Smile, a matrix fanfic

Note from teh Ggirl:

This is a short one-shot I wrote a while back. It's kinda cute, no that I look at it again, sort of a background on the brother-sister relationship Mouse had with Trinity.

Flamer's need to get lives; or if they think they can write something better, they are more than welcome to do so; otherwise, stop whining. Constructive critisism, however, is always more than welcome.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Except my brain! Take that,

Open run program: Smile

Execute

Smile

by the-glider-girl

I wake up, and already I can tell this will not be a good day. My throat is dry and cracking, and my sinuses are clogged, making my head pound. I feel tired, more tired than usual, and my body hurts. Instinct is screaming "Go back to bed, stupid!" but duty is louder, "Get up, it's your watch! You want to be responsible for it if even the slightest thing goes wrong!" So I get up. I slip another shirt on (is it just me, or is it colder than usual?) and then on goes my hat. Everything groans, including my stomach, which isn't happy with any movement. Why do I feel so horrible? There were days like this in the Matrix. Sick. But you can't get sick in the real world. Can you? Doesn't matter. I'm not sick . . . just tired. And sore. And I feel like I'm gonna throw up.

I stumble into the hallway and make my way to the kitchen. Man, even this little bit of light is painful. I walk in the door to find Switch, A-poch, and Trinity sitting at the table talking, with Tank leaning on the food machine. No one notices me, but when do they ever? Tank hands me a "bowl" filled with that off-white slop we call food. I grab a spoon and sit next to Trinity on her right. I dip my spoon into the "food" but before I can lift it to my mouth, my stomach gives a loud cry of protest that only I can hear. I drop the spoon back into the bowl, stirring the mush around and around, first clockwise, and then counterclockwise. I half-heartedly listen to the conversation going on over my head. I don't participate. I should, so no one suspects anything. Ordinarily I talk and talk and I don't shut up. But today, I can't bring myself to open my mouth. I don't want anything unplanned coming out of it.

Trinity seams to be the first to notice. She watches me stir the food with a queasy look on my face. I must be turning green. I know I'm paler than usual and sweating like a pig. I'm burning up and freezing cold at the same time. And there's gotta be snot running down my nose by

now . . .

"You ok, Mouse?" she asks. That's so like Trin. Nice and sincere at the same time. Caring and concerned as long as it's not going to interfere with her day. And she probably knows it won't. And she's probably right.

"Yeah, fine," I mutter. Teeth clenched. Gotta unclench. She'll know something's wrong.

"You don't look 'fine'," she says. I feel her hand on my shoulder, like some sort of comforting older sister.

"Who does on this ship?" I'm still clinching, but my inborn since of sarcasm prevails, and she lets me off with an uneasy glance. I give her a small smile. She's not reassured.

I finally decided I can't eat. I'm not hungry anyway.

I make my way to the bridge, and give Tank a nod. He's in the middle of something, but I know he'll leave when he's finished. He's almost always hungry, like I would normally be. Breakfast must be calling to him like a long lost love. I'm glad to get away from it.

I move to a cluster of screens that are connected to the box used for programming. I open a file on the desktop titled Mouse, and find a note from Morpheus. I'm supposed to work on updating the Agent Simulation program. According to recent studies, it's out of date. Well, ok then. Let's get to work.

For a while things mellow out and I can phsyc myself into believing that it's just nerves. It helps me concentrate and get a few things done before Tank's finished and leaves. I then take a seat behind the wheel and casually glance at each monitor in turn. I eventually find myself leaning on my left hand, propped up on my elbow. God, I'm so tired. And I feel so . . . awful. I wish Trinity would come and relieve me. I still have a half hour to go, but it seems like a year . . .

Someone's shaking my shoulder. Hard.

"Mouse? Wake up, kid." Trinity's muttering in my ear. I feel so ill.

"L'me 'lone, 'm zleepin'." I'm clinching so hard it hurts. My stomach just did a 360. I'm gonna hurl.

"Mouse!" She grabs my hair and yanks upwards. My head explodes, I swear.

"Dammit Trinity! I don't feel good, LEAVE ME ALONE!" I yell. And then I regret it. My throat feels like I just poured a vat of acid down it. And now I'm definitely gonna hurl.

"I'm sorry Mouse, but you've gotta get up. And what the hell do you mean you don't feel good?" she sounds half concerned. I stumble out of the chair. Gotta get to a toilet.

"Mouse?"

"I . . . I think – "

And then my throat is burning, a foul smelling and even fouler tasting yellow bile mixed with regurgitated glop splattered all over the floor, and I'm about to land in it. I'm falling, my eyes suddenly gazing at the ceiling, but there's no splat. And then Trinity's leaning over me with a worried expression on her face. She's saying something, about getting Morpheus. I try to tell her that I'm ok' that she doesn't need to baby me, and neither does Morpheus.

I just end up retching again, turning my head so that what's left (a small amount of bile) just falls to the ground. I can't hear anything except my heart, and it's pounding. Trinity's telling me something; I can't lip read, but it must be something like "It's gonna be ok Mouse, it's gonna be ok," or the complete opposite "Get up, kid, you're supposed to be working." I want to tell her I'm sorry to be such a pain, I'm sorry I can't get up, I'm sorry I'm so . . . useless! So utterly useless! A dead weight! A goddamn virus, leaching off of this ship and not giving anything in return. Tears are falling down the side of my face, and God, I feel so utterly awful. Trin's pressing her palms to my cheeks, and gasping; I'm probably burning. She notices the tears and this really sad look comes on her face. Great. Now I've upset my only friend on this ship. I'm going to hell, if I'm not already there.

I'm crying like a little kid now. God, it's all just so horrible. My stomach hurts, my head hurts, I hurt, everything hurts! I feel so bad getting sick like this and making Trinity upset. I wonder what the others will do. Probably point and laugh at junior. Can't even hold his liquor.

Trinity's cradling me now, like my mom used to do, when I was upset. She's holding me to her bosom, as they say in old books, arms wrapped around me. I'm clinging to her, one solid rock in the midst of a sea of turmoil I aughta be a poet. She's rocking gently back and forth, whispering in my ear, trying to reassure me that I'm going to be fine, everything is going to be fine . . .

Just like my mom used to do. I'm crying even harder, because I never really had a mom. She was just another poor plugger who never existed except in a cynical, twisted someone's imagination. She's floating around out there somewhere getting turned into a battery. I don't deserve to be alive. God, Trin, why can't I hear what you're saying?

I think she's trying to get up, get me to stand. Take me to my room probably. But I can't move. Can't feel my legs. Can't get up. I hope she doesn't leave. I don't want to be alone.

I think I'm awake. I can hear murmuring over my head. I'm lying on my side, in my bed, under a heap of blankets. And yet, I'm still cold. My head is pounding, but for now my stomach's settled. I wish I could have some water. My throat's dry and raw. And I hurt all over.

I crack my eyes open painfully, and I feel a hand on my forehead. Morpheus's hand.

"Can you hear me, Mouse?" he asks gently. My teeth are still clenching. I nod ever so slightly.

"Good. Now, I need you to tell me what's wrong."

Can't talk. So cold. Then there's a clicking sound. No longer clenching, my teeth are chattering.

"Stay with us Mouse, we've got to know what's wrong!" Morpheus sounds more urgent. What's going on?

"He's going into shock," I think that's A-poch. He sounds so incredibly far away.

Everything's far away. I think I'm dying. Ha. That's funny. Really dying. Not imagining. No Matrix. Just reality.

I'm awake again. I feel better and worse at the same time. And tired. So tired. Still ill.

"Feeling better, Mouse?" That's Switch. I'm sure.

My eyes open easier this time. I'm in that glass box again. Never thought I'd be back here. They've stuck tubes into my holes. I try to turn my head.

"Kinda," I say. I want to lift my hand and rub my eyes.

"Gave us a scare there, buddy," Tank smirks at me. I want to smile back, but it hurts.

I close my eyes. They think I'm asleep. But I can stay awake for a few more minutes. I hear something about "remission" and "he'll be all right." And then there is something about "natural course." I'm so confused. I feel my headache returning. Think I'll go to sleep now.

I'm burning. Must be in hell. I'm so goddamn hot. Everything's hot. I wish more than anything to be dumped in a bucket of ice. But that would require water. And there's no water on the Nebecanezer. I must still be ill, because I'm thinking crazy. Dellusional.

"It's ok, Mouse," I hear, "You're gonna be fine." That must be Morpheus. I must be really ill, if he's worried about me.

"I'm hot," I mutter, teeth still clenching.

"You probably are. But don't worry, you'll be fine. Would you like some water?" this from Trinity. Eyes again crack open. Her and Morpheus are standing over me, Dozer's switching out some sort of intravenous package.

"Would I?" I blink, sarcasm returning.

A cup is pressed to my lips and I gulp down as much as I can without choking. And then I stop and think.

"How . . .?"

"Don't worry about it," Morpheus says sternly. So I don't. And then I'm suddenly really tired . . .

I wake up for what seems like the first time in years. Or maybe ever. Like I've never been awake before. Like I'm just now experiencing it for the first time. Scary thought. But then, I'm used to doing that. Scaring myself. I think too much.

No voices nearby, no mumbling. No body heat. Just me in a gray t-shirt and a blue button up and gray pants. And my hat. Wonder how it got there.

I'm underneath a blanket, and once again, in my own bed. I think. Maybe I've been here the whole time. No, that's not right, 'cause I remember the big glass box . . .

I need to stop thinking. Giving myself a headache. Used to do that all the time, until I found a way not to. Wonder why it's suddenly coming back?

I think too much.

I dare to open one eye. My head is kinda stuffed up and my throat is really dry, and I'm dead tired. Other than that, I feel ok though. Better than these past . . . hours? days? weeks? however long I've been out of it.

I sit up slowly, eyes adjusting to the light. The blanket slides off and I rub my eyes, then my face, then the back of my neck. It feels good to be in control again, even if everything's kinda achy. Nothing a good up and about couldn't cure.

I spy the little tube sticking into the first hole on my left arm. Just like my first real day in the real world. I pull, not without some pain, but it grosses me out, the whole wires-in-my-body thing, and I want it out more than I want it in. I'm rarely sickened. But bugs and needles always get me. Nasty little creatures.

I get up and walk around my small room, stretching my legs, and testing muscles. A little weak, but I was always a brains over brawn guy anyway. I can't remember feeling this physically tired though. Emotional fatigue, yeah, but my mind's going ninety to nothing and it scares me that my body can't keep up. Usually my brain can slow down to an average pace if I'm very, very busy, and my body flows with it. The reverse is startling.

I think too much.

I do a little yoga after a minute of testing my potency, nothing too taxing but enough to make me want to hop back into bed and sleep for another five hours. But I should let Trinity know I'm ok. It was really sweet the way she was all concerned about me. I should let her know I'm ok.

So I open the door to my room and close it behind me as I start down the hallway. Up a floor to the main deck and there's almost everyone doing whatever it is they're doing. Morpheus is talking to Tank and Dozer. Trinity's down under doing some repair work with the blow torch (you can tell it's her because her torching always sounds . . . lighter, if you will) and Switch is toggling with some hardware in the far right corner. I sort of sneak my way over to my (the programming) set of screens, not wanting to disturb anyone. They can find me, which, eventually they will. They always do.

Since I'm not really supposed to be doing anything, I decide to do some poking around, just to see if I can find out anything about me and that . . . whatever it was. I do a little searching, find an entry here, a software fix there – hello, what have we here?

It seems to be a medical entry, and it's filled under Mouse. I open it. Naturally.

It's pretty weird stuff, probably written by Dozer. That guy's head is really deep. It's hard to explain. It's almost as if he's managed to create a sub-English language that he and he alone can manage to comprehend. Pretty contradictory to a guy who doesn't talk much except to say "Lunch time," or "The radiator is broken again." I can summarize most of it into "caught a virus, don't know how, went into remission (my body deflated itself; when I first got out of the Matrix, it was like that; then, because I was ill, it had a relapse), fixed that, and then let the virus run it's natural course". Many things are now no longer confusing, which makes them even more confusing, but in different ways. But that really doesn't make any sense... does it?

I think too much.

What to do now? I've found out what happened. I'm gonna be ok. Do I want to bother anybody with questions? Maybe not. I do nothing but bug them anyway. They're probably glad I'm not up and about (that they know of) and messing with stuff. I have a bad habit of touching things that really shouldn't be touched.

"Mouse?"

Ach! There went my heart. I jump, turning, and find Trinity behind me. I'm clutching the nearest stable object that can hold my weight, hand at my chest.

"God, Trinity, you scared me!" I say with a smile. She then smacks me. Damn, that girl can slap! I'm gonna have a red spot on my cheek for days. Can't see what I've done to deserve it either.

"I SCARED YOU? Do you have any idea how worried we've been? How worried I've been!" she screams with vigor. Ok, maybe I did deserve it.

"Um . . . "

"UM! That's all you can say! Don't you realize that you could have died!"

Wow, that bad? I'm gonna have many a sleepless night over this. By now everyone's gathered in the area, watching Trinity berate me and my lackadaisical attitude.

Someone comes up behind me, and I feel a firm hand on my shoulder. Trinity chooses this minute to stop ranting.

"Glad to see you're feeling better, Mouse," Morpheus's voice sounds stern. But then, it always does. I bet he's happy deep down, though. I turn and look up at him, a smile on his face.

"Um, yeah . . . thanks," I mutter, kind of unsure what standing I have with the crew now. Everyone looks relieved, somewhat.

Morhpeus nods at everyone and they all go on about their business, except for Trinity. She gives me a look and then a smile. I relaxe.

"It's good that you're better Mouse. We all just thought . . . well, that maybe you wouldn't make it."

I feel better now. She knows I'm ok, and that's enough.

My knees give way and I know I've stepped a little too far. I'm getting really tired.

Trinity catches me, though.

"Easy, kid. C'mon, let's get you back to bed," she whispers in my ear. I lean on her until we get to my room, and then she drops me in the bed, pulling the blanket up over my arms as I unconsciously curl into a little ball, my natural sleeping position.

"G'night, Mouse," she whispers, giving me a kiss on the forehead before leaving, closing the door and turning out the light.

I feel better. I'm loved. I'm wanted. I'm happy.

And for the first time in weeks, I smile.

Close end program: Smile

Execute