A: So.... Here's that chapter thing you've all been waiting for. I was.... stuck in traffic. Yeah that's it.

H: For nearly 6 months...Uh huh.. that's a likely story.

A: It is when you live in D.C.

H: OK, I gotta give you that one. Eek. Anyway! Chapter type thing. It's here! She wrote, I post, and you all are happy!

A: Yep! It's Jason being every bit a man about his emotions. Read!

H: Yeah, men do that. Be men, I mean. Well, sometimes. *blinks* OK I don't think I even made sense to myself with that one...

A: *pat pat* It's OK hun. Just post it and we'll go. You've filled your social quota today.

H: Okie I post. Enjoy kids!

An American Asset in Finland

Jason was on the outskirts of Montreal and well on his way to recovery within a week of his fall into the icy waters of the East River. The rest of the month sped by in a blur of cities and airplanes and dwindling money, and it was mid February before he found himself in the city of Luanda, Angola on the southwest coast of Africa. The over populated streets and sky high apartments were the perfect place for him to lose himself. Jason threw himself into construction work in return for squatting rights in one of the finished apartments.

It was the perfect arrangement for him: heavy manual labor and free off the grid lodging. All his bills were paid by the apartment complex or stolen from neighbors. He spent as much time running from his gradually forming non-memories as he had previously spent searching for them.

Jason didn't care for his past anymore. The shock and disgust at himself he'd felt when he'd finally remembered his voluntary assignment to Treadstone had turned him off of discovering anymore. He suspected that was why he was holed up in a tiny little apartment in a sea port in West Africa. He'd gone as far from the solitude he'd experienced with Marie in Goa as he could, steering away from down-to-earth hippie-like communities and the bright tranquil seaside.

He pushed away the emotional pain with long runs and aching muscles; it was easier for him to focus on a different kind of pain. When that didn't work, constant surveillance and continually remapping escape routes from the city kept him adequately preoccupied. Eventually, even those distractions didn't work anymore, and he was brought head to head with his grief. Stubbornly, he kept it at bay. When waking up each morning became an obstacle, Jason decided a change in venue was required. By then, four months had passed.

Finally settled into the small four walled shack he'd be using for his stay along the shores of Brazil. The beach north of Mossoro had been chosen for its remote location and cheap beach front accommodations.

He went into a downward spiral in his grief, living in a haze where he found himself barely able to follow his own set of inscrutable rules. With no one left to blame for Marie's death, he fell back on his own inability to save her; to help her. He ultimately blamed himself for everything that had happened to her. He'd blindly reached out to her that day, thinking he'd be able to just let her walk away afterward. He'd ignored the truth staring him in the face when Castel and the others came after him. He'd sought answers in her skin and berated himself for not finding any.

In the end, she'd been exactly what he'd needed, longed for. When everything came back around and found them years later, Jason had cursed himself for becoming lax and soft. He'd burned every picture he had of her. Except one. Jason had since replaced the abandoned frame with a newer cheaper simple black one. Now, the only color in the picture came from her. A shining beacon in the grey world he was living in. He'd cried all the tears he'd had within the first few days of his arrival. Jason barely ate, rarely managed to get enough water, and generally gave himself away to the overwhelming sadness that comes after the fiercest of rage.

Everyone needs something to live for, and Jason finally realized that on May 17th, 2005. He was seated on the porch, his elbows braced on his knees, his gaze looking out over the sea. He'd been in deep mourning for 8 total weeks, and when he'd awoken at dawn, Jason had felt an awkward silence and peace. There was a sense of turmoil beneath it all, but it was the kind that you knew would only take one huge life changing decision to banish.

Marie wouldn't want him pining, lost and lonely, in some remote Brazilian town watching dawn and barely living. Her infectious love for all forms of life and energy had once sunk deep into him, making him genuinely aware of everything around him. Jason had been living in a fog so deep he could barely see the sun. He stood then, toes digging into the sand just beyond the steps and took his first step toward the surf.

He could practically hear her; his sweet, pushy, loving, confusing, forward, practical, innocent, infuriating, snooping, ever-so-normal Marie hollering in the breeze around him that the best way to celebrate her life wasn't through mourning her in memories, but by experiencing life for what is was: a confusing, complicated, unrelenting, sometimes ironic gift. It wouldn't be easy; he wasn't under that delusion.

He'd stayed another three weeks, learning the people and culture of Brazil in the small village where he'd taken refuge. Afterward, Jason picked up and moved on with his outlook on life renewed. He set his sights for Istanbul.

When Jason got set up in his small rent-by-the-week-and-cash-only apartment near the harbor in southern Istanbul, he spent two weeks tracking down each of his contacts. Discreetly he mailed an unmarked parcel package, keeping track of the GPS put off by each phone from a previously set up laptop. He was notified instantly when each one was signed for and waited a total 5 minutes before calling each one.

"Hello?" Pamela Landy answered the phone with an air of unease.

"This is Bourne. The line is secure, untraceable." He replied in clipped tones.

"David?" He cut her off before she could go on.

"It's Jason Bourne." It was his only reply, an outward testament to his shedding his old personality. The one he didn't know. He'd come to embrace the man he was, knowledge, skills, abilities included. The only vestige of the old personality he couldn't drop was the guilt. He'd had mere moments to look over the files on himself before handing them over to Landy.

"Listen, I've got two things I need from you. One: Keep an ear out for Nicky Parsons and let me know if you hear from her. Two: I need a copy of my file." He knew she'd do this for him. She owed him. He didn't have to give her everything she needed on a silver platter… twice. He waited in silence for her answer. She didn't take long.

"OK Give me an address." He rattled off an address in Egypt and told her to hang on to the phone and use it to call him if she heard about Nicky. Then he hung up.

Jason made a series of calls as each phone arrived at its destination, all of them similar to the conversation he'd had with Landy. Each one of them was held in different languages and lacking the bit about his file.

The file arrived at his pick up point three days after arriving in Egypt, and a week after his conversation with Landy. He spent days pouring over it, committing every detail to memory. It did nothing to alleviate his guilt and brought no memories with it. He was left feeling even more guilty, with names to match the faces it was worse than he'd expected, and much like he'd read a biography of someone else's life. He fought the melancholy that threatened to fall over him, not wanting to descend into self loathing and grief again. He was grateful that his time in Brazil hadn't found anyone on his trail.

He spent his days working construction again, it was still a great workout and it kept his mind occupied. He spent his evenings with more of his pseudo memories. He didn't have crystal clear images in his head, but feelings and thoughts and things he just knew. Like the fact that Nicky Parsons made this little mewling sound when he'd got her wound too tight and she's practically begging for him to just touch her. And he knew how it felt to have his hands thrust deep into her hair, the silken strands gliding over the backs of his knuckles as he held on for dear life.

The same knuckles she brought him a cloth for that had been bruised and bloody after his fight with Desh. The same hands he'd gripped her upper arms with so tightly that he was sure he left bruises he hadn't even cared about. Hands that had pointed a gun at her, pressed it into her forehead and made her think he'd pull the trigger. He was still telling himself it was her cries matching Neski's wife echoing in his head that made him let her go.

Not for the first time did he wonder why she would be involved with a man like that. One she knew was a cold blooded killer; that she knew had volunteered for the job. There were countless other non-memories, things he somehow knew about her. How her voice sounded when she whispered his name, the fact that she had a closet full of brand new running sneakers, and how her fingers made him feel when they trailed over his nude body.

The one thing that Jason knew about Nicky Parsons, the thing that made him uneasy, was her ability to compartmentalize everything in life so well that it didn't affect how she outwardly responded. He didn't need whatever mental muscle memory he was using to understand that bit of information about her. He'd seen it first hand, her ability to act so calmly around him, so at ease a mere six weeks after he'd threatened to put a bullet through her skull.

Had it been the first time he'd threatened her so bodily? Or had it been a regular occurrence in whatever relationship he'd had with her? Was he that fucked up that he'd needed to brutalize a young girl? She'd been, what- twenty? Twenty-one when they'd hooked up? He'd spent weeks and months telling himself it couldn't be anything more than sex between them. He was sure it was some kind of dominating, unhealthy, game to his once cold-blooded self. How could a girl like Nicky have willingly gotten involved with him?

He managed to convince himself that he'd manipulated her into it before he moved on to Turku, Finland.

Jason settled in another run-down-cash-only apartment complex when he arrived in the snow blanketed Christmas Town. With the temperature below zero, constant and expected for the middle of December, he found himself some proper climate centric clothing and headed to the docks. He came away with a secure job and some under the table interactions. Information would be forthcoming if there was any to be found.

He kept a constant non-routine of working, eating, exercising and sleeping for a month. His instincts screamed at him that something was happening and he should be alert and ready and Jason did his best to tamp down the urge to seek out whatever it was that was making him edgy. His constant surveillance told him everything was fine where he'd taken up residence and it was just his ever present panic taking hold.

He checked in with each of his contacts just in case. When an 'all clear' and 'we've heard nothing' was the result, his urge to run receded, but only marginally. Dreams of Nicky invaded his sleep. He didn't know if they were reemerging memories or his brain taking the knowledge he had about her and putting it into good use, but either way it felt like betrayal. It also made him feel more like a bastard and he picked up on his lament that he'd coerced her into whatever they had. It didn't stop him from wanting her.

The screaming of a cell phone startled him out of one such dream at six in the morning, on January 12th. Immediately awake and ready run he grabbed the thing and flipped it open. The person on the other end didn't give him time to speak.

"Someone's looking for her." The voice was low and feminine in his ear and the thick Scottish accent told him who had called.

"Why?"

"I dinna know, but you should find her first."

"Do you know who?" Panic flooded his mind, but didn't have an outlet in his voice.

"No." He nearly hurled the phone across the room.

"How did you find out?"

"Chatter mostly. Nothing straightforward, a guy heard a guy talking about an American girl. Long blond hair, brown eyes, thought she was a preacher. You know, parson? Anyway, they'd been talking to each other about her and my snitch didn't want to stick around. Said the guys looked pretty mean."

Jason clenched his fist around the fragile piece of technology and focused his attention on what needed to be done.

"Thanks." He hung up the phone and made another round of calls to his contacts.

January 17, 2006 Turku, Finland

It was another four days passed before Jason heard back from any of his contacts. The ringing blared through the room jerking Jason from a fitful slumber and a dream of reaching Nicky just after the nameless faceless man who was looking for her.

"I have information." Jason's surprise at the fact the information had come so quickly was only overshadowed by the shock of who's voice was delivering the message.

"Tell me."

"Not over the phone. I'll contact you again." The line went dead.

H: Well that's it! Hope you like it and review it and and and are totally happy? Wow, I am WAY too over-caffeinated. Yeah...I'll try to get the next chapter up sooner rather than later!