. It seemed as though Raito hadn't even heard her come in, though she had been a little bit loud on her way there, tripping over a stray chair in the dark and whatnot.

Black silk swished about her milky thighs as she stepped towards him. His lips moved, but she heard nothing…


A year to the day…

His head jerked upwards in the direction her voice had come from. There were slight hints of dark bags beneath his eyes, no doubt developed from the past few nights (he had hardly slept, tossing and turning all night).

"Misa," he said suddenly, voice hoarse and strained. "There's a bottle of red wine in the cupboard."

It was hesitantly that she left his side and searched for the bottle he mention, and then took two large wine glasses and a corkscrew as well. From the corner of her eye, she watched him slip a chocolate into his mouth and wince as he swallowed. He reached for another.

"How much, darling?" she asked, opening the bottle with a small 'pop'.

"As much as you want."

She smiled, loving when he trusted her enough to let her make decisions.

There was near quiet; only the sound of red liquid sloshing into the glasses and the hum of electricity, and the clink of the glass as she put it down in front of him and hopped onto the stool beside him. He wrapped one hand around the stem of the wine glass, sliding his thumb over the glass, back and forth. The movement left a long smudge, which he eyed quietly but intensely. Lips opening, Misa was about to question if he was all right – no, not question; she did not question Raito, only inquire… – when he began speaking once again.

"Do you know what day it is, Misa?" he asked slowly.

She could do nothing but shake her head. "No…"

"A year ago today…," Raito started, "L was beat at his own game. The day I finally beat him. I guess it's an anniversary of sorts for us, isn't it? Yes… today was the day he died…"

He popped another chocolate into his mouth and chewed it violently. Misa was offered none.

"Oh…" She pursed her naked lips, suddenly understanding.

Perhaps they should have gotten cake.

In yet another sudden movement, Raito straightened his posture and sat up straight, raising the glass to Misa. It took her a second or two to respond, careful not to spill any of the drink as she raised the glass and knocked it against his. The sound rung in her ears as she tipped back her head and drank in large gulps, ignoring the bitter taste that rushed through her mouth. Fluorescent light beat against her eyelids, flashes of red against the images her memory continued to shove into her vision. She remembered feeling glad about L's death, and not at all guilty; it was beneficial for Raito, and that was the most important thing. It always would be.

And the important thing that night was that Raito was kissing her again, holding her wrists tightly (it almost hurt; almost) as he slid from his stool, wine glass and chocolates abandoned. It didn't matter that his mouth still tasted strongly of chocolate and wine, or that his eyes weren't really looking at her they way she wished they were, because it wasn't really her he was seeing beneath him. It didn't mean anything that she could taste saltwater all over his face or even that he didn't utter her name (nor any name) during the entire act, his climax soundless save a wailing, desperate sort of moan that pierced through her own exaggerated gasps.

It didn't mean anything, because L was six feet under and Misa was the one Raito was holding so tightly that it hurt (but it was for him, she didn't mind).

(…Raito's hands clutched her shoulders, as…)

It didn't mean anything, because she got exactly what she wanted.

(…and his hands clutched Raito's waist, playful and daring, as…)

It didn't mean anything, because they had won.

She smiled and leaned into Raito, knowing neither of them would get any sleep at all that night.