2

He did not ask to be alive again. He did not even want to be alive. Now that she was dead, it seemed that nothing was worth living for anymore. She was gone from him, and he was alone in the world, and lost in the city of machines.

I'm never letting go. It was too late for that. She already had let go, for long since had he felt the presence of her spirit leave his side, and could no longer feel the comforting warmth that only she could give him when she touched him. That was all gone now. It was no more than a memory living in the back of his mind. Perhaps one day, when he was old and tired, he would still find himself alive, feeling the same cold and empty feeling he felt now, and would one day wake and hear a name mentioned that he had not heard for many, many years. He would wonder who owned the name, and try to link it to a face. It wouldn't be until he'd settled into bed for the night that he remembered it was her name. Then he would shrug his shoulders and drift into the usual, cold sleep, forgetting her all over again, perhaps never to remember her once more. She was only a memory now. That was the only way she could remain in this world. Only a memory.

As he sat up, and pushed away the last remnants of the dream he'd just had, he remembered where he was when he heard the swooping, screeching sounds of the sentinels from everywhere around him. He was lost in 01. He was blind, perhaps temporarily or permanently. He had just saved mankind of complete and utter obliteration by making a treaty with the machines when he destroyed Smith at the cost of his own life. But now he was not dead. Now he was alive. And worst of all, he was alone.

He could not remain lying stiffly in 01 forever, that much he knew. He needed to get out, and to return home to Zion. But how? There was still the ship, crashed and damaged, lying still in the side wall of the city. But that was no longer operational, and he did not want to fly that ship, especially not alone. Her body lay there, on the cold, metallic floor of the cockpit, the blood spurting from her heart, drenching her clothes and leaking onto the floor. No, he could not pilot a ship that had been stained by her blood, nor could he ever again return to the place where he had lost her. Too many memories…too much pain and sorrow…not enough time.

He was alive, and he had to make the most of it. It was a blessing to be alive, when he should be dead. Or perhaps he had died and then had been sent to hell. To continue to live like this would be hell. He could not live without her. He would die, slowly and painfully. Her spirit would slowly tear away at him from the inside, piece by piece until nothing would be left. He could not live like that. He would have to take his own life. Perhaps he should simply lie down, and wait for death caused by starvation or cold to claim him.

He could not do that. It would be the same no matter where he died, if he was to die a lonesome, slow death. Whether he returned home or not, she would always be there. She had told him once herself. I'm never letting go. Maybe she meant that she would not let go of him until his time had come. She was still there, still haunting him. No matter where he went, he would see her each time he turned a corner. There she would be, dressed in flowing white, apparent only to him beyond the blind veil that covered his eyes. There would always be something, like a whiff of her scent, or an action she used to perform that would force him to remember, and to see her again. He knew then that she would never be gone from him, nor ever forgotten. He would remember her when he was old and dying, and still he would see her there, in front of him. Haunting him. Controlling him. Maybe she would be laughing at him from wherever she was. He would never be free of her, no matter how he died, or what he did next. He would never forget. Never. Never.

There was no sense in lying there any longer, atop that platform in the center of the machine city. He needed to get up, and to return to the ship. He was afraid of it, but he had no choice. It was better to die later than it was to die now. He had to see reason. He had been brought back to fulfill some purpose he had not yet fulfilled. There was still something that needed to be done, and he could not rest until he knew that it was finished.

He stood slowly, and carefully, taking great effort not to fall from the edge of the building. He could still see the glowing, warm lights that had been apparent before, and that had allowed him to see when blind. It was like being in the Matrix, and looking at the code through his eyes, only now he could see things in the Real World, even when blind by means of the aura that each object gave off. It was these strange lights that were able to show him where the edge of the platform was, so that he could grip the edge between his fingers, and lower his body so that he may clamber down to the ground floor of the city. Several times during his climb, his fingers would slip, and something would slash his palms, allowing warm blood to gather in the core of his hand. He could feel it being held in his fists as he climbed, but still he did not utter a sound, nor did he attempt to brush it away until he'd reached the ground, and was safe for now, at least.

He began to crawl. He did not know how he would be able to return to the ship from where he was. There were sentinels everywhere he turned, screeching and soaring above him. They did not harm him, but they did not help him either. To them, he may as well have been invisible. He may as well have been dead. Perhaps, he decided, he was dead. Yet he could still feel pain coursing throughout his body due to his final battle with Smith. The dead could not feel pain.

Onward he crawled, on his hands in knees for fear of tripping or stumbling despite the light shining in his eyes, and guiding him. He did not want to alert the machine's attention either. He had made peace by eliminating a foe they alone could not defeat, and uniting both man and machine in unity to overcome such an obstacle. Now there may be peace between both cultures. But he was unsure as to how they may react, if they were to spy him crawling along their city streets. So he remained quiet, and kept low. They did not see him.

Presently he came upon a pathway, or stairwell that led upwards to some sort of tower. He recognized it immediately from the platform that was present sticking out from the main wall. Beyond it there was a path, and that path would lead him to the ship.

He crawled up the steps. Up and up, taking one at a time. All the while he was aware of the pain seeping through his body, and of the blood leaking from his hands. His head felt heavy, the lights of his vision slurred in together, and for a time he feared that he may faint. He began to crawl faster, taking the steps two at a time so that he may reach the ship before he was rendered unconscious. As he was too focused on this, he did not notice the minute, mechanical beasts that had gathered around him and were crawling beside him noisily, jabbering and screeching excitedly to one another in the queer language only they seemed to possess. It was not until he reached the top of the stairwell and began to crawl back along the metal corridor to the ship that he realized they were there.

"Go away." He hissed, finding his voice was cracked and hoarse from recovery of near-death. The critters merely nattered in response. They were like spiders, he concluded, with long spindly steel legs that made strange, scraping sounds when they walked. He had seen them before, when he first arrived in 01 and was making his way along the same corridor…just after she had died.

"Go on." He urged, jerking his head back down the corridor. "Shoo."

They would not listen, and continued to chatter to one another as more gathered around them. He decided that they simply could not understand the language of humans, and with a shrug of his shoulders, allowed them to follow as he made his way back along the corridor. All the while, he prevented himself from looking down. Below him he would see the lights of the ground that was now thousands of meters away, and himself suspended on a small thread of light, that braked and rippled each time his body came in contact with it. He kept his eyes ahead of him, and did not waver until he saw the ship.

There it was. The Logos. It was her burial ground, and the place of her death. It appeared just as it had when they had crashed all those hours ago. Still the engines smoked and shuddered. Still the panels and pads were broken and bent. Still the ship was not operational, crashed into the side of the city. Still, he knew, her body would lie on the floor of the cockpit, silent, dead and bleeding. He did not want to see it ever again. But it seemed he had no choice.

He would not look at her. He would walk around her and take his seat at the controls of the ship. He would not look at the bloodstained, broken and torn chair she once sat in before she was thrown from it when they crashed, her body tossed to the floor and penetrating by a series of mechanical spikes. But even so, he would feel her within the ship, and taste the scent of her blood. He would have to endure it until he returned home.

He entered the ship, expecting the creatures that had followed him before to leave him be, but they swarmed around him as he slipped down through the side door of the ship, and then scurried away to the lower deck. He did not attempt to chase them, as there were at least twenty, and it was now impossible to find and destroy them all alone, even if he had wanted to. They may plot to have him killed while he slept, but he would not care. If now was not his time to die, then something would bring him back as it had done before to fulfill whatever purpose he was meant to fulfill. But if not, then he would gladly accept his own demise. There was nothing to live for anymore. He had nothing to fear.

To reach the cockpit, he was required to climb the ladder ascending from the main deck. It was located in the core, near the broken screens that had once been able to show him the Matrix code, before they too had been destroyed. After shutting and bolting the door, he found his way to the ladder and climbed the railings one by one, as slowly as he could. Already he could smell the foul stench of a woman's stale blood. It was not an unfamiliar scent. She had been dead before. But he had not believed it. He had refused to believe it, so he had brought her back to life. But that was in the Matrix. When he was strong, and where he could save her. Here he was not the One. Here he was only Neo. Just Neo. He had never felt so helpless and weak in all his life.

He reached the cockpit, only to have the presence of her blood overwhelm him, until it was the only thing he could see, taste, touch and smell. As he pulled himself up into the cockpit completely, and drew in his breath, holding it as though it could help to eliminate the stench of blood, another scent became apparent. It was faint, and almost unrecognizable. But it was still there, struggling and failing to dominate. It was unlike anything else in the world, and not in comparison to any other human. It was her scent, he knew it. It was still there, clinging on to life like a lost memory. But soon it would fade, as she had done. Soon it would go, and he would never smell it again.

Crawling once more, he was able to follow and find it's source. He crawled blindly, forgetting to be afraid of what he may find. Before he knew it, he had found her hand, and he took it in his. It was limp, cold and lifeless. It no longer felt the same, and it never would be the same again. It may have looked like her hand, and appeared to be to any other who touched it. But he knew better. She was not there anymore. The hand was no longer hers.

He could see her body before him. Not her anymore. Just her body. If she had been there, he would have been able to hear her soft and steady breathing, see her ice blue eyes glisten and glimmer when touched by light. There would have been a curt, tight smile on her lips if someone had made a joke, or a breath of laughter heard in the air if it was a joke she had particularly liked. There would be a red tinge to her cheeks if someone was to make a snide remark about how much love had changed her from what she used to be, and anger blazing in her tone and in her eyes if someone had done something she disliked. The kind smile upon her face whenever he caught her eye, or the lustful passion dancing in her eyes when they made love. People often said that it was impossible to tell how she was feeling, as she was a woman who could hide her emotion so well. Only he could tell, by noting simple things like these, that no one else could hardly ever see. But now this was all gone, and only a body was left behind. Not Trinity. Just her body.

Last time she had died, he had felt something was still there, still clinging on to her but unable to survive alone. That was how he knew what he needed to do, that his how he knew that she would hear him if he spoke to her, and how he knew how to bring her back. There was still something there…still some last essence of her being. He had felt it the moment he entered the cockpit. But it was fading rapidly. Soon there would be nothing at all. Unlike in the Matrix, he could not bring her back. He had no power here.

He lay himself down beside her, feeling venerable, helpless and weak. The world was too much for him here, where he had no power. Where he was not the One. He may die soon. He wouldn't care. He would die with her, clinging on to that small part of her that was still there until he breathed his last breath. He would lie still and remember things, things that did not matter. He would remember them until he did not have to remember anymore.

He remembered meeting her in that club, when she had walked up to him and stood beside him there, and told him about the Matrix. He remembered waking up in the Real World, and finding out what the Matrix really was. He remembered his training…fighting Smith for the first time…falling in love with Trinity. He remembered kissing her, and how she'd brought him back to life. He remembered returning the favor when he brought her back atop that rooftop. He remembered the Oracle…

The power of the one extends beyond this world. It reaches from here, all the way back to where it came from…

The source. He remembered it clearly now…standing in her dingy kitchen in her apartment, speaking about his destiny. His power was not, as he had thought, limited to the Matrix alone. It stretched beyond that, and into the Real World, right up until he reached the machine city. That was why he was able to have visions in the Real World, and why he was able to stop sentinels with his hand…why he had been able to separate his mind from his body without jacking into the Matrix, and why he could still see when blind, as he saw now. She still lay there beside him…at least her body did, at any rate. It was unmoving and dead, made out of light as everything was. He could see past the light…and see the faint remnants of what he had felt before. Her heart was there, motionless and imprisoned inside her shattered ribcage. It reminded him of the time when he had brought her back before, and when he had seen her heart inside of her by means of the code. It was the same. He was not as vulnerable and powerless as he had first supposed. He still had a chance of bringing her back.

He sat up beside her, no longer afraid of his own vulnerability. If the Oracle's words were true, then he could summon enough power from within him to bring her back. The Oracle was never wrong. If he brought her back, then everything would be as it should be. He would not have to live alone, being torn apart day by day by the emptiness that consumed him. They would live together in peace in Zion, the peace they had always wanted. He grew excited, exuberant at the prospect of having her alive again. No longer could he smell the stench of rotten blood. He blocked it from him, and clung to her own scent, closing his eyes softly and preparing himself for resurrection.

His hand slipped inside her, and at once was consumed by the frostiness and emptiness left behind in her dead body. It was too cold…too dead, and he almost had to abandon hope and draw away his hand. But he held on, reminding himself that soon she would be warm again. His hand was deep inside her now, and he knew he should see this if he were to open his eyes. But he left them closed, for fear of opening them and becoming afraid of what he was doing. His abilities as the One had enabled him to use the light he saw to penetrate his hand through the aura of her body, to search and find her heart. He had felt her heart before when it was dead, and it felt the same as it had done in the virtual world. He clenched his hand around it, realizing how small it felt, and found it hard to believe that something so minute could carry so many emotions…and hold so much love.

All he needed to do was bring the love back to it. All he had to do was spare some of his own energy, and transfer it to her body. He gathered all the necessary energy, and felt it course through his veins, and speed down into his arm, to flow into her heart. It was working, he realized with a jolt of relief and exuberance. He remained firm, eyes closed, until he felt the heart move in his hand, and the blood pump through her body, warm and flowing. He removed his hand quickly, just as he heard a tiny, hardly inaudible gasp from bellow him. From her.

He had done it. The Oracle had been right. She was alive. She would live, and they would have the peace they always craved. He no longer saw himself old and withered, sitting alone in Zion and awaiting his own demise. He saw himself growing old with time, each year more joyful than the last. And she was with him all the while, growing old beside him. Never letting go…

He had to open his eyes, just to make sure. He had to see her look back at him with her own, crystal blue gaze before he could truly believe it. He saw her lying before him, as still and as motionless as before. The light showed no movement, and her face was set still and hard. A rush of disappointment…a sense of failure, and of self hatred filled his entire being. He loathed and despised his very existence. What use was he to anyone if he could not bring her back? She was dead. Gone. Dead. It had all been no more than simple hopes, and the single breath he'd heard her utter was nothing but a memory. Only a memory…

He knew what she'd say if she had known he was crying over her dead body. But she would not know, because she could not know anymore. He could cry all he wanted, and still she would not come back. He would stay here forever, on the floor of the cockpit, sobbing until both their bodies had rotted away with the ages. Still she would not come back. Never come back. Never…

It was then that he heard her breathing. It was slow and inaudible at first, but became louder and raspier with time until he could hear it over the sounds of his sobs. He silenced himself, opening his eyes and watching her bellow him carefully, not daring to touch her until he knew for certain. He could see her chest heaving as she struggled to breath. Yes, she was breathing. She was alive. He had done it after all.

"Hi, Neo." She whispered, her voice thin and raspy as his had been when he first spoke after he awoke in 01. He froze, stabling himself above her with aching arms, breathing thickly, and wondering if it was no more than a fragment of his imagination. Hands reached out to touch him, and freezing fingers groped at his hair, as if she were inspecting to ensure he was who she'd first claimed him to be. He then saw, by means of the light, that her eyes were hazy, as if clouded by death. But soon they would return to normal. Soon she would be well again.

"Am I dead?" She asked him weakly, trembling, frozen fingers running lightly across his face, is if feeling to ensure he was as he always had been, down to the last detail. "Is this heaven?"

He smiled, closing his eyes to the soft caresses she lay upon his face with fingers that felt as if they had been made of ice. "No." He said with a shake of his head. "No, no, you're not dead. You're alive, Trinity. I brought you back."

"How?" She asked him curiously. He became aware of just how weak and limp her body felt beneath him. "Why?"

He did not speak for a moment, shocked that she should ask him such a question, before he replied in bewilderment. "B-because I need you. I brought you back, the same as I did last time."

"I-I didn't know you could…" She breathed. "I didn't think you would be coming back."

"I remembered something the Oracle told me." He said quickly, not wishing to dwell on the past. "But it doesn't matter now. We're here. Together."

"Mmm…" She mumbled, as if savoring his words. She shut her eyes softly, and lay down upon the steel floor. "Did you do it? Is the war over?"

"Yes." He said breathlessly. "It's over, Trinity, I ended it. We've made peace now."

"Peace…" She repeated slowly, a smile quivering upon her lips. How he loved those lips, now that they were no longer still and dead. "I always knew you would do it. I always believed…"

He smiled feebly, no longer able to contain emotion. She was alive, and she was speaking with him, there on the floor of the cockpit. But she was so cold, and so weak. He feared if he left her there that she may not last much longer. He reached to heave her body towards him, but as he did so, she cried out in immediate pain. He set her down again, startled, and then saw fresh blood leaking from her body. He had forgotten to remove the spikes that had been driven into her flesh when the ship had crashed…the source of her death.

"God!" He cried, tracing a path between the metal that plunged into her chest. "Oh God, Trin, I'm so sorry. Here, I'm going to have to take these out. It's going to hurt, ok?"

She nodded, panting, and lowered her hands from his face. He did not want to do it. He did not want to cause her pain, when everything was as it should be. For once, they could be happy. For once, they had a chance to live in peace. He did not want to spoil it. He did not want to be the cause of any further pain. He wanted her to live. He wanted nothing other than their happiness, now that the war was over. He bent, careful not to touch the spikes, and kissed her temple softly and swiftly, before gripping one of the detested, mechanical spikes and pulling it from her flesh with one, strong tug. She screamed, her feeble body tensed, and then relaxed as more blood leaked from the wound he'd made larger. He apologized again, then seized hold of another and followed the same procedure until all had been removed. Each time she cried out in pain, he tortured himself inside. Why had he not removed them before he had brought her back?

Once the final spike had been removed with tremendous effort, he stabilized himself above her once more and grasped her hand, squeezing it tightly as she recovered. He had not imagined it should be this way if she was to come back.

"I'm sorry, Trin, I'm sorry. But it's ok now, isn't it?" He pleaded. "You're alright. I'm going to take you to the Med Bay. I'm going to treat you."

"I'm so cold…" She whispered, tears trickling down her cheeks. "…so cold." This was nothing like the woman he had once known. This was not Trinity as she had been. He knew then that she was ill.

"You'll be fine, I promise." He reassured both her and himself. "Come on. I'm going to look after you."

If things had been any different, he knew she would never have allowed him to scoop her up from the floor, and hold her so that she lay reclining in his arms, with her legs bent at the knees, and dangling over his right arm, her head nestled against his chest. The moment he lifted her, he could tell just how weak she was, for she felt like nothing but a newborn child held securely in his firm grip. This was not the brave, proud and arrogant warrior, fighter and soldier he remembered. But he reassured himself, when he took in the essence of her scent and saw her old smile flicker upon her lips just before she fainted in his arms, that soon she would recover. Soon she would be healthy.

The Med Bay in the Logos was not located in the same position as it had been in the Nebuchadnezzar. It took him some time to find it. But when he did, he was relieved to see that it was larger, and filled with much more medical supplies. He placed her upon the medical table as carefully as he could muster, then gripped the hem of both her over-shirt and under-shirt and pulled it over her head slowly, to minimize pain. He did not want anymore pain.

He acted quickly, gathering anything that appeared to be of use and bringing it to her table, taking great care to be wary of dropping them. She stirred when he returned to her and proceeded to unclip her bloodstained bra, deciding that it would be easier to cleanse her wounds this way. He could feel her shivering beneath him as he dabbed at the wounds in her body, cleaning them with antiseptic. Her face was creased with pain, her eyes snapped tightly as she struggled to stop herself from crying out in agony. He hated himself. Hated himself for bringing her back only to have to hurt her. Why did he not finish this before he brought her back?

By the time he'd finished cleansing and bandaging the wounds, she was numb and blue with cold, and her body felt like a mound of ice. He removed his own over-shirt, and slid it over the naked top half of her body. It did her no good.

"I'm going to get you as many blankets as I can find from the lower deck." He told her. "I'll be back as soon as I can, I promise."

He kissed her temple once more, and then darted down to the lower deck, jumping down the ladder and sprinting into each room, snatching as many blankets as he could carry. He was afraid the cold would kill her…wondered why she was so sick, when it had hardly effected her when he brought her back before…what was wrong with her?

He arrived back in the Med Bay, arms laden and aching with blankets, and scurried to her side, wrapping them around her one by one, and then lying her down. She shivered slightly, and for a moment he was afraid they would not be enough. Soon she settled again, and sighed heavily, clutching the blankets around her tightly. The smile on her face was a smile that belonged to a helpless child.

"What now?" She asked him groggily, already sounding half asleep.

"Now I need you to rest." He smiled kindly upon her, wiping his hands on the under-shirt he still wore. "I'm going to stay with you. Don't worry."

"Neo…" She whispered, her voice tinged with worry. "How will we get back to Zion?"

He froze, as he had not considered this. As always, she was able to see things he could not, and had a more rational mind of thinking. They were alone in 01, and without power or source of energy to run the ship. It was useless to them, and there was no other way to return home without requiring assistance from the machines. He doubted they would be willing to help, and he was afraid to ask them when they had only just made peace. Perhaps they may die here slowly, wasting away year by year, and none would ever know that they were there. They would die of cold and starvation, when their food finally ran out completely. But he would not care. They would die together.

"I don't know, Trinity. But we'll think of something." He shifted so that he could lay down beside her, wedged together on the same table. She was no longer shivering, but even so he wrapped an arm around her, drawing her close to him so that he could warm them both.

He nuzzled into her back, warm and secure beside her. Now it no longer mattered where they were, or what the future may hold for them. All that mattered was her.

(o)

A/N: I hope this chapter has helped to make things less confusing. Writing in this style is certainly a challenge for me! I'm not used to it at all, but I'm doing my best. The plot will be revealed slowly, so it may take some time. I hope you enjoyed the chapter.

Thanks for reading, please review!