Author's notes:
Basically, this fanfic is my fling at explaining why Trinity is the way she is. i.e. her pre-unplugging days leading up to the first movie. Since that woman ( beautiful, strong and intelligent though she may be ) is also one of the most complicated characters on the surface of this flat earth, things in my fic can go terribly terribly wrong for so many different reasons. Chord humbly asks that you, her beloved readers, keep her from getting too lost.

Feedback: Constructive criticism = more than welcome; if flames are necessary, then do so by all means, as long as they make sense, ne?

Disclaimer: I own Julian and the shower curtain.









Fade To Black
Chapter One



* ~ *



The dark sky is lit up momentarily by brief flashes of blinding, white light. Peals of thunder drown out the usual neighborhood din of honking car horns and Mrs. Next-door's screams ( at her daughter? her husband? it doesn't matter, smother them all ). The wind mourns over the absence of sunlight with a low, resounding wail of loss.

Droplets of rainwater are pinpricks on the skin; sharp, biting sensations. Drenched clothes, heavy shoes and soggy socks carve vivid details in the mind: memories to relive on days of stifling heat and cool lemonade.

The front door opens and an umbrella with red and white stripes emerges, backlit by bright, yellow light. Beneath it, a man's face smiling,
What do you think you're doing out there, little girl?

It's raining daddy! Can I stay out for a bit? Please?

Not a chance. Come inside, your mother's worried and so is Julian.

( what about you, daddy? aren't you worried too? )

A mad dash up the driveway, splashing in puddles that trickle into streams, before spilling out onto the street. Wet rubber soles on slippery pavement don't make for an easy run. Two steps and a stumble land a pair of feet on the doormat, soaking the letters that spell out in shades of deep red.

Step inside, wet, as a light pitter-patter of slippers approach quickly. A little four year old boy rounds the corner, hair tousled, blue eyes wide, a soft thick towel clutched in two small hands, dry,
Trin! I got'cha a... I got'cha this outta the cabinet an' I did it all by myself!

He holds out the article and beams as it is received gratefully, taking pride in his achievement. The man rewards the child by lifting him off the ground and spinning him around, not two months in this house and the boy knows enough to take care of his sister! Way to go, kiddo!

Three pairs of lips part, releasing laughter, carefree but cut short by a woman's voice, edged with concern, You're both soaking wet! Go and change this instant, before you catch something.

Giggles back and forth and the man calls, You heard your mother. Scoot.

What about you, daddy? ( mommy was talking to you, too. )

I'm a grownup and grownups don't get sick.

( mommy said you might, you could, you would. is mommy lying, daddy? are you? )

The little boy interrupts,
Trin's big too! She's seven years old! holding up two hands, six fingers.

No arguments from anyone for I won't hear them! and that is that. Up the stairs to change, and back down again, Jack - be - nimble - while - you - hop - over - a - candle quick.

Daddy's still in his wet clothes and mommy is angry; both are on the couch with Julian squeezed in between. He stares at the fireplace, captivated by the dancing flames and curling orange tongues, oblivious to the whispered arguments
( I just don't want you to get sick! Is that so difficult to understand? ) flying back and forth in the air above his head.

( Look up, Julian. Look up and catch those frosty words, cradle them in your palms and warm them with your fingers. )

The boy glances up but in the wrong direction, catches sight of the wrong person, and the request vanishes into thin air as he yells,
Sit next to me! Sit next to me, Trin!

Mugs of hot chocolate are passed around. Take a sip, savor the sweetness, a taste not so easily forgotten --



-- when I say it, but when anyone else does, you frown.

Startled out of her reverie, Kat's eyes flew open. Rivulets of water ran down her face and she wiped them away with one hand to clear her vision of Julian's silhouette on the shower curtain, surrounded by pale yellow ducks with big, sad eyes. A boy's shadow among melancholic birds swimming around a pasty white sheet looked odd.

Her question bounced off the bathroom walls. It was nice of Julian to agree to keep her company while she showered, but carrying on a trite conversation had not been what she'd had in mind.

Your nickname, the one I gave you. Trin. I've noticed that when I use it, you don't mind very much but when anyone else does, you frown, was repeated patiently.

Aren't you observant, Kat responded as she rinsed herself out under the shower's steady downpour.

It was a game she played with Julian. He asked questions, and she answered them in short, clipped fragments that dared him to extend their chat further. Sometimes he managed to coax a bit more enthusiasm out of her; other times, he was the one who lost interest.

This time however, he caught her with an unexpected move.

Do you miss rain? was an abrupt jump from one topic to the next and it put Kat on her guard instantly.

Julian's questions were never random, never plucked right out of the blue, and the reasons behind them were usually heavier than most people would give him credit for. Wondering if her brother could read minds, Kat chose not to answer and rinsed off the last of the soap suds without a word.

I think you do, he prattled on in his usual bright manner, that's probably why you take such long showers. You better watch out, or you'll turn into a prune if you stay under there too long.

Again he was ignored, but this time he waited out Kat's silence by drawing invisible pictures on the bathroom's tiled walls with the tip of his finger. The only sound to be heard was a water's serenade of drip drip drip but it hardly compensated for the lack of a voiced response. Soon enough, an awkward sort of ambience settled in, thick as smoke and just as difficult to breathe in.


*


I think you do...

... but you've somehow managed to convince yourself that you don't.

Never one to yearn for the Long Gone, the Done And Over With So Let's Move On bullshit you're convinced no longer matters. Never one to sit down and call back memories, because you're far too sensible a person to waste time dwelling in the past when there's so much work to be done in the present. Or are you?

I think you do.

The truth in those words is a ringing in your ears, deafening in volume and clamoring to be heard. Half-truths, shards - of - broken - glass truths that cut your skin until you you bleed, the essence of it seeping into the wounds, flowing through your veins until it becomes a part who you are, until it consumes you...

... with what? Guilt?

I think you do...

... feel guilt. Guilt in the knowledge that you miss your past reluctantly and would prefer to forget it all together. Why, though, when you know you long for it?

The ambivalence is frustrating.

Reluctantly missing what you'd rather forget yet long for all the same is dangerous. It speaks of vulnerability in the kind of whisper that haunts rooftop ledges and ridges of cliffs. A battle of conflicting emotions -- recall forget recall forget recall forget -- tears at your insides.

Admit it. Give in. Succumb.

There's something in a rain shower that you miss, something about it that dances just out of reach, doing a neat little jig on the tip of your tongue as you struggle to spit it out. Something about the danger and risk-taking involved in thunderstorms, something in the way rain pounds, steady and unchanging, on the window pane that you relish, something right about defying nature.

Or does it even have anything to do with defying nature? Why not defiance itself? Do you know?...

... I think you do.


*


Julian's frighteningly accurate guess irritated Kat. It meant that he could read her somewhat and the realization that she was possibly as semitransparent as a shower curtain with yellow ducks was disturbing.



It was just a thought. You used to stay out in the rain all the time, back when --

-- I could afford to get sick, cause we had money to buy medicine and food on the table.

Julian shut up after a murmur of apology, instantly causing Kat to regret her hasty words. They held too much bitterness in them, and Julian did not deserve the role of victim to her temper. It was uncalled for.

With one hand, she reached out to switch off the shower. Julian, still subdued, was obviously waiting for her to make the first move. She stood dripping wordlessly for a few more moments before she spoke to him again, this time taking care to be more gentle.

You will refrain from comparing me to a grapefruit, she informed him. The awkwardness was lifted.

Hand me my towel, was meant as a joke, but he complied.

Yes ma'am.



* ~ *