Chapter 14: The Idiot
In general, pride is at the bottom of all great mistakes.
-John Ruskin
*Tap tap tap*
"Uh, Miss Soryu?" Putting his ear to the heavy watertight door, Bishop listened for a moment, and then knocked again when there was no response.
"...Is she actually in there?" he asked the Marine guarding the door when there was again no answer from within the Captain's quarters.
The Marine, a burly American, gave him a sideways glance. "Oh yeah, she's in there all right, sir. Been in a foul goddamn mood ever since Mister Kaji took off." He paused to lean closer to the pilot, lowering his voice. "The cook that brought her breakfast left in tears. Enter if you dare."
Bishop figured himself to be made of sterner stuff than the average navy cook, but he nonetheless steeled himself as he nodded to the yank and turned the wheel in the centre of the steel door. He'd just as soon leave the creature that dwelt within alone, but he'd given Kaji his word that he'd look after her, and this was probably the only chance he'd get to check on her for the next few days. Avenger number 302 was nearing airworthiness, and he had a series of interviews to conduct with the pilot candidates, leaving no spare time for dealing with sulky teenagers.
Pushing the door open enough to poke his head through, he surveyed the space just beyond, a combined sitting and dining area similar to that in Admiral's quarters, though with somewhat less luxurious furniture and decor. He didn't see her anywhere, though he supposed she could be hidden behind one of the towering piles of luggage and boxes scattered around the room.
"Hello, Miss? Anybody home?" he called out, stepping over the lip of the door frame and into the room.
A muttered "dummkopf" could be heard from one of the open doorways leading off the reception area, before an annoyed voice finally answered him. "What do you want?" she called back.
He made his way over to where he'd heard the voice, where the thin wooden door leading into the bedroom was ajar. She was lounging on the queen-sized bed, lying on her front and idly leafing through a magazine. She shot an acidic glare up at him as he leaned against the door frame.
"And a good morning to you too," the pilot said courteously, tipping the peak of his cap. He'd resolved to try and take the high road, to be the adult, no matter how badly he wanted to return the ill-tempered girl's insults in kind. She was still an Eva pilot, after all, and he'd come to the conclusion that he owed her the exact same debt he owed Shinji and Rei. "I'm sure Kaji told you, but I'm in charge of you until he gets back, so-"
"Nobody is in charge of me," she spat. "I'm not a child, and I don't need a damn babysitter, so just leave me the hell alone, flyboy."
Bishop raised his eyebrows at her outright hostility. She apparently felt no need to maintain a facade of politeness when Kaji wasn't around to hear. Be the bigger person, the pilot reminded himself, forcing down a rising anger at being spoken to so discourteously.
"Look, Miss Soryu," he began carefully, "I know we got off on the wrong foot, and I take full responsibility for that. I didn't behave as... maturely as befits an officer of his Majesty, please accept my apologies." He clenched his jaw as he uttered those last words. It was a painful wound to his pride, but he knew it was for the best.
"Hm," she grunted disinterestedly. "About time. Now go away."
Bishop took a deep breath, again forcing down that nagging indignation. "Anyways," he pressed on through gritted teeth. "Once we're in Japan, we're going to have to work together whether we like it or not. My job is to provide you with air support, we can't have petty bickering get in the way of communication in combat, it'll get somebody killed. So what do you say we just... start over. We don't have to be pals, but we should at least try to be civil to each other, don't you think?"
"Ha!" The girl seemed to find that very amusing, looking up at him with a smug grin. "The day I need help from the likes of you will be the day..." She trailed off, evidently deciding against provoking an argument in order to get rid of him quicker. "Fine. Whatever," she said with a roll of her eyes, dismissing him by pointedly returning her attention to her magazine.
Bishop remained in the doorway a moment longer, anger gathering on his brow. Not necessarily the answer he'd been hoping for, but he had nothing more to say to the vexing girl. Nothing polite, anyways.
"Well," he said in a restrained voice as he turned on his heel. "If you need anything, you know where to find me. Good day." With that, he quickly strode back across the quarters, fists clenched tightly at his sides as he fought the temptation to kick over the mountain of luggage partially blocking his path.
Damnit, did that girl know how to push his buttons. Well, at least he probably wouldn't have to see her again for the rest of the trip. He'd done his duty to his friend, and would have the excuse of being too busy to check on her again until Kaji returned.
Storming back into the corridor, he whirled on the Marine beside the door when he heard a chuckle from the man.
"Warned you," the American chortled when he saw the look on the pilot's face. "Talk about a bitch on wheels, hey buddy?" The burly man's smile quickly fell when the fury in the Canadian's eyes focused and intensified as their gaze fell on him, like a bull catching sight of the matador's red cape. The unfortunate Marine knew that look well. He figured he'd screwed up by not calling him 'sir', and these fighter pilots had delicate egos, so he snapped to attention in preparation for the dressing-down he knew was coming.
"Would you care to repeat that, yankee doodle?" Bishop hissed as he took a step closer to get up into the Marine's face. His pent-up anger was now entirely focused on the rifle-armed man, who swallowed nervously and frantically shook his head as the pilot grabbed him by the collar and shoved his back against the wall. "Listen here, shithead. You, I, and everyone else owe that girl more than your little pea brain could ever comprehend, so you show her some respect and you guard her with your life. If I ever hear you speak like that again, I'll make your skull into a fucking ashtray. Do I make myself clear?"
"Y-yessir. Very sorry sir. Won't happen again, sir," he stammered. The Marine was both armed and bigger than the pilot, and by all rights had no reason to be afraid, but something in the Canadian's eyes told him it wasn't an idle threat.
"Good." He released the man's collar, who slumped back against the wall and released his grip on his rifle, sending the weapon clattering to the floor. Bishop stepped over it as he turned on his heel to leave, kicking it back towards its owner.
"As you were."
On the other side of the wall that separated the Captain's quarters from the corridor, Asuka brought her ear back from the cold steel and snorted in derision. She didn't need anyone to fight her battles for her, least of all a rude, scruffy foreigner. Still, she had to admit a grudging respect for the way he'd dressed down the ignoramus guarding her door. Much as she may have disliked him as a person, the Canadian certainly fit her ideal of a warrior; fearless and intense, with a hair-trigger temper. That led the girl to wonder why he hadn't yet snapped at her the way he did at the hapless Marine, despite her constant provocations.
In fact, far from returning her animosity, he seemed to have become fiercely protective of her ever since he learned that she was an Eva pilot; not that she need protecting, she thought with a huff.
After that morning, she saw nothing more of her temporary guardian, the hours and days dragging on into each other as she alternately read, napped, or wandered the endless corridors and pestered the crew. It was all dreadfully boring, and perhaps that's what led her to take him up on his (likely facetious) offer a week later.
If you need anything, you know where to find me, he said. Well, she needed something to do before she flung herself over the railing from the endless monotony. She wasn't sure what she was expecting as she made her way down through the ship's tangled innards towards the hangar, but even just arguing with someone who actually argued back instead of meekly submitting would be a welcome relief at this point.
Stepping through into the bustling space, even she couldn't help but feel small amidst the frenzied activity and the deafening noise among the collection of huge aircraft. Each was being swarmed by what seemed like a small army of technicians. Showers of sparks flew from welding machines, and the constant whine of machinery was punctuated by shouting and the sound of hammering on metal. The smell of grease and oil hung heavy in the stale air, intermingling with the smell of sweat from the hundreds of toiling bodies.
She couldn't have looked more out of place if she'd tried in her brightly coloured tank top and shorts, but everyone was still too busy to give her anything more than a passing glance as she wandered the hangar, looking for the man supposedly in charge of it all.
He was barely recognizable from the last time she'd seen him. Instead of a smart blue uniform, he was dressed in the same filthy jumpsuit worn by the mechanics, only distinguished by his peaked cap. The Canadian was standing over a workbench strewn with what looked like a pile of blueprints, engaged in a lively discussion with a mustachioed navy officer as she approached.
She cleared her throat loudly as she arrived behind them, but the two men either didn't hear or chose to ignore her, continuing their argument.
"...I still don't see why you can't wait 'till we get to japan to start flight testing." The naval officer shook his head at the Canadian, who continued to brood over the plans on the workbench. "Sure, it'll probably get airborne, but how the hell do you intend to land it? You're no carrier pilot, and my guys'll be on the verge of mutiny if you dump it in the drink after all the work they put in."
"Proof of concept," came the answer from the pilot, who simply shrugged. "Work needs to begin on the new base by the end of this week at the latest, and the boss needs to know if this whole cockamamie scheme of hers is going to be practicable by then."
"Hey, flyboy!" Asuka interjected loudly, not fond of being ignored. The officer with the slicked back hair glanced back at her, before elbowing the Canadian in the ribs. He turned and settled his gaze on her, his grey eyes piercing and animated despite their owner's obvious state of exhaustion. She almost felt a twinge of guilt for bothering him, then. Almost.
"Miss Soryu..." he began dryly. "Always a pleasure. What can I do for you?"
She crossed her arms and met his glare for a moment. "...I'm bored," she finally said after a moment.
The Canadian exchanged a look with his companion, seemingly dumbfounded. "...You're bored?"
"To death."
After staring at her for a moment, the man shook his head in disbelief at her gall. "For god's sake, do you have any idea how goddamn busy..." He spoke in an exasperated voice, rubbing his temples, but stopped himself with a visible effort from raising his voice at her. "...I'm sorry to hear that, Miss, but would you mind telling me why exactly that's my problem?"
Asuka cracked a small smile. She knew that'd get to him. "You're my guardian until Kaji gets back, aren't you?" she asked pointedly
"Technically yes, but..."
"But nothing," she cut him off, jutting a finger up at him. "That means you're responsible for my well-being, and that includes my mental health, which is wasting away to nothing in this dump."
He continued to stare for another moment, before a tiny smile crossed his lips that gave Asuka pause. "So, you need something to do, eh?" He turned to gesture at the plane looming just beyond the workbench. "How 'bout lending me a hand here, then? We could use all the help we could get."
She scoffed at that. "Not exactly what I had in mind..."
"Well, what did you have in mind?" The Canadian asked impatiently. "I don't exactly have time to play catch, so it's either this or go bother someone else."
"Hmph." She wasn't about to be dismissed so easily. "Well... what do you want me to do, hold a flashlight or something?" she asked noncommittally, not thrilled at the prospect at spending any time in this hot, noisy place but too proud to let him win by leaving.
The Canadian thought for a moment, scratching at his chin as he looked up at the jet, before his face broke into a broad grin. "Not quite. You see how dirty the canopy on ol' three oh two here is?"
"Yes..."
"It needs to be cleaned and polished before the aircraft flies, inside and out, and the cockpit could use some attention as well. Perfect job for somebody with small hands."
"Ha!" She laughed in his face at the proposition. She couldn't recall ever having cleaned anything in her life, and she wasn't about to start now. "Yeah right. Find somebody else, 'cause I'm not your damn maid."
The pilot could only shrug in indifference. "Hey, you need something to do, that's the best I can come up with." He shot her a smirk just before he turned back to his workbench, a smug look that made her blood boil. "...Buuut if her highness is afraid to get her hands dirty, she may as well be on her way. I've got no use for royalty here."
She glowered up at him, fists balled up at her side as that last remark crashed over her like a wave. "...Afraid?" she growled at his back. "I've never been afraid of anything, and I never will be." The pilot let out a weary sigh and again turned to look down at the stubborn girl. "...I just don't want to ruin my clothes," she grumbled.
The Canadian again smirked at her. "We could find you a jumpsuit," he said evenly.
Even from the other side of the Avenger's broad back, Bishop could hear the girl's angry German muttering as she set to work with a rag and polishing compound on the jet's filthy cockpit glass. He'd tried to take the high road, he really had, but the opportunity to knock the haughty teenager down a few pegs was too good to pass up. Hell, maybe a bit of hard work would do the girl some good.
An honest day's work is it's own reward, his father had always said. Of course, Bishop always took the old man's advice with a big grain of salt. The elder Bishop was the hardest worker there was, and his son always respected him for that, but he wouldn't characterize him as being a particularly wise man. One failed harvest was all it took, and no amount of honest work could stop the bank from foreclosing on the family farm.
Still, as he watched the girl work away, clad in ill-fitting coveralls and with her fiery hair tied back in a tight ponytail, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of pride, probably like what his father felt every time he forced his son to sweep out the grain silos or unclog the harvesting equipment. Even if, admittedly, she was only doing it out of a mix of pride and spite for him.
Maybe Kaji was right, he thought with a deepening frown. Maybe we are two of a kind. Shaking off the disturbing thought, he returned his attention to his own task. He was crouched at the front edge of the port wing with a grease gun in hand, working on the leading edge flap. It was a menial job, one that he could have easily delegated to to a mechanic, but it allowed him to keep an eye on his charge. As with most things on his aircraft, he was also inclined to see to it personally, since the leading edge flaps were essential for the aircraft's low speed handling, and he needed them to work flawlessly if he was to have any chance of putting this thing down on the carrier deck without killing himself.
So he set about the tedious business, lifting and lowering the flap with his hand after every few shots of grease as he worked his way out towards the wingtip, all the while keeping a close eye on the girl along with the dozen or so other personnel working on top of the aircraft. Looking up after a while, he saw that she had finished on the outside of the canopy and had opened it up to set to work on the inside surfaces, standing on the rear seat. He'd given her a very stern warning on which controls not to touch; first and foremost being the ejection seat handles.
Hoping she had at least enough sense to not shoot herself into the ceiling, he again returned to work, letting the minutes and hours pass by as he absorbed himself in tending to the old warrior's many mechanical aches and pains. It was a welcome escape from the confusing world he'd found himself in lately, and it gave him no small amount of gratification to see the delta-winged beast slowly rousing and coming back to life, like some great bird of prey tentatively flexing its wings after too long spent on the ground.
He'd nearly finished with the flap after several hours, which now moved smoothly up through its full range of motion, when he felt the wing vibrate beneath him from footsteps making their way along its span towards him. Looking up, he found the girl standing before him, her face and hands streaked with grime, but managing to maintain her usual aristocratic bearing.
"All done," she said brusquely, crossing her arms.
"Hm." He stood with a grunt. "I'll be the judge of that."
She wordlessly followed him towards the cockpit across the aircraft's back. He could see from here that the she at least seemed to have done a good job on the canopy, and as he arrived beside it he could see his own grimy face in the glass as clearly as if he was looking in a mirror.
"Not bad," he muttered begrudgingly, before ducking beneath it to inspect the interior.
He was speechless for a moment. It was if he'd stepped back in time to when the jet had just rolled off the production line. The dust and dirt that had covered the instrument panels was gone, revealing the gleaming black metal and perfectly clear glass covering the gauges beneath. She'd even polished the delicate gunsight glass to brand new condition without damaging it, no mean feat for even an experienced technician. The ancient mud that caked the cockpit floor from some wartime pilot's boots was gone, as had the cobwebs from underneath the seats.
"Well?" he heard from behind him as he slowly shook his head at the sight.
"Credit where credit's due, Miss," he replied as he withdrew his head from beneath the canopy. "You did an excellent job. Better than any of these Navy idiots could do, that's for sure. Well done." To his surprise, the girl didn't huff or make some smarmy remark, but instead beamed at his words of praise, a genuine smile crossing her face for the first time since Bishop had met her. Was that all she was after? An 'attagirl?'
Bishop glanced down at his watch, seeing it was nearing dinnertime. "Well, thanks for your help, you may as well head back to your quarters. We'll be working through the night down here." The girl didn't move, however, as he whistled to gain the attention of his subordinates. "Alright you chuckleheads, gather 'round!" He stood straight and called to the other mechanics working on the aircraft, his booming voice bringing them smartly into a tight group around the cockpit. He pointed down, drawing their attention to the girl's handiwork. "When I say I want something clean," he growled at them, "This is what I'm talking about. I want the everything else on the this aircraft up to this standard by the time we take her up to the flight deck tomorrow morning. Flying around in a rusty shit-can might be alright for you Navy types, but I have standards. Clear?"
"Yes sir!" A few of the burly men shot dirty looks at the girl who'd shown them up, and Bishop couldn't help but grin proudly as she replied in kind.
"Alright, back to work everyone." He dismissed them, adding "I'm going for a smoke, I'll be on the fantail if anyone needs me."
The weariness of 12 hours on duty seemed to crash down on him all at once, and the pilot decided he'd earned a break, mounting the cockpit ladder to climb back down to the deck. He turned smartly on his heel, headed for the open doors at the far rear of the hangar that led out the fantail, a small outdoor area over the carrier's stern. As he made his way through the hangar, keen for a bit of peace and quiet, he heard footsteps on the metal deck hurrying to catch up to him, and a shrill voice called out "Hey! Wait for me!"
So much for a little peace and quiet.
Leaning on the railing, Asuka watched the bubbling, foaming water of the carrier's wake as it stretched out to the horizon. The sun was suspended low in the sky in the south, the same as it had been for most of the last week; a consequence of their far northern latitude which gave the illusion of a sunset at all hours of the day.
She was still bitter about the last minute change in plans facilitated by the need to stop off in Halifax. Originally, the convoy was to sail through the Mediterranean and the Suez canal, reaching Japan via the Indian Ocean. It was a trip that promised plenty of sunbathing, gorgeous scenery, and stops in exotic ports. Instead, she was stuck here in this chilly world of perpetual twilight, the only scenery being an endless collection of barren, grey rocky islands, one of which was visible far off astern.
She cast a glance over at the pilot, also leaning on the railing a few metres away from her as he savored a cigarette. His attention seemed to be raptly focused on the ugly smear of land. This was all his fault, she supposed, but to her surprise her antagonism towards him was rapidly fading, being replaced with something that might have been grudging respect.
She'd been surprised by many things on this strange day. The way the hours flew by as the anger faded and she became absorbed in her task. His genuine appreciation for her hard work, and the genuine delight she'd felt at receiving those words of praise. The satisfaction of knowing she'd done the job properly, of proving to the pilot that she wasn't just some spoiled brat, and of being able to see the results of her labours in the gleam of the instrument panels.
"That's Banks island," he spoke up after what seemed like an eternity of silence, gesturing with his cigarette to the dark mass in the distance. "...Used to be covered in ice and snow most of the year, just like everything else up here. Used to be lots of animals too. Polar bears, Muskoxen, Caribou, seals... it's all gone now."
Asuka wasn't sure what point he was trying to make; much of nature was permanently destroyed by second impact, this place wasn't special in that regard, but it became more clear what was on his mind as he continued. "...It's still home, though, or some godforsaken corner of it anyways. The last bit of Canadian territory we'll see, the next land we sight will be Alaska."
His expression shifted to one of profound worry. "...What's wrong?" Asuka asked, wondering if he'd sighted danger somewhere out there.
He gave his head a shake before answering. "Nothing..." he muttered unconvincingly. "Just a funny feeling I've got. Like I'm never gonna see it again."
Asuka rolled her eyes at this. Soldiers and their silly superstitions. Idiots.
"...I thought I told you to go back to your quarters," the man suddenly turned to look at her for the first time since they came out here, shaking off his melancholy to give her a stern glare. She was bone-tired, and her muscles ached, but despite it all she didn't want to go back to endless monotony awaiting her back in her plush suite. "What're you still doing here?"
The girl shrugged noncommittally. "Dunno. There's nothing to do up there," she muttered.
"Really?" he asked with a raised eyebrow. "You're so bored that you'd rather toil away in this hole than relax in the best accommodations on the ship?"
"Yeah, pretty much," she answered without much thought. "The time goes by faster, at least." She leaned further over the railing, looking down at where the stern of the ship met the churning polar ocean, letting out a dejected sigh. "This sucks. I just wanna get there already."
The pilot gave her a sympathetic glace, but didn't say anything, apparently lost in his own thoughts. The mismatched pair remained in an awkward silence for a while, before Asuka could stand it no longer. "...So, what's it like in Japan?" she asked nonchalantly.
"...You've never been?" The Canadian responded with a confused look. "...You have a Japanese name, and you speak fluent Japanese, but you've never been to Japan?"
She shrugged in response. "My mom's part Japanese, she named me and taught me to speak it. I grew up in Germany, though, and my dad's American." She thought for a moment. "...I guess I'm technically an American too, seeing as I was born there, but we left when I was little. Something about papa not wanting to fight in the war."
"The German-Japanese daughter of an American draft dodger, eh? Quite the family tree," he chuckled. "Well, to answer your question, Japan is a..." he paused, considering his next words carefully. "...Lovely country, I guess. The cities are clean, the countryside is beautiful, and the people are polite to a fault. A bit crowded for my taste, though."
"Crowded?"
"Yeah. Four times the population crammed into less than a twentieth of Canada's landmass. Bit hard to get used to when you grew up on the wide open prairie." The pilot thought for a moment, before adding "...Although, the place we're headed is pretty much an active war zone. Lot of civilians have packed up and left, some parts of the city are complete ghost-towns."
"Hmph." Asuka was unimpressed. "...Well, I don't care about any of that. I'm going there to fight, not for a vacation. What's NERV HQ like? What about the other pilots, what're they like? Have you met the third child?"
"...Who the hell is the third child?" The pilot rubbed his temple in exasperation at the sudden deluge of questions.
"Idiot, the pilot of the test-type, this wunderkind who killed an Angel with no training. It's all anyone's talking about in Germany, but it didn't really happen like that, did it? That's impossible..."
"Oh, you mean Shinji," the pilot nodded slowly with a long drag on his cigarette, keeping Asuka in suspense fore an agonizing moment. "Yeah, it's all true. You wouldn't think it by looking at him, though. He's a good kid. Quiet, polite... The exact opposite of you, now that I think of it," he said with a smirk.
Asuka was silent for a moment, ignoring the gibe and instead ruminating over what the man said about the third child. All this time, she hadn't really believed the stories. All her years of training, the endless drills and exercises, honing her mind and body into finely tuned weapons, and this little punk just walks in off the street and steals her thunder?
"Well..." she eventually said, trying to convince herself as much as him. "It won't matter when I get there. I'm sure he did fine for an amateur, but he won't be needed anymore once they see me and unit two." She cast the pilot a sideways glance, giving him a smug grin that he seemed not to notice. "...And I wouldn't hold out hope for them needing you and your jets with me around. You'll probably be out of a job."
"Meh," he grunted distractedly, still looking out at the horizon. "With air support, it's better to have it and not need it than need it and not have it. And as for Shinji," he finally tore his eyes away from the distance and gave her the same serious glare he'd shot her during dinner with the Admiral. "...He may not have your training, but he and I both have something you don't."
"Oh? And what's that?"
"Combat experience. No amount of training or simulations can prepare you for the reality. Say what you will about him, but the kid's killed two angels and been wounded in action twice. He knows what its like, knows what to expect, and knows the consequences of not treating the enemy with respect." Asuka was about to dismiss him with a huff, too tired to endure another lecture, but she stopped herself when the pilot's tone of voice shifted from lecturing to earnest pleading.
"He had to learn those lessons the hard way, and it just about killed him. It was... it was hard to watch, and I don't want to see it happen again, so just listen to me, will you?" Asuka turned her nose up and looked away, but didn't leave. "I get it Miss, you're hot shit and you know it, I know how it feels. Hell, I was the best there ever was at my job, hard not to grow an ego when you're told that. But it was never easy, and I'm still alive because I never underestimated my enemy, always assumed he was just as good as me, and because I wasn't alone. I fought with the finest fighter squadron in the world, guys who I'd trust my life to without question. I was part of a team, just like you'll be whether you like it or not."
She gave the man a suspicious look. "...In all the simulations back in Germany, I always fought alone."
"Be that as it may," the pilot pressed on, "There'll be three operational Eva units once you get there, it only makes sense to deploy them together. That means you kids will have to have each other's backs no matter what, trust each other unconditionally if you want to be an effective fighting force. So do me a favour, huh?"
"What?" she spat with a roll of her eyes.
"...Don't learn the hard way, okay?"
"Hmph," she grunted noncommittally. He may have had a point, but she'd go to hell before she admitted as much. Shifting restlessly, she cast a glance back towards the open doors leading back to the hangar. She was going to stay for a while, she decided, longing to busy her hands and mind once more.
The Canadian saw this, and had a chuckle as he turned back towards the sea. "Ready to get back to work eh?" He took a drag on his cigarette as an embarrassed Asuka turned away. "...You remind me of my dad. He was only ever happy when there was a job to be done. Always too proud to take a handout, even if it meant slaving away sixty hours a week in the refinery after we lost the farm."
"...Sounds like an idiot."
"Maybe he was," the pilot said idly, flicking the remains of his smoke into the sea. "Maybe I am too." When Asuka looked back at him, his attention was again focused on the island in the distance, now just a smudge on the horizon.
Shortly thereafter, the pilot decided their break was over, turning without a word to head back into the hangar, motioning for his charge to follow. He began to whistle a tune as they walked, a simple but annoyingly catchy melody that was soon hopelessly stuck in Asuka's head.
"...What's that song?" she eventually asked, able to stand it no longer.
"It's called the idiot," he answered plainly. "An old folk song. My dad used to sing it all the time."
"How appropriate," she quipped. "...Pretty catchy though. What's it about?"
The Canadian reflected on that for a moment, before answering slowly. "Well, it's about an easterner who leaves his home to take a job in the oilfields, out west where I grew up. It's hard, dirty, unpleasant work, and he misses home, but he can't go back because he's too proud, or stupid maybe, to take charity."
"...How does it go?"
Giving her a curious look, he eventually shrugged and started to softly sing the first few bars as they made their way through the hangar.
I often take these night shift walks when the foreman's not around
I turn my back on the cooling stacks and make for open ground
Far out beyond the tank farm fence where the gas flare makes no sound
I forget the stink and I always think back to that eastern town.
The man's voice wasn't exactly that of a professional singer, but it wasn't terrible either. In fact, his gruff tone sort of fit the song, a tale of stubborn self-reliance she couldn't help but sympathize with. He stopped after the first verse, and before she could stop herself she was tugging on his sleeve, asking him to continue.
So, with another shrug, he continued to sing, ignoring the curious glances of the mechanics they passed by.
I remember back six years ago, this western life I chose
For every day the news would say some factory's going to close
Well I could've stayed to take the dole but I'm not one of those
I take nothing free and that makes me an idiot I suppose.
Asuka found herself humming along to the catchy tune now, not caring how ridiculous the pair must have sounded. Far though it may have been from her usual musical tastes, that simple workingman's melody connected with her somehow, resonated in a way few things had before.
...So I bid farewell to the eastern town I never more will see
But work I must so I eat this dust and breathe refinery
How I miss the green of the woods and streams and I don't like cowboy clothes
But I like being free and that makes me
An idiot I suppose.
A/N: Apologies to everyone following this story, been awhile since the last update, but things suddenly started moving fast out in the real world and I haven't had much spare time lately. Another slower chapter I know, but the dynamic between Bishop and Asuka is just too much fun to write. Hopefully, the pace will pick a bit in the next part, but for now I hope you enjoyed!