Connection

Cat woke to a slamming car door. She groaned and rose from the couch,
half-hobbling to the door; her nap must have given everything a chance to
stiffen up again.

She couldn't help chuckling as she threw the door open.
There was something fundamentally off in a world where Agent Smith sauntered up
a driveway laden with grocery bags. At least the sour look on his face was true
to form.

“Alan, you’re a sweetheart,” she quipped, taking the crutches he
carried and enjoying his deepening scowl. It was almost too easy to provoke a
reaction from him. And after all, Cat thought, there was no harm in mixing
business and pleasure. A little emotion might get Smith to let something slip,
and if not, well, it was just plain fun to tease an Agent.

She took an
experimental step forward on the contraptions and pitched onto the porch stairs.
Cat didn’t have to look at Smith to know he was smirking at her. She sighed and
hauled herself off the ground. “I don’t suppose you could be persuaded to pick
those up for me.”

Smith quirked an eyebrow. Cat shot him a dark look and
went through the painful process of bending down to retrieve her crutches. After
testing them out with a little more caution, she felt was able to pole her way
into the living room. She eyed the little stack of papers sitting next to the
printer. All of the effort she’d put into that stupid report... She’d even tried
to write it in Smith-speak as a sort of peace offering, although she was
regretting her generosity in the face of Smith’s superior look.

“So, I
thought you’d probably find this easier if you were well briefed. Here’s a quick
history of our life together, complete with little personal stories in case
Cyndi corners you or something. I tried to take your more charming personality
traits into account when I wrote it, so you should be able to fake it
convincingly.”

Smith made no move to rise and Cat glared, limping over to
his chair. “Smug bastard,” she muttered and handed the file to him.

It
was fascinating to watch him read; his eyes flicked down a page in a matter of
seconds. He finished her fifteen-page report in a minute or two, and Cat was
pretty sure he'd read it over twice.

"All right, quiz time. Where did we
meet?"

"We occupied the same office building for several years. We began
to meet socially after a retreat designed to build team feeling."

Cat
blinked. Something about Smith referring to "we" threw her off. She tried to
think back on her past conversations with him, but nothing came to her. She
shook her head, wincing as thtiontion wrenched something or other. She was
really going to have to get out of that habit.

Smith leafed through his
papers. "We occupied the same office building for several years. We began to
meet socially after a retreat designed to build team feeling," he read, his
forehead creasing. "What induced negative response?"

Cat bit her lip,
puzzled. "Oh! I'm sorry about that. I shake my head to clear it sometimes." She
considered Smith. “That sounded like you read it right off the page. I don’t
suppose you could make it sound more natural?”

She sighed when he
remained silent. This was less than promising. "You'd think with all of those
years spent fooling coppertops into thinking you're from the government, you
could fake being married, too."

"My interactions were not
extensive."

"And let me guess. You did all the asking." Cat settled back
in her chair. "Well, that'll have to do. If someone asks a personal question,
you can just growl at 'em." She grinned wickedly. "Alan, my darling, love of my
life..." She paused to enjoy his narrow-eyed glare and compressed lips. He was
too easy to tease. "Looks like it's your lucky day. They come bearing
casseroles."

Smith brushed past her without comment and opened the door.
“Hello, Alan!” Cyndi squeaked, then skittered across the room to hug Cat.
th
thought you might not feel like cooking tonight, so we brought
dinner.”

“Hey, thanks.” Cyndi helped Cat out of her chair and into the
foyer. Cat had always been terrible with names; she’d forgotten half of them
before Cyndi even finished the introductions. She settled for a headcount
instead. 3 couples, six people. Maybe this was manageable.

A tall, blonde
man who Cat thought was Cyndi’s husband shifted the dish he was holding. “Um,
this is getting kind of hot to hold.”

Smith, thankfully, caught Cat’s
pointed look and led the way to the kitchen. A couple who looked to be at least
20 years older than the others stayed behind with Cat. She didn’t get good vibes
from either one of them; the man looked thoroughly impressed with himself and
was wearing an ugly sweater to boot, and Cat was sure that his tri tried to
distract people from her weasely features with that giant rope of obviously fake
pearls.

“Welcome to Paradise Falls,” the woman said, exposing slightly
pointed teeth.

“Name’s Stewart. Roger Stewart.” Cat winced; that was more
barking than speech.

“You poor dear.” Mrs. Stewart drifted over to Cat
and laid a weak-wristed hand on her arm. “We heard all about your terrible
accident.”

“Wouldn’t have allowed this otherwise. Highly
irregular.”

Cat resisted the urge to wince again. What did that man have
against complete sentences? “What, now?”

“Bit sudden on the transition,
eh? No advance notice and all that. ‘Scuse me.” Roger started making a noise
that sounded like actual barking, going quite purple and doubling over. His wife
wafted back over to him and patted at his back.

“Er, is he going to be
all right?” Cat asked and immediately wished she hadn’t. The gleam in Mrs.
Stewart’s eye didn’t wel well.

“It’s his allergies. It’s a terrible time
of the year for them. And this heat isn’t good for his joints, I’m convinced of
it…”

“Oh, Mr. Stewart!” Cat was certain she’d never be so happy to see
Cyndi again. “Let me help you to a chair.”

Cat crept behind Mrs. Stewart,
who was detailing just exactly what the wrong sort of chair would do to her
husband’s back. Lord. This was going to be a long dinner.

She was
surveying the table, hoping to pick the spot least likely to be next to the
Stewarts, when Smith came up behind her and took her crutches. She was too busy
regaining her balance to yell at him properly. By the time she’d stabilized
again, he’d pulled out a chair. Smith was making a habit of pre-empting her
decisions, she thought, but if it had been anyone else she would have called
this a sweet gesture. As it was, she had to admire Smith’s acting ability. He
clamped on to her elbow and led her to the chair, and Cat couldn’t help grinning
a little; he must have picked up his manners from that fancy
restaurant.

Cyndi was struggling to get the massive Roger into his chair
at the head of the table. Cat’s smile widened; he was neither next to her nor
across from her. Her general good will spilled over to Cyndi, so obviously in
her element as she served the food. She tried to imagine her in the dank galley
that passed for the kitchen of the Sekh and failed; Cyndi would be cruelly out
of context in the real world.

Cat flinched. That bordered on traitorous.
Sure, standard Resistance training admitted that the Cyndis of the world weren’t
ready for the truth, but she’d been headed beyond acceptance to approval. She’s
being lied to, Cat admonished herself. Her happiness is based purely on fiction.


She turned her attention back to the dinner conversation. Somewhere
along the line, Roger Stewart had launched into what threatened to be a very
long speech. Cat didn’t even try to att attention to it; if he said anything
important, Smith could spit it back later anyway.

“He does this every
time someone new moves in,” the man next to her muttered out of the side of his
mouth. “It’s the selfsame speech he gave us five years ago.”

“You have to
give him credit for remembering the whole thing,” Cat whispered. “He can’t have
written it, though. He’s using pronouns.”

The man snorted and tried to
cover the noise with a cough. Roger glared at him and then launched back into
his monologue.

Cat waited a few minutes to make sure it was safe; a quick
glance confirmed that all glazed eyes were on Roger. “Hey, I didn’t catch your
name.”

“I’ve got one of those forgettable faces.”

“Scout’s honor,
I’ll remember it with a name attached.” Cat, too, developed a mysterious cough
as Roger paused to look at her.

Her companion took advantage of the
noise. “It’s Drew Collins.”

Cat’s breath hissed in as Smith took her
wrist in one of his patented vise grips. “You are being rude.”

Cat smiled
an apology at Drew and attempted to focus on the speech. Smith’s hand served as
quite the distraction; Cat had to concentrate on not giggling. Why shouldn’t
they hold hands under the table? They were married, after all.

Roger,
thankfully, was near the end of his address. Cat forced herself to smile as he
wound down. “Thanks, Mr. Stewart, for a greeting that exceeded expectations.”
Cat couldn’t help grinning as Drew suffered another coughing fit. He should
appreciate this, as well. She tugged her hand, trying to free it from Smith. He
didn’t bat an eye. “Honey, I need that hand.” That got a reaction; his grip
loosened just enough for her to pull her wrist free. She flexed it under the
table; it would almost certainly bruise. Just when Smith was starting to seem
tolerable…

She lifted her wine glass. “Always, Paradise
Falls.”

Cat turned to knock her glass with Smith’s and was startled to
see his lip twitch. He reacted to her jokes, then, as well as his own. Why would
any programmer put a sense of humor into an enforcement program? She gave Smith
a hard look. Maybe he transcended his code.

Cat began to wonder just how
many times she'd be indebted to Cyndi that evening as the woman latched on to
Smith. The hyper-speed prattling betrayed that she was still nervous around lan.lan." Cat couldn't help but smile. If only she knew.

"Thinking of
attempting a rescue?" Drew asked.

Cat jumped a little. "I forgot you were
there foreconecond."

"I told you. It's the face."

Cat beamed at
him; this promised to be a fun conversation. Granted, anything would look good
after days with nothing but Smith’s sarcasm and literalism. And there could be
no harm in it’ Cyndi showed no signs of letting a word in edgewise. “Oh, Alan
can dangle for a while. For one thing, I want to talk to whoever hired the
welcoming committee.”

“That man’s whole life was leading up to this. It’s
kind of pathetic, when you think about it.” Drew shook his head. “Ol’ Rog raised
residential regulation to an art form.”

Cat bit her lip; the gesture was
fast becoming her favorite surrogate head shake. “Residential
regulation?”

“Oh, you know. That silly little book you got when you
bought this place.”

Cat checked her impulse to kick Smith under the table
for omitting crucial information. “Truth be told, I was too busy to deal with
the whole moving bit, so I kinda let Alan take care of everything.”

“So
you just let him buy this place without even looking at it?” Drew shook his
head. “Every wife should be so reasonable.”

She grinned. “I would say I
like to live dangerously, but Alan’s such an anal retentive that leaving it up
to him is anything but.”

Drew grinned. “Tell him to join the club.
Roger’s always wandering around making sure that hedges and grasses are
regulation length.”

“Lord. That’s what’s in this little rule
book?”

“Little is hardly the word for it. Tolstoy wouldn’t dare publish
something half so thick, but I guess it has to be. There’s a regulation for
anything you can think of, right down to fencing materials. No American-dream
style pickets here, thank you.”

Cat smirked a little; how like Smith to
pick someplace where everything was numerically proscribed. “That seems awfully
restrictive.”

“Hey, what do you expect, living in a gated
community?”

An electronic “Fur Elise” shattered Cat’s already fraying
nerves. She yelped out loud, eyes darting around the table. Any one of them
could turn into Johnson... God, he had enough hosts to bring his whole squad
this time....

The woman next to Drew pulled something from her pocket.
“Dr. Collins speaking.”

Drew put a hand on Cat’s arm. “Hey, are you all
right? You’re as white as a ghost.”

She gave him a shaky smile. “I think
my painkillers might have worn off. I’ll be right back.”

She fled into
the upstairs bathroom, gripping the sink’s edge and closing her eyes. Take deep
breaths, she thought. God, she had been so sure that Johnson had called the
numbers on the cell phone bill...

Her stomach turned as she played the
evening back in her head. There were so many little things that would set the
gossips in this godforsaken place off, and if they did their chatting over the
phone instead of in person... Cat shuddered. Johnson would be on them in a
second. It was nothing short of a miracle that Smith hadn’t drawn his gun on
somebody already.

Nothing terrible has happened, she told herself. You
have to calm down. She breathed as deeply as she could. She just needed a couple
moments to compose herself...

The door burst open. Shit. Smith. “I don’t
suppose there’s any chance you’ll just get the hell out of my
sight.”

“Are you injured?”

“What do you think? Some of us don’t
heal overnight.” Cat narrowed her eyes at the Agent; this was all his fault,
after all. “What the hell is wrong with you anyway? You’re a frickin’
computer...”

“I am a program.”

Cat’s knuckles went white on the
sink’s edge. “Whatever. I know damn right well that the fact that this house is
in the middle of a gated community did not just slip your mind. You couldn’t be
bothered to tell me that little detail, hmm? What the hell were you thinking?
Did you stop to research what these things were like for one second? A very
specific kind of person moves in here, Smith. A person with a quiet little life,
who likes nothing better than to weed the garden as an excuse to spy on the
neighbors. Everyone knows everything about everyone else’s business. Not exactly
a prime place to hide. Oh, but the petty little concerns of the viruses weren’t
worth noticing, even if you could have saved yourself a lot of
trouble...”

Smith’s lip curled. “I did not anticipate the loss of my
first residence.”

“Great. Just great. But you’re ‘cautious,’ and so you
went and got a house that would be useless at worst and near impossible to
actually hide in at best. I don’t know how the hell you talked that Stewart
creature into letting a single man buy this place anyway...”

“I purchased
the property while still under the auspices of the system.”

“Wonderful.
So you manipulated code. It’s a wonder Johnson isn’t here already.”

Smith
frowned at her. “I did no such thing.”

“But you just said...”

“The
Mainframe finds it useful to create a certain aura of authority around its
enforcement operatives.”

Cat paused mid-rant. That definitely wasn't in
the information Neo had given her, and she hadn't even had to drag ut out of
Smith, not really... She filed that away for later consideration. "So, what was
the master plan?" she continued in a calmer voice. "I mean, I don't think you
exactly planned to acquire a 'wife,' and there’s like seven rules against living
single here."

Smith didn’t answer. Cat let herself slump forward; Smith
made her so tired sometimes. On the upshot, her little outburst had gone a long
way toward dissipating the panic. “never mind, then. You’re off the hook for
now, but when everybody’s gone I want some answers. There won’t be any more
nasty little surprises.”

She intended to brush past him but he latched on
to her elbow. “Stupid restaurant manners,” Cat muttered as he led her down the
stairs.

“We’re in here,” Cyndi called from the living room. Cat looked
around as she came in, but Drew was nowhere to be found. “The Collins’ said to
tell you goodbye. Linda had to rush in to the clinic.”

Cat felt like her
only ally had deserted her. She started to sulk as she looked for a place to
sit; the Stewarts had the couch cornered and Cyndi’s husband hovered behind her
chair. That left just one seat. “Take it,” she muttered, sinking down on the
armrest. It wasn’t terribly comfortable, but Smith was in easy pinching range if
he did anything too conspicuous.

“You poor thing,” Mrs. Stewart said,
clucking. “Why, Roger’s always having a turn after meals himself, but you’re so
young.”

Cat shifted a little, working the chair’s edge out of her back.
“Oh, my stamina’s just not quite back to speed yet. I only just got out of the tor’tor’s.”

“How thoughtless of us!” Cyndi squeaked. “Of course you’re
tired.”

“Nonsense,” Roger bellowed. “Do her some good to get back in
society.”

Cat’s smile was more than a little forced; she should have
expected something like that. There was no way she’d get out of this so
easily.

“My wife is quite... fragile.” Cat jumped atle;tle; Smith hadn’t
exactly been Mr. Talkative that evening.

“Of course she is,” Cyndi said,
smiling sympathetically. “We were just on our way out, weren’t we, Mr.
Stewart?”

“Of course, of course,” he barked, hauling his ponderous form
from the couch. He lumbered over to Smith and offered a meaty hand. “Always glad
to have decent folks coming into the neighborhood.”

Cat managed a watery
smile. “You’ll have to come back when I’m fit to entertain.”

“Yes, yes,”
he muttered as his wife shooed him toward the door. “Feel better
dear.”

Cyndi popped up from her chair and embraced Cat. “I really hope
you feel better.”

Cat smiled and meant it; Cyndi was kind of sweet, even
if she was empty-headed. “I really can’t thank you enough for arranging this. I
just wasn’t up to cooking today.”

“Think nothing of it,” her husband
said, shaking hands with Smith.

Cyndi snuck back for one more hug before
bouncing out the door. Cat lolled back on the chair as it closed behind her,
suddenly exhausted. It had been a very long evening. “You know what, Smith? I’m
just too tired to deal with you tonight. We’ll have that chat tomorrow, hmm?” He
didn’t answer. Cat sighed. She hadn’t really expected him to. “It’s your turn to
have the bed.”

“I do not require it.”

She sighed. “Have it your
way,” she muttered, ignoring that he was doing her a favor. It was much easier
to be angry at him for nothing in particular.

She trudged up the stairs
without saying goodnight. It wasn’t like he’d care, anyway. She brushed her
teeth with unnecessary force; the fear and frustration were definitely starting
to get to her. Sometimes she was very, very aware that she had no way to leave
the Matrix for more than a week. If the Agents came, she was as good as
dead.

Cat shook her head; that ws a bad train to catch right before
bedtime. She was halfway to her bed when she paused and went back to lock the
door behind her. After all, it couldn't hurt.

A/N: A
big thanks goes to my friend Thom. He really helped me out with some editing
this time around. Eyes Only also gets a shout-out for providing some useful
Agent Johnson advice.