Smith would never have admitted to the feelings of curiosity that whispered through him, but as he drove to the federal building even he could tell that his hands were jittering a little too much on the wheel. He had phoned the office of the magazine Solace worked for earlier in the day, only to be told that she was out on assignment for the morning and would not be available until lunch. He had opted to take her out to lunch (an act that nagged at his mind after what the Merovingian had said) and was due to surprise her at the interview site.
In more ways than one, Smith thought with a wry shake of his head. Looking in the mirror earlier in the day he had hardly recognized the man who stared back at him. Faded gray jeans, a white t-shirt, and a faded black duster... hardly the uniform of an Agent. Which was, after all, the point. If the visit to the Merovingian had done nothing else it had served to remind him that he would have to either cast off his old guise or assume a pose of invulnerability if he wanted to survive as an Exile in the Matrix. And at the moment, with everything that had happened and was still happening, he didn't feel up to the show of bravado and self-assurance that a pose of invulnerability would require. So... a change of appearance would be required. The informal and simple wear would serve.
It occurred to him, briefly, to wonder whether or not Solace would like it. Almost as soon as the thought crossed his mind, however, it was gone again. He didn't need to be worrying what some human woman thought of the clothing he decided to wear, he told himself sternly. Her opinions were irrelevant anyway.
He smoothed his hands over the steering wheel again. There was no reason to be nervous, no reason to be concerned. He was merely doing what he had done nearly every day for several weeks now... and most of all now, with his status as an Exile, these regular meetings were important in keeping him occupied, in a routine... sane.
He pulled up to the building, parked, walked to the entrance and stared up at it for several seconds before he realized that he was standing in what Solace affectionately referred to as Secret Agent Stance. That would be another thing he would have to get used to... he was an Exile now, a civilian as humans reckoned the term, and therefore should refrain from acting like an Agent.
He swooped into the lobby, wondering if it was a sign of his increasing dementia that he suddenly understood why Solace's friend Julian enjoyed wearing dusters... they did look imposing and swoop nicely around the ankles when moving at a slightly faster-than-walking pace.
... Julian. That was another person he would have to speak to, if for no other reason than Solace's friends had been extremely reticent to speak with him or allow her to see him since the incident at their party. Not that he could blame them. But that was a problem for another day.
He made his way up the elevator, down the hall, to the office and in. The secretary looked up at him with arched eyebrows.
"Can I help you?"
"I believe a reporter is interviewing the Senator... I am here to take her to lunch after the interview is concluded."
Her eyes glazed over slightly, and Smith cursed himself for failing to remember to alter his speech patterns appropriately.
"Should I just wait here?"
She nodded slowly. "Yes... they should be done in a few minutes."
Smith nodded back politely and took a seat in one of the chairs, correcting his position after a second to a more relaxed and casual pose. True to her word, it was only five minutes before the door behind the secretary opened and Solace walked out, smiling and shaking hands with the Senator.
"I'm sure it will..." Solace glanced over, saw Smith, turned back to the Senator, "... be fine..." Blinked and looked back at Smith. "Er. Thank you for your time, Senator..." The door closed. She walked over to Smith, standing a couple of paces back, and looked him up and down.
"What?"
"If I touch you will you explode in a puff of dust or something?" she asked, but her tone was happy and amused. "I think that's the first time I've seen you out of uniform at your own behest."
Smith extended his arm politely, and they walked out to the elevators. "It seemed inappropriate to continue in the same fashion of an agent. This was the best I could come up with."
Solace chuckled, squeezing his arm companionably and resting her head on his shoulder for the briefest of seconds, almost an embrace. "Don't worry, we'll find you some colors. We may even get wild later and do your hair at a salon."
He smiled. It looked good on him.
They got into the car. Solace chuckled again, smoothing her hands over the dash. "I am never going to get over you having this car. It's so... elegant."
Smith cocked an eyebrow at her as they pulled out of the parking lot. "Is elegant somehow inappropriate for me?"
"No... no, that's not it at all..." she laughed, window down, hair whipping around her face. "It's just, I never pictured myself running around with someone who had such an impeccable sense of style."
"Ah."
It was a short drive to their destination. Solace was so busy enjoying the wind on her face and the fresh air that she didn't realize they hadn't gone to a restaurant until they were pulling into the parking lot again. She blinked. "The park?"
"I thought a picnic lunch would be nice."
The expression of quiet joy that slowly spread across her face somehow made his knees tremble, made the day seem brighter, sent waves of feeling through him that he didn't understand and didn't know how to cope with. Angrily he pushed them back, clenching his hands briefly. Something of the inner struggle must have shown on his face, in the set of his jaw, because the brightness went out of her eyes and instead they became thoughtful, pensive.
"It would... be very nice." She smiled, but it held very little of the joy a few seconds earlier. There was, however, a tenderness and compassion that hadn't been there before. Again he wondered at his new ability to pick out her emotions from the simple look in her eyes.
He moved over to the trunk of the car, disconnecting from her, from that strange sensation. The picnic basket was a classic concept, but she seemed to enjoy classic. And stylish. He pulled out the blanket, appropriately tattered despite being gathered from the threads of the Matrix a few hours earlier, the picnic basket, and closed the trunk.
"Did you have a spot in mind?"
"As a matter of fact I do..." he said, and pulled out a length of cloth from the basket.
Sol's eyes widened.
".... I won't hurt you," he said, suddenly confused. What was...
"I believe you."
Something had just happened, and he was at a loss to explain what it was. Pushing all that aside he set the basket down, stepped forward, and blindfolded her. He slipped the strap of the picnic basket over his shoulder and took her hand, gently leading her down one of the cement paths.
"It's just this way..."
It was a strange experience, leading her as she followed him with (literally) blind trust, smiling and with her face turned up towards the sun. It seemed from her expressions as though she could feel the change between sunlight and shade, when they moved from clearings to trees and back again. He knew it should have given him a sense of power, a sense of superiority, and yet all he found himself considering was whether or not the path was smooth enough that she wouldn't stumble or fall. It didn't seem right to him.
"Wait here..." He knew the blanket and basket would make noises as he set out the whole arrangement, but it couldn't be helped. The picnic was set out easily enough, and he moved behind her and untied the blindfold.
Solace stared. Then she actually clapped her hands and squealed with delight. Smith stared. He didn't think he'd ever actually seen a human do that before.
"Oh... you got sushi! Nigiri and rolls and..." she dropped to her knees, staring at the array of treats as though she wasn't sure which to try first. Smith, amused and perplexed by both their reactions, knelt by her.
"I wasn't sure which you preferred..."
She looked up at him, eyes shining. Bad poetry flickered through his mind and was gone. "Well, I haven't met a sushi I didn't like..."
Smith produced chopsticks from the basket and they settled down to eat. For a little while the only sounds were thoughtful chewing and Solace's little noises of ecstasy. He hadn't realized that sushi was intended to be such an enjoyable experience... or perhaps that was just her. She reminded him, he thought suddenly, of a kitten that was having its belly rubbed, all closed-eyes and happy noises.
Except he had never been in close proximity to a kitten, no matter what was happening to it.
He scowled, gnawing on a piece of eel. This was most definitely getting out of hand. And yet, as often as he repeated the thought to himself, it wasn't serving either to convince him that reconfiguration was needed or reconsideration was warranted. He was just perpetuating a pattern of bad behavior that would only lead to ruin in the end... why?
And thinking of which... "Solace..."
"Mmm?"
He took a deep breath; he didn't know why. "You defend your ex-husband against what should be his due consequences... why?"
She stopped, mouth open, cucumber roll halfway to it and dripping soy sauce from between chopsticks. It would have been comical if her eyes hadn't just gone so flat, so dead. "I don't see that that's any of your business."
Emotions flared in him again, but these were darker, angrier. He could live with that. If nothing else, he was used to it. "I'm afraid it is my business. He is, no matter what he was to you once, a criminal. I am required to bring him to the proper authorities, or at the very least to direct their attention to likely avenues of..."
"You're required, now? I thought you weren't an Agent anymore."
Dissonance, alarm... and then he remembered that the word had connotations outside the Matrix, in her world. "I still retain duties as a citizen of this society. One of them being to alert the proper authorities of the whereabouts of criminals and wanted felons..."
She seemed to realize that the cucumber roll was dripping onto her leg, and popped it into her mouth even as she wiped off the small puddle of soy sauce with a napkin. It was gone quickly, with out any of the savoring or ceremony of the previous several sushi rolls. "So you can just turn people in regardless of what they've done or how they've changed?"
Smith arched an eyebrow. "From what I observed, from your own behavior, your husband has not changed in the slightest."
"Dammit, Smith, he's my ex-husband. And that's still none of your business."
He didn't know why he'd suddenly gone so cold, so emotionless. "If you still have feelings for him..."
"My feelings are also none of your business." Her icy tone would have done an Agent proud, if Agents could be proud.
"It is a well documented fact that abused women often feel sympathy towards their abusers, and return...."
"Oh spare me the statistics and surveys and well documented psycho-babble Freudian bullshit! You tried that line before. It wasn't relevant then, and it's not any more relevant now that you think you've finally got some proof."
"Then explain to me your reasoning. Because I can see no other justification for your continued harboring..."
"Harboring!"
"Of a wanted fugitive and a known terrorist."
She stared at him ... like he was something particularly nasty and putrid she wanted to shake from her shoe. As though he the attacker and not her former husband. It was a familiar stare. It was a stare he got from many Resistance members. But he had never expected to be on the receiving end of something like that from her.
"Did you set this up, or is this just some sort of horrific accident? Is that what this whole charade is, a means to get me to confess something in my background, something that will help you nail Kerr's feet to the floor of a jail cell? I understand what he's done, probably better than you, and I also understand that my defense of him, no matter how sick and reprehensible it may seem to you, is based on the fact that I've known him better than you ever will and I have more of an idea of what he's capable of that you can even comprehend. You, on the other hand, have jumped to conclusions and back again so fast that even you can't see clearly, and if anyone's vision is clouded here it's yours, Agent Smith." She spat out the last word as though it was a curse. Probably, to her, it was.
"Kerr's incarceration will be beneficial to you, as well. You seemed as worried as anyone might be when I looked into his activities and found..."
"What? Suspicious activity? Tell me, what exactly does Big Brother define as suspicious activity?"
"You may not approve now, but if you allow us to proceed you will find that your life may become easier when ..." That tack wasn't working. "I am doing this for your own protection, Solace."
"I never asked you to protect me from my husband...!"
"Your ex-husband."
She froze, eyes wide and shocked. Something brittle rose to the fore in her expression and in her posture, something fragile that seemed to have just snapped that little bit further. Smith, oddly enough, was starting to realize how she must feel. He felt ... perhaps not the same way, or for the same reasons... but as though there were razor-sharp edges, broken glass all along his skin. The argument, which had been so heated a moment ago, suddenly seemed to make no sense. He felt drained, exhausted, broken.
"I'm sorry..." her voice drifted to him. He felt disconnected; he might have been in the corridor of back doors again, and not in the Matrix at all. "Smith..." her hands were laid over his. "I am sorry. I shouldn't have yelled... you are right, it's just... hard to believe in my own fallibility, I guess. I think... I was clinging to some hope that he wasn't as bad as he seemed..."
By those last few words he had managed to drag himself back to the present again. Relief swamped him, a little anger, a little confusion. And the softer emotions, the quieter thoughts too. He looked down, not entirely sure what to say or do.
Solace moved the sushi trays aside and settled down next to him, pulling him into her arms. He allowed it, although he was quite sure it was partially out of shock. "It is a beautiful picnic... thank you for taking me here..."
"I thought you might like a change of venue..." his words sounded strange even to him, watery, warbled.
"Smith?"
He took a deep breath and, despite not wanting to know the answer, performed an internal diagnostic examination that registered in his mind more under the phrase of 'soul searching.' What he found shook him so deeply that he set it aside immediately, to be dealt with later, alone and unwitnessed. For the moment he settled on a temporary excuse that he knew she, as a human woman, would accept. Perhaps it would even go a little ways towards securing her good will.
"I am sorry... I think..." he swallowed. "I was jealous. You ..." Damn. How would she expect to hear it. "Seemed attached to him still. I ..." He didn't know how to continue and didn't want to.
She was silent for a long time. He was grateful for their positions, which made it impossible for him to see the expression on her face. He didn't, for once, want to know what she was thinking.
"It's all right."
More silence.
"I don't, you know."
"Hmmm?"
"Still have feelings for him. Not in the sense you mean, anyway."
He didn't understand. It had just been an excuse. Hadn't it?
"Oh." Pause. "That's good."
After a little while she pulled back, sitting on her heels. He wasn't yet ready to relinquish the intimacy. Confusion warred within him, indecision as to whether to indulge his strange new instincts or follow the imperatives of what he was by the nature of his construction. And yet, weren't the two one and the same? They should have been. Somehow, they weren't. The disharmony threatened to rip him apart almost without cessation, these days. He gave in to the new impulses, and pulled her into his arms, hoping somehow that the knowledge of what to do would come out of the whole mess.
It didn't.
But then, after the first hour, after listening to her quietly drift off into a light sleep and feeling the soft rhythm of her breath against the thin material over his skin, feeling the rhythm of her heart under his fingertips at her neck and the soft press of her grass-stained feet on his leg... somehow, after the first hour, it didn't seem to matter.
In more ways than one, Smith thought with a wry shake of his head. Looking in the mirror earlier in the day he had hardly recognized the man who stared back at him. Faded gray jeans, a white t-shirt, and a faded black duster... hardly the uniform of an Agent. Which was, after all, the point. If the visit to the Merovingian had done nothing else it had served to remind him that he would have to either cast off his old guise or assume a pose of invulnerability if he wanted to survive as an Exile in the Matrix. And at the moment, with everything that had happened and was still happening, he didn't feel up to the show of bravado and self-assurance that a pose of invulnerability would require. So... a change of appearance would be required. The informal and simple wear would serve.
It occurred to him, briefly, to wonder whether or not Solace would like it. Almost as soon as the thought crossed his mind, however, it was gone again. He didn't need to be worrying what some human woman thought of the clothing he decided to wear, he told himself sternly. Her opinions were irrelevant anyway.
He smoothed his hands over the steering wheel again. There was no reason to be nervous, no reason to be concerned. He was merely doing what he had done nearly every day for several weeks now... and most of all now, with his status as an Exile, these regular meetings were important in keeping him occupied, in a routine... sane.
He pulled up to the building, parked, walked to the entrance and stared up at it for several seconds before he realized that he was standing in what Solace affectionately referred to as Secret Agent Stance. That would be another thing he would have to get used to... he was an Exile now, a civilian as humans reckoned the term, and therefore should refrain from acting like an Agent.
He swooped into the lobby, wondering if it was a sign of his increasing dementia that he suddenly understood why Solace's friend Julian enjoyed wearing dusters... they did look imposing and swoop nicely around the ankles when moving at a slightly faster-than-walking pace.
... Julian. That was another person he would have to speak to, if for no other reason than Solace's friends had been extremely reticent to speak with him or allow her to see him since the incident at their party. Not that he could blame them. But that was a problem for another day.
He made his way up the elevator, down the hall, to the office and in. The secretary looked up at him with arched eyebrows.
"Can I help you?"
"I believe a reporter is interviewing the Senator... I am here to take her to lunch after the interview is concluded."
Her eyes glazed over slightly, and Smith cursed himself for failing to remember to alter his speech patterns appropriately.
"Should I just wait here?"
She nodded slowly. "Yes... they should be done in a few minutes."
Smith nodded back politely and took a seat in one of the chairs, correcting his position after a second to a more relaxed and casual pose. True to her word, it was only five minutes before the door behind the secretary opened and Solace walked out, smiling and shaking hands with the Senator.
"I'm sure it will..." Solace glanced over, saw Smith, turned back to the Senator, "... be fine..." Blinked and looked back at Smith. "Er. Thank you for your time, Senator..." The door closed. She walked over to Smith, standing a couple of paces back, and looked him up and down.
"What?"
"If I touch you will you explode in a puff of dust or something?" she asked, but her tone was happy and amused. "I think that's the first time I've seen you out of uniform at your own behest."
Smith extended his arm politely, and they walked out to the elevators. "It seemed inappropriate to continue in the same fashion of an agent. This was the best I could come up with."
Solace chuckled, squeezing his arm companionably and resting her head on his shoulder for the briefest of seconds, almost an embrace. "Don't worry, we'll find you some colors. We may even get wild later and do your hair at a salon."
He smiled. It looked good on him.
They got into the car. Solace chuckled again, smoothing her hands over the dash. "I am never going to get over you having this car. It's so... elegant."
Smith cocked an eyebrow at her as they pulled out of the parking lot. "Is elegant somehow inappropriate for me?"
"No... no, that's not it at all..." she laughed, window down, hair whipping around her face. "It's just, I never pictured myself running around with someone who had such an impeccable sense of style."
"Ah."
It was a short drive to their destination. Solace was so busy enjoying the wind on her face and the fresh air that she didn't realize they hadn't gone to a restaurant until they were pulling into the parking lot again. She blinked. "The park?"
"I thought a picnic lunch would be nice."
The expression of quiet joy that slowly spread across her face somehow made his knees tremble, made the day seem brighter, sent waves of feeling through him that he didn't understand and didn't know how to cope with. Angrily he pushed them back, clenching his hands briefly. Something of the inner struggle must have shown on his face, in the set of his jaw, because the brightness went out of her eyes and instead they became thoughtful, pensive.
"It would... be very nice." She smiled, but it held very little of the joy a few seconds earlier. There was, however, a tenderness and compassion that hadn't been there before. Again he wondered at his new ability to pick out her emotions from the simple look in her eyes.
He moved over to the trunk of the car, disconnecting from her, from that strange sensation. The picnic basket was a classic concept, but she seemed to enjoy classic. And stylish. He pulled out the blanket, appropriately tattered despite being gathered from the threads of the Matrix a few hours earlier, the picnic basket, and closed the trunk.
"Did you have a spot in mind?"
"As a matter of fact I do..." he said, and pulled out a length of cloth from the basket.
Sol's eyes widened.
".... I won't hurt you," he said, suddenly confused. What was...
"I believe you."
Something had just happened, and he was at a loss to explain what it was. Pushing all that aside he set the basket down, stepped forward, and blindfolded her. He slipped the strap of the picnic basket over his shoulder and took her hand, gently leading her down one of the cement paths.
"It's just this way..."
It was a strange experience, leading her as she followed him with (literally) blind trust, smiling and with her face turned up towards the sun. It seemed from her expressions as though she could feel the change between sunlight and shade, when they moved from clearings to trees and back again. He knew it should have given him a sense of power, a sense of superiority, and yet all he found himself considering was whether or not the path was smooth enough that she wouldn't stumble or fall. It didn't seem right to him.
"Wait here..." He knew the blanket and basket would make noises as he set out the whole arrangement, but it couldn't be helped. The picnic was set out easily enough, and he moved behind her and untied the blindfold.
Solace stared. Then she actually clapped her hands and squealed with delight. Smith stared. He didn't think he'd ever actually seen a human do that before.
"Oh... you got sushi! Nigiri and rolls and..." she dropped to her knees, staring at the array of treats as though she wasn't sure which to try first. Smith, amused and perplexed by both their reactions, knelt by her.
"I wasn't sure which you preferred..."
She looked up at him, eyes shining. Bad poetry flickered through his mind and was gone. "Well, I haven't met a sushi I didn't like..."
Smith produced chopsticks from the basket and they settled down to eat. For a little while the only sounds were thoughtful chewing and Solace's little noises of ecstasy. He hadn't realized that sushi was intended to be such an enjoyable experience... or perhaps that was just her. She reminded him, he thought suddenly, of a kitten that was having its belly rubbed, all closed-eyes and happy noises.
Except he had never been in close proximity to a kitten, no matter what was happening to it.
He scowled, gnawing on a piece of eel. This was most definitely getting out of hand. And yet, as often as he repeated the thought to himself, it wasn't serving either to convince him that reconfiguration was needed or reconsideration was warranted. He was just perpetuating a pattern of bad behavior that would only lead to ruin in the end... why?
And thinking of which... "Solace..."
"Mmm?"
He took a deep breath; he didn't know why. "You defend your ex-husband against what should be his due consequences... why?"
She stopped, mouth open, cucumber roll halfway to it and dripping soy sauce from between chopsticks. It would have been comical if her eyes hadn't just gone so flat, so dead. "I don't see that that's any of your business."
Emotions flared in him again, but these were darker, angrier. He could live with that. If nothing else, he was used to it. "I'm afraid it is my business. He is, no matter what he was to you once, a criminal. I am required to bring him to the proper authorities, or at the very least to direct their attention to likely avenues of..."
"You're required, now? I thought you weren't an Agent anymore."
Dissonance, alarm... and then he remembered that the word had connotations outside the Matrix, in her world. "I still retain duties as a citizen of this society. One of them being to alert the proper authorities of the whereabouts of criminals and wanted felons..."
She seemed to realize that the cucumber roll was dripping onto her leg, and popped it into her mouth even as she wiped off the small puddle of soy sauce with a napkin. It was gone quickly, with out any of the savoring or ceremony of the previous several sushi rolls. "So you can just turn people in regardless of what they've done or how they've changed?"
Smith arched an eyebrow. "From what I observed, from your own behavior, your husband has not changed in the slightest."
"Dammit, Smith, he's my ex-husband. And that's still none of your business."
He didn't know why he'd suddenly gone so cold, so emotionless. "If you still have feelings for him..."
"My feelings are also none of your business." Her icy tone would have done an Agent proud, if Agents could be proud.
"It is a well documented fact that abused women often feel sympathy towards their abusers, and return...."
"Oh spare me the statistics and surveys and well documented psycho-babble Freudian bullshit! You tried that line before. It wasn't relevant then, and it's not any more relevant now that you think you've finally got some proof."
"Then explain to me your reasoning. Because I can see no other justification for your continued harboring..."
"Harboring!"
"Of a wanted fugitive and a known terrorist."
She stared at him ... like he was something particularly nasty and putrid she wanted to shake from her shoe. As though he the attacker and not her former husband. It was a familiar stare. It was a stare he got from many Resistance members. But he had never expected to be on the receiving end of something like that from her.
"Did you set this up, or is this just some sort of horrific accident? Is that what this whole charade is, a means to get me to confess something in my background, something that will help you nail Kerr's feet to the floor of a jail cell? I understand what he's done, probably better than you, and I also understand that my defense of him, no matter how sick and reprehensible it may seem to you, is based on the fact that I've known him better than you ever will and I have more of an idea of what he's capable of that you can even comprehend. You, on the other hand, have jumped to conclusions and back again so fast that even you can't see clearly, and if anyone's vision is clouded here it's yours, Agent Smith." She spat out the last word as though it was a curse. Probably, to her, it was.
"Kerr's incarceration will be beneficial to you, as well. You seemed as worried as anyone might be when I looked into his activities and found..."
"What? Suspicious activity? Tell me, what exactly does Big Brother define as suspicious activity?"
"You may not approve now, but if you allow us to proceed you will find that your life may become easier when ..." That tack wasn't working. "I am doing this for your own protection, Solace."
"I never asked you to protect me from my husband...!"
"Your ex-husband."
She froze, eyes wide and shocked. Something brittle rose to the fore in her expression and in her posture, something fragile that seemed to have just snapped that little bit further. Smith, oddly enough, was starting to realize how she must feel. He felt ... perhaps not the same way, or for the same reasons... but as though there were razor-sharp edges, broken glass all along his skin. The argument, which had been so heated a moment ago, suddenly seemed to make no sense. He felt drained, exhausted, broken.
"I'm sorry..." her voice drifted to him. He felt disconnected; he might have been in the corridor of back doors again, and not in the Matrix at all. "Smith..." her hands were laid over his. "I am sorry. I shouldn't have yelled... you are right, it's just... hard to believe in my own fallibility, I guess. I think... I was clinging to some hope that he wasn't as bad as he seemed..."
By those last few words he had managed to drag himself back to the present again. Relief swamped him, a little anger, a little confusion. And the softer emotions, the quieter thoughts too. He looked down, not entirely sure what to say or do.
Solace moved the sushi trays aside and settled down next to him, pulling him into her arms. He allowed it, although he was quite sure it was partially out of shock. "It is a beautiful picnic... thank you for taking me here..."
"I thought you might like a change of venue..." his words sounded strange even to him, watery, warbled.
"Smith?"
He took a deep breath and, despite not wanting to know the answer, performed an internal diagnostic examination that registered in his mind more under the phrase of 'soul searching.' What he found shook him so deeply that he set it aside immediately, to be dealt with later, alone and unwitnessed. For the moment he settled on a temporary excuse that he knew she, as a human woman, would accept. Perhaps it would even go a little ways towards securing her good will.
"I am sorry... I think..." he swallowed. "I was jealous. You ..." Damn. How would she expect to hear it. "Seemed attached to him still. I ..." He didn't know how to continue and didn't want to.
She was silent for a long time. He was grateful for their positions, which made it impossible for him to see the expression on her face. He didn't, for once, want to know what she was thinking.
"It's all right."
More silence.
"I don't, you know."
"Hmmm?"
"Still have feelings for him. Not in the sense you mean, anyway."
He didn't understand. It had just been an excuse. Hadn't it?
"Oh." Pause. "That's good."
After a little while she pulled back, sitting on her heels. He wasn't yet ready to relinquish the intimacy. Confusion warred within him, indecision as to whether to indulge his strange new instincts or follow the imperatives of what he was by the nature of his construction. And yet, weren't the two one and the same? They should have been. Somehow, they weren't. The disharmony threatened to rip him apart almost without cessation, these days. He gave in to the new impulses, and pulled her into his arms, hoping somehow that the knowledge of what to do would come out of the whole mess.
It didn't.
But then, after the first hour, after listening to her quietly drift off into a light sleep and feeling the soft rhythm of her breath against the thin material over his skin, feeling the rhythm of her heart under his fingertips at her neck and the soft press of her grass-stained feet on his leg... somehow, after the first hour, it didn't seem to matter.