Cold

By: Dreiser

	I suddenly pause in my walk as I enter the bath house. It's 
completely empty. Except for her. It figures. Everywhere I go she's 
manages to be there.
	Headquarters. She's there. Training. She's there. School. She's 
there. Home. 
	Well... she's hardly ever there but I bet she wishes that she 
was there more often.
	I decide to suck it up and I perform my usual confident flounce 
as I submerge myself into the hot water of the bath.
	"Guten morgen."
	Now look, that was a perfectly nice greeting and what's her 
reaction to it? Nothing. Zip. Nada. Zil--
	"Good morning."
	I blink at this. Did she just talk to me? She never talks to me. 
Perhaps sensing my surprise she turns my way and for once her eyes 
don't have that apathetic quality that so reminds me of my Mother.
	My Mother and her dolls.
	And those dead black eyes the dolls had. Instead I note that 
her eyes seem to flicker with restrained humor.
	"What? What's so funny?"
	"Nothing."
	Her voice remains in the same soft tones as always but this 
time I can hear the slightest lilt. It's almost playful. This discovery 
disturbs me almost as much as seeing emotion behind her eyes. As 
long as I've known her she's been the same as those cold unfeeling 
dolls my Mother had.
	For some reason I liked that.
	I relished in the fact that she was like the dolls because if she 
was like them that meant that I didn't have to be. I can still remember 
the mad rants of my Mother... calling those dolls by my name. Treating 
them as if they were me and treating me as if I were them. All my life 
that's what I've rebelled against. I refuse to be the emotionless doll my 
Mother wanted.
	But her... she was the doll for me. She was the unfeeling 
creature in my place. And not once has she ever shown a hint of 
human emotion towards me.
	Until now.
	"What's wrong?"
	Slowly I turn her way and I stare at her creamy skin. That was 
the thing that struck me about her when we first met. Her skin... white 
and delicate like a porcelain doll. There is a timeless grace in her frame 
that reminds me of the old Greek statues we've studied in school. To 
me her beauty is cold and intimidating.
	Her eyes are now looking at me with concern and it's more 
than I can fathom. It isn't supposed to be this way. She's like those 
dolls that my Mother had.
	Dolls don't have emotions. Dolls don't show concern. Dolls 
don't ask what's wrong.
	But if she isn't truly one of those dolls then why did she act like 
them before? Why did she treat me the same as my Mother had?
	"Asuka?"
	"I'm fine. Just thinking, that's all."
	"Oh."
	She turns away from me and walks smoothly out of the bath to 
sit on a stool as she begins washing her hair. She's not my Mother. I 
know this quite well but the similarities between them are frightening. I 
watch her for a moment and before I know it I'm asking her the 
question that I've longed to voice. If I can't ask my Mother I'll ask her. 
	"Do you care... about me?"
	A lump forms in my throat as she slowly lifts up a bucket of 
water to wash the shampoo out of her hair. My body is frozen and my 
heart is pounding a mile a minute. Already I regret my question.
	"Of course."
	Her response is clipped as always but instead of returning to 
washing her hair she turns my way and gives me a close study.
	"Why did you ask me that?"
	"I... I don't know. I mean. I know you care about the 
Commander but..."
	My mind runs out of words and I instinctively return to the one 
thing that has always been my comfort in times of frustration like this.
	I began spewing vulgarities in German.
	"That's your answer?"
	Once again there's humor in her voice. I scowl at this and 
prepare to give her a rude retort but before I can she's on her feet 
again. In a smooth steady pace she walks towards me and lowers 
herself into the water to stand across from me.
	I'm frozen with... fear, anticipation, dread? I'm not sure what 
but I'm frozen nonetheless. She stops only inches away from me and 
tilts her head to one side then studies me closely. I feel like a trapped 
animal and I desperately want to escape.
	"Why did you ask me that?"
	She repeats the question in her same soft tones but this time 
there's steel laced behind her words. I wince upon hearing it and avert 
my eyes from her seeking gaze.
	"I don't know. I just had to ask you. That's all. You're kind of 
a hard person to read and I didn't know if... if you felt anything for me. 
I sometimes feel like I could die and you wouldn't even notice."
	"I would notice. I always notice you."
	My heart stops on hearing this.
	"You do?"
	"Of course. You're difficult to ignore."
	Again the humor resurfaces and I smile before I can help it. 
Much to my surprise she returns the smile. It's smaller and more 
restrained but still, it's a smile.
	She suddenly moves forward and my heart leaps at the 
gesture. Is she going to...?
	When she walks past me and out of the bath I'm not sure if I'm 
feeling disappointment or relief. I watch unabashedly as she dresses. 
She walks to the door to the bath and I half expect her to walk out 
without saying so much as a goodbye. After all, that's how it always is. 
Why should this change anything?
	"Asuka."
	I lift my eyes on hearing my name. Her back is facing me and 
she's paused in the doorway.
	"I've always cared for you."
	Frozen I watch as she walks away from me and out of the 
bath house. Slowly a smile spreads across my features as I sink into 
the steaming water.
	"Thank you Rei."

-End-

Both characters in this fanfiction are from Neon Genesis Evangelion 
whose creators have plans far too lofty for a mortal like me to ever 
fully comprehend. I didn't listen to a song to inspire this piece of 
weirdness. I was just sitting at my drawing table sketching when I 
paused to look at this picture of Rei that had her staring ahead with 
that dead look in her eyes. This is the result because I really did 
wonder... does Rei care about Asuka? Does she care about anyone? 
If so, why? She's not cared for herself, she's used over and over again 
for other people's needs. Ah well, I need to stop thinking and start 
doing my homework.

Send comments to: Dreiser1@ix.netcom.com

"And I said you don't need my voice girl, you've got your own."
-Tori Amos-