Part One: Donuts

"He. Said. WHAT?" I managed to pull my eyes away from my monitor to shoot a if-looks-could-kill expression towards the intern standing in front of me.

"Th...th...that if you want to keep your job, he expects you to follow simple directions."

"I heard you the first time. Now what I want to know is WHO DOES THIS PRICK THINK HE IS THAT HE CAN ORDER ME AROUND WITHOUT EVER SHOWING HIS SHAGGY ASS IN THIS OFFICE! Well you can tell him-"

I'm cut short by the dreaded 'bing' as a new email finds its way to my inbox. The intern- who a second ago looked dangerously close to wetting his pants- breathes a sigh of relief. I let out a pathetic moan of nineteen-year-old angst and turn my attention to the message.

Your language is not appreciated in this professional atmosphere. Neither is your treatment of my intern, who is only relaying my messages. Now, I specifically made a request for cinnamon sugar donuts, and though they were delivered in an almost timely manner, I thought you should be aware that I recieved plain donuts instead. I expect you will correct this mistake. L

It was at least three minutes until I was able to move again, and even then my face remained frozen, my mouth a perfect O, while I felt my right hand reach blindly for my anxiety pills. I couldn't believe this! My job was on the line over donuts! Cinnamon f-ing sugar donuts! My fingers had just managed to pry off the lid to my pill bottle when a second 'bing' brought me back.

It was the same message as before, save for one word that had been added to the very end. Now.

I glanced at the tiny, mocking numbers at the bottom of my computer screen as I coaxed my bleeding heels into my designer knockoffs. 5:28 PM.

"Shit." The man expected me to find him donuts at rush hour? In New York? "Shit."

My screen blipped a final time. Language.

I shoved twenty dollars in my pocket and two pills down my throat, heading for the elevator. "I'm not done with you." I snarled, causing the the intern's face once again to return to if-she-yells-at-me-again-I'm-gonna-keel-over. With the elevator door open and L's locked office door in view, I finally let loose. "Fuck! Cock! Cunt! Mother-fucker! Cocksucker! Shit! Bitch! Asshole! TITS! How's that for language, L?"

oo0oo

An hour an a half later, I'm in the staff bathroom, scraping cinnamon sugar off of four dozen churros and onto two dozen plain donuts. "Awwww!" In my surprise as my cell phone begins to ring, I've dropped my current churro on the floor. I flip my phone open as I debate silently whether or not I should continue my scraping from the pastry now residing on the bathroom tile.

"Hello?"

"I see you've not returned yet." Speak of the devil...

"No I-"

"And you've gotten no farther on the investigation at hand."

"Well because-"

"I'm sorry. I'm going to have to let you go."

Click.

Furiously, I shove the sugar-less churros down the toilet in my stall. But I keep the donuts. I have big plans for the donuts.

CRASH!

I had hoped for a bigger reaction when I broke down his door- instead, he just stared at me through his sunken eyes, not even bothering to move from his crouched position.

"Here! Here are your donuts!" I pull one from the box and chuck it at him. He makes no move to avoid it, letting it hit him square in the face. "And here's the research I did inbetween your errands!" I let that scatter on the floor around me. "And just so you know, L, next time you want to fix your sugar craze at five-thirty, you're gonna have to scrape fifty god-damn churros because never again will I work for an asshole like you. I. Quit."

oo0oo

I didn't look back. Not until today, five months later when I heard his voice broadcast through the Kantou region of Japan.

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A.N: I absolutely LOVE this manga, so I figured it was my time to try out a FF in this genre. Tell me what you think!