Disclaimer: Evangelion characters, etc. do not belong to me. This is just for fun, don't sue me, etc.

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Nineteen

Chapter 4

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Shortly after lunch, Yumi found herself standing in the therapy room, looking out the window as an orderly and the first-shift aide settled Nineteen into a chair. It was an abysmally hot day, and in spite of the laboring air conditioner, the room was stuffy. Sunlight poured in the windows. She went to the other window and closed the blinds.

The orderly called her attention, and she turned. "Do you want us to stay…?" he said. He looked highly uneasy; someone must have passed on the story from last night.

Yumi shook her head. "No, thank you, that's all right. Go on back to the aide station. I'll call you when we're finished."

He hesitated as long as he dared, and then left the room; the aide followed him with a disturbed glance back.

Yumi took a deep breath, and went to take a chair opposite Nineteen.

He'd had a dose of A12. He was gazing ahead, expressionless, yet there was something different about him. It wasn't his typical look of having no one at home inside his skull; he looked more like someone deeply lost in thought, although he did not acknowledge her presence.

"Shinji?" she said softly.

He stirred. His chin lifted a little; his eyes widened. He cast his gaze slightly from side to side, as if searching for the source of an invisible voice. He shifted in his chair.

Her heart started doing a tango. "Shinji, move your left hand if you can hear me."

He shifted again. The fingers of his left hand twitched—she almost jumped as his entire left arm slid off the arm of the chair, into his lap. His hand knotted into a fist, trembling slightly. His breathing had quickened; she could hear it puffing from his nose.

"Shinji," she said, hardly above a whisper, aware that the muscles of her shoulders were knotted as tightly as his fist, "can you look at me?"

She saw his shoulders hunch a tiny bit. The right hand slid off the chair arm into his lap, joining the left; they clenched each other spasmodically like a completed circuit. He lifted his chin a little more, and blinked, his eyes finding focus somewhere, though he wasn't sure it was on her. They crept a little higher, but then he ducked his head a little, his hands wrenching at each other.

She wasn't going to argue with even that amount of response. "That's good," she said softly, trying to hide her exhilaration. "Shinji, I'm a doctor. I want to help you. Can you understand me?"

Silence. Squirming. Clenching hands. But there was response. His eyes still gazed one way, then the other. There was no other stimulus in the room that she could discern; if he wasn't merely reacting to something in his own inner world, it had to be her voice he was responding to. "Shinji, can you speak? Can you say, 'I hear you'?"

His lips parted around nothing but a faint puff of breath. He hunched more deeply and clenched his hands together so hard that she heard knuckles crack. Tentatively, afraid of disrupting whatever was holding him so close to the surface, she laid one hand over his.

His squirming stopped abruptly. He sat motionless, lips still parted; she held her breath, fearing she'd just driven him back under. He drew a shuddery breath, and she saw tears rise in his eyes, but they did not fall.

He's there! she exulted silently. He is hearing me! Damn what anyone says, he is there!

"Rei," he whispered.

She felt a cold wash that dashed away her elation. So very many times, years ago, she had sat in this room and listened to him ask over and over for those few people he had cared for, and never once had her replies penetrated.

"No, Shinji," she whispered listlessly, lowering her eyes. She slowly removed her hand from his. "Rei isn't here."

A sudden touch on her fingertips made her jump a little. She looked up.

Shinji was looking directly at her.

His eyes still swam with tears, but they were wide and alert. He had reached out; the very tips of the fingers of his left hand rested against hers. As she stared at him, stunned beyond thought, he drew his hand away. He lowered his eyes; the tears spilled over.

"She was there," he whispered, so softly she could hardly hear him.

"Who?" she breathed.

There was a long pause, and she sat without moving a muscle.

"Rei," he whispered finally. "She was in there." More tears spilled down. His hands unlocked from each other with great effort, and came up to cover his face. His shoulders began to shake. "She's dead."

Yumi dragged in a deep breath, dimly aware that if she didn't, she might very well pass out. In the past, Shinji had spoken many times of believing he had murdered Asuka, but not since his admittance had he expressed any understanding—or asked any questions—of what had happened to Rei.

The worst of it was, as far as Yumi knew, it was true. The last confirmed report of the location of the First Child was inside NERV headquarters. The report had been hours old, and they had searched the city just in case, but they had found no trace of Rei Ayanami.

Yumi felt tears sting her own eyes as she watched Shinji, weeping almost silently.

---

Shinji spoke no more during the session. In spite of the A12, he sat exhausted and listless once his tears were spent. Docile and unresponsive, he allowed himself to be herded gently back to his room.

Nevertheless, Yumi had to sit in her office for a good half hour before she finally managed to compose herself. She felt as though she'd just run a mile without stopping. The continued pounding of her heart frightened her.

He responded. He spoke to me. He looked at me. She got up to pace, unable to be still any longer. He touched me. Shinji almost never touched people if he could help it. She remembered a comment on it in his file, an observation from the NERV psychologist. Seeking more information about the Third Child shortly after he'd been admitted to the hospital, she'd tried to establish contact with Dr. Chizu. Chizu had been called to a meeting outside NERV the day before the attack, and had thus been one of the very few NERV personnel to survive the destruction of the headquarters.

Yumi's request for contact had been denied. "Security," she'd been told blandly. Pure bureaucratic-military stupidity, was more like it.

Yumi sat down in her chair again, gazing at her computer monitor, displaying Shinji's file. Thoughtfully, she opened a connection to the military database. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard for a few moments; then she began to type.

---

His world widened.

There was never any warning. One moment, he sat alone in a chilly corridor; the next, he floated, adrift in a golden-orange sea. LCL. Once, it had frightened him. Now he stretched out, feeling almost comfortable. Rocked gently in mild ripples of current, warm, safe, contained yet unconstrained. His heart beat faster. He knew that he would hurt when it was over, but he couldn't help it. Couldn't quite keep from feeling hope. No matter how much the hope hurt.

It was Kaworu.

He cried. He always cried, and Kaworu always smiled, and held him. He knew it wasn't real. He knew Kaworu was dead. But he couldn't help it. Couldn't help relaxing into those gentle arms, resting his head on Kaworu's bare shoulder, and hoping that this time, it wouldn't end.

"Don't make me go back," he whispered.

Kaworu stroked his hair. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "I know it's been hard."

"Please." Shinji tried to hold him more tightly. Please. Please. Please.

Kaworu held him at arm's length—Shinji almost cried again—and looked intently into his face. "You have a choice," he said softly.

Shinji stared at him, confused. "A choice?"

"I can show you the way back."

The phrase made him shudder. "Back to where?"

Kaworu didn't speak, just gazed at Shinji. Shinji shuddered again. "No."

"You deserve better, Shinji."

"No, I don't. I killed—" His voice broke in his throat. He clung on harder to Kaworu, hiding his face against Kaworu's shoulder. Not this time. Not again. Please.

"Yes," Kaworu said softly, and laid his hands on either side of Shinji's face, forcing his head back up. Gentle, but irresistible. "You did."

Shinji cried again—so tired, he was so tired of crying, but he couldn't help it—and Kaworu continued to hold his gaze. "They're waiting for you," Kaworu whispered.

Shinji stared, confused again. "Who?"

Kaworu smiled. And kissed him. And was gone.

He wept, huddled again in the empty corridor. He cried so hard he was afraid he would never stop, but keep crying until he poured out all the rest of his life through his tears, and dry up and shrivel away.

He heard voices in the corridor, very near, but he couldn't quiet himself enough to listen.

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Yumi hovered near the door to Nineteen's room, confused and alarmed.

Nineteen was crying.

Not hysterical screaming; not the silent, blank-eyed leaking of the first night she had seen him. His eyes were tightly closed, streaming tears that had already soaked wide places on his pillow; he sobbed and wailed aloud. He was twisted awkardly in his bed, as if trying to curl up with his face to the wall, but the restraints held him on his back.

What do I do? It was only four-thirty, half an hour to go before his medication was due.

Feeling a pang, Yumi stepped quickly out, re-locked the door, and hurried to the nurses' station to call Dr. Satou.

---

Eventually, he was too exhausted even to cry anymore.

He lay on the bench, in the empty corridor, and stared at the wall. And shivered. He was cold, always cold here. Underground. Underground to be safe from the Angels.

There were still voices. They were as far away as ever, but this time, he found himself listening to them. They were muffled, unclear. With unaccustomed effort, he strained to hear the words.

"…actually said he's making progress. If he still reacts to…"

The voices faded again from that brief spurt of clarity. They droned on, seemingly just beyond his reach. Weary, he lay still for another few moments, and then made one more effort.

"…think he'll come out of it?"

"…if we keep trying. Even so…well…"

Something was happening. He felt dizzy, as if the gravity in the corridor had been switched off and there was no "down" anymore—or worse, as if every direction were "down". It made his stomach begin to roll; he writhed, and retched. Very little came up. He retched again, feeling pulled in every direction at once, feeling no pain but a hideous disorientation. The voices seemed to skip and pulse like a fractured signal, coming to his ears in a strobelike staccatto that only increased his discomfort.

As the spasm eased, though, his vision seemed to blur. He was in two places at once. He was lying on a corridor bench on his side, smelling strong antiseptic; he was lying in a hospital bed, twisted painfully against wrist and ankle restraints, smelling vomit. The overlap of smells made him gag again, but nothing was left in his stomach.

The voices were nearer. There were hands on him, and they were gentle, but he was afraid anyway. One hand curved over his forehead, and suddenly he realized that the pulling sensation was gone. Down was against the bed beneath him; up was past the hand on his forehead, past the foggy faces, to the white ceiling above. An unfamiliar ceiling.

"…get his bed changed," the firmer of the two voices was saying. "Here, we'll just get him over to the chair, and I'll call the infirmary—"

He felt the restraints on his arms and legs undone, felt himself being prodded gently to sit up. He obeyed, the easiest course, although sitting up made his stomach roll. Gentle hands eased him up onto his feet, across the room, over to the chair—the short walk seemed familiar, although he was dizzy and his head felt foggy. He sank into the chair and slumped down a little with relief. He felt so weak he could hardly hold his head up.

It was good to be out of that bed. Even though his stomach felt bad, and he really felt more like lying down right now, that bed seemed to breathe horror at him, and he looked away from it.

Away from the bed, and toward the woman who was wiping his skin with a warm, soft damp cloth. She wasn't looking at him; her eyes were on the other woman. The other woman was speaking and she was listening.

She had brown hair, and a nice face. She seemed familiar, as though he'd seen her a thousand times before, although he didn't know her name.

She turned back to him, but she didn't look him in the face; she was replying to the other woman. She raised him to his feet and carefully removed his fouled shirt, and then went on to remove his pants.

Something seemed vaguely wrong about that, but his mind was too fuzzy to figure it out. Before he could, he was deftly maneuvered into a fresh pair of pants, and gently seated in the chair again.

The door opened, and a white-clad woman entered. She traded places with the brown-haired woman, took his temperature and blood pressure, and checked his pulse.

"…no fever, but his heart rate and his blood pressure are up a bit…think we should take him to the infirmary?"

The severe-looking doctor stepped around the brown-haired woman to look at him.

"He's pretty tanked right now. I think it'll be all right."

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The halls they walked him through seemed vaguely familiar. The brown-haired woman kept a gentle grip on his arm and one hand on his back, and that also seemed familiar. He trudged along, his feet feeling like lead. He couldn't seem to think clearly, or keep his train of thought on track for more than a few seconds. He watched the windows pass by until they walked through the infirmary doors.

He let himself be steered through the ward and into a small patient room. The bed looked just like the bed he'd just left, right down to the restraints fitted on it, and he felt a sick wave of horror in spite of his overall numbness. No. No more dreams…please…

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Yumi frowned, looking at the infirmary bed. The restraints ought to hold in case he got violent, but maybe they should have any nearby patients cleared out first… She turned to speak to the infirmary doctor, and caught a glimpse of Shinji's face. She froze, and her heart started to pound sickeningly.

His eyes were open, so wide she could see bloodshot white all around the dark irises, which were a narrow rim of brown around dilated pupils. His nostrils flared, and she heard a ragged intake of breath, which for Shinji always heralded hyperventilation. His drugged docility was rapidly evaporating in tension. Cords were beginning to stand out on his neck.

Oh my God…

She grabbed Takae by one arm and shoved her toward the door. "Get out, fast!" she snapped. The infirmary doctor's jaw dropped, her eyes fell on Shinji, and she hustled out after the startled Takae. Yumi backed toward the door after them, not taking her eyes off Shinji. "Call security!" She slammed the door shut between them and Shinji, and locked it with shaking fingers, and looked through the narrow viewing window.

Only twice had she seen Shinji with an expression like that on his face. Both times he had nearly killed someone.

He had not moved from the spot where he had been standing. He stood rigid, apparently still staring at the empty bed. Then, slowly, he turned around.

Yumi blinked. Shinji's eyes, no longer so alarmingly wide, were leaking tears. His expression was frightened and confused, but when he looked at the window where she peered in, his eyes met hers directly. She inhaled sharply, tensing, waiting for the explosion.

There was nothing.

He did not fling himself at the door; he did not scream. He turned away from the door, and stumbled into a corner, out of Yumi's visual range. She turned from the window. Takae and the infirmary doctor were watching her with fearful, perplexed expressions. Yumi went to the nurses' station to look at the room's monitor.

Shinji had huddled into a ball, squeezed into the corner, his knees tucked to his chest. His face was buried in his folded arms.

Two heavily built security officers, each with a tranquilizer gun, thundered into the infirmary behind her. "Is it Nineteen again?" one of them asked. "Did he hurt anyone?"

"…No." Yumi stepped back from the monitor, allowing them to see Shinji sitting in the corner. "I'm sorry, gentlemen. False alarm." She looked at the infirmary doctor. "Please call Dr. Nomura and ask him to come in right away. He needs to see this."

---

They'd gone away and left him here. He was alone.

He could hardly care right now, really. He felt so tired, so sluggish; even though his stomach still ached a little, he just wanted to sleep. His body felt as if it belonged to someone else. He didn't know where he was—other than in a hospital—or how he'd come here. He didn't know what day it was—what year it was. He lifted his head, and looked down at his hands. They seemed…larger than he remembered.

He laid his face back on his arms, trembling, and closed his eyes tightly. He tried, with all his might, to sink back into darkness, in the hope that he'd open his eyes and find himself back in the sea of LCL with Kaworu. Or even to find himself on his hard bench in the corridor, where at least he knew what nightmares to expect.

But when he opened his eyes again, he was still locked in the room with the empty bed. And he cried, because he knew he had left Kaworu behind for good this time.

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Excerpt from The Report of the Commission on the Abortion of Third Impact, Appendix XIII – Third Child – Shinji Ikari, Section II – Health Records, Part VII – Psychiatric Analysis, Dr. Chizu Kirie – Personal Notes – CLASSIFIED [Clearance Level S]

I may be a psychologist, but that doesn't mean I don't feel homicidal every once in a while.

It took me two hours in the gym to calm down after my little chat with the general staff, and if my rent weren't due in a week I'd hand in my resignation right now.

After her suicide attempt and rescue, Pilot Langley is completely out of commission, catatonic in the infirmary. Pilot Nagisa is dead, which ought to be a great relief, given that he turned out to be an Angel in disguise.

The flaw in that viewpoint is that somehow, in the short time that Pilot Nagisa spent as a human, he managed to make an emotional connection with Shinji that—apparently—no one of this earth has been able to make.

And then Shinji was forced to kill Kaworu himself, when Kaworu revealed himself as an Angel.

Since then Pilot Ikari has completely fallen apart. He cannot synch with his EVA. He cannot even make simple decisions. He had little enough confidence before; he has none now. He haunts Asuka's room, waiting for her to regain consciousness. Yet in spite of the pain and fear that hang so thick about him, he still holds himself aloof from everyone. I doubt he possesses the initiative to attempt suicide like Asuka did, but I'd be willing to bet my year's salary that he'll be another breathing corpse in the room next to Asuka's by the time the week's out.

I made the mistake of sharing that poetic image at the meeting, and was duly informed that had I been doing my job, Pilot Langley and Pilot Ikari would not have broken down. With commendable patience on my part, I decided not to inform them that if I had been given the means to do my job, we would never have allowed an Angel to enter the base impersonating a pilot.

As the cherry on top of the good news, I am being sent out of the base, tonight, for "professional evaluation" at the army headquarters tomorrow. My clearances have been revoked; I am allowed no further access to the pilots or their records. It seems someone else will be cleaning up after my alleged failure.

I suspect this is the end of my involvement with NERV; I fully expect a court martial as their scapegoat, with a dishonorable discharge as my best likely reward for my work.

The worst-case scenario, naturally, is that I don't make it to army headquarters alive, which is why I will be leaving NERV headquarters in ten minutes to secure my own transportation instead of waiting for NERV's helicopter.

I personally regret leaving Shinji in such pain, but there was never much I could do for him. God have mercy on him…and on whoever is left behind to pick up the pieces of him, once he's finally broken.

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End Chapter 4

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AN: Hey, it's been a very long time, but I updated! Yes, I do still plan to finish this fic. Is there anyone out there who'd be interested in being a beta? Let me know. It'd be nice to have someone who knows NGE that I can bounce ideas off of once in a while.