Epilogue
Summary: The ending to my story. Nope, no spoilers—just read it and tell me what you think!
Smith had purchased the food that Bronwyn had requested and drove quickly back to the hotel. He had been positive that Bronwyn had used her sudden desire for sweets as an excuse to get him to leave her alone that he expected to find her gone by the time he returned.
Getting off the elevator, he looked at the copies of himself who guarded the entrance of the suite that he and Bronwyn shared. They were there to keep Smith's enemies from the Mainframe out, but also to keep her in. True, she was a prisoner; but it was for her own good, really.
"Has she tried to leave?"
"No."
Smith was surprised and perplexed. He frowned, and realized that something was not right. He hurriedly opened the door and walked in.
The sitting room was as exactly he had left it, with nothing out of place. He glanced at the closed door to Bronwyn's bedroom and he could hear faint music coming from within. Opening the door, he immediately felt the cold breeze from the open sliding door at the end of the room caress his face.
"Bronwyn?" he called, "are you in here?"
He saw her standing on the balcony with her hands resting on the railing in front of her. When she heard his voice, she turned around and looked into his eyes. Suddenly, she smiled; a dazzling, wonderful smile that lit up her entire face making Smith catch his breath for a moment as he stared, transfixed, at her.
She has never looked at me like that before. Ever. Something is definitely wrong with her, he thought, alarmed. Then he knew. That smile was not meant for me, it was meant for Jones. Perhaps some part of him still lives on in me and only she can see it, and that is what she is responding to now. Even though he is gone, she still loves him and will continue to do so. Once Jones entered her life, I never had a chance with her. She would never love me even if I was the last man on earth and her heart will always remain with him.
Even before I went to get her food for her, he thought, I could see how much she hated the very sight of me just by the expression on her face and especially in her eyes; those breathtaking not-quite green, but yet not-quite brown eyes of hers that have haunted me from the first moment I saw her.
"What are you doing standing out here, Bronwyn? Aren't you cold?" he asked softly, slowly coming to where she stood on the balcony and making no sudden movements that might scare or frighten her, as he did so. His eyes never left hers, as if looking into them could tell him what her intentions were.
"No, I'm not cold. Did you bring my cake?" Bronwyn asked calmly.
"Yes, I did." He turned his head and glanced at the bag he had held in his hand. He thought she was going to take the food from him, but she did not. Instead, she came and put her arms around him, burying her face in his shirt. Smith was completely taken aback by her sudden change of demeanor, and after doing a thorough examination of her Matrix data code, he was surprised to discover that she was completely sober; she did not have a trace of narcotics or alcohol of any kind in her system. But then again, how could she, he thought, I had them taken away from her.
He tossed the bag onto the bed and carefully returned her embrace and she still did not flinch at his touch or try to get away from him in any way.
"You feel cold, Bronwyn," he said, when he held her closer, and he could not help but notice that her nipples were hard against his shirt. Her body was trembling, but whether it was from the cold or inner turmoil, he would never know.
"I'm OK."
"Are you?" He tipped her head up so that he could look into her eyes to ascertain for himself if she was telling the truth. She met his gaze steadily and directly, but there was no emotion in her eyes. Nothing. She slid her hand from his chest to his neck and stroked his cheek. Smith placed a kiss into her palm and took her hand in his own. "What's troubling you, Bronwyn? Please tell me."
"Will you kiss me?" Bronwyn asked plaintively, her voice sad and mournful. She stood on her tiptoes and Smith lowered his head until her lips met his. She kissed him willingly for the first and only time; it came from her heart and he knew it. He did not know what premeditated this and he did not care. He would follow wherever she directed; she would have control, she would take the lead. He would not try to control the situation, nor would he force her to do anything she did not want to.
Smith was puzzled; this kiss was not in any way a sexual or romantic one, it was something else.
"Thank you," she breathed, pulling herself out from his embrace and backed away until she leaned against the balcony railing.
"All I did was get what you wanted."
She shook her head, smiling. "No, I mean thank you for everything you've done."
Smith could feel his spine prickle with a vague feeling of trepidation and dread. What is she talking about, he wondered. However, before he could ponder that question further, she spoke again.
"I never thought I'd ever say this to you, but…I owe you so much for what you did all those months ago, when you raped me."
Smith was dumbfounded; and for the first and only time in his existence, he was at a total and utter loss for words. How could she be thanking me for that?
"Because of the consequences of your actions that night, you made me feel two things I probably would never have experienced if you hadn't."
"Like what?"
"Love, Smith, love. The love a mother feels for her child and the love a woman feels for a man—no, not for you," she said, seeing the sudden and hopeful look in his eyes, "but what Jones and I shared." She looked over her shoulder at the view from the balcony for a moment, and then turned her attention back to Smith. "But while you gave me the chance to feel love, you took it away when you killed both Sarah and Jones." Her voice trailed off, and Smith could see her eyes glisten with tears.
"I know I should hate you for what you've done to me, but I can't. I don't have the energy to either hate or love anymore. Goodbye, Smith," Bronwyn said, and her last spoken sentence to him was not full of anger or hate as he had expected, but very simply and very calmly stated. Sometimes the most complicated of emotions can be expressed in the simplest of terms and the fewest of words.
Horror-struck, Smith saw Bronwyn pull herself up and over the railing before he could stop her, and she began to fall to the ground, more than forty-five floors below. Without a second thought, he sprang over the railing, following her to the ground. This would not be the first time he had jumped out of a window or had fallen from such a great height, but he knew exactly how to position himself in midair so that he would land on his feet when he hit the ground. However, she did not have that capability and he knew that the only way she could survive unharmed and intact would be if he caught her before she landed.
Smith knew exactly what the fall would do to her body besides end her life—he had seen the remains of humans who had died such deaths before; he had been responsible for most of them. If she were extremely lucky, she would die immediately on impact, but if she was not, the torment and agony she would have to endure until death claimed her was not pleasant even for him to think about. Either way, Smith did not want to speculate on what she would look like once she did land.
If she was still alive when he got to her, he knew that he would dispatch and kill her with his own hands if he had to and he would do it as quickly and as painlessly as he could. I will not let her suffer, for no matter what has happened between us in the past, at the very least she deserves that small consideration from me. The idea of killing her is horrible to even think about, but the possible necessity of it is something I have to consider.
He could see her small form just ahead of him and knew that despite his best efforts, skills and even his abilities as an agent, Bronwyn was going to hit the ground before he could reach her. Desperately thinking he could overcome the odds and still catch her at the last minute, he reached out and tried to seize her foot that seemed so close to his outstretched hand, but he only grasped empty air. She had had a head start on him by only a few moments and he realized that he would never catch her in time.
They were not far from the ground now, and Smith knew that she had, at last, succeeded in leaving him and this time it would be forever. He heard her body hit the concrete of the sidewalk with a sickening thud: her body bounced once, and she remained completely still, unmoving. At the last possible moment, he turned in midair so that he landed on his feet beside her.
There was no need to check for life signs for he knew simply by looking at her that she was already dead. Nevertheless, he knelt by her broken and crushed body and gazed into the ruin of her face for what seemed an eternity before he gently brushed a tendril of her hair off her face so he could look into her still-open eyes one last time. There was a half-smile on her lips and it must have a trick of the overhead street light that gave her a twinkle in her lifeless eyes.
He winced at the sound of Bronwyn's shattered bones that ground against each other as he cradled her in his arms in a futile attempt to keep the chill the emanated from the ground from draining away what little warmth still remained in her flesh. The deep crimson of her blood had stained the white purity of his shirt, but he neither knew nor cared. He was stripped of all emotion, all feeling inside, and nothing from the world around him mattered anymore.
"Bronwyn, why did you do this? Why couldn't you just give me a chance?" he murmured softly, his lips against her hair, but Smith never knew he had spoken aloud.
The Machines could never use her now for their terrible purpose and while he would mourn the loss of both Bronwyn and their child, he begrudged her choice to take her own life, but he understood her motives. Now that he had lost her, he knew exactly what she had gone through when he took Jones away from her.
As for the death of their child, while he would never fully understand what a mother had to suffer when the baby she had carried was lost, he knew only too well what agony the bereaved father of the dead child must endure. He had to acknowledge, however, that at least she was safe from any harm and her body could not be violated. She would never feel pain or sorrow ever again and he hoped that wherever her soul was now, she was finally happy and at peace.
The two things that had so recently made his existence worthwhile—Bronwyn and his child—were gone forever. Time had no meaning for him now and he was not aware of anything around him: the thunder rumbling in the distance or the lightning that split the sky until the heavy showers of the first rainfall of spring soaked through his clothes to his skin and the cold pavement he was still sitting on permeated his consciousness at last.
He looked up into the sky and let the wetness fall onto his face as he watched lightning flicker and flash across the night sky. I suppose it is only fitting that it is raining now that she is gone from this world, he thought. It seems all the gods and goddesses of Ancient Egypt are weeping, for the torrent that poured from the sky showed no sign of stopping.
I will take and destroy the Matrix for their sakes, the two that were taken from me. First, I will assimilate every human and every program in the world, for it will be only then that I can spread to the Machine City and destroy it for everything it has done to me.
But my first order of business will be to go back to San Francisco and learn where Mr. Anderson and his fellow members of the Resistance meet. I must destroy him. Zion must lose their savior and fall, yet again, to the power and might of the Machines.
I will duplicate myself ad infinitum in the Matrix for there is no way that he can defeat me if I battle him with overwhelming numbers of clones at my side. If I should fail in my goal, then I will have to take over the form of one of the rebels so that I may enter Zion and get close enough to Mr. Anderson and kill him any way I can.
On the last day of the existence of the Matrix, I will make it rain until I and my clones reduce it to nothing but rubble—two worlds for two lives. It is a fair and fitting exchange, Smith thought and turned his gaze back to Bronwyn's face.
THE END.
A/N: Actually, it's not really the end; in my next story, I will go into how Smith was able to find the captain's meeting place at the beginning of "Reloaded." To the best of my knowledge, there hasn't been a story that fully explains how he found it, so I think I will take a stab at it and see what I can make of it.