On a lighter note, this was written by someone sick of Hamlet who typed things like 'plog', 'banadages' and 'teeth flashing' (in place of 'eyes flashing'). Right, that just ruined the mood.
Crescent"Stop that."
Your hand drops to your side and you look up, working your wide-eyed look of innocence. "I didn't mean to. It… itches."
She takes your left arm, studying it. Her hands are cold. There's no question – your skin is ragged and bleeding where you've torn the edges away around your plug. She wipes blood off the rim and rubs her fingers together. More blossoms at once. Trinity lets it fall again. "Don't touch it till I get back."
She walks away, and you watch her go, listen to her leave until the echoes dissolve into nothing. Then you study your arm again. You wince – it hurts, it hurts a lot. On the other hand, you can almost slip a fingernail under-
A hand slaps your wrist, so sharply that you can feel the sting at the same time as your nails colliding with your plug and the raw areas around it. You yelp something indecipherable between a cry and a curse and try to press your palm against it, but the hand wrestles yours away, squeezing so hard you can feel the bones bruising.
You follow the hand up with your eyes.
"I said not to touch it," Trinity hisses, eyes flashing. Tears are springing up in your eyes, but the anger is unmistakable. You swallow, consciously feeling your epiglottis ride up and your stomach ride down and your lungs swell hysterically when motion is forbidden.
You mumble an apology and she says nothing, but you know it makes a difference somehow. Trinity retrieves a roll of bandage she left on the counter next to you. Obligingly, you hold out your arm.
Instead, she grasps your arm and presses your plug in firmly with her thumb. You nearly bite your tongue in two, eyes watering instantly.
"That should teach you not to ever try that again."
You avert your eyes as Trinity binds your arm up. She pulls the bandages so tightly that you can't feel your fingers. Tearing the end off, she sets the roll down again. You expect her to kick your ass out of the Nebuchadnezzar, but instead, she clutches your shoulders resolutely.
"Neo, I want you to look at me."
Her tone has changed considerably. Softened. You turn back to find her eyes surprisingly close to yours. She searches your face, but you don't know what for.
"Are you feeling alright?"
You nod, but she doesn't look away. You think her gaze lingers on you just an age longer than necessary, but then the moment passes and she lets go of you. You sit next to her on a bench.
"Why did you do it?" Trinity asks simply.
You know the answer, but the phrasing clumps on your tongue. "I thought… maybe it'd just come off. Like a scab, or a press-stud, or something."
"It's permanent," she snaps, but she shakes her head as if trying to shake the words off. She's quiet.
The rest of your answer expectorates. "The plugs feel like proof. They're heavy. I almost felt that the world would… would vanish if I didn't have concrete proof that it was still there."
"A plug in the arm is connected to the major veins. I shouldn't have aggravated it just now. I don't want someone else…"
"Bleeding to death?"
You'd meant it with irony and the pain, but you can't smile, suddenly.
"Some people have managed it. If you carve a plug out – almost any plug – there's not a lot anyone else can do to you. Just…" She searches your expression again, as if to find what to say. "Don't do it again."
"You know people who've tried?"
"It only scars. Don't do it again," she repeats.
Elbow on the table, Trinity rests her chin on the back of her hand, losing her gaze elsewhere. Unintentionally, you're sure, her oversized sleeve scrunches down. A wide crescent of shiny, unblemished scar tissue coils tightly around her plug. You've never noticed it before.
Trinity looks back finally. "Don't do it again. I don't want to lose you."
Her eyelids raise almost imperceptibly – eyes widen.
"I don't want to lose you too," she amends.
"I wasn't feeling suicidal."
"Curiosity killed the cat."
You push the bench out exactly the same moment she does, getting up at the same time too. She stops suddenly at the door and you almost bump into her.
"You don't have a shift now, do you, Neo?"
"No."
An even more sudden smile tugs at her lips. A full smile, a pleased one. "You've never sparred anyone besides Morpheus, have you?"
She's definitely going to kick your ass out of the Nebuchadnezzar… not if you can help it, though.