invisible bonds

❝To resign oneself only to survival must feel a bit primitive at the end of the day.❞ She says it like she is separate from the equation, a mere bystander though her presence, here, should indicate otherwise. It still does not erase the reality; humanity once stood at the apex, shaping and carving the world to their will, good or bad. To find something further up the proverbial chain, something that forces them to scurry and hide in the meek attempts of only enduring, is both humbling and humiliating in equal measures.

There are some content only in this survival. There are others that believe death to be the next step, the required transformation needed to adapt. And there are others, fewer, hidden, that seek neither; fine-tuning ambitions and goals to the flourishment of their species. To embrace the pride that could come in obtaining a power just strong enough that it could even ignore what plagues humanity now, seeing them as little more than a routine adjustment in their cosmic scope.

 Quinn approaches in all shadows, watchful, and curious. ❝I hope that’s not why you’re turning to old enemies now for alliances. Survival is an instinct, sure, but grudges can run just as deep.❞

Humanity sat comfortably at the top. A life of luxury and indulgence. Then, the Angels.

"It's to be expected," he says, "with Man's fall from grace." It left him like a matter of observable fact. Like rain is wet. The snow, cold. "Even so, we remain. Humanity will be redefined by those still standing."

Here, the sound of her heels clicking against the floor. The weather report, early in the morning, gave its five-day forecast. Today: heavy rain and thunder, the barometric pressure at low. Even down in the heart of the Geofront, the distinct petrichor of a coming deluge seeps syrupy and defuses thin into the air, his joints tender sore. A low roll vibrates overhead. It has begun.

This woman, Espinosa, is the type to read the author's notes and the fine print at the bottom of a form. People, too.

Gendo Ikari isn't a book that allows for being read.

"Desire. Greed. These are things that supersede their grudge," the commander notes, his head still turned away. At last, her reflection nestles into his peripheral vision, dark and not yet familiar. It never will be. "So long as we have what they want, they'll cooperate." 

He thinks of how NERV and SEELE still need each other. Gendo's eyes, gray blue, are muddy behind his glasses. They won't need each other forever.

When we see Gendo at his youngest through a flashback in Fuyutsuki’s memories, we learn that he was troubled even before the events of Evangelion. In fact, they first met when Fuyutsuki bailed him for being involved in a bar fight, and one of the first words to leave his mouth, bruised and smiling, is that he’s used to being hated. Later on, when Yui and Fuyutsuki go hiking together, we learn something else about Gendo. He hates being alone. He's even “quite a sweet person.” Fuyutsuki certainly never saw him as sweet. No else did. But this was a side to Gendo that no one but Yui was ever able to see.

And Yui, as we know, is really the crux of Gendo’s story. In his eyes, she was the one person to love him wholly and unconditionally. He fell for her. Hard. Then she died, and with her, his only source of love and comfort. It destroyed him. 

His sense of self-worth is so low he believes he is not worthy of giving or receiving love. He’s so afraid and how he views himself is so poor he doesn’t even try.

Moving forward, Gendo ran away from everything and everyone. 

And I think a lot of people tend to forget these points even if he point-blank confesses them in EoE. Gendo is a mirror to Shinji; a glimpse of Shinji’s future if he never heals or grows. Gendo, never having had a healthy, loving relationship, finally finding it, then losing it, decided that the risk of insurmountable pain associated with getting close to another person was really too much. He abandons Shinji --- not out of hatred or indifference, but out of fear. Fear that he will hurt Shinji. Fear that Shinji will reject and hurt him. In fact, when Shinji is blindingly whisked away to NERV HQ to pilot Unit-01, is it because Gendo wants him there? No. It’s because Rei is hurt, and there is no other pilot that can effectively pilot Unit-01 in such short notice. They would have died otherwise. Gendo would have continued running from his own son if he could have. 

In a sad, terribly pitiful way, Gendo, I believe, does love or at least care for Shinji. After all, part of the reason why he avoids his son is so that he does not cause undo pain, even if the irony of it all is that avoiding him is the most painful thing he could do, anyway. In no instance does Gendo actually want Shinji to be a pilot. In fact, the moment the Dummy System is complete and Shinji announces he will no longer work with NERV (which is fair --- Gendo used Unit-01 with Shinji inside it, nearly killing Toji [or actually killing Toji in the manga]), Gendo lets him. He doesn’t even fight it. He parts with a message about how Shinji has to grow up and stop running away, but he readily lets Shinji go to be replaced by the Dummy plug. And take this as you will, but when does Gendo give the order to finally use the untested Dummy System in combat? When Shinji’s life is in absolute peril. Despite the absolute trauma he caused his son, were it not for his decision, Bardiel would have killed them all --- and his son included. He allows Shinji back, sure. At at that point, though, Unit-01 rejected the Dummy plug, Asuka was down, and Rei was without her Unit-00. Here, too, there was no other choice.  

This is becoming a long tirade, but I hope you’re picking up what I’m putting down. It’s easy to boil Gendo down to “bad dad” and “get in the robot,” but he believes he's actually protecting Shinji. It’s warped and terribly misguided, undoubtedly, but he sincerely believes that by running away, he’s doing the best thing he can do. Gendo has a great capacity to care and want to care --- though an obsession, he’s devoted a decade of his life trying to reunite with his late wife, after all. He’s just equally afraid of being and causing hurt, and this colors all of his interactions and his entire character. Gendo is the biggest coward of Evangelion.  

Side note: I find it interesting that the person he’s “closest” to ends up being Fuyutsuki. I believe it’s in part because the professor, at first, openly hated him. He knew there was no risk of getting hurt because there was no shared like or affection between each other. There was no risk. It’s safe. Of course, there’s business, practical, and personal reasons for both of them to work together, too.

Side side note: Gendo also gets rid of ALL reminders of Yui. Obviously he thinks about her all the time, but did he rid of her personal effects to avoid the pain of seeing them every day? It woudn’t be out of his character. Running away, avoiding. We know the song and dance. 

Also, in the manga, we get this scene with Gendo with a baby Shinji and I die:

Also this???

❝That sounds optimistic. Or – perhaps desperate.❞ As if they have a choice. Back to a wall, there are few options available. Of course people become desperate. Of course they resort to unsavory means. Even ones where the line between friend and foe become a little harder to differentiate. ❝I hope you’re not getting in over your head.❞

A faint crackling. The monoliths have all faded. There is only his desk now in the impenetrable black of the room and a ray of light beating down, violent white. He never meets her eyes.

I hope you're not getting in over your head. Something Fuyutsuki says. Has said. He said it about working with SEELE. From the moment he joined. Now. I hope you’re not getting in over your head.

Time drags slowly. An eternity of the stuff.

        Typical. He’s running away.

        Kaworu pauses before he follows. Not out of hesitation, but simply thought. Gendo Ikari is much more difficult to pick apart than many other Lilin, but he is still so much like his son. That is a fact. Gendo knows this, Kaworu knows he knows this, and knows that this is one of the many things that keep them apart. Terrified to feel pain. Terrified to face one another.

        “This has nothing to do with Major Katsuragi,” he replies, voice light as he finally follows after him, remaining just a few paces behind. Kaworu rolls his wrists in his pockets. The scars on his arms itch, just a bit.

        He blinks. With Gendo not looking at him, his smile falls. His expression grows indifferent, inscrutable.

        The Seventeenth Angel, the Fifth Children, holds no love for Gendo Ikari—the King of Lilin, he’s called him before, with a lethal tone that cuts like a knife. Kaworu peers up at him.

        “You are just like him,” he murmurs. “It frightens you. It angers him. Did you know that?”

        He presses more. Looks for where it hurts.

        “How well do you know your own son, Commander?”

This boy-

Gendo is silent. There is the stirring of the ventilation system. The low roll and rumble. The hum of the lights. A buzz, tucked in your skull. He does not look over to the Fifth. It either makes him look far removed, or it confirms everything he just said.

Frightens you and angers him. As though Gendo, 48 and Commander of NERV, has ever hidden in the dark, safe comfort of shadows the way a child cowers under a blanket. He remembers Shinji, then, three years old and puffy-cheeked, wiping salt tears and sniffling himself dizzy, a small duffle bag by his feet. Don’t leave me. He did. He still is. Now Shinji is fourteen, always afraid and running.

It’s better this way.

Dark red with the dull taste of disinfection. No familiar ceilings ( no matter how hard he prayed for it. today, it wasn’t just you ). He stands at a safe distance, hands tied down in freezing metal. It’s a terrible weight, ill-fitting against his form. But that’s no surprise. Blue eyes are sharp like his narrowed brows, gaze young and unflichingー it burrows into the man sitting in front of him.

And what’s the difference between that and a monster?

He’s turned him into some sick joke that’s run its course. A thing to be used: he played his part with meek and naive obedience, terribly anxious, but sometimes, slowly, hurting just a bit less. Old worries even grew to be comforting: it was fine because he was the only price. He could go on, because he’d hoped and received payoff. Rewarded for patience. Doing the things he should.

And then one day, they asked for another innocent life. Even when he’d rather die and begged, there was no trade. And there never will be. A silent funeral march, they said and did nothing in the days before.  All of them, almost everyone he knewー and it was a choice.

“I won’t ever pilot it again.” Him, too. He finally understands. There are no expectations, only tragedy.

Gendo’s thinking cannot be seen. It can be felt, though, like the feeling that comes from standing over the blinking red light of a telephone cradle, the hour late, afraid of the answer.   

“Very well,” he says.

He had expected it. This is what Shinji does. The air rattles, stills, quiets. This boy is a fragile house of cards liable to fall under so much as a whisper, and Toji’s death was a cataclysmic typhoon, record-breaking high winds. He imagines what Shinji’s life printed down into the pages of a book would read like: a novel about running away, then the sequel. Each installment the same as the last.

There will be no apology. No feigned I’m sorry. So steady, as if this isn’t about Toji; as if the feeling that it should would be some kind of mistake on Shinji’s part.

"Running away. Hiding.” He says it, distant and untouchable, like making a list. "It's a fool's errand --- to do the same thing and expect different results. It's time you learned that."

Gendo doesn’t move an inch, preternaturally still. Maybe he’s not there at all.

"I have no further use for you."

It’s red. The floor and the ceiling. The window is continuous and glowing; a darkroom without the iodide. There is a single desk in the wide expanse of nothing and a shadow sits there, its glasses gleaming like the taillights of a car, only it does not veer away even if Shinji, bony and forever folded in on himself, may wish for nothing more. The air tastes disinfected. Like a hospital.

Toji Suzuhara, 14. I’ll be the Fourth if you promise to take care of my sister. His sister is an only child, now.

"I expected better from you," the shadow continues.

What's that sound? A perpetual hum, so low it might not be there at all. An air unit, maybe, or the buzzing in your ears. There is nothing between them save for the red and silence, the years they can’t make up for. He never unfolds his hands. "If you have something to say, say it now."

        He’s been waiting for him.

        Calmly, patiently, as always. Hands settled in his pockets and his shoulders rolled back, body language relaxed and open. Kaworu had spoken to Shinji already. Gentle poking and prodding. Feather-light touches. A smile, achingly soft and a tender declaration: I’m saying, I love you.

        He’d spoken to Rei. You’re the same as I am. A seed bound to a Lilin vessel. Adam screamed and clawed at his insides when he saw her.

        However, he hasn’t really stopped to speak with anyone else. Not until now. Kaworu had walked quietly through the headquarters, barely giving any thought to the men and women he passes. They whisper about him. What a pretty face, they say. But so mysterious.

        In awe of how he effortlessly synced with the Eva. A seemingly perfect replacement for the catatonic Second Child.

        For now.

        Gendo Ikari steps out of the elevator and Kaworu meets his gaze without flinching. His smile remains in place, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. The man is stone-faced and silent, but Kaworu can see a heart as fragile as the heart of the boy he loves.

        They’re just like one another. It’s no wonder they clash.

        “Commander Ikari,” he greets, pleasant and casual as you please. “Do you have a moment?”

        He doesn’t wait for a response, and he doesn’t beat around the bush.

        “I’ve spoken with your son.”

A whir of the elevator. Humming. It slides away.

‘What did you talk about?’ Any father would have asked this, the thought unconsciously done and instinctual. A child tugging cheek-stained at the end of your sleeve.

‘First Lieutenant Maya Ibuki, please report immediately to Doctor Ritsuko Akagi.' The intercom crackles again. 'I repeat: First Lieutenant Maya Ibuki...’

"---I see."

The boy’s smile is a mile wide and box-cutter thin. They are both used to it: finding what they want. This child knows people by a glance, knows with a bat of his eyes their past and present and not-too-distant future, but Gendo Ikari's face is a book blank-white in correction fluid, one hand balled loose inside his pocket. This boy wants something. SEELE wants something, too. 

She is waiting not far from here, just within reach. Gendo’s glasses shine and his eyes are gone. “You will direct this concern to Major Katsuragi.”

He walks and theorizes another pair of footsteps will fall into place beside him --- the Fifth has not found what he wants yet.

His footsteps are a clock. A click of his heels, then another. Always even intervals. The smell is still there, too: sterile and the two-swipe scrub of alcohol swabs before a shot, isopropyl sharp and cold. He's seen Rei.

In the hallway, a woman stiffens at the sight of him and chokes on the word 'sir.' He doesn't know her name, doesn't know any of them --- they are there and he is here, always, faraway and unreachable. He says nothing and sees her shoulders droop with relief on the pane of a vending machine the moment he passes. Good.

Gendo steps inside an elevator. Bleary green, the numbers counting up, and the door hisses open. 

Outside, the Fifth Child. He knows. A perfect sync with Unit-02, its core unchanged, and sent by SEELE. A perpetual smile and cherry red eyes. Something prods at his brain --- the unknowable, the y in the equation, the when. This boy made contact with Rei.