"Pause awhile,/ And let my counsel sway you in this case./ … Let her awhile be secretly kept in/ And publish it that she is dead indeed." – Shakespeare, Much Ado about Nothing (Act IV, scene 1, 199-203)

"…was one of the founding members of a covert CIA program. His body was discovered in his office, at least two hours after his death. When asked to give a statement, the CIA said only that Eric Byer had been an outstanding officer and citizen who would defeat his country to his last breath. Serving as the director of the covert CIA program along with Noah Vosen…"

The stock image of Byer in his military uniform, barely smiling into the camera panned away from the screen for an image of her father to fill it. It was one of the pictures from his early years, back when his hair only held traces of silver. Kane muted the news report, studying the other images that filtered onto the screen one by one. Vosen appeared to be holding nothing back from the reporters—Byer slumped back in his chair with the bullet holes glaringly obvious in his chest, his hand partially covering one of the files on his desk. She could just make out the word Outcome on it. Of course, his legacy. Or rather the legacy he'd been permitted to call his own. Lab summaries stating the cause of death as poisoning, not gun wounds. Another stock image, this one of Byer and Vosen standing together in a lab as they reviewed participant evaluations. As soon as the images stopped cycling, Kane thumbed the volume back on in time to catch a statement by Vosen.

"Eric was a brave, intelligent man that I was privileged to work with. All I want is for his killer to be brought to justice, for killing a government official in cold blood." Vosen stared out into the audience, as though looking for the suspect whose image was displayed on the screen behind him. "If anyone has seen his killer, I beg you to come forward with any information you have."

We don't want another Bourne incident, Kane mentally added. Still watching the report, she dug out her vibrating phone with one hand and answered it.

"The trap is marvelous."

"I'm glad you're pleased," Vosen purred. "With the rest of the city helping us, the murderer won't be hard to find. It's your turn now. Go to the CIA headquarters and follow the trail the rogue agents left."

She nodded, allowing herself a few seconds to mentally arrange the exact plan. Any deviations could only be on a need-to basis.

"These agents need to be brought in before any more public damage is done."

"They won't get far," she promised.

His reply was warm, eliciting a smile from her. "That's my girl."

Aaron awoke smothered in the sweet scent of Marta's hair. She'd fallen asleep on her side nestled against his chest, guarding his heart while her hand remained loosely in his. Gently so as not to wake her, he ran his free hand up and down the landscape of her back, closing his eyes again and savoring the peaceful morning with his wife. I could wake up like this every morning with her. Then he heard his phone vibrating. Suppressing a groan of annoyance, Aaron reached over Marta, shifting his body as little as possible so she wouldn't be disturbed, to snatch the phone from the nightstand.

Jason, I will stab you and leave you to bleed all over the floor. No, too nice. I'll tie you up then leave you on the CIA's doorstep. With a loaded gun for Vosen.

6:05 a.m. Unknown caller

Turn on the news. We've got trouble.

6:07 Unknown caller

It's worse than trouble. Are you even awake? Get the hell up.

6:08 Unknown caller

How can you sleep through a ringing phone? Oh you didn't turn it off.

6:08 Unknown caller

You DIDN'T.

6:09 Unknown caller

Turn on the damn news, Cross!

Aaron, glanced through the rest of the thirty messages that grew more urgent. At the final message, he dropped the phone to the bed, heart racing to snatch up the remote. They wouldn't… they wouldn't… they wouldn't. He clicked through a few channels until he came to the news report, staring at the screen, hand shaking as he turned up the volume as high as he dared.

"…leading the investigating with the scientist Marta Shearing convicted in the murder of Eric Byer. According to lab evidence, Dr. Shearing's DNA was found on Eric Byer's body suggesting sexual activity during or after the poison was administered. Dr. Shearing is known to be a collaborator of a fugitive CIA agent. This act of shocking defiance to the U.S. intelligence agent may lead viewers to wonder how safe our country may continue to be. Any information as to the whereabouts of this suspect should be reported immediately."

It was supposed to be me. I should've left more evidence. I shouldn't have let Marta take the fall. It's not her place.

He grabbed the phone again and checked the final message sent eleven minutes ago.

6:20 Unknown caller

I'm picking up supplies. When I get there, I'll cover you fifteen minutes before we clear out.

Aaron nudged Marta awake. "Marta, you need to get up right now." When Marta mumbled in protest, he cupped her face, kissing her passionately but urgently. He needed her up now and it was the only way he could think to get her attention.

She shifted beneath him, blinking up dazedly at him. "You're very—"

But Aaron was already up and snatching his clothes up off the floor. "Marta, you've been publicly labeled as Byer's killer. The entire city's going to be looking for you. If the story's being broadcast to a wider range, it could be the whole country."

He heard the sheets ruffle and saw Marta slip from the bed, but instead of hurrying to get dressed, she sat on the edge, a sheet cradled against her body as her eyes fixed on the news report. On her own picture.

"Is this how it feels the first time?"

Those weren't the words he'd wanted to ever hear come from her. But looking at her, he knew. Gathering her clothes to set on the bed beside her, Aaron began pulling on his own. "I know why and when, but not how."

Marta's eyes met his. She wasn't afraid. "Byer gave me a capsule to give to you. It was meant to weaken you enough so you could be brought in without a struggle. I crushed it into a powder and gave it to Byer instead. If Jason hadn't shot him, he would've still died."

Did I make you into this? Was I the one who drove you to extremes? Aaron paused, shirt in his hands, not wanting to think Marta his Marta would take those risks.

"It would've looked like a heart attack. He was always under pressure and everyone would've believed it if Jason hadn't shot him." Marta began pulling on her clothes, still watching the report.

"So when they ask, what will be your reason? You can't bring me into this…they won't take that."

"He was going to kill you. I saw the plans for the beta program."

Landy was going to kill them all after this one. Just one screwed-up confrontation after another… if she calls the SWAT team after them, he won't be a bit surprised.

Marta bit her lip hard when the report speculated on a hidden romance between her and Byer, claiming that an undisclosed agent had blackmailed her into intimacy with the director. "Funny how my name and Jason's are all over the news but no one's talking about you yet," she said mirthlessly.

"CIA cover-up probably. Byer hadn't given them the green light to release my information to the general public." It should bother him more that he's got more insurance of animosity than Marta. The only ones who know anything about him are the CIA heads and the assassins. Everyone else knows Marta's face. "Even if the local police pinned me down for something, it wouldn't be enough to be locked away like they will you. Marta…"

She faced him boldly. "I did what I had to do. Tell me you wouldn't have done the same with Mandy if you'd had a chance."

"I wouldn't… Marta!...I wouldn't sleep with her!" Aaron said, taken aback. "She'd never have bought it, coming from me. And when did this ever become part of the conversation? Just because you and Byer…" he rubbed his forehead. "No… I don't want to know. I trust you."

A knock came at the door, Aaron going to answer it while Marta hastily threw on her clothes. An instant later, Jason was storming through the door. "What. The hell is wrong with you?! You murder Byer in cold blood because he happened to mention a level two threat…"

"All of this started with Eric Byer," snapped Marta. "You think I can't get anything done myself."

"We can't have slip-ups like this. A bullet would've been easily explained."

"So would a heart attack to a stressed man!"

"Don't try to prove yourself. Next time you'll kill all of us."

"Jason… let it go." Aaron slipped between the two of them. "I'm not any happier about it but what's done is done."

Jason sucked in a breath. "Landy was right." He paused, letting the words sink in. "When she hears about this, Cross…when she finds out about what Marta… what your wife did sleeping around with Byer just to poison him…"

Aaron reached behind him to take Marta's hand and hold it tight. "You want to have a go with me, Bourne, say the word, but now's not the time to pick fistfights like an idiot."

With a bag shoved into Aaron's hand, Jason shook his head and backed off. "You've got fifteen minutes. I already left the room keys at the desk." Glancing past Aaron, Bourne jabbed a finger at Marta. "You've got fifteen minutes, not a second more, to get your act together and meet me outside. Two blocks west at the ATM."

"This is really happening." Marta dug through the bag and pulled out a box of chestnut brown hair dye along with a plain t-shirt and some cheap makeup. Her hands trembled. "Aaron, if I knew what would happen—he was going to murder and I couldn't…not after Dr. Foite…"

"Ssh" Aaron touched a hand to her face. "You've got to keep it together right now, sweetheart. Remember? You've got to force away any normal response and think objectively." He brought up his other hand to frame her face, making her look at him. "Do you hear me? You're going to be brave."

"Yes."

"Good" He checked his watch. "Can you get that dye done in eight minutes? I'll handle out here."

Marta snatched the box and disappeared into the bathroom.

With his goals in mind, Aaron gathered their supplies in the two backpacks, dusted down the tabletops and surfaces then stripped the sheets from the bed, which he gathered into a bundle and hurried to sneak into the maid's hamper in the hallway.

That done, he surveyed the rest of the room, glancing around for any other incriminating evidences traces. He wiped down the tv remote and stuck his phone into his back pocket.

If we make it through this. If all the CIA heads are dead and we're left behind to clean up the mess… the deeper they were pushed into this, Aaron began to wonder if living through it was even an option. Jason would be found some day by the wrong person and Marta couldn't hold up a second identity for the rest of her life.

When he knocked at the door, she greeted him with soggy chestnut hair a grim, determined look and two words.

Mara St. James

Aaron hoped the doctor who had stolen his heart was still somewhere inside this fugitive from the CIA. She wasn't like him and Jason…she still had a chance to be normal if she took it.

"Don't look at me like that," she admonished. "I'm being brave. You can't call me Marta Shearing anymore."

He tried to force away the small pang of hurt in his chest. "I'll whisper it to you when we're alone together."

Three minutes later, any lingering illusion of the safety she'd felt the night before was long gone when Marta exited the room behind her husband, backpack in hand and a gun within easy reach. The only indication she'd left was a tip for the maid and a note for the assassins that would be sent to the room and her old identity, which could only be called poetic justice. Aaron left his chem holder and now she'd left her driver's license.

By the time they reached the rendezvous Jason had already withdrawn the money and sorted it out to give a fourth to Marta and a fourth to Aaron, which the agent declined. Marta was stunned by the number of hundreds and twenties as she glanced through her share before quickly sticking it the bottom of her backpack.

"I'll go find a car. You two give our friends a trail to follow." Jason pulled the Yankees cap lower over his eyes with a smirk before heading for the parking garage.

Aaron checked his wallet for a credit card. "Here's what you're going to do—there should be a credit card in your wallet…yeah, that one… there's a Walgreens two blocks down. You're going to go in, fill a basket with random things and charge it to the credit card. I'll be right across the street at the farmer's market." He walked with her, voice lowered to a whisper. "Don't be longer than eight minutes and don't draw attention to yourself."

"And the point is to—?"

"The point is to give them something to fixate on while we escape. They'll be studying the charges on the card trying to make connections—don't give them anything to go on."

She nodded, parting ways with him just after the intersection. You can do this, Mara St. James. There's a face all over the news reports that the people in here might've seen but it isn't your face; it's someone else's. There's nothing to worry about. To them you're just another customer, just another ordinary person. Taking a steadying breath, Marta pushed open the door and flashed a smile at the cashier before grabbing a basket and setting to work.

No leads.

No leads to follow.

She immediately wandered to the candy aisle to toss a few candy bars into the basket along with some salted nuts and two bottled waters. She was about to grab a third when she decided less was the safer option. She passed by the medicine aisle and tossed in a few packs of commercial pain relievers and a sleep aid. Down the clothing aisle, she grabbed two NY tourist shirts, and two baseball caps—one Mets, one Yankees along with three pairs of sunglasses. As she threw stuff in the basket, she tried to keep a running tab of the cost. A hundred dollars should be enough. Glancing around, Marta tossed in some gauze and bandages, a pocket sewing kit and, in the next aisle, found herself automatically reaching for a pregnancy kit.

She paused, wasting valuable seconds, debating whether or not this was a lead she wanted to give their enemies. It's not as though I'm planning on using it. As long as I can make them think I am… shaking away her doubts, Marta shoved it into the bottom of her basket. Three minutes… her eyes scanned the surrounding aisles before she picked up two magazines, a daily paper, a case of mints and called her mission completed. She hauled her items to the front, establishing confident eye contact with the cashier.

"Tourist?"

"That easy to tell?" Marta laughed wryly. "I've always wanted to see the city. It was always so exciting—all those people, the movies and Broadway shows…" keep talking, distract her. She pulled out the credit card, still chatting away animatedly. "…and the best little cafes I've ever seen. I was looking for someplace for lunch—small, good food, local—any suggestions?"

"There's this place on 8th that's pretty good."

"Can you give me the directions from here?" She took out a pen and snatched a store flyer to write on.

The cashier rattled off the directions as she finished ringing up the items and Marta swiped the card, grateful it went through easily.

"Enjoy your stay in the city." She said, handing over the receipt.

Marta gathered up her bags with a smile. "Oh I will!" Heading towards the door, she breathed a sigh of relief and counted one small battle won.

At the same corner, Aaron met her with a few bags of fresh produce in his hands. He caught Marta's smirk and shook his head. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to spend an excessive credit amount at a farmer's market when most of the places only take cash?"

"We're in the city. Don't they know most people carry credit cards around?" She shared a conspiratory wink with him, waving the bags in her hands. "So where do we meet up with…" she trailed off purposely since saying "Jason Bourne" in New York was the equivalent of saying "free samples" in a candy store. Someone was bound to overhear and take notice.

Aaron checked his phone for messages. "Let's head towards the parking garage. You're doing great," he added in a lowered voice. She didn't miss the disappointment in his eyes when his gaze lingered on her hair. It's still me, Aaron. I didn't choose the last name because it sounded good. Even if she was a fugitive, she would keep some part of her name to prove she still was his.

"James and June?" she prompted with a nudge.

"I caught the reference when you first said it, thanks."

My name is James. You lost your wallet and I'm driving you home. James and June, got it?

Is that your name?

What? James? No! You don't know my name?

Even now, Marta knew she'd never forget that initial moment when Aaron had found out she'd never really known him. She trailed along beside him, instinctively moving slightly behind him and turning her face away when they walked into the crowd oncoming from the opposite street. Even if her disguise was holding up so far, it still felt unnatural and permeable like anyone would see her through Mara St. James. The whole city was looking for her.

Everyone could be a potential enemy t her now. All it took was one instant of recognition, one call… she had no idea how Jason managed this pressure daily or how he fearlessly traveled the metro or stayed in a hotel like any other person. It had to be a second nature by now—looking over his back, pretending to be a ghost, acting as though he was after Jason Bourne like the rest of the world.

And Marta Shearing knew in that moment that it wasn't a life she wanted. Living on the run with Aaron was easy. Being potentially recognized at every turn wasn't. She'd never wish it on Aaron even if he could handle it.

A silver Subaru pealed out of the parking garage and pulled over right in front of them. From the driver's seat, Jason's grin was impossible to ignore.

"Can't settle for anything under 20K can you?" Aaron said with a snort, getting into the back seat.

Marta tossed her bags in after him and took shotgun. Once the doors were locked and they were on their way into city traffic, she felt safe to speak. "Where now? We can't do hotels, or trust anyone." She left off that it was only mostly her fault since Jason had started it. "If there are any options left…"

"Everyone might watch the news but not everyone agrees with the CIA's darker strains. Strains like Byer that needed to be removed." Jason kept glancing in the review mirror, watching for pursuers. "If you've got any ideas on where to lay low for a few days, better speak up, Cross, because I don't have much. One person on the run was easier than hiding three."

Marta sighed, turning to stare out the window to avoid any contact with Jason. Even if he pretended not to show it, she could still feel his resentment about the situation. "Was it about someone besides you becoming a target or is it just because you only got the second shot at Eric Byer?"

"Don't go there," warned Jason. "What you did was nothing short of an amateur. If something happened to me and Cross, could you really handle yourself when they really started to come for you? I don't mean a few news reports… that's nothing. It's when you start seeing your face in every newspaper you pick up; it's when you consistently hear your name behind your back; it's when you know that any person you associate becomes a target... when you're harming the one person you try to get close to…" he trailed off, his voice tight. He turned, glancing at Marta when she touched his arm.

Her first impulse was to deny anything would happen—Jason and Aaron were experts at hiding when they needed to—but the reality is they could be hunted down in the next hour and arrested.

In the back, Aaron had spread maps to cover nearly the entire backseat. "We need to find someplace soon. Marta's going to need a new ID made before the police get a chance to catch up with us."

"So two hours in a stable location?" Jason glanced at him in the mirror.

He nodded tensely. "If I can do that then make a call or two, we might have something a little more long term."

"If that's the case, let's get this over with." Jason looked almost afraid at those last words. "We'll have to face her sooner or later anyway."

The "her" in question was a place. Aaron didn't recognize it at first glance from the outside when they parked the car and walked the two blocks to the apartment, but when he saw the room they'd had him tied up in he remembered June. I can't imagine how you're taking this. Did you suspect Marta and I were together when you tried to rekindle our old romance? Someday, he'd face her again and get it sorted out. We'd never been more than friends in the program—even if you ended up being the only friend I had through the entire thing.

A portrait of Nicky with an older couple, presumably her parents, was all he needed to see. He noticed that Jason deliberately tried to avoid it whenever he walked past, but the Treadstone agent sneaked glances whenever he thought Aaron and Marta weren't watching.

He helped Cross gather the supplies to forge the ID and paced the halls, thinking about Nicky. What LARX and Mandy would be doing with her after they had the nerve to make her into one of their soulless assassins. He shouldn't have left her. He should've stayed with her or dragged her along… if Byer was dying anyway, it meant he'd left Nicky for no reason.

Even if Marta had died… a part of him scoffed so what. She's one of them. She helped create this monster and she thinks she can make up for that by helping Cross hush it all up. Nicky had been the victim. Marta had been one of the ones to make Nicky a victim.

The real question was whether Cross had indirectly allied himself with the wrong side by taking this doctor as his wife. Love or not, she was the enemy. Poisoning Byer, if she had done it, didn't make up for anything.

What if they exchanged Nicky for Marta? He couldn't resist the alluring thought, treacherous as it was. If LARX was continuing to progress, they'd need Marta's support. They might even need Cross as a test subject.

What if you could just walk away with Nicky and be free of the CIA? What if you could go free and know you'd never have to run from the government again… Jason paused in front of the portrait of Nicky with her parents, lowered it from its hanger and opening it to carefully tear the photo in half. Nicky smiled at him as he folded her half and placed it in his pocket.