Not Another Word, an evangelion fanfic

Not Another Word
An Evangelion Story

Tufts of velvet blue waltzed to the floor after every audible snip of the scissors. It was the sense of friction, the way the old blades roughly slid across each other, that reminded her of a subtle sound forever trapped in the past. It was just another echo in her mind, whispers of yesterdays that faded if she tried to listen. It didn't matter.

She couldn't hear anything anymore.

She was deaf.

Thinking about it didn't make her expression change in the slightest. There was no purpose in her life anymore. The mission was over so what happened afterwards was of little concern.

Her barber didn't feel the same way.

Gently, her head was nudged up and forward. He brushed with long, sweeping strokes before pausing to reach for the scissors again. He combed before he cut, and he brushed before he combed. The cheap-looking haircuts she used to get were a thing of the past. She couldn't quite remember when his hands stopped shaking or when he started using hair clippers, but one thing she knew for certain was that he was skilled.

A mirror was pressed into her hand and she accepted it, if only to humor him. She didn't need to look good for anyone. She simply existed, her state of being maintained only for the sake of cleanliness. There was no need to look at herself in the mirror.

She eyed her reflection, but she could see him hovering behind her. He waited, anxious eyes wishing for anything. He longed to know what she thought, if she liked it or not. He would have his answer. She placed the mirror down on her lap and gave him the same stiff nod she always did.

It was acceptable.

Ikari sighed a little, his breath caressing the nape of her neck as he deflated. He recovered in an instant, his small smile returning as he reached into his pocket for his notebook.

While he fished around in his pocket for a pencil, Rei took the opportunity to stand. Azure locks fell as she got off the stool, but she paid no attention to the hair that collected on the floor. The hand mirror was placed on the edge of the counter and she watched him scribble away, his haste changing his neat handwriting into something that was barely legible at times.

It meant he had something he wanted to tell her.

She had made it known many times before that she could read lips, but she figured that he preferred to write. Either way was fine. He had his preference and she didn't care one way or the other. Before long a small, palm-sized sheet of paper was ripped from the confines of the notepad. Crimson eyes ran over the characters before he even handed her the note.

What did she want for dinner?

It was a simple inquiry, but she wasn't partial to any kind of food. There were dislikes, but there weren't any favorites. The truth was that she didn't care. The note creased in her grip as she lowered her hand to her side. When would he understand? There was nothing she wanted. Desire was not fleeting. It was gone.

It was something she lost when Instrumentality was rejected.

Ikari averted his eyes after a while and started to slowly rub the back of his neck. He was waiting on her, she observed and not for the first time. It was a regular occurrence. He'd ask, and, if she didn't respond, he'd recommend something.

But she wasn't hungry.

She thought to say it and did. Being deaf didn't make her mute. She retained the ability to speak and did so sparingly. At any rate, she was tired. The blanket that was draped over her form was pulled off as she left the kitchen on the way to her bed and errant strands of blue left a steady trail on the floor.

Rei looked over her shoulder, and ruby eyes appraised the cobalt they met for a solid second. Ikari snapped his sight from her and shuffled away to get the broom. He frequently looked at her. That much was to be expected because they lived with each other. Then there were times when he stared. It was only then, when she sensed him gazing, that she questioned herself.

Why?

Why did he have that kind of expression?

She called out to him, and he spun more than he turned to face her. The look on his face gave her pause. Was it longing? It reminded her of the Commander. She recalled the hard glare caught in the lenses of his glasses, and the betrayal in the eyes behind them. He yearned, that much was true, but not for her.

To the Commander, she was a tool.

What did Ikari want her to be?

What did he want from her?

Rei bid him good night and turned away before he could respond. The blanket she still grasped was thrown to the floor and stepped on as she crawled onto the bed. She was by no means exhausted, but she was definitely tired.

Her fatigue had nothing to do with the meager things she did about the apartment.

Ikari shouldn't have moved in with her. Rather, she shouldn't have relented when he and the major asked if he could. It was a decision she was afraid she would regret for a long time to come.

Rei shed her clothes. The blouse landed on top of the sheet and the skirt followed. She thought to take off the stockings, but her hand froze on her thigh. The look in his eyes flashed in her mind. Intimacy? Was that what he wanted? She rolled the stocking down and off one leg and then did the same to the other. It was a thought discarded just as fast as it arrived. She laid her bra on top of the pile. Lust was not the reason he sought her out. She hooked her thumbs on the band of her underwear and pulled. Her panties slid off her legs and she cast them aside along with any lingering questions about her roommate.

Sex wasn't the reason Ikari asked to move in with her.

He left the major and Sohryu because he didn't want her to be alone. It was something he admitted before she even attempted to ask. Ikari was true to her. It was an intoxicating feeling that she successfully staved off.

Rei pulled the bed sheets over her nudity and let her head meet the pillow at the same time her gaze met the ceiling. There was no need to understand other people. Any attempts, while much appreciated, would be pointless because people couldn't be solved. The idiosyncrasies could intrigue, and conversation could even be interesting, but it was too late.

She died.

Dying…

There was no romance. There was no bright beacons of light, no kaleidoscope of her life, or any meaningful epiphanies. There was a flash, heat, and… nothing. Death was muddled memories, and sadness so profound that her eyes watered at the thought. She died that day, and the girl that sacrificed herself was not the same one living in the comfort provided by the boy to which she donated her final thoughts.

Her life, while deteriorating, was something that belonged to her, but not her place. The memories, the relationships, her things… Everything was usurped by her existence. It was a misunderstanding. He was looking for something in her that wasn't there anymore. Tiny, incomplete pieces of memories remained, but she couldn't decipher the feelings behind them. She remembered much, it would be a lie to say she didn't, but it all felt like things she never experienced before.

It felt artificial.

Rei remembered eye contact from a gurney, burned palms, a smile under the stars, and a sacrifice in his stead and she felt nothing. He cared about her, but recollections of affection were painted with indifference. The feelings were there, but they simply felt empty. She liked him. She was fond of him, but there was no substance. All those lingering feelings lacked any emotional emphasis.

The way he looked at her, the way he quietly studied her profile from afar reminded her of how he used to look at her. He used to find her odd. He used to find her interesting.

He used to find her frightening.

Was that why he wanted to join her? Redemption? There were no ill feelings to be had from her just because he knew her secret. Any feelings hurt had been left with the girl that she used to be. She was just the final vessel, the haven of memories that needed a place to go.

Her stomach grumbled and she rolled on her side knowing that she couldn't go and eat dinner with him. Normally, she didn't care about what other people did but it was something about that look that bothered her for reasons she didn't understand. She would ask him. Tomorrow, she would just ask him after the appointment. That'd be the right thing to do.

Tired and hungry, Rei cleared her mind of the thoughts that troubled her. It was something another her learned to do when she was younger, a skill she perfected through the course of her life and something that allowed a dreamless sleep to claim her.

Art was always something on the fringe of her understanding. Rei could admire the finer points, but only on a basic level. It was too subjective, too nuanced, for her to make sense of in any grand sense. A simple delight; however, was color. She was aware that the choice of a particular color in a piece could mean something, but there were no attempts to decipher any open secrets. Color was just color, but it was fantastic.

It was like the shades spoke to her, the contrast between cobalt and baby blue as different as whispering and yelling. She sought out new colors every day and indulged in them. Canary yellow was bright and sunny, a terribly loud color, but one that even she could admit was pretty. Lilac was a hue she often confused with lavender, but it retained a subtle softness that set it apart. The walls in her room were a shade of gray that reminded her of firearms. The dress she was wearing was khaki, one of the colors she liked, but there were some colors she would forever dislike…

Red.

It was a color she naturally came to detest.

It wasn't so much the color, but instead the things that it came to symbolize. She hated meat, the tender mess enough to make her sick at the thought of it. It was the color of the band the nurses used to tie around her wrist. It was the color of blood. Sohryu. Her eyes. The color of his shirt after the assault on NERV.

It was the color of the blouse the doctor wore.

Rei decided against looking up from the book she read. There was no reason to read any lips when she already knew what they would say. There was no reason to look when it was a scene that repeated itself many times over. The doctor would talk, Ikari would nod, and the medicine would be accepted.

The content of the conversation was always the same.

The dosage was always the same.

The way he looked after the doctor left was always the same.

Rei wedged a bookmark into the book and shut it. She wasn't finished, far from it, but she sensed the presence of her roommate nearing her. Ikari handed her a note. It was the doctor's instructions concerning the medication.

There was no change.

Rei put the book aside and witnessed the exchange between doctor and advocate. The medicine wasn't helping her. She knew it early on, and he did not. That was why the boy that hated confrontation tried to complain on her behalf, but Ikari was not a doctor. Accusations were deflected by facts and questions were answered. Frustrated, he started to become increasingly animated so she called to him.

It was fine.

Medicine and therapy would not help her. There was no such thing as getting better. There would be no miraculous recovery. It was explained to her, in precise and candid detail, that her health was in rapid decline and that there was nothing that could be done to save her. Doctor Akagi, she recalled, seized some joy in telling her as much.

Still, her prescription was an attempt to stabilize her condition. It didn't work, but she wasn't expecting it to do anything. She accepted her fate, and she wasn't afraid of what was to come.

The doctor pressed the medicine into his hand. He nodded, confirming he understand what she told him. Then just like that, just like always, she was gone. They were alone.

There was a change in the routine.

Before he was hopeful that it was just a matter of time before she showed progress, but the boy that quietly locked the door contained no optimism. Ikari was crestfallen, the truth of the matter weighing on him as he numbly walked back to the bed and sat beside her.

Ikari cradled his head in his hands. He sighed. She could tell by the touch of his breath on her shoulder. She waited, patiently, for him to say something via message or otherwise, but he merely sat right where he was with his face buried in his palms.

He was troubled.

She decided against posing any questions that she wanted to ask, and, not for the first time, regretted allowing him to move in with her.

It was another loss.

Rei silently studied the soup in the bowl of the spoon before taking another taste of it. It had the consistency of gravy, thick and supposedly savory, but she didn't taste anything at all. She blew only to cool the soup before taking it inside her mouth, but that was only on account of not burning her tongue. She could still grasp the texture, but she couldn't detect a taste.

She let the soup roll around in her mouth.

Nothing.

Rei sighed, mildly enough that the next spoonful of soup didn't even stir, but it was a sigh nonetheless. It was bothersome on some level, but it really wasn't that great a loss. She was never one to consume out of enjoyment. Eating and drinking were as much a process as going to the restroom. She would miss salads and Ikari made delightful tea, but, at the very least, it was another sense that she could hide from him.

In all actuality, she did not miss being able to smell. She lived a life rich in the scent of heavy perfumes, strong disinfectants, and heavy machinery. That was not to say that there were things she liked to smell, but there were only three senses that truly mattered to her and smell and taste weren't among them.

Still, it was always so sudden and much too abrupt.

One moment she could put a name to some of the ingredients, and, the next, it was all gone. Nothing lingered in her mouth or on her tongue, but the taste was so recent that it stayed in her mind. It was tasty, the blend of spice complimenting the sharp taste of the cheese and smooth creaminess of the pureed potatoes. She didn't mind that it was last thing she would taste. It was delicious, in no way inferior to the dishes Ikari treated her to every day.

Rei eyed her roommate from across the table.

Oblivious, he enjoyed his soup with a small smile. She watched him. Ikari read one of her books and ate at the same time. He was careful not to spill anything on the pages, but he didn't monitor the journey of spoon from bowl to mouth. As someone that wasn't much of a multitasker, a mistake was bound to happen and eventually did when a creamy drop of light brown landed in the middle of a paragraph. Ikari paled a little, and quickly looked up only to find her staring directly at him. He mumbled an apology, and she waved it off with a nod.

There were times, like that, when she could admit to herself that she was grateful that he stayed with her. Mundane, everyday moments like him spilling soup on a book she wasn't finished reading were not something to take for granted. Ikari's presence wasn't something she ever took for granted.

Being alive was better than the alternative. There wasn't any logic necessary to come to such a conclusion. It was just the truth of the matter. Another truth was that the boy seated across from her didn't yet, and probably never would, grasp that she was not the person he thought she was.

It was time.

She asked.

The soup spoon clanked against the side of the bowl and the hint of embarrassment on his face blossomed into something more. He was flustered, but he wasted little time reaching for the notepad and pencil he always kept at the ready. Instead of the expected flurry of scribbling, his writing was more subdued. He took his time, and she waited for his response.

The graphite tip rested on paper, but no characters came about. His hand didn't move even if his mind did. There was no telling how long he thought, and how long she waited. In time, she started to wonder if she was too premature. She wondered if she should have asked at all.

Then he said it.

His head was bowed, but she saw his mouth move. Rei could read lips, but she needed the full view of his face to determine exactly what he was saying. She asked him to say it again, and he did.

And she didn't know how to feel.

Rei stared down into her soup and noted her expression, especially the small smile she couldn't suppress. There were bits of bliss that tugged at her heart the same way the fragments of memories did. She was woefully happy, and he deserved better than that.

The way he looked at her was not born out of anything obtuse. He said he felt obligated, and that was something she could understand. She understood being committed to duty. The glasses that remained on her nightstand were a reminder of such. She feared, with all of her heart, that he would say that he loved her. That, by itself, was the only reason every glance in her direction and every effort he took to ensure she was cared for always made her uncomfortable.

Rei couldn't love him because she didn't know how to love anything. The puzzle that was the fractured feelings of the girl that died could possibly be pieced into something resembling the emotion, but she, personally, didn't know anything about that.

Love was beyond her, but she could be committed to him because he was committed to her. There were no debts to be paid between them.

Some that remained nonetheless, but they would be paid in time.

The hand that held her spoon was touched and she was roused from her thoughts as a result of the sensation. Wide, ruby eyes looked up in time to find her roommate out of his seat with his arm stretched across the table. His hand rested on top of hers the same way it did in a dream where she fell off a gurney, the same way it did in a dream when he saved her from the entry plug.

Touch, she decided, was the most wonderful of senses.

The loss of her eyesight was just as unexpected as the onset of her fever. There would be no more reading books. There would be no more favorite colors. She would not be reading lips anymore. More than just losing something, it was the finality of it that impacted her.

The last thing she saw were some characters on a page in a book that she ultimately didn't even care about. There was certainly no love loss for the avid description of a woman being stalked by a shadowy figure. If she would have had a chance to decide, there were many things she would have thought fitting for the last thing she would ever see.

She would miss her sight.

A cool compress was pressed against her forehead, and roommate took his time toweling off the sweat. The relief soothed her, but not nearly as much as his presence did. There was a time, early on, when she thought to dismiss him before the end. She thought to spare him from serving as her aide, but telling him to leave after all the time they spent together would be a small cruelty. He would stay until the end, and she knew well that it wasn't too far away.

The tip of his finger danced in her palm. Kanji were drawn and Rei managed to nod. He shifted on the bed and his hand slid down to the small of her back, the greater part of his arm used to nudge her closer to him.

Rei struggled, even with the small sips, but she was soothed. She voiced her thanks, and the brush of his hair against her face reflected his sentiment. Ikari eased her back down, and she wondered, idly, if such moments were why the other her sacrificed herself for him.

If the other her sacrificed herself for him, then what did she do for his sake? Allowing him to stay with her wasn't something she granted as a favor. In all actuality, she would have been confined to hospice care had he not voluntarily forsaken his duties at NERV and school.

Turning her back on the father for the son was never a decision made for his sake. There was no utilitarianism. Her action was a whim dyed in fleeting desire, and the resulting betrayal was the beginning of the end for more than just her.

So what did she ever do for him?

Rei weakly reached out into the deepest darkness and she was met by the slightest touch. He clasped her hand between his. His warmth seeped into her and she welcomed it. Ikari was always so kind. In a hot, painful instant, regret flared and she suffered. She longed to see him, to talk with him, to eat with him, to listen to him… There were so many things she wanted to do.

The peace she made with her fate was tested, but she would not yield to despair. Beyond the science, it was retribution. She rebelled against her solitary purpose in life so, as an agent of dissent, she could not object to what would serve as her punishment.

The hand that was held was lowered and, again, Ikari used his fingertip to draw characters in her palm. It was neither question nor comment. It was flowery prose. It was the book she was reading. Bit by bit, and line by line he delivered it to her the only way he could and hoped that it provided her some comfort.

She voiced her thanks.

For everything.

He stopped transcribing for just a moment, and she tried to imagine the look on his face. She wondered if he was sad, if he scrubbed his forearm against his eyes to make sure no tears landed on her, or if he was flustered much the same way he was when they ate his potato soup for the last time.

Ikari weaved his around her and lifted her from the bed just enough to pull her into a tight embrace. She was stunned by the sudden intimacy, at the way he held her without any regard for her nudity, but she recovered quickly enough to indulge in every sensation. She was content, so much so that she rested her head on his shoulder. He stroked her hair and, before she nodded off, she wished that she woke up tomorrow so he could read to her again.

Fin