Prepare for a lengthy AN...

Ultimatum was great and everything, but there were a few loose ends I felt needed to be tied up (I.e Jason knowing more about his past than the fact that he chose to be an assasian and his former name), and I started writing about those, and it sort of transformed into a whole fic...meh. As my writing goes.

There isn't any specific ship in this--I don't want to fool anyone into thinking it's a Nikki/Jason or Marie/Jason story, even though both those characters are obviously in it a lot. But if you clicked thinking it was that--or at least devoted to a particular character--it's not, sorry.

That having been said, read away.

Panaji, India

Water. Crushing her, pushing her down and forcing her up. She floated, bobbed, limp as a rag doll.

Arms, too-grasping at her frantically as though holding her would bend mortality's rules.

Her breath-no, she wasn't breathing. Someone else was. Sharp, desperate breaths into her mouth.

None of it helped, none of it eased the slow feeling of herself drifting away. She couldn't feel her own body, she couldn't think. She could only feel the arms slipping away, the water pushing her back, and down…

She woke with a start, hair clinging to her forehead, eyes darting wildly across the room. White. Not the cold, murky emerald of the waters that had claimed her life, but white.

And then the sounds of a steady beep, first quiet and slow and then loud and constant, as though her ears where just remembering how to hear.

Dead. I'm dead.

The single though careened through her mind, blocking everything else for a moment. She closed her eyes, fully expecting it all to melt away, for it all to be a horrible nightmare.

The beeping noise remained. It was joined, she noticed, by another sound, a deep electrical hum. She opened one eye hesitantly, but still she saw only white.

Carefully, slowly, she turned her head and opened the other eye. The white was replaced with grey and black and blue; the colours of an assortment of strange looking machines by her bed.

A bed-why the hell am I in a bed?

She tried to raise her head and instantly regretted it, a sharp jerk of pain bringing her back down. She remembered something about a bullet, a crack of hurt in her head similar to the one she'd just experienced in her mind moments ago.

It took a few minutes of lying there, the beeping ringing in her ears, the white blinding her to the point of closing her eyes, to realize that she must not be dead after all. She'd imagined death like blowing a candle out; simple and painless and thoughtless. None of it involved endless white and machines and beds and-

Hospitals.

That one thought made everything click, made her eyes look around more frantically than before. She was lying in a bed, a cold, metal one. Sheets were draped over her frame loosely. Her arm lay at her side, looking pale and bruised. She tried to move it but found it took a lot of effort to do so.

Slower this time, she raised her head. The pain still came, but this time she tried to ignore it, biting her lip until she could see more of her surroundings. More beds, some empty, some with a curtain drawn around them, and a door. White ceilings and walls.

I'm in a hospital. I survived.

For a moment she felt happy, joy spreading through her. It faded when she remembered more, scrambling to piece together the jigsaw her memories had become.

She tried to speak, but the words wouldn't come. Instead she moaned, relieved she could at least make some sound. She pulled the sheets over her head and breathed quietly, willing the horrible sense of death that still lingered over her to disappear.

She closed her eyes, and with the darkness came scattered images and sounds: a bridge, a desperate voice, a field, a car, glass shattering-

She tried to make out the words, and when she finally did, the phrase was all she could think about.

'We don't have a choice.'

She lay there motionless for as long as she could, until her throat throbbed and her arms ached. Then she slowly pushed away the covers and sat up, trying to speak again.

'We don't…' she coughed, eyes burning, fingers digging into her own palm. And still she tried again. 'Don't…have a choice…'

Satisfied, she concentrated on the motionless door, hoping more than anything that someone would open it.

Paris, France

Nikki Parsons wasn't surprised to find the covers on the couch neatly laid into a pile, the person that had once been lying in them stood up and staring out the windows, as though he could see something through the endless rain.

She shut the door and dumped a bag on the wooden kitchen table, brushing an errant strand of hair behind her ear. 'Jason?'

Jason glanced around quickly, face questioning.

'I brought breakfast.'

She hadn't meant the statement to sound as weak and unhelpful as it did, but he nodded anyway, walking over and carefully extracting a croissant from the bag. 'Merci,' he murmured before taking a bite.

Disorientated, Nikki frowned. 'It's raining pretty hard out there.'

'That's Paris. To be honest, I'm surprised you're living here.'

'You still found me, didn't you?'

Jason shrugged. 'I'm good at that.'

Nikki averted her gaze, hanging her coat on the back of a chair. She noticed Jason's, lying discarded by the couch. 'How long are you staying?'

'I have a flight to Thailand in a few hours.'

'You want me to take you to the airport?'

Jason looked at her with some surprise before sitting down on the couch and shaking his head, last remains of the croissant eaten. 'I'll get a taxi. Thanks for letting me stay, though.'

Nikki nodded and sat down beside him, not hungry. He'd come to her house last night at 4AM, arriving with little more than a rain-soaked shirt and an array of questions on how she was and what she was doing to hide. She'd insisted he stay at her apartment for the night rather than some dingy motel room he was bound to end up in otherwise.

'Did you sleep well?'

The corners of his mouth quirked in something resembling a smile. 'That's a pretty desperate attempt at conversation.'

'I meant-' she watched him carefully, searching for some sign of emotion, '-did you have a nightmare or anything?'

He raised his eyebrows. 'The thing about those,' he said finally, causing Nikki to jump slightly, 'is that they're much better when they're not about things you remember very clearly.'

She didn't ask him what he was referring to, but she touched his hand in a mildly comforting gesture before looking on the window again. 'There's a lot of traffic.'

'That's Paris,' he repeated.

'You're not going to get a taxi at this rate, though.'

'I'll leave now.' He stood up.

'Jason, you'd get there faster if you ran, I'm not joking.'

Jason ignored her, zipping up his coat.

'Let me take you?'

He looked back at Nikki. Her face was almost pleading. 'I can use the métro as well, you know.'

'You'd get lost,' she lied dismissively, unwilling to let him disappear that easily. He was the last remaining reminder of a profession she'd spent so long trying to forget.

'I used to live here…'

'Treadstone didn't like agents to use the métro. Too crowed, too busy, too loud.'

Nikki regretted her words the moment she saw Jason's eyes darken and his hands still. 'What I mean is-I know how to get around here better. Just…please?'

For a moment Jason was silent, studying the busy street through the rain that fell on it. He knew how to get there just as well as Nikki, if not better. But still, the idea of her extended company was tempting. Then he sighed, nodded slightly and opened the door.

Nikki didn't hesitate in standing up.

New York, USA

Pamela Landy did not have the average version of good days.

She didn't have the average version of bad days either. Sometimes she wished she did, wished she had the kind of job where she could come home, drink coffee, and complain about her boss or the annoying person that sat next to her or…something. Anything.

As it was, she couldn't even let anyone know about her job, much less discuss the finer details of her manager's business approach with them.

A bad day to her was when something happened like Ward's suicide, or Bourne evading her sight will being in the same block as her again.

Actually, anything involving Bourne was usually bad.

Which is why she was grateful for those news reports, the ones that claimed he was dead. For all she knew, he was. Then again, he was pretty damn good at staying alive.

With a disdained expression and a sip of bitter coffee, she returned her attentions to the files before her, rubbing at her temples and trying to force some sort of interest towards the scattered words in front of her. Then the phone rang. She glanced at the number on the screen. Alex Johnson, superintendent.

She winced and answered.

'Hello?'

'Pam, have you been looking at the documents I gave you?'

'Yes.' Looking and reading where too entirely different things, she reminded herself.

'What do you think?'

'Uh…hold on.' She looked back down. Something about oil. Johnson sounded impatient. 'Look, I don't have time-' Pamela heard another voice in the background, and Johnson's frustrated reply following it. 'Forget it. You need to get those signed, okay?'

'Right.'

He hung up.

She edged back in her chair, exhaling in relief. She had been cautious since the discovery of Blackbriar, and the arrests that had followed it.

Then again, anything was better than the pestering questions about Bourne she'd once had to endure.

'What kind of a threat is he to us?'

'If he just wanted to hurt us he could have sent this tape to CNN.'

Her words had hidden what she really thought. Because he was a threat. She knew this, had experienced it during those fateful minutes she spent watching Abbott commit suicide.

She knew just how much of a threat Jason Bourne could be.

And up until now, almost no one else had.

Panaji, India

She was frowning, gripping her cup of tea tightly. A woman who worked at the hospital had made it for her, and it was slowly easing the dry feeling in her throat.

'You were found in the river,' the nurse was telling her from where she sat on an opposite bed. 'You weren't breathing and you had a bullet wound in your shoulder. The ambulance staff managed to revive you, and you've been in a coma for several months. The bullet has been removed. Don't you remember anything?'

'Bits and pieces, but…' She trailed off and shook her head. 'Did I have any possessions with me?'

The nurse nodded. 'A bag, and some clothes. I brought them'

She handed her a small brown bag. It was torn and dirty, the fabric rough beneath her fingers. She glanced over at the clothes, a red halter top and a long blue skirt. They were in even worse condition, even though it was obvious they'd been washed. She opened the flap on the bag carefully, setting down her tea.

The first thing she saw was some money. Crumpled and faded, the ink blurred beyond recognition, but still money. Relieved, she examined the bills further. Indian money. But she couldn't use it, considering it's damaged state.

'I must have lived here,' she said aloud, placing the bills beside her on the bed and reaching for the other item in the bag.

She pulled it out, her heartbeat increasing rapidly when she saw what it was. 'A passport,' she murmured, startled.

'Is it yours?'

Shrugging, she opened it up. There on one of the pages was her own face, staring back at her. Her hair was different-the girl in the picture's was shoulder-length and brown, her own was blonde and longer. But the same facial features, the same smile.

She scanned it carefully. 'My name is Marie Kreutz,' she said, looking back up at the nurse, smiling. 'I was born in Germany. I'm 31 and…' She didn't finish, eyes darting around the page. Whatever this passport told her, she didn't remember it. Reading these facts didn't help her.

The nurse returned her smile. 'So you remember?'

'No.'

Silence. Marie laid back in the bed, wincing at the pain she felt in her shoulder. 'I wish I did, but I don't.'

The nurse frowned in disappointment and stood up, leaving Marie's clothes lying amongst the sheets. Without another word she left the room.

Marie closed her eyes and sunk backwards. The pain subsided slightly.

A moment later the nurse returned, carrying a tray. On the tray lay a small dish of Indian food and a newspaper.

Marie picked up the newspaper, looking up apologetically once she realized its language. 'I'm sorry, but I don't speak-'

The nurse nodded before she could finish. 'We have one English one somewhere, I think. It's an old issue, but it's better than nothing. I'll get it.'

She left the room again and Marie concentrated on her food, eating slowly. Eating felt as unfamiliar as the name that apparently belonged to her.

The nurse returned and handed her a paper. Marie smiled in thanks and scanned it. 'The Guardian…Renegade Assassin Loose in Europe. That's a British newspaper, right?' She looked up for confirmation, but the nurse was gone.

She shrugged examined the article further, setting down her fork. Suddenly she froze, the dryness in her mouth present again, her eyes wide.

The article had a picture of her.

The article had a picture of her, it also stated her name was Marie Kreutz, said she'd been on the run with an assassin named Jason Bourne-

And the article claimed she was dead.

She threw the newspaper on the floor and pushed the tray to the edge of the bed, shaking as hundreds of images and sounds flooded her mind, clearer now, the voices easy to make out.

'The only thing we had in common is that neither of us knew who you were!'

'You sure it's not just a bad dream?'

'It's them. It's Treadstone!'

'It says I'm an assassin.'

She grabbed the passport again from where it lay beside her, remembering stuffing it franticly into her bag. It had been waiting in the glove compartment of their car, more out of a memento than anything else. All her other identities lay in Ziploc bags at a small deserted shack. Those ones she could use, but not this. Not her real name.

She'd planned-they'd planned-to go there, collect everything, and run somewhere. To hide.

But then she was shot…

For a moment she wondered desperately where Jason was, then she wondered if he was even alive. He thought she was dead. Everyone thought she was dead. A major newspaper thought she was dead, even.

She grabbed the article again, searching for more names. She was lucky.

She slipped out of the bed, shoving the newspaper, and her passport into the bag. The money she ignored. There was plenty of money at the shack, if Jason hadn't already taken it.

She threw off the hospital gown and struggled into her own clothes, not caring that they were dirty and torn. She'd buy new ones later. And a plane ticket, a train ticket, something.

She recited the name in the article to herself over and over. 'Pamela Landy. New York, CIA…'

With one last look at the bed, she slipped the bag over her shoulder and hurried out of the door.

She hadn't gone far when she ran into the nurse, who looked at her with concern. 'You can't leave-'

'I have to,' Marie interrupted her, and the desperation in her eyes prevented the nurse from saying anything else. 'Can anyone give me a ride?

Charles de Gaull Airport

Paris, France

Jason was examining the TV monitors closely, Nikki by his side. She was flipping idly through a tourist leaflet she'd found on the floor, a distraction from the otherwise crowed and noisy airport.

'That's mine. The 14:00.'

Nikki looked up at the screen. 'Bangkok?'

'Yep.'

'How long until you check in?'

'I have half an hour,' he replied, checking his watch. He looked back at her. 'You hungry? You didn't eat anything.'

She frowned as she thought of the now-stale croissant, lying forgotten on her table. 'Yeah.'

'There's a café over there.'

Minutes later they sat across from each other on a small wooden table, Nikki picking at the omelette on her plate. 'Guess we don't have to worry about the Spanish police coming in anymore.'

Jason grinned, a gesture that surprised her. 'Guess not.'

'Why Thailand?' she asked after a few moments of silence.

Jason shrugged. 'It's a good place to fade into the background. Busy. Lots of people, and it's easy to blend in with them.'

'Where were you staying before?'

'Lots of places. I was in Europe when I thought I should try and find you--make sure you were okay and everything.'

'I'm fine.'

He nodded, smiling briefly. 'And Landy?'

'I haven't heard from her, but she hasn't been on the news or anything. They said the reports about Blackbriar were discovered by Kramer anyhow.'

'What about me?'

'Well, they said you jumped off a building…which you did. They think you're dead, though.'

'Good. Nobody looks for a corpse.'

Nikki wondered if he was right.

'And they said something about me-' she stopped, seeing the concerned look on his face. 'No, just that I was associated with you but that nobody knew where I was, stuff like that.'

'They don't know where you are, do they?'

'I hope not.'

Silence again. She pushed the empty plate away from her and looked at the clock. 'Ten minutes,' Jason told her, following her gaze. 'Thanks,' he added. 'For taking me here and everything.'

'No problem.'

After all, for all she knew, this could be the last time she saw him.

Apologies for the lengthy chapter.

Oh, and it will have some semblance of a plot, I promise. :D

-Tigeress-10