**Apologies for the delay. My kids have shared a cold, plus solo parenting this week, and work is gearing up. It's short but it's a great prelude to chapter 11. Thanks for the reviews!**

-Istanbul, Turkey-

Jason perused the offerings in the bazaar, idly thinking about getting something for Nicky. They had parted on strained terms, and he was still trying to deal with the fall-out. Knowing he'd just killed an equally talented young woman, with a new life inside her, did not sit well with him either. The sun reflected off a myriad assortment of brass lamps and ornaments, making his headache worse. They were getting worse, all things considered. He had come to expect them now during the daytime, creeping in whenever it was very bright and there were many reflections. Being out on the water was torturous. His analytical side pointed out that he'd been through that before. Check, survivable.

A pashmina caught his eye and he bargained with the stall attendant. He threatened to walk away twice before the man was satisfied with the quality of the bartering and agreed to his price. He knew it was higher than what a local would have paid, but there would always be disadvantages to being a white male in certain parts of the globe. He thanked him and left the bazaar. His watch showed that it was almost 24 hours since he saw that fleeting picture in black and white. He had to code it in or face serious repercussions from Conklin. He didn't think about how Nicky was feeling, that part of himself tightly boxed. He could only handle professional guilt at the moment.

A quick text and it was done. Now he had to get back to Paris. He looked at the busy street, colorful scarves mixed with modern haircuts, beards and children. His headache ebbed with a shift down a different street, the shade bringing relief and relatively plain storefronts. He leaned on a railing, just taking in the view. The part of himself that he had boxed inside, voiceless and restrained, made itself known again, without Nicky's help. Now he felt himself to be fractured, and helpless to do anything about it. It was more frustrating than any training, more damaging than any mind games they had played with him. He shut his eyes against the throb of the headache roaring back to life, ruthlessly made himself head for his destination regardless of his physical or mental state. Today, I go home. Today I go home. He repeated his mantra to himself until he was finally able to sink into the bliss of sleep on the plane.

-Paris, France-

Nicky sighed with relief, the text flashing across the screen. She was in the middle of preparing for the arrival of Conklin and Abbott, assembling all the pieces of the pattern she'd been noticing for a few months. She was saving her ammunition for the in-person meeting, not wanting to give Abbott a chance to prep a counterstrike with the Langley psychiatrists before she got going. The changeover of meds had been gradual, but she had noticed. The assets were becoming less stable in different ways. As the frontline agent, it was in her best interest to note these types of negative trends. The lack of communication from Langley about the reasons prompting the changes was ominous, in her opinion. One of the things she had learned from her father was that a lack of information often equaled danger. When your boss was reluctant to give you even a little information to work with, it was not a sign of good faith.

"Parsons." The secure line had been relatively quiet lately—also not a good sign.

"Parsons, I wanted to give you the heads up. We're moving up the arrival to tomorrow. I hope that doesn't interfere with the Bourne debrief."

Nicky was shrewd enough to recognize when she was being tossed a life ring.

"Absolutely not. In fact, it would be excellent if you could both observe it. I think it will illustrate my point far better than any report."

"See you tomorrow." Conklin hung up, hoping he had done the right thing. His instincts said she was onto something, but Ward was being smoky about it. This trip would be as much of a fact finding mission for him as it would be a chance for Ward to see how the program was responding.

Nicky hung up, relieved. Finally, her boss was giving her something to work with! This was cause for celebration, or would have been. Her mind had strayed again to Jason. Fuck it. Nicky packed her bag and grabbed her coat. She had just declared the workday over.

The streets were quieting down, the main school rush over. It was a bit early for most people to be off of work. Nicky bought herself a cappuccino and sat down to think. Jason would be headed back to Paris—was probably on a flight now. Her heart lurched at the thought of seeing him. Lately he had come straight to her after a mission. After their last meeting, she didn't know what he would do. The odds were even between him coming to her again to clear it up, or staying by himself to let her know he was still pissed off.

She did not bet on the latter possibility. Jason was the type of person to sort through, analyze, and commit to a course of action. She doubted he had spent more than 24 hours thinking about what they had said to each other, if that. He would have decided over a week ago what he was going to do when he got back. She was betting it was to find her…which left her with an uncomfortable decision. She knew the importance of this debrief. Abbott and Conklin would be there, hanging on his every word, mannerism, body language.

She could push him. Push him a bit further deliberately to strengthen her argument for a return to personalized meds, tailored based on field input.

She had no doubt it was important. The question was, what price would Jason exact for her hiding from him for one night? She had never succeeded in doing so before. This time, however, she had hours on him. She could do it, if she started now. She realized the cappuccino was stone cold. It was now or never. She stood up and hurried toward her apartment. This would shake up more than just work. She stopped herself from thinking too hard about it. If she did, it would scare her.

Jason's head was pounding again, the headlights from the cars whizzing by sending a flurry of darts through his brain. He felt tired. He had not been sleeping well, apart from the two hours he'd gotten on the plane. The cab pulled up in front of his apartment building, and he got out swiftly. He would shower, take the stronger meds he had acquired. Fuck the protocols. And then he was going to have it out with Nicky. She had to understand that this wasn't some game, and she wasn't going to get a Prince Charming at the end of it. She would be lucky to stay alive. He was amazed she hadn't realized that herself. Truthfully that was an insult to her intelligence—she was more likely incapable of acknowledging it consciously. He had no doubt that time would break that barrier far more effectively than he ever could.

He was back out on the street as the local nightlife was starting to hop. He didn't need to check his watch; it was about 10 o'clock. He walked the ten blocks to Nicky's flat, letting himself in the gate and into her apartment. The lights were off—she must be tired. He crept into the bedroom, his eyes quickly adjusting to the dark. The bed was empty.

Jason searched the rest of the apartment. There was no sign of Nicky. Her smallest case was missing, a few toiletries as well. She would not be out of town on business without cancelling the appointment for tomorrow morning. The only conclusion left was that she was hiding from him. The headache still throbbed under the surface, the flash of anger not helping. Instantly following the anger came the calculations. What was she thinking? He let himself out, ensuring there was no trace of his presence as always. He now had the unpleasant task of finding her. Difficult, but not impossible. His first stop was the landlady's flat.

Nicky's feet hurt. She had left the second hotel now, and the small backpack she was using now was a welcome relief to the case she had just planted in the room after hauling it around half of Paris. She had gone to all the tourist spots, taken three cabs, and inquired at five hotels before checking into two of them. If she was lucky, that would take Jason two hours. It had taken her five to lay the false trails. She chuffed in the cold. This was the hardest part. She could have taken her chances with a different hotel, a seedier one, even one of the student dorms. She didn't think she would last the night in any of those. Her best bet was the one place he'd never expect to find her—his private apartment. She just had to remember the way.

She went back to the Louvre, picking apart every detail of that night. She got to the exit they had used, remembered the pace Jason set. She started to fumble a bit when she reached the street where he blindfolded her. She was digging deep in her memory now, trying to recall tiny sounds, the scrape of her shoes on the pavement, how many turns. She wasn't sure if the last turn was left or right. It was 1 am, and she was running out of time. Her last resort option was to take a circle of trains, but that was risky if a train broke down. She didn't want to explain to Conklin why she was on a train. The moon was half full, and she shivered, looked at the first possibility. Then she walked a few yards, examined the other possibility. What was the sound she had heard in the middle of the night? She had been asleep, it had woken her up. She looked again at the street, thought about the other one. It had been a tree that had not been pollarded yet. Suddenly it was obvious, the new growth clearly illuminated. She turned decisively. Her reward was the sculpture on the dining room table. She locked the door again, and collapsed on the couch. It would do for the night, she hoped.