Title: Change
Summary: Nameless for a time, they clung to a precarious balance between past and future; the people they'd become versus the people they had once been.
Category: NJ
Rating: PG-13
A/N: So, this first chapter is somewhat huh worthy. This is NOT a past fic, it's set AFTER Ultimatum, HOWEVER there will be bits of their past. It may seem confusing at first as the past parts will be out of order but everything will fall in place quickly. Everything post Ultimatum is set in a straight timeline. Please just stick around ;)

I need to send out a huge thanks to Miks and Grimorie for all the help with this (creative differences aside LOL) ;)

Also, this is unbeta'd.

-

Her bed had never felt like a board of needles before, and at the moment she felt like every inch of her body was being pricked with little spikes as she tossed and turned, trying to sleep. She had no illusions she was going to drift off anytime soon, but at least she could pretend.

Unbelievable.

That was ridiculous, she knew it. It was ridiculous to lose sleep over something like this.

She puffed, blowing hair out of her face. She had already told herself to forget it, to let it go. Why the hell couldn't she just sleep if she had already made up her mind? There was no point in losing her sleep over something that was already decided. Right?

Right. Because she wasn't going. She wasn't moving an inch from her bed, and she wasn't going to waste another minute on the subject. It was late, it was dark and she was tired and she was going to sleep.

She turned on her side and closed her eyes, keeping them tightly shut. And instead of the blank darkness she hoped for, the back of her eyelids were filled with images of skin and moans and heavy breathing and lips and eyes that stared down into her core and made every hair on her body rise in both anticipation and fear.

She turned harshly on her back, pulling the covers over her head and pressing her hands over her face. Maybe she should just choke to death and end her misery. When all the attempt did was force more images on her brain and feelings on her skin –because really how in hell would she ever get Bourne off her system was as mystery- she threw them away and let out a low shriek of frustration as she pulled at her hair.

Goddamn Jason Bourne to hell and back.

In fact, she thought as she threw her legs to the side, she was going to tell him that to his face. Opening the top drawer of her bedside table, she grabbed the wrinkled square of paper and read it over again for the hundredth time. The words scribbled in blue ink were already blurred from so much handling, after she had discovered it inside the coat of her jacket the previous day. The little note held nothing more than a date and time, but, Christ, it had been enough to burn her skin. It came along with fancy keycard she knew belong to a fancy hotel.

Ok, she thought, she was going to end this once and for all. She was going to meet him, face him and tell him that was that. Whatever it was that they had started in the safe house wasn't going to get anywhere and that was final. They'd be both out of their minds if they even considered letting it get further than what they had done, and a death wish was something she did not have.

Crazy, she kept telling herself as she put on jeans and a shirt and covered her hair with a scarf. Crazy and idiotic and stupid and, God, what was she doing with herself? She froze halfway pulling on her boots and let her weight drop on the bed as she sat and considered. What if it was a test? The thought suddenly entered her mind. What if it was a test and by going there she was proving to them how weak and how inefficient she was, letting her emotions drive her the way they were doing, failing to do her job?

She shook her head at how ridiculous it all sounded by the time she was done thinking it. No, that couldn't be possible. Whatever was going on between her and Jason couldn't be faked; that much she knew. What he felt, whatever it was, was genuine, and his intentions for this meet tonight were anything but professional.

Which led to unprofessional thoughts.

Stop it Nicky, she scolded herself, you're going to get yourself killed for this.

And it was honest, anyway, the fear she felt. Every time someone looked at her, every time Conklin directed words at her, she felt as if she had this attraction to their operative written all over her face, and the knowledge –or lack there of- of what could be done to her if anybody found out was enough to make her look the other way and ignore the trembling in her stomach every time Jason looked at her.

It was a dangerous game they were playing no matter how careful Bourne was trying to be.

Nicky groaned and dropped her head to her knees, wrapping her hands around her blond mane of hair and cursed herself for being unable to control what she felt and thought.

She could deal with this, she decided. She could go to him and tell him they were done and with time this... thing would just disappear and as a bonus she'd keep her life. But she should be decent enough to tell him to his face.

Yes, she could do that, it seemed very reasonable. So with that thought in mind, she stood, fixed the scarf on her head, put on some clothes and grabbed her things, flying out of the door. If she hurried she could make it just in the nick of time.

-

The hotel wasn't as fancy as she had expected, but it was classy enough to ensure them invisibility if it was required, and big enough to have anyone slip in and out without anybody noticing. Private elevators and employees that were paid to forget the guests by guests' convenience. Add that to Bourne's skills and by the next day there'd be no trace either of them had ever been there.

By the time she had finished her assessing she had found herself facing the door of the hotel room written on the wrinkled square of paper she had yet to flush down the toilet. And was suddenly frozen down to her toes.

In a moment of clarity she asked herself, not for the first time, what the hell she was doing. But, Nicky reminded herself, she was here only to ensure things like this wouldn't happen again, ever.

Inserting the keycard in the slot, she waited for the green light to flick and slowly opened the door. The hesitancy suddenly kicked in, and she froze again, hand on doorknob, door halfway open. This could be the biggest mistake of her life. This seemed like an old black and white spy movie, or maybe something out of James Bond. Young damsel risking her breath to meet her lover in the dark of night.

She almost tuned around and left.

Shit, Nicolette, you're already here, you can't get any deeper.

Taking a deep breathe she pushed the door open and stepped inside, shutting the heavy wooden board behind her soundlessly. The room was cast in a dim glow from the moon outside, not a single artificial light on, giving her the feeling of an empty alleyway. She shivered at the thought as the hairs on the back of her neck raised in attention. She knew he was in there somewhere, watching her with those eyes trained to learn every movement his pray made.

"I didn't think you'd come."

She didn't even flinch at the voice, her eyes already adjusted to the lightening, finding him coming from somewhere to her right. "I almost didn't." Honestly.

He was closer to her than she'd have liked, his breath almost teasing her skin, his hands gently removing the scarf covering her blond hair and she couldn't help the shiver that ran down her spine all the way to her toes – and this time it had nothing to do with fear.

"I only came-" She started but the words caught in her throat along with her breath as his hands untucked her blouse and splattered over her ribcage, warm and rough and gentle. She forced herself to think. "I only came to tell you we're not going this."

"Doing what?" He murmured, lips finding the sensitive skin just under her earlobe and she closed her eyes.

God, please, give me strength.

"This." She whispered and desperately wanted to step away, to get out and not let it go any further, but her brain had abandoned her and her body had betrayed her as she held a fistful of his shirt to pull him close - and give her balance, but she refused to acknowledge the last part. Jason Bourne did not make her weak on the knees.

When his hands slip up, leaving a trail of fire, thumbs resting just below the side of her breasts every coherent thought flew out of the window, leaving her brain working on emergency power only and her body reacting in ways se never expected it to.

This wasn't what she had come here for, the thought crossed her mind as his lips found hers and his fingers unclasped her bra. Her hand tightened around his shirt in reaction and her other hand was suddenly on his shoulder, sliding to the back his neck. Then her blouse was off her shoulders and her jeans unbuttoned and her lips aching and her skin flaming.

And suddenly she felt so awkward and shy and embarrassed. She was so inexperienced on this little part of life; boys and men and romance and relationships and even something as simple as sex. She wasn't a complete moron when it came to it but she had never put much thought into it and now, as Jason reduced her to a brainless vegetable how could she even compete in the same game?

This was wrong, this should not be happening and she knew she should have stopped when her breath caught in her throat. When he pulled his mouth away enough to let air in, she came to her sense enough to open her eyes and see him staring at her even through dazed mind, watching, hands on her hips, fingers rubbing the skin, lips burning and her hand still grasping his shirt as if she could fall down or he'd disappear if she wasn't holding on.

"You were saying?"

Huh? His voice whispered right beside her ear and it wasn't enough to bring her back to the living land. As her brain cleared, she realized she was standing in the middle of the room, half naked, holding on to him, his scent overloading her senses, her blood flooding her system, pumping faster than she thought it could be possible. She could feel her heart beating in her ears. And Jason Bourne was… talking? She could hardly remember her own name, let alone hat she had been saying.

She blinked a couple of times and caught him smirking; that tiny little smirk he saved for when he wanted to be evil, the one she didn't notice until several months after working with him and learning every gesture he made, every movement, every tiny little raise of the corner of his lips, every tiny little thing.

Bastard.

And then, before she could think or do anything else, he had captured her lips again, gently forcing them apart with his tongue, his hands tightening on her hips and pressing her body against his, then moving down, to the lose waistband of her pants, his fingers teasing as they brushed just below, just low enough to drive her crazy, then moving up brushing the sides of her body until they reached her breasts –and barely touched them.

She wondered briefly if his training had taught him to have so much control even in situations like these. She was nearly passing out from pleasure and he was hardly touching her. And he was fully clothed too.

Nicky slipped her hands under his shirt and pulled away long enough to jerk it over his head without any resistance from him. The black material fell to the floor in a heap at her feet and she was immediately surrounded by the warmth and the feel of his skin directly on hers. And it was enough to send her hormones on frenzy and her brain to shut down.

She didn't know much about him; anything about the man before Treadstone, but she knew he fought and he hurt and he did things only a broken man would be capable of doing, but his skin was so smooth to the touch. As she slid her hands up and down his chest and back she could feel the bumps of scars of a man who had more than his share of pain, but his skin felt wonderful, warm and soft and tight and she could feel his muscles flexing under her digits, sending goose bumps on her skin.

When she felt the bed hit the back of her knees she wondered when they had started moving, when they had made their way to the bedroom. She didn't panic like she knew she should have, or didn't stop kissing him, or running her hands along his torso, or even thought about the consequences. She had already come this far telling herself she wouldn't, there was no point in stopping things now. She'd not only make both of them sexually frustrated, but she'd never be able to face him again, or Conklin, or maybe even herself.

So she might as well enjoy Jason Bourne and pray it'd be worth the price she'd have to pay eventually. Perhaps if she did this just this time then maybe she'd be able to get him –his eyes, his smell, his touch- out of her system once and for all.

-

She had expected this to be sort of hit and run, to wake up in the morning to a dent in the bed and cold sheets and room wiped clean, instead she had been waken in the middle of the night by kisses on her shoulder and fingertips on her breasts. As inappropriate as the situation was, she still couldn't hold back the lazy smile that stretched over her lips.

She opened her eyes and shifted in bed to lie on her back, making herself comfortable as he slid his hand across her stomach, to the other side of her body, thumbnail rubbing her hip, sliding dangerously lower. His eyes were staring into her again, deep and blue, having lost the gleam they held as he had pleased her, and it always unnerved Nicky, the intense way he'd watch. Something in her belly tightened.

She wondered what it was that pulled her to him like a magnet, so strong and unstoppable, so different from all the other assets. Or any other man she had ever met.

He leaned down and kissed her softly and slowly, just teasing her lips. Kissing her like it was the only thing in the world.

"We're going to get ourselves killed for this." She said as he pulled back and her voice carried heavily in the room, the weight of them didn't fail to fall on both their shoulders. He knew that better than she did but they had still been selfish enough to let it happen. Or maybe brave enough to let it happen. Who knew? It didn't change the fact that she had fallen in bed with an operative, a trained killer, someone who could snap her in two if so ordered, someone who worked for an agency that sent him to kill and be invisible and nobody was to know about it. And it didn't change the fact she'd do it again.

One hand came up, brushing blond hair from her face, fingers grazing her skin and burning. "Only if they find out." He whispered just before brushing her lips with his, then kissing the side of her neck and Nicky's brain threatened to shut down again.

"Jason." She said his name, turning her head so his lips wouldn't be touching her skin anymore. This was serious. He may have been a trained government assassin who could do just about anything, but she wasn't. She was just Nicky Parsons, Logistics. She looked away. "This is not a game. This is serious."

"Nicky," He pressed his palm to the side of her face and turned her head, forcing her to look at him. His hand so big against her cheek. "They aren't going to find out."

"We're different." She whispered and forced the pain in the back of her eyes away. She wasn't going to cry and she wasn't going to let his words sting. "I'm not- I can't protect myself against them."

"They're not going to find out." He repeated, and he was serious, he was dead serious. His face was firm, his lips a tense line and his eyes went just a bit dark. And she suddenly believed him. He wouldn't risk both their lives just for the pleasure of getting in bed; she tried to assure herself, not without making sure at least he wouldn't end up at the dead end of a gun. God, she was pathetic.

Not often Nicky had doubts, but when she did, they flooded her violently, and she hated it.

He kissed her again, his hand moving from her hip to the sensitive skin just below her navel and her eyes fluttered shut. In the dazed blackness of her eyes and brain she started forgetting the reason she shouldn't be doing this, but this wasn't something easily fought against. She had tried for months but it still haunted her and ultimately made her finally fall in bed with him.

She tried to grasp at the thoughts and reasons to make her get up and get out, but his hands where in places, and her fingers dove into his hair, and a moan escaped her lips, the sound muffled by his mouth and her rationalization died somewhere between pleasure and fear until she finally let herself slip and let everything swirl in her head.

She could just pretend this was perfectly right, and the kind of reaction she had to him and how she became completely helpless was okay. She could pretend there was no danger lurking outside, at least for a little while.