[ No one will ever love you for everything you are, when the mind's eye leaves out details in hopes of creating a coherent idea of the other. When a person is anything but coherent. To hear him say the words -- the words she can't say -- is to hear a promise from the one who has most diligently collected the pieces to grasp at the shape of her, only to find that even he leaves out the parts he can't swallow: her shame and weakness, her as anything but the epitome of animus. Her as action, her as the unstoppable force. All this sadness built upon a lie of ever knowing anyone or having them know you, and yet, maybe it proves him right and proves him wrong, that the cold hands wrapped around her heart only prompt her to challenge it. Let him see, and judge for himself.

Misato removes her hand from his neck to lift his face, a firm and precise maneuvering to allow her to unfold her legs. If it so requires him rising to her height, or her stooping to his depth, then the choice is clear. She slips into what little space is afforded between him and the bed, knees on the floor, an arm looped about his neck like a brace. She speaks most urgently with her lips against his cheek, right by his ear, each voiced vowel and each muted sob sending shivers through his hair. ]

Listen to me then: the truth you've been looking for, I've found it. I have it here with me. [ If her mind now betrays the faintest trace of victory, it is only a vain attempt to soften the landing. She grips him tighter, afraid of the fall. ] But I ran out of time, I couldn't stop any of it. It's all as you predicted, the Instrumentality, the Eva series, everything-- so see, you're here now, you can figure out a way to turn it back. I couldn't do it, but you can.

[ It's an unfair request, hinging on the unspoken do this for me, the adjoining if you love me trailing close behind. ]