Supernumerary
Disclaimer: I do not own Evangelion
/\/\/\/\
The glasses lay open on the bureau. Early morning sun from the window behind them glanced off the lenses, skewering dusty air. The knell of construction walked through the apartment on leaden feet. Water ran a steady hiss, then cut out.
Rei left her bathroom idly rubbing her hair dry. Wet house shoes slapped the floor. She hung the towel over the back of her chair, looking over the medical packets on the refrigerator. She'd need to ask Dr. Akagi to refill her prescriptions.
She dressed. She dressed as she did every day, donning the familiar clothes allotted her with mechanical precision, keeping her eyes on the glasses on the bureau the entire time.
Her hands paused tying the bow of her school uniform. Rei carefully reached out and held the glasses with her thumbs and forefingers. She lifted them before her face, tilting them until the sunlight made the lenses yellow and opaque.
The Commander used to wear them, she told herself. The Commander lost them when he rescued her. The Commander suffered great personal injury when he rescued her. The Commander lost the glasses he used to wear to injure himself rescuing her.
Rei folded the glasses shut and replaced them on the bureau. She finished dressing, keeping her eyes on them the whole time.
/\/\/\/\
The sun flashed in the windows, sliding back and forth as the train sped along the rails. The car was sparsely populated with workers, NERV employees and a few students. A mass exodus took place following the last battle. Many left the city not out of fear but simply because their homes were destroyed without hope of immediate repair. NERV's reconstruction took priority over Tokyo-3.
The train slid to a halt in what was left of the city's business district, near the schools. The workers and students departed, a few casting an odd glance in Rei's direction. She stared straight ahead out the window.
The car lurched forward again towards the next stop, where a tram to the Geofront waited to transport her to headquarters. The Commander did not order her to return to school so her days were spent at NERV on onsite standby. Sometimes she read to pass the time. Sometimes she did not. She stayed in the base until the shift change at nine p.m. then returned home to sleep.
Tedium did not bother her; uniformity allowed her to exist without difficulty. Expectations were clear and were met. Routine shielded her from decisions.
Yet the longer she existed the more her routine was disrupted. Battles and injuries did not bother her; they were what she was trained for. It was the people that entered and exited her life that upset the balance. Many acted arbitrarily or incomprehensibly, placing unknowable expectations on her outside the comfortable anesthetized role of pilot. It was the people that muddied the path she was pulled down.
Rei stood to depart as the tram halted, following the rest of the NERV employees out into the base proper. From the corner of her eye she saw him again.
/\/\/\/\
The hospital wing was quiet. The dozens injured during the last sortie were already discharged and back to work. NERV had, over the course of the past few months, became extraordinarily efficient at repairing structural and bodily damage, mostly because it had to. Man's ability to adapt was its greatest strength and its greatest weakness, Rei once overheard the Sub-Commander say. The Commander did not correct him so Rei knew it to be true.
Man adapted, Rei knew. He adapted to survive, and adapted to forget. Survival was impossible if one lived in the past. One cannot walk forward looking back.
Was that why Shinji was gone now? Did he adapt to the situation and leave the past behind? Was it wrong of him to do so?
Rei could not comprehend his motivation to abandon everything for the whim of a momentary emotion. In one regard, she envied him for it. Though he was undisciplined, he was genuine. He acted on what he felt. He felt.
Rei was bound by NERV in all she did and thought. There was no alternative. Any other way led to terror and uncertainty. Shinji lived his life in a maelstrom of confusion and passion. But he lived. He was not like her.
He was like the Second, she realized. Asuka lived guided by herself and her convictions, however flawed they may be. She and Shinji were both willing to place themselves first in their actions and thoughts. Rei wondered if that was the source of their conflict.
She had not seen the Second in person since after the battle with the Thirteenth Angel, when they both stayed outside Shinji's room, waiting for him to wake and be punished. He was probably just dreaming, Asuka said. Rei wondered if he was just dreaming now.
She had not seen Shinji in person since before the battle with the Thirteenth Angel. They had ridden the lift down to the cages together after changing into their plugsuits. He stared at the door in silence. Rei suspected he was troubled over not knowing the identity of the Fourth Children but it was not her place to reveal that information to him.
If she had, would he have acted differently during the battle? Would he have still refused to fight? Would he still have threatened the Commander? Would he still have been discharged from NERV? Would he still have returned to save it? Would he still have let Unit-01 devour him whole?
Rei found her hands clenched and relaxed them with a silent sigh. It was pointless to pursue such hypothetical torture. What happened, happened. All that remained was to adapt.
She took to spending her days in NERV's medical wing. It was quiet. It was close to the trams to the surface and the cages. She adopted the bench outside the room Shinji was usually assigned to following an injurious battle. No one bothered her or told her to move and the area became adapted into her routine.
She read. Her eyes scanned the pages, the symbols communicated words and ideas, but comprehension escaped her. The lines blurred together and she found herself at the bottom of the page without remembering how she got there. She closed the book.
It was disappointing how much her concentration had suffered over the absence of a single person. She caught herself reflecting on Shinji often, replaying their limited contact, disconcerted by how deeply he had ingrained himself in her thoughts after such a short time.
He was unpredictable to her. One day he might rescue her from a burning plug, the next vow to never pilot again. He made her feel a nervous kind of energy; she was never close to anyone lacking the rigid hierarchical discipline of NERV and the longer she was around him the more she felt her own discipline slip. To gain power over her own emotions and actions was frighteningly intoxicating.
Rei glanced up. The door of the hospital room Shinji used to stay in was still plain, still uniform with the rest, still insignificant except for the value she placed on it. Did that make it significant? Simply because she wanted it to be?
Her eyes drifted to the marker beside the door. It was filled. The name read: Ikari, Shinji.
She experienced a moment of twisting emotion. Was he back? Was he being transported here at this moment?
Rei calmed. The latest approximation from Dr. Akagi put the earliest retrieval attempt at six days from now. The Commander would not have rescheduled overnight. The emotion untwisted and settled back into nothing.
It was premature to formally designate the room for him. It cemented the tenuous expectations of those waiting for him. It was a needless taunt.
There was a sting of irony. Someone else had placed a value on the room, someone with authority to officially assign it significance. Someone of more worth and importance than Rei.
She stood. She had to see the room, to see how it was different, how it now merited designation.
The door was unlocked so she entered. It was harsh with antiseptic. Shinji always smelled clean, Rei thought, despite the trace of LCL forever on him. The Second laced herself with perfumes and other unnatural scents, and Rei did not know how she smelled to others. But Shinji was always clean, watery and clear. It was agreeable.
She walked to the empty bed. The sheets were pulled taut, tucked high below the pillow. Next to the bed was a cart. There was a folded boy's uniform from her school. There was an SDAT with ear buds coiled around its body.
She stared at the SDAT.
How many times had Shinji held it, used it, made it part of him? How many times had he escaped from the world with it?
Used it to hide. Rei had a sudden clear image of the Commander's glasses and did not know why.
She hesitantly reached out to touch the SDAT's face. An unwanted tremor took hold of her arm, halting it above the device. She did not have Shinji's permission to touch his possession and her body refused to breach that unstated rule. It felt like stealing.
The door behind her hissed open. She froze.
"Rei," Misato said softly. Her voice was accusingly bewildered. "What are you doing in here?"
She did not know how to respond to that without delving into matters that did not concern the Major. She stayed silent.
"I guess you saw the marker at the door, huh?" She scratched the back of her head as the door closed behind her. "Do you think I'm jumping the gun?"
Yes, Rei thought, but it was not her place to insult a commanding officer.
Misato observed her near the cart and nodded towards it. "I wanted him to have his stuff nearby when he came back," she said, walking closer. "And I needed to get it out of the apartment." She shook something off and looked down at Rei. "I doubt he'd be upset if you borrowed it."
Rei was uncertain what the slight emphasis on the word "you" meant, as well as the smile.
"It must get boring just sitting outside here all day," she said through a sigh. She saw Rei tilt her head slightly. "It's not like I didn't notice."
Rei restrained her brow from furrowing. Was she that conspicuous?
"I think it's nice," Misato went on. "It makes me feel like someone else is waiting for him, and not just as an asset to NERV. Right?"
Rei stayed silent.
"Don't go pouring your heart out all at once, you little chatterbox. I guess I'm just not your type." A strange look passed over her features. "Ritsuko says we still have about a week before we're ready to bring him back." She observed Rei. "But you knew that, didn't you?" She didn't wait for a reply. "I guess you would."
Misato smiled. It was a bitter smile Rei had seen Dr. Akagi wear before. It vanished as quickly as it appeared and something more genuine replaced it. She hesitated, then picked up the SDAT and put it in Rei's hands.
"Go on, go on; just take it. It's yours for the week. It's not like anybody's using it." She ushered Rei out in a slightly desperate manner. She stayed at the door, staring at the SDAT. "Take care of it, okay?"
Rei left the room. Misato stayed inside, watching as the door slid shut. Her eyes never left the SDAT.
/\/\/\/\
The trip home seemed longer than normal. Like the morning the train was thinly populated. Like the morning, like every day, Rei sat alone. She watched Tokyo-3 speed by outside the window; tall buildings nearly indistinguishable in the pale moonlight, lit streets like neon veins coursing humanity through the city, small homes dotting the surrounding hills with faint pinpricks of light.
Rei glanced at the other people in the train. There were three salarymen with loosened ties standing together, an elderly woman with an umbrella though it had not rained today, and a teenager absorbed in a manga. Near the rear of the car was a young couple sitting very close together. He leaned towards her and she shied back, but she wore an inviting smile. He leaned further. Rei looked away.
On several occasions she had seen Agent Kaji touch female NERV employees in a similar manner, though Rei debated his true intentions. She had observed the Second physically accost Shinji. She saw the Major hug Shinji after he burst free from the Twelfth Angel. Dr. Akagi had to touch her during the regular maintenance on her body. But the contact between the couple mystified her.
Was the possession of each another's affection so desirable? To have someone in a way no one else did? That secret pact between two people, a bond, not through obligation or duty, but out of personal inclination and desire. It was unfathomable.
Rei looked down at the satchel in her lap. She used it to transport the glasses and her books, and it now contained Shinji's SDAT as well. She wondered if he would be upset she took it, the Major's insistence notwithstanding. Would Rei be upset if someone took one of her books? She barely considered it: she would simply request a new one. But she acknowledged she and Shinji were very different people.
People placed great importance on possessions. Some were expensive, some were old and precious, some contained sentimental value. The SDAT was not expensive compared to more current music devices. It was old, as Rei understood it, but not so old as to be considered an antique of monetary significance. Perhaps it held emotional worth. She did not know where Shinji obtained it or how. All she knew was he used it quite often. Its paint was faded, dust and grime had collected in its crevices, wear marks discolored the buttons. It felt heavy with use.
The train continued on as the moon climbed the inky sky. Somewhere to her side she heard the couple's girl giggle softly. Rei gazed straight ahead.
He was there, standing before her, silently staring out the window. She could not see his face.
/\/\/\/\
The train rolled to a stop and Rei stepped off into the lower residential district. The unerring ring of construction, quickly present throughout the city for the last month, seemed a permanent part of her home. She did not complain. The Commander gave it to her and she must be grateful. He believed her strong enough to live on her own and she must not betray that confidence.
She entered her apartment. The scent of blood met her like a curtain, then wrapped around her in normalcy. The Commander never dictated how she should keep her home, so she settled for the bare minimum in maintenance and furnishings. There was no need for anything else.
She had not bothered to clean it since Shinji did, weeks ago. It was a pointless gesture, but that was the point: he did not do it out of necessity or expectation of recompense but out of concern. It was something no one else would think to do.
Rei placed the glasses case on her bureau. She paused, then set the SDAT beside it. Now her apartment contained two things of worth. Rei's only worth was as a pilot. The Commander needed her to pilot. The Major needed her to pilot. NERV employees needed her to pilot. Mankind needed her to pilot. Through Eva she was connected to them all as someone with a function. Without Eva she was nothing.
Because she was a pilot the Commander paid attention to her, smiled at her, spoke to her, spent time with her, rescued her.
Because she was a pilot she met Shinji. Without Eva Shinji never would have paid attention to her, smiled at her, spoke to her, spent time with her, rescued her.
Eva connected her to them and she needed Eva to sustain those connections.
Didn't she?
Rei opened the case and lifted the glasses free. She held them close, feeling the familiar weight and form, every nuance, every flaw memorized. Her fingers slid to the edges of the frames and she took a breath.
Seeing what the Commander saw, seeing how he saw when he lost the glasses and rescued her, was knowing him.
Wasn't it?
Rei's hands shook. She shut her eyes. She lifted the glasses to her face. The earpieces brushed her cheeks and she shivered.
She felt her hands pulling the glasses away, then falling to her waist, then replacing them on the bureau. Her eyes finally opened. The glasses were shining in the moonlight. The crack in the lens was almost pure white. She let her eyes find the SDAT.
Hearing Shinji's music, the sounds he used to drift away from the rest of the world, was knowing him.
Wasn't it?
Rei picked up the device, feeling its alien weight and form. Her fingertips ran over it, learning its presence and shape. She carefully uncoiled the ear buds' cord. She lifted one bud to her ear, not daring to let it make contact. Her thumb ran over the play button. She tensed it, judging the necessary strength to activate it and hear what Shinji heard so many times before.
Her hand dropped by her side. Her thumb left the play button.
This was not how she wanted to strengthen their bonds. She wanted to know them, to be closer to them, not on their limited terms but on her own. And faced with the chance to do so she failed. The Commander and Shinji were beyond her, separated by an infinite chasm she could not cross. The Commander, by his stoicism and authority. Shinji, by his fear and loss of physical presence. All Rei was left were the pale grasps at connection their former possessions afforded.
Rei laid the SDAT on the bureau next to the glasses. She stared down at her empty hands.
/\/\/\/\
She was alone with him on the train. He refused to face her, like always now. A low sun's orange from the windows blurred his edges.
He was at the end of the car, standing before the door to the next compartment. There was something there, beyond the door, something terrible and familiar, weighing the air and making the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.
Rei gripped her satchel. She felt the slight bulk of the SDAT player inside. The SDAT she took, the weak attempt to cement their nebulous bond into a permanent physical object.
She wanted to tell him she was sorry for taking it. She wanted to tell him she would return it today. But she wasn't sure if she was sorry or if she would return it today. It would sit in his hospital room alone, waiting for him, filled with import and meaning she may never know, that no one may ever know.
If he was truly gone, if he chose not to return and stay within the warm omnipotence of Unit-01 forever, would the importance of the SDAT be lost with him? It would be all that Rei had to link her memories of him to the real world.
Would that betray his wish to disappear inside the Eva? Would that invalidate their bond?
His right hand was on the door handle. The fingers were loosely curled around it.
She hesitated. What could she say? What could make him return to her, to sit, to speak and remain trapped with her hurtling towards an uncertain fate that was beyond their power to influence? What could she do? Smile again? Cry, like he did? And then what? Everything was already planned for them. The rails carried them ever onward to something they could not see or know. All they could do was sit and wait for the inevitable.
Was that the existence she wished for him? To know the same despair and helplessness she knew?
Rei remembered the couple on the train she saw and the physical play between them proving their invisible, unknowable emotional bond. They chose to be together, to be one, rather than to be apart, alone. They abandoned self-sufficiency for a fragile bond free of definable function. They adapted to their mutual desire for companionship and found a way to sate it, even if for a moment. The rail still pushed them to the same end, but at least they would meet it together.
Was that what Shinji wished for? Is that what he found?
Was that what she was searching for, too?
The sun was falling out of the windows. The train car was a deep red. The shadows were too long to see where one began and another ended. And he remained at the door, one hand on the handle.
She didn't want to adapt to this. She didn't want to turn her back on him. If it was a strength or a weakness like the Sub-Commander said, she no longer knew. All she knew was she didn't want to forget him.
Do not run away and leave me behind.
The thought was so sudden and clear she froze.
The Commander's upbringing clawed out any traces of selfishness from her. Her duties as a pilot overshadowed self-preservation. The obedience demanded of her trumped all personal desire. The husk called Rei Ayanami subsisted on the bonds culled from the Evangelion and was filled.
This longing for a further bond, something beyond the Eva, beyond the means allowed to her, was forbidden and unnecessary. It challenged the Commander's authority and lessened her worth as an instrument. It created dangerous expectations and needs incompatible with her purpose and her place. She must not allow it to exist.
She stared at his hand.
"Don't say goodbye when you leave on a mission," he once told her, long ago, before he had taken her hand in his. "It's too sad."
Ikari…
He did not say goodbye yet. Neither would she.
"Come back."
/\/\/\/\
End
Author notes: Subtlety is a virtue in writing, I hear. Now if only I could apply that lesson.
Just a blind, boring stab at Rei's character. I felt it was more effective to keep the Ikari men basically out and focus on her views on them instead. That, and I didn't know if I could completely restrain my voracious inner shipper.
OMAKE
"Come back," Rei said.
He did not move.
"Right now, young man."
Shinji slumped and turned around. "Okay, okay. I'm coming. Geez."
"Don't you take that tone with me. After all I do for you this is how you repay me. Just wait until your father gets on this train."
He kicked at the ground.
"Now sit," Rei ordered. "We are going to have a nice, long conversation about your motivations, mister. And that little redheaded girl you've been hanging around lately. I do not approve. She's no good for you."
From the next car came a growl of agreement.
"And are you eating enough? You look thin. I worry about you, you know, living with that woman Katsuragi. It isn't healthy. In so many ways. I just want what's best for you. You know that, don't you? Of course you do. Make sure to eat your vegetables and drink your milk. How is school? Remember to layer when it's cold. Don't slouch; sit up straight…"
Shinji just sighed. And sat up straight.