Title: Retrospection

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Crossover, Science-Fiction

Summary: "It was information overload—like an impossible perpetual motion machine moving faster and faster."

Rating: T

Characters: David Webb/Jason Bourne, Pamela Landy, others.

Paradigm Shift

Throughout her life, Pamela Landy had always stubbornly refused to conform to the typical behavior that many men seemed to expect from women, such as breaking down in tears, or suddenly throwing her arms around them.

That being said, part of her wanted to slap the former assassin across the face. Hard. Another part of her really did want to break down into tears in return for some modicum of human contact; but, she wasn't going to break either.

However, none of that meant that she was surprised to see him. In fact, she was tremendously relieved to see anyone after nearly a week of isolation.

So many questions were running through her head, but she couldn't form the words. Instead, she simply stood there and examined the man in front of her that she hadn't seen nor heard from in nearly three years.

His handsome, almost youthful features were much the same as they were when she last saw him in New York City; albeit much healthier than that pale, bloodied and bruised appearance he had acquired after numerous crashes, fights, and a ten story fall into the East River. His hair was starting to gray, yet his eyes seemed a little brighter; as if he had faced down some of his demons and won.

When her eyes found his own, she realized he was scrutinizing her as well. She didn't know whether to be flattered or nervous; well aware that even though she was getting older, she was still considered to be attractive. But, that didn't seem to be what his scrutiny was about.

Finally, she broke the silence. "What are you doing here?"

"I came here to see you," he answered as if he was simply paying an old friend a visit. As if that even began to explain anything. In all fairness, David had never struck her as a conversationalist. On the other hand, the few conversations they shared had taken place when he was dodging Agents intent on killing him or while simultaneously dealing with his newly recovered memory and a debilitating migraine. Plus there had been the whole getting shot and taking an involuntary dip into freezing water part.

Not satisfied with this answer, she tried another question. "Where are we?"

He didn't reply; he looked conflicted.

Is he a prisoner too? She wondered.

"What's the last thing you remember before waking up," he asked.

Now that question raised a red flag in her head.Nevertheless, she knew him well enough to know that everything he said and did had a reason behind it; he wasn't the type of man who played games. So the best way to deal with him was to be honest, direct and to the point.

"I was on the Hill in D.C.," she explained, "I just talked to Tom and was heading into the lobby. The next thing I know, I wake up in a strange bed." She watched him as he let her answer sink in. He didn't seem surprised; it was as if he was expecting it. He knows I have amnesia. "Do you know about this place?"

"Yes." He said simply.

"You know where we are," A statement, not a question.

"Yes." His eyes broke contact with hers, she thought rather guiltily. He's holding something back.

"Am I in danger?" She asked. He seemed reluctant to answer. Whatever it is, it can't be good. "Are you in danger?"

He made eye contact with her again. "No. We're not in danger."

"Am I prisoner here?"

He hesitated again. His mouth opened and closed several times as he tried to figure out how to explain. Finally, his frustration ended in a soft but sharp "Fuck it."

When he looked her straight in the eye again, his hesitation was gone. "You're not a prisoner Pam, you're a patient."

Her eyes widened in surprise; her brow furrowed in confusion. "A patient..." oh god, am I hallucinating, "As in a mental patient?"

The thought that this was all an hallucination and that she was actually strapped to a bed somewhere being pumped full of drugs didn't appeal to her in the least.

David quickly addressed that fear. "No, you're not crazy," he reassured her, "And you're not in a psychiatric hospital. You're in a..." The hesitation was back, why was he having so much trouble explaining? Come on, she said inwardly, out with it.

He must've noticed her impatience because he quickly explained, "Well, I guess a regular hospital."

"A regular hospital," she uttered in disbelief. "Look around you, David, this is an airstrip, not a hospit--"

"This isn't real," he interrupted.

She blinked. Isn't real? Yeah sure, reality just stopped making sense. "David..." She said warningly, her expression making it clear that she wasn't in the mood to be jerked around. What the hell is his play anyway? She wondered.

In a stronger, surer tone, he continued. "I'm serious. This isn't real; it's a simulated environment running on a computer," he explained patiently. "This whole place is basically a recovery room."

"Recovery," she repeated, letting the meaning of the word sink in, "in recovery from what?"

"Serious life threatening injuries."

What life threatening injuries? "Life thre--," she spluttered. "What are you talking about? I'm fine. I feel fine. I've been swimming and jogging every day since I got here. I've had no problems at all. There aren't any signs of injury, or a recent surgery, anywhere on my body. "

"Technically, you haven't even moved." David argued, then gesturing to her, said "this isn't your real body."

Pam scoffed; having heard and dealt with more than her share of lies and deceit.

When she heard Abbott's explanation about what Treadstone was, she knew he was holding something back; even though she was wrong about what it was. When Vosen tried to deflect her questions about Blackbriar under the guise that they were in the middle of an op, she saw right through him.

But, this? It's not real. It made them seem perfectly reasonable by comparison.

Yet, his expression and body language said otherwise; he was serious. So, either he knew exactly how to lie to her, or he was the delusional one.

"Bullshit," she declared.

It had to be.

Undeterred, he persisted. "I know how it sounds, but it's the truth. Look, Pam, you're acting like I'm trying to burn you, but I'm just trying to help you here. This place really is a computer simulation, your real body was seriously injured and is healing right now."

It was too much for her to take. "Stop!" She stalked off. "I'm not listening to this anymore."

What kind of mind-fuck is this?

David followed her. "Pam," he called out behind her. She started hiking up over the hill in the direction of the geothermal plant.

"I'm going back to the house. When you come up with a better story, feel free to drop by," she called back, not bothering to turn her head.

As she crested the hill, David suddenly appeared in front of her, making her freeze momentarily before continuing on. While unnerving, it was hardly proof of anything. Appearing out of nowhere was one of his many skills.

David blocked her path. "Pam, please. You have to believe me, this isn't real," he pleaded.

Pam wasn't impressed nor moved. "You're not showing me anything I haven't seen before," she replied. "Now get out of my way."

He grabbed her by the arm to try and stop her. Try being the operative word.

The sound echoed across the valley like a mini-thunderclap.

Her slap was so powerful and unexpected that David nearly fell over. Instead, David merely stumbled back a few steps before quickly righting himself to meet her scowling face. His left hand instinctively covered his now reddened cheek.

David's face was a mixture of embarrassment and surprise. The slap came as a surprise to her too; she had never slapped anyone before.

She was angry at herself for losing control like that. I'm not going to break.

"Pam--" When he reached out again, she took a defensive stance; Pam knew that she might not match his skill in hand-to-hand combat, but she could still make him hurt.

"Don't touch me," she quietly intoned, and kept going.

This time, he didn't follow her.

Dusk had fallen by the time she reached the truck, and it was dark when she got back to the house. The moon was already rising and with no clouds, the sky was totally clear, putting the stars on full display. It was beautiful, but it wasn't enough to break her out of her confusion and frustration as she pulled into the underground garage and went upstairs.

In the kitchen, she grabbed a bottle of wine out of the refrigerator and poured herself a glass before curling up on the couch in the living room.

Again, she tried to remember what had happened to her in D.C. Was I kidnapped? Is Webb behind all this? She didn't put the act of kidnapping past David, but he couldn't have bankrolled all this. The money in the Zürich safe deposit box couldn't cover a fraction of the costs involved and he didn't have access to any other assets that she knew of.

Her mind wandered back to the conversation they had earlier. Over and over, she replayed it in her head, checking and rechecking to see if she missed something.

What if he is telling the truth?

It was a scary thought, but then again, why would he tell her such a crazy story? Assuming then, for a moment, that it was true, how could she really know if this wasn't real? Everything felt real. Yet, she knew it felt wrong.

Familiar and wrong.

The truth was, she really didn't want to know. She was still furious at herself for losing control and tired and aching after spending hours searching and crawling around that damned cave. The hot springs helped, but meeting David had made her tense up again. Right now, she just wanted to calm down and not think for what was left of the day.

A soft knock on the kitchen door derailed that plan. She let out a sigh and pinched the bridge of her nose. Oh go away, she wanted to say, but got up to answer the door.

As expected, it was David. Her anger lessened when she saw the look on his face; he clearly felt remorseful. His eyes were downcast, but flickered up to meet her own; it was as if a silent apology had been given.

Coming to a decision, she held the open door wider so he could come in, shutting it behind him. He took a look around the kitchen, dining and living area, noting the look of awe on his face. Either he was a great actor, or he clearly hadn't been here before in his life.

"Would you like some wine?" She asked, not knowing what else to say.

He turned to face her and nodded. She took another wine glass out of the cupboard and poured into it the dark red liquid. She set her glass down on the coffee table in front of the fireplace and sat down, gesturing for him to take a nearby chair, pointedly out of arm's reach.

Pam watched as he took a tentative sip. Not a wine drinker I suppose. She watched his tongue move inside his mouth and then took a longer sip.

This time, he spoke first. "I woke up on a fishing boat, in the Mediterranean sea near the coast of Marseilles. I was cold, naked, bleeding, and had no idea where I was, who I was, or what had happened to me. That was the first thing I remembered."

"And you're telling me this because I should consider myself lucky I woke up in a warm bed?" She retorted.

"You're very lucky to simply be alive." He shot back. Then his tone softened. "No, I'm telling you because I know how it feels to wake up and not remember."

She let the subject drop for now. There was one question that she has been burning for an answer to for years.

"What happened with Wombosi?"

David let out a breath, closing his eyes, then reopening them. "I didn't kill him. I came close. I brought one of my cover identities to life, found the security company, I even met with the man. I chose his yacht as the strike point. I hid on his boat for five days. I tracked everything; the crew, the food, the fuel. I was in. I was in, and I had my gun against the top of his head."

"Then why didn't you kill him?"

"His children." He murmured.

Those two words made her heart skip a beat. "His children?"

"Wombosi's children were with him on his yacht. One of them was resting on top of him, a little girl; and she was awake even though everyone else was asleep. I-- I hesitated..."

She caught on quickly. A puzzle piece had finally fallen into place. This was what triggered the amnesia, what broke his training.

There was only one conclusion. "In order to make it look like someone from his own entourage killed him, you would've had to kill all his children too," she realized.

He nodded. "I couldn't do it. So, I got shot twice in the back as I escaped, and fell into the water. Then, I spent the next three weeks piecing things together, which led me back to Paris and to Conklin; who triggered my memories of the failed op. Once I remembered, I told him I quit and walked out."

"Just like that?"

"Not exactly." He admitted. "Conklin had a radio; he already alerted his people. I had to fight my way out. I killed everyone except for Conklin and Nicky who were still in the apartment. I don't know who killed Conklin."

"I do." She said, filling in the blanks. "It was an Treadstone operative code-named Manheim. Ward Abbott ordered it, then he shut down Treadstone. I found out later that Abbott was the one who got the funding to start Blackbriar, then handed the reins over to Vosen and Kramer so he could retire quietly."

She watched him process that bit of information.

"Until you came along," he added.

Pam couldn't help the anger that flitted through her consciousness. Even though three years had passed, she still felt anger and betrayal over what Ward had done. Two good field agents, Marie, Danny Zorn, Irina Neski's parents—all dead over greed. Perpetrated by a man who at one point was her friend and colleague.

"Over money." She could still remember Ward's and David's voices on the tape, how Ward had tried to lay the blame for Marie's death at his feet; to drive him to do what he ultimately did in a final cowardly act. "So senseless." She murmured. "David, I'm--"

His hand come up to stop her. "It wasn't your fault." At least he didn't add that she was just doing her job. Like he was doing his for Treadstone. She knew that it still haunted him as much as the events in Berlin haunted her.

Rationally, she knew that she wasn't responsible for that mess; it was people like Abbott, Hirsh, Vosen and Kramer. People who had their own twisted ideals or personal agendas. It just happened on her watch.

But, that didn't mean she turned off her feelings, not after hearing the tape, nor after reading David's Treadstone induction report. Especially seeing him here, now, in one of the longest conversations they've had so far.

He began to talk about Zurich, about how he and Marie discovered who and what he really was. About their separation for a year, then meeting up again Greece, before going on the run together for the next two years, and finally ending up in India. Then there was Daniels, Spain, Tangiers, Desh, New York, then the next three years running.

When he finished, she asked him about Simon Ross, about what happened to Nicky Parsons.

"She's still alive." He said. Pam was tremendously relieved. "Where she is now, I have no idea though. I don't know what she was doing at the safe house, but she told me where Daniels was and I decided to trust her."

"Why? She ran logistics, and monitored your health. You held a gun to her head and threatened her. Why did she help you?"

"Because she cared. Because she..." David paused, and took a deep breath before continuing. "There was a tape. Of my 'training.' In order for her to do her job, she had to know exactly what I went through. She saw it. It was difficult for her to watch, and every time she saw me, she was reminded of it."

"Anyway, we rushed to Tangier. I hoped that we could intercept and save Daniels. But, I screwed it up."

"A Blackbriar asset named Desh got the drop on us. He detonated a bomb that killed Daniels and knocked me down."

"I know. Vosen's people caught the breach and identified Nicky as the user. He gave the order to have her killed on the spot. I objected, but there was nothing I could do. So, I quit the operation. When I read their file on you, I found out that Vosen lied to me; Daniels was your training officer. I think Vosen and Kramer wanted him and Nicky dead because they were loose ends; exposing Blackbriar to the public may have been merely an excuse to take them out."

"Maybe," he allowed.

She found herself a little more at ease talking to him. After another sip of the wine, she found that she had a few more questions.

"Did you use the Gilberto De Piento passport knowing I'd catch it?"

"I used it knowing that it never went to the grid, which meant it was my best chance of getting through Customs; I didn't know how much time I had before they realized I was still alive. But yes, I also used it hoping you'd catch on before Vosen. When I heard the announcement at the airport, I knew."

They talked long into the evening. He was evasive about what happened in Washington, but he answered her other questions. After a week, it was such a comfort to just talk. The combination of the alcohol and stress finally caused her to doze off.

She woke up on the couch, covered in a blanket.

Her confusion lasted for a moment, then the memories came rushing back. David was here. It was both reassuring and disturbing.

"David?" She sat up and looked around the expansive living room.

There was no sign of him.

Did I dream the whole thing? Could I have been so desperate for company that I hallucinated? No, of course not.

A quick search found the two wine glasses set next to the sink. The bottle of wine was back in the refrigerator. A hand-written note was on the counter.

Pam,

I didn't want to wake you. Be back at six this evening.

I'll find you.

David

So it wasn't a dream. Then where did he go?

Though she didn't know why, oddly enough, she was looking forward to seeing him again.