*Second update this week. Chrismas flashback is a belated present for Frustsheep, my biggest fan. :)

Chapter 17

Shadows of Yesteryear

Allen Goens huffed in frustration, "Okay, why the hell would they grab Ashley? Nicky is so fond of saying that you guys don't screw up; what the hell did they take her for?"

Bourne said with an even flat tone, "Bargaining power is the most likely reason. Secondary objectives are that they don't know who else is involved or still alive, or how to find us. Somehow he was able to find her. Kirill, how are we coming on a head shot of this guy?"

Kirill had been watching and rewatching all the security footage, "We got nothing. He is really good. He is either faking lighting a smoke, coughing, rubbing is forehead, or something every time he gets close to a camera."

Goens piped up, "Walmart uses the same basic layout everywhere…"

Kirill continued, "We got two things: general size, and there is something in his left hand. Here-" he zoomed in to a picture of his left hand, which showed a dark line around the thumb.

Nicky said as she tried to pace in the narrow space, "I'm pretty sure that is the guy from Australia- not the one that shot me, the other one."

"What the bloody blue blazes of Hades is going on?" Reina's voice came from above them. She had slept in the bed that is in a narrow cavity above the driver's seat in the RV.

Nicky scoffed, "I didn't think an atomic bomb could wake you up…" Reina's sleeping had been the subject of more than a few laughs. It didn't matter how loud you talked, what noises were made, or how hard they shook her; she wouldn't wake up. Once they had slammed on the brakes in a pile up and she had rolled over twice and slammed into the wall face first and- nothing.

She groggily climbed down and snapped, "We've stopped. Submarines don't stop unless there is a serious fucking problem. What's wrong?" She climbed down, faced away from them all and started changing clothes. Serving with nothing but men had eroded her modesty level to nothing long ago.

"We are looking at footage of Ashley from Walmart," Nicky offered. "It looks like he is wearing the things NFL Umpires use…"

Jason shook his head, "Those are black rubber bands. They use them to keep track of the downs."

Kirill mused, "A transmitter? I never saw him speak though."

"See here, it wraps twice around the hand and then over the thumb," Goens took his reading glasses off and tossed them on the desk.

Reina look a quick glance, "Rosary."

Cross coughed, "No. Looks flat."

"I mean a tattoo of one. I've seen one like it before. A guy I dated a long time ago had one," Bourne raised an eyebrow. She straightened as everyone turned to her, "He was on the Concord that crashed- into that hotel." She opened the door quickly and stepped out.

"Cross…" Bourne said simply and the other man followed her. Since Ashley the assets wouldn't let the others out of their sight and Cross had already been on the cameras inside the restaurant.

Bourne was tilting his head sideways looking at the footage and saw Nicky was still looking at the door. He saw her blink three times and shake her head, as though she had a flashback. She locked eyes with him and he knew something was very wrong. "Okay, well we know we aren't going to get anymore from this," she swept her arms at the monitors.

Bourne nodded, "Right. Allen download what you can; you can never go back to that site. We move out in two minutes."

Bourne and Nicky ducked out of the RV, [Treadstone?] he asked in French. She nodded. [Me?]

She swallowed hard, [Padre.]

"How many…" He threw up his hand dismissively, "It doesn't matter. That happened in Paris- why not me?"

She shifted her weight, he knew it meant she was deciding how much to hold back. She opened her mouth- paused, then spoke, "I want to lie to you. I am so sick of lies." She swallowed hard, [I knew that you couldn't handle it. I would've needed to lie to you to get you to do it and I didn't want to. I got soft. Padre had objections as well; the mission was unusual. The target was the plane, that flight- not a person. The plane had to go down. That's all we were told. Usually we avoided attention and collateral damage, that time it wasn't an option. So, do you think this guy is the same guy Reina knew? Was he the target…?]

He shook his head and motioned for silence as Cross and Reina returned, "We ready to roll?" he asked. Bourne nodded.

The rest of the day they tried to put a lot of distance between themselves and Cracker Barrel in case their hacking was anticipated. Bourne and Parsons split off in a car again. Before she started her droning she asked tentatively, "You wanted to hear about 'us'…" He nodded and she cleared her throat, [I hope French is okay- it's more intimate…]

Paris, France

Dec 24, 1999

As Nicky Parsons walked down the sidewalk outside the line of boutiques she had patronized for the better part of the day, she knew that she was being watched. She had felt nervous the whole day and it finally got the best of her. She pulled out her phone and flipped it open and dialed the number listed as AAA, but was a far cry from an automotive service.

"Yes?" the voice said simply.

"Please tell me that it's you Bourne…"

"It's you Bourne…"

"What? Seriously. Are you following me? I'm totally freaking out!"

"You don't look like it."

"Jesus! Don't do that."

"When did you first know you were being followed?"

"I didn't. I felt like I was being watched."

"When?" he insisted.

"All day." He couldn't see her but could tell she was turning her head, looking for him.

"You shouldn't have waited this long. Call immediately next time, even if I am out of the country. That way we can set up a call back. I thought the black nightie was a better choice."

"What? You're guessing. There wasn't anyone else in there, you couldn't know that."

"Do too. You bought the purple one, because you wanted it to match the eye shadow you like."

"What the- am I wired?"

He laughed, "No. I went in after you and told the lady you were my girlfriend and I was looking for stocking stuffers- get it?"

"Yeah, very clever," she huffed as she stormed to her car.

"I thought your underwear choices were limited to ones with superheros on them."

"…and the bras?"

"Well maybe not superheros, but I'm sure they make My Little Pony and Barbie in your-"

"Bourne," she snapped, "You finish that sentence and the next time I give you pills, they'll be what they use to chemically castrate dogs."

"Not funny Parsons… Have a nice Festivus."

She didn't understand the reference, but chose not to ask. "You too," she snapped and closed her phone. She walked quickly down the sidewalk as choralers sang, the street lights and Christmas lights came on. She lamented not knowing any of the songs in French.

She walked quickly, in anger, and opened the trunk of her car to find it empty; the bags from the other stores had been stolen. She hurled her things in the trunk and slammed it. She drove back to the safe-house through a nightmare of Friday night / Christmas eve gridlock.

Most people in her situation would lament their lack of family and friends, but she had always been alone. Her father was an aloof businessman who was never there, her mother had died in childbirth, and she had never really had friends. There would be no Christmas tree, presents, or merriment. She would continue her tradition of Chinese delivery, a hot bath, a good book, and some hot chocolate before bed.

She arrived at the safe-house, got her remaining parcels from the boot, and froze as she started to unlock the door. She had a key ring pad to arm and disarm the houses alarm and defenses, but when she pushed it nothing happened. She didn't hear the buzz on the inside to indicate that it had worked.

Suddenly the door opened so fast she jumped. It took her a moment to realize it was Jason Bourne in front of her wearing an apron, a hideous Christmas sweater, and holding a ladle.

"Ah, Nicky. You're early. Let me take those," he said as he took her parcels as if it were his home.

There was nothing different about the way that he said her name, but it was that he called her Nicky and not Parsons that clued her into the fact that they weren't alone.

It had been almost a year since they first met, and not once had he used her first name. She had projected enough icy glares his way after their Clintonsk sexual encounter, so that there had never been a repeat performance. The first few weeks after she had felt the tension in him and kept waiting for him to grab her a kiss her like some 1950's movie. Then she realized that the tension within him was always there; it wasn't her. She had just .never noticed it before, but he was always on alert; as if a someone was going to kill him at any moment.

She saw that there was a fire going, smelled all kinds of things cooking, and saw two of her other agents there as well. Padre, her most senior asset, was putting the finishing touches on a Christmas tree while wearing a Santa hat. The other, Jarda, was wrapping what she quickly realized were the items stolen from her trunk.

"Let me take your coat…" Bourne said as if it were his home. He took the coat, hung it on the rack, dropped the other bags with Jarda. She heard a buzz and he took off to the kitchen.

She turned to close the door and was shocked to see the Professor, her Barcelona man, in the doorway. "Merry Christmas Nicolette," he hugged her before she could protest. "I was the one keeping tabs on you this afternoon," he explained. "Here is a little something." He handed her a small present as he pushed past her. The Professor was probably her favorite asset, or at least he was the most like her. He was quiet, well read, a musician, and very cultured despite his cockney accent. After pouring himself a drink he settled in at her miniature piano and started playing Christmas music.

"Biscuit Nicolette?" Padre extended a plate of cookies and a cup of peppermint tea.

She fully intended to take a bite of the cookie out of politeness and discard it later, but it was still warm and very delicious. She vowed to run a mile as punishment as she forced herself to nibble at it, to savor the experience. She laughed when she noticed he was wearing a tacky Christmas sweater with snowmen on it. "Ah, silly I know but de rigueur, given the occasion."

"Of course."

"I made one for you too…" he held up another sweater with Rudolph on the front complete with red bulbous nose. "Arms up. Come on, I made it myself; that means you have to wear it." He pulled it over her head even though she refused to raise her arms.

"Oh, you really shouldn't have," she laughed. "And I thought my wardrobe was comprehensive." She laughed again at the look of horror on Jarda's face; he was also a clothes horse and would clearly rather die than wear something like that.

She wandered into the kitchen and saw that Borne was using every surface for food and must have a dozen dishes, several pies, and two plates of cookies.

"Jesus, you cooked all this? It looks… perfect."

"Yeah. I'm a chef."

"What? How did I not know this?!"

He laughed, "Because I wasn't certified until a few months ago."

"Well that explains why 90% of your assets are pots and pans," she laughed. She had been to his apartment before, seeing to the place when he was on long assignments, and it was very barren except for the kitchen. She had been worried for his psychological health at the starkness of the place until she had seen the kitchen. As long as he had passion for something, and wasn't dead inside, he was fine. "How am I supposed to eat all of this?" she scoffed as the doorbell rang.

She ushered in Castle, her man in Rome, and his local contact Marissa. As soon as she shut the door it rang again; it was Mannheim and his local Stephane. Then the door rang again and again and again.

"I feel like Bilbo Baggins," she muttered, lamenting the loss of her quiet evening alone as she opened the door again.

She had twelve assets and eleven local contacts that reported to her in total, she was the twelfth local- Bourne's. Eighteen of the twenty-four were there for the 'off the books' Christmas party.

She hadn't really noticed before; all the locals were women that seemed to match the assets in age, appearance, and style. She wasn't sure who had thought of it, but it was really quite brilliant. They could meet anywhere and even if someone were tailing one of them, meeting a woman that seem to match them perfectly wouldn't seem out-of-place. She was surprised that some of them knew the others, and it was clear that some of them didn't like each other, but in a group this big it was bound to be the case.

The sheer number of people was staggering. When she saw all the food Bourne had made, she thought that it would take her a hundred years to eat it all, but the descended on it like locusts and her own larder was invaded as well.

Everywhere she went there were people. She was use to being alone and the jolliness soon began to wear on her. Bourne could sense it and kept her wine glass full.

Towards the end of the evening Bourne spoke up from the crowd, "I know what we forgot… Christmas music." He held up Nicky's violin case.

"Oh, no… Bourne! I haven't touched that in years…"

The Professor laughed, "Liar. Your fingers are as callused as your heart."

Everyone laughed at her expense and Padre whispered in her ear, "The more you fight it, the worse it will be. Smile, play a song and move on…"

After another minute of prodding she agreed to play one song; she was lamenting it immediately. She powered through Ode to Joy with her eyes closed and couldn't keep from crying. The room was silent and when she was finished the entire room was gawking at her. Normally it was an uplifting piece, but when she played it the piece echoed with sadness and loneliness.

"Sorry. I always cry when I play."

"No need to apologize Nicolette; you're quite good," offered the Professor offered as he started playing Moonlight Sonata on the piano, thereby freeing her from further obligation.

She excused herself to put her instrument upstairs and took time to collect herself and fix her makeup. When she came back down most of the guests had left. She looked for Bourne but didn't see him. "Did Bourne leave?" she asked the Professor.

He raised an eyebrow as if it were a test.

"The chef."

"Ah, yes. He was the first one out." She didn't bother to hide her disappoint, it would just make it more obvious how much she wanted to see him. The others thanked her and left all at once. She sighed deeply and when to the kitchen to start working on the mountain of dishes and saw they were all done. The office was immaculate.

She continued with her ritualistic bath and hot chocolate, before reading 'At the Mountains of Madness' by HP Lovecraft.

Nicky lay in the dark trying her best to go to sleep, but was failing miserably. She hadn't realized what she had missed every year until tonight; now she knew that Christmas's in the future would be painful if she were alone.

Looking out the window she saw snow swirling. It had been windy all day, but she didn't think it was going to snow. She knew that it probably wouldn't snow long, or last on the ground until morning, so she jumped up and pulled on her coat and shoes.

She opened her window, and looked at the sky, then at the street below as her room was on the third floor. Every once and awhile she would hear talking and figured someone left their TV on.

She leaned all the way out to see the tip of the Eiffel Tower that was barely visible behind a building; it was something Bourne had pointed out to her. That happened almost eleven months ago. He had held her as she leaned out to see it; the experience culminated in a stunned display of cunnilingus and nearly to the consummation of their relationship until she had opened her fat mouth.

She rolled her eyes at her own idiocy. Even now she was detached: cunnilingus and consummation? The doctor in her just couldn't let go. She had instructed him to be forceful with her because she would be asked on lie detector tests if she 'willingly initiated' sexual relations with any of her assets. She had been such a fool. He had left of course, without telling her.

Bourne's entire existence was predicated on violence and death. The last thing he wanted was to be violent when they made love. She huffed. Made love- screwed, Nicky. Fucked. They weren't even on a first name basis, before or after. She hadn't even kissed him before then. I mean really! She let him go down her her before they even kissed; who does that. She could never figure out why he made her so hot. It was uncanny.

Hell he probably thought it was a trick or test of some kind. Neither of them had spoken about it since. It fell squarely in the 'never happened' category.

She heard the voice on the wind again. She wasn't sure what caused her to do it, but she stepped out on the fire escape, climbed over the railing on to the roof. The footing was precarious for a moment and she almost slipped on ice.

She heard the talking again and knew she was right; it was Bourne. She rounded the corner made by chimney stacks and saw him huddled in a tight ball muttering what sounded like a recipe for a cake.

"Bourne?" he sprang up so fast that she back peddled and would've gone over the edge if he hadn't seized her with an ice cold hand.

"What are you doing here?" he croaked.

"Me? I live here. Are you crazy! You're going to freeze."

"Been in colder."

"In this kind of wind- on a roof? Jesus. You're going to die. What the hell are you doing?"

"They might come back."

"Who is 'they'- the other assets? They aren't coming back," she insisted as she pulled him to his feet.

She tried to help him inside, but he refused her aid. She pulled him into the bathroom and turned the shower on hot, "C-can't do that," he stuttered. "Gotta heat from core out. Hot skin fools body into not heating core."

"Oh. Okay. Well the steam will help. I'll make you some tea." She hurriedly went downstairs and started the water.

She turned to get the tea and suddenly she was seized from behind, around the waist and flung against a wall. She felt one of the icy hands move from her waist to wrap around her neck- or rather under her chin and pulled her head backward forcefully. The other hand slid up her shirt, raising goosebumps on the way to cupping her breast.

"Bourne! Stop. Last time was… ill conceived." She shuttered, not at his hands but at his warm breath on her neck. She felt a swell of shame as he worked his way down and found her already prepared.

She jerked away and spun to face him, she slapped him hard and barked, "Move." He bent and seized her behind each thigh and lifted her. She couldn't resist wrapping her legs around him as he carried her several feet to the stairs where he deposited her.

She moaned as his rough hands poured over her flesh. He yanked at her coat and night shirt, as she kicked off her shoes, leaving her in her underwear- she hadn't gotten fully dressed to go outside.

She had read once that some women put their glass sex toys in the freezer and never understood the appeal until that night. Her skin was hot and flushed and his was frozen and ridged. She squeaked involuntarily as he ripped her underwear off, not wanting to chance her getting away.

"Bourne, really… we can't do this." She saw his eyes and they were cold- primal. It wasn't a killers gaze, it was primal lust. He put his arms behind her knees and pushed forward until they met her chest. "Jason…" she whispered and still saw no change. She quickly reached in between them both, he thought it was to guide him in, but she covered herself- denying him admittance.

He saw her nostrils flare and she swallowed hard before squeezing her eyes shut. She stuttered shamefully, "I- I love you. If we do this, it will be more than sex- for me."

She didn't feel him move at all. He didn't relax his stance, nor advance. Finally she opened her eyes again and saw that he was studying her. He nodded and whispered "I know."

Her hand slipped away and suddenly he was in her. She had waited almost a year for this and although love in any form was alien to her, she felt him against her and knew he had desperately wanted this as well. Suddenly she realized the amount of lust he had for her and wondered how long it had for him.

He increased his pace and she felt the stairs dig into her spine and blurted in pain, "Jason-"

"David…" he whispered as he clutched her, lifted them, and she thought he was going to carry her to the bed, but he only made it to the top of the stairs.

He saw an odd look on her face, "You didn't know?"

"No." She purred into his ear, "Constance," then bit his earlobe playfully.

He laughed until she glared at him, "I like it. It just fits you perfectly."

It took them three position changes before they finally made it to the bed.

She felt the warm sun on her bare skin and recalled the events of the prior evening. She started to wonder if it was a dream until she felt the rug burn on her knees and back. She stretched and purred as she rolled over- knowing he would be long gone.

She was startled to see him sitting in a chair by the door, watching her intently. He was fully dressed including his shoes and coat. She fought the urge to cover herself, "Hey you. I figured you would've pulled a disappearing act."

He seemed suddenly embarrassed to be staring at her nakedness and his gaze flitted across the room. It was anything but lavish and like most college aged people her mattress lacked a frame and was on the floor. She had the quintessential random strand of Christmas lights, sheets with lurid colors, an ancient TV, and a copious amount of dirty clothing scattered around.

He had been in her room many times for numerous reasons- both with and without her knowledge, but she seemed to now be going through a rebellious phase as far as the cleaning department. He knew the room was more than that, it was her trying to be young. Nothing about the room appeared to be 'Nicky Parsons'. He saw her as ridged and professional. This looked like a dangerous backlash.

"Sorry, I didn't know I was having guests. I would've called a service…"

He laughed genuinely, now that was Nicky Parsons. "I didn't realize you were awake. I wiped the place down- for prints. They shouldn't know I was up here. Always make sure you wash the sheets immediately."

He stood abruptly and walked quickly from the room. She started to run after him, but quickly grabbed the sheet to cover herself. She was able to catch at the door, "Jason, I promise I won't let it get weird."

"Get weird?" he fainted ignorance. "The place is bug free. I'll see next week." He paused, "You were trying to make your room look like a twenty year olds?" She nodded. "Well don't. It looks like you had a psychotic break. Order some expensive pretentious furniture and bill Conklin." He turned and left quickly and she was careful not to be seen from the street.

As soon as she locked the door she sprinted upstairs and dove on her mattress. She snatched up his pillow and inhaled it- smelling him.

Most women would be upset about his abruptness, livid at the lack of goodbye kiss, or any indication of the prior nights events. As she rolled on to her back she stamped her feet rapidly on the mattress in elation. She was focused on one word he said and she knew he hadn't realized how much it meant. "Always…" she purred as she beamed from ear to ear. Always wash the sheets immediately.

That meant that it was going to happen again…

Present Day

Bourne marveled at the way she spoke in French. He had first thought her French was too polished; it sounded like a 1950's 'how to learn French' record. But when retelling events of their love life it sounded more Noir and very sexy.

Suddenly she asked, "When you have flashbacks, you try to force them don't you." He shrugged and nodded. "Next time don't. Relax. Think of something familiar but natural. Like I would think of a massage at the spa. Let it come out on its own. Don't try to steer it either, just let it happen."

He guilty almost snapped, 'what would you know' then realized that after Paris she probably read every book and journal article ever written on amnesia and flashbacks. He nodded.

"You ever try trigger them on purpose? Through imagined experience?"

He wasn't sure what she meant, "No."

"Okay, we will try it together later. It's a theory I read about…"

Suddenly he blurted, "You have regressed memories too…"

Her eyes narrowed swiftly, "How do you know that?"

"I…" he started to reply, but with a flash he was gone- yanked into his past.

A Long way from there…

Marcus sat at the end of the hall welding and watching Magnum PI on his laptop. He made it through two episodes before Ashley's screams started getting to him. He walked back up the stairs and banged on the door until the little man opened it. Ashley watched as they had a minor screaming match in that strange language. The little man threw down the antenna from the Chevy Nova he had been whipping her feet with and left through another door.

Marcus unstrapped her from the table, "Come on."

"…feet," she panted breathlessly.

He glanced at them, "You're fine." She shook her head no. He helped her to her feet, which she tried to baby. "Get up and walk fast or you're staying here." He pushed her down the hallway. "Faster."

She was drenched in sweat and shivering, at least partiality from the cold. The place was underground and lacked heat. He put his jacket over her shoulders as they walked down the hall. She casually felt around in the pockets and felt something odd. She pulled it out without thinking and saw him tense up. Her instinct was to drop it and crush it. It was a small brass music box with a little crank on the side. "May I?" He nodded and she cranked the little handle and it played a child's nursery rhyme and she sung with it as they walked, "Twinkle, twinkle, little star…"

She entered the little room, crawled on the little cot, and curled into a fetal position. She finally let herself plunge headlong into hysteria and despair. He left her alone for awhile as he watched another episode of Magnum.

After about an hour and a half she couldn't cry anymore and rolled over to face him, he saw the motion and stopped welding. "Please let me go…"

He laughed, "Really? All of this time and that's what you've come up with? Seriously?"

"I know that you're a good person…" He laughed loudly this time. "You are, I know you are. You don't want to hurt me; that's why he's here."

"Alright Skywalker. I'm a good person?! Let me tell you something Ashley, I've killed a dozen kids just like you. You aren't any different from them."

"A dozen?"

He nodded, "I was the youngest in my theater of operation; I was the last recruited. That means that I got the worst jobs; the jobs others wouldn't or couldn't do. I once held a six month old baby by its ankle and dropped it from a patio of a fifth floor apartment. You know what it did when I dropped it?"

"It fell?" she snipped.

He rushed across the room in a flash and grabbed her by the throat before she could defend herself, "You shouldn't tease the animals…" he pulled her up by her throat and her body quickly followed it. "I let it go and it giggled; it fucking giggled on the way down."

"Don't you understand? That's why you're still good, the guilt- the pain. You think that demented Keebler feels guilty about what he's doing to me?! You couldn't hurt me, which is why he's here- right?"

He clamped down hard on her throat and she looked panicked as her face rapidly grew red, but she didn't grab his hands. He looked down, saw that she was pressing her hands against the wall and not trying to defend herself. He saw that blood was staining the front of her boxer shorts.

He let go of her and muttered, "What did he do?" She glared at him and then he suddenly screamed it at the top of his voice, "What did he do!". His face went scarlet and she realized he had a gun in his hand, but had never seen him draw it.

She rolled her eyes in exacerbation at his density, then he saw a light click on, "H-he hurt me…"

Marcus laughed loudly in her face, "Next time don't roll your eyes first. You should be better prepared."

"Hello! My hotel room was blown up, you took my purse, and you abducted me from a drug store. What else would a woman be buying at 4am in a demilitarized zone? So, you were going to kill that guy for thinking that he raped me, but you're fine with him torturing me?! You have an odd sense of chivalry."

"I wasn't going to kill him for raping you; I was going to kill him for not following my instructions."

"Which were?"

"Nothing sexual, or permanently disfiguring for your first session…" he grabbed her by the upper arm and drug her to the door. "Come on, it's time for your second session…"

"No! NO! Please… please Mr. Marcus, I'm sorry please…"