Four

It's really pure luck that they cross paths at all. Jason Bourne knows what he is, he's accepted his nature grudgingly but at least he's accepted it. He's a lethal weapon, a man tweaked and poked and prodded and engineered to plan, hunt and kill. But even a government machine needs a little luck every once and a while.

Jason certainly hasn't felt like luck has been on his side recently. He'd been willing to disappear and wish for the best, hoping that his plunge into the icy Hudson would finally be enough to convince the program to give up his scent and turn their attention elsewhere. Thanks to Pamela Landy, they should have had their hands full. It didn't take Jason very long to realize that he was wrong, that they would never give up hunting him. They would not stop, at least not until they could stick his head on a pike and bandy it about town as a warning for the rest of the world.

After leaving New York, instincts Jason has long sense given up trying to fight send him toward the Philippines. He has vague memories of spending time there, of fluorescent lights and rough hands. It's really as good a place as any to lay low for a while, keep his head down until he has to move again.

Jason's only there for thirty-six hours before he senses that he's not alone. He notices the other two operatives, can smell the stink of the program on them from a mile away. One is a broad-shouldered, physically enhanced Asian man whose predatory features suggest he's nothing more than a killing machine. The other is a shorter man, lean and shrewd, constantly cataloging his surroundings. The latter is in the company of a woman, which doesn't make any sense to Jason. He thinks it's more than a little sloppy for an operative to be hunting, especially, Jason Bourne, in the company of an untrained woman, and Jason immediately eliminates the man as the prominent threat.

Jason leaves Manila before either of the assassins pick up on his scent and heads to Vietnam. He hopes he'll be able to shake the agents off his trail by crossing the water. Once he gets to Vietnam, there are hundreds of places he can run from there. He has a little time to recuperate from the still seeping wound he received in New York.

It is three days later when Jason senses the presence of one of his ilk. It doesn't take him long to pin-point the threat. It is the lean, blue-eyed agent from manila and his stray puppy of a companion. Jason knows he has stayed longer than he should have but he spent several days warring within him; flight or fight those instinctual decisions that could make or break an asset. He's not going to spend the rest of his life hiding. So, if Treadstone is going to continue to send operatives after him, then he will meet them head on, not cower like a mutt. Jason is confident that he can take out this blue-eyed assassin and his companion; the woman brings back memories of Marie, but Jason squelches them. If the asset does not have any better sense than to bring his woman to a fight he would be an easy mark.

Despite his new resolve, Jason is still surprised when he picks up on their presence in the city. For some reason, a part of him didn't actually believe they would be able to track him here. Clearly, they're all trained from the same vein. Great minds think alike, and all that. Jason takes the time to study the pair while the man helps the fishermen unload their truck.

This operative doesn't behave like anyone else Jason has ever seen before. He's caviler, aloof; he's constantly checking his surroundings, sniffing the air for a threat but he's missed Jason's presence completely. And then there is still the whole thing with the woman he's traveling with. Jason watches them from the window of his apartment as they move off through the market, purchasing supplies and holding hands. Perhaps this is a new tactic, a way of distracting him, getting him to let his guard down. Treadstone is going to have to do better than that.

Jason keeps his distance from the pair, watching as they gallivant around without a care in the world. If the man didn't wear his government brand so plainly, Jason might think that he has made a mistake. But he knows a human weapon when he sees one; he knows how to spot his brothers in the crowd. And he can see that the other man knows he is there, even if he can't seem to identify the threat just yet.

That morning, Jason leaves his room as the sun is warming up the city, debating how to handle this situation. He honestly thinks he could leave Vietnam and lose his pursuers with ease. He's almost positive he could walk right up to the other operative and ask him the time and he'd be none-the-wiser. But Jason doesn't want to take any chances. He needs to neutralize this threat before he learns the hard way how deceptive appearances can be.

Jason is planning the best way to eliminate the threat when dumb luck brings the blue-eyed operative and his pretty companion through the door of the same coffee shop where he has been seated for the past two hours. He almost can't believe the odds. But he knows better than to chock things up to coincidence. He tenses himself, ready for a fight; he would have avoided such a public venue but if that's the way this guy wants to play it than that's what he'll get.

But Jason watches as the operative just orders two coffees and breakfast, following the woman to one of the computers. Jason's almost a little offended. This guy was sent by the same people who have him running across the world, trying to save his life? Maybe he already took out all the heavy guns and now Treadstone is having to send out the rookies.

Jason watches them carefully, intrigued by the exchange he sees between them. The woman is visibly agitated about something and he can tell she's afraid; he can read it in her body language. The operative is tense and Jason can tell he's not bothered by whatever has upset his companion. He knows they're being watched but instead of finding the threat, he just drags the woman out of the coffee shop without so much as a backward glance.

Jason remains at this table and watches them for a bit. It looks like they are having an argument and he can't help but roll his eyes in disgust. Sloppy, it's all so sloppy. He gets up and ducks out through the back door, heading toward the kitchen instead of walking right out in front of the operative. He can tell that the other man is more aware of his presence now than he was before and Jason's not in the mood to push his luck at the moment. He'd prefer to handle this matter privately, away from the prying eyes of the masses and the possibility of the whole thing being caught on camera. Maybe if he can kill the operative without anyone being the wiser, it will send a message to Treadstone that he's a ghost.

The nature of the relationship between these two continues to confuse Jason as he follows them into the airport. It was a calculated risk letting them leave in the small boat that morning, but the asset had immediately angled the boat toward the south-east side of the island where the airport was located, and Jason knew he could catch up to them there. He's starting to get the feeling that this situation is not as black and white as he previously thought and while he's starting to feel less and less like the target, that doesn't mean he's willing to let his guard down. Being hunted and pursued is something he understands; he knows how to handle that. This is something completely unknown and Jason doesn't do well with unknown scenarios.

If someone had asked Jason to describe the relationship between the operative and the woman last night when he was watching them, he would have surmised that there was some sort of romantic bond between them. Maybe they were even lovers. But now, as he watches them move through the tiny airport, preparing to leave the country, he's not quite sure how he would describe their interactions. The operative is painfully easy to read; Jason almost wants to give him some pointers, urge him to remember his training. Jason can tell he's upset but more than that hurt and betrayed.

The fire he saw in the woman yesterday appears to have disappeared. She seems cowed, desperate and maybe even a little scared. Jason is curious in spite of himself. He hasn't been curious in a long time, not about something that wasn't directly related to who he was and what he had done. He knows being curious is dangerous; in his line of work, curiosity really does kill the cat. Jason doesn't want to be the cat. He's not going to let his own curiosity distract him from the fact that the man is an operative and a threat.

Jason discovers they are heading for Bangladesh, another densely packed city where they can temporarily avoid detection. Jason has no idea why they seem to be moving first, instead of tailing him. Maybe they are drawing him out, making him follow and play right into their hands. He is not afraid of much; he'll play their game, at least until it is time to end it.

Of course, he isn't stupid enough to get a ride on the same plane. He'll kill some time in the airport. Jason prefers to be the one in control, especially of situations where he does not hold all the cards.

In a little less than two hours, Aaron and Marta find themselves in a city where neither of them has ever been before. Aaron doesn't seem fazed by this fact, though he doesn't really seem to be fazed by anything anymore. His face is stoic, unreadable, his eyes cold and unfamiliar to Marta as she studies him out of the corner of her eye. His jaw is set, eyes narrowed slightly as he surveys the area around them, plotting out their next move.

The road in front of them is packed tightly with cars, taxis, carts, bicycles and people, all somehow managing to coexist in the snarl. It reminds Marta of the streets of Manila and how they somehow managed to survive that insane chase through the streets, because of Aaron. Everything they've made it through has been because of him. In Manila he had been, tender and vulnerable a man on the cusp of freedom. He had held her hand, smiled into her face and clutched her protectively as they made their escape and yet here was the same man barely acknowledging her in the past three hours.

Her Aaron was replaced with one who looked as if it was a severe inconvenience to wait for her to join him in the terminal or to go through customs. Marta knew she hurt him; Gemma always said she lacked the ability to communicate with people without sticking her foot in her mouth and she was right. It wasn't an excuse, but she had been in shock when they got back to the room and her words were even more destructive than usual. She thinks that she couldn't have made Aaron bleed any more if she had taken a scalpel to his flesh. The flight was nerve racking and Marta found herself trying to think of the perfect thing to say to him, the magic combination of words that will somehow make everything go back to normal.

Unfortunately, that seems to be easier said than done. Aaron flags down a cab and climbs into the backseat without any sort of indication that Marta should do the same, even though she is following him closely. The last thing she wants is to be lost amongst the crush of people so she quickly and clumsily clambers into the seat beside him. Aaron talks briefly with the driver, both of them fumbling for some common language so they can get headed in the right direction. After hearing Aaron speak the language so fluently back in Vietnam, it's weird for Marta to hear him stumbling now. Maybe he's not as familiar with this language. It never occurred to her that Aaron couldn't do everything and the idea that he was not fluent in every language under the sun brings home the fact that Aaron is not a machine, or a god, no matter how much she longed to worship him.

Aaron is human and subject to the same failings as any other man. Or maybe his head just was not in the game.

As the driver navigates through the busy streets, heading toward whatever place Aaron directed him to, Marta slowly reaches her fingers toward Aaron's hand, laying on the seat beside hers. Their fingers touch but he pulls away, folding his hands in his lap as he focuses his attention out the window.

It is like a physical blow and Marta tries not to let it bother her, but her chest is twisted into an aching knot and she so, needed his touch right now. She turns her gaze out the window too, watching as the houses and buildings and kiosks and people pass by. It isn't until she tastes salt that she even realizes she is crying, again, and it pisses her off because she never lets anyone make her cry. Casually, she wipes her fingers over her eyes and focuses her attention out the window. There are so many different people and things to see but she can't seem to focus on any of them. She is not here to be a tourist anyway, so sight-seeing shouldn't matter.

Aaron watches Marta in the reflection of his window, watching as her eyes dart around, trying to take everything in. He hates this silence between them; he wants to tell her it's all okay. Tell her not to cry that he would find her sister. But it is not his job anymore it never was and so he does not reassure her and make everything okay. He is just her experiment, her little science project that learned how to walk and talk and think for itself. He is just her protection, the load gun. She made it abundantly clear that she does not care if he makes it home at the end of the day or not.

The taxi reaches a hotel and Marta gets out while Aaron hands the driver some of the crumpled bills from his pocket. She looks up at the building in front of them, which looks like it might be tumbling down around them at any moment. She really needs to talk to Aaron about their digs; would staying at the Ritz for one night be too much to ask? Not that she and Aaron are doing much talking right now anyway. She thinks that as things stand he might walk away if she complains about the squalid conditions they are living in.

They get a room without much trouble, only this time they aren't playing the role of happy newlyweds. Marta wonders how long this icy silence is going to last. She wonders how long she deserves it. She wonders if they really are going to be able to rescue Gemma and walk away unscathed. Will that be the last time she sees Aaron? The thought makes her stomach turn.

Aaron tosses his pack onto the bed and immediately goes about assuring himself of their safety. The room is on the fifth floor and when he sticks his head out into the hallway he can see five other doors: three across the hall and one on either side of their room. There's a stairwell to the right and three floors above theirs. Aaron shuts and locks the door before making his rounds in the room. The window overlooks the street and there aren't any buildings around or low roofs, making entry that way nearly impossible. It's the only window in the room and there are no curtains, no way to conceal them from the outside world.

While Aaron seeks out potential threats, Marta investigates the attached bathroom. The tub looks like a prop from Saw, not that Marta will ever admit to actually seeing that movie but at least the toilet looks clean. She really hopes they won't be sticking around for too long; she likes the idea of actually being able to shower.

When Marta comes out of the bathroom, Aaron is seated on the edge of the bed, "All clear," she asks, hoping to at least engage him in a strictly business conversation.

Aaron gives her a brusque nod. "We should be fine here for the night." Since they've gotten to the city, he hasn't felt those invisible eyes watching him at every turn. But that does not mean it is safe for him to just let his guard down. Big Brother has many pairs of eyes.

They are silent for a moment, the air thick with tension and everything they are purposefully not saying. Marta shifts, uncertainly from foot to foot. She has never felt like this around him before; Aaron was not a stranger to her. He was always a little guarded, yet his eyes seemed to betray his secret sense of humor beneath all of the training. Now she his eyes are barren and she cannot tell what he's thinking. She cannot go another day, hour or minute like this. It is too much on her frazzled nerves.

"Listen, Aaron-" Marta takes a step toward him.

"We don't have to do this, doctor." Aaron interrupts before she can finish saying his name. "We need to focus and plan our next step."

"Aaron-"

He stands abruptly. "I need to focus." He says again.

Marta gets the message. She feels like her heart is sinking down to her feet and there is a knot in her stomach. She feels like she did in the days leading up to her breakup with Peter Boyd; which is ridiculous, because it is not like she and Aaron are in a relationship. This is not a break-up.

"There's a little store right next door." Aaron tells her. "I'm going to get us some water, find something for dinner. And then we'll start planning the next step." He doesn't ask her to go and she doesn't offer because she could not handle the rejection if he rebuffed her.

Marta spends the majority of the time he is gone watching the world pass by outside the window, waiting for him to get back.

Jason gets into Bangladesh not long after the operative and his girlfriend should have touched down and it takes him no time to track them down. Two Americans in the city are surprisingly easy to find. Once again, he thinks about how sloppy the operative is. Jason wonders if Treadstone is just getting tired of training their people.

Jason is surveying the hotel when he sees the operative walking toward the door with a plastic bag in one hand and a bottle of water in the other. Jason's hands itch to draw the gun from his waistband and be finished with this whole mess. But there are people all around; he doesn't want to draw that kind of attention to himself. He is going to need to lure the operative out, to a place where he has to advantage. Fortunately, Jason knows just how to do that.

Aaron feels the eyes on him as he is walking back from the mart. He pauses at the entrance of the hotel, his heart thumping in his chest. Maybe he is just being paranoid, maybe he is overreacting. But he is really fucking tired of feeling like he is being followed. He scans the crowd around the building, looking for anything that does not click. But there is nothing, no one gives him a second glance. Aaron heads back into the hotel and finds Marta waiting by the window. She looks relieved when she sees him and it almost contradicts her earlier words about him not having anyone care if he came home or not. It almost makes him smile.

Instead, Aaron hands her a bottle of water and the two granola bars he picked up for her. He's not going to push her into branching out her culinary tastes right now. He does not have the patience. Marta eats in silence, watching as he boots up the laptop and tries to pull up any information about Gemma Shearing that he can. Most of the news reports are all saying the same thing about Marta's sister and without a trace of pity. Terrorists don't often get nice news reports written about them.

They know Gemma is being kept in Washington D.C. but so far that is all the information Aaron can glean. He knows they need much, much more than that if they have any hope of beating Byer at his own game. They need to know exactly where she's being held, what her daily schedule is like, how many guards are posted around the building, as well as around her cell and if there's any chance she's going to be moved. Aaron isn't going to take any chances, not with Marta's life at stake. This plan has to be the most airtight operation Byer's ever pulled off.

A noise in the hallway catches Aaron's attention and he turns his head toward the door. Marta looks at him quizzically. "What's wrong?" Clearly, she hasn't picked up on whatever is bothering him.

Aaron slips off the bed but he doesn't move toward the door. He's just listening. He hears the noise again, the creak of floorboards, a sign that there's someone in the hallway. If he hadn't felt like he was being watched just a few moments ago, he might be more willing to dismiss it. Now, he's not so sure.

When a shadow passes by the door, Aaron practically lunges across the room and pulls the door open. Of course, the hallway is empty. But Aaron can sense they aren't alone, he can feel another presence almost as strongly as he can feel Marta behind him.

Just as Aaron is about to retreat back into the room, he sees movement on the stairwell and another shadow in the process of descending the stairs. He steps back into the room and slams the door shut. He goes to his jacket and withdraws the gun that's been like a safety net over the past few days.

"Aaron, what's wrong," Marta questions, getting to her feet as well. He can hear the anxiety in her voice.

"You need to stay here." Aaron says by way of an answer. "Lock the door. Only open it if you're one hundred percent sure it's me on the other side."

Marta narrows her eyes. "What's going on?" She questions again. "What aren't you telling me?" Instead of anxious, she is just annoyed now and Aaron can't keep from smiling ever so slightly. "What's out there?"

Aaron moves to the door once more, "Hopefully nothing." He's going to feel stupid if he is overreacting or getting this worked up over a guest but he would rather feel foolish than feel a bullet in his back. "Lock the door." He says again as he steps into the hallway.

Marta's heart is beating quickly as she moves to lock the door behind him. She doesn't like this, not one little bit, but what choice does she have? If Aaron wants to run off and play cowboy then it is not like she can physically keep him from doing so. She just hopes he is not gone for too long and when he gets back that he is still in one piece.

Marta knows that if she doesn't do something to occupy her mind that she is going to go crazy. So, she forces down the rest of her granola bar and reads the article Aaron left pulled up, which talks about her sister as an enemy of the United States. She wants to choke Byer. Where does he get off messing with people's lives like this? It's like Gemma is a plaything, not a person; like she is a means to an end.

Marta shuts the computer to keep from throwing it across the room. She gets to her feet and walks the short distance toward the sink; she turns on the water, letting it run for a moment before splashing some of the water on her face. She feels flushed with anger and worry for Aaron.

Before she can expend too much more energy worrying, she hears the door open and close again. Marta lifts her head, blinking water out of her eyes. She is positive she locked the door, just like Aaron said. She would not put it past him to pick the lock to get back in. That thought makes her roll her eyes.

"So was there anything out there," Marta asks, using the towel by the sink to dry off her face.

When she turns around it is not Aaron standing behind her. Marta exhales sharply, her hands tightening around the towel. She doesn't know how it is possible but she cannot argue with what she is seeing.

"Jason Bourne," she whispers.