We walked home in silence. I didn't notice when he took my hand, but at some point I realized he'd laced his fingers through mine. I looked up at him.

"Just feels right," he said simply. I had to agree. It did. "So," he said after a pause. "That was...impressive. It seems I'm not the only dangerous Exile living in our apartment."

"I...no." I don't think I even noticed that he said "our apartment" at the time. "Living here for 60 years, you learn a bit. The new recruits are always surprised to learn that, for some reason."

Smith said nothing, but squeezed my fingers ever-so-slightly.

Back in the apartment I turned on the stereo & sat on the couch. Like any good human, I have my moments, and I was having one now, complete with sad music. I felt like an idiot for it, but in other ways I just didn't care. Absently, I thought the new speakers sounded very good, and was glad I'd let Smith set them up. He was better at that sort of thing than I was. He was better at a lot of things, now. One sad thought led to another in that spiral of depression to which humans are so susceptible.

How had the Oracle thought Smith was supposed to learn anything from me? Smith was already miles away from what he'd been before, and look at me. I'd been stuck in the Matrix for almost 60 years, and nothing to show for it but an extremely messy apartment, a huge repertoire of physics-defying skills that weren't even necessary anymore, and friends Outside that died by the dozen while I stood and watched, as if I were trapped behind a glass wall. What was there I could do to change any of it? I felt worthless and completely and utterly alone. "And she tells me that I'm supposed to help him?" I thought. "Fine job I've done with me." I put the palms of my hands against my eyes.

Smith stood propped in the doorway to the kitchen, leaning against the jamb. He watched me & listened to the music for...I didn't know how long before he came to sit beside me.

"I've been standing there for 37 minutes processing this," he told me. "And I cannot come up with a phrase I think would comfort you."

"Sometimes there are situations in which people can't be consoled with words," I told him. It was so hard to be explaining anything to him when I felt this way. "Grief is usually like that."

"You will not grow old and die like your peers."

My face contorted and I choked on a sob. I must have looked like a train wreck. "No. Humans are meant to be finite. We're supposed to grow old and die." I looked at my hands, gorgeous & pale & completely free of wrinkles, even though I was almost 90 years old by human standards. "I don't even age."

He didn't say anything for a moment. "I will never grow old and die either, Etna." It was the first time he'd used my name, and it startled me into looking at him. His eyes held mine intently; there was a depth of emotion in the blue that I'd never seen before now. "If you form an attachment to me, you won't have to grieve over my death."

I had told him it wouldn't be possible to comfort me with words, but I suppose I had lied. I stared at him in shock. The horrible tightness in my throat eased slightly. Program or no, Smith cared. Smith, this program who'd once tried to annihilate everything, didn't like that I was upset, and he was looking, in his own way, for a way to make it stop. I don't know when he'd ceased to be what he was before, or if he just developed new layers around it, but it was that precise moment that I realized it. Fear vanished in the face of an irrational, unexpected, and completely overwhelming trust. I scrubbed at my eyes with my hands again, then leaned toward him, catching him with one arm around each side of his waist and burying my face in his shirt front. He lay backward on the couch & pulled me on top of him. We lay like that for what must've been hours. I cried, off and on. It wasn't all about Phaedra; I cried a lot for 60 very long, very lonely years. All the while, Smith unbraided & stroked my hair, which calmed me immeasurably.

"Smith?"

"Mmm?"

"Has the Oracle told you anything? About why you're here?"

"I am evidently here to prove something," he told me after a pause. "She said it was one of two things, and proceeded to refuse to tell me either one," he said with the air of a martyr. I giggled halfheartedly. "Is she always that vague?"

"Yes," I told him. "Always."

It was very late in the evening by the time I thought about moving. I wriggled a bit further up the couch & kissed him. He returned the kiss gently, almost reverently.

I broke it. "I need to go to bed, Smith."

"All right," he whispered. "Good night." Another near-reverent kiss, this time to my jaw. I shivered.

A young but wise man once said that to deny our own impulses is to deny the very thing that makes us human. "Come with me?" I wondered if he even had those impulses.

His eyes widened & he looked at me questioningly, raising that eyebrow. Well, if he didn't have them, he was apparently okay with indulging me in mine. I blushed furiously but nodded anyway. He walked me to my room, where he stopped me and brushed a kiss against my ear.

"Really?" he sounded...anticipating, and his body was all tension. It seemed he did have those impulses.

I reached up and kissed him, starting at his collarbone & working my way up to his jaw. His breath quickened and he pulled me against him. It suddenly became very obvious he knew exactly what I meant, and he wanted it as much as I did. "I'm sure," I whispered, and bit his ear just slightly. He gave a quiet moan and pulled me to himself harder. Our hips ground together; we both gasped at sensations I'd long since abandoned and he'd never bothered to experience. "I am very, very sure." We went inside & shut the door.

Sometime in the night, between gasping for breath & groaning into my hair, Smith whispered he loved me. Somewhere between sighing into his neck and calling his name, I whispered it back.

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Author's note: Whew. Huge leap of faith time! I've felt all the way through this story that if a reader still likes it at this point, they'll probably love the rest of the story. I realize I'm changing the Smith character, but that's intentional, and I'm trying to change Etna, as well. That's kind of the concept of the story (the way two people can change each other just by being present), and this is the major turning point for both characters.

I really appreciate all my reviewers hugely, as some of you (Lovelace, Sydney, Smithsbabe65, Akenaten--I'm lookin' at you) are very good writers and have been at this longer than I have. Your positive reviews and PMs have had constructive stuff in them that have been really great for shaping the rest of the story, and I appreciate it a lot.

Total side note/possible point of interest: the songs in my head during Etna's depressing episode were "The Dreaming Tree" and "The Stone", both from the album "Before These Crowded Streets" by Dave Matthews Band. If you ever feel the need for a good, pouting, non-specific angst moment, lemme tell ya, those are two of the ultimate songs for the job.