Author's Notes: Okay, since this is my first Death Note story, and I honestly have just recently re-immersed myself in the storyline, it's been a while since I've watched the show. I'm not a genius on all things Death Note, so there are bound to be mistakes and plenty of them. Please correct them for me! However, this is also a fan fiction so I suppose I have a bit of wiggle room there. This is set before Death Note, back at Wammy's House, for part of it but not all, L is 18 and my OC Character is 17, though in this chapter they are 6 and 5. Um… expect a bit of OOCness from L and from the appearances by Near, Mello, and Matt, and anybody else who might pop up. This is just to make the story a bit more… fun, and add some humor into it. But if anything is way too blatantly out of character, let me know!

Please review with corrections, opinions, and whatever else you want, just no pointless insults! (Criticism is all good. Just make it constructive please.)

-Alice

"She's intelligent, you say?" an older gentleman with gray hair and a black suit was saying, the first snippet of the conversation he was having with my uncle that had drifted to my ears. All I had heard before that was muffled whispers and strained, dark tones despite my best eavesdropping endeavors.

"Extremely," my Uncle Jack said, looking back over at me. "You could make her into anything you want. Her brother, he's not as smart, but he'd also have his uses."

I was five years old, my parents had just died the week before, and the eldest of my two surviving relatives was delivering me to this place, along with my brother. I was upset, to say the least. And maybe just a little bit desensitized.

"Where are we? What are we doing here? Uncle Jack, when are we going home?" My twin brother, Liam, was blubbering beside me, pulling the two older gentlemen out of their intense conversation.

My uncle looked down at the two of us fondly, but the two men just resumed talking.

"We'd be happy to have them, if you want to send their possessions over," the elderly stranger said, smiling at my uncle. "Visitation-"

"I don't want any," my uncle cut him off abruptly, "their stuff will be here within a week."

The older man nodded solemnly and turned to my brother and I. "Lilia and Liam?" he questioned the two of us. We nodded, Liam in a fast, agitated manner and me in a slow, precise, and calculating one. "You'll be staying here for awhile now. Would you like to say goodbye to your uncle?" His voice was surprisingly kind and soft- I got the feeling he dealt with traumatized young children often. Somehow, this both reassured me and set off little warning signs up in my brain.

Liam and I dutifully turned to my Uncle Jack, who knelt and smiled at us. He first embraced Liam, who latched onto him like there was no tomorrow and sobbed his heart out. When Liam was seemingly exhausted from his fit, he moved onto me and hugged me gently. I kept myself ramrod stiff and when I didn't respond he moved away. He ruffled my hair. "I'll miss you kiddos," he observed. And then he was off, and that was that. No time for pleading or questioning or extended goodbyes. He was gone quick, like pulling off a band-aid- like how it had been with my parents.

"Now then," the other man said, "My name is Quillish Wammy. I am the owner of a very special school for very talented people. Your uncle and I have decided that it is in your best interests for you to stay with us." There was an awkward silence as my brother and I just stared up at him. He waited for us to speak for a few minutes and then cleared his throat. "We'll always have time for questions later, I suppose. But I guess now I should introduce you to the other children, and get you something to eat. Would that be alright with you two?"

I nodded, wanting to know as much about my new home as possible, as fast as possible. The quick transition of homes didn't faze me- young children's minds tend to either break down or just accept things when they get too hard to handle. I accepted all this- our single living relative, my father's older brother, had left us here at this school. My parents were dead. We were considered talented; the first time that adjective had even been applied to either me or Liam. Well, I reasoned, I'd always have time to think about it in the morning. Food seemed very appealing to me at that moment, it had been awhile since I'd eaten and my thoughts were vaguely hazy. Nothing was making too much sense to me. But I was accepting it all.

Liam, however- he was breaking down, and was exhausted by it. "I'm sorry, sir," he said, forever polite, his voice adorably and heart wrenchingly sad. "I'd much rather just go to bed, if that's alright." He looked down at the floor as he said this, grasping my hand tightly. He moved his lips to my ear. "Will you go with him? Tell me what you see?" he asked me under his breath. I nodded stiffly, much preferring to go with him, and he smiled.

"Of course that's alright," Mr. Wammy reassured him. "Helen- HELEN- Helen will take you to your room. I'm afraid we weren't quite prepared for your arrival; you and your sister will have to share a room until more permanent arrangements can be made. HELEN." He didn't summon the woman unkindly, just raised his voice a little, but a couple seconds later a short, blustering woman with a tangle of blonde curls and kind blue eyes entered the room.

"This is Helen," he told us, "Helen, this is Liam and Lilia. Will you take Liam to one of the double rooms if it's no trouble? He's rather worn out, but I'm going to get Lilia something to eat."

Helen smiled kindly at us. "No problem at all, sir. Twins, are you?" she inquired at us, grasping Liam's other hand and pulling him away from me before either of us could answer..

Mr. Wammy laughed quietly. "Can you tell?" he questioned softly, as Helen pulled Liam out the other door.

While Liam and I were obviously not identical, we shared the same pale skin and small frames, with white blonde-hair and small frames, violent eyes shining against our skin- both of our best traits. Once they were gone, Mr. Wammy turned his full attention on me.

"Shall we get going?" he inquired. I nodded, and he led me through another doorway.

This led to a large room filled with children- some clustered in small groups, some by themselves, some sitting and doing apparently nothing, others with games, electronic devices, puzzles. All of a sudden there was a large bang near the back of the room, where I couldn't see over all the people taller than myself. "Excuse me for a second, m'dear," Mr. Whammy said, not at all anxious, but he was already moving over to the source of the noise as he said it.

I stood there in the middle of the room, looking for a friendly face or an approachable figure, but found none. Nobody seemed to notice me or care that I was there. I swept the room with my eyes until I found an empty corner. I headed towards it and tucked myself into a little ball, scooting as close to the wall as was possible. It was there that I noticed that it was not, in fact, an empty corner.

There was a little boy roughly my age there, with messy black hair and large dark brown eyes contrasting against his almost sickly pale skin, his legs pressed up against his chest. He was biting at his thumb and looking at me curiously, though he didn't seem very inclined to start a conversation.

"Um, excuse me, am I bothering you?" I asked him, leaning towards him a little bit- he was maybe a foot away.

He shook his head, but didn't say anything.

"Um, Mr. Wammy was supposed to introduce me to people but there was a crash in the back of the room, I mean, do you think, is everything al-"

"It happens all the time," he interrupted, and then fell silent again.

I inclined my head. He seemed quiet, but maybe he could be my friend. "How old are you?" I inquired.

He looked up at me, big eyes watching and observing. I felt very see-through at that moment, I remember. Even my brother, I thought, can't read me like this. "I'm six," he told me, his voice surprisingly cautious.

"You seem older," I told him, hoping he wouldn't take it like an insult.

The corners of his lips tilted up slightly, an almost-smile. "So I've been told."

"I'm five," I offered up, hoping to keep a conversation going.

"And you're new," he told me, as if I didn't already know that.

I nodded at him. "My parents died," I said gravely.

His eyes met mine and he held my gaze. "They all do," he replied seriously.

I stared at him, shocked for a moment. "Is that what happened to your parents?" I asked him nervously.

He looked down for the first time since I sat there. "I suppose so," he told me, and we passed a few moments in silence as I averted my gaze. He looked up at me again after a little while. "Where's your sibling?"

I snapped my head back up to look at him, startled. "How'd you know?" I asked.

He tilted his head and looked at me curiously. "You seemed like you're missing something, is it a twin? I predict that there is roughly a 70% chance that this is so."

I nodded. "My brother, his name is Liam."

He observed me wisely. "And what's your name?"

"Lilia," I told him, pleased to finally get a positive reaction from him. "What's yours?"

"L," he told me.

"L?" I giggled, "that's not a name, silly, it's a letter."

"It's my name," he said, shortly.

I paused my laughing and looked up at him. "So you sit funny and you have a funny name." I immediately covered my hand with my mouth, shocked at my outburst. "Oh, I am so sorry! I think that they're both perfectly lovely."

He surprised me by smiling. "What are you doing here?" he asked me, ignoring my outburst entirely and changing the subject to something he could discuss on his own terms.

"I don't know," I said, perfectly honest, "living, I suppose. What about you?"

He lowered his eyes and looked up at me through his insanely long lashes, "I'm going to become the world's greatest detective," he confided, apparently having made up his mind about me.

I was instantly intrigued. "Are you really?" I asked, amazed. "That's fantastic!"

"I am," he told me, slightly boastful.

"Can I help?" I questioned excitedly, the first time I had been truly thrilled since my parents had died. I felt a slight sense of guilt, but I was five and young children are tenacious.

"No," he told me seriously, "of course not. You could get hurt."

"But what about you!" I exclaimed. "You could get hurt!"

"This is what I was born to do," he told me solemnly, "but I'll watch over you."

Next chapter up Sunday! Please review!