I claim no ownership of the Bourne Franchise.
Nicky sat with her head in her hands, staring at the light blue carpet underneath her feet.
She had expected memories, emotions to be assaulting her; in reality she was oddly numb, exhausted and tense. Staring at the innocuous carpet, Nicky marvelled that it had finally come down to this; they had been dancing around each other for weeks – both trying to ignore the ever present attraction that was beginning to become the big fat elephant in the room. Now any development of affection that had occurred would be split asunder by the truth.
His voice had startled her, an unwelcome intrusion on her newly discovered quiet but her muscles refused to cooperate and lift her neck. It had been one word, but she knew this was the beginning of the end.
'Him?' After a lifetime in a second she raised her head. He had moved and sat in a chair opposite, elbows resting on his knees as he leaned towards her. His brow was furrowed, his face confused, hostile and intrigued. Nicky swallowed thickly and sighed, deciding that she at least owed him this if nothing else.
'What do you remember of your training?' Her voice was hoarse from previous shouting.
'What has my training got to do with this?' He glared for a second before shaking his head. 'Don't do that. Don't deflect when this gets too difficult.' His voice was soft and harsh, their confrontation taking its toll on his nerves – he could feel the beginnings of a headache starting to pound. They continued to stare at each other, neither able to tear their eyes away. The tension between the two of them was palpable, the walls having been brought down. They could both feel the storm brewing, knowing that neither was going to weather it unscathed.
'I just want to know what you were thinking as you were going through it. Conklin only gave very limited information on the practices of the Treadstone training program...and when I saw you.' She paused, swallowing convulsively, her muscles seemingly unable to cooperate. 'David had completely gone – this new "Jason" was blank...empty, and at the same time so full of the rage that I could completely relate to him...it was odd, you were in there but you weren't...weren't here.' Nicky searched his eyes, looking for both David and Jason. He clenched his jaw and blew his breath out in a gust – ever since he had uncovered the days of his training, he had tried to forget the memories burned into his brain. Lifting his hand to rub at the back of his neck, Jason also knew that now was not the time to be aloof.
'I was so driven. It felt like if I stopped for even a few seconds I would lose it, so I just kept taking everything they threw at me. After every act I became even less concerned, like I was being...I don't know...almost dehumanized. I don't remember much else, just relishing that complete unconcerned attitude. It's disjointed in my head though.' Jason spoke quietly, but he knew he had Nicky's undivided attention; she had yet to take a breath since he had begun speaking. Suddenly she dropped her eyes from him and drew in a shaky breath.
'You weren't the only one who looked for an out.' She whispered, licking her dry lips. 'After you left, I'm not entirely sure I even noticed you gone for a while...I...I just needed to stop the pain. I-I needed it to stop, to feel nothing at all...I tried to hurt myself...' Nicky's voice cracked as her fingers unconsciously came to fiddle with the sleeve on her other arm. Unable to look him in the eye, Nicky bit her lip so hard Jason feared she'd draw blood. He struggled to remain still after hearing her timid confession; unsure what his reaction meant but knowing that he wanted to break something or shout, he gritted his teeth and clenched his fists. Sitting there, both realised that they had done exactly the same thing – looked for comfort in oblivion.
'Nicky...please...what is it? What ha-' Her strained voice cut him off.
'We had a child David. A little boy. Charlie – named after your father...Our beautiful little boy, who had never hurt a fly – who was always laughing...Our son, whose perfect little dimples on his cheeks you used to kiss when you tucked him in at night. Our son, whose grave is thousands of miles away from here...Our little boy...our...' Nicky squeezed her eyes shut as her voice cracked and broke, her body convulsing with silent sobs.
Jason sat back from her quickly, his mind reeling and his mouth opening and closing several times. Before he could process it, he was across the room, towering over Nicky, his arms on either side of her chair. His face an inch away from hers as she opened her eyes to look into his.
'You're a fucking liar.' He spat at her, watching as the tears poured incessantly from her eyes. She continued to stare at him, unable to respond in any way. In that moment he hated her more than anyone – why couldn't she fight back? Why couldn't she shout and hit him. This weak woman in front of him was lying right to his face and he had never wanted to kill anybody more.
His hand swung back before connecting with her cheek – her head snapping back from the force of the blow. Jason sprang back in shock from his actions. He had never hit a woman – as an assassin he had killed women, but never physically attacked one. His eyes met Nicky's, once again surprised to see the burning fury there, her previous tears contrasting oddly with the Hellion now glaring at him. She slowly lifted herself out of the chair so she was mere inches from his face – her cheek already turning an angry red colour. Her eyes scorched him with a fire that would have forced anybody else to retreat – he didn't even see her hand as she slapped his cheek with all her strength, his head barely moving despite the force of the blow.
'You want to know the truth you fucking cunt?' She whispered. 'You killed our son. Then you ran left like the coward you are. My beautiful baby boy had his body wiped off the freezing tarmac and you ran away so you could kill somebody else's son, or mother, or brother. And the most deplorable fucking thing is you already know all of this, you just refuse to face the consequences. So you can hit me, beat me, fucking kill me. Hell you've tried to do it enough times, one of these times you're gonna get lucky right?'
They were both breathing heavily as they glared at each other, neither backing down from their close proximity. Jason's eyes betrayed the storm raging inside of him, emotions reflected in those flickering across Nicky's face: swirling torrents of love, anger, agony, grief and hatred passing so fast he barely had time to process them. He broke their stalemate a split second before she did, pushing her chest with all the strength he had; the much smaller woman would have gone flying, had it not been for the fact that at that exact moment she had grabbed two fistful of his shirt. They both tumbled backwards onto the couch – the closest physical contact they had had since he had become Jason Bourne. Bodies pressed flushed, chest to chest, legs entwined and yet there was nothing sexual in the actions. He grunted as she shrieked, her fists pummelling his broad hard chest, as he held her shoulders in his hands – gripping so hard he was sure to leave bruises. She kicked her legs hard – wanting to cause him pain, wanting him to bleed, to cry – hell, to feel anything at all.
Despite Nicky's savage attack, Jason had her pinned on the floor in seconds, his legs straddling her chest as he held her arms above her head. She fought furiously, only semi-conscious of the almost feral sounds she was making.
'You're lying.' His voice was cold, disbelieving – his entire demeanour contemptuous. Nicky stopped struggling and look into his eyes, eyes that she had loved for so long – the same eyes that her son had had. The disdain in his face pierced through her body, knocking her breath from her in a loud whoosh. The fight that had previously burned in her knocked out under the hatred of his stare – she was finally defeated. He had finally done what he had always threatened to do.
For an eternity they stared at each other. Then he sprang to his feet, turning and walking out the apartment without another word. Nicky left once again alone and broken, but this time the tears did not come, this time there was nothing left to cry for. There she lay in silence as the echoes of her lover's and son's laughter reverberating around her head in a sick cacophany of sound and she knew: she was in hell.
Ok difficult times...let me know what you think.