Gotcha!
"So you don't mind coming with me to the mall?" Bronwyn asked."No, not at all. I'm glad you decided to go out." Jones replied. He turned his attention back to his driving and did not see how the smile faded from her face, as she turned her head and looked out the window.
It was the first time they had talked about, or even referred to, what had happened between them the night of Bronwyn's nightmare. She remembered waking up in Jones' arms the next morning and from that time on, she had been ill at ease and uncomfortable in his presence.
Since then, she had stayed in her apartment. She knew Jones had had his orders from Mickey that he was to accompany her whenever she wanted to go somewhere. So, Bronwyn remained in her apartment for almost a week and a half.
After that time had passed, she heard a knock at her door and she knew it was Jones. Bronwyn opened the door only as wide as the security chain would allow.
"Are you alright?" he asked.
"Yeah, I'm okay, Jones. Thanks for asking. I have to go now," she said abruptly, closing the door almost in his face.
I am sorry, Jones, she thought, I know you mean well, but I can't deal with you right now. I just can't.
A little over an hour later, she heard Mickey at the door. "I'm not leaving until you talk to me, Ronnie," he called. "Open up."
He sat down on her sofa and faced her, his face full of concern.
"Listen, kiddo. I know you're embarrassed about what happened, and I'm glad to hear that Jones didn't take advantage of you either."
"So he told you about the other night?"
"Yeah, he did. Everything. I don't know, Ronnie, but I think he likes you. A lot. Why won't you give him a chance at least?"
."Why should I trust him, just like that?" Bronwyn demanded, snapping her fingers to emphasize her point. "He's on your payroll, isn't he?" she said accusingly.
"Uh-huh, but this guy's different. If he didn't feel something for you, he wouldn't have cared if you stayed in your apartment until hell froze over—he'd know he'd still get paid. But he came to me, to see if I could find out if you were okay."
Bronwyn looked at her old friend hesitantly.
"He did that? For me?"
Mickey nodded and held her hand in his own. "He did. Look, I'm not gonna tell you how to live your life. I know you've been through a lot and I'm not getting into that. I hate to say this, but I think you need to hear it: you could do a hell of a lot worse than try to see what happens with Jones. I've watched him for myself, to see if I could trust him; and I have to say, he seems on the up and up."
Bronwyn didn't say anything for a long time. Mickey got up and patted her shoulder in passing.
"Think about it, Ronnie."
An hour after Mickey left, she called Jones.
lllllllllllllllllllllllll
As they slowly made their way through the mall, Jones was beside her, silent as always, but concerned about her call requesting his company that he had received earlier that day. He knew that Mickey had spoken to her; but what the outcome of that meeting was, he had no idea.
She had never asked him to accompany her anywhere before. He stole sidelong glances at her for possible hints about her present mood, but her head was down and her eyes focused steadfastly on the floor, and she never once looked at him in the face or even in his general direction.
"I need to sit down," she stated, indicating a rest area that was nearby.
They sat down at the nearest bench and Bronwyn's hands were fidgeting in her lap. She had rehearsed what she wanted to say and do a thousand times in her head already, but the first words were always the hardest to get out.
"About the other night...," she began, and then stopped. Gathering her courage, she took a deep breath and tried again. "Jones, something happened between us the other night. Ever since you started working for Mickey and watching over me, we've always been at arm's length with each other. But whether for better or worse, everything has changed now. It's like a line was crossed that night and things will never be the same again. We can't go back to the way things were before."
"Are you embarrassed because I caught you at such a disadvantage? Or are you ashamed? Is that why you wouldn't talk to me?" he asked, reaching for her hand and holding it in his own. It was a simple gesture; one he had seen countless times between human men and women, and Jones was surprised at how much it seemed to put Bronwyn at her ease, as well as giving him a feeling of comfort and contentment.
She blushed furiously when she realized what he meant. Gee, Jones, she thought exasperated, how could I possibly be embarrassed at finding myself nearly naked in your arms, and then blatantly begging you to sleep with me because I was afraid of the dark? Don't take it out on him, she instructed herself. It's not his fault.
"You're right. I didn't want to talk to you. I was embarrassed at what happened and what you might think of me, afterward. You see, you were doing more than protecting me, seeing if I was all right. You held me in your arms and made me feel safe. You weren't just doing your job, you were being....a friend. No, more than a friend. You were exactly what I needed, and you were a real gentleman about it, too, by not taking advantage of the situation. In your position, some men would have, you know. And I wanted to thank you for that."
She impulsively leaned forward and kissed him on the lips. It would be an understatement to say that Jones was taken aback by her unexpected action, and Bronwyn was pleased that not only did he not pull away, but he was actually kissing her back; a little clumsily, truth be told, but she wasn't complaining--he just needed a little more practice and a bit more warning next time, that was all.
It was tender and gentle; nevertheless, the seed of their future passion and desire for one another had just been planted and wouldn't need much coaxing to come into full bloom.
"Um, I have to go shopping for a little while and you have to pick up your clothes at the tailors'. I've already made the appointment."
"There's nothing wrong with these clothes," he looked down at the suit he was wearing, the suit he had always worn for as long as he could remember, and the thought of losing something that was so familiar was daunting.
"Is there?" he asked, uncertainly. He quickly uploaded a file on interaction between a man and a woman on matters of dress, and in every scenario, a female would always give the most truthful and appropriate answer as to what looked good on a male.
"You look like a chauffer. Or a mortician." She tried not to smile, but was not having too much success.
"I do not look like any of those," he grumbled good-naturedly under his breath, getting to his feet.
"Yes, you do and we're going to be late, so come on. Could you give me a hand so I can get up?" As any woman who is nearly seven months pregnant knows, sitting down is easy, but getting up again is not.
Jones extended his hand and she took it. Once she was on her feet, she tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow.
"How touching," Smith sneered from his vantage point on the third level of the plaza, unseen and unknown to either Bronwyn or Jones.
The signals and messages from his child had been getting stronger every day since Smith's first contact with his infant, but it had only been in the last twelve hours that they were clear and concise enough to give him his first indication of Bronwyn's location. In addition, around nearly five o'clock in the morning nearly two weeks ago, Smith received a sensation of inexpressible grief and loneliness from his child that could not be ignored. What he did not know, could not know, was that the baby was only responding to and sharing the nightmare of its mother.
However, it was only yesterday morning that the impulses were strong enough so that Smith was able to speculate with some degree of accuracy where Bronwyn was.
Through trial and error, it had taken Smith nearly twenty-four hours and more than a few wrong turns, but he discovered that the impulses were getting stronger the further north he drove. The powerful car he now drove had covered the remaining distance quickly and at dawn earlier today, he finally arrived in the city where Bronwyn and his child now lived. Because of his child's active nature, it had been relatively easy to home in on its now-constant barrage of messages and it hadn't taken Smith long to locate both mother and child as a result, even in this fairly large metropolis.
From above, he watched Jones and Bronwyn. He narrowed his eyes and tried to determine what it was that was different about his former subordinate, then realized with disgust that Jones was no longer wearing his sunglasses.
He viewed with amazement as he saw Jones lean down and then grin at whatever it was that Bronwyn was telling him. The difference that that simple facial expression had on Jones' face was astonishing. Smith had never seen him look anything other than impassive or expressionless at best, and the former leader of all the agents could only conclude that it must be a malfunction or anomaly of some kind in Jones' core programming that could make him respond like that to something a human, of all things, was telling him.
It did not occur to Smith's conceited, arrogant and self-centered mind that Jones, like himself, now had the capacity and capability to evolve; to adapt and adjust with the changes in their environment, circumstances and situation.
Smith turned his attention to Bronwyn and concentrated his gaze hungrily on her, noting every change in her body since the last time he had seen her, the last time he had held her in his arms. She appeared to be quite far along in her pregnancy and in very good health, and even in her expectant condition, she was still a very attractive woman.
Aside from the expected weight gain to her figure, she had changed very little. Her hair had grown much longer and luxuriant, and her eyes had lost their fearful and hunted-animal look. At least, Smith thought sullenly, that's how they appeared every time she saw me.
Bronwyn was laughing now, her face lit up with happiness, her small hand held protectively in Jones' much larger one and neither of them showed any inclination to change the situation. Smith ground his teeth in anger and jealousy; envious and resentful of Jones' proximity to Bronwyn and her ready acceptance of not only his company, but his touch as well. But did that privilege necessarily extend to sharing her bed as well? Not if I have anything to say about that, Smith seethed. His rage and indignation increased when he saw Bronwyn take Jones' hand, guiding it to her abdomen so he could feel the movement within.
That should be me feeling the baby's movements, not you, Jones. That is my child she is carrying, not yours. You will pay for that, Bronwyn, he promised himself. That is yet another score I have to settle against you. You and Jones, that traitor who turned against his own kind; who is protecting that which we used to hunt down together with Brown, and eliminate for so many years.
And unless I am very much mistaken, Jones has not told you quite a lot of things about himself and his past has he? For if he had, I'd be willing to bet that you would be recoiling from him in revulsion and disgust, not holding his hand like a lovesick teenager in a busy mall if you knew half the things about him that I do.
Smith watched them for quite a while, smugly incredulous that Jones was still unaware of his presence. That's why I will always be the best agent the Matrix ever produced, Jones, not you. You had the brawn, that's true, but out of the three of us, I was the one who had all the brains and intellect. You haven't changed one bit, Jones—you are still as big and as dumb as a man can possibly get, but it's going to be Bronwyn who pays the price for your incompetence and ineptitude.
Smith left his post when Bronwyn and Jones moved out of his range of vision. I think it's time they both knew I've come to claim what's mine, he thought smugly, and I can't wait to see their faces when they see me.
He took the stairs to the second level and because of his agent training in tracking and stalking, was able to keep them both in sight at all times, despite the crush of the usual Saturday afternoon shoppers. There are some things that you never forget how to do, Smith thought with pride. He waited until Jones had entered a very high-end men's clothing store and Bronwyn was just about to sit down at a bench not far from the store's entrance before making his move.
"Gotcha!" he hissed, grabbing her by the elbow so that she faced him. "Waiting for Jones, your lover, to return to you, Bronwyn?"
Her eyes widened in shock and he saw with pleasure that a ripple of fear flickered over her face, giving her the expression of a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car, before its life ended.
"Smith! You've found me. How?"
"The 'how' and 'whys' don't matter, Bronwyn. What does matter is that I've found you; and you are not getting away from me again, you can be sure of that."
Frantically, she looked around for Jones, but he was nowhere in sight. Smith laughed with derision
"No one is coming to your rescue. Here you are: alone amongst a multitude, no friends, helpless, and, forgive my bluntness, you are not exactly capable of running away, of escaping. What have you got?" he sneered triumphantly, smugly sure of his ascendancy over her.
"She's got me, Smith" Jones' voice growled in his ear and Smith turned to see his former subordinate behind him, his eyes locked on Smith's own and a look of such rage and anger was written on Jones' face that was terrible to behold.
In her extensive experience of men and their baser instincts, Bronwyn had never seen an expression like that on a man's face and she hoped she never would again. This was a side of Jones' nature she was completely unaware of; a side of him she never knew could exist behind that stoic front he presented to the world and for the first time, she was frightened of him.
However, whatever fear she felt because of Jones' expression was infinitesimal compared to that of what she felt, had always felt, in Smith's company. He was here. Against all the odds, he had found her and she knew from their past acquaintance, he would never leave her alone again, especially now that he knew about the baby.
She would never, ever, be free of him and that thought made her feel dizzy and faint; her heart started beating too fast and Bronwyn found that she was unable to breathe. A buzzing like that of a hive of angry bees rose in her head and it was all she could hear as the sound intensified. The last thing she felt was a sharp pain that ripped through her abdomen before her world went dark.