AN: Hiya Everyone! Welcome back to the latest installment of the misadventures of a girl named after a mythical creature, a scruffy left handed former pitcher, and a boy who's named after a bird but is more reptile than anything else. First off, I hope everyone had a very happy Thanksgiving! The semester's ending for me which is equal parts a good and a bad thing. It's a good thing since that means my sister's semester will be ending too so I won't have to do her work for her but, at the same time, it's a bad thing because she has five papers to write. I wind up doing them on top of my own work! I wish everyone luck in their own end of the semester work! Anywho, thanks to everyone who read this little misadventure and thanks again to everyone who reviewed. Please let me know what you think! I'm always open to any comments or criticisms!

Disclaimer: I own nothing except the characters I made up and their Real World alter egos. I don't own The Matrix, The Animatrix, or any of that cool stuff. I'm broke and in graduate school studying biology. All I own are my Pointe shoes.

"I had visions, I was in them,
I was looking into the mirror
To see a little bit clearer
The rottenness and evil in me…" (From "Flagpole Sitta" by Harvey Danger)

As soon as Pixie was freed from the confines of her chair, she bolted from the Core of the ship. There were tears running down her face but Pixie made no effort to stop them. She was more determined to get out of the room and away from everyone else.

"What's wrong with her?" Hawk asked, as he headed into the Core watching Pixie beat a hasty retreat from the space.

"She just had a run in with an agent," someone in the room answered, "She's lucky she got out in one piece. I didn't think Pixie was that crazy about using those weapons we programmed for her."

Hawk looked a bit baffled as his mind tried to wrap itself around what he was being told. It always took him a few moments to figure out what someone was saying when they were using carefully worded subtext. Hawk was- had always been- more of a straight forward type of person. The kind of person who liked when people spoke plainly.

"She killed someone," Hawk declared, once he figured out what was being said and wrapping an arm around his stomach as he began to laugh, "and she's acting like that. What a cry baby! I thought you had to be tough to do this job."

Calming down a bit, he added, "I guess not if scaredy cats like her can do the job."

It was something every newbie on every ship had to go through. A ritual or a rite of passage of sorts. A trial by fire that saw one stare the inevitable in the face and manage to turn away.

Hawk had his trial, so to speak, several weeks prior. It was just a simple trip into the Matrix to do some routine scouting that had gone horribly wrong. In order to save himself- as was usually the case- he had to sacrifice the lives of a handful of police officers. He hadn't been bothered by it at all, though, claiming that it was just part of the job.

"She's not going to sleep tonight," Tank noted, swiveling his chair around from the screens it usually faced.

"Who does, though?" Dozer commented, directing the comment more towards his younger brother than to Hawk.

"I did!" Hawk cut in, sounding more than a little proud of himself.

Though he was still relatively new to the ship, Hawk had decided he was the toughest man on the craft. Tougher than the two operators standing before him and, certainly, tougher than Morpheus. Sure he had yet to soundly defeat Morpheus or any other man on the ship for that matter, but he figured his point was still valid. At least, in his head, his point was valid. In everyone else's estimation, however, things were just a bit different to say the least.

Despite the fact, he had been considered himself a good friend of Pixie's at some point in their lives, Hawk had little pity for her now. Pixie had wanted to be freed, wanted to part of this crew, and to be given just as much responsibility as the others. She wanted to be just like everyone else even though he knew she wasn't strong enough.

One risk of that job was the taking of a life. Hawk figured that, because his targets were still attached to the giant mainframe that was the matrix, they were cannon fodder, worthless targets. It hadn't bothered him in the least and he figured Pixie was just being overly sensitive. Just gave more credence to the fact he thought she wasn't strong enough by half to do this job.

"And you weren't bothered by the Oracle but she was. Everyone takes these things differently," Dozer informed Hawk.

"Shouldn't someone go talk to her or something?" Tank asked, questioning his older brother.

"Someone will," Dozer assured his brother, "but it's better we leave her alone for a while. Give her time to process what happened."

Like an ill behaved child who'd gotten into trouble with their parents, Pixie had, immediately gone to her room. It was the only place on the entire ship where she knew she'd get some measure of privacy. As long as she kept her door closed, no one would bother her.

Well, rationally, she knew someone was going to, eventually, come looking for her but the young woman decided that a measure of privacy was better than none at all. At least she could be alone for now and that's what she wanted.

Pixie lay on her small bunk, curled up facing the wall. She'd cried her eyes out, leaving them red and raw looking. She couldn't cry anymore, though, or, at least, it felt that way to her. There were no more tears to be had and that made Pixie feel worse. She wanted to cry in the worst way. It felt like it was the right thing to do, given what she'd just done.

Part of her knew it was his life or hers and she had just made the rational choice. Kill or be killed---one of the bases of evolution, of her rational sciences. The stronger one was always the one to survive, the one who was able to pass on their genes to the next generation. Nature was cruel and harsh that way. She'd just figured that, as a member of the "higher species," they'd have gotten past that sort of thing. Pixie guessed she was wrong in that respect.

Another part of her, the part that was still very much a frightened child, was appalled at her actions. Pixie was disgusted with herself and with what she'd done inside the Matrix. There was just something…well…wrong about it.

The Oracle had told her that her hands were meant to heal- which made some sense because she was a medic and the purpose of a medic was to heal- but they could be used for other things. Things she was just going to have to come to terms with. Pixie guessed this was one of those things. Maybe it was the only thing she was supposed to come to terms with but the dark haired medic-in-training wasn't sure.

Pixie had tried to rationalize what she had done, in between the tears. She tried to force herself to understand that she wasn't really harming a person. She was harming an avatar, a mental projection of a person created by the Matrix. Putting that way made it seem cold though and that just made Pixie feel worse. True, she could be frighteningly clinical when she needed to be but, right now, that felt wrong to her.

Behind that avatar, just like the residual self image she wore, so to speak when she entered the Matrix, was a person. All be it a person still trapped, unknowing of how he truly existed, but a person nonetheless. Pixie wondered if he had a family, a life outside of work, someone who was going to be told that their husband or their father or their son was never going to come home. Pixie feverently hoped not because she didn't want to be responsible for creating more orphan children. She'd been on when she'd been in the Matrix so she knew what that felt like.

Sighing, Pixie tried to curl herself up into a smaller ball and force herself to sleep. Maybe the blissful darkness of slumber would make her feel better. Maybe she'd just realize this was all one big bad dream.

When Pixie hadn't appeared by the end of what passed for dinner on the ship, Morpheus had requested someone go check on her. The Captain was more than a little worried about the young woman. He'd heard that she'd been particularly broken up about what had happened. At least it seemed that way from the scant few moments the others on the ship had seen her.

Still, broken up or not, Morpheus had figured Pixie would have come back to join the rest of the crew by now. It wasn't like her to skip out on other things she had to do. If anything, Pixie was proving herself to be extremely responsible and reliable. As both her Captain and just someone who was worried about her well being, the last thing Morpheus wanted was for Pixie to do something rash and harm herself.

For all of a moment Morpheus thought of sending Mouse or Hawk to go and talk to Pixie. He, quickly, nixed that idea. The two boys, though they were the same age as Pixie, would be of little help to her now. They weren't experienced enough to deal with something like this. After all, they had just gone through the same thing…just not to this degree.

The rest of his crew was older and far more experienced in this respect but it was still a difficult decision to make. Since this was Pixie he was considering, there was really only one choice for him to make.

"Trinity," Morpheus stated, turning to his second-in-command, "could you go and check on Pixie? No one has seen her since she returned from the Matrix."

Hawk and Mouse- Well, Hawk more than Mouse- gawked at Morpheus like he was crazy. Trinity was definitely not the person he'd pick to go and talk to Pixie.

"How about I go instead? I'm not as scary as she is," Hawk cut in, getting up and heading for the door, "and it's obvious that Pixie's already frightened. No one wants to make that worse."

"I think that Trinity would understand this situation infinitely better than you do, Hawk," Morpheus pointed out, giving the younger male a cold stare.

It went unspoken- Though there were a few individuals who were thinking it- that they wanted Pixie out of her room and feeling, reasonably, better. Sending Hawk was asking for more trouble. It was assumed that he would say things that made her feel worse.

Trinity, though she didn't completely understand why Morpheus was sending her to talk to Pixie, nodded and left the mess hall. Pixie's room wasn't exactly a long distance from the mess hall since the hovercraft they all called home was only so big.

The door to the medic-in-training's quarters was closed, as it had been since she'd come out of the Matrix. It was almost like sticking a great big, flashing "Stay Out" sign on the door. Pixie didn't want any company at the moment.

Banging on the door, the older female called, "Pixie, open the door. Morpheus sent me to talk to you."

There was dead silence in the hallway for several minutes. It was obvious that either Pixie hadn't heard her- entirely likely since the doors were relatively heavy- or she had heard Trinity and she was just ignoring her. The fact Pixie might have been asleep crossed Trinity's mind as well. She could have cried herself to sleep like an upset child in the Matrix.

There was only one way to find out what was going on with the young medic-in-training.

Trinity banged on the door, harder this time. Again not receiving a response from Pixie, the older rebel pushed the door open. Pixie, for all intents and purposes, looked to be asleep but Trinity had a very strong feeling that Pixie wasn't sleeping.

The first kill was always the hardest on most people. Someone in Zion- One of those individuals who fancied themselves a philosopher- said that it stripped the innocence and idealism away from the job. Doing what Pixie had just done removed all pretense and glamour from what they were doing. Made the fact that this was a war all too real.

Sitting down at the foot of Pixie's bed, Trinity pointed out, "I know you're not asleep. Your eyes are open."

The young rebel didn't move or make a sound. The only indication that she was alive was the fact she was breathing. Trinity raised an eyebrow at the young woman's actions. Pixie, who had proven to be very good at following was orders, was actively choosing to ignore her.

"You're going to have to talk to someone, Pix. This is not something you're going to be able to deal with yourself. I've seen this drive people out of their minds," Trinity informed the young woman, speaking very quietly.

She'd been about Pixie's age when it had happened her. When she chose life over an inevitable death at the hands of the Agents. It seemed like a whole other lifetime ago, now, but Trinity recalled what the person who'd helped her said to her.

She'd said that you had to talk about what happened. No matter how self-sufficient you thought you were, this was not something you could deal with alone. You had to talk to someone who understood what had gone on. Someone who had been there him or herself. It was the only way to no lose your mind or wind up beating yourself up out of guilt.

Pixie rolled away from the wall she'd been facing. She pushed herself up and scooted back so that she could lean against the wall and pulled her knees into her chest. Rubbing her red eyes, she rested her head on her knees.

"I should have ran," Pixie croaked, her voice more than a little ragged from her crying, "I shouldn't have fired."

Trinity shook her head, truly feeling sorry for Pixie. The last person she had seen this upset after their trial by fire, so to speak, had left their post and become a shopkeeper in Zion or something to that effect. Needless to say they never wanted to set foot inside a ship again.

"You did what you had to do. If I were in your boots, I would have made the same decision. As it stands, you were lucky to get those shots off. That was a close call with an Agent, Pixie. You should be proud of yourself that you made it out alive," Trinity said.

"But I still should have ran. I never should have fired," Pixie repeated with a shake of her head.

"If the system managed to finish transforming that police officer into an Agent, you wouldn't have been able to escape. You did what you had to do to keep yourself alive," the older rebel informed her younger counterpart.

"Still, I'm a medic. I'm supposed to take care of life, not take it away. I spend my time here keeping you guys alive," Pixie stated.

That was the crux of her problem. She hadn't found a way to reconcile her medical training with her actions. That was compounding her guilt. She'd taken on the role of medic- Even if she was still in training- with ease. She, like her fellow would be medics and doctors, recited the traditional Hippocratic Oath on the day of their graduation from the Academy.

Pixie took a small measure of pleasure and pride from the fact she was able to help save lives. Never in a million years did she ever consider what it would be like to take one. It was a hard thing to think about when one was charged with persevering life.

"I hate to tell you but, out there, you're not just a medic. The same way Mouse isn't just a programmer. Out there, you're a Resistance Fighter. You're going to have to face situations like the one you were just in time and time again. It's something you're just going to have to come to terms with," Trinity explained.

Pixie weighed the older rebel's words, rubbing at her eyes again. It made a certain sort of sense to her. A strange sort of sense but, then, Pixie might have been guilty of faulty logic. She was going to have to come to terms with her dual roles, just as the Oracle had told her, if she wanted to keep her job. Since Pixie wanted to do just that, she knew what she was going to have to do.

Didn't mean she was going to have to like it. It was just something she was going to have to deal with, something she was going to have to learn to live with.

"Is it going to get better?" she asked, sounding like a very small child who wanted to be reassured.

"What do you mean by better?" Trinity countered, slightly confused by the question.

Pixie shrugged, searching for the right word. She knew what she wanted to ask but she was having trouble finding the correct word. Her mind felt slow and sort of addled at the moment. Probably from the combination of adrenaline let down and stress.

Biting her lower lip for a moment as her mind fished out what she wanted to ask, Pixie questioned, "Maybe 'better' isn't the right word. Is it going to get any easier?"

"Maybe not the next time or the time after that," Trinity, honestly, answered, "but it does get easier. You won't feel as guilty eventually. It'll just be like part of the job."

"But isn't that a bad thing?" Pixie wanted to know, concerned.

Though she hated feeling as miserable as she was feeling now, Pixie still wanted to feel a bit of guilt about what she knew she had to do. The young woman figured that, if she didn't, she was really, and truly a monster.

Trinity shrugged and said, "I try not to think about it. Maybe, if we survive all of this, I'll think about it. Until then, you, like me have a job to do. Do you still want to do this job?"

Pixie nodded to show she understood and that she still wanted her job. She wasn't exactly feeling better about what had transpired but she was feeling no worse either. All she knew was that she was going to have make do in her situation if she wanted to keep her job.

"Feeling any better?" Trinity questioned, after Pixie had gone strangely still and quiet.

The young rebel shrugged, unsure of how she was feeling. The only thing she knew for sure was that she was starving. Her stomach growling like some sort of angry beast attested to that fact.

"I'm hungry," she commented, in an off handed way.

Pixie could recall the last time she ate something. Ate being a very subjective term for she wasn't sure what one did with the goop they had on the ship. The preverbal jury was still out on whether or not you ate or drank the protein based substance.

"Good sign," Trinity added, "trust me. Get something to eat, then try to get some rest. I know you're probably not up for it, but you're going to have to go back in tomorrow. Someone needs to make that pick up and Eurisko only seems to come when you call."

Pixie knew she was going to have to go back into the Matrix. It was best that it was sooner rather than later. Like falling of a horse or a bicycle- Neither one something Pixie had ever ridden during her Matrix days because she'd been too sickly- it was best just to get right back on and try again.

"Thanks," she mumbled, not quite sure what to say.

"Don't mention it," Trinity replied, getting up and heading for the door, "You have to talk to someone at some point. You're too sharp a mind for us to lose, Pix."

Pixie only managed a very pale blush at the complement she'd just been given. As the door to her room closed, Pixie slumped against the wall and sighed. It had been a very long day. All she wanted was to get something in her stomach so it would stop growling and, maybe, try and get some rest.

Tomorrow was a new day.