Author's note: Warning, there is a good bit of Russian in the middle, the translations are at the bottom if you need them.

She dropped him off at a seaport and wished him luck, but didn't ask for his destination, then she found a place to sleep and slept for a full fourteen hours. When she woke she wandered off once more. She didn't need a reminder of Rowan in her life. There were enough minuscule moments that caused her pain. She wasn't about to add a very large, living, breathing one. Jason Bourne was to only be a fond memory to think back on when she was lonely and wanted to remember the one person who knew her real story—not that he knew all of it—and remind herself why she didn't tell just any person.

Citra traveled to Mongolia and explored the heights and mountains of its wildernesses. The cold air was good for her mind. The beauty allowed her to find a moment of peace in the world she could never belong to. But all too soon she slipped away, unable to allow herself to stay, and found herself in Berlin, Germany in the chaotic wake of an uproar caused by somebody—nobody really knew who. The mystery caught her fancy, mysteries were something that she enjoyed. She always had. There was a reason it had been her and not Rowan who decided that Scythe Faraday had been murdered. And a reason that it was her and not Rowan who had thought it was a good idea to try to track the killer down. She should have remembered that Scythe Faraday hadn't been murdered and had instead faked self-gleaning. With a lot of digging through newspaper articles, hacking camera feeds and classified data banks, she pieced together most of what had happened.

She had to laugh when she looked down at her notebook and realized what she had done.

She had been actively tracking the man she had put out of her life down.

According to what she had written down Jason Bourne had been framed for a murder in Berlin, Germany. The kicker was that the murder had taken place while he was in Goa. In any event some woman by the name of Pamela Landy, a CIA Deputy Director with high clearance, had decided to hunt him down to bring him to justice—apparently she thought he was responsible for stealing 3 million, which she was trading for the 'Neski Files', documents about the theft of 20 million from the CIA seven years earlier, the 'Neski files', the death of one of her agents, and the source who was selling the files. Which was ridiculous considering that he had been running on a beach when it happened, though she obviously didn't know that. Bourne had threaded through the content searching for answers all the while evading her people. Then he got involved with a woman, some young techie girl who had worked for something called the Treadstone program—that was a whole other messed up story with more dead ends than answers—and then gone off on a whirlwind of action as he apparently retraced his past concerning the Neski murder/suicide. It all ended with three dead. A man named Mr. Zorn, another, Mr. Abbot, and the last, an assassin called Krill. He was the same one who had nearly killed Bourne in Goa. Of them all Bourne had only killed Krill, and that indirectly in a car accident.

As Citra stared down at the timeline she had created she felt the heavy weight of bewilderment. Who is Jason Bourne? she asked herself. Everything she had found pointed to him being an ex-CIA asset—a highly trained assassin. But something had happened, something that was so deeply buried in his past that even she—and she prided herself on her skill with the rudimentary computer tech that was available—couldn't shake it free. There's a blank spot in the timeline. Several in fact. She knew that he had had an identity before Jason Bourne, as well as one as Jason Bourne, but it seemed that he had another now, even if he still called himself Jason Bourne. What had caused those changes Citra didn't know. She also didn't know what his original name had been. The information was too highly guarded or simply didn't exist.

She couldn't reconcile the man who murdered Vladimir Neski and his wife with the one who agreed, desperate to keep the innocent woman alive, to send Marie away. She grimaced. What have I gotten myself into now? Is this Jason Bourne yet another Rowan set on purging yet another organization in authority of corruption? She didn't have an answer for that yet.

Having once found herself tied to the mystery that was Jason Bourne she couldn't seem to let it go, despite knowing that it would only bring her pain, so she booked a train to Russia intent on picking up his trail once more. When has finding this man—finding who he was— become my life? she wondered. With a wary hand she lifted her cellphone and dialed the number she had written in her perfect calligraphy—the class she had taken on it seemed so long ago, her memory of it seemed separated from her present life by centuries not a mere few years. A woman's voice answered the call in clear Russian, "Это Ирина Нески."

"Мисс Нески, у меня к вам несколько вопросов." Citra stated in the same language. It had been a while since she had last spoken it.

"Как насчет?" the girl questioned nervously.

"Человек по имени Борн."

There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line and the next words tumbled out in a rush. "Я ничего не знаю."

"Скажи мне, что случилось. Как вы встретили его?" Citra countered coolly.

"Я этого не сделал." The girl's panicked voice clenched Citra's heart, reminding her of a person selected for gleaning's hysterical pleadings. She hated the sound. "Я не понимаю, о чем вы говорите. Пожалуйста, оставь меня одного."

"Извините, я не могу этого сделать," she whispered, sadly, and hung up the phone.

Fifteen minutes later she stood outside the girl's door. She was poor, that much was obvious by her choice of housing and care that she had given it. She knocked twice. A minute passed. She knocked again. The door opened and the nervous blond stood shaking slightly on the threshold.

"Кто ты?"

Citra didn't answer and instead slipped past her.

"У меня ничего нет. Никаких наркотиков, нет—"

"Я знаю."

Her sharp eyes had already picked up the copper blood stains on the wall and on a chair in the corner. So those rumors were right, he was injured. By now he is probably as good as new, what with my—his—nanites and all. She gestured to Ms. Neski to sit down, "Tell me why he came here," she requested in English, knowing that her Russian was not good enough to get her through the entire encounter and hoping the girl spoke it as well.

The blond girl's lips quivered as she sat down, but she told her story haltingly. "I—I came through the door," she waved a hand at it, "and he was sitting in that chair with a gun on his knee," she nodded to the chair. "His hands were all bloody. . . . I don't know anything! Please."

"But you do. I need to know what he said to you." Citra stated calmly. She drew on her training as a scythe, projecting an aura of calmness and authority as she stood in front of the girl.

"He—he told me to be quiet and sit down in the chair. Then he started talking about my parents. That is all, I swear! I don't know where he is!"

"I believe you," Citra said kindly. "But I need to know what he did, what he said. How did he make you feel?"

"Afraid." The girl shuddered. "He had a gun, but he put it in his pocket."

"What did he say, Irina. Did he tell you that he killed your parents?"

"Yes." The girl seemed shocked that Citra held that knowledge. Her eyes were wide and she seemed more skittish than before.

"What else did he say?"

"He promised not—not to hurt me."

"Did you believe him?"

"No."

"What else did he say?"

"He said I was older than he had thought I would be and he asked whether the picture of my parents and I meant anything to me." Irina pointed at a small framed picture that dominated an entire wall.

"What did you answer?"

"'No.' It didn't mean anything then."

"What did he say after that?"

The girl seemed to become calmer then, still a bit nervous, but more comfortable.

"That that was because I didn't know how they had died. I told him I did. But he said, 'No... I would want to know—I would want to know that—that my mother didn't kill my father. That she didn't kill herself.'"

Irina looked up desperately, "I couldn't understand. He told that wasn't what had happened to them."

"What did he say happened? What were his exact words?"

"I don't remember," she whispered pleadingly.

"Try," Citra coaxed.

"He said—he said, 'I killed them. I killed them. That was my job.' Please I don't—"

Citra cut her short, "You can remember."

"He—he said it was his first time."

"Keep going."

"My father was supposed to be alone. He said my mother came out of nowhere, and he had to change his plan."

Citra nodded trying to put the jigsaw pieces together. The job had been to kill Neski, not his wife. Perhaps Bourne had felt guilty for leaving a child an orphan?

"'It changes things. That knowledge. Doesn't it? When what you love gets taken from you you want to know the truth.' That is what he said, just before he left."

Citra's head snapped up. What had he meant?

"Thank you." She brushed to girl's shoulder comfortingly. "Tell me, was he crying?"

Irina nodded. "He said—he said he was sorry."

"I thought he had."

"What will you do to him when you find him?"

"Do to him? Talk to him probably. I doubt I could do anything to him unless he wanted me to. He's less sloppy than he was when I first met him."

"You're not going to arrest him?"

Citra handed her a piece of folded green paper.

"I don't have that authority. Goodbye." As she let herself out of the house, Irina unfolded the paper.

If you ever need anything, send a letter to this address and I will see if I can help you.

Camino de los Tejos, 181

33203 Gijón

Asturias, Spain

Irina's hands shook.

Russian translations:

Это Ирина Нески. - This is Irina Neski.

Мисс Нески, у меня к вам несколько вопросов. - Ms. Neski, I have a few questions for you.

Как насчет? - What about?

Человек по имени Борн. - A man named Bourne.

Я ничего не знаю. - I don't know anything.

Скажи мне, что случилось. Как вы встретили его? - Tell me what happened. How did you meet him?

Я этого не сделал. - I didn't. I don't know what you are talking about.

Я не понимаю, о чем вы говорите. Пожалуйста, оставь меня одного. - I do not understand what you are talking about. Please leave me alone.

Извините, Я не могу этого сделать. - I am sorry, I can't do that.

Кто ты? - Who are you?

У меня ничего нет. Никаких наркотиков, нет— - I don't have anything. No drugs no—

Я знаю. - I know.

Author's end note: Your thoughts? Did I handle this correctly? What do you think he meant when he said 'It changes things. That knowledge. Doesn't it? When what you love gets taken from you you want to know the truth.' considering that he couldn't have been referring to Marie as he hasn't seen her in over two years?

The whole point of this story, I think, is Citra befriending Jason and stepping out of the comfortable zone she has created for herself, and doing the right thing. She helps Marie in the first chapter. She helps Jason in the second. Now in this chapter she is opening the door to Irina to ask for help. In my mind she hasn't done this before the incident with Marie helped her start. And then the shock of seeing Jason again—she wasn't expecting him to be in Goa or for Krill to be there either—made her react by saving his life. He was one of the few people that she has interacted with on this world. She's a ghost, remember? Then she had to explain everything to him and that has allowed her to remember more of who she was before. That's why she's willing to compromise one of her safe houses and invite Irina into her life slightly. It's her way of making up for all the trouble Irina has been through. Even though she had no part in making that trouble. I'm rambling now aren't I? Thanks for reading.