Disclaimer: Loosely based on Sadmoto's "Evangelion" manga. "Evangelion" is the property of Gainax. There is a character named Midori in Murakami's "Norwegian Wood", this Midori was inspired by her.

One Weekend
5. Gun Shy

The monorail pulled into the Shibuya-2 station just as the two meter tall digital display flipped to 4:57 PM. Midori took took my hands off of her shoulders, but retained one hand as she marched out of the car. A small frown creased her mouth.
"Is something wrong?" I asked.
At the same time, I couldn't help but to look around for enemy agents.
"Quietly," Midori said. "You mustn't look for them, it only encourages Them."
She slackened her pace and let me match her stride. She released my hand.
"Shinji?" she asked seriously. "Are you really my Shinji?"
"Your Shinji?" I asked, the possessive confused me. I tried to play along as best as I could."Who else would I be?"
"You're right, who else would you be," she answered with a sudden smile. "Trust me, my Shinji."
I had to glance one more time at a mirror-shade store front. No one stuck out in the crowd. No one was even particularly athletic; many ID-2 agents must live at the gym. Some held shopping bags, returning from trips to Tokyo-3. A few had cameras and other tourist accessories.

"First, we need to get you out of those clothes," she said.
"I think I'm dry now," I answered.
"This won't do," Midori insisted. "It's Saturday, you'll stand out too much. Besides, I can dress you up like when we were little."
She stopped abruptly. I walked past her, and she came up behind me to plow me forward with her hands to the middle of my back. The thin girl drove me into a sharp left hand turn. I let her propel me through a pair of glass doors. They hissed open, as did their twins beyond the vestibule. The doubled doors opened onto a balcony. A set of stairs on the left and a glass elevator to the right led to four open U-shaped levels suspended over a full ground level of clothes. The floors contained rows, columns, racks, shelves, and rings of hung, folded, and packaged clothes. A uniformed saleswoman bowed and greeted us. I bowed back and stumbled the the rest of the way into the store with Midori still at my back.
We entered the glass elevator where another well dressed woman waited in the elevator.
"Men's clothing, please," Midori said. The woman nodded and hit a button. The elevator descended a level.
"Let's get you out of your pants, Shinji," Midori announced. I'm not sure if I liked the sound of that.
Midori resolutely marched past the aisles of khakis, denim, and other sensible wear. Her ankle-length skirt flared and whispered around her legs. She turned and gave me an appraising eye, before turning her attention back to the kilometers of cloth. We skipped the voluminous day raver raiment and trucked past the skater boy gear. We halted before an indoor garden of day-glo and tie-dyed clothes. Midori shot out an arm and pulled out a pair of bell bottomed corduroys. My jaw loosened and sank low enough to insert a knuckle. Two delicate fingers lightly levered my chin up, until my teeth clicked lightly together
. "Don't look that way. C'mon, please?" she wheedled with wide, moistened eyes. I knew that I was being was ruthlessly manipulated, but I couldn't hold out, not against those eyes. Besides, that brick wall of an agent had told me to follow her orders. "Pleeeaase, for old time's sake," she persisted.
I relented and took the golden-brown pants. Midori reached for an alarming shade of purple.
And the next thing I knew, I was wearing it. No one from Tokyo-3 would have recognized me. I barely recognized me. I lowered the rounded, iris blue lenses of my glasses to survey what had happened. The pointed collar was large and prominent. The front of the tie-dyed blouse V'ed down to expose the top of my chest. The sleeves trailed long enough to be used for flag signals. The corduroys were clasped with a heavy buckle. Even my comfortable sneakers had been sacrificed for a pair of three centimeter tall loafers. While I was fully clothed, the clothes made me feel exposed, somehow. I wondered how Misato usually felt.
"Your butt is a little flat, but it'll do," Midori pronounced. I felt the blood rise to my cheeks, but she did not seem to notice. "One more thing," she added as she pulled the old clothes out of my arms.
"One moment," I said and claimed my wallet, keys, and cell phone from my slacks. Midori stared as if they were unusual.
"Oh, right, the hair," Midori said, pulled back to reality. She extracted a spray bottle from her bag. "Hmm, your hair is already minty fresh."
She augmented the mint with spritzes of strawberry and mussed my hair so that a few locks artistically strayed from the general mass.
"Just been shagged," Midori concluded.
I took a good long look in the mirror. I looked absolutely ridiculous.
My escape-from-kitsch-look reminded me a bit of the Tekken Classic character. His name was right at the tip of my tongue. I took a step back from the mirror in the column and sank into a loose stance with my right hand forward and left arm backward. I took a back step and reversed my arm position in a bad rendition of the character's capoeira.
"That's a great idea," Midori pronounced, her eyes alight. I wasn't sure what she was talking about. She put down my discarded clothes and her bag. "I'll be right back," she ordered and headed to the womens' clothing section.
My little brain workers scrambled around trying to send me a smoke message, but I could not decode it at the time. I decided to try my cellphone; it couldn't hurt to try to contact Misato. Predictably, my faithful phone had died in the bath of ice water.
"Excuse me, sir," a cheerful voice chirped from behind me. I replaced the phone. A chipper, uniformed saleswoman had materialized behind me. "Would you like to purchase these articles?" I nodded and began looking around for price tags. I didn't want to pull off the clothes; I didn't have the will to put the oil spill assemblage on again.
"The price is sewn into the clothing," she said. "Did you purchase any underclothing?" she asked. "The scanner doesn't get through corduroy sometimes."
"No," I said. What kind of place was Tokyo-2?
The woman swept over the clothes with a scanner, it gave a familiar blip over each article of clothing. "You're stylish for being from out of town," the saleswoman complimented.
"I had some help."
"Ah, your girlfriend," she said knowingly. I didn't have a chance to reply.
"What do you think, Shinji?" Midori asked. I turned to see the girl spin; the filmly hem of the skirt blossomed in a twirl of colors. She had also bought a frilled yellow tunic.
"It suits you," I answered honestly. "I'll pay for hers as well," I said. The saleswoman stepped forward and scanned the other articles. I tugged at several yen notes, but stopped and pulled out my sable and crimson Nerv card. "Debit."
The saleswoman took the card reluctantly. Her professional cheer had slipped from her face. She slid the card through a slot in the back of the scanner and returned the card.
"Your hand please," the saleswoman said coolly. I extended his right had; she took a fingerprint. "Thank you for your custom," the woman said formally and bowed once again.
The sudden chill was worth it if the NERV agents could track the purchase. Midori stuffed her our shedded clothes into her bottomless bag and led us out of the store.

The land lines were also on the fritz. I had tried a whole line of pistachio pay phones. I returned to Midori on the mall sky walk. She leaned against a railing and stared out between the towering buildings of gray and glass. A thin avenue passed underneath. The city lights had already awakened with shy glows. She pushed the open can of iced coffee into my hand. She probably hadn't poisoned it, and she didn't look like the sort to have a social disease, so I drank. It was refreshing.
"Any luck?" she asked. Her eyes seemed dimmed.
"No," I said.
"I don't know if you want to go, but we can go there," Midori said pointing down the avenue. In the distance, a banner hung between two edges of the buildings, and beyond the banner were miniature milling people.
"A dance. I've never been to one," she said shyly. "I don't count gym class."
"Do you want to go?" I asked.
"Yes. With you, I do."
"Then, let's go," I answered. I didn't know of any other place we could have gone. The glass tube led to another building. We descended a set of stairs, which led into the alley we had just stood over. Once outside of the climate controlled building, the humid air threw a stickily bear hug. It smelled of moistened asphalt. My new clothes instantly stuck to me, and sweat immediately beaded all over my body. Loudspeakers blared out a distant beat. The sound grew louder, and the indistinct words from a love song emerged from the noise.
The alley opened to a hexagonal space between six shopping malls. One walkway connected to each vertex. We approached the crowd. It was hard to tell if we were over or underdressed, maybe some of both. Girls wore short skirts and bared midriffs, shoulders, and the tops of their chests. Many boys wore body hugging kitsch wear. Midori and I made our way to one side; she dumped off her massive bag into a pile of bags. She looked less confident without it. A teen organizer handed us stickers. I put mine on my chest. Midori stuck on hers.
For a moment, she stood lost. I felt the same way as the music washed over me. The couples clung to each other. I was caught off guard when a nearby couple kissed, exchanging pink and moist tongues for long seconds. I stepped backward and bumped into Midori. We turned to each other. We were nearly touching.
I was wrong, it was a mob. The noise of the people competed with the music. There were so many unfamiliar eyes and strange faces. She was confused and lost. I knew how that felt. I held my right hand out to her.
I took her left hand and put it into mine. I adjusted the hold. I circled my left hand around her waist, she flinched, but let it settle around her. "I'll lead," I said, I couldn't tell if she heard me.
I wanted to hang at the edge of the crowd, but there was a steady stream of foot traffic. The speakers thundered. There was only one alternative, to head into the maelstrom of limbs and bodies. I was nervous. I intended to leave a little space between us as we moved tentatively inward. There was not enough space, so I found myself pressed against her. Her smooth skirt slid and scuffed over my pants. I swallowed. I felt warmer already. My leg pressed against hers.
I pulled back a small distance, and caught a bewildered expression as if she had fallen into the deep end of a pool; she couldn't swim and was suffocating. At that moment, I understood how she felt. I didn't want her to feel that way. It bothered me. I moved, anything was better than standing still. I didn't know the steps, but pop was simple compared to Bach or Vivaldi. A few simple moves came back to my limbs from the synchro-training. The music was more raw than the ballet that Kaji had chosen, but once my feet began moving, the steps came back. Each movement led naturally to the next.
The opening steps were punctuated with apologies from Midori to me and our neighbors. I tried to give her a smile and continued to follow the music. After the first JPop song, she tread on my feet only half of the time. Another too long song passed, and Midori's seemed to have calmed down. I began to glance around to spy on some of our neighbors' movements. I quickly concentrated on her again. She offered me a weak smile and hung on.
By the end of the fourth track, I could feel the rhythm. I wanted to go higher, push out, become larger to embrace more of the music. Our tentative steps kept her hanging onto me, and that wasn't comfortable for either of us. I freed a hand from around Midori and slipped off the sweaty glasses and hung them on my V'ed collar. I looked into her eyes; she returned an uncertain look. A slower and simpler guitar beat displaced the mash of JPop instrumentals. I stepped into her with purpose; she stepped back in response. She quivered in surprise.

"In a little cafe, just the other side of the border
She was just sitting there givin' me looks that made my mouth water
So I started walking her way
She belonged to bad man, Jose"

Midori adjusted to the larger steps.

"Then I heard the guitar player say
Vamoose, Jose's on his way
Then I knew, yes I knew I should run
But then I heard her say, yeah"

Just at the right moment, I stepped into a turn with the beat. The music picked up into a run of chords and lyrics:

"Come a little bit closer"

Her posture and her body froze momentarily as if jolted by electricity.

"You're my kind of man
So big and so strong
Come a little bit closer
I'm all alone
And the night is so long"

Before, she had moved like a limp a reed; now, she felt more supple, like the arm of a drawn bow. She moved with less hesitation. For the first time, since stepping onto the dancing grounds, Midori looked up into my face.
When the song ended, we breathed heavily. We were ready for more. I tapped my toe to the brash brass of the next track.
"What are you waiting for?" she shouted into my ear.
We danced in time with the emotional vocals:

"Oh, I love you more today than yesterday
But not as much as tomorrow
I love you more today than yesterday
But, darling, not as much as tomorrow"

Midori took my lead and gave back more: a hand motion, a tilt of the head, a bounce in her step. We weren't graceful, but we felt natural and energetic. The song felt the right length.

"...Then you say go slow
I fall behind
The second hand unwinds"

"If you're lost you can look and you will find me
Time after time
If you fall I will catch you I'll be waiting
Time after time"

We danced through another song, and then another. For those minutes, Midori was molded to the space between my arms. When I released her into a turn, Midori's lean body was sure to return. We became bolder and added more movements and turns to our rhythm. Her hand and her chin were damp against me. My back felt drenched. We breathed through our mouths as we paused between tracks.
I looked at her.
"What is it?" she asked with a smile. She seemed energetic again.
"Nothing," I said. For a moment, my mind had flashed back to training with Asuka in the underbelly of the Geofront. Asuka had continuously challenged me, like a grade-school rival. Rei and I didn't have to try to move in unison, this was different though.
"Shall we dance?" she invited and held out her hand again. I took it for another round.
We didn't stop until locks of Midori's hair straggled in wet swaths around her face. She was spinning away from me, her hand still in mine, when the time the DJ spun a discordant note. The treble shrieked and rang. Midori stumbled and fell as her left foot missed a step. She let go of me to break her fall; she sprawled awkwardly on the ground. She looked bewildered as if she had awoken from a dream. I stepped forward and knelt before her.
"Are you okay?" I asked.
"Yeah, I'm fine."
"Let's go sit for a bit," I suggested. She nodded. I helped Midori gingerly rise to her feet. As I looked up, I saw that our neighbors had stopped. "Please, excuse us," I said and supported Midori out of the crowd. They made way for us. We joined the stream of traffic at the edge of the crowd and followed it an open area where couples sat against and sometimes on top of each other. It was no longer a surprise to me, and I was too tired to care. An organizer handed us plastic cups of ice water. The music and crowd died down to a dull roar. We took an empty corner.
Midori's pale complexion was flushed raspberry pink. I must have looked about the same. She tucked her skirts around her legs until the tips of her boxy shoes showed.
"Sorry," Midori gasped between gulps of air.
"Don't be," I said and gulped cold water; it made my teeth ache. "How's your leg? Do you want me to look at it?"
"No, it's fine," Midori said.
"Is that you, Midori?" a perky girl asked from behind us.
"Reiha," Midori said, half turning.
Reiha was cute, with short hair. She was a few inches taller than either of us. She wore a blazing pink dress; the top cut stopped at collarbone and bottom halted halfway to her knees. She wore a sea green sash around her waist and open toed shoes. Reiha sat down on the far side of Midori. "Nanashi Shinji, Tonomura Reiha. Tonomura Reiha, Nanashi Shinji," Midori said. Reiha raised an eyebrow at my pseudonym. (3)
"Nice to meet you," I said.
"Nice to meet you, too," Reiha returned.
"I never expected to see you here," Reiha enthused. "I told you that you could do it."
"You're more persistent than the SDF," Midori replied (4). "Can you please get my bag?" she asked me. I nodded, I had my left handkerchief in my jacket.
I deposited my cup into a trash can and swam upstream against the traffic. I found her bag toward the top of the bags. It stuck out from the leather and plastic designer purses. As I hefted the load, it finally hit home that I was holding the bag of a high school student. A part of me had suspected it. Reiha had confirmed it. I felt a sinking feeling in my stomach. Midori could not protect me. In fact, I had dragged her into this mess. I couldn't stand there contemplating my mistakes though, the list ran too long. I decided to keep whatever little cover we had and try to contact Misato.
I returned with her bag. Midori stood and waved to me. She took her farewell from Reiha and walked toward me.
"Reiha is a part of the ballroom dance club," Midori said. "I think that I've had enough with dancing. What about you?"
"Me, too," I answered. "I can carry this, if you want."
She shook her head and took the bag.
We joined the crowd. I walked close to her, like the other couples. She snaked a sweaty arm through mine. A river of people poured out of the square. We entered a well packed subway and took a pair of seats toward the back. Midori had been right, my subdued clothes would have stuck out. She took a window seat. We separated. She stared outside the window.
I thought about how I would get a message to Misato. The phone problems were probably on the Tokyo-3 side. I could use my card again and leave a trail of purchases. A hotel room would cue them in on me. Hopefully, ID-2 would pick up on the trail faster than the other agents.
When the metro stopped, we exited along with dozens of other chattering and laughing high schoolers. One exuberant guy with tea colored hair turned to us in the middle of the broad concrete stairs.
"Hey, didn't have much fun?" he asked.
"No, we had lots," I answered.
"Got a light?"
I shook my head. Midori dug through her bag and found a plastic lighter. She expertly flicked a finger of flame to life and held it at arms length.
"Thank you," the smoker answered in English and ignited a Lucky Strike. He turned and caught up with his friends, calling for them to wait.
Midori replaced the lighter. "Come with me," she ordered me. I followed her. She was in an odd mood. I didn't want to leave her, not like that. I followed her across the street. It looked like any other white paved sidewalk, bordering blacktop. The power and communication lines were hung overhead. High rises towered from the pavement, making artificial valleys. We stopped by one of the nondescript towers. Midori admitted us with the swipe on an ID card.
Wordlessly, we mounted a set of stairs, avoiding the stainless steel elevator. The stairwell was dim. Our shoes echoed against the steel nosings and hard steps. We ascended five stories, which was eight half-flights of stairs, nine landings, and seven steps per half-flight. The dim shaft opened to a narrow, white corridor. The door boomed shut behind us. Nobody else was about. We passed several doors before Midori swiped her card to enter apartment 510.
The metal door swung open into a silent and dark kitchen. We entered.
"Sorry to intrude," I called out. There was no response.
The door closed, cutting off the light from the hall. Beyond, the curtains were closed. Midori quietly removed her shoes and entered the next room. I pulled off my shoes. By this point, the sweat had encrusted onto me. I hoped that my soggy socks did not smell too bad. I followed her into the living room.
Pale light leaked through the edges of the windows. The humid air was warm and still, it was oppressive. I felt like having some cold water. The whole apartment was about half the size of Misato's condo. She stood in front of a dining room table and had her back turned to me; she fiddled with something. The colorful patterns on her dress were muted to gray swirls. I approached her.
"Midori?" I asked tentatively. This was her house. I felt like an intruder. Calling her by her plain first name now seemed too familiar.
She turned around, showing her right shoulder to me. Her right and left arms were held almost akimbo, though only the right hand overlapped the left. The cradled hands were about a hand width away from her chest. In her left hand, she held a black and shiny hand-cannon. She slowly raised the massive bore of the weapon up to me. From the top of the automatic, a line of ruby light swept across the carpet and weightlessly slid up to my chest. The constant red dot settled over my heart. I looked into her nocturne eyes, they were dry and flat.
My first thought was "crap."

==========================
(3) No-Name Shinji, it worked for me.
(4) The SDF has aggressive recruiting these days. Their turnover has been high lately.

Discography
"Come a little closer" by Jay and the Americans - http:
"Time after Time" by Cyndi Lauper - http:www.lyrics007.com

Author's Notes:
Dennisud posed some interesting observations in his review. I will address it after the last part. Limulux pointed out that Ito Midori is a famous skater. I'd forgotten about that.