Some Things Curious

Terminator mythos

2008-10-17T16:58:08Z

I've been popping about here and there, reading fan message boards and official blogs devoted to the latest 'focus': Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles.

I'm in. I've caught up on the first season's 9 episodes. They had their moments. The whole temporal mechanics can't be scrutinized too closely, or the brain will explode. There are certainly many endearing WTF moments, but the story is furthered with each episode, and the second season started off with a bang!

We have mother Sarah Connor, who narrates eps during the first season. She's tough. It's a crazy world and she knows what the future holds, and she's trying.

We have John Connor. First season young teen trying to have some kind of normal life. He knows what the future holds, too, and needs to learn how to become a leader. Second season, we see some rebelliousness and some maturing.

We have Cameron, supposedly a machine sent back by future!Connor to protect - but there are other things at play in her metal brain.

We have Derek Reese, brother of larger-than-life Kyle. At 15, he witnessed Judgment Day. He spent the next 15 years living in a world ruled by machines where humans were nothing but bugs to be squashed. He is a resistance fighter, under the leadership of John Connor. He comes back through time, and now not only has to deal with a messed up psyche from war, but with the knowledge that he is the uncle of the future leader of mankind.

We have various and sundry terminators, we have a former FBI agent who has pieces of the puzzle, and we have Sarah Connor's former fiancee, who also has pieces of the puzzle. It's a full universe and getting fuller with every episode.

I am drawn in mostly because of the Reese connection from future to past. Kyle Reese is the iconic SF hero, sent from the future to save the future. In the first movie, it was a one-time thing. The instrument used to send human flesh back through time was supposed to have been destroyed once Kyle followed the terminator through it. Judgment Day finds it in use once again. And T:tSCC uses it nearly every week. Now future!John has sent small groups of resistance fighters back in time to gather intel, stock weapons and cash in safehouses, and generally attempt to stop Skynet from ever having a chance to become 'sentient.' With every being sent back, it holds that the future he or she came from is no longer the same.

Kyle came back to father John Connor. But was Kyle always the father? Did John always know that he would send Kyle back and that this would happen? Or was there a future where John was fathered by an unknown individual, and Kyle's return to the past was happenstance, changing that aspect of the future?

Once the second set of terminators was sent back, Sarah Connor realized that the future could be changed. It was not set. To that end, she stopped Cyberdyne from using the chip from the first terminator to further its progress to sentience. We all think Judgment Day has been averted.

T3, Rise of the Machines, sees more terminators sent back, and we eventually see that, while the little details may change, the big picture is still in view - Skynet succeeds in becoming sentient, and goes to war against the human race.

Sarah Connor Chronicles sees more and more people sent back, allowing more and more details to be changed. The major detail changed - Sarah, John and the robot they call Cameron time jump from 1999 to 2007, to escape the terminator on their trail, and to skip over the year that Sarah Connor would have died of cancer.

But 2007 sees the big picture still intact - Skynet is still on the path to sentience which will mean the war for existence is still on the horizon.

Enter one Derek Reese. Older brother of Kyle Reese,the accepted father of John Connor. Up until this time, Kyle was a loner, a man from the future with no ties to either future or past. Suddenly, he's more three-dimensional. We see him as having family, more than just Sarah and John. It intrigues, pulls us in, gives us much to work with in terms of the fanfic universe.

Up until this time, Sarah was all John had. She was mother, protector, teacher, warrior. Now John has a machine (Cameron) to protect him (although there may be other underlying motives for her presence) and an uncle for a warrior and teacher (although Derek suffers from much PTSD and all his plans involve guns). The Terminator universe is richer, fuller, and more puzzling. Skynet is still in the works, and many plot bunnies are hopping.

There's a lot of good angst-y fic out there, many vignettes that seek to give us a look into the hearts and minds of the characters. I'm always in search of more. And scribbling one or two of my own. Stay tuned.

New Fandom

2008-09-18T13:54:05Z

Haven't had much to say since March, I guess. The Bourne focus has blurred into the background. Real life is full. And nothing tripped the trigger ~~ until I stumbled across the DVD ads for Terminator: Sarah Connor Chronicles. They mentioned a character by the name of Reese.

[sits up and takes notice]

Now I have always loved the love story of Sarah and Kyle in the original Terminator movie, and I thoroughly enjoyed the sequel. I avoided #3 like the plague (what could the movie be without Linda Hamilton?) but decided to give T:SCC a try, even without Linda. Watched the pilot. Wasn't impressed. Walked away.

Why didn't someone tell me they were bringing in a character that would have close ties with one of my all time favorite men, Kyle Reese??!!!!!!!

Well, I know now. And have the season 1 DVDs. And have caught up with some of the fan fic and fan vids and am totally and completely caught up in the series and Derek Reese, portrayed by Brian Austin Green. Never watched 90210. Didn't have a clue where he came from. But I know him now, and plot bunnies are hopping!

But for the moment, I will content myself with reading and watching.

Here we go again?

squueeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!

Supremacy on TNT

2008-03-10T16:25:31Z

I usually don't care to watch any of the Bourne movies when aired on television. They edit too much - yeah, it's just little bits, and I know they have to make room for the sponsoring commercials, but when they come to a scene I know should be there, and it's not, I get bugged. But I did turn on the airing of Supremacy last night (Sunday) on TNT. Was going about doing household chores, so didn't watch, but did listen. That particular soundtrack is so well done. I think the movie on the whole is the best of the three. It took balls to kill Marie. While I did like her character, I am satisfied with how the story developed - how the character of Jason Bourne dealt with the loss of something he never should have had.

Am I excited about a fourth movie? Yes, but with reservations. I only hope that they come up with a screenplay that will knock socks off.

One Thing Bourne - and one thing misc.

2008-03-05T17:33:52Z

Bourne:

If you haven't already gotten caught up in this fic, do so now. I cannot wait to see where the author goes with this.

I Was a Ghost Before You Came

http://bigsciencybrain.livejournal.com/280932.html#cutid1

Author writes in response to a request from the Fic-a-thon held at LJ's Bourne Series

http://community.livejournal.com/thebourneseries/

Yes, I am still intrigued by the Bourne series and working on more fiction. Have had very little time for this lately. Am also attempting to do some beta reading for another Bourne author. Don't look for much posted here. C'est la vie.

Misc.

And being from, and currently residing in, Wisconsin, I am following with no little interest the goings-on in our own little corner of Hollywood, as director Michael Mann brings his filming crew to Columbus (and possibly other burgs in WI) for work on Public Enemies, a 30s gangster film featuring Johnny Depp as John Dillinger and Christian Bale as Melvin Purvis. It's based on the book of the same name by Bryan Burroughs. (I believe that will be added to my TBR pile very soon). A local resident of the Columbus area is posting thoughts here:

http://www.publicenemiescolumbus.blogspot.com/

Bourne Fic-a-thon (continued)

2007-10-18T17:08:36Z

the story continues

Vladimir Neski. Russian politician and reformer. Opposed to oil privatization. He was scheduled to make a stop in Berlin during a European tour. Alex had given Bourne details of the Hotel Brecker where Neski would be staying, and its surrounding area, and asked him for his opinion of the best method to eliminate the intended target. The decision had been easy. Lethal injection, made to look like heart attack. Undetectable. In and out.

They took the Eurail from Paris to Berlin, a night train trip that lasted a little over 11 hours. Bourne slept. Alex did not. It was intentional on his part. He rarely slept before an op, and he was curious as to Bourne’s reaction to the stress of the first mission. Alex was mildly surprised at the relaxed outward state of his operator. It was almost as if Bourne had done this before, that this wasn’t something new. There were very few details available from Bourne’s past prior to his joining the Treadstone program, but Alex was fairly certain that the young man came with covert operations experience.

They were met at the Berlin station by Jarda, Picot’s counterpart from Munich. He was waiting for them in a rental car, and he delivered them to a hotel on the edge of the Berlin metropolitan area. Bourne spent the day working out in the fitness center of the hotel, eventually requesting permission to go for a run. Alex agreed to let him go, but sent Jarda out to follow him. Alex was quite sure that Bourne was aware he was being followed, but the young man did not complain. Rather, he seemed to ignore the tail, spending several hours jogging the streets of Berlin, returning as the sun began to set.

The weather turned miserable that evening as a cold rain fell with the promise of more the following day. Jarda drove the car that night and Conklin rode along, wanting to be in on as much of the operation as possible, just in case. They stopped a block away from the Hotel Brecker where Neski was staying. For a few moments, the only sound was the swish of wiper blades on the windshield.

Alex turned to face the young man in the back seat. “This is not a drill, soldier. We clear on that? This is a live project, and you’re a go.”

Bourne nodded almost imperceptibly and removed his seat belt.

“I’ll see you on the other side,” Alex told him. Bourne exited the vehicle and disappeared down the alley. Conklin and Jarda sat in silence most of the time that Bourne was gone, speaking in hushed tones about business a little here and a little there. They watched Vladimir Neski enter the hotel. Nearly an hour later, Bourne suddenly materialized outside their vehicle. He was hardly wet, even though it was pouring, and as he got into the back seat, Alexander spoke, “Congratulations, soldier. Training is over.”

During the debriefing, Bourne informed Conklin that Neski’s wife had made an unexpected appearance. He’d changed his plans, opting out of the lethal drug and using a silenced pistol, which he left in the wife’s hand after shooting her in the head. It would be written off as a murder/suicide.

Bourne had been so good. They had planned and executed over a dozen hits in the short time Conklin had been his handler.

Now here he was, shredding the part of his life that had given him the most satisfaction, facing the end of his run with Treadstone. It was all coming unhinged, unraveling at the seams. He looked around the room at the bags of shredded documents, all that remained of his tenure with Treadstone.

Suddenly the street below them was filled with car alarms going off. And Conklin knew that Bourne was behind it.

“Where’s your field box?” he demanded as he checked the windows that overlooked the street.

Nicky did not respond to the question. Her computer security system was reporting breaches in various locations of the safe house. She watched in disbelief as system after system succumbed to what seemed to be a cascade failure.

Alex turned the question into a command, “Where’s your field box!”

“Right there,” Nicky replied, exasperated as her computer systems continued to go haywire.

Suddenly the lights went out, the power cut off.

“Phones are dead,” Nicky reported as she replaced the handset in its cradle. Realization dawned. “It’s Bourne, isn’t it?” she whispered, frustration turning quickly to fear. She should be afraid, Conklin thought to himself. She above all people knew how good Jason Bourne was. She knew his file, knew all his accomplishments, knew that his ability to infiltrate any building was extraordinary.

Alex had loaded the weapon, cocked the hammer back. He knew Bourne was there, in the safehouse. One step at a time, room by room, he tracked a shadow, a ghost. Nicky followed him at a safe distance.

Suddenly Jason Bourne was right behind him.

“You move, you die.”

“Bourne.” Alex turned around to face his missing operator at last. He found himself staring down the barrel of a 9mm Glock in the hands of a master.

“Gun down,” Jason directed. Conklin obeyed. Bourne looked into the next room, saw Nicky. “In there,” he motioned with his weapon.

Alex moved slowly, keeping his eye on Bourne and his gun, but his mind was racing. The fear was gone, replaced by a slow-burning anger. The operator should not be holding his weapon on his handler. They’d always worked so well together. Bourne was playing a game with him, and that made him mad.

“Okay so what do you want?” he asked exasperatedly.

Bourne surprised him by grabbing his shoulder and shoving him up against the door frame. Hard.

“Treadstone.”

“You better take a look around,” Conklin retorted, breathing hard, trying to slow his racing heart. “There’s not much left.”

“Are you Treadstone?”

Some of Alex’s anger turned to puzzlement. There was not even a shard of recognition in Bourne’s eyes. Something was definitely wrong with his operator. “Am I Treadstone? Me?” Conklin’s voice was incredulous. He took a chance and slapped Bourne’s gun hand aside. Surprisingly, Bourne offered no resistance. “What the hell are you talking about?” Alex shot a look at Nicky. “He’s lost it!” He turned back to Bourne. “You better start filling in the blanks here because I thought we were on the same side.”

“Whose side is that?’ Bourne asked, his tone puzzled, almost bewildered.

Alex didn’t know what to think. What kind of game was Bourne playing? “Boy, you don’t know what you’re doing, do you, Jason? You don’t have a god dammed clue!”

“Who am I?” Bourne’s tone was nearly a plea.

Alex’s anger got the better of him. “You’re U S Government property! You’re a malfunctioning thirty million dollar weapon! You’re a total god damned catastrophe and by god, if it kills me, you’re gonna tell me how this happened!”

“Why are you trying to kill me?” Bourne demanded.

Alex ignored him. “What happened in Marseilles?”

“Why are you trying… You sent me to kill Wombosi.”

“Kill Wombosi? Hell we can do that any time we want. I can send Nicky to do that, for chrissake. Mister Wombosi was supposed to be dead three weeks ago. He was supposed to have died in a way where the only possible explanation was that he’d been murdered by a member of his own entourage. I don’t send you to kill. I send you to be invisible. I send you because you don’t exist. Now I wanna know what happened in Marseilles!”

“I don’t remember what happened in Marseilles!” Jason replied hotly.

“Bullshit! This is unacceptable, soldier. You hear me? You failed!”

Jason sputtered his disbelief. Alex did not let up. “You failed and you’re gonna tell me why!”

He was looking into the eyes of death. He knew it. Bourne was close, so close to the edge. And yet, his eyes revealed so much confusion. Full speed ahead, Alex decided, and damn those torpedoes.

“You brought John Michael Kane to life. You put together the meeting with Wombosi. You found the security company. You broke into the office. For chrissake, you picked the yacht as the god damned strike point!” He watched Bourne’s eyes, saw the flicker of a light, saw memories begin to return. He pressed on. “You picked the boat, you picked the day. You tracked the crew, the food, the fuel. You told us where, you told us when. You hid out on that boat five days. You were in, Jason, you were in! It was over.”

He watched as Bourne’s memory hit him right between the eyes. Now they were getting somewhere. Could it be some kind of amnesia? Bourne sounded like he was suffering from some kind of memory loss. He had no clue who he was, or what he was supposed to be doing. Alex softened a bit as the lights came on in Jason’s eyes. Yeah, Bourne was remembering what he’d done.

“No. You do remember, don’t you?” Alex asked, satisfied that he had gotten through. Now they could get to the bottom of this whole mess.

And then Jason Bourne – highly trained assassin, programmed killer – whispered, “I don’t want to do this anymore.”

Alex’s jaw nearly hit the floor. He snorted. “I don’t think that’s a decision you can make.”

It was the wrong response. Once more, Alex found himself flung against the wall, with enough force to take his breath away. Jason turned on him, was immediately in his face.

“Jason Bourne is dead, you hear me?” the younger man hissed. “He drowned, two weeks ago. You’re gonna go tell ‘em that Jason Bourne is dead. You understand?”

Alex knew that would never work. Bourne was in too deep to back out, in too deep to just walk away. “Where are you gonna go?”

He was rewarded with a fist to his face. His eyes watered as blood dripped from his nose.

Bourne leaned close, his words were clipped. “I swear to god, if I even feel somebody behind me, there is no measure to how fast and how hard I will bring this fight to your doorstep!” He had made a decision. “I’m on my own side now.”

Both men glanced down at the pager hanging on Alex’s belt, both men saw the red light blinking. Alex’s stomach sank as he looked into the eyes of his number one asset. Jason Bourne was no longer Treadstone. Jason Bourne wasn’t even Jason Bourne anymore. It barely registered as the gun in Jason’s hand connected with his jaw. The lights went out.

As consciousness returned, Alex was vaguely aware of someone on the floor next to him, and a hand on his neck. It was Nicky, searching for a pulse. “I’m still alive,” he growled as he batted her hand away. “Where’s Bourne?”

“He’s out there. Somewhere. There was a lot of gunfire. It’s quiet now. Maybe they’re all dead. But I’m not gonna go find out!”

Alexander Conklin sat up, dabbing at his bloody nose and split lip. His vision blurred and his head swam, but he fought through the dizziness and the world righted itself eventually. Nicky remained quiet and unmoving on the floor.

“I’ll go out, get a sit rep. Wait here,” he instructed. Nicky offered no argument. Pushing himself off the floor, Alex grabbed his coat and cautiously stepped into the hall. The walls were peppered with bullet holes, drywall littered the floor, and the stairway rail was broken in a number of different places. He peered into the stairwell and saw a body lying at the bottom. No mistaking who it was. Picot. Shit. As he made his way down the staircase, he found the bodies of two other men, both of whom had been guarding the entry to the building. But he did not find the body of Jason Bourne.

He left the building. He knew he should stay, head back up the stairs and deal with the rest of the equipment and the files in the safe house, but he was in no mood. Let Abbott come and deal with the mess. He had had enough. Maybe it was time to get out, follow Jason Bourne’s lead. Maybe it was time to hang it up, put out the ‘Gone Fishing’ sign.

He walked out the door, walked out on the life he’d come to know. He followed the alley which was sure to get him to a place where he could hail a taxi. Hail a taxi and get the hell out of Dodge. There was a car in the road ahead of him. Someone stepped out from behind the car.

It was Manheim.

And Manheim had a gun.

Bourne Fic-a-thon entry

2007-10-18T17:04:46Z

I have been busy. I have more plot bunnies running around here than I can feed. A while back, I agreed to do a piece for the Bourne Fic-a-thon, and here it is!

Title: The Day in the Life

Author: Kay Linne

Summary: Alexander Conklin’s final task is to hunt down his number one black ops assassin, Jason Bourne. He knows where Bourne is. The rest is history.

Characters/Pairings: a closer look at Alexander Conklin, whom I feel was dealt a rather poor hand in the movie(s).

Rating/Warnings: PG-13ish, for a little language

Ficathon Recipient/Prompt: lazaefair ; Request: Conklin. Anything - his life, Treadstone backstory, thoughts while hunting Jason, whatever.

Spoilers: for sure the end of The Bourne Identity movie

Beta: local friend, who knows nothing about the Bourne movies. All interpretations, mistakes and errors in judgment belong to me.

Disclaimer: Mine!! Mine!! The characters ~ they’re not Mine!!

Author's Notes: I’ve always loved expanding upon existing scenes. I had planned to simply detail the first meeting between Alexander Conklin and Jason Bourne. It grew and slotted itself into the white spaces between the lines. This is the result.

~ ~ ~ ~

"Enough! Enough! 5:30 PM. Paris. Today. Pont neuf. You come alone. You walk to the middle of that bridge. You take off your jacket, face east. I’ll redial this number."

‘click’

Well, at least he knew where Jason Bourne was.

It had been nearly three weeks – three long weeks of waiting and watching and wondering – wondering why Jason Bourne had failed. Failed to eliminate his target, failed to contact his handler, failed his assignment.

Alexander Conklin was nothing if not a realist. This was on his head. He was the handler. Jason Bourne, his number one black-on-black kill squad asset had gone rogue – was alive and well, and a loose cannon in Paris. Alex had literally been in the office 24/7 since the report had come in that Wombosi was still alive, and that Jason Bourne was no where to be found. He and his staff had turned everything they could think of upside down in their search for the missing operator, following meager clues, always a step or two behind.

Now, finally, they had a line on Bourne’s whereabouts. Bourne had actually called in. He sounded strange, and would give no answers to Conklin’s questions, but at least he was in contact once again. The instructions were to meet with him in Paris. It was up to Alex to find out what had happened. It was up to him to tie the operation off.

He ordered Danny Zorn to get him a flight and to get Nicky on the line, to have her call Picot so that he was ready and waiting at the airport when he arrived.

He grabbed his jacket from the coat tree, nearly running over Ward Abbott in his haste to implement the instructions given him by Jason Bourne.

He had never been totally thrilled working with Abbott. The man was extremely self-important, demanding and overbearing. A talker. A true Washington Bureau-fat-cat. But his proclivity for securing funding was legendary.

To keep the program’s cash flowing, Conklin had been instructed to do what he could when Abbott made suggestions. Suggestions like dealing with Vladimir Neski, and Nykwana Wombosi. The Neski op had gone without a hitch, even though the wife had made an unexpected appearance. That had been Bourne’s assignment, and he had adjusted, expertly taking out both targets and making it look like an apparent murder/suicide. Conklin had not learned until much later that the reasons for the op were less than up-front. Rocking the boat at that point would have been disastrous for everyone, himself included. Besides, one never knew when a certain bit of information might come in handy. So he had kept his mouth shut.

The Wombosi op – that was the one that unhinged everything. It had been going too well. He’d missed something in that operation, something important, something that affected Jason Bourne in a totally unexpected way. He’d gone over the files until he knew them inside out. Nothing jumped out. But at the moment, there was no time to ferret out the whys and the wherefores, or the reasons thereof. There was only time for action. For crisis management. For clean up. The situation with Bourne needed to be fixed, closed up, tied off.

Bottom line, it meant the death of Jason Bourne, a fact that did not please Alex in the least. Jason Bourne was better than good, he was the best, and truthfully, Alexander Conklin would much rather find out what had happened and maybe fix it, before eliminating the operator. But that was becoming less and less of a possibility.

“So. What are we going to do?” Abbott wanted to know.

“I told you I’d clean this up, that’s what I’m doing,” Conklin replied, trying not to grit his teeth.

“Are you really going to bring him in?”

Alex’s glare would have made the toughest members of his staff run for the hills. “I think we’re past that, don’t you?” The look on Abbott’s face prompted him to continue in a thickly sarcastic tone, “What, you have a better idea?”

“So far you’ve given me a trail of collateral damage from Zurich to Paris, I don’t think I could do much worse,” Abbott retorted.

Alex blew out a breath of disgust. He’d had just about enough of Abbott’s pomposity. “Well, why don’t you go upstairs, book a conference room. Maybe you can talk him to death.” He stalked out of the room, giving Abbott no chance to reply.

The flight from Langley to Paris via private jet took the better part of nine hours. Alex managed to catch a few hours of sleep during the time in the air, but it was not deep and it was not nearly enough. His mind raced with all the information his staff had gathered. Nothing hinted at why Jason Bourne had failed to complete the Wombosi assignment.

They touched down in Paris at 1630 local time, which would have been mid morning in DC. He’d eaten a little breakfast on the plane, but really wasn’t all that hungry. Picot was waiting with all the necessary equipment. The ride to Bourne’s choice of Parisian bridge whipped by quickly as preparations were made for personal comm units and tracking devices.

Once equipped, Conklin left the van and headed for the bridge, acknowledging his men with only a glance.

He stopped at the middle of the bridge, took off his coat and draped it over the concrete guard rail. He turned and surveyed the area as his phone began to ring. Grabbing it, he answered, eyes sweeping the crowd, “Jason?”

Jason Bourne was on the other end of the phone – and Alex knew that Jason was watching him. But he could not determine from where.

“I told you to come alone. I guess that was too complicated. So try this – I’m gone.”

“Jason!?” But it was too late. Bourne had hung up on him.

Fuck! It was bad enough that he’d had to fly to Paris to meet with Bourne, it now appeared that it just might be a wasted trip. Bourne had gone off the reservation, leaving him holding the bag. Of course, he knew that Bourne would have known he would not come alone or unprepared, but it was a chance he’d had to take.

Fear. For the first time in a very long time, Alexander Conklin was afraid. It twisted a knot in his stomach. He’d never feared the assets before. They’d always done what they’d been ordered to do. Until now. Until Bourne.

He returned to the van. His instructions to Picot were terse. “Get Nicky on the phone.”

The minute she picked up, he was on her, “How long does it take to wipe the room down and get it moved?”

Her voice was understandably incredulous. “Get rid of everything?”

“Yeah.” Duh.

Back to professional. “Two to three hours.”

“Alright. Well, get started.” It did not please him in the least, but it would have to do.

The van arrived at the safe house without mishap. Conklin kept looking over his shoulder for any sign of Bourne as he gave specific instructions to his men, “Listen. No breaks. Two men outside, one in the lobby, and keep your eyes open. I’m gonna close this unit down.”

He climbed the stairs to the rooms occupied by the Treadstone project. Pushing open the door, he removed his coat and hung it on a wall peg. Nicky was already there. She had the computers up and running, with data streaming and files pulled. The heavy duty shredder was out on the table, and papers were piled next to the basket.

“Get Langley on the phone,” he snapped. “Tell them I want sat surveillance of this area ASAP.”

He picked up a handful of sheets of paper from the shredding pile, inserting an edge into the slot, watching the machine turn the paper into confetti. Names, dates, locations – the machine whirred and buzzed and did what it was supposed to do. It turned much of his life into confetti.

Alexander Conklin had been Army Special Forces for a long time. He’d risen in the ranks to Major, had led a significant number of successful under-the-radar missions – and someone had taken note of his career. He remembered the day he had been approached by The Agency, asked if he were interested in putting his talents to use for a project called Treadstone. Clandestine operations. European theaters. Unlimited resources. Special operators. It had not taken long to make up his mind. The Army wasn’t able to satisfy the hunger he had for success. He was an ambitious man, and he hated to lose. So even though it meant he‘d have to retire from service to become the man behind the operators, he did not have to give the opportunity a second thought. It was an offer he couldn’t refuse.

They’d given him an office in the bowels of Langley, away from normal activity and prying eyes, and he commanded nearly unlimited access to the latest technology. He had surveillance capabilities and a highly trained staff. Danny Zorn, Nicky Parsons – even though young, they possessed the skills of highly seasoned veterans. He wielded the kind of firepower most men only dreamed about. No red tape and little paperwork. It was nearly a dream come true. He took the job and reveled in it.

In the beginning, he worked with only a handful of operators. Operators not afraid to pull the trigger, not afraid to use whatever means necessary to eliminate targets.

Castel – he did it for the money and the thrill. He was a killer, cold and violent, but it was controlled violence, like a defensive lineman in a game of football. Castel wanted the thrill of the kill without the consequences of trials and jail time. But he was not a planner.

The Professor – he did it for the art, the mastery of a skill long forgotten, that of the hunt. What better quarry than a human being? He was a maestro at setting up a situation, of being in the right place at the right time, of taking out a target in the most polite of ways.

Manheim – he was the quiet one, the one most difficult to get a handle on. He was most methodical and extremely discreet, and he did as he was instructed.

These men did it because they could. Yes, they had been a part of the Treadstone project in its infancy. There had been some indoctrination, some manipulation, some specialized training, but they were in essence hired killers, highly trained men who were given a job – and well paid for their services. But that was not the whole program. After all was said and done, the Treadstone project was ultimately all about mind-fuck. And Alexander Conklin knew it was just a matter of time before it turned out the first soldier – the first soldier who would be programmed to kill without question.

He remembered the first day he’d heard the name ‘Jason Bourne.’

Neal Daniels had been on the other end of the line when he’d answered. “Alex?”

“Yeah.”

“We’ve got one ready. A probable asset.”

“Is he good?”

“Extremely good. But we need a test case. A live case. We need to put him through his paces. So that training can be over. Are you ready?” Daniels asked.

“Yes, sir, I am.”

“Very good. I’ve arranged for you to meet with him at SRD in New York, to go over his history and training. Tomorrow. Oh-eight-hundred.”

“I’ll be there, sir.”

Neal Daniels was in his office on the phone when Conklin arrived. He cut his conversation short with, “The Major is here now,” and hung up. Rising from his chair, he held out his hand, which Alex shook in greeting. Daniels wasted no time in bringing Conklin up to speed, handing him a file folder and filling him in on certain details as they left the office and walked down to the end of a long corridor.

“Bourne has background in weapons, tactics, strategy, and hand to hand combat. His language skills are extraordinary. He’s a quick study. Nearly photographic memory. He demonstrated some resistance to the training in the beginning, but we were able to overcome that. He is a model soldier.”

Daniels pushed open the door to a small room. Conklin looked past him to see a young man quickly come to attention, holding himself as only a highly trained soldier would.

“Jason Bourne. Major Conklin. You’ll be working under his command.”

“Yes, sir,” Bourne’s voice was quiet, but firm, solid. He stayed at attention but he did not salute. Alex kept his hands clasped behind his back. Daniels left and for the next several hours, Alex had grilled the young man in areas of weapons and strategy, in not only English, but French, German, Italian. He fired question after question at Bourne, and was extremely pleased with the quick and accurate responses.

When Daniels returned, it was with an envelope that contained tickets to Paris and instructions on what needed to be done.

They flew via commercial jet to Paris. They did not sit together. Bourne slept. Alex went over the files given to him by Daniels.

Quarters had been arranged for both himself and his new operator. The safehouse was a fifth floor set of rooms where Nicky Parsons had computer equipment installed, up and running. Bourne was directed to an apartment at 104 Rue du Jardin where he was to set up his personal base of operations. Conklin had, on two or three occasions, spent time in that apartment. Impersonal. Austere. Spartan in its décor. Very few furnishings, and even less color. Most of the shelving was empty, with the exception of a handful of books and one or two pieces of art. No dust. The rooms were nearly spotless, almost as if wiped down constantly for fingerprints.

Bourne became known to some of the residents of the apartment building, enough to at least say hello, but mostly he kept to himself. He was gone for long periods of time, but no questions were ever asked. When he checked in with Nicky at the safe house, it was to give a status report and obtain the next objective. Alex knew that some of the other more recent products of the Treadstone program were prone to anger, compulsive behaviors, and depression because of what they’d been through. Part of Nicky Parson’s job was to monitor the agents’ health. Bourne seemed to be nearly immune from these effects; however, he did suffer from headaches, occasionally as severe as a full blown migraine, and Nicky was instructed to dispense the prescription drug sumatriptan when Bourne requested it.

Bourne impressed Conklin with his knowledge, his abilities, his coolness under pressure, his prep work, and his adaptability. Alex looked forward to the opportunities to work with the young man. Bourne reminded him of his younger self. Sharp. Intense. Focused. When possible, Alex opted for Jason Bourne over every other operator. They worked well together, thought very much alike. They conducted ops from the Paris base into Serbia, Ireland, Germany, Austria, Switzerland, Poland. Bourne maintained at least a half-dozen other identities from a variety of countries, easily passing himself off as Russian, Spanish, German, or French.

The shredding machine continued to do its job. Conklin picked up the next sheet of paper, recognizing the date and place. Berlin. Neski. The op that had been signed off by Ward Abbott. Bourne’s first hit. The test.

continue to part 2:

http://kaylinne.livejournal.com/7602.html#cutid1

I tried to avoid this...really...

2007-10-02T01:13:45Z

Good Golly Miss Molly! LOL! These things just happen and off I swing on another tangent.

Numb3rs. Season 4 premiere. It was a good show. At the end, Colby is in the hospital after his brush with death. David is waiting, trying to come to grips with who that man in the hospital bed really is. If you happen to drop by and read, let me know what you think. I'm always open to suggestion and correction!

“You coming in?”

David could only shake his head. “Not yet.”

Megan gently touched his arm and turned to leave. He did not watch her walk away, he couldn’t tear his eyes off the man in the hospital bed.

Colby.

Colby Granger.

Partner.

Trusted friend.

Spy.

Traitor.

“You saved his life,” Megan had said.

“I still don’t know who he is. I didn’t know him when he was a spy. Now he’s some guy who pretended to be a spy. Pretended to be my partner.”

He should walk away. But he could not walk away. Not this time.

Colby lay still in that hospital bed, still as death, a fate that he’d nearly met. David would never forget the moment he found Colby strapped to the chair in the cabin of the freighter, needle in his chest, barely breathing. His own heart had nearly stopped. He’d wasted no time in slitting the straps that held Colby in place, quickly easing the man to the deck. He’d put his ear to his former partner's chest and heard no sound. He knew what he had to do. His CPR training kicked in and he straddled Colby’s body, hands pressing hard, pushing with all his strength as he fought to keep the heart from failing. The med team responded quickly and it was the most difficult thing in his life to back off, to let the emergency personnel take over with their defibrillator and their drugs.

The nurse finished up her work and turned down the lights around Colby’s bed. She looked up to see David standing there, lost in his thoughts.

“Excuse me, sir, why don’t you go home and get some rest. There’s nothing you can do here for Mister Granger. We’ll take good care of him.”

“If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather stay. I’m all – there are no relatives. I’m the closest thing he’s got.”

“Alright, then. How about a chair?”

“Yeah. That’d be good, thanks.”

It wasn’t a comfortable chair, but David found himself dozing regardless. The minutes ticked by, slowly turning into hours as the instruments kept up their assortment of soft noises, beeping and whirring, monitoring Colby’s vitals. And still Colby did not move.

Very early the next morning, the nurse stopped by and checked the patient. David stood and stretched, rolling his shoulders and neck, working muscles that had started to cramp.

“There’s coffee in the lounge, sir. If you want to take a quick walk, I’ll stay here with Mister Granger.”

“Thanks, I’ll be right back,” David murmured as he stifled a yawn. He made his way down to the lounge, stopping briefly at the washroom. Staring at his reflection in the mirror, he asked the questions to which only he and Colby had the answers.

There will be more...

taking a break from Bourne

2007-09-29T16:04:25Z

We interrupt the current obsession for a moment, as we shriek with delight over the season premiere of Numb3rs. Yeah, yeah, I read all the spoilers I could get my hands on, so I had a pretty good idea what was going down, but it was wonderful to see the team come together, giving Colby the big benefit of the doubt. And Val Kilmer can play a decent bad guy. And I am so tickled that Colby is not a traitor, and that we'll see more of him in the coming months. Now I am off to find me some angst-y Colby and David fan fiction - ought to be a plethora of it out there soon. WhooT!

Still focusing. Still thinking. Still writing.

2007-09-26T22:41:34Z

Bourne Bourne Bourne.

Identity Supremacy Ultimatum

I got myself into the Bourne fic-a-thon and am furiously scribbling notes and dialogue and ideas into my notebooks (yes, I still use real paper and pen) and eventually I'll put it all together in some coherent fashion.

In the meantime, I found another copy of The Bourne Ultimatum script - this time a re-write dated August 2006, which includes revisions by Tom Stoppard and Scott Burns. Closer to the movie than the first one I have, dated September 2005. Not quite so wild and crazy Bourne. More controlled, closer to the final product. The pages are stamped 'Tom Gallop." Kinda neat, since Tom played Tom Cronin and I am having fun with his character! :)

A couple things please me. First of all, it delves a little deeper into the character of Ezra Kramer. Navy Admiral. The "New Director of the CIA." Folksy charm and a career's worth of integrity. His words regarding the Cold War programs of the 50s CIA: "Seriously, they had an artichoke operation here. Some sci-fi mind control notion. That's what you get when you have civilians running around without accountability or oversight. When I walked through the door here four weeks ago, I thought CIA stood for Civilians Investigating Artichokes."

Okay, so the character played things with a little comedy. But at least in one draft of the script, he was the new director, taking the place of Martin Marshall from Supremacy. Not really a puzzle solved, but at least I know that my suspicions were not way out in left field.

Then, we have Jason Bourne meeting David Webb: A bio appears going back to high school. Webb lettered in swimming and track. Had a younger sister. Joined the Army -- applied as Captain to Delta Force. Studied languages at Duke University. Parents are deceased.    But then Nicky fucks with his mind, telling him that this may be his past, or it may not. Part of the Treadstone protocol was to appropriate personal histories. Nasty.

In this version, Landy dies, Vosen dies, and Bourne and Paz go off the roof into the river together - and one of them has a gun. And Bourne does not remember everything. Oh, and Alexander Conklin was in on his training. The behavioral modification. Pharmacologically induced. It truly *hurts* to remember.

I love this progression. I love contemplating the alternate universes, the 'what could have beens.'

And now, back to the writing pad...   ;)

In addition to having some lively discussions

2007-09-14T19:52:19Z

with posters on IMDB who actually sound like more than mere fan boyz or grrlz, we get this neat DVD release information

http://www.dvdactive.com/news/releases/the-bourne-ultimatum.html

Cool Cover.

The body count

2007-09-13T01:18:26Z

Don't ask me why. Just because, I guess ~~~

Bourne killed Neski & wife.

The Professor killed Wombosi.

Bourne killed The Professor.

Bourne killed three agents in the Treadstone safehouse in Paris.

Manheim killed Conklin.

Kirill killed an Agency operative and a Russian who had info on the Neski murders.

Kirill killed Marie.

Bourne killed Jarda.

Abbott killed Danny Zorn.

Bourne gave Abbott the gun to commit suicide.

Bourne was involved in the death of Kirill.

Paz killed Simon Ross.

Desh killed Neal Daniels.

Bourne killed Desh.

Otherwise, I believe that the other agents got off with various injuries, and I'm not going to begin to try to tally the cars and drivers that got banged up in the car chases. LOL!

In addition to this bit of pointless information, Tom Cronin and Pamela Landy are having quite the conversation in my head.

He is trying to figure out why she feels a need to help Bourne.  Got any ideas why she'd risk her career when she gave him the address? I know she said, "This isn't us." I wish she'd been able to say more.

I think I found a decent explanation in the early draft of the script. Sure wish they would have included some of this conversation in the final version. Tom Cronin is not in this draft.

               LANDY (she is face to face with Bourne at one point)
Your name is David Webb. You were born on the 4th of July, 1972, in Nixa, Missouri.
              (silence)
I've been doing this twenty years. More than that. I've spent my entire adult life fighting for my country. I've done everything I've ever been asked. Ugly jobs. Stupid people. Stupid places. I don't have a family. I don't have a husband. There's no one I care about that really knows what I do for a living. I gave up everything. You give it up, but then at least you have that, you know? The honor of it. That secret. Some personal satisfaction that keeps you going.
             (she hesitates)
But not this. Not Treadstone. This isn't what I fought for. What they did to you? That they're doing now? This isn't what I was fighting for. This isn't us. This isn't who we're supposed to be. It has to be stopped.

Nicky Parsons in a very different light

2007-09-05T14:12:04Z

I completed a full read of the early draft of the script for Bourne Ultimatum. Wow. There is a LOT of dialogue. I would have paid real money to see the actors and actresses get this to the screen. What was it Matt Damon said about dialogue - they cut out a lot because the characters talked too much. Ah, well, too bad.

Tony Gilroy, it is an interesting piece of work!

And at one point, Jason Bourne sported a beard. Hmmmmmm. :)

Anyway, I'm sharing the scene here where Nicky and Jason confront one another.

She is in charge, not Neal Daniels. She works with Desh and other agents, tracking down Jason Bourne.   That scene in The Bourne Supremacy, where Jason has a gun to her head -- this universe has a whole 'nuther take...

NICKY hustling past – nerves on edge – stopping for a moment

HER POV

THE SURVEILLANCE MONITORS. People passing in the street – a peddler pushing a cart on the promenade – kids playing in the alley – sun beating down on the roof – nothing amiss.

BACK TO

NICKY satisfied – she has to be – there’s a lot to do and no time to do it – moving now –

INTO

THE KITCHEN. There’s A BULLETIN BOARD beside the fridge. She’s lifting it away to reveal

A LARGE WALL SAFE.

Except there’s something wrong.

Like really wrong.

The door swinging open when she touches it…

It’s empty!

She’s just standing there. Staring.

And then – and we see this – we watch her steel over – we see all that fear and tension transform suddenly into

Fury.

And she’s moving.

NICKY

You asshole!

(Where is he?)

YOU STUPID FUCKING ASSHOLE!

(screaming for him)

YOU HEAR ME, JASON? I KNOW YOU DO! I KNOW YOU’RE OUT THERE, ASSHOLE!

(calling through the house --)

SO IT’S MONEY NOW? THAT’S YOUR NEW THING? IS THAT IT, JASON? ALL THIS FOR A BAG OF EUROS?

(stopping at the second floor landing)

Can’t face me, can you? You know why? Because you know what you’re doing is wrong! Inside, you know you’re weak and wrong. You’d rather tear it all down than admit how sick and weak you are!

(past fury)

Your weakness disgusts me.

Because she just turned. There he is across the courtyard. Staring at her.

BOURNE

So in Berlin, when you were begging for your life? Who was that?

NICKY

I was wired. People were listening.

BOURNE

And you wanted them to kill me.

NICKY

(so cold)

I’m surprised you remember.

He steps forward. A gun hanging at his side. A large green duffel bag slung over his shoulder.

BOURNE

What did they do to me?

NICKY

(utter disdain)

Please…

BOURNE

What did they do?

NICKY

They found you! They pulled you out of a dumpster and took you in! They decided you were worthy! But you’re not, are you?

BOURNE

Who? Who does this?

NICKY

Why are you here? Why come back? Why come back and ruin everything?

BOURNE

You’re gonna answer me, Nicky.

NICKY

What? You’re so transformed?

(defiant, fearless)

You’re so humane? You’re so pure and independent? Then own it! Then leave! Just run away!

BOURNE

There’s no where to go.

NICKY

You have the whole world!

BOURNE

IT DOESN’T MATTER WHERE I GO!

(silence)

Everywhere I go, I’m lost. I wake up and the first thing I know is that something’s wrong.

NICKY

What’s wrong is that you’re weak.

BOURNE

You couldn’t live like this.

(locked on her)

Be like a guest in your own life? That’s what it’s like. I’m like a visitor in my own life. I do things – say things – and I’m inside listening to myself, going, “Who is that? Who’s doing that?”

(wide open)

That’s not right. That’s not life. And I know that now. Because I had a look at it, okay? I saw how it’s supposed to be. I had Marie, and it was quiet, and for like five minutes I had a glimpse of what might be like to have all this noise behind me.

(raw now)

Who was I, Nicky?

NICKY

You were trash! Your mother was a degenerate junkie that died when you were three. You were thrown away so many times, people lost count.

BOURNE

Where?

(choking it out)

What’s my name?

NICKY

I don’t have that.

BOURNE

YOU’RE LYING!

NICKY

I don’t have to lie!

BOURNE

So who? Who knows that? Who has that, Nicky? Who’s the boss at the killer factory?

NICKY

That’s all you think this is?

(incredulous)

You think that’s all you were?

(how sad)

Standing there, in Paris, listening to Conklin call you a broken piece of equipment, I wanted to kill him myself!

(meaning it)

You were a very special person.

BOURNE

How do they do this?

NICKY

Do you even know what you know?

BOURNE

What do they do?

NICKY

The things they taught you.

BOURNE

They wipe your brain.

NICKY

They teach you!

BOURNE

Until what? Until there isn’t room for anything else, right?

NICKY

WE HAD NOTHING!

(real passion)

The time they put into us? The lives they gave us? They made us special. They made us unique and powerful.

(beat)

That you would want to betray all that is something I just can’t believe!

BOURNE

I just want to know who I am.

He looks so small all of a sudden.

Now this would have been interesting

2007-08-31T18:02:21Z

I got a copy of an early draft of The Bourne Ultimatum script off Ebay. Sigh. It's one of my faults. Nevermind that Matt and Julia signed the cover page. They do stuff like that. Is it real? I don't really care. I want the story *inside.*

Tony Gilroy wrote a dark piece in the beginning. Everyone was up to their eyeballs in Treadstone/Blackbriar ~~ cover-ups and lies, illicit dealings and back stabbing. Haven't finished the whole thing yet, it's a lot to digest. But I want to share a few parts, parts that I would have died to see filmed. You see, I am *such* a fan of hurt/comfort tales. And I *know* Jason Bourne is not Superman. He gets shot, he gets banged around in cars, he nearly blows out his knee jumping on the ship ~~~ and then we see him all better. :::rolling eyes:::

From the screenplay The Bourne Ultimatum, labeled: two 9.22.05. Wow, is it different from what appears in the movie...

MOSCOW. STREET - NIGHT.

Cold. Damp. Empty. Raw.

Sirens and lights, deafening and blinding. Police cars race toward us, closer, louder, faster, passing.

INT. MOP CLOSET – NIGHT

BOURNE’S EYES flying open. Slapped awake by the SIRENS. Panicked. Lost. Listening as the sound fades into the distance. Then the pain hits. So hard and fast, he can barely catch himself from crying out. He’s laying on the wet tile floor of a filthy dank little room; balled up beneath the raw light of a single bare bulb. He is in terrible shape. His face is fevered and swollen. His breathing rushed and wrong. His coat is caked and damp with blood. He’s been hiding here. Like a wounded animal that’s gone to ground. Like he’s dying.

And why? Because it’s only six hours after he left Elena [Irena] Neski’s apartment.

He checks his watch. Whatever it is he’s been waiting for, the time has come. He has to get on his feet. Stand or die. Forcing himself up. Listening at the door. Pulling a pistol from his coat pocket.

INT. MOSCOW PHARMACY - NIGHT

After hours. Dark and odd. The closet door kicks open. BOURNE standing there with a gun. Braced against the jamb. Eyes struggling to focus.

TIME CUTS

BOURNE stumbling behind the counter - searching for pills - bandages - surgical supplies - thread - scissors - scalpel - forceps - more pills - antiseptic - things falling - glass breaking - BOURNE with a bag, sweeping it all in - teetering at the edge of consciousness - trying to stay with it - looking and scrounging and grabbing when suddenly, there's a sound

Fuck.

A DOG. A guard dog right behind him. A SNARLING SHEPHARD, teeth bared, stiffening into attack stance.

BOURNE

Nyet!

Just that. But so final, so raw, that the dog hesitates. And then, aware instinctively that it is in the presence of something dominant and desperate, the dog just sits.

BOURNE zipping up his bag.

INT. MOVING RUSSIAN BOXCAR – DAWN.

BOURNE huddled in the corner against the cold. It’s only 48 hours after the pharmacy – two days since he patched himself together – the last thing he should be doing is traveling, but here he is. A new coat hides most of the splints and bandages. Glazed, post op eyes watching it all go by –

INT. POLISH HOTEL ROOM – NIGHT

Shabby and anonymous. A crappy TV playing POLISH CARTOONS. Take-out. Garbage. Evidence of a long, lonely hang and –

PILLS – the whole bottle. Spilling out across a formica nightstand.

BOURNE staring at the pills. Stripped down now, we see a body coursed with bruises and bandages. The extent of his self-surgery is terrifying: half a dozen sets of stitches, a shoulder gunshot wound, ribs taped. It’s unbelievable, how could he stand it? But he did. He is.

Or maybe he can’t…

All those pills. There’s a way out. Fuck it. End it. Why keep going? Almost there, when he looks up –

A MIRROR. His face.

Who are you?

hints of the past ~ Nicky & Jason

2007-08-30T00:05:50Z

Jason and Nicky drive from Madrid to the coast where they will catch a ferry that will take them across the straits of Gibraltar to Tangiers. We know a little about their conversation in the cafe. Eventually we see Nicky and Jason on the ferry. She is looking at him as if she just told him his old dog died. And he is leaning on the rail, eyes closed against an assault of emotion.

Sooner or later they had to talk on that long drive from Madrid to the ferry. Sooner or later, something had to be said. What is she holding back from him? Perhaps it went something like this after they left the cafe ~~

She is good. For another hour, she says nothing, reveals nothing. We have only a few miles left before we arrive at the coast. Before we board the ferry.

And I have to know.

Nicky, I begin.

Don’t. Just the one word reply.

So I won’t.

Fuck.

Yes, I will. I have to.

Nicky, about Berlin.

Jason, she says.

I’m sorry, I say. Because I am.

She looks at me, puzzled. For what?

For threatening to kill you.

Oh. That.

‘That’? That does not bother her? I held a gun to her head and she dismisses it like an every day occurrence.

Okay.

I press for more. We were stationed in Paris.

She looks away, out the window.

Jason, she says. You don’t want to go there.

I must. I have to. Do you know what it’s like? To live like this? To wake up every morning and be somebody you don’t know?

She thinks. She looks at me. She bites her lower lip. It dawns on me, she is screwing up the courage to tell me.

I saw the tape, she whispers.

Tape?

The words begin to tumble out. The training tape. Your training tape. I had to. It was part of the job. I needed to know what the agents had been through since I was supposed to monitor your health, your mental health. I couldn’t do that unless I knew. So Alex – Conklin showed me the tape. What they did – to you. It was you. I saw it was you. The training was experimental, like Daniels said. It was vicious. Cruel. Harsh. Manipulative. It broke you. Eventually – you did what they asked. That was hard. Hard to watch. So every time I look at you, I know what you’ve been through. I know what they did to you – what they made you do – and ultimately What. You. Did. I know what you are capable of.

Okay.

Okay. More pieces fall into place. Memories are beginning to surface. I understand. That would be hard for anyone to watch. The training scared her. I scare her. But that’s not the whole story. I can tell. She knows something else.

We arrive at the landing and conversation stalls. We purchase tickets to cross, we board the ferry, we stand at the rail watching the waves and the gulls. The sea breeze washes over us and I hear her take a deep breath. Like she’s on the verge of a tremendous revelation.

Manheim found you, she says. In Goa. You. And Marie. He was careful. He was good. In and out. You never caught on. He brought the information back. To me. Me. It could have stopped with me.

And now I know why she has been hesitant to share. I know what she knows. She passed on the information. My location. Marie’s location. I lean over the rail, I close my eyes, I feel sick.

Suddenly I am back in the Land Rover. The Russian sniper finds us, pulls the trigger. He thinks he has killed me. But we traded places, Marie and I. I still hear the sharp report of his rifle, I still hear the crunch of metal and stone and wood, I still hear the smack of the Land Rover as it hits the surface of the river. I still hear my silent scream as Marie’s body vanishes into the green depths. I screw my eyes shut against the sting of tears.

After long moments, Nicky speaks again. I have opened the dam, unleashed a torrent. Responsibility. It stares at me, mocks me. Duty. My duty was to pass on information. I did. To Abbott. That’s how he knew. How he knew where to find you. It was his ace in the hole. I know that now. He tucked that bit of information away for a rainy day. And it came. More files surfaced, files that threatened to reveal all his dirty little dealings. So he told Gretkov. About Goa. About you. The Russian assassin knew where to find you – because of me. If I'd have kept that information to myself, maybe things wouldn't have turned out this way...

I blink several times. If, if, if. If we'd kept moving, if Nicky wouldn't have had that information, if things were different - what then? 'If' is the past. I return to the present. Nicky has confessed her sin. Is she looking to me for absolution?

It was your job, I tell her.

Bullshit, she snaps. Like that makes it all better?

It doesn’t. I know it doesn’t. I know first hand. I still see the shock and horror on Irena’s face. As I tell her I killed them. It was my job.

Now what? We are not ex-lovers. We are not even old friends. We are on the same side, and yet we aren’t. Maybe I should hate her. For what she did. But I don’t. Hate obscures, clouds judgment. Emotion gets in the way, makes the situation untenable. I tuck the shards of my life back into the recesses of my mind and continue to stare at the water.

We can't go back. I tell her. We move on.

It is all we can do.

Let's talk Treadstone

2007-08-28T19:33:47Z

A Black Ops program.

Creating/operating/maintaining/funding a Kill Squad.

Ward Abbott knew about it. Maybe even had a hand in starting it up. He was behind the Wombosi op. He was also up to his eyeballs in the Neski murders accomplished by Jason Bourne.

Abbott suggested to Conklin that perhaps it would be in the best interests of everyone to get Wombosi out of the way. Nykwana Wombosi was a petty dictator with delusions of grandeur and he was threatening to name names if not assisted by a large foreign power. So there was a need to do away with the threat.

Conklin seems to have set it up. He was in charge of the safehouse in Paris where Nicky was working. He sent Treadstone agent Jason Bourne to take out target Wombosi. He sent Bourne because Bourne could be invisible, because Bourne did not exist. Bourne set up the op – he told them where, he told them when, he chose the yacht for the strikepoint. And then the excrement hit the rotating blades.

Something happened to Jason Bourne. He looked into the eyes of one of Wombosi’s children, and he snapped. His mind told him he could no longer be Jason Bourne. He got two bullets in the back for his efforts and was left to float alone in the Med.

Meanwhile, back at the CIA, they are scrambling to find Bourne. Much madness ensues that is The Bourne Identity. Conklin cannot bring Bourne back, and so ultimately has to pay the price for the op gone sideways. Abbot has Conklin killed by the agent Manheim. We never hear from/about him again. Suspicious? Or error in continuity.

In tying off the Wombosi op, Abbott dismantled the program ~~ and instated a new one, Blackbriar. When files surface that would tie Abbott to the murders of Vladimir Neski and his wife, he leaks top secret info to the Russian Gretkov, who benefited greatly from the CIA’s money and Abbott’s involvement. Somehow, Abbott knows that Jason Bourne is alive and well and living in Goa, India, with his lover, Marie. Abbott leaks Bourne’s location to the Russian, who sends his agent from the Secret Police to India to kill Bourne. But Marie gets killed instead, when she trades places with Jason in the front seat of the Land Rover. The Russian sniper, Kirill, believes he killed Bourne. He does not find out until later that he messed up.

And Jason Bourne makes good on his threat in The Bourne Supremacy: There is no measure to how fast and how hard I will bring this fight to your doorstep.

The doorstep is Berlin. Events unfold that bring out Abbott’s role in Treadstone, his illicit dealings, his operation for personal gain. His confession taped, he commits suicide and the op is tied off.

But Jason Bourne is still on the loose. Wounded on the streets of Moscow, he still feels compelled to make amends to the Neski girl by apologizing for his role in the murder of her parents. At the end of Supremacy, we see him walking the streets of New York. This comes round to Ultimatum.

So. We have this:

Agency personnel involved (or suspected of being involved) with Treadstone:

Alexander Conklin

Ward Abbott

Noah Vosen

Neal Daniels

Albert Hirsch

Martin Marshall

Ezra Kramer

Agents in the Treadstone program:

The Professor

Castel

Bourne
Manheim

Jarda

Agents in the Blackbriar program:

Desh

Paz

How did they recruit? We know that Webb volunteered, to ‘save American lives.’ He assured those in charge that he would be whoever they needed him to be. To me, that patriot button is not enough of an underlying reason for a man to give himself to a group of people who put him though such psychological stress that his real persona, David Webb, was completely covered over, swallowed up by the assassin Jason Bourne. Or was David Webb more prone to commit these kinds of actions than we are led to believe? We see him stressed, obviously having a difficult time making the decision to kill, but once he does, his whole demeanor changes. And then he is welcomed to the program. But what is in his past that prompts him to commit to so drastic a program?

Do the ‘volunteers/recruits’ have special ops experience? Are they already more than capable of taking out a target – taking a life?

And we cannot discuss Treadstone without mentioning their less-than-kosher training methods. Psychological manipulation. Sleep deprivation. Torture. Back during the Cold War, the intelligence agencies experimented with mind altering drugs. LSD use was prominent. Did Treadstone pick up on those avenues, broaden and expand upon them, to produce their agents?

Jason Bourne took out Castel and The Professor. We do not know what happened to Manheim. We know that Jarda drove the vehicle which took Jason to Hotel Brecker and room 645 where Vladimir Neski was staying. We know that Bourne also took out Jarda.

We know that Bourne planned all aspects of the Wombosi op. He was given a target and he chose where and when. It appears that the other Treadstone agents were also allowed to handle the kill their own way.

Desh and Paz – they are given explicit directions on who to take out and when. Or perhaps we just aren’t given enough information to figure out why the newer agents seem to be more robot than man.

These are my scrambled thoughts. Share yours. :)

It was difficult for me - with you

2007-08-20T16:52:48Z

Still obsess..er...focusing on Bourne.

Nicky hints of a past relationship in the cafe scene. But she gives nothing away. Why?

I had to go see it again, I think I’m possessed. LOL! Paid particular attention to that café scene, all those nuances of eye and body.

There’s a relationship there. Whether or not it’s romantic remains to be seen. But I tend to think not. It’s got to be something else. Something in their past. The characters are at least 9 years apart in age. If they knew each other before David Webb volunteered for Treadstone, it would have to have been something like friends, passing acquaintances – not lovers. Nicky was jail bait at that point! LOL! A background check on both Nicky and David should have resulted in knowledge of any crossed paths if they were close.

I can’t see that there would have been time for any romantic relationship during Nicky’s time in Paris, with Jason Bourne in the same city. Yes, she monitored the agents, but she knew they were dangerous, lethal. She’d be pretty stupid to get knowingly involved with an assassin. I can’t imagine her superiors would be too thrilled, either. Again, the background checks, the levels of testing these people had to undergo precludes any notion of romantic liaisons and entanglements.

Bessides, she’s leery of him.

In fact, she’s downright freakin’ SCARED of him! He’s pushed a gun in her face more than once. He cold-cocked her boss in Paris at the Treadstone safe house.

Whatever their relationship in the past, she does not know *this* man. So I keep thinking. And then I see Nicky and Jason on the ferry going across the Straits of Gibraltar to Morocco. I see him downcast, head bowed, eyes closed, deep in thought – almost as if he’s ashamed of what she’s told him, looking for absolution. And Nicky – eyeing him so sympathetically. Drat. There’s more there than meets the eye. What the frack did they talk about in the car on the way from Madrid to Tangiers??!!! Oh, good grief.

Yet more on a timeline:

I’ve found conflicting birthdates for Nicky. Pam Landy opens her file in Supremacy right after she gets clearance from Director Marshall. There’s a date of 1981 there. But later, when questioning Nicky in Amsterdam, the file Pam opens indicates DOB 1979. In either case, she is in her early 20s when the events of Identity take place – 2002. And from conversation in Supremacy, she’d been with Treadstone 3 years at the time of the Bourne fiasco. So she started with the program in 1999. David Webb as Jason Bourne killed Vladimir Neski and his wife 7 years prior to Supremacy, which I believe took place three years after Identity, so here is a timeline going with Nicky’s birthday as 1979.

1998 Neski murders

David Webb/Jason Bourne is 28. Nicky Parsons is 19.

I suspect that Webb, a captain before he entered the Treadstone project, may have served in the Army during Desert Storm, 1990-1991. Possible Delta Force, as I believe he must have had training in special ops before Treadstone took a look at him. I also believe there must have been something that occurred during that war to prompt him to volunteer for the program – other than just ‘saving American lives.’ This is long before 9/11, which prompted more than a few to volunteer.

Bourne’s first ‘real’ op is in Geneva, date unknown.

Bourne is not just as assassin. He is a *planner.* He laid out all the details, made all the arrangements for the Wombosi op. He did not just receive instructions via phone like Paz and Desh.

1999 Nicky comes to work for Treadstone in Paris. Wonder how they recruited her.

David Webb/Jason Bourne is 29. Nicky is 20.

2002 Wombosi assassination attempt, Bourne Identity

Jason Bourne is 32. Nicky Parsons is 23.

Nicky has worked for Treadstone in Paris for three years, posing as an American student. She knows Bourne’s file. But she is not a field agent, and so probably would not have been used as any kind of asset during a covert op.

2005 events of Supremacy

Jason Bourne is 35. Nicky Parsons is 26.

She’s in Amsterdam, still be working for the CIA. Treadstone has been shut down. But she is not involved in Blackbriar that I can tell. She goes with Landy, et al, to Berlin, where Bourne holds her at gunpoint. There is no indication here of any kind of close relationship that Nicky eventually alludes to.

2005 events of Ultimatum

Jason Bourne is 35. Nicky Parsons is 26.

Nicky was reassigned to Madrid, working with Neal Daniels, after her time in Berlin. She arrives at the Madrid safehouse just as Bourne does the agents in. Again, he’s got a gun on her. But they have a conversation with Vosen via the phone, and both hear Pam Landy’s assessment of non-agreement, and her desire to talk with Bourne. Nicky is still leery, she doesn’t divulge much – but she gives Vosen the ‘all-clear’ code and does not give away the fact that Bourne is there with her. The big decision comes when she volunteers her car. She must have been aware that Daniels was having second thoughts about his involvement in Blackbriar. And something in her past links her enough to Jason Bourne to prompt her to help him, even though it’s probably a career sinking move on her part.

Onward. I keep watching and thinking. Ya never know. ;)

little scenes that fascinate

2007-08-17T14:36:34Z

Body language, eye contact, facial muscles ~~ they speak volumes. I am fascinated by the scene in the roadside cafe after Jason and Nicky leave Madrid in The Bourne Ultimatum. Did they ever talk? They might, in my world. They didn't much here.

She offers her car. She tells me she knows where Daniels is. She has chosen to put her career in jeopardy. I don’t know why, but now is not the time to question.

As we follow the stairs to the lower level, she tells me that Daniels wired $100,000 cash to an account in Tangiers.

I do the math. Madrid to the Straits of Gibraltar.

Alright, that’s 300 miles away. If we hurry, we can make the morning ferry.

We stop at the door. Where are you parked?

To the right. 20 meters, this side of the street.

Precise response. Well trained. Leaves me with no need to ask more questions. We exit the building, walking quickly.

Tires screech behind us. Sirens blare behind them.

She glances back. They’re coming.

Keep moving.

We get in the vehicle just as the Madrid police respond to the call of gunfire at 334 Calle Norte.

She is behind the wheel. Marie was behind the wheel. From Zurich to Paris. In India. I swallow hard, memories I do have I push away.

She pulls away from the curb, expertly guiding the vehicle in and out of traffic, leaving the Agency response team to explain the presence of Americans with guns.

We drive in silence. Traffic is not heavy. Lights don’t bother me as much as they used to. She doesn’t ask. And I don’t volunteer.

We’ve been on the road for over three hours now. In need of a break, she pulls into a roadside café lot, chooses a spot and turns off the engine. She nods and gets out. I hear her sigh. Relief?

We use the restroom facilities. We choose a table. I check the sight lines, map the interior and its occupants, note the cars in the lot. Old habits.

An older waitress takes our order. Coffee. Just coffee. Two steaming cups are set on the table before us.

She finally looks at me, asks me why.

Why did you come back? Why are you looking for Daniels?

I show her the picture. She recognizes Daniels. But not the man with him. I should know him. He was there, the first day. I tell her that much. I find myself telling her more than I thought I could.

He was there, at the beginning. I remember meeting him, the first day. Daniels brought me to him. That’s where it all started for me. Something happened to me. I need to know what it was. Or I’ll never be free of this.

She continues to look at me and I know she knows things.

Daniels said that the training was experimental. Behavior modification. They had to break down the agents before they became operational. He said you were the first one.

As she says it, I realize I knew some of that.

I have to ask, after holding a gun on her twice. Why are you helping me?

It was difficult for me – with you.

She expects me to remember.

Remember what? Did we know each other? Were we more than passing acquaintances? Did we have more than a working relationship? Were we close?

Holy.

Shit.

Were we lovers?

She looks at me, gives nothing away.

You really don’t remember anything.

No bells ring.

Cannot.

Remember.

Fuck! But I manage to keep these feelings of helplessness and confusion, frustration and anger contained, reigned in tight.

No.

It is all I have to offer. It is the honest truth.

The café doors swing open, two policemen enter.

We have to move.

She leaves with me, words remain unspoken. There is much to be said, but we drive in silence.

Went to see Ultimatum again over the weekend

2007-08-14T14:46:55Z

For the fourth time. This time a matinee on a Marcus Theatre SuperScreen(TM). Hubby laughs - did it end the same way? Actually, he came with me - and was okay with the movie, but admitted that he liked Willis in Live Free or Die Hard better. Eh, there's no accounting for taste... LOL!

So what possesses me to watch these films over and over? I have seen Identity and Supremacy more times than I can count. I will have the Ultimatum DVD as soon as it's released, and sequester myself in a dark room for multiple viewings. What draws me to Bourne? I like Matt Damon well enough. Not a favorite ~ but his portrayal of the character of Jason Bourne certainly has me by the throat.

Jason Bourne is a killer. He's been programmed to be a killer. He volunteered for the program. Yet he remains a sympathetic character, put through traumatic events, and possibly redeemable in the end. So I keep going.

Here's more of what's been bouncing around in my head, continued from the previous post.

Wherein Pamela Landy converses with Tom Cronin, and there is possibly more conversation than in the whole of Ultimatum. LOL!

“David?” Pam’s voice betrayed her concern. When there was no response from the man on the seat next to her, she pressed two fingers against the side of his neck, searching for a pulse. She let out the breath she’d been holding as the heart beat that met her exploring fingers was regular, steady. But his skin was damp and cold. She pulled the blanket tighter about his torso.

“How is he doing?” Tom asked, totally aware that his boss was more than likely getting herself – and quite possibly him – into some serious hot water for harboring this former Agency asset, now a fugitive.

“Unconscious, but breathing,” Pam replied, her voice more in control. “He’s cold, too cold.”

Tom cranked the heat higher.

“Thanks, Tom,” Landy acknowledged her co-worker’s effort. They traveled in easy silence for a while.

“I’m still not so sure that taking him to your place is the best idea,” Landy commented eventually.

“The best idea would be a hospital, Pam, and you know that,” Tom scolded gently. “He’s an assassin, a killer, for god’s sake. He probably should be in custody somewhere.” Cronin glanced at his boss in the rear view mirror. “How in the world did you know he’d be out there, on the road?”

Landy thought for a moment. So far she had kept most of what she’d found out about Treadstone and Blackbriar to herself, not wanting to endanger any one else’s career – or life, as it was obvious that those in control of the programs were not above eliminating threats to the programs, real or imagined. She chose her words carefully.

“I’ve spent a lot of the last couple days puzzling over those Treadstone files. Particularly Bourne’s. Webb’s now, I guess,” Pam felt Webb stir next to her at the mention of his name. Good, she thought, he’s coming to, warming up a bit.

“I’m just not sure how much to divulge,” she explained. “Call it ‘plausible deniability.’ What you don’t know can’t be held against you. I am probably already in deep shit for accepting those top secret documents from Bourne – Webb. If I go down, I don’t want to drag you with me, Tom.”

“I’m already there, Pam, just by being here behind the wheel,” Tom informed her, and she knew he was right. “Tell me what you know, and even what you suspect,” he urged. “It will be better if we’re both on the same page.”

Landy considered Tom’s words. She sighed. “It goes back a number of years, back before Abbott and Conklin – who, I believe, were manipulating the Treadstone program for their own benefits. When Abbott told me about Treadstone being black-on-black, I wasn’t sure how serious to take him. He said it was a kill squad. It was. And the men trained to be agents of this squad were subjected to training methods that I can only imagine – more like torture.”

“Experimental stuff,” Tom guessed. Pam smiled. She couldn’t keep much from her second-in-command. Tom was sharp and probably had a pretty good idea of what was in the Treadstone files.

“I believe so,” she agreed. “It was a lot of psychological manipulation. Breaking the mind, making it re-trainable, easier to control and command,” Pam shivered involuntarily at the thoughts. “It looks like Treadstone sought young men with few if any ties to family. With some, they pushed the patriot button, others I’m not sure. But they found willing subjects with the right combination of physical and mental attributes, got them to volunteer, and, once in the program, were able to mold them into these killing machines,” she paused, letting Tom absorb her comments. “Webb here seems to have been the first success. There may have been a few others before him who didn’t ‘work out.’ They met with strange fates.”

Tom shook his head. He understood.

“Webb became operational as Jason Bourne in the late 1990s. Alexander Conklin was one of his handlers. Together they eliminated targets suspected of plotting against US interests. Occasionally these ‘US interests’ were fuzzy, and I am sure that certain personal objectives colored the decision process. There were ops that looked like they were sanctioned, and I get the feeling there were some that weren’t. The Neski murders weren’t. Abbott was up to his eyeballs in that mess, accepting money from the Russian Gretkov for the oil leases, calling on Treadstone to provide an assassin to take out Neski.” Pam had to swallow hard against the anger that rose in her throat as she thought of the innocent lives lost as a result of that op. She took a deep breath and continued, “Bourne was working on the assassination of Nykwana Wombosi several years back. I believe that one may also have been unsanctioned. Something happened during that op. Jason Bourne suffered some sort of trauma induced amnesia. Something upset the training and I think Jason Bourne began to remember who he was.”

“So you think maybe Webb was overcoming all that training? That he is no longer Jason Bourne, no longer a killer?”

“I’m not sure what he is, Tom. He may have entered the Treadstone program of his own free will, but I think that free will was stripped away. I, in good conscience, cannot condone that kind of ‘training.’ Call me crazy, but I think he deserves a chance to discover who he is and what was done to him, don’t you?”

Tom shrugged. “You still didn’t answer my question, about being able to find him.”

Pam smiled. “You and I both saw the aftermath of the high speed pursuit in Moscow. That Bourne walked away from all that twisted metal is a testament to some special kind of physical stamina. He looked like shit when he rounded that corner on 71^st. Like he’d been through the wringer. And I can’t imagine his meeting with Doctor Hirsch was anything near easy, physically or mentally. Yet, when I heard Vosen’s goons report that their target had jumped from the roof, I just had this feeling. That he’d survive.”

“Well, you were right. Now what?”

Next to her, Bourne stirred, shifting his position. Pam rearranged the blanket around the man and he settled back quietly. “I’d like to make sure he has a fighting chance,” she continued. “To find out what happened. To allow him to come to terms with some of the things he did – and those things that were done to him.” Pam shivered again as she tried to put the thoughts of some of the more vicious Treadstone treatments out of her mind. “I don’t think he’d get that if he were forced to return to the Agency. He doesn’t strike me as the kind who would cooperate and allow himself to be examined under a microscope. His life was taken from him, regardless of the volunteer status.” She put a hand on Tom’s shoulder. “I don’t think either one of us signed up to deal with people, friend or foe, in this manner. And I think we’ll be able to find out what went wrong if we don’t force or threaten him. So…” she paused, knowing full well that her actions could easily be used against her, that she could be drummed out of the Agency for good, taking Tom Cronin with her. She changed the subject. “Are you going to call Shelly and warn her?”

“I was thinking about it,” Tom let the subject drop for the moment, “but I’m leery. I don’t know what is being monitored and what isn’t. I don’t want any surprises waiting for us when we get there.”

“It’s not too late to turn back and go to my apartment,” Pam pointed out. “I faxed Vosen’s documents to the chair of the Senate oversight committee. And once she reads those, I don’t think we’ll have to worry about anyone on our tails. They’ll all be too busy trying to cover their own.” She chuckled grimly.

“To be on the safe side, we’ll operate as usual – with extreme caution,” Tom replied.

“Agreed. I expect nothing less”

“I hope that this doesn’t backfire on *you* Pam,” Tom continued, his voice low. “But you know that you can always count on me to be there.”

Landy smiled. She’d picked a definite winner for a right hand man. Tom Cronin would always watch her back as long as he was breathing and able.

“Here we are.” Tom turned the wheel, maneuvering the vehicle into an ally that ran behind the house he shared with Michelle – Shelly – his wife of nearly 20 years. He shut off the lights and slowed to a stop behind his brownstone.

The Bourne Ultimatum -- some things I would like to know

2007-08-09T20:01:07Z

In the beginning of Ultimatum, when Bourne is being pursued in Moscow - is that before he pays his visit to Irena Neski?

Why didn't Martin Kreutz (the oh-so-easy-on-the-eyes Daniel Bruhl) know about his sister's death? Nearly two months had passed. Yes, Jason burned all their things in Goa. Still, journalist Simon Ross was able to write about her death in The Guardian, so it seems kind of odd that Martin hears about Marie's death from Bourne so much after the fact.

What happened to CIA director Martin Marshall (Tomas Aruna in Supremacy; David Selburg in Identity)? He was CIA director over Pamela Landy in Langley, VA. All of a sudden it's Ezra Kramer. No explanation given. Six weeks is an awful short time period to replace a director.

What was David Webb like before he became a Treadstone guinea pig? :)

What did the agency use for motivation to become a Treadstone agent? Obviously, they pushed Webb's patriot button (but I think there's more to it than just saving American lives) - but what would they use on non-Americans like the Professor, Picot, Desh and Paz?

Jason Bourne/David Webb remembers everything. I wonder what that everything includes regarding Nicky.

Could David Webb be held criminally responsible for his part in the termination of American citizens?

Nothing was ever mentioned as to why the Wombosi fiasco was the last straw, pushing Jason Bourne over the edge, causing the traumatic amnesia. I wish we could have found out more.

Why did they end Ultimatum? I want it to be like Jason Bourne, the poster child for the EverReady Battery: he keeps going and going and going and going and going...      LOL!! So here we go ~~

I’m no longer Jason Bourne.

It was a mantra, a rhythmic phrase that ran through his mind, kept his feet moving, kept his lungs pumping. It beat in time with his heart – and his chattering teeth.

Plunging into the East River from the 10^th floor of the medical facility was not one of the more intelligent options he’d chosen in his last years.

And he remembered those last years now.

Hitting the water from that height was like, well, like hitting water from that height. Unstoppable force, meet immovable object. Okay, so the object lost, but the force of parting those particular hydrogen and oxygen molecules gave his bruised and battered body another whole new set of aches and pain. Bleak humor filled his thoughts as gravity did its thing. It isn’t the fall that kills you – it’s that sudden stop at the end. It had taken his breath away – literally smacked the wind from his lungs, his tissues, nearly every cell in his body. He was sure he’d blacked out, but he hadn’t remained unconscious for long.

Acting almost totally on survival instinct, he kicked off his shoes and pushed toward the surface. Acutely aware that he was more than likely still being tracked, he broke the surface as silently and gently as possible, nosing up far enough to grab another lungful of air. Sinking back into the dark water, he swam toward the nearest shore, grateful for the darkness that had fallen while he’d spent time in the medical facility with Hirsch. Albert Hirsch. Doctor Albert Hirsch. Doctor. Yeah, the good doctor was a highly skilled physician – of mind bending and reality altering. He squeezed his eyes shut against the memories that flooded his mind. He knew he’d have to deal with them eventually, but first and foremost, he had to get out of the water.

He wore no protective wetsuit this time. And he knew all about hypothermia. He had to get to shore, get out of the water, get out of the wet clothes. His feet touched bottom, his exploring hands felt the sloping of the river’s edge. He eased himself slowly from the water, crawling along the edge, keeping his body low to the ground, as compact and small as he could make it. The instincts upon which he’d come to rely told him that there were no threats nearby. He stood slowly, letting water drain from his clothing. He began to move along the shore, knowing he’d have to lose the wet clothes soon. He turned toward the city, wrapping his arms around his chest, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other.

I’m no longer Jason Bourne.

The car was nearly on him before he knew it. It was a small car, light colored, and it came along slowly, as if looking for something – or someone. He blinked his eyes, kept his head down, kept moving. Maybe it would pass on by.

It didn’t. It slowed. Came to a stop. The passenger door opened. He stiffened in anticipation of attack, an attack against which he had no defense. His resources were nearly depleted. He was at the end of his rope and he knew it. He just kept moving.

“David.”

I’m no longer Jason Bourne. He stopped. Looked. Found himself looking into the sympathetic eyes of Pamela Landy.

“You’re soaked,” she said matter-of-fact.

No shit, he thought, but couldn’t push words out between his clenched teeth.

“Get in the car. You can lie down in the back seat. We’ll get you some dry clothes.” Pam’s tone was urgent and sincere.

Bourne shook his head. “Can’t. No. Hospital. N--Not. Going. Back.”

Pam came close, put a gloved hand on his wet coat. “No authorities, no going back. I promise. But you’ll die out here without proper treatment. Please. You’ve provided me with so much – let me return the favor.”

Bourne knew she was right about the dying part. He wanted to trust her. He looked into the car, seeing only the man driving, Pam’s right hand man whose name he did not know. Pam opened the back door, tugging gently on Bourne’s arm. He allowed her to assist him into the vehicle. She helped him out of his coat, his t-shirt. She produced a dry blanket that she wrapped around his shoulders. She sat next to him, leaning forward to tap the shoulder of the man in the front seat.

He heard the driver speak, his voice low, urgent. “You sure you want to do this, Pam?”

“I owe him,” she replied softly.

Bourne felt the car move, felt the chattering of his teeth invade other parts of his body. His hands shook, his legs, his shoulders. He felt Pam move closer, put her arms around his body, cradling him, willing some of her own warmth into his frozen frame. They drove in silence for a while. Bourne felt himself slipping into the darkness – and then felt Pam’s arms tighten.

“This isn’t the way to my house, Tom,” she pointed out.

“I know,” the driver, Tom, replied. “They’re still looking for him. He’s made contact with you before. You are probably at the top of the list of people they’ll be watching.”

“So where does that leave us?”

“My place,” Tom replied.

“What about your wife?”

“I’ll just have some serious explaining to do, won’t I?”

Pamela Landy relaxed, turning to the shivering man in the back seat of Tom’s car. “David?”

That was the last thing David Webb – Jason Bourne – heard as his body shut down.

Working on a time line

2007-08-06T20:27:37Z

What I've collected so far

Bourne Identity.

Wombosi was supposed to have died three weeks prior to Bourne confronting Conklin in Paris.

Bourne spent two weeks on Giancarlo’s boat.

That leaves one week to get from the Mediterranean coast to Zurich to Paris to Eamon’s house and back to Paris.

How long between Bourne taking out Conklin’s goons at the safehouse and his finding Marie?

Treadstone shut down, Operation Blackbriar put into play at end.

Agents for Treadstone that we know about: Castel. The Professor. Picot. Bourne takes out Castel and the professor. Picot takes out Conklin.
Jason Bourne's passport: issued 19 April 1991, expires in 2001

Bourne Supremacy.

“Two years we’ve been scribbling in that notebook.”

“Hasn’t been two years.”

Okay, so how long after Bourne caught up with Marie did they start scribbling in the notebook?

Debriefing report regarding Bourne’s amnesia and Conklin’s death is dated 2002.

Landy: 7 years ago, $2 million went missing and Vladimir Neski was killed.

Bourne’s first op on file was in Geneva. Who got taken out in Geneva?

Nicky’s file indicates date of birth, 28 March 1981. She has alias Corrine Deschamps.

Date of birth on Jason Bourne’s passport 21 August 1969. Issued in 1996. Which is different from the original 1991 of Identity. Hmmmmm.
Nicky worked for Treadstone for 3 years prior to the Wombosi fiasco, during which time she posed as an American student in Paris.

Bourne Ultimatum.

Begins six weeks after the Moscow taxi chase & crash in Supremacy.

Bourne claims he’s been searching for his identity for 3 years.

Dates from paperwork:

Webb’s date of birth: 9/13/70.

I had good intentions for this journal ~~

2007-08-05T19:16:02Z

My plan was to at least count down to The Bourne Ultimatum, beginning August 1.

Today is August 5. So much for countdowns.

The movie is out ~~ finally! I caught it opening day, Friday, August 3, back-to-back matinees, where the popcorn and soda get free refills! LOL!

Abso-fuckin'-lutely awesome.

It was everything I'd hoped for - and then some. Many questions have been answered. (Many are left hanging, more on that later). It was a great ending, coming full circle, and I'm happy to let it stay there, but would not be at all adverse to Greengrass and Damon doing it again. If they say number 4 is in the works, I. Am. So. There. :)

Matt Damon ~~ I'm not fond of all of his work, he's done some interesting things and I do admire his ability to keep that low profile in Hollywood. But I'm not a screaming fangrrl. I think I'm more of a Jason Bourne fan - and how Matt Damon completely transforms into the character, becoming Jason Bourne on the screen. It's uncanny.

So many people are not thrilled with director Greengrass and his usage of the hand held cam. Personally, I like the style, and have no trouble whatsoever with watching it. And I am one who gets motion sick quite easily. Go figure...

My review is turning into a full recap of the film, so if you have not seen it yet, I'd advise you come back later, as there are spoilers plenty here.

Major points to smile about – I love the number of references back to the first movies.

The obvious ones: getting shot at while jumping into a large body of water (the Med vs. the East River) ; being in the same hotel room with a woman who is coloring and cutting her hair (Marie and Nicky) ; surviving a fantastic car crash and coming face to face with the driver of the other vehicle while holding a gun on him (Kirill and Paz) ; holding a gun on Nicky ; having coffee at a truck stop with a woman who isn’t too sure of who Bourne is. There are other little things, maybe I’ll devote a post to them on another occasion.

I loved the frantic pacing and the non-stop action, the way it made you sit on the edge of your seat, holding your breath at times. I adore Matt as Jason, and thought everyone else did a wonderful job with their parts. I checked out the career of one Daniel Bruhl, and even though his screen time was short, he stood out, nice stint as Marie’s half brother.

Paddy Considine’s time with Bourne was also short, but tightly woven and wonderfully tense to watch. If only he would have listened to Bourne… ah, well. That’s what happens.

David Strathairn was a delicious opponent, it was so much fun watching Bourne dance around him.

Don’t know why, but I am drawn to Landy and Cronin, Joan Allen and Tom Gallop. I think they worked well together in Supremacy and it was good to see them still together in Ultimatum. Loyalty. He’s her, I don’t know, maybe “german shepherd’? Self appointed right hand man. Or maybe she hand-picked him. Whatever the case, they make a good working pair.

I have always enjoyed Julia Stiles as Nicky. So there is a past relationship, and we are left to wonder what it was. Great stuff for fanfic, I think.

Edgar Ramirez – I believe he was indeed, more than a match for Bourne in brains and brawn. But we never got to see the brawn part. Good to see him waver at the end, reminiscent of Jason’s predicament.

Solid casting all around, good guys and bad. Joey Ansah, Scott Adkins, Corey Johnson – and both Scott Glenn and Albert Finney. Glenn can be a consummate badass – and Finney brings in the right touch of twisted morals.

So here are some questions and food for thought~~

Is Bourne on the run from the Moscow police before or after he visits the Neski girl? And where does he hole up to nurse his wounds?

Are we ever going to find out exactly why Jason Bourne’s brain shut down with amnesia?

Since Bourne volunteered for the Treadstone program, is he ultimately responsible for the deaths he caused? Could DA Jack McCoy make a case against David Webb? LOL!

If Bourne remembers everything, does he also remember what the relationship was with Nicky?

How many car crashes can one man walk away from?

I’m going to the theater again today, just because! Weather is crappy, and I’ve cleaned the bathrooms, finished up the dishes and changed the bedding. It’s enough for one day, don’t you think?

I'll be back with more thoughts tomorrow. Or maybe the next day. Quien sabe?

hi, there, remember me?

2007-06-19T23:36:11Z

Final installment of this little take on what might have happened to Jason Bourne after The Bourne Supremacy.

I totally understand that The Bourne Ultimatum is going to rocket off in a different direction, but I had fun writing this, for what it's worth.

She woke instantly to the movement of the bed as Jason stretched. Sunlight was streaming through the partially drawn drapes. Bourne opened his eyes and looked at her, momentarily startled until he got his bearings. Nicky watched his features go from those of the smiling young man in the picture with Marie, to the hardened visage of a man who had doled out and seen too much death. She eyed him warily, instinctively drawing back. He rolled over quickly and got up.

“You’re leaving,” she said, a statement, not a question.

He kept his back to her. “It’s time. My coming here was – a predictable move. Landy knew it. I never should have come.”

“Where else would you have gone?” she asked gently. When he did not respond, she asked a safer question, “How’s the shoulder feel?”

“Tender. Sore. I’ll live.” He hobbled into the bathroom and closed the door.

Nicky pushed the blanket away and rolled to her feet, running a hand through her disheveled hair. She fixed another pot of coffee and laid out more gauze and tape. It wasn’t long before Bourne returned to the main room. Nicky immediately noticed the change in his demeanor, felt it like the temperature in the room had dropped 10 degrees. He was once more cool and self assured, moving with catlike grace, evidence of his injuries nearly gone. This was no longer the vulnerable wounded man who had collapsed on her floor two days ago. This was the Jason Bourne who had held a gun to her head in the lower levels of the train station.

She swallowed hard, attempting to remain calm. “Let me change the dressing on your shoulder.”

He nodded and sat down, aloof, avoiding eye contact.

Nicky hoped her hands wouldn’t shake too much as she pulled away the old bandage. The shoulder wound looked better – more than likely it still hurt like hell, but infection had been kept at bay and the sutures were holding. He’d have a scar, no doubt about that – one to match other scars already on his body. She applied a generous amount of antibiotic to his shoulder before covering it again. Jason remained quiet and unmoving.

“There’s a sandwich in the fridge,” she informed him, trying to keep things light. “Hungry?”

He frowned, looking at the door. “Did you have room service deliver?”

“No. You were sleeping so sound last night, and I – well, I needed some air. I didn’t want to disturb you. I went down to the restaurant and brought some things back. And there’s some fruit here from yesterday’s breakfast.”

“I never heard you leave, or come back,” Jason mused. “Dangerous in my line of work.” He rose from the chair and picked up a tee-shirt from the supplies Pamela had left. Nicky bit back an offer to help as he slowly pulled it on.

“You were tired – and drugged,” she noted. “When the resistance is low, the body shuts down, regardless. And I think you knew you were safe here.”

“Maybe,” he said absently, taking a banana from the counter and peeling it. Nicky pulled the sandwich from the refrigerator and set it on the table. Bourne nodded his thanks. Picking up a small plastic bag from one of the chairs, Nicky filled it with the remaining medical supplies, including the antibiotics.

“You still get the headaches?” she asked as she tossed the aspirin bottle into the bag.

“Yes,” he admitted. “Not as bad, not constant. But I still get them.”

“Take this stuff with you when you leave. It’s what’s left of the penicillin, and some things to keep you going.” She laid the bag on the table. “Those stitches should come out in a week or so. Keep the wound clean and dry till then.” Grabbing one of her shopping bags, she walked quickly into the bathroom, locking the door behind her, fully expecting never to see Jason Bourne again.

She took her time in the shower, dressing slowly, delaying her return to the room as long as she could, to give Bourne time to eat and go. She hated to admit it, but he really did scare her. Tom Cronin was right to warn her against any kind of feeling for this deadly assassin.

When she no longer heard noise from the outer room, she opened the door. To her surprise, Bourne was still there. He had finished his meal and donned a sweater. His coat was draped over his arm. He was ready to leave, but waiting for something.

She looked at him. “Is Pamela Landy’s offer that bad?” she asked. “She has all the information you need. She has access to doctors who might be able to help you with this type of amnesia. Maybe what she has will jar your memory and everything will fall into place.”

“I can’t!” he snapped, his fists balled, his eyes cold and hard. “I will not be a bug they can put under a microscope, poking me to see what went wrong!”

“Okay. Point taken.” She kept her distance. “You know, they’re watching this room. They’re downstairs in the lobby and probably in all the corridors. Maybe it would be easier to slip out after dark.”

Jason shook his head. “I’ve intruded on enough of your space, your life, for a while, I think,” he countered, fixing his eyes on hers. She did not look away. “Thank you,” he whispered after long moments of silence. “You have gone above and beyond, done more than you probably ever dreamed of in your job description. That first night,” he looked away, embarrassed. Nicky was once again face to face with the vulnerable Bourne. “You have no idea how much your caring, your concern means to me. And I am truly very sorry for the way I’ve treated you.”

“I can’t pretend that bit with the gun never happened,” she said. “But knowing what I know now, I can understand. As far as the doctoring goes, you are welcome. I would say, ‘Anytime,’ but I would rather you not show up on my doorstep in the future with a gunshot wound.”

Jason Bourne smiled once again.

“I’m not going to ask where you are going, or what you will do,” Nicky continued. “I know better. But I will tell you to take care of yourself. I’m going back to Amsterdam. You know, in case you ever find yourself in the vicinity. For you, my door is always open – even when it’s locked.” She grinned.

Jason shook his head. “You know what I am, Nicky. You know what I’ve done. You’ve seen what I am capable of doing. How can you not be afraid of me?”

Nicky let out a sigh. “I’ve been asking myself that same question. You are a dangerous man, Jason Bourne. I am afraid of who you are. But I’ve seen who you can be. I’ve seen someone different – here in the hotel. In that picture, with Marie. And I’d like to think that the man in the picture will find the answers he’s looking for.” She threw caution to the wind, took several firm steps toward the man in her room, put her arms around him, and hugged him.

After a few moments, he returned her hug. When she backed up and looked at him, he leaned over and kissed her forehead. “You’ve given me pieces of the puzzle and they’re falling into place. For that I will always be grateful. Amsterdam. Got it. I might stop there sometime. You never know.”

He grabbed the bag Nicky had prepared for him, opened the door and stepped out in to the hall. Nicky followed, taking his arm as they proceeded down the stairs. He glanced at her, puzzled. “For your protection. In case they try anything funny,” she explained. Jason raised his eyebrows, shaking his head.

Tom and Teddy were almost in the same places she’d seen them earlier. They stood as they saw her with Bourne. She was also aware that several other people in the lobby stopped what they were doing to watch, albeit surreptitiously. She felt the muscles in Jason’s arms tighten, but his face showed no sign of concern.

“Mister Bourne,” Tom approached them as they descended the staircase. His hands were out and open – he was unarmed and letting Bourne know it. He extended his right hand a little farther. “Tom Cronin, CI Ops Officer. My instructions are to offer you a ride to wherever it is you want to go. No strings attached. Compliments of Pamela Landy.”

Bourne did not take the offered hand. Tom shrugged as he let his arms fall to his sides.

Looking past Tom, toward Teddy and the door, Bourne spoke, “Give my best to Pam, and my thanks – but no thanks. I’ll walk.” He gently removed Nicky’s hand from his arm, gave it a gentle squeeze, a final thanks, and headed toward the exit. He stopped for a moment and smiled at Nicky. Nodding, he turned and walked out the door.

Glancing at Tom, Nicky could not resist, “I’ve got twenty bucks that says you’ll lose him in one block.”

sincerest apologies

2007-05-21T16:24:23Z

Took a 3 day vacation this past weekend, off to the northwoods with family. They were going fishing. I was going to finish writing this little Bourne fic. Took the laptop, took the notebook, made sure the hotel had wireless access - made one mistake. Watched the season finale of NUMB3RS Friday night. I've watched that show since its beginning, have always enjoyed the boys and their dad - and the additional characters populating their world. I was especially happy when they added the character of Colby Grainger, portrayed by Dylan Bruno.

***Warning***

Spoilers for the 3rd season finale of NUMB3RS here...

Nooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!

Whiskey Tango Foxtrot!!

I refuse to believe that Colby is a double agent!!   That was a plot twist I didn't see coming - and I don't like it! I can handle a character's death - if they truly kill the character. But betrayal hurts and doesn't get better. Someone stuck a knife in me and twisted it. I felt gut-punched all weekend. My only hope is that Colby was sent/volunteered to go DEEP in order to flush out bigger fish. Casting rumors all indicate that he's not leaving the show, so I will definitely stay tuned to see if he can be redeemed, but I won't be happy until he is reinstated and back in good graces with the gang.

So there went the muse. Jason Bourne got relegated to the back seat as my mind raced with story line possibilities for Colby.

Ack.

Poor David! Poor Megan! Everyone is devastated, me, included.  I'm off to express righteous indignation at as many sites as I can find.

Sigh.

heading toward the end

2007-05-14T20:31:43Z

Because of a thought I had over the weekend, I'm reposting the last entry, edited and with additional material. And I now know how this scenario ends, it's just a matter of getting the conversation going in my head.

If you just wandered by, this piece begins with the entry dated May 1 -- KL

Nicky returned from the restaurant with a platter of food – steak and eggs, hash brown potatoes, juice and fruit. Enough to fill two empty stomachs and then some. Pushing the door open, she was greeted by an empty bed. A closed bathroom door and water running in the shower reassured her that Bourne was still around. She set the food tray on the small table and filled the room’s coffee pot, setting it to perk.

The running water stopped, and minutes later the door opened. Jason limped out of the small room, dressed in the dark jeans Pamela had provided. His hair was freshly washed, a towel around his neck caught the stray water droplets. He held damp gauze pads tightly against his injured shoulder. His feet and torso were bare. Nicky tried not to stare. Jason noticed. “I – uh – seem to have gathered a few bruises of late. Moscow was not kind to me.”

“I don’t think I want to know,” Nicky replied, somewhat relieved that he thought her stare was due to the bruises.

“Is that coffee?” he asked. “Smells good.”

“It’ll be ready soon. Let me rebandage that shoulder first,” she said as she pulled a chair around. He sat and toweled his hair off as Nicky gathered her supplies. She pulled the extra gauze and old dressing away from his shoulder, biting her lip as she concentrated on cleaning the wound again. “I’d like to stitch some of this up, but I’d advise using the Vicodin Pam brought before I do.”

“Maybe later,” Jason said, trying not to flinch as she worked. “Just cover it for now. Breakfast smells good, and my stomach needs attention.”

“Sure, just let me tape this,” Nicky agreed. She tended to the gauze covering, fixing it in place. Picking a sleeveless shirt from of the pile brought by Landy, she helped Jason pull it on.

She took a portion of the food from the platter and pushed the rest toward Jason. As he dug into breakfast, Nicky poured a cup of coffee for each of them.

“Your file,” Nicky began as she stirred a touch of cream into her coffee. “The part I know. It starts with Paris. There is nothing from, you know, before…”

“Like where I came from?” Jason prompted between bites. “Like the name ‘David Webb’?”

“Nothing like that. Nothing about ‘Jason Bourne’ being an assumed name. Although that does not surprise me. I have no knowledge about where you came from, what you’d done before, how you got involved with Treadstone. There were hints, stuff that Conklin and his team said when they thought I wasn’t within earshot. The training must have been exhaustive. Thorough. I recall hearing some one mentioning “attack dogs” on one occasion. I assumed they were not referring to four footed canines.”

“I’m not looking for all the answers, Nicky, just a start,” Jason said as he worked his way through the steak and eggs.

“For a start, what do I call you? David? Jason?” she asked, wondering if the name Pamela tossed out would eventually ring any bells.

The man sitting next to her stopped in mid-chew, a thoughtful look on his face. “I guess I’ve been Jason Bourne for a number of years. It’s the first name I found on a passport in the bank in Zurich. It’s the name I was living under in Paris.” He shrugged. “I’ll stick with that for now.”

After breakfast, Nicky and Jason spent the rest of the morning talking. She answered his questions as truthfully and completely as she could. Sometimes she could see a light come on as a particular incident linked to a memory, but she could also see the moments of disappointment when certain things did not add up. And she could also tell that some of what she shared with him made him very uncomfortable.

After nearly two hours of grilling, Nicky stood and stretched, trying to stifle her yawning. Neither one of them had slept much during the previous night.

Jason had gone quiet in the last few minutes, lost in thought, processing something she’d said. “Jason?” He didn’t respond. “Jason?”

“Sorry. What?”

“You look exhausted. And I really should work on your shoulder.”

Jason nodded. Nicky handed him the Vicodin and a bottle of water. He returned to the bed and stretched out on his side. It did not take long for the drug to work its way into his system.

The med kit contained antiseptic and antibiotic, sterile needles, surgical gloves, and monofilament nylon for stitches. Working quickly and carefully, Nicky sutured the wound as best as she could, tying knots in ends as she went. Finally satisfied, she slathered the wound with antiseptic ointment and once more covered his shoulder in gauze and tape. Bourne had remained quiet and still as she worked, but his face had gone pale again. He was fighting pain and sleep at the same time and losing.

Nicky knew what she needed to do as she tucked things back into the med kit. “I am beat. I vote for a nap.”

Jason looked at her, trying to focus, trying to concentrate. “Yeah. But – I’ve sorta – taken over the bed.” He looked around the room. “I can move. I’ll take the chair. Or the floor.”

“Nonsense,” Nicky replied, shaking her head. “You need a good rest so that all my hard work here will have positive results. Stay put. Anyway, it’s a king size bed. How about you get half, I get half?” Nicky flopped onto the bed before Bourne had a chance to say anything. She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. “Oh, my gosh, is that another smile I see on the stern face of Jason Bourne?”

Jason couldn’t help it. He had to grin. Shaking his head, he settled back on the bed.

Nicky tossed a blanket over him. “You don’t snore, do you?” she asked.

But he did not answer. He had already closed his eyes, and was literally out within seconds. Nicky stretched out on her back, staring at the ceiling, very much aware of Bourne next to her. She willed herself to relax, gradually falling into a light sleep.

Even though the night had been nearly sleepless, and the day so far the same, Nicky could not stay asleep. She could not get comfortable. She felt restless and jumpy, her mind racing with the knowledge that the man sleeping on the other half of the bed had been a member of a kill squad, had been responsible for the deaths of more than just a few people. She thought of the Neski murders and how easy it had been for Bourne to not only take the life of the man he’d been instructed to kill, but to also end the life of the man’s wife. And if she were having a difficult time coming to grips with this, she could not imagine what must be going on in the mind of the man she knew as Jason Bourne.

The more time she spent talking with him, the less her fear of him became. Common sense told her to keep her distance, but at times there was such a vulnerability about the man that she wanted to take him in her arms just to ease his pain for a while. Lying there on the bed next to him was not helping.

She rolled over and got up, silently making her way to the bathroom. She took a shower and put on fresh clothes, which made her feel a little better. It was mid afternoon and her stomach was growling. It had been a long time since breakfast. She grabbed the room key and let herself out as quietly as possible. Bourne remained as she had left him, seemingly dead to the world. She hoped he would stay asleep. He was badly in need of all the rest he could get.

She walked slowly down the stairs to the lobby, having no trouble identifying several Agency personnel as she went. Tom Cronin, Pamela Landy’s right hand man, sat on a sofa in the lobby, reading a local paper. The man she knew only as Teddy was perched in front of a laptop, probably using the hotel’s wireless access to surf the Web. She was sure other Agency personnel were strategically located throughout the corridors of the hotel, all looking like they belonged there. All because of Jason Bourne.

Cronin rose from the sofa as she approached. “Everything okay?”

Nicky shrugged. “Define ‘okay.’”

Tom grinned. “You were kidnapped by an assassin. You now have said assassin sleeping in your room. He has a gunshot wound that required doctoring, which you provided. You’ve been uprooted and carted around from Amsterdam to Berlin, with little say in the matter. I suppose I should ask, ‘Are you okay?’”

Flopping down on the sofa, Nicky sighed. “It’s been a long couple of days.” She looked up the winding staircase in the direction of her room. “He scares me. And yet, he is so...”

“Don’t let him fool you, Nicky,” Tom interrupted with a warning. “I don’t know the whole Treadstone story, but they didn’t pick their agents lightly or haphazardly. A lot of thought went in to choosing those who could get through the program. He’s been trained well…”

“Yeah, I know,” Nicky finished, “to be invisible. And to kill.” A chill ran up her spine. She rose from the sofa, attempting to shake off her dark thoughts. “I’m going to get something to eat, and take something up for him, if he's still there.”

Tom smiled conspiratorially. “If he leaves, we’ll know.”

“I’ve heard that before,” Nicky pointed out.

Tom shook his head. “We know all the angles to watch now. And it’s us, not just the local police.”

Nicky nodded. “I’ll let you know about that ticket back to Amsterdam as soon as I can.”

“Take all the time you need,” Tom reiterated Landy’s statement. “Just keep Bourne around as long as you can.”

As she headed toward the restaurant, Nicky wondered if – and how – the Agency would be able to hold Bourne here against his will. She tucked that thought in the back of her mind and concentrated on the menu given to her by the wait staff. She ordered a sandwich with soup and salad, choosing to eat her meal in the restaurant. When she finished, she ordered a sandwich to go and returned to her room.

Bourne was still asleep on his half of the bed, breathing deeply and evenly. Yawning, Nicky placed the sandwich she’d picked up for him in the small refrigerator, removed her shoes, and slipped back into bed.

The room was warm and dark, but sleep still eluded her. She was about to give up trying when she felt Jason stir. He mumbled something unintelligible, shaking his head. Nicky inched closer, laying a hand lightly on his uninjured shoulder. “Shhhhh, Jason, it’s alright, you’re okay,” she spoke, her voice barely a whisper. He calmed down and slipped back into a deeper sleep.

Nicky found herself nearly curled right next to Jason Bourne. She knew she should move back, but didn’t want to chance waking him, so she stayed put, finally drifting off into a sleep of her own.

continuing on

2007-05-09T18:39:58Z

Still with me, huh? This is a short entry, just enough to share before I head off to help mom with a rummage sale. Off-line until next week. Hasta la vista!

When I returned, I rearranged - next entry (May 14) will continue the story. :)