Dedication: This story is dedicated to chaotic one (from FictionPress), Clairavance, and Complete-Global-Saturation, without whom this fic would never have been edited (and probably never would be posted, oh my!). Above all, this fic is dedicated to Bloodstained Comma, who first introduced me to Death Note and who let me send her many several-page-long messages asking about characters and how they'd interact and think, etc. This is for all of you.

Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I do not own Death Note. The series remains property of Tsugumi Ohba and Takeshi Obata, as well as their publishers. All references to other Death Note media (such as the side books and movies) belong to...the people who made them. Though, really, it still belongs to Ohba and Obata. Any references to other fanfictions are unintentional unless specified in my author's notes along with credit to the writer. I'm making no profit from this, so please take this piece of cake and forget suing me, okay?

One:
Dia de Los Muertos

Everything went wrong the day that Quillsh Wammy's death was reported. Actually, if Digit was honest (or as honest as a drug dealer could get), things had been going wrong for a while now. First, there was that cheap-ass drug bust (it was just his luck; fucking amateurs nailing him with thirty two ounces of crack and just under three ounces of black tar—mother fucking heroine). Then his pussy lawyers hadn't even been able to negotiate a deal to keep him from prison time after juvie. And then he'd gotten his cellmate, a real freak. Cuz all a brotha needed was a homicidal maniac living with him.

Ironically, what had been Digit's final straw was also what had made him and his cellmate get along: Kira. Digit would never admit he was terrified of an asshole that could kill people without being near them, but it gave him and Thirteen something to talk about.

In the early days, he and Thirteen only interacted when they had no choice. Even then Thirteen had hardly spoken to him; he'd just stared at Digit as though he were looking through him. Now…it depended on the day. Sometimes Thirteen acted like your best friend…other days, he tried to murder drawings of people. You could damn him to hell for being a fucking coward, but Digit wasn't saying anything to the kid.

As luck would have it, Wammy's death had been reported on a day where Thirteen's mood had seemed fickle, at best, and borderline psychotic at worst.

Break in the yard had been cancelled due to rain, and everyone on the block was spending the time relaxing either in their cells or at tables. Midway through their usual card game, some of Digit's old crew stopped by to interrupt them with bad jokes. Thirteen never reacted, even when one guy tossed a newspaper over him, barely missing the top of his head.

"I keep askin'," Digit said a few minutes later, shaking the paper open as Thirteen gathered his cards together, "even though I know what you'll say: you wanna look next?"

Thirteen didn't even glance at the newspaper. "The news stays the same every day, the only difference is the people featured."

Digit stared at him a moment. Thirteen was already setting the cards back out in some strange order, but the kid's pessimism was depressing. He wondered when he'd lighten the hell up. Digit shook his head and turned back to the paper. With no tv, there was nothing better to do, but…well, the news always did seem kinda similar day after day. He'd just considered tossing the paper aside, but stopped with interest at the sight of a small, nearly unnoticed article.

"Yo, Thirteen, you supposed to be smart an' shit, right?" The look Digit received in reply was bored and unimpressed. Digit tried not to snicker. "Tell me, bro, what kinda name is 'Quillsh'?"

He expected Thirteen to scoff. He expected his fellow seventeen-year-old to roll his eyes imperiously and use the same amount of scorn in response as he reserved for everyone else. Digit did not expect to see Thirteen freeze, his cards slipping from his hands and onto the table.

"What…what did you say?" Thirteen nearly whispered, clearly trying to sound unconcerned despite the sudden anxiety in his tone.

"'Quillsh…Wammy'. Old dude died. Says he's an invent—" The paper was out of his hands before he could blink.

Thirteen stared at the article, apparently rereading it several times. He'd always been pale, but Digit had seen corpses with more colour than Thirteen at that moment. Thirteen's eyes seemed to wander up to where the picture of the deceased was and, for a split second, the way the light hit his eyes had made the irises look red.

"No…he's alive," Thirteen breathed, a smile that would scare the Devil himself spreading over his lips. "So he couldn't kill you after all. I shouldn't be surprised. If I didn't get a better chance to beat you, he didn't deserve one."

Whatever Thirteen was talking about went over Digit's head, and it was starting to freak him out. Digit's paper was handed back as Thirteen sat back down on his stool and reached under the seat.

"Uh…um…you need a sec?" Digit asked, remembering just what Thirteen had been arrested for and suddenly feeling the need to get away from him.

"No, no; stay," Thirteen said soothingly, though it did nothing to calm his cellmate down. The pale boy straightened up, a bit of thin metal in his hand. "I need a witness."

Digit's heart seemed to stop. "…the fuck you need a witness for?"

"To see the beginning." And Thirteen tore the razor into his flesh.

People could say what they wanted about L Lawliet. He honestly didn't care what they thought. Given that he was, unbeknownst to most people who looked at him, the world's greatest detective and, therefore, was rather blunt and lacking in social skills, he was used to getting weird looks or scathing comments when interacting with the public. At that moment, however, he was loitering outside a hotel, waiting for a cab, and his thoughts rendered him oblivious to the occasional odd looks at his disheveled hair and baggy clothes.

He was…relieved that the Kira case was over. No. Relieved was the wrong word. He was glad Light—no, Kira, had been brought to justice, but it was bittersweet. Truly cunning opponents were hard to find, such was the curse of being brilliant. With most criminals, he solved who they were right away and just needed to put the pieces together for proof and motive. Kira had kept him puzzling, slipping just out of reach as soon as he thought he'd figured out the entire case, and, a real first, had even made him second guess himself. And, while he was still a bit annoyed that his deduction skills had been brought into question, he had to admit that there was a rush to the hunt. Especially one as complex as the Kira case. L had, some might say foolishly, shown his face to his adversary and had invited him to play. Kira had accepted, gotten caught in the web of lies that kept Light Yagami looking innocent, and consequently lost. L supposed he owed both shinigami involved—Ryuk for killing Light and Rem for not killing him—an apple or ten.

Still, in the end he'd had to "die" before the Japanese task force could catch Kira, which explained why he wasn't already in an airplane, heading back to the Wammy's House alone.

Watari, whose "death" had been announced in the papers only a month or so ago, had left first with as much of their equipment as he could take inconspicuously. They'd staggered their departures a full day apart just so no one would notice two "dead" men leaving the country together, and…and now his cab was late.

L stretched slightly on his bench, wiggling his toes and resisting the urge to start on the thermos of coffee he'd prepared for his flight. It was just too tempting. After all, there would probably be a coffee shop in the airport, right? Right. Giving in, the detective poured himself a mug and took a contented drink.

The sun was setting on Tokyo. Around him, people were leaving work or just starting to head out for the night. And yet…he was strangely alone. No sooner had he finished that odd thought, and his coffee, than his cab had pulled up to the curb.

"Sorry for the delay, Ryuzaki-san," the driver said humbly, apologizing several more times for his lateness and bowing low. Though he spoke Japanese quickly and fluently, L noticed a faint accent that made him doubt the driver was a national.

L hid his annoyance at the driver's tardiness by ignoring him as, hurriedly slipping his feet into his untied shoes, he went to sit in the back of the cab. Before the door was closed, he had pushed it back open and hurried to retrieve his coffee before returning to the car and removing his shoes. Something felt off. He couldn't shake the feeling. It was as though he was standing at the edge of a precipice, about to tumble off. He was intimately familiar with that feeling: he felt it every time there was a breakthrough in one of his cases.

He caught sight of his reflection in the cab's rearview mirror, noting how tired he looked, and murmured, "It's remnants from the Kira case. You're getting paranoid; you don't need to look for suspects everywhere."

It may have grounded him a bit to tell himself to get over it, but it didn't help the over-all feeling that something was off. Since L had already explained on the phone to the cab driver what to do with his luggage when he picked up "Rue Ryuzaki", it would have been suspicious for him to get out of the car for a second time and loom over him. Besides, L would have to put his shoes back on if he got out now. Instead, L kept close watch in the car's mirrors. You're paranoid. You're not working. Stop making everything into a case. Something was too familiar about the driver, though.

He watched the cabbie as the other man closed the trunk and got smoothly into the driver's seat. "Directly to the airport?"

L gave the barest of nods in reply and forced himself to look away. Coffee. Coffee would help. Or…it might, at the very least, wake his brain up enough for him to think logically. He kept quiet as they drove on, carefully reopening his thermos and pouring another cup of coffee. The steam alone was rejuvenating, and he ended up downing most of the mug in a single gulp. The rest was finished shortly afterward. By the time he'd recapped his thermos, he didn't feel quite so paranoid.

The sky had darkened by then, but, more often than not, shiny lights passed the window. Wait…shiny? L tried to blink them away, but the lights seemed imprinted upon his vision, streaking into a multitude of neon lines. His heart was pounding as though he'd ran a marathon and his mouth was dry. His body didn't seem able to regulate his temperature any longer, for he couldn't tell if he was hot or cold. It was strange: though the world was spinning like a toy ship at sea, all he could feel were tremors shaking his body.

Stop the car. L tried to voice the thought, suddenly aware of what exactly was happening to him, but his mouth didn't seem to be working properly. Stop the car now.

The driver stared into the rearview window, watching closely as his passenger began to slump sideways to lean against the cab door. "Is something wrong, Ryuzaki-san?"

Yes something is wrong, and it's your fault, L thought, once again failing to give the thought voice. The sarcasm in his driver's voice was all he needed to convince himself that he'd been right that something was off with the other man. If only he could move!

His thoughts were getting more and more muddled and his eyelids seemed heavier and heavier.

The car passed under a streetlamp and the driver's eyes seemed to glow red in the mirror. "Good night, Lawliet."

L couldn't resist whatever drug he'd been slipped any longer. He fell into darkness.

AN: I'm shaking with terror as I post this. I'll be the first to admit it. Cuz I'm scared none of you will like it and this is my first foray into the Death Note fandom and...I'm nervous. I hope you like it. I'll be posting on the days that the fic is meant to be happening (which means you might get updates several days in a row...or you might not get them for a month), just to help make it easier to follow the timeline along. Obviously this takes place after an AU ending of the Kira case...which isn't meant to be like one we've seen and which I've no intention of explaining. What's important is that Lawli's just been kidnapped! Oh noes! I do hope you'll join me on this journey to help rescue him or who knows what harm might befall our poor, beloved detective! I hope you all enjoy the story. Please review and tell me what you think. Thank you for reading!
(Note: All flames will be used to burn all the shinigami's apples. I love reviews and constructive criticism, but flaming is rude and I will not tolerate it. If you flame, I will report you and then I'll make an example of you in front of everyone. You've been warned. I will not warn you again. Good day to you all.)