Part Six

Mamoru stared at the plain door. He felt slightly queasy, but this had to be done. He needed to talk to Nagi properly. It would probably end up with Nagi being fired from Kritiker, but at least that would have some sense of closure. He knocked slowly.

He wasn't angry anymore. That was important. He clung to that. He could kid himself that he'd been so angry he'd misinterpreted something last time. He'd been angry enough to scare Nagi into reacting so violently.

He forced back the treacherous reasons for his anger. They weren't reasonable reasons. He knocked again.

He'd been on the verge of tears last time, he remembered distantly. Three days ago now. Nagi hadn't come to work or called during that time. As far as Mamoru knew, he hadn't done anything. Well, the switch must have come as something of a shock.

Mamoru raised his hand to knock again and froze. Nagi had been absolutely distraught last time he saw him, three days ago. Mamoru stared at the blank door with a growing sense of dread. Gripping the handle tightly he put a shoulder to the door and shoved. No luck. He leant away and slammed against it. No luck. He took a step away and decided to use the other shoulder this time. The door opened.

"I liked it better when you were knocking," a thin voice floated through the sliver of air. "Go away."

Mamoru pushed the door open and found no resistance. Nagi was curled up on the couch, dressed in the grey uniform Mamoru remembered from years ago. That was interesting. His sheer relief at finding Nagi alive was enough to propel him over to the teen, kneeling in front of him. Their heads were level, but Nagi turned his away to avoid eye-contact.

"It's been three days," Mamoru said. His voice wasn't as firm as he would have liked. Maybe his flip-flopping stomach was interfering with his diaphragm. "I think that's time enough to 'readjust'."

"It hasn't been long enough," Nagi said petulantly. "Go away."

"I'm not going to listen to that," Mamoru warned. "And I think it's fair that I at least get an explanation as for why you want to get rid of me so much."

Nagi looked uncomfortable. "A lot's happened to me recently. I can't get my head around what's happening to me, so I really can't let anyone else get involved. I'll go mad."

Mamoru reached out and cupped his hand under Nagi's chin, gently guiding Nagi around to face him. "You're not going mad," he said softly. "You can cope with this."

"You don't understand," Nagi insisted.

Mamoru sighed and stopped caring about understanding. He leant in and kissed Nagi firmly on the lips. There was a moment of no response, and then Nagi was opening his mouth and pressing against Mamoru. The kiss was hard and relieved. Mamoru stood carefully, never taking his mouth from Nagi's, and the younger man stood as well, wrapping arms around Mamoru's neck. There was a slight tentativeness there, which thrilled Mamoru. That attractive vulnerability again.

Mamoru held Nagi tight, breathing hard against him and kissing as deeply as he could, tongue exploring roughly. Nagi whimpered. When Mamoru pushed him back down against the couch he broke the kiss and made some sound Mamoru didn't register as he worked on the front of Nagi's shirt. Nagi writhed desperately, and Mamoru matched the movements. He descended for another kiss. Nagi ducked his head away.

"Stop," Nagi said breathily. "God, stop."

"You don't want me to," Mamoru grinned confidently. He nipped at Nagi's neck.

"No," Nagi moaned. "Stop."

"When you say it like you mean it," Mamoru teased, sliding hands inside Nagi's shirt and fastening his mouth over Nagi's again. Nagi was hard beneath him. Everything was perfect. Nagi was responding helplessly and whatever had been the matter was over now.

Nagi broke the kiss again. "Mamoru, stop. You're scaring me," he insisted.

"Stop," another voice said. Mamoru registered the cold press of a muzzle at the base of his skull.

"Schuldig," he snarled under his breath.

"Schuldig," Nagi echoed, apparently surprised.

"Get out, Tsukiyono," Schuldig said, voice flat and emotionless.

"That is not my name."

"It's who you are. It's who I'll kill if you don't start moving."

Mamoru pulled away from Nagi, feeling a pang of guilt at the relief in the younger boy's face. He'd been so thankful that Nagi was alive and well he hadn't paid any attention beyond that.

"One day, Mastermind, you will get your comeuppance."

"Tell me again in hell."


Nagi sat in the hotel room, staring out at the cityscape below him. The windows were stretched almost the entire length of the room. He was overlooking the river, not far from the Houses of Parliament. He could see the London Eye, a huge glowing circle that made him think of an oversized transmitter.

Officially, he was acting as a liaison with The English branch of Kritiker. Since Siberian and Abyssinian had joined Weiss Side B, Mamoru had been working on keeping communications open and friendly. They'd only spoken briefly before he'd left, over the telephone, but those few words had left Nagi confused.

He hadn't expected Mamoru to still want him after he changed back. He certainly hadn't expected Mamoru to want him so much he wilfully ignored Nagi's own objections. He'd apologised, very tersely. Schuldig had muttered something about a lack of sincerity, but Nagi suspected Mamoru was still having difficulty dealing with his own actions.

Nagi didn't want to forgive him. He didn't want to see him for the rest of his life. He found himself wondering if he'd ever really wanted the other young man in the first place. Nagi had come to realise that Schuldig's protectiveness had meant a lot to him. And Schuldig was very attractive, and experienced, and understanding.

Mamoru was young and inexperienced and blundering his way through, just like Nagi. He'd brought Prodigy into Kritiker because he thought there was some bond between them, because he thought they could relate to each other and had something in common. The fact he had believed that had told Nagi Mamoru knew nothing about him, but now, as the pressures of politics and family and Kritiker bore down on him, similarities were beginning to emerge. Nagi wasn't sure he liked them.

A polite knock on the oak door startled Nagi from his self-destructive reverie. Passing furniture older than himself, he made his way over and opened the door, to find a young Asian porter, uniform neatly pressed and still smelling of detergent, holding out an envelope. It was addressed both in Kanji and the Roman alphabet, the former more neatly written and obviously the more familiar to the writer.

"Thank you," Nagi said, accepting it. He didn't tip.

The first page of the letter was taken up with business and formalities, a few more repeated apologies scattered throughout. It ended halfway through a sentence that was never finished. Nagi could imagine several written and discarded pages. He could see imprints of attempts on the second page, around the words actually written there. The final draft, though looking at it Nagi felt that perhaps it wasn't the polished product, but instead an act of defeat. The words crowded together and ink blots obscured half of them. Mistakes were crossed out and repeated and crossed out again to leave the phrase missing key words altogether. A splash at the bottom of the page still smelt faintly of sake, and Nagi wondered if Mamoru had even intended to send this version.

He let himself fall into a leather-bound chair, next to a leather-inlay desk. The chair was thick and overstuffed, creaking slightly under Nagi meagre weight and releasing a puff of scented air. Nagi had never had much respect for anything but the latest technology before, but this hotel was doing its best to change his mind. He switched on the desk lamp, creating a warm yellow pool of light in the otherwise indigo shaded room.

"You confuse me so much, Nagi. You call me 'Omi' like it's a good thing. You continually insult my grandfather to my face. You spent a significant amount of time trying to kill me, and you haven't so much as apologised for that. You've got the worst attitude of anyone I know.

"The confusing part is I respect you for all of it. You've got a kind of self-confidence I never obtained. You don't feel obliged to be nice. You don't even feel the need to make people like you. I can't imagine living like that. But I admire you. It was very strange to find out you don't admire yourself.

"I guess it's obvious I have feelings for you. I still can't work out whether you return them. I used to admire that stoic attitude you seemed to have picked up, but it's quite nice to know you feel like the rest of us mere mortals as well.

"You're the only person I know who can really understand my feelings on the next part. After Ouka died I stopped wanting to care for people, you see?"

"Yes," Nagi said softly. "There's no point in putting yourself through that, not if you don't need to."

How do you know when you need to, though?

Nagi turned his head, but he knew the room was empty.

Having fun? Nagi asked rhetorically. Where are you tonight?

Crawford is treating me to dinner at the Ritz. Everyone's staring at us. I look gorgeous.

Nagi smiled at the picture Schuldig projected into his mind. Schuldig was wearing a slightly more expensive copy of the shirt Nagi had borrowed, a silky forest green, with white trousers and a white cravat. Reaching out of his own accord, moving through Schuldig, Nagi could feel the people around him. Crawford, cool and amused and enjoying himself immensely. The waiter, distasteful of foreigners but envious of those wealthy enough to dine there. Other guests, shocked and bemused, many wondering if the businessman and the flamboyant German were a couple.

They're hoping we're not, Schuldig informed him smugly. They're all after my gorgeous body.

Of course.

You could have come too, Schuldig pointed out. Instead of sitting and moping in your dark apartment over your long lost lover boy.

Nagi couldn't find any words to contradict him. No truthful words, anyway.

He wrote to me.

I know, I've been reading over your shoulder. And I'd just like to make clear that I hate him, and if he ever lays a hand on you again I shall rip it off. Bastard Takatori.

Literally.

Nagi closed down the link as best he could, making it clear to Schuldig that he was sitting and moping in his dark apartment because he wanted to sit and mope in his dark apartment. Though he'd probably meet Schuldig and Crawford in the cocktail bar downstairs later for a drink.

"When I realised I had, well, strong feelings for you, it scared me. I didn't want to go to that place again. Especially not if you weren't going to come too. I never knew if you were flirting or not. I just knew that I was going to disappoint grandfather terribly if I was inclined towards men. I took the risk though, when I thought, for a brief moment, that you might actually feel the same way. Now I'm not even sure if you're inclined the same way. I'm not even sure if I am.

"I'm screwed up, that's what I am, and I'd appreciate it if you stopped turning the screw. I just need some straight answers. I suspect you'd like some as well. I don't even know what happened between us any more. I thought I decided to make it happen, but now I wonder if instead I acquiesced to letting it happen. If I had known it would end like this, I would have called for transport that night. I don't want to regret it, Nagi. I just need to hear your side of the story."

The letter ended abruptly, any signature smudged beyond recognition by the sake. Nagi sighed and pulled his legs up under him, still using that position he'd only accepted as comfortable after his gender change. He placed the letter on the desk and turned the lamp off, shifting in his seat to look, once again, out of the window.

He felt as out of place in this city as he had in the female body. Foreign. But he'd grown used to that body. Maybe he could grow used to this. He could live in England, work with Weiss Side B, and never have to see Mamoru again. He could write a long letter and explain how events had transpired from where he had been standing. Was it cowardice or prudence?

There was another knock on the door. Nagi considered ignoring it for a moment, but chose eventually to welcome the distraction instead.

It was the porter again, though he came empty handed. He didn't say anything, either. Nagi frowned, and this time actually looked at him.

"Omi," he said, startled into old habits of tongue.

"I... I realised, after writing the letter, that I'd rather speak to you in person," Mamoru said hurriedly. "I don't want to receive a letter in reply. I shouldn't have sent you one. I'm sorry."

"Why did you bring it yourself, then?" Nagi asked, stepping back to let Mamoru in. He was operating on automatic, still in a state of mild shock.

"I was going to talk to you, but..." Mamoru shook his head.

"I understand," Nagi said softly.

They stood in the dark room, facing each other. Mamoru was wearing the neat blue and gold uniform of the hotel porters, looking a little like a soldier, or perhaps just the drummer boy. It suited him.

Nagi glanced down, reminding himself of his own clothes and wondering what Mamoru would make of them. The long sleeved navy blue top was standard fare, but the ankle length black skirt might be cause for comment.

"Are you..." Mamoru seemed unable to decide how to ask.

"No," Nagi said, shaking his head. "It's just... comfortable."

"It's good that you're comfortable," Mamoru said.

Nagi sighed and hid a smile. The sense of humour he'd inherited from Crawford made him want to take advantage of Mamoru's obvious distress. Or was that the sense of humour he'd inherited from Schuldig? He knew he'd picked up personality traits from both of them over the years, but as they got closer he was finding it harder to distinguish what came from who.

"What do you want me to say?" Nagi asked, moving to sit down by the desk again, and gesturing for Mamoru to take the overstuffed armchair by the bed. There was a definite overzealous approach taken to padding out the upholstery here.

"I just want to know what's going on. It's obvious I've been misreading everything" Mamoru said, not without bitterness.

Nagi nodded once. He paused, collecting his thoughts, then began to speak. "I thought you were very, very attractive and I would have liked to have more sex with you. I think your grandfather is evil. I think you don't know the first thing about who you are, so why you think you have a chance of figuring me out I have no idea." Nagi paused, taking in the look of horror on Mamoru's face. "I also think your grandfather is contributing to that," he added more thoughtfully. "Considering your past, you were surprisingly well balanced and secure until he came into your life. He's trying to tell you who to be, and part of you sees that new person as a dark beast, fit only to have its tomorrow hunted."

Mamoru smirked slightly at Nagi's mockery of the traditional routine, though his smile faded quickly.

"I think you're not in a position to judge familial relationships."

"Just because my family aren't blood relations, doesn't change the fact they're family," Nagi countered.

Mamoru looked confused for a moment. "Oh, Schwarz."

"Yes, Schwarz. In the same way you used to consider Weiss your family, before you abandoned them for blood."

"It's still different."

"I don't doubt it."

Mamoru sighed. "Okay, well, thank you. You have reassured me on several points. Pity about the past tense," he added wryly.

Nagi offered him a self-deprecating smile. "Everything changed."

"Yes, it did. I'd like to know what it changed from, and to, though. I think that's important."

Nagi grimaced. "I'm still figuring it out. Schuldig really helped me, you know. Being female gave me more freedom. I could do all of those things I never dared to and blame it on being female. And not just things I'd never dared to. I was a stranger, you see? I was a foreigner, taking advantage of the fact that I'd never be in that place again, never meet the people I met there back in my daily life. I was a tourist in my own body."

"Now I have to deal with being home again. I enjoyed my holiday too much, especially my holiday romance." Nagi looked up and smiled at Mamoru, who returned it uncertainly. "I can't reconcile my home self and my foreign self. I'm trying to be more relaxed, but I'm struggling. I can't let go. I hate that attitude you seem to admire, but I'm stuck with it. It's who I am."

"In the same way a telekinetic is who you are?" Mamoru asked softly.

"Sort of. The thing is, now I want to be that other person, that tourist, but I can't. I was so scared of losing my identity in that foreign land that I felt guilty for enjoying being there. I'd just figured out how to let go when I came home again, and now I'm scared of losing that female identity."

"But, it was still you, both ways," Mamoru said, still trying to understand.

"Was Omi the same person as Bombay? As Mamoru? As Persia?" Nagi asked. "You're just as confused as me when it comes to identity."

Mamoru blinked. "Oh."

"Like you said, we're screwed." Nagi laughed bitterly.

There was a long silence, broken only by traffic sounds filtering through the windows and the occasional whirr of a boat along the Thames.

Mamoru looked up and met Nagi's eyes. Nagi could see something clicking inside Mamoru's head, a gear slowly beginning to wind, to speed up, to set the whole engine in motion.

"We're foreigners here," Mamoru said. "We can do what we want, and not have to face the consequences. Blame it on being tourists."

Nagi's mouth curved upwards.

"We are, aren't we?" He leaned over the side of the chair. "I suppose we ought to take advantage of it. I know a very good nightclub, if you're interested."

"I think I am, yes," Mamoru grinned.

"I'll just change," Nagi said, sliding out of the chair, one hand grasping the skirt to explain.

"I'd rather you didn't, I think." Nagi looked startled, then concerned, before catching the wicked glint in Mamoru's eye. "In fact," the politician went on, "I was hoping you could lend me one."

A/N: Well, that's it. I may go back and edit the earlier parts at some point, maybe insert a few more chapters relating to Nagi dealing with the transformation. It still seems a little rushed, but maybe that's because I've been working on OUAN... Hints, tips, criticism and compliments? I'll take anything I can get. Would love to hear what people thought of this.

Anyway, I've promised Anria a sequel to this, so keep your eyes open...