The kanji that we use for the word "she" means a woman far away. And woman will always seem to be on a distant shore. The gulf that separates male and female is broader and deeper than any ocean.

People really can't understand themselves, much less each other. It's impossible to understand 100% of anything – that's why we spend so much time trying to understand our own motivations and those of others. It's also what makes life so interesting.

Beyond the Empty Ocean

An Evangelion fan-fiction.

Evangelion is the property of studio Gainax.

Series created by Hideaki Anno with character designs by Yoshiyuki Sadamoto.

Disclaimer: I do not own Evangelion; all characters and designs have been used without permission.

Misato's eyebrow twitched violently as she glared at us through the window, the glass fogging and un-fogging with every violent breath she took. The girl I was kissing at the moment didn't notice a thing.

After all, she was too busy holding on for dear life and focusing on how my tongue felt in her mouth. My eyes stayed on Misato's expression, a mixture of anger and sadness.

And in a flash, the raven-haired girl twirled around and ran, the fogged glass slowly reverting to normal, an imprint of her cheek visibly fading. Above was a single drop of water… a tear?

No, it couldn't be: she'd been the one who'd broken it off, anyway.

I pushed the girl away; I didn't remember her name. Hikaru, or Ayumi something or other. There had been so many in the past few months, but I didn't remember any of their names. I redid the buttons on my shirt while she did the same with her blouse, gazing at me with a quizzical look. Disappointment showed on her face as she realized that our impromptu make-out session was over.

"I have class in five minutes," I lied. Actually, I probably did have class in five minutes, I wasn't sure. I had gone to one lecture all semester, and I had even left that one halfway through.

The brunette nodded. She ran a hand through her hair and looked up me at me almost pleadingly, saying, "Call me when you're done, we can... hang out." Her high-pitched voice dropped a bit with the last two words, stressing the implied innuendo. She was smart, sweet, and so very gorgeous. She had even won some college pageant or something, but she just wasn't Misato Katsuragi.

"Okay," I replied, knowing that in all likelihood, I'd never see this one again. I didn't even remember if I had her number. I gave her a goodbye kiss, grabbed my bag and walked out of the empty classroom, heading down the halls and through the double doors at the entrance.

My apartment was a mess. It was roomy by college standards, and especially by Japanese standards, courtesy of money left to me by some uncle I never knew I had until he died.

Even so, it looked much smaller due to the various detritus around. Empty pizza boxes and unwashed dishes were strewn all over the living room and kitchen. In a corner, a three-foot pyramid of Yebisu beer cans had been toppled and sat in a large pile, awaiting their return for recycling refunds. The couch was covered in clothes, both of the male and female variety. A few bras poked out from under the cushions, remnants of my last month's worth of sleeping buddies.

I unbuttoned my shirt and took it off, dropping it on the ground on the way to my room. My jeans and undershirt followed as I stepped through the doorway. The ashtray beside the bed was emptied, a reminder of the times when Misato had stayed over. Just next to it, a picture frame of our smiling faces was face-down. A long crack was visible at the top, from when I had thrown it against the wall after the break-up. The digital clock nearby read 12:53 PM.

I grabbed the covers on the bed and smoothed them over, throwing a pair of panties onto the ground in the process. One of my conquests the previous night had left them there, "a memento to remember her by." I had just chuckled and shaken my head – thinking that most college girls were under-sexed nymphomaniacs. Then again, who was I to judge?

Ever since high school, it seemed like any girls I met were eager to throw themselves at me. Being a normal Japanese teenager, I usually reciprocated. Even the ones I didn't particularly care for. I was good at it, too - I had been used to all sorts of jealous ex-girlfriend behaviour: in my senior year of high school, one girl had even set fire to my jacket from behind.

My bed made, I walked into the bathroom and turned on the shower. The hot water would need a minute to turn on. I glanced at the mirror, running my hand over my chin, feeling how cleanly shaved it was. I stared at my reflection in a fit of narcissism until the water was ready.

The shower felt nice and hot. I lifted my head, closing my eyes, and let the showerhead aim directly at my face, savouring the feeling of water pressure. After a few moments, I bent my head forward, rivulets of water splashing on the top of my head and rolling down my body. Something red caught my eye. It took me a second to recognize that Ayumi had written her phone number in lipstick along my forearm.

The sun was out in full force, like it was every day in Tokyo's perpetual summer. I had learned about the Earth's previous rotation before Second Impact, but I had never bothered to learn why seasons had disappeared after. It was one of those things which I had accepted as part of life post-impact.

Sometimes I wondered if I would ever grow up, instead of taking things for granted and living in a haze of alcohol, drugs, and sex. Maybe solve world hunger, cure disease, or invent a meteor-impact system, so that the world would never have to live through another impact again. Or maybe I would always be stuck with my adolescent yearnings, keeping the future at bay just a little longer.

The familiar shadow of a giant Gehirn billboard loomed over part of the entrance to my building as I walked out. The United Nations had deemed it necessary to advertise their scientific progress, if only to show the public that they things being taken care of. Gehirn had become the symbol of post-impact hope, an organization to be proud of and aspire to.

I had never given thought to a career with them. After all, they only accepted the proverbial best of the best, like the friend whom I was about to see.

And like magic, my thoughts strayed from blonde to purple hair. It was infuriating how everything reminded me of Misato Katsuragi. Talking to her best friend, the movie which we had rented from the video store that one time, the smell of lavender perfume at the department store. Even months after the fact, the littlest things became stimuli for a nostalgia trip.

Dear god, I was turning into an obsessive ex. How long before I set fire to her jacket?

The more frightening question was just a bit further down that train of thought.

Did I love her?

I reached the door of the science building and walked in.

Ritsuko just looked at me with her calm expression when I told her about the latest encounter with Misato. She took a sip from her mug and leaned back in her chair. Her right arm still clacked away at the keyboard behind her. I had become used to these meetings in the biogenetics lounge, and even more used to Ritsuko's multitasking. What else could you expect from the daughter of such a famous scientist?

"Have you tried, you know, talking to her?" She asked, knowing the answer. We had been down this avenue of conversation many times.

"She won't take my calls, and she just slams any door on me when I try in person. She's taken the break-up even worse than I did."

"Isn't it obvious why?" Ritsuko replied matter-of-factly, before turning around to face the monitor.

"Not all of us are geniuses, Rit-chan," I countered, "though I bet you could teach me a few things…" I moved closer to her and wrapped my arms around her from behind as I let the sentence trail off. These words and actions came naturally to me. Seducing the opposite sex was like eating or breathing… except on Ritsuko. She was the exception when it came to college-age, under-sexed nymphomaniacs.

"Of course I could," she grinned. Ritsuko's hand stopped typing as she put her right hand on my arm. Her left hand played with her short blonde hair a bit and she giggled like a dumb bimbo, playing her part to the hilt. She turned around and leaned in, her lips coming dangerously close to mine. "But knowing you, you'd be too thick-skulled to learn," she deadpanned. "Down, boy."

I chuckled. Ritsuko was one of the few females in my life whom I had never gone to bed with, not for lack of trying. But she was also probably one of my closest friends. She knew me that well. Even if she was also Katsuragi's best friend.

"Misato's a complicated girl. You'll figure it out sooner or later." She swivelled her chair around to the monitor again and started typing with both hands. "Or else you'll both be stuck in the past."

At this I looked up at her. "I'm not stuck in-"

"I know all about the latest string of heartbroken girls, courtesy of Ryoji Kaji," she interjected. "They all mean nothing to you, don't try to hide it. You and Misato break up after two years and you immediately start screwing the entire female population of Tokyo-2 University? How dumb do you think I am?"

As I said, she knew me well.

"So why is Katsuragi living in the past?" I questioned. "She seems like she's about to cry every time I see her."

"She has her own problems." Ritsuko's fingers click-clacked even faster, if that was possible.

"Women," I muttered. "I'll never figure you all out."

"Let me know if you do," Ritsuko joked. "It'd be a world-saving endeavour."

"Speaking of saving the world, when are you transferring to Gehirn?"

"Soon – I won't be around forever, you know."

"So you won't save me from all these crazy girls?" I mock-whined.

"I think you'll be fine, playboy."

A few couples were making out on the sides of the quad as I cut diagonally through a game of ultimate Frisbee. The setting sun gave the sky a reddish colour; enough light for me to spot Katsuragi following me from a distance.

I walked through the entrance gates and turned the corner, then leaned against the wall and waited. Misato almost walked by, but instead stopped awkwardly at the last moment.

"Good thing you never wear high heels," I joked.

She just glared at me.

"Why are you stalking me?" My voice was tinged with a quiet anger.

"I wasn't stalking you, you conceited, arrogant, idiotic…" she stopped as she tried to find a suitable word. It would've been funnier in a different situation.

We both fell silent; I guess we figured out that arguing in public wasn't very proper. Or at least I did. Katsuragi was probably still trying to find a word.

"What do you want?" I asked. My voice was weary, whether because of my late-night bed-aerobics or the emotional exhaustion that I associated with the woman in front of me, I didn't know.

Misato didn't reply. She looked away, pretending to be interested in the plaque which was embedded into the wall.

"We can't keep living like this," I continued, "You, everywhere I turn, me…"

"Fucking everything in sight?" Misato filled in my blank, although not with words which I would've used.

It was my turn to be interested in the plaque. Misato's face contorted into her familiar expression of mixed anger and sadness, the same one with which she started at me in the morning.

"Why do you care?" I finally asked.

She paused, thinking over the question thoroughly. In times like these, we were both more careful to say things we wouldn't regret.

"I don't," she finally answered.

"Then what do you want?" My earlier question, repeated again.

Her mouth opened and closed once, twice, three times. I just waited and watched her false starts.

We stood there quietly. A group of guys walked by, one of them telling some sort of story.

"-and really, she had the biggest set of…" The speaker's voice faded as they went further. Laughter could be heard in the distance.

We stood there quietly. Cars passed by on the street, their Doppler effects filling the air.

Vroom. Vroom.

We stood there quietly. Occasionally looking at each other, occasionally looking at everything else but each other.

None of my charms worked here – my usual solutions were worthless.

At last, Misato figured out her answer to my question, and turned around to walk away. I didn't stop her, or call out. Instead I turned around too, willing myself not to look back.

Each step was deliberate. I focused on the sounds of my footsteps, nothing else, at least until I reached the corner.

What was there to do now? I took out my cell phone and called Ayumi.

A/N: Hopefully, you've realized that this is set around late 2007 - early 2008, seven or eight years before the events of the series. Also, hopefully I have the dates right – Misato and Kaji broke up in 2007, and this is set a few months after.

Writing a 22-year-old Kaji as a more un-likable, rough-around-the-edges, womanizing character is much harder than I expected - but I hope that's how he's coming through. The opening paragraphs are mostly Kaji's speech to Shinji about women in episode 17 of Evangelion – albeit paraphrased a bit and the order reversed. As charming, wise, and easy-going as he is in the series, hopefully no one disagrees that his more cynical side is, at least for now, his true self (after being dumped by Misato), especially if you're going by the manga characterization. Let me know if you disagree.

I painstakingly took a look at Kaji, Ritsuko, and Misato over the series (and especially episode 21) as I wrote this, and tried to incorporate as many of their college mannerisms and appearances. I also filled in the blanks around them, and took a few liberties. Also, if I've missed anything so far continuity-wise, rest assured it'll come into play later (unless I just completely missed it).

I also broke a personal rule of not using Japanese suffixes like –chan and –kun (because if I'm writing in English, and I'm "translating" from the original Japanese series, it sounds a bit weird to include them, no matter how much nuance is in those suffixes) when referring to Ritsuko, because Kaji always refers to her as Rit-chan – no way around it. I think it's the only time in the series where a character's name is shortened for a nickname.

I already know how this story ends (heck, this being a prequel of sorts, I'm pretty sure everyone knows how it ends), but not quite how it'll get there. Hopefully it's a journey worth taking – comments & criticism are always welcomed.