24. Homecoming.
To err is human, to purr is feline.
~
Outside Doctor Akagi's office I paused before my raised hand could connect in a knock. The door stood half-open, and through the gap I could see her seated at the desk with her back to me, chin sunk into her hand. I recognised the combination of listlessness and depression from some unguarded moments of Shinji's long ago, and was transfixed by a sudden swell of sympathy.
Why should I care? She was hurting me…
But there was something so human, so vulnerable, in her at that moment that the kindness I had learned from others of her species responded to it. Compassion, it seemed, did not follow the strictures of logic.
I rapped my knuckles lightly against the door, and she startled upright and her chair spun towards the sound.
"Oh – Kaworu. Come in." She put something aside as I entered the room, burying it beneath a pile of miscellanea, and brought up a new display on her computer monitor. At her gesture I took a seat.
"Sorry for keeping you here overnight. I'm sure you just wanted to go straight home after returning from Germany, but we thought it better to have you under observation after that fight."
I gave a half-shrug to indicate I was unbothered.
"The good news is, all your signs have recovered – by clinical measures, at least. How did you sleep?"
"Fine," I tried to say, though it came out weak and wavery, sounding anything but fine. The paralysis of my throat and blockage in my mind had both eased somewhat over the last day, but it was still inordinately difficult to speak.
Akagi's brow furrowed. "Still experiencing a degree of aphasia, I see. That's … unusual, for nerve trauma to be perservering this long after synchronisation disconnecting."
Less unusual than being ingested by the cause, probably, I thought. There was no doubt in my mind that my physical symptoms were a consequence (albeit a bizarre one) of Unit 09 assimilating me at Matsushiro.
She took a stethoscope to my voicebox. "Could you try saying something for me, Kaworu?"
"It's cold," I attempted. My mouth only half responded to my brain's command; only the lightest pressure of air left my lungs to traverse my vocal chords. I sagged back against the chair, feeling defeated.
"Well, something's definitely happening in there, it's just not making it all the way to actualisation." She hung the stethoscope back around her neck, and picked up a marker to write a note on the back of her nitrile-gloved hand. "Likely it's just the remnants of shock and it'll fade soon, but if it lingers we can arrange a speech therapist." She sighed. "It's too bad we can't ask Misato for her advice."
Interpreting my quizzical look, she explained, "Misato was mute for a time – when she was around your age, actually. Did you know she was present at ground zero of the Second Impact?"
-One Lilin, carrying another, placing it inside a shelter. The smaller one opens its eyes.
"…Dad?"
Blood falls on its face from the other's stricken form; a trinket follows, a cross hung on a thread.-
Slowly I nodded.
"Then I don't need to tell you how harrowing that experience was for her – the sole survivor of her father's expedition. She was aphasic for over two years afterward."
My eyes widened.
Unexpectedly, a fond smile curved Dr Akagi's mouth. "She and I used to joke that she was such a motormouth in college to make up for lost time."
"'Was'?" I croaked.
She snorted a laugh. "Fair point." But as she turned to the computer and began entering data, the brief levity faded and was replaced by melancholic fatigue.
"So Kaworu, you're cleared to head home – I'll arrange a driver for you – and I want you to rest up for a few days. No school, and we won't call you in either. If the aphasia persists, let me know and I'll arrange a consultation with a therapist. If you have trouble sleeping, take one of these…"
She rummaged amongst the clutter on her desk, and the object she had been regarding before I arrived was dislodged from beneath and clattered to the floor.
I bent down to retrieve it – a photo frame, showing an elderly woman and a cat with white-and-black patched fur.
"Oh—thanks," said Akagi and accepted it from me; her face had fallen further still and I realised she was grieving.
She registered my querying expression. "My grandma – she was looking after my cat, and it … disappeared the other day… well, cats know when it's time…"
Wait – she was grieving the animal? When so many of her own species had died in Third Impact, including her lover? "…Cat?"
Akagi bristled. "Yes, I'm sad over a cat dying," she snapped. "She may have only been a simple, lowly creature, but I cared for her, and so did Grandma, and she depended on us and was part of our home. But of course you wouldn't understand, would you?"
She had a point, whether she knew why or not – of course SEELE would never have considered, let alone allowed, their pet Angel to have a pet of my own. Even my understanding of the concept seemed to have limitations, since Akagi's response had surprised me with what I had thought of as its disproportionateness.
For a moment I sat and digested, while she set the photo frame next to the computer tower – upright, but turned away – and with rough motions organised enough of the disorder of her work area that she could locate a bottle the size of her thumb.
Before she handed it to me, though, I managed to summon enough voice to ask, "Tell … about…?" while pointing to the banished photo.
Akagi blinked in surprise. "Tell – you about the cat?"
I nodded, and swallowed the cramp in my throat.
"Well … her name was Zuzu," she began haltingly. "We had her since she was a kitten. Her favourite toy was this little teddy bear – when she was young it was bigger than she was, but once she grew to full size it was like a baby next to her."
I found myself mirroring Akagi's smile, and, seemingly encouraged, she continued, "Zuzu was very soft – short hair, but dense. In spring she shed about enough to stuff a mattress, and no matter what clothing you wore, because she was black and white it would always show up against the fabric."
A huff of laughter escaped me.
"She was pretty dumb, even by cat standards," Akagi added, with a chuckle to match mine. "When she first arrived at my grandma's townhouse, it took her weeks to figure out how stairs worked, and that if she went up or down from one floor, everything on that floor wasn't there anymore. Then she'd panic, thinking her food bowl or litter box had disappeared, but it was just on a different level."
I snickered. "An'mal … intell'g'nce."
"Very different to humans," she agreed. "I'm sure you've heard lots of stories about Pen-Pen – not the brightest bird in the flock. More happening in his stomach than his brain, definitely."
"Terrible grammar," I said, and she did a double-take.
"Wait. No." Her eyes widened. "Don't tell me you can understand the penguin."
I froze. She believed me? Nobody else did – I had thought it would be taken in jest! (Comprehending the expression of one kind of Lilim is much the same as another, but of course they do not experience it that way themselves.)
Akagi burst out laughing. "Oh my god! That's the best thing I've ever heard. You – all your power, your abilities, and one of them is speaking animal. Amazing. Never in a million years would I have guessed."
She meant my abilities as a construct, right? As a 'human born of Adam' – that was her interpretation, yes?
Akagi wiped her eyes. "Thank you, Kaworu, I needed that. Made my day." She caught my panicked expression, and patted my shoulder. "Don't worry, your secret superpower is safe with me. Doctor-patient confidentiality and all that."
I wished I could question her, but my throat had seized up again.
At that moment, we were distracted by footsteps outside.
From the angle of her chair Akagi could see into the hall, and chuckled. "Speaking of pets…" She got to her feet and crossed the room to open the door fully.
Shinji looked up, startled, form where he was just taking a seat on the bench opposite. "Oh! Hi, Doctor Akagi – I was told – they said Kaworu was here?"
"Yes, we're just having a final checkup." She smirked, and I found myself flushing. Shinji my 'pet'? Rude.
She began to pass me the bottle she had retrieved earlier, then seemed to hesitate, and instead picked up one with a generic, retail brand such as might be found in a public pharmacy – apparently not something of her own concoction. "And he's all ready to go."
I stared at her, even as she shooed me from her office. Why…?
"Go on, scoot."
The door shut behind me and I looked around and met Shinji's gaze, his expression one of warm concern and unmistakable affection, and my stress and confusion seemed to evaporate.
"Hey," he said quietly.
"Hey," I whispered.
"How are you feeling?" He extended a hand.
I took it in both of mine and raised it to my face; his fingers curved to cradle my cheek and I sighed peacefully. "Better."
We walked together to the garden at the base of NERV command pyramid. It was almost deserted in the weekday mid-morning, and the only noises were the bubbling of the fountain in its low pool, and the distant swish of the trains circling the inner walls of the Geofront.
There were wooden-slatted benches amid the patterned flagstones, but I stepped over a low hedge onto the lawn. Shinji muttered under his breath that he wasn't sure we were supposed to leave the paths, but followed me to sit at the base of an ornamental column.
From his bag he produced two tins of sparkling juice and a packet of tempura seaweed crisps, along with … a collapsible bucket?
Bemused, I took it from him and popped it out into shape.
"Oh – that. Yeah, I went over to your place last night for dinner – well, debrief – and Ka—um, your housemate asked me to bring back some soil from the Geofront." He extracted a small trowel to accompany it. "Apparently it's better than normal soil? I thought dirt was just, y'know, dirt."
I shook my head – Kaji's plant colonisation of my apartment had imparted a certain amount of gardening knowledge by osmosis, including the properties of various types of soil and their components. And whether he knew it or not, he was correct in perceiving a difference in the earth here – or rather, the not-Earth, since the Geofront was carved of the Black Moon that had arrived only lately to the planet's formation.
"Different – minerals," was all that surfaced in answer to Shinji's puzzlement, but he seemed satisfied.
"He said his watermelon patch outside HQ was the best he's ever grown."
I frowned. "No … melons … in my house."
Shinji laughed. "I don't think there's room on your balcony for them anyway." He put the trowel in the bucket. "Not sure I want to carry this on the train, though."
I chuckled, but was interrupted by a yawn.
Shinji's brow furrowed. "Are you really tired? Do you want to go home?"
I shook my head, and gestured to our surroundings. "Th'ss nice."
"Okay, if you're sure. –Hey, um, I have an idea." He leant back against the column and stretched his legs along the grass, then patted the tops of his thighs. "You could … maybe … rest your head here? If – if you want." His face had reddened, but his posture was solid with commitment.
A swell of affection rose in me and I smiled. My gentle Shinji.
Happily I followed his suggestion – it was extravagantly comfortable, his body heat radiating into the back of my head and neck, and I let out a deep sigh of contentment as his hand settled in my hair.
From this angle it was a little tricky to coordinate drinking the juice Shinji had brought, but there was a lovely view of the underground lake, its surface glinting with sunlight channelled and mirrored through columns in the crust. I looked up at Shinji, and noticed the outline of a bump under his shirt collar.
I reached up to touch it inquisitively; he glanced down.
"Ah." From next to his sternum he fished out a necklace bearing a pendant I recognised.
-…a trinket follows, a cross hung on a thread.-
"Misato gave it to me before she got arrested. Said she'd see me again soon, and in the meantime if I was annoyed with her I could yell at it."
A sad chuckle escaped him. "When I got home the other day and realised she'd left the sink full of dirty dishes even though it was her turn to clean up I might've grumbled a bit."
I took his hand and squeezed.
"I'm okay," he said in answer. "Your housemate said she was just going to get a slap on the wrist…" (I had not been aware that NERV had a policy of corporal punishment, but if I had I would have guessed it to be much harsher.)
Shinji frowned out at the command pyramid. "But I hate that she's gotten in trouble for trying to do the right thing. And it was the right thing – or, I thought it was, anyway. I…"
He met my eye, then quickly averted his gaze. "…I wish you hadn't gotten hurt. Seems like something bad always happens, no matter what I – we – I do."
His hand brushed over the centre of my chest, over the scar from Third Impact.
My throat was closing up again, but I managed to whisper, "Watermel—cyanobact—" before it shut completely.
Shinji blinked, startled from guilt by confusion. "Huh?"
I couldn't answer him to explain myself; seeing this, he pondered my words.
"Cyanobacteria – from the morning after the sleepover at Kensuke's, right? When I found out that you'd been being hurt by the Angels' deaths…" His shoulders hunched. "…But you said we don't need to regret what can't be changed, and since none of this was ever meant to happen, we should accept that we could only ever try to do the right thing, without blaming ourselves for what we couldn't.
"Watermelon … the watermelon patch … When I'd tried to leave after Toji – after I hurt Toji – Kaji said that we had to move forward, wherever it led, and putting one foot in front of the other was the only way to get through anything. That refusing to do anything was the only choice guaranteed to fail." His voice broke on the last word and he grabbed my hand and pressed it to his face.
Surprising me, a soft, wondering laugh escaped him. "Kaworu … all of that, with two words…"
"All," I said haltingly, and put my other hand on his chest, "here."
"It's all in here, huh?" His smile seemed reserved for me alone in the world. "But you reminded me. You always bring out the best in me, whether it's by believing in me to do better, or just accepting me."
His fingers interlaced into mine. "I used to think there was nothing I could do to change anything in the world – I could only do what I was told, only what other people – my father, Misato, my teacher – wanted me to do. And that made it easy to blame everyone else for whatever happened, and however I felt. When I found out who you were, or that you'd met that Angel in the other Eva, I could've hated you, given up on you, never wanted to see you again. But that was just a cop-out. I can always do something, if I look hard enough – even if it's just changing my perspective, or taking a dumb little risk, or – or admitting how I feel." His other hand drew along my scalp and I could have purred. "Choosing to love you, instead of running away from you."
The dappling light – now brighter, now softer – showed where clouds wandered the world above; even in this sanctum, we were connected to all that surrounded us.
"All these things that've happened – all these fights and disasters – we can only do what we can do, and that's not nothing, even if it feels like it sometimes. We just keep facing each day, and we'll get through it in the end.
"And then … I can't wait until we can just – just be, you know? Just live normal lives, no fighting, no risking everything – not pilots, or soldiers, just … us. Just us." His eyes seemed to shine. "It'll happen one day, you'll see. We make our own worlds, right? Well, mine has you in it, so I'm keeping it."
I broke into a grin, and drew his hand to my mouth and kissed the palm. You too.
We stayed in the garden of wisdom as the sun sailed the sky outside, and Shinji's pulse under my cheek settled me to a true rest at last.
We then took a bucket of dirt home on public transport, only for it to be knocked flying and spilled empty when Kaji greeted my homecoming with a flying-tackle hug. But – no regrets, only forward motion. While cleaning soil from the apartment floor.
