A/N: I don't own Death Note, nor do I own it's characters. If I did, I would be sipping on martinis and basking in the glow of my glory, not uploading stories onto this site

ATTENTION! there has been some confusion about this story having been stolen. No, it wasn't, I'm just a moron and posted it in one account, changed my mind, and posted it in the other account I have. I thought I had deleted the story for the account "Sylvertongue", but I guess something went wrong in the process. If you read the story and alerted it when it was under that author name, I forgot to PM you guys before I actually deleted the story, but I'll try to get ahold of you to let you know. But there has been no plagiarism, just stupidity. Thank you.

So, I've never written a Death Note fic before, but I've wanted to for a while. So, here it is, I'm doing it. Sorry if it's a piece of crap, I can only do so much with the budget I have. Actually, that has nothing to do with anything, I just love it when people use budgets as reasons behind poorly written work on websites (the sort with articles). Writing doesn't take a budget, it just takes a little concentration… which I can be lacking at times. I'm mostly writing this for my own amusement, so I apologize if you actually like it but it isn't updated as frequently as you would like. If people actually follow it, I'll try to make and effort so you may be amused on a semi-frequent basis. I'm also going to try and make sure there is actually a plot, because those can be nice in a story. If you feel the story is just sitting stagnant, let me know, and I'll redouble my efforts to make the world's laziest detective and action hero. Have you ever noticed how lazy L is? What a pitiful action hero. So, without further ado, here is a series of words, that, one pieced together, may or may not form a pile of crap. And please, do not feel the need to review by saying "Aww, poor you and your poor self esteem, it isn't crap, ooby booby baby talk kisses and snuggles". If you feel like criticizing, go right ahead. If you feel like saying you like it, please, be my guest. If you feel like saying nothing at all, you're more than welcome to it. It isn't a requirement that you stroke my ego in order to read the story.

The chain rattled softly, the only noise that could be heard in the dark room. There was no sound of breathing, no sound of shifting or snoring. Only the chain, shifting almost of its own accord.

Of course, the two occupants of the silent room were very much alive. Even with the usual eery glow of the laptop monitor missing, there could be no mistaking that they were there, silently occupying the matching twin beds.

A rustling of fabric interrupted the silent atmosphere, followed by the gentle clacking of steel jostling against a wooden bedpost.

L let out the breath he had been holding, his wide eyes moving from where they had been staring, frozen, at the ceiling. Slowly, the giant orbs moved towards the direction of the metal clacking, his eyes catching the movement of the long chain and following it unconsciously. He had woken from his brief sleep only moments ago, gripped by terror. His first reaction had been to scream, but he hadn't. He hadn't done anything thing but track the frantic beating of his heart as he lay breathless and staring. At least, that was what he had done until the noise of the chain brought him back to the moment. And really, it was only fitting, considering it was the chain that had caused him to feel that way in the first place. There wasn't much that he could remember from his dream, but he knew the chain had been in it, wrapped around his neck, choking the life out of him.

Sighing, he closed his eyes for a moment, trying to recapture the dream that had caught him off guard. It was unusual for him to fall prey to a nightmare, at least one with the power to wake him. He slept so little there was never a real opportunity for them to take hold, and the ones he did end up having rarely scared him any more. He supposed it was due to years of profound desensitization that allowed him to view his dreams with a quality of clinical detachment. Years of analyzing images of ravaged bodies, the victims of the most deranged killers, which allowed him to float through his own nightmares unaffected.

His eyes opened, once again focused on the glowing white ceiling. There were spots in his vision now, fleeting grey figures that flitted and danced above. When he was a child he had thought them to be spirits, observing him as he slept for some unknown reason. He knew better than that now, he knew they were just a combined effect of the muscles around his eye and his eye lids forcing the blood out, and his wimpy pupils doing the best the could with the limited light they were able to collect. Even with that knowledge, the presence of the grey night spirits calmed him some.

Even as his heart slowed and his breathing became regulated once more, he started to feel a different type of anxiety over take him. He needed to get out of that room, out of the building, right away. He needed to walk, to go somewhere, and to do something. He thought about opening his computer and working on the case, but the thought of looking through the same information over and over again as he had been doing for weeks filled him with a sense of dread. Severe claustrophobia was taking control of him, a horrifying sensation of the walls of his small world crashing down around him. He needed out so badly he could almost feel his heart leaping in his chest in an attempt to drag him away.

With shaking hands he retrieved the key he had hidden on him and jammed it into the keyhole in his own cuff. He fastened the cuff around the bedpost, trying to make as little noise as possible. He wanted to be alone, with no interruptions. With that done he jammed his worn sneakers onto his feet an exited the room, pausing only long enough to punch in the door code that would secure the room until he returned.

"Hey guys, chief, good morning!" Matsuda's cheerful greeting rang out in the dim room, illuminated only by flickering computer monitors. Save for a momentary pause in the clacking of typing, his salutations were unreciprocated.

"Hey, guys?" He asked uncertainly. There seemed to be a certain amount of hostility in the air, almost a palpable tension. "Where's Light and L?"

"That's what I'd like to know." Aizewa growled, obviously disgruntled from where he was sitting hunched at his own station.

"They've been missing this morning, but we haven't been informed as to what the situation is." Soichiro replied, his anxiousness barely showing through his resigned disposition.

"L is attending to a personal matter and will return shortly." The mellow tone of Watari's voice cut through the din, interrupting that inevitable bickering that would have commenced. Every one but Matsuda looked disgruntled, yet satisfied with the news.

"Unprofessional." Mogi muttered darkly.

"Hey, that's not fair. He's been working on the case non-stop for almost a year, and I never see him do anything but work. Not even you guys work so many hours. It must have been something really important, considering he never does anything for himself."

Matsuda's vouching for L's behavior actually seemed to placate the task force members, and Soichiro could be heard grunting in acknowledgement.

Meanwhile, Watari watched the video feed of L leaving his room, and then the building, once more. He had been trying to locate L since the early hours of the morning, and, judging by the look on the young detective's face as he left, the sooner Watari found him, the better.

L sat, watching the pedestrians make their way through the park, both taking in a enormous amount of detail about each person, and subsequently ignoring them. He had been gone for hours, and only in the last few moments had he started to feel any relief from the cloistered feeling of the early morning.

His stomach grumbled, reminding him once again that he was unaccustomed to going with out food for any period of time while awake. Lethargically, he made a note that he should work on his consumption rate. His intake of sweets had only increased as his frustration with the Kira case had grown, and he was afraid he would no longer be able to endure without his constant supply of snacks. Contrary to what every one might think of him, he had conditioned his body to handle little to no sustenance throughout the years, a necessity with the possibility that he could be kidnapped one day and need to keep a clear head despite enforced starvation.

However, he dreaded the idea of instigating the conditioning once again. It reminded him of an early childhood in which there had never been enough, and forcing himself to not eat caused panic and fear. What if Light noticed and managed to get him to reveal that facet of his past to him while going through sugar withdrawals? The question did have merit.

He continued to watch as people walked by, often mothers with small children. It was well past the time that most people would head to work, leaving only stay at home mothers to frequent the grassy area. The laughing at shouting of the children, accompanied by the occasional wails of a distraught child, were as soothing as they were irritating. He hadn't resided at Wammy's for many years, but the sounds were familiar and comforting.

His stomach grumbled once again, and he thought he should perhaps make his way back to the investigation headquarters. It was the last thing he actually wanted to do. He knew, deep down, that he felt stifled by the entire thing. Stifled from having Light chained to him… the only person he had ever feared on a personal level. He didn't want to hear his amicable voice once more… didn't want to face the angelic face, nor hear the mild disdain that clipped his words when addressing L.

There was something malevolent inside Light, something sinister and dark, and the way it wrapped itself in innocence and friendship had begun to wear on him. Through Light's proposition of friendship, through his genial remarks and small smiles, he felt something lurking underneath, desiring to snap his spine and shred the flesh from his bones. Light desired his death, in the most heinous way possible, even if he didn't know it. Yet L knew it, could see it in his eyes, and the ferocity of the rage was beginning to wear on him.

But he needed to get back to the others. He had no doubt they were upset at his sudden disappearance, and Watari frantic to locate him. Besides, now he had absorbed more than a months worth of fresh air and sunshine, he could perhaps focus on the case and shed new light to old problems.

He got up to leave, shoving his hands in his pockets and finding old candy wrappers settled on the bottom of each pocket. The crinkling noise attracted the attention of a passing mother pushing a pram containing a toddler. She looked at him once, looked away quickly, then looked again with an expression of subtle dislike. Being Japanese, her expression was schooled to be as polite as possible, yet L could see her distaste for his appearance, sloppy clothes, unhealthy pallor, stooped posture. Where normally the look wouldn't have bothered him, he felt a strange pang of disappointment; and unusual desire to try once more in order to gain her approval.

Unsure where these feelings originated, and slight unsettled by their sudden onset, L set off, meandering his way back in a whimsical and misleading path. He doubted any one would bother trailing him, but it was a formality in going to the building, even if it seemed a little frivolous in his case.

He turned for the tenth time, heading down the second to last alley on his predetermined route. The sun broke from behind a cloud, warming his skin and suggesting a possible sunburn from his prolonged exposure to the elements that morning. Regardless, he stopped a moment to enjoy it, knowing the opportunity to feel the sun on his skin in such a manner would not present itself for a long time.

Pressure. Suddenly, there was massive pressure exerted on his exposed neck. A hand was gripping him tightly. He felt him self pulled back sharply, against a body behind him. Delaying his moment of panic, he shot out his foot, hoping the sudden change in his body weight would loosen the grip. Hands, strong arms, caught the foot, restraining his combative movements. At least two of them, possibly more, both male as could be heard from the considerable grunting they made while trying to prevent his escape.

The sun vanished behind a cloud once more, throwing the alley into a deep relief and allowing L to see without being blinded by a glare. The one gripping his legs was completely covered, his face hidden by a mask, and body covered by a shapeless windbreaker. A sleeve had been pushed up in the struggle, and L could see the arm was light skinned and covered in a layer of reddish blonde hair. A man of European descent. He struggled harder, and was quickly punished by a blow to the head. It was blunt, most likely executed by the second man's fist. This one's arm was also covered, but he could see a watch. A Rolex. Some one with money or a knowledge of where to procure stolen goods. Possibly a thief himself. As L continued to struggle and gasp for breath against the pressure on his neck, a part of him hoped whoever they were, they would just assault him then leave him in the alley. If they had money, and meant to kidnap him, they would have the means to keep him hidden if they had brains.

With a sudden surge of energy, he frantically whiplashed his body hoping to break both grips. The man holding his legs lost his hold, sending L's legs crashing to the ground. Trying to gain his footing and surge forward at the same time, L manage to drag his other assailant a few steps and loosen his hold slightly. He decided to perform a backwards kick and burst forward as quickly as possible.

As his foot connected to a kneecap, some thing hard also connected to his head. For a few dizzying seconds L thought he had managed to get away. Then the ground lurched closer and the world went dark.