Well after midnight

Parsons and Byer sat in the center of her bed in the lotus position, both sitting Indian style with her locked around him, pumping furiously.

"Come on Mr. Byer just a little more…"

"I think we're on a first name basis now…" she had called him Mr. Byer the entire night.

"No…" she panted she felt her body seizing up in spite of herself as she neared orgasm again, he felt it too and started pumping faster. "No… I hate you… I think… you are… a creep…"

He grabbed her ass and clenched it as his breath hitched, "…and I think… you are… a spoiled… vapid… prude… A rich girl… with fifties… ideals…"

She placed her hands behind her on the bed as she arched back and shrieked, "Come on… do it… You-" he never found out what he was this time as she was cut off as she convulsed in sexual bliss.

As her pleasure subsided, she sat forward again and ground on him furiously as he achieved an orgasm as well- not merely ejaculation. She opened her eyes- and gasped; if he wasn't as engrossed he would've registered the gasp as shock as opposed to pleasure. There- near the balcony, she saw something move. Her eyes narrowed to slits, not in an attempt to focus but in hatred as she stared back at Jason Bourne.

Byer started to turn his head in that direction and she ran her hand up the back of his head and grabbed his hair to control his head and clutched him closer to her body in a modest bid to cover her nakedness. She forcibly kissed him, for the first time that night. With the other hand behind Byers back, she pointed to the balcony. The kiss was deep and lasting, at least long enough for Bourne to slip outside to the balcony.

"Thank you for the wonderful evening Mr. Byer," she lifted up from him and fell backwards on the bed, then half playfully and have seriously pushed him with her feet. "You are dismissed…" she said as she rolled away from him and lay on her side, trying in vain to bottle up her embarrassment. "Your presence is no longer required."

"So, let me guess… you've been with less than half a dozen men," he inquired as he still searched for her motivation. "You still have a slight awkwardness about you…"

"Oh, Colonel… There are two questions you never ask a woman: number of partners and weight. There isn't a good answer. If you're right, I'm a prude and if you're wrong I'm a whore…" She squeezed her eyes shut in trying to hold her swelling shame and anger in check.

"But, does this mean…"

"It means: I want you to leave, now. If I desire your services in the future, I'll call you. I am a camel when it comes to sex, so don't wait around. Don't kiss and tell either…"

"Never do…" He got up and quickly dressed before heading to the door, "Parsons, thank you- for what could be our last normal night." He paused and said with strikingly morose tone, "There was no other, nor better way, I could've spent it; how pathetic is that…" he asked rhetorically as he shut the door.

She fought back tears as she wondered if he understood how cutting those words were, she knew he did but tried to deny it. He had been an asset; they don't make mistakes. She lay there in her own sweat and self-pity for a minute, knowing Bourne would sit out there all night before he would dare intrude again.

She clenched her jaw as she walked to the bathroom naked and got a robe, which was thick and impossibly hot, but far better than sweating in one of her two sets of clothes.

She stormed out to the balcony as she mentally flipped the switch from utter embarrassment to furious anger, trying to keep from crying. Before anything else registered she hit him with as powerful an uppercut as she could muster out of her one hundred and twenty pound frame. She grabbed her hand in pain, just as she realized who she had struck. To his credit he hadn't moved an inch. "Oouch!" He tried to take her hand and she snatched it away.

"You pigheaded jerk! You- cretin!"

Just then they heard the door open and shut, "Parsons, I forgot…" Byers eyes locked on Bourne and they both drew in fluid motions each taking a fraction of a second and Nicky being between them both was the only thing keeping them all from seeing who was faster.

"Whoah!" Nicky shrieked. "Stop it…" she warned as Byers eyes cut into Bourne who returned his stare with that of mild curiosity. "Jason, lower it," she reached out and tried to push his arm down and it didn't move at all. "Byer, give me your gun." He laughed at her, to whom she retorted, "You wanted to meet him, so here he is. He didn't shoot Vosen, Abbot, Hirsch, Conklin, or me… He damn sure isn't going to shoot you."

"…yet three of them are dead. He could've shot Conklin…"

She stormed over to him, "I shot Alexander Conklin!" she proclaimed as she took the gun from his hand. She turned to Jason, "Bourne, put it away. I went to a lot of trouble to set this up…" He nodded and slowly holstered the gun and wondered if the evening's prior activities were part of her efforts.

He was trying to gage her emotional state and gave up, her mind was spinning. "For the record, I didn't shoot Conklin any more than Jason did." She handed Byers gun to Bourne and placed a hand gently on Jason's shoulder, but awkwardly. "I need to… wash," she said with clear disgust, her eyes lowered in shame. She walked to the bathroom and shut the door. They heard the fan start and then the shower.

"So, you asked for a meeting with me?" Bourne asked casually as if they were in Byers office.

"Yes, Col. Eric Byer USAF- Retired," he held out his hand but Bourne never took it, nor did he stop looking at his eyes. "Look- I don't work for the CIA and I never have. Can you at least wait until the end of the meeting to hate me?" Jason grudgingly shook his hand. "So, is it Jason Bourne?"

He shrugged, "That's the name that they gave me," he said icily. "You're an asset," it wasn't a question.

Byer shrugged, "Yes and no... I worked with SOG (Special Operations Group)."

"Military intelligence," he scoffed with the familiar indifference of a soldier who had all too often been given bad Intel.

"Yes- I feel like another drink, would you rather that or coffee?"

"Coffee; I'll get my own thanks."

They got their drinks and returned to the patio. "So, I was SOG but in a parallel program as Treadstone. We are the same model, but have different manufacturers. I specialize now in cleaning up other people's messes, hence my involvement in your case- as well as several others." Jason bristled at this, "But, like I said," he motioned between them both, "we are a clean slate. I know that they royally screwed things up with you and largely you aren't to blame for your actions." Jason scoffed at this. "You aren't completely innocent here. You overreacted at every step- you kept escalating it." Bourne glowered at him, "That chase in New York in the police car only happened because you bragged about being in Vosen's office…"

"I needed to get his team off of Landy…"

"...who you also selfishly involved. You really couldn't get everyone out of that building any other way?" He shrugged, "A fire alarm, a bomb threat- hell a real bomb… Of course you could have. Do you know that a pregnant woman was killed in that car chase when a police car broadsided her?"

"But, I didn't…"

"Yes, you did. The baby lived- somewhere out there a man is a single father raising a baby because you were showing off. You don't see him hunting you across four continents for killing his wife- blowing stuff up the whole way."

Bourne knew at this point the man was a good negotiator as well as a poker player. Everything about his demeanor, from his tone to his hand and eye motions, had been perfected through years of practice. Nicky apparently had to get into bed with him to get what she wanted. But there was something else with Byer, something personal. He nodded, "I see your point. That is a valid argument."

"I will admit that about 85% of your whole situation was the fault of corrupt men- not the CIA. The other 15% is yours. Unfortunately a lot of assets died- and innocent people like Marie. You have my sincere condolences sir, I feel your loss. I lost my wife and little girl- I know what it's like to lose a mate."

Bourne nodded solemnly, "So, are we finished? Is it over?" Bourne reached for a basket of forgotten dinner rolls and started buttering one. He knew that the man was here for a purpose, but he was going to have to ask. Bourne had seen the Top Secret folders marked G14 CLASSIFIED which he had never heard of- so it must be serious.

Byer handed him the stack of folders as Nicky rejoined them, she was wearing boys Batman underpants and an old gray shirt that had 'Navy' on the front and had the neck cut out. It was so thin that he could see through it with the light behind her and it was huge on her; he absently wondered if it had once been his. She saw Jason staring at the shirt, "Sorry, I pack light." The steam was pouring from her head, it was cold tonight.

Byer hadn't commented on his apparel and she finally noticed it, "Is that a wet suit?" she giggled.

They both laughed too, happy for the lighter mood. Byer answered, "It's too high to climb so he came from the roof, parachute?"

"No, too many questions this time of night, hang glider…"

Byer slapped the table and laughed, "Please tell me you quoted Snake Pliskin!"

He nodded and laughed as he pulled out reading glasses from his fanny pack and started reading through the file. Nicky's mouth fell open slightly at this, but she said nothing. She really looked at him, he looked old. Months ago in that café in Spain she thought he had aged a lot, but now it was striking.

Byer nodded to the file, "You might want to skip to the end…"

"Thanks but I'm getting it all…" he said absently. Byer knew he was memorizing every page.

Jason made a move to get up but then stopped abruptly, "Nicky, I'm sorry- do you mind?" he pointed to the coffee then pointed to the file he was reading.

"Nope, I need one myself. Mr. Byer?"

"Jack and Coke- 2 in 1…"

"Huh?"

Jason answered, "He's from South Carolina; free pouring is illegal in bars there, they have to serve out of little bottles. He is ordering two mini bottles in one glass."

"Oh…"

While Nicky was away Byer whispered, "It's locked isn't it- your hip? That's why you didn't stand up. How long does it last?"

Slightly shocked he glanced at Nicky in the other room, "Thirty to sixty seconds."

"It gets worse and will start to happen when you're in motion too, beware of treadmills," he laughed. "You get stabbing pains in your back, between the spine and the shoulder blades?"

He nodded, "I thought that was from the gunshot wounds…"

"No," he said gravely. "It will turn into a persistent burning which builds in intensity and runs along the entire spine. We should have read the fine print on the TV ads…"

Nicky returned with the drinks and they went back to the file. "Well," Byer finally said. "It's been an interesting evening. Meet me in the lobby at 6am…"

"I haven't said yes to anything yet…"

"It really isn't a question. She wrote that- feel free to get her to debrief you. I'm going to see if they have a room open…" he got up to leave.

"I'm sure they do," she said tartly, dismissing him again. "See you then…" This time she followed him and locked the door.

She stamped back to the patio as he closed the folder, "What's wrong with you…" she demanded.

"Look, I'm sorry! I climbed down the side of a twenty-two story building for Christ sake! I didn't know what you were doing…"

"Not that- you're just a jerk with voyeuristic tendencies. I swear that I'm going start keeping a spray bottle by the bed to squirt you with- you're worse than a damn cat!"

"Use wasp killer, it shoots fifty feet and makes a great ad hoc flame thrower," he cocked his head in thought, "I can't remember where I read that," he laughed at his own amnesiatic humor. "So, I've walked in on you before?"

She swallowed hard, "Yeah, this makes the third time. Get up and come here." He complied, walking into the room as she shut the curtains. "Strip!"

"He was joking, you don't have to debrief me too…" as soon as he said it he regretted it, but the damage had been done. Her eyes narrowed and he noticed her eyes were puffy from crying and the skin around her neck was pink from scrubbing.

He thought she was going to scream at him and unleash a torrent of hatred but she whispered as quiet as a church mouse, "Now, please."

He obeyed, removing his harness, holster, fanny pack, and wet suit. He set his jaw and stood rigid as if for military inspection. She got a note pad and started doing exams. She examined his eyes first then his: hearing, reflexes, acuity, and memory. He also had complete physical, as well as other tests; which he saw no reason for.

He actually found the hernia and rectal exam less intrusive than her questions and the oral exam, which made him feel like a race horse as she pulled his lips and cheeks out and felt the insides of his mouth, teeth, and tongue.

"I'll ask you one more time Bourne: What's wrong with you?" She sat there writing for a few minutes and he absently wondered if he could get dressed, but held formation.

"Headaches are now constant and invasive, light sensitivity has increased but I have issues seeing in dark places, night terrors, insomnia, bowel irregularity, a cavity on number thirty… it's quite a list."

"What's today's date?"

He blinked three times rapidly, "I've been running everyday…"

She cut him off, "Okay, what day of the week is it?"

He finally turned his head and looked at her and his expression quickly switched from utter embarrassment to hatred, "I'm done."

He moved to get dressed, "You're done when I say you're done." He froze. "Do you have any other symptoms to report?"

"Other than the things Byer mentioned, no," he then relayed their conversation.

She seemed unphased by these revelations, "Erectile dysfunction?"

He reared his head back, "No… not that I'm aware of. I haven't since Marie… and that's been…" he trailed off.

"…a year ago this week."

"God…" he sat on the edge of the bed, stunned. "I've been so busy running…" he was suddenly overcome with such profound guilt that she couldn't help but crack and Dr. Parsons was replaced by Nicky. "I… I don't know what they did with her… I didn't even think about it!"

She handed him a small envelope, "I looked after her. She is buried in a little graveyard outside a Christian church in the village you were living in."

He looked at her as though she were the most curious thing he'd ever seen. "The white Spanish one?" She nodded. "She had actually gone there… When did you do it…"

"The day after you were going to blow my brains out in Berlin," she said with such warmth that it was as though she were thanking him for breakfast in bed.

"You actually went there?"

"Not initially; but I did later."

"What name did…" he broke off.

"Her real one… There are pictures in there…" she pointed to the envelope.

"Thanks…" he mumbled as he flipped through Polaroids with dates on them. She must have hired someone to tend to the grave and send pictures.

"Uh huh, you're still not ducking the ED issue. Do you masturbate?"

"No. Didn't feel like it. It didn't feel right."

"Erections in the morning?"

He shrugged again, "No, can't remember the last time. Never really did. Look, I don't dream about good things. Nicky, what is all this about?"

"Go take a shower- you smell like a dead otter and the bed is soiled enough. See if you can while you're in there. I'll go over my notes and then we'll talk."

"Sure…" he said distractedly.

"There is some KY on the bedside table if it will help." She turned and looked at him and he was mortified as she read his mind, "It's okay to think about her, to fantasize."

"That's not… sick?"

She looked over her reading glasses and held her hand to her heart, "As a woman, I can promise you David, that it's the highest form of flattery that I can think of; that you still feel so deeply for her. Hell, I'm flattered just to be remembered…" she laughed. "But, long-term… she was a Gypsy at heart. She was all about living in the moment and moving to better places; she wouldn't have wanted you living like a monk."

"You're right. Thanks Nicky…"

"That's the name that they gave me…" her voice had flatness to it that indicated further questions were not permitted.

When he came out of the bathroom the lights were off and she was already in bed. "Climb in. If I get too clingy just give me a 'wet willy'."

He knew she was avoiding talking to him, but he didn't especially want to talk to her either. As he lay there, he wondered if she knew that he never moved or made noise when he slept. Of course she did. She had probably forgotten more about him than he had, literally.

He lay there on the edge of sleep for a long time, they had left the patio door open and he loved the cold wind blowing across his body. He couldn't remember his life before, but now he had lived mostly in third world equatorial countries without air conditioning. He relished the air as he spoke softly, "Am I a better person?"

"No," she said kindly without hesitation. "The old Jason laughed and played pranks. You sang in the shower and you were always smiling- on the inside I mean." She rolled over but he couldn't make out her face in the dark, "I thought you be dead by now. I thought you'd eat your gun."

"Huh…" he grunted as a thought, not a question.

She elaborated anyway, "You hold it all in. You blame yourself for things you don't even remember. Are you a 'better person' morally? Sure, but what good is that if you hate your life enough to end it?"

"What were you to me- really? 'It was always difficult for me- with you…' What the hell does that even mean?"

He heard her breathing stop and could practically feel it when she swallowed, "I don't want to lie to you or mislead you, but you aren't that person anymore and we haven't built that level of trust yet." Neither spoke for a long time. "Jason, what am I to you now? What are we to each other?"

He thought hard about it, "I really don't know. I'm not sure there is a classification for it," he laughed honestly.

"Exactly; go to sleep Boy Scout," there was finality to her voice, as though she was putting a child to bed, but it was still warm and kind.

When she awoke in the morning he wasn't in bed and she saw her Glock on the bedside table, not where she had left it. She jumped up and searched the suite, she found several bags of men's and women's clothing and a note from Byer, but Jason was gone. She walked to the patio door and watched the sunrise and she finally let her shoulders and head slump in despair when she heard his soft voice directly behind her, "Sorry, I didn't want to wake you."

She had been certain that he had fled and couldn't help but perk up, "Yeah, I haven't slept like that in years."

She turned and saw that Jason was dressed very nicely, including designer sunglasses. "I need you to book us flights…"

"Where to," she inquired, powering up her laptop.

"He wants me to go collect some guy named Cross, he is on the run like me."

"Swell. So, where would he go and where am I going? Please say Paris…"

"Those are the wrong questions. Where would I go and where would he come from?" he asked honestly.