The sun had barely scraped the top of the city's skyscrapers when I was jostled awoke the next morning. There I was, curled up on the bed and sleeping like a log, when a loud rendition of Everybody by the Backstreet Boys began blaring into my sensitive ears.

My body jumped to attention, shooting upright in panic, and I immediately wished I hadn't moved. Shocking pain spiked my temple and I was forced to cover my eyes from the piercing ray of white light that cascaded over the bedsheets. With a long and mournful groan of realisation and an overwhelming sense of regret, I slumped against the headboard and rubbed the sides of my head in circular motions, trying to relieve the tension there.

Say it with me kiddos, all together now - I am never drinking bourbon again. Fuck. That.

The morning had come way too quickly for my preference and all I really wanted was to curl up into ball and sleep the pain away. However, upon turning over, I was greeted by a tuft of shaggy blonde hair and instantly recoiled, heart racing in surprise.

Oh hell no.

Not even the strongest amount of alcohol could get me drunk enough to let Chris - of all people - sleep with me. Just no. That was almost like committing incest, and I was a good girl; I only broke laws regarding confidentiality (and now also privacy apparently. Yeah, thanks L).

Just to be absolutely sure that I hadn't abandoned my good sense of morality during last night's drunken haze, I shuffled where I sat and felt fabric shift against my skin, breathing a sigh of relief. I carefully lifted the sheets and checked Chris' state, seeing that, like myself, he was still tucked up in his clothes from the night before. Boy, he must've been sweltering.

I carefully peeled off his jacket and discarded it somewhere with a lazy toss, before adjusting the sheets from around his neck and tucked it under him so that only his legs were being smothered.

Once I was convinced that my friend wouldn't overheat and thus die of dehydration, I tried (the key word here being tried) to walk. Sadly gravity was not playing ball today, and I slumped onto my knees. Still too dozy to even stand, I managed to crawl across the room and hoist myself to my feet, turning on the coffee maker and pouring myself a cup, combining it with a handful of aspirin pills. Ah, lovely.

Gulping back the pills, I slouched against a nearby wall and slowly slid my back down it until I was sitting in a curled up heap on the floor. With my knees tucked into my chest and my head lolling on my arms, I sighed and began listing off my many bad decisions in life - starting with the previous night's affairs.

As I sat and sulked, wallowing in self pity at my mistakes, I flipped open my phone, flinching as the white screen glared back at me. The time on my screen read 10:15am. Huh.

The first coherent thought that my brain ever so helpfullly conceived for me was that the basketball game would be on soon and I'd miss it if I didn't turn on the TV, but then I suddenly remembered where I had to be in less than an hour.

The investigation.

Oh. Oh.

Forget Kira, L was going to murder us first.

I instantly jumped to my feet, swaying slightly with the sudden movement, my body suddenly running on auto-pilot. Needless to say, I was panicking.

Although I didn't know L well enough to properly judge his personality, I couldn't imagine he'd be happy with two very hungover detectives working on his case. I suppose we could try and pass off our behaviour as tiredness. The others would probably fall for it, but going against L was like going against the human lie detector. He'd figure it out as soon as we walked into the room, and then he'd verbally annihilate us. I could picture it now - him shaking his head in disappointment, glancing between us with judgemental eyes as though we were the scum of the earth, and saying something along the lines of:

"And why did you feel the urge to consume such an unhealthy amount of alcohol on a night that you particularly needed your sleep? I offer no sympathy. Perhaps you should've thought twice before you acted so irrationally."

Oh yeah, can't wait for that. He's gonna be so pissed. As much as I'd love for the robot to show some emotion, I don't really think I want to be on the receiving end of his anger.

Risking another glance at the clock and seeing we only had forty minutes to get ready and get all the way to L's new residence - which was a considerable distance away from our own hotel - I decided that now was the ideal time to wake up the sleeping beauty that layed comotosed on the bed (rather unglamorously), limbs spread out like an awkward starfish that wanted a hug.

I took a step over to him, tilting my head as I decided which method I should use to wake him up. I suppose I could always wake him up in a friendly, affectionate way with smiles and tenderness and some much needed medication.

Then again, this was technically his fault. He'd acted as the catalyst for the night's events. He was the one who whipped out the alcohol and suggested we have a drink. He was the reason my throat felt like the Sahara desert right now.

If I was to murder Chris right now, let's just say that my motive would definitely be very clear.

My head snapped towards the back wall to see a very appealing empty glass and - oh look - a tap that runs cold water. It's a common known fact that one of the most effective hangover treatments is to hydrate the body, so that is exactly what I'll do.

The more sadistic side of my brain took control and I smirked to myself as I filled the glass to its brim with cold water. Though, I decided against putting ice cubes in it - that would be too cruel.

Walking back over to the bed, I took one brief moment to admire the peaceful expression on Chris's face before tilting the cup, emptying its contents all over his body.

His reaction was, to state it simply, hilarious.

He jumped up almost instantly, arms flailing about, and let out a shriek - wow, manly - before snapping his head in my direction. His eyes narrowed and he pointed an accusing finger towards me and the now empty glass.

"What the fuck was that for, you demon?" He sneered, lip curling over his teeth.

"Good morning to you too, sweetheart." I said with a huge smile on my face, barely constricting a laugh. "I'm glad to see you're up and at it, soldier. It makes my next job a whole lot easier."

Chris did the same thing I did earlier and tried to sit up, only to slump back into the sheets with his hands grasping at his skull. Not wanting to bear witness to a repeat of my pathetic pity party routine, I grabbed his hand and pulled him to his feet.

"Damn, my head's killing me." He moaned, clutching his temple and swaying as he tried to find his centre gravity. "What happened?"

A scoff left my throat. "Why don't you tell me?" I snapped, rifling through his chest of drawers and pulling out a red hoodie and pair of jeans for him to change into. "But don't worry, we didn't do the nasty, if that's what you were thinking. Even if my brain is on standby, my body know its boundaries." I said matter-of-factly, raising a finger to accentuate my point.

Blinking a few times, he let out a loud sigh of relief and sat back into the bed sheets, unfazed by the fact that they were still soaked through.

"Hey, don't get comfortable!" I snapped, tossing the clothes onto the bed. "You do realise we have to get to the task force in less than an hour, right?"

It took him about three to five seconds to process what I'd said, still cradling his head in his hands. When he did eventually come to his senses, he flung himself out of bed in a wild flurry and wasted no time in stripping down to his boxers in front of me - not that I cared.

"God, why didn't you wake me up sooner?" He asked, stumbling as he tugged his jeans over his feet.

Oh, so now he blames this on me?

Scowling, I crossed my arms, cocking a very unimpressed brow. "I thought you would've wanted your beauty sleep. You look like you need it."

He pulled an aghast expression, but didn't hesitate to spit out a comeback. "You can talk. Looked at a mirror recently, gorgeous?" He said dryly, pulling off his shirt and slipping on the hoodie.

I paused. No, I hadn't.

Hoping that I didn't look too abysmal, I scampered over to the hotel vanity and examined myself in the mirror, shaking my head at the reflection of my 'gorgeous' face; my hopes were shattered. I was a complete and utter mess - much worse off than usual. Unacceptable. I was not walking into headquarters looking like a homeless drug addict with massive panda eyes. That is L's job.

"I'm taking a shower. You'd better be ready by the time I get out." I said to Chris as I walked by, voice stern, meaning I meant business.

Ignoring the string of protests that followed, I got undressed and discarded my clothes into a heap outside the door before turning the water on.

"Hey, that isn't fair!" He whined, banging on the wooden frame. "Why do you get a shower but I don't? I probably reek more than you do. Besides, you're the one using my shower right now. I should get to go first."

I rolled my eyes as I adjusted the temperature to my liking and stepped in, feeling my headache fade thanks to the steam. "First of all, my idea of a shower is five minutes. You're is about thirty - time we dont have to spare. Second of all, I need it more than you - I'm a woman! We have beauty standards to meet." Then quietly, more to myself than him. "And unsavoury places to clean."

"Not a relevant excuse."

"Besides," I added, raking my nails through my wet hair, shaking water out of my eyes. "I just gave you a shower. Don't you feel refreshed?"

I heard him cuss from the other side of the door, followed by a loud huff of annoyance and heavy footfalls, signifying pacing. Usually, I would've taunted him further but I chose to ignore him for now, applying a considerable amount of shampoo to the many tangled knots in my hair.

Eventually the pacing stopped and I heard a sigh of defeat. "I'll just have to shower as soon as we get back then. But, seriously though, hurry up! Some of us actually want to use the bathroom for reasons other than to wash ourselves."

Realising what he was referring to, I hurried my pace and watered myself down, slipping out of the shower as soon as I was done. I could still hear Chris crying from outside the door like a kicked puppy as I wrapped a towel around my midriff, so I opened the door as soon as I considered myself decent. For the sake of my dignity, he turned a blind eyes to my partly exposed body and rushed straight for the toilet. I granted him his privacy and stepped out, closing the door behind me, ordering him to stay in there until I'd finished getting dressed.

It was at that moment, I found myself in a rather awkward scenario. I had no change of clothes.

In my head, I estimated how long it would take for me to get all the way back up to my hotel room - which was two floors above Chris' - and even if I neglected the elevator and ran, I still would run out of time. Despairing, I let out a cry. Fabulous. Just what I needed!

I'd always hated the concept of wearing used closed. It was gross and lazy to just sit there, wearing your own stale sweat and dirt from the day before. It was a disgusting concept that reminded me of all the time I spent on the street where I had no choice but to neglect personal hygiene - another reason to hate the habit. In spite of that, today, I had no other option. That is, unless I wanted to wear one of Chris' oversized outfits and look like a young child trying to fit into their parent's clothes. Not really a good look for me, especially when I'm trying to come across as a serious adult.

Shaking off all restrictive thoughts, I dropped my towel and grabbed my clothes from the pile outside the bathroom door, reluctantly pulling on my bra and blouse, buttoning it up to my throat.

I then picked up my remaining article of underwear, cringing slightly. It was either wear the same pair of panties I wore yesterday or go commando.

For a minute, I seriously considered not wearing anything, but quickly changed my mind when I realised the only over thing I had on offer to wear was my skirt. My short skirt.

Nope. I will not go that far. That's just plain nasty.

With a shudder of disgust, I slipped on my underwear and pulled my skirt over my hips, before knocking on the bathroom door to inform Chris I was modest. As he entered the room and I picked up the hotel's complimentary hair dryer, I almost failed to hear Chris' snide comment over the loud whirring of the machine.

"God, you women take forever to get ready." He muttered as he passed me by, earning him a dirty look and a kick in the shin.

I watched him stumble around the room aimlessly as I dried off my hair, not caring to ask what it was he was looking so intently for. At last he turned to me, a lost and confused expression on his face.

"Hey, where's the aspirin?" He asked, rubbing his forehead as he continued to scan the area through blurry and bloodshot eyes.

I rolled my eyes and held back a sigh. Maybe he was still a bit drunk?

"On the table where I left it. You've looked over it twice now." I told him humorously, drying off the last few strands of my hair.

Ignoring my sarcasm, Chris staggered over and popped open the bottle, taking out two of the pills.

"I feel like crap." He told me, swallowing the pills dry (impressive), earning a quiet scoff from me.

"We both are. Now, come on, stop feeling sorry for yourself and get a grip. We've gotta go, otherwise they're gonna start wondering where we are."

He nodded glumly and pulled on his shoes, mumbling something about how I was the one taking my sweet time. Due to the fact Chris and I shared the same size feet, I borrowed - stole - a pair of his trainers, casting a hateful glance towards the pair of heels that lay discarded in the corner. Never again would I wear those. I didn't even care that I was wearing a weird combination of skirt and trainers with no socks. Heels were a definite no-no.

After double checking that I had everything I needed in my bag, I wrapped an arm around Chris' waist and helped him out of the door.

"Come on, Bambi." I joked, watching him trip every now and then. "Are you okay to drive?"

He shook his head grimly. "Hell no. You drive today. I'd rather risk a speeding ticket than death."

I ignored the backhanded comment and did as requested, getting us to L's hotel in the short space of ten minutes. Yes, it might have involved the breaking of a few laws, but it was for the greater good. If we catch Kira, no one will give a damn about how I drive.

Breezing into the hotel room, I greeted the task force with a grin, "Morning, everyone."

I got a handful of half hearted good mornings and one chipper response from Matsuda who smiled back at me. What a sweetie.

"You're later than usual." L commented as I took my seat, making me grind my teeth behind smiling lips.

He knew. Oh boy, he definitely knew. It was like I said - he'd figure it out as soon as we walk through the door, and I was right. But who knows? There may be still a chance we're able to get away with it, just as long as we act serious. That can't be too hard.

I frowned at him. "We're not late." I clarified.

"I never said that. I said you're later than usual. Why so?" He asked, tilting his head.

"There was traffic downtown." I lied quickly, knowing no one would be able to argue otherwise, considering all the other officers live on the opposite side of the district and don't drive downtown.

The detective was appeased by this answer and dropped all interest in me. He went on to explain all that we'd discovered yesterday about Light Yagami and what our next moves should be regarding him.

I felt eyes on me as he spoke, and glanced over to the man whom they belonged to. The perpetrator quickly averted his gaze, blushing shamelessly, and I was left baffled. Looking over at the rest of the police officers, I noticed they had similar reactions, their eyes flickering between me and Chris. What in the--

Frowning, I checked myself over, thinking maybe a button on my shirt had come undone or there was something on my face. Seeing nothing was amiss, I quickly realised why.

My hair was tangled and matted; I was wearing the exact same clothes that I wore yesterday (minus the heels); it looked as though I'd barely slept (which in all truthfulness, I hadn't), and Chris and I were both conveniently 'later than usual'.

They thought we slept together, didn't they?

Well, whatever. I'll just let them believe what they want to believe. It's better than the alternative and it saves me the trouble of making up an excuse. After all, what kind of adult really wants to start up a conversation about the sex life of a teenager?

The birds and the bees talk does not count.

Sensing the rather obvious elephant in the room, L looked over to me, a dubious look crosing his usually vacant face. Unable to do much else - and knowing that it would do me no good to start getting worked up over the many pairs of eyes on me - I feigned innocence, keeping my expression void of any emotion, and stared right back him, almost daringly.

Start your stop watches; my death toll starts now.

*     *     *      *     *

Later, L had tasked me with searching through the new records of the criminals whom Kira had killed yesterday, looking for any connections between their times of deaths and Light's routinely schedule, taking into account the disruption of the freshman ceremony yesterday.

It seemed simple enough - too simple - and that was what worried me.

Why would he give me a task like this when he's well aware that I'm capable of more? Answer: he wouldn't, unless he was concerned that I'd mess something up. Why would he think that I'd mess something up? Answer: because he knows I'm hanging out of my ass, that's why.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see him watching me. He was really putting me off my task, despite it's simplicity, and I didn't appreciate that. Left with very few options, I made a blunt point of ignoring him, staring attentively at my computer screen like a kid with a television addiction.

If I just ignored him, he'd go away. That always seemed to work - namely on small children and dogs, but I'm sure the detective can fit into that category also.

L did as I had hoped, testing my limits by staring a few (painful) moments longer before turning away. I smirked, glad to receive the reaction I had hoped for.

Though, before I had a chance to properly celebrate my victory, a pen came flying my way and it hit me square in the face, not allowing me a chance to dodge. I jumped back, letting out a quiet gasp of surprise as my eyes searched for the culprit, anger bubbling up inside me. Three guesses who it was.

"Can I ask what that was for, Ryuzaki?" I ground out angrily, rubbing my nose to make a point.

"You're intoxicated." He stated - no longer speaking in Japanese, I noticed*.

Damn. This was bad.

"No, I'm not. What gave you that idea?" I asked, playing dumb.

He sighed through his nose, exasperation obvious, as if this was the most obvious thing in the world and I was completely oblivious to it. "Your posture is off. I've noticed over the past few months that you sit with a certain style; usually with your back taut and your shoulders tense. Today, you're slouching and your muscles are slack. And, as I've just proven, your reaction time is slow - hence why I threw the pen. If you don't mind, I'd appreciate if you explained the reason for your current state."

Double damn.

I may as well just surrender. He's pretty confident in his theory and there's no way I can convince him otherwise. Besides, I am the one in the wrong here, so I'll do the right thing in this instance.

Though, if I'm going down with the ship, I refuse to go down alone.

"He's the one who suggested it." I said defensively, pointing at Chris, who perked upon hearing his name and threw me a look of betrayal. I felt no shame; he dragged me into this whole mess so I'm just returning the favour.

The detective sent Chris a stern look and the poor man had no other choice than to get to his feet and accompany me in facing our executioner.

"Well, even if I suggested the drinking, you still had a choice. If I remember rightly, you were more than happy to take a drink - even saying please." He taunted, grinning at the expression I pulled after he revealed that, much to my humiliation.

"Yeah, but you made the propsal. You instigated the whole thing!"

"You're old enough to make your own decisions." He argued, still chuckling as he patted my head like a child. I glared but didn't snap anything back at him.

"Alright, fine. I apologise. It was very irresponsible of me to agree to drink with this senseless dolt." I said with a large (fake) smile on my face, trying to appear as earnest as possible. "It won't happen again, I assure you. This was just a one off."

Despite my excellent apology, L seemed unable to let the situation go, much to my annoyance. He huffed and stood up, gesturing for us to follow him. Reluctantly, we did so, exchanging looks of worry. To the other clueless task force members, we probably looked like guilty children being rounded off for a scolding but frankly, I couldn't care less right now.

He escorted us to the adjoining room, shutting the door behind me as we made our way in. Chris and I stood there, hands behind our backs, heads hanging low. Ryuzaki perched himself on a chair set up before us and watched us darkly. You know, you wouldn't think a man like him could be so intimidating, especially with the lack of shoes and wild badger appearance, but L was fucking doing it.

"Now, I want one of you to explain the reasoning for your current states or you won't be permitted back into that room."

My head snapped up in surprise and I immediately began to protest, "Ryuzaki, dont you think that's a little unreasonable?"

The man blinked at me. "No. I am being perfectly reasonable."

"I don't think you are. You would kick us off the task force for having a couple of drinks? That's crazy. We're both still compus mentis, we're able to get on with our work, and we're not providing any distractions."

That last point was debatable since nearly every man in the other room was still flaring at the cheeks at the scandalous thought of Chris and I getting our hump on, but that was irrelevant right now.

"So yeah, to be frank, I think you're being totally unreasonable." I finished, crossing my arms.

As you'd expect, L remained unmoved by my previous statements, watching me icily. I'd never seen such an aloof gleam in his eyes before, and it stumped me. Half of the time, he was always acting withdrawn and remote, but this took the 'I'm antisocial and unfriendly, don't talk to me' thing to a whole new level.

There was a beat of silence. I shuddered, and then he spoke.

"Tell me, Agent. How much did you have to drink last night?"

My body froze. That was not a question I was expecting to be asked, seeing as it wasn't really all that relevant in the current circumstance. I was completely thrown off guard. Why would he need to ask? Did it even matter? Well, of course it mattered. If L questions something, then it's pretty damn significant. He wouldn't waste his breath if it wasn't for a purpose.

Shaking off all elements of surprise, I recovered my confident front and chose my words carefully.

"Not too much," was my response. "A reasonable amount." I added with a wry smile.

To be honest with myself, I couldn't even remember how much I'd drunk. It was just one shot, then another, and then another. In fact, I'm surprised I kept it all down; my alcohol tolerance isn't the greatest. However, I didn't let L in on any of this. It would just give him more reason to scold me.

"Considering that you were drunk enough to have forgotten how much you consumed, I'd say more than the recommended dose." The detective replied breezily, and I practically choked.

"How--?!"

"You understand the severity of this situation. If you could remember how much you'd had to drink, you'd have given me a number." He pointed out. "Even if you couldn't remember exactly how much you'd consumed - which is understandable - you'd have provided me with an estimate. You didn't, meaning you're either avoiding giving me a direct answer out of spite, or you simply cannot remember. I would hope that the former isn't the case as that would be terribly rude, so I'm more inclined to believe the latter is true."

Busted. Again.

I huffed and forced my eyes down, lips curling into an beast-like snarl, nasty and malicious. It was inevitable that he'd catch us out. I don't even know why I'm so shocked. Like I said, he's the literal human lie detector. The odds of lying to him and getting away with are slim; very slim indeed.

"For one so intelligent, your lack of discernment is worrying. I don't think I need to inform you that what you're doing is unhealthy."

I scoffed. "Oh, that's rich coming from you. You're not exactly the embodiment of good health."

The detective raised a brow. "I never claimed to be in prime condition myself, but that doesn't justify the reasoning behind your actions. Consuming alcohol in such great quantities is self destructive; it's severely damaging to your immune system, and compromises your ability to think clearly. I will not allow detectives who mistreat themselves in such a way to jeopardise my investigation."

Jeopardise? Did he honestly think that we'd somehow screw the investigation over because we were a bit tipsy? Sure, alcohol can cloud one's better judgement (that much is obvious) but in this scenario, I doubt that'd lead to anything drastic. We're surrounded by fresh intellectual minds that have experience with murder cases. If one person makes a claim, the others can consult it. If that person is wrong, the claim is dropped. No harm done.

L just needed to wake up, cut the melodramatics, and smell the hoard of coffee cups that surrounded him.

"Nothing we do in life is particularly healthy. Nearly every choice we make comes with a consequence." I argued, anger crackling under my skin like lightning. I really shouldn't have been provoking an argument with the man who decided my future on this case, but each word he said made my stomach twist with annoyance; slowly and steadily building my temper until it burst. "You know, the amount of stress you're putting on those officers' shoulders isn't healthy in the slightest, so don't start pretending that you care about our wellbeings now!"

As I ranted on, I felt a hand brush my shoulder. Gently, a voice spoke near my ear, "Maybe you should calm down."

Scowling, I shrugged the hand off, reeling my head to face the speaker. "And maybe you should shut up, Chris! You started this anyway."

I was beginning to realise how much I sounded like a kid throwing a tantrum, directing the blame at anyone but myself, but I was past caring. I was livid by this point.

A small part of me worried that I would be kicked off this case for this outburst alone. It shook and cried out at me to stop inciting this argument for the sake of - what was I even fighting for again? - pride. The other part of me had been bottled up for so long that it wanted me to press on, desperately needing to get through to the detective and show him how hugely irrational he was being.

Yeah, we made a mistake. A pretty stupid and easily avoidable mistake, but a mistake all the same. That's what humans are programmed to do - mess things up, face the fire, and learn from it. I was not going to get punished for adhereing to the basic dictations of human nature. Just because the detective had the emotional capacity of teaspoon didn't mean everyone else had to as well.

Chris narrowed his eyes at me, reverting to whack me across the shoulder instead. "Hey, don't get pissy with me just because you're the one having to fess up!"

"Mr Doyle," L intercepted, sensing the increasing tension in the room. "I think it's better if we allow Agent to calm down before saying anything provocative. It's much more likely to rile her up, and I believe this room is too small to start brawling in."

At that, I glanced around briefly. Pfft, it wasn't that small. He was just worried that if I was to start kicking off that he'd be the first one punched.

"Furthermore, I don't consider it fair to single out one individual when the two of you are equally to blame for your actions. And in any case, I do believe you are the one with the problem."

Chris pulled a face of great offence. "Okay, now that is rude. Come on, man, I had your back here."

"I'm not referring to last night solely."

The pair of us glanced at each other, my face expressing confusion and his expressing very thinly veiled panic. What had he done now?

"From what I've read on your files, I can infer that this isn't the first instance that you've been drinking excessively."

I eyed my friend warily, seeing the minuscule beads of sweat break across his brow.

They actually wrote that down? Not only that, they let other people read it? Well, there's a snake if I ever saw one.

From the alarmed look in his eyes, it was easy to tell that Chris was struggling to formulate a good response. I couldn't decide whether I was enjoying the fact it was him who was in the spotlight now, or whether I felt bad for him. This was a touchy issue, one that I'd been subjected to talk about before, and I knew the effects it had on my friend. I didn't want to see a repeat of that - not when he's already so stressed. 

"Well," Chris began, licking his chapped lips to moisten them. "You see--"

"In fact, your benefactors have labelled it as a recurring problem. Is that the case?"

The man stumbled further, his eyes darting around the perimeter of the room as if searching for the answer. "I wouldn't really say it's a problem--"

"It's a simple yes or no answer, Mr Doyle."

L was getting impatient now. It was plain too, although not because he was interrupting. From what I'd witnessed previously, he loved interrupting people, particularly if said person was making a stupid and pointless comment (nine times out of ten, this person was Matsuda). So, to be fair, the fact that he was cutting Chris off wasn't all that surprising.

The telltale sign that he was losing his patience was the fact that he'd stopped fidgeting. L acted like a kid. Despite his constant display of lethargy and complete lack of effort to do even the most basic of things, his fingers would always be active. It seemed every burst of energy within his body zipped towards the cells in his fingertips and, considering how much sugar he consumed on a daily basis, I'd say he had a lot of energy at his disposal.

But now, each spindly index remained planted firmly at his side, no longer twitching as if to seek out a keyboard to type on, or a boiled sweet to unwrap; nor did they grope along his lower lip in a way that seemed hugely unhygienic.

He was just motionless. In my eyes, this was worrying.

My friend, however, was the complete opposite of his questioner. It seemed that his anxiety had reared its ugly head and rudely scooched into the pilot's seat, forcing Chris' body to react as if in a panic. His fingers fiddled, scrabbling for purchase against the rough fabric of his jeans, unable to lie still. I glanced up towards his face with pity, watching as unfocused eyes dragged along the perimeter of the room before plummeting towards the ground in shame. His throat constricted with every breath as he gulped incessantly, sucking in air through dry lips.

"Yes." He answered finally, his voice so meek that even I struggled to make out the single syllable (and I was standing right next to him).

The tone of his sheepish voice made my chest lurch with guilt and all I wanted was to take my friend into my arms and steal him away from this conversation, as I knew very well where it was headed. Very soon, the whole truth would come out; quickly followed by judgement; angry tears; a heated argument, and then likely concluded with us getting removed from this case.

Maybe dragging him down with me and my sinking ship was a bad idea after all...

After a brief pause, the detective inquired, "Have you ever considered rehabilitation?"

And there it was - the trigger that set us off on a downward spiral. We're off to a good start.

Despite how often he'd been— actually, how often we'd both been in this exact same situation before, Chris still looked over to me in a silent plea for help, but it was virtually impossible for me to look at him without completely breaking down. Silently, I evaded his gaze, pretending to be more concerned with a single loose thread dangling off the hem of my blouse. I didn't notice, but his face crumbled, betrayal etched across his features.

Mumbling through tight lips, he replied, "It's been recommended to me on occasion."

"Well then, I think it's best that you start to listen to these recommendations, particularly if you want a future in this investigation."

I puffed out my cheeks as I released a pent-up breath. The comment wasn't even aimed at me but I still felt the blow.

"I can ask Watari to have a word with you about potential options if you're unsure." The detective added quickly.

Chris waved his hands passively. "No. No, I'm good. I need to just..." he hesitated, looking downwards as if the floor held the answer. "Just let me have a minute."

No further questions were asked as the man crossed the room. L was apparently satisfied with that response and didn't push for a clearer answer. I, however, didn't share his sentiments.

The sudden turn of events - as predictable as they were - made me feel physically unwell. All sorts of horrible feelings settled in my stomach; it was nothing like the nervous sensation of butterflies flitting along my interior, but rather like someone had installed a winding mechnism in my chest, pulling my insides tighter and tighter with every passing moment.

Guilt and shame were working together in one destructive union to channel my emotions and make me feel worse off than I already did, which wasn't very difficult. Truthfully, I don't know what it was that made me feel worse: the fact that I'd known about his issues for so long and allowed it to get to this stage; or the fact that I refused to support him in a decision that he clearly didn't want to make - even if it was in his best interests.

In a few years from now, if the dictionary ever required a definition for terrible friend, they could just put my face right there and that'd sum it up perfectly.

Chris' face was ashen and blank, completely drained of any colour or spirit. As if this didn't hurt enough to see already, he outright refused to make eye contact with me, even when I offered him a supportive smile as he passed by. A sharp twinge of sadness plucked at my heartstrings and I forced my gaze downwards, feeling the familiar swell of sorrow weigh on my chest. The door closed with a soft click, and I could hear muffled footfalls retreating into the next room - where I knew a handful of questions were going to be asked by the group of curious officers.

My teeth ground together in a mix of anger and self-loathing in knowing that I was partly responsible for the events that were inevitably due to follow.

"Don't you think that was a bit harsh, L?"

"It was necessary."

My eyes narrowed, and I firmly shook my head. "No. Telling him he needed help was necessary, but making him feel like shit wasn't."

"It got my point across - which was the desired end result."

I could feel my willpower begin to dissolve, and it took all my self restraint not to scream and start throwing the expensive hotel property across the room. Slowly but surely, the walls of my resolve were cracking, exposing a violent nature that I'd long kept at bay. My body twitched.

"Is that all you care about?" I breathed out, disbelief clouding my eyes. "How to get from point A to point B with the least amount of effort?"

If L had the capablility to be offended, I'm almost sure he would've been. "No. I care about your friend's health, which is why I'm offering him my help. Alcohol is a strong addictive and even people with the strongest of willpowers struggle to become sober."

"Caffeine's an addictive yet you still drink coffee." I pointed out boldly, earning myself a rather disgruntled look in response.

"I'm not addicted."

I beg to differ, I thought as I scanned the many coffee stained mugs lined up like soldiers along the table edge. 

"Well neither is Chris." My voice came out strained; unconvincing. "He just likes a drink every now and then. It's not wrong."

The argument was weak. Even I didn't believe a word that was coming out of my mouth. But I refused to let someone slander my friend and then play it off as though their treatment is supposed to be helpful. 'Tough love' is such a bullshit concept. If you have to be firm with someone, be firm with them, but don't try and flip the situation on its head to make you seem like a better person who's only being callous to suit another's best interests. Regardless of how pure your intentions may be, you can't be both cruel and kind at the same time; that's why they're antonyms. Anyone who says otherwise is kidding themselves.

"For someone so intelligent, you're remarkably unobservant."

I bit back a sigh, opting to roll my eyes instead. "Yeah, yeah. You've said it twice now. For someone so intelligent..." I echoed bitterly. "Alright, I get the memo. I'm smart. Trust me, I'm well aware; I've been told that hundreds of times by people whose opinions I could care less about. Sure, it's a nice compliment - and don't get me wrong, I love to be praised - but hearing those words come out of your mouth, only to be followed by some stupid patronising statement, really makes me feel sick."

L looked completely nonplussed, blinking once in acknowledgment. "I am sorry that you feel that way, but I don't intend to be patronising."

That was a lie and he damn well knew it. Half of the words that were cryptically strung together by his vocal chords were judgemental; always either being directed at us - the task force - Kira, or society as a whole. In spite of this, I've never once heard a disparaging comment aimed at himself. One can only wonder why.

I scoffed, my words burning in my throat like venom. "Well, do you know what, Ryuzaki? Just because I'm smart doesn't mean I don't have the capacity to make mistakes. Intelligence doesn't equal integrity. We're not all like you!"

His face fell into one of polite confusion. "Like me?"

Was he actually being serious?

I scanned his face for signs that he was pulling my tail here, but none came to light. Frowning, I looked harder but saw no signs that he was joking. Okay, either he was the hugely unobservant one here or he was acting modest, and L isn't modest in this slightest!

"Yeah, you!" I spat. "With your immaculate knowledge and your perpective insights; the way you dig into things that us inferior folk can't seem to wrap our heads around. It's remarkable."

The man opened his mouth to speak, so I swiftly raised my hands to silence him. "No, really. I'm amazed! It's no wonder you're made out to be such a perfect icon. What better way to produce the ideal detective than to cram so many pieces of flawless knowledge into his brain that there's no room left for the minor things - you know, like human empathy."

I was getting really worked up; the winding mechanism in my chest pulling painfully tight. My nails were digging painfully into the soft flesh of my palm, tearing the first layer of skin and marking me with four sore crescent-shaped scrapes on the inside of each hand. I paid it no mind. I was more focused on the eyes of contempt that bore into me like a knife.

It wasn't difficult to tell that L was getting rather impatient wth this game I was playing, but I wasn't nearly done and, damn it, I was going to say all I needed to before I lost my courage.

Before I could stop it, a harsh laugh is torn from my throat as I realise the absurdity of the situation. It was an almost deranged sound that I'd usually never let loose, and it shocked even me. The dark haired man sat across the room frowned, but I only smiled.

"My apologies." I told him, earning a raised brow in response. "I just realised how rude I was being. Here I am, stood within the vicinity of the acclaimed detective L and I'm speaking to him as though I'm an equal. That's just wrong, isn't it? Perhaps I should be prostrating myself at your feet to show my respect. Or would you rather I be trembling at the glory of your genius, oh so great detective?"

Maybe I was pushing it a bit?

Yeah, I was definitely pushing it.

Well, goodbye Kira case! Adieu my fellow detectives! It was fun while it lasted. May as well hand in my letter of resignation now so I don't have to face the humiliation of getting fired. 

L sighed, looking away from me for the first time throughout this whole conversation. There was a slight hesitation as he selected the right words to respond with, recognising that he was treading on an active mine field here.

After some time, he tried, "I understand you're frustrated—"

"Yeah, that's exactly my point. You understand, but do you care?"

He was confused, and rightly so. This wasn't even remotely connected to what we'd been previously discussion. No, this was picking at the surface of an opinion that I'd long kept bolted down, but if it's going to be said, there's no better time to spit it out.

"Everyone else idolises you, but I don't personally see the point of putting people on pedestals." I began, crossing my hands behind my back to stop myself from fidgeting. "It does nothing but swell up people's heads until they start to float away, and I'm not a big fan of balloons. To me, you weren't some sort of deity meant to worship, but still, you were an example that I wanted to follow."

My zeal was waning by this point; the angry passion that drove out each nasty comment was finally losing its fervour, so I turned to brooding instead.

L watched me curiously as I turned away and folded my arms, murmuring to him quietly, "The reality is far less inspiring."

I couldn't tell if he was hurt by that comment, especially considering the muscles in his face hadn't budged more than an inch from when I'd first entered this room. Though if he was, he wasn't showing it, and frankly, I didn't care. All that concerned me right now was the tension building behind my skull and the sudden hankering for aspirin. Boy, arguing takes a lot of effort.

"I'm glad that you're being honest," He began slowly, cautiously. "However, we're not here to discuss any issues you have regarding myself. We're here to address your issue."

Something akin to a grunt rumbled in my throat, and I threw my hands up in the air. "You don't need to keep reminding me. I know that I'm in the wrong!"

"Do you?"

I was more than ready to respond with a firm 'yes', but the question was apparently rhetorical as he cut me off before I could even inhale a breath. "Mr Doyle has a problem. That much isn't debatable. By agreeing to drink with him, you are encouraging his behaviour - whether it's intentional or not. I would like for that to stop now."

My lips parted to form another witty argument, but I quickly sealed them, bowing my head. I was so tired of going round and round in circles and I wasn't so sure if I had the energy to put up with any more scrutiny. Ultimately, I raised my white flag, and yielded. 

"Fine." I said through gritted teeth. "I understand."

"Good." The detective moved to stand, picking up his laptop as he did so. "That's all I can ask for."

I watched through narrowed eyes as he slunk across the room towards the door, partly expecting another backhanded comment to be thrown in my direction, but it never came.

"So, I'm not being fired?" was what I asked, scepticism clear in my tone.

The detective didn't bother to turn to look at me, but shook his head. "No. If this was under different circumstances, then yes, you would be. I'm not prone to giving second chances, but I need someone intelligent to consult on this case, so I'm letting you off with a warning."

Well, that's motivating. At least I can be grateful that I still have my job. Not today, Kira!

"Wait, Ryuzaki." I said, reaching out with a sudden gentleness present in my tone. "There's one thing I don't quite understand."

Sensing this wouldn't be the end of our discussion, the man turned. "Yes?"

My eyes wavered to his closed laptop inbetween his palms. "I presume that you'd read both mine and Chris' files before accepting us to work on this case, right?"

He nodded in the affirmative.

"Then why, if you knew about our problems, would you want to work with us?"

"What makes you think there's any negative comments about you?"

I scoffed. "Please, I don't even need to look to know they've emphasised my fuck-ups. Besides, you're not exactly denying it."

He didn't argue with that (meaning that my assumption was likely correct). Noticing that we were shifting slightly off topic, I continued, "Whatever. I don't care what may or may not be written about me. The point is that you were still well aware of Chris' issues before today. Why would you want to work with him? To me, that seems like a terrible decision to make in any situation, so why would you do it?"

For once, the detective seemed stumped, as if he himself was unsure why he'd make such a poor choice. As per usual, no emotion was present on his face but for a brief moment, there was a flicker of sympathy in his dark eyes - something I wasn't used to seeing from him.

When he came to his conclusion, he stated simply, "Because I can understand why he does it."

Frowning, I nodded my head in a gesture that said elaborate; he obliged.

"I know from experience that life as an orphan is difficult to say the least. Without a constant parental figure, we're left to learn from those around us - which isn't always for the best. Ideal role models are hard to come by in the modern day."

Hell yeah, he could say that again.

"It's completely understandable that some would adapt coping mechanisms that aren't the most noble, but that doesn't mean it's right to do so."

As he spoke, I finally felt like I was getting an insight into how the detective functioned. He didn't just jump to conclusions or construct a plan that required the least amount of effort; he actually did empathise! This heart-to-heart moment was really making me reconsider my previous analysis of this man. Maybe he wasn't such an emotionless bastard after all.

"In any case, neither of you have given me any reason to mistrust you or doubt your skills, so I think it would be a poor decision to let either of you go."

A small smile broke out on my face, and I honestly felt like hugging the man, but some part of me warned that that would likely be too much emotion for one day. I didn't want to traumatise him.

"I'm glad. Really glad. Thank you, Ryuzaki."

He didn't smile back or anything as stupidly sentimental as that, but I felt as though we'd reached a mutual understanding. I'd said my part, he'd said his, and we'd both listened. I liked to think that we'd bonded over this and, in spite of how poorly the day had started, I felt oddly happy about that.

However, as soon as the dark haired man exited the room to join the others, leaving me planted in my spot with a promise to join him swiftly, I couldn't help but think back on what he said.

'Life as an orphan is difficult' - understatement of the year.

It was way more than just difficult; it was torturous in every single meaning of the word, both physically and mentally. There was no simple way to describe the experience as it was purely the manifestation so many different, albeit congruent, emotions. Although, one thing it definitely wasn't was happy.

No child who'd been brought up right could ever know the loneliness of waking up alone on the hard, wet ground; shrouded by darkness; shivering with cold; pocket knife clutched to your chest like a lifeline.

Nor can they know the pang of despair you'd feel when you discover you'd been robbed of all your spare change in the night that you'd saved up for food.

They can't understand the lonely feeling of walking down the main street with everyone avoiding you, sending looks of hostility your way solely because of your rundown appearance - because they know you mean trouble. Even if you are only a child, they refuse to help you.

They can't even begin to understand the anxiety that builds when you slip you hand into a gentleman's pocket as you walk by, silently praying that you won't get caught.

They just wouldn't understand the sensation of heartbreak that I felt when I was slowly drifting off to sleep in an alleyway that stunk of booze and cigarettes and just wondering - wondering what my mother looked like or how my father's voice sounded. Sometimes I'd wonder what I would've been called, should I have been actually given a name, or how my life would've played out if I hadn't been tossed aside like garbage.

Only I could ever understand how I feel; no one else. It's a secret that I'll take with me to my grave, and I can only hope that no one else ever has to live the same way I did ever again.

I did bad things on the streets. Hugely regrettable things that still make me bow my head in shame.

Did I blame my upbringing? Yes. Completely. I was not a bad person.

It's not wrong to say that every criminal has a reason to be the way they are. Whether it be nurture or nature; a bad upbringing; a mental illness; some could argue that even radicalisation could be at fault. Despite the stigma held against them, not all criminals are necessarily bad people. Some just make bad decisions.

Kira, fixed as his mindset is, doesn't seem to comprehend that. His lack of lateral thinking means that he's only able to see the bad decisions people make. He doesn't know their past nor does does he know what future they might have had, should they lived longer. In fact, I doubt he even cares. He's either too blind or too ignorant to see that criminals, despite the heinous acts they've committed, are still human.

Humanity is born flawed. That's a fact. Making mistakes is part of life and it's something we can't avoid. Given, some mistakes have larger consequences than others, but that doesn't mean that it was done with bad intentions in mind.

And that's why I consider myself lucky that I don't have a name. For if I didn't, I'd likely already be dead.

* * * * *

A/N

* If anyone's a bit confused about this, I just want to clarify it now. I know I don't use Japanese honourifics or any Japanese phrases in this fanfic, but if ever L/Chris/Agent are in the presence of someone native to Japan (e.g. Light, the police officers, Misa, and so on), just assume that they're speaking in Japanese. I specified that L and Agent were no longer speaking in Japanese because L wanted their conversation to be private and therefore didn't want the officers to understand what they were saying if they overheard. Hope that makes things a bit clearer :)

Welp I scared a lot of people with that cliffhanger in the last chapter, and for that I am (not) sorry, but you needn't fear, dear readers! As this chapter revealed, Agent and Chris are merely prohibited from drinking together. It doesn't necessarily mean one of them is going to die.

.... or does it??

Anyway, although this chapter was mostly filler, I put a lot of effort into it. You know, 9000 words and all (*insert DBZ's "it's over 9000" meme here*).

I just decided we needed a little filler chapter before the actual action happens. Besides, we already know a considerable amount about Agent's life, but we know next to nothing about Chris. Reasons why Chris is the way he is will be revealed in later chapters so I hope you're all ready for more depressing backstories because I sure as hell am ready to write them!

Side note: I did not realise until I reread this chapter how much I made Agent sound like Mello and now I'm shook. It was completely unintentional, but I love their parallels!