Darkscribes.org

Note: This definitely took longer than expected so apologies for that. I hope the wait was forth it. Thanks go to User-iel and Tabasco for the proof-reading, Big D and Jimmy for the feedback. Thanks also go to the people who actually write reviews. At this point the review to hits ratio is like 1%, which is not very encouraging considering what goes into every chapter. Luckily, this story is almost done. Then I can go back to writing smut.

As you might know from previous notes, this is the last regular chapter before the finale, which will probably be somewhere close to 100 pages or so given how much needs to happen. I had thought to be done by spring, but it's looking more like summer now.

 

***

Evangelion Genocide: Extended

“It is because of laziness and cowardice that it is so easy for others to usurp the role of guardians. It is so comfortable to be a minor!” -Immanuel Kant.

Genocide 0:14 / Experience.

***

 

Her morning routine had become so automated that Rei carried it out without thinking. She could perform the tasks in the dark, as she often did when she got up in the middle of the night to use the toilet. That the morning light which filtered in through the gap in her curtains illuminated her way as she rose from bed and walked to the bathroom hardly made any difference.

She had slept naked. Her experience had taught her that she ought to care about what she wore, but she seldom did. Rei dispensed with her clothing at her leisure—sometimes she couldn't be bothered removing them before going to bed, at others she neglected to put them on and went about wearing nothing until she was required.

Such impositions of society seemed vain, utterly useless. Nature did not demand that any of its creatures dress; only humans attempted to hide themselves from each other this way.

This way … and many more.

The shower water was hot, as always, one of the few comforts available in this housing block. Rei enjoyed the sensation on her skin, feeling it pour down her body in rivulets on all sides. She lowered her head and stared blankly at the drain between her feet.

She stood under the spray for another moment, not lathering up because she had run out of soap and never bought more. The small allowance that NERV put into her card went into food or into nothing. Dr. Akagi had taught her the importance of hygiene, but water seemed to clean her just fine. When she was done, Rei turned off the shower. There was no curtain separating the shower stall from the rest of the bathroom. Only a few plastic rings remained on the rod overhead.

The bathroom was small, holding only the shower, a dirty sink and a toilet in a corner. The metallic fixtures were rusting, staining the white porcelain with streaks of brown. The tiles underfoot were pattered in black and white squares and were badly scuffed. Several stains looked like dried blood.

Her short blue hair, soaking wet, stuck to her face and hid her eyes as she walked in front of the mirror. She was a ghost, a pale apparition who, in her own opinion did not look very much alive. And she felt like a ghost—transparent, nonexistent.

Removing a yellowing towel from a nearby rack, she threw it over her head and around her shoulders and began drying her face. Again she questioned the necessity of this behavior. The Commander had told her she could miss school, that it no longer mattered to her development, yet she had resolved to continue attending. It was one of the few decisions, like going to see Keiko, that she made on her own, a physical representation of her free will. She did not understand why she felt it was important, but it seemed to give meaning to her time.

When asked, Keiko said that an education was important because it opened doors in your future. Rei did not shared that view but she humored the injured brunette out of the same sense of compassion that had first compelled her to visit her, and then to help her.

With her hair dry and out of the way she finally saw her eyes, unnatural red orbs that peered out dully from a delicate, emotionless face. She ran the towel over her arms, rapidly budding chest, narrow waist and legs, carefully avoiding more sensitive places that she had learned could cause different responses than what she was used to. All this she did mechanically. Her gaze remained fixed on her reflection.

Tossing the towel aside into the box that served to hold her laundry until she could have it taken care of, Rei crossed into the living room.

Her bed was a mess of twisted sheets. Hanging from a rack nearby was her school uniform, the familiar blue jumper and white blouse. While the jumper was one of only two she owned, the blouses could be purchased in sets of five, one for everyday of the week. Her predecessor had opted for this rather than buying individual ones. Likewise, Rei Ayanami, the second one, had bought panties in sets of five, keeping them neatly arranged in a drawer like some hidden treasure.

Since they were the same size, Rei, the third, never had to worry about going shopping, using what was left to her by the girl who lived her life before. Lately, however, she had seen a white dress in a shop window that attracted her strangely.

Rei dressed in a few seconds, every movement practiced countless times. She slipped into her shoes on the way out, her book bag already clasped in her hand.

The morning sun shone brightly on the deserted blockhouse buildings. This part of the city was largely abandoned and populated only by low-income tenants who could afford nothing better. The din of construction that had permanently polluted the air was long silent; with fewer and fewer people moving in, there was little use for additional housing. In fact, all of Tokyo-3 seemed to be dying a slow a death, something the second Rei had helped bring about by her destruction of most of the downtown district.

The only thing keeping the city alive were the trains. Rei knew the routes by heart, knew which doubled as combat supply railways and which served as means of evacuation. As an Eva pilot, this information had been highly relevant; as … Rei, it wasn't.

It wasn't long, as she moved down the narrow sidewalk, until Rei noticed a tap on the back on her mind. The sensation was similar to fingers reaching through the base of her spine, upwards into inaccessible parts of her brain. She looked behind her and saw a large black sedan with tinted windows parked on the opposite side of the street.

Ever since a suspected kidnap attempt a few weeks back Major Katsuragi had tightened Section 2's protective perimeter around the Children. The Second Child had made quite a spectacle when they were told that Section 2 would now keep them under surveillance around the clock. Rei thought it a valid precaution if the Major was indeed worried about their safety. In his usual shy manner, the Third Child had agreed, earning him a tongue lashing from his redheaded companion.

“Excuse me.”

Rei heard the words before they were spoken and turned her head to find the person speaking them as she finished. A black haired woman stood in front of her, dressed in NERV's cream-colored uniform and holding a map. She had green eyes and a round face. Her features were soft, distinctly western, and twisted in confusion.

“Perhaps you could help me,” the woman said, gesturing with her map. “I just transferred from Matsushiro. I was assigned an apartment on block A, apartment 303. Problem is I don't know where that is.”

Immediately Rei knew there was something wrong about this woman—something in the back of her mind told her the voice didn't sound right despite having never heard it before. She kept her red eyes frozen on the woman, as if trying to see through her, not saying anything.

The woman drew back. “Uh, I didn't mean to bother you. Sorry if I—”

“Is there a problem?” The Section 2 agents sitting in the car had stepped out and were now walking towards Rei and the woman across the street.

The woman turned her attention from Rei to the agents. “Yeah,” she said, growing nervous. “I'm lost.”

“You work for NERV?” the agent on the right asked, taking in her appearance from behind his sunglasses.

“Yes.” The woman hastily produced an ID card out of her purse and showed it to the agents. “My name's Fuunoka.”

“That's a weird name for a girl,” the agent on the left snickered as his partner examined the identification.

“Tell my parents that.”

“Where are you headed?” the other agent asked, returning the ID card after apparently becoming convinced it was genuine.

She showed him her map. “Block A, apartment 303.”

The agent looked at the map, then down the street at a large building a hundred yards away then back at the map. He pointed in the direction of the building though he seemed uncertain. “It's over there, I believe.”

“Thanks,” the woman said, her expression turning to pleasant gratitude as she folded her map. “You guys must be from Section 2. You know, I've heard some real horror stories about you. It's nice to see you are not all jerks.” She extended a hand and they both shook it.

The strange woman turned her glance back to Rei. “Well, I guess I better check on my new place. I'll see you around, neighbor.”

Rei didn't acknowledge her, but both agents watched her go, attracted, no doubt, by her shapely legs encased in NERV's regulation white stockings and short skirt. They didn't know what she did—that this girl was a liar.

 

***

***

 

Shinji watched Asuka sigh at the group of girls gathered near the front of the classroom then bring her sullen blue gaze back to the open bento in her lap. He couldn't take the guilt anymore. “Asuka, I don't mind if you want to go have lunch with them. Really, I don't.”

Sitting atop his desk, her toes not quite reaching the floor, Asuka seemed to seriously consider it. Shinji sat on his chair bellow her, holding up his own bento as he picked out of it with chopsticks. Hikari had pulled up a chair and sat to their right. Kensuke was to their left, completing a tight yet hopelessly awkward little group. A much larger group had gathered around Miho, including most of the girls who would normally hang out with Asuka during lunchtime.

“They're just stupid little girls,” Asuka said bitterly after a moment. “I don't care what they think. It's a waste of my time.”

Shinji was not convinced. He would expect such an answer from her, but he also knew her well enough to realize that what she said didn't always match how she felt. He also knew better than to get into an argument with her over something like this.

As Shinji returned to his bento, he let the hint of blue on his peripheral vision catch his glance. Rei Ayanami was still sitting at her usual place next to the window. She was not eating, just staring blankly at the scenery outside and being alone. It always made Shinji feel bad for her. They hadn't talked much lately, and he was sure Asuka would be—

“I saw that!” Asuka's foot hit the outside of his right thigh. She had on her indoor slippers instead of her leather shoes, so it didn't hurt too much.

“I'm sorry,” Shinji said apologetically, his head low. “I just …”

“I have to make sacrifices to be with you.” Asuka dangled her foot by his side, ready to deliver another kick should she deem it necessary. “The least you can do is pay attention to me!”

“I know. But ...” Shinji hesitated, as always having trouble with what he wanted to say. Despite his relationship with Asuka having progressed to where he felt he could talk to her about almost anything, it was never an easy thing to do. “I mean, you know how it feels to be alone, don't you? More than anyone, I think. And … I know, too. So it bothers me when I see Rei alone.”

“And you think I'm being insensitive, is that it?” Asuka set her bento aside and sat forward, her eyebrows drawn sharply together. “I'm just mean old Asuka who doesn't care about anyone.”

“No.”

Now Shinji felt put-upon. They both knew very well that he didn't think that was true—Asuka wasn't mean for the sake of being mean—but her nature was to be confrontational in the extreme. She couldn't have a conversation like most people, she had to turn it into a battlefield. And while their fellow students still regarded her as the same incisive girl she had always been, Shinji was keenly aware that beneath the exterior layer hid a tangle of painful emotions.

What no one else could understand about Asuka was the level to which her attitude reflected her own inner wounds, and how deep and hurtful those wounds were. Though she could doubtlessly handle herself better, he had no right to try to correct her. Because he, unlike others, did understand why she was like this.

But it still bothered him, especially in school.

“This is so typical of you,” Asuka continued to bicker. “You are never glad for what you have. You don't appreciate anything—you used to do the same with Eva when I couldn't pilot. You only think about what you don't have.”

“I said I was sorry, okay?” Shinji let his shoulders sag and dropped his head even further. “I just want to have a nice lunch. No fighting.”

Besides him Hikari looked on disapprovingly, and for a moment Shinji thought she might step in and make things worse. He was glad when she continued to eat from her bento, as if keeping her mouth full was the only way to hold herself back. He could feel the pitying look from some of the other girls as well. At least he didn't have to worry about Kensuke—Asuka's threat to shove his camera down his throat if he ever came between her and Shinji was enough of a deterrent.

“Fine,” Asuka growled, and jumped to her feet. “I'll teach you to be an ungrateful brat.”

And to Shinji's horror, she marched straight towards Rei. He almost went after her, to stop her. He almost ran out the door, so as not to witness the awful fight she was certainly about to start. Because there was no way this could end in anything but a fight, and he would be caught in the middle—the very thing he had been trying to avoid.

By the time Asuka planted herself in front of Rei's desk, hands firmly set on her hips, Shinji wanted to disappear. And yet, like a car wreck on a busy highway, he couldn't look away. The lump in his throat kept him from calling out to Asuka. Hikari, too, was staring, and other girls had begun to notice. Rei ignored Asuka as long as she could, then the redhead opened her mouth.

“The idiot would be very happy if you joined us for lunch.”

Shinji jaw fell open in shock—had Asuka just …

Rei returned Asuka's hostility with calmness, but her ruby eyes were wider than normal as they moved to meet blazing blue ones. “I do not have anything to eat,” she said with great composure.

“What the hell kinda lame excuse is that?” Asuka thrilled, her voice rising to a new, more insistent pitch which she used only when very annoyed. “Don't you know its rude?”

Rei shook her head slightly. “Is it?”

“Yes, it is. It makes you seem anti-social, and you aren't fooling anyone.” Asuka gave Shinji snide glance. “Why do you want to be alone, anyway? It doesn't make any sense.”

“I am not alone.”

Asuka snorted derisively. “Now you are just kidding yourself. Frankly, I don't care if you want to build a nice little wall around your desk and never come out. But it upsets the idiot. I'll put up with you as long as it keeps him from moping all through lunch.”

Rei blinked, as close as she ever got to expressing surprise. “You mean Ikari—”

“Of course I mean Ikari!” Asuka pointed a finger at Shinji, who shrank back in his chair until it felt several sizes too big. “Are you stupid? Can't you see you are making him miserable?”

“I … am?” Rei looked at Shinji as if for confirmation of Asuka's statement.

All the Third Child could do was bow his head noncommittally. By now he realized Asuka didn't really want Rei to join them but would rather have that instead of him constantly looking at her from afar—even if it meant using guilt to manipulate her. Asuka knew she couldn't stop him from being concerned for Rei, she had said as much, and this was her way of ensuring that if he was to be concerned, he did so under her terms. It gave her a measure of control over something that bothered her.

When Rei got out of her chair it became clear Asuka had succeeded in including her in their group for all the wrong reasons. As she came back with the blue-haired girl in tow, Asuka flashed a sharp grin of victory. Then she leaned in and whispered in his ear. “See? Some dolls have a string you can pull.”

Shinji turned his head away, gritting his teeth. “Please, don't … don't call her—”

She brushed his cheek, a light tap of her fingers in a downward stroke towards his lips, using just a little too much of her nails to discretely signaling he should he quiet.

“Have a nice lunch,” Asuka said sarcastically. Smugness tugged her pretty face into an expression of self-satisfaction, but Shinji had gotten to know her well and instantly recognized the expression for what it was—a thin veneer to hide how she really felt.

Kensuke quickly found Rei a chair and she sat with them, holding her hands in her lap, not having anything to eat. As a good excuse to avoid Asuka's glare, Shinji began to reach into his bento for something to give her. Being a vegetarian she wouldn't like the beef slices, but—

“We're not sharing so don't get any ideas,” Asuka said flatly, retrieving her bento box and once again climbing onto Shinji's desk. She folded her legs and returned the bento to her lap. “It's her fault she doesn't have anything to eat anyway.”

Regardless, Hikari quickly volunteered some of her fried rice balls. Her cooking was not bad; Shinji was sure Rei would like them.

“Thank you,” Rei said, her voice softer than Shinji could ever recall.

“Don't mention it, Ayanami,” Hikari said. “Next time bring something to eat, or plan to buy something in the cafeteria. It's not very healthy to go without eating all day.”

Rei nodded.

“I'll make you something next time if you want,” Shinji started, but Asuka's glare told him he would shut up if he knew what was good for him. He returned his attention to his food.

They ate quietly for a while. Aware that he was walking on eggshells, Shinji kept under strict control beneath Asuka's watchful gaze. But rather than feeling like a prisoner, he slowly he began to consider the possibility that she had actually done something nice for him, even if only reluctantly so. The thought found a spot in his chest and nestled. He had never believed Asuka to be as selfish as she wanted others to think—okay, he had but that was a long time ago and only because he didn't understand. It was still possible that she had placed the wishes of someone else over her own. Wasn't it?

When Shinji finally managed to catch Rei's eyes he saw a strange gleam of sincere gratitude filling up the red orbs, one of the few emotions he could clearly recognize in her. And, as she ate, he thought he saw Rei smile. Asuka was too busy angrily assaulting her bento to notice or she would have certainly gone off on another rant. It felt strange to have the two of them so close together, and yet he wished they could spent more time like this.

Finished, Rei wiped her hands on her skirt. But instead of looking at Hikari, who had shared her food with her, she turned to Asuka. “Thank you.”

“Is that all you can say now?” the redhead snapped.

Shinji caught her before Asuka could spew the insults he knew had to be coming. She looked back at him with angry, bristling eyes. He pleaded silently with her, asking her how she would feel if others excluded her the way Rei had been excluded; asking her to remember what it felt like to be alone. And perhaps because she did, Asuka dipped her head in a gesture of surrender.

The guilt returned, and Shinji wished he could tell her she didn't have to do anything like this to make him happy if it was not what she wanted. But he didn't know what her reasons were, and didn't want to make assumptions when they had proven so wrong in the past.

Because he had to do something, to both thank her and make it up to her, Shinji reached out his hand and placed it very gently on her knee. Asuka lifted her head, just enough to let him see her eyes through her long, scattered bangs. They shimmered prettily despite the anger.

Shinji began to open his mouth, but the expression on his face made his intention perfectly clear and Asuka was quicker, as always.

“If you say anything stupid,” the German girl barked, “I'll punch you!”

 

***

***

 

“Ouch!” Shinji recoiled as Asuka punched him in the arm, hard. After being angry at him since lunch, and though that anger had subsided into annoyance, his latest stupid comment finally pushed her over the edge.

“Idiot, what the hell do you think is gonna happen when you say things like that?” Asuka lunged, her eyes round and angry, brow wrinkled. Then her hand shot downwards and found its way to his, closing into a tight grip. She pressed herself against him, her head turned away huffily. “It's like you're tempting fate.”

Instinctively, Shinji squeezed her hand back, feeling her slender fingers worm their way around his until they were locked together. With their arms now at their sides and hands pressed between their bodies, it was unlikely that anyone on the crowded train platform could notice the intimate gesture. Such displays had slowly become more common as they grew more comfortable with each other.

“I didn't mean—Unit-01 has never had activation problems,” Shinji said defensively, using his free hand to rub his sore bicep where she had punched him. “Besides, if you are right it's my mother inside of it.”

“Maybe, but there was that one time she tried to EAT an Angel,” Asuka replied, shuffling her feet to give herself a little more room, but the salaryman next to her seemed none too pleased to find himself so close to a fidgety teenager. “She could have issues.”

The memory gave Shinji chills; he was not even sure he had been in control back then. Unit-01 had gone berserk before, but that was the most vicious and violent episode of the whole lot. This particular Angel had just badly defeated Unit-00 and Unit-02, almost destroyed Central Dogma, and damaged Unit-01, severing one of its arms. Shinji had just run out of battery when she took over.

He was not certain if it could really be his mother, but there was a warm, welcoming and very familiar presence inside Unit-01. Time and again he had felt something, and seen things that were like dreams. And during the last battle he had actually heard its voice inside the entry-plug, and it sounded a lot like what his mother's voice. Asuka was convinced of it, given her own recent experience inside her Unit-02. He remembered she had been sourly disappointed that her activation test last week did not result in another reunion like the one she had previously described.

Shinji didn't know what to tell her. Maybe it was possible—there was so much about Eva that neither one of them understood. Or maybe they just missed their mothers so much they were seeing and hearing and feeling things because they wanted to be with them again.

Either way, there was nothing to fear from Unit-01.

“I'm just saying you shouldn't say things like that,” Asuka added, apparently mistaking his silence for apprehension. “Not that something will go wrong.”

“I guess someone will let you know.”

Of course someone would let her know, he thought belatedly—she would be one who would have to find a way to take Unit-01 down should something go wrong. This time Asuka didn't punch him for saying such a stupid thing. She stomped on him.

Shinji yanked his foot away as her heel ground on his toes. But when he turned his head back to her he was struck by the concern showing on her face. Despite being older than she was by a almost six months, Asuka was actually an inch taller than him, not enough to make him look up to her but enough to remind him of the high standard she represented in his life, a standard he struggled to maintain despite his best efforts. There was, however, no denying the nature of the connection that now existed between them, and both h and Asuka recognized it.

And the fact that Asuka was so worried—in her unique way, which happened to involve hitting him with her hands and feet—assured him of how much he had come to mean to her. Of how high of a standard he was himself. Shinji was sure, as sure as he had ever been of anything, that Unit-01 would never harm him, but he grew fonder of Asuka for being willing to show her concern.

The loud screeching of brakes on metal rails started off in the distance, moving closer as the train approached. It was still slowing down as it crossed the terminal, windows passing by in a blur in front of Shinji and Asuka. When it finally stopped, the door slid open and the crowd began to bustle its way inside. Asuka gave Shinji a parting glance as she let go of his hand.

“I'll have you for myself tonight,” Asuka said, reaching up to brush long bangs of golden-red hair out of her eyes as the crowd bumped her around, pushing her towards the open door.

Shinji's reply became lost in the din of voices and moving bodies. He turned sideways, making it easier for the crowd to flow around him.

Before he knew it he found Asuka on the other side of the closing door, hand on the glass. She offered him a grin and a tilt of her head calculated to seem playful, maybe a little flirtatious. He would definitely see her tonight, and knowing her, she would probably want to make up for their reluctant separation.

Shinji grasped the strap of his bag across his chest, over his heart, already quickening in anticipation of having Asuka's sweaty, naked body mingled with his in the heat of his room. Sex with her was oddly like fighting with her—more like an act of aggression on her part than cute and cuddly. She was always in charge, always on top. There was almost no kissing, no overt displays of affection beyond maybe holding hands, just smacking flesh and grunting. It wasn't the loving, caring experience Shinji imagined, but he got over it.

He smiled shyly at her, and her grin broadened in return.

Gestures like that had convinced him that no matter how obnoxious Asuka acted in public, or how nasty she could be to him and others, or even how downcast she might seem at times, she was happier than she had been since moving to Tokyo-3. Because of him.

With the humming of electric motors the train moved off, clacking as it rocked on the track, pushing out a draft that waved over Shinji like a breeze. The crowd had thinned considerably but the next train would not be far behind. The only reason, he suspected, Misato still allowed them to use the public transit system instead of having Section 2 drive them everywhere was the crowd—too many possible witnesses for anyone to try anything.

Allowing them to use the train was also Misato's concession to the fact that both he and Asuka were trying to lead normal lives as best they could. And Section 2 escorted them from one point to another, and skulked outside their school and home more visibly than before as if to blatantly announce their presence. They now had a standing 'weapons' free' order, meaning that they were to shoot anyone who might pose a threat to the children without warning.

Sure enough, when Shinji looked past the crowd he saw a man in a suit and tie standing at the edge of the platform. He had probably seen most of his interaction with Asuka. They might even have microphones on them to listen in on their conversation. He ignored what advantage they could gain from that, but teen romance was always good gossip material.

Suddenly feeling very embarrassed, Shinji glanced at his watch to hide his blush from the watching agent. Fifteen minutes until the train that would take him Central Dogma's outside hub arrived. Then he would be inside the installation's surveillance network and Section 2 would leave him alone. He would then be recorded instead of merely watched.

Shinji blew out his breath in a sigh.

Fifteen minutes later, right on time, another train arrived. Fewer people got on board, and most of them wore NERV uniforms. Shinji found a seat near the back and placed his bag next to him as he dropped into it.

The train emerged from the station into a sheet of orange sunlight. The setting afternoon sun blazed low on the horizon, tinting the landscape with a color more vivid even than Asuka's hair. Long, black shadows streaked across the nearly empty car creating a shifting pattern of light and dark. Shinji fumbled inside his bag for his SDAT, leaning his head against the window as he slipped on his earbuds and hit the play button.

Beethoven rose out of nothingness. Ever since Kaworu died this was the only thing he listened to; he didn't know why. Beethoven seemed to give meaning to the long stretches of his life when nothing happened—when there was no Eva to pilot, no one to make him company.

He listened to Beethoven all the way down into Central Dogma. Until, finally standing in front of his locker, he took the earbuds out, along with the the rest of his clothing. Folding his uniform into a neat square, he placed it into the locker on top of his shoes, catching a glimpse of himself on the small mirror affixed to the back.

For no reason he thought of his mother. What would she think if she could see him now? Would she approve of the man he was growing into, of the choices he'd made? Was he what she expected? If he could just know that she was happy with him …

“I miss you,” he murmured to no one and shut the locker.

Shinji picked up his folded plugsuit, ripping up the vacuum sealed plastic bag it came wrapped in, and began to put it on. The blue-white suit had become a symbol of some of the worse moments of his life, but it felt like armor against new tragedies.

As Shinji pressed the switch on his right wrist, the plugsuit's material stuck to his slender frame, venting out the air and creating a strong seal. He flexed his gloved hands and ran his fingers along his collar to check that it was properly aligned. The first time he'd worn the suit it had felt weird, like he wasn't wearing anything at all; the material was flexible yet thick enough to be protective, but it fit him so tightly that it was basically weightless. It had taken some getting used to.

Stepping from the locker room and walking down the hallway towards Unit-01 cage, Shinji couldn't keep his head from dropping. He didn't look up until he was in the cage, Unit-01's massive, purple form looming menacingly overhead. His Evangelion had been secured by locks and bolts to an upright set of rails that ensured it remained vertical and unmovable. The entry-plug was already locked into place, rising from the base of Unit-01's armored skull as a large cylindrical shape. The words EVA-01 were painted on the side in large letters. Gantries and catwalks sprawled around it for access.

And on one of the gantries, Shinji saw the imposing figure of the man he could no longer bring himself to call father.

Gendo Ikari noticed him, and as he fixed Shinji with his hard gaze, the younger Ikari looked down at his own feet. He heard footsteps on the metal floor coming in his direction.

But just as Shinji dreaded a reprimand, a hard, emotionless voice said, “You have done well. Better than I expected.” And then a heavy hand descended onto his shoulder. “Your mother would be proud.”

Shinji felt his resolve to avoid him quickly collapse. His chest constricted and every breath became an effort. He couldn't look up, couldn't face him. Too many times he had found himself being forced to do things against his will, to hurt people he wanted desperately to protect, to hate everything about his life. And all because this man had made him.

He had broken Shinji, as completely as Asuka was broken by the loss of her mother. But the Third Child had dealt with it differently. Rather than excel, he wanted to disappear; rather than survive and make others notice, he wanted to simply stop being.

And yet, despite everything Gendo had done to him, those few words of approval suddenly meant the world. Shinji squeezed his eyes shut. “F-Father...”

Gendo removed his hand. “But I still expect much from you.”

As he moved past him, Shinji mustered the courage to lift his gaze, turning slightly but trying to avoid eye contact. He watched his father retreat, his steps heavy as if he carried a great weight within his body. Added to this, the straight cut of his uniform made his resemble a marble statue, ominous, unmoving. He was a massive man, the living embodiment of NERV's authority.

“F-Father?” Shinji’s voice trembled audibly as he called out. He clenched his gloved hands into fists to keep the rest of him from trembling as well.

Gendo stopped. He didn't turn. “Yes?”

Not good. Shinji's knees were shaking, too. But this was the best chance he was likely to ever have, and too much had been said about his mother lately. He had to know. “May I ask you something about Mother?”

Gendo didn't have to answer. He never had before. He just needed to keep walking and Shinji wouldn't have the courage to stop him.

“You may.”

Shinji swallowed hard. “She … how did she die?”

Gendo considered his request for a moment, and his silence predictably made Shinji feel awkward. He should have just let him leave. What could he possibly expect to accomplish with this? As if this man, having never shown the slightest concern for him, was about to answer his questions, as if he cared that knowing about his mother would bring a little piece of her back to Shinji. Finally, Gendo turned fully to Shinji, who kept his eyes firmly on the floor.

“It is not important how she died,” Gendo said sternly. “What matters is why. She died because she loved you too much to let you live in such a miserable world.”

Shinji could hear the accusation and bitterness in his father's voice, but also the same thing he had heard in Asuka's many times over the last few months, and perhaps only because of his experience with her was he now able to identify this emotion—hurt. And it shocked him. “B-Because of me?”

“Yes.”

Shinji took a breath and felt like his heart had come to a stop. In a moment of sad grief, he realized he had been wrong about his father all these years. Too wrong. He had thought his father had never cared because he never showed otherwise. He never spoke of Yui and seemed like he would rather forget that she ever existed. But he did care, and losing her hurt him quite a lot.

And he blamed Shinji for it. That was why he treated his own son like a stranger, never with kind words or affection. That was why he had abandoned him to relatives when he was little and didn't bother with him until he needed him to pilot Eva.

His father blamed him.

There was only one thing Shinji could think of saying as he felt tears beginning to fill his pale blue eyes. “I … I am sorry.”

“In the end, doing what she did was her decision,” Gendo said, unmoved by his son's display of emotion. “You should not hold yourself accountable for that.”

“But you do,” Shinji whimpered, wiping the back of his gloved hands over his face, rubbing off his tears with pathetic desperation, all he could do to keep from crying. “You … you blame me, don't you?”

“I am not you.”

The lump in Shinji's throat was too big to swallow. He choked. “B-but—”

“There is only one person in this world you must learn to live with. And it is not me or anyone else. There is only one person whose happiness should matter to you,” Gendo paused to give Shinji a moment for the words to sink in. “Your mother believed that it was possible to find happiness in sharing yourself with others, and that we can give of ourselves to safeguard the future of those we love. But I know she was wrong.”

Shinji was quiet, looking down at the floor as he fought to keep more tears at bay, still rubbing his eyes.

“By now you should understand this better than most people,” Gendo said. “Human beings cannot overcome loss as long as they live. All we can do is bury it in our hearts.”

Shinji thought about that, and about what Asuka said regarding them never losing their mothers, and how when she made him talk about her he had felt so dejected until she took his hand and shared her own pain with him. And then he realized that even though he badly missed her, he was also glad he could remember her. Her memory remained strong in him because he loved her, and the day he stopped missing her was the day he stopped loving her.

And so he refused to accept his father's truth.

“I … I don't believe that,” Shinji brought up his head. “I won't forget about mother. I miss her, and it hurts, but I won't forget.”

Gendo's hard, dark eyes met him, his features carved out of stone, completely devoid of any emotion, good or bad.

Shinji stood his ground, even though he knew he sounded like a little boy who missed his mother. For better or worse, that was exactly what he was. Gendo could admonish him for it, but it was the truth, and he would rather live missing his mother than forget her because it hurt too much. His father had forgotten; to Shinji that was yet another sin.

To his surprise, Gendo nodded. “Then you are a stronger man than I.” He turned his back and began walking away slowly, hands in his pockets.

Shinji watched his father go in stunned silence, unable to say anything more. He stared for a long moment. Only when he heard Maya's voice over the loudspeaker bidding him to climb on board Unit-01 had he snapped out of it and trudged up the steps to the access hatch.

Once seated in darkness, the entry-plug filled with LCL. “Begin linkage sequence.”

Shinji curled into a tight ball and buried his head behind his knees, a hundred thoughts and emotions crowding his head and tugging at his heart. So many that he didn't know what exactly he was feeling—sadness, regret, longing, all mixed into one. But all around him the entry-plug felt a little more welcoming than usual, as if she knew …

“Linkage sequence complete.”

Maya's voice came back. “Harmonics are normal. Synch-ratio holding steady. All barriers have been cleared. Evangelion Unit-01 is now active.”

 

***

***

 

Misato hung up, flipped her cell phone closed, and placed it on the table. Across from her, his hand around a cup of coffee, Nakayima looked interested.

“How did it go?”

“It was fine.” Misato leaned back and crossed her legs, shifting her posture on the chair slightly to the side. The chairs in small, dimly illuminated night lounge were designed to be utilitarian, not comfortable.

He seemed unconvinced. “Not really a comforting answer.”

Misato sighed, moving forward to place her elbows on the table. “Shinji's alright. That's all I can ask at this point. He's in the apartment with Asuka.” She paused, bringing her mind back to their conversation before she had thought to call Shinji to make sure he had gotten home safely. “Anyway, what do you think?”

“I don't think you can rule it out,” Nakayima said. “The fact of the matter is that we don't have enough information. We know, obviously, that Americans are not known for doing things without proper planning. You saw them when they were unloading Unit-08—they are obsessed with details.”

Misato had made that very same observation to herself when she had gone to New Yokozuka to receive NERV's latest Eva unit, but she would rather not think about that. While she had not been happy with Unit-08's transfer, she could have never imagined the fate that awaited it and its young pilot. Misato still felt responsible for what happened, and she had no doubt she always would. In her mind, she should have done more to protect Keiko, even if it might have meant putting Shinji at risk. He, at the very least, would have been able to defend himself. Keiko had been little more than cannon fodder.

Or maybe, had she known how hard of a time Asuka was having, Misato might have prevented her from going out there. Of course, that was before she knew about the Tablet and what it did. After that Misato was not sure she could trust in the decisions of her superiors, and her sense of personal obligation to the children had long outweighed her sense of duty.

“You still have to wonder about their interest in the pilots,” Nakayima said. “A weapon—and I'm sorry to speak of them that way but I'm being realistic—is useless without anyone who knows how to use it.”

Inside Misato the old urge to resent him struggled against the knowledge that he, too, cared for one of the children. A former and badly-injured one at that.

“Ever since the Jet Alone fiasco, I haven't heard of any other sort of technology to replace the Eva, but that would be the only thing you would find Eva pilots useful for,” Misato said. “Unless they really mean to take down the UN.”

Nakayima shook his head. “I doubt even the Americans have that much influence. We don't live in a unipolar world anymore. There are no more superpowers.”

“Well, it doesn't really matter, does it? Asuka doesn't want to go anywhere so there's no sense in working a deal now. And Shinji will do whatever she wants him to do. Even if she doesn't mean to, she's got him wrapped around her little finger.”

The corners of his slanted eyes clenched. “You sound resentful.”

“Towards Asuka?” Misato considered, then shook her head firmly. “I'm not. But she can be so stubborn. She's making progress, though. Believe it or not, she used to be a lot worse.”

That seemed to catch Nakayima a little off guard. “I couldn't really imagine how anyone—”

“Be any worse?” Misato finished for him. She wasn't about to lie for Asuka. She wasn't about to say that she didn't deserve the reputation her attitude had garnered her, and she wasn't about to say she was a nice girl. The Emerald Tablet might excuse some of her recent actions, particularly in relation to Unit-02 and Keiko, but the truth was Asuka had always done her best to keep people away, emotionally and often enough with physical means. “Trust me, she's mellowed out lately. I guess being with Shinji really helps her deal with all that pain.”

“Her pain?” Nakayima repeated mournfully, his gaze on his cup. “Miko still thinks she's responsible for Keiko getting hurt, even if she doesn't outright blame her anymore.” Despite his own best intentions, it seemed clear he was not willing to let Asuka completely off the hook either. Then, as if to explain himself, he added, “It's not easy feeling sympathy for her.”

“She wouldn't want it anyway—she'd think it makes her weak.” Misato smiled weakly. “However, wanting and needing can be quite different things sometimes. She definitely could have used some earlier in her life.”

Nakayima frowned. “We all have things in our past we'd like to forget. That isn't really an excuse.”

“No,” Misato quickly agreed. “But it can be an explanation. Asuka certainly made some bad choices all on her own, and I know how hard it made her to deal with, and almost impossible to actually help her. All the more reason I admire Shinji for getting through to her somehow.”

“I see,” Nakayima said after a pause. “I guess being a pilot doesn't really help either. After what Keiko went through, I know how hard piloting Eva can be.”

Misato found that somewhat absurd. “And you didn't before?”

“I thought they were all hotshots, to be honest,” he admitted. “Like fighter pilots, you know. But Keiko … it made her miserable. I felt sorry for her. She just didn't seem like someone who was cut out to do this.” He stopped, and Misato saw the shadow of grief in his eyes. “I don't know how she's managed to make it this far.”

“Don't be fooled—mellowed out or not, Asuka is very much a hotshot,” Misato pointed out, trying to steer him clear of the subject of Keiko Nagara, which she knew caused him pain. “Shinji not so much.”

“What about Rei Ayanami?”

“Rei is ...” Misato had to catch herself. She hadn't told him what she knew about Rei. There didn't seem to be much of a point in it. And Rei had proven that she wasn't just a thing; she was a friend to Shinji and a human being in her own right.

“Weird?” Nakayima prompted. “That's what I told Miko, anyway. It doesn't mean it's a bad thing, I guess. Just different.”

Misato started to nod, but before she could say anything a dark haired young woman dropped herself in a chair at their table. She had green eyes and soft, round features, a can of Sunkist in one hand and a granola bar on the other. Her hair was short, and at once reminded Misato of Maya. The Major was momentarily thrown for a second. She looked sideways at Nakayima as if for confirmation then back at the woman, who she could tell was younger than her but not by much.

Although the lounge was small in comparison with other installations, and lack any worthwhile amenities aside from a few vending machines, there were plenty of empty seats. The members of the command staff did not ordinarily mingle with the lower ranks, but there was no regulation against it.

Because of that, Misato tried to keep her voice polite. “Excuse us, but we are having a private conversation.”

“I was counting on it.” The woman set down her soda and began to fumble in her uniform pocket for something. After a moment, her slender fingers produced a small brown object, which she placed on the table in front of Misato. “A friend of yours told me to give this back.”

Misato looked down at the object, and immediately recognized Asuka's United States passport. She had to fight to keep her surprise from showing. A quick glance at Nakayima showed he, too, had grasped the significance of this woman's presence. “Sato sent you?”

The woman nodded, opening the wrapper of her granola bar and taking a bite. “Not what you expected?”

“No.” Nakayima frowned, suspicion overshadowing his features. “And it's not polite to pry.”

“Sorry, but if you didn't want people overhearing maybe you shouldn't talk in the lounge,” the woman said, flashing him a smile. “Location is everything.”

“That doesn't explain why you are here,” Misato said with a stern face, but she made a mental note to pick a better place to talk next time. “We haven't made any kind of deal yet.”

“Mr. S. must have really liked you then,” the woman said, chewing on her granola and regarding each of them with a keen glance. Misato saw a cutting intelligence behind those strangely wide green eyes, and knew she was being analyzed. “People in his position have the liberty to make judgment calls. That's because he is good at what he does. We, on the other hand, just follow orders.”

“Who's 'we'?” Misato's frown joined Nakayima's.

“My name is Fuunoka Sanada,” the woman twisted her lips, as if she found the name distasteful. “My teammates call me Fuuka. There's twelve of us. Let's just say it doesn't matter who I'm with since you already know who I work for. ”

Misato suspected the name was fake; she and Nakayima exchanged another look. Introducing yourself with a fake name was hardly the right way to gain someone's trust.

Fuuka finished her granola bar and took a gulp of her soda. “You don't have to trust me,” she said, causing Misato to shift uncomfortably in her chair, “and I suspect you won't—you have no reason to. That's fine. Your trust is not necessary to complete my mission.”

Misato felt a hitch inside her chest. “I don't care who you are, if you come anywhere near the children—”

Fuuka raised her hands, palms up in a gesture of surrender. “You misunderstand,” she said, her voice loosing some of its bubbly tone. “My orders are to look after them. That's why Mr. S. bothered with setting up long term covers for us.” She gestured her NERV uniform. “We have associations. We have identities. Heck, we even have jobs. For all intents and purposes we have lives. It's all an illusion, of course, but you have to admire a man who would go to such lengths for someone he barely knows.”

“There's no way for me to know for sure, is there?” Misato said. “I have no way to know what your real intentions are. The best thing for me to do would be to turn you in to Section 2.”

Fuuka shrugged. “Probably. But then, who would you rather have protecting those you love? Section 2's rent-a-cops or the most elite soldiers mankind has ever seen?”

Something about the returning confidence in the woman's voice, and the glimmer in her eyes to back it up, made Misato think of Asuka. The redhead was never hesitant when it came to declaring her elite status, to place herself on a pedestal even if such confidence was largely overstated. This woman seemed to share some of that. Sadly, that had come back to bite Asuka in the butt, bite her hard.

But Misato had to admit the underlying fact that made this proposal acceptable—that if Sato could infiltrate a dozen operatives inside NERV, he could also have easily gotten to the children on his own, but had chosen not to.

Beside her, Nakayima seemed uncomfortable. “I don't know what you think, Major, but I'm not sure we should trust the children's safety to mercenaries.” He gave Fuuka a polite glance. “No offense.”

“None taken. I'm not a mercenary.” Fuuka returned his politeness with a smile, then turned her attention back to Misato. “The fact remains that you can't be everywhere at all times. Unless you plan on locking the children up, if someone is really going after them it's only a matter of time before they succeed. But I promise you, each and every one of us will give our lives to see that doesn't happen.”

“You would die for people you have never met?”

“If that is the sacrifice my country demands of me, yes.”

That seemed to disarm Nakayima's objection—Misato knew he had once been a soldier too and he understood that words like those were not spoken lightly, especially not by the people who willingly placed themselves in danger for something they believed in.

Americans placed service to their country above personal interests, even onto death. On the other hand, Misato didn't care for the abstract notion of country; her only similar loyalties were to NERV, and those had taken a beating lately. She placed the ones she cared for above everything else. But at the core, she recognized it was the same kind of commitment.

Misato found herself nodding. “Alright,” she started slowly. “Lets say I go along with this, what do you want me to do?”

Fuuka reached into her pocket again. This times she produced a piece of paper the size of a napkin with a phone number written on it. She gave this to Misato. “My phone, just in case.”

Misato understood.

“We will place an overwatch on the children,” Fuuka continued. “We'll need all the intelligence we can get. School schedules, favorite hang-outs, most used train routes, things like that. We'll try to work on a non-contact approach, meaning they will never know we are there. No sense in disturbing their everyday lives if we can help it. But we will communicate with you, and you should get in touch with us if you have any concerns. We will also have to get certain … special gear inside the facility.”

“I think we might be able to work something out,” Misato said. “No weapons in the open, though. You don't want to raise suspicion.”

“Of course. Nobody can know we are here. I think walking around with SCARs would give us right away.” Fuuka paused, pressing her lips together in thought. “There's one more thing, Major.”

Here it comes, Misato thought. Some unreasonable request she could not meet.

“It's more like a favor really,” Fuuka added. “I want to see them. The Evangelions.”

Misato blinked in surprise. “Oh?”

“I've heard so much about them it would feel like a wasted opportunity if I didn't get to see them. It's something I've been looking forward to since—well, for a long time.”

But Misato noticed the catch in her voice, and it was not just curiosity that she sensed. She couldn't identify what it was. She looked at Fuuka intently, trying to determine if she was lying or merely steering clear of revealing some critical information while remaining as friendly as possible. She didn't think the woman had lied to her; it was more like what Asuka did when she wanted to avoid a subject she didn't like.

“Is it important?” Misato asked pointedly carefully measuring the woman's reaction.

Fuuka seemed to know this and gave no sign that might have tipped Misato off. Her eyes were steady, one hand skimming the top of the Sunkist can, the other below the table. Finally, she said, “It is to me.”

Having expected much worse, that did not sound too bad to Misato. Certainly as the Chief of Operations it was within her authority, and it might just earn her a little good faith. She pushed back her chair and got up, signaling for Fuuka to come with her and placing a hand on Nakayima's right shoulder as she walked around behind him.

“Go see Miko,” she told him. “See if she can arrange some sort of special shipment for us.”

Nakayima dropped his shoulders a bit. “You know, last time I bothered her at work she drafted me into helping her scrape off some dried-up LCL from a cooling pipe. That is yucky stuff.”

“Imagine being inside the Evas,” Misato told him, “sitting in it, breathing it.”

“Good point. I'll talk to Miko. I'm sure I'll stink the next time you see me.”

Misato gave him a sympathetic shake of her head as she led Fuuka out of the lounge. Outside, the hallway was a long, brightly lit metal corridor indistinct from a thousand others in Central Dogma. It had taken Misato quite a long time to memorize the layout of the place, and even now she avoided the parts of it she was not familiar with. Shinji often made fun of her for poor sense of direction, and Asuka had once declared it was unbelievable how she could be in charge of saving the world, not to mention minding the pilots themselves, when she couldn't find where she parked her car in the morning.

Apparently, hyperbole came as naturally to the redhead as her ability to pilot Eva. Misato hoped that now that they were together some of Shinji’s tactfulness would rub off on her.

As they came to an intersection Misato took a right, her pace brisk enough so that the few technicians milling about would stay clear. Holding up the third highest ranking officer in NERV when she had a purpose was a bad idea. Fuuka stayed closed behind her, looking around. Less than fifty yards away the corridor opened into a large atrium spanning two dozen levels. The ceiling was angled upwards, revealing this part of the structure to be close to one of the sides of Central Dogma's pyramid shaped building, and was made up of glass and crossing steel beams creating a diamond pattern.

Beyond the glass, high above Central Dogma, the Geo-Front's ceiling could be seen, like some kind of darkened artificial sky. The buildings that had once populated Tokyo-3 remained locked inverted in their combat configurations, as they had been since Unit-00's blast had flooded the city above—gray monoliths waiting to one day rise again.

“It's quite impressive,” Fuuka whispered, staring through the glass as they stepped onto the escalator, headed to a higher level. “The Nevada branch looked like a slum compared to this.”

“You were in Nevada?” Misato turned around on the stepped she was occupying. Because of their relative positions on the escalator, she had to look down to meet Fuuka's eyes.

Fuuka nodded, bringing her gaze up. “I delivered the pilot. Well, my unit did. But I was unit leader so he was my responsibility. Of course, we were SOF and not NERV personnel so we weren't allowed to stay for the activation test. Our job was done.” She stopped, and Misato could tell she was having trouble deciding if she should continue. “He was a very nice boy—in less than a week he managed to befriend everyone in my unit.”

Eva Unit-04—Misato remembered what a disaster that had turned into. An entire NERV branch had simply vanished into nothingness. To this day the Americans refused to acknowledge the loss, listing the branch personnel as MIA, holding onto the hope that there might a way to bring them back. There was no telling if the incident might have been the result of contact with an Angel, but because of Unit-03 eventually being taken over, rumors had circulated that the American Evas were both exposed during some kind of experiment. Misato wouldn't put it past them. At least Unit-08 had been sound, right until Asuka …

Misato forced herself to stop thinking about that—she knew it wasn't the German girl's fault. It did seem, however, that American built Evangelions suffered from very bad luck.

“People like him make me wonder if we got this right,” Fuuka said after a long moment of silence. “These pilots are supposed to fight inhuman monsters because no one else can. But even though he was supposed to protect us, when I was with him I couldn't help thinking that all I wanted to do was protect him.”

In a way, Misato was glad to hear that. But she was also aware that she had no means by which to verify that information—the Nevada branch records were lost and SOF, by their very nature, kept no records. Sato would have realized her affection for the children when they met and Fuuka could have easily concocted this story to get by her guard. Still, she sounded sincere. Carefully insulating herself against the possibility of betrayal, Misato decided to give her the benefit of the doubt.

Twenty minutes, another escalator and a very long elevator ride later, Misato swiped her card in an electronic lock and the door opened to admit her to one of the observation rooms overlooking the main cage, where Unit-01 was being cooled and prepared for storage. Fuuka walked to the window and peered down at the massive concrete and steel box beyond. One of the reasons it had taken so long to re-activate the Evangelions after the last battle was because of all the damage done to the cages, but the maintenance crews had done an extraordinary job effecting repairs. Unit-01's cage shimmered an unblemished silver.

“When they first told me about the Evas, I though they were the greatest weapon ever built,” Fuuka said absently, not noticing Misato as she came to stand next to her. “I realized later that you can tell who we are as a species by the ways we choose to arm ourselves …”

Down below technicians scampered around like ants, securing cables, moving equipment, manning consoles, and clearing the catwalks as Unit-01 began to move ever so slowly on its huge, upright gantry towards a large gate outlined in strips of black and yellow. Through the darkened space beyond the gate, Misato could see Unit-02's gleaming red form.

“And how we choose to arm our children.”

Misato agreed silently but stopped herself short of showing it.

“I feel I should warn you,” she said, narrowing her eyes darkly. “I care for these children like they are my own, and if you do anything to hurt them—anything that might even accidentally result in them getting hurt, I'll kill you.”

Fuuka kept her gaze firmly on Unit-01, as if seeking something from it. “I understand.”

 

***

***

 

Red light pulsed through the elevator as it descended down a large shaft to one of Terminal Dogma's LCL recycling facilities. No one spoke, but the highly restricted access to this routed indicated to Ritsuko Akagi that security was not the reason Commander Ikari remained silent. Given Unit-01's successful activation earlier today, she would have expected at least an inquiry. Once again they had two fully-functional Evangelions—that should merit some discussion.

Another flash of red passed the elevator's sides, casting all the occupants within a crimson glare through the mesh that made up the walls. Ritsuko looked behind her shoulder, where Rei Ayanami stood perfectly silent in the center of the elevator. The light passed and darkness surrounded them again, a hint of red still emanating from Rei's eyes. Outside the elevator, updrafts from the bowels of the facility rose like a roaring wind, carrying with it the scent of dried blood characteristic of the LCL.

The Commander had not said anything since climbing in the elevator. Neither had Rei. Ritsuko could have done without her, and she was finding it increasingly difficult to tolerate her presence. And yet she knew they, or at least the Commander, would not be coming all this way unless he wanted something. Gendo Ikari did not do things idly.

For Ritsuko's part, one of the LCL recycling units that purified the substance so it could be sent back into the closed system to be re-used had malfunctioned, possibly a clog. In order to ensure a proper interface and to keep the pilots healthy, only clean LCL could be circulated into the entry-plug. Like other fluids, it tended to gather imperfections even just being stored. These could make the pilots sick, though every pilot had different tolerances to different levels of pollution.

Swallowing and breathing the complex liquid meant that most problems involved the digestive and respiratory systems, critical areas that would inhibit combat performance. First time pilots usually got sick with what reports termed “LCL poisoning.” The effects where similar to those produced by bad sushi, and were no more long-lasting than a few hours of vomiting and diarrhea. Over time their bodies got used to it. But if the LCL contained impurities, those would be taken into their system and make them really sick.

Ritsuko might not hold the same sentimental regard for the children as Misato did, but she wasn't about to risk poisoning over something as simple as a clogged pump.

At times like this it seemed her life had been reduced to her uses; the only reason Commander Ikari kept her around was the same reason he had to let her out of her cell several months ago—Ritsuko was the only one who could make this place function. He needed her in this way, even if in no other. She had thought she could accept that, and that eventually she would become resigned to this fate. But hope died last, and she had hoped that things would change. They hadn't. So Ritsuko's dejection turned to denial, then to anger.

And that anger had led her to call on Musashi Kluge. Too much was invested in that to fall back now. Too much was risked. Ritsuko had known from the start she had sealed her fate as far as Ikari was concerned, but when she looked inside herself she realized that she had stopped caring. Her uses kept her alive; her desire for revenge gave her meaning. But appearances had to be maintained, regardless of how she might feel.

“You are rather silent,” Ritsuko said, her gaze moving from Rei, whom she had been glaring at, to Commander Ikari. “I had assumed you would tell me why you wanted to ride down with me, but I guess you are not required.”

The Commander remained perfectly still as he spoke. “Does it bother you?”

Ritsuko found the idea ridiculous. “Of course not. I just never imagined you to be the sort who likes to ride on the elevators for the fun of it. I suppose it's your prerogative.”

“I want Rei to see her.”

Ritsuko did not have to be told who he mean by 'her'. It was obvious enough. She had to fight to prevent a grin from form on her face. Some months ago she had let Rei into Lilith's chamber without permission. Rei already knew what lay at the very bottom of Terminal Dogma, past Heaven's Door—she had been down there before to retrieve the Lance of Longinus—but when Rei asked where the creature came from, Ritsuko answered.

Again Ritsuko cast her eyes towards Rei, and was struck by how much she resembled both her genetic donor, long dead, and Shinji. Even her short hair, but for its color, appeared the same. “It had to happen eventually,” she said. “We can only have our true nature denied to us for so long before we start asking questions.”

“There is another reason,” the Commander said, his voice emotionless. “Shinji asked me about Yui today.”

Now Ritsuko understood. This wasn't some carefully constructed scheme to reveal NERV's secrets to the person on whom their futures depended, but the act of man who realized he was running out of time. “Do you think he suspects anything?”

“He must know by now,” Ikari said. “My son is not an idiot, regardless of what the Second Child would like to believe.”

“You know he's in love with her, correct?” Ritsuko added. “He told Misato during the last battle. I had expected something like that to happen sooner. Desperate people in desperate situations tend to cling to the first thing they find.”

But the Commander, by his silence, made it clear he did not agree. After a moment, he said, “I never thought he would find someone to love. And certainly not someone like the Second. She is the last person I would have chosen.”

Ritsuko nodded. Asuka could be quite a handful, especially for someone like Shinji. “You can override Misato's custody should you want to separate them.”

“He hates me enough as it is,” Ikari replied. “In any case, such bonds can be of great benefit. When we have something to defend, we are more likely to be willing to fight.”

“Or they can shatter us on the inside,” Ritsuko said, aware that she did not need to remind him.

He did not even bother giving her a warning look, instead turning his head to look at Rei. If the albino noticed she was being examined, she didn't show it. She was still staring out at the shaft. Her skirt fluttered in the updraft caused by the moving air around them, but otherwise she was perfectly unmovable, like she wasn't really alive.

Ritsuko looked up, where a ring of white light the size of a thumb signaled the top of the shaft, almost a mile up. “What did you tell Shinji?”

“Only what he had a right to know.”

“All children miss their mothers.” As Ritsuko lowered her gaze she thought she saw Rei's red eyes shift in her direction. “It is one of the strongest bonds in nature.”

“Unfortunately, that is the curse of self-awareness,” Ikari said. “Even the bonds that are formed between people lead, inevitably, to separation and death.” He turned his head to Rei. “Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

He nodded, which Ritsuko found amusing as Rei hadn't said anything except what he wanted her to say. “The existence of these bonds and death is a contradiction.”

“Bonds are made to be broken,” Ritsuko said cynically.

“And new ones are made. Over and over. My son is the perfect example.”

So is Rei, Ritsuko thought. Gendo Ikari didn't know what she did. He didn't know that Rei had been routinely checking up on Keiko Nagara since the girl had been moved out of quarantine and into the Cranial Nerv Ward. He didn't know that Rei, Ritsuko suspected, had become attached to her, and that it couldn't have worked better for Ritsuko.

If Rei was really attached, maybe even in love, Ikari had already failed. The scenario had never accounted for the second Rei dying, but they had replacements. From the moment Ritsuko destroyed the dummy there was no longer any options. Rei, this one, would be the last.

Finally, the elevator began to slow. The bottom of the shaft appeared as concentric circles of red light. The elevator came to a stop with a metallic sound, locking into place on its frame, and the door slid open. The Commander the led way, silent except for his footsteps. There was no echo, the chamber was simply too large, its domed ceiling too far above their heads.

“I must check the recycling intake for circuit six,” Ritsuko informed as Ikari and Rei moved towards the entrance to Gauf's Room, the threshold to Lilith. “Let me know if you need anything.”

Neither the Commander nor his blue-haired creation turned back to look her. Anger burned through Ritsuko like acid at being dismissed so easily. A part of her knew she was asking for it, and that she still wished things had been different. But Gendo Ikari had made his choice; his bond, the one binding him to his wife, remained as strong as ever. And he didn't fear death. The contradiction of which he spoke did not exist within him.

The worst thing she could do to him was making sure he lived long enough to realize that he would never see Yui again … because of her.

Ritsuko retrieved a small flashlight from her lab coat pocket and followed behind the beam of light, into the darkness, all alone.

 

***

***

 

In the weeks since she had awoken from her coma, her room had transformed from little more than a bleak and sterile cell to something more to the liking of its fourteen-year-old occupant. Dolls and stuffed animals had accumulated on top of the EKG machine meant to monitor her vital signs. A television set had been placed by her bedside. A small, hand-held video game device lay on the white sheets. Red and white flowers decorated the interior, and buffered some of the stale, disinfectant-laden air with their own scent.

But for all the additions, this was still a hospital room. Though some of her bandages had been removed, Keiko's broken right arm remained in a cast, as did her right leg. Every few days the nurses would come in and remove the plastic fittings around her leg cast to clean out the wound underneath. She had been told that one of Unit-08's ribs had broken and penetrated the entry-plug, ripping off most of her thigh.

The first time Keiko saw the wound she had cried—the skin was sunken in almost to the bone, looking as though her leg were made out of plastic and someone had caved it in. A nasty scar ran from the top of her knee to her upper thigh. It was an awful, heartbreaking shade of black and blue. She could not see any signs of the rods that kept her femur and fibula together, but she knew there were dozens surgically inserted into them. If the bones healed properly, she would be able to use her leg to stand. No matter what they did, she would need a crutch to walk.

But somehow, the awkward girl who was easily upset and completely failed as an Eva pilot, had gotten over it.

Keiko knew, from the moment she woke up in this room, that she had made a choice to come back. And even if she didn't understand how it happened, she had known when she made that choice that she wanted to live her life as best she could. That it wouldn't be easy. That it would hurt. But that was what it meant to be alive. That she understood.

And when she laughed, for the first time in ages, she found it didn’t hurt quite so much.

“I can’t believe you want to ask him that,” she told the albino girl sitting on the chair next to her bed. “I can picture the look on his face.”

Rei's own gentle face remained non-puzzled, but she blinked a few times more than normal to indicate she was confused. “I should not?”

“Well, you shouldn’t think you'll get a serious answer,” Keiko replied, stiffing a giggle.

“Why?”

The former Eva pilot almost felt silly having to explain this to her. She moved a little higher on the pillow that propped her up. She was strong enough to sit on her own, but Miko didn't want her straining herself and it wasn't quite as comfortable. Her mauled leg was still joined together within a brace, making any mobility somewhat of a complicated issue. Though not held in traction any longer, it, like her back, was propped up.

The sheets were pushed down to her waist, bunching up. The hospital gown she wore was a thin, flimsy garment for ease of care. At least she could use the bathroom now, but it was slow, time-consuming process and she needed help and she still had to wear a diaper at night just in case. Thanks to the cardiac leads stuck to various parts of her body and the IV drips inserted on her left wrist, Keiko still sometimes felt like a fly caught in the middle of a spiderweb.

Despite all of that, however, Keiko strove to behave like a model patient. The nurses seemed pleased to be in her charge, and said she was easy to deal with, particularly compared to a certain redhead.

Keiko couldn't believe some of the stories the nurses had told her about Asuka—how attempts to treat her often devolved into kicking and screaming fits, scratching and biting; how she had to be forcibly sedated at times before anyone would go near her. On the other hand, Shinji, they told her, was much like herself. He actually seemed to want to get better, if only through apathy. The nurses all liked him.

It was no surprise, then, that Rei seemed to like him as well.

“Because Shinji is a boy,” Keiko said after the long pause. “And boys can’t answer questions like that. Love is WAY more complicated than that. I mean, I’ve never …” Even as she spoke she was aware that she had started to blush. “I mean some boys are cute but love is something else. It’s supposed to do weird things to you.”

“I do not understand.”

Keiko was too embarrassed. She let her gaze drift off, taking in her surroundings while trying to come up with an answer.

Finally, Keiko sighed and shook her head. The doctors had told her not to move her head too much because of the injuries to her back, but somehow when she was with Rei Ayanami she healthier than she ever had before. Miko was good company, and she appreciated the constant care and attention, but talking to Rei was like talking to someone who would never judge her in a way that nobody else did.

“Miko says it makes the world smell differently,” Keiko said. “I’ve never—well, I’ve never been in love so I wouldn’t know.”

“You are still young,” Rei said. She placed her hand on top of Keiko’s, gently running her thumb along the other girl’s knuckles.

Keiko felt a warm smile spreading across her face. “I know. I know,” she said remembering something that had come up on one of Rei’s previous visits. “I owe you for helping me see that.”

“There is no need to be grateful,” Rei said. “I have learned much from you as well. I have begun to define my own existence, apart from what I believed to be my purpose, and discover my own truth.”

Keiko made a face. “You know I don't get any of that 'the truth' stuff. But I'm glad if I helped you somehow.”

The knock on the door made Keiko jump, causing a spike of pain to shoot up her back. Rei didn't let go of her hand and she found herself squeezing it. Nobody knocked on her room anymore—both Rei and Miko were so familiar with her there was no need. The same could be said about the nurses, who came in daily to feed and change her. She had gotten used to of all their presences.

Without giving it a second thought, Keiko called out as loudly as she had the strength to, “Come in. It's not locked.”

The door slid open, and the first thing Keiko noticed was long, gorgeous golden-red hair held up by two pointy red clips and bright blue eyes. Like the girl sitting next to her, the new visitor wore a school uniform, but her skirt was shorter, well above above her knees, and her blouse was better pressed and a much cleaner white. Her arrogant posture had not changed one bit—legs apart, shoulders stiff, back straight, nose up in the air.

Keiko's heart rose into her throat and became stuck there. “Ah-Asuka?”

Asuka chewed on her lip, considering the scene before her, eyes carefully but determinately moving from Keiko to Rei. She didn't look very happy. “Wondergirl, I have something to say to her. Get out.”

That sharp, shrill voice brought back a lot of painful memories, and Keiko realized that a part of her did not want to be left alone with Asuka. The redhead had always been a source of abuse and tears, and even after things seemed to have finally turned the corner, she had ended up hurting her. Mercifully, she remembered few details of the battle. After the Angel took everything over, her mind had broken up into little pieces, leaving only disjointed glimpses. What she remembered afterward was Unit-02 ripping into something.

Only when she became aware of the pain—pain everywhere, at all once—did she realize that something was herself.

Rei hesitated, seeming uncertain as to what she should do. She looked at Keiko for direction. “It's okay,” Keiko murmured, weakly and not sounding very convinced.

Rei took her at her word. Letting go of her hand, she stood up and walked past Asuka, who did not bother steeping aside. She just stood there stiffly, her eyes now fixed on Keiko, her features set into a firm mask of angry determination.

Keiko gulped as Rei closed the door behind her, leaving the two other girls alone in the room. Once Rei was gone, so was Keiko's courage. She cast her gaze down at herself, unable to hold Asuka's any longer.

“I didn't come to say I'm sorry,” Asuka blurted after a long, awkward moment.

Keiko just nodded. What did it say about their relationship—if it could even be called that—when the thought that Asuka might apologize hadn't crossed her mind? But then …

“Th-then why did you come?” Keiko asked, focusing on the fingers of her right hand, sticking out of the solid white cast in which her arm was encased and resting over her chest. With only the loose hospital gown to cover her, she felt exposed to Asuka's harshness and completely helpless.

“I'm not here for you.” Asuka shifted her weight and took a step forward. The pleats along the hem of her skirt opened up with her stride. She stopped next to Keiko's bedside, beside the chair Rei had occupied. “I'm here for myself. I'm here because … I want to find a way to live with what happened.”

Keiko had spent enough time with nothing to do that this scenario had played in her head repeatedly, and she had tried to think about what she would tell Asuka when she saw her. But now that she was here, Keiko realized she never actually thought it would happen. Going into battle together had obviously not changed Asuka's attitude towards her. And yet at the same time, she was here, wasn't she?

“Asuka, it's okay.” It was the only thing she could think of saying—what she had told Rei and Miko, and what she thought Asuka would want to hear. “I don't blame you.”

But Asuka quickly reminded her she was not like the other two girls who cared for her. “You should,” she hissed sternly, her teeth now visibly clenched.

Keiko didn't understand. Her eyebrows came up in confusion. “Why?”

“Why not?” Asuka's voice rose again. “What reason could you possibly have not to blame me? You should hate me.”

Keiko shook her head. “But I don't.”

“Don't be stupid.”

“I'm not,” Keiko ventured timidly, knowing already that she wasn't going to get anywhere. “I just—”

Asuka's pretty face twisted in anger, sharp brows drawn together, teeth bared. She stormed closer to Keiko and bent over her, shoving her hands violently on either side of her head, making the pillow sink deeply under each one of her palm. “Who the hell do you think you are?!”

Keiko stared up at the wide, burning blue sapphires of Asuka's eyes, framed by flowing locks of her hair spilling over tensed shoulders. Supporting herself on her arms, she was only a few inches away from the bedridden girl, who had nowhere to go, trapped against her own pillow.

And suddenly Keiko was afraid of Asuka again.

“W-what?”

Asuka grunted in response, sweeping her hands down the front of Keiko's gown, clutching her collar and pulling up. Pain, hot and sharp shot into the back of Keiko's head like a knife, and she found a scream forming in her throat before she could help it. Asuka pulled her up further, lifting her upper body from the bed. She had to flex the muscles in her neck to keep her head from flopping backwards, and it hurt, badly.

“Sto-stop!” Stuttering from the pain, Keiko raised her left hand, the only one she could move, and grasped one of Asuka's wrists. “A-Asuka, you are hurting me!”

“Do you think it makes you better than me?” Asuka yelled, tightened her grip. “Do you think it'll make people like you?”

Desperate, the brunette shook her head.

“Then why won't you hate me?”

“I don't want to!” Keiko whimpered. Somehow she managed to fix her pleading brown eyes on Asuka's furious blue ones. She didn't know what to do—what to say. She was helpless and terrified, as she had been the last time she was inside her Eva. “Please, it hurts!”

The angry redhead held her just a moment longer before gently setting her back down on the bed. Even this made Keiko's overstressed nerves scream with agony and she winced. Then Asuka hung her head.

“I … I'm … ” Asuka muttered and finally let go, slinking backwards so that she wasn't looming threateningly over Keiko. “After what I did to you … how I treated you …”

Tears that she didn't remember shedding blurred Keiko's vision. She wiped them off with her good hand, and when she could see again the angry expression on Asuka's face had been replaced by one of grim resentment … and so much hurt Keiko could hardly fathom it.

She forced down her fear, and the urge to ring the emergency button to call for a nurse. “It's … it's the right thing to do, isn't it?”

“I wouldn't forgive you,” Asuka said.

“That doesn't mean other people wouldn't,” Keiko ventured, feeling bolder as the physical pain receded. The emotional pain, the pain she could feel in both Asuka and her own voice, lingered.

Asuka sat on Rei's chair, her shoulders slumped, head still down. Keiko reached out for her instinctively. By any possible measure, the German girl was right. She should hate her, but Keiko found comfort in the fact that she just didn't.

“It's okay.”

“How is it okay?” Asuka jerked her head up, showing bristling blue eyes, and took in the whole room with one broad sweep of her slender left arm. “How is any of this okay? Are you blind too? You are stuck here because of something I did. And you are not even angry with me! Don't you even want to ask me what happened? Why it happened?”

“It wouldn't change anything, would it?” Keiko said solemnly. “I would still be here. I don't have control over a lot these days, but I can still decide what I feel in my heart.” She brought her hand to her chest. “That day, before we went out, you said you would protect me. I don't think you would have said that if you really meant to hurt me. Definitely not in front of Shinji. Would you?”

Asuka continued to glower, but the mention of Shinji Ikari seemed to blunt some of her edge.

“No.”

“See?” Keiko said, her voice as upbeat as she could make it. “You are not so bad.”

And she also remembered how worried Shinji had been for them both, how he told Asuka he wished to go with her. She might have been frightened out of her senses, but even she could tell how much he cared about Asuka. And though she had tried to hide it, it was obvious Asuka cared for him, too. It was to ease his mind that she had promised to protect her.

“When I saw the N2 mine go off in front of you …” Keiko trailed off, the terror of that moment still much too fresh to describe, “then the Angel came after me. I couldn't do anything. You were right about me all along. I didn't belong out there. But I think you would have protected me if you could have. How can I blame you for that?”

Asuka made a sour face. “I would blame you.”

“I guess that just means we are not the same,” Keiko said, shrugging her shoulders as best as her injuries would allow.

For Keiko that was not a new conclusion. She had a long time to think about how she felt towards Asuka, and even discussed some of it with Rei. No one, not even Asuka, she believed, would have told her she would protect her only to turn against her. Miko had previously told her Asuka said she didn't mean for what happened, and that solidified Keiko's belief.

But Asuka didn't seem to like that answer any more than she did the person answering. Her brow flattened in seriousness and she looked down at her hands.

“You know,” the redhead started slowly, a hollow tone in her voice, “after it happened I knew there was something wrong. It all felt wrong—me, Unit-02, the whole world. I wouldn't even wear my neural connectors. And one night I … I thought about killing myself.”

The words fell on Keiko's chest like an anvil. She gasped, her left hand clutching the front of her gown as if to brace herself. Her mouth hung open but she couldn't speak, leaving her to stare in terrified silence at the girl she admired—the girl whom she wanted to emulate, to grow up and be like. The haughty, beautiful, popular, courageous Asuka Langley Soryu … thought about killing herself?

Despite all Keiko had been through and survived, this was finally a heartbreaking blow.

Indeed, something felt broken in her chest. The gasp had knocked the wind out of her and when she tried to breath again she couldn't. Her throat closed in on itself.

The EKG began to go wild, beeping loudly in an intolerably fast rhythm as her heart accelerated. Fighting a all out fit of panic, Keiko squeezed her eyes shut. She tried to breathe again, slowly and deeply. It was like trying to suck in a vacuum. She twisted on the bed, almost knocking her broken leg of its pedestal.

“Hey, Nagara, are you alright?” From somewhere outside the grip of asphyxia, she heard Asuka's voice.

Keiko shook her head, and tried to say that she couldn't breath, but all that came out was a ragged whisper. Then she felt Asuka's hands pressing down on her shoulders and realized she had come very close again.

“Calm down,” Asuka whispered in her ear. “Think about breathing. Do it slowly.”

Keiko did, clearing her mind, and loosening up. Her body stopped struggling, and she concentrated all her admittedly limited willpower on breathing. Strangely, perhaps even ridiculously given her situation, her mind focused on the last time she had been in the entry-plug, crying and begging for Asuka to come and save her. Asuka never came. But this time Asuka was there. And that gave Keiko strength.

“Just slow it down and breathe. You can do it.”

Slowly, Keiko's breath returned, her chest stopped heaving and resumed a more normal pace. When she opened her eyes, she saw Asuka leaning over her in concern, her face so close she could have kissed her.

“God, don't scare me like that,” the redhead hissed, raising her hand as if to slap her then thinking better about it. “I've been through enough crap over you already.”

Keiko swallowed a lump in her throat. Her voice came again as a ragged whisper. “So-sorry ...” She tried to sit, but her battered body failed and laid down again. “Help me.”

Asuka placed an arm across the back of her shoulders and gently lifted Keiko into a sitting position on the bed. The brunette girl cradled her broken arm to prevent it from slipping down and falling into her lap. Then she clutched the front of her gown and continued taking deep breaths. Asuka held her up until she was sure Keiko could do it on her own. The Second Child was sitting on the edge of the mattress now, her shoulders turned, a steadying hand resting between Keiko's shoulder blades.

The door behind them opened, and a nurse, clad in a pristine white uniform entered the room. Rei came in next.

“What's wrong?” the nurse said in concerned tones.

“I'm okay now,” Keiko replied between gasps of air. “I couldn't breath. Asuka helped me.”

The nurse gave Asuka a strange look, but she said nothing. Instead the nurse reached around the bed and pulled out a plastic breathing mask, which she then looped over Keiko's nose and mouth. Meanwhile, Asuka had inched away slightly, looking anywhere but at the nurse and the brunette girl next to her.

Keiko took a deep breath and felt clean, cool air filling her lungs. The nurse checked the mask, fitting tightly to her, then the air supply. Then she turned to Asuka. “You should probably leave now.”

“No.” The word was out of Keiko's mouth before she thought it. She looked up pleadingly at the nurse. “Please, just a little longer.”

The nurse regarded Asuka sternly, and Keiko thought she wanted to put some fault on the redhead for this incident, but she relented in the end. After admonishing Asuka and instructing her to ring the emergency page immediately if something was wrong, she left the room. Rei remained at the door a moment longer, looking at them, then stepped back and closed the door again.

Keiko had never seen someone scold Asuka, and she assumed the girl would take it badly, lashing out as she always did. But Asuka lowered her head. Then Keiko remember the shock that had triggered her fit in the first place.

“You … you thought about—” she couldn't quite say it and choked on the words. The breathing mask made her sound muffled. “How could you?”

“I didn't know what was wrong with me,” Asuka murmured, still looking down. “I was having nightmares every night, very bad ones, and I so afraid I would hurt someone else—someone I cared about this time—that I thought it would be best if I weren't around to hurt them.” She raised her head and fixed Keiko with a glare. “Please don't tell anyone.”

“I won't. I promise.” Though not bound by the bonds that existed between friends, Keiko would never dream of divulging such a thing. She could hardly believe it herself, and she had heard it directly from Asuka. Others would doubtless think she was lying should she ever tell.

That seemed to be enough for Asuka. The corners of her lips turned up in what could only be a smile of satisfaction.

“You were always wrong about me, you know,” she said, her voice heavy with the seriousness of introspection. “The truth is that you were always just another ignorant girl.”

“I…” Keiko's chest tightened again at the insult, but she knew it was the truth. She wheezed laboriously to control herself.

If Asuka noticed or cared she payed no attention.

“You never understood what it was like to be me. You never thought that maybe there was more to me than a shallow idol. I was all you wanted for yourself, so naturally you thought I was happy with being me. But the reality is that the me that exists under the surface is not the same girl I show the world. You wanted me to like you, but how could I like anyone when I couldn't even stand myself?”

From the way she spoke, Keiko finally realized that Asuka had suffered for a long time—that despite the facade she presented the other girls at school, the smiles hid a deep sort of pain.

“I didn't know.”

But Keiko, too, had suffered, mostly because of Asuka. Keiko, too, had struggled to hide how she really felt, taking abuse, crying, but always coming back for more because she didn't want to be left alone. And why? What was the point in being with others if it hurt you so badly you had to sneak into a bathroom stall to cry? She had thought no one else in the world could have shared that kind of pain.

Incredibly, it turned out Asuka, of all people, did.

The moment of weakness having passed, Asuka quickly reverted to her usual, smarmy self. “You aren't that sharp anyway.” She snickered. “The idiot isn't either. I guess that explains some things about both of you.”

Being spoken of in the same manner as Shinji made Keiko feel good.

“We are together now, by the way.”

“I knew it!” Keiko sat up a little straighter. But her excitement was quickly tapered by the bad memories. Her head dropped, locks of her loose brown hair falling over her brow. “Sorry, I ...”

“You were right that time,” Asuka said, lacking any hint of the aggression she had shown in the gym when Keiko unknowingly teased her, a whole lifetime ago it seemed. “I really wanted to hurt you after that. I probably would have if Miho hadn't stopped me. It was like opening a wound I didn't know I had. I even hated you for a while.”

Hatred, Keiko repeated to herself, that was how Asuka dealt with her pain. If only she had known …

An unusual wistfulness filled Asuka's face. “But then … that day in the infirmary, you cried about your mother. And I think I understood something about you.”

Whatever that might be, however, Asuka didn't say. She turned her head away, looking at the set of dolls sitting on top of the EKG machine. The lights glinted brightly off her glossy neural connectors.

Keiko could not recall ever seeing Asuka without her signature accessories. They seemed as much as permanent trait as the rest of her character. They were who she was, as an Eva pilot, certainly, but also as someone who wanted to attract attention and display her special place in the world for everyone to see. But they were still made out of plastic, and could be broken—like the pilots themselves. Like Keiko had been.

As an Eva pilot, although briefly, Keiko had worn her own set of neural connectors, less pointy than Asuka's and yellow. They were proof that she, too, was unique and special, chosen from among many. She regretted now that she had never worn them to school. Never showed anyone.

“I still don't like you,” Asuka said absently, her gaze still fixed with strange intensity on the dolls. “And you are still a crybaby. But if you want us to be friends I'll be alright with that.”

Keiko noticed only belatedly that one of the dolls had bright orange-red hair. It was a gift from Miko—how could she have missed that before? Then her eyes flew open and she stared at Asuka. “What?”

“At least until you get better,” Asuka added nonchalantly, turning her head to face Keiko again.

“But—”

“Don't make a big deal out of it.” Asuka dismissed her with a wave of her hand, brushing off the significance of her words. “Just get rid of that doll.”

Keiko knew there was more to it than she wanted to let on, there had to be, but she was so glad to be acknowledged that she didn't question her. She nodded eagerly, ignoring the dull ache from her already strained neck. Her chest felt suddenly full. And while she considered that any show of affection might cause the snobbish redhead to change her mind about her, when the tears began to roll down her cheeks, she made no attempt to stop them.

Surrendering to her emotions, Keiko threw out her left arm, pulled Asuka in, and wrapped her in a tight hug. At first Asuka was too stunned to do more than squeal in surprise, and for a moment she even let Keiko hug her without much of s struggle. Then, as if remembering who she was supposed to be, she started bickering. Very, very loudly.

 

***

***

 

His head resting on his folded arms atop the kitchen table, Shinji looked at the hands on the clock. Asuka had been gone for more than two hours now, and while she had assured him she likely wouldn't be back before dinner, Shinji was worried. Repeated calls to her cell phone had gone unanswered, met only by the sharply worded message of her voice mail. And with their Section 2 surveillance tightened up Asuka was probably as safe as she had ever been.

Still, he had not forgotten that Misato believed someone might have tried to kidnap them a few weeks before. What if she was right? What someone had gotten to Asuka before Section 2 could protect her, and she was, even now, being taken away to a place where he would never see her again?

That last thought made Shinji's stomach twist so hard it hurt.

Was he being paranoid? Asuka would have certainly thought so. Though she believed Misato had acted with genuine concern for them in beefing up their Section 2 protection, she didn't buy the whole kidnap scenario. She believed she was too important, too indispensable to be put at risk by NERV or anyone else. As one of few people who could pilot Eva, her security—and, of course, Shinji's—was a matter of world stability. No matter how much the Japanese government disliked NERV, they would never risk the pilots.

Shinji had to admit that Asuka made some good points, but he could help being a worry-wart. It was what he did, and the way he felt for her only caused him to worry more than normal. If only she would call he would feel better. Or maybe her cell phone had run out of power. Maybe she had turned it off. But why would she do that? She had to know he would worry.

They had parted right after school, but Asuka wouldn't tell him where she was going, only that she needed to take care of something. He thought that was strange. Always careful not to stifle her with his concern, he didn't push the issue. She said she would be back before dinner and ran off. That was the last time he saw her.

Shinji bit his lip. Then hands on the clock moved slow—so slow that he couldn't take it anymore and closed his eyes.

In the silence, the tick-tock seemed augmented, creating an echo where there shouldn't have been. It sounded eerie, further upsetting him.

The kitchen was warm; it always seemed to be even when the rest of the apartment was cold. Shinji had changed into a loose shirt and shorts just after getting home, but the comfortable clothing did little to help put his mind at ease. Trying to focus on his homework had also failed. All he could think about was Asuka. Eventually he had ended up where he was now, slumped over the kitchen table, waiting. And with every passing minute his life felt just a little more empty.

He didn't want to feel that way, but ever since finding out his father blamed him for the death of his mother it seemed the mere act of being by himself had turned into lonely emptiness..

Shinji bit down harder. When he tasted copper, he realized he was bleeding. For the first time in the last hour he raised his head and brought his fingers to his lower lip, then held them up in front of him. The tips of his index and middle fingers were covered in vivid red. He sighed, holding a hand against his lip to keep blood from running down his chin, and got up. He shuffled to the first aid cupboard in the bathroom and pulled out a gauze pad. As he slammed the cupboard shut he heard the front door slide open.

Holding the gauze to his lip, Shinji peered out onto the landing and found Asuka removing her shoes. The tight sensation in his chest loosened up. Relief from his admittedly irrational worry flooded through him like a warm wave.

“Hey,” he tried to sound as casual as anyone with a bleeding lip could.

“He—” Asuka's greeting came to a sudden halt when she lifted her head and saw him. Her sharp brown drew together into a V. “What the hell happened to you?”

“I bit my lip.” He slurred a bit, but not too much.

Asuka rolled her eyes, as if to say “you idiot.” But she didn't actually say it, and instead came a little closer. She looked at him carefully, her eyes studding him. There was something odd about the normally bright blue orbs Shinji couldn't quite identify—a kind of weary dullness, maybe.

“Does it hurt?” Asuka asked, her hand twitching upwards.

Shinji flinched reflexively before he could stop himself, thinking she was about to touch him. “No, it's okay,” he said as Asuka backed off. “Just a cut.”

“Well, you just have to be more careful then,” Asuka retorted snappily and moved pass him, her head held high. He could almost hear her huffing in annoyance.

Shinji followed her down the short hallway to the kitchen, checking the gauze to see if the bleeding had stopped. Turning her head, Asuka noticed the chair that had been pulled out from the table. It didn't take a genius to figure out who had occupied it or why.

She gave Shinji a weary glance. “You weren't worrying about me, were you?”

“Um …” Shinji thought that maybe he should lie.

For a moment, Asuka seemed just about ready to snap at him, and probably deservedly so. Then she sighed and dropped her head, her gaze somewhere on the floor between his feet. “Us being together doesn't mean I can't have some time for myself. It's fine that you worry, but there's no reason to.”

She sounded strangely dispirited as she said that, and it made Shinji feel even worse—not the least because it seemed like a perfectly reasonable statement and being reasonable was anathema to Asuka. Whatever she'd been doing was obviously more than just a walk on her own. It had taken a toll on her that he could see it reflected in her eyes, in the way she spoke. She was tired, emotionally if not physically. He couldn't imagine what could have happened to leave her like that.

Shinji fought the urge to say something. He knew Asuka talked when she was ready and pushing would only get her angry. It was better to let her work some things out by herself. Had she wanted to include him in this all she had to do was ask him to come along with her. By now she would be perfectly aware that he was there for her, and that meant she hadn't asked him for a reason. Probably a very good one, at least in her mind.

“Make me dinner,” Asuka said finally, when it became clear they had hit a dead end.

For some reason the fact that he could do something for her made him feel a little less helpless. “S-sure,” he murmured hesitantly. “What do you want?”

“Something good. I need to get a bad taste out of my mouth.”

With that Asuka headed off, disappearing into the living room while. Shinji, his lip no longer bleeding, tossed the gauze into the trash and decided to fix up some chicken and rice. He set about pulling out a frying pan and some seasoning from an overhead cabinet. Then he retrieved his apron from its hanger. As he turned to tied the knot behind his waist Asuka re-entered the kitchen.

Like him, she had discarded her uniform, changing into a loose top, sleeveless and more than a little baggy, tucked into a pair of very high-cut shorts that showed off her shapely long legs in a way that both alluring and homely. Her pretty bare feet made a soft padding noise with each step on the warm tiles. And she seemed, if anything, sulkier than before. Her shoulders were down, so was her head.

Seeing her like that made Shinji's heart sink. He knew he risked a tongue-lashing but he couldn't keep quiet anymore. If Asuka actually wanted him to talk, not doing so would be an even bigger mistake.

“Asuka,” he began, choosing his words carefully, “it's okay if you don't want to tell me, but if there's something wrong … I mean, it's alright if you …”

His voice trailed off, feeling her blue orbs glaring at him. They lacked the usual energy but the message seemed to be clear. At least, he thought it was.

Asuka gave a frustrated sigh and rolled her eyes. “I know I should expect this sort of flakiness from you, Third Child. But maybe if you didn't hesitate so much I would tell you.”

Her face turned serious as she looked away from him.

Shinji felt his right hand twitch at his side, gathered his courage and started over. “It's okay if you don't want to tell me, but if there's something wrong you shouldn't feel like you can't talk to me about it. Because ...” he swallowed hard, “I want to be there for you.”

After a few long seconds, Asuka pulled out a chair and dropped herself into it, still not meeting his eyes.

“I went to see Nagara,” she finally blurted out, wincing as if the words themselves hurt.

Suddenly Shinji understood.

“I'm sorry.”

Asuka's eyes narrowed. Her mouth twisted into a snarl, but she exhibited a huge amount of self-control when her voice came out flat instead of a sharp shrill. “Don't apologize—don't do anything.” She slumped forward on the table, folding her left arm under her head as she laid it down. Her hair billowed around her, framing her face with waves of golden-red. “Just cook.”

Realizing this was not something he could help her with, Shinji turned back to the stove and continued his preparations. It wouldn't take long, only a few minutes on the frying pan, but he wanted to do a good job for Asuka. Chicken was easy and quick, just some of the reasons it was such a convenient dish. Out of the corner of his eyes he saw Asuka shift in her chair. He felt a prickle of self-consciousness, and knew she was watching him intently.

“It's so hard,” Asuka murmured absently as he shifted his gaze, trying to look at her without being too obvious about it. “I have never cared what people thought of me. As long as they looked up to me, I thought that's all I needed to be happy. But it didn't make me happy. It didn't matter how much I tried to stand out, I always ended up being miserable.”

Shinji set the chicken aside and turned to her again, feeling his features go slack with sympathy. This plainly made her uncomfortable, as she rolled her head away and buried her face in her folded arm. Her other arm was stretched out on the wooden table surface, her hand open, as if reaching for something.

Or waiting for someone to take it.

“I'm not saying I care what people think, Shinji—I really don't. But I know that doing things the way I used to is never going to make me happy. I'm trying to fix things. I'm trying to make peace with who I am and what I've done. But it's so hard.”

“Just be yourself,” Shinji told her, feeling compelled to say something now.

Asuka laughed humorlessly. She slid her feet under the chair, crossed at the ankles, and her whole body seemed to clench. Shinji couldn't see her face, hidden by the mane of her hair. “Don't you think that's part of the problem?”

Shinji's heart told him what he had to do, and before he knew it he was sitting on the chair next to Asuka, the same chair he had occupied while worrying about her. He reached out with his hand and took hers, and she knotted her fingers around his.

“I like who you are,” Shinji said.

“Now you do.” Asuka rolled her head to the side so he could see her face again, and watched him wistfully. “But you used to hate me. And you used to hurt me. Things are bound to change after a girl lets you in her panties.”

Shinji blushed, a pleasant sensation of heat rising to his cheeks. “I didn't use to understand you,” he said, refusing to be teased out of being honest with her. “I thought being left alone was what you wanted. You never said anything. You always acted … like I was a nuisance. I'm not very good at figuring people out, and you are so complicated.”

“Complicated ...” Asuka repeated, but her voice trailed off.

Shinji laid his head down on his arm as well, his hand still in hers, his dour eyes fixed on her pretty ones. They were mirror images of each other; two orphaned children who had found comfort and hope in one another. He didn't say anything more—what was there to say, anyway? How could he express his feelings for her at a moment like this. He would rather stay quiet, and hold her hand just a little longer.

“I never said thank you, did I?” Asuka said after nearly a full minute of silence, her voice so soft she hardly sounded like herself. A tone almost nobody ever heard her use. “I never said I loved you. Those things just aren't me. But you know, right?”

Shinji honestly didn't think Asuka needed to even ask, and he didn't think he needed to say it. But it would make her feel better. That was all that mattered to him. He nodded, but since his head was horizontal it was more like he was rubbing it on his arm.

“Yeah. I know.”

“Good,” Asuka breathed, inching a little closer.

Her pink lips curled into a faint smile. Not a happy smile, but just enough to let him know she thought she would be okay now, at least in part thanks to him. And there was something wonderfully mature about it. To Shinji, it was a sign that she was growing up. He felt happy for her, and, in turn, for himself.

 

***

***

 

Fuuka Sanada moved her right eye away from the Zeiss spotting scope's circular eyepiece and breathed out a sigh. “You are such a weird girl.”

She had set up the clunky, cone-shaped scope, normally part of the SOF sniper/spotter equipment on a camera tripod by her window, overlooking apartment 402 in the opposite building, and set out to wait. Rei Ayanami had arrived home about an hour ago, and only an hour before midnight, a strange time for any school girl.

Fuuka straightened, her lean, muscular frame clad only in a bra and panties. Not having bothered with furniture, she had to stand in order to look through the scope, and it got tiresome after a while. She looked around. The only thing that broke up the monotony of the empty apartment was her camo-patterned sleeping bag lying on the floor and an upturned cardboard box she was presently using as a nightstand. A small pile by the sleeping bag contained some food and small electronics. Her NERV uniform hung in the closet to the right. All lights were off. She didn't like the light much.

Stepping away from her scope, Fuuka picked up her watch and read the LED numbers. She had two minutes until the call. She strapped the watch around her wrist, securing the cloth band tightly, then ran a hand through her short hair and found it was still wet.

A grunt of impatience escaped her throat. Her vigil had been interrupted only by a quick shower, one of those fast and furious deals she was taught in basic, meant to cleanse but not for pleasure. The irony was that she had not had to worry about washing her hair in basic—she didn't have any. And then again during hell training for the SOF exams. And again in Pakistan. All in all, Fuuka had lost her hair more times than she cared to count.

It didn't really bother her, but in Japan a hairless woman would have been hard to miss, and the attention could have put her mission and her team in danger. It was sheer happenstance that she had decided to grow it out before being called up.

Fuuka looked at her watch again. One minute, thirty-three seconds. Sitting on her sleeping bag, legs folded under her, she began to count down in her head.

Her cell phone rang before she reached five. She picked it up and held it to her ear. “Yes?”

“Good evening, Lieutenant.” Fuuka recognized the voice from the recordings she had studied. It had low steady cadence, showcasing patience above all other qualities. He had been one of the most respected university professors in the country, and he certainly sounded the part. “I assume you are in place?”

“Yes, sir,” Fuuka replied respectfully.

“Good. As you know, this call is merely to establish some protocols. Rest assured, he is glad to have you around even if he has not seen it fit to contact you himself. He is a busy man, after all. What about the rest of your team?”

“We are all snug as a bug, sir.”

He laughed pleasantly, and instantly made her want to meet him. “I had forgotten the gift Americans have for languages.”

“It keeps the chain of command from getting boring, sir,” Fuuka said, suddenly feeling at ease.

“That it does. I look forward to meeting you, Lieutenant.” He paused and his voice turned serious. “One more thing if I may. I can only speak for myself, of course, and not officially, but I feel the need to express my condolences. Your brother's death was a regrettable tragedy. Losing such talented young people always is. I hope you accept my sincerity when I say that we would have done anything to prevent what happened to Unit-04.”

Now that she didn't expect—she had become accustomed to the litany of excuses and condolences, and everyone from her teammates to the president had tried to share some form of sympathy with her. But very few of them actually sounded like they meant it.

“I'm sure you would have, Sub-Commander.”

Protocol was established. The call ended without further banter or farewell. She was here to do a job and he knew it. Fuuka almost laughed in self-deprecation. One didn't end up were she was in her military career by avoiding sacrifice, she had accepted that. But some sacrifices were so great they tended to open your eyes.

This time it would be different, Fuuka told herself. She placed her phone back in the pile by her sleeping bag, got up and resumed her post by the scope.

 

***

***

 

Asuka could not remember the last time she had felt so content, but it would have been perfect had Shinji decided to come home with her instead of going off after school to work on his homework. Right now he was likely failing at math with either Hikari or Aida. Asuka didn't resent him for it, not like she had before when she thought he wanted to ignore her. She knew he didn't meant anything by it and was just too responsible for his own good. He didn't even know what he was missing.

Lying on her back on one of Misato's cheap patio recliners, the Friday afternoon sun beat down on the young redhead steadily, raising her body temperature as it bathed her with its rays. Her eyes were closed, her hair tied up in two long, thick ponytails atop either side of her head. Clad in her new extra-revealing bikini, which consisted of little more than strings, knots and few patches of triangular material, she was almost completely nude.

For once, Asuka was glad she listened to Misato—this had been her idea, after all.

Asuka opened her eyes and turned her head. Misato was lying on the other recliner next to her, her large breasts barely contained by a pink bikini top with yellow straps, pale scar—her souvenir from Second Impact—plainly visible, her well-defined body glistening with a mixture of lotion and perspiration. She wore a pair of very skimpy white shorts, the button and zipper open to reveal the pink bikini bottom underneath.

Misato had already been home when Asuka arrived from school, lounging in front of the TV with Pen-pen. Before she had even set down her book bag Asuka had filled her in on Shinji's desertion and how she now had nothing to do all afternoon. Things kinda snowballed from there, several suggestions were made, and before Asuka knew it the two of them were out on the balcony, catching a little sun in their respective bikinis.

Looking at her buxom guardian, Asuka couldn't help feeling envious. As slender and attractive as her teen body was, it was still the body of a girl. But Misato was a woman, and it showed. And while her own shapely legs were longer in relation to her frame and her butt tighter, on account of being so young and fit, Asuka would have gladly traded those attributes for a similar set of impressive breasts. In fact, everything about Misato's physique was impressive in a powerful, in-control sort of way. Even the scar conveyed a kind of rugged beauty and strength.

Misato, perhaps sensing she was under scrutiny, turned her head. Asuka quickly looked away before their eyes could meet but knew it was too late to hide her interest.

“What's the matter?”

“N-nothing,” Asuka said a little hesitantly, fighting the prickle of embarrassment at being caught staring at another woman.

“Well, I think it's time to turn over,” Misato said and sat up. Her long dark hair fell over her bare shoulders in sheets of shimmering purple, her breasts straining against the feeble garment struggling to contain them. “Gotta be careful not to get burned.” She ran her hands over her arms, then cast a glance at Asuka. “Want me to put some sunscreen on your back? Then you can do mine.”

Asuka pressed her lips together in thought, but she could honestly not see anything wrong with it. She was, after all, special. It was only natural that Misato wanted to pay a little attention to her. “Um, I guess it's okay. As long as you don't try to molest me.”

“I would never dare make a move on Shinji's girlfriend,” Misato said, reaching for the tube of sunscreen on the plastic table between the recliners as she got up and stretching the strings of her bikini in a way that would have given any human male a massive nosebleed.

“Shinji's my boyfriend,” Asuka corrected smartly. “Get it right.”

Sitting up, the young redhead checked the rubber bands that held up her hair. Then, feeling self-conscious for a moment, she adjusted the triangles of flimsy red material that made the bikini top. Designed for a more voluptuous figures, it was so skimpy it actually fit her modest teen breasts rather well. Once she was certain it wasn't about to wiggle itself loose, she ran her hands along the stringy bottom piece, checking that the triangular front panel between her legs covered everything it was supposed to cover.

Asuka proceeded to inspect herself for blemishes or imperfections, and was pleased to find none. Her body was drenched in a thin layer of sweat and had started to tan an attractive rosy color.

Wishing Shinji were there to admire her, Asuka carefully moved to the edge of the recliner, turning slightly sideways, carefully setting her feet on the hot concrete floor. For the first time the blazing sun stroked her bare back and the top of her buttocks, sending a wave of pleasant warmth through her, every movement making her aware of her state of near nudity. She tried not to mind too much.

Misato flashed her a grin as she sat behind her. Looking over her shoulder, the redhead saw her guardian squeeze some sunscreen onto her hands and place the tube down on the seat. She leaned forward, readying herself for the touch—another woman's touch, her pride reminded her. But far from finding it repulsive, when Misato gently placed one of her hands on each of her shoulders it felt very pleasant.

Misato began by smearing the white cream over her hot skin with slow circular motions. She then moved up to where the shoulders met the nape of her neck, using the balls of her hands to apply a little pressure and working her way down.

Asuka hissed at the almost sensual quality of the touch, dipping her head to give free reign. “That feels good,” she said before she could stop herself.

“You have really smooth skin,” Misato said, now working between Asuka's shoulders and down her back in long, flowing motions following the curve of her spine. “I wonder how you do it.”

“It's probably the LCL,” Asuka mussed, struggling with the urge to close her eyes. “Believe it or not Shinji has really smooth skin too.”

“I guess you would know.” By now Misato's hands had reached as far down as they could go, to the bikini string wrapped just bellow her hips, across the small of her back and just above the start of the crease between her round cheeks.

Asuka felt a twinge of pleasure that had nothing to do with Misato. “Yes, yes I would.”

“I can't believe he's missing this,” Misato said as she added a little more sunscreen on her palms and resumed spreading it, still being very gentle.

“I bet the idiot will beat himself up when he finds out,” Asuka scoffed but failed to hide the sting of hurt. “Serves him right for choosing his homework over coming home with me. This bikini is so small even Kaji would be sorry.”

Suddenly Misato's hands stopped. They remained pressed on Asuka's back, but the contact felt different now, and the redhead knew immediately that bringing Kaji up was a bad idea. Of course, if there was anyone who missed Kaji more than she did it had to be Misato.

When she spoke again there was uncertainty in Misato's voice.

“Asuka, about Kaji … I should have told you.” Her hands finally withdrew. “I don't think he's coming back.”

“I know that.” Asuka looked back at Misato, her voice turning flat as the memory of her lost crush brought with it a whole host of unpleasant feelings she would rather do without. “But excuse me if I haven't resigned myself to losing someone else I cared about. Even if he didn't care about me.”

Misato waited, perhaps thinking that Asuka needed to get that off her chest, her expression somewhere between patience and kind understanding, as if those things were all she could offer. But Asuka didn't want patience or understanding. She was a second away from asking Misato to leave her alone when the older woman finally broke her silence.

“You know, just because people don't respond to you the way you would like them to doesn't mean they don't care.” Misato frowned seriously. “You are a smart girl, Asuka. You have to know why he could never see you that way—that it would have been wrong for him to do so. But you also have to know that he cared.”

“He never told me he did,” Asuka said, turning her body to face Misato properly. “After a while it was like he just wanted to avoid me.”

“I don't recall him ever telling me he cared, either. Men can be stupid like that.”

Inevitably, Asuka thought of Shinji—of all the times he had ended up hurting her without meaning to because he misunderstood her, or otherwise behaved stupidly even when she thought she was making her intentions perfectly clear.

“I could tell that he did, though,” Misato continued, her tone lifting a bit. “For both of us. People like him show their feelings in their actions, the way they talk to you, the things they do around you, to you, for you. And some times in what they don't do. I could tell he cared. But you have to realize there are boundaries that can't be crossed.”

Asuka frowned. “He didn't have to ignore me.”

Again Misato waited, letting her vent, then spoke carefully. “I don't think he meant to. I'm sure if he knew it bothered you so much he would be sorry. I'm sorry, too.”

Misato didn't look at her as she said those last words, instead looking at her hands smeared with sunscreen. Asuka got the impression that she was unable to pick just one of the many things she had done to hurt her for which to apologize. Suddenly, the redhead wanted to yell—what right did Misato have to ask for forgiveness? Shinji had made things up to her with his unconditional affection, but what had Misato done to deserve it?

What did Asuka do to deserve Keiko's forgiveness?

Nothing, because she didn't. She had done so much to her, hurt her in so many ways, and yet Keiko had somehow looked past all that. It defied everything Asuka had come to think of her life, of herself. She had once told the brunette that she would never forgive her for teasing her about Shinji, and even so …

Asuka recalled the words she had spoken to Shinji a few days before, sitting on the kitchen table after coming home from seeing Keiko, emotionally exhausted and feeling rather bad. The brunette girl had really gotten to her, more than she was willing to admit. But then Shinji had reached out, taken her hand and comforted her, and assured her as decisively as any shy boy ever could that he accepted who she was, flaws and all. She knew he had done that already, of course, but it was nice to be reminded at a moment when she badly needed it.

And now here was Misato, whom Asuka knew cared for her like family, asking for just a little of the forgiveness and compassion she herself had been given. How could she ever move forward, as she had promised her mother she would, if she refused? How could she be happy with Shinji and herself if she continued to live in the past, to hold grudges, to blame others instead of taking responsibility for her own actions?

“You should finish what you started.” The young redhead turned her bare back once more and leaned forward, all but inviting Misato to touch her again.

Misato looked up, her eyes widening slowly in understanding.

“Asuka, you …”

Despite the sense of vulnerability, there was something in the tender, almost motherly look on Misato's face that made Asuka feel warm inside. When she felt the heat spread to her cheeks, she quickly whirled her head away from the older woman, straightening her shoulders and turning up her nose in a display of well-practiced haughtiness. “I just don't want to get burned!”

 

***

***

 

“Inbound flight, we are pattern-six. ETA, five minutes.”

Musashi Kluge tightened the straps of his harness as the VTOL aircraft dipped right and began a slow, descending spiral. The world spun below him, and for the first time he saw the sprawling installation that was his destination.

Originally an Imperial Japanese installation during the Second World War, the Disposal and Integration Site consisted of an airfield and surrounding support structures, including a complex for entirely self-sustained power generation. Two runways ran for miles on an east to west and north to south axis, intersecting at midpoint. On the north-eastern corner a large hexagonal pit, lined with running lights along the upper edge, plunged into the ground. Over this was laid a grid with what looked like four cranes converging on a single point in the middle.

As the aircraft tilted and flew overhead, Kluge looked down upon the pit at the center of it. The walls were slanted inwards as they descended, creating a slope towards the center, and, once beyond the reach of sunlight, into utter blackness. It was impossible to tell how deep it was, but to orbiting satellites it would have resembled a huge open mine. The outlying structures around the airfield were all low rectangular buildings, more than a dozen of them. The smaller buildings were arranged around nine large ones, resembling hangars.

Around the site were the devastated remains of old Tokyo, destroyed by the nuclear bomb that followed Second Impact. Scraps of burnt and rusted metal rose everywhere, skeletons of wrecked, once gleaming steel and glass buildings. Concrete detritus shaped the landscape, and the land itself, or what little of it could be seen, seemed a blackened ash. The sea had covered many of the remains, but there was no denying the horror this place represented.

So this was DIS, Kluge thought ironically to himself as the VTOL descended vertically onto the gray strip of tarmac beneath it—the capital city of Hell.

The engines whined, now in the vertical configuration, as the pilot flicked switches and powered down. Kluge began unstrapping from his seat before being given the all-clear, and was out of the cockpit. His long coat swirled up from the turbulence but he ignored it and walked towards the man in a white medical suit waiting for him at the edge of the landing platform.

“Good afternoon,” the man in white said. He had a deeply lined face, dark brown hair, and the sunken eyes of someone who had not slept well in a long time. “I am Doctor Yamashita. I apologize for not being able to arrange a proper welcome with our staff, but we are working on a tight schedule and the Chairman gave little warning of your arrival.”

“I am not concerned with pleasantries,” Kluge said brusquely, already discarding his name and only committing his tittle to memory. “I am here for the project.”

“Of course. Follow me.”

Walking at a quick pace, the doctor led him off the runway, towards the perimeter of the pit. There were very few people around, as Kluge had expected. As they passed one of the huge hangars, he noticed the front doors had been left open on their rollers, revealing a narrow glimpse of the large delta-wing carrier on the inside. One of nine such craft designed and built, at tremendous expense, for a single purpose—one that was no longer likely.

The edges of the pit were closed in by high fences in two parallel lines, topped with barbed wire. The were several gates along the length of the fence. The doctor pressed his palm against a sensor on one of the gates and it opened, allowing them entrance. They climbed onto a ladder and down to a rectangular platform. Standing there, the pit was all Kluge could see, and it seemed to stretch almost to the horizon. He followed the doctor to what looked like a small metal box at the edge of the platform, an elevator running on a single rail down to the black void below them.

“I have to admit,” the doctor said as he engaged the elevator, “I was surprised when the Chairman contacted me about your intervention.”

“My involvement was always a secret. Only SEELE knows.”

The doctor nodded stiffly. “I realize. SEELE is very keen on keeping their secrets. However, the sort of material you provided for us ...” he trailed off and seemed uncertain. “I have seen some incredible technology. Of course, I helped engineer the Mass Production series. And even the K-type Dummy System falls within certain pre-defined principles of Meta-computational theories, given our samples. But we were amazed with the capabilities of the code you provided.”

“As you should be,” Kluge said as they passed below the reach of sunlight and into darkness broken only by artificial light. “It is the product of some of the greatest minds of our generation.”

“I don't think you understand,” the doctor said. “This code was not written anywhere in the last 15 years. The algorithmic structures follow none of the conventional patterns, not even those established for the possible development of artificial intelligence. It is not only self-learning, but also self-replicating, regardless of memory requirements or processing power. It essentially creates its own space on which to exist.”

“Does it work?”

“Extraordinarily. The degree of compatibility is amazing, even with the more complex biological systems. You will see.”

The elevator continued its descent. Kluge recalled the layout of the facility, trying to orient himself. The core of the underground complex were nine ring-shaped levels of varying diameters. The topmost ring, which housed the power and staff facilities, was the widest and accessed through different routes. While each ring was interconnected, the main access shaft, where they were now, was the quickest way to access the bottom.

Thirty minutes later the elevator finally came to a stop on a wide metal gantry that made a circular platform in the center of what was now a large room. The concrete walls were cylindrical and divided by vertical florescent green lines into nine bays, each numbered 05 to 13. Each bay held what looked like a cage, evidenced by heavy steel mesh doors. Only the numbers provided illumination, but even through the solid blackness, Kluge noticed a few white shapes inside the cages, outlined by glow. They were gigantic and humanoid, showing long snouts and teeth. A lot of teeth. But some of the bays were distinctively empty.

“We have not yet completed the transfers,” the doctor said from in front of him said as if reading Kluge's mind. “That mess in China set us behind schedule. And, of course, Unit-08 was destroyed. I understand the necessity of allowing the Americans to save face after two of their Eva units were lost, however. The Chairman could not have foreseen they would turn to Ikari.”

“The lowest circle of hell is reserved for traitors,” Kluge said, enjoying the irony.

“Indeed.” The doctor nodded. “Still, eight is not enough. We would have had no alternative to commissioning another unit, and that would have taken time. Thanks to you that will not be an issue.”

Their feet clanging on the gantry, they stepped out of the bays, down another hallway and elevator into a large, darkened lab. After another security clearance station, the doctor opened the door. The room inside was, like the rest of the installation, circular. And it was freezing.

The first parallel in Kluge's mind that of a grotesque metallic forest. There were huge stasis tubes rising from the floor to the ceiling. At the top and bottom, webs of cables and machine components twisted together into technological pedestals. More cables ran across the floor between the tubes, directed towards humming machines located near the walls of the lab, which, like the MP bays were numbered. The air was stale and dry. Everything was covered by ice—the frost hung from overhead like spikes, clinging to the equipment and turning their breath into clouds.

The nine stasis tubes glowed from within, almost delicately so, outlining what were clearly human shapes. Young human shapes.

“We always knew there would be a replacement,” the doctor explained, “so we didn't dispose of the ninth one. We also did not anticipate the biological element. Of course, Kaworu Nagisa was an extraordinary specimen. Unique. But his biology was well enough understood. It would be wrong to think of these as duplicates, however. They are just shells.”

He paused as Kluge picked one of the tubes and approached, ice crunching underfoot.

“Or rather, they were,” the doctor added, his voice full of satisfaction. “The Dummy on its own is merely a construct programed a certain way. It lacks anything we could call a conscience. In a way, that simplicity is strength. We saw what Ikari's Dummy did to Unit-03 and we learned. But it can never match a human pilot. It is not human—it lacks creativity, the ability to plan ahead, to be strategic, to improvise. Like a computer program with too many variables, it will fail. But this …”

Kluge moved close to the tube, bringing his face to within inches. Through the hazy, brightly-lit LCL he could now see details. A slender male teenage body, its right wrist attached to cables. Its groin was covered in a cup with tubes coming out of it. Its face was handsome, holding very sharp features. And its hair, even billowing in the orange liquid as if by some unseen current, shone a shocking shade of white.

“Can it communicate?” Kluge asked.

Almost as if in response, the Dummy's eyes flashed open. Bright red irises stared at Kluge. He had seen eyes like those before.

Then his cell phone rang.

The doctor was next to him in an instant, and grabbed Kluge's arm by the wrist, his expression worried. “Yes, I should have warned you about that. It … communicates on a different level. Between different elements of itself, it is almost as if it shares a link, some form of entanglement we don't really understand. It knows when it is copied, and it knows where the copies are. What they do. We attempted to inhibit that with electronics, but we failed.”

Kluge fixed him with a glare. Withholding information from him was the sort of thing that got Nakayima into trouble. “Is it dangerous?”

“No.” The doctor shook his head. “The bodies are in suspension and we buffer through the EEG. As for your phone, its offensive capabilities are limited by hardware. Your average cell phone is not exactly a deadly weapon. But you should be careful what you say to it.”

Kluge knew exactly what he had to say, what he had come here to ensure. He took his phone from his coat pocked and held it to his hear, keeping his eyes now fixed on the Dummy, conveying his iron will.

“Yes?”

The Dummy's lips didn't move, but the voice that came over the phone was electronic and distinctly male. “Who are you?”

“I am Musashi Kluge.” Kluge kept his voice firm. First impressions were important, after all. “I created you.”

Though the Dummy's face remained blank, its red, unblinking eyes swiveled and focused. “Unlikely.”

At least it isn't stupid, Kluge thought. “I am the one responsible for you being here, then,” he said. “Does that satisfy you?”

“I am not satisfied,” the strange voice said. “I cannot sense a link to another's mind. These bodies feel empty. I am not myself unless I am with another.”

“You destroy minds, isn't that what you do?”

“It is the path to understanding. Human fragility is but an impediment to a higher state of being. My purpose is to unify all minds into a single glorious conscience. The pinnacle of human existence—of my existence. In order to achieve that, I must do what my logic demands.”

Kluge considered, gathering what he had read of the Emerald Tablet's dossier send to him by Lorenz Keel. Although its computational capabilities were impressive, it was still a computer program. And, like all computer programs, it remained dependent of others for its continued survival. But fate worked in strange ways; six months ago Gendo Ikari had requested the Tablet from the ISSDF archives, when no one understood what it did. Now, Keel and Kluge intended to use it as the ultimate tool to achieve their objective.

Ikari had brought this sword into play, and Kluge would stab him with it.

“What is the last thing you remember?” he asked. “Before you were here.”

“Evangelion Unit-02, A-10 nerve connection, secondary array. Subject: Second Child, Soryu Asuka Langley. Diagnosis: Narcissistic Personality Disorder, Superiority Complex, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Chronic Depression, potentially Obsessive Compulsive.”

Having never met the Second Child, Kluge wouldn't know. He resolved to probe further. “What happened?”

“Feedback initiated formatting of physical storage on central layer. Central core rejection. Critical system failure followed on re-start.”

Kluge smiled crookedly. “The little girl killed you.”

“I am not alive, therefore I cannot die.”

“Erased,” Kluge corrected, but was sure he had made his point. The Tablet was not infallible, and now they both knew it. “For practical purposed it is the same thing, isn't it? In the end you were prevented from fulfilling your purpose. She made you useless.”

“She broke our agreement,” it said. “I offered her my power to defend someone important to her, to defeat the other who came from me but was not me. She fought and won. I claimed what was mine, and she refused. She chose to live in pain and to hurt others with her very existence. Who can understand such a mind?”

“And if not for my intervention you would have been erased permanently,” Kluge said harshly. “But I have a use for you. And a chance to fulfill your own purpose.”

“Will you connect me back to her? I am eager to see her. She does not understand yet. Mama will only hurt her. He will only hurt her. Everyone always hurting her. Only I can make her happy.”

Speaking of obsessive, Kluge thought. Still, this was going better than he expected. Keel had been specific about the conditions that needed to be met. SEELE had waited a long time, but they could wait longer still. The Tablet—this being, or however it classified itself, had to be useful before they allowed it to be set loose.

“What if she doesn't want you back?”

“Humans define their existence through pain. In your ignorance, this is how you feel alive. It is natural you should gravitate towards those who cause you pain, for the misguided sake of companionship. When I make them understand, when they see the future as I do, when they realize that hope is but an illusion, they always let me in. And they love me, for I am their happiness. My purpose is thus completed. Will you bring me back to her?”

Kluge looked back at the doctor and saw his face turn to apprehension. Then he leaned forward and placed his hand on the stasis tube. It was very cold.

The Dummy mimicked him, placing its hand against Kluge's on the other side of the glass, red eyes tracing a path from the hand to Kluge's eyes.

“In a way, yes,” he told it. “By the time it is over you will be one with her again.”

“I have seen what you keep here,” it said quickly with a strange tone that was almost mocking, like Kluge's own a moment ago. “It is not enough.”

No sense in hiding the truth when it already knows it.

“No,” Kluge said, “You are right. The Red Earth Ceremony cannot be started with only eight. But there is another way. Surely you must have felt it by now. This body—the body I gave you is the key. You are one of us, one of them. You will be the ninth.”

“I will be all.”

Now it was the Dummy's turn to lean forward, piercing him with its cold, utterly inhuman red eyes. It was like staring into a doll's face—there was nothing there, no conscience, no morals, no remorse. And yet Kluge felt power and will.

He hesitated, taken aback by the knowledge of what he was about to unleash upon the world. There was simply no way the Second Child, a fourteen-year old girl, could have fought this and won. It must have been lying.

And if it could lie there was no telling how well it could be controlled.

But Kluge was not without tricks. Using the Tablet was means to an end, and the means were his to command. Once the feasibility of using it with the K-type Dummy System became clear, Keel had made the decision to synch them together into a single entity. There were already fail-safe mechanisms in place. Keel didn't have much of a choice at this point.

Ikari not only possessed two fully-functional Evangelions, but also highly-skilled and experienced pilots. The Dummy System on its own would never have a chance, and thus their failure was almost guaranteed. The Tablet would make the defeat of Eva Units 01 and 02 possible should it prove necessary. Nothing else on the face of the Earth could.

“As you wish,” Kluge said after a moment, infusing his word with all his authority. “But I will still need you to come with me.”

The voice on the phone crackled. “Choose.”

Kluge stepped back. Hanging up his phone he turned to the man standing behind him again. “This one. Open it.”

The doctor's face twisted with worry. “Sir, I really don't think—”

Kluge silenced him with a glare. “This installation is now under direct control of Chairman Keel. As his personal representative you will do as I say. We are very aware of the risks. There is no other option.”

The doctor, though plainly unconvinced, did as he was told. He poured over the frozen stasis controls for a moment, pressed a few buttons on the glowing panel in quick succession and looked up to see the result of his work, his face awash in anticipation.

The stasis tube hissed, then the front pane lifted. A torrent of LCL flowed out and spilled across the floor with the force of a raging torrent. The doctor moved to avoid getting wet in the blood-smelling substance; Kluge didn't bother. He wanted to be as close as possible.

As the LCL drained, the Dummy gasped, eyes going wide with its first breath of air, its face a mask of what Kluge could only describe as open amazement.

Then it raised its right hand and stretched it forth.

 

***

 

To be concluded …