There At The Beginning, Part 1

It was dark outside and ominous, with roiling black clouds, illuminated only by spider webs of lightening as it streaked across the sky to the far horizon with alarming regularity.

It was only two in the afternoon and it looked like night had fallen in the valley, but that didn't bother Signora Graziella Picaresco n'ee Nicollette Parsons. She'd always loved the rain, but the days had been unbearable in the weeks since she arrived in Val Currenta, Belpasso and the unexpected rain was a welcome respite.

The sirocco winds blowing in off the Sahara Desert made the temperatures soar. According to the news this years winds had been especially harsh. The temperature in the three story villa had peaked at one hundred and fifteen degrees in the shade, and she didn't want to think what the temperature had been in the sun. It was almost unbearable even though she'd left the persiana's closed all but a few inches to block out the sun's rays.

Even now with the rain sweeping through the valley the temperature had only dropped four degrees. She'd opened the windows and balcony doors of her second floor bedroom when the first crack of thunder reverberated through the house like a gunshot. Her first reaction had been to grab the desert eagle from beside the bed, but sanity returned with the pitter pat of rain on the tile floor of the balcony. She'd been slightly disbelieving until she'd pulled the heavy persiana fully open and rain had splashed her bare foot. Rain was rare this time of year, but it was falling fast and hard without sign of stopping anytime soon.

Nicky stood just inside the double doors, the gauze-like curtains billowing on the wind like ethereal aberrations. She waited for the inevitable shift in the wind that would drive the rain through the open portal and cool her heated skin.

When the shift finally came she gasped as the rain plastered the soft cotton dress to her skin and soaked her hair. The smell of rain and earth on the breeze brought a flood of memories, like so many rain drops on the marble floor at her feet. Emotion clogged her throat and tears mingled with rain on her cheeks and she remembered. She remembered everything.

She remembered the day they first met in Washington. It was storming almost as fiercely as it was now and a friend of her father's, Neil Daniel's, introduced them at a political fund raiser for the newly proposed project, Treadstone.

She was tapped to become the field logistics agent. While Jason was the first 'volunteer' to the program. Even then he'd been called Jason Bourne and it was only after he'd gone rogue that Daniel's had let slip to her that perhaps Jason Bourne wasn't his real name.

The Jason Bourne she met was the poster child for hearth, home, apple pie and freedom. His uniform was starched, his military record spotlessly impressive and his smile was boyish and charming. The Jason Bourne after induction was still handsome, but cold and his easy charm was turned on at the flip of a mental switch. Looking back she realized it was a shrewd move using him to woo the support of key political officials that remained on the fence about the program, before his training had added a hardness to him.

After all there could be nothing distasteful about a program that utilized such innocuous agents. Barely six months later Treadstone was up and running. She knew she'd been used as well, but back then they'd only wanted to serve their country, and Treadstone seemed like a god-send. Niel Daniel's had admitted to her three months ago that he'd introduced her to Jason in hopes of giving him a touchstone to keep him sane during dark times. He'd been worried about the toll the experimental training procedures would have on Jason. Later, after he'd watched while they mentally, physically and emotionally broke Jason, he'd been disappointed when Jason did what he was ordered to do.

She'd hated Daniel's after he admitted that to her. The man seemed to still sit in judgment of Jason. The hypocrite had recruited Jason, wooed him with rosy speeches of patriotic duty and railed about the decay of safety for the American people. Too weak to watch as another 'volunteer' was 'trained' Daniel's transferred to a new post after Jason completed his training.

Sighing she turned and walked to the bed in the far corner. Heedless of her sopping wet state she crawled up to rest on her back gazing at the ceilings unique carved teak paneling. They spent there last morning together in this bed. It hadn't been in this place, it had been in her tiny apartment in the center of Paris. Stretching her arms above her head she grasped the heavy wrought iron and let the memory flood her mind and trickle through her body.

After his training he'd become so totally different from the man she'd begun to love. The warm, charming man became methodical and mechanical, gone was the gentle, passionate man. In his place was a fierce, distant lover with carnal needs that simultaneously excited her and cut her to the core. Before Treadstone he'd been tactile and affectionate, but after he only touched her to fulfill his body's needs, on the rare occasion that he needed to take the edge off. Those times were usually a few days after an assignment, he would show up at her apartment and without words claim her body with his.

The first time it happened like that, was two months after his training had been completed and she'd been in the shower when he arrived. Unsuspecting she turned off the shower and pulled the curtain back to find him leaning against the wall in the darkened hallway. His eyes burned as they swept over her naked body, "Come here!"

She'd obeyed without thought and gingerly stepped from the tub to stand a few feet away from him. His eyes narrowed when she made no attempt to move closer and something primal was kicked to life between them when he reached out and wound her long hair around his fist. The next thing she knew she was being held against the wall by his thrusting hips and her legs wrapped around his waist trying to catch her breath as she stared into burning blue eyes.

He hadn't kissed her or even discarded his cloths. Just pinned her to the wall and shoved his pants aside before plunging to her core. The only time his gaze left hers was when she came mouth agape and eyes closing in reaction. His grip on her waist tightened almost brutally as she fell apart around him and dragged him down into the pleasure pang of ecstasy.

When he pulled away, readjusted his trousers, leaving her there on unsteady legs she slid to the floor as she watched him walk out her front door. She hadn't lied when she told him it was hard for her with him. He'd become a complete bastard and usually their encounters left her feeling like his personal whore; at least until those last couple months.

In those last months before Conklin handed Jason the Wombosi assignment she'd noticed little pieces of the old Jason cutting through the hard shell of Jason Bourne, Treadstone Asset. She would come home in the evenings to find him sitting in her darkened living room and he would make the effort to hold a conversation while they shared a meal. Some nights he would take her to bed and they would spend the better part taking and giving pleasure to one another.

The morning he was supposed to board Wambosi's yacht she'd awakened at three in the morning to find Jason standing at the foot of her bed, watching her. He hadn't been in her apartment when she turned in for the night and his presence set off alarm bells in her mind. He was leaving on assignment that day and this was an out of character move. Usually she only saw him in a professional capacity in the weeks preceding an assignment.

"Jason," she murmured groggily not expecting an answer, "What are you doing?"

"I had a dream," his voice was oddly devoid of inflection as he continued. "That you were being chased," he paused and shook his head. "I needed to check on you." The last seemed to have been ripped from his throat as if he hadn't intended to admit that much.

"I'm safe," she murmured reassuringly as she sat up.

"Are you," he demanded harshly as he wiped his arm over his face and what little light filtered through her room glinted off the nickel plating of the desert eagle in his hand. "Are you really safe, Nicky?"

He knew she'd seen the gun and heard the hitch it put in her breathing. He read confusion and wariness in her eyes so he pressed his advantage. "In my dream you were running for your life. " Moving closer to the bed he ejected the clip, "The person following you wouldn't stop. They were going to kill you." He checked the load and shoved it back into place. "I was chasing you, Nick. I had you in my sights," he leveled the gun at her head.

She felt very real fear as she looked the man she loved in the eye over his gun barrel. Swallowing she slowly pushed the sheets off and climbed to here knees in the bed before him. "You wouldn't kill me, Jason." What made her so sure she didn't know, because the lord knew he'd mentally and emotionally hurt her enough in the last two years. She doubted he even realized that his primitive, cold use of her mind and body hurt her.

"You know what I am," he replied his voice again devoid of emotion. "What I do!"

"Yes," she murmured as she lifted a hand to stroke his cheek and let her hand feather his neck to rest on his chest above his heart. "I do, but I've been with you since the beginning. I know you wouldn't kill me." She honestly believed that, too.

With lightening reflexes he twisted her arm behind her back and she found herself on her stomach pinned beneath Jason's weight. "Do you really," he growled in her ear as he audibly clicked the weapon's safety off.

Her breathing labored because of his weight on her back she nodded, but didn't speak.

"Why?"

"I trust you," she murmured.

The sound of the safety being engaged startled her and she tried to turn over, but the weight of the gun being laid on her back and his quietly spoken, "No", stopped her movement. The bed shifted and dipped as he got up, leaving the desert eagle where it lay. She could hear rustling noises but couldn't see what he was doing because her long blond hair was tangled in her face. When he removed the gun from her back and sat down beside her she slowly shifted to her back and swiped her hair from her face.

He didn't speak as he stared down at the paper in his hand. His features were so pensive she reached up and stroked her thumb over the crease on his forehead.

"Jason?" She asked her eyes searching his face.

When he met her gaze she could see something almost hopeful in his eyes. It made her heart flutter. Finally after minutes of silence he took her hand and brought the tips of her fingers to his lips.

She shivered as this small piece of the real Jason Bourne cut through the facade. She barely had time to enjoy the moment as his expression changed again and he leaned in claiming her lips in a demanding, deep kiss. This was a new aspect to their lovemaking in the last few weeks and she had to admit it was something she'd craved for many months. His kisses were all breathtaking and even if he wasn't always gentle and caring like he had been before, she had no doubt that he desired her.

That morning he was a curious mix of who he once was and who he had become and perhaps she was seeing the man he would be someday soon. His eyes were intent as he pulled back and met her aroused bedroom eyes. He seemed to be waging an internal battle so she reached up and filtered her fingers through the hair at his nape and slowly began to pull him to her, "I trust you," she whispered against his lips as she taunted him with almost kisses. "I-," she nipped his chin. "Trust," she shifted to the left and nipped him again, "You," she claimed his mouth and he covered her softness with his unyielding hardness. They shared open mouth kisses and she refused to close her eyes for fear she would wake up and this would turn into a dream.

When she awoke in the morning sunlight he was gone, but there on the pillow he'd used lay the desert eagle atop the paper from the night before. She'd been startled at first, but then she'd giggled at the idea that this was Jason Bourne's idea of a rose on a pillow. The note had explained that in the last few months he'd begun to build a new identity for her in the event she ever felt her life was in danger, but cautioned her not to use it if she felt he was a danger to her. It advised her to memorize the location as well as the combination and then burn the note.

So, here she was in the Sicilian country side at the foot of Mount Etna where she'd been for the past six weeks waiting. She originally kept moving as Jason instructed her, but after the news bulletin about Black Briar and David Webb n'ee Jason Bourne, she'd hop-scotched her way through Europe. And then in Portugal she'd become Graziella Picaresco and driven the little chinquchinto that had been waiting for her there with the identity Jason set up for her and a map marked with a route to this villa.

Her days were spent painting the walls, resurfacing the tub and silently praying that he would remember. It seemed a futile dream she thought as she turned to her side and drifted to sleep to the sound of rain on the terrazzo floor.