Comatose

The Other Side

"Who are you?" Pan asks first. I could strangle him with the casual tone he uses.

Not-Ana laughs like rusty bells are caught in her throat. "Call me Nobody, handsome. Or whatever you prefer. Anastasia isn't a big fan of nicknaming her individual feelings," she whispers, pretending it's a delicious secret.

"And what did you do with Ana?" he questions, still using that soft, nonthreatening voice.

"Ana?" Not-Ana wrinkles her delicate nose. "Why'd you want to talk to her? She's still here, by the way. Just taking a little...mental vacation, you know?" She laughs again at her own twisted joke.

I remember the two-sided picture of her face in my jacket pocket from a week ago and subconsciously touch where it's still hidden. "You're her other side. The dark half," I guess, using her terminology for emphasis with Pan. Why is he acting so calm about this random switch?

She cocks her head at me, too observant eyes falling at an odd angle to appraise me. "You're...Jane. Tinker. But not really." She grins. "Anastasia isn't a big fan of me, either. She likes to call me that, yes, but it's not what I am. I'm just the part of her she doesn't want anybody to see. Don't you have one of those too, Janey?"

My fists clench tight when she giggles, but I soothe the anger by reminding myself it's only Ana and I don't necessarily want to hit Ana. She hardly knows what she's doing, after all. Maybe another time, when I'm not feeling so restrained by the pairs of eyes on us both.

"Just Jane," I reply smoothly. "Generally I am the part you don't want to see."

"Scrap, Jane," Pan interrupts. He jerks his head back in a gesture for us to leave him alone with her, but I'm not budging an inch and it looks like Scrap won't be going anywhere either. After a moment of waiting, he shrugs and turns his attention back to our guest.

"So you're Ana. But different?" He gives her a second to respond, then moves on when she doesn't. "I suppose you come out when things get interesting. Anytime else we should know about?"

The English girl sighs, brushing at something invisible on her badly-fitting jeans. All of us make do with what clothing we can get, but some prove easier than others; shopping through back alleys for such a slender figure paired with legs like that? Not a chance we were finding something like she might be used to. Not-Ana seems to get this, but instead of being uncomfortable and fidgety, practically swimming in the material surrounding her bones, she makes it work so much better than I've seen. Even as we speak, Pan's calm interrogation twisting in and out of our conversational tones, she's twisting the hem of her navy t-shirt into a knot to make up for hidden curves.

She's not even paying attention to us. "Different is a good word for it. Opposite would be better," she hums. "You got a hair tie or something, handsome? I hate having this mane in my face all the time--more like a forest by now, isn't it? Not very attractive."

"I think it looks better down than pulled back, actually," he says.

Her smile thins. "Nobody asked your opinion. Just your assistance."

"You did say to call you Nobody, so I'll assume that means you do want my opinion. Keep your hair as it is," he freely suggests again. Not-Ana tilts her head at him, confused.

Then bursts into delighted laughter.

"Oh, you're a good one, aren't you, then?" she giggles. "Fine. I'll answer your questions. My name is Anastasia or Nobody or whatever you imagine to call me, as I really couldn't care much less. I'm the mirrored match to your dear girl, which means she's good and sweet and I'm not so much. Anastasia only lets me come out when I make her give me room." Her eyes darken and droop a little. "So you won't be seeing me a lot," she mumbles in addition. She sounds unarguably bothered by this admission.