I wouldn't fear
For I've never known completeness
Like being here
Wrapped in the warmth of you,
Loving every breath of you- Gorecki, Lamb
You watch him. His eyes are closed, blissfully closed. You wouldn't want him to see how you didn't dare to touch him. It wouldn't do to have him know how you could only stand by the side and watch, perhaps trying to remove the crimson stain of the after-effects of his reality from his lips. You didn't know how to reach him. Face it, you're too goddamned scared to.
I want to tell you something… but I'm afraid of what it could mean if I do. Everything the Oracle told me, has come true. Everything but this.
Of all the cryptic, nonsensical and pointless things to say to him.
You haltingly stretch out a hand – stroke his face as gently as you know how. His forehead is slightly damp with sweat, but cold, cooler than your soft touch on his skin. Cold and clammy, every inch like death. You run your fingers through his hair, parting his short fringe slightly to the side. Distantly you recall the shred of cloth you'd torn from your shirt sleeve just moments ago, dabbing at his mouth with it. He's bleeding again. Inwardly you wanted to scream. You want to jack into the Matrix, into him, to just say everything, everything you've ever known. How many nights have you stood framed in his doorway, wishing for impossible moonlight to justify the darkened sleeping figure in the room?
You've argued that you had tried to show how you feel for him. You'd brought him his dinner when he was sleeping. Until you were caught by Cypher, that is. Which hour of which day had you not missed an opportunity to reach over and take his hand, to smile at him, to even talk to him?
He deserved the same treatment as any other rookie, regardless of how you feel. Even regardless of how you're supposed to feel.
But to you… he was never 'any other rookie'.
He suddenly jolts in his chair, shaking the protesting metal as he writhes, convinced of the bullets ripping through his flesh. Ten. Thirteen.
You cry out, why isn't he listening?
Staggering back, facing the agent; trying so hard to find a foothold with just the material of his shirt, snagging, and sagging against the rough wooden wall behind him. Splinters prick his skin and mind.
Defined and confined by the uninterrupted straight barrier of his own heartbeat, as if it was the only thing keeping him from life, he'd fought, and he'd died. Like they'd said he would. Like you believed he would.
He was no different after all. He didn't deserve death.
You will no longer have to live in the needless shadow of your fear of what you feel for him, you cowardly slut. It is always this song, love and loss, breath and bloodshed and-
Red alert.
"Here they come," Morpheus voices out grimly.
Sentinels, killing machines, search and destroy. Crippled bolts of blue lightning, red pulsating lights like eyes. They seep arachnophobia, yet are perfectly machine. Search and destroy. They land on the roof, thundering through the entire ship, the impact so great it seemed that it was a magnet for them. Supplies are flung off their shelves, clattering noisily to the ground.
Calculative hands slowly lift the plexiglass shield from above the EMP. To think a simple switch would temporarily demagnetize anything within the ship's blast radius and render the machines completely useless-
"We can't use that until he's out," you burst out uneasily. Unnecessarily. There's nothing you can do.
The top of the ship clangs as an enormous dent appears there. The pounding causes the floor to vibrate like a gong, and you almost lose your footing. You cling on to him. He is still plugged in.
Morpheus slips and his hands slide from the EMP. He stiffens – glances at you. "What do you mean, 'until he's out'?"
"He's dead, dammit," Tank snapped bitterly, "use the damn EMP, Morpheus."
Your hands brace his shoulders. He's real and warm beneath your touch, he's not a ghostly vapor or a still corpse. It's not a matter of choice; you simply cannot fathom that he is not alive.
Metal shrieks as the sentinels seer the Nebuchadnezzar open like pie crust.
"Trinity, what the hell is the matter with you?" Tank strides over. He forces your hands out of the way and shakes Neo roughly by the shoulders. "Look, he's not bloody breathing. Now will you get a grip on yourself?"
You slap him across the face as hard as you can.
He's not what you're here for.
The monitors are lying, you can almost feel his heart beating. He hasn't paled, not at all. He's not numb, and he's not in pain. He's not dead. He's not dead.
You have to give him air.
Your hand shakes as you reach behind his neck, to feel where his head is connected to the rest of the lifeless machines. There is no time for confessions of the heart. You wish you could hold him, you will him to feel you near him. Your eyes close. Bending down, you touch your lips to his. He is still so warm.
And you breathe life into him.
Tank is scrambling up from the floor. You can't care less where the captain is. Crackling sparks shoot from where the sentinels are cutting through the floor. A grating from one of the upper decks crashes down. Distantly you hear Tank's laughter ringing in your ears. He shouts to you.
"He's not your precious liberator, Trinity…"
You are too afraid, that Tank could be right, to tell Neo that you love him.
Morpheus shouts something to Tank.
Neo's pulse flickers.
Sentinels, like a gust of wind, streak into the ship, tunneling through a jungle gym of flimsy metal. Everything in their path is crushed like paper.
Neo shivers in his chair; you can't see the code, can't see what he's doing. You place your hand where his heart is. You feel his chest rising and falling.
Hurry, Neo. Come back.
There is an ear-splitting yell from someone – Tank? Morpheus? – accompanied by a distinctly wet, weak cry. You turn and come face to face with a sentinel. It lashes its tentacles like a thousand metal-plated whips. It's not aimed at you. It's here for Neo.
"No!"
Scream, half turn to face Neo at the same time. His eyes are still sealed.
But you know.
You all but rip the plug out from his head, just at the sentinel breaks cover and dives.
Someone turns the EMP.
You throw yourself over Neo, burying your head into the curve between his neck and shoulder, shielding yourself with your hands. You feel a faraway feeling of completeness, long forgotten. If you should die this very moment, you won't fear. Neo's all that matters-
The screeching chatter of the sentinels halts suddenly, as energy is jerked from their shells. You hear muffled pounding on the deck as they collapse, one by one. Your heart is hammering in your chest like you've been running for cover for a century.
In between your gasping you feel his warm, even breathing tickling your cheek.
Rising slowly, you're but a breath away from him. He's never looked more beautiful, more alive to you before this, and his almond eyes are already open. Half the lights on the ship have been taken out, and to you, he's glowing, a light in the dark.
Everything is perfect except the look on his face.
Frowning, he regards you with painful innocence. Confused.
"Trinity…?"
In that one moment, everything breaks. You can't face him. Your mind screams at you to stay, but you pull away from Neo, breaking eye contact. You're shaking as you scrutinize his chair, pretending to be doing the routine equipment check.
Now will you get a grip on yourself?
You're in love with him.
It isn't real.
"Trinity?" He sits up, you're there and you attempt to support him, but your hands stop about a mile away from his body. For some reason, uncontrollable guilt of some kind etches itself over your expression.
You're afraid.
He touches his lips. No blood runs down his fingertips, thank God. He's safe now.
"Trinity?" That same voice again. He asks a thousand questions and answers them in that one word, your name, and you want that sound to stay in your head forever. You've waited for this moment.
"Sentinel attack." You close your eyes, trying to steady yourself when it feels like the earth is rocking on its axis. It's a fight to remain calm, and you win. "Are you alright?"
You've waited for this moment. And you've let it go.
Neo rests his head on his hand, shutting his eyes. He waits before he speaks. "My… my head… feels a bit strange…" He looks back up at you with that sheepish look on his face again. You've never given a thought as to how adorable he looks. "I think I'll be alright."
You manage quick nod before it spills from the top of your tongue, "Do you… do you remember anything?"
Neo chuckles shortly. "Dying? It wasn't fun." He glances down. "I… I felt like there was someone holding me up. Air was just rushing into my lungs… I don't know, Trinity, I don't know."
Your hearts drops into your stomach. It hurts to swallow.
He doesn't remember anything.
He doesn't know-
But you've told him.
He didn't hear you.
"Neo-"
"Neo." Morpheus rises, clinging on to various paraphernalia as he precariously approaches where you are.
"Captain."
"How do you feel,
Neo?"
"Alright, sir." He squirms a little. Some preposterous part of you points out that he doesn't tell the captain what he tells you.
"Much has been lost. But… you are the One, Neo."
Something cracks inside. You recall you wanted to be the one to tell him that.
"Trinity?"
You wish he would stop saying that. As if you weren't already about to lose control.
Morpheus turns to you. You're still his right-hand man. "We will need to head back to Zion as quickly as we can to recharge the ship. We will… we will need a new crew." He swallows. "And a new operator."
Tank.
Neo is looking at you oddly.
"Trinity." Now Morpheus is ogling you like a display case in a museum. "Are you feeling well?"
Your eyes are lifeless where they are staring at the stuffing that has erupted from Neo's headrest, where your nails have been digging into the fabric. Yet you feel them tearing up. It's just been a long day, you may feel about to collapse in on yourself, but you won't cry. You can't. Not now.
Your chest tightens as you breathe in slowly.
"Yes, sir."