A/N: Long update, I know. Some things won't make sense now, but they will later, if that helps. Dear god, I wonder if anyone reads this O.o

Death Noat ain't mine :\

but, if I hadn't made that clear in the last 10 chapters, I will now.

Light Yagami was reading the newspaper. Perhaps a dozen conclusions could be drawn from this, the main contenders being: 1) it would shield his face from any potential fan-girls. 2) The real L had resigned and it was pretty much ALL over the news. 3) Its large pages allowed him to check out the other people waiting to see Julia and Emily, the anime-therapy specialists.

Not that Light believed for a moment that L would REALLY stop being his paranoid-super-sleuth self, but it had certainly caused a rift between certain investigative circuits. Timing, Light mused, checking his silver-plated watch, could never be more perfect.

Unfortunately, plans to meet with Mikami and Takada were not going as smoothly, not if that deformed man-child Near had anything to do with it. As such, Light awaited for Mello's therapy class to finish. Mello would be a hell of a lot easier to bargain for their whereabouts, as Misa was good as dead to him at the moment.

The petite blonde had been shipped off to Australia, where she would be 'under strict-surveillance' as Ohba would arrange for her life to be restructured. It was a good thing. Light had felt an almost-non-existent sting inside as he was told that he would never, ever see her again if he knew what was good for her. Naturally, the woman had already attacked five guards as they'd taken her to the airport.

That's my girl, Light thought, traces of what some may perceive as nostalgia pass through his psyche. It felt like an age ago, a lifetime ago (and it can be argued that yes, it was) that Misa had sprung upon him in the night, fishnet stockings ripping at the thighs, a dark beast with baby-blue irises cheerily barring any chances of escape. Light flipped another page of the newspaper. New pages had to be turned, and now, looking back in retrospect, it was easy to see where things had gone wrong. Light could admit that maybe, maybe, he had gripped the metaphorical microphone a little too tightly, breathed in the spotlight's rays for a little too long; while attention to Kira had been vital, it had earned him the unwanted eyes of a ruthlessly persistent man, the driving force of every police department in the world.

Light was in the quiet now.

This was very, very lucky, because Kira was still a household name, still existed, and Light was still here, but nobody would touch him. The alien environment that had twisted itself around all of them, these fictional beings born into reality, would certainly reward Light with easier access to some of the greatest minds around. It would also earn him the time needed to conduct a series of impressively elaborate plots; to once again gain that throne, that for so long had carried with it the curse of failure, failure that had chased and mauled every other daring leader who dared sit upon it.

Light would not only sit upon it: he would extend his throne into a king-sized bed complete with gold-red furnishings and a mini-waterfall cascading into his metaphorical pool of rainbow carp.

But enough of these superficial thoughts, Light shook himself, I'm not going to become some bubble-gum blowing heiress. I'm going to become God, and rid the world of its wrong-doers, those who lack integrity, the people who bully and steal and rape and are but a thoughtless, mindless entity that takes away our oxygen. Our safety.

Light would do it all again, with style and class. He would never stop trying, ever.

And it was at that moment that the door opened, and the class from before filed out, girls with green, blue and pink hair all stuffing sheets of paper into their bags and purses, boys who silently slouched off to whatever cage they'd been put in. Light held the paper a little higher, and he knew he was being obvious then, because a girl with strange ears looked right at him, and Light kept the stare until the receptionist answering the alarmingly-loud phone finally moved her away.

Mello came out last, jacket laced with fur and shiny boots alerting anyone in the vicinity why he was there. He chomped loudly on a chocolate bar, eyes roaming around the area from under his golden bangs. Light watched, entertained as the man noticeably tensed and grew rigid as a portly fellow flew to his side, holding a blackberry and chattering non-stop.

"See? Not so bad, is it, Mello? So no need to get hasty about seeing the President..."

Mello continued walking toward the exit, looking straight ahead and not showing any sign that he had ever laid eyes on the guy. Balding and twitching, the man jabbered on like a child trying to convince his parents that there were things living in his closet. Probably dirty magazines.

It was then Mello caught Light's eye, immediately stopped before he clasped the door handle (in which the fat man stumbled into him) and then swiftly turned on his boot's heel and charged. Light calmly folded the paper and settled it on the side table, atop the latest OK! magazine. Quite unperturbed, Light Yagami folded his arms as Mello stood over him, breathing fire, embarrassment creeping into pale cheeks.

"And what," Mello softly spoke, "Would Kira be doing here? I thought you'd already be well settled in the nuthouse."

Not a twitch passed Light's face. He mustn't get distracted.

"Ah, that isn't the case at all," and Light stood up, chest to chest with the blonde bombshell. Literally. "I have a proposition, is all. A deal, if you'd like." He smiled coyly, and Mello mirrored it, for a moment, before speaking plain, "Let us go somewhere a little less... open? Unless, of course, you'd like The Joker to overhear your plans to kill all criminals."

Light forced his gaze away and set off for the door, Mello slouching and following. Mr Lavender widened his eyes at the two before shouting, "Hey! Mello! This is not the time to become... 'acquainted' with Mr. Yagami—"

"Excuse me?" Light and Mello turned around, eyes blazing holes into the Mr. Lavender's bald head. "Lavvy," Mello sang bitterly, "Remember whose paying you. I can make that stop," and he lifted the hem of jacket, ever so slightly, a flash of metal—"Like that."

Mr. Lavender went dead silent, and, bowing his head, brushed past the two muttering, "Oh, yes, yes, you two have fun dying all over again..."

Before Mello could react, Light put his hand on his shoulder, "Don't," he breathed, "Let's not waste time." Mello's eyes bore into Light's for a brief moment, then nodded. Light made a mental note: Bribe Mello with Mr. Lavender's death if need be.

L sat on his un-used bed, all the time fidgeting. It was around two in the afternoon, and he was feeling eternally restless. What could he do? His heart throbbed at the sight of the empty power point, the three angled lines smiling at him eerily. No electricity. No energy. No work.

No justice.

L curled up into himself, long limbs clawing into soft sides. God-fudgin-damnit.

He had to get out of this place, this jail cell, before he'd go insane. It was a necessity. It had to happen. L knew he had to work, Watari knew it too (Watari...) but he couldn't. He was a princess in a tower; too high up to hear any potential princes calling out from below. L snorted; okay, so he wasn't a princess, that was a far too dramatic a statement. In fact, it should serve as a direct reminder that he was going hysterical.

But, L thought, if I am to become the forlorn maiden, that would make Watari the malicious queen. How very humorous.

L rolled across the bed, stretching as he did so that when he reached the very end, he'd simply slide off into his signature pose. In which case, L smirked, a little witchcraft would have to transpire.

The lavish suite he was staying in held a bathroom, kitchenette and study, as well as the bedroom he was currently trapped in. Vans of journalists and TV crew were below, while L at least was safe, being 52 storeys up. L shuffled into the study, toward the grand mahogany desk, equipped with a polished turquoise vase of lilies and a black fountain pen.

He drew back the slim chair, crawled atop. Slid open the compartment, where a paper-bag awaited him. A Japanese signature was scribbled on it, incoherent, though distinct in stroke and placement.

'To L'

Two fingers lifted the noisy bag, dainty prongs that had grasped the most-sought after piece of meat at a banquet. A book fell out.

Light was in a foreign neighbourhood. He tightened his fist around the address upon the paper Mello had given him (because electronic messages can be traced, Mello rushed) and continued checking the numbers curled around the buildings. 13... 13....

Of course it was 13, Light grimaced, the morbid animal. Mello and Light had agreed to be in alliance in the brief few minutes they had, walking down that familiar arcade before recognition. Mello had been quite clear that he wasn't keen on giving Light his address, for whatever reason, and Light had returned the favour. Mello was of the Wammy clan, a 'helpless orphan bred into the rich vein of justice.'

I don't think so, Light mocked.

This guy definitely was proof of that, the brunette recalled, heading toward the apartment complex with a couple of paparazzi crouching around it. Shit. Light immediately turned into an alleyway, the sunlight grazing his back and he walked down a narrow pathway lined with thick bushes. He didn't want people to get the wrong idea. Not now.

The cracked pavement broke into a mini-car park, the back of the building leading to a train-track, and across, the LA city lights. The district itself was quiet, rich, the large white Hollywood letters beaming as its neighbour. It was odd though, the train track.

Light walked across the carpark, which was mostly full, and to the back entrance. Of course, there were security guards. More so to scare the occupant.

Light reached around to his over-the shoulder bag, pulling out his documents in one fluid motion. The beefcake wearing a cap that said 'LA BITCHEZ BEWARE' nodded, stepping aside by approximately an inch. Light squeezed himself between the two giants before making his way to the door. A keypad cheerfully beeped every so often, and Light checked the crumpled slip of paper again. Typing in 404, then bell, he tapped the marble impatiently.

He was nervous. Which is perfectly plausible, given the circumstances. Well, the individual.

"Hello?"

Uhh. "Hello, this is Light."

"Hello?"

Sigh.

"Let me in, you idiot."

"Sorry, I don't converse with strangers. Especially insulting ones."

Light clenched his jaw, "Hey, do you miss jail?"

"Not particularly."

"You will if you don't let me in."

"No need to get defensive, K-chan."

A loud bzzzz and the door unhinged. Light stood a fraction straighter and walked in.

8O