Title: Lone Survivor
Fandom: Bourne series
Author: ice shredder
Warnings/Spoilers: heavy ones for the latest 'Bourne' film and slight ones from the original trilogy. Full of angst, cause I'm highkey pissed they killed off Nicky in the movie and now Bourne's lost another link to his past and potential future. One-sided Bourne/Nicky. Movie tag.
Disclaimer: Bourne belongs to Robert Ludlum and Universal Pictures.
Summary: He found what he was looking for. But when the dust settled, Bourne found himself standing at the end of the tunnel, alone. Right back where he started. Always alone.
Enjoy and don't forget to review! :)
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Syntagma Square - Athens, Greece
Shouts.
Flames.
Explosions.
Burning rubber.
Protestors fighting in the streets with the Greecian police, the sharp scent of Molotov cocktails invading nostrils and burning lungs as they greedily devoured everything in their path.
The rev of a stolen motorcycle carrying two former black-op agents of the vaunted Treadstone program. Jason Bourne and his oldest surviving ally, Nicky Parsons.
Her arms were a vise around his waist, but secured in a position that would allow room for him to fight should the need arise.
Bourne pushed his driving skills to the ultimate as he swerved around armed protestors. Dodged flaming cocktails. Evaded police barricades.
Fleeing for their lives.
He couldn't help the growing unease in his gut as he searched the maze of streets and staircases for an outlet. Something didn't feel right. There were no extraction teams being sent after them. And that worried the reformed assassin.
He kept driving and driving. Sensed the crowds beginning to thin out and the police presence lessen.
There was an exit. Just a couple more blocks and they'd be home free-
Nicky jerked forward as if someone had thrown a piece of debris at her body. Next second Bourne no longer felt her arms around his torso.
She fell to the dirty street in a heap as the bike crashed into a retaining wall. Bourne stayed low using the wrecked vehicle as cover.
He peered across to where Nicky lay, gasping for air. Watched in horror as a sticky pool of blood widened under her spasming body as he tried to get her to calm her breathing. But his training screamed there was a sniper nearby and whoever it was had tracked them down to the last second.
'No.' He thought, images of Marie getting shot through the head in Goa assaulting his mind. 'No, no, no this can't be happening...not again!'
He recalled telling the dying woman to stay still so he could make a dash for it and bring her to cover with him. But before he could do it, she raised her arm and slid a small object towards him, a locker key-
-just when a second bullet cut through the smoky night air and ended her life for good.
And just like in that river in Goa, Bourne had no choice but to let the woman go. Unable to give her a proper burial or tell her how much she meant to him.
Somewhere outside Washington DC - night
Bourne jerked awake breathing heavily. The small motel room he paid cash for on the outskirts of DC was just enough for an overnight pit stop before he hit the road.
Groggily he slowly lowered his weary frame back down on the tick mattress, clad only in a black tank top and jeans. The ceiling fan shushed overhead, a soothing melody but it held no comfort to the room's lone occupant. He was spent from the past several days. Emotionally. Physically.
Mentally.
He recalled Heather Lee's conversation with Edwin Russell the Director of National Intelligence via the bugging device in her government car and pinched the bridge of his nose. I was just a pawn in her bid for the throne. Dewey was in the way cause his methods were 'outdated'. I'm a rogue agent who knows far too much of the CIA's dirty programs and they know it. There was no way he was taking Lee's offer. 'Coming in' was the equivalent of a death sentence. Lee wasn't going to let him live.
And neither was Russell.
It was too dangerous to wander around the city. If there was anything Bourne learned within the past 36 hours, his enemies were a simple CCTV camera away, fully able to shut down a computer or a cell phone remotely from their desks. All in real time.
He didn't like that. And neither did Nicky-
Oh God.
Nicky.
The pain of losing her in Greece hit him with the force of a freight train. Bile rose in his throat and he was sprinting to the tiny bathroom where he emptied his stomach of its sparse dinner he picked up at a diner in town. Bourne leaned his sweaty head against the toilet's rim nice and cool to his flushed skin as he blindly reached to flush the offending vomit down the drain.
"I'm sorry," he whispered tears stinging the edges of his eyes, voice hoarse and brittle as he uttered the useless apology. "Nicky...this is my fault...I'm so sorry..."
Silence greeted his ears. He wanted someone to break it. Wanted to see Nicky walk through that door so he could grab her around the waist and kiss her senseless. Not that she would've pushed him away or anything. He promised he'd come find her when he finished filling in the missing gaps from his faulty memory, but instead she'd come to him in Athens with top-secret stolen intelligence files.
No matter where she was in the world, he silently promised nearly a decade ago, he'd be able to locate her and she'd quietly welcome him into her life. No fanfare. No unnecessary frills. Just him and her. Nothing else mattered.
But no amount of pleading would bring her back. Or Marie. Or Ross. Or anyone who dared to help him on his journey. He dared not bring Pamela Landy back into his path if he could help it. They'd kill her too and he couldn't handle that.
His conscience wasn't helping his throbbing temples. Your obssession with finding yourself and exposing Blackbriar got her killed.
No. He squeezed his eyes shut against the mental onslaught. Willing his hands to stop shaking as he levered into a kneeling position.
Was it really worth it Webb? This time Bourne's ever-present voice cut through his mind like a razor. Ya found out the truth but it cost you everything including the girl. You could've walked away from this...but nope. You chose to be selfish.
Stop.
No Webb. This is your fault. Did you really believe sending her away would save her in the long run? You were too much alike. Couldn't stop digging for more information. Like greedy, little kids, always wanting more more more-
The assassin gritted his teeth. His breath grew increasingly ragged as Bourne lashed him mercilessly with his costliest failure to date. Yes he'd gotten the classified files decoded and skimmed through. Yes he'd pulled back the veil of secrecy on black op undercover programs but he was just now beginning to realize the ramifications of his actions.
It jarred him how fast the intelligence community was able to pin down his every location. Monitor his every move, phone call, email and text message including the people whose company he kept.
The illegal activities the CIA and NSA were spearheading in the name of national security-and recently exposed by Snowden-alarmed the public. But only he knew just how far back those metadata dragnets went.
Treadstone. The ground zero of real-time surveillance.
And Nicky was dead.
And he had no one but himself to blame.
He rose on shaky legs and staggered to the sink. Splashed cold water on his face and neck. Looked at his reflection and saw a man who'd seen the sinister tentacles of a shadowy electronic hydra that was stealthily encroaching further and further into the private lives of innocent civilians, and decided enough was enough. Now I understand why Snowden did what he did. But he paid a steep price for his integrity.
Just like he had done. Truth was expensive and very few were willing to make the necessary sacrifices. Especially within the circles of government.
"Look at us. Look at what they make you give."
Those words-uttered to a fellow assassin on the rooftop of the Treadstone training facility in upstate New York-had taken on a whole new meaning in light of recent events.
They made you give everything and even then it wasn't enough. It would never be enough to satisfy the insatiable appetite of the power-hungry sharks running the CIA for more control.
Drained, Bourne shuffled across the carpeted floor and collapsed on the bed. He needed rest. Tomorrow, he'd assume a new identity and go off the grid yet again. But eventually enemies like Lee and Russell would catch up to wherever he was holed up and force him to run.
He'd found the answers he was looking for that eluded him all those years. But at the end of the day, when the smoke settled, Bourne found himself standing at the end of the tunnel, alone.
Right back where he started.
Always alone.
This time...he made no attempt to cling to David Webb. He didn't care he was throwing out a decade's worth of piecing his shattered identity back together. That part of him died right along with Nicky.
He closed his eyes. Took a deep breath.
"When we are finished with you, you will no longer be David Webb."
The late Albert Kirsch's gruff words echoed through his mind. Guess the old man's gonna get his wish after all.
He opened his grey blue orbs.
Webb was gone forever.
Jason Bourne was in complete control.
-end