3. Things That Go Bump in the Nacht.
Some people live and learn, others just live.
~

I drifted down the night pathways of a labyrinth ... unless they were the veins of a behemoth ... or the branches of the World Tree ... or the circuits of a computer...

Soft red lights swirled slowly around me as I descended, each the centre of its own dark nebula. It came to me that I was seeing the souls of Lilim as they moved through the labyrinth themselves, each one cradled in the shadow of its physical form.

One body I saw did not carry a light. It was shrunken, tiny, pitiable; a mere husk of the giant it used to be.

- i cannot return there. - Adam's voice was not sad or bitter; I did not think they understood how to be, or show, such things. But their own soul-light wavered beside mine, blue in contrast to the Lilim's red, in a suggestion of regret.

- Things do not have to be the way that they are, - I thought. - We can choose to change them. -

- you can choose, tabris my child. you are the angel of free will. - The weight of Adam's soul was feather-light on mine, but the echo of crushing mass lingered.

- I choose to carry you still, as long as you need. -

Adam did not know gratitude, but they and I had learned kindness together, from the children of the creatures who had broken and imprisoned them. The closeness of their soul to mine resonated with this lesson.

We watched the embryo of their hollowed vessel twist and distort, pulled in one direction then another. Dim forms now surrounded it, working with delicate brutality to sever it from its housing – a fluid cohered from the decayed shell of a perished Lilin.

Then a red soul-light approached, reached out a dark limb, touched shadow to flesh. Adam's body had no power to resist as it was absorbed, yet the Lilin still struggled, an Angel's form far too potent even when so withered.

But it was aided by those same tools that had sundered Adam's soul long ago, and in time – it could have been moments, or aeons – the two forms resolved into one. The Lilin prevailed, and I felt my parent's soul shrink a little more as their former vessel was taken further from their reach.

As though dismissed by this loss, I felt the labyrinth recede, releasing us, and my parent's soul and mine returned to my own body as it stirred from slumber, and even the memory of the vision faded.

I woke, with the distinct memory of someone calling out to me, but the silence in my apartment did not feel as though it had been recently disturbed. I blinked, my eyes gradually adjusting to the darkness, and glanced at the clock on my bedside table – four ante meridiem, and I was wide awake as though all my being had focused on the cry of someone I cared for.

I looked over and down at Shinji on the floor; his back was to me, the blankets pulled up over his shoulder. His bare feet protruded, and I smiled as I remembered tickling them earlier and his frantic reaction.

Now I looked more closely at his huddled figure, and realised that I could see just from the back of his neck that he was tense – something troubled his sleep. I quietly left the bed and stepped around him to see his face.

There were tears slipping from his closed eyes onto the pillow.

"Shinji? Shinji," I whispered, and touched his shoulder.

He came awake all at once, his expression distraught. "Kaworu?" Seeing me, he suddenly pushed himself up and wrapped his arms around my neck. "Kaworu, you're here ... you're alive..." He was shaking terribly.

I held him tightly and rubbed his back, as I remembered Kaji comforting me, what felt like a long time ago. "Shh ... it's all right ... I'm here Shinji, it's all right now."

After a long moment he released me. "I'm sorry. I had a nightmare. But it felt so real! I killed you – really killed you. My father forced me – like with Toji – but it was my fault too, I stabbed you right in the heart..." He covered his mouth with a palm. "I could see your blood on my hands, see you lying there, not moving ... so cold ... It all felt so real..."

"It wasn't," I said, and took his hands and breathed on them. "There. Do you feel that warmth? That is the breath of the living. Here..." I placed his palm flat against my chest. "My heartbeat. Do you feel it? The drumming of my living heart. I am here with you, Shinji."

His hand cupped my face, close enough that my breath whispered against his skin. There was wonder in his face, and some brimming emotion that I could not interpret, but it warmed me through. I could feel his pulse in his fingertips as he leaned towards me.

There was a muffled thud. We both jumped.

"What was that?" Shinji whispered.

"I think it came from the living room," I said, and got to my feet.

"Don't!" He grabbed my wrist. "It could be a burglar. They might hurt you."

"I'm sure it will be fine," I said, but he pushed in front of me.

"I'll go first." There was a thin plank of wood on the floor, somehow left over from building a bookcase (at the time I had thought my inventory comprehensive…); he picked this up and held it at the ready.

"Shinji!" I whispered. "Put that down!"

"I won't let you put yourself in danger," he said stubbornly. "Just be quiet, okay?"

He stealthily opened the bedroom door and peeked across the hall into the kitchen. We heard rustling, as though of clothes, and the shuffled noises of someone moving into the living room. Shinji crouched down, so his head would not appear at the expected height, and peered around.

Looking over him, I discerned the figure of someone tall, barely visible in the darkness. Shinji slipped through the door almost silently and crept along.

The intruder paused, and held still as though listening. He began to turn; seeing that we were about to be discovered, Shinji rushed forward and raised the plank of wood ready to strike.

"Stop!" I said, and grabbed him around the waist. "Don't hit him!"

"Kaworu?" said the other.

Shinji dropped the plank. "Kaji?"

I turned on the kitchen light; there in the living room stood our favourite double agent, crouched in a fighting stance, arms raised to defend himself. He straightened up, blinking in surprise and the sudden brightness. He looked even more unkempt than usual, his clothes dirty and rumpled; there were dark circles under his eyes and I thought he had not eaten.

"How'd you know it was me?" he asked.

"I have good eyesight," I said. "You look terrible. Are you all right?"

"Nice to see you too," he said drily, and crossed the room to bundle me into a hug that felt more like a tackle. "You were a lot nicer on the phone the day before yesterday."

"I was relieved that you hadn't died in Third Impact." My words were muffled by his collarbone.

"So kind of you," he sighed, "such heavenly compassion…"

Shinji caught his meaning, and gasped. "You know Kaworu's an—?" He cut himself off, and mouthed 'Angel' as though the walls had ears.

"And so do you, apparently," said Kaji, and grinned at me as he released his hold. "And he's still here with you. Told you there was nothing to stress about."

Shinji looked at me quizzically, and Kaji chuckled.

"Kaworu was really worried you'd hate him for being an Angel," he explained to Shinji. "He was scared to death of losing you over it."

"You could not be blamed for doing so," I said, though at the thought of Shinji's enmity my heart felt sickened. "The others of my kind have harmed you, and those you care about, so much, after all."

He shook his head slowly. "I never hated any of the Angels – I hated that they hurt people, and I knew we had to stop them, but I never hated them. I was upset that you lied to me – that you betrayed me, like my father did."

I could not suppress a wince at such an odious comparison, though it was no more than I deserved.

Shinji was looking at the floor, and inward. "…But you saved Ayanami from that other Angel, even though it put you in danger. You sacrificed your life for all of us, to save us from Third Impact. And more than that…" His eyes lifted to mine, and I felt I had never noticed how deep was their colour. "It's you. It's Kaworu. Whatever you are, whoever you were, I don't care. How could I hate Kaworu?"

How was he able to take me to pieces and put me back together with words alone?

I didn't know whether the noise I made as I rushed to him was language or just emotion; I only knew that if I did not hold him with all my strength then the world itself might end.

He made an "oof" of surprise as I barrelled into him, then returned my grip with equal ferocity. A sound against my ear that was half a laugh and half a sob (was it made by Shinji or by me?).

When I had caught my breath, but long before I had had my fill of his kindness, I drew back just enough to be able to look into those mesmerising eyes. "Shinji Ikari," I said, and had not known my voice could be so soft, "I must have been born to meet you."

The tiniest shiver ran through him as his gaze held mine, before it strayed over my shoulder and he started, as though remembering abruptly that we were not alone.

Kaji had been apparently attempting to disappear into the furniture, but camouflage was thwarted by the luminosity of his grin.

Shinji reddened and contracted into himself, though a stubborn hand-hold endured between us with which he drew me to sit on the couch. Kaji collapsed into the adjacent armchair, and the furniture's percussive protest served to return me to the larger world.

"What has been happening?" I asked him. "What can you tell us?"

Kaji blew his hair off his forehead. "Where to begin?" he mused.

"Are you okay?" Shinji jumped in. "Where've you been? Has it been dangerous?"

"No need to go into that," Kaji said, and reached across me to pat him on the shoulder. "It's all good. I wouldn't come back here if it'd put Kaworu in danger."

Shinji settled down, reassured. He had one last question, though. "Can I tell Misato you're all right?"

At this, Kaji's face softened. "She knows. Swung by her apartment just now and left a present."

"Red roses?" I guessed, and Kaji returned my smile.

"Yeah. What can I say, I'm a die-hard romantic." He shrugged nonchalantly, then looked at us with a raised eyebrow. "I heard Asuka's doing better?"

"Yes, she is – much better," I said. "She is awake, and lively, and stronger than ever, I believe."

"It's wonderful," Shinji said, his elated expression a match for Kaji's. The three of us sat quietly for a moment, and I reflected that if Asuka truly understood how valued she was by the people around her, she would never suffer from insecurity again.

At length Kaji stirred himself, but as he opened his mouth I forestalled him. "Tea?"

He chuckled. "Stop reading my mind."

I got to my feet and crossed to the kitchen cupboard. "Never, I am morbidly curious."

"You can read minds?" Shinji's eyes bulged.

Kaji laughed – "I was joking…" but his face dropped when I disclaimed, "Not exactly – mostly just low-definition perception of emotional states."

"Wait – what?" Kaji stammered.

Shinji's expression was the most awkward I had ever seen it, which was saying something. "So … you don't know what I'm thinking?"

I shook my head. "Nothing specific. I could tell that Kaji found me suspicious early in our acquaintance, but I didn't realise that he had found out my identity until he confronted me."

I held up the bag of tea leaves. "Consider that the shape of the container is affected by the contents—" as I poked the scoop inside, causing the paper packaging to distort, "—but it remains opaque. There could be tea in here, or there could be rice – or insects."

A laugh was startled out of Shinji. "Ew!"

Kaji grinned and rubbed a hand across his stubbled chin. "Knowing Kaworu's housekeeping, there definitely could be bugs."

"Excuse you!" I tried to sound offended, but failed and laughed instead. "No tea for you."

"Aw, c'mon," he whined. "What if I make up for it with intel?"

I made a show of pondering his offer as I filled the kettle and set it on the stove. "I suppose … if it is very good intel."

His face settled into a more serious expression. "Well, you asked what I could tell you about what's happening with NERV and the Committee."

"That's ... SEELE, right?" said Shinji, pronouncing the unfamiliar word hesitantly. "The organisation that's behind—that was behind my father. They arranged it all – NERV, the Evas, even Second Impact..." He shuddered, horrified that someone could deliberately induce such a catastrophe.

"That's right. Of course, their precious plans are all in ruins now." There was a dark satisfaction in Kaji's expression. "Third Impact has come and gone, and didn't go the way it was supposed to. All those prophecies now look like so much dead paper – they have no strategy, no direction, and no leadership."

"Misato said that half of the commanders of NERV had disappeared, and that everything was all confused."

"That's putting it mildly," Kaji said. "The upper ranks of both NERV and SEELE are in chaos right now – Third Impact took out more than ninety percent of them. The whole Committee's gone, of course..." He glanced at me; I nodded, understanding his meaning that my 'guardian' Keel was among the dead (though I had already known; it had been one of my own first inquiries after the disaster). "...There's a power vacuum beyond anything we could have imagined. I don't know how it's all going to work out, but all the signs point to a bloodbath."

"Bloodbath?" Shinji whispered. The whistle of the kettle made him jump, and I hurried to take it from the heat, then pour water into the teapot.

Kaji leaned back and crossed his ankles, folding his hands behind his head. "Naturally. SEELE wields massive influence throughout the world – political, military, corporate, financial... There's huge power available if an ambitious person can grab it and keep it. Now that so many chairs are vacant there's going to be a scramble, and it'll get very nasty very quickly, that's a certainty."

"But ... but our NERV will be okay, right?" said Shinji nervously. "Sub-Commander Fuyutsuki's in charge. Nobody will argue about him taking over, right?"

"Maybe not within our branch," said Kaji. He was frowning at the window, but apparently attentive enough to clear a space on the table as I brought over the pot and cups. "But without Commander Ikari at the helm, Tokyo-3 is vulnerable. Your father was respected, and feared, throughout SEELE and lots of its offshoots. Sub-Commander Fuyutsuki doesn't have that big a reputation – but the Commander's influence might have been the only thing protecting us up until now."

"What do you mean, protecting?" Shinji said.

"There's always been factional rivalry between the branches – competition for building Evas, hosting tests, that sort of thing – that masked and vented deeper animosities. None of them would ever have been reckless enough to go against SEELE, so it was the best check to stop the rivalry getting out of hand and spilling over into something more ... aggressive. With the Committee wiped out and SEELE crippled..."

"But why would they threaten us? We're all on the same side, aren't we?"

I drew in a breath as I came to Kaji's conclusion. "We have what the others all want," I said.

"We do?" On Shinji's face, confusion was suddenly replaced by realisation. "That giant, down in Terminal Dogma – that's the first Angel, isn't it? Adam – they want Adam, right?"

"They do," I confirmed, "although the giant you mention is actually Lilith, the second Angel."

"Kaworu's right," Kaji continued, "the other NERV branches would love to get their hands on the key to Project E and Instrumentality. They'd hold all the cards – they could do anything..."

"A while back," Shinji said, his voice sounding as though it came from miles away, "I overheard Misato say to Doctor Akagi that with four Evas under her command, she could destroy the world."

Kaji chuckled. "Well, hopefully it won't come to that..."

"Wait a second, though," said Shinji. "Instrumentality means Third Impact, right? But it already happened – why would they still be planning for it? Do they want it to happen again? But the people who wanted it should have died the first time – everyone had to make the choice."

"In a perfect world, sure," said Kaji. "Everyone with a deathwish would get it granted. But it's not so clear-cut; people aren't just black or white in their hearts, but all shades of grey. Look at Commander Fuyutsuki – he knew what the Instrumentality Project was, he helped to bring it about, but he's still alive. Ritsuko, my old buddy the Chief Scientist, worked towards it for years, under no illusions as to what it meant – and she didn't dissolve into a puddle of orange goo either."

"Ugh," said Shinji quietly. He gripped his cup tightly, as though for reassurance.

"I second that emotion," Kaji said. He peered into his own drink thoughtfully, as though trying to read the leaves for prophecy. "My point is that sometimes a person's motivations are more complex than they appear – than even they realise. Duty, for example. I'd be willing to bet that some of the middle ranks, who didn't want to die and don't understand what Instrumentality truly means, will nevertheless feel obligated to carry out the plans of their superiors, even if they suspect what those plans really are."

"You have a good point," I said. "Their sense of honour would bind them to that course."

"Exactly. Not to mention," Kaji added, "that it's possible someone honestly believed Third Impact would help humans evolve into something better."

"Evolve?" Shinji repeated. "You mean – that thing, what was it called... 'complementation' – people balancing each other's faults and cancelling them out, to make a perfect being?"

"Exactly. It had been described as the apex of our species' potential, a superior and flawless form, indistinguishable from a god. Maybe someone took that at face value, without bothering to understand the implications of the process, and thought they were truly working for the betterment of humankind."

He shrugged. "I couldn't say how a person smart enough to get so far would have been able to delude themselves like that for any length of time, but it's a possibility."

"That's scary," said Shinji. "So all that destruction and loss ... was supposed to be for our benefit..."

"The end of the world as a joyous occasion, because of the ascension that followed," I mused. "It would be a kind of immortality – one existence forever unchanging, not ageing or decaying... It sounds like religious dogma."

"Which makes us heathens," Kaji said cheerfully.

Shinji managed a half-smile, but was clearly still troubled. "Do you really think there might still be people who want to make Third Impact happen?"

"Given that some of the people who knew what it meant are still alive, I think it's a possibility we should keep in mind. But the disaster will buy us some time, while everyone regroups. For now they'll probably concentrate on preparing for the last Angel. I don't know if it'll completely stop the infighting, but it could distract them from doing anything too drastic. Angels are still the more important enemy, after all."

"I'm flattered," I said, smiling, but Shinji frowned.

"Why did everyone forget about Kaworu? And why do Kaji and I remember?"

"Everyone seemed not to register Third Impact," I reflected. "Remember that Asuka had to be told what her 'dream' actually was – people's recollections were distorted. It seems that, as with concussions, the memories immediately preceding the event were also affected. However, Kaji found out much earlier, even before the fifteenth Angel attacked. The confusing effects of Instrumentality did not extend so far into the past."

"But wouldn't there be records?" Shinji persisted. "Even if they didn't go past Third Impact, wouldn't there be records of what happened before that, during the fight with the sixteenth Angel?"

Kaji grinned. "So there be would, if someone hadn't wiped them. Well, all the important ones, definitely. I think I missed a couple, but I was in a hurry."

I turned to him. "So it was you! Rei and I were wondering how that data came to be erased. You did a masterful job – we were unable to trace you at all. And I am amazed that you were able to accomplish such a feat against such high security as the MAGI possess."

He bowed. "Your praise humbles me," he said modestly, although not without his customary flippancy.

"Thank you," I said sincerely. "I owe you my identity and my safety."

Kaji waved a hand as he drained his drink. "I was killing myself at the time, anyway."

Seeing our expressions, he quickly added, "Only officially. As far as SEELE and NERV's records now show, Ryoji Kaji – formerly MIA – died during the space of time now recognised as Third Impact. So helping you out while getting them off my trail was all in a day's work. Besides," he smiled at me, "I didn't want Shinji to cry."

I returned the smile, recognising his echo of my explanation for saving his life previously.

"Then I should thank you, too," said Shinji to him. More quietly and half to himself, he added, "I'd be lost without Kaworu." I took his hands again and we held each other for a moment, just glad to be together.

Kaji got to his feet and went to the kitchen. I heard him rummaging around in the refrigerator, then a familiar sound of something being taken out and opened.

I looked up sharply. "You are still not allowed to drink from the juice carton, Kaji."

He froze guiltily, the spout almost touching his lips, then shrugged and took a defiant draught. As he replaced the carton in the door he grinned at me through a juice moustache, and I returned an exasperated look. Shinji giggled.

Kaji wiped the juice off his top lip, and suddenly yawned. Subject to the strange contagion, Shinji yawned as well, and settled back against the cushions.

Feeling a sudden onset of morbid curiosity, I got up and retrieved my computer. Taking it back to the couch, I switched it on and began to break into Keel's surveillance sector. Compared to my activities in the internet cafe the other day, this task took little effort; the official log of his movements was blank, but I was soon able to lock onto his personal locator, tracking the signal to his private conference room in central Hamburg.

Through the security cameras I saw the scene behind his desk: a pile of clothes, a metal visor, and a pool of orange liquid. His attendants had not even cleaned up his remains. It had been two days.

I must have stared at the image for over a minute.

"Kaworu?" said Shinji, and I jumped.

"Oh – Shinji..."

He looked at the screen over my shoulder. "What's that?"

"My late guardian." I was surprised by how calm my voice sounded.

"Oh! I'm so sorry," he said softly.

I shrugged. "We were not on good terms. So please do not worry about me." I touched the inside of his wrist. "But I do appreciate your concern."

He smiled sadly. "I think I understand how you feel. My father ... I feel like I should be sad. I mean, he was my father – I should be in mourning." He stared at the computer screen as though not seeing it at all, his brow furrowed. "But I'm not anymore – I wasn't even that upset to begin with, and so I feel guilty. Am I a bad person then, because I'm not really sad that he died?"

I rested my head against his. "It is strange, is it not, to register a significant loss without the expected accompaniment of grief? These people controlled and shaped our lives profoundly, but to malign, injurious effect. Your father was never a true father to you, nor my guardian one to me. Our minds may be reluctant to recognise this, but our hearts are more honest. An oppressive force, from which we had been fighting to free ourselves, is now gone from our lives. As far as our feelings are concerned, that is paramount.

"And Shinji..." I met his eye with a small smile. "...Do not disregard the fact that you do feel guilty for not grieving. If you were a 'bad person', you would not think twice about it. But it bothers you – it troubles your conscience that your heart and your mind do not agree. And that is a good sign."

Shinji still seemed troubled, but the gnawing remorse seemed to have disappeared. "I guess that makes sense," he admitted. "I'd hated him and been scared of him for so long – I don't know if I'll ever really be free of him. Maybe one day..."

He trailed off, then suddenly shook his head as though to clear it. He met my eyes at last, and managed to return my smile. "Thank you, Kaworu."

Kaji rested his elbows on the back of the couch to look over our shoulders at the screen. "How the mighty have fallen," he murmured. "That bitter old man got his wish, then."

"Yes, he received the end he longed for – the ultimate reward for despair." I thought, but did not say out loud, How pathetic.

Shinji squeezed my hand. "Kaworu? Let's do something else, okay? I don't think it'll help, dwelling on it anymore."

I shook myself out of reverie. "Yes, you are right. Shall we make breakfast?"

"What's the time?" Kaji asked through another yawn.

I got to my feet; Shinji followed. "Almost five o'clock," I answered. "I would normally be waking in a little over an hour."

"Yeah? I'd be going to sleep," Kaji muttered. "Today more than ever. Long night..."

"Well, why don't you go to sleep after we eat?" Shinji suggested. "We're staying up, so the bedroom will be quiet."

"Good idea. Thanks, Shinji." He yawned again.

We made breakfast together – or rather, Shinji cooked, I hovered and offered help that was repeatedly refused ("I'm staying at your place, I want to do my share..."), and Kaji sat with my laptop and browsed websites for news, both public and confidential.

Most of it simply fleshed out the details of what we had already learned in brief over the past day and a half – the international state of emergency had been stepped down to an average equivalent of yellow alert, as people and organisations picked up the pieces and started imposing order on chaos. Stock markets had plummetted worldwide, insurance companies were deluged by claims, and all leave had been cancelled for public service and health employees. Funeral providers looked to be the clear beneficiaries of the disaster.

More interestingly, the draft report of the battle against the sixteenth Angel – supplemented by yesterday's interviews with Shinji and myself – had been lodged. It reported the enemy's destruction and severe damage to Evangelion Units 00 and 02, along with injuries to their pilots – but the information had been established retrospectively, as most of the MAGI's records for the duration of the fight itself remained lost. Kaji had done his work well.

Interim leaders for the affected NERV branches had been appointed; in Kaji's professional opinion, of those, only Fuyutsuki stood a chance of retaining the position uncontested. Of the initial three nominees at the Chinese branch, one had gone missing a few hours after Third Impact, and another was shortly reported dead of unspecified causes. "An allergic reaction to steel objects in her back," Kaji theorised. "She won't be the last."

The mail was delivered shortly before six o'clock; I passed the newspaper on to Kaji and he managed to divide his attention between it and half a dozen different information searches, while not neglecting his coffee either.

And I had a letter from Granny!

"You look happy, Kaworu," said Shinji, and I glanced up at him and grinned.

"A friend of mine has written to me – the date is yesterday, and she hopes I was not hit hard by the mysterious disaster. That means she survived Third Impact. –Also that the postal service is staffed with heroes."

"That's great!" he said. "Is she someone I know?"

"Not yet, although I hope you will meet soon. I think you will get along well. She cooks almost as wonderfully as you do."

Shinji waved his hands in protest. "Me? No, I'm not that good ... really, I've got lots to learn still..."

I shared a fondly exasperated glance with Kaji, who said teasingly, "Then you'd better hurry up and meet her, so she can teach you to cook better, right?"

He looked awkward. "Of course I'd like to meet a friend of Kaworu's..."

I patted his hand. "I will write to her and ask when we might visit. Is the pancake meant to be smoking like that?"

"What? Oh, no!" He dragged the pan off the heat and started scraping at the burnt remains of breakfast.

Kaji snickered. "Maybe Shinji does have a lot to learn yet, after all."

"Damn it..." he muttered, but he was smiling ruefully. Soon we sat down to eat together, and I shared another meal with people I cared for. I felt that it had become my central priority to do so again, many times over, for as long as I could.