Three hours found her sitting on her tiny balcony with a mostly empty glass of orange juice, a plate of crumbs, and the Agent opposite her at the table. The sun had risen and it was nice and warm in the barely post-dawn light. The prisms she'd had Tank put in her window were casting rainbows on them, even out here. She wondered how far the rainbows went.
Movement beside her made her jump and look around. Smith was standing. "I should return to work. Will you be all right?"
She finished off the glass of orange juice. "I think so..." Her voice was steady, and she hadn't burst into tears in the last hour and a half.
He hesitated. "Should I stay?"
Solace turned around and stared at him. "No... that's okay. Thank you for the offer, though, it's very... generous..."
And confusing. She didn't understand why he'd done any of what he had over the last few days. The Agent, the computer program designed to entrap humans and keep them safe and secure in their pod prisons, was being more sympathetic and understanding than at least one of her crewmates would have been. She shuddered to think of what Dis would have said in response to the attack. And yet Smith, who had evidenced nothing but hatred for the humans until she had come along in the guise of a young hippie reporter... sympathy. Empathy. It didn't make any sense. Or rather, it made a kind of sense that was worrying.
Her only comfort was that he seemed to be just as uncomfortable with his actions as she was. "It is no more than ..." he started to say, and then trailed off. "It's all right."
"No, really..." she stood up and went over to him, touching his Armani-clad shoulder. "You've been wonderfully kind. Thank you."
He scowled. "You are welcome."
"You don't sound happy."
"I am fine."
The man was infuriating. "You don't sound fine."
"I am... unaccustomed to being excessively thanked."
She blinked. "I wasn't aware that I was being excessive."
His shoulders tightened, and then he seemed to relax a little bit and kept walking towards the door. "Don't worry about it."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
This time he turned around. "What I said... don't worry about it."
He was clearly unaccustomed both to experiencing or demonstrating emotions and to having his orders questioned or disobeyed. "Smith, what the hell is going on with you?"
"Nothing is going on with me. I am fine."
"You don't sound fine."
"Nevertheless..."
On any other day she would have had the patience and sense to just let it go. She was, after all, unplugged. She knew better than to assume an Agent would react like a human. But that was exactly the problem, wasn't it? Sometimes he reacted like a human, and sometimes he reacted like an Agent, and her ability to predict which way he would swing was decreasing rapidly. Right now she couldn't predict her way out of a wet paper bag.
The hell with it. "Fine." She stalked back out to the balcony.
"What?" His voice was snappish, a human reaction.
"Nothing. You're uncomfortable with babysitting me, fine, go back to work."
"Babysitting you?!"
"Sure. That's what you feel like you've been doing for the past twenty four hours, isn't it?"
"I never thought..."
"Bite your tongue. You did."
"I did not. You were injured and you needed care."
"So now I'm an invalid...? Or did you just want to play doctor?"
They were glaring at each other by now, and she knew there was no excuse for what she'd just said. Of all things, she just wanted to get a reaction out of him, more human reactions than electronic. But...
"I'm sorry..." she sighed and looked away first. "I shouldn't have said that."
"No..." Her head jerked up at the hatred in his voice. This must have been what Morpheus heard. "You shouldn't."
"Dammit, Smith..."
"What?" he spun around, glaring, and she took a step backwards.
"You didn't have to stick around, so don't blame me for whatever sociopathic weakness you think you have."
"I have no weaknesses."
"Like hell you don't!" It was true both of Smith as an Agent and Smith as she was supposed to see him, a human being. "We all have weaknesses."
"Not me."
"Bullshit."
His face contorted. He was really pissed off now. "You are the weak one here..."
"Then why are you so angry, and me so calm?"
He started to retort, stopped, and just stared daggers at her. It hurt more than she had expected. "I am in perfect control."
His voice certainly sounded more controlled than hers was going to. She took a deep breath. "Fine. Then go."
"All right."
He didn't move.
"Shouldn't you be going?"
"Most likely."
He still didn't move.
"Go, already..." she turned around, arms around her waist again.
"Are you sure you're all right?"
"What the hell do you care."
She heard his exasperated sigh. "I don't." She thought she heard him say, I shouldn't. There was another very long silence.
"Smith...just go. Please."
"I will go when I am certain that you're recovered enough from the attack to function on your own..."
It was a comment that was too much Agent and too much human, and she wasn't up to dealing with the confusion right now. "Then let me put it another way. Get. Out."
"Solace, I do not think you are in a position right now to..."
"Get out!"
Smith ducked the seat cushion that came flying at his head with almost preternatural ease. "Solace, I think you need to..."
"Get! Out!" This time it was a book.
"Solace." He was standing in front of her faster than she could blink, grabbing her wrists. "Do not throw anything else at me."
"Get out of my apartment and I won't."
"I will not. You need rest, time to relax, and to calm yourself."
"How the hell could you possibly know what I need."
"I know that you are in a distressed state of mind right now." He released her, and she stepped back several paces. "You are hurt, and confused, and at the moment your emotions are most likely running the gamut right now." He waited for her to respond, but she was silent. "You need to ... take it easy."
Solace scowled, wondering how long he had been searching in the database of human phrases before he had found that one. "And you need to go back to work."
He nodded. "I do. If you will promise to relax and do no work for the rest of the day. I will return in the evening. To check up on you."
She took a very deep breath and let it out very, very slowly. "All right."
He waited.
"All right! Fine. I promise."
He didn't so much turn and walk out as back up nearly to the door and then walk out. "I will return in the evening..." he said, and left.
She went over to the couch and sat down. Thoughts were running through her head at paces that would have made even the Agents blink. What the hell was Smith doing? Had the experiment worked? Was he humanizing? Or was it all some game, some test to see what kind of emotions humans would offer to the Agents if they presented themselves as sources of reassurance, of comfort? It would make sense, given that even FBI and CIA Agents were supposed to be protective figures in people's minds.
Was that what she was to Smith? A lab rat, a mouse to be run through a maze to see which way it twitched? And why did the thought that she might be just as much a subject of observation as he was hurt her so much? Why did she care what he thought? What did it matter? He was just an Agent, a collection of pixels, bytes, pieces of information and data. It did not add up to enough of anything to form a connection to, no matter how much she tried to humanize him to both herself and the Mainframe.
But... God, why did it hurt so much? And why was she so afraid? Maybe what she really needed was a professional rape counselor... but she couldn't go to anyone plugged in. They just wouldn't understand... did Zion have professional rape counselors? Surely they did. Any large habitation of humans would have rapes, and they would almost have to have someone to deal with them. Not that she had been raped, of course, it hadn't gotten that far. Thanks to Smith. Why had he rescued her, even? And now she was back to that again.
Too much. It was all too much. She reached into a desk drawer and pulled out a cell phone.
"Operator." Tank's voice was so welcome on the other end.
"Hey Tank... it's me."
"Hey, Sol. You've been in there a long time, I saw you two had some kind of argument. Are you okay?"
"I'm okay... well, mostly. I only have a few hours outside, he's going to meet me in the evening..."
"Two seconds."
He hung up. She walked over to the phone in her bedroom, which began to ring. White polished plastic, a recreation of the old-style handset telephones. She stared at it for a second before she picked it up, jacked out.
The real world was so gray, gray and green and cold. She shivered as Tank pulled the connector out of her. "Hey there, Sleeping Beauty. Everything go okay?"
"Yeah..." She stood up slowly. "I should go ... exercise... make sure my muscles don't go completely to pot with a ll the time I've been spending under, lately." It was a nervous laugh, but it was still a laugh. Tank didn't look convinced.
"I know you're not supposed to talk about it, but... well, you want to talk about what happened?"
"No... thanks, Tank. Really. But ... I'm fine." She smiled and touched his arm, reassuring. He really was a sweetheart, and she always felt safe going under with him at the controls. "Thanks for keeping an eye on me."
"No charge..." He watched her as she disappeared around the corner and down the hatch.
Movement beside her made her jump and look around. Smith was standing. "I should return to work. Will you be all right?"
She finished off the glass of orange juice. "I think so..." Her voice was steady, and she hadn't burst into tears in the last hour and a half.
He hesitated. "Should I stay?"
Solace turned around and stared at him. "No... that's okay. Thank you for the offer, though, it's very... generous..."
And confusing. She didn't understand why he'd done any of what he had over the last few days. The Agent, the computer program designed to entrap humans and keep them safe and secure in their pod prisons, was being more sympathetic and understanding than at least one of her crewmates would have been. She shuddered to think of what Dis would have said in response to the attack. And yet Smith, who had evidenced nothing but hatred for the humans until she had come along in the guise of a young hippie reporter... sympathy. Empathy. It didn't make any sense. Or rather, it made a kind of sense that was worrying.
Her only comfort was that he seemed to be just as uncomfortable with his actions as she was. "It is no more than ..." he started to say, and then trailed off. "It's all right."
"No, really..." she stood up and went over to him, touching his Armani-clad shoulder. "You've been wonderfully kind. Thank you."
He scowled. "You are welcome."
"You don't sound happy."
"I am fine."
The man was infuriating. "You don't sound fine."
"I am... unaccustomed to being excessively thanked."
She blinked. "I wasn't aware that I was being excessive."
His shoulders tightened, and then he seemed to relax a little bit and kept walking towards the door. "Don't worry about it."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
This time he turned around. "What I said... don't worry about it."
He was clearly unaccustomed both to experiencing or demonstrating emotions and to having his orders questioned or disobeyed. "Smith, what the hell is going on with you?"
"Nothing is going on with me. I am fine."
"You don't sound fine."
"Nevertheless..."
On any other day she would have had the patience and sense to just let it go. She was, after all, unplugged. She knew better than to assume an Agent would react like a human. But that was exactly the problem, wasn't it? Sometimes he reacted like a human, and sometimes he reacted like an Agent, and her ability to predict which way he would swing was decreasing rapidly. Right now she couldn't predict her way out of a wet paper bag.
The hell with it. "Fine." She stalked back out to the balcony.
"What?" His voice was snappish, a human reaction.
"Nothing. You're uncomfortable with babysitting me, fine, go back to work."
"Babysitting you?!"
"Sure. That's what you feel like you've been doing for the past twenty four hours, isn't it?"
"I never thought..."
"Bite your tongue. You did."
"I did not. You were injured and you needed care."
"So now I'm an invalid...? Or did you just want to play doctor?"
They were glaring at each other by now, and she knew there was no excuse for what she'd just said. Of all things, she just wanted to get a reaction out of him, more human reactions than electronic. But...
"I'm sorry..." she sighed and looked away first. "I shouldn't have said that."
"No..." Her head jerked up at the hatred in his voice. This must have been what Morpheus heard. "You shouldn't."
"Dammit, Smith..."
"What?" he spun around, glaring, and she took a step backwards.
"You didn't have to stick around, so don't blame me for whatever sociopathic weakness you think you have."
"I have no weaknesses."
"Like hell you don't!" It was true both of Smith as an Agent and Smith as she was supposed to see him, a human being. "We all have weaknesses."
"Not me."
"Bullshit."
His face contorted. He was really pissed off now. "You are the weak one here..."
"Then why are you so angry, and me so calm?"
He started to retort, stopped, and just stared daggers at her. It hurt more than she had expected. "I am in perfect control."
His voice certainly sounded more controlled than hers was going to. She took a deep breath. "Fine. Then go."
"All right."
He didn't move.
"Shouldn't you be going?"
"Most likely."
He still didn't move.
"Go, already..." she turned around, arms around her waist again.
"Are you sure you're all right?"
"What the hell do you care."
She heard his exasperated sigh. "I don't." She thought she heard him say, I shouldn't. There was another very long silence.
"Smith...just go. Please."
"I will go when I am certain that you're recovered enough from the attack to function on your own..."
It was a comment that was too much Agent and too much human, and she wasn't up to dealing with the confusion right now. "Then let me put it another way. Get. Out."
"Solace, I do not think you are in a position right now to..."
"Get out!"
Smith ducked the seat cushion that came flying at his head with almost preternatural ease. "Solace, I think you need to..."
"Get! Out!" This time it was a book.
"Solace." He was standing in front of her faster than she could blink, grabbing her wrists. "Do not throw anything else at me."
"Get out of my apartment and I won't."
"I will not. You need rest, time to relax, and to calm yourself."
"How the hell could you possibly know what I need."
"I know that you are in a distressed state of mind right now." He released her, and she stepped back several paces. "You are hurt, and confused, and at the moment your emotions are most likely running the gamut right now." He waited for her to respond, but she was silent. "You need to ... take it easy."
Solace scowled, wondering how long he had been searching in the database of human phrases before he had found that one. "And you need to go back to work."
He nodded. "I do. If you will promise to relax and do no work for the rest of the day. I will return in the evening. To check up on you."
She took a very deep breath and let it out very, very slowly. "All right."
He waited.
"All right! Fine. I promise."
He didn't so much turn and walk out as back up nearly to the door and then walk out. "I will return in the evening..." he said, and left.
She went over to the couch and sat down. Thoughts were running through her head at paces that would have made even the Agents blink. What the hell was Smith doing? Had the experiment worked? Was he humanizing? Or was it all some game, some test to see what kind of emotions humans would offer to the Agents if they presented themselves as sources of reassurance, of comfort? It would make sense, given that even FBI and CIA Agents were supposed to be protective figures in people's minds.
Was that what she was to Smith? A lab rat, a mouse to be run through a maze to see which way it twitched? And why did the thought that she might be just as much a subject of observation as he was hurt her so much? Why did she care what he thought? What did it matter? He was just an Agent, a collection of pixels, bytes, pieces of information and data. It did not add up to enough of anything to form a connection to, no matter how much she tried to humanize him to both herself and the Mainframe.
But... God, why did it hurt so much? And why was she so afraid? Maybe what she really needed was a professional rape counselor... but she couldn't go to anyone plugged in. They just wouldn't understand... did Zion have professional rape counselors? Surely they did. Any large habitation of humans would have rapes, and they would almost have to have someone to deal with them. Not that she had been raped, of course, it hadn't gotten that far. Thanks to Smith. Why had he rescued her, even? And now she was back to that again.
Too much. It was all too much. She reached into a desk drawer and pulled out a cell phone.
"Operator." Tank's voice was so welcome on the other end.
"Hey Tank... it's me."
"Hey, Sol. You've been in there a long time, I saw you two had some kind of argument. Are you okay?"
"I'm okay... well, mostly. I only have a few hours outside, he's going to meet me in the evening..."
"Two seconds."
He hung up. She walked over to the phone in her bedroom, which began to ring. White polished plastic, a recreation of the old-style handset telephones. She stared at it for a second before she picked it up, jacked out.
The real world was so gray, gray and green and cold. She shivered as Tank pulled the connector out of her. "Hey there, Sleeping Beauty. Everything go okay?"
"Yeah..." She stood up slowly. "I should go ... exercise... make sure my muscles don't go completely to pot with a ll the time I've been spending under, lately." It was a nervous laugh, but it was still a laugh. Tank didn't look convinced.
"I know you're not supposed to talk about it, but... well, you want to talk about what happened?"
"No... thanks, Tank. Really. But ... I'm fine." She smiled and touched his arm, reassuring. He really was a sweetheart, and she always felt safe going under with him at the controls. "Thanks for keeping an eye on me."
"No charge..." He watched her as she disappeared around the corner and down the hatch.