I would very much like to inform you that I am done with fourth chapter of MMatEotW. (Took me long enough, I know.)
I'm pretty psyched up to get this sub-plot moving, as well. Things are only going to get more complicated from here.
I also managed to somehow drag this monster into my real life. I'm not sure how it happened, but I started talking to Ben about it, and then Chris. It turns out they're actually pretty interested in the concept. Who would have guessed?
Oh, wait. No, they would be. They like the series. Chris mentioned his brain wanting to commit suicide, but I told him not to be such a pussy. :D
So, yes. Without further rambling:
Title: Meet Me at the End of the World
Series: Neon Genesis Evangelion
Pairing: Eventual Kaworu/Shinji.
Rating: PG-13ish this chapter.
Genre: AU. Ikari Shinji, the last angel, cannot find it within himself to kill the Third Child, Nagisa Kaworu.
Chapter: 4/?, counter-wish
Notes: Katsuragi has her work cut out for her, when the testing results turn out to be more worrisome than intially anticipated.
Previous parts / Side-pieces:
I. reality testing
II. uber-ich (super ego)
III. symptom
Asuka: Pride is a Small, Red Bird
---------------------------
child 003, age XIV (memory)
---------------------------
It had always been warm in his bed room.
(Dust on his fingertips. Scattered from between the slats of the Venetian blinds. Pulled down to see the porch light.)
He used to spend hours like this. In the heat of summer nights, when his clothes clung to his skin. Red on white on red, again. When his hands were too restless to play the violin. To flick through pages of his aunt's magazines, not truly interested. Pausing now and then upon an English word or sentence. Jumbling the formation. Anagrams. (What could I spell with this?)
When he was younger, he would take these moments to navigate his room. To arrange various oddities he had discovered.
(It was always imperfect, he remembered. It had always been small and cramped. Dark. Too much wooden furniture. Too white walls. And he would always fill in the corners, the left over spaces, regardless. Bleached bird bones he'd found in the school yard. Cicada shells, the color of amber sap they'd often pull off the bark with, and just as translucent. Buttons from anonymous uniforms. And his aunt used to affectionately refer to it as his "collection.")
However, now he is content to stand among the boxes that line his floor. Content to just watch the rare moths that flutter drunkenly against the side their home. (He is just a visitor. He has always known. Temporary.) For now, he is just content to know that his violin is on his bed (stripped down to the mattress). To know that, in the morning, it will be the same as always.
(He will walk into the kitchen. Take the same seat at the table, kneeling some ways to the left. His back will be to the door. His aunt will be making the common staple, rice, and something different. And his uncle will not say good morning to him, even though Kaworu will murmur it. And his uncle will not look at him, his dark hair barely visible over the newspaper-wall he holds up between them.
And his aunt will not comment on how the light from the window makes his pale skin almost glow. How it bleaches his silvery hair. An unearthly white.
And she will not look him in the eye, as she places a bowl in front of him. As he thanks her. As she silently takes a seat by him. For a moment, scanning for any new sun burns. He will usually have one. And she will give him the same lecture she always does --)
But, this routine will be different now. (It was something he had been waiting for, all along. A summons. It sits on his night stand. He has not looked at it since it had arrived. Had not looked at his identification. What he will want or need to know.)
And something that doesn't quite feel like regret smooths over his consciousness. Lets his fingers linger for just a moment longer, before pulling them back. Stepping away from the window. (And he wonders what his new room will be like. Will it be larger? Will he have a roommate? Will they let him take his violin?)
And he can hear his aunt and uncle, talking out in the hall. He can see the sliver of orange-yellow light from under his door as he turns. Sweeping across the floorboards. (Their voices are low. And for a moment, he tries to listen -- But, his name is mentioned and he quickly loses interest.)
He knows what this is about.
For a time, he stands motionless, before going back the window.
(The rest of the conversation goes unnoticed.)
---
---
The next morning, he peers into the kitchen to find it bare.
(Newspaper folded on the table. No notes. Just a plate of whatever his aunt had made for breakfast. Nothing more, nothing less.)
He stalls in the doorway for just a moment, before returning to his room, again.
(And in the silence, he repacks -- So only he alone, can carry what is left.)
---
---
They will find just four words. Scrawled in his neat print on the refrigerator's white board, to be erased as soon as they were certain he had gone.
I will protect you.
(It was not a promise.)
-----------------
(end sequence)
-----------------
5.
Amid the soft hum and whir of the machinery, Katsuragi monitored the entry plugs. Curved her knuckles beneath her chin.
(And all there was to break the tension was the clack of depressed keys. The click of mouses. The motion of fingers forming sequences. Calculations.)
She knew what would be the outcome, intuitively. Hearing Ritsuko's voice, wondering, a moment ago. ("Ikari is just above start-up.") The tap of nails on the screen. The worn, wary whispers. ("That's impossible--Without reconfiguring the core?") ("Magi confirms the data read-out is free of error." The scraping of a chair. "He's on the level--")
She knew no one would dare finish it. (She imagined the shame-faced look. The sudden realization. An unmentioned taboo. She imagined Maya biting her bottom lip. Ritsuko's placid expression, faltering for just an instant.
Asuka had barely been above start-up the last time she had piloted. And she could remember the transcripts that had come back. The conversation in the middle of their last testing session. Nagisa's synch-ratio just as erratic.
She remembers skimming it, during her night shift. She remembers Nagisa's advice. Asuka's scorn. A particularly sharp barb, that neither had escaped. That she knew Nagisa had not forgotten, since.
"If you don't open your heart to it, you cannot do better, Asuka."
He had mentioned it before. And only once before. The week after Toji's death. A slow, halted sentence. Half-asleep, one morning. As if dreaming-- As if he had been meant to speak it. Looking past the curve of Katsuragi's shoulder when she had awoken him, in Asuka's stead.
"And you're one to talk about incompetence? Look what you did to the fou--Scheiße!"
And it was an accident. Immediately regretted. Nagisa had timed it correctly. And Asuka was already set on edge. Katsuragi was certain she knew that if she did not redeem herself --
"No, you're right."
And for days after, Katsuragi had been particularly cautious around him. And for days after, Asuka had steadfastly avoided him. But, Nagisa had acted no differently. Had been as level-headed and calm as he had always been. Until--)
And after a long moment, Katsuragi pulled her eyes away. Focused them on the screens. (Despite the sudden air of awkwardness that had come to rest in between them all. Despite how it never completely cleared, again.) And confirmed it was true.
And instead of mulling like the rest, she lowered her hand. Folded her arms across her chest, and spoke, sharp and clear:
"For now, we will have to accept it." Suspicious as it may be. And it need not be said for them to know it, "Later, we will start an investigation as to why it is so."
She was greeted with no protests.
5.2
"I assume we'll be keeping this from them?"
Data feeds. Katsuragi wet her index finger. Flipped through the pages.
It was a silly question, and she knew it. However, in the emptying testing room, Ritsuko remained silent. Did not turn to look at her. Did nothing more than lift a shoulder. Cross her feet up on her desk. (High heels dangling. One hand adjusting her slim glasses. One hand reaching for her typical cup of coffee. The mug oddly comical in contrast to her position -- Cats.)
It was only after Katsuragi flipped to Nagisa's results, did Ritsuko interject. (She must have known, after all. She had been so easily able to read her movements, before. And she supposed she was just like the rest of research. Small details always did reveal larger flaws.)
"He had a substantial spike after five minutes," (Katsuragi noted it. The sharp incline on the graph. And she felt something in her twist as --) She could hear Ritsuko turning now. Placing the mug down with a soft click. She could hear her lean forward. Felt her eyes on her (for a moment), "Remained that way for thirty seconds -- In which time, Ikari's shifted."
For a long time, Katsuragi did not say a word. Focused only on the data. (Flipped back and forth -- Though she knew Ritsuko was not lying. It was evident. She too, had later caught it.) But when she did, her voice was unusually quiet:
"What do you propose to do?"
(It wasn't fear. It wasn't anything at all.)
Ritsuko's answer was not unexpected,
"I think you can gather our options."
6.
It was a luxury, almost.
(A long shower. The tips of his fingers still tinted pink as he pushed his bangs off of his forehead. Blindly reaching for the towel he had thrown over the dividing wall with his other hand.)
He'd forgotten how easy it was to relax. To think. (And it was a strange reflection, this time. On the First. Ayanami. The quiet of the entry plug. The sickeningly familiar taste of LCL. The unknown results.
The way Ayanami had turned to him in the hall. Just outside the testing room. Her lips parted. Her pale faced tipped up. The backs of her small, pink nails nearly brushing against the bare skin of his elbow. As if she had gone to pull him back. To pause him. Her words, low and soft like the final, wavering notes of flutes:
"You are similar to me."
And how those five words had made his breath seize. So simply. How, he was certain, if he had let her touch him then, their skin would have felt--)
The shower head was still dripping. The small puddles of water at his feet growing cold. He wiggled his toes, absently. Shut his eyes. Made a half-hearted effort of towel-drying his hair.
(It would do him no good to worry it over it. He neither denied it nor confirmed it. Just kept silent. Averted his eyes. SEELE had not told him to anticipate her outwardly suggesting that. From their observations, she had been quiet and timid -- Almost --) He lowered his hands. Waited for his eyes to adjust to the flickering lights of the locker room as he opened them. Wrapped the towel around his waist. And thought, perhaps --
"Maybe that's what Nagisa meant."
(Ayanami -- She was withdrawn, emotionally distant. And in himself, it was possible that Nagisa had seen her. It was feasible. True, even. And the thought calmed him. Lulled him.)
And for a moment, he felt fairly quieted.
(He opened the stall door. Cautiously picked his way across the wet floor. Gathered and pulled on his clothes. Just concerned enough with his hair to try to flatten it with the palm of his hand. Just enough to observe his pale shadow on the glossy, tile walls. To make sure he had at least slightly tamed it.)
And satisfied, he slipped on his shoes. Exited the locker room. (He would return back to his quarters. Hopefully avoid any more errors. Any more mistakes that he could not afford. Could not risk nor wager.)
But, as soon as he set foot out into the corridor, it was music that drew his eyes down. To the right of the door.
And it was Nagisa, seemingly waiting for him. Seated with his back to the wall. His hands dangling between his raised knees. Humming in time to --
(For a long moment, Shinji stalled -- knowing it was foolish, knowing he should go -- Kept quiet. His heart somehow loud in his ears as he picked up the soft whine of violins. The soothing bass of the cello. And it all seemed eerily familiar when Nagisa, without warning, gently took an earbud from the shell of his ear and extended it up invitingly to him.)
Nagisa didn't look at him, but Shinji could see the faint content. Shaking away some of the prior sleepiness. Untensing his shoulders. And he could see it even more as he briefly hesitated. Before he chose to sit down beside him. (Feeling intrusive, but -- Nagisa wouldn't have done so if he hadn't wanted him to keep him company. It was basic body language-- It was-- ) And gingerly accepted it. (Trying not to brush his fingertips against his own.)
And in the quiet, Shinji had only looked to him once. (Before placing it in the shell of his ear. Before hearing the first intonations of German song.) And saw Nagisa was smiling. (In the empty corridors of NERV, under the dimming lights at mid-afternoon.)
And Shinji knew, that just now, he had removed all plausibility of future excuses. Of avoiding him. Because now --
[You are not here to make friends.]
It was a long time before either spoke to break the companionable silence.
---
A/N:
As you might be able to note by this point, I'm starting to further weave in the sub-plot. You may be going:
"Sub-plot? Why is there a need for such a sub-plot?!"
Because. It is the only answer I can give you at the moment, because it would give away too much, otherwise. I'm a tricky sonnvabitch, so hopefully what I plan to do will be largely unexpected. Twists and turns are a favorite of mine, after all. ♥
Also, why would Shinji sit down next to Kaworu? Well, I figure if I'd fucked up that badly in avoiding someone, it would seem more suspicious to actually avoid them, after. He's clever, in a strange way.
He's so screwed. ♥
vibe;: 
cheerful
cheerfulmusic;: komm, susser tod | EoE
22 caged | cage a butterfly
![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}