Spoilers for all movies.

Rated R just for mild language so far.

Nicky for now but Nicky/Bourne soon.

If I owned the Nicky/Bourne characters I'd be a lot richer. But I don't so I'm not.

First fanfic. There's little dialogue in this part but it's coming.

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The bus was leaving the Madrid station in 1 minute. She watched his mouth move as he told her about a hotel in Seville. Jason didn't use many words—it was, in fact, more of an emphatically verbal post it note--—the name of a hotel, the street, a room number, and the words "You're last name is Levine. Go there." Was she in shock, she wondered, to be so still, to count his words? She must be or surely she'd be crying or yelling or whispering or at least moving. But she couldn't. So she pivoted and climbed the 3 steps up the bus without looking back, and took a seat on the far side of the bus. She didn't want to see him not be there by the time she sat down. The doors closed and the driver took the bus out of park, and as it moved Nicky Parsons closed her eyes and finally let her tears fall.

SEVILLE

Arriving at the hotel she threw chaotic glances around trying to find something abnormal yet hoping desperately not to. She signed in under the name Jason gave her and was given a slip of paper as receipt. A trap or a gift from Bourne? She didn't know until she put her trust in Jason once again and quietly, with a shaky whisper, called the number on the paper. When she was ready, the accented voice on the other end told her, there would be a bag for her. A gift from him. There would be IDs and cash. Enough to get her started. Nodding in scared understanding she hung up and cradled the phone.

Her first days were spent huddled up in the corner of the small hotel room. She could see why he'd told her to come here. The hotel was undergoing refurbishment, and this was the last of the rooms that were untouched. All of the others now had small or faux balconies and larger windows. She allowed herself 3 seconds to wonder if he'd been here recently, to know the condition of the place. Of course he must have, she chided herself. Shaking the thought out of her head she regained her lapsed concentration.

Nicky held her gun at the ready for hours on end, pumped with adrenaline, unable to doze, ready to shoot at anything that crashed through the door. When she just couldn't stay awake she'd inch to the closet and hide and sleep with the door closed and the gun in her lap.

After 3 days she felt like a trapped animal and she hated the feeling. Severe paranoia was setting in forcing her to always anticipate the attack she was sure would come at any second. When she forced herself to leave the room, she crouched low on the narrow, dirty stairs, fighting to keep in the whimpers and cries. Every step was a sheer force of will. Treadstone was closed but assassins were still employed. There were old ones and new ones, not of Jason's caliber but certainly deadly and acted on order. Somewhere, she knew, her name had already been forwarded to one of them.

Out on the street she found a corner deli, blindly grabbed items, and ran back to the room. She'd been so scared she hadn't thought about her needs, just grabbed various items from various shelves and bailed. She hadn't looked at the cashier's face when she paid and he bagged the food. What if he'd seen her picture and knew? Did she look as scared as she felt? Had she raised his suspicion? Had it even been a man? Her fear ebbed a bit and she was angry that she couldn't answer any of those questions. Sitting on the floor, legs crossed, she put her head in her hands and cried. "Damn it!" she sobbed. How had she lost control like this? To be scared was one thing, probably a smart thing, but to lose herself entirely was another.

She lay on the floor and allowed herself a racked cry, wiped at her face and took the bag, hungry. Inside she found the few items she'd carelessly grabbed from the shelves—tuna and soup. No can opener. She'd gotten processed cheese, a bottle of juice and a bag of nuts. "Fuck!" she allowed herself the gutteral, cathartic swear while looking up and yelling at the cracked and peeling ceiling. Furious, she hurled the bag across the room and watched it smack the wall and while it's contents fell and rolled across the floor. She was pissed and she was done with feeling terrified. Scared she could deal with, but not weak. Not anymore. She had to act. The next morning she was on a train heading south with the gifted bag in her lap.

Her knowledge of the Treadstone men, knowing what they did, what they were capable of, pushed her beyond her basic training. In the various cities she stayed in, she worked. Without formal guidance she piggybacked bottom line common sense with what she knew the agents did---hunt, kill and not be seen. She worked the basic fundamentals with the knowledge of what the outcome needed to be, and tried to connect the dots in between. She tried to increase her endurance and stamina. When she felt safe she ran—a lot and hard--up hillsides, on sandy beaches, along riverbeds, through fields, rarely on trails or smooth surfaces. She tried to train her mind and senses as well. She made herself become astutely aware of her surroundings, watched the clientele that frequented certain areas, learned the ebb and flow, and began her work on lessening the rust on her few languages.

As she hopped from city to city, she memorized routes to different places she deemed safe from as many start points as she could. She didn't ever want to be trapped. She wanted to know the quickest way from point a to point b without a thought. Where could she get food, medical supplies, a car, a way out. She needed to know it all. It exhausted her and in the end her information would be useless. She'd spend the time and energy to gain the knowledge and then be spooked into leaving it all behind on a feeling she couldn't name or shake. But she knew she had to go She kept the bag Jason had given her, left for her, asked to be made for her—she never could figure that out. But she updated the bag as she went, adding to it protein bars and a few bottles of water, scissors and hair dye, one wig, a changes of clothes, and a first aid kit. Necessities. When spooked she'd grab it and be gone. lShe never knew if she was acting on paranoia or if there was real reason to go but she didn't have the luxury of deciding. She wanted to live. So she'd move on, hyper aware, exhausted and in need of time.

Nicky couldn't take go on like this, she realized after a few weeks. She made herself take what she needed the most--time. She rested in another bare hotel room in another unknown city, and allowed herself the time to heal her mind a bit and rest her body. And ultimately, make a plan.

Her eyes snapped awake as the bus slid into its spot at the last stop before Rome. She'd travel to the larger city on the commuter train during the morning rush. Digging out the schedule from her coat pocket, she checked the grid, looked at her watch and smiled. The first train would leave in 12 minutes. Plenty of time.

Nicky quickly bought a newspaper and an espresso from the corner stand then moved to the right and deftly joined the mob of people making their way to the first train in to Rome. She smiled as she settled into her seat on the train, handed the conductor her ticket, and was happy with her progress. She was terrified of ever becoming complacent, of being found, of being killed and no one knowing why the girl died in the middle of a busy street or an empty apartment and no one knowing how or…her. He'd put her on a bus and she'd ended up dark, alone and hardened. Hard but not brittle, instead she was proving stronger than she'd ever believed she could be. And in some twisted way she was happy to learn this about herself. She was getting better at this. He was right. It was getting easier.

ROME

This would be her long stay. She was going to try and settle in Rome, at least for a while. She needed plans, not just reactions. For countless nights she lay in bed and replayed her role in helping Jason, in setting her own path in motion, or out of control as she thought more about it. She'd helped him surely, and screwed herself royally.

If she'd just lied and set she was helping because she thought he'd been wronged, played the stoic card, would he have abandoned her so quickly? If she'd flat out told him about their past, their history, if she'd told it all and unburdened herself to him, would he have had any compassion? If she'd said Ruby instead of Everest, where would she be? Where would he be? Nothing was resolved. This was her life now. She knew it was wrong and she knew it was stupid but she needed to know she was alive and part of something again. She needed to belong somewhere even if it was only pretend. So Rome it was. For now.

Once in the city, she signed up for a tour group and climbed aboard the bus. She got a basic layout of the city, sketching major roadways, points of reference, tourist spots and areas for locals as they went. It had been a long while since she'd had a conversation with anyone and yet she surprised herself as she chatted easily with the tour operator about the city. With all of the information she'd gained Nicky made her way across the Tiber River into an old part of the city. At a store she bought a few visa cash cards and a prepaid phone, found an internet café, and did a search for apartments for rent. By the end of the day she'd found a place, gotten the key and moved in to the top floor apartment. No balcony, no fire escape, old world charm. It was small and came with a bed, a wooden table and a telephone. She watched her neighborhood and learned her routes, and worked up the nerve to go back to the world.

At one of the piazzas she found a string of pubs and a late night bartending job, wore a name-tag that read 'Sophie' and mixed strong drinks for the people who would never squint to read her fake name. They wanted drinks, dancing and someone to take home for a night. She handled the first part and watched where it took them. The noise took her a while to get used to but the music was loud and no one bothered her. This would be her life for a while.