It had been two days since Third Impact, and Asuka still hadn't moved. Her prone body laid half-in, half-out of the surf, blood-red water sloshing as far up as her waist. She knew the idiot Third Child was nearby, but she didn't care. She didn't care about anything anymore. She'd lost. The most important fight, the ONLY important fight…and she'd failed. She'd been so confident, at the top of her game in a way she never had been before, and those verdammt walking corpses had ripped her apart like tissue paper…
She'd failed, utterly and completely, everything she'd hoped and worked for ripped away in a few moments of agony. The years of training, the long, dark nights spend reassuring herelf that she would be the best, her obsessive drive and will to always be on top, even her absolute refusal to cry or show any weakness…all of it was useless. In the end she had been weak. Her Eva had betrayed her, failing her when she needed it the most, and in her last moments only two thoughts were to be found in her heart.
This can't be happening, not to me…
I'm all alone. Nobody cares enough to save me.
It had been four days since the end of the world, and Shinji Ikari was hungry. He'd gone scavenging, finding a few surviving shops on the outskirts of the blasted, water-filled crater that the Geofront had gouged out of Japan's coast during Instrumentality. He returned to the seashore, starting a small fire and eating cold beans from a can. He sat next to his comatose companion, staring at the monstrous remains of their former coworker and friend. His face was flat, empty, the face of an old soul in a young body.
The sky never changed color anymore, he'd noticed. Everything was perpetual twilight. It seemed fitting. After all, as far as he could tell, he and the girl next to him were the last people on Earth. He glanced at the girl, taking her in. Her (to him) exotic red hair had finally dried out, fanning out across the pale white sand, contrasting sharply with the fading tan of her skin and the deeper blood red of her plugsuit.
Blood…
In his memory, Shinji saw it again. Unit 02, impaled by multiple Lances, torn apart by the monstrous MP Eva Series. His fists clenched silently as he again heard her dying screams, each one a knife of concentrated agony and fear stabbing into his soul as he watched helplessly. He saw her last moments, her mutilated, lifeless body sliding out of the crumpled, twisted plug, the girl he'd secretly longed for turned to nothing more than lifeless meat by the enemies he'd failed to save her from. He'd failed in this last venture, just as he'd failed at everything else in his life. He'd always known he was a failure, but he'd never cared. He'd gone through life following the orders of others, never questioning or making his own choices. It was easier that way. Even in piloting, he'd never made a decision for himself. Even then, everything he did was for someone else. And when it really mattered, when everything was on his shoulders…he'd failed again. The world ended, and Shinji Ikari knew it was entirely his fault.
It had been six days since her death and resurrection, and Asuka Langley Sohryu wanted to run away. She'd spent her entire life tackling problems head-on, trusting to her own abilities to get her through, but not this time. She wanted to run away, away from this dead sea holding the remains of God, away from this graveyard city, away from the Third Child and the failure that he and his surroundings represented. She sat up, slowly, glaring coldly at the boy sleeping next to her, wishing for a moment that she could still hate him, despise him, ridicule his weakness and bask in her own strength. Her own weakness stood revealed, though, and she found that the worst that she could muster was a sort of dull, sick envy. This boy had never worked for anything, never poured his heart and soul and will into a venture, never given all he had and more in pursuit of his goals. Yet here he was, without effort, without sacrifice. He'd let her die, refused to come to her aid when she needed him most, and yet some cruel joke by the God he'd murdered had forced them together again. She wanted desperately to hate him, to feel the old familiar rage boil up inside her chest and give her the strength to tear this pitiful excuse for a human being limb from limb, but she couldn't. She could only envy the course he'd chosen, how easy it must have been to do nothing for himself, to go through life without having to fight and scratch and bleed for what he desired.
She sighed, standing on weak, unstable legs, her injured eye and arm sending agonizing bolts of icy pain throughout her body. She took one step. Satisfied, she took another, then cried out in pain and betrayal as her knees buckled. She collapsed face-first in the ivory sand, shedding tears of rage and frustration. She had once been a warrior, proud, strong, and defiant. Now, what was she? A broken little girl, a shattered doll unable to even walk on her own. Her pride and strength, those two qualities that had shielded her from the world outside and her own inner pain, the traits that had taken her so far, had deserted her. She didn't deserve to be alive. She was a failure.
It had been seven days since he'd chosen a world of pain over a world of nothing, and Shinji Ikari woke up to the smell of cooking rice. He sat up, dull surprise registering through the fog of shock and guilt that had filled his mind since the final battle. He looked over. The girl had filled a small pot with bottled water, added rice, and put it on the fire. She was sitting silently, knees to her chest, watching the rice boil, her one remaining eye vacant and unfocused. She slowly looked over at him. The two children stared at each other, two shell-shocked souls thrown back into a world that had never given either one anything but misery and heartache. Shinji was the first to look away, turning his gaze out over the dead waters. His mind slowly ground into action, thought struggling to form despite the boy's mental fatigue. He was relieved that the girl was awake, but the guilt and horror came crashing back in, smothering this brief instant of light under a mantle of shame and self-hatred. He'd allowed this girl to die. By refusing to act when he could, he had murdered her. His bitterness grew, feeding on itself. What right did he have to be glad for her survival or his own? He was no better than his father. They were both murderers. If the girl wanted to attack him, injure him, even kill him…he wouldn't resist her.
A small, metallic clatter disturbed his thoughts. A metal mess kit had been tossed into the sand at his side. The girl had move d further down the beach, away from him, but she had left him half a pan of plain rice. He watched her slow, painful walk, wondering why she was being so merciful. He filled his bowl, never looking away from the girl though she seemed oblivious to his confused, uncomprehending stare.
It had been nine days since her failure, and Asuka Langley Sohryu woke up alone. She sat up slowly, looking around. The Third Child was gone. She laid back down on the sand, staring blankly at the bruised purple sky. Of course he'd left her. What good was she? She could see now what he must have known all along; that she was worthless, broken, nothing more than a petulant little brat demanding underserved attention and unearned praise. She had nothing to offer anyone, no purpose or value that would make him want to stay.
This thought provoked a small, dimly felt flash of anger in the girl's heart. So what if the boy left her? He was just as bad as she was, just as pathetic and useless and injured by the horrors they'd seen. Why did she keep thinking of him as if he was somehow important? He'd never done anything for her. He'd let her die. She should hate him, body and soul… but she didn't. Not anymore.
She clambered slowly, painfully to her feet, staggering slowly down the beach. Her arm throbbed with every step, but the pain only drove her on. She would be damned if she was going to do nothing. Everything else might have been lost to her, but in her heart she was still a fighter. She would no longer allow herself to lay around, bemoaning her fate without attempting to CHANGE it.
After a few steps she collapsed to the sand, vomiting. Her arm was throbbing, every nerve screaming in agony. As her vision began to dim, the girl calmly realized that her wounds had gone septic. She was going to die. Shinji would be all alone.
Shinji…
Don't leave me…
Please.