Title: Bridging the Abyss

Rating: PG

Summary: Neo learns to fan the flames (No, it's not smut. Get your mind out of the gutter).

Disclaimer: Don't own them. Don't claim to. All hail the almighty Wachowskis for their ingenious creations. I'm just taking them for a walk while Warner Brothers is counting the takings. Don't even bother trying to sue, because I'm sure that the court case will cost more than the 50c you'll get from my dwindling bank account at the end of it.

A/N: Yay for Neo POV. He must be the single hardest male character to write in the history of the world… oh well. Let's hope it worked. All I can say is… Trin knew what she was letting herself in for…

A/N2: This was written in a very short time one night circa 2004. After rethinking the content I've changed the ending and done some playing with the content. In fact, it even used to have a different name - 'Entwine' - derived from the ending which has now been taken out. My style, skills and strengths as a writer have evolved vastly since then so hopefully this is a little better! As always, constructive crit is encouraged and welcomed with open arms - I can't be a better writer without your help. Dedicated to the crew at TLG ;)

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Her eyes are blurred tonight.

Caught somewhere between that shade of dirty sky and water-slicked bitumen. Water runs between the cracks of a blue cobbled street. At a glimpse they are opaque. But in a rare moment of wide-eyed soul-searching, a complicated transparency dissolves into focus. I've never seen her look like that before; like she is seeing what is in front of her rather than merely observing. It is an odd, yet comforting feeling to be distinguished between the surroundings. The pale steely glow of the walls is matched in hue by the deathly pale shade of those eyes. Like ice, they burn, and yet I cannot seem to break this gaze. Neither of us is aware of the spread of cold liquid across our fingers. Paralysed purely by the desperate hint of loneliness in alternate irises, the knowledge that water has been spilt beneath our fingertips seems trivial to the point of irrelevance.

I only stumbled in here for a cup of metallic ship-water; something to calm my nerves in the middle of a sleepless night and stop that loose ache in my stomach from straying too close to my heart. But she was here as, I realised later, I had hoped she would be. In that moment of frozen time, when she'd turned to stand up and knocked the tin cup clattering from my hand, a simple touch had produced a spark. And in her gaze, behind the icy defences, I could see the very low flicker of a flame.

It seemed an hour, but in an instant a graze of skin had ignited a blaze.

"Can I… stay with you… tonight...?"

My voice came feeble and choked. She turned her head slightly, thinking, but the lonely gaze was never broken. She knew without explanation the words that could be left unsaid. She understood that what I needed most was someone to ward off the nightmares.

She turned back, and without a verbal affirmation walked toward the door.

"There's a blanket under the bunk", she offered quietly, as her fingers held the steely cold handle for just a second too long. She didn't turn back before walking into the passage and if I waited any longer this rare and fragile invitation would disappear out of view.

I met her in the corridor, and she nodded once, precisely, in the direction of her cabin. The mess hall door scraped closed behind us and footsteps began to recede down the darkened hallway.

The abyss remained deep and lonely, but at least now there was fragile hope in the rickety bridge we'd built.