Bourne: The Last Man Bonus Christmas Story
Paris, France
Dec 24, 1999
As Nicky Parsons walked down the sidewalk outside the line of boutiques she had been patronizing for the better part of the day, she knew that she was being watched. She had felt nervous the whole day and it finally got the best of her. She pulled out her phone and flipped it open and dialed the number listed as AAA, but was a far cry from an automotive service.
“Yes?” the voice said simply.
“Please tell me that it’s you Bourne…”
“It’s you…”
“What? Seriously. Are you following me? I’m totally freaking out!”
“You don’t look like it.”
“Jesus! Don’t do that.”
“When did you first know you were being followed?”
“I didn’t. I felt like I was being watched.”
“When?” he insisted.
“All day.” He couldn’t see her but could tell she was turning her head, looking for him.
“You shouldn’t have waited this long. Call immediately next time, even if I am out of the country. That way we can set up a call back. I thought the black nightie was a better choice.”
“What? You’re guessing. There wasn’t anyone else in there, you couldn’t know that.”
“Do too. You bought the purple one, because you wanted it to match the eye shadow you like.”
“What the- am I wired?”
He laughed, “No. I went in after you and told the lady you were my girlfriend and I was looking for stocking stuffers- get it?”
“Yeah, very clever,” she huffed as she stormed to her car.
“I thought your underwear selection was limited to ones with superheros on them.”
“…and the bras?”
“Well maybe not superheros, but I’m sure they make My Little Pony and Barbie in your-”
“Bourne,” she snapped, “You finish that sentence and the next time I give you pills, they’ll be what they use to chemically castrate dogs.”
“Not funny Parsons… Have a nice Festivus.”
She didn’t understand the reference, but chose not to ask. “You too,” she snapped and closed her phone. She walked quickly down the sidewalk as carolers sang, the street lights and Christmas lights came on. She lamented not knowing any of the songs in French.
She walked quickly, in anger, and opened the trunk of her car to find it empty; the bags from the other stores had been stolen. She hurled her things in the trunk and slammed it. She drove back to the safe-house through a nightmare of Friday night / Christmas eve gridlock.
Most people in her situation would have been lamenting their lack of family and friends, but she had always been alone. Her father was an aloof businessman who was never there, her mother had died in childbirth, and she had never really had friends. There would be no Christmas tree, presents, or merriment. She would continue her tradition of Chinese delivery, a hot bath, a good book, and some hot chocolate before bed.
She arrived at the safe-house, got her remaining parcels from the boot, and froze as she started to unlock the door. She had a key ring pad to arm and disarm the houses alarm and defenses, but when she pushed it nothing happened. She didn’t hear the buzz on the inside to indicate that it had worked.
Suddenly the door opened so fast she jumped. It took her a moment to realize it was Jason Bourne in front of her wearing an apron, a hideous Christmas sweater, and holding a ladle.
“Ah, Nicky. You’re early. Let me take those,” he said as he took her parcels as if it were his home.
There was nothing different about the way that he said her name, but it was the fact that he called her Nicky and not Parsons that clued her into the fact that they weren’t alone.
It had been almost a year since they first met, and not once had he used her first name. She had projected enough icy glares his way after their Clintonsk sexual encounter, so that there had never been a repeat performance. The first few weeks after she had felt the tension in him and kept waiting for him to grab her a kiss her like some 1950’s movie. Then she realized that the tension within him was always there; it wasn’t her. She had never noticed it before, but he was always on alert; as if a someone was going to kill him at any moment.
She saw that there was a fire going, smelled all kinds of things cooking, and saw two of her other agents there as well. Padre, her most senior asset, was putting the finishing touches on a Christmas tree while wearing a Santa hat. The other, Jarda, was wrapping what she quickly realized were the items stolen from her trunk.
“Let me take your coat…” Bourne said as if it were his home. He took the coat, hung it on the rack, dropped the other bags with Jarda. She heard a buzz and he took off to the kitchen.
She turned to close the door and was shocked to see the Professor, her Barcelona man, in the doorway. “Merry Christmas Nicolette,” he hugged her before she could protest. “I was the one keeping tabs on you this afternoon,” he explained. “Here is a little something.” He handed her a small present as he pushed passed her. The Professor was probably her favorite asset, or at least he was the most like her. He was quiet, well read, a musician, and very cultured despite his cockney accent. After pouring himself a drink he settled in at her miniature piano and started playing Christmas music.
“Biscuit Nicolette?” Padre extended a plate of cookies and a cup of peppermint tea.
She fully intended to take a bite of the cookie out of politeness and discard it later, but it was still warm and very delicious. She vowed to run a mile as punishment as she forced herself to nibble at it, to savor the experience. She laughed when she noticed he was wearing a tacky Christmas sweater with snowmen on it. “Ah, silly I know, but de rigueur given the occasion.”
“Of course.”
“I made one for you too…” he held up another sweater with Rudolph on the front complete with red bulbous nose. “Arms up. Come on, I made it myself- that means you have to wear it.” He pulled it over her head even though she refused to raise her arms.
“Oh, you really shouldn’t have,” she laughed. “And I thought my wardrobe was comprehensive.” She laughed again at the look of horror on Jarda’s face; he was also a clothes horse and would clearly rather die than wear something like that.
She wandered into the kitchen and saw that Borne was using every surface for food and must have a dozen dishes, several pies, and two plates of cookies.
“Jesus, you cooked all this? It looks… perfect.”
“Yeah. I’m a chef.”
“What? How did I not know this?!?”
He laughed, “Because I wasn’t certified until a few months ago.”
“Well that explains why 90% of your assets are tied up in pots and pans,” she laughed. She had been to his apartment before, seeing to the place when he was on long assignments, and it was very barren except for the kitchen. She had been worried for his psychological health at the starkness for the place until she had seen the kitchen. As long as he had passion for something, and wasn’t dead inside, he was fine. “How am I supposed to eat all of this?” she scoffed as the doorbell rang.
She ushered in Castle, her man in Rome, and his local contact Marissa. As soon as she shut the door it rang again; it was Mannhiem and his local Stephine. Then the door rang again and again and again.
“I feel like Bilbo Baggins,” she muttered, lamenting the loss of her quiet evening alone as she opened the door again.
She had twelve assets and eleven local contacts that reported to her in total, she was the twelfth local- Bourne's. Eighteen of the twenty-four were there for the ‘off the books’ Christmas party.
She hadn’t really noticed before; all of the locals were women that seemed to match the assets in age, appearance, and style. She wasn’t sure who had thought of it, but it was really quite brilliant. They could meet anywhere and even if someone were tailing one of them, meeting a woman that seem to match them perfectly wouldn’t seem out of place. She was surprised that some of them knew the others, and it was clear that some of them didn’t like each other, but in a group this big it was bound to be the case.
The shear number of people was staggering. When she saw all the food Bourne had made, she thought that it would take her a hundred years to eat it all, but the descended on it like locusts and her own larder was invaded as well.
Everywhere she went there were people. She was use to being alone and the jolliness soon began to wear on her. Bourne could sense it and kept her wine glass full.
Towards the end of the evening Bourne spoke up from the crowd, “I know what we forgot… Christmas music.” He held up Nicky’s violin case.
“Oh, no… Bourne! I haven’t touched that in years…”
The Professor laughed, “Liar. Your fingers are still callused.”
Padre whispered in her ear, “The more you fight it, the worse it will be. Smile, play a song and move on…”
After another minute of prodding she agreed to play one song, she was lamenting it immediately. She powered through Ode to Joy with her eyes closed and couldn’t keep from crying. The room was silent and when she was finished the entire room was gawking at her. Normally it was an uplifting piece, but when she played it the piece echoed with sadness and and loneliness.
“Sorry. I always cry when I play.”
“No need to apologize Nicolette; you’re quite good,” offered the Professor offered as he started playing Moonlight Sonata on the piano, thereby freeing her from further obligation.
She excused herself to put her instrument upstairs and took time to collect herself. When she came back down most of the guests had left. She looked for Bourne but didn’t see him. “Did Bourne leave?” she asked the Professor.
He raised an eyebrow as if it were a test.
“The chef.”
“Ah, yes. He was the first one out.” She didn’t bother to hide her disappoint, it would just make it more obvious how much she wanted to see him. The others thanked her and left all at once. She sighed deeply and when to the kitchen to start working on the mountain of dishes and saw they were all done. The office was immaculate.
She continued with her ritualistic bath and hot chocolate, before reading ‘At the Mountains of Madness’ by HP Lovecraft.
Nicky lay in the dark trying her best to go to sleep, but was failing miserably. She hadn’t realized what she had been missing every year until tonight; now she knew that Christmas’s in the future would be painful if she were alone.
Looking out the window she saw snow swirling. It had been windy all day, but she didn’t think it was going to snow. She knew that it probably wouldn’t snow long, or last on the ground until morning, so she jumped up and pulled on her coat and shoes.
She opened her window, and looked at the sky, then at the street below as her room was on the third floor. Every once and awhile she would hear talking and figured someone left their TV on.
She leaned all the way out to see the tip of the Eiffel Tower that was barely visible behind a building; it was something Bourne had pointed out to her. That happened almost eleven months ago. He had held her as she leaned out to see it; the experience culminated in a stunned display of cunnilingus and nearly to the consummation of their relationship- until she had opened her fat mouth.
She rolled her eyes at her own idiocy. Even now she was detached: cunnilingus and consummation? The doctor in her just couldn’t let go. She had instructed him to be forceful with her because she was asked on lie detector tests if she ‘willingly initiated’ sexual relations with any of her assets. She had been such a fool. He had left of course, without telling her.
Bourne’s entire existence was predicated on violence and death. The last thing he wanted was to be violent when they made love. She huffed. Made love- screwed, Nicky. Fucked. They weren’t even on a first name basis, before or after. She hadn’t even kissed him before then. Hell he probably thought it was a trick or test of some kind.
Neither of them had spoken about it since. It fell squarely in the ‘never happened’ category.
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She wasn’t sure what caused her to do it, but she stepped out onto the fire escape, then climbed over the railing and onto the roof. The footing was precarious for a moment and she almost slipped on ice.
She heard the talking again and knew she was right; it was Bourne. She rounded the corner and saw him huddled in a tight ball muttering what sounded like a recipe for a cake.
“Bourne?” he sprang up so fast that she back peddled and would’ve gone over the edge if he hadn’t seized her with an ice cold hand.
“What are you doing here?” he croaked.
“Me? I live here. Are you crazy! You’re going to freeze.”
“Been in colder.”
“In this kind of wind- on a roof? Jesus. You’re going to die. What the hell are you doing?”
“They might come back.”
“Who is ‘they’- the other assets? They aren’t coming back,” she insisted as she pulled him to his feet.
She tried to help him inside, but he refused her assistance. She pulled him into the bathroom and turned the shower on hot, “C-can’t do that,” he stuttered. “Gotta heat from core out. Hot skin fools body into not heating core.”
“Oh. Okay. Well the steam will help. I’ll make you some tea.” She hurriedly went downstairs and started the water.
She turned to get the tea and suddenly she seized from behind, around the waist and flung against a wall. She felt one of the icy hands move from her waist to wrap around her neck- or rather under her chin and pulled her head backward forcefully. The other hand slid up her shirt, raising goosebumps on the way to cupping her breast.
“Bourne! Stop. Last time was… ill conceived.” She shuttered, not at his hands but at his warm breath on her neck. She felt a swell of shame as he worked his way down and found her ready.
She jerked away and spun to face him, she slapped him hard and barked, “Move.” He bent and seized her behind each thigh and lifted her. She couldn’t resist wrapping her legs around him as he carried her several feet to the stairs where he deposited her.
She moaned as his rough hands poured over her flesh. He yanked at her coat and night shirt, as she kicked off her shoes, leaving her in her underwear- she hadn’t gotten fully dressed to go outside.
She had read once that some women put their glass sex toys in the freezer and never understood the appeal until that night. Her skin was hot and flushed and his was frozen and ridged. She squeaked involuntarily as he ripped her underwear off, not wanting to chance her getting away.
“Bourne, really… we can’t do this.” She saw his eyes and they were cold- primal. It wasn’t a killers gaze, it was primal lust. He put his arms behind her knees and pushed forward until they met her chest. “Jason…” she whispered and still saw no change. She quickly reached in between them both, he thought it was to guide him in, but she covered herself- denying him admittance.
He saw her nostrils flare and she swallowed hard before squeezing her eyes shut. She stuttered shamefully, “I- I love you. If we do this, it will be more than sex- for me.”
He didn’t move at all. He didn’t relax his stance, nor advance. Finally she opened her eyes again and saw that he was studying her. He nodded and whispered “I know.”
Her hand slipped away and suddenly he was in her. She had waited almost a year for this and although love in any form was alien to her, she felt him against her a knew he had desperately wanted this as well. Suddenly she realized the amount of lust he had for her and wondered how long it had for him.
He increased his pace and she felt the stairs dig into her spine and blurted, “Jason-”
“David…” he whispered as he clutched onto her, lifted them, and she thought he was going to carry her to the bed, but he only made it to the top of the stairs.
He saw an odd look on her face, “You didn’t know?”
“No.” She purred into his ear, “Constance,” then bit his earlobe playfully.
He laughed until she glared at him, “I like it. It just fits you perfectly.”
It took them three position changes before they finally made it to the bed.
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She felt the warm sun on her bare skin and recalled the events of the prior evening. She started to wonder if it was a dream until she felt the rug burn on her knees and back. She stretched and purred as she rolled over- knowing he would be long gone.
She was startled to see him sitting in a chair by the door- watching her intently. She saw he was fully dressed including his shoes and coat. She fought the urge to cover herself, “Hey you. I figured you would’ve pulled a disappearing act.”
He seemed suddenly embarrassed to be staring at her and his gaze flitted across the room. It was anything but lavish and like most college aged people her mattress lacked a frame and was on the floor. She had the quintessential random strand of Christmas lights, sheets with lurid colors, an ancient TV, and dirty clothing scattered around.
He had been in her room many times for numerous reasons- both with and without her knowledge, but she seemed to now be going through a rebellious phase as far as the cleaning department. He knew the room was more than that, it was her trying to be young. Nothing about the room appeared to be ‘Nicky Parsons’. He saw her as ridged and professional. This looked like a dangerous backlash.
“Sorry, I didn’t know I was having guests. I would’ve called a service…”
He laughed genuinely, now that was Nicky Parsons. “I didn’t realize you were awake. I wiped the place down- for prints. They shouldn’t know I was up here. Always make sure you wash the sheets immediately.”
He stood abruptly and walked quickly from the room. She started to run after him, but quickly grabbed the sheet to cover herself. She was able to catch at the door, “Jason, I promise I won’t let it get weird.”
“Get weird?” he fainted ignorance. “The place is bug free. I’ll see next week.” He paused, “You were trying to make your room look like a twenty year olds?” She nodded. “Well don’t. It looks like you had a psychotic break. Order some expensive pretentious furniture and bill Conklin.” He turned and left quickly and she was careful not to be seen from the street.
As soon as she locked the door she sprinted upstairs and ran onto her mattress. She snatched up his pillow and inhaled it- smelling him.
Most women would be upset about his abruptness, livid at the lack of goodbye kiss, or any indication of the prior nights events. As she rolled on to her back she stamped her feet rapidly on the mattress in elation. She was focused on one word he had spoken- and knew he hadn’t realized how much it meant. “Always…” she purred as she beamed from ear to ear. Always wash the sheets.
That meant that it was going to happen again…
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*Not sure this is the final version. Might change some things before posting to Fanfic sites.