(A/N) In my opinion, there isn't enough decent L and Naomi Misora-centric fan fiction out there. It's one of my personal favorite pairings, and I like to believe that it's one that could have worked in both the anime and manga, if things had played out a bit differently. But it doesn't matter, because that's what I'm here to do. So whether you're already a fan of the pairing or if this is your first time reading about it, I hope you enjoy this fan fiction. Feel free to leave your two cents.

(Oh, and a heads up; this first chapter takes place directly after the novel Another Note, and it contains spoilers. So don't say I didn't warn you. Because I just did.)

Disclaimer: I wonder if L likes Almond Joys….

Ego Et Rex Meus

Ego et rex meus (Latin): "I and my King."

Curled up in a position impossible for the average human to imitate, a young man tapped his bare toes to an incoherent rhythm against the metal seat of the folding chair. He knew, given his situation, he should have been frightened. And had he been anyone else, he would have been. Another glance around the room, dark eyes flickering over the peeling paint, the cinderblocks, the one-way mirror, the pock-marked table, and he allowed himself the momentary pleasure of imaging what it would feel like to be an ordinary common criminal, to face interrogation and sentencing. A cold chill threatened to creep up his spine.

Yes, the detectives were doing their job.

The young man gnawed his nail in concentration, reveling in the thought that he himself had put thousands of deserving malfeasants in that very same position of fear. He couldn't help the wry twist of his lips around his thumb; he had always been a fan of irony. It was amusing, because he was the farthest thing from the common criminal. He was the exact opposite. He was justice.

He was L.

His musings were interrupted, however, as the heavy door to the interrogation room creaked open. L glanced up, his dark eyes leveling with the safety-lock equipped door handle, not bothering to move from his less-than-comfortable position. He already knew who was behind that door. It was the very same woman whom he had dragged through hell and back, the woman to whom he owed more than he cared to think about.

The woman who had earlier flipped him down the subway stairs.

Naomi Misora heaved against the steel-plated door with her hip, looking almost comically precarious with two cups balanced on a plastic work tray as she struggled to slide into the room. If L had had a stronger sense of humor, he would have laughed aloud, but since he didn't, he settled for watching the Japanese woman struggle with quirked lips.

His thumb inched its way towards his mouth almost of its own accord.

When Misora had finally squeezed her way into the fluorescently lit room, she made a hurried beeline towards the warped table behind which L sat, face set noticeably into lines of distress. Her flushed cheeks, the pinch between her dark eyebrows, the pursed lips, none of it escaped the observant eyes of the world's greatest super sleuth. It was a shame, L thought, as Misora set the tray down the table with an audible clinking of china, dropping into the chair opposite him with an exhausted sigh. She really was quite a beautiful woman.

"Is something wrong, Misora?" asked L, as though the answer wasn't glaringly obvious. He chewed his thumbnail for a moment. "You seem nervous."

"Of course I'm nervous!" she replied, her voice noticeably strained as she rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. "I'm sitting in the same room with you, for God's sake! And what's more, I tried to take you into custody for sexual assault. Sexual fucking assault!" She paused, groaning and allowing her hand to fall back into her lap.

"If the director finds out, my ass is canned. I can't afford to lose my job now–"

"I assure you, Misora, there is nothing in your future at the American FBI but a promotion," L interrupted her ranting quietly, giving her a stoic look of reassurance. She held his cold gaze for a moment before nodding slowly, and L reached forwards to pull the cups she had brought across the table towards him. But instead of lifting either of them up, he merely stared down into the porcelain. There was another awkward pause, and Misora began twisting her fingers together anxiously.

It was when the small frown tugged at L's mouth that she could contain herself no longer.

"What's wrong, Ryuuzaki?" asked Misora, unsuccessfully attempting a calm tone. This was not a good start.

"My fix for sweets is not something that is exactly common knowledge," L began, and Misora turned red with embarrassment as he held up the cup filled with tea for her inspection, a small tower of sugar cubes already arranged within, granules slowly dissolving into the brown liquid. "How would one come across this kind of information, Misora?"

"I didn't," she admitted reluctantly. "It was a…a lucky guess."

"From my experience as a detective, there is no such thing as luck," he countered swiftly, the raised eyebrow conveying what he really meant. "I already know you're lying."

Damn. Misora flinched. Busted.

"Please don't take offense, Ryuuzaki," Misora said, not looking at him, "but the character who committed the Los Angeles murders, he…he looked identical to you. And since he also had an affinity for sweets, I assumed–"

"No offense taken," interrupted L simply again as he raised the cup to his lips, the peculiar way he held the rim with his forefinger and thumb giving Misora an unsettling sense of déjà vu. "The fact holds true for both B and myself."

Peering over the top of the cup, L watched as Misora processed his words, her lips parting in thought as she stared at him. It was a wonderful sight; he could almost see the cogs turning inside her head. He was beginning to wish that he could have seen her face when she had deduced the Rue Ryuuzaki was, in fact, the murderer she had been hunting.

"You are referring to Rue Ryuuzaki as B."

It wasn't a question, it was a statement.

L sipped from the sugary tea. "Yes."

"L, B," Misora repeated the letters to herself before falling silent. She tapped her temples with her fingers, her leather boot-clad foot bouncing along in time under the table. The silence was chilling, but L didn't mind; he had long ago learned that the recipe of discovery was silence and time.

The seconds ticked by. L waited. Misora's mind raced.

"You two knew each other," she said finally, looking up to meet L's lifeless stare. Again, it wasn't an inquiry; she was merely asking him to confirm it. But before he revealed anything further, there was something he needed to ask.

"This room is secure, correct, Naomi?"

While his question wasn't exactly groundbreaking, Misora couldn't help the drop of her jaw. L had just called her by first name. She supposed it shouldn't have been too startling, after all, how many people got to speak with the famous L face to face? She was obviously important. But all the same, they weren't exactly chatting about the weather over reasonably sweetened coffee….

"O-of course," she managed, closing her mouth hurriedly, hardly relieved by L's apparent ignorance to her embarrassment. In front of the one the most respected men in the world, this was hardy the time to go to pieces. "As an FBI officer I have the authority to request private interviews at select stations."

"I see," L murmured, as if it wasn't a fact he already knew. "Watari is also taking the precautions necessary to make sure that we are neither not sense nor heard. This is not information that can be heard by anyone except for you and myself."

Misora could only nod. Who was Watari?

"Also, do you mind if I call you Naomi?" L's abrupt question surprised her. She hadn't thought he was actually going to ask. "I've found that being on a first name basis with people, ninety-three percent of the time, reduces the formality of the conversation by at least three-fourths."

"No, no, not at all," was the only reply she could come up with as she wondered how L had come up with those figures (how many 'personal conversations' could he have possibly had?). The similarities between the detective and the murderer Rue Ryuuzaki, or B, as L called him, were mounting by the minute. It was anything but comforting to be reminded of the man she had seen almost burnt alive.

The corner of L's mouth tipped upwards, and she had the sudden sense that he had just made a private joke at her expense. Assuming he even knew how to joke. Misora couldn't exactly picture L being the life of a party.

"Are you laughing at me?" asked Misora indignantly, straightening up in her chair and frowning at him. While this action was obviously meant to discourage him, it only made the other corner of L's mouth quirk up to join the other. It left him wearing a shadow of a smile, the awkwardness displayed in his expression indicating that it wasn't something he did very often. But Misora wasn't surprised.

What would L ever have to smile about? Aside from solving a case, she could think of nothing. And even then, she doubted that L smiled when he solved cases. After all, there was always another waiting in line after it. An inescapable duty to mankind…. Misora shuddered. Just another reason why L was the way he was.

"I would never laugh at you, Naomi," L replied finally. He set his cup back on the table, the clink ringing off the cinderblock walls. "I do not mock people whom I respect."

Once again, Misora was speechless. She seemed to have contracted a case of lockjaw, but it was better than having her mouth gapping open like a goldfish….

L respected her? Surely he was pulling her leg.

"But anyway," L continued as he reached for the sugar cubes, scooping up several and popping them directly into his mouth, "back to our original topic. You were almost correct when you said that I knew B. Because while I knew of B, who has so fondly taken to talking himself Ryuuzaki, I did not know him personally."

"But how can you know of him without knowing him personally?" Misora retorted quickly, her eyes flashing. She hadn't missed the scathing way which L had spoken. "He obviously knew you – he looked exactly like you. He had to have met you at least once. You're not exactly on the tabloid covers, Ryuuzaki."

"A fair point. Yes; we did meet, once, a very long time ago," L acknowledged. "Thank God it was only once."

Misora blinked in astonishment. He had said it with such venom.

"But that is one of the reasons I wanted to speak with you in person."

L swallowed his mouthful of sugar before sighing, shifting in the chair to rest his chin atop his bent knees. When he looked back at Misora, it was through heavily lidded eyes, the bruise-like crescents particularly prominent between pieces of lifeless black hair. Suddenly, there was not enough oxygen in the room and Misora was forced to take a slow, deep breath.

"Before I explain myself, I must first apologize to you, Naomi," L continued, his eyes never leaving her face. She really wished he wouldn't look at her like that; she was still having trouble breathing. "I realize that I have put you through a great deal of stress in asking your help with the Los Angeles cases, and I regret putting you in that position of danger. But I also want you to know that in solving the case, you have not only done the citizens of Los Angeles a great service, but me personally. And for that, I am eternally grateful."

Misora wasn't sure whether it was what he had said or the way he had said it that brought it on, but she could feel the stinging prick of tears at the corners of her eyes. Blinking rapidly, she turned her head and pretended to examine the one-way mirror mounted on the wall.

"Really, Ryuuzaki, you don't know how much that means to me, but half the time I wasn't even…the person who…did…"

She trailed off, the sentence dying on her tongue as she recalled what L had just said. His odd choice of words had just become apparent to her. It had been deliberate.

"Ryuuzaki," Misora began, twisting back around in her chair to raise her eyebrows at his deadpan face, "what do you mean by 'you personally'?"

L did not respond immediately, but tilted his head to the side and considered Misora for a moment. His face remained impassive, and it was another moment before he spoke. "As I am sure you have already concluded, and suspected from when I first contacted you, I had personal connections with the Los Angeles murder cases."

"I did think it was slightly suspicious, considering the…uh, nature of the case," Misora allowed, choosing her words carefully as to avoid saying anything too incriminating. She knew that the case wasn't one L would have normally taken on; there hadn't been nearly enough deaths, and there had been no money on the line. It was definitely not the kind of case L would have gotten involved without ulterior motives. But the last thing she wanted was L to think she was accusing him, regardless of what she actually thought.

"Mm yes, it was a unusual decision, based on my past history of cases," L agreed tonelessly. He didn't seem embarrassed. After all, what was there to be embarrassed about? It was a fact. L could admit it; he knew he was a selfish man. There were no excuses to me made.

"As we have already revealed, I do have a personal past with B," he continued. "B was one of the children hand-picked as a candidate to succeed me as the world's greatest detective. Actually, he was more than that; he was the most probable choice. The most probable, and the glaringly obvious."

"Is that why he's called B?" questioned Misora, floored by the fact hadn't she hadn't figured it out earlier. L nodded. "B, L…did all the candidates have letters?"

"Yes, all twenty-six of them," he confirmed dully. "And they weren't just letters by which we used to refer to the children. No, the letters were their names."

"But they did have real names, didn't they?" Misora pressed. "You, too, you must have a real name."

"Oh yes, they all had given names, but I never cared to know. Moreover, I never wanted to know. There is a lot of baggage that comes along with a name. If one casts away their name, they cast away the baggage. Emotional ties are inefficient. They lead to mistakes, lost time, and ultimately, lost lives."

Well. It certainly explained a lot. Misora couldn't think of anything to say.

"I see."

"As for my name," L went on, "I'm not even sure as to what it is anymore. From the moment my life meant something, I have always been L. It will be my name until the day I die, and it will be the name of the one who succeeds me. Who I am does not matter, only what I do."

Misora wasn't exactly sure why he felt it necessary to tell her all these most likely top-secret things. The conviction in his voice was startling, compared to how he normally spoke, with a listless tone and blank face. Maybe it was because he trusted her; he had said he respected her. But Misora wasn't going to push it. The weight of the world must have been heavy to carry on one's shoulders alone, even for a man like L. In that moment, her heart went out to him.

"Ryuuzaki," she began, wanting to catch him before he started up again, "I hope you don't feel obligated to tell me this because of what happened in Los Angeles."

"Partly," he replied truthfully. "I have involved you in something greater than you know. But I also trust you, Naomi. And," he paused, giving her the faintest glimpse of a smirk, "you asked."

"You have a strange sense of humor," she remarked, wrinkling her nose.

"So I've been told."

This was one of the reasons L liked Naomi Misora. Being frank was a quality he could appreciate. It was just another reason why he had made the decision to meet her. Yes, he was a selfish man.

"By who?" scoffed Misora, much to L's amusement. She was obviously more comfortable than she had been when she had first entered the interrogation room. L was pleased by the success of his quiet efforts. He preferred Misora this way. Awkward conversation was his specialty, not Naomi Misora's. 'Awkward' was not a word L wanted to associate with her.

"Oh, you know," he replied loftily; there was no possible way she could know. "But back to our original conversation."

There it was again, that sly hinting. He was poking fun at her. Again.

Misora felt ready to slap herself.

"Rue Ryuuzaki was known as B," L continued as though there had been no interruption, "but he most often referred to himself as BB, and I imagine he still does. Those are his initials, and his own private joke, because no one knew what those letters stood for, save for B himself."

Knew. "You know his real name now, then?"

"I do. His name is Beyond Birthday."

"Well that's a strange name," remarked Misora, shaking her head in disbelief. "It's rather like how Backyard Bottomslash…" There was a pause as she fell silent. L chewed his bottom lip, poised. Any second now.

He didn't have to guess; Misora made it painfully clear when she had reached the proper conclusion. She flew up out of her chair and stomped back across the room in four long strides. With every step, her boots clicked loudly off the cement.

"Oh that bastard!" She would have shouted, had she not remembered that this conversation was supposed to be classified.

L could only blink his agreement. There was no arguing with that proclamation.

"How the hell did I not see that earlier?" Misora groaned as she paced back across the floor. "For God's sake, that freak played me!"

"Actually," corrected L, "he was playing me."

Misora came to a halt and glanced over her shoulder at the detective scrunched up on a folding chair. It was strange hearing L use a word like 'played.'

"Excuse me?"

L knocked his fingers on the table's edge, motioning with a thumb towards her vacated chair. Misora rolled her eyes, but retreated back obediently as he began to explain. "The whole purpose of this case, the only reason why B murdered those people, it was all in spite of me. The BB Murder Cases, as the media has ironically dubbed them, were a hoax. A war in disguise, if you will."

She cocked an eyebrow as she sat back down in her chair.

"A war…against you?"

"Against me," L concurred. "My underling, my most likely successor. Why would B do such a thing?" He gave her a pointed look through his mangled mop of hair. "Do you have any thoughts, Naomi?"

So he expected it of her now, did he? "Yes," replied Misora slowly, unconsciously rubbing her hands over her thighs as her mind raced. "Ryuuzaki–I mean, B, he was a candidate for the next L…the next you. He imitated your appearance, and he mimicked your mannerisms. He was trying to become L. No, no, that's not right, he didn't want to be L, he wanted to be B. But...he was trying to defeat L."

Misora realized as she chanced another glance over at L that he was guiding her through the process of untangling B's mess of a character. He could have simply told her what he needed to tell her, it would have saved time, but he had chosen in instead to let her come to her own deductions. With his help. Almost exactly like someone else had once done.

"To defeat you."

Why was L, the famous L, wasting time on her anyway? She wasn't a genius; she was an FBI agent, one on the brink of losing her job at that. He undoubtedly had a million more important things he could have been doing, but instead there he was, debriefing her in the basement of a Los Angeles police department. And while his previous explanation of why he was doing what he was doing had been nice and all, Misora had the sense that there was something L wasn't telling her (although it was understandably difficult to tell with him). Bullshit that he 'owed' her anything and felt 'obligated'; L knew he owed nothing to anyone. He did what he pleased, everyone else be damned.

So why in the world would someone like him spend time on her?

Well, Misora could think of several possibilities of why a man might want to be around a woman, but…they were outrageously unrealistic. After all, this wasn't a normal man she was dealing with. This was L.

L.

She felt suddenly nauseous.

"Ryuuzaki?" When Misora spoke, his eyes flickered open. He had not spoken the entire time she had been contemplating.

"Mm? Are you finished?" L asked curiously, tilting his head again. "You seemed to be in thought. I did not want to bother you."

"Oh, uh, thanks," she replied, unsure of exactly how to respond. She wasn't going to bother harping him about why he was seeing her like this; it was as pointless as beating a dead horse. It was a cold case. "I'm…finished, I guess."

"As you were saying," resumed L, leaving Misora scrambling to put the pieces of her brain back together, "that is precisely what B was aiming to do. He created the Los Angeles BB Murder Cases as a challenge, one he made sure I would recognize, which I did. I could not ignore it, I had a personal connection, and innocent citizens were losing their lives because of it. B had to be brought to justice, and to do that, I had to play his game."

Another pause. "We had to play his game."

Misora could have laughed. She wouldn't have guessed that L had a flair for theatrics.

"And we won," she added, unable to hold back her smile any longer. L seemed to like that, for the odd smirk appeared on his face again.

"Yes, you realized B's plot before he was able to kill himself, and in doing so, won the war. B could not create a mystery that I could not solve, nor he could commit the last murder. He did not defeat me, he did not surpass me, and he therefore now exists in shame. You know, Naomi," L continued, as though the thought had only just come to him, "the mystery B created was almost perfect. It would have been unsolvable, as was his goal, if he had not made one crucial mistake."

"Really?" inquired Misora, intrigued. "What was his mistake?"

"He underestimated your abilities as a detective," L replied simply. He wasn't trying to flatter her; he was merely stating the truth. "B forgot one of the foremost rules of being a detective – never underestimate your opponent."

There was a resounding finality in the way he spoke that made Misora think he had said all he had wanted to say. Indeed, a moment later, a shrill buzzing sound cut through the quiet, and Misora immediately reached into her jacket pocket before realizing that she had left her cell phone outside with her purse (it was a hotspot for possible bugs).

"Then where…?"

Her question was answered as L extracted a shining silver phone from somewhere on his person and flipped it open, holding the electronic by the tips of his fingers, arm angled with his elbow stuck out to the side.

"Yes, Watari?" he said tonelessly into the phone. Misora was beginning to frown in spite of herself; since when did L have a personal line? Things would have been a hell of a lot easier during the BB Cases if she had known that. She fixed the detective with a withering glare as he continued to nod into the phone, murmuring occasionally over whatever he was being told.

"Well thank you, Watari," he said eventually to the speaker on the other end, signaling the end of the conversation. "My condolences, it appears I lost track of the time. …Mm, you think so, do you? How interesting. Yes, good bye, Watari."

With that, the phone was snapped shut and stowed away before L slid off his chair, bending to pick up the tattered tennis shoes that had been discarded under the table. Misora watched him rise only partway; his slump was so prominent that he stood at barely half his full height. He stuck his hands into his jean pockets and turned toward Misora. Even when she was sitting, they were at eye level.

"I thank you for your time, Naomi Misora," he said, as somber as ever. "I hope I have managed to answer any remaining questions you had concerning the incidents in Los Angeles."

"Y-yes," Misora replied unsteadily. She was unnerved by his closeness. "And I could not be more grateful for having been granted the immense honor of meeting you, but a simple phone call would have sufficed."

"A fact I realize," returned L with a slight incline of his head. "But wouldn't you agree that this was far more entertaining than a phone call?"

"Uh, I suppose."

"Besides," he added, "after talking so much over a phone already, I wanted to meet you face to face. Oh, and I apologize for my unorthodox behavior in the subway station. After hearing so much about your talent with capoeira, I wanted to see it for myself."

Misora rolled her eyes. "You could have just asked me."

"I could have," he allowed. "But I didn't."

The look Misora gave him left no doubts as to what she thought of that. But L merely shrugged, slouching off towards the door and leaving the female FBI agent to hurry after him. She reached the door before he did, and slid a hand into the slot handle, but she made no movement to open it. L waited, regarding her patiently with his dead eyes. She drew a long breath before she spoke.

"I just wanted to thank you…L," Misora whispered, feeling rather sinful as she said the holy letter. "I know I will never see nor speak to you again, and I feel like I should thank you for doing what you do, for being who you are. I respect you more than you could possibly comprehend, and I…I just needed you to know that."

"You speak with such conviction, Naomi. True, it is probable that you will never hear from me again, and even less likely that you will see me, but who knows. Perhaps one day, our paths will cross again."

Misora smirked. "And what are the chances of that?"

"Twenty-three hundred-thousand and ten to one." He returned the jibe effortlessly.

"I'll try and remember that," replied Misora dryly as she gave the steel door a hard tug and it squeaked open. "Until that time, then, Ryuuzaki."

He smiled again. "Yes, until then."

Giving him a brief nod, Misora stepped back to open the door fully, waiting for L to exit the room. He seemed about to leave when he hesitated, looking back at her as though contemplating. She decided to take her cue.

"Is something wrong, Ryuuzaki?"

"I was merely wondering," he said around his thumb, which had somehow worked its way between his teeth without her noticing. "When was the last time you saw mister Penber?"

"I…Raye?" Misora stuttered, taken aback by the question. L nodded mutely. He apparently found nothing unusual about this request. "Not recently, I've been…busy."

"I see," muttered L. "You should take a vacation, Naomi. I've heard Aruba is beautiful." He paused, looking up from his feet to fix her with an expression Misora had no hope of deciphering. "It is always important to spend time with the ones you love."

"I suppose so..."

"Thank you again, Naomi, for all you have done."

With that, L pulled a hand from his pocket and extended it, arm straight, which Misora took it uncertainly. She was still too vividly reminded of Rue Ryuuzaki, and there was no way she would have ever come within ten feet of his hands. But to her surprise and utter relief, L's were clean, smooth, and completely normal. He gave her hand a firm shake before withdrawing and taking a step forwards over the threshold. Misora followed in his wake, closing the door behind them with the grating sound of metal on metal.

She watched him slump off down the hall in his baggy jeans and faded shirt, his hair haphazardly messed in every direction around his head, the loose sneakers on his bare feet slapping against the concrete floor with every step. As he rounded the corner, Misora saw him cast a side-glance in her direction, but he kept walking, and then he was gone.

Misora waited until the sound of his loud footsteps had completely dissipated before she leaned back against the wall with a tired sigh, kneading her forehead with her knuckles. She could not believe what had just happened…what L had just said. Her heart thundered away in her chest, beating a tattoo against her ribcage.

L had said a lot of strange things to her, but that last one had been the strangest. How would he even know the name Raye Penber, much less that she was dating him? And to say something like that…what had he said again? "It is always important to spend time with the ones you love."

It was peculiar, to say the least.

Misora shivered, something she blamed on the damp air and cold sweat on her neck. She sighed heavily again. What she really needed was a good cup of coffee.

It was with that goal in mind that Naomi Misora made her way out of the station and into the muggy Los Angeles streets, mounting her motorcycle and speeding off into the evening towards her apartment, a pot of coffee, and a bottle of sleeping pills.

She did not notice the black town car that trailed her for several blocks before turning and disappearing down a side street. The thought that it would only be two years until she saw L again never once crossed her mind.

(A/N) Hope that wasn't too confusing for those of you who haven't read Another Note: The Los Angeles BB Murder Cases; the references to the novel will become few and far between after this chapter. It's a really fantastic book, albeit a bit tedious at times, but a great read all the same. I highly recommend it.