For a moment, there's silence as she listens to him and feels the resignation and the sense of defeat and (for just a moment) she's worried she might have pushed too much (but she can't, it should be about her, it's always about her, it has to be about her, because if it isn't, then she's worthless-) but when his voice comes, she can feel the tension drain away and she feels tired. More tired than she has a right to be, but she's exhausted. She doesn't want to spend any more nights on a borrowed bed, staring at the ceiling as she tries to put the pieces of the fractured, perfect, fake life she's created in Iwatodai back together.

She doesn't want to do it again. She doesn't want to wonder if she's being cast aside. She wants to be able to ignore the voice in her head that tells her that she's nothing and she's being treated like nothing (because it's what she deserves). She lets her shoulders slump and she finally relaxes (sort of) and slumps against Kaworu's side. She swallows and for a moment she's afraid she might cry, but then the moment passes and she's back in control. As much control as she ever has, anyway.

What else is there? What else does she really have?

"Thanks, Kaworu."

Her hand tightens on his again. A reaffirmation that he's here and that she cares about him and that everything, everything is going to be OK.

It's a wonderful lie.