Disclaimer: see part 1.
When All That's Left is Stillness
By Random1377
Part 10
I receive no other visitors during my rehabilitation. I spend five days in the hospital building my muscles back up – a fairly reasonable time, according to my physical trainer – before being released. No one is there when I leave the hospital, but I am used to this by now, as I have never had anyone waiting for me.
For the first time, however, I feel the faintest pangs of… regret, perhaps? I am unsure – it is too new a feeling to properly isolate. Shaking off the sensation, I make my way to the train station, oddly grateful to be surrounded by so many bodies.
Why is it that I have never taken note of how varied the riders are?
Every one of them has a destination, and though many of them are going to the same place, each of them will undertake a different task when they arrive. They are like flowers… each of them unique and somehow radiant to my eyes. I feel a tug of a memory, closing my eyes to make it easier to remember.
Each without purpose.
Slowly, my eyes open once more, glancing around at the people surrounding me. Was I truly that jaded? …was it my choice?
Nothing is clear anymore. I no longer know where to look – everything is suddenly interesting to the point of being agonizing. I want to know that they are all going somewhere, and not just riding pointlessly back and forth, a bizarre prop to make me believe that I am not the only one alive in the world.
Stop it… STOP IT.
I do not want to have these thoughts!
Reaching for stillness, I take a breath. Inhale, I tell myself… exhale… inhale… exhale…
Emotionlessness saves me once more, driving away the sense of claustrophobia that had been threatening to overwhelm me, but as I leave the train, departing three stops before my normal one, I find that something is different.
All of the colors – all of the world's colors… are dimmer. Confused, I look to the sky, surveying the faded blue of the horizon for a long moment, trying to understand why it is not as vibrant as when I was leaving the hospital. Something in the atmosphere, perhaps?
With another breath, I push my emotions further into the back of my mind… and to my horror, I realize that everything has faded still further. The harder I try not to feel, the blander and duller the world seems, and with sudden insight I understand that the opposite is the case: since I have always suppressed my emotions, I have never truly SEEN the world before.
What a cruel compromise. If I hold to my old self – if I contain my emotions and hide within the shell I have built for the last seven years… then am I truly alive? Yet, if I allow myself to feel, will I be able to function properly? What of my obligation? My purpose? Will I even be able to pilot, if I am letting my emotions rage out of control? Or will I end up like the Second, slowly losing my ability to pilot even as I try my hardest to…
Fourteen.
I feel cold.
I am not seven years old… I am fourteen. My birthday is February eighteenth, 2001 – I am fourteen years old. Why did I think seven? Why can I never remember my childhood? The Commander once explained to me that the human mind does not begin consciously retaining information until the age of two years, but that occasionally even full-grown adults will have half-formed memories of diaper changes surface in their mind.
Why then can I not remember anything from my fifth year, or my sixth?
What happened to me when I was seven?
…what am I?
Glancing up, I realize that I have passed my building by several blocks. Slowly, I make my way back, climbing the stairs to my floor without so much as raising my head – far too lost in thought to notice my surroundings. I step over the small pile of mail and enter my apartment, and find that ignoring my surroundings is now entirely useless.
All I can do is stare, however, as my eyes roam over the space I call home. Every surface sparkles. Every drawer on my dresser is closed, the wood shining as if brand new. Not so much as a speck of dust drifts through the warm, still air as I stare at the small piece of paper sitting on my neatly made bed. Opening the door on instinct, I glance down at the pile of mail outside, finally noticing that it is neat and orderly, each envelope stamped with the NERV logo, without a single flyer or catalogue in sight.
Hesitantly, I pick the envelopes up and bring them inside, setting them on the dazzling clean kitchen table almost reluctantly before making my way to the bed and picking the single sheet of paper up, noticing that it has been covering a small, plainly wrapped box.
Over and over, my eyes scan the simple message written in standard black ink.
Welcome home.
Carefully, I set the paper aside – pretending that the trembling in my hand is due to my injury – and lift the box's lid, peering inside.
I can feel myself frowning – an odd sensation, when one side of your face is devoid of senses – as I look at the contents of the box. Chocolates. Nothing more than ordinary, regularly shaped pieces of milk chocolate, arranged in no particular order in the bottom of the box.
Slightly confused, I start to put the lid back, but I pause, leaning in closer as I spot another, smaller piece of paper sticking out from under one of the chocolates… and there, another… and another – until I realize that each chocolate has its own, individual label.
Maple. Orange cream. Mint. Carmel. Peanut brittle.
A dozen flavors, each painstakingly identified in awkwardly scrawled English and laid not randomly as I'd first thought, but in a distinct pattern – a singular, kanji character taking shape in chocolate as my eyes quickly trace it.
'Gomen.'
Recognition becomes confusion. Who would feel the necessity to apologize to me? I have not been wronged by anyone that I can recall, so who would-
I turn, my attention drawn by a sound behind me, and suddenly… I find myself face to face with the one person I would most like to avoid. Her face is serious, her eyes haunted and hurt as she stares at me, standing in the doorway to my apartment with her hands resting on her stomach as if she is about to be ill. Gone is the laughter from her expression. Gone is the shy smile from her lips. Gone are all traces of good humor and lightheartedness from her person.
All that remains now is sadness.
"Rei…"
"…Hikari. Why are you-"
"I f-followed you."
"I see. Are you hu-"
"It's not true, right?"
"Par-"
"Asuka s-said… said you killed him – it's not true, right? Please tell me it's not true, Rei… PLEASE!"
She presses her hands tighter to her stomach, a strangled cry of anguish resonating in her throat as I break eye-contact, no longer capable of meeting her tortured gaze.
How I had longed to put off this confrontation. I knew, of course, that she would seek me out – knew it instinctually… but I had very much wished for more time before having to see her face and deal with the repercussions of what I have done. She is – was – the only friend I have ever had, and I stole the most precious person in her life. There is nothing I can do to make that right.
It would not surprise me if she wanted to kill me for what I have done.
Slowly, almost drunkenly, she staggers into my apartment, making her way over to me and planting her feet inches from mine. Her eyes – her sad, glistening eyes – search mine for what seems like forever, seemingly trying to peer into my soul… though what she hopes to find, I do not know.
I blink, surprised as her hands rise up from her stomach and move into my personal space, moving past my throat (where I thought they must surely be heading) and hovering near by face, subtle tremors running through her fingertips as if they ache to make contact.
She is whimpering, her face screwed up into an expression of pained confusion so profound that it leaves any emotion I have ever felt seeming shaded and insignificant by comparison.
Then, before I can catch her, Hikari's legs give out, her knees crashing to the hard floor even as she flings her arms around my waist. I stagger, throwing my right arm behind me in search of support and sending the box of chocolates flying onto the floor, carefully tagged candies arching gracefully into the air and scattering in every direction as Hikari takes a long, deep breath, buries her face against my stomach, and begins to sob, her shoulders hunching uncontrollably as whatever emotional defenses she had constructed over the last few days are instantaneously vaporized.
Each of her wretched moans cuts through me like a knife, lacerating my ill-prepared heart again and again as she clings to me, her arms shaking so badly that I am amazed they possess the strength to hold me.
"Please…"
Over and over, that one word is flung hopelessly into my stomach, Hikari's hot tears saturating my shirt and stinging at the skin underneath as if they were made of acid.
What do I say? What do I do? I have no idea.
I was prepared for sadness. I was prepared for rage. I was even prepared for indifference, as I know many that deal with pain by pretending it does not exist… but I do not know how to deal with agony on this scale. It is as if she is seeking comfort – but that cannot be… I am the one that has brought this pain into her life.
Why would she come to me to ease it?
Uncertainly – not knowing what else to do… I lay my hand atop her head, patting it awkwardly as her sobs continue unabated.
Her hair is dry and brittle, the skin underneath hot and sweaty as her body tries to rid itself of the excess heat generated by crying. It is amazing, I think suddenly, as if casting around for something to focus on, that I know the mechanics and physiological side effects of crying… yet I have never done it myself.
Gradually – so gradually – her tears fade, and eventually stop, leaving her sniffling and shaking at my feet. Her arms are still wrapped around me, but they are no longer quite as desperate, merely holding me as her breathing slows to its normal pace. After several more minutes, she slowly rises to her feet, keeping me encircled in her arms but refusing to look into my face.
"I… w-want him… b-back…"
Hikari sways on her feet, the last of her energy spent on these four words.
Unsure of what else I can do, I step back towards the bed. She follows, her feet shuffling as if she is too weak to raise them more than an inch from the floor. Carefully disentangling myself from her arms, I sit on the edge of the bed, gesturing for her to do the same.
Looking at her this close, I can feel the exhaustion radiating from her in an almost palpable wave. There is no way she would make it down the stairs in this state, let alone all the way home, and it would be unconscionable of me to ask her to leave… no matter how guilty her presence makes me.
Instead of sitting, however, Hikari places her shaking hands on my shoulders, awkwardly guiding me down on the bed. Slowly, she lies down with me, arranging us on the small mattress so that we are both on our sides, with my back pressed tightly to her chest. Her arms wrap around me once more, holding me almost indecently close.
It occurs to me that I have never deliberately been this close to another human in my life… and I do not know how I should be feeling.
Her body is soft and somehow comforting against mine – not in a sexual way, but as a favorite food or special location. Her breath is warm and gentle against the back of my neck, and in a way I cannot describe; having her arms around me reminds me very forcibly of being in Unit 01's entry plug.
I realize that I am holding my body tense, and force myself to relax, easing my muscles into a more limber state as Hikari's breathing slowly evens out. Without looking, I can tell that she is already asleep, giving me the perfect opportunity to slip free of her arms.
Slowly, I wrap my hands around her wrists, fully intending to ease her hands away from my body. Several minutes later, I am still in the same position, concentrating all of my attention on the sensation drumming against the fingers of my left hand.
Doki… doki… doki… Hikari's heartbeat is strong and regular, pulsing through the tips of my fingers and halfway up my left hand, a wicked counterpoint to the cool emptiness of my right, and with a small shiver, the analogy that has been eluding me fore the past few minutes surges in my mind.
In my left hand, I feel pulsing warmth… in my right, cold, frozen nothingness.
Life…
Death…
Both are cradled in my hands.
Soon… so very soon now, I will be used to visit the death of Instrumentality upon the entire human race, paving the way for our rebirth as a singular, perfect being. All things will be revealed to all people, I have been told, and the cracks and fissures dividing one man from another will be sealed – the void in our hearts filled to overflowing with the presence of all of Humanity.
…but now, even as I try to quash it, a small voice inside of me whispers: 'You have taken the one Hikari cares most for… will she truly be happy after Complementation? Commander Ikari says that all the gaps in our souls will be bridged, but if Suzuhara was Hikari's One True Love, is it possible for her to be bridged by any other?'
Questions born of guilt, I tell myself. Of course she will be happy – Commander Ikari said everyone will be.
'And would you be happy if Shinji was not there…?'
The breath catches in my throat, and my hands involuntarily tighten around Hikari's wrists, drawing a tired mumble from her.
What a cruel concept.
What a fitting punishment.
Forcing my hands to uncurl slightly, I close my eyes and try to calm myself… but the damage is done – the vision is in my mind. How hard it would hit me if the Second – or, more poetically, Hikari – was forced to end Shinji's life? I cannot even contemplate it.
With brutal suddenness, my imagination provides me a small taste of what Hikari must feel. Scene after scene slips through my frantic mental defenses. Shinji screaming as Unit 01 is destroyed by an angel… Shinji being hit by a car…Shinji being stabbed by a mugger… Shinji having his neck broken in a fight with street thugs…
Scenario after scenario – each more preposterous than the last… and each as painful as a minute paper cut, sharp and intense at first, but lingering and dull as the tissue (or in this case, my psyche) refuses to heal.
Seizing frantically at stillness, I slam the mental door shut on these horrid images, closing my eyes and drawing deep even breaths, unconsciously synchronizing with Hikari's steady in/out rhythm. When next I open my eyes, the room is dark. I blink away sleep, trying to bring my senses to bear on my surroundings.
I receive no feedback from my right side, of course, but against the left side of my neck, I feel Hikari's breathing, assuring me that she is still here… though why it should be a concern, when she is most likely going to either weep and make me feel guilt or accuse me of killing Suzuhara, I do not know.
Glancing down, I notice something unusual.
Hikari is pinching my right hand; plucking small bunches of my skin and pulling it taut before letting it go. Over and over I watch this phenomenon, feeling deeply uneasy at the sight.
It could be anyone's arm. It could be anyone's hand.
The sense of dissociation is dispelled as Hikari leans up on the bed, moving her mouth next to my ear and whispering so quietly that her voice is more felt than heard.
"It doesn't hurt, right? Asuka told me you can't feel anything on this side."
"That is… correct…"
"But you can hear me… and see what I'm doing."
"Yes."
"…it's like that for me, now."
"I do not understand."
"My life. I see myself doing things… hear words coming out of my mouth… watch the answers to tests appear on the paper in front of me… but I don't feel any of it. It's like watching a movie, kind of: scenes from someone else's life – almost real enough to touch… almost."
"Hikari, I-"
"You didn't… hate him, did you?"
"…no."
"Would he have died anyway?"
"I… believe so."
"But you're not sure."
"No… I am not."
"You probably think I hate you now."
"…yes."
"I don't, Rei. I… I wanted to – GOD I wanted to. It would have been so easy if I could have just made it all your fault…"
"Mm…"
"Did he suffer…?"
"I do not think you should-"
"Please… please just tell me."
"N-no… it was… very fast."
"…thank you."
"Mm."
We fall into silence for several minutes. Then, without warning, Hikari pulls on my right shoulder, forcing me to roll over and face her before pulling me into a fierce embrace. She holds me tightly, burying her face in my shoulder as her body shakes all over, but in spite of my expectations, she does not begin to cry again.
Somehow, I believe, she does not have any tears left.
After a few moments, her grip relaxes and she pull back, staring deep into my eyes, a small, sad smile spreading over her features as she leans up and gently touches her lips to my forehead.
"Rei."
"Y-yes…?"
"I don't hate you."
"…mm."
"It might be hard to believe, but, no matter… no matter what happens, you'll always…"
"…yes?"
"You'll always be my friend."
"Th-thank you…"
She is crying again… silently this time.
I want to say something – or at the very least, to return her embrace and show her that I am grateful for her too-kind words… but as I reach for her, she slips out of my bed, shaking herself as if waking from a long, terrible dream and rising to her feet and putting her arms high over her head in an intense stretch.
Her arms fall to her sides, and she glances over her shoulder, her eyes clear and dazzlingly warm as she whispers her goodbye. I nod, too overcome to speak as she quietly walks out of my apartment.
How… can I be that strong? How could I ever offer forgiveness – let alone friendship – to the person that caused me so much pain that I cried for days? It is not possible. With sudden insight, I realize what a truly incredible person Hikari is. My friend… she is my friend, and she has forgiven me for the harm I have caused her.
Sitting up in bed, I find that I am smiling – not the forced, asked-for smile I have used before… but soft and honest. Catching sight of the chocolates scattered on my floor, the smile widens slightly.
Ikari… it must have been Ikari.
Getting to my feet, I turn on the lamp by my bed and begin carefully gathering the chocolates, placing them back in the box and setting it on my kitchen table as I try to decide how to approach him. Since it is a Saturday evening, I will not get to see him until Monday morning, so I do have some time to plan. I briefly consider asking Hikari's advice, but immediately discard the idea as thoughtless and cruel. Perhaps, I tell myself, after her pain has eased I will be able discuss it with her. If she is as strong as I have come to believe she is, she may even be happy for me.
With this thought in mind, I make my way into my small kitchenette and begin preparations for dinner, contemplating ways to thank Shinji for the chocolates and wondering if I should try one before eating my meal, or wait until after.
…it is not until I arrive at school on Monday that I find out Hikari has moved away.
To be concluded…
Author's notes: I can't think of anything I want noted here other than to say that the ORIGINALLY planned ending (AKA, the Deep Angst Version) is no longer possible, so anyone out there reaching for butcher knives (for your wrists or my throat) ease down… it won't be as bad as it was going to.
No pre-reader is being used for this story.
Feedback is always welcome on any page with reviewing capabilities, or by emailing me directly at random1377(at-sign)yahoo(dot)com.