The Last Exile, Chapter 24
Personally, I think he was just jealous of her shoes
"Trin. Trinity… please, will you let me in?" The One stands at his bedroom door, slumping against the wall.
"Go away! Go find yourself a fangirl! Little whores!"
"They're not… I don't want a… Jesus Christ, Trin, please." Neo toys with the handwritten letter in his hands – an alternative to typing, which is impossible, because he has ruined the study's computer with a rather impressive virus. He and Trinity could study the algorithms and appreciate its elegance together, if she'd only forgive him the folly of having created it in the first place. "I have something for you," he says at last. "I'm… I'm going to slip it under the door, okay?"
No answer.
He sighs and feeds the pages through the small crack of space. It's not the first time he has done this. Oh yes, they have been married for a long time. He sees the shadow of her bare feet as she walks over to pick it up. He doesn't hear anything ripping. He doesn't smell anything burning. All good signs.
"It's a… well, it's a fanfiction," he says. "From… your greatest fanboy. Me. It's uhm… it's about that first day. And that first night. In Zion. You remember?"
"Of course I remember," she growls. Pages shuffle. He waits. He waits for a long time, eventually settling onto the floor, back to the door. He props the pillow behind his head and uses the blanket as a sit-upon. He is just nodding off when the pages are pushed back out at him.
No, not only his pages. There are new pages, in her handwriting.
"Corrections," she spits. "Sloppy grammar. American spelling. And… you left some things out."
In fact, she has nearly doubled the original volume of his story. She scribbled into the margins and between the lines, and indicated spaces after paragraphs where her pages of writing should fit. He reads them, and finds himself not only surprised, but excited. Some of her accounts are very detailed, graphic… and yes, he'd forgotten some of this. He calls to her to open the door, but she refuses to answer. Jesus Christ. Is this some kind of punishment, to write him an erotic account of their first shore-leave and then give him the cold shoulder?
But it isn't perfect. Her memories spark more of his. So he sits at the kitchen table and composes some additions, makes some amendments. He sends the pages back. They return to him a short time later, with comments and embellishments. It seems to be a rule that they can't talk aloud. He isn't sure why, but it is not unlike Trinity to invent such a game. He writes down his replies and suggestions, and this is how it goes until morning, until they both agree that it is as complete as they can make it.
Rorie drifts in at breakfast time, giving her father a strange look as he crouches on the floor, pulling paper out from under the door. "I don't want to know," she says as her good morning, limping into her room. Neo makes a mental note to speak to her about those shoes, which look like she took them on a stroll through the lava pits. He isn't much of a fashion guru, but this new modernist trend should have its limits.
just for us, reads the page that Trinity passes him. "As a title," she says, finally deciding to speak. "Attach it to the others like a cover."
He gets thread and binds the edges, and puts some coffee on. She unlocks the door and smiles at him. "I think it's very good, for beginners."
"Your parts are much better," he concedes, welcoming a reconciliatory kiss. "Some parts that you've written are… hummmmmm. And I love what you're wearing. Turn around, let me see you."
Trinity does a three-sixty spin, showing off her choice of clothing. "Still fits."
"Yes, it does." Neo indicates the booklet in his hands. "You know, we need to lock this thing up where nobody will ever find it."
"No," she says. "We need to read it once, together. And then we need to destroy it."
Of course she's right. He pours two cups of coffee and puts together a light breakfast. "Shall we read it in bed, dear?"
"Yes, that might be nice."
"Now?"
"If you like."
The One smiles, knowing she is more eager than she's letting on. He could tease her, but he doesn't want to. He wants to indulge her. He wants to make love with her. "So it's a historical reenactment, hm?"
"An encore."
"Ah. Well, forgive me, I don't think I can manage to be quite as clumsy. I'll try."
"Well, then… some old stuff, some new." She slips her hand into his back pocket as they make their way back to the bedroom. "Speaking of which… did you… mean what you said when you claimed you could do that… editing trick?"
He stops walking. Surely, he is misunderstanding. "I never said I could do it. I asked Sydney if she thought I could do it. And, as I recall, Miss Andrews didn't want to discuss it with me."
"Well... hypothetically speaking, then. Could you do it?"
"Hypothetically speaking… I don't think it would be dangerous to try. If I could find a fangirl who was interested." She looks at him dangerously. "I mean you, for God's sake! Don't start!"
She smiles and nods. "Well, if there is a risk of permanent brain damage, it's only prudent to do a few tests first."
"Oh, of course, that goes without saying. I'm bound to turn the first few into sexual vegetables."
"You're only human."
"People make mistakes."
They laugh darkly and clink their coffee mugs together. Trinity grins. "The fangirls may prove useful after all."
just for us
a TriNeo nonfiction by Neo for Trinity, if she'll forgive me
beta'd and coauthored by Trinity, who is thinking about it
-1-
I remember. I remember those last few days on the Neb. I remember they were a disaster – an entire week of disasters, actually. Every hour something went wrong. The pads depolarized. The batteries undervolted. The goddamned gruel froze in its packages. I have this picture of you in my mind – a young Trinity, with the cropped hair and pissed-off expression – hitting your ration bag against the edge of the table. knock, knock, knock. And I'll never forget what you said.
You stared at it and said: "That is one hard piece of shit." Niobe inhaled so much coffee she nearly drowned in it.
Then you pulled away the wrapping like a banana peel and licked the goop like a popsickle, and you told Sparks he was a girl for heating his up first. "Let's pull it together, people," you said. "Just one more day."
If I remember right, it took another four days. And every morning, either out of stubbornness or what, I don't know, you sat at the mess table and sucked on your slopsickle, and proudly. I think the cold had gotten to you, too. We were all just barely holding onto our sanity.
There were times when I just couldn't take it. I'd sit in my cabin and cry: cry tears. Looking back I guess it was shell shock: one moment I was suicidal, the next I was fine, or better than fine. There was so much to grieve, and so much to look forward to. I don't mean Zion. I was so lost I couldn't see more than ten minutes in front of my face. I mean the next time I could see you. Somehow, we always found the time, didn't we? Young Trinity. Younger Neo. I couldn't keep my hands off you. You remember, don't you? Cold noses. Frozen fingertips. We could see our breath as we kissed… and kissed… I made love to you with kisses. Every time, you left me hard. You tortured me, Trinity. I hope you know that.
Poor, foreverly suffering Neo. Yes, I remember – but if you'll permit my making an amendment here – that 'I tortured you' isn't quite right. I'd rather say that we tortured each other. You were not the innocent, bashful young man you like people to believe you were. I haven't forgotten where your hands were while you kissed me, Neo. I haven't forgotten the first time you cupped my breasts in your palms – the first time your thumbs rubbed circles over my nipples. We were in the engine room that time – do you remember? What about the first time you slid a pair of nervous fingers under the waistband of my trousers? This happened when we shared a bed, trying to get warm enough to sleep. You'd spooned up behind me, and even through two layers of thick clothing I could tell you were excited- Poor Neo. I remember your lips were on the back on my neck – those damnably soft lips – and our legs tangled together. I unbuttoned my pants and took your hand. I wanted you to know how wet I was. I know you remember this part as vividly as I do- how you touched everything for the first time. You had no words, and no purpose except to touch. "Just touch me," is what I said. "Just relax, breathe, and touch." It was one of the most erotic moments of my life.
What you don't know, what I never told you, is that after you fell asleep, and I was absolutely sure you were asleep, I snuggled up close and, as subtly as possible, finished what you began. It didn't take long, and - oh, Neo- it was wonderful. In fact, I've done it many times since, in your arms, surreptitiously. I'm not sure why I'm telling you now… it kinda takes the fun out of it, actually…
What! WHAT? TRINITY! You open this door right now! You can't write something like that and lock me out of the bedroom! That's it. I'm going to get the crowbar.
It's in here. (Don't ask me why)
Shit. Why won't you talk to me?
This is fun. And anyway- I'm still mad at you.
That knocking you hear is the sound of my forehead pounding against the table.
Mmm. You know what else? As I write this, I'm lying on top of the covers, completely naked.
You push me too far. Sooner or later, Trinity, this door will open. You'll get hungry. The emergency ration of booze we keep under the bed will run out and you'll get thirsty. And when that glorious hour of reckoning is upon you, my wretched, naughty little wife, MASTER NEO will be waiting to teach his sorry slave a thing or two about SELF-DISCIPLINE!
PS: With your next note, could you please include an antacid tablet? Master Neo still has a touch of knightly indigestion… please, sweetness?
Nebuchadnezzar, circa 2199.
Young Trinity traps Poor, Younger Neo's tongue between her teeth, squeezing just enough to bring out a gasp of surprise. "I said…" her fingernails scratch five lines down his chest, under his sweater. "No."
She makes another half-hearted attempt to get away, but he has her pushed against the wall. Trinity throws her arms up in mock futility, and he catches them and pins her wrists above her head. "Do I have to tie you down?" he breathes. "Stop giving me a hard time."
They kiss savagely, without time or space. Well, he kisses, she bites, predictably enough. It is half passion, half genuine reproach – she nips as if to scream, you have no self-discipline! Neo laughs. He can't help it. She's just so… tasty. The sound of his chuckling echoes down the corridor.
It's cold and dark; the metal is freezing on her back. His body is warm and soft on her front. A solitary lamp flickers above her head. They wrestle in an uncertain configuration of arms and legs, desperate to get closer. When he hits the right spot, a careful rhythm emerges in their movement. Each is certain the other started it. Her hands move from his waist to his buttocks – those two sweet, innocently rounded cheeks– and guides, or follows, his tentative dip-and-push, squeezing at each electrifying apex. "Um-hum," she whispers, the intonation like a question. "Um-hum?"
Neo shuts his eyes and moans back an agreement. Yes. Please. Don't stop.
They are lost, though neither knows how or when it happened. He can taste the dirt and sweat on her skin, and feel the exhaustion in her body. His poor Trinity. He kisses her furrowed brow and eyelids. He wraps his arms around her and eliminates every millimeter of separation. Their friction increases, the angle is perfect – she makes a sound into his neck. Everything tingles. Everything shines. She cries out, Neo!
"You like that?" It's purely rhetorical, a gruff taunt into her mouth. "Hum?"
"Neo… stop."
"Oh, God why?" – nevermind that- "… how?"
"Neo, please."
He opens his eyes, and the initial shock gives way to a moment of confusion. Her face is twisted in pain as she pushes his stomach away. Oh, no. The stitches. He must be the stupidest man alive. "Shit. Trin… I'm so sorry."
"No. 'M okay." She breathes hard, lips deep red, and her eyes sparkle as she cups his cheek kisses him gently, forgivingly. "It's okay."
"I hurt you."
"No you didn't."
"Trin…" They are running their hands over each other, dangerously close to starting again. "I don't want to… I can't do anything to hurt you. But… oh, if I can't touch you-"
"Don't worry," she interrupts, meeting his eyes. "We'll make it work. I can be very… creative. Yes?"
It isn't his fault. Eons of evolutionary fine-tuning have pre-wired his response to a hormonal grunt of enthusiasm. He means to say, I love you as they crash together again. But it isn't a choice. There is no way out, not that they'd want one. They are snared in an exquisite biological trap, designed for its own pleasure and perpetuation, a conspiracy of organic matter that wants it to be easy, wants him to like it, wants her to like it, and drugs them into adoring each other. Lovemaking is a benevolent place, a welcoming place – as unique a medium from reality as water is from air, or space from atmosphere. The laws of physics are different here, where they are. Time slows to a standstill; his body floats; he holds his breath. There are men who have risked their lives to walk on the moon, climb Everest, or dive to the bottom of the ocean. In many ways, he has traveled farther and further to be with Trinity.
"I came to tell you the city is less than an hour away," she says. "I need to help Morpheus navigate our approach, and I'd like you to watch… try to pick up the basics."
"Less than an hour?" Neo asks, surprised. He's become so used to indefinite setbacks, he'd never considered the possibility of actually arriving. "Wow."
"Excited?"
"Well… yes."
"I meant about reaching Zion."
"Is that what the kids are calling it these days?"
She folds her arms and arches a sharp eyebrow. "The last hope of humanity and he makes jokes. You of all people…" but Trinity stops herself, whispering an apology under her breath. "Listen," she begins again, "I've been meaning to ask you… lodging and records will assign you your own place in the city. But these little apartments are never very nice. It's up to you, but you're welcome to stay with me as long as you-"
"Yes."
She puts her finger to his lips. "As long as you don't make a mess."
"Me?" He smiles and takes her finger into his mouth to nibble at the first knuckle. "Never."
"You know… I think that will be our first fight."
"Huh?" He moves on to kissing her fingertips, one by one.
"It's just a feeling. It's an argument waiting to happen."
"Never. I could never fight with you. You're too beautiful. You're too perfect."
"I'm neurotic. And you're a slob."
"It's a match made in heaven. I can make a mess, and you can clean up. You see? Then we're both happy." He presses his lips to her palm, and tickles the center with his tongue. "You know I love to watch you… fold… things. And put them into… drawers and… stuff. Turns me on. Always has."
It is another few minutes before they leave for the cockpit. Apparently, Trin kinda likes that he likes to watch her fold. And he likes that she likes that he likes it. It was their first little game, a sample of the havoc IRS-D Base Trinity played in poor Tom Anderson's life. She even flirted darkly, naughty thing that she was, wooing her prey with a rich blend of terror, cake and good housekeeping. Is it any wonder he can't resist her?
"Neo, come on," she eventually says into his neck, as if the play were one-sided. Her breath gives him goose-bumps. "I want to get started on our approach. And brace yourself, the dock is… quite a sight for a newcomer…"
Excuse me? Can I squeeze a comment into the margin? I think your memory is failing you, Trin: I could never fight with you? You're too perfect? No, I don't remember saying that. I think we should take that part out, or at least add a footnote that it's a disputed fact.
Trust me, you said it. It just doesn't sound right because you have since developed a delusion of grandeur that keeps you from the simple enough truth: I am perfect.
What you call delusion of grandeur, I call a spine. When it came to you, Younger Neo never had one, the poor lovesick fool. And, I'd like to remind Ms. Perfection that in any case, she was mistaken. Our first fight had nothing to do with a messy bedroom and we both know that was entirely your fault.
How dare you bring that up after tonight's little internet dalliance! It was TWENTY YEARS ago.
I'm just saying, I'm still waiting for an apology.
Goodnight, Neo. Enjoy the couch. Hopefully, Knight's date went well and you won't have to share it with him.
He isn't on a date. He's with Rorie. They're drinking on the Neb.
What! And after he bothered me for advice and I gave him specific instructions…! He's with Rorie?
Yeah, she just called home, a little lightheaded (you know how she gets). Knight must be coaching her, though. Nothing over four syllables this time. Remember, "I'll be home at an indeterminateable hour"?
She gets that low tolerance from you. It's a family embarrassment. – But you're sure she's okay, Neo?
She's fine. Rorie's old enough to have a little fun. I pretended I didn't notice and told her to stay with Knight - better him than some guy who's after her. By the way, I've been meaning to ask, you think he might be gay?
What kind of question is that? Of course not! What the hell is wrong with you, Neo?
Well, there's the cross-dressing at Halloween… then yesterday, Rorie finds a romance novel in his room and he starts coming-on to me at the dinner table… telling me I'm hot and quoting that book… it really wasn't cool. Men have a code. He doesn't follow the code.
He said I was hot. He said you were "pretty decent." Get over yourself – not everyone in this sick, twisted city wants to have sex with you.
He winked at me. I saw it. I'm telling you, he's been acting strange lately, with all these girls, left, right and center. He's overcompensating, or something else is up. Your Knight is not himself, my dear.
Knight is straight. It's Your Rorie who's been acting weird. Have you seen those shoes? I'd ask her when she's leaving for the Emerald City if I thought she'd have a clue what I'm talking about.
I assumed she got the ruby slippers from Knightilda, the Good and Glittery Witch of the North.
Oh, shut up.
Hey, you want half of my sandwich? I'll have to squish it a bit.
What kind?
Mystery dish from the back of the fridge inside a flatbread. Tastes a little iffy, but what meal of yours doesn't?
Yeah, what the hell, send it over.