Hiding away and pretending nothing hurts isn't the same as surviving. Misato believes that to cope means to expose one's scars to the sun, study its crooked surfaces without flinching, throw rubbing alcohol on one's wounds and feel the burn without turning one's mind away. A sort of exorcism. She is forever running toward what hurts in an attempt to defeat it, conquer it, tame it.

But who is she kidding? That, too, is a form of running away.

In the silence that stretches between her words and Asuka's, she can hear the quiet rustling of sheets in one of the rooms. See the home she has built: one full of sleepless minds, restless souls.

"I do, huh?"

There's no challenge in her voice. Just admission. It's true. To stop wanting is to stop living, to stop striving means to give up. She can't bear the idea of not wanting something, even if it's only to decide to want it. The feeling comes later. It's the principle of heading somewhere and not standing in place. Only dead fish swim downstream.

"You're right," when she means: you're right, you know, Asuka, about my contrived life and about not caring and about using people only as tools. "Maybe-- I feel a little lonely tonight. Is it alright if I stay here for a bit?"