Author's Note: Many apologies for not getting this posted yesterday! I came down very sick, so I'm just now thinking clearly enough to do a final edit and post. :)

Guest #1: (so named because I had several guest reviews). I agree. But give her a chance.

Lisa: Thank you! I agree, she is being an idiot. But, like I just said, give her a chance. :) So glad you're enjoying the story!

Guest #2: Thank you for taking the time to leave a review. I agree that Marta is being an idiot, but, like I told the previous two (and everyone else who said the same thing), give her time. She's starting to realize some things. My preferred style of story-telling is to push the envelope of what is the "norm" in the fandom I write for. So, if most writers are doing a happy Aaron/Marta (and there's nothing wrong with that), I tend to go the opposite direction and explore the "What if they're not happy" question. As for Nicky, she's been an interesting character to write with her past being involved with Treadstone but not an operative. I'm so glad you're enjoying the story! And I hope you like how things eventually work out.

LeochickX: Really glad you're enjoying the story. :) I hope it holds up for you.

All that said, hope all of you enjoy! ~lg

oOo

Friday came before Jason was really prepared for it. Last weekend, he'd been new to Chicago and the job. This time, he was new to payday. The knowledge that his hard work had paid off in a monetary fashion. . . .He had received paychecks before, but none were as significant as this one. This one meant he was doing something with his life that wasn't centered on violence and death.

But he had to get through the day first. Last night, while Jason pulled up the ugly linoleum in the kitchen, Cross had spent several hours in his office doing payroll. The men were all somewhat restless, talking about their plans for the weekend and egging each other on. Jason knew that Aaron allowed it so long as work got done, and it had become something of a game to listen in on others' conversations. Right now, Manuel and Jose, a new kid around nineteen, chattered away in Spanish. Jason idly listened as he worked, automatically tuned in to everything going on around him. He didn't let on that he even understood until Jose rudely asked why Manuel worked for a "gringo."

Manuel's head came up faster than anything Jason had ever witnessed. "Cross is a good man. Do not think you'll talk bad about him and get away with it. Not around here."

Jose frowned. "What'd he do?"

Manuel snickered. "Ever seen those spy movies? Mission: Impossible or James Bond?" When Jose nodded, he continued in a whisper, "Cross is like that. Well, sort of."

Jason's gaze immediately flew to Aaron's, and the two former assets exchanged silent messages. Jason couldn't necessarily put it into words, but he knew Cross was telling him to relax, that he'd overheard the conversation and would take care of things if necessary.

Jose's brow furrowed. "He can fight?" The incredulity in his voice made Manuel's face light up and Jason bury a snicker.

"I seen it." Manuel's voice carried over the hammer he used. "First day on the job. Bobby shows up and tries to act like he's the big man on the block. So, I figure I'll teach him a lesson. That's when Cross stepped in. Dude, it was sick!" Manuel became more animated the longer he talked. "All I know is this big dude is comin' at me. I can take him, so I do. We fight for a few minutes, then I'm on my back and can't breathe. So's the other guy. And it's Cross standin' over us! I ain't never seen moves like that!"

Jason couldn't help it. He snickered. He could just see Manuel and Bobby being taken down by Cross. Those two easily outweighed him, but men like Aaron and Jason were trained to take down bigger and badder men than the two ex-cons.

Manuel turned at Jason's snicker. "What you laughin' at?" he demanded in English.

Jason shrugged, his quick glance telling him that Cross was watching out of the tops of his eyes. He responded to Manuel's demand in fluent Spanish. "Just the two of you fangirling over Cross."

Across the room, Aaron covered his laugh with a cough.

Manuel straightened suddenly, and Jason prepared to defend himself. After a tense moment, during which Manuel shot a speculative glance at Aaron, he asked, "Where'd you learn Spanish?"

Jason met his eyes. "Military," he said blandly.

Manuel glared for another moment before turning back to his work. Jason slanted another grin at Cross. The Outcome agent shrugged, and Jason clearly read the gesture. They were fighting. What was I supposed to do?

The rest of the day passed uneventfully, and the guys soon gathered around Aaron for their paychecks. Jason knew Cross planned to take Marta out to dinner, but he had no plans of his own. All his spare time had been poured into the kitchen they were remodeling. As Cross handed over the envelope with his first paycheck in it, a stray thought passed through his mind. He had promised to take Nicky to dinner.

The job site emptied in record time, but both Manuel and Bobby stopped long enough to invite Jason to join them. Both men had plans to take their girlfriends out and paint the town red. While spending more time with "normal" people could be good for him, Jason didn't feel like explaining why he took down someone who startled him in a noisy bar. Instead, he politely told them he already had plans. Their minds jumped to "the hot blond" who had visited the house the other day, and he made a mental note to apologize to Nicky.

In his car, he tugged his phone from his pocket and dialed one of two numbers he had on speed dial. "It's me," he said when she answered. "What are you doing for dinner?"

oOo

The restaurant Shearing had chosen for her date was relaxed and classy. A man in a suit sat back at his table, his eyes on every person who came and went. He'd arrived here no less than thirty minutes ago, waiting until now just to get the table he wanted.

Le Colonial was one of Chicago's finest French and Vietnamese eateries. The dining room sported ecru-colored walls, windows edged in dark wood and accented with louvered shutters, dark rattan chairs, linen-covered tables, and an overabunance of potted palms and banana trees. The place had the feel of Southeast Asia in the 1920s, and the trees helped section off certain tables to give the illusion of intimacy.

As a guy in tan slacks and matching sport coat took a seat in one of the more isolated tables, Jesse Chandler glanced toward the doors. From his table, he could see almost everywhere. It helped that he tipped the maitre d' well, because this place was a nightmare if he wanted to keep Shearing in his sights. He sipped his wine as he waited, knowing the good doctor would show up eventually.

Why had she chosen this place? And who was she meeting? It wasn't like Shearing to just spontaneously go to a nice restaurant for dinner by herself. There had to be some reason. He'd followed her since Tuesday, when Base sent him to Chicago, and he'd had no problem picking up her trail. She made no secret of her work, and her patterns, though changed up, weren't enough to throw an experienced asset off her tail. So what did she have planned? Surely she wasn't on a date.

Chandler straightened when his quarry appeared in the door. Dr. Marta Shearing was an attractive woman, standing five-eight and sporting dark brunette hair that seemed to always fall into place. Even when she didn't try, she looked great. The years she'd spent on the run from NRAG had hardened her, but she had not lost that same attractiveness that drew men to her. She wasn't out to impress, and that impressed men more than women who tried.

Tonight, she wore a sleeveless black sheath dress that ended an inch above her knees and hugged her curves in all the right places. She'd accented it with a simple strand of pearls around her neck and pearl studs in her ears. Her hair, pulled up into an elegant ponytail, bounced on her shoulders as she walked past him and never glanced his way. She joined the gentleman in the tan slacks, smiling when he stood and helped her settle in her chair. A waiter rushed over, blocking Chandler's view of her dining companion, and took their drink order.

His meal arrived just as Shearing's waiter left her table. To keep from drawing attention to himself, Chandler draped his napkin over his knee and started eating. The ga xao xa ot was excellent, easily the best chicken he'd eaten in years. The lemongrass flavoring, combined with Portobello mushrooms and basil chili sauce, made paying the prices here—and the irritating task of ducking to see around the palm trees—worth it. If Shearing insisted on eating out like this, at least he wouldn't go hungry.

Finally, after his own waiter made another stop at the table, he felt secure enough to duck around the palm tree. What he saw caused his delicious dinner to congeal in his stomach. Shearing sat with her back to the room, completely oblivious to everything around her. But the man with her. . . .

Chandler quickly stuffed one more bite into his mouth, but his appetite had vanished. The man with Shearing glanced his way, the two making eye contact, before Chandler signaled the waiter for his check. Within moments, Chandler had signed his credit card receipt, declined the offer of a to-go box, and ducked out the door. He walked quickly to his car and then pulled out his cell phone after he was safely inside.

"It's me," he said when Vendel answered. "We've got a problem."

"What problem?"

"She's with Outcome 5." Chandler backed out of his parking space and drove away. "And he saw me."

oOo

Aaron watched the man who had been watching them get up and leave. He had spotted the man, pegging him as either an asset or law enforcement, when he first came into the restaurant. But even they were allowed to eat, so he chalked it up to Marta's last-minute change from meeting at her house for dinner to coming here. Still, as he had settled at the table she'd reserved, he kept one eye on the asset and one eye on his menu.

Then, Marta arrived.

She looked incredible, as usual, wearing a dress that looked like the one he'd bought for her in Sydney—one that got ruined the night they had to leave Johannesburg. He'd never been one to mourn over lost clothing, but he had been disappointed that time. Marta looked fabulous in those dresses, and she seemed to wear them comfortably. Seeing her in one tonight, with her hair pulled away from her face and a smile that could drop a man to his knees, told him just how seriously she'd taken their dinner.

Then, after ordering their drinks, Aaron made contact with the asset. He hadn't meant to startle the guy, just let him know, asset-to-asset, that he'd been made. The resulting panic was almost humorous to watch. Within moments, the table had been cleared, and Aaron could relax and enjoy this date with Marta.

She frowned. "Aaron? Everything okay?"

"Yeah." He met her eyes, seeing her obvious discomfort. "This place is nice," he said, making it a point to look around. "Very. . . .1920s."

She laughed. "That's the point."

Aaron smiled at that. He had serious things to discuss with her, and she knew it. But to bring it up now would take the smile from her face. Instead, he reached across the table and just held her hand like he used to do shortly after they met. "How are you doing?"

She understood the weight behind his question. "Good." She shrugged. "Work is crazy, as usual."

"You're still doing. . .uh. . ."

"Viral receptor mapping?"

"Yeah."

She snickered. "Aaron, you don't have to ask about my job. You know what I do, and it hasn't changed." She eyed him. "How's Jason doing?"

Aaron truly laughed at that. "He's creeping the guys out." At her questioning look, he relayed the interchange he'd witnessed that day between Jason and Manuel. He shook his head. "You should have seen Manuel's eyes bug out of his head."

Marta also laughed as their meal arrived. "I wish I could have." She gracefully draped her napkin over her lap. "Manuel will think twice before talking behind Jason's back."

Aaron snorted. "Too bad he doesn't know I speak Spanish as well."

For the next few minutes, they ate in companionable silence. Aaron had ordered vit quay, and Marta liked the bo la lot. The food was served family style with jasmine white rice, and Aaron took great pleasure in stealing bites from Marta's plate. As the meal progressed, they laughed at nothing and talked about his business, the chances that he'd have another house before the major project he currently had was finished, and when he'd hire more steady workers besides Bobby, Manuel, and Jason. He also told her about his thoughts concerning the work. Maybe he had been given these skills to start teaching men like Jason or Manuel how to live in the real world. And Marta listened closely.

Finally, as they finished eating, Aaron knew he couldn't put off the inevitable much longer. He'd thought of almost nothing else since her late-night phone call, and he had taken the time to truly consider his options before coming tonight. He didn't want to give Marta the impression that this was just dinner, just another evening the two of them spent laughing and talking. It meant more to him—a lot more. "Marta, there's something I need to talk about."

She sensed the seriousness behind his tone and sat up straighter. "O—okay."

"This," he said, motioning between them. "What is this? To you?"

She studied him with those expressive brown eyes. "Tonight? A date."

"A date?" He met her eyes. "A dinner date between friends? Or. . . ."

"A dinner date between a man and a woman who have the potential to be so much more than friends." She frowned. "I thought we settled this the other night when I called."

"No, when you called, I kind of told you how it would be." He tipped his head to one side. "This is me wanting to give us the opportunity to define what we have. And what we want to have."

"You've given this a lot of thought." When he shrugged in answer, she leaned forward and took his hand. "Aaron, when I called you the other night, I meant everything I said. I realized afterward that I probably picked a bad time, that waking you up at that hour probably meant you stayed up. But I couldn't get to sleep until I got it off my mind." She laced their fingers together, her hands smooth against his calloused ones. "We had so much in Sydney, when we stopped for Christmas that first year. Do you remember? Remember how you panicked when I told you how I felt about you? I want that back. Not the running for our lives, but the trust. The love we had. We don't have it anymore, and I want to know if we can rebuild that now that we're able to settle."

He tightened his grip on her hand. "I'm not going to take second place to your job, Marta. Just like I wouldn't expect you to do for mine." He studied their hands. "I understand there will be times when work goes long or an emergency comes up, but those should be fairly rare. We should be the first priority to one another." He met her eyes. "If you can't do that, then I don't want to get my hopes up."

Aaron waited for a response, seeing the impact of his words. For just a moment, her face shattered. He knew what she saw in his face: the loneliness, the need to have a home and a foundation, his love for her. He had never lost what he felt, even if it still frightened him at times, but he couldn't always be chasing her. Not anymore.

Then, a change came over her features. She made a decision, and he saw the effects of it. "I can't just leave the city right now."

"I'm not asking you to."

"I know." She sighed. "Aaron, that house is everything I wanted since I was a kid. And. . . ." She chuckled softly. "I want to be involved in that. I want to know that, if this works out, there's a piece of me in there, too. The other night, when Nicky and I came out, she said some things that really got me thinking. And what we have isn't right. It's not what we wanted, and we finally have the chance to get what we want. So, let's do something about it."

He smiled at that, hearing her decision in her words. She wanted a part of herself in the house. That meant, on some level, she knew she'd leave the city at some point in time. He could accept that. Just as she accepted what it meant for him to be here.

When the waiter brought the check, he insisted on paying and told her she could choose next week's place again. She scowled at him for it but agreed so long as he let her pick out the tile for the kitchen. The condition both startled and amused him, and he couldn't stop the genuine laughter that escaped. The smile that touched Marta's face reminded him of that fishing boat and her comment. I was kind of hoping we were lost. As they left the restaurant, headed for separate vehicles, he made arrangements to meet her on Monday at a hardware store in the city. She said she'd cover lunch, and he couldn't resist the offer. Nor did he want to.

At her car, Aaron thought about the asset he'd seen when he first arrived. He opened the car door for Marta and stopped her with a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Be careful," he said softly. "And call me if you need anything."

"I will." She slid into the car, and he closed the door, standing with his hands in his pockets as she drove out of the parking lot. He didn't see anyone follow her, but that didn't preclude someone waiting for her at her apartment. He knew she'd received his message, and he had to trust that she'd keep her end of the bargain.

Not liking the idea that another asset—or law enforcement that came across as an asset—was in the area, Aaron climbed into his truck and drove home.

oOo

Jason's dinner with Nicky happened in a lovely French bistro in the city. She met him there, smiling when she saw the linen-covered tables and upturned wine goblets. The entire place had a very relaxed environment, though, and Jason was able to settle in a location that didn't make him feel so exposed. Nicky kept the conversation light and focused on the food and her favorites from Paris until they'd placed their orders. Then, she met his eyes. "How are you doing?"

He still didn't remember her. Not really. He had vague flashes of the two of them talking, usually about work, and he'd been told that she had "monitored the mental health of the agents." So, he understood her question. "I'm okay. Getting used to not hiding from cameras and that sort of thing."

Her eyes moved, and he knew she'd spotted an obvious camera focused on the cash register. "I understand." She took a sip of her drink. "How's the job?"

Jason smiled at that. "Good. I like it, and it's something I can do wherever I go." He chuckled slightly. "I got a couple of the guys I work with today. They didn't know I speak Spanish."

Nicky's smile stretched across her face. "And you eavesdropped?"

"They were gushing about Cross." He shook his head. "Manuel seemed impressed I understood him." After an awkward silence, he grabbed for a topic. "What about you? How are you doing?"

"I'm good." She leaned her arms on the table. "It's different. Living with Marta, I mean. I have another person there who understands why I don't just leave the house, why I have to make sure everything's in the right spot all the time."

Jason nodded at that. "The dust rings," he said quietly. It was standard practice for assets to notice if something had been moved in their homes by the displacement of the dust on shelves and around glasses. Such habits became second nature, and he was alternately disappointed and relieved that Nicky had picked up on them.

Why would he be so disappointed? The time that he remembered with her was limited, and even then, it hadn't been all that stellar. Not when he considered that, once, he held a gun to her head and the other time had nearly gotten her killed by Desh.

She scowled. "I dust!" she said vehemently, bringing his thoughts back to the present. "Sometimes."

It was such an ordinary conversation with unusual connotations that both of them laughed. Once again, her smile triggered something deep in his mind, and it made him blink. He really did know her, though how he knew her remained a mystery. More than ever, he wanted to fully understand. "You said we knew each other?"

She picked up on his meaning and straightened, a stiffness coming to her spine and motions that he regretted. "Yes." She met his eyes. "Jason, for both our sakes, don't ask me that right now. Anything but that."

He frowned. "Something wrong?"

"No." But she'd lied. "It's. . . .Seeing Marta leave tonight. . . .It was hard for me."

Those words were almost identical to what she'd said to him on their way to Tangier. It was difficult. . .for me. . .with you. What did that mean? Had he done something to her before losing his memory? Or had something been done to her in retaliation for his odd disappearance? "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize."

"No, it's just. . . ." He paused while their meals were delivered. "There's just so much I don't really remember. I know I used to be David Webb. I know how I was brought into. . .this, and why my name was changed. But it's the little things. Birthdays and friends and why I do certain things. They're not essential to survival, but they're important to me." He looked at her, helpless to explain better than that. "I have so many questions about who I was, and you're the only one who can answer them."

Nicky stared at him, not backing down but not giving anything up either. Her eyes were carefully blank, her expression bland. It was that blank gaze that made him realize she had been very good at her job.

He glanced around. "Maybe this was a bad idea."

"No!" She reached across the table but stopped just short of touching him. "I can help, Jason. Just. . .some things. . . ."

He nodded. "I won't ask about us. Okay?" Why did I say "us?"

"Okay." She set her fork down. "What would you like to know?"

"Right now?" He tried to put his thoughts in order and found he was having trouble doing that. It was dark outside, and the brightness of the lights in the windows hurt. "Why am I having headaches?"

"It's the conditioning," she answered immediately. For the next hour, they sat at the table and quietly discussed the different ways that Treadstone had "conditioned" him for his work. Jason had realized he'd been brainwashed, but hearing her discuss it as if it were a medical procedure brought home just how messed up he really was. He quizzed her on ways to cope with the headaches, what might help, and how to overcome everything. She didn't hold back, delivering the news that he'd likely deal with the headaches for the rest of his life in a voice so soft it triggered yet another reaction in him. He wanted to reach across the table and hold her hand, to comfort her in spite of no obvious signs of distress.

By the time they left the bistro, Nicky seemed to relax a bit. But Jason couldn't. There was this energy building in him that needed a release, and he knew he wouldn't find it in running or working on the house with Aaron. Some things had to be fought out, and he had no one to fight. He almost dared anyone on the street to look at them wrong just so he could let go of a bit of the rage.

At home, he found Aaron watching from the kitchen and immediately picked up on the other man's tension. "What's wrong?"

Cross shook his head. "You know a guy about six foot, blond, built like a line-backer?"

Jason caught the unspoken question. "No. He come after you?"

"I don't know." Aaron let out a deep breath, rubbing the back of his neck. "When I got to the place Marta picked, there was some guy there. He didn't do anything except watch Marta walk past his table, but something about him. . . .He was an asset."

Jason narrowed his eyes. "Two of us in the same city is odd but not coincidental since you gave me your address. But three of us?"

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

"He follow Marta?"

Aaron smirked. "He bolted the minute he realized I was onto him. But that doesn't mean he doesn't have a mission here."

"You tell Marta?"

Aaron shook his head again. "I told her to be careful. And call if she needed anything. It's a prearranged code we have for when we suspect we're being followed. She'll be careful."

Jason saw the uncertainty in the other man's gaze. "This the first time something like this happened since you two. . .uh. . .lived apart?"

"Is that a nice way of asking if this is the first time something like this happened since we broke up?" Cross met his eyes. "We're dating, working on what we have and/or had, and yes. The last few times this happened, I was there. With her."

Jason didn't need to tell the other man that Marta knew what she was doing. Cross was already doing that for him. Instead, he simply nodded. "I'll call Nicky. Tell her to be on the lookout. But, if anything happens, Marta really does need to know."

Aaron accepted with a nod and went into his office. Jason didn't follow. Climbing the stairs he pulled out his phone and sighed deeply. The life they'd all lived had not been an easy one, and paranoia could keep them from moving forward. But if Cross was right, if this was an asset after one of them, then it could get very ugly very quickly.

With that in mind, he dialed Nicky's number and waited.

~TBC