Notes: (1) I've tried to capture the Tom Cronin character from The Bourne Supremacy. (2) A parillia is a South American restaurant with a grill as the main focus for cooking meat. They are very popular in Uruguay. (3) MSG stands for Marine Security Guard. (4) I'm using planets to represent the characters: Jason Bourne/David Webb is represented by Mars; Nicky Parsons is represented by Venus; Tom Cronin is represented by Jupiter; and Pamela Landy is represented by Saturn. (5) I was going to call part 2 something else, but I changed my mind at the last minute. :) (6) From this point forward in the story, except for the flashback to that incredible night in Paris, Jason Bourne will be called David Webb (that's how they left it at the end of Bourne Ultimatum).

Credits and Disclaimer: All characters associated with The Bourne Identity, The Bourne Supremacy, and The Bourne Ultimatum belong to Universal Pictures, Doug Lyman, Paul Greengrass, and the Ludlum Estate. The use of these characters is for fun, not profit. This story is for entertainment purposes only, not profit. No harm is intended.

Caveat: This story was not Beta'ed, all mistakes are mine. This story is dedicated to Frust-Sheep for her encouragement of my 'pregnant Nicky' plot bunny. :)

When Mars and Venus Collide

Part 2: Jupiter Rising

"Adam, you're such a child, you know that?"

"Hey, back off, G.I. Joe! I'm almost 18-years-old and I'm only three years younger than you!" The teenager performed a series of fake kung fu moves in front of his older brother. "So who's calling who a child?"

"Give her the hat!"

Adam paused. "Man, what's up with you, Bryan?" He passed the hat from hand to hand, keeping it just out of his sister's reach. "You log in a couple of years with the Marines and all of a sudden you're ... Dad."

Tom Cronin opened the door to the restaurant and turned his head to look at his son. The dark sunglasses he wore made his ominous stare all the more impressive.

The boy shuffled his feet back and forth and gave his father a sheepish look. "Not that there's anything wrong with being Dad." He handed his sister her white sunhat and patted her on the head.

"Twerp!" her twin sister said. Both girls rolled their eyes and huffed inside the Don Peperone parilla behind their mother and oldest brother.

Tom stared at his son. "Your mother's already grounded you for two weeks when we get home. You want me to make it a month?"

"No, sir."

"Somebody's in trouble," the youngest son, Samuel, said in a singsong voice as he followed his father inside.

"Bite me, you little geek," Adam said before the door closed. He started to follow, but a man suddenly bumped into him hard enough to twirl him around. "Hey!" He looked behind him, but the man had already turned the corner.

"What's wrong, honey?" his mother asked, frowning as he stormed inside the parilla.

"Some assh--!"

"Adam!" Tom snapped in his Marine voice.

"-- guy just bumped into me and almost knocked me down!"

"Ohhh, did a bad man bump into the poor baby?" one of his sisters teased, using baby talk.

Adam scowled.

The twins giggled and took out their cell phones to check for text messages.

"No cell phones while we're eating, girls," Emma Cronin said as a waiter led them to their table.

"Yeah, no cell phones while we're eating, girls, " Samuel echoed, wagging a finger.

"Shut up you little creep!"

"No, you shut up!"

"I'd like both of you to shut up, right now!" Their mother snapped. "What's gotten into you kids?"

Tom shook his head and rubbed his chin. He understood why the kids were antsy. Children tended to act out when something was off with one or both of their parents. After three months of forced administrative leave, he was on edge … not dangerously so, but still far enough from his usual mode for his children to notice and become concerned.

His wife had tiptoed around him until the day he'd picked an argument with her over some trivial matter. She'd tried to hold on to her temper while he'd ranted and raved about the difference between cuddling and coddling. He was an ex-Marine, he'd said; he didn't do coddling. That had really set her off.

He smiled and bit his lip as he remembered the make-up sex afterwards. While cuddling in bed that night they'd decided the whole family needed a tension breaker—some kind of distraction. So he'd suggested a two-week vacation to visit their oldest son Bryan, a Marine stationed at the U.S. Embassy in Montevideo, Uruguay.

"What're you smiling about?" His wife asked him, interrupting his thoughts. There was a mischievous gleam in her eye as she sipped a local herbal drink called Mate from a gourd with a metal straw.

Tom's cell phone rang before he could respond. "Pam? No, it's okay. What's up?" He waved at his family for quiet. "Uh-huh … uh-huh … uh-huh … I agree, it could've been a lot worse. I can be there in four days, no problem." He put his hand over the receiver to cover his wife's groan. "Yeah … all right, see you then." He closed his phone and heaved a sigh of relief.

"Well, start brushing up on your German," he told his family. "I'm being re-assigned to the American Consulate in Salzburg, Austria."

Sabrina crossed her arms over her chest. "What, like Heidi in the Alps? No. Way."

"Boys in Lederhosen? I don't think so," Samantha added.

"Why couldn't we move some place cool like Copenhagen?" Sabrina looked at her sister. "Wouldn't it be cool to date a Viking?"

"We might even meet a prince, like in that movie," Samantha sighed.

"Totally," Sabrina agreed, equally enraptured.

Tom leaned his elbows on the table and stared at his daughters. "Vikings?" He said, his voice stern. "You're 15-years-old. The only 'Vikings' you two had better be interested in are the ones you read about in your textbooks, and the football team in Minnesota."

The girls, properly chastised, became extremely interested in their soft drinks.

Emma Cronin leaned over and hugged her husband. "I knew they weren't stupid enough to get rid of you and Pam," she whispered.

"Yeah? Well, there's a lot of 'stupid' going around Virginia these days." He pulled back so he could see his wife's face. "A Diplomatic Pouch is on the way with my new orders."

"What, here? Honey, we're leaving tomorrow. Can't this wait until we get home?"

He shook his head. "They're sending a plane for me in three days. I need to meet with my counterpart in Salzburg and Pam wants me on site when our team arrives. Leaving their families behind to handle the re-location is gonna be rough. Finding a familiar face and a place to set their laptop will mean a lot."

"And what about your family and our re-location?" Tom could see the wheels turning as she began compiling a mental 'to do' list. "Maybe we should just put everything in storage and rent our house out. We have an awful lot of equity built into—" A ringing cell phone distracted her.

"Kids, I said no cell phones."

The Cronin children checked to make sure their phones were off and then looked at Adam, who looked around the table in surprise. His silent cell phone sat next to his plate, but the persistent ringing came from him. He reached into a deep pocket on the side of his tan painter's pants and pulled out a strange cell phone. After receiving a nod from his father, he pressed the 'Talk' button.

"Hello?" He said warily. His face became even more puzzled as he looked over at his father and handed him the phone. "Dad, it's for you."

Tom got up from the table and walked outside with the cell phone. He knew it was a foolish move, but if this was an attempt by someone to take him out, he'd rather not be around his family when it happened.

"Tom Cronin."

"Nice family," the caller said.

His heart skipped a beat as he turned a slow circle, looking around the shopping center for the man on the phone.

"Do you know who this is?"

"Yes."

"The east corner of Julio Avenue next to Plaza Independencia. 5 pm. Bring the cell phone with you." The line went dead.

He didn't have to tell Tom to come alone and unarmed. The casual mention of his family had been more than enough to ensure his compliance.

Tom felt completely and utterly exposed standing on the street corner. People usually worked until 7 or 8 in the evening in Montevideo, so the late afternoon car and pedestrian traffic was light. He glanced at his watch and discovered he'd been standing there for an hour. He checked the sight-lines from where he stood and determined that he presented a clean kill from at least ten different locations. It was a very sobering and uncomfortable thought.

He'd convinced his wife all was well and had simply explained away the appearance of the cell phone as 'business.' Emma had become used to such cryptic explanations over the years, but Bryan hadn't been entirely convinced. If Bryan hadn't been scheduled to work a 4 to Midnight shift at the Embassy, Tom thought his son might have followed him.

The cell phone rang.

"There's a small park across from the Palacio Salvo about five blocks east of where you're standing. The central path leads to a double row of benches facing a fountain in the middle of the park."

Tom did as instructed.

He sat with his arms stretched on both sides along the back of the bench and enjoyed the dappled sunlight on his face. He allowed the splashing water in the fountain to lull and sooth him, resisting the urge to anticipate contact. He knew he was under surveillance. He'd dealt with Spooks before. That's what they'd called them while he'd been active in the Marine Corps—Spooks; Army Rangers mostly, solitary men with distant eyes and vacant faces who would suddenly appear beside you in the chow line after extended sniper ops, and then disappear like ghosts. A few of the Spooks had been Green Berets, like Captain David Webb.

A sudden movement of air disturbed the birds behind him.

"Pam never doubted you'd survived that fall."

There was a moment of silence. "I almost didn't."

"What do you want?"

"Why are you Montevideo?"

"Come on, David, you know I'm here with my family. You tailed us to the parilla." The other man stepped over the back of the bench and sat down beside him.

"I know your son is part of the MSG detail at the Embassy, and I know the CIA is notorious for using family events and special occasions as cover for covert ops."

"I didn't know you were here."

"It's not me I'm worried about."

Tom closed his eyes and sighed. He began to wonder if he'd survive this encounter. The most dangerous thing in the world was a predator protecting its young … or its mate.

"I didn't know Nicky was here either. But it wouldn't have mattered one way or the other. The standing kill order issued for you two has been rescinded. All is not forgiven, but no one's looking. Not with the current Blackbriar scandal being discussed and analyzed on cable news shows 24/7."

"How did that happen?"

"If you've been following the news, you know that Marty Marshall was brought back as Interim CIA Director after Kramer's forced retirement three months ago. His first order of business was to halt all black on black orders initiated by Vosen or Kramer until they could be properly evaluated. Kramer fired Pam and I after she testified before the Senate Judicial Committee. Marshal countermanded that directive. He had us reinstated and then put us out on Administrative Leave with pay."

"Not really that much better, is it? You guys are still wondering which way the blade will fall."

"Right." Tom sighed and rubbed his face. "But the suspense is finally over. Pam called just before you did this afternoon. We're being re-assigned to the U.S. Consulate in Salzburg, Austria."

Webb turned his body so he was facing Tom. He put his left arm along the back of the bench. "The doghouse?"

Tom nodded. "The doghouse. Like I said before … all is not forgiven. Marty may like and respect Pam, and he might privately agree with what she did, but the CIA is still very much an all boys club. He had to slap her on the wrist in a manner that would appease the Hawks and please the Doves. At least this way she'll be able to do her job without constant scrutiny."

"And?"

Tom smiled. He'd forgotten how quick Webb was. "And, she's trying to negotiate a deal for you and Nicky. Marty knew about Treadstone and he knew it was a black on black program. But he didn't know about the training methods involved … what was done to you, and the others. Marty is a former Marine. He lives the code."

"I won't come back, Tom. I'm no longer Jason Bourne."

"Pam knows that, David. She has something else in mind." He turned on the bench and looked at the other man. "If you come back into the fold, you won't have to run anymore. You and Nicky could live your lives without constantly looking over your shoulders. At least talk to her about it, see how she feels."

David looked puzzled for a moment, then his eyes widened in comprehension. "I've only been here a week. I'm not running with Nicky, I haven't even spoken to her. I just nee—wanted to check on her. Make sure she's all right."

"Okay."

Webb looked at Tom's Marine insignia ring, he looked into Tom's eyes, searching, and finally he said, "I need your help. Something's wrong."

"Wrong? What do you mean?"

"I'm worried about her. She doesn't look well. She has dark circles under her eyes and she's lost some weight. I followed her home from work one day and she threw up on the sidewalk after passing by a seafood restaurant. The next day I followed her to a doctor's office and then to a pharmacy."

"Nicky's been on the run for three months. Bouts of nerves and sleepless nights are to be expected, right?"

David nodded. "Something still feels off. I can't leave until I know she's all right."

"Well, why haven't you talked to her then?"

"I can't. I won't risk it … I won't risk her."

"I see," Tom said with dawning realization. It occurred to him that David cared for Nicky, and felt guilty about his feelings. He'd sent her away, to run on her own, so he wouldn't put her life at further risk—like he had with Marie. He was probably still racked with guilt over Marie's death as well. How long had it been? Less than five months?

"David," he said in a gentle voice. "Marie's death wasn't your fault. And despite your misgivings, Nicky probably has a better chance of survival with you than without you. Why don't you go talk to her."

"I can't. Would you please go talk to her … make sure she's all right? If she needs anything—money, whatever—just let me know."

"What if she needs to see you?"

There was a long pause. "Anything except that."

Tom signed in resignation. "All right, I'll check on her."

"Thank you. She works in a small bookstore about four blocks down on the Plaza. Be careful, she probably has a gun."

Tom rubbed his chin and looked at the fountain. Not for the first time, he wondered what had happened between Nicky and Jason Bourne in Paris. Pam was convinced they'd had an affair, that Nicky had a thing for bad boys. He thought it might have been more complicated than that. She couldn't have been more than 22-years-old when she was assigned as Bourne's personal contact and handler.

"You know," he said. "I keep wondering why Conklin stationed Nicky in Paris at such a young age."

The younger man looked as if he were about to say something, but then he pressed his lips together and studied his clasped hands.

Tom gave David a shrewd look. "What was she … a lure, a threat, or a reward?"

David looked surprised. "How did you know?"

"I didn't much like Conklin, but I understood how his mind worked. We served together during Desert Storm. He may have been an asshole, but he was bright as hell and a damn good officer. Using Nicky as some kind of control element for you fits him. Which one was she?"

"I think she was both a lure and a reward." The younger man got up from the bench and began to pace.

"What was it about her? Why did he choose her over other agents?"

David closed his eyes for a moment. "I remember … I remember watching Conklin interview several female agents from behind a two-way mirror. There was just something about Nicky that attracted me … she was bright, fluent in several languages, like me. She was probably the type of woman I liked before I became Jason Bourne. Someone must have been watching me as I watched her."

Tom hesitated a moment and then asked, "Were you and Nicky involved in a relationship before your amnesia?"

David sat down on the bench and looked at Tom. "I honestly don't remember … but she hinted as much on the drive from Madrid." He leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. "I don't understand why I can remember seeing her before Paris and not remember anything about her in Paris."

Tom thought about that for a moment. "You're trying to protect Nicky now by staying away from her. Maybe your subconscious is trying to do the same thing by blocking a memory from the past that might draw you to her."

A church nearby chimed the hour. It was 7 PM. David sat up. "There! There she is, see? She has short dark hair and she's wearing a blue skirt and white blouse."

"I see her," said Tom as he got up from the bench. "How will I get in touch with you?"

"My cell phone number is programmed in the phone you have."

Tom nodded and walked away.

He became more and more concerned as he followed Nicky. David had been right … something was definitely wrong with her. She seemed listless and ill, and she walked as if each step drained her last once of energy. She hadn't checked her environment once while he tailed her home, a kiss of death for anyone on the run. If he had been an asset or an over zealous field agent, she'd be dead.

He followed her into an older section of town close to the bay. She paused in front of a three-story yellow stucco building with balconies. When she extracted her keys he walked up quickly behind her. He hated the idea of startling her, but there was simply no other way.

"Hello, Nicky."

She whirled around with a gun in her hand. He'd been expecting it and moved to his right as she turned. He gripped her right wrist with his left hand and raised her arm into the air, wrestling the gun from her before she had a chance to fire. Her eyes were wide and panicked and her breathing was harsh.

"Nicky! Nicky, relax! I'm not going to hurt you. Look at me, Nicky. Tom Cronin, remember? I was with Pamela Landy in Berlin. Remember?" At the mention of Landy's name, she stopped struggling. She looked at him as if seeing him for the first time.

"Ho—how did you find me?"

"I didn't. A friend sent me to check up on you. Do you mind if we go inside before we draw attention?" True enough, the group of kids playing with a soccer ball and several old ladies had stopped to look at them.

Nicky led him into the building. "I'm on the third floor front," she said as they began to climb the stairs. "What friend sent you?" she asked suspiciously.

"David Webb." He had expected a reaction to the name, but not the one he got.

She fainted.

Tom gathered her in his arms and picked up her keys, then carried her up to her third floor apartment. He laid her down on the couch and went into the bathroom to get a hand towel. He placed the wet towel on Nicky's forehead and then went into the kitchen to get a glass of water. He noticed several prescription bottles and an open book on the kitchen table. On his way back to Nicky he paused and picked up one of the bottles. It had been 13 years since he'd last seen a bottle like it, but he recognized the prescription for a prenatal vitamin. He flipped the book over and read the title What to Expect When You Are Expecting.

Tom rubbed his chin with his free hand and then sat next to Nicky on the couch, placing the glass of water on the coffee table next to her gun. He dabbed her face and forehead with the wet towel and called her name softly until her eyes began to flutter.

She sat up with a start and caught the wet towel as it tumbled from her forehead. She recognized him and relaxed a little, but then her eyes narrowed and she glanced over at the gun and then back at him.

"I'm not going to hurt you Nicky. The CIA doesn't know you're here. I'm in Montevideo on vacation with my family. We're visiting my son. He's a Marine guard stationed at the Embassy. You can call and verify that if you don't believe me. His name is Bryan Cronin."

She sighed and closed her eyes. "You said … you said David asked you to check on me?"

"Yes. And I'll tell you what I told him." He handed her the glass of water. "The standing kill order issued on you has been rescinded. No one's looking for you, but that could change over the next month or two. Pam's trying to barter a deal for you and David, and Interim Director Marshall is considering her request."

She stared at him, her eyes clouded with doubt.

"It's the truth," he said with a smile. He glanced around her tidy apartment. "Do you live here alone?"

"Yes, why do you ask?"

He looked at her through the eyes of a father and asked as gently as he could, "Nicky, are you pregnant?"

The glass shook in her hand, so he sat it on the coffee table. She looked at the glass and he could see it hit her, that he must have noticed the book and pills when he got the water. He watched as her face crumbled and she began to cry. He gathered her in his arms and held her as she sobbed out all the trauma of the past three months—how close she'd come to death in Tangier. He whispered soothing words and patted her back and held her head against his chest, rocking her as if she were one of his daughters. He listened as she sobbed out her fear for her unborn child, how she was so stressed she didn't think she'd be able to carry the child to full term. Finally she was spent. She was nearly asleep, but he had to ask.

"What about the father?"

Nicky tensed and tried to pull away from him. He looked into her panicked face and something cold and angry gripped him inside. "Did somebody force you?" She bit her lip and shook her head.

A sudden image of David Webb pacing in front of the fountain, and his adamant refusal to see Nicky, came to him. He stood up and rubbed his face and head with his hands, pacing back and forth, and then he came to a stop in front of her with his hands on his hips.

"It's Webb, isn't it? He's the father of your child, isn't he?" She wouldn't look at him. She wrapped her arms around her mid-section and rocked back and forth. "Nicky, how could you let something like this happen? You're a smart girl. How could you possibly do something so stupid and irresponsible after deciding to run from the CIA!"

She burst into tears, and Tom felt like shit. He sat down and gathered her in his arms again. "I'm sorry, Nicky. I'm sorry. I wasn't there … I shouldn't judge you. I learned a long time ago not to second guess anybody in the field." He leaned his head against hers and rocked her a little. "We'll call David and figure—"

"No! No … I don't want him to know!"

"Nicky …"

"No! Promise me, please promise me you won't tell him!"

Tom pulled back so he could look into her eyes. "I'm sorry, Nicky, but I can't make that promise. This isn't just about you and David anymore ... and he has a right to know." He scrutinized the dark circles beneath her eyes and her pallid complexion and asked, "How long has it been since you've gotten a full night of sleep?"

"I—I can't remember."

"You look a little thin. Are you having trouble with nausea?"

"Yeah," she gave him a weak smile. "I just can't seem to think of anything to eat that'll stay down."

"Well, maybe my wife can think of something." He smiled at her and wiped the tears from her face.

"What do you mean?"

He stood and pulled her to her feet. "Gather your things together. You're coming back to the hotel with me so you can get some rest. I'll call my wife and let her know."

David Webb answered on the third ring. "Yes?"

"A lure and a reward, huh?"

"Tom … what's wrong, did you see Nicky?"

"How do you know you didn't accept Conklin's gift? He put her there for your pleasure and, in a roundabout way, you did hand pick her. Shit, it makes sense to me. In ancient times, elite warriors were often rewarded with women, and Jason Bourne was definitely the best. So how do you know you and Nicky weren't fucking like Rabbits in Paris? Oh, right, I forgot ... you don't remember anything, do you?"

"What happened … why are you so angry?"

"You were right, David. Nicky isn't well, she isn't well at all. In fact, I brought her back to our hotel so she could get some rest. I have no doubt you know where we're staying and our room number, so I want you to get your ass over here … now!" He barked out the last word in his Marine voice.

"I told you I can—"

"You Know, Pam and I read your sealed military file. You enlisted in the Army when you were 18-years-old. R.O.T.C. through college ... awards, medals, commendations … language skills … near genius level I.Q. You were a captain in command of your own Black Ops squad in the Army Rangers, and then you got accepted into the Green Beret Special Forces. You were good at it, but you were better at it alone. That's probably one of the reasons why Treadstone came courting you."

"Stop! Just stop it and tell me what the fuck you're talking about!"

"How could you allow something so incredibly stupid to happen and then send that girl out there by herself? Jesus, David! They taught you how to kill a man a hundred different ways with a toothpick, but they didn't teach you anything about birth control?"

"I don't know wh—what??"