The Real Man
A/N: This one-shot is set between the events of the two Robert Ludlum novels, The Bourne Identity and The Bourne Supremacy. It is in no way connected to the movies of the same name. It is also advisable to have read at least the first novel in order to understand this fic.
Jason Bourne is the property of Robert Ludlum's estate and Universal Studios.
He sat on the porch of the safehouse, staring out into the sea. His hazel eyes appeared blue in the evening light. He sat there with an almost pensive look on his face. And yet Marie St. Jacques could sense that in reality, something was troubling him.
"David?" she said softly. But there was no response from him. Which wasn't surprising really. Though he now recalled his real name, it would take some time before he got used to it again. It was a name, an identity which had been buried for years, buried beneath the steely exterior of a cold-blooded killer; Jason Bourne.
Marie knew that Bourne was just an illusion, but it was an illusion which had firmly entrenched itself in reality in his mind. For the man whose name was David Webb, Jason Bourne was no mere myth…in his mind, he was Bourne; in his memory, what remained of it at any rate; he remembered being the assassin. He 'remembered' the crimes he had never committed; he 'remembered' killing the people he had never killed. And he had had adequate cause to believe these 'memories' were true; after all, he had been a killing machine a decade ago in the jungles of Southeast Asia. That much was factual, at least.
Marie walked up behind him and sat down on the porch beside him. She noticed, with some alarm, that he flinched at the sound of her approach, as though she was an enemy approaching from behind…but when he noticed it was her, he relaxed. It was an improvement at any rate, Marie thought. A few weeks ago, he would probably have prepared a violent assault as 'self-defense'. A few weeks earlier than that, he might even have killed her. She couldn't blame him. It was the way he had lived for three years. Not knowing who would attack him, when and how. He was a man constantly on the alert, constantly at war with the shadows around him…as he was now at war with himself…
"David", she repeated softly. This time he did respond, turning his head towards her softly. "Marie", he replied softly.
"What were you thinking?" she asked.
He sighed and looked out at the vast expanse of the sea again, once more in his contemplative mood. Something was troubling him, and she needed to know what it was. He had carried the pain for too long on his own, he needed her help.
"Nothing", he replied.
"Come on, David. I know you better than that. You do have something on your mind. Is it-", she hesitated. "I mean, did you…remember something?"
Since the start of his psychiatric therapy with Dr. Morris Panov months ago, David had recovered fragments, and in some ways, significant chunks of his memory. Most of them, unfortunately, were concerned with the violence and death in North Vietnam, and returned to haunt him frequently by night. But there were more peaceful memories, of college, of work as a Foreign Service officer in Cambodia, even a brief flicker of the family he had lost…but nothing more than that. Nothing else to take his mind of the violence that dominated his recent past.
"No. Not now", he admitted truthfully. He paused for a few moments. "Actually, I was thinking about…about what an enigma I am to myself, a mystery".
"But you've found the answers now, David. You know who you are", Marie insisted.
"Do I?" he asked, seemingly to himself. He paused before continuing, "I mean, I thought I was Jason Bourne, the assassin known as Cain, second only to Carlos. For awhile, I really felt I was Bourne…and at the time, it was an answer at least, a terrible one, but better than no answer…"
"You found a better answer, David", she said calmly.
"Did I? It seems I've found no answer. Or a vague one at best. Jason Bourne was an illusion. But he was real enough for me. I acted like him, I behaved like him, I had his killer instincts…I was him…"
"You were playing a part, David", Marie insisted. "Like an actor on stage".
"Does an actor feel he is his character? Does he play his part successfully even if he remembers nothing about it? I woke up one morning in the Mediterranean not even knowing my name, but I sank into the part of Jason Bourne pretty instinctively…" he replied.
"That's because you were attacked. You were being hunted by unknown enemies. You fell back on Bourne before you needed him to survive…needed his skills to survive…but you never became him…you were yourself, David…you used the name 'Jason Bourne' because you had no other at the time, but you weren't Bourne, you weren't the cold-blooded killer you once pretended to be", Marie said.
"But that's all I am, Marie. I remember Jason Bourne. I remember how it's like to be him. Always looking for danger or death in the shadows, always looking for a threat, always analyzing my objectives and pursuing targets, blending into an environment like a Chameleon in a forest…I know how to be Jason Bourne, but I don't know how to be David Webb! It's nothing but a name for me. I don't know who David Webb was. I don't know what sort of person he was. That's why…he doesn't seem real to me, somehow".
Marie sighed. Somehow, she knew that before long, they would be having this conversation. She knew how to handle it, Mo Panov had taught her that much. So she put her hand on his shoulder, stared into his eyes and said softly but firmly, "David Webb was a husband and a father. A dedicated and skilled young scholar whose life was torn apart by war, like so many other lives were. Jason Bourne is nothing but something he learnt…a part he played so well that it became second nature to him. Maybe…maybe for a while, he lost himself in the part, in the illusion, believing it was less painful than the life he left behind. Maybe that's why, even when he forgot everything else, he remembered how to play the part…but that's all there is to it. He doesn't need to play the part any more. Because he knows now that it was only a dream. A nightmare, to be more specific. And he knows that the time has come to forget the part and rediscover himself".
"But how?" he asked. "David Webb died in Phnom Penh years ago. Death rained down from the skies and took him, along with his family. He was buried in Saigon, spiritually at least. How can I find him? How can I ever bring him back, if I don't remember him?"
"By being yourself. By doing what is natural for you. What isn't associated even remotely with violence or death. David Webb was a scholar…become a scholar again, it will all come back to you, Mo said it will. Be a husband, and someday perhaps, a father. And soon, that will be all that is real for you. Jason Bourne will fade away like a forgotten nightmare". She paused before she added, "Even if we can't bring back the original David Webb, because he was lost in grief and the manipulations of cold-hearted strategists, we can still build a new one, to mirror the man who was lost. And in time make him the only reality you need. He will be real to you, David. I promise you that. One day, David Webb will be more than just a name. He will be you."
She stared at his impassive face for a few seconds, before a faint smile appeared on his face, one she hadn't seen in a while. "You're right. At least, I hope to God that you're right. Because I can't live with Jason Bourne any longer. I need to be someone else. And its better if that 'someone else' is…me…"