A/N:

Grace: What's this? An update? *faints from shock*

Phantom: *rolls eyes* it hasn't been that long, you know.

Grace: True, true, but rarely do I ever seem to get three chapters of the same story up in one week.

Phantom: Fair point.

Grace: Anyway, cookies and brownies go to all of the awesome – and masochistic – people who followed and faved, I was shocked by how many of you actually seemed to want to read more. To Cherry Ripe-teenage nightmare, BlackUndertaker, KittyPersona, and MOAR (the mysterious Guest reviewer), go slices of L's cake and a complementary Ryuk plushie! :D

Phantom: He's gonna kill you for stealing his cake, Gracie-chan. . .

Grace: *hides under bed*

[DISCLAIMERL: I don't own Death Note. CAN'T SUE ME NOW, BITCH!]

Chapter Three: The Gingerbread Cyclops And Suspiciously Sticky Handcuffs

Gingerbread was definitely the devil's own invention, Besalicot decided firmly as she poked the grainy mixture experimentally.

The girl was perfectly happy to coat herself head to toe in nearly any sugary substance, from chocolate sprinkles to crepe batter, liquefied gummy bears to cherry syrup, croissant dough to peppermint icing, she really didn't mind. Gingerbread, however, was another matter entirely. In a way, gingerbread was Besalicot's Kryptonite, and she happened to run screaming – literally – from anything gingerbread-related whenever the stuff made an appearance.

Now, though, she had been ordered to make a giant batch of gingerbread men. Not only was that very sexist in her opinion – there was a distinct lack of gingerbread women – but it involved touching the one desert that she so loathed.

Yes, Besalicot thought with a frown, definitely the devil's invention.

It had been almost three days since Panda-san and his petunia-loving friend had made an appearance, and Besalicot was fairly certain she was going into cute-things-withdrawal. Her sugar intake had increased dramatically, she had been sketching chibi pandas non-stop for the past forty eight hours, and even hugging all of the most adorable puppies at the nearest pet shop hadn't given the poor girl her necessary dose of kawaii-ness. Top all that off with having to make five dozen very sexist gingerbread cookies, and Besalicot was beginning to consider strange things.

For instance, she began to wonder if penguins really did have knees, but they hid it very well so that no one would suspect it when they made a grab for world domination. She also began to ponder whether or not kittens were bound by the laws of physics, and if they would make a peace treaty with the secretly-knee-possessing penguins. The possibility of chinchillas being nothing more than very, very fat squirrels, clouds housing the world's biggest supply of cotton candy, and an internal debate over whether there was a ninja hiding behind the pantry door also crossed her mind more than once.

Not that such things were terribly different from Besalicot's typical thoughts – after all, it's not like she would be pondering boring things like politics, the economy, or whatever that bored looking news anchor had been rambling about last night – but it was fairly alarming to the girl that they were all buzzing through her head when she needed to concentrate on her job . . . and whether or not penguins were secretly hiding their knees, that was pretty important.

Just as Besalicot was about to resign herself to a life devoid of panda-kawaii-ness and filled with gingerbread men, the pleasing – though only in her opinion – music from the main door being opened rang through the small shop. The girl stared down at the last sexist gingerbread man – whom she had been in the midst of decorating – for a brief moment before she decided that he could survive with just one eye and bounced toward the counter.

Imagine Besalicot's surprise when she came face to face with none other than her adorable Panda-san.

"Panda-san!~" she screamed, nearly throwing herself over the counter in her haste to hug the impossibly kawaii man.

"Besalicot Bakersfield-" Panda-san began as he gingerly handed a sheet of paper to the joyful girl who seemed determined to squeeze him to death "You are under arrest."

Besalicot snapped out of her happy thoughts with a startled squeak.

"Me? Under arrest?!" the girl questioned, backing away slowly and trembling.

"Yes." Panda-san confirmed, not so much as batting an eyelash.

"On what grounds?!" Besalicot asked, wracking her brain to remember how this whole scenario played out in the cop shows she watched back in America.

"You are suspected of being Kira."

At that, Besalicot fainted dead away.

~D~N~

The trip back to the hotel was surprisingly uneventful in Light's opinion.

Just after Bertha – Berra? – had hit the ground – no one had bother to catch her when she fainted – Watari had appeared in his ninja-like way and deposited the girl in the backseat of a sleek black car. L sat in his crouched way on the seat beside her, staring with his too-wide eyes at her batter-smeared face.

Light had – grudgingly – sat on the other side of the apron-clad girl to keep her unconscious body from bashing against the car door when Watari made sharp turns. She reeked of gingerbread and gumdrops, Light noted with a wince, and some sort of icing was now stuck to the sleeve of his jacket where the girl's shoulder had made contact with his arm. The only bright side that light could see in the whole fiasco was the girl's lack of perfume; if Misa had smelled another woman's perfume on his clothes . . . the result would certainly not be something anyone would want to experience.

However uneventful the drive may have been, the return to the hotel itself was quite . . . exciting.

L had already handcuffed Bepha – Bethie? – and stared almost awkwardly at the girl's unconscious body. The notion of simply carrying her inside appeared to strike the detective, because his eyes suddenly widened and his face twitched in distaste. After a heated debate and several not-so-veiled threats, Light found himself walking into the hotel lobby with an arm wrapped firmly around the girl's waist as L walked on her other side and stayed as far away as the chain of the handcuffs would allow.

Several questioning stares were given before the peculiar trio made it to the elevator, Light's face a mixture of embarrassment and anger while L looked utterly unperturbed and the girl slept peacefully on. Light had – foolishly – assumed that not much else could go wrong as he shuffled awkwardly out of the elevator and L slid a keycard into the suite door.

A piercing scream of "Light-kun!" and a flash of blonde hair proved him wrong.