Title: Infinite Emptiness

Jason, Jason/Marie, post-Supremacy, pg-13

Summary: What was he supposed to do now?

Disclaimer: These characters belong to Robert Ludlum, the script in italics belongs to the Universal films, screenplay by Tony Gilroy, but this actual piece of fan fiction is mine.


They'd talked about this place. If ever they were separated, this was where they would go. For an irrational moment Jason wondered if that included being separated by death, before angrily pushing the thought away. He didn't think he could possibly feel any more pain.

He didn't want to go. It was a place he only ever intended going to so as to meet up with her again. With Marie. To find her, to hold her; and then they'd move on again. But they'd move on together. That was the plan. It was the deal they'd had. They had many deals. He remembered their first ever deal and it would have brought him to his knees were he not already sitting down.

'I get the money and I don't get hurt. That's the deal?'

'Right. That's the deal.'

Irrationally, again, he wondered if she did hurt. He wondered if death actually hurt, or whether it was just him who was hurting now. He hoped for her sake that she wasn't hurting; and for a single moment he selfishly hoped for his that she was – he didn't want to be alone.


'You told me not to do that.'

'No, no, no. That was swearing. Swearing is out; promising is different.'

'Okay, I promise.'

He smiled at the picture in his head of her stalking back towards her car, that she didn't own, stopping to grab the money on the floor first. They'd been so different then, yet entirely the same.

'You can buy a car for twenty grand. You can buy this car!'

He gestured to her car. 'You don't own that car.'

He was driving, but he was not fully concentrating on the road. He was on auto-pilot now, as the memories rushed around his head.

'Anything new?' she asked him, following him out onto the balcony.

'No, it's just bits and pieces. I can hear Conklin's voice… and there's that photograph. I just can't stay with it.'

'But you're sure it's not just a bad dr…'

'It happened. It was a mission. And I was there.'

'We should write it down.'

'You know, two years we've been scribbling in that notebook...'

'It hasn't been two years…'

'It's always bad. And now it's just the same thing over and over again.'

'That's why we write it down. Because sooner or later you'll remember something good.'

'I do remember something good.' He turned his head to look at her. 'All the time.'

His eyes were misty, and yet he kept on driving. Taking a hand off the wheel he reached into his pocket and withdrew the photograph of the two of them on the beach. Though his logical mind said he should have burnt it along with every other photo he owned of her, the rest of him was immensely grateful that he hadn't. Though he'd never forget her he just wanted to be able to see her face again. He brushed his fingers across her cheek, wishing he was feeling her warm flesh instead of the paper of the photograph.

'Thanks for the ride.'


He paused, looking at her. 'Well, you could come up. I mean, or you can wait here. I can go check it out. But you could wait.'

'Oh, no, no.'

'You could wait.'

'With you, you'd probably forget about me if I stayed… here.'

'How could I forget about you? You're the only person I know.'

Again, his rational mind had been overruled. He hadn't wanted her to go, to leave him. He liked her. He actually liked someone, enjoyed their company. His heart broke, thinking that his want of having her with him was what had got her killed. Abbott had said so himself. Jason couldn't even contemplate that Abbott had been trying to wind him up, that Marie would not have done a single thing differently. She wouldn't have left him; she hadn't before.

'Last chance, Marie.'

She'd just looked at him, nodded, and buckled up her seatbelt.

'You killed her. You killed Marie.'

'No. I didn't. You did. You killed her the day you got into her car.'

He missed her. He missed her company. He missed her sense of humour. He missed her frequent speed-talking on various different subjects; something which he had discovered was not simply a nervous habit. Even after two years if she was excited about something she'd do the same thing. He loved listening to her, and watching her face change expression with what she was saying.

'Which was fine with me because I was ready. After six months in Amsterdam you're not sure if you've been there twenty minutes or years, if you know what I mean. So I went and I took all the money I had and I went with friends, and we took over this really cool surf shop outside Biarritz, which was right by the water. It was amazing. It was just amazing for about three months, until it turned out that this jerk who was fronting us the lease was actually shining everyone on and…'

She sighed. He turned to look at her. 'And what?'

'What do you mean 'what'? Listen to me. I've been speed-talking for about sixty kilometres now. I talk when I'm nervous. I mean, I talk like this when I'm nervous. I'm gonna shut up now.'

'No, don't do that. I haven't talked to anybody in a while...'

'Yeah, but we're not talking. I'm talking. You've said, like, ten words since we left Zurich

'Well, listening to you, it's relaxing. I haven't slept in a while, and… And I've had this headache. It's like a constant thing inside my head and it's just starting to move to the background, so… keep going. Really, if you want, please keep talking.'

She smiled, shyly. 'Okay.'

He thought how she'd never told him the end of that story, and how he'd have to ask her when he met up with her at their designated place. He wondered what came after the 'and'. Then suddenly his chest felt heavy and he had struggled to maintain control of the wheel.

He missed her. How long had it been since he'd seen her last? He immediately regretted starting on that chain of thought. Now all he could picture was Marie floating away from him underwater. He'd tried to save her. He'd tried so hard. He'd picked her up all that time ago, promising to protect her; they were a team, they ran together. She'd been killed when it was meant to be him.

'Look at this. Look at what they make you give.'

His heart clenched again as he remembered the words of The Professor. He'd known it was true, that he'd lost many things. He'd never truly imagined that he could lose her. He'd protect her, she'd keep him sane. That was another one of their deals. He'd taught her things. He taught her advanced driving skills, he'd taught her how to lie low. He'd taught her everything he knew and could remember. He'd wanted to teach her how to handle a gun but she had refused. She wanted nothing to do with anything that could kill another person. Jason thought it, in hindsight, to be bitterly ironic. So he'd settled for teaching her self defence instead.

'He went out the window… why would someone do that?'

He remembered that, though it hadn't been a funny moment in the least, he'd wanted to smile at her comment. And then he had realised how scarred he was in comparison to her; how innocent she was to this world he'd brought her into. And he'd felt guilty.

He remembered when he'd seen her for the first time, not that anyone could have missed her.

'No. Excuse me. No. This is not my current address, okay? This was my current address until two days ago when I started standing in line outside. Now, I lose my apartment, okay? That means no address, no phone, no money, no time. And I still have no Visa!'

'Miss Kreutz, please,' the clerk attempted. 'I must ask you to keep your voice down.'

She didn't listen. 'Excuse me, but where is the guy that I talked to last week? Every week it's a new person. How am I supposed to…'

'I don't know who you saw last week.'

'Well, let me help you. I'm sure I have it.'

'Miss Kreutz…'

'Hang on.'

'Could I have your attention for a moment, please?'

'Hang on. I have it right here, look at it.'

'You staged an effort to circumvent the immigration laws of the United States.'

She pointed to the papers. 'This is a student Visa now. It's not about a green card anymore. It's completely different.'

He remembered how she'd waved her arms around with the word 'completely'. He'd found her fascinating to watch. And he was drawn to her. Like she had picked up on later on, he knew she was in a 'messed up place', and that was partly why he asked her for help. So that he could help her in return. So that he could simply sit in her presence for the duration of the car journey to Paris. He hadn't understood it at the time, wasn't sure if he even did now, but she'd called out to him and he had answered.


Every moment, every word, every look, every touch, every smile, every frown, every tear; all imprinted on his mind. How could he have only known her two years? It felt like a lifetime, yet it hadn't been long enough. No where near long enough.

He remembered her frequent use of the word 'okay', how when she was worried or scared she would swear in German, how when she didn't agree with him on something she would argue it, tell him her point of view, try to get him to change his mind. If only he had done something different. Something. Anything.

'I don't have a choice!'

'Yes, you do.'

His hands gripped the steering wheel. He had wanted to make them pay. He had hoped that killing the person that killed Marie would alleviate some of the guilt he was carrying around. He now realised that nothing would succeed. He would never feel at peace with her death, never believe that it wasn't his fault, that he couldn't have done something to change their fate. Her fate. God, he missed her.

'Aren't you going to kill me?'

'No. She wouldn't want me to.'

But the thing he remembered most of all was her trust in him. She would follow him anywhere, through anything, had even told him so. She had loved him so deeply that she entrusted her life to him, and in effect, he to her.

He'd failed her. And this was his punishment.

Pain. All he felt, was pain.

'Three days ago I was 4,000 miles away in India watching Marie die!'

What was he supposed to do now?

The voices swirled around in his head; he had no control over them.

'Last chance, Marie.'

'Look at what they make you give.'

'I do remember something good. All the time.'

'You killed her the day you got into her car.'

'3 days ago I was 4,000 miles away in India watching Marie die!'

'No. She wouldn't want me to.'

'I get the money, and I don't get hurt. That's the deal?'

'I don't have a choice!'

'Yes, you do.'

'How could I forget about you? You're the only person I know.'

'Can I walk around or is it going to leave any footprints?'

'You just asked for it?'

'Think I could rent a scooter?'

'You have ID?'

'Not really.'


'Why don't you talk to Marie, Jason? Let's ask Marie what she wants to do.'

'Actually I don't think she gives a shit. She's dead.'

She would give a shit. Wherever she was, she would give a shit.

What was he supposed to do now?


He arrived at the location. The beach was quiet, the palm trees rustled lightly in the soft breeze. 'She would have loved it here,' he thought to himself, as he stood silently, watching. He remembered the last time they'd been reunited. She hadn't known it was him at first. But once she did she'd smiled the smile that made him weak at the knees.

'This your store?'


'It's nice. It's a little hard to find…'

She turned around, and her hand flew to her mouth. She smiled, tentatively.

'Think I could rent a scooter?'

'You have I.D.?'

'Not really.'

He remembered how happy he'd been having found her, how when she run towards him and they enveloped each other in their arms, how right it had felt. He'd give anything to feel that again.

'I do remember something good. All the time.'

He stepped into the small shack, wanting to be here and yet not, at the same time. He sighed as he put his bag down, looking around. A kitchen table. Four chairs. A bed. A bathroom.

Four chairs.

All his anger, all his hate, all his grief, all his guilt came pouring out. He picked up the chair nearest to him and violently smashed it against the wall, screaming, breaking it into numerous pieces. It didn't help. He picked up the next one, and the one after that. Smash after smash against the wall, until the wall itself bared the marks of his anger, and the chairs lay in splinters across the floor.

He looked at the last chair, the adrenaline leaving his body, his heart heavy, his face tight.

One chair.

One person.

And it finally dawned on him. This was it. This was him, alone, without Marie. This was forever. And he couldn't bear it. Finally collapsing onto the last remaining chair he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and covered his face with his hands. And for the first time since she'd died, he allowed himself to cry.