Just a short drabble that popped into my head; and I would have to say that this is probably my favorite pairing so maybe I'll do more. Hope ya'll enjoy. :) Reviews are welcome


L stares blankly into his computer screen and offers no other indication that he heard the news other than a stoic nod.

He takes a sip of tea and Wammy calmly takes a seat, the old gentleman taking a quiet sip of his own tea. "She was a good woman," he tells L who nods again. "Do you believe that she committed suicide of her own freewill L?"

L shakes his head slowly. "The possibility of Misora committing suicide after her fiancée was murdered by a mass murderer is extremely low. I did not know her to be that type of person."

Wammy raises his old graying brows. "So what does this mean, L?"

L bites down on his thumb and tastes salt. "It was made to appear as a suicide. We have to include the chance that Kira may be able to use other methods of killing rather than just heart attacks."

Wammy's lips purse, "Miss Misora had been getting close to the truth then hadn't she?"

His thumb is smearing in red. "It's probable that she had enough to prove who Kira was."

Wammy sighs and sips at his tea, looking to L yet again to offer condolences. "L, I'm sorry. Miss Misora deserved better."

L nods again, but the movement itself is jerky. "In return, I'll do what I can for her."

Wammy nods quietly and leaves, allowing the paper copy of Naomi's profile to sit on L's work desk. Her unsmiling mouth and dark, dark narrow eyes pierce him and it makes her formidable looking even on paper.

L looks down at the face. Misora had always been beautiful, but her lines and countenance and mannerisms made her too caustic to touch, too abrasive to approach, too perilous to be near. L hadn't really minded, just as she had overlooked his odd posture and seemingly cold ways, his calculations and logic, and his utter lack of communicational skills.

When he first met her face to face, he remembered seeing not simply a woman named Naomi Misora, but a tiger. A tall, powerful, dark and intimidating tiger that prowled about, tail slashing and throat growling. Naomi sugar coated nothing.

She was who she was – in every raw sense. She glossed over none of her human flaws, she did not attempt any sort of extended femininity for she was quiet confident as she was.

L appreciated her enthusiasm for cases, her sense of right and wrong and the perceptions she would have on a killer. She was good at profiling, at catching little details, good at going inside of a criminal's head.

Naomi Misora, nicknamed Massacre Misora took no prisoners when it came to justice system. Beyond Birthday would know that all too well.

She was a force of nature, a typhoon in the summer or a thunderstorm in spring.

No matter how much L tried to explain to her, he always wound up using that same word.



Staring down at her glaring profile now, he feels the inane tickling in the back of his throat that will not escalate anything past that. There is a sting behind his eyes that he blinks but they don't cloud his vision, and he knows they won't.

He wishes for something childish and not professional at all.

He wants the ability to reset Naomi's clock.

He wants the ability to reset his own clock.

L wants to take their lives apart and reassemble them. He wants to reassemble them in similar patterns so that their pieces would fit.

For once, he'd like it if their pieces went together, like he knew deep down in his gut they should have.