"Team Theta has not checked in for over a week, Takatori-san. We have to assume..."
"They're dead."
"Yes." Birman looked grieved for a moment; she had made the mistake of getting close to a member of this team. "Mamoru, this is the third team-"
"-in a month," Mamoru finished for her, voice tight. "Yes, I know." His hands clenched tightly under his chin was the only outward sign of his distress, but to the only other two people in the room, it was a telling sign. "Has Intel come up with anything this time?" Birman shook her head.
"No. One day they were investigating Rosenkreuz, mostly unsuccessfully, and the next day they were gone." She hesitated. "I haven't had another team prep to leave yet; I thought I should see if you wanted..." Her eyes flickered up to Nagi who, like Mamoru, appeared calm and unruffled on the surface. Mamoru shook his head.
"No, it is senseless to waste more lives. We'll have to try a different approach. Call a meeting of the board heads tomorrow at 9 AM." Birman gave a brief nod and turned to leave. She hesitated for a moment at the door, and turned back. "Sir, have you considered-"
"Just the meeting for now, Birman." The corners of her mouth turned down slightly, but she nodded again and left.
The room was stiflingly silent for a few minutes after she left.
"Mamoru-san-"
"I'm done for the day," Mamoru said suddenly, interrupting what he knew – he knew – Nagi was going to say. "I'm going to go down to the gym, if you want to come along." Nagi merely nodded and followed along behind.
In the building's gym, reserved solely for Mamoru's use, the head of Kritiker left behind the stoic businessman he had shouldered a year ago, and turned back into the assassin he had been when he and Nagi had first encountered each other. While Nagi focused on the weight machines, trying to bulk up for appearance's sake – he was supposed to be a body guard, after all – Omi pummeled punching bags, whipped darts out of hidden pockets to twang into the center of distant targets, and tumbled and flipped across the mats. When Nagi was done lifting his weights, he would often lean against the wall and watch his employer, silently marveling at how gracefully he could move even after a year without a single mission. The telekinetic told himself it was his job to watch him, not that he did it for any personal enjoyment.
When Mamoru finished his workout, Nagi was ready for him, floating a towel across the mat to him. Mamoru smiled his thanks and plucked it out of the air, wiping his face and neck, still breathing a bit heavily. Nagi pulled his eyes away, glancing at the door, just to have something else to look at. If Mamoru noticed, he said nothing – he never did.
The two had dinner together like they usually did, though Mamoru, as usual, had to ask Nagi to join him. Nagi did his best to stay professional, which meant not sitting at the boss's table unless invited, no matter how many times his boss had told him he hated eating alone, and Nagi was the only friend he had. Afterward, Nagi saw Mamoru to his bedroom door and, with a slight inclination of his head, and maybe a small smile – something Mamoru was seeing a bit more of these days – said goodnight.
Mamoru had just had time to get a shower and be getting settled in with his latest novel when he heard a knock at the door – it took him a moment to realize that it was the door connecting his room to Nagi's, not the door to the hallway.
"Come in, Nagi," he called. He never bothered to lock the door, knowing it would prove no obstacle to the telekinetic. Besides, he had found that some time over the past few months he had come to trust his former enemy.
The door opened just enough for Nagi to slip through before it closed behind him. Mamoru's eyebrow twitched, the only outward sign of confusion at how Nagi was dressed; all in black, formfitting clothes. While very pleasing to the eye – abstractly, of course, Mamoru quickly added mentally – this was what Nagi usually wore when he had a mission. It was rare that Mamoru had to request Nagi to go take care of an enemy, but it did happen on occasion.
"Nagi?" Mamoru said, setting his book down. "What's going on?" He already knew the answer, of course, but he wanted Nagi to be the one to say it.
"I'm the only one who can deal with whoever is wiping out the teams in Germany," Nagi said, never one to beat around the bush. Mamoru felt as if his heart had tripped over itself, but he refused to acknowledge it, his face impassive.
"Isn't that my place to decide?" Nagi met Mamoru's gaze steadily as his employer rose from his seat.
"Do you deny it?" Nagi said in return, raising an eyebrow. Mamoru was silent for a moment before glancing away.
"Twelve people," he said in a tightly controlled tone. "Twelve of my people have died over there in just the past few weeks, and you want me to send you. You." Nagi frowned.
"Would you rather send another team out to die – or worse – at their hands? At least I have a chance of success against them."
"I won't send you to your death for some revenge mission," Mamoru said, a cold anger seeping into his voice. "Don't think I haven't heard your nightmares," he continued. "I know it isn't memories of Schwarz that make you scream like that." Nagi's eyes darkened dangerously.
"That's none of your concern," he said, struggling to maintain his composure. "If I were after revenge, I never would have agreed to work for you, I would have just gone to Germany. You know I have the resources." Omi seemed to deflate, glancing up to meet Nagi's eyes.
"You're right. I'm sorry. That was cruel of me. I just..." He sighed, suddenly looking his true age rather than the older age of the image he worked so hard to project. "I don't want you to go," he admitted in a small voice. The thought of Nagi over there, in danger of never coming back, was enough to chill Mamoru to the bone, for reasons he had fought hard to not address.
"You have a full security detail," Nagi pointed out, misunderstanding Mamoru's concern. "I trained them all myself, they are perfectly capable. Though, honestly, I don't see why you're concerned; you can deal with most threats yourse-"
"I'm not worried about me, you idiot," Mamoru snapped, throwing up his hands in exasperation. Nagi stared silently at Mamoru for a few minutes, unsure how to respond to that, Mamoru glaring back at him as if in challenge.
"You don't have any other options," he finally said. Mamoru made a frustrated noise in his throat and looked away.
"I was thinking about going myself," Mamoru said, without meeting Nagi's eyes. "I have more experience fighting psis than the others did, after all, so I'd have more of a chance." Nagi narrowed his eyes.
"You're no match for Rosenkreuz, Mamoru. And what happens if they capture or kill you? Kritiker is left to whoever can grab the power, and all your agents are used as expendable tools." It was a low blow, yes, but Nagi was determined that Mamoru would not needlessly risk himself. He told himself it was because it was illogical and ineffectual against Rosenkreuz, and if his chest ached at the thought of Mamoru dying, well, perhaps he was a bit too dedicated to his job.
"I will not order you to go to Germany," Mamoru said, his voice low but firm. He'd grown into his role of Persia, had grown used to – but never immune to – sending people out on missions that could possibly, even probably, kill them. Despite all the conditioning of the past year, however, the thought of sending Nagi – Nagi! – into that war zone, the most dangerous place on Earth for a Kritiker agent right now, made his blood run cold.
"I don't need you to," Nagi replied calmly. Mamoru's eyes whipped back to meet Nagi's, his eyes flashing with – something. It wasn't the suppressed rage Nagi had seen there before; it was something new, something... intriguing. "I'm going to Germany, Mamoru-san, whether you order me to or not." Nagi felt something twist in his chest as he spoke, and attributed it to the unfamiliar act of defiance. He had not so blatantly rebelled against authority of any sort since the incident with Tot when he was fifteen. He saw no other choice, though – it was either this, or watch Mamoru continue to agonize over sending more agents to their deaths.
"Nagi..." Mamoru's voice was pleading as he searched Nagi's face, his eyes, for any sign that he might waver in his decision. When he saw nothing, he let his eyes fall closed for a moment before they opened again, full of determination. "Fine," he said as he strode across the room, quickly covering the space between them. "These are your orders, then." He stopped right in front of Nagi, and without hesitation leaned up to close the gap, pressing his lips to Nagi's as his fingers rose to tangle in the other man's hair.
Nagi's eyes went wide with shock, but his body quickly took over and forced them closed as he gave into the kiss, parting his lips for Mamoru's insistent tongue, settling a gloved hand hesitantly on Mamoru's hip. Mamoru was unrelenting, pushing his body against Nagi's as he slid his lips over the telekinetic's, as if trying to imprint their shape on his memory. He finally pulled back, breathing a bit heavily.
"Your orders," Mamoru said huskily. "Are to come home." He emphasized the word home, knowing how rare such a thing was for people like them. "Please," he added, in a smaller voice. "Please, come back to me." Nagi stared down at Mamoru in shock; he'd recognized that he felt something more than friendship for his employer, he was not that naïve, but he had never imagined Mamoru would ever want him. There were still days he woke up and had to convince himself that even working for Mamoru had not been just a fever-dream.
After a tense pause, Nagi nodded slowly. "I will," he said softly. He lifted a hand to Mamoru's cheek, trailed trembling fingers down to his lips – then blinked out of existence.
Mamoru let out a choked cry when Nagi disappeared, though he swallowed down the sobs that threatened to surface. Nagi would come back. He had to believe that. He took a shuddering breath and sat back down with his book, but once it was open he merely stared at the spot Nagi had disappeared from, his fingers on his lips.