Disclaimer! All fictional entities featured/ mentioned in this segment belong to Tsugumi Ohba and Takeshi Obata; with the exception of Erin Blogger (to WhiteLadyDragon) and Acey and Jaime (to smearedliner). The ghost Kikuri is a reference to the character from the anime, Ken'ichi Kanemaki's Hell Girl. There's also a slight crossover and references to Yu Aida's Gunslinger Girl.

05-1

Acey was sure that Roger was glad to see her and Erin leave. He was probably doing a fist pump of victory as he drove away from the airport. Two less children for him to handle.

Jaime bowed to the girls once they were in the back of the line to board. "I'm going on ahead to inform Lady Triela of your arrival time," he said. As always, he was hesitant to leave them unescorted, especially after his recent blunder with B, but he knew they would be fine.

"Godspeed," said Erin.

"All right." Acey grinned somewhat at the thought of her partner. She wasn't necessarily the type to work well in a group, but she clicked with Triela. Next to L, Triela was the only one she trusted with her life, quite literally, when one took the Agency's line of work into consideration. Setting Wicked's carrier on the ground, she leaned up against the wall, and briefly closed her eyes.

"Is it okay to feel a little sad that he won't be giving me orders anymore when I work with the Agency?" she asked, opening one eye to look at Erin.

Erin scratched the back of her neck. "Well…you worked together for a long time, so I wouldn't call it abnormal to miss that." She herself had known L for a much shorter time—and often unpleasant—and she still missed him. It had only started to get a little easier to cope.

"So, when we get on board, you wanna sit by the window?"

Closing her eye again, Acey yawned. "Yep, I can see everybody on the plane that way." Without bothering to elaborate, she let silence coat the air between them. Opening her eyes, she glanced at her companion, and sighed, smiling a little. "It made me so happy to know…that he thought I was worth it."

"Everyone is worth something," Erin murmured, more to herself than to anyone in particular. It was simply unfortunate, how some people could go through their whole lives being treated as though they weren't. Maybe that, not money, was the root for most of the evil and suffering in the world?

Goodness knew that she had been guilty of treating certain people like that.

"I do suppose you're right," said Acey, tilting her head up to stare at the ceiling. She half-wished she had a hat of her own to shadow her eyes, because she knew she was wearing far too much emotion in them.

And she wished L could be here to chide her in that polite if condescending way of his.

After he'd found her, if she wanted to leave his sight outside of the hotel, L had always made her tuck her hair up inside a hat, claiming that its color—and the fact that she was a mafia leader's daughter—would attract too much attention. It would've been a problem if someone recognized her.

She really didn't know if that'd been more for him, or for her safety.

"Hey, can you help me do something after we board our flight?"

By that point, passengers were beginning to board, single file. Gathering Wicked's carrier and everything else, Erin said as she looked them both over, "Sure. What d'ya need?"

Acey stood on her tiptoes, straining to get her carry-on bag on the shelf next to her seat near the end of the aisle. The more private section. She half-expected L to gently pluck her bag from her hand, and put it there himself, and smiled gently at Erin over her shoulder as the older girl did exactly this at the first sign of distress. After arranging her own luggage upon the shelf beside hers and waiting for Acey to claim the window seat, Erin proceeded to negotiate a way to keep Wicked comfortable for the ride while keeping his carrier on the floor between her feet.

You are way too kind to me, Erin. It's a good thing you'll be home when I go out on a mission with Triela. I don't want you to see that side of me. Someone like you isn't suited for that environment.

I don't think you have it in you to hurt anyone, much less kill them. Even up against someone like B, you showed way too much mercy.

Acey recovered something from the back pocket of her jeans before she sat down: a sealed envelope, unsigned. "Well, you see, he uh, left me this letter. I haven't read it yet. I…wanted you to read it with me. If I'd read it alone, I know I would've…"

She trailed off. The envelope crumbled slightly in her hand as she gripped it a little tighter. The action clearly reflected what she hadn't said. She would've broke down if she'd read it alone.

Erin, in the meantime, could feel her own throat tighten. Neither dared to speak his name aloud in public, for fear that someone would hear, but something about the prospect of L leaving a document, words from beyond the grave, made her feel as though turbulence rocked the entire plane to its bolts. And they hadn't even taken off, yet.

She nodded in total understanding as she slid into the middle seat and buckled her seat belt. So this was what had made Acey cry, huh?

Her feet pressing around the sides of Wicked's carrier, her hands trembled with the younger girl's as they opened the envelope together with the utmost care, neither wanting so much as a tear in the envelope, much less on the letter containing his final message.

Typed, they both noted. Which made sense when it came to L. One's penmanship provided insight into one's identity, whether the reader was a friend or an enemy. If anyone could even read his handwriting in the first place, that is.

Acey fought to urge to bring the letter up to her nose to see if it smelt like sugar. "He always had horrendous handwriting," she commented quietly, her eyes beginning to scan the contents of the letter.

Erin didn't answer. She didn't need to, for she had seen it herself.

Acey then wondered if he'd left Mello, Matt, or Near a letter. Or were his final words meant only for her? No, it seemed more likely for him to leave them each a separate letter, with words meant only for the intended. This didn't take away the value of these words, however. These were for her, and for the moment, that was what mattered.

Acey of Spades,

I hope this finds you well. If you are reading this, then I'm no longer a part of this world. I know that you will have already begun to grieve, if you aren't already in the midst, but I must ask you to please not mourn my death for more than is necessary. You still have a long time left ahead of you, and I want you to make the most of it.

I've selfishly sacrificed lives for the sake of an investigation. However, you gave me the chance to do something I never thought I could do: save a life, an extraordinary life with my own hands. I would be sorely disappointed if my efforts would end up going to waste because of a mistake that I made.

Acey laughed softly, "Wow, extraordinary, huh? I've been called a lot of things, but never that." The small smile that accompanied it was short lived; it ran away from her face when she read the next words.

I still don't know if you've ever forgiven me for saving your life. I never did forget how angry you were for my having done so.

Erin's eyes stung a little. You weren't supposed to hate the deceased. You were supposed to have reconciled with them before they passed on. A painful mistake that she herself had no intention of repeating.

I have forgiven you. Or at least, I am. We are. My only regret left is that we'll never be able to go back and let you know that.

As much as I dislike clichés, I do want to place confidence in the healing power of time. I didn't expect you to forgive me so quickly; I didn't expect you to begin to until long after I'd died. But I believe that with enough time, your wounds will heal.

With that, I've designated to you a fraction of my legacy, to use as you see fit. I trust that Roger will have delivered it to you.

Acey face-palmed. "He's a fool if he thought I still bear a grudge against him over that. While it's true that I was angry at him for a long time, I told him I was fine with it a long time ago."

I can't even believe he still worried about that. I wish he would've talked with me about it before he died, so I could've told him.

Out of the corner of her eye, she snuck a glance at Erin. Her end of the letter trembled in her hand, and not simply because of the motion of the plane taking off.

Maybe it was selfish to ask her to read this with me. I can't help but think that old pain is resurfacing. I'm grateful that she's letting me lean on her like this, but I don't want her to do it at her own expense.

Erin wiped at the corner of her eye. "A part of the legacy, huh? How many zeroes is he talking, I wonder?" The man had somehow scraped up the finances to build a crazy skyscraper for the Kira case. If she had to make a guess, he must've left Acey at least nine zeroes.

All of the zeroes in the world, however, were worthless compared to what he had left her.

Acey swallowed back a laugh before shooting Erin a small smile. "It was a staggering amount, trust me. But, I'd rather have him over money."

Erin seconded that notion. She reached between the seats with her free hand to entangle her fingers in the younger girl's. "Don't blow it all in one spot, kiddo," she whispered, in an attempt to crack a joke. "I don't think he'd like that."

Acey squeezed Erin's, nodding. It was getting harder and harder to hold herself together. The wobbly smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth proved this more than adequately enough. "Oh, I won't. I don't even know what I'm going to do with all that money," she replied as she returned her attention back to the letter.

However, I do not suppose I have a right to ask your forgiveness for some of the things I've made you do. You've spilled blood for me. You could refer to me as a coward in this instance. Truthfully, I just didn't want their blood staining my hands.

L had a lot more baggage than Erin could ever guess. That anyone could guess. When she had called him out on exposing Kira for the sake of winning their game as opposed to for justice's sake, he hadn't denied it. Actually, his reaction could be considered as a sort of confirmation. A confession, even. Maybe he'd spent the better part of life bearing a profound sense of guilt for what he'd become that had molded that pronounced hunch out of his back?

The world was not in black in white. Sometimes Erin would have lapses and forget, but she would always be reminded whenever she did. This was one of those reminders.

Clutching the letter tightly, the words began to blur in Acey's eyes. No matter how hard she squeezed Erin's hand, it didn't stop the tears that dotted the paper, blotting the text. "I was more than happy to do it for him," she sobbed softly. "He had to know I would've done anything for him. He had to know how much I loved him, right?"

This sentiment sounded similar to that of another girl Erin used to know, almost frighteningly so. She too had had a man in her life whom she felt indebted to, to the point of murderous madness, though in a different sense than that of the little girl sitting next to her today, grieving.

Leaning over, she buried her face in Erin's shoulder. "Just give me a minute, please." Sniffing, she cried quietly into it, soaking the fabric of her blouse.

Erin maintained her grip on Acey's tiny hand as she rested her cheek against the top of her head.

Take your time. We're gonna be up here in the air for awhile.

This letter was written for Acey. She knew this. And yet, Erin simply couldn't shake the nagging feeling that some of these words were for her eyes, as well.

Upon hearing his mistress sobbing, Wicked meowed softly in concern. It was what felt like an eternity for them both before Acey spoke again, her voice barely above a whisper. "While it ever go away?" She didn't need to elaborate on what "it" was.

"I dunno, Ace. I'm not sure if it's even right to look at it, that way. Maybe it won't be so much it that changes, as it is us." Loss was permanent. It was those left behind who changed as they adjusted to the absence, adapted to the pain, alleviated the regret through making the most of one's time for the sake of the ones who could not, and reaching out to the remaining ones they cherished so much. The ones who needed a hand.

Acey gave no follow-up. She hadn't thought of emotional pain that way before. It shattered the universal notion that time healed the heart. Tears continued to fall; her sobbing, however, ceased. Her eyes shifted to her reflection in the plane window, narrowing into a glare after a few moments, one of disgust.

I used to be virtually unshakeable. I used to think I couldn't go through anything worse than what I went through in my childhood. But this…this is the worst pain I've ever felt. I never needed someone to hold me together then, so why do I need someone to now?

What changed? I can hardly look at myself right now.

Grief was such a funny thing, and not in the "ha-ha" sort of way. Some days someone in mourning felt like she could take on the world again, a champion for the one she'd lost. And other days, she felt as though the world was dragging her under, with no way to crawl back out. Of the two of them, Acey seemed to have more days of the latter sort, probably because she'd known L far longer than Erin did, was closer to him, held onto him like an anchor.

She couldn't help but notice that the letter had been left unsigned. L hadn't given his final letter a proper closing. Perhaps this was because he'd deemed it unnecessary. Acey would've instinctively known who these words were from.

Erin wasn't sure what to say once Acey had started grimacing at her reflection. Easing Acey's end of the letter out of her hand, she carefully folded it into squares in her lap. A little rest couldn't hurt either of them. She placed the letter into Acey's lap—it was hers, after all—before waving for the attention of the stewardess about to travel up the aisle.

"Excuse me, ma'am," she asked mildly, "can we get two cups of ginger ale on the rocks, please? And a pillow?"

The stewardess nodded, her silvery bun bobbing behind her. "Absolutely, just let me make sure that no one else needs anything first, and I'll be right back."

"Roger-dodger."

Acey turned, and blinked several times at Erin before she said, "What's up? Are you not feeling well?" The disgusted look caved to concern. Protectively pressing her arm over the letter in her lap so it didn't fall to the floor, she placed her hand against Erin's forehead.

"Er, well, you looked a little green, there, and tired. Ginger ale helps nausea, usually. Unless you're like, allergic or something. And chewing on ice cubes is a good stress-reliever, but that's just me being weird."

…

"You're not allergic to ginger ale, are you?"

"No, I'm not. Come to think of it," said Acey, nibbling on her thumbnail in a way that was reminiscent to L's, "the only thing I'm allergic to is almonds." She turned around in her seat to look in the direction of where the flight attendant had gone. "Do you think they have ice cream?"

"Er, I'm not sure. I can ask when she comes back."

When she did indeed returned, Erin raised her hand just before she disappeared into the cabin. "Pardon us, ma'am, but is it okay if we don't get ice for our drinks? W-we'd still like some ale, but could you throw in a little ice cream, too? If you've got any?"

The stewardess passed them a slightly weird look before answering, "I think we may have something, but I'm afraid we've only ice cream sandwiches. Will that do?"

Erin cracked a grin. "Aw yeah, that'd be swell! We'd like two of those over here, thanks. Oh, and you have any, two spoons."

Since they were seated by the cabin door, the girls were the first to be served when the stewardess emerged with her cart. Setting the trays up for them both, Erin tucked the pillow behind Acey's head before pouring the hissing can of soda into two plastic cups. She placed Acey's sandwich, spoon, and soda on her tray, then proceeded to, by a random urge to combine the two sweets, unwrap, dissect her sandwich for the ice cream filling. She scooped it all into her drink, licking her lips. "You know, I've had many floats in my day, but I don't think I've ever had one with ginger ale. Let's see if it's any good."

She took a sip, relishing the sizzle of fizz in her ears and throat, together with the smooth, cold, creamy vanilla. It was an…odd combination. Ale didn't complement vanilla ice cream quite like root beer did.

Acey watched Erin with a look of somewhat childlike wonder on her face. She'd never seen anything like that before. Blinking several times to size up Erin's reaction, she hesitantly pointed at the glass containing the strange, fizzing concoction. "How is it?"

The older girl swallowed. "Not as good as ice cream with root beer," she answered with several smacks of her lips, "but it's sweet enough. Try it for yourself, if you dare."

Around that point, the pilot announced that they were about to experience a bout of turbulence, thereby making it mandatory for all passengers to return to their seats and buckle their seat belts. This wasn't a problem for Acey or Erin, who tightened her grip on Wicked's carrier so as to prevent too much discomfort, but that didn't keep their drinks from sloshing all over when the aircraft gave in to a series of rattling jolts. Before Erin knew it, a sizable, cold wet spot appeared on the front of her blouse.

"Aw, damn it," she muttered, clutching her drink as she vigorously pressed at the stain with her napkin. "I never was a fan of turbulence," she admitted without looking up. "First time I went on a plane and we hit a pocket, I thought the plane was gonna crash. First time I saw my mom look so embarrassed…though definitely not the last."

She had to stop to wonder how people like L handled airplanes. Maybe he didn't even use public transport and had his own jet, instead?

Looking down at the front of her own shirt, Acey stuck her tongue out. Sighing, she picked off the ice chips that had sloshed down her shirt. "I was never a big fan of heights, to begin with," she replied, tossing the ice chips back into the glass. "At least my ice cream and the letter came out unscathed," she continued, lowering the arm that'd held the two said items protectively over her head during the commotion.

"Good thing I wore black today," she murmured, dabbing a napkin over the wet patch on her tank top. A visible shudder suddenly rippled through her. "Ugh, this reminds me of the first time I flew with him."

"You don't say. Did you think the plane was gonna crash, too?"

Placing the napkin onto the table tray, Acey nodded and sat back. Placing the letter in her lap, she put her feet up on the seat and pulled her knees close to her chest, pressing the letter against it. A way of holding L close to her heart. It gave her the degree of comfort she needed.

"Yeah, I did. Even though I've flown on a plane so many times, I never quite get used to it. There was this huge staircase at my mother's house. She pushed me down it one day, probably thinking it would kill me. I've been scared of heights ever since. The way the plane quivers, loses some altitude during a pocket of turbulence, reminds me of the sensation of falling down those stairs."

The ice cream and soda began to churn and curdle in Erin's stomach as she gulped down that too-tight feeling building up in her chest. Her own mother had always been on top of things—including a financial company as corporate executive officer, before retiring—but she'd always been more of the type to grab someone by the wrist if they were falling (though not without chewing their ear off some), rather than…

Erin didn't know what to say. Maybe she didn't need to actually say anything? All she had to offer was her company and assurance. She dared to reach over and brush a tuff of Acey's blond hair back behind her ear, seeing as her hands were a bit occupied with keeping her curled up.

It was then that Acey caught her hand, lacing her fingers through her it, and gave it a gentle squeeze. The medium could feel the silent comfort her companion was offering her. She closed her eyes for a moment, soaking the warmth into her heart. She didn't let go of Erin's hand when she opened her eyes, listening to the pilot's announcement that they would be landing in Italy in the next hour or so.

She decided that they would finish reading L's letter once they got settled into Elsa de Sica's old room.

…

Shoot, English is my mother-tongue, my Japanese is decent, and I can't even remember how to say 'hello' in Italian. Okay don't panic—oh, but we're getting so close to meeting these guys! You wanna make a good impression on them, don't you? Let's see…"Bonjour?" No, that's French. "Hòla" is Spanish…come on, Erin, think! Linguini, alfredo, mozzarella...that's all Italian chow. Wait a minute. "Ciao!" That's gotta be it!

Wait. Isn't that what they say to say goodbye? Maybe it's for both, like "Aloha" in Hawaiian? Is that the formal or informal way? I should go with formal…what's the formal phrase, then? Shit shit shit.

How d'ya say "shit" in Italian?

Erin wasn't sure about how Near actually took it when she had turned down his offer—provided he had any emotional reaction at all—but it was moments like these that reassured her that saying no had been for the best for everyone. Meeting Near for the first time had been nerve-wracking. Seeing Wammy's House to begin with had been nerve-wracking. Now she was about to meet a group of assassins who were probably about as crazy as L and the rest of his crew. Or at least, that was what she understood.

Erin didn't know very many Italians personally; she'd heard about their fiery and family-oriented temperaments. The guys behind opera, pasta, and mafias.

…

Who was to say that these guys were actually Italian, though? Acey wasn't, not that she knew. Her name hadn't sounded Italian to her. Maybe they just used Italy as their location for their headquarters, for reasons that Erin couldn't fathom at the moment?

Maybe she should let Acey do most of the talking? These were her people, L's people. She was just an awestruck stranger who had been deemed trustworthy enough to see what they were about.

…

She wondered if Acey had any ghost friends here, too?

In the lobby, Acey turned to Erin, reached up, and set her small hand on top of her head, or rather, on top of her hat as if to stop her thoughts from racing so fast. Cocking her head, she peered up at the taller girl with a reassuring smile. "Hey. You are going to be just fine, 'kay?"

"Huh, what? Who, me? I didn't say anything." Was this girl reading her mind?

Pfft. The girl was a detective who'd learned from the best. It wouldn't be a big stretch.

Maybe she was right, though? If she could stand up to hot-shot detectives, crazy serial killers and ghosts, surely she could hold her with agents. Speaking of which…

"So, uhm, how will we know we've met our guys? Will Jaime be with them? I kinda miss him…"

Acey giggled, the grin never dropping from her face. "Jaime would be so happy to hear that. I've never seen him in love with anyone before." She looked thoughtful for a moment before she passed Wicked's carrier to Erin so she could hoist her carry-on bag higher up on her shoulder.

"We'll be meeting my partner, Triela, and her handler Hillshire, at Gate Three."

Triela and Hillshire…those names didn't sound too Italian to Erin. Maybe it was an international group who just happened to be situated in Italy? She swallowed, willing herself not to swing her arm around and get Wicked hurt in the process.

"Right, Gate Three. Keeping my eyes peeled…"

Even though she had no idea what these people looked like or how they spotted each other in public. Maybe they'd be able to spot them through Jaime's presence? She stopped to adjust her hat and pull the wrinkles out of her blouse by the hem. Preening herself just minutes before meeting people had developed into a habit of hers, partly out of anxiety, partly because it benefited everyone to look her best.

Erin blinked several times as soon as Gate Three approached them. Jaime would have to be in this crowd, somewhere. Would his transparency make him hard to spot?

Jaime gave several people an unexpected chill as he walked through them towards the girls. Both of his mistresses looked beautiful today, to him. Without warning, Jaime's voice sounded right next to Erin's ear, accompanied with a smirk. "So, you missed me, huh? You look lovely today, m'lady," he complimented, following up by placing chilly lips against her hand, and tucking a rose within it.

"Ah, Jay! Where'd you come from?" she whispered. Given the setting, she had to take care not to raise her voice or otherwise draw attention to the group. Upon replaying her words in her head, Erin cleared her throat and smiled. "I mean, Jay, good to see you again. Thanks for the rose, by the way," she added with a blush. Getting flowers from a guy was undeniably nice, in a corny sort of way. Even if this guy happened to be a ghost over five hundred years old.

"Lady Triela awaits you."

"Lady Triela? That's…that's great! We're waiting for her, too. Is she around? By the way, Jay, how do you travel from one place to another so quickly?"

Jaime could tell she was pleased with the rose. He thought she looked cute when she blushed. "Yes, she's waiting at the gate with Hillshire," he replied, addressing both the girls. He glanced at Erin, and shrugged. "Let's just say we ghosts don't have restrictions as humans do when it comes to travel. We have the power to move from place to place in the blink of an eye. Very useful, to say the least."

Acey nodded, snickering quietly at the nickname Erin had given him. She sure had warmed up to Jaime lately. "I believe Triela said she had a few things for me."

Jaime nodded, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Your sniper rifle has been repaired, and she's acquired extra ammunition for your SIG-Sauer pistol."

Something about this talk about weapons tightened Erin's throat. A preview into what this group was about, perhaps? How bad could they be? "Ah, okay, enough chit-chat! Where's old Triela and Hillshire? I'm dy—um, I mean, I'm really excited to meet them." She stopped to take a few breaths, to get her new-acquaintance jitters settled.

Acey was about to take Erin's hand in reassurance when the group heard a delighted laugh echo throughout the airport. A tall girl with long blonde hair that seemed to rival Near's as well as Acey's darted towards them, followed by a handsome if stern-looking man with short, shaggy black hair. The girl dropped the two instrument cases on the ground before she threw her arms around Acey, lifting her several inches off the ground in a tight hug.

"I was so excited when Jaime told me you were coming earlier than you said!" Triela exclaimed, breaking the embrace to look over at Erin. "So, this is the famous Erin Blogger Jaime has been telling me so much about."

Jaime's grin was cocky; Erin's, more sheepish. "Huh? Who, me? Oh, well, I-I wouldn't call me famous. I am pretty well-known in my neighborhood, though."

She extended her hand. "It's nice to finally meet you. I'm Triela, Acey's partner at the Social Welfare Agency. And the man behind me is Hillshire."

It had been Erin's understanding that Italians liked to greet each other with kisses on the cheek (admittedly, she's acquired this information from mafia movies). These two didn't seem or sound Italian to her, though, and the last thing she'd wanted to do was overstep any boundaries. Besides, Triela was obviously expecting a handshake. So she reached out in reply with her right hand—her good shaker—to grab the girl's left in a firm, hearty one. As she reached for Hillshire's, she noted the cases.

"So, you play instruments, huh? I dabble in music myself. I play a mean air guitar. Best part, I don't even have to keep it in a case."

Triela laughed a little and scratched the back of her head, wearing a bemused expression that read, How am I going to explain this? Acey tipped her head down, putting her lips close to Erin's ear. She didn't want to explain about the instrument cases, not wanting to risk sending the whole airport into a panic, even with their government certification to carry them at all times.

"Actually, there aren't any instruments in those. Not musical ones, at least," she whispered. "We carry our weapons in them as a means of camouflaging them."

…

"Oh. Well…music is power, too, isn't it? So they say."

With the topic of music having fallen flat, Erin cleared her throat, deciding to switch to a more comfortable subject. "So, what's on the agenda, gang?"

Hillshire, who'd given Erin a curt nod as opposed to shaking her hand, said, "We'll go back to the Agency, and get you and Acey settled in your room. And after that, I would like Acey to run target practice with Triela." He glanced at Erin. "You can stay up in the crow's nest and watch if you like. We'll give you a pair of headphones; it can get very loud."

The way he said that, Erin might have assumed that he didn't think she would know that target practice could get noisy, if she didn't know better.

Why would such young girls need to know how to shoot, anyway?

"Uhm…all right, then. Let's make like eggs and scramble."

…

It was around eleven that night when Triela rapped on the door. She poked her head in, spying Erin sitting in a chair looking out the window. "Is she asleep?" she inquired, motioning to Acey, who lay on the bottom bunk.

Erin jerked in attention. "Ah, Triela. Hey," she whispered, glancing towards the girl curled up under the covers with her cat lazing at the foot of the bed. Seeing him roll around on his back in stretches made her think briefly about Lawliet, which made her smile.

"Like a rock, from the looks of it." Erin stood up. Tiptoeing past her bunkmate, she herded Triela out into the hallway before closing the door behind her, careful not to let the hinges creak or the door to slam.

"What's up? You wanted to talk?"

Erin seemed quite considerate of Acey, making sure the door closed quietly. A promising sign. At least at face value. Sighing, Triela motioned for Erin to follow her down the hall. "Actually yes, I want to talk with you. You don't mind, do you?"

Her heart fluttered in anticipation. What did she want? Did she want to ask her a few questions to see if she was good? That seemed fairly likely. "Nope. Go ahead, shoo—"

…

"I mean, go ahead."

Triela wasn't going to lie. She was wary. As her partner, she and Acey carried each other's lives in their hands in the line of duty. L's death had hit Acey so hard, and Triela needed to find out if Erin was going to make things better for her, or worse.

"It's about Ace, ain't it?" Erin blurted, an involuntary reflex against the dim silence looming up their backs. She had always loved to see the city at night, and Italy was no exception. Its beauty was attributed, as she had realized, by the array of lights, shining like crystallizations of people's hopes and dreams, no matter how dark the world around them got.

Did L ever watch the city overnight, for those similar reasons?

Rubbing the back of her neck, Triela nodded, holding back a frown. Only people extremely familiar with Acey called her Ace. "Yes, it is. I don't mean to be rude, but what exactly are your intentions? You haven't stuck by her side just to get a good story to further your career, have you?"

She doubted her answer would be yes, but if it was…there would be unfavorable consequences up ahead.

Ah. Erin should've seen this coming from a mile away. "No, ma'am. If I were just looking for a story, I'd have published it a long time ago. I'd have one or two bestsellers, interviews flooding the Internet, my face on every tabloid across the world, and a trophy cabinet stuffed to the gills with prizes and awards, by now. Currently, when we don't have our coffee, my own colleagues forget my name, sometimes. Heh-heh."

Anger began to fester in Triela. Was this girl mocking her?

Was making a joke out of this in bad taste? She cleared her throat. "Seriously, though, I did meet her for an interview regarding the Dragonfly case, some days ago. But one thing led to another, and…now here I am. You can call the Dragonfly case old news, considering what I put down for it."

After Erin had made fun of herself, Triela let down her guard just a little bit. She pursed her lips before she spoke, looking away from Erin. "Don't sell yourself short; I read it." She paused for a moment, her eyes, which had been defensive and slightly cold up to this point, softening. "Thank you, for keeping Acey's power under wraps." Her voice teased at a whisper. "He would've wanted it that way."

Was Triela referring to the same "he" Erin was thinking of? If she and Acey were as close as they'd appeared, then most likely, yes.

Her own voice dropped in kind. "It's the least I can do. For an old friend of mine."

Triela's eyes softened even more upon Erin's words. From Erin's tone of voice, she sensed that she'd cared for L just as much as Acey did, which granted her further relief.

She stopped walking, and leaned against the wall. "She's trying so hard, like she's still trying to please him all these years later," she replied softly.

Though she had asked about this before, Erin couldn't stop her instincts. It never hurt anyone to get the story from all sides. "What was he like with her, Triela? Did he push her a lot?" Her and the other kids at Wammy's?

Triela nodded. "Yes. Yes, he did. Some people, like Roger, didn't agree with how much he pushed her." She paused, smiling somewhat. "But, he knew he could push her because he knew what Acey was capable of. And I'm sure you could see just by observing her during our target practice drills earlier that she's capable of a lot."

Her smile widened into something gentle that suited her face. "He did care for her. He was never too verbal about it, but you could see it in his eyes, like when he'd see her cry in her sleep."

Erin took advantage of the silence and tried to imagine the pair in some king-sized bed in the middle of the night, curled around each other like spoons in a kitchen drawer. L holding Acey's tiny hand as her weeping quelled to quiet hiccups, not saying a word. Giving her just his presence, all he had to offer.

"I wonder if he was like that with all the girls in his life?" she asked aloud, though not intentionally.

Triela shrugged. "I've only ever seen him with Acey. I remember how much it ruffled her feathers when he put his faith in this FBI agent, Naomi Misora. She would sulk about and pout like a child, saying how she could've done a faster, cleaner, better job than Misora ever could. I believe her favorite nickname for her was 'nitwit.'"

Naomi Misora? L had never mentioned anything about a woman by that name, not in Erin's earshot. Then again, she shouldn't have expected him to. He'd kept almost every detail on his past under wraps when it came to her and the rest of the task force, even Light, who had been literally chained to his side for months on end. And whatever details he did give had been so maddeningly vague that they almost weren't even worth noting.

Whoever she was, Misora must've been a heck of a lady, if someone like L would want to work with her that closely. Almost like with Wedy.

Poor Acey must've been as green as a string bean.

Triela motioned for her to follow her down the hall again. "The only time she ever left his side voluntarily was when he worked with Misora. She hid out here, refusing to speak to him until their business had been concluded." She laughed, "When she went out on missions with me and Hillshire, I swear every bullet Acey shot was meant to be aimed at her."

Triela's face softened again. "Acey thought he was losing his faith in her, and…I swear I could sense that it genuinely upset him that she wouldn't speak to him."

Erin wondered how he'd deal with that. Would he have come in to annoy her, goad her in that intrusive way of his, just to make her speak and ward off the loneliness he never once mentioned but hung heavy over him just the same, as it hung over Acey and all the others at the House?

She swallowed lightly. "It must be…pretty tough, not having a lot of friends and family to lean on. Those two were like, crutches for each other, in a way, weren't they?"

Even at their worst.

Triela nodded somewhat solemnly, thinking Erin had chosen an interesting choice of words. "Yes, she definitely leaned on him. And he, her, in that weird way of his. He was the first person to accept Acey for who she was, the first person who saw worth in her. I've never seen Acey love someone as fiercely as she loved him.

"I wish you could've seen them together, the way he quietly watched over her. Though it wasn't outwardly evident, I could tell that Acey was his pride."

"From what I've heard, I'll bet they were a pair." Erin stopped to stretch out her arms behind her. Triela probably wouldn't have known much about his relationship to the other kids, so she decided to discard that question for the time being.

Triela's next words died on her lips when she heard a familiar voice echoed farther down the corridor. She grinned when she saw Jaime and Wicked strolling towards them—on separate ends of the hallway, true to Wicked's fashion.

"Lady Acey giving me an order to check in on the rest of the girls is one thing, but you just want to see the girls. I swear you're an old man trapped in a cat's body," accused Jaime. Wicked continued to ignore him, only dignifying his words with a single flick of his tail, a clear indicator of his lack of shame.

Upon seeing the girls, Triela laughed as Wicked trotted enthusiastically over to them. Crouching down, she scratched the cat behind his ears, warranting a loud, long purr. "Come on, Acey must be up," she said.

"Indeed she is, ladies," Jaime confirmed, bowing as they passed him.

Erin nodded in agreement. "It's getting awfully late besides," she yawned. It felt faintly strange, to feel sleepy in spite of the incredible situation she had found herself in, but sleep was far too good to reject.

Back in their room, Acey was soaked up to her elbows in gun oil. Her SIG Sauer pistol lay in pieces on the table. Triela knew Acey could probably put it back together with her eyes closed, just as all the girls there could. Acey only cleaned her gun as thoroughly as she was doing now when she had something heavy weighing on her mind. Something to do with the folded piece of paper sitting on the corner of the table.

"Huh? That's weird. Could've sworn you were sawing logs a while ago. Got a case of insomnia, kid? Do you want some milk or…oh, wait. You don't like milk. Tea, then?"

Grinning tiredly, Acey assessed what was going on. Raising an eyebrow at Triela, she dried her hands, shooting Erin the type of smile that she hoped wouldn't make her feel suspicious. "It's all right, I don't need tea. Sometimes I work on my gun when I can't sleep," she said.

Erin blinked. "Well, at least it's not smoking. All the same, I'm gonna go whip us up some tea. Chamomile…that should put some weight on the eyelids, right? Be right back! Hey Jaime, d'you know where we keep the tea around here?"

With Erin gone with the phantom and cat, Acey reached up behind Triela's jacket, retrieving her own gun's sibling.

"You were planning to kill her if you sensed anything wrong about her, weren't you?"

...

Without guilt, Triela nodded.

Acey's own eyes remained devoid of guilt or disapproval, despite the relationship she and Erin shared. Nothing personal towards her, just the way they'd been trained. The way things worked here.

A cool wave of relief flushed through her instead. It hadn't had to come to that. For the moment, life was good. Not perfectly good, but close enough.