This story is meant to be a prequel to "The Bourne Outcome", so it focuses on Nicky & Jason. I will probably do another one about Aaron & Marta post-Philippines. Please review.
*Disclaimer: I own nothing, this is purely for fun and I hope you enjoy it.*
-Paris, France-
"So, Ms. Parsons, what makes you think you're the right person for this job?" Alexander Conklin leaned back in the bent wood desk chair, giving her a speculative look over his steepled fingers. The office had an old-fashioned feel to it, in keeping with the older building that housed it in a quiet business district. Nicky had no idea how many other CIA field agents were interviewing for the position, but she was determined to get it. It was a leap ahead in profile, would set her up nicely for quick advancement. The fact that it would piss off her father to a huge degree was an added bonus.
"Sir, I believe that I am the only qualified individual for this job. I have a master's degree in psychology, experience running logistics for field operations across Europe, and I am absolutely not intimidated by the job these men do for us."
Conklin leaned forward. "You mean you're not afraid of them."
Nicky paused. This needed a careful answer. "I think there is a healthy degree of fear, and a foolish degree of caution. In one, you respect the abilities of these assets and seek to provide the support they require to accomplish the tasks set for them. In the other, your own self-preservation instinct would override your ability to notice when something is wrong."
"And which would describe you, Parsons?"
"The first, sir."
"Are you sure, Nicolette? Let's find out." He pressed a button on the phone, stood up. "Here's a list of questions I expect you to ask. You have five minutes to provide me with an assessment." Conklin turned as the door opened and a man walked in. He carried himself with quiet authority, but Nicky's first impression of his body language was that he was utterly forgettable on the street—very dangerous, indeed.
"Bourne, Parsons." With that as an introduction, Conklin left the room for the antechamber, where Nicky had no doubt he would watch the entire interview.
"Please, have a seat," Nicky said, indicating the chair she had swiftly vacated when the door opened. She was glad she had not brought a purse with her, as there was no visual clue that she had been sitting there just seconds prior. She sat down in the desk chair, opened the file that Conklin had left. The tab said, "Bourne", and she took a few seconds to scan the document on top. The questions she could refer to throughout, this was the key right here.
She missed the small quirk of a smile in his eyes as Jason Bourne sat down in the chair she had just vacated and found it warm. He knew exactly why she was here. The last logistics agent had lost it when one of the assets had played with him a bit. Conklin was running ragged trying to keep them going with a bunch of misfit agents for the past week, it was long overdue for him to slot someone else in.
"How are the headaches?" Nicky opened with what she felt was the most pressing issue from the brief perusal of the file. Severe headaches impacted daily functionality, sleep patterns, cortisol levels. It was important to control them and control them effectively, or these men would be more prone to destructive behaviors. Her gaze was steady and direct, her tone all business.
"They are worse at night." Jason didn't give her anything else. Petit papillon, vous êtes dans la toile d'araignée maintenant.
"Is there a particular trigger? Does it happen more during any particular activity?" Nicky was scratching a note on the question sheet, her mind already engaged in the potential causes for the headaches.
"Driving aggravates it."
"Headlights from oncoming vehicles, or street lights?"
"Depends." Jason mentally gave her a check mark for getting straight to the lights. Still, she was green. He could see the ambition in her eyes. She needed rattling, and the next question gave him the opening he wanted.
"Does anything seem to help? Any of the meds?"
"Well, the good hard fuck I gave to a whore last night seemed to help." Jason's face was completely expressionless, but his eyes had a hard edge that Nicky didn't miss. He's testing me.
"Maybe we will send you to Amsterdam weekly then," she noted briskly, jotted it down on the paper. "Anything else that helps?"
"No." Jason contemplated telling her that it seemed better 24 hours after he killed somebody, but decided it was not worth the shit he'd hear from Conklin about that. Better to let her experience that firsthand. Everybody had to learn.
"We will check on the meds and see what we can do. Any other physical symptoms or problems?"
"No."
"How often are you completing your physical conditioning program?" Her eyes were blank slates, giving away nothing of what she thought of him. Peut-être que vous avez un peu de fil colonne vertébrale, papillon ... peut-être l'araignée ne vous mènera.
"Every day." He was bored now, and stood up.
"Wait." Nicky's voice was authoritative, sharp. "Tell me about your dreams."
"I don't dream, butterfly." Jason's voice was hard, but he softened a bit on 'butterfly' because he could see she really was determined to do this. Mentally a part of him that was long buried and forgotten sighed. He turned and walked out, nodding to Conklin who drawled a laconic, "Bourne" as his farewell salutation. He'd see him soon enough.
"Well Parsons, out with it." Conklin strode back into the office, where Nicky had enough sense to be correlating her observations with whatever other bits of the file she could cram into her head before Conklin returned.
"He's not agitated, his body language is self-possessed, and he knew exactly why I am here. He was testing me with the comment about the whore, wanted to see how I'd react to a bit of the darker side of life in this office. The headaches are a real problem for him, and they piss him off. He definitely needs tweaking on the Adderall and probably rizatriptan. I would also suggest another full psych screen, he's overdue and doesn't seem like an easy read, so it is badly needed. Without seeing his bloodwork I couldn't comment on his physical condition, but he had no obvious impairments in speech, mannerism, or bodily function."
Conklin was watching her closely, looking for any signs of agitation or increased pulse, anything that said she was not as self-possessed as she claimed for herself in her mannerisms and speaking voice. In that respect she could work out very, very well for dealing with these assets. She was extremely cool in body language and had very few tells—both good traits when working with assassins whose behavior and psychology sometimes became dangerously unhinged. No, the psychologist's profile of Nicolette Parsons said if she cracked, it would be long after any traumatic event, not at the time. That is exactly what Alexander Conklin needed.
"Very good," Conklin walked around the desk, browsed through her notes. He looked up at her. She had resumed her spot across the desk, but had remained standing. Her brief clench of her fist was the only sign that she had some lingering source of unease. "I think you're a great fit for this job, Nicky—now tell me why I should ignore the express orders from Langley and hire you anyway."
A brief cloud crossed her eyes but she didn't clench her fist again. "Because I don't give a damn who my father is or what he's done for the agency. It's my turn to contribute something on the line and this is what I choose to do."
Conklin turned back to the papers, shuffled another file forward, labeled "Parsons". He looked at it, then at her. "Congratulations, you're hired. You start immediately." He stamped TREADSTONE on her papers, passed the file to her with the rest. "Consider that your homework. I'll see you at 0700."
