A/N: A bit of a change in pace with this chapter, it's shorter and much more character-focused than the last few have been. Hope you enjoy it!

Chapter 6: War Wounds

"Some old wounds never truly heal, and bleed again at the slightest word."

-George R.R Martin

It'd been raining for over a week straight now. Raining ever since that day.

There was a flash of lightning, and he tensed as he awaited inevitable thunderclap, flinching when it finally came. It was an affliction shared by anyone who'd lived through an artillery barrage.

Leaning against the windowsill, Bishop watched the rain fall against the cold concrete of the apartment's balcony for a while, before turning away to return to his pacing; limping back and forth across the sparsely furnished living room like a caged animal. This had more or less become his routine for the past few days, unable to do much else until his injuries healed.

They found him passed out where he had collapsed underneath the Avenger's wing. He awoke in a hospital bed the next day to find his hands and torso wrapped in bandages, and a dull ache in his right leg that became a stabbing pain when he tried to stand.

Evidently, the burns on his back and hands had been far more severe than he thought, and he'd pulled a muscle in his calf at some point in his frenzied manoeuvring during the fight with the Angel. Looking back at that day, he could recall feeling none of it. Adrenaline was a hell of a drug, he supposed.

He was discharged from the hospital once he could hobble about on his own again after a few days. They gave him a cane, but he refused to use it. When he reported to work the next day, Takao sent him straight home and told him he was on sick leave.

"Don't come back until you're healed," he said, "there's nothing to do here that can't wait."

As much as he appreciated the gesture of good-will, he also resented it. He didn't want anyone's pity, and it may as well have been a prison sentence. A sentence to be served in this beige-carpeted cell, with nobody for company and nothing to do but think.

He thought long and hard about the what he'd learned that day. He supposed there must be a good reason for them to send children into battle, but he decided he didn't care what it was; he wanted no further part in it. He'd done what was asked of him, tested their new weapon and proven that it worked. There was no way he could morally justify working for these people any longer.

One war was enough; he didn't think he had another one in him.

The doctors said he could remove the bandages from his hands tomorrow, and that to him meant that he would be well enough to return to headquarters. He would clear up the paperwork that would have inevitably piled up on his desk, and then begin work on his letter of resignation.

Checking his watch, he began to limp over to the kitchen. Six o clock; time for dinner. Opening a cupboard, he withdrew a bottle of amber liquid and a tumbler. Oddly: the previous tenant, despite apparently taking every stick of furniture with them, had left him a lovely set of crystal glasses and a few bottles of cheap booze. He'd gotten plenty of use out of both.

The cheap stuff was gone now, however, and he reluctantly opened the bottle he had ever-so-carefully packed into his duffle bag. The sixteen-year-old scotch was a parting gift from the troops at his last command back home. The rare single-malt whisky was not easy to come by anywhere; let alone at their post two-thousand miles north of civilization. No doubt there were some illicit dealings involved, which as CO he was obliged to disapprove of, but he treasured the gift nonetheless.

He'd been saving it for a special occasion, but desperate times called for desperate measures. Pouring himself a healthy portion, he swirled it a few times before taking a sip.

It was exquisite; a perfect pairing for tonight's entree.

He picked up the bottle of painkillers off the counter-top and shook a couple into his hand, paying no mind to the warning on the label that said 'do not mix with alcohol'.

Yeah right, he thought as he knocked back the capsules with a healthy swig of scotch. Whoever wrote that warning had clearly never had second-degree burns covering half their body.

The last dose was starting to wear off, and he had to endure the sensation of a thousand needles in his back for a few moments while these ones kicked in. When it started to fade, he grabbed his drink, along with the bottle and hobbled back to the living room.

Aside from a queen-sized floor mattress, the only furniture he'd bothered to purchase so far was a single reclining chair and an ancient CRT television, which sat on the box it had come in. It was just as well, he supposed as he eased into the chair. He didn't plan on staying much longer.

Picking up the remote, he surfed through the few channels he was able to pick up on the rabbit-ear antenna. It was all Japanese news, and for the first few days at home it was mildly amusing to watch the bullshit official explanations for the events of the battle. It got old after a while, though, and he really couldn't have given half a shit about anything else that happened in this country, but there was nothing better to do.

Halfway through his second glass, and an absolutely riveting report about a car accident somewhere in Hokkaido, he heard a sound that it took a moment for him to recognize. He shut the TV off to listen for it, and there it was again.

It was the first time he'd heard the doorbell from inside; he didn't get many visitors.

It rang for a third time as he struggled out of the chair. "Yeah, yeah, I'm coming," he shouted. Once he was up, he remembered his state of dress. He wore his uniform trousers, but had no shirt on over the bandages that covered his torso. Hobbling over to the bedroom, he grabbed the first thing he could lay his hands on; a pale blue dress shirt, and threw it on without bothering to button it up before hurrying as best he could towards the front door.

As she waited outside the door to apartment 12-B, Misato wondered idly if this was a mistake.

She had backed herself into a corner with Shinji; telling him not to pilot the Eva if he didn't want to when section 2 brought him back to headquarters earlier that day. Now he seemed to have made up his mind that he was leaving, and aside from the problem of having no pilot, the thought of losing him filled her chest with an intense sorrow.

She wanted with all her heart for him to stay, she'd realized once she calmed down, and now she needed advice. There had to be a way of convincing him not to go without forcing him to be here, and thereby contradicting the heated lecture she had given her young ward in the holding cell where he'd elected to spend the night.

The Major wasn't exactly her ideal confidant, but who else could she turn to? Ritsuko sympathized with her dilemma, but ultimately had no useful input to offer. She wasn't really that close with anyone else at NERV, and she certainly wouldn't take such a personal matter to her superiors.

None of them would understand, anyways. And nor could she, really. Sure; she'd served her mandatory stint in JSSDF like any other young person in Japan, but the closest she ever came to combat was some communist insurgent taking a shot at her Humvee during a peacekeeping tour in Korea. She couldn't truly sympathize with what Shinji went through out there, but surely the Major could. He had seen more of war than most, as Fuyutsuki had so succinctly pointed out, and seemed to have somehow come out the other end as a somewhat well-adjusted person.

Or so she thought, until the door finally slid open, and she took in the state of the man that stood before her. She immediately detected the smell of alcohol wafting off him. The usually impeccably groomed and dressed officer was a mess; he was unshaven, his sandy hair was unruly, and he seemed to have given up halfway through putting his clothes on.

She had to stifle a gasp when she noticed the bandages wrapped around his torso under his open shirt; completely covering him from the armpits down. She had no idea he'd been injured. Looking up, she met a pair of grey eyes she didn't recognize. The flicker of warmth and good humour was gone; all that remained was a cold glare that told her she was not welcome here.

"Miss Katsuragi. What can I do for you?" His voice was as chilly as the look in his eyes.

She swallowed nervously. "G-good evening, Major. Sorry to bother you, but I, uh, was hoping I could could talk to you about something. Something important. Could I maybe come in?"

He didn't budge, so she hesitantly added "...It's about Shinji." His face seemed to soften slightly at the mention of the boy's name, but he still said nothing as he stepped back from the door.

"Uh, thanks," she mumbled as she stepped past him into the entry hall. She continued through into the kitchen. The apartment seemed to have the same layout as hers, though the colour scheme was a bit different: white walls instead of yellow, and beige carpet as opposed to red in the living room. Casting a look around the kitchen, she saw no evidence that anyone lived here. No dishes, no food; nothing. Just a tiny table with a single chair tucked neatly under it.

"How is he?" the soft voice from behind her startled her, and she turned to find the Major leaning heavily against the frame of the doorway into the kitchen. He was still fixing her with that cold look.

"Oh, Shinji's fine. Are you... okay? I didn't know you got hurt the other day..."

"I'll live," he spat with a deepening frown. "Don't try to change the subject, because he certainly didn't seem fine when I pulled him out that damn tube."

She shrugged. "The doctors said it was simple exhaustion, he just needed a few day's rest. No, he's fine now... physically, at least. That's uh, sort of what I wanted to talk to you about. You see, piloting the Eva, and especially going into battle with it, is extremely stressful, y'know, mentally, and-"

"What? You mean to tell me that your teenage son isn't coping well with being sent into combat? Colour me shocked..." He cut her off with an acid tone.

Misato let out a weary sigh. "I suppose I had that coming, but- wait, you think Shinji is my son?"

"...Is he not?"

She couldn't help but giggle despite the tense atmosphere. "No, he's not. I'm just his guardian. In fact, I only met him a little while before you got here."

"Ah. So I suppose that makes it okay in your mind to send him off to fight for you?" There was no trace of amusement on the pilot's face. She supposed he had every reason to be cross with her; this whole misunderstanding could have been avoided had she answered truthfully to his inquires about the Eva pilots. There was also the fact that she had essentially ordered Shinji to leave him for dead during the battle, but it didn't seem like a good idea to bring that up at the moment.

"No," she answered, choosing her words carefully. "... no, that doesn't make it okay. And for what it's worth, I'm sorry that you had to find out about Shinji the hard way. I should have been up-front with you about that."

He continued to eye her for a moment, before pushing off from the door frame and limping past her towards the living room.

"Eh, small detail like that, why bother." he said in a voice dripping with sarcasm as he returned to the kitchen with a bottle of liquor in one hand and a nearly-empty glass in the other. "Well? What's the excuse? Nobody in this country has the guts to fight, so you force kids to do it instead, is that it?"

She gave another tired sigh, seeing her fears about telling him about Shinji were apparently justified. "Look, Major, I understand how you feel about this-"

"No, I don't think you do." he growled as he collapsed into the singular kitchen chair, before draining the glass and pouring himself another.

"Would you let me speak please?" she said sharply, growing annoyed at the constant injections. He shot her a toxic look, but refrained from interrupting as she continued.

"You need to understand that if there were any other way, I would take it. If it were possible, I would even take Shinji's place myself. But it's not possible, Major. You have to believe me when I say that. The Evas will only sync with one person, and unit-one's case that person is Shinji."

"And why, pray tell, would you design a war machine that has to be piloted by a child?"

It was a damn good question, and one Misato had mulled over herself. She had posed it to Ritsuko once, and all she got for an answer was a bunch of technical mumbo-jumbo she had been trying to make sense of ever since. Well, no sense telling any more lies.

"I'll admit, I don't have a good answer for that. That's not my department. My job, Major, is to stop the Angels by any means necessary. And the necessary means are the Evas. You should know that as well as anyone by now." She felt like she was again lecturing Shinji, standing cross armed and looking down at the seated Major.

"The ends justify the means, eh?" He replied with a bitter chuckle. "If you only knew the things I've seen done by people who believed the same thing."

"The end here is nothing less than the survival of humanity, Major. You know that. Don't you think that justifies the means in this case?"

He didn't answer for a moment, just staring at he amber liquor as he swirled it in the glass.

"Maybe..." he said finally, "... sure, there's a persuasive argument to be made that one boy's life is a small price to pay for the good of all mankind. Hell, I've seen boys not much older than Shinji gladly die for much smaller causes; throw themselves on a grenade or take a bullet for king and country, or just to save one of their buddies. But that doesn't make it right. Every one of those kids had a future that was stolen from them, and so does Shinji. I can't stay here and watch it be taken from him too."

He paused to take a sip of his drink. "That's not to say I don't respect what you people are trying to do here, but I, uh, I can't in good conscience be a part of it anymore. I plan on submitting my resignation tomorrow."

Misato's jaw dropped, and she took a step towards the deflated officer. "...You're leaving? Y-you can't just leave!"

He looked up at her impassively. "And why not? I don't recall signing any contract, and I don't owe you people a damn thing. I came here to do a job, Katsuragi, and that job is done. You know the weapon works. Find someone else to use it."

She turned away and looked at the ground. The whole operation seemed to be crumbling around her. "So, you too, huh?" she mumbled.

"What do you mean 'you too'? Who else is leaving?"

"SHINJI!" she turned and shouted at him, her eyes starting to well up.

Bishop froze like a deer in the headlights. He was never good at dealing with displays of emotion, and now Katsuragi was looking down at him with tears running down her cheeks.

"He ran away a few days ago, and when section two brought him back today I-I lost my temper and I told him he should leave if he didn't want to be here. I may not be his Mother, but I still care about him, and now I'm never going to see him again! I came to you for advice, but I can see now that you aren't interested in helping."

She wiped her cheeks and turned on her heel. "Sorry for interrupting whatever... this is. I'll go be a piece of shit somewhere else. Good evening," she spat over her shoulder as she made for the door.

Bishop sighed. How the hell had she managed to turn this around on him? "Katsuragi, wait..." he said in a resigned tone. "...What did you want from me?"

She whirled and fixed him with a glare. "I want to know how to help him. I want to know what I can do to convince him to pilot the Eva, and how I can help him to deal with all the pain that comes with it."

"And why come to me of all people?"

"Because... because I figured you would know, better than anyone else I can think of at least, how combat affects people."

He supposed that was a fair point, and it was exactly why he disapproved so strongly of sending kids to fight. "...Don't you think the best thing for him is to let him go? You're a good person Katsuragi. You helped me out when I needed it, and I know you have good intentions, but asking that kid to go to war on behalf of the whole world is just not fair."

He remembered the bodies. He remembered the stink in the aid station, where the tortured screams of the wounded formed a never-ending hellish chorus. He remembered tougher men than him, who hadn't so much as a scratch on them, reduced to weeping, empty shells of human beings.

"You're right, I know damn well what combat does to people. It ruins them, Katsuragi. Ruins them in ways I wouldn't have believed if I hadn't seen it myself. Even the ones who come through it unharmed... well, they aren't the same people they were before. You're starting to see that now with Shinji, and you can believe me when I say that it doesn't get better."

Katsuragi seemed to deflate, leaning against the wall and hiding her face with her hand. "I know. I know its not fair to him, and that I should let him leave. I know its cruel to send him out there to fight, and I feel like just as much of a monster as you think I am. But at the same time, I have a sworn duty to defend humanity, and we need Shinji for that. There is simply no other option, especially with you leaving."

"Don't you have other Evas and pilots?"

"We have one other Eva, but it isn't operational yet, and the pilot is... out of commission for the time being."

Another child soldier. Wonderful. "Well, I guess I can see your dilemma. If another Angel attacks, humanity would be up shit creek without a paddle, huh?"

"...What?"

"Humanity would be fucked, I meant. I guess that saying doesn't translate so well from English."

She shook her head, and let herself slide down the wall until she was leaning against until she was sitting on the kitchen floor with her back to it. "Yes, humanity would indeed be fucked." she said with an exhausted sigh.

He pondered the defeated woman for a moment, and realized that he had been an extraordinarily rude host. Standing, he grabbed another tumbler and filled it about a third of the way with the priceless scotch, before hobbling over to her.

"Here," he said, handing her the glass, "Drink this."

As she accepted the offering, she looked up with tear-reddened eyes that made him deeply regret his earlier surliness. She held a position that came with responsibilities he could hardly fathom, and he saw in her eyes that she was being crushed under the dual weights of both those responsibilities and the equally daunting ones that came with caring for a child.

She'd come to him for help, and instead of being a good neighbour, he'd used her as a lightning rod for his own anger and frustration with NERV, despite knowing deep down that his quarrel wasn't with her. Lashing out like some crazed animal; that wasn't who he wanted to be, he reminded himself. Not anymore.

He retrieved his own glass as well as the rapidly emptying bottle from the table, before sliding down the wall to sit beside her as she regarded the drink. Before he could stop her, she'd knocked the whole thing back in one gulp.

"Smooth..." she managed to croak after a fit of coughing.

The pilot chuckled despite himself. "Yeah, it's more of a sippin' whisky."

"Tastes like turpentine..." she muttered when she could speak again.

"Turpentine!" he exclaimed indignantly, "...This is some of the world's finest scotch!"

"Well, it tastes like the world's finest turpentine to me."

He shook his head in disbelief. "There's no accounting for taste, I guess." She didn't refuse, however, when he offered her a refill.

The two sipped their drinks in companionable silence for a while. Though she detested the odd, smoky taste of the whisky, she appreciated the calming warmth that began to spread through her veins with each sip. She idly wondered what had brought on the Major's sudden change in demeanour, before she finally broke the silence.

"So... you still haven't given me any idea what to do about Shinji."

The Major shifted uncomfortably, before answering in a non-committal tone. "Well, you already know my thoughts on the matter. Sorry about that, by the way. I, uh, I shouldn't have snapped at you like that. I know this isn't your fault."

Yes it is. She waved a dismissive hand. "Don't sweat it."

"Hm. Anyways, like I said, there isn't any easy solution. What's best for that kid is to get the hell away from this place."

"Major..."

"Yeah, yeah. Meanwhile, he, you, me, and everyone else on earth will be as good as dead if he leaves."

"Right."

"When is he supposed to go?"

"Tomorrow."

"Ah. Are you planning on stopping him?"

She shook her head emphatically. "How could I? I told him he was free to go if he wanted to. If I go back on my word, he'll lose whatever respect he has left for me."

The Major sighed heavily. "Well I don't know what to tell you, Katsuragi. I'm not sure there's much you can do. He's got to make the decision for himself."

"I don't think he's in any state of mind to be making such a big decision..."

"I can well imagine. Have you thought about sending him to a therapist?"

"It was the first thing that came to mind when I saw how depressed he was after the battle, but he was really standoffish when I tried to suggest it to him, like he thought I was suggesting that he was insane. Besides, it's a bit late for that now."

"Yeah, I guess it is."

She thought for a moment. "Did you ever see a therapist after... you know?"

He replied with a grimace. "Yeah, I did."

"And did it help?"

"Not really."

"Why not?"

The major took a long sip from his drink, and seemed to be staring off into space when Misato looked over at him. "Because..." he said in a low voice, "It's hard to talk about with someone who wasn't there, who didn't live through it. They want to help, but you can tell they don't understand. Not really."

"So how did you, y'know, get through it?"

"Get through it?"

"Yeah. I mean, I can't even imagine what you went through back then, but you seem to have come out of it okay..."

Another bitter chuckle. "Is that what you think? I guess I hide it well."

"Hide what well?"

Just then, there came a thunderclap from the storm still raging outside, and the Major seemed to just about jump out of his skin at the sound, spilling the contents of his glass on the ground.

"...That," he mumbled, avoiding meeting Misato's eyes as she fixed him with a concerned look.

Not knowing how else to respond, she put a hand on his shoulder, and was surprised to feel him trembling through the material of the sky-blue shirt. It was almost amusing, she thought. To see this man who seemed so huge and invincible, and whose reputation for bravery preceded him wherever he went, reduced to a shivering wreck by something so innocuous as a thunderstorm.

He seemed to collect himself after a moment, pouring himself another belt and knocking it back.

"The, uh, the only person I ever felt like I could talk to about the war was my grandfather. He could understand, you see. He was in world war two, went ashore on D-day and fought all the way into Germany. The old man was about the only family I had left after it was all over, and I guess having him to talk it through with was the only thing that ever really helped."

"I see. So, do you think maybe talking to someone who's been through something similar might help Shinji?"

The Major cast a sideways glace at her. "I suppose I walked right into that."

She looked at him with pleading eyes. "Oh c'mon Major, couldn't you just have a quick chat with him? Don't you owe him that much at least?"

Taken aback, he exclaimed "A quick chat? Jesus, Katsuragi, I'm not a fuckin' guidance counselor. What do you want me to say to him, huh? Do you want me lie to him, tell him that everything's gonna be alright if he keeps going out there to fight in that thing?"

He checked himself when he saw he was starting to lose his temper again, and took a deep breath before continuing in a calmer tone. "You're right. I owe that kid my life, whatever that's worth, and that's exactly why I'm not going to be a part of manipulating him into staying here."

Misato drew her knees up to her chest. He was absolutely right, she knew. "Alright, I'm sorry. Look, I don't expect you to convince him to stay, but don't you think it might be good for him to at least try and talk about what happened to him out there with someone who'll understand? I've tried to get him to open up to me, Major, believe me. But its like you said, I haven't been to war, not like you have at least, and I think he knows that I can't really comprehend what it's like. Even if he doesn't decide to stay, I'll feel better knowing he was at least able to get whatever he's going through off his chest before he goes."

Thinking on that for a moment, he carefully replied "I guess, as long as we're clear that I'm not going to try and influence his decision one way or the other, I wouldn't mind lending him an ear." He flashed her a lopsided grin. "I suppose I do owe you a favour or two as well."

She beamed at him. "I'd really appreciate it, Major, thank you."

He let out a breath. "Don't thank me yet. Anyways, I'll be in my office all day tomorrow, so I guess, uh, send him down to see me before he leaves."

"He'll be there."

With that, they again drank in silence for a while, before curiosity got the better of her.

"So, what are you going to do after you leave?"

He gave a small shrug. "I dunno. If the brass won't give me a flying assignment, I guess I'll give it up and become an airline pilot or something. Y'know, settle down, try to forget everything I've seen here, and wait for the end of the world like everyone else."

She chuckled. "Well," she said, raising her glass, "here's to the end of the world."

"To the end of the world," he agreed, clinking his glass against hers.

After a few more minutes of silence, the Major abruptly leaned forward and started to stand. "This wall is murder on my back.," he said with a pained grimace. "I think I saw a folding chair in the storage closet, how about I go grab it so we can sit at the table like a couple of civilized people while we finish off this bottle."

"Sounds like a plan, I've got nothing better to do" she replied with a small nod.

He was clearly struggling to get up with his injured leg, but waved her away when Misato moved to help him.

"It's just a pulled muscle, Katsuragi. I'm not a cripple..." he muttered as he staggered to his feet and made his way around the corner to the living room. Standing as well after a moment, she followed and poked her head around the corner. She could hear the Major rummaging around in the storage room, just down the short hallway where the second bedroom was located in her own apartment.

Nice place, she thought to herself as she stepped through and looked around. Like the kitchen, the living room was depressingly empty. Aside from the single chair and tiny TV, the only evidence that anyone lived here was a single framed photo hanging on the wall . Moving closer to examine it, she saw that it was beat to hell, to say the least. The glass was cracked in several places, while the wood was chipped and blackened as though it had been through a fire.

The photo beneath the cracked glass seemed to be a wedding portrait. She immediately recognized the groom as being a much younger version of the Major. He was wearing a different uniform than the one she was used to seeing: A scarlet tunic with green collar and cuffs, a single row of brass buttons, and dark blue trousers with red stripes running down the sides. He stood with his hand on the slender, pale shoulder of a seated young woman who was dressed in a simple but elegant white gown.

She had a heart-shaped face, and smooth, unblemished skin save for a few freckles dotted around her high cheek bones. Misato was struck by her eyes, they were a bright sparkling blue that radiated kindness and warmth; perfectly complemented by the tendrils of wavy auburn hair that spilled loosely from beneath her veil. The pair were an incredibly handsome couple, she thought.

She could tell from the broad smile on the young soldier's face that he was absolutely smitten with his bride. And so he should have been: she was stunning. She took note of his eyes as well. They were full of life: proud and more than a bit of nervous, but there certainly was none of the empty bitterness that now haunted them.

Those eyes were long gone, she thought sadly. Will that happen to Shinji if he keeps fighting? Will the life leave his eyes too? She supposed that was what the Major meant when he said that war ruins people. Before she could depress herself any further with the line of thinking, he emerged from the storage room, blowing the dust off of a flimsy-looking wooden folding chair.

"It figures. Whoever lived here before me left an entire closet-full of junk like this, but god forbid they leave me a blanket, or a towel, or anything else remotely useful." he complained. Looking up, he saw her eyeing the photo, and said nothing further as he made his way past her to the kitchen.

"She's... beautiful," was all she could think to say as she turned to follow.

"Yeah," he replied over his shoulder in an even tone "...She was."