Bourne Kicks Butt Part 5
May. 9th, 2020 10:14 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
madimpossibledreamerIt's very incomplete but I like the ending. We figure out the truth and kind of move on, in the vague, lack-of-a definitive-happily-ever-after-yet-hopeful ending.
today I pointed out the awkward in a conversation and then everything was awkward. I think it was the right thing to do but it feels weird man
~dreamer~
Main Points:
Bourne Series AU
Chapter Summary: Jason Bourne gets found
Word Count: 2772
Rating: Teen
Warning: We find out how Jason has Delta's memories and it's almost certainly abuse.
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.
Conklin's Office
The first sign he had that something was wrong was when he walked into the office and the light was out. They almost never turned out the lights unless they absolutely had to, and yet someone had done so. He reached for the switch, afraid of what he'd see. When the lights came on, though, he almost sighed in relief.
Delta wasn't waiting for him. The taunting note had promised a final showdown, but there was no trace of him to be found within the office. Nothing had been disturbed, nothing was out of place.
He took off his coat and limped over to the closet. He had about closed the door when the voice came-the harsh, frightening voice that he had come to know so well.
"You're late." The voice was accusing, disappointed.
He jumped, waiting for the bullet to come-then, when it did not, he turned around slowly, to see the younger Bourne sitting in a chair in a corner that his eyes had somehow skipped, nonchalantly stretching his legs to their full extent. He wasn't fooled, from long experience with the Bournes, knowing that in an instant that calm, relaxed aura could turn into a whirlwind of death. His own thoughts were whirling-how had the boy gotten here, and why?
"Please, sit down." He almost sounded pleasant, a Brit waiting for tea, as he gestured at the seat behind the desk.
Conklin didn't move. If he was to die, he wanted to get it over with quickly. "Why are you here?"
"Well, for starters, I'm not here to kill you." It was the game of cat-and-mouse that Delta knew so well-but how could his son have learned the skills so quickly? "If I was here to kill you, you'd be dead already and I'd be gone."
The desk man turned toward the door, as if wondering how Jason had gotten in, but in reality he was about to call for help. As usual, though, Bourne was ahead of him in every move.
"Oh, I wouldn't bother. Your assistants aren't here to hear you."
He stared at the boy he'd thought so innocent, feeling the cold dread and hatred begin to mix in his gullet. "What have you done to them?" he demanded.
"They're perfectly fine. I just sent them away, saying that you wanted them to join you in the conference in Washington. They'll realize their mistake, soon, and turn around, but by that time I'll be gone. So please, sit down. I just want a chat, that's all."
Slowly, the intelligence man limped over to a chair, keeping his wary eye on the deadly intruder. "You didn't answer about what you wanted."
A hint of anger flashed in Bourne's eyes. "I said a chat, and I meant a chat. I...I remember things. Things I can't possibly remember. I remember being Delta."
Conklin's lips parted in surprise, as he stared at the obvious madman. "So you sent that note."
Jason waved that aside, pain beginning to enter his expression. "Don't worry about that. That was just a test, to see your reaction, mostly. To catch your attention. Do I have that?" He sounded genuine, in earnest, and non-threatening. Conklin wasn't fooled for a minute.
The desk man managed something in between a laugh and a cough. "You most certainly do."
"Good." The young man leaned back in his chair, allowed himself to rest his head against the wall behind him, let his eyes close. "I can't remember. So why do I? I know how to do all of this stuff. I can kill a man without thinking. I can disappear faster than Houdini. I can do the impossible; I can bring down the ones that no one else can touch. I remember...missions. I could tell you every single detail of every one of Delta's missions, contracts, whatever, if I had to. If you wanted. My dreams, every night, are filled with the blood. I can't escape it. If I don't act soon, it'll fill me to the brim, drown me, and then there'll be nothing left. See..." he hesitated for but a second, sensing danger.
His eyes popped open and in an instant he was up on his feet, avoiding the bullet Conklin squeezed off at him. Before the desk man was aware, he was up and over the desk, papers flying as they scuffled. It wasn't much of a fight.
Oh, it wasn't like the intelligence man didn't present a bit of a challenge. But Bourne was the best and everyone knew it. Within the space of five seconds, the man who owned the office thought he had a chance. The gun was nearly pointing at the one who might kill him. He merely had to negotiate it a few more centimeters to stop his own brains from being blown out...
But Bourne was better. He kicked out at Conklin's lame leg, knowing that the pain would cause his opponent's concentration to slacken, just slightly. Enough.
With a careful series of moves, he'd wrenched the gun out of the desk man's hands, and with a kick sent the chair, man-with-a-limp and all, into the wall. Ambrose struggled to get up, all too aware of the fact that by the time he did extricate himself it would be too late.
He was met with a sight that scared him to the core. It didn't look like the son there, but the father, hair with a film of sweat dragging it down over wild, dangerous eyes, the gun in hand. "Don't...do that again," the harsh voice of Delta warned, shaking, for once not quite in control-and Ambrose Conklin couldn't decide whether that scared him worse. "Make yourself into a threat, make yourself into a target. I don't want to kill you, but I'm not sure how far I can fight my instincts."
The man pulled his chair to upright position, resigned to the story and possibly a quick bullet to follow.
Somehow, Jason pulled himself together. "I'm not my father," he stated, almost sounding empty. "I'm not him, but I'm his son. Danger is Bourne, but Delta is death." The last came softly, mechanically, as if something burned into his soul. "It's bad enough being Bourne. I don't want to be Delta. But I think you owe me an explanation, and...I think I have to work this out."
So Conklin explained, about his part in Delta's death, about his father's career, about how he was made by well-meaning but idiotic desk jockeys in Washington. How could they make a living weapon without even imagining it might turn, that making something with that little conscience couldn't turn into an indiscriminate killing machine? That, at the end, Delta had grown to love the blood. He was addicted to it, to the pain. And in that time, Jason closed his eyes, as if to shield himself from the pain. The intelligence man didn't make the mistake of trying any moves that might be construed as threatening again, now that Bourne had a gun.
When he had finished, he was sure that Delta would shoot him, end it all.
Instead, the dangerous man looked away for a while before staring at the gun in his hand, until a tear fell, dripping onto the metal. "I remember-now. I won't later. I don't think anyone could handle this, all of this, knowledge in their brains."
He stared up suddenly into the desk man's eyes, and in that second, Conklin was caught. He believed, despite himself. "My father was training me. Trigger words-to hide it from Mom. But he was moulding me into Delta, as if he knew. I've known of the blood ever since I can remember. I can't escape it-not even he escaped it in the end. But I don't want to become him. Being Bourne, that's scary enough. The instincts to protect myself. No matter what, no matter who gets sacrificed. But Delta...? He's a monster, a psychopath. He would tell me the stories of his kills, over and over, until I knew every detail by heart. He would train me for hours, on how to kill. I would've lost it, if..." The boy looked away, bit his lip, tried to stop the tears from coming. "If Dad hadn't been normal sometimes too. If I couldn't stop remembering. That's why I went amnesiac. He's been training me, all my life, to be able to forget. And when he was gone, everything else went too."
Conklin pulled back, staring in absolute horror. There were no words to describe this sort of...torture. Even that word wasn't strong enough. What man would harm their child like that-make them learn how to stop life, instead of learning to love it, would almost destroy their innocent little minds with gruesome tales of blood and cold, sanctioned murder? In an instant, he knew the answer to that question. Bourne would never harm his son that way, would die rather than allow any man to do so. Delta did not see right or wrong, hadn't for a while. Was it possible that Bourne had directed events so that he would die, that others would kill him to save his son from himself? He was the master manipulator, and it wasn't out of his abilities, to pull of a thing like that. His last trick.
In a second, Jason began sobbing, his true age written all over him. This was more the normal boy, not the calculating one holding a gun. The intelligence man limped over to give his best friend's son a hug, knowing that, more than anything, compassion and love were needed in this youth's life...
(awesome. while I was writing this, Extreme Ways came on...-behind him. and it thinks Extreme Ways is a street name...and when I wrote 'let his eyes close' I closed my eyes and closed myself...kill him.-Nach Deutschland strangely appropriate...Dead Man's Party ...augh! "Walking with a dead man over my shoulder..." EEEP Thinking of Marie...would almost destroy...)
Bournes’ Graves
(*Not sure when exactly this happens, but it’s later on. Maybe college age.)
Jason felt the tears on his face. It started to rain slightly. He’d spent less time at the house. It was still CIA property, but no one really wanted to use it for anything. He remembered it too well-it only brought back memories of blood. He couldn’t allow them to overwhelm him-that’s why he insisted Marie have the car, stay at the house if she wanted, while he ran over two miles to his parent’s graves. Conklin had told him where they were, that he might, just, be ready for it. A sad smile came over his face as he continued that that made Bourne a better man then he ever would be. He wasn’t sure whether he would ever be ready for it.
His leg twinged. Something was wrong-he’d hurt it while running. It just hadn’t seen fit to complain until now. He limped slightly away, trying to compose himself. It was almost empty. The grass was dying, even though it was well-looked after. He heard a car drive up-it was Marie, in her minivan. She grabbed something-she’d gotten some drinks for them both on the way.
She walked up and put the smoothie in his left hand, her arm in his right. “Are you all right?”
Jason looked at her and nodded. “I will be.” He smiled slightly. “You know, I always have the feeling that he’s still alive. It’s good that I’m able to see-really, he’s dead. I can move on…somehow. They used to tell me I was so much like him. That used to worry me. Now I realize-I’m like a more intense version of him. I can get into the mindset-it’s his. I’m better at what he was supposed to be the leading expert on. But I’m also better at the good side-or it’s stronger. Maybe if he’d met my mother earlier, none of this would have happened. Maybe they’d both still be alive. I don’t know-but it gives me hope for myself.”
Marie nodded and drew him away. He limped away with her without a backward glance. He was walking into a brighter future-with his love at his side. It would only get better from here.
