Note: Enjoy. Sorry it has been so long. When I posted the last chapter I really though all I needed to do was check for spelling errors and I'd be done, but as I read what I'd written I realized it was deadly boring. It took a while to tear it apart and needless to say it went way long. Hope the flashbacks are worth the need for just one more chapter. That one really only needs spell and continuity checking so it shouldn't be long.
Ch. 6 – And The Angels Proclaim
No remorse and no shame –
Fire, fury and flame –
Cos the devil's to blame
And the angels proclaim
It's a dangerous game! –
Dangerous Game – From Jekyll And Hyde
June 2008 – Positano, Italy
"Nicky, there may be a issue with your Colette Benoit ID." Jason stated as he meticulously reviewed the records that supported her cover.
"What's the problem?" She leaned over his shoulder to get a better look at the paperwork spread out on the table.
"Colette was a graphic designer for a video game company in Lyon. I've seen your sketchbook. You're good. Art is art. It isn't safe to use something from your real life."
"I haven't drawn in years, decades really, until Rome. The only reason I hid there as an artist, was because it was easy to blend in." She used finger quotes around the title and rolled her eyes. "I hid among all the other young people who think they have talent, while I figured out what to do next."
"Why use it now as Colette? If you're very careful she is who you will be from now on?" He watched her closely looking for traces of uncertainty.
"You created the cover for me." She pointed to her fabricated work history, relieved that she didn't have to think about running again, at least until she helped Jason deal with his memory issues.
"I'm not doubting you, but it is hard when I don't remember…" He rubbed his temples trying to force his past to become clear.
She pushed her bangs off her face and sat opposite him at the table. "Okay, long-story short, when I was little, I loved to draw. About the time I graduated from coloring books to watercolors and pencils, mom received the results of my kindergarten New York City Board of Education test scores. They were off the charts. A little further testing and it was discovered I had a photographic memory.
"She sent me to private school so I could learn how to apply the knowledge that my brain naturally stored. Just remembering is enough when you're learning how to spell, and it is great for languages, but it doesn't always work for advanced subjects. The trick is to take facts and know how to apply them. It can be especially hard on people like me. We are used to being considered the smartest in our classes, then all of the sudden we need to do more than spit back facts. Geometry is a good example. Learning theorems is a snap, but looking at a set of shapes and deconstructing them takes application of knowledge."
"So you gave up drawing in favor of school?" He got up and poured them both a glass of Nicky's homemade lemonade.
"Pretty much, but don't make it sound like I suffered. My school was academically challenging. I'd have died of boredom in public classes. I always knew I could go back to art at any time. When I was in my teens, I had this picture in my mind of me with grey hair and glasses, retired from a fabulously successful career, heading off to Europe with a bunch of twenty-somethings to paint up a storm. I did minored in art history as an undergrad, but that isn't the same thing at all."
"I'm still not sure how safe it is." He didn't know if he was being paranoid or not, but the idea of her ending up like Marie was more than he could stand.
"I was in Rome for almost three weeks before I found those papers in my safe deposit box. They are old and well documented, so you must have put them together when we were in Paris." She was getting tired of this argument. It dredged up old memories that were better left buried. "And honestly, it's fun, but I'm just not that good."
"Why would you give me so much information about your past? You trusted me that much?" He watched her fingers tighten on the sweaty glass of cold lemonade and realized he'd stumbled over something that meant a great deal to her.
"Yes,yes I did." She shrugged and bit down hard on emotions that rolled through her. "If you're still not comfortable with my cover, we'll deal with it in the morning. I've got to get those herbs in the ground that Count Dinapoli's housekeeper gave me. They'll die if I don't plant them tonight. I'll be in the garden." Her words were clipped and her face tense.
Surrounded by the scent of basil, oregano, rosemary, parsley, and chives her hands moved automatically, while her mind drifted into the past.
Paris – Feb. 3, 2004
Nicky's stomach clenched with fear. She and Jason had practiced evasion tactics for months, but today was different. This time it wasn't a game. It was for real and she had only her skills to depend on.
Nick wore large sunglasses, a close-fitting brown leather jacket, and jeans. Her hair was tucked under a trendy fedora, and her overnight tote was over her shoulder as she slipped through the main entrance of Gare du Nord, one of six main train stations in Paris. The crowd in the beautiful old terminal swallowed her in moments. After a quick check of her watch, she headed for a ladies room. Five minutes later, wearing a different hat and sunglasses, a hoodie over her leather jacket, and her tote converted into a backpack, she came out and joined the bustle of arriving passengers who had cleared customs. Careful to walk with a meandering stride instead of the determined steps when she entered the station, she made her way to a small side entrance where a car pulled up to the curb seconds later.
"Jason," she mouthed his name as she opened the passenger door and slid in beside him. "I did it exactly like you taught me. I…" She couldn't tear her eyes off the man she hadn't seen in over a month and a-half. The only contact they'd had, after he coded-in his completed assignment status, was a curt businesslike message changing his monthly appointment at the hub.
"I can't answer any questions." He warned, grim and tense, but relieved she'd made it to the meeting point without interference.
"I know," the words caught in her throat, because she did know. Nicky had passed him his orders and ten days after he left Paris, she'd read in the newspaper about a horrific fire that caused the death of a certain Swiss entrepreneur. The article had covered the tycoon's many accomplishments both in international banking and charities spanning the globe. It spoke of the terrible accident that caused the man to be caught in his bedroom, when his furnace exploded and how lucky it was that his wife and two children were visiting her sister in London.
Nowhere was it even whispered that the dead man had made his real fortune dealing in arms and secrets to emerging nations and hostile rebels. Or that he ran a side business in black market organs.
"I…ah…missed you." Nicky ran her hand up and down Jason's arm as he gripped the steering wheel while maneuvering through traffic.
"I…I couldn't…get back sooner." He clenched his jaw refusing to say more. Bourne had killed in difficult ways before but this time was different. It had made him face some truths about what he'd become and take some actions to protect his future. "I can't talk about it."
"I understand," she whispered.
Jason's right hand reached for her jaw and he let his thumb travel from her ear to her chin without taking his eyes off the road. Nicky's soft skin against his and her easy breath against his fingers sent a gentle tingle through his body, relaxing the long muscles in his back and causing his lips to twitch upward at the corners. "I missed you, too." He didn't realize until he said them how powerful those words were. She had become his anchor in a world that was changing all around him.
An hour later they pulled into a deserted farmhouse north of Paris.
"We've been here before," she stated. "You aren't going to test my marksmanship are you?" The temperature was hovering in the 40's F. and it and started to rain. "I didn't bring clothes for that."
"What did you bring clothes for?" They were parked close to the door behind a large stand of bushes.
"If I tell you, we'll never make it out of the car." Nicky lost the ability to speak as his smile turned sensuous and he kissed his way down her neck.
Before things could get out of hand, they unloaded the car in one quick trip. While Jason started a fire in the living room and bedroom fireplaces, she quickly went through their market bags, refrigerating anything that needed to be kept cold and then she joined him in the living room. One look around and she knew he had been here for the last few days. The rooms were clean, dust covers were off the furniture and there were dry logs piled by the door.
They came together in a crash of bodies, each fumbling for the other's clothes. The more skin that was revealed, the more demanding they became.
"Wait, bedroom," he mumbled when he felt her reach for the snap on his jeans. They tangled together still pulling at garments and bumping against walls, as they made their way down a small hall into a room with a double bed that was already made-up. A trail of clothes, shoes, buttons, and Nicky's torn bra were behind them.
At the side of the bed Jason turned her around, pressing her back against his chest. He quickly cupped both of her breasts, trapping her between his body and the side of the mattress. His lips traveled up and down her neck as his fingers played with hardened nipples.
"Please, please," she begged as fire shot through her.
"Shhhh," he whispered. "We've got all weekend to enjoy ourselves."
"But I need you now." Nicky could hardly breathe.
He wrapped his left arm around her chest, under her breasts and clamped her tighter against him. His right hand moved over her stomach and slowly unzipping her already unfastened jeans before sliding under her panties to caress the skin where her legs were joined.
"Jason," she screamed his name and grabbed at his arm with both hands. "More," she gasped. Her hips jerked against his hardness in time to his slow, teasing caresses.
Nicky's body was on fire, but he wasn't giving in to her. Through the haze of desire she remembered that night when he'd returned from his first assignment after they had become lovers. Jason had been like this then.
The psychologist in her understood his need to assert himself and the woman who was his lover gloried in it.
Nick bit her lip to keep from begging and wrapped her arms around the back of his neck, surrendering completely. Her body was his and she was along for the frantic pleasure.
He turned her around and dropped her on the bed. Her socks were pulled off in seconds followed by jeans and panties. He knelt on the mattress and kissed her knuckles before pulling her hands to the old metal bedframe. "Hold on and don't let go." Jason instructed as he wrapped her fingers around cool spindles.
Moments later the rest of his clothes hit the floor and he joined her. His naked aroused body pressed against hers.
"Jason," she cried out. Her back arched off the bed and her heels dug into the mattress. "Pleassse…"
"Stay with me, Nicky." Jason ran both hands into her long blonde hair and kissed her deeply. "I need you to stay with me."
Her tongue danced with his in response. Nick knew that whatever this man wanted from her, she would give him and keep on giving, because she needed it as much as he did. He'd been the one to teach her the extraordinary pleasure of waiting.
Jason kissed his way down her throat and chest until he took her right nipple in his mouth and ran his teeth gently around the hard pink bud and pulled until she cried out in pleasure that almost drove her over the edge. Her hands gripped the bed tighter and he moved on. His rough tongue laved the skin on her belly while one hand played with her other nipple.
They'd been sleeping together long enough that he knew every sensitive point and just how hard he could push until she lost all control.
She mewed in pleasure, as he tasted her everywhere always using slow, light touches, which kept her balanced on edge. The one time she unclasped her fingers and reached for him, trying to pull him closer, harder against her, he pulled away, leaving her bereft of his ministration.
"I told you not to let go." He whispered against her damp hair and guided her hands back to the spindles of the headboard. "Now we have to start all over again."
"Jason, I need you."
"I need you, too, Babe." He cupped her cheeks and kissed her deeply, before working his way down her neck using fingers, tongue and teeth.
It could have been hours or minutes later, but Nicky had no idea of time. They were both slick with sweat and panting before he finally took her shaking fingers from the metal bedframe and placed her palms on his shoulders. "Come for me," he gasped, as he slid into her wet warm depth. "Come for me, Nicky." He slid in again and again as she cried out his name and her body tightened around him, causing him to unraveled along with her.
Nicky woke slowly to the feel of Jason playing gently with her hair. The room was dark except for the fire burning in the hearth. She stretched, deliberately rubbing her body against his.
"Hi there," her voice was rough from shouting out his name.
"Did I hurt you?" Jason leaned on his right elbow and caressed her throat with his left hand. It was always his one fear. He was so much stronger than she was and there were times when he needed to be in absolute control.
"No you didn't." She kissed his cheek. "Jason, you would never hurt me. If we were doing something I didn't want to do, I would tell you."
"Don't trust me too far." He warned.
"Sorry it is already too late for that." She kissed her way up his chest.
This time when they made love, it was slow and sweet. Determined to make up for taking what he needed the first time, Jason spent hours touching, kissing, and tasting her. He lost count of the number of times Nicky's pleasure spiraled out of control while she called out his name. Finally he couldn't take it anymore. He rolled her onto her stomach and pulled her hips upward. In one smooth movement he slipped into her from behind. Every muscle in his body was shaking as her warm wetness gripped him. He wrapped his body over hers, needing to touch her everywhere. His left hand moved downward to where they were joined, massaging the wet nub that gave her so much pleasure. His right flicked her ridged nipples. When she began to shake too, he rocked his hips back and then forward, hard and deep. Three more forceful thrust and they both lost control. Nerve endings exploded and lights flashed behind closed lids. They cried out lost in each other, as they fell to the bed.
"Are you all right?" Jason kissed Nicky's damp shoulder and moved slightly to the side so his total weight wasn't pressing her into the mattress.
"Wonderful. I think you may have turned every bone in my body to liquid." She reached behind her and caressed his flank. "How about you?"
"Sated…and starved." He grinned.
"Isn't that an oxymoron?" Nicky laughed. She always enjoyed Jason's dry sense of humor.
"Possibly, but it's true and you can add 'in need of a shower' to the list."
"I'm on board about all three, but we'll drowned if we bathe together." She turned over enjoying the weight of his body against hers. "How about we split tasks. I'll get started on a meal and once you're cleaned up, we can switch off."
Jason let warm water beat down on his body. His mind drifted and he realized he felt content for the first time in almost a month. He'd meant when he said when he told Nicky he felt sated. The feeling caught him by surprise and so did the comment. He knew he cared for her, but he was beginning to believe that it went much deeper than that. He'd already made preliminary plans that allowed for her. Before that could go any further he'd need some personal information from her. He hoped she trusted him enough to answer his questions without knowing why. Any explanation, even to her, would put them both in danger.
Half an hour later they sat in bed eating a supper of cold chicken, tossed salad and a glass of Sancerre. They were naked except for the towel Nicky had wrapped around her shoulders to keep her clean wet hair from dripping down her back.
"If you ever had to do something other than the psych thing, something very different, that couldn't be traced back to you, what would it be?" Jason sipped his wine and watched her closely.
She looked up into serious blue eyes and realized how important the question was and gave it the thought it deserved. "I'm assuming I wouldn't be able to use any of the computer skills I've picked up at the Safehouse?"
"Nope, probably no computers at all."
"I can draw, but haven't done it since I was about six. I'll never make much of a living as a real artist, but I'm good enough that with a little work I'd be able to sell to tourists on street corners, or get a job as a lower level graphic designer. Why?"
"Just wondering is all." He leaned over and kissed her. "Is there any record or history of Artist Nicky?
"Nope I was busy with other things and always assumed I'd pick it up again when I retired." Then she told him about her childhood and he asked probing questions until he was satisfied she could include her talent in her cover in a life that was far away from Treadstone, the CIA, or any one else from their past.
June 2008 – Positano, Italy
Nicky shivered at the old memory. She didn't need to check the deed for the Gatehouse where they were living; she had perfect recall. The purchase date was January 15, 2004. A few weeks before Jason picked her up at the train station. It was obvious. Jason had been planning her retirement all along. His careful questions that evening in bed had given him information to build Colette's background.
He stood at the garden door and watched Nicky. She was lost in thought, absently digging her trowel into the same spot over and over again.
"Nicky, Nick," he repeated her name but she didn't move. Jason knelt beside her with his left hand on her left shoulder and his right hand covering hers on the garden tool. "Easy does it," his words were soft and gentle when he felt her freeze at his touch. "What's the matter?" She was struggling with something, but didn't know how he could help or if he should even try. "I called your name and it was like you weren't here."
"Just an old memory, nothing important." She tried to smile but her face was stiff. "I need to get these planted."
"We can split the task. I'll do the digging and you put the plants in the ground."
"Sounds like a good idea." She handed the trowel to him, ignoring that her hands shook from his words that had been hers that night at the farmhouse. To keep him from asking questions she asked one. "Are you comfortable with my cover, yet?"
"Yeah. I may not like Bourne the operative, but I trust his instincts, they've kept both of us alive." He grunted.
"That's a step in the right direction." She knew he hated the man he'd been, but she believed until he accepted his past; it would hinder their efforts to restore his memory.
"Don't." He glared over his shoulder. "Do not even go there."
"Okay, no problem." They worked for a while in silence, both enjoying the calm quiet evening. "When we're done here do you want help with your identity?"
"That would be great. I'm here as Jason Connor Weston, as you know." He'd given her the basics when he'd arrived, now it was time to fill in the details. "He is an American from San Francisco. It was a persona I created in 2005, but never used, so there is some good background already in place. He was going to be my final legend, but I made the mistake of thinking I was in the clear and went looking for Marie. It wasn't safe…I …But I was wrong." He looked into his shadowy past filled with doubts.
"Jason-" She reached across their small herb garden and this time she was the one to cover his hand.
"Don't you dare tell me it isn't my fault she is dead." He ground out. "I never should have let her into my life. I didn't pull the trigger, but if I'd simply left her alone-"
"Jason, stop this." Nicky stood suddenly and insisted he listen to her. "You can beat yourself up all you want and it is not going to make a difference. The past is what it is and cannot be changed. Guilt is one of the stages of grieving. Feel it, accept it, and move on. Torturing yourself with 'what if's' won't make a damn bit of difference."
"I thought the therapy session was over before dinner." He snapped. Her head jerked as if she'd been hit and she gasped.
"I've had enough. Finish this on you own." She shoved her garden gloves at him and headed into the house.
"Nick-"
"No, I do not want to hear it." She spoke quickly and quietly. "Yeah, the official session is over, but I can't simply turn off who I am anymore than you can. Losing someone you love hurts like hell. When that happens, you have two choices. You can give up and crawl into the grave with them, or you can work your way to the other side and learn how to live again. You need to figure out which it is going to be." She turned and headed for the bath, keeping a tight grip on her emotions.
Nicky sat in the shower letting water beat down on her head as she cried. She was in free fall, wanting desperately to take her own advice, but how could she grieve for the loss of a person when he was sitting in her kitchen, very much alive? How could she stop loving Jason when more and more evidence was being shoved in her face that he had planned a life with her forever? She allowed herself to cry until there were no tears left. It was something that Nicky hadn't done since that storage closet in Berlin.
When she finally went up to bed, he was waiting for her, awake on his mattress. "Nick, I know you're right and I'm sorry I lost my temper."
"Jason, it's hard and I understand how frustrated you are, but please remember I'm trying to help you." She lay down and turned toward him, though she couldn't see him in the pitch black of night.
"I will. There is something I've been wondering about. Can you tell me why I was able to teach you to protect yourself and unable to get Marie to believe our situation was as dire as it was?" He shook his head remembering the car chases and shootings in Paris and the sniper at her brother's vacation home. "She saw Treadstone agents at their most lethal. She should have…I don't know…damnit…I just don't know how I failed her."
"You didn't fail her." Nicky sighed, not wanting to have to talk about this when she was already emotionally fried, but knew it was better to deal with things as they occurred. "Marie was like hundreds of young woman in developed countries. She had her wild moments, problems with family and employers, but she had never really seen the damage that can be done when planned and executed by extremists."
"She did, I brought it to her door." He glared into the dark. "Did the CIA have a dossier on her? Did you read it? Is that how you know so much about her?"
"Yes, in Berlin, when we were trying to find you. At that point I was the only one who didn't think you had killed Landy's agents a week earlier. I was searching for any corroborating evidence I could find."
Nicky turned over and hugged her pillow. "You didn't bring violence to her, the Agency did and there are different levels of…of…well…terror. What Marie saw was aimed at a specific target: you. I doubt she thought she was ever in harms way. It was always Jason Bourne people were after."
"I tried to tell her, but she just wanted to be happy. She thought the key was my missing memory." He pictured all the different places they'd stayed and how much she'd wanted a life of their own. The rest had been an intriguing game she didn't take seriously.
"It takes something major to make a person understand. I grew up in New York City. My mom played the cello for the New York Metropolitan Opera and gave lessons on the side. I never knew my dad. She got pregnant when she was in her last year at Juilliard. Mom and I lived in a brownstone on Bleeker Street that her grandmother had left her. My best friend Rachel's grandparents lived next store and we had a great childhood. I was like Marie in many ways. The only sorrow I knew was my mom's death from a stroke my senior year at NYU.
"Rachel's dad was an FBI field agent and that's all she talked about when we were growing up. We were both going to take the Bureau by storm, be the best agents they'd ever seen. In September of 2001 I was almost finished with my masters in criminal psychology at Columbia and she was in her last year of law school there. We had passed our initial interviews with the Feds and were thrilled. Then 9/11 happened. Do you remember what I'm talking about?" She checked to be sure Jason's amnesia hadn't left him in the dark.
"I have memories, but I'm not sure if it was something I experienced, read about, or saw on the news."
"It was on every station for days, there was no escaping the horror. We, Rach and I could see and hear the destruction from the roof of our building. I learned what terror was on a global scale and it changed me. It changed both of us. I think it changed all of New York City that day and a lot of Americans.
"Rachel went into the anti-terrorism division of the FBI. I had wanted to be a profiler, but after 9/11…" She shook her head, though she knew he couldn't see her in the dark. "It wasn't what I wanted. Soon after I got a call from Alexander Conklin. I finished my degree, spent some time at 'The Farm' and Langley training, and then followed him to Paris."
"Your background was criminal psychology? It doesn't make sense that Conklin would want you."
"My thesis was on professional criminals, mostly contract killers and how they blend in with society. I was exactly what he was looking for. Some of the Treadstone operatives were having problems keeping their cover identities intact."
Nicky continued with the important part of the conversation. "That day in New York was what made me different from Marie. I learned and learned fast. When you pointed out my lack of skill that morning in the Safehouse, I was more than willing to let you teach me. I had come to Paris to make a difference and didn't plan to die trying. Does that answer your question? It wasn't you, it was life experience that kept Marie from believing the worst could happen."
"Did I know this about you? Did the Jason Bourne I was, know what you'd been through?" His voice was soft and words gentle.
"Not at first. It isn't something I talk about." She smiled sadly at an old memory. "You learned damn quick the first time I woke up gasping in fear in your bed. So you see, I've got plenty of material for nightmares even before you came along. That is one less thing you have to feel guilty about."
"If it was bad enough to give you problems sleeping, how did you get it past Conklin?"
"He knew." She laughed. "I didn't realize it then, but you don't walk into an interview with the CIA if they don't already know everything there is to know about you. He wanted me for the Treadstone job and he dangled patriotism; protect America and the ones I love. He knew exactly which buttons to push. Not that I would have turned it down anyway. The way he described it made it sound like interesting work and something that I would be good at. You guys really did need someone on your side, so I'm glad I did what I could to keep you sane."
"Let me get this straight, you're a psychologist, an artist and have mad computer skills, anything else I should know about?" She could hear the laughter in his voice from across the room.
"Well the artist part remains to be seen. It is simply something I enjoy doing. I do have the college degrees that allow me to analyze the hell out of your scrambled brains." She laughed at his groan. "As for the computer skills, that falls more under the remembering everything on the first go around and knowing how to apply it, besides I've gotta have a hobby."
"Would you use that hobby of yours to help me tighten up Jason Weston's background?"
"Sure, I said I would, just not tonight." She yawned. "While we're at it, we need to figure out what he is doing in Positano."
"The easiest answer to that he is having an affair with Colette Benoit."
"Yeah, tomorrow," she mumbled, as her stomach flipped at the idea. "While we're at it, we should make up a few other identities incase things go south."
Jason and Nicky added to Weston's background when they weren't working on the security system or having a therapy session. Records were filled out and slipped behind firewalls to leave a computer trail of a past that had never existed. It told the story of a man who had served in Afghanistan for the US Army in an Explosive Ordnance Division. He disassembled IED's, investigated the aftermath of roadside car bombings, and searched door-to-door to uncover bomb-makers at home. Jason was hurt when one of his men triggered a booby-trapped post-blast site they were analyzing.
Nicky suggested the explosion and injury to explain his scars and the holes in his memory regarding world events. It also allowed for his transient life style. He was a man who had come face to face with death. The experience made him want to live his bucket list, instead of simply plan it.
Weston was wondering Europe, working odd jobs along the way. He had been in Lyon, working the locks on the Rhone River, when he met Colette. Jean-Paul had died five months earlier in an auto accident.
"It's a good cover." Nicky commented, as they went over the information on Weston one more time. "It's loose enough that we don't really need to do much more with it. You've been bumming around Europe for a couple of years, working here and there. You don't need work records when hired as day labor and we've got your time at the locks well documented."
"Yeah, but what is a woman like Colette Benoit doing with a guy like this?" Jason pointed to the records they'd compiled.
"She's an artist, so there is no accounting for taste." Nicky laughed, teasing him.
"This is serious." Jason rapped his knuckles on the table to get her attention. He was not going to be the reason another woman died. "If my cover falls through, it will lead them straight to you. I've been here too long for you to be overlooked, otherwise, there would be no need for any of this."
"Can't you take a joke?" She glared. "Who knows why two people fall in love?"
"Stop thinking like an American. There is still a class system in Europe, especially in France. Why the hell would a financially secure, French widow even have a conversation with an American ex-pat who worked at the locks? I can't think of a single place their paths would cross."
"Okay, okay, you've made your point." She got up and paced as she thought. "Colette is young, her husband died a few months ago. One day she takes her sketchbook to the river, below the locks. She's depressed. It feels right to be drawing slow moving river traffic, instead of lovely architecture or happy people. While she's there the weather changes, the wind kicks up…"
"A Mistral Wind…just don't make this too romantic." He breaks in laughing at the serious look on her face as she spins her tale.
"Oh hush, Mistral Wind, my foot. We want people to believe it." Nicky continues. "But yes, that's what they are called, the cold winds that blow down from The Alps and hit the Rhone River hard, good idea. It's the right time of year, still winter. Mr. Weston offers her shelter and coffee. He speaks impeccable French, especially for an American, so that should remove one of Colette's natural prejudices. She comes again the following weekend and the next and the one after that. They are two slightly broken people, him because of what happened in Afghanistan, and her because of the loss off her husband. They became friends and then lovers. They don't plan on it being anything more than physical. In March she realizes that she cares for him far more than she should. It frightened her, so she ran and much to her surprise he followed. Is that too mushy?" She scrunched up her face unsure how she felt about the story.
"It sucks." He snorted. "But Sylvie, Count Dinapoli's housekeeper, will eat it up. All you need to do is drop some hits the next time you see her. She'll drag the story out of you over some espresso. We can sit back and let her spread the word for us."
"It also has the advantage that if…when…you decide to leave, you've got an easy out. We couldn't make a relationship work, and begin to argue, until finally we call it quits and you move on." Nick shrugged her shoulders and tried to keep any emotion from showing on her face.
"There is that too." He agreed and made the final entries that created a history for him, unsure why her reminder that he was leaving was painful.
"There is one other thing." She stood over him nervously, unable to meet his glance. "If we are supposed to be lovers, we need to…well...?" She shrugged unsure how to say it.
"Act the part in public?"
"It doesn't have to be much, just…damn." She ran her hands through her hair. "More important you have to stop using your room to change at night. If anyone is watching and sees two bedrooms being used, we're outta luck."
"Is it too late for this? I've been here a few weeks."
"No, I think the timing is about right. Just because you show up on my doorstep, trying to make things right, doesn't mean I'm letting you back into my bed right away."
"Ohhh, Colette, has a temper." He grinned at her and wondered if Nicky was too.
"No, she is careful with her heart." Nick headed into the yard to check the herbs they'd planted the day before.
Once the security system was installed at the Gatehouse, Jason was willing to give Nicky's suggestion of abbreviated workouts a try with the caveat that if there was any reduction of physical ability and he was back to his old ways.
They decided to take it one week at a time. Over breakfast, they put together a schedule for the next seven days. It included weights, splitting muscle groups to not overtax any one set. They arranged time to work in the garden and the olive grove. By mid-morning, everyday, they headed out to begin chipping away at her 'to do' list. It extended their knowledge and security net for miles over mountain trails and rugged backcountry where only animals and an occasional hearty tourist wandered. It, also, gave them a thorough aerobic challenge.
Their first excursion was to Jason's old campsite. It was a steep climb to a bluff above the Gatehouse. According to the maps he had left in Nicky's safe deposit box in 2005, the area they were headed to was on the inside edge of her property. If it had not belonged to her, they would have had to wait and work undercover of night. All of the land around their home was part of an Italian Reserve, with the exception of their elderly neighbor Count Dinapoli to the southeast. Jean-Paul Benoit had purchased the Gatekeeper's Lodge and olive grove from the Count's agent.
They were always careful to speak French when outside, even if they were alone. It was natural that they would fall back into her native language when not conversing with one of the locals. If anyone should overhear them, it was what would be expected. There were some mountain trails used by an occasional tourist. It was summer and the town was full of visitors from all over the world, but only a venturesome few took the higher more strenuous pathways behind the cottage. Usually sightseers stayed on routes at lower elevations. But they weren't taking any chances and did not speak English where they could be overheard.
"I understand why you wanted to plant mines in this place." Nicky examined the bowl shaped indentation. It wasn't large, but it was a perfect sniper's lair that looked directly down on the plateau where their home was located. The olive grove spread out to the right and disappeared from sight around the side of the slope. It didn't give the cottage much cover from directly above.
"Since blasting it would draw attention, we need to do the work by hand." He tossed her work gloves and one of the shovels he'd tied to his pack.
They rearranged large rocks and buried sensors for the next two hours.
"What do you think?" Jason stood back and carefully inspected their work. Waist-high rocks were moved until the basin was filled in. If anything was pushed out of the way, or anyone tried to dig behind boulders, alarms would be set off in the house.
"Yeah, it's good." Nick panted, tucked her gloves and Hepburn style sunglasses into their pack and picked up the water bottle. She drank deeply, letting some liquid dribble down her chin and neck, while fanning herself with her hat. "But we should check it after the next few heavy rainfalls to be sure nothing settles in an unnatural way or slides out of place."
"Good idea." He watched the woman who had worked as tireless as he had. Her sweat damp tank top and shorts clung to her body, hair flopped in her face and her skin was pink from exposure as much as exertion. "You are sunburned." He pushed a blonde lock behind her ear and tipped her head back. He could see a small band of lighter skin where her hat had been on her forehead and another across her nose from her glasses.
It took him a moment to realize that he was standing too close, and touching her for the simple reason that he wanted to. There was nothing sexual about it, simply the need to reach out and make contact. It had seemed natural, but he knew it wasn't wise. He quickly stooped and repacked their haversack.
"Well, so are you." Laughing she leaned over and removed his dark-glasses from his face. "Yup, definitely sunburned." It was odd seeing him in a hat and shades. He'd always refused to wear them before, now they were protection against prying eyes and the glare from above.
"Give me back my glasses." He crooked his finger at her and stood, trying to look menacing.
"But I like them." She placed his aviators on her face, ignoring how they slipped down her nose, too big for her small boned structure. "See they almost fit," she chuckled.
"Actually, not so much," he smiled serenely. One step and he was almost on top of her. One more step and he gripped her upper arms, lowered his body and tossed her over his shoulder. "I think you're suffering from heatstroke. You need to be cooled down."
"Noooo," she giggled. "Here, here these are yours." She handed off his Ray-bans and he dropped them on the pack along with hers and both their hats, but he didn't put her down. "Jason," she admonished.
He cut through the undergrowth and around rocks until he was beside a stream that bubbled down the mountainside until it widened into a small, deep lake at his feet. His sensible side was yelling at him to stop, but another man, one he didn't remember, was cheering him on.
"Don't you dare," she gasped when she heard water rushing over rocks that she couldn't see.
"Or what, what are you gonna do to me?" he laughed. Jason wrapped one arm tightly around the wiggling woman on his shoulder. With his free hand he reached for her boots, unfasten them and then dropped them on the ground, followed by her heavy work socks.
"No, please." Nicky knew just how determined he was when he set his mind to something, so she dug her fingers into the back of his t-shirt. It did her no good. He leaned over and sent her flying, letting her momentum pull his tee over his head, as she flew into the air.
Nick landed in cool fresh water and slipped below the surface with Jason's shirt clutched in her fingers. When she came up for air, she tossed his t-shirt at him, biting her lip to keep from laughing. "I can't believe you did that." She tried to look serious, but lost her battle. Giggles slipped out until it was hard to breathe and tread water at the same time.
"You better get over here before you drown." He grinned and leaned toward her holding out his hand. She swam two quick strokes to get close enough to grab at his outstretched fingers and let him guide her to the steep rocky edge.
"I'm soaked." Nicky complained as he pulled her up and out of the lake.
"You'll dry off, but how about a swim first?" He untied his laces and pulled off his boots and socks before tossing his soaked shirt over some tree branches.
"I've already been swimming, though the water did feel good." She smiled. "I would have appreciated some warning." Nick ran her hands through her hair to get it out of her eyes.
"There won't always be warnings. What would you have done if I had meant to drown you?" He asked in deadly earnest.
"I…" She gasped and slowly shook her head to clear it of the strong sensation of déjà vu. "I would have killed you," she responded coolly and reached behind her to pull out a slim knife with a six-inch blade. She had hidden it in the middle of her back. The sheath was attached to the inside of her belt and concealed by her shorts and tank top. "You asked me almost the same question when you broke into the Safehouse bringing me breakfast that first morning. I've learned a few things since then."
"I didn't mean to frighten you." He was sorry he'd put a damper on their afternoon, but relieved to know she was prepared for the unexpected.
"You didn't." She smiled and put her knife away. "You were being careful. I'm not sure I'd be alive today if you hadn't insisted I look over my shoulder and be prepared at all times."
"Okay then, you want to go swimming?" He stood up and reached down to help her up.
"Sure." She grinned. "How did you know about this place?"
"This is where I bathed those six days and nights I was keeping watch on the cottage." He crooked a brow and jumped into the water.
The tiny lake wasn't large enough to swim laps so Nicky and Jason swam in circles and did surface dives, until they were both breathing hard.
"Okay, enough, I'm beat." She slipped onto her back and floated, tired from all the physical effort of the day. It felt good to let the water support her weight in the dappled sunlight. Her hair spread out from her head and her muscles slowly relaxed. With half-closed lids, Nick watched Jason climb out of the water. His wet shorts hung low on his hips and his lightly tanned back looked slippery and wet. She knew exactly how he would taste if she ran her tongue over his taught skin and how his fingers felt as they dug in her hair to pull her head back so he controlled a kiss. She had to curl her hands into fists and close her eyes to keep from going after for him.
Moments later the surface exploded as he cannonballed beside her. It sent water lapping over her face and nose. She sputtered and coughed as she splashed at him in retaliation. "You are such a…a guy," she gasped.
"Guilty as charged." He laughed and helped her to the rock ledge. His grip on her arm was firm. His emotions restrained, but it had been a close thing. As Jason had stood watching her float easily below him, he'd come close to...to...to... He wasn't sure what. Nicky's tank had been almost transparent as was her bra beneath it. He was able to see the dusky color of her areolas and hardened nipple through the sheer cotton. It made his hand itch with familiarity. Some part of him, deep inside knew exactly what it would be like to touch all of her and he'd almost slipped quietly back into the water and done just that.
"I've got it." She cleared her throat and shook off his hand as she looked over her shoulder. Her dark eyes met dilated blues ones that were filled with want. Biting her lip, Nick grabbed the rocks and pulled, but her hold slipped and the momentum sent her beneath the surface.
"Easy." He caught her around the waist and pulled her against him as she sputtered and choked water from her nose and mouth. "Can you breathe?"
"Yeah, I am fine." She could feel the slow rise and fall of his chest against her back and the gentle movement of water as his free arm kept them afloat. It made her hands tremble and she was unsure if she had the strength to pull herself out of the lake without falling again.
"Up you go," Jason's words were strained as he wrapped both hands around her waist and did a powerful scissor kick. It was strong enough to lift them waist high in the water. Nicky was able to get a good hold of the rock ledge and pull herself out of the pond.
"Thanks, I…uh…I…slipped." Her voice cracked and she refused to look back. She quickly squeezed wet sockless feet into stiff boots and grabbed her dirty wet socks. "I'm…uh…I am going down. I need a shower." She spoke quickly her breath catching between words, unable to take her eyes off the ground beneath her feet, as she moved through trees, bushes, and boulders to get back to their worksite. It was all she could do to get away from him before tears filled her eyes and clogged her throat, making it impossible to form a coherent sentence.
"I'll be down soon. Leave the pack. I'll bring it when I come." Jason called after her retreating form.
"Got it already." Nicky shouted in the general direction of where they'd been swimming. Her hands shook as she picked-up their things and headed down the hill as fast as she could. They had a therapy session in less than an hour and she needed to get her mind out of Jason Bourne's bed and back where it belonged.
"Get a grip, Nicolette," she mumbled to herself as she headed home. "Get a damn grip."
It took her ten minutes to unlock the coded entry and put all their tools away. Moments later Nicky stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. The shower was running full blast to cover any sounds she inadvertently made. She knew if she was going to keep her sanity and continue to work with Jason she needed to deconstruct the why behind her mixed emotions.
"You love him." Her lips moved but no sound came out. "I love him," she whispered. "But I have for years, so how is this different?" her brows quirked as she dug deeper for the answers. Realization struck hard. Her knees gave out and she slipped to the cool tiles and rested her forehead against the marble vanity. Nicky admitted the truth to herself. "I had hoped that sleep in a safe place would cause his memory to return." Nicky sighed, knowing she still had pieces to put together. "I had hoped that simply being with me would be enough. I hoped he had loved me enough in the past that once he felt secure his feelings would return even if his memories didn't." She sobbed, and fought to regain enough clinical detachment to survive emotionally until she'd helped him put the pieces back together.
She finally knew why she'd been unable to gain closure, despite the years since their affair. Nicky had retained hope that it wasn't over, that as long as Bourne was out there, he might come back to her. But every time he came back she wasn't enough. He'd proved that in Berlin, Spain, and Tangier. She simply wasn't enough for him, maybe she never had been.
While Nicky faced her truths, Jason floated in the mountain lake. Though he appeared totally relaxed, the part of him he didn't want to accept, the part that was Jason Bourne, Treadstone Operative, was aware of every sound, movement, or shadow. He let that man stand watch, while the newer piece of him, the one he was just discovering, searched for answers to questions he hadn't known existed. The biggest and most important was what was going on between Nick and him.
In the past if there had been a woman he desired and it was convenient, he charmed his way into her bed. Even with Marie, they'd slept together their first night. He hadn't known whom he was or what was going on, but he had wanted her and she had wanted him in return. It had been simple. Despite the knowledge that he was being hunted, by then unknown forces, they'd indulged their cravings. Their life together had been simple, even when they were dodging operatives, bombs and bullets, up until it had ended while crossing a bridge over the Mandovi River and Marie had been killed.
Life with Nicky was complicated and messy. She was an amazing woman, who stood her ground when needed and gave into him when not. She was smart, beautiful and kind. She made him feel all sorts of crazy things that made no sense.
The longer he stayed with her the more evidence he uncovered that he'd wanted a life with her and had once been willing to risk a great deal to have it. Jason could understand having an affair with Nicolette Parsons, when she was his handler, even if it was dangerous for both of them, but the paperwork of the escape plan suggested something permanent. If the man he had been loved her, was it possible that these new things he was feeling were based on something much deeper than chemistry and a need to protect. Was the person he'd become, falling in love with her, too?
Before he could even begin to face that question, he needed to know more about himself. He needed his damn memory back.
TBC