Title:Comrades mine and I in the midst
The Bourne Ultimatum, Pamela, Jason, implied Jason/Marie, pg
Author's Notes: I wrote this two years ago and have finally decided it should see the light of day. An homage to Pamela Landy, if you will. I think she's a fantastically honourable character. The title comes from Walt Whitman's When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom'd.
I associate you only with the good,
And I will faithfully hold you to that always,
For you must have done me far more good than harm
- Charles Dickens, Great Expectations
The sun glittered across the river like diamonds had been sprinkled from the clouds. She watched in fascination as nothing stayed still – the water constantly moving, the leaves waving in the light breeze, the birds smelling the air, their noses continually dipping and raising again. Pamela liked the serenity of the moment as people walked past her, behind her, beside her, speaking in some of the world's most beautiful languages, words she did not understand. The couple on the bench behind where she was standing were having an animated discussion about the growing health concerns, their British accents pronouncing words entirely differently to how she herself would – she found herself preferring their way of talking, if only because she could escape within it away from the demons that had plagued her since New York. She wished she could appease the worries of the people behind her, but she had no words to offer. She wished for a second that all she had to worry about was how to get children in schools to eat healthier meals and do more exercise. She wished, for the first time in her life, that her world had nothing to do with killing people, because she had lost the faith that killing people in the name of good change was in fact what she was involved with anymore.
The couple moved off and Pamela quickly took possession of the much desired bench. From here she could see the London Eye beside the River Thames, and next to her stood the imposing yet beautiful Houses of Parliament. She liked London. She could lose herself here amongst people who wouldn't give a second thought to her or her thoughts. She watched the pigeons hop along the river wall, watched the wheel turn slowly but noticeably as thousands of people took in the views of London from their glass bubbles.
'You get a good view from up there,' a male voice startled her. Her instinct was to run, yet she felt no fear in the presence of this man anymore.
'What are you doing here?' she asked, never once taking her eyes off the wheel.
She saw him shrug ever so slightly out of the corner of her eye, his eyes drawn to what she was watching. 'Marie loved it up there.'
She had a sharp intake of breath without knowing why, turning her gaze to watch Jason Bourne's profile. She wanted to ask him about Marie, for no reason other than her own curiosity, and her own sympathy and guilt over her death. Though not directly responsible, she felt that she had played a part in destroying the hopefulness in the man next to her.
'It's a dangerous move, you being here,' she said instead.
His brow furrowed, then cleared as he glanced up at the sky, before looking directly at her. 'I wanted to thank you.'
'For helping me.' His gaze returned to the spinning wheel, the sunlight glinting off the glass walls.
She was silent, taking the surreal moment in with pause. 'I'm sorry that Marie died,' she finally said.
Inside, she knew his heart had sped up a little at the mention of his lover, but outwardly he showed no sign.
They sat in silence a while longer until, 'it wasn't your fault.'
She turned to face him, determined to make her point. 'Nor was it yours.'
He stilled, before nodding slightly, eyes trained out over the water. Memories he did not want to revisit flooded his mind, and he needed to move on. 'Stay safe, Pamela.'
And he was gone.
Pamela returned her gaze to the wheel, and wondered if London would welcome her were she to decide she wanted to stay.