Game, Set and Match
Author's Note: I know that in the movie, Morpheus' capture takes place earlier in the day than when this chapter ends, so forgive me if I played around with the time frame. I was also wondering what you all think of my going back and forth between each character and what they are thinking. Let me know what you think—is it annoying, or does it actually help with the story?
Oh, by the way, last time I updated this story, I sent Chapters 6 and 7 together by mistake. If you haven't already, read Chapter 6 and let me know if you like it or not. As always, please R&R! Now on with the show!
Agent Jones responded with his usual efficiency in fulfilling Smith's order to discover Bronwyn's current whereabouts, and satisfied that she would continue skating in the park for the time being, Smith drove to her apartment complex.
Smith had no difficulty in persuading the building manager to unlock the door to her apartment. So this is where she lives, he thought. It was a small apartment, and neatly kept, even though the furnishings were of lesser quality than Smith expected.
However, he did find some designer clothes and shoes in her closet, as well as several expensive items in her jewelry box. Undoubtedly, they were gifts from some of her obviously grateful and well-to-do clients, he mused.
In the living room, he glanced at some of the titles of the books that were in her bookcase and was surprised to discover that many of them were reference books dealing with Ancient Egyptian history and mythology. She didn't seem like the type to have, let alone read, books of such a dry subject matter. There's definitely much more to her than meets the eye, he thought. Most intriguing.
He took his time going through all the rooms, making sure that everything was back the way he found it, when he caught a flash of something red out of the corner of his eye. In the bathroom, he found her discarded red uniform on the floor. Idly, he had picked it up when he noticed a bloodstained towel lying underneath. It was the towel she had used to staunch the bleeding when she arrived home the previous night.
Smith held the towel in his hands for a long time, without knowing why he did it. It was then that he knew that he had hurt her internally more than he initially realized. Why should I care, he thought. I hurt her; so what? Why should it bother me now? It's not the first time I've done that to a woman, nor will it be the last. Irritated with himself, he threw the towel back where it had lain and left the apartment
He drove to the park, and waited.
Anyone watching her could immediately tell that she had a lot of skill in inline skating, as she negotiated the sharp turns and twists of the roadway with ease. One last "S" curve and she would have completed the trail twice.
On the way down the hill, she was startled by the unexpected crossing of her path by a small, unleashed dog. She swerved to avoid a collision, but lost her balance and the wheels of her right boot left the roadway and went into the gravel.
This is going to be a bad spill, she thought, as she felt herself start to fall. She closed her eyes and waited for the impact. But it never came.
A strong hand grasped her elbow from behind and prevented her from falling, and it took a moment before she could balance herself upright again.
She gasped out her thanks, for she knew that she had just been saved from a very serious accident by the actions of her unknown rescuer.
"My pleasure", said a deep, masculine voice.
She turned and looked at Smith in shock.
"You!" she said.
"Yes, me." He said, bemused. He used her sense of being ill at ease in his presence to its full advantage as he took in every detail of her appearance, satisfying his curiosity regarding her approximate age which he estimated to be within several years of his own "human" form. Bronwyn was not as young as he initially thought; there were faint lines around her mouth and eyes, the presence of which heralded her arrival to middle age in a few years.
"What are you doing here?"
"Saving you from a nasty scrape, I think"
"Were you following me?" she accused.
"Of course."
She twisted her arm out of his grasp. "Where are Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum? I thought you guys always hunted in packs of three," she said scathingly.
Smith said nothing.
"By the way," she said sarcastically, "shouldn't you be still in your coffin when the sun is up? I mean, won't you turn into Mr. Big Pile of Dust if the sun hits you?"
He chuckled. "You have a most interesting habit of using sarcasm when you want to hide what you are really thinking. Isn't that right, Bronwyn?" he asked, glad to see a red flush spread over her face in response to his question.
She turned her face away in anger. Damn him, she thought. Why does he always seem to know what I am thinking?
During her moment of embarrassment, his eyes roamed over her body, seeing the bruises he had left on her neck and wrists. She has such delicate skin, he thought. Such tender and soft flesh that he would give almost anything to be able to touch again. He was so absorbed in the depth of his thoughts; he was completely unaware of her stream of insults.
"And what kind of an idiot wears a black suit in 90 degree weather? And you're not even sweating, either! Talk about cold- blooded. You're like a reptile, you know that? What do you want, Smith? Huh? Oh, I get it. You thought I'd be hiding in my apartment, didn't you? Acting like a frightened rabbit; afraid of my own shadow? That's not going to happen. You know why?"
"No, why don't you tell me?"
He watched, transfixed, as a drop of sweat trailed down her throat and slowly inched its way between her breasts where it disappeared from his view. Smith took full advantage of the fact that the sun was behind him and that whenever Bronwyn looked up at him; the sun was always in her eyes, so she was unable to notice Smith's leisurely appraisal, as well as his leering glances, of every aspect of her face, form and figure.
Her shoulder length hair had been pulled back in a ponytail; exposure to the sun made her skin glow and her hair was radiant with burnished red highlights mixed with copper. Smith longed to touch her hair; to feel its softness and texture between his fingers and the scent of it in his nostrils, but he resisted the temptation to reach out for it by shoving his hands in his jacket pockets.
He frowned to himself as he stared into her eyes, trying to discover what color they were, while keeping his own safely hidden behind the dark sunglasses he habitually wore. Are her eyes brown or are they green? He wondered. I've never seen eyes quite that color before, he marveled. A man could easily lose himself in her eyes, he thought, and then shook his head to clear his mind of this new and potentially dangerous train of thought. Agents of the matrix were definitely not supposed to be admiring, let alone desiring the human inhabitants of the matrix, he told himself.
"Simple. I've been raped before. You certainly weren't the first guy to do it to me, and you probably won't be the last. So, go fuck yourself, Smith, because I've got better things to do with my time."
You smug bastard, she thought, standing there in your impossibly crisp suit and tie in this heat. You have no idea how much I hate you, do you? Or just how truly afraid of you I really am?
She turned, ready to skate away and found he had taken her by the elbow again.
"Who was the first?"
"What do you mean?"
"Who was the first man who raped you?"
"Why do you want to know this? Haven't you done enough to me already?" she said, her voice quavering. "All right, it was my stepfather. Are you satisfied now?"
"How old were you when he did this to you?" Smith asked.
She could tell by the set of his face that he was determined to find out everything and that he wouldn't stop asking until she told him what he wanted to know.
"I was about 9 or 10 years old. Is there anything else?"
"Just this," he said, taking another step closer to her, but Bronwyn was prepared. She dispensed the pepper spray directly in Smith's face. He tried to dodge it, but still received enough of the spray behind his sunglasses to blur his vision and cause some discomfort in and around his mouth.
Bronwyn then skated away without looking back, anxious to have as much distance between herself and Smith as she could.
After Bronwyn had left him, Smith fumed all the way back to his car. The pain around his eyes was lessening, but it was still uncomfortable. She's going to regret that, he thought. And I know just how to do it.
He drove to the nightclub where Bronwyn worked, called Rumors. It was dimly lit and even though it was only 5pm, the atmosphere was smoky enough to make Smith wrinkle his nose in distaste.
He strode to the bar and flashed his Agency badge and ID to the bartender on duty.
"Where can I find the manager?" he asked brusquely.
The young man pointed to a smoky corner of the bar where 2 men were playing pool.
"What can I do for you, Mr.?" the manager asked, finishing his game and walking over to where Smith was.
"Smith. Agent Smith",
"Okay. What is this all about?"
"Bronwyn Delaney works here, does she not?" (Author's note: I know that in her file, I wrote her surname as De Burgh, but I decided to change it after I had written and sent Chapter 3. Sorry for the confusion.)
"Yup. She's the best waitress I've got, Agent Smith. Why?"
Idly, he reached into his jacket for his billfold. The manager's eyes widened in surprise when he saw that all the bills were $100's.
Flip. Flip. Flip.
Smith flipped 3 bills on the table between them.
"She's not very good, is she, Mr. Drummond?" he said.
Flip. Flip. Flip.
"No, she is really good...."
Flip. Flip. Flip.
"You're right. She does screw up a lot," agreed Ed. Christ, how much money does this guy have? There's gotta be close to a thousand bucks on the table, he thought.
Flip. Flip. Flip.
"The pretty ones always cause trouble, don't they, Mr. Drummond?" Smith said smoothly
Flip. Flip.
"Uh-huh." The manager mumbled. "Troublemaker, that's what she is, all right."
"It's always something with her, isn't it?"
Flip. Flip.
"Yeah". Drummond's attention was completely focused on the number of bills Smith was putting on the table in front of him.
Flip. Flip. Flip.
"So you'll fire her. Tonight. Right, Mr. Drummond?" Smith asked, secure in the knowledge that Bronwyn would be out of work in a few hours. That's what the little bitch deserves for thinking she could actually get away with insulting me like that, Smith thought smugly.
Smith stood up and didn't shake the manager's outstretched, greasy hand.
"So we are in agreement?"
"She's coming by to pick up her check later tonight. I'll tell her then."
"Very good." Smith turned and left. His next stop was at a high- end designer boutique where he purchased a ladies silk scarf.
"You've made a very good choice, sir, "the salesperson beamed at him from behind the counter. "It shall be delivered as per your instructions."
"Good." Smith smiled to himself as he drove back to the Agency headquarters.
"Damn it!" Bronwyn cursed at her reflection in the mirror. No matter how much concealer or foundation she applied, nothing could hide the bruises on her neck. How can I go out like this? She thought, angrily.
A knock at the door interrupted her. She opened the door and was surprised to see a delivery man.
"But I didn't order anything" she said, puzzled.
"Yes, Ma'am, I know. Someone sent you this." He held out a wrapped package. "Could you sign here, please?"
She signed where he had indicated, and he left.
What is it, she wondered. And who could've sent it? She removed the plain brown wrap and was surprised to see a white box with distinctive black letters on it.
She opened the box and gasped. Inside was a silk scarf with beautiful ancient Egyptian motifs and designs in vivid colors of lapis blue, teal green and yellow. A small card fell out from the folds of the scarf and Bronwyn hurriedly picked it up and tore open the small white envelope, reading what was written:
"I thought this would bring out the green in your eyes." There was no signature.
She ran to the bathroom and tied it around her neck. Perfect! She thought, happily. It covers my bruises and it does bring out the green in my eyes. Who on earth could have sent it? And how did they know I love Egyptian designs? She checked her watch—damn. I have to get to the club soon and pick up my check from Eddie.
She arrived a short time later, and was surprised to see Eddie, her boss, waiting inside the doors to the club.
"Eddie, what's wrong? You look upset." She asked.
"Ronnie, can I talk to you? In my office?"
"Sure, Ed." She closed the office door behind her. "What's up?"
"I don't know who to say this—but business isn't doing that great. I'm gonna have to let you go."
"You're firing me?! Why?"
Even from his place at the bar, Smith could hear Bronwyn and Eddie's raised voices. Without warning, Bronwyn stormed out of Ed's office, slamming the door behind her as she went up the stairs to the entrance.
Smith followed her. She was pacing back and forth outside, angrily brushing tears from her eyes. She caught sight of him and then everything she had just been through with Eddie made sense.
"You did this, didn't you?"
"Yes, I did."
"Why did you do it, Smith?'
"I wanted to show you what happens to women who underestimate how much power, control and influence I hold."
"So you got me fired because of my pepper spraying you in the park?"
He nodded. "That's right. Game, set and match. I always get what I want, Bronwyn. You of all people should know that by now."
"What's next, then? Will you try to get me kicked out of my apartment as well? What else can you take from me? What do you want from me?" she cried out in anger and frustration.
"You, Bronwyn. I want you."
She laughed harshly. "You've already had me, Smith. Remember? Last night?"
"Oh, I haven't forgotten. I remember everything about you," he said, each long stride bringing him closer to her.
As he came closer, she backed away until she found her back against a brick wall.
"What are you talking about?"
"Last night was only the beginning, Bronwyn," he said softly.
She put her hands against his chest and tried to push him away.
"You took what you wanted, Smith, now leave me alone. Please." Bronwyn pleaded. I can't go through all that pain again, she thought desperately. How can I distract him enough to get away?
Smith could sense her fear and he became immediately aroused. He took her face in his hands and jerked it upwards and he could see her fear written in her facial expression and in her eyes.
Bronwyn had seen that look on a man's face too many times not to know what it meant. He wants me, she thought. And if he has to rape me again, he'll do it. Gladly.
"No," she moaned, barely audible. "Please, not again, Smith....."
Smith suddenly pressed his earpiece closer to his ear so he could hear the instructions the Mainframe was sending, better. Could it finally be over, he wondered, still listening intently until the transmission was completed.
He turned away from Bronwyn, an expression between a smirk and a sneer on his face. "Duty calls", he stated. "But when I return, you can be sure I will want to continue this discussion where we left off."
Smith walked away without further explanation. He had more important business to attend to; for it seemed that Mr. Reagan's information about the location of the Nebuchadnezzar's crew, especially its captain, Morpheus, was reliable, after all. They had been spotted, and this time, Morpheus would not escape and Smith would finally be free.
Author's Note: I know that in the movie, Morpheus' capture takes place earlier in the day than when this chapter ends, so forgive me if I played around with the time frame. I was also wondering what you all think of my going back and forth between each character and what they are thinking. Let me know what you think—is it annoying, or does it actually help with the story?
Oh, by the way, last time I updated this story, I sent Chapters 6 and 7 together by mistake. If you haven't already, read Chapter 6 and let me know if you like it or not. As always, please R&R! Now on with the show!
Agent Jones responded with his usual efficiency in fulfilling Smith's order to discover Bronwyn's current whereabouts, and satisfied that she would continue skating in the park for the time being, Smith drove to her apartment complex.
Smith had no difficulty in persuading the building manager to unlock the door to her apartment. So this is where she lives, he thought. It was a small apartment, and neatly kept, even though the furnishings were of lesser quality than Smith expected.
However, he did find some designer clothes and shoes in her closet, as well as several expensive items in her jewelry box. Undoubtedly, they were gifts from some of her obviously grateful and well-to-do clients, he mused.
In the living room, he glanced at some of the titles of the books that were in her bookcase and was surprised to discover that many of them were reference books dealing with Ancient Egyptian history and mythology. She didn't seem like the type to have, let alone read, books of such a dry subject matter. There's definitely much more to her than meets the eye, he thought. Most intriguing.
He took his time going through all the rooms, making sure that everything was back the way he found it, when he caught a flash of something red out of the corner of his eye. In the bathroom, he found her discarded red uniform on the floor. Idly, he had picked it up when he noticed a bloodstained towel lying underneath. It was the towel she had used to staunch the bleeding when she arrived home the previous night.
Smith held the towel in his hands for a long time, without knowing why he did it. It was then that he knew that he had hurt her internally more than he initially realized. Why should I care, he thought. I hurt her; so what? Why should it bother me now? It's not the first time I've done that to a woman, nor will it be the last. Irritated with himself, he threw the towel back where it had lain and left the apartment
He drove to the park, and waited.
Anyone watching her could immediately tell that she had a lot of skill in inline skating, as she negotiated the sharp turns and twists of the roadway with ease. One last "S" curve and she would have completed the trail twice.
On the way down the hill, she was startled by the unexpected crossing of her path by a small, unleashed dog. She swerved to avoid a collision, but lost her balance and the wheels of her right boot left the roadway and went into the gravel.
This is going to be a bad spill, she thought, as she felt herself start to fall. She closed her eyes and waited for the impact. But it never came.
A strong hand grasped her elbow from behind and prevented her from falling, and it took a moment before she could balance herself upright again.
She gasped out her thanks, for she knew that she had just been saved from a very serious accident by the actions of her unknown rescuer.
"My pleasure", said a deep, masculine voice.
She turned and looked at Smith in shock.
"You!" she said.
"Yes, me." He said, bemused. He used her sense of being ill at ease in his presence to its full advantage as he took in every detail of her appearance, satisfying his curiosity regarding her approximate age which he estimated to be within several years of his own "human" form. Bronwyn was not as young as he initially thought; there were faint lines around her mouth and eyes, the presence of which heralded her arrival to middle age in a few years.
"What are you doing here?"
"Saving you from a nasty scrape, I think"
"Were you following me?" she accused.
"Of course."
She twisted her arm out of his grasp. "Where are Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum? I thought you guys always hunted in packs of three," she said scathingly.
Smith said nothing.
"By the way," she said sarcastically, "shouldn't you be still in your coffin when the sun is up? I mean, won't you turn into Mr. Big Pile of Dust if the sun hits you?"
He chuckled. "You have a most interesting habit of using sarcasm when you want to hide what you are really thinking. Isn't that right, Bronwyn?" he asked, glad to see a red flush spread over her face in response to his question.
She turned her face away in anger. Damn him, she thought. Why does he always seem to know what I am thinking?
During her moment of embarrassment, his eyes roamed over her body, seeing the bruises he had left on her neck and wrists. She has such delicate skin, he thought. Such tender and soft flesh that he would give almost anything to be able to touch again. He was so absorbed in the depth of his thoughts; he was completely unaware of her stream of insults.
"And what kind of an idiot wears a black suit in 90 degree weather? And you're not even sweating, either! Talk about cold- blooded. You're like a reptile, you know that? What do you want, Smith? Huh? Oh, I get it. You thought I'd be hiding in my apartment, didn't you? Acting like a frightened rabbit; afraid of my own shadow? That's not going to happen. You know why?"
"No, why don't you tell me?"
He watched, transfixed, as a drop of sweat trailed down her throat and slowly inched its way between her breasts where it disappeared from his view. Smith took full advantage of the fact that the sun was behind him and that whenever Bronwyn looked up at him; the sun was always in her eyes, so she was unable to notice Smith's leisurely appraisal, as well as his leering glances, of every aspect of her face, form and figure.
Her shoulder length hair had been pulled back in a ponytail; exposure to the sun made her skin glow and her hair was radiant with burnished red highlights mixed with copper. Smith longed to touch her hair; to feel its softness and texture between his fingers and the scent of it in his nostrils, but he resisted the temptation to reach out for it by shoving his hands in his jacket pockets.
He frowned to himself as he stared into her eyes, trying to discover what color they were, while keeping his own safely hidden behind the dark sunglasses he habitually wore. Are her eyes brown or are they green? He wondered. I've never seen eyes quite that color before, he marveled. A man could easily lose himself in her eyes, he thought, and then shook his head to clear his mind of this new and potentially dangerous train of thought. Agents of the matrix were definitely not supposed to be admiring, let alone desiring the human inhabitants of the matrix, he told himself.
"Simple. I've been raped before. You certainly weren't the first guy to do it to me, and you probably won't be the last. So, go fuck yourself, Smith, because I've got better things to do with my time."
You smug bastard, she thought, standing there in your impossibly crisp suit and tie in this heat. You have no idea how much I hate you, do you? Or just how truly afraid of you I really am?
She turned, ready to skate away and found he had taken her by the elbow again.
"Who was the first?"
"What do you mean?"
"Who was the first man who raped you?"
"Why do you want to know this? Haven't you done enough to me already?" she said, her voice quavering. "All right, it was my stepfather. Are you satisfied now?"
"How old were you when he did this to you?" Smith asked.
She could tell by the set of his face that he was determined to find out everything and that he wouldn't stop asking until she told him what he wanted to know.
"I was about 9 or 10 years old. Is there anything else?"
"Just this," he said, taking another step closer to her, but Bronwyn was prepared. She dispensed the pepper spray directly in Smith's face. He tried to dodge it, but still received enough of the spray behind his sunglasses to blur his vision and cause some discomfort in and around his mouth.
Bronwyn then skated away without looking back, anxious to have as much distance between herself and Smith as she could.
After Bronwyn had left him, Smith fumed all the way back to his car. The pain around his eyes was lessening, but it was still uncomfortable. She's going to regret that, he thought. And I know just how to do it.
He drove to the nightclub where Bronwyn worked, called Rumors. It was dimly lit and even though it was only 5pm, the atmosphere was smoky enough to make Smith wrinkle his nose in distaste.
He strode to the bar and flashed his Agency badge and ID to the bartender on duty.
"Where can I find the manager?" he asked brusquely.
The young man pointed to a smoky corner of the bar where 2 men were playing pool.
"What can I do for you, Mr.?" the manager asked, finishing his game and walking over to where Smith was.
"Smith. Agent Smith",
"Okay. What is this all about?"
"Bronwyn Delaney works here, does she not?" (Author's note: I know that in her file, I wrote her surname as De Burgh, but I decided to change it after I had written and sent Chapter 3. Sorry for the confusion.)
"Yup. She's the best waitress I've got, Agent Smith. Why?"
Idly, he reached into his jacket for his billfold. The manager's eyes widened in surprise when he saw that all the bills were $100's.
Flip. Flip. Flip.
Smith flipped 3 bills on the table between them.
"She's not very good, is she, Mr. Drummond?" he said.
Flip. Flip. Flip.
"No, she is really good...."
Flip. Flip. Flip.
"You're right. She does screw up a lot," agreed Ed. Christ, how much money does this guy have? There's gotta be close to a thousand bucks on the table, he thought.
Flip. Flip. Flip.
"The pretty ones always cause trouble, don't they, Mr. Drummond?" Smith said smoothly
Flip. Flip.
"Uh-huh." The manager mumbled. "Troublemaker, that's what she is, all right."
"It's always something with her, isn't it?"
Flip. Flip.
"Yeah". Drummond's attention was completely focused on the number of bills Smith was putting on the table in front of him.
Flip. Flip. Flip.
"So you'll fire her. Tonight. Right, Mr. Drummond?" Smith asked, secure in the knowledge that Bronwyn would be out of work in a few hours. That's what the little bitch deserves for thinking she could actually get away with insulting me like that, Smith thought smugly.
Smith stood up and didn't shake the manager's outstretched, greasy hand.
"So we are in agreement?"
"She's coming by to pick up her check later tonight. I'll tell her then."
"Very good." Smith turned and left. His next stop was at a high- end designer boutique where he purchased a ladies silk scarf.
"You've made a very good choice, sir, "the salesperson beamed at him from behind the counter. "It shall be delivered as per your instructions."
"Good." Smith smiled to himself as he drove back to the Agency headquarters.
"Damn it!" Bronwyn cursed at her reflection in the mirror. No matter how much concealer or foundation she applied, nothing could hide the bruises on her neck. How can I go out like this? She thought, angrily.
A knock at the door interrupted her. She opened the door and was surprised to see a delivery man.
"But I didn't order anything" she said, puzzled.
"Yes, Ma'am, I know. Someone sent you this." He held out a wrapped package. "Could you sign here, please?"
She signed where he had indicated, and he left.
What is it, she wondered. And who could've sent it? She removed the plain brown wrap and was surprised to see a white box with distinctive black letters on it.
She opened the box and gasped. Inside was a silk scarf with beautiful ancient Egyptian motifs and designs in vivid colors of lapis blue, teal green and yellow. A small card fell out from the folds of the scarf and Bronwyn hurriedly picked it up and tore open the small white envelope, reading what was written:
"I thought this would bring out the green in your eyes." There was no signature.
She ran to the bathroom and tied it around her neck. Perfect! She thought, happily. It covers my bruises and it does bring out the green in my eyes. Who on earth could have sent it? And how did they know I love Egyptian designs? She checked her watch—damn. I have to get to the club soon and pick up my check from Eddie.
She arrived a short time later, and was surprised to see Eddie, her boss, waiting inside the doors to the club.
"Eddie, what's wrong? You look upset." She asked.
"Ronnie, can I talk to you? In my office?"
"Sure, Ed." She closed the office door behind her. "What's up?"
"I don't know who to say this—but business isn't doing that great. I'm gonna have to let you go."
"You're firing me?! Why?"
Even from his place at the bar, Smith could hear Bronwyn and Eddie's raised voices. Without warning, Bronwyn stormed out of Ed's office, slamming the door behind her as she went up the stairs to the entrance.
Smith followed her. She was pacing back and forth outside, angrily brushing tears from her eyes. She caught sight of him and then everything she had just been through with Eddie made sense.
"You did this, didn't you?"
"Yes, I did."
"Why did you do it, Smith?'
"I wanted to show you what happens to women who underestimate how much power, control and influence I hold."
"So you got me fired because of my pepper spraying you in the park?"
He nodded. "That's right. Game, set and match. I always get what I want, Bronwyn. You of all people should know that by now."
"What's next, then? Will you try to get me kicked out of my apartment as well? What else can you take from me? What do you want from me?" she cried out in anger and frustration.
"You, Bronwyn. I want you."
She laughed harshly. "You've already had me, Smith. Remember? Last night?"
"Oh, I haven't forgotten. I remember everything about you," he said, each long stride bringing him closer to her.
As he came closer, she backed away until she found her back against a brick wall.
"What are you talking about?"
"Last night was only the beginning, Bronwyn," he said softly.
She put her hands against his chest and tried to push him away.
"You took what you wanted, Smith, now leave me alone. Please." Bronwyn pleaded. I can't go through all that pain again, she thought desperately. How can I distract him enough to get away?
Smith could sense her fear and he became immediately aroused. He took her face in his hands and jerked it upwards and he could see her fear written in her facial expression and in her eyes.
Bronwyn had seen that look on a man's face too many times not to know what it meant. He wants me, she thought. And if he has to rape me again, he'll do it. Gladly.
"No," she moaned, barely audible. "Please, not again, Smith....."
Smith suddenly pressed his earpiece closer to his ear so he could hear the instructions the Mainframe was sending, better. Could it finally be over, he wondered, still listening intently until the transmission was completed.
He turned away from Bronwyn, an expression between a smirk and a sneer on his face. "Duty calls", he stated. "But when I return, you can be sure I will want to continue this discussion where we left off."
Smith walked away without further explanation. He had more important business to attend to; for it seemed that Mr. Reagan's information about the location of the Nebuchadnezzar's crew, especially its captain, Morpheus, was reliable, after all. They had been spotted, and this time, Morpheus would not escape and Smith would finally be free.