Naomi Misora was what most sane humans called paranoid; completely and utterly paranoid. She had always been that way, it was what made her the FBI agent she was. Well, the FBI agent she had been before she and Raye had decided to get married. (Raye secretly hoped the paranoia would disappear with the lack of a job, and that she might actually become halfway normal; sadly Raye had no former experience when dealing with insanity)
Part of it stemmed from her perpetual bad luck. If something could go wrong it would turn into a disaster unimaginable within five seconds. There had once been a time when Naomi's parents left her home alone when she was a small child, somehow she had managed to start a neighborhood fire with a box of matches and birthday candles. There was also the time Naomi managed to brutally injure ten of her classmates because she tripped over someone's foot. The time she killed her neighbor's cat with a spork and buried it in the backyard only to have it found six months later by the neighbor's dog. With a childhood filled with traumatizing events, all of them stemming from her own misfortune, Naomi had learned that even a half filled paint can teetering on a ladder suspiciously near a drunkard was an enemy waiting to strike.
But Naomi realized in her late teens, after many years of explosions and various other mishaps, sitting in Chemistry with another disaster in the waiting that Naomi enjoyed being paranoid. She was good at it, she was by far the most paranoid person she had ever met. Some people were talented at music, some at mathematics. Naomi Misora believed herself to be very talented at the art of paranoia and suspicion. Of course with this marvelous talent discovered Naomi decided it was time to hone her skills into something halfway useful. With suspicion deduction followed, closely followed by sheer will and determination. (Her parents were not thrilled by the dinner conversations revolving around her suspicions that their neighbors were participating in drunken revels in which they participated in occult traditions and mass orgies; of course, they were even less thrilled when Naomi's theories became true.)
Naomi trusted her paranoia like nothing else in the world, it was her paranoia and not L, that lead to the capture of B. After all, who else but her would ever suspect the man of lighting himself on fire just to best the greatest detective in the world at a macho posing contest? That was why she didn't dismiss the nagging feeling that someone was following her. Actually following would have been easier to describe. It was more like sitting on every other park bench she passed, sitting across from her in the subway, sitting in the table next to her at a café, his back to her as she walked by on the sidewalk. No she wouldn't call it following so much as being in the right place at the right time all the time.
Of course if she ever told Raye she knew the response would be something about how she wasn't an FBI agent anymore; and how she should be doing wife-like duties like joining a book club and not looking for men who seemed to be everywhere at once. (Here Naomi might have interjected, hypothetically, since he wasn't everywhere at once he was just everywhere she was. There was a huge difference. Mainly dealing with physics, but then Raye wasn't a physicist; he was an FBI agent who felt vaguely intimidated by his wife who wore nothing but black.) Then Raye would lean back in his chair, attempt to relax, and Naomi would keep her mouth shut and let her paranoia rage in her head; where it belonged.
A normal admirer would send you terrible poetry
I believe we are above such measures, poetry is for amateurs
That's why there is no sense of rhyme or reason to this letter
Any boy can write to you of red roses, or of spring days, or of the touch of your lips
I can do better than that
I can be honest
You are too old for me
But that never really bothered me in the first place
Author's note: Short chapters are because of the fact that this is twenty-one pages and growing and I really want to get this off my desk top. Needless to say this is, crack, you've no doubt figured that out. Why I chose to do this instead of an LxLight fic like everyone else? Well, that's because I've seen AizawaxLight, MatsudaxLight, MikamixLight, SayuxLight... pretty much everyone xLight and I've decided to contribute in my own way.
By the by, attempted to fix the grammatical errors (attempted being I added a few periods). As you can tell this wasn't beta'd, if it had been beta'd it might look prettier. I admit it, my grammar is that of a bad fanfic writer. I blame the education system, they don't teach us grammar and then they expect us to use it when analyzing Julius Caeser. It's foolproof!
Reviewers would be splendid.