Bourne Kicks Butt Part 3

[madimpossibledreamer]

jason is rebourne? no?
the melodrama continues
you wouldn't think that would bother me (devil may cry, jojo's), but the Bourne series was never supposed to be so dramatic. understated and subtle fits it better

Main Points:
Bourne Series AU
Chapter Summary: Jason Bourne is just trying to relax with his new girlfriend.
Word Count: 3818
Rating: Teen
Warning: this time it isn't teens with guns, and Jason gets shot again.

 

The Hospital

            Marie stared at Jason’s face.  He seemed peaceful now.  He hadn’t been.  He’d had bad dreams-something about blood.  And the bullets hadn’t helped.  Luckily, it had only been her who had heard him muttering in his sleep.  He had, before, when the doctors were there, but then it was so garbled only Marie had understood some of the words.  Now, for once, he was sleeping soundly.  She had heard about bad guys, and what had just happened made it seemed like he was one of them.  But something in her told her that Jason wasn’t one of those people. 

            She heard a voice.  It was Bourne.  He was awake, when he’d seemed fast asleep just a second ago.  “Where am I?”  A second, then, softer, “Marie?”  Marie nodded, looked at him.  He’d rolled over to his unwounded side and was watching her.  “You’re beautiful, you know.” 

            She blushed.  “I’ve been told that before.  You’re the first one I’ve actually believed, though.” 

            He grinned.  “Water?” he asked.  Marie nodded, bringing him a glass.  He drank thirstily. 

            “This might not be a good idea.” she pointed out. 

            He grinned again.  “I know how far I can go, how far I can push myself.  What will hurt, what will help.”  His grin faded. 

            Marie reached out to hold his hand.  “I’m sorry.  Everyone else is okay.  The worst thing is that you lost a lot of blood, so you could be dizzy, disoriented, and weak for a couple of days.” 

            Jason nodded.  “I know.  Marie…It’s dangerous.  You should be running as far away from me as you can possibly go.” 

            Marie looked down, ashamed that she’d been thinking the same thing.  After a couple of seconds, she looked back up again.  “I know.” she admitted.  Bourne looked confused.

            “I love you.  So I’m not afraid.  You’re not going to do anything to me, because you love me too, and you don’t want to see me hurt.  I’m sorry-I moved.” 

            His smile, this time, was dazzling.  “You would have been an idiot if you didn’t.”  His smile faded slightly as he stared at her. 

            Marie got out of her chair and walked over to him.  She hesitated for a moment before leaning into him, kissing him.  He returned it.  It was beautiful. 

            “I never felt scared because you were there.” Jason admitted, when they stopped.  Marie smiled.

Christmas

            Jason still had a little bit of pain in his arm, so he favored it a little bit.  He and Marie were boyfriend-girlfriend now, officially, and her parents approved of him.  From everything he could tell, Jackie approved of Marie too.  They had had a conversation about her sister (friend?), Jason’s mom.  Jackie still didn’t understand everything, but she wanted to.  And Jason couldn’t tell her, because he didn’t know everything himself. 

            Marie slipped around his back, forced closer to him because the tree and the wall were so close.  He was helping her family decorate their tree.  He’d promised Jackie he’d help her, too.  He felt her presence, lifting his mood.  “Hey,” she whispered, reaching up over him and having to lean into him to get the ornament on the branch.  “You look like you’re freaking out again.” 

            Bourne nodded.  “I am.  You’re getting too good at reading me.” 

            “We’re just meant for each other.” she shot back, kissing his neck. 

            He reached back and squeezed her hand.  “I hope so,” he whispered, painfully. 

            He went to the window, looked out.  What was out there made him freeze.  Gunmen.  Not snipers; those in the house would already have been dead if they were.  But they were here-for him.  “Marie,” he called, “…you should see these icicles.” 

            She heard something in his voice that meant it wasn’t quite why, but she came, nonetheless.  “What is it?”  she whispered.  He didn’t speak, just pointed.  She saw them; knew what they were.  “They’re…they’re beautiful.”  She managed to make it sound like awe.  “What do I do?” she asked, under her breath.  He heard her. 

            “Get everyone out.  Nick, Paul, everyone.  Find some excuse, cookies to deliver, or something.  I’ll finish it.”

            She stopped, concern for him in her face, but went.  He saw something in Paul’s face as he looked over, but Jason didn’t keep looking.  “I’m feeling a little under the weather lately.”  He wasn’t sure where exactly the words came from, but they came.  “The cold probably wouldn’t be good for me.  I don’t want to hold you back, though…go on and deliver your cookies or whatever.”  He turned around and smiled.  It was a pleasant, truthful smile.  He wasn’t sure where it came from, either.  “I’ll just stick around here.” 

            Something in his voice, in his eyes, convinced the parents.  “We won’t take long.”  Marie.  A warning.  Do whatever you have to, and do it fast. 

            He nodded, smiled.  “I’ll be fine.” he assured her.  Somewhere he’d learned how to speak in double meanings.  He was now.  And she understood-somewhere inside her was something that could translate him.  He wasn’t sure how.  It might not even matter-all that mattered was that it was there and he could count on it.

            They left; he could hear them leaving.  No shots.  Good.  That meant he and he alone was the target.  He’d have to even the odds somehow, but no guns.  That was the other part of Marie’s message.  It had to be clean.  Had to be; the parents would freak out otherwise, and he couldn’t afford that.  It was what they called a clean kill.  Except no kills; that was another part of it.  They were crippling him here; couldn’t they understand that?

            It didn’t matter.  Focus on the objective.  Targets were moving; five of them, positions confirmed-in the woods behind Marie’s house.  Thinking of her; thinking of her name snapped him slightly out of it.  He’d lost sight of them-he couldn’t lose!  Not now!  Something happened to his eyesight-the lines were bleeding into other ones.  What was going on?  He was elsewhere.  He saw bullets break through the windows, and blood fly.  What was happening?  Where was he?  This was something he couldn’t fight.  The memories hurt-they hurt so much!  People were dying, but that didn’t matter.  It was elsewhere-elsewhen.  He heard a voice that he recognized but couldn’t put a name to. 

            “Concentrate on the here and now.”  The mission was there.  The reality was there.  There were targets.  Moving targets.  No gun, but that didn’t matter-he was Bourne, he could and would continue-he had to!  A bullet sliced through the window; he ducked.  That was bad-he was a sitting duck, silhouetted in a window.  Not so bright.  He hid underneath the window instead.  The guns were silenced.  Good.  Hang on-a plan came.  Backup.  No one was stupid to go in to odds this bad without a backup.  They always had them.  The number-what was the number?  He had a cell phone.  It was traceable- he couldn’t use it.  But they wouldn’t be tracing it-they thought they had him trapped.  Call the number.  What was the number?  He couldn’t remember for a good long while; precious seconds ticking off.  Without knowing it, his fingers just reached out, dialing in the number.  His hands were shaking.  Somehow he couldn’t manage the cool intelligence something inside him told him he should have. 

            “He-hello.” he managed to say.  He heard another voice on the end of the line. 

            “Hello?  Who is this?” 

            He froze.  He’d heard that voice before.  The woman, that had hung around the hospital after…He remembered her; thought she was from CIA-it didn’t matter, she would help him.  She had to.  If she wouldn’t, he’d make her.  He’d make her listen.  “This is Bourne.”

            “Bourne?” she gasped. 

            He didn’t wait for her to say any more, cutting her off.  “I’m surrounded.  They’ve all got guns, and they shot at me through the window.  They’re professionals; I’m guessing mercenaries.  I don’t know what you’ve got me into, but I need backup.  Now.”  The expression in his voice didn’t brook any argument. 

            “Wh…where are you?” she asked, trying to act professional, but with a slight tremble in her voice. 

            “Trace the phone.  Come quickly.” he answered brusquely, and cut the phone off.

            He had been talking too long.  They weren’t moving closer to the house, though.  Why?  The obvious: they were afraid of him.  He’d make them terrified of him. 

            Weapons-did he have any weapons?  The knives-in the kitchen.  Not good enough.  Good for lethal.  Lethal wasn’t what he wanted.  The staff in Marie’s room-the real one that she’d used for her Halloween costume!  That was good.  Worth him, and it could be lethal-but it wouldn’t be used that way if he could help it.

            Draw them in.  However he could.  Make them think he was out.  That was it.  Target eliminated-they’d have to follow-up, and make sure.  He could get them then, when they weren’t expecting it.  How to do it?

            He stood up.  The framing of his figure was a bad idea, but it would come in useful right now.  Wounded might be even better than killed; they’d still have to come after him either way.  If he couldn’t get up, couldn’t move, he was a sitting duck; but they would have to dispose of him inside the house.

Jason moved right before the bullets hit the window.  One buried itself in his arm, the other cutting a furrow in his neck, and he let out a cry.  He didn’t even try to make it quieter; it was part of his disguise.  He fell, heavily, out of view.  Then, Bourne heard something.  Not, perhaps, complete professionals.  He couldn’t hear what exactly they were saying, but that was all right.  He didn’t need to.  They were trying to confirm the kill; voices soft, but still a mistake no killer who respected themselves would make.  Anyone who was good could pinpoint their exact location and take them all out with even the slightest whisper of sound.

They weren’t completely stupid, however.  Only a few approached the house-the rest would cover everything, to make sure he didn’t escape.  He didn’t need to get them all-he just needed to buy time for backup to arrive and maybe even the odds a little.  That was all.

When he thought he could, he crawled along the carpet.  He noticed the blood trail he was leaving and thought, “Sorry, Marie.”  The biggest problem was that the blood would lead them right to him.  Then again, maybe that was what he wanted.  He went to Marie’s room, sorrier than ever that he had to have his blood messing up their carpet.  Yet, this wasn’t a game.  It was either his survival or the carpet.  He chose his survival.

The staff was right where she’d showed him.  Bourne grabbed it and some tissues to stop the bleeding.  At least no drops were currently falling on her carpet.  Jason hid beside the doorway, fully erect, though the pain of the bullets was starting to sink in again.  He heard the sound of the front door being slammed open.  How much time had passed?  Ten, twenty minutes?  In any case, he didn’t have long before Marie and the rest came back.  Not long enough; yet it would have to do.  He heard them now.  “He’s gone!” one exclaimed.  “Shh…he must have crawled away.  He’s flesh, just waiting to be prized out of his oyster.”  They had to split up.  Otherwise it would take far longer than they thought would be required.  It also made them easier targets. 

One walked into her room, following the blood.  He struck out with the staff, faster than thought, quicker than the eye could move.  The man fell without a sound.  Good.  He pulled the man further into the room, checking the pulse.  Merely unconscious, not dead.  Even better.  Bourne checked the man for some kind of communications device.  None.  What sort of idiots was he dealing with?

It was important not to underestimate them, however.  They might not follow all the smart procedures that people like Bourne had figured out long ago, but they still were probably completely capable of killing him.  And he them.  An almost even, fair fight of a couple of civilized people trying to kill each other in a civilized manner, except that there were a lot of them and he was only one.  Also, killing was a bad idea for him, since he didn’t want to hurt Marie or her family.  There was a more practical reason.  A kid, being able to kill trained mercenaries, hired killers who’d been able to do this all their lives?  Taking them out would mean enough questions, but killing?  Questions he couldn’t answer, questions he couldn’t allow.  The less people who knew about him, the better.  The less who knew what he could do?  Perfect.

Another, finding the blood.  He hit out.  This one was a little more aware; dazed by the blow, not knocked out.  A shot went off.  So much for a quiet takedown.  His position was revealed.  Take this one out, then move!  All his instincts were screaming at him.  The next went into the man’s nose and simultaneously to his stomach.  He fell, blood dripping from the nose.  It appeared to be broken.  Try a closet next, he thought, moving silently, steps carefully chosen, the movements of a predatory cat.  Usually the floor in the hallway squeaked.  It didn’t today.

How many were left?  He thought he heard at least two.  There were at least two outside. Not bad odds.  Not great ones either.  Another, coming up the stairs.  Hide!  Another one, upstairs.  This time he hit at the man’s stomach, then knees.  “Who’s out there?” he whispered harshly as the man fell.  “How many of them are there?” 

The man spit blood.  “You’re younger than I thought.  An easier target.”

“Don’t count on it.” Bourne laughed.  There was nothing of Jason now.  To prove it, he broke the man’s elbow, then his fingers.  The man, smartly, stifled his scream.  He knew, or thought he knew, that if he made too much noise, this…strange person with little or no mercy would kill him.  Bourne allowed that he might.  He knew himself less well than he thought he did.  And he didn’t know how close he was to the edge-what exactly it would take to push him over. 

            “What…do you want to know?” the man asked, broken. 

            “Exactly what I said.  Who?  Where?  Numbers.  Not people-just numbers.  Data.”  The man watched him carefully.  He knew that one slip, one mistake, one miscalculation would get him killed now.  They both knew it. 

            “Two others, besides myself.  One that I’ve worked with for a while.  Two outside.  They’re the gunmen.  We’re the cleanup crew.” 

Bourne’s smile was chilling.  “You were a little early.  There has to be a mess, a kill, before anything can be cleaned up.  Premature, shall we say.  But guess what?  You’re part of that cleanup.  They need to make sure it can’t be traced back to them.”  The man’s eyes widened.  Bourne thought for a moment, then continued.  “Here’s the deal.  You take out your partner, or get him to go with you.  You, or you and your partner, have to hide until the mercs are gone.  Then you make a break for it.  Don’t stop for anything.  I’ll take out the other one.  If he takes me out, you can eliminate him and claim the kill.  No one else in the house; no one to contradict your story.  If not, I’d leave.  Feds are coming, and you don’t want to meet them.  I don’t want to meet them, either.  They say they’re backup.  I don’t trust them.”

The man watched, something like respect coming into his eyes.  “That’s smart.  They’re not to be trusted, especially not in this business.  They’ll use you while they can.  When you’re not needed, they’ll mop you up.  Should've remembered that myself.”

Bourne nodded.  The man slowly made up his mind.  Precious seconds, ticking away.  “Sure.  My hide’s worth more than any contract, and so’s my partner’s.  I’m sure I can convince him.  He’s downstairs.”  He slowly got up.  “Honour among killers.  Sounds like a contradiction, but it happens every day.  Professional respect.  Falling outs aren’t as common as they say-but when they do, they’re awful.  And then there's nothin left but blood and the tears, as they say,”  He laughed and slowly limped down the stairs.

Bourne ran upstairs.  All of a sudden, he was fresh again.  He didn’t make a sound, despite the staff in his other hand.  He felt like fighting.

He got a fight.  The man was waiting; listening for something he’d thought he’d heard but hadn’t quite.  Bourne made it easy for him.  He hit the gun out of the man’s hand, foot kicking it downstairs.  The man came at him.  It might have been a death wish, if he wasn’t aware of his own potential.  The man responded by knocking the staff out of Bourne’s hands and trying to get it for himself.  He kicked that downstairs, too.  There was a pencil on the table, with a sharp end.  Bourne dived for it.  The mercenary barely missed him in a desperate lunge.  He held it in his hand, though he didn’t know it, like his father had held the knife.  He struck out as the man dived at him.  He stabbed all the way through the man’s hand; his own strength and momentum combining with the man’s to accomplish something very painful.  They fell back, Bourne’s head striking Marie’s parent’s bed.  He felt dazed, shaking his head to get it clear.  He rolled aside just as the mercenary tried to hit him, favoring his wounded hand, over the head with an alarm clock, still plugged into the wall.  The killer roared as it broke and a burst of electricity flowed through his body.  The man was clearly out, but he kept twitching.  Jason quickly backed away, a sort of horror coming through him.  He’d just knocked out two guys and seen a man electrocute himself while trying to kill him.  It was just luck that the man wasn’t dead.  He saw the man breathing; he didn’t dare try to get a pulse.  Not while the electricity was pouring through him.  If Bourne hadn't been there, he would've panicked completely.

Two more, outside.  He couldn’t stop; he daren’t stop.  Two more.

Run!  That’s it, run!  Get your mind off what you’ve done.  Figure it out later, when there’s time.

He ran.  There was no use to trying to conceal his exit.  They were sure to notice it.  A little evasive action, on the other hand, would not go amiss.  So he ran, ducking and weaving as soon as he left the back door.  A good thing, too.  Bullets went around him, sounding like a swarm of lethal stinging gnats.  Luckily, they missed.  Even so, Jason would be bruised and in pain tomorrow.

He ran straight for one man.  He was among the woods now; the trees providing a cover.  He was safe here.  He was going for the man, when…

What?  The man was down.  Why?  One minute he was standing right in front of him, shooting at him, the next…he was on the ground.  More.  A crossfire.  And he was standing right in the middle of it.  Bourne’s first move was to get down.  He didn’t care anymore.  He’d been betrayed.  Nothing mattered anymore.  The gun.  Get the gun.  He did, prying it from the man’s warm hands.  Not dead, then.  Voices.  There were voices.

“Bourne!  It’s us.  You’re all right, you’re safe now.”  Don’t listen.  They’re lying.  Crouch down.  Get ready to shoot.  They've betrayed you; they've all betrayed you.  You have to get rid of them. Only then will you be safe.

Screaming.  It almost didn’t connect in his brain.  “Let me go to him!  He’s hurt…please….” 

Another voice.  “No.  He’s not himself.  He may shoot you-regret it later, but that is not Jason out there.” 

“You’re an idiot.”  A voice he almost recognized; a genius.  “You’ve all messed him up; messed this whole thing up.  It’s your fault.  You don’t even have him going to a psychiatrist-which he obviously needs.  I think you’ve fouled this up, you shouldn’t have the authority to do this sort of thing to citizens, and unless someone stops you you’ll make this situation a whole lot worse.”

Footsteps.  He got ready, but something inside was waking up; telling him that what he was doing was wrong.  Run, then.  Run!  As fast as you can, away!  You’ll survive that way, too.  They won’t shoot you in the back…

The face was familiar, too, but he didn’t know it either.  Did he?  “Hello, Jason.”  Jason!  That name didn’t fit-that name was dead.  He was Bourne!  Bourne was alive again.  He would stay so, too, if he had anything to say about it.  “Please, say something.”  Nothing.  What was happening?  He wanted to pull the trigger, so much, but his hands wouldn’t work.  Neither would his legs.  He couldn’t move.

The boy cast a glance back at the shapes behind him.  “See?  All he needs is a little…compassion.”  Then, his full attention was turned back towards Bourne, who felt his legs unsticking, and his hands could move.  “Marie.”

That one word froze him again.  He couldn’t…images were going through his head.  A headache; he felt as if his head was going to split open.  He saw her, again and again, and a part of him knew that he could and would have killed her if she had come near him too soon.  Marie in a bathing suit, carefully circling him, holding his hand, leaning down to kiss him.  Smiling at him.  Waving at him.  Eating her lunch with him.

But there was also the blood and the pain, and it wouldn’t go away.  Then something else.  It was Nick.  Nikolai.  Russian.  Doing his homework with him.  A test.  Someone had been curious.  Words-triggers.  Triggers in his mind.  Then the word-Marie.  Stopping him.  Saving Nick.

He curled up against the tree, hands on his ears.  Jason was whimpering, like a beaten dog.  Nick bent down to touch him, but the touch hurt.  Everything hurt.  He barely heard running feet and two others, trying to give him some comfort.  He whimpered even louder.  It hurt.  Everything hurt.  Why couldn’t they understand that?

He heard another voice.  A soft one, one that loved him.  “Jason?  It’s all right.  I’m here.  It’s all right.”

He tried to push her away.  It wasn’t safe.  He’d tried to tell her, but she hadn’t listened.  She couldn’t.  She loved him, which was exactly why she would get hurt.

She wouldn’t go away, but hugged him, gathering him up in her arms.  He started to cry, and she held him even closer.  She wouldn’t let him feel the pain alone.