Bourne Kicks Butt Part 1
Apr. 11th, 2020 10:46 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
madimpossibledreamerAlso, I hope everyone's doing well, and that I can help in some small way.
This time, for the Past Train down Memory Lane, I had this phase where I was super into the Bourne Identity, and the Bourne books, and Ludlum in general (which are generally if not 100% better than the movies; big surprise, I know). A lot of why the books were better was down to how Marie was treated; in the books, she was super smart and lived past the very beginning of Supremacy, and I liked how it depicted an actual relationship that wasn't perfect but also wasn't cliche (from recollection, anyway; my memory might be flawed on that point). (Now, so many years later, I don't remember why but I liked The Janson Directive out of his other books).
I also wrote fanfic in 2007. The movie definitely held up better than my fanfic. Including the title, which I think is a little cringe but unfortunately I don't have a better title handy. I do have a few notes in there where I'm trying to work out timeline issues, so I'm aware of some of the things. I did somehow manage to do a thing which super bugs me in fic and don't know why--I have now fixed it, but I didn't paragraph for every time someone new talks, which is weird. And there are some good lines. Mostly it's kind of...I dunno, overdramatic rather than natural, which would have fitted it better. So I guess this is a case of "the plot is still good on a reread, as is the characterization, but the execution could use some work".
Main Points:
Bourne Series AU
Chapter Summary: Treadstone make a weapon and then have to destroy it--"Delta" Bourne, Jason's father.
Word Count: 2828
Rating: Teen
Continuity Issues: Nothing major. He might have been little, and the recent one was when some CIA people got taken out too. Although, the enemies don’t know of him yet, or his whereabouts, so… If it is five months ago, like I wrote, then unfortunately Conk the Great can’t be Delta’s friend’s Conklin’s son, since he only met the lady he loves when he was planning Delta’s death in the CIA offices and if that was five months ago, they haven’t had time to get married, let alone have a baby. And even so, that baby wouldn’t be Jason’s age. Conk the Great could be the nephew, though. The baby…he could have had that conversation a while ago and only found evidence and decided to get him five months ago, yet that still wouldn’t solve all the problems. Although he could be misremembering things, not an uncommon occurrence, as he keeps remembering things (missions) he never did. His father, some of them. He’s not sure where the rest are coming from, and neither am I. Also, he called her, she met him in Europe, and then he sent her back with what to do when it got too dangerous.
Jason looked around, not a little overwhelmed. He was sixteen, but might as well have been a baby. He didn’t remember a thing.
He was rescued from a house. He seemed to remember screams-horrible screams, and above it all, a terrible anger that he suspected was his father’s. They were dead. He knew that. They’d told him that.
He didn’t really know them. He’d ended up in the hospital for a little while, and he thought he’d seen a man with a limp there, who was certainly suspicious. He didn’t see the man when he woke up, though, and they thought that he might have had hallucinations. They told him that he was close to the edge, that, for a little while, his mind had snapped. That’s why he had forgotten. There was just too much, and his mind couldn’t take it anymore.
Maybe that was why he kept having the dreams. The dreams of blood. The dreams of pain. Gunshots, stabs in the dark. Violence that, at once, repelled him and fascinated him.
He was handsome, unlike his father had been. He didn’t quite remember his father’s face, but he remembered it had been that almost handsome-a face that would disappear into the crowd. A face that could blend in almost anywhere.
Now he was in school, for the first time since he remembered. They’d assured him that they were finding a friend of the family that would look after him. It wouldn’t take that long, they’d guaranteed.
It was okay. He didn’t mind being alone. It would help him to fight the ones with the guns inside his own mind. Right now, he just stared; looking around, sharp eyes missing nothing.
Five Months Ago
The man with the limp was pacing. Not so good for his injured leg, he knew, but it didn’t matter-his mind hurt more. He was remembering his recent conversations with the man he knew as Delta.
He was the controller; could decide when to pull the plug. Yet the man was his friend, and he’d always been fond of Lily. The only other name he knew that belonged to Delta was Bourne. Something Bourne. He’d never known exactly what.
Conklin grimaced. His last conversation; he’d tried to be as concealed as he possibly could. And yet Delta had seen right through him. “Somebody turned.”
Delta was sitting on the park bench, watching the waters of the lake. At this he turned around with a smile. A predatory smile. “Why don’t you come over to my house and we’ll talk about it?”
Ambrose shuddered at the smile and his friend’s tone of voice. “Don’t want to disturb Lily. Or the baby-he’s been born now, right?”
Delta met that with another smile, this time just aggressively amused. “He’s Bourne.” he acknowledged.
“I’m just wondering what to do and looking for a friend’s advice.” Conklin clarified, afraid that at any time Delta might decide to do away with him. The smile this time was sad, but fully understanding. Bourne’s smile.
“Turn him in.” he advised. “Don’t kill him yourself. You wouldn’t last with blood on your hands. You couldn’t stand it.” Bourne gave another, cold smile. “And if you have too much trouble, tell me. Let me deal with it.” The smile faded slightly, grew in warmth. “If I ever turned, please, have me killed too. Lily wouldn’t love me anymore, and I’d do anything for her…her and little Jason.”
Ambrose stiffened. He didn’t want to. Didn’t want to watch a friend die.
“Promise me.” That voice was one of the hardest Delta had ever used. Conklin finally nodded.
“You’ll have trouble. I was always very good at staying alive. Too much so, perhaps.” Delta contemplated.
What really got Ambrose was that it may be the last time he’d ever have to talk to his friend. He’d found evidence that Delta was going to hire out to others, become a mercenary. Maybe even start killing for no reason. He couldn’t allow that. Delta was too good of a weapon. He could turn the tables so fast-whether it was a single target to be eliminated or an entire government to throw into chaos, the scary thing was that he could do it. That’s why they had used him, honed his instincts. Maybe it had been a bad idea. They’d always known that they’d been playing with dynamite. It would get them into trouble someday. It was about to explode, destroying them all.
He’d finally made his decision. He let himself cry, for once in his life, telling himself that if Odysseus didn’t find it demeaning, neither would he. Afterwards, his eyes were dry. Bourne had practically given him permission. Delta-Delta was a different story, wouldn’t let himself die. He had to survive. And if Lily died, he would go mad. There were more factors, though…by all the evidence he already had gone insane. They had to be careful when they killed him-not to kill her, or not to fail in killing him. Alexander hoped for the first one. If Delta was given the chance, he would bring the government toppling down on them. That’s why they had to make sure he died, before he could do any more damage.
He held a cell phone, untraceable, naturally. He hesitated a second before calling to arrange a meeting. The meeting that would decide his friend’s doom.
He was there. A little late, due to his foot. The cane he held could easily be used as a weapon-just because he was crippled didn’t mean he was defenseless. He had been a field man, in the early days before he lost the use of his foot. He had been put in charge of stopping the program if something went wrong because he was against it, if only for the people who would get involved. As he had put it, they had no right to play God. Yet he’d also seen the good that it’d done. He’d have to justify it to the committee, though, so even with his personal opinion that it was wrong, he couldn’t stop it that way. Everyone who had been involved in the program was there. There was one woman he didn’t recognize. Doubtless her presence would be explained shortly. It couldn’t not-he wouldn’t and couldn’t continue until it had. Ward Abbott was there. He was the mastermind behind the program. There was the director of operations-assassination ops. Most would never even know his name, know that he worked at the CIA. There were two other station heads. They were in charge of the equipment-technological and flesh.
One of them was fairly new. He’d disapproved of the program from the start, like Conklin had-and now all concerns were proved correct. “Well?” he asked quickly.
“Not until this one’s cleared.” Conklin’s mouth tightened, pointing at the newcomer with his cane.
“The officers cleared her.” the director pointed out.
“She has to be cleared with me. As I guess you must imagine, none of this must leave this room.” Ambrose said testily.
The personnel equipment handler’s voice was as cold as the snow of her native Switzerland. “I cleared her. She’s new, but she has to learn. And she had to learn of Bourne to be able to do her job. I filled her in on some of it. The thing is, he turned up somewhere where he shouldn’t have been.”
Conklin’s mouth became dry. “I know.”
“Explain, please.” she continued, staring at him, slightly startled, for once. It might have even have amused him, if it hadn’t been so serious.
“Bourne’s turned.” The expressions in the room were the very picture of surprise. “How? When? Why? How do you know?” The various voices were loud.
“Who is this Bourne?” the woman asked.
The crippled man’s throat hurt. “My friend. But he’s also known as Delta. And as that man, he’s ruthless. He’s killed so much-he enjoys it. He’s sick. And unfortunately, he’s not the only one who went through this program. He’s just the most efficient. He’s an extreme threat. There are 83 sanctioned kills by the US government that he completed. More, that weren’t written down. He’s dirty-wrong. A predator, a complete killer. And unfortunately, we need him. We need people like him. People who can’t be suspected. People that, if not for us, would live completely happy normal lives. It comes naturally to him. One mindset is caring, loving. He’s got a wife and a kid. The other has to completely shut down that mindset if it can survive. There’s one kill that I saw that scared me. He kissed his wife, who, by this point, was pregnant. He walked into another room and killed a diplomat that was an embarrassment. He did it without breaking a sweat or breaking stride. His composure never broke. He was the only one with two mindsets in the program. That’s what made him my friend. He knew what he was doing was wrong-even though he could do it as easily as breathing. And part of him does it because he can’t imagine anything else. That other mindset only tolerates me. And, unfortunately, it used to only tolerate the world. That tolerance is gone. He’ll do anything to protect his wife and kid, but I’m afraid the other, compassionate mindset is shutting down completely. He’s not caring. He’s protective because they’re his. He can’t tolerate any interference. He thinks he’s better than we are, now. And we can’t eliminate him because we simply don’t have anybody good enough.”
Abbott noticed the hatred in his friend’s voice. “You’re sure?”
“He’s Delta. You yourself have seen how good he is. I’m not sure there’s anyone good enough-but we have to try. He’ll take us out-eventually, whether or not we do anything. If we fail, if we don’t try at all, we lose. He’s got an island in the Pacific on which he can hide. A helicopter and groundskeeper and even pilot all of his own. None of which he reported. That’s what told me something was wrong, at first. He thinks that the enemies he’s got are after him and his family-probably true, but he blames us. And he’s taking contracts. Something we cannot allow-we didn’t train him just to go rogue on us. We gave him the very tools he can use to make sure that our government doesn’t even exist anymore. He even knew-part of him knew. He practically gave me permission three weeks back to kill him if he went rogue. He was contemplating it. It was also something of a challenge. He wants to prove himself-wants to see if he can take out his former bosses. He’ll give us whatever he can to tease us, baiting us, to make us think we have a chance. It’s a game to him, a game he can probably win. He hates us for what we did to him.”
The woman, meanwhile, was just sitting there, astonished. “What did we do to him?”
“We made him what he is.” Conklin stated. It wasn’t angry now, just tired. “And now he wants revenge. And he’s right-once he turns on us, we have no choice but to turn on him.”
The woman was horrified. Ambrose made a note to ask about her-voice his concerns. She should be able to hold her head in situations like this.
Later. Ward asked the important question. “You say we don’t have anybody good enough. Personally, I’m inclined to agree with that statement. What do you suggest?”
The crippled man took a deep breath. “We let his enemies have him. Hopefully, they’ll just eliminate Delta, not Lily and the kid. But we can’t control it. They’ve got good enough snipers. They better not give him any warning, though. Any warning, and he’s after them. They’re the dead ones. He’s smart-he may even link it to us. It would occur to him before long. Then we’re dead-but we don’t have a choice. We pull his guards, not obviously. Have a crisis somewhere else, pull them to help with it. Make it seem like we think he’s good enough, he can take care of himself for an hour. It’s just unobvious enough that it’ll work, and it’s untraceable.”
There was an audible gasp.
Abbott looked resigned. “If that’s real…”
Conklin nodded, not without guilt.
At the Bourne’s House
One instant he was laughing, staring down at his fifteen-year-old son, fast asleep on the couch. His wife was smiling softly at him, warming him…then…
Danger. There was danger, somewhere. Something had triggered it. Something outside. It took him a moment to discover that the guards were gone. How…why…? But it didn’t matter. They were the enemy, now. There was danger. Someone would try to try to kill him. Delta was here, now. Delta would keep them all alive.
He spun away, not caring about his wife’s quick concern. A weapon. Where? The knife, sitting on the table in the kitchen. That would do. He caught it in his hand, cradling it. It was part of him-an extension. He had a weapon. He was a weapon.
The bullets didn’t kill him right away. There were snipers-on the roofs. The blood angered him. He was in complete control. They thought they could control the situation. They were wrong-he was Delta, he could kill them all. Lily ran over to examine him. No…no…there was blood, on her shirt, on her throat. She was dying…she was screaming. It was them. It was Treadstone. They had betrayed him-they had killed his wife. He would kill them. They deserved it. All of them deserved it. He ran, keeping low. He held his wife in his arms. He didn’t cry-it wasn’t in him to cry. Instead he bared his teeth, like a predator would. They would pay. They would run, they would feel the fear. Then they would die. Lily opened her eyes. He felt Delta going-no, he couldn’t leave! He was needed-they had to die, for what they had done to her. What about his son? Bourne-he had to, he would help. They would taste the fear, run, like rabbits before the snake…
Lily reached up, with what strength she had left, caressing his cheek. “It’s not bad…I’m not afraid. Don’t leave me…I love you. Don’t become someone I don’t know….”
Then the bullets went into him. He’d paid too much attention to her; he hadn’t moved quickly enough. No…it couldn’t end like this, no…He had to eliminate the targets. It always happened. There was no way it couldn’t happen.
His life had been filled with blood. It had started that way. In the last minutes of his life, Bourne allowed tears to mix with the blood that had ruled his life for so long.
Outside
The man with the limp was watching. He grimaced as he saw the man die. The worst was that Lily was also dead. He wasn’t sure about Jason. It was done. Delta was down. The snipers checked, just to make sure. They would have been dead if he wasn’t. He would have continued-that was what he was conditioned to do, and since Lily was dead, he wouldn’t have let it go.
Once the snipers were gone, when he was sure, and only then did he limp across the street to enter the house. He found Jason on the couch, screaming. He pumped a tranq into the son to make him sleep, however fitfully. Like son, like father. Then, hard as it was, he carried the young Bourne across the street, to where the other CIA operatives helped transport him. He would be well taken care of. They couldn’t fix everything, but they could certainly do whatever they could to try to wipe a slate clean. There were just so many of them…
