Currently in the middle of summer classes, but I'm working to keep up with writing. I'm curious if the poem quotes work for the chapter openings- I'd keep using Bourne series quotes, but I used up all the best ones. Well, it's still the early chapters, there's still room for development.

Review and follow!

"Give me thy hand, and hush awhile/ And turn those limpid eyes on mine/ And let me read there…thy inmost soul." –Matthew Arnold, "The Buried Life"

Marta awoke to silence—no discussion from Aaron and Jason about the next step, no plan. No one but her left. She turned, catching sight of a note tucked partially under Aaron's pillow. With it was a gun and extra ammunition.

Went to get a few things. Stay put. Stay safe. Call if there's trouble.

She pushed the covers back, and went to the bathroom to splash water on her face and found the second note taped to the mirror.

Gone out for a run. Breakfast in the fridge. Don't leave the room. –Jason

It was admirable really; between the two of them, they had her covered. She knew it wasn't a contest—Jason had to have figured out by now she and Aaron were something he couldn't come between, but it was touching to see him taking care of her like an older brother.

In the fridge was a plate of scrambled eggs, sausages, a peach muffin and a waffle covered with whipped cream and strawberry syrup from the buffet downstairs. She smiled, taking the plate to sit on the edge of the bed and enjoy it while she flipped through the news stations for any mention of Byer's body found. Murder, kidnappings, burglaries but no mention of the Outcome director, Jason or anything else relevant to their situation. They're biding their time; they'll wait till we've let down our guard and then strike. A body is just what they needed to accelerate the searching for Bourne and make the search for Aaron go public. How long until someone here decides to say something?

If it's only a matter of time, it wouldn't hurt to take advantage of the situation while she's alone. Setting the remains of the food back in the fridge and taking up the gun, Marta locked herself in the bathroom to start the shower. The gun sits on the sink, her clothes stripped and left in a pile on the floor… for a few minutes, she just stands beneath the stream, the hot water numbing her injuries from last night.

I didn't ask for this. I didn't want to kill anyone. It was self-defense… but the memories only gain in strength when she tries suppressing them… the assassin slammed into the pillar then to the floor, any chemical enhancements now useless against such force; blood streaming down the other assassin's face, her bullet embedding in his skull…for a fleeting second, she wishes Aaron were here with her. How did he deal with the guilt, with the knowledge that he was forced into life or death situations and had to choose being an agent of death in order to survive.

She isn't sure what makes her remember or why she hadn't made the connection sooner, but she'd met Aaron Cross at his most vulnerable before… pre-program Kenneth Kitsom.

All she'd heard was convoy accident, lone survivor and being considered for the program before she'd walked into that room where Kenneth Kitsom was staring around wildly … when she'd closed the door, he'd flinched. She'd winced in sympathy as she looked over the debris shards down one side of his face and made sure to keep her movements slow to spare from scaring him any more.

"Kenneth, I'm Dr. Shearing. We're going to get you into surgery in a little while, okay?"

"Did- did I pass?" His eyes meet hers, wide and anxious. "The test…they didn't say… I don't know if I…"

She didn't like seeing him getting worked up over this. There'd already be some level of shock to deal with. "We're going to get you in surgery and fix you up first then you'll be admitted to the program. Just relax, Kenneth. You're okay, you're safe."

He closed his eyes, shaking his head slightly. "They're all dead."

"I'm so sorry about the rest of the convoy," she said, laying her hand on his knee. "I…" She wanted to comfort him but what could she say that wouldn't increase his survivor's guilt? It wouldn't help to ask about the specifics… "You're here. You're safe. Focus on that." She looked to his file, only to find it was all but blank. Didn't they care? In the bottom, as though it had been an afterthought someone had written administered IV for dehydration and fluid replacement, trauma to side of head, possible internal fractures and bleeding. Possible?! She'd been ready to hit someone… this soldier was going through shock, obvious internal injuries and no one seemed to care unless he was approved for the program. She forced down the rush of anger. The soldier needed her now if he was going to get any care. She pulled down a pressure cuff to secure around his upper right arm. "I just need to check a few things before we put you under, okay? Tell me if anything hurts. Tell me right away, Kenneth. Okay?"

He looked up at her, then dropped his head back down to look at the floor which might've been a nod.

She gradually inflated the cuff, closely watching the growing discomfort on his face. "A little more…you're doing well, Kenneth. Just a little… there, just right there for a minute." She paused, noted the measurement then nodded to him encouragingly and took it off to set it aside. "How long were you on the field?"

"Couple… couple months."

She tried to keep up light conversation during the rest of the examination to keep him focused, but he declined to respond for most of it. Relief or suppressing pain, she couldn't tell.

"Does anything hurt? I need to know, okay? There aren't any cameras, it's just you and me, but I need to know if something hurts so we fix it during surgery."

"Is this… not a test?"

"No, no it isn't. I want to make sure I don't miss anything." She ran her eyes over him again, the anger threatening to rush up again… she had to keep calm…he needed her to stay focused. "I'm going to check over for injuries okay?" Trying to be gentle, she undid the top half of his medical gown. There it had been… a dark bruising just below the right side of his ribs. Smaller patches were above it. Left untreated it would spread and kill him. When she touched the larger bruise, he tried to suppress a whimper.

"We're going to take care of this. Okay?"

This time he managed a nod.

"I'm going to help you lay back now. Slowly."

He nodded again, meeting her eyes and began to lay back as she guided him with her hands, until a cry escaped him and tears glazed his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Kenneth, I'm sorry," she murmured as he tried to stifle his screams of pain while she got him down all the way. He hand caught onto hers and squeezed hard, tears rolled down his face now. "Doctor… Shearing… hurts, it hurts."

She kept a tight hold on his hand, her free hand exploring the area. Darker bruising around his abdomen and hips… at least four broken ribs, one of which was piercing his stomach and possibly another his spleen, pelvis fractured.

"You're going to be okay. We caught this in time. Focus on me, Kenny… focus on me." She cradled his face in her hand. "I'm going to put you to sleep now, okay? When you wake up, you'll be in a recovery ward and it won't hurt anymore."

Desperation filled his eyes. He held her hand tighter, gaze locked unflinchingly on hers, seeking something in her face. Trust? Comfort? Understanding? Those pale blue eyes drew her in, looked right into her. Marta wanted to break contact, but something compelled her to let him read her, to look back and try to search his expression. "Stay."

"I'll stay until you're asleep. Can you let me go for a second? Just a second so I can get the anesthesia." She tugged her hand for emphasis.

He let out a pained sigh, dropping his hand to the gurney and watched her pull away and prepare the instruments quickly.

She had the dosage measured and moved to slip the breathing mask on his face, taking his hand again. Marta watched as his breathing evened out when the drugs began to take effect, how his eyes began to dim but still wouldn't leave hers.

She'd waited until he was completely under before taking her hand from his. As soon as she'd left the room, an attendant entered it to roll Kenneth into surgery. Marta only took a second to watch him go before she went to give the program director a piece of her mind concerning the lack of humane treatment. "He was bleeding out and you had to approve him to the program before you treated him? He was in shock and in pain and you couldn't wait twelve hours to third-degree him. You couldn't bother to see if he was hurt. All that mattered was the program… if he hadn't been accepted, what then? Were you just going to leave him like that? Let him slowly die because he wasn't fit for your program?"

"Dr. Shearing, we were following…"

"Take your precious policy and shove it up your own ass…. he was dying. He was dying and you couldn't be bothered to show a scrap of human decency!"

It had been the first and last time she'd ever seen Kenneth Kitsom.

Does he even remember… or is it just me? Marta began working the shampoo and conditioner through her hair. Is that why he'd always been so familiar with me in the exams? But then, what good was thinking about that when their survival rested on a plan they didn't have? In a matter of time, the LARX agents would be scouring the city and people would start talking. It was a miracle the desk clerk hadn't called out Jason last night.

She heard the door keyed open and on instinct reached for the gun.

"Marta?"

At Aaron's voice, she relaxed and lowered the gun. "Where were you?"

"Out. Look, can I come in for a second?"

She paused, studying the outline of his shoes beneath the edge of the door, trying to determine his intent. "Just a second?"

"More like a half second."

"Give me a minute." She shut off the water and reached for a towel, wrapping it around herself and checked to be sure it was secure enough before she came forward to open the door.

He stepped inside, eyes on her admiringly while he stole a few seconds to subtly look her over. "These are for you. I thought you could use a change of clothes."

Marta started, stunned for a minute at the bundle he held out in offering. "I hope you didn't go out just for…" she reached forward to take the change of clothes. "Thanks, Aaron."

He nodded in response, taking another step nearer to reach out and wrap a soggy ringlet of her hair around his finger, his hand brushing her throat and rested there a few seconds while Marta stared up at him, her heart fluttering madly. Aaron's eyes met hers and now, those eyes she'd swore were blue were the grey of a storm's prelude—undaunted and untamable. His lips quirked upwards in a smile before he turned, closing the door after him.

Marta could only stand there, dripping water on the floor and holding the clothes speechlessly as she stared after him.

Jeans, a midnight blue tank top with a swooped neckline, a dark grey faux leather jacket, along with a digital watch, practical lingerie and socks. The bigger surprise was when she discovered it all fit. He can't have possibly looked at labels to know the right sizes. What was he thinking? Shopping for me… does he think he's my… Marta can't bring herself to even think the word. There isn't a single-word description for Aaron or any attribute that describes them.

"Saved life, burnt down house, completely ruined any prospects for a normal life," she muttered to herself under the drone of the blow-dryer. "Enhanced with a government agency hunting him down, trained assassins, killed assassins…it's like something out of a James Bond movie but this time there's only one love interest." And Aaron could probably beat up James Bond. Now that would be something; she laughed at the thought.

The longer Aaron stared at the CIA interface, the more convinced he became that the information he was looking for was staring him right in the face. If what he'd heard was correct, Treadstone had been forced as the basement project for the CIA's darker methods for securing intel, meaning that Outcome and then LARX would be connected as well. But they just couldn't make it that simple, could they? A whole bunch of CIA black market operatives forcing participants into the program, wiping their memories and covering up their tracks behind the government. It hadn't started with Byer—he wasn't CIA material, he came after the first wave.

"If you wanted to join Treadstone, all you had to do was ask."

"Not looking for Treadstone," muttered Aaron, navigating to a new portal on the website while ignoring Jason staring over his shoulder. "I'm looking for the names of the ex-CIA agents who are running the programs. But if you remember anything, sharing would be good about now."

"My name is Daniel Webb and I hate saltwater."

Aaron paused, his hands still poised over the keys to glance over his shoulder at the other agent. "Saltwater?"

"I got pulled out half alive floating in the stuff," said Jason flatly. "It smells like death." He pulled the cap from a bottled water and began gulping it down.

"Wolves." He turned back to the computer.

"One wolf won't hurt you"

"It was a whole pack of them, chasing after me for three days. Those vermin are too damn smart." He stared at the screen, calculating his options. "Then there was one and even that was more than enough."

"I won't throw you to the wolves if you don't throw me in the ocean."

"Fair enough" he heard the whine of the hairdryer stop and waited for Marta to come back out. There had to be some lead to go off from on this.

Behind him, Jason let out a sharp breath. "I know an ex-CIA. She's helped me in the past and she'll know who's running the program."

"Pamela Landy?"

"You know her?"

"I tracked her down to find you, but she might not help after last night." Aaron, shoved the laptop screen down with a snap. "When she came to me, she said we had to do this legally. She warned me not to stab Byer in the back, which is exactly what we did."

"In your defense, I was the one who shot him."

"I planned it." When Landy finds out it was all to save Marta, she won't help us. She finds out about Nicky and it's all over. She knows about Byer by now. "If she asks, I would do it all over again." He hardens his voice. "I would've taken the shot, warning or no warning from her."

"I'll handle her." He flashed Aaron a glance that warned all too plainly that he'd better be working on that plan to bring Nicky back if he expected the ex-Treadstone agent to stick around before he moved away, waiting his own turn for the shower.

When we have the names of the people running the program, we'll have a target to aim a gun at. Nicky will be close by if they've abducted her into LARX. We need to know how many assassins they have. When the participants are taken out, the leaders shot down then we'll have the chance for a normal life.

When you took the first step into Outcome, you sold any right you had to a normal life. You're in the program. As long as you're Aaron Cross, you acknowledge your debt to Outcome, the debt you made to me on joining.

As long as you're Aaron Cross.

What if I'm not Aaron Cross anymore? Is that when I'm done with the program—is it, Byer? I was someone before Outcome. If Treadstone is exposed nationally, I can become that man again.

He looked up, hearing the door unlock and watched Marta come to set her clothes on the bed in a neat pile before she happened to notice him.

She did one full turn in front of him, showing off the clothes to make him smile. "How'd you know the sizes?"

"I guessed. Visually guessed. And looks like I was right." The clothes hadn't been the only thing he'd been set on buying for her. The final thing was buried in the lining of his jacket where it was sure to be safe until the time was right. With the level of danger they were living, the right time couldn't be drawn out even if they had only known each other a few weeks. Four years, he corrected himself, almost five. That's long enough, isn't it?

"Thank you, Aaron," she said, leaving out any mention of how it was a waste of their valuable resources. Forty thousand had seemed a fortune at the time, but when they invested in place tickets, rental cars and hotels, it wouldn't last half a year. She started to kiss his cheek, until he turned to catch her lips on his and indulge in a brief instant without thinking about their situation or the people hunting them down. He nudged her closer, prolonging their few seconds. But then, far before he wants it to end, their instant is over and he needs to think rationally again.

"Do we know where we're going next?"

"We need to stay long enough for Jason to establish a contact and to track down where Nicky is. After that…" he confesses the lack of plan he has, but Marta can't know she's the distraction from that plan. With any distraction being potentially fatal to their survival he knows he needs to say something. As soon as we have the names, then I'll have the chance to tell her.

It's only a matter of hours. You've waited three years, Cross, you can stand to wait a little longer.