To Overcome Fear
By Leokitsune
A/N: Meanwhile, back in Japan. . . This is the story of what Nagi's doing during the events of "Cathedrals of the Mind."
Chapter 1: Music in the Park
Omi stretched, working out the kinks in his neck. He hadn't meant to fall asleep at his desk, but done was done. He looked at his watch. No wonder it was so quiet. Everyone had gone home for the day hours ago, even the undercover Kritiker people. In less than an hour, people all over the city would be gearing up for another work day.
He picked up his jacket. As refreshing as that nap had been, he needed to go home and get a few hours of sleep, at least. One of the great things about being the boss: you could make your own hours. The halls were dim, but one light was on in one of the offices that Omi passed. He peeked in and found his ex-rival hard at work, the piles of paper and cups of coffee clues that Nagi wasn't having an early start. More like a late night from the looks of it.
He entered the room fully and put his hands on his hips. "Nagi, when I asked you to help, I didn't expect you to make Kritiker your life. Go out, do something fun."
"Fun." Nagi paused in his work, seemed to turn the word over, test it out, then discard it. He went back to work on his terminal. "These files still need to be read. It does no good to waste all that energy hacking them not to read them. One of them has to have some useful information for us."
"Useful. Right. Do you know what time it is?" Omi tapped his watch meaningfully.
Nagi glanced at his taskbar clock. "5:49."
"In the morning," Omi said. He reached past Nagi, saved the files with a few efficient keystrokes, and closed down the terminal. "As Persia, I want you to go home, get some sleep, then take tomorrow off. Go do something—"
"Fun," Nagi finished for him, his voice flat.
"Right!" Omi said. He then realized that he didn't know what "fun" would entail for the TK. "What do you do for fun, anyway?"
Nagi stared at the logoff sequence as he thought about it. "I don't know," he finally was forced to admit.
Omi stared at him blankly. How could someone not know something like that? Maybe Nagi didn't want to tell him. Or was afraid that Omi would think he was a slacker for having a life outside work. If it was the latter, Omi would have to work on that. He thought about that problem, then realized that he had the answer. "Do you like music, Nagi?"
"Music? What kind?"
"Any kind. What do you like to listen to?"
Nagi shrugged. "I like popular music, I guess. And classical, too." He didn't listen to a lot of classical, but that had been all that Crawford had listened to, and Nagi had always liked what he had heard, even if he didn't know Bach from Chopin.
"Oh, good," Omi said. "Why don't we meet at the south gate of the park around three this afternoon?"
"Okay," Nagi said warily. A large yawn escaped him, to his chagrin.
"But that's for later. Go home now," Omi commanded gently. He shepherded Nagi out of the building. Once Nagi was gone, Omi picked up the phone and called Rex. "Rex? I won't be in until later this morning, and I gave the day off to Nagi. Also, could you check on something for me. . ."
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Nagi sighed as he waited impatiently near the park's gate. Why was he here? He had to admit, Omi had been right to send him home. He had slept like the dead for most of the day. Too many late nights. He was used to them, but it was still nice to sleep in his own bed, not on a desk somewhere.
"Hey, Nagi!"
Nagi hesitantly waved back at the exuberantly waving Omi.
Omi trotted over. "Hope you weren't waiting long," he said apologetically.
"Not at all," Nagi politely demurred. "What are we doing here?"
"Enjoying music on the lawn," Omi said, waving Nagi ahead with a flourish.
"Music on the lawn?"
"Yes," Omi said. He pointed out which fork of the path Nagi should take. "Two or three times a year, the orchestra does a performance in the park. It's free and always nice, if the weather's good. You don't have to dress up, and you can eat what you like," Omi held up a picnic basket.
Omi found a clear spot, handed Nagi the basket, and spread out a cheery red and white checkered cloth. Nagi watched Omi dubiously. Once Omi had the cloth to his satisfaction, he took the basket from Nagi and began to unpack it. Nagi found a smile lifting his lips as Omi displayed the last items out the basket: two slices of melon torte.
He settled on his corner and began to nibble at the feast that Omi had provided. "We can't eat all this," he said.
"Don't have to," Omi told him cheerfully. "I didn't know what you would like, so I brought a variety of things. I knew that something here would have to interest you."
Nagi looked at the plethora of foodstuffs. "I see."
"Look!" Omi pointed to the stage. The musicians had finished tuning their instruments and were starting their performance. Nagi smiled as a familiar opening strain filled the air. He didn't know the name to this piece, but it must have been one of Crawford's favorites. Nagi had heard it often enough to recognize it in the first three notes. He opened a Coca-Cola in the American's honor and wondered what Crawford and Schuldig were doing.
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