AN: Rewritten and reposted as of 01/08/12. I am going to try this again, because I had rewatched some of the Death Note series, and looked at this story again. I cringed. Should anyone see this and, say, want to yell at me for leaving this for years, I would appreciate it. Sometimes I need a kick in the pants.

Rated M for language.

Chapter 1

Where's Your Pepper Spray

(Or, Damn Airport Security)

"Where are they?" is an incredibly stupid question to ask in an incredibly crowded airport because the only person to answer you is a random passing by, who, if they deign to answer you, will give some unoriginal and snarky remark something like 'Not here, lady,' with a chance of adding, 'But I am' or some equally stupid come-on. In short, I shouldn't have asked, but I did, and thankfully no one saw it as their duty to answer me.

I tried to jump a bit, to see over the crowd, maybe, but it's the simple things in life that you miss when your mobility is restricted. I hissed through my teeth, worried my lip, and stood on tip-toe to get a look for someone who obviously wasn't there. I briefly struggled with the urge to call over one of the airport's security men, to call over the PA system with the cover story that I was looking for a child, but, However childlike he is, he won't be pleased. Another thought, just as short lived brought up the consideration of a new case being perhaps more engrossing than a drive to the airport, but no, Wammy would have come, by himself if the others were busy- if he was busy. No. It would be traffic, maybe, something mundane that requires patience.

I should mention now that I don't have much in the way of patience, that it was spent and that my leg hurt, oh god, but I was already over my limit for the next four hours so I would have to endure for a little while longer. I leaned against a wall where there wasn't much in the way of movement, next to a causeway declared to be for PILOTS ONLY, as if that were any reason to be keeping me out. But I didn't bother to go in, because my lovely detectives only have to bail me out, and I would be making an impression on people and they would remember my face. How awful.

No. What was awful was not knowing where they were. I mean, how could four absolutely world-class brilliant men forget their way to the airport that they must have used from themselves? I shook my head, smiled, because they must have used a map. To read one, of course, is no issue. Topographical, geopolitical, satellite photographic, there was no doubt that each of them could read every kind with ease. Folding a map back up, however, happens to be a completely different matter. I remembered a certain road trip with the four detectives when we were young, at a rest stop along the way. We thought we would impress Watari with our deductive skills by plotting our course from where we had been and assuming our route to wherever it was we were going. While we argued about how best to fold up the map, we ripped the paper and were trying to tape it back together before Watari returned. Instead, a certain girl was caught in the act of trying to tear the tape with her teeth and unsnarl her hands her hands from the tangle. They had never really let me live it down.

I was trying to remember the exact route we'd taken, the names of the towns we'd passed through, the colors of the cows and such mundane things when a hot and violating wind gusted in my ear. Breath. "Hey there, pretty girl," it said. Predictable. Boring. The only more dull and scripted thing it could have said was maybe 'Well, well, what do we have here?' Instead, he finished with, "Need a ride?" and a sleazy laugh. Not original, but two points for the innuendo and managing to make it without laughing. Maybe he was too drunk to see his own pun and laugh, look who made a funny!

But God, wasn't this typical. Let me know if you've heard this before: a small, weak girl standing by herself in a secluded area is approached by one or more drunken men intent on on 'getting some'. Oh, so you've heard it? Yeah, because it's what every girl is warned about since she gets her first bra and is used so frequently in stories as the best point for a knight in shining armor to leap in and save the day. It was dull, and worse, predictable!

I was about to tell him this when his hands ran up over my ribcage. Reality slammed down on me the same time my cane slammed on the ground beside my Duffel. They should have been enough to alert a security man, everyone within the vicinity, but who can even hear their own thoughts in a a cavern filled with other people who act so much more important? There was no clatter, no thump, just a thudding in my chest. There was an errant thought- God, how cliché-before I could focus. Damn, how could those pills not kill the pain, but distract me like that? Now I wished I knew something about organic chemistry. Too late.

"Come on, sweet thing," the first crooned. Sorry, did I accidentally fly into Clichéville? I mean, seriously, this shit has to be a joke. I limped backwards down the PILOTS ONLY causeway. Where in the hell were those pilots, anyway? It was the exact perfect time for one to come waltzing down the hall and becoming indignant because there was, after all, a sign.

The fight-or-flight response kicked in, hard, as I calculated my odds. A lone, crippled female against two drunk cliché-machines standing at about 180 centimeters. Place your bets, gents!

Not that I didn't know how to fight. Quite the opposite. I had been trained to take care of myself, and can take as much as I can dish out, but that was when I had two fully working legs and the possibility of external help. People tend to want to help pretty girls, just as often as others want to creep it up. Hell, I had just dropped my only weapon next to my bag! I leaned my weight onto my bad leg as I moved backwards, nearly crying out. "Back off," I managed to growled. Damn, and you couldn't even carry a can of pepper spray on a plane anymore!

Sleaze and his – associate- were quasi-skater/surfer guys with deep tans, long hair that was carefully out of place, wearing muscle t-shirts and long shorts with sandals. Other than descriptions for 'police' detectives, I really didn't care. They had an air of self-confidence that gave you the imoression that mommy never said no. You know the type. The kind that have egos rivaling the size of New York and liked their girls pretty, dumb, and helpless. Much like themselves. They seemed to have categorized me as such. Wrong.

The two stumbled at me again; I had no choice but to back further into the hall. "Leave me alone," I growled at them with little effect other than to make them laugh. I glance about and found myself alone. With two men I didn't know that I doubted were planning anything good in those little minds of theirs. Not good for me, anyway.

Can you spell bad day?

"Look," I tried to reason, "my friends are going to be here any moment, and they won't take too kindly to you-" Pricks, "-gentlemen trying to intimidate me. If you leave now, I won't press charges. Scout's honor, fellas."

Sleaze laughed. "Don't be that way, you'll like it!"

"Common misconception, actually. Just because someone says you'll like something doesn't mean you will. Didn't your mother ever tell you that you'd like brussel sprouts, really, if you just tried them? And weren't they the nastiest thing ever?" I joked, but it seemed to fly right over their heads. I returned to threats, "Guys, come on, I'm sure you're pretty reasonable when you're sober, so I'll give you one more chance to just walk away-" my bad leg gave out, traitor, and I slammed against a wall. Pain, blossoming across my occipital lobe. I let out a small groan and rubbed the back of my head. I was still waiting for some jackass to pop out of nowhere and sing, SMILE! You're on Candid Camera! But it didn't look likely. I reached to my back for my pepper spray before I remembered that damnable airport security. They stumbled closer as I struggled up, using the wall. My eyes were blurred with tears. I ground the heels of my hand into my eyes, seeing the four Sleaze Brothers come closer-

Wait, four?

A hand pushed me back against the wall. I raised a fist for a moment before I recognized the smell of leather, the ginger mop of hair in front of me, and the familiar sound of a revolver's hammer being cocked. I nearly laughed. My knight in shining armor, come at last- then I realized, Wait, gun?, with its hammer cocked, pointed at the ass-hats.

That was slightly odd. Normally Mello could control himself in public, at least enough to not pull out his gun- and how did he get that into an airport?- so I reached for his aiming arm as the two assholes fell over each other, blubbering. "Mel, I'm fine," I muttered. "They didn't touch me. Let's go home."

"She's right," said a sheep-haired boy, wearing what was probably his only set of clothes that didn't resemble pajamas. That explained it. Mello couldn't be anywhere close to Near without wanting to shoot somebody. "It would attract unwanted attention." He twirled his hair around his finger in a way that should have been endearing and disarming, but made Mello seem even more violent. Near turned to me, "Sorry we're late."

"Damn airport security," Mello hissed. He backed up a step to be next to me, sparing me hardly a glance before he turned his attention back to my new friends. "You alright, Summer?"

"Let's go home," I murmured, tugging at Mello's arm again. He leaned me against the wall, like a side note, and marched over to the children rolling about on the floor in self-pity, saying things along the lines of we didn't mean it, we were just messing, she came onto us first, raising his gun again- "Don't!" before delivering a crack to each of their carefully maintained faces. They each fell to the ground, thump and whump, blood pouring from their noses.

The albino boy frowned slightly at the limp forms before crouching over them and examining them, like puzzles. I could have told him just about anything he'd needed to know about them, but no one seemed to like listening to me much today. His nose crinkled at the stench of alcohol as he searched through their pockets. A half-dozen gamer jokes came to mind. I hobbled toward them, slowly, painfully. "Near, what do you think you're doing?"

He looked up at me, at my leg. "What were you doing?" he replied, with the slightest slip in his monotone on the 'you'. I grimaced at him. Deflection was my game, dammit. He fished out them men's wallets, pulling out their ID cards and passports. Prick. I set my jaw and made my graceful way to my bag.

Which happened to be too slow for Speedy Gonzalez, who grumbled something about me being slower than any motherfucker he'd ever seen. The ground and I found ourselves no longer acquainted, which is a fancy way of saying Mello went and threw me over his shoulder. He ignored my squawking until I got the bright idea to say, "Dammit, Mel- put me down!"

I'll say this for the guy, he does actually listen to people. Sometimes. He just didn't seem to understand what most people would when I said 'put me down'. Most people would have set me on my feet. Mello all but threw me onto my Duffel, landing me on my ass. "Shit, what'd you go and do that for-"

"What the fuck did you go and do that for?" he mocked. He slapped my leg, sending pain shooting up and down my thigh. I had to bite mytongue to keep from crying out. It should have earned him a kick, but I couldn't get my damned leg to move. I looked at it, tried to kick him again. No, it just sat there, almost obscenely lifeless. I shoved him away, picked myself up slowly. I looked at where Sleaze and his 'bruh' were laying. "And what the fuck did you do for those douche-bags to come after you like that?"

"Oh, because you know I like a little excitement in my day, prick," I snapped. I tried to step around him, grumbling, "Fuck you, I'm going home with Near." Mello just slid in front of me. A one-man blockade. I groaned. "Look, I'll explain when I've got you all in one place. Five birds, one stone." I looked up Mello. He didn't seem happy, but know he couldn't get anything out of me until then. I leaned on my cane more heavily than I would have liked, walking out of the PILOTS ONLY hallway. Which, again, nobody noticed. What the hell was wrong with these people anyway? They hadn't spotted anything, and there hadn't even been any cameras in the hall. I shook my head. "Damn airport security."

Mello guided us to the outside where I thought I would be safe from mention of the incident, but not before Mello grumbled, "Where the hell's your damn pepper spray?"