Title: An Idle Mind is the Angel's Playground
Author: Arsenic
Rating: PG (uh, there MIGHT be some swearing in here...)
Keywords: Neon Genesis Evangelion
Characters: Misato; Shinji, Rei, Asuka, Gendou, Ritsuko and Kaji mentioned
Summary: First person stream-of-consciousness from Misato after episode sixteen

Disclaimer: All characters and concepts belong to Gainix and Anno.

Warning: I have only seen up to episode sixteen, so if you've seen more, expect some false assumptions in here. Also, this is my first EVA fic, new territory is always sketchy.

Dedication: To Sarah, for her way of always being bright, her intensity of interest in the Japanese culture and her way of inspiring me to caring about things more. Thanks for your encouragement.

...

I am pretty sure there was a time when beer was something I drank to dull the edges. Not take them away, precisely, just soften them up so they didn’t seem so deadly. I’ve noticed lately that it takes vodka, or rum, or whiskey to blur things now. I don’t know if the edges have gotten sharper, or I have grown weaker in my attempts to subdue them.

Aware of the fact that I am doing it for no other reason than out of sheer habit, I pop open my third bottle of beer and listen absently to the hiss of released air. I envy that air its escape from cylindrical confines. I take a sip and let the bitterness roll around on my tongue as a pseudo-punishment for the way I am treating my body. Then I swallow, letting the cold sink down into my stomach where it joins a more internal type of ice.

I would be blind not to see myself in the boy-who-never-speaks. Ikari. Shinji. I know how much he would like to be able to claim both names with the assurance that they were given of free will. I felt like that once. Before I allowed the yearning to turn into hate. It was empowering, a stronger motivation than even lust or anger.

There are times when anger seems so close to affection. It’s kind of like when you watch things go to hell, and all you want to do is cry...so you laugh. You’re not sure where the sensation or the ability comes from; it’s just there, too entangled with the despair to avoid. Kaji and Shinji are both cause and effect with me. Anger and affection.

My fingernail runs along the puckered skin of my breastbone and I have to wonder whether the dull throb of the scar is a truly physical symptom or the manifestation of my own musings. The wound healed long ago. Well, that’s what I tell myself every time I send him into battle. It’s not personal. I would not risk Shinji for a vendetta that is not his. I would not. I would...I wish I had some vodka on hand.

Asuka is screeching. I wait to see if Shinji will yell back. He does, and I silently cheer him on. Asuka has no power to upset me with her petty acts of superiority. Brashness is always the best cover for vulnerability; I will be the first to tell you that. Well, no, I will be the first to admit that to myself. More importantly, she gets a rise out of him. I can do that sometimes. I have come to wonder if I cook worse than I did before he came just for his anger. It is easier to take than his pain.

I don’t need to see my pain mirrored. I don’t need to see my fears mirrored. But I think I might need Shinji.

I should learn to cook. If I’m going to send him off to catch exploding Angels in a machine that neither of us understands, I should at least have the courtesy to make sure he is not malnourished. What was that I had said to Asuka? That it was the Japanese way to think more of others than you did of yourself? Boy, am I ever falling down in my duty...

I stare around at the mess that is my apartment and wince at the thought that this is sterile compared to before he came. There is nothing tangible of Shinji in the apartment, just an echo. If I listened hard enough, it would probably sound like the song he is forever playing on those headphones of his. I’m sure he thinks nobody notices his addiction to redundancy. Same song, same breakfast -- redundancy can sometimes be a synonym for stability.

I am aware of this and, as a result, force myself to change my favorite color every month. Nobody has ever asked me my favorite color, and if I gave two people different answers, people would assume it was just me being flighty. I do flighty well; just ask Ritsuko -- she was around when I perfected the talent. This keeps my foolish act of insurance safely confidential. After all, I am not naive enough to think this insignificant change of preferences a true guard against my foundations being rocked; I just feel more sensible taking some course of action. This is a pervading rule in my life. Hence my sending the kids out to play ôcatch the bomb.ö Now there’s a spectator sport for you.

People talk about loss of innocence like it’s a moment that if they mapped out their life they could draw a tidy red circle around. The first time they fell into the back seat of a tiny car with the wrong guy, the time they watched their friend get alcohol poisoning, the first time they sold their soul to get a promotion and figured they could cash in for it later. Maybe for most people that’s what it’s about.

My innocence is still with me. Not in the way a dictionary would describe it to you. No virgin flower in white is this girl. But I believe in the EVAs. Good over evil. Why the hell else would I still wear a cross? It’s not about G-d. How could I believe in a superior being and fight enemies named after his messengers?

G-d is an enigma. Nobody can define his origins. I tell myself this when I wake up sweating, seeing Adam and not being able to tell the difference between the Angel and EVA 01. Not knowing where the Angel ends and the EVA begins. Not being able to find Shinji inside the Angel. Not being able to find him in the EVA.

Perhaps for this reason, this is a fight that is not meant to be won. There is always the possibility that man will go the way of the dinosaur. I suppose in that case all that is left to believe in is resurrection. So I will. The more I watch Shinji, Rei, and Asuka come back from battle, the more I know that somewhere, innocence must be preserved. I recognize this even as I continuously send them to the destruction of theirs.

Oh yes, the Angels must be destroyed.

I wonder if I would notice if this became a Pyrrhic victory? Then again, it might already be. This is Tokyo-3. As in third try. ThatÆs what I call casualties.

It's kind of ironic how I go through every stage of life telling myself that the next one will be better. I wish I could slow down sometimes, stop the rushing that pounds behind my ears and listen to anything else. The sound of wind, Shinji's breathing, Asuka's whine...it doesn't have to be relaxing, just different.

I hear Ritsuko when she decides to say something. She has always been the quiet scientist. I would not be surprised if she avoided Kaji less because of me and more because to pursue him would be to acknowledge her own femininity. Female Einstein or no, she was never this hard in college.

Ritsuko is not precisely someone you would describe as soft, but she used to have her moments of weakness. I'm positive they're still there now; she would not have told me about her mother if they weren't. Damn, if they aren't hard to find, though.

She found mine without even looking. I could kill Shinji for getting swallowed up by shadows. It's a metaphor Shinji, M-E-T-A-P-H-O-R. The boy is nothing if not literal. And I am a grade-A, one hundred percent idiot for letting myself feel anything.

Ritsuko may have something in giving herself into science. It may fail you, but it never hurts you. Betrayal and emotion are the realm of humans. Machines do not weep.

Me, I held on tight and sobbed. Funny, I remember wanting to laugh.