Fic: Never Seen By Waking Eyes, 1/3 (AU, Pete/Mikey, PG-13)

[chebonne]

Title: Never Seen By Waking Eyes
Rating: PG-13 possibly a slight R. Some Violence and a Scene of Sensuality! Or... something.
Pairing: Pete/Mikey
Warnings: Biiig honking character death warning goes here. Angst, confusion, violence (but nothing too graphic), cursing. Oh, yes, and slight philosophy. What? We warn for that, right?
Disclaimer: I claim no affiliations to Warner Brothers, the Wachowskis or anyone else responsible for the Matrix movies and I don't own shit. I also don't own My Chemical Romance or any of the other bands mentioned, more's the pity. This is a work of fiction, which I think we're all very grateful for. (I don't want to be living in a pod!)
Author's Note: Right. Huge, HUGE thanks to sinuous_curve for holding my hand all the way through and cheerleading me like there was no tomorrow. Equally huge thanks and snuggles to restless_jedi for hugs and handholding just when I needed them and being wordsmith beta extraordinaire, arguing with me about one verb for half an hour (we're still not resolved). Don't know what I would do without my French Pirates, seriously. Title taken from Epilogue to Through the Looking Glass by Lewis Carroll. Any remaining mistakes, comma splices or grammatical errors are all my own.

Summary: "You're fucking insane," he says and opens the car door. The woman watches him motionlessly and doesn't lower her gun an inch, but Pete grabs Mikey's arm.

"Wait," he says. "Mikey, please."

"Why?" Mikey asks.

"Because you know what's down that road," Pete says. "And if you don't, I'll give you a hint: it's not your brother."
The Matrix AU

------------

"Hey, Mikey."

Mikey looks up at Gerard who is standing in the doorway. His plaid shirt is dirty and his jeans are ripped at the knees and he looks thoughtful.

"I thought Ma was taking you to the eye doctor?"

Mikey makes a face. "I don't want to go," he says, and he knows his voice is whiny. "Come on, Gee. They're gonna give me glasses, I just know it."

Gerard smirks. "Pussy," he says. "Glasses aren't that bad, you know."

"Look who's talking, Mr. Twenty-Twenty," Mikey mutters and Gerard laughs, pulling him off the bed.

"Come on, Ma's getting pissed."

Mikey heaves a put-upon sigh. "Fine," he says. "Hey, Gee? You'll still be here when we get back, right?"

For a second Gerard looks troubled, but then he smiles. "Sure," he says. "I'll wait here."

Except when they get back, he isn't waiting. And fifteen years later he still hasn't come back.

***

"Yeah?"

"Is everything in place?"

There is silence and Pete frowns. "I said, is everything in place, for fuck's sake, Otter," he says impatiently.

"You weren't supposed to relieve me," Otter says finally. "I mean, not that I'm complaining, but..."

Pete shrugs, even though Otter can't see it. "I felt like taking a shift," he says. "Nothing on TV anyway."

Otter snorts. "You like watching him don't you?" he says and Pete blushes, fiercely glad that Otter can't see him right now.

"Shut the fuck up, Otter."

"Man, we're gonna fucking kill the guy, I hope you know," Otter says lazily. "Just like the others."

"You don't know that," Pete protests. "Besides, the captain thinks he's the One."

"Do you?"

Pete hesitates. "Doesn't matter."

"Sure as hell it doesn't. Man, this is fucked up."

Pete narrows his eyes. "If you have something to say, why don't you take it up with him instead of me?"

"Oh, I intend to," Otter says. "Someone's gotta."

Pete sighs, frustrated. Then he hears something, a click on the line, and he frowns.

"Did you hear something?"

"Like what?" Otter sounds unconcerned.

"Nothing. I gotta go."

***

Adrenaline is pounding in his ears as Pete takes the steps to the roof. He can hear their voices below him, shouts and orders, but most of all, he can hear the stony, mechanical silence where there should be sound, breath, anything, but isn't. He is running as fast as he fucking can, across the roof, between the chimneys and airvents, when bullets starts whizzing after him. Shitshitshit.

He takes the jump to the next building easily. It's just a couple of feet, it's nothing he can't do blindfolded. Unfortunately, if he thinks that's easy, it's nothing to the, the creature behind him. Pete shivers, and runs just a little faster. The next building is looming ahead and he takes the forty feet jump in one single bound, somersaulting as he lands and running again as soon as his feet hit the ground, diving behind a chimney just to catch his breath and figure out how the hell he's going to get from here to that phone booth Lyn-Z talked about. Jesus. His heart is in his throat as he peeks out from behind the vulnerable bricks and mortar, swallowing as he sees it.

The Agent is standing right there, emotionless behind the shades. Forty feet away, beyond the yawning chasm of the alley, the police men are staring at him like they're seeing a ghost. Pete figures if they just saw a man take that jump as easily as an Agent, they're allowed. It's not like that usually happens in their ordered little world.

Then he sees it, a tiny window on the other side of another alley. It's small, and it's one hell of a jump, but Pete knows he can make it. If he manages not to get shot first. He runs.

Bullets are peppering the rooftop landscape around him and Pete pushes himself just a little further, just a little more, and then he's there, launching himself into the air. The window is fifty plus feet away, but he flies through the air like a human sized bullet, covering his head with his arms, exploding through the tiny opening in a rain of wood and glass. He tumbles down the stairs on the other side, pulling his guns as soon as he's on his back, pointing them towards the window. Pete's hurting all over, but he is practically vibrating with adrenaline.

"Come on, Pete," he tells himself. "You're fine. Get up. Get the fuck up right the fuck now. Come on."

He hurtles himself to his feet and limps out the door.

He sees the phone booth at the other end of the street, brightly lit and ringing persistently and sighs in relief. The sigh gets stuck in his throat, however, when he hears the roar of a gigantic engine and sees the truck at the other end of the block. The truck's engine revs and Pete's body understands what is about to happen a split second before his brain gets it, because he's already running, feet pounding the pavement as the truck comes hurtling towards the booth and him. He slams inside, lifts the phone and stares the headlights straight in the eye. Fuck.

***

Music is blasting through the headphones discarded on the table; tinny, aggressive basslines almost drowning out the humming from the computer. On the screen there are at least half a dozen windows open, all of them displaying a number of tags. The subjects are wide and varied, but they have one thing in common -- all of them display the name "Morpheus".

Mikey leans back in his chair, staring at the ceiling, throwing his glasses onto the desk without apparent thought to their safety. He rubs his tired eyes and yawns, idly thinking about hitting the sack. Work tomorrow; boss won't be too happy if he's late again, the dick.

Suddenly something makes him look up and he frowns, scrambling for his glasses. What the hell? The computer screen has gone blank and green letters blink cheerfully up at him from the screen. rise and shine, michael.

"Fuckfuckfuck," Mikey curses. Virus, can't be anything else.

the matrix has you, the screen suddenly proclaims and Mikey narrows his eyes, halting himself before hitting another command.

follow the white rabbit.

"What. The fuck." Mikey says to himself, staring at the screen. The Matrix? Alice in Wonderland? What--?

knock, knock, michael.

A loud knock on the door nearly makes Mikey jump out of his own skin. Shit, he needs to get out more. Still... He glances at the screen, but it's blank and black again.

"Shit," he mutters to himself, unnerved. The knocking continues. "Who is it?"

"It's Jersey!"

Of course it's fucking Jersey, an hour late. Mikey tells him as much when he opens the door. "You're a fucking hour late."

Jersey rolls his eyes. "I know. It's her fault." He jerks his head at his girlfriend, Cassadee, who only smiles impishly and gives Mikey her usual once-over. Mikey refrains from rolling his eyes only by supreme force of will.

"You got the money?" he asks instead and Jersey nods.

"Two big ones," he says and hands Mikey a sizable wad of cash. Mikey grabs the money, rifling through it quickly.

"Wait here."

He goes to his bed -- a crow's nest of blankets and pillows -- and rifles through the junk underneath it until he finds the book he's looking for. It's kind of stupid, really, to hide shit inside books like this, he thinks when he pulls out the minidisc, slamming the book shut. He's not fucking James Bond. Shuffling back to the door, he holds up the disc and Jersey makes grabby hands for it.

"Remember, if you get caught using that..." Mikey says, before handing it over.

"Yeah, man, I know, I know," Jersey says impatiently. "We never had this conversation, you don't exist, blah, blah. Give it here!"

Mikey hands the disc over. He's still feeling a little out of sync with the universe -- fucking computer screen acting up or whatever -- and he's obviously not hiding it as well as he thought he was, because Jersey frowns.

"You alright, man?" he asks. "It's just, you look a little whiter than usual."

Mikey shakes his head. "It's," he stops himself. "Have. Have you ever had that feeling like you have no idea if you're awake or still sleeping?"

Jersey grins. "All the time, man," he says. "It's called mescaline. Only way for man to fly."

He sizes Mikey up for a second, and Mikey shifts under the scrutiny. "Listen, man, it sounds like you need to unplug for a minute. Get a little TLC, if you get what I'm saying." He turns to Cassadee. "What do you think, Cas? Should we take him hostage?"

Cassadee smirks. "Definitely."

"I can't," Mikey says. "I gotta work, man."

"Come on," Cassadee cajoles. "It'll be fun. I promise."

Mikey is about to decline again when he notices something -- the back of her jacket, decked out with a large print of the white rabbit from Alice in Wonderland. For a second he feels like the room is spinning.

"Sure," he hears himself say. "I'll go."

***

Once upon a time, Mikey went to a lot of parties. He drank a lot and fucked around a lot and was generally self-destructive until he got himself together. Drinking wasn't going to get him his brother back, and he knew that. This place, with the heavy thump of industrial metal and epileptic lights would have suited him at his most self-loathing. Now? He mostly feels vaguely ill. This isn't his scene.

Cassadee and Jersey had disappeared off somewhere as soon as they walked through the door, just like Mikey knew they would. They're probably in a bathroom somewhere doing coke with their friends or fucking up against a wall or something. Mikey really could not give less of a shit about that. He's not sure what he's doing there exactly, but that white rabbit... Mikey can't stop thinking about it. It's too much of a coincidence and Mikey doesn't believe in coincidences.

Mikey sighs and drains his beer. He's already been here an hour -- he's not going to get many hours of sleep if this goes on. But when he turns there is a guy decked in black leather from top to toe, staring at him. Mikey frowns and the guy smirks at him.

"Hi, Michael."

"It's Mikey," Mikey says automatically, except what? "Who are you?"

"Xo," the guy says. "You can call me Pete, though, I don't mind."

Mikey's eyebrows shoot up. "Xo?" he says. "As in the Xo who hacked the IRS database a couple of years back?"

The guy smiles for real, showing off a row of really white teeth, and steps closer. He's actually really hot now that Mikey can see him better. The leather really works for him, "That's me."

"Huh," Mikey looks him up and down for a second. "I thought you'd be taller."

The guy, Pete, snorts. "Most tall people do," he says gravely, but smiles widely a second later. "Man, I've been looking for you for a long time, Mich-- sorry, Mikey, was it? Right, Mikey. It's pretty wild to be standing right in front of you like this."

"You've been looking?" Mikey echoes. He really hopes this dude isn't some crazy stalker. He is really hot.

"Yeah," Pete shrugs. "But listen, we don't have a lot of time, so I have to get through this real quick." He crowds Mikey up against the wall and Mikey swallows. "Look, I brought you here to warn you, okay? They're watching you, some seriously bad people, so please just listen to me." Pete looks really serious. "I know what's going on with you, Mikey. I know what you're looking for. I know why you hardly eat or sleep and why you spend all your time in front of the computer. I know, and I know what it's like. I was looking for something once, just like you. But then he found me."

Mikey feels like he can't breathe, the room is spinning. He's so close now, he can almost touch it. "Morpheus?"

"The one and only," Pete says with a smile that belies his flip words. "And he told me I wasn't really looking for him. There's something else. You can feel it, can't you? How there's something fucked up with the world and you don't know how to fix it? And there is that question, the one behind everything else that keeps nagging at you."

Mikey nods, swallowing. His throat feels raw like sandpaper. "What is the Matrix?"

"He says you can't be told, only shown what it is," Pete continues. "There is an answer, to all of your questions. But it can only find you if you want it to."

He pulls back and grins, wide and unrestrained, a complete opposite from his serious tone a second earlier. "I'll see you around, Mikes," he says and just like that, he's melted into the wall of moving bodies. Mikey stares after him.

A minute later he wakes up in his own bed to the sound of his alarm blaring. He's late again.

He doesn't really have the time to think about everything -- the message, the white rabbit, Pete, Morpheus, the Matrix -- until later, after his boss has had Words with him (third time this month, shit) and he's sitting in his soul-killing little three by four. Did all of that really happen or was it some kind of a weird-ass dream? It all seems so vague in the light of day -- the only thing that remains sharp in his memory is the glint of Pete's smile and the smell of his skin. But how was it even possible if it actually was real? How could Pete have known that Jersey would show up with Cassadee in tow? How could he have known about Cassadee's jacket? Fuck, too many questions, not enough answers, and Mikey is giving himself a headache.

"Michael Way?" says someone behind him. Startled, Mikey lifts his head from the desk and squints at what seems to be a FedEx guy standing by his cubicle.

"Yeah?"

"Package for you. Please sign here." Mikey does. "Have a nice day."

Mikey snorts and opens the package. A cellphone falls into his hand and Mikey stares at it. Who in their right mind FedExes a fucking cellphone? He jumps a mile when the phone suddenly rings, and wonders if he's the one not in his right mind.

"Hello?" he answers hesitantly.

"Michael." The voice on the other end is naggingly familiar, but Mikey can't place it. "Do you know who this is?"

Mikey doesn't, but he has a pretty damn good guess. "Morpheus."

The voice -- Morpheus -- is smiling. "Yeah. Listen, I would love to chat, but we don't really have the time. I've been waiting for you a long time, Michael, and I still don't know if you're ready to see everything I have to show you." Morpheus sighs. "Kinda seems like we don't have a choice anymore, though. They're coming for you, and I'm not sure what they're planning to do to you."

A chill runs down Mikey's spine. "Who is coming?" he asks.

Morpheus snorts. It's a joyless sound. "Get on your feet," he says and adds, "Slowly," as Mikey rises quickly. Mikey slows down and peeks over the top of his cubicle.

"By the elevator," Morpheus says and Mikey looks over. Three people, two men and a woman, agents in nondescript, neatly pressed suits and sunglasses, are talking to the floor manager. Behind them are a whole squad of cops. Mikey ducks when they look over, cursing softly. He can feel the hollow ruthlessness in the glint of their sunglasses from here, and he shivers involuntarily.

"Yeah," Morpheus says agreeably.

"What do they want with me?" Mikey hisses. He can feel the panic start to clog his throat.

"If I were you, I'd get out before we have to find out," Morpheus says.

Mikey spins a tight, frantic circle in his chair like he could hide anywhere in his small, blank cubicle. "How?!" he asks.

"I can get you out of there," Morpheus says, voice all business. "But you have to do exactly like I tell you. Okay?"

Mikey takes a deep breath and nods, forgetting that Morpheus can't see him. "Yeah, I. Yeah," he says belatedly.

"Good," Morpheus says. "Now, there is an empty cubicle right across from you. Go to it, and stay low."

"How do you know this?" Mikey asks.

"We really don't have time for this right now," Morpheus says impatiently. "Go, now."

Mikey groans quietly, but dives across the small corridor between the cubicles, curling up in a corner in the cubicle opposite, just as the besuited men and woman round the corner, police in tow.

"Now stay there," Morpheus says in his ear and the sound of his voice is strangely calming. "When I tell you, go to the office at the end of the hall. Stay low, we don't want them to see you."

Mikey nods and strains his ears for the agents' voices, but he can hear nothing.

"Now," Morpheus suddenly says and Mikey almost crawls out of the cubicle. There is a cop standing right there, nearly giving Mikey a heart attack, but the cop's back is turned and Mikey scurries down the hallway, past the copying machine and into the office Morpheus was talking about.

"Okay," he says, and if his voice is a little breathless, well, he's not the Terminator.

"Good," Morpheus says approvingly. "There is a scaffold outside the window, on your left, can you see it?"

Mikey can. "How the fuck do you know about this?" he asks suspiciously.

"No time, I'll explain later. Now to your right there's a window. Open it."

Mikey is confused, but he complies, looking out and down to the bustling street hundreds of feet below. The height is dizzying.

"You can use the scaffold to get to the roof," Morpheus says in his ear, sounding pretty damn calm for a dude helping Mikey become a fugitive.

"No fucking way!" Mikey whispershouts.

"I'm sorry, but this is how it has to be," Morpheus says, and he does sound genuinely apologetic. "Unless you want to walk out of there in handcuffs, the scaffold is your only chance. Your choice."

Dial tone. Mikey feels like throwing the phone at the wall, but restrains himself. Who knew Morpheus was this annoying? He takes a deep breath and shuts the phone, looking dubiously at the window. It's okay, he can do this.

"Shit, shit, shit," he murmurs and slings a leg over the window sill. "What the hell did I ever do? All I did was hack a few accounts, I never stole anything, movies totally don't count, shitshitshit..."

He's out on the ledge when he does the mistake of looking down. The street is so far below, Mikey's head is spinning and he can feel his knees getting weak. Yeah, no, this is not working, there is no way in hell he is doing this, fuck Morpheus and his insane fucking plans and apparent psychic abilities.

Two hours later he's sitting in an interrogation room at the police station. Still sitting, rather, because he's been stuck in there for about an hour and a half. Nobody ever accused cops of being quick. They probably stopped somewhere for donuts, Mikey thinks snidely and sighs.

Finally the door opens and it's the three well-pressed agents from before. The two men take up positions at each side of Mikey, quietly menacing, while the woman -- blond and sharp and absolutely stunning -- puts down a large binder, sitting herself down in front of Mikey. She opens the binder slowly, flicking through a couple of papers and Mikey makes a face, as he sees pictures of his apartment.

"Good morning, Mr. Way," she says calmly. "I'm sure you already know why we have brought you here. As you can see, we've kept an eye on you for quite a while."

She gestures as the binder and Mikey raises an eyebrow.

"Now it seems you've been leading a double life, Mr. Way," she continues. "On the one hand, you're Michael J. Way, a programmer for a respectable software company, good at your job, albeit with a certain unfortunate tendency for late nights, or so it seems. You have a social security number, you pay your taxes and you help your elderly neighbor carry out her garbage.

"On the other hand, you're the hacker known as Lunar and you're guilty of virtually ever computer crime we have a law for," she looks up. "Needless to say, Mr. Way, one of these lives has a future, the other does not. I think we both know which one of them."

Mikey sighs and she gives him an unamused look, taking off her shades. Her eyes are ice blue.

"I'm going to be honest with you, Mr. Way," she says. "You have a shot here, because we could use your help. We believe you've been contacted by a certain individual known as 'Morpheus'. Whatever you think yourself know about this man is irrelevant, what is relevant is that he is wanted by many authorities and he is considered one of the most dangerous men alive. My colleagues believe that I'm wasting my time with you, but I believe that you would want to do your civic duty. We're willing to wipe your slate clean and give you a fresh start. All we're asking for in return is for you to help us capture a dangerous terrorist."

"Wow," Mikey says when she falls silent, clearly expecting him to speak. "That sounds awesome and all, but here's what I think. I think you three can go fuck yourselves and give me my motherfucking phone call."

"Mr. Way," she says, frowning and putting her shades back on. "You disappoint me."

"Fuck you," Mikey bites back. "You don't scare me with this Nazi bullshit. I want my phone call and you? Can go to hell."

She rises from the table, giving him a tight smile. "Mr. Way, what use is a phone call if you are unable to speak?"

Mikey stares at her collected face. Suddenly he notices how the skin around his mouth is beginning to feel tight and he can feel his lips closing of their own volition. No, no, not possible, he thinks as he lifts his hands to his face, discovering to his horror that the skin over his mouth is sealing shut, leaving nothing but slightly stubbled skin. He cries out, but all that comes out are muffled noises, as if he was shouting into a pillow. He stumbles to his feet, the chair clattering to the floor as he staggers into the corner, staring at the blank faces in absolute terror.

The blond woman makes a gesture and the two men grab him by his armpits, wrestling him to lie on top of the table. The woman pulls out a small silver box, opening it nonchalantly.

"I am really very disappointed in you, Mr. Way," she says. "Unfortunately for you, you don't really have a choice in this question. You are going to help us whether you want to or not, so I suggest you lie back and think of England, because this is probably going to hurt."

Mikey is shouting at the top of his lungs, but it all comes out muffled and distorted. He's wrestling against the other two agents, but their hands are like vices, holding him down firmly. The woman rips open his shirt and holds up a small probe-like thing with a look of malevolent glee on her face. As Mikey is watching in wide-eyed horror, the probe starts twisting and the little lump of metal turns into something else entirely, a worm, a bug, with long antennae-like arms thrashing in the air, searching for something. The blond drops it on his stomach, watching with relish as the bug's arms find Mikey's navel.

It starts to dig and Mikey screams.

***

Mikey sits bolt upright in bed, screaming, clawing at his stomach before he realizes where he is and that his mouth is still in the right place. He drops back on the pillows, breathing deeply. Fuck. Was that only a dream? It felt so completely real. Mikey doesn't even know anymore -- he wonders if he is actually going certifiable, because that would be fucking fabulous, really. He doesn't have the time to go crazy right now.

Suddenly the phone rings and Mikey jumps, adrenaline rushing again, heart jumping back into overdrive. He stares at the phone, trying to normalize his breathing again, and it keeps ringing. He hesitates before picking it up.

"They're tapping the line, so I can't talk for long," Morpheus says and Mikey stops breathing. "They got to you first, but they didn't understand how important you are. If they knew, you'd probably be dead, which. Yeah, that would be pretty fucking bad."

It was for real? "What's going on?" Mikey asks, and his voice is about an octave higher than normal. "What the fuck is happening to me?"

"You're the One," Morpheus says in a weird tone of voice. "Do you still want to see me?"

"Yes," Mikey answers right away.

"Good. Then go to the Adams Street bridge. You know the place? I'll send a car."

***

The rain is pouring down like Mikey has never seen it before when a big, black Lincoln Towncar pulls up to a halt in front of him. The door opens and Pete peeks out, giving Mikey a quick smile of welcome. "Get in," he says, scooting to the side so Mikey can get in. He is still wearing leather, and he is still very hot.

There's a man driving, dark-haired and skinny, long fingers secure on the steering wheel. A woman, gorgeous, dark hair pulled into a ponytail, dressed in black and purple leather as far as Mikey can see, sits in the front seat and watches Mikey with wary eyes.

"Drive," Pete orders and the thin man does.

The moment the car is in motion, the woman in the front pulls out a gun and points it at Mikey's head. Her aim is steady and she doesn't even blink when Mikey asks, "What the fuck is this?"

"It's for our protection, Mikey," Pete says. "Now, if you would take off your shirt."

"What the fuck?" Mikey says again.

"Take . Off. Your shirt," Pete repeats and Mikey blinks at him.

"How about no?"

"Stop the car," the woman in the front orders and the thin man brakes. "Now listen up, coppertop, this is how it's gonna be. You either do what we say or you get out of the fucking car. Our way or the highway."

Mikey stares at her. "You're fucking insane," he says and opens the car door. The woman watches him motionlessly and doesn't lower her gun an inch, but Pete grabs Mikey's arm.

"Wait," he says. "Mikey, please."

"Why?" Mikey asks.

"Because you know what's down that road," Pete says. "And if you don't, I'll give you a hint: it's not your brother."

Mikey stops. "What do you know about him?" he asks harshly and Pete raises his eyebrows in challenge.

"Come with us and find out," he says. Mikey hesitates for a moment and then closes the car door. Pete grins triumphantly.

The thin man watches them in the rear view mirror and the second Mikey closes the door again, he sets the car into motion. Mikey can see his eyes crinkling in a small smile and he glances at Pete who is still grinning that big stupid grin that Mikey hasn't been able to get out of his head since that night at the club.

"What now?" he asks.

"Take off your shirt," Pete says again. "Please?"

Mikey looks at him suspiciously, but pulls his shirt up as far as it'll go without him taking it off completely and Pete's grin gets even wider.

"Well," he says. "Can't say I haven't been looking forward to this."

The woman in the front rolls her eyes, but Mikey can see a small smile tugging at her lips. "Pete," she says chidingly and Pete nods.

"Right," he says. "Better get on with this."

He pulls up a big gun type thing, from what Mikey can see. It has some sort of a suction cup at one end, a clear glass vial stuck in the other and a small screen poking out from the middle. It also has some kind of handle, complete with a big red button that immediately makes Mikey suspicious.

"What is that?" he asks as Pete places the suction cup directly over his navel.

Pete gives him a shifty look. "Long story. We're going to, uh. De-bug you."

Mikey stares at him -- he feels like he's been doing that a lot lately, but people have been fucking crazy, so he feels he's entitled -- and then three claws fold down and hook into his skin. Mikey starts, stomach muscles jumping under the tight grip. It doesn't hurt, exactly, but it's uncomfortable as shit. He feels like there's something there, in his stomach, trying to claw its way free.

"It's moving," the woman says warningly.

"I know," Pete says gritting his teeth. "Come on, motherfucker."

"You're gonna lose it!"

"No, I am fucking not," Pete growls. "Clear!"

Just as Mikey is about to ask what the hell they're going to clear, an electrical current flows through his stomach. It hurts, his muscles are contracting outside of his control and he grits his teeth together. Then Pete presses the big red button and something, Mikey's not sure what, shoots right down into his navel. A second later, the current is gone and the bug from his nightmare, the one that crazy bitch put in his stomach, thrashes around in the clear glass vial. Mikey recoils in horror.

"Motherfucker! That thing was real?!"

Pete opens the window and delicately dumps the squirming bug out into the rain. "Disgusting, right?" he says, making a face. "I mean, dude, I'm not squicked by much, but those fucking things give me the heebies."

Mikey shivers violently and pulls his shirt back down. He still feels a little wide-eyed, but hey, he had a fucking bug in his stomach, he feels like he's entitled to a little freaking out. Pete gives him a sympathetic look and squeezes his knee comfortingly.

A couple of minutes later they pull up in front of a large building. Rain waterfalls down from broken and rusty drainpipes and the empty windows stare down at them. Mikey shivers again, but pretends it's the rain. There's a lump in his stomach, excitement and apprehension in equal measures, as he follows Pete inside. The elevator is broken and the stairs are rotting, wallpaper damp and peeling from the walls, as they keep going up and up. Mikey loses count of the floors after a while, until Pete stops in front of a pair of double doors, His face is completely serious as he turns around and looks Mikey in the face.

"This is it," he says. "The captain in waiting for you."

Mikey nods and makes a motion to open the door when Pete stops him with a hand on his arm again.

"Let me give you a piece of advice," he says. "Be honest. He knows more about you than you do."

Mikey gives him a look. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

Pete makes a face. "I'm serious, Mikey. And treat him with respect, okay? This guy is important."

Mikey nods and Pete puffs out a breath.

"Right," he says, and for some reason he sounds about as nervous as Mikey feels. "Here goes. Don't kill each other."

Mikey is about to ask what the fuck that is supposed to mean, when Pete pushes open the double doors and ushers Mikey inside. There is a man by the window, Mikey can just see the silhouette of broad shoulders in a leather coat and wild, dark hair, before the man turns and Mikey's heart stops beating.

There are broad shoulders and a flat stomach where once there was a chubby teenager, a suit and tie underneath the leather coat where Mikey's memory wants to supply ratty jeans and a plaid shirt, but Mikey recognizes him right away. The face isn't any different -- it's older and more weathered, perhaps, and a little harder around the edges behind the dark glasses he is obviously asshole enough to wear inside at night -- and Mikey feels like the room is spinning. It's Gerard.

The room is silent for a long while. Gerard reaches up and pulls the shades off. His eyes are still the same. He looks nervous and a little sad, but there is excitement there as well.

"Mom and dad said you were dead," Mikey chokes after a long while. Gerard flinches.

"No," he says and Mikey recognizes the voice from the phone. "Not dead. Reborn."

"I've been looking for you," Mikey says. His insides are in uproar -- he doesn't know if he wants to laugh or cry or punch Gerard in his stupid face, so he settles for numbness.

"I know," Gerard says and looks at him worriedly. "Sit down, please, you look about ready to fall over."

Mikey sinks down in one of the big, plush armchairs with no small amount of gratitude and keeps staring at Gerard. 15 years of loneliness and grief are coming back over him -- he had forgotten how much he has missed Gerard and his stupid fucking everything. Gerard sinks down in the armchair opposite -- there is a strange grace to his movements that wasn't there 15 years ago -- and he looks a little wary, like he's fully expecting Mikey to jump up and punch him in the face, and they both know how that would probably end up. Mikey isn't very good at hitting people.

They stare at each other for another minute or so, before Gerard's mouth quirk sideways. "Hi," he says.

Mikey blinks at him. "Hi?" he says.

Gerard laughs self-consciously and pulls a hand through his hair. "I know," he says rolling his eyes. "So fucking inadequate after all this time, right? God, Mikey." He looks up and his eyes look a little shiny, but it could just be the light. "I can't believe you're here."

"I can't believe--" Mikey shakes his head. He can't stop staring at Gerard, taking in every little detail, every little change. It's been too long. "I mean, you-- you're Morpheus?"

"Yeah," Gerard shrugs. "Long story. Which, actually, it's what I brought you here to talk about."

He leans forward, elbows on knees and looks at Mikey seriously.

"The Agents are after you now," he says. "They're trying to use you to get to me, to us, and that could be really fucking inconvenient for everyone involved."

"What do they want?" Mikey asks.

Gerard shakes his head. "That's another long story," he says. "That's the problem with all of this, it's not something you can be told, it's something you must be shown." He gestures at Mikey. "I mean, look at you. I bet there's a big fucking part of you that keeps thinking you'll wake up in a moment."

Mikey snorts weakly. "It's-- yeah. Pretty surreal."

"Actually," Gerard smiles. "Waking up is not so far from the truth. You've felt it too, haven't you, Mikey? That frustrating fucking feeling of everything, shit, the entire world being off kilter. Something nagging at the back of your head, that something's not right. And you keep searching for something that will put it all right, something that will make everything make sense again."

Mikey nods and frowns slightly. Gerard has a haunted look on his face, and it's one Mikey remembers. Gerard wore it all the time before he disappeared and that is kickstarting memories Mikey didn't even know he had.

"Do you know what I'm talking about," Gerard asks, seemingly trying to shake the feeling of discomfort.

Mikey sucks in a breath. "The Matrix," he says and this, this is it, now he can finally understand what all this is, the feeling, why Gerard left.

"Do you know what it is?" Gerard asks and Mikey shakes his head. "The Matrix is everything, all of this, the room we're in, the air we're breathing, every single little thing about your life, and you know it isn't right. It's slavery, Mikey, a prison, but it's a prison you can't see or taste or smell or touch. It's a prison for your mind, and you were born into it, you didn't even have a choice, you never committed a crime, but they imprisoned you anyway."

It sounds insane. Mikey would laugh, but he Gerard looks serious as a heart attack and that stops him.

Gerard leans back and sighs. "As I said, though, I can't tell you what the Matrix is, you have to see it with your own eyes to believe it."

He gives Mikey a long look that Mikey can't interpret and fishes out a small silver box, like a cigarette case, from his coat pocket. He opens it and produces two capsules, one bright red, the other blue.

"This is where I give you a choice," Gerard says softly. "If you take the blue pill, you'll wake up back home and you'll believe whatever you want. If you take the red one..." He trails off and his eyes are practically transfixing Mikey to the spot. "If you take the red pill, you'll come with me and I'll show you everything."

" 'Drink me'?" Mikey jokes weakly and Gerard smiles.

"Leap of faith, Mikeyway," he says and something seizes in Mikey's chest at the old nickname.

They stare at each other for a moment, but Mikey knows both of them are already aware of what his choice is. Mikey made that choice a long time ago, and Gerard can see that too. There is no fucking way he's going anywhere now, not when he has Gerard here, within touching distance.

Mikey takes the red pill.

There is a glass of water on the table and Mikey swallows it down. Gerard pockets the blue pill again and there is something conflicted in his eyes as he watches Mikey.

"So it's done," he says, almost as if he's speaking to himself. "No turning back now." He nods decisively. "Come on, we've got work to do."

He gets out of the chair in one fluid motion that is so alien it takes Mikey a moment to remember to follow him. Gerard marches through a door, coat billowing dramatically behind him, and Mikey can't help the small, uncontrollable giggle that fights its way out. Apparently Gerard's flair for drama hasn't abated at all.

"Ryland," Gerard says as they enter a room filled with computer equipment. The floor is practically crawling with wires. "We ready to roll?"

"Almost there," Ryland -- the thin man from the car, Mikey notices -- answers.

There are several people in the room, besides Ryland. The woman from the car, Pete and another guy, tall and bulky with a small goatee, all look up at him as he enters.

"We don't have much time," Gerard says with a wry smile. "As fucking usual, so if you'd take a seat, please, we can get this fucking thing on the road."

Mikey sits down and Pete comes up to him to stick electrode disks to his forehead, neck and arm. Mikey looks up at him. "You've done this?" he asks.

Pete nods, "Uh-huh." He gives Mikey a reassuring smile. "It's gonna feel pretty fucking weird, but don't worry about it, it's normal."

"O-kay," Mikey says just as Gerard comes to stand in front of him.

"The pill you took is part of a trace program," he says as if this explains something. "It'll help us pinpoint your carrier signal."

"What does that even mean?" Mikey asks, bewildered.

"It means say bye-bye to Kansas, Dorothy," the tall guy says and Pete snorts. Gerard rolls his eyes.

"Yeah," he says. "What he said."

Mikey blinks at them all, but he's starting to feel a little weird. There's something crawling underneath his skin again, not like the bug, but like his veins are filled with pop. He looks around, but the only person still watching him is Gerard, whose face is set somewhere between concerned and excited. There's a movement somewhere to his right and Mikey starts, adrenaline pumping. He almost laughs when he notices the big, broken mirror. But then... Mikey can't really describe it, it's like reality shifts and suddenly the cracks in the mirror heal themselves. The mirror looks like a large pool of quicksilver and Mikey reaches out to touch it, even as a part of him is screaming for him not to. The mirror stretches and ripples underneath his fingers and when he pulls them back, long strands of reflective goop are still stuck to his hand, like melted cheese.

"What the hell...?" he wonders out loud, rubbing at the substance with his thumb.

"Have you ever dreamed something that was so real you weren't sure if you were still sleeping?" Gerard asks, and his voice sounds very far away. "What if you couldn't wake up? What if you didn't know that you were dreaming? What would be real then?"

The mirrored goop is sticking to Mikey's fingers and Mikey watches in detached horror as it creeps up his hand and arm like it's alive.

"It's cold," he says, and his own voice sounds like it's coming from the other end of a tunnel.

He can hear Gerard giving orders in the background -- and it's so weird, his big brother being a leader, giving orders to anyone -- but he's not really paying attention because it feels like the liquid mirror is freezing his arm off. He knows he's gasping and squirming, but it feels very far away. He tips his head back like he's trying to keep his head from going under, his heart slamming in his chest like it's trying to beat its way out, as the liquid whatever creeps up his neck, into his hair, into his ears.

Suddenly someone shouts, "I've got him!" and Mikey screams as the liquid pours down his throat, freezing his insides and stalling his heart. A second later, everything goes black.

***

Mikey feels like he's floating. Everything is warm and soft, like there's not a care in the world. The problem is that Mikey's awake and there is something, some sort of membrane or something, holding him down. Also, he can't really breathe and that's kind of uncomfortable. He blinks his eyes open, but it's difficult to see -- mostly, he realizes, because he actually is underwater. Or under something anyway, it feels too thick and viscous to be regular water. There really is a membrane over him and he reaches up, testing it with his hands, ripping through it like wet tissue. He sits up -- slowly, because his muscles seems to be offline right now -- trying to figure out why the hell there is a tube stuck down his throat. He sees no other course of action than to pull it out, even though the feeling of said long fucking rubber tube makes him gag.

He takes a deep, grateful breath and then looks down at himself. Everything is blurry, like he's without his glasses -- because he is -- but he can still see his skin, sickly pale and completely hairless. He is completely naked and up and down his arms and chest are rows and rows of rubber tubes, sealed to his skin. The pleasant, stupid feeling from before is abating and now? Now Mikey is getting real fucking frightened, real fucking fast. There is something heavy at the back of his -- completely hairless -- head as well, and Mikey reaches up to touch. It's metal, like an electrical outlet, a coaxial cable, and Mikey's breath is speeding up, half hysterical, as he tries to pull it out, but it would be easier to pull off his own fucking finger.

And that's when he notices the pods. There is a row of pods right beside him, vaguely human shapes floating silently inside, just like the one he now notices he's sitting in. He tries to get to his feet, but his legs won't cooperate, so he half falls toward the edge, trying to keep himself upright. He's not sure what he's expecting to see, but the rows upon rows of thousands, no, millions of pods glittering red as far as the eye can see is not it. Mikey wants to scream, but he can't make his vocal cords work either.

Suddenly there's something there. Mikey can only see it blurrily at first, but it looks like a gigantic mechanical spider. He recoils, or tries to, but his muscles are still not working so he doesn't get very far. He whimpers as a mechanical eye shoots out from the machine's head, looking him up and down, assessing him, and then, before Mikey can even react, a large claw shoots out from underneath it, gripping his neck like a vice. Mikey can't breathe, he struggles against it, but his fingers are clawing uselessly against metal. Then white hot pain shoots through his skull, like something is boring inside, and he realizes dimly, through the pain and fear and confusion, that it's the coaxial cable being torn away from the back of his head. This time he screams.

Then it's gone. The machine disappears with a whir, leaving Mikey slumped against the side of the pod. His head throbs and spins and he feels like he's going to throw up, but before he can even collect the strength to do that, the rubber tubes stuck to his skin snap open, like a thousand tiny whipping blows and Mikey screams again. His skin feels blistered and raw where the rubber hits him and he falls, slips on the slippery floor of the pod, into the viscous fluid. He can't breathe, he can't see, he doesn't know which way is up anymore, and then he's falling, down, down, it's dark and cold, wind whipping his face and tears springing to his eyes as he lands in cold, dirty water with a tremendous splash. He feels like he swallows several gallons before he manages to flail his way to the surface and take a breath.

There is something above him, and Mikey would try to get away if he could. He doesn't figure out that it's a large gripping claw until it has already caught him and he's halfway up towards a rectangle of light that is as painful to his eyes as having that cable ripped out of his skull was to the rest of him. Then there are hands lifting him, and Gerard's face is floating above him.

"Welcome to the real world," he whispers, caressing Mikey's bald head with a warm hand and Mikey closes his eyes, safe for now.

***

"You did it, Gee," says a voice softly in the darkness as Mikey floats back into awareness. He doesn't recognize it.

"I hope it was the right thing." Gerard. Mikey wants to reach out and take his hand, but he can't move. His body is too heavy, he can't even open his eyelids.

"You know it was," says the other voice soothingly, and Mikey is kind of glad that his brother has someone to reassure him, even if he doesn't know what the hell they're talking about.

He finally manages to pry his eyes open -- the light still hurts his eyes -- and sees Gerard standing by his bed (or something) together with a skinny black-haired guy with a large nose.

"Am I dead?" he whispers.

"Far from it," Gerard says with a gentle smile and Mikey sighs, sinking back down into darkness. Somewhere he can hear someone -- Gerard? -- mumble, "Thank God."

***

Next time Mikey wakes it's to a persistent beeping noise that he realizes is a heart monitor. He opens his eyes and sees the same skinny guy stand over him with an acupuncture needle. "He still needs a lot of work," the guy says to someone on Mikey's right.

"What are you doing?" he asks, voice is low and rough and sounds like it's been dragged over broken glass, and suddenly Gerard is hovering over him with that same half worried, half proud look on his face.

"Your muscles have atrophied," he says. "We're trying to rebuild them."

Mikey hums and squints against the piercing light. "Why are the lights so bright?" he asks.

Gerard smiles. "They're not."

"Then why do my eyes hurt?"

Gerard smoothes a hand over Mikey's head. "You've never used them before. Go back to sleep, Mikey. Answers are coming, as soon as you're better."

***

The next time Mikey wakes up the acupuncture needles are gone and he's not lying flat on his back on an operating table anymore. He's actually dressed, in simple but pretty warm clothes, and he's lying on a real bed in a real room -- although "bed" and "room" is probably being a little too generous. He sits up; his muscles are working fine, actually he feels stronger than he ever has, so whatever Gerard and the acupuncture needle guy did seems to have worked. That's when Mikey notices the IV-line. It's not a small needle, like in a hospital, it's a tube, stuck directly into a small round outlet grafted directly into his skin. Mikey grabs the IV-line, skin crawling as he pulls it out.

So none of this was a bad dream then. He takes a deep breath and reaches up. His head is buzzed, hair cut close to his skull -- no, not cut, Mikey realizes, newly grown -- and Mikey's fingers touch metal. He feels like throwing up.

Then the door is pushed open and Gerard steps in. His hair is as unbrushed and wild as usual, if maybe a little dirtier than it was before, but he's out of the leather coat and in the same weird rustic garb as Mikey is. His shirt is dyed red though, and it seems to stand out against the metal surrounding them.

"Good morning," he says with a friendly smile.

"Gerard." Mikey breathes deeply. "What the fuck is going on? Where am I?"

"When is more important than where," Gerard says.

"Okay then, when?"

"We're not entirely sure," says Gerard with a shrug. "But we think probably about 200 years into the future from the time you know. As for where, this is my ship, Hypnos."

"Your ship?"

Gerard's smile is fiercely proud and he pats the metal wall like it's a pet. "Yep," he says. "My baby. Come on, let me give you the grand tour."

Mikey gets off the bed -- Gerard bundles him up in a blanket, because "it gets cold out here, Mikey, just take the fucking thing, alright?" -- and they walk through narrow metal corridors that reminds Mikey of a submarine. The air is dry and static and tastes funny, a little recycled and a little like exhaust.

"The Hypnos is a hovercraft," Gerard says conversationally. "These are the living quarters -- my bunk is up there, by the way -- and up here is the main deck. Come on."

They climb a narrow ladder and come up into a large room that is filled with computer equipment, cables trailing the floor. Gerard steps over them like they're not even there, moving like he could find his way blindfolded. Mikey is a little more careful.

"This is the core," Gerard says, pointing at a collection of screens all showing different things. "This is what we use when we hack into the Matrix."

He turns around with the air of a kid showing Mikey all his treasures -- his eyes are practically glowing, and he can't seem to keep the smile off his face. Mikey can't stop staring at him. This is the Gerard he remembers, and the disconnect from the leaderclad captain barking orders is seriously hurting his already fragile head.

"You've already met most of my crew," Gerard continues and Mikey looks around at the surrounding faces. They look different here, in this environment, than they did in the-- in the Matrix. Bleaker, drabber, maybe. Pete's grin is still just as brilliant though.

"Don't know any names though," the woman points out. She is just as beautiful out of her leather and heavy make-up.

"Of course," Gerard says, slightly sheepishly and gestures at her. "Mikey, this is Victoria -- VickyT. That's Ryland and Otter."

He gestures at Ryland, the tall skinny guy Mikey remembers from the room with the mirror, and the bulkier guy with the goatee. The guy with the goatee -- Otter -- lifts his hand in greeting.

"These are the ones you haven't met," Gerard continues. "Lyn-Z and her big brother, Jimmy. The little one behind you is Sisky."

Another dark-haired woman, just as stunning as the other one, smiles impishly and waves. The acupuncture needle guy grins as well. Mikey turns around and there is a short, skinny boy lurking behind him. He looks like he has a dead ferret on his head. As a man of many questionable hair decisions, Mikey can relate. All of them are dressed in the same drab clothes as Mikey and Gerard, but Gerard is the only one wearing bright red.

"Captain?" he asks, pointing at Gerard and Gerard smiles brilliantly.

"Awesome, right?" he says.

Mikey's lips quirk a little and he nods. Gerard beams at him for a moment, but then a somberness seems to come over him and he puts his hands on Mikey's shoulders.

"So," he says softly. "You wanted to know what the Matrix is?"

Mikey nods again, swallowing, his mouth suddenly dry and Gerard leads him to one of the many chairs scattered across the room. They kind of look like dentist chairs, the way they're all stuffed and leaning back, but there is a lot of equipment and monitors and cables surrounding it not seen at any dentist Mikey can think of (and he's from Jersey). Gerard's hands -- and Pete's, Mikey notices -- are gentle as they help him into the chair. Jimmy is behind them both, doing something with the screens behind them. Gerard leans Mikey's head back with a warm hand on his forehead.

"Try to relax," he says quietly. "This is going to feel kind of weird."

Mikey barely has the time to wonder what is going to feel kind of weird when there is something being shoved into the outlet at the back of his head. It doesn't hurt, as such, but it's uncomfortable as shit -- something is poking at his brain and Mikey doesn't like it. But then, just as suddenly as it appeared, it's gone and when Mikey opens his eyes, he's standing in a large, white nothing.

"We call this the Construct," Gerard says behind him and Mikey twists around. "It's our loading program, we can get anything we want from here -- clothes, weapons, equipment, anything we need."

Mikey stares at him. Gerard is decked out in a nice black suit, complete with a pair of sunglasses. "This," he stutters. "This is a computer program? We're inside a computer program?"

"Is it really that much of a shock?" Gerard asks curiously. "Look at you. Your clothes are different, the plugs are gone, your hair is back to... whatever you had going for it before."

Mikey gropes the back of his head, but Gerard is right. His hair is back to what it used to be and the plugs are nowhere. His clothes are back, the same grungy jeans and ratty hoodie he wore before he took that red pill Gerard offered him.

"It's what they call the residual self-image," Gerard continues. "It's basically an image that your mind projects to shape what is essentially an electronic signal inside the program. Pretty fucking wild, huh?"

"This isn't real?" Mikey asks, holding himself upright on the plush armchair that is suddenly standing in front of him.

Gerard shrugs, pulling a hand through his hair. "Depends on what you mean by real," he says. "If real is what you can touch and taste and see, then sure, this is real. This is what your mind makes real."

Mikey stares at him, mind refusing to grasp what Gerard is saying, and Gerard gives him a concerned look, slipping off his shades.

"This is what I meant," he says softly. "This is what you need to see, because you wouldn't believe me if I just told you." He grabs the remote control lying on a side table and directs it towards the TV. "This is the world you thought you lived in, just liked it used to look at the beginning of the 21st century."

Mikey looks at the TV, feeling short of breath as stock images you could see on any tv-show wash past -- New York City, Chicago, Tokyo, Paris, London.

"That world doesn't exist anymore," Gerard says and his voice is tinged with sadness. "That world is a simulation. And we call it the Matrix."

Gerard leans back in the chair and looks over at where Mikey is standing, gripping the armchair until his knuckles turn white. "You've been living in a dream world, Mikey," he says gently. "The world outside of it is so different. It looks like this."

He clicks the button again and the scenery on the TV changes, but not just that. Suddenly the white room doesn't exist anymore, and Mikey twist around to stare in dumb-founded horror at the wreckage, the desert, the wasteland around him. The sky is red overhead, lightning bolts chasing each other through the endless cover of clouds. The ground is barren; dead, brown dust and nothing more.

"We don't know the whole story," Gerard says behind him. "All we know is that sometime in the middle of the 21st century they built the first real, functional, independent AI."

"Artificial Intelligence?" Mikey says, grasping at the familiar to keep himself steady.

"Yeah," Gerard nods and sighs. "It spawned a whole race of them, of machines, and mankind got afraid. No one knows anymore who struck first, maybe it was them, maybe it was us, but it became a war unlike anything else. That's why that happened."

Gerard gestures toward the sky.

"Atom bomb," he says and his face makes it abundantly clear what he thinks of that. "The machines were dependent on solar power at the time, so people figured that if they took away the sun, the machines would die. They fucked themselves over royally, of course."

Gerard leans forward, that haunted look back on his face.

"The human body generates more bioelectricity than a 120-volt battery and over 25,000 B.T.U.'s of body heat," he says, voice deadened, like it's something he's gotten repeated a thousand times. He looks up and the look in his eyes etches itself onto Mikey's retinas. "I've seen them, Mikey," he says. "The fields. For as far as the eye can see, rows upon rows. We're not being born anymore, we're grown. I didn't want to believe it at first, but then I saw it all. I saw what they did, watched them liquefy the dead to feed it intravenously to the living, I saw that precision, that efficiency. I lost it, Mikey. I lost my fucking shit."

He looks away, collecting himself. "That's when I figured it out. What the Matrix is," he continues. "Control. It takes us and turns us into nothing more than this." He tosses something at Mikey and Mikey fumbles a little, but catches it. It's a battery.

"That's all we are," Gerard says. "Nothing more, nothing less."

Mikey can feel the bile rising and he drops the battery from numb fingers. "No," he says, biting his teeth together. "No, it's not. I refuse to believe it. This isn't happening."

Gerard looks sad. "I'm sorry. I never said it would be easy, but it's the truth."

"No, no, no fucking way." Mikey stumbles backwards. "Not possible. It can't be. Just, fuck. Get me out! Get me the fuck out of here, right the fuck now!"

He blinks and then he's back in the chair, the air cold and dry around him. Pete and Jimmy are holding him down, telling him to calm down, to take it easy. Fuck that, fuck that. Mikey fights his way out of the chair and stumbles away.

"Get away from me," he half-shouts. "Don't. Don't you fucking come near me."

"He's gonna pop!" someone says loudly, warningly. Mikey doesn't even understand what that means, and frankly, he couldn't give less of a shit.

And then Gerard is there, crouching down by Mikey's side.

"Breathe," he says urgently. "I swear to god, Mikey, if you blow a fuse on me now I'll kill you myself. Just breathe."

Mikey feels like his brain has been put inside a centrifuge. Everything is spinning and he's dripping cold sweat onto the floor. Too much, brain overload, he can't fucking take this anymore. He pitches forward, vomiting violently and finally, finally passes out.

***

Later when he wakes up, he's back in the bunk. The room is blessedly dim and quiet and he takes a deep breath. His mouth still tastes like ass, but his head isn't spinning and he doesn't feel like his eyeballs are about to explode anymore, so he counts it as a win. He rolls over on his back and looks at Gerard, who is sitting beside him with a sketchbook on his lap. Mikey's chest seizes up again, but he can breathe this time so it's okay. Some things don't seem to change, even when everything else does.

The coal scratches against the paper and Mikey lets himself get lulled by the sound.

"No turning back?" he asks after a while.

Gerard doesn't look up. "No turning back," he says. "Would you want to, though?"

Mikey sighs. Gerard looks down at him.

"I'm sorry," he says unhappily. "So fucking sorry. We have this rule -- we're not supposed to free a mind after a certain age. It's more difficult to let go. It's dangerous too." He gives Mikey a tight smile. "You scared me there for a while. I thought we would lose you."

He sighs and rubs his face with a coal-smudged hand, rubbing black streaks over his face.

"A long time ago," Gerard says, "this man was born inside the Matrix. He could shape it to his will, and he saved people, Mikey. He did a lot of good things. He freed the first of us and he told us that as long as the Matrix exists, humans can never be completely free. When he died, the Oracle prophesied that he would come back some day, and that that would mean the end of the Matrix, the end of the war. The freedom of our people. Some of us have spent our entire lives looking for him. I have spent my entire life looking." He pauses for a second, looking thoughtful. "I did what I did, I broke the rules, because I. Because I believe I have found what I was looking for."

Mikey raises his eyebrows as Gerard looks down at him meaningfully, but offers no comment.

"Do you understand?" Gerard asks.

"You think I'm it? Him?"

Gerard smiles. "I don't think," he says. "I know. Now, you better get some sleep. Big day ahead."

Mikey frowns. "What's happening tomorrow?"

"We start your training."

Gerard collects his sketchbook and coal, getting to his feet. He pauses for a second, staring down at his hands, and then he carefully rips the top page off. Wordlessly, he hands it over before he walks out the door.

"Goodnight, Mikey."

Mikey looks at the drawing. It's his own sleeping face. He falls back against the pillow staring at it, and pretends like his eyes aren't burning at all. Fucking Gerard.

Continued here