Disclaimer: Blah blah blah, don't own EVA etc, etc, etc.
"Dialogue"
[Thoughts]
Unintended Consequences 03: Shower of Sorrows
Miharu Noodle House (Abandoned)
Dust. It was everywhere. Coating the moldering bits of furniture that lay there like corpses of a battlefield. Carpeting the bare floor with a thin layer of the musty smelling debris, small puffs of it raising like miniature wraiths, tracing the footsteps of the figure as it made its way slowly past the broken benches and tables. It gave every sense of a building that had long since lost those that had cared for its fate. It would do.
Drip
Cold. That was how the figure felt. Not the chill of low temperatures or the clamminess of being soaked. This was the chill of having lifeblood seeping through its shaking fingers, vainly trying to staunch the bleeding, knowing that oblivion lay very close. With the cleansing rain no longer washing it away, the brown overcoat began to be painted a crimson tint.
Drip
Slowly, but with an intensity that betrayed desperation, the figure made its way into the kitchen of the abandoned eatery. Each pain ridden step drawing a suppressed exhalation that spoke of barely controlled suffering. Unnoticed, a small trail of crimson traced its way down the pant legs, leaving behind small pools of blood as the figure disappeared behind the kitchen door.
Drip
There. A medical cabinet. Situated next to a row of shelves. Trembling fingers reached up, searching for a roll of bandages, knocking over painkillers and anesthetics in their quest. Arriving at their goal, the hands grasped the gauze, ripping it from its plastic wrap in their haste.
Drip
Done. The wound was bandaged. Painkillers were taken. The pain subsided and the flow of blood slowed. But it would not last. Professional medical aid was needed and soon. The actions had bought time. Little more. Sitting on the sole remaining chair in the room, the figure let out a small relieved sigh at the lack of pain. [I was careless.]
Drip
He had underestimated them. Where he had expected one, perhaps two, there were more than a handful of his would-be assassins. They were like a wolf-pack. Cold, silent and professional. Even as he had thrown himself aside, narrowly avoiding the first bullet that was fired, several more came from the various locations. He grimaced at the memory. The chaotic fight where he had attempted to use the only visible assailant as a human shield had failed, the others showing no concern that it was one of their own who stopped the bullets. The wild, adrenaline fuelled flight as he attempted to escape. The agony as a bullet tore into his back. He may have lost them. He could not be sure.
Drip
The bandage was becoming soaked with blood. That tiny piece of metal was finally doing to him what 2nd impact, riots and gangs had failed to do. He didn't know how long he had. However long it would be though, it wouldn't be enough. A clatter. From behind him. He scowled, his right hand tightening its grip on his service pistol as he whirled, bringing the firearm to bear on the source.
"F-F-Fujiwara-san?"
XXXXX
[Is that blood?]
Shinji had followed the figure inside the abandoned noodle house, wondering if he could help. The gloomy interior, the lazily shifting dust, the smell of mildew and the coppery scent from the crimson puddles were unnerving to the boy. He felt his tiny reserves of courage rapidly dissipating at every movement of shadow, every shift of light.
A small sigh emanated from the rear of the building, increasing his already paralyzing fear. For an eternity that was only tens of seconds, he froze, fear and commitment battling with each other. Almost against his will, he moved forward, looking for the source of the sound. Finally reaching the kitchen, he looked around the goal, his eyes alighting on his objective.
The figure was hunched, it's back towards him. An increasingly spreading stain of crimson adorning the right side of the overcoat. A small pool of the liquid forming at his feet, fed by a trickle that made its way down the pant legs. His eyes widened at the sight. [He's hurt badly]. Unconsciously his foot moved back a step, accidentally hitting a small glass bottle that was on the floor. At once, the figure whirled around, an animalistic scowl on his face as he pointed a gun at him. His eyes focused at the seemingly immense barrel of the gun, even as his mind registered its wielder. Shock and recognition painted themselves on Shinji's face as he managed one stammered question.
"F-F-Fujiwara-san?"
As quickly as it appeared, the scowl vanished, replaced with incredulity as the gun was rapidly pointed away. "What are you doing here Shinji?" He winced, his fingers pressing down on the wound, the crimson stain spreading.
"I, I, saw you on the street earlier. You were hurt." Concern over the detective's welfare overpowered his nervousness as he replied. He relaxed as the older man sighed, a slightly rueful expression on his face.
Fujiwara placed a hand on Shinji's shoulder, his face serious. "Listen Shinji, I need you do something for me, you know where the nearest police station is right?" [I can't let him get involved in this.] Upon seeing his nod, he continued. "I want you to go there and tell them where I am and that I need help alright?"
"But what about your wound?"
He shook his head. "Shinji, some very bad people are after me and if they found you here, they may hurt you too. There's very little time. Please, do this for me." Before the boy could reply though, something tickled at the very edge of his senses. Almost like a sense of watchfulness. Alarm shot through his frame as he whirled around, firearm at the ready, adrenaline coursing through his veins, eyes searching. There. The kitchen back door. The slightly open kitchen back door. A hand gripping a pistol just protruded from the opening. The gun was pointed in their direction.
Fujiwara fired. The heavy gun bucked in his hand, sending high velocity death screaming towards the door. The other gun responded once before it fell, bullets tearing through the door, its owner's hand falling away from view. Fujiwara grunted as he felt a sledgehammer impact on his left arm. A crimson flower blossomed on the just perforated sleeve of his coat. Turning around, he saw the shocked expression on Shinji's face. He shook him once with his good hand breaking the silence that had befallen the boy.
Shinji was petrified. He had come, thinking that he could somehow help but reality was proving him to be little more than dead weight. He had been unable to move when Fujiwara had turned, unable to help when he was attacked and because of him, he had another wound. In the gravity of the situation, he found himself unable to move. The shellshock only broke when Fujiwara shook him, forcing his attention on the situation he now faced. He faced the detective, his eyes riveted on the fresh flow of blood that streamed from his arm.
"You must go now Shinji! There may be more of them!" the words were hissed through gritted teeth, urgency threaded in every word. Without waiting for a response, he began propelling the boy with his good hand towards the front entrance, reasoning that the pursuers wouldn't come in through such an exposed opening. With a final shove, he pushed the boy stumbling out the entrance. "Go!! Run and don't look back!!"
The sound of metal on wood alerted him. He turned, trying to isolate the source of the sound. His eyes widened as they focused on the fist sized metal capsule bouncing off the wall to land on the ground in front of him. Instinct took over as he dived over the counter while his mind cursed his ineptitude. He had underestimated them again.
XXXXX
[I hope Fujiwara-san will be alright]. Shinji thought as he began to move away from the noodle house. He shook his head clear of those thoughts. Fujiwara had asked him for help for the first time he had known him. He had to hurry. He spared a glance at the building he had exited as he began to increase his pace.
Before his horrified eyes, the once silent building erupted in an explosion of flame and shattered glass. Shinji felt his light frame being lifted off the ground and tossed like a rag doll across the street as the shockwave caught him. Flying glass and other shrapnel grazed his skin as his body slammed into the asphalt, his wrist breaking with an audible crack as he landed on it. Sparks of pain shot through his vision but it couldn't compare to the cold pain in his heart at the sight before him. He had landed facing the former noodle house. The last thing he saw through his pain-numbed senses before oblivion claimed him was the building that Fujiwara shoved him out, flames billowing out of its now empty windows. [I, I, failed him]
As the boy passed out from the pain, sirens began their mournful wailing, announcing the approach of authorities. Beneath the weeping skies, the building continued to burn.
XXXXX
GEHRIN Genesis Research Center, Project Leader's office
Within the darkened room, a hunched figure sat behind his desk, his fingers interlaced before his face, orange tinted glasses glinting off the illumination provided by the single light visible. On the desk, a phone rang. The figure broke his stance, picking up the receiver, placing it before his ear as he waited.
"The vaccine has been administered. No further complications."
The figure only made one response before closing the connection. "Good"
Behind him, a form clad in a brown suit frowned. "Was that necessary Ikari? It is likely that he would not have found anything useful nor did he pose much of a threat. That is what our safeguards are for."
A small, barely perceptible shrug was made as he replied. "If that was only the case I might have agreed with you Fuyutsuki-sensei." He frowned "However, the connection he had with the Third Child may have proven to be cumbersome had we allowed it to continue. Cutting the link now would be more prudent."
Fuyutsuki only shook his head.
XXXXX
12 days later. Residence of Shinji Ikari
Shinji sat alone in his cabin his knees drawn up to his chest. Absently, he fingered his left wrist, bound in a cast to prevent it from moving. The doctors had told him it was a clean break and would heal in time. [I deserve this pain.] Utter dejection painted his face as his eyes stared unseeingly at the bland walls that made up the bulk of his residence.
He had attended Fujiwara's funeral yesterday. Without any living relatives, the only other person who had been there as the flowers were laid was his superior, Nakamura Masato who Shinji had met some months prior. They had watched in silence as the casket was lowered, each lost in their own thoughts and regrets. No words were exchanged between them. None had been necessary. One had lost a close friend. The other had lost a mentor and guide. Both had known it. They stayed there as the last rites were said. Placed the wreaths when they were done. And each asked for forgiveness in the silent halls of their minds albeit for very different reasons.
[I failed him]
A shiver passed through his frame as he curled up tighter.
[I let him die]
The SDAT lay on the desk, its haunting classical melodies no longer capable of providing their soothing balm.
[I'm worthless]
That mantra continued endlessly. He did not know how long he had been faced with the guilt of his memories and self-abuse nor if he would stop had it not been for a gentle, yet insistent knocking on his door. He wanted to ignore it, wallow in his self-loathing and die. But the caller was persisted. Giving in to the unvoiced request that he answer the door, he rose from his position to do so.
"Masato-san?"
The aged section chief was one of the last few people that Shinji had ever thought would visit him. He was carrying a large wooden case in his left hand. Shinji's eyes widened slightly. He recognized the case.
Nakamura looked sadly at the boy. "Fujiwara's will was read yesterday. He wanted you to have this." He propped the cello case in front of Shinji."
Perplexed, Shinji could only stutter. "b-b-but I don't deserve-"
"Shinji, whether or not you deserve it, he wanted you to have it. Take it, as a way of honoring his memory." Seeing the boy reluctantly take hold of the case he nodded. "He was a good man. If he wanted you to have something, it was because he felt you deserve it. Take care." With those last words uttered, he turned, walking down the path that led to the road.
XXXXX
He stared at the cello case, propped against the wall of his home. Memories seemingly emanated from it, forming a living portrait of recollections before his eyes. Memories that now carried a tinge of guilt and loss.
Not wanting to confront the memories any longer, he reached for the case, wanting to chase away the sadness with the serenity of its music. The locks snapped open easily and he lifted the case. An envelope fluttered out, catching his attention. On it, his name was written. Curious, he opened the envelope and read the letter it contained.
Shinji,
If your reading this, then it can only mean that I am dead,-
Shinji blinked, grief coming out afresh. [He had known.]
-most likely because I was rash. I'm not very good at this so I'll get to the point. If you're grieving over me, I'd rather you not. Remember me yes, grieve over me no. I'm sorry if I caused you any pain but as things stand, this is the only way I can apologize. In the time I had known you, you have shown a remarkable improvement from the somber lad I had first met. I wish I could have done more to help you.
I ask that you come to terms with my death and not let it burden your thoughts. I have lived a fulfilling life and do not regret it. Do not regret the past or let it burden you Shinji. The only thing that lies in that path is grief and I would rather you not take it. You are young and there is a chance for a bright future for you if you. You need only grasp it.
Now, about this cello. When it was passed to me, I was asked to not let it die from disuse. Lacking the skill to play the instrument or knowledge of anyone who could play it, I had let it gather dust. However, I believe that in you, lies a soul who can bring it to life the way it was meant to. Take good care of it Shinji. I entrust you with it. I hope you can still find the joy in playing it as you did before.
Don't let the past tie you down Shinji or live for the praise of others. You are stronger than that. Don't run away from your past. Instead, face it, come to terms with it and reach for the future that lies before you. Live for yourself and for what you believe in. I believe in you Shinji. You will do well.
Fujiwara Katsumoto
Shinji lowered the letter. [I'm sorry Fujiwara-san.] Guilt still wracked his frame, but in a way, the letter had blunted its keen edge away, allowing the boy to heal his mental demons. Almost unconsciously, his hand reached for the cello case.
Music filled the air of the cabin, its melody both haunting, yet warm, as if grieving the passing of one friend but welcoming the presence of another. The symphony of the soul transcribing that which could not be spoken.
XXXXX
Osaka City Cemetery 12th February, 2015
It was an odd scene at the weathered gravestone. A young lad just into his teens was seated on a folding chair before it, eyes closed, playing a slow tune on the cello propped against his shoulder. It was a beautiful melody, filled with emotion, weaving a story with music that only he could read. As the music ended, the last few notes shimmering in the air, Shinji opened his eyes, regarding the headstone with a mixture of fondness and regret.
"Fujiwara-san, I received a letter today." His hand tightened slightly on the bow. "It's from father. He wants me to go back to Tokyo-3." A pause, a small frown. "He didn't say why, and I don't think he wants us to live as a family again."
He slid the cello back into the case. "It's a little ironic that the letter arrived on the anniversary of your... your passing." His tongue stumbled over the word as memories returned to him. "Maybe this is the future you were talking about in your letter." He laughed a little nervously.
The cello case snapped shut. "But I won't be able to return here anymore. The train leaves tomorrow." He lifted the case. "So I guess this is goodbye Fujiwara-san."
He placed a small bouquet of lilies before the gravestone. "Goodbye Fujiwara-san....and thank you."
END OF CHAPTER 03.
XXXXX
A/N: And so we come to a close to the Catalyst arc. Finally, Shinji gets to go to Tokyo-3. How will he cope? How will he adapt? How will the events of NGE as we know it be shaped? Stick around and find out as we move into the Conception arc.
As usual, post your comments and what not. I'm open to suggestions and criticisms.