Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.

A/N: This was the actual end for Tool Belt… but, well. Okay, here's the story: it was a combination of me getting lazy and me getting depressed. When I was writing Tool Belt I was mentally preparing myself to continue the story to the point that it became a full-length novel/thing which would probably follow the sequence of the original Death Note plot. By not killing Maggie, I could continue it.

I write chapters when I should be taking notes in class. They are jotted in a notebook and then when I get home/get motivation I eventually type them up. When I type them up, I add details and minor changes.

I was typing up Tool Belt and when I got to that last line "Third time's a charm," I just felt it had to stop. Partially because I didn't want to type up any more and had lost motivation for the story, but also because I felt it was more mature and fit more with the original fandom that way. It was canon compliant and I like adhering to the canon as much as I can.

Ergo, Tool Belt remained a depressing what-if kind of story but I liked it. Then, years later I was looking through my old notebooks and found some old stories! I posted some of those aforementioned stories in the form of Mafia Melodies, but I also stumbled across this one and I recalled how I had always wanted to give Maggie and L a happy ending.

So, here is the happy ending I always thought they deserved.

Of Funerals and Sweet Kisses

By: Ginny

L was being a masochist.

Hunched in the dark room, blackness staining every corner except the sprinkles of light from the scenes on the television, L was flipping through a case file. It was an easy case, not something he would have ever chosen normally but there was nothing particularly interesting going on now and he wanted to get his mind as far away from certain thoughts as possible. Or, maybe he didn't.

Because, quite frankly, if he was that invested in forgetting a certain girl in striped pajama pants, he wouldn't have changed the channel to a Chicago news station and he wouldn't be listening to the news reporter monotonously recite:

"…seventeen year old Maggie Garrett was killed yesterday when the car she was being transported in exploded. Garrett was an eye-witness against the mafia. Details still to come."

Suddenly the television shut off and the darkness reigned supreme for only a moment before the hotel lamps blinked on. Hazy eyes searched for the source of the disruption and L noted Quillish standing in the doorway.

His right hand man balanced a tray mounted precariously with sweets and snacks… enough to actually give L a stomachache. But it was exactly what he needed at this moment. Waving a hand to beckon Quillish into the room, L pushed the case file aside and tried very hard to ignore the pitying look in his adoptive-father's eyes. Surely the man was thinking that it was such a shame that L had met a member of the opposite sex that he was actually interested in, only to have her die. It was a tragedy, really.

"When will the funeral be?" L asked, as he picked up the silver fork and prepared to gorge. Certainly, Quillish had already looked up the details.

Placing the tray down gently on the coffee table, Quillish replied, "Tomorrow."

L nodded, and took a bite of some of the chocolate cake. It was bitter. "I would like to attend," he informed the other man. "Please make the arrangements."

L was surprised by how many people showed up, until he recalled that even though she had spent some time at Wammy's, she was not an orphan. And besides her family and friends, there were quite a few people who were attending her funeral on principle – they had had unfortunate business with the mafia she had been testifying against and they were here to support Mal's stance against said mafia. L couldn't help thinking, "Too little, too late."

There were a few people who glanced at L suspiciously, having no idea who the heck he was or why he had refused to wear black. Yes, despite the occasion, he was still fashioned in his standard white long sleeved shirt and blue jeans.

He had found a nice little spot at the back of the church to sit (Quillish had forced him to sit like a normal person before leaving, lest anyone confuse him for one of the gargoyles on the outside of the church – but the guardian couldn't keep L from slouching) and watch the backs of people's heads. Religion had never been a big part of his life but he didn't like to discount anything. So, he could sit in silence and bow his head and maybe even hope that wherever she was, she was still wearing her striped pajama pants and hoodie and tool belt.

At the front of the church, her casket was placed in the very center and a candid picture of her was framed and positioned right beside it. For a moment, L sat and just stared at it… he realized with a shock that he had never seen her hair in person. Any time they had ever spoken, she was wearing her hood pulled up all the way to her hairline. In that picture though, she was on a swing set, beaming at the camera – her long brown hair wild and wavy. In his dream, she had looked just like that.

"Did you go to school with her?"

The hushed voice broke L from his thoughts. A short girl with super curly dark brown hair sat next to him and her dark brown eyes blinked up at him. She was so short her feet didn't even touch the floor when she sat up straight in the pew. L hadn't noticed her sit down.

"No," he replied, bringing a thumb to his mouth. "We met while she was in hiding."

She stared at him for a second, and then a smile broke out across her face, "You're Leroy."

L cocked his head to the side, "I wasn't aware she was in contact with anyone prior to the trial."

"I'm her best friend – was, her best friend," the girl stated as though that was any explanation of why they had been allowed contact before the trial. A dark look passed over her face when she changed the tense of her statement. Suddenly she snapped out of it. "I'm Hannah." She stuck a hand out and L supposed he would be forced to shake it. Removing the hand from his mouth, L grasped the offered appendage lightly by his fingertips and allowed Hannah to vigorously shake it up and down.

"It is very nice to meet you," L said politely, pretending he was a normal person.

"Pretty shitty circumstances, though," Hannah joked but the smile didn't reach her eyes. She let out a deep sigh and shook her head. "I have something for you, Mr. Leroy."

"Hm, something for me?" L nibbled at his thumb for a second.

"Yup," Hannah reached under her pew – only to be interrupted as the priest asked the congregation to stand and join him in song. L simply stood – singing was never a skill of his. After the hymn, Hannah returned to grasping under the pew only to bring out a pile of manila fabric. Even after it was placed in his lap, L didn't even fully comprehend what it was. But as he plucked at the bundle, he suddenly remembered.

Sitting on his jean-clad lap was Mal's infamous tool belt.

And as L gingerly opened it to inspect all the contraptions within, he noted that everything she had taken out to show him when they had first met was still in there. As though on a mission, he found the extra passport and flipped it open to her picture. From his files he had known already that going to Wammy's had been the first time she had ever left the country and thus this picture was taken after the whole mob-business had gotten started. So this photograph showed the wide-eyed, distraught fear on her face. She was also unable to wear her hood pulled up as she had taken to doing later in life in this particular picture and so her brown locks fell around her face – increasing the deathly pale of her skin and the bags under her eyes.

"Did you love her?"

L glanced up – naturally, he hadn't totally forgotten that Hannah was still sitting next to him, but he had just gotten so caught up in reminiscing that he had stopped being aware of his surroundings.

"I never saw her in person," L explained. "I don't know much about relationships… or love of any kind, but I imagine that physical proximity is a key aspect and without it, a relationship would be impossible to have."

"Well," Hannah reached over and placed her hand on top of L's, which was still resting on Mal's tool belt. He yanked his hand away, totally unused to physical contact. Hannah paused for a moment, smiled at L's reaction and continued, "I think you seem like a pretty special person and I imagine that any relationship you had would be pretty special. And Maggie was a very special person, too. So, yeah."

Still fingering the tool belt, L simply nodded and returned his attention back to the sermon. He didn't like to dwell on the what-if's.

L didn't want to stay for the burial, so he called Quillish and the old man pulled the car around after all the mourners had left for the cemetery. His adoptive father was totally silent as he opened the door for L, not even making a comment about the tool belt that was slung around the detective's waist. He didn't even open his mouth until they were two thirds of the way to the hotel.

Quillish looked at L via the rearview mirror, "I hired a new clandestine agent to be at your disposal."

The detective grunted noncommittally.

"The agent is waiting for us at the hotel," Quillish added.

L glanced up sharply – he preferred not to deal with anyone right now and surely Quillish knew that. When L's parents had been killed and he had been taken into Quillish's care, it wasn't for a good three months that L would respond to direct questions. Granted, there was a difference between the death of one's parents and the death of… a friend? Was that what she had been? Shaking his head, L searched the middle console of the car for something sweet to munch on.

It wasn't until the candy bar was half devoured that something occurred to L – the old geezer was up to something. Surely he wouldn't try to force L to socialize with this new agent if it wasn't somehow connected to Mal's death. For a moment a desperate thought struck L's brain, but he pushed it aside – he did not live in the what-ifs and that was a major "what-if" thought process and quite frankly he was not going to even begin to consider it. If this new agent was in any way connected, it was probably because he had been on Mal's protective detail… or maybe it wasn't even connected and the agent was only in town today and it was all just a terrible coincidence.

The two made their way up to the hotel room in silence and when they reached the penthouse suite, Quillish produced his key. With a deft twist the door was open and light flooded the dark room.

A lone figure sat at the window seat directly in front of them, knees pulled up to their chest, back hunched and head resting lazily. It wasn't until the door opened that the figure glanced up at the intruders, jumping to her feet at the same time – and indeed, L noted, it was a female. The darkness obscured any facial features that the hood didn't hide and her ill-fitting clothes distorted her body, but the pattern of her pants was unmistakable… blue and yellow stripes. There was only one girl like that – only one just like that in the whole wide world and L knew exactly who that was.

"L," Quillish spoke up. "May I introduce you to Lory?"

She pulled back her hood and took a step forward but L still couldn't see her face – still couldn't believe that this was truly happening. So, he reached over and flipped the light switch next to him. Brightness sparked above them and Maggie winced.

It was a happiest sight L could have imagined.

There she was, in all her glory – alive and well. The bags under her eyes had even disappeared. The hair she had always hidden was trapped in a French braid and after she recovered from her initial flinch against the light, a small, shy smile stretched across her face as she met his eyes.

"The webcam doesn't do you justice," she commented. L mentally, playfully scoffed – all she had even been able to see from her end was the infamous initial and a synthetic voice. He might not be the most desirable man on the planet, but surely he was more alluring than a letter and a robot-voice.

L brought a finger to his lips, smiling widely around it. Hunching even farther down, he took a few steps forward until there was almost no distance between his nose and Maggie's. "Hm, I suppose the webcam distorted you a bit as well," L commented. "For example, you have a zit on your chin I had never noticed before."

Maggie gave a soft, scandalized gasp and pulled back to clap a hand over her chin. But her eyes danced with playfulness.

Quillish had tactfully excused himself and left the teenagers to their own devices.

By jumping back, Maggie was able to catch a glance at the tool belt around L's waist. Her face fell for a moment before she forced another smile. "You want to keep it?" she asked.

"You're dead," L spoke monotonously. "You don't need it."

Maggie laughed and L was glad to note that it didn't sound forced in the least bit. She found him funny. For some reason this made him happy. "Even if I hadn't faked my own death, I still wouldn't have needed it. I feel… liberated." She ran a hand up, over her braided hair.

He nodded, "Whose idea was it?"

"Mr. Wammy," she said.

"And who else knows?"

Her eyes clouded and L realized he had hit a sore spot. "Just… just you and him."

L stood straighter and walked to the couch, crouching down in his normal stance. Maggie barely spared his odd posture a second glance as she followed him, pulling her knees up to her chest in an exact replica of the pose she had been in when they had first arrived.

"You would have liked to have told your family?" L questioned, even though he knew the answer.

Maggie nodded. "Quillish said you went to the funeral. Did you meet my mom and dad?"

He vaguely remembered the two people in the very front pew. The man had sat stony faced in a dark gray suit and the woman had let the tears fall freely onto her graying blouse. L hadn't been able to get a very good look at either of them, but he had noted that Maggie received her dark brown hair from her mother.

"No," her face fell slightly and L was compelled to assure her, "I met a girl named Hannah, though."

A smile broke out across Maggie's face when she heard this. "Hannah," she shook her head slightly. "That girl is a little bundle of fun."

"Yes," L commented. "She seemed rather entertaining."

Silence ensued for a moment as the two simply looked at each other, a grin still playing on Maggie's lips. And even though L kept a stoic face as always, the happiness was still evident to anyone who was watching. L didn't live in the what-ifs, but he wouldn't complain when the what-ifs came true.

Suddenly, he recalled another what-if… that lovely dream he had had months ago. At the time it had seemed so farfetched because the idea of this girl being in the same room with him was incomprehensible. Yet, here she was. Sitting next to him. Wearing those pajama pants and that hoodie… and suddenly he wondered if she was wearing anything underneath that hoodie. His eyes drifted down to her bust and his heart began to race, pumping blood to all the wrong places

"L, what are you thinking about?"

"Are you wearing anything under that hoodie?"

The words left his mouth on their own accord and he instantly regretted it as his eyes found Maggie's face… which had turned a bright pink. Apparently she, too, remembered the episode that had sparked L's dream. Even though she didn't know about the dream, it still made her uncomfortable.

"E-excuse me?" she stuttered.

L placed a finger up to his mouth and grinned wickedly.

"Agh!" She jumped up as an indignant expression crossed her face. Turning to face L, she unzipped her hoodie and flung it open. A cotton t-shirt with a giant peace sign met L's sight. Okay, so he was a little disappointed, but the t-shirt was nice and tight and L wasn't that disappointed.

Maggie followed where his gaze was going and hastily rezipped the hoodie before plopping back down next to L – this time sitting normally. Suddenly, she dropped her head onto his shoulder.

L tensed for a second.

Sure, in his dream, they had gone much, much further. But that was a dream – a nice dream, but a dream nonetheless and this was reality and in reality L didn't like to be touched. Yet, here was this girl and she was funny and pretty and nice and she was touching him and this was reality.

And this girl seemed to sense his hesitance, because she pulled back.

And this boy seemed to sense his own loss, because he pulled her back with an awkward arm around her waist.

"You smell like sugar," she commented.

L smiled, "I eat a lot of it."

"Umhm. I'm going to just sleep here for a few minutes and when I wake up you can give me my first assignment, m'kay?"

Assign – oh, yes. She was part of his staff now, apparently. Yes, L recalled the cover story Quillish had used, but in the excitement L had forgotten it… or at least, he hadn't thought about it seriously. Quillish didn't honestly think that L would be willing to put her in danger after just getting her back.

Almost instinctively, his arm tightened around her waist. "Are you certain about this?" he asked.

Mal/Maggie/Lory glanced up at him and he was vaguely aware that his shoulder felt cold without her head resting against it. "Yes," she answered.

"You life will constantly be in danger."

"I'll be fine," she protested. Maggie sat up completely and backed away slightly – but not enough to pull out of his awkward embrace. She was smiling. "I stood up in front of all those people, Leroy. I stood up and when the lawyer asked me to identity the man I saw, I pointed right at him and told the whole courtroom what happened. I sat up there all alone, all out in the open. And even though I knew they would try to kill me again, and even though they tried to kill me again, it was all worth it. So yes, I'm certain."

She stopped and leaned her upper body forward slowly. Inches from L's face, she stopped and her eyelashes fluttered softly against her cheek as she blinked. Suddenly, her waist felt hot under L's fingers as he stretched them gingerly.

L realized she was waiting for him to do something. He mumbled, "I'm not entirely familiar with these sorts of situations, I am in need of some assistance."

Maggie smiled and took that as her cue to take control of the situation. Slowly she closed the distance and pressed her lips to his.

Against his will, his eyes closed.

Just as slowly, she pulled back and licked her lips. "You taste like sugar, too".

"I eat a lot of it," he answered mechanically.

That wasn't too difficult, L decided. In fact, this whole kissing thing seemed rather simple now that he had experienced it himself. Emboldened by the simplicity, L reached the arm that had been around her waist, up to the very end of the braid that hung down her back. He released the hair from the tie and gently freed it so that her brown locks fell around her face.

Then, he delved his fingers into her hair and gently guided her mouth back to his.

Sweet, indeed.