So, almost after a full month, R. drags her ass out of hibernation to present you the sixth chapter.
No, really!
It is shorter than the previous
Notably, I'm still stretching these characters in ways that were never touched in the series. Nagisa's getting to be much more complex (somehow), and I'm generally having fun with their messy sense of stability.
...
In other words, I'm still crazy.
OKAY. ENOUGH STALLING
Title: Meet Me at the End of the World
Series: Neon Genesis Evangelion
Pairing: Eventual Kaworu/Shinji.
Rating: PG-13 this chapter.
Genre: AU. Ikari Shinji, the last angel, cannot find it within himself to kill the Third Child, Nagisa Kaworu.
Chapter: 6/12, association.
Notes: The previous testings are taking their toll; there is research to be done, notes to be fixed, and beneath the seeming calm is a deep undercurrent. Hesitance and strain are becoming apparent, and avoidance is not at all helping this. If anything, everything has become much more confused since Shinji's initial appearance.
Previous parts / Side-pieces:
I. reality testing
II. uber-ich (super ego)
III. symptom
IV. counter-wish
V. counter-transference
Asuka: Pride is a Small, Red Bird
--
(data: child 005, aged XIV)
--
He trailed his fingers over the metal edging. Three minutes. The empty bass of the monoliths. Keel's voice, rumbling just beyond him. The hollow drumming of the Commander's words. Spot-lighted. The fear present in all before him, distilled. Suppressed. (And part of him, a very small part of him, was impressed by his ability to keep his voice so even. Almost bored, perhaps. Nonchalant.)
"--It was unavoidable." (Using the Lance. Something he had only heard of. Had only known it existed. And he knew that from the moment SEELE learned that the Commander had used it--)
He could not see him, from here. (And it was that compulsion to know his appearance that concerned him. It was unimportant -- In stead of the mission, it should have been regarded as superfluous. But, something like curiosity bit at the corners of his consciousness. Even with knowing that if he was to peer past his hiding spot, that he would be caught. Even with knowing that he'd be a small, sharp shadow in the Commander's peripheral vision if he were to sneak a look at him, now. That he would draw his attention. But--)
He barely registered the scraping of a chair. The blurry exchange of parting shots. The Commander's voice lost among the bellows. The accusatory statements. And Shinji leaned forward in his chair. Curled his fingers around the edge. Bare foot. Cold skin. His white, white heels pressed against the tile floor. (He knew what was coming. He had always known.)
And there was a pause. (Terribly empty.) And he felt it like the weight of palm on back of his neck. Clammy. And his ears strained for something beyond understanding. Beyond the waning echo of a slammed door. Waiting. Waiting--
[ “Tabris.”]
Silence.
He counted to five. Shut his eyes. Flexed his fingers. Pressed his nails against the metal welding. Tracing. (And he could hear his breath. Out and in. Out and--)
[ “Are you listening?”]
(He thought of his mother. The expectant air that pressed up against him, even then. He thought of his mother. The first time he had encountered them. How she hadn't been there, to tell him that they wouldn't harm him.)
Because it would have been more than lie. (And he knew that. He knew that. He knew--)
Empty room. Empty thought. Empty your thoughts. And Shinji lifted his heels, nervous. Lowered them, again. (Thought of the strings of violins. Calm voices. The weight of the mp3 player still in his pocket.)
Another moment.
[“Tabris.”]
And it was an edge. Never known for their patience. (Notwithme. Orwithmother. Or--)
He struggled to keep the nervousness out of his voice, then. Lowered his head. Breathed out, weakly. A simple:
"Yes." Yes, I heard you.
(And he knew what was coming, next. He had always known. And he waited for it. Bit the inside of his cheek. Kept silent. Silent. Silent--)
And the question was expected. And he could hear himself swallow. Roughly. He could feel his fingers tighten. (The gloom mercifully masking the extent of his reaction. The truth of his anxiety. His knuckles, white.)
[“Have you continued to deter the attention of the staff?”]
And he steeled himself. Just barely. (Marveled internally at his answer. At his toneless voice.)
"Yes."
A pause. Suspect. He could hear it like an undercurrent. The slow, languid ripple of voices. Murmurs. Like the tentative testing of keys. (And just as soft. Just as foreboding. Just as--)
[“And the Third?”]
Shinji had saw this coming. Had known it would be part of their questions. Standard interrogations. He had known it, but his stomach still lurched. And he could taste fear. Bitter and vicious. Unfurling in the pit of his stomach. (Restless and reaching. Pulling air from his lungs. Missing a heart beat.)
And he knew --
"...I--"
-- there was no way to cover it.
(And this time, he did not know what would come next.)
--
(end sequence)
--
9.
It was a miracle she could maneuver her coffee cup at all. Stacks of papers. Stained manila folders. Caramel rings. One, pale hand steadying the mug on its precarious perch. One hand typing in password after password. (Mother had been difficult, lately. Odd calculations. A number off. Data files rewritten, stubbed reports. Leftovers from previous tampering--Ritsuko sighed. Misato is still getting over that one, and the thought quickly fled her mind as she mistyped the first character. Backspaced. Started again. The successive depression of keys, the only sound left to challenge the silence. Unusual, nowadays.)
However, this evening? This evening was maintenance. (Blessed maintenance--Making sure new information had been added correctly. Double-checking firewalls. Reinforcing any significant weaknesses.) It was dull work, but it was essential. New developments had been a source of frustration. The sooner it can be treated, the better. (After all, the Commander's orders had always been clear. She knew the importance. No one could spare another--)
Her musings flickered over to Katsuragi. To her reaction to Nagisa’s test. The way her mouth had twisted. Disguising concern. (But, Ritsuko had seen it. Even in the garish light of the room, the emotion was stark against Katsuragi's normal façade.)
Her fingers stilled on the keys, then. Lifted to adjust her glasses. (Pressure was mounting between her eyes, once again. Signaling that she’d been behind the screen of the laptop far too long.)
And thinking of duration—Ritsuko uncrossed and re-crossed her legs:
I should schedule Kaworu another appointment, She lowered her fingers. Changed her mind. Brushed her hair back, instead. It's about time to see him, again. He's been--
"Sempai?"
And it was abrupt, but Ristuko managed to expertly stamp out the shock unraveled through her. Managed to glance toward the door.
(And almost breathed a sigh of relief when she was greeted with a timid wave. A timid smile. And from dull glow from the corridor, she recognized her immediately.)
"Maya? Is something the matter?" (She blindly powered down her laptop, mentally cursing her inattentiveness. She appeared casual, though her heart was thumping unevenly, still.)
The screen flared briefly before sputtering into darkness, and Maya showed no sign of suspicion at this.
And thankfully, Maya seemed to think of this as normal. Her brown eyes were cast down, trained obediently on the linoleum floor of her office. Ritsuko waiting for her to speak.
(Her initial start was soothed by amusement. And Maya's posture spoke volumes. She recalled Nagisa's commentary on her behavior, before. When she had appeared in the canteen during lunch hour. When she paused to speak to them both.
She's quite fond of you, had been his remark. And she had tactfully ignored him, though he granted a sly smile.
Too sharp for his own good, that one.)
Maya cleared her throat, shy:
"Uh, I was wondering--" (She faltered, of course.)
And Ritsuko, patient, checked her watch. Half-waiting for her response. 02:27h (And it was unusual for Maya to visit at all, especially at this time of night. She couldn’t remember the last time she had greeted her like this, her dark head inclined. Her fingers knotted in front of her. Never looking her way.) And subconsciously, Ritsuko reached for her coffee with her spare hand. The mug cool when she finally located it. (She swore it moved without notice.) Coffee even cooler when she took a sip.
(Nose wrinkling just a bit as she did.)
It tasted like sludge, and Maya must have observed this, because when she did manage to get past her stuttering, she blurted out: "If--Maybe you wanted to get coffee? I mean--If you want--"
And Ritsuko glanced up. (And she seemed so small in the doorway. Nervously playing with the cuff of her jacket. Tucking her hair behind the shell of her ear.) And Ritsuko took pity on her. (Her anxiety was almost palpable. And it etched--clear--in the line of her smile. In the timid way she shifted her weight to the opposite foot.) And despite the still piles of work, Ritsuko placed the mug down. The clink of porcelain on metal drawing Maya's attention in time to see her rise from her desk. Stretch just a bit. Before she offering her a false, gentle smile:
"Good timing." A pause. "Just when I needed one, soon."
(And when she saw the faint grin that spread across Maya's lips, she supposed it was the least she could do.)
10.
It was 02:28h when Katsuragi admitted temporary defeat.
After spilling her third beer of the evening on her duplicated data report, using her favorite red shirt as a towel (it was an accident!), and failing to dig up any sufficient information on the newest Child (another one with just his name--his first one, at that. Did the boy even have a last one?) -- she knew it hopeless.
She wasn't going to get anything done.
And somehow, it didn't surprise her; doing work when one was preoccupied was foolish. (But, it didn't stop her, did it? Burying herself in research to ignore the situation at hand seemed logical. Why not try for productivity? Success or no, she knew she it was better than letting silly difficulties throw her off her course.)
But here she was, contradicting herself. In her silent apartment, standing before Nagisa's door.
(Barely ajar. Waiting for her to muster up the nerve to slide it open. Just a little more. Waiting for her to curl her fingers around the edge. To --)
He probably doesn't want to speak to me, right now.
(She worried her lower lip. Her hair undried. Warm from the shower. Her skin still damp, and pajamas sticking slightly to the small of her back. To the curve of her shoulders.)
He's probably asleep. Besides, he-- She hesitated. Her fingers twitched. And in the dim of the hall, she could barely discern the sign she had long ago made for his door (much to Nagisa's perpetual amusement, as well as--). A distraction. She would have sought anything. She would have--Oh, get over it, Misato. He'll have to deal with it. This is your apartment. You can go in if you want to -- Besides, what would he say? 'Please get out, Misato? I'm trying to sleep?' He has no temper to speak of, and even if he did--Well, even if he did, he's still in my care.
And she stalled, a moment more, before hooking her fingers around the edge. Slowly sliding it open. Knowing the low whine that would accompany it. Knowing it was off its track since Asuka had first slammed it. (Ah, that was a fun night. I'm still surprised Kaworu isn't deaf because of it.)
However, the thought was redirected. She needed to focus. (At least, a little. Nagisa was often prone to waking up whenever she entered his room. Ever since Asuka--And it was another thought faded to silence.)
But, it was to her surprise that Nagisa didn't rouse. Didn't move at all as she cautiously slipped in. Squinted against the darkness. Noticed --
I've never seen him sleep like that, before. And it wasn't amusement. It wasn't simple observation. It was--And Katsuragi refused to name it. Reminding herself she was still aggravated by his behavior. (But, it didn't stop something from twisting in the pit of her stomach to see him like that. Curled in on himself. Blanket kicked off. His back toward the wall. Just like a little kid. It didn't stop her from padding over to him, avoiding his school books. Loose papers. The various knick-knacks and two violin cases—And she almost scowled at that. Didn't stop her from stilling before him. Waiting for something. Listening attentively to his slow, even breaths.)
He's usually on his back.
(And it was true. She knew it was. As much as Katsuragi was reluctant to admit it, she often checked in on him. To make sure he was asleep. To make sure--? She wasn't sure. But, she would often find herself doing it. Especially in the first few weeks of his stay--and recently.)
And though she couldn't truly gauge if he was sleeping, she crouched before him, then. Feeling almost intrusive. Feeling--He’s always too calm.
And realization sluggishly awakened in the back of her mind. (I'm not the only one--) Along with words. Soft and absent. Filling the quiet. (Her eyes finally adjusting. Lips quirking. Almost ironic.)
"Still stubborn."
(His features. Worked into frown. She could barely see it. But--)
She straightened. Cautious.
(And in the quiet of his room. In the lull of dark--)
She carefully reached over him--Pulled the blanket up over his shoulders (feeling vaguely ridiculous), removed the earbuds from his ears (Otherwise, he's going to choke himself with the wire--), and paused her hand just before she smoothed his bangs away from his forehead (What are you thinking, Misato?)--and submitted to let the matter rest between them.
If only for now.
("And that," she murmured, "is a promise.")
--
It was only later, long after Katsuragi had gone to bed, did Nagisa allow himself to open his eyes. Allow himself to shift onto his back.
(And even with Katsuragi's words, even with the stillness--Sleep would not come to him.)
It hardly ever did.
--
11.
The morning had found Nagisa, here. With his back pressed against the expansive windows in a main corridor. Eyes narrowed, unfocused, on the plaque across the hall. Long ago memorized.
(He had walked the still-empty streets two hours ago. Had left a note on the kitchen table, reporting of going in early. Something he hadn't done since he had first come to NERV. Since he had first set foot, here.
And the dawn had been coming in, then. Gray and soft. Quiet. And Nagisa had felt something he couldn't quite name. Couldn't quite place. And it had tightened behind his ribs. Had nested in there. Had provided words that didn't quite fit. That didn't belong.)
And for once, he did not understand it.
(And it had left him puzzled. And the more he thought of it, the more jumbled it had become. And no amount of frustration had loosened the knots that had formed under scrutiny. Moving from thought to thought--Katsuragi, Ayanami, Ritsuko-- A skipped beat. Two. A hold. Shinji-kun.)
Something was off.
(As if he had forgotten something important--A small detail, nonetheless essential. And that belief had stayed in the back of his mind. Along with the words from last night. Katsuragi's. Along with the trepidation he couldn't quite rid off, under the buzz of fluorescent lights. Amid the trill of cicadas. Unable to will himself to walk the remaining six feet--It's just across the hall-- for the second time. If only to linger in front of the door. If only to lay his hand on it. If only to prove that he could. If only to prove what he had spoken: I do not run away.)
He heard the approach before he saw it. (The light steps. Almost soundless. The gentle inhale. Exhale. The soft, inquiring pause.) Heard her speak before he really took notice. Before shifting his eyes away from his focus.
And he was greeted with Ayanami's pale features. Her blank expression. And the morning light (to his sight) forming a glow. Following the lines of her uniform. The tracing the lines of her skin.
(He knew she was here to visit. And in the still of the facility, each word that left her lips sounded unusually loud. Honest, though remarkably rounded. Her eyes, never straying from him.)
"Why stand here if you have no intention of going in?"
(She was closer than he had ever gotten. Three feet from the door. Her fingers curled loosely by her slim hips, shifting to smooth the pleats of her skirt.)
Nagisa avoided the question. His eyes meeting hers. (And her gaze was just as arresting as it was the first time. Just as direct. He remembered it. How he had felt, for an instant, exposed beneath it. As though they could dissect every lie. Peel away lines of emotion. Pry their way inside. As if they knew, intuitively, what every person hides. Needed to hide. Had to--But he had never flinched. And he didn't, this time. And for that, he saw something settle at the corner of her lips. Something like--)
His voice filled the silence on its own volition. Lost in the space left between them. And he knew it was Ayanami's choice to capture it. To pursue the trembling edge of his customary smile:
"Blunt as always."
(--sadness.)
And for an instant, Ayanami hesitated. Took a step closer. The change in proximity almost imperceptible. However, it was enough. It was just enough. (She wavered in his vision for the quickest of moments. The pallor of her skin, muted slightly by his own shadow.)
Her lips parted. Another observation. Made as easily as breathing. Simple.
"You have avoided seeing her," (And it became increasingly difficult to hold her eyes as she kept on. Increasingly difficult to smother the swell of irritation that unfurled along his spine. Skittered across his shoulders. And he tensed, without ever knowing it.) "Are you reluctant?"
And for a long moment, Nagisa was silent. And for a long moment, he did not realize that he had looked away, first.
But, when speech returned to him, he remarked on how tired his own words sounded. How heavy. And it was lead on his tongue. (His illusion of calm. Splintered. But he carefully gathered the pieces. Smoothed out what he could. Forced his mouth to mimic a grin. His eyes fixed on a point down the hall. Subconsciously following the sound of the first employees on patrol. The low laughter of nurses.)
"There is no reason to visit a person who cannot respond--"
And it was to his surprise that a small, cold hand firmly took his wrist. (And he abruptly turned to face Ayanami again. It was the first time he had ever seen a sliver of anger in her, before. Her mouth down-turned. Her eyebrows faintly knitted. And--)
Her hand was startling in it's strength. And Nagisa openly studied her. Tiredness ebbing into amusement. Into curiosity. Fascination. (And her palm was warming by way of his skin.)
She had never touched him on a whim, before. Had never been as forward as this.
However, it wasn’t the contact that would remain with him. It was the words. What she said next. The insistence behind the one question:
"May I accompany you, then?"
(And Nagisa knew, truly, there was no room for argument.)
His eyes flickered down to his wrist, for a moment. Flickered back up, again:
“If that is what you wish, Ayanami.”
And without pause, the answer (was predictably):
"Yes."
---
A/N: You've got your equivalent to Ayanami slapping Shinji, in here. Taking a leaf from the manga on this one, it was vaguely justified via her initial question about visiting Asuka to Shinji after the whole shower scene. Nagisa's on the other end of the extreme. Instead of visiting her everyday, he just--Doesn't. (And besides, it isn't as though Kaworu's--Oh, haha. I'm not going to say anything more.)
Also, Katsuragi's getting quite amusing for me to write. Bickering with herself constantly. I can see her doing as much. Ha.
Anyway, time for me to get back to what I should be doing: Working on projects!
Ick.
music;: unfamiliar ceilings | fightstar
6 caged | cage a butterfly
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