The room was tinted with the dim, blue glow of early morning when Naomi opened her eyes. Slowly, she lifted her head from the couch cushion, putting her hand to the back of her stiff neck. She tipped her head one way and then the other, working out the kinks in her muscles.

Her other hand still held L's.

Naomi's gaze rested on their joined hands for a moment, and then traveled slowly up his arm, past the white bandage taped to his shoulder, and to his shadowed, closed eyes. He still slept soundly.

She sat there for a little while before gently letting go of his hand. She stood up gradually, wincing at the cramps in her legs.

As she stood, she was surprised to see Watari sitting at the little table in the kitchen area. She moved with careful, quiet steps over to him.

"Did you get any sleep?" she whispered, still rubbing her sore neck.

Watari shrugged lightly. "Just a little." A smile formed under his white mustache as he added, "But I'm used to it."

Naomi noticed a coffee cup sitting on the table in front of him. She gestured toward it. "Is there any more?"

"Yes," Watari answered, his voice low. He began to stand up, but Naomi waved her hand for him to stay where he was.

Naomi poured the steaming, dark liquid into a mug and moved to take a seat at the table next to Watari. She took a long sip, closing her eyes and letting the strong coffee warm her to the tip of her toes. There was something comforting about a hot drink on a quiet morning. She set the mug down on the table and rested her head in one of her hands.

"It was you, wasn't it?" Naomi said softly.

Watari looked at her questioningly.

"You shot The Bishop."

The old man toyed with the handle of his coffee cup. He nodded.

Naomi nodded too. "I thought so." She was quiet for a moment before lifting her eyes to look at him. "Thank you," she said, with feeling.

Watari met her gaze and simply nodded.

"So... what happened?" Naomi asked.

And then, Watari told her everything. He told her how L had confirmed his deduction that Gerard Leveque was still alive by scouring the city's traffic camera feeds with facial recognition. Jasper Broussard had meddled with these feeds up until his arrest, but L restored the program to once again pick up Gerard's features. Sure enough, he was spotted near the church where his wife was buried every Sunday evening like clockwork. The plan had been to ambush him there and make a clean arrest.

Naomi felt the guilty sick feeling in her stomach again. She stared down into her coffee as Watari continued.

L had been working on setting the plan in place when he suddenly needed Naomi's assistance with something.

"Watari, I need Misora. Tell her to come here, please." L was scrolling and clicking the computer mouse with one hand and lifting a cup of coffee to his lips with the other. The sugar cubes piled in it hadn't even dissolved yet.

Obligingly, Watari stepped into the hall and made his way to Naomi's door. He knocked, but there was no answer. After several attempts, he returned to L.

"She isn't there," he informed the detective.

L spun around in the chair with an aggravated expression. He held the coffee cup and its saucer in both hands.

"What do you mean? Where is she?"

And then, as if to answer his own question, his countenance shifted and he froze. His eyes widened with understanding and, in an instant, he sprang to his feet, the saucer and cup smashing to the floor.

"She's there, Watari, she's there!"

Naomi listened as Watari told the story, her heart pounding with regret.

"I've never seen him look so scared," Watari said quietly. "He had arranged for the truck to be there in the event that a hasty escape was needed, but as soon as he realized that you'd gone, he had me call in a medical team, too. We raced down to the church and, as soon as we got there, I ran up to the top of the wall with a sniper rifle. L just... disappeared. I'm not sure what he was thinking... or if he was even thinking at all. I had a poor view from where I was positioned, but I could see that Gerard had you, and I managed to disarm him. When you ran through the alcove, I looked down the other side of the wall just as all three of you collided. When L stood to his feet, I saw that he was hurt. But, he looked up at me as he began to run and pointed toward where the truck was. I alerted the driver to head to the apartment as soon as you two were inside. As you were running away, I shot The Bishop in the leg, immobilizing him, and then informed the medics to reroute. I got in the car to meet you and L, but kept in contact with the police until they arrived at the church and arrested Gerard Leveque."

Watari ended his long speech, appearing as though it had cost him a great deal of energy. He took a long sip of his coffee.

Naomi turned her head to look into the living room. The murky blueness was slowly being replaced by a soft, golden hue. L slept on, the blanket under his long arms moving gently up and down with his even breathing.

"I'm sorry, Watari," she said, looking down. Her voice was nearly a whisper. "I'll tell him when he wakes up but... I wanted to say it to you, too. I know he's like a son to you... and I know how much you love him."

Watari looked at her for a long time before responding. He spoke softly, but clearly.

"I do love him. And Naomi... I don't think I'm the only one."

Naomi's head came up to look at him. He was smiling, more with his kind eyes than with his mouth.

He knew. He had known all along.

Naomi felt her cheeks flush and she dropped her gaze again. "I... I don't know what it is, Watari," she said honestly. "'Love' may still be a bit... a bit strong." She looked up at him once more and smiled, taking a deep breath. "But it's... it's something. I just don't quite know what to call it yet."

Watari nodded in understanding, beaming with approval. Naomi felt her face grow even warmer, but she really didn't mind. A smile spread across her blushing face as she looked again toward the living room and L. There were no words to describe what she felt as she watched him sleep. Relief. Thankfulness. Nothing seemed to even come close.

At length, they cleared their coffee mugs away. Watari agreed to sit with L so that Naomi could go back to her own apartment and get some more sleep.

The sun nearly made its way all the way up and back down before Naomi finally awoke again. The events of the previous night had completely drained her. She couldn't remember the last time she'd slept this much. But she had needed it. She stretched her limbs, which were still quite sore from being tossed around on the stone floor by The Bishop. Her rib cage felt bruised, too. But none of these things really fazed her. She was thankful to be alive.

Naomi planned on taking a long, hot shower, but she ended up hurrying a bit more in her anxiousness to see L. She wanted more than anything to express her relief, as well as make a sincere apology.

As she exited her apartment, she saw Watari stepping out of the other one.

"Is he awake?" she asked, moving with quick steps toward him.

Watari nodded. "He woke up about an hour ago."

Naomi couldn't hold back a smile as butterflies flitted all around inside her. Her hands fidgeted with each other. "And... how is he?"

"As well as can be expected, I think," Watari said slowly. "But he's..." He hesitated, unable to find the right words.

"What? What's wrong?" Naomi asked worriedly.

"No, no, nothing like that..." Watari sighed. "Naomi, he's... he's not happy with you," he said honestly.

Naomi's chest tightened and she swallowed hard. She fidgeted with her hands even more. Nodding in understanding, she stepped around Watari and over to the apartment door, ready to face the music. She lifted a trembling fist and knocked.

"It's open."

Naomi turned to look at Watari, who offered her an encouraging smile and a nod. Bravely, she turned back toward the door and opened it.

She stepped inside the apartment and turned to shut the door.

Out of nowhere, L's hand slammed the door shut and Naomi jumped, startled. All at once, his face was inches from her own, his palm flat against the door next to her head. Naomi's whole body stiffened with her back against the wall as her wide, unblinking gaze met with the fire in his flashing eyes.

She opened to speak, her bottom lip trembling. But L spoke first, his voice low.

"Do not speak," he snarled, "unless it is to explain to me why you went against a Direct. Order."

Naomi tried to swallow but was suddenly dry as a bone. "I- I'm so sorry," she managed, in barely a whisper.

L angrily shoved off of the door and turned, his hand instantly moving to his injured shoulder. He was in pain and it was making everything worse.

Naomi relaxed her muscles a bit as he took a few steps away from her. She found her tongue and lifted her shaking hands before her as she spoke. "L, I am so, so sorry. I made a mistake-"

"You," L spat, turning again and pointing at her, "violated your contract! You defied your superior and you compromised the outcome of a case!" He started to go on, but stopped abruptly. His eyes scrunched in obvious agony. He turned away from her, clutching his upper arm.

"L, be careful, your shoulder-"

"I give the orders, agent!"

Naomi's voice trembled, as she spoke gently. "That wasn't an order, I just-"

"STOP!" L whirled to face her again, his fists balled up at his sides. He went on, wincing through gritted teeth. "I have worked alone for years... and I can do it again!"

His words were like daggers and they cut deep. Naomi stared at him, feeling like she'd been slapped.

Her chin lifted in an attempt to hide her quivering lip. "Are you firing me, Sir?" she asked coldly.

L's livid gaze remained locked on her. He was starting to bleed through his shirt. His top lip curled and twitched as he mentally fought off the intense pain. He didn't answer right away.

And she said nothing more. She only stood, meeting his eyes and dreading his reply with a throbbing heart.

At length, he spoke, his voice becoming weak, though no less irate. "No, I am not firing you." His breathing was coming with difficulty, but he went on, speaking with a low growl in his throat. "Just... know your place, Misora.  And do not ever defy me again." He staggered a bit and placed his hand on the back of the couch for support.

Naomi could have nodded and left right then and there. L would have been fine with that. But, she was not. An anger of her own rose up inside her and before she could stop herself, the words just spilled out.

"That's it?" she snapped. "I'm to... 'know my place?' And 'my place' is your agent and... and nothing more?"

L's eyes scrunched again. His forehead was dampening with the effort it took just to stand. He was in excruciating pain now and the room was spinning mercilessly. The red spot on his shirt was slowly growing in size. But he swung his head up to look at her, not backing down. "More? What 'more?' You've only ever been my agent. I hired you, Misora!  We're not equals."

Naomi knew that. She had always known that. She worked for L and, professionally, he was her superior. She had no argument there. But she also knew that she felt something more for him and she realized, right in that moment, that she had thought he felt something for her, too.

But apparently, she had been wrong.

Once again, she could have just turned and left. But instead, she shot back, "You know what, it's no wonder you've been alone all these years... Does anyone matter to you? Does anything at all... matter to you, besides your work? Besides your... your title?"

L just stared at her, his lips slightly parted and his chest moving up and down in short, jagged breaths. He was leaning on his good arm and the other one hung limp at his side.

But Naomi went on. "Have you ever even considered that you may be more to someone than just 'the world's greatest detective?' Huh?  That to Watari, you may be the son he never had? Or... or to me, a friend when I have none!" Hot tears stung the corners of her eyes and rolled down her face, but she kept going with a passion.

"Do you know what was going through my mind when I thought we'd lost you? Not... 'Who will I work for next?' ...or, 'What's going to happen with my job?' No!" The tears were coming unashamedly now as she pointed at L with gritted teeth. "No!  All I could think of was how much it would hurt to lose you!"

She stopped for a moment to let that sink in. With a sharp intake of breath, she angrily brushed at her wet face.

L said nothing. His breathing was more even now and he just stared at her blankly.

When the silence endured, Naomi continued with an unsteady voice. "I should have known," she said bitterly, "that all this time it was one-sided. I guess I stupidly tricked myself into thinking that I meant something to you, too." She inhaled deeply and squared her shoulders. "Please forgive me for misunderstanding my place. It won't happen again."

Once again, L made no reply.

She stubbornly refused to break eye contact.

"Is that all... Sir?"

L stared at her for a few moments more. Then, he spoke, plainly and without feeling. "Yes, that's all."

Naomi nodded curtly and turned to leave.

As soon as the door shut, L gave in and collapsed to his knees. He gritted his teeth and clenched his fist, pounding it once, then twice into the carpeted floor. He wanted to scream, to punch something, to smash it into a million pieces. He wanted this hurt to leave him, not only the searing pain in his shoulder, but the overwhelming, burning ache that engulfed his entire being.

He had always hated what he could not understand.

The door opened and Watari entered, moving quickly to kneel at L's side when he saw him crumpled on the floor. He helped him stand and move over to the couch.

For once, L sat with his feet on the ground. He slouched back into the cushions and stared at the ceiling, his arms flopped beside him with upturned palms.

When had his life come crashing down around him? Nothing made sense anymore. The weight of this inexplicable feeling was smothering him.

Watari sat down next to L, telling him to sit up. He did and Watari helped him remove his shirt. L grimaced as he slowly and carefully pulled his left arm out of its sleeve.

"You're supposed to be resting your shoulder," Watari reprimanded as he put on a pair of medical gloves.

L just scowled. He leaned back into the couch cushions again.

Watari began gently peeling away the bloodied bandage.  L bit his lip and looked upward to distract himself from the pain. It didn't work. As the bandage slowly came off, he made a fist with his other hand and pressed it to his forehead, squeezing his eyes shut and clenching his jaw.

And it was no wonder.

The skin surrounding the laceration was inflamed and raw, the sinister-looking black stitches holding together the gory, red flesh. Two of the stitches had torn, and thick blood oozed from the opening.

Watari shook his head as he discarded the old bandage. Then, he opened a patch of gauze and applied a liquid medicine to it. He looked at L, who nodded and then looked away. He knew this was going to hurt.

As carefully as he could, Watari pressed the gauze to the mangled shoulder. L's knee shot up and his fist moved to his forehead again as he yelled out. He pounded his fist repeatedly against his forehead until Watari took a hold of his wrist.

"Don't do that," the old man said gently.

L jerked his wrist away, still scowling.

Watari applied several steri strips to the area where the stitches had torn. He cleaned the wound, working slowly and gently.

L just sat, slouched and glowering.  He flinched and groaned with gritted teeth as a clean bandage was placed over the swollen, stitched-up gash. 

Watari said nothing as he taped the large, white square into place.  Then, he stood to discard the used supplies.

L sat shirtless, slumped in the cushions.  His dark, shadowed eyes stared into nothingness and his hair stuck to his forehead. He had never felt so exhausted, which was a bold claim for an insomniac.

Watari returned shortly and sat down again next to him.

"L?"

"Hmmh."

"There's something I need to tell you."

L looked at the old man. He sat up slowly and brought his knees up to his chest. "Okay."

"Last night... you almost died."

L lifted his good arm to sit atop his knees.  He rested his chin on it, staring at the floor.

"And I was scared," Watari went on, slowly.  "So scared of losing you... and it hurt."

L shifted to crack his knuckles into his palms, his eyes locked on nothing in particular.

"You see, when someone matters a great deal to you... When you let someone matter to you... It hurts sometimes."

L looked over into the eyes of the only father he'd ever known. Watari had never spoken to him like this before. He didn't know how to respond, and so he just stared with dark-rimmed eyes.

Watari continued, "My boy, I don't ever want to lose you.  Serving you is an honor I am privileged to call mine. I'm proud of you and I love you."

He spoke clearly and with purpose. It was important that he said this. Last night, when it was unknown whether L would live or die, Watari had wondered with terrible panic if he had ever told his boy that he loved him. And now, he wanted to be absolutely sure that he knew.

The words did not fall on deaf ears. L contemplated them deeply. Human emotions were an enigma to him, and they always had been.  He stared for a moment, considering briefly what it would be like to lose Watari.  A sharp sting rose up in his chest.

L swallowed.  He was beginning to understand.  "I love you, too, Wammy" he said simply.

Watari's heart swelled at the mention of his true name.  L hadn't called him that for years.  His white mustache twitched and his eyes creased into a smile.

L smiled back, a little awkwardly around the thumb he'd brought to his mouth.

Then Watari sighed. "L, I know you're upset that Agent Misora went against you. But I think... I think what really upset you is that you almost lost her."

L said nothing.  This was a lot to process.   He wasn't used to analyzing himself.  He stood to his feet, and, hands pocketed, walked over to stare out of the room's large window.  The early evening sky and the city of Paris sprawled out before him.  So much of what he was feeling was completely foreign, but he had to acknowledge that what Watari was saying did make sense.

He didn't want to lose her. That much he knew for certain.

"I know you were scared," Watari went on from his place on the couch.  "I was too. But I'm afraid that tonight, you may have taken it out on her... a little too harshly, if I may say."

The words were spoken firmly, but with kindness.  And as much as he hated to admit it, L couldn't really argue with Watari's logic.  He had been scared. In fact, he had never known such a gripping fear existed. He hadn't known what to do with himself, and so he had just ran blindly- straight into The Bishop's knife. Nothing and no one had ever caused him to act so irrationally before.

No one, that is, until her.

L was quiet for a long time.  He stood with one hand resting on his stomach, where an aching flutter refused to die.  He knew this feeling.  Not very well... but he recognized it.

It had been there nearly three years ago, when he was at the subway station and he saw her for the first time.

It was there when he watched her practice capoeira and when she teasingly called him "Sir." 

It was there when she had fallen asleep on the couch, all bruised up, and when she had walked with him on the beach in that pretty, grey dress. 

He had felt it when her face lit up over her brand new motorcycle, and when she had held his hand on Christmas Eve.

It was there whenever she laughed, or when she would get so excited that her words came out all high-pitched and tumbling over one another.

And it had been there last night, when he looked at her through fading eyes, seconds before losing consciousness.  Sitting there, bleeding out in that trailer, L had felt it stronger than ever before.

And now, at long last, he knew what it was.  That ache that settled in his stomach, that throb that tightened his chest... it had a name now.

He murmured something softly to himself, testing out the words as he voiced them for the first time.

Watari asked him what he had said.

A smile formed around L's pale lips.  A weight lifted from his shoulders and he finally understood.

Like stating a conclusive deduction, he repeated his words, this time clearly and with absolute certainty.

"I love her."