The Supremacy

Hey there guys! :) This is my second story that I'm working on, and the idea sparked from when I was watching 'The Bourne Supremacy' last night. But anyway, I really hope you enjoy it! :)

DISCLAIMER: I do not own The Bourne series or any of its characters.

SUMMERY: As a C.I.A agent, you knew better than anyone that life never had a specific plan. So when you were sent out to Naples to retrieve a 'highly dangerous criminal', you had no idea that what and whom you would come face-to-face to would ultimately spiral your life out of control, rekindle old feelings and force long forgotten memories to bubble to the surface.

That's when your life became more focused.

(Set in the time of 'The Bourne Supremacy')

Chapter 1: Naples, Italy

Sweat coated your skin and shimmered in the setting sun. You were nervous. Or maybe that was the wrong word to use. Well you were apprehensive at the least. You had no reason to be, however. You had worked for the C.I.A for over 10 years and been on countless assignments before. You were confident in your rapid assault skills and your precise application of lethal force was useful when it came to dangerous situations. Right now all you had to be good at was waiting. But the heat of a summer night in Italy and your black BMW z4 had attracted much more humidity from the sun than you had originally intended. Which made waiting a pain in the ass.

The fact that you had been sent with only a few details in mind made you wary. The C.I.A was thorough in preparing their assassins to the highest degree. They took no risks, no chances and no gambles. When they wanted something done, they made sure it would get done, and they made sure it was done right. So when they sent you on a mission with the only information being a brief characteristics check, the skill level of the criminal and the fact that he had killed two major political figures had you worried beyond belief. There was clearly something they didn't want you to know about this guy. Either that or if anything happened to you, they didn't want their hands getting dirty.

You scowled to yourself as you looked out the driver's window. The parking lot of the airport was busy and the sun had almost set; casting long and looming figures along the streets of Naples. You had been told to find this guy by whatever means necessary, so you had used everything in your utensils to get him, and your trail had lead you here. He was scheduled to catch a flight out of the country, but you knew that as soon as he handed over his passport, his details would send up red flags to every known agency in most of Europe and the U.S. That would make your job much easier. They would detain him. There was no doubt about that. All you had to do was bide you time and judge correctly when he would be in that certain detainment room.

You opened the door of your sports car and stepped out. Four hours seemed long enough. Your pace was quick and you soon arrived at the entrance to the airport. Pushing open the door, you gave a quick look behind you to register if anyone was following you. No one. That was a good sign. Your boot clad feet made harsh military sounds as you pushed your way through the crowds, coming to a stop in front of official looking guards. You flashed them a fake I.D, one that would be impossible to call as fake - the C.I.A made sure of that – and they lead you down a corridor, through another terminal, and finally into a small office, where a young woman sat behind a desk, her hands whizzing along on the computer keyboard. The guards left you both alone.

"Ciao, mi chiamo–" she cut you off quickly, not looking up from her computer screen once.

"You are Miss. (_l/n_), are you not?" You scoffed silently at her brashness. If she had any idea who you really were, she would have sprinted from the room quicker than you can say 'assassin'. You put on a calm face.

"Yes, I am." You paused to flash her a fake smile, "I am here to interrogate the criminal you currently have in holding, my department has been on his case for several years and-"

"I.D, please." she cut you off again. You were beginning to get pissed off with how she was treating you. So you shoved the I.D under her nose and smiled sweetly.

"Here you go." She quickly took it from you, her small eyes scanning over the identification before she handed it back to you.

"Whenever you are ready, he is in there." She pointed to a room to her left.

"Who else is in there, already?" You said, curious to who you would have to kick out in the next few seconds.

She sighed, apparently annoyed at your love of questioning, "Just a guard, Miss."

"Then get him out." She shot you a confused expression, so you elaborated, "I do not want any potential confessions to be shared with the public at this crucial time in our investigation and to be frank, this is my detainee. I have no doubt that he will behave while I am around." She nodded briefly, before picking up a walkie-talkie and telling the guard in the other room that the police officer was here now to arrest the criminal and that he could come out now. You smirked, and wondered slightly what your life would be like if you were really a police officer. A few seconds later, a mean looking guard stepped out and nodded at you as he passed. You thanked the young woman and strode over to the door, snatching your I.D from her desk as you passed. You were conscious to hide the pistol that was strapped to your thigh from her sight, so you pulled your black trench coat tighter around you. As your hands closed around the door knob, you silently took a breath, before pushing the door open and stepping inside the room.

It was well lit, and contained a potted plant in the corner, one white table and two well-used chairs. Your eyes were on the floor as you took off your trench coat and slung it over the chair opposite the felon.

"Hello, sir." You knew he was American, that was one of the very few things they told you about him, so you knew he could speak English, "They may have told you that I am here to arrest you," your eyes travelled up the chair and across the table to where the man was sitting, "Perhaps I am here to do that…" Your eyes flickered up his torso, "But perhaps I am not…" You smirked at your failed attempt to be menacing and decided to cut all the bullshit and just take him back to headquarters in chains. You stepped around the table and looked at his face.

You let out a gasp, and stumbled back a few feet, causing his eyes to briefly hold yours, before they went back to staring at the floor like he had been taught to.

"J-Jason?" You questioned your voice barely above a whisper. This couldn't be Jason Bourne in front of you. He had trained, fought and won beside you in action. He was supposed to be dead. He had been dead for two years. Or so they had told you. You glared at the floor. They wanted Bourne back. For whatever reason, maybe to kill him, maybe to regain him as one of their elite, you didn't know. All you knew was what they had done to you: made you work tirelessly for months to track him, making you use every fibre of your being to capture him, lying to you so they could only benefit themselves - they were going to pay. You were going to give everything you had and make it so they never saw Jason Bourne again. Your vision went blurry, but you were trained to never let emotions get the better of you. You snapped your fingers in front of his eyes, making him glare up at you.

"Jason, it's me." His eyes lost some of their anger and were replaced by confusion and then frustration, "Jason-"

"I don't know you." He spat, eyes never leaving the floor. You narrowed your own.

"Don't give me this bullshit, Bourne." He slowly turned his head towards you and allowed his eyes to study your face.

"Look," He whispered in his harsh tone you were all too familiar with, "I've never seen you in my life, but I promise you this lady, if you try and stop me leaving, I will hurt you." You were really confused now. Why the hell didn't he remember you? Was this some sort of sick joke?

"You… don't remember me at all?" He shook his head slowly, a reserved expression on his face, "I was your partner. We took missions together when you worked with the C.I.A." He shook his head. "You assassinated the Russian politician, Vladimir Neski?" He narrowed his eyes and shook his head more violently, which angered you that all of his past with you, all of your emotions and feelings were long forgotten. You slammed your hands onto the table, "Treadstone?!" You shouted, how could he not remember?

Bourne shot you a reserved glare and stood up from the table abruptly.

"Remember my warning," he said and strode to the door. You lept from the table and placed yourself in front of the door, blocking his exit, your face, now only inches from his.

"The Jason I knew would never hurt me." His eyes locked with yours for what seemed like forever, until you had to break his gaze.

"You know about my life?" He shot, you nodded. "You know about my personality, my Job, my past?" You nodded again just as realisation set in. The C.I.A would be on their way here right now, and if they found you with Bourne not in cuffs, you would be in very deep shit. That's when your brilliant mind gave you an idea. You grabbed his arm and smirked.

"I'm getting you out of here."