Title: Meet Me at the End of the World
Series: Neon Genesis Evangelion
Chapter: 1/?
Genre: AU. Prompted by my partner in crime,
![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
measuringlife. Role reversal: Shinji is the last angel who cannot bring himself to kill the Third Child, Kaworu. Pairing: Eventual Kaworu/Shinji.
Soundtrack: "A Year on an Airplane" - Daphne Loves Derby, and "Fly Me to the Moon (In Other Words)" - Hikaru Utada.
Notes: Plot points will be maintained, though twisted accordingly to fit the characters. Personalities remain intact. Shinji is still the Hedgehog-ish boy we all grew to love, and Kaworu is still too blunt and forward for his own good. The only thing that is different is the occasional blending of the manga/anime and the (very subtle) sub-plot.
X.
The first unconscious fluttering of eyelids.
He had never dreamed, before. They thought of it as impossible. Humanity’s only distinguishing gift, harnessed by this small, pale body in a vat of LCL. Born from Adam. Some sort of free, sick will. They watched him. How he curled his fingers. Again and again and again. Deceptively gentle.
I won’t hurt you.
They monitored him. A twisted sense of awe. To think, he was that developed. That similar. That he could walk the realm of reality and fantasy. Enter REM. Watch his solemn breaths.
Touch. He had never been touched. And the sensation was lost, but the emotion was still there. Humming through his body. Reaching his ears. The words:
And they had awaited his rousing, then. Short, stifled commands. (Release him. Now? Slowly. Roger. Prepare what he will need. Yessir.)
And they had watched his eyes open, then. A startling blue. No smile. Just his palms laid flat against the walls he had been born within. No questions.
Except, for on his lips, there were the words they had least anticipated.
I love you.
They quietly gathered him, then. Brushed his dark hair from his eyes. Gave him clothes to wear. And uttered orders to take him to the highest of command.
SEELE.
0.
Ikari Shinji survived on the soft hum of music in the shell of his ear.
Between sessions he did not understand, he was able to capture the world in his hands. Silence it. Everything gone between the lows of the oboe, the highs of the violin, and the steady intonation of the piano. People were nothing. He was nothing. And all that existed was the sweet-sad voice of the instruments. The warmth of the SDAT player in his hands. Straining to the play the same song over and over again.
They would often talk about him then. About his unchanging position in the hall before his room, small and cramped. (A tiny ball of limbs and fingertips.) About his strange demeanor. How he flinched away from anyone who tried to touch him. The way his breathing, would mimic a startled bird’s when another tried to hold him. Afraid. Confused. And scared.
He learned to use his AT field early.
And even to the most well-meaning, Shinji was a puzzle they could not quite solve. The experiment, they used to mutter, must have gone wrong, somewhere. No angel should be this weak. This spineless. This utterly incompetent.
There were many times, SEELE would reconsider his assigned task.
However, his worth was proven the day a starving cat was brought to him. Mewling and foggy and tripping over its own, small feet. Over to him. And Shinji’s hands had reached for the poor creature, his expression etched with sympathy before SEELE commanded:
[“Shinji.”]
His hands were still reaching for it. His fingers almost touching the matted, orange fur.
[“Kill it.”]
And something Shinji’s face had morphed. His eyes wide. His hand drawn back to his sides. Quiet.
“I can't.” The small kitten winding itself around his legs. The sound of their voices. The towering monoliths. The warmth of this animal’s emaciated body seeping through his pant leg. He could feel the rise of its ribs against his ankle.
And this is what it must be like to feel-- Because Shinji shook his head. Stepped back. Their commands were sharper now. And it all became a discordant symphony. Noise. The combination of barked words, coarse words, wordswordswords, the beating of his heart and the yowling of the animal stepping up to him, again. “I won’t! I can’t! It’s defenseless!”
An uproar. A failed experiment. Useless! And Shinji’s heart had leapt. And the kitten was by his feet again, glancing up at him with blueblue eyes. Like his own ---
And before he knew it, his hands had gathered the creature. His mind blank and words still spinning in his head. His heart thumping wildly behind his ribs and ---
To his ears, each snap of bone sounded like music.
And SEELE had been satisfied.
But they never knew that in his quarters later in the night, Shinji could not rid himself of the image of the kitten’s limp, tiny body in the cage of his palms. The net of his fingers.
They never knew that, in the safety of his bed, he sobbed into his shaking hands.
And blessedly, they never knew that his capacity to feel guilt would eventually destroy them.
1.
His “fourteenth” birthday found him in a strange woman’s car, waiting to arrive at NERV.
And something in Shinji had twisted at the sight of her. Her flashy clothes. Her long, dark hair. The way her voice rose and fell. Her strange, sad eyes. Someone had died.
“You are to take over in the case of the Second’s inability to pilot, correct?” There’s something weird about him.
Shinji saw it in her expression. Skepticism. The way her fingers (red nails) had tightened on the wheel. The rush-roar of opening security latches. Automated stairs. The way she shifted her legs, almost uncomfortable. Uneasy.
Humans always fail to suppress their emotions. You will study their body language.
His voice was soft:
“Yes.”
He knotted his hands in his lap. Bowed his head a bit. Made himself look small.
[Do not draw attention to yourself. Become as inconspicuous as possible.]
But, the woman had cleared her throat. And he watched her out of the corner of his eye as she smiled. Devious.
“Like what you see, Shinji-kun?” In response, he could only squeak out of embarrassment as she winked. Leaned a bit closer to him. Uncomfortably close. He could feel her breath. And he almost jerked away as she paused. Considered. And then ruffled his hair. “No need to be so shy! I swear, you’re the most timid pilot that’s ever entered NERV.”
He knew she could feel him tense under her palm. And for a moment, he had thought he heard her sigh. Her position had not shifted, yet.
But, predictably, Shinji said nothing relative. Gently pushed away her hand. Murmured:
“When do I see my Eva?”
[Ask essential questions only. You were not made to befriend the employees of NERV.]
And for a long moment, Katsuragi was silent. The stiff line of her shoulders screaming irritation and confusion. The tight line of her mouth said hurt. But, Shinji didn’t look up when she settled back into her own seat. Her formality returning.
[Major Katsuragi is a wounded woman. However, do not let yourself be fooled. She is clever and acts easily upon suspicions.]
He knew she was already when she uttered, a thick edge of bitterness in her words:
“When commanded,” A pause. Her fingers sweeping her bangs back into some normal order, “And not a moment before then.”
And in the uncomfortable quiet of the rest of the ride, Shinji bit back the urge to grumble:
“Understood.”
And in solace from discomfort, he dug out his SDAT and listened to that, instead.
2.
[You will stay away from the Third Child.]
He knew this. Shinji understood.
[He will be your obstacle.]
The crescendo of “Ode to Joy,” was blaring through his ear buds. The world muted outside his head. Curled up quietly on his bed. The door half-open. His chin on his knees. His knees to his chest. Knowing the strings. The soft wail of the violin. The feeling of solitude. The first time he had heard this song. His skin still slicked in LCL and his “mother” humming it as she dried his soft, dark hair.
“This song…What is it?”
And her smile was the first one he had ever known. Her fingers had stilled. The towel draping over the right-side of his face. Tickling the corner of his nose. Painting his vision pale white and orange.
“The common man’s tribute to joy, Shinji-kun.”
Her hands were gentle as she took the towel. Wrung it out. Swept it softly down his back. Over his spine. Six years old and already asking such complicated questions.
Shinji blinked. Curled his fingers a bit. Studied the pad of his thumb. Whorls and broken lines. His skin was paper white.
“Joy?”
His childish voice had quieted, then. He peered over his shoulder. His eyes seeking answers in the unspoken words of her movements. She too was pale, and entirely too thin. Each time she moved her wrist, he was curious if the weight of his own fingers might make the small bones break.
“A feeling you get in your chest.” She placed the sopping towel down. Pressed a fingertip against his back. To the left. Just before his shoulder blade. His heart thumped unevenly, once. “Right here.” Her dark head rested against his shoulder after a moment. And he did not make a move to respond. He did not move, at all. Not even as her body shook. He didn’t understand her, yet. He did not understand why her voice sounded so forced. So choked. “And it is the most beautiful thing in the world.”
And until the end of her life, he had never known that she had once had a son that looked just like him. Down to his build. His fingertips. The curve of his lips. The shape of his eyes and the slight upturn of his nose.
And he did not feel joy in this. But, SEELE explained it was necessary for her to go. She had grown too close to him. And in return, Shinji had learned to reject those who reached out to him. Reject the attention of women. Knowing the consequence. They would die, just like she did. No matter how many times I will plead with them. They will be taken, too. And it will be my burden to bear.
But, in the silence of this room, the Third Child had ignored this. Not knowing. Naïve to danger he was putting himself in as he propped open the door. Just a little more.
He had followed the music. Right to Shinji, who looked up just in time to see him slide the door shut behind him. Smiling. Curious and soft.
And he did not know what it was, but something had urged him to touch him, then. To place his hands upon the form of this strange boy, with silvery hair. Silvery eyelashes. And sanguine eyes, peering questioningly through the dark.
He had not bothered to remove his earphones, then. However, the boy seemed unfazed by it. Instead, taking a seat beside him on his bed, and plucking one ear bud from him. And despite the initial repulsion to his crudeness (Who wanders around entering rooms? What the hell is his problem?!), Shinji felt unable to form words, because the boy had placed the piece in the shell of his ear and grinned a little more. This time, at him. And he felt something like heat flicker across his cheekbones as he hummed for a moment along with the music.
But, before Shinji could ask him who he was (it seemed logical enough), his low voice had already cut-in:
“Beethoven. The Ninth Symphony.” He took the ear bud out as the song ended. As the SDAT whirred. Whined in response. He was unnecessarily close. Their shoulders almost brushing as he placed it back into Shinji’s ear. “Ode to Joy?”
It was an innocent question. Shinji could only nod as the boy shifted away. Sat back and studied him. Amusement evident at the corners of his mouth. Creeping up to his eyes. Crinkled at the corners. His presence soothing in a sparsely decorated quarter. In a place outside the only home he’d ever known. And up until now, he had not realized he had been scared.
But, the boy held out his hand. Seeming to know his anxiousness. It was a greeting Shinji had seen before, but never experienced.
He hesitantly took it. His body shivering as they shook.
“I am the Third Child, Nagisa Kaworu.” The boy said, his skin like ash in the gloom. “You have excellent taste in music...?” A raised eyebrow. Pointed.
Shinji felt his stomach churn. One day, and he was already disobeying his orders. Already coming to wonder about this boy’s --- Nagisa’s, personality. What he liked. What he didn’t. What made him tick.
But, regardless, Shinji weakly supplied his title, his eyes averted:
“Ikari Shinji, the Fifth.” (And unspoken: The seventeenth angel. Tabris. The one who has been sent to kill you, should you become a threat.)
And for a moment, Kaworu’s fingers had lingered as he released his hand. The pads of his fingers trailing over Shinji’s wrist (calloused). Tasting his name on his tongue.
“Shinji-kun.”
And Shinji’s pulse had quickened.
And though he hadn’t know it then, that same (thoughtful, beautiful) voice was the cause for his beginning and the answer to his end.
---
A/N:
It only seemed appropriate that they would meet in the same way. Notably, it also seemed appropriate to maintain Shinji's motherlessness. I may resolve to provide more details on her death, later.
Yes, if Kaworu barges into showers, I think it is utterly in-character that he would go into someone's room just to figure out the source of a song. Haha.
vibe;: 
apathetic
apathetic21 caged | cage a butterfly