Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"I had a dream; I got everything I wanted.

Not what you think.

And if I'm being honest, it might've been a nightmare,

For anyone who might care."

-Billie Eilish, "Everything I Wanted" 

*****

Tiffany had never been one to gush over love before. She didn't believe in all that mumbo-jumbo about soulmates or destiny, only pretending to engage with the horoscope updates her daughter Callie would share from her monthly magazines. She was hopeful like that once, but like many women her age, her heart and mind had hardened with time, complete with a razor-sharp edge of realism. Such cynicism was not lost on her short list of girlfriends, and though they had enough sense to keep it to themselves, they knew damn well why that was. 

Tiffany was unhappy in her marriage and had been for a while. 

It was strange, the way it all started. One night, Tiffany awoke to use the bathroom, but upon re-entry, felt unable to return to bed. Or at least, the bed she shared with Chad. She didn't know why, but she found herself wondering if this was all that was expected of her now. To be a good wife who slept beside her husband and ushered her kids to school, and despite the gratification she felt from her work in the warehouse on her bikes, in reality, did it not also serve as a distraction until she could be a wife and mother again? A wash, rinse, repeat routine. 

Stifled by these invasive thoughts, she quietly made her way to the kitchen, trying to slow her breathing as she sat on the couch, a glass of water in her hand. 

Relax, Tiff, it's only a nightmare, she tried to tell herself. An overthinking nightmare that sprang about because you're still half-asleep, and your mind is not yet wired right. 

As the last of the cold, reassuring liquid soothed her dry throat, she was convinced it would all go away with the morning light. 

But time proved a false companion; as it passed, her doubts became further enflamed. 

All of a sudden, Tiffany was more acute to the cracks in her life; irksome imperfections that she never once let rattle her until now. Especially regarding her husband. 

She thought back to the early stages of their relationship; memories she never much called upon but occurring now as the situation demanded it. She once appreciated Chad's boisterous nature, finding his lack of a filter rather amusing at times. She considered him outgoing in that regard, unafraid to stir up excitement, if only to have a fun story to bring-up up at get-togethers down the line. Until, of course, he decided he was bored enough to turn said stir-ups on his wife. She didn't know if it was the burden of marriage, a mid-life crisis, or plain old douchebaggery, but it was as if he purposefully searched for ways to push her buttons, relishing in her inability to tell him off because of her hatred for conflict. And as if that weren't bad enough, with nearly all of her kids becoming immersed in their respective teen years, they became more distant, more prone to outbursts and attitude, thus adding to her isolation.

Things only worsened when The Matrix game was released. It didn't take long for her boys to procure themselves a copy for their Play Station, and the moment she laid her eyes on its graphics, Tiffany felt an unwelcome slither of unease make its slow down descent down her spine, sending lightning strikes of shivers that trailed about her body. And when she happened to glance out the window while washing dishes, she met the eyes of a fluffy white rabbit perched on the terrace. 

They lived in the middle of a city, and their apartment was on the fifth floor. 

*****

Shortly thereafter, the dreams started. But while most made her feel like she was living her own action movie, filling her nights with an excitement and intrigue that Chad long-since failed to provide, one in particular stood out more as a horror film, a dark tragedy, and it was the only episode that had truly frightened her. 

She was atop a metal grate, her left side consumed by an inch of water and her legs like cement sculptures. Feeling like the Sleeping Beauty after her hundred-year curse, her eyes strained against the blinding red glow of floor-level lights after being in the darkness for so long. Her mind carried the same fuzzy blur as her vision, save for a singular clear thought that became more frantic upon each new beat of her heart. 

Get to him.

A figure lay across from her; a man, only inches away, but the weakness in her body made their separation feel like miles. He felt an equally desperate drive to reach her as well, but with control of their bodies re-gained only moments ago, they pathetically thrashed about like two turtles on their backs, grasping at empty air as they struggled to make contact. But just when it looked like they might at least brush fingertips, they were surrounded by mechanical whirring sounds, like a chorus of harmonizing power drills. Tiffany was then hit by what she could only describe as tentacles, dragging her away from the man and towards a bowl filled with gelatin. Over the drills, she could hear the man shouting, only for those shouts to become tearful pleas for her forgiveness, laced with an undercurrent of half-heartedness that made her wonder how many times they'd already been through this exact scenario. 

As everything went black for Tiffany-in-the-dream, real Tiffany awoke, heart pounding in her chest as she made the slow return to reality. 

Thankfully, Chad had had the early morning shift that day, so she was able to gather her thoughts in peace, free of his jabs and judgment. Which was a good thing, too, because one look in the mirror revealed two streaks of tear stains lining each of her cheeks, and she hadn't even remembered crying at all! Rattled by the intense emotion she'd experienced, Tiffany promised her reflection that she'd better learn to appreciate what she had, refusing to fall victim to self-pity or regret. 

But despite her best efforts, a new feeling emerged in their place: incompleteness. Like she finally realized that something was missing from her life, something vital. But rather than go on a wild rabbit chase to uncover what that "something" was, Tiffany thought it best to just work with the feeling and move on. And for a while there, it worked. Even Chad became somewhat easier to live with. 

Until her illusion was shattered by one Thomas Anderson.

*****

She'd seen the tall, slim dark-haired man and his shorter, rounder associate at SimuLatte before, only knowing this because she'd more than once caught the tall one looking at her while she was waiting in line. He'd look away as soon as she caught his eye, embarrassment written across his bearded face, but Tiffany didn't mind. In fact, she rather relished the attention, but for fear of being spotted by someone she knew, someone who might report back to Chad, she took the preteen-school-girl route and resorted to acting aloof. 

Until finally, the shorter man rushed up to her like an over-eager puppy, expelling the gory details of his boss's fascination with her before he quickly stepped in, formally introducing himself as Thomas Anderson.

As in, the creator of The Matrix, Thomas Anderson.

Tiffany was stunned that someone so famous had taken an interest in her, much less standing in her presence. But even that didn't end up being her biggest takeaway. 

As her hand gripped his in a firm shake, an electric current passed through her, tearing a hole through the cloud of incompleteness in her heart, and sealing it instead with a sense of rightness. And with it came an envelopment of relaxed, comforting intimacy, like drinking hot cocoa after a long day in the snow or falling asleep to the light taps of rain on the roof. Simultaneously though, every cell in Tiffany's body exploded with life, each one crying out only for Thomas, like she already once knew how his hands felt upon her skin and she'd gone too long without them. But it wasn't just his hands; it was his arms and lips and even his forehead. Every inch of his body had once made contact with hers, and the revelation of that was so poignantly intoxicating, it left her feeling drunk. 

But all she could say, all that she was allowed to say, was "Have we met?" 

Unfortunately, the moment crashed with the sudden emergence of her husband and sons, both of whom wasted no chance to mock him, and their existence had never burdened her more. 

She could feel her heart screaming in anguish as her mind forced her body to leave Thomas behind, treating him as nothing more than a perfect stranger and continuing the day as normal. But nothing could ever be called normal now. She wanted to demand who he was, learn what sort of mind control he possessed to make her feel this way, while also wishing she could leap into his arms and never leave his side again. As she returned to life, struggling to hold the claim that it was the life she wanted, Chad just had to decide that he wanted to have sex with her that night. Tiffany wasn't stupid; she knew it wasn't because he felt attracted to or horny for her. It was a territorial move, a staking of the claim for jealousy's sake. Even so, she obliged, and it produced the most amount of spark they'd managed to have in weeks. So much so, that once done, Chad was left genuinely smiling at her. It almost left Tiffany feeling somewhat guilty, because once things got going, it hadn't taken long for Chad's image to fade from her mind, replaced instead with a warm and wise face bearing black hair and brown eyes. 

Once upon a time, such betrayal and desire would've frightened her. But not anymore. 

So, yes, there was a time when Tiffany didn't believe in soulmates. 

But now? It was the only thing she could believe in. 

*****

Chapter Text

"I found God; I found him in a lover. 

When his hair falls in his face, and his hands so cold they shake.

I found the Devil; I found him in a lover.

And his lips like tangerines, and his color-coded speak.

****

I've got a lover, a love like religion. I'm such a fool for sacrifice.

It's coming down, down, coming down...

I've got a lover, and I'm unforgiven. I'm such a fool to pay this price.

It's coming down, down, coming down... "

-Halsey, "Coming Down"

*****

Tiffany waited quietly as her therapist, Dr. Leyster (pronounced Lie-ster), neatly arranged his notepad and pen in an almost mechanical, painstakingly structured manner before meeting her gaze with a friendly yet closed-off smile. 

"So, Tiffany, where should we start?" he wondered, his tone a strange mix of fake-sounding concern and barely restrained curiosity.

Such a complicated answer she could give to such a simple question. 

Well, the thing is Doctor, there's a lot of different ways we can approach this. We could talk about my husband Chad, whose only reason for encouraging me to come here was to spare his own ego. He thinks his wife has some super-secret past traumas that she refuses to discuss with him, and who knows? Based on the dreams I've been having lately, he could be right. But anyway, he thinks they're ruining our otherwise perfect life, and when I say 'perfect,' you think you could write that in quotes for me? We could discuss my kids, who find their mother's admiration towards a video game character to be a desperate attempt at re-capturing my youth, but whom I believe with good reason is the version of me that I should aspire to be like. Why? Because the dreams told me so. Not crazy enough for you? Well I saved the best for last: three weeks ago, I think I found my soulmate in a man who isn't my husband, and ever since then, he's the face I've begun to associate with the man who accompanies me through my nightly ventures, which admittedly, I find more appealing than real life these days. Oops, I started rambling there, didn't I? Shall we start over?

Instead, she simply shrugged and said: "You're the doctor here, you decide." 

Leyster raised an eyebrow. "Alright then; may I ask what it is that's brought you to me?" 

"My husband," she stated bluntly.

"Starting off strong I see," Leyster replied with a chuckle. "Care to hear how many patients I've had before you that have also blamed their spouse?"

"No."

"Was it in your plan to give me one sentence answers through the whole session?"

Tiffany smirked. "It's only been a minute in, Doctor; what gave it away?"

He shrugged. "The eyes are windows to the soul, Tiffany; yours have shutters in place. Your tone also indicates a lack of vulnerability, which tells me you don't allow it to happen too often." 

She sighed in defeat. "Got me there," she admitted.

"Which part?"

"The vulnerability." 

"And why is that?"

"Why is what?"

"Why do you not get vulnerable?" Leyster asked seriously, watching her with steady regard. 

Tiffany considered her words carefully. She was well-aware of the patient confidentiality clause, but she still feared speaking against Chad, thinking word would somehow get to him regardless. 

But then she remembered Trinity and her unstoppable bravery, which no doubt included the ability to speak freely. Here she was, left to her own devices, with no one but a doctor whose literal job it was to help sort through her bullshit, free of judgment. And with that, the part of her always drawing upon her strange attraction to Thomas's Matrix game decided that, for one brief period, she could be brave too. 

"I haven't surrounded myself with the right people to afford it," Tiffany said confidently. 

Except for one, that is. 

"An interesting assessment, Tiffany, but not an entirely true one I see," Leyster said.

"How so?"

"The shutters in your eyes; when you finished speaking, I saw them open a crack," he explained, his eyes now full of intrigue. "So tell me, Tiffany; who's the exception?" 

She rolled her eyes. "You know, that window's metaphor not working as well as you think it is," she said, ignoring his question. 

"Who's the exception, Tiffany?" Leyster repeated, equally ignoring her jab. 

She took a deep breath..."Thomas," she rushed out before she could lose her nerve...then exhaled. 

There it was: her dirty little secret, at last in the open. Though in truth, it never felt dirty to her, quite the opposite actually. She'd asked herself the question so many times, her mind turning it over & around until it was its own roller coaster: How could something so wrong on the outside feel so right inside? Why did she feel like it was Thomas she was always forsaking and not Chad? 

And if by some miracle it was right, did that make her selfish for wanting him? 

Of course, Tiffany would be lying to herself if she said the situation had been entirely clean. Because not only had she replaced Chad's image with Thomas's during sex, but the last couple times she'd masturbated, she'd had fantasies about him. And being simply touched by him had been enough to send her body into a titillating tailspin. 

She only hoped Leyster wouldn't ask for Thomas's surname as well. Sure, she could lie about it, but with his obvious ability to detect body language, he'd probably catch on, and that would open a whole 'nother rabbit hole, dragging Thomas down with her. 

"And who is this 'Thomas?' Friend? Family member?" Leyster asked instead, and she just barely stopped herself from breathing a sigh of relief. 

"Someone I met at SimuLatte," she said. "A chance meeting it was, though in reality, we'd known of each other's existence for a while, but never had the guts to take action on it. The choice was made for us by his assistant Jude, and as embarrassing as that was initially, I couldn't be more grateful to him." 

She felt herself smiling at the memories they shared, few in number, but feeling like they'd lasted a lifetime. Never before had she felt so free to speak her mind, so free of obligation and expectance, than when she sat down for coffee with Thomas that first time. Not even her bikes could provide such an invigorating freedom, because no matter the distance, they inevitably wound their way back to Chad & the kids. But with Thomas, she felt like she could've stayed there forever. Even when the doubts arose, and the question emerged about whether or not she should feel as safe as she did, he'd looked at her with those reassuring brown eyes and said:

"This is the best thing I've done in a long time."

Gods, she could've cried. 

"Does he mean a lot to you?" Leyster asked, the sharp cut of his voice into her fantasy, filling it with reality. 

"Why do you ask?" Tiffany replied, hoping it wasn't what she thought it was. 

"Because during that period of silence, your eyes became wistfully distant, and you were smiling," he elaborated. "But not just any smile; the kind of smile that means someone's in love. Or at the very least, infatuated." 

Tiffany gulped. She hadn't expected that.

"You realize you opened this conversation by telling me you're married, right?" Leyster pressed. 

"I do." 

"And if you tell me that Thomas means something to you in a way that is beyond friendship or brotherhood, you're essentially admitting to cheating on your husband?" 

"Could you please not spell everything out for me like I'm a child?" she huffed defensively. 

"Then I'll assume you already know the truth of your feelings, and therefore, grasp their gravity," he retorted, though his composure remained un-wavered. "So do you, Tiffany?"

As nervous as she was to be confessing all this, Tiffany refused to lose sight of that bravery she'd instilled. "Yes," she answered quietly. 

"Speak it aloud, Tiffany. Own it." 

She let out another deep breath before speaking. "It's past infatuation, but it's not quite love I don't think. It lies somewhere in between the deep recesses of both." 

Leyster looked impressed as he copied down her words. "Good answer, great description; well done. But may I ask why you're unable to feel any of this with your husband?"

"Believe me, I tried. I even performed an experiment to see if it could be evoked," Tiffany admitted. 

"Oh really? Do tell." 

She sighed, explaining in great detail to him about the first time she held Thomas's hand, and the incurable, almost astronomical high it had left her with. But due to the part of her that feared its consequence, she had attempted to see if, by some miracle, holding Chad's hand could do anything even remotely close to it. They were sitting on the couch watching TV, and Tiffany tried to create an intimate moment by reaching for Chad's hand during a romantic scene. The expectation: Chad would gaze at her with a goofy smile, asking what it was for, and she'd simply ask if she'd told him she'd loved him yet that day. He'd say no, she'd reply with "Well I'm saying it now," and then he'd squeeze her hand with loving reassurance. The reality, however, was much different.

Chad jumped, snatching his hand away like she'd startled him. "Dude, what was that for?" he exclaimed. "I...I was trying to have a romantic moment with you," she said. "Well great job, you distracted me from the movie and now I've missed what they were saying. Thanks, honey, real romantic." Then he got up from the couch and grabbed a beer. 

"Ouch, that's gotta sting," Leyster said. 

"You think?" 

"But that doesn't mean you should go sneaking around behind his back with another man," he continued.

"Ugh, I know. It's just all so confusing to me right now," Tiffany muttered, massaging her forehead. "I keep feeling like I'm supposed to be living this whole other life, and it's always at its strongest whenever I'm with Thomas. At the same time, however, I don't want to act on it in fear of destroying what I already have." 

"Then don't." 

"Pardon?"

"Let me tell you what you're going to do, Tiffany. You're going to go home after this session and be with your family. Find ways of reminding yourself of the positivity they bring to your life as opposed to the negative. And soon, your mind will slowly find a way to forget the man at your coffee shop." 

"But what if I can't?"

"But what if you can?"

Tiffany sighed in defeat; he clearly wasn't going to give up on this. "Alright, I'll try it." 

Leyster grinned. "Wonderful! I think that's a good place to end our session for today."

She glanced at the clock. "But don't we have another twenty minutes left?"

"You've done so well learning to be vulnerable with me today that you deserve an early break, Tiffany. Don't worry, I won't tell your husband," Leyster assured her, winking and making her laugh. 

"Oh alright, then I suppose I should thank you," she said, rising from her chair to shake his hand. "I'm surprised by how much this has helped me." 

"These will too," he said, heading towards a cabinet at the back of the room. His hand searched around for a moment, plucked a pill bottle from the middle shelf, then walked back over to hand to her. 

She gazed at them warily. "What are these? Relaxants?" 

"To help you forget," Leyster said simply. 

She smiled. "Ever notice how they match your glasses?"

"Really? Huh, I suppose I didn't," he replied, making her laugh again as he followed her towards the door. 

Before exiting the threshold, Tiffany turned to look at him. "Thank you, Dr. Leyster, for making me not feel like I'm crazy." 

"Well fear not, Tiffany, because we don't use that word here," he assured her. "At the end of the day, you're only human." 

Leaving her with those oddly cryptic words, Leyster closed the door, and just like that, Tiffany was alone.

Unsure what to do next, she gazed down at the bottle in her hand, contemplating the electric blue pills. 

*****

"I found a Savior; I don't think he remembers.

'Cause he's off to pay his crimes, and he's got no time for mine." 

*****

Chapter Text

"I promised myself I wouldn't let you complete me.

I'm trying not to let it show, that I don't want to let this go.

Is there somewhere you can meet me?

'Cause I clutched your arms, like stairway railings.

And you clutched my brain, and eased my ailing...

I tried to refrain, but you're stuck in my brain

And all I do is cry and complain, because second's not the same."

-Halsey, "Is There Somewhere"

*****

For the next several days, the pills sat untouched on a medical cabinet shelf. 

It hadn't taken long for Tiffany to notice on her way out how strange it was that she hadn't needed to pick them up from a pharmacy, as well as realize that Dr. Leyster had never even written a prescription for her. He'd just placed them in her hand like it was nothing, as if he were merely giving her candy, not a potentially powerful drug. So although grateful for their conversation, she couldn't help the twinge of suspicion that crept in alongside it. 

Plus, it chilled her to think about their purpose. Leyster said the pills were to help her forget, but about what exactly? Her anxiety, her doubts, her desire...Thomas entirely? Consideration for the latter was enough to send her burying them into her coat pocket, hoping the pills themselves would be what was forgotten. 

Of course, Chad wound up discovering the bottle after he claimed to be "hanging up her coat," when in reality, she knew he'd been snooping. She assured him of the pills serving only as a "just-in-case" prescription, that her discussion with Leyster alone had been enough to steer her towards the path of recovery. Seemingly relieved, Chad insisted on a celebratory dinner that night with the kids. 

In spite of some initial grumblings from Brandon and Donnie in particular, he'd taken them all to Deja VUno's Grille and insisted his family could order anything the wanted, since he'd also insisted on paying. That managed to perk everyone up a bit, but it didn't stop Tiffany from feeling annoyed at them. Why couldn't they be happy to honor their mother? Or, if that was somehow asking too much of them, couldn't they at least be glad about going out? Why did there always have to be a catch?

It was times like this that reminded her most, how no matter the difficulty, no matter the confusion it caused, her time with Thomas was the best thing she'd done in a long time as well. 

And maybe, just maybe, she could learn to be content with that. 

But thing about lemons is, when life gives them to you, it can just as easily take them back. 

*****

Where was he? 

Tiffany was at Simulatte like normal, sitting at what she considered to be her and Thomas's table at this point. On the outside it was non-descript, just a regular wooden coffee table for two, but distinguishable among the rest for an irremovable, crusted chocolate stain that Tiffany hadn't noticed until getting up to leave that first time. It wasn't nestled in some secret corner of the shop, but out in the open for anyone to pass by and see. Yet whenever they conversed, it was like they were the only two people in the world. 

She sipped her mocha latte with cream thoughtfully, staring at his chair like her mind could make him materialize at will, and losing herself to replays of their earlier talks. 

It was funny, the way she'd used Trinity's bravery to make it through Leyster's session but hadn't actually brought up the character at all. Not only had she been afraid of that impending "crazy" label, but despite the shield she'd try to put up between the two men in her life, it would've ultimately solidified who it was that she wanted more. 

It honestly broke her heart, how many hints she'd dropped, how many chances she gave Chad to prove there was still something genuine to their relationship. The final straw had been her failed Trinity comparison. 

The worst part about it had been the way in which Chad had taken the time to think through his answer. Tiffany watched him as his eyes scanned over the screen, observing Trinity, then his face looking thoughtful as he mulled over her sediments. Finally, he turned back towards her with a smile, fooling her for a moment that he would agree, only for that smile to spread wider and wider until it'd become a mocking grin. Then he burst out laughing. 

"He laughed, and I laughed too, like it was a joke. How could it not be, right?" she'd explained to Thomas that day. "I hated myself for laughing." 

Tiffany shook her head. How could he have done that to her, let her have a boost of self-confidence only to crush it in seconds? Was it really so wrong for her to compare herself to that character? What did he gain from degrading her like that? Why did he insist on making her feel so, so...wasted? 

But then she smiled, recalling the validation she'd been given through Thomas's reaction. That small, barely audible gasp he'd emitted. The look in his eyes that seemed to ask, "What kind of a husband does that to his wife?" To which her own eyes had responded with "I wish I knew." 

Now, given he was The Matrix game's creator, it no doubt filled him with pride to hear her praise his creation of Trinity, proving that players could find ways of relating to her. But she could tell it ran deeper than that. The way she'd held his rapt attention as she compared herself to the character, clearly impressed by the things they had in common with each other. She hadn't even reached the part about them looking alike, and it was like he already agreed with her. 

Perhaps today she would seek confirmation...if he ever showed up, that is. 

Tiffany glanced out the window towards the street, watching for a flash of his stylishly mussed black hair. For a fleeting moment, she'd wished she had his number, but then quickly reminded herself why she didn't. The consequences would be dire if, or more accurately, when Chad discovered she kept contact with another man. Especially if it was a man he'd already met. 

But even so, that part of her always calling back to Trinity couldn't help but feel a thrill at the prospect. Why not let Chad find out about Thomas? Why shouldn't she let on that he had competition? And if she did, she thought deliciously, why shouldn't she hint that if it were down to the two of them, she'd ultimately find herself choosing Thomas?

Suddenly realizing that she'd gone too far with the fantasy, Tiffany bit her lip, hoping if hard enough, it would rid her brain of that previous thought. She had no business thinking that way, nor could she afford to. Besides, did she really think she could choose between her husband and a man she'd only just met? 

She knew the answer was obvious, should be obvious, but even so, she hesitated to accept it. 

Thankfully, her wavering thoughts were interrupted by the alarm she'd set on her watch, signaling that her time with Thomas was up. Or, in this case, the time she spent waiting for him.

Tiffany sighed, admittedly disappointed, but only because she knew that seeing him was what she'd looked forward to most that day. And somehow, she felt sure that Thomas hadn't meant to stand her up. Work had probably called him in early for an unavoidable issue. 

Too bad it had to happen on the morning she considered telling him her dreams. Because ever since meeting him, they'd grown more intense, more vivid, reaching a point where she could no longer be their only keeper. And present circumstances dictated that Thomas would better handle them, better understand them, than Dr. Leyster or Chad would. 

Collecting her things, she cast a final, forlorn glance at their table before (reluctantly) returning to the truth that was her life. 

*****

Er, well, more like she eventually returned. Because before she knew it, Tiffany was suddenly standing across the street from Thomas's building, gazing at it with something akin to wistfulness. She wasn't sure how long she'd been there before she regained her senses, scuttling away as quickly as she could while scolding herself for performing what was basically stalker behavior. 

Unfortunately, things didn't end there. That night, it was like her dreams just knew how much not seeing Thomas had weighed on her, so as she slipped beneath the currents of sleep that night, they decided to take things up another notch. 

*****

Tiffany was lying in bed, eyes still closed but on the verge of waking. She could feel the weight of another presence, his front facing her back, and somehow, she already knew whose it was. 

"Trinity," she heard Thomas's voice murmur, and a rush of satisfaction ran through her. To be called by that name, by him, was pleasure enough on its own. 

But even so, she hesitated to return the favor, to call him Neo.

"Why?" he wondered, responding as though she'd spoken aloud. 

"Because I'm afraid of what'll happen if I do," she admitted. "That it'll be the death sentence to a life I'd once chosen, mark the end of everything I know, and leave me with nothing but an unknown." 

"Would that be so bad?" he asked. 

"I wish I could say no, but I can't, not now," she murmured. 

"Trinity, look at me."

"You shouldn't be calling me that," Tiffany muttered dejectedly. 

"Why not?" 

"Because it's dangerous." 

"But I thought you liked risk and danger," Thomas exclaimed, and she couldn't help but smile.

"Trinity does, I don't," she illustrated. 

"And you don't believe you're one and the same?" he wondered seriously.

"I want to," she heard herself admit, and she heard him draw in a breath as the weight of her words washed over her. Then she smiled. 

"Yes, it's true; I do want to," she repeated with confidence, turning on her side to look at him, to get lost in those eyes that seemed to know everything about her, yet still yearned for more. 

But when Tiffany's own eyes fell upon him, the sight she was met with made her recoil in horror. 

Thomas's eyes were gone. All that remained were two black holes, similar to those of a skull, and looking like they'd been brutally burnt into his face. 

In her shock, Tiffany's body suddenly made contact with the floor. The coolness of the hardwood raised a series of goosebumps across her limbs as she mustered up the courage to overcome what she'd just seen.

This is only a dream, she reminded herself. Though I have no idea where all this is coming from, in the end it doesn't matter, because none of it's real. 

Feeling collected, Tiffany slowly stood up and turned around, only for her hands to fly to her mouth in stunned silence.

Thomas was still there, except now, he wasn't alone. With him, another Tiffany, only this one was about twenty years younger, as was Thomas now it seemed. The major difference between them was that he was eyeless but alive, whereas Tiffany's were intact but closed. Permanently. 

As if she were her own Ghost of Christmas Future, her gaze roamed about her younger self's body, struggling to understand what it was. Coiled pipes and pieces of shrapnel jutted in awkward angles across her shoulders and stomach. Thomas's head was buried in the nape of her neck, and hauntingly enough, she could hear him crying for her. The man had no eyes and yet, it did nothing to deter him from mourning her like a lost loved one. 

"What is this?" she asked aloud. "Why am I seeing this?"

A movement from across the room disturbed her scrutiny, tearing her away from the tragedy before her, and inundating her with something much, much creepier. 

A horde of shapeless, shadowy outlines lined the far side of the bed, and aside from the shaded sunglasses and black suits they wore, she could detect no other discernable features. Swallowing, Tiffany backed away, carefully making her way towards the door, but never once taking her eyes off the shadows. Sure, they were frightening enough on their own, but instinct told her there was more to them than that. They were dangerous, and she had to get away from them, before it was too late. 

But was it not already too late for her? She'd just witnessed her own corpse for God's sake!

She used the corner of her eye to check the bed, and much to her dismay, Thomas and her doppelganger had vanished, leaving her alone to face the suited figures. 

Finally, Tiffany had managed to back herself out the door, and once assured that she'd crossed threshold, she fled down the hall towards the stairs. 

Unfortunately, she didn't get far before something clamped onto her ankle, flopping her to the floor. Gasping, she whirled around, expecting to see one of the shadow men, but she was instead met with a new threat. A series of metal tentacle arms had burst out of the surrounding walls, and she had no doubt they were the same ones keeping her from taking Thomas's hand that one previous dream. 

The arm that held her started dragging her back to the room, where the mob of silhouettes now stood waiting for her. Tiffany struggled to fight back, to keep moving forward, but she was as helpless as a fish trying to swim upstream. In no time at all, she was surrounded on all sides by the men, and without warning, her view of the ceiling vanished as they closed in upon her. 

Now, if she'd been anything like Trinity, she would've gone down fighting 'til the very end. Some fancy karate move would've come to her in her moment of need, propelling her away from her captors, and giving her a few precious moments to figure out what was next . 

But because she was Tiffany, a woman who could, quite literally, only dream of being so brave, she allowed them to consume her.

Forgive me, Thomas, she thought mournfully, but I just couldn't be her for you. 

Suddenly, in the depths of her darkness, she heard someone calling her name. 

"Tiffany? Tiffany!"

"Thomas?" she murmured, becoming hopeful. 

"Who? Tiff, you've gotta wake up, honey, please." 

Wait, she knew that voice. Not Thomas, but...

*****

"Chad?" Tiffany uttered, squinting against the sudden harshness of her bedside lamp. 

"Yes, yes it's me! Oh thank God you're back," Chad exclaimed, swiping a strand of black hair out her face with one hand, the other cradling her cheek. The rest of her was draped across his lap. 

"What...what happened?" she wondered worriedly, knowing full-well already what had happened, but fearful of how much Chad had caught. 

"You tell me," he countered. "All I know is that we were sleeping, and then completely out of nowhere, you nearly fell out your side of the bed but clung on with your eyes still closed. You pulled yourself up, and then you just lay there squirming for several minutes, gasping and struggling, until I knew it was time to wake you. I called your name, but you responded to me with 'Thomas.'" 

Tiffany nodded, her face appearing thoughtful, but inside she was panicking. No, no, no. She couldn't have screwed up like that; she couldn't have been so reckless. 

"Okay, Tiff, it's obvious you're still recuperating, so let me start off by asking you who the hell Thomas is," Chad asserted, his mouth a thin line. 

"You," she answered quickly, with as much seriousness as she could muster. "Thomas is you."

He raised an eyebrow at her response, clearly confused. "I'm not following."

"I know it's strange, dear, but I was having a dream about us, and for some reason, Chad wasn't your given name. I kept calling you 'Thomas,'" she explained. 

"O-kay," he said, absorbing her explanation, then his mouth quirked up. "You were dreaming about me?" 

"Yes, only what started out pleasant ended up becoming a nightmare I'm afraid," Tiffany admitted, relieved that he was buying her flimsy claim. Consider her lucky that although Chad could be a tool, he'd never been one of the sharpest. 

"Well then I might as well settle in, because it seems to me that you've got a story to tell," Chad replied, caressing her face. "A story, I have no doubt, connects back to your previous dreams as well. So go ahead honey, have the floor; I'm listening." 

Tiffany met his curious gaze head-on, mentally asking him if he meant what he said, but her voice refusing to deliver the words.

*****

Chapter Text

"I don't want it, and I don't want to want you.

But in my dreams, I seem to be more honest,

And I must admit you've been in quite a few...

I've been loved before, but right now, in this moment

I feel more and more like I was made for you." 

-Billie Eilish, "Halley's Comet"

*****

She didn't know if it was the sympathetic tone of Chad's voice, or the suspicion she knew was hidden beneath it, but once she had collected herself, Tiffany let the flood gates open about her dreams. Though only within reason, of course.

She hated to do it, to erase Thomas's name from all the storylines and replace him with Chad, because she'd have frankly preferred to keep her two worlds separate. But truthfully, she knew it was because she didn't think him worthy enough to be part of her fantasy. 

To her surprise, Chad listened with rapt attention, not once opening his mouth to interject. He nodded along silently, his face shifting between intrigue, surprise, and sympathy. Unlike Thomas, his interest was born more so out of concern than actual investment, and she certainly didn't feel that same sense of intimate comfort she got out of her talks with the former, but it relieved her all the same to see that he wasn't judging her. Or if he was, he'd finally learned to hold himself back for once. 

However, amongst all the dreams she'd spun and constructed around half-truths and lies, there was one dream that Tiffany made sure to keep completely to herself.  

Or, more accurately, there were in fact several dreams that she knew she wouldn't share. The struggle to take Thomas's hand, her admittance of wanting to believe she was Trinity...all the ones that felt raw, personal to her. Because although bothersome, it was easy to place Chad within her more adventurous dreams, but the emotional ones? No, it didn't feel right to try and associate him with those soul-deep longings; she couldn't lie to that extent. Not to him, or to herself.

Once finished, she took a deep breath and waited for his response, hoping against hope that he wouldn't treate her reveries in the same way he'd treated her Trinity connection.

And... he didn't. Instead, he reached for the hand she had resting on her knee, took it in his, and gave it a reassuring squeeze. 

"Thank you, Tiff, for entrusting me with these," he told her sincerely. Then he frowned. "Have you talked about any of this with Dr. Leyster by any chance?"

"No, actually, I haven't," Tiffany said honestly, knowing what it was that he was hinting at. He wanted to see if she'd placed more trust in her therapist than her own husband. "I was worried he'd call me crazy." 

"You're not crazy, Tiff," Chad assured her. "But regardless, I feel honored that you told me first." 

Well, it's not like I had much of a choice, Tiffany thought, but to Chad she just smiled. 

"I'm glad you feel that way," she said. "And with this weight now lifted off my shoulders, I feel ready to return to bed now. You too, I trust?"

"Don't have to tell me twice," he replied, letting out a yawn as proof. 

Laughing, Tiffany climbed under the covers, lying on her left side while Chad switched off the lamp. But when he joined her, she felt his arm drape over her waist and realized he was in the same position as her, his front facing her back. It reminded her of the way Thomas had been in her dream, and she shuddered, trying to dispel his eyeless face from her mind.

She shifted her focus towards Chad's inexplicable acceptance of her nighttime ventures. As appreciative as she was, it felt so unlike him; again, recall back to how he'd reacted to an innocent comparison she'd made towards a video game character. Now here she was, describing to him in great detail dreams that had practically stemmed from said character, and he was utterly compliant in their validation.

I bet it's because my dreams are invisible to him, Tiffany figured. He can't see into my head, experience what I do, and that makes them less easy to scrutinize. The game, on the other hand, is more tangible, more three-dimensional, allowing him to judge it however he pleases. 

Satisfied with that conclusion, she silently decided to enjoy this small victory in the end. Such victories were rare for her, and there was never a guarantee that it would come around again.

*****

A few days later, Tiffany arrived at her next scheduled session with Dr. Leyster. Only this time, she wore a smile with her ensemble.

Granted, her concern and suspicion surrounding the blue pills hadn't left her, but she'd find the right time to broach the subject. In the meantime, she'd take advantage of Leyster's sympathetic ear, and maybe, just maybe, admit her dreams to him. Because if Chad could find the will to be understanding, why couldn't he?

"I'll be honest, Tiff, I wasn't sure whether or not I'd actually see you today, but I'm glad you managed to make it in the end," Leyster exclaimed, shaking her hand before they sat down. "Do you mind if I call you Tiff?"

"Not at all," Tiffany assured him, "everyone does anyway; what's one more person going to hurt?"

"Good, I'm glad we're on the same page about that," Leyster said. "So, Tiff, how have you been coping with that incessant need to breakaway lately?"

"Fine," she replied evenly. "I've found other means of channeling it."

"Really? How so?"

"I've developed an interest in myths," Tiffany explained. "Mostly Greek, save for a couple." 

Leyster's eyebrows knit together as he jotted down her words. "Interesting; may I ask what brought it on?"

"There's a familiarity to some of them that I can't help but feel drawn to," she admitted. 

"Familiarity? From where?"

Tiffany pursed her lips together. This was it, the point of no return. Spill the beans now, and it would determine all future interactions between her and Leyster. 

If Chad can be understanding, so can he, she reminded herself. 

"Where do you stand on the difference between dreams and reality?" Tiffany asked. 

She forced herself to meet Leyster's eyes as she spoke, and she could see that he was taken aback by her question. But he didn't look appalled, or even surprised. 

Then he smiled, emitting a light snicker. 

"What's so funny?" Tiffany pressed, feeling defensive. 

"You're not the first person who's asked me that today," Leyster revealed. 

As curious as she was to know more, Tiffany figured that it'd been a discussion between him and another patient, so she knew better than to press about it. 

"Well, what did you tell them?" she wondered instead. 

"That we all dream differently, Tiff. As such, dreams can be interpreted in any way, by anyone. They're like endless realities, piled on top of each other. Some people see monsters, other people just see people. But as fun as dreams may be to analyze, it's important for us to all come to the same conclusion about them." 

"Which is what?"

"That they're not real," Leyster stated firmly. 

"Well...how do you know?" Tiffany challenged. 

He frowned. "What do you mean?"

"How do you know they're not real? Or rather, how do you know all of them are fake? What if some dreams are so powerful, so poignant, that they aren't just dreams, they're flashes? Flashes of a life once lived, or perhaps, not yet lived!" She could feel the excitement in her growing as she spoke, and she knew she should stop, she ought to, but it was too late to turn back now. 

He took a deep breath. "Forgive me, Tiff, I let us get too ahead of ourselves. Let's steer things back to those myths you mentioned. Which ones feel most familiar to you?"

She was surprised, and a bit unnerved, by the sudden change in subject, but Tiffany obliged anyway. "First it was just names. Mnemosyne, Niobe, Morpheus, Persephone. But then the myths themselves began to feel real to me. Like Altair and Vega. The lovers forever separated in the sky, always reaching for each other but never touching save for one day a year, and sometimes they don't even get that. The personifications of the Night and the Moon, from a short story called "Born of the Night," in an anthology called Tales from the Dark Tower. Not the Stephen King series. They spent centuries pining for each other, until the Night God chose to defy his role underground and her role in the sky to fly to her, and from their singular moment of first contact, they created a race of beautiful monsters."

The latter especially had struck a chord with her while reading. Particularly this line: "None but she could quench the Night's desires. None but he could charm her. And none of but the other would either ever dream." 

Leyster was bewildered by her descriptions but kept his response cool and composed. "You say these myths feel real to you; have they any relation to your question about dreams and reality?"

"To an extent, yes," Tiffany said. "I frequently dream about trying to reach someone, someone important to me. But we're always separated before our fingers touch." 

"Ah, okay, that makes sense," he said quietly. "By the way, have you seen Thomas at all lately?"

She stiffened. There he was again, changing the subject on her without warning. Had she flustered him more than he let on? 

"No, actually, I haven't," she replied, repeating the same response she'd given to Chad about whether or not Leyster had known of her dreams before he did. "I've used that time to strengthen my relationship with my family."

Leyster smiled, looking relieved. "Well that's wonderful, Tiff, I'm glad you've been working on that." Then he sighed. "Tiffany, I hope you understand that dreams are not memories. They may serve as clues, signs, or manifestations, but they are not memories. Just because you see them occurring doesn't mean they have, or will. You live in the real world, and in the real world, things like that don't happen." 

Tiffany nodded. "I understand," she murmured. 

"Good, I'm glad that's where we'll be ending today," he said, and one look at the clock told her that, sure enough, their session was coming to a close. Time does fly. 

"Alright, I suppose I'll head out then," Tiffany exclaimed, rising from her chair. 

"Hang on, before you go, can I ask you one more question?" Leyster asked.

"Shoot."

"Have you taken any of those blue pills I gave you?"

She could've slapped her own forehead. She'd been so wrapped up in discussing her dreams, she'd forgotten to mention the pills! 

"I'll be honest with you, Doctor: I have not," she stated. 

"Well that explains a lot," she heard him mutter. "May I ask why?" 

"Because you did nothing to guarantee their safety to me," she declared boldly. "And unless you have anything further to add, I won't be taking them at all." 

By the time Leyster had found the words to explain himself, she was already halfway down the hall.

*****

Feeling a surge of defiance towards, well, everything at the moment, Tiffany made the bold, reckless choice to ride back down to Thomas's headquarters again, only this time, with the full intention of seeing him again. Since him coming to her was taking its sweet time, she decided then that she would go to him. 

Her appearance would be impromptu, spur of the moment, but Tiffany needed to know that she wasn't crazy. She had to know if these feelings were mutual. She wanted to be assured that she'd found someone who knew what she was going through to some capacity. 

She needed to know that she wasn't alone.

Winding her way through the city streets with this new sense of drive and purpose, she choked down every doubt, every retraction, that threatened to rush up her throat. She had to do this; she needed to do this. For clarity's sake if nothing else. 

She found a spot in the Deus Machina building's several story parking garage and meandered her way inside to the front desk, suddenly realizing that she hadn't actually thought through about how to approach this. But that problem quickly solved itself. 

"Tiffany? Holy shit, the Tiffany?" a chipper, 20-something male voice exclaimed. 

Instinctively, Tiffany froze at the mention of her name, but then her eyes met its source as he sauntered over to her, appearing delighted. 

"Oh, hey I remember you," she said. "Jude, right?"

"Last I checked," he replied, a mischievous grin on his face. "What brings you on down to our humble little twelve-story abode today? Or should I say, who brings you?" 

"It's that obvious, huh?" she wondered. 

"I was there, Tiff, your chemistry with my boss was PWOAH!" Jude cried, his hands making exploding gestures that accompanied his sound effect. 

Tiffany laughed. "You really think so?" 

"Hell yeah, the tension from you two shaking hands alone could've been cut with a knife!" he said. 

She nodded slowly, feeling validated about the power their meeting hands had given her. "Pretty cool. In that case, could you tell me where Thomas is right now?"

Jude shrugged. "He hasn't been in the office the last couple of days. I hear he's on some kind of a creator's retreat in preparation for Matrix IV." 

"I see," Tiffany murmured, disappointed. "Well, if you see him, or he rings the office, could you let him know that I'm looking for him?" 

"Will do, sister," he promised, winking and clicking his tongue. 

She cringed. "'Sister?' Really?" 

"Yeah, right, sorry," Jude apologized, shaking his head. "Boss wouldn't like me using that kind of language around you." 

Tiffany smiled slightly. "Ah, so Thomas is looking out for me, then." 

Jude nodded. "For sure." Then he chuckled a bit.  

"What?"

"It's weird, but also kind of fascinating, how much you and the boss already care for each other. It's like you two met in another life or something." 

"An inventive concept, Jude, but one that doesn't often happen in this day and age," Tiffany said, then she shrugged. "Who knows though, maybe you could incorporate something like that into Matrix IV." 

Jude's eyes lit up. "Great idea!" he praised, fishing the latest brand of iPhone out of his pocket. "I'ma put in a reminder to mention that to Mr. Anderson when I can." Then he winked at her. "No worries though, Tiff; I'll give credit where credit is due I promise. He'd love to hear about you contributing to his life's work!" 

"Ah, well, thank you," she said. "Anyway, I should probably let you get back to work now. " 

"Nah it's cool, work for me at the moment was just picking up my lunch order," he said. 

"Then I hope enjoy your lunch, Jude," Tiffany replied sincerely. 

"Well how can I not? It's REEHHD ROBIN, YUM!" he sang out.  

*****

That evening, Tiffany was finishing up dinner with family, feeling simultaneously lighter and heavier from the day's events. But she kept her focus on the funny story her son Brandon was telling from school. 

"It was hilarious, Mom and Dad," Brandon relayed. "Apparently Mr. Zenik had planned to show us a film about cell reproduction, and somehow, he was pranked into showing us a DVD containing Rick and Morty episodes. And the best part was, while he was at the principal's office trying to figure out who the culprit was, he let us watch them in his absence!" 

"Aw, no fair, nothing like that ever happens in my science class!" Donnie exclaimed. 

"Grow up a little more bro and I'm sure you'll get there," Brandon assured him smugly. 

"Honestly, give my appreciation to the prankster if he or she gets discovered, Bran. I still remember how much of a hard-ass Mr. Zenik was when I was in school," Chad said.

"Chad, language!" Tiffany cried, gently swatting his arm.

"Still is a hard-ass, so I'll definitely make sure that I do, Dad," Brandon assured him.

"Brandon, please!" Tiffany insisted. "You'll pass those bad words onto your brother." 

"Aw c'mon, Tiff, we're not in public," Chad said. "Let the kids loosen up a little." 

"Yeah, I mean, you surely must've found the story funny too, right Mom?" her daughter Callie asked. "The rest of us did."

"Yes, yes, very funny," Tiffany answered, waving them away. "I'd just rather not live in a house full of cussers. I already sleep with one." 

"Ooohhh, Mom burn!" Donnie hollered. 

"Dad you just got owned!" Brandon announced. 

Tiffany threw Chad a sly smile while Chad laughed and shook his head. "Guilty as charged," he admitted. "But it's good to know your mom can have fun too." 

"Of course I can! I'm not the boring parent by any stretch," Tiffany noted. "Kids, how many moms have you met who ride motorcycles?" 

"None," Brandon and Donnie both replied. Then they pointed at each other. "JINX!" they shouted.

"Alright, everyone, let me grab the dessert before we all lose our minds," Chad said, heading towards the kitchen. "Callie, want to come with me?"

"Sure Dad," Callie said, rising from her chair to follow him. 

"You got us dessert?" Tiffany called after him, "what's the occasion?" 

"Does there need to be one?" Chad called back. 

"What are we having?" Brandon wondered. 

"Looks like apple pie!" Callie observed cheerfully.

"Apple pie, let's go!" Donnie cried, leaping out of his seat and throwing his heads in the air. 

"Alright Donnie, quiet down now before you lose your voice," Tiffany said. 

The three of them waited patiently as Chad and Callie carried out five ceramic blue bowls, each containing a slice of apple pie and a scoop of vanilla ice cream, then placing each one in front of their family members before they themselves sat down with their own. 

"Dig in, everyone!" Chad invited. 

"Don't have to tell me twice!" Donnie replied.

Tiffany smiled warmly as she watched her family exclaim with delight over their dessert, happy to be in one another's company. If only moments like these could come more often for them. 

She took her own bite, feeling the warmth of the pie compete against the coolness of the ice cream. 

"This pie is amazing, Chad," she remarked, swallowing. "Where did you get it?"

"I'm glad you like it, honey," was all he said. 

Simply figuring that he hadn't heard her, or was too busy enjoying his pie, Tiffany shrugged and continued eating. 

She managed a few more bites before a single thought blasted through her mind.

Stop eating.

Tiffany gave pause, putting her spoon down in confusion. 

"I'm going in for seconds already, let me guys know when you're ready for your own," Chad said, getting up from the table. 

"Can I get more ice cream for what's left of my pie?" Donnie wondered. 

"Sure thing, kiddo; grab your bowl and follow me," Chad said. 

Tiffany rose from her chair as well, but not for the pie or ice cream. The movement was slow, deliberate, making her appear almost weightless. 

"Mom, are you okay?" Callie asked, having noticed Tiffany's odd action. But to Tiffany, it came out muffled, like she was underwater. 

Then, without warning, Tiffany's legs gave out, sending her to her knees. 

"Oh my God, Mom! Mom, what's wrong?" Brandon cried, rushing to her side. 

"Dad, Dad come quick! Mom might be having a heart attack!" Donnie screeched. 

Tiffany's heart was beating rapidly in her chest, but she knew that wasn't it. As she lay on her back, looking at the faces of her three worried kids, she recalled back to Thomas telling her about how their sit-down was "the best thing he'd done in a long time." She wasn't sure why, but she felt like she had to in that moment. His face was conjured in her mind's eye, but as suddenly as it came, it vanished just as quick, being wiped away like an eraser to a chalkboard. Confused and horrified, she brought forth another image, but that one too dispersed. 

"What's happening?" she murmured aloud. 

"Damn, he said this might happen, but I had hoped they wouldn't have to see it," she heard Chad mutter as he made his way over to her. "Kids, don't worry. It's only a side effect of the new medication your mom's taking. Due to the strength of the pills, Dr. Leyster says that all first-time users will have different reactions depending on their body make-ups." 

Pills...Dr. Leyster...reaction... Tiffany's mind processed. 

"So Mom's going to be okay?" Donnie whispered, sniffling. 

The pie...Chad served me my pie.

"Absolutely. Doc's seen this kind of temporary intense drowsiness in other patients before, so all we need to do is let her sleep it off for the night, and she'll be right as rain by tomorrow morning." 

Oh my God...

"But that doesn't mean we have to make her sleep on the floor, right?" Brandon asked. 

"Of course not; move aside kids and I'll carry her to our room," Chad said.

Tiffany's left hand, wrapped in her daughter's, gripped tighter. 

"Don't let me go, honey. Please, don't leave me alone," she urged. 

"It's okay, Mom; we'll still be here when you wake up," Callie promised her. With that, she released her hold, leaving Tiffany's hand gaping at the empty air as Chad lifted her into his arms. 

"You drugged me," Tiffany accused quietly, hurt and betrayal coating her tone as he carried her away. "Why?" 

"Hang on, honey," he said, using his foot to push open the bedroom door and then lying her down atop the comforter. Then he knelt down beside her with his elbows propped so they were eye-level. 

"I'm sorry, Tiff, believe I am. But before you got home today, I got a call from Dr. Leyster. He told me about your adamant refusal at his insistence for you to start taking the prescribed blue pills he gave you during today's appointment. He feared you becoming too confident, too emboldened, and thinking you were 'above' the medication. Which, by the way, he says and I quote: 'you most certainly are not.' I asked him what I should do, and all he said was too ensure that you get those pills by any means necessary." 

"That's bullshit, Chad...I didn't refuse them out of spite. Leyster wouldn't...tell me what they were or...what they would do...so I didn't trust them," Tiffany stammered. 

"Well that's not the way I heard it," he said. 

"Fuck, Chad...please I...need your help...I know it's...just one pill...but I can't go under...not like this...not by force..." she insisted. An unwelcome feeling of Deja vu struck her during that last part. 

"Yeah...about that? You've actually taken two pills, hon."

Tiffany gasped. "Are you...kidding me?" she asked, trying to use her elbows to sit up but her strength quickly diminishing. "Get them...the hell...out of me!" 

"The dosage is normally one pill twice a day, but due to your apparent defiance, Dr. Leyster said it was best that, just this once, you take two at a time. Double the strength, yes, but double the action as result."

"But...but Chad...how could you?" she whimpered, understanding now that the choice had already been made. He was deliberately choosing to let this happen to her. "You're taking...my free will."

Suddenly, he leaned in towards her ear, and whispered in the cruelest, coldest voice she'd ever heard: "Oh Trinity, what makes you think you have any free will here?"

Was it her fading consciousness playing tricks on her, or did he just call her Trinity? And why did his voice seem to turn into Dr. Leyster's at the end? 

Amongst her hazy analysis, she didn't even hear Chad leave the room or close the door.

Alone in the darkness, without the strength to move or shout, Tiffany could feel her mind's grip loosening on every thought, every memory that related to Thomas. All except for one. 

She was unsure of what it was, or what it had even come from; it didn't feel like a memory, but seemed more tangible than a dream. A vision, perhaps? Yes, yes that was it. 

She was back in that bowl of gelatin again, only this time she was semi-conscious, with her eyes just open enough to distinguish the red sky above her. Suddenly, a black, mechanical form soared above, blocking out her view, and though her vision was blurred, she'd reached out to him enough times to recognize the sole, singular feel of his presence. Her other half. Her One. 

He was too far away, she knew that. But with their resurrections having so far brought nothing but distance and desperation, she couldn't stop herself. She lifted her hand, ever so delicately, from its gelatin prison, and stretched out her fingers. Beckoning him to her. 

As if by possession, real Tiffany copied the same motion, reaching her hand into the pitch black that had engulfed her. 

"Neo," she whispered. 

As he passed over her, her hand once more vanished beneath the surface of the gelatin.

Her hand dropped like a stone, lying still atop the bed. 

*****

Chapter Text

"You can't wake up this is not a dream.

You're part of a machine; you are not a human being.

With your face all made up, living on a screen,

Low on self-esteem, so you run on gasoline.

I think there's a flaw in my code.

These voices won't leave me alone. 

Well, my heart is gold, and my hands are cold.

-Halsey, "Gasoline"

*****

"Tiff? Tiffany, wake up," Chad's voice rang out. 

Tiffany groaned softly, turning her head slightly as she stirred. "What is it, Chad?" she mumbled.

"Someone's here to see you," he said. 

She sat up slowly and winced. A light throbbing reverberated within her head, and she massaged it with the palm of her hand. 

"Careful, honey, you're still coming off the meds you took last night," Chad warned. "Other than that though, are you feeling alright?" 

"I think so," Tiffany said quietly. "Check in with me again after I've reached the living room." 

"No need, dear; he figured you might still be recuperating so he's waiting just outside the room," he countered. "Permission for him to cross the threshold?" 

"What do you expect me to say, Chad? We're talking about him and he's standing right out there," she exclaimed, pointing in the direction of the door. "Permission granted!" she called over to it. 

The door opened with a flourish, and in sauntered her mysterious visitor. Tiffany was both surprised and not by whom it was. 

"Good morning, Dr. Leyster. What brings you by so early?" she asked curiously. 

"I asked him to come," Chad explained. "Despite him telling me that reaction such as yours is considered relatively normal, you still took it pretty hard, so I asked him to check up on you to be sure." 

Tiffany smiled a little. "Aw, no; you were worried about me, Chad?"

"Of course he was, Tiff," Leyster answered for him. "He's your husband and he loves you." 

He sat down on the edge of the bed, giving her space but observing her carefully. 

"How's your head?" he asked. 

"Throbbing a little, but nothing too painful," she said. 

"Do you feel well enough to stand?"

Tiffany swung her legs around the side, her feet touching the smoothness of hardwood. She used the backs of her hands to push herself up, and then walked a few steps forward to the closet. 

"Yep, feels pretty good," she confirmed. 

"Wonderful!" Leyster exclaimed, getting up himself. "Then it's safe for you to keep up with the prescription, only follow as directed this time. One pill, twice a day." 

"Thank you, Doctor, for coming all this way on such short notice," Chad expressed, shaking his hand. 

"It was my pleasure, Chad," Leyster acknowledged happily. He looked right at Tiffany as he said: "After all, nobody wants to be off with their head in this world. Not in this day and age." 

His gaze appeared strangely smug for some reason. Tiffany averted her eyes. 

"Ha, I'll drink to that!" Chad cheered, heading out the room. 

Leyster began following after him then paused. "Ya coming, Tiff?" he wondered. 

"Yeah, but, hang on a second Doctor. Can I ask you something?" Tiffany walked over and stood so they were face to face. 

"Sure."

"After experiencing that first-time reaction you described, is it normal to be left feeling like you've forgotten something?" she inquired.

Leyster pursed his lips together. "Why do you ask?" 

"The leftover throbbing; I can't help but think that it coincides with feeling like there's a hole in my head, a blank in my memory." 

"Hmm, not too sure I've ever heard that one before, but I'll check my files once I've gotten back to the office and let you know," he promised. 

"Thank you," she murmured. "And I'm not sure why I feel the need to stress this, but could you keep this between us, please? You know, as in, not discuss it with my husband?"

Unexpectedly, Leyster's right hand reached out and grasped her own, and she involuntarily flinched at the contact. But before she could pull away, his left hand covered it securely. 

"Don't worry, Tiff. Chad already knows what he needed to know. He isn't necessary anymore," he stated cryptically. 

"Necessary for what, exactly?" she asked, her discomfort level rising. She tried wiggling her fingers out of his tight grip, but he had them practically restrained, quite the opposite of the freedom he'd probably meant to exude with the gesture. But the anxiety it was giving her ran deeper than that. Such close proximity to him like this in general was enough to make her feel more so repulsed than reassured. 

"For your well-being is all," Leyster answered evenly, bearing a look that said he was choosing these words carefully. 

Tiffany nodded slowly, unsure whether or not she believed him. "You can let go of me now," was all she said. 

But he didn't. Instead, he lingered a bit longer, gazing down at her ensnared hand with something close to calculation in his eyes. 

"You seem uncomfortable by my doing this," he observed.

"Well-spotted, Sherlock," she retorted sarcastically. 

"Is it the contact in general? Or is it because you'd rather be holding the hand of someone else? Someone who makes you feel like more than what you are?" 

"Um...am I supposed to know what you're talking about?" Tiffany wondered. "I want you to let go because your grip's too tight." 

Leyster smiled. "Oh no, Tiff, it's not you; I'm just rambling because it's my job to read between the lines on things like that. I am an analyst after all." He let go of her hand, and instant relief washed over her. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"No, I'm...fine, thank you," Tiffany said quietly. "You go on ahead and meet up with Chad while I use the bathroom. 

He eyed her suspiciously for a moment before shrugging his shoulders and saying, "Alright then."

She watched him turn around and disappear from the sight, then raced into her and Chad's private bathroom to begin furiously scrubbing at her hands. She didn't know why, but it was as though his touch had scalded her, and she needed to wash the feeling off before it burnt itself into her memory. 

Once satisfied with her cleanliness, she made her way to the kitchen, where Leyster and Chad were talking, and the kids were already eating breakfast. 

"Hey Mom, we heard you're doing better this morning," Callie stated. 

"Much, sweetie, thank you," Tiffany said. She thought it best not to discuss her lingering headache with any of them. 

"Thank God, because the new direction you set for Mom's pills really scared us last night!" Brandon accused directly at Leyster. 

"Yeah, what kind of doctor doesn't directly tell their patient how they're gonna be taking their meds?" Donnie piped up, and Brandon nodded in agreement. 

"See, even Donnie knows I'm saying!" he said, pointing at his brother. 

"BOYS, that's enough!" Chad snapped, the sudden bite in his tone making them jump. He shook his head apologetically at Leyster. "Forgive me, Doctor; my sons like to forget what their place is sometimes." Brandon and Donnie cast their eyes down and ate their cereal in silence. Leyster, however, was unfazed. 

"No worries, Chad; there's no faulting the boys for being worried about their mother," he attested. He regarded Tiffany as he finished off with: "We all were."

He was doing it again; speaking to Chad, but looking at her as if trying to send a cryptic message that only she could understand. But she didn't understand, and fear clutched her as a result. 

"Well we thank you, Dr. Leyster, for so graciously taking my wife under your wing," Chad apprised, shaking his hand. "Our family has been better for it, believe me." 

Tiffany gritted her teeth. Way to talk about me like I'm not here, she thought bitterly. 

"Of course it has, because that's what I'm here for," Leyster said. "I'll be in touch, Tiff." 

"And I'll be waiting," she murmured dejectedly. 

With that, he practically glided out their front door, closing it behind him with a soft 'click.' 

"Tiffany, do you think you could drive the boys to school this morning? I'm not in the right mood to be in a closed space with them," Chad muttered irritably. 

"Gladly," she said. After all, it was Brandon and Donnie who'd had enough sense to question Leyster's ways, while Chad had merely defended him.

However, what she found most unsettling was the realization that she couldn't actually recall what her boys had been talking about. When her husband insinuated that she took the pills by choice, she hadn't doubted him for a second. Now Brandon and Donnie were indirectly telling her that that wasn't true, and she couldn't think up the evidence to back them up. 

She didn't want to believe it, but part of her began to wonder if Chad and Leyster were somehow conspiring against her. For what purpose, she didn't know. But whatever it was, she'd bet it was connected to those blue pills.

Blue pills, she was now realizing, that seemed to go by no other official name. 

*****

Tiffany drove Brandon and Donnie to their joint middle school, Illusionary Heights, in quiet contemplation of the morning's events. (Callie was in high school and was taking the bus until she could get her license). As if reading her mind, Donnie, who'd snagged shotgun before his older brother could, broke the silence. 

"You're not mad at us, are you Mom?" he wondered worriedly. 

"What makes you think I'm mad, honey?"

"You're being uncharacteristically quiet," he explained. 

"Well, well, well, look at you, using the vocabulary words you've been in studying in English so far!" Tiffany praised, reaching her arm to playfully pat his knee without taking her eyes off the road. "In all seriousness though, the answer's no, I'm not mad. In fact, I'm rather proud of you and your brother for defending me." 

"Sure thing, Mom. The dude deserved it," Brandon said.

"Brandon, don't talk like that," Tiffany urged. 

"No I mean it Mom, because your doctor gives me the creeps," he insisted. 

"Oh? How so?" 

"I don't know, something about his composure," Brandon elaborated. "He seemed to have no reaction at all to our accusatory words, and it was honestly unsettling."

"Guess Donnie's not the only wordsmith in the family," she noted, and she saw him crack a smile in the rearview mirror. "But whatever the reason is for Dr. Leyster's actions and delivery, I'm willing to believe that it's for the greater good." She hoped she sounded more convincing than she felt. 

Brandon scoffed. "Sure, Mom. About as helpful and meaningful to humanity as that dude who hit on you at Simulatey."

Tiffany's heart skipped a beat. "Sim-u-la-tay, Brandon," she corrected him gently, trying to keep her thoughts on the road but her mind replaying the words of Brandon's sudden revelation. Memorizing them. 

When Illusionary Heights Middle School pulled up into view, she breathed an audible sigh of relief. She waited her turn in the line of fellow carpooling parents dropping off their kids at the side entrance of the building, and once she'd ushered Brandon and Donnie out the car and wished them a good day, she groaned aloud. 

"So that's what I'm forgetting," she said to the now-empty car. "Or at least, that's one of the things." There was no doubt about it now; the blue pills were responsible for the blank in her memory. Patient files be damned. 

"Fucking hell," she muttered, knocking her head on the steering wheel. "How could I have been so blind?"

The only questioned that remained now, was why? What had she said in her sessions that made Dr. Leyster desperate enough to cross such a dangerous boundary and interfere with the normal dosage?  

Leaning back in her seat, she caught sight of young girl with blonde hair, holding the hand of her mother as the woman was leading an older boy up the sidewalk to the door. Interestingly enough, the girl was holding a stuffed animal. A wide-eyed pink rabbit wearing blue overalls. Tiffany just stared at it. 

"I imagine that right now, you're probably feeling, a bit like Alice," A man's deep voice reverberated in her mind suddenly. "Tumbling down the rabbit hole." 

"You could say that," another man's voice, younger, softer, replied back to him.

"Please no," she pleaded with her head. "Not here; not while I'm driving." 

She closed her eyes briefly, taking deep breaths. When she opened them again, she gasped. 

Lining the sidewalk were a series of ghostly, blurry figures, wavering and pulsating against the morning light. But unlike the suited shadows she now recalled seeing from one of her nightmares, each figure was distinct, easily separated from the other. Kids were passing in and out of them without care, so it was obvious that only Tiffany could perceive them. 

As she studied them, a sickening comprehension took hold of her. She knew these people. 

There was one woman among them, dressed in white, with white-blonde hair cropped short. Two of the men were dressed in casual black suits, one appearing in his thirties, the other maybe late teens/early twenties, with a youthful face and a leather top peeking from his coat. The other two were darker-skinned and looked to be about brothers, dressed much more humbly than the other three. 

Tiffany swallowed, feeling as though time itself had stopped all around her. 

"Help me understand," she entreated the spirits. "What does it all mean?" 

She wasn't sure whether or not she had expected an actual answer from them, but before the possibility could arise, a loud car horn broke her out of her stare down, forcibly breaking her immersion. 

The ghosts had vanished, and Tiffany could now see a wide-open space in front of her to drive out of the lot. 

"Sorry!" she called behind her. She twisted the key in ignition and steadily made her way around the bend, now with only one thought on her mind. 

"Fuck I need a coffee," she said. 

*****

But as even as she walked through the doors of Simulatte, Tiffany couldn't get those spirits out of her mind. Again, unlike her mind's previous manifestations, she was sure these people had been real once. Their appearances, the familiarity to their presences; there was no way she could have made them up on her own. 

And due to her conviction about them being real, she couldn't help feeling guilty for not knowing their identities, because it was obvious they had since died.

"I'm sorry," she murmured to them out loud as she walked to the counter.

"Howdy, Tiff!" Skroce greeted cheerfully, instantly lifting her out of her momentary mourning. "How's your day been so far?"

"A little rough, to be honest," she admitted with an awkward smile.

If finding out your husband and your doctor conspired to drug you with unlabeled pills and then seeing the ghosts of dead friends you don't remember at your kids' school could be considered "rough." 

"Oh, sorry to hear that, hon," Skroce said, scrunching up his face. "Care to mix things up again, then?"

"Sure," Tiffany replied. She scanned the billboard menu behind his head, then beamed. "I'll have the cortado, please." 

"Ooh, you must've really liked it last time," he said. 

Last time? Was this not the first? 

Tiffany waited patiently for her drink, contemplating his words. She continued to do so as she received and paid for her drink, then sat down at a table in the middle of the cafe.

Why would Chad and Leyster want her to forget about buying a different brand of coffee?

"Fucking weirdos," she muttered, though simply calling them "weirdos," would surely be an understatement on the matter. 

She shifted her focus back to the spirits she'd seen. She felt safe about calling them "spirits" as opposed to visions, because that's how real they were to her at this point. The more they stayed with her, the more convinced she became about having a connection to them. A connection that extended past the life she was living now. Strange as that was for someone who didn't have many contacts outside of her family, she couldn't describe it any other way. 

Tiffany absentmindedly drummed her fingers on the table, when suddenly, she hit something that she knew wasn't wood. She glanced down, noticing a crusty chocolate stain that was so small, it could've fit within the middle of her fingertip. 

Out of nowhere, she was hit with a mental image of herself sitting at this exact table, waiting for someone. Someone important. 

A memory! she realized. One of my missing ones I'm sure! Focus, Tiff, focus on it.

She shut her eyes, willing herself to recall the rest. It wasn't from the same memory, but she could herself sitting at this table at another point, even earlier than the one she'd just scene, and indeed drinking a cortado during that time. A man was across from her, but his voice was indiscernible, muffled like there was a pillow over his face. A face she couldn't see either, but she saw his hands. The way he held his coffee as she clinked her mug with his, the way his free hand would go through a slight curl-then-uncurl action. 

The way she would feel so tempted, throughout the duration of their discussion, to clasp that free hand within hers and never let go. 

"Feel this? I'm never letting go," a string of distant, long-ago words echoed softly. Words that, interestingly enough, sounded like her own. 

"Tiffany?" a voice called out, causing her eyes to snap open. 

She glanced up, gazing around for the source until her eyes fell on Skroce behind the counter. 

"Yes?" 

"You're one of Simulatte's most loyal customers, so I convinced the heads to let me give you a free chocolate creme croissant on the house this morning. For your troubles," he explained, smiling. 

"Oh, well...thanks, I could use one of those right now," she riposted gratefully, rising from her chair. 

Though slightly annoyed by his disruption, she could be grateful for one thing at least. 

She had a name to go with those hands now.  

Thomas.

*****

Chapter Text

"You were a vision in the morning when the light came through.

I know I've only felt religion when I've lied with you.

He said, 'you'll never be forgiven 'til your boys are too,'

And I'm still waking every morning but it's not with you.

****

Everything is blue: his pills, his hands, his jeans.

And now I'm covered in the colors, pulled apart at the seams. And it's blue...

Everything is grey: his hair, his smoke, his dreams.

And now he's so devoid of color he don't know what it means. And he's blue..."

-Halsey, "Colors"

*****

Though armed with only a name, and his face an enigma still, Tiffany couldn't help the rush of victory she felt in her veins. Her mind had fought back against Leyster's medication, gifting her limited but sacred pieces of memory, and this time, she was determined to keep them.

Borrowing a pen from Skroce, she recorded Thomas' name onto a napkin, folding it into her jacket the same time she tattooed it on her heart. Deciding she was too overcome with relief to stay, she took her croissant and coffee in to-go cups, and felt a renewed sense of hope sparking within her. 

Things went pretty well that day. She and Kusch made great headway on a Cagiva they'd started building the week before, and when she picked up the boys from school, not only did the ghosts leave her alone, but Donnie revealed that he'd gotten a 95 on the most recent Science test she'd helped him study for. 

By the time she got home, Tiffany's good spirits had put her in a forgiving mood towards all that had happened between her and Chad that morning, so she decided to take the first step in forging a truce between them. In doing so, she had the kids help set the table for a surprise dinner of takeout from the Ramen noodle place located not far from their apartment building. 

Much to her relief, when Chad arrived home that night, he seemed pleasantly surprised by the gesture. 

The table was enshrouded in a red stitched tablecloth usually saved for Christmas, with five place settings using white plates decorated in painted gold leaf patterns and the newest, shiniest silverware. Two small candle flames danced against the surrounding air current, each one flanking a small, rectangular vase of hydrangeas that Callie had made during the pottery unit in her freshman art class. A white cardboard container of food sat beside each plate so they could be routinely passed around the table. 

"Wow, Tiff I...I don't know what to say," Chad stammered. 

"Mmm, now that's something I certainly don't hear every day," she teased, taking the ends of his coat and pulling him against her. 

"Goes to show how well you can manage to surprise me still," he replied, stroking the back of her hair. "Of course, it's not like I necessarily deserved a nice surprise."

"Chad," she started, but he shook his head. 

"Don't, Tiff. You and I both know that I was being a real ass towards you and the kids this morning, and that wasn't fair to any of you. Since then, I've spent a great deal of time today thinking over my actions, and I have to ask: is there any way I could possibly be forgiven?" 

Tiffany smiled mischievously. "Eat your dinner and we'll see," she replied, winking.

"Oh, so we're playing that game tonight," Chad exclaimed, wiggling his eyebrows. 

"Ew, must you two do this now? We just started eating!" Callie groaned. 

"Yeah!" Donnie chimed in, then he leaned towards his sister. "Wait, what are they doing?" 

"Nothing you won't be learning about in eighth grade," Brandon muttered. 

"Point's already been taken, Bran; you can stop," Tiffany chided her oldest son. 

Why had that become a regular basis now, her constantly scolding Brandon for something he did or said?

The dinner passed without incident. Everyone took turns discussing their day, with Tiffany making sure that she'd left out her burgeoning remembrance of Thomas. She didn't need another unexpected drop-in from Dr. Leyster.  

Once finished, Callie volunteered herself and her brothers for clean-up duty, allowing for Chad and Tiffany to retreat to the bedroom. Tiffany locked the door behind them, and when she turned back to meet Chad's eyes, he was bestowing her a wolfish grin. 

No doubt about it now; he'd taken her hint. 

In no time at all, they were all over each other, unable to keep the exclamations at bay but careful not to be too loud. 

This is what I want, Tiffany thought, her body practically sandwiched between Chad's and the wall as he kissed her. Chad is who I want. 

If only her heart could be as committed to that declaration as her mind. 

She felt Chad pull away, and her eyes, closed in order absorb the moment, opened at the gesture, eager to see where they were headed next. 

Only it wasn't Chad who now stood before her. 

"It's you," she breathed in wonderment. 

It was Thomas; had to be. Raven black hair long enough to frame the sides of his face, brown eyes carrying a sort of comforting familiarity to them. Though his appearance remained fuzzy in her memory still, she knew no one else in her life who bore these features. 

"Where were you?" she asked quietly. "How did you finally get here?" 

He cocked his head at her. "I'm sorry, Tiff. I should've been there for you, should've defended you," he said in a voice that was clearly Chad's. "It's no excuse, but I can't help feeling like that therapist of yours as a way of getting into people's heads, even when they aren't his patients. Know what I mean?"

Tiffany sighed; the fantasy was broken. Not only because of the voice, but because she suddenly realized that Thomas had never once called her by her nickname. Or her full name, for that matter.

It was as if 'Tiffany' didn't exist in his eyes. Not the person, necessarily, but the identity. 

"I do know Chad, because I'm the one having appointments with him," she reminded him lightly. "But you're supposed to be making it up to me, remember? Let's not discuss him now." 

"Right, sorry," he apologized. Still wearing Thomas's face for some reason, he held his hand out to her invitingly. "Shall we move this to the bed, then?" 

"Sure," she whispered, accepting it. When he turned his back to her, Tiffany frowned at the contact. It was nowhere near the repulsion she'd felt with Dr. Leyster, but there were no butterflies or electricity coming from it either. She felt nothing at all, and that was so much worse. Her own husband had left her cold inside. 

She didn't allow herself to linger on it though. The illusion remained unchanged, making it easy to forget who he was, who she was, so she focused only on that. 

Half an hour later, Tiffany stared up at the ceiling, breathless but fulfilled. 

"Good news, Chad. I forgive you," she assured him. 

"Thank God, because I worked my ass for that one," he replied. "Literally and figuratively." 

"Aw, gross, don't say it like that!" she cried, swatting at his bare chest. 

"Ow! It's the truth, hon; it was the only way I knew I could be forgiven for my behavior this morning," he exclaimed, chuckling. 

"But still: ew," she insisted. 

"Alright you win," Chad relented, rolling out of bed. He grabbed a bathrobe from the closet and headed towards the door. "I'm grabbing a drink from the kitchen. You want anything while I'm there?"

Tiffany was about to respond, only to remember all that she'd been told about the night before.

"That's okay, I'm coming out too," she replied.

"Suit yourself," he said, stepping out. 

She copied his earlier motions, grabbing a clean robe and tying it around her waist. Before leaving, she took a second to scrutinize herself in the room's full-length mirror. 

"Why all the recent trouble over me? I'm nothing special, right?" she inquired to her reflection. After all, not a week went by where she wasn't somehow reminded of her current age in life or her status in society. Why the desperation to make her, specifically, forget certain things from her memory? 

Shrugging, she made her way towards the kitchen, nodding in approval as she rounded the corner. 

"Well, well, seems our kids did a pretty decent job in here," she observed. Then she noticed Chad. 

He was leaning against the sink, his hands pressed against the counter, his back bent forward. He'd clearly grown pensive about something. 

"Chad, what's wrong?" Tiffany wondered worriedly.

He said nothing, only taking his left hand and pointing it behind him at the dinner table.

She stepped forward, carefully inching her way closer to the table. Then her face paled. 

It was the napkin she'd saved from Simulatte. The one with Thomas's name etched into its cloth. 

Tiffany knew the only way out of this was to keep her composure and play it off. 

"I'm going to need more context than just a napkin, dear," she pressed. 

"Who's Thomas?" 

"What?"

"Why did I find a napkin with the name Thomas in your jacket pocket?" he asked.

"Well why were you going through my pockets?" Tiffany retorted.

"Answer the question, Tiff," he demanded through gritted teeth. 

"Oh relax, Chad. It's just that thing waiters sometimes do when you go out to eat," she explained casually. "You know, when they write their names on a napkin as they first greet your table? I must've accidentally grabbed one with leftovers at some point, thinking it was just a regular napkin." 

"God, you just have answer for everything, don't you?" Chad muttered.

"Excuse me?" 

"Tiff you know what I...fuck, no you don't."

"Please tell me we're not about to argue over a simple napkin, Chad," Tiffany scuffed, rolling her eyes for added effect. 

"Damn it, Tiffany!" Chad yelled, turning around and pounding his fist on the table. "It's not about the fucking napkin!" 

She jumped back, shocked and startled by his outburst. "Then...then what is it about?" she whimpered, suddenly aware of how alone and vulnerable she was in Chad's presence at the moment. 

He scrunched up his face, clearly in the midst of thinking his words carefully. "You've been pulling away from me lately," was what he came up with. 

"Pulling away? How so?"

"I don't know, it's just that...you keep finding reasons to be with other people who aren't me."

Tiffany frowned. "Don't tell me that's the reason you let Dr. Leyster drug me." 

"What? No! And I thought we were getting over that." 

"Pfft, there's no 'getting over' something like that, Chad," Tiffany snapped. "There can only be forgiveness, which, yes, I started to do, but then you had to go and begin obsessing over that stupid napkin!" 

"Oh, so this conversation is my fault then?" he seethed. 

"Wake up, Chad, this whole thing is your fucking fault!" she cried, her voice rising. "We wouldn't have had to be here if you hadn't made the choice to drug me without my fucking knowledge!" 

"Well I wouldn't have felt like it was necessary if Leyster hadn't insinuated that you were developing feelings for another man!" 

"Feelings for another man? Chad, that's ridiculous!" Tiffany insisted, not allowing her rapidly increasing heartbeat to deter her anger.

"Is it, Tiff? I was willing to let it go the first time, when you muttered the name 'Thomas' in your sleep and claimed it was mine. But now, Leyster hints to the possibility of there being another man in your life, and you come home with it in your pocket? Yeah...no, I don't think so anymore. So what do you have to say to that?" 

Tiffany stared at him, wide-eyed. "I...I've said that name before?" she stammered.

It was then Chad's eyes that widened as he all of a sudden realized what he'd done. His only response was: "Fuck." 

The two of them stood locked in a silent stalemate for a time, until they both jumped at the sound of Chad's cell phone, loudly ringing from the living room. 

Chad exited, and Tiffany exhaled. She heard him muttering over the phone a bit, then he hung up and walked back into the kitchen.

"Work's called me in for an overtime shift," he said stiffly. 

"Good," she replied tonelessly.

Chad left her alone for a bit as he disappeared down the hallway into their bedroom to get dressed. Still, she was determined to have the last word on the issue, so when he came back, she dared to speak up. "Before you go, I have one more thing to say."

"Oh really? What."

"If you cared for me at all, you would've come to me first, spoken about it directly, and we could've avoided all of this." 

"Yeah, whatever; I doubt that would've changed anything at this point," Chad retorted, grabbing his coat and zipping it up to his chin. "I'll see you later, okay?"

And with that, he was out the door and gone.

Tiffany leaned back against the wall, and, dramatically, let herself slide down until her knees were to her chest. She was surprised their kids hadn't seemed to have heard any of that, but at the same time, she was also grateful. They didn't need to think that either of their parents was turning into a homewrecker. 

"God, how did everything fuck up so fast?" she asked aloud, shaking her head. 

It was lucky at least that Chad had been made to step out for the evening, because she wasn't sure she could sleep in the same bed as him right now. 

Strangely enough though, Tiffany couldn't recall what Chad's actual "work" was. She'd never felt the need to question it before, simply accepting that it just was. But here, she'd be a liar if she'd didn't say that unnerved her. 

Sighing, she pulled herself to her feet, turned off all the lights save for one night light in the kitchen for Chad, and then meandered into her room to get ready for bed. 

As a distraction, she focused her attention onto a smaller issue: Chad's proclivity to always zip up to his chin. It always bothered her to see him do that. Unless it was freezing cold outside, no normal human could do that without feeling uncomfortable. 

"Too weird," she murmured, pulling the covers up over her. "Let's just hope this all blows over by tomorrow." 

And once her head hit the pillow, she fell into a fitful sleep. 

*****

It was the middle of the night, and the sign for Simulatte glowed like a beacon. The surrounding street, painted in a fresh coat of rain, released mist from its sewers and reflected neon lights in its pavement, polished like a landscaped mirror. It was nights like this that allowed such an ordinary city to be at its most mystifying. 

A hand, curling into a fist, suddenly slid into view, enshrouded by indistinct blackness. All at once, it became connected to the figure of a man, his face hidden from view. He slowly, dramatically, made his way towards Simulatte, a clear determination in his stride. 

Thomas.

Once he'd entered the shop, he paid no mind to the onslaught of armed and shielded police officers that surrounded him, all of whom had expected his arrival. He walked up to the only table within reach, where another man sat waiting. 

Without warning, the dream seemed to skip ahead, showing Tiffany and Thomas on her bike together, her driving and him holding on like his life depended on it. Not because he was scared, but because he never wanted to lose sight of her again. She felt the same way towards him. 

They were leading a small platoon of fighters in an armored vehicle as they raced through the streets, mobs chasing and clinging after them like a zombie apocalypse movie. 

Every so often, Thomas released Tiffany's shoulders to raise his hands into the air, creating forcefields of energy that could either block gunfire or destroy entire vehicles. But he always made sure to remind her he was still there, ensuring at least one hand was still on her as he awaited the next mode of defense. 

A helicopter blocked their way and shot at them, causing Tiffany to swerve sharply. But the ammunition hit a car in a road, releasing an explosion that was close enough to throw them both into the air. Time seemed to slow down as Tiffany and Thomas reached for each other, but too soon, it clicked itself back to its normal pace as they slammed into a car, and the area was enveloped in fire. 

The final image was of the rising sun as it reflected in glass windows, illuminated rooftops and... highlighted strips of code? 

*****

Tiffany awoke with a start, sitting up in bed and breathing heavily. Hurriedly, she threw off all her blankets as if the fire was actually there, still burning her from beneath. Once assured there were no burns, or even bruises, coating her skin, Tiffany combed her hair back, then covered her face with her hands. 

As much as she wanted to tell herself that this had only been a nightmare, much like the ghosts at Illusionary Heights, her gut indicated that it held more meaning than that.

It could basically be summarized as this: It didn't happen in the past, but it could in the future. 

Not that that made her feel any better, of course. 

Seeing the sunlight slip within the crack between the room's dark blue curtains, Tiffany decided to get an early start. Sure, one would expect her to want to sleep in on a Saturday, but not when Saturday had risen alongside a death dream, and an intense one at that.

She hurriedly dressed in a gray tank top, baggy jeans complete with black belt, brown jacket, and boots. After freshening up in the bathroom a bit, she quietly maneuvered her way towards the door. On the way there, she caught sight of Chad asleep on the couch, then hastily wrote a note saying she hadn't slept well and that she'd gone to the garage to clear her head.

Much to her surprise, there'd been a fellow early bird already. 

"Kusch!" she exclaimed when she saw him on the couch, crossing things out in the black composition notebook he always carried with him.

"Whoa, Tiff!" he cried, nearly jumping out of his seat at her outburst. "You scared the bejesus out of me." 

"Sorry," she apologized, pushing her jacket down to her elbows and grabbing her large, worn brown gloves.

"You're here early for a Saturday," he observed. 

"So are you," Tiffany replied. 

"Alright then, cool," he said, detecting her refusal to divulge further on the subject. 

"Cool," she echoed, relieved he'd taken the hint. Kusch had never been one to pry, and she appreciated that about him. 

She wasn't sure how much time had passed, but while working, she felt a strange sort of ripple pass through her. Goosebumps rose across her arms in spite of the warm sun rays streaming through the window directly adjacent to her station. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed someone saunter through the front entrance at a quickened pace, clearly looking for something. 

He turned around to face her, and Tiffany gasped soundlessly, removing her goggles. She needed that barrier removed, to know what she was seeing was real. Then her breath hitched. 

It was Thomas. Here, in the flesh. No longer a mere figment of her dream world, or a hallucinatory representative of forgotten memories.  

As much as she wanted to question his sudden reemergence, or how the hell he'd tracked down where she worked, her attention took in his dusty, scratched-up appearance. 

"Oh my God, what-what happened?" she exclaimed. 

"An accident," he said simply, and the familiarity of his voice, occurring in real time, nearly made her collapse with relief. 

Focus, Tiffany, he's hurt. "Kusch, call a doctor!" she called over her shoulder, and he nodded dutifully. 

"It's fine," Thomas insisted, a lick of desperation in his voice as he put his hand out to stop Kusch. Then he turned back to Tiffany.

"I don't have a lot of time," he informed her. 

That didn't matter.

"I wasn't sure I'd see you again," she said, wanting him to know that she'd been waiting for him.  

He inched closer. "After we spoke, I realized: my life wasn't a life," he admitted, and she averted her eyes for a brief second. "At some point, I think gave up searching for something real."

Wordlessly, he reached out towards her, and she tensed, watching as his right hand came close, so dangerously close, to her left, planted firmly at her side. She knew she should pull away, it would be better for both of them if she did; but the part of her that had wanted him so badly, badly enough to let his image to envelop Chad's the night before, allowed him to continue. 

His hand hovered over her wrist, and she swore, she could feel the energy crackling between his palm and the back of her hand as he carefully made his way down without touching her just yet. The suspense was unreal.

Then it happened; his fingers closed over hers, bringing her hand forth from its safe distance away, so they could truly meet within the perpetual space between their bodies. And with the sunlight now aiming directly for them at this point, illuminating their connection with as much realization and reactivation as a moment of pure, mental clarity, it could've been pulled straight from a fairytale. 

Speaking of clarity: every memory, every encounter, and dream that Thomas had been a part of; all of it came flooding back to Tiffany with the full speed and force of a rushing river. 

Including this morning's dream. 

It was enough to bring on an equally forceful rush of reality.

"Wait," Tiffany said softly, releasing him and pulling back. His fingers remained agape for a few seconds, as if the hand itself were left shocked by her dismissal. 

"Something happened," he realized. It was a statement, not a question. 

Damn his intuition, but he deserved to know. 

"I looked for you at the coffee shop," she explained softly, delicately, as if speaking to a priest at a confessional. "I began to wonder if I'd imagined you. And then last night I had a dream. In the dream, you were...surrounded by police, and then they started chasing us."

"Us?" he repeated. 

"You were on my bike with me," she confirmed.

"How did it end?" he asked, fearful of her answer.  

"Not good," was all she said. She couldn't bear divulging the details. 

Even so though, he'd clearly understood. He paused, glancing down for a moment, then met her eyes again. 

"I've had dreams that weren't just dreams," Thomas offered up. 

She hadn't expected that. 

"You mean a dream that came true?" Tiffany whispered, unable to hide the vulnerability in her voice. 

He nodded once, and just slightly, leaned in closer. What was he going to do? And if it was what she thought, would she accept it? 

But before Tiffany could find her answer, all at once, time seemed to stop all around her, and her surroundings became indistinguishable, like she was staring into space. She heard someone talking; a man, but much like when Chad drugged her, it was like her whole head was underwater, his words coming out distorted and muffled. But she could at least tell that it wasn't Thomas or Kusch. 

She wasn't sure how long it had gone on for until it broke just as suddenly as it had come. She reached up and rubbed the left side of her forehead with her fingertip, having felt the brush of metal. From...a bullet?! 

Plus, Thomas had become abruptly agitated, fear and relief now written all over him. 

"Trinity?" he exclaimed desperately. 

"You shouldn't call me that," she warned, recalling those same words from the nightmare in which she'd attempted to accept it. 

"I'm sorry," he said, moving back and forth on his feet, clearly torn between leaving her behind and forcibly taking her with him. "I have to go, but I'll be back." 

Please do this time, she thought but didn't say.

Swiftly, a group of black-clad young people swarmed in through the front door, with a blue-haired Chinese girl taking the lead. 

"Neo, time to go!" she announced, as if calling Thomas 'Neo' were a perfectly normal thing for her to do. 

Then, as rapidly as they'd all come in, they each began to vanish one by one, with Thomas being the last to go. 

"Simulatte, Trinity, I'll be there," he promised, and then he was gone, leaving a very stunned Tiffany behind. 

She shook her head in disbelief, her mouth creating a series of malformed 'O' shapes. 

"Uh, Tiff? You saw those vanishing people too, right?" Kusch asked, suddenly reminding her of his existence. 

"I did," she replied simply, longingly running her hand over the space that Thomas had filled. 

"Jesus; some fucking Now You See Me shit, I swear," he muttered. 

*****

Chapter Text

"I heard my name's on the tip of your tongue.

And I'm empty too if that is what you want.

But I looked into your eyes and you're the One,

That I wanted, baby that I wanted, baby that I wanted.

Is it haunting, baby that I'm wanting, baby that I'm wanting, wanting you?

And I, I lose my mind tonight over you.

Devil in a dress I'ma love you like I do, yeah, yeah.

Follow the white rabbit to see the truth, yeah, yeah.

-Madison Beer, "Follow the White Rabbit"

*****

It seemed like all Tiffany had done lately was scramble from place to place; sometimes to something, other times away. But it seemed neither option was particularly working for her. She couldn't escape, she couldn't triumph, her emotions pulled in every direction. 

Tiffany was pacing the living room floor of her apartment, fingers interlaced within her hair, elbows resting on the sides of her forehead. Here she was yet again; quietly yearning for what she couldn't have, while dreading losing what she did. 

She was grateful though, at the very least, to have this contemplation to herself. She'd come home from the garage, thoughts too cluttered to focus on work, to find the apartment empty. A note had been left from Chad saying that he'd taken the boys out for ice cream and Callie had gone to a friend's house. 

Good, they didn't need to be here for this. None of them did.

She was just relieved that Kusch had also borne witness to Thomas and friends' magic act at the end. It made her feel a little less crazy about all this. 

Otherwise, who was she? Merely a woman, choosing to accept all that she saw, because she expected to wake up.

Wait, hadn't she heard that before? Something like that at least?

Tiffany slowly lowered her arms, and her eyes drifted to the family's Play Station, perched comfortably on the TV stand on a shelf beneath the flat screen. A stack of recently played BD-ROM discs was positioned beside it, drawing her in. 

Granted, things hadn't necessarily started with The Matrix, but Tiffany's dreams, her uncertainty and confusion, they'd sure as hell been aggravated by it. And it was high time she faced said aggression head-on. 

She picked through the provided discs until her eyes lay on the patterned rows of neon green squares and numbers against a stark black background, signifying one of the game series' most iconic aesthetics. 

Quickly, she switched on the Play Station, and to her surprise, the boys had been in the middle of a different game. She checked through all the covers until she found what she was looking for. 

"Silent Hill 3," she muttered aloud, "figures."

*****

She'd been at Wal-Mart with the boys once, and while exploring the video games aisle, Brandon asked about playing the Silent Hill series, and Donnie, ever the follower, hopped on board the idea. Tiffany refused. She deemed it too scary for them, insisting that Donnie in particular would be prone to receiving nightmares from it, especially when Brandon tried to argue that he knew what to expect already, claiming a friend from school was a fan who'd gotten him to watch its two movie adaptations. But Tiffany had put her foot down, with some added utterances of talking to whomever that friend's parents were. As the conversation came to a close, she'd felt satisfied that her grievances had been heard. 

However, as Tiffany would soon learn, being heard didn't necessarily mean being respected. 

A few days later, she'd been in the home office going over hers and Kusch's latest design sketches, when she heard a commotion from the kitchen. Coming in, she could see that Chad had come home, and he'd handed the boys a plastic Wal-Mart bag. 

"What's all this about?" she wondered curiously. 

Brandon and Donnie's excitement immediately died down, and they gave her wary, guilt-ridden looks before slipping out of the room. 

"Jesus, what made me the party crasher all of a sudden?" she queried Chad, half-joking, half-serious.

"Did you tell to the boys they couldn't play Silent Hill?" he interrogated. 

"Uh, yeah, because I'm their mother and I want to protect them from nightmares," she explained, hinting that that should be obvious to him.

"Hmph, guess we'll see what happens then," Chad muttered.

Tiffany's eyes widened, and sure enough, when she went into the living room to check on the boys, she could see the foggy blue glow of the main menu screen that bore the Silent Hill title.

"Please tell me you only bought the one," she pleaded, connecting the dots. 

"Eh, I was sure they'd enjoy it so I got 2 & 3 as well, especially since I heard that the series goes downhill from there," Chad replied. "But the fact that they managed to make two more good games out of this environment is still pretty impressive, don't you think, Tiff? After all, everyone loves a good trilogy."

"Yeah, emphasis on good," she mumbled irritably. With that, she left her sons to their literal devices and went back to the office, almost hoping they would get nightmares, if only to seize the opportunity to teach them a lesson and do nothing.

Did that make her sound like a horrible mother or what?

*****

Tiffany shook off the memory, trying to keep her focus on the task at hand, but she couldn't help the residual frustration left in her. It was bad enough the boys went behind her back and pitted her and Chad against each other, but to know that her authority had been so easily overturned, or hell, probably not even considered, was what really boiled her blood. 

"Let's just hope Trinity doesn't have to deal with this kind of crap," Tiffany griped, taking her controller and sitting on the couch. 

Once she'd selected to start a new game, Tiffany couldn't help but smile as stripes of green code made their rapid descent down the blackened screen. A lone green square blinked in the left corner of the screen, and then a phone rang, signaling the game's introductory cut scene.

"Yeah?" a man's voice answered. 

"Is everything in place?" a woman's voice, presumably Trinity's, wondered. 

"You weren't supposed to relieve me," he pointed out.

"I know, but I felt like taking a shift," she replied. 

"You like him, don't you? You like watching him," the man snarked. Tiffany frowned. 

"Don't be ridiculous," Trinity grumbled, her tone indicating that she was used to these kinds of comments from him already and knew how to handle it. Tiffany's mouth quirked up in approval. 

"We're gonna kill him, you understand that?" the man asked, changing the subject. 

"Morpheus believes he is the One," Trinity insisted, as if reminding him.

"Do you?" he asked cryptically. 

"It doesn't matter what I believe." 

"You don't, do you?"

"Did you hear that?" she exclaimed suddenly. 

"Hear what?"

"Are you sure this line is clean?"

"Yeah, of course, I'm sure." 

"I better go."

The scene shifted, the perspective literally travelling inside the numbers, which Tiffany thought was a neat touch. A group of police officers inside a building, looking for someone. They arrived a room marked '303,' and kicked down the door. The woman inside slowly raised her hands. 

Unexpectedly, the scene shifted again, and a black car rolled up to the cluster of police cars stationed outside. Three men in black suits and shades climbed out of it in near-perfect synchronization. 

Tiffany's blood, previously boiling, now turned cold. 

The suited figures from her nightmare. These were them.

It was enough to make her want to turn off the console and escape the connection right then and there, but she forced herself to continue.

They talked for a bit, with the lieutenant cracking a comment about how his men could handle "one little girl," only for the lead agent to retort and say "No, Lieutenant, your men are already dead." 

Tiffany managed another smile, knowing already that they were screwed. 

The storyline switched back to the police inside the building, preparing to arrest Trinity. Control buttons appeared on the screen, alerting Tiffany that she was going to have to fight her way out of this soon. 

The minute the cop with the cuffs raised his hand up to her wrists, Tiffany's thumbs moved at lightning pace, her mind calculating Trinity's every action with inexplicable precision. Sure, she'd observed the focus and certainty that Donnie and Brandon put into their game plays, but she hadn't paid attention or stayed long enough to record every little detail in their progression. Yet here she was, getting Trinity through the fight like it was nothing she couldn't handle. 

Like it was something she already had handled. 

She took out the police in record timing, hardly believing her luck, and then another phone call came in. 

"Morpheus, the line was traced, I don't know how," Trinity reported, admirably keeping her cool despite the obvious danger she was in.

"I know; they cut the hard line. There's no time, you're going to have to get to another exit," Morpheus explained. 

"Are there any agents?" she wondered.

"Yes."

"Goddamn it."

"Agents," Tiffany murmured. "So that's what they are." 

"You have to focus Trinity," Morpheus exclaimed, re-capturing Tiffany's attention like he'd said it to her directly. "There's a phone at Wells and Lake. You can make it." 

"Alright," Tiffany and Trinity said at once, bewildering her. 

"Go." 

With no time to longer on the strangeness of it all, Tiffany immediately kicked into gear and got Trinity on the move to a rather kick-ass instrumental involving piano and percussion. 

The agents and police gave chase, sending her climbing up ladders and running over protruding rooftop skylights in order to stay ahead, and the adrenaline of it all was unreal. Hell, with all the green tint and shadowy, limited lighting, she couldn't help but liken it to an opening chase in a horror movie. Especially once she'd leapt through her literal window of escape, rolled down the stairs with her guns pointed, and stared up at the black exterior beyond the broken frame for several seconds, half-expecting a face to come popping out at her. 

Only difference was, Trinity was no victim. Tiffany would see to that.

So once Trinity had gotten control of her breathing and convinced herself to get up and keep going, Tiffany directed her the last of the way to the phone booth Morpheus had suggested. When faced down with a garbage truck that she had no doubt was being driven by the agents, she knit her eyebrows in concentration, gaging distance and dimension before she ran Trinity at full speed into the booth and on the phone before the truck came plowing through.

Thankfully, the game told her that she'd been successful in her escape and would ascend to the next level, giving Tiffany enough confidence to hit pause, take a breath, and relax. 

"Damn, Thomas wasn't kidding about it keeping the kids entertained," she observed with a surprised laugh. But at the mention of his name, the laugh all at once died on her lips. Or at least, what she thought was still his name. 

"Neo, time to go!" 

Tiffany grimaced, recalling how easily the blue-haired girl had referred to him by that name. Unless he'd gotten himself involved in some sort of weird roleplaying gig, there was no logical reason as to why that should be happening, especially with his history. 

Not that she was judging him for any of it, of course. 

Needing to distract herself again, Tiffany grabbed a bottle of spring water from the kitchen and kept it beside her as she continued forth her adventure down the rabbit hole. A concept the game seemed to connect to very much, as even its wait screen featured a green, pixelated rabbit outline hovering above the selection menu.

Unfortunately, distraction wasn't so simple this time, because the next cut scene featured the first appearance of Neo, revealed to have been messaged by Trinity herself, encouraging him to "follow the white rabbit." 

"Did you base your main character on yourself?"

"There is a lot of me in him, maybe a little...too much."

Well he hadn't been exaggerating about the look of Neo at least. He resembled Thomas about as closely as Tiffany resembled Trinity. She shivered a bit.

As the game moved further along, more and more of the game's setting and events began to feal real to her. Like all of this existed in its own little timeline somewhere, and she'd somehow found a way to experience it all beforehand. 

But it wasn't until Neo had been jacked out of the in-game Matrix and was introduced to his fellow Nebuchadnezzar crew members that Tiffany's heart dropped. 

Only one of them didn't somehow resemble one of the five spirits from her vision at Illusionary Heights.

Good God, how did he...how could he...oh fuck.

Tiffany paused the game and raced to the bathroom, sick with recognition and horror. She leaned over the sink, breathing heavily and groaning as she felt a churning in her stomach. 

She'd accepted Thomas' "dreams that weren't just dreams" in his words, "dreams that came true" in hers. She'd understood that they'd had that in common. 

But...that didn't necessarily mean that they'd been sharing dreams, right? 

"If there was ever a time to know the definitive difference between fantasy and reality, it would be now," Tiffany stated out loud.

"Oh Trinity, you already know it's not as simple as that," a voice replied sympathetically. 

Tiffany's head shot up in surprise, searching wildly, until her attention rested on her reflection in the mirror. 

Only, it wasn't her reflection, not really. It was her face but...her eyes were brighter, less tired, and instead of Tiffany's look of shock, she gazed back at her with a sympathetic yet confident smile. And she was dressed like Trinity from the game to boot. 

She couldn't help but think back to the doppelganger she'd seen in her agent attack nightmare. 

"Who...who are you?" she asked nervously. 

"I'm you," Tiffany-in-the-mirror answered.

Tiffany scoffed. "More like someone's version of me." 

"Or perhaps the real you, once she's finally emerged," the reflection countered. 

Tiffany turned her head away. "No, I-I can't. I can't think like that I'm sorry." 

"Trinity..."

"That's not my name!" she tried to snap, but her voice broke. 

"Why, Trinity? Why do you turn away from the truth?" 

"Because how do I know it's the truth? Or, more accurately speaking, truth that's not going to deem me insane?" Tiffany asked. 

The reflection cocked her head thoughtfully. "Because it's your truth, Trinity, and no one can take that from you." 

"Easier said than done, I'm afraid," Tiffany pointed out. "Besides, you're just a reflection, you know nothing of my world." 

"I know more than you think." 

Tiffany shook her head. "People keep telling me they know me...I'm afraid no one does." 

"But he does." 

She took a shuddering breath. "He does?"

"Do you not feel your truest, your most at ease, whenever you're with him?" the reflection wondered.

"I do," she admitted. 

"Then that settles it," the reflection surmised. "I trust you know what you have to do then?"

"I do but...I don't know if I have the strength to do it," Tiffany expressed. 

"You do," her reflection assured her, and suddenly, her hand actually reached through the mirror and made contact with Tiffany, touching the side of her face. "Don't be afraid of who you are." 

"I'll try," Tiffany said honestly. "But how can I even get there?"

"Simple. Just follow the white rabbit, Alice," the reflection replied with a wink. And with that, her hand retreated back inside the glass and Tiffany's image resorted to its original state. 

With newfound invigoration, Tiffany stalked out of the bathroom with her head held high. She turned off the TV and gaming system, grabbed her leather jacket from the couch, and locked up the apartment. She took the elevator to the bottom floor, and when she out to the private, covered parking lot located beside her building, she couldn't help but smile. 

Beyond the parking spot holding her motorcycle, within the little strip of public garden area, a white rabbit was crouched between the bushes. 

"Mom?" 

Tiffany whirled around, and, standing on the sidewalk, watching her with an unreadable expression, was Callie. 

"Uh, hi honey, you're back home I see," Tiffany observed awkwardly. 

"Something told me I should," Callie said in a serious tone. "And it seems I came in the nick of time."

Tiffany turned back towards her bike for a second to check for the rabbit, and sure enough, it was gone. Then she looked back at her daughter. 

"Here, Cal, take the keys and let yourself in the house," she ordered, tossing them to her. "If you see your father and brothers, tell them I've gone out to clear my head for a bit." 

"Wait, Mom-," Callie started, but Tiffany had already drowned her out with her engine. Then she pulled out of the lot and sped away. 

Unbeknownst to them both, several paces behind Callie, a man watched Tiffany's bike disappear down the street, eyes narrowing in disapproval as he dramatically removed his blue-framed eyeglasses.

*****

Chapter Text

"I was as pure as a river, but now I think I'm possessed. 

You put a fever inside me, and I've been cold since you left...

'Cause I've done some things that I can't speak. 

And I've tried to wash you away, but you just won't leave.

So won't you take a breath and dive in deep?

'Cause I came here so you'd come for me. 

I'm begging you to keep on haunting me."

- Halsey, "Haunting"

*****

Tiffany blew on her spoonful of chili before lifting into her mouth, savoring every bite of her late lunch, and embracing the temporary calm before the inevitable storm that would erupt when she met Thomas at Simulatte. 

She sat hugging the corner of a booth table with her back to the front entrance, giving the impression of someone who wasn't necessarily hiding out, but didn't want to be bothered regardless. Thankfully, Pandora Bread had always been of her more secretive spots, where she liked to go when she needed a meal to herself for once, so she hoped tonight would be no different. But with everything that had happened as of late, she wasn't counting on it. 

One could jokingly argue that she couldn't face her supposed "destiny" on an empty stomach, but in all truthfulness, Tiffany was stalling. Between her and Thomas, one of them would prove a fool that night. And it wouldn't matter whom it was, she'd be there to find out regardless. It was that inevitable. 

Even so, she knew couldn't show up unprepared. As much as she would be concluding her current position on the madness spectrum, it was also a matter of confronting him over his bombardment into her life, because since then, nothing seemed to make sense anymore.  

And deep inside, there lingered that one question she feared asking him most of all. If, by some cosmic chance, their paths had been predestined to cross, why did he only come for her now? What had taken him so long to find her? 

Sighing, Tiffany pulled off a piece of her chunk of baguette, and instead of dipping it in, she just dropped it inside and let it drown, her eyes falling it as it sank. She wasn't sure what was compelling her to do it; call it need for sudden distraction. 

A flash of black low towards the floor, captured her attention, causing her to lean over and gaze down the line of tables. Seeing nothing, she glanced behind her towards the front door, and to her astonishment, a black cat sat there, peering back at her curiously. 

But it wasn't just any black cat. It was Dr. Leyster's cat, had to be. How many other cats had she seen wearing silver bells on their collars? 

As if on cue, the bell twinkled softly, but to Tiffany, the sound was deafening. 

Wincing and confused, she turned back towards the table, and nearly jumped out of her skin. 

Leyster was sitting across from her, a forced and exaggerated smile plastered to his face. 

"Hello Tiff-a-nee," he said casually, drawing out her name. 

"What-how did you-what are you doing here?" she stammered between breaths. 

"Same as you I presume: reenergizing," he replied, his eyes roaming over her face. 

"Right," she murmured uncertainly, then she cleared her throat. "Well, I was actually just getting ready to finish up here so if you don't mind, I've got somewhere I need to be."

"With Thomas?"

Tiffany, in the midst of rising from the table with her tray, froze at the mention of his name.

"I'm, sorry...who?" she asked innocently.

Leyster scoffed. "Don't play games with me, Tiff; we're well-beyond those at this point." 

Tiffany shook her head. "I have to go," she insisted, struggling to keep a normalized pace in her step as she moved away from him. 

She added her tray and utensils to the return station, then rounded the corner to reach the door. But before she could, she watched as the glass of the front door suddenly expanded to the surrounding walls, becoming a gelatin-like substance with a strange, shimmering wave to its surface. '

Tiffany took an instinctive step back, but a quiet reminder of her mirror experience pushed her forward again. She tentatively reached her hand out to it, expecting it to go through, but as soon as her fingertips made contact with the surface, it collapsed into a puddle at her feet, leaving nothing but pure solid wall. 

Startled, she quickly shuffled away from the resulting splash, and an amused chuckle emitted from nearby. 

"I've always wanted an excuse to use that trick," Leyster's voice carried over. 

Tiffany slowly pivoted around, and she quickly realized that she and Leyster were the only active participants in the room. Everyone else had become frozen in place.

"Who are you?" she asked, her voice half-firm, half-wavering. 

"No one you need to concern yourself with, so long as you do what I ask," he answered cryptically. 

"And that is?"

"Go home. Forego whatever rendezvous you thought you had planned and focus once more on being with your family. You know, the family you've been so graciously given? I have no doubt they're worried sick about you."

She shook her head. "I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because...because I just can't, okay?" 

"Then you leave me no choice," Leyster stated grimly. 

Without warning, a high-pitched screeching noise filled Tiffany's ears, sending her to her knees as she covered her ears in vain. Harrowing flashes of her past nightmares came to the forefront of her mind, leaving her disoriented. Her eyes were squeezed shut, and as much as she wanted to open them, she couldn't. 

"What is this?!" she shouted, feeling like she had to over all the noise. 

"Your final warning!" Leyster yelled back, only his sounded like it was being done purely for amusement. 

Tiffany could feel panic rising in her chest, the sensation of feeling trapped despite the wide-open space overwhelming. 

And it wasn't the first time she'd felt this way. 

She recalled being on a cruise ship with Chad once; an anniversary surprise he'd planned during their early years of parenthood, when being married to him had been a choice, not obligation. Despite her hesitation, he'd assured her of the company's credentials, and that in his research, he'd chosen only the best and safest for them. But even during the trip itself, there were points where neither the inside nor outside of the ship provided her comfort. The walls felt like a cage, and the open ocean like a prison.

Only...no, no that wasn't right, Tiffany realized. It wasn't a cruise ship at all. A ship, yes, but not for the ocean, for the air. It'd been all metal and futuristic tech, with dental patient chairs connected to computers that let your consciousness travel to unknown worlds. Tiffany had been younger then, and her life had become dedicated to that ship and its crew. There were days its confines had been stifling, and sometimes, looking out its windows not at the ocean but at tunnels of constructed rubble didn't make things better. But then an older woman, presenting a sassy tough grandmother vibe, approached her with a future. A future, not much different from her present, save for one aspect: she'd be living it in love. 

And it wasn't Chad she'd come to love. It was Thomas. 

The panic died down, and in turn, it drowned out the screeching sounds. Tiffany lifted her hands from her ears, using them instead to lift herself off the floor.  

"Ah, make the right decision, have you?" Leyster asked cheekily. 

Tiffany stood up tall, took a deep breath, then opened her eyes. One look at his smug face and her right arm shot out reflexively, her fingers splayed out as a pulsation of energy exploded from her hand like a supernova, knocking him on his ass as he slid across the floor. 

Snapping out of it, Tiffany retracted her arm in shock, watching as several of the now unfrozen Pandora Bread patrons stood from their tables and approached Leyster, asking if he was alright. 

As they helped him sit up, he met her eyes with an irritated glare. 

"Son of a bitch, not this again," he muttered aloud. His assistants' heads all turned simultaneously to face her, in a way eerily similar to that of the agents in her nightmare. 

It was enough to send Tiffany running again. 

Once she'd reached her bike, she all of a sudden became aware of the shift in daylight. She looked up at the sky and realized the sun was setting. 

"After what I just witnessed in there, I won't even question it," she decided aloud. 

*****

"You know his love is not enough, you know it isn't what you need.

You know you're made of finer stuff. I think on that, we're all agreed.

It's time to leave him in the dust; it's time to be who you should be.

It's time to do now as you must, and set the music in you free...

Fulfill us, complete us, make us whole!

Seal our bond forevermore.

Tonight, for me, embrace your destiny." 

****

"Twisted every way, what answer can I give?

I know I can't refuse and yet I wish I could, oh God. 

Christine, Christine, don't think that I don't care,

But every hope and every prayer rests on you now."

-Andrew Lloyd Webber & Glenn Slater, "Before the Performance," from Love Never Dies

*****

It was time.

The sky was swathed in darkness; the streets alight with a glowing wet sheen. Though most of the San Francisco hubbub had died down by this point, one corner was to remain alive and well: Simulatte. 

Tiffany pulled up on her bike and parked it out front, refusing to lose her nerve. It had brought her this far, and now, there was no turning back from it.

She walked briskly through the front door, but the sight she was met with made her slow down her steps and glance about nervously. Men in FBI coats and bulletproof vests lined every corner of the establishment and among them, a select few in varying black ensembles and colored shades, like the ones who'd trailed after Thomas at her garage. 

Speaking of Thomas, he dutifully stood beside their table, his eyes never leaving her as she studied her surroundings before stepping into the threshold of his presence. 

"I saw this in my dream," she admitted softly, her breath unsteady.

"If I was the Oracle, maybe I could explain it," he suggested, his voice a mixture of sympathy and embarrassment. 

Tiffany blinked. "The Oracle...from your game?" she dared to ask, still hoping this was all one big prank. 

The sympathy rose to his face. "It's not a game," he murmured. 

It took her a second to absorb his words. "Oh God," she whispered, looking down at their table as if for help. 

With no other options, Tiffany settled into her chair, with Thomas doing the same, hoping the memory of their short-spent but long-missed routine would bring, if only miniscule, sense to this. 

She exhaled. "After you left, I went home, and I played it," she explained. "I kept thinking: Why does this story feel like a memory?" 

He didn't respond, only nodded encouragingly.

She gave him a small half-smile then pursed her lips, dreading the hardest question of all, but needing his answer regardless. "There is a part of me, that feels like I have been waiting my whole life for you," she confessed, sniffling. "And that part is like: What the hell took you so long?"

"I don't have an easy answer," he confessed equally, sighing. "Maybe I was afraid of this," he turned his head, gesturing at their encompassing spectators, "afraid of what might happen. Afraid of hurting the only person I ever loved." 

Now it was her turn to bestow sympathy. "I wish, I was who you think I am," Tiffany disclosed. "But look at me...I can't be her."

The door to Simulatte opened behind her, and out of nowhere, her sons and Chad were calling for her. 

She turned her head in their direction, but Thomas paid them no mind.

How in the Hell had they tracked her down here? And why were they mentioning Callie? 

"Is this real?" she whimpered uncertainly, but all Thomas could do was keep up that look of desperate hope in his eyes. 

It was the only discernable thing she could hold onto, as the voices of her family engaged in quick, nearly indistinct interchanges. 

Donnie: "You have to come with us."

Brandon: "C'mon!"

Chad: "Hey, don't know what's going on here but I'm glad we found ya."

Donnie: "It's Callie, she got hit by a car!"

Chad: "I know, it's crazy, she was chasing after you." 

Brandon: "They're casting her arm, we gotta go." To illustrate his point, his right hand held her right arm while his left was securing her shoulder. Or was it restraining? 

Chad: "Doctor says she's going to be fine."

Donnie: "You have to come with us to the hospital."

Tiffany swallowed, facing Thomas again. "It's too late," she decided. 

"I understand," he replied, his softness unwavering.

Damn it, he just wouldn't make this easier for her, would he?

She allowed Chad to lead her away from the table, knowing already that Thomas's eyes were watching her every retreating step, and caring not all that he was only being treated to the back of her head. As the distance between them spread wider and wider, she recalled a similar anguish in her heart that first time they separated after meeting. Back then, she'd left because she had no choice. 

She could hear the crowd of policemen infiltrate the center of the cafe, no longer bound to the outer rim, as if her decision alone had given them the go-ahead. They were swarming Thomas, and Tiffany soon realized that neither he, nor his scattered allies, was making any effort to fight them off. 

Pins and needles poked at her right-hand palm, and she could stand it no longer. She needed to see what was happening to him.

"Tiffany!" Chad exclaimed irritably, but she ignored him.

Sure enough, Thomas remained still, hunched over the table with his stomach lying flat as a number of soldiers held him down, while several others stood behind with their guns drawn. 

And yet, despite all that, she'd managed once more to find his eyes. But once she had, they started to wander, voluntarily shifting away from her and back towards the table. A clear sign that he was accepting his fate. 

He's doing this for me, she realized in shock, time seeming to slow as she processed his choice. He's about to sacrifice his freedom, and possibly even die, for me, for my happiness, and all in the name of being in love with me. But I hardly know him! Surely, I should be more so concerned by his present actions than touched, right? That is unless...unless...

I love him too.

And there it was: her revelation. 

"Tiffany, you have to come with us!" Chad snapped more insistently, his wrapped firmly around her wrist and nearly dragging her towards the door at this point. "Tiffany!" 

She closed her eyes, stilling herself for a moment to ensure her next words packed the proper punch.

"I wish you would...fucking stop calling me that, I hate that name," she demanded coldly, then she turned her head swiftly around, facing him head-on. "My name is Trinity, and you better take your hands off me." 

The Chad program's eyes turned green with code, a sliver of black in the middle making them look like digital cat eyes. A private joke by his creator, no doubt. Trinity spun his wrist around with her right hand and dodged a punch to her face with her left, the moves coming back to her clear as day, just as they had when she'd reenacted the video game. He tried to swerve around her and went straight for her neck, but she caught his wrist in time, forcing him to grab the collar of her leather jacket instead. She karate-chopped at his arm then used the same motion to swipe at his neck in the hopes of gagging him. He dove for her wrist again, but she used his grip to her advantage, kicking up her legs and knocking his forehead with the heel of her boot. She kneed and punched him in the stomach, then finished off by grabbing him by his own jacket collar, driving him headfirst into a flip, before slamming him to the floor on his back. 

Only one person in this room truly mattered to her now. 

"NEO!" she cried urgently, having lost sight of him amongst the program police, and needing him to know that she'd returned. 

"TRINITY!" he yelled back within seconds, shock and relief flooding his voice. Recovering his will, the policemen were thrown into the air, an energy wave soon pulsating about the cafe...until time really did slow to a stop. 

Trinity, trapped in a frozen state, immediately recognized this as the same scenario that had occurred at her assigned garage, when Neo had first convinced her to come here. She heard the muffled mutterings of a man's voice that wasn't his, detected movement out the corner of her eye, and then heard another man's voice suddenly join in with the first. 

She wasn't sure how long it'd lasted, but when the sounds of broken glass unexpectedly met her ears, she knew time had returned to normal. 

"Trinity," she heard Neo exclaim, breathless and desperate. He wrestled with guards who dared block his way to her, switching off between kung fu and bullet time. 

Trinity, meanwhile, felt a sudden jolt as someone connected with her mind, mentally joining her in the fight. It naturally frightened her for a moment, almost distracting her from her opponents, but then she saw flashes of whom it was. It was the blue-haired girl, the one she'd heard first use Neo's name! She sent Trinity a hurried, telepathic message. 

It's okay, Trinity; use my strength to recover your own.

And with those ten simple words, Trinity immediately understood. She quickly caught on to the girl's instructions, syncing and copying every suggested move, and with every new impact she dealt her enemies, something rose within her. A surge of power she'd never known, beyond mere confidence or a simple inner strength. It was real, physical, tangible. Glowing like a beacon, pulsing like a heartbeat, and feeling as natural to her as breathing. 

Without warning, the girl was disconnected from her, and once Trinity had recovered from the sudden separation, she watched in astonishment as physical energy waves burst out from her next punch. 

"Destroy her, destroy her!" she heard someone exclaim in the commotion, but she couldn't, nor wouldn't, let such a threat stop her. Not this time. 

Because the more she expressed her power, the more she realized that it was incomplete. Though entirely her own, only half of it resided in her, and each time it showed through in her moves, she could feel it transmitting, calling for its other half.

Thankfully, it didn't have to look very far, because she could also feel the reverberations of a response signal, coming directly from Neo. And there was only one sure way they could connect the call. 

Unfortunately, the programs already seemed to anticipate their intentions and quickly swarmed them both, filling out all available space between them as a voice shouted at them to be stopped.

But brute strength was nothing. Nothing could compare to the titanium tether of their bond, and all that had contributed to its eventual forging. The sacrifices they'd made to keep each other alive during their previous sentience. The hopeful, yet ultimately hopeless, ambition their younger selves shared to have love and fight war. The years spent desperately clinging to the shred of connection they'd been "mercifully" dealt following their resurrections. The decades of struggle to claim their true selves before discovery. The help they'd at long last received from the rebels who located Neo. And the sheer will and determination that existed between them now, jointly refusing to let any of that go to waste. 

They were closer, closer than they'd ever had been before. So much so that neither of them could hide the enduring strain and agony in their faces as their right hands stretched forth past their detainers, the hum of their bond growing more intense with every new inch gained. Such intensity forced their minds to replay every instance they'd come together after a separation. Smith had thought he'd killed Neo, but Trinity's kiss revived him. Agent Thompson thought he'd killed Trinity, but Neo had re-started her heart. The Merovingian thought he'd successfully trapped Neo in Mobil Avenue, but Trinity (and Persephone) had forced him to reconsider. All of these blissful reunions, so unlike the trauma their handlers had made them endure. But then again, artificial darkness can't complete with pure light. 

Then it happened: Trinity's hand closed over Neo's, fitting just as firmly and perfectly in both shape and grip as it had that first day in Simulatte. When he was Thomas and she was Tiffany, two perfect strangers, drawn in by a spark but becoming a wildfire. The faint heartbeat of a bond buried many-times over, but surviving long enough to witness its own resurrection. And all at once, Trinity knew: there was no one else's hand she wanted to hold but his. 

Light burst forth from the contact, releasing a shockwave that sent the SWAT agents flying, but Neo and Trinity held firm, to the floor and each other. 

Trinity stared up at him in stunned silence as the light died down, pulling him towards her almost immediately as they took in what just happened. Neo leaned in gently, touching his forehead to hers. The battle was far from over, but for these few precious seconds, they would bask in their newfound freedom. 

*****

Chapter Text

"Show me the way home. I can't lose another life.

The world's a little blurry, or maybe it's my eyes.

The friends I've had to bury, they keep me up at night.

Said I couldn't love someone 'cause I might break.

If you're gonna die, not by mistake...

I tried not to upset you,

Let you rescue me the day I met you 

I just wanted to protect you."

-Billie Eilish, "Ilomilo"

*****

"You think this is over?" a familiar voice sneered, and the man formerly known as Dr. Leyster suddenly emerged from the chaos. Trinity tensed, but Neo's lingering hand upon her arm provided reassurance. "Lockdown: initiate swarm."

But before he could act any further, another man stepped out from behind the counter and, without hesitation, shot a barrage of bullets at him until he vanished in a sea of broken green squares. 

Several allies moved forward with their guns drawn, but his shooting hand simply dropped to his side, seemingly satisfied. Then he performed a slow, dramatic turn towards Neo and Trinity. 

"Here, our unexpected alliance ends," he stated flippantly, throwing his gun to the side. "You know the difference between us, Tom? Anyone could've been you; whereas I've always been anyone." Smirking, he donned a pair of gold-lined shades, then all at once morphed into Skroce, startling his spectators. 

"What-what just happened?" he asked in confusion. 

Before Trinity could reply, she and Neo were hustled towards the door. 

"Neo, who was that?" she murmured. 

"Agent Smith, believe it or not," he replied. 

Her eyes went wide. "Get out!" she exclaimed, glancing back. "When he'd turn American?" 

Before he could answer, the group had made it outside, greeted by the sounds of distant sirens. 

"How bad?" one girl asked aloud, a question no doubt meant for the operator. Her hair was made up entirely of braids. 

"Like, all the bad!" came a faint, rushed, and frightened response. 

A distant mob began coming into view down each side of the street. 

"Yeah, this is bad," a man with white-blonde hair and blue-lensed glasses confirmed. He turned to Neo. "I don't suppose you can still fly?" 

Trinity looked at Neo with concern, immediately sensing discomfort as his wary gaze met the dark, bluish-green sky. Her suspicions were affirmed when he looked back at her, a clear sign he sought her assurance. She responded with a brief nod. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the white-blonde man side eye her as if to say, "You gotta ask your girl for permission?"

Or maybe, that was the kind of question she'd just come to expect after the life she'd lived as Tiffany. 

Neo held out his arms, steadying himself for balance, then he brought down his right hand with enough force to propel him like a rocket. Tiny tidal waves rolled about the sidewalk, and he only lifted about two inches before hitting the ground again. He hadn't flown; he'd hopped. 

Trinity glanced down at the subsiding waves in dismay, unable to help feeling a twinge of embarrassment. 

"Yeah, that's not happening," Neo admitted, coming off both flustered and frustrated. 

And Trinity suddenly realized why that was. 

Seeing the encroaching mob, she managed to slip away for the moment while everyone was distracted. Neo and the group had herded themselves into the middle of the street, trapped on both sides by two sectors of faceless armies. Neo positioned himself, ready to fight, but just as the mob broke into a run, Trinity rolled up on her motorcycle, the impact knocking several of them down like bowling pins. 

"Neo, get on!" she ordered fiercely, and he didn't hesitate to take her up on that. Seeing a path through the crowd, she revved her engine as they made their getaway, members of the mob not far behind. 

Just like in her dream.

Time seemed to slow down with each sharp turn she made, forcing her way through the mob for everyone's sake. Hers, Neo's, and their allies in the two armored cars that soon caught up to them. 

Just like in her dream.

Neo managed to prop himself off the bike enough to send waves of bubbled energy across the way, one of which even allowing them to ride up and over a smashed-in car. 

Just like in her dream. 

But all of a sudden, out of nowhere, the programs changed tactics and began throwing themselves out of neighboring buildings. A cascade of bodies could soon be seen pouring from the sky like a hellish hailstorm, and Trinity had to swerve in continuous figure 8's just to avoid them. But the horror wouldn't distract her, though it repulsed her to think that anyone could decide that was a good idea to do to people, real or programmed. 

Unfortunately, the horror didn't end there. The next phase of Trinity's dream, the helicopter, decided to join in on the action. And just like in her dream, it released an explosion that send her and Neo hurtling through the air. 

But unlike her dream, they were close enough to each other to grab hands, creating a protective forcefield around them. Not only that, but somehow through the chaos, Neo managed to pull Trinity against him, taking the brunt of their eventual crash-landing. 

Once assured that the other could walk, and realizing quickly that they'd lost sight of their allies, they stealthily yet carefully maneuvered through metal scraps and glowing flames to find safety.

But of course, as soon as they'd found escape within an empty building, an officer had called that he'd spotted them.

The pair raced to the elevators, hardly stopping to notice the atrium's heavy resemblance to the one that bore witness to their first joint shootout. More shots had to be blocked off before they could get their ride, though. 

Once the elevator had dropped them off the top floor, and miraculously, without any sort of obstruction, Neo and Trinity raced up the stairs, with Neo breaking off the door handle for good measure. They didn't know what their exact plan was, but at this point, it didn't matter. 

By the time they reached the roof, the first blush of dawn had begun to poke through, but it was almost immediately blocked off by that same sneaky helicopter. Neither of them could hide their shock and displeasure anymore. 

Bullets were let loose at them once more, with Neo blocking their path to Trinity. She kept close contact to help fuel his power, but it was obvious his strength was dwindling. She began guiding him away, hoping she could use the foundation as an extra shield, but another helicopter appeared to destroy any hope they had for safety. 

Once satisfied that the pair was properly surrounded, the newly arrived helicopter shut a grenade at them, and all of Neo's frustration and determination was unleashed. He yelled out in fury as he managed to take hold of the flaming rocket in his shield and aim it towards the helicopter that had initially followed them. But in doing so, it caused an explosion that threw him and Trinity into the air once more, knocking them out as they struck the pavement. 

*****

Trinity came to first. Her eyes opened and she gasped, wondering briefly if she was even still alive. A light breeze through the debris coaxed her awake, and she watched as a flock of blackbirds, shimmering with code, swept about the clouds in their formulated flight pattern. She slowly rose to her feet, engulfed by the burgeoning sunlight. Only, it wasn't sunlight. She could see the numbers, sparkling inside sun rays like tiny diamonds, as they highlighted the code strips that blanketed the surrounding buildings. She sucked in a breath at the sheer beauty of it all. 

"So beautiful," she whispered in wonder, voicing the thought aloud. And with those two words, another memory from her past life came back to her. 

She'd been here before. Not necessarily here here, but she'd witnessed the sun in a way few could scarcely imagine. It'd taken place before Trinity's second, then-permanent death.

She'd been commandeering a ship to the Machine City, with Neo as her guide. She'd been so high, higher than the world of ruin she'd come to know. She saw the sun, the real sun, and wondered, for several precious seconds, if she'd somehow reached Heaven. She'd discovered the secret to hope, a literal bright future. But she would never have chance to share it with anyone. It was born through her, then died with her. 

Despite having Neo beside her, in that, she'd been alone. And in a cruel twist of irony, it was then he who was alone, his only company being her lifeless body. It pained her now to realize the nightmare she'd had, the one of his stolen eyes and her skewered corpse, had come partially from her memory. 

But the pain was fleeting; because here and now, at long last, she could share this beautiful sight with him.

Time slowed as Neo stood by her side, the heightened winds blowing through their hair. But Trinity couldn't feel the cold, only a radiating warmth inside. Her gaze roamed over him, hardly believing this was real, that he was real. Tentatively, she placed her hands on Neo's chest, letting her fingertips graze gently over the material of his shirt. 

"I remember this," she whispered, absorbing the weight of her own words. "I remember us." 

He didn't respond with words; he didn't have to. He drew in closer, as did she, meeting each other halfway. Their lips melded, their shadows converged, almost blocking the sun entirely, but providing a sort of glowing backdrop to the whole affair. It looked straight out of a Jane Austen movie. 

For one long moment, their kiss held, but even as they parted, their faces remained close enough to touch, in no rush to separate as they met each other's eyes. 

"My dream ended here," Trinity confessed softly, her breath hitching. 

A metallic slam broke the peaceful silence, followed by the multiple poundings of hurried feet. 

Trinity bit her lip, knowing what had to be done but apprehensive to follow through. Even so, it remained abundantly clear that: "We can't go back." 

"We won't," Neo promised. 

His hand hovered above the sleeve of her jacket as he trailed his way carefully towards her fingers, exhibiting the same tenderness and sensitivity he'd displayed at the garage. Only this time, she welcomed the gesture with open arms, or rather, open fingers. They wrapped around the palm of his hand, ready and willing to follow anywhere he led. 

With one final, trusting smile from her, they turned towards the horizon and ran, leaping into the air with their free hands stretched towards the sun. 

The last time someone dare to hope of touching the sun, he'd plunged into the ocean and died. His name was Icarus. Trinity had read about him during Tiffany's mythology binge. 

As her stomach dropped, she realized then how similarly they'd died. Icarus had been flying with his father, someone he loved. He was met with a sight no man before had ever witnessed, relished those precious seconds of contact, then perished with the knowledge. 

Had he died peacefully as she did, with his final thoughts being of his beloved father, and of the beauty in his close proximity to such a known yet equally unknown phenomenon? 

Whatever the answer, she knew one thing was for certain: she wouldn't repeat it.

I believe in you, Neo. 

Their bodies flattened against the wind, gravity pushing them in a steady downwards angle. Trinity held on, but Neo's arms and legs failed to keep up, moving aimlessly about until he lost his floatation completely. 

Feeling the sudden collapse of his body weight, Trinity kept his hand in an iron grip. She'd leapt with him; she'd plunge with him. Either way, they'd do it together. 

Only...only they didn't fall. An invisible tether caught her body like a bungee cord, with Neo emitting an exclamation of surprise at the resulting jolt. Realizing their sudden stasis, he glanced up. 

"I'm not doing this," he said. "Are you doing this?" 

Trinity's eyes widened, unable to hold back an amazed, disbelieving gasp. Here she was, suspended in the air like she was riding a zipline, watching dawn bleed into morn, and the man she'd long-since known to be the One was saying it was all her. 

Of course, she couldn't ponder this incredible new development for very long, because a helicopter soon poised itself to take action against them. 

Neo couldn't hide his concern, but they'd come too far to fail now. 

Trinity levelled the pilot with a determined look, and although he couldn't hear her, she delivered a singular, biting, sarcastic final word. 

"Bye." 

And with that, she shot into the air with Neo in tow.

*****

She was no longer flying. She was lying in a metal chair, a cushion against the back of her now-shaven head. Her eyes adjusted to the sudden change in lighting, a grey room aglow with red and blue lights, and the green code of computer screens. Out the corner of her eye, she saw a twin chair like hers propped up. In one last dare of hope, she turned her head. 

And there was Neo, inhaling sharply at the confirmation of her presence. 

Unsurprisingly, he reached his hand out, and Trinity responded in kind, taking her time as the numbness in her muscles wore off. But Neo saved her the trouble, leaning forward in his chair to ensure their hands, their real hands, closed over each other in a final gesture of bond restoral. That contact alone hastened the strength of her mobility, and she smiled at him in gratitude. 

As they rose out of their chairs without releasing their hands, she was vaguely aware of the audience they'd attracted, but she'd thank them later. He ran his fingertips along her bare right arm, sending goosebumps along her skin. Goosebumps, who'd ever thought I'd miss those, Trinity thought in hazy, disbelieving delight. In response, she placed a hand along Neo's left side jawline, drawing him closer until their foreheads touched. 

Then the tears came. They weren't full-on sobs, but they were noticeable enough for one man to say, "Take all the time you need," as their spectators cleared out. 

Once assured they were alone, Neo gently tilted her face, and reassuringly rubbed his thumb over a tear-stained cheek. Without his gesture, she wouldn't have believed she could still manage to produce them.

"This is real," Trinity murmured. "You're really here with me." 

"As real as I could possibly make it," he promised. 

"But-but how?" 

He looked sheepish. "It's quite the story, Trin, full of pitfalls and progression; most of it being not so easy to explain."

"I'm in no hurry."

He smiled and shook his head. "It's better that I show you."

"Then show me," Trinity agreed. "Show me it all, Neo." 

*****

Chapter Text

"Get up off your knees, girl, stand face to face with your God.

And find out what you want. (Hello, my name is human).

Hello, my name is human, and I came down from the stars.

I'm ready for love and I'm ready for war.  But I'm ready for more.

I know that nobody's ever been this fucking ready before.

(Do you need some time to think it over?)

So figure it out, or don't figure it out.

I figured it out: the bigger the river, the bigger the drought."

-Highly Suspect, "My Name is Human"

*****

The first step of Neo's recap was introducing Trinity to the crew of the Mnemosyne, the heroes behind their freedom. Seq, Lexy, Ellster, Berg...names soon embedded in her mind. She recognized several faces from the Simulatte brawl, but one woman in particular made her exclaim in surprise. 

"I know you!" she blurted, pointing at a young woman with short black hair and a burnt orange sweater, lowering her finger when she realized she was being rude. Even without the blue hair, Trinity recognized her face. A face, she could now see, was only half Chinese. "You came for Neo at the garage, then spoke in my head during the fight!"

"Yep, that would be me," the girl replied, smiling encouragingly. "I'm Bugs." 

"It was Bugs' initial curiosity that led to my removal," Neo explained. "Without her investigation into the coding of what was basically my SOS modal, neither of us would be here." 

Bugs looked embarrassed. "Thanks, but I can't take all the credit, you know. I probably wouldn't have ever even known you were alive had Morpheus not decided to track me down." 

Trinity blinked. "Morpheus?" she repeated. "He's here too?"

Neo swayed his head around in a "so-so" motion. "Well...yes and no. He's an algorithm I created, carrying much of the same wisdom and characteristics of the Morpheus you remember, but in truth, he's the result of combining together Morpheus's essence with, believe it or not, Agent Smith's." 

Trinity looked bewildered. "How does that work?" 

"See for yourself," a deep, modulated voice suggested. The group parted as a shadowy figure, made up of tiny silver magnets resembling the shape of a man, approached her soundlessly. 

Surprisingly, even without a full-formed figure, he managed a respectful bow. 

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Trinity," he exclaimed humbly. 

"And you as well, Morpheus," she replied, astounded. "How...how are you doing this?"

"Exomorphic particle codex; it's a travel mechanism developed by the allied programs to make appearances within our world," Seq piped up from the computer operating desk. 

"Still a work in progress," Morpheus admitted, "but I can assure you that inside the Matrix, I appear as human as you." 

"I'm sure you do, Morpheus, but you look great here too so don't worry," Trinity assured him, then it hit her. "Wait, did you say, 'allied programs?'" 

Neo beamed. "It's incredible, Trin! The world has evolved passed the old black-and-white concept of humans versus machines! In the city of Io, where our friends come from, humans and sentients are allowed to live, work, and fight together for peaceful coexistence! Which, by the way, is the new preferred label to 'machines.'" 

"That's...that's almost unheard of," she exclaimed in wonder. "But truly?"

"Absolutely!" Seq confirmed happily. Then he turned his head away, murmuring something over his shoulder, before looking back. "Is it time, Bugs? Lumin8 says they can barely contain themselves." 

Bugs smiled. "If they're that excited, send them in." 

Before Trinity could ask who "they" were, two floating sentients entered through the back entrance of the ship with the steady fluidity of fish inside an aquarium, with a small stick figure sentinel crawling out from behind Seq's desk and hopping up to hitch a ride on one of them. She instinctively flinched as they approached, inching closer towards Neo for support. 

The sentients hovered beside Bugs as she made the introductions. "Guys, this is the famous Trinity you've heard so much about. Trinity, meet Cybebe," she patted the largest one with what looked like cat ears on its head, "Octocles," inclined her head towards the one shaped like an insect, "and Lumin8," the stick figure waved at her. 

"Cybebe and Octocles were instrumental in setting us free," Neo explained. "In fact, it was Cybebe who'd initially released me and brought me back to the ship, at the cost of her becoming exiled." 

"Which subsequently made freeing you all the more perilous," Bugs continued. "So much so, that Cybebe still holds some guilt for not freeing you the same time as Neo." 

Trinity gave the sentient a sympathetic look. "It's okay Cybebe, you didn't know. But I'm here now thanks to you, and that's what matters." To assure her there were no hard feelings, she reached out her hand, and Cybebe floated over with ease, gently tapping her palm in response. As warm skin met cool metal, she couldn't help but laugh, the gesture reminiscent of touching the wet, curious nose of a friendly dog. 

"Besides, I think I'd already become somewhat aware to your rescue of Neo, and as a result, part of me already awaited that I'd soon follow," she said. 

"You knew we'd freed him? How?" a man named Sheppard wondered.

Trinity shrugged, admittedly relieved for the momentary pause in her asking all the questions. "I'd had a vision of it happening one night. I was inside my pod, our bond signified his presence to me, and despite the distance, I still reached out for him." She thought it best to leave out that it had only come when Chad, acting on Dr. Leyster's orders, had double-dose blue-pilled her. 

"And she's telling the truth," Neo confirmed. She looked at him in surprise. "I saw your eyes open as I passed you, watched your hand move as if to reach for me. It was the moment I knew that that was really you. And the second I knew I couldn't leave you there, not without trying." 

Trinity smiled at him, but then she frowned. "But why were we there? Have you any idea who orchestrated it?" 

He sighed. "Do you remember our meeting in Simulatte, Trin, when we were first getting to know each other as Thomas and Tiffany?" 

She winced at the sound of her old name on his tongue. "Yeah...?"

"Remember when you asked about whether or not we truly want things in life, and I replied with 'I pay my analyst a lot of money to answer such questions for me?'" 

"Oh God, you're not saying..."

"Yep," Neo said sadly. "He stepped into the role of encouraging therapist so he could document all my feelings, then know precisely where to tweak them as needed." 

"I'm so sorry, Neo," she murmured. "Is he an appointed successor to the Architect then?" 

"More like his usurper," Morpheus clarified. "The Architect's Matrix ran on facts, which can be powerful, but the Analyst discovered a force even greater than that: feelings." 

"And in his mind, what could be powerful than having its source come from the woeful pinings of resurrected lovers who'd stop at nothing to reunite?" Ellster added. 

"Especially when said lovers are as powerful as you two," Berg finished. "The One, and the One's One." 

There was a brief silence, and then everyone looked at him. 

"You couldn't come up with anything better than that?" Sheppard exclaimed. 

"Too many ones, Berg," Lexy pointed out, and everyone laughed.

"Well I don't see either of you coming up with anything better," Berg retorted, fighting to hide his smile.

"Hey now, A for effort, Berg," Neo assured him and Trinity smiled in spite of herself. 

"Besides, we'll be kicking this Analyst's ass soon enough anyway, so it doesn't matter in the end what we're called, so long as it isn't anything by him," she stated. 

Everyone stopped laughing, and all at once, no one would meet her eyes. 

She noticed the sudden shift in mood. "What? What did I say?"

"No one wants to be the one who tries to dictate your next move, Trin, but even I agree with the general verdict that you need time to adjust before going back into the Matrix with guns a blazing," Neo said gently. 

Trinity frowned. "How much time?" 

"Well, there's the general post-unplug recuperation for one thing," Morpheus interjected. "But there's also the matter of your new powers."

"What about them?"

"We all saw how you escaped, Trinity, and it was incredible," Bugs elaborated. "None of us ever expected your bond with Neo to run that deep, to the point where you too could fly. But that emersion has only been in place for a couple hours; as such, you'll need to learn how to use them, and more importantly, control them."

Trinity grew alarmed. "You're not all saying that makes me...dangerously unpredictable right now, are you?" 

"Not at all!" Lexy insisted urgently. "We're only saying that, having underestimated the strength of your individual power within the bond, we want to take the time understand it better, as we imagine you do too." 

Trinity relaxed. "You're not wrong," she admitted, and Lexy breathed a sigh of relief. 

"Besides, it's best we don't let the Analyst know we're coming until a proper game plan or defense system is in place," Neo said, placing his hands on her arms. "The longer he goes without switching residencies, or changing his in-Matrix name from Dr. Leyster, the better chance we'll have at facing him." 

Trinity nodded along with his words, knowing in her heart that he was right, but at the Analyst's uttered name, her head snapped up.

"His name is...what?" she asked shakily. 

"Dr. Leyster," he repeated, then his eyes widened with sudden clarity. "No, don't tell me he-"

"-served as my therapist too? Yes, he unfortunately did," she confirmed sadly. 

"Son of a bitch, that rat bastard let me believe it'd only been me who'd received his so-called counselling, but I should've known better," he muttered through clenched teeth.

"Once again, we're so sorry he did this to you; that you were made to suffer so long," Bugs reiterated. "If there was any way we could've reached you two sooner than we did, we would have."

"Thank you, Bugs, but it's not your fault. It's as you said: he went to great lengths to hide us," Neo reminded her. 

"Hide us," Trinity repeated, letting out a short, sarcastic laugh as she absorbed it all. "Made to suffer." 

"Trin?" Neo started, reaching for her but she turned away from him, shaking her head.

"An empty lie," she exclaimed angrily. "One final lie to fool them all. To keep our deaths the story's end, until our very lives were beyond recall!" 

"I know," he murmured.

"No, I don't think you really do," she interjected, surprising him. "Or at least, you haven't had the time to. This is worse than when we were just two of the many seed pods planted to flourish the Matrix, Neo. We were made to suffer beyond death, resurrected to become one of its sole main energy sources. And that was just us, specifically. Because of that, so many are still unfairly imprisoned, unfairly suffering, simply due to our unknowing assistance in remaking the Matrix."

She grimaced. "And that asshat, tried to ensure we'd never find out about it by twisting us, re-shaping us to meet the rules of his ambition, forced to play his sick game of endless make-believe to keep us compliant in the whole ordeal." She balled her hands into fists, not noticing the sparks that were coming off.

Her voice rose. "How could he think we'd never guess? That we'd never know? Or that anyone else would eventually know, for that matter? How dare he think he can weaponize us as a means to hurt others?"

"Uh, Trinity, I think you should-" someone started but she didn't hear them. 

"And the worst part is, he got us to trust him, to think he was our friend. Insisting we commit to our pain and suffering because he promised he could take it, to help us through it. But the whole time, HE WAS THE FUCKING REASON FOR ALL OF IT!" 

All at once, there was an explosion of light, and then everything went black.

*****