"Where are we going?" Nicky had asked, once again putting her trust and her life in his hands.
He wouldn't give a definitive answer. "Let's go." Jason looked over his shoulder as they walked forward and she followed his lead through the lobby. "Look to your left," he told her as they passed the long check in area and the concierge desk. "Keep walking. Head for the far staircase, down."
Nicky did as she was told and reminded herself to breathe as she walked. They made it to the far staircase and took the downstairs set in double-time. "They're probably here. No matter what, just keep walking."
They were through a large laundry-room where the workers, busy folding, and ironing, gave them curious looks but no one panicked at their presence. They were through, turned down a corridor and arrived at the delivery entrance.
He threw her a fast look and she responded with a nod and, "Ready." He opened the door and they saw evening had fallen; both were grateful for the dark cover.
The team came through the front doors and methodically went to their predetermined directions: Security, surveillance office, registration, and main areas leading to potential hideaways. The registration desk didn't have Nicky Parsons or Sophia Kane on record but the surveillance cameras revealed her talking to a man in the lobby. Now they went to work finding out who he was.
It wasn't long until they matched the picture from the surveillance tape to the picture from Benjamin Carpenter's travel visa, and only a moment later found his room number.
The streets were busy. People crowded up and down either on their way to or from the base of a mountain, on their way to dinner, drinks or a resort bed.
They walked briskly through the crowded streets, trying not become separated. As a precaution Jason reached out to touch her, to take her by the arm and guide her through the crowd.
She felt his touch and involuntary recoiled. She didn't know if she'd been on her own too long to want someone to guide her again, or if it was the memory of being touched by him in other ways. Either way she hadn't meant to wince.
He felt it. Was she scared he'd hurt her? Or was it just his touch. A memory squirreled out the reality in front of him and he squinted, slowing down.
Nicky was startled by his sudden lack of speed. She gave a sidelong look and saw his face.
"You okay?"
Nodding, he guided her inside an alley. Her back felt the bricks of a building and she was nervous. "Jason, what--"
His arm came up sharply over her head and the palm of his hand found the wall. His face was close to hers and she could feel him breathing heavily. To any passerby they would look like a young couple in love, talking, nuzzling, maybe even kissing.
Police sirens wailed in the distance and were getting louder by the second.
Nicky's adrenaline was still flowing but she was becoming concerned. "Hey, are you…"
He heard her but it was her voice from long ago. In his memory the sight of them on a bed came clearly in to focus. She lay next to him barely draped in the top sheet, her eyes closed, mouth curved into a dreamy smile.
"You okay?" he asked her, solemnly. He stroked her shoulder and she jumped.
"Mmm, hmm. But don't. Not yet," she murmured. "Too much."
Her senses were still reeling from their lovemaking and she couldn't take even his simple touch without feeling as though she'd scream and blow apart.
He settled onto a propped elbow and grinned. "Really?"
"Shut up." Her eyes were still closed.
"Really." His tone was self-congratulatory and she laughed, opening her eyes.
It was on the tip of her tongue to say something sarcastic, something silly, but one look at him and she changed her mind. "Yeah," she conceded.
"Too bad then," he told her softly, and leaned down for a slow and passionate kiss.
Jason was back in the present and could see her clearly now right in front of him. Cheeks pinked from the cold, clear eyes that showed her personal fear mixed with concern for him. His breathing was slightly ragged and he stared for a second too long; she knew something had happened though if it was physical or emotional she couldn't tell.
"Are you okay?" What's going on?" She was concerned for him but also knew that they had to keep moving.
And so did he, "Yeah," he whispered, hoarse. "Let's go." He sniffed and straightened up, turning toward the mouth of the alley. This wasn't the time.
Nicky hadn't moved yet. "Let's go," he repeated.
She nodded, watching him intently. She realized that subconsciously she'd waited for him to reach for her, to guide her forward. But he hadn't this time. And so her feet moved on their own following his direction.
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There was banging on the door to room 4112. Ben got up to answer the door and stumbled backward at the force with which it opened
A handful of men and women charged in, checking the bathroom, closet, and bedroom, yelling "Clear" along the way. He realized he hadn't said anything to this invasion and regained his voice. "What the hell is going on?!" he yelled.
"Benjamin Carpenter?" One man stepped forward from the back of the small crowd now occupying the room and flashed a badge. "We have to talk..."
Later, in a hallway Lauren's superior spoke to her, told her Ben's denials were plausible. We believe he knew nothing about Nicky Parsons. A pawn. Charges won't be pressed. He'll be watched should Nicky initiate contact but he's free to go. One thing still being tasked—trying to find the brother that was there. No history of a brother. No picture. Still running footage trying to catch a glimpse.
She went to Ben's newly reassigned room and found him pale and shaken. She pretended to not know anything, and faked a smile that purposely disappeared as soon as she saw him.
"Bunny, what's wrong?" she asks, feigning worry. "What's going on?"
He looked at her with wide eyes full of sorrow and betrayal. "Lauren, you just won't believe it," he told her, disbelieving.
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Nicky sat in the passenger seat of the car and stared out the window, watching the snowy scenery go by. Aside from the hum of the engine and the wet road being driven over, all was quiet.
They were both happily surprised with the relative ease with which they'd gotten out of town. They had both luck and time on their side in that they were a good ten minutes ahead of the order and picture that came through to the resort and local police. By the time the Davos team had found the few surveillance frames showing Nicky with Jason Bourne walking in a sub basement stairwell exit they were well on their way out of town on a full tank of gas.
Jason was glad he'd come for her. He really hadn't had any other choice, he realized. There had been an inexplicable need to come for her, to be with her again. The last time they were together he felt it, this draw to her. But at the time he couldn't repeat the steps he'd taken with Marie, the steps that had gotten her killed. At the time he'd needed to distance himself from her, to rid himself of the distraction she brought. The chase in Tangiers had solidified his thoughts; when he'd been terrified not to find her at the café, had seen Desh stalking her. He'd felt responsible for her and couldn't bear that burden. But this time Nicky had been in trouble and he couldn't do anything but try and stop it.
Now that it was said and done, now that she was here and safe he didn't know what to do. Were there expectations and if so what were they? In some ways they fit so well and in others he just didn't feel as though he knew her at all. He reminded himself that it had been a long time since he hadknown her, that he was only beginning to remember how his personal past intertwined with the professional.
He knew she'd been there before the gone-bad mission in Marseille, and he felt familiar with her. Always had even if he hadn't consciously realized it. But now they were here and he was without a next step, which for him was unheard of. He knew he had to make a start and then see which direction to go.
He drove, and looked at her quickly, then eyes back to the road. "I never…" He cleared his throat. "Thank you." It was a start. A stab at conversation.
Nicky was startled at both the disruption of silence and with his words. "For what?" He was thanking her?
"Helping me. Believing me, I guess. What you did…." He shook his head, still amazed at the sacrifice she made. He hadn't asked or expected her help but there she'd been offering it time and again. "…and then Madrid…" he trailed off. He wasn't apologetic, would never be. But he appreciated her quiet ways there; how she hadn't cried or asked to stay. She'd listened to him; given him space, and it had been easier that way. Ultimately, he'd done what he'd done for a reason.
She nodded, knowing what he hadn't said. The bus. After leaving Ben at the hotel she'd realized she'd basically done to him what Jason had done to her. It had been done for safety. For life.
"No. I get it." She assured him along with herself. "But I think I'm the one who needs to say 'thank you.'" Davos was easily 100 miles behind them but she turned to see for herself that there was nothing but road. Relieved, her eyes went to the cold hands in her lap. "I thought…I thought I was pretty careful.
His eyes drifted to the bag at her feet. He'd assumed what it was, what was in it, and been glad to see her with it. "You seem to have done okay." And it was quiet for a moment until he spoke again. "We're gonna have to talk." There was so much she needed to know; her apartment, her…that guy, Ben.
She knew it too and nodded while looking back out the window. She thought her world had crumbled once before, but it seemed like the cracks were beginning to show again.
Hours later they were in Paris. The car was wiped down and left behind. Together they arrived at the doorway of an elegant but cold looking building.. He keyed the door and they rode the elevator to the fifth floor where he keyed another door and opened it. He walked in and turned; surprised that she hadn't followed.
Nicky peered in, surprised to see a neatly furnished apartment. She didn't know what she'd expected---a cot and a hot plate maybe? No, nothing that sparse. But she hadn't expected regular.
"This is your apartment?" She walked in slowly, looking around.
"When I need it."
She sat on a brown leather couch and looked around. The shots of greenery surprised her. "Who waters your plants?" Small talk. Avoiding the topic of being here.
"They're fake." Short answers. But what did she expect? They weren't on a date, weren't friends. He'd felt like he owed her and so he'd come for her. Nicky realized she didn't know what she'd expected when she chose to leave with Jason. Safety for Ben was one thing but now what about her? Would he set her up with a new identity and send her on her way again? She closed her eyes to the thought, unwilling to even entertain the idea for now. Later maybe.
Jason noticed. "You should get some sleep," he told her. "Bedroom is down the hall."
She stared at him, uncertainty written across her face.
"I'll be here. We can talk then."
She continued to watch him, trying to guess what they'd talk about. How long she'd stay? What help he'd give? Would he want information about his past? She sighed and walked past him, holding her bag in front of her.
Nicky rummaged through her bag and found what she was looking for. A lightweight pair of pants and a short-sleeved top. She changed and stared at the bed, wondering how long it had been since his body had touched the cool sheets, if anyone had joined him. Closing her eyes she willed the thought and others like it from her mind. She lay on the bed and turned her thoughts to Ben. She truly hoped that he would be okay. She knew she'd never have the chance to say she was sorry, to thank him for saving her in Rome, for befriending her, for…loving her. Had she used him? She wondered. She hoped not. It had never been her intention to hurt him. As she drifted to sleep she allowed herself to see Ben's smile, to remember nights in his apartment, in his bed, with him. She had to start over again.
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She slept a dead sleep and woke, groggy. It took her a few seconds to remember where she was and who she was with, and a few more to force herself up out of the warm bed.
She padded softly into the living room. Jason was cleaning handguns and checking ammunition clips. He didn't look up from his work as she leaned against the doorjamb.
"Why did you come for me?" It was a loaded question, she knew. But there was more than one way to answer it. It would be his choice.
He looked up and watched her for a long moment, sizing up her readiness to accept what had happened. "I gave you a contact in Seville."
Nicky nodded.
Jason continued. "He, and a few others…I asked them to keep an eye out, listen for your name. The ones you had. One of them heard about you being made-"
She cut him off. "How was I made?"
This would be the second hardest part. "The guy you were with—"
"Ben?"
"His sister—she's ops. She made you and called it in. Pretty basic."
Nicky's mouth was open. It was so simple. It seemed so wrong and yet she knew—she knew it was all right. "Not in banking." She murmured to herself.
Jason let out a long breath. He'd prepared himself for her arguments but innately she knew he told the truth. And now for the worst of it.
"There's more."
"Ben?!" her eyes went wild and he noted it instantly. He'd only seen them together briefly and knew they were lovers. Basic body language told him as much. But he'd thought that real feelings might not have come into play so soon. He thought she'd have needed someone to make her feel safe, to make her feel normal again. He understood that. But had she developed real feelings for him?
He shook his head, calming her down. "Not involved." Then, double-checking, "You kept him completely out of it?"
"Of course, completely." she replied.
"They'll question him—maybe not so nicely, but he'll come out okay."
Nicky's guilt ratcheted up a notch. She tried to quell it with the knowledge that if she hadn't left he'd be in much worse trouble.
"They're still coming for you." He told her grimly, quietly.
Her eyes went down. "I know. I'll…" she was about to talk out a plan but realized she didn't have even the beginnings of one.
"You can't go back to Rome."
She nodded. She figured that, knew her apartment would be watched.
"Your apartment is gone."
She nodded again.
"They blew it. Made it look like a gas main explosion."
She paled immediately and her hand went to her mouth. "My ap—my apartment blew up?" She was sick. "All the people…" She pictured the neighbors who had left her alone but still smiled in greeting. The couple that argued from down the hall, the girl who practiced piano in the early morning before school. Oh God, she hoped the girl had been at school! Nicky's stomach lurched and she knew she couldn't keep it together. She turned and ran for the bathroom, sick from guilt and responsibility.
When she returned his eyes were kind but no words were spoken. He couldn't make it better for her but he could give her time and space. She sat on the couch and he went back to work. Drawing her knees up she watched him.
Her eyes on him made him nervous, especially in the silence. He worked, taking quick breaks, eyes going to his watch in quick flickers.
"Do you have somewhere to go?"
He kept working. "No."
"You keep looking at your watch."
"I guess." It was a watch. It told the time. But he did look at it a lot, he realized. Even when he didn't need to. Sometimes, he realized, just seeing it gave him a sense of ease. A thought came to him as he stared at the sliver piece.
He stopped. "Where did I get it?"
She didn't want to hand over information about their past, a past that, as much as her heart hated it, was exactly that, the past. But overall she loved him and wanted to see him whole. And so she'd help where she could.
"Can I…" she motioned to him and he crossed to her, removing the timepiece and handed it to her. Feeling a bit stronger she reached out and ran a finger over the bumpy wrist piece. "You'd had one. But…you had an assignment that got messy." She breathed. "I never knew all the details but one day it was just gone. Your wrist and hand were…bruised." Her lips flattened as she remembered the purple and red blotches, the fingers taped together. "You needed a new one." She half shrugged. "I gave it to you."
He was quiet a moment. "I don't remember that." He apologized.
Nicky knew and gave him a wan smile. "I didn't expect you to." She was being honest. "It's okay." She handed back the watch and started to get up.
"Nicky." She froze. He didn't call her by name often and something about the way he said it this time made her stand still. She slowly turned back to him but didn't sit.
"I don't remember the watch," he repeated. "But…I do re---" He grimaced, unsure of how to say it. "There's a lot that's come back, that's coming back."
She bit her bottom lip not daring to take the bait. "That's good," she told him gently. She didn't want another rejection and, in defense, retreated to the kitchen. She turned the knob that would heat the teapot on the stove and stood, waiting, fingers drumming on the counter.
His voice came from behind her. "Do you still like to run?"
It took a second for the nature of the question to fully register in Nicky's brain and her eyes blinked before she could look at him full on. "To run?" She swallowed.
He was serious, trying to link to his past. "Mm, hm. I mean, I know no marathons…" He gave her a wry smile. "But, just…to run."
She answered carefully. "I do like to. But—" she paused. "I haven't. Not much." She watched his face and imagined her own as they began this dance that she was completely unprepared for.
Jason nodded, trying to continue the conversation, trying to keep it as natural as possible. "And eating a sandwich…do you still pick it apart?"
She smiled and looked down. "I try not to." She looked back at him and admitted. "But yeah, I do." Inside she was reeling. He remembered her? Aspects of her? Them? What? How much? She didn't think she could take his flinging information at her like this no matter how glad she was that he had it. There had to be some semblance of control for her.
"Listen…Jason." Saying his name out loud, to him, sounded nearly foreign to her. She'd thought it over and over again but rarely verbalized it. "You pitch. I'll throw back."
And so they sat facing each other at a bare dining table, hands on the top.
"Topic?" she started.
"Treadstone in Paris." Keep it simple.
She nodded curtly, waiting for the question, nausea at the memories creeping up.
His question came quickly. "How did we…meet?" Her answer wasn't immediate so he continued. "I know you handled logistics and maintained health records for the agents. But—how did we—"
Despite herself she smiled at the early memory. She swallowed and began. "It's pretty simple, really." She sat back in the high backed chair. "Actually it's kind of stupid. I always said I should have known better, should have—" She stopped short realizing that instead of giving him his information she was mostly talking to herself. She stopped, gave a quick apologetic smile and began again. "You'd come to the Paris safe house for medical debriefs on assigned dates. Right. So---we 'd go over your symptoms—" At his look she was more specific. "Your headaches, light sensitivity, tremors sometimes…" She drew herself up a bit and went on. "So you left. We were done, no big deal. I worked late and locked up. Outside, there was this guy. No big threat, just a thug. He'd been there before, watching." Her voice dropped a bit. "I'd told Conklin and I guess I just assumed…" She trailed off and then went on. "So that night I was walking out and…he was there and…" She surprised herself at the inability to get out the details to him now. "…he didn't want my money."
"Did he--?" Jason asked, ready to find the guy right now.
"No, " she breathed. "You came out of nowhere and…that was that." She was grossly uncomfortable talking about her brush with what could have been that night. "You made sure I was okay, took me home. The next day I on the metro, on the way to work, and you sat down. Purposely." She smiled at him. "You wanted to make sure I was okay and then you asked me what I'd have done if you hadn't been there. I guess I didn't have a very good answer because you started teaching me better self defense." She licked her bottom lip while flashes of her own memories danced behind her eyes. Him teaching her how to block, to anticipate, where to kick. She'd missed his block and gone down, tripping over him. The awkward look, he lowered to her and she rose to him. The first kiss. "We were friends for a while. Conklin wasn't happy but we never advertised it. Then, after time…we—it just grew."
It made a comfortable kind of sense to him and he nodded. "For how long?"
"Before you went missing? Nearly two years."
He saw then the reason behind the pain in her eyes when they'd talked at the diner months ago, when she'd helped him out of Neal Daniels' office in Madrid. They spent nearly two years as lovers, friends, and he had no recollection. At the time he truly had no memory of it but what embarrassed him was that he'd pushed the question aside. He hadn't asked why or how. He'd simply acknowledged that there'd been 'something' and continued moving.
And now another thought hit him. While he'd always been sure in his love for Marie, he'd always questioned how easy it had been for him to give himself to her. As time had gone on with her he wondered more and more about how easy it was to love her, to trust her, to let her in—all things that went against his nature in every other way and with every other person. He'd opened to her so quickly. But now he knew. Jason realized immediately what had happened. He'd given Marie his feelings for Nicky.