Right, a couple of corrections – Danny Owens is actually Danny Zorn, I got the last name wrong; and in the first chapter, I meant 'rogue agent' not 'rouge agent'. I hate the auto-correct on Word beyond all description.

In any case, here is the third chapter of this little fanfic. Enjoy!


Nicky Parsons looked around and vowed never to board a plane ever again…by free choice, at least. There were no screaming children and she was sitting beside the window with no one leaning on her or crowding her, but what was bothering her had nothing to do with the usual problems associated with flying. It was the paranoia that had set in. A glance in her direction left her suspicious and scared. Someone moved behind her and she started so violently that a passing stewardess looked at her with concern. She checked her watch. They would land in about four hours. Way too long for her.

She fidgeted and looked out her window. It was a cloudless day, and she could see the Pacific Ocean stretched out beneath her for as far as she could see. Nicky sighed. Any other day she would have appreciated the beautiful sparkling blue water, but her mind was too focused on the burning anxiety in the back of her mind. She still wasn't sure if going to America was the best idea she had ever had, or even if her mode of transportation had been the best choice. Her claustrophobia was closing in yet again, and a plane, as she was well aware, is hell on earth for a claustrophobic person.

Nicky ran a hand through her hair and desperately tried to think about something else. Anything else.

"Easy…easy…I'm here, you're alright…He's gone…Stop crying, I'm here, it's all going to be okay…"

Her hand froze on her head. Not that kind of anything. But Jason's words were already cutting through her consciousness like a knife. She sighed as they started to fade away again. She owed him her life, several times over, she mused, rubbing her chest, which was still on the sore side. What had she been thinking, attacking an assassin that could have snapped her neck in a second? Bourne could have saved himself; he was older and more experienced than Desh, if not as nimble. What sort of crazy notion could have made her get up from the ground, launch herself across the room, and pull his head sideways in order to get him off Bourne?

He would have done the same for her, she mentally reasoned to no one in particular. She must have felt some kind of obligation.

Or was it something else? A voice whispered to her mockingly. Do you have feelings for him? Of course you do, don't deny it. Nicky looked out the window and sighed, because she couldn't deny it. She did have strong feelings towards him; there was no denying that much. It was just identifying the feelings that was hard…

Nicky closed her eyes. Did she love him or hate him? As she thought, she realized that there was a very thin line separating love and hate. Most people thought of them as complete opposites, non-compatible with each other, but in fact, that was not at all the case. In a way, she loved him so much it hurt, and she hated him for it. And Marie. Hearing about him and Marie had torn her soul out, but she couldn't even crawl away to cry, because that would have alerted Conklin. In a way, she hated him for that as well, even though she wanted him to be happy…but the reason she had hated him was because she loved him…*

Nicky pushed the thoughts away. She couldn't deal with that now, or wouldn't, deal with that now. She would have to later, though.

She rested her head on the side of the plane, and begged for sleep.


Jason Bourne wasn't very susceptible to discomfort. Pain, cold, disorientation…they all fell to the back of his mind at will.

A useful skill, considering the circumstances, Bourne mused to himself as he hauled his cold body out of the Hudson River and onto a stone walkway. The luck of the devil, as some would say, was on his side again. If Vosen had hit him, then the shot had either not gone deep or not hit a vital spot. He had already been falling when Vosen had fired, so everyday statistics and a very old lesson were on his side – it was a lot harder to hit a moving target then a stationary one, and Vosen had probably never been as good with a gun as other men that Jason had faced.

Bourne pulled himself up and limped to an abandoned building that looked like it might have been a decent house at one time. He broke a window and climbed through it, looking around and assessing as always. He couldn't detect any threat, so he continued down a hallway and into a bathroom. To his relief, there was still running water, and he was able to get it running warm enough to clean out any injuries that he might have, and heat up the room a little bit.

Bourne quickly pulled off his jacket, then his shirt, and examined himself. A few newer cuts had re-opened with the impact of hitting the water, there was a very large bruise forming on his back from the impact of the water, and one red line across the top of his shoulder that could have been drawn with a ruler. Vosen's shot had grazed him after all.

He began to clean all of his injuries, starting with the one caused by the bullet. As he worked, Jason's mind wandered. Had Landy managed to get the Blackbriar files to the press? Or had she been stopped? She's smart, she can look out for herself. He decided. But, all the same, the blonde woman had done a lot for him, and she would have a lot of enemies when everything blew up. She would need protection, and Bourne had never trusted the CIA or any kind of service they provided. She was the only one left to protect anyways.

Hold it. Not the only one.

For a moment, a pair of dark, soft eyes flashed in his mind. Then, as their owner spoke, they briefly flashed with hope. "You really don't remember anything?" The spark had instantly died with his response "No."

Suddenly, his eye caught motion in the lower corner of the mirror. BLACKBRIAR! Alarms went off in his head, sounding first that there was a threat, second that he was unarmed. His weapon was in the training facility. He whirled, ready for a fight.

To his great surprise, is opponent was not an armed assassin ready to put a bullet in his a head, but a rather small calico cat sitting behind him, staring up at him with large eyes. For a moment, the two just blinked at each other. Then Jason chuckled and kneeled, holding out his hand. "You surprised me." The little cat immediately rubbed against his hand, purring loudly. He was surprised by its friendliness. Usually animals didn't seem to like him – he thought they could sense that he was dangerous. It was just that, like people, some chose to ignore it…like Marie had.

He swallowed the lump in his throat and examined the cat closer, in order to avoid the memories. The cat, to his surprise, also only had a small stump for a tail. "Manx." He muttered – he had remembered owning one before his amnesia. He remembered little about it, only that its name was Cricket and he had been fond of it. He didn't know what had happened to it, but he had a feeling that he had given it away. He placed the kitten on the ground, before sitting down and leaning against the wall himself. Miffed at being ignored, the little cat immediately leapt on his lap and curled up, purring loudly. Jason gently ran a hand over its pelt, feeling suddenly like he was not alone anymore.

He leaned back and looked up. He was wondering about David Webb. He wasn't sure if he remembered it or not: his memories, although he figured he had at least half of them back, were still fuzzy and hard to put into chronological order. However, as he thought about it, a memory that had come back while he was with Marie in India returned to his mind. It was distant, more of an impression than an actual memory. A friend, around his age, in a military uniform.

Jason frowned. Now that he thought about it, that didn't make much sense. Jason Bourne didn't have friends, and certainly none that would have been dressed in a military uniform. But hadn't David Webb been a captain at one point? Suddenly hopeful, he concentrated on the memory, trying to glean as much information from it as he could. To his surprise, like a balloon that had put too much pressure put on it, the impression exploded into a full-force flashback.

"Dammit! David, which button do I press? This web cam is trying to kill me, I swear!" The red-haired man in a military uniform looked like he was trying not to attack the laptop he was seated in front of, an innocent-looking web cam seated beside it.

"Green button, Rob. Same button it's been for the past four days." David rolled his eyes and flipped to the next page in his book. He could hear buttons being pushed, then a yell of triumph as the screen on the computer flickered, than came to life. He glanced over the book to see the face of a young woman flicker onto the screen, Rob grinning at her apologetically. "Sorry. Where were we?"

Jason blinked as the memory faded from his senses, bringing him back to the present. He felt a bit excited - he had remembered something from before Bourne. Something he could return to. He felt compelled to find this Rob - Robert, perhaps? - he had seen, but knew it would be impossible. He had no idea if the man was even alive. He put his head back and closed his eyes, still petting the cat, trying to think of what to do next.

Suddenly his eyes flew open. Wait. He brought up a mental image of the girl that Rob had been speaking to over the moody web cam. It did look familiar. He ran it against the data bases of memory that he had stored in his head. In seconds the cold machine that was Bourne's mind came up with a match. A small girl with blond hair and dark eyes that rarely smiled.

"You really don't remember anything?"

Jason let out the air in his lungs, his brain turning over this new development, examining it from all angles. She had gone against her agency and helped him get to Daniels. Then he had put her on a bus and sent her off, hoping she would be all right. But he didn't like hoping. He had no idea if Nicky could passably defend herself. She had attacked Desh, but that particular move had left her on the ground, unconscious.

That moment hadn't made any sense, as Jason thought about it. Desh had chased her through Tangier with full intentions of killing her, which should have left her terrified of him. The pursuit through the old house would have been terrorizing for her, traumatizing even. Desh had been less than six feet away from her when Bourne had gone through the window, and he had nearly shot her when her face became visible when he was fighting. Bourne remembered that the bullet had hit the doorframe right beside her. If she had not fallen and Desh had pointed the bullet four inches to the left, he would have hit Nicky directly between the eyes. So why had she attacked him? In a typical situation like that, she should have been on the floor, paralyzed with fear. As Bourne files though the numerous facts and theories in his mind, one stood out to him. He froze, staring at his reflection in the small mirror. Of course.

Nicky had attacked because Desh had gained the upper hand in the fight, and Bourne had been losing. She had known that she was no match for the assassin, and had intended to distract him for as long as it took for Bourne to get up. It was a practical move, she would have been finished off quickly if Bourne had been killed, but he was still surprised. She was more courageous than he had originally thought. But if he hadn't been there, that would have been the end of her. Then again, if he hadn't been there, she wouldn't have attacked Desh. She was brave, but not stupid.

Still, Jason couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to her motives than just practicality. He still remembered the ferocity in her eyes when she had grabbed Desh. The fierce instincts that came with fighting did not completely explain it – she had looked too angry. Although the fact that Desh was hurting him enraged her somehow.

"It was…difficult for me…with you."

But why?

Jason sighed. He had a choice to make. It would be predictable and dangerous to go looking for her, not to mention hard. She was probably on the other side of the world, hiding under a rock. But he had more questions that needed answering, and he knew she could give them to him.

The choice was finally made before dawn. Bourne got up and set off, a new objective sending him on his way.


Nicky almost groaned as saw the 'Now Hiring' sign on the little café. On one hand, she needed a job and extra money to help her blend in. But on the other, a waitress was one of the worst jobs a person on the run could get – too many faces, too little security. So she made a mental note, but kept walking.

She had landed in the Marina Municipal Airport, hailed a taxi and paid him to drive her to a nearby hotel that she had found on her computer before taking off, and now was quietly walking down an older street, on her way to her motel. She hadn't ever been to Marina in person before, but she remembered planning to live here when she was fifteen. Everything had changed when the CIA recruited her.

She had been here a full day now, and was just walking around to get a grip on her surroundings. No agents had knocked down her room door yet, but she wasn't about to let down her guard – not after Hong Kong. She felt a little more confident now, as she had found a way to get into an airport without alerting the CIA. She had been stupid enough to use a Treadstone registered passport before, but she was know using an illegally crafted passport that an old friend had made for her. He had been an extreme conspiracy theorist, and he had made her a passport, drivers' license, birth certificate, and a social service number the second he found out that she was working for the government. Horrified, she had tried to reject the papers, but he had made her take them with an ominous "When they turn on you, you'll have somewhere to go. Trust me; you'll thank me for this." She had to chuckle at the irony – that gift was probably the best thing that had ever happened to her. She had no idea how old Jack had done it, but she aimed to track him down and thank him one day. He had probably saved her life. Her new identity was Robin Clark, born in Grand Forks, North Dakota, with a job as a home assistant for an elderly man who had recently died. It was ingenious, she had to admit. The elderly man had been Jack's uncle, and he hadn't every had an assistant, but his only living relative, as well as the only one who had really known anything about him, was Jack, so there was no way to prove that he hadn't had an assistant. She was safe. Or, at least as safe as she would ever get.

She wearily clambered up the steps to the motel balcony, and walked slowly across to her room. She was being careful to avoid the receptionist after the Hong Kong fiasco, but he hadn't really shown much interest in her at all. She had figured that the CIA station would send out warnings with her picture to all the hotels once her passport cleared. He had barely glanced at her either day she had been there.

She opened the door to her room and quickly checked around before she closed it. Madrid had scared her, when Jason grabbed her as she came through the door. She had never been able to open a door without checking behind it since then. She checked all the rooms, and found no signs of life except the cockroaches that she caught scurrying beneath the lobby couch. Not that Nicky minded the little things. For the longest week of her life, they had been the closest thing she to friends she had.

Suddenly exhausted, she flopped onto the bed and flicked on the TV. She switched through the channels, settling for a movie – Die Hard. She watched the old movie for about an hour or so, then turned off the TV, and rolled sideways onto the floor beside her bed, where she figured she was safest.

She had already spent one sleepless night behind the bed, waiting for a S.W.A.T. team, five Blackbriar assets, and Chuck Norris to break down the door. But the night had been still and uninterrupted, much to her surprise. Her paranoia, which only got worse as the sky became darker, had convinced her that the CIA had seen through the fake passport and were on the way to arrest, if not kill her. But no, it was only her and the roaches. The lack of action did nothing to soothe her nerve, however. She would stand guard tonight again.

Nicky leaned against the wall and breathed slowly, eyes fixed on the door, only breaking the gaze to occasionally glance at the windows. Her memories were back under control, thank God. The lack of sleep and hunger had weakened her in Hong Kong and on the plane, but she had eaten a good meal and got three hours of rest before landing in Marina Municipal Airport, so she had just enough to lock the secret pain and suffering back behind a stainless steel door which could only be opened with her conscious permission. Nicky was glad. Nostalgia wasn't something that she could really afford at the present.

She watched he door like a frightened rabbit for hours. She'd had to loose the weapon she stole from Hong Kong, thanks to airport security, so she had to figure out dozens of complex escape plans. If an armed team came in, like in Hong Kong, she'd have to go though the window to her left, outmaneuver any spare agents outside, and head for the little car that she had purchased on her first day. She'd have to go behind buildings and through alleys most likely, but she had memorized the way to the highway, where she could loose them faster. An asset posed more of a threat. Nicky figured that she would roll beneath the bed before being spotted, then bail through the same window as soon as his back was turned. She'd hide beneath the balcony and wait until she was sure the coast was clear, then make a run for the car, hiding behind cars or anything that bullets may have trouble penetrating.

Despite her plans, she knew she had to find a weapon. As much as she could run away, sooner or later, she had to fight back against her assailants. Nicky leaned back and sighed.

It was going to be a very long night.


Noah Vosen was well aware of the fact that he wasn't a good man. Even if he hadn't been, the two federal guards escorting him to the communications room would have been a good indication. Not that he cared, he quietly mused to himself as the door to the soundproof booth was opened for him and he walked it. Behind the glass that split the room in two was Wills, his old assistant, who smiled slightly when Vosen entered. The proud CIA official seated himself at the desk in front of the glass window. Wills and him looked at each other for one moment, then picked up the receivers at the same time.

"Good afternoon, sir."

Good afternoon, Wills. How are things going for you?"

"Pretty decently, actually. My lawyer managed to pull me out of this mess, thank God. Wish you have faired as well." He added sympathetically.

"Hm. Well, my trial\s coming up soon, my lawyer is working on it. I'm doing all right."

"What was you purpose for calling this meeting, sir?"

"Landy." Vosen spat out the name as if it were a curse. "I want her gone, Out of the picture entirely. The damn woman is just as much to blame as Bourne, if not even more." As far as Vosen was concerned, this was what the agency got for putting a woman so high up in the government. They got emotional and shut down. Vosen didn't trust women any more than he would trust a wolf.

Wills shifted uncomfortably. "Yes sir, about that…we can't find her."

Vosen stared, certain he had misheard. "What?"

"She's off the grid. Gone. No plane tickets out of the country, no passport anywhere, house deserted…the whole deal. I think the damn secret service might be involved, wouldn't that be the final irony if the president himself extended her some protection in return for her 'service to the country'." Wills growled.

Vosen could see that going after Landy was hopeless. If the secret service was involved, even the most honorable of CIA references wouldn't get Wills or anyone else near her. Ever since JFK, the CIA had no power over the secret service. Stupid paranoid bastards. But it wasn't although Landy was his only enemy. "What about Bourne? Did he survive the fall?"

"His body hasn't been found yet."

Which meant yes. Vosen leaned back and evaluated the situation. He wanted to get Bourne out and in the open where he could see him, but, knowing Bourne, that was near an impossible thing to do. He thought for a couple minutes, then an idea hit him. He leaned forwards. "What about that girl?"

"Sir?"

"Parsons. The little traitor girl, the one who ditched us for Bourne. What happened to her?"

Wills nodded. "I did a bit of looking for her too. She tuned up in Hong Kong a couple of days ago, and they sent a grab team in. She eluded them though – there were only two of them and they went in light. She took them both down and got away. We don't know where she is now. I was curious, so I grabbed her Treadstone file." Wills reached beneath the desk and produced a briefcase, which he opened, and produced a file. He pushed the case to one side so that Vosen could see as well, and flipped though. "She was born in New York City in 1979, majored in psychology, inducted into Treadstone at age 20…wow."

Vosen raised an eyebrow. "Wasn't she a little young?"

"Yeah, but they needed someone who would pass for a college student in Paris. She also skipped a few grades, I believe. She handled logistics at Treadstone, monitored mental health, and she was Bourne's local contact." Wills flipped another page, and his eyes widened slightly. "She was kidnapped by a rouge agent in 2000, held captive and tortured for information for 161 hours…that's just a couple hours short of a week. Get this – Bourne went against direct orders from Conklin, took their safe house by storm, killed everyone inside, and brought her back.

"That must have left her in debt to him." Vosen mused. "You think that's why she defected to join him?"

"Maybe, sir…but I think it has more to do with this." Wills leaned forwards. "I spoke to one of the people who lived in Bourne's apartment when he was in Treadstone. He said that he figured Bourne had a relationship. He saw Bourne bring in a girl once – said she must have been real pretty, but she looked like she had gotten the shit kicked out of her. He couldn't remember the exact date, but he figured it was June in 2000. That's about when Parsons was kidnapped. After that, Bourne always left the building every night at around seven o'clock. Sometimes he came back…and sometimes he didn't." Wills chuckled.

Vosen had to as well. "Screwing a girl nine years younger than him? He ought to be ashamed. But this does make things easier for our purposes." Vosen leaned in. "Find out where she is. I'll bet she's come to America. She was born here, and she hasn't been back for around five years. She'll be homesick. Once you find her, get a grab team and send them in. I'd bet ex-blackbriars would be the most willing to join in – they'll be needing an operation by now. Be sure to bring her in alive, uninjured isn't necessary. Hang an axe over her neck, and see if Bourne takes the bait. He'll be gunning after her, I'd stake this trial on it. When he comes for her, kill them both, then make it look like an accident. You think you can carry this out?"

Wills nodded. "I'll do it, sir. I already have a strategy."

"Good man. Thank you for doing this for me."

"My pleasure, sir."

They hung up the receivers together.


Dun dunna nah! It's Cat Boy and Cockroach Girl to the rescue! Teehee, sorry about the Chuck Norris joke, but it was that or a troop of ninjas. I think Chuck Norris was more effective. This story, as of now, also appears to star my cat, Cricket. Watch, she will take down a troop of blackbriars single pawedly. Just watch... :D

- The whole love/hate thing is coutesty of MoscoMoon666 on youtube - she was the one who came up with all that emo, but cool, stuff.

Chapter 4 will be up momentarily - I am far from giving up on this one! ;)