He wants to name her Rei.

Asuka, obviously, is not overly pleased with this. He tries to explain his reasons, but can't get them across well enough—can't articulate precisely why feels he needs this.

When Rei was alive—the first one he knew, anyway—he felt a fundamental connection with her that was wholly unique up to that point in his life. She was a mystery; her odd appearance aside, here was someone even less adept at living than he. Completely strange, and yet somehow so hauntingly familiar he couldn't help reaching out. He knows now that part of that was probably due to her physical similarity to his mother, but that wasn't everything.

He was intrigued by and envious of her relationship with his father, to be sure, and she was certainly beautiful (though on its own that would never have been enough to make him approach her), but at the core of it he knows that he somehow sensed in her a kindred spirit. An outcast despite being surrounded by people. A lonely existence craving connection with others but unwilling or unable to reach out.

As strange as their relationship was, she was one of the first people he ever really connected with. Their peculiar, awkward friendship meant so much to him; their bond ran deeper than any he'd known before, and in a way different from any he's formed since.

The fact that she was technically something like his sister makes him both more and less comfortable acknowledging how much he cared for her. For Asuka it's a dubious comfort as well, an imperfect, tacked-on defense for both of them that she casts aside in some of her worse moments of desperate anger and cruelty.

Like now.

She accuses him of wanting to transfer his supposed Oedipal tendencies onto their daughter, and suggests maybe she'd be better off raising the child on her own. It's an empty threat, he's pretty sure; this isn't the first time she's used it, and it won't be the last. Even so, the idea of being absent from his child's life smacks too much of his father, and it cuts him deeply.

She knows it, too, from the smug sneer pulling at her lips, and his temper flares. "That's insane," he says dismissively, "what a stupid idea," and feels a painful stab of guilty pleasure as her face contorts into betrayed fury. He might not have her finesse, but he's as well versed in her triggers as she is in his.

The fight drags on, but for all their venom and excruciatingly stubborn refusal to understand each other, it's not their worst. Not by a long shot. Later they'll hold each other close—probably not until after midnight, when she comes out to fetch him from the couch and pull him to bed—but that's later. Right now they're keeping their distance, ensuring they're not near enough to get physical and do something for which they won't be able to forgive themselves.

A long, thin scar on the back of Shinji's hand itches, reminding him that they learned that lesson the hard way.

"I refuse to name my daughter after a doll," she finally tells him, and now he understands her vitriolic reaction—she, of all people, has every right to keep the concepts of "daughter" and "doll" as far from each other as they can possibly be. He suddenly feels crushingly guilty, and knows in that moment that she's won.

So for once, despite his anger he refrains from insisting that Rei was not a doll, and simply apologizes. She can have her way this time—as she does most times—and he'll accept that this is another thing he can't have. One more old pain left throbbing dully in the back of his mind, its balm sacrificed on the altar of what's most important to him now.


Much like in real life, there's a bit of time between the last chapter and this one. This chapter has been sitting around, finished, for years; it's only been held up by the fact that there were two half-written ones I wanted to put in front of it.

If I get around to finishing those, I'll slot them in.

As always, leave a review and let me know what you liked (or didn't). Thanks for reading!