See I told you I was back. I'm getting closer to it – this is the beginning of the end. Please review and let me know what you think.

I claim no ownership to any aspect of the Bourne Franchise. I am merely a girl, wearing a ridiculous hat and screeching along to Robert Plant at the top of my voice.

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It was late when he returned; hours had been lost to the sweat and the rhythmic pounding of tarmac, the sun was now sinking over the horizon in its eternal circuit. He slipped into the apartment silently, years of training teaching him never to lose the advantage of surprise. There were no noises coming from the living room or the kitchen, but the quiet whistle of the kettle indicated Nicky was in the apartment. The run had been good for Jason, cleansing himself of his confusion about Nicky and refocusing his goal: to recover his memory. He didn't like to think about afterwards – this had been his sole focus for so long that the idea of the truth, the freedom, was a little startling. Turning towards the direction of his bedroom with every intention of taking another shower, Jason stopped when he heard a hushed sound come from Nicky's bedroom. The door was slightly ajar and he stopped outside it; every muscle straining, his heartbeat increasing as he listened intently. If there was an intruder in the apartment it was highly doubtful they knew he was here, he'd been so careful when he came back. A small whimper sounded, followed by an almost soundless sob.

Nicky was crying.

Unsure if there was someone in there, or if she was on her own, Jason hovered for a split second. Deciding that it was continual vigilance and caution that had ensured his life had lasted so long, Jason prepared to enter the room.

A shrill scream rang through the apartment.

The kettle.

'Shit' Jason heard Nicky quietly mumble before the sounds of her moving around on her crutches. He quietly stepped back to the door, just as her bedroom door flung open, her eyes widening when she saw her was there. He looked back at her steadily; her blue eyes were puffy and reddened and still reflected the cause of her misery – Jason had seen it a few times, but knew better than to ask. They continued to stare at each other as the kettle continued its screaming and he waited for her eyes to deaden as they always did; once again closing herself off to him. Nicky swallowed thickly and dropped her head to avoid looking at him as she made to move past him. His arm shot out, blocking her exit and she whipped her head up to look at him, visibly blanching at the murderous stare on his face.

'Why were you crying.'

'The kettle-'

'Leave it.'

'But the neighbours. It-'

'Why were you crying.'

'No.'

'No?'

'I can't'

'Bullshit. You don't want to.'

'Fuck you'

'Is that the problem? You think I'll leave? I'm not here for you Nicky, I couldn't give a shit. I want my fucking answers.' Jason growled at her before roughly grabbing her arm and pulling her towards the living room. She winced as his speed made her drop her crutches and she stumbled on her cast – Jason didn't care. He marched her over to the sofa and pushed her down, before prowling over to the stove and removing the offending kettle. The silence was deafening for a split second before the anger that he'd had been battling erupted. Whirling around, he threw the kettle with all his strength against the wall, boiling hot water exploding out of it.

'FUCK YOU JASON.' Nicky screamed as she leapt from the couch, surprising him with her quick movements.

'You want your fucking answers? You think you have the fucking right? You are the most self-righteous hypocritical motherfucker I've ever met. I don't care who you are now – Jason, David. I don't give a shit. This is ALL your fucking fault you cowardly bastard – You broke me. You fucking broke us. You are the reason you ran away. You are the reason I died six years ago. I wish that van had killed me. I hate myself. I hate you. I HATE YOU.' Nicky screamed, before tears erupted and she couldn't quieten her sobs, her body racking at the powerful emotions. Jason stood there like stone, his countenance seemingly unconcerned – the clenching of his jaw and the glint in his eyes the only indication of any feeling.

Nicky began to pace slightly in front of him, wincing as her injured leg hit the floor, but she was too upset to heed it. Words started tumbling out of her mouth before she had chance to stop herself – every thought she had had since he had left now came rushing to the surface and she was at the mercy of her crazed passions. Her voice no longer held the level of volume it had had, but had lost none of its rawness.

'You held a gun to my head in Berlin. Threatened to kill me. I have had more right to kill you than ever you did to me. I cried, do you remember? It was like you were rubbing it in my face that you had so easily managed to forget, when I was trapped in this prison of memories for every excruciating minute.

'That first day in the Paris office when I saw your file...Do you want to know what I did? I was sick – really fucking sick, all over my new slacks. I couldn't believe what you had done. I don't think I've ever felt so ashamed and so envious of someone all in the same moment.

'And then we had that god awful first meeting, and you and Conklin just thought I was nervous of you – the big, scary trained assassin. Fuck off. You sat there looking at me with no recognition whatsoever. No memories, nothing. Like you were looking at one of your victims. But I wouldn't let you beat me – I would handle this, just like you had.

'Marie must have been a real fucking treat for you –' Nicky snapped her mouth shut, whatever she was about to say was swallowed down with the bile that had been rising in her throat. Instead she continued in a more controlled tone, it's cold, unconcerned tone more unsettling for Jason than if she had still been screaming.

'You've seen your files – you know that you volunteered for the program, for Treadstone and Blackbriar. I can't believe you have the audacity to think you have any right to demand answers. Today of all days.' She stopped pacing to look at him. His stance hadn't changed, but his eyes never left her. The ferocity in them was burning and she knew that every word was pushing him closer to his breaking point with her directly in his way – she couldn't bring herself to care.

'I would ask if you remember anything, but it would be useless. Of course you don't – you don't want to. Fucking coward.' She stopped suddenly and her shoulders seemed to sag, the fight leaving her as quickly as it came. She fell back onto the edge of the sofa and put her head in her hands, taking deep breaths to try and stem the sobs that had once more consumed her.

'I hate that I can't stop crying in front of you. I haven't cried in years and now I can't seem to stop. I hate that you have to see this weakness. I hate that you found love with Marie. I hate that I couldn't turn around after that first meeting in Paris and just leave. I hate that I've worried about you constantly. I hate that I can't let you go. I hate that I can't forget too.' She mumbled the last so quietly if he hadn't been concentrating as hard he would have missed it.

'I hate that I love you still after everything we've done.

'I hate that you can't remember him.'

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