Disclaimer: Death Note belongs to Tsugami Ohba and Takeshi Obata, and Death Note Another Note: The Los Angeles BB Murder Casesbelongs to Nisio Isin.

Warnings: Language.

/ AN: I almost posted an author's note warning readers that there would be a chance that I might not be able to update for a while, but I quickly decided against it because I don't like posting authors notes without any content.

Whilst I am flattered people wanted me to update, other things took priority. Whilst I can't guarantee when the next update will be, be assured that I haven't forgotten about this story. /

Suddenly, Matsuda became aware of a searing pain in his right hand; an involuntary hiss of pain escaped from his thin lips as he felt something crunchbeneath his skin with a sickening crack.

His right hand was throbbing angrily, flaring in discomfort as Beyond began to increase the pressure on three of his fingers vindictively, eyes glittering in immense satisfaction as Matsuda released an instinctive cry of discomfort.

He could see Beyond smiling.

He sensed almost immediately that something wasn't right, but was rather hesitant to look. He didn't particularly want to see anything- Matsuda wasn't squeamish, however he hardly wanted to look at his own dislocated fingers. He didn't need a doctors diagnosis for this one- he'd felt the snap, and it had hurt.

Birthday watched eagerly in sickening anticipation as the detective forced himself to glance down at his dislocated digits, averting his gaze almost as soon as he'd cast a reluctant glance down at the offending injury itself. He could almost feel the man squirm beneath his grasp, like an ant beneath a magnifying glass, wreathing in pain.

"Squeamish?" He asked, unable to conceal his appalling delight with a contented grin.

"Fuck you," Matsuda replied with a pained hiss, gritting his teeth in restraint. To his credit, despite his unfortunate circumstance he hadn't let go; for this reason, he was rather satisfied with himself. He could have almost smiled at the blatant disappointment on the man's face. If Beyond had thought that the detective was going to be easily defeated, he was in fact sorely mistaken.

Birthday fought hard against the detectives vice grip, the barrel of the gun jerking dangerously between them whilst Aiber stood and watched languidly, as if he were somehow detached from the scenario, like watching a mere television drama. Beyond would have perhaps rolled his eyes had he not been so preoccupied. It was just like the blond to distance himself from anything that didn't concern cash.

It angered him, and unfortunately Matsuda was on the receiving end of his immense frustration.

Birthday frowned; it was becoming boring very quickly how Matsuda was refusing to let go.

Although the Englishman wasn't usually concerned with morals, he'd tried to be reasonable, because Matsuda appeared to be a reasonable kind of guy. He'd wrongly mistaken him as a cowardly individual, and it was becoming clear to B that this guy wasn't perhaps as weak as he'd originally thought.

He was stubborn and persistent, like a pesky disease that refused to be defeated.

"Let go," Beyond warned, "or suffer the consequences."

"So you can blow my brains out? I don't think so," Matsuda replied with a pained smile. "Unfortunately for you, I'm smarter than I look."

"Don't flatter yourself sweetheart. There'd be no fun in putting a bullet through that empty skull of yours-"

Before B could finish insulting the man, he took an unexpected blow to the back of his legs, a stinging sensation that almost paralysed him from the waist down with a crippling burn. The electrifying crack was unmistakable. After a second zap Beyond found himself losing control of his limbs; he knew that he wouldn't be able to avoid falling gracelessly to the hard pavement- it was inevitable, however the raven knew he'd come too far to succumb to the undesirable outcome of failure.

He did know what he was fighting for, but it didn't matter.

He had nowhere to go, but it didn't suppress his longing for success.

Anything had to be better than the dull white wash walls of a cold cell, or the beady grey eyes of L Lawliet watching his every breath with curiosity, analysing each and every movement he made as if it had some kind of significance.

As Birthday's legs began to buckle beneath him, he knew that he had only one chance. This single moment could result in either failure or success. In a world that seemed to be an entirely foreign place to him, he knew that there was only one thing for it- surrender to the loneliness that was poisoning him.

As a young boy, he'd always been aware that he was different from the other children at the orphanage, opting to sit alone rather than join in with the others and their stupid games. Despite Roger's efforts to get him to socialise, he'd always refused to participate in any kind of social or bonding activity. From this age, he'd known instinctively that he was different. These eyes of his were nothing but a constant reminder that he could never escape.

He'd shut everyone out from the start.

No one would ever understand; the authorities, L, the taskforce- they were all proof of that. His life now almost seemed destined to be a game of chase, Beyond against the rest of the world.

Losing his grip on the gun, Beyond's feelings of dismal despair soon ceased, despite the seemingly meek situation. He couldn't help but display a small smile as he caught a glimpse of the confused expression on Matsuda's face. No doubt the detective was probably wondering what on earth he had to smile about. Unfortunately, he was destined to find out.

Mastering as much strength as he could, Beyond fought hard against the crippling effects of pain and gravity, managing to swing his right leg as he edged closer to the cold ground, falling.

The hard shoe collided with Matsuda and his injured hand; he'd tried hard until now to suppress any form of yelp, however as the crippling pain rippled through his arm, Matsusda's body betrayed him, a pained yell escaping his dry lips.

The gun landed a short distance away on the pavement with a metallic clatter, the detective sinking to the ground, kneeling in agony as he clutched his throbbing right hand.

"Matsuda!" Aiber called in concern. "Are you-"

"Of course I'm not ok! He broke my hand you-"

"FUCKER!" Beyond replied, interrupting Matsuda. Birthday could feel his calves throb with what seemed like agony. His muscles were on fire, burning, protesting and twitching involuntarily, as if they belonged to someone else. Although the initial wave of pain had subsided, the raven could no longer ignore the angry flare of discomfort crawling up his legs and the back of his skinny thighs like sharp claws ripping mercilessly into his pale flesh.

If looks could kill, Aiber would have been long dead.

The blond stood a short distance from the pair, a nervous disposition about him and a small device in his right hand that he held onto tightly, his knuckles a shade of hot white. Although he'd never seen one in person before, Birthday didn't have to ask what it was.

The bastard had tazered him.

"Give up," the American said in a low voice, watching Beyond squirm on the pavement with a pair of frank blue eyes. "You can't run forever."

'I can try,' the raven thought determinedly, peeling himself pathetically from the pavement steadily with a shaky hand.

"By the time you can stand, the others will already be here- any minute now."

"A minute's all I need to wrap your intestines around your neck-"

"My watch!" Matsuda cried accusingly. Had he not been nursing his poor fingers, he would have perhaps pointed to the criminals exposed wrist, and the fancy device that currently occupied it. For weeks he'd been searching endlessly for the item after leaving it somewhere in the office. As it turned out, he hadn't misplaced it after all. It had been stolen.

"Want it back?" Beyond retorted. "Come and get it, I dare you."

The detective glared angrily into Birthdays flaring hazel eyes, almost wishing that he could immobilise the man with a single glance. If his hand wasn't broken, he would have perhaps used it to throttle the life out of the Englishman in uncontrollable rage, until he was no longer in any condition to escape. Unfortunately, he was in no position to be throttling anyone. Although thankfully Matsuda's injuries hadn't caused him to bleed, he couldn't help but feel as if his stomach had been tied into a knot whilst thinking about the unnatural position of his thumb and index finger- he couldn't summon the courage to look a second time.

"I hope you rot in hell," he hissed heatedly, releasing a breath he hadn't even realised he'd been holding.

"We'll soon see about that," Beyond replied sourly.

Before either Matsuda or Aiber could comprehend the situation, B unexpectedly sprang unsteadily to his feet, fighting hard against his aching limbs as he lunged for the abandoned weapon hopefully. Hurling himself across the cold pavement in what could have only been severe desperation and mild stupidity, the raven haired Englishman made an unexpected and reckless dive after hearing the ominous sound of an electrifying crack.

Although Matsuda had been quick to move, he'd already known that his efforts were a fraction too late. His suspicion was proven correct as Beyond fell once again to the floor in a graceless heap, his legs convulsing in agony.

If it hadn't been for the tenderness in his limbs, the raven would have perhaps displayed a genuine smile. It seemed to him that suddenly, the situation wasn't perhaps as dismal as it had once appeared to be. Grasping the metal tightly in his right hand, he twisted his torso almost instinctively and aimed- it occurred to him that he'd never used a firearm before, not that it mattered he supposed. All he had to do was aim, prepare for the impact, and fire.

How hard could it be?

The American, although keeping his distance, tried boldly to apprehend the raven haired individual again; aiming for his right hand, he prepared to watch Birthday recoil in pain. As a crackle emerged from the device in his hand, the sound was soon concealed by a sharp bang.

The tazer hit the floor with a clatter- the blond released a pained cry of agony, and Beyond could feel his arm recoil from the impact.

"You bastard!"

"Took the words right out of my mouth," Beyond spat; rising wobbly to his feet, he kept the barrel raised, moving it back and forth between the Japanese detective and the blond American. Cautiously, he began to retreat slowly, taking several unsteady paces backwards, grimacing as his muscles continued to ache resentfully, stinging with each step.

"Shit," Aiber said in realisation, clutching his bloody arm in pain as the blood began to trail across his tanned skin, dripping from his ring clad fingers. Clasping a hand over the wound tightly, he visibly winced as it began to throb.

"You're supposed to keep it elevated," Matsuda advised him.

"Won't do me any good when he blows my head off though will it?" The blond replied gloomily.

"Keep your mouth shut before you give me an idea," Beyond said heatedly, admiring his handy work with a sense of twisted pleasure. He resisted the urge to frown, disappointed with Matsuda's 'lucky' gun. The bullet had penetrated the Americans skin just too cleanly for his personal liking. He'd always preferred a much more 'hands on' approach. Witnessing the blond bleed just didn't have the same effect as Matsuda's hand had done, the way in which he'd felt the crack beneath his very own fingers.

He enjoyed getting his hands dirty.

From where he was standing, he couldn't fight against a struggling victim as they thrashed desperately beneath his grasp, nor feel the warm spray of blood against his cheek. It just wasn't the same. How long had it been since he'd last been able to relish in the pleasant sensation of being covered in a familiar warm, crimson mess?

"What are you waiting for?" The blond asked dismally. "You've been waiting for this- to make me pay for what I did. What's with the hesitation?"

Matsuda muttered something that sounded suspiciously like 'coward', just audible enough for Morello to hear. Meanwhile, Beyond Birthday averted his gaze to the mass of numbers above Aiber's head, watching them move as if they were being carried by the calm tide of the ocean.

The numbers hadn't changed.

Glancing from Aiber's to Matsuda's, he said simply, "It's not- never mind."

'Trust me,' he thought to himself with a defeated sigh, 'I'd like to do nothing more than decapitate you.' He could only imagine the possibilities; however, his attitude still hadn't changed. Unlike the two men in front of him, Quarter Queen, Backyard Bottomslash and Believe Bridesmaid had been destined to die. Beyond had never been one to follow the rules; however this was one thing that had never altered. As much as he would have loved to carve the man's flesh like a joint of tender beef- he just couldn't.

Keeping the gun raised in front of him, Birthday glanced at the remainder of the empty alley behind him cautiously. He wondered if 'the others' were hiding, however soon decided against the idea. They would have apprehended him by now.

It was time for him to make an exit, before it was too late.

Somehow it was difficult for him to grasp the fact that he'd probably never see Morello again. It just wasn't the same despising someone you never saw. Beyond was no good at saying his goodbyes; he'd always avoided them.

It seemed like years ago since he'd run away from the orphanage, disappearing into the depths of the cold night without leaving so much as a note behind him.

Although he'd despised the orphanage with every fibre of his body during his stay, he'd always remember the night he'd left, the night which had changed the course of his life forever. The place held mainly negative memories, the day A died, the day he'd arrived, and all the damn hours he'd been forced to commit to expanding his intelligence in order to be a successful candidate for the next L. It had been a hateful affair since he'd arrived, and still to that day he loathed the place and its selfish aims with passion. When he'd first discovered that Watari was in fact the 'great' Whammy himself, it had taken every inch of his restraint to prevent himself from throttling the elderly man.

Throughout his life he'd never liked being told what to do, and so it had seemed he'd been destined to rebel from the start.

Birthday watched both of the injured figures carefully as he began to retreat on his unsteady legs, gritting his teeth in mild discomfort as he forced himself to use his protesting limbs. There was a slight feral glare in his dark hazel eyes as he proceeded to watch the pair attentively. He could feel their gazes upon him, burning into his pale flesh like a brand- he could only imagine what they were thinking.

Judging by the hateful glare being emitted from Matsuda, Beyond knew quite instinctively that the man would probably not be satisfied until he was burned at the stake ruthlessly, the familiar feeling of hot flames embracing his scarred skin with unbearable intensity; the thought alone was enough to make his toes curl. The raven haired Englishman had already decided that he'd avoid burning himself to death in the future. He had of course expected it to hurt, however what he hadn't expected was surviving the experience. If he'd known in advance that he'd have to recover in a hospital bed in agony for weeks, writhing in discomfort as the nurse tended to his sore wounds, he would have chosen a different method completely.

Ryuzaki must have told them about the Los Angeles Murder Case- B wondered, how had Light Yagami taken the news? It must have been wonderful for the Yagami to learn that he'd been cuffed to L as a suspect whilst a convicted killer had been wondering freely around headquarters. He wished that he'd been able to see the expression on the poor teenager's face. it would have been quite a picture.

"As much as I'd love to stay and chat, I better get going," Birthday said, glancing wearily over his shoulder. "Thanks for the watch," he added, earning himself a scowl from Matsuda, "and you-" he continued icily in English, averting his gaze to the bleeding blond, "I hope it scars."

"Where the hell have you been?" Matsuda yelled angrily to the pair of exhausted looking detectives, slumped against the hard wall in defeat. Removing the hand supporting his broken bones, he ran it through his dishevelled black hair, dismissing the hand Aizawa tried to rest on his shoulder in concern.

"We-"

"Save your excuses for later! He went that way-"

"What about-"

"JUST GO!"

As Mogi and Aizawa disappeared, Matsuda commanded the blond to sit, dropping to his knees as Aiber continued to put pressure on the wound. The American winced with a pained hiss.

"How are you feeling?" Matsuda asked, using his only mobile hand to loosen the black tie from his neck. "Dizzy or light headed?"

"No- I think I'll live," he said meekly, observing the blood that continued to seep through his ring clad fingers.

His shirt was ruined, the entire sleeve dampened with crimson, seeping through the fabric like water as it clung to his warm skin. Where he'd kept his hand elevated against his chest, a bloody stain had formed beneath his collar bone, making it apparently seem as if a bullet had lodged itself there cosily.

The detective glanced at his tie and then to his broken fingers with a frustrated frown. He took the blonds hand and pried it gently from its elevated position. Somehow, he needed to keep the wound bound and put pressure on it. With both of them limited to the use of one hand, Matsuda knew that it wasn't going to be easy.

Releasing Morello's hand, he grabbed hold of the tie in his lap and draped the black strip of fabric over the gaping wound with a wince, watching as it continued to bleed profoundly, crimson sluggishly seeping from the broken skin.

"We need to tie this, somehow..."

'Matsuda,' a familiar voice said in his ear. 'There is no-'

Without a single ounce of hesitation, Matsuda removed the device from his ear, depositing it in his pocket.

Aiber would have perhaps smiled if he weren't in pain. Almost immediately after Matsuda had removed his ear piece, the blond became aware of a voice in his ear.

"Ryuzaki says he'd appreciate it if you didn't ignore him."

"Whatever. Hold the other end would you? We need to get out of here; someone would have heard that..."

A short while later, both injured companions found themselves slumped in the back seats of a black car, a stone faced Soichiro Yagami occupying the wheel as the hum of the engine remained the only sound present in the dismal vehicle. Exhaustion lingered in the air alongside the presence of a painfully awkward silence, which had occurred as the result of heated bickering amongst an irritated Matsuda and Soichiro.

Upon being informed that their injuries were to be treated by a doctor companion of Ryuzaki's, Matsuda's unpleasant mood had surged considerably. The raven haired detected has rightfully pointed out that the hospital was much closer than headquarters, and it would be unwise to make a bleeding Aiber wait longer than necessary to be treated, particularly because the true extent of his injuries remained difficult to identify because the bullet had lodged itself deep within his skin.

Soichiro had responded almost mechanically that there were no questioning Ryuzaki's orders. A private doctor had been called because L could trust that the man would not ask any questions, unlike a hospital in which a bullet wound would cause alarm and suspicion.

With a final defeated sigh of frustration, Matsuda had made an internal note to himself to have a chat with Ryuzaki about his priorities- it seemed that secrecy was one of the most valued.

Slumped back in his seat with his head craned towards the window, Matsuda did much thinking as he watched the scenery pass by with a distant and cloudy eyed gaze. Surprisingly, Matsuda found that even then, he hadn't been put off of continuing the investigation. He knew that these feelings of frustration and minor depression were not haunting him alone, but the entire task force too.

They'd been through too much to give up.

Although at times it felt as if they were running endlessly in circles, even the smallest breakthroughs were enough to spark motivation, although at times it seemed as if Ryuzaki was often the individual in most need of motivating. Even the man with all kinds of resources at his fingertips was not immune from depression, something that not even his wealth could protect him from.

"You really pissed him off didn't you?" Matsuda muttered quietly to the blond beside him, breaking the aggravating silence at last.

"Something like that," the American replied, seemingly somewhat reluctant to elaborate.

"Money related, isn't it?"

Morello responded with a reluctant nod, keeping his blue eyed gaze fixed firmly on the passing scenery on the city in an attempt to conceal the slightly pale and guilty expression beginning to form on his face. Catching a glimpse in the reflection of the clear car window, he could see the dark haired detective watching him curiously with an exhausted, brown eyes stare.

The blond couldn't help but wonder if all detectives were the same- it seemed apparent to him that they never really switched off, as if they were always looking for something. Even the most minimal of details were accounted for, no matter how insignificant they seemed.

He'd watched from a distance in the main office of headquarters, observing idly as the infamous L sat hunched in his chair, gazing intensely at the computer screen with a pair of tired grey eyes, going over the same material time and time again. Everything was investigated, no matter how trivial it seemed.

Upon commencing research on the staff working for the Yotsuba Corporation, L had insisted on gaining as much information as possible, regardless whether it was legally or morally wrong. He'd been more than thorough with his research, long surpassing the standard expectations and finding out information such as the routes that various employees took to work, as well as the time that they arrived and departed from the building...

It was creepy to Morello, as well as slightly amusing. He just couldn't see how L was looking to fine Kira by observing the Yotsuba staff boarding the train to work, nor did he see how taking note of their punctuality would help either...

He could still feel the watchful gaze of Matsuda burning into the back of his skull like a brand.

"So, did you con him too?"

"He was drunk," the blond replied simply, tempted to smile at the memory of a drunken and stumbling Englishman attempting to climb on the tables of a busy casino.

"And you took advantage," Matsuda muttered accusingly, still nursing a battered hand in his lap.

"I'm surprised he remembered his own name after that night," the American said languidly, leaning against the cold window. "He had more alcohol than blood in his system..."

Although he was tempted to press the man for answers, Matsuda knew he'd never be able to understand or comprehend the situation. Fighting crime was his job. He was always exposed to criminals, yet no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't get into their heads, no matter how much he wanted to understand.

It was harder to screw the system and rebel against society, so why he wondered did some go to so much effort in order to break the rules and lure the police into a wild goose chase? Perhaps it was boredom, or even satisfaction. He'd never truly know.

Perhaps it was their way of feeling significant and in control, pulling the strings whilst revelling in the sequence of events to follow.

"He doesn't care about the money," the American said simply, continuing to keep pressure on the wound with his ring clad and bloodied fingers.

The detective raised an eyebrow questioningly, despite the fact that the blond's attention remained seized by the passing scenery as Soichiro attempted to speed through the mass of noisy traffic without attracting too much attention.

"I've been doing this for years," the blond confessed, "and he's the only one that ever managed to make me feel even slightly guilty..."

'So you do have a conscience in their somewhere,' the detective thought, slouching in his seat as he restrained an exhausted groan, various aching muscles making themselves known in protest.

"Has he always been... like that?"

"When I first met him, he was as stiff as a board. Taught him to loosen up a bit, and have fun..."

"By robbing him? Yeah, that's real fun."

"I didn't do that straight away..."

He'd been sat at the back of the bar for some time, watching the mysterious dark haired man from afar, observing him curiously. From the moment that the individual had strolled through the door, the guy had stuck out like a sore thumb, dressed in black jeans, a white t-shirt and a leather jacket, a shark tooth necklace hanging from his neck on a dark cord- it was obvious to the blond that the guy definitely wasn't a local here.

He looked like a punk from one the area's motorcycle gangs.

The familiar sound of clattering coins drifted across the room from an open door- No one came here for drinks, they came to gamble, but the guy didn't look like a gambling type to him. In fact, he looked slightly lost, studying his empty glass idly, tracing the smooth texture with a single finger, both hands partially concealed by fingerless leather gloves.

'Definitely a punk,' the American thought dryly, extinguishing his cigarette in the provided ashtray beside him, languidly glancing back to the mysterious individual. Narrowing his brilliant blue eyes curiously, he caught sight of a backpack resting in the side beside the stranger, the material looking fairly worn and tattered.

Morello took pride in his ability to read people.

Although he couldn't guarantee that the young man was any kind of troublesome punk, he knew for a fact that he was almost certainly a tourist or traveller of some kind. He didn't recognise the logo on the bag, assuming that perhaps the reason that he looked so lost was because he was in fact a foreigner.

Foreigners were usually easy targets, but judging by the guy's defensive and unapproachable body language, something told the blond that this man wouldn't be easy to con at all.

He liked a challenge.

A considerable number of days later

"I covered every inch of that building," Wedy snapped irritation, removing her dark sunglasses, heels clicking against the floor as she approached Aizawa, prodding an accusing manicured fingernail into his chest to emphasise her frustration, "and I can assure you that each and every device is thoroughly concealed!"

"But it just doesn't make any sense," Aizawa retorted heatedly, nursing a warm mug of coffee in his right hand. "We were so sure! All of the evidence points to Yotsuba!"

"We've been watching them for weeks," Soichiro stated with a frown, glancing at his wristwatch briefly. "We checked everything, every single recording, but we have nothing to convict them with, absolutely nothing."

"But the deaths have to be linked to Yotsuba, it has to be one of them-"

"We will continue to observe them, but we must continue to look for other possibilities of where Kira might be," L said in his monotone voice, a thumb raised to his lips as he glanced longingly at the slice of cake perched on the desk in front of him. Reaching for a long silver fork, he began to prod the rich sponge, taking a generous amount and raising it to his lips.

"I have only one theory," he said, taking a small bite and savouring the pleasant tang of sweetness ravishing his taste buds. The detective made a mental note to tell Watari to visit this particular bakery more frequently. "And that is-"

"Kira's power can be passed from person to person," Light finished, his soft brown eyes narrowing as he became submerged deep in thought. "You mentioned it before, how Kira could have passed that power on to me and removed it, but- we don't know what kind of 'power' we're looking for Ryuzaki."

"That is correct Raito-kun, however we shouldn't dismiss the possibility."

"There hasn't been any deaths for weeks," Aizawa said with a small sigh, placing his now empty mug on the desk beside him with an audible knock. "How are we supposed to continue the investigation without any new evidence?"

"Kira's 'power' hasn't been passed onto the next person yet," Light said firmly, furrowing his brow, deep in thought. "That's what you're thinking, isn't it Ryuzaki?"

"Misa!" Mogi scolded, quickening his pace to keep up with the energetic blond. "I told you, you have to stay where I can see you!"

The blond model wondered around the commercial set, mesmerised by the impressive and expensive equipment on display. Misa pouted, turning to Mogi with a frown of disapproval.

"I miss Matsuda," she said, folding her arms with a stubborn huff.

Biting his lip in restraint, Mogi withheld the sarcastic response that threatened to spill from his lips; he wished that he could be back at headquarters, sulking at the prospect of another dead end along with his down hearted colleagues.

Suddenly, he remembered why he'd never volunteered to watch Misa before- because she was... difficult.

Despite her career as a model, Misa was really just a troublesome teenager, a whiny blond who like many other Japanese girls had an obsession with a guy. Unlike most teens, Amane wasn't crushing over a handsome male vocalist of a Japanese pop group, nor did she idolise any famous actors or television presenters. The unfortunate victim of Misa's infatuation was Light Yagami, and Mogi sympathised with him.

It couldn't be easy having to cope with the frequent pestering- or flirting as Misa liked to call it.

Mogi could certainly see why Misa had fallen for Light. Soichiro Yagami's son was the true personification of perfection, with a pair of luring brown eyes, a flawless complexion, perfect nose, and slender jaw line- and then there was the head of brown hair that never appeared to rebel, not a strand out of place, framing his features nicely; it was sometimes said that one could simply not possess beauty and be capable of intelligence, however Light wasn't just a pretty face. He had an impressive intelligence to accompany his good looks.

Mogi could admit that it would be too easy for a girl to fall for Light, however he wondered if the blond appreciated the brunettes impressive skills- he quickly dismissed the thought with an amused smirk.

"What's so funny?" Misa demanded, hands on her hips to emphasise her frustration. She watched the detective through a pair of narrowed eyes, her expression gradually shifting to a worried glance. "Something's on my face, isn't it? I knew that this eyeliner would smudge!"

"No, it's- never mind."

Glancing briefly at his watch, Mogi wondered if perhaps he was just being immature. Maybe he was just underestimating the blond. Maybe, she was a lot smarter than he'd originally thought. Maybe it was time for him to approach the situation with a positive attitude- what would Matsuda do?

Mogi frowned at the thought of the man doting over the blond's success, following her like a loyal canine with an infatuated beam upon his face- it was too late for Matsuda he decided promptly, glancing back to the blond only to discover that she'd vanished from sight.

"Dammit," he cursed in irritation, scanning the set for the familiar sight to blond hair. With the enormous black heels she was wearing, Mogi vowed that she wouldn't be hard to miss, nor could she have wondered far. 'How do women walk in those things anyway?' he mused gloomily, deciding that he'd draw the short straw that morning...

A few hours later

Raking a hand through his hair in frustration, Mogi continued his search.

Feet beginning to ache, he eyed the grotty pavement and the abused brickwork in disapproval. He'd searched thoroughly, or so he'd thought so until he'd come across the dingy backstreet located behind what appeared to be some kind of manufacturing company, slips of cardboard and plastic tags overflowing from the black bins perched beside a dull sign that read 'delivery bay', which was attached to a wire fence beside a padlocked gate.

He wondered dismally if she would really be here of all places.

Retrieving the mobile from his pocket, he dialled the number from memory, which was much harder than it seemed as Mogi tended to forget the ever changing array of digits; Ryuzaki regularly changed the number for security purposes, and insisted that saving it to any kind of contact list simply wasn't acceptable in case the phone was lost or stolen.

After only a few rings, a familiar dreary voice answered in a tone that reflected the growing severity of the situation.

"We cannot wait any longer. I'll arrange a search, with the exception of myself and Raito-kun of course."

"Just give me another half an hour," Mogi insisted, footsteps sounding against the pavement with an audible thud.

"I'm afraid that isn't possible," the detective replied, a tone of authority emerging from his lips. "This isn't simply a case of hide and seek anymore-"

"I know that," Mogi retorted sharply, quickly beginning to lose his usual calm and restrained composure, "but she can't have disappeared out of thin air- she's got to be around here somewhere!"

"You know the procedure Mogi," L stated rather sternly, "it's been three hours, which means we must treat this as a missing person case."

"This shouldn't have happened," Mogi cursed intensely, continuing to stroll through the quiet walkway, a clag as a discarded can collided with the wall after being kicked carelessly with his right foot.

"Let us not dwell on the past, but instead avert our attention to the present," the detective said expressionlessly, quickly regaining his calm demeanour.

"Ryuzaki, can't you at least be angry with me for five minutes?"

"That would accomplish nothing."

"It'd make me feel better..."

"Misa Amane is important to this investigation, however we are all human. We make mistakes, and some of us learn from them," L said, refraining from adding a further 'I should know', deciding that some things were best being unsaid. After all, his pride had already taken a substantial battering during the past few weeks. "I'll send a car to meet you at the location of the commercial shoot, and from there we will organise a thorough search- hello?"

Mogi felt something knot and wreathe in the pit of his stomach as he instantly recognised the ominous, yet familiar stench of blood that filled air; his eyes widened significantly in realisation at the sight of a familiar black heel lying inanimately on the cold floor. His heart pounded vigorously against his ribs like a bird beating its wings against the bars of a small cage-

"Hello?"

"R-Ryuzaki?"

"Yes?"

"I... I think I'm going to be sick..."