Author's Note: Apologies for getting this posted so late. It is still Monday, but it's also Martin Luther King, Jr Day here in the States. And beautiful spring weather where I live, which meant painting my parents' house. As always, hope you enjoy! ~lg

oOo

Bourne's first day at work was everything Aaron anticipated. The Treadstone operative appeared that morning, wearing sturdy jeans, a button-down shirt, and steel-toed boots. He ate in silence and brooded the entire way to the job site. Not that Aaron expected anything less. He understood the nerves that came from not hiding his trail. For his sake—and Bourne's—he didn't take a roundabout way to work. The quicker Bourne adjusted, the easier life would be for everyone.

At the house, a rundown brick affair that meant more to the owners than the cost of restoring it, Aaron parked in the alley and climbed from his truck. Bourne followed slowly. The sound of two guys discussing their weekend plans with their girlfriends came through the wood fence. Aaron pushed the gate open as Manuel, a burly Hispanic still on parole, smacked Bobby's arm. Bobby was bigger than Manuel, a biker with tattoos covering his arms and an attitude to match. Both men outweighed Aaron by at least forty pounds, and both straightened as Bourne stepped through the gate.

The reaction was immediate. Bourne quickly assessed the two men while they studied him. Aaron knew this could get interesting very quickly if he didn't intervene. After all, Bourne was every bit an alpha male as any of the other men on this site. Aaron buried the urge to roll his eyes. "Hey, guys, this is Jason. He'll be working with me for a while." He moved to the area where Manuel was refinishing cabinet doors for the kitchen. "Where do we stand with the house?"

For the next bit, Aaron listened as Bobby and Manuel showed him what they had in the works. The two were an unusual pair, their friendship extending only until the work day ended. While he bounced between his house and the two homes the CIA had helped him arrange contracts on, these two put most of their time into getting this place livable The other owner wanted his house done slowly, but this house needed to be finished as soon as possible. According to the owner, anyway. Aaron was trying to accommodate him in the interest of good customer relations.

Finally, he nodded as Bobby finished showing him the kitchen. "So, we'll be ready for inspection by the weekend?" As he spoke, he watched Bourne and Manuel eye each other. Bourne had circled the site, obviously checking the perimeter and determining any escape routes. Aaron wasn't concerned about Bourne securing the area as much as he worried about Manuel's reaction. It had taken a fistfight for the big ex-con to respect Aaron.

Bobby caught the tension. "Yeah," he said shortly. "Then what?"

Aaron shrugged. "That big job. I'll hire some temp help on that."

Bobby went his way, returning to the bathroom he needed to finish, while Aaron called Bourne over and started teaching him the proper way to stain a built-in china cabinet. Then, he slipped into the kitchen to work on the marble tile hidden under layers of dirt.

The day passed quietly. After Bourne finished the first coat of stain on the cabinet, he joined Aaron in the kitchen. Manuel and Bobby worked outside, their conversation quiet and sometimes drowned out by the tools they used. But Aaron heard every word clearly. Based on the way Bourne's eyes flickered to the door, he heard a good deal as well. Aaron knew he'd have to deal with this, but he had hoped to get through the day. "We knew this would happen," he said quietly.

Bourne simply nodded.

As the day drew to a close, Aaron left Bourne adding a second coat of stain to the china cabinet and made his way outside. Bobby had finished in the bathroom and taken off, a prearranged agreement since his girlfriend had a doctor's appointment that afternoon. Manuel was carting the cabinet doors inside so they could be hung the next day. He glanced up and caught Aaron's attention. "Got a minute?"

"Sure." Aaron followed him away from the house, aware that Bourne was likely listening no matter where they were on the property.

Manuel scratched the back of his neck. "You know who that is, right?"

Aaron nodded. "Yeah. What about it?"

"That's Jason Bourne! The guy was all over the news! Something about being wanted by the government?"

"Don't believe everything you hear, Manny." Aaron narrowed his eyes slightly. "I hired the guy. He's clean, he's innocent of all charges, and he's not gonna cause problems. No more than you or Bobby."

Manuel blinked, taken back by Aaron's apparently forgiving attitude. "You really are somethin'!"

Aaron shrugged. "Nah. Just a guy trying to run a business and do something good in my life."

Manuel studied him for a few moments. "My kid could learn a lot from you." With that final compliment, he returned to work.

Aaron shook his head. Manuel had no idea what he'd gone through to become the man he was now. But he appreciated the sentiment. His decision to hire all the men who worked for him stemmed from the desire to do good. He was a killer, one who had been created. Men like him didn't just stop being what they were. Someone helped them and influenced them. For Aaron, it was Marta's presence in his life. He hoped he could do that for Bourne, Manuel, and Bobby.

He thought about that the entire way home. When Bourne insisted on taking care of dinner, he headed upstairs and set about grouting the bathroom while still considering Manuel's words. Later, after the two men ate, Aaron returned to his work. He was on his hands and knees, wiping the gray-toned grout away from the new tile, when he sensed Bourne's approach. Rocking back on his haunches, he met the other man's gaze.

Bourne stood with his hands at his sides, clearly unsure what to do. "I heard what you told Manuel," he said awkwardly. "Thanks. For. . ." He looked around. "Just thanks."

Aaron understood. "You're welcome." He didn't need Bourne's gratitude but appreciated the effort nonetheless. Motioning to the bathroom, he said, "I've got maybe another hour. I'll seal it tomorrow evening, and you can have it back."

Bourne shrugged. "Take your time." He left Aaron alone then, going downstairs to clean up and settle in for the evening. Aaron finished with the grout and slipped into his own room.

His conversation with Manuel played through his head yet again as he, too, took a hot shower. Could he really make a difference? Yes, the decision to hire men like Manuel and Bobby was driven by his need to affect someone else's life. But could he take that need and do something bigger with it? Could he affect more lives, use his skills to train men—and women—in a trade that would provide for their families? The thought had merit in so many ways. Aaron was a former assassin who needed the job to anchor him. Bourne had a similar history with Treadstone but had been a soldier in a prior life. Manuel was an ex con on parole, finally able to join his family after nearly ten years of doing time for aggravated assault and armed robbery. Bobby was a biker who just got into fights because he liked to, had smacked around the wrong people, and now was in anger management classes and on probation. All of them had complicated issues that made "fitting in" to civilian life borderline impossible.

With his mind working on the idea, Aaron set the home alarm and climbed into bed. He had a full schedule the next day with needing to find extra help for the new project. In addition, he'd come home to find two messages on his machine from prospective clients. Bourne would be on his own with Manuel and Bobby. But maybe that was a good thing. Aaron hoped the other two men would remember the lesson he'd taught them and avoid provoking Bourne. Otherwise, he'd have to hire more workers while they recovered.

oOo

Jason's first week on the job passed uneventfully. After his first two days in Cross's home, he settled into a routine. He rose early, usually before the sun, and took off for a run. Cross had set up a gym in the back yard, and Jason used it a few times. But running cleared his head and helped him focus on the day. After a quick shower in the newly-finished bathroom, he joined Cross for breakfast and a ride to work. Sometimes, Cross stayed on site all day. Other times, he left Jason to learn from Manuel and Bobby while being the business owner and drumming up more work.

Manuel and Bobby were an interesting diversion for Jason. Neither of them trusted him, but they trusted Cross. Because Cross left Jason with them, they kept their comments to themselves while they taught him the tricks of their trade. But Jason knew they discussed his presence. He overheard several conversations, and the wary glances they gave him spoke loudly. As did Jason's own reflexes. He kept an eye out for danger every day and often had to stop himself from vanishing. He never went anywhere unarmed, and he didn't invite conversation.

Perhaps that was for the best. Jason didn't know if he'd stay in Chicago long, but he liked the way he felt at the end of a long day. By the weekend, they'd finished the house, and the sense of accomplishment that filled him allowed him to smile for the first time since South Africa. He imagined it was greater for Cross and the other two. Cross confirmed that when, after telling Bobby and Manuel to enjoy their weekends, he invited Jason to join him for a steak dinner. Apparently the house was the first big project for Cross and deserved to be celebrated. The two men spent the evening enjoying drinks and not talking. It was just the kind of friendship Jason needed.

He watched Cross during that first week, looking for a reason to not trust the guy. Apparently Cross needed the friendship as badly as Jason. They had spent too many years of their lives looking over their shoulders and waiting for the next attack. Knowing that his boss and landlord understood that mentality helped Jason stay around a bit longer.

Like any other guy, Cross had his own issues. Jason caught bits and pieces of a conversation between Cross and a woman named Marta. Having done his homework, Jason knew that Marta Shearing was Cross's partner throughout his travels. But things had obviously not worked out. Based on the snippets he heard, Cross and Shearing remained friends but were caught up in their own lives. The way Cross left his office after that phone call told Jason that the other man hated how things had turned out.

Cross's issues with Shearing, whatever they were, made Jason think about Nicky Parsons. He'd left her in Seattle after urging her to contact Landy. There was a pay out waiting with Nicky's name on it if she would swallow her pride. But Jason understood her reticence as well. The government pay out to the members of Treadstone and Outcome and other programs felt like too little, too late. It was meant to compensate for the years on the run and help the previously hunted individuals settle into their new lives. But how does one compensate another for years spent knowing the next day could be the last? How could they put a price on Marie's life?

Still, Jason had taken the money if for no other reason than to give himself some resources. As had Cross and Shearing. But the mere mention of it to Nicky had resulted in the end of their conversation. Jason had left Seattle a few minutes later after securing a promise from Nicky to think about the money and giving her his word that he'd stay in touch.

But he hadn't. After Seattle, he drove through California and Arizona, trying to get lost in each place and ignore the restlessness. After a month of traveling the United States, he found himself on Cross's porch, asking how to get on with life. And Cross, while not having many answers, had given Jason a leg up.

But what about Nicky? Was she feeling the same disconnect he'd felt? Or had she just continued with her life? On his first Saturday after starting his job, Jason borrowed Cross's truck and went shopping. He picked up a pre-paid cell phone as well as finding a small car of his own. He paid cash for the used Mitsubishi Lancer and agreed to return for it the next day. Cross nodded once when Jason explained why he needed a ride, and no further conversation passed between the two men.

On Sunday, after getting his car and sending Cross off for his lunch with Shearing, Jason drove back his temporary home and pulled out his phone. He knew Nicky's contact information might not be accurate, but he had to try. Dialing her number, he waited until her voice mail picked up. "It's Chloe. Leave me a message."

Jason smiled at the sound of Nicky's voice. "It's me," he said after the beep. "I know I said I'd stay in touch, and I'm sorry. Just wanted to let you know how to get in touch with me. Call me back."

Ending the call, Jason tossed the phone on his bed and paced the room. He told himself over and over again that nothing was wrong, that Nicky was fine, that they were free to live their lives. But he couldn't shake the instincts in his gut that screamed for attention. Something had gone wrong, and he didn't know exactly what to do about it.

oOo

Nicky Parsons let her hand drop, the phone in it telling her that she could press seven to delete the message. Instead, she hit the End button and stared at the wall of her motel room. The last few days had, yet again, changed her world, though she'd had a bit of a choice this time.

Within the week after Jason's visit, she noticed the bruises on her coworker's arms. Brianna was nineteen and idealistic. She'd mentioned a new boyfriend several times over the month, and Nicky knew the girl had jumped into something she wasn't ready to handle. Her job with Treadstone—monitoring the mental well-being of the operatives—allowed her to see the stress and furtive glances Brianna showed. Nicky kept an eye on her friend, constantly trying to draw her out about the boyfriend. But Brianna refused to talk about him.

Then, two weeks ago, things changed. Brianna came to work with bruises around her neck. Nicky nearly lost her temper, but Brianna said things just got rough the night before. Having been in those situations, Nicky almost let it go. But the aforementioned boyfriend showed up at the coffee shop that day. The sheer terror on Brianna's face told its own story. After he left, Nicky pulled her aside. "If you need help," she told the girl, "let me know."

Brianna had smiled and said everything was fine. Two days later, she appeared with a broken arm, black eye, and split lip. Nicky didn't listen to any comments about how he had just "lost control" the previous evening. She called her manager to have someone cover the shop and then bundled Brianna into her car. The entire time she packed a bag, Brianna insisted everything was okay. But, when Nicky told her that she could go home if that was true, the girl buckled. The entire story came out in a flurry of tears. At nineteen, Brianna was afraid for her life and the life of her unborn child. If for no other reason, she wanted out.

Leaving Seattle was easy. But Brianna's boyfriend managed to find them. Nicky had warned Brianna that any family she had would be out of the question for help, and the girl led her to an old bed and breakfast that belonged to the family. She swore her boyfriend didn't know about it. She was wrong. The two women found him waiting for them, angry and intent on exacting revenge. In the fight, Nicky got her hands on an ancient fire poker and knocked him over the head. He went down, out cold, as Brianna ran. Nicky had spent the rest of the night trying to find the girl and listening to the police scanner she kept in her car. From it, she learned that the boyfriend was in critical condition and Brianna had told everything to the police. But she couldn't bring herself to go back.

What if Jason was wrong? That thought skittered through her head only to be immediately dismissed. Jason didn't make mistakes like that. But if the police caught up to her, they could charge her with manslaughter or assault. If that happened, she would lose her freedom just as assuredly as if she'd been caught by Treadstone.

She had just used the last of her cash to rent a motel room for the night when Jason's call came in. She had stared at the unknown number before sending it to voice mail. Now, she wished she'd answered the phone.

What could Jason do? What would Jason do? That was the bigger question. He might be working to settle into civilian life, but he was still Treadstone. If he knew she was in trouble, he'd show up and try to solve it. His brand of solving things meant people died. With Brianna's boyfriend being in critical condition, Nicky did not need that complication. So far, the police were looking for a blond, curly-haired young woman named Chloe, but they had no intention of prosecuting her. She didn't believe that for a moment.

Making an instant decision, she picked up her phone and memorized the number. It was time for Nicky Parsons to come out of the shadows.

oOo

Jason's phone rang halfway through his Monday morning. He'd been working alongside Cross, learning the ins and outs of beginning a major renovation. The house Cross had taken on was a massive two-story castle in the middle of Chicago. The home had a lot of history, and Jason could see the hints of greatness in spite of the crumbling brick and water-damaged roof. Manuel and Bobby met them in the living room, an area that echoed no matter how softly they spoke, and the four men spread out the floor plan on a grimy counter while Cross outlined the owner's desires. The foundation was in excellent shape, but everything else had been let go. The owner had acquired the property because he saw potential in the house, and he wanted to give his wife a retreat. Somehow, when Cross said that, Jason saw the man underneath the Outcome agent peek out. Hadn't Cross done the same thing for the woman he loved and hadn't gotten the response he wanted?

They had moved on from discussing the owner's desires to the men's thoughts on the place. The renovation would take a long time and require a good-sized crew. Jason knew that the cost of maintaining that crew had been figured into the contract, and he hoped Cross knew what he was doing. One house under his belt wasn't that much of a resume. However, if Cross managed to get this house finished, he'd build a bit of credibility. At least, in Jason's mind. Construction circles probably worked a bit differently.

His phone ringing cut through Manuel's excitement over the massive kitchen. The sound echoed around the room, and Cross, who had been close to Jason when the phone rang, winced very slightly. Jason pulled it from his pocket, frowning at the unknown number, before answering it. "Yeah?"

"Jason?"

He blinked. "Nicky? What's wrong?"

Behind him, Manuel and Bobby listened unashamedly while Cross shifted in place. The Outcome agent didn't seem tense, but Jason picked up the readiness in his stance. That, and Cross could likely hear Nicky's voice as easily as Jason's.

On the other end of the phone, Nicky's voice was cut off by a passing semi. When the roar faded, she said, "I'm in Kalispell. I had to leave Seattle."

"Why?"

She sighed. "Long story. But you said. . . .I mean, I kind of. . . ." After another pause, she blurted out, "I'm kind of in a bind. I'm stuck here."

"Stuck how?" Jason, not liking the way the other three men watched him, walked out of the house. He left the door open and paced in front of a window. "Nicky, what's going on?"

"Uh. . . ." She chuckled mirthlessly. "I'm out of money and out of gas. I walked down to the truck stop to use the pay phone, but. . . ."

Jason ran his hand over his face. For Nicky to have taken off like that, something bad had to have happened. "Is there a Western Union close by?"

"I don't. . .Yes." Her voice sounded much steadier. "Jason, I'm sorry. It's just that. . . ."

"It's okay," he interrupted. "You helped me out once. It's my turn now. Just sit tight. I'll have some money headed your way in a bit. After that, come to Chicago. You can lay low here for a bit."

"Thanks," she said after a long moment.

Jason hung up the phone and turned to find Cross in the doorway of the house. His boss frowned at him. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah." Jason motioned with his phone. "When I was. . .in Europe, I knew someone. She helped me out and had to. . . .Anyway, she's in trouble."

Cross nodded once, obviously understanding what Jason wasn't saying for the sake of possible witnesses. "You leaving for a while?"

Jason stared at the other man. "I don't know." He shook his head. "I want to run over there and help her, but. . . ."

"Don't." Cross met his eyes. "If she was part of the program, she's used to standing on her own two feet. Just calling you was a big step, as big as you showing up at my place. Let her come to you."

Jason nodded. It made sense, and he sighed deeply. "There a Western Union close?"

Cross gave him instructions and promised to find Nicky a place to stay. He then told Jason to take his lunch a bit early. Jason didn't acknowledge the comment, choosing to speed out of the neighborhood toward his bank. My bank, he thought ruefully. He'd never thought things like bank accounts, utility bills, and insurance cards would ever exist in his name. Not legally. Yet, here he was with just that, including the ability to help a friend in need.

What had gone wrong with Nicky? Why had she left Seattle? Those questions needed answers, and his instincts told him to drive to Kalispell. But Nicky needed money now, not twenty or so hours from now. The best thing he could do would be to wait for her to get here. Then, he would sit down with Nicky and Cross and figure out what to do next.

oOo

Marta had just settled at a linen-covered table to order her lunch when her phone rang. She picked it up, smiling at the number there. "Hello."

"You sound happy." Aaron's voice mingled with the echo of an empty house. "Good day?"

"Better now." She accepted her water from the waiter and waved him away, choosing to focus on Aaron. It was so easy to fall back on flirtatious tones with him, especially when he sounded as if he'd smiled the moment he heard her voice. "What's going on?" When he hesitated, she sat up straighter. "Aaron?"

"Is that second room in your apartment still available?"

Marta blinked. That was not what she'd expected to come out of Aaron's mouth. "Depends on who's thinking about sleeping there." And she wasn't trying to be coy. She refused to open her home to just anyone.

"Bourne's got a friend who needs a place to stay. A woman who helped him out in Europe." Aaron paused. "Marta, I wouldn't ask, but I'm not real comfortable. . . .She's probably not going to want the bedroom between two operatives."

Marta sighed, seeing the reality of that statement immediately. "Any idea what time she'll be coming in?"

"She's about twenty hours out. I know she ran into some trouble and had to get out of town quickly, hence why she called Bourne in the first place." He sighed. "If you're not comfortable with it, Marta, say so now so I can make other arrangements."

Marta didn't know what to say. She wasn't comfortable with this, but not for the reasons Aaron assumed. He thought she'd pressed on in life without a single thought to their past, but, truth be told, she was just a good actress. She didn't drive to work the same route every single day, and she always kept one eye on her rearview mirror. She used her building's gym daily, as well. And she made certain to keep cash and weapons on hand if she needed to run. She'd learned those things from Aaron, and she doubted the habits would be broken any time soon.

How would she react to having another person besides him in the apartment with her? She knew Aaron's movements, how he sighed at night when he fell asleep, how the shuffle of his footsteps echoed on hard wood first thing in the morning. Another person in her home would keep her from resting. But could she do any less? Especially when Aaron had taken Jason Bourne into his home? Two operatives in the same house was either a recipe for disaster or the greatest bromance ever told.

"Marta?" Aaron's voice dragged her back to her table.

"I'm here." She suppressed the sigh that tried to escape. "I'll have the room ready. Just. . . ."

"I'll make sure she's safe." Aaron hung up a few moments later, having sufficiently and unintentionally destroyed her appetite. Marta ordered anyway, picking at her meal while her mind worked out the changes she needed to make at home. The guest room needed to be aired out, and the second bathroom could use a cleaning. She also wanted the room to be comfortable for this other woman, so she decided to pick up some small things—toiletries, throw pillows, and curtains. She spent the evening prepping the room, satisfied that it was as comfortable as possible. It was smaller than her room, the queen-sized bed, bedside tables, dresser, and chair filling it up. But the windows had a spectacular view of Lake Michigan, just like almost every other room in the apartment, and Marta decided she would have been happy to have it when she'd been on the run.

She just hoped that whatever trouble this other woman was in didn't follow her to Chicago. She couldn't uproot herself from her life a second time, even if Aaron went with her. She wasn't that woman anymore.

~TBC