Identity

Hi everyone again. It's been a while, and I also have to warn you that this is my first time writing a semi-serious/ supposedly suspenseful fic. Dunno exactly how the next few chapters are going to play out, let alone how it's all going to all, so there might be a few inconsistencies – if the whole thing even works (not very encouraging, am I?). But I hope you'll all enjoy reading this anyway and forgive any plot holes etc etc. You're welcome to make any comments as well, of course.

Disclaimer: No, I don't own any of the FoR characters, drat it. Drat it. Drat. It.

Chapter 1 : Contact

She came in, prompt as usual, wrapped in a heavy overcoat. Asura looked up and smiled at her. "The usual, miss?" he asked, although it was unnecessary.

She nodded, as she always did, her ponytail bobbing in response. Asura studied her surreptitiously as he scooped steaming pasta into a plastic take-away container. She was gazing out at the street as she waited, her eyes scanning the passer-bys as if she was searching for someone. Not for the first time, he wondered how old she was. She didn't look much older than him, but there was something in her eyes which seemed to reflect otherwise.

He straightened and placed the now full tub in a bag. She turned back and deposited some coins on the counter. "Thankyou," she said quietly and left as quickly as she had arrived.

Asura stared after her until she disappeared from sight. He had served her when she walked in for first time almost a year ago and it had always been the same everyday. She would come in at 6 o'clock, pay with the exact change and leave immediately afterwards. Asura was on friendly terms with all the other regulars but was too polite to ask this one her name – and she didn't offer it. She didn't make conversation like the others. She didn't even smile. It was a pity. Asura thought that she would have had a really nice smile.

******

Kirisawa Fuuko moved with the crowd, head down and her dinner clutched by her side. Inconspicuousness was always her first priority and she had grown to learn that the best hiding place was often in a crowd. A few blocks down, she slipped into a non-descript old building and seconds later was back safely in her apartment.

Fuuko tossed the keys on the table and turned to her laptop. The screen was still blank. She sighed. It had been almost a month since the last message. It was weird. The longest she had gone without contact from them had never been over two weeks before. She took out a spoon from the kitchen cupboard and settled down on the floor.

The only furniture in the lounge was the round, wooden table which had already been there when Fuuko moved in. There was no couch, no television, because there wasn't need for any of that in her case. All that she owned were packed in a green suitcase and a duffle bag lying in the bedroom. She had never settled in a place for too long. Last year she had been in Hokkaido but she had moved around, never staying in any one city for long periods of time. Now she was back on her home island, in Kobe, and had been for almost a year - quite a long time, for her standards. It wouldn't be long though, Fuuko thought bitterly, before she would have to move again.

She stood up and glanced at her watch. It was a bit past 7. If they were going to contact her, they would have done so already. Fuuko sighed as she switched off the laptop and dropped the empty pasta container in the bin. She might as well take a shower and have an early night - something she was beginning to get used to.

She walked slowly to her room and took out a fresh set of pyjamas from her suitcase. As she stood up, something fluttered out of the folds of her night-shirt and onto the ground. Fuuko bent down and picked it up.

Seven smiling faces stared up at her. Well, six actually (Mikagami wasn't smiling). The photo had been taken the day she, Recca, Yanagi and Domon had graduated. Koganei and Mikagami (who had insisted he was only there because of Yanagi) were there as well – and so was little Ganko, who was hugging her. Only, Fuuko thought with a twinge of sadness, she wouldn't be so little anymore. And her parents – they weren't in the photo. But they had been there, proudly clapping as she walked onto stage to receive her graduation certificate.

It had been almost two years, the last time she saw any of them. So why was she feeling this now? Up until now it had been surprisingly easy, forgetting. Fuuko had had her work to preoccupy her. The late nights had always left her too tired to think, let alone reminisce. But now, with so much time on her hands she was getting all sentimental about what she'd left behind two years ago. She didn't need this, especially after she'd chosen to take the path she was on now.

Maybe, Fuuko thought as she thrust the photo back in her suitcase, it was time to get out and get her mind on other things.

******

"Well, well, look who decided to turn up," a girl with long, wavy black hair said in mock surprise. "How long has it been? A month?"

"It's good to see you too, Asagi-san," Fuuko said sarcastically, although she was secretly touched.

"Wow! That's, like, the longest sentence you've said all year."

Fuuko almost smiled for the first time in weeks as the other girl brought her up to date on the past month's gossip. In the rare times she had attended university before coming to Kobe, Fuuko tried and had succeeded in being discreet. She'd had the same intention when she first arrived here, but Junko Asagi, an aspiring fellow computing student, had taken a liking to the serious girl with the "cool black-purply hair". Fuuko had no idea why though. The two girls could not have been more different. Asagi was a pretty, attention-loving girl who had more than a passing interest in the opposite sex (and them in her), whereas Fuuko was seen to be silent and aloof.

"Hallooo," Asagi waved a hand in front of the other girl's face, "we'd better pick up our pace, or we're going to be late for the lecture." She tutted in annoyance as Fuuko blinked in surprise, "Honestly, I don't know why you bother to come if you're just going to fall asleep. Come on, let's grab the middle row. We'll get a better view of Yamada-san's face. Oh, don't you think that he's too gorgeous to be a lecturer?"

Fuuko made an indistinct noise in reply as they took their seats. She looked around and frowned. "Is it emptier than usual?" she asked.

Asagi nodded absently, her attention riveted on the tall man at the front of the theatre. "Less and less people have been bothering to come. I don't know why though!" she said indignantly, "I think Yamada-san has the loveliest voice."

A hush grew over the theatre as the lecture began. Fuuko listened intently, her mind juggling around the concepts of binary trees and graphs. She was glad to have something different to think about. She almost felt normal again, something she hadn't felt for a very long time.

"Hey," Asagi nudged her excitedly as the lecture ended and people started filing out, "a few rows back, there's a guy checking you out."

"What?" Fuuko turned around, frowning. Her eyes met a pair of startled green ones. She stared at the brown-haired young man for a moment, then turned abruptly and strode off towards the front exit.

"Hey! Wait up!" Asagi bounded after her, "I think he was going to come over to talk to us. Why did you just leave like that?"

Fuuko didn't reply.

"Do you know him?"

Fuuko increased her pace.

"Oh, come on! You know I'm going to bug you until you tell me."

Fuuko sighed and relented. "He works at the deli a few blocks down from my apartment, that's all."

Asagi gave her a sly look. "Oooh," she teased, "I think someone's got an admirer."

Fuuko scowled at her.

"Hey, that's a good thing, you know. And he's really cute too." The tall girl sighed, "Now, if only Yamada-san would look at me that way. I'd just die of happiness."

Fuuko rolled her eyes.

"I saw that, Little Miss Prude!" Asagi said indignantly, "Honestly, one day you'll feel the same way about someone and then you'll understand my feelings."

"Whatever," Fuuko shrugged. Jeez, I'm becoming a Mikagami, came a thought out of nowhere before she pushed it away.

"Hey, we've got the rest of the day free. Why don't we go to that popular dessert place on Saku Street?" Asagi suggested, unfazed.

"I'm not a dessert person."

"Oh no you don't," Asagi hooked her arm through the other girl's just as she was about to slip away, "you've gotten away with the disappearing act too many times. You can watch while I eat. Besides, there's this guy working there who's sooo cute. Not mature and beautiful like Yamada-san of course, but cute nonetheless. Oh, and I think he likes me. I want your opinion on that. Oh and have you seen the new guy working at Carmilla's? He's got the most gorgeous eyes…"

Fuuko just sighed.

******

Climbing the stairs to her apartment had never been so tiring, Fuuko thought, especially after spending a whole day out with Asagi, shopping and checking guys out. The girl definitely enjoyed doing the weirdest things, Fuuko decided, but she was fun to hang out with. Fuuko knew that it was out of the question to form attachments in any of the places she passed through (what would they do if they found out?), but she had been here for almost a year. Just this once, Fuuko thought, it couldn't hurt. After all, she'd probably be on the move any day now.

I'll see you tomorrow, right? Promise?

Tomorrow, she'd promised.

Fuuko stopped in front of the old door which was painted a disgusting green. Vomit green, she thought, not for the first time. She pushed open the door and was reaching for the light switch when something slammed into her.

Fuuko fell hard, her bag tumbling out of her grasp. Ignoring the searing pain down her side, she rolled backwards instinctively, just as something came crashing down on the spot where she had lay moments before. Knowing she couldn't retrieve her bag in which her gun lay or make it to the door before her assailant recovered from his miss, she ran in the opposite direction. As soon as her hands found the smooth surface of the table top, she vaulted over into the kitchen and crouched down low. Breathing as slowly and quietly as possible, she reached down to the small knife strapped to her thigh.

It had been too dark to see her assailant, let alone whether he had a gun. But, Fuuko thought, he must be just as blind as her in the dark.

Unless, of course, he was wearing night-vision goggles. Let's not think about that.

Well, she thought, if she couldn't see, she could listen. The trouble was, the intruder wasn't making a sound. He was good, she thought, a pro. Someone must want revenge badly.

Fuuko carefully removed her shoes and slid along the floor silently. There was still no sound from her attacker.

Oh well, no choice. She drew back her arm and threw a shoe as hard as she could. It hit the wall across from her with a loud thud.

There was a moment's hesitation before she heard the footsteps, before she saw him stop near where the shoe lay.

Now!

Fuuko ran, knife clutched in hand, blade extended forward. Her socked feet made minimal sound on the carpeted floor.

Gotcha, she thought as she closed the distance in no time, and thrust the knife upwards. It was an efficient, killing stroke, but instead of crumbling to the ground, Fuuko watched in confusion as the figure in front of her literally dissolved.

It can't be. It just can't…

Even as she felt the very cold, sharp blade press against her neck, she was still denying it.

"If you move, you will die," the all-too familiar voice said in her ear. He was angry, she thought, that was a change. She closed her eyes, thinking maybe, maybe it was all a dream. "Mikagami," she said simply.

The sword, the ensui, which had been so close to taking her life and still could, wavered then dropped. "Fuuko?"

Maybe because she was still in shock; maybe because she was so relieved; or it may have been because she felt a bit too glad for her own liking, but at that moment, Fuuko went hysterical. She stormed towards the light switch, bumping her already hurt side into the wall and table, and turned as light flooded into the room.

The first thing that came out of Mikagami's mouth when he saw her for the first time in two years was: "Your hair."

Fuuko brushed past him as if she hadn't heard him, stared at the floor and muttered something.

"What?" Mikagami asked, trying to figure out what she was looking at.

"THE CARPET!! YOUR WATER DOUBLE'S WRECKING THE CARPET!!"

And so Mikagami spent the next half an hour kneeling on the floor, absorbing the water back up to his ensui until his disgruntled teammate was satisfied.

By that time, Fuuko had regained her composure and had been surreptitiously studying the kneeling boy-man (Mikagami had to be close to twenty now, but she still couldn't bring herself to think of him as a man). In truth, two years had not changed the ensui-wielder at all. He still had his long, brown hair in that high ponytail and his ice-cold demeanour. All-in-all, he was still as girly as ever, Fuuko secretly sniggered.

Mikagami stood, his knees popping. He turned to the girl sitting on the floor (jeez, didn't the girl have any furniture?) and frowned. He could swear that she was secretly laughing at him.

"So," Fuuko said as she folded her arms, "what about my hair?"

"Huh?"

"'Your hair', that's what you said, wasn't it?"

"It's nothing," Mikagami pointedly looked at anywhere but her. He didn't point out how different she looked: how mature she appeared, how tired and solemn she looked now, how her hair, which were once messy bangs, was presently so long and sleek, like Yanagi's…

Fuuko watched as Mikagami suddenly changed from the awkward long-time-no-see friend to the ice-cold, serious swordsman. Maybe she was wrong about Mikagami not changing. He seemed to have more lines around his eyes and mouth than she remembered. "I guess we'd better talk," she said.

"I think we need to," was all he said.

It was going to be a long night.

******

"Has it been confirmed?" the man behind the desk asked.

"Yes sir," the tall woman standing before him replied, "we believe that they have made contact."

"Good," he smiled and waved her away. He lit a cigar, one of those Cuban ones – and definitely not cheap. "This calls for a celebration, don't you think?"

His question was directed at a figure standing beside him, in the shadows. "You think what you like," came the reply, "as long as I get what I want, I'm happy."

"Oho," the man laughed, not very pleasantly, "you'll get what you want, Sai. You'll get to fight her, don't you worry about it. And when you do, you'll crush her."

And the one called Sai smiled.