![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nanuk_dainTitle: Truce – PART A
Fandom: The Bourne Supremacy & Ultimatum
Pairing: Jason Bourne/Kirill
Author: Nanuk Dain
e-mail: nanukdain@gmx.net
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: AU, first time, violence, angst, action
Word count: approx. 14.200
Series: Unexpected – Part 1
Disclaimer: Not mine, but then, you knew that already. Because, hey, let's be honest, I would have done entirely different things with them if they were mine. And Bourne and Kirill would have had a lot more screen time together – and that not only chasing each other in cars... XD
Comment: This is basically a rewrite of the Bourne Ultimatum under the premise that Kirill survived and sided with Bourne to get rid of his employer who now want to see him dead, too. It might be helpful to have seen the movie, since I'm more writing in moments that actually retelling all the twists and turns of the plot. I had to split the story in Part A and B due to the word limitation on Lj, but the content is meant to be read as one. Oh, and please don't kill me, but this has yet to be beta'd...
@![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
megan_moonlight: So, hon, think I can convince you with this to like Bourne/Kirill? I expect a long honest answer! XD
Summary: Jason Bourne alone was already incredibly dangerous. Jason Bourne and Kirill working together were downright deadly.
*********
It hurt. Everything hurt, his skin, his head, every single bone in his body, just everything. Breathing was pure torture. But the worst was not physical pain, it was this question in his mind, this moment he couldn't forget, that had made his world crumble down and lose all the sense there had ever been to it.
Jason Bourne. Why hadn't he taken that final shot?
Kirill clenched his teeth and forced himself to keep walking even though he wasn't even sure the bones of his legs were intact. He couldn't tell, he felt only intense pain and a confusion that went so deep it touched something in him that had been dead for ages. He didn't want this, didn't want that question in his mind, repeating over and over again until he was convinced he heard it for real, said out aloud. He didn't want this image in his head, burned into his memory, this image of Bourne's eyes locked with his, slowly lowering his gun, turning, walking away.
Leaving him alive.
Kirill growled and limped on. He should have been dead. He had no right to be alive. His mission failed, twice even, and he had lost the fight. Bourne should have killed him, just like it was the rule within their world. Yet he hadn't fired the shot. It shook Kirill's world, his understanding of it, his perception of the universe. This wasn't right. This wasn't how things were supposed to be.
He had to find that man. He had to know why he hadn't pulled the trigger. He had to understand so that his world could regain balance.
***
Getting out of Russia was easy once he'd shaken his tail and had let enough time pass to be forgotten. At least enough that nobody turned at the sight of his face any more. Passing by Irena Neski had been one of the hardest things Jason had ever done, and it had left him feeling hollow and wounded in an entirely different way from his physical injuries, but he'd known he had to do it.
It was a relief to leave Russia behind. Jason walked through the airport after the plane had landed, all the while scanning the crowd and the building just like it was implanted in his very being. He was still sore, the gun shot wound in his shoulder pulsed with dull pain and he still felt as if a truck had run him over. He knew he had to lay low for a while, a few weeks maybe, so he could heal enough that he was mobile again and was able to defend himself. Munich was just the perfect place to disappear for some time, play an American tourist, especially since it was October and the city was rife with American tourists. He couldn't have timed it better.
The dreams were worse than before. They were different, not shreds of the memories he'd lost, but reruns of the worst moments of Boa, of Berlin, of Moscow. Of the tunnel, of the moment the car had crashed against the pillar, of those eyes that had been so utterly calm when he'd pointed his gun at the man who'd killed Marie. Of the sudden knowledge that he couldn't kill the man, that Marie wouldn't have wanted him to enter the spiral of revenge for her sake. Had she been there, she would have put her hand on his arm and make him lower the gun. It was as if he'd felt her touch at that moment and he had been unable not to follow her silent request. He just didn't understand why he kept dreaming about this moment, dreaming about those eyes, about the face of a man he should hate.
Sometimes when he woke, Jason wondered if the man had died in the tunnel after he'd left. Most likely he had; the crash had been terrible and the impact must have broken every bond in his body. And if that hadn't done it, his employer would have the job finished. Jason was well aware that an assassin who'd failed his mission twice was about to be eliminated on sight. That was the rule of their world.
***
It took him three weeks until he was able to walk without keeling over. Kirill had no idea how he'd made it to the hospital. He remembered that he'd just pressed a very healthy amount of money into the doctor's hand and had told him to check him in as Mikhail Koslov who'd been beaten up by a gang of youngsters. The doctor hadn't hesitated for a moment, he'd had dealings with Kirill twice before and knew he was a well paying customer who was quiet and made no trouble, so there was little risk in this for the doctor. Greed made good allies, and Kirill knew that.
Just as he knew that the last place the FSB were going to look for him was a public hospital. He had no illusions that there was a standing kill order on his head and that the FSB would do anything to see him dead. He knew to much to be left alive. But they weren't looking for a guy who'd been beaten up and was stationed in hospital, no, they would expect him to go into hiding. Well, he had gone into hiding, he was just hiding in plain sight, a strategy he'd found to work fantastically most of the times. People only saw what they wanted to see.
It was only four days after his arrival that he regained consciousness, groggy and hurting and his memories foggy. When the doctor talked to him about the treatment he'd been given, Kirill realised that his injuries had been far more serious than he'd thought. There had been a surgery for his right leg which had taken damage in the crash and the doctor hesitated a split second before telling him that he would never be able to walk without limp again. That it would be a miracle if he was even able to walk without a cane.
Kirill could feel the thick bandage around his head and heard the doctor say something about a very severe trauma and another surgery that had been necessary, but he didn't grasp all the doctor said and then he was back in the darkness without being able to stop it. The last thing he saw was the face of a man behind the barrel of a gun that was pointed at Kirill, his eyes flickering with various emotions before he lowered the weapon and walked away. He couldn't place the memory, but the confusion and the anger it left in its wake didn't ease off even after he woke the next time.
It was this picture that made him grit his teeth and get through every painful moment of relearning to use his leg. He had to find Jason Bourne and in order to do that, he had to be able to walk.
***
It was after about five weeks that Jason decided that he had to find Marie's brother, had to let him know what had happened. Had to apologize for something that had been bound to happen, that he was actually surprised hadn't happened sooner. Two years of relative peace had been a very long period of grace considering his background. Of course they had moved around again and again, never remaining too long in one place, but he had been lucky to have a partner like Marie who hadn't minded moving around, who actually had an inner urge to leave a place after a while. They had been a perfect fit, Marie and him. He owed it to her to let her brother know what really had happened. She would have wanted him to know.
So he left for Paris.
Jason had always thought he was very attentive and tuned to unusual details that warned him of possible danger. He'd also thought there wasn't any chance for somebody to trail him without him noticing. He decided that he had to rethink his assessment of his abilities when he found himself surprised – actually surprised – by a man in the hallway of the house where Marie's brother lived. He had only just left the flat when he felt the muzzle of a gun pressed against his temple. It took him only a split second to recognise the man as the Russian assassin who had killed Marie, even though his appearance had changed, his clothes were slightly rumpled and his hair had grown out of the military cut he'd had the last time Jason had seen him. His face seemed to be expressionless at the first glance, but his eyes were intense and his whole posture radiated tension. It was only after a moment that Jason noticed the tremors in the man's right leg as if it took him an enormous effort to stand on it. Jason had to admit that he was amazed the man was standing at all, he'd figured he'd long since died of either his injuries or by the hands of another assassin.
“What do you want?” Jason asked when the Russian hadn't said a word, hadn't even moved for a whole minute, only stared in his eyes with this intense gaze as if he was trying to figure something out. It was only then that Jason realised that he didn't even know the man's name. “Do you want to finish the job?”
The man still didn't move, but he frowned. “Why?”
The Russian's voice was darker that he had expected, and it was rough with something that could be pain as well as emotion. Jason let his gaze take in the man in front of him. He looked somehow different, even though Bourne couldn't put his finger on what it was. He was quite sure now, though, that the man wasn't here on a mission. The small signs told him that. Whatever this was, it was personal.
“Why what?” Jason asked carefully, not at all certain what to expect from the Russian assassin. There was an air of wildness about him, an unsettled energy that hadn't been there before. He had been calm, certain, precise, efficient. Those were not words Jason would use to describe him now, even though the gun didn't waver once.
“Why did you not pull the trigger?” The accent became even more pronounced when the Russian elaborated his question, his eyes narrowing, but to Jason it appeared to be more out of confusion than threat.
He frowned. “Is that what you're here for?”
“Answer.” The man replied, his voice low, but definitely threatening now, and the gun still aimed steadily at Jason's head. If he decided to fire, a head shot had the highest possibility of being fatal. The man knew what he was doing, but then, Jason had known that ever since their chase in Moscow. And he didn't doubt that the Russian would shoot him, not caring the least about the semi-public location of the hallway.
“You wouldn't understand.” Jason replied after a moment. He didn't entirely understand himself, so how was he supposed to explain to somebody else?
“Try me.” The voice was still rough, as if it hadn't been used a lot lately, and if Jason's guess was correct, then the man had probably spent most of the past six weeks somewhere in medical care. He didn't look too good, either.
Still, Jason wasn't certain that he could move faster than the assassin could pull the trigger, so he hesitated, wondering if he should reply, play for time. “Somebody once told me that I always had a choice.”
The frown deepened and the gun didn't move. Jason steadily held the intense gaze that seemed to try to take him apart, assess if he had said the truth. There was confusion, incomprehension, anger even, that passed through the green eyes, the dark expression never leaving the pale face.
“I am hunted, now.” the assassin stated. “The people who want me dead work with the people who want you dead.”
Jason frowned. “What are you trying to say?”
“We have the same interests. We work together until the threat is eliminated, then we can go separate ways without anybody ordering our deaths.” The man sounded sincere, if guarded. He lowered his gun, but didn't set the safety. His posture was seemingly relaxed, but Jason could see the ready alert underneath the fake casualness.
“Why should I trust you?” Jason asked suspiciously and wondered if it wasn't best to disappear as quickly as possible. Now that the gun wasn't levelled at his head any more, he was quite certain he was in a superior position to the assassin. And there was just something about the Russian that raised his hackles.
“I did not shoot you when I could have. And I do not ask you to trust me.” The man snorted. “You would be stupid if you did.”
Jason only raised an eyebrow. At least the man was honest.
“I offer you truce until we achieve to neutralise the people who pose a threat to both of us.” The Russian shrugged. “As I said, call it an interest we have in common.”
Jason remained still and watched the other man for a long moment. The Russian didn't flinch, didn't waver, didn't avert his gaze. He was calm again, even though it was different from before. Jason had relied on his instincts ever since he'd woken up on that ship in the Mediterranean Sea and he had learned he could trust them, and right now, as crazy as it seemed, they told him that the Russian wasn't trying to entrap him.
“All right.” Jason nodded slowly, eyes still fixed on the assassin. “Truce until we have eliminated the threat.”
“Da.” The Russian said and held out his hand. Jason hesitated for a moment, then he took it and sealed the deal. It was strange to shake hands with the man who had killed Marie, and for a moment, Jason had to fight down the sudden anger that washed over him.
“I am Kirill.” The Russian offered once they'd stepped back and Jason felt an inexplicable certainty that the man had just given him his real name. It took him by surprise because it was something an assassin didn't do, give his real name. Real names were dangerous.
“Jason Bourne.” He replied and smirked, a tense edge to it. “But you certainly knew that already.”
The Russian held his gaze and nodded. “Da.”
***
That was actually all Kirill knew about this man. His name and his location had been everything he'd been given for the contract, more information hadn't been necessary. He didn't want to know about his marks but what he had to know to find and eliminate them, he actually didn't care about knowing anything else. This was the first time he did. Jason Bourne was a riddle to him, a closed book. Bourne didn't stick to the rules of their world, didn't behave as he was supposed to, didn't react as expected. It confused Kirill and made him wary around the man, yet he couldn't let go until he knew – no, understood – why the American hadn't pulled the trigger.
It took Kirill every ounce of discipline to control the shaking of his leg and to not let the pain show that coursed through his whole right side, from his foot to his shoulder. He was aware that the American would see the faint tremor in his leg – he was trained to observe such details after all – and he had to be good if he had managed to survive until now. But that was all Kirill was ready to give, and only because he couldn't suppress it.
“Well, I was about to leave Paris.” the American said after a moment of uncomfortable silence. “Feel free to join me.”
Kirill just inclined his head and set the safety of his gun before putting it away.
***
When they were in the train for London some hours later, the third part of the reportage 'Who is Jason Bourne?' had left the printing press. Kirill handed Jason the page of the newspaper without a word, only his raised eyebrow indicated that he had already skimmed the article. Jason leaned back into the seat and began to read. When he saw the picture of Marie smiling at him from the bottom of the page, he was overwhelmed by pain, grief and anger and for a moment, he had to force himself not to lash out at the Russian, who was sitting quietly next to him with another part of the paper in his hand.
Ever since their truce had started, Jason couldn't help the prickling of the skin of his neck whenever he turned his back towards the Russian. Actually, his skin prickled the whole time he was around the man, and his senses were tuned to his every movement, always expecting an attack of some kind. Nothing had happened yet, but that hadn't made him relax, it had only raised the tension even higher.
“Simon Ross.” Jason murmured when he'd finished reading, a frown on his face.
Kirill looked up from his paper, one eyebrow raised. “After writing this, he will be under surveillance.”
Jason nodded. He shared that opinion. It would be a surprise if the CIA hadn't taken him in yet. “Well, let's call him and arrange for a meeting.”
The Russian nodded, comprehending. “Find out who his source is.”
Jason pulled out his current mobile. “Exactly.”
***
Waterloo Station was crowded. It was the perfect time to get in contact with the journalist, and Kirill knew that was the reason Bourne had chosen this precise time and this exact location for the meeting. He would have done the same.
“We split up. I will trace you and watch your back.” Kirill said quietly while they left the platform where their train had stopped, never looking at the other man. “I have your number. I will find you afterwards.”
He saw the American give an almost unnoticeable nod and without another word, Kirill slid away into the crowd. He was just as aware of the cameras as Bourne was and he knew it was important that there was no evidence on any tape that they knew each other. So he made his way through the station, walking slowly and emphasizing his limp to provide a reason for it. He kept his eyes on the Bourne, watching him buy a phone at a vendor stall and when the American slipped it into the journalist's pocket, the chase began.
***
There had to be something common to the training of black op agents all over the world, it was the only explanation Jason had for the flawless way he and Kirill worked together. There was no need for many words, they just seemed to know what the other would do. It was downright eerie. They had never even talked to each other before their meeting in Paris this morning, yet from the very first moment on, they had acted in such perfect sync that it almost creeped Jason out. He wasn't used to working with somebody, ever since the loss of his memories he had basically worked alone, and he had dreaded to have to consider another person in his actions.
But it hadn't posed any problems. What made it easier was that he didn't worry about Kirill – first of all, the man wasn't somebody he cared about, and second, he knew perfectly well that Kirill was more than capable of taking care of himself – and on top of that the Russian seemed to work on very similar patterns to his own which made them a perfect team. Still, it felt strange to know there was somebody watching him, tracking his every movement, somebody who was actually watching his back. He felt Kirill's eyes on him, even though he had no idea how that was possible or how the Russian managed to always stay within sight of him in this crowded building, especially considering that his injured leg had to affect him. Yet Jason just knew that Kirill had never lost him during the whole operation and he was certain that the Russian had unobtrusively taken out more than one of the agents who'd tracked Ross.
It made his skin prickle even more to realise just how good the Russian was.
***
Kirill was certain that the aim of the whole operation was to take out that journalist, so while tracking Bourne, he scanned the station to decide where he would take up position to eliminate a person within this crowded building. It took all his attention to keep Bourne in his sight and all the while analyse the area. A moment after he had watched Bourne disappear in a staff stairway, he spotted the perfect place.
***
Jason left the stairway and walked through the crowd, scanning the area. Something was off, but he couldn't put his finger on what it was. His phone vibrated and he recognised Kirill's number and opened the text while telling Ross to stay inside the staircase.
Sniper behind turning add screen.
Bourne looked up and saw the reflection of a scope at the same time as Ross declared anxiously over the line that there was somebody coming and he could make it towards the entrance. “I'm going for it!”
Jason rushed forwards. “No!”
It was too late.
***
Kirill had been on the way to the access point to the space behind the turning commercial screen when he heard the screams and the commotion that told him the shot had already been fired. He cursed through his teeth and forced his right leg to move faster. He just arrived at the entrance to the staircase to see a man disappear around the corner and instinct told him that this was the shooter, so he turned on the spot and hurried after him. He ran as fast as his leg could carry him, down several flights of stairs, outside, down into the Underground. He kept his eyes on the back of the man until he disappeared for a moment at the corner to the platforms. Kirill had to stop for a second and looked both ways, then he turned right. There were people exiting the tube that had just arrived and gritted his teeth to keep down another curse while he fought his way through the masses of people.
He arrived at the train just in time to see the doors closing in front of him, and he spotted the man he had been chasing inside the wagon as the train began moving.
He cursed again.
***
“What have you got there?” Bourne heard an accented voice ask which had become familiar to him even after only a day. How the former FSB agent had managed to find him in the internet café was a mystery to him, but then, the man had shown considerable tracking talent ever since their first encounter in Goa.
“His notebook.” Jason didn't turn towards Kirill, he just kept leafing through the pages full of hand-scribbled notes with a frown on his face.
“Anything of interest?”
Jason skimmed another page and stopped at the words 'Sewell and Marbury'. They were underlined and written in capitals with notes about drugs and hypnosis scribbled down beneath. He googled the name and came across an entry of a 'Global Markets and Investment Banking Group' based in Madrid. “Maybe.”
Kirill leaned over his shoulder to have a look at the screen. “Let us find a train to Madrid, then.”
***
Working and travelling with Bourne wasn't half as bad as Kirill had expected. The man was not much of a talker, especially not in public, he was just a quiet presence in the seat next to Kirill. He still didn't understand what had made him offer the American a truce, but in hindsight, he had to admit that it had been a very risky thing to do. He had been even more surprised that Bourne had accepted his offer, he had considered the man as some kind of lone wolf.
They changed trains in Paris and took a night train to Madrid. Kirill didn't sleep next to the American, he just let his mind wander, staring out of the window and wondering how he had ended up siding with his mark. He still didn't really know.
The afternoon in Madrid was rainy and grey. Kirill fell back and watched while Bourne stood in front of the building which the contact address of 'Sewell and Marbury' had given. He let his gaze casually wander over the surroundings, then he informed Bourne over the headset of his mobile, “Police. Two men. Coming towards you from your right.”
Bourne gave them a fleeting gaze and left unobtrusively. So it was going to be Plan B: They would return tonight.
***
The corridor that led to the meeting cell was no different from the rest of this godforsaken place. The bare concrete walls were cold and oppressing, just as they were intended to be. Yuri Getkov wasn't exactly impressed by it, he had been in the game for too long to react to such subtleties. There were two guards escorting him, one behind and one in front of him. His hands were in cuffs, but that was more for the show than anything else.
The first guard opened the door to the meeting cell and motioned for Gretkov to enter while the second released the cuffs. Gretkov immediately spotted his assistant, Andrei Nemov, who offered him a cigarette the moment he had entered. Gretkov took it and Nemov gave him a light. The door fell shut behind them, the guards remaining outside of the cell.
“Why are you here?”
Nemov sat down on the opposite side of the table, then he reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a piece of paper. He put it on the table and pushed it over to Gretkov without saying a word.
Gretkov leaned over to have a better look. It was a black and white picture, the blurry kind of quality that was typical for surveillance cameras. It showed a crowd, but it was the man in the right corner of the picture that caught his eye.
“Where?”
“London, Sir.”
So he was still alive, this failure of an assassin. Why hadn't the FSB taken care of this already? Technically, the man was their problem. Gretkov leaned back in the uncomfortable metal chair and frowned at the blurry picture. He might be in prison, but the reach of his arm was still long. And to have the authorities get hold of Kirill to have him testify in the running trial would do irreparable damage. So he would have to take care of this himself.
“Do you have a trail?” Gretkov took a deep drag of the cigarette.
“Yes, Sir.”
Gretkov tapped his finger on the man in the picture. “Send someone good. I want this problem solved once and for all.”
“Yes, Sir.”
***
“Bourne.” There was a firm hand on his shoulder, pulling him back out of the memory, but he still couldn't shake it entirely. “Bourne!”
Jason panted, he felt the floor under his knees and hands, the photo clutched in his hand. When he raised his head, he found Kirill's gaze fixed on him, an expression on the Russian's face that for a moment he was tempted to call worried. “Are you all right?”
Jason fought against the pain in his head, against the fog that clouded his perception. He wondered how long he had been out if he had managed to unsettle Kirill. He felt the hands grab him and pull him off the floor.
“Visitors.” Kirill remarked somewhere close to his ear and Jason heard him take a deep breath. “We have to leave.”
Jason shook off the haze and blinked a few times to clear his head. After a quick look on the screen of the surveillance camera that was pointed at the outside the building, he understood what Kirill meant and his training kicked in immediately. The men had entered the hallway, it was too late to leave.
It was embarrassingly easy to take out the two agent the CIA had sent to the abandoned office. Jason could have done it alone without any real problems, but it was even easier with Kirill in the equation. It became complicated when the camera informed them of another visitor coming up. The woman was obviously not part of a task team, she approached without the slightest caution.
Jason saw Kirill jerk his chin towards the back room, then the Russian disappeared into it and pulled the door ajar. Only a second later, there was the sound of the keys in the door and Jason found himself face to face to Nicky Parsons. She was about the last person he had expected to come across here. Still, she proved to be useful.
When he exited the building with her, he never saw Kirill follow, but he was certain the Russian was right behind him. He could feel his eyes on his skin. It had already become a familiar sensation.
***
Kirill had left the building through the back and had arrived in the street just in time to see Bourne and the woman get into a car, then there was police all over the place, screaming at the agents the CIA had sent after them.
It took Kirill only a few seconds to enter and hot-wire a parked Audi, then he was on the trail of the silver Volkswagen that Bourne had got into. He still felt the ghost of Bourne's warmth against his fingers from when he'd pulled the American up, remembered breathing in his scent, a mixture of rain and sweat and something that was simply Bourne. It was a strange sensation that didn't leave him during the hours of driving.
***
“We need gas.” Nicky said some hours into the journey to Tarifa where they'd planned on taking the ferry over to Tangier.
“We get out at the next stop and fill up.” Jason replied when saw a sign for a service area pass the window. “We need something to eat something anyway.”
When they stopped at the gas station, Nicky filled up and went to pay. Jason stayed by the car and watched a light silver Audi A6 pull into the place next to him. The driver got out and Jason wasn't too surprised to see that it was Kirill. The Russian began to refuel the car that he must have stolen somewhere. Hot-wiring an Audi wasn't that easy, Bourne knew that from personal experience. The man was quite talented.
“You like big cars, don't you?” Jason remarked quietly and grinned at Kirill who stood on the other side of the Audi.
The Russian didn't look up, didn't show any reaction the camera would have caught, but there was a smirk tugging at his lips. “I may have a thing for them.”
Jason only chuckled and retreated when he saw Nicky come back so they could drive over to the restaurant's parking place.
***
Kirill knew his body perfectly. Its limits, its reactions, its strengths and its weaknesses. As a FSB agent, he had been trained to understand and control his body. He had to know it inside out because the success of his missions and his life depended on it. So now, when his gaze was following Bourne and the American woman and he still had Bourne's scent in his nose and felt the goosebumps that had instantly spread over his skin at the sound of Bourne's chuckle, he knew what was happening to him.
But he didn't know how he was supposed to force his body into not reacting to that man. Fear, pain, anger he knew how to control, but this subconscious focussing of his senses on another person was something they hadn't taught him how to deal with. He had never experienced it before, hadn't known it could be so strong.
He frowned and leaned against the stolen Audi while he waited for the fuel tank to fill up. He had always been taught to be honest with himself, because if he wasn't, it could be used against him. 'Acknowledge your weakness and deal with it, before somebody kills you because of it', he remembered his instructor from FSB special ops training repeat over and over again. He had always followed that rule and it had served him well. So he followed it now.
He was attracted to Bourne, he admitted to himself, and if he didn't want the American to use that against him, he had to deal with it accordingly.
***
Nicky wondered if she was becoming insane. Or paranoid. Because she had the feeling they were being followed. Well, the CIA was looking for them, but that wasn't the kind of 'followed' she meant. It was like there was a shadow that clung to them. Clung to Bourne, and he either didn't notice – which was entirely impossible – or he didn't care. Or, she thought while gazing over the sea, he knew who was trailing them and he was all right with it. Which was entirely strange, especially for Bourne.
Still, she hadn't actually seen their shadow, couldn't say who it was. She was certain, though, that the person was on board with them, because the feeling had intensified ever since they'd boarded the ferry. She looked around, but there was nobody out of the ordinary. She felt an unpleasant shiver run down her back and turned to look at Bourne who was standing next to her.
He didn't seem disturbed at all.
***
Out of the corner of his eye, Jason saw Kirill approach, walking down the sidewalk of the Place de France, his steps unhurried and mostly even. Jason was certain it took the Russian some effort to suppress his limp, but he did it well. Without knowing what to look for, there was no way to guess his injury.
Jason wondered why the Russian tried to make contact at all and got his answer once Kirill passed by him, never stopping or slowing his pace. “I have a tail. At the corner behind me, about thirty years, tall, blonde hair. Russian.”
The words were just loud enough for Jason to hear, then Kirill had passed him and continued his way down the street as if they didn't know each other. And true enough, there was his tail. Jason fell back a bit, keeping his eyes on Nicky, and at the same time inspecting the man who unobtrusively followed Kirill. He was Russian, Jason agreed on that, which meant that the FSB was coming after their lost agent to get rid of him. The man moved with the trained straightness of a soldier and seemed out of place here in the casual atmosphere of Tangier. His bright blond hair was only adding to attract attention. Jason didn't doubt for a moment that the man was good, though, because if he wasn't, he'd never been sent after Kirill.
This just added to the load of problems they already had. But he couldn't do anything about it right now, because the asset had just taken the phone from Nicky's table and was about to leave. Jason knew he had to trail the man if he wanted to find Daniels before he was killed, and he just had to trust that Kirill could take care of the blond asset himself.
***
Kirill didn't quicken his pace, he strode towards the market with the same casualness he had displayed ever since the blond man had begun to trail him. He'd been aware of the man the moment he'd crossed the harbour somewhere behind Bourne and the American woman. The agent had to have known where to find him, and that was disturbing. Kirill suspected that he'd been caught on a surveillance camera somewhere on their journey from Paris to London to Spain, but it wasn't really important where. What counted was that someone who wanted him dead – he figured it was either the FSB or Gretkov – had found him and sent an assassin after him. If he defeated this one, then they would just send another. He suddenly understood how Bourne must have felt for the past years. Until know, Kirill had always been the hunter. It felt strange to be the prey. It made him uneasy.
He entered the market which was crammed with people and vendor stalls. He smirked. Time to turn the tables and make the hunter become the prey.
***
The moment he looked into the asset's eyes, Jason knew their cover was blown. The man knew his face and there was no doubt that the only possible way this could have happened within the past few minutes was that their breach in the CIA network had been discovered. Jason knew the Agency well enough to be aware of the consequences for Nicky and him: elimination. When the asset pressed the button and the bomb in his moped went off, Jason knew the man counted on completing two jobs in one, him and Daniels.
Then he felt the explosion hit him with incredible force.
***GO TO PART B***
***
Fandom: The Bourne Supremacy & Ultimatum
Pairing: Jason Bourne/Kirill
Author: Nanuk Dain
e-mail: nanukdain@gmx.net
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: AU, first time, violence, angst, action
Word count: approx. 14.200
Series: Unexpected – Part 1
Disclaimer: Not mine, but then, you knew that already. Because, hey, let's be honest, I would have done entirely different things with them if they were mine. And Bourne and Kirill would have had a lot more screen time together – and that not only chasing each other in cars... XD
Comment: This is basically a rewrite of the Bourne Ultimatum under the premise that Kirill survived and sided with Bourne to get rid of his employer who now want to see him dead, too. It might be helpful to have seen the movie, since I'm more writing in moments that actually retelling all the twists and turns of the plot. I had to split the story in Part A and B due to the word limitation on Lj, but the content is meant to be read as one. Oh, and please don't kill me, but this has yet to be beta'd...
@
megan_moonlight: So, hon, think I can convince you with this to like Bourne/Kirill? I expect a Summary: Jason Bourne alone was already incredibly dangerous. Jason Bourne and Kirill working together were downright deadly.
*********
It hurt. Everything hurt, his skin, his head, every single bone in his body, just everything. Breathing was pure torture. But the worst was not physical pain, it was this question in his mind, this moment he couldn't forget, that had made his world crumble down and lose all the sense there had ever been to it.
Jason Bourne. Why hadn't he taken that final shot?
Kirill clenched his teeth and forced himself to keep walking even though he wasn't even sure the bones of his legs were intact. He couldn't tell, he felt only intense pain and a confusion that went so deep it touched something in him that had been dead for ages. He didn't want this, didn't want that question in his mind, repeating over and over again until he was convinced he heard it for real, said out aloud. He didn't want this image in his head, burned into his memory, this image of Bourne's eyes locked with his, slowly lowering his gun, turning, walking away.
Leaving him alive.
Kirill growled and limped on. He should have been dead. He had no right to be alive. His mission failed, twice even, and he had lost the fight. Bourne should have killed him, just like it was the rule within their world. Yet he hadn't fired the shot. It shook Kirill's world, his understanding of it, his perception of the universe. This wasn't right. This wasn't how things were supposed to be.
He had to find that man. He had to know why he hadn't pulled the trigger. He had to understand so that his world could regain balance.
***
Getting out of Russia was easy once he'd shaken his tail and had let enough time pass to be forgotten. At least enough that nobody turned at the sight of his face any more. Passing by Irena Neski had been one of the hardest things Jason had ever done, and it had left him feeling hollow and wounded in an entirely different way from his physical injuries, but he'd known he had to do it.
It was a relief to leave Russia behind. Jason walked through the airport after the plane had landed, all the while scanning the crowd and the building just like it was implanted in his very being. He was still sore, the gun shot wound in his shoulder pulsed with dull pain and he still felt as if a truck had run him over. He knew he had to lay low for a while, a few weeks maybe, so he could heal enough that he was mobile again and was able to defend himself. Munich was just the perfect place to disappear for some time, play an American tourist, especially since it was October and the city was rife with American tourists. He couldn't have timed it better.
The dreams were worse than before. They were different, not shreds of the memories he'd lost, but reruns of the worst moments of Boa, of Berlin, of Moscow. Of the tunnel, of the moment the car had crashed against the pillar, of those eyes that had been so utterly calm when he'd pointed his gun at the man who'd killed Marie. Of the sudden knowledge that he couldn't kill the man, that Marie wouldn't have wanted him to enter the spiral of revenge for her sake. Had she been there, she would have put her hand on his arm and make him lower the gun. It was as if he'd felt her touch at that moment and he had been unable not to follow her silent request. He just didn't understand why he kept dreaming about this moment, dreaming about those eyes, about the face of a man he should hate.
Sometimes when he woke, Jason wondered if the man had died in the tunnel after he'd left. Most likely he had; the crash had been terrible and the impact must have broken every bond in his body. And if that hadn't done it, his employer would have the job finished. Jason was well aware that an assassin who'd failed his mission twice was about to be eliminated on sight. That was the rule of their world.
***
It took him three weeks until he was able to walk without keeling over. Kirill had no idea how he'd made it to the hospital. He remembered that he'd just pressed a very healthy amount of money into the doctor's hand and had told him to check him in as Mikhail Koslov who'd been beaten up by a gang of youngsters. The doctor hadn't hesitated for a moment, he'd had dealings with Kirill twice before and knew he was a well paying customer who was quiet and made no trouble, so there was little risk in this for the doctor. Greed made good allies, and Kirill knew that.
Just as he knew that the last place the FSB were going to look for him was a public hospital. He had no illusions that there was a standing kill order on his head and that the FSB would do anything to see him dead. He knew to much to be left alive. But they weren't looking for a guy who'd been beaten up and was stationed in hospital, no, they would expect him to go into hiding. Well, he had gone into hiding, he was just hiding in plain sight, a strategy he'd found to work fantastically most of the times. People only saw what they wanted to see.
It was only four days after his arrival that he regained consciousness, groggy and hurting and his memories foggy. When the doctor talked to him about the treatment he'd been given, Kirill realised that his injuries had been far more serious than he'd thought. There had been a surgery for his right leg which had taken damage in the crash and the doctor hesitated a split second before telling him that he would never be able to walk without limp again. That it would be a miracle if he was even able to walk without a cane.
Kirill could feel the thick bandage around his head and heard the doctor say something about a very severe trauma and another surgery that had been necessary, but he didn't grasp all the doctor said and then he was back in the darkness without being able to stop it. The last thing he saw was the face of a man behind the barrel of a gun that was pointed at Kirill, his eyes flickering with various emotions before he lowered the weapon and walked away. He couldn't place the memory, but the confusion and the anger it left in its wake didn't ease off even after he woke the next time.
It was this picture that made him grit his teeth and get through every painful moment of relearning to use his leg. He had to find Jason Bourne and in order to do that, he had to be able to walk.
***
It was after about five weeks that Jason decided that he had to find Marie's brother, had to let him know what had happened. Had to apologize for something that had been bound to happen, that he was actually surprised hadn't happened sooner. Two years of relative peace had been a very long period of grace considering his background. Of course they had moved around again and again, never remaining too long in one place, but he had been lucky to have a partner like Marie who hadn't minded moving around, who actually had an inner urge to leave a place after a while. They had been a perfect fit, Marie and him. He owed it to her to let her brother know what really had happened. She would have wanted him to know.
So he left for Paris.
Jason had always thought he was very attentive and tuned to unusual details that warned him of possible danger. He'd also thought there wasn't any chance for somebody to trail him without him noticing. He decided that he had to rethink his assessment of his abilities when he found himself surprised – actually surprised – by a man in the hallway of the house where Marie's brother lived. He had only just left the flat when he felt the muzzle of a gun pressed against his temple. It took him only a split second to recognise the man as the Russian assassin who had killed Marie, even though his appearance had changed, his clothes were slightly rumpled and his hair had grown out of the military cut he'd had the last time Jason had seen him. His face seemed to be expressionless at the first glance, but his eyes were intense and his whole posture radiated tension. It was only after a moment that Jason noticed the tremors in the man's right leg as if it took him an enormous effort to stand on it. Jason had to admit that he was amazed the man was standing at all, he'd figured he'd long since died of either his injuries or by the hands of another assassin.
“What do you want?” Jason asked when the Russian hadn't said a word, hadn't even moved for a whole minute, only stared in his eyes with this intense gaze as if he was trying to figure something out. It was only then that Jason realised that he didn't even know the man's name. “Do you want to finish the job?”
The man still didn't move, but he frowned. “Why?”
The Russian's voice was darker that he had expected, and it was rough with something that could be pain as well as emotion. Jason let his gaze take in the man in front of him. He looked somehow different, even though Bourne couldn't put his finger on what it was. He was quite sure now, though, that the man wasn't here on a mission. The small signs told him that. Whatever this was, it was personal.
“Why what?” Jason asked carefully, not at all certain what to expect from the Russian assassin. There was an air of wildness about him, an unsettled energy that hadn't been there before. He had been calm, certain, precise, efficient. Those were not words Jason would use to describe him now, even though the gun didn't waver once.
“Why did you not pull the trigger?” The accent became even more pronounced when the Russian elaborated his question, his eyes narrowing, but to Jason it appeared to be more out of confusion than threat.
He frowned. “Is that what you're here for?”
“Answer.” The man replied, his voice low, but definitely threatening now, and the gun still aimed steadily at Jason's head. If he decided to fire, a head shot had the highest possibility of being fatal. The man knew what he was doing, but then, Jason had known that ever since their chase in Moscow. And he didn't doubt that the Russian would shoot him, not caring the least about the semi-public location of the hallway.
“You wouldn't understand.” Jason replied after a moment. He didn't entirely understand himself, so how was he supposed to explain to somebody else?
“Try me.” The voice was still rough, as if it hadn't been used a lot lately, and if Jason's guess was correct, then the man had probably spent most of the past six weeks somewhere in medical care. He didn't look too good, either.
Still, Jason wasn't certain that he could move faster than the assassin could pull the trigger, so he hesitated, wondering if he should reply, play for time. “Somebody once told me that I always had a choice.”
The frown deepened and the gun didn't move. Jason steadily held the intense gaze that seemed to try to take him apart, assess if he had said the truth. There was confusion, incomprehension, anger even, that passed through the green eyes, the dark expression never leaving the pale face.
“I am hunted, now.” the assassin stated. “The people who want me dead work with the people who want you dead.”
Jason frowned. “What are you trying to say?”
“We have the same interests. We work together until the threat is eliminated, then we can go separate ways without anybody ordering our deaths.” The man sounded sincere, if guarded. He lowered his gun, but didn't set the safety. His posture was seemingly relaxed, but Jason could see the ready alert underneath the fake casualness.
“Why should I trust you?” Jason asked suspiciously and wondered if it wasn't best to disappear as quickly as possible. Now that the gun wasn't levelled at his head any more, he was quite certain he was in a superior position to the assassin. And there was just something about the Russian that raised his hackles.
“I did not shoot you when I could have. And I do not ask you to trust me.” The man snorted. “You would be stupid if you did.”
Jason only raised an eyebrow. At least the man was honest.
“I offer you truce until we achieve to neutralise the people who pose a threat to both of us.” The Russian shrugged. “As I said, call it an interest we have in common.”
Jason remained still and watched the other man for a long moment. The Russian didn't flinch, didn't waver, didn't avert his gaze. He was calm again, even though it was different from before. Jason had relied on his instincts ever since he'd woken up on that ship in the Mediterranean Sea and he had learned he could trust them, and right now, as crazy as it seemed, they told him that the Russian wasn't trying to entrap him.
“All right.” Jason nodded slowly, eyes still fixed on the assassin. “Truce until we have eliminated the threat.”
“Da.” The Russian said and held out his hand. Jason hesitated for a moment, then he took it and sealed the deal. It was strange to shake hands with the man who had killed Marie, and for a moment, Jason had to fight down the sudden anger that washed over him.
“I am Kirill.” The Russian offered once they'd stepped back and Jason felt an inexplicable certainty that the man had just given him his real name. It took him by surprise because it was something an assassin didn't do, give his real name. Real names were dangerous.
“Jason Bourne.” He replied and smirked, a tense edge to it. “But you certainly knew that already.”
The Russian held his gaze and nodded. “Da.”
***
That was actually all Kirill knew about this man. His name and his location had been everything he'd been given for the contract, more information hadn't been necessary. He didn't want to know about his marks but what he had to know to find and eliminate them, he actually didn't care about knowing anything else. This was the first time he did. Jason Bourne was a riddle to him, a closed book. Bourne didn't stick to the rules of their world, didn't behave as he was supposed to, didn't react as expected. It confused Kirill and made him wary around the man, yet he couldn't let go until he knew – no, understood – why the American hadn't pulled the trigger.
It took Kirill every ounce of discipline to control the shaking of his leg and to not let the pain show that coursed through his whole right side, from his foot to his shoulder. He was aware that the American would see the faint tremor in his leg – he was trained to observe such details after all – and he had to be good if he had managed to survive until now. But that was all Kirill was ready to give, and only because he couldn't suppress it.
“Well, I was about to leave Paris.” the American said after a moment of uncomfortable silence. “Feel free to join me.”
Kirill just inclined his head and set the safety of his gun before putting it away.
***
When they were in the train for London some hours later, the third part of the reportage 'Who is Jason Bourne?' had left the printing press. Kirill handed Jason the page of the newspaper without a word, only his raised eyebrow indicated that he had already skimmed the article. Jason leaned back into the seat and began to read. When he saw the picture of Marie smiling at him from the bottom of the page, he was overwhelmed by pain, grief and anger and for a moment, he had to force himself not to lash out at the Russian, who was sitting quietly next to him with another part of the paper in his hand.
Ever since their truce had started, Jason couldn't help the prickling of the skin of his neck whenever he turned his back towards the Russian. Actually, his skin prickled the whole time he was around the man, and his senses were tuned to his every movement, always expecting an attack of some kind. Nothing had happened yet, but that hadn't made him relax, it had only raised the tension even higher.
“Simon Ross.” Jason murmured when he'd finished reading, a frown on his face.
Kirill looked up from his paper, one eyebrow raised. “After writing this, he will be under surveillance.”
Jason nodded. He shared that opinion. It would be a surprise if the CIA hadn't taken him in yet. “Well, let's call him and arrange for a meeting.”
The Russian nodded, comprehending. “Find out who his source is.”
Jason pulled out his current mobile. “Exactly.”
***
Waterloo Station was crowded. It was the perfect time to get in contact with the journalist, and Kirill knew that was the reason Bourne had chosen this precise time and this exact location for the meeting. He would have done the same.
“We split up. I will trace you and watch your back.” Kirill said quietly while they left the platform where their train had stopped, never looking at the other man. “I have your number. I will find you afterwards.”
He saw the American give an almost unnoticeable nod and without another word, Kirill slid away into the crowd. He was just as aware of the cameras as Bourne was and he knew it was important that there was no evidence on any tape that they knew each other. So he made his way through the station, walking slowly and emphasizing his limp to provide a reason for it. He kept his eyes on the Bourne, watching him buy a phone at a vendor stall and when the American slipped it into the journalist's pocket, the chase began.
***
There had to be something common to the training of black op agents all over the world, it was the only explanation Jason had for the flawless way he and Kirill worked together. There was no need for many words, they just seemed to know what the other would do. It was downright eerie. They had never even talked to each other before their meeting in Paris this morning, yet from the very first moment on, they had acted in such perfect sync that it almost creeped Jason out. He wasn't used to working with somebody, ever since the loss of his memories he had basically worked alone, and he had dreaded to have to consider another person in his actions.
But it hadn't posed any problems. What made it easier was that he didn't worry about Kirill – first of all, the man wasn't somebody he cared about, and second, he knew perfectly well that Kirill was more than capable of taking care of himself – and on top of that the Russian seemed to work on very similar patterns to his own which made them a perfect team. Still, it felt strange to know there was somebody watching him, tracking his every movement, somebody who was actually watching his back. He felt Kirill's eyes on him, even though he had no idea how that was possible or how the Russian managed to always stay within sight of him in this crowded building, especially considering that his injured leg had to affect him. Yet Jason just knew that Kirill had never lost him during the whole operation and he was certain that the Russian had unobtrusively taken out more than one of the agents who'd tracked Ross.
It made his skin prickle even more to realise just how good the Russian was.
***
Kirill was certain that the aim of the whole operation was to take out that journalist, so while tracking Bourne, he scanned the station to decide where he would take up position to eliminate a person within this crowded building. It took all his attention to keep Bourne in his sight and all the while analyse the area. A moment after he had watched Bourne disappear in a staff stairway, he spotted the perfect place.
***
Jason left the stairway and walked through the crowd, scanning the area. Something was off, but he couldn't put his finger on what it was. His phone vibrated and he recognised Kirill's number and opened the text while telling Ross to stay inside the staircase.
Sniper behind turning add screen.
Bourne looked up and saw the reflection of a scope at the same time as Ross declared anxiously over the line that there was somebody coming and he could make it towards the entrance. “I'm going for it!”
Jason rushed forwards. “No!”
It was too late.
***
Kirill had been on the way to the access point to the space behind the turning commercial screen when he heard the screams and the commotion that told him the shot had already been fired. He cursed through his teeth and forced his right leg to move faster. He just arrived at the entrance to the staircase to see a man disappear around the corner and instinct told him that this was the shooter, so he turned on the spot and hurried after him. He ran as fast as his leg could carry him, down several flights of stairs, outside, down into the Underground. He kept his eyes on the back of the man until he disappeared for a moment at the corner to the platforms. Kirill had to stop for a second and looked both ways, then he turned right. There were people exiting the tube that had just arrived and gritted his teeth to keep down another curse while he fought his way through the masses of people.
He arrived at the train just in time to see the doors closing in front of him, and he spotted the man he had been chasing inside the wagon as the train began moving.
He cursed again.
***
“What have you got there?” Bourne heard an accented voice ask which had become familiar to him even after only a day. How the former FSB agent had managed to find him in the internet café was a mystery to him, but then, the man had shown considerable tracking talent ever since their first encounter in Goa.
“His notebook.” Jason didn't turn towards Kirill, he just kept leafing through the pages full of hand-scribbled notes with a frown on his face.
“Anything of interest?”
Jason skimmed another page and stopped at the words 'Sewell and Marbury'. They were underlined and written in capitals with notes about drugs and hypnosis scribbled down beneath. He googled the name and came across an entry of a 'Global Markets and Investment Banking Group' based in Madrid. “Maybe.”
Kirill leaned over his shoulder to have a look at the screen. “Let us find a train to Madrid, then.”
***
Working and travelling with Bourne wasn't half as bad as Kirill had expected. The man was not much of a talker, especially not in public, he was just a quiet presence in the seat next to Kirill. He still didn't understand what had made him offer the American a truce, but in hindsight, he had to admit that it had been a very risky thing to do. He had been even more surprised that Bourne had accepted his offer, he had considered the man as some kind of lone wolf.
They changed trains in Paris and took a night train to Madrid. Kirill didn't sleep next to the American, he just let his mind wander, staring out of the window and wondering how he had ended up siding with his mark. He still didn't really know.
The afternoon in Madrid was rainy and grey. Kirill fell back and watched while Bourne stood in front of the building which the contact address of 'Sewell and Marbury' had given. He let his gaze casually wander over the surroundings, then he informed Bourne over the headset of his mobile, “Police. Two men. Coming towards you from your right.”
Bourne gave them a fleeting gaze and left unobtrusively. So it was going to be Plan B: They would return tonight.
***
The corridor that led to the meeting cell was no different from the rest of this godforsaken place. The bare concrete walls were cold and oppressing, just as they were intended to be. Yuri Getkov wasn't exactly impressed by it, he had been in the game for too long to react to such subtleties. There were two guards escorting him, one behind and one in front of him. His hands were in cuffs, but that was more for the show than anything else.
The first guard opened the door to the meeting cell and motioned for Gretkov to enter while the second released the cuffs. Gretkov immediately spotted his assistant, Andrei Nemov, who offered him a cigarette the moment he had entered. Gretkov took it and Nemov gave him a light. The door fell shut behind them, the guards remaining outside of the cell.
“Why are you here?”
Nemov sat down on the opposite side of the table, then he reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a piece of paper. He put it on the table and pushed it over to Gretkov without saying a word.
Gretkov leaned over to have a better look. It was a black and white picture, the blurry kind of quality that was typical for surveillance cameras. It showed a crowd, but it was the man in the right corner of the picture that caught his eye.
“Where?”
“London, Sir.”
So he was still alive, this failure of an assassin. Why hadn't the FSB taken care of this already? Technically, the man was their problem. Gretkov leaned back in the uncomfortable metal chair and frowned at the blurry picture. He might be in prison, but the reach of his arm was still long. And to have the authorities get hold of Kirill to have him testify in the running trial would do irreparable damage. So he would have to take care of this himself.
“Do you have a trail?” Gretkov took a deep drag of the cigarette.
“Yes, Sir.”
Gretkov tapped his finger on the man in the picture. “Send someone good. I want this problem solved once and for all.”
“Yes, Sir.”
***
“Bourne.” There was a firm hand on his shoulder, pulling him back out of the memory, but he still couldn't shake it entirely. “Bourne!”
Jason panted, he felt the floor under his knees and hands, the photo clutched in his hand. When he raised his head, he found Kirill's gaze fixed on him, an expression on the Russian's face that for a moment he was tempted to call worried. “Are you all right?”
Jason fought against the pain in his head, against the fog that clouded his perception. He wondered how long he had been out if he had managed to unsettle Kirill. He felt the hands grab him and pull him off the floor.
“Visitors.” Kirill remarked somewhere close to his ear and Jason heard him take a deep breath. “We have to leave.”
Jason shook off the haze and blinked a few times to clear his head. After a quick look on the screen of the surveillance camera that was pointed at the outside the building, he understood what Kirill meant and his training kicked in immediately. The men had entered the hallway, it was too late to leave.
It was embarrassingly easy to take out the two agent the CIA had sent to the abandoned office. Jason could have done it alone without any real problems, but it was even easier with Kirill in the equation. It became complicated when the camera informed them of another visitor coming up. The woman was obviously not part of a task team, she approached without the slightest caution.
Jason saw Kirill jerk his chin towards the back room, then the Russian disappeared into it and pulled the door ajar. Only a second later, there was the sound of the keys in the door and Jason found himself face to face to Nicky Parsons. She was about the last person he had expected to come across here. Still, she proved to be useful.
When he exited the building with her, he never saw Kirill follow, but he was certain the Russian was right behind him. He could feel his eyes on his skin. It had already become a familiar sensation.
***
Kirill had left the building through the back and had arrived in the street just in time to see Bourne and the woman get into a car, then there was police all over the place, screaming at the agents the CIA had sent after them.
It took Kirill only a few seconds to enter and hot-wire a parked Audi, then he was on the trail of the silver Volkswagen that Bourne had got into. He still felt the ghost of Bourne's warmth against his fingers from when he'd pulled the American up, remembered breathing in his scent, a mixture of rain and sweat and something that was simply Bourne. It was a strange sensation that didn't leave him during the hours of driving.
***
“We need gas.” Nicky said some hours into the journey to Tarifa where they'd planned on taking the ferry over to Tangier.
“We get out at the next stop and fill up.” Jason replied when saw a sign for a service area pass the window. “We need something to eat something anyway.”
When they stopped at the gas station, Nicky filled up and went to pay. Jason stayed by the car and watched a light silver Audi A6 pull into the place next to him. The driver got out and Jason wasn't too surprised to see that it was Kirill. The Russian began to refuel the car that he must have stolen somewhere. Hot-wiring an Audi wasn't that easy, Bourne knew that from personal experience. The man was quite talented.
“You like big cars, don't you?” Jason remarked quietly and grinned at Kirill who stood on the other side of the Audi.
The Russian didn't look up, didn't show any reaction the camera would have caught, but there was a smirk tugging at his lips. “I may have a thing for them.”
Jason only chuckled and retreated when he saw Nicky come back so they could drive over to the restaurant's parking place.
***
Kirill knew his body perfectly. Its limits, its reactions, its strengths and its weaknesses. As a FSB agent, he had been trained to understand and control his body. He had to know it inside out because the success of his missions and his life depended on it. So now, when his gaze was following Bourne and the American woman and he still had Bourne's scent in his nose and felt the goosebumps that had instantly spread over his skin at the sound of Bourne's chuckle, he knew what was happening to him.
But he didn't know how he was supposed to force his body into not reacting to that man. Fear, pain, anger he knew how to control, but this subconscious focussing of his senses on another person was something they hadn't taught him how to deal with. He had never experienced it before, hadn't known it could be so strong.
He frowned and leaned against the stolen Audi while he waited for the fuel tank to fill up. He had always been taught to be honest with himself, because if he wasn't, it could be used against him. 'Acknowledge your weakness and deal with it, before somebody kills you because of it', he remembered his instructor from FSB special ops training repeat over and over again. He had always followed that rule and it had served him well. So he followed it now.
He was attracted to Bourne, he admitted to himself, and if he didn't want the American to use that against him, he had to deal with it accordingly.
***
Nicky wondered if she was becoming insane. Or paranoid. Because she had the feeling they were being followed. Well, the CIA was looking for them, but that wasn't the kind of 'followed' she meant. It was like there was a shadow that clung to them. Clung to Bourne, and he either didn't notice – which was entirely impossible – or he didn't care. Or, she thought while gazing over the sea, he knew who was trailing them and he was all right with it. Which was entirely strange, especially for Bourne.
Still, she hadn't actually seen their shadow, couldn't say who it was. She was certain, though, that the person was on board with them, because the feeling had intensified ever since they'd boarded the ferry. She looked around, but there was nobody out of the ordinary. She felt an unpleasant shiver run down her back and turned to look at Bourne who was standing next to her.
He didn't seem disturbed at all.
***
Out of the corner of his eye, Jason saw Kirill approach, walking down the sidewalk of the Place de France, his steps unhurried and mostly even. Jason was certain it took the Russian some effort to suppress his limp, but he did it well. Without knowing what to look for, there was no way to guess his injury.
Jason wondered why the Russian tried to make contact at all and got his answer once Kirill passed by him, never stopping or slowing his pace. “I have a tail. At the corner behind me, about thirty years, tall, blonde hair. Russian.”
The words were just loud enough for Jason to hear, then Kirill had passed him and continued his way down the street as if they didn't know each other. And true enough, there was his tail. Jason fell back a bit, keeping his eyes on Nicky, and at the same time inspecting the man who unobtrusively followed Kirill. He was Russian, Jason agreed on that, which meant that the FSB was coming after their lost agent to get rid of him. The man moved with the trained straightness of a soldier and seemed out of place here in the casual atmosphere of Tangier. His bright blond hair was only adding to attract attention. Jason didn't doubt for a moment that the man was good, though, because if he wasn't, he'd never been sent after Kirill.
This just added to the load of problems they already had. But he couldn't do anything about it right now, because the asset had just taken the phone from Nicky's table and was about to leave. Jason knew he had to trail the man if he wanted to find Daniels before he was killed, and he just had to trust that Kirill could take care of the blond asset himself.
***
Kirill didn't quicken his pace, he strode towards the market with the same casualness he had displayed ever since the blond man had begun to trail him. He'd been aware of the man the moment he'd crossed the harbour somewhere behind Bourne and the American woman. The agent had to have known where to find him, and that was disturbing. Kirill suspected that he'd been caught on a surveillance camera somewhere on their journey from Paris to London to Spain, but it wasn't really important where. What counted was that someone who wanted him dead – he figured it was either the FSB or Gretkov – had found him and sent an assassin after him. If he defeated this one, then they would just send another. He suddenly understood how Bourne must have felt for the past years. Until know, Kirill had always been the hunter. It felt strange to be the prey. It made him uneasy.
He entered the market which was crammed with people and vendor stalls. He smirked. Time to turn the tables and make the hunter become the prey.
***
The moment he looked into the asset's eyes, Jason knew their cover was blown. The man knew his face and there was no doubt that the only possible way this could have happened within the past few minutes was that their breach in the CIA network had been discovered. Jason knew the Agency well enough to be aware of the consequences for Nicky and him: elimination. When the asset pressed the button and the bomb in his moped went off, Jason knew the man counted on completing two jobs in one, him and Daniels.
Then he felt the explosion hit him with incredible force.
***GO TO PART B***
***
