Death Note: Not Quite Respect

He is oddly glad, afterwards, when L dies, when that invisible, vigilant gaze is shut forever (held closed, he imagines in an indulgent moment of whimsy, by the weight of the cold dark earth), vanquished; leaving him to work in peace and do his best, even when his best had never been L's best, and his better isn't even L's worst on a bad day. L was special, unique; his brain moved and whirred and clicked like a clock, making

connections, drawing conclusions, faster than any other could hope to match.

But L had, perhaps, lost something of himself for all his cleverness, his vaunted genius, and gained instead a certain naivety, and an unassuming arrogance in his own abilities. L ignored the rules of the game. L did whatever he liked, because at the end of the day, it would be L who won.

L died because he won't play the game, doesn't know how to. Near knows better.