Within the American sub-division of NERV HQ, there had been a surgical suite assembled to Dr. Colin's rabid, insistent, and aggravating demands. It had been filled with a series of cooling units that had passed through NERV Security by way of diplomatic seal: there had been no search, and their contents remained unknown. This had irked Security greatly, which had insisted that all items brought through be given thorough inspections. Dr. Colin, in the end, had his way, citing labyrinthine regulations and stipulations concerning the nature of medical equipment, classified secrets, and at one point, record copyright law. In the end, his presence proved odious enough that Security simply rubber-stamped his equipment to be rid of the man. They settled for simply beefing up all physical security measures to that corner of the base: should the man attempt to detonate something within one of his containers, or release a nerve agent, or anything of the like, they would seal the whole area and flood it with Bakelite. That was their consolation.

That being said, the suite was state-of-the-art, with the latest in medical support equipment. And the coolers. The lines of coolers. Colin had been insistent in their installation, oversaw every detail and harassed every worker until they were finally in place. There had been rumors as to what the coolers contained, but no actual facts. Knowing Colin was enough: it would be best for everyone's health to ignore whatever was in those coolers.

Colin was already in the surgical suite when a pair of soldiers brought Samson. The boy had to be wheeled in: he was conscious but unable to move under his own power. One of his pupils had begun to dilate, but other than that, he seemed no worse for wear. As Miles escorted the soldiers out, and sealed the doors, Colin removed Samson's Plug Suit to probe for any other injuries.

"Hello, Dr. Colin," the boy said. "I was in a bit of a fight."

"Miles," Colin said, ignoring the comment. "I need a Yellow." Miles went to a corner of the cold room, near one of several large coolers. He opened one of the smaller ones, and retrieved a case.

Within the case were a series of filled vials, each set with a row marked with colored tape. There were blue, red, green, yellow, black and white. Miles retrieved one of the yellow ones, and handed it to Colin. The doctor inserted it into a pneumatic syringe. Colin placed the device against Samson's neck and pressed the trigger. There was a hiss, and the empty vial ejected like a spent shell casing. Slowly, Samson's eyes went watery, glassy. They peered away into some distant place only he could see.

"All right. Samson, I need to ask you a series of questions."

"Yes, Dr. Colin."

"Are you a punctual and reliable person?"

"Yes."

"Do you like to relax in a warm and family atmosphere?"

"Yes."

"Do you often contemplate the complexity of life?"

"No."

"Do you know how to put every minute of your time to good use?"

"Yes."

The nature of the questions was a holdover of the previous program, when units involved were not meant to be self-sufficient, nor act on any form of initiative. To be frank, it was dangerous to allow Samson as much leeway as he had. It would have been more dangerous in the long run to hold him on too tight a leash, however, and thus he was allowed his freedom of movement.

Still, the need to bring him down to a placid and languid state was necessary. And thus, the questions. Colin had no doubt that Samson had no concept of a "warm and family" setting, and it was almost certain that the boy pondered "the complexity of life" from time to time. Regardless, in order to perform any sort of maintenance, Samson needed to be docile. This was the best indication of it.

Satisfied with the answers, Colin decided to get into the business of repairing the boy. "Samson! Can you move your fingers?" Colin asked. Obediently, the vacant Samson attempted to carry out the command. The little finger on Samson's right hand twitched and did no more. The fingers on the left hand remained motionless. Colin poked at the elbows.

"I'm going to go with complete fragmentation of the bones in the synovial hinge joint, with possible tearing of the tissues and ligaments surrounding it," Colin said. "We could determine more with an x-ray, but frankly…" he shrugged.

"Should we attempt reconstruction?" Miles asked.

"No," Colin said. "It'll take too long…better to just cut them off." He poked at the other elbow, and nodded. "Yeah. Complete amputation."

"Removal at the shoulder then? Out of the socket?"

"We have the spares," Colin murmured. "We might as well make use of them." His assistant nodded, and walked to one of the coolers. Opening the container, he reached down and retrieved two bags filled with a pink, viscous fluid. Floating in the fluid, almost rubbery in their nerveless storage, were two complete arms, a left and a right one, both terminating slightly past the shoulder.

"What about the detached vertebra?"

"We're lucky it was just dislocated and not outright broken," Colin noted. "The nerve stems will reattach parallel to the limb bonding. I'd say use two of the Blues. That should speed up the collagen replacement."

"How long would that take?" Miles wondered. He had retrieved an electric bone saw from one of the storage lockers, and was plugging it into a socket below the table.

"At the most? Three hours."

"It can work that fast?" the assistant gasped, unable to hide the shock in his voice.

"For him," Colin explained, patting Samson roughly on the head. "He's not built like you and me, Miles. He's different on the molecular level, mind you. Take the Greens, for instance. Inject him, and he's ready for a night out on the town with a grenade and two knives. Inject one of us, and it's a race between what kills us first: our hearts exploding, our brains hemorrhaging, or our spines breaking." Miles studied Samson, suppressing a shudder at the thought. Miles was not finished. "Hell, one of the Blues would overclock our immune systems to the point that everything inside would be a threat. Our own white blood cells would destroy anything they came in contact with, and tissue regeneration would go haywire. You'd be a pathetic, sloppy mass of tumors by the time you were finished dying."

Miles had turned pale, and felt the need to re-divert the conversation. "So…that's why we don't need to knock him out for this?" As he asked, he traced a quick line for cutting across the boy's left shoulder using a marker.

"Nope," Colin said. "It's pointless, unnecessary, generally a waste of time. He doesn't feel pain the same way. Just get him counting backwards from ninety-nine and cut when you can."

"Um…yes, sir," Miles stammered. He retrieved a clear face-plate from another locker, and placed it on his head. He then returned to the table, and leaned over the boy. "Samson?"

"Yes," the distant voice mumbled.

"I need you to count backwards from ninety-nine," Miles asked. "Begin when ready."

"Ninety-nine…ninety-eight…ninety-seven…." As Samson continued to count, his eyes glazed even more, shifting in consistency from watery eyes to blank doll's eyes. Miles revved the saw to full rotation, and then lowered the blade until he made contact with tissue. Samson barely acknowledged the sound and sensation of the cutting, save for his eyes winking shut as red splattered his face.

"Ninety…eighty-nine…eighty-eight…" he continued to chant, serenity in his voice.

When Shinji's eyes fluttered open, he beheld white. White light, fuzzy and pressing on his brain and making his eyes tear. Slowly, he focused on the ceiling. The ceiling was familiar. He had been in this room before. He hated this room.

His mouth felt full, and his nose throbbed. He tried to move his hands, but they felt heavy and far away. He tried to speak, but it felt like there was something in his throat. Strangely, he felt unconcerned about that. No panic, no fear. There was something in his throat. That was all, that was that, that was fine. Fine, fine, fine. He was fine.

He was aware that his right hand felt odd, as though there was pressure on it. Slowly, his head turned that way, and perceived Misato slumped on the bed, asleep. One of her hands gripped his tightly, even in slumber. He tried to speak again, but could only gurgle.

Misato inhaled sharply, slowly coming awake. She sat up, confused and bleary eyed, and examined the room. She turned toward him, squinting. Shinji tried to lift his hand again, and failed again. A look of realization came over Misato's face, and her eyes widened.

"Oh, God, Shinji!" she gasped, her eyes turning watery. "You're awake! Don't move, I…I need to get a doctor." She stood up quickly, squeezing his hand tightly before moving out of his vision. He tried to follow her with his eyes, but it was so difficult to move. Sensation became a foreign concept to him, as strangers came and went from his vision. They were like shadows, intruding upon his mind and leaving dust and cobwebs in their wake. Darkness came, and went. Light returned. When he woke up, he didn't see Misato this time. He felt scared, and tried to call out. He could speak this time: the cloying presence in his throat had been removed.

"Mm..mmm…Meee…sah…to," he croaked. He felt his heart beginning to race, and he didn't know why. He was scared.

"Shinji," he heard a whisper from the left. Misato appeared in his field of view again, looking sleepy. "Shinji, I'm here. Are you okay?"

"Mmm…" he mumbled. His vision became quite clear, and he focused intently on Misato's face. She looked exhausted. He felt her hands curl around his left hand, and his shivering fingers tightened. What had happened? Why was he here?

"You gave us quite a scare," Misato said through a hollow smile. "Frankly, it's amazing you came out in as good condition as you did. You hit some trees on the way down. They slowed your rate of descent just enough, but…God, Shinji. God." She was starting to cry, and he didn't understand why. It made him want to cry, too. "I don't know how you didn't break anything. Rei was hurt so bad, Asuka's still out. Samson is fine, Samson is always fine…." She shook her head. There was something bitter in the way she said it. "I can't believe you made it out of there."

"What…happened?" he croaked.

"Your…Plug was ejected. By Unit-01. We're still trying to determine what happened, but…um…you came down pretty hard. Your Plug had been cracked open when the recovery teams found you. You were in unconscious, Shinji. It was…" She shuddered, and he suddenly whimpered. She had squeezed his hand so hard. She swallowed, relieving the tension. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I was…afraid that…nothing. Never mind. I'm just glad you woke up."

"Asuka's…what about…Asuka?" Shinji croaked.

"She's back. She made it out of the Sea of Dirac, and she's…alive. She was suffering from serious oxygen deprivation, though. The medical staff here is…amazed, really…that she didn't suffer brain death. They aren't sure she hasn't suffered…um…permanent…debilitation, from the…." Shinji began to cry, and Misato clamped her mouth shut. "She's still sleeping, Shinji, she'll probably be asleep for a while. There's no reason to fear, yet," Misato tried to assure him. Snuffling, he turned away.

"Rei is hurt, too?" he whispered.

"Yes, but she's conscious and moving," Misato said quickly. "We shut down her Plug when she was hit. Most of the injuries were to her upper torso. She's fine, Shinji. She'll recover before you guys do!" She forced some cheerfulness into the words, but Shinji felt drained and empty.

"I…tried to save her," he moaned. "Asuka…I…I didn't let go! It just…"

"Shinji, I know. We all know, we saw. You tried to save her," Misato assured, brushing at his hair with her fingers. "You did very well out there, okay? Very well. It was just something that happened. The cable breaking wasn't your fault."

"I wanted to save her so badly. I couldn't, Misato! I couldn't!"

"Nobody was saying you could," Misato insisted, but Shinji had drifted away from her, locked into his memories of the moment. He couldn't remember the fight with the other Angel, he couldn't even remember the fall that had put him here. He remembered Asuka. He remembered her terror. It was very clear in his mind. It was the kind of terror he had felt the first few times he had gotten into the Plug, the first few times he had Piloted Unit-01.

He still felt that terror. It ate at him.

Misato's perfume filled his nostrils, and he felt warmth as the woman leaned over. Her hair brushed at his face, and he felt her lips on his temple. "Get some rest, Shinji," she whispered. "I'm very proud of you." He swallowed, and began to cry even more. He didn't know why, but all he felt he could do was cry right now.

As soon as Misato entered the hallway, she wiped convulsively at her lips. His skin had been so cold, so clammy. It was like kissing a dead thing. It had reminded her how close to death Shinji had been, how that was her fault. It was her fault, wasn't it? In the end, he was there because she kept putting him there. Kissing him had reminded her of that. She closed her eyes, warding off the feelings of guilt and loathing that ate at her. She wanted to run. She wouldn't, but God, how she wanted to.

"He's awake, I hear." Misato glanced to her left. The Fourth Child stood in comfortable clothes, his hands stuffed in his pockets. He looked bored. She narrowed her eyes. She had heard the reports from the recovery teams on site, before the Americans had whisked him away. Before Dr. Colin got his clutches on him. The reported injuries had been few but definitive. How was it he was up and walking around right now?

"He's awake," Misato confirmed. "But resting. You should come back later."

"I can wait," Samson said, indifferently. "How's German?" When Misato did not answer, Samson sniffed indignantly. "Asuka?" he corrected.

"Still unconscious. Under close observation," Misato replied. She didn't know why, but she felt that it was incredibly important to mention that to Samson. He smiled, but his eyes narrowed.

"I bet she's in trouble. For nearly losing Unit-02. Am I right?"

"I want to talk to you about that little exchange you two had before she took point," Misato said, quietly.

"I'm sorry?" Samson asked.

"You know damned well what I'm talking about!" Misato snapped. She swallowed, boxing her temper down again. "I reviewed the comm logs in Unit-02. You were saying some things to Asuka that were provocative, to say the least."

"Provocative?" Samson said the weird as though it was new to him, something he had just learned in that moment. It seemed to roll around inside his mouth, as though he didn't like the taste of it. "It would feel like anything said to her would be…provocative."

"I find it hard to think that someone like you would fail to realize the sensitivity of the issues you raised. The jab about her mother, specifically…." Misato crossed her arms and dared Samson to say anything at all about that.

To her surprise, he smiled. It was the kind of expression among friends, when a shared secret had been discovered. Misato's mouth dropped open at the expression. What he said next appalled her.

"That did rile her a bit, didn't it? The effect was more than even I could have hoped for."

Misato practically stomped over to the boy and thrust her face into his. Samson was tall for his age, but Misato still had height on him, and she used it for all it was worth…which admittedly was not much. Samson didn't register any sort of submission or intidimidation.

"Are you," she growled, "insinuating that you deliberately attempted to goad Asuka into some sort of action? An action that could have resulted in her injury or death?"

"Why…Misato—"

"Major. I have that rank, and I will hear it from you, Captain."

"And I thought all the Pilots and Ops were friends. This commission does prove a burden at times," he mumbled. "Well…ma'am…what you've just suggested would be unthinkable. That would mean active attempts by your American allies to sabotage efforts here at Nerv. Anybody could be a saboteur or worse…your entire Ops section would become a hall of mirrors, wouldn't it?"

Misato started to reply, but the word garbled in her throat, producing a strangled sound. What was this? Was he trying to provoke distrust between the Americans and Japanese? Admittedly, things had been awkward on their first arrival, but the natural charm of individuals like Ennis and Cooper had done a lot to smooth that over. More to the point, the Americans had made a good point of staying the hell out of things, and Misato liked that.

Was that natural charm, then, something that was deliberately being played against her? To her frustration, she found herself second guessing all good interactions between her and the American contingent. Why would Samson provoke that?

"And," Samson sniffed, "if you think that there's some issue with my behavior, why bring it up to me? I fall under Maj. Ennis, don't I?"

"You fall where I tell you to fall," Misato snapped, back in the moment. "The operational authority in this base falls to me, then Vice-Commander Fuyutsuki, then to Commander Ikari, and there is no other chain of command. Is that clear enough for you?"

"Except when Dr. Akagi steps in, yes?"

"How did you—" Misato gasped, then shut up. His cat-like smirk and almost shy glance away told a lot. Because he wanted it to tell a lot. Samson did not know about Ritsuko's attempt to take over Unit-02's recovery operations. No one did. He had observed the two of them and made a guess. And Misato had confirmed it. As if to rub the point in, he hummed.

"So…the doctor attempted to push herself into the game recently?" He rubbed his eyes, a strangely elderly gesture, something that made him look deceptively older. "What did she do? Try to take charge of Unit-01? Insist on NERV taking the sole recovery of Grendel? Maybe something to do with the previous angel, and the Sea of Dirac? That would hold a lot of interest for a scientist…"

Misato grabbed the boy's shirt front, and tried to lift him. He was very heavy, but Misato was stronger than she looked, and adrenaline accounted for a lot. She managed to hoist him onto the balls of his feet. "I don't know what game you're playing, but I won't be a part of it. I'm not a piece on a board, and neither are my Pilots!" she hissed.

Samson's face had gone flat, almost bored. His pupils dilated, and for a moment, Misato had the sensation of poking a hornet's nest. Then, in an almost gentle tone, Samson said, "This is presenting a sight to see. Misato Katsuragi, Director of Operations, physically assaulting the Pilot of the American mission. And so soon after promotion to Major. Is this the sort of thing you want people discussing after work?"

"If I find out that you have done anything else to manipulate or goad one of my Pilots into dangerous action, what people will be talking about might be the least of your concerns."

"Why not say my Children? That would have more of an edge to it, I think." Misato considered that, oddly enough, and it did wonders for calming her rage, if not her anger. What an odd thing to cut through her haze….

"You stay away from them. Off-hours, you are forbidden from associating with—"

"You know what that'll do, right?" he cut in. She wanted scream at him for interrupting, but the pitch of his voice was such that it compelled her to listen. "Shinji has come out of his shell a lot. I like the kid, I really do. I want what's best for him, and so do you. Cut that off, and what happens? How much do you think he'll resent you for limiting his interactions with friends?"

"Just you," she grated, but the thought appalled her. Could Shinji resent her for that? She would labor through it, because things that needed doing had to be done. At her core, though, Misato knew she was a coward, and the idea of Shinji actively despising her touched a raw nerve.

"Would he see it that way?" Samson asked. "You already have him collared."

"…You're good," she admitted. "I don't know what they did to make you like you are, but they did it well. Makes me afraid to think if they did the same to more."

"I am one of a kind," he said, grinning. This close, it gave Misato the mental image of a dog with too many teeth. "First and only."

"Major!"

Misato snapped her head to the right. Ennis stood twenty feet away, motionless and terse. Rather than release Samson, Misato felt her fingers tighten even more. "I was here," Ennis said, "to check up on your Pilots. They took a beating today, and I wanted to give my regards." He said nothing else, but crossed his arms. Misato found herself unwilling to let go of Samson, as though it would allow him free rein. She turned back to him.

"We'll discuss this later," she said. "In the meantime…." She trailed off, unwilling to enforce the ban she had just made. His expression made her unwilling to push the issue, and she hated him for it. She knew that he was trouble. He had gone out of his way to push it in her face, and he had done such a clever job of pushing her buttons. At the same time, she also knew that Shinji was making progress, and this was a Shinji they needed as a Pilot. Samson may or may not have had something to do with that.

And she had already pushed her luck with the kids as it was.

"In the meantime," Samson agreed, and she let go of his shirt. She sniffed, and glanced away from Ennis. She almost bit her tongue; Kaji had been standing no more than fifteen feet away, watching the ordeal and doing nothing. Feeling the blood drain from her face, she whirled and stalked away in the opposite direction, almost bull-rushing Ennis. The officer allowed her to pass, observed Samson and Kaji for just a brief moment, and then followed after Misato.

Samson watched his superiors leave, not bothering to straighten his rumpled shirt. He turned back to the newcomer, wheeling like a machine. Kaji felt his mind twitch a little, an instinctive fight-or-flight response. That, in and of itself, triggered a strange little chuckle in the dark corner of his brain. It was a default reaction to things that threatened him: to be amused. It was always amusing to discover new challenges.

"You are Ryoji Kaji," he said. It wasn't a greeting so much as a statement of fact. Kaji, for his part, simply smirked.

"And you have pissed off Misato Katsuragi. That doesn't say too much about your intelligence."

"It's interesting that I know so little about you," Samson noted.

"It is," Kaji admitted, but said no more.

"Aren't you supposed to be the Second Child's handler? Why is it that she lives with Misato?"

"I thought she wanted you to call her Major," Kaji teased. "I'm not one to tattle, but she seemed insistent on it."

Samson said nothing, and the silence lingered. Finally, he suggested, "No one says anything about a boy living with Misato, but I feel there would be questions about you living with Asuka. Is that true?"

"You make a lot of assumptions, and you have no tact," Kaji sighed, almost sadly. "It makes the game dull."

"She throws herself at you. She do that sort of thing often?" Something about the question made Kaji feel defensive, but he was an expert at this sort of game.

"Why, Samson, I think you may be interested in the girl. Sort of like a boy throwing punches because he doesn't know how to express interest. Is that what I'm seeing?"

"I was wondering if she was a slut or if you were a pervert. It would say a lot about both of you, though frankly I've figured her out."

No wonder Misato wanted beat your smug little face in, Kaji thought. If anything, his smirk became more genuine, mostly because he was now interested. Intrigued, even. What was the deal with this kid? He was going out of his way to pick fights.

Because that was how you let you guard down. He had done it to Misato, and he was trying to do it to Kaji. The older man could have clucked in amusement. A bully's tactic, but an effective one.

"You could make someone blush with your topics of conversation. Really! Whatever happened to an officer and a gentleman?" Kaji lamented. Samson shrugged.

"I don't see much of you, in fact. You did arrive with Asuka on the Over the Rainbow, yes?"

"I traveled on it with her, yes," he said, carefully. He didn't know how much of that journey Samson knew about, and wanted to keep his answer halfway between an outright lie and the whole truth. A simple 'yes' would have been ambiguous enough…but he hadn't arrived on the Over the Rainbow. Samson struck him as the kind of individual that would know that and become suspicious.

To his irritation, he was correct. "But not arrived together?" Samson looked uncomfortable at that, and glanced at the floor. "Hmm…you both came from Germany, yes?"

"I'm sure the records will say that. Are you just trying to make small talk? I don't think I really want to, after the crude things you've been saying," Kaji sighed, smiling almost sadly. Samson made a non-committal noise, and then turned to leave.

"Tell Shinji I said hi," he mumbled. Something in the tone sounded a note of warning in Kaji's mind. He narrowed his eyes. Still no information. Still no information at all…

"What kind of animal are you?" he murmured, before letting himself into Shinji's room.

Notes from GobHobblin: Thanks again to my beta-reader, Gemini011. He will be on vacation for a week or so, so expect the story to be on hold until then. I will work on other stuff for the time being. On another note, I will give a cookie to whoever can tell me what film the first scene is paying homage to (well, not a real cookie, of course...). If you think you know, PM me the answer: no spoilers in reviews!