Protector of a Woman

Disclaimer: I don't own the Matrix, etc, etc.

Author's Note: A BIG, BIG thank you to Cecilia for her patience, encouragement and hand-holding when I needed it while writing this chapter—Thanks, dudette!

It had been four months since Bronwyn had fled San Francisco. True to his word, Mickey and his associates had taken good care of her; she now lived in a nice, clean apartment and she was safe. However, it had taken her a long time before she felt secure enough to even walk down the street without constantly checking over her shoulder to see if Smith was lurking nearby, ready to accost her again.

What she was unable to conquer so easily were the nightmares. At first they were sporadic, but as the pregnancy advanced, so did their frequency. Now, almost on a nightly basis, she woke up with a scream, her heart pounding, her face wet with tears and her body trembling in fear and horror. She remembered very little of what she had dreamt about, but she knew they shared one thing in common: Smith.

He was in each of her dreams in one form or another; but with one central theme threaded through them all—because of his presence and actions in her dreams, she suffered endless excruciating pain, heartbreak and the loss of her child, while Smith coldheartedly and cruelly laughed at her, as he took sadistic pleasure in taking what mattered the most to her, away forever. Sometimes he took her child, other times he took someone else, but who that man was or even what he looked like, she was never able to remember. All she knew was that she loved that man--deeply and passionately--and Smith knew it.

Bronwyn dreaded the nighttime and the idea of falling asleep, for she knew how the dream and the night would always end—with her weeping in anguish as if her heart would break, and the sheets drenched in sweat.

Her baby, on the other hand, was thriving, and now months later, Bronwyn's expectant state was quite obvious. I look more pregnant than four months—it's more like six, she thought, a little worried as she looked at her reflection again in the mirror. Could I be expecting more than one baby?

However, during her last visit, her obstetrician, Dr. Yade, had soothed all of her anxieties and assured her that the pregnancy was progressing quite normally and that her child was perfectly healthy and as far as she could tell, Bronwyn was carrying one child, not two.

Almost from the beginning of the pregnancy, she had made the choice of having her baby, against Mickey's advice. Despite the fact that her child had been conceived from an act of violence and that she hated and feared its father beyond all description, Bronwyn couldn't bring herself to terminate the life of a completely innocent being.

The phone rang unexpectedly, jolting her out of her reverie.

"Hi, Mickey. What's up?"

"Ronnie, you'd better come down to the club. It's important."

"What's going on?" she asked.

"Just get here soon, okay?" he snapped at her, before hanging up.

Shortly afterwards, she hurried to the club that Mickey owned and went directly to his office. Mickey was behind his desk as usual, but Bronwyn knew something serious was happening because she noticed that not only was Mickey in the room, but so were two of the bouncers, and obvious was the fact that all of them looked like a brawl had recently taken place.

"What's been happening here?" she asked, looking at each of them in turn, her eyes drawn to the various injuries all of them were now sporting--bruised, swollen knuckles, bloody noses and split lips seemed to be the least of them.

Bronwyn sighed in exasperation when none of them appeared willing to answer her question. She turned to Mickey to demand an explanation and saw that the gun he usually kept in a drawer was in front of him on the desktop. Alongside it was an unfamiliar revolver she had never seen before and judging by the length of its barrel alone, it made the one Mickey owned look like a water pistol.

Bronwyn was about to ask him about it when he jerked his chin toward the man sitting in front of him. "He came into the club about half an hour ago asking for you. He wouldn't tell us who he was or why he wanted to talk with you. We tried to, um, convince him to leave, but......." Mickey broke off, angry and embarrassed that the man in the black suit sitting in front of him had managed to beat up not only himself, but Bear and Eddie as well.

And on top of that, there wasn't so much as a hair or thread out of place on the man's entire person; for his black suit was still as immaculate as when he first arrived. Whoever this guy is, Mickey thought, he managed to kick all three of our butts in less than fifteen minutes, unarmed, single-handed, and without even breaking a sweat. I could certainly put a man like this to good use in my organization. I'm glad he's going to look after Ronnie, even at the price he quoted me before he agreed to do so. All the same, I will keep my eye on him.

"He says he knows you. Is it him? Is that Smith?" Mickey said, gruffly.

She looked at the man Mickey had indicated and shook her head. "That's not Smith. I can't remember what this guy's name is, but he used to work with him. Who are you?" she asked.

"Age--Jones. Just Jones," he replied.

"Why are you here? And how the hell did you find me?" Bronwyn demanded angrily. If he can find me so easily, can Smith be far behind, she wondered, absently stroking with her hand the area just below her navel where her unborn child slumbered. It was an unconscious and instinctive gesture she had caught herself doing more and more often without fully realizing she was doing it.

"I saw you earlier this week; I followed you and I watched you come in here a couple of times."

At the end of Jones' statement, Mickey slid the former agent's Desert Eagle across the table to Bear who picked it up. He put the barrel against Jones' temple before Mickey picked up his own gun and aimed it directly at Jones who stared back at him without expression. Jones knew that he could easily dodge the bullets of one gun, but two were another matter.

"Start talking. Now." Mickey ordered.

"You are in danger, Miss. Delaney. I can help you. In fact, I may be the only man here who can do so." A look of contempt and scorn passed across his face as his eyes swept over the three men who had tried, albeit unsuccessfully, to stop him from entering the club in the first place.

"Help me? How can you possibly help me?" Bronwyn demanded.

"You are on the run from Smith. He's been looking everywhere for you and," Jones' eyes travelled to her swelling waistline, "the baby."

"How do you know that?" Mickey snarled.

Jones directed his reply to Bronwyn. "When you disappeared without a trace, he became obsessed. He's been hunting for you relentlessly since then. Sooner or later, he will find you; you must realize that. He won't stop looking for you, especially now that he knows about the baby."

She nodded. It was pointless to ask how Smith had found out about the baby, she thought. Sooner or later everyone would know—I'm only going to get bigger. "But how can you help me?"

"I can be of help to you because, like Smith, I was an agent. We were trained together. I know exactly how he thinks and what he will do. I can protect her from him," Jones stated with certainty, looking at Mickey, in particular. "You can't be with her all the time, watching her every minute. But I can. And I will."

"He's right," Bronwyn said, glancing at Mickey who looked Jones right in the eye to drive his point home, before lowering the gun.

"You'd better make sure nothing happens to her or you will answer to me. Understand? You walk her home now and come right back, got it? We've got business to discuss." Grudgingly, Mickey returned the Desert Eagle to its rightful owner.

Jones holstered his weapon, nodded, and followed Bronwyn out of the club. Walking home with Jones at her side, Bronwyn asked, "what's in it for you? Why are you doing this?"

The former agent shrugged. "I have no loyalty to Smith if that's what you mean."

"You didn't answer my question. Why are you doing this?"

"After my "discussion" with your friends, your friend Mickey realized that he couldn't protect you as well as I could. I told him what my price was and he accepted."

He's nothing more than an over-dressed mercenary, a hired gun, she thought disgustedly. "This is where I live. Bye." Without another word, she turned and entered her building, leaving Jones standing alone on the sidewalk.

For the sake of money, a lot of money, I've gone from being one of the most feared agents of the Matrix to a protector of a woman, a human. How low the mighty have fallen, Jones thought to himself contemptuously. He watched until Bronwyn was out of sight and walked back to the club.