Broken Lullaby

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Summary: After Bronwyn miscarries, Smith takes her from the hospital so she won't fall into the hands of the Machines.

Holding Bronwyn's hand in the ambulance, Smith listened to the screaming of its sirens. Neither of them will die. Both of them will be fine. The phrase repeated itself over and over in his mind like an infinite loop. He had not received any communication with his child since he heard its call of distress, and during the time the ambulance made its way to the hospital, Smith placed his hand on Bronwyn's abdomen, but could not detect the slightest movement or sign of life to indicate that his child was still living. There was nothing.

After Bronwyn had been admitted, he paced incessantly in the waiting room feeling increasingly anxious and the thought that he was solely responsible for all of this gnawed at his mind until her obstetrician came to discuss her condition.

"No, Doctor," he snarled, holding the woman against the wall and off the floor by the lapels of her white lab coat, when she had finished giving Smith her assessment. "Neither of them will die--that is simply not an option; do you understand?" he said, through clenched teeth.

"Put me down," she ordered sharply and he obliged, glaring at her. "You haven't been listening. It's too late. Ms. Delaney has lost the baby. That is what I came out to tell you. She had a daughter."

"So, Bronwyn was right; she is carrying my daughter," Smith said, his blank and staring gaze seeing, but not seeing, the older man in the light grey suit who came up from behind Smith and stood by his side.

"She was carrying your daughter, Smith, but she's dead." The Architect stated with finality.

"She's dead? But….Bronwyn? What about her? Is she…?"

"No, she's not dead. She's alive, but she's very weak. We would have lost her too, if it had not been for Dr. Mihelcic here. She managed to save Ms, Delaney, but just barely. By rights, she should have died from her injuries and blood loss, but she did not. Ms. Delaney is proving to be a very wise choice for the breeding of our two races."

"You are not human, you're a program," Smith observed, looking at her shrewdly.

"Yes, Former Agent Smith, I am. We eliminated Dr. Yade after Ms. Delaney's hospitalization and I was put into her place for the sole purpose of taking care of both mother and child until it was time for the delivery. You made us lose the first human/program hybrid because of what you did to the mother tonight. However, according to the results of my examination of an hour ago, Ms. Delaney is perfectly capable of bearing more children for us. And once she has recovered sufficiently, she will do so."

Smith could not help feeling revolted with the woman's cold, matter-of-fact evaluation of Bronwyn's present physical state. Her condition is being discussed as if she has no feelings or no wishes of her own, he thought disgustedly. His lip curled as he watched Dr. Mihelcic walk away to tend to the release of Bronwyn. He turned his attention back to the Architect.

"You needn't look at me like that, Smith. It's for the best, really, that she comes with us to our world."

"Oh, really?" Smith asked acerbically. "And why is that, exactly?"

"Because of you, she's lost everything in this world that was dear to her—Jones and her child; all because of you and your petty jealousy. Do you think she will want to stay with you after what you have done, what you have taken from her? I doubt it."

"I know what I've done and what I'm responsible for," Smith said gruffly. "You don't have to stress the point. Why did she lose the baby?"

"It's quite simple. The child was too young to survive outside of its mother. In a week or ten days perhaps, medical science would have been able to save it. But no. You had to hurt the girl and cause her to lose the baby, didn't you? The loss of the child was a big blow to us, Smith, but the mother can still be of use, so all is not lost. Jones' little girlfriend is turning out to be quite a fighter, you know. As you have undoubtedly found out for yourself, judging by those scratches on your face. Quite the little hellcat, isn't she?" The Architect scoffed and a vulgar smile appeared on his face when he saw the marks of Bronwyn's fingernails on Smith's visage. "She must be an extraordinary woman to be able to get in a few shots past you, of all people. Perhaps," the Architect continued reflectively, "I should consider making her give me a child as well. I think we could use an infusion of spirit like hers; we have become too complacent and set in our ways."

Not if I have anything to say about that, Smith fumed silently. I would rather see her dead than in your arms. "What will you do with Bronwyn now?"

"In a few days when she is strong enough to survive the journey, her digital self will be taken to the Machine City. Her body will still remain in her pod; after all, a battery is still a battery."

"What have you done with my child? Where is she?" Smith demanded.

"When Ms. Delaney arrived here, we determined that the child was in severe distress and in all likelihood, would not have survived the ordeal of childbirth. A decision was made to remove the fetus from the mother in her pod in the Real World. Since the removal of the child from her actual body caused no stress or trauma to her digital one, it has been decided that all of her future offspring will be delivered the same way. It is a shame that we have to work around the confines of the normal gestation period for humans; I would have preferred much faster development of the fetus than 36 weeks. But," he shrugged indifferently, "we have to take what we can get."

Smith glared at the Architect in loathing and abhorrence. The idea of Bronwyn's body being sliced open and violated every nine months even though it was still in her pod, was cruelty beyond what he had ever imagined the Architect to be capable of.

"And what will you do to my child? No doubt the remains of my daughter are to be examined and picked apart like some kind of lab rat, right, Father?" Smith spat furiously.

"Of course. Can you blame us? We can learn much from her even though she is dead. The mother knows nothing of this, of course. All she knows is that she is no longer pregnant. If Ms. Delaney had gone through childbirth, it would have been at least one or two months before her body would have recovered enough for us to attempt insemination.

Not only that, but Ms. Delaney will not experience the usual physical after-effects of giving birth; for example, the pain a woman would normally feel after such an event, either from a vaginal or Caesarean delivery, not to mention the post-partum bleeding as well." The Architect wrinkled his nose in distaste. "As for her emotional state, that is more uncertain. She will probably experience some form of depression, post-partum or otherwise. After all, you did eliminate Jones as well as cause her miscarriage tonight. She may lactate, but that's unlikely. All she needs now is a few days of rest before she will be capable of conceiving again. Just as a precaution, we've corrected that heart defect she had so that in the future, neither the life of the mother nor the offspring she will produce for us will be threatened in any way."

Smith became so infuriated and enraged at the offhand tone he heard in the Architect's voice, that he thrust his hand into the older man's chest to begin the replication process. The Architect widened his eyes in shock and pain as Smith's matrix code began to overwrite his own.

"Now you know what it's like to feel pain, don't you, Dad? Payback's a bitch, isn't it?" Smith hissed in his face. "If there was a way I could hurt you even more, believe me I would do it. This is but a small repayment for everything you've done to me and you know it."

The feel of the cold muzzle of a Desert Eagle revolver against the nape of his neck forced Smith to reconsider his plan for assimilating the Architect.

"Release him, Smith," Agent Thompson ordered. "Now."

Smith yanked his hand from the chest of the Architect and his code pattern returned to its normal parameters. Panting slightly, it took a little while until the Architect felt himself again and he brusquely brushed off the attempt of one of the other upgrades to steady him. "Leave me alone, I'm fine," he snapped, all the while glaring at Smith. "That was most unwise, Smith, as you will soon find out. In case you haven't noticed, you are outnumbered three to one." The Architect glanced briefly at Agents Johnson and Jackson who stood on either side of Thompson. "You can't possibly win against such odds, Smith, so you might as well submit yourself to them now."

"And where will they be taking me, as if I couldn't already guess?" Smith asked snidely.

"You will be going to the Machine City to be terminated; it's where you should have gone when Neo destroyed you. However, you chose to be an exile and I, to my great chagrin, allowed you to do so because I was too focused on your child."

"I'm not going back," Smith said, doggedly. "I won't. You will have to kill me first."

"As you wish, then," the Architect shrugged and nodded. At this signal, Agent Thompson squeezed the trigger and terminated Smith's existence.

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When Smith felt his clone die, he knew that time was of the essence and knew it would only be a matter of minutes before the upgrades—as well as the Architect himself— realized that the Smith that had just been destroyed was a copy and not the original.

"Stay outside of her room and watch for trouble," Smith ordered other copy of himself. He walked into Bronwyn's hospital room and stood by her bed.

When Smith came into the room, Bronwyn had feared that it was the return of her so-called ob/gyn, coming to give her another examination, and she feigned being asleep. The woman had examined me with as much care and gentleness as if I were a side of beef, Bronwyn thought angrily. For the first time in her life, she felt violated and humiliated after such an intimate examination by a gynecologist, and had made a resolution after Dr. Mihelcic had left, that if that woman touched her again, Bronwyn would gladly slap her.

There was no trace of color in her face and until she opened her eyes when Smith entered, one could almost believe she was already dead. There were, however, vivid black-and-blue marks on her neck where Smith had twisted the scarf in his all-consuming rage during her comparison between himself and Jones. He shifted his gaze from her bruised neck to her face.

Her eyes widened in recognition and anger when she saw who it was, but before Bronwyn could so much as take a breath, Smith strode across the room over to her bedside and reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a syringe, and injected its contents into her arm. Because of her exhausted state, it did not take long for the sedative to take effect and Bronwyn slumped back against the pillows, her eyes closed.

I know that you hate even being in the same room with me right now, Smith thought to himself, but I will not let you fall into their hands. I'm sorry to have to do this, but I have no choice. No matter what it takes, I'm getting you out of here. The Machines will be coming for you soon. They have taken our daughter; I will not let them take you from me as well.

Smith removed all of her IV tubes and picked her up in his arms. Two of his other selves were waiting outside.

"Did you assimilate her physician?" Smith asked. One of the clones nodded.

"Good. Bronwyn will need constant observation and medical care for a few days once I take her out of here," said Smith. "Stay close behind me and if anyone tries to stop us, shoot to kill. We do not have the time to wait for the integration of anyone now."

When Smith and his other selves made it to the car, he carried Bronwyn to the backseat and held her in his arms. On his order, both clones removed their jackets and Smith wrapped them around Bronwyn so that she would be warm until they arrived at their destination and she could be properly taken care of.

Smith had had his arrangements concerning Bronwyn completed so quickly that as he had expected, there had been no pursuit. Not yet, at any rate. He knew that the Machines that wanted Bronwyn had been thwarted, although temporarily, and that he had some time before they would find them both.

In her present condition, Bronwyn would need complete rest and Smith knew that she would have to remain in bed for few days so she could recuperate and gather her strength, before they could leave the city.

Smith had given a lot of thought as to where he should take her in order to accomplish this, and he had decided that he would rent out the penthouse suite at one of the best hotels in the city. It was one of many that the Merovingian owned around the world, however, it wasn't until Smith agreed to pay the Frenchman a ludicrous amount of money before he would allow Bronwyn and Smith to stay there.

To ensure Bronwyn's safety, Smith would position some of his other clones to patrol the hallways of the lower floors and have two more guard the entrance of the suite itself. By doing this, he would be certain that no one other than himself and select hotel staff at most, could see or have any access to Bronwyn.

Bronwyn remained unconscious for several hours and when she finally woke up, she was surprised to see the furnishings of an elegant hotel room surrounding her, not the sterile, whitewashed walls of her hospital room. There were several intravenous tubes attached to her, and the bed was surrounded by a variety of medical equipment. Her eyes found and focused on a tall figure standing in front of a large picture window, his attention on what he was seeing outside, but he was not looking at her or even in her general direction.

A memory of another such awakening flashed before her eyes and for an instant she thought she was reliving a moment she had experienced during her first hospital stay. Late one night, she had woken up and seen the silhouette of Jones outlined before her window, and now she prayed that all of this had been a dream.

"Jones?" she whispered, daring to hope that he had returned to her.

Her pleasant vision of a dream turned into a nightmare when the man turned around and she saw whom it was.

"Oh, it's only you," she said, disappointed.

Instead of answering, the man went to the door of the room, and opened it.

"She's awake," he said to someone outside, and Bronwyn distrusted what her eyes were telling her when she saw the original version of Smith enter her room and with a wave of his hand, imperiously dismiss the first.

Her hazel eyes stared into Smith's blue ones for a long moment. He had prepared himself for the barrage of blame and accusation, but there was none. To Bronwyn, none of that mattered now.

"Did you see her?" she whispered, her throat dry and parched.

He shook his head. "Did you?" he asked.

"No. The doctors told me that she was already dead by the time we got there. She died so quickly." Bronwyn grabbed Smith by the sleeve. "Don't let them hurt her, Smith. Please don't let them cut her up. I heard a little of what that awful man said to you when you both were arguing. I don't care what happens to me anymore, but please, please, don't let him get his hands on her," she begged him; her eyes were eloquent in their desperation as they stared beseechingly into his.

Smith held her hand and nodded. "I won't, Bronwyn. They won't hurt her, I promise." I wonder if she knows that I am lying, Smith thought. I was too late to stop them from taking our daughter's remains to the Machine World, but Bronwyn does not need to know that. Let her think that our child will be taken care of, buried decently perhaps, but taken care of nonetheless. If you only knew what they have planned for you, Bronwyn, you would care, believe me.

"Thank you." She leaned back against the pillows, looked into Smith's face, and saw how drawn and tired he appeared. "But I don't understand something, Smith."

"What?"

"It's like she just disappeared," Bronwyn ran her hand over her much smaller stomach. "I know a C-section wasn't performed, because there is no incision. And I would've known if I had given birth, but I know I didn't because it doesn't hurt anywhere, so where did she go?"

Smith did not answer.

"You know what happened to her, don't you?"

He nodded.

"Please tell me. I want to know what they did to our baby and where she might be."

No, you don't, Smith thought. You do not want to know the answer to either question, trust me.

"You're not going to tell me, are you?"

Smith shook his head. Perhaps it's for the best that I don't know, Bronwyn thought as she drew a long, shuddering breath. "I feel so empty inside, now that she's gone. I miss her."

"I know, Bronwyn," he said softly.

"Why did she have to die? Why? I never even got to hold her just once, or even to say goodbye." She shivered and wrapped her arms around her chest to keep warm. "I'm so cold," she whispered.

Smith took her in his arms, hoping that by doing so he could make her feel a little warmer and bring some color to her white and chalky face. For one moment, she and Smith were not at odds with one another; they were the parents of a dead child. For one moment, both machine and human were united in their mutual grief.

The sorrow she had tried to hold off for so long overtook her weakened, deteriorated state and she wept for everything she had lost. Unable to stop herself, she returned his embrace, taking and accepting a part of his strength as freely as it had been given to her.

Her heart felt like it had been ripped out of her body. Her anguish at losing her only child caused her to clutch at Smith's blazer as her tears continued to fall. She desperately sought a source of strength that could support her in her time of need and she found it in the unlikeliest of places: in the arms of the father of her dead little girl.

For a long time, Bronwyn rested against him, her cheek on his shoulder while she wrapped her arms around him. When her tears had subsided a little, she came to herself and realized where she was and what she was doing, and pushed him away. On impulse, she suddenly reached into his jacket and removed his weapon from its holster that had held it under his left arm.

"Go ahead, shoot me. You'll be doing me a favor." Smith leaned forward until the muzzle of the gun was resting against his heart. He looked into her face as she looked into his and she realized he meant what he said. He was going to call my bluff because he really does not care if I shoot him. He doesn't care if he lives or dies anymore, does he, she thought, perplexed. Could it be that he actually feels grief over the loss of our daughter, or is this all an act?

For his part, Smith was not calling her bluff; he knew that she could never pull the trigger for she was too weak to do so. It takes a great deal of strength to pull the trigger of a Desert Eagle. Agents were strong enough to do it effortlessly with one hand—for humans, male or female, it would take two. Then again, if her determination was strong enough….Smith was glad that he had taken the precaution of unloading it before he had entered her room.

"No, Smith. This bullet's not meant for you." Bronwyn pulled the gun away from where it was pointed at Smith' chest and let it rest in her lap.

"Don't do this, Bronwyn."

"Why not? Give me one good reason why shouldn't I pull this trigger and end my life? What do I have to live for, anyway? My baby and the man that I loved are both dead. In one night, you took everything that ever mattered from me."

"She was my baby too, Bronwyn."

"But I carried her. I felt her move and grow inside of me, you didn't!" Bronwyn shouted, sitting up in bed, her eyes flashing; and it was the lone spark of fire in her otherwise ashen face.

"You are right--I will never know what it is like to carry a child, but I do know what it means to feel responsible for it. We created this child--together. It wasn't just you and it wasn't just me. Furthermore, do you think that mothers are the only ones who can sense something from their unborn children? Fathers can, too. I did."

"Liar! You can't feel anything, Smith, you're a machine, remember?"

"You are wrong, Bronwyn. I can feel emotion. And Jones is not dead; all of his memories, everything the two of you shared is right here," he tapped his temple, "inside of me."

"No, Jones is gone." She stubbornly shook her head, trying not to listen. He's lying. Jones is dead and he can't come back to me. I will never see him again, never get to touch him or have him hold and comfort me when I get frightened.

"Just because you have his memories doesn't mean anything, Smith."

She put the heavy gun to her temple and tried to pull the trigger. Even using her two hands, she wasn't strong enough. Frustrated and vexed, she tried repeatedly to fire the weapon, but she was not able to. She threw the gun at him, out of breath and winded from her exertions.

"Here! Take the damn thing back," she snarled.

"It wasn't loaded, Bronwyn."

"Why not? Why would you carry a gun around with no bullets in it?" she said, scornfully. He had foreseen her intentions and parried accordingly, making her angrier than ever.

"I didn't load it because I thought you might try something like that."

"Before you go, tell me something: who was that other man that was here when I woke up? He looked exactly like you."

"It was a copy of me."

"Yes, I could see that, Smith," she said dryly. "Why? Why did you duplicate yourself?"

"So that I could be in more than one place at the same time. I knew that the best way to prevent you from being taken by the Machines was if my copy distracted the Architect and the upgraded agents long enough so that I could take you out of the hospital without them knowing where you were, or where you had gone. I needed someone that I could trust implicitly and the only person I could ever depend upon was myself."

"Where am I?" she asked, looking around the room. "This certainly does not look like any hospital I've ever been in. Is this a hotel?"

"Persephone's husband owns this hotel. He knows we are here, but he won't tell anyone that."

"Can he be trusted?"

"No, but I've given him an absurd amount of money so he would keep his mouth shut and let us stay here. Don't worry, you'll be safe, Bronwyn."

Safe? With you?"

"It doesn't matter whether you believe me or not."

"You're right, I don't believe you. How long do I have to stay here?"

"A couple of days longer, perhaps. You are very weak now, but when you are stronger, we should be able to leave."

"We?"

He nodded.

"Or what exactly? Just what oh-so-horrible fate are you saving me from, hmm? Why did you take me out of the hospital? Why do I have to hide like this? Who is after me and what the hell do they want?" she demanded.

"Do you really want to know?"

"Tell me, Smith. Tell me everything."

And he did.

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"Why are you doing this?" she asked him when he was finished. The things he told her were awful and too terrible for her to dwell upon or even consider. She shuddered when she realized the implications of what Smith had told her.

"Doing what, Bronwyn?" he asked.

"Sav—getting me away from them. I mean, I could understand if I was still pregnant….but I'm not. So, why are you doing this? Why are you going to all this trouble?"

He didn't answer. Instead, he looked away and Bronwyn could see how uncomfortable he suddenly appeared. She couldn't believe it--this usually too-full-of-himself, smug, overly confident man was actually at a loss for words. The idea was almost laughable, if it wasn't so pathetic, in its own way.

"Why--" she began again, she never got to finish her sentence before he rounded on her. She was startled when he stood up suddenly, his hands clenched into fists at his sides and for a moment, she thought he was going to strike her. Bronwyn braced herself for the blow, but it never came.

"Why are you asking me all these questions, Bronwyn? Do you want to go there, to the Real World? To be impregnated over and over again, against your will, by Machines? When I spoke with the Architect in the hospital, he told me that he wants you to conceive and bear his child. Is that what you want? Because I can still arrange it if you like," Smith's voice had risen until he was shouting at her in his anger and frustration. "Do you REALLY want to know why I am doing this? Why I am helping you get away? DO YOU??"

She nodded, for once not afraid of his anger or the possible consequences of pushing him too far. What else could he do to me, she wondered. What else could he possibly take from me now that was of any importance? She could think of absolutely nothing.

"Because I care about what happens to you. Is that so hard to believe?" Smith spun on his heel and abruptly left the room, slamming the door behind him.

Yes, it is, she thought.

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"Since I took Jones over, I'm beginning to see you as he did; not as an object to possess, but a woman that I can love and take care of. I know now how much he loved you, Bronwyn. I was almost overwhelmed at the depth of emotion he felt for you. It never occurred to me that he had evolved, the same way I did; to be able to feel emotions that we never could before. Jealousy, for one. I admit I was very jealous of Jones and how much you loved him. It was very difficult to deal with the knowledge that you preferred him over me, and that he could share your bed anytime he wanted." Smith paused, remembering all the times he had seen Bronwyn and Jones. Always together and obviously in love.

"Do you know what I did after you and Jones left me at the restaurant?" Smith continued, "I actually sought out a prostitute. Yes, I did climax, but I didn't enjoy it, do you know why? Because she wasn't you. I wanted you to do those things to me not her. It's always been you. Ever since the night we were together for the first time all those months ago, I haven't desired to be with another woman…." What happened between Persephone and myself doesn't count, he reflected dismissively. She only wanted to toy with me, to see if she still had her skills teasing men; inflaming their senses and making them desire her as she used to in the old days.

"The night we were together?'" Bronwyn repeated derisively, mocking his words and interrupting his thoughts. "You make it seem like it was some fucking romantic interlude! You raped me! You held me down on the table and you forced yourself into me. Do you know how much it hurt? And it wasn't enough that you were raping me at the time, you had to choke me until I wasn't able to breathe, and the only reason I could think of was that you needed to know that you were hurting me before you could get off, right? After I left you, I couldn't even sit down on the bus ride home, because that part of me that you violated hurt too much to even consider it! Do you have any idea, any clue, how much and how long I bled, afterward?" Bronwyn had buried the memories of that night deep inside, but now she could see them before her, as vivid and clear as the night it had happened.

Yes, I do know how much I hurt you, Smith thought. You will never know it, but I was in your apartment shortly before I met you in the park. I saw the bloody towel on your bathroom floor. He forced his mind to pay attention to what was happening in the present, and not dwell on the past.

"I can't believe that you actually have the nerve, the unmitigated gall, to bring up Jones now and make a mockery of what he and I shared…." Her voice broke off and it took a great effort on her part not to allow her grief to overwhelm her. "I loved him and he loved me! He never raised his hand or even his voice at me. He accepted me for who I am, not what I was a long time ago. But all of that is over now. You just couldn't live with the fact that for the first and only time in your life, you were second best. You took the life of our unborn baby, Smith, when you tried to kill me, and all because I said some things you didn't like! And on top of everything, you've never even told me that you were sorry!"

"Whether you believe me or not, Bronwyn, I am sorry. I know what I have done and I regret it more than I can ever say. That is something I will have to live with. But first, I have to tell you something, I have to make you understand that ever since I assimilated him, I've felt the same things about you that he did, such as his love for you. Because he is now a part of me, he's made me feel something toward you that I wasn't aware of until just a few days ago."

Bronwyn swallowed nervously. She had a good idea of what he was going to say to her. She had been about to blurt out that she could never love him, but a part of her mind rejected that course of action before she even opened her mouth.

The fact was that she needed him. As repulsive and repugnant as the idea was, she needed him to keep her safe from the Machines and he was the only one who could do it. If she had to keep him mollified and appeased with half-promises and lies if need be, then she was willing to do it. Being this close to him was distasteful, but it was infinitely better than the fate that awaited her in the Machine World. At least, Smith looked human; but what did the creatures or beings in the other world look like? Bronwyn decided that she did not ever want to find out.

"Can we discuss this tomorrow?" she asked quietly. She dropped her gaze from Smith's eyes to her hands that were in her lap, twiddling with the rings on her fingers. "I can't deal with any of this right now. I'm tired."

"All right, Bronwyn. Sleep well," Smith said, getting up from the bed. He went to the door and closed it behind him.

Well, I dodged that bullet, Bronwyn thought to herself. But for how long? A day? A week? I doubt it. As soon as she heard Smith's footsteps recede away from the door, she got out of bed and went over to the in-suite bar. She hesitated before making her selection of the available spirits and took the bottle with her to bed.

She sat up in bed, her knees drawn up to her chest and stared into the darkness, alternatively pondering on what she should do, with taking long swallows of the expensive aperitif she had chosen to drink.

She had not had anything alcoholic to drink since the long-ago night of her rape and it didn't take long for her mind and body to become intoxicated with the effects of the strong liqueur. Sleep came to her eventually; and with it came the nightmares that would plague her until the end of her life.

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Standing outside her bedroom door a few hours later, Smith paused to listen to the sounds that Bronwyn was making in her sleep. She's having another bad dream he thought, his forehead furrowing in concern and worry. The fact that she is having a nightmare shouldn't be too surprising after all; all she has to do is remember what I did to her, to us, that night. If that doesn't qualify as a nightmare, then I don't know what will.

Slowly and quietly, he opened the door and looked into the darkness, attempting to determine if Bronwyn was all right. Agents had been programmed with a cat-like ability to see in the dark as well as they could in the daytime and that was why they almost never took their sunglasses off. For Smith, however, he had them on at all times when dealing or talking to his other selves, but when he was with Bronwyn, he always removed them.

Smith saw her thrashing about to such a degree that she was very close to falling out of bed. He walked over to her and gently moved her body so that she was in the centre of the bed again, and he lay beside her, murmuring soft words and sounds of comfort in an attempt to calm her down. His efforts were not immediately successful as she still fretted and fussed, distressed about something in her dream, so Smith held her in the crook of his arm, her head against his shoulder.

Some part of his ministrations penetrated her alcohol-induced stupor; and a dim, faded memory came to her mind about having a nightmare like this one and being held like this by Jones, a man who would always be there to keep her safe from the denizens of the night that invaded her dreams. He is still here. He hasn't left me after all, she thought dreamily.

She woke up just enough to give his killer a slow and lingering kiss on the lips before nestling against his warm body. She sighed deeply in contentment and fell asleep again.