"There seems to be some suspicion in Zion."

"Suspicion?" He was confused. "What about?"

"About you not going home. Just sending messages. They're not happy."

Neo's mouth tightened. "Yeah. Well, I have other priorities."

"They just want to see you. Make sure we're being honest; that you're okay. Is that so bad?"

"It is if they want me to leave her here."

"No, they don't want you to leave her. They want the both of you home."

"And she's too sick."

The Oracle lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. "They need to know that. That you're both still alive, and here voluntarily, and why."

"Haven't they been told?"

"Yes. But they can't get to broadcast depth, so they're relying on our word for it. That we're reporting your wishes honestly. And they weren't ever going to trust that for long, were they?"

"But the war's over," he said. "Do they want another?"

"It's loyalty, Neo. To you and to her, after all you've done for Zion. They're misguided, that's all. Their intentions are good."

"So what do you want to do?" He looked at her. "Or want me to do?"

"Go home. Oh," as he began to protest, appalled, "just for a few days. Just long enough to talk to them, explain. That we're not keeping you and Trinity hostage."

"Hostage?"

"That's the fear in Zion. There's a ship nearing completion, it seems. The message was, send the two of you home, or they come and find you themselves. And the worry our side is that trying to stop them - interfering in human affairs - could be seen as a hostile act. So nobody could risk it. Not to save her from her own people. And they may find her before they do you, given how changed your code is now. Get her out, before you can stop them. She's looking for the answer already. She knows the question. She'd pick red without even blinking - you know she would."

"But if they get her out too soon," he said, horrified fear in every syllable, "they'll kill her."

She nodded, her eyes on his. "Probably. Yes."

"Jesus Christ. Don't they know that?"

"They've been told it. Problem is, they don't believe it, not anymore. They're too used to the war to trust us. They don't understand why we'd help her this much, they assume they could care for her as well if not better, and they don't believe the messages you send are from you at all. They think you both need rescuing."

His face set. "So when do I go?"

She pulled the chair over to his desk, side-on to him, then propped herself on one elbow and focused on the printout.

His eyes automatically followed the slope of her neck and shoulders, the silk shirt sliding away from her collarbone as she leaned, exposing an extra inch of pale, flawless skin. He remembered the first weeks of freedom on the Neb, when she'd seemed the only beautiful thing left in a post-apocalyptic world. He'd traced that same line with his eyes then, over and over, imagining his fingers moving down it, his lips following. It had haunted his dreams, back when he was way too intimidated by her to dare to fantasize anything more overt. Though he'd never tired of the reality, or the fantasy either, even later, when he'd had so many other options.

She suddenly seemed to sense his gaze and looked up abruptly, curiosity in her eyes. Catching him red-handed, staring at her neck. Thank God he'd been caught looking somewhere so unobjectionable; he wouldn't always have been so lucky lately. As the fear receded, the desire was returning in force, and he was way too accustomed to her welcoming it. There was a gulf between what she'd want from her lover, in the throes of a white-hot affair, and what she'd accept from some random co-worker. He was increasingly paranoid that she'd somehow retained the ability to read his thoughts - she'd always been so terrifyingly perceptive. What if she suspected what went through his mind now, whenever he saw her? Or worse, each night, in the freedom of his dreams?

He cleared his throat. "I'm sorry to land all this on you," he said. "Mr Wachynski figured you were the only senior who could handle it without falling behind."

"I'm not a senior," she reminded him. There was no edge to the remark. She was simply stating a fact; she'd always hated exaggeration, and she was right. Officially, she wasn't. It made him smile, this exactness, this precision. Every new proof of her being the person she'd always been - her personality blessedly, miraculously intact, even after all she'd been through - reminded him that this was all worth it. Worth it a thousand times over. And that, he thought, was no exaggeration at all.

"What?" she said, curious.

"Hmm?"

"You smiled."

He looked at her. "Is that such a big event?"

"It's definitely a rare event."

That silenced him. She rarely smiled either; the fact she had, always, smiled so much more with him had been a source of pride. He'd never stopped to think about it from the other side. He suddenly realized that, in this place, he hardly smiled at all. There'd been so little cause.

"I'm sorry," she said after a moment of lengthening silence. "That was a personal remark."

"No, it's fine. I just... I guess I'd never realized. That I haven't smiled a lot, lately."

She was silent, but from the corner of his eye he could see her venturing a look in his direction. Then she said, "I'm sorry to hear that."

"Yeah. Well." He gestured towards the disks. "I've created an urgency hierarchy - did you get the email?"

"I did. Thanks."

"And we both know that you are a senior. Incidentally."

"It's not my official title. Not anymore."

"But an unofficial fact. And it will be official, as of next week. I've been told there's no need to liaise over your workload any further when I get back. That has to be why."

She looked at him. "You weren't meant to tell me that, were you?"

"No. But you're not about to land me in shit over it, so why not? It's your life."

She was thinking, brow furrowed. "But that means they'll move me down here, into an office."

"Yeah. They're clearing the one outside the stationery closet. I imagine that's why."

She sighed. "Damn."

"What?"

"Oh, just that I'll miss Zach. He's been great - you were right."

"He's a nice kid," Neo agreed, his voice carefully neutral.

"Kid?" She raised an eyebrow, amused. "He's only a couple years younger than I am."

"Then I guess you're naturally mature."

"My husband always used to say that."

"Your... what?" He caught himself. "You're married? Or... were married?"

"Were." She smiled then, affectionate, reminiscent. "He was my best friend. Still is, I hope."

Neo nodded, confused. "So where is he now?"

"Australia. Working on some ecological project on the Barrier Reef."

"He didn't come back when you were hurt?" His brain was working overtime. What the hell were the machines playing at? Married? And to somebody else?

"Nobody told him - we're divorced, so it'd hardly have been automatic, I guess. And by the time I was well enough..." she shrugged. "He'd only have come back, worried himself sick. Couldn't have done anything. It might have jeopardized his job." She hesitated, and then went on, "We had a year's no-contact deal, you see. When I left. Ghost needed that."

"Ghost?"

She smiled again, the same affection in her eyes, as she remembered. "A nickname. Like Ghost in the Machine, you know? Because he could do anything he wanted with them. He was doing a PhD when I was a sophomore. He helped me a lot, he's a brilliant programmer. We worked on a lot of projects together. Like I say, he was always my best friend. We never should have gotten married, but it was just so easy. And by the time I grew up enough to figure life isn't meant to be easy, we'd been married five years."

"You don't think life is meant to be easy?"

She looked up, surprised. "Not unless you want to sleepwalk through it."

"Well," he said. "It's nice that you stayed friends."

"That was easy, too." She smiled. "He was always great to me, even when we broke up. Must be the only guy in history to want his wife to get more money than her lawyer suggested."

"Did you give in?"

"No. I earn my own. He knew that. Was just worried, this being such an expensive city. He gets a place to live with his job, you see."

"No regrets, then. From the sounds."

"Over Ghost? God, never." She paused a moment, and then said, "how about you? Ever been married?"

"No."

She waited a moment, and when he didn't speak, she said apologetically, "I heard you were living with someone. You know what this place is like."

He looked up, surprised. "You heard wrong."

"Oh? Well, office gossip. Never the most reliable."

"There is someone," he said abruptly. "But she..." he hesitated. "She's very sick," he said. "I don't talk about her much."

"That's hard. I'm sorry."

"It's okay. Harder for her. She..." he hesitated again. "She can't remember a lot."

"Remember?"

"About anything. No. She's lost her past, pretty much."

"Does that include you?"

The tone was so gentle, it started tears prickling at the back of his eyes. He closed them and nodded, mute.

"She may be unlucky there," she said, her voice very quiet. "But you sound like you love her very much. And being loved that way - that's lucky. Always."

He raised his head and looked at her, and the raw pain in his eyes made her reach instinctively for his hand. "I'm so sorry," she said again, as his fingers closed over her own.

He waited for her to become awkward, to notice how totally bizarre it was for her to initiate physical contact with a near-stranger - almost as bizarre as initiating this personal a conversation - but she didn't. She simply sat in silence for a few minutes, her hand resting in his.

"That's why you have to go away, isn't it," she said eventually. "Related to this."

He nodded again, afraid speech would break the spell.

"Okay. Well, don't worry about the work. I've got that covered."

He smiled a little, though the urge to cry persisted. "That's the last thing I'd worry about. You're a better programmer than I am."

"I doubt that." She smiled, but took her hand away. He saw the defenses start to rise again. "I'm really sorry to do this, but I do have to get back. Zach asked me for some help on Russell and Reece."

He rubbed his eyes swiftly. "Yeah, of course. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I'm touched. You look about as likely to share personal info with most people as..." she paused a moment, "well. Me." She stood up, and gathered the disks, the notes, and her own files together. At the door she paused, her fingers resting on the handle. "But if you ever want to talk about it, you know where I am."

"Thanks."

She hesitated a moment, before saying gently, "What's her name?"

"Trinity."

"That's nice. Unusual. I like it."

"Yeah. Same."

"Does it suit her?"

He did smile then, looking up at her. "Like you wouldn't believe," he said.