Author's note: Yes, the inspiration for the opening came from Jimmy Wolk's Price of Fame. The rest, on the other hand, is based on an idea I've had kicking around in my head for a few years.
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"Special Inspector Ikari has reported that the candidate for the Project E position has not accepted as of yet."
Looking up from a stack of finance reports in the NERV cafeteria, Misato Katsuragi raises an eyebrow as she stares at Rei.
"Okay," she says, "Why?"
"Currently, he is nursing ice on his jaw."
She sits up. Realization comes to her in a brief, blinding moment when the gravity of the situation hits her. Closing the folder, she purses her lips and motions for the albino girl, her immediate subordinate, to sit down.
"Rei," she says, "Who is the candidate?"
*
*
He picked himself up, walked out of the building, and left the university. He then promptly found the most expensive hotel in walking distance and charged a suite to his NERV expense account. If Father wants to play, he's also going to pay, and since part of his role is having an unlimited account, he's going to enjoy it.
Picking at a room service cheese platter more expensive than his monthly utility bill, Shinji Ikari leans back on the plush, brushed leather sofa. Staring out the treated full-wall windows at the greater Berlin area, he thinks. This is not going to be easy. The mission he's been given is his first, and if he wants to show that he was chosen for the Special Inspector role for some undefined skill set and not because his father is trying to score brownie points with his mother, he has to accomplish it.
So, the plan must have three outcomes:
First, talk with Asuka Langley Sohryu, Professor of Theoretical Genetics, without her decking him.
Second, convince her to return with him to Tokyo-3, a place with many unpleasant memories for the both of them, to head Project E.
Third, get in Unit 01 and make his father beg for death.
In that order.
The question is, of course, how. He can not approach her. Too much was said back then that cannot be easily unsaid. Both of them have changed…well, he's changed, and from what he can see her punching technique has gotten better. Instead, he has to find a way around the gulf between them.
Sitting back, he chews the inside of his cheek. That's the key, he thinks, as he nibbles on a piece of cheese he can't pronounce the name of. That's exactly what to do.
Staring out the window, a small smile slowly creeps along his face. Wheels begin turning in the back corners of his mind, and he picks up the phone.
"Directory assistance, please."
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Chapter 2: Far from the Tree
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It was found coming in towards Tokyo-3 from the Pacific. It resembled a massive, metallic moth, and considering it was showing up as Pattern Orange and not Blue, it was quickly classified as a Kaiju instead of an Angel. As such, there was a level of debate between who was best qualified to handle it before NERV was given the go ahead, and Unit 07 was deployed.
Two hundred feet tall, covered in blue armor with red highlights, shoulder jet strips containing its main melee weapons, it sports a three-eyed face and a long, extended chin, giving it the appearance of someone in silent contemplation of their lot in life. It ascended from the lifts just outside of Tokyo-3, took a spear as big as it, and promptly impaled the monster before pinning it to the verdant fields outside of the city.
In Central Dogma, a domed raised platform covered in floating screens, the technicians at the main consoles at the middle level read off power fluctuations from the Evangelion and the Kaiju.
"Target is silent," one of them declares.
Standing at the platform raised above them, Rei nods.
"Recall the Evangelion," she says, "JSSDF will take over cleanup."
Turning on her heel, she walks across Central Dogma into an access hallway, finding someone waiting for her.
"Commander."
"Excellent work, Rei," Gendo Ikari says, face unreadable as always.
"You made it a point that I had tactical knowledge," she responds, "I have put it to good use."
He nods.
"Let's have lunch."
She nods, walking beside him as they enter a lift.
"You have chosen the Second Child as the head of Project E."
"She does not have that designation any more," Ikari responds, "You retain the title of First Child due to your ability to still pilot Unit 00."
She nods, again.
"I originally believed you requested her as a way to placate Ikari-Sensei's wish for grand children," Rei continues, "Despite the lack of cordial relations between her and Shinji. I simply believed you were either unable to recognize their problems, or unwilling to question Ikari-Sensei."
He narrows his eyes, frowning.
"Not holding back, are you?"
"No," she continues, "However, I retain my clearance in the MAGI and have dug deeper into Sohryu's records. I see why you want her in Tokyo-3."
"She is as brilliant as her mother, although as temperamental."
"No."
She turns to him. Her face is unreadable but he swears he sees a small twitch on her lips.
"Do you intend to repeat your mistake?" she asks.
"Do you believe I intend to?"
She considers his reply for long moments, as the lift begins slowing down. The doors open, and he walks out, ending the conversation. She considers pursuing for a moment, before tapping a button for her office.
Lunch will have to wait.
*
*
*
*
Kicking off her shoes and dropping her bag, she walks into her apartment. The slamming of her front door echoes as she clenches and unclenches her fists all the way to the kitchen, looking through her refrigerator before grabbing a beer and taking it to the couch.
"Stupid," she says to herself, leaning back, "Stupid, stupid, stupid."
He hand is still a little sore. He doesn't have a glass jaw anymore, that's for certain. It was supposed to be a normal day. She cleaned herself up after last night, got herself nice and hammered, and slept it off. Her class- given, several students there are older than her- was progressing towards the point where they will start asking her about the research of the great Kyoko Zeppelin Sohryu, one of the progenitors of Evangelion technology, or the Divine Technology as it is called in some circles.
Much like her mother is known in some circles as a crazy bitch who hung herself after her experiment went wrong. Who left herself for her little daughter to find swinging from a light fixture.
In her frustration, in her anger, whether accurate or misplaced, she never stopped to ask herself the important questions behind his sudden appearance. What was he doing there? Instead, it was instinct.
Lying down, the beer forgotten, she reminisces. She swallowed her pride after that last argument, boarded and plane and came home. It hasn't been easy. She's on speaking terms with her family, yes, but it was that last discovery that cemented her place here. The realization that she was needed and-
Phone rings. Reaching for it blindly, she grabs her cell phone from her jacket and stares at the number. Smiling, she opens it and brings it up to her ear.
"Hello?"
A voice replies. Cheerful, happy, glad to hear her voice if nothing else.
"No, no," she sighs, "I'm fine. I've just had a long day is all. How are you?"
She listens, a skill she picked up by need and experience. Sitting up, legs folded underneath, she nods, laughing softly as little details are explained to her with enthusiasm and pride.
"That's great. That really is. No, no, I just like that you're having fun. I'll see you next week…okay. Put her on, then."
The voices change. Her stepsister, Marie, possibly her only real friend in her homeland, takes the phone.
"It's just been a long day. Don't worry about…wait, WHAT?!"
She narrows her eyes, before rolling them and lying back down.
"You promised you wouldn't do this anymore. I'm not interested. We both have better things to do with my time than send me out on blind dates and…really? Okay, if you say he's cute, I guess he is and…he wants to meet me where?"
The name of the single most expensive restaurant in downtown Berlin is read off to her, and she raises an eyebrow. Interesting, she thinks. Sitting up, rolling her shoulders, she hears the details, nodding as she commits them to memory.
"Marie, that's two hours…alright. Alright, you win. You owe me for this…right. Bye."
Standing up, she shrugs off her jacket, hanging it on a chair by the entrance to the kitchen. Starting to unbutton her blouse, she walks to the bedroom. She has a date tonight, and if she messes this one up like she has every single date, she's going to hear about it from her entire extended family. On the other hand, it's the perfect thing to get her mind off her current troubles.
"Stupid," she says.
For the life of her, she can't tell who she's talking about; him, or her.
*
*
*
*
On short notice, the best she could find way a black, thick strapped dress that goes down to her ankles and doesn't show off too much leg, paired with a pair of gloves that go almost to her shoulders. The material was shiny, classy, and she wore it to her sister's wedding three years ago. Thankfully, she still fits in it, and still fills it out well. Not bad for a glorified bridesmaid dress (even if Marie insisted that Asuka show off some cleavage. Odd girl) and a shawl. Still, she wishes she had more time for this, but it was either go through her closet for a few hours or shower, and she chose to be clean rather than pretty.
Adjusting the bust line of her dress and making sure she has something on display, but not enough to give it away for free, she enters the waiting area of the restaurant. She's never been in here, only seen it from the outside. Chandeliers made of crystal reflect light over the crushed velvet carpets and white clothed tables, the scent of food she cannot name making her mouth water.
Businessmen, the rare film stars she can name, and millionaires mill about the waiting area, none paying attention to her. Of course, she could announce who she is, and then they'd be falling all over her, but…no.
No.
She's put that behind her, she thinks, as she looks at the full wall aquarium, spotting rare specimens from her studies, including one she was sure was extinct, before she clears her throat and approaches the desk of the Maître 'd, a short, distinguished man with a thin mustache and a disapproving glare. He looks over her and narrows his eyes…and nods, a small tinge of recognition.
"Yes. He is already here."
He snaps his fingers, a waiter her age appearing. He nods to her, and gesturing into the dining area, leads her in. Holding her purse tightly, she lets her eyes wander. At one table, she sees the president of the university dining with a student a few years younger than her, at another she sees the Chancellor and his wife. Waiters and busboys flit about with mechanical precision, and her stomach growls in an undignified fashion from its steady diet of instant and pre-made meals as she takes in the scent of a perfectly prepared filet mignon.
"Your table, Miss."
She nods, turning to the two person table, ready to face whatever nameless, and in this case rich fan that her sister has set her up with, shrugging off her shawl as she plasters on her best, winning smile.
At the table, Shinji gives off a small, almost mocking wave, and the smile disappears.
Slowly, shakily, she sits down across from him. He continues smiling as she glares at him, closing his menu as the waiter approaches.
"We'll have two of the most expensive items on the menu," he says, ignoring her gaze, "And also, if I could have your wine list…wait, no. Just bring us a bottle of your most expensive…red? White?"
He turns to her.
"Is red good? Okay."
He turns back to the waiter.
"We'll take a bottle of your most expensive red wine, to."
The waiter nods, mumbling something along the lines of 'very good, sir,' and walking away with the menus. The fabric of the arm rests starts to creek under Asuka's gloved nails as she narrows her eyes and her breathing slows.
"You look nice," he says.
"What are you doing?" she whispers.
"Ordering dinner," Shinji says, taking a breadstick, carefully avoiding the candle between them, "This place was recommended by my father. And before you ask, this is all going on my NERV expense account."
She grinds her teeth before leaning back in her chair, rubbing the bridge of her nose before pushing her glasses back up.
"What do you want?"
"To be in a place with witnesses so you can't hit me," he responds, tenting his fingers in front of him as he leans back, relaxed.
She notices it, to. She notices the confidence behind his smile, the ease of it. Eight years, she thinks, and this is what he's become. It's with more than a little discomfort that she remembers who he's reminding her of.
"You didn't come from Japan to ask me on a date, did you?"
"The last time I tried asking you out, you broke my nose," he responds, "So, no. I'm working for NERV."
"You said you couldn't pilot anymore," she responds, as the wine bottle and it's ice-filled holder is deposited next to them, two glasses placed in front of them and filled, "What are you doing for them?"
There is none of the mocking. None of the derisiveness that marked their previous interactions. He sips his wine, nodding in thanks to the waiter.
"I'm the Special Inspector to NERV-1," he says, "Have you checked your e-mail, lately?"
"Not lately, no."
Shinji nods, sighing. Leaning forward, he tents his hands, a habit he's picked up, and keeps himself looking respectable while doing so by not staring at Asuka's cleavage.
"My father wants you to take Dr. Akagi's old position," he says, "And head Project E."
She stares at him as he finishes. He waits, sitting back, as she taps her fingers on the table.
And then she grabs her wine glass and drains the contents in one gulp. Slamming the glass down, her cheeks flush red and she blinks, pointing to the bottle.
"More."
*
*
*
*
The computer screen beeps, and Gendo Ikari looks up from the reports littering his desk to stare at the message. Sighing, he realizes that it is late, possibly close to midnight, and he has been here since at least eight in the morning. Of course, this is old hat for him. Even past his negative personality traits, it is acknowledged that he is a hard worker.
NERV's role has changed. Following the first Angel War there were others, and now even non-Angelic monsters dotting the landscape. Perhaps it is her doing, allowing him to finally bond with his son through necessity. But still, his task is his own. That he may be doing this job without ulterior motives…
Well, that would be unthinkable.
He taps at his keyboard, replying to the message. A greeting.
What do you think you're doing? The messenger replies.
"Replacing a retired scientist," he responds.
Right. Sure you are. Are you telling him the real reason?
"He'll figure it out on his own."
*
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*
*
There is no logical reason a German twice-graduate college student should have this little tolerance for alcohol. She's singing some sort of Germanic folk diddy, leaning on him, hanging on him as they stumble into the lobby of the hotel. He waves to the desk people, well aware that his hand around her waist could be reason for a beating if she sobers up at some point, but he doesn't have an alternative.
He has no idea where she lives, and at this point he's lucky if she remembers her last name, and he's not getting an answer from her sister's phone. Thankfully, the hotel room is quite big and has a couch he can sleep on. It doesn't help that he's feeling tipsy, to.
It's close to midnight, and they stumble into the elevator, hitting the button for his floor. After the job proposal, she said she'd think about it. They talked, really talked. She's calmed down in the past eight years, but he can't see why, can't see if it's for good. Maybe she calmed down because she finally got over whatever ghosts were haunting her, or maybe she calmed down because life came around and knocked her off her pedestal. Either way, it's jarring, seeing her like this. Not as loud, not as mean. Not as…hello.
"Asuka, why is your hand in my pocket?"
Eyes half lidded, the red haired girl giggles, lips fluttering as she clumsily moves against him.
He really shouldn't expect a lucid reply at this point. She downed half the bottle during their dinner and nearly fell out of her seat at one point. He doubts he'll take her out to that restaurant again.
Her other hand drapes over his shoulder, before she pouts, pulling her hand out of his pocket and lazily tracing it up his shirt.
"Y're notta wimp anymore, 're yuu," she drawls, twisting the corner of her lip up, "Ain't so scrwny n'more, to."
She leans forward, licking her lips, standing on her toes. Pressing herself against him, and pressing his back to the glass wall of the elevator, she sloppily, messily kisses him. To put it in perspective, that one, badly done kiss from twelve years ago is not the only one he had. Yes, there was that one with Misato during the JSSDF invasion, which neither of them ever talked about again, and there was also his relationship with Rei before he found out that it basically summed up as an Oedipus Complex gone hilariously wrong. But, having gone through college, Shinji has had relationships. Not all of them lasted very long. Most of them ended the moment they asked to meet his father.
Still, Asuka is not the only girl he's ever kissed…although, right now, it doesn't matter. She's kissing him. She's sticking her tongue down his throat and pinning him to the wall. Her breath tastes like the berries they mixed into the wine and walnut salad, and instinctively, he takes her head in his hands and returns it. They barely hear the 'ding' of the elevator doors, both of them stumbling out. They hop, skip, fall in a controlled manner across the hallway to the door he unlocks with his key card, before he kicks the door shut and slams her back against the door.
Her shawl and his jacket drop to the floor, her purse tossed across the entrance of the hotel room, knocking over an end table as her pumps and one of his shoes end up bouncing off the window.
It hits him, soon enough. The gravity of his situation. He and she are both drunk. Wait, no. He's tipsy. She's drunk off her ass. He's about to score with her and fulfill twelve years of pent up frustration and fantasies.
And in the morning, she's going to murder him.
That enough sobers him, and he grabs her wrists, pulling them off his belt and pinning them to the door. She struggles, lips twisting in frustration, looking at him with bleary eyes.
"No," he whispers, "No, we can't do this."
He pulls her from the door, steadily helping her walk. The headache is already throbbing in the back of his skull as he leads her into the bedroom, her face blank, unreadable. A contact lens has fallen out of her left eye, the blue replaced by a deep, crimson red. Slowly, gently, he clicks on the light. The bedroom has everything he would need. A wall-mounted television, a king sized bed with rafters, a full window panorama and plush carpets for at least one of his now-bare feet.
He sits her on the bed, pulling off her gloves. He sees the angry white scar running up her right arm, from between her middle and third fingers and all the way up to her shoulder. He helps take off her necklace and glasses, putting them on the night table as he lays her down…and hears a soft, heavy breathing.
"I'll be on the couch," he says, pulling the covers over her, "Call me if you need me."
He walks out, clicking off the light and closing the door. Curling into a ball, she balls her fists by her face, her eyes clenching shut, her lips trembling as droplets of water fall on the pillow.
"Dsn't wnt me," she chokes, "N'one wnts me…"
*
*
*
*
Third Impact was averted twelve years ago when, at the heart of Instrumentality, Shinji Ikari spotted his father and decided he had enough of old Gendo's bullshit. So, charging across the infinite expanse of the Reality of the Soul, he tackled him and they began kicking, cursing, punching, and biting each other.
Which is when she showed up.
Few things are more satisfying than watching your father getting punted by your mother, especially when you hate the former and idolize the latter.
Of course, it then went downhill when Yui Ikari seized her son by the ear and told him that he isn't getting off easy, either, and here's what we're going to do about your behavior, young man-
*
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*
*
Rubbing sleep, his vision clears and Shinji sits up on the couch. It's a good thing he went for the premium rooms, otherwise he'd be sleeping on a floor. The couch is comfortable, actually. Sure, it doesn't fold out into a bed or anything, but it's soft enough and the throw pillows were good enough for him. The sun wakes him up, and it's too damn early at the same time, as he rises and looks around and remembers he doesn't have any food in the kitchen, so he can't cook.
Looks like another job for Father's company expense account.
Clicking the phone, he waits.
"Room service? Two orders of scrambled eggs, some juice, and coffee. Thanks."
The door creeks open as he places the phone down, and heavy, clumsy footsteps stumble out of the main bedroom. Stumbling speeds up and the door to the bathroom shuts, Shinji rolling his head back as Asuka refunds last night's dinner with gusto. Water runs, gargling, and spit, and the door swings open. Her hair is disheveled, and her eyes are puffy and red. She didn't really put on any makeup the night before, or else there would have been the tell-tale sign of streaked mascara.
As it is, she pulls the strap of her dress back up her shoulder, blinking at the natural light filtering in through the windows.
"How're you feeling?" he asks.
"F___ you," she responds.
He only smiles in response.
"Not a morning person," he says, not asks, "I think you overdid it with the wine."
"No, really," she mutters, leaning against the wall and groaning, "Well, everything's where it should be, so I can conclude you didn't take advantage of me in my drunken state. So I guess I can thank you for overcoming your base masculine nature."
"That's what I like," he says, leaning back on the couch, "Your graduate degree lets you insult me with advanced words, now."
"Again, F___ you."
She moans, rubbing her temples as she walks to the kitchen and begins chugging water. He watches her, handed tented. The motion of her shoulders as she chokes down the water, her pulling her hair back as she mutters. Closing his eyes, he lies back on the couch, draping one leg over the back as he stares at the painting covering the ceiling.
"I'll take the job," she says, "I'll have my sister ship everything over. Just let me get home and change, okay?"
"There's a private aircraft from NERV," he says, "They'll go whenever you're ready."
She mutters an agreement, grabbing her bag, gathering up her shoes and shawl. Muttering to herself, cursing to herself, she rifles through her bag and finally drops it, slumping onto the couch and rubbing her left eye. He sits up, reaching over to-
Well, whatever he intended to do, she smacks away his hand.
"Don't," she says, "Just…just don't. I can't find my contact and I look like a freak. Bad enough with this…"
She holds up her right arm, and finally slumps her shoulders. She grits her teeth, her hair falling in front of her face, before she takes a deep breath and releases.
"I have to wear long sleeves every day," she says, "I have one contact in one eye, and whatever happened f___ed up my vision so badly that I need glasses. If I ever want to end a blind date my sister puts me on, I just roll up my sleeve and watch them run for the hills."
He nods, watching her. The four years after the end, she'd end these rants about her changes by hitting him, belittling him, yelling and screaming and wrecking the apartment while cursing. The vibrant, beautiful, exotic foreigner, reduced to a circus side show because of her last stand. A last stand which, in her opinion, did all of jack and shit to stop the Impact. Noooo, she'd rant, it was the Invincible Third Child who saved the world, once again.
But now she goes silent. Now she just stares at the scar on her hand, as if there are answers there. He is about to say something, maybe even roll up his sleeve to show her where the Lances from the MP Evas penetrated his wrists.
Then the doorbell rings.
"Room service," he says.
*
*
*
*
"The candidate will be here tomorrow," Gendo Ikari says, hands tented in front of his face as Katsuragi nods, "Doctor Sohryu will take over the duties of head of Project E. Our mission goals with the Evangelion technology will as of now advance towards new uses of the Evangelions."
"Since we have the only working Evas, we're trying to find a use for them?"
"Correct, Katsuragi," he responds, as Rei walks in, "Rei you will greet Inspector Ikari and Doctor Sohryu. Your opinion on Doctor Sohryu?"
"Upon my last meeting with her eight years ago, she had yet to overcome her past traumas to the degree Inspector Ikari has," Rei responds, "However, as you have selected her, you believe she will be more capable as a researcher than a pilot."
Ikari nods, handing them both a folder.
"NERV keeps track of its assets," he says, "We will do everything we can to make sure that Doctor Sohryu's tenure with us is…comfortable. For her…"
Misato's eyes go wide, and she looks up from the folder and glares at Gendo.
"And her daughter."