Sixteen: Domestic Pilot.

NERV HQ, Tokyo-3 Special Administrative District, Japan.

August 3rd, 2015.

Misato glared at the cover of the UN memorandum, holding the cold receiver to her ear.

"We're getting nickel-and-dimed by the JSSDF and the UNSC at the same damn time. That idiot Miyahara and his tinpot state are swimming in yen while Sato's trying to fine us for destroying his tanks."

"You must admit," the voice drawled, "it's pretty expensive to run a colony. General Miyahara's been running up the tab on our end, too."

Misato turned the memo over, idly sketching on the back.

"We can't order any new systems until we get more funding—those crackpots and their atomic wind-up toy isn't helping." Misato erased a line and redrew it. "I was hoping for a favor."

"Ask away."

"Can we get a discount on the next few shipments, just until our budget gets raised? Say, 25%?"

A long pause. "That's a lot. I'll give you ten, if you promise Ocotillo exclusivity on radar tech."

"Twenty, with exclusivity."

"Twenty! Are you trying to drive me out of business?"

Misato sighed. "I'll make you a special deal. We'll give you an hour with the squid Angel's corpse. You can take what you can carry with your two hands."

The quiet hiss of static was broken by laughter.

"You drive a hard bargain, Misato. Deal. I've been itching to get my hands on that shell."

"Just don't break the Vatican Treaty. Ocotillo's had its scrapes with the law—"

"Believe me, this time I won't get caught."

The phone clicked. Misato dropped the receiver onto the frame. He hung up on me. Typical Parker.

"Who was that?"

Misato jumped. "Ritsuko, damn it, stop sneaking up on me. Parker was trying to pitch me—"

" Solomon Parker? He'd sell you down the river for a fistful of dollars."

Misato shrugged. "We're his cash cow. Ocotillo makes half its revenue from the UN Security Council—NERV's the largest item on the UNSC budget."

"He's milking us, all right." Ritsuko said darkly. "Speaking of funds, Unit-00's armor is completely ruined. We'll have to recase it, at the very least, and the subcutaneous controllers are probably all shot too. That's eighty million dollars for the armor, another ten if we need to reimplant the motivators. We've got half a billion left in the tank and the Americans won't release any more."

"Stupid Jet Alone. If the test actually succeeds, our budget goes into the toilet." Misato opened her emails, clicking through the status reports. "That reminds me. We haven't celebrated our victory over the last Angel yet." Misato grinned. "How about you come have dinner with me—"

"Absolutely not." Ritsuko rifled through the documents on Misato's desk.

Misato pushed the munitions report towards her. "Why? It's been forever."

"No, it's been a week."

"That doesn't count as a dinner."

"I hope not. That was a crime against food. Admit it, Misato. You. Can't. Cook."

"Don't worry, Shinji-kun will cook for us. And I'll pay for the alcohol. Top shelf stuff, not the supermarket shochu we used to drink after class. What about next Friday?"

Ritsuko hesitated, then nodded."Alright. Don't help with the food. I won't survive another bout with your cuisine."

Misato gestured dismissively. "Yes, yes. I get it already."

Ritsuko gave her a side-eye, tucked the file under her arm and left.

Perfect chance. If Ritsuko is working with X-kun, she'll definitely spill when she's good and drunk. All I have to do is get her sloshed. She grinned malevolently, drawing in the penguin's eyes. As good as done. I just have to stay lucid—no, that won't work. I'll set a bug in the hollow book.

"Besides," she muttered. "I've got the perfect meal planned. She'll never know it was actually cooked by yours truly—"

Ninth Ward, Tokyo-3 Special Administrative District, Japan.

August 6th, 2015.

"Shinji-kun! Come here, please!"

Shinji set his book down. That was quick. He poked his head into the kitchen.

"Misato-san, what is it?" The smell was almost…good. Misato wiped her hands on the front of her apron. A slow cooker steamed on the countertop.

"The chili's done. I need you to taste it, see if it's good."

"Um, chili?" Oh….oh no.

"I took an American recipe from a book and put a Japanese twist on it."

Misato ladled some of the chili into a bowl and handed it to him. "Here, have a taste."

At least nothing's on fire. Shinji stuck his spoon into the chili and cautiously raised it to his mouth. It's undercooked. The meat's raw, and the beans are hard. He chewed, swallowed. It tastes alcoholic. How much mirin did she put in there? Why did she even add mirin? They don't put alcohol in chili.

"Well," Misato prompted. "How is it?"

"It's not bad. It could cook a little longer, though."

Misato tasted it and blanched. "That's a lot of mirin. Isn't that supposed to cook off…oh wait, the cooker is sealed."

"It should burn off if you put it back on the heat. The beans are a little hard…"

Misato slumped into the chair and plonked her head onto her arms. "Ritsuko's gonna make fun of me. I told her you were going to cook. She's going to spit it out, isn't she? She'll be drunk off the mirin before we even crack open the sake."

Compared to the vanilla curry you made last time, this is definitely better—wait, hold on. You told her I was going to cook?!

He looked at Misato, who was shooting furtive looks from between her fingers. Shinji heaved a sigh. "Fine. I'll get some groceries."

Misato shoved a wad of bills into his hand. "Oh, and while you're already out, can you grab the new issue of Cosmo Girl ? She fights her berserk robot stalker in this one."

Shinji pulled on his shoes. "Sure." What have I gotten myself into?

Ninth Ward, Tokyo-3 Special Administrative District, Japan.

August 7th, 2015.

Ritsuko ladled on some of the curry, layering on a piece of cutlet. She took a bite and nodded appreciatively. "Did you make all this yourself, Ikari-kun?"

"Misato-san helped. She made the salad too."

Ritsuko gave her a skeptical look. "Really?"

Misato kicked her under the table, pouring two glasses of wine from the open bottle. Another sat on the table. "How rude. I'm your host, you know." Misato slid one glass to Ritsuko.

Shinji made himself a bowl and set to eating. Misato stood, holding up her glass. "First, a toast. To our victory, and the pilots who made it possible."

Ritskuo raised her glass. "Cheers."

Shinji rubbed the back of his neck. "Thanks."

"So," Misato said. "I had an idea for the Evangelions. What if we equipped Unit-01 with a jetpack? It'd make it a lot easier to evade the Angels."

Ritsuko swallowed. "Well, we considered it for a bit, but the amount of fuel isn't practical. The tank would also be an explosion risk. You saw the last of the Angels—no amount of armor can protect against that kind of heat."

Shinji coughed. "Also, it'd be hard to control, I think. Moving the Evangelion is like moving my arms and legs—"

"And humans don't come with rockets," Misato finished.

"Don't forget the cable," Ritsuko said. "We still can't get more than five minutes out of the onboard batteries—that's not nearly enough for airborne activities. One of the perks of the Jet Alone system is the lack of tether."

"The Jet Alone?" Shinji asked.

"Oh, you haven't heard of it, Shinji-kun? Ritsuko got a look at it during the pretests."

Ritsuko helped herself to more katsu. "The Jet Alone is a mecha suit."

"Like Unit-01?"

The scientist shook her head. "The Evangelions are biomechanical; they're made of flesh. The Jet Alone is controlled remotely or via command sequence. If it worked properly, it could kill Angels on the cheap."

Misato scowled. "Their entire schtick is 'Evangelions are dangerous. Let's build walking Chernobyls and chuck them at the kaijus! Nothing could possibly go wrong!' " She poured her third glass and took a large swig. "I'm going to beat the shit out of Shiro. I'm going to walk up to him at the conference, grab the microphone, and ram it down his throat."

Ritsuko chuckled. "Now, now, it isn't personal. He's a prick in general—everyone who meets him wants him dead. Then again, the Comman—Ikari-san had an enemies list four hundred names long."

"You mean Father? Why?"

"He was a visionary, Ikari-kun. There are three kinds of people with enemies: visionaries, assholes, and crackpots."

Misato snorted. "I dunno about crackpot, but the Commander was definitely an asshole. He didn't know half our names, he'd tell you you were an idiot to your face, and he didn't even say hello in the morning."

Ritsuko polished off her glass and poured herself a third. "Supreme Commander Ikari held himself to a high standard, and he expected people to meet or exceed that standard—"

"Yes, you're both nerds, we get it." Misato nudged Shinji, her speech starting to slur slightly. "Rit-chan's a shut-in. She'd sleep at her desk if I didn't drag her home."

Ritsuko scowled. "You're one to talk. You blow half your paycheck on booze."

"Better than living in the office. You and Gendo were a perfect match, ya know."

Ritsuko stared silently at her food, hand curling into a fist.

Misato continued. "Or was that what you were doing all night? You and Gendo, inserting his entry plug—"

Ritsuko slammed her fist down on the table, rattling the cutlery. Shinji flinched.

"Take that back," she whispered hoarsely.

Misato blinked. "Sorry, that was a bad joke."

Ritsuko stabbed the last piece of cutlet with her fork, chewing savagely.

I should steer this to safer ground.

Shinji cleared his throat. "How bad is the damage to Unit-01?"

"The damage is superficial," Ritsuko said. "The arm's the only tricky part to repair, but we have a spare from the last Angel."

"A…spare?"

"Angels and Evangelions are made of the same kind of flesh, called particle-wave matter. It'd regrow on its own, but PWM grafts speed that up. The real problem is Unit-00. The repairs are going to take far longer…"

Misato pushed her empty bowl away and stood—steadily enough, despite having drunk nearly an entire bottle of wine. "Stupid Council won't fund that. We're near the bottom of our budget."

Shinji paused for a moment. "By the way, Ayanami-san hasn't been coming to class this week—"

Ritsuko shrugged. "Under observation. Should have been out today."

"Is she okay?"

"Not my department. Med's worried about psychological damage. You'll have to ask her for details."

Misato leaned forward, grinning. "Pining, Shin-chan?"

Shinji felt his face burn. "N-no, you've got the wrong idea. I—"

"You've been all glum, poor Shin-chan. Miss her that much?"

"No, no—" Shinji stopped short. She hasn't read the note. She'd be teasing me way harder if she had. At least this way she doesn't know about Kaworu.

Misato's smile stretched wider. "You're in your room all day, probably doing nasty—"

Ritsuko flicked her on the temple. "Cut it out, Misato. You're projecting."

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"Valentine's week, 2004. You and Kaji were MIA. Care to explain?"

Misato sighed, slumping back into the chair. "You're no fun." She turned to Shinji. "Do you even like women? Your buddies were practically chomping at the bit, but you haven't reacted to me at all."

Ritsuko's voice cracked. "Misato!"

Shinji struggled to keep a straight face. What am I supposed to say in this situation? "Sorry, but after mopping up your puke…it's impossible for me to take you seriously. "

Stunned silence. That was the wrong thing to say. Definitely the wrong thing to say.

Ritsuko burst into laughter, slapping Misato on the back. "Amazing! He got you, eh, Misato-chan?"

She pouted. "Stop ganging up on me. Shinji-kun, that was a mean thing to say."

Shinji opened his mouth—Ritsuko cut him off. "Don't apologize, you'll ruin your victory."

Time to disappear. Shinji reached for the dishes.

Misato stopped him. "I'll do them. Don't worry." Her face was still bright red; Shinji scrupulously avoided eye contact.

He beat a hasty retreat to his room and shut the door.

Ritsuko poured a cup of sake and took a small sip. How the hell does this woman still have a liver? She's had a bottle of wine and four cups of sake—I'd be under the table.

Misato propped her elbows on the table, staring into her cup. She's hit the sad Mii-chan stage; perfect. Any more and she won't be able to answer questions. Ritsuko subtly slid the bottle away from her.

"Say, Misato. I was wondering…"

"Hmm?"

"Why did Benedikt change his mind so quickly? He was going to throw the book at Shinji, right? He had him in solitary for three days, but now NERV's apologized."

"He didn't." Misato paused, taking a sip of sake.

Ritsuko leaned forward. "He didn't?"

"Allard…Allard made him. He overruled Lavrentiy, and Powell too."

"How do you know?"

"I was there. At the meeting. He said—no, I can't remember. He was angry, I think."

"Lavrentiy?"

"Yeah. Powell…Powell was quiet." She shuddered. "He gives me the creeps. He'd kill us both if the Commander gave the word. Psycho."

"Still, isn't it weird that the Subcommander had a pilot detained and questioned like that? It's not like he runs NERV—"

"He's not who you think he is."

"Oh?" Ritsuko struggled to keep the anticipation from showing on her face.

"He has friends in high places…" Misato giggled, grabbing at the sake bottle. She grasped it on the second try, lifting it directly over her mouth. Ritsuko snatched it away and poured her a cup. Not good. She's getting to giggly drunk. The next step is out like a light . Misato gulped the sake down in two long pulls. "Powell's his Oprichnik."

"What does that—"

"I was wondering, Ritsuko."

"What?"

Misato stared at her, expression eerily serene. "How did you survive the blast?"

"Huh? You mean the one—"

"Yes. You left the room right before the bomb went off. How did you know?"

Ritsuko paused for a minute. "The Commander sent me out. Told me to scramble the Evangelions. This was thirty seconds or so before the briefcase exploded."

"You saw the briefcase? Or did Gendo?"

"I didn't, no… but the Commander seemed to recognize him . Some guy in Section 6, apparently; they used dental records to ID him."

"Section 6? Interesting…"

Misato nodded over her cup, struggling to stay awake. "One last thing."

"Sure." She won't remember anything in the morning, anyway.

"Ibuki-san…She's in control of the MAGI now, right?"

"Yeah. What about her?"

"Are you seeing her?"

Ritsuko's heart stopped. There's no way she knows…she doesn't.

" For MAGI access," Misato clarified.

Nobody's got access to that phone line, not under the encryption I've put on it. She's just guessing.

"No," she lied smoothly. "We've fallen out of touch lately."

Misato slumped over; Ritsuko caught her before her head struck the table and laid her down. Sleeping. She drew a shaky breath. That was too close.

"So Benedikt's the one to make a deal with," she muttered. "Easy enough to do. We've got a common interest, after all."

She crossed to the kitchen and filled a glass of water at the sink. I'm going to have the mother of all hangovers in the morning. Misato groaned from the living room. Well, the daughter of all hangovers.

Ritsuko drank the water, set the glass down on the counter, and stopped.

Wafting from the firmly closed door down the hall was the sound of a harmonica. Single notes, mixed with the occasional botched chord and dissonant screech. She smiled. So she passed it on after all.

Shinji shut the bathroom door behind him. I wonder if Misato-san is still awake. He poked his head into the living room.

"Ikari-kun, could you give me a hand?" Ritsuko was trying to heave Misato off the floor. Shinji went to help. Ritsuko slung one of Misato's limp arms around her neck, Shinji taking the other, and together they carried her to her room. He flipped on the light.

Ritsuko shifted her weight. "Can you get the futon?"

Shinji rummaged through the closet, pulled out the futon, and spread it. Ritsuko dumped Misato on the cushion like a sack of potatoes, pulling the cover over. "Thanks," she said. "I'll crash here overnight." Shinji nodded and went to leave. "Oh, and Ikari-kun?"

He stopped in the doorway. Ritsuko bore an unreadable expression.

"Yeah?"

Ritsuko strode across the room. Before Shinji could react, she reached out and plucked a folded piece of paper from his breast pocket.

Shinji grabbed at it, but Ritsuko held it up over her head.

"You're carrying it around now, is it? So Misato was half-right, then."

Shinji's face reddened. "Um, that's…Are you going to—"

Ritsuko laughed. "Don't worry, I won't tell. She'd tease you to death, and that's just cruel. Though, carrying the note to school is going to get you caught."

Shinji nodded, ears burning. I know I should have left the note in my room. Ritsuko handed it back. "Good night, Pilot. Don't let Misato get drunk till at least noon tomorrow."

"Good night, Akagi-san." Shinji padded back to his room and shut the door, flinging himself down on the futon.

He lay on his side, gazing at the harmonica. This cool piece of silver—marked on one end by a long, straight scratch—seemed to exert a peculiar gravity. Shinji lay on his back, closing his eyes. I carry the harmonica to school now, even if I don't play it. I get anxious if I don't have it.

"What is this feeling?"

Ninth Ward, Tokyo-3 Special Administrative District, Japan.

August 8th, 2015.

Shinji sipped his coffee. A zombie-like groan came from the kitchen.

"Misato-san, good morning."

She stumbled into the living room, looking like she'd been jumped by an Angel. "Morning." She rummaged around in the TV-stand, pulling out a book, and disappeared back into her room with a loud thud.

Notes:

PREVIEW:

Yo, Ryoji here with your preview. The human work escapes! The pilot and the captain race against time to prevent cataclysm. A new alliance, a promise of betrayal, and the approach of the next act. Next time on Herz und Seele, Chapter Seventeen: Homo Faber. Don't worry, there'll be plenty of fanservice!