Disclaimer: This fanfic is for three specific people who are nonexistent and merely a product of brilliant minds.

Author's Note: Hello! Here is, as promised, the edited first chapter. Again, this is my understanding (or imagination) of L, Misa, and Watari, so, if there are any OOC-ness, I apologize in advance!

Oh, I would like to thank my beta, Moonchild 10, for being incredibly supporting even though I think I'm bombarding her with too much. And thank you to my special insane friend who is also reading this fanfic and giving me wonderful advice. Love yah, Sha-chan!

I hope you guys enjoy this!

First Epistle from the Fates

Chapter One:

Sleep?

It was night time, the period of the day when people were usually snug and warm in their beds, dreaming the night away. Not all people, though. One person, who usually deviated from normal human behavior for his own purposes and amusement, was sitting with his knees to his chest in a darkened hotel room, poring over the new information he had just received from his investigators, and almost gnawing on the pad of his thumb.

L chewed absentmindedly, his black-rimmed eyes staring unblinkingly at the computer screen as the thoughts in his head raced, processing the new information and providing answers automatically. If the suspect was seen in a mall more than twenty kilometers away at the time of the crime with a person who looked exactly like the victim, and taking into account all the previous data, it could only mean that the probability of…

"L." Watari's deep voice rumbled somewhere in the vicinity of the door, breaking his concentration.

His body not moving, L's eyes slid to the side and glimpsed Watari's shining white hairs in his peripheral vision as the other man bowed slightly.

"What is it, Watari? I am doing something." He answered tonelessly, picking up his spoon and scraping the chocolate icing from a plate, the remnants of a particularly decadent cake he had been enjoying a few minutes ago.

"You should sleep. You have been working on this case without stopping for almost four days now. I know that you are an extremely intelligent person; as such, your brain needs to rest. You know this." Watari said quietly.

Turning slightly, L stared at Watari as his mind rapidly dredged up responses and probable emotions according to his character and the social norm of human relationship and interaction. He turned his attention back to the computer, feeling displeased. That last part sounded almost like a rebuke.

"I do not need you to tell me what needs to be done. This is unnecessary." He replied, his voice icy and sharp. "Please bring me a banana split, now, Watari."

For a moment, there was no sound in the room but the grating of the spoon on the plate.

"As you wish."

Watari left, the door closing behind him with a soft click.

Now sufficiently distracted, L placed the plate beside the computer. However much he rationalized otherwise, he knew what Watari said held more than a grain of truth.

Tapping a finger to his lips, he considered sleeping. The case was not hard, which meant he didn't have to dwell too long on it, though the constant and irregular influx of new information and other evidences made it extremely unpredictable. Besides, he found that if he didn't sleep, his thinking capacity was lessened by approximately 5 percent, though the sweets helped a lot in recovering for a while. He favored eating sweets to sleep any day. Still, he needed sleep every now and then.

However, he had long ago discovered that just the thought of going to sleep was more than a little irritating.

There was more than one reason L was an insomniac. He stayed up late tapping away at his keyboard, searching the internet for new information, reviewing evidences, and generally being absorbed and addicted with his work. Of course, no matter how heavy the workload became, he always solved each case and caught the culprits. Sometimes, though, he couldn't help but question the significance of the entire operation when he was the only person working seriously towards improving security. And he often only took the more serious, intelligent, threatening criminals; what more for the small crimes happening in daily life. He was, after all, only one person.

There were times when he had to admit that the whole repetitive process was a bit too boring and predictable; he couldn't help but inwardly lament that there were just not enough bright people in the world to challenge him. But he was too consumed with his need for justice to dwell too much on it. And he would not allow himself to lose his purpose, ideals, and goals merely because he found that he preferred eating strawberry cake to looking at the distorted face of the criminal from last week.

Drumming his fingers on the table beside him, he thought that sleep was a little overrated. Why should one sleep when there was still so much to do, so much delectable sweets to eat, so much to think about? It was necessary, yes. But it made him feel a bit too human for his taste.

There was another reason, though this one was more difficult to explain or even understand. However unpleasant it was, he decided that his current state of health afforded a couple hours of sleep.

Unfolding his lean body from the chair, he stuffed his hands in his pocket, shoulders hunching slightly, and shuffled out of the room.

He walked down the hallway and, turning the corner, came face to face with a silent Watari carrying a bowl of banana split.

Watari gave a small sound of surprise. "L…"

Blinking, L rubbed the back of his leg with his foot, staring as the syrup oozed in a straight line down the side of the banana split's ice cream. "I'm going to sleep, Watari. Please freeze that once more. Thank you."

Scuffing his feet a little on the cold marble floor, he continued to walk towards his room at the end of the hall, visualizing the banana split and anticipating eating it after a few more hours. Because of the prolonged expectation, he knew the taste would be better, and the ice cream would be cool and refreshingly sweet on a slightly parched, newly awakened throat. He almost shivered in delight.

Watari stared after him, a small smile playing on his mustached lips.

It was dark all around, and he walked on smooth, blank air. He was afraid of falling off wherever he was, the ground felt too thin; like, if he moved a little to the left or the right, he'd fall forever. And it was freezing. Shivering, he hunched, drawing closer to himself and trying to warm his body. He rubbed his feet together for a while, and then moved forward again.

There was the faint sound of water dripping in the distance. It seemed like he was in some sort of cave. But there were no walls or rocks. He could feel the hairs on his skin rise gradually as the sound of water drew nearer and nearer.

He wanted to leave. Not that he was frightened. But the cold was really bad for his sensibilities; everywhere he went, the places were usually moderated according to his preferences. Or, at the very least, the places were the usual normal human haunts. This weird place had a major offense in his book concerning facilities and peculiarity.

It seemed like he walked for hours. The temperature continued to lower, and the dripping drew closer and closer, though he never saw where it was, or even any body of water. In fact, he never saw anything at all. There was just the seemingly unending darkness and the musky, mildly damp, slightly odd smelling air.

Everything – the darkness, the floor, the water, the air – felt and smelled extremely old; like it was one of those ancient, secret places. After a while of feeling nothing but the cold, he was surprised to realize that he had forgotten his chewing and scratching habits. He shuddered involuntarily; that seemed almost like the shedding of a skin.

First there was just darkness, and then there wasn't. Suddenly, as if he hadn't just been walking through darkness, there appeared a triangular shaft of light just a few yards from where he was walking. He stopped, wondering about the luminescence of it as it emitted a soft glow and illuminated the darkness. There was just the gentle glowing of the light now.

Shaking like a leaf and feeling uncomfortably drenched – though in what, he didn't know – he started forward once more, strangely drawn to the light.

As he drew closer, he noticed that the dripping had faded away. It was replaced by the soft murmurs of a lilting voice. Pausing, he cocked his head to the side and listened, fascinated with the beautiful, human sound in such an unnatural place.

By now, he had stepped into the light, and it flowed over him and, somehow, through him. He wasn't cold or wet anymore. He felt almost numb.

He took a step, and the light flashed. He closed his eyes instinctively and clenched his fists in irritation. What exactly was happening? Why was he here in the first place?

Slowly, cautiously, he inched his eyelids open. Then he stared in shock.

There, in the middle of the overflowing light, stood a young man with clean features, hazel eyes, and a handsome profile. The man was naked. His head was bowed, and the fine, brown hairs on his head shone unnaturally.

Blinking, he rubbed a hand on his shoulder, and realized he was naked too. Undaunted, he opened his mouth. "What is this place?"

The young man slowly raised his head. "I don't know."

The hairs on his arms rose.

The voice that answered was soft, slightly shrill, the same one he had heard a while ago.

It was without a doubt a young woman's voice.

He jerked back from the man, unnerved. What just happened? He knew, somehow, that the face and the voice were two entirely different personas. And yet, it went against everything he knew and had been taught. Inexplicably, he felt a wealth of emotions run through him in a flash: surprise, wonderment, comfort, hate, respect, awe… even love.

The man smiled at him, and his eyes sought his as if he had always known him.

"Don't you remember me?" he asked quietly, in the same lilting woman's voice, his hazel eyes softening tenderly. His hand rose and reached out to him.

"Will you..." he paused, his beautiful voice echoing. "come to me?"

L gazed at his face, the voice playing in his mind again and again. As the ground vanished beneath his feet and into the waters, his arms reached out, his voice calling, trying to catch, to hold… and then he was falling, falling…

L's eyes shot open and he gasped softly. In the silence of his cold hotel room, it seemed as if the voice still echoed its lilting melody.

Everything can happen.

Socrates