A/N: Welcome again to A Study in Donuts. Please read and enjoy. Review, and there will be a special poem at the end of the next chapter. You know you want a special poem! (Thanks to everyone who's taking a look at this. Also, Death Note does not belong to us. Derp.)

The fence of yellow caution tape and the cacophony of blue sirens warned the neighbors that not everything was well in the Takeshi household. If one were to look through the windows, however, they would not see blood dripping from the light fixtures or any such nonsense. Oh no. They'd see it pumping out of a fountain.

It was rather ingenious, actually. The fountain was clearly homemade from every-day materials, and there was certainly no shortage of blood to supply it (the bodies made sure of that). In the fountain several whale and dolphin plushies floated on small inner tubes; harpoons stuck out of each one, soggy stuffing clung to everything, and there was some extravagant scripted detailing around the fountain's edges. It was actually rather pleasant and well-decorated—if one ignored the fact that it was a blood fountain.

Written on the wall in, again, blood was "Save the Whales!" The plea trailed off in hurried, furious agony, as if the writer were the stabbed whale painting his last words with a single bleeding flipper: "!...!...!...!"

This was the third time this had happened in two months. And whenever anything happened more than two times in two months, it meant that Matsuda was going to have hell to pay when Light Yagami didn't get the case because L had wanted it first. (Because that's what always happened with these things.)

Matsuda didn't think that either of them cared about whales. He wasn't even sure Light cared about people, really—it was probably more of a hobby. Matsuda knew that for the two of them, it was always who got the case first. Neither of them cared about which case in the slightest.

It had started because of the Kira case. After Kira had killed almost every officer in the homicide division for standing against him, the police force had to do a lot of hiring. Fast. Light was around the building a lot anyway, and he was smart, so he was paid and told to shoot things. (It was now considered to be the most efficient recruiting process because Light was so successful.) Light hadn't gotten rolling until about three months later, when he shot six prostitutes and a grocer. The NPA was furious until they realized he'd just destroyed an entire smuggling ring. At that point, he started taking most of Japan's cases for himself. The other detectives didn't complain because they knew they would get shot if they did.

Then came L. Sometime later, L sent Matsuda a bucket of emails about the case of the disappearing cases. He wondered where they went, and if there was some secret hideout that Matsuda was being bribed to disguise. Matsuda had no idea what the hell he was talking about. L then wrote that he wanted his damn cases back. So, Matsuda told Light that he had to give up some of his cases so that L would stop sending him spam. Thus began the bidding war. Over every single long-term case in Japan.

Everything except the mafia. For some reason, L did not care at all about the mafia. Matsuda never figured that one out—Light said that it was one of things that you had to be there for, and also that it was probably because of the leather. Matsuda didn't know what leather had to do with anything. That was okay, though. (Light also mentioned something about transsexuals, which, combined with leather, just made Matsuda more sure that not knowing was the best course of action.)

Staring at the spluttering blood fountain and the butchered stuffed whales, Matsuda thus summed up the crime scene: "Oh god, what am I going to tell Interpol?"

Nobody seemed to know the answer to that question. Not even the whales.

Naomi was not impressed by the director of the NPA. For one thing, he had one of those birds that took a drink from water every two seconds. He also had the singing bass fish on his wall, and a dancing hamster on his desk. His office might have been where knick-knacks go to die; it terrified her somewhat. He also was an idiot.

"So, um, why do you want to work for the NPA?" Director Matsuda asked her with an awkward smile. He tapped his fingers on the desk and stared in wide-eyed paranoia at the door, as if he expected someone to burst through with an axe at any moment.

Naomi had decided before she came into the office that she did not want to tell the director of the NPA that she was only joining because she was being bribed by the greatest detective in the world (or, rather, the man who claimed the title, L—who wasn't very believable). She hadn't actually come up with a better reason for why she was interested in the job.

Improv time.

"…I missed shooting things."

Matsuda nodded and smiled. "Oh yeah, that's… Um. You'll get along fine here." He laughed and waved his hand awkwardly, causing the dipping bird to wobble.

Naomi had no idea how the hell she was supposed to respond to that, so she stared.

Now he was playing with his hair, which was in an awkwardly long haircut that made him look like a wannabe boy-band member. "Um, you like shooting moving things, right? Because the stationary things, well, that's great too, but you know, um, it's not really… moving things would be better."

Naomi really didn't know how to respond to that, either. She also noticed that Matsuda was now sweating, blinking, and looking at the door. The expression increasingly said, 'The axe murderer who was supposed to jump in through the glass is a little bit later than usual because he's rummaging up an even bigger axe. You don't mind waiting here while I hide under my desk, do you?'

"Yes, I hit moving things," she said slowly, wondering how the hell he got in that cushioned chair. Was this seriously their best officer?

Matsuda had continued to become more and more flustered as the conversation went on; Naomi was becoming more and more convinced that not talking was the best option. Sadly, he kept asking questions. "Oh, good, that's great. Um, how about other cops?"

"What?" Naomi wondered if shooting cops was supposed to be a good feature or a bad feature. She also wondered if L had fed him information about how she'd landed on the LABB case because she hadn't shot that thirteen-year-old drug dealer.

"Well, maybe not cops, but people—like people shooting. Like bad people. You shoot bad people, sometimes?"

The singing fish on the wall stared blankly at Matsuda with bulging, uncomprehending eyes. Naomi felt that she and the fish had a bond of mutual understanding.

"…Isn't that the point?"

"Well, I once met this guy who liked to shoot pigeons. A lot. And he was really good at it, but it just wasn't that helpful because this one time he was at this bank robbery and he died."

The wobbling bird joined in the staring. Naomi felt that she and the menagerie of awkward tacky inanimate objects had become close, life-long friends in the few minutes she had spent in the director's office.

"Did he have a gun?" Naomi asked, looking to her inanimate friends for support.

"No, but he had some pigeon feed. I think they shot him to prove a point. Or he tried to use a cellphone. I don't remember."

The moment of silence afterward was filled only with the sound of the bird dipping his head in the water over and over again. Matsuda began to tap his fingers on the desk again, stopped, stared at his hand as it had betrayed him and he was horrified, then glared briefly at the door.

Nothing came through. He smiled.

Naomi didn't even know what the hell that meant. "Do I have the job, now?"

Matsuda flustered himself into getting back on topic.

"What? Oh, yeah, I guess, but, um, I'm going to have to assign you to… You're not going to like it; no one likes it—well, one guy did, but he's dead, and no, even he didn't like it." A gigantic thud came from the other side of the door. Something cracked. "Oh, here he is now. Hi Light!"

Just at that moment someone burst through the door in a flurry of splinters and the loud, angry pops of strained hinges. "Damn you, Matsuda, I told you I wanted the whale case!" he shouted, aggressively waving a handful of paperwork.

Naomi wasn't sure if she wanted to turn around. But she wouldn't get paid if she didn't turn around. That meant she really needed to turn around and get it over with so that L could give her the money and she could file a restraining order against the bastard.

Naomi turned around.

She was confronted with a very angry-looking young man with blood stains on his shirt, bags under his eyes, and five o' clock shadow that looked like it'd been abandoned midway through a shave. The young man took up most of the doorway with his windmill arm-motions and his wad of crumpled papers.

Matsuda's grin had turned relieved as soon as he realized that his axe murderer had arrived sans axe. He now laughed awkwardly, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah, well, you know L. As soon as he heard there was a case in Japan he jumped on it. And when L says jump, we… jump? I don't know. You already pissed him off with the declaration of war—just let him have the case. Listen, Light, I'm working on revoking that restraining order of yours. Then you can pester the mafia all you want." With each word, Matsuda became more and more aware that Light was not going to listen to a word he said.

"L doesn't even like whales! No one cares about whales! I want my whale case, damn you! This isn't about whales—it's about work, and L screwing me over for the final time. You and I both know it." His sentences were punctuated by angry gesticulations of the paperwork. "And who the hell is the broad?"

Naomi guessed she was going to be the broad now. She lifted a hand in a slight wave. She also smiled somewhat painfully and had the feeling, for the first time, that she looked like she belonged in the director's office.

"This is Naomi Penber. She's your new partner," Matsdua said cheerfully. Light's gun was still in the holster. That meant things were going well.

Naomi blinked, took in the blood-stains, and realized just exactly what L was getting her into. She was not amused.

"I thought I didn't get new partners," Light said in exasperation (and also with a little bit of distaste). Naomi realized that he wasn't amused, either.

"Well, you do now." Matsuda paused. "She likes to shoot things," he added as an afterthought, as if that somehow made the whole situation better.

There was another awkward silence, this one filled with the man in the doorway sizing her up and staring at Matsuda as if he were the biggest idiot he had ever met.

"…Was that your interview question?"

"...You kids will have lots of fun," Matsuda said, dragging his smile to a disturbing width.

Light looked down at Naomi. "Did you at least show her the video?"

"What video?"

"The educational video I made just for you after you complained that my partners had no idea what they were getting into. The video I gave to you. The video that should be in your office somewhere—if you haven't replaced it with a singing fish."

"Oh, um, yeah. That video. I know it's here somewhere…."

Light's recent words took a few moments for Naomi to process before she realized quite the extent of their meaning.

L was paying her to meddle with Light Yagami.

Light Yagami had made an educational video. An educational video on the dangers of being his partner.

L was paying her to meddle with a trigger-happy police officer who apparently got so many of his partners killed, maimed, or kidnapped that it necessitated an educational video.

Naomi looked at Matsuda, whose forced grin was so wide it looked LSD-induced. Naomi looked at Light's unkempt hair and angry posture, then again at the bloodstains. And, looking deeply into the eyes of the singing fish, who seemed to be doing a lot of disbelieving looking of his own, Naomi made her decision.

"…Let's see the video, then."

Naomi decided that it was time that she and Ryuzaki had a very long phone conversation.

"And then someone's head fell off! I do not want my head to fall off! Do you understand, you selfish bastard!"

L wasn't sure how Naomi Misora managed to get his number. He wasn't even sure it was possible, but she had, and she had been ranting for thirty minutes straight. He had no idea what she was even saying.

"You are not paying me nearly enough to be partners with a man who made a four-step demonstrational video detailing all the various explosion subtypes and the associated body part damage! Body part damage that will likely occur—to me, not to him, in the next three to six months of being his partner! Also, he apparently is the cause of the explosions. Not just most of them. All of them. I need more money!"

L sighed and looked longingly at his silent sundae. The ice cream never screamed at him, and it was so delicious.

"What do you want, Misora?"

"Penber. I got married."

"My condolences."

There was a slight pause where Naomi evaluated the weight of his words and chose to ignore them.

"… It was four years ago…"

"Yes, well, did you want something?"

There was a brief moment of silence. L took it to mean that Naomi either was in awe of his genius or was staring at her phone in disbelief.

"Money. I demand compensation for the grievous injuries that I am assured I will possess by the end of this venture! And that's not including interest! And health insurance! I want health insurance!"

L reached for his sundae and thought for a moment. "Wouldn't you want to do this out of the goodness of your heart? Surely it will better mankind?"

There was another moment of silence where L surveyed his much more pleasant surroundings. Sprinkles to go on the sundae, syrup to go on the sundae (maple and chocolate), sugar cubes to go on the sundae…

Naomi spoke again. "…Hell no."

L sighed. "Well then, I can't give you money in good conscious until you become a decent person. I feel as if I'm donating to terrorism."

"YOU ARE DONATING TO TERRORISM!"

"Call back when you have a soul. Goodbye."

L hung up and began to eat his sundae.

—

Mello didn't think that Near ever had to put up with the shit that he had to put up with.

Light Yagami had made another calendar. He had made another calendar, and it was now being sold in erotica stores all over the country. Light Yagami had the nerve, after Mello had finally gotten a restraining order, to make another calendar.

"I am gonna kill that punk-ass bitch!" Mello declared to Matt, brandishing the calendar.

Matt merely stared, puffed on a cigarette, and said, "You look awfully good in January."

Mello sometimes wanted to rip Matt's goggles off his head and shove them down his throat. "Damn January! How the hell did he get these pictures?"

Matt flipped through his own calendar, which he had been keeping in his back pocket. Just what he had been doing with it, Mello wasn't sure he wanted to know. He'd think about that later—after he thought about the fact that Light Yagami had the nerve to make a calendar.

"Well, this one, I think, is from our security tapes. He must have hacked in sometime." Matt pointed to a picture of Mello, who shaved his legs in a candle-decorated bathtub. He wore a seductive glint in his eyes and a mysterious smile on his face.

"You said that no one could get through our firewall," Mello ground out through clenched teeth.

Matt shrugged. "Sure, but apparently our dear inspector Yagami is very motivated. And he is pretty good, you know."

"So what good is our firewall if it doesn't even work?" Mello screamed.

Matt again shrugged. "Well, it will keep out anyone, I think. Except apparently for him. I'll do some work tonight—look, it'll be no big deal."

"He has pictures of me looking like a whore!"

Matt looked puzzled. "Mello, you always look like a whore."

"That's not the point!" Mello screamed again, tearing at his hair. "The point is I don't want pictures in his possession of me looking like a slut!"

Matt flipped a few more pages in the calendar. "That one I think he took himself. Remember that one time he broke in with a camera and you were smothered in chocolate? I think this is from that time. It's a nice shot, you know. Maybe he should have become a photographer."

Mello often had to repress the urge to kill Matt. Sometimes it was very very hard. (It was also very hard to find good leather, but that was another story.)

"One day, I'm going to find that son of a bitch, and I'm going to pop a cap in his ass!"

"I think that would violate the restraining order."

—

Somewhere far, far away, a beluga wailed.