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Title: The End Is The Beginning
(an epilogue that's also a prologue)
Author: marcicat
Word count: 1500
Rating: PG-13 (language, attempted/mentioned gun violence)
Fandom: the Bourne movies, but diverging rapidly into the universal crossover that makes up pretty much all of my other writing
Author's Note: In the movie The Bourne Ultimatum, Nikki Parsons helps Jason Bourne, tanking her own career/old life in the process. (We see him send her off on her own with the truly crap advice "it gets easier.") James was introduced in Um Tubarao, Saltando, and showed up again in this is how the world begins. (This story assumes the Northville community exists, sans solar flare.)
It didn't get easier. Instead, it got harder, so much harder, as she ran out of money and knowledge and the paranoia grew sharper every day. *Jason Bourne,* she thought, *is a fucking liar.* There was a world of difference between a trained operative and a trainee field agent. (Regardless of how depressing it was to think that a half-drowned man with amnesia had managed his initial flight better than her own stuttering track across the continent.)
She could almost -- almost -- see the appeal of a vendetta. Because what was the point of running if you were never free. If she was never going to feel safe again, there was a certain angry push to make the ones who'd put her in that situation feel the same way. But of course, that was the problem -- it wasn't like they'd press-ganged her into a job. She'd applied, she'd wanted it. Hell, she'd gone through three rounds of interviews just to get in the front door. So a vendetta was out.
Mostly, she was trying to make her way towards any place where she wouldn't stand out as quite such an outsider. (It was one thing to have 'scores low on spoken languages' show up in an annual review, and something else entirely to know sounding like a frightened American might get her killed.)
In Valencia, just when she thought she was getting back on less shaky ground, her luck -- such as it was -- ran out.
"Get down!" The woman next to her tugged on her sleeve. "They want money. Nothing else."
A convenience store robbery, really? She tried to avoid stores in general, thanks to the prevalence of security cameras, but tampons waited for no woman.
Still, it should have been no problem. The two robbers stayed focused on the counter, not bothering with more than a cursory look and gun wave in the direction of the aisles. They'd be in and out, and everyone could move on.
Except then the woman behind the register pulled a pair of pistols out of the cash drawer, and suddenly it was a standoff. A loud standoff, and her grasp of local Valencian didn't extend to the rapid-fire expletives she guessed were being exchanged.
"Ridiculous," the woman next to her muttered. She had a phone in her hand.
Nikki reached out a hand before she could think it through. "No!" It was a knee-jerk reaction -- and a highly suspicious one.
Still, she forced herself not to flinch when the woman narrowed her eyes. "If I don't call the authorities, someone else will. People could get hurt."
In her experience, it was usually after the authorities showed up that people got hurt. Her hesitation got her an even more suspicious look. "Are you in trouble with the law?"
Who even said things like that? "Not exactly," Nikki answered.
"Are you a criminal?"
"Not exactly." She narrowed her eyes right back "Why, are you?"
"No," the woman said shortly. Then she shrugged. "Not exactly. But it's possible I'm being followed, and I would prefer that my picture not end up in anyone's database."
Time to hope her instincts were good enough not to get her killed. Nikki took a deep breath. "I have a gun and a passport on me, and neither of them are mine." She thought of the news report, Jason Bourne's face flashed around the world. Thought of the kind of clean up the organization might consider proportional. "I might be on a hit list."
By the counter, the shouting was over. They'd moved on to -- hugging?
"Are they hugging or killing each other?"
Nikki tilted her head. "Hugging? Score one for peaceful conflict resolution?"
She couldn't decipher any of the expressions that flashed across the woman's face, until it landed on 'determined,' and wow, that was a serious Jason Bourne level of determination.
"We should get out of here," the woman said. "Can I buy you a meal?"
"No." Nikki shook her head. That, at least, was an easy answer.
"Coffee? Street vendor?" The woman held her hands up (an indication of openness or frustration, it was hard to tell). "You choose; we don't even need to eat together."
"No. Thank you, but no." They made it out of the store with no trouble, and all she wanted to do was hole up and wait for daylight. Alone. Ditch the stranger.
Something was off. The street was too quiet, or too empty, maybe, and all the hair on the back of her neck stood up.
She risked a glance at the woman next to her, who looked -- wary, with a side of confused. "Yours?" Nikki asked. She'd said she was being followed.
"I don't think so. A silent attack is not their style. Yours?"
"I don't think so?" The program had layers, even she'd had the clearance to see that much. Like an onion. (An onion that wanted to kill you.) But it didn't feel like Tangiers.
And then the empty street in front of them wasn't so empty. There was a rush of displaced air and two figures in front of her, and she had her gun out and firing in a heartbeat. Not fast enough, though. She heard the bullets impact on the opposite side of the street.
"You owe me pancakes. I told you they would try to shoot us."
"I am an optimist. I believe it's safe for you to let go now."
"No way."
Nikki blinked the smoke out of her eyes, but it still looked like a teenage girl was giving her the stinkeye while holding hands with a person who was most definitely blue. And wearing a fedora.
"Paige said James had two guns," the girl said, seemingly out of the blue.
But the fedora just nodded. "We're looking for a shapeshifter," he said, looking questioningly between them. "To offer our assistance."
So far the only consolation was that she could, with some degree of confidence, assume that Treadstone (or whatever lay underneath it) wasn't behind these two. If it was, she'd be dead by now. Secret government agencies -- not big on talking. Still, shapeshifters? The woman next to her was suspiciously silent. (Which could just mean she was busy wondering why lunatics were accosting her on the street.)
"Who's James?" Nikki asked. Because why not? If immediate death wasn't on the agenda, information might be useful.
Of all the answers she was expecting... The fedora gave the impression of staring at her, though she couldn't actually see any face in the shadows. "James is a shapeshifter; a chimera, from the planet Lorien. He is currently acting as a -- free agent, and believes there may be others who share his -- unique situation."
There was a soft, unhappy sound from the woman next to her, and the newcomers both snapped their heads towards it. Nikki moved between them without thinking.
"Back off," she said.
"No, it's okay," the woman said. She stepped up next to Nikki, closer than before. "He gave a number?"
"I'd like to state for the record that I am uncomfortable with this code passing." The girl left one hand on fedora's sleeve, but stepped forward and frowned.
"You think we need numbers to pass codes?" Nikki said, unthinking.
"It's not a code," the other woman said at the same time.
There was a beat of silence. "Two," the fedora said finally. "And four."
"Shit," the woman said. But Nikki could feel her relax as she said it, and it was hard not to wonder what that meant. "How did you find me?"
"Coincidence. James asked us to keep an eye out."
That sounded like a lie, but more of the 'it's a long story we don't want to unpack in the middle of a deserted street at night' variety than the 'lulling you into complacence so we can kill you in a back alley.' Hopefully.
The woman shrugged, clearly also not believing the pat answer. "Never mind, then. You mentioned assistance? I want to see James."
The girl sighed. "He's in New York."
Nikki perked up. She'd largely given up on getting back to the States, but it still called to her like home. "I would like to go to New York also, actually."
All eyes on her, suddenly, but it was the teenager who spoke. "And who are you, exactly?"
Fedora held up a hand before she could answer. "You both accept assistance? No more shooting?"
She took a deep breath. She looked at the woman next to her.
"James is a friend," the woman offered. "You could probably do worse than accepting help from his allies."
It seemed like quite a turnaround. On the other hand, it wasn't like her descent into life on the run had involved any foreknowledge. Or plan. "Sure," she said. She tucked the gun away, held out a hand. "Let's do this."
*the end for now*
(an epilogue that's also a prologue)
Author: marcicat
Word count: 1500
Rating: PG-13 (language, attempted/mentioned gun violence)
Fandom: the Bourne movies, but diverging rapidly into the universal crossover that makes up pretty much all of my other writing
Author's Note: In the movie The Bourne Ultimatum, Nikki Parsons helps Jason Bourne, tanking her own career/old life in the process. (We see him send her off on her own with the truly crap advice "it gets easier.") James was introduced in Um Tubarao, Saltando, and showed up again in this is how the world begins. (This story assumes the Northville community exists, sans solar flare.)
It didn't get easier. Instead, it got harder, so much harder, as she ran out of money and knowledge and the paranoia grew sharper every day. *Jason Bourne,* she thought, *is a fucking liar.* There was a world of difference between a trained operative and a trainee field agent. (Regardless of how depressing it was to think that a half-drowned man with amnesia had managed his initial flight better than her own stuttering track across the continent.)
She could almost -- almost -- see the appeal of a vendetta. Because what was the point of running if you were never free. If she was never going to feel safe again, there was a certain angry push to make the ones who'd put her in that situation feel the same way. But of course, that was the problem -- it wasn't like they'd press-ganged her into a job. She'd applied, she'd wanted it. Hell, she'd gone through three rounds of interviews just to get in the front door. So a vendetta was out.
Mostly, she was trying to make her way towards any place where she wouldn't stand out as quite such an outsider. (It was one thing to have 'scores low on spoken languages' show up in an annual review, and something else entirely to know sounding like a frightened American might get her killed.)
In Valencia, just when she thought she was getting back on less shaky ground, her luck -- such as it was -- ran out.
"Get down!" The woman next to her tugged on her sleeve. "They want money. Nothing else."
A convenience store robbery, really? She tried to avoid stores in general, thanks to the prevalence of security cameras, but tampons waited for no woman.
Still, it should have been no problem. The two robbers stayed focused on the counter, not bothering with more than a cursory look and gun wave in the direction of the aisles. They'd be in and out, and everyone could move on.
Except then the woman behind the register pulled a pair of pistols out of the cash drawer, and suddenly it was a standoff. A loud standoff, and her grasp of local Valencian didn't extend to the rapid-fire expletives she guessed were being exchanged.
"Ridiculous," the woman next to her muttered. She had a phone in her hand.
Nikki reached out a hand before she could think it through. "No!" It was a knee-jerk reaction -- and a highly suspicious one.
Still, she forced herself not to flinch when the woman narrowed her eyes. "If I don't call the authorities, someone else will. People could get hurt."
In her experience, it was usually after the authorities showed up that people got hurt. Her hesitation got her an even more suspicious look. "Are you in trouble with the law?"
Who even said things like that? "Not exactly," Nikki answered.
"Are you a criminal?"
"Not exactly." She narrowed her eyes right back "Why, are you?"
"No," the woman said shortly. Then she shrugged. "Not exactly. But it's possible I'm being followed, and I would prefer that my picture not end up in anyone's database."
Time to hope her instincts were good enough not to get her killed. Nikki took a deep breath. "I have a gun and a passport on me, and neither of them are mine." She thought of the news report, Jason Bourne's face flashed around the world. Thought of the kind of clean up the organization might consider proportional. "I might be on a hit list."
By the counter, the shouting was over. They'd moved on to -- hugging?
"Are they hugging or killing each other?"
Nikki tilted her head. "Hugging? Score one for peaceful conflict resolution?"
She couldn't decipher any of the expressions that flashed across the woman's face, until it landed on 'determined,' and wow, that was a serious Jason Bourne level of determination.
"We should get out of here," the woman said. "Can I buy you a meal?"
"No." Nikki shook her head. That, at least, was an easy answer.
"Coffee? Street vendor?" The woman held her hands up (an indication of openness or frustration, it was hard to tell). "You choose; we don't even need to eat together."
"No. Thank you, but no." They made it out of the store with no trouble, and all she wanted to do was hole up and wait for daylight. Alone. Ditch the stranger.
Something was off. The street was too quiet, or too empty, maybe, and all the hair on the back of her neck stood up.
She risked a glance at the woman next to her, who looked -- wary, with a side of confused. "Yours?" Nikki asked. She'd said she was being followed.
"I don't think so. A silent attack is not their style. Yours?"
"I don't think so?" The program had layers, even she'd had the clearance to see that much. Like an onion. (An onion that wanted to kill you.) But it didn't feel like Tangiers.
And then the empty street in front of them wasn't so empty. There was a rush of displaced air and two figures in front of her, and she had her gun out and firing in a heartbeat. Not fast enough, though. She heard the bullets impact on the opposite side of the street.
"You owe me pancakes. I told you they would try to shoot us."
"I am an optimist. I believe it's safe for you to let go now."
"No way."
Nikki blinked the smoke out of her eyes, but it still looked like a teenage girl was giving her the stinkeye while holding hands with a person who was most definitely blue. And wearing a fedora.
"Paige said James had two guns," the girl said, seemingly out of the blue.
But the fedora just nodded. "We're looking for a shapeshifter," he said, looking questioningly between them. "To offer our assistance."
So far the only consolation was that she could, with some degree of confidence, assume that Treadstone (or whatever lay underneath it) wasn't behind these two. If it was, she'd be dead by now. Secret government agencies -- not big on talking. Still, shapeshifters? The woman next to her was suspiciously silent. (Which could just mean she was busy wondering why lunatics were accosting her on the street.)
"Who's James?" Nikki asked. Because why not? If immediate death wasn't on the agenda, information might be useful.
Of all the answers she was expecting... The fedora gave the impression of staring at her, though she couldn't actually see any face in the shadows. "James is a shapeshifter; a chimera, from the planet Lorien. He is currently acting as a -- free agent, and believes there may be others who share his -- unique situation."
There was a soft, unhappy sound from the woman next to her, and the newcomers both snapped their heads towards it. Nikki moved between them without thinking.
"Back off," she said.
"No, it's okay," the woman said. She stepped up next to Nikki, closer than before. "He gave a number?"
"I'd like to state for the record that I am uncomfortable with this code passing." The girl left one hand on fedora's sleeve, but stepped forward and frowned.
"You think we need numbers to pass codes?" Nikki said, unthinking.
"It's not a code," the other woman said at the same time.
There was a beat of silence. "Two," the fedora said finally. "And four."
"Shit," the woman said. But Nikki could feel her relax as she said it, and it was hard not to wonder what that meant. "How did you find me?"
"Coincidence. James asked us to keep an eye out."
That sounded like a lie, but more of the 'it's a long story we don't want to unpack in the middle of a deserted street at night' variety than the 'lulling you into complacence so we can kill you in a back alley.' Hopefully.
The woman shrugged, clearly also not believing the pat answer. "Never mind, then. You mentioned assistance? I want to see James."
The girl sighed. "He's in New York."
Nikki perked up. She'd largely given up on getting back to the States, but it still called to her like home. "I would like to go to New York also, actually."
All eyes on her, suddenly, but it was the teenager who spoke. "And who are you, exactly?"
Fedora held up a hand before she could answer. "You both accept assistance? No more shooting?"
She took a deep breath. She looked at the woman next to her.
"James is a friend," the woman offered. "You could probably do worse than accepting help from his allies."
It seemed like quite a turnaround. On the other hand, it wasn't like her descent into life on the run had involved any foreknowledge. Or plan. "Sure," she said. She tucked the gun away, held out a hand. "Let's do this."
*the end for now*
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