Disclaimer: I own nothing related to the Bourne series or any of their wonderful characters. I'm just playing in their sandbox. Also, I have never been to Johannesburg, South Africa. So, parts of this story are based on a bit of research I did while the rest is pure fiction. I kind of needed things where they were, so I took some creative license.
Author's Note: I am alive! LOL! This story is another prequel to my much longer Bourne story, Two Worlds Apart. In Two Worlds Apart, Aaron and Marta continuously refer back to Johannesburg and how their escape was less than easy. This came about because of that. There's romance, whump (for both parties), and a little action. Also, while researching the area for the story, I learned that the intersection referenced here has been called "the busiest interchange in the southern hemisphere" (Wikipedia). As I said, only a little research. In addition, I realize that most Bourne stories are focused on the adventure and such, but real life happens to assets, too.
All that said, hope you enjoy the story! ~lg
oOo
It was Laura and Michael Winslow's anniversary. A pair of British expatriates, their lives revolved around one another and their jobs. Michael worked in accounting for a major department store, making a name for himself in the retail world due to his quick mind and eye for detail. Laura had taken a position as a research assistant at a local university while she worked on her doctorate in molecular biology. Her professors called her one of their brightest students for her ability to predict the unforeseen. At times, they wondered if she'd already passed the class, but the question was never posed. Laura had a way about her that invited trust and yet discouraged questions. Her husband, somewhat unremarkable save for his mind, supported her work and talked proudly of his wife's determination.
Tonight, Laura studied herself in the mirror. She hadn't worn this dress in close to six months, and it fit a little differently now. Six months ago, she didn't have the same toned body with muscles that gently sculpted her skin. But, that morning, Michael presented her with a string of pearls, and she had chosen her clothes to showcase them. Besides, he liked this dress, having given it to her for Christmas. Very few outfits meant what this one did.
Very few ever will, she thought.
Her eyes rose from the pearls to her hair—and narrowed. Soon, she would have to dye it again. The roots had begun to show, but she wasn't worried. Her husband had a deft hand with her hair, and he always happily helped her maintain the auburn color. It should have been darker, but she'd wanted sun-kissed red, not deep burgundy. So, she and Michael had bleached it first. Not healthy, she knew, but it worked. She loved the color, even if she often wore it tied up in a knot at the back of her head. Michael had lovingly snipped at her hair until she had longish layers that, many times, obscured her face as she worked. Every time she needed her hair styled, he patiently worked his fingers through it with a slight smile that only she saw.
Tonight, she left the shoulder-length hair loose, her natural curls bouncing as she moved. She felt great. Their time in Johannesburg had been helpful for both of them. They had grown together, becoming close enough to read one another's expressions. Every morning, she woke with Michael at her side. At night, he slept with one arm around her waist and his head tucked in the curve between her neck and shoulders. Each day before he left for work, he kissed her as if it might be the last time. And Laura knew it just might be.
They had planned a quiet dinner at an upscale restaurant to celebrate their anniversary. It was cold in June, but they wanted to walk. The restaurant wasn't far, and both of them had rather sedentary occupations. They often went for runs and walks, crisscrossing the neighborhood and learning the area well. None of their neighbors realized they were mapping out escape routes and conditioning their bodies for the inevitable.
The front door of their apartment opened, and Laura turned with a smile. That smile faded when she saw her husband. "What happened?"
He held her gaze, transforming him from a mild-mannered accountant into the hardened agent who saved her life. "We have to move."
"Now?" Even though she questioned him, she began digging in the back of her closet for the bag she kept packed.
"There's an asset in town." Michael Winslow, a.k.a. Aaron Cross and Outcome 5, pulled out a hand gun and checked the clip. He tucked it under his sport coat that he'd worn to work and then reached for his longer wool coat. "I don't think he made me, but we can't take a chance."
Dr. Marta Shearing looked around their apartment, at the life they'd built together. Everything was new, from the furniture to the building itself, and no pictures of them sat on the tables. They'd been so careful, staying off the radar and trying not to distinguish themselves. While Aaron knew the names and occupations of every person in this building, she didn't. And their neighbors had never been invited as their cover dictated they were within their first year of marriage. They'd argued, yes. But none of it meant anything anymore. This life was over.
Aaron moved to her side and took her elbow. "Hey, we knew this would happen," he said softly.
She nodded. "I know. It's just. . . ."
For a brief moment, he let his emotions show. He brushed her hair from her face and smiled in spite of the understanding coloring his rich blue eyes. "I know." He glanced at the bag that she still held. "Got everything you need in there?"
"Yes." Marta Shearing heard the change in her voice. It had lowered, became huskier and richer. She knew what that tone did to Aaron, and she'd used it in other situation. But this. . . .He understood why her voice had changed this time and gave her a tense smile.
Then, he nodded. "Good. Let's go."
Somewhere along the way, he'd changed from his dress shoes into boots. Now, he tugged her out the window and down the fire escape. They emerged onto the street, Marta with her arm looped through Aaron's. She wore a thick coat over her dress, a black beret over her hair, and a matching black scarf around her neck. The light red hair had been a risk when she chose it, but Ric Byer's men were looking for a brunette. Now, she'd have to change it again.
The evening was calm, just another winter night in the city. Marta saw how Aaron scrutinized every person they passed. He was looking for the asset, a man—or woman—that she couldn't begin to identify. Somewhere in the distance, sirens wailed, and Aaron tensed. They'd heard that sound too many times.
Trying to drag her mind from their current circumstances, Marta asked, "Where are we going?"
"North." Aaron's answer was terse. "Byer will expect us to head to Cape Town or Durban—get out of Africa."
Marta nodded. They'd discussed their options before and had decided on several different routes. North meant Zimbabwe.
In answer to her silence, Aaron grinned at her. "We've been through worse before, Doc. We'll be good." His smile changed. "We'll get lost."
That's what I'm afraid of. Marta would never voice her concerns, but she did have genuine fears. What if they got caught up in some Third World country's political struggle? What if they weren't able to find a way out of South Africa? What if. . . ? The list went on and on, her mind filling in blanks as quickly as Aaron moved them through the streets and out of their neighborhood. They finally came to a main thoroughfare, and Aaron began studying the cars around him.
Marta bit down on her tongue when Aaron found a car with the doors unlocked. They'd both left behind any semblance of normal morality when they left the States. She knew they needed to put distance between themselves and Michael and Laura Winslow. If the asset found Aaron at work, then he knew their aliases. Thankfully, they had paperwork for several others tucked away in the bottom of their bags.
Aaron finally got the car started and pulled into traffic as if he owned the thing. And now he did. Marta forced herself to keep her eyes ahead and try to look normal while everything in her screamed to watch behind them. Aaron drove calmly, fitting into the flow of traffic like a pro and doing everything in his power to stay unnoticed. For a time, it looked like they'd managed to do so, but everything changed.
Then, somehow, the asset found them. Aaron suddenly cursed and took an unexpected turn around a corner. Marta gasped, unable to stop the reaction, as a car headed in the opposite direction created a cacophony of horns as it turned around. She'd known about Aaron's extremely good eyesight, but having an asset like Outcome 5 come after them meant Byer hadn't given up the search.
Somewhere around the fifth month of peace, Marta had begun to think that, maybe, they'd slipped the net that Byer had cast over them. After all, it had already been nine months since they'd escaped from Manila. In that time, they'd learned to love one another deeper than they had before. They'd argued, made up, fussed, and laughed about personality quirks. Marta knew Aaron still slept with at least three weapons in arm's reach, and he cuddled up to her the way he did so he could rest without worrying that she was safe. She loved it anyway. And he'd learned that she hated laundry and dishes, but liked to cook. It drove him crazy when she would let laundry pile up for days, but he often helped her fold the massive piles while teasing her about it. Or he'd just do it himself while she was at work and fuss at her later, depending on his mood. They'd never seen another asset and, in spite of themselves, had hoped it was all over.
Tears welled in Marta's eyes as she realized how wishful that sounded now. Byer would no more surrender his hunt than Marta would ever allow Aaron to go back there. She loved him too much, and Byer needed him dead. That meant they ran and survived. Even as her tears spilled down her cheeks, Marta took a deep breath and determined that they would survive this, too.
oOo
Aaron saw the tears on Marta's face and wished he could comfort her. The last six months since Sydney had been idyllic. Summer had given way to winter, and they'd spent many nights in recent weeks curled in front of their gas fireplace. Aaron had never thought he could be this happy, but he'd found a treasure in Marta. She loved him no matter how strange his habits might be, and she did her best to listen. Even when she questioned him, she usually moved to obey even as she did so. She was strong, a warrior. And she'd become even more of a one since they'd escaped Manila.
Right now, he needed to make certain Marta survived. When he'd come through the door, she had looked at him with such a beautiful smile, and he had been forced to destroy it. Instead of the dinner she deserved, she wound up running through the streets of Johannesburg. She lost her shoes somewhere along the way and had stopped long enough to pull a more practical pair of sneakers out of her bag. Ignoring the cuts on her feet from random pieces of glass, she'd brutally pulled them on and kept going.
Glancing in the rearview mirror, he saw the asset two cars behind him. "You look great, by the way." He changed lanes suddenly, taking a ramp onto the Johannesburg Ring Road at double the speed limit.
Marta blinked in surprise. "Thanks."
He merged into traffic, ignoring blaring horns and angry drivers. At this time of day, the Ring Road was clogged with commuters headed home, and Aaron wished for a motorcycle. He spared Marta another glance. "Glad you like the pearls."
Her hand came up to touch them, a smile playing around her lips. Then, it vanished. "We're running for our lives, and you're commenting on the pearls?"
He shrugged. He couldn't explain the moment, but it meant everything to him that she know he thought her the most beautiful woman alive. He always would, but tonight had been special. She'd pulled out the dress he'd bought for her in Sydney, and the pearls were the perfect companion for the black fabric. Seeing her wear the combination had tempted him to ignore the threat, but he couldn't. Not when Marta's life was in danger. If he acted on his desires rather than his instincts and knowledge, he placed her life in even more danger.
As if to punctuate Marta's incredulous statement, a bullet shattered the rear windshield.
Aaron wrenched the steering wheel again, crossing two lanes of traffic and angering quite a few commuters. He ignored their shouts, his head aching at the strain of keeping an eye on the asset. Like any other person, headlights blinded him to the driver of a vehicle. But, if he focused, he could see past it. Unlike every other person out there, his eyes somehow sorted out the glow and let him recognize the driver. It typically left him with a raging headache, but it would also save their lives.
Someone had obviously called in his reckless driving because two cops raced the opposite direction, giving Aaron even more to worry about. At this point, however, not much could frighten him. He'd found that place that all operatives went when the mission went wrong: determination to survive.
A semi changed lanes in front of them, causing Aaron to swerve to miss it. He managed to squeak between two trucks, though he did see them collide and spin out of control. For just a moment, he allowed himself to hope that their pursuer didn't avoid the accident before pragmatism took control. Their pursuer was an asset. He'd avoid the accident.
As if in answer to his thoughts, the other car swerved around the fishtailing semi, squeezed through a miniscule opening, and picked up speed.
Aaron reached for the gun at his back. "Here." He handed it to Marta, who took it and automatically checked the clip. Her proficiency made him smile, as did the sheer determination in her gaze. She pushed the clip back into the gun and twisted in her seat to look over her shoulder.
"There's too many cars!" She braced herself backwards in the seat, trying to get a good line of sight. Unfortunately, it also meant the man chasing them could fire as well. She ducked as a bullet came their way, but traffic and Aaron's timely swerve caused the shot to go wide.
Traffic intensified as they neared the interchange where the N12 Southern Bypass became the N3 Western Bypass. People exiting the Ring Road, entering it, and in general just trying to avoid the coming chaos created more opportunities for distractions and accidents. Aaron silently thanked Marta for making his upgrades permanent as his quick reflexes saved them—and several others. Their pursuers were not so fortunate.
Aaron watched the accident in his rearview mirror, trying to control his car and keep an eye on the road in front of him. The pickup chasing them darted in front of a second semi, which was going too fast to stop. The semi fishtailed—much like the one Aaron had slipped past earlier—its trailer swiping several small cars from the roadside. The cab impacted the pickup chasing Aaron and Marta, collapsing the driver's side almost too easily as it pushed the smaller vehicle down the highway. Drivers trying to avoid the accident and get home safely smashed into other cars, which spun those vehicles out of control. The cascading effect caught the tail of Aaron and Marta's vehicle, and Marta grabbed the seat as they spun and Aaron tried his best to keep all four wheels of the car on the pavement.
He failed miserably. The car tilted, and Marta fell onto him, an involuntary cry wrenched from her as she scrabbled for the seat and tried not to crush him. Aaron clamped down on the shout that tried to escape as glass shattered, metal screeched, and they stopped against an overturned car. The momentum threw him around, knocking him in the head several times. No matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't hold on to consciousness any longer.
oOo
Glass. Blood. Yelling. Screams. Children crying. Smoke. Fire.
Marta's eyes snapped open, and her mind began processing what she heard, saw, and smelled. She lay beneath Aaron, his head dangling less than an inch from her stomach. Their small car had flipped, the windshield showering them with glass and leaving them both covered in tiny cuts.
But Aaron wasn't responding. Marta twisted her body around, trying to get a good angle, before touching Aaron's face. "Aaron? Aaron!"
Her sharp tone penetrated the fog around him, and he stirred.
She ran a hand through his hair, mindful of the glass. "Aaron, wake up!"
He came awake as quickly as ever, going from unconscious to alert in mere seconds. For just a moment, his panicked gaze flashed around their car before he got a grasp on what had happened. And then he groaned, his hand going to his head as a sure sign of a headache and possible concussion.
A face appeared in the window behind Marta, concerned and somewhat panicked. "Hey, lady, you okay?" He glanced at Aaron. "He okay?"
Marta's instinct, picked up from Aaron, had been to draw the gun on him. But the guy looked completely normal, just a Good Samaritan helping out at the scene of a horrific accident.
Aaron took over, his hand reaching for Marta's. "We're fine. Just. . .a little stuck."
The newcomer reached for Marta. "Here. Come out here, and we'll get him out."
Marta glanced at Aaron, who gave her a reassuring smile. "Go. I'll be fine. I'll be right behind you."
He was so calm. Too calm. Her mind registered that about the same time their rescuer pulled her from the car. As she stood to look around, the fear and panic and absolute horror of what had happened took over.
The entire interchange was a mess of crumpled vehicles, bleeding people, screaming children, and lights. So many lights. A semi lay in the middle of the road, overturned and having crushed a small pickup and several other cars. The pickup held the center stage, so mangled that no one could have escaped. All the other vehicles radiated out from those two, a few others upside down as well, and traffic on this side of the Ring Road had ground to a halt.
Marta whirled on her heel, losing her balance slightly. Ambulances had already arrived, rushing to the most badly-damaged vehicles to try to save lives. Meanwhile, the Good Samaritan had moved to Aaron's side of the vehicle. Marta followed him, crouching down to look into the car.
Aaron had produced a knife and cut through the belt holding him. As she watched, he dropped onto all fours, crawling through the window and accepting a hand from their helper. When he gained his feet, the Good Samaritan rushed to the next car. Marta reached for Aaron. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I think so." He blinked several times, frowning and testing his legs. "Just bruises and a concussion. You?" His eyes moved down her front. She still wore her coat and scarf, the precious pearls hidden beneath them. But, now that he'd admitted to being okay, she suddenly felt pain. Severe pain.
Aaron reacted in that moment, grabbing her and lowering her to the glass-strewn ground. Marta knew what had happened. Walking wounded. Someone in such a deep state of shock they didn't realize their own injuries. As he set her on the ground, she felt the sticky warmth on her side and the crushing realization that she'd probably have to go to the hospital.
Aaron pushed away her hands, looking for the wound. He found a large shard of glass sticking out of her side. The dress and coat were hopelessly ruined, but she clamped down on her instinct to apologize for that. The accident wasn't her fault. She—and Aaron—were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.
He glanced at her, his face serious. "We gotta get this out."
No kidding. Marta nodded, silently giving him permission to treat the wound. Both of them knew they needed to avoid hospitals now. If Byer knew about the accident, he'd be searching area hospitals for people matching their description. But Marta knew the dangers in just pulling the glass from her side. Odds were good it hadn't hit anything vital, but she couldn't know without some sort of imaging.
Aaron obviously came to the same conclusion. He met her eyes. "Can you walk?" He looked around briefly and then focused on her again. "We can find some place nearby where I can take care of this, but we have to move."
Marta looked at the glass again and took a deep breath. It hurt worse than anything she'd felt, but she nodded anyway.
"Good." Aaron climbed back into the car and grabbed their backpacks and his gun. Then, he helped her to her feet and led her toward the ambulances. Using the chaos, he took more and more of her weight as he angled them toward the motel just off the interchange.
oOo
Marta was in severe pain. Aaron saw it as he laid her on the motel bed. Thankfully, this place was clean and used keys rather than electronic locks, so he'd been able to get them a room free of charge. They wouldn't be here long. Just long enough to get that glass out and the wound bandaged. Once he got them another car, Marta could rest while he drove them to Durban. The five-hour drive would give him time to plan out their next step. But Marta couldn't handle a trek through Africa in her current condition. She needed a place to lay low and recover.
In the bathroom, Aaron wet down a couple of towels and returned to the main room. Marta had sat up enough to shrug out of her coat. It cost her, and he let himself assess her pale features and set expression.
Then, he saw them. Miraculously, the pearls had survived the crash. Moving forward, Aaron sat on the edge of the bed and gently removed the pearls from her neck. Marta watched as he lovingly tucked them into a pocket. The dress he'd bought for her in Sydney had been ruined. It had become vitally important that the pearls last.
Forcing his mind to focus on business, he put a hand on her shoulder. "You ready?"
"Yes." Her voice had that husky quality again, the one that always got under his skin no matter the circumstances. She forced herself to lie flat, taking the belt of her coat in her hands.
Aaron kept an eye on her face as he cut the fabric of her dress away from the wound. He could ask her to remove the dress, but she was in too much pain. With one more glance at her, he took hold of the glass. Gritting his teeth and praying to whoever was listening, he pulled the glass and slipped one of the towels over the wound.
Marta had bitten down on the belt of her coat, but she couldn't stop the shout of agony she let out. Thankfully, she didn't pass out, though tears did stream down her face. Her makeup, so carefully done in preparation for their plans that night, had been smeared by her earlier tears, and she blinked and forced herself to breathe. Aaron kept pressure on the wound, his face severe as he held her in place on the bed. She breathed harshly, doing her best to manage the pain.
The wound bled horribly, but the flow eventually slowed. It took longer than he would have liked, but the bleeding wasn't life-threatening. He was reminded of the moment he removed his own tracking device while still in Alaska. But it was different when the person lying on the bed wasn't just a friend or another asset. He loved Marta, and seeing her like this. . . .He hated it.
Her hand came up to brush at his shoulder, and he frowned.
She held up a piece of glass. "You're sparkly."
Aaron forced himself to smile at that. "Can't help it."
Her eyes narrowed. "And you're bleeding."
He'd already checked himself out in the mirror. Due to his upgrades, he healed remarkably well. The cuts would fade in several days, and his concussion would likely resolve itself in hours. He planned to take a few moments to shake glass from his clothes and get himself presentable so he could find a car. And so they wouldn't draw attention as they left the city.
Now, he met Marta's eyes. "I'll be okay." His words were significant to her. She knew what that meant. Back in Manila, after being shot, he'd said similar words. And he'd been right. She'd fussed over him and removed bullets, but he'd recovered by the time they made landfall.
Marta nodded, her eyes closing before she forced them back open. "Where are we going now?"
He sighed deeply. "I don't know." Then, a smirk crept onto his face. "I think we're gonna get lost for a bit."
This time, Marta smiled. "Good."
Aaron checked her wound and saw that it had finally stopped bleeding. He pulled the first aid kit to him and met her eyes. "I need to stitch this up, and I don't have any pain killers."
"It's okay." Marta blinked rapidly, her body automatically tensing beneath his hands. "Do what you need to do."
Aaron let out a deep breath and proceeded to stitch the wound. The first couple of times the needle penetrated torn, sensitive skin, Marta had cried as she held her breath to keep from shouting again. But she came through it beautifully. He applied antibiotic cream to the wound and covered it with a fresh bandage. Then, he helped her slip out of her dress and into something a little more appropriate for travel. Afterward, he tucked her into the bed.
"Stay here," he said as he slipped his gun under his jacket. He'd already taken the time to shake the glass from his hair and wash his face. After that, his wounds looked fairly minor. "I'll knock four times before I come in. Anyone else enters, use this." He produced a second gun. "I'll find you."
"Okay." Marta gripped the gun, concern on her face. "Aaron, be careful."
He nodded and disappeared out the door. The accident at the interchange had drawn all sorts of attention, and the lights hurt. His head would continue to ache for hours, the strain of the chase combining with the concussion to intensify the pain. But they'd survived. Somehow—miraculously—they'd made it through. He glanced at the sky. Never one for belief, he couldn't help wondering just how both of them had escaped such a severe car accident with relatively minor injuries.
Less than thirty minutes later, he returned to the motel room with their newly-acquired ride. He knocked four times on the door before opening it and found Marta slowly moving about. She'd tied her hair into a bun at the back of her head and pulled her beret over the red strands. And she'd cleaned the remaining blood from her face and hands. While still pale, she looked better than she had when he'd left.
Aaron helped her into the car and pointed them toward Durban, South Africa. The port city would be their escape, and they'd end up wherever the ship went. From there, they would disappear into whatever continent harbored them until the next time they had to move. Byer wouldn't give up the hunt, but neither would Aaron give up hope. He had Marta, and he refused to let her down.
"Aaron?" Her soft voice broke into his thoughts, and he glanced over. She smiled at him. "I love you."
Unlike in Sydney, when her simple declaration had sent him into a panic, he merely returned her smile. He reached across the space between them to take her hand, lace their fingers together, and nod. "I love you, too."
The simple exchange reminded them of their time in Johannesburg. As they left the city behind, they both made the conscious decision to never forget what happened there. While it would always be overshadowed by the car accident, they would still remember their time. For those few months, they weren't Aaron Cross, Outcome agent, and Marta Shearing, doctor. They were husband and wife, just a couple loving freely and living their lives together. And, one day, they hoped to find that again. Until then, they'd survive.
And they'd have each other to help along the way.
~The End~