- AUTHOR: Raven
- TITLE: Wallflower
- CATEGORY: Drama, Romance
- RATING: PG-13
- SUMMARY: Neo hates parties as much as Thomas ever did. A tribute to the Wachowski brothers and their brilliant sense of parallelism.
He has always hated parties. Too shy, perhaps. Distracted, withdrawn…drawn, period, away from the masses of humanity he has never understood.
He stood with his arms crossed, back turned, and tried to let the dark wall consume him. Choi was across the room, somewhere, with smoke and Dujour curled around him. Thomas cursed himself for coming in the first place. One random computer error mixed with a sleep-crusted brain and suddenly one of Dujour’s miscellaneous tattoos became prophetic. He should never have come.
He stands with his arms crossed, back stiff and pressed against the rock wall. Morpheus is across the cavern, somewhere, probably with that contented smile curled around his face–the kind propped up by sheer faith. Neo curses himself, wonders who in the hell died and made him a god in the first place. One–perhaps random–anomaly in the system and suddenly one miscellaneous prophecy digs heavy into his shoulders, gives him wings. Still, he tells himself he should come to this place regularly, this Zion, if only to soak up reality.
Humanity–that twisting, dirty, virile thing he knows exists but can’t quite share in. But every programmer knows one small keystroke can crash a system; one dark-haired woman can refute all the data he has on his own species.
She approached in black leather and hard features. She was the Trinity, that cracked the IRS D-base. And the Trinity, that Trinity, was most decidedly female. She knew his name, his secret name. She knew his habits, his torment. She knew he’d rather be surrounded by wires and winking monitors than the bipeds stomping and slinking all over the club. She was frightening. Absolutely terrifying in her secrets, upsetting in her knowledge of him, and intimidating in what she hinted. The Matrix… Most of all, it scared the shit out of him that he wanted to trust her, yet couldn’t name one compelling reason why.
She approaches in earth tones and soft eyes. She is the Trinity, that cracked his distrust and saved his life. And the Trinity, his Trinity, is most decidedly real. She knows his name, his true name. She knows his duties, his nightmares. She knows he’d rather be surrounded by her voice and her courage than by the freedom incarnate stomping and slinking all over Zion. She is frightening. Absolutely terrifying as she blasts through the Matrix, upsetting to him when he can’t fight beside her, and intimidating to any soldier below her command, and most of those above. The Matrix… Most of all, it scares the shit out of him that he could watch her fall and die, yet isn’t sure he could do a damn thing about it.
He never feels quite human because they never understand him. They ignored him before the red pill, worship him now, but they have never seen a person in his sad brown eyes. Except for her, of course. Compilers followed clear, immutable rules; but with her, he only sees exceptions.
She almost touched him. He wasn’t sure he wanted her too. Her presence alone implied too much about his search, and he could tell she’d pull a gun on him if he flinched the wrong way. So he stood, shunting down his shivers, hoping the truth was as near to him as she was–as near as one cold breath. The search consumed him, and he tried to absorb her words and decipher their meaning. Her words tossed only clues, shards of truth, and left him curious. She was meant to entice him along a path, he could see that. One he’d have to eventually decide to follow, or reject. The mystery about her stung him and screamed “reject”; something intangible whispered “follow.” She left, and he didn’t know if seeing her again would be possible or prudent.
She touches him immediately, magnetized. The kiss draws out his breath like string, but he wants her to have it. Her presence gives meaning to his search, and she’ll pull a gun in less than a heartbeat in order to clear his way. So he stands, shunting down his shivers, hoping victory is as near to him as she is–as near as one warm breath. The search consumes him, not only for Zion’s sake but also for hers. The dreams toss only clues, shards of what he fears may become truth, and leave him sick to the soul. She smiles then, meaning to entice him up the rough path and away from the revelry; he could see that if he were blindfolded. It’s a path he gratefully follows. The hope inside her rejects his nightmares and screams for him to go on; something intangible binds her to him against all shadow. She leaves with him, and he doesn’t know if losing her would kill him or simply drive him mad.
Humanity–that twisting, dirty, unconquerable thing that strives for freedom, him at the center. He understands he must be one of them, though his old life and his newer abilities tell him otherwise. But to see her, feel her the way he does, he damn well must be one of them.