A/n: well, nothing to say, really. :o) Don't own anything, blah.
Chapter seven
It figures. Of course this would happen.
This was the last mission he was going to complete before he left Treadstone and disappeared for good, and he ended up lying in a field, bleeding to death, being interrogated by an idiot. Bourne really must have amnesia, because there was no way he would've survived for so long if he was always this clueless. "What is Treadstone," indeed.
And yet, Bourne had shot him. Twice. With a rifle. Over the course of his entire career, he'd been through his share of injuries, but he'd only been shot once. The man who'd done it had been dead a half second later, while he himself only sustained minor injuries. But Bourne managed to shoot him twice, and did plenty of damage as well.
He sighed with defeat, looking at his bewildered replacement with cynicism and regret. He wondered absently if Nicky had treated him with the same curiosity and wary attraction, but forced that painful thought away quickly.
"Look at this. Look at what they make you give." He ignored Bourne's questions; the pain was overwhelming; he could literally feel his life ebbing away.
Bourne just looked confused, but at least he stopped trying to grill him.
He let himself fall back into the weeds with an almost relieved sigh. No more headaches, he thought absently. The searing pain throughout his body certainly took the focus off of a migraine.
Distantly, he watched as Bourne took his rucksack and walked away. He coughed, then sighed with exasperation at his botched plan. He had been contemplating taking Nicky with him, of somehow convincing her that she belonged with him. He'd finally realized that he should never have walked away from her, that she was, truly, the best thing that had happened in his sorry life, and the proof was in the two plane tickets to Amsterdam in his pocket.
He coughed again, and tried to shake away the black spots appearing in his vision. Bourne had taken his phone, so there was nothing left to do, now. With a last thought of Nicky, of how much—his pride would only let him admit it in the end—he loved her, he let the darkness take him.
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Nicky's POV
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The phone rang for a call through to Treadstone. Nicky patched it through, waiting for him to snap out his code and the abrupt confirmation of a kill. When it didn't come immediately, her stomach lurched. No, there was no way that anything had happened to him. He was indestructible.
As Danny calmly demanded a code, Nicky began shifting papers, in order to give herself something to do, to keep from panicking. But when she heard Bourne ask, "Who is this?" she dropped everything in her hands. Her heart stopped, and she began counting to ten to keep her focus. No, he was fine. It was some… some hoax. That was it. He was humiliating Bourne somehow by making him call in… or… something. He was fine.
Bourne ground out, "The man you sent is dead," and Nicky heard someone wail in the back of her mind. When she pressed a hand to her mouth, she realized the sound was coming from her. Shaking herself out of it, she forced herself to listen to the rest of the call. She scribbled down the location of the meet, and began organizing things in her mind. Conklin would be flying in, which would mean she had to arrange things on this end. As soon as Bourne hung up, Danny relayed Conklin's demands to her, then hung up as well.
She flew into action. They'd be sending a sweeper team to collect the body… and she needed to get there first. Either he was injured and needed help, or—she couldn't force herself to finish the thought—she just needed to see for herself.
Checking her watch, Nicky saw that she had a few hours before the circus began again. She finished making the last few arrangements for the meet, then sprinted out to her car. She remembered the location of the farm, and forced herself to drive naturally as she wove her way through the city streets. As soon as she reached the expressway, however, she put her foot down on the gas. She knew that if she didn't have a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel, her hands would be shaking uncontrollably.
She had thought that it was just a crush, that sleeping with him would take the edge off, that it would get him out of her system. Instead, she felt even more attracted, had found herself thinking about him almost constantly. Once again, memories flashed through her, of each curt conversation they'd had, of simply watching him whenever he needed to be at the safe house, but most especially of the times they'd spent together that fateful day. He had been so hungry for her, and he could've been rough, simply used her… but he hadn't. Instead, he'd taken his time with her, learning what made her arch off the bed in his arms, and teaching her how to make his eyes roll back and cry out her name in that husky growl. He'd actually enjoyed being with her, had teased her and just watched her with softness in his eyes. He even told her he was too wrong for her, tried to protect her from himself.
Nicky found that she was openly sobbing as she sped on the bumpy country roads to the farm. If it was true, if he was dead, she couldn't take it.