Chapter One

When I open the door, I usually try not to look at her. I can't really explain why. Maybe there are too many reasons. She can't see me, after all. It's unfair, I guess. But then, looking back, I never felt comfortable looking at Ayanami. It was her eyes, I think, I never felt comfortable with them. They seem a little more pallid now, but that doesn't help -- it actually makes things a little harder. Looking back ... Perhaps I should begin there and explain for those who don't already know.

...

"Ayanami!" Shinji nearly cried and laughed as he called to her. She turned to receive his greeting, her unbandaged eye staring at him.
   "Ikari-kun?" she asked, as if she did not recognize him.
   In the midst of his elation, Shinji did not notice the difference and continued to unhaltingly babble his words of thanks, managing to remain where he stood while he did so. At one point he took a step forward, and the girl reacted by sitting up and leaning back noticeably, as if he were a beast poised to attack her. Immediately, the boy stopped talking, and after a moment of thought, he turned his gaze to the two women behind him, the Doctor Akagi and Misato. The two of them had walked (or rather, ran slowly) behind Shinji, Ritsuko speaking softly to the major along the way. Now, the doctor refused to meet the pilot's eyes, while the raven-haired woman's expression was one of almost mourning.
   "Ayanami?" Shinji called softly, looking back at the girl, whose eyes suddenly seemed very empty as they stared off into nothingness. "Ayanami...?"
   Misato suddenly spoke. "Shinji."
   The boy said nothing, and waited, all the while searching those red eyes for a sign of recognition.
   "Shinji-kun, she can't see you." Misato took a breath, and stood straight in an attempt to appear professional. "She's blind."

That evening Misato and I ate together at the kitchen table, but in silence. Those days, I tried my best to leave her alone. Kaji had ... left, and I didn't know what to do. Misato seemed especially tired that evening, but I had so many questions. Akagi-san had explained to me how Ayanami had lost her vision. I didn't hear all of it, but it wasn't very complicated. I had my own guess as soon as I learned of Ayanami's newfound disability -- sitting in the middle of an erupting explosion, it could not have gone well. What I gathered was mostly correct. But what would happen now?

"Um, Misato-san?" Shinji asked cautiously over his microwaved dinner.
   She looked up with open eyes. "Yes, Shinji-kun?"
   "Ah..." The boy looked towards the table space between them for a second. "What ... What's going to happen now ... about Ayanami?"
   "She will probably have to do her best to live like she did before." Clearly, Misato did not like that solution any more than Shinji did. "She'll be alright, Shinji-kun. She's a smart girl -- I hear that she is making fast progress walking without her sight. She has not reported any further problems, either."
   "Oh," breathed the boy. Of course. He got the impression that Ayanami would indeed manage to live according to the manner she had for the whole of her life. The thought did not comfort him.
   "She'll have to stay at the hospital until she can make it on her own, it will have to be a while," Misato finished.
   Shinji found that he had no more questions to ask.

I decided that I had to see her again the next day. I had nothing else to do, anyway. In saving my life, Ayanami had left the city in ruins. My friends had gone, everyone had gone. I really didn't have anyone else to talk to. When I entered the hospital room, I found Ayanami sitting on her bed, her chin resting on the back of her hand.

She looked so calm, staring out the room's window, and for a split second...
   But she turned almost immediately. Shinji's heart lost its leap when he saw that her eyes were directed towards him, but not his eyes.
   "Who is it?" she asked. The Third Child nearly lost his breath upon hearing her greeting.
   "It's me," was all he would give her.
   "Ikari-kun?" Her eyes opened slightly wider.
   Shinji walked at a careful pace towards her. When he had closed the distance between them to a meter, he took a breath.
   "What is it?" she in her calm tone.
   "Thank you," Shinji replied. "For saving my life." He had wanted to tell her yesterday, but had been interrupted. The pilot stood still, but felt as if a force was forcing him to lean forward ever so slightly as he waited for the First Child's reply. She was still staring straight forward at Shinji's stomach, saying nothing. She blinked.

I think it was there that I decided to visit her more and more. She looked so confused (she told me a long time later that she had never been thanked before). I think she made sense of something that day. But the best part was a minute later, when her cheeks shone brighter, and her crimson eyes lit wider. I had only seen her do that once before, and I felt ... lucky that I got to see it again. What she said next almost made me laugh. I hadn't laughed in a while then.

"Arigato (thank you)," came the shaky welcome.

I liked hearing Ayanami say those words. They seemed so grand when she said them. The last time she said arigato was when I cleaned some of her room for her. So I decided a few days later to clean it again -- it had become cluttered once more. It would make things easier for Ayanami to walk around within her own room.

Shinji found, however, that there was actually little to clean. Because of the First Child's disability, she had had her bandages taken off at the hospital for the most part. In fact, Shinji realized that, as he stood in her room( of which he was its only occupant), Rei was undoubtedly at NERV's hospital right this minute. He blinked twice, and then decided to pick up the little odds and ends that were left on the floor instead. He also emptied the trash, of which there was very little. Finally, he made Ayanami's bed.
   Then the door creaked open, and Ayanami walked in with steps resounding at long intervals. Shinji stood completely still, feeling as if he were intruding. He stood so still, in fact, that Ayanami walked in another ten steps before she stopped, making him wonder if she had somehow noticed his presence. With Ayanami, one never knew for sure.
   But she evidently did not notice that there was someone in her home. She slowly took a few more steps in, closer and closer... Shinji held his breath... Her bandages, they're all gone, he thought to himself in mild surprise.
   And Ayanami walked smack into him. Shinji fell back, but stayed on his feet. "Ah..."
   The First Child, however, had gasped in surprise and taken a few steps back herself. One of her hands pressed against the wall behind her, while the other was slightly outstretched, searching.
   "Ayanami!" Shinji spoke up. "It's me." She calmed down considerably upon hearing his voice, and blinked. This was definitely not the way Shinji had expected his day would become.
   "Ikari-kun?" Her face remained emotionless as she edged along her wall, around the floor, and finally felt her bed and sat down slowly.
   "It's me," he breathed. Before she could ask what he was doing here, as he knew she inevitably would, he added, "I- I'm just leaving."
   For some unclear reason, Shinji made sure to walk noticeably out. He shuffled on his shoes extra loudly, and took timed, careful steps toward the door.
   "Ikari-kun," she called, still sitting upright.
   Shinji froze holding the door open, noting that the rain was cold this evening (it had already become evening?). He said nothing, almost hoping that ... something.
   "Thank you," Her tone seemed almost lively.
   Shinji strained his eyes through the darkening light (if only the room's lights were on), trying to determine if Ayanami's facial expression matched that of her voice. But he did not dare lean too far forward at the risk of making any noise -- she would guess what he was trying to accomplish. Within the moment, he gave up, and simply accepted her words of gratitude.
   As the door clanged shut, the girl lay down on her bed, and by light of the outside night coming through the window, her smile was small but sure.

It was always a marvel the way the First Child carried herself through the city. When she traversed either the NERV halls or her apartment building, it was as if her vision mattered not at all. Of course, her hand was always outstretched slightly, usually to her side, as if her delicate fingers took in the life from walls. But to Shinji, it looked like Ayanami was visiting old places from her past, the way she reached out and touched. The sight of the this put Shinji at ease.
   He often went with Ayanami to the hospital and research facilities. Somehow, terms such as "blinding light," "LCL," and "retina" came together to mean that there was as of yet no known cure for Rei's blindness. Shinji was as curious the girl herself as to the logic behind her detriment, if not more curious.
   "You seem attached to Rei these days, Shinji-kun," Misato commented one morning as he was getting ready to leave. Shinji froze, and fought down his choking embarrassment. "Have a nice day, Shinji-kun," Misato said before he could muster an answer.

Misato's words remained in my mind for a long time. I did seem more attached to Rei, didn't I? I had to step back and think why. Was it only because I had nothing else to do, and that Ayanami did not ever tell me to leave her alone? I don't think that was it. But whatever the reasons, I enjoyed my passing days much more when I saw her . Maybe she's good luck.

Once, as I neared her door, I could hear her playing the violin from within. I had to wonder for a second at first whether or not it really was Ayanami. I didn't know she played, certainly not that she could play well. I almost thought for a second that she wouldn't notice me enter the room. She did, of course, if only because the door creaked as I pushed it open.

"Don't stop," Shinji could not help but ask. "Please."
   The First Child's gaze lowered slightly towards a corner where the floor and the wall met, and resumed playing. Shinji could not recognize the piece, though he somehow expected that. That was alright; he soon found that he was much more interested in the way the girl played than he was in what she was playing. Her eyes were half open in a way they never were when they could see. They looked sad and calm at once, the crimson and the light coming together to form a sort of pink color. But they did not look like a color at all, really, Shinji noticed. The light played over them, and instead, the pale girl's eyes were like glass, beautiful.

That evening I played my cello. As I did, I thought of Ayanami's playing, and I shut my eyes.

I went to Kaji-san's watermelon garden often. I actually liked Kaji, he was a good person. I brought Misato there when she asked me to, once. She suggested I bring Ayanami, too, and I agreed. It was an especially humid day, but Ayanami didn't seem to notice it, or didn't care. I made sure not to look at Misato too often to see how she felt that day. Instead, I stayed near Ayanami and made sure she didn't trip over the watermelons -- they were very ripe, Kaji had put a lot of time into them. At some point, Ayanami bent down and picked up one of the larger ones, and she leaned her cheek against it. After some consideration, I did so, too. The melon felt very cool in the middle of the heat, I had to smile.
   I asked Ayanami if she wanted to bring one home, and asked Misato if it was okay. Ayanami picked the smallest one she could find, and held it in both of her hands all the way home. She's left it in her refrigerator ever since.

I liked having Ayanami hold my arm as we walked. It felt nice, and when she held it, it always made me like going somewhere. I even offered to take her somewhere other than NERV's hospital once (it must have been an especially good day). I lost my nerve later that evening when Misato asked me where I would be going that night. If just Misato knowing was so embarrassing, how could I make it through the night outdoors? So I took Ayanami up a hill around the city -- it was the place Misato had taken me the first night I lived in Tokyo-3.

"Sorry, sorry!" Shinji yelped as he entered the room. He had second thoughts about all the implications of him bringing Ayanami out for leisure for over an hour. The sky had gone from blues to reds to blues again. He would later regret his tardiness, as he found that walking through a place as peaceful, open, yet not utterly silent and isolated as the roads along the hills of Tokyo-3 was very nice. There weren't as many people here as there were in the heart of the city for sure, and the people who did live in the lazy neighborhoods up here left the two Children to their own business.
   Rei could feel both the humid air and the cool breeze here, the solid texture of stone, bricks, and concrete as well as the softness of leaves and grass. As one of her hands held Shinji, the other stretched out and ran through and along various plants, trees, walls, and whatever else the winding road had to offer.
   It was good that the evening would not become too chilled until many hours after dark. Neither of the two wore anything other than their normal school clothes (at least, when there was a school). The grass felt nice when they sat down (though it felt as if Rei did so only because her guide was dropping out of her grasp). Sitting down after a period of walking, breathing in clean air (a rarity in this city), it was a satisfying feeling. Even Ayanami could appreciate it, if only by closing her eyes as her only sign of notice. She seemed to appreciate more these days.
   "I wish you could see the stars, or even just the moon," Shinji said, lying back slightly unto his arms.
   "How many do you see?" asked Rei.
   Shinji looked at her for a second -- she had spoken very little the evening. "Well," he mumbled, staring up as high as he could, "The whole sky is filled with them."
   "There are no more beautiful things up there than there are here," spoke a new voice.
   Both Children turned towards the person who had spoken. It was a boy about their age, dressed in a school uniform. His hair was shock white, and his eyes were a crimson Shinji had not seen for months. The boy smiled.

Kowaru was a very strange person. I wondered for a little while where he came from, but I never felt that I should ask him. He was a pilot, like me, and that made us friends, I guess. Ayanami didn't like him, I think. She told me that he discomforted her. That was strange -- Kowaru always seems to like the fact that I looked after Ayanami. I didn't talk to him or anyone about it very often, though. I also wondered how he sometimes seemed to know more about me than he could have. He knew alot about Ayanami, too. Was he her brother or close relative? I wondered.

Oh yes! The thought brings another idea to my mind -- Toji, and his sister, who were both still at the hospital, and had not moved.

"Hey, Shinji!" Toji called out between pants. The Fourth Child was practicing using crutches for travel, and was sweating profusely in the effort. Shinji had to fight his tears, and said nothing.
   "I'm trying to get this," said the boy while hopping around on one foot, "so I don't have to use that damned chair to get places," he took a breath, "once I get out of this place." He definitely looked his words. Having ripped off the sleeve from his hospital gown where he had one good arm, Shinji could see that Toji had gotten stronger with his remaining arm. The amount of energy Toji must have spent towards this pursuit felt like poison to Shinji's soul.
   "Hey, come on, don't give me that," Toji demanded, seeing Shinji's expression.
   "Can I-" Shinji stopped, swallowing. His throat had run dry. "Is there any way I can help ... you?"
   The sweating boy hopped over to his bed and sat down. He took a number of breaths before replying, "See my sister for me today?"
   Shinji was about to ask the patient if he wanted to come as well, but instead answered after a second of thought, "Okay."

I went back to visit Toji, of course. He asked me how his little sister was doing. I told him. Toji just nodded, and thanked me. He started talking to me then. At first about things that didn't matter, then about things that did. Toji is my best friend, and I promised him a favor. It felt right to give him my word on something like this, because Toji would have done the same for me. Toji will be out soon, I can't wait for that day.

...

These days, things are looking better. Toji greets me in the mornings, when he goes out for his walks. He's gotten pretty good at it, even though he is usually sitting down still. He says he still exercises, to stay in shape. He's walking with me to Ayanami's apartment again.

"Where are we heading today? Some place cool? Never know when they'll get a school up and running again, do ya," The boy with the crutch wasted few breaths to move himself now, and kept up with Shinji's pace effortlessly.
   "We'll long have grown up by then," Shinji said in a half serious tone.
   The two turned sharply in their paths and crossed a street with uneven pavement. There would be no cars or buses on it this morn, or on any other morning, most likely. There was not a person other than the two Children in sight, even. The road seemed further battered due to the sunlight which weighed it down. The two crossed from one side, shaded and darkened by overhanging trees, to the other, also sheltered by foliage.
   "I dreamt of my sister again, up and walking," Toji said, softly. "So depressing."
   Shinji said nothing -- what could he say? He knew his friend did not mean to make him feel terrible, and in fact would have liked encouragement. But Shinji had no edifying things to say, but knew that his attention was much appreciated. Toji, as Shinji knew well, wished his sister would be well soon, especially with the way things looked.
   "We're heading to the hospital first, today," Shinji finally declared. "Will you come with us?"
   "Naw," Toji said with a half-snort half-whine tone. "You know how it is with me and hospitals. And you know how Ayanami resembles my kid sister sometimes." It was true. While the Rei and Toji's sister hardly looked alike, Shinji had to agree that he felt a strange sort of reluctance to approach both of them (and not because of anything Shinji did to Toji's sister, either). Both seemed to emanate some sort of negative feeling. From the way Toji reminisced about his sister, it sounded like she carried about a silence that deafened and dumbed, and spoke in a straight and direct manner (but in a much more soft-spoken manner than Toji). Reportedly, the girl rarely ever smiled as well, even by standards set by the children from this city. Shinji could believe his friend when he said that he could understand Shinji's awkward affection towards Rei.
   "But today might be the day Doctor Akagi finds the cure for Ayanami's eyes." This was the hopeful sentiment Shinji always felt.
   "It might also be the day she wakes up," Toji muttered, referring to his sister. He had cautioned Shinji against hopes that were too high before. "I'll see you two for lunch, though," Toji said, his face lighting back up slightly. "I'll walk you there, too. Nowhere else to go, nothing else to do, these days."
   Shinji nodded in agreement.

"Good morning, Ikari-kun," said the girl seated at the desk within. She stared towards the wall blankly, as if in thought. She even might have smiled a little. The boy kicking off his shoes decided that even if he was imagining things, the blue-haired girl seemed happy.
   "I'm late, I'm sorry," Shinji said, bowing sheepishly. He had overslept on account of it being a Sunday morning. He walked over to her softly, and offered his arm. "Are you ready to go?"
   "Yes," she answered, her voice gentle.
   Her hand met his instead of his arm as usual, and she stopped. The girl turned her face towards their half-interlocked hands, as if her crystalline eyes could see them. Shinji found himself glad that she could not see his face right now, which was growing increasingly nervous.
   "Are you alright?" she finally asked.
   Broken out of his tension, Shinji was now confused. "What?"
   "Your hand," she replied, her eyes never leaving sight of his fingers. "It's getting warm."
   "Oh!" he exclaimed. He took his other hand, slowly covered hers, and clasped it while he slipped his other away and rubbed it against his shirt. "Let's go." His voice croaked, leaving Ayanami to gaze at him, her eyes appearing to search for abnormalities.

Was I really late this morning? It felt like I was, but actually, my visits are not planned. In fact, I had no idea where I would take Ayanami today. These days I had been almost routinely spending my time with her before I realized it. The city is in pieces. I usually avoid the streets and neighborhoods which were still populated. I don't want to see the people I had failed to protect (many people were living closer and together now in those areas now), and I don't want them to see me, either. It also feels right that I should walk around the wreckage Ayanami and I left behind. Also, I always secretly hope that such places would spark some words from Ayanami. She speaks more often these times, I love listening to her. I don't ask for much -- just a thousand more mornings like this one.

"I heard it again," Rei announced. "Last night."
   Shinji looked over and did his best hide his smile, despite the fact she could not see it (he got the strange notion she would notice somehow regardless). "What?" he asked in as nonchalant voice as he could muster.
   "The music," she replied, staring straight ahead as they walked.
   "Oh, the music you said sounds like a cello?"
   Rei nodded. "I wonder ... who it is."
   "Well," Shinji asked, "why don't you find out one of these evenings?" Shinji hoped that his suggestion did not hold, but also hoped for an answer.
   "I'm afraid that the music will stop."
   "Oh," Shinji managed, and his face flushed with relief, though he could not fully comprehend why. They walked on for another block, reached the peak of an incline, and crossed a street. It was very probable in Shinji's mind that Rei could make it herself to the hospital in the mornings, even without the walking stick the hospital had given her. All these paths were taken out of habit now.
   "Is it you?"
   Shinji almost thought he imagined the question, it was asked so softly. "Uh?" He nearly choked.
   "It's you, isn't it."
   Shinji quickly turned away from her, afraid she might be annoyed. Then he considered the possibility she was not, and slowly brought his eyes back towards her face, searching quickly for expression. Unfortunately, she was still staring straight ahead, and her hair shrouded her eyes ever so barely. I'll have to cut it again soon, the boy reminded himself. And then, Rei began to turn toward him, and he quickly looked the other way again.
   "Ah, I don't play the cello." He absolutely refused to face her now, and then found that they had arrived at the hospital doors. He quickly jumped ahead and held the door open before letting Ayanami hold on to his arm again. And as they walked through the hallways, Shinji consciously opened and closed his palm. He was secretly glad they had reached the hospital when they did. He had begun to worry that his hand was becoming warm again.

During the evening the construction around the apartment stopped for the day. Ayanami had changed into a white shirt for the evening, and was in bed, her eyes open. She was far from tired, and was very alert. She could hear the cicadas' chirps from a distance away. Her hair seemed almost to frazzle at every strand, and with little to distract her, she could not help but give it her attention. Her skin seemed to itch at different places bit by bit, and she felt too hot and too cold at the same time.
   This was frustration. But was it due to her awareness of the losses caused by blindness? The First Child clenched her teeth and did her best to think logically through this episode.
   Then she heard a new sound -- music. Sitting up, the cool breeze from the window flew through her, relaxing her nerves, or at least cooling them. She took in a deep breath, and the air tasted clean. Resting her left arm on the window sill, she turned to face outside the window, but not completely. She did her best to listen for the music, and focus on it. It must have been nearby, she could hear it so clearly now (or perhaps her hearing was simply improving?). Regardless or anything, Ayanami sat still for a time, and then rested her head into her arms, still listening as best she could. In time, she was calmly asleep.

I've been playing for Ayanami for many months now. It's something happy to do when I wander around at nights. I've been playing since I was a child, and kept practicing since I had no real reason to stop. I'm glad I did now, but I don't want Ayanami to know, not just yet. I feel confident that I'm her friend, but ... I'm just not confident enough yet. Besides, if she found out ... she might stop waiting for me in the mornings.

Shinji brought the cup of tea gently to Ayanami's hands, which lay calmly on her lap. Memories of the first time Shinji had made tea over here remained clear in her mind, and she smiled softly to herself.
   "Did you hear it last night?" Ayanami asked.
   "Eh?" Shinji asked, sitting down beside Rei. They were outside, on the roof of the beat-up complex, their feet dangling over the edge of the building.
   "The cello."
   "Oh. No," Shinji lied.
   "Whenever I feel that I am alone, it plays," she murmured, staring into her tea. "A coincidence."
   Shinji mumbled something akin to an "oh" in reply, but smiled sheepishly, staring up at the bright dusk sky. The air was warm and clearer up here. The winter was coming in, and the sight of the glowing tumultuous sky came earlier these weeks.
   "You know what Doctor Akagi says," Shinji said, leaning back slightly and resting on his elbows. "About the weather changing slowly back to normal?"
   "No," Rei replied, taking a sip of tea.
   "Well, they say," Shinji said, scratching his head, "that we might get to see seasons again one of these years. And here, we might get to see snow." Shinji looked at Rei, her eyes solemn. "Well, I hope ... I hope that you'll get your sight back in time for it." Shinji laughed a little at himself; he must have sounded pretty foolish. "Maybe, then ... maybe we'll get to see it together, then." He checked to see how the pale blue girl was reacting.
   She was smiling, a little but lucid smile.
   Shinji leaned closer to her, and whispered, "Good wish?"
   Rei nodded, "Yes." She brought one hand up to her cheek, and reached up to touch Shinji's with her other. They were warm. She brought her forehead to his. "Good wish."
   Shinji, meanwhile, found that he was just about paralyzed. His eyes searched desperately for hers, but they were cast downwards, and he could only see her eyelashes, which shifted about bit by bit. Is she crying?
   After a moment had passed, Shinji regained some control of himself. Slowly and shakily, he encased the hand on his cheek with his own, still warm. She was breathing so quietly, he could barely feel her. She was asleep.
   "Ah..."
   Shinji was not sure what he should do. Rei had an appointment with Ritsuko soon. But...
   A few more minutes passed before Shinji's wandering mind caught itself back up with the situation at hand.
   "Ah..."
   Then the alarms began to wail.

Author's note: I thought this would be about half of the fic, but I was wrong. After reworking my storyboard plans, I think this is actually about a quarter of the story, though probably a whole third of the length of the story.