Rei Ayanami: - Fallen Angel
Chapter 9 - Vicarious

By David 'Psaiyan' Hawthorne

"If I cannot be yours... I would rather be nothing."

Rei's last coherent sentence to Gendo before the darkness had claimed her.

Her words reverberated inside his skull as he sat in his leather armchair, hands steepled before him, watching over her as she lay upon the sofa opposite. Her breathing was shallow, her heartbeat rapid, fluttering beneath her ribs like a trapped bird.

The purple welt on her jaw stood out in stark contrast to her pale skin, which had taken on a distinctly deathlike pallor. Her bottom lip was swollen and blackened with an encrusting of dried blood. The actions of his own hands. The sickening vandalism of his own, most perfect work. An outside observer to Rei Ayanami's internal battle against the depressant chemicals within her own bloodstream, Gendo felt as powerless as he could ever remember, at least since Yui had been taken away...

The urge to smash his head repeatedly against the wall was overpowering. He had paced backwards and forwards swearing and cursing, clawing at his eyes with his fingernails. How could he have been so stupid, so irresponsible?


He was as scared for himself as he was for Rei.

Even as the Supreme Commander of NERV, he doubted that he would be able to explain away her injuries and drugged state as an accident if he were to take her to Tokyo-3 General Hospital. Too many questions...

Taking Rei to NERV's own medical facilities was out of the question. People, colleagues, subordinates would talk. Too many rumours...

Ritsuko's house? No, he couldn't do that. She would forever think of him as a child abuser, a threat to women. Too many things would change...

He had screamed her name over and over, shaking her still body violently. The empty bottle beside her on the floor had told him everything he needed to know.

Rei's pale, blood-streaked vomit sloshed noisily into the toilet bowl. He had forced her to drink three pints of warm salt water, then slid his fingers into the back of her throat, rubbing her back as she retched over and over again. She groaned deliriously as her body was wracked with agonising dry heaves, before slumping face-first upon the tiles, trembling like a leaf in a pool of her own bile and stomach acids.

Tens of small blue tablets floated amongst the regurgitated mess. Gendo slid down the wall into a sitting position, the cool ceramic against his back. He panted for breath, sweat issuing forth from his every pore. He grasped hold of Rei's waist and rolled her onto her back. Supporting her neck and shoulders, he cradled her in his arms, rocking her back and forth. He began to sob uncontrollably.


Those words... those filthy sexual words... coming from *her* mouth...

This was not how she was meant to be. He had panicked, lost his head. He just wanted her to stop talking like a common slut, to stop betraying his memories of *her*.

He had lashed out, again and again - and again. He had driven her to this.

Now, he wished that he could hear her voice just once more.


He wanted her so badly that it hurt. After all this time, living in the same house as a woman again had resurrected certain feelings within him. A few short months ago, he thought of Rei as a commodity, of more value to him than the pilot of Unit-01 or that obnoxious German girl, but a commodity nonetheless.

He was interested in her. He had watched her grow, had overseen her development. He had taken some pride in his work. He had been the one to name her, and had a hands-on role in her education. He had always assumed that Rei saw him as a father figure, a teacher. He did not understand how such a ripe, beautiful young woman could ever harbour such feelings towards him. It had only happened to him once before in his life and he still found it difficult accept even this event.

Could it be that somewhere deep inside Rei Ayanami, *she* still lived? A spark, a dying ember, the faintest shadow of *her* within the depths of the soul he had created? Something which had unconsciously directed Rei's feelings? Could it be that this was some sort of vicarious love, the repeating of history? As a scientist, the idea was preposterous to him, yet he could not completely place it out of mind.

Every night as he lay in bed, surrounded by an alcoholic haze, he thought of Rei. She was so close to him - resting just one room away, her soft blue hair partially covering her face - her long smooth legs - her toned calves - the gentle swell of her hips - her slim waist, her large, soft, round, yet perky breasts, capped with those beautiful coral pink nipples...

He wanted to feel her warmth, to explore every inch of her body with his fingers and tongue, to run his hands over those fabulous curves, to feel her firm, youthful skin respond to his touch. He imagined kissing her deeply for hours, wondering how good her mouth would taste as he explored it with his tongue, his saliva mingling with hers.

He wanted to suckle noisily on those perfect nipples, to run his face between the soft valley between her heaving breasts. He imagined giving them extra special attention, playing with them for hours as he continued to kiss her.

The thought of her warm, sopping wet, velvety snatch drove him to distraction. He wanted to experience this most of all. Her slowly trickling love juices, the fresh scent of her arousal (as opposed to the experience of masturbating with her panties), the pink womanly folds of her delicate flower accepting him into her. The slickness of her sugar walls surrounding him, enveloping him, manipulating him, squeezing, teasing him on to new levels of excitement.

Sometimes he wanted to forget the pain. To be wanted by another, if only in a physical sense, to place his burden aside for a short time and seek solace in animal lust. He desired the warmth of her supple young body against his, to feel her azure locks brushing against his chest, to be able to rub his arousal against her leg as she dozed in his arms, to smell himself on her body and to smell her body on himself. He found himself roughly jerking off thinking about her every evening before he allowed himself to sleep.


Now he sat and watched Rei Ayanami fight for life.

It was all his fault. His own handiwork, his own cowardice, the fear of his own sexual feelings; it disgusted him utterly.

"You want to *fuck* her, don't you?"

"You cannot defile the embodiment of your memories, can you?"

Two parallel voices. One body. The battle of reason and desire.

Gendo draped a duvet over Rei's still form, gently tucking the corners around her shoulders. He placed his hand flat against her forehead. She was so cold. He stroked her hair tenderly.

Pulling his armchair across the floor, positioning it beside the sofa, he took hold of Rei's slim, fragile hand in his own. Lowering his head, he made a silent prayer to all the gods that be that he had managed to reach her in time, that she would be strong, that he would see those sparkling albino eyes once again.

For the first time in ten years, Gendo Ikari wept for his grief and sorrow, tears burning hotly in his eyes as his wide shoulders heaved with sobs.