Disclaimer: NGE is property of Gainax and affiliates. I beg leave to use the world and characters for a time, claiming no ownership.
Aftereffects, Decisions, Repercussions
A "Cracks in the Armor" Sequel
The questions are: "can I, and do I want to?" By this, I mean capability and desire: do I have the strength, and do I have the will?
The strength and will to do: to act, and live thereby. These are the pillars whose support allows me to survive my life. Would it be right to die by those same rules? I read once that bushidô, the warrior's code, revolved around finding the right place, time, and circumstances for death. Is this the right way? Will I conquer my enemy, my self, by living or by dying?
It's not a new conundrum. When I first began to bleed, nearly two years ago, my meager synch scores fell back to zero. For a month, from moon to moon, I battled with my rage against the machine and my body, and always left the lab defeated.
I went into my guardian's kitchen one night—a night very like this, completely still except for the snoring down the hall—and sat naked in the bathtub with the sharpest knife I could find. I ran the warm water, tensing at every splash, waiting for awakened adults to pour horrified into the room. Nobody stirred.
Looking at the blade, I saw a pair of reddened, smoke-blue eyes glare wearily back. We stared at each other for a long time, the knife and I, both before and after I cut my arm. And as my clean blood trickled out of the scratch and mixed below me with the other blood, she told me the secrets that only knives know; secrets they only whisper in the silent darkness to those who share their soul.
I dropped it into the sullied water before it could reveal the final mystery. But I had already learned that I was weak. Too weak to ask for help of any sort, too weak to drag through the pain into a brighter future, too weak to cut deeply enough. I put the knife away. I drained the bath. I gave up.
This time, though, things have gone too far. The old demons have come back and brought new ones with them. The enemy has taken physical form as Angels. They torture my mind in violent external counterpoint to the inner pain. I can't give up this time, or they will kill me. I'm too strong to be killed by any damn outside force! I'll make a stand here in the landscape of the mind and decide things on my own; just me and the pathetic, vicious girl who clutches her toy and stares back.
The girl holds a stuffed monkey. A stuffed monkey with the head ripped off. A broken doll lies on the floor. The girl holds a knife. The girl holds a gun. The girl is the knife, is the gun. She tore the monkey; she broke the doll. She wants to kill me. She's the only thing that can.
The room is filled with darkness, as if the physical presence of anti-light has rolled mist-like out of pores in the walls and floor. The muzzle of the gun is a round eye, steel-black against the charcoal shades of the apartment. Again, I look into the eye of my enemy, ready to listen to her deadly secrets. I'll hear them all and walk away stronger. I mustn't run away this time; I know what needs to be done. The opponent must be encountered, defeated, discarded as many times as necessary. I don't care if each new moon brings another call for catharsis, as long as I can decide where my path will lead, whether my blood will be washed away, whether I will be washed away with it.
One thumb hovers over the disengaged safety, ready to return me from the steely mirror-shard to reality. All I need to do is prove my worth by listening to the gun's whispers and not giving in. I'm better than her, this time. She might be cooler, might never back down, but all she can do for me now is supply the prophetic voice that redirects my actions into a fuller life. Already I can hear someone speaking—
"It blinked," says Shinji from the doorway, quietly. "You win."
He saw us. As one, she and I look at the young man, and say —!
[…]
Author's Notes: CitA was intended, when I wrote it, to be open-ended. The whole point was to make the reader think about what would or could happen next. Therefore, I must stress that this is NOT the definitive outcome. I can think of at least two other, equally valid, courses that could have been followed. This is just one possible ending that I needed to write. As I've said before, writing fics like this is a very cathartic process. At any rate, this ending is also open. I did that on purpose.
Not being a woman myself, I must apologize for the menstruation references. The theme is an integral part of Asuka's psyche, though, and can't be separated from the rest of her 'angst' without losing something of the whole. Go watch the series if you don't believe me.
-Worldmage