Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The clock on the wall blinked 2:47 AM, casting a cold, blue glow over the task force’s makeshift headquarters. The room was silent except for the low hum of computers and the occasional clink of a teacup. L hunched over his laptop, knees drawn to his chest, a half-eaten strawberry shortcake at his side. Light Yagami, chained to L’s wrist, was attempting to feign sleep, but his eyes flickered open every few minutes, watching L with a mixture of curiosity and irritation.

Suddenly, the silence shattered.

A sharp, electronic beep. Then another. L’s screen flashed red—“Critical System Error: Data Corruption Detected.”

L’s eyes widened. He clicked furiously, his long, pale fingers moving with a speed that bordered on inhuman. The rest of the task force—Matsuda, Aizawa, Mogi, and Soichiro Yagami—looked up from their desks, sensing the shift in atmosphere.

“Watari!” L barked, voice sharper than usual. “The backup server—check it. Now.”

Watari’s calm voice came through the intercom, “I’m afraid the system has encountered a severe malfunction. The backup appears to be… incomplete.”

A strangled sound escaped L’s throat. He spun in his chair, knees still tucked, and glared at the task force, his hair wilder than ever, eyes rimmed with red from sleeplessness.

“Do you—” L’s voice trembled with barely-contained rage, “—do you realize what this means? Months of surveillance. Every single piece of evidence we’ve compiled on Yotsuba. The phone taps, the meeting transcripts, the video feeds—gone. All of it. GONE!”

Light tried to interject, “Ryuzaki, maybe if we—”

“Do NOT call me that right now, Light-kun,” L snapped, yanking the chain so hard Light nearly toppled off the couch. “I swear, if I hear another suggestion about ‘reconstructing the data,’ I will throw you out the window myself.”

Matsuda, ever the optimist, piped up, “Maybe it’s not so bad! We still have our notes, right?”

L’s head whipped around. “Matsuda, your notes are a collection of doodles and snack recommendations. Unless Kira is secretly a potato chip, they are useless to us!”

He leapt to his feet, dragging Light with him. The chain clattered ominously. L stalked to the far end of the room, grabbed a pillow from the couch, and buried his face in it. The muffled scream that emerged was long, guttural, and shockingly loud. The task force exchanged nervous glances.

When L finally emerged, his hair stood on end, and his eyes were wild. “This is intolerable. I have not slept for three days. I have consumed nothing but sugar and caffeine. I have been chained to a suspect who may or may not be Kira, and now—NOW—the universe decides to erase all of our progress?!”

He began pacing, muttering furiously. “This task force will be the death of me. I swear, you are all going to drive me to drink. Or worse—socialize.”

Aizawa tried to calm him, “We can start over. We’ve done it before—”

L spun on his heel, pointing a trembling finger. “Start over? You want to start over? Would you like to go back to the beginning, Aizawa-san? Shall we re-interview every Yotsuba executive? Reinstall every bug? Perhaps we can simply ask Kira to confess while we’re at it!”

He stopped, breathing hard, hands shaking. Light, for once, looked genuinely concerned.

“Ryuzaki…” Light said quietly, “We’ll get through this. You always find a way.”

L glared at him, but the fire in his eyes dimmed just a little. He slumped back into his chair, knees to chest, and stared at the darkened screen.

“I am surrounded by idiots,” he mumbled, “and yet, I am the biggest idiot of all. I trusted technology. I trusted backups. I trusted… people.”

He looked up, suddenly deadly serious. “From now on, we keep everything on paper. And I want three separate backups. And if anyone so much as touches my laptop without gloves, I will personally see to it that they regret it.”

The room was silent. L picked up his fork, stabbed his cake so hard it splattered, and took a savage bite.

“Now,” he said, mouth full, “someone bring me a new pillow. That one is ruined.”

L stabbed the last bite of cake with unnecessary force, the fork scraping the plate with a shrill, metallic whine. He chewed furiously, glaring at the empty plate as if it, too, had betrayed him. The task force watched in stunned silence, no one daring to move.

Light, chained to L, shifted uneasily. “Ryuzaki, maybe you should—”

L slammed the plate down on the table with a clatter. “No, Light-kun. I will NOT ‘maybe’ anything right now. Do you have any idea what this means for my record?” His voice was rising, each word more frantic than the last. “I have solved every case I have ever taken. Every. Single. One. The police, Interpol, even the FBI—when they hear ‘L is on the case,’ they expect results. I do not fail. I do not lose. And I certainly do not let months of work vanish because of a ‘glitch.’”

He shot a murderous glare at the nearest computer, as if it might confess to sabotage. “I have a reputation, Light-kun. An impeccable one! I am not about to let the Kira case be the one that ruins it. I will not be remembered as the detective who let a mass murderer slip away because of a technical malfunction and a team of—” he gestured wildly at the task force, “—well-meaning, but utterly sleep-deprived, snack-obsessed amateurs!”

With a sudden, jerky movement, L grabbed the empty cake plate and hurled it across the room. It crashed into the wall, shattering into porcelain fragments. Matsuda yelped and ducked behind his chair.

“Ryuzaki!” Soichiro barked, but L was beyond listening.

L’s hands were shaking now, his eyes wild and glassy from exhaustion. He seized a stack of papers and flung them skyward, scattering them like confetti. “I have not slept in four days! I have consumed enough sugar to kill a lesser man! I am chained to a possible serial killer who keeps suggesting we ‘start over’ as if that’s a reasonable solution! And now—now I am expected to rebuild our entire investigation from scratch?!”

He grabbed a half-empty mug of tea and hurled it at the wastebasket, missing by a wide margin. The mug bounced off the rim and rolled under a desk. “Unacceptable! Unacceptable! I refuse to lose to Kira, to Yotsuba, or to a malfunctioning server!”

Light tried to placate him, “Ryuzaki, please calm down—”

L rounded on him, eyes blazing. “Calm down? Do I look calm to you, Light-kun? I am on the verge of a psychotic break! I am two sleepless nights away from hallucinating that the cake is talking back to me! If I do not solve this case, I will—” he paused, clutching his head, “—I will have to retire! Or worse, take a vacation!”

He snatched a pillow from the couch and threw it at Matsuda, who caught it with a squeak. “You! Write down everything you remember about the Yotsuba meetings. And do not draw any more potato chips!”

He spun, nearly tripping over the chain, and swept a pile of empty teacups off the table with a dramatic flourish. They clattered to the floor, rolling in every direction.

“I am L,” he declared, voice trembling with fury and fatigue. “I do not lose. I do not quit. I do not—” he paused, swaying slightly, “—throw tantrums. Except, apparently, tonight.”

He slumped back onto the couch, knees to chest, hair sticking out at odd angles, breathing heavily. “If anyone needs me, I’ll be here. Screaming. Into this pillow. Until I feel better. Or until someone brings me more cake.”

He buried his face in the pillow again and let out another long, muffled scream, the sound echoing through the stunned silence of the task force headquarters.

Chapter Text

Morning sunlight crept through the blinds, painting thin stripes across the chaos of the task force headquarters. Empty teacups, scattered papers, and the remnants of a shattered plate bore silent witness to the previous night’s meltdown. Yet, at the center of it all, L sat perched on his chair, knees drawn up, fingers wrapped around a fresh mug of tea. His hair was as wild as ever, but his face was the picture of calm detachment.

Light, still chained to him, watched with wary skepticism as L methodically typed at his laptop. The rest of the team tiptoed around, exchanging glances but saying nothing. For a while, it seemed as if the storm had passed.

Matsuda, however, never could leave well enough alone.

He sidled up to the table, clutching a clipboard. “Hey, Ryuzaki, are you feeling better today? You know, after your, uh… epic temper tantrum last night?” He grinned, trying to lighten the mood. “You were really going off! I didn’t know you knew those kinds of words.”

The room froze. L’s fingers stopped moving. His head turned, slowly, like a horror movie villain. For a moment, his stare was blank—then his eyes narrowed, and his whole body tensed.

Light saw it coming a split second before it happened. He grabbed L’s arm just as L launched himself from the chair, the chain yanking Light forward as well.

“You little—!” L snarled, voice raw with exhaustion and rage. “You absolute fucking moron, Matsuda! I swear to god, if you ever bring up last night again, I’ll—” He lunged, but Light wrapped both arms around him, holding him back.

Matsuda stumbled backward, eyes wide. “Whoa, Ryuzaki! Calm down! I was just joking—”

“Joking? JOKING?!” L’s voice was a guttural shout, echoing off the walls. “I will shove that clipboard so far up your—” He let loose a string of curses so creative and explicit that even Mogi’s eyebrows shot up.

“Ryuzaki, please!” Light grunted, struggling to keep L from breaking free. “You’re overreacting!”

L twisted, still shouting. “Overreacting? I haven’t slept in five days, I’m surrounded by idiots, and now I have to listen to Matsuda’s bullshit first thing in the morning?! I am DONE. I am so fucking done with all of you!”

He kicked at a nearby chair, sending it skittering across the floor. “If anyone needs me, I’ll be in the corner, contemplating the futility of existence and plotting Matsuda’s demise!” He glared at Matsuda, who had retreated behind Soichiro for protection.

Aizawa cleared his throat awkwardly. “Maybe you should get some rest, Ryuzaki.”

L shot him a death glare. “Rest? I’ll rest when Kira is in handcuffs and Matsuda is banned from speaking in my presence!”

He wrenched free from Light’s grip just enough to grab a pillow, then stomped over to the far corner of the room, muttering curses under his breath. He curled up, knees to chest, and buried his face in the pillow, still grumbling.

Light sighed, rubbing his shoulder. “He really, really needs a nap.”

Matsuda peeked out from behind Soichiro, looking sheepish. “Sorry, guys. I guess I’ll… just go make some coffee.”

As the task force slowly returned to their work, L’s muffled voice could be heard from the corner, inventing new and elaborate ways to curse Matsuda’s name. The genius detective, for all his brilliance, had finally reached his limit.