Rei wakes up in the hospital, staring at a ceiling she's never seen before. She recognizes it, every nook, every crack of paint at the darkened corners, but she's sure she's never been here before. The sunlight filters through the curtains and her head hurts. She remembers pain, her old friend, and grabs at her arm. It's smooth, unscarred; she remembers bulging veins, drumming up her forearm and into her skull. Bile bubbles up her throat.
The door slides open.
"Good morning, Rei," Gendo says, and Rei feels lightheaded, a sudden weightlessness that fills her up and keeps her afloat. Why do I feel like this, she thinks, what is happening to me? The next moment, it is gone, like the chalk on a board. She hasn't gone to school in a long time. Has she? She doesn't know. She doesn't like school, anyway. Why bother?
"Good morning, Ikari-san," she replies, with a smile that feels fake even to herself, even though she thinks she's never met him before.
Rei wakes up in the hospital, mind muddled with pain and wheezing, choking, wetgasps. It takes her a second to realize that she's not dying; her hands shake even as she curls them into controlled fists, against the crisp, clean sheets. The day outside is ending, a mix of orange and purple, and she is taken back to a starry night, the end of a sniper gun. It was so hot, she dimly registers, but what? What was so hot? The angel. The angel was. Is that right? Yes. Yes.
The door slides open.
"G-Good morning, Ayanami-san," Shinji says, advancing with slow, reticent steps, like he's afraid. Like he's guilty. He's nothing like his father, Rei notices, without even knowing why. She doesn't smile. But she's fine, isn't she? He's got nothing to worry about. I can be replaced, she thinks, and then feels this strange thing, like déjà vu, only painful and biting. Like Asuka must feel like, if she only were a feeling.
"Good morning, Shinji-kun," she replies, glancing out the window.
Rei wakes up in the hospital, staring at a ceiling that brings up memories she isn't sure are her own. She looks at her hands. They are clean, smooth, paper-colored, and they've never felt a day of battle. She thought she'd have something to remember, something, anything, but—
She blinks, then turns over on the bed, and when the door slides open she pretends she is still asleep.