A big thanks to the kind reviews by EVRyderWriter and amy. .9 that gave just the right amount of encouragement to get this chapter posted faster!

The voice and the dream are near — so near,

That if he but listened his heart might hear."

~Kate Chopin, "By the Meadow Gate"

Jason plunged into the parking lot, darting between the rows of cars, glancing over his shoulder every once in awhile to keep track of where the assassin was. One was easy. It was almost unfair for the assassin. On a five count, he dove to the pavement and rolled beneath a Suburban. His chest was bruising from how hard he was clinging to the laptop to keep it from being banged up. Need to get rid of this thing. Jason lay there, taking controlled breaths through his nose while he waited for the assassin to run past.

Five seconds, six seconds…

He heard rapid footfalls come to a stop two cars to his left. Jason focused on the sound, mentally pinpointing it while he readied himself to move.

Eight seconds, nine…

A vise shot out from behind him and clasped onto his right ankle and gave a hard yank. Jason grunted at the force, rolling to his back under the cramped quarters to yank up his left leg like a spring then slam it into his attacker's nose. Pulling his foot free, he rolled out from beneath the car and to his feet in time to smash the laptop over the second assassin's head and elbow him in the neck then kick him in the groin for good measure. The assassin stumbled backwards, clipping his head on a side mirror. Jason dropped the ruined laptop, snatched up his gun and bolted down the row. Now on top of everything else, I owe Aaron another laptop. Terrific. He leveled off a shot into the first assassin's shoulder, earning a hiss from the assassin when the bullet struck bone and didn't come back out. "You need to think twice about the people you go after. Not all of them will be as nice as me." Jason stared him down coldly, his finger itching to pull the trigger again and blast his opponent's face off. You did this, you and your people made me then destroyed everything I cared about. Nicky's just the icing on the top. He settled for slamming his gun across the assassin's face and watching him crumple. "That's for Nicky," he said. Without a further pause, he stepped right over the assassin and kept on going. Ducking down low, he crept between the cars, wary of the remaining assassin. Had they even thought about what entering the program meant when they were recruited? Or had it been their answer, like it had been his all that time ago?

But like a ten-headed hydra, Treadstone and its offshoots kept out spewing more directors for every one that fell. Would it even end after he put a bullet through Vosen or would that just fuel the ongoing manhunt for him and Aaron?

Jason, for all his training, didn't realize his distraction until the lead ball skimmed across his leg. Whirling around, he closed the distance between himself and assassin #2, twisting the gun from his hand then forcing all four fingers to snap back and break at once. "I told you people to leave me alone," he growled. "I don't want anything to do with your organization other than to burn it to the ground!"

"This used to be you," retorted the assassin, his broken hand falling to his side, eyes spelling death for Jason. "And beneath that front, it's still you. You can act all saintly but you aren't fooling anyone with it."

"I stopped being Cain a long time ago. Now I'm just mad." Jason swiped the assassin's gun from the ground and tucked it in his own waistband. "Remember I said that when they're asking you what went wrong." He cuffed the assassin on the head with his gun before allowing him an answer. The dull thud of his body was a welcome sound.

Jason stared down at the fallen agent, fists clenched. It's not me. I'm not a killer anymore. Didn't I just prove it by not making you into a corpse? Suppressing a growl of frustration, Jason bent down to search through the agent's pockets until he came up with car keys, a phone and wallet. The two crisp fifties he removed to toss carelessly to the ground. Let someone else have it. The credit cards and ID were what he was after.

And not for the first time Jason wondered how Vosen would respond when he held a gun to the director's head and asked why the program was begun. Did you do it to destroy good people on purpose? Did you do it because I wasn't fit for anything else or did it give you a sick sense of achievement to train soldiers to do your killing for you? At the end of the day, did you really think it was a good idea to make people like me chase office rats like you? Jason stood back up, his eyes scouring the parking lot for a car to match the keys.

"First I kill you, Vosen," he muttered, darkly "then I end the program."

She pulled him closer, lowering her voice to a whisper while her focus remained on the front of the store. "Aaron, if it had been me taken, what would you be doing right now?"

"It's not the same. I wouldn't jeopardize the plan just to…"

"Yes. Yes you would."

Aaron dropped his head, ashamed, before meeting her eyes again. "I told him we'd get her back as soon as we had a plan. He rushes in now and he'll get taken… is that what he wants?"

"You rushed in to save me and you got caught. Is there a difference?" Marta smiled when she saw Aaron's face flush. "Now there's a sight I've never seen from you before. I almost wish Jason were here to enjoy it as much as I am."

Aaron shook his head, feeling for his gun as he slowly headed back towards the door. "He left us behind without a warning to play knight in shining armor. If he can't escape, it's his own fault." Seeing no trouble around, he slipped a second gun to Marta pressing it tight into her hand. "I'll go first in case there's a trap by the car. Wait three minutes then follow me, and don't draw attention to yourself."

Marta nodded, tucking the gun beneath her shirt where it was unnoticeable. She turned away to browse a shelf of glass figurines while Aaron exited the store. As she watched him head into the parking lot from the corner of her eye, she picked up a swan and pretended to examine it and turned it this way and that for it to catch the light. Satisfied, she set it back down and perused over the rest of the selection—a number of other birds including an eagle captured in flight and a hawk, a few lions, a seal and a bear—before she lost interest and moved to examine a jewelry display. She thought about how easy it would be if they were here like normal people shopping, spending time together without having to worry about being hunted. Aaron deserves that much.

She stiffened when she heard someone approach her and let one hand drift to where her gun was hidden.

"Can I help you find something?"

Marta turned, facing the employee with a shy smile. "I'm just browsing." To prove her point, she turned back to the display. A subtle glance at her watch showed three minutes had passed and she made no hesitation in making her exit.

Aaron was leaning against the car, gun slack in one hand while the other hand was pressed tight to his torso, just below the left side of his ribcage. Blood trickled down his face from a cut on his forehead. Not far from him was the still body of an assassin.

"You drive," he said, thrusting the keys at Marta. "I need a minute."

"A minute? You're bleeding out." She swiped the keys from him and got in. "There's only one. How did he get the better of you?"

Aaron sank into the passenger seat, already reaching for one of the supply bags containing bandages and alcohol. "Drive."

Obligingly, she started up the engine and backed out of the spot before exiting the lot with a burst of speed. Her eyes flickered from the rearview mirror to him. "Push your seat back all the way and then tell me what happened."

"He was just like the others—fearless, lethal, didn't respond to pain… I had it handled, Marta. This? This is just a scratch."

She shook her head, exasperated. "Scratches don't leave a bullet two inches beneath the skin. You're being reckless."

"And you're being a pro," he replied, a touch of awe in his voice as he leaned over to glance at the speedometer. "Fifteen over."

She didn't take her eyes off the road. "Keep pressure on that until we pull over." Intentionally, she slowed their speed and began to relax. "It's not a matter of skill, is it?"

Aaron lay back, taking in slow breaths. "I don't see how the CIA thinks they can get away with using people like this. Before, there was some level of consent but at least we got to keep our personalities. This, it's like fighting an android. No… more like one of those Droidekas from the prequels… you know the ones with the force field around them? That's what those LARX agents are like."

"I never would've labeled you as a fan." She couldn't resist a smile.

Aaron frowned thoughtfully. "I guess so. It's one of those things I just remember but not really remember happening."

"Before the army? Your childhood?"

"Not much. It could have been training, or the army, or Outcome that suppressed the memories."

"You were pretty shaken up after the accident when you first came into the program. Trauma like that could've blocked off some long-term memories." She waited before breaking the moment. While Mara disliked to start acting like Jason, they needed to be realistic right now while they drove around in a stolen car with limited resources. "Aaron, where are we going?"

"I have a friend who can help us for a few days. We'll rest and reformulate the plan now that we're down one." He still held contempt for Jason in his voice, which seemed to now be lumped into his mental category Enemies. No matter what Marta could say in Jason's defense, she knew that only Jason himself could change Aaron's mind now.

While Aaron took out his phone to make the call, Marta's troubled thoughts turned again to Jason and wondered whether by himself he'd be enough to take on the entire CIA for Nicky. Or whether, she and Aaron would be forced to abandon the plan again in order to save him.

His instinct said to hide, blend into the crowd and be a chameleon like he always was. Getting noticed was a danger he couldn't allow. So this time, it was a conscious effort for him to shrug off that natural instinct and plunge into the street with the rest of the crowd—a phantom all in black, his coat fluttering around his legs as he kept a steady pace. His hands were jammed into his pockets and his head was up like he belonged there among the tourists. Chances someone would recognize the imposter Jason Bourne before long.

I should have realized it sooner, Nicky. It wasn't just me then, it was us being hunted.

He remembered the room he and Nicky shared before he sent her off into hiding. Where he'd tried to sort out the deaths of Neal Daniels and the assassin, worn out from both physical exhaustion and the still lingering emotional pain from when he couldn't save her. He sat there, staring down at his hands, wishing the shot in Tangiers had missed or hit him instead. What he'd give to have her here now.

A hand reached out, boldly, to clasp his. For an instant, he believed it was Marie. But when he raised his head, it was Nicky sitting beside him while she watched him solemnly. There was no joy in her face while she held his hand, her eyes speaking her sympathy for his hurt. After Marie, Nicky had begun to be his companion. Like Marie, she knew him, knew what he needed most and he did feel more than a twinge of remorse for holding a gun to her head before.

He'd begun to see it then. If only he'd acted upon it—a word, an embrace, a kiss, taking her hand—if only he'd told her sooner.

Shadowing footsteps and the click of a gun snapped Jason from his memory. The instinct strained against his will—turn, attack, grab the gun, run—but he continued to hold back.

I'm not Jason Bourne. I'm just another ordinary person.

He kept walking, not altering his pace.

I'm not Jason Bourne. I don't have a gun. I'm not a threat.

He wanted to believe that, somewhere, Nicky was waiting for him. That she was still safe.

Hands grabbed him by either arm and steered him away from the crowd towards a waiting car.

I'm not Jason Bourne. He struggled, protesting against their hold. "You're making a mistake! I'm just a tourist! I haven't done anything!" He elbowed one in the stomach, but it was a muted effort compared to what he could do.

They pushed him into the car, clamping a chloroform cloth over his face until Jason let himself be pulled under.

This much closer to Nicky.

"It was difficult... for me... with you. You... really don't remember, do you?" She looked at him closely, longing in her eyes for a past he couldn't remember.

"No"

She nodded listlessly, her hope fading, and said nothing more.

What was it, Nicky? What weren't you telling me?

He stared straight ahead as they pulled out of port, but he could feel her constantly looking back at him. They were nearly shoulder to shoulder against the railing and, from the corner of his eye, he saw her hand come out towards his. Just before she touched him, she seemed to notice him watching and pushed her hair back as though she'd been planning it all along.

What are you, Nicky? What are you?!

Jason came out of his stupor, still reaching blindly for the answer that was hidden somewhere within the recesses of his own mind. Nicky was someone to him. A someone that had known pre-Treadstone David Webb. Had Marie been his mind's way of grasping at the past? She and Nicky looked oddly alike and it had to be more than coincidence that he'd chosen her as his ride out of Zurich.

The familiar burning had begun to gnaw at his forehead and Jason reached up a hand to rub the headache away, but found a leaden weight where his arm should be.

He snapped open his eyes and looked at the limb resting there limply against his side. He tried it again. Nothing.

"You've gotten lazy, Jason. You never let us grab you off the streets before."

Jason didn't need to look up to know that Vosen was standing across the room with a loaded gun aimed at his head. He hadn't anticipated the door being wide open though. That stung worse than the gun ready to blow his head off because he knew it was the CIA's ultimate insult to their rogue assassin—drug him with a solution that deadened his arms and legs and leave him in a room with the door wide open.

I'm not Jason Bourne. He continued the mental mantra, willing it to resonate as fact with the people surrounding him. "It makes you think, doesn't it?" Jason said calmly. "Whether I'm the stupid one for getting caught or whether you're the more stupid for catching me."

Vosen stormed across the room, forcing Jason's head back into the wall with the gun. "You lost, Bourne. We caught you and I'm done skinning you alive, we'll hang your corpse out the back door to dissuade anyone else who has thought about following in your footsteps. Is that what you wanted?"

The former Treadstone agent stared up past the barrel, letting the fear seep into his face. "You got the wrong man."

Vosen swore, slamming Jason's head back again before yelling over his shoulder, "get her in here right now. He came for her and she'll recognize him."

Her. Nicky.

They hadn't hurt her yet. He'd come in time.

Jason licked his lips, trying to edge away from the gun as much as his drugged body would let him. Let them see fear, let them start doubting. The real test was whether Nicky would give him away. I'm not Jason Bourne. Jason Bourne faded back into the crowd, a chameleon. I'm not Jason Bourne. Jason Bourne wouldn't get caught.

When he heard a guard lead her roughly in, he let himself look up at her slowly. Too eager and he'd give himself away; too slow and he'd be trying too hard. It had to be right.

"Jas…" Nicky approached quickly, but then stopped, the rest of his name dying on her lips. She took in the bruises on his face, the slight alterations he'd made to his face with a pencil and the scruff that had begun to shadow his lower face.

"Well, Parsons, is this Jason Bourne?"

Jason kept his face even. I'm NOT Jason Bourne. Tell them. Tell them I'm not him.

Nicky's gaze searched him another few seconds. "No" she said finally, her hope dropping. "That's not Jason."

Vosen's face soured, but he kept the gun where it was. "How is this not Bourne? You think he's running a con on us again just because he made a mistake?"

"Jason doesn't make mistakes, not this kind." Nicky shook her head slowly, though she seemed to be trying to catch his eye. "I think Jason Bourne paid off some poor soul who has the disadvantage of looking like him. The Jason I know is far too smart to slip up."

Jason kept silent, studying Nicky as she spoke. And which is the one you know? He had to get her alone somehow so she could start answering his questions.

"Sir" an agent hurried into the room, a phone pressed to his shoulder. "Sir, there's been a confirmed sighting of Bourne three blocks from here."

Vosen shot up. "How recent?" he shot a suspicious glare at Jason. "If this is an old sighting…"

"We're sending a team after him now. Two of our assets are down already."

"That's him. This one's the fake." Vosen strode quickly for the door. "I want two teams in pursuit of Bourne. Get the local police force notified and have them send in support for distance only. I don't want anyone but our people getting close to Bourne."

Jason watched them curiously, one tip of his mouth curving into a smile.

"And the woman, sir?"

"I want her with us. As long as Bourne knows we have her, he'll show his face." Vosen grabbed Nicky roughly by the arm and dragged her out, ignoring the short cry she gave when he squeezed her arm too tightly.

But Jason heard it.

And when he was left alone in the unlocked room while everyone else busied with bringing in Bourne, he knew he was going to do something about it.