Disclaimer : Death note does not belong to me! (but you already knew that)
For those of you who have been waiting for an update, for which I am SO sorry btw, I'm happy to say that with summer vacation starting for me next week, I'll be (hopefully! probably!) able to write more and thus update at the pace I used to. Once a week at best, once every two weeks most probably.
(If anyone reads my only other multi-chapter work, wishing upon a star, I'm afraid updates may take even more time with how difficult it has been for me recently to have any inspiration for it)
Let's hope this summer is kinder than the last and enjoy! ;))
January 7th, 2004
There's something to be said about wearing a leather jacket like armor and eyes the color of sharpened blades.
There is something to be said about being a successful FBI agent after years and years of working her ass off, only to throw it all away for the prospect of a peaceful life with her husband. For all that Naomi loves Raye - will always love Raye, she knows this was always about her and not him.
About her leaving the career she worked so hard for, and she did so when he asked. It was never about him - no matter what she likes to tell herself.
For all of his talks about risks and it's dangerous, she was the only one asked to not take those risks anymore, he was free to be as dumb and as daring as he wanted - as dumb and daring as the FBI can get anyway, while she became a wife.
Only ever a wife, nothing more.
(you'll forget you ever were an agent, with a few kids and all)
It was...harder than she thought it would be. Staying home and not working on any case anymore, following him to Japan instead of going with him to Japan.
Her relationship with her fiancé was based on love, bone-deep, marrow-deep passion. The kind you only encounter once - or so she has secretly begun to hope, feeling like this ever again would kill her she knows it.
And well, Naomi Misora does not want to die, not when she has so much to do. She does not want to die, not when she has not yet seen the sun from tomorrow rise and has not yet
Naomi Misora craves life, she craves it from the depths of her existence and does not know she needs to.
(the sword still hangs above her head)
She craves and remembers, oh how she remembers. The wound is still too fresh, open for the world to see as blood spills out of clear skin. So, Naomi remembers Raye, remembers a love that threatens to consume you. Threatens to burn you from inside out, love that makes your toes curl and your throat hurt from laughing too much - yes, her relationship with Raye Penber was many things, Naomi muses with a glass of wine in her hand.
Many things, but not a partnership.
The former FBI agent would never admit to it, but this reflection on her relationship with a dead man she still loves came just as much from the red wine as it came from the peculiar blonde girl from just a few days ago.
(she loves him so very much)
Loving Raye was...unexpected, epic, and all-consuming. They burned about all the bridges too fast in their fervor, really it's no wonder that even in death, Raye manages to get such strong reactions from her.
(kissing him as if she could mold herself to his very being, him twirling her around like the lady that she is not)
Yes, one could see it easily.
How her need for revenge - for justice, would make her take too many risks under the weight of her grief. Risks that would lead her to her death at the hand of Kira.
Thankfully, that story is that of another timeline.
One in which Naomi hadn't had a chance encounter with the resident dead girl walking, one in which a few words hadn't planted doubt in the beautiful woman's mind.
In this, Naomi attempts to contact the task force - having half a mind to try and contact L directly, she probably could find a way.
Somehow.
She does not, because L and she are acquaintances at best and she's still a heartbroken, grieving mess that would be no help to the investigation further than her dangerous reasoning concerning Kira's abilities to kill. Not to mention -
("Men will never not underestimate women.")
So she does not contact L and when she encounters the likes of Light Yagami with his pretty face and sweeter words, she does not give him an inch.
No name, no personal information - say information on her dead fiancé, not even a glimpse as to what she was doing at the station or her deductions about Kira. Instead, she listens to him talk of his father's status as NPA chief and lets him walk her outside the building.
She promptly turns on her heel with something barely passing as a goodbye.
Light dismisses it as unimportant, just some woman claiming to know about the Kira case while she did not - a futility that is not worthy of Kira's attention.
She's got to say, Yagami is good - the jury is still out on whether his intentions were simply innocent curiosity and interest in the case or something else...
What has she become to suspect a teenage boy that is the picture of good intentions? her conscience whispers, another voice answers that if the FBI does breed anything other than killer instincts, it is paranoia.
Paranoia has also saved her life many times.
(don't trust pretty faces with even sweeter promises)
Had a few months playing housewife really made her forget that?
Point in case, she will have to dig around later for information on this Yagami, for now however she'll settle for a third glass of the bottle that she had bought for Raye two weeks ago - the one they never got to open together.
Laying in the bed of the hotel room she and Raye had been staying at for the past month or so, Naomi allows herself to pretend. That he's laying in it with her, fingers drawing patterns absentmindedly on her skin or kissing her neck.
Naomi allows herself to pretend, counting all of the methods used for execution she can think of.
(lethal injection, hanging, lethal gas, guillotine, electrocution-)
Misa gets to class early that morning.
After a few minutes spent reapplying her favorite plum-colored lipstick and singing along to her newly brought Three Days Grace album like the groupie, she could've been. Of course.
The blonde sends an almost smug look to the pile of albums on her backseat, far more pleasant to listen to than to bother with Kira the great - she perhaps needs to tone it down on the nicknames.
(Kira the great, our legendary savior and Lord murderer, the one with the killer handwriting-)
Back to her albums, she has far better taste than the original - and perhaps just as much of an ego as the model.
(if it could, the universe would roll its eyes)
The lesson soon falls into the background, this particular teacher always giving the most boring lectures one could imagine, she was a fool to think that the start of the third semester might make a difference to the monotonous man.
To think someone could tackle life with such apathy was actually kind of impressive.
She had to choke down an unladylike snort when glasses boy let out a loud snore, head resting between his arms on the table they were sharing. Somebody enjoyed Winter break I see, she particularly liked the shade of lipstick on the white collared shirt he was wearing although he could have tried to wash the smell of alcohol out of his clothes before going back to school.
Quite content with referring to him as glasses boy, she skips over the letters and goes straight for the numbers floating above his head.
Wow, this one's got quite the long ride in front of him, maybe the biggest numbers she'd ever seen actually, she doodles said numbers in her notebook for future reference along with the date and a pair of glasses.
"Did you hear about those twelve FBI agents? They think it was Kira," a dark-skinned girl scoffs something along the lines of no shit, another student shakes his head with the firm belief that Kira would never kill innocents.
Misa blinks, watching as the news circulate so quickly from one side of the room to the other. Their teacher sighs without any real heat, voice drowned out by chatting students - he eventually gives up and asks someone in the front row about the new development.
She's not sure how the woman did it, but some American journalist managed to dig up the information about the twelve agents killed - both Japanese and American governments trying to cover it up until now as not to send the public into a panic.
After all, if the secret services could be within Kira's reach, who couldn't?
Not to mention the fact that those twelve were innocent, not serial killers or rapists, upstanding citizens just doing their job. Misa bites her lower lip, political machinations really were quite the source of entertainment.
(there are ashes at the back of her throat, she's suffocating)
Unbelievable, the public cries out on the net, liars - the government is corrupt! Others defend the murders as Kira's right for the police and FBI having the audacity to try and stop him.
(somewhere else in Tokyo, a woman scrolls down the comments)
(she throws a glass to the ground)
Hours later, a video of Raye Penber's death is released and all hell breaks loose.
The media has no shame in showing the overly blurry video taken from a cellphone just as the man gets out of the train - Misa winces as he falls to his knees from the other side of the screen, crawling to look back inside the train desperately.
That's when her mother enters the room, an angered gasp leaving her lips. "Oh! That poor man and his family, don't these people have no decency at all?!" Yui Amane glares at the journalist anchor now back at the center of the screen, cursing under her breath.
(the glass shatters easily, broken pieces all over the floor)
"You can barely see his face, I wonder how they even figured out he was one of those FBI agents." Her father comments, kissing his daughter's forehead.
Names or faces hadn't been released which means someone from the inside must have given out the information, somehow - anyhow, it is disgusting, the blonde frowns.
Sick to her stomach, she declines the offer for dinner and goes back to her room.
Gelus greats her from his place seated on her bed, stuffed paw waving her over. She raises a brow, the corners of her lips barely curling, "How domestic."
"That's another human thing," he dismisses and she laughs, calling him a liar. "I'm actually here because I've been wanting for you to meet someone."
That would be a first, she blinks and joins him on the ever so comfortable bed.
(someone is looking over her shoulder, taking her in)
She looks down at the small God of death, crossing her legs and grabbing a pillow to hug to her chest. Her brow is raised curiously, waiting for something - anything, to happen.
(she can feel the cold coming from there)
"Misa, this is Rem."