After All, I'm Not French for Nothing

Disclaimer: I don't own the Matrix or anyone in it, except the ones I've created for this story.

Persephone glanced sidelong at her husband sitting next to her and he gave her a fleeting wink.

"Don't worry, I won't tell him anything," he said.

"You had better not, my love, or you know what will happen."

The smile disappeared from the Merovingian's face. Her threat of taking everything he had should he give the former agent any information, was more than enough incentive to keep him silent.

They watched as Smith made his way towards where they sat. The Merovingian indicated that he should seat himself and he did so, before leaning back in a relaxed manner in his chair. Persephone regarded him with a frosty glare. She had never liked Smith; he seemed to her cold and robotic in his movements and even in his manner of speaking. Normally, Persephone did not care about humans and what happened to them, but now that she had met Bronwyn and knew what she was like, Persephone loathed Smith for what he had done to her.

"You know why I am here?" he asked.

"Of course. You want information. As does everyone who comes to see me."

"I am looking for Bronwyn Delaney."

"And who is this woman? What is she to you?" The Merovingian already knew all the answers, but he took a kind of perverse pleasure in crossing Smith any chance he could.

"Refresh my memory, she is the woman you impregnated by rape is she not, Smith?" Persephone asked mildly, raising her voice intentionally so that a few of the nearby restaurant patrons could not help but overhear. Smith ground his teeth in irritation as he heard whisperings like the hissing of angry snakes behind his back.

"You already know who she is, now I want to know where she went," Smith growled impatiently. His temper had been elevated far beyond normal, and his inability to discover Bronwyn's whereabouts made it very difficult to keep his anger in check, and Persephone's deliberate chidings wasn't helping matters either.

It had almost four months since Bronwyn's complete disappearance from San Francisco and for all his usual sources of information, his own resourcefulness and tenacity, had not been able to shed the slightest clue as to where she had gone.

Smith remembered with anger and surprise the day—about a week after the incident in the garage—when in sheer frustration at not seeing her anywhere in the city; he had kicked in the door to her apartment only to find it completely empty. He stormed to the office of her landlord and yanked open the door, nearly ripping it off its hinges in his rage.

"Where is she? Where did she go?" Smith hissed through his teeth, grabbing the man by his shirt and slammed him into the wall after each word, to emphasize the point that he intended to get answers one way or another.

"I don't know", the weasely little man grunted in pain with each blow. "Honest, I don't. One day she was here, and the next thing I know, all her stuff was gone."

"Who took it?"

"I didn't see them I swear, man."

Smith furiously released the man and he slumped to the floor. "If you find out anything, you will tell me, is that clear?" Smith growled, delivering several well-placed kicks to the landlord's cowering, huddled form before leaving the man's office.

He began his search, and after four months, Smith realized the distasteful truth that he would have to seek out the Frenchman in order to obtain the information he wanted.

"I am sorry Smith, but I cannot help you."

"If it's a question of money, I'll pay double the usual amount. Triple, if you like."

"My friend, you could make it any amount you wish, but I really have no idea where she is." The Merovingian replied smoothly, lying came to him as easily as breathing did to others.

Smith chanced to look at Persephone and he knew by the smug and self-satisfying expression on her face that she had the information he had been searching for. She met his glance and gave Smith a smile he would have paid any price gladly just for the pleasure of slapping it off of her face.

She knows, he thought, narrowing his eyes from behind his sunglasses as he looked at her. She knows exactly where Bronwyn and my baby are. And there's not a damn thing I can do to make her tell me. Look at you, Smith thought to himself as he watched Persephone. Sitting there, putting on airs you have no right to claim, and thinking you are so superior to everyone else. But I know what you really are and where you come from. If the Merovingian had any sense at all, he would throw you back into that brothel where he found you.

"Yes," she said, "I do know where they both are and you can be assured, former "Agent" Smith, that you will never find out their location. That is of course, if Bronwyn hasn't terminated the pregnancy yet."

Smith felt a shiver of fear race through his body and he sat up in his chair. "Terminate the pregnancy? You mean, have an abortion?" he asked, his voice suddenly hoarse.

"That's exactly what I mean, Smith." Persephone snapped, "Just like any woman who was carrying any child of yours should do." Oh no, she thought, closing her eyes in horror. He knows about the baby and I'm the one who just told him. But why is he not surprised? Could it be that he already knows?

"But she can't do that! She can't kill my child," he protested.

"She can. And she will." Persephone stated decisively.

"How do you know that?" Smith asked defiantly, his words belying the fact that for the first time in his existence, he was fearful. Has Bronwyn already done it? Has she already killed my child, he wondered. I have to find her and stop her before it's too late. I won't let her kill that part of me that is growing within her. I won't.

"It is her body and her choice. NOT yours. And because of what you did to her, she became pregnant. I hope that she gets rid of it and throws it in the trash, which is where any child that is yours belongs," Persephone said scornfully, thoroughly enjoying seeing the stricken look on Smith's face.

"Serves you right," she said triumphantly, "for raping a helpless, unarmed woman who is easily half your size. She didn't have any chance at all of defending herself against you, with all of your agent strength, did she, you son of a bitch."

"Persephone, please", the Merovingian interjected, placing his hand over hers and squeezing it gently. "There's no need to torment the poor man any further."

She snatched her hand out of his grasp and looked daggers at her husband. "Poor man?" she said, her voice rising in anger, "what about Bronwyn? The poor woman he raped? What about her? Or doesn't she matter because she is just a human?"

With a supreme effort, she managed to get herself back in control. "You will excuse me, I'm sure" she said mockingly, getting out of her chair and proceeded to leave the table. The Merovingian rose to his feet and arched an eyebrow at Smith, indicating that he expected the former agent to follow his example.

Grudgingly, Smith followed suit. He knew that if he ever needed to get information from the Frenchman again in the future, he would have to placate him with this gesture, trifling and meaningless though it was.

In a foul mood, Smith left shortly afterwards. With Persephone now absent, he had tried to solicit the Merovingian to give him the information Smith was certain he knew as well as his wife, but with no success.

The elevator opened its doors to the garage level and Smith was surprised to see Persephone leaning against his car.

"Nice car. But you're still not one for color, are you?" she said, running her hand over the smooth and highly polished surface of the hood. "New? Although I always did prefer Jaguars. I've found that they have more style than an Audi. Still, not a bad choice. It's certainly better than the standard issue cars they give to agents. What are they now, anyway? General Motors? Please." She waved her hand dismissively.

"Get off my car," he ordered.

"Oh, come on now, Smith. There's no need to take that tone with me," she purred, reaching out and pulling him by the lapels of his jacket until he was where she wanted him to be. She straightened them slowly and deliberately. "I know you like to look your best," she said. "You always did. And still do, I see." With a sudden movement, she took his handgun from its holster and examined it leisurely.

"I've always wondered," she said, "why is it that all you agent feel the need to carry such big weapons? Is this gun," she stroked the barrel of the Desert Eagle idly, "some kind of penis metaphor?" She leered at Smith before handing the pistol back to him. "I guess I'll never know," she said, sighing dramatically.

"What do you want, Persephone?" he asked brusquely.

"Just this," she murmured, sliding her hand up until it was around his neck and she drew his head down and kissed him. He didn't respond at first, but her skill in the arts of intimacy was legend throughout the Matrix and against his will, his body and maleness did the thinking for him.

Persephone almost laughed when she felt his arms wind around her. I've haven't forgotten a thing, she thought proudly. I can still get a man to do what I want. After all, I'm not French for nothing.

She broke off their kiss and trailed her hand down his tie, and then downwards until she reached the buttons of his jacket, which she undid, each in their turn. She slid her hands around his waist and held him closer.

"Isn't that better," she asked languorously and he couldn't help but agree. He could feel her ample breasts against his chest and his hands moved up her body until he felt their heavy softness in his palms.

"Isn't this so much better than using force?" she asked. "Imagine what it would have felt like if Bronwyn had been willing and not forced into intimacy. If she had chosen to give herself to you, not taken by violence? You are so naive," she whispered in his ear. "And such a stupid man. You think yourself so experienced with regards to how women should be treated, but you know nothing."

Persephone drew his head down to hers again, simulating an intensity of passion that she was far from feeling. She couldn't recall all the times she had faked being aroused by what men did to her, but she had learned that all men liked to hear audible expressions of hunger and desire from the women they were intimate with.

Smith kissed her hungrily and fondled her breasts with his hands while she made the appropriate sounds of a woman who was caught in the throes of lust by what her lover was doing to her. She slid her hands underneath his jacket, raking her sharp nails across his back through his shirt, intensifying the feeling of excitement in Smith and it was obvious to her how aroused he had become, and she smiled to herself in exultation.

"You want me, don't you, Smith? No man could ever resist me, especially not a cold, emotionless bastard like you", she said triumphantly, reaching down to his groin. She locked her eyes with his, as if daring him to deny the level of passion and lust she had caused him to feel. He was powerless to disagree and they both knew it.

"You little tease," he snarled as he shoved her away. "I should've known you'd be up to your usual tricks."

Persephone groaned in mock disappointment. "You should've known better, Smith, you've known me long enough. Don't pretend to be surprised by my actions now. But I stand by what I said. Just imagine to yourself how much more pleasurable it would have been if she had participated, willingly and freely. Did she fight back or did she just lie there?" she asked abruptly.

"She didn't fight back." He replied.

"So she just lay there?"

He nodded. "What has that got to do with anything?" he asked angrily.

"I imagine that taking her was like, oh, how can I say this? Like fucking a dead body, yes?"

"Yes."

"Tell me Smith, is there a difference between this?" she said, and put her lips on his; a pretence of a kiss. She was present and that was all. "Or this?" she said, kissing him completely this time, drawing out his lower lip, releasing it only to guide her tongue between his teeth, teasing his tongue with her own.

Smith felt a surge of something flash through his body, igniting his pulse and inflaming his senses until Persephone pulled away from him.

"I get your point", he said.

"Good," she said and walked to the elevator without a glance backward. Once the doors closed, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand in a completely undignified and unladylike way. Kissing Smith is like kissing a dead fish she thought, disgusted. She shuddered when she thought of how Bronwyn must have felt having Smith even touch her, let alone what having him inside her must have felt like. Terrible imagery of that union raced through Persephone's mind, overwhelming it. Nauseated, she fell to her knees in the elevator car and vomited in revulsion and horror.