As time went on, she began to notice the pain that flickered in Tom's eyes whenever people talked of engagements, marriages, pregnancies, even mere dates. There was such immense sadness in him. Near despair, in fact. And it was quite definitely to do with this mysterious, never-mentioned woman. Whatever the story, this was not a happy relationship. Far from it. And she found herself wondering what he was playing at - why he chose to stay in something that seemed to bring him nothing but misery.

And then one day he'd haltingly told her of his girlfriend's illness, and the situation had come into focus with a ghastly clarity.

He loved her deeply, that much was clear. It was in the pain in his eyes when he talked of the situation, and the tenderness in his voice when he said her name. It had been most obvious of all in his choked inability to keep the conversation neutral, unemotional, pragmatic. Tom was the most reserved man she'd ever met - he made Ghost look positively effusive - so it had shocked her, seeing him that nakedly vulnerable. He'd been on the verge of tears, when admitting that the woman he loved so much no longer even knew who he was.

She was humbled, thinking what he had to live with, to endure. They'd shared great happiness, he and this Trinity. It was clear, from his grief at losing it. It horrified her - to think of having found that kind of joy, only to lose it in such a heartbreaking way. She'd never been in love herself, not really. Her relationship with Ghost had been very strong and very close, but it hadn't been the same. And glimpsing the extent of Tom's raw suffering now, seeing the price such passionate emotion could exact, she couldn't help wondering which of them had had the better deal. She was yet to come up with an answer.

It also made sense of things between Tom and herself. There was no way he and Trinity were intimate anymore, not given the situation he described. He wouldn't be human if he didn't feel the frustration, didn't miss the sexual satisfaction he'd known before it all went to hell. He was young, he was handsome, he had women all over him. Mackenzie had been quietly making herself available when she'd thought him single, yet he'd blocked her every overture, despite clear mutual interest. His absolute determination not to act on that interest - to be faithful, even when the woman he honored didn't know it - moved her almost unbearably. Nobody could have blamed him for seeking an outlet, a distraction, even. She didn't think many would opt for celibacy in his shoes. Hell, she'd known she wouldn't be able to stay faithful to Ghost in far less taxing circumstances. Yet despite everything, despite it being a struggle, faithful he was choosing to be.

She'd led such a placid, contented life; had never known real suffering or loss. The cherished only child of a middle-class family. A glittering academic record. An adoring and talented husband, and then a tenderly respectful divorce. A career she loved and excelled at, which brought her easily enough money to live on. The only real setback she'd ever had had been that accident, and really, how bad had it been, in the end? Everything had always fallen into place for her, and still she struggled, still had a horrible, unsettling sense that the world was awry. It was really rather pathetic, her existential angst. Her unquenchable obsession with the matrix problem looked pettily self-indulgent, set against the sorrows of Tom's life. Her mother had been right; her preoccupations were, essentially, those of a spoiled Westerner, one who'd never known hardship, never known suffering, never had anything more fundamental to wrestle with. She wondered if she would have had the inner resources to cope with a fraction of what Tom and Trinity did, each and every day. And the answer was as humbling as it was obvious.

No.

She dreamed about him again that night.

It was the same dream - the one she'd had for weeks. They were making love under that candlelit limestone arch; making love with extraordinary intensity, her whole body aflame with sensation, his mouth dragging over hers, his moans in her ears as her eyes slid shut.

And then something changed. This time, as he broke the kiss, he gasped out a name.

"Trinity."

When she woke up, she felt sick.

He was with someone else, and the woman in question was exceptionally vulnerable. She should be ashamed. She was ashamed. Maybe she wasn't responsible for her dreams, but she wouldn't still be having such dreams, not if she'd made a real effort to detach when she'd first discovered he wasn't single. The truth was that until she knew about Trinity's situation, she'd been half-expecting him to end it. She'd persuaded herself that there was an ordinary, conventional explanation for his very apparent unhappiness, and deep down, she'd believed there was something very powerful between herself and him. That if she just waited a little, let him get on with working it all out with his girlfriend without distraction, he'd choose, eventually, to leave that girlfriend. And then, a little while after that, to be with her. That the only real problem was timing.

She'd been such a fool.

He'd only noticed her at all because he was heartbroken, sexually frustrated and lonely. He was deeply and irrevocably in love with someone else, and it had taken a humiliating dose of REM sleep to acknowledge the scale of her own self-deception. He was Trinity's. He would always be Trinity's, and it was right that he should be. It wasn't Trinity's fault that her life had fallen apart around her - how could she begrudge the poor woman Tom's love, on top of everything else she'd lost?

The best thing, she decided - in fact the only thing, if she really wanted to help - was to stay as far away from him as she could. To stop making his situation even harder, given he probably hated himself for being attracted to other women at all. He was a very special man, and she wasn't going to add to his pain. It was time to move on. She had no real reason to see him anymore - not now she was being reappointed a senior, would be reporting directly to management herself. And while the thought of that - whole days passing without so much as a brief consultation, or even an email - upset her, she knew, too, that this very upset was proof it was necessary.

What was it Zach had said, about her habit of over-thinking, not letting things slide? She'd had another terrible headache, had missed something ridiculous, wasted an hour, been furious with herself. He'd raised an eyebrow, snuck her a lopsided grin.

Cry me a river, Kenz. Then just build yourself a bridge, and get the hell over it.

It had been said with great affection, said as a joke, but it had been spot on accurate, just the same. Zach had had a point. He usually did, in fact. Especially when joking. He was a very perceptive guy.

She'd wondered for quite some time now, if Zach had ever heard of the matrix. And if so, what exactly he'd heard.

She was so sick of being cautious. Of being careful, restrained, when she was so desperate for answers. She liked him, trusted him - in a bizarre way, he was starting to remind her of Ghost. And she knew of few greater compliments than that. What the hell - she was just going to damn well come out and ask him. Compare notes, hopefully. Pool information.

After all, what was the worst that could happen?