Connection

It really was jarring to be shaken awake. Cat grumbled, prying at the
fingers on her shoulder. "Ow, Smith. That hurts."

The grip only grew
tighter as Cat rubbed her eyes. "Lemme go. And tell me what's rgenrgent it
couldn't wait until a decent hour." She focused her sleepy eyes on the hand that
was still shaking her. She squinted. "Your suit looks darker."

Her eyes
traveled along the arm to its owner. The face didn't belong to Smith, although
it was certainly reminiscent of it. The hand that didn't have hold of her was
pressed to an ear. She was staring at an Agent>

Her stomach turned to
ice. There would be no getting out of this one. Unless...

Her eyes darted
to the bedside table. Where had she put the phone? There it was, wedged between
the table and the bed.

She was jerked upright without warning. The
Agent's head turned to focus on her. Cat forced herself to smile. "I don't
believe we've met."

"My name is Agent Johnson." Cat blinked. His speech
was stilted, but not at all like Smith's. It was... colder, flatter. It sounded
like a machine.

"Umm... What can I do for you, Agent?" Maybe if she were
cooperative, they wouldn't recognize her as a Resnt.
"You are
fraternizing with a target of our investigations. A Smith."

Cat smiled.
"Yes, sir. I've been spending a lot of time with Smith lately." She looked down
at herself with an exaggerated movement of the head. "I'd be happy to answer
your questions, but would it be all right if I threw a robe on? I'd feel much
more comfortable. They're just in that closet there."

The hand on her
shoulder unclenched, and Cat rubbed at the hurt. She put her hand on the spot
where she'd seen the phone as she kicked the blankets off, and pressed what she
hoped was the one and star while she swung her legs around. The Agent's hand
rose again as she stood. Shit, Cat thought. He can tell that I've placed a
call.

There was no way she could get away if she ran. She'd be better off
playing it cool, or so she hoped. She heard the Agent rise as she pulled the
closet open and grabbed a terrycloth robe. She turned to face him as she pulled
it on.

The Agent wore a formidable scowl. Cat swallowed and was grateful
for the sunglasses; she knew just what look she'd find in those
eyes.

"Please, have a seat." She could hear the tremble in her own voice
as she moved slowly toward the table. Johnson made no move to stop
her.

He was silent. Cat's heartbeat filled her ears as the head turned
toward her again. It was like being hunted by something that knew exactly where
you were but wanted to toy with you before making its kill.

Thoughts like
that aren't going to get you anywhere, she told herself. "Ummm... So, what
brings you here to question me in the middle of the night?"

"You will be
removed to agency headquarters."

Cat turned wide eyes on Johnson. The
shock in them was very genuine; once they got her to headquarters, she was
finished for sure. No one left that place alive. "What's happening?"

"You
are not safe. Smith is known to be dangerous. It is for your
protection."

Smith might come, Cat thought. She had to buy time. "Well, I
can't hardly go anywhere without my clothes on. Do we have time for me to
change?"

The hand rose to the ear. "Be quick."

Cat fumbled with
the bureau drawers. Why wasn't she dead? The Agent must not associate her with
the Resistance. Why? She might not have spent much time in the Matrix, but she'd
run into them a few times in the not-so-distant past.

She walked to the
bathroom, aware of the Agent's eyes on her as she closed the door. It had to be
Smith. He'd been responsible for a few deaths even after the incident with Neo.
Johnson must have assumed that she was a coppertop who Smith was using for some
reason. Maybe, a voice in the back of her mind whispered, he knows just what
you're supposed to be. A traitor. A traitor who they can use just as much as
Smith can.

That might just keep her alive, she thought as she coiled her
hair into a sloppy bun. If she could convince Smith she was on his side, maybe
the Agents could be persuaded also - if they didn't shoot first and ask
questions later.

Johnson coughed obtrusively outside the door. She
wouldn't be able to stall much longer. Smith probably wasn't coming anyway.
After all, she hadn't spoken into the phone. Maybe Smith had thought her call
was a mistake. Maybe he had been away from the phone, or otherwise
unreachable.
The The phone... Johnson knew about the call she'd made. Why was
he allowing her to dawdle? Unless... Unless the Agents were hunting Smith. She
felt sick to her stomach as she remembered his ringing phone, the phone she'd
insisted on buying and testing...

She straightened herself as Johnson
coughed again. Maybe, if she played her cards right, she could just manage to
stay alive, Smith or no Smith. They hadn't hurt her thus far.

She opened
the door and Johnson latched on to her shoulder again. "You're hurting me," she
whispered, unable to stop the tears from squeezing out.

Johnson literally
dragged her out of the room. Her shoulder throbbed as she tripped along, trying
to keep up so that the pressure on the spot was reduced. If he squeezed any
harder, Cat was sure he'd break bone.

The Agent frowned as the elevator
chimed to signal its arrival before he'd touched the button. The hand rose
toward his ear again as the door opened. Smith stepped out, his lip curled in
his most scornful expression.

Johnson threw Cat away from him before she
really had time to process that. She impacted the wall with enough force to make
a dent.

She wasn't sure how long she lay there; perhaps she'd passed out
for a minute or two. Voices that formeundsunds but not words intruded into the
haze. She raised her head and found her vision had no better focus. She shook
her head to clear it; nausea rushed over her instead. She fell back against the
wall, turning her head and vomiting weakly.

She gathered her strength and
crawled away from the spot when she'd finished. The voices stopped; she swiveled
towards the elevator and saw Smith adjusting his tie as the other Agent
straightened his jacket. They lunged forward without warning, bodies blurring as
they dodged and punched too quickly for her eyes to follow.

Cat closed eye eyes again; the fast movements made her dizzy enough that she felt the bile
rise in her throat. When she opened them again, the Agents had pulled apart.
Neither looked any worse for the wear.

"You are no longer necessary,"
Johnson sneered. "You have been replaced. Your operatives have long since
reported for deletion."

Smith's lip curled. "It is unwise to
gloat."

Johnson lunged forward without replying. Cat was fascinated by
his pseudo kung-fu moves, a contrast to Smith's straightforward right hooks.
Perhaps he'd been designed specifically to combat Neo.

Although she
watched closely, Cat never saw either Agent land a blow. They were blindingly
fast, never in one place long enough to take a hit.

She crawled forward
experimentally. Her head spun, but it was bearable now. She closed her eyes for
a moment and opened them onto the same draw battle. Maybe...

She moved
forward at a painfully slow pace, but the programs were too focused to notice
her. She paused ten feet behind Johnson. She forced her breath to quiet and
readied herself. Five feet now, three... She latched herself onto Johnson's
right foot. He shook his leg to rid himself of her, and in the split second's
distraction Smith landed a punch with enough force to send both Cat and Johnson
flying. She hit the wall again, this time with Johnson smashing her from the
other side.

Her head missed the brunt of the impact this time. She tried
to shove Johnson off her, but he felt... liquid under her hands. She pushed
again, and this time the man slid off her. She blinked; Johnson was gone,
replaced by a man she recognized as the desk clerk.

She reached up to
touch her head and winced. Her hand came back covered with
blood.

Something put pressure on the shoulder Johnson had crunched. She
looked up into Smith's sunglasses. "I thought you'd gotten rid of those," she
muttered. He jerked her to her feet and dragged her into her room.

Smith
kicked the door shut and shook her hard. Cat's stomach heaved, and what little
was left in it came up onto his polished shoes. "You are in contact with
Anderson."

"No, no," she mumbled. It was hard to focus on speaking. Her
tongue seemed to have developed a mind of its own, and she needed all of her
concentration to say even simple things.

She cried out as Smith grabbed
her head, supporting her sagging body with a death grip on her injured skull.
Her eyes rolled back in her head as he squeezed, one hand pressing the cut she'd
discovered a few moments before.

He let go and she slumped to the ground,
emitting jagged little whimpers. She stared dully as Smith stuffed her
belongings into one of her shopping bags and thrust it at her. She made no move
to take it. Smith snarled and hauled her to her feet again. "Johnson will return
if he can. It is imperative that we leave now."

Cat tried to keep her
balance, but even Smith's grip couldn't keep her upright. She stumbled forward
and he jerked her up again, dragging her back into the hall. The man who had
been Johnson was still lying there; Cat's feet hit him as Smith dragged her
past. "Hurts," she complained.

He loosened his grip and let her slide
onto the wall as they waited for the elevator. Cat blinked, fighting the haze
that threatened to overwhelm her senses again. The door opened in front of her
and she hugged one side of it, pulling herself into the elevator. Smith
followed.

Her head had cleared a little, enough that she realized that
Smith dragging her through the hotel lobby in the state she was in would attract
attention whether Johnson was back or not. Her stomach lurched along with the
elevator as it slowed to a stop.

"No," she whispered as Smith gripped her
shoulder again. She pushed at his hand.

Smith blinked at her, but his arm
slid to her waist. His grip was still tight enough to be painful as she tottered
forward.

A concerned-looking woman intercepted them just as they reached
the doors. "What happened?"

Smith glared at her. The cold air from the
door hit Cat, clearing things a little although her jaw still didn't work well.
"'Sawright," she muttered. "Attack on the fifth floor. Call police."

The
woman looked flustered and flipped her cell phone open, but didn't trouble them
further. Cat wondered dimly why she hadn't turned into an Agent on the
spot.

Smith propped her against the outside wall and stalked off. The
cold air helped Cat recover herself a little. Her hand fumbled over her head.
The big cut was there, yes, and several spots were tender enough to make her
wince. She almost screamed when she touched her nose. It must be broken,
then.

A nondescript black car pulled into view. Cat gritted her teeth and
started jogging in the opposite direction. Maybe if she dodged into the
alley...

A hand caught the same abused shoulder and she kicked behind her
sharply. The grip didn't waver. She started to scream; another hand crept around
to cover her mouth. Her whole body stiffened as it brushed her nose. She
struggled for a moment more, then went limp. This fight was over.

The
hands dropped away so suddenly that Cat barely managed to stay upright. "Are you
mobile?"

She exhaled, dizzy with relief. "Smith."

She turned to
face him. He stood motionless; Cat realized that he was waiting for a response.
"No thanks to you."

She tottered a few steps forward, flinching away from
Smith as he moved toward her. "Don't touch me," she whispered.

"It is
necessary to vacate this area as quickly as possible. You are unable to move
well, and Johnson may return."

"Don't touch me," she repeated, lumbering
forward.

Smith's forehead puckered. Cat cut him off before he could
begin; at least her mouth was obeying her now. "I don't know what the hell you
were doing to me up there, but it hurt. It wasn't too comfortable to get dragged
down the hall by my shoulder, either. And take off those stupid sunglasses. It's
dark outside."

Smith's forehead creased further as he stepped toward her.
"Be quiet."

Cat tried to shy away again, but he was faster. He scooped
her up, and she started kicking and wriggling. "Put me down!" she
hissed.

His grip tightened. Cat sucked in a surprised breath. It hurt
much more this way. She relaxed, and so did the grip.

He'd left the car
doors open and dumped Cat in the passenger seat. She couldn't stop the tears
from clouding her vision; even the slight jarring sent agony from her nose
outward.

The door clicked behind Smith. "Where are we going?" Cat asked.
Smith didn't answer. "Wherever it is, I think we need to stop at the doctor's
first."

"That would be ill-advised."

"I'm pretty badly beat up."
Cat winced and leaned back into her chair.

"You are able to
walk."

"How do you see the road at night in those damned glasses? And I
think I might have a concussion."

"That is unlikely." Smith pressed his
lips together, apparently appraising her condition. Cat felt exposed under his
slow stare. "You are speaking coherently, by your standards." Cat frowned, then
winced as the expression moved her tender nose.

"My
nose..."

Smith stared straight ahead, his face in its neutral set. "You
are mobile. You have no injuries that threaten your life."

Cat sighed.
"It just... hurts," she mumbled, realizing how petulant she sounded as the words
left her. "At'st's conspicuous."

"It would be no less so with a
plaster."

She shook her head. The Agent was right. Her injuries wouldn't
kill her, but there was no such guarantee if Johnson came back.

She sat
in silence for a few moments. Smith had some explaining to do, but he wasn't
sure exactly what she wanted him to explain. She started with the obvious. "Back
there... You took me by the head. It hurt like hell, I might add.
Why?"

Smith's head stayed rigid, facing the road.

She sighed. "You
don't trust me," she whispered. "Well, maybe you shouldn't. You know those
phones I made us get?" She pressed a hand to her mouth. "You don't still have
it?"

Smith reached into a pocket and handed the phone to her. She rolled
the car window down and chucked it out. It smashed satisfyingly.

She took
a deep breath. "They came because they traced the phones. They knew that I
called you. They must have picked up the signal when I tested them this
afternoon."

Smith still didn't comment. "That leaves me a few questions,"
she said, sighing. "How did they know the phone was yours? Why are they hunting
you? If you thought I was contacting Neo behind your back, why did you come for
me in the first place?"

Smith's mouth tightened. Cat was afraid he
wouldn't answer, but after a few seconds he began to speak. "I have...
inconvenienced the mainframe during my existence as an exile. Agent Johnson has
been looking for me for some time now."

Cat knew better than to ask just
what those inconveniences had been. "So, how did they know to track you through
the phone? And why did they come for me instead of you?"

"I did not place
or receive any calls from a location outside your hotel. They had no signals to
trace."

"Until I called you... They could have traced that."

"The
residence I have been using has undoubtedly been destroyed." Cat was shocked at
his indifference. "My replicas were becoming inconvenient. I will no longer need
to dispose of them."

Cat swallowed. The cold feeling was back; Smith was
just as deadly as Johnson. She would have to remember not to become
inconvenient.

"Which reminds me," she said aloud. "You came for me even
though you obviously thought I had betrayed you."

"I could not allow
Johnson to interrogate you. I intended to destroy you."

Cat swallowed.
"But you didn't."

"Obviously." The corner of Smith's mouth twitched
upward.

She sighed. "Don't be difficult."

"I am cautious, Ms.
Thompson. Agent Johnson was plainly seeking me through you, when Mr. Anderson is
by far the more important target."

"But you had to check."

"I
assumed that you were in contact with your ship, and thus Mr. Anderson. He may
not have been located inside the Matrix."

"I'm glad you ask questions
first, and shoot later," she muttered; Smith frowned at her, but she thought she
could see his lips twitching. "That still doesn't explain how he knew about the
phones."

Smith turned his head, glaring from behind the glasses. Cat
crossed her arms, suppressing the wince. "Well?" she asked.

She heard him
say something, but it was at a level far below her range of hearing. "What is
it?" she asked.

"I made an error," he said, then looked at her as though
daring her to comment. "I have not had cause for the use of credit in a long
time."

Cat blinked. "Oh! They traced the phones through the credit card."
She grinned. "Well, we could have run it up a little more if we'd thought about
it, then."

Smith turned back to the road. "That is, of course, still an
option."

Cat giggled, imaging a large bill from Victoria's Secret landing
on the desktops of the mysterious agency. "That's two in as many days, Smith. I
might just convince myself that you have a sense of humor."

Smith was
silent for a while, but it was a comfortable silence. Cat was so pleased to be
alive, and still trusted, that she forgave the Agent for prodding at her head
wound. She snorted to herself. It wasn't like she had much choice.

"Hey,
Smith?"

He didn't respond, but she was getting used to that. He didn't
deign to reply to just anything. "Something occurred to me... If your residence
was just destroyed, where are we going?"

"I told you that I am cautious,"
he said. "I purchased two houses to prepare for just such an
eventuality."

"Where'd the money come from?"

Smith didn't blink at
what should have been considered a very rude question. "I manipulated some code
before my credentials could be revoked."

"Same story with this
car?"

"Indeed."

"It's pretty stodgy, if you could make anything
you wanted."

"I wished to be inconspicuous," Smith said, rounding a
corner into a residential neighborhood. He stopped the car in front of a small
house.

Cat squinted at it, but couldn't make much out in the dark. "It
looks like one of those cheap pre-fabs. It doesn't seem like you at
all."

"That is the idea, Ms. Thompson."

Cat grinned. "Well, I'm
sure it's lovely on the inside."

Smith got out of the car and Cat
followed his lead. He removed her shopping bag from the trunk and strode for the
door before she could offer to take it. "Such a gentleman," she joked as he
opened the door.

She flicked the lights on and looked onto a living room
done up in horrible floral wallpaper. A lingering odor of potpourri hung over
the frilly furniture. "Love what you've done with the place."

"The
furniture was left by the previous occupant." Smith moved farther into the house
and she followed, suppressing a snort as she climbed the pink-carpeted stairs.
He opened a door and set her bag inside it. "You may use this room."

She
cocked her head at him. "Do you sleep?"

"I can."

"Is it
necessary?"

Smith frowned. "I find it occasionally useful."

Cat
grinned. "I know what you mean. It helps me think through things,
sometimes."

Smith's face went blank, and he didn't answer. Cat wondered
if she'd hit the nail on the head. "Anyway," she said, "I'd better go clean
myself up. I must look a fright."

Smith frowned. "Your injuries need
tending."

"I thought we discussed that, and you said no dice."

"I
stated that you could not go to a doctor. You may require
treatment."

"And who's going to give it to me? You?" She looked at him
warily. "Oh, no."

Smith walked off without a word; Cat wondered if she
had offended him. Still, the thought of letting the Agent touch her hurts when
he was sure to be anything but gentle didn't appeal.

She wandered down
the hall, opening door as she came to them, and finally found a bathroom. She
was shocked at her own reflection. Dried blood matted the hair on the right side
of her head, and several angry red spots that would become bruises dotted her
face. Worst of all was the nose, sticking up at a jaunty angle. She swallowed.
Hopefully that would be gone when she got out of the Matrix.

She gritted
her teeth as she pulled her pajama top off. The motion hurt, and in a moment she
saw why. Her shoulder was starting to turn purple already; the bruise would be
large enough to cover the whole thing. She steeled herself and pulled the shorts
off as well, revealing a distinctly swelled ankle and a few minor
cuts.

The shower was painful, to say the least, but the last thing she
wanted to contend with was an infection. She padded down the hall and rummaged
through her shopping bag. She threw a t-shirt over her head and replaced the
bloody pajama pants; she hadn't thought to buy more than one pair. The bed had
the same heavy odor as the living room, but she was too tired to
care.

She felt as though she had just fallen asleep when she was again
shaken awake. "Jesus, Smith," she shouted. "You scared me half to
death."

Still-wet hair slapped her shoulders. "You might not need sleep,
but I do," she barked.

Smith focused on her face, then uncoiled. Cat's
stomach lurched as she heard a crack. He'd wrenched her broken nose.

She
jumped out of bed and tried to back toward the door. "Look, I've been telling
you everything I know. Just ask."

"Examine at it in the mirror to ensure
that it set properly."

She stared at him. "You just set my
nose?"

Smith frowned. "This place has no materials for a cast. It may
remain crooked."

Cat felt more than a little guilty for assuming that he
was torturing her - until she remembered the shaking she'd been subjected to
earlier. She stomped down the hall, working up the nerve to look in the mirror
again. Her nose was far from its usual color, but at least it was pointed in
more or less the right direction now.

"Thank you," she murmured, not
looking at him as she re-entered the bedroom. "Now, can I go back to
sleep?"

Smith held up her pillow, now liberally smeared with something
red. Her stomach heaved again. That was her own blood. "I will examine your head
first."

"Why are you doing this? You said yourself they weren't
life-threatening. And how do you know what you're doing, anyway?"

"This
house has internet access."

Cat sighed. "What does that have to do with
anything?"

"It enabled me to access information regarding your
condition."

"And you can put it into practice, just like that?" She
sighed. "Of course you can. How silly of me. The medical profession, in twenty
minutes or less."

Smith's mouth tightened. "All right, Dr. Smith," Cat
sighed. "What's the prognosis?"

"You are in need of stitches."

Cat
blanched at he pulled a needle from somewhere. "Can't you make it numb first or
something?"

"This house did not come equipped for
anesthesiology."

"It has teeth," she muttered. "Since when do you care if
I'm bleeding from the head?"

Smith frowned at her as he threaded the
needle. "The other denizens of this street need to be convinced that our
presence is normal. Anything else will have... consequences."

"And let me
guess. My job is to reassure them." Cat touched her nose gingerly. "How great.
I'm sure they'll feel just peachy about someone who looks like a domestic abuse
victim and her untouched male companion."

She reached for Smith's face.
He stopped her progress with the hand that didn't have the needle, but she
snatched his glasses with the other. "I will not allow you to poke at my head
with your vision impaired."

Smith's eyes narrowed as he scrutinzed the
cut. Cat sighed. "It'll be too hard for you to aim straight like that. Here,"
she said, scooting to the floor. "Now, tell me how you managed to hide yourself
last time, without yours truly."

"The last residence was more ideally
situated," Smith said, sliding behind her so he could pin her head with his
knees. "I did not have to contend with neighbors."

"Just what was the
master plan when you bought this house, then?" Cat shut up as one of Smith's
hands pressed against her left temple, driving whatever crack she'd been about
to make out of her head. The hand was startlingly real, almost unnecessarily so.
Odd, she thought, how the programmer had thought to include little rough patches
at the pads of the fingers.

She clenched her teeth as Smith began to sew
the cut shut. That pain brought a startling fact to her attention; nothing else
hurt. Sure, her bruises and break still ached in the background, but Smith's
knees and hand were firm without crushing.

Most of her physical contact
with Smith had resulted in at least a bruise. Hell, he'd half-killed her earlier
that evening, and could easily finish the job now if he wanted. The fact he was
fixing her instead... Well, that bore thought.

Oh, don't get all soupy,
she chided herself. He needs you to pacify the neighbors, and you can't do that
with a gash the size of Cincinnati on your head.

His knees relaxed,
releasing her. "If you're quite finished?" she asked, still sitting. She was
oddly reluctant to get up.

Smith slid out from behind her. "You have
sustained several other minor injuries."

She groaned. "Smith, I need to
sleep!"

He stood up. Cat didn't like the feel of him looming over her and
stumbled to her feet. "Well, goodnight then," she said, thinking to usher him
out the door.

"The bathtub is filled with ice."

"Out of the
question." She sighed. "Look, Smith, I'm tired. I won't be up to much if I don't
get some sleep. How do you think the neighbors would like me exhausted AND
bruise-covered?"

"You will be too stiff to move."

"I'll take my
chances." Cat walked over to the door and held it open pointedly. "Good night,
Agent."

Smith, she was surprised to note, walked out without further
argument. She was asleep before her head hit the pillow.