Bourne Kicks Butt Part 4

[madimpossibledreamer]

I kind of wrote myself into a narrative corner with this one which is why I think I stopped.  I still feel the ideas (specifically, programming your kid to be you and that being depicted as the messed up thing it is that could lead to some problems) is a good idea, but like the rest of this, it's better idea than execution.

Main Points:
Bourne Series AU
Chapter Summary: Jason Bourne gets lost.
Word Count: 2642
Rating: Teen

 

Another Christmas

            Marie saw the headline and started to cry.  It read, “Bourne Causes Terror in Europe.”  No one else would know; would make the connection, but she had.  She and Jason had discovered how bad Delta had been, but they both knew that he was dead.  Jason had gone over the edge.

            She called Paul, then Nick.  Paul hadn’t seen the paper; Nick had read it and made the connection; the same as she had.  Nick confirmed her fears; Jason had missed his psychiatrist appointment.  When she finished, she noticed that someone had tried to call her cell phone.

            It rang again.  She hesitated, staring at it as if it was a poisonous snake that would bite her.  Finally, she picked it up.

            “Hello.”  Her eyes widened; she went to her room.  It was Jason’s voice, but somehow more mature.  “Jason?” she asked, painfully.  “Yes.  Listen, Marie, it wasn’t me.  I know what the press says; I know what the CIA says.  They’re wrong.” 

“Jason…” he wouldn’t let her interrupt, though.  He had to finish what he had to say before she became even more hysterical.

“Those enemies of my father-I’m not sure how, but they framed me.  I’m sure of it.  I know I didn’t do it.”

“Jason…are you sure?”  She needed to hear an affirmative yes.  More than anything, she wanted him back.

“No.”  That didn’t help.  “I don’t remember it-or how I got in Europe.  And I keep forgetting things.  All I know is that I wouldn’t.  Nick’s been a great help.  I’m more in control.  And there’s no reason why I would kill a diplomat.  I have no contract, no money-I’m not lying to you.”

“Come home.” she said firmly.  “We’ll talk about this-we can tell everyone the truth.”

“And they’d believe us?”  Her silence was proof enough.  “No.  Not until I’ve cleared my name.  Not until you’re safe.  But I can use your help to prove it.  Now, here’s what I want you to do…”

Alternate Version-the one above is just to get the points across and all the facts.  It is not, point of fact, the real one.

          “Jason?” she asked, painfully.

            “Who are you?  How do you know my name?”  His voice was harsher than she’d ever heard it, but there was an underlying fear in it.

            “Jason, what’s wrong?  You’re scaring me.”  There was no answer.  Marie was about to start crying. 

            “Meet me.  Paris.  There’s a hotel in Paris.”  He told her the name and hotel room number and made her repeat them.  “You’ll receive further instructions there.”

            “Jason, you’re scaring me.  The papers-they said horrible things about you…”

            “We’ll talk about that when you arrive.” he cut her off and turned off his phone.

            For a second, she wondered whether it might be a trap, but in the end, she had to go to him, no matter what.  She loved him, and she'd die without him.

            She shut off her own phone and contemplated what to tell her parents.

Paris, Airport and Hotel

          Her parents had let her go willingly.  They noticed she was a bit worried, and she confessed that he’d sounded a little depressed on the phone.  Her father teased her that it was because she wasn’t there and told her that she’d make him better when she met him-also that they’d have a wonderful trip.

            She didn’t know that Jason had chosen Paris for two reasons.  One, it was close by, to where he’d been.  Two, in Paris, one’s business was one’s own business.

            All she knew was how worried she was, how in agony her soul felt.  She was a little nervous in the airports, but they saw her age and understood-or thought they understood.

            She was in the hotel now.  It was night, but she couldn’t sleep.  Not while Jason was…she couldn’t even finish the sentence.  What was he doing?  She didn’t know-wasn’t sure she wanted to. 

            Marie heard a knock at her door.  She got up from sitting on the bed and opened the door.  A kid, maybe twelve years old, with an Indian look, was standing there with a box.  “Marie, right?”

            She nodded, in wonderment, and then asked, “Who wants to know?”

            The kid grinned, a toothy grin.  “No one.” he answered cheekily.  “I just needed to know to deliver this.”

            “What’s in the box?” she asked, taking it. 

            “I don’t know and didn’t ask.  An American gentleman gave it to me.  I just ask-how much for delivery?”

            “How much did he pay you?” Marie asked, a little in shock. 

            “Five hundred American dollars.  Have fun with whatever’s in the package.” With that, the child left.

            Marie stared-first at the door, which she finally closed, and then at the package.  It was unlabeled.  In a minute, she opened it.

            A cell phone was sitting there.  She stared at it, questioning, unsure.  Suddenly, it rang.

            She jumped, then cautiously picked it up.  “Hello?”

            A familiar voice answered.  “This is Marie.”  It was a question.  She nodded vigorously, then realized it wasn’t helpful and answered, “Yes.”  She knew the voice, strange as the tone was.  It was Jason-only it wasn’t.  Something was missing.

            “There’s a bridge.” he instructed calmly.  This calm did not diffuse to Marie.  “Jason-what are you…?”

            “I’ll answer your questions then.  Follow my directions exactly.  It’s over the River Seine-the nearest bridge.  There should be a map in the lobby.  Pick up some other pamphlets while you’re there.  Walk.  Don’t get a taxi.  Walk to the middle of the bridge, then stop-look into the water, at your pamphlets, anything.  I’ll be there.”

            She did as she was told.  There was a breeze blowing over the water.  It was colder than she’d anticipated, and she drew her sweater tighter around herself.  Then she started looking at the pamphlets, hands shaking.  The events of the last day had been too much for her.  One dropped into the water, far below.  Then she heard a ringing from her pocket and nearly dropped the entire bunch in. 

            She put them in her pocket, trading it for the cell phone she’d gotten.  “Jason…”

            He cut her off, again.  “You’re alone.” 

“Yes…why wouldn’t I be?”  Marie was, again, confused…and more than a little worried.  He didn’t answer the question, instead directing her to the end of the bridge and cutting off any further conversation.  It was odd, and not like him.  When she got to the end of the bridge, she didn’t see him.  She started looking around, frantically.

She didn’t feel the presence behind her until she heard the voice in her ear.  “You’re alone-you’re not being followed, but you’re acting so suspicious you’ll be stopped by the police before long.  Come on.”  He dragged her-not roughly, but firmly, to a nearby café, where he ordered a coffee for himself in perfect French.  He looked at her questioningly.  “I don’t know French.” she admitted miserably.  They hadn’t discussed classes they were taking-but he didn’t take it for granted, either, searching her eyes.  Finally, he nodded.  “The tea is excellent.”  She thought, then nodded, not taking her eyes off the strange man in front of her.  His eyes showed assent, and he ordered her tea for her-again, in perfect French.

The French waiter was completely obedient, treating Bourne as an honoured guest.  No one here would pay any attention, whatever he did to her.  The thought scared her-less the thought of what he might do to her than the thought that he might do something to her.  It was like he was a stranger-like he’d never seen her before.  His next words scared her even more.  “So-who are you?”

Marie just stared at him, lip twitching, eyes filling with tears.  She didn’t know how to answer.  It was a genuine question, and it hurt.  He was staring at her earnestly, aware of the pain he had caused but not the reason behind it.  “Really.  Who are you?  Am I supposed to know you?”

She did start crying, softly, covering her face because she didn’t want him to see her crying.  He did seem a bit hurt by her crying but puzzled by it as well.  “I need to know.” he told her insistently, but gentler this time.

“I’m-I’m Marie.  You don’t remember me, do you?”  He shook his head, and she started crying again.  He wanted to reach out-touch her arm, try to calm her…but he couldn’t bring himself to do so.  Instead, he asked, “Who are you?” again, just as their drinks arrived.  Marie took a long sip from her tea to calm herself down.  “I am-was-your girlfriend.”  She didn't know why she'd put it in the past tense, only...if he didn't remember her, would he really want her anymore?  He stared at her, coolly evaluating her, but nothing else.  She felt as if she was about to break into tears again and instead stared down at her cup.

They drank for a little while in silence.  Suddenly, Bourne broke the silence.  “I was surprised when you answered the phone,” he told her thoughtfully, “because I didn’t know whose number it was.  I knew your voice, and I wasn’t expecting that.  I suppose I should have…I knew the number by memory.”  Marie smiled at that, and Jason smiled back, bright and full of energy.  His eyes slid past her, and then his face became alarmed.  “We have to go-now.”  He said something in French, and the owner inclined in a direction toward the back of the restaurant.  Bourne grabbed her arms in the same way as he had-except a little gentler, or was that Marie’s imagination?-earlier, steering her to a hidden door at the back…

Hotel Pool

          Bourne hadn’t liked the idea of swimming.  It took all of Marie’s powers of persuasion to convince him.  He had new swim trunks, but then again, of course he had.  He’d probably ditched all his old clothes that he’d taken with him.  (In reality, he’d kept the shirts and jacket she’d given him, knowing it put him in danger.  He couldn’t explain the urge-he just wanted to keep them.)  Another soft smile appeared on his face when he saw her.  At least his attraction toward her hadn’t disappeared with his memory.  “You look good-you make that swimsuit look good.”  As if embarrassed by what he’d said, he dove into the pool-it was too shallow to dive into, but he skimmed the surface far enough that it wasn’t a problem.  Shaking her head, because she wasn’t going to do anything like that, she started wading in.  Jason started doing fancy moves in the water, and she was sure he was showing off-for her.  There was no one else in the pool-the condition he’d set.  They got up really early, but the water was just shockingly cold enough that it woke her up.  Jason was completely awake and alive-it wasn’t quite fair-was he a morning person? 

            She started swimming the circles around him, but he just stared at her and made a motion for them both to surface.  When they did, he asked her, “What are you doing?”  Marie felt hurt all over again.  She started to explain again-it obviously looked odd, but if he remembered, he would understand…  “Wait.”  He put his tongue between his lips, then told her, “Under water.”  She went down, and he began to do it.  She smiled and did it herself.  A look of absolute joy crossed his face, and she couldn’t help but mirror it.      
  
Hotel Room

          They had the same rented room, with a small bedroom and bathroom linked.  Bourne was currently sleeping on the couch.  Due to his other mind, Marie guessed this, too, had a dual purpose.  It was a gentlemanly gesture, true.  But it was also partially to keep an eye on her and the door.  She betted he was a light sleeper-she’d seen him wake up from what was supposedly a deep sleep without a sign, but she wasn’t sure whether it was the same thing.  The bed was very soft, and so were the blankets-Marie thought she could guess why but didn’t want to.  She had trouble sleeping.  Who was the man in the next room?  It was like finding out that someone was altogether someone different-not the man that she loved.  She stared, teary-eyed, at the ceiling above her.  Danger she could handle.  This wasn’t it-this was something completely different.  This wasn’t quite him.  Then she heard a sound at her door.  It was Jason, looking at her.  Something was more normal about him, the way he was looking at her.  It was still that strange man she didn’t know in a body she did, but Jason was still somewhere inside, and that comforted her a little.  “You can’t sleep, either.  Want to help?”

            She smiled at him, gently.  “Of course I do.  It’s why I’m here.”  Hopefully, her presence would bring him back.  He had to remember again-but he couldn’t if they blamed him.  He would never remember, and she would lose him.

            He motioned for her to follow him into the main room.  There were papers all over the desk.  Some were newspaper cuttings, pertaining to the killing of the diplomat.  She turned her eyes away, unable to bear the sight of it.  There were other papers-some lined, that he’d written on, others pertaining to the diplomat-and, more importantly, to the investigation of the killer and the methods used.  He had been studying it with the lamp on.  She turned away.  It was too much for her to see.  Jason carefully took her arms and turned her back.  “This is helping.” he told her, pointing at the papers.  “Something’s wrong.  I can see it-I can feel it, even, but I don’t know what it is.  You might just be able to spot it.”  Marie dried her eyes and squared her jaw, steeling herself to do the task that was required of her.  She even managed a smile at her sweetheart, who smiled back-a little shyly, but happily nonetheless.  “Sure.  What am I looking for?” 

            “Anything out of the ordinary.  Anything that doesn’t make sense-isn’t cohesive with what you know.  Anything that can prove I wasn’t the one who killed him.”

            He was sitting on the couch, she at the desk.  He was going over the material again too-she didn’t know how long and how many times he’d looked at it himself.  He probably wouldn’t catch anything-if he hadn’t those past times.  She passed the time in silence, forcing herself to do it.  It was to protect her sweetheart-there was no way she could refuse.  She might be the only one… “Jason?”

            Instantly he was up, walking to her side.  “What?”

            “The date.  On the newspaper.  I didn’t notice it before; I was too upset.”

            “What about it?” he was sharp, completely concentrating.

            Marie gave a watery smile.  “It’s wrong.  It wasn’t printed on the date of the killing of the diplomat.  The home country wouldn't let the story be published at first, but eventually it was leaked, I guess.  Or they decided that keeping absolutely silent about this wouldn't help.  Anyway...when he was killed, you weren’t in Europe-you were at home, with me and my family.  We were getting ready for Christmas.  You couldn’t have killed him.”

            Bourne looked at her appraisingly.  “Are you sure?”

            Marie nodded quickly.  “Trust me.  We were making cookies-those were some of the best cookies I've had.  And nothing happened-nothing weird, nobody trying to kill you, nothing.  Trust me-I’d remember for every day of my life.”

            He stared at her, a slow smile spreading across his face.  Jason leaned down and kissed her on the back of her head.  “You know, the more time I spend around you, the more I believe I was in love with you.  Am, really.”

            The only reply Marie could think of was to smile back.